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123 AC, King's Landing
Daemon's eyes widened in shock. That was certainly not something that he expected this day, but it was certainly not a quest for his ancestor's gods. Then, the Rogue Prince suddenly stiffened when he realised something. Did Potter say, 'last time'?
When Daemon had been asked for help by an all-powerful magic user, he had expected it to involve less reading and more excitement; the Rogue Prince sat in the library perusing a small mountain of books, while the sorcerer himself had dozens of them spinning around him in the air. The guards and most of the castle had not even noticed anyone's presence there despite the constant glowing words that appeared in thin air occasionally, though it was mostly due to their magic.
He hadn't been forced to read this much even during the lessons that his father and grandfather had forced upon him. He growled as he threw away another book, "This is a waste of time! What are we even looking for, Potter?"
The sorcerer turned to him and shrugged, "We're looking for certain locations of interest from the part of the Valyrian Freehold during their reign, places like Dragonstone."
"I know, and yet, you never explained why you needed all of this."
The sorcerer seemed to hesitate for a few moments before resigning, "The Elder Dragons left certain… sparks of themselves in certain locations across the world. One such location was where Valyria once lay, and another was Dragonstone. These places had a connection to their forebearers, enough that I would be able to find them."
"Then why not simply go to Dragonstone?"
"Because I need to triangulate their resonance…" at Daemon's blank look, he rolled his eyes, "What am I doing trying to explain that to you? I need multiple ones to find them. I know that there aren't any in Westeros anymore, with the one in Hardhome and Skagos having been destroyed during the Long Night. So, I am looking for similar colonies to Dragonstone that the Old Valyrian would have sought out, ones that would have enough magic to obscure their presence from something like scrying."
The Rogue Prince perhaps understood half of any of it, only that he needed to find a place that the old Dragonlords would have been particularly interested in, which was all but impossible given that the Freehold once comprised most of Essos.
Still, he put aside a book written by what seemed to be a nameless survivor of the sacking of Chroyane. The scene described was quite horrific, with the river swallowing the world and men turning to stone before their eyes. It was likely exaggerated in some way, but it was pretty damning, nonetheless.
Still, if he were honest, the sheer number of books, which he knew would be worth more than an army of Unsullied and a fleet, was astounding: "I did not know that the Red Keep held such a library."
The sorcerer gave him a strange look before snorting in amusement, "Oh, they're not all from the Red Keep. Most are ones that I copied from the Citadel."
"What? That was you?" Daemon asked in incredulity.
"Yes. I was curious about the place, and I didn't like the stranglehold they had on knowledge, as well as a few disturbing things I found in their vaults. I stole more than a few things… Dangerous things… I have to say, for an order that has spent centuries trying to wipe out any trace of magic, they had a concerning number of magical instruments in there. I'm guessing they were Andal relics from their war against the First Men, to target opposing magic users… Though a lot were geared towards targeting children with magic, plans that must have taken centuries to unfold."
The Rogue Prince growled at that, not out of some sort of self-righteousness but knowledge that the Hightowers were likely aiding them, that they were the threat that Daemon had counselled his brother about. Would they have tried to do the same for them, he wondered.
Still, he stood up, "We must be ready to act then."
The sorcerer waved his hand in dismissal, "As I said, they lost most of the dangerous things, and most of the order of Maester is largely ignorant of this. If I had to guess, members of their conclave are the only ones who really know. It doesn't really matter anyway, if things go according to plan, the Citadel will soon be on its last legs."
Ignoring the strange idiom, Daemon's eyes widened, "That is why you copied their books."
The smile on the sorcerer's face turned vicious, "The easiest way to get rid of a stranglehold on knowledge is to just spread it out. Your brother and uncle should take care of the rest."
Daemon frowned for a moment before realising that the uncle Potter spoke of was Vaegon Targaryen, the miserly Maester that his grandfather had sent to the Citadel just to get rid of. The prince had not seen Vaegon since the previous Great Council and had expected the man to have done something similar for this one. He remembered his father, Baelon, telling him of how unlikable the man was, but it seemed that some sort of familial loyalty finally remained, at least one that superseded the one he held for the Citadel.
Before he could ask more on the subject, the sorcerer spoke up, "That is dealt with. Our attention should focus on more important and pressing matters."
The sorcerer had not said what this matter was, aside from needing to speak with the Valyrian Gods. Balerion, Vhagar, Meraxes, Syrax, Onixa, Shrykos, Caraxes… and so much more. Many of their dragons were named after the deities, as a celebration of their origins and reminders of the might of Old Valyria. These were strong names, great and powerful, of creatures that their ancestors once worshipped. To his shame, Daemon knew very little of them, or the practices that were required by the faith of his ancestors, and yet, the sorcerer spoke of them as the First Ones, the Elder Dragons, who had somehow founded Valyria.
Daemon was not sure if the sorcerer truly wished to look for the gods of his ancestors, or if these 'Elder Dragons' were just big fucking dragons, but something primal inside him ached to see them, to gaze upon their inevitable majesty. He wondered if they could truly talk. After all, he knew that dragons were very intelligent; Caraxes certainly was, but the sorcerer seemed to assume that they would be able to speak with him.
With these thoughts, Daemon returned to his endless pile of Valyrian tomes with enthusiasm. He will admit that some of these were fascinating, including what felt like a journal that spoke quite critically of the council of Archons, and the rot of corruption that stopped the Freehold from progressing for centuries. From the looks of it, Valyria itself was in decline well before the Doom, with the only relatively recent improvement being Valyrian Steel.
It was only when the author spoke of his daughter, Daenys, dreaming of the death of Valyria, that he realised whose journal this was: "This belonged to Aenar Targaryen."
The sorcerer looked up and shrugged, "Probably…"
Daemon had never known that such a book existed in the first place, and Viserys would have long since boasted of the treasure in question. He did have a strange fascination with Daenys the Dreamer after he was declared to be The Conciliator's heir.
And so, he gave Potter an intense look, "Where did you get it from?"
"I borrowed it from Helaena. After the whole mess with the Shadowbinders, she decided to remove a lot of the contents of Visenya's vaults, since the hidden passages in the Red Keep were too dangerous after your wife destroyed most of them in her power trip. She thought it better not to leave them for some builders to find. Some of it was pretty interesting, especially a few practices involving Fire Magic. She's using it to train Rhaena. She's very talented, by the way, a natural, though I hope she won't be reckless in her use of magic. I suppose I could make her a focus of some kind to avoid her accidentally hurting herself, but I'd hate for her to rely on a crutch instead of learning things properly. What a conundrum…"
Daemon blinked at the answer. It was… simply… too much, starting with the fact that Visenya had a hidden vault that Helaena Targaryen had access to, or that his daughter was dabbling in magic.
He stared at the sorcerer for a long moment, silver hair falling into his eyes as his jaw tightened.
"My daughter," Daemon repeated slowly, dangerously. "Is practising magic."
Potter nodded absentmindedly, "Yes, Fire Magic. I was surprised to see her having unlocked it when I saw her today, especially now of all times. Magic should have been running free since the Others perished, so people with magic should have noticed a while back. My best theory is that the pulse of magic that was let out during the attack, in conjunction with the bracelet I gave her during our first meeting back on Dragonstone, lit a spark that ignited that part of her bloodline. If I remember correctly, I found that gem in a temple dedicated to Amaterasu, the Japanese sun goddess, so even if it's drained, small droplets would remain. Nevertheless, Helaena seemed to have this well in hand, so I wouldn't worry much."
Daemon was incensed by that answer, but was comforted by the fact that the sorcerer was not hiding his daughter's magic from him, as he had only begun to know of it today. If he believed his words, anyway, which Daemon did. After all, Harry Potter had no reason to lie, not about something like this. He still remembered their time in Harrenhal, where one of the greatest fortresses in the Seven Kingdoms was turned to rubble in seconds.
No, it was better for him to speak with Helaena Targaryen. Daemon had never been interested in the girl much, for he found her to be too meek to be the blood of the dragon, but it seemed that there was some kind of connection with the Potters that he did not know of, at least for the sorcerer to be speaking of her so casually.
Still, it was outrageous that a girl would know more of his family's hidden vaults of his own blood than he did, and more outrageous yet that she would dare guide his daughter upon dangerous magicks without so much as a word to him, magicks that had brought Valyria to its doom.
He would not have it. He would need to seek her out and remind her who Rhaena's father was, to stop her from involving herself in matters outside her concern. A mother she may be, Helaena Targaryen was also a girl, one who could easily be leading Rhaena to her doom, through foolishness or maliciousness. He should be the one to teach his daughter how to harness her gift, not this half-Andal girl, who barely knew of their birthright and rarely rode her dragon.
"Please don't," a voice broke him from his musings, the sorcerer's voice.
Daemon looked at him and saw the man's green eyes almost pierce through him, and he spoke with a serious voice, "Helaena Targaryen is off-limits."
The prince of the blood almost growled at that, "You would forbid me from speaking to my own kin about my own daughter?"
"I am not forbidding you from anything, Daemon."
"Then what are you saying, then, aside from the fact that I should let a girl with Andal blood with nary a drop of magic to teach my daughter something that could very well kill her?"
The sorcerer rolled his eyes, "No, what I am saying is that Helaena Targaryen has likely done more for your house than any living Targaryen. She used my teachings to the extreme, enough to give your son his throne. I would seriously recommend that you treat her with respect, at the very least, and perhaps even trust."
Daemon paused at that. Had the girl learned under Potter? How had he not known of this? This changed much indeed. He wished to say something… anything… the words would not come to him. The sorcerer obviously knew this, given the amused glint in his eyes, "Return to your research, Daemon. We have distracted ourselves for long enough, and you've been pretty useless so far."
"Useless?" the Rogue Prince growled, "Useless is asking the greatest living Dragonrider in the world, and one of the deadliest warriors in the realm, to waste his time around books, looking for something as abstract as 'a place that Ancient Dragonlords want to conquer'. This would be as pointless as an expedition to Sothoryos."
For the first time since Daemon entered the library, the sorcerer did make a clever retort. In fact, he looked almost frozen before exclaiming, "I am such an idiot."
He then raised his hands, and a giant map of the known world began to unfold itself before them. The man started to wave his hands, and dozens of glowing symbols started to appear above the map. Curious, Daemon asked, "What is it?"
"Given the expansion of the Valyrian Freehold, I assumed that what we're looking for was in Essos. I completely forgot about Sothoryos. I remember reading somewhere that the Valyrians had tried many times to arrange for a presence there. Given how toxic that place was, no one should have tried, not multiple times, unless…"
Daemon nodded, "Unless there was something of interest there. It matters not, even then. The best the Freehold managed to achieve was set up colonies in some of the Basilisk Isles, and even then, they didn't last for long."
The sorcerer hummed, and the map suddenly grew, enough to only show the Basilisk Isles alone and the northern coast of Sothoryos. Suddenly, the isles themselves started to grow, as if they existed before him. He snapped his finger, and a small golden glow appeared, slowly spreading inside the map, as if it was looking for something.
Whatever it was looking for, it seemed that it found it, given the triumphant look on Potter's face, "I was right… It is somewhere here…"
Suddenly, something occurred. Daemon had first thought to be a great gust of wind, though no window stood open and no door had stirred. The candles flickered all at once, and a chilling cold passed through the chamber.
Then the map itself shuddered. From the miniature rendering of Sothoryos rose a thin shadow. It was no thicker than smoke at first, yet it grew, coiling as if it were a serpent, and with every move it made, the map itself dimmed and rotted in a way that Daemon found hard to describe. It was as if the magic itself was being warped by it.
The shadow surged, and for a moment, Daemon was afraid. He did not know what it was, only that he should be wary of it as much as he could, and he thought that it would have been defeated if it weren't for the sudden pulse of light, as a glowing white dove appeared, pushing it back for but a moment.
The shadow was obviously caught off-guard, given the way that it recoiled, being sent back to the depths of the map of Sothoryos, in a part that even Potter's magic map could not perceive, and finally, the sorcerer closed his fist, and the map closed itself and disappeared, quickly followed by the glowing bird.
The candles flared once more, and everything returned to normal, as if the world had sighed in relief. Daemon realised only then that his hand had gone to Dark Sister.
"What," he asked quietly, "was that?"
"I do not know for sure," the sorcerer answered in the least reassuring way possible, and his eyes seemed utterly and completely serious, "It is rather telling, however. I have confirmed what I needed. The trace of the Elder Dragons is nearby. It's only being hidden by that… thing. I'll need to go there to find it."
Daemon gave the man an incredulous look, "You would continue with this foolishness. I know not what this was, but it devoured your magic."
"Don't worry, I have a friend in the area. At least, I hope that he's a friend… We didn't exactly speak for long."
The Rogue Prince groaned in exasperation. He did not know why he felt like he had to do this, only that he did. The sorcerer did not need him, for he was certainly powerful and mighty enough, but Daemon felt the debt that he owed the man, the many of them, almost push him to open his mouth, "I will come with you."
Any amusement on the sorcerer's face fled the moment that Daemon finished uttering this sentence, "I will not be able to guarantee your protection, not there. You've seen what we would face there."
Daemon grunted, though he inwardly cursed his impulsiveness and need for action, "You are seeking the Valyrian Gods, the gods of my ancestors. It would not do for you not to have a child of Valyria with you in your quest."
The sorcerer rolled his eyes, "Very well."
He then raised his hands, "I'll need to focus a bit with this. There are still small chaotic remnants from the interference, and I'll need to make this as smooth as possible just in case."
The sorcerer raised his hands, and slowly, a circular doorway of magic appeared. As the circle widened, the scent of salt spread across the library, beyond the threshold was pale sand, and a beautiful beach.
Potter lowered his hand and said, "After you."
Despite the knowledge that it was likely quite foolish, Daemon felt excitement brimming in his blood and stepped through the threshold, smiling faintly at the feeling of the warm sun on his face.
He turned towards the sorcerer and asked, "Where are we?"
"The Island of Naath," Harry replied as he stepped through after him. "Safer than most of the Basilisk Isles. And closer to where we need to be. I have to say that it's nice to be back here. Oh, and don't worry about the butterflies. You shall not be harmed, not by them, while you are here as my guest."
Before Daemon could question that further, he heard a shout behind him as the magical doorway started to close, with a figure all but jumping through it as it closed.
The figure jumped into the sand, landing face-first, just as the doorway closed with a hiss. Daemon's hand flew to Dark Sister, blade half-drawn before his mind could catch up with his body. However, the sorcerer seemed more amused than anything by it, "Well, isn't that interesting?"
Interesting was the least of it, for Daemon's wide eyes met the lone one belonging to his nephew. He sheathed his sword and gave the boy a pointed look, "What is it that you are doing here, Aemond Targaryen?"
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The History of Magical Focuses in the Seven Kingdoms
By Archmaester Aemon of King's Landing
In the past century alone, the Higher Mysteries flourished in a way that was unlike anything that came before it. The gradual strengthening of the magical arts, starting from the Second Doom of Valyria, before stabilising decades later, had rendered magic users as great assets to the world. It saddens me that Westeros had lagged behind much of Essos when it came to these arts, likely due to the pushback of the Faith of the Seven and the Old Citadel, which now history shows to be a great mistake, for the Faith, though still present, is now but a shadow of what it once was, and the Citadel of Oldtown is no more.
Today, many a commoner wishes for their son or daughter to show a sign of magic, for meagre as it might be, it is now the easiest way one might rise in station, with the best way before it was to be a Hedge Knight and hope to bring glory in a tourney or in war. Of course, many fail to do so, for becoming competent with magic often requires a sponsorship to the Citadel to further their studies, as to learn on one's own would be akin to swinging a sword without a hilt. As such, the Lords of the Realm have learned the value of having competent magic users at their side, and in such a time where magic is treasured, the idea of artefacts capable of increasing one's magic, a magical focus, is something that many have salivated over.
The truth is that most magical artefacts are, in fact, magical focuses from an academic standpoint. Magic is the structured form of the energies of the world, which tend to be wild. Much of a mage's skill comes from taming this wildness and bringing it into order, and should an artefact of some power achieve this, it would allow its user much more liberties with the rest of their power. Given this definition, any magical item would be, by definition, a magical focus.
Taking a more specific and more common example, Glass are, fundamentally, a magical focuses which allow the users to focus on a single array of spells that would allow for various methods of divination.
In my time as a prince, before I joined the illustrious ranks of the Citadel, I had the privilege of witnessing more magical items than most, given their rarity and price. The art of enchantment remains in infancy, and successful enchanters are worth their weight in gold. Even then, most of their outcomes rarely ever compare to the artefacts of old, the ones predating the first Doom of Valyria, for they are often nought more than magical trinkets.
The most successful recent magical item would be the infamous hammer, Stormbringer, gifted to House Baratheon by House Stark of Moat Cailin, which increased the strength of each blow, while also allowing it to be coated with small flickers of lightning. This was seemingly an enhancement to House Baratheon's magic, said to be a gift of the Storm God himself to their line, though it was often mocked because of their inability to do nought but conjure a few sparks at most. This hammer amplified this magic enough to be more than a feeble trick, though not enough to compare to the greater feats of magic that other houses boast of.
This hammer was the result of improvement from the North with the supposed use of First Men Runes in the crafting of artefacts. Alas, the Northern Kingdom remains somewhat closed off regarding its magical innovations, and I, myself, was barely able to glance at this during a visit in my youth to Storm's End, where I saw the hammer in action in the hands of Lyonel Baratheon.
Nevertheless, the great dissonance between magical artefacts that preceded and succeeded the Doom of Valyria remains clear. Many had attempted to recreate the magical feats, having found supposed tomes in their expeditions to the ruins of Valyria or elsewhere, but most had ended in nought but ruin, as most called for some sort of sacrifice of slaves. It is said that Yunkai had lost most of its mages in an accident where they hoped to recreate the Valyrian chains that would make their slaves obey their masters, only for it to utterly destabilise.
This follows many trends of magicks that involve the soul, for such rituals and practices have proven to be false with disastrous results, with the more prevalent theory being that they had been traps laid by the Valyrians for their enemy, trying to rely on their greed.
To my knowledge, one of the most powerful magical focuses in existence was a bracelet that belonged to Princess Rhaena Targaryen, the first Fire Mage, which had allowed its wielder great power and control over their Fire Magic, hence many of the woman's feats in the annals of history. The bracelet itself is often considered to be nothing but a legend, of which I have never personally seen its existence, but I have read many reports of it in various journals belonging to my ancestors.
The Sorcerer of Dragonstone is, of course, a mythical figure of a sort, one of many that rose during the Resurgence of Magic after the Second Doom of Valyria, and one whose existence was never confirmed, especially given the tales of his great power.
Alas, myths are not our topic of discussion, though it is an interesting one. For it is that of magical focuses. I am sure that as a reader, you were surprised by my definition of what a magical focus was, and how it contrasted with the common thought of an artefact that would allow any magic to become stronger.
Such a theoretical artefact is called a perfect magical focus by most scholars, and it is often considered to be nought but an impossibility. Giving magic structure deprives it of its chaos, hence reducing its flexibility in exchange for casting certain spells more easily. Of course, that does not mean that a perfect magical focus is not considered, for it is considered the epitome of enchanting, a goal that every enchanter would strive to emulate in some way, and this obsession is why the field has grown massively in Westeros.
It did help that an example of a perfect magical focus is said to exist, at least in theory, in the form of the legendary sword, Ice, which belongs to House Stark.
The Lords of the North had not allowed any mage to study the artefact that dated from the Age of Heroes itself, but some of the tales of Cregan Stark's feats during the Darkest Day lend credence towards such a definition, showing a diverse use of magic based on his sword, which somewhat encapsulates the definition of a perfect focus.
Some had attributed it to the strange material that it was made of, and had thus made inquiries to House Dayne regarding their ancestral weapon, Dawn, which is said to be forged from a fallen star, but the house in question had refused such a thing as well, though reports claim that they are researching the material privately.
In the end, whether such a perfect focus is truly possible remains a matter of fierce debate within the halls of learning in every Citadel, for every breakthrough in enchantment seems to reveal yet another limitation hidden beneath it, and though no artefact has yet achieved the elusive ideal of universally amplifying all forms of magic without distortion, the field of Enchantment advances nonetheless with the tantalising possibility that such a creation may one day move from legend into learned craft.
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AN: I'm not really sure about this chapter. The idea was to portray a bit of Daemon as a human, as well as make him lose his mind with a few things that Harry would casually make. I had my doubts about Aemond being there, but I thought that it would be nice to have him there, especially with Daemon also being involved. Don't worry, his presence will be explained a bit more in the next chapter. I'm sort of excited about the next chapter. As usual, so please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
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I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions on them, so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.
Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.