Chapter 212: The Truth
When Drogon had first seen the Night King collapse into that writhing black mass, he had felt a strange sense of familiarity.
At the time, however, he couldn't place where that feeling came from.
Now, after reading about the Black Stone again, he finally understood.
It also explained why he had felt compelled to return to the Citadel's hidden archives.
Back then, he had instinctively regarded the Night King's remains as a lump of flesh.
But what if it wasn't flesh?
What if it was stone?
Viewed that way, it bore an uncanny resemblance to the oily, sticky Black Stone described in Strange Stones.
The only real difference was that the Night King's remains had squirmed and writhed, while Black Stone appeared lifeless apart from its oily surface.
The last time he visited the archives, Drogon had barely paid attention to Strange Stones.
After skimming a few pages, he had dismissed it as nothing more than a collection of oddities and folklore.
He never imagined the mysterious Black Stone might be connected to the Night King's remains.
He had even seen the Black Walls of Volantis himself.
The sensation they gave him was unforgettable.
Dark.
Oppressive.
The longer he stared at them, the more it felt as though they might swallow his consciousness whole.
After finishing Strange Stones, Drogon searched for every other book discussing Black Stone.
Most contained theories similar to those in the first volume.
The details varied, but no one truly knew its origin.
While browsing, he came across another work authored by Marwyn: The Lost Books.
The collection consisted of rare manuscripts and fragmented texts Marwyn had gathered during his travels throughout Essos.
Many strange tales and forgotten legends had been compiled within its pages.
Only then did Drogon notice something he had overlooked before.
Marwyn had once journeyed to Asshai-by-the-Shadow.
In fact, he had spent eight years wandering the far eastern reaches of the world.
Since Asshai contained more Black Stone than any other place known, Drogon immediately decided he would question Marwyn about it when he returned.
After spending the entire night reading, Drogon finally left the archives at dawn and returned to Shireen's room.
The next day, while chatting with her, there was a knock at the door.
Sam entered.
The moment he saw Drogon, surprise and excitement flashed across his face.
When Shireen had first sought him out, he had repeatedly insisted that he knew nothing about curing greyscale.
He had even told her she had come to the wrong person.
Yet Shireen had remained absolutely convinced.
Unable to shake her determination, Sam had begun searching medical texts whenever he wasn't occupied with his duties.
To his astonishment, he eventually discovered a method capable of completely curing the disease.
After they became friends, Sam finally asked why she had been so certain he could save her.
That was when Shireen revealed the truth.
It had been Drogon's guidance that led her to him.
To this day, Sam couldn't understand how a dragon could have been so certain he would find the cure.
"Drogon, could you wait outside for a while?" Shireen said as Sam approached. "I'm about to change my bandages."
Drogon knew exactly why she was asking.
She didn't want him to see the ugly wounds.
Nor did she want him to witness the pain.
Without protest, he flew out of the room.
Moments later, muffled cries escaped through the door.
Shireen was trying desperately to suppress them.
Each sound twisted a knife in Drogon's heart.
Ten minutes later, Sam emerged, drenched in sweat.
Every time he changed her dressings, he exercised the utmost care.
Yet seeing her suffer still left him exhausted.
After Sam departed, Drogon wandered outside for a short while before returning.
When he asked about her condition, Shireen told him there would only be one more treatment.
After that, the wounds would begin healing naturally.
Drogon remained at the Citadel for two more days.
He spent his time alternating between reading and keeping Shireen company.
Eventually, he prepared to leave.
He knew how badly she wanted to witness Daenerys's coronation.
Before departing, he promised to return in a few days and personally bring her to King's Landing.
Only then did Shireen finally smile.
Leaving the Citadel behind, Drogon headed for the towering white beacon of Oldtown.
The Hightower.
Seat of House Hightower.
The tallest structure in all the Seven Kingdoms.
As he approached, his gaze settled upon the massive black foundation beneath the white tower.
The base was enormous—larger than a football field—and appeared to have been carved from a single colossal slab of glossy black stone.
Not a single crack marred its surface.
As Drogon drew near, he felt something strange.
A pull.
Not a physical force like magnetism.
Something deeper.
Something that seemed to tug directly at his soul.
The sensation was incredibly faint.
Had his senses been any less acute, he might never have noticed it.
Staring at the Black Stone, he searched for anything unusual.
Nothing.
After a moment's hesitation, he pressed a claw against the oily surface and concentrated.
Then—
Aahhh!
Drogon jerked his claw away.
For the briefest instant, he thought he had heard something.
A scream.
A terrified scream coming from within the stone itself.
He froze.
After a moment's consideration, he slowly extended his claw again and touched the stone.
This time he focused even harder.
Several minutes passed.
Nothing.
No voices.
No screams.
No sensations beyond the faint pull on his soul.
It was enough to make him wonder if the first experience had merely been his imagination.
After circling the enormous foundation once more and finding no additional clues, Drogon finally abandoned his investigation.
Spreading his wings, he launched himself into the sky.
His destination:
King's Landing.
The mystery of the Black Stone remained unsolved.
But now he was certain of one thing.
Whatever secrets lay buried within those ancient stones, they were far older—and far stranger—than anyone in Westeros realized.
Beneath a lonely tower standing beside a range of crimson mountains, two armored knights clashed in a desperate duel.
Nearby, a tall young boy watched anxiously.
His gaze was fixed on a black-haired young man with a resolute expression as he battled a towering knight clad in silver armor.
The fight was clearly one-sided.
The silver-helmed knight held the advantage and steadily forced the black-haired warrior backward.
Just as defeat seemed inevitable, a figure suddenly sprang from behind a nearby boulder.
The newcomer lunged forward and drove a dagger into the narrow gap between the knight's helmet and gorget.
The silver knight froze.
Then, slowly, he collapsed.
The black-haired young man opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something, but the words never came.
After glancing at the eight corpses scattered around the battlefield, he turned and entered the tower, climbing toward the uppermost chamber.
Inside the tower room stood a bloodstained bed.
Upon it lay a woman so weak she appeared barely alive.
A maidservant stood silently beside her.
"Lyanna..."
The moment the black-haired man saw his once lively and spirited sister reduced to such a state, his eyes began to redden.
"Ned... you've finally come..."
Lyanna coughed weakly.
With trembling effort, she withdrew her hand from his grasp and carefully lifted the infant lying beside her.
She placed the child into Ned's arms.
"His name is... Aegon Targaryen."
Her voice faltered.
"Please... take care of him for me..."
"Targaryen?"
Ned's eyes widened in shock.
"Yes..."
The word barely escaped her lips.
Her hand slipped from the baby.
Her head tilted to one side.
And she moved no more.
"Aegon Targaryen..."
Standing unseen in the corner of the room, the tall boy unconsciously repeated the name.
Then—
"Aah!"
A sudden scream shattered the scene.
The boy jolted as he saw the maidservant collapse into a pool of blood.
"Father..."
he whispered in horror.
Bran Stark abruptly withdrew from the green vision.
He gasped for breath.
His heart pounded violently against his chest.
What he had just witnessed was simply too shocking.
The brother he had always believed to be a bastard...
Jon Snow...
was actually Aunt Lyanna's son.
But that wasn't even the most unbelievable revelation.
Jon wasn't merely Rhaegar Targaryen's bastard.
Lyanna had explicitly called him Aegon Targaryen.
A true-born Targaryen.
Bran struggled to process it.
How could that be?
Rhaegar's wife had been Elia Martell, sister of Prince Oberyn Martell.
Why would Lyanna give Jon the Targaryen name?
Could she have simply been delirious during her final moments?
Could those have been the confused words of a dying woman?
After forcing himself to calm down, Bran entered the green vision once more.
He needed answers.
The river of time shifted.
A new scene emerged.
A peaceful riverbank surrounded by flowers and birdsong.
Standing before a small gathering, an elderly man dressed in the robes of a High Septon smiled warmly at a handsome young couple gazing lovingly into one another's eyes.
"In the sight of the Seven," the old man proclaimed,
"I hereby join Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark in holy matrimony."
Bran froze.
His eyes widened.
He watched the ceremony unfold before him.
There was no mistaking it.
No misunderstanding.
No ambiguity.
He was witnessing Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen's wedding with his own eyes.
"It's true..."
Bran stood speechless.
Everything suddenly made sense.
Jon Snow wasn't a bastard.
He was legitimate.
The lawful son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.
A bright light flashed in Bran's eyes.
At last, he understood the truth.
A truth capable of shaking the entire realm.
"Jon..."
he whispered to himself.
"Jon is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne."
His gaze sharpened.
"Not Daenerys."
The revelation echoed through his mind like thunder.
If this truth became known, it would overturn everything.
The legitimacy of kings.
The future of the Seven Kingdoms.
Even Daenerys Targaryen's claim to the throne itself.
Bran stared into the fading vision, his heart unable to settle.
The greatest secret in Westeros had finally been revealed.
Jon Snow was Aegon Targaryen, the true firstborn heir of House Targaryen.
(Note: Next chapter drops tomorrow, and the following one will be on Friday. I'm away on a two-day study trip, well no one's going to study though...)