The building that the conclave of magisters resided in was one of the few structures in Lys which was fully enclosed with walls and windows. Most other properties in the Free City were full of open spaces in order to take full advantage of the cool sea breeze to combat the usual sunny climate.
For this meeting, however, privacy was important. And the magisters needed as much of it as possible. After all, they had just received a very troubling letter from across the Narrow Sea.
A few words written on a piece of paper was enough to put them on edge after all the troubling rumors that they have been receiving from Westeros.
"Rhaegal Targaryen is coming here? Why?"
"The letter does not say. How should I know?"
"Does he already suspect our involvement in the Stepstones?"
"You fool. Who do you think is leading our fleet in the Stepstones? Samarro Saan might be a man past his prime now, but his allegiance to us is well known to all."
"Did I not warn you all not to make use of that man? He threatened to bring ruin to this city once and rule as king!"
"Tyrosh and Myr agreed, did they not?"
"Yeah, because it suited them!"
"It was a calculated wager. The man has more experience than any other captain alive. What would you have us do? He commands a great deal of men. While you were all happy to keep trading with the Westerosi, they continued to stuff their pockets with our coins!"
"And what would you have done!? Would you have preferred to go into financial ruin just so that we wouldn't starve!?"
"That's right! Myr and Tyrosh left us no choice! Those imbeciles would have taken all of our profits if we let them push us around!"
"In trying to contain a couple of unruly sharks, you've instead invited a dragon to our doorstep! How is that supposed to be a solution?"
"It's only been four years. Can those beasts truly be as big as the rumors say? I doubt it very much. The Targaryen king must be lying to save face."
"What does that matter? Are you going to lead us down another ruinous path, you fool?"
"This conclave approved all measures that have been taken up to this point! Do not pin the blame on me. I will not have it!"
Voices were raised. Cups were thrown. Wine was spilled.
It was chaos.
It was the true nature of politics.
It took one man sitting at the head of the massive round table to raise his hand for all the chaos to finally stop.
"Enough. All of you." He did not shout. He did not have to. Despite his young age in comparison to the rest of the men sitting in this room, his powerful voice was enough to silence them all. "I was not elected to lead this conclave only to see us brought to ruin by one Targaryen prince."
Someone scoffed. "Don't act so tough, Varo. You might be the wealthiest among us, but what difference does that make when dealing with a dragon? It's just more for it to burn!"
The now named Varo sat comfortably in his chair with his hands resting on his lap. His silver-gold hair was well combed. His pale blue eyes seemed intense in the dark room which only had the hearth as its source of light as all the windows were closed and covered. He wore a flashing silver robe with dagged sleeves which almost pooled down to the floor. His fingers were covered in all manners of rings, from gold to silver.
"I remember a time when Lys did not bow to dragons," Varo said softly as he studied the men seated before him. "Were you not all the same men who decided to accept Myr and Tyrosh's offer to drive off the Targaryens and their precious trading fleets from the Narrow Sea? Where is that commitment now?"
One of the magisters scowled. "That was before the dragons set their sights upon us. Why not Tyrosh? They must have sold us out!"
There were murmurs of agreement from the others as they sought to pin the blame on their so-called ally. They were desperate for an answer that could explain Rhaegal Targaryen's sudden interest in visiting their city.
Varo gestured to the letter which rested on the table in front of him.
"Did we not all read the same letter? Rhaegal Targaryen makes no mention of an attack. He merely wishes to speak business with us."
"What do you think that means? He obviously wants us to lower our guard and invite him with open arms. Then who knows what will happen!"
Varo tilted his head in the magister's direction. "True enough. This might be a trap. But you know the rumors just as I do. Rhaegal Targaryen is said to ride a beast of black and green. One that is big already big enough to fly into battle. We all remember the arrogance of the Targaryens. With such a beast at his disposal, do you believe he would stoop to such a deceptive tactic?"
The Targaryens were nothing more than arrogant fools who thought to cloak themselves as the heirs to Valyria. Nothing could be further from the truth. The Targaryens had been nothing more than lucky upstarts who managed to claim some small token of power during the days of the Freehold. They had been the laughingstock of the forty dragonriding families. It was for that reason that they had lost their dragons once. More than that, they had lost other countless treasures throughout the centuries as they tried to cling to their power.
Varo had spent a long time and a lot of his own wealth searching for any Valyrian relic that was worth his attention. During that time, he had come across two objects of great importance for this moment: a crown of yellow-gold ornamented with seven gemstones of different colors and a second crown, heavier and made of Valyrian steel with a set of large square-cut rubies as ornaments.
Two crowns. Two different images. Two different messages.
In those crowns, Varo saw the Targaryens for what they were: failures.
Varo saw no reason to fear them. After all, had Lys not once managed to stand up against Daemon Targaryen and his dragon? Had Lys not managed to strike a heavy blow to the foolish Rhaenyra Targaryen during the Dance of the Dragons? And this was back when the Targaryens held more power. Now? They had been weakened after so many years of infighting and losing their dragons.
Still, Varo was not about to wholly underestimate the upstarts. He had not managed to build up his fortune and rise to the position of First Magister by letting down his guard needlessly. Aside from the dragons, there were other troubling rumors coming from King's Landing. The whispers of dragonstone was what weighed on Varo's mind the most. That, and after so many years, neither Lys nor Tyrosh or Myr had been able to hold a strong position in the Stepstones as their ships were repelled time after time. The only stronghold they had on those damned islands was Samarro Saan's pirate hideout which he so affectionately called the Dark Den. It was hidden in one of the southern islands closer to Dorne and by extension Lys. Meanwhile, the Westerosi held dominion over the rest of the islands, most prominently Bloodstone.
And yet, to Varo the fact that the Targaryens hadn't used any of their dragons in their campaign to root out the "pirates" said enough.
The dragons could not be as big as the rumors made them out to be. Otherwise, Samarro and his pirates would have been reduced to ash already.
'It will not stay that way forever.'
Dragons grew. Eventually, they would come for the islands. Varo knew that could not be allowed to happen. Worse, Braavos was becoming a little too friendly with the Targaryens as of late, to the point that the Targaryens purchased several of their ships to serve in their growing fleet.
Then there was also the talks of magic. It was here that Varo was the most uncertain. He knew little about magic. He could not even begin to imagine how the Targaryens had been able to bring life back to the dragon eggs which were said to be dead. If there was anything to be wary of, then it was the prince's magic.
Honestly, it was one problem after another. Thankfully Rhaegal Targaryen was still but a man. He was no divine figure. He might be strong with his magic, but he could still be killed like any other man.
"We shall greet this Targaryen prince warmly," Varo said at last, his tone final. "He is no different from all the rest."
In the end, Rhaegal Targaryen would suspect nothing until it was much too late.
---
A sense of calmness fell over the city of King's Landing. This calmness was nothing but an illusion as it shrouded the growing unease festering beneath the surface.
It had not been long since the smallfolk saw the three dragons of Rhaegal, Shaena, and Rhaegar fly out of the city. It was a sight that they were growing more and more accustomed to, to the point that it was now their new "normal." When they saw the three dragons flying over the city, the smallfolk cheered from the streets as they bore witness to the power of the royal family who had treated them with great care.
It was because of this appreciation that many now sought the guidance of the god that their king and crown prince seemed to follow: the Lord of Light. To many of the smallfolk, paying their respect to this god only made sense, as the god had brought prosperity to the king and therefore the city.
Thankfully they had a proper temple to go to in order to properly express their appreciation.
Since the construction and expansion began throughout the city, there was now just not the Great Sept of Baelor and the many smaller septs of the Faith, but a temple to the Lord of Light had also been constructed and opened to the smallfolk in the city. It rested prominently on the Hook, the large and curved thoroughfare which connected the River Gate to Aegon's Hill.
The temple to the Lord of Light was less grand when compared to the Great Sept of Baelor. For one thing, it was not as tall as the Great Sept. Most did not care. The temple was built of both dragonstone and regular marble, with the marble having been painted in red and gold to illustrate the fire and light of the god that was venerated here. The most prominent feature of the red temple was its lone tower which doubled as a lighthouse with a massive brazier housed inside. The fire had been burning since the temple was first opened. The same was true for the fires which lined up the steps leading to the entrance of the temple, which served as great markers to light up the area at night.
The red temple was always being tended to by several red priests and priestesses. Since its foundation, the temple was always seeing visitors from the smallfolk who were either willing to convert to the foreign religion or merely give their thanks to the Lord of Light for blessing the king and his family. The red priests accepted all with open arms, their tone warm and hospitable. They offered a sense of tranquility that many had not been able to find in any sept.
Now, many turned their backs on the septs and the Faith altogether, becoming proud followers of the Lord of Light and his teachings.
It was a reality that the High Septon was forced to watch from within his Great Sept. Day after day, he bore witness to more of the faithful losing their belief in the one true divine and seeking false comfort in the arms of foreigners and heretics.
It was maddening.
He was not alone in feeling this way. While his frustration stemmed from losing his prestige and influence, his fellow septons and septas throughout the city who were honest with their faith also shared in his discontent for their own reasons. They would hold these foreigners with contempt every time they saw them, not bothering to mask their disdain. These septons and septas would often pray to the Seven for the abomination of a temple to be struck down. Most of all, they prayed for the souls who were being misguided.
The fat High Septon was forced to listen to the complaints of his fellow righteous as they came to him every day, demanding answers. They would invade his private quarters in the Great Sept to demand something be done about the red temple and the red priests. Worse for the High Septon, it was not just the faithful in the city who had something to say about all of this. Many ravens were arriving from the Reach every day from more septons expressing their disbelief and worries about Lord Tyrell allowing a red temple to be built in Highgarden as well. Now, it stood in opposition to the beautiful castle sept which was one of the most grand and beautiful septs in all of the Seven Kingdoms.
The High Septon bemoaned the entire situation. Why did he have to be the one to be dealing with this nonsense? True enough, these red priests had always held sway with certain fringe communities in some of the port cities and towns in Westeros, but this was different. Their reach was spreading at the expense of the Faith, something which could not be tolerated.
But why did he have to do something!?
Just what did the septons think he could do about this situation? He had already tried to reason with Aerys. But the king had little to say other than to publicly acknowledge this foreign god, rejecting the Seven.
Aerys did not mince his words. It was heresy of the grandest order, but the king proclaimed that the Targaryens had always been different from the rest of the realm. They were not Andals. They were of fire, and as such as this evil Lord of Light represented them more than the Seven ever could. That it was for that purpose, because they were unique, that the house of the dragon existed under the Doctrine of Exceptionalism. In other words, the royal family could not be judged by the same standards as everyone else.
It was heresy on top of heresy. The High Septon dared not repeat the words of the king to the Most Devout who resided in the city. The High Septon could only imagine the consequences it would have if the highest ranking clergy of the Faith began to see the king and the royal family as their enemy. Tensions were already high as some of the Most Devout began to question whether it was fair to decry the begging brothers who were still speaking out against Prince Rhaegal in the Vale, Riverlands, and the Reach. They wondered if the crown prince had allowed himself to be bewitched and was now acting against the Faith with his acceptance of a red priestess into his inner circle. Then there was also his magic, another contentious topic for the Faith to navigate.
Once upon a time, the Faith had tried to cloak Prince Rhaegal as being blessed by the Seven. The Faith could see how much the smallfolk of the city and the Crownlands had come to adore and respect Rhaegal. Now, opinions within the Faith were mixed, and two factions were slowly but surely taking form within the Most Devout and the Faith as a whole.
These mixed opinions only got stronger when word reached them of Rhaegal's duel against Robert Baratheon, in which the crown prince had used magic to strike down the former Baratheon heir, thereby desecrating the sacred ritual of the trial.
Many were saying that it was proof that Prince Rhaegal did not care for their faith and their traditions.
The High Septon could only imagine what the poor fellows were making of this. If they had not heard of it yet, then they soon would. After all, it would not take long for word to spread to the villages which dotted the Riverlands and the Vale about the tourney as gossip spread. If this was enough to cause these poor brothers to take direct action against the prince, then the High Septon feared for his life. He was trapped within a city which housed dragons. Fleeing the city right now without good reason would only cause suspicion, especially since he did not know whether something was going to happen or not.
The High Septon almost fainted on the spot as he recalled the stories of Maegor the Cruel burning down the Sept of Remembrance with the monstrous flames of the Black Dread. As fate would have it, Prince Rhaegal also rode a black dragon.
Was this a sign of what was to come? Of another Targaryen going mad?
The High Septon did not have an answer. He was just scared, plain and simple.
But that was the heart of the matter, wasn't it? Many in the Faith were just scared. They did not want to say it, but it was obvious. Many changes were taking place in the realm, one after the other with little time to breathe, and most did not know how to adapt. They feared for a future which was no longer predictable and thus safe. They were scared of the possibility of this foreign religion stealing the hearts and minds of the smallfolk and the lords.
What was to become of the Faith then?
The most problematic letter the High Septon received came from the Most Devout of the Starry Sept. The letter was brief, but it held a blunt question.
"What is to be done about the prince?"
The High Septon did not need to be a genius to understand where the man's mind was at. All of this began and ended with Rhaegal Targaryen.
But what could be done?
The Faith was powerless in a direct confrontation against the Targaryens, and the High Septon dared not walk down that path again. He enjoyed his current lifestyle too much for that. Wine, food, and girls. Everything he could desire was at his disposal. Why did he have to do anything that risked that when it was unnecessary?
'King Aerys is still healthy. And Prince Rhaegal is following in his footsteps.'
This father and son duo were more alike than people realized, but that fact only brought more headaches for the High Septon as he thought about the future to come.
For now, he knew that he had to hold his faith. He had to stand firm against all those who would dare act upon a reckless sense of belief. Once that line was crossed, it could not be taken back. His easygoing life depended on it.
Unfortunately for the High Septon, in the coming moons, the situation would go from bad to worse as the realm received news of Rhaegal's upcoming marriage.
There were to be two future queens in Westeros once more.
This fact would be the breaking point for many, and soon he would lose complete control of his own followers.
---
There had not been this many active people on Dragonstone since the days of the Conquest. Filled with dragonkeepers, alchemists and pyromancers, red priests, knights from the Dragonguard, and other servants, rare were the times when the fortress was not overflowing with noise and movement.
Rhaegal took some amount of pride in all of this as he headed to his private chambers. Dragonstone was now regaining its importance after being neglected for so long. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
Shaena had gone off with their Uncle Aemon to take a look at the scrolls that were to be hers for the next few years. She was unable to restrain herself any longer. She wanted to know more about the magic that was to be hers. Before they went their separate ways, Shaena also told him that she had another request to make of him.
If not for Aemon's presence, Rhaegal would not have let her go off on her own. But he trusted the man to make sure that she did not take things too far until Melisandre arrived.
For now, Rhaegal focused his attention on the first of his meetings. Even though he already knew that his chambers were occupied, he still found himself irked as he stepped into the room and found a grinning Malora sprawled over his bed. She wore a set of loose white robes which did a poor job of hiding her figure. The sheets were a mess, an obvious sign that she had been using his bed. Again.
"You know, I had a room prepared just for you for a reason," Rhaegal said as he closed the door behind him. He was not interested in having a servant stumbling in and misunderstanding the situation.
Malora kept her grin as she trailed a finger up her body which Rhaegal pointedly ignored.
"But where's the fun in that? Besides, it's more comfortable in here."
Rhaegal glanced to the other side of the room. Malora's glass candle still burned from its position on top of a small round table.
This madwoman had been using his room the entire time she had been here, hadn't she?
"No one has seen me," she reassured him as she sat up on the bed, giggling. "Only your uncle and Qyburn know that I'm here. They bring me food when I need it."
"My room is not a cave for you to hide in."
Malora shrugged. "It's better than accidentally running into your sister. What would she say if she knew that you and I were lovers already? I would be dead by the hour! I don't have Ashara's luck."
Rhaegal didn't bother to dignify that with a response. Instead, he walked closer to the bed as he removed Brightflame from his side and placed it next to the bed.
"Did you find what we were looking for?"
Malora pouted. "Business already? That's no fun."
"Shaena will be staying here from now on, you know. She might walk in at any time."
Malora froze before she glared at him. The glare had no real heat behind it, but it was obvious that the Mad Maid was displeased.
"Must you remind me of that?"
Malora had gone out of her way to avoid meeting Shaena one-on-one. She often joked about his sister burning her with Azurax if they ever met alone, but her actions proved that deep down she believed this to be true, that Shaena would have her killed if she knew about her desires.
Well, apart from that, Malora also liked to keep her privacy.
Even though her mind was supposedly more clear and focused now than when they first met, the Hightower woman still preferred to remain isolated, only engaging in conversation with a select few in Rhaegal's inner circle. These select few were mostly Melisandre and Qyburn, and that was only when it was absolutely necessary. She was essentially a recluse by this point.
If Rhaegal did not know any better, than he would think that Malora simply disliked most people. She was not sociable at all. She behaved differently when she had to appear in front of other people, only lowering her guard when Rhaegal was around.
It would be touching if it were not so annoying.
Rhaegal didn't have time to entertain her right now, however.
"Did you find what we were looking for?" he asked her again.
Pouting again, Malora crossed her arms as she made her way to the edge of the bed.
"The results have been mixed."
Rhaegal raised an eyebrow at the answer.
"Explain."
Beaming, Malora answered, "The Stepstones have been fully mapped. I already made a copy for you to take once Monford arrives." She then hesitated for a moment as she pouted yet again. "The Golden Company on the other hand has been a pain. They are constantly on the move, as I'm sure you know. But they're also famous enough that any time they accept a new contract pretty much everyone knows about it. Using our dear red friends in Essos, I've been able to track down their general location. They're in the Disputed Lands again. Apparently Volantis launched a short offensive against Tyrosh and Myr, and they were hired to repel the invasion. Skirmishes have broken out all over the region."
"I thought the trade war was over."
"Mhmm. That's the fun part! Volantis is not taking claim for the attacks, at least not yet, but it seems like they're using the incursions in the Stepstones as a means to push Tyrosh and Myr back. The Velaryons have sunk so many of their ships these past four years. I'm sure the Free Cities must be feeling the strain by now."
They were certainly being more cautious than Rhaegal anticipated. He was certain that Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys would have dropped the act by this point. Did they really think that he wouldn't have realized what they were up to by now?
'I'm being looked down on.'
Rhaegal hated that.
But it did present him with an opportunity.
"Trying to locate their exact location has been more trouble than I expected." Malora nursed her temple as she grimaced. "The farther it gets, the more tired I become."
Her expertise with the glass candles had gotten better than before, but it seemed as if she still had her limits. Rhaegal wondered why that was. After all, the Disputed Lands were no farther than the North was from here. Was there another reason for this limitation that he was not thinking of?
'And yet, that masked woman is able to see and hear all from where she is….'
And that woman was much farther away, if his and Melisandre's estimate was correct.
How interesting.
"There is one other thing. I'm quite sure our red woman didn't tell you because you were stuck dealing with your love escapade, but I'm positive you'll be happy to hear of it."
Rhaegal looked at Malora again. "What is it?"
She flashed him a dazzling smile.
"Qarth burns."
---
Rhaegal was used to the terrible smell which permeated from the lower levels of the fortress. He had visited the dungeons of Dragonstone only a handful of times before Qyburn decided to make the place his own personal space in the last few years. Now, he was intimately familiar with the many passageways and tunnels which made up the lower levels.
Qyburn had officially accommodated one of the bigger dungeons as his main space. If it were not for the need to bathe and eat, Rhaegal suspected that the man might never come out of there. Qyburn was perhaps an even bigger workaholic than Rhaegal was.
'Or perhaps he is just a fanatic.'
It was hard to say, but the results spoke of themselves.
At least there was someone to keep Qyburn company now.
"-similar results. I suspect we're missing a vital core."
"Can the magic be harnessed in such a way? To be fused and condensed in such a manner?"
"There has to be. The scrolls in the secret vault made no mention of it, but I'm certain there is an easier way that has been lost due to time. Do the red priests not speak of thousands of the undead? How could they all be resurrected at once if not for a standardized method? I'm sure their prayers are just a watered down version of a stronger magic that they no longer have access to."
As Rhaegal walked closer to the main dungeon where Qyburn spent most of his time, he heard the voices of the man in question as well as Marwyn's. Since pledging himself to Rhaegal's banner, the archmaester known as "the Mage" had permanently relocated to Dragonstone to work alongside Qyburn and Rhaegal. The man said it would be beneficial for his own studies into magic.
Rhaegal did not flinch as he stepped into the dungeon which was filled with corpses that had been dissected like common animals. His nose was personally offended by the smell that directly assaulted it, but he ignored it.
Qyburn and Marwyn were hunched over a table. A corpse had been thrown on top of it with its head cut in half. Rhaegal did not know what the two men found so fascinating, and he did not bother to ask. He already knew what Qyburn was working on.
The bodies that were being used as Qyburn's test subjects did not come from Westeros. To Rhaegal, the people on the continent were all his subjects. Unless given a reason, he would not act out against them. It was the opposite. As they were his, it was his duty to ensure their well being. This was why he would never allow such experiments to be conducted on them.
The same did not apply to the pirates and sellswords currently fighting in the Stepstones. They were from Essos. They were foreigners. They were not his subjects. Rhaegal had no qualms about using them in this way.
Without realizing it, the Free Cities were fueling Qyburn's research into a very important topic: could he reanimate the dead similar to how the red priests did it?
It was time for some background information.
It was not something that Rhaegal had thought about since it first occurred two years ago. It happened here on Dragonstone. Many of the smallfolk living on the island had proudly converted to the religion of R'hllor. They did it to honor Rhaegal and his magical abilities even though Rhaegal himself had never asked them to.
What mattered was that two years ago, after converting to the new religion, one of the smallfolk passed away in his sleep. He died peacefully. His family claimed that since the man had converted to the Lord of Light, he should be buried in the funeral prayers of the religion rather than under the banner of the Faith.
It was to be the first funeral on the island which was carried out by the red priests. To many, it was a historic moment.
Rhaegal felt more apathetic about the entire situation, but he allowed the family to have their wish. It was all the same to him.
By the end of the ceremony, after the prayers were given, Rhaegal bore witness to a more momentous occasion which did raise his interest: the man was reborn….in a sense. During the funeral, the red priests typically performed something called the Last Kiss, where they breathe into the mouth of the deceased while praying. As result of this blessing, the man unexpectedly returned to the land of the living.
It was difficult to describe what the man was reborn as. He could speak just fine. He was still warm to the touch. However, his eyes were dull. His movements were all dull as if it was difficult for him just to be here. It was obvious that he was not fully "alive" in a sense just by the way he moved and acted.
Thanks to the isolation of Dragonstone, this incident was easy to cover up. No one outside of the island knew that this had happened. Not even Rhaegal's parents knew, and he was happy to keep it that way for now. This was new territory as even the red priests were caught off guard by this phenomenon.
That surprise gave way to a more fanatical belief in their god. Melisandre in particular had become convinced that R'hllor was showing his favor to Rhaegal and his cause by granting this blessing to him and his followers.
"He's bestowing another gift on you," she declared with joy.
Rhaegal was not so easily convinced by such an easy explanation. According to Melisandre, these prayers and rituals were offered all the time in Essos. And yet nothing like this had been reported to have taken place anywhere on the eastern continent. Rhaegal was already eighteen. If it was because magic was being strengthened by his birth and the birth of the dragons, then why was Essos not experiencing such a boon?
No, something else was at play here.
Qyburn and Marwyn were of similar mind as him and were eager to study this development. Since then, a few other funerals had taken place, allowing them to study the ritual for themselves. Now, Qyburn sought a method to duplicate the process on a much grander scale. As he called it, it would be a combination of "magic and reason." It was to be his greatest work. As such, he toiled day and night with his vivisection of the many prisoners that Rhaegal provided him with. He was even using some of the flesh mending techniques found in the Valyrian scrolls to aid in his research.
Rhaegal wanted to get to the bottom of this for his own reasons. Melisandre spoke of the servants who worked for the "one whose name may not be spoken." If he was able to create his own army of these so-called "fire wights," it would be beneficial to not only his affairs in the North but in any other conflict in the future.
It was a dangerous line to tread, however. Rhaegal was not blind to the dangers that these "fire wights" posed if they ever got out of control. So far, the ones who had been reanimated by the red priests maintained their personalities while following a shared directive to be of use to Rhaegal. When asked why this was, they could not explain, not fully. The best way they could describe it was as if they could hear a voice whispering to them every time they closed their eyes, telling them what they needed to do.
Rhaegal had pondered on this for a while. It was more proof that R'hllor or something by that name was actively making moves to aid him. It was still a puzzle without a full answer. Rhaegal could understand some of the motivation. R'hllor's influence was quickly spreading through Westeros. At this point, the faith of the smallfolk was beyond his control. At least in the Crownlands, many were already claiming that he was divinely inspired.
'And they might be right.'
Rhaegal did not care for religion. He did not care for any god, if they truly did exist. However, he would be intentionally oblivious to ignore the strange machinations of his birth. Clearly something was acting on his behalf.
This was the one matter where Rhaegal was truly blind, and it disturbed him.
And yet, Rhaegal pushed onward all the same. Regardless of whether a god was truly on his side or not, it made little difference to his goals.
"Oh, my prince. Welcome, welcome. Forgive me for not greeting you sooner." Qyburn's voice was pleasant as he finally realized that Rhaegal was in the room. His robes were stained with blood as were his hands, neither of which seemed to trouble the man. His comforting voice was a heavy contrast to what he was doing and how he looked on a daily basis. Rhaegal was certain that the sellswords and pirates who were turned over to him had come to fear the maester. Marwyn had even come to affectionately dub Qyburn as the "Bloody Maester."
"Prince Rhaegal! You have returned." Marwyn seemed just as happy to see him. "I hope everything went well for you."
"As well as you can imagine." Rhaegal did not want to think about Robert's idiocy right now. "I see that you two have been busy."
"It's a slow process, my prince," the bloodied Qyburn said as he walked over to another table where a bucket filled with water was kept. There, he began to wash the blood off his hands. "I believe I have been able to find a proper process to reanimate my own dead, but that's different from these fire wights."
"Yes." Marwyn cupped his chin in thought. "These 'flesh golems.' To find a way to strengthen them. It would be most useful."
"I believe the final link might be your own magic, my prince," Qyburn said as he began to dry his hands on a piece of cloth. "However, that would go against what we are trying to do here. To make the process easier where thousands can be reanimated at once…."
Yes. Rhaegal could not be everywhere at once.
"We must continue to find a method."
Rhaegal was not in a rush. These fire wights were not something that he had ever accounted for when he had drawn up his plans. If these experiments worked, then great. If not, it would not be a loss to him. Although it would be a shame not to see the expressions of fear and anger on the magisters when the Free Cities realized that Rhaegal had turned their own men against them.
Sadly, you couldn't win them all sometimes.
---
Aemon Targaryen could not imagine the last time he had been as happy and content as he was these days.
It had been such a long time since he had seen Dragonstone with his own eyes. The last time he had been on the island, his brothers had all been alive and healthy….well, maybe not Daeron with how much he drank.
Now, it was forty years later, and Aemon was the only one of his immediate family to still be alive.
The world was cruel at times.
And yet, Aemon was thankful for the years that the gods had given him. Now, he was seated comfortably inside the round room with the fabled Painted Table which was commissioned by the Conqueror himself almost three centuries ago.
Aemon was not alone. Rhaegar sat with him after the young prince led him to the room, saying that Rhaegal had summoned him.
Aemon had a pretty good idea what this was about.
Shaena had stayed behind to take a bath. She only agreed to do so after Aemon was able to persuade her to take a break from reading all the Valyrian scrolls which he kept secured in his own chamber. By the end of the day, Aemon was certain that the scrolls would be moved to Rhaegal's chambers where Shaena said that she was staying during her time on the island. Aemon saw just how enthusiastic the young girl was to master the magic that their ancestors left behind.
If Rhaegal's hopes proved true and the girl possessed talent in magic, then Shaena would become quite resourceful in a few years.
'That's for the future.'
At this very moment, many other pieces were being moved at Rhaegal's behest.
Aemon was well aware of everything that was taking place within the fortress. Since setting foot on Dragonstone, Aemon had become the new castellan of the island, taking over Qyburn's position. Not that Qyburn minded as it gave him more time to continue with his experiments.
At the thought of what was happening in the dungeons, Aemon's stomach sank. The dark deeds of Qyburn and Marwyn did not sit well with him, but he knew that Rhaegal had chosen his path. Aemon would not be able to persuade him away from it. As far as his nephew was concerned, he owed no dignity or respect to the Free Cities. Not when they had shown themselves to be his enemies.
It was the first time that Aemon saw the other side of Rhaegal Targaryen, the one that would crush anyone who dared to stand in his way.
Rhaegar shared Aemon's apprehensions, but he remained fixed at his brother's side. In Rhaegar's mind, he understood Rhaegal's intentions in exploring this new source of magic. Above all else, he saw no reason to stand up for the sellswords who had attacked their ships and threatened their trading lanes over the course of four years.
In Rhaegal's own words, these were not "needless blood sacrifices."
'Once a line is crossed, can a man allow himself to return from the other side?'
Aemon hoped that Rhaegal and Rhaegar kept that in mind at all times.
Perhaps he was casting judgement too quickly. After all, Qyburn and Marwyn were doing more than just conducting experiments on the living. Aemon knew that the two were also working closely with the Alchemists Guild to see if they could find a way to funnel wildfire through a tube that could be deployed in naval battles. They had dubbed the hypothetical device a "flamethrower." Essentially, they were trying to find new ways to weaponize the dangerous substance after their achievement in creating the new dragonstone.
Then there were the red priests who were helping Rhaegal in restoring a whole other batch of dragon eggs that they had discovered after scouring through the old tunnels and caves on the island that the dragons of old once roosted. By Aemon's estimate, there were more than a dozen petrified dragon eggs being tended to by the red priests. Rhaegal had provided his own flames to the red priests, which they kept alive with their own magic. They then used Rhaegal's flames to try and restore them from their petrified state without hatching them.
Rhaegal did not want the dragon eggs hatching just yet. No, he wanted to see if they could be restored the event that none of the living dragons laid eggs of their own by the time his children were born. In other words, they were to be his children's eggs for when they were born. This was why he did not perform the full ritual to hatch them like he had for the nine dragons.
Luckily, there seemed to be plenty of dragon eggs left in those caves and tunnels, forgotten and abandoned by past Targaryens.
Aemon had asked Rhaegar why they hadn't focused on securing those dragon eggs rather than going on a dangerous journey to Skagos.
"At the time, we did not find them," Rhaegar had explained to him. "By the time Rhaegal was old enough and had the manpower to search the island, he began to dream of the dragon eggs on Skagos. He decided to focus his attention on them first." Rhaegar had smiled then. "I do not regret that choice."
No, Aemon did not think he would.
Finally, there was the new institution that Rhaegal was trying to establish: the Scholars Guild. Qyburn, Marwyn, and Aemon were to be the guild's first members, but Rhaegal was planning on expanding the guild in the years to come. This vision came from the revelation that some of the maesters could not be trusted. Aemon himself had been shocked when Rhaegal informed him of what he knew. In Rhaegal's mind, the Citadel was compromised, a view that Aemon could not argue against. So Rhaegal would establish a new organization to rival their influence. Unlike the Citadel, the Scholars Guild was to be a group which did not shun magic. It would instead embrace it and study it, see if it could discover new ways to innovate it for the good of the realm just as Rhaegal had done with wildfire.
On top of everything Rhaegal had accomplished in King's Landing and the Crownlands, as well as the formation of the Dragonguard and the Dragonkeepers, Aemon was able to witness for himself just how busy Rhaegal had been for the past four years.
'The dragon's fire, is it?'
Rhaegal Targaryen was a very driven and ambitious man. This was a fact that could not be understated. He had done more to restore the legacy of the dragon house than anyone else since their downfall after the Dance of the Dragons.
Once again, Aemon lamented the fact that Egg could not be here to bear witness to all of this.
'You would be proud of him, Egg.'
Aemon would not shed a tear for his brother. Not anymore. He had cried enough. Now, he would do his absolute best to support Rhaegal with anything he needed. The gods had been merciful in granting Aemon that one luxury after living for so long. He would not let such a precious gift go to waste.
Aemon's thoughts ended there as Rhaegal stepped into the room. There were two guards stationed by the door, who closed it after Rhaegal stepped through.
Rhaegal looked freshly bathed and wore a black and green doublet. No doubt to honor his dragon.
Aemon briefly wondered if Malora had allowed his nephew to bathe in peace. She was quite insistent in remaining in Rhaegal's room despite having her own private space.
'I suppose I shouldn't be surprised,' Aemon thought as he tried not to chuckle.
Rhaegal meanwhile walked over to the main seat which overlooked the whole Painted Table.
"Sorry for calling you so soon, uncle. I'm sure Shaena was not too happy by the interruption."
Aemon shook his head. "It's quite alright, nephew. As much as I adore the girl, the stench of dragon was becoming too much for me in an enclosed space."
Rhaegar chuckled. "You become used to it after a while."
"True enough." Rhaegal smiled, his features softening as he gazed at Aemon with clear fondness. "You just haven't been around them enough, uncle. Are you sure you don't want me to take you on a flight around the island? I'm sure Ancalagon would be accommodating."
"At my age? I don't think I can survive such excitement, Rhaegal."
"You never know until you try."
Aemon sighed softly. Not out of negativity, but affection. "As much as I appreciate you treating me like a younger man, I believe you did not call me here just to discuss your plans to get me killed on your dragon."
Snorting, Rhaegal said, "I wouldn't dream of it. But you are right, uncle. I wanted to share some of my plans with you about the coming days. My father already knows, but as the castellan of Dragonstone you should know that I will soon be leaving the island."
"Again?" Aemon thought that Rhaegal would focus on his projects in the Crownlands and Dragonstone. What else was there to do?
"Something has come up. Something unexpected but no less important." Rhaegal gestured to Rhaegar. "My dear brother will be getting married, you see. We just need to go and kidnap his lucky bride first!"
Wait, what?
Aemon turned to Rhaegar who was looking exasperated.
"Must you phrase it that way, brother?"
Rhaegal looked unbothered. "It is the truth, is it not?"
"From a certain point of view, perhaps-"
Rhaegal snorted again. "Excuses do not become you, Rhaegar."
Rhaegar sighed in defeat as he sagged into his chair. "You can be quite an ass sometimes, you know that?"
"I'll take that as a compliment!"
As much joy as Aemon took in seeing their brotherly bond for himself, Aemon still had a few questions that he wanted answered.
"I would very much like to understand what it is that you two are planning on doing, nephew."
Rhaegal's eyes turned to him. "We will be traveling to Lys soon. Monford and Euron will be sailing from the Stepstones to Dragonstone by now to take us to the Free City."
Aemon was instantly alert. "The Free Cities are waging a silent war against you. Do you think it wise to go to their city right now?"
No doubt they would try something once Rhaegal arrived at their city.
Rhaegal grinned. "I hope they do. It might make our job easier."
Aemon tried to understand. "Your goal is to find Rhaegar's bride, correct?"
"That's correct. I've had Malora monitor the city to see if she could find anything of value. It does not seem that the magisters are aware of who she truly is."
"And who is she, Rhaegal?"
"Serra Blackfyre."
There was silence as Aemon's mind tried to process that answer.
"You must forgive me, nephew. I'm becoming quite advanced in my years, so my ears might not be working as well as they once did. I thought I heard you say that Rhaegar's future bride is to be Serra Blackfyre?"
Rhaegal seemed amused by his words. "Your ears heard correct, uncle. The black and the red dragons will soon come as one, all under the illustrious reign of my father."
While Rhaegar sagged deeper into his chair, Aemon found himself floundering for a few moments, unsure of what to think.
"You might have to start from the beginning, Rhaegal."
Only then might he understand.
Rhaegal was more than happy to tell Aemon about what was to come, leaving the man stunned but also proud.
If everything went to plan, then another set of mistakes were about to corrected.
It truly did pay to live a long life.
---
Samarro Saan had lived a long life. He was far from a young man by this point, but despite the fact that he was a year away from reaching his seventh decade in this world he was still sailing on his ship with his crew. Sure, he already had a son and a grandson to take over after him, but Samarro loved the pirate life too much to just give it all up. Until he could no longer stand, he would remain out in the sea. There was still so much left to plunder, after all.
Out of the Band of Nine, Samarro would count himself as the luckiest. He was the only one still alive and holding on to power while the rest had either been killed or removed from what they had gained when they were conquering their way through the Disputed Lands.
It had not even been two decades since their defeat in the Stepstones, and yet the world had already started to forget the terror that they had instilled in Essos during the height of their power.
'Already the world forgets about the monster.'
It was not often that Samarro thought about Maelys Blackfyre, the monster who sought to take the Iron Throne for himself. He and Samarro had not been friends. Maelys offered a chance for gold and power, for Lys was set to be his after their conquest of the Stepstones.
Instead, all Samarro had to his name after Maelys' death was one small island in the Stepstones.
Perhaps Samarro was thinking more about the man because of his ongoing fight against the Targaryens. When Maelys was alive, the Targaryens were much weaker than they were now. Samarro did not believe all the crazy rumors that were coming out from Westeros. Dragons? Magic? It was all nonsense. Somehow the Targaryens must be paying off any Lyseni merchant who reached their shores to spread this rumor in order to frighten their enemies. The dragons were long dead, after all. Even in a world where the dragons were somehow brought back to life, these rumors only began to surface four years ago. The beasts were of no threat at such a young age.
No. Samarro did not believe in any of those tall tales. What he did believe was that the Targaryens now possessed a formidable fleet, one that could directly challenge the combined might of Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys. Sure, there had not been an all-out attack planned by the Free Cities. More like skirmishes, but these skirmishes were relentless. They had been fighting for four years now, and so far Samarro and his fellow pirates had been unable to land a single decisive blow to the Targaryen fleet. Worse still, any effort on their part to expand their holdings onto the other islands was always met with failure. It was almost as if the enemy knew where and when Samarro's men would land.
It was madness.
However, fortune seemed to be changing in their favor for once as Samarro received a crucial piece of information from the magisters back in Lys.
The crown prince was going to be sailing to Lys for a visit.
It was a foolish move, one that Samarro could not even begin to understand. Did the Targaryens not understand just who it was that was trying to cripple their trading fleet? Did the crown prince think himself untouchable even though he was sailing through contested waters?
Samarro would not let such a chance slip from his fingers. However much of an idiot the crown prince was, he would still fetch quite the reward once captured. Samarro was certain that he could use the crown prince as leverage and remove the Westerosi from the Stepstones for good.
'I couldn't become the ruler of Lys, but I can still become the King of the Stepstones.'
Samarro's men from his time in the Band of Nine had dwindled significantly after suffering so many defeats, but there were plenty more who could be recruited once he promised them riches beyond their imagination.
'For their crown prince, I'm sure the Westerosi will pay any amount that I deem fit.'
Samarro could already picture all the gold that would soon be in his possession.
In the following weeks since the letter had arrived from Lys, Samarro's scouts reported that a large number of ships sailed away from the Stepstones, leaving behind what appeared to be a token force. No doubt the majority of the fleet was returning to Westeros in order to pick up the crown prince for his journey to Lys.
It was the sign that Samarro was looking for. Without a doubt, the crown prince would be sailing this way.
Convinced that victory was within his grasp, Samarro assembled the remainder of his ships into one single large fleet. This fleet consisted of sellswords and fellow pirates hired from not only Lys but also Tyrosh and Myr, all under his command. His numbers were bolstered even further by additional reinforcements from Lys. It seemed as if the magisters back in the city wanted to make sure that he succeeded.
Just to be on the safe side, he also used the remainder of his wealth to hire more ships from Tyrosh. Unfortunately, under such time constraints, Samarro could not hire as many as he would have liked, but he was certain that he still had enough ships to overrun the Westerosi fleet.
Samarro sent out daily patrols to alert him whenever the main fleet returned from Westeros while ensuring that they avoided the enemy ships that still remained. While Samarro was tempted to attack the keep on Bloodstone, he refrained. Once he had the crown prince in his clutches, the rest would fall. Until then, he could not afford to lose any ships or men.
The waiting was the hard part as some of his men began to grow restless, but during a quiet morning Samarro finally got word of a large number of ships sailing to the islands, all of which flew the dragon flag.
'The time has come.'
Despite his age, Samarro moved quickly and ordered his fleet to ambush the enemy ships. It was not to be a mere skirmish this time. Samarro was committing his entire fleet into one decisive attack.
At first, everything seemed well. Samarro and his fleet sailed out from their hiding spots on the island and into open waters, ready to spring their trap.
And yet, the moment that they did, Samarro was met with a most terrifying sound that shook his very soul: the roars of two dragons.
Samarro heard the beasts before he saw them. Rather than flying from the direction of Westeros, the two dragons appeared to his back, almost as if they had flown to Lys and were now coming back. One dragon was black while the other was white. Both seemed equally terrifying, for they were no small beasts. They were big, bigger than they had any right to be at their age.
'Impossible.'
Samarro could not believe his eyes. The same was true for his men who all stood gawking on the decks of their ships.
'The dragons are supposed to be dead.'
His mind could not comprehend what his eyes were showing him. For a moment, Samarro wondered if his age was finally getting to him.
But then whatever denial he might have clung to disappeared as the two dragons flew right for his fleet, unleashing a torrent of green and white flames that engulfed his ships one by one. This was followed by the agonizing screams from his men as they were burned alive by the destructive and searing flames.
Shouting in despair and terror, those that were able jumped from the burning ships before the flames got to them.
Many ships and men were burned by this one flyby, reduced to ash in mere moments. Those that remained panicked as the dragons were already circling back around for another attack.
"Move, dammit!"
"Sail! I said sail, damn you!"
"We're going to die!"
"Captain, what are your orders!?"
"What do we do, captain!?"
"Captain!"
Samarro was unable to react to the shouts thrown his way. He could not. He was frozen in place, shocked by this turn of events. Even as his men began to shake him, screaming in his face, Samarro did not act.
He couldn't.
It was already too late.
As the two dragons descended upon his fleet a second time, Samarro spotted the two figures riding on the backs of the monsters.
'Ah. I understand now.'
This was all a trap.
Right before another hellfire of green and white rained down on Samarro and his ship, he realized that the world that he had known was dead. A new era had descended on the world, one where dragons once again dominated the skies.
If only he had realized it sooner.
The last thing Samarro heard were his own screams as he was consumed by a torrent of green flames.