As for why the iron throne never sent out more elite assassins, such as the "Faceless Men" of Braavos, Viserys only learned the truth after extensive investigation.
It wasn't that the iron throne hadn't considered it, but the price quoted by the House of Black and White in Braavos was incredibly high, enough to buy half of Westeros.
Behind this, it was said to be some kind of "guidance" or manifestation of the will of the mysterious God of Many Faces. The Faceless Men are not simple hired killers; their actions follow their own logic. Perhaps, in the eyes of the God of Many Faces, the "value" or "significance" of Viserys Targaryen's life was marked as extraordinarily high.
Therefore, putting aside whether the iron throne could afford the fee, even if Robert agreed, the Small Council would never pass it, as it would directly shatter the hard-won peace in Westeros. In the end, they could only continue sending assassins who offered better value for money.
Thus, although these seven years were spent "under someone else's roof," they passed in a strange balance. There was the fulfillment of growth, the comfort of familial affection, the budding of emotions, and the constant ringing of alarm bells and flashes of swords.
Viserys was like fine iron constantly being forged; his outward appearance became increasingly reserved and steady, while his inner strength grew more solid. He had almost become used to this rhythm, thinking it would continue this way, waiting for the arrival of the dragons in Braavos.
Recently, however, a sense of inexplicable anxiety began slowly disturbing his inner peace. This feeling wasn't intense, but it was persistent, like an invisible thread tied to his spirit, constantly pulling his mind eastward involuntarily.
Tonight, this anxiety materialized into a concrete dream.
Initially, it was heat, a heat he could feel even with his current "Unburnt" talent.
Unimaginable heat waves swept in from all directions, and the air warped in the high temperature. He stood on black, cracked ground, his feet resting on scorching pumice. The sky was a sickly dark red, covered by thick clouds of volcanic ash, and only the occasional lightning tearing through the clouds and the magma erupting from the fissures illuminated this inferno.
Then he saw mountains. Not ordinary mountains, but fourteen colossal pillars connecting heaven and earth, constantly spewing fire and thick smoke. Magma, like the blood of the earth, surged out from fissures in the mountains, flowing windingly and incinerating everything in its path. The entire world was collapsing, burning, and roaring.
In the midst of this apocalyptic scene, a shadow blotted out the sky.
It rose from the most violent volcanic smoke, its size exceeding all of Viserys's understanding of "dragons." It did not have one neck, but three, each like a massive pillar supporting a palace, covered in dark golden, shimmering scales. The three heads lifted proudly, each the size of a warship. As their snouts opened and closed, they did not breathe fire, but rather a Golden Annihilation Ray that seemed capable of devouring human souls.
What was more suffocating was that the area around it was not empty. Over a dozen terrifying, majestic dragons of various sizes circled in the air slightly below, and figures sat upon their backs.
These people wore Valyrian Armor shimmering with magical light, and helmets of various designs symbolizing different families. They held long spears or valyrian steel swords. They were Dragonlords, the rulers of the Valyrian Freehold during its zenith. They were riding their respective dragons, besieging the Three-Headed Behemoth.
Dragonflame intertwined, tearing through the sky. Dragon roars mixed with the booming sound of volcanic eruptions, playing a symphony of the apocalypse. It was then that he realized this must be the scene of the Doom of Valyria.
The three-headed dragon faced the multitude without losing ground. Its middle head shot out a fan-shaped Golden Annihilation Ray, repelling a blue dragon that attempted a sneak attack. Its left head bit down on the neck of another silver dragon, tearing the silver dragon's head clean off. The right head remained high, vigilantly watching its surroundings, its golden dragon eyes coldly observing the siege.
Amidst this utterly chaotic dragon fight, the middle head of the Three-Headed Behemoth suddenly twisted a slight angle without warning. Its giant, molten-gold eyes pierced through the fog of the dream, staring directly at Viserys standing on the black scorched earth.
That gaze was indescribably complex, carrying ancient indifference and desolation, along with a hint of scrutiny. In just an instant, Viserys felt as if struck by lightning, his soul seemingly pierced through by that look.
However, in the next moment, the nearest fire peak erupted in an earth-shattering explosion. Countless magma and ash shot into the sky, forming a wave of destruction that swept toward the dragons and Dragonlords in the air, also engulfing Viserys's figure on the ground.
Viserys bolted upright in bed, cold sweat soaking his linen pajamas, his heart still pounding frantically in his chest. Outside the window, the sky was faintly lit. The damp morning air of Braavos drifted through the window, contrasting sharply with the heat of the dream. But those molten-gold dragon eyes and the apocalyptic scene were still clearly imprinted in his mind.
This was the first time he had a dream about dragons. He had never imagined a Dragon Dream could be so real and so oppressive. Only now could he truly empathize with Daenerys, who had also experienced Dragon Dreams in the original storyline.
He remained silent for a long time until his heart rate calmed down, then he summoned a servant and ordered him to fetch Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Willem Darry, and Ser Jonothor Darry. He decided to explore the Ruins of Valyria. Although it was dangerous, he felt there must be something very important to him there. This was the first time he had such a strong intuition since transmigrating.
When the three high officials rushed to his bedroom, they saw Viserys's pale face and eyes that were unusually bright due to emotional agitation.
"I had a dream," Viserys said directly, without beating around the bush. He described everything in the dream in detail, including the apocalyptic scene of the Fourteen Flames erupting, the sky-blotting three-headed dragon, and the Dragonlords and their dragons besieging it—except for the final penetrating gaze.
His narration was steady, but the slightly strained tone and the tremor in his eyes made the three experienced knights realize that something extraordinary was happening.
Ser Arthur pondered, "Valyria, the Fourteen Flames, Dragonlords battling... This scene truly resembles Valyria before the Doom, as described in ancient texts. Your Grace, this dream..."
"It is not just a dream," Viserys interrupted, his tone resolute. "This is a prophecy, or rather, guidance."
"Just like when something guided me to find those dragon eggs on Dragonstone. Now, it is guiding me to Valyria." However, this time he wasn't lying; he genuinely had this feeling.
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