A/N: This story takes place over six centuries besides the book series, so I have taken a handful of liberties when writing. The World of Ice and Fire provides the only available information on Valyria, leaving me with a skeleton to work with. Please read with that in mind. The rulers and info relating to the SYOC are at the bottom, and the form and cast of characters can be found in my profile. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter!

Tales of Sea & Sky, Dragonstone I

I ~ The Forging of Dragonstone

Chapter I

great chamber, home of House Vaelysen in Valyria, Essos

early afternoon, Nineteenth Day of the Sixth Moon, 314 BC

Viewpoint of: Viserra Vaelysen, noblelady and maeg

The cobalt sky beyond the great chamber's arched windows momentarily blinded Viserra when she looked up. Setting aside her needlework, she rose and went to stand before the broad bay window, looking down upon the silver domes and obsidian spires of Valyria. The city stretched out below her like the colourful rugs she'd seen in Myr as a child. Each street, building, and market its own tiny world, alive and humming with the throb of a thousand hearts. Blinking back tears brought on by the brightness, Viserra turned her gaze upward to the cloudless sky that stretched away above, holding all the world beneath its ever-changing vault.

A shadow swept across the crystalline expanse, momentarily blotting out the sun's blinding rays. Viserra gasped, craning upward to watch the dragon sweep over the city, bound for some remote corner of the empire.

A soft cough reminded Viserra of her place. Bowing her head, she returned to the chaise lounge where her younger sister still sat and took up her embroidery, the needle dancing in and out of the sheer silk with ease. Her veil—heather and ivory with tiny seed pearls at the hems—hides Viserra' flushed cheeks from her father' piercing gaze. She could feel his lilac eyes on her, scrutinising, waiting to see if she'd show other signs of rebellion. Inhaling deeply, Viserra let the breath slowly go, soothing her racing heart and repeating the words graven into her mind since childhood. 'Body like porcelain, words like silk, soul like steel.'

They'd played this game offen, she and her father, neither willing to yield ground and so unable to gain what they wished from the other. Jaednar had taught Viserra the basic plays in childhood, and she'd learned more in the seven years since coming of age. Jaednar. Not a day went by when Viserra did not think of her older half-brother, the man who should have been her husband. Sometimes she could hear his voice echo within the fire scorched walls of her mind—bright and fragile as white-gold.

She'd just tied off her thread and begun weaving the tail in among the others when the great chamber' door swung violently inward. The white oak boomed as it struck the bare far wall, the sound bouncing around the high ceiling and empty alcoves, leaving the air resonating with the repercussions.

Everyone looked up.

A boy with dark braids stood framed in the entrance, panting. He wore a loose tunic of undyed cloth, frayed at the seamless hems. A bit of cord warped about his waist, serving as a belt. Viserra knew him—as she did all the household slaves—and remembered a moment too late that his name was Dalar and that he ran messages and kept watch at the front gate.

"Lord Aerion Belaerys is at the gates!" He gasped, narrow chest heaving. "He would have words with you, my'lord."

Viserra inhaled sharply, hand coming unbidden to her mouth. Beside her, her younger sister cried allowed, excited at the prospect of getting to see one of Valyria' famed lieutenants at close range. Viserra restrained herself from chastising her for such an outburst. Her sister was young yet, and would not understand that a man like Lord Aerion of House Belaerys did not pay social calls on those so far beneath him.

"Show him in," her father said coolly. He put aside his pen and rose from his desk, sifting papers to cover the letter he'd been so diligently writing.

"Oh, Viserra!" Her sister cried, nails digging into the bare flesh of her arm. "How lucky we are, he's so good looking and-"

"Quiet!" Her father snapped, sparks flying from his narrowed eyes. They were Jaednar' eyes, Viserra thought, but without his laughter or kindness. Her father' eyes were those of a snake, deadly and without mercy.

Dalar disappeared back down the hall, dark braids floating like wings behind him. Viserra slowly rose, her sleeveless white silk gown suddenly heavy as embroidered brocade. She laced the fingers of her trembling hands together and hid them beneath the heather grey sash that encircled her hips. Wishing she'd thought to wear the pearls Jaednar had brought her from Lys, Viserra straightened her back and waited for the storm to break around her.

A few minutes passed in silence before a man appeared in the large frame of the door. Her sister was right—Viserra saw—for at one and thirty, Lord Aerion of House Belaerys was quite good-looking, though his aristocratic features spoke of a life of wind and war. He wore a rough linen shirt and pants beneath dark flying leathers enforced with small steel plates. His boots were of black well worn black leather. Viserra noticed that his gauntlets were engraved with flames surrounding a wreath of thorns. She'd seen the emblem before, though she could not place it, and she found herself frowning as she searched her mind for a memory that lay just out of reach beneath the surface of her consciousness.

"Lord Vaelysen," he said, inclining his head, "if you and your younger daughter would leave, it is with Lady Viserra that I would speak."

Her heart lurched, and Viserra found herself fighting down a wave of nausea. She'd blossomed since coming of age at four and ten—as all noble maidens of Valyria—and now, at one and twenty, she should have been wed for half a decade or more. Yet she'd always been meant for Jaednar' bed, and her father had made no arrangements for another match. Her brother lay a breathing corpse in his chambers at the tower' top; well rumours of her beauty spread across the empire and washed through Valyria like wildfire. There was only one reason Lord Aerion of House Belaerys, Second Lieutenant of the Freehold, would have come to her family' door without invitation or words with her father.

"As you wish, Lord Belaerys." Her father said, standing and beckoning to his younger daughter to follow him with a claw-like hand.

Pouting at the abrupt dismissal, Viserra' sister left her seat and followed their father to the door, face obscured by her silver braids. She'd not yet passed her four and tenth year and so was permitted to go unveiled for a little longer. Raising her eyes a little, Viserra saw her father' face was pale, the lines around his mouth and between his clipped brows deep. He knew what Aerion, Lord House Belaerys and Second Lieutenant of the Freehold would ask of her, and he'd do nothing to stop it. Of age and without a husband to protect her, Viserra was free for the taking. None had tried before now, but she'd known this day would come, and involuntarily her shaking hands clasped about the one shield she possessed—Jaednar' ring, a promise of marriage he could never fulfil.

The last glimpse Viserra had of her family before the white oak door shut behind them with a dull thud was her younger sister' eyes. They were brimming with a gut-churning mix of excitement, disappointment, and jealousy. She'd wanted a chance to see, perhaps speak, with Lord Aerion Belaerys, not watch as the older sister she both admired and loathed was left alone with him. Taking a deep breath and bracing herself for the outcome of harsh and candid words, Viserra spoke,

"I have no wish to marry you, nor will I be your mistress, Lord Belaerys. I will not give you what you wish. Go elsewhere to find your pleasure," She said, raising her chin and meeting his eyes with a frigid glare. "I am no common woman, to be forgotten once dawn' red glow spreads across the sky."

Viserra expected him to flush or steep forward to strike her for such unwomanly behaviour. Instead, Lord Aerion Belaerys took a stumbling step away from her, brown eyes wide, and all colour had gone from his face.

"By Syrax!" He exclaimed, regaining his balance with a hand upon the door' casing. "Why would you think-no," he shook his head, glancing about the chamber. "Is there a map here?" He asked, voice breathless but calmer, "of the western lands, not the Freehold."

The change of subject was abrupt and disorienting, but Viserra took advantage of it, realising how badly she had misjudged the situation. Whatever Lord Aerion Belaerys was doing in her home, he'd no interest in bedding her. Viserra knew what horror was, and she'd seen nothing but that darkest and all-consuming of emotions in his eyes when her words, spoken in fear and anger, had registered in his mind.

"Yes, I believe so," Viserra said, steeping the shelves honeycombing the wall behind her father' desk with a rustle of silk. "Here in the archives by the window,"

She began running her fingertips along the wood, revelling in the tangible feeling beneath her unsteady hands. Given a task she could accomplish mindlessly, Viserra allowed herself to admit to the fear she'd felt without compromising her awareness of what surrounded her. Lord Aerion Belaerys may not have wanted her, but without that most simple of explanations, Viserra was at a loss as to why he'd come. Her father was no collector of maps, and she could think of nothing her family might offer this great lord and warrior.

"This one," Viserra said, finding and pulling the rolled map from an alcove, "it shows the western continent and its seven kingdoms." She turned, offering it to him. "Why do you require it, Lord Belaerys?" She asked, overstepping her place once again, "surely there is a map of better quality in your private archives."

"There are," he agreed, taking the map from her and rolling it out before him, "I, however, did not bring one with me."

Viserra frowned. He'd disturbed her father' papers by placing the map atop them, and she dared not offer reproach; she could not help but think it was terribly rude. More than that, he'd freely admitted making use of his personal archives ruling out any shred of possibility he'd come for the map.

"Six years ago," he said after a moment, gaze no longer on the map but turned inward, "Jaednar told me he'd never seen a maeg more gifted with fire and stone then you, his half-sister." He rolled the words around his mouth before he spoke, carefully considering each. "He showed me a rock you'd made him, smooth as silk and hard as steel, the colours where those of the Fourteen Flames." His brown eyes met her amethyst, unyielding. "Have your skills improved in the last half-decade?"

"Yes," She said, nearly choking on the word, "Lord Belaerys,"

Viserra heart clenched. He'd know Jaednar, and she'd forgotten the connection. Her brother would have been far beneath Lord Aerion Belaerys, but Jaednar had attracted people with charming ease, and Viserra could well remember the many great names his letters had spoken of. More than that, she'd never considered that her skills as a maeg might have brought him to the door, in need of her services. As a Lieutenant of the Freehold, he possessed limited access to the services of those handfuls who made it into the direct service of the governors. However, if the project was small or, the price demanded too high, seeking a craftswoman like her made sense. Such an explanation did not take the map into account, but after thinking the worst of him and saying as much allowed, Viserra decided it would be better to lock her lips and wait for information.

"The Governor' wish an outpost built here." He said, laying a calloused finger atop an island at the foot of the western continent. "A show of power and a reminder that we do not sleep—that we have not forgotten." He shook his head, strands of golden hair falling loose from the embroidered leather tie that held them back. "I want you for the task, Lady Viserra. Will you accompany me and those also bid to go?"

The answer would have been easy, more so because she could speak the truth, but it was not, like most things in her life. The idea of creating buildings with dragonfire in both its forms set Viserra' blood pounding and made her body tingle. She could not lie with such wished-for hope coursing through her, but neither could she force the single word needed for this dream of dreams to come true past her lips.

"I cannot," Viserra said, lowering her head to hide the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, "my lord-father would never allow it. You may ask him, Lord Belaerys, but he will say that it is not my place to perform such work. I am sorry."

A heartbeat passed.

"I am asking you," he said, his tone soft but thrumming with power, "not your father. What he wishes is irrelevant."

Viserra could hear the words he left unspoken, and she bowed her head, understanding and accepting what he asked of her. 'I am a lieutenant of the Freehold. I do not ask.' Something told Viserra he'd not have taken her if she'd told him she'd prefer to stay, but her caged heart and clipped wings wanted nothing more than to leave Valyria and sore untethered across the world. Nodding, Lord Aerion Belaerys turned away and went to the door, opening it before pausing and then turning back to Viserra, expression strange.

"I would pay my respects to your brother, Lady," he said, his voice a little hoarse, "were that possible."

Her heart skipped and beat then settled. It was not such a strange request, Viserra reminded herself as she made her own way to the door, not when he'd likely fought alongside Jaednar and probably remembered him fondly. She could not recall if Lord Aerion Belaerys had been among those in Volantis when-Viserra shook her head and push all darkness from her mind,

"Of course," Viserra said, smiling, "If you would follow me, Lord Belaerys."

She'd deny him nothing now, not after he'd offered her freedom from this most beautiful of prisons.

~•~

~•~*~•~

~•~

Jaednar' sickroom, home of House Vaelysen in Valyria, Essos

mid-afternoon, Nineteenth Day of the Sixth Moon, 314 BC

Viewpoint of: Lord Aerion Belaerys, Lieutenant of the Freehold

The golden light of afternoon danced across the white marble flagstones, and a light breeze stirred the periwinkle curtains drawn across the open window. The climbing roses beyond the window were in bloom, adding a subtle fragrance to the hexagonal room. Aerion took all this in at a glance, for his eyes found and focused upon the motionless body of Jaednar Vaelysen on the bed—half covered by a beautifully embroidered sheet.

Jaednar was beautiful, but he was dying—however slowly. He'd lost the lean muscle gained in the training yard and on dragonback; the lack left his body wasted, evidenced by the prominence of his collarbone even beneath the loose linen shirt he wore. His fair skin had developed a translucent quality unknown even among those of pure High Valyrian blood, lending him an almost ethereal glow and providing a striking background for his lilac eyes. Aerion had not known they'd be open, and he found himself frozen, unable to look away from the vacant gaze of the man he'd betrayed. Letting the door fall closed behind him and unable to answer the startled query of the bright-eyed slave girl watching from the alcove beside the window. Viserra must have seen something in his face because she waved her hand in dismissal to the slave girl keeping watched and said softly,

"Leave us, Tarra,"

The girl—Tarra—ducked her dark head, meaning a soft, "Yes, my'lady," before curtsying and leaving the chamber through a side door.

Unable to tear his eyes away from Jaednar', Aerion found himself drawn closer to the bed by a power he could neither see nor understand. Viserra did not follow him, preferring to remain in the shadows beside the door. The thought crossed his mind that she likely came here often, possibly every day, to sit beside the man who should have been both brother and husband to her.

"There has been no change?" Aerion asked, kneeling on the cool marble beside Jaednar's bed—it felt improper to sit on the edge.

Breaking the room' tranquillity seemed wrong, but he could not stand Jaednar' penetrating, if unfocused, gaze in silence. Part of his soul truly wanted to know as well, though he knew any danger the younger man might have passed was long since past. If he were going to wake, he'd have done so in the first eighteen moons, not half a decade after the fact. Sill, Aerion wondered if he should take the risk, not now, at a time when his name was not woven so deeply with that of House Vaelysen.

"No, not since the first months," Viserra said, her voice catching a little, "Jade responds to discomfort, and you know if he's sleeping or not, sometimes I think-" she cut herself off, shaking her veiled head. "The healers' do not believe any improvement will be forthcoming. They say the time for it has long since passed."

Aerion nodded. She'd told him what he expected to hear.

"Yet your father allows him to linger in this world," he muttered.

Behind him, Viserra' breath hissed, and belatedly Aerion relaxed he'd spoken aloud. Words like those could not be taken back, nor did he turn to face her, knowing the shock and horror he'd find in her bright amethyst eyes. Sighing, he adjusted his position before he lost feeling in his lower legs, thinking that had circumstances been different, he'd have asked for some form of padding.

"Would you leave us, Lady Viserra?" Aerion asked warily, fearing this request and the words he'd just spoken would overstay what little welcome he'd had. "I wish a few moments alone with your brother."

"Of course," she said, skirts rustling as she curtsied, "I will wait without."

Aerion nodded his thanks at a loss for words. He'd expected her to refuse and had started to prepare words for that event, but she'd given her leave without hesitation. He wondered what had become of fire he'd witnessed in the solar when she'd accused him of intending to rape her. Aerion had been shocked more than insulated, for her words spoke of a sheltered life—or lack of contact with gossip—leaving him more confused than anything. Shaking his head and sighing, Aerion turned his attention back to the tower room and the person in it.

"I broke my promise," he said, keeping his voice low—Viserra did not seem the type to listen at the crack between door and wall, but he wanted no risk of being overheard. "I have no excuse, and apologising would be meaningless on more than one level, but I am sorry. I still think about Braavos," he added, "and Lys. I teased you about buying pearls for Viserra. That was childish of me, and I am sorry for that too."

Aerion was not lying, but he remembered more of Volantis then Lys and Braavos, not just because the black-walled city was more recent—if half a decade could be considered such. He'd acted for the good of the Freehold that he did not doubt, but deeds done for the Valyrian Empire's survival rarely left a good taste behind. Sighing again, Aerion reached out and gently brushed a few strands of hair back from Jaednar' brow, ensuring with a light touch that they fit seamlessly with the others, like liquid moonlight. He allowed the contact to linger a second too long, stirring memories better left in the forgotten corners of his mind. The gleam of moonlight on water and flashing silver blades, the mellow taste of white wine and overly bright laughter, of burying his hands in this same silver hair and the feeling of silken bedsheets.

Aerion rose quickly, flushing and pushing aside the now tainted memories. He could not stay here. If he'd know the turmoil this visit would unleash within him, then he'd have never come, and even if he had, he'd never have asked to see Jaednar again. He would have known to leave well-enough alone.

Quickly, unable to stand another moment, Aerion did what he could to collect himself and wrenched open the door, startling Viserra from where she'd been resting against the far wall. Her amethyst eyes widened when she saw his flushed face, but Aerion spoke before she could muster words,

"Thank you," Aerion said, the simple words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "Will you point back to the gates?"

"Yes," Viserra said, pushing herself away from the wall, "I will show you out, of course."

Aerion's heart skipped a few beats, and his pulse raced faster. He could not face her presence now—not after waking such memories—not even for the few minutes it would take to reach the inner gate and from there locate her father. He'd learn to live and work alongside her, learn to stand the silver hair he'd caught a glimpse over under her veil, but not now. Now, he needed to get away, from this place and from the memories it had woken.

"No," Aerion said, shaking his head, "thank you for offering, Lady Viserra, but that will be unnecessary."

She stepped back from him, slender brows drawing together as her hands came to rest on her hips.

"But-!" she protested, showing again the backbone he'd often found lacking in the noble maiden of the Freehold. "I cannot leave a guest unattended in our halls!"

"You will," Aerion said coldly, biting his words, "my business now is with your father, Lady Viserra."

"Of-of course," She stammered, scrambling for words as she stepped back into her brother' room. "Good day, Lord Belaerys."

She shut the door, leaving him alone in the high arched hall with his own parting words not yet past his lips.

"What did you tell me about her, Jade?" Aerion asked aloud, eyes turned towards the painted ceiling above but focused inward on the past, "that she was a dragon with bound wings? I'd not be so sure. A snake hiding beneath a songbird and yet trapped in a gilded cage would seem closer."

He turned and walked down the passage to find the Lord of House Vaelysen. Behind, he left a shade he should never have encountered and a ghost he should have left to haunt the past.

A/N: Apologies for any spelling, grammar, or punctuation issues. I won't apologise for the length (almost four thousand words), but I understand this was likely rather long in terms of fanfiction.

Now, the rules of submission...

1) I am particular about characters, especially those of Valyrian blood. I have a few ideas in mind, but I'll take any character submitted. You don't need PM/DM me before making one, but I can offer extra info if you do.

2) All submitted characters will be included. However, some will get more attention than others, especially if they stand out or interest me in some way. Everyone will get their due, but this is something to keep in mind.

3) I will likely need to ask questions about your OC and provide some updates through PM/DMs. With this in mind, please keep your eye on your email and inbox. Questions when it comes to OCs will be important.

4) Submit through PM/DMs only. I'd love reviews, especially after putting in around ten hours over four days in writing this first chapter. Just, no characters as reviews. Any submitted as a review will not be accepted.

That's all I can think of for the moment. Beyond that, there is a three character limit per person currently in place, though this may change in the future. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day/night, and thank you for reading (and leaving a review)!