At the Whispers; in Crackclaw Point…
Drakon and his men stopped their horses when they finally reached the Whispers. The castle had been abandoned for centuries; much of the stone was covered in moss and vines, while some of the top portions had crumbled away after centuries of neglect. It was generally believed to be haunted by most, but Drakon knew that the legends owed their existence to the unsettling nature of the place, and the uniquely-formed cliffs. A cry came from above, and the last Blackfyre looked up to see Rhaegon and Maelion flying overhead. Turning to the twenty guards that had accompanied him, he said "Follow me". He then walked through what once contained the main gate of the castle, his men following close behind. Its interior was much the same as the exterior; covered with vines and greenery, with a general aura of terror about it. Glancing back at his men, he could see some of them shaking. They soon entered what must have once been the main hall, a large space that was bathed in the light of the sun, as the section of roof covering it was completely gone.
"When Dragons stirred in Old Valyria…" a melodious voice called from somewhere nearby, in High Valyrian no less. Someone then emerged from the far end of the large space, and Drakon and his guards turned to regard them. Whomever it was wore a brilliant silver cloak with the hood drawn, but it was clearly a woman's body underneath.
"The world soon learned to tremble" Drakon finished in High Valyrian. The passage came from a centuries-old manuscript concerned with the rise to power of the Dragonlords of Old Valyria. It had been one of his favourites during his upbringing in the Red Keep.
"Very good" the woman replied in the common tongue, drawing back her hood. Drakon was struck by the fact that the woman standing before him was one of the most beautiful he had ever seen. She had bright violet eyes, a heart-shaped face, silver hair that ran down to the small of her back, and ruby lips that were curled into a smirk. "Your accent is flawless".
"As is yours" Drakon replied. "You are the Wyvern?"
"I am" the silver-haired woman said. "And I have what you were seeking".
Drakon turned to his guards. "Leave us", he commanded, "but stay close". The twenty men proceeded to file out of the ruined main hall.
"It took me a long time to track you down, you know" the beautiful stranger commented.
"What do you mean?" Drakon asked, slightly confused. "I was the one who reached out to you".
The woman chuckled, a not-unpleasant sound. "I wasn't referring to this deal. It took me the better part of twenty years to find out who you really are".
"And who would that be?"
"Drakon Blackfyre, of course" she replied with obvious satisfaction.
Drakon's hand fell to the hilt of his sword, glancing around the large, open space and readying himself for a betrayal.
"I'm not interested in killing you" the silver-haired woman assured him, placing her hands on her shapely hips. "Quite the opposite, in fact".
Maintaining the grip on his sword, Drakon slowly stepped toward the mysterious woman. "What do you want? And before you answer, know that I can kill you before you could even…"
"I'm your sister".
The comment made Drakon stop in his tracks. It was the last thing he expected to hear from this woman, and he felt as if the breath had been driven out of him. "My sister?" he asked incredulously. "How can that be?"
"You are the son of Maelys I" the woman stated matter-of-factly. "I am his daughter".
"But I have no siblings" Drakon said. "I was my mother's only child, and she died when I could barely walk".
"We share the same father, but not the same mother. My name is Visenya Blackfyre. She didn't tell you? No, I expect not; she did seem rather loyal. I must say, you found yourself quite the capable servant".
"Who are you talking about?"
"Grey", she replied, "the woman you sent to King's Landing to root out a possible spy".
Drakon opened his mouth in surprise. "You're the spy? Rona told me that she had killed you".
Visenya smirked. "Like I said, she seemed loyal. Perhaps she didn't want the blood of your kin on her hands".
Drakon gripped the handle of his sword a little tighter. "You were working against my House".
"No, I wasn't. I simply wanted to see how you would respond to a threat once I learned that you were posing as Lord Sebastion Stormheart".
The muscular man took a step back, appraising the woman before him; she certainly had all the classic Valyrian features of silver hair and violet eyes, but the Targaryens and Blackfyres weren't the only families that were descended from Old Valyria. "How do I know you're telling the truth?" he asked at last.
"In time" Visenya said. "But first, I have a gift. A gesture of good faith". She then reached into her silver cloak and produced a horn that looked to be the length of his arm. It was black in colour, with pale red glyphs of High Valyrian inscribed across its surface, and the mouth was shaped in the likeness of an open Dragon's maw. Drakon took the horn in his hands, his lips forming into a satisfied smile. In Old Valyria, the Dragonlords, those members of the most powerful houses that commanded and rode Dragons, had many methods for controlling the world's mightiest beasts; the Dragon Horns were one such method. So little knowledge about Dragon taming survived the Doom of Valyria, but Drakon had encountered several different theories and methods in the countless number of books he had read on the subject of Dragons.
He had known for some time that his Dragons would be very, very large in a relatively short amount of time, so the need to properly train and tame them while they were still of a manageable size was paramount. That was why he had had Rona seek out an item such as this. He glanced at Visenya, who indicated that he should use the ancient item. Taking a deep breath, he blew a mighty bellow which rang across the ruined keep. Drakon could see that the glyphs on the horn glowed a bright red, and he heard a series of cries coming from the sky. Both he and Visenya looked up and saw bright silver and bronze shapes shooting toward them. At the same time, the guards came rushing in, but Drakon held up a hand and said "It's all right! Stay back!" Rhaegon and Maelion flapped their wings when they approached the ground, touching down beside Drakon. They gazed curiously at him and the horn, mewing at the thing that had summoned them. The muscular man turned to regard Visenya; her mouth was agape as she gazed at the Dragons with what could only be described as complete and utter awe.
As she got down on one knee, she said in High Valyrian "I never thought I would see Dragons in the world". She then tentatively reached out a hand toward Maelion, who lightly sniffed it before gently pushing his head against her palm. Visenya laughed, looking up at Drakon.
"He likes you" the muscular man said in the common tongue. "Now, you and I need to have a long conversation".
At Dragonstone…
Alvyn stepped onto the shores of Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen and current seat of Stannis Baratheon, the so-called 'King in the Narrow Sea'. Taking a rag from one of his pockets, the old merchant wiped his brow as he started to sweat. It was then that he noticed the woman approaching him, a woman clothed in red, with long, crimson hair and a beautiful face. Alvyn bowed to her, saying "My l-lady. It i-is a p-pleasure to meet y-you".
The woman, no doubt the Red Priest Melisandre, smiled and said "The pleasure is mine, dear Alvyn".
The old man glanced up at her, a look of surprise on his face.
"The Lord of Light told me of your coming" the redheaded woman explained.
"O-Of course" Alvyn replied. "I w-wish to serve the Lord of L-Light, my lady".
Melisandre smiled once more, cupping Alvyn's bearded cheek. "And you shall, my friend. I will make certain of it".
Among the Northern army…
Kirth sat down, sighing in deep satisfaction. His time in Winterfell during the Ironborn occupation was one of the least pleasant experiences the minstrel had had in recent memory. Luckily, he had managed to find his way out after a force of Northerners had started to lay siege to the ancestral Stark seat. After that, he had ridden south on a stolen horse as far as he could manage. As luck would have it, he encountered the Northern army, which was on its way to Riverrun. Kirth had learned from some of the other soldiers that they were making their way there for the funeral of the now late Lord Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Robb Stark's grandfather.
Now, the minstrel found himself sitting on an extremely uncomfortable stone next to a woman weaving a prayer wheel. As he pulled out his lyre, he took another look at her, and realized belatedly that he was sitting next to none other than Lady Catelyn Stark, Robb's mother. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he started singing a tune to take his mind off his recent troubles.
"Must you keep playing that?" the older woman suddenly snapped.
Kirth stammered for a moment, then bowed his head and said "Forgive me, Lady Stark. I did not mean to offend".
The woman stared at a stone wall, tears starting to run down her face. "That song was my Rickon's favourite. And now I may never see him again". She started crying, then stymied whatever tears were left and wiped off her cheeks.
"I am truly sorry for your loss, my lady" Kirth said in as respectful a tone as he could manage. Looking out at the distance, at Robb Stark's army, he said "My cousin recently lost his wife and unborn children. I… understand what you must be going through".
Lady Stark did not reply, and continued to work on her prayer wheel. Kirth stood and walked away, leaving her to her grief. It had been over a year since he had gotten word of Jocelyn's death, but the memory was still a painful one. She may have been his cousin's wife, but the minstrel had always loved her, from the first moment he had set eyes on her. Now she was gone, and the world suddenly seemed so much darker without her in it.