Maelon, Great Conqueror of the Western Isles (Third Person POV)

In a span of a dozen years, Maelon had created a nation worthy of its status as the nation of Dragonlords.

However the state was thrown in a state of crisis when Maelon was found dead in his tent during one of his campaigns.

For thousands of years there had been peace in the isles of the west, with all of its people living in harmony with one another.

Everything was peaceful and the people were happy, their stomachs full and their families content.

Until something happened. A discovery of such a great magnitude that it changed everything.

Dragons. Great winged-beasts who nested quietly in volcanoes, feasting on animals who wandered close by.

The primitive people were fascinated by these beasts, staring with awe at such fearsome animals. They were deemed sacred, and society welcomed the Dragons with open arms. This awe soon turned to worship, with temples erected upon the volcanoes to study the creatures.

Until one day, they discovered something. Dragons burned. A study taken too far, saw a temple burnt, and its priests roasted alive. The people now only saw horror in Dragons and anger soon rose. Followed by war. Humans and Dragons fought for dominion of the isles, and thousands perished in flames. The war tore apart the islands as clans were formed. With the land at war, the people turned to these clans for protection and leadership, establishing the first seeds of the system which would rule for centuries after.

Dragons roamed freely throughout the isles, leaving behind destruction in their wake. The skies turned dark, with a slight reddish hue to it, as if the seasons itself were at war. Even the sea itself seemed to be in a rage, with never-ending sea storms devastating the lands, resulting in food shortages and wrecked infrastructure. Nature, it seemed, was fighting its own war.

This era of horror lasted for decades, its effects destroying the region that was once a place of harmony and piece. Until one day, something amazing happened. Something, that again, changed everything. Maelon, Son of Kuzon, the third son of a chieftain, tamed a dragon.

And yet, his actions, whilst great, were looked upon as horrific by many. Dragons were hated throughout almost all of the clans, and to kill one was considered the greatest victory. Even his father, Kuzon had declared his son as monstrous for his deeds. Maelon was forever exiled from his tribe, and he was named a traitor. He quickly fled his home and looked toward the mountains for guidance.

Legends say that as he looked upon the sky, he saw visions of great death and bloodshed, visions of a black crown, and a throne of ash. These visions, they say, led him to forge a path to be ruler of all the isles, as conqueror. And so he treaded upon the journey, a journey that would result in war and death.

He journeyed north, through the forests and the seas, the hills and the rivers, and the mountains and valleys, to an island from whereupon he could start his newfound ambition. But of course he did not go alone, he brought along his great beast, the dragon, Balerion, named after an ancient figure from old legends. After months of travel, he finally touched upon his destination, an isle surrounded by hills and a long river, perfect for fortification. Awing the inhabitants with his dragons, he spent years mastering the art of the sword, and training his dragon, and raising an army. Until one day, he seized the island, and took the daughter of the chieftain as consort. Pleased enough to be kin to a dragon lord, the local chieftain bowed down to him. And thereupon, started his conquests.

For decades he waged war, staining the isles yet again with bloodshed, but covering the air with ash and smoke. All who did not bow were put to the sword or burnt to a crisp. Humans and Dragons alike fell, to the great conqueror. But it was not without cost. His wife had long been slain by traitors in his camp, and his son. His heir, upon which he had loved with everything his heart could muster, was dead at the hands of angered dragons, his body fallen into the sea as his head was torn from its resting place. Maelon himself had slain the beast, tearing out its limbs like a madman, his pupils deranged and his mouth stained crimson.

Until one day, he found himself against someone from his early days. His father, Kuzon. Despite the years, his father had still not changed and his hatred for his son had only grown more fervently. His brothers lay dead in piles in front of him, blackened by dragon fire, their faces no longer visible, they were but toasted meat now, their spears no match for a dragon. His armies lay waste to his former home, looting and pillaging the settlement, he had given orders for the place to be wiped off the map, a sign that he was a different person now. As his father stood before him, hatred and disgust etched upon his weathered face, Maelon only whispered but a word.

'Dracarys….'

And Balerion opened his black leathery wings, released its mouth, and blasted never-ending black flames all over its foes, leaving nothing but burnt meat and charred bones in its wake. Amongst the screaming, Maelon only stared unblinkingly at the carnage that he had caused.

By this point he had remarried, taking another of his vassal's daughter's to wife, he fathered eight children, six sons and two daughters, to continue his legacy. But in his mind, they were not the same. Not the same as his firstborn heir, a true warrior he had been, fearless and a master of war. Now he had only one true kin, Balerion, the only constant thing in his life.

By this point, he had already fashioned his crown, a beautiful piece of art, it had been created from hardened dragon flame from his dragon, to forever show that the one who held it, was the true King of all Dragons and Men. His throne however was a different story. Fashioned from ash and searock, it was decorated with sharp pieces of iron. At the time of sunset and sunrise one would see that a crimson hue would cover the throne, as if to show that it took blood and ash to create the damned thing. Maelon detested it. He avoided seating himself upon it, instead choosing to march on war campaigns, the only skill he would ever excel at.

For three decades, Maelon ruled as Dragon-King, hated and worshipped by all, it seemed the visions that had shaped his life had come true, and he was the Great Conqueror of the Western Isles. He was found years later, dead in his war camp, his eyes lifeless, yet seemingly glaring at something in the dark. His finger though was pointed towards himself, and a mark was present on where his finger was directed. Blood stained his carpet, and his wine chalice was fallen, violet liquid spilling from its edge. His death was ruled as murder, but nothing was ever found. His dragon forever mourned, and his death sparked war yet again throughout the isles. It seemed his sons were disputing who was heir, and thousands flocked to each to curry favour.

The sky still streaked red, and the seas raged, and it seemed nothing had changed. But something had, and nothing would ever be the same.

To be honest, I'm not really sure where I was going with this chapter, I just felt that this should be updated.

To JC (Guest User):
Thanks for your ideas :)
I'm thinking that the Fire Nation is more of a mix between Old Valyria, Asshai (In terms of relation to Fire), the Ironborn (The Fire Navy is the strongest, and their technology is also the greatest, though as Technology isn't really a thing in aSoIaF (of course), it doesn't really fit in with any of the states/kingdoms.
The others, I haven't really given too much thought about since this focuses more on the isles of the Fire Nation, but thanks for the help.

To CMR Rosa:
I'll try my best, but this will be more of a maybe three-shot. I would love for someone else to do something like this though. Thanks for reviewing :D