Chapter 45 — Dreams of Harrenhal
The five colossal towers of Harrenhal loomed like blackened fingers clawing at the stars. Once named for glory, their true titles had long been lost to the ashes of history. Now they bore the names given after the wrath of Balerion the Black Dread had baptized them in dragonfire — Kingspyre, Widow's, Wailing, Dreadfort, and Guest Tower — monuments to a curse that would never die.
When night fell, the mists came.
They rose from the God's Eye like pale wraiths, swallowing walls, stairs, and souls alike. Within this shroud, Harrenhal whispered — not with wind, but with memory.
After the feast, Lord Lyonel Strong led Prince Baelon and Prince Daemon through the vast and echoing halls. Even by torchlight, the shadows seemed to move of their own accord, clinging to the stones like ghosts reluctant to depart.
Each tower was monstrous in scale, its rooms large enough to host giants. The forges rang in the armory; blacksmiths hammered steel beneath the red glare of the coals. The barracks hall could quarter a thousand men, while the bear pit — as wide as a small lake — yawned open like the maw of some sleeping beast. Beyond it, the Flowstone Yard stretched wide as a field, its surface smooth enough for mounted knights to gallop unrestrained.
Everything about Harrenhal spoke of might — and of madness.
Yet despite all its strength, the keep felt hollow. The lord, his family, and their retainers numbered fewer than a hundred, and their voices barely stirred the stillness. Half the castle lay abandoned, the air thick with the musk of bats and rats. Crows perched on cracked arches, muttering low in the dark.
Daemon thought he could almost hear them speaking.
When they reached the Flowstone Yard, a pair of boys were sparring — Daemon's young squire, Tom Staunton, and Harwin Strong, Lord Lyonel's son.
The clack of blunted swords echoed across the yard until Tom was disarmed, landing hard on his back.
The women-at-arms, Mya Hogg and Mona Darklyn, cheered and laughed. Harwin beamed, flushed and triumphant, and strode to where his father stood with the princes.
"Father," he said breathlessly, "I bested the Prince's squire! If he can serve in King's Landing, why not I? Send me to court — let me be a squire to the King, or to one of the Princes!"
Lyonel's brow creased. "You are still a boy. Learn patience, Harwin. When you are older, I will find you a post. But not yet."
Harwin's face fell. "But I dream of the Kingsguard, Father. I want to serve the realm, to fight beside the greatest knights."
From the shadows, a quiet voice intruded.
"Do you even know what that costs?"
It was Larys Strong, standing with his crutch beneath one arm, his twisted legs trembling slightly in the cold.
"When a man takes the white cloak, he swears to have no wife, no heirs, no claim to lands. If you join them, brother, you give up Harrenhal. Would you do that?"
Harwin frowned, torn. Larys's tone carried no malice — only quiet calculation.
"The Kingsguard once took Lucamore Strong," he added, "and the realm remembers how that ended. They will not take another."
Daemon studied the lame boy curiously. There was an unsettling intelligence behind those calm blue eyes, a precocious stillness.
"What of you, Larys?" Daemon asked. "Your brother will inherit Harrenhal. What life do you mean to carve for yourself?"
Larys leaned on his crutch, eyes gleaming faintly in the torchlight. "I might serve my brother, if he'll have me. Or perhaps I'll find a place elsewhere — Gulltown, Oldtown, King's Landing. A man must bend with the winds that blow, my prince. Perhaps one day I'll serve you."
Daemon smiled thinly. "You read much, don't you? You'd make a fine Maester."
Larys shook his head. "I know too much of the Citadel's chains to wear one."
---
Later, when the yard was empty and the night deeper still, Alys Rivers emerged from the fog. She carried a steaming cup in both hands.
"Drink," she said softly. "It will ward off the dreams."
Daemon chuckled. "Do you think the ghosts of Harren the Black would dare disturb a dragon?"
Alys's smile was almost tender. "Dragons fear fire. Ghosts fear memory. Neither should be taken lightly."
---
That night, Prince Baelon was given the lord's chamber in the Kingspyre Tower, while Daemon took the adjoining room. The chamber was vast, the bed dressed in soft velvet, the rafters carved from weirwood. The faint scent of rot lingered beneath the perfume of the bedding.
Daemon lay awake a long while, staring at the pale beams above, each one carved with faint, forgotten faces.
When at last sleep took him, it came not as rest, but as visitation.
---
The Dream
He stood again in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, though it was not the hall he'd feasted in.
Now the fires burned red — and what dripped from the leaking roof was not rain, but blood.
Daemon sat upon the lord's chair, a crown of twisted iron upon his brow. To his left, a king with a driftwood crown whispered in a voice like the tide, half his body of flame, the other of brine.
"They betrayed us," the king said. "The mud lords and the trout. My brother guards ten thousand swords on the Wall, yet leaves me to burn."
To his right sat a young prince and princess, both silver-haired, violet-eyed. When Daemon turned, the prince was gone — vanished like smoke — and the princess was surrounded by dancing maidens: one bronze, one pale, one crowned with ribbons, another cloaked in seaweed. Their laughter became screams.
The smell of blood thickened.
Daemon looked to the hearth — and saw flesh burning there, not wood.
The hall filled with lords, faceless and hollow-eyed. Headless women drifted among them, carrying platters of raw meat. A singer with blue eyes plucked a harp strung with veins, his song a dirge of dying gods.
At the high table, a lewd lord devoured sausages slick with blood. A queen with tears of milk gazed at the stillborn monster on her plate. A wolf-faced girl whispered to a faceless man. A black goat bled into a dog's open jaws.
Then the ancestors came — Aegon, Visenya, Rhaenys, and Aenys, their eyes hollow, their crowns of flame and frost. From the hearth, a weirwood tree burst forth, its face twisted in agony — one eye burning red, the other rimed with ice.
The hall filled with feasting.
The lords gorged on honeyed wolf heads, roasted lions, boiled krakens, and trout baked in blood. When the beasts were gone, their eyes turned skyward — to the dragons perched above.
Vhagar roared, Meleys shrieked, Vermithor bellowed flame — but only frost emerged.
The frost spread, biting into scale and flesh alike, until the dragons screamed no more. One by one, they were devoured, their bones whitening in the firelight. When Caraxes fell, Daemon drew Dark Sister — and the sword turned to ash in his hand.
Then the beasts turned on him — a wolf-headed lord, a lion-headed lord, a seahorse lord, a kraken lord — all with eyes of frozen blue.
They lunged, tearing at him with claws and teeth.
Daemon awoke with a gasp, drenched in sweat, the sound of wings fading from his ears.
---
Morning came gray and silent.
He found Alys Rivers tending her herbs.
"I should have drunk your tea," he said grimly. "You knew the dreams would come."
Alys looked up. "Harrenhal is steeped in death. Its stones remember. Dreams are their language."
Daemon studied her. This woman was no mere midwife or nurse. There was power in her — strange and old, like the deep roots of the weirwoods she spoke of.
And Daemon, ever ambitious, saw use in that.
"You have gifts," he said. "Serve me, Alys. Come with me when I leave this cursed place. I'll see you fed, clothed, and honored."
Her lips curved faintly. "No, my prince. I belong to Harrenhal."
Daemon stepped closer, eyes gleaming. "You belong to me. I want your wisdom… your body… and your milk that never runs dry."
Alys regarded him without fear — only quiet amusement. "Who could refuse the Rogue Prince?" she whispered. "Very well. I'll go with you."
Then her gaze sharpened, her voice dropping to a murmur that was almost reverent.
"But I have a price, my prince. I want dragonseed."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you like the story please give it some power stones and reviews. And if you want to read 30+ advance chapters or just want to support me please join my patreon at [email protected]/Translatingfanfics