Aurion I
23rd day of the first moon, 299 AC
Aurion Varezys' eyes fluttered open as he gasped, his hands moving to his bare chest, armor seemingly gone. He ran his fingers over the rough skin as he gathered the courage to look down.
How am I breathing… it was right in my heart…
But there was no bleeding wound, only a jagged, dark crimson scar. He ran his fingers over the coarse tissue in disbelief. He slowly climbed onto his feet, groaning as he felt his head spinning.
He noted his surroundings were… different. He was undoubtedly in the same place, the vaults under the Varezys family estate. The black walls carried the same dusty smell and utter silence that had always put him on edge. But this chamber, the public section of the vault, looked as though it had been looted and stripped of many of its treasures. He turned his head and came face to face with a skeleton.
His somehow-intact heart skipped a beat. The skeleton seemed familiar, but Aurion could not place where it was from.
He jumped to his feet and scampered out of the vault. With every skeleton he saw he could feel his heart thumping. Some of the skeletons were mere children!
He cleared the wide entrance, lined by two massive bronze doors, pushed in from the outside. He fell to his knees, feeling his stomach recoil as he emptied its hypothetical contents, the warm bile spilling out his throat.
Aurion could not get the sight of the skeletons out of his mind. In the back of his mind, he knew who those were. Aelyx, Haela, Aemond, his own brothers and sisters. The large skeleton had to be his father. None of his uncles were as tall as the skeleton.
But why could he not remember why he was here? The last thing he could remember was sailing from the port of Volantis, whilst he sent two of his five legions south of the Painted Mountains, to march down the peninsula.
He had heard the rumors of the Doom. The other dragonlords in Lys, Tyrosh, Myr, and even Volantis… all were overwhelmed and killed by mobs. He and Jaenarys Belaerys could barely secure Volantis long enough to set sail, even with his legions from Qohor.
The Qohorik remained loyal to the Freehold. To Jae, whom the senate had called upon to defend Qohor, and Aurion. He supposed it was a karmic reward for fending off a Sarnor invasion. The Sarnor had led a brutal campaign, razing most of Essaria, and were marching on Qohor. Aurion had mounted his Aegarax, Jae had mounted Terrax "the Tyrannical," and they had sent the Tall Men running all the way back to Sarnath.
After he had secured Volantis, Jae advised him to unite Valyria around himself as Emperor. Though Terrax was far larger than Aegarax, and Jaenarys more experienced than Aurion, Jae did not seek power. After Aurion's protests, Jae argued that the Varezys name was the most prestigious of the Freehold, with his father, Aerys, being elected as Primarch just two years prior.
So it was in Volantis where he was named the First Emperor of Valyria. The only others of the Forty Families that could oppose him were Jae, who gave his fealty, and the not-present Targaryens hiding off the coast of Westeros.
Yet his memories ceased after he had left the port of Volantis, with a fleet of nearly a hundred ships transporting three legions of eighteen thousand men. A force that any army of lesser men would tremble before. But that could not stop the thought that crept into Aurion's mind… where were his men?
After sitting on the cold black floor, Aurion crawled off his knees, refusing to look back at the vault. Refusing to acknowledge that his family was truly gone-
He harshly slapped his own face, dispelling his inner monologue. He continued through the long, dark hallways, where he picked up a stray black cloak, using it to at least cover himself up from the soft breeze.
Eventually, he stepped out of the lower vaults and into the open air. The last time he had been here was before he left for Qohor. When Valyria was a lively city, the streets crowded with shops and people.
Despite that, he instinctively braced himself as a vision– no, a memory flashed through his mind. Ash and fire and death. Men screaming, creatures roaring, not even being able to see further than a few feet in front of him.
He moved his cloak to cover his mouth and closed his eyes, but he did not feel the hot sensation of ash. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked around.
The tall towers and wide roads of the ruined city were clear. Too clear. There were no people permeating the streets nor ash permeating the air, and he could see across the street. He could even see the sky, where a blood-red comet soared through the sky.
Aurion continued through the remnants of the city, the dust and gravel crunched and groaned beneath his bare feet, a sound that permeated through the ruined streets. He heard the distant sounds of a man yelling, seemingly the only sign of life in this ghost city. Perhaps those were his men. Perhaps some survived!
They all died. All 30,000 of your men. Stop deluding yourself. No point in worrying about them anymore.
He quickened his pace, ignoring the jagged rocks and debris ripping at the soles of his feet.
As he walked down the wide, ruined road, he could smell the salt as he neared the beach. Yet it was not alone, he could detect the smell of smoke and copper. He spotted a dark red galley on the water, the black sails bearing a golden kraken sigil he did not recognize. Yet it was not the ship that drew his attention, but the man on the beach, the source of the yelling.
He was facing away from Aurion, holding his scimitar towards a myriad of men- no, priests. Kneeling, bound and gagged, were men in red robes of the eastern god, white robes of the Andal faith, the ornate garbs of Qartheen warlocks, the black robes of followers of the Black Goat of Qohor, a bearded priest of Norvos, and others he could not immediately name.
More than a few had already perished, the blood and sand mixing together, staining the beach in a deep, dark red that seemed to herald death and despair like the comet that blazed overhead, washing the air in a crimson gloom. Behind the prisoners stood men who must be the ship's crew. They stood eerily still like statues.
Before the leader was a black pit with several charred corpses, seemingly the source of the smoky smell. While dragonfire reduced men to mere ashes, firewryms left many a slave like this in the mines. Or regular fire, Aurion supposed. They were likely sacrificed, then. That was common enough, with slaves frequently being immolated for blood magic.
Aurion turned his attention back to the leader. His coat was made of black leather, the surface etched with intricate designs in silver and gold, the sleeves flaring out at the wrists like the wings of a crow. His hair was a wild and tangled mass, black as the abyss, whipping around in the wind like inky tendrils of a kraken. Aurion could make out a few words, the man was speaking the Andal language, used in the sunset continent of Westeros. He seemed to be some sort of pirate.
Aurion was no expert on the Andal language, but he could understand it well enough. The pirate leader leaned into the pit before him, brushing aside the charred corpse and picking up a blue dragon egg, petrified and unhatched, the reflection almost purple from the glint of the red comet.
The pirate leader turned to a spindly man with olive skin, a long, grey beard, a black pointed hat, and wrists bound in iron chains. "I thought you and your friend's visions said this would wake the dragon, wizard!" the man yelled out in a cruel and mocking tone. The wizard raised his bound hands and cried out some words Aurion could not make out.
The pirate ignored him as he drew his scimitar and sliced the man's stomach open. Aurion winced as the pirate continued to stare into the wizard's eyes, sheathing his scimitar and ripping out the man's entrails as blood spewed out the wound.
"Still… the egg can have other uses, I suppose," he said coldly as the wizard gasped something before collapsing. "I've heard the Targaryen whore has hatched some of her lizards," he commented before pausing. "Or… mayhaps there are still dragons on this rock… an unexpected guest…"
The pirate began to turn to face Aurion's direction, prompting him to duck back behind the ruined wall, his heart racing. He closed his eyes, praying he wasn't spotted. He had no weapon, no armor…
No dragon. Not anymore.
Aurion slowly opened his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw nothing but the empty road and abandoned towers across him. He slowly leaned back to survey the beach, and his head inched past the corner.
To meet him was the grinning face of the pirate leader inches away from him, one eye covered with a black eyepatch, the other, piercing blue eye staring at him with both amusement and malice as he knelt down, stroking his trimmed black beard.
"Who do we have here?"
Aurion leaped back, his hand instinctively going to his waist to grab a sword that wasn't there. He collided with a body behind him, and felt muscular arms wrap around his neck. He struggled against the grip as the pirate leader stared at him inquisitively before he felt something hit his head, and it all went black.
Author's Note:
Aurion's family name, armor, and eventual sigil are inspired by the Crusader Kings 2 A Game of Thrones mod. Aurion is a real in-universe character who gathered up a host of 30,000 Qohorik colonists after the Doom and disappeared. That's all we know about him, we don't even know his family name. Jaenarys Belaerys is from a canon house, however. Jaenaera Belaerys was a canonical character who rode Terrax, a canonical dragon.
As for Old Valyria, I am making it heavily inspired by the Roman Republic. I can't imagine any of this information will be too important, but I might reference it in the future. Instead of two consuls, a Primarch is elected by the Senate every 3 years. The Senate is composed of 40 members from the 40 dragonlord families. The senators may be the Lord/Lady Freeholder themselves, or a relative. There were also 3 assemblies.
The Assembly of the Plebeians, to represent the common people.
The Assembly of the Patricians, to represent non-dragonriding noble houses (Velaryons, Celtigars, Maegyrs, etc).
The Assembly of the Pyromancers, to represent the interests of the fire mages who controlled the mines under the Fourteen Flames. The fire mages were a voluntary order people could swear their lives to, similar to the Night's Watch but entirely voluntary.
Each assembly was led by an elected tribune, with the exception of the Pyromancers who are led by the Archmage.
Many provinces outside Valyria itself (Selhorys, Meereen, Astapor, etc) were governed by Archons appointed by the Senate. These Archons were almost always members of the forty families, usually relatives to the Lord Freeholder as the Lord Freeholder would always remain in Valyria itself (which is why it was so scandalous for the Targaryens to move to Dragonstone). Lands inside Valyria were owned directly by the Lord Freeholders. The now Free Cities were ruled independently, only needing to pay regular taxes and provide regular slaves.
There was also a Supreme Magistrate, essentially the Supreme Court of Valyria. The judges were appointed by the Primarch for life, though had to be approved by the Senate.
The army of Old Valyria focused on heavy infantry, basically being Roman Legions. Each legion was 6,000 men (4,800 soldiers, 1,200 non-combatants/slaves, 600-1,200 mules). Volantis continues this philosophy, though many of its legions in this day are made up of slave soldiers.
The founding myth of Valyria is that Aurion Zaldrīzes, "the Shepherd," was the first man to hatch a dragon, being the founder of the Valyrian Freehold. All forty dragon-riding families descend from his forty sons and forty daughters (yeah, I know. Bro fucked around), with the Varezys being from his eldest son Viserys and eldest daughter Visenya.
The Old Ghiscari Empire was also basically a massive Sparta.
Again, none of this will probably be too important, but it's just the headcanon I'm running with for this fic.
