Where was he supposed to find the blood of the true dragon?
Should he pick one of the Dragonkeepers?
Impossible!
After the tragedy at Summerhall, the family line had withered. There was almost no one left to carry on the bloodline. The Dragonkeepers on Dragonstone were generations removed; their dragon blood was diluted to almost nothing.
It would be hard enough just to find one with silver hair.
Who else on Dragonstone had the blood of the true dragon?
Daeron bowed his head, remaining silent. Inside a body that no one paid attention to, a fire was slowly building within his chest.
A moment later.
"Prince, what are you doing!?"
Ser Jon Darry cried out in alarm.
He was the most worried about Daeron's condition. While keeping watch, he glanced back and saw a scene that made his heart skip a beat.
"What's happening?"
Barristan and Davos turned around simultaneously.
In the next second, they saw Daeron, his expression blank, striding toward the bonfire while tearing open his collar and stripping off his tunic.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
The wind whipped the fire into a frenzy, the tongues of flame seeming to try and push him back.
Daeron was unmoved. He drew a dagger and sliced across the palms of both hands. Bright red blood dripped down like beads.
"You want the blood of the dragon? Take it!"
His voice held a trace of madness, but his remaining reason held the upper hand, anchored by his great ambition to bring dragons back to the world.
What Daenerys could do...
He, Daeron Targaryen, could do too!
If the title of "The Unburnt" was a gift of destiny, then in this era before the Unburnt was born, he would take her place.
"Blood and fire spring from the same source!!"
Daeron chanted the mantra in his heart and stepped into the flames.
"Prince!!"
It all happened too fast. The three men were burning with anxiety, but it was too late to stop him.
Ser Jon stood frozen, his mind blank. He reached out toward the edge of the fire, but he was a step too slow.
"No! Get back!"
Suddenly, Barristan grabbed his sworn brother and yanked him backward.
BOOM—!!
The roaring bonfire suddenly exploded in intensity. The salty sea breeze whipped up the flames, turning them into a fire tornado that spiraled toward the sky. Ash danced in the air, falling like a rain of fire.
---
Daybreak.
The great fire that had burned all night was finally dying out.
"Prince..."
Ser Jon's eyes were vacant. He looked as if he had lost his soul, kneeling dejectedly at the edge of the ash pile.
It had been all night.
Who in this world could burn in a fire all night and survive?
Davos's lips were cracked and dry. He spoke in a hoarse voice, "Sers... let's... let's gather his remains."
Gather what? His ashes, of course!
Though he didn't want to accept it, the Prince he had placed his hopes on had walked into the fire himself.
"Pull yourselves together."
Barristan looked stern.
He hadn't given up.
His calloused hand gripped the hilt of his sword. Dragging his heavy legs, he walked step by step toward the pile of ash.
He refused to believe it.
He refused to believe that a Prince who could gather three dragon eggs in such a short time, who could single-handedly slay a malformed dragon, whose will was as solid as gold... would lose his mind and seek death.
Hatching dragons was the obsession of generations of Targaryens.
Ser Duncan the Tall, whom he admired, and King Aegon V, whom he had wished to serve, had both died for this obsession.
"House Targaryen should not lose another good Prince to this."
Barristan's will was iron. Summoning the same resolve and courage he used to infiltrate Duskendale alone, he stepped onto the still-smoldering ash.
One step, two steps...
inspired by him, Ser Jon and Davos dragged their exhausted bodies and slowly followed behind the legendary Kingsguard.
Suddenly, Barristan froze.
The two men behind him were confused.
Snap! Crackle!
A slight sound came from the center of the ash pile.
"Is... is it true?"
Barristan was caught between shock and doubt. He took a stance to draw his sword, but his hand was trembling.
He stared unblinkingly at the scene.
Next to a dragon skull that was scorched pitch black, a curled-up figure slowly straightened its back. Fine ash cascaded off its body.
!!!
Barristan sucked in a breath of cold air, looking as if he'd seen a ghost.
The ash fell away, revealing the truth.
Daeron raised his head. His eyelids fluttered, and he opened a pair of violet eyes.
Whoosh!
A gust of sea breeze blew past, lifting the ash into the morning light like a flurry of grey-white flowers.
Skree... Ga...
SKREE!
An abrupt, piercing screech rang out, injecting endless vitality into the world and breaking the deathly silence.
Blue sky, white clouds, towering Dragonmont.
Under the gaze of the three men—and perhaps the whole world—a pale, unblemished body stood up slowly. His arms were crossed over his chest, his legs long and powerful. He looked like a giant holding up the sky.
"I... am alive?"
Daeron felt like a lifetime had passed. His calm gaze swept around, taking in the world of this new day.
Skree-ga!
Skree... ga...
He looked down. Three hatchlings were squirming in his arms.
In the crook of his left arm sat a hatchling with cobalt blue scales, spreading its legs and trying to stand.
On his right, encompassing his entire shoulder, a red-scaled hatchling opened its molten gold vertical pupils. Its snake-like body was wrapped twice around his arm as it unfurled a pair of broad, translucent red wings.
Skree-ga~~
The last hatchling climbed up his left shoulder to the top of his head. It was pitch black like charcoal, staring with green vertical pupils, its jaws open in a strange, shrill cry.
"Dragons!"
Daeron stared in a daze. There was joy at their birth, but the obsession, the urgency, and the loss of control he felt before were gone.
His heart was at peace.
To him, it felt calm. But to the onlookers, it was a worldview-shattering bombardment.
Thump!
Barristan took a half-step back and dropped straight to one knee.
He didn't know why he did it. He didn't know why there was a lump in his throat, making it impossible to speak.
Daeron stood in the sunlight.
The sky and the mountains bore witness. The ash and the sea breeze baptized him. Everything in the world seemed to find its voice, as if celebrating for him.
The scene was godlike, holy.
Barristan looked up, feeling the illusion that he was gazing upon the face of a deity.
"Prince!"
"Prince...!"
Ser Jon and Davos snapped back to life. Overwhelmed with excitement, they both dropped to one knee.
Daeron came back to reality, understood his situation, and accepted it all calmly.
Seeing people kneeling before their father, the three hatchlings stood up with all their might, spreading their wings in a display of dominance.
In the next moment, the three hatchlings screeched in unison.
Skree!
SKREE—!!
---
King's Landing.
The Red Keep, The Throne Room.
Tywin walked into the Great Hall with a dark expression, his strides long and purposeful.
When the King summoned you suddenly, the Hand had no choice but to obey.
"Lord Tywin, do you know what has happened to make His Grace call this meeting so urgently?"
Varys the Spider had been waiting at the entrance and approached him.
Tywin glanced at him and said coolly, "When it comes to intelligence, who can compare to the Spider?"
Varys shrugged. "You flatter me, my Lord."
This time, he genuinely didn't know the reason.
The two walked into the hall together.
Crash!
A goblet was thrown across the room, followed immediately by the King's roar.
"Fire! I want a great fire!"
Aerys looked deranged, screaming at the top of his lungs, "Does anyone know where Barristan went? And that boy, Daeron?"
The ministers below were silent as winter cicadas.
Lord Chester was the unluckiest; the goblet had bounced off the floor and hit him in the forehead, raising a lump.
As soon as Tywin entered, he saw the King in a fit of madness.
He didn't care; he was used to it.
What really made him frown was that Aerys was screaming for "fire" and mentioning Daeron and Barristan.
"What scheme is he cooking up now?"
Tywin felt a surge of resentment, hating that an incompetent man sat on the Iron Throne.