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The Song Of Valyria
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Chapter One: Red Sails to a Distant Land
It had been seven dawns a-sea since her leave from the trading ports of Volantis.
She remembered the time unwarmheartedly, though the shadow she adorned like a foul burden did not seem to value it as such. She remembered trading her coin purse with a mariner by the docks, remembered worrying her lip and testing her blade when he had counted each stray honor despite her pleading to hurry, biting the coin for authenticity before returning it to the delicate velvet purse in which it had come from. She remembered boarding one of the smaller vessels - The Lusty Corsair - and looking back upon the towering stone watch-towers of the city, spying the distant mansions curling in rows beneath them as grey forms that faded among the shadows of nightfall, when the sun settled across the western mountains.
Despite the blood beneath the golden glamour, the city truly was beautiful: a true relic to Old Valyria with its palaces, temples and cloisters with two halves of a long bridge connecting it to the mainland. The entirety of the hold lay guarded by walls of ashen dragon-stone. Yet, she could not help the wave of uncertainty that befell her that night when gazing upon it. The memories it held were no longer glistening, more like jewels riddled in cracks.
The mariner had stowed her away among his crates of fine wares, kegs of ale and barrels fringed in fishtails, while he in turn collected his men from the shores, readying the sails and retrieving the anchor. The great, white bells of the temples sung out to the higher and lower tiers of the city. Then, there was an unfamiliar stirring within the dozing heart, in the quiet warrens and ivy-enmeshed courtyards, from the many inn-keeps and brothels to the guardhouse.
She remembered the distant flares of the awakened that nipped at the skies and heard the many sounds of men, elephant and tiger answering the call, as doves fled from their rookeries. She and her guide had fallen to the barracks and waited for the calls to die. The ship had left soon after, setting out across the western shores of Valyria to the Summer Sea, only to settle after a long journey in Elyria, were the exports were less fancy, but prices just as rich.
From where she sat along the stern of the sea-vessel, Elyria seemed no different from her birthplace: a little less extravagant, the towers not as pointed, the temples not as shimmering in the sun, the mansions made of sandstone instead of quarried rock, but there seemed to be less beggars on the streets, none scurrying across the stalls in search of stale mutton or flee-ridden fruit at least, and the people seemed to be fine company, even offering her shade from the sun.
"It's cooler here," Velleya whispered, tugging the sides of her shawl back to see the water beneath the Lusty Corsair more clearly. "I feel like I can breathe without having to taste sweat, and the air no longer smells of perfume and rotten flowers, though the fish smell is more pungent here. Still, it's nice, not… terrible. I like it."
"I'm surprised you hadn't ventured far from this ship, dear one, you truly are missing the splendors that is a foreign land," said the warlock, examining the curious oddities he had gathered from the market stalls using a rather peculiar loupe. He brought a ruby ring to his eye, tilting the loupe in a manner of directions while it reflected the light, before curling back his blue lip and flicking it overboard, scrunching his hooked nose when he heard the minor shatter of the water. "Should have known. Glass."
"How did you happen upon these treasures when our gold is so little?" she asked, dangling her feet over the ship's side, gently petting the writhering lump over her legs. "Did you ask it of your Red God, or use your conjuring? Or do you warlocks worship some other god? I've yet to wonder."
"I cannot speak for all warlocks, my dear, that would be ill-advised and would lead to many a-lie that I cannot be bothered rectifying should we ever cross one. Should you ask such inventive questions, either. But, to sate your curiosity, aye, I follow R'hllor, and no, he does not intervene in that way. And before you ask, a man can follow many gods, not just one."
"Then you used your tricks? Magic."
"No, dear one. Something far better."
Velleya observed the warlock curiously, stiffening a little when he dared to step over to her, his lilac robe of many symbols stirring through the wind. He knelt by her side, tilted her chin with a bony finger and with his other hand, tugged her shawl loose.
"What are you doing?" she asked, shuffling away until his free hand caught her hip, steadying her.
"Your shawl is creased," said he, thinning the ripples from the rose-tinted fabric. He combed the stray curls from the braids in her hair and touched the iron rings tasseling the ends. Once satisfied, he returned the shawl to the tip of her brow, covering her pale skin in shadows. "There we go, all done."
"You still haven't told me how you got so many trinkets, Leviar."
The warlock frowned, smoothing his hand along his left arm, only to tug from the long sleeve a curiously-wrought silver necklace.
Velleya's eyes widened. She reached up to her neck, only to find her chest bare of the ornament. She reached out again and he let her claim it, grasping her hand, laying the necklace across her palm and curling her fingers into her chest. "Misdirection. Always follow one's hands, dear one, never just the eyes. The eyes are clear to motive, aye it is true, but the hands are the ones that do the stealing."
She stared at the necklace a moment, idly following the links of the chain with her fingers. "And you took the jewels from the market."
He shrugged, returning to full height and hooking his hands behind his back. "Taken, aye, a term I prefer. Neither a lie nor truly the truth, or merely a part of the truth. Never did like the word 'steal', it suggests that my hands happened upon something that belonged to another, and perhaps it did, once, a year or so ago, but I can tell you now, no merchant in this city has sold something that did not once belong to another. It's the wheel of the world, young one. Someday, the clothes on your back or the rings in your hair will wind up in the hands of a thief, and that thief will sell it for bread, and while he gets fat from the loaf, the buyer will then sell that on to a higher bidder and so forth. Quite a quaint little operation, if I do say so myself. Ah, the wonders of the world."
"And yet you use parlour tricks instead of your own magic, like a common thief?"
"Why waste such valuable energy taking something that can just as easily… slip into my pockets unnoticed, hmm? Exactly, maybe save your questions for when we sail to Meereen. Wouldn't want all of the world's mysteries to spoil."
The young lady gave a small nod, sensing the subtle shift in her lap. She looked down upon the bundle of woollen fabric, the creature within raising the fabric over her inner thigh, while its tail flicked from side to side, folding and flattening it over her knee. Sensing the low rumble of its under-belly, she quietly slipped her hand under the sack and stroked its head, feeling the rough texture of its tiny scales pricking her fingers.
"How is he?"
The tiny head of the reptilian peeked from the shroud and followed her fingers, nuzzling her palm. His eyes were silver like the moon, brighter than any star she had seen in the sky. Yet his muzzle was long and stocky, layered in grey and white scales. Her mouth pressed thin in worry. "He's restless. Has been since we left the harbour. I'm not sure I know what I'm doing. I cannot tell if he is hungry, thirsty or needs attention. And I cannot ask a farmer how he settles his animals because he is anything but a normal animal."
"Aye, my knowledge is lacking in that department as well," Leviar said, clutching his chin and staring narrowly at the planks beneath his boots. "Surely the Mother of Dragons can give us some insight into what to do with the wee thing."
The lady's frown deepened immeasurably, creasing her soft, pale face. She tied her necklace loosely around her neck and glanced into the water beneath the bow, as did her tiny dragon. He chirped at the shimmer of fish scales lurking under the surface, his tail flicking back and forth far swifter than usual. Yet all she seemed to notice was how the sunlight made dazzling reflections on the water, ripples stretching the shimmers far. Her mind lay on the thought of the Queen of Meereen and their meet.
She imagined her tiny dragon taken from her and wondered how far the depths of his screams would reach in the night before killing her. "She could take him from me, this dragon queen. If the rumours are true and she already has three fully grown then what is to prevent her from taking a fourth? She has the ruling will of a queen, it is said, her temper as harsh as the fires her dragons harbour, her greed perhaps immeasurably so. I could find a boat and sail away, far away, a place where slavers could never touch me, a place where I'd be free, never having to cater to a lord or triarch. I could raise him."
"If such a place existed and you did manage to live away from the kingdoms, how would you care for him? What would you do when he begins demanding larger variants of meat? Kills a child instead of a goat? Hmm? What will you do when his wings reach the width of the land and he takes flight to distant shores, or, hah, even across the entire brine itself, lass? Only raising the awareness of the many that another ancient creature does indeed breathe in this world! Tell me, dear one, for I truly find myself curious."
"I still don't know why you're with me," she whispered, suddenly wary, tugging her small bundle a little nearer to her chest. "My master is dead. His house will have been taken by another family, his estate sold, his sigil burned and riches forgotten. I am free."
"Free, may be true, but lest us forget who it was who got us out of that trouble, hmm? Who's coin purse you traded, who's life you owe and who helped bring that hatchling into existence. You need me, and like it or not, you will not last without my guidance. You said it yourself, you have never been anywhere else but Volantis. You knew the streets, the inn-keeps, the taverns, but you never set foot outside that city," he hissed, his eyes strange and shadowed when he stepped closer.
"You and I both know that staying with me is the only chance you have, and that hatchling is a conundrum we cannot protect alone. He looks to you for safety. Aye, leaving your side may very well kill him, and I will not let either of you out of my sight while the slavers hound our steps like a scarab to flesh. Do I make myself clear?"
The warlock bent to her level; his eyes met hers, the colour reminding her of a scarab beetle alit in flame. Shadows loured them, high cheek bones hollowed his face, and with only a shroud to hide the scars on his scalp, for a brief moment, he truly did seem fearsome.
The corner's of her mouth twitched, nearly a smile, though there was no joy behind it. "Yes, ser."
He nodded, standing straight and casting his gaze out the remainder of the harbour. "Enough unpleasantness. I shall speak to the mariner, we might leave this harbour before night falls upon us. Perhaps you should peruse the wares before we part? I can see it in your eyes, you yearn to leave this ship."
Velleya shook her head. "The next city I will. Leaving this place might not be the right idea, not now at least."
"As you wish. Do mind yourself. I expect to see you below deck when the sun crests the towers, understood?"
"I will be here, for how long depends on if you return."
The warlock regarded her for a moment, long enough for her to sense the cogs turning in his mind, trying it would seem to figure her out. He fled the edge of the ship, gliding over the ramp towards the pier. He shifted through the crowds of peasants, fishermen and sailors with such fluency that a trained mercenary from Braavos may have had trouble following his lead. It was not long before he disappeared entirely in the sea of leather rags and fluorescent cloths, and she was left alone, though not completely.
Velleya returned to stroking the tiny dragon in her lap, feeling the crisp coldness of his scales and the light thin web of his skin when he trapped her hand beneath his wing, nipping lightly at her nail with his fang. She smiled despite herself, curling her finger in to tickle his neck. Her future remained more uncertain than it ever had been to her. Born to a family of slavers, she never had the true worry of not knowing her own fate, for it had always been declared to her by another. Being the subject of change had her senses catching every little sound, from the crewman swabbing the deck to the gulls circling the nets. Her hand often grazed the end of her thigh if any dared to near her, the sheathe bound to it seeming to thrum, demanding her touch. But in the end she quietly lifted her dragon up in her arms and returned to the lower decks, claiming a silent corner away from the merry chants of above, until the night came for them.
And when night did come, and when the Lusty Corsair drifted silently among the waves, clattering along the pier every half-hour - uncurling the rope and stretching the tethers, she awoke in her cabin to the accumulation of whispers, words deeply accented and said in a voice sounding ancient, wise, but not derived from the common tongue. From her rope-hung bed she spied a figure drawn to the odd shadows, thrown by the weak glow of a distant lantern hooked onto an oaken beam, along with faded banners and great dull cloth. Queer marks were engraved onto the floorboards, black etchings and decorated whale bones creating a vivid star-shaped rune, held within two rings. There was a man in the centre, seen only by the arch of his cowl and the crossing of his knees. She knew who it was, the warlock whom sat over a dormant brazier with a shaky script clutched between bony fingers. She observed how Lavier ghosted his hand over the iron, breathing warmth into the night. And by the dead wood, small lilac flames flickered from the depths until the entire brazier ignited in fire, lighting a jagged scar along his jawline - a fresh cut, still weeping.
Velleya clutched her robe to her, biting deep into the cotton and staring into the depths of the fire, seeing figures dancing within. The warlock shifted through the ashes with a poker, searching for a vision that would make sense to him, though his brows only grew more taut, his blue lips thinning into a scowl.
Yet Velleya saw more than he, spying the formation of an ancient city rising into existence - twisted spires jutting like scorched bones into the sky, shining when the great, waxy moon rose into the deep velvet of the night, whilst winged creatures glided through the glassless panes. The image faded, replaced by a man playing a gold-and-silver chased flute on a riverboat, pausing only for a moment to observe the sea. After that, a final vision surfaced, one of a dagger embedded into the map of Essos, dug into the landmark of Quarth. The blade was coated in blood, dripping from the hilt.
Once the colours begun to fade, the visions disappeared; the fire vanquished. The warlock plucked the bones from the rune, dropped them into a satchel and tied it to his waist. He then dipped his hands into a bucket and cleansed the charcoal marks from the floor before leaving the cabin, not to return until the morn.
She fell asleep that night dreaming of fire.
By dawn they had sailed for Meereen. Only in the city were dragons ruled would Velleya find her answers, where the truth of her destiny would unfold.
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