The Tartered Dragon - Aegon, Son of Baelon

by mootjeman7

An man from our world is reborn in the world of ASOIAF and decides to make the best out of it through adventure yet it never is that easy, even for a third prince. OC-SI - Overlaps with HOTD.

36. Chapter 34

M2R - Nope, next chap

Astroya - thank you! I like writing Viserys, haha, so it's not bad for me at all!

Tony McNucklz - walls around Meereen? I should probably correct that! (tomorrow or after, I should think. Dead today lol)

chandra14d2002 - Nothing good! it'll be a plot in the background.

mind liger - I would rate, ironically, the Red God more beneficial for humanity than the Old Gods.

Blackfyre1009 - thank you for your words. and glad to see you on board! I love writing SI-OCs because most of all, I love the worlds they are set in. As you say, it should be an exploration of the world these people are put in. Narratively and much more as well.

Everyone, Thank you for your reviews and comments, I always read them even if I don't respond to them. As always, please enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think.

Note: If you would like to read ahead, the next three chapters after this chapter are available on P. .^T.^R.^E.^O.^N./ Boombox117

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Mid to Late 113 AC – Myr

Stallos Nahastis – (Myrrish Envoy) POV

He rose and fell with the slowing gallop of his silver steed, the great city walls of ancient Myr growing in size as he approached under grey clouds, the arrival of winter apparent in the chill winds and the foreboding skies.

His grim eyes gazed upward, towards the battlements and the crenelated walls, his eyes veering from one side to the other.

Behind the crenelations, he could spot the men that guarded the walls. And, he thought with gloominess, the scorpions that guarded the skies.

They weren't the only scorpions that guarded their city, their skies.

There were hundreds, thousands, of scorpions across the city. On the walls alone, one could not go four hundred paces without being able to touch a scorpion.

And in the city proper, there were hidden scorpions on rooftops all around, most of which he was not aware off. By design of course. In case he was tortured to reveal what protected Myr against that foul spawn of the Goat God.

'And it may not be enough' Stallos thought with a dry throat as he remembered that damned face of the one-eyed Targaryen.

'Even if you possessed fifty thousand scorpions, it would not matter. Come past the fall of the last light, you will learn why.' the one-eyed Targaryen said with a calm assurance of victory. Without a single trace of doubt in his damned face.

Even under Stallos' rage, a rage that he could not contain when he read the unconscionable mad demands, he did not waver in this confidence.

The one-eyed fool was mad. Completely, utterly mad.

Yet…Stallos could not shake the feelings that seeped into his bones.

A feeling of fear. A feeling of doubt.

That there was truth in the one-eyed Targaryen belief that he had the ability to ruin Myr. Either by the terms of this crippling treaty or in the spawn of the Goat-God's ability to ruin Myr like the cities of the Rhoynar many, many centuries ago.

Stallos turned to glance over his shoulder, towards the distance where he faintly saw the enemy encampment, a shadow falling on his troubled face.

He shouldn't have the right to be so doubtful. Doubtful in their ability to kill the Goat's spawn and with it, their most hated enemy, if he was to attack.

And once the beast was dead, that army the one-eyed Targaryen brought to bear, an army not even a seventh the size of the force defending Myr, would be slain and the tens of thousands of slaves that followed their master would be rechained, the men castrated for their insolence and the women bred by the lowest freedmen.

That was what would happen. That was what they all believed would happen if the Targaryen refused their generous terms and attacked.

'Yet…in a single meeting…I have let fear settle in my bones' Stallos thought with a dry throat. He'd stood opposite Myr's most bitterest enemy with acceptance in his heart that he would likely die. And likely die painfully.

He accepted his fate and he was well rewarded for his sacrifice. His sons stood to inherit a great sum of coin and property and House Nahastis would finally be seated amongst the Conclave after an absence for more than three centuries.

With his affairs settled, he'd come with warnings, with subtle threats that bordered inviting of death, yet none of it worked to chafe at the confidence of the one-eyed man, and all that he'd come away with was a fear that he had no right to feel.

And he knew why. It wasn't just the confidence that suggested all of their efforts – one in five of all freedmen were enlisted and many of the sons of the wealthiest families were also called to duty – would be in vain, but it was also the feeling that there was something deeply unnatural about the man.

It wasn't his missing eye nor the skin, skin over the eyes-socket that seemed to have been sewn shut with threads made of scar-skin, but it was a presence that made him guarded and stiff with angry tension.

An unnatural feeling that slid across his skin like broken glass, as if to put lay to his insignificance in comparison and he hated that unnatural feeling nearly as much as he begun to hate the one-eyed Targaryen.

Yet beyond that hate, there was true fear.

He'd never felt anything like it and it truly terrified him.

It was likely some sort of foul sorcery, this he had to come to believe, and if he was right, then he could begin to understand the mad confidence of the one-eyed man.

And the thought of a gods' cursed dragonriding Targaryen using sorcery was the kinds of nightmares that they thought they'd left behind in the past when the Doom burnt the Freehold and rid of the world of its overlords.

Perhaps it was even this sorcery that destroyed Slaver's Bay…

Soon enough, Stallos was less than a thousand paces from the massive Pale Weaver gate and he raised his hand to signal the men. Dull calls rang from atop those walls and soon, the gates began to emanated creaking sounds and the sounds of steel chains being reined in.

When there was enough of a gap for him to ride through, Stallos guided his horse into the city and past the decorated walls that paid tribute to Myr's glory, putting him into the path of an assembled force of men who Stallos rode directly towards.

Beyond them, there was nought but more men exiting the colourful buildings. Moons ago, these buildings would have garment makers, cobblers, leather workers and the like. Now, they were nought but barracks for thousands of men.

He recognised the commander, Beloris Hotin, a third son of Magister Rellio Hotin and the Commander of the Weaver Gates. He'd been among the last faces he'd seen before he'd left to treat with their enemy.

"I must meet with the Magisters." Stallos said with urgency in his voice.

"They were informed of your return when you were spotted by the men on the city walls. A Conclave has been called and they are waiting for you." Beloris said in answer as he gestured the men to part and let Stallos pass.

Stallos nodded grimly as he pulled at the reins of his horse and, just as he was about to kick his horse to move again, Beloris spoke again, forcing him to pause.

"I would have thought you dead by now." Beloris said and Stallos met his gaze.

"Not a mark of fortune, I'm afraid." Stallos said with grim forbearance.

"I see." Beloris said slowly though Stallos doubted the man truly did. If the feeling of dread that he felt was true, then all of their fates was to be one of misfortune.

For there was no doubt in his mind. The Magisters would not accept the terms.

He rode through the cobbled streets with post-haste, riding through the near-empty streets of Whitetown – the famed district where artisans peddled their arts and paintings – and through Lace's Street before riding on Greenstreet which led directly towards the towering azure Conclave Hall.

The Conclave Hall was one of two crowning jewels of Myr.

An imposing building built out of blue granite mined seven centuries ago in the penal colony of Gorosh, it was only outmatched in height within the City by the estates on Grymon's Hills which stood at the northern parts of the city.

The imposing building's front was a sight to behold. Two large spirals – the Lace's Quarters where the Magisters housed their most prized bedslaves – rose out from the wide front of the building which seemed as if it was carved from one slab of blue granite. Though once one came closer, one could see the white and brown cracks that broke up the deep blue hue of the granite, seeming as if lighting itself was capturing within the stone.

He removed himself from his horse as he arrived at the steel gates and he was quickly led through the gardens towards the open gate of the Conclave Hall.

He was escorted through the building, a building full of men and full of nobility, watching with wariness and concern and anticipation, but Stallos paid them no mind as he walked up the steps towards the final floor where the Pearl Chamber was located and finally, he arrived as his eyes took in a fully attended chamber.

Around the edges of the chamber stood guards and scribes, standing dutifully at the beck and call of the Magisters.

The Magisters were seated behind a curving table on an elevated level, their eyes casting down at him. It was a cheap way of intimidation and an obvious way to indicate their superiority but Stallos couldn't help but feel the envy grow within.

Though Stallos did his best to choke dead the grew that grew in his belly.

Neither he or his line would sit behind that table.

That would, one day soon, be an honour of his eldest brother, who was promised to replace the elderly Syrenno Sanryion, the man third from the right.

That is, of course, if they are to survive the one-eyed Targaryen…

"Magisters." Stallos bowed his head slightly.

"Stallos Nahastis. You have returned despite our expectations. How wondrous." Jaeresso Ostinos was the first to speak amongst the magisters and there was a hidden accusation in his tone of voice.

Stallos had seen the looks on their faces when he'd walked in. Hard-faced yes, silent, of course, but he knew very well that they were not interested in his survival. No, they only cared to know if his return marked much needed fortune.

They found little fortune of late, after all.

With the majority of the largest sellsword companies having perished in dragonflame in the Narrow Sea when the cursed Daemon Targaryen came upon the ships, and with the refusal of the treacherous Westerosi King to abide by the treaty they signed, they had do something they'd never done in the history of their city.

Rely on their citizens to defend Myr.

In total Myr had some force numbering five and thirty thousand, with less than three thousand being sellswords from more than a two dozen companies.

It was the greatest force Myr had ever assembled.

And it was one of bleakest necessity.

Never in their history had they enlisted their citizens to arms.

Not even when they rebelled against the Volantene did they enlist their citizens to arms. No, even then, they hired sellswords, the Durrandons and the one-eyed man's namesake, Aegon the Conqueror, to fight Volantis on their bahelf.

Yet now, all that there stood between Myr and ruin, was its citizens. Citizens who never had fight for their city and their lives in all of their history.

It was a mark of shame for the majority of the magisters, even if they blamed the whole situation on the magisters who died in Tyrosh. That the outrage allowed Conclave to seize the properties and wealth of their families was merely justice…

In any case, one of the few duties the magisters had to its citizens was to see to the prosperity of Myr. And they were failing it.

The southern regions of Myr, its estates and towns, were sacked with only a token force sent out in defence, most of whom were sent out to recover the properties of the nobles in the city.

Had they not a need to bolster their city defences, they may well have closed the gates to all of the commonfolk.

So yes…

He knew that the only words they wanted to hear from his lips was 'Yes…he will take the coin and leave'.

"Despite my own expectations too, Magister Ostinos." Stallos said in response as he fixed himself up straight, meeting the gaze of the magister. "I made my peace with my death yet it has eluded me for a time yet." Stallos added with a thin smile.

"Your brothers shall be pleased." The powerful Magister Belar Bahel said with a dismissive note to his voice and Stallos turned to look at him.

"Do you bring us the Targaryen's accord to our generous offerings?"

The weight of that question was made no more apparent by the persistence of silence in the chamber.

"He has refused." Stallos said with grimness now apparent on his face and finally, he saw the cracks in their faces as he scanned his eyes across.

Magisters Norro Minahr, Vargys Rhotan and Aerario Dahros grew indignant with anger whilst Syrenno Sanyrion, Eran Pahrys and Marros Hotin began to furiously whisper amongst themselves.

"He refuses?" Magister Daaro Ormelion asked with a demanding tone. "Why? He knows he cannot take the city with his paltry numbers and the accursed man can see even from where he lazes that the city is defended against his beast! He has no chance of victory."

"Unless he's deciding to throw the slaves against our walls." Vargys Rhotan remarked with amusement but Stallos could see the anger still in his eyes.

"Not even a hundred thousand could take Myr and that dragon would be riddled with scorpions before it ever got close to our walls." Marros Hotin said.

"He has demands of his own, then?" Magister Pahrys asked with narrowed eyes.

"He does, magister." Stallos answered with a grim note and he reached into his inside pocket to bring out the document.

The majority of the magisters began to talk amongst themselves for a moment before Magister Minahr with the seeming approval of the rest called forth the scribe with a click of his fingers.

The scribe hastily went towards him and broke the seal of the letter and, after a clearing of his voice, the scribe began to read the contents of the letter though Stallos kept his eyes on the magisters.

"The Inviolable Treaty of 113 AC between Myr and Elamaerys.

For a state of peace to exist between Myr and Elamaerys" the scribe paused briefly, almost unnoticeably, before he continued to read out the contents of the letter. "and to avoid uncivilised desolation not witnessed since the Second Spice War eight hundred years before Aegon's Conquest, Articles I to VII is take into absolute effect without any means of negotiations available to alter the text, or the contents of the demands, hereafter exhibited in Articles I to VII."

This caused the reaction he expected from the magister as they descended into curses and discussions amongst themselves and only after Belar Bahel coerced the silence of the magisters until the end of the demands was read out did the scribe speak again.

"Article I.

Myr must publicly declare itself as the aggressor and chief actor in the conflict that exists between Myr and Elamaerys.

Myr must publicly confess to its misdeeds in enlisting and financing, the criminal Saathos Saan and his band of pirates, that culminated in the capture of no less than eight Corinthian ships and the enslavement of the people of Elamaerys.

Myr shall proffer, without delay, the return of these enslaved people of Elamaerys or otherwise proffer their last known locations.

Should Myr be found to withhold, or obfuscate, this demand, a state of war shall return between Myr and Elamaerys, unbound by civilised conduct."

The scribe paused for a momentary moment at the noises of discontent but the scribe quickly continued when the noises died down.

"Article II.

As the primary instigation of the state of war that exist between Myr and Elamaerys, Myr shall cede, in totality and without delay, ownership of all its glassmaking factories and its slaves to the institution known as the Iron Bank, who shall become the sole owner of any and all kind of glass production within the territories held by Myr." The scribe was forced to pause in his speaking as some of the magisters who had great investment in the glassmaking industry spoke out in anger and only continued when he was bid to do so by Magister Bahel.

"Myr shall, without delay, dismantle the glassmaking Guild and is forbidden to institute a glassmaking Guild, or one in its likeness, for as long as Myr exists as a state and city.

Should Myr be found to act contrary to this demand, in any capacity, a state of war shall return between Myr and Elamaerys, unbound by civilised conduct.

Article III.

Indemnities shall be paid by Myr to Elamaerys fixed at a sum of

Three thousand talents of gold

Four thousand talents of silv-"

"This is madness!" Magister Daaro Ormelion bristled with disbelieving fury as he stood up, his hands clawing at the table. And he was not alone in standing up, finally having roused out of the restraint they had been placed under.

Truly, Stallos could understand. Those sums were complete madness, and had been the start of his rage when he'd been told those two conditions. Only the last demand was more insane.

Only a few of the wealthiest of families of Myr could dare to say that they possess even a tenth of those sums and Stallos was sure that only a combined effort by all of the noble families begin to amount to gather that much gold and silver.

And it would beggar them all, this Stallos was sure…just as he was sure that this was the intent of the one-eyed Targaryen. He wanted them to pay and pay dearly.

Stallos cursed the names of the old Conclave, including Sanyrion, Bahel and Symion who were all on the old Conclave, for everything.

They should have never provoked the one-eyed Targaryen or at least have had the wherewithal to ensure that they killed the man long before he could come to their doorstep and make demands that would ruin Myr.

This time, Magister Bahel did little to stymy the discordancy in the chamber, as the magisters spoke amongst themselves in furious tones that were only slightly below normal volume.

"Not only does he dare try make us to take blame for his insane quest for vengeance, seeking to humiliate us in the eyes of all of the Free Cities, but he dares to continue his humiliation of us by asking for an entire Free City's wealth?" Magister Rellio Symion said with a simmering angry tone to this voice.

"And for what? A few attacks that no Myrrish had a hand in, on the word of a pirate who has lied to him?" Symion looked towards him with a hard look. "You have told him this, yes? That it is all lies?"

"I have, magister." Stallos confirmed with a heavy nod. "He did not seem to care."

Stallos was certain that the pirate attacks were nothing but an excuse. After all, the attacks, and to whom he assigned responsibility to, has allowed him to profit greatly from. Tens of millions of gold marks, at the very least. There were no noble families left in Slaver's Bay, that much they had learned for certain.

It was the kind of slaughter that Stallos knew simmered in the political background. It was why there was no opposition to the citizen army from the nobility, why the magisters had the kinds of power that honestly they should long have lost given the disasters they had overseen, starting from the first utterances that Slaver's Bay was being destroyed, from Lys, to Tyrosh, and finally the destruction of the sellsword fleet.

In any other time, the magisters would have been deposed and likely killed but their power remained, save for perhaps a few of the magisters. And all of it is because the noble families want them to take the hit should the worst come.

His words seemed to have caused a number of angry expressions to flourish…but he was also noticing what he thought might be concern.

"He is mad if he thinks that we would ever agree to any of this." Magister Daaro Ormelion repeated as he shook his head with a clenched jaw and it caused a number of the magisters to echo the sentiment, and he could hear clearly the wants of the magisters to depend on the scorpions.

"Stallos." Magister Marros Hotin's voice was commanding and broke through the hubbub. There was a heavy look of calm consideration, one that persisted as he spoke. "He cannot expect us to pay this. Never before has there been such a heavy toll demanded." There was a question in his voice that Stallos understood.

And he answered so truly with grim severity. "Magister. He believes he can force us to capitulate to his demands."

"He is mad then." Magister Vargys Rhotan concluded flatly as he took his seat back. "There is no reasoning with a madman who would seek to ask the impossible. Let him come and die if he so blinded by madness. We'd do the accursed fool a favour."

"Explain." Magister Bahel's voice cut through the chamber. "Explain further why you do not seem to agree with Magister Rhotan's assessment."

Stallos felt all of their eyes firmly on him. He hesitated for a moment before he finally did answer. "I believe that he has a plan that may make our preparations…insignificant." Stallos was tempted to say that he believed the one-eyed Targaryen was capable of foul sorcery. But he knew…he knew if he did so, he would be ridiculed and shamed. They may even take out their anger on his line.

It was better to feign ignorance. He wasn't certain if the Targaryen was truly a sorcerer – which he doubted because he was no craven at heart – and it was better to avoid unwanted questions if the Targaryen used his magic as he believed he could do this eve. "He has claimed that it wouldn't even matter if we had fifty thousand scorpions. He claimed that in the end, he'd get what he want. And we would learn what that meant on the eve. In no more than three hours."

Stallos' words caused a deafening silence. As he expected. Though these magisters easily showed their supposed anger, it was no more than Myrrish smoke and mirrors. It was a conduct that every nobleman learnt that the teat of their mothering slave.

'Show what is expected but never what is true'

None of them got to their positions without knowing how to play the game though…in this instance, the game was rather severe enough that it necessitated a breach in typical conduct.

"'Unbound by civilised conduct'" Magister Dahros was the one to break the silence and there was a grave but angry look on his face that suggested he fully understood what that meant.

"He intends to burn down the city if we do not agree to his terms." Magister Bahel finished and he received several nods amongst the magisters.

"Impossible." Magister Ostinos denied as he shook his head. "No dragon can accomplish such a feat, let alone burn down a city that is as well protected as Myr."

Curiously, Stallos noticed a flicker of something on Bahel's expression, though he wasn't sure if he'd seen it rightly.

"Yet it seems he considers our protections unimportant." Magister Hotin remarked before he levelled a look towards Stallos. "Is he a madman?"

'Yes. Yes. Yes. He is a madman!'

Stallos shook his head, much to his dissatisfaction. He truly wished the one-eyed Targaryen was a madman. It was easier to kill a confident madman.

Easier to dismiss too.

"Had he been a madman, he would have long succumbed to long daggers." Magister Rellio Symion said with a great deal of displeasure, some of it, it seemed, was levied against Magister Syrenno Sanyrion, who Stallos had heard was rumoured to be responsible for hiring assassins against the one-eyed Targaryen.

"Quite." Magister Syrenno Sanyrion said with an unkind smile on his face before his expression turned grave. "I wouldn't be so sure that it is impossible." The magister said with a myriad of emotions playing on his old weathered face as he looked towards Bahel who had begun to dully tap his finger against the table.

"The comment about the Second Spice War." Bahel answered and Sanyrion nodded slightly and Stallos noticed Hotin had paled significantly then.

And he wasn't alone in noticing.

"What does that mean?" Eran Pahrys asked impatiently, a side glance sent to Hotin before he continued. "What does a spice War have to do with the accursed Targaryen?"

"It's a war that fought nearly a thousand years ago. Between the Freehold and the Rhoynar though it is more correctly to state that it was a war fought by the daughters of Valyria than a war fought by the Freehold." Bahel explained calmly and after a moment's pause he continued.

"We believe the Targaryen is referring to the moment when the Dragonlords involved themselves in the war. Beginning when House Varezys sent three of its dragonlords to aid Volantis and Volon Therys against Sarhoy." Bahel gave an unkind smile similar to that of his grandfather.

"In the end, Sarhoy was sacked and its people butchered and if the tales are true, then the dragons put to torch the entirety of the city, leaving no stone untouched and unblackened for the Sarhoyans were proud of their pink city."

Again, there was silence as they absorbed the history lesson, one that even Stallos didn't know and he felt his throat dry up again. Though he'd been made to doubt by the one-eyed Targaryen, he did not believe that the one-eyed Targaryen could succeed.

Yet…yet it seemed like it was already accomplished once before.

"He is barely a dragonlord." Magister Ormelion was the one to break the silence, drawing all eyes to him. "The Targaryens are no more dragonlords than the Volantene are the inheritors of the Freehold."

'Pale imitation. That was all that they were. Their dragons were the only remaining part of their legacy.' Was what Ormelion was inferring to.

"They still have their dragons." Magister Symion said in response, a hint of derision in his voice. "Even if they do not have the magic of Valyria, they have their dragons. And that is what threatens us." Stallos resisted the urge to speak up, to correct that idea but he only just managed to prevent himself from doing so.

"Scribe. Continue." Bahel said before he looked towards the rest of the magisters.

"Let us hear the rest of his…demands." Bahel sent a pointed look at a few of the magisters that seemed to want to protest and they quieted down under the look.

"Yes, Your Glory." The scribe said before he cleared his throat and continued.

"

Five talents of Valyrian Steel

Five thousand tomes and texts written before the Doom

Four hundred Myrrish Cogs"

Stallos could see the expressions darkening even further, save for Sanyrion had look contemplative for some reason. In any case, Stallos was never in doubt that they'd reject the demands, even with the threat that was issued.

The amount of penalties was beyond what any city had ever paid in tribute to all of the Dothraki Khalasars in the history since the fall of the Freehold.

"Indemnities listed one to four shall be paid with immediacy and in full no more than two days upon the signing of this treaty.

Indemnity listed five shall be delivered to Lys within six moons upon the signing of this treaty.

Should Myr be found to fail in its commitment to pay its indemnity in full, and on time, as required to return to a state of peace between Myr and Elamaerys, a state of war shall return between Myr and Elamaerys, unbound by civilised conduct.

Article IV.

Myr shall, without delay, deliver alive and whole the nine and thirty named individuals listed on the third page of this document upon the signing of this treaty.

Should Myr be found in breach of this demand, in part or in full, an additional indemnity of two thousand talents of gold and four thousand talents of silver shall be paid with immediate effect upon the signing of this treaty.

Should Myr fail to deliver the nine and thirty individuals listed in this document, and fail to pay the aforementioned indemnity, a state of war shall return between Myr and Elamaerys, unbound by civilised conduct."

The scribe, upon the urging of Bahel, read the names of the nine and thirty.

It was amusing to see a few of the magisters, the ones that had been in power when this entire mess had started, who Stallos was sure were heavily involved, tense and only relaxed when the final name on the list had been uttered.

All of the names were not magisters, true, but more than half were influential heads of families, nobles, which would become problematic for the magisters should they be forced to hand them over.

The rest were wealthy glassmaking Guild leaders who were as wealthy some of the lesser nobility. And who Stallos was sure had been involved in the lead up to the conflict with bribes offered to magisters…likely even magisters on this conclave…

The scribe continued in his reading.

"Article V.

Myr shall, with immediate effect upon the signing of this treaty, recognise Lys, an ally of Elamaerys, as an Independent Slave-Free City.

Article VI.

Myr shall, with immediate effect upon the signing of this treaty, remove any and all claims on the former slaves that Elamaerys has taken from Myrrish territory, and will not insist on receiving restitution for the permanent loss of slaves and goods.

Should Myr not accept this demand, a state of war shall return between Myr and Elamaerys, unbound by civilised conduct.

Article VII.

Myr shall, with immediate effect upon the signing of this treaty, desist in the slave trade and shall make, with attendance of and cooperation with representation of Braavos and Lys, effort to desist in the usage of slave labour within its territory.

The period this desistence is to be made shall henceforth be, though not a period exceeding five and twenty years, at the discretion of the triparty, who may, at their discretion, make available compensatory means to aggrieved parties.

Elamaerys will, at a point soon after which the implementation of the desistence in slave labour has been ratified, and at a point Elamaerys is satisfied with the concluding state of affairs, namely that being the granting of fair rights of newly freed people of Myr, proffer to contribute three-fifths of the final compensatory settlement.

Should Myr resist this demand, a state of war shall exist between Myr and Elamaerys, unbound by civilised conduct.

Should Myr breach the terms of this demand, such as backtracking on the terms of Article VII or negotiate in bad-faith with the representation of Braavos and Lys, a state of war shall exist between Myr and Elamaerys, unbound by civilised conduct."

Stallos was not surprised to see gnashing teeth and, most likely, throbbing veins that threatened to burst.

The last demand, if the indemnities hadn't signified the death of any terms between the one-eyed Targaryen and the Conclave, swiftly dealt the final blow.

"He must know that what he is demanding is impossible. We could never agree to such…terms." Symion stated with forced calm even if his body was stout with offense and fury.

"Who cares what that crazed fool wants? He is a savage too drunk on his victories. Let him come. And let him fall if he dares attack our city." Dahros said as he rose from his seat, his eyes scanning across the table.

There was agreement amongst the magisters even Bahel seemed to stop his tapping as he eyed Dahros critically.

"I agree. And in the meantime, we must hire the Faceless Men if we fail to slay him." Magister Minahr was blunt in his speaking, his eyes searching the eyes of the other magisters.

"Do you think we have not done so?" Sanyrion said with a raised eyebrow before he shook his head with some amount of dismay. "They demanded more than what any of us, combined, would have been willing to pay at the time."

'At the time…' Stallos did not fail to notice.

"You went to the Faceless Men and did not tell us?" Magister Pahrys asked with a glint of anger in his eyes even if his voice was calm.

"What was there to tell?" Sanyrion said with a shrug of the shoulders. "I am sure that you all were sickened of my failures. There was no need to add this to the list."

The comment did not please Pahrys but it was Ormelion who had asked the question, pointless as it was. There was no time to go to Braavos to hire them.

"Enough that House Sanyrion and House Bahel would not have been able to pay the price of gold and price of blood alone. It would have needed all of you to pay as well. And it would have beggared us all."

And, Stallos cynically thought to himself, it would also meant that it could have led to the ruin of their families. Even if the one-eyed Targaryen had been slain by the Faceless Men, the positions of the magisters were not so secure that they fight off the other families.

Not after they ruthlessly dismantled the wealth of the magisters that died in Tyrosh.

It would have been the turn of their families if they lost their wealth, and by proxy, the swords that protected them from the other families.

As it was, he was rather sure that only the threat of Aegon Targaryen ensured the stability of the rule of the magisters – a reason related to why they were so quick in offering a magister position to his family – following the purge of the majority of the slave soldiers, amongst many other slaves, as a consequence of the Lysene Rebellion and the war in Slaver's Bay.

The removal of so many slave soldiers owned by the Conclave had weakened their position greatly, which was further expounded by freedmen soldiers who looked upon the Hall with accusing eyes.

So no…

He did not think they'd have made that choice back then. Not if the cost was truly that great.

"I do not believe you, magister." Magister Minahr said, though respectfully, as he eyed the old man with narrowed eyes. "Never has there been such a demand asked by the Faceless Men."

Stallos wondered how Minahr could know such a thing…and why he was admitted as good as that he has had dealing with the Faceless Men…

He eyed the other magisters and they seemed unconcerned by the commentary…

"Never before has there been a dragonlord who fights on the behalf of slaves been sought to be assassinated." Sanyrion answered with an old shrug before he gazed upon Minahr with a cold set of eyes. "They may be assassins but they are Braavosi assassins. Do not forget that the first of their order rose from amongst the escaped slaves that fled to a swamp."

"Stallos Nahastis." Bahel's voice cut through any retort any of the magisters might have had. "You said that there would be a…demonstration this eve?"

"Yes, magister. He said past the last light, that Myr will understand why you do what he demands." Stallos answered.

Bahel nodded slightly. "Very well. You may go, Stallos Nahastis." Bahel narrowed eyes for a moment. "I would prefer it if you do not leave the Conclave."

'And keep your mouth shut' was left unsaid.

"Yes magister." Stallos said with a bowed head, knowing the orders for what it was even if it chafed at him, and soon enough he swiftly left the Pearl Chamber.

Hours Later…

Stallos drank from his glass of wine that nursed his hands, silently watching the small crowd that had been assembled in chamber of the Conclave Hall.

There were members of both the Bahel and Sanyrion families here, including other nobilities that owed some allegiance to the two powerful families, and then there was him, requested personally by Magister Bahel to join on this eve.

He watched as they slyly proffered insults and comments like how they would make shields and bows made out of dragonbones.

If only he felt as confident as they did…

Stallos exchanged a few words with some of the noblemen, answering curious questions about the army that was no more than three leagues away from their walls, and Stallos did so with a smile and insulting jokes that amused them.

He wished he could have refused to come but he knew he had no choice.

In more ways than one.

After all, his life was meant to be a sacrifice for the good of Myr and House Nahastis and his survival did not mean that his service to both Myr and the Magisters had come to an end…

After he disentangled himself from that pointless conversation, he made his way towards the balcony, where he set his eyes towards the skies. It was well past the last light, a point that many of the nobles had used a tool of mocking, that the mad fool had fallen prey to his cowardness, yet Stallos couldn't help but feel a chill that didn't want to abandon him.

There was no point in denying himself, he knew that the chill was not one of the mild winter, no, he was expecti-

He stopped his thought when he heard someone approaching and after he turned around and he saw that it was Magister Sanyrion who offered him a slight smile.

"Magister." Stallos said with a bow of the head. He'd not spoken personally with the man, not truly, and he was wary of the old man, especially giving his ruthlessness. It was admirable, in some ways. The legacy of Sanyrion.

There were few magisters in the history of Myr who had commanded as much power and influence as Sanyrion. Yet it may well be that the stain of the one-eyed Targaryen and the circumstances that led them here that would be all that would be remembered.

"Not one to like revelry?" Sanyrion offered a curious smile, the kind that seemed indulgent.

"The day has taken its toll on me." Stallos said in an apologetic way.

Sanyrion's smile widened slightly before he nodded and took drink of his glass of wine. After he rested the foot of the glass on his palm, Sanyrion spoke again. "I can understand that, old man as I am." Sanyrion said with a weary sigh. "The days ahead of me are as short as the toll that I can take on each day." Sanyrion then met Stallos' gaze. "I suppose you may get to learn that yourself after all."

"If I am to remain as lucky, yes. Magister." Stallos said with a slight smile and Sanyrion hummed with a nod of the head before he looked beyond Stallos and Stallos followed the gaze and he saw that Bahel was there on four balconies over some two hundred paces away.

"He's been standing there since the last light of the day." Sanyrion said with a note of displeasure. "The day has also taken a toll on my grandson, though differently, I must say."

Stallos could understand it and he surprised to see that Bahel was so affected by it…at least if Sanyrion's words could be trusted.

"You do not share the same concern?" Stallos asked as he placed the rim of his glass on his lips, studiously eying Sanyrion.

Sanyrion met his gaze for a brief moment before he looked away and back to look towards Bahel. "The same concern? No…not quite." Sanyrion said with a faint hum trailing after his words.

"But I suppose it is quite different for those who have more to look forward to than those who have most of their days in their past."

"I wouldn't be so sure, magister. There's not been a time in Myr without Syrenno Sanyrion as far as anyone can remember."

Sanyrion eyed him with a glint of amusement. "Your brother would rather be cross with me if I were to remain to in my post for much longer."

Stallos offered a tight smile in response to his words. It was almost explicitly said that his brother would take the magister position vacated by Sanyrion.

Knowing the kinds of deeds and ruthlessness the man doled out against those he saw as enemies, or expedient, the situation was like handling a venomous serpent that one reared from hatching to adulthood.

Yes, there should be no reason for the serpent to bite but it was in its nature to bite everything.

Sanyrion broke out a slight smile as he eyed Stallos with some amount of curiosity.

"You don't seem to believe me, do you? When I say my time has long been overdue?" Sanyrion questioned though he spoke again, seemingly as if he had no wish to hear his answer, an answer that would have been a lie, and said "Hmm, I suppose I have no reason to be a threat to your sons, which seems to be of more importance."

Stallos gripped his glass a little tighter. "Magister. If I have offended you…"

Sanyrion sent him a cold glare. "Do not grovel. Stallos of Nahastis. I hear enough grovelling every day." Sanyrion said with cold sternness in his voice and Stallos was reminded viscerally that this was the man who orchestrated the fall of the seven noble families of the magisters who'd perished in Tyrosh and pinned the situation on their heads, giving way for House Sanyrion to flourish, even if it was a false summer.

"Yes magister." Stallos said with a slight bow of the head and Sanyrion sighed heavily before he dismissively waved his hand.

"You have not offended me. Have no worry. Your line is safe from me."

Stallos bowed his head a little more.

Sanyrion looked away from him and towards Bahel who continued to watch the night sky, Stallos noticed.

"Tell me, Stallos of House Nahastis. What do you make of the terms?"

"Humiliating." Stallos said after a moment's pause. "He wants to humiliate us."

There was moment of silence. "Only that?" Sanyrion asked further, without looking at Stallos.

"He intends to remove Myr as a threat…one way or another. The terms that he dictates are meant to break Myr from being a threat for likely a generation at the least." Stallos hesitated for a moment and it seems like Sanyrion had picked up on it.

"And?"

Stallos considered lying, or at least one claiming another outcome that the one-eyed Targaryen wanted. But he felt as if he was being tested and he was reminded that he did not want to disappoint a man like Sanyrion.

"And he intends to do so at the cost of the noble families. He may know that the control of the Conclave and the noble families of the city is…tenuous and that control will weaken more if we are forced to pay the majority of the indemnities." Stallos said in answer and a dark mood fell upon him as he continued.

"He may well intend to destroy us. It's just a matter of when." Stallos admitted. Like Lys, Stallos thought. It was confirmed after the fall of Tyrosh that Lys had been backed by the one-eyed Targaryen for years, slowly helping that whore Johanna build up her power and network.

He may well do the same in Myr. He would have the opportunity to do so and with the citizens of Myr as disillusioned by the noble families, traitors would be abound.

"Hmm. Your brother would do well to lean on you." Sanyrion said before he drank of his glass. "Yes, I agree. He does intend to destroy us." Sanyrion hummed for a moment before he continued. "And he seems quite uncaring as to how he'll do it. By dragonflame. By rebellion. Or by debt." Sanyrion drank of his glass again. "Ah…a troublesome enemy. If only I had reined in the hot-headed fools."

'By debt…' Stallos wondered what he meant by that.

"Debt?" Stallos asked, against most of his instincts.

Sanyrion hummed. "You have noticed, yes, this article seven?" Stallos nodded lightly.

"Forcing Myr to be done with slaves."

"Yes…" Sanyrion smiled lightly as he dangled his glass of wine slightly in between his fingers. "It is a clever tactic, when you consider the rest of the terms. By beggaring us by taking nearly all of our wealth, and taking the glassmaking industry, not that it is making much coin these days, it will leave the nobility requiring liquid capital. And quickly, if things are to sour as we expect. One of the easiest ways is to take a loan from the Iron Bank or the Rogare Bank, especially since the Banks of Myr will go bankrupt if we were forced to take the terms."

Stallos expression shifted and Sanyrion smile grew a little. "Yes…yes, indeed." He drank from his glass of wine. "And then offering to pay for the freedoms of the slaves to the owners? Having to work together with Lys and Braavos to eliminate a cornerstone of Myrrish society and who will likely want to offer us fractions of the amount we'd want?" Sanyrion said with a lessening smile.

"And with his offer to pay three-fifths of the compensation, he will hold leverage." Stallos finished. He could demand a whole slew of things in return.

"Yes…quite. I admire the deviousness and pettiness of his plot. It would not surprise me if he plans pay us with the same gold he'd taken." Sanyrion said with a laugh in his voice and Stallos was growing irritated at the carefree attitude of Sanyrion.

"You do not seem concerned, magister." Stallos said with a bowed head.

"As I said, I am not quite as concerned as you, or my grandson, are." Sanyrion said with a mild smile on his face, a mild smile that did not reflect the cold glare in his eyes. "Nothing is set in sto-" Sanyrion paused in his speaking and Stallos knew why because the corner of his eyes caught something and his head swivelled to gaze upon the skies.

There, in the far distance, there was a small dim blue light, as bright as the north star, the only remarkable nature of the light, was that it was more blue than white and that its light was intense enough to breach through the dark clouds.

"Dragon." Stallos whispered but it seemed like it was loud enough for Sanyrion to hear it.

"Yes…it seems so." There was an odd note to Sanyrion's voice, so different from his calm or jovial tone of voice but he did not dwell on it, no, he could not, as the brightness of the blue light began to grow just as the…ball of…flame?...began to grow, forcing Stallos' eyes to grow wide in shock.

"What is that?" Stallos heard from behind him and Stallos glanced over his shoulder and saw that more of the nobles were coming to the balconies.

By the time he looked back at the skies, towards the blue ball of light, ball of fire, it had grown again noticeably, causing the chill that had not left him to grow even colder, and his ears tuned out the gasps and heightened voices out as he stared at the skies.

The ball of flame continued to grow and it continue grow more luminous, so much so that he could even notice that blue light was not just blue but also white, akin to white-hot iron, like he'd seen some owners use to punish their slaves.

"Magic…" The word broke him out of his dazed state and he glanced towards Sanyrion whose hand, the hand that held the glass of wine, was shaking slightly, and saw his expression slackened with shock.

"It can only be magic…"

Stallos tried to swallow as he turned to look towards the skies but his throat was dry as the cunt of a woman with greyscale, and again, he could see the blue-white ball grow in size, the chill that gripped him causing a shiver to run up his spine.

Time seemed to slip away faster than he could have imagined, only distantly hearing the panicked voices from behind him, and he'd spent all that time watching that ball of blue-white light, that could only be dragonflame, the same colour of that of the Targaryen's beast, grow and grow until it was as large as the moon itself.

Glass breaking had broken him out of his terror and when he looked towards the other balconies, he only see two people where once had been a crowd, and beyond them, there was only Bahel. When Stallos looked back, he noticed that there were no one else, only the five of them.

"They left to take shelter." Sanyrion said, his eyes glued towards the skies and Stallos noticed that the man was had placed his hands on top of the surface of the stone walls of the balcony with the glass standing aside his hand on the balcony.

"He won't unleash it." Stallos said dully.

"Hmm. Perhaps…" Sanyrion said with the same dismissive calm voice the man was known for. Yes…Stallos supposed that the Targaryen was cruel enough to do it out of vengeance. After all, had he not blooded his hands in Slaver's Bay?

They continued to watch in silence, both of the men having made their peace with death and they were forced to shield their eyes slightly when the brightness of the blue-white light had overwhelmed their eyes.

It took some time for their eyes to adjust and even then, Stallos had to squint. He wished he'd not looked…

The ball of white-blue light was now as white as snow, a light that cast much of the world in its light, so much so that it seemed as if it were some strange day, casting the world in some kind of twilight, where its light touched upon the world yet instead of brightening the world, it seemed only to darken it with a sense of doom.

Neither men said anything as they simply looked upon the white ball of light that was larger than the moon and growing every moment larger still, the sounds of panic and chaos in the city a distant and forgetful noise, and when the ball of light seemed to be so close that one could not hide away the ball of light with an open hand on an outstretched arm, something happened.

The ball of light began to change, to shift, as if it was being flattened, and soon enough, the unholy thing began to glow brightly, so brightly his eyes were forced shut and by the he opened them, he was greeted to a sight of flames that stretched across the horizon, beyond all edges of the city, like some kind of bushfire spreading across a dry field, and it cast blue-white light onto the city that was brighter than any day that he has ever witnessed.

It was nightmarish, Stallos thought to himself as he made peace with death, again, the kinds that came from tales spoken by aunts and uncles who wished to terrify children.

And just as he made his peace, just as he accepted that he was going die after all, the rolling flames that plagued Myr began to break, the light of the flames dulling, the rolling flames breaking up into smaller pieces that broke into even smaller stretches, until even they broke up and lost their lustre of light, until all that remained was nothing.

And in that nothingness…

There was silence.

Only silence.

A silence that seemed to stretch just as those flames did though just as suddenly those flames broke, so too did the silence break as noise emanated from the city.

Noise that he could not tell was cheers or cries. Perhaps both.

And Stallos began to laugh.

Laugh in incredulity at the insanity.

Laugh in despair.

What could they do against that?

"Stop that." Came a cold voice from behind him and he stopped instinctively and swivelled around to see Bahel, pale faced but furious in a way that swiped away all expressions on his face, staring at him with cold, cold eyes. The same cold eyes he'd inherited from Sanyrion.

"Yes, magister." Stallos fell into the same routine as he bowed his head towards the powerful man.

Bahel stared at him for a long moment before he looked away towards the man who was still by the wall of the balcony.

"Grandfather. Are you coming?"

Stallos glanced at Sanyrion from the corner of his eyes and saw that he was still looking towards the skies.

"Yes…go and get the others. I will be there shortly."

Stallos looked towards Bahel, who was now stone faced and stayed still for a moment before he turned around and slowly began to walk away without another word.

Stallos remained where he was, watching Bahel walk away. It was not hard to understand what he was thinking…why he was so furious.

"Ah…" He heard Sanyrion exhale and he turned towards him and Stallos was surprised to see a slight smile on his face. "What a troublesome enemy…at least I understand now why he wants so many of those old books…" Sanyrion said with a contemplative look on his face, a look that turned into a frown as he raised his hand into the sky. "Hmm. It's warmer."

Stallos' eyes widened slightly as he focused on the temperature. It took a while but he felt it too now. And he could smell smoke as well. "No illusion then…"

"No, I'm afraid not." Sanyrion said with an old shrug. "Yes…not even fifty thousand scorpions would matter." Sanyrion said as he frowned little before he shrugged again and began to walk away. "Well, I must take my leave, Stallos Nahastis." The old man said as he placed a hand on his shoulder and tapped it a few times, a small smile on his face. "I wouldn't go home just yet, envoy."

Stallos nodded slowly. He knew that after that...there could be no other way but to accept the terms of the treaty.

"I expect it won't be long before we call upon you." Sanyrion said with an amused glint in his eyes that did not fool him. Belar Bahel was cut of the same cloth as Sanyrion, being the son of the daughter that Sanyrion cherished the most.

It was quite well known that Belar Bahel had learnt at the feet of Sanyrion so he knew that Bahel and Sanyrion almost certainly thought the same way. With how furious Bahel was, he could only imagine how angry Sanyrion was.

Stallos could only hope that that anger would not cause the destruction of Myr…

Sanyrion chuckled and Stallos grew defensive as Sanyrion removed his hand from his shoulder and began to calmly walk away and Stallos only watched him go, wondering what that chuckle was about.

And why he felt as if it boded ill for a great many people…

-Break-

113 AC – Skies above Myr

The sounds of Mīsaragorn's fleshy wings beating the air was a dull rippling thrum, each stroke a concord of rhythmic sound reminiscent, faintly, distantly, of a hundred slackened bowstrings made to sing from sharp pulls of hooked fingers as fleshy wings fought against the frigid air, climbing and climbing, staying the defeat by the daunting enemy of gravity and drag and nature a while more as they rose.

And rose they did, their line of sight obscured by a sea of dark-greyness, discordantly familiar to another, more mystical, sea of dark-greyness as they flew through the dew-filled clouds.

Aegon closed his eye briefly, savouring the incomparable freedom as he let himself slip into a moment of inner peace, all other existences, all worries, all plights of life, slipping away into unimportance, letting the moment of inner peace reign.

Aegon breathed in the chillingly cold air, again and again, and only after he felt the sharp climb of frigid coldness, did he reopen his eye, just in time to see them piercing through the upper layer of the clouds, and, like a hammer breaking tempered glass, the moment of inner peace shattered.

His face returned to his cold expression, the remnant of peace vanishing, and he turned to look towards the half-faced Moon, whose features had long begun to look as if they were slightly different to the Moon he remembered in his first life, gazing upon the Moon for a long few moments before he turned to look at the rest of the night sky.

They seemed odd now, these stars, he considered as Mīsaragorn began to cruise through the air that almost seemed as if he was drifting across the clouds.

Ever since he visited that plane of reality.

Did the planets around those stars have a similar connection to that plane of reality? If they did, what form did it take?

Aegon shook his head and he let off a silent sigh as he raised his hand, and only when his hand was near enough to his face, did he look upon it, the half-faced Moon providing the light.

It was better not to ponder such a question in any detail, Aegon thought to himself with a cold wryness. He had plenty of questions unanswered that took precedence, questions that already would see him unlikely to live long enough to see answer to.

Such as the question whether or not the rules really were as flimsy as they seemed.

Aegon hummed.

The rules were like a veneer of solidness that could turn into rubber in a moment's pass, brought about by a moment of madness and illogicality.

Aegon sparked a flame at the centre of his palm, a starved flame that flickered terribly under the harsh gush of the thin air, a flame that, with a mere thought, solidified into a stable red-orange hue in the shape of a large teardrop.

The rules were flimsy.

Though that may be more because his understanding was yet still…insufficient.

Even with the recent expansion of his powers and understanding.

At this moment in time, he was coming to the theory that there were two methods of using spiritual energy. One that came from the Inner, the soul and the ancestral song, and the Outer, which comes from that reality.

Aegon rotated his wrist and the teardrop flame rose from the centre of his flame and condensed into a fireball that began to rotate around his wrist.

The Inner was still part of the Outer, however, he considered the Inner was a connection that was borne within an individual in the physical universe and connected to the Outer in a restrained manner – limited in capability and scope, a feat that he largely considered to be done so by design – though the how evaded him, perhaps always – but in return, there was no negative effect on the individual…as long as boundaries and limitations were kept to.

It was how he was reconciling the utilisation of spiritual energy that seemed powerful and that otherwise should seen him tolled heavily for the usage of magic.

As of right now, he had not felt a single strain whenever he used his fire-magic, only beginning to feel it – a feeling that he could only compare to a tug pulling him down – when he experimented with Mīsaragorn's flames.

He'd reached a limit as to what he could do with Mīsaragorn's flames, the furthest reach of his powers being that of control and holding a massive amount of flame without straining himself and he could only do that with the aid of Mīsaragorn and their bond.

Changing the nature of Mīsaragorn's flames was beyond him. He could so do with his own flames – manipulating flames to change its very nature, from burning to warm to cold and to burning cold – and the flames that existed naturally, all of which was as easy as breathing now but when it came to manipulating the nature of Mīsaragorn's fire…

It was beyond him.

Or rather, the control he had over fire, that of his own, and that of other being's flames – and likely spiritual energy – had boundaries that he had to respect lest he cause himself harm or perhaps even cause his own death by drawing more than he naturally had…or draw more from the individual that twisted the nature of his act.

But…

He wasn't so sure that idea was the right idea. At least when it came to fire-magic.

He believed that the boundaries to his ability to use his spiritual energy when it came to fire-magic were…temporary, subject to change upon epiphany.

He believed that moments of epiphany and understanding were what'd aid him the most in interpreting the rules to his advantage was the way to expand his power.

Ten years ago, Aegon could not have accomplished what he has accomplished now, not without harming himself greatly to manipulate fire as he was doing with ease now, having spent years of developing himself to be able to use fire-magic.

It was a matter of conceptual understanding, an understanding of oneself and the magic that existed within him that had to be lured out in the open, and all of that took time. With of course a dose of fiction from Earth to support his thinking…

And a bit of context from tomes written by mages, madmen and madwomen.

It had taken time to experiment – experimenting with concepts of symbolic meanings of fire, to contemplate – the meaning of fire in nature, and to understand what it means to manipulate one's Inner to act in the manner you will it to act.

There were boundaries to his power, perhaps, but Aegon still held a candlelight to the belief that his fire-magic had orders of magnitude yet to grow.

And he thought he knew how he was going to accomplish that, where the source of epiphany would come from. Ever since that trip, he could see these…halos around people. Their spiritual energy…but also, Aegon believed, it was reflective of a state of mind.

He'd seen people with halos as pristine as snow whilst he'd seen dark-grey halos as dark as storm clouds and, without fail, the characters of these people reflected the colour of their halos.

There had to be some kind of connection between spiritual energy and the state of mind, and once he found it, he was sure he'd exceed this boundary that he found with his Inner spiritual energy…and that of others.

And perhaps he would learn as well if his intuition was right as well, that the creature, or creatures, in the Toadstone had followed this route, this connection, in order to have a kind of permanence in the physical world, even if they might have used the Outer to bolster their effect.

And once he learned that…

Perhaps finally he could find a way for to destroy entities like it.

His eyes kept watching the rotating fireball moving unshackled by the flight of Mīsaragorn, held in orbit by the force of his will and his spiritual energy alone.

In any case, though he did believe that there was multiple steps beyond the limitations of the Inner, he knew that it could never, never approach the boundlessness of the Outer.

That spiritual realm was one that perhaps could be surmised to be an infinite ocean of spiritual energy, a dark mirror to a physical universe bound by rules.

A reality where spontaneous creation and destruction occurred infinitely and without limitation, a reality where one could be driven mad by the infinite possibilities that existed in that realm.

The ancestors of the 'magically talented' peoples of this world – almost certainly the descendants of these gemstone emperors who somehow may have found a way to that realm their home – used some kind means to separate a shard of this Outer and bounded it to the Inner, at the same time massively increasing the potential of these people to use 'magic' but at the same limiting their descendants to specific elements or concepts, which were, again, tied to their specific elements.

If he was right in his assessment, then these people were geniuses beyond measure.

To create such a permanence in the physical world, one that was tied to blood and ancestry and to that realm, was a feat Aegon could not even begin to understand.

They must have understood that the two universes, realities, were connected in some way and that this connection could be exploited to bend – or break – the rules of the physical world in moments that allowed the madness and illogicality of the other unreality to materialise into a desired effect.

And captured the desired effect into shards of songs and incorporated it within themselves…and their descendants.

And they had done so with expertise and perfection.

Or least that might be the case. What they did could be simply an accident, like when that witch that kept Khal Drogo alive but soulless when she'd done her 'magic', but he was doubtful of that.

He was more of the opinion the Valyrian ancestors done something in addition to tying fire-magic to their bloodlines which has allowed them to bond with dragons much like how the First Men and the Children of the Forest bonded with animals.

It likely had even the same root, supplanting the spirit of a simpler being with one's own at an Inner level, where the Children were observed and their ancestral song replicated in some fashion…

In any case, he theorised that the Outer was the primary source of 'magic' in this world, where instead of using the Inner spiritual energies of the sacrifices, whether it was blood or the life of the sacrifice, they used it as fuel to agitate the connection that existed between the physical world and that other reality.

And in that moment, the moment where a widened window to madness and illogicality was brought out into the physical universe, did the sorcerers entice, coerce, will, into being an effect – an imposition of logic, I've given you this for you to give me that, onto a reality that was chaos and endless possibilities incarnate – an object, or change, that they so desired…

Even if was not exactly what they wanted.

At least that was his present theory and it was the best reconciliation that he had about the nature of this world…of the two worlds.

It explained the various effects of grandiose expressions of magic in myths, such as the destruction of the Arm of Dorne, or the myriad of other fantastical effects that permeated through the lore and myth of this world.

And it explained why the rules were flimsy.

Why so many believed, quite rightly, that 'magic' was a sword without a hilt.

Why he needed to understand what the connection between the state of mind and that spiritual realm really was…what it really meant.

Aegon thought that once he understood that, the rules would seem less flimsy.

And then he could really begin to institute a way to conscionably use 'magic' within Elamaerys without the barrelling his society into a new Valyria, one of his worst nightmares…

He felt Mīsaragorn's irritation through their bond and Aegon was snapped out of his thought and Aegon realised that he'd fallen into a dark mood, the red-orange flames that orbited his wrist having turned into a scarlet hue, and it was a dark mood that Mīsaragorn was unhappy to feel from him.

Aegon smiled slightly as he leaned forward and tapped at the scales of his dragon, a peace offering. Mīsaragorn sent through something that felt akin to a grumbling acceptance and impatience and Aegon's smile widened further.

"Yes…it's time I think." Aegon acknowledged as he let the fireball die out and Aegon breathed heavily through his nose, settling himself, his nerves.

Aegon continued to breathed heavily through his nose, his eye closing, the turmoil of his thoughts fading away as he settled his inner self, and approached deeper the bond between himself and Mīsaragorn.

Their bond was an overlay, like a Ven Diagram, where aspects of their Self overlapped and allowed them to understand each other and their wants in ways that no other means of communication could ever hope to fully resemble.

And then, Aegon and Mīsaragorn, pushed more, their Selves inching closer to one another, the incident where Mīsaragorn saved his life had made it easier for them to do so, until the point where one could not tell the other if one saw their souls.

Only when he and Mīsaragorn become One, did they open their emerald eyes and gazed upon the bright world, a world alive with shaded currents of air that carried within faded warmth from the day and the earth, and they outstretched their forelimbs, one set powerfully pushing them further up and then keeping them up, the other set moving to prepare, to shape, and then, they opened their mouth.

Rocks in the pit of their stomach began to quake as a gush of warmth rose from even deeper than this pit, and the rocks grew hotter, and hotter, as the gush of warmth turned into scalding hot, the rocks began to lose shape and began to change shape, from solidity to mud to liquid fire, and the gush of fire climbed up from the pit of his stomach to his heart and then, finally, erupting from the channel within out into the open.

The world was set alight in blue-white light as their blue-white flames ejected from their maw in a jet of fire that streaked across the dark night, yet that streak, that jet of fire, was not the final end of the flames, for their second set of forelimbs began to articulate their combined Will, twisting around to resemble large oval shapes.

The jet of flame began to change, responding to their wants, their imposition on the path the flames were taking, and the jet of flame began to twist, bend, spiralling into itself, resembling almost like a blue silken strip whipped around in revolving motions of the wrist, until the jet of flame all but collapsed into a ball of flame.

They stopped their feed of the flame for a brief moment as they worked to close off the ball of flame that was the size of a wrecking ball, and when they established the rule of the flames, rules that were stable and obeyed, they began again.

Another jet of flame erupted out of their maw that pierced through the ball of white-blue flame, feeding it, making it grow, and grow, the size of the fireball now twice the size of the wrecking ball, casting the world into brightness ever more so.

Again their maws let out a jet of flame, feeding the fireball, making it grow.

Again, another jet of flame.

Again.

Again.

Again.

…

By the time their maw closed, there was no night sky for as far they could see.

The stars were dark and the moon was secondary to the object before them, a distant dull sight in comparison to the second sun before them.

The world was set ablaze by the light of the second sun, a sun that far outsized their body by forty, fifty times, the tendrils of the blue-white sun's light reaching as far as the eyes could see.

Animalistic pride filled their bellies, the kind that resembled the pride of successful hunt of a worthy prey, and their second forelimbs continued to maintain the shape of the flames even as their first forelimbs kept them aloft and close by their sun.

'Time. It's time.' Echoed through their One Self, and a furious roar erupted from their mouth, a roar of challenge, a roar of pride, and they began to bend their command of their sun to obey and to follow and soon, the sun began to move, sinking slowly vertically and they followed suit, maintaining a distance that did not strain their control over their sun.

Soon, the sun began to descend down into the dark-grey clouds, like a white-hot iron ball sinking into a sheet of ice, and they followed suit, trailing behind their sun as they prepared the flight that would see their challenger bare their neck in submission.

The slow vertical descent down strained at their first forelimbs, but pride and determination to the end of the hunt swelled over to wash away the strain as they continued to descend down and finally, they breached the lower end of the clouds to reveal the earth and the sea.

Their eyes strained to block out the light of their sun to see where they were, if they were still above their challenger, and finally, they saw that they were slightly off-course but not enough to be a challenge.

When they reached half down from the clouds, did they begin the final flight of forcing the challenger into submission, a growl ripped out from the back of his maw in indignation and fury at the thought of a inferior daring to stand against them.

Their second forelimbs, always moving, always shaping, began to slow as they exerted their Will onto their sun, stretching and pulling at the might of their sun to obey.

Finally, like an itch between their wing and chest removed by brushy steels, the resistance of their sun faded away and it was then that the descent of their sun increased in speed, and like a ball barrelling down a hill, their sun began to increase in speed towards the ground, and it was moments later that they followed.

They adjusted their body and began to follow the path of their sun, a path that they slowly changed to an angled fall, towards their inferior, and followed down their sun.

They looked on with a look of pride at their sun which dominated the world before them, a sun that could set ablaze an entire city, a sun that forever showed that a city defended even with many of those irritating weapons could never stand against them, the rulers of the skies and the source of the greatest of flames.

Their second forelimbs continued to move to hold their sun in the grip of their Will, and, as the pinpricks of light below grew larger in size, they prepared the controlled release.

Their sun began to stretch further away from them, the connection between them and their sun stretching too, and a low growl began to emanate from the back of their throat as they poured more and more of their Will to maintain the shape until it was time to release.

And then…

Finally…

The time came.

A roar of deafening proportions erupted from their maw, a roar of defiance and pride, a roar that let know that it was they that were the cause of their sun that was large enough to swallow almost the entire city, and it took a great deal of restraint to not let themselves be consumed by the desire to let their inferior burn, to not let this be a warning but instead a punishment.

Only just, did they pull back, just in time for their sun to be unravelled, and their second forelimbs moved to shape their Will and their sun to that effect.

The sun, now casting down its magnificent blue-white light, revealed their inferior in their full breadth, the buildings, the squares, even their ships in their ports, and finally, as they moved their Will to unravel their sun.

The white-blue ball, with dancing flames that revolved around in spirals and loops and circles, began to flatten, first into a dome then an oval, until finally it began to stretch and stretch into a sheet of flame.

Their second forelimbs strained to stretched the massive sheet of flame, and struggled to control the shape of the sheet of the flame, and they roared in angry determination not to let their creation get the better of them, and finally, finally, when the sheet of flame covered the entire sky over their inferior, did they release.

They stopped their descent, hovering now in the air, and the silence that existed in the world, save for the whispers of the winds, were cast aside as whispers of roars from the dragon flame poured out from the moment they released their control over their creation, whispering roars that sounded like the culmination of ten thousand distant roars.

They felt pride brimming from the centre of their chests as they gazed upon the roiling and rolling flames that was faintly alike to that of the clouds, yet far more violent, far more alive, and they felt a bout of fury when the blanket of flame withered out within moments, dying as they broke up and left behind blotches of flames that then became ember-filled smoke that then became nothing but smoke, until not even smoke was left behind as the winds brushed it all aside, leaving behind only an untouched city thanks to their mercy.

They let out a deafening roar, a roar filled with fury and a call in challenge, and the roar echoed around them.

They remained above the skies of their warned challenger for a long few moments longer before they began to fly away, the pride and arrogance in their belly doing much to alleviate the tiredness they felt.

Slowly, as they moved away from their inferior, they began to return to their normal bond, the One separating back into a combined Three, and Aegon, when he was just Aegon again, felt tiredness flush over him.

It was not a tiredness of body, but one of mind, as if he'd gone two days without any sleep, and Aegon was fighting to keep himself from succumbing to his body's want to recover.

Aegon felt Mīsaragorn echo a similar kind of tiredness, not as bad as that of Aegon's but certainly impactful. He did little doubt that Mīsaragorn would eat through half a dozen oxen within a single sitting and sleep for a few days if left unbothered.

"We'll have to persevere for a while yet." Aegon murmured as he glanced back at the city of Myr with a cold glint in his eyes. He had little doubt that he's scared the fucking shit out of its people, including the magisters.

He'd finally decided to take this route after he took Tolos, after he'd expanded on his control over dragonflame like he'd done in Meereen and Yunkai.

It was the only way he could win without having to take all of his army from Liberty Bay and get Myr to submit in a way that would leave him satisfied, even if he had to be content without the heads of the magisters.

Taking his army from Liberty Bay would have left the liberated people vulnerable.

Already, Maerro, Lomerys and Rhaegar had to meet a Khalasar, a Khalasar they reported numbered nearly five and ten thousand, in open battle north of Meereen, a battle that had cost the combined armies of a portion of his army, the Unsullied and the soldiers trained in Meereen two thousand souls with thrice as many injured.

And the only reason why the death tolls were so low, and why the countryside was left largely untouched, was because of his army and the Unsullied.

And then there were the assassins New Ghis had sent his way, who doubtlessly would have tried to take Liberty Bay for themselves had he taken his army and the Unsullied, seemingly abandoning its people.

It had been the right choice to leave the majority of his army behind.

The only problem with this was that he reckoned he might have opened a can of worms, Aegon mused to himself soberly.

Such a display could only be magic to the people of Myr. And to his people too, he mused to himself soberly, a moment of irritation washing over him at the adulation and wonder and fear his people and the former slaves would have for him…

Aegon shook his head, forcing his mind to return to the wider problems. And soon enough the rest of the world may also learn of it too…including his brothers…

He doubted he could bullshit his way out of this…he may have to adjust his plans for Westeros if he did, in the end, have to go back to settle with Viserys…

In any case, he might have well caused a resurgence of magic. Any two-bit sorcerer within Myr may well be inspired by his actions and Aegon wouldn't be surprised if he'd come to be under closer scrutiny, perhaps even hunted, by all kinds of practitioners who had eyes on him.

If the Red Faith knew of him, it was only certain that others did too…

In any case, he was paranoid enough to be able to deal with it, as shown by his trained men's flushing out assassins and bounty hunters, and his ensuring of his guards having dragonglass and Valyrian Steel daggers, and he would continue all of the practices he's learnt and knew, including monitoring who exactly is being allowed to come to Elamaerys…

Still, he had quite some time yet before he could relax even a little. It would still be almost a year before he would depart for Elamaerys and he could still tick off the scorecard and get the Faceless Men sent after him as they were likely the only ones that had not been sent his way just yet…

Though, he wasn't sure if it would happen or not. After the indemnity he'd force Myr to pay, a payment that would likely force all of the noble families to contribute heavily in order to pay, Myr may not have the capital to pay for his assassination.

After all, from what he knew of the Faceless Men, which was unfortunately what most 'well-informed' people of Westeros or Essos knew, the greater the target, the greater the cost. And Aegon was not being arrogant in thinking that the cost to assassinate a Dragonlord who wielded as much direct power and indirect power as him would be astronomical.

Especially if the Faceless Men were like the Red Priests and could use some kind of bullshit divination to assess his threat level.

In any case, there was also the possibility that the Braavosi would do him a solid, especially since he's reiterated multiple times that he had no interest in holding any land in Essos except Velos which would take a central position Elamaeri affairs in Liberty Bay, and prevent enemies from successfully contacting the Faceless Men.

He had good reason to think the Braavosi would do him this solid.

After all, Braavosi were happy enough with him to begin with, at least that was the impression Baerros was giving when he reported back to him through Seleyse in Kings Landing after he'd returned from his second mission that Aegon had sent Baerros to after he'd met the man in Lys where he had ended up.

Lys joining Braavos as a fully slave-free City had earned him a great deal more favour in Braavos once they learned of his involvement of aiding the rebels, adding to his reputation as a man against slavery.

It hadn't been hard for Baerros to convince Braavos to have more skin in the game of transitioning Myr into another slave-free City, especially once they learnt that Aegon intended for them to take control over the glassmaking industry in Myr.

That was partly to make it more palatable for the Keyholders to absorb a large part of the cost of liberating the slaves of Myr within, he hoped, a few years, and also partly to have the Braavosi have skin in the game in Myr by having interests there.

Though Aegon wondered if they would have done it anyway, to absorb the cost, if only for the reputation the Keyholder families would earn amongst the people of Braavos. They might well see it a worthy investment.

Being able to claim that Braavos ended slavery in Myr was going to tide over the reputation of many families for quite a number of generations.

And likely also inspire the Braavosi to do something about Pentos as well…

In any case, he didn't think the Braavosi would have the Faceless Men try and assassinate him. Even if other cities, like the likes of Pentos or Volantis, were to visit the Faceless Men, he was hopeful they'd also interfere.

Aegon shook his head. He couldn't think that far just yet, he mused as he looked back towards the city of Myr.

There would be a great deal of things to finalise in the next few moons, which he expected would begin in the next few days.

After all…

Myr would have no choice but to agree to all of his terms after that display.

They may cherish gold and coin, but at the point of seeing their mortality, and that of their families, made so apparent before their very eyes…

They'd have to be insane not to submit.

Nor were they brave enough to call his bluff.

Especially if the city had felt some of the heat as he hoped they might do although there was a good chance that they wouldn't have. After all, he had been quite fearful that he'd unleash it too close to the city.

Not that it would have mattered…not really. A few deaths wouldn't have changed the outcome but he was honestly quite tired of needless killing and scaring Myr to submit was more than enough for him at this stage.

His people would have their sense of revenge sated enough, and they would have something to show for it without any more losses to their people, whilst also preserving Myr as an entity hostile for some time to Elamaerys and its allies.

That was something that Aegon was coming round to want to happen.

Aegon has changed the politics of much of Essos now. Lys is free and Tyrosh, though not exactly his doing but certainly an ultimate consequence of his actions, had tangible links to Westeros and may well become more closely aligned economically, if not also culturally, to the Seven Kingdoms.

And if he were to destroy Myr – setting aside the consequences that would yield on him personally and on the Targaryen family who may well be beset with plots to destroy them – it would leave a gaping hole in the politics of Southern Essos, one might prove to add much more uncertainty beyond Aegon's assessments.

With Volantis having accepting the treaty of non-aggression between Volantis and the Elamaerys-Lys-Liberty Bay coalition, and the stability of Volantis and its sister cities despite the upheaval he has caused, it would leave Volantis, if they survive as they are, as a prominent enemy that is almost certainly going to react negatively in the years and decades to come to the altered political landscape.

The Tigers will most likely resurge within Volantis, especially with so many of its neighbours slave-free states.

That would have a number of consequences, many of which would be unforeseeable, but he could guess that a destroyed Myr would leave the heel of Essos ripe for conquest for Volantis.

Lys would not be able to call upon the aid of Elamaerys, on his family, if they were to go on an offensive war which seemed unlikely since they had no game on the heel of Essos, for now at least, and Tyrosh was unlikely to be much of a threat in the years and decades to come, especially if his family in Westeros were interested in incorporating the city state more closely into Westeros.

And it was a state of affairs that Aegon did not want to happen.

Volantis could rise unopposed, in whatever form they could take depending on what actions those scorpion-like Red Priests may take, and grow into the superpower like they once so threatened to become.

Then there was also the uncertain matters of Norvos and Qohor who he had admittedly little information on, but both could end up aiding Volantis if they begun to feel threatened especially after the imposition Aegon was putting on Myr with regards to slavery, increasing the threat level of Volantis.

There was some attractiveness in that scenario but it was better that none of the powers in Essos grew strong enough to upset the order he wanted maintained.

No, it was better for Myr to remain extant though weakened.

Angry and weakened, Myr would have a number of options available to it, though one that he did not think they would take, was to subjugate themselves to Volantis.

There was a chance that a smart Volantis could instead enter into an alliance with Myr but he doubted that Myr could be allowed to have such an opportunity, not with Braavos and Lys with their fingers in Myr's business.

Literally and figuratively.

No, he reckoned they would sooner grit their teeth and make themselves to ally with Lys and by proxy Elamaerys and it was a path that Aegon was hoping to push things towards.

It would be another link that Elamaerys would want to keep intact, and a path for auxiliary armies to help keep Myr their independence…and perhaps help them expand further into Essos.

A similar path to that of Liberty Bay who will have enemies in New Ghis, if he decides not to punish them severely for the assassins they sent, Qarth and the Dothraki.

And all of it would help ensure that Elamaerys would have skin in the game in the affairs of Essos. With the present political ties to Liberty Bay and Lys, and hopefully with Myr in time, there will be no room for isolationism.

Bolstered by his careful teachings that'd institute in the schools and in the Septs and Temples, where he was going to make sure that the idea of Interventionalism for the good of Elamaerys and its allies was going to take root, Elamaerys will have no means to become weak with complacency.

It was one of his greatest fears, equal to his fear that Elamerys would become a new Valyria, that the people of Elamaerys would let what made them so great, the attitudes that nothing was impossible, that they could do anything, would fizzle out in their isolation, with not even the stirring of the Long Night capable of rousing them out of their comfortable homes.

It was why he was resigning himself to take pages from the best and worst playbooks from his world. Playbooks such as the Americans with their propagandic zeal about American Exceptionalism, the militaristic Romans with their sense of superiority, and the modern Japanese with their societal and cultural pressures to get the individual to conform to acceptable conduct and practices.

All of it would be done so that Elamaerys would continue to grow, would continue to progress, would continue to slowly but surely be the engine of change that this world needs…

And the descendants of his children will be the ones who continue his legacy and shepherd their people to this future…with an arsenal of 'magic' and technology.

The encampment drew closer and Aegon was surprised at the sudden shift in speed though once he realised Mīsaragorn was heading towards the area where they kept the oxen, he only let off a mild smile as he leaned forward and tapped his scales.

'Gluttony doesn't become you, brother' Aegon thought to himself amused and he laughed out loud when he felt a feeling that he could only compare to basically sticking two fingers up at him.

Fair enough…

The Next Day…

Aegon was on top of his dragon when he watched the likely envoy named Nahastis ride towards them on his lonesome atop that white-silver horse.

When the envoy Nahastis, who he could see was the one Myr had sent again, had neared within a thousand paces, Mīsaragorn began to let off a low growl that he could feel through his saddle.

The envoy had some difficulty controlling his horse, and Aegon tapped at the scales of Mīsaragorn to have him stop being pesky, though Aegon appreciated it knowing that the envoy had done his best to offend Aegon, and when Mīsaragorn stopped, it greatly eased the horse.

Finally, the envoy arrived before Aegon.

He could see that the man was doing his best to keep his cool.

"Prince Aegon of House Targaryen, Son of the Last House of Dragonlords, Ruler of Elamaerys!" Nahastis said in a loud voice.

Mīsaragorn drove his head closer to the ground, allowing the envoy a better look at Aegon. The envoy was occupied for a moment, doing his best to calm his horse, and finally, when their gazes met, did the man speak again.

"Myr accepts the terms of your treaty."

Aegon did not smile nor did he answer as he stared at the man in front of him who grew more nervous as the moments passed.

Finally, when Aegon had savoured the moment long enough, did he speak.

"Then let there be peace between Myr and Elamaerys."

-Break-

Mid to Late 113 AC

Princess Rhaenys POV

Rhaenys smiled warmly at the sight of giggling sight of Corwyn as Laena played with the infant on her lap, a wondrous sight that she never tired of seeing.

Her smile waned a little later when Corwyn started to cough and whine a little, and watched as Laena stood up and lifted her grandson in her arms and rested him on her shoulder, a soothing lilt to her voice as she soothed Corwyn.

Rhaenys stood up as well, gesturing the maids to ready themselves, and walked towards Laena who had turned towards her. By now, Corwyn had settled and was babbling at Laena who spoke to him with a light smile on her face.

Laena saw her coming and her smile grew a little. "He's fine…just more excited than he could handle." Laena said though Rhaenys didn't fail to see the tiredness in Laena's eyes.

Though Corwyn was immeasurably in better health than he'd been when he'd been born, it took a long time for them to lose the majority of their fretfulness over the child. A boy born sickly, they'd done everything they could to keep him alive.

A task that had seen them having a small army of maesters and healers and crones see to the health of her grandson, and when that didn't seem to be enough when Corwyn continued to struggle in his second moon alive, they went as far as hiring healers from Braavos.

It was then, with the aid of the Braavosi healers, that Corwyn began to slowly but assuredly improving, having identified he'd been born with weak lungs, to the point that Laena could half-jokingly claim that it'd be time soon enough for her to take Corwyn on Vhagar.

"He'll be a terror soon enough in the yard." Rhaenys comforted with a light smile and Laena twisted her nose, a gesture she always did when she disliked something.

"Don't remind me. Daeron has been filling my ears that he'd have Corwyn trained with the axe. As if he was a Ironborn." Laena said with disdain and Rhaenys' lips twitched at the words.

"Your husband is partial to the axe." Rhaenys said with a wry smile.

"I stand by what I said." Laena said with a roll of her eyes before she glanced back at her son, her face bearing a complex expression.

She knew that look very well.

Ever since the Braavosi healers claimed that though Corwyn could have a good life, it was doubtful that he'd be a warrior, claiming that he did not have the constitution for a warrior.

Daeron had dismissed the verdict and Corlys had quietly approved of that dismissal, claiming that Corwyn had already exceeded expectations. 'What was this but one more challenge to overcome?'

Rhaenys admittedly believed the same, Corwyn having lived past what so many other babes had not, but she knew that Laena was still…

Rhaenys placed her hand onto Laena's shoulder, a light squeeze of comfort and Laena met her eyes and after a few moments gave her a light smile that was gratuitous.

They spent a little more together this last eve, discussing a few matters of import though most of the conversation was idle, most of the idle talk about her and Corlys' upcoming journey that Laena was rather jealous of, and a while later, after Wenolla, Corwyn's nursemaid, took her grandson to his cradle, did she retire for the eve, leaving Laena to wait on Daeron to return who had business with the merchants in Spicetown to deal with.

The Next day…

"There, Meleys." Rhaenys said in High Valyrian as the cold winds harshly brushed against her exposed face, her eyes intently focused on the lone rocky and barren isle off of the coast of Andalos which lay a league or so from the isle.

Meleys let off a soft screech in acknowledgement as the she-dragon began to glide towards the lone isle where she could see a ship, the Sea Snake anchored just off of the coast of the isle.

Rhaenys took to look towards the sun which hung high in the sky.

The distance between the small and unnamed isle from Driftmark was no more than mayhaps a hundred leagues in distance, a three or four days sail. 'And on dragonback, I've reached the isle in less than a quarter of a day' she mused to herself. She'd left Driftmark just past dawn and now it was near enough noon.

'If Meleys can keep this up, we'll get to Aegon in no time'

The distance between Driftmark and this Fylloris was comparable to the distance between Kings Landing and Winterfell, a journey that on dragonback took two days, however, travelling by the coast was needed, for greater safety in case Meleys had a need for longer rests and feeding.

Meleys continued to glide down and flew towards the small camp on the southern shore, recognising the Velaryon blue pavilion amongst the tents at the edge of it.

Meleys was as graceful as ever as she landed by the small camp, and as she climbed the wing of Meleys, she saw Corlys heading her way with three guards of High-Tide

Rhaenys stroked the neck scales of Meleys before she turned around walked towards her husband as she pulled at the fingers of her leather gloves.

"Wife." Corlys said with a smile on his face as he approached her, the other guards having stopped walking, and kissed her on the cheek as she leaned in slightly.

"Corlys." Rhaenys said as she leaned back and glanced at the extravagant pavilion. He'd only been here a day…

She only raised an eyebrow at Corlys who merely shrugged. "It'll be at least a full day and night before we have will have a moment to rest." Corlys said in answer as he took hold of her hand and walked her towards the pavilion.

Corlys leaned in a little closer to her and said "And something a little more."

Rhaenys pursed her lips slightly, more so to control her expression, and it was a few moments later that she spoke. "We'll see."

Hours Later…

They dined by their lone two, after having awakened from an afternoon rest, and she watched Corlys quietly eat, a look on his face that she recognised well enough.

"You look as if you're walking to your death." Rhaenys calmy remarked before she sipped on her watered rose wine. Corlys almost seemed to choke on his lamb cut and he'd had to clear his throat a few times before flushing out his throat with a hearty swallow of wine.

"More like 'as if I'm jumping to my death'" Corlys said with a light grimace on his face and Rhaenys rolled her eyes lightly.

"You could always still back out, Corlys."

This was disagreeable with Corlys from the way his expression tightened.

"And leave you on your own on this damnable mission, especially after all that we're hearing across the Narrow Sea about your cousin?" Corlys narrowed his eyes.

Just a few days ago there had been some troubling news from across the Narrow Sea. That Aegon had performed some kind of foul magic that nearly burned the city of Myr whole and had forced them to pay a tribute to Aegon.

Apparently, the entire city had been clouded over in a field of blue fire, a story so fantastical that none of them believed it. Yet the Pentoshi merchants that had been at the ports swore it on their mothers, their fathers, on their gods' name, and it was hard to spot a lie in their claims.

Nonetheless, it made Corlys quite wary, especially after his experiences in Asshai, a place that he really hated to go into any further detail beyond the boasts that he'd got there.

That, accompanied with the sheer victories that Aegon has accomplished over the past year or so, and the reports that Daemion and Vaemond had given to Corlys, her husband was vehement that the Aegon they knew may not be the one remaining anymore, especially there is any truth about the use of magic.

"No" Corlys continued. "I would not be worthy to call you wife if I let you go alone." Corlys scowled heavily as a dark look passed across his face.

"It was bad enough that fool had the temerity to suggest that we send you and one of our children." Corlys said darkly, a reminder of the anger her husband had shown at the 'request' Viserys had sent their way.

Rhaenys didn't have it in her to warn off Corlys from insulting the King.

It didn't help that she agreed with him.

The consolation of a enshrined promise of having a granddaughter, likely by Laena, marrying Rhaenyra's heir did little to sway them to this mission, no, the main reason why she agreed was that she knew that Daemon could not be trusted to handle the delicate nature of this mission.

She was supportive of the actions that Viserys was taking to get Aegon and Aunt Gael tied again to their Kingdom after his foolish act in disinheriting them, and of course his foolishness in demanding what did not belong to him.

"It's not too late to travel by ship, Corlys." Rhaenys said after a few moments of silence, knowing that it would set him more at ease.

Though Viserys had pleaded with them to keep this mission a secret, the reason why they were avoiding Westerosi lands, she knew that he would have little room to complain if they did travel by ship and fleet.

They could return to Driftmark and take the fleet and sail to Tarth before sailing through the Stepstones with Meleys flying overhead. Though the Stepstones were growing more troublesome, yet again, they had the numbers in ships and of course Meleys.

"No" Corlys shook his head. "It would take us moons before we're done with fixing another of Viserys' problems." Corlys met her gaze and smiled slightly, a touch of grimace clouding his smile which amused her a little. "We'll take your Meleys and we'll be back before the week's is over."

They'd fly across the Pentoshi Flatlands and the coast towards an island in the Sea of Myr that Corlys had already secured with a few dozen ships and delivered supplies and sheep to where they would rest for a day and night before they flew directly towards Fylloris.

Rhaenys smiled at her husband with a touch of amusement before she nodded. "I am fortunate to have such a brave husband." Rhaenys said with feigned seriousness.

Corlys sent a light glare her way before he scoffed and prepared to eat again. "Watch it woman." Corlys said with a look that had little heat in it. "Sailing is in my blood. Whether it is on the seas or in the skies." Corlys added with a light smirk before he took bite of his well-seasoned lamb.

Rhaenys' lips twitched as she shook her head and soon enough, they continued their dining in comfortable silence.

Two days later…

The journey across the Disputed Lands was a largely a quiet affair though there was some instances when Corlys painted a story about these trouble lands.

Once, Corlys said, the lands were some of the greatest grape-producing lands in all of the Known World. A warm climate with plenty of rain and sun, grapes and fruits of all kinds were grown in here during the times of the Freehold.

Corlys even said that the record hall of Dirftmark included an accounting of an ancestor of his having a vineyard estate here four centuries ago.

It is said, Corlys explained, that it had been one of the main reasons why Valyria had driven to colonise west of the Lands of Summer, and why there were three Free Cities at points with the Disputed Lands at the centre.

She'd spent much of the journey studying the lands below. She could see what Corlys was saying though, she could see the scars of the wars that had been fought here.

Patchwork of dry grass lands were abound, dry grass lands that stretched for many leagues on either side, only truly broken up by a patchwork of towns and villages and estates, some of which she could see were wine producing estates.

By the time they could see, in the distance, a large settlement on the coast, they were startled slightly when a dragon had risen from the settlement and flew towards them.

"Rhaenys…" There was a strong hint of warning in Corlys' voice.

"I know." Rhaenys said as she prepared herself for anything that might happen.

It wasn't long before Mīsaragorn was close enough that she could see steel armour around his belly, neck and some parts of his draconic head.

Corlys had relayed the intelligence that he'd received from Aegon's doings, that he'd created dragon-armour for Mīsaragorn. Seeing it with her own eyes was another thing. 'How much does that thing weigh?' she wondered.

When Mīsaragorn flew closer though clearly in a non-aggressive way, banking away from them before banking back towards them in a way that she understood, she relaxed and urged Meleys to fly closer.

Normally, it would have been unconscionable to think that Aegon, the cousin she'd liked the most and seen grow and become a man married, could been a danger but she also was aware that people changed.

Gods, she could see plenty of that in Kings Landing.

When Meleys and Mīsaragorn moved to fly side by side, low growls and trills emanating from the dragons, she was fully able to guess at the size of Mīsaragorn and to say she was surprised was an understatement.

Mīsaragorn had grown much. No more than just shy of thirty namedays old, the dragon was larger than Meleys, if only slightly, a dragon that was more than twenty years Mīsaragorn's senior, and she didn't think there was much difference in size between Mīsaragorn and Caraxes, a dragon that was just a few years older than Melys.

She'd only known a few dragons with a similar growth rate.

Only the Black Dread and Vermithor, could compare with regards to growth rate, she thought to herself, with Vermithor guessed by the dragonkeepers to likely reach five-sixths the size of Vhagar in thirty or forty years, if he continues to grow.

By the time Vermithor reached the age of Vhagar, a dragon more than a hundred and fifty namedays old, the dragonkeepers believed Vermithor had a good chance of reaching the size of the Black Dread himself. And she believed it.

And, as she eyed Mīsaragorn, the dragon may also well reach the same size.

Her eyes then veered towards Aegon, her cousin she'd not seen in a decade.

As Mīsaragorn and Meleys flew closer to one another, she began to see him more clearly and again she was surprised by the sight of him in his, what looked like, weathered armour.

Aegon halted her train of thought as he signalled his hand toward the ground and then gestured with his hand for them to follow him and moments later, Mīsaragorn had dived towards the ground without delay.

Her eyes widened at the smooth way Mīsaragorn responded to Aegon's silent commands.

"Follow Meleys." Rhaenys said to her dragon as she leaned forward into her saddle and soon enough, Meleys followed Mīsaragorn towards the settlement.

The settlement was rather large, surprisingly enough, with walls that were fairly large for a town. There were ships at a small port, some of which she recognised when she'd seen Aegon and aunt Gael depart.

As they approached the settlement, Mīsaragorn drifted towards the edge of the settlement, the northernmost side of the settlement inside the walls where there was a large open space with an inner wall containing a few buildings beside the large space and she guided Meleys to land there.

With a graceful landing, much smoother than that of Mīsaragorn's, Meleys touched land. Corlys was first to remove the restrains on his saddle and seat and he offered his hand to her before they climbed down Meleys' wing.

Meleys let off a low growl as her head drew nearer to the ground, a growl that was not so much as a warning but one of cautiousness, that much she understood.

"Calm, Meleys…calm." Rhaenys said as she scratched at the side of Meleys' neck, and her soothing worked as the low growl dissipated into nearly silent grumbles.

Rhaenys glanced over to Mīsaragorn who was silent as Aegon climbed down his back but seemed highly watchful with his green serpentine eyes.

The two dragons knew each other well, and both Rhaenys…well at least Rhaenys still, had fondness for the other. But she reckoned that Meleys probably was quite on-guard in the presence of a dragon that had been much smaller a decade ago.

Aegon came their way after a servant with a silver place joined him and Corlys placed his hand on her forearm and she snaked her arm around his and made her way towards him.

'He really has changed' Rhaenys mused to herself as she took in Aegon. It wasn't the missing eye and scars that Vaemond and Daemion had vividly described, the emerald eye of her aunt Alyssa, the eye that she'd known had helped make many a maids swoon over Aegon, no, it was everything else. The way he walked, with self-assurance, almost kingly, the expressionless one-eyed gaze that she could tell assess them both…

She wondered how he lost it. Truly lost it. There were all kinds legends now being made about Aegon…

"He's become dangerous…" Corlys said under his breath and Rhaenys couldn't help but agree. In some ways, it felt like she was seeing a version of Daemon.

At the half point between them, Aegon came to a stop, waiting on them, and when they arrived to meet him halfway, Aegon let off a faint smile that she could barely tell through his well-kept beard.

"Princess Rhaenys." Aegon inclined his head lightly at her in a mark of respect before he looked towards Corlys. "and Lord Velaryon. Welcome though I must say your arrival is a surprise." Aegon said as he gestured the servant to bring the silver platter over to them before he eyed them again, the assessing eye never wavering.

There was something different about him…something that felt different…

"Not an unwelcome surprise, of course. It is good to see you both." The way those words were delivered indicated little warmth however, as if he was speaking out of politeness rather than genuine affection.

She was starkly reminded of the tone of voice that Aegon took with uncle Baelon, whenever he felt defensive with those who he shouldn't be.

'Mayhaps it's just my imagination…mayhaps he hasn't changed too much…'

"Prince Aegon." Corlys said with an incline of the head before he took a piece of bread and dipped it in salt before eating it.

"And it is good to see you, Cousin. It's been a while." Rhaenys said with a studious look before she took her piece of bread which she dipped in salt and took.

"Yes, it has been…cousin." Aegon said with a barely discernible smile. "Please…" Aegon said as he twisted his body and gestured with his arm stretched out towards one of the buildings, the larger one. "I'm afraid that what I have to offer you is quite not the kinds of accommodations you're used to but it'll have to make do."

Corlys grunted lightly. "It'll do just fine." Corlys said as he looked around with a look that she knew was one of curiosity.

"Would you be able to provide some food for Meleys, cousin?" Rhaenys asked.

"Yes." Aegon said as he turned to look at the servant. "Have a few oxen brought over." The servant bowed and quickly departed and Aegon looked at her before he frowned and looked towards Meleys.

"There are no dragonkeepers." Aegon stated before he looked to meet her gaze again. "Can Meleys do without?"

Rhaenys raised an eyebrow at the question. "Not enough time has passed to allow you to have forgotten who it was who trained you with Mīsaragorn."

At this, there was a glimmer of the old Aegon with the way he looked at her with his one-eye. Rhaenys smiled a little. "She'll be fine. Just don't let any of your servants too close to her."

Aegon inclined his head. "Very well." He said as he gestured them to follow.

Soon enough, after Aegon had spoken privately with a knight of some kind, they arrived within the building and one of the servants brought glasses of white wine, wine she recognised slightly. It was a Lysene wine, a rare kind whose taste she remembered, and as she glanced to Corlys, she knew he recognised it too.

They'd learnt not too long ago that Aegon definitively had a hand in the Lysene rebellion. According to what they knew, Aegon had supported Johanna for more than a decade and through her, had fomented a rebellion that saw the city cast off its shackles.

Slaver's Bay, now this Liberty Bay, Lys, and now a victory over Myr, the cause of all of the upheaval created in Essos, some of which led directly to Tyrosh falling under the sway of the Iron Throne…

Aegon had accomplished a great deal in his war, and, if the rumours were true, had killed off more noble families not seen since the Doom and the century after when the Dothraki murdered their way through Essos, and possibly was a sorcerer too…

"You've changed, cousin." Rhaenys found herself saying as she rested her glass of wine in her hands, her eyes studying him. That feeling of difference never quite left her. She could feel more prominent now, so close to him.

It didn't set her off-ease but neither was she quite comfortable…

"War tends to do that to men, cousin." Aegon's response was calm, barely any change in his watchful and expressionless face. Aegon turned his singular eye towards Corlys. "Lord Corlys should know of it well enough."

"Hmm." Corlys made out as he leaned back in his chair, frowning lightly "Quite. Though your words are true, the kind of war you fought was different." 'I fought pirates and sellswords…you fought in a war of conquest, all but. And all that it entails' Rhaenys understood.

Aegon smiled though it seemed more like a grimace. "Yes. A different war, one that left more scars, I suppose, than it can be seen." Aegon said as he gestured towards his face. "I can only hope I have healed more scars than I have caused them."

Rhaenys drank of her glass before responding. "Given that you've ended some of the worst practitioners of slavery, and given the slaves their freedom and dignity, I believe you have." Rhaenys said with a light smile. She wasn't quite interested in remarking on the scar. That'd come later when they were done with the business and time for other things. "I and most of the people of Westeros." Rhaenys' smile turned teasing. "The smallfolk have all kinds of songs and names for you."

"Of course they do." Aegon said with a note of exasperation and one that was accompanied with the first sign of true expression on his face.

"Aye, what else can you expect from a hero that strikes chains and does away with great evils." Corlys picked up where she'd left off and she could the smile in his voice as he spoke further, a smile that she could also imagine had a bit of envy. "Truly, it's quite tiresome. Even your brothers are quite tired of hearing the many, many songs of your virtues and triumphs, oh Bane of Slavers."

At this, Aegon cracked a smile, a wider one before he scoffed. "I might have to press upon the Liberty Bay cities to close their ports to Westerosi ships."

Corlys chuckled. "That afraid they'd be inspired?"

"Deathly so. I don't think I can dissuade them if they followed. I've had to accept many things from them. The only thing I managed to dissuade them from was creating statues of my likeness. You can't believe how difficult that had been." Aegon said to them with a light grimace and Rhaenys couldn't help but snort quite unladylike to that.

"Truly?" Rhaenys asked, very interested in the topic. Vaemond and Daemion had said that the former slaves were almost fanatic about her cousin. He wouldn't expand much more on that, not that Rhaenys had pressed given the oath Viserys had extracted from her good-brother and nephew, but it was enough information to tell that if Aegon wanted to be King of Astapor, he could be with ease.

"Truly." Aegon said with a light nod. "I'm glad however they heeded my wishes on it. It would be undeserving to be put on such a pedestal. Their thanks and friendship is enough."

Corlys made a noise. "A queer notion." Corlys said with something in his voice that she didn't quite recognise.

"Perhaps." Aegon said with a light smile that she barely could tell through the beard. Aegon then leaned in a little. "As much as I am in favour in exchanging stories and more with two out of the few people from Westeros that I still have a great deal of fondness for, I do not believe you are here for idle chat."

"Quite." Corlys said with a serious note to his voice before he glanced over to Rhaenys. Rhaenys nodded at her husband and Corlys brought out a letter from his inside pocket.

"Your brother sent us to treat with you." Rhaenys explained as she carefully watched him. Viserys had to explain himself as to why he was requesting her to treat with Aegon. After all, he'd sent Lord Celtigar and her good-brother.

When Viserys finally told her and Corlys what he'd done, she couldn't believe it.

Yes, of course she knew that Viserys had the legal right to demand and threaten Aegon in the way that he did, however…

Aegon was not in the Kingdoms. He was also disinherited.

He was also, effectively, a conqueror that the known world has not seen since Aegon the Conqueror himself. Not only that, he's got no ties to bind him back to the Kingdoms.

Effectively, Viserys had lost all kinds of control over Aegon and his line. All of whom were all dragonriders.

He had no leverage over his youngest brother and he should have recognised that and acted accordingly.

He should have learned that lesson at the feet of Jaehaerys. After all, his early reign was one of strife and manoeuvring, having had to cede Dragonstone to his sister Rhaena and the daughters of his eldest brother, knowing the wisdom of keeping a cordial relationship with them who could cause him significant problems, even become a threat, just as like Aerea could have been made if the relationship between them all had been terrible.

Truthfully, she was rather surprised with the way Viserys went about Aegon. It was not in his nature to seek such direct conflict. The only reason she could see he'd do so is because he'd been advised to do so.

Likely at the behest of his Small Council who did not understand their House.

At least he was making amends with recognising what he should have at the start.

"Curious." Aegon only said as he leaned back in his chair, his eye now on the document that Corlys had placed on the table. Aegon then looked up towards Corlys and then to Rhaenys.

"Only treat?" Aegon said with a thin smile as he titled his head slightly. "The last time he sent people to treat with me, it had come with punishment he has no right to give and demands he has no right to take." Aegon said with his thin smile growing, and there was coldness in his eyes.

"Cousin Viserys recognises that he is in the wrong." Rhaenys said in answer. And Aegon hummed for a moment.

"At least he can recognise that." Aegon said with a glimmer of displeasure and he flexed his fingers lightly before he spoke "My response was clear. I do not recognise his claims or authority over me or Elamaerys." Aegon said as he leaned forward slightly and eyed them both, his one-eye flickering between them.

"Has he accepted that? Or should I be on guard for a rather ugly red worm coming my way?" Aegon asked with a thin smile and Rhaenys felt a sense of dismay at the cynicism of that comment.

"You've grown cynical." Corlys said and she saw that he was looking at Aegon with critical eyes. "Incredibly so, if you think that your brother would do a thing so underhanded."

Rhaenys interrupted quickly as she glanced at Corlys before looking at Aegon. "Viserys has accepted only you and your line have claims on Elamaerys. He supports it. He also is willing to make concession. Great ones." Rhaenys said to Aegon who only looked at her with some cold amusement at her words.

She decided to leave it here, for now, as she moved to ask. "And would it be so bad in your eyes? If two sons of Baelon were to reunite?" Rhaenys posed with care.

Aegon offered her a light hum as he stared at her for a long moment. Then he spoke. "No…it would not." Aegon said with a slow caress of his glass before he looked towards Corlys.

"He is King, Lord Corlys." Aegon stated, as if it was answer enough to her husband's comments about cynicism.

"And he is also your brother." Rhaenys iterated.

"I've never denied that. Nor would I ever deny that. They are my blood. My brothers. I wish them the best of fortunes and I wish them no more harm than I do you, cousin. But King Viserys is King first and foremost." Aegon said with a light tightening around his eye. "And so, he makes decisions he believes to be to the good of the Realm. Even decisions about his family. Like me, who is thorn that he believes must break. One way or another." Aegon said with an amused smile that did not reach his eye as he leaned forward and took the sealed document.

"At least he recognises that he never should have thought he had anything to do with Elamaerys. And what are these concessions, concessions that are so great?" Aegon asked though he kept his eye on the document.

"He did not tell us." Rhaenys admitted and Aegon looked up to meet her gaze. Viserys only told them about Elamaerys. She continued.

"He only said that you would understand and that he would wait on your answer."

Aegon narrowed his eye at her before he looked towards the document for a moment before he sat back in his chair and broke the seal.

Rhaenys exchanged looks with Corlys who she could tell was enjoying this.

The relationship, it seems, had greatly splintered between the sons of Baelon.

So much so that Aegon considered that Viserys and Daemon would go as far as kinslaying! Rhaenys looked back towards Aegon who, with narrowed eyes, read the document and she and Corlys sat that in wait.

She watched carefully as he read it, and she was surprised she saw no change in his expressions and when he'd finally finished, he set aside the document and set his eye on them.

"And what is your answer, Prince Aegon?" Corlys was the one to break the silence.

Aegon smiled lightly before he looked away from them and looked towards the side, looking to a point of no significance. And Rhaenys knew that look.

It was the same kind of look that she'd seen often in his youth, when he was thinking about problems, any kind of problems, and how to solve them. The most distinctive time she'd seen that look was after he'd been experimenting with furnaces and ingredients, a document or tome in front of him.

"How are things in Kings Landing?" Aegon asked surprising them both when he turned to look at them, a sharp glint in his eye.

Rhaenys and Corlys looked at each other. "As they always are." Corlys said in answer as he turned to look at Aegon.

"But…?" Aegon prodded. Rhaenys was truly curious in what Viserys had written.

"Things are as they have always been however…it is different." Rhaenys added to Corlys' words.

"No doubt involving who is to ascend the throne?" Aegon asked calmly as he picked up the glass of wine again. Rhaenys only offered a light smile.

"Hmm. From your silence, it is apparent that matters are quite worsening." Aegon said before he drank of his wine in one fell swoop.

"Did your brother write about the situation in the capital?" Corlys asked the same question that Rhaenys wanted an answer to. If Viserys did truly write about that…

To say that she would be surprised would be understating it. Viserys was ignoring the issue completely. For him, out of sight and out of hearing range, the issues did not exist.

And even then, he was succumbing to the wishes of his Hightower queen, going as far as allowing his five nameday old son to claim a dragon! A grown dragon! At five namedays! It truly was astonishing…and deeply worrying for a number of reasons.

The Hightowers were so ambitious that they were endangering a child. And Viserys did not care enough to offer resistance. And from the times she'd seen the boy, and the other children, every time she visited Corlys as he was stuck in Kings Landing as Master of Ships, she could tell that they were deeply in need of a great many things.

It didn't help that Daemon was intentionally provoking the Hightowers in a way that helped fuelling the divide through fear and more.

"He did not." Aegon answered, forcing her to refocus. "However, he has mentioned fostering Aemond and potentially betroth one of my daughters to him."

Rhaenys raised her eyebrows. Corlys was the one to speak up. "He has asked you to foster the second born son?" Corlys was sceptical and Rhaenys understood.

Alicent Hightower was not going to accept that.

Or rather, Otto Hightower would not accept that.

"Not quite. Only the possibility of it. We would speak further on it when I am to come to Kings Landing." Aegon said with a light sigh.

"So you've accepted his terms." Corlys stated and she knew he was deeply interested in what else Viserys has offered. Something Aegon definitely picked up on with the way he looked at Corlys with amusement.

"I have." Aegon said with a light nod before he sat back in his chair, a touch of grimace on his face. "However, it will take time for me to arrive. Likely no sooner than perhaps a week or two before Rhaenyra and Baelon are to wed."

That was…almost a year from now.

"He won't be happy with that." Rhaenys commented and Aegon smiled.

"Unfortunately, I have a great many duties to my people and the people I have liberated. I am sure you have seen that this town is quite full."

There were many thousands in the town, she'd seen. They must be fed through grain and other such foodstuff deliveries at the port.

"Aye." Corlys said with a nod before he eyed Aegon intently. "I was surprised to see such a developed place. I don't recall a place like it."

"It was merely a large estate, basically. What you see is what we have built. Or rather what the largely Lysene built with mine and my people's aid." Aegon said in answer.

Rhaenys saw Corlys' eyebrows climb before he narrowed his eyes. "Including the walls?"

"Including the walls." Aegon answered and she could tell that he was growing more at ease with the way his eye was glimmering with amusement.

"If what you want to know is how…then I can tell you plainly. Liquid stone, the same building method I used in Corinth. And of course, a healthy excess in labourers, both the freed slaves and men from Lys, who also supplied much of the resources I needed."

"I too will be plain. I am interested in this liquid stone." Corlys said as he placed his glass on the table.

At this, Aegon smiled and it was broader than all of the smiles she'd seen this day from him. "I would have thought you more interested in other things…such as Elamaerys…or the Sunset Sea."

"Oh, I am." Corlys said with slowly growing grin, one that was not quite friendly but not quite unfriendly either. "But that is talk over dinner, have no worries. Amongst other talk. You owe me a great deal of stories."

At this, Aegon chuckled lightly and she could see him enjoying this and he'd turned his one-eye at Rhaenys. "Cousin…I hope you will be able to soothe your husband's ego when I tell him of stories that are greater than his."

"Bah! Not a chance." Corlys said with a growl that was intended as the comments of her cousin. "You may have achieved something great with Elamaerys, and perhaps with your deeds against the slavers, but your achievements are like flashes that have burned bright. Mine…mine…I have seen things, horrors and wonders alike, I have travelled to the edges of the world and have come whole…friend, your achievements are great but mine…mine are flashes that have lasted an age."

At this, Aegon leaned forward and, as Aegon began to speak with Corlys to speak of the kinds of things he'd seen and what he'd accomplished, a widening smile on his face, one that growing mirrored on Corlys', Rhaenys could help but smile at the sight of the two men subtly jabbing and undermining the other in jest.

She remembered all too well how often Aegon had asked questions about the places Corlys has visited, and she'd known that there was a bit of him that was much like her husband.

'At least that part of him has never left him. Yes…Aegon has changed…but he is still quite the same' and Rhaenys was glad for it.

She would have hated to have lost her favourite cousin.