A/N: Here is the aftermath of the war, which will soon be followed by a few interludes before the final arc.
Thanks to Wobb Nox, filipinosberman and Ascalon on SB for beta-ing.
Chapter LXIII: Bond of Fox and Dragon
31 AC
Fourth Moon
Myr
Lorrent Rada
The chaos in Essos had largely settled down in the months following the conclusion of the War of Midnight. Lands were still being partitioned and provincial lines redrawn after extensive surveys being conducted, and while bandits remained an ever-annoying problem, they were mostly dealt with by Westerosi forces.
Maegor used fear and terror to devastating effect, Zaekos's dragonfire scorching entire hideouts as his troops slaughtered bandits en masse and impaled their corpses. This prompted countless bandit gangs to intensify their banditry, while others banded together in a suicidal attack on his armies.
Elaegelle and the Sand Dragon Army, on the other hand, focused on lightning-fast attacks that both terrified and confounded the bandits, leaving them uncertain of attacks on themselves or their hideouts. And as Elaegelle did not tyrannically punish condemned criminals beyond beheadings, many bandits were soon convinced of the benefits of peacefully surrendering. Many of them were beheaded, others were sentenced to labour and only released once they completed their allocated tasks.
With the roads secure, thousands of settlers from Westeros migrated to Kastria and Krystogharia, eagerly chasing the allure of a new life.
Worship of the Udohanar quickly took root in Kastria, the locals highly indebted to their Rhoynar rescuers and being the closest to Dorne which sent the largest portion of settlers. This was also largely influenced by stories of Hydromancers and Dornish troops who witnessed the final Clash of the Gods in the lagoon of Braavos.
The same story unfolded in Krystogharia, just with worship of Izulampari instead. Maegor chose the city of Pentos rather than Braavos as provincial capital, because in his words: "Better a prosperous city than a floating pile of wood and stone on stilts in a swamp."
It was as much a snub towards the Braavosi as it was a pragmatic decision; Braavos was most heavily damaged in the clash between gods by the sheer force of tidal waves from the resulting shockwaves, and Old Braavos - the part of the city that sank deeply - was in the process of being raised and strengthened by magic. Pentos, on the other hand, merely saw large portions burned by fire, the damage easily remedied with several renovations, and was much closer to King's Landing than Braavos.
The Iron Bank was once the most powerful banking institution in the known world, able to commission the Faceless Men without worry for money in spite of their exorbitant prices. Both it and the House of Black and White were decimated, the latter permanently disbanded without their font of power and headquarters.
To recover and be the power once feared would take centuries, if not millennia. If they ever could.
Too few keyholders of the Iron Bank survived, and those who did were forced to welcome bankers from the Bank of Dragonstone [1] into their circle to rebuild their business operations. Their immense wealth was also put to use for the rebuilding efforts, and so vast was their wealth that only a tenth of it was used for all campaign rewards and rebuilding efforts.
Yet another death knell of Braavos as a power. Influence and power shifted from the East into the West that ordinarily would never have happened, but now became a reality.
As for Kastria, Myr became the provincial capital, and its immense glassworks were put to use manufacturing bottles for various industries. Enterprising glassblowers took over operations and began producing masterworks far surpassing old Myrish works in transparency and quality. Freed slaves were married to Dornish spouses and learning skills to survive as free men, and countless volunteers bolstered the ranks of the Sand Dragons.
In fact, with so many wishing to join the Sand Dragons, the Sand Dragons themselves became the primary fighting force of Kastria, split into three army corps each comprising four armies, each army composed of twenty thousand troops. Their insignia became the insignia of Kastria itself, a mark of pride and achievement.
It was a time of recovery and peace. Peace brought about by excruciatingly painful bloodshed, but peace nonetheless.
Lorrent Rada pondered these thoughts as he finished treating his latest patient: A man with a badly lacerated stomach and his innard spilling out.
"Next patient," He ordered.
The next patient was wheeled in on a gurney [2] of wood, this one a woman whose throat was cut deep. He meticulously plucked out shards of metal deep within and connected the muscle and ligament together, before using his water magic to heal the wounded tissue. The woman would take several weeks to fully recover, but be able to sing once fully healed.
Then came another patient, his left leg severed at the knee. Lorrent could not generate a new limb or help him walk again, not without the limb to reattach, but he would help stop the bleeding and save him from dying of blood loss.
Then another, and another, and another.
Many months did Lorrent spend as a healer, working to save dozens of lives as best as he could. Some he could not save, and rather than prolong their suffering, he gave them the Mother Rhoyne's Mercy [3].
After a long day of countless surgeries, Lorrent Rada took off his face mask and breathed a sigh of relief, then began washing clean his hands and nails of blood with a brush. Once done, he took off his cap and surgeon's gown, then retired to his bedchambers for a long bath.
He sighed with bliss, feeling countless knots undone as the hot water loosened his stiff muscles.
"Lorrent," He heard someone greet.
Lorrent saw Elaegelle approaching, wearing only a single nightgown.
"Elaegelle," Lorrent called, "What brings you here?"
"Can I join in?" Asked Elaegelle.
"Mm," Lorrent nodded, gesturing to his bathtub.
Elaegelle stripped out of her garb and stepped into the tub, sitting opposite Lorrent and sighing in bliss.
"This is the life," Elaegelle smilingly muttered, "How's work?"
"Alright," Lorrent answered.
"You sure? You treated at least half a dozen patients today, I think," Said Elaegelle with concern, "Are you sure you're not tired?"
"No," Lorrent shook his head.
"Why?" Asked Elaegelle.
"Because I have you," Lorrent said, shifting to lean his head against Elaegelle's chest, nuzzling like a cat.
Elaegelle sighed, though not with disapproval, "Such a needy man."
She gently stroked his head, and he purred like a little kitten.
"It was scary."
At Lorrent's words, Elaegelle looked at his face - one of a haunted war veteran. His eyes bore a faraway, vacant look, and try as he might to hide it, Elaegelle saw it one time too many in her own men to not recognise it - a look she herself saw in her own reflection.
"All the blood, the screams, the looks of pain and fear… how do they deal with it? How do they not get haunted?" He muttered, his voice so soft it was barely above a whisper.
"They don't," Elaegelle smiled sadly, "They just find it easier to bear with time."
"I don't know if I can," Lorrent admitted, nuzzling deeper into Elaegelle for comfort, "Ever."
Elaegelle embraced him deeply, sniffing his hair which carried the rich scent of a variety of herbs, kissing his forehead.
She held his hands in hers, and they felt cold to the touch, completely devoid of warmth.
"Are you still afraid?" She asked.
Lorrent nodded and mumbled in response.
"You know you always have me," Elaegelle said, "And… I know I always have you."
Lorrent looked up at Elaegelle in surprise, and she smiled softly at him in response - a warm, gentle smile of compassion.
And she kissed him on the lips.
"I've always loved how compassionate and kind you are to others, and how you've always been the first to rush to our help," Elaegelle said, stroking her hair as she stared outside the window, the night sky a reflection of a deceptively quiet eve before the storm, "May I… may I be honest with you?"
"About what?" Asked Lorrent.
"I was actually against you coming here," Answered Elaegelle.
"Why?" Asked Lorrent, a look of bewilderment, shock and worry in his eyes.
"...It was when I saw you outside that triage tent at that ruined village, that first time you ever saw dead and dying in large numbers," Elaegelle answered, her eyes hardening with sorrow, worry and understanding, "I… wanted to spare you further anguish, if I could help it."
Elaegelle took a deep breath, nodding to herself as if to affirm something.
"And yet you stayed," She finished, a mix of sorrowful regret and quiet pride in her words.
"I want to help you, however I can," Lorrent affirmed, his voice clear and his eyes unclouded, "No matter what."
And Elaegelle hugged Lorrent tighter.
"Just promise me you'll take care of yourself," She said to him, "That's all I ever need from you."
"And promise me the same, Elaegelle," Lorrent replied.
Lorrent kissed her back, deeper and more passionate like hungry animals in mating season.
"You want to do it, then?" Elaegelle suggested, her smile turning sultry.
Lorrent merely kissed once again, and that night, they would spend it in sweet love.
IIOII
They cuddled each other underneath the warm blankets, their hands warm to the touch and their eyes vibrant with a diamond's lustre.
"You know, Lorrent, they're calling you by a name," Elaegelle said, "The Cleansing Hand, or something like that."
"Sounds silly," Lorrent grumbled, "I don't like it."
Elaegelle giggled in amusement.
"You do realise they won't stop because you said so, right?" Elaegelle pointed out, "They believe in you, they respect and adore you. Of course they'll give you a title. Why not use that to record down your experiences and pass it down to future healers, so that they will not start from scratch and fumble in the dark?"
"Mm… I still don't want to be called that name. Sounds so ridiculous," Lorrent pouted.
"Well, they've also begun calling me by a title," Elaegelle stated, "The Azure Dragon."
"Isn't Castenkair already an azure dragon with her scales?" Lorrent recalled.
"Apparently, they're now extending that namesake to me, ostensibly as a nod to my tamed dragon and my role in ending one of the Lion of Night's servants during the Battle of Tyrosh," Elaegelle suggested, "Azure Dragon, dragonlord and rider of… Azure Mother. Sounds damn confusing, doesn't it?"
"Definitely," Lorrent shrugged, "But you're still my Ellie, no matter what name you go by."
She returned his affection by nuzzling her forehead with his.
"You wonderful man," She smiled.
IIOII
Sixth Moon
King's Landing
Aegon Targaryen
"I would like to propose a betrothal between Elaegelle and Lorrent."
Arin looked in surprise at Aegon who smiled, beaming with happiness and beauty despite his horrific scars.
"Are you against it?" Asked Aegon.
"No, no. That's not the case at all, Your Grace," Arin reassured, "It's just… it was unexpected to say the least."
Arin had every intention of broaching the topic himself with King Aegon, seeing how well Lorrent and Elaegelle were getting along in their relationship. Making the betrothal official would cement the legitimacy of their bond, and shut up more than a few naysayers in their casual spitefulness and pettiness towards Dorne. What he never expected was for Aegon to beat him to the chase, much less sound supportive of it.
"Is it, now?" Said Aegon, "Well, considering everything you've done for the Seven Kingdoms and my daughter and with how well they get along, I feel she is best suited to marrying your son Lorrent."
Maybe I should have known he would pick up on that…
"This is awfully generous of you, Your Grace," Arin admitted, scratching his head, "Thank you."
"Don't thank me just yet, Arin," Aegon halted, "In exchange for this marriage, I want to request a favour of you."
This should be interesting.
"What kind of favour, Your Grace?" Asked Arin.
"I want you to send expeditions to Old Valyria, and recover valuable artefacts and lore that may yet be salvaged," Aegon dictated, "To that end, I am willing to pay you handsomely depending on what you recover on said expeditions."
"...Excuse me for asking this, but did your family not retrieve enough lore from Valyria ere its Doom?" Arin cautiously asked.
"We did, we just feel we could have saved more," Aegon admitted, "In fact, while we did recover a great amount of arcane lore and practical knowledge, we did not save as much on history and cultural works of entertainment. We feel that the more artefacts we recover, the more we can catalogue and thus the more we have to use to showcase Valyria's arts and culture to the unenlightened Andals of Westeros."
"I see," Arin nodded in understanding, "Are you building a museum of sorts?"
"Glad to see you notice quickly," Aegon smiled, "Rich merchants and nobles would pay good money for any exotic experience, and what better way than to showcase the history and cultural achievements of Valyria?"
"True," Arin nodded, "That's also why I built the Ducal Museum of Arsalm [4] for Dorne."
"And hence why you understand the importance of this," Aegon concluded, "Whatever artefacts you find, I shall handsomely pay you for them, and if need be, I will provide additional resources and support for your archaeological expeditions."
"Much appreciated, Your Grace," Arin bowed, "However, considering how unstable our foundation is in Essos, I will have to delay such endeavours for at least two more years until I can spare the men. Is that acceptable, Your Grace?"
"I have waited years to conquer Westeros, I can wait two more years," Aegon answered.
"Then I thank you, Your Grace," Arin smiled, "I shall strive to uphold your expectations."
His smile was genuine, yet at the same time it never reached his eyes, which possessed a hidden gleam of calculative scheming that Aegon, bless his soul, would never see in his self-assured confidence.
IIOII
Eighth Moon
Amtel Mar
The Temple of Amtel Mar, a pinnacle of Rhoynar architecture and once the last Rhoynish temple to the Udohanar, the site of marriage for the new Master of Dorne. Now, it was to play host to a wedding for a member of House Rada once again, this time to a Targaryen Princess turned distinguished general and war hero against the forces of evil.
Dressed in both Rhoynish and Valyrian wedding garb, the bride and groom walked towards the altar where Maihyeram Ameline Mator, now a matronly elder, smiled as she prepared to officiate their wedding vows.
"Do you, Lorrent Rada, take Elaegelle Targaryen to be your wife?" She asked.
"I do," Lorrent Rada answered, his eyes brimming with unshed tears of happiness.
"Do you, Elaegelle Targaryen, take Lorrent Rada to be your husband?"
"I do," Elagelle answered, a warm and gentle love that few could ever possess.
"Then by the grace of Rhoynamhari and our ancestors, I pronounce you man and wife," She said, "Do their parents consent to the cloaking of their children?"
Arin Rada and Aegon Targaryen stepped forward, the latter helped by his sister-wives. In their hands were cloaks of immaculate silk, dyed striking colours with painstakingly tailored insignias.
"I, Arin Rada, do consent to cloaking my daughter-in-law."
"I, Aegon Targaryen, do consent to cloaking my son-in-law."
"Then drape thine cloaks around their shoulders, and may they be forevermore happy in matrimony."
A round of applause went throughout the audience as attendees from two different cultures celebrated this union. Sand Dragons, Rhoynar, Valyrians, Bhreynar, all were welcome in this house of the gods.
Then as Ameline and the other Hanharu prayed for the couple's wellbeing and health, she touched their heads, and at once mists from the nearby fountains emerged to form a dragon and a fox, one coloured like an onyx gemstone, the other like an amethyst. They swirled around each other, nuzzling lovingly as if performing a courting ritual, and took to the skies a free couple.
All clapped at this auspicious sign, wishing the couple good fortune and longevity.
As festivities were underway and singing and dancing gave an air of merriment to the evening banquet, Arris and Aimelia Rada stared at the ongoing merriment with a mixture of forlorn sadness and grandparental pride.
"Our children and grandchildren grow up so fast…" Arris muttered, "Meanwhile, we grow older every year, and our bones start to creak like worn-down machines…"
He groaned slightly at the increased pain on his back, his body lacking its vigour and energy compared to his youth. Aimelia's facial appearance was much aged as well - gracefully aged yet wrinkled - and she had to walk with a cane for support. Their hair had turned white, the last traces of their natural black long gone.
"I truly wish we had more years to spend, to see Lorrent's and Elaegelle's children. Then again, we've already lived many years at this point," Said Arris, "And long-lived we may be, immortal we are not."
"Almost makes you envy how long dragons live, doesn't it?" Aimelia remarked.
"No, I don't think I can bear to live as long as a dragon," Arris shook his head, "To think one of our own house would marry a dragonlord of all people… the ramifications are immense."
"Not only will even more eyes be on us, Maegor especially does not like this," Aimelia agreed, "Aegon… he does not have long to live, that much is clear."
Even though he appeared to be physically fine, his pallour was pale and he had the air of death about him, one he willfully ignored in favour of the joyous occasion for his daughter. His wives too shared concern over his health, though they looked resigned to accepting this truth.
"What do you think will happen once Aegon and his queens are gone?" Asked Aimelia.
"I don't know for sure, but nothing good," Arris answered, "And when that comes, we can only have faith in Arin and all the others that they will pull through."
With siblings - just one of them in actuality - truly competitive and with no official proclamation of who was the actual heir… Arin felt the winds of war blow in the distance.
This time the ugliest of all wars: Civil war.
"It's the only thing we can do, isn't it?" Aimelia muttered.
"Bah, look at us, talking such depressing things in the middle of a wedding," Arris waved off, "Let us enjoy this peace, however long it lasts."
And Aimelia would have it no other way.
[1] Bank of Dragonstone - One of the largest banking institutions in Westeros, highly reputable for its trustworthy services and bankers. After the Iron Bank lost too many of its keyholders, it has largely taken over operations and made it a subsidiary.
[2] Wooden gurneys on wheels were designed by carpenters to wheel in severely wounded or unconscious patients faster in hospitals, both to save time and effort and to avoid the risk of dropping patients from carrying them on a stretcher.
[3] Mother Rhoyne's Mercy - A euphemistic term to refer to euthanasia, the practice of ending a patient's life to avoid further suffering, should it be determined he is beyond saving and recovery and thus, unable to live life normally even if he or she should survive.
[4] Ducal Museum of Arsalm - A place of leisurely study and sightseeing to display ancient artefacts of Rhoynish origin, recovered from the ruins of Choryane and other city-states that remained uninhabited since Prince Garin's doomed failure in the Second Spice War.