A few days later.
Daeron returned quietly to King's Landing with his party.
Red Keep.
Aerys heard the news and insisted, "Let him do whatever he wants, I only want my dragon!"
After speaking, the dignified King imitated a shepherd shearing a sheep.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Varys couldn't bear to look.
He didn't know where the King had heard such heresy, believing that since dragons liked eating sheep, they would also like shepherds.
Truly indecent!
...Dragon Language Farm
Daeron did not return to the farm, stopping instead at the foot of the mountain.
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"Prince, please step back."
Ser Jon returned to his side and pulled back the curtain of a simple carriage.
In the corner of the carriage, a small figure was huddled up.
The Forest Witch—the Ghost of High Heart.
Ser Jon tapped the carriage frame with his sword, startling the small figure into huddling tighter.
"Don't frighten her, Ser."
Daeron quickly stopped him.
Barristan, who was experienced and knowledgeable, reminded him, "Prince, Forest Witches are usually reclusive; we should find a quiet place."
Daeron nodded.
The carriage was driven beneath a patch of shade, and two Kingsguard were sent away.
After a long while, the Ghost of High Heart stopped shrinking away, tidied her ragged clothes adorned with flowers, and muttered continuously.
Daeron leaned closer and heard what she was saying.
"A proud lion... damn him... the impudent wretch..."
Soft swearing and cursing.
Daeron understood.
When Jaime found the Ghost of High Heart, he hadn't treated her courteously; he had simply and roughly tied her up and brought her back.
She held a deep grudge against Jaime.
Daeron slowly approached and whispered, "Madam, do you still remember 'Jenny of Oldstones'?"
"Hmm?"
The small figure stiffened. Beneath the messy, face-obscuring gray hair, a pair of red eyes was revealed.
Daeron continued, "And 'the stout' Prince Duncan, who married Jenny and gave up the throne for her."
After so many days, he had already figured out the history of the Ghost of High Heart.
According to Barristan.
During the reign of his great-grandfather Aegon V, 'the stout' Prince Duncan married Jenny of Oldstones, and the latter brought her close friend, the Ghost of High Heart, to live in the court for a period.
It was the prophecy of the Ghost of High Heart that prompted his father and mother to marry, hoping to bear the prophesied Prince.
She only disappeared after the tragedy at Summerhall.
"Someone still remembers Jenny?"
The small figure fell into memories, grieving for the death of her friend.
'the stout' Prince Duncan and Jenny of Oldstones both died in the great fire at Summerhall.
Daeron revealed his identity: "Prince Duncan was my great-uncle."
"I know, I know, child."
The small figure dejectedly said, "I had a premonition that I would revisit this place even before that golden-haired bastard came knocking."
"I entrusted someone to find you, but that person was a bit rough."
Daeron apologized, then asked, "What should I call you?"
He couldn't keep calling her the Ghost of High Heart.
The small figure thought for a moment, then casually said, "You can call me Witch."
"That's what people call us common folk, even though I'm just a dwarfish old woman played by the Old Gods."
"Alright, Witch."
Daeron agreed.
Witch gradually relaxed and said, "Child, I have seen you in my dreams."
"What kind of dream?"
"In a Land of Smoke and Salt, you were reborn from fire and brought back three young dragons."
Witch said helplessly, "I prophesied a Prince, but I didn't expect him to come so quickly."
Daeron:...The prophesied Prince was his sister, Daenerys.
However, he had become the unburnt and rewritten history.
Witch was somewhat forgetful and quickly put the matter out of her mind, asking, "You have dragons, why are you looking for me?"
Daeron told her honestly.
He possessed a special script, the Junimo Language, which required the baptism of Forest Magic to learn the Junimo Language.
"Special script?"
Witch smacked her lips and said, "Let me see."
Daeron opened his panel and copied a segment of the garbled text from the Sacrifice Slot.
Witch let out a sound of surprise, observed it repeatedly, and then said, "If you want to learn this language, then I can help you."
"You recognize it?"
Daeron widened his eyes.
"No, I don't recognize it. It's a completely foreign language."
Witch flatly denied it.
Under Daeron's persistent questioning, she gave her agreement.
She didn't recognize the Junimo Language, but she could sense a familiar Natural Magic Power.
This Natural Magic Power was born with the descent of the Red Comet.
They were simply very quiet and had never been discovered.
They could be sought out by using a certain Magic Potion.
Daeron: "Do you need me to provide the raw materials for you?"
"No need."
Witch shook her head: "I only need a quiet place to live. Give me some time, and I can gather the materials myself and concoct the Magic Potion."
She disliked being disturbed.
Daeron suggested building her a house in King's Landing, or somewhere in Bluegrass Hills.
Witch refused.
Knowing that Forest Witches were generally unwelcome, she only requested to settle on the edge of The Kingswood and build a thatched cottage to shield her from the wind and rain.
Finally, Daeron curiously asked a question.
"Do you know Sorcery Magic?"
"No."
Witch shook her head again, reminding him, "But I can sense that immense Magic Power is contained within your body, partly originating from your bloodline and partly from your Life Force."
"If I were you, I wouldn't lightly attempt to learn Magical Sorcery; that would only taint the purity of your bloodline and wear down your abundant Life Force."
"That would truly be putting the cart before the horse."
Daeron asked, "Then how should I utilize this talent?"
"You are already using it."
Witch looked toward the mountaintop location of the Dragon Language Farm, her teeth chattering: "I can sense three incomparably pure Sources of Magic Power there."
The three young dragons were all at the farm.
Daeron was half-understanding, half-confused.
According to her, Dragon Controlling was the best way to utilize his power.
Furthermore, she advised against learning sorcery or magic.
"I hate riddle-speakers."
Daeron grumbled internally.
Yet, all these mysterious figures were eccentric and cryptic.
At this moment, Witch was nodding off: "Away from the Riverlands, the power of the Old Gods doesn't reach here, and I can finally sleep well."
...Returning to the farm.
Daeron first finished his farm work and fed the three hungry young dragons.
"Hiss-GAH—!"
Caraxes let out a sharp cry, sniffed around, and then rubbed his long, slender neck against Daeron.
It was as if this could mask a certain scent.
"Easy now."
Daeron didn't refuse, though he stumbled from the impact.
Dragons are the protective deities of the Targaryens.
Historically, many young, frail, and sickly Targaryens became healthy and cheerful after interacting with or riding dragons.
Father Aerys's madness was alleviated after he interacted with Toothless.
Or perhaps he was just constantly preoccupied with the young dragon and had no time to be mad.
"Grow up quickly."
Daeron noticed Caraxes's abnormality and stroked his long, slender neck.
He had also realized something.
Since hatching the three dragons, he had never again dreamed about the Three-Eyed Crow.
One Dragon Overcomes Ten Thousand Methods!
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