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.

18. Chapter 17

Thank you for your patience...it is greatly appreciated.

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

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Early to Mid 109 AC – Isle of Women (Abulu)

Dromarin POV

"Spread out the seeds, Laria." Dromarin said loudly as he tapped his staff against the stone barrier of the terraced farm. "Use the line of the wall as a guide on where to spread the seeds." He added as he gazed down from the upper most terrace farm.

The soil could not sustain good growth of crops if there were too many seeds planting in the same location. The soil they imported every year from the Summer Islanders may be good but the weather was too frigid on their island so they had to be careful with what and how they planted.

"Yes grandsire!" Laria shouted out and he could her childish frustration in her voice as she continued to spread seeds from her basket though he could see her regain her focus.

'Good' Dromarin thought to himself as he walked achingly across the stone wall that functioned as a path. His granddaughter may only be one and ten namedays and hated working in the field, but everyone needed to do their part for their community, his eyes parting from his working granddaughter to the others who were planting seeds.

Young and old, there were none who did not do their duty and work for the community. It had been like that since the day Nymera and Druselka abandoned them here.

Dromarin continued to walk along the length of the wall, his old eyes studying the laid stone for any that might need replacing. Though rain was sparse, when rain did fall, it fell like waves upon shores, drowning land and stone with hard rain.

It was part of why they had such difficulty growing crops on the flatter lands and the terrible rock soil only made it worse.

For generations, they struggled to feed themselves but, with time and desperation, they managed to tame the island and its harshness and managed to succeed in sustaining their people from the land and the seas.

Dromarin made his way down the steps that ran down the side of the terraced farms, his eyes washing over them and the stones that kept the soil and the sandy and rocky soil that lay beneath. That was until Second Cataclysm.

It took them another two hundred years before they developed this method of farming, high on the mountain and beyond the easy grasp of pirates that had plagued his ancestors for generations after the Second Cataclysm, where they built on the lone mountain, building terraced farms where they laid the imported rich fertile soil of the Summer Isles on top where underneath, there was sandy and rocky soil which itself was on top of gravel and rocks.

The terraces never flood as the water is filtered down through the soils and stones until it sinks into the mountain below where the rain gets collected in caves and in aqueducts that fed into the many wells that their people and their livestock used.

Dromarin gazed upon his people who worked to plant the seeds in time for harvest. The few scrolls that remained were long written after the Second Cataclysm, though the memory of it had still been fresh in the minds of the generations after, and had spoken of the despair that had befallen on his ancestors in the years and decades after their people had been whittled down to just a thousand.

Even now, centuries later, as Dromarin looked upon the hundreds of people who were planting seeds, their numbers had only surpassed half the numbers of the time of what sadly could be considered to be their golden age, and it had been a true struggle to reach even that number.

They were still plagued by pirates who sought to enslave them, though they found it not easy for their people had learnt and were all learned in the art of the spear, girl and boy and women and men alike, and they often lost too many to them, he thought bitterly, but they were as good a place they had been in centuries, he thought with some bitter sweetness as he tapped the butt of the spear against the weathered steps their ancestors carved into the mountain as he made his way down towards the path that lead up to a series of steps that would take him to the villages topside.

It was on this path that he saw a few of the boys running up the steps towards him, boys that should be on the water fishing and he knew immediately something was wrong and there could only be one thing that would send these boys racing up the steps in such a fashion.

"Elder!" the boy named Cyrenn called out in a pant as he raced up the last few steps. "Ships are approaching! Quentyn has rallied everyone to the fortress!"

Dromarin's hand tightened onto his staff as he thought on the situation. He had hoped that the last few years of peace would last a while longer. "Go." Dromarin said hurriedly "Get the others." Quentyn had sent these boys to call upon all men and women still strong enough to wield a spear, Dromarin knew.

The boys scurried off and before long, as he made his way towards the juncture of stairway that would lead directly to the fortress' southern side, scores of men and women with their spears ran down the steps towards the fortress and Dromarin kept an eye out for his granddaughter and he caught her by the arm when she tried to pass him by.

"No. You're too young. You know the rules." Dromarin said sternly as he looked upon his granddaughter's deviant face.

Their people were too few and should the worst happen, the young must be plentiful enough so that their people could carry on. Those like him would be burdened with teaching them all that their people knew so that the little they knew and remembered would not be forgotten.

"The rules are stupid! I'm the best with the spear amongst my age! I could help!" she said angrily as she tried to jerk her arm free from his grasp. 'Alleras, your daughter is a handful' Dromarin said with a sigh and he let go off his staff and placed his free hand onto her shoulder, holding her still.

"Laria of House Trebor!" Dromarin said with a strong voice that verged just below shouting and it made her fight less against him as she looked at him with desperate and betrayed eyes.

"You are the last of our family, Laria. My family. You cannot fight." Dromarin said firmly as he met his granddaughter's brown eyes. She was his last surviving grandchild, her brother Borinn having been taken by the winter chill two years ago.

Out of six children and four grandchildren, she was his only family from his seed left.

"What would our family legacy be if I abandon the fight like Nymera and the others abandoned our family, grandfather?!" Laria said angrily as she managed to jerk free her arm from his grasp though his hand was still on her shoulder.

"Father would want me to fight the pirates like he did!" Laria added and a smack rang as his hand connected with her left cheek, turning her face to the right.

"Your father doesn't want anything more." His voice was still bitter despite nearly a decade having past by, his hand resting heavy on her shoulder.

"I am left t-" he stumbled as his hand that been on Laria's shoulder gave way when she twisted and crouched suddenly felt nothing but air and as he caught his balance once more and tried to grab at her, and failed, soon he saw nothing but her back as she raced down towards the fortress, a feeling dismay washing over him.

"Laria!" he called out after her yet he heard nothing in response and he quickly, as much as he could, followed suit as others from the villages above raced passed him.

He arrived at top of the steps that lead down the pass into the fortress, a fortress that was carved into the mountain where all on sides except for the pass at the back of the fortress was rocky and sharp and incredibly difficult to climb, and impossible for lazy pirates, and saw in the distance two large ships and a single rowboat that was approaching the shores and he frowned heavily at the sight.

This was not ordinary pirates as they would have come with more than just two ships and would have launched a dozen rowboats to attack.

The ships were clearly not Swan ships either, and thus very unlikely to be Summer Islanders too who had never come to their island for as long as he had lived, which was why he could not discount that these were not pirates, and all in all, he was…unsure what this situation was.

He heard shouting down the fortress, shouting that echoed against the rocks of the pass, a feature they often used to relay messages back to the top as the channels they carved into the mountain carried sound well, and he made his way down to the fortress.

The hundreds of warriors were surrounding the leaders of the warband, Quentyn and Obella, who were arguing about whether or not they were to meet the pirates on the rowboat on the shore…and whether or not they were to kill them or to take them for interrogation.

It seemed that they were just as confused as to what was happening.

"We should not attack until we have to." The one and twenty Quentyn said harshly as Dromarin made his way through the crowd of warriors, his eyes searching for his granddaughter who he had yet to see amongst the bodies of warriors.

"Boy, you're advocating for things you do not understand." The eight and forty nameday old Obella said calmly as she stared down Quentyn, her likely successor as the primary leader of the warband.

"These are not Summer Islanders coming to trade. They have not come to our shores for ten generations. They have no reason to come today." Obella said with authority, and her words were keenly agreed by with the rest of the warriors.

Their people might to go Walano or the other smaller islands near it to trade for their soil and their fruits twice a year, but beyond that?

"Even if you say that it could not possibly be the Summer Islanders, we see only one boat coming to our shores which is clearly a sign that they do not come with foul intent. Provoking them when there is no need is folly!" Quentyn returned heatedly and Dromarin sighed knowing that the young man had a point though it seemed that his words divided their warband more than the words of Obella did.

"There is only one reason why others would come to our island, boy, and it has been so for as long as we have made this island our home." Obella gestured with her spear towards the direction of the shore beyond the walls of the fortress as she spoke again "And that boat carries those who wish to see what our strength is."

This had gotten approvals from the elder warriors and a good few of the younger warriors that were not in Quentyn's camp alike.

"We can decide after they've come to shore." Dromarin said before Quentyn could respond and eyes turned to him. He continued "We know the likes of pirates and slavers. That should drive our decision." Dromarin said and it was then that he saw his granddaughter stand amongst a group of youngers, older boys and girls that he'd seen her practice with countless of times.

She'd tied her long brown hair into a tail and seemed to be given an old weathered wooden shield that Dromarin did not think could remain intact after more than one or two blows. Yet from the look on her face, he could see that she would not be dissuaded from her course.

"Dromarin." Obella said respectfully even if her face was cold as she stared at him. "It would be a mistake."

"No, it would be a mistake to cause a conflict if there is not a need, Obella. You know as well as I do the cost of conflict. Are you so eager to see more of our kin follow our children to death, when there might not be a need?" Dromarin's voice was quiet and he knew it was a low blow but the older warriors really should know better than to let their anger speak for them.

Quentyn looked at him with a grateful expression on his face. How strange it was that the younger generation was more careful and mindful of the lives of their people than their elders who should be the ones with the pearls of wisdom.

Dromarin looked around and saw that his words resonated with the majority and that was all that he needed. And all that Quentyn needed as he began to speak again, and began making strategies and assigning people to tasks and groups.

He himself was tasked to go speak with the foreigners.

"I should run you with my spear, Dromarin." Obella said coldly as they walked on the stony shore towards the men by the beached boat.

"You hadn't done it five and twenty years ago for a graver offense, Obie. I wouldn't think you would be so angry for truthful words." Dromarin said as he glanced at her and saw that she wore the same cold face though he could see the anger in her eyes.

"Ghoyan isn't here anymore to make me to think again and his memory has long since faded." Obella said calmly but the intent of her words were anything but calm as she mentioned the name of his first born son of his first wife.

Ghoyan had wooed Obella who had been eight years his older and a woman much vied for, for she had been a beauty and the best warrior amongst her generation, and had been a man any father could proudly call son and any woman proudly call husband.

Both Ghoyan and Mors, Obella's and Ghoyan's only child, had died in the deadliest and heaviest slaver attack for over four generations, along with his eldest daughter and third son.

Whilst Dromarin had lost much of his vigour in the wake of the deaths of three of his children and a grandchild, Obella had instead turned colder, incredibly careless that most mistook for bravery and skill and even more so brutal, having lead their warriors on two other occasions pirates and slavers attacked their island, brutally impaling the surviving slavers and pirates onto the shore for the seagulls to pick at.

Dromarin's nodded silently as he looked towards the men by the boat who he could tell from their dark skin were most certainly Summer Islanders, much to his relief though it was tempered with heavy wariness.

They came to a stop some hundred metres from the Summer Islanders and the Summer Islanders made their way towards them.

"I am Sodhabbas Qhaxos" the Summer Islander said in Rhoynish, his head bowed, catching both he and Obella by surprise though neither of them showed it to them.

Qhaxos was a noble name, a Prince's name at that. "Why have you come, Summer Islander of Omboru? Your people have not come to our island for as long as we have been here." He kept his voice level even if he felt some bitterness about it.

The Summer Islanders had kept their distance from their island, from their people, since the moment they 'gave' them this rock to settle many centuries ago.

He'd been to one of their islands before, when he'd been a young man.

To see their lands so rich and lush, in comparison to their practically barren rock they fought with blood and hunger to make worth something, was something that stuck with him, and he imagined, had stuck in the mind of all of his ancestors.

Qhaxos inclined his head respectfully. "I have not come on the behalf of the Princes of the Summer Isles. I have come on the behalf of Prince Aegon of House Targaryen, the last of the Dragonlord families."

"Obella, wait!" Dromarin's voice was sharp as Obella raised her spear. and Dromarin stepped across from her, initiating some hesitancy in her, enough for him to catch her gaze and, as he turned around to hide his face from the Summer Islanders, he did all he could to signal to her to understand him as he looked upon her with an expression that he hoped she would understand as 'we cannot fight against one of them'

It seemed to drag like a lifetime, when their eyes met and finally, Obella regained her wits and brought down the butt of her spear to the ground and Dromarin let off a silent sigh of relief.

"We have heard of this Dragonlord. What does this Dragonlord want from us, Summer Islander?" Dromarin asked calmly, not acknowledging what had just transpired and he turned around to face the man who looked onto them warily and unsettled whilst the other Summer Islanders had their hands on their swords now.

"He has a proposal for you, Lord…" Qhaxos trailed off with an expectant tone.

"You may call me Elder." Dromarin said, unwilling to share his name amidst the rising concern about the whole situation that was fast growing far too fraught and he asked the Summer Islander "What does the Dragonlord want from us?"

"The Dragonlord does not want from you, rather he wants for you, Elder." Qhaxos said meaning behind his words and Dromarin narrowed his eyes.

Qhaxos continued after the silence from both him and Obella, who gratefully was letting him do the speaking and acting, "Prince Aegon has learnt of your…" Qhaxos took especial care to look around "harsh situation and has bid me to present you an offer that would see your people prosper in a different land and, in time, come to grow numerous enough to be able to take back your river Rhoyne and your ancestral lands and keep it."

"What?" Obella's incredulous and harsh voice sounded out exactly what Dromarin was thinking "You must think us fools to believe such nonsense." Obella sneered coldly at the Summer Islander as her hand tightened on her spear and she was unfazed by the looks of concern from the armed Summer Islanders as she stared down Qhaxos.

"This is nothing more than a scheme to enslave more of the last of the Rhoynar. Foolish and stupid as always but this new scheme of yours truly descends into a new low even for your kind, slaver." Obella spat out and this made the Summer Islanders bristle in anger.

"We are no slavers." Qhaxos said sternly, anger showing in his face "Do not accuse us of such monstrosity, not when us all have felt the bite of chains around our wrists and feet!"

Obella scoffed "You claim to have been slaves?" Obella looked them up and down "Some kind of slave you are." Obella mocked and Dromarin knew that she was trying to provoke them into showing their true colours.

He did nothing to stop her. He also needed this scheme to come to an end and he'd happily die if he had to.

"We were captured but not yet sold. Prince Aegon and his people destroyed the camps in the Basilisk Isles before they could sell us on the markets on the mainland." Qhaxos said to them.

"The gods smiled on you then." Obella said mockingly as she smiled bitterly and Qhaxos nodded to her words.

"Aye."

"Yet you work for the Dragonlord instead of your own people?" Dromarin asked leadingly as he studied the man trying to discern his deceptions.

"I owe him and his people a debt that I must repay."

"In the end, you're still in chains working for another." Obella bit out cruelly.

"Are we all not in chains in some way or another? I and my fellows to our debt, and you to your people to ensure your community survives?" Qhaxos returned and this made Obella scowl lightly at the man though she did not immediately respond.

"We do not believe you nor do we believe you are here on the behalf of this…Dragonlord." Dromarin interjected.

He'd heard from the others that had gone to the Summer Isles over the past five years that a Dragonlord had taken roost on Walano along with his wife and children, all of whom had dragons of their own.

He had difficulty believing even when there were too many accounts for it not to be true. Dragons…truly still existed and had still existed for over two centuries even after the Doom of Valyria.

"He is willing to come here and speak with you." Qhaxos immediately said and Dromarin ignored it though it was not easy when he spoke again.

"What is this offer of new land he is offering?"

Some time later, Qhaxos and the other Summer Islanders returned to their boat and he was left to walk back towards the fortress with Obella, his mind astray with heavy thoughts.

"You're considering it?" Obella asked and he was startled out of his thoughts and turned to look at her.

"If it is truly an honest offer…"

Obella scoffed and her face was marred with bitterness and scorn "What honestness can we expect from a Dragonlord? You know the tales, Dromarin. We would be casting aside ancient wisdom."

"To call frightful stories ancient wisdom is beyond the pale, Obella." Dromarin said disapprovingly. Dragonlords and dragons were spoken around the fires during their remembrance festivities in the same breath as the monsters in the Deep, people and beings that were blights and curses on the living.

Yet Obella also was speaking truthfully too for it would be the same reaction most of their people would have should they hear of the offer. He was almost certain they'd dismiss right out of hand and he couldn't help but think that it would be a great mistake.

The offer was too good to be true, far too good to be true, yet Dromarin could see the genuineness in the Summer Islander's expression. 'Could it be that their curse was coming to an end, at the hands of the ones who set it upon them?'

There was an old legend, a folktale that most ruefully thought about but now kept on repeating in Dromarin's head, one that spoke of the curse that followed them when the last of the Rhoynar escaped from the ashes of their cities into the open sea, a curse that withered away at the children of the Rhoyne to penalise them for running away from the Mother who even to this day sang their names and called them home.

"Yet those stories are all that we have left from our legacy, Dromarin." Dromarin looked to Obella again and saw the bitterness on her face. "A legacy that his forebearers has helped all but destroy. We cannot trust he and his ilk."

"Not even if it could lead us home?" Dromarin asked quietly and Obella sharply turned her head towards him.

"Even if it was true, which I do not and could not believe even if I saw happen before my very eyes" Obella said with a scowl "It would require to hand over the fate of our people to this Dragonlord. I would rather die than let that happen."

"Isn't our fate in the hands of the Dragonlord anyway the moment he came to know of us?" Dromarin returned to Obella. "You choose to value the old stories now so you must know that we are at his mercy and if what you think of him is correct, we're already all dead."

Obella scowled heavily and if looks could kill, he'd be dead now.

Dromarin sighed as he shook his head "We will convene a council to discuss the matter." They would reject the offer, he knew, but nonetheless…

"For once, Obella, do not try and influence their decision." Dromarin said quietly and after he received another cold glare he continued "We will come to know the truth of the offer if that Dragonlord comes with his dragon." Dromarin looked at her as he spoke intently "And if it is true…know that whatever happens to our people, will be because of us, because of how we have influenced our people."

Dromarin turned away from Obella "I can live with the advocacy I intent to share. Can you live with yours, Obella, and what it may cause?"

For the rest of the walk, they walked in silence, both of them too occupied with their troubled thoughts.

-Break-

Early to Mid 109 AC, Lotus Port

Prince Jalla POV

The sounds of a chilling roar shook his court into silence that lasted for a few moments after the roar came to an end and it broke when Jalla stood up from his seat. Whispers broke loose as Jalla glanced at his wife who smiled kindly at him though he could see the lines of displeasure on her face, no doubt unhappy by the spectacular entrance that Aegon had undoubtedly was making, one that reminded all of the…imbalance of power that existed on their island.

The doors to his hall opened and his vizier walked up before he bowed and said fretfully "Your Excellency, Prince Aegon of Corinth has come with his dragon."

'Yes…we heard' "Have the kitchens bring forth salt and bread." Jalla told his vizier.

"Of course, my Prince." His vizier said before he whispered in the ear in one of his servants who walked away out of the doors and Jall turned to his wife, Sola, with his hand stretched out and she took it.

He kissed it gently before he spoke up "I may not be back 'till sundown."

"I understand, my Prince." She said and she rose from her seat.

"I will see to our children." She said before she came up closer to him and gave him a kiss on his cheeks before she turned and left towards the doors that lead to the Royal quarters and Jalla sighed silently though he kept his face schooled when he turned and walked down towards his vizier and the guards.

"I take it he is in the gardens?" Jalla asked calmly as they walked out of the doors and into the hallways. The gardens were large enough for that dragon to land and it had done so once before. His gardeners had been most unhappy about it.

He wasn't looking forward in hearing their complaints again and his wife liked the gardens far too much for him to impress on them too harshly.

His vizier nodded.

"He and three others came on the back of the great beast, my Prince."

"Don't call the dragon beast when you're in its presence. Its smart enough to understand most things, even those that are said in our tongue." Jalla said to his vizier as he glanced at the man. His old vizier, a man who had served his father and grandfather, had died two years ago and Xhallabar had not been present for all of the times when Aegon had visited, with and without dragon.

"I had heard the claims, my Prince, but I find it difficult to believe. Those eyes are far too primal. To think such a…dragon could also be as smart as a man would be truly far too fearsome." His vizier said quietly and disturbed.

Yes, those large serpentine like eyes were very disturbing. Almost as big as a man's head, those eyes were as fearsome as the teeth in its maw. And behind those eyes was a mind unalike a man yet far too alike a man's if the little he'd seen of the dragon and what he'd been told by Aegon was true.

"At least it is no panther in its behaviour." Jalla said to his vizier who laughed a little.

"Yes, thank the gods for small mercies. We would all be in trouble if panthers were as smart as us. They're already far too smart already."

They made to the courtyard, the sight of the dragon laying down seen long before they approached it and the men who stood in front of the dragon, and Jalla couldn't help but be in awe every time he set his eyes on the dragon.

His memories always seemed to be so…underwhelming every time he was in front of the dragons that seemed to upend the world that men created for themselves, a world where the gods were a distant, out-of-the-way presence and yet, being in the presence of a creature, with its jagged spikes and curving horns, that was as tall as his palace which was as tall as ten men stacked vertically, with rows of teeth that were as long as swords, such ideations of their world being so far removed from the physical touches of the gods dies away.

And this dragon, whose rider it was guarding carefully, with his discomforting colouring that was of the same hue as that of blood and the blue of the approaching night, a dragon that was staring at him with its serpentine eyes, reminded all that it was not gods that commanded them to touch upon the world but rather those few men who were as close to gods as men could get.

Jalla tore his gaze away from the dragon and turned them towards Aegon, who was dressed in royal clothing befitting his station though Jalla could see the chainmail beneath the clothing, and made his way towards him when Aegon began to move towards him.

From the corner of his eyes, he could see the servant following him along with the guards, and as he came at a stop before Prince Aegon, the servant offered the bread and salt on a silver plate to them both. "Prince Aegon, I welcome you to my palace." Jalla said with traditional old Summer Tongue before he gestured towards the bread and salt on the plate.

"I accept your welcome with gratitude and graciousness, Prince Jalla." Prince Aegon said with in the same old Summer Tongue before both of them broke off a piece of the bread and dipped them in the salt and took a bite off of the bread.

Once the servant took away the plate, Prince Aegon stuck out his right hand and Prince Jalla took it and his middle finger snapped against the middle finger of Prince Aegon's, greeting each other as equals.

Though…the entrance and of course the dragon itself, Jalla mused as he glanced at his vizier and then towards the other nobles that were far back, dissuaded any notion of equals.

"I fear I will displease your gardeners once more once they come to see what my dear Mīsaragorn has done to their gardens and plants." Prince Aegon said with remorse in his voice though there were hints of mischief in his eyes and Jalla twisted a mild smile.

"They will be most certainly unhappy. That is, of course, until they get to organise the garden to its most beautiful."

"Ah…a labour of love, then. Nonetheless, I have brought over some seeds to smooth over some of their displeasure. Seeds of truly beautiful plants my people had been lucky enough to obtain in the Far East." The Prince said as he unclipped several small bags tied into a bundle and Jalla gestured his vizier to take the seeds.

"My gardeners shall be sure to thank you." Although they'd curse his name several dozen times before they did so.

Prince Aegon said nothing and simply inclined his head and Jalla took that as a signal to move passed to the reason why the Prince was even here in the first place.

Hours later…

Jalla kept his eyes on the bongo that they'd stalked for the last hour, the white stripped brown antelope that called jungles of Walano home, his breathing low and slow as his bowstring was pulled with slow deliberate motion, and, as the bongo looked up towards the direction of the party he knew to be approaching on his left, he let fly the arrow and he hit the bongo right on its side of the head, instantly killing the beast even if its body did not know it yet.

He let off a breath before he strapped his bow on his shoulder and gestured his guards to start moving again, the sounds of their movement sounding far too loud after nearly twenty minutes of silence.

Bongos were somewhat predictable in their movements, especially during the day where they often kept themselves to particular parts of the jungle.

It was why they'd split off in three different parties to lure the bongo towards him so that he could kill the striped animal.

One of his guards whistled loudly, signalling to the other parties that the kill has been made and Jalla made his way towards the downed bongo.

The beast was still twitching and Jalla took out his dagger and dug it into the beast' head, killing the beast in totality. "I thank you for your flesh and I offer your blood to our shared ancestral lands." Jalla said as he cut open the throat of the bongo, its blood dripping into the soil.

"May you find safe passage to the spirit lands." Jalla said in prayer with a respectful bow of the head before he stood up and his guards took out their daggers and got to work in cutting the body into carriable sizes.

It was some time later, the bongo having already its forelegs and hindlegs cut off with much else already having been cut off, that the other parties began to arrive.

With how sensitive the hearing of the bongo was, the beast would keep moving several hundred metres ahead of its trackers.

"A clean kill?" Prince Aegon asked as he arrived with his three guards in tow, his gaze on the nearly entirely cut up bongo.

"As clean as circumstances allow." Jalla said.

Prince Aegon nodded and soon enough, they were on the move back towards Lotus Port. The hunt was a time honoured tradition amongst the nobility of the Summer Isles.

In the times where night stalkers, panthers and silver pelted apes twice the size of men were as common as birds that roamed the Isles' skies, it was a show of trust and honour to hunt with another.

These days, with the silver pelted apes all but gone but in the most interior of the jungles and night stalkers and panthers reduced in numbers as the people of the Summer Isles swelled, there was little danger when one ventured into the jungles in a group such as this.

"Back in Westeros" the Prince began as they walked alongside each other, flanked as they were by their guards "We do something like this hunt in the forests."

Jalla had heard of this. He even remembered that it was on one of these hunts that the Prince's father had succumbed to injury. "They called harts, are they not?"

"Harts. Deer. Stags." Prince Aegon said with a nod. "They roam the forests typically though these days there are but few large enough to sustain their numbers."

The Westerosi and the Essosi did not respect nature like they did in the Summer Isles. He'd seen that all too much. They were often too blinded by the pursuit of personal ambitions and wants and gold to care for their nature. The only ones that seemed to be somewhat different were mayhaps the Qohori but then they only truly cared because of the defences their nature provided against the Dothraki.

"Most of the reason why the forest still exist is because of the legend that exists amongst the Westerosi" Prince Aegon continued as they walked through the dense jungle towards the plainlands.

"Legend?" he asked curiously as he glanced at the Prince.

"Aye though legend is mayhaps not the right word for the white stags do exist from time to time." Prince Aegon said to Jalla before he looked away into the depths of the jungle. "They are believed to be good omen, that which bids good fortune to those who have brought them down."

"We have similar legends." Jalla said. Such as the night stalker that was as pale as the moon, a harbinger of great triumph of some kind or another.

It is said that Xanda Qo had hunted the pale night stalker at the height of night with but a goldenheart bow and three arrows, bringing it down on her very last arrow.

Prince Aegon nodded at him "Aye, I imagine so and you can imagine that white stags have been particularly of interest to kings and princes."

Jalla inclined his head to Prince Aegon. Yes…any ruler would wish the legitimacy of what such a legendary animal would bring to their rule.

"Appearances and symbols matter a great deal to us humans, more so to those who depend on it to remain in power." Prince Aegon said and Jalla's expression remained the same though he could feel the coldness seep into the very air.

Jalla turned to Prince Aegon and saw him keep his eyes at his front and Jalla returned his gaze back to the front as well. "The men who are with us are those I trust completely." Jalla said after a long few moments of silence. He'd understood enough from their correspondence that this discussion of theirs was to be secure.

"I will take your word for it, Prince Jalla." Prince Aegon said as he turned and Jalla turned as well, meeting the Valyrian's mismatching eyes and Jalla knew that the Prince did not trust him nearly as much as his words indicated.

"You think I have fallen sway to the discontented nobles?" Jalla asked him directly, unwilling to dance around the topic. It was the reason why they were meeting, even if neither of them had spoken of it in their correspondence.

"Not yet though it doesn't help that your wife is in their camp." Prince Aegon said as he stared with unblinking eyes at Jalla and he bristled silently at the accusation.

"She is not in their camp." Jalla said sharply though it did not faze the Prince and Jalla berated himself for letting himself react so strongly.

"She is not in their camp but her concerns over my rule are not unwarranted." Jalla said as he turned away from Prince Aegon's gaze.

Concerns that she had raised with him more than on one occasion, concerns that suggested that others were starting to believe that his rulership was allowed by the Dragonlords that made their home to his East and ruled over the lands Jalla had gifted with an impunity that was unheard of.

"With that, I agree." Prince Aegon said with some tiredness in his voice and Jalla looked to him carefully. Prince Aegon continued "I am aware of how enemies can make use of the slightest openings to cause a deadly wound and my family's continued presence on your island is an easy opening to exploit against you."

"An easy opening yes but not an opening they can use to pull open a wound." Jalla returned with some coldness in his voice. There is no challenger who could defeat him in a challenge nor did any of them possess the kind of men that could win against him or the men Jalla had in his service.

Jalla continued, his countenance shifting slightly as he spoke "The thousands of freedmen and women you dumped in my city did not help matters." Jalla's voice was sharp and Prince Aegon narrowed his eyes slightly before he relaxed and inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Having to deal with the thousands of freedmen and women not of Summer Islander heritage had caused significant damage to his reputation. 'The Dragonlord commands, the Prince of Walano does the bidding'.

"Lotus Port is the only safe port that is visited freely by ships from around the world. It was the only place I could send them that was reasonably close by that I could be assured they would not be enslaved again." Prince Aegon told him and whilst that was true…

"You did not consult me." Jalla said harshly as the feelings of slight grew bolder within him "Nor did you warn me of their arrival, simply expecting my cooperation in this mess you created."

"A mess I created?" Prince Aegon's tone was calm but the look in his eyes was not "Was I meant to let them fend for themselves on the cursed Basilisk Isles?"

"You could have taken them in yourself or at the very least taken them to friendlier ports such as those in Westeros." Jalla returned before he sighed and continued.

"Do you know that not even half of them have gone yet? Some of them have run out of coin and are little better than beggars just to sustain themselves."

Prince Aegon's expression twisted slightly before he nodded faintly. "Tell me of the captains that are willing to make journeys to wherever these people call home. I will pay them for the service."

"The matter has been settled." Jalla said after a moment as he met the Valyrian's gaze. "I have already charged the merchants to take them home." By the end of the moon, Lotus Port would have rid itself of the troubled lot. It was a shame that it was coming to this but quite a few of them truly were troublesome.

Their hospitality was not boundless nor was their sympathy unlimited.

"It was not my intention to cause strife for you, Prince Jalla."

"I have no reason to think you would yet nonetheless no matter how good or benign intentions are or can be, they can often cause as much damage as intentions meant to harm and damage." Prince Jalla said meaningfully.

Prince Aegon nodded to that and they fell into a long silence and it was some time after they were on flatter lands in the jungle that one of them broke the silence.

"We'll be gone in less than three years' time." Prince Aegon suddenly said and Jalla looked at him with some wariness but mostly surprised curiosity.

Prince Aegon caught the look and offered him a faint smile. "We've decided where we're going to make our home. I am sure you've heard of happenings in my town."

"Yes." Jalla said as memories of reports obtained from the villagers around Corinth was brought to the forefront. Tales of galleons, monstrously large ships that dwarfed any that Jalla knew of, being built relentlessly, tales that spoke of the people of Corinth preparing to leave to go somewhere else, some of them even claiming that they were going West, were amongst the most occurring of tales.

"Three years?" Jalla said in an inquisitive tone.

"If I had my way, I would have done it sooner. Alas…"

Jalla waved away with his hand "That is not my intent, my friend." Jalla said as he met Prince Aegon's gaze. "Merely…"

"Surprised that I and my people actually leaving?" Prince Aegon posed with some dryness in his voice and Aegon raised his hand in a diplomatic way "I jest, Prince Jalla, and mayhaps I do so in poor taste given the seriousness of the matter concerning the instability my and my family's presence cause to your rule."

"You give yourself far too much credit, Prince Aegon." Jalla said with an unimpressed look. Whilst it was true that his rule was not entirely comfortable, especially since his way of ruling was different from the absoluteness with which his uncle had ruled with, one way or another, it would have been not comfortable anyway.

As much as he had right and blood to rule Walano, he had been away for many years, having spent most of his life away from his home island than in it when he won back his father's crown, and it would always have been a point against him.

Jalla had been as good as exiled even if he never took part of the challenge and it would be a weapon that would be used against him for as long as he…or his enemies lived.

Today it was the Dragonlords that provided the scorpion bolt to their arsenal but tomorrow…tomorrow it would be simply something else.

Ironically, with the presence of the Dragonlords, and the friendship he shared with Prince Aegon, their conspiring was hardly much of a threat given the fear the dragons inspired in them. None would like to burn alive with their families after all.

"Nevertheless, my surprise is merely that three years is quite long given that you should be able to travel to your…new home...much sooner than that given the hardwood you have been purchasing." Jalla said with a probing note in his voice.

"We're building up our fleet before we depart. I'm sure you know that those hardwoods are intended for the construction of our galleons."

Jalla nodded though he was not sure why they were so focused on building those huge ships. From what he could tell, only something like fifty more people could travel on them yet the ships were easily twice the size of one of their carracks.

Not for the first time was he wondering if the tales of discovery of a route West was true. Those ships were most certainly built to withstand the mountainous waves of the western sea. "I see." Jalla said carefully as he stared at the Prince, debating on whether or not to ask directly.

He decided against it, in the few moments of silence, knowing that it would do little but sour their discussion if he confirmed his spying on Corinth.

"Will you cease purchasing the freedoms of your people in that time?" Jalla asked.

"No. We aim to purchase as many as we can in the time we have. Unfortunately, that'll be less than we would have ideally wanted but…" Prince Aegon trailed off.

"Still, when we depart, we will have a good number of people with us." Prince Aegon returned his gaze to Jalla. "And that will leave Corinth to do as you please."

"So, you will return the lands I gifted you?"

"The lands were never meant to be gifted in perpetuity, Prince Jalla." Prince Aegon said with an amused glint in his eyes.

"Of course it was not." Prince Jalla said with a shrug of the shoulders. "I am glad that you have not failed to understand that." There was humour in his voice.

When the Prince had come to him to discuss how Jalla could repay him for the debt, he'd made sure that Prince Aegon understood that it was not to be a permanent gift. Mayhaps had the Prince been something other than a dragonlord, someone far less threatening to the prestige and power of to the position of Prince of Walano, mayhaps the gift could have been made permanent.

There have been occasions such had been done on the home Isles after all.

Prince Aegon chuckled before it petered away and a look of soberness came across his face. "Corinth will hold a special place in my and my people's hearts, Jalla." Prince Aegon said as he met Jalla's gaze. "It has been a place where my people have grown in ways I could scarcely hoped to see."

Yes…the people of Corinth were an impressive and industrious lot. If only half of his people in Lotus Port had shown the same industry, Lotus Port may well have been able to compete with the likes of Braavos and Asabhad for most visited port.

Though…Jalla had to admit to himself, mayhaps they could have been had he been even half the kind of man Prince Aegon was and as much as he was as envious as he was impressed by the achievements of the Prince before him, he knew that he did not wish to be driven by whatever drove Prince Aegon.

The boy he'd known on Dragonstone and in Kings Landing, the boy that rarely rested and always seemed to be preoccupied with something or another, had grown into a man that had the power and will to see into vision his wants and desires.

Commerce, inventions, people, none were anything the man was uninterested in tackling and it would not surprise Jalla if the man barely slept.

No, Prince Jalla thought to himself, he was content with his way of life and there was no shame in that.

"And it is why I wish to share with you the ideas I have with what to do with the town when we leave." Prince Aegon said, drawing him out of his thoughts.

Jalla looked at the Prince curiously and so the Prince shared his ideas and what Jalla would gain in return for his agreement with his plans.

Admittedly, Jalla was surprised by the somewhat sentimental ideals that Prince Aegon had in mind when he presented his offer, one that Jalla couldn't help but ponder on long after the Prince and his guards departed on the dragon.

"Will you tell me know what the dragon-prince has said to have you deep in your thoughts hours later, husband?" Sola's question brought him out of his mind and back into their bedroom and he turned to face her.

He'd not told any of his advisors and his vizier on what had been discussed between he and Prince Aegon, not since he had not quite decided if he was to accept the offer or not.

Previously, he'd wished to raise a city in the lands where Corinth was now, which many centuries ago hosted a prosperous city in its vicinity before it was burned to the ground by slavers.

Unlike Lotus Port which had been rebuilt after being sacked in the time of his grandfather's childhood, the city – and its name – had been lost to history, only songs remaining of the tale, and the lands around it had been left for nature to recover it.

Nothing was to stop him exactly of doing what he had planned, merely…allow for the city to also stand symbolically for something else.

"He presented an interesting offer to me." He said in response.

"An offer?" Sola said questioningly with some suspicion in her voice. "What offer?"

"When he and his people leave Corinth, he wishes the town to be a haven for those who have need of it, like the people Prince Aegon has taken in." Prince Jalla said absentmindedly. They discussed far more than that, like the secret behind liquid stone that he'd gift to Jalla should he accept the terms, but it was the heart of the matter.

"Wait…the Prince and his people are leaving?" Sola questioned, latching on to the part that was most important to her.

"Yes. In a few years." Jalla said as he began to undress himself of his clothes.

"That…that is good news." Sola said with heavy relief in her voice. "It will dissuade most from joining the likes of Zanodhos when they hear of the news."

"You concern yourself too much about him, Sola." Jalla's voice was sharp as he turned towards her. "He is a halfwit that believes too much in his own strength."

"A halfwit that those that supported your uncle, who still support your uncle even now after he's been exiled, would prefer see in your place." Sola said harshly before she exhaled heavily "In a challenge, it does not matter nearly as much if you have the wits or not, only that you have the skill and strength to win and Zanodhos..."

"Let's not bring up the same argument again today, not when we both know that nothing has changed even with this news, even if you think that our enemies' cause will be weakened when we both know that Prince Aegon's presence mattered not even in the slightest." Jalla said to his wife with a fixed look.

"Just as we both know he will challenge me one day and that day will likely come as soon as Prince Aegon has gone." Jalla said critically.

Zanodhos was his second cousin and so he had a claim to his title. A tempestuous cousin who lusted after his title and the benefits it gave him and a man who was far more amenable to manipulations unlike Jalla…or his uncle.

Jalla walked up to his wife who still bore a pinched expression. He'd unmake that pinch soon enough and his expression must have been clear to see for his wife lost the aggrieved glint in her eyes and in its stead came a look that he liked very much.

-Break-

Early to Mid 109 AC – Corinth

Trytas POV

The ground shook and the air seemed to shake too as the sound of boots simultaneously moving in locked step rang, whilst sounds of wide rectangular shields moving mixing with the sharp sounds of five feet long spear-like weapons whistling in the air as the weapons were jabbed forward.

Rows upon rows of scores of men were side by side, shoulder to shoulder by one another, draped in light armour as they wielded shield and spear.

There were about a thousand of these men, men who had had some training in sword and bow but had always still remained farmers instead of training to become a men-at-arms like others were and would always truly remain farmers.

Not that most of the men-at-arms and these men would not be farmers at heart anyway, something they'd be full time once more when they finished their years of service and got their land rewards, just as he was yet a sailor at heart and would get to live his life out in the waters around their promised lands when he was done.

Trytas eyed the men before him. These group of men, a mixture of largely the earliest freed slaves and a few of the men and sons of the people of Dragonstone, were different than the other men they were taking to train fully into men-at-arms who could fight well enough against the likes of knights and sellswords.

These men were being trained to fight as a unit, like the old lockstep armies of the Ghiscari or the Valyrian armies, to be greater than the sum of their parts, and Trytas mused as he looked upon the narrow and long tip of the spear which also bore axe-like heads close to the base of the spearhead end, that mayhaps they could be as fearsome as the legends tell of the ancient armies.

"AND MARCH!" the drill officer assigned to this group of men bellowed out, a knight who sustained permanent injuries in the Basilisk Isles, and the men did as ordered and they moved forward as a single body, their steps so controlled that there was not a single boot that was late to ground.

"RAISE SHIELDS!" the shields rose with mesmerising synchronisation "RAISE SPEARS!" the spearheads rose "KILL!" the spearheads came down at an angle before they were drawn back and jabbed forward.

The spears in the two rows behind the men in front were perfectly placed in the spaces between the shoulders and heads of the men in the rows in front, all of their arms angled differently yet all in such a way that the tip of the spear would bury itself in the stomachs of their enemies.

"To think that only a few moons of training could see them improve so much." Lomerys said with a grunt in his voice, a grunt that Trytas had come to know as mean as 'somewhat impressed'. "If only the other new recruits could be so useful. Instead of yet having to know the difference between the sharp end and the hilt of the sword. Useless." Lomerys said dismissively and Trytas grinned amused at his friend's scathing assessment.

"Their training is different to the men-at-arms and far more limited too." Trytas commented and Lomerys snorted.

"Obviously." Lomerys said unimpressed. The men-at-arms were trained in two different categories. The bow and the sword.

The bowmen were trained in both the longbow and in the crossbow whilst the swordsmen were trained the most vigorously in the art of the sword.

Their…'conditioning' as the Prince liked to call it, was also far more intense than any of the other men, training which mirrored the training the squires that were intent on becoming a knight were having to do, and so the point of when they'd become 'useful' was more…long term.

And, Trytas mused to himself, given that the conditioning also included some amount of strategy and military ideas, the same kind of training Trytas had gone through as one of the guards and the same kind of training Lomerys had taken as a squire, it was to be expected that their readiness might take quite some time.

"Doesn't mean that these men show far more usefulness than the current lot of recruits in what should be the core of our army." Lomerys said critically and Trytas couldn't but agree as he turned his gaze towards the trainees who continued their drill.

He'd been somewhat surprised when he heard the Prince initiated the training of a new kind of army that didn't consume so much time training men like men-at-arms or knights did and he'd been sceptical of its success.

It sounded too much like the days of yesteryear, when commonfolk were given a rusty sword and a broken shield and sent on their way to fight for a King they had not even seen once.

That was until he saw them train, as he was now and he'd been slowly convinced of its success, especially when he saw the success of the spears against armoured horsemen which were the bane of all footmen.

Yes, he'd hate to fight against this kind of army, he mused before he looked towards where the Prince was said to be. He wasn't sure why the Prince had called upon him, especially here…

"We have time. I doubt we'll see any combat any time soon." Trytas said as they continued to walk towards their destination at the far side of the racetrack, the largest open space for training this many a number men, where Prince Aegon was with Maerro and the other instructors.

"Hmm. I suppose so. The Prince wouldn't want to leave now that so many newly freed slaves are set to arrive." Lomerys commented and Trytas looked at the man.

Most thought Ser Lomerys Romaerys as a simple brute who know little else than the sword and the man rarely gave them impressions for much else.

But it would be wrong to dismiss the man.

For all that his brother Ser Maekar was known to be a smart man, Lomerys shared the same blood that flowed in Maekar's veins.

"No, I imagine not." Trytas agreed. They'd been lucky so far.

Almost forty thousand of Corinth were former slaves and almost all of them had come to adopt the ways of the people of Dragonstone. Those who did not, still fitted in seamlessly amongst their people. And with time, as they settled their promised lands, the differences between those who had been raised in Essos and those who had been raised in Westeros would come to an end.

It helped that most of them had been children when they came and had been taken in by the people of Dragonstone, but even so, there had been many a young men that had come from a life of bondage and now were suddenly free.

Men they did not know and men who were, whilst beaten down, young enough to be full of folly and arrogance, unbroken by the chains of slavery, and not understanding that to be free did not mean you were free to do as you pleased.

None but the Gods themselves were that free and men who were deluded enough to think themselves to be that free, were men that had no place amongst them.

They'd been fortunate enough that only a few of these kinds of men showed themselves and every year, amongst the thousands, they'd have to make examples of the ones who proved themselves to be unsuitable to be amongst them.

"This time though, there will be no expulsions from the community." Trytas continued as he placed his arms behind his back.

In most instances, where the crime or crimes in accordance to the law did not fit the punishment of executions, the men were expulsed from Corinth and taken to one of the uninhabited islands around Koj where they would fend for themselves.

Trytas and his men were tasked to carry out the verdicts handed out – it had been why he and his fellows had been the best suited to interrogate the pirates – though now he was a little unsure of his role given that he and his men were rolled into the City-Guard under Ser Cedrick now.

"Hmm. Not surprised. We wouldn't want tongues waggling before we are ready to leave." Lomerys said with an approving grunt.

Trytas nodded before he eyed the training men again.

"Have you heard anything about what we are preparing for?" Trytas asked as he took away his gaze from the men and turned them towards the Prince who seemed to be in deep discussion with Maerro and the instructors.

"No but it doesn't need to be said, does it?" Lomerys said with mocking in his voice. Trytas turned his head towards Lomerys and gave the man a look that would send all but a few scurrying away from him.

All it did for Lomerys is cause a mad grin to form on his face.

Bloody fool.

He was addicted to combat as the wastrels of Flea's Bottom were to drink.

"It doesn't no." Trytas conceded with the kind of strain that it took to squeeze out water from stone.

It was almost certain that they were preparing to sack Myr, the city that set the pirates against them and took their people, one of which had been his good friend Jace, a man who Trytas considered to be all but a brother.

Trytas' eyes darkened slightly as he remembered and he kept the look as he spoke further "I'd love to see their heads on pikes watching on as we pilfer their manses and their vaults."

Lomerys laughed shortly "Wouldn't that be a laugh. The loot would be Seven Damned wonderful too. I have half a mind to think that it'll be the other half the reason as to why we'd sack the bastards in the first place."

"It's not as if we're short on gold. Not any time soon." Trytas said as he lost the hard glint. Their sailors and merchants were out in the Known World selling everything and anything they can. That man Baerros had left with five and twenty carracks stocked with goods and they assigned a full garrison to that fleet.

The gold they bring back would be overflowing!

"True I suppose." Lomerys said with a shrug of the shoulder before he glanced at Trytas before looking at the Prince "But then its not just gold that we're taking is it? These Free Cities value their gold more than they value their own mothers. I can't imagine they wouldn't quake in their nice little boots at the thought we could come and take that which they value so much any time we wished."

Trytas stared at Lomerys for a long few moments before he snorted.

"Let's deal with Myr first, Romaerys. Taking that city won't be easy, even if it does not possess the famed fused stone walls of Tyrosh." Myr was well defended, better than Lys, but its walls were not unsurmountable.

Especially if you had a dragon like the Prince's.

"Pah. With the alchemists on our side and the Prince's dragon, those walls will pose no challenge. With or without their supposed scorpions." Lomerys dismissed.

"We wouldn't take this long to take out the enemy."

Many of their fellows were curious – and dismissive – as to why the war in the Stepstones was taking so long. Whilst the enemy Prince Daemon and Lord Corlys were fighting against were undoubtedly better prepared and better armed than the pirates of the Basilisk Isles, it should not have dragged out this long.

Yes, the islands in the Stepstones were numerous and undoubtedly the enemy was clever in hiding from the dragons but their ships were no challenge to the Blood Wyrm. How difficult was it to set traps and lure out their ships?

Or better yet, how hard was it for Prince Daemon to go to the ports of the Free Cities, particularly Myr and Tyrosh and burn them down one by one and focus on choking Tyrosh from the sea?

And Trytas thought himself somewhat darkly, he knew, as someone who had only been a farmer's son, the importance of food to a community.

Burn down the farmlands of Tyrosh and Little Tyrosh and wait until panic and hunger set in in the city, and there it was, Tyrosh would destroy itself.

The support the Free Cities gave to the corsairs would wither away and then they only had to clean up the Stepstones. Whatever danger Myr and Lys would then pose could be managed away, especially since the Free Cities were incredibly soft when it came to danger they themselves directly faced.

They never fought to the death, and always they fought in something he heard Maerro describe as proxy wars, where they hired sellswords companies to fight somewhere else and never in their own lands, and when the pressure was wracked up, they would rather negotiate a treaty they would break only a few years later.

Treacherous bastards.

Trytas shook his head. "Enough for now. Until the Prince confirms it, we're just speaking nonsense." He said as they were approaching the Prince and their commander Maerro.

Lomerys seemed like he wanted to say something but he wisely kept his mouth shut as eyes fell on them.

"my Prince." Lomerys and Trytas said respectfully as they bowed their heads towards their Prince who set his mismatching eyes upon them after he turned his head fully to face them.

There was always something unsettling the way the Prince looked at people, as if he could see into their very being with that green eye of his.

Mayhaps that is the eye through which he sees the prophetic visions, Trytas mused to himself.

"Ser Lomerys. Trytas." The Prince acknowledged with a slight nod.

"Come, Ser Lomerys." Commander Maerro said with a jerk of the head and so Trytas was left behind with the Prince and of the other instructors.

The instructors themselves he knew somewhat. He thought he remembered that he fought alongside of them in the Basilisk Isles.

Coulda' taken a sword for Trytas, he mused.

It might have been where he'd gotten his limp.

As he walked alongside the Prince, he kept his silence as he listened to the Prince speak with the instructors about the men training with their spears. Commentary like how to further drill them into an unshakeable group, how to get them to fall back on their training in difficult situation and more was discussed.

"What do you think, Trytas?" the Prince asked him and the sudden question directed at him caught him unawares though he quickly recovered.

"My Prince." Trytas said with a bowed head and he took a moment before he spoke, a quick glance given to the men who were sweating heavily as they were drilled relentlessly with spear and shield in hand which he knew was to build up their strength.

"They caught onto the lessons quickly, my Prince, but the concerns that they may see it only as lessons and training is true enough. Come battle, they may let fear sink in or they may not like any of us men who trained with the sword might."

Still. Most of the men were freed slaves. Men who were born and bred into slavery. They might have suffered slavery but these men had also been born in a place where they were seen as valuable commodity to taught a trade and sold to some wealthy noble or merchant in the Free Cities and towns surrounding them.

They knew hardship, yes, but it was not the kind of hardship that hardened the heart and forged iron will. Years amongst the people of Dragonstone had washed away some of that weakness that came from their origin, for certain, but it still remained. That was not to say that it would always remain there.

If there was one thing that would break these people out of their weakness, it would be the thought of what they had to protect. Most of these men had started families and no man fought harder than when he was fighting to protect his own.

"A problem that even the trainee men-at-arms are facing." The instructor who Trytas thought could have saved his life, Ser Brackwell, said.

"Yes but they are paired up against one another and against trained men and knights." Trytas returned before he gestured towards the training men.

"They are not facing anyone in this training of theirs. When the screams and shouts and the dying starts, they will know nothing like it. At least the trainees will recognise some of it from their experiences."

"A fair point." The Prince said with an acknowledging tone before he glanced at the instructors "And one that has been made a few times now. I will think on the best way to expose these men to such experiences." The Prince said and it was with a sense of finality in his tone.

They watched the men train for a while longer before the instructor drilling them called an end to it, which garnered relieved and exhausted joy but the instructor told them to remain and it was then that the Prince stepped forward and faced the training men directly.

There was a hush that fell amongst the men as the Prince simply looked at them, his head moving from one side to another.

For most, the Prince was almost a mythical man. A man they saw in Corinth or like this, in the training yards and so on, but that did little to break the wonder and reverence they had for the Prince and the Princess.

For the people of Corinth, former slave and commonfolk alike, the Prince and Princess were akin to the gods amongst men, the ones who broke their chains, the ones who provided meaning and prosperity to their lives like they never else experienced, or, as the religious would have them believe, the chosen prophets blessed by the Seven to take them to the lands that were a Piece of the Seven Heavens themselves.

Trytas did not put much stock in the stupidity of the ones who thought themselves as the new Septons, but there was a part of him that had…wondered when he heard the Prince talk about his visions and the Gods.

The Prince broke his silence and his voice seemed to travel to the ends of the racetrack.

"Look to the man on your right." The Prince's authoritative voice rang and the men did as the Prince commanded. "Now look to the man on your left." The men did as the Prince bid them to. The Prince began to move slowly as he spoke.

"These are your comrades. The men who fight alongside you. Capture their faces and burn it into your minds so that when you think on your comrade on your left and your comrade on your right, you know their faces so well that you can remember even the smallest mole on their faces decades later."

The men began to look at each other some apprehensively and then looked to the Prince once more who stood watch with his arms behind his back, his back straight. "Do you see, men?" the Prince posed to the men before he waved in a gesture towards the assembled men.

"Do you see the men who will fight alongside you? Who you will depend on? The men who will see you survive battle after battle, men who will save your life, men who you will call brother and in time will come to mean it with no hesitation?"

The Prince's voice was loud though it was not a shout for there was not a single sound made as the Prince spoke and Trytas could see the words having an impact on the men who were drenched in their sweat.

The Prince continued. "These men…these men who fight alongside you will help you reach the age of five and sixty, when you are so old and withered that you need your wife and gooddaughter to wipe the shit off of your arse" This garnered some laughter amongst the men and Trytas thought he could see a smile hidden in the Prince's beard from the side of the Prince's face he saw.

"And as you are on your deathbed, surrounded by your children, your grandchildren and your great-grandchildren, you will remember the faces of the men on your right. The men on your left." The Prince took a more solemn note as he said so.

The Prince continued, the solemnity giving way to sincerity as the Prince spoke passionately. "You will remember the life you saved, you will remember the man who saved your life. You will remember the victories and the ale and wine you shared after the victories with the men who you became brothers with."

Trytas could see the smiles the men shared with one another and the whispered jokes they shared.

The Prince waved his hand towards them. "And that started yesterday. It starts today. It starts tomorrow." The Prince raised his hand that turned into a fist.

"Every day that you train and drill and grow stronger, is a day that ensures that vision, of your being old and weak, but at peace and happy with your legacy and your family secured, will happen. It will be because of your training, because the men you call brothers, because you developed the spine and the iron will to make that vision come true not only for yourselves but also for the brother on your left and the brother on your right!" the Prince's voice rose and it invigorated the tired men.

"So nurse your pain and nurse your mind for it is for that vision you're fighting for!" the Prince finished and a good bunch of the men cheered whilst some of the others were deep in thought at what the Prince told them.

Trytas couldn't help but marvel with the ease with which the Prince had spoken so directly to them…nor with how sure that the Prince meant every word of it all.

It was some time later that the racetrack was empty and left behind only Trytas, the Prince and the guards assigned to him.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I called you to me, Trytas."

"Yes, my Prince." Trytas admitted as the sun began its final march beyond the horizon.

The Prince smiled faintly at him before he gestured Trytas to come walk with him.

"I have something in mind for you and the men who guarded the prisons where we kept the pirates, Trytas" the Prince said after a few moments and it instantly captured his attentions.

"My Prince?" Trytas said inquisitively.

"No doubt you have ascertained that all of this is for a coming reason?" the Prince posed and Trytas only nodded affirmatively. The Prince continued "I have not divulged where and whom we are to fight to anyone nor do I plan to do so for quite some time" the Prince said before he turned fully to meet Trytas' gaze "And such information is not important at this moment in time, the only thing you should know is that it will be for a just cause…do you understand, Trytas?"

"I do my Prince." Trytas said firmly with a hard nod.

The Prince inclined his head and some of the intensity in his stare was lost as he spoke up next, his gaze turning towards the horizon "Yet there are also some things within the just cause that needs…addressing. Things that are distasteful and immoral yet at the same necessary for goodness and hope for a better future to take fruit from that which came before" the Prince said with a solemn note in his voice.

Trytas did not fully understand what the Prince was talking about but he could understand why he was called on by the Prince. "You wish me to handle the immoral and distasteful actions?" Trytas asked.

The Prince turned to him, meeting his gaze, and came a stop. Trytas and the guards also stopped. "Yes." The Prince said simply as he placed his arms behind his back.

"What I have need for is not anything I can entrust in the hands of anyone. You, Trytas, I trust with my life, and I also know that you are able to accomplish the task I will set on you." The Prince's hard look broke and Trytas could see a look of tiredness wash over his face and the Prince's expression turned apologetic.

"I do not wish to ask this of you and I will not command you to accept the position I offer you" the Prince said to him and Trytas looked away from the Prince's gaze.

He was sure now that the Prince wanted him for a task that aimed at far worse than torturing pirates. Such a thing would not have fazed the Prince.

'goodness and hope for a better future'

If it was Myr they were talking about, something he was not so sure any more, that meant gone with the old…root and stem. Even the youngest of stems…

"Is it necessary, my Prince?" Trytas asked seriously as he turned back towards the Prince whose expression turned hard at the question.

"Not for all of them, I hope. The ones too young to remember will be spared. But for many…yes. Peace and prosperity will demand it." The Prince said and that made the decision for Trytas.

He couldn't say that he was pleased with the task but he also knew that there would be none other that could do nearly half a good job Trytas could. The last thing they needed was some fool let it come bite them on their arses decades later.

"Very well, I accept my Prince." Trytas said with a bow of the head.

Trytas felt a hand on his shoulder and Trytas looked up and met the Prince's gaze and for a few moments, Trytas thought he had an entire conversation with the Prince without a word said. The Prince took his hand off of Trytas' shoulder.

"You may choose the men you want in this task of yours. Fifty to a hundred men should suffice. For now, they'll be made to believe they have been chosen to be part of an elite group of soldiers. Choose only those you know their loyalties are absolute and their stomachs lined with iron." The Prince said.

"As you command, my Prince." Trytas said with a bowed head and the Prince nodded to Trytas before he looked away at the horizon and Trytas heard he heard the Prince say…

"What we do for a brighter future…"

Aye…for a brighter future, Trytas thought to himself as he steeled himself for what must be done.

-Break-

Early to Mid 109 AC – Corinth

Polaerys POV

Polaerys woke up in a startle, his eyes distant as images from Tyraxes flashed before his mind's eyes, images that showed the moving mountain that was Mīsaragorn crawling from his slumber past Tyraxes' stable, the dragonkeepers following like sheep to a shepherd.

"Ugh…" Polaerys groaned out as the images stopped though not before he saw Tyraxes hiss a little threateningly at the dragonkeepers who were trying to settle his Tyraxes down but Polaerys knew his girl wouldn't be so easily put back to sleep after being waken in such a sudden way.

She was grumpy like that, he thought to himself a little tiredly as he cast away the bedding and moved towards his cabinets to dress himself.

Once he was dressed, clothing haphazardly thrown on, he quickly made it out of his room and made way towards the guards at the far side, towards the only entrance into their apartment, the light of the candles that adorned each side of the wall the only thing that prevented the halls from descending into total darkness.

He never liked this apartment. There were no windows, not even in their own rooms, which was very different from the Red Keep according to the older servants who had come with them to the Summer Isles.

He hoped that when they built their new home in Elamaerys, father would make sure the rooms in the towers would have lots of sunlight coming in. Although he wondered if it he should to hint about it?

Polaerys came in sight of the guards' post in front of the twin doors as he descended down the stairs and saw the four guards talking quietly as they played a game of chess, a game that father had introduced, until one of the guards caught sight of him and stood up and bowed slightly, the other guards quickly following suit.

"My Prince." Ser Jason said respectfully before he glanced at the short, stout burning candle that the guards used to measure the passage of time before looking at Polaerys again. "You're up very early today, my Prince."

"I'm only going to see Tyraxes down in the stables. You can come with me if you want, Ser Jason." Polaerys said to the guard who wanted to stop him. They couldn't exactly say no, not really, especially since Polaerys wasn't going anywhere outside of the fort.

They looked hesitant.

"You can wake my parents if you think it's necessary but you know that they'll only say that it's fine for me to be in the fort as long as I don't leave and you'd make them lose sleep." Polaerys pointed out though he was stretching the truth.

"Very well my Prince. I will escort you to the stables." Ser Monfred, one of the other guards said after the guards had shared a look and Polaerys was relieved at the acquiescence though he also suspected the guard would tell the other guards that guarded the stables to keep an eye on him.

Polaerys nodded satisfied at the answer from them and so he made his way towards the stables with Ser Monfred behind him and after a quick word with the dragonkeepers, Ser Monfred left him behind, knowing that none of the guards were permitted beyond the entrance of the stables without permission from his father or mother, and Polaerys walked into the dimly lit stables with the dragonkeeper.

Tyraxes' growls were the most vocal, and irritated, though Polaerys could hear the other dragons too but he didn't think it would be long before they went back to sleep once he got Tyraxes calmed down.

Gaelithox, Castorys' golden dragon was like the dragon in father's tales, Smaug, a dragon that was lazy and preferred to lay roost in comfort, the only difference being that there was no gold for the dragon to hoard, Polaerys joked to himself.

Shrykos was indifferent to the other dragons until it was roused into anger at which point Shrykos was probably the most ferocious of all the dragons, including father's dragon.

Mother's dragon was the calmest of them all, and also the dragon that all of the other dragons liked the most, even Shrykos, especially now that she's had her first clutch.

"You felt her agitation, my Prince?" Naelandys, the dragonkeeper who looked a hundred years old, a man who once worked in the Dragon Pit in Kingslanding and on Dragonstone taught all of the other dragonkeepers with his two sons, asked.

"I did, Keeper Naelandys." All dragonkeepers who passed their trials were referred to as Keeper, a title father had bestowed on them after finding references to the title in some of his tomes written by Dragonlords.

It seemed like his ancestor King Jaehaerys had taken an old practice instead of coming up with it.

"You're much like your father. He too has a rare bond with Mīsaragorn that few of your blood are lucky to possess." Naelandys told him with his old and wizened sounding voice and Polaerys smiled happily at the comparison and soon enough they were before Tyraxes' stable where a few dragonkeepers were standing by with a non-threatening posture, the carcass of a sheep left unburnt by them.

Polaerys quickly stepped up his pace and walked past the dragonkeepers and walked towards Tyraxes whose growls died in her throat once she caught his scent and saw him. "Shush…calm, Tyraxes." Polaerys said soothingly as he stepped up to his dragon whose head was now several times the length of his body with teeth that were as long as his hands.

"I know…I know…it was rude of Mīsaragorn to wake you up like that." Polaerys said with a laugh as Tyraxes pushed her snout into his hand and Tyraxes growled a little deeper as if to make a comment that was meant to be a much ruder than the words Polaerys had chosen to say about Mīsaragorn.

Polaerys laugh was strangled in his throat though he couldn't help but let a few sounds escape from his throat at his moody dragon.

"I shall leave you to your dragon, my Prince."

Polaerys turned around and caught an understanding look on the face of Naelandys whilst the other dragonkeepers placed torches in the torch holders by the side of the stables. Polaerys didn't quite know what the look meant and was for and instead simply nodded though as Naelandys and the other dragonkeepers turned to leave, he asked "has the clutch hatched yet?"

It was a question he and his brothers probably asked far too often but it was exciting to know that there would be more dragons amongst them soon and finally Rhaena and Solonys, mayhaps Breannei too, would have dragons of their own.

"Not yet." Naelandys said as he turned to face Polaerys again. "Without the flames of Dragonstone, the hatching of eggs is more fate than it is nature, my Prince."

"So they might turn to stone then?" Polaerys asked more curiously than disappointed and he turned to look at his Tyraxes. Tyraxes' egg had turned to stone too but it still hatched after father helped.

"Mayhaps, mayhaps not. Your father's idea to use dragonflame to keep the eggs warm keeps them alive much like the Dragonmont does." Naelandys commented.

Dragon eggs were rarely kept in Kings Landing, he remembered mother saying, since the dragons needed the heat of the Dragonmont.

Dragon eggs were brought from Dragonstone to Kings Landing only when there was a new son, to be lain in the crib and if that failed after a few weeks, then the egg was returned to Dragonstone, and another egg tried, either in the crib again, or when they were older if they wanted hatch their own egg.

Though father said that none had yet chosen to hatch their own eggs as older boys.

His uncles, Viserys and Daemon, both refused to pick their eggs and decided to wait to mount an older dragon.

"Alright." Polaerys said with a nod, not knowing what else to say and thankfully the dragonkeepers knew when the talk was over and he was left alone with Tyraxes who was silent but kept watchful eyes open.

After Tyraxes calmed down, she decided after all to eat the sheep after burning it to a crisp, and Polaerys spent much of his time in silence as he leaned against her side, preferring to relax and listening to her breathing as he closed his eyes.

There was little to talk about to her after all, he already talked with her about his day yesterday evening about his lessons and his training, even about the new galleon the shipyards have built.

It was some time later that he heard footsteps of a single person grow louder, and he wondered why there was a single dragonkeeper coming his way.

The footsteps made Polaerys open his eyes and he waited until he could see who it was. "Father." Polaerys looked surprised when his father was the one who came.

'Did they wake father or have I lost track of time?'

"Son." His father said with a curious smile as he looked to him and Tyraxes before meeting Polaerys' gaze again "You're up early."

"Tyraxes was unsettled so I woke up a bit early."

"Ah." His father said with a little bit of surprise as he looked curiously at Polaerys though he lost it as he spoke next.

"Mīsaragorn must have awoken her." His father smiled a little as he turned to glance at the other stables which were silent now though. "Probably enjoyed it too. The old man does that streak in him to let others know of his presence."

"Aren't you older than Mīsaragorn?" Polaerys couldn't help but retort and his father laughed warmly.

"Aye, about a year I think, but Mīsaragorn has an old soul about him." Father said with a fond smile before he looked at Tyraxes with a curious look "And I think you understand what I mean, at least a little, don't you son?"

If father meant that Tyraxes also had something about her, like Mīsaragorn did, then yes, Polaerys thought as he turned to look at his dragon whose eyelids were halfway down, still keeping an eye out on her surroundings.

"I think so." Polaerys said with a little smile and petted the snout of his dragon.

He couldn't help but think that his Tyraxes was a little bit more special than the dragons of his siblings. None of them had the kind of bond Polaerys had with his she-dragon. "Did the guards wake you?" Polaerys asked after he turned his head.

"No. I have been awake for some time. Mīsaragorn left the stables because of me." His father told Polaerys and Polaerys' eyes widened.

"Oh." Polaerys simply made out before frowning a little "Do you think I'll be able to tell Tyraxes what I want her to do even if I'm away from her?"

"You see through her eyes, do you not?" Polaerys nodded. He told his family about it when he was younger when it first happened and his father had told him that it was not common for that to happen and asked Polaerys not to repeat it too often.

Not that he really wished to anyway. His brothers didn't really believe him.

"Then it is likely that you will be able to." His father confirmed to him as he walked up to him and Tyraxes and Polaerys placed a hand on her head to make sure she behaved.

His father smiled a little at him as he spoke again, his eyes fixed at Tyraxes. "Of course, a bond with a dragon is one of partnership with an intelligent being so how much she will let you command her will be different to how much Mīsaragorn allows me to command him. Only you will know the limits of the bond you have with her."

"I wish they could speak." Polaerys said a little quietly as he petted Tyraxes' head, his eyes studying the spikey head of his grey-blue she dragon.

His father hummed. "I do too." And Polaerys looked to his father who seemed to wear a strange look on his face. "Imagine what stories Balerion could have told our family of Old Valyria. Or Vhagar about the first few decades after the Doom." His father then turned to look at Polaerys, a small mischievous smile on his face.

"Although I imagine they'd much rather prefer to talk about their most memorable hunts and their most memorable battles they'd been a part of."

"Or if Balerion was anything like Shrykos, he'd threaten to burn you if you asked any questions" Polaerys said with a laugh in his voice, his father chuckling quietly.

Their laughs came to an end and his father looked at him for a long few moments before he spoke up "Come with me." Polaerys tilted his head a little unsure.

"I'll be working in the forge for the next few hours, until dawn, and you might as well come with me if you're not going back to sleep." His father added and Polaerys' eyes widened and he quickly got to his feet.

"Really?" Polaerys said with some excitement as he made his way to father.

He'd finally get to see what father was doing in the forge that he'd built some way off the path of the dockyard and the blacksmiths quarter at the port which had been only recently completely.

The blacksmiths quarter and father's forge, which was some way west of the dockyards, were almost as guarded as well as the dockyards and the city.

His father had not told them what he and the other blacksmiths were doing, saying that he wanted to keep it a surprise for a little while longer, though it did not stop everyone from throwing up ideas of what his father was doing.

Nico and the others thought that the blacksmiths were building the hull of a metal ship whilst father was forging Valyrian Steel ramming poles and those ideas were amongst the less wild stories that the squires were making up.

"Really." His father said as he placed his hand on top of Polaerys' head though Polaerys could see the mild frown on his face "It doesn't mean that I have absolved you from the mess you and your brothers have made."

Polaerys grimaced and he looked down at the ground "We didn't know the stories would be spread like that." Polaerys muttered. They wanted to share the amazing stories they grew up on. Who could say that some people were taking to believe the stories were really true?!

"I know." Father said in an understanding tone. "It is why I am not angry and merely a little disappointed." Polaerys flinched and father saw it and father placed his finger below Polaerys' chin and he met father's mismatching eyes.

"My disappointment with you is not because you shared stories that you loved, but because you shared them in a way that led those boys, and others, to think that these were not stories but instead legends like the tales of Brandon the Builder." Father said to him before smiling a little though his eyes seemed to grow distant.

"We are the Keepers of our people, Polaerys. Our words, our deeds, are kept to a greatly different standard and so we have a responsibility to be wise with everything we do, even if it's quite unfair." His father said to him gently.

"I understand…" Polaerys muttered "We did tell them that they were only stories but they don't really want to believe us." Polaerys said to his father.

His father winced "Now that is probably my fault." His father said with a sigh "I have woven the stories I tell you boys with legends of the past that people know with that of my stories." Father said as his face turned into a contemplative look.

"Mayhaps it would be good if I have the stories written as a play so that people understand it that it is only really meant to be stories."

"Why don't you just tell them that it is stories?" Polaerys asked curiously.

Wouldn't that kind of stop everything?

His father's expression darkened a little "People are already convinced that I am a prophet with the discovery of Elamaerys so even when I say, no I do not know the true history of the world and that of the gods, I'm not quite so easily believed." His father said with a lot of exasperation in his voice.

"But never mind that." His father said with a shake of the head as he guided Polaerys by the neck out of Tyraxes' stable "Come on, let's go to my forge. Be mindful that you can't tell anyone other than your brothers in privacy about what you'll see."

Father's expression fell a little as Polaerys studied his father's face. "I think it is time that I teach you and your brothers some of what I have come to know."

Polaerys looked at his father oddly. Weren't they always learning that anyway?

What was different about this forge?

They descended down the hill, towards the keeps at the bottom, the darkness of the night seemed as if it there was a blanket of light hiding behind a curtain of black silk, so illuminating was the night that they hardly had much need of the torches, and after Polaerys was on his pony, he and his father and guards rode off to the town.

Though the town was mostly asleep, there were still people milling around, especially by the taverns, but it was still odd to see the town so quiet.

Especially with how busy everything has been lately.

From the porcelain makers in the city centre to the men-at-arms training in the barracks and training yards to the shipbuilders to the blacksmiths at the port, there was hardly anyone not doing something, either making loads of stuffs for the merchant ships to take and sell in every port in the Known World or making stuff for the galleons like the sails or hinges or a hundred of little other things.

Mother had said that the news of their new home had sparked a fire in everyone, a fire that grew from a desire to be part of something special, and so Corinth was very busy from dawn to dusk.

The only ones that were a little different about everything were the newly freed men and women who were beginning to arrive from Lys.

They were still getting used to everything, especially the men, some of whom had already broken some of the laws, but most of them were doing lots, like everyone else, for Corinth like preparing the wood for the galleons or working on the farms all whilst being given lessons in whatever they wanted to do after they were 'integrated' like father described.

He'd heard that quite a few of the newly freed slaves working in the farms were wanting to be part of the men-at-arms, which wasn't surprising since anyone who fought in service of their people, could easily own lots of farmland in Elamaerys.

Soon enough they were out of the town and on the paved road to the port where they veered off onto dirt tracks to father's forge. He could see hammers ringing faintly as they approached, a sound that grew louder when they were by the gates and Polaerys' eyes widened once they were past the wooden walls that enclosed the place, his eyes latching on to Mīsaragorn who was unmissable.

At the back, Mīsaragorn towered over everything and everyone, including the huge round thing which had a few pole like arms and a little square box thing stuck on the side of the round thing – was it made out of liquid stone? – that stood right in front of Mīsaragorn whilst on the other end inside of the wooden walls was a stone building that took up like a quarter of the large space where he could hear the sounds of hammers on steel coming from.

By the building there were all kinds of things, like a staircase that looked like it could move and very long shovels with deep grooves in the shovelheads.

As he followed father towards the stone round thing, he caught a look and saw that there were people working inside of the building. "Are there blacksmiths in there, father?" Polaerys asked and father looked down at him before he looked towards the stone building.

"There are. They are working the new steel that was smelted from a week ago." His father said and Polaerys nodded before he frowned and looked up at his father.

"But why are they working now at night?"

"Once a night every week, I have them work the steel I and Mīsaragorn smelt." Father explained patiently "I do not wish to take all of their time on this project of mine nor do I wish too many pairs of eyes on what I am doing here."

"Oh." Polaerys only said. That made sense.

Polaerys felt a hand on his shoulder and it startled him a little. He looked up and met his father's gaze who looked very serious. "You will stand over there" his father said sternly before he turned Polaerys and gestured towards an area far from Mīsaragorn before he turned Polaerys back to him "And you will stay there with Ser Derren until I call for you. Is that understood?"

"Yes father" Polaerys said a little nervously and his father's stern expression fell a little and Polaerys felt father grip his shoulder a little tighter.

"Good. Now go."

Polaerys scurried off with Ser Derren following him and so Polaerys waited and watched as the men began to dump black rock into the round stone thing – furnace Ser Derren had explained when he'd asked the knight what the thing was called – and it took ages before they stopped and so Polaerys kept on waiting for something to happen.

And he waited.

And waited.

He decided to look around a little and he noticed that a few of the alchemist guild were here, including the man he thought might be Dorlund, the man who replaced Fororlan.

Finally, Mīsaragorn lifted his head as father approached the large dragon.

The men began to bring over a chest that seemed to be filled with something – iron sand, Ser Derren explained – and brought by the furnace, which Polaerys could see was three large round rings stacked on top of each other which was getting connected to something called a blower – feeding air into the furnace which he could was connected in the bottom round ring – and then father moved away from Mīsaragorn and moved towards the furnace.

Father then unhooked what looked like a little door to the little square box thing on the side of the furnace and then turned back to Mīsaragorn and Polaerys saw his father move a little strangely before he said something to Mīsaragorn.

Polaerys' eyes widened in shock when he saw Mīsaragorn draw himself up slightly, his maw opening and tell-tale glimmers of blue embers shone between his teeth and Polaerys' felt a strong hand on his shoulder as panic rose within him.

"I'm sorry, my Prince, but you must not move as your father commanded." Ser Derren said to him.

"But…" Polaerys began to protest but Ser Derren shook his head.

"Your father knows what he is doing. Just watch him, my Prince."

Whatever Polaerys was going to say was cut short when he heard the sounds of dragon flame and his head swivelled so fast that it might well have come off of his shoulders and his eyes widened to as far as wide as they could go at the sight of what he was seeing and his mouth had fallen open in shock.

Mīsaragorn's blue flame had spewed out of his maw, the world set alight in the hue of a blue that was bluer than the clearest and bluest a day has ever been, yet, that did not surprise him no, and neither he pay much attention at the time at Mīsaragorn's flames which were far lesser than a dragon his size was capable of, no, his attentions were firmly set on his father.

His father who shone as blue fire surrounded him, like a white hot steel ingot in the darkest of nights.

His father who moved and moved his arms in such ways that the flames of Mīsaragorn were dancing to the tune of his father's arms. Licks of flame and fire was being guided into the box thing as if they were nought but cloth attached to strings, his father's arms the puppets, and he was mesmerised by it all.

Father…

Father was doing magic!

Real, real magic!

The fire crackled and whatever the black rock that was in the furnace was, that too crackled and began to glow a little and the top began to glow a little too after a bit of time.

Soon, men began to use the strange large triangle like blower things and there three men on each one, moving the handles up and down, and up and down.

Polaerys stared wide eyed when the top of the furnace began to glow blue and it wasn't long before blue flames began to come out of the top of the furnace, and Polaerys watched on as men began to climb the moveable stairs and spread more black rock on top of the furnace and they did it a few times and then they started to spread the iron sands onto the flames.

Mīsaragorn stopped his flames not long after and after the last flames had gone into the box thing, father walked towards the box, closed it shut with his own hands! 'It should have burnt father, shouldn't it?' Polaerys thought in amazement before he realised that it was probably magic that made father fireproof.

Father stepped away from the furnace and watched on like everyone else as iron sands kept on being added after little breaks, sometimes even adding a lot more black rock, and the blue flames kept on burning.

The flames were so tall, almost half as tall as father himself and Polaerys kept on staring at the flames. He didn't really understand why the flames were blue but he knew that Mīsaragorn had something to do with it.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Polaerys startled and he only realised that it was his father who spoke to him when he looked up. His father looked at him a little amused and Polaerys took in a long breath before he fired his questions to his father in one long breath.

"Polaerys, hold on, hold on, breathe." His father said in a chuckle as he placed his hand on top of Polaerys' head, softly ruffling his hair. "Try that again but this time, one question at a time." Father said with a gentle smile.

"Since when were you able to do magic?!" 'And why did we not know about it?!'

Everyone else seemed to know that father could do magic, he thought as he looked around at the people who were around. From the blacksmiths to the alchemists to the guards, they knew father could do magic and yet Polaerys had never heard of it!

"I knew I could magic before you were born but I only learnt it since you were born." Father explained to him gently before he looked away towards the furnace.

"I scraped and scraped to know what I know, my son, and I still know only a little still." Father said in an odd tone before he shook his head and looked back down at Polaerys. "What you see tonight is nothing but tests to try out to rediscover something that was lost many years ago."

"Valyrian Steel!" Polaerys said with awe before he looked back at the furnace with amazement. Gods, he could imagine the faces of Nico and the others when they realised that some of their craziness wasn't so crazy after all!

"That is my hope." His father said and he could hear the sigh in father's voice and he looked back up at his father with some confusion on his face.

His father saw and said "There is a reason why Valyrian is a lost art, Polaerys. Those who could create it all died out in the Doom. You know how there are families who keep what they know and know how to make in the family, like the special porcelain only the Wensington family can make?" after seeing Polaerys nod, his father continued "Well, Valyrian Steel is much like that. What I am trying to do, is trying out all kinds of things hoping I get lucky and find the right track."

"Like the glass experiments you did with Maester Edwyn?" Polaerys offered and his father smiled at him and nodded.

"Aye, quite like that though this is proving to be much more difficult." His father admitted to him and Polaerys drew himself up a little straighter.

"I want to help!" Polaerys said strongly and excitedly. He wanted to learn magic and do what father did with the flames!

"When you're older and stronger, you may help me." His father said before he turned serious "But I will not have you learn magic without my supervision or without my knowing, do you understand me?" his father said sternly.

Polaerys nodded quickly and his father stared at him for a long few moments before he nodded "Good. I almost died a few times and it is only thanks to the Seven that I did not perish to my folly. I was more than just lucky, Polaerys, so do not think you will come out of it safe and whole without me." His father said quietly but sternly as he gently laid his hand Polaerys' cheek.

"I won't disobey you father." Polaerys said honestly, shaken up as he was by his father's admission he almost died because of his magic learning.

His father looked at him for a long while before he nodded and drew Polaerys into him. "Ask your other questions, Polaerys. The wait before we take out the steel will be long." And so Polaerys asked his questions long into the night.

By the time of dawn, the flames had gone out and a little while after that, the men began to hook up the top ring. Some of the men hammered at the seams of the ring and then they heaved up the ring. They moved the ring away and ashy black stuff dropped to the ground which some of the men brushed away before they hooked up the second ring and did it all over again.

When they moved the last and bottom ring, Polaerys saw what was on the ground amidst the ash and glowing hot rocks. It seemed like it was a stone carved into a raised circle and he thought that mayhaps it was where the bottom ring sat on.

The hot rocks were picked up by the men who hastily ran towards a bucket of probably water and dropped the rocks into them, and Polaerys saw the steam rise from the bucket.

Polaerys followed father towards the bucket and Polaerys' eyes widened when he saw what was inside of the bucket. "Animal blood." His father supplied and Polaerys turned to look at his father who seemed to study him carefully.

"What are the oldest words of our family?"

"Fire and blood." Polaerys whispered as he stared wide eyed at the bucket of blood which seemed to have a few odd kinds of colour that swam like strings onto the surface of the blood. 'Was that normal?' he wondered.

"Yes…there is a lot of things packed in those words, my son." His father said to him before he put his hand into the still steaming bucket of blood and took out one of the rocks. He then walked over to another bucket which did have water and dipped the steel rock into it until it was clean.

His father came back and showed Polaerys the steel which seemed to have all kinds of colour in it, colours that was a bit like the strings of colour that was in the bucket of blood. "Is it Valyrian Steel?" Polaerys asked hesitantly.

His father smiled at the question before he shook his head and Polaerys felt some disappointment at it. "It is not-quite-Valyrian-Steel" his father said in some tired amused voice before he grew a little serious. "It's stronger and harder than normal steel but it is not nearly as indestructible as proper Valyrian Steel."

"An in-between." Polaerys said with a frown.

"Just so." His father said and Polaerys looked at his father a little apprehensively.

"Mayhaps it needs spells?" Polaerys offered carefully and it made his father chuckle before his father ruffled his hair and Polaerys looked at his amused father with a look of annoyance. He was being serious!

"Mayhaps." His father said seriously much to Polaerys' surprise. His father tugged on his beard as he frowned. "I considered it but I have not come across any hints that spells are a true form of magic."

"Oh." Polaerys only said, not sure what to say about that.

Polaerys felt his father's hand on his head move again and it drew his attentions and he looked up to his father. "Go with Ser Derren, I need to finish up with the men before we return home and grab something to eat."

"Yes father." Polaerys said dutifully before he taken back to the front by the gates by Ser Derren.

"Ser Derren…?" Polaerys began a little hesitantly.

"Yes, my Prince?"

"How long have you known father could do magic?" Polaerys asked the knight.

Ser Derren seemed to think it over before he answered "For a few years now, my Prince." Ser Derren answered and Polaerys looked at the knight surprised.

"Oh." Polaerys only said, not sure where to go from there.

Thankfully Ser Derren continued "I have seen your father only truly work with fire however. I am not sure if there is more your father can do."

"Only fire?" Polaerys questioned curiously.

"Only fire, my Prince. I believe it is something that comes naturally to your family, my Prince." Ser Derren said to Polaerys as he looked down at him and he seemed to look at Polaerys with some amount of scrutiny.

"You seem disappointed, my Prince."

Polaerys' eyes widened "I'm not disappointed!" Polaerys said quickly. "I just thought…"

"You thought your father could a lot more than that." Ser Derren said in an understanding tone before the knight shook his head. "Mayhaps your father could but your father will not."

Polaerys frowned a little confused at that. "I don't understand."

Ser Derren looked down back at Polaerys. "Your father has warned you not to try magic without him, did he not?" Polaerys nodded.

Ser Derren continued, his eyes boring into Polaerys.

"Your father knows that most magic is evil and foul in the eyes of the Seven. It is why he refuses to blacken his soul with the kinds of foul magicks sorcerers practice. The Seven have granted your father and your family their blessing, but their blessing knows a limit." Ser Derren looked away from Polaerys.

"Your father knows the limit stops at what comes naturally to your blood."

"Fire and blood." Polaerys said in a whisper.

"Fire and blood" Ser Derren repeated and it was words that sticked long into Polaerys' mind, long after his father returned, and long after he was back at the fort, breaking his fast amongst his family.