The Lost Emperor

by House Blackfyre

With a successful expedition to the forbidden lands of Old Valyria, dragons have returned to the world accompanied by the resurgence of powerful magic. The Targaryens are not the only faction that seeks to harness the eldritch powers for their own ends. In the third century of Aegon's dynasty their reign and very existence will be threatened as it has never been before.

14. Gaemon 'The Glorious'

Author's Note:

If you are interested in the artwork that has been completed for this story then I recommend reading this chapter on Ao3.

120 Years Before the Conquest

Gaemon Targaryen

Despite the wool lining his armor and gloves, the sealskin cloak that served as a repellent of moisture and the heat that emanated from Balerion's scales, Gaemon still felt half frozen. He wore a wrap of thick wool to protect his face and his armored helm had been traded for a bearskin hat with flaps to protect his ears. His gloves were so thick that he could barely feel the chains of his dragon's saddle that his fingers were wrapped around.

A rumble of displeasure vibrated throughout Balerion's form as they were buffeted by the high winds. The headwind had slowed their return to Dragonstone significantly and if Balerion had been a younger dragon then Gaemon may have feared being blown entirely off course. Yet soon enough came the sight of pale green tendrils rising from the five great fires that his father had ordered to be constructed along the coastline of their isle. This winter had been on for three years now and the Pyromancers remained occupied ensuring that port did not freeze over entirely. Then came the howling scream of the gale wrapping itself around the Dragonmount. Above a blood moon peered through a cloud strewn sky. The light it cast was nearly swallowed by the black stone fortress that Gaemon now called home.

He bid Balerion to land east of the Fortress which sat nestled at the base of the smoking mountain. Their dragons had begun to tunnel within the volcanic rock, forming a small chain of caverns that were miles from the isle's port. Dyvim Tvar, Dragon Master of House Targaryen was present when the pair landed along with his son and four slaves. The tall Dragon Master was bundled in enough furs that he looked akin to some incredibly tall Ibbense. Born of a Valyrian mother and an ebon-skinned sailor from the Summer Isles, Dyvim was as well accustomed to the cold as Gaemon.

"Dyvim, have you been here all night?" Gaemon asked as he slid clumsily from Balerion's saddle to the wooden platform that the two slaves had pushed against the dragon's side. He ignored the hand offered and descended the steps of the platform unaided.

"I knew that you would return no matter how late the hour, my lord." Dyvim answered. His voice had a deep baritone.

Gaemon grinned and patted the Dragon Master's shoulder. "For that I am grateful." He watched the four slaves deftly move around the black and red dragon, carefully removing the saddle from Balerion's bulk. His dragon was the youngest of their five but being a hatchling born from champion's stock ensured that he was also the most temperamental of the lot. For Balerion, the saddle meant flight and battle and the wyrm grew agitated if it remained on him longer than necessary. It was difficult enough to unsaddle an impatient dragon let alone in the dark and without aid.

Fortunately, Dyvim ran an efficient and organized operation and was always well prepared. Dragonstone was larger than any of their properties in Valyria but a far cry from the freehold in terms of elegance. Wooden huts served as replacements for the infrastructure that his ancestors had sung from the stones more than a century ago. They did not have the coin to procure Stone singers from the Freehold and so inferior Andal builders had been made use. Stone ramps were being hewn into landscape to make the dragon caves more accessible and within a year, a nursery would be constructed should any of their eggs hatch.

"You need not linger, my lord. Balerion will be cared for and fed soon enough." Dyvim said. Gaemon hesitated. Dyvim had been with their family for more than two decades and there was not another dragon master in all of the Freehold that Gaemon would rather have in his service but even with Dyvim's experience, Balerion could prove unpredictable. Just over half a year ago, Balerion had taken offense to a boy who had dared to stare the dragon in the eyes. By the time the black dragon had been pulled off the child, his body had been scoured across the stones. That should not happen again. "Your noble wife implored me to ensure that you would not linger longer than necessary. Though the words that she used were less than polite."

"Daenys grows ever more demanding the larger her belly grows." Gaemon smiled. If his little sister had her way then he would spend the entire winter holed up in the castle with their children and father. She had protested fiercely at his departure this far into her pregnancy. He had not wanted to go himself but knew that the piracte menace would not end without a show of strength.

"Best not anger her then." Dyvim replied. His face was a placid brown mask but his eyes betrayed his humor. The Dragon Master had been in service to their family longer than Daenys had been alive. He was well aware of the fierce temperament that his sister's sweet face belied.

Gaemon nodded. "I see your wisdom, Dragon Master."

"Dysim, bring the lord his mount and escort him to the castle." Dyvim told his son. The boy rushed to follow his father's command. He was the youngest of his father's three children. Dyvim's daughters had returned to the sea to crew the Summer Isles's elegant Goldenheart ships and now only Dysim remained to learn his father's trade.

Gaemon did not have to wait long for the ten-year-old to return with their steeds. The horses whickered nervously at the sight of Balerion but the slaves had already divested the dragon of his saddle and were now wheeling over a massive barrel of fish and sea crabs. The scent of seared fish soon filled the air. Gaemon dipped his head to Dyvim and the Dragon Master answered with bow.

"Did you kill many men today, my lord?" Dysim asked as they ascended the steep, rocky hill that led the way to the fortress.

Gaemon looked to the boy. His skin was several shades lighter than his father, though much darker than Gaemon's own. He had curly hair of silver gold and eyes that looked golden in the light of the torch that he held. "What have you heard?"

Dysim shifted nervously under Gaemon's gaze. "I…" He faltered and then spoke softly. "I heard that you were going to war, my lord."

Gaemon laughed. "You heard wrong, boy. War with these Andal warlords, no matter how trivial is forbidden. To do otherwise would be treason. Do you know the punishment for treason, Dysim?"

"Death, my lord." Dysim answered quickly. The wind tore at their cloaks as if in agreement.

Gaemon nodded. "Precisely."

The boy grew quiet but the confusion on his face betrayed his question before he could voice it. "War implies something much greater. What we have with our neighboring Andals is a disagreement. Nothing more and nothing less."

"Did you solve that disagreement, my lord?" Dysim asked.

"No. I doubt the Andals will ever be comfortable with our presence here. They raised quite the protest a hundred years ago when this fortress was first constructed and the presence of one of the forty so close to their homeland makes even the fiercest warlord nervous." Dragonstone loomed in the distance. The green light that danced above the black walls made the grotesques sung into the stone come to life in the shadows. Gaemon was impressed by the boy's wits. Dyvim should be proud. "Even the Andals are smart enough to realize that a direct conflict with House Targaryen and by extension the Freehold is not in their best interest. Instead, they use forces that cannot be as easily traced back to them."

Dysim's brow furrowed. "But if you were to question who their employers were then would it not prove their guilt?"

"It may. Most men will admit to anything under the threat of death or torture but you should never trust the word of a pirate or a sellsword, not to mention that their words aren't worth much to begin with. The Andal who fashions himself as the Storm King could merely deny association and as far as the Freehold is concerned an order to harass merchants who make stay in our port is hardly a cause for war. "

Dysim seemed to understand. "The pirates, you killed them?"

"A few." Gaemon answered. A man had fallen from the top of the mast to the deck when Balerion set fire to his ship's sail. Another two who had charged Balerion with spears when they landed in the pirates's hidden cove off the coast of Tarth were quickly dispatched. Half a dozen died when Lord Velayron's men stormed the cove and a big fool was short a head courtesy of Blackfyre when he tried rushing Gaemon. "More survived to live and raid another day."

"I did not expect you to be in the habit of mercy, my lord." Dysim replied.

Gaemon scoffed. "Mercy? By Visagar, no. I reminded the pirates of the error of conspiring against my family. Those that were smart will live to repay the Storm King, his ships and ports in kind." The Pirates commanded a not insignificant number of twenty longboats. Number enough to properly harass the storm coast until the Storm King bestirred himself to amass his own fleet. He leaned closer to Dysim. "A lesson, Dysim. Sometimes it is better not to kill your enemy. When you swing your sword with the intent to kill then you may only due so once. Instead, if your enemy perpetually fears that sword stroke then he is yours to use."

The Pyromancers's sorcery created a steep gradient of heat that melted snowfall in a one-hundred-foot radius surrounding the fortress. Gaemon was sweating profusely under his cloak and armor by the time they passed under the sphinx-shaped portcullis. A bleary eyed stable-hand came to deal with their horses and Gaemon bid Dysim a farewell before he made his way to the armory. A weariness descended upon him after his armor and Blackfyre had been divested. Between the preparation of a small fleet of ships with Lord Velayron, their sail to Tarth and the handling of the Pirates, Gaemon had hardly slept for the past week. Eager to retire to his bed and hold his pregnant sister-wife, Gaemon moved swiftly through the deserted courtyard to the mouth of the great Stone Drum Tower. He was surprised to see his father standing in the atrium of the tower.

At the age of three and fifty, Aenar's hair had faded from silver-gold to grey, which he wore short. His beard was well groomed, his nose crooked from a break suffered in his youth. Lord Aenar's eyes were a steely blue that were alert and pensive despite the hour. He wore his white sleeping robes and leaned on a cane of weirwood banded by runic steel rings.

"Father?" Gaemon questioned. Lord Aenar had never been a man of great cheer but now his displeasure was plain upon his face. That is not true. Father used to smile often when mother was still alive. "Is something amiss?"

"Walk with me. We can discuss this in my solar."

"Daenys?" Gaemon questioned. A touch of fear gripped his heart.

Aenar's face softened momentarily and he shook his head. "She is sleeping. Aegon is with her and I think it best to not trouble her until the morning." Lord Aenar moved quickly despite his cane. The handicap was the result of a barbed arrow that had severely torn the muscles in his father's thigh. In the Freehold, there were more than a few sorcerers capable of healing his father's leg entirely but none would make the journey to this backwater and his father had forbidden Gaemon and Daenys from traveling any further east than Pentos.

They walked in silence up a narrow flight of spiraling steps, down the gallery, through a tunnel that spanned the inner wall and across a grooved arched stone bridge that spanned a fifty foot gorge to the Sea Wyrm Tower. No longer able to duel, Lord Aenar frequently walked all corners of the Fortress in defiance of a more sedentary lifestyle. Daenys had been unsuccessful in convincing their father to move his solar closer to the ground level. Instead, it sat on the eighth floor of the wyrm shaped tower.

The spiraling stair presented a challenge to Aenar as his left leg was significantly less stable than his right. Gaemon's offer of assistance rewarded him with a not so gentle jab from his father's cane. "Stubborn old man."

"This old man remains undefeated. Do not think this leg of mine has made me a cripple entirely, if need be I can still humble my son in the training yard." Aenar boasted.

Gaemon shook his head. "It is a shame that the arrow did not take some of your pride. We both know that you have enough for us both." The words drew a grunt from his father which may have been a laugh or a grunt of exertion. Eventually, they made it to his father's solar. While Aenar collapsed into his chair with as much grace as he could muster, Gaemon poured forth two tall cups of wine. He handed his father a cup from which the lord drank deeply. Gaemon himself sipped from the glass and savored the taste of Arbor Gold. At least, these savages can produce quality wine.

Lord Aenar was a prolific collector and an even more prolific reader. His solar reflected his tastes. Bookshelves filled with heavy tomes and scrolls sealed in leather sheaths lined the walls. There was a set of armor from the lands of Yi Ti in one corner, a large golden, silver-stringed harp in an another and a heavy Myrish mirror that had belonged to Gaemon's mother leaned against the wall. On a desk in the far corner sat an obsidian candle. It was a tall, spiral rod of sharp, dark-green onyx with white Valyrian runes that ran down its length. They shimmered in the candle light. In Valyria, elaborate tapestries and paintings had lined the walls of their family's library. Much of their collection had been auctioned and sold along with their properties in order to settle their debts and fund their relocation to Dragonstone. Now, only a painting of Gaemon's mother served as the solar's adornment.

It had been commissioned during his mother's youth and the woman that stared back at Gaemon was of an age with him. Her lips were colored dark and curved in a smirk that held secrets. Dark Sister hung from her hip, the ruby encased in its pommel was polished to a gleam. She wore a dress of black scale while an azure cape flowed from her shoulders. On her head sat a circlet of dragonsteel which marked her a champion of the great games. Pale flame danced eternally between the fingers of her left hand, palm cupped upwards. Daenys owed much of her beauty to their mother though their mother's albinism was evident by her shoulder length bone white hair and eyes the color of freshly spilled blood.

Gaemon was seated across from his father and noted the look of longing when his father glanced at the portrait of his late wife. Lady Elaena had been six years their father's elder; a cousin promised to marry her brother. Their union had caused a great scandal in their family but now their extended family, save for distant cousins who neither bore their family name nor their dragons, were gone. With exception of Gaemon's great uncle, Aelyx, who belonged to the order of the Fire Mages, the entirety of House Targaryen's legacy, history and destiny layed within this bleak fortress.

"Tell me that you were discreet in the handling of the Pirates?" Aenar's sharp eyes bored into Gaemon. As a boy, he would have squirmed under the gaze but Gaemon had long learned to answer his father's inquiries with strength.

"I am no fool, father. I am well aware of the risks and other than the Pirates and Lord Velayron's men no one has knowledge that we were present in the Stormlands." A night time raid, a black dragon… the nearby village would whisper tales but nothing would come of the rumors. Of that, Gaemon was sure.

Aenar's jaw shifted. He swirled the wine in his glass. "It may have been a mistake to use Balerion beyond our waters."

"If Balerion had not been present the amount of men that needed to be raised in order to deal with this pirate nuisance would have started a war." The pirate cove had been well defended, the men martial enough to present a challenge and a fleet of the size needed to carry enough men to subdue the pirates without a dragon as an escort would not have as easy of a time escaping Storm's End's notice.

"And the pirates? What assurances do you have that they will act in terms of our will? Durradon bought them once, why can they not be bought once again?"

Gaemon met his father's gaze. "Raid or starve, obey the dragon or be burned, the pirates are well aware of their options and the consequences of making the wrong choice. As for assurances other than the fear of god, well… the pirates were led by two brothers and once I made our demands and expectations clear, the pair was given knives to demonstrate their loyalty. Rest assured, the surviving brother and his men understand our position clearly." Gaemon did have to respect Durradon's ingenuity. Weakening your enemies by methods of proxy not easily traced to yourself was a chief principle in a dragonlord's playbook. A motive behind the piracy would have been difficult to detect as so the exact location of the pirate's base if were not for Daenys's considerable talent in the art of scrying by way of the obsidian candles.

The words did not seem to placate Aenar's concerns as Gaemon had hoped. His father's scowl did not lessen, and eyes turned pensive.

"What is the matter, father? You have never been one to shy away from conflict." Gaemon questioned.

Aenar's answer was fiercer than Gaemon had expected. "I will shy away from any conflict that draws the ire of the Senate." The Lord of Dragonstone dipped his head as he massaged his temples.

Gaemon frowned. His father's discomfort was troubling. "Surely any on the Senate would understand that we are merely defending ourselves. This isle remains the western most outpost of the Freehold, so regardless of their concerns we are still in the right by defending the interests of our homeland."

"If only it were so simple." Aenar stood and walked to the large western facing window. A storm still raged beyond their walls. He stared a hundred miles in the distance as he spoke. "Every hundred years or so there is a group of upstart Princes that advocate the return for the days of conquest. This fortress is a result of such a movement. Dragonstone was meant to be a staging ground for the great western invasion. Your great grandfather was one of the chief architects of the planning before the entire notion was swiftly abandoned."

A return to the near mythical time of conquest was often a dream held by the youngest of the Dragon Princes and Princesses. In those days, Valyria was ruled by divination, powerful sorcery and a devotion to the Fourteen Great Old Ones. An ambitious house could gain holdings as large as a kingdom, riches beyond compare and most importantly power enough to make their rivals tremble. When their move to Dragonstone had been announced, Gaemon had hoped it was the first step in his father's plan to regain their family's prominence and perhaps propel them further than they had ever been before. Instead, all of Valyria saw their move as an act of absolute cowardice. Friends that Gaemon had known all his life, spat at his feet rather than wish him farewell. For Daenys it had been easier, she had been too young to fully experience the reality of court but to Gaemon, the sudden derision by his peers was a wound that still festered.

"I had to make my case before a conclave of senators that our intentions were exactly opposite of conquest. A blood oath was demanded, and the price of breaking said oath is death to not just to me but to all of us." Aenar turned to his son as he spoke, his eyes were full of an emotion that Gaemon could not identify. "Understand this Gaemon, if the Senate concludes that we have overstepped the bounds of our agreement then they will kill Daenys and the children as well."

Gaemon's jaw clenched. "Surely they cannot be so rash. An extermination of one of the forty without just cause would do to more to destabilize the Freehold than any involvement we would have on this continent."

Aenar paced the room. "Would it? Perhaps the traditionalists would protest on our behalf, but we would be long dead for their sermons to have any impact. Westeros represents opportunity, wealth and change. I am sure a wealth of second sons would enjoy making a name for themselves in a conquest that would barely last a summer, but it is what comes after said conquest that the Senate fears. Realistically what empire can span an ocean? If the other houses truly understood how trivial it would be taking these lands that the Andals stole, there might be a civil war for the rights to conquer..."

Gaemon understood the point his father was making. "Destroying us would make clear the hardline stance of Senate."

"Precisely. Charging our family with grievous crime of being too ambitious to the point of recklessness would be something the state's lawmen would argue. And the beauty of it is that it speaks nothing of the prophecy."

The prophecy. The word resounded in Gaemon's head. Every child of the forty knew of it though none could claim knowledge of the exact wording nor who foretold it or even when. Yet it was spoken… no whispered that the true reason for the ruling Senate's refusal to consider settling in the lands of the Sunset was due to said prophecy. A prophecy that spoke of Doom coming to their empire from the gold of the west. In the days of the old, when Old Ghis still breathed, every great battle had been planned by masters of strategy and those strong in the gift of foresight. It had been necessary then when the dragons were not as numerous but when the enemies of the Freehold were virtually vanquished, the gift was often used in the conflicts between Dragonlords. The practice of Farsight had been formally outlawed, and its teachings banned but it was difficult to enforce such a ruling when the gift skipped randomly through the generations. To suggest that the Senate was at its core hypocritical for its adherence to such a prophecy and yet they doled out severe punishments for any who dared a glimpse of times yet to be concluded was heretical.

"Then, we will be even more cautious, father. The Velayrons can serve as a proxy for any of our more sensitive dealings with the Andals. Lord Velayron and his sons are men that can be trusted." In fact, Lord Velayron reminded Gaemon very much of his father. Thoughtful yet not too timid to seize opportunity when need be.

Lord Aenar sighed heavily. "I fear it is too late for our actions to have entirely escaped their notice. They are sending a Primarch."

Gaemon's breath hitched. A Primarch, here?! "When did you learn of their coming? And what time table do we have to prepare?" The legendary warriors of the State. As exalted as they were secretive. Powerful in sorcery and even rumored to be products of the flesh forges themselves. His dislike of the situation grew even fiercer.

"Tonight. By way of the candle and by prepare, I do hope you mean prepare a feast. Any signs of preparations for a resistance would give the Primarch the pretext needed to destroy us all. We will play the grateful hosts of such an esteemed dignitary of the Freehold that has decided to pay us a visit. We will refuse him nothing. You will not draw Blackfyre unless the Primarch specifically requests a duel. Do you understand?" The steel in Aenar's gaze grew overwhelming.

"Yes, father." A sickening thought came upon him. "House Artaris could be behind this fiasco." Technically all of the forty were their rivals but if Gaemon could chose to destroy any House root and stem then it would be none other than Artaris. Mother… He pushed the thought away.

Aenar shrugged. "I would not put it past them to try it though I doubt Garaelyx has the influence needed to sway a Primarch. This order comes from somewhere or someone much more powerful."

His father laid a hand on Gaemon's shoulder. "I need not remind you to do everything in your power to obscure your sister's ability while the Primarch is present. We will go as far as exchanging her servants with Driftmark's while the Primarch is present. For her safety, he cannot learn of her dreams."

Gaemon nodded. Daenys had only been nine when her nightmares first started. He could only hold his sister and worry when she inevitably came to his bed in tears. The dreams were intense enough that Daenys slept next to him every night years before they were wed. Far away from the magic that emanated from the Fourteen Flames, Daenys's terrible dreams had lessened in frequency and coherence, but she was undoubtedly a Farseer. And a powerful one at that. Primarch or not, Blackfyre would bathe in the blood of anyone who tried to take his little sister.

"I know what you are thinking. Abandon those thoughts, Gaemon. The Primarch will travel here and find nothing. He may threaten us but will have no cause to act. " His father's voice reduced in volume so that he spoke just above a whisper. "Their time of reckoning is coming, my son. Rest assured our family will endure." There was a hint of a smile on his father's face. The briefest flash of emotion, and the meaning behind it made Gaemon shiver.

Their talk continued until Gaemon could scarcely keep his eyes open. Tendrils of sunlight filtered through the curtains of his bedchamber when he finally entered. Gaemon checked upon his son whose crib had been moved from the nursery to beside their bed. Aegon slept peacefully, innocent and unaware of the dangers of the coming days. He kissed the toddler's forehead.

Daenys stirred as he slid into bed behind her. She wore a thin silken sleeping robe that felt wonderous against his bare skin. "Gaemon?" She questioned. Her voice was heavy with sleep. He curled closer still so that his chest was flush with her back and his arm went under her pillow. The other hand he lay on her rounded belly.

"Ssh, go back to sleep little one." His sister was tiny, barely five feet three inches tall and slender still despite nearly nine months of pregnancy.

Daenys squirmed to face him. "You were out all night." He could see her worry even with his eyes closed. Her hands roved across his chest and abdomen to check for new wounds.

"Neither sword nor arrow touched me, little sister." Gaemon gently grabbed her wrist and kissed her fingertips. "Father and I merely got carried away with our discussion and lost the time."

"Father stayed awake this late as well?" If he were not so tired then Gaemon would have laughed at the sudden motherly tone that inhabited his sister's voice. For so long, it had been just the three of them and Daenys had taken it upon herself to become the matriarch of their family. "Is something wrong?"

Gaemon knew that he needed to tell her but he did not want her to worry this early. He pulled her closer and claimed her lips. They parted for his tongue. "Sleep with me." He pleaded. And they did.

The intervening months provided the most eventful period on the isles since their move. Daenys gave birth to their beautiful daughter as she had foreseen. They named her Elaena after their late mother. Gaemon and Aenar flew frequently between Driftmark and Cracklaw Point. Both Velyraon and Celtigar were merchant born and founded their houses sometime before the planned western campaign had been abandoned. As fellow kinsmen of Valyria, they were the only of their neighbors to truly welcome House Targaryen with open arms. House Velayron even possessed Targaryen blood.

By the time the third moon had passed since word came of the Primarch's impending arrival, winter had come to an abrupt end. Such a sudden shift in weather, from cold storms to warm, sunny days perplexed even their pyromancers who were skilled in predicting the weather and changing of the seasons. Can a Primarch control the weather? Gaemon wondered.

The entire household gathered to greet the Primarch at port. Lord Velayron, his lady wife and three sons were dressed in grey and seagreen. Lord Celtigar and his daughters were clad in bright pink and yellow with crimson crabs embroidered upon their sleeves. Gaemon found the latter family's style choice garish but their fashion was in tune with the latest garb worn by nobility in Pentos.

Fifty warriors of the three houses lined the streets leading from the docks. Their helms were polished to a sheen and white ribbons hung below the tip of their spears. A sign of peace. Each warrior held a crescent shield and was clad either in scale or chainmail with slanting conical helms. The streets of the village extending from the docks had been swept clean and the stones polished. Their smallfolk had taken care to wear their finest garments and the island's bathhouse had seen great business in the week leading up to this day.

For the servants and slaves that had followed them west, they understood the necessity of the preparations. For the Andal born, many faces were confused yet clearly impressed by the ceremony.

Gaemon watched this all from a steep knoll that was just beyond the village. Beside him stood his father and sister-wife. Dark circles gathered under Lord Aenar's eyes and Gaemon knew that his father endured another night without rest. In contrast, Daenys looked more beautiful than ever. Her wide, tourmaline colored eyes were filled with determination. Atop her silver hair sat a crystal spider-webbed hairnet from where a single gemstone of amethyst hung, carved into a shape of tear drop and resting upon forehead. Daenys was skilled in neither sword, nor spear, nor bow, yet she wore an ornate armored dress of black scale. The collar ran high on her slim neck and the shoulder plates ended in a point. An azure cloak hung from iron forged dragon head clasps pinned to each shoulder.

Both Gaemon and Aenar were dressed in armor as well. Blackfyre hung from Gaemon's hip while the slim blade of Dark Sister sat on his father's sword belt, the ruby embedded in its flame shaped pommel glimmered. Since the birth of Valyria, dragons had been their nation's greatest weapon and at times it's last line of defense. For the privileged few who held mastery over the beasts that had built their civilization, the capability to defend said nation when called upon was a duty absolutely expected. Old or young, male or female, it did not matter. A dragon was the living embodiment of fire and so should its rider be.

Dyvim and Dysim had stirred all five of their dragons and the scales of the majestic beasts cast a multitude of colors in the light of the warm spring sun. Dyvim and his son wore ornate red robes trimmed with black. Golden scroll work lined their sleeves. The pyromancers gathered just beyond the Dragon Master and his son in hooded dark robes.

Lord Aenar lifted the Myrish spyglass to his eye and gazed out over the bay. His breath hitched. "That is an Imrryin battleship." Gaemon's eyes widened. "Truly?" He asked his father.

Aenar passed the spyglass to his son. Sure enough, Gaemon could see that his father was correct. A massive ship with an onyx hull and bright crimson sails powered through the waters. Three of Lord Velayron's ships had positioned themselves to escort the ornate ship and the fifty oar war galleys were absolutely dwarfed. Imrryr the Dreaming City, sister to the capital of Valyria and the rumored birth place of Valyria's navy. Where politics and its undercurrent of schemes and betrayal defined life in the capital, the elites of Imrryr styled themselves as philosophers, those who studied the songs of the earth, the songs of the water, and the song of ice and of fire. Named the dreaming city in derision by the Dragonlords for the Imrryns feasted upon drugs that left them in waking dreamlike states. Their claim was that the mind was at its most creative state when one dreamed. And on occasion, the dreaming men could produce wonders beyond what the world had ever known.

The wind was not entirely at the ships back and the Velayron vessels propelled themselves with oars. Gaemon could discern no oar holes on the black vessel's sleek sides and yet the ship moved at speed with its escort. Raenar, their chief alchemist must have heard Lord Aenar's exclaim for the pyromancer rushed to Gaemon's side with the eagerness of a small child. "My lord, may I have a glance." Gaemon gave the alchemist the spyglass.

"Truly beautiful." Raenar exclaimed. "I never had the chance to see the ships until now. Do you see that column of steam rising from the vessel?" He pointed and then answered without waiting for a response. "The ships are powered by the substance, what many call wildfire, they can travel longer and faster than any other ship and can even operate without the wind." Gaemon grabbed the spyglass and once again scanned the vessel. Gargoyles, sphinxes, manticores and other grotesques were carved into the vessel's hull. Affixed to the prow of the vessel was battering ram shaped into a gaping dragon's maw. On the deck of the ship, he spied several scorpions, catapults and ranks of men clutching dragonbone longbows. He lowered the spyglass and grimaced.

Daenys squeezed his hand. A look of worry was on her face. "This Primarch has clearly spared no expense. Should we be worried?"

Gaemon shook his head. "He is meaning to intimidate us, nothing more." In initial meetings between dragonlords it was customary to make open displays of your power and wealth. Your warriors, slaves and most importantly dragons were meant to be showcased. A dragonlord who did not adhere to this custom was either dismissing one as a threat entirely or thought to be obscuring the force he meant to use against one at a later date. Yet this force is far more than I thought he would bring. How can a single man wield so much power? That single Imrryn ship was worth more than their entire castle.

There came a sudden thunderous cry from the sky and then their dragons were roaring their answer. Gaemon grabbed his sister and kissed her forehead. "We will be fine." He tweaked her nose. "Stay behind me."

Daenys's lips thinned in annoyance. "You have the smallest dragon. If anyone should greet the Primarch first, it should be me."

Gaemon cocked a brow. "Oh, and what games have you and your dragon won?" Daenys flushed and then grudgingly accepted his logic. Balerion may have been the youngest of their dragons but he was of an impeccable breed and the only of their dragons to have won in the great games. His egg alone had cost their family a fortune.

"Mount now you two. Gaemon, you take point." Aenar ordered. Flamefang lowered its belly to the floor so Lord Aenar could take his place in its saddle. Dysim rushed to help strap in the Lord of Dragonstone into the saddle. Dyvim helped Daenys assume her seat on Starwind while Gaemon mounted Balerion unaided. Lord Aenar and Daenys sat on the crest of their dragon's back where the bones of the wing met the body, it was the most stable and well protected region on a dragon. Gaemon sat just behind the crown of Balerion's horns on the base of the dragon's skull. From here he would have the most control of his beast and a nearly unobscured vision of what lay below though at the cost of a much greater exposure.

Gaemon unfurled his spiked whip from his belt and snapped it in the air. "Soves!" He commanded. Eager to meet the new challenger, Balerion rose from the ground with a single snap of his wings. The black dragon was fifteen years old and proving to have an incredible growth rate. Balerion was more than forty-five feet long from nose to tail. The other four dragons were far larger and compared to Balerion's sudden flight they all but lumbered into the air.

The thunder of dragons moved with great speed towards the onyx battleship. From the clouds, two dragons came to meet them. Gaemon pulled hard on Balerion's reins and his dragon abandoned its challenging rise towards the two dragons. Balerion was absolutely fearless but it also meant his dragon lacked good sense. The green dragon was of a size with Balerion with a rider in brilliant red armor on its back, but the other dragon was something else entirely. It must be well older than two centuries. Gaemon thought with some dismay. Flamefang, Morghul and Starwind were all over a century and a half and yet the three old dragons were dwarfed by the Primarch's monstrosity. Serrated steel plate littered with glowing Valyrian scroll work covered the dragon's back and underbelly. Hexagonal layered plating protected the beast's long neck and led to a spiked great helm that protected a head large enough to swallow a whale. Each flap of the dragon's wings created a sound akin to an approaching hurricane. Great shafts of light spilled from the dragon's massive blue wings. He could feel the power of each wing stroke reverberate through his bones.

Now I understand. If this Primarch should find any cause to destroy our house he need not return to Essos for reinforcements, he could do so now. Indeed, the Primarch's beast was so large that it could snap Balerion in half with a single bite. Gaemon played out the scenario in his head. Flamefang was the largest and eldest of their dragons but far past its prime and half blind to the boot. If the dragon could last long enough to grapple the Primarch's dragon then perhaps Daenys and Starwind could drag the beast into the sea. Dragons by convention were excellent swimmers but the armor the dragon wore must weigh several tons. Balerion would need to engage the smaller green dragon. Gaemon was sure in his dragon's prowess but was doubtful that he or Balerion would survive the conflict. With luck their two rider-less dragons could return to Dragonstone unscathed… There is still the question of that ship. Could Velayron's men resist them? Would they even fight if only my children remained?

With great hesitation, Gaemon bid Balerion to match the Primarch's altitude. The Primarch was seated just behind the crown of his dragon's six fourteen feet long black horns. A saddle of dark leather provided a seat above the metal of his dragon's helm. It was hard to discern the size of the man, so dwarfed was he by his mount. Balerion had to maintain a considerable distance so as not to be buffeted by the turbulence created from the massive dragon's wings. The Primarch lifted his arm and made a fist. It is time to land.

Balerion moved to the front of the thunder and they made a gradual descent towards the Dragonmont. He bid his dragon to land atop a crag that overlooked the basin from where their dragons had begun to hollow out a cave system in the mountain side. The green dragon landed next, so close to Balerion that the black dragon snapped at its wings. The green dragon answered with a tongue of bright flame. Before the fight could escalate, Gaemon snapped his whip and pulled Balerion's reins. The rider of the green dragon needed no such crude methods, a hidden brand suddenly glowed upon the green dragon's chest and between its horns. The dragon roared its fury but obeyed its rider's wordless command and stilled. Scarlet eyes stared at Balerion with hate.

The earth shook with the landing of the other five. Flamefang and Starwind landed just below Balerion while their riderless dragons landed at the edge of the basin. A wide berth was given for the Primarch's dragon, for on the ground the beast looked even more formidable.

Only the richest of families could afford to armor a dragon, let alone one of that one's size. Dragonfire burned so hot that most steel would melt in combat between two dragons of age for war. Only steel worked with specific spells by the finest smiths the world had to offer would suffice. So much raw material and craftsmanship were needed that the expense was almost unjustifiable, unless one meant to make a spectacle of their wealth and power. And what a spectacle it is. The steel was an ashen black with a blue sheen. Spikes as long as Gaemon's arm jutted from the beast's neck, discouraging any attacker from exploiting one of the few vulnerabilities of a dragon. The beast's white tail slapped against the cliff face. A hail of stone and dirt followed. It was near three hundred feet long, tip to tail, as large as a floating glacier in the Shivering Sea.

The dragon released a breath of steam and turned its long neck to stare down at all the lesser beasts gathered around it. Flamefang, Silverwind and their riderless dragons bowed in submission. Balerion hissed and its blood red spines bristled. Gaemon tensed and laid a hand on Balerion's horn. "No Balerion." The dragon growled but finally bowed its head as well. Now satisfied, the great beast lowered its head for its rider. Gaemon dismounted and met the green dragon's rider first.

The dragonlord's crimson armor gleamed in the sunlight. A white and golden sash was tied around her waist, a grey cloak fluttered from behind her back. The helm that she wore had bat like ears that protruded from either side and two slits were carved into its slanted face. They met between their looming dragons. Gaemon could see the green beast's dagger like tail snap in distaste.

"You have an irritable beast." The dragonlord stated. She pulled off her helm. Her eyes were a bright jade, her hair silver-gold with the sides of her head shaved bald. Runes were tattooed on the sides of her head and her braid was beaded with black amethysts.

"I could say the same." Gaemon answered. Casual apology was a sign of weakness amongst dragonlords.

His words drew a faint smile to the woman's lips. They bowed their heads in a sign of mutual respect. "I am Faora of House Belaerys." Gaemon nodded. House Belaerys was one of the most powerful and of the most renowned houses in the Freehold.

"I dueled your relative Aelor in the games." He and Balerion had destroyed Aelor in the games. Few events in his life had filled Gaemon with as much pride as seeing a member of such an exalted house brought low. To Belaerys, a house such as Targaryen were little better than the merchant lords.

"He is a cousin of distant relation." Faora replied. Her jade colored eyes roved over Gaemon, they lingered for a moment on Blackfyre.

"The spoils of my victory. Named after the color of my dragon's flame." He did not dare lay a hand on the hilt, less the move be interpreted as a threat.

"Creative." Faora said dryly. Gaemon frowned. "Come, the Primarch awaits." They walked down the steep twisting stairs carved into the rock to reach the basin. High walls of bare rock rose on either side of the stair, briefly obscuring his vision. Gaemon misliked what he saw when the basin came back into view.

The great armored beast still loomed over his sister and father who had dismounted from their dragons. Daenys stood close to Lord Aenar's left side so their father would not need to lean on his cane. Opposite of them stood a warrior in black armor. Even from a distance, Gaemon could see the characteristic ripples of Dragonsteel. It seemed to drink in the light that touched it. Golden red glyphs were in laid into the surface of the steel. Serpents, sphinxes, griffins, wyrms, krakens and dragons danced with every movement. Arcane runes were folded into the plate, dormant now but the sight of them held the promise of terrible power. The armor seemed molded to the Primarch's form as if the man had grown a second layer of metallic skin. What a large form it was, for the Primarch stood over seven feet tall. Dragon wings jutted from his helm and atop it sat a black dragon coiled to strike. His pauldrons were spiked. A scarlet and plum sash was tied around his waist, the same colored cloak was pinned to his shoulder and a dragonbone hilted sword was strapped across his back.

"Gaemon the Glorious!" His helm warped his voice, deepening it into a raspy growl that seemed to add power to each syllable of his words. "Champion of the three hundred and second great game. The hope and promise of his house which has fallen into such destitution. How it must wound you to waste your best years in this backwater."

Gaemon moved to the other side of his father, opposite of Daenys. He watched as Faora took her place beside the Primarch. The smile on his face was forced. "Not at all, Primarch. Admittedly, I thought my father had lost his sense when his decision was made clear to my sister and me but we find our time here has been a welcome reprieve from the chaos at court."

Faora flashed her teeth. It may have been a smile but with the great dragon looming behind them, Gaemon considered every action these two made a thinly veiled threat. "It is peaceful here, you would say?" The dragonlord asked.

It was Daenys who answered. "Yes. Do you not smell how clear the air is here? Many would find it too rustic but I believe this is the perfect location to raise our children."

"The clear air I do not doubt but peace?" The Primarch boomed. "We have heard otherwise. It would be best for us all if you spoke with honesty."

"The protest of the Andal warlords and a few pirate attacks are hardly of note. Other than a few minor incidents, our days here have been peaceful." Lord Aenar spoke. His face was a placid mask that betrayed no emotion.

The eyes inside the helm glared at Lord Aenar. "How long should that peace last I wonder?" His head turned to face Gaemon. "You do not seem the type of man to be content with…" The Primarch knelt and dirt slipped between his armored fingers. "Dirt and little else."

Gaemon shrugged, noncommittal. "My loyalty to the Freehold and respect of the Senate's decrees transcends any ambition I may or may not harbor. The same can be said of my wife and most of all my father. We are well aware of the boundaries that the Senate has set, and you will find that we have abided by their decrees to the letter."

Only once Dyvim, their slaves and a group that journeyed with the Primarch began to see to their dragons and the two visiting dragonlords had been offered rights of hospitality, did the Primarch remove his helm. His flesh was the color of bleached bone. The Primarch's eyes were glowing bloodstones with vertical cat-like pupils. A curtain of moonlight spilled past his ear, tracing a strong, square jaw. He had all the malevolent beauty that those overflowing with dragonblood often possessed." Gaemon was surprised at just how young he was, he could not have been older than five and thirty. "Show us this home you have made in the land of the Andals and we shall judge whether you have truly abided by the Senate's wishes." He looked to Daenys then and Gaemon misliked how the Primarch stared at his sister. "Lady Targaryen, you may lead the way."

Daenys moved without pause to the side of the Primarch. Their difference in height was almost comical. "Of course, Primarch. Right this way please." Dyvim had ensured a group of horses were ready well in advanced of the Primarch's arrival.

"Please call me Aurion. We all will be becoming much better acquainted in these coming days. I believe it is appropriate."

Their ride to the castle was not without Aurion's banter. "So, tell me, Gaemon I presume, in your dealings with these pirates have you encountered the men who can wear other's skins?" Seeing Gaemon's confused look, Aurion continued. "Surely you know of the children's stories. Of the men who can all upon the beasts of the woods to fight for them and the demon trees that demand their sacrifices? Of the Greenseers who live for a thousand years and can make a man tear out his eyes with a single look?"

"Other than Andals who bathe as often as the beasts in the woods and whose smell can make a man want to tear his nose out, no I have not. "

Aurion seemed amused. "It is shame. Though perhaps we are too far south. The tales grow queerer, the further North one travels."

"You mean the Starks." Came Aenar's voice. Gaemon knew that his father misliked riding horses for the ride often upset his leg. If Lord Aenar was in pain, he hid it well.

"Have you come upon any of them?" Faora asked.

"No, their kingdom is more than a thousand miles North of here." Daenys spoke. His little wife was still too close to Primarch Aurion for Gaemon to truly be comfortable. Faora rode next to Aenar while Gaemon brought up the rear.

"That is truly a shame." Aurion answered. The Andals mad, mass exodus to the lands of Sunset after their disastrous wars with the Rhoynar was taught to every student of Valyria. And all knew of the Winter Kings, who had alone countered their conquests.

Daenys had arranged a feast that had cost them a fortune. While these lands in the west were teaming with fresh game: a wide selection of fish, sea crabs, and aurochs, their distance from the main shipping lines of the Jade Sea meant that a steep premium was placed almost all spices that were common place in their homeland. Imports from Dorne made up for the spices that they could either not acquire but ensuring that the Primarch did not take offense to bland meals had put a sizable dent in their coffers. Lord Celtigar, a man born of enterprising merchants immediately noticed the extravagance of the meal as evidenced by the surprised look he sent Lord Aenar's way.

Lords Velayron and Celtigar knew little of what to make of the two new dragonlords. In the Freehold, it was not uncommon for merchant lords to hold audience with sorcerer princes and dragonlords for in Valyria's transition to its long reigning peace, trade had become the new conquest. Yet still, the Lords understood the privilege of being in such distinguished company and they and their families did their bests to pay the visitors the proper respect. They are practically groveling. Gaemon observed. Not that he blamed them. For all the apprehension that his family shared it was likely nothing in comparison to what these minor lords felt. It was frowned upon though not unheard of, for merchants who displeased their patron dragonlords to disappear without a trace.

For all the courtesies Velayron and Celtigar heaped on the dragonlords, the two barely seemed to acknowledge them. Gaemon noted the attention Faora devoted to him. Her sharp green eyes seemed to study his every movement as if by looking, yet barely speaking she could discern everything there was to know about him. To his dismay, Aurion seemed entirely focused upon Daenys. His sister-wife handled the Primarch's inquisition with grace but Gaemon could see the strain his questions put upon her. Daenys's dreams had made it difficult for her to connect with others and his sister-wife was truly only comfortable conversing with Gaemon and their father. The Primarch's looming figure and piercing eyes certainly did not help.

"I have heard a rather interesting rumor about you, Lady Targaryen." Aurion said.

Daenys smiled uneasily. "I would love to hear what you have heard, Primarch."

Aurion's returning smile was anything but reassuring. "Schooling was quite difficult for you. Difficult enough that your father removed you from your studies and you never returned. What was the reason I wonder?"

Gaemon stiffened and he felt a rush of anger. Lord Aenar stepped on his foot before he could speak. "I am sure you are well aware of our family's history, Primarch Aurion. My daughter was quite young, and the trauma of the situation was too much for her at the time. Private tutoring was more appropriate."

Aurion threaded his long fingers. The two visiting dragonlords had seen fit to remove their armor for the feast and Aurion wore fine emerald robes with black embroidery and a golden sash while Faora was clad in a striking blue dress that showcased her athletic form. Despite his height, Aurion was built as thick as a castle wall. His stomach was flat and each movement he made seemed to carry a savage sort of grace.

"Losing a parent so young and in such a violent fashion can certainly be quite traumatic and yet Gaemon has seemed to adjust so well."

"I am six years Daenys's elder. My father and sister needed my strength and so I rose to the occasion, but I do not fault my sister for needing us in a time of crisis." He made an effort to keep his tone level. What is his point?

"Certainly, I am in agreement, though there was a rather curious nickname bestowed upon Lady Targaryen by her peers. The Dreamer. I believe. Yet you were certainly too young to ingest the drugs of Imrryr. What prompted such a moniker?"

"Night terrors." Lord Aenar spoke. "Fierce ones. Can you blame a young child who lost her mother?" His well-tempered mask briefly slipped, and the old lord's irritation was made plain.

The rest of their long table seemed to freeze. Velayron and Celtigars waited with bated breath. In addition to the lords, the warriors who had traveled with the Primarch were present. Noticing the lapse in conversation at the main table, conversation at the other tables withered until the Great Hall was as silent as a grave.

Aurion stroked his knuckles. The Primarch looked as amused as feline who had caught its prey and was now in the process of dismembering it. "There is no need for hostility, Lord Aenar. I am merely trying to wrap my head around the reasoning for your drastic exodus. A man practically begs the senate to upsell him a forgotten fortress in west, sells his entire estate, uproots his family's entire lives and moves to a backwater thousands of miles away from anything that matters, endures the ridicule of his peers and quite possibly ruins the reputation of his family… for what? Let us speak honestly, the move reeks of cowardice and if it were normal men then I would disregard all of you as cowards as the rest of court has done. Yet, we are not normal men. We are dragonkin. The need and ability to dominate is baked in our blood. One would think you had forgotten this but that was proven the contrary in how you welcomed us to your little isle. Our traditions still ring true in your family. So now I must wonder, if it is not cowardice that drives your motives then what is it?"

Aenar's jaw shifted. "Primarch-"

Aurion made a dismissive gesture. "Leave us! All of you." At once the Great Hall began to clear. Lord Velayron gave Gaemon a worried look but Gaemon waved him away. Only once the doors had been shut did the Primarch speak.

"Do you know a Primarch's primary purpose, Lord Aenar? To defend Valyria from threats both external and internal. The power of the dragonlords is fearsome, as is their ambition. An ambition that can sometimes threaten the stability of our society. I exist to end such threats. That is my purpose in life. To uncover threats previously unseen is my duty."

"Then I regret to inform you Primarch that your time can be better spent elsewhere. My family has largely divorced ourselves from the plots of court. How can we threaten the stability of the Freehold from what you have admitted is a backwater? Perhaps, a location closer to court would better serve your mission." Lord Aenar answered.

Gaemon shot to his feet when Aurion stroked Daenys's cheek. Faora mirrored his action and a dagger of dragonsteel was in her hand in an instant. "Control yourself, Lord Gaemon." The woman warned.

"Remove your hands from my wife." He cursed himself for not having Blackfyre on his person.

"Sit Gaemon, I am sure the Primarch means no threat." His father's voice was calm, but his eyes were as sharp as Faora's dagger.

Aurion laughed. A clear, deep note that reverberated through the empty hall. "Oh, the threat is plain, my lord. As a student of history, I am sure that you have read of the Days of Strife. When dragonlords went to war with one another. Kill the fathers and sons but their wives and daughters…my… can you imagine the humiliation of watching your sister-wife being used by your most hated enemy? Even for a daughter of Old Valyria, your sister is exquisite, Lord Gaemon. I think I would like to have her very much."

Gaemon would have leapt over the table if his father had not all but tackled him. Aurion rose from his seat and stood behind Daenys, his large hands rested on her shoulders. "Did you think you could hide her ability from me? I am a Primarch. I deal with threats both martial and arcane. To my eyes, your sister is practically glowing with potential. With the correct training, she could become a most formidable Farseer. Which makes me wonder why a lord with a daughter of such obvious ability would not use said ability against his enemies? Granted with a raw talent such as hers there is always the danger of madness, but to flee instead of even making an attempt?" He shook his head. "Unless there is already a plot in motion and this move is to give your family the necessary distance to avoid the political backlash."

"We have no plots Primarch, I decided to move my children, so they could grow old in peace." Lord Aenar's words were a desperate plea.

Aurion bid Daenys to stand and then he wrapped a hand around her throat. "You see, I almost want to believe you. The Senate has granted Faora and me free reign to make our judgement and yet I find the spilling of dragonlord blood so… wasteful. Yet your wife was murdered in cold blood, the killing was blatant and for years many of us have expected your retaliation and instead you have done the opposite. Your son however looks ready to sacrifice everything to save his sister-wife. I am left to wonder with such a weak father why has son his not killed him to save his family further embarrassment." Aurion's fiery eyes flickered over to Gaemon.

"You threaten my family over such speculation?! I have heard nothing that could justify any action against us."

"Faora, enlighten Lord Aenar and Lord Gaemon on what prompted our visit."

"Other than the Senate's fears that your ambition extends further than what they have authorized, there have been a number of assassinations of the Fourteen's Fire Mages. Several of those mages were associated with House Artaris." The dragonlord tilted her head. "Which brings your family into question. You do know that once one bears the cowl of a fire mage, they are considered politically neutral."

Gaemon snorted. "A dispute between Fire Mages and you suspect us? We are thousand miles away, explain how we would even begin to organize such plots." The elites of the Fire Mages of Old Valyria were sourced from the sons and daughters of the Forty families to add their potent bloodlines to better master the fires of the Fourteen Flames, the supreme source of Valyria's sorcery. Ideally, when one joined the order they were considered separate from their family's overarching goals and interests. However, that often wasn't the case. Disputes between the forty families could often include members of the family who belonged to the order. Trained in pyromancy, shadowbinding and the taming of the great fire wyrms that belonged to the lands of the long summer, a member of the exalted Fire Mages could be deciding factor in a dispute between two families of the Forty.

"Your family has not contributed a new initiate to the order in several decades. Another troubling detail." Faora flipped the knife in her deftly. Gaemon watched the blade spin through the air, hoping that she would err, and it would take a few of her fingers.

"My uncle, Aelyx is a most esteemed member of the order." Lord Aenar protested.

"And he is old. Expendable, if there is any possibility of crossfire." Aurion said sharply. His hand was still wrapped around Daenys's neck but the Primarch applied little pressure. Gaemon could sense his sister's fear but she tried to conceal her emotions as much as she was able. Her lips were set in a firm line and her eyes stared at Gaemon's, bidding him not to act rashly.

"Baseless speculation. You have no evidence!"

Aurion's brow cocked. "No evidence? Lord Aenar do you think me an amateur? Near a hundred years ago, a dragonsteel greatsword was commissioned from the dragon forges by your family and then said sword was sold by proxy to the Andal King by the name of Lannisters. I admit, your forebears hid the gold trail very well and it did take quite the effort to find the tomes detailing the transaction. Using the Velayrons as method of contact with the Andals was a nice touch but nothing escapes my eye. Did you think placing the gold with the Braavosi would be enough to hide it from a Primarch's eyes? Foolish. Gold enough to purchase an army, that is what the keyholder spit out on the rack, I wonder just where that gold went?"

"The Senate put quite a premium on this isle and fortress, as I am sure you are aware Primarch. My family was also not without its debts, my father was many things but a frugal man he was not. The collectors needed to be assured that our move was not an attempt to absolve ourselves of said debt." Gaemon wanted to question his father on what the Primarch spoke of. He was unaware of any it. A greatsword given to the Andals? The Braavosi Bank? Was mother aware of this? When was father planning to tell me? He kept his questions to himself. They needed to present a united front.

"I examined your family's finances, Lord Aenar before I came here. No stone was unturned. Your father may have been poor with numbers but the debts he held were not enough to raise an army. Where is the difference? Where did the rest of the gold go? Assassins, I think? Very skilled ones too if they can assassinate Fire Mages at their own temples." Aurion pressed.

"You are free to examine our coffers, Primarch. I assure you there is nothing amiss."

Aurion's smile was sinister. "Liar." The sound of Daenys's dress tearing echoed throughout the hall. Daenys cried out in shock. Gaemon saw red. His father wasn't able to stop him, but their struggle slowed him enough that he could only just turn to avoid the dagger aimed for his throat. He grunted as it dug into his shoulder. Aenar cried out as he hit his leg in his fall but Gaemon was too occupied to check on his father.

Reflexes save him from the foot aimed for his head though he nearly doubled over from the punch to his kidney. Faora's assault was lightning quick and she forced him backwards with every strike. Briefly, all Gaemon could do was defend his head and tighten his gut. Off Balance, he collided with a chair and the wood splintered. If she was stronger, Gaemon was sure he would have never recovered but the dragonlord erred when she tried pulling out the dagger embedded in his shoulder. A single fist to the side of her jaw collapsed the woman in an instant. He lifted her by her braid. "I will kill her."

Aurion did not look the least bit distressed. Instead, he pulled Daenys in his lap, a hand wrapped around her throat while the other held her hands behind her back. Daenys' torso was bared for all to see. She struggled but efforts may as well have been in vain against the Primarch's strength. "Go ahead. Faora, you disappoint me. You assured me that you could handle Lord Gaemon and yet you have failed. Failed your task and me."

"Let my sister free, Aurion! My threat is far from idle." Gaemon pressed, he yanked Faora's braid to emphasize his point. She emitted a dazed protest. Already, the side of her face was showing the beginnings of a bruise.

"Are you hard of hearing, Lord Gaemon? I said kill her and be done with it. I will have all the justification I need to destroy your family, but I think your sister-wife will come with me. Raw talent such as hers is so hard to find these days, it would be a shame to let her go to waste."

"Please Primarch, we have done nothing wrong." Lord Aenar struggled to find his footing. His cane was on the far side of the room.

"The time for more of your lies is over. Your son could not control his temper and has violated the rights of hospitality. Now, my Faora is at his mercy. I believe any would say that I am well in my rights to defend myself against such belligerence."

Gaemon wanted to call for their guards but Aurion's men outnumbered their fighting men nearly three to one. Lord Velayron was loyal but he had neither the marital strength nor the preparation to make any difference other than a sacrifice. Balerion. Gaemon wanted to call out but he did not dare call his dragon.

"We moved because of my dreams!" Daenys cried. "My visions, they were always terrible and frequent. That is why my father moved us. Not for any plot but because he was just as scared as me when I told him. Please believe us Primarch. I have a journal where I've recorded every dream that I could remember."

Aurion laughed. He patted Daenys's head. "Now, the truth comes out. You see if you had just told the truth from the beginning then we could have avoided this entire mess. No where is this book of yours?"

"It is in my solar. I could take you there." Aenar answered. He leaned heavily against the table.

"There is no need. We will read it here." Aurion called out and the doors to the Great Hall opened. To their surprise, Aurion's warriors marched in. The two were armored in red scale and carried large halberds with spiked tips at the end of the shaft. Gaemon could see no sign of their guards. He grimaced. "Escort Lord Aenar to his solar so he can retrieve a book for us." The guards roughly grabbed his father by the arm. "Let the lord grab his cane so he can walk with dignity. There is no need for us to be rude to our hosts." Almost as if were an afterthought, Aurion said, "Oh and gather Faora so she can be treated by the healer."

Gaemon stared hard at the warrior who approached him. He was without a weapon and if he gave Faora away then, so he would be without a hostage. Aurion noticed his hesitation. "Let her go, Gaemon. Your sister will be returned to you. I will also permit a healer to treat your shoulder. That wound does look deep."

Gaemon glanced at the bloody dagger on the floor before him. How I would like nothing more to plunge that blade into your fucking eye. He released Faora. The guard gathered the dazed dragonlord and made a move to grab the dagger off the floor.

"Leave it. Gaemon defeated her and now she has lost the right to the weapon."

The guard nodded, and the warriors left, following Lord Aenar with Faora held between them. "Do you expect me to thank you?" Gaemon asked when they were alone. He made no motion to grab the dagger.

Aurion shrugged. He whispered in Daenys's ear. "Go, run to your brother."

Gaemon grunted as his sister slammed into his chest. He could not help but glare at Aurion as silent sobs rocked through Daenys's slender form.

Their silence was interrupted as the healer entered the room. The man was another one of Aurion's. "Do not worry, Gaemon. If I wanted to kill you then I would do it myself, poison is a woman's weapon." Gaemon consented to the treatment. He winced as the wound was sterilized and then winced further as the healer's needle mended his flesh.

Lord Aenar returned quickly. In his hand was a blue bound journal. Aenar slid the book on to the table and sat next to Gaemon who held Daenys in his lap. Gaemon had removed his blood-stained outer tunic at the insistence of the healer and wrapped the garment around his sister. Her eyes still shimmered but her face was brave.

"Signs and portents." Aurion read the journal's title. He looked to Daenys. "Fitting" Then he turned to Lord Aenar. "You are telling me that what was written in this book is the entirety of your reasoning behind the move?"

"Yes." Lord Aenar answered without hesitation.

"Hmm." Aurion opened the book and read. For hours they sat there, watching the Primarch read. Sometimes what looked like a frown would come upon his face, but his emotions were difficult to read. At times, the Primarch would linger on a page or reread. And sometimes he questioned Daenys.

"Some of these visions sound contradictory. Giant waves, smoke and burning dragons are mentioned yet you also speak of white shadows and pale blue eyes. A cold that burns worse than any dragon's flame." Aurion questioned.

It took a moment for Daenys to find her voice. When she did, it did not waver. "I have seen death, Primarch. The death of our people, our society and our dragons. And then I have seen the dead walk again. Smoke and fire, ice and a living cold that can freeze a man solid, my visions make as much sense to me as they do you, but they terrify me. My father made the decision to move us because he believed what I saw would eventually come to pass."

"Is this the truth?" Aurion turned a pointed stare to Lord Aenar.

Aenar nodded. "It is, Primarch. My wife had similar visions. Though hers were less clear than Daenys's, we always disregarded them. But I could ignore the signs no longer. You have said for yourself that Daenys is powerful, even if untrained. Could you ignore her if she was your daughter?"

Aurion did not answer but the man's glowing eyes did look pensive.

Daenys spoke once again. "That is not all, Primarch. The shadows, the men without faces? I think those are your assassins."

"And that gold your forebears acquired?" Aurion questioned Aenar once again.

"You can check our coffers Primarch Aurion, some of it still remains but most of our gold was either squandered over the generations or used in our move here to Dragonstone. Unless you believe my family is involved in some hundred yearlong conspiracy then I think whatever is to come is the result of a separatist movement. A movement that we have no part of."

Aurion leaned back in his chair. His fingers tapped the surface of Daenys' journal. "What your daughter has seen is the beginnings of a war. A great one if any of this is to be believed and yet you have remained largely silent. That could be treason enough."

"And if the group that is behind this plotting were to become aware that my daughter has even an incoherent insight into their plans, how long would you think it would take for them to send an assassin after her? No, a father's first duty is to his children. That is what I have done and if that is treason then only I should be accused of such."

Aurion considered Aenar's words. "Show me your coffers."

Aurion and Faora stayed at their isle for three days and nights. The Primarch questioned Daenys on her dreams several times as Gaemon stood vigil and he would disappear with Lord Aenar into his father's study for several hours. On the second day, Gaemon traveled with Faora and Aurion to Driftmark and then to Claw Isle that same evening.

On the last day, Gaemon stood in at the mouth of the dragon caves as Aurion and Faora waited as their dragons were readied. Aurion was clad in his spell forged armor with his dragonbone hilted sword sheathed across his back. His helmet was held under his arm while Faora wore hers, hiding the ugly bruise that covered half her face.

"I will warn you all, if I do find evidence that you are part of this plot then I will not hesitate to destroy your family root and stem."

"Understood Primarch, but we have no worry. What we have told you is the truth. Safe travels to you both." Lord Aenar answered. Faora grunted and mounted her dragon. She was in the air a moment later. Aurion lingered.

"Gaemon, contrary to what you might believe I do admire how fiercely you defended your sister and how you handled Faora. Your skill is admirable." He patted his sword's hilt. "It is shame that we could never cross swords, perhaps I will see your skill showcased in the next games?"

Gaemon shook his head. "You have heard my sister's warnings. Until she is sure that it safe to return, my place is here."

"Such a tragedy. Make no mistake I will neutralize these threats and brings those responsible to the mercy of my judgement." He turned his gaze to Daenys. "Lady Targaryen, I do hope you will forgive me for how I was forced to treat you. Sometimes barbarity is required for progress. I hope you understand, and I thank you for your book."

Gaemon's jaw tightened but Daenys squeezed his hand in reassurance. She nodded at the Primarch. "Safe travels, Primarch Aurion. Valyria is safer with you as its protector."

A wooden staircase had been pushed against the side of Aurion's armored beast but the Primarch used a rope tied around one of his dragon's horns to haul himself in place. The massive beast began to move, and the earth shook with each step. With his helm on, Aurion's voice was warped into a deep rasp. It boomed over the stones of the basin, as loud as a shout of a field commander. "I suspect this is not the last time we will see each other. Until next time House Targaryen. Vhagon Soves!" The flap of the great dragon's wings raised a cloud of dirt and threw stones in every direction. A boulder cracked under its weight and the earth shook beneath them. And then it was airborne.

The three Targaryens stood near the dragon caves long after the Primarch and his men departed. Lord Aenar looked older and more haggard than Gaemon had ever seen him.

"What is this gold and greatsword that the Primarch spoke of? I never heard of it until he mentioned it."

Aenar sighed. "Trust me my son, it is not the time that you two should become privy to such knowledge. Let us count ourselves lucky that the Primarch could only speculate."

Lord Aenar would speak no further on the matter, even as Daenys and Gaemon repeatedly questioned him. The next years on their isle were quiet. The pirates harassed the Durradon King sufficiently and there were few incidents with their Andal neighbors, none required the use of their dragons. Their children grew older as did their father. On their twelfth year on the isle, Gaemon stood with his sister-wife on the balcony of their bedchamber. He held her in his arms and the sea breeze lifted their hair as they gazed east.

"Do you wish you were there?" Daenys asked him. She wore a thin pink slip that parted easily under his hands. He traced her belly and then palmed her breasts.

The Great Games had come. A celebration that came every four years and brought the gathering of almost every dragonlord of the Freehold to the capital. In the games, dragonlords competed against one another for the highest glory, for both themselves and their house. Gaemon had won a medal at the age of sixteen, nearly unprecedented in modern games. Now he was much older, with a son who was shaping to be an even bolder rider than his father. "It would be a lie if I said no but in truth I am happy to spend my days with you." He kissed her neck. "This peace is good for the soul."

"Well are you not a sweet talker… I think you want something tonight-"Her playful voice stopped. She suddenly grew still in his arms.

"Daenys?" Gaemon questioned.

The ground trembled beneath him. One look at Daenys and Gaemon knew. Aurion failed.

Days later the eastern sky was stained by a long column of ash. Thousands of miles away and the devastation of their homeland was still visible. The resultant quakes even created massive waves that destroyed most of their port and the village above.

Gaemon and Daenys joined their father in his solar. Lord Aenar sat in his high-backed chair and gazed across the Narrow Sea. On another table, the Obsidian Candle flickered with a brilliant light and then died. Aenar bowed his head. His beard had grown long, and his eyes had begun to dim. A sad smile was on his face. "We won." He said.

Gaemon's chest tightened and he pulled his sister to him as she began to cry.

What have we done?