(122-01-01) A Dream of Dragons

This dream feels utterly real at first. There is a rustling of wings outside the novice dormitory and a sensation like waking. The texture of the blanket is rough and familiar. Something passes across the moon, momentarily leaving the dorm in the perfect darkness before eyes are open, before the moonlight returns bathing everything in soft creamy light and shadow.

Bryn blinks his eyes open, looking immediately to the window. He sits up, glancing around to be sure nobody was walking between him and the window before looking back outside.

No one is there, but this time, the form of a second Drake can be seen briefly as it crosses the moon. They look to be headed towards the starry Sept.

Normally, Bryn can be incredibly quiet when he wants to be. Right now? He doesn't care. He bounds from the bed, bare feet slapping on the floor as he runs over to the window, climbing up if he has to, and leans out to get a better look.

There are two of them. In the moonlight, all is monochrome, but these two circle each other, breathing flickers of flame, glinting black off the scales of one and green off the others. They are utterly beautiful, about the size of destriers, their necks weaving gracefully like the necks of swans as they hiss at each other. It is unclear if it is the prelude to a fight or a mating as they circle each other over Sept and Citadel.

Bryn says softly, breathlessly, "Amazing…" He watches in fascination, barely even blinking as he watches the aerial dance, not wanting to miss one moment of it.

The Dragons sore higher, and as they do, two objects drop, one on the roof of the Citadel Library and the other on the roof of the Sept. The object falling on the Library Roof looks to be some old tome, pages fluttering loose to litter the roof and courtyard. The object hitting the Sept roof was likely a chest the size of a helmed man's head, but it shatters on the stonework and a wrapped bundle falls free to slide away out of sight.

To stay and see the dragons or see what the pages are? In the end, Bryn decides the latter, figuring the dragons won't disappear in the time it takes him to run outside. He runs towards the courtyard as fast as his legs will carry him, once again not caring about sound, just trying to get out to see the pages and regain sight of the dragons.

In the time it takes to run outside, they are so high up as to be barely visible, their forms twined together as they begin to plummet. There is time top watch them in a long slow fall into the river near the Citadal bridge. The waters swallow them.

Bryn bends his neck back, looking up into the near-darkness to watch them, running out towards the bridge as he realizes where they're falling, momentarily forgetting the pages. When they disappear into the water, he stands there watching a moment to see if they resurface.

There are bubbles and steam for a bit, but no dragons. Pages flutter down to be whirled away down the Honeywine to the Sea.

Bryn blinks as he sees the pages, only then thinking of them again, and turns to run back to the courtyard and start collecting as many as he can before they end up in the river, glancing at each page as he does.

The page start crumbling as soon as they are picked up, but it is possible to get a glimpse of beautiful drawing of plants and scraps of writing in old Valarian in a feathery hand. The book must be old, old, old. The writer's hand is very distinctive and here in there in the marginalia are doodles of Dragons. The pages crumble too fast to read, even for someone completely fluent, but a distinct impression remains of the illuminator's style.

Gradually, the Dreamer becomes aware he is standing on the citadal side of the bridge clutching at nothing.

Bryn blinks a few times, looking down at his empty hands and then looking around the courtyard, looking for the pages still that may not have crumbled away.

It is night at the Citadel and the Dreamer is awake.

Bryn blinks again, but as soon as it clicks that he was dreaming he runs back inside. This time, he's sure to be quiet, so as not to wake anybody, but he pulls some parchment and chalk from his table and writes down the words he can remember.

The pictures turn out to be more durable, but there is one clear sentence that looks right. It was on a page with a strange and intricate red flower. in the margin was a doodle of a dragon rearing up.


Dhraegon's butt can be seen sticking out from under some bushes. he appears to be rooting around in there.

Bryn comes into the garden, looking around a moment and frowning until he spots that butt. Giggling a little, he runs over, "Dhraegon! Are you busy?"

The butt wiggles a little, "Got it!" The large Prince wriggles out of the bush, hair disheveled and a massive slug in his hand, "I was checking my traps!"

Bryn blinks, but then says, "You trap slugs? Nice. Most people don't know how useful they are, but their slime is good for healing small cuts and warts." Then he asks, in an abrupt change of topic, "Do you read High Valyrian?"

Dhraegon offers the slug to Bryn, "Would you like this one? I catch plenty." He nods, "I do, but don't tell people, okay? Did you want me to teach you to sing some?"

Bryn smiles and nods, and says, "Thanks." He takes the slug, sticking it into one of his many pockets and then wiping off his hand. Then he nods and says, "Alright, I won't tell anybody. No… well, I'd like to learn, but I need something translated, please." He pulls out the parchment and hands it to Dhraegon.

Dhraegon nods, "I could give you proper lessons if you like later." He wipes his own hands on his filthy hose and takes the parchment, "Did you find this at the Citadel? It says, "In the Season of Whispers, the Dragon Root blooms."

Bryn shakes his head and says, "I saw it in a dream. I was going to tell Archmaester Thane, he knows the most about dreams and stuff, but I think he's out of the Citadel or something. I couldn't find him, anyway." He frowns, "Don't think I've heard of Dragon Root before… and what's the Season of Whispers?"

Dhraegon shakes his head. I don't think it's a Westeroi plant…. Essos perhaps? Did you want me to see if I had anything on it up in my room? Season of Whispers, Season of Whispers. That…. sounds familiar. Like something out of Childhood…"

Bryn nods quickly and says, "Yes please! I can look it up at the Citadel, though, if it's too much trouble." Then he blinks, "Is it maybe some Targaryen bedtime story?"

Dhraegon stands open mouthed and blank faced longer than a reasonable person would find comfortable. Then he attempts to sing. The words are hesitant and in High Valarian. He has to pause often to search out a line. The tune, if there was one is impossible to pick out of his wandering inflections. It is more like a poem badly resisted by a poorly rehearsed child than a song, really. Still he does wind his way through it. There, that's what it was from. Season of Whispers, Season of Scampering, Season of wandering, Season of Flames, Season of Ashes. It's an old song… someone used to sing to me. I think. The Season of Whispers is where is starts, Dreams and whispered Councils, the soft sound of an egg cracking, lovers kisses…. I'm not sure I even have the words right. It's very old, I think, all inflection and alliteration instead of rhymes and really hard to turn into sensible common."

Bryn smiles, "It's a song?" He nods then and says, "That should be enough to help me find it… if it's written down, it's probably in the Citadel library somewhere. Thank you."

Dhraegon nods, "It's all poetical language, but a simple enough tune." He studies Bryn, "Was this a Dream, dream or a… special Dream. You've the blood for it. Just be careful. Visions are not always what they seem."

Bryn is quiet a moment and then says, "A special dream, I think… because, I don't know High Valyrian, except a few words. It wasn't those words. And I've never heard of Dragon Root or the Season of Whispers before today. So, how could I dream it if it was just a normal dream?"

Dhraegon smiles a gentle smiles and says, "See? Your blood runs true. I don't have those sorts of dreams, but I wonder if it's like me never having wanted an Egg of my own. I…. like things quiet and predictable."

Bryn smiles again and says, "And I always did, even if I knew I never would get one. I got to touch one, once, though!"

Dhraegon laughs softly, "That is as close as I want to get. At least you have the dreams if not the dragon."

Bryn smiles and says, "Yeah." Then he says, "I have to get back to the Citadel, but thanks for the help! I'll let you know if I find out anything interesting."

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