[A/N (Author's Note):
From the first chapter upto like chapter 11 or 13 there are changes that can be considered major.
A mistake I found was that instead of writing that his other would be bride is a Belaerys, I wrote Gelionar. No, I meant for him to marry a Mataeryon and a Belaerys.
The battle against the Ironborn... that is if it could be called so, was altered a bit. Also details regarding how large and what types of ships the Valyrian fleet/navy has was also detailed and re-written.
There are other changes too. My suggestion have a quick read (skim) through the early chapters, and check back on the Auxiliary category, as there I think one or two new Auxiliary chapters and the old ones were updated, especially the Military one.]
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"If you were to face an ancient Sith Lord in combat you would learn that we are as children playing with toys compared to the prowess of the old masters." – Kreia
[Ombaru, Central Valyrian Fort | 188 AD / 86 AC]
They built the tower for dragons, a Dragon Tower. The plates of stone at the crown are broad and slightly curved so claws fit and hold. The ribs at the rim help a dragon lean against wind. The galleries below hold chambers for Dragon Keepers and Dragon Caretakers, with racks for tackle, bridles, salves, scale brushes, and spare chains. Scent of oil and clean ash hangs in the air. Orange lamps burn behind carved stone shutters that keep the flame steady in the night wind.
I sit cross legged on the highest plate. The wind moves over the stone and over my face. The sea is a steady hush below, not loud, only a deep whistle that holds the island. My breath is slow. The power within me rises and settles and rises again, like a tide.
It has been four days since I arrived on Ombaru from Walano, and by tomorrow all the major powers of the Summer Isles will be present here, at the Central Valyrian Fort. Lanterns on the eastern road show the last work crews coming in from the ridge. The western road is quiet now. The central yard below me is a pattern of neat dark shapes. Stacks of fresh cut stone. Carts turned to the wall. A line of spears in a stand. I hear the soft clink of armor where sentries turn.
Before my departure from Walano four days ago, the many leaders of the different islands from the Summer Isles that were present joined a meeting in Lotus Point. I spoke very clearly. I set a power structure and there was no negotiation. They wanted to trade, to prosper. They wanted to sail without fear of pirates, slavers, and corsairs. Then this was their only choice. They saw that and they understood it. It is better to have a hard truth once than a soft lie every season.
Valyria stands first now. The island of Ombaru is the pillar because all of it falls under my control. Three Valyrian forts hold it. One is in the middle of the island, the Central Valyrian Fort of Ombaru, and it is the largest. One is on the east, and one is on the west. Those two were built smaller on purpose. A single Valyrian legion was split, with 3,000 men in each fort, and the second in command captain of the legion is stationed in one of them, while the legion's commander is stationed in the other. Here in the middle, there is a whole legion, six thousand men stationed here. Armor lines the racks. Grain fills the bins. Fire pits and forges line the inner yard so that steel is always kept ready.
After Ombaru comes what you may call the three principalities. Jhala. Walano. Koj. Even though Koj is smaller than Walano, I have assigned the Singing Stones, the Isle of Love, and the Three Exiles to Koj. The Three Exiles is where defeated warriors and their families go after ritual battles and ritual wars. They are not executed. They are not mutilated. They are sent away to that island, and they live there, under rule. Now the Three Exiles falls under the joint hand of Valyria, meaning the stationed Commander on Ombaru, and Koj. The Isle of Birds between Ombaru and Walano was also assigned to Koj. This brings Koj to a closer size than before when compared to Walano. Walano is still far larger, yet the balance is better.
After that work was done in Walano, I left for Ombaru. Here I saw the completed three forts raised by the hands of my uncle and his sons, my cousins. The eastern fort rests on a rocky shoulder where the sea wind comes hard and keeps the air clear. The western fort is tied into two old ridges that reach down toward the mangroves. The central fort where I sit is the anchor. It holds the armories, the mage halls, the granaries, and the hospice rooms of the Blood Dragon Order.
From then on, I contacted all who were near the Summer Isles. Lord Kostagar. My uncle and his sons. The three princes of the Summer Isles, Prince Daba Xhar of Walano, Prince Tobar Qodas of Koj, and Princess Nalla Qhara of Jhala. We will meet in five days, that day is tomorrow.
From then till today I have done little but meditate and explore the Holocron atop the Dragon Tower. I lay my thoughts along its edges, and it opens like a city within a city, with halls that have no walls and rooms that have no doors. Some parts speak with voices that are like memory. Some parts show images like a dream. I listen. I sort. I test.
Firstly, my internal wounds have yet to be completely healed… laughable, is it not. Here I thought I was truly strong. I am strong. That is true. I am powerful with my body, my magic, and my mind. But I pushed myself. I fought against hundreds of warriors. Yes, they were barely armored and lightly armed, and yes, I wore my reforged sword, my reforged armor, and my reforged ring, and they did empower me, and they did keep me moving. Even so, it took its toll, especially when I chose to use Force Rage. That heat is clean and terrible. I called it, and I held it, and I directed it where it needed to go, and it marked me. Marks fade. They do not vanish in one night.
Regardless of that, it is not as if I cannot recover. I can, and I did. There are barely any internal wounds left. The magical strain is almost gone. My breath is even. My pulse is steady. Soon I will be whole again.
The second matter is a limit. I thought that I would keep growing at this pace, and I am still growing, but there is a line I can feel under my feet. It moves with me now, and I press at it, and it presses back. The world is not a dead stone. It has currents and it has banks. You do not command a river by shouting at it. You shape the banks. You set stones where the flow splits. You hang chains where the flow must be slow. I will need a new shaping, and that shaping will need time and will need sacrifice, too many sacrifices. The Holocron shows me doors. The runes sing of anchors and gates. Both together can lower the cost. Neither can make the price vanish. I will not turn from this, yet I will not rush. A statue falls when you carve too fast. A man falls when he reaches without seeing the ground.
I open my senses a little. I let them stretch. I do not let them roam. I taste the clean hate of the far north-west. I feel a cold that is not wind nor ice, a cold that wants to stop breath and will. I feel a raven with three eyes. It should not be possible for him to be here, yet here it is, but it is not Brynden. Still, I feel it, and it sees me. In the sea I taste salt and hear a low beat like a drum deep under water. A drowned mind that dreams and will not sleep.
In western Essos I sense the red flame, bright and hungry, the one that loves the stage and the shout. I sense the Weeping Lady and the Black Goat and the Bearded One and the Many Faced, and others without names to me, all with their own hands and laws.
In the far east there is a maiden of light and a song like a thousand small stars striking stone, and there is a church that loves those stars and sells their whispers. The Church of Starry Wisdom. They build where coin and hunger meet. They grow where minds want secret things. There is also a foul coil in that direction that is not clean death and not clean life… a wrongness that is deep. I hope I am wrong about it. But again, I do not think I am.
Closer to this island I feel the Basilisk Isles like a nest that croaks and shifts. In Sothoryos the far south is dim to me, fogged and clouded, unclear. But the north of that wild land smells like wet stone and bone and old oil. Yeen. Zamettar. The names feel ill in the mouth. I hear the croaks of a frog… a deep guttural croaking voice, of a language I am yet to comprehend.
There is too much to leave to chance. I need a strong sword. Not only the sword in my hand. A people. A chain of forts. Ships with trained crews. Roads with patrols. Wards with eyes on them. Fields that feed men who carry spears. Oaths that bind men who carry orders. I need an empire that can stand when beings beyond comprehension; spirits, idols, and deities push against it.
Thankfully I have the tools to ensure that. I will see to it. I will grow stronger. I will make sure my people grow and that my empire will not fall, not as the Empire of Dawn fell… not as the Valyrian Freehold fell.
I open my eyes. The night is steady. The lamps on the walls swing a little in the breeze. The stars above the tower are bright and hard. The tower hums softly where runes carry warmth up from the stone heart.
I stand and look toward the eastern ridge. I think of tomorrow and the words that must be said. Then I sit again and let the Holocron open once more like a book I have read and will read again, because on the second reading the words change, and on the third reading the words admit what they truly mean.
[Ombaru, Central Valyrian Fort | 188 AD / 86 AC – The Next Day]
The great hall of the Central Valyrian Fort is wide and high and built to carry voices. The rafters are of black stone carved with coils and teeth. The banners of Draceryos hang in rows that frame the windows of stained glass. Each window is glass mural depicting the Draceryos family, Dragonlords, the Summer Islands under the shadow of a great dragon of molten scales, and much more, all in colors that glow when the sun finds them. The table in the center is made from ebony wood. It is carved in the shape of the Summer Isles. The sea around the shapes is shallow cut and smooth, and light slides over it like water.
The mages set six glass candles along the inner rim of the map table. Two connect to the commanders of the legions assigned to Jhala and Walano. One shows Lord Gelionar and Lord Tyvaros together, both in a room with a lamp bright on a map. One shows the Grand Master of the Blood Dragon Order and the Grand Master of the Fire Dragon Order in a study with scrolls stacked by the walls. One shows Lord Mataeryon and his son, Maelarr, seated beside a brazier where a low flame climbs a thin iron rod. The last stands dark, quiet, and shadowed. The Dark Mistress.
I sit at the head of the table. To my right sits Lord Vaelys Belaerys, and beside him, Aeralyx and Vilarr. Lord Kostagar sits near my left hand, calm and still. Prince Daba Xhar of Walano sits with the ease of one who knows this hall is not his but knows also that he is not a guest to be pushed. Prince Tobar Qodas of Koj sits with his back straight and his hands quiet on the table. Princess Nalla Qhara sits, watches, and does not fidget, which I respect.
"Finally," I say, "the Summer Isles are united as one, and under the banner of the Great Dragon of Draceryos." There are nods and grins from the Valyrians. There is a quiet breath out from the island princes. They are not fools. Peace gained in one season is still peace, and peace is worth pride when it comes on the point of a clear law.
"But now we have more pressing matters." I turn to the right past Lord Belaerys and look at the commander assigned to this fort. "Commander Daemor Qohaleos, by my will and order, you are promoted to High Commander of the Summer Isles…"
A hush moves like a cloth pulled tight. This is a new title. It does not come from old habits. It comes from me. I see the princes look at one another and then look at me. I let them.
"As High Commander of the Summer Isles, you will answer directly to me," I say. "You will still be the commander of your legion. You will still be stationed in this fort. But your role is much greater, and its responsibilities are heavier. You will oversee the other legions here, as well as the protection and defense of the Summer Isles and its people."
The man bows and rises and sets his right fist to his heart. His voice is deep and has iron in it. "It is a great honor to receive such a great responsibility from one of Daekar's blood, and I will, to the utmost of my abilities and beyond, ensure your will, and see that order and peace are established and maintained, my prince." Commander Daemor he is known as Zōbraks, or in common tongue, Iron Will. Not only that, but he was also known as Daekar's Anvil. As he used to command a legion during the times of my grandfather, Daekar the Mad Dragon, and he would fight side by side with him.
I turn my head to the two princes and the princess. "Worry not. I see you seem troubled. But as promised, our deal stands. As I have stated, High Commander Daemor's responsibilities are to ensure the security of the Summer Isles and its people… that is, by extension, its leaders too." I nod to them. Their eyes show doubt, but also a slow relief. They are not cut out. They are brought in under a firmer roof.
I look toward the other legion commander in the room. "Commander Baelivar, your legion is split in two. Half is under your command in the eastern fort, and the other half is stationed in the western fort under the command of your second-in-command, Captain Laegon. From now on, your legion, the Tenth Legion, will be assigned to Ombaru, and will be split between the eastern and western fort, with two commanders, under the direct command of the High Commander of the Summer Isles."
"By your will, my prince," he says, and his salute is crisp.
"Let us continue to more pressing matters." I turn to Lord Kostagar. "Lord Maerys, you will stay here, in the Summer Isles, and oversee that ships are being built for our future endeavors. I am sure the Prince of Koj and Prince Tobar will aid you in said endeavor."
Lord Kostagar inclines his head. "I will remain as ordered. I will inspect the slips and the stocks and set the build schedule with your leave."
Prince Tobar answers at once and clearly. "Koj will aid. We will send master shipwrights, carpenters, and caulkers. We will provide timber and tar and rope. Our yards will take your plans and follow your time."
"In a moon's time," I say, "there will be a meeting held with the Targaryens in Walano, specifically north of Walano, somewhere close to Last Lament. If they want to sail to it, which I know they will, my guess is that they will sail from Lannisport, which will allow them to avoid the Stepstones and Dorne. Once the meeting is concluded, we will immediately start our simultaneous conquest of Volantis, Lys, and Tyrosh."
My uncle, Vaelys Belaerys, speaks and asks, "What about Myr, Pentos, and the rest of the Free Cities. Are we to ignore them."
"I care not for the rest of the Free Cities," I say. "Braavos is a city founded by escaped slaves and those who sought our destruction and might have had a hand in it. Pentos… not much to say about it. Myr will be taken, but for now our main concentration should be those three cities. Then we will deal with Myr. Once those four are taken, my plans for the Disputed Lands can unfold."
From one of the glass candles speaks out a voice. It is Lord Mataeryon. "What about the northern cities. Qohor, Norvos, Lorath, and Essaria."
Essaria… Another deviation to what I know of the world of ice and fire. It should have fallen in the Century of Blood. But Maelarr Draceryos, son of Aurion, saved Essaria. On top of that, he saved Qohor. Originally it was supposed to be three thousand unsullied who defended Qohor. Yet the might of a single Great Dragonlord and his Great Dragon was enough to break tens of thousands of Dothraki at the gates of Qohor and blacken the plains before the walls.
I nod and speak. "Before a moon's time, I myself will ride north, to Essaria. They will join us, even if it is neutral. I also plan to reach to Saath, see if we can establish some form of relations, for we mostly ignored each other."
My uncle asks with a puzzled tone. "The Sarnori? Why? They are barely standing. They have been pushed so far back by the Dothraki savages that the so-called mighty kingdom of Sarnor is barely what it was."
I look at all of them. "You misunderstand my plans. I see you are eager for a fast conquest. Yes, we have established our first major territory under Valyria, the Summer Isles, rather quick." The princes and the princess do not take offense. Their eyes do not hide the truth either. They know how fast this went.
"But Essos is not the Summer Isles. It is old, it is dark, and unforgiving. I am not afraid… I never was. Yet a fast conquest is a doomed one. We already have two power families of Volantis and Lys, House Maegyr and House Rogare. They have brought in families to our side. So, it will not take much. We will clear out the weeds. As for Tyrosh," I look toward the glass candle that shows Lord Mataeryon and continue, "a promise is a promise. One that should not be taken lightly. Thus, Tyrosh will burn, for it is time for the Mataeryon family to ride the skies once more."
Lord Mataeryon nods, as do the rest of the Valyrians present. It is a simple nod, but it holds a long memory.
I continue. "So, what I seek is a well-established foundation. The only city that will be truly conquered is Myr. The rest are simple enough. Once the foundation of the Disputed Lands has been built well, then we can think of expanding. That is why I mean to go to Saath and establish some form of relation. In the future, be it a decade or half a century from now, it will be easy to conquer and build back the land the Sarnori lost."
There are no loud answers. There are eyes that think, and that is enough.
I turn to Aeralyx. "Cousin Aeralyx, you and my brother Vaelon will mount and ride for the Stepstones, trailing behind the fleet, and on the signal of Lord Kostagar wipe out any pirate or other oppositions there."
Aeralyx Belaerys, firstborn son and heir of my uncle, Vaelys, nods once. Vilarr looks at him, and his eyes are bright with pride and hunger to be in the sky beside him.
I look at my uncle and continue. "As for you uncle, you would assist Lord Mataeryon and Lord Gelionar and his fleet in taking Lys. You will be flying with your son Vilarr, and my brother Aegionar."
My uncle looks at me, puzzled, as do many others. He asks, curious and careful, "Aegionar? Why fly with us? I mean, he can mount with me on Aegovax, that is not an issue. I am only puzzled."
I answer him and a grin touches my mouth. "I do not mean with you. I mean on his own dragon. It is time he rides. He has ridden on Azantyos with Father and even on my mother's dragon, Brightfyre."
This brings a new stir to the hall. My uncle blinks and then laughs once, short and surprised. "Nephew, it gladdens me that we will have him bonding with a Great Dragon. Yet it would take years for newly hatched Dragon to grow, and even a Great Dragon would need years for a man to mount it."
"You are mistaken, uncle," I say. "He is not going to bond with a Greater Dragon. That takes time. He will bond with one of the four dragons in Procrazion's dragonpit. It has been done before by the Great Dragonlords, and it will be done again."
My uncle grins with real joy. "Oh… that would be good indeed. Especially if he bonds with Bloodfyre. That would be a great boon indeed."
Lord Mataeryon asks the clear question. "What of Volantis, my prince."
"I will deal with Volantis," I say. "I will fly on Azantyos. Lord Rhaemon Tyvaros will be with his Cavalry Legion approaching from the Fort of Belaerys where they will be stationed. Plus, an additional two legions which will arrive by sea, one under his son Vaeryx Tyvaros, and one under Lord Ghaelion Gelionar's son, Rhaenar Gelionar."
They all nod. Those who saw me fight think I may be able to deal with it alone. They will not say that aloud here. It is enough that they believe I can open the gate for them.
"With all that out of the way," I say, "we will be holding a proper meeting after I deal with the Targaryens, to ensure everything is understood and all know the plan."
Chairs scrape. Robes whisper. The hall begins to empty. I lift my hand and keep one man.
As all begin to disperse, I motion for High Commander Daemor Qohaleos to stay back. We walk to one of the high windows that look south. The sea is a long gray silk beyond the cliffs. Between the southern port of Ombaru and the Central Valyrian Fort, a town is being built. It is slow and sure. A road runs like a clean line from the port up toward the inner gate. Houses rise on either side of that line. A market square is already marked with stones and a new well. I can see three cranes and men moving like points along the frames.
I turn toward him and draw a ring from my robe. The metal is dark and red at once, as if it drinks light and gives some back. A Blood Ring. His eyes widen slightly.
"My prince…?"
"An offer," I say. "The same one I gave to Commander Vimond, who is now a Lord and noble of House Gondaerys. It is time for those of noble blood to rise. Many families who live in the Lands of the Long Summer are families of noble blood, High Valyrians. As is your family, the Qohaleos family. Your family already holds good land, small, but good. This is an opportunity for you and your family. Five years, all I ask is five years of your service here in Ombaru, and then you can decide whether to stay or leave. But no matter, you and your family will rise. Even before coming to the Summer Isles, I ensured that the builders in Martivia start constructing new manors in the Nobles District for the future. So, what say you."
He looks at me like a man who has walked far and finally sees a door that will open for him. He kneels. The Iron Will in his face softens, but it does not melt.
"My prince, there are not enough words to describe what I am feeling, to describe how grateful I am for the chance for my family to rise. It would gladden me to serve you and the coming empire, not just as a commander of one of the legions, but also as a noble and the head of the Qohaleos family."
I give him the Blood Ring. He swears the oath properly and then takes the blood oath, and the ring drinks the touch and warms once against his skin. It is announced to those who are still in the hall. My uncle and the rest of the Valyrians are pleased to hear it. This means that men who want to raise their families to nobility have a road to walk. It will take service. It will take loyalty. It will take will. It will not take blind luck.
When the last hands are shaken and the last seals are pressed, I step down from the high seat. I speak two brief orders to the steward of the fort in aiding Lord Qohaleos and the guard list, and then I cross the floor to the great doors. The lamps on the outer walk are already lit in a neat line, and the light falls in small pools along the stone.
Once I have concluded my affairs, I leave the Central Valyrian Fort and walk toward the clearing near it. The wind off the sea is stronger here. I taste salt on my tongue. The lamps on the path sway a little.
Unfortunately, even though the Dragon Tower is very large, Azantyos cannot perch on it like the other dragons, such as Aegovax. His weight and his size would stress the crown plates and the ribs, despite it being made from dragonstone. The clearing is for him. The rock here was cut flat and ringed with deeper anchors. The scorched marks around the outer ring look like old black flowers where breath hit stone.
He waits with his head lowered and his wings folded close to his sides, as if he hides his size on purpose. I stand before him and set my palm against the scales near his snout. They are hot under my hand, not burning, only strong heat like a forge banked and ready.
"Time to go home, old friend."
He huffs, and smoke leaves his nostrils in a thin line that shakes in the wind. His voice presses into my thoughts with the weight of a bell struck once.
Finally…
I climb the lines and settle into the saddle. The straps come over and across and I set them with clean clicks. The world below is quiet. A few men look up and then look down again with the wise care of men who do not call attention to themselves when a dragon is about to rise.
Azantyos spreads his wings. The first downbeat is heavy and slow and full of power. Dust jumps on the rock. The second beats and the rock falls away beneath us and the lamps become a line of small stars. The third draws us cleanly over the inner wall and out across the rise where the road leads toward the sea.
We rise higher. The fort below us becomes a pattern. The roads to the east and to the west cut like scored lines. The central yard shows as a square with neat blocks inside it. The new town looks like a box of toys laid out by a careful child who plans where each piece will go when his father brings home more wood.
We turn our heads toward For Draceryos, once my affairs are concluded there, then we ride for Martivia. The Last Volcano waits. There are works to finish. There are orders to write for the builders and the Rune Mages and the Dragon Keepers.
I look back one last time. The Central Valyrian Fort does not look large from here. That is a trick of distance. It is large enough. It is strong enough. It will be stronger still. Under my empire, all shall be strong.
The sea opens under us like a road that does not end. Azantyos tilts his wings, and we take that road. The air is cold and clean. My eyes are clear. A new year has only just begun.