It was a vast hall, as if hosting a grand feast—first a celebratory banquet, then a feast of corpses.
Not a living soul remained. The revelers had been brutally slaughtered, their mangled bodies sprawled amidst overturned chairs and splintered tables. Blood had coagulated into black puddles on the floor and tables.
Some had their limbs severed. On the oak table, severed hands tightly gripped blood-soaked cups, wooden spoons, roasted duck, and bread. Others lay headless, their bodies askew, their heads rolling across the floor like leather balls.
At the head of the hall sat a wooden throne, occupied by the corpse of a terrifying wolf-headed figure. It wore an iron crown, and before it, on the oak table, were slices of bread, plates, cups, a wine pitcher, cutlery, and candlesticks.
Strangely, it clutched a lamb shank in its right hand, as if a king holding a scepter.
What sent a chill down Dany's spine was that, unlike the dwarf who had ignored her earlier, the wolf-headed corpse's eyes followed her every move, its gaze complex, as if silently accusing her.
"A blood-red wedding!" Dany instantly understood what this vision meant.
She was incredibly excited. For the first time, she was certain she had seen the future.
The blood-red wedding would happen in a year or two, yet she was already witnessing its conclusion.
"Serves you right!" she shouted at Robb, then turned and walked toward the next room.
Little did Dany know that the very next morning, Robb Stark, fresh off his great victory at the Whispering Wood, was jolted awake by a nightmare.
"Mother, I dreamt of someone last night," he said to Catelyn at breakfast, looking puzzled.
His son had just captured Jaime Lannister, and the duchess was in good spirits. She asked softly, "Who did you dream of?"
"A strange girl."
"Strange?"
"She was wearing a beautiful, peculiar dress—a *qipao*—and carrying a bamboo basket on her back. Inside the basket was a black dragon," the young wolf said, his brow furrowed.
"Dragons have been extinct for over a hundred years," Catelyn replied.
"That woman looked no older than me, with silver hair and violet eyes. She reminded me of a..." Robb trailed off, unsure. "Targaryen!"
"A Targaryen girl of that age does exist," Catelyn said, her expression turning serious. "Daenerys Targaryen, daughter of the Mad King. I heard she married the Khal of the Dothraki Sea a year ago. Did you get a clear look at her? What did she look like?"
"She was beautiful," he replied. "More beautiful than Sansa, more refined than Cersei Lannister, and more vibrant."
"Then it very well could have been her. Every member of the Targaryen family possesses extraordinary beauty," Catelyn nodded. "But how did you dream of her? Unless... no, that's not right. Even if you're older and starting to have feelings for girls, you've never met her."
"I don't know," Robb said, a glint of thought in his eyes. "But last night's dream filled me with the terror of being in the seventh hell. If I defeat the Lannisters, and the Baratheons refuse to grant the North and Riverlands independence—after all, together they make up more than half of Westeros—I might have to fight the Baratheons again. If I win again... if Aunt Lysa of the Vale of Arryn sends her troops to help me— she fears the Lannisters more than the Baratheons, so that's a very strong possibility."
"If you unite the lords of the North, Riverlands, and Vale of Arryn, defeat the Baratheons, seize the Iron Throne, and ultimately replace the late Robert, you will become Daenerys Targaryen's greatest enemy," Catelyn continued, following her son's line of thought. "If she truly has dragons, or something similar—like over a hundred thousand roaring Dothraki warriors from across the Dothraki Sea—you'll likely stand no chance against her.
"And as the Mad King's daughter, it's not surprising she'd inherit his madness.
"If you're defeated by such a mad and vengeful Targaryen, you'll be ruined. The North will be utterly destroyed. That outcome would be more terrifying than the lowest circle of hell."
"Did she say anything to you?" Catelyn asked, her voice tight with anxiety.
"'Serves you right,' she told me coldly. 'Serves you right.'" Robb's face paled.
"Ah! Then it must be true!" Catelyn exclaimed. "It must have been your father, who just died, who sent you a warning in a dream, telling you to beware of that last Targaryen princess."
"Robb, do you want the Iron Throne?" She met his gaze, asking anxiously.
"I only want to avenge my father and secure the North's independence," Robb replied immediately.
"But your dreams, your future..." Catelyn said worriedly.
"Ah, I truly don't want to conquer the world, and I have no desire for the Iron Throne in King's Landing. Why, why do they force me? I don't want to be the king of the Seven Kingdoms!" Robb cried out mournfully.
Time snapped back to the present, and the scene shifted to Dany.
When Big Black knocked open the third door with his tail, Dany saw a scene both familiar and strange: a house with a red-lacquered door, its massive wooden beams carved with lifelike animal faces, and a lemon tree outside the window.
It was her home in Braavos before she was five years old.
The night before Daenerys's birth, the dynasty's surname had already changed from Targaryen to Baratheon. Only Dragonstone, located overseas, remained occupied by a fleet loyal to the Targaryens.
But on the night of Daenerys's birth, not only did her mother, Queen Rhaella, die in childbirth, but a once-in-a-millennium storm raged near Dragonstone. The warships anchored in the bay were not defeated by enemies, but were all destroyed in the tempest.
Thus, Dany earned the title "Stormborn."
The queen's death shattered the Targaryen regime completely, leaving only a child, Viserys, to carry on the legacy.
The storm destroyed all the warships loyal to the Targaryen Dynasty, making Dragonstone unsafe.
Fortunately, the massive storm not only wrecked their own fleet but also annihilated the Baratheon ships besieging the island, giving them a chance to escape.
As the acting castellan of Dragonstone hesitated whether to surrender the two Targaryen children to the rebels, Ser Willem Darry and his four men safely spirited Viserys and Daenerys away to Braavos.
Ser Willem, a royal tutor with white hair and half-blind eyes, cared for little Dany during her happiest five years of childhood.
Then the old knight died. A servant tricked Dany and Viserys out of their house, and they began a life of wandering that would span a hundred thousand miles.
In Daenerys's memory, the house with the red-painted door remained the most beautiful place, a place she could never forget.
Now, the scene from the depths of her memory materialized before her eyes. Even old Ser Willem Darry emerged, leaning on his cane and walking with heavy steps.
"Little Princess, you've returned!" His voice was hoarse yet tender. "Come here, to me. My lady, you are home. You are safe."
His wrinkled hand, soft as old leather, reached out to her.
"This illusion is too realistic!" Dany exclaimed, looking around in awe.
"Come here, my little princess. What are you babbling about? What illusion?" The old man beckoned to her.
It could even hold a conversation?
This... seemed to have entered the uncanny valley. Startled, Dany turned and fled.
The corridor stretched endlessly forward. On the left were countless doors, while on the right stood only torches.
Dany ran past door after door, some closed, some open, some made of wood, others of iron. Some were intricately carved, while others were plain. Some had handles, while others had locks or rings.
At least they were all still doors, until she spotted one that barely qualified as such.
Dany skidded to a halt. It was a crude curtain of hard cowhide.
A powerful urge surged within her, as if the true purpose of entering the Hall of Immortality wasn't to find the Immortals, but to pass through this door.
Big Black's tail hooked the leather curtain and lifted it.
Then Dany saw an endless grassland—the Dothraki Sea.
A river meandered through the plains, and a pale white horse, tall and proud, carried two children along its banks.
The horse stood with its back to Dany, so she couldn't see its head or the face of the rider on the saddle.
She could only vaguely make out the child in front, slumped against the horse's neck. Behind him, a little girl with silver hair and a painted Dothraki vest was crying relentlessly, her voice weak and filled with pain.
Only when the horse had trotted further and further away, disappearing completely from her sight, did Dany snap back to reality.
*Is this a memory? Daenerys and Viserys? But the girl wasn't wearing a painted Dothraki vest when they were children.* She was puzzled. Subconsciously, she felt this vision was important, but she couldn't grasp its meaning.
*Hiss—*
Big Black lowered the cowhide curtain and let out a sharp cry, urging Dany to move on.
Keeping the vision in her mind, she walked toward the next room.
As Dany approached, a pair of massive bronze gates swung open automatically. Beyond them lay a grand and majestic stone hall, its high walls adorned with the skulls of dead dragons, their empty eyes gazing down coldly.
At the far end, a richly dressed old man sat on a towering, spiky throne. His eyes were dim, and his hair was silver-gray.
"Let me reign over charred bones and roasted flesh," he declared to a man below, "let me become the King of Ashes!"
"Reign, Red Keep, Iron Throne, Mad King Aerys?" Dany suddenly understood, and she stopped to watch.
"Your Majesty, have you truly made this decision?" the man beneath the throne, robed as a Pyromancer, asked with fanaticism.
"I am a true Dragon, and I shall be reborn in fire!" The Mad King on the Iron Throne waved his arms wildly. "Immediately bury wildfire in every corner of King's Landing, not a single place left untouched! I will be crowned anew amidst ashes and bones!"
"Oh my God! This madman!"
Hearing the Mad King and his Pyromancer Prime Minister discuss how to burn alive all 500,000 people in King's Landing, Dany felt a chill run through her body, goosebumps rising on her bare arms.
Leaving the Bronze Gate, Dany encountered another door that swung open automatically at her approach.
Inside the ornate wooden door, studded with copper nails, lay a bedroom.
A prince nearly identical to Viserys spoke to the woman breastfeeding a newborn infant on the large bed: "Let's call him Aegon. Isn't that the finest name for a king?"
Dany immediately understood. She was once again witnessing a scene from the past in the Red Keep: Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia, the royal couple.
The newborn in the Crown Princess's arms, Aegon, was the little prince who would later be smashed against the wall like a melon.
Princess Elia asked her husband, "Will you write a song for him?"
"He already has a song," Rhaegar said solemnly. "He is the Prince That Was Promised, and his song is The Song of Ice and Fire."
As he spoke, he looked up, and his gaze met Dany's directly, as if time had shifted, bringing them to the same moment.
"There is one more," he said. Dany felt a chill run down her spine, convinced this phantom brother was speaking to her. "The dragon has three heads. There is one more."
"Motherfucker!" Dany's face turned pale as she cursed, and she turned to flee.
She was now certain that Rhaegar, dead for fifteen years, was speaking to her. He was telling her that the three dragons required three riders. Besides herself and Aegon, there must be another Targaryen.
But Aegon had died long ago, and the only remaining Targaryens were herself and Jon Snow, the male protagonist—who was also a Targaryen.
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(End of Chapter)