Spires loomed in front of them. The water had cooled significantly since they'd turned around the bends. His heart still thumped though. A sense of both anticipation and foreboding-was that the right word-meant that he was on high alert. Glances to his right and left told him that his companions were feeling the same.
The ship stopped. Instructions were barked and the crew moved rapidly, planks were thrown out onto the sandy beach, and men started throwing down lines to hold the ship. He looked to his sides and saw other ships of the fleet doing the same. When the movement stopped, Aurane Waters, his hair glistening in the sun came before him and bowed. "Welcome to Valyria, Your Grace."
Aegon looked at Waters then at the land stretched out before him. It was dark, covered by black clouds that engulfed everything. Legend had it that nobody made it to Valyria. But they had. In the distance he could see the leaning tower of Agamemnon, the first of the rulers of Valyria. He gestured for Waters to rise, the man did so.
"You have done well, Aurane. Choose your second and have him remain with the ships." Aegon commanded. He knew Aurane, and he knew the man was essential to keeping Velaryon onside.
"Yes, Your Grace." Aurane replied, he scanned his crew and then settled on a man with long brown hair and a long face. "Hizidar." Hizidar bowed.
Aegon nodded. Then gestured for Ser Arthur and Duck to go on ahead to scout. He watched them step off onto the solid ground, he watched as they scanned the surrounding areas, then when Ser Arthur returned and said all was well, Aegon stepped off. The moment his feet touched the sand, something shot through him.
Emotion overcame him, though he was not sure why. Something felt right. Something felt pure. He blinked and saw that the darkness had spread. "We must move." He commanded. There was only a limited amount of time before whatever actually lived in Valyria now, came out.
They moved quickly. Nobody said anything, they all knew what they had to do, and for some reason, Aegon knew where he had to go. The bag pressing against his side contained the two eggs he'd been given before departing Pentos. He intended to hatch them here, and to return to Westeros as a dragonlord, as his ancestor had been before him.
The journey over here had convinced him. There was no other choice. Anything else would be an abdication of responsibility and he had been raised to believe nothing mattered more than his responsibility. To the Kingdom, to his people and to his family.
Aegon.
The name was whispered, but Aegon jerked. He recognised the voice, but from where, he wasn't sure.
He pushed it to one side and kept walking. The sand was turning into darkened ground. When the Doom had come, Valyria had been rent asunder and the ground had turned into a hardened substance. One that oozed black pus. So far there was no pus, but that would come later.
Aegon pushed onward.
Aegon
There it was again, the voice. He stopped briefly, looked around, saw nobody and continued.
Aegon shook his head and kept walking. The ground changed now, the darkness became more prominent and the edges halted before turning to curves.
"Your Grace?" A voice called out.
Aegon turned to answer and found that he could not see anyone. The fog had descended.
"Your Grace?!" A voice called out, sounding panicked.
"I am here!" Aegon replied, his voice deeper than normal. "Keep going, we shall find one another soon." When they found the flames.
He turned around and there before him was an old woman, her hair as silvery as his own, her eyes brimmed between two different shades.
"Who are you?!" He demanded.
"Quaithe." The woman replied.
"What do you want?" He demanded.
"To show you the way." The woman said.
She extended her hand and for a reason he couldn't understand, Aegon took it.
