103: Chapter 103 A Triumphant Return

Before dawn. At the top of the highest cliff of Casterly Rock.

Drogon resumed his dragon form.

The black dragon, with a wingspan of nearly thirty-four meters, crouched on the cliff, his dragon claws dug into the granite crevices. The sea breeze surged up from the base of the cliff, making his scales rustle.

His right foreclaw carefully grasped the Lion's Paw Armor—wrapped in cloth to prevent his scales from scratching the valyrian steel surface. His left foreclaw clutched a leather pouch filled with pigeon-blood rubies, raw sapphires, and golden dragon coins.

His dragon snout held Tyrion's shortsword—the scabbard was coiled by his tail, the tip of which was perfectly wedged into the end of the scabbard.

His slit pupils swept over Casterly Rock one last time in the faint morning light. A candle was still burning in Jaime's tower window. The Kingslayer had not slept all night and was already drawing the first stroke of the Cremation Array blueprints. His silhouette, head bowed, was cast upon the window paper.

System pop-up.

"Host's earnings from this trip to Casterly Rock—Intelligence: Precise location of the main Cremation Array canister, deep directly beneath the base of the Dragonglass pillar in the dragon pit ruins.

Jaime promises to provide the complete blueprints within two days.

Relics: Lion's Paw Armor, valyrian steel breastplate. Additional income: Pigeon-blood ruby, fluorescent grade, unique in all of Westeros. Raw sapphires, matching White Mane's earrings. Old Valyrian golden dragon coins, pre-Doom, extremely high collection value.

Expenditures: One forged valyrian steel fake sword, gifted to Jaime. Time Tywin Lannister might discover the loss: As early as tomorrow evening when he inspects the vault."

"By tomorrow evening, I will already be in King's Landing. Let's go."

He beat his wings. The airflow stirred up by his dragon wings swept the gravel on the cliff, scattering it into the sea. The black dragon shadow plunged into the pre-dawn clouds, flying at full speed towards King's Landing. The clouds were torn into shreds on either side of his wingtips.

The same late night. Dragonstone. A storm struck the volcanic island.

Outside the window, thunder and lightning raged, and the red light of the volcanic crater flickered in the curtain of rain. Lightning illuminated the obsidian walls in a ghastly white, and thunder echoed between the towers.

Daenerys did not sleep. She sat propped against the headboard, the purple flame stone ring on her left thumb glowing with a deep violet hue in the lightning. Her silver-gold hair was draped over her shoulders, the tips glowing warmly under the Dragonglass Lamp.

Before her lay a reply from the North that Jorah had just delivered. The handwriting on the parchment was rugged and powerful, with a few ink spots splattered by rain, slightly blurred. It was a letter from the Young Wolf, Brandon Stark, which read— "If the Mother of Dragons is willing to go north to fight the White Walkers together, the North will temporarily set aside the dispute over the iron throne."

She put the letter down. Her fingers tapped lightly on the tabletop twice. The North. Stark.

That family legend says killed The Mad King, but in reality, was driven to the brink by him. Now their Young Wolf is willing to temporarily put aside old grudges against the Targaryen in the face of the White Walkers. This person is at least more rational than her father.

The door was knocked on twice lightly. It was not the sound of Drogon's tail—she didn't need to listen to know it wasn't him. It was the crisp sound of knuckles tapping on the wooden door.

White Mane pushed the door open and entered. She was wearing a simple linen tunic, her silver-white braids draped over her shoulders, the ends damp with post-rain moisture. In her hand, she held the dragon-kiss sword—ever since she received this sword, she would wipe it clean every night before bed. The blade shimmered with dark silver ripples under the lightning.

"I can't sleep. The Brand has been burning all night. Not the intense kind of heat—it's hot and cold, like someone in the distance is repeatedly trying something. Like a finger pressing on the Brand again and again."

Daenerys set the letter from the North aside. She patted the side of the bed.

White Mane sat on the edge of the bed but did not lie down. Her amber eyes stared at the faint halo cast on the wall by the Brand on the back of her neck under the Dragonglass Lamp. The skin around the edges of the Brand was slightly red.

"I feel it too. The blood bond isn't transmitting his heartbeat tonight—it's a very stifled feeling. Like he has locked himself in a very small space, very uncomfortable. It has passed now. He is moving. He might be flying."

White Mane's fingers subconsciously pressed against the back of her neck.

"He went to Casterly Rock. Jaime Lannister. The Kingslayer. If he starts a fight—"

"He won't start a fight. Tyrion Lannister has already joined us, and Jaime is the only person Tyrion cares about. Drogon won't kill him."

"I'm not afraid of him killing Jaime. I'm afraid that something at Jaime's place—will make the Brand even more unstable."

The door was pushed open again. Melisandre stood in the doorway, her red robes stained with rainwater, the hem dripping. Her red eyes were brighter than usual in the dim light, a remnant of having just seen a clear vision in the flames. The firelight was still dancing deep in her pupils.

"Commander White Mane. You just said the Brand was hot and cold—I have begun to see it. Not with my eyes. In the flames. The Brand on the back of your neck, its form as it appears in the flames is different from before.

It is no longer just the mark of dominance of a true dragon. It is being touched by another dragon will."

White Mane's fingers pressed tighter against the Brand.

"What will?"

"The Storm Ancestor Dragon. That fossilized rib bone recovered from beneath Storms End. It has been sealed in the mine chamber since it was brought back to Dragonstone, but it is not completely dormant.

The residual Ancestor Dragon will within it—what the system calls the 'Trial'—automatically attempts to establish a reverse link through the Brand when it senses a Brand-bearer nearby. Your Brand is bidirectional.

It is currently the only dragon-link node on Dragonstone, besides Lord Drogon, that can be perceived by the Storm Ancestor Dragon."

A hint of alertness flashed in White Mane's amber eyes. Her voice remained steady.

"So that bone is looking for me. Not looking for Drogon—it's looking for me. It wants to use my Brand to make me complete something for it."

"Not complete. It's to use you—to influence him." Melisandre's red eyes glinted with cold certainty under the lightning.

"The residual will of the Storm Ancestor Dragon might want to use your Brand to interfere with the Trial when Lord Drogon absorbs it. The Trial is one-on-one—Lord Drogon's consciousness will face the residual will of the Storm Ancestor Dragon alone.

But your Brand provides an additional information channel. The Storm Ancestor Dragon might have read your combat memories through this channel and then used your combat style as an enemy model in the Trial."

Daenerys's purple eyes narrowed. Her voice turned cold.

"So the enemy Drogon has to defeat in the Trial—might have her face."

"Possibly. Or perhaps just her combat data applied to some phantom in the Trial. Regardless—Commander White Mane, I suggest you stay away from the mine chamber until Lord Drogon absorbs the Storm Ancestor Dragon's bone. The further away you are, the less efficient the Storm Ancestor Dragon will be at reading your information through the Brand."

White Mane was silent. She released her fingers from the Brand. She placed the dragon-kiss sword on her lap, her fingertips gently tracing the intertwined dragon-shaped hilt on the blade. The hilt of the dragon-kiss sword felt cool under her fingers. Then she raised her head, with no hesitation in her amber eyes.

"No. If it wants to use my combat style in the Trial—then let it. I know my own weaknesses best. In front of that bone from Storms End, I might not win. But Drogon can. He has sparred with me so many times in the training ground; he knows how to defeat me."

Daenerys stood up from the bed. She walked up to White Mane.

She reached out and gently placed her palm over the Brand on the back of White Mane's neck—a rare intimate gesture from a core spouse to a secondary spouse, which in Old Valyria tradition meant "I acknowledge your position."

Her palm was warm, and when it covered the Brand, the dark golden lines of the Brand emitted a faint glow between her fingers.

White Mane's body stiffened slightly. But she did not pull away. Her amber eyes blinked under Daenerys's purple gaze.

Daenerys's voice was very soft, but every word carried an irresistible stability.

"If he hesitates in the Trial because of your Brand—he will lose. What you need to do is not let him know how to defeat you. It is to tell him—before he absorbs that bone—that you will hold Dragonstone. That way, he won't have to be distracted worrying about us."

White Mane was silent. Then a very faint, almost invisible curve appeared at the corner of her mouth. Not a smile. It was a kind of relaxation after her position had been confirmed.

"Let him tell me that himself when he returns. You tell him—he owes me a scabbard. The scabbard hasn't been replaced yet."

Melisandre stood in the doorway. She watched the brief alliance between these two women. Her red eyes flickered in the gloom of the rainy night with a kind of understanding brought by ancient dragon knowledge.

She did not join the conversation, but silently noted this scene in her heart. The core spouse and the secondary spouse had reached a consensus on the eve of the Trial. The Brand and the blood bond could still form a temporary hierarchical stability in the absence of the Dragon Lord.

Daenerys withdrew her hand. She turned and walked to the window. Outside, the storm was gradually weakening, and faint morning light was piercing through the clouds on the distant horizon, cutting a golden line across the sea.

"He is coming back soon. The blood bond just transmitted his direction—from the west. Casterly Rock is in the west. He got the relic. I can feel a sense of 'satisfaction' in his heartbeat—mixed with a bit of 'the luck of having stolen something without being discovered.' He raided Tywin's vault again."

White Mane stood up. She slid the dragon-kiss sword back into the scabbard at her waist.

"What did he steal?"

"Not sure. But it feels red. Very shiny."

"...Rubies. He stole a ruby."