The Phoenician of blood and fire

by laserturret1

Story made by cataphract just copying it over for the text to speech feature. A Primarch child lands in the dragon pit during the Targaryens reign.

2. 2

Mero II

"Why haven't I used the poison? HA!"

Mero laughed in the face of his guest. The Man wore silk robes of a Septon of the Faith of the Seven, blonde hair crowned his head and despite Mero's insults always remained dispassionate. Mero hated dealing with the Man who had yet to give Mero his name after several years of dealing with him. That's why Mero had taken the Man's money even though Mero knew the poison would not work already.

"I used it. That and some Tears of Lys from my own stock. Nothing. He sometimes complains of a sore throat, I am pretty sure that's when someone has tried to use the strangler."

"Yet, the Targaryen remains standing still?" the Man asked. Mero was unsure if the Man spoke the truth about why he wanted Balerion dead. He said that he wanted Balerion killed as revenge for his brother's sons killed by Aerys, but Mero was sure the real reason was to collect the bounty on Balerion's head.

Which, had doubled since Balerion had first learned of it himself nigh five years ago. It was said that it had been doubled on part because of the Crown's frustration at Balerion remaining alive despite the score of hired killers sent to kill him, and as rumors went at least one sellsword company that had ambushed Balerion on the road to Myr and been slaughtered. The mocking letters Balerion had sent to King Robert's court members may have also been a factor, they mocked Robert as a murderer, unworthy of his title and challenged him to a duel on the Stepstones on the same day every year. Rumors also said that King Robert had been more than happy to take the challenge but his Small Council and Kingsguard frequently talked him out of it.

"Believe me when I say the freak does not want to die. Not until he returns the Targaryen to the throne or so he says." Mero's mood turned sour. Balerion and the damn crusade he preached about returning to Westeros. Mero thought it daft but somehow Balerion was able to sway scores of men, and train them to be better fighters as well. Mero had been wary of Balerion's Third Sons for years but they had been excellent fighters

and their performance on the field of battle while lead by Balerion had allowed Mero to gain contracts at horrendously lucrative rates. Balerion's reputation had swelled their ranks as well so Mero had been able to take on more contracts. Not only that but the weapons and armor crafted by Balerion were of the highest quality and there had been a demand for the Dragon's iron. All in all, it had made him bloody rich but the bounty on Balerion's head had to Mero felt within reach that Mero fervently hoped to collect it. That was when he had been approached by the Man.

"That is what I have heard," the Man's eyes glinted in his sockets, Mero took another drink to get them out of his sight for at least another moment.

"What about the other Targaryens? The children? The youngest Daenerys must only be five name days old now. Does he visit them?"

"Whenever he gets the chance, and I have tried to have men follow him but the bastard always seems to lose them. He never goes to the same port twice in a row, he'll take a ship to Myr, disappear, and when he returns he does so on a ship from a different city."

"Does he talk about them very often? Are they as mad as their father?" the Man pressed, taking a sip from his wine.

"Not to me." Mero grunted, making it clear that did not know anything more about the Targaryen children. The Man seemed to take it in strides however.

"A pity. It would have been a great opportunity to take revenge on them too for my dear, beloved nephews." The Man said, the tone he spoke in Mero would have used for saying the weather was wet. "I suppose we would have to wait for another opportunity to flush them out of hiding."

"I've heard he is planning on something very soon. Isn't there some kind of rebellion going on in Westeros? I hear the Ironborn are raiding up and down the Sunset Sea." Mero asked, finishing the last drop of his beer. He signaled for a wench to bring him another one.

"You are correct, House Greyjoy have declared themselves free of Baratheon rule. They've attacked the Westeros coastline everywhere between Seagard and Lannisport." The Man replied, brushing his robes he stood up from the table, "Personally, I don't think much will come of it. A pity that Balerion still lives but thank you for your service. Here is the payment I promised for the poisoning. I will contact you again."

The Man deposited a small bag of coins on the table. Mero reached a hand to the dagger he wore, at the same time he reached to the bag and opened it. Pleased with the sight of gold dragon coins Mero waved the Man to depart but kept his hand on his dagger-just in case. The Man bowed to Mero and left the tavern, once Mero was satisfied the Man had left he happily snatched the bag of coins and tucked them into a hidden pouch in his jacket. I've made a fair bit of coin this way over the years as well, haven't I?

Pleased that yet another business opportunity had been filled Mero returned to his drink once the tavern wench had returned with it. He had taken several gulps of his new beer and had begun to think about his dinner plans when he felt the muscles of his neck tighten. He grabbed his neck as he choked for air, spit foaming from his mouth as he gasped for air. Knocking over his beer cup as he panicked he collapsed from his chair. As he struggled to breath he struggled to think as black dots grew him his vision, growing larger until he only saw blackness and nothing more.

Daenerys I

Daenerys had been almost bubbling over with excitement for weeks. Brother Balerion was returning to Braavos to see them again and she couldn't wait to see her dear, half-brother once again. She always loved when he visited, he would bring her gifts, tell her stories of his adventures, and sometimes he would lift her up in his arms so high she felt like she was flying. She had asked him why he was always away for so long, why did he not stay in Braavos with them. He always told her that it was important that he was away, he was working hard to make her a princess in Westeros again.

She had never been born in Westeros and did not really care much about returning, but it was something that both of her brothers seemed to really, really want to do. She had asked Viserys why they did not visit Westeros again and he had become very quiet before he had told her about the bad things the Usurper had done to their family. He had screamed them at her until she had cried and Ser Darry had come and made Viserys apologize for screaming at her. Viserys' hands had not stopped twitching for hours.

I hope Ser Darry is feeling much better. Ser Darry had been sick, even then confined to his bed he had always called her 'your highness' and 'dear princess'. He had died a little while ago, she had asked one of the servants what that had meant but they had just told her that he had gone off with the Stranger to a better place. I wonder if he will tell father and mother about me?

Since Ser Darry had died the household had been strangely quiet without his voice yelling orders to the servants. Now they just whispered among each other, always looking at Viserys and Daenerys strangely and they seemed to be always looking for something else. Viserys had caught one of them looking through his room and had them beaten and thrown out of the house. Viserys had been quiet as well, always looking out the window as if he was waiting for someone to visit him. He had been mad when Balerion's message had arrived that he would be coming to see them but now he was quiet again though his hands seemed to twitch every time she saw him.

It was almost midday when Viserys came to see her in her room. She had been sitting by her window enjoying the rare beam of sunlight that had shone over Braavos' cloudy sky when her brother pushed open her door. He was carrying a large sack with him.

"Daenerys, we are leaving. Come quickly, sister." Viserys said to her, a smile on his face.

"Where are we going, brother?" Daenerys asked.

"We are leaving," Viserys repeated, "Now that Ser Darry is gone I have found a friend of the Targaryens from Myr. They will help us reclaim the Iron Throne for me."

Daenerys knew her brother very much wanted to reclaim the Iron Throne, if it would make him happy, and she was for a moment excited about the prospect of going to Myr. She had heard stories of it from Balerion.

"Brother, we cannot go now! Brother Balerion is coming to visit us." Daenerys frowned, "What if he arrives and we are gone?"

That had been the wrong thing to say. Viserys' smile faded and he glared at her, it scared her and she looked down to the floor to escape his eyes. She heard Viserys' footsteps as he walked over to her, he placed both of his hands on her shoulders and squeezed.

"We will be fine without Balerion. I will leave a note for him. Now, please come with me now. My destiny awaits." Viserys said, his nails digging into her shoulders as he turned her around and pushed her out of her room. She felt tears sting her eyes as she passed through the red door to the house, outside there was a large palanquin carried by several men, around them were several men with swords on their hips. Inside was the oldest woman Daenerys had ever seen, her face was painted in heavy makeup which did nothing to hide the many wrinkles on her face. She smiled at Daenerys which made Daenerys' spine tingle, when she looked at Viserys though her smile changed into something much hungrier.

"My handsome King! It is always a pleasure to see you. You make my old heart quicken. I see you have your dear sister, such a precious thing."

"It is good to see you as well Madam Thara. Let us be off, and quickly." Viserys said and pushed Daenerys closer to the palanquin. As she was pushed closer she could smell a cloud of perfume that seemed to surround Madam Thara, it made her eyes water and she felt her throat want to gag. She wanted to cry, she didn't want to leave their house with the red door. She wanted Balerion.

"My, my, my. It looks like my reputation for impeccable timing remains untarnished." A familiar voice called out from Daenerys' right, she turned her head and her heart leapt in hope at the sight of the voice's owner. He was a bald man, with a hawkish nose and at his side was sheathed a very thin blade that almost looked like a needle to Daenerys.

"Uncle Syrio!" Daenerys cried out. Syrio was a good friend of Balerion's and she had watched them both train whenever Balerion visited Braavos.

"Quiet! He is no Targaryen! He is not our uncle." Viserys hissed and held onto Daenerys tightly.

"Who? I do not have time for any nonsense. We all have a ship to catch, now stand aside little man." Madam Thara said, waving to her guards. Out of the seven only five stepped forward, those two appeared to be Braavosi, the other five looked like they were from Westeros or maybe even farther away. Madam Thara glared at the two guards, "What are you two doing?"

"That is the First Sword of Braavos when Sealord Cervas still lived." One of the Braavosi guards said, as if that was enough to explain everything.

"They are correct." Syrio said, pulling out his needle-like sword as the five other guards surrounded him, "The First Sword of Braavos also does not run. It would be in your best interest to leave now."

"I'm not leaving, kill this fool!" Madam Thara ordered. Taking her command, the first of the guards leapt at Syrio but in a moment where he had been he was no longer there. Syrio had slipped to the guard's side and in a flash his sword had sprung out and pierced the neck of the guard who screamed as he went down trying to staunch the flow of blood from his neck.

"My words do not lie. My arms sing the truth, but you do not listen." Syrio said as he skipped away from a second sword swing. Daenerys gasped as the remaining four guards charged Syrio all at once, she was afraid even he would be brought down by so many swords. Her fear though was unfounded, Syrio ducked and dodged every sword blow meant to kill him. He weaved through the pack of guards, his sword striking out as he went. Here he pierced the hand of one guard making him drop his sword, there Syrio stabbed one of the guards in the shoulder and pushed him into another guard. The last guard standing roared and swung his sword wildly at Syrio but Syrio stepped close to the last guard and tripped him, the butt of his own sword knocking the last guard out when he fell. With the guards down around him, Syrio turned to Madam Thara "Now. Leave the boy and girl."

"Get me out of here!" Madam Thara commanded to her men holding her palanquin.

"Wait! Where are you going? As King I command you to stop!" Viserys shouted, shocked and angry apparently at Madam Thara's abandonment.

"You are a handsome boy, Viserys, but I can get ten more just like you in Lys." Madam Thara hissed and departed, the guards Syrio had beaten crawled or carried one another away after Madam Thara clutching their wounds.

"Come, let us go to my abode. It is no longer safe here." Syrio commanded as he sheathed his sword again. Daenerys made to step toward him but Viserys' hands kept her in place.

"No! No! No! I am the dragon! I command and others obey! I am sick of listening to Balerion. Waiting and waiting for him while he goes off selling his sword and whoring around the Free Cities. He is to obey me. The people of Westeros call for my return! I will gather an army and retake the-" Viserys last words were cut off as Syrio switftly danced forward and knocked Viserys down with his sword, unconscious Viserys fell toward the ground but Syrio caught him and with surprising grace scooped him onto one of Syrio's shoulders.

"Tsk, this one has lied to himself so many times he believes them to be truths." Syrio turned to Daenerys and offered her his hand, "Would you come with me and wait for Balerion?"

Daenerys did not hesitate to take his hand.

"I would like that very much."

Jaime II

"I will not hear of it! The royal fleet stays in Blackwater Bay!" King Robert thumped his fist on the table, silencing the Small Council.

Jaime looked to the only other Kingsguard in attendance, Ser Mandon Moore but as typical of the stony-faced man he ignored Jaime and continued to stare as if nothing had happened. Quite possibly the only man in King's Landing I am wary of.

"Robert, how do you expect us to defeat Balon's Iron Fleet without the full strength of the navy of the Seven Kingdoms?" As always, it was Robert's brother Stannis who made the first move to object to one of the King's wild proposals. As master of ships it was Stannis' duty to oversee the royal fleet and use it against Robert's enemies but it seemed Robert was Seven Hells bent on making sure Stannis fought with arms tied behind his own back. "Redwyne's fleet is substantial but they are not all warships like Balon's Iron Fleet."

"You are master of ships! I expect you to find a way to do that." King Robert retorted, taking a heavy drink from his tankard. Jaime noticed that Robert always seemed to drink when he became angry, be it at the Small Council or after having to deal with Cersei. "The fleet does not leave while that bloody, silver-haired asshole remains alive!"

Jaime knew that referred to Balerion Targaryen. Robert had been incensed by Balerion's insults and it had taken the combined will of the Small Council and Kingsguard to prevent Robert from going to Essos and dueling Balerion himself or outright trying to invade the Free Cities. Jaime was privately amused by the gall of Balerion and very much wanted to see Robert face off against Balerion if only to see Robert butchered by Balerion. The greater threat that was seen was the Third Sons sellsword company, rumored to be five thousand strong, that Balerion had formed in the wake of the death of the Second Sons' leader. Rumor had it that Balerion had challenged him to a duel and choked him to death with his bare hands. Though, he was Kingsguard and though Robert was a lout he did not wish to think what would happen to his family should the Targaryens reclaim the throne.

"Robert, Balerion Targaryen is in Essos and according to Varys reports," Jon glanced sideways at Varys where he sat at the table, the Spider returned Jon's look with a nod, "Balerion is headed east with the Third Sons and a few other sellsword companies. He is heading away from Westeros. Even if Balerion were to return he could not stand against the full strength of the Seven Kingdoms armies, neither can Balon but only if we USE that strength."

"Heading away from Westeros? Why would he do that, eh? Perhaps to punch us when we aren't looking. You know as well as I do that there are still plenty of houses that would jump at the chance for Targaryen's return."

"Robert-" Jon had made to speak but Robert cut him off with such a loud shout that it even made Jaime wince.

"NO! I don't care if you have to build new ships on the Sunset Sea. The Royal Fleet stays where it is and that is final!"

Redserver said:

canon wise mortarion and canon fulgrim did not get along as far as i remeber. mortarion though fulgrim was kinda a fop at the very least, but suprisingly the death guard and the emperor's children apparently got along relatively well, not friends by any means but well enough. Aside from that, mortarions friends during the great crusade consisted of creepy psudeo space batman, and fucking horus, both who died... so yeah he probably needs more friends. But again, since he got along with psuedo batman despite the bats psychic visions, its not impossible for him and ttl fulgrim to get along, so long as they have some common ground and mortarion doesnt think of fulgrim as such a fop this time around.

That is a large part of his character, hes not suppose to be an irrefutably awful person mind, he just had one of the shittiest primarch upbringings, and from what i understand he did geniunly do what he did out of a place of conviction for humanity, going out of his way to fight in the toughest of arenas to slay the toughest of monsters no matter the cost to himself or those under his command. At his best he is a slayer of tyrants/ more enthusiastic perturabo for his meat grinder job, and at his worst hes moody callous and probably resentful of the fact that most of his siblings got it fairly easy by comparison.

sorry, i just find him fascinating personally...

Click to shrink...

This may or may not be Canon...

Mortarion I

"Brother, pour me another glass. I rather like this vintage. What did you say it was again?" Mortarion pushed his cup toward Balerion.

"Tears of Lys, mixed with Long Farewell. It gives it a rather strong after taste does it not?" Balerion chuckled. Obliging his brother by pouring another cup from the pitcher.

"Yes, it does. I am surprised to find at least one of my brothers has the same tastes as me." Mortain said. A small smile formed on his usually dour features.

"I feel quite the same, brother. I must thank you for your cask of sword beetle venom. Though, it did not start off by choice the sheer number of attempts to poison me eventually left me with the taste for poisons and venom. To balance out my good humor of course." Balerion laughed out loud, Mortarion rolled his eyes but still the smile endured on his face.

"Did you say you earned a title among your people on Planetos?" Mortarion asked.

"Ah, yes. Eventually every would-be assassin, even among the House of Black and White, they called me the Poison Eater.

Viserys I

"Let me out! I am the King of the Seven Kingdoms! I am the Dragon! Let me out now!" Viserys raged, throwing the meager furniture of the ship's cabin around. He threw books and pots, a chair and whatever was not nailed down. It had been weeks since they had left Braavos, Viserys' plans to use Madam Thara's influence to buy the Golden Company (even if they were Blackfyre brigands) and retake the Iron Throne were foiled. Every day it was his adoptive brother Balerion that delivered his meals and every day the cursing words he threw were met with silence.

The indignity of it all raged within him unchecked, he could feel it in his hands as they twitched ceaselessly. How dare that pretender treat him this way. If his father had been here he would have…he would have burned them all. Viserys' throat became tight with the thought, he had spent more time with his father than his mother had realized. He had seen the mad wild fire blaze in his father's eyes and it had always made him freeze. He knew genius and madness ran within the Targaryen blood but he was stronger than that! He was destined to rule!

The sound of the cabin door opening, allowing the imposing shape of his adopted brother to enter pulled Viserys away from his thoughts. Balerion's dark purple eyes regarded him cooly, yet they always seemed to pierce him to his core. Even when Balerion was a baby Viserys thought his eyes to be piercing, as if they were taking in every detail and what Viserys had hated most of all was that they seemed to judge him-judge him as unworthy. Viserys did his best to meet his brother's eyes, gritting his teeth he thought that he would not allow himself to be treated with such disrespect. Viserys was a true born Targaryen, Balerion's minion had been the one to foil his plan of returning to Westeros.

"I have failed you, haven't I Viserys?" Balerion said before he could open his mouth. Balerion fell down to his own knee, the weight of his massive frame hitting the wooden floor causing an almost deafening thud to fill the small cabin. Even on his own knees he still loomed over Viserys.

"Y-yes, you have." Viserys licked his lips, he had not expected his brother to act so apologetic, Viserys had expected Balerion to come down upon him like an angry giant. "I am not blind. I know you have raised yourself an arm, you have gained wealth and allies. We should return to Westeros, topple the Usurper and Targaryen rule will be restored!"

"Yes, your Highness." Balerion answered, his head nodding in agreement. "I have worked many years to protect you from Robert's killers. I have killed men and raised other men up to kill for you. They would return to Westeros and topple the Usurper. Do you know why?"

"Why?" Viserys asked, he squeezed his hands together. The answer was obvious to himself, how could it not be to Balerion? "It is because I am King! I am the heir to the Iron Throne it is my right."

"Why is it your right, your Highness?" Balerion asked again.

"I am my father's trueborn son." Viserys answered, he hesitated however realizing there must be something more to the question, "Who was also born of the Targaryen line all the way back to Aegon the Conqueror."

"Yes, Aegon the Conqueror. He flew across the sea on my namesake to Westeros and one by one conquered the Seven Kingdoms. What else did he do though, for it was not just the Dread Wing that made him ruler of Westeros. He had two loyal sisters at his side and their own dragons. Not only that but he had vassals and talked the houses and Kings of Westeros to bend their knee to him." Balerion said, and Viserys had not expected the next words his adopted brother spoke, "Do you know why they followed him?"

"Because they feared death!" Viserys shouted, his temper rising. His hands twitched and he wanted to strangle Balerion then and there, he could see the face of the Usurper there and every other traitor to him and his father.

"NO!" Balerion shouted, he stood back to his feet now and Viserys felt small in his shadow, "It was because they respected him! They respected his abilities and his character! They feared Dread Wing but if all they had was fear of the Targaryens then even faced with fiery death they would have rebelled!"

Balerion smacked his hand against his own chest. "I asked why would my men follow you? It is because they would follow me, not you. I have fought with them, dined with them, defended them and trained them. I give them a glorious vision for the future! You do not. You are nothing to them but a whiny noble brat who only looks down upon them!"

Viserys wanted to shout his denial but he shrank under his brother's dark eyes. The truth pierced him, it was true, wasn't it?

"I said I have failed you, not because I have not taken Westeros yet. No, it is because I have let you become as you are now. I was too greedy to see the world. I never forgot my oath to your mother to protect you, and while I have protected you from assassins I have not protected you from yourself!"

Viserys fell to his knees, his chest felt tight as if somehow Balerion's words were crushing him. Viserys did not know if it was Balerion's words or Viserys' own crumbling world that was doing it.

"You will learn to earn respect and once you have Westeros can be yours. Therefore, if I am to protect you until you do reign on the Iron Throne then you must learn to protect yourself." His words spoke with finality, Viserys looked up to see the ghost of a smile on his brother's face. "Therefore, I have arranged for a…dancing instructor."

Balerion stepped aside to reveal Syrio, the First Sword of Braavos. Syrio looked Viserys up and down, and as if the situation meant nothing shrugged his shoulders.

"His hands tremble with the need for purpose." Syrio said to Balerion before speaking to Viserys, "Boy, girl it does not matter to me. You will become a sword. Both of you will."

"Both of you?" Viserys asked, confused before the form of a girl close to his age stepped into the cabin from behind Syrio. She was slim and slender, with olive skin and dark hair pulled back into a braid that hung behind her. To Viserys she was beautiful! A desert rose if he ever saw one. He wanted her.

"Nymeria Sand. Oberyn Martell sends his daughter." Balerion said.

"A bastard? The Martells send a bastard?" Viserys, said confused by what the Martells had to do with anything. He knew they were loyalists to the Targaryen during the rebellion but his father had punished them for their perceived disloyalty. His words seemed to be the wrong thing to say as Nymeria turned her eyes on him with a ferociously displeased look.

"I am daughter of the Red Viper! You will watch your tongue, before I cut it out." Nymeria all but hissed at him, her voice was accented with the Dornish lit but also something else that sounded like southern Essos.

"I believe there has been enough talking. We train now!" Syrio said, tossing to Viserys a wooden practice sword, "Look for the truth of your legs, or the rocking of the sea will surely cut you down."

Daenerys II

"Brother, why are you sewing?" She asked, having found Balerion inside of his tent within the Third Sons encampment outside of Selhorys. From what Viserys had told her the Third Sons had been hired, among other sellsword companies, to protect the major town from recent Dothraki raids by a vicious horse-lord by the name of Khal Mello. She had enjoyed the ship travel to Volantis but upon arriving in the city itself she had hated the unbearable humidity, she had felt like she had been choking on the hot and heavy air the entire time they had spent in the city. There Balerion had struck a contract with the Triarchs of the city, the Third Sons now numbering several thousand strong would protect the Volantis tributary town of Selhorys against the Dothraki raiders. They had been in the town for two weeks and she had heard some of the Third Sons speak to one another that Khal Mello was close.

"Why am I not sewing?" Balerion playfully retorted, flashing her a smile before he returned to his work. His fingers almost looked like they danced as they threaded the needle through the hides of leather that her brother had laid out across his tent around him. Had had been working on it for several days now, only stopping when his supply of cured leathers and cloth ran out.

"You know what I mean, Balerion!" She huffed but she could not help but laughing at his smile. It was strange to be with him now so often, he would sometimes only stay for a week at a time when he visited her and Viserys in Braavos, but it was also invigorating to see him in action. Training the Third Sons, working at the smithy, dealing with merchants and Volantis officials, and even sewing.

"It is something special. A first of its kind thing. If it works then things will become very interesting." Balerion replied, Daenerys still did not know what the thing he was sewing was for yet he had still told her it was of great importance-which usually involved Viserys and herself. She was also strangely surprised to see the influence he had on their brother, Viserys seemed to be almost a different person. Nuncle Syrio trained him day and night in the ways of the Water Dancing, Balerion too in how to fight against mounted horsemen-even if there was no horse that he could ride.

She was not sure what had made Viserys change, where before he had been so focused on returning the Westeros he now filled his time with training and learning to command the Second Sons. Daenerys was still very young but she could see her brother was smitten with the beautiful Lady Nymeria, who was always nice to her. She remembered Viserys coming to Balerion to ask him on how to say sweet nothings to Nymeria to get her to like him and had been surprised when Balerion had replied he did not know-he never wanted for a woman or man. That had led to Daenerys joyful amusement as Viserys, his face red with embarrassment excused himself-she knew he had worked up no small amount of courage to ask Balerion for his advice.

She had been about to ask another question about it when a horn sounded off in the distance. It was the warning call that danger was nearby. Like a flash of lightning Balerion was up to his feet, strapping on armor, he spared her a glance, "Dany, please go to Syrio's tent. You will be safe there."

"I want to see the battle though!" she replied, normally she would have obeyed his orders immediately but his playful game of keeping secrets from her made her want to be a little contrary, maybe he would even let her watch.

"Battle is not a place for you." Balerion said. He would not let her watch it seemed. "Besides, your arms are not even long enough to swing a sword!"

"Alright," She huffed again, turning to go, "Once I am older though I will want to fight!"

Balerion III

"Lines form up! Archers get to the ready! Shields! Remember, the Dothraki will try to get inside of our line and take captives. They do not have the stomach for a drawn-out fight!" He yelled as elements of the Third Sons and Second Sons formed up outside of the encampment.

With Mero's surprising death, he had not known why but he supposed Mero had been finally killed by one of his vengeful former clients, Balerion had taken full command of the Second Sons. He had used the opportunity to purge the members of the Second Sons who had been under Mero's protection, by kicking them out or in some cases dealing with them permanently. He had reformed the Second Sons as a training and auxiliary force for the Third Sons, to join the Third Sons one had to be a member of the Second Sons and go through the training. Whereas the Second Sons consisted mostly of archers and spear infantry, the Third Sons consisted of their heavy cavalry and heavy infantry wielding everything from bastard swords to greatswords. The so called "Dragon's Sons" were the talk of Essos and some said they would rival the strength of the Golden Company fairly soon.

"Yes, brother." Viserys said, flashing a respectful salute as he turned with Garibald to see to the formations of the Second Sons. He had felt it fitting to have Aerys' second son who had lived to command them, and even though many of the men of the company called Viserys the 'Spoiled Dragon' both were learning and getting used to having one another. Though, Garibald was the true leader of the Second Sons and could be trusted to keep Viserys safe should a 'accident' occur. Balerion thought of it as a test of fire for Viserys.

"The rest of you, wait for the horn to signal." He commanded the rest of his captains before they returned to their men. The Second Sons and Third Sons were split off around Selhorys which sat on the western bank of the Rhyone river. Khal Mello and his khalasar had been creeping toward Selhorys for weeks now, and Balerion knew they would strike at Selhorys very soon, but they were not there to take his head. What they wanted were slaves and plunder, the Dothraki would be happy to massacre as many men as possible but Balerion knew they were not here for a battle of mutual destruction.

He walked toward the front lines and surveyed his forces he had spread out over a clear field. In the front he had placed the spear-men of the Second Sons and just behind them the heavy infantry of the Third Sons. Behind them all the archers of the Second Sons, where he had ordered Viserys to, had a clear view above their heads-he even had constructed firing platforms for them. He held his cavalry in reserve, once the moment was right they would strike. Getting to his heavy infantry, Balerion knelt down on his knees so he did not stand out towering over his own men-something he had taken the habit of doing after the Battle of the Dead Tree. It was always a surprise for his enemies when they charged and he sprang to his feet, at least one such charge had halted itself completely with surprise before Balerion had been among them with his sword.

"Blood and fire, gentlemen. Not even Khal Mello can stand against that." He said to his men, cheering them on before the battle began. It did not take long, the screams of the Dothraki and the hoofbeat of their horses filled the air as the Dothraki khalasar revealed itself and charged toward Balerion and his men. He had a distaste for the Dothraki for several reasons, besides their barbaric nature he disliked their practice of slavery and that they fueled a large part of it throughout Essos. They were by no means the only ones, for they were suppliers toward the buyers from Slaver's Bay and the Free Cities, but Balerion vowed to bring them all to heel one day. Perhaps it would be soon.

"Hold the line! Brace! Brace! Brace!" His voice called out over the battlefield, his melodious shout mixing in with the screams of the Dothraki. Behind him the archers had begun to fire their arrows, he could see some of the Dothraki horsemen collapse but still they kept on coming. The Dothraki mounted horsemen seemed happy to oblige as they sent their own storm of arrows back toward them. He heard and saw men go down but still they held out even as the Dothraki slammed into the first line of spear men. Horses and men screamed together, the Second Sons spiting horse and Dothraki on their spears while in turn being crushed by the weight of a horse or having their lifeblood spilt by a arakh sword-scythe.

"Now!" He shouted after what seemed like minutes after the charge had hit home but in reality had only been perhaps a single minute. He sprung to his feet, towering above his men and rushed forward along with his Third Sons. Balerion and his men struck with a swiftness that he hoped had surprised the Dothraki, he had trained his men to spring forward swiftly a short distance their heavier swords cleaving up into Dothraki riders and their horses that the light leather armor of the riders had no hope of withstanding. Given his own height he was above to strike at the horsemen just about evenly, Firefang cut out toppling the Dothraki and more than once Balerion simply reached forward and shoved or pulled them from their mounts. Firefang had yet to be reforged to fit his size, it had been made for him when he stood at the height of the average man. If Balerion's plans were successful he would have Firefang remade into a sword more fit for him.

"Sound the charge!"

Horns blared a few minutes after Balerion's order, that would bring in the heavy cavalry from their positions on the flanks. He and his men just had to hold the Dothraki long enough for his knights to give the crushing blow.

"Giant!" a voice shouted in Dothraki, he turned to see a Dothraki rider, from the man's armor hung the braids of defeated Dothraki warriors and even a few skulls. "I am Khal Mello, your skull will be a fine stool for my feet. Face me!"

"You should return to your mother's beast, but if death is what you seek I will face you" He said in perfect Dothraki and saluted. Khal Mello spat, motioned for two of the riders next to him to follow him and all three charged at Balerion through the crush of the battle.

He stood his ground, taking on the stance of the Water Dance even as Khal Mello picked up a javelin from a saddle quiver tied to his mount and tossed it straight at Balerion. He did not move as the javelin struck him square in the chest and broke against his armor's steel. Balerion saw in Khal Mello's eyes that he had expected the javelin throw to make Balerion react to prevent the impact thus making Balerion vulnerable for a strike from Khal Mello's arakh. Instead, he stood his ground and thrust his sword straight out, making it flow over the head of Khal Mello's horse and through Khal Mello's neck. His arm did not quiver as Khal Mello's horse kept on charging past leaving its owner's body impaled on his sword.

Khal Mello's blood riders shrieked in anger, making to kill him now that he had killed their leader but he was simply too fast for them. He pushed Mello's body from Firefang and struck out with both sword and one of his mailed fists. Both blows struck in a blink of an eye and sent the bloodriders stone dead to the battlefield's ground. He turned as charging horns sounded off to his right, he saw his heavy cavalry plunge into the Dothraki flank, cutting down most of them though some of the Dothraki riders had managed to wheel themselves away from the melee-but even as they left Viserys' archers did not leave them unscathed cutting down a few more from their mounts.

"Fire and blood!" He shouted before plunging back into the Dothraki riders trapped among his forces, the shout being taken up by the Second Sons and Third Sons around him.

--

"It looks like this will be the end of the Khalasar." One of Balerion's captains commented, he had been assigned to a different part of the town away from the battle against Khal Mello but had seen action against Dothraki raiding parties that had tried to slip in.

"The horse cannot beat the dragon's fire." A wild haired man intoned with no small amount of religious ferocity in each word.

"Yes, quite the case Moqorro, if a bit metaphorical." He replied, his face neutral despite the complex emotions he truly felt for the Red Priest of R'hllor.

Balerion was wary of Moqorro, none the least that the man's fanaticism seemed to be fixated on him but the political strings that came with him. Even before arriving in Volantis he had been courted by the red priests on behalf of their Lord of Light. Some came to him in worship as the word of his fantastical appearance in the Dragonpit had spread, others with more political reasoning saying they would support him if he supported the Red Faith in Westeros. He had been wary of such support, remembering Thoros of Myr who had tried and failed to impress Aerys and who seemed to have become a fixture of King Robert's court (as a drinking companion if not religious adviser). He had welcomed Moqorro to his company's encampment knowing even he should stay on the Red Faith's good side, but Moqorro's grim demeanor had not been expected.

"I want riders tracking their movements. If we can find their latest camp we may be able to surprise them while they are licking their wounds." He paused while looking between Viserys, Garibald, Moqorro, and his other commanders before he continued, "I have additional news. I will be taking a compliment of Third Sons and will be away from the encampment for perhaps several weeks."

"Where will you be going?" Viserys asked, wearing his own complicated emotions on his face. Balerion could see he was both excited and nervous about Balerion's departure. Before he could reply however Moqorro spoke up.

"The Dragon returns to the brimstone. To the place where the land is wounded not just in earth but in the air where the souls of the damned scream."

He deciphered Moqorro's cryptic words immediately and while he was shocked that the red priest knew his plans, but he did not let it show as he continued where Moqorro had stopped.

"Valyria. I will be going to the home of dragons."

Balerion IV

291 AC

"Keep those pumps moving, we don't want you men to lose your breath." Balerion said, earning at least a nervous chuckle from the sailors on board the cog, the Smith's Blessing, as they sailed ever closer to the shores of Valyria. He had to keep their spirits up, since setting out from Volantis he had already stifled one attempt at mutiny and it was only his charm and the swords of the Third Sons that kept the crew from turning around. He also thought that it was the fact he walked through the foul airs that bubbled out from the seas around Valyria without any ill affect thanks to his supernatural constitution. It was also the large, breathing device filled with fresh air that once inflated took up a large amount of the ship's cargo hold that kept them alive.

He had realized that even if he could possibly survive the poisonous air that infamously surrounded Valyria the crew of any ship he took would most likely perish at the faintest shift of the breeze. So, he had worked on for several weeks a breathing contraption to fix that problem, he had sewn together into a large sack yards worth of cured leather making it air tight. He had also designed it to have dozens of breath tubes which he connected to masks made of metal and glass courtesy of his time spent learning how to make Myrish glass. In this way, the crew of the ship and his Third Sons could breathe fine and cover their eyes for the short period of time from when they entered the waters of the Smoking Sea. As soon as he had smelt the faintest wisp of Sulphur airs on the breeze he had ordered them to put on their breathing masks. Thus, they had all not dropped dead leaving Balerion to sail the ship himself to Valyria and back.

So far, his design had held out. They were in eye-shot of Valyria's shore and only two sailors had died when they had taken off their masks. He had made sure he could turn off the air flow of individual tubes.

"My Lord, I've confirmed the course heading. We should be close to the Valyrian fortress described on the old maps." The Smith's Blessing's captain confirmed.

"Good, once I am ashore sail back out a safe distance. Then return after two days. If all goes well you will be dining on a set of a Valyrian steel dinnerware." Balerion joked, eyeing the Captain. The Captain nodded eagerly, either from excitement or fear of disappointing him. That was good, it meant the Captain was less likely to try and maroon him in Valyria.

"Are you…I mean do you think you will run into any trouble? In Valyria? I mean no natural thing could live in Valyria after the Doom but that just leaves-"

"The unnatural." Balerion finished for the Captain. He smiled and slapped the Captain on the shoulder in a friendly gesture, almost knocking the man to his feet, "I don't have any fear and neither should you! I haven't meant a man or thing that has killed me yet."

Those words were not entirely true. He did fear that in his absence something would happen to Daenerys and Viserys. Especially, now that after nigh two years of fighting the Usurper in Westeros had finally bloodily put down the Greyjoy Rebellion. Now that House Codd stood as Lord Paramounts of the Ironborn Islands he feared Robert would turn his attention back to Essos. From Doran's latest message the feelings toward Robert's rule had become particularly sour in the Reach which had suffered from Ironborn Raids while Stannis built the so called 'Sunset Fleet', he was tempted to send feelers out to Lady Oleanna. Balerion thought soon enough they would make their return to Westeros but first he had wanted to 'properly' equip the army of the Targaryens before the next stage of his plan. Which was why they were sailing to Valyria, to recover the contents of an entire armory of Valyrian steel.

"Assuming the old Valyrian fortress on the coast here protecting the western approach toward Valyria has not been ruined by the Doom we should find more than one ship's cargo hold worth of weapons and armor the Valyrians used for their soldiers for when a dragon couldn't occupy a large set of land. More than enough to equip our army, more than enough to sell and make everyone filthy rich, and perhaps even upset the balance of power in a few places…" Balerion's last words teased the next stage of his plans but he thought the Captain would not know the true scope of what he planned or at the very least care about them.

"The shore floor is coming up!" one of the sailors posted by the bow of the ship shouted through his mask. Which meant for Balerion it was time to make his final preparations before going ashore. He had eschewed wearing his armor, not expecting to really fight at all, and had chosen simple light clothing but he still opted to bring Firefang. He carried a sack of tools he had picked for breaking into ruins such as a hammer and chisels. He spoke a few words with his Third Sons, ordering them to keep the ship in line, he thanked them and the ship's crew for coming all this way before he jumped off of The Smith's Blessing and into the water off of Valyria.

The water only came up to his hips which for most men would have been their chests or even their heads. Undeterred he waded ashore, only looking back to see The Smith's Blessing turn and sail away. Reaching the beach and hearing the sand crunch under his boots, only then did he take in the land that was Valyria after the Doom. His most immediate impression was that the land was dead. Coming ashore in what was a secluded inlet as he looked around all that he could see was volcanic rock and barren earth. The dark, volcanic clouds above blocked out much of the sunlight and leaving the sands of the beach to firmer ground he did not see much of anything growing at all. The only sounds he heard besides the crashing of waves against the beach was the howl of the wind and a distant, ominous rumbling.

"I had not expected an untouched paradise. To see it though is much more depressing than I could have imagined." He said and thought he was speaking quite possibly the only words of men the land of Valyria had seen since the Doom. That train of thought continued in his mind, he was truly alone for the first time in a long time, he was in a country of the dead. Shaking his head, he pushed those thoughts away, "Away from me despair! I have purpose and so I shall live!"

He did not wait for the dead land to answer him and continued his march inland, climbing toward a particular section of high rocks close to the shore. He had only needed to take one look at it from the sea to determine that if he was an ancient Valyrian he would want to have built a fortress there. It was close to one of the only accessible beaches along the coast, its rocky terrain made it highly defendable, and its high vantage point would have made it ideal for spotting ships crossing this part of the coast.

"If there was a path here, it is no longer here." He said to himself when he looked for a path up the rocky outcrop, if there was such a path before it may have been obliterated by the Doom he determined after an hour of searching. He was close to giving up and perhaps trying to find a way around or something further inland when he spied something out of place with the rest of the volcanic rock. It was high on the rocky outcrop but while it may have looked like a rock to most eyes he determined that it was too well formed to have been made by the earth. "A metal chain! Of course, the Valyrians had dragons. They must have used them to reach the top and from there build some kind of lift to bring materials and men to the top."

With his usual gusto, he took to climbing the rocks themselves, vaulting himself upward as he spied handhold after handhold. In no time, he had climbed up several dozen feet to where he had spotted the chain and he was not disappointed. The chain itself was a part of a set of chains that were tied together to a metal basket and a pulley system that no doubt had used slave labor to lift the basket up from the ground below. Picking up the chain it was large, each metal link bigger than most human hands and not only that touching the metal he knew instantly that it was made from Valyrian steel. "There must be enough Valyrian steel here to make a copy of all of the Valyrian swords in Westeros!"

Looking around the cliff ledge he saw that there was a path that lead from the lift to the top of the rocky outcropping and even from here he could see the impression of stone masonry there. Dropping the chain, he walked up the path to see utter ruin. The Valyrian fortress that had once stood on this rocky outcrop would have no doubt been a sight to see, towering over the surrounding ocean and land but that had been the past and now it was cast down. He was surprised by the lack of walls but realized no enemy could have hoped to scale the outcrop easily. The base of the fortress seemed to have survived the Doom, but only two levels skyward when it appeared to have once narrowed into some sort of tower it ended abruptly. He had read that the Valyrians had been fond of building large towers with circular peaks so that they could land their dragons at the top. He mused, "They must have used them as landing pads…wait, landing pads?"

He was momentarily startled. Landing pads. Where had those words come from? He was certain he had never heard another soul speak those words and he had never read them in a book. How then did he know those words and that they meant for where something that could fly could land? He could almost picture what they may have been like, seeing dragons descending onto them from on high belching flames. Then he could imagine birds of metal could do the same, with wings that did not move and instead used the super-heated gas pressure ignited with fire to propel themselves skyward. More alien but oddly familiar words came from his within his head and Balerion felt confused at where they had come from but confident in their meaning. He felt like he was on the cusp of understanding something, but then turned his eyes back toward the fortress and saw a gaping hole that lead into the ruins and his purpose for being there reasserted itself. "Focus. Do not lose yourself in the details."

He reasserted his mental force, like steel gates locking in his mind, and proceeded toward the fortress. Stepping through he found himself in an antechamber, he could see Valyrian script faded on the stone walls, and the remnants of where furniture and tapestries had once been. He had also seen the bones. They were scattered across the floor, picking one up he saw that while they did not look gnawed on they were undoubtedly human. Had the Valyrian garrison died on the mountaintop? They could have used the lift to escape which meant perhaps they had all died immediately and suddenly. That left the question though of where were their weapons?

He looked across the room and saw no hint of steel of any kind, if these were soldiers where had the weapons gone? Kicking over a pile of bones he spied a cloth banner that while rotted he could still see the sigil on the banner. It looked like a roaring lion. A very familiar lion. "House Lannister?"

Balerion IV:B

"How could a House Lannister banner be here in Valyria?" Balerion said, he combed his memory for any possible thing he could have read about the history of Valyria, before and after the Doom. Before Aegon's Conquest but after the Doom the King of the Rock, Tommen II Lannister, had sailed toward Valyria with a golden fleet. He had never returned and his fleet had disappeared without a trace. Balerion could very well imagine Tommen's fleet being half killed by the poisonous gases of the region, the survivors desperately coming ashore, spotting the lift and using it to gain access to the fortress and before they could have sent it back down have all died. That still left the question where had their weapons gone and why had they been drawn to this particular cliff.

"I am not going to find out standing here." He said, peering across the antechamber to the only hallway that appeared to be unblocked by fallen debris. He took out a torch from his sack, for a moment he looked at the House Lannister banner and was tempted to burn it. House Lannister had betrayed the Targaryens in the most heinous and deceitful of ways. He had thought more than once what he would do to those Houses that had rebelled against the Targaryens and if they would oppose Viserys' return to the Iron Throne. On one hand he was not surprised by Lord Tywin's betrayal, King Aerys had done much to hurt relations to the Lannisters, but on the other hand the desire for vengeance for Elia, Aegon, and Rhaenys was still strong. He carefully stuffed the House Lannister banner into his sack and after lighting the torch continued down into the depths of the fortress.

He was surprised to see that the tunnel slopped deeper, going into the rocky outcropping and even what must have been below it. The Valyrian fortress' true depths must have riddled its way along the coast itself, the stone section where he had entered being merely a front door of sorts. He found more rooms, the furniture inside better preserved told him that he must have entered the barracks for the garrison. Some of the rooms and passages had collapsed, whatever contents they may have held lost to him. What he found more curious was that he still did not find any additional remains of Valyrians or Lannistermen as he passed. He had begun to wonder where they could have possibly gone when from deeper within the darkness of the tunnel he saw a light.

Not the light of day or possibly his torchlight bouncing off a mirror or shiny surface, no it was an entirely different sort of illumination that appeared to become from a most peculiar place. The hallway ended abruptly in front of a large stained-glass doorway, twin double doors and side paneling was made out of stained glass of different colored hues. From behind the glass the light waxed and waned creating different shades of cascading colors that drew his eye. His superhuman hearing picked up the faintest traces of laughter from the other side of the doorway as well. "What in the name of the Seven…?"

Before he could say anything else the doors opened wide, a cloud of strong smelling perfume washed over him, his hand had already gone to Firefang and drawn it from the scabbard before two figures emerged from the doorway. They wore rich purple silk dresses, what little he could see of their skin was extremely pale, but he easily noted that they both had long silver-blonde hair and eyes of bright purple. He wondered how Valyrians could be here even as one of the figures spoke.

"A guest! Welcome, welcome." The first Greeter spoke.

"Mistress Irakan bids you to enter her adobe, her refuge for all!" The second Greeter said and quickly followed the other as both ducked back into the room.

For the first time in quite some time he was at a loss for words. Another living soul in Valyria was the last thing he had expected, that the meeting had been so nonchalant confused him even more. He peered into the doorway, with the doors open he could hear the sweet sound of music and laughter from deeper within. He hesitated, wary of what possible danger lurked within but reluctantly he eventually slid Firefang back into its scabbard and followed his curiosity into the room. Stepping into the cloud of perfume felt strange to him, for a moment he felt resistance but it was only for a moment and taking several steps inside he had cleared it completely.

"A guest! What surprise!" A silken voice called out across the large dining room that he had found himself in. The sight of it made his hands quiver and drop his torch. It was bigger than any he had seen in Kings Landing or Essos, dominated by a large table made of silver and encrusted with hundreds of different gemstones. At the table, itself sat guests in the midst of feasting or talking or doing other more vulgar things amongst each other-most looked Valyrian but he saw features from all over the known world. Everywhere he saw the purple dressed servants, they moved with supple grace as they served, danced, or even played musical instruments in the corner. At the opposite end of the table stood a stunningly beautiful woman, her Valyrian features to him were flawless and for the first time in his life he felt the unnatural surge of the desire of flesh in him. A part of him leapt to his own defense, he focused of his thoughts like a sword that clumsily began to batter at the hungry thoughts in him.

"I…I bid you welcome, My Lady Irakan. I am Balerion Targaryen," he paused as he forced himself to walk forward around the table, "The Phoenician."

"Ah, the Phoenician." Irakan's smiled widened, showing many perfect teeth, "I have heard of your name. The Targaryen scion who is adored by all and who will destroy the Usurpers of the Iron Throne. Please, have a seat."

As pride welled inside of him he noticed that there was indeed an empty seat that had seemed to appear out of nowhere. Obliging his host, he saw down in the seat, surprised to find that it was the perfect fit for his size. He wondered idlily how many people adored his name? Would they sing tales of his heroic deeds from Westeros to the Shadowlands?

"Where do you hail from stranger?" an older man bedecked in red and gold silks worthy of a king asked him from across the table.

"Where do I come from? From, ah, Westeros!" he replied, he felt the part of his mind sharpened into a sword was alarmed by his sudden loss of words and cut faster. He didn't know why it should be. He was a guest of Mistress Irakan after all. Who he noted was suddenly sitting beside him, from here he could make out the graceful details sewed into her black dress.

"Oh, really? Tommen here is also from Westeros. He traveled a long way to stay here." Irakan looked at him and winked, "Though not as far as you have traveled. No, he could never accomplish that in a thousand lifetimes."

Tommen was a familiar name, had he been thinking of it earlier?

"Yes, I don't doubt that." He sneered, looking at Tommen who seemed to have not heard or minded his words.

"Once I return though I will be bedecked in glory and treasure." Tommen gulped heavily from his own glass of wine, looking at it made him thirsty. He looked down and saw that at some point a glass full of wine and a full course meal had appeared in front of him. It made him hungry and thirsty, which he thought was strange because he could not ever remember when he was either of those. He made to take the cup in his hand and drink it but something that Tommen had said made him think.

"Return. I will also return to Westeros. I will conquer the continent, throw down the Usurper and bring the Targaryens back to the Iron Throne." He said the words but somehow, they blazed out from him like fire, he had talked about it before but never with the passion or desire he said those words now.

"Yes, you will. You will be hailed as the new Dragonknight! Greater than Aemon Targaryen himself. Your name will be cheered from the North to Dorne, men will want to be you and women will want you. Statues will be made in your image, your name will be spoken with awe and desire for ten thousand years" Irakan said beside him, her words filling him.

"Balerion Targaryen. The Dragonknight." He found the words intoxicating, "The man who toiled and endured, the man who returned the Targaryen king to the Iron Throne." He said, practically seeing himself clad in the white of the Kingsguard standing beside the Iron Throne occupied by…an older Daenerys. The thought made him blink, the air in front of him blurred. Not so much that he had something in his eyes but that the scenery around him was actually changing. Beside him, Irakan laughed.

"Returning the Targaryen king to the throne? You are thinking too small, too controlled my dear. Have some grander imagination. No, imagine yourself sitting on the Iron Throne, as First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm." Irakan's words came out as a laughing hiss, and he saw it himself seated on the Iron Throne as ruler of Westeros but unlike his previous vision this one collapsed in on itself. The dining hall quaked, but none of the other guests or the servants appeared to notice it at all.

"I, no. That is not my duty. That would mean I have failed. Failed Rhaella in keeping her children safe." He shook his head, the part of his mind shaped into a sword was gaining the upper hand now. He looked around, from Tommen who looked so hunched and pained by his seat at the table to the other guests who sat and stared off into nothing or talked without words coming out of their mouths. "I am in Valyria. Deep below it. How are you here. Everything was destroyed."

"In destruction there is want, darling. In the last moments of death there is desire! Desire to live and do so many things left undone. To say what one's heart truly wishes to be said or to commit the most delectable of debaucheries." Irakan laughed again, taking a sip from her cup.

"The Doom. How did anyone survive the Doom?" he demanded, he actually struggled to move out from the chair it was as if some force was keeping him in place. Only his hand twitched, he willed it to move toward Firefang.

"The Doom was in the before. We only care for the pleasures of the now." Irakan licked her lips, for a she looked as if she was lost in some blissful thought before she waved a hand to Tommen, "Though we once roamed all of Valyria after the Doom. Calling to its shores sailors who came too close, bidding them to follow us to more private accommodations. Some sought out Valyria's hidden wealth on their own and those that refused..."

Irakan's words paused in the air, and he did not need to guess the meaning of them. They had been killed or perhaps those beguiled had killed their comrades. He felt his hand slide over his scabbard, but it was still a struggle to pull his sword. He needed to play for time, to prevent whatever it was Irakan wanted with him. "I didn't see any swords or treasure for that matter."

"Such things we kept for ourselves. What is desired by men is desired by us as well. Though, the pesky steel made by the Valyrians is troubling. It burns, though if you hold it in just the right way the pain can be terribly invigorating." Irakan's hand shot out and grabbed his by the wrist where he held the pommel of the sword. She smiled again and he could see that she had more perfect rows of teeth than any normal woman should ever have. Her words came out in a much heavier rumble, the air around them quivered with every word. "Isn't that why you are here? We saw the desire in your heart long before you arrived here."

"Yes, I want the swords. To outfit my army to conquer Westeros." Her touch burned his skin where she held him.

"Admit to yourself. You want to conquer Westeros for you. Your bonds of honor and duty are nothing but shackles! With my master's power you will-"he interrupted her before she could say anything more.

"I want to conquer Westeros, not for myself but for Viserys and Daenerys." He spat back at her and roared as he willed his unoccupied hand closed to Irakan to lift itself from the table and punch her square in the face. The force of his fist sent her spiraling out of her chair and would have killed a normal human but no sooner had she hit the floor she was back up. The skin around her face had changed, becoming taunt and the veins black. Her purple eyes swirled and bulged out of her sockets as she let out an inhuman wail.

"I AM THE HANDMAIDEN OF THE DARK PRINCE! NONE REJECT ME!" as she wailed the other occupants of the room jerked like puppets on a string. Some shouted, their voices in half pain and half pleasure, as they exploded spreading gorge across the fine diamonds of the dining table or the tapestries on the wall. Some like Tommen wept in what appeared to be relief before they fell dead against the table, one moment flesh and blood the next dust and bones. The servants however joined their mistress in her screech and before his eyes changed, horns and crab like claws sprouting from their heads and hands. He turned back to Irakan to see her explode from her flesh and from within something much more massive began to grow, her words echoed from everywhere within the dining hall, "NONE REJECT THE GREAT AND POWERFUL, N'KARI!"

Before he could see what, she was growing into the servants attacked, the two he barely recognized as his greeters at the door were the first upon him. Fortunately, whatever had held him in place before seemed to have stopped itself and he withdrew Firefang in a flash of dark Valyrian steel. As their crab claws came to pierce his chest, Firefang leapt out cutting through their claws and before he could react he stepped closer to them stabbing them both with his Firefang in quick succession. They shrieked in horrible, inhuman voices their flesh bursting into flame wherever his sword cut them. He made sure to behead them both before he danced away from another pack of servants that had caught up to him, he kicked one of the chairs into their path making them stumble. Using the opportunity, he punished them by piercing each one with his sword and ending their inhuman lives.

"I KNOW YOUR SECRETS BALERION! I KNOW THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF YOU COULD NEVER KNOW!" was the only warning he received before a much larger shape barreled its away into him from the side and sent him careening over the table. He looked up to see that Irakan, or more accurately N'Kari, had become truly monstrous. She had transformed into an albino skinned giant, besides sprouting four arms of which two ended in massive claws, her formerly perfect face had become a picture of hideous lust. Oddly, she seemed to have only one breast, whatever else she may have been hiding was covered by a silken loincloth that bore a strange symbol that burned his eyes. Even as he looked at her with disgust her tongue slithered out of her mouth to flail at him tauntingly.

"You know nothing, beast!" he retorted, parrying the claw of one of the few remaining servants and before riposting his sword into its stomach he took one of the chairs, a work of art made from crystal that all of the nobles in Westeros could never have afforded, and flung it at N'Kari. She took it in both of her clawed appendages and with only the slightest of efforts crushed it.

"OH? DO YOU THINK THAT? I AM KNOWN AS A KEEPER OF SECRETS. I WATCHED AS YOU WERE TORN FROM YOUR FATHER'S EMBRACE AND SENT AS A SHOOTING COMET ACROSS THE STARS!"

"My Father?" he hesitated, his desire to know briefly overwhelming his concentration. It was then that one of the servants caught him off guard, its claw snapped against his side, cutting into his flesh. He yelled and kicked out at the servant, crushing its chest in. He almost did not notice as N'Kari gracefully leapt over the table and made to wrap him into a no doubt soul crushing embrace with all four of its limbs but he had noticed and leapt across the table once more sending plates and cups spilling around them.

"YOU KNOW IT TO BE TRUE. COME, PUT AWAY YOUR SWORD. EMBRACE ME. AND TOGETHER THE DARKEST PLEASURES WILL SWALLOW THIS GALAXY." He replied by picking up another chair and throwing it at N'Kari. This chair was the same caught by her and he saw her roll her eyes just before he leapt up on the table and sent Firefang piercing through her beast. Immediately her flesh caught fire from where he had pierced her. She tried to crush the chair she still held in her claws but he noticed that her inhuman strength seemed to be leaving her with his deathblow. She battered at him still with her two extra hands but he took every blow and pushed her down to the ground even as the fire burned his hands. He screamed as his flesh burnt but he held on still, N'Kari thrashed below him for several moments before slumping down a smile on its twisted features. She leaned up and whispered to him, "We will meet again, my dear…Fulgrim."

Then she disappeared and so did the room along with her. The dining hall ceased to exist, he felt the strange presence from when he had first entered bleed away before disappearing entirely. He found himself now alone in a similarly large room.

"Graah." He bit back the pain as he looked at his charred hands, carefully he pulled the House Lannister banner from his sack and wrapped it around both his hands. He spotted the torch still lit on the ground and made to pick it up when his foot scrapped against something that made a metallic screech against the stone floor. With pain, he reached down and picked up the object and as soon as he had the torch he looked it over-it was a sword with at the end of the pommel a stylized roaring lion. He shone the torchlight, the light catching on the glint of thousands of steel swords and other objects that absolutely littered the ground around him. He laughed long and bitterly at his discovery before something out of the corner caught his eye.

EDIT

He walked over to a large alcove which upon closer inspection he realized was a forge. A forge with several large murals that looked to be of ancient Valyrians and dragons working at the forge and creating swords, armor, and so much more. In the light of the torch he saw stored in a place of honor a dozen dragon eggs.

--

WHOOPS! The end bit got cut off there when I was copying and pasting. Well, enjoy! I am on vacay for most of the week.

Rylanor – Brother

Five Months After Reunion

"Lord Guiliman, I invite you to Tegon." Rylanor bowed before the gigantic figure armored in blue and gold. As he did so, so did the honor guard of Dragon Knights sent to greet the primarch of the 13th Legion, their armored kneepads slamming into the stonework of the New Keep, the Dragon Knight's official fortress on the continent of Valyria.

"Rylanor, it is good to see you once again." Guiliman smiled and placed a large, armored hand on Rylanor's shoulder. "It has been years since I last saw you on Terra, and now you have found your legion's primarch."

"That we have," Rylanor said, standing back to his feet and as he did so the other Dragon Knights echoed his motion and stood, "We have been re-made and we grow every day."

Which was true he thought to himself. Since finding their primarch, Balerion, the legion of old had been transformed and not just in name. It had been scarcely a few months and yet already word had reached them that the Emperor having taken gene samples from Balerion was now able to create new geneseed for the Dragon Knights. Balerion had promised to travel to Terra to see his Father after he had settled matters on Tegon itself, leading his mortal army to assert the rule of the Targaryens over every last corner of Tegon and building the infrastructure for which the Dragon Knights would be able to train future recruits and take the Great Crusade to the stars. The creation of the New Keep was part of this, Balerion had decreed that the New Keep located in the ruins of Old Valyria would serve as the bulk of the 3rd Legion. Rylanor was impressed that Balerion was already bending arcane technologies to his will to make the volcanic wasteland around the New Keep inhabitable.

"I am also the second to see our brother, am I not? Or has Mortarion already beat my own arrival to see our reclaimed brother?" Guiliman asked, his eyes looked around the receiving chamber, Rylanor knew that the primarch had had already assessed the defensive and offensive capabilities of the room the moment he and his honor guard had arrived off of the dropship. Guiliman was just being polite admiring the décor.

"You are still the second, after Magnus. We expect Lord Mortarion's arrival within the month." Rylanor said before he motioned for the honor guard to stand as well. They consisted all of members of the 3rd Legion prior to the discovery of Balerion, which they had taken to calling themselves the Brotherhood of the Fireblade in honor of Balerion's blade the Firefang which he likened them to for remaining sharp despite the disasters that had befallen them. "He was extremely reluctant to leave, learning from Balerion of the various, ah, psyker traditions on the planet."

Rylanor had almost outright said magic. Rylanor had been beside Balerion when he and his brother and father had hunted the strangest sources of warp traces on the planet. The Decimation of Stygai in particular stood out on his mind, battling half-human, dead things fueled by some sort of xenos warp influence in the shadow of the Shadow Lands. Magnus had been fascinated but Balerion and the Emperor much less so.

"Yes, I had heard of the interesting stories about Magnus. The things I have heard about Balerion are no less interesting." Guiliman said and he seemed to leave it there. Rylanor did not wish to challenge if that meant for good or for bad. From the landing pad they rode a lift down into the ground of Valyria, where the Adeptus Mechanicus had used their drilling machines to create an underground fortress to Balerion's specifications. It opened up into a large hallway lined with the new symbol of the Dragon Knight's, the so called 'Wyvern Blade', sewn into tapestries several dozen meters large of purple, black, and red. Within the hallway he saw hundreds of humans, both mortal and transhuman, rushing through to different parts of the New Keep. It made Rylanor think of the crowded sky lanes above Terra but with people instead. His primarch had made sure every living soul within the New Keep had something to do, some task no matter how big or small which would contribute to seeing the Dragon Knights made ready to eventually join the Great Crusade.

"Ah, so that is Balerion." Guiliman said once off the lift, his eyes looking out across the hallway. Rylanor had stood confused for a moment, but then realized that Guiliman had spotted Balerion even before he had. Looking out he could see then his primarch, standing tall with silver hair and fair skin, clothed in the finest power armor said to have been crafted by him merely a week after studying a STC for power armor. Balerion was also looking at Guiliman, a look of joy and knowing on his face. The two primarchs marched forward toward one another and the small sea of humanity that rushed about them parted to let both sons of the Emperor pass.

Once in arms reach they clasped hands together, Rylanor looked between them. Guiliman wore a smile that was happy but Rylanor knew hid his true emotions-ever the statesman this was Guiliman's way. In contrast Balerion smile seemed not only perfect but also much more genuine, perhaps a reflection of Balerion's own affinity for being warm to others be they regular human or transhuman. Together they both spoke one word.

"Brother."

Viserys II - 291

"I could be reclining on the Iron Throne, ruling over all of Westeros, you know that? I could even instead be drinking fine wine in a garden in Volantis. Instead, I am fighting monsters." Viserys said, using a cloth to clear the blood from his sword, one of the many that Balerion had brought from his excursion into Valyria. He called it, the King's Arm.

"Trust me, I watched over your father on the Iron Throne and it was not an easy seat-and I mean that metaphorically and quite literally." Balerion replied, stopping to take a drink of water from a bucket held by one of the Second Sons' aides to the Quartermasters. The boy who held the bucket was only a little bit younger than himself, and like the thousands of other slaves Balerion had purchased in Volantis his face was adorned with a tattoo of the Targaryen dragon-hiding the previous tattoo and the previous life the former slave had before. "You also get to fight a city of monsters! Your song will be sung across Essos like the knights of Westeros!"

"You mean your song?" Viserys said and glared at Balerion when he turned away as if he had not heard what Viserys had said. At their side Nymeria laughed at the two of them, Viserys would never understand why Balerion or anyone thought that was funny. "I also notice we are moving farther and farther away from Westeros. Should we not turn in the other direction?"

"Sometimes Viserys to reach your goal you have to travel the long road." Balerion finished drinking and gave the former-slave a word of thanks and sent him off down the line toward the Dragon Blades, the Third Sons' cavalry arm that had formed from the mix of mostly Dothraki and other slaves freed by Balerion and supplied in Volantis. "Even if it means the Dragon must fight the Demon."

Viserys could not help but agree with Balerion that they were indeed fighting demons. On his return to Volantis, ship laden with what he claimed was a fraction of the armory in Valyria he had caused quite the stir and upset in the city. The several red priests from the Temple of R'hllor had declared Balerion to be Azor Ahai, though the High Priest remained silent, and had joined with the Third Sons. It had also sent off a small deluge of adventurers to Valyria, of which only a handful had come back and all empty handed-further magnifying Balerion's feat. With the wealth from selling just a few of the finely crafted Valyrian steel artifacts Balerion had amassed enough wealth to not only expand the Third Sons but influence the election of the Triarchs. For the first time in centuries the Triarchs consisted of one Elephant and two Tigers. Their first act being to commission Balerion with marching eastward and clearing the so called 'demon road' and the bandits and dangers that lurked there.

The suggestion for the campaign had been Balerion's, since setting out from Volantis they had worked their way eastward following the dragon road built by the long-dead Valyrians. At first, they had merely dealt with bandits and colonies of those afflicted with greyscale. They would set up small forts and way stations which would, according to Balerion, be the framework for stable villages and even cities in time. However, as they drew closer to the Sea of Sighs the people that they found had become not people at all. It had been small things at first, scared faced or the occasional extra bits of flesh here and there. Eventually, they had begun to face cannibals and men who had the feet of goats and the horns of rams or extra limbs or a growing number of other equally, disturbing features. As they approached the city of Mantarys they had requested to meet the city's rulers to discuss the situation but the envoys Balerion had sent were returned in a chest and pickled in jars. As they approached the city the gates had opened, and a menagerie of twisted horrors had charged out to meet them and had been butchered by the Third Sons.

Thus, the siege of Mantarys had begun.

"How long do you think they can live like they have in there?" Nymeria asked, poking the eye of a body with the head of a horse with her spear.

"I would say not very long given that we have them surrounded, but if they start eating each other…most likely longer." Viserys shook his head in disgust.

"I would not be surprised by that at this point." Balerion stared toward Mantarys' walls, a grim look on his face. He had worn the same look when they had opened the chest. "I'd give my arm for a dragon just about now."

"Maybe, if Dani sits on one of those eggs you brought back it will hatch?" Viserys said, and that at least made both Balerion and Nymeria smile.

Since his return with the dragon eggs he had found in Valyria Daenerys had been utterly entranced by them. She practically slept with them in her chambers and would always walk around the camps with one in her hands. She liked to talk to them, whispering words to them and sometimes giggling loudly after telling them a joke.

"I am tempted to try. If only so I can wipe this cursed place off of the face of Essos." Balerion unsheathed his sword, Firefang.

"What do you see?" Viserys asked as he jumped to his feet, his adopted uncle did not draw his sword without reason these days.

"By the shoreline. A head or two bobbing just under the surface. These creatures have an animal's cunning I will give them that! They are using the cursed red murk of the waters to launch a surprise attack from the water. Suicidal, but perhaps to mask a different attack? I have to go to the look out towers, Viserys, Nymeria take the Second Sons to the shore, will you?"

"At once!" Viserys and Nymeria replied, Balerion nodded to them both, a sign of his respect, and ran off at blinding speed.

"Nymeria, how about you meet me tonight in my tent? I just received a shipment of Dornish wine."

"Mmm, perhaps. How about our usual wager? If you kill more of these monsters I will go to your tent, but if I do you will come to mine?"

Jaime III – 292

The Black Cells beneath the Red Keep were not in particular Jaime's favorite place in King's Landing, that was beside Cersei in bed, but he was Kingsguard and where his liege went so did he.

"Your father is a fool not to see the Dragon as a threat. You can bloody well tell him that from me if you want." King Robert growled out as they stalked through the Black Cells, the torchlight throwing shadows everywhere.

"I am fairly certain my Father already knows you think that, sire." Jaime replied, earning a brutish laugh from Robert. Despite the fact that he despised the man and he was sleeping with his wife Jaime did have to admit he did like that Robert did not act like he had a stick up his arse.

"It feels like I am the only one trying to do anything about the threat." Robert said, stopping for a moment with a scowl on his face, "He has an army under his command and no one thinks he is a threat. He bloody well conquered Mantarys and has threatened Tolos and Elyria into submission taking half of the Gulf of Grief and yet no one thinks he is a threat!" Those foreign red priests think he is their god or whatever and no one thinks he is a threat. We have bloody septons and knights running off thinking he is the Warrior or the Smith walking among us and still no one thinks he is a threat!"

Jaime knew that Robert in particular was concerned about the last, neither paid much heed to the Seven but both knew that crazed priests shouting praises to Balerion on the streets was something that could rile up the smallfolk, or worse the loyalists among the noble houses. House Martell in particular was obviously the most likely candidate but thus far not every Varys' little spies had been able to find proof of any sort of collusion.

"Well then, what are you going to do about it?"

"Its not what I am going to do about it…" Robert replied both stopping outside of a cell door. He pushed it open and the light flooded into the dank room, immediately Jaime was hit by a smell of human waste that made him push down an urge to gag. He had some small comfort that if Robert ever found out about him and Cersei that Robert would just have his head cut off immediately and not waste time sticking him in one of these cells. "…it's what he is going to do about it."

Inside the cell was a single man, he was dressed in rags and of course absolutely filthy. He looked almost like a skeleton the way his skin hung on his bones and for a moment Jaime thought that perhaps the man was dead. His notion was banished when the man's skull like head twitched in their direction, one eye not covered by an eye patch stared out at the both of them.

"What…what do I owe…the..the pleasure. Of royal…company?" Euron Greyjoy asked.

Moqorro I

"Does the fire speak to you?" Moqorro asked, and for a moment he saw something that may have been doubt enter the face of the Targaryen Dragon, Balerion the Phoenician, and who a growing number of the faithful to R'hllor considered Azor Ahai.

"If it did, would I even speak its language?" Balerion asked back, his smith's hammer coming down against the heated metal he held against an anvil. Balerion wore his long hair back tied in a ponytail behind his head and wore the basic garb of an ordinary blacksmith. For Moqorro there is where what may have been considered common place in other smithies ended, for not many smithies that he had seen were worked by a giant of a man his blows against the heated metal were blindingly fast but expertly precise. What would have taken a normal man many blows to shape the metal took Balerion a great shorter amount of time to hammer.

The 'smithy' itself was out of the ordinary, for it had been placed in the middle of a villa inside of Tolos and the walls themselves were covered with intricate drawings and text written in languages Moqorro knew and had never seen before. Racks upon racks hung armor and weapons that not only looked expertly crafted but Moqorro suspected were made from Valyrian steel. Every blade was clean cut, every piece of armor looked made to provide no encumbrance to the wearer. He had heard Balerion admit after his expedition into Valyria that despite it he still did not have the means to make Valyrian steel, only re-shape it, but Moqorro wondered if Balerion had been telling the truth. He wondered as he looked between the drawings, and the armor if this was what it was like to look into Balerion's mind.

"Fire has no language. It has no words, yet it only speaks the truth." Moqorro said, Balerion laughed sparing Moqorro a glance up from his work.

"Whose truth I wonder? Tell me Moqorro, did you come to debate me or was there something else you had in mind?"

"In truth, I had come to check upon your health. The fire said to me that you were feeling unwell." Moqorro did not lie in this, he had seen Balerion clutching his head as if in great pain.

"Well, at least that is a truth I can confirm for the fire. For a short time since coming to Tolos I have been experiencing, headaches of a sort." Balerion said, his smile now grim on his lips.

"Ever since arriving in Tolos or before?" Moqorro asked.

"Perhaps, before. A problem has been laid before me and in truth, my truth and not the fire's truth, I have wondered how to solve it." Balerion pulled the metal from the anvil and put it out to cool. "How will I conquer Slaver's Bay?"

This was not a surprise to Moqorro, not because he had seen it in the fire. Balerion's attitudes toward slavery were well known among those who traveled with him. It was most likely known by now to the Masters of Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen who looked at Balerion's conquest of the Demon Road with trepidation. Indeed, many were calling the former Demon Road the Dragon Road once more as travelers and trade followed in the wake of Balerion's destruction of bandits and monsters along the roadway. The Triarchs in Volantis did not realize or at least underestimated the scope of Balerion's ambition.

To change the world over.

"Did the fire give you an answer then?" Moqorro said, his tattooed features placid as ever.

"…no. I found the answer within myself." Balerion answered but his response was devoid of any mocking humor, he looked not at Moqorro now but upward toward the ceiling and perhaps even through it. "The pain in my head grew worse and worse but like a fever it suddenly broke and when it did my thoughts were filled with…ideas. Ideas I had never read anywhere else but somehow, I knew. As if I had been born with them."

Balerion then walked over to one of the racks, and on it was an object very similar to what he had been making on his forge. It looked to Moqorro like a large fish barrel made of metal as it was rounded like one and even had an open end. Not explaining his actions Balerion took a package which when picked up sloshed with something that sounded like sand to Moqorro. Balerion stuffed the package down the open end of the metal barrel and went to the other side where there was a small piece of odd string. Balerion used a candle to light the string which sparked and very quickly burnt itself out going into the metal barrel. A moment later a loud BOOM filled the workshop, fire and smoke erupted from the open end of the barrel, Moqorro covered his ears in pain and surprise. The metal object had kicked back on its rack and splintered some of the wood but after that single blast it was calm, if smoking slightly.

"The force of an object equals the mass of the object times the object's acceleration. Now, imagine if a large object like a rock or a metal ball was placed inside of this…this…cannon." Balerion said the word 'cannon' easily but to Moqorro's ears it sounded foreign and almost…unnatural, "A large force pushes the object with enough force that not only will it go farther than any catapult or arrow it will smash into another object enough to do extreme damage to this. Imagine, the walls of Meereen or an enemy warrior being hit by that large object."

Balerion paused.

"After I made this my headache disappeared immediately."

-

Moqorro was surprised for perhaps the first time in a long time after he left Balerion to his work. Questions were good, but he knew they also could be very dangerous. He had retreated to his quarters inside Tolos' red temple. Contemplating what he had seen and staring many long hours into the fire to find what it would mean not just for him but perhaps all of mankind. His contemplation was ended by a visitor to his quarters, a hooded visitor that he invited into his room. Pulling off her hood the visitor was revealed to be an attractive woman with red hair.

"You have looked into the fires, have you not? How may I serve Azor Ahai?" Melissandre asked him, in her eyes Moqorro saw another fire but one that he knew if not properly tended to would burn everything around them. He planned to put this to good use.

"I have. You must leave Tolos and sail to King's Landing. You must prepare the way for his return."

Doran II -292

Doran liked Highgarden, he was fond of the castle's many groves and gardens, its beautiful flowers and courtyards. It did speak of the abundance of the Reach which was so characterful of the region. Unlike his brother, Oberyn, who was fond of much faster paced pleasures Doran had long ago learned to love the tender, thoughtful pleasures such as gardening. While not as burgeoning as Highgarden, the Water Gardens in Dorne were still a work to rival Highgarden's gardens. The blood orange trees and other plants that Doran grew had their own character-one of strength and resilience in the arid nature of Dorne. As of late he had felt his knee joints swell and the maesters predicted it may be the early signs of gout, while he did not relish it he did fine some silver lining in that it meant he could attend to his own plants on purpose rather than as a subterfuge for his own plots.

Which he felt as of late were needed more and more as the years went by as of late. Though the Ironborn Rebellion had been defeated the rule of House Cod was looked down by many of the Ironborn's more traditional houses. Without fear of their Lord Paramount's reprisals the Ironborn had continued to go abroad to practice their 'old way'. While by no means as destructive as the raids launched by the Greyjoys earlier it still was a nuisance as Ironborn pirates traveled the western coast of Westeros, and even a few had founded bases in the Stepstones. While his thoughts were tied with securing his own realm they were also tied with seeking his revenge.

Balerion's exploits in Essos had arrived in Westeros with equal amounts awe and anger. Doran had helped the tales of Balerion and Viserys spread in Westeros, paying mummers here and there to begin to spread favorable views of the Targaryens among the smallfolk. While he could not be direct in most cases he also looked for signs of weakness to loyalty to King Robert, whose fits of wrath had only grown stronger and more terrible -if embellished in some cases again by the mummers. Knowing Robert though Doran was not surprised to learn half the tales being told were actually true. His anger landing among his brothers and the most hated Tywin Lannister the most but the old lion still managed to hang onto his influence. Doran knew though that time was running out for the Targaryens in King's Landing, eventually the Small Council would see Balerion as a threat and one that had to be dealt with.

Which was in part why he was in Highgarden in the first place. Meeting with Lady Olenna Tyrell. The two of them had arranged for a meeting in one of Highgarden's more secluded gardens and Doran wanted to feel her out. The matriarch of the Tyrells was well known as the Queen of Thorns and Doran hoped to every so sutbley gain her opinion on the Targaryens without giving any overt signs of his own treason that could be used against him.

"Highgarden looks as beautiful as ever, Lady Olenna." Doran said, starting their small talk.

"Yes, yes. That's why we pay an entire army of gardeners. It smells like shit in the planting seasons though, dreadful. Let us skip the hidden truths and double speak, I'm too old for such games. You wish to know my opinion on the Targaryens, don't you?"

He should have known better. The crone was one to lead the conversation, not to be led by it.

"Yes, the Targaryens seem to be on everyone's mind late-"Doran had begun to say but was interrupted by Olenna banging her cane on the ground.

"I said speak plainly. Do I look like a fool, hmm? I know you received a maester's education and contrary to what I am thinking are not a fool. I know you favor the Targaryens and are no doubt involved somehow with them even now."

"And how would you deduce that?" Doran asked, scowling now.

"Very simple." Olenna smiled then leaned toward him her chin on one of her hands, "If my family had been murdered as yours had I would stop at nothing to see every single one of the murderers and their lords and their families dead. Not just dead of course, but I am old as you know and a lady such as I should not give voice to what terrible revenge I would visit upon them."

For a moment he panicked if perhaps somehow, he had crossed the Lady of Thorns and she was going to just what she did not speak of to him, but it was only a moment and he regained his composure if not his patience or good mood.

"Yes, you are as sharp as ever, my lady. I want to know where Tyrell WOULD stand if events continue on their course. Will there be a point where Highgarden's loyalty shifts its course?"

"There, is it not so much better to speak plainly? Trust me, if you get to my age you will find you do not have the time for wasting it." Olenna reclined in her chair, appearing to get more comfortable before she replied, "You Dornish, always speaking in metaphors involving water. I understand it is scarce there but really. I prefer, to think of events as the wind. Tyrell will wait, growing stronger, and see where the wind blows."

Before Doran could reply, again Olenna interrupted him.

"Now tell me, is this Balerion as handsome as they say? Has he been betrothed yet?"

Euron I - 292

"My lord" said Waell, the Baratheon minder as he approached Euron, his gaze directed away from Euron as much as he could, "We must sail for a port in the Stepstones as soon as possible."

"Why would we do that?" Euron asked, his head cocked to the side as he stared down Waell.

"The meat, all our supplies, on the ship they have become rancid. We must stop for fresh supplies for the crew." Waell's face briefly cringed; the man had most likely seen the sorry state their foodstuffs were in.

"So? It is still edible we can feed it to the crew and no harm should come to them." Euron made to turn away from Waell but silently counted the seconds before the stooge's reply.

"We can't feed that filth to the crew; they will become sick within a day. We must stop for fresh supplies or we will never make it to Essos" Waell's hand had slowly crept up to the blade around his waist.

"Is that an order, Waell?" Euron turned back toward the man and leaned closer, relishing the way the other man took a step back as if in fright.

"Y-yes. That is an order, by King Robert Baratheon. You are still under his liege's mercy and-and you will do as I say!"

Euron waited for several seconds, letting Waell truly taste the tension on the air before he let out an exaggerated sigh. "Very well, we will make for one of the islands."

"Good. Very good" Waell said, puffing out his chest in what must have been self-satisfaction before nodding to Euron, "Let me know if anything comes up."

Euron watched the other man as he walked down the deck, out of ear shot of the laugh that Euron crowed. Euron was very happy to call to port here in the Stepstones, it would mean he could get rid of the Greenlander lackeys he had been saddled with and replace them with an Ironborn crew and slaves he could work to death. Content in this knowledge he breathed in the salt air of the sea, hacking a gob of spit in his throat and spitting it across the deck.

It felt good to stretch his legs once more, to be on the sea. He never felt more alive than any other time in his life, though many a man would say he did not look it. His time in the Black Cells had changed him, his skin was pale and blotchy and pieces of it flaked off of his body in great amounts. His hair hung lankily from his head, much of it missing. Around his eyes a thick crust had begun to form and many would most likely mistake the cataracts they could see in his uncovered eye as blinding to him. Despite having eaten the better part of a feast for the last few weeks, courtesy of Robert, he was still cadaver thin but he felt stronger than ever. His ship, Silence, did not look much better than its master did, in its years at dock rot had spread into its wood that not even the Baratheon shipwrights could root out. They had wanted him to take a different ship but he had insisted on his ship.

Both had been captured by none other than Stannis Baratheon in the weeks following the capture of Pyke island. Stannis had hunted him down like a dog, ambushing hthem as Euron and his crew stopped for supplies off the coast of the Reach. He had tried to make the run to Essos to disappear from Robert's wrath but instead Stannis had personally brought him back to King's Landing in chains.

"I plan to settle my score with Stannis one day…Grandfather willing." Euron chewed on the skin from his lips.

Perhaps he had Stannis to thank for what he discovered in the dark of the Black Cells. After spending weeks which became months trying and failing to escape he had lost all hope, but it was only then when he felt true despair that the voices of the flies had spoken to him. They had come to him through the cracks in his cell door, pushing their bulbous bodies through the crannies and cracks, and sometimes they just came from the shadows themselves.

"The words they spoke…" Euron muttered, recalling the secrets they told him, ones that the maesters would give their souls for. He knew the Doom that had caused the death of Valyria and changed the course of the world had been caused by the birth pangs of a god. The brother of the flies' grandfather. On Tegon and elsewhere in the beyond it had caused magic to recede like the tide, but now the waters were returning to shore so the Grandfather and his brothers sought to take advantage once more, to topple old rivals and new ones on Tegon. The flies said old scores would be settled but also an unforeseen opportunity as well.

"The Dragon…" they said. They said his future that was meant to be, that he was meant to have had been closed like a door locked shut. Already again the Grandfather's brother had failed to claim the Dragon for itself once again and by doing so had inadvertently opened new doors and new futures that could yet be. And the Grandfather's other brothers would no doubt take advantage of the opportunity as well. Euron was to be the Dragon's guide the flies had whispered, welcomed out not he would need to show the Dragon the truth of all things. "Truth lays in despair and hopelessness."

If he succeeded, even by planting the seeds, "The Dragon's wings will rot but the Dragon would soar higher than even he could imagine was possible."

Euron smiled, several of his teeth missing, and turned Silence toward the Stepstones.

XIV

"What does this mural mean?" Mortarion, Primarch of the Fourteenth Legion of the Imperium of Man asked. He could almost forgive the two Dragon Knights assigned as his guides through the Dragon Keep at balking for a moment at his words. He was an imposing figure in his ivory-grey armor, his head and most of his armor obscured by the heavy cloak he wore made of Barbarusian material and the constant stream of gases that emitted from his rebreather unit. He had also not yet spoken a single word since his arrival, leaving most of the talking with the two Dragon Knights, one Equerry Rylanor and Apothecary Bile, to Mortarion's own seconds, Captains Typhon and Garro.

The mural in question was a mosaic cut into several sections which had different symbols and figures.

"It represents the faiths held by many of Tegon's natives." Rylanor was first to speak, "Balerion has wished to preserve Tegon's culture. For example, the section you are pointing at represents the Faith of the Seven a faith most popular in Balerion's initial home region of Westeros."

Mortarion saw that the section of the mural that had caught his eye showed several figures seated at a table with the symbol of a star. One was an old man, a matronly looking woman, a warrior wielding a sword, a man with a hammer and anvil, a younger woman in a dress, an ancient looking woman with a lamp, and finally a hooded skeleton with its arms opened wide. His eyes lingered on the hooded skeleton in particular before he pointed at another section of the wall where a symbol in the shape of a vertical sword bisected an anvil with flames surrounding it, "And this symbol?"

"That one…" Rylanor pursed his lips, "While Lord Balerion was living and fighting on Tegon followers of the Faith of the Seven and of R'hllor the Lord of Fire saw Balerion as a messianic figure. He was the embodiment of the Warrior with his strength, the Smith with his ability to create and to mend broken things, and he represented goodness against the darkness of the religion's negative counterpart."

Mortarion looked back to the mural and then to Rylanor, his dour expression becoming disgusted, his words he almost spat out "Does my brother see himself as a god?"

"Not at all my lord," this time it was Fabius who spoke, Mortarion could tell he was shaken by his own reaction but sensed an all different anger inside of the Apothecary, "These were how the backward and fanatical viewed him, by all accounts Balerion never supported any such notions. With this mural he wishes to simply pay homage to the beliefs of his people. He feels by incorporating the faiths as aspects of the Imperial Truth the many people of Tegon will accept compliance all the better."

"Hmph." Mortarion snorted and waved for the two Dragon Knights to continue guiding him and his own Death Guard to meet his brother. So far what he had seen here was not making a favorable impression on him at all. Word on what his newly found brother was like, let alone his exploits on his home world, had been scarce. He had been requested to make the journey to Tegon by the Emperor but he would never admit it, he was also curious to see what Balerion was like. A part of him wanted to see if his brother was in ways like himself. The evidence so far seemed to lean toward the opposite of his hopes.

While he was impressed with the ingenuity of the Dragon Keep and looked favorably on the choice decision to base it in such a inhospitable location on the so called Valyria he was beginning to question if his brother was in fact a fop. He saw the evidence since his arrival on the planet, the ornate welcoming party, the Dragon Keep was filled with flags, paintings, statues showing off the triumphs of Balerion or the Third Legions symbols everywhere. He was most circumspect of the tattoos in the shape of a three-headed dragon he had seen tattooed on the human servants. That Balerion had not met him on the landing pad almost made Mortarion question if this whole thing was part of a power play by his brother, to make Mortarion come to him and impress the grandeur of the Dragon Keep. That his brother had apparently been worshipped as a god among his own people already filled Mortarion with doubt about Balerion, not only was he a fop but he had not strived and suffered as he had, proven himself and had instead been handed his rule first by the people of Tegon and again by their father.

Even the two Dragon Knights were perhaps evidence. The armor they wore was a dark metallic shade the shoulder trims colored a bloody red while the pads themselves were of a surely decadent shade of purple. Perhaps evidence of all was that they wore the symbol of the Imperial Aquilla in gold across the chests of their armor, an honor not visited upon any other Legion so far. He had heard the Emperor had granted Balerion this right and it had been what had first set off his own suspicions about his brother.

"Are we close to our meeting with my brother?" Mortarion asked, his tone thought was more of a command. Garro and Typhon were much more silent now than usual, both had come to know him and his moods well. They likely sensed his own growing frustration.

"Yes, my Lord. He is actually right through here in the training area." Rylanor replied, guiding the party through a set of doors that lead to a large circular room. Inside there were many benches arrayed around an open area in the center of the room. To Mortarion it put him in mind of ancient Terra's gladiatorial arenas. In the center stood the being who was unmistakably his brother surrounded by dozens of initiates.

He appeared to be giving them a lesson in sword craft.

"Your leg work is key, keep moving your feet and keep your opponent guessing. You want them to focus on your sword so that they will never notice where it is truly aiming." Balerion's voice rang out across the training area unaided by any vox enhancers. As he spoke he moved with his sword, showing several attack movements as he did so. Mortarion studied his brother's movements, to him it appeared as if his brother flowed as he moved like moving water or billowing fumes. Around him the Dragon Knights initiates were similarly spellbound by their Primarch, only a few actually taking notes of his words as they watched. He would have to add to his assessment that his brother did know how to use a weapon but his voice Mortarion likened to a showman. He would need to study further for a true range of his brother's character.

As if sensing his thoughts Balerion paused in his display and looked up to see Mortarion, a grin split his brother's face before he turned and saluted his initiates. "Stand and salute, you are in the presence of my brother, Mortarion, the Liberator of Barbarus."

He was surprised as the initiates turned toward him and each taking a needle thin sword bowed and saluted him. He was surprised by Balerion's tribute to him, none of his brothers he had met so far had recognized his own trial in freeing Barbarus from the overlordship of its former charnel masters. In response, Mortarion clapped his fist over his armor, the dull booming sound of ceramite against ceramite filling the training area. He watched as Balerion's smile grew wider, then turned to his initiates and bid them to leave and give him privacy with his family. Once the initiates had filed out of the room Mortarion was again surprised by the warm greeting Balerion bestowed upon him. He noticed that several had the same three-headed dragon tattoo he had seen earlier.

"My brother it is good to meet you at last."

"I believe the feeling is mutual, brother." Mortarion replied, still uneasy.

"It is fortunate that you arrived, otherwise I may have lost to my own temptations." Balerion raised a hand and signaled an unseen person, from the corner of the room a robed man walked forward holding a glass bottle and two earthen cups. Balerion took the bottle and the cups then thanked the man and bid him good bye. Opening the bottle Balerion poured the contents into each of the cups, and handed one to him, "I know you are a connoisseur. I present to you 'Tears of Lys' the deadliest poison among the Free Cities."

From there perhaps against his better judgement Mortarion slowly had begun to warm up to Balerion, drinking the poison offered and enjoying it. His brother exclaimed he was overjoyed to find at least one of his brothers enjoyed a taste of death, explaining to Mortarion how he had won himself the nickname of "Poison Eater" among the assassins of his people. From the training area the Primarchs and their attending astartes walked to a secluded viewing port that allowed them to view the fuming volcanos of Valyria and the sea beyond it. His reservations were still strong though, and he started his inquiry with a question he had been holding onto.

"I have seen many of your human servants here bearing a tattoo of a three-headed dragon. I also saw some among your initiates who bore this same mark. What does it mean?"

"The symbol itself is that of House Targaryen, the noble house that…adopted me when I landed here on this planet," Balerion sipped from his glass before he continued, "They wear it due to a tradition in the city of Volantis where slaves were marked by tattoos on their faces."

The pit of Mortarion's stomach grew cold again. Slavery. He could not abide by the slavery and tyranny of the charnel masters on Barbarus to hear Balerion speak to him felt like bitter sweet vindication in his beliefs of his brother.

"When I freed them from their bondage I remember so clearly telling them they were free men and women. They could seize their lives and go forth into the world on their own will. Most of who I freed tattooed the symbol I fought under over their former slave tattoos and joined my army fighting across Essos."

"Tell me more." Mortarion asked, his briefly held vindication dying almost immediately. So, rather than dwell on his preconceived notions he let Balerion talk and tell his own story. Of his guilt during his first years serving Aerys, of his drive to protect his foster family, of fighting across a continent and his own personal crusade against the bondage of mankind on Tegon. By the end of it, Mortation certainly now knew that his brother certainly had a tendency for the dramatic and a certainly honorable foolishness but Mortation did not hear the cruel laughter of his first adopted father when Balerion laughed. Finally, he had heard enough.

"Balerion," he said, taking his cup and holding it in the air, "I toast you, brother". He was not one for long winded speeches but somehow, he knew for Balerion that would be enough.

Perhaps, he had found a brother he could get along with.

Daenerys III

She dreamed of flying. Soaring high through the clouds, reaching her hand out so that she could touch them. So high that when she looked down she could see all of Essos and Westeros below her. There she was, on the back of a dragon beyond the lands below and any constraints.

Oh, how she wanted to be there flying in the sky. Or anywhere outside of brother Balerion's lectures for that matter.

"Dany, have you been listening to a word I have said?" her adopted brother asked. Outside of his metallic black armor he was no less imposing of a figure, even if he had his hair pinned back and wore the robes of a scholar-an open book in one hand.

"Of course, dear brother." Daenerys giggled, she did not know why but seeing her brother like this always amused her. He had proclaimed more than once that once he had seen Viserys to the Iron Throne he would be more than happy to retire and become an maester in the Citadel. Viserys would always huff and roll his eyes but even she knew her adopted brother was lying, she believed his desire to teach but she knew he would quickly grow bored of staying in one place for too long and would ride off to somewhere exciting. She secretly hoped he would take her with him.

"Its just that…when you told me I would be taking lessons from you…I thought you meant how to use a sword!"

"Hah! Sweet sister this is why you are here," Balerion grinned, his face full of mock admonishment toward her, "This is the first step. Before you can use a blade you must know who you would defend yourself against and why. Why comes before how in war."

Balerion snapped his book shut with a single hand and turned toward a hand drawn map of Essos that he had drawn from his own memory. He pointed toward Slaver's Bay before slowly drawing his finger over each of the slave-cities.

"Meereen, Astapor, and Yunkai. They call themselves scions of the Old Ghiscari Empire, but those words are as far from the truth as one can be" Balerion pointed out toward an open window in his study, to beyond Tolos where the army he had assembled waited for his command, "Our forces number somewhat over twenty-thousand. Knights of the Third Sons make up around two thousand of those while an additional seven thousand are made up of our line infantry in the Second Sons. In addition to that we have over seven thousand freedmen. Of which five hundred have organized into light cavalry units. The rest are make up of a mixture of sellswords and Unsullied from Astapor we have secretly freed through third parties."

He paused, raising his brow at her as if asking if she was still paying attention. She nodded her head in confirmation before he continued.

"While we can match any city individually we are about even should they unite, further they have the advantage of being able to group themselves together, around the walls of Meereen or Astapor. If we cross Slaver's Bay or the Skahazadhan river we would be bottled by the slave-cities. What should we do, oh princess?"

"Mmmmm…" Daenerys hummed, squinting at the map in front of her. In her head she tried to do the math but the numbers involved were large and unwieldy. She mentally tried to clap them down with one hand but she felt as if they were still too large, so she used both of her hands and the answer came to her. "We attack both ways!"

"Very good" Balerion tipped his head to her, a proud smile, "We use our access to the gulf and the northern shore to our advantage. We split out forces, one keeping Meereen's attention on the north, while the other attacks from the south. Knocking out Yunkai and Astapor before meeting at Meereen. Viserys will lead the contingent from Bhorash and I will attack from the south."

That seemed to be the answer, but questions still bothered her. She reached down into a small basket next to her and picked up an object that one could mistake for a large stone but was in fact something much more special: a dragon's egg. Cradling the egg in her arms calmed her down and helped her think better, the dozen dragon eggs Balerion had brought from Valyria were scattered around her quarters. The one she held in her arms she had named "Aegon", when Balerion had asked her why she had named the egg after King Aegon, the founder of their dynasty, she had told him that it was because of him! Once Aegon hatched he would be Balerion's companion just as her brother's own ancient namesake had. "Brother, what will we do about the Unsullied though? Splitting up will make us weaker won't it?"

Balerion's eyes lit up at her words.

"Yes and no," he replied, rubbing his hands together before turning to his map, "While it may seem that way our forces are still much stronger than those that can be fielded by the slaver cities."

He tapped his finger on Valyria.

"It was the Doom. None of the cities on Essos have recovered from the Doom. All are a shell of their former selves. They don't know the ways of true war, not even Westerosi war. They hire sellswords and slave soldiers, either given the opportunity would turn on their masters be it coin or freedom. They have no organization and they have no drive, no unity."

Daenerys could see what her brother had meant. Viserys had told her that even he was amazed by the ways that the Second Sons, Third Sons, and the other free companies were so different compared to the sellswords employed elsewhere. The Third Sons were most devoted to Balerion, believing him and thereby her cause to return to Westeros. So, did many of the Second Sons, though most had joined for coin many seemed to become converts to the Targaryen cause upon meeting Balerion-some did not and when their terms expired they were happy to leave and use the reputation of the Second Sons to gain high employment elsewhere. The free companies who were former slaves were about as devoted as the Second or Third Sons, owing Balerion their freedom which they guarded, and in return Balerion blessed them all-giving out lands along the Dragon Road they had fought for.

"When the time comes our knights and formations will smash the slaver-cities," Balerion said with utter conviction. She believed he would repeat what he had done in Mantarys and Tolos, installing governing councils made up of people from all the classes.

"What about the walls of Meereen?" Daenerys asked, she had heard of their size and strength. She remembered her adopted brother's weeks of torment over their threat. Many would die if they tried to take the walls.

"Ah, that I have come up with a rather unique solution…" Balerion seemed to have meant to say more but, before he could into his study Syrio barged in. She did not like the look of worry on his face.

"Balerion. It is the Dothraki, the Masters have bribed one of the Khalasars to ride south. They…they have Bhorash surrounded, much of our garrisons there have been…" Syrio stopped talking. She wondered why.

"Viserys…" Balerion said, all mirth gone from him as he looked down at Syrio, "Viserys is at Bhorash. Tell me, what about him…?"

"Only a few of our scouts on patrol were able to flee before the Dothraki surrounded Bhorash…we…don't know if he is alive or dead..."

Viserys III

"It looks like Balerion is here." Viserys said, looking through the Myrish Lens that Balerion had made for the commanders of the companies under the Targaryen banner. The accuracy was remarkable and unlike the lens made by the artisans of Myr these lenses allowed one to change the range and focus of the view. His gaze swept from Balerion's forces, still small on the horizon to the Dothraki horde that was much closer. "Barbarians…"

Viserys did not have high respect for the Dothraki, but that did not mean he underestimated their fighting ability. If they had not prepared for an attack from any quarter, then mostly likely Viserys and the forces under his command would have died to the lightning fast assault of the Dothraki. The first line of defense that had been constructed was a wooden palisade around the outer edges of Bhorash where they were re-settling the city, the only entrances through the palisade had been narrow choke points which they had used to grim effectiveness bottling the Dothraki. However, the palisade did not stop the Dothraki from breaking through, but the palisade was not meant to stop them-just delay the Dothraki enough for Viserys' forces to organize behind the original walls of Bhorash. The sections that had crumbled over the ages had been refilled with rubble and debris, the gate though was heavy iron that the Dothraki could not break down. It had still been a hard fighting retreat to the inner wall but the Second Sons and Iron Shields sellswords under his command had done well.

"I don't think they mean to scour us from Bhorash," The Tattered Prince, Ezio Magel, said to Viserys' right- also looking through a lens at the Dothraki. Viserys found the exiled Pentoshi noble to be good company though he would never understand why he went to great lengths to have all refer to him as 'The Tattered Prince'.

"You are most likely right. The Great Masters did not likely pay this Khal enough to waste his riders on our walls." Viserys shook his head.

"If this Khal is smart he is already weighing his options. His surprise attack did not go as planned, instead of capturing thousands of slaves he has nothing to show for it." The Tattered Prince replied, pulling at the long hair of his beard.

"I would not be surprised if he offers terms, gold and horses for taking his Khalasar away." Viserys bit his lip and shook his head, "Balerion though would never accept such an offer. It shows a sign of weakness to the Dothraki-just like the Slaver and Free Cities have been doing for centuries-and will just invite them to ride south again."

"I know Balerion has defeated the Dothraki before. Though, those Khalasars were much smaller compared to this one." The Tattered Prince gestured his hand toward the thousands of riders that had taken to camp outside of the city. The terrain around Bhorash was hilly, they could see the Khal's tend situated on the highest, nearby hill. "He has something of a growing reputation among the Dothraki. A silver haired giant that breathes fire. Has throttled Khals and their bloodriders and so forth…a Khal who claims his head would see his fame rise among the other Khals."

"Perhaps that is part of the offer the Great Masters offered this Khal Jommo? They say there is a Khal Drogo who is a rising among the Dothraki. Whoever claims Balerion's head could challenge this Drogo barbarian." Viserys said and thought what this would mean for the future. He knew Balerion had concerns about his campaign against the Slaver Cities. For now, they proclaimed peace with the cities on the eastern side of Slaver's Bay and the Gulf of Grief. Using contacts from Lys, Volantis and the other Free Cities he was working to calm the fears of Meereen, Yunkai, Astapor, and most of all New Ghis. There was not open war between Balerion and the other cities, but they planned for that to change, re-settling Bhorash was one step toward that. Was this attack by the Dothraki just an attempt by the Great Masters to tell Balerion to back off or was it the opening stage of an counter-attack by the Slaver Cities?

Once their forces were ready they would cross Slaver's Bay and with speed to conquer all three cities in one fell swoop. Freeing the slaves and gaining for Viserys, allegedly, an army of tens of thousands. The conquest though would set off a chain reaction further south and back in the Free Cities. Balerion did not think his paid Triarch would be able to prevent the Elephants from returning to power in Volantis and his disruption of the slave trade would quickly turn at the very least Lys, Tyrosh, and Volantis against them. They believed Myr, Pentos, Qqhor, and Novros would stay neutral with Braavos coming to their side. The more immediate concern was New Ghis to the south, Balerion openly envied their martial capabilities and thus far was hoping to woo them over. One way or another, but if not, he was prepared to fight the Ghiscari.

"Are your horses prepared to ride?" he asked the Tattered Prince.

"Once the signal is given we will be ready."

"Good," Viserys placed his lens to the side and turned his back to the Dothraki, "Let us hope Balerion's gamble pays off."

Viserys III

"It looks like Balerion is here." Viserys said, looking through the Myrish Lens that Balerion had made for the commanders of the companies under the Targaryen banner. The accuracy was remarkable and unlike the lens made by the artisans of Myr these lenses allowed one to change the range and focus of the view. His gaze swept from Balerion's forces, still small on the horizon to the Dothraki horde that was much closer. "Barbarians…"

Viserys did not have high respect for the Dothraki, but that did not mean he underestimated their fighting ability. If they had not prepared for an attack from any quarter, then mostly likely Viserys and the forces under his command would have died to the lightning fast assault of the Dothraki. The first line of defense that had been constructed was a wooden palisade around the outer edges of Bhorash where they were re-settling the city, the only entrances through the palisade had been narrow choke points which they had used to grim effectiveness bottling the Dothraki. However, the palisade did not stop the Dothraki from breaking through, but the palisade was not meant to stop them-just delay the Dothraki enough for Viserys' forces to organize behind the original walls of Bhorash. The sections that had crumbled over the ages had been refilled with rubble and debris, the gate though was heavy iron that the Dothraki could not break down. It had still been a hard fighting retreat to the inner wall but the Second Sons and Iron Shields sellswords under his command had done well.

"I don't think they mean to scour us from Bhorash," The Tattered Prince, Ezio Magel, said to Viserys' right- also looking through a lens at the Dothraki. Viserys found the exiled Pentoshi noble to be good company though he would never understand why he went to great lengths to have all refer to him as 'The Tattered Prince'.

"You are most likely right. The Great Masters did not likely pay this Khal enough to waste his riders on our walls." Viserys shook his head.

"If this Khal is smart he is already weighing his options. His surprise attack did not go as planned, instead of capturing thousands of slaves he has nothing to show for it." The Tattered Prince replied, pulling at the long hair of his beard.

"I would not be surprised if he offers terms, gold and horses for taking his Khalasar away." Viserys bit his lip and shook his head, "Balerion though would never accept such an offer. It shows a sign of weakness to the Dothraki-just like the Slaver and Free Cities have been doing for centuries-and will just invite them to ride south again."

"I know Balerion has defeated the Dothraki before. Though, those Khalasars were much smaller compared to this one." The Tattered Prince gestured his hand toward the thousands of riders that had taken to camp outside of the city. The terrain around Bhorash was hilly, they could see the Khal's tend situated on the highest, nearby hill. "He has something of a growing reputation among the Dothraki. A silver haired giant that breathes fire. Has throttled Khals and their bloodriders and so forth…a Khal who claims his head would see his fame rise among the other Khals."

"Perhaps that is part of the offer the Great Masters offered this Khal Jommo? They say there is a Khal Drogo who is a rising among the Dothraki. Whoever claims Balerion's head could challenge this Drogo barbarian." Viserys said and thought what this would mean for the future. He knew Balerion had concerns about his campaign against the Slaver Cities. For now, they proclaimed peace with the cities on the eastern side of Slaver's Bay and the Gulf of Grief. Using contacts from Lys, Volantis and the other Free Cities he was working to calm the fears of Meereen, Yunkai, Astapor, and most of all New Ghis. There was not open war between Balerion and the other cities, but they planned for that to change, re-settling Bhorash was one step toward that. Was this attack by the Dothraki just an attempt by the Great Masters to tell Balerion to back off or was it the opening stage of an counter-attack by the Slaver Cities?

Once their forces were ready they would cross Slaver's Bay and with speed to conquer all three cities in one fell swoop. Freeing the slaves and gaining for Viserys, allegedly, an army of tens of thousands. The conquest though would set off a chain reaction further south and back in the Free Cities. Balerion did not think his paid Triarch would be able to prevent the Elephants from returning to power in Volantis and his disruption of the slave trade would quickly turn at the very least Lys, Tyrosh, and Volantis against them. They believed Myr, Pentos, Qqhor, and Novros would stay neutral with Braavos coming to their side. The more immediate concern was New Ghis to the south, Balerion openly envied their martial capabilities and thus far was hoping to woo them over. One way or another, but if not, he was prepared to fight the Ghiscari.

"Are your horses prepared to ride?" he asked the Tattered Prince.

"Once the signal is given we will be ready."

"Good," Viserys placed his lens to the side and turned his back to the Dothraki, "Let us hope Balerion's gamble pays off."

Balerion V

"The preparations have been set, my Lord." Vogodos said to Balerion with a crisp salute. Vogodos was one of his rising officers in the engineering cohort that Balerion had organized since before Mantarys. Balerion looked around them, ranks upon ranks of Second Sons wielding pikes' marches in three separate files, behind them were several catapults along with hundreds of archers, Elyrian Crossbowmen, and Tolosi Slingers. They were situated on a small hill before the land gave way to a flat land stretching toward the sea. In front of them he could see the Dothraki beginning their approach.

He nodded with approval.

"Good work, Vogodos." Balerion said, noting Vogodos swelling with pride at his approval, "Once I give the signal begin to fire the catapults."

"We will at once, my Lord." Vogodos replied and Balerion sent him off to make sure the final work was completed before the battle. He had taken into account as many advantages and disadvantages as he could for the Dothraki. He had run 'theoreticals' in his head on what could go wrong and what could go right. Now at the time of battle he would have to hold the reigns of command and hope to steer the beast of war beneath him.

Beneath him, his horse Rhaevar snorted. Balerion grinned wistfully and patted the horse on his head. He had spent years attempting to find the right bloodline of horse that could hold him into battle. It had actually been from Westerosi stock horse that he found his mount, but even then, his mounts of which he had several spares would become tired eventually. He knew he had to make the most use of Rhaevar during a running battle such as this against the Dothraki. From ahead he heard a shrill scream go up from among the Dothraki and they began their charge.

"Third Sons! Second Sons! Free Sons!" his voice boomed out, he wouldn't be surprised if he could be heard all the way in distant Bhorash. "I am proud of each and every one of you. When I looked to march north and defeat the Dothraki you all rallied to be here with me. I could not be more humbled than I am to know in this battle you will be fighting under my banner this day."

Among his forces he saw backsides stiffen and soldiers grip their weapons harder. The archers were already beginning to arm their bows, soon followed by the Elyrians and the Tolosi. Vogodos stood ready to give the signal.

"Look to your brother in arms beside you for only together can you defeat any foe! I know many of you have faced the Dothraki before or have been taken by them as slaves. I say to you this day you will not know defeat! You will know freedom and victory. I know this because I will fight with you to my dying breath! Go forth now! By blood!"

At the word 'blood' the archers fired their bows. With his abnormal eyesight he could see the arrows in detail as they arched skyward and fell back to earth among the Dothraki. In kind the Dothraki and their great curve bows were already firing back, his soldiers raised their shields and weathered the storm though a few did fall. After the first volley the Second Sons and Free Sons that made up the line infantry began to shift their formations, instead of a straight line facing the Dothraki they shifted backward with cool precision. Soon they were arrayed around Balerion and his Third Son heavy cavalry, the Dragon Blades light cavalry, and the ranged elements of his forces like a box. The Dothraki were close now, it would not be long before their hit their lines.

"By fire!"

At the word 'fire' the crossbows and slingers let loose their ammo against the Dothraki, but so did the catapults. Of the seven arranged each one launched what appeared to be a leather bag though it was almost as large as a body. These bags soared through the air but instead of landing within the Dothraki ranks they landed ahead of the Dothraki advance. In a few moments the Dothraki were charging their forces over the bags and were only a few yards from his lines. Balerion did not think even if the Dothraki had seen his engineers light several slow burning wicks inside of the leather bags they would understand what was to happen next. Which was as Balerion promised, blood and fire.

Suddenly, from among the Dothraki great explosions of fire and smoke erupted outward. Balerion could see horses and men being thrown into the air, rider and mount coming crashing to earth among their own comrades. Followed by the sound of the explosion was cried of panic and fear from the Dothraki, especially the horses who began to lose all cohesion of their charge even as elements of it slammed into Balerion's front lines. Balerion's horses though did not cry, each one having had their ears stuffed thick with cotton, and Balerion's archers, crossbowmen, slingers, and catapults did not stop just the same. Death from above and fire from below continued to hammer into the Dothraki causing the center of their charge to collapse in on itself though, the farthest wings of their charge had not been hit as bad already Balerion had ordered his crossbows to shift their fire against these wings.

In front of him his soldiers and the Dothraki fought to the death, but Balerion had trained them too well in the ways of the Lockstep Legions, for every Dothraki that felled one of his men with an arath the unfortunate enemy found three spears soon piercing his body. Their momentum crushed, his line infantry slowly advanced outward, step by step unfurling like the wings of a dragon as they moved to cut around the Dothraki. From his vantage point Balerion saw among the Dothraki riders one man who appeared to be trying to regain control of his forces that were in disarray.

"A pleasure to meet you Khal Jommo." Balerion said before withdrawing Fireblade and motioning for his men to advance. With a shout they kicked their horses forward, his line infantry opening a space for Balerion and his Third Sons to ride through. With lance in his hand, Balerion stabbed out again and again at Dothraki riders that tried to move to strike him. Each thrust of his lance spearing his enemy from their saddles or breaking horses to have them throw off their riders. Beside him, his Third Sons followed suit-each one armored in Valyrian steel armor that he had made and each one fought with a Valyrian steel sword. They crushed their way through the lighter cavalry, in their wake the Dragon Blades followed suit picking off survivors and widening the hole in the Dothraki line that he had created.

In the distance he heard several horns, he spared a glance toward Bhorash and saw several hundred riders streaming out of the city toward the battle. That would Viserys and the Iron Shields, they would slam into the Dothraki rear and cause a total rout. He spared a moment's glance behind him to admire as his line infantry wheeled across the battle fields, companies with heavy losses being reared to the back lines where a fresh company took their place. A single Dothraki wing had made it to the center flank but a line of freemen from Tolos was there to meet their charge and keep the Dothraki away from the catapults and his ranged companies.

Kicking Rhaegar again into a charge he and his Third Sons plunged through the Dothraki toward Khal Jommo who noticed Balerion coming for him. To Jommo's credit he did not flee, instead he motioned to his ten blood riders around him to follow up and charge at Balerion. Balerion tossed his lance and withdrew Fireblade, it had changed since his days in Kings' Landing, he had reforged it again and again making it longer and deadlier for someone of his stature. Dothraki around them scrambled out of their way as both sets of riders crashed together. Balerion let Jommo strike first, the older warrior howling as he struck at Balerion with a large, two-handed arath. Balerion deflected Jommo's blows, their horses wheeling around each other, again he spared a glance at the battle around him noting that though at least one of his Third Sons had fallen the bloodriders had suffered far worse already. The horns from Bhorash sounded again much closer and he heard rather than saw as they crashed into the Dothraki lines. Around him Dothraki were dying or fleeing, and the battle had already been won for him but Balerion knew he also need to win the war.

"Enough." Balerion commanded, and with Fireblade struck Jommo's arath with enough force to sheer it in two. Before Jommo could re-act he thrust out his spare hand and grabbed Jomo's shoulder. Lifting Jommo off his horse Balerion knocked Jommo in the temple with Fireblade's pommel immediately knocking out the Khal. Slinging Jommo across Rhaevar's back he wheeled and turned to take in the battlefield. A great many of the Dothraki had been slain, more by projectile weapons than by pikes or swords, and many still lived but with their Khal captured and their morale broken the majority were already speeding north into the hills where they had the main host of their Khalasar's people.

"It seems that you have found yourself one to betroth to." Viserys said as he trotted his horse to Balerion, his own sword the King's Arm was slick with blood.

"Perhaps." Balerion laughed, but grew more somber as he looked at Viserys, "It is good to see that you are still alive, my Lord."

"Once again thanks to your sword arm and the messenger you sent to us." Viserys' face looked strained. Balerion did not know what Viserys was feeling, despite all he had done for Viserys their relationship was not close. Sometimes not even he knew if what he did was for Viserys or for Queen Rhaella, "Come then, we should celebrate with Dornish wine."

--

"You are not fit to be mounted by my best horse." Khal Jommo slurred, since his capture a few of his teeth had been knocked out.

"I've heard that one before." Balerion replied in perfect Dothraki. Khal Jommo was locked in a cell within Bhorash. At seeing Balerion again he had tossed to him his braid of hair that he had somehow cut or pulled off. Dothraki honor demanded that they cut off their long braided hair when defeated.

"Though while I am always in the market for more horses that is not why I am here. Or why I have kept you alive."

"Why then? Why not just end me?" Jommo asked, spitting in Balerion's direction.

"I want you to live and take a message to be back to Vaes Dothrak. I want all of the Khals to gather. I want them to know I will challenge them to combat, all at once. Whoever slays me will be showed with gold, horses, and whatever they wish."

Moqorro II

"What does the fire show you, red priest?"

Moqorro did not turn to look at the man after he asked his question. Though the fire did show him many things. A stag wildly flailing on the distant horizon. Men breaking their chains. It was one particular vision that disturbed him, a ship with black sails in Volantis but around the ship buzzed a thousand flies. He knew that soon they would hear of plague spreading East from the Free Cities. And danger would come with it. Eventually he did turn and look at the speaker.

"I see a fly trapped in a web of his own making" He replied to Jorah Mormont's question.

"I pity the fly." Jorah replied, disturbed by the words, even if he did not know why.

Jorah had joined the Second Sons just shortly before Balerion's delegation had left for Vaes Dothrak. Through Balerion's own spies he had learned of Mormont's flight from Westeros and had wanted to imprison the man for his crimes of slavery. Moqorro had intervened on Jorah's behalf, saying that the man would be a valuable connection to Westeros for the Targaryens. Jorah needed money for his young wife that he knew not was already unfaithful to him. Jorah would eventually wish to return to Westeros and doing so become as agent for King Robert. He had argued this was good as then they could show Balerion's enemies what they wanted, feed them false information. Balerion had seen the wisdom and had agreed to let Jorah join the Second Sons. Having him come with them to Vaes Dothrak would either send a message to King Robert, or if Jorah could be turned to their cause, a possible ally in the North.

"Very few people pity the fly," Moqorro replied, turning his head as commotion stirred off to their right. Two Dothraki were fighting, both landing punches against one another before both crumbled down to the ground, laughing as they did. Around them was a sea of Dothraki warriors, shouting, laughing, drinking, and any number of other pastimes as they waited for the trial to begin. They were just outside of the entrance to Vaes Dothrak, above all of them the twin horse statues rose up high, shadows from men cast about their bronze bodies. There were tens of thousands of Dothraki here, the fame of Balerion reaching across the Dothraki Sea and drawing over a dozen Khals-it did not matter if their khalasars numbered a few thousand or tens of thousands-they wanted Balerion's head. "They say that whoever kills the Dragon will be The Stallion That Mounts The World."

"The stallion that does what?" Jorah asked, giving him an incredulous look while his hand tightened on his sword. They were outside of Vaes Dothrak, inside it was forbidden to wear a blade or kill a freeman but just a few yards beyond the Horse Gate it was quite what the Dothraki considered 'legal' by their law. This was where Balerion's challenge would be held and this was where his light would either grow or go out for good. "I know the Dragon is a giant of a man and a well-trained swordsman but this…surely this is madness?"

"You have not seen him when at war." He replied, and tilted his head toward Vaes Dothrak, "They come."

The crowd parted ways before Balerion and the assembled Khals-and their blood riders- who would fight to the death. The Dragon had shed his armor, his pale skin seemed to almost shine in the light and as ever he seemed perfect in body and form, he wore the traditional long pants and leather waist and arm bands of the Dothraki people. His long hair was braided in the Dothraki fashion, small bells made of gold jingled in his braid as he walked into an area several yards across that had been cleared for the fighters, the crowds of Dothraki and Balerion's own party stood around it. Each of the Khals that walked behind him stared intently at Balerion's back, no doubt each one planning to be the one to kill him. There was Khal Zekko, Khal Pono, Khal Metho, Khal Drogo, and several others, along with their bloodriders, Balerion would have to best all told twenty-four of the Dothraki's greatest living warriors. Behind them walked the dosh khaleen, the widows of Khals past-at least two having joined this sisterhood by Balerion's own hand. Among them Moqorro's eye caught that of a particularly wizened crone who stared defiantly right back at him. He nodded his head in respect to her, and she to him, like called to like after all.

"Dothraki!" it was another one of the dosh khaleen who spoke, as she did so all of the Dothraki fell to utter silence in respect, "This night in the sight of the Mother of Mountains, in sight of nearly all of our herd, a challenge has been spoken and it shall be answered."

The Khals stopped at the edge of the small arena, while Balerion continued forth striding over to them. As ever his face showed an amused smile, but Moqorro could see behind that smile the Dragon was calm and serious about what was to happen.

"My sword?" Balerion asked, holding out his hand.

"My liege." Garibald replied, the former squire and now one of the Second Sons' commander handed to Balerion his sword, Fireblade. Slowly, Balerion ran a finger down the length of Fireblade, lifting it up and reflecting the light of the camp fires and torches around them.

"Let us show the Dothraki what it means to fight a dragon, eh?" Balerion said and winked at Jorah before turning around to face his opponents, striding back toward the center of the combat area. The Khals and their respective bloodriders fanned out, arakhs at the ready, waiting for the signal to begin.

"Blood begets blood begets blood. That is the way of the Dothraki, we are the storm's fury and the blades of the grass sea." She paused and pointed toward Balerion, "Here is the challenger who seeks to humble the Dothraki. He has offered his head. What does he ask in return?"

"I ask for nothing." Balerion replied in the Dothraki tongue, motioning to himself with a free hand, before raising Fireblade "My blade however, asks for a challenge."

"You challenge the Dothraki people. Your boon will not go unfulfilled." The speaker said, and at her side picked up a horse's tail, and threw it into the combat area.

That was the signal to begin.

"Here it-" Jorah had begun to say but his words died in his throat at what happened. Rather then wait for the Dothraki, Balerion sped forward across the grass toward his opponents. Even he was stunned by the speed that Balerion displayed, the Dragon was a pale blur in the night and was upon his opponents within what seemed like moments. Fireblade lashed out and immediately two of the Dothraki were cut down, Moqorro doubted if they realized what had killed them. Another step by Balerion and another two Dothraki was killed, among them a Khal.

"Beast!" one of the Khals shouted as they spread out from Balerion, back wheeling or leaping away as he cut through them. Very soon they had spread out, seeking to get a command of the fight, and Moqorro suspected that this was Balerion's plan-to scatter the Dothraki and pick them off one by one. They had come to kill the Dragon though and though unable to match Balerion's speed the Khals were not losing their lives without a fight.

Screaming their shrill war cry the Dothraki leapt at Balerion as dogs would against a boar. A Khal and his bloodriders would move against Balerion, lashing out with their arakhs, trying to push the Targaryen into the blades of their comrades but their actions seemed to always come to naught. Wherever he moved he appeared to have command of the situation, Fireblade deflected blows aimed for him, he effortlessly side-stepped others. Like a leaf on the wind or flowing water he passed between the blades of the Dothraki and when he did so Fireblade would reach out and end the life of one of his opponents.

Moqorro saw as Khal Zekko charged for Balerion, coming at his side. Balerion reached out and grabbed one of the bloodriders and effortlessly flung the man at Zekko, hitting the Khal and sending both tumbling to the ground. With his side turned Khal Moro attempted to slash his arakh into Balerion's side but instead found Fireblade blocking him, effortlessly Balerion forced his sword against Moro's arakh, it was the arakh that broke first, Fireblade plunged into Moro's chest and ended his life. Turning back to Zekko, he waited for the Khal to stand on his feet again before he charged and struck Zekko down.

Balerion seemed to be aware of the growing number of bodies around him, his movements taking him across the area into a fresh patch of grass which he could fill. Where there had been twenty-four men there was soon only a handful, the last Khal being Khal Drogo. Looking closer he saw that Drogo had a wound at his side, Drogo had managed just barely to dodge one of Balerion's strikes which was impressive. Drogo's bloodriders crowded around their Khal like a pack of wolves protecting their pack leader, each ready to put themselves between Balerion and Drogo. The two leaders eyed one another, one with an intense ferocity and the other with a brow raised. Drogo shouted to his bloodriders and pushed his way past them, ignoring their requests for him to stay with them, Drogo raised his arakh and stalked toward Balerion. Smiling again, Balerion saluted Drogo with Fireblade before he also advanced forward.

Dothraki and Targaryen took slow steps toward one another, each studying the other man's movements. When the distance between the two of them was barely a few bodies worth it was Drogo who moved first, he first charged toward Balerion who moved his sword to position against an middle slash, but Drogo changed his movements, falling to his knees he slid across the blood soaked grass, his momentum carrying him under Balerion's guard. Balerion seemed for a moment too slow to stop Drogo as he slashed out with his arakh toward the Dragon's midsection.

Rather than block with Fireblade, Balerion dropped his hand and caught the blade of the Arakh with one hand. All stared at the scene, expecting a hand to fall from an arm but as every man and woman looked nothing of the sort happened. Blood did seep onto the arakh but that was all, Balerion's superhuman strength had stopped a maiming blow from a full grown warrior. In a swift movement Balerion tore Drogo's arakh from his grip and brought up Fireblade and then down toward the stunned Khal.

"STOP!" a voice, old but strong, called out across the assembled Dothraki and Targaryen party. Seemingly surprised, Balerion did and stopped his blade from piercing Khal Drogo's heart. From among the dosh khaleen stepped the old crone that Moqorro had noticed before, within her he sensed something of a kindred spirit, "Blood has been spilt, and enough of it. For none wishes to wake the hunger of the Blood Hound."

The crone paused and pointed at Balerion even as he stepped away from Drogo who climbed to his feet. For his part Drogo glared at the crone, perhaps wondering why she had interrupted their battle and not let him have an honored death in battle.

"He rides. He rides on land, on sea, and on the air itself. His khalasar will number more than all the men of the Dothraki, without number. Three times he will call, and three times he shall be answered. His enemies will be ground down before him as his dragons, his knights, scour all that is dark from this world and beyond. The Dragon is a dragon, yet is not a dragon. He is and much more, yet. He is the Stallion Who Mounts The World."

The old crone went down to her knees before Balerion, quickly followed by the other dosh khaleen. Stunned at first but quickly following, the other Dothraki one by one kneeled on the grass before Balerion as he stood, just as surprised. Moqorro was silently pleased, the plot to destabilize the Dothraki into infighting had become something so much more, and would perhaps be a lesson in of itself to the Dragon. He kneeled as well to Balerion and looked up at him, the light and shadows cast upon the Horse Gate showed him what just might come to pass.

Index Astartes - Recruitment - Dragon Knights

By Rememberancer Callian Van Hollo

To my humble readers I invite you to take part in these educational documentation in regards to the Emperor's sons and their transhuman legionnaires. Having spent several decades as part of various Expeditionary Fleets and visiting the home worlds of the Primarchs I set forth my knowledge for the benefit of all mankind under the Emperor and the Imperial Truth.

In this volume I will go over the Third Legion, the Dragon Knights, and as with my other volumes I will begin at what is to be the beginning of every legionaries' life -their recruitment.

World 23-89-2 as Tegon was known before its compliance is classified as a 'feudal' world. The majority of the population lives under sub-standard levels of technology restrictions, the exceptions being mundane industries that aid the Dragon Warriors in their armament for war, notably the nine 'Citadels' across the planet from which natural resources and importantly neophyte inducement is organized. The planet has several distinct continents with a peculiar orbital drift around its star creating year long winter and summer cycles. Attempts to find the pre-Dark Age of Technology roots of the human inhabitants have been found in several excavations in the center of the "Sorthyros" continent where remains of a colony ship have been found.

Tegon does not exhibit a homogenous cultural structure, it is made up of many sub cultures of which prior to the arrival of Balerion and a limited extent afterward were in a constant state of war with one another. As befitting a 'Feudal' world the majority of these sub-cultures are martial in nature. Westerosi Knights. Ironborn Raiders. Dothraki Nomads. Lockstep Legions. Sellsword Companies. Yinti Armsmen. These are just a few of the regional martial heritages which populate the planet. This is something that Balerion, the Primarchs and Son of the Emperor, encourages even after his conquest of the planet first under his martial formations first the Third Sons then the Dragon Bannermen and finally the Dragon Knights. For he sees in each of these cultures a facet of war for his Legionnaires to learn and master.

Selection of the Dragon Knight Neophytes or "Squires" are first made through regional tournaments once every year held on Tegon, aspirants to join the Dragon Knights will travel to the regional Citadel and be put through tests. Those who display adequate levels of fighting and problem solving skills then move onto the next stage of their inducement known as "The Quest". Emulating the journey of their genefather the aspirants will train in their initial Citadel and then will be required to forge a metal chain link. With this link they are then shipped off to another regional Citadel where they learn a whole new set of fighting skills that are native to that region and repeat the process several times. This also mirrors the battle doctrine of the Dragon Knights and emulates the early days of the Legion after reunification where Balerion traveled to learn the ways of his brothers. While moving through the Citadels they are further tested by the Apothecaries and are implanted with some of the tailored organs that make up an Astarte. The Quest can take several years, aspirants will either be washed out, give up on their own or suffer more fatal consequences. This all culminates in one final journey on foot or horse through the volcanic landscape of the 'Valyria' to the fortress of the Astartes. The Dragon Keep.

Here they are tested in each and everyone of the fighting styles they learned, ideally those who not only studied but continued to practice complete the final tests of the Dragon's Keep. Those found worthy are granted the gene seed of the Third Legion and swear the Oath of Fire and Blood. In particular Balerion is known for taking a very personal involvement in inducting new Astartes, no doubt a hallmark of when he was reunited with his Legion and they had suffered calamity and casualty to number only 200.

It should be noted that neophytes from Terra or other suitable recruitment worlds (most of which the Dragon Knights established through their own compliance actions) will undergo the Quest as well. Regardless of origin once joining as a legionary the Squires will have the chance to join off world training exercises alongside other Legions or test for more esoteric, specialist formations within the Dragon Knights.

Viserys IV

"I honestly don't know how this continues to happen to me. First the Red Priests, then Septons of the Seven…" Balerion sighed into his cup of wine. Viserys normally one to criticize Balerion for his feigned ignorance held back his tongue this time. He believed Balerion in this case.

"All of the Dothraki see you as some sort of god or prophet now…?" Viserys asked, also pouring himself a cup of wine. Balerion had returned to Tolos along with not only the entire delegation that had left for Vaes Dothrak but an honor guard of Dothraki who followed in his wake. After seeing to the state of the Third Sons and listening to reports on various ongoing projects throughout their territory, Balerion had collapsed into a chair in his quarters. It had been specially made to fit his adopted brother's size, opposite of him sat Viserys, Nymeria, and Syrio who exchanged worried looks between one another.

"Not…exactly." Balerion rubbed at his temples, as he did so the bells in his hair jingled. His adopted brother had decided to keep his hairstyle in the Dothraki long braid, he said he had grown fond of the bells. He enjoyed the music they made on and off the battlefield. "A good many, but not all, of the Dothraki. There are still Khals that refuse my 'authority' it seems. I have asked Khal Drogo to continue the campaign against them in my stead."

"I can't be surprised by that," Nymeria said, leaning forward with her chin on the back of one of her hands, "Slavery is good business for the Dothraki and your policy toward it is well known."

Looking at Nymeria made his heart pound in his chest, he had been surprised to find his youthful lust for her had become something quite different. More so when she had returned his feelings. As of yet they had not announced their relationship but certainly it was no secret. The forays into one another's chambers. A part of him worried that once he was King of Westeros that he would have to end his relationship with her. He waited for the right time to discuss, if not demand it from Balerion.

That had been another surprise for him, when he was younger he had very much feared Balerion. The baby that he had first seen had in very little time grown into a warrior. One that was easily the best of the best, more so than Viserys himself. He had lived in fear of Balerion taking the Iron Throne from him and claiming it for himself. Somehow though over the years his guard had slowly lowered.

"Men find compromises. Especially in the face of glory and gold, correct?" Syrio said, the bald Braavosi and Nymeria were the only ones not drinking.

"That is true. I have…forbidden them from selling slaves but they are free to take prisoners of war or raids." Balerion's brow furrowed, "For now at least. Until I take my sword and smash the wheel."

"You also have a much larger army now." Syrio continued, "With the Dothraki at your side you will be able to not only take Slaver's Bay but when you march east they will be able to come down along the Rhyone against the Volantene."

"That's right. With their northern flank exposed we just may be able to take Volantis much quicker than expected." Viserys chimed in. Already some of Balerion's influence in Volantis was starting to wane, the Elephants continued to be vigorous in their campaign against the Tigers. Some blood had even already been shed. The Elephants may have been merchants, but many were ones that thrived on slavery in Essos.

"That just leaves New Ghis." Nymeria added.

"That I believe we may already have a path forward to." Balerion's frown turned into his usual grin, "The Ghiscari have invited us to New Ghis. They wish to negotiate a pact between New Ghis and the Targaryens."

Viserys' eyebrows shot upward, as did Nymeria's and Syrio's. That was surprising and unexpected. The Octarchs wanted to seek peace with them? From diplomatic contacts in New Ghis, mostly through Braavosi merchants who supported Balerion, the Ghiscari felt threatened by Balerion's campaign against slavery. If Balerion invaded the Slaver's Cities, then most likely they would soon face the Lockstep Legions of New Ghis. Had something changed their mind or perhaps they had realized there was nothing to profit from going to war?

"What are they asking for, exactly?" Viserys asked.

"They have not said anything certain yet," Balerion twirled a finger in his cup of wine. His adopted brother had said to him once that he had never become drunk from drinking wine or any amount of intoxicating beverage. He certainly enjoyed the taste but nothing else ever came from it. "I imagine they will ask to keep slavery in their sphere of influence, which will likely extend to the other side of Slaver's Bay. They want to bring back Old Ghis and with all the water we have thrown on the fire of the status quo they likely see an opportunity to grab those cities without consequence from further abroad."

"Do you believe them?" Nymeria asked.

"I won't know until we arrive there."

"What do you mean 'we'?" Visery's asked.

"Myself, you, and Daenerys. They wish for the entire Targaryen Household to arrive for the negotiation."

"What? Don't you think this sounds like some sort of trap?" Viserys' looked into his adopted brother's face and realized his brother's mood had become…somber.

"Of course, this is some sort of trap. I believe though it is one we can turn to our advantage." Balerion's eyes seemed to glow as he continued, "Against the Ghiscari our greatest disadvantage is their naval superiority but now they are inviting us to their city. We can hide a contingent of the Third Sons aboard our vessels, and when the Ghiscari spring their trap we will be able to destroy their fleet while it is at harbor. Though, even better if I can behead the conspirators I can force New Ghis to join us."

"That seems like a reckless plan, especially coming from you Balerion." Syrio was frowning deeply. "This would put not only yourself but Viserys and Daenerys in extreme danger."

"I know that." Balerion scowled at Syrio, before his features softened, "This is a gamble but I believe it is one we can win! I have never been bested by any foe I can protect them both."

"I am fairly capable of protecting myself." Viserys said, glaring now at Balerion. He was proposing that they actually act as bait for Balerion's elaborate scheme! "I will not risk Daenerys life like this."

"Her life will not be at risk. I will be there!" Balerion's features hardened again, with one hand he slammed it against a small table next to his chair-smashing the wood to pieces. A part of Viserys trembled at the raw threat that Balerion posed, but a greater part of him still stood firm.

"No! Just because you are gifted so does not mean you can protect us against everything. As King, I refuse this whole scheme! Go if you wish to New Ghis but neither will I go nor my sister." Viserys' words were shouted as he stormed out of his chair and toward the door.

"Viserys!" Balerion stood to his feet, towering over everyone. He did not say a word but the look in his eyes, his deep violet eyes, demanded rather than asked for Viserys to stop.

"What would my mother think of your plan?" Viserys said before turning and exiting the room, slamming the door behind him.

Balerion VI

Slowly, Balerion raised his sword and slashed out with it, his body moving with the blade. Every step sending him across his cabin aboard the Essos Maiden was deftly timed with the rocking of the ship as it sailed eastward. His movements were fluid as ever, effortlessly he switched from stance to stance to stance of the Water Style, Fireblade felt sure in his grip…yet Balerion did not feel sure of himself. The only sounds were the tinkling of the bells in his hair. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of a marble bust, rather than let his gaze linger on it he shut his eyes letting his senses and memory take him back through the motions of his swordsmanship. Yet, the marble bust nagged at his brain though his eyes were shut he could still see it in his head. His calm breath grew exasperated and though he was looking at nothing he could feel his face slide into a scowl.

The unease welled up inside of him and with a cry of frustration he gave in and opened his eyes to look at the marble bust of Queen Rhaella. His memory was impeccable, he could easily imagine every detail of her face mentally slide over the image of the statue giving it life in his imagination. He walked over to and knelt before Rhaella's statue, gripping Fireblade in his grip.

"Have I made the right choices? For Daenerys and Viserys?" he asked the marble bust. It was not the first time he had ever asked that question, but it had been a long time since had had done so. Ever since Valyria he had felt confident and in control of his actions, but as of late he felt as if he was making mistakes or doubting himself even more. His memory flashed back to his argument with Viserys and his last sight of Daenerys when he had told her she would not be coming with him to New Ghis. A small part of him had wanted to tell her she could blame her brother for that, but he had not said those words. They still surprised him and tore at him.

"How much of this…all of this for you, Rhaella? How much of this is for them? How much for me?" he asked Rhaella, but of course she did not answer him. He rose again to continue his practice but Fireblade felt heavy in his grip.

Euron II

"Doubt is the road to freedom." Euron whispered, his voice echoing off the sewer walls. In his hands he held a wooden bucket filled with scummy water, small insects and patches of algae floated on the surface but to him he saw with but a rheumy haze the form of Balerion as he stood in his cabin far out to sea. "You may not see it today, but I shall make you see it one day."

Euron tipped the bucket over, pouring out its contents, the dirty water, the insects, algae, and a severed head, onto the sewer floor-the head hit the ground with a wet smack before it rolled and dropped into the tepid sewer water itself. Since leaving Volantis his vision had grown all the clearer, the thrice-damned light from the temple of the Lord of Light had dampened the powers the flies had whispered to him. He had been able to spread the Grandfather's gifts in Volantis but not as far as he had hoped. New Ghis however had been altogether a different experience.

The only exception was when that bloody red priest was close to Balerion. Whenever he tried to look at Balerion and plant the seeds of doubt within the Dragon the red priest's presence would always block his view, it was like looking into a flame. Granted, he found at times looking at Balerion extremely painful at times, without warning something buried in Balerion would flare up and force Euron to look away. It was small wonder that the flies whispered Balerion's name as 'The Illuminator'.

"Ghhuuuurnnn…" Ser Waell moaned through dead lips, though he looked at him Ser Waell's eyes had long since shriveled up in the hot sun on their travels since leaving the Stepstones. Upon landing in the Stepstones, Euron had killed Ser Waell and the remaining crew of Silence, they had then clambered up from the deck and taken their former stations on the oars without complaint. Euron though had been correct in that he had found fellow Ironborn to help crew Silence.

"Death, my Lord? Do we *cough* bring it now?" Garvy Pyke spit out the words, hefting an axe in one grotesquely large hand.

"Yes, yes we will Garvy." Euron replied, his skin pulling back across his own teeth. Where as himself and the other former sailors of the Silence were gaunt and thin-as if dying from a wasting sickness- Garvy and the other Ironborn he had recruited on the Stepstones were hulking. He had killed those that had not listed to the Will of the Flies, and those that had accepted the Grandfather's words he had made to sleep in Silence's hold. He had filled it with water that had turned foul, and their bodies had soaked it up, becoming bloated and putrid. They had been granted supernatural endurance and strength, if they had lost much of their speed and the ability to strap their armor on fittingly. "Right through here."

Euron pointed to a trap door in the sewer ceiling, one of the other seven Blightborn, as he liked to call them now, swung out with a large mace that cracked the wood of the trap door clean through. It was not long before the rest of the trap door felt apart and the Blightborn were squeezing into the space beyond. Euron though stayed with his reborn sailors, around two dozen of them, until the last of the Blightborn had made their way through then with a thought he ordered the dead sailors up through the trap door which they did with all sorts of moans and groans.

He saw through the dead eyes of the sailors that the room they had entered was a store room. Without a word he waved the Blightborn forward, and they advanced through the room, their ungainly steps knocking over neatly piled boxes as they went. Garvy reached the door first and easily yanked it off its bolted hinges. Outside he heard a shout from a man and a terrified shriek from a woman.

"Out! Get out there now!" Euron commanded, and the Blightborn stormed out of the room as best as they could. Euron could hear weapons clattering against one another and a stubborn, phlegm filled grunt from Garvy. By the time that the last of the Blightborn had piled through the door and Euron himself had exited the fighting had ended. Garvy stood in the center of the hallway, using a free hand to close up a wound across his stomach that did not seem to bother him at all despite the fact it was leaking green pus and black water. Pinned to the wall by a throwing axe was a woman wearing servant's clothing. On the hallway itself were the bodies of two men, their heads had been crushed in and their clothes were covered in blood but the sigils they wore were still recognizable, the dragon of House Targaryen.

"Not a bad start to the night." Euron said, rubbing his hand over his eyepatch as it itched. With a snap of his fingers from the pockets of his clothes a swarm of flies buzzed into life, the buzzing cloud of insects waited for his command, "Go. Find the Targaryen whelps."

The cloud of flies dispersed down both directions of the hallway, their buzzing echoing off the stone walls sounded like death's roar.

A little walk back in time. Current events in Tolos are taking place in 294-295ish.

--

Jaime IV - 293

"Look at it shine! It is magnificent!" Tyrion said, which Jaime swore Tyrion had said about three times already, his brother was deep in his cups of wine but to be fair so were all of the Lannister men. The legendary Brightroar had been returned to House Lannister. Even uncle Tygett who often clashed with Tywin had seemed jubilant before his departure for the evening. The Lannisters had celebrated all night, Kevan, Lancel, Tyrek, Martyn, Wilem, and the others until one by one the majority had left for bed or to make their celebrations in their own ways. The only ones left in the dining hall was Tywin, Tyrion, Jaime, and uncle Gerion himself.

"It is a magnificent sword isn't it?" Gerion said with a smile before he laughed, "Bloody heavy too. Carrying that thing up a flight of stairs is no easy task"

Brightroar was lain across the table within arm's reach of each of the remaining Lannisters. They had all picked it up at one point during the night, even Tyrion had tried, that is except for his father. Jaime had noticed something odd between Gerion and his father, the former would avoid direct eye contact and the later only said a few words all night. His eyes however were never far from Gerion, as if he was looking for something.

"Yes, I imagine." Tywin said, and immediately the smile on Gerion's face died. Jaime and Tyrion looked at one another, Tyrion suspected something, but Jaime could not guess what it may have been. "Tell me, Gerion. You have regaled us all night with the sights of the Free Cities, of the storms you faced on the waters, and your…joy…at returning home. Tell me, what was Valyria like?"

Gerion was silent for a long minute before he with resigned defeat leaned forward and poured himself a glass of wine.

"I didn't find it in Valyria." Gerion admitted. Jaime looked at his uncle in puzzlement, then where had Tommen died if not Valyria? How could Gerion have found Brightroar? Was it a fake?

"Let me guess, Gerion." Tywin's voiced dripped with the only emotions he usually held for his children: disappointment and anger, "You found it in Volantis, didn't you?"

Another long pause.

"Yes, I found it in Volantis" Gerion said, and then spoke again interrupting Tywin before he could speak, "The Dragon had it. Balerion had it and I got it from him."

"Balerion!" Jaime exclaimed, shocked at the news, even more so because of the wine in his veins. Gerion had obtained Brightroar from a member of House Targaryen, who Robert referred to as the greatest threat to Westeros even as he cut off the heads of pipers and septons. His uncle had committed treason.

"You accepted Brightroar, our family's legacy, from the enemy of House Lannister!" Tywin roared now, the Lion's fury was obvious, "How could you be so stupid as to do this?"

"It was Brightroar brother! As you said the legacy of House Lannister!" Gerion cried back, his face a mixture of anger and guilt, "I did not seek him out! He-he found me! Tywin, you haven't seen him or listened to him. I couldn't say no, not to him. You don't understand he is-"

"I don't care a single seven hell about an upstart across the sea" Tywin shouted, slamming his fist into the table and silencing his brother as well as knocking over several cups of wine . Jaime looked at Tyrion, who he guessed had figured out the situation quite a while ago. He had already had his cup of wine in his hands. "Did you pay him? Did you pay him Gerion?"

Gerion was silent but Tywin would not let his brother be silent any longer. He pushed himself up from his chair and slammed his fist down on the table again. "Did you pay OUR debt?"

"No, I didn't have the power to fulfil his debt." Gerion finally said.

"What is it. What does he want from House Lannister? Out with it!" Tywin practically hissed out the words. Jaime had not seen his father furious like this in years. It brought back bitter memories.

"I will tell you, brother." Gerion said, and so he told them all what Balerion had requested of House Lannister to pay their debt. It visibly shocked all of the seated Lannisters, except for Gerion of course. No doubt his uncle had been mulling over the request for months. Jaime was not sure if he was surprised by Balerion's request or by the surprise on his father's face. Either one it did not last long. Tywin very slowly sat down back in his chair, his hand came up to his chin and he slowly stroked it in thought. The other members of House Lannister stared at Tywin, holding their breaths almost as they waited for his answer.

"That…" Tywin finally said, "…could be arranged. If Balerion wants that we can give it to him. And watch as he chokes on it."

"Father, how in the name of the Seven are you going to-" Jaime had begun to say but Tywin silenced him with a look.

"A fine night for a drink" Tyrion said into his cup, as the usual Tywin ignored Tyrion and locked his eyes on Gerion again.

"Gerion. On behalf of House Lannister I will fulfil this…debt. You however must pay your debt to me for accepting…this." Tywin gripped the pommel of Brightroar and shoved it across the table so that it stopped in front of Gerion, "You will take the black. You will also take Brightroar with you-"

"Father-" Jaime had begun to shout but once again Tywin slammed his hand into the table and glared at Jaime. Jaime sat back down glaring at his father but cowed nonetheless.

"You will take Brightroar to the wall. You will say you had to hire slaves to reclaim Brightroar and you wish to atone for your crime. When you die there in the cold North you will cleanse us of your dishonor. When you do Brightroar WILL be returned to us clean."

Before Gerion could say anything, further Tywin stood up from the dinner table and left. Leaving his brother and sons to stare after him.