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Teaser of One Shot - Reign of Fire and Sin Chapter 3 (The Mother of Dragons)
🕑 Added 2024-10-28 18:15:39 +0000 UTCReign of Fire and Sin Chapter 3 (The Mother of Dragons) - Jon Snow/Saera Targaryen/Orgy - One Shot
The Full Version of All One Shots written so far are available for Sergeant Tier or Higher.
Maegor sat in his chambers in the Temple of the Lord of Light, another letter from Baela in his hands. Her messy handwriting always made him smile:
"Dear Aegor (because fuck that cruel bastard's name),
Still alive, unfortunately not killing as many greens as I'd like. The cowards keep running away the moment they see Moondancer. Can you believe these shits? I finally get a dragon and all the knights suddenly remember they have urgent business elsewhere. Father says I should be patient, but patience is overrated when you have a crossbow and dragonfire.
What are you learning over there? Something interesting, I hope. Better than the boring shit they teach at court, I bet. That red priestess of yours seems fascinating – does she actually walk through fire like they say? Can she teach me? And I still don't understand what the fuck you are doing there, and why you were send there in the first place.
Write back soon, you secretive big shit.
Your favorite sister,
Baela
P.S. Rhaena says hello. She's still writing sad poetry. Save me."
Maegor chuckled, picturing Baela terrorizing the Greens with her characteristic lack of subtlety. But then his amusement soured as thoughts of Rhaenyra crept in – Rhaenyra, who he'd loved so much, who he'd trusted completely. Rhaenyra, who'd betrayed that trust in the worst way possible, taking his father to bed. And then Criston Cole. And who knew how many others?
Baela was the only one who still called him Aegor instead of Maegor. He had told her many times to call him by his true Name. That's who he was, after all. But Baela insisted that his name was Aegor. Rhaenyra had told the others that he had gone there to learn from the Red Priestess and not to make an alliance with his dear Aunt. Thought his dear cousin had wanted him dead, but she was a coward to do it herself.
He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment:
"Dear Baela,
Your letters always arrive at the perfect moment. I keep telling you to call me Maegor. That's who I am.
Kinvara is teaching me things that would make your eyes light up – and probably terrify everyone else. Let's just say fire answers to more than just dragons. You'd love it here. The temples are full of secrets, and none of them involve sad poetry.
Keep making those green knights run. Sometimes fear is more useful than blood.
Your brother,
MAegor
Please tell Rhaenyra that she sucks."
He sealed the letter and handed it to Kinvara, who stood waiting by the door. "Send this to Harrenhal. To my sister Baela."
"Of course," Kinvara smiled, her ruby glowing at her throat. "She has your fire, your grace. More than you know."
"She has more than fire," Maegor replied. "She has honesty. That's rarer than dragonflame these days."
Tomorrow
The golden light of dusk filtered through the high windows of the Golden Pyramid of Volantis, casting long shadows across the floor where dozens of servants carried chests filled with gold, jewels, and precious artifacts. Maegor Targaryen stood at the top of the grand staircase, his tall frame imposing in black armor adorned with red dragons. His silver-gold hair caught the light, making it appear as if his head was crowned with fire.
Beside him, Saera Targaryen watched with keen violet eyes as their newly acquired wealth was cataloged and stored. Her black and red dress, cut in the Volantene style but bearing Targaryen colors, rustled softly as she moved to examine a particularly large chest of gold coins.
"The Qol-Daras family had been hoarding wealth for generations," she remarked, running her fingers through the coins. "Now it serves a greater purpose."
Kinvara stood nearby, her ruby choker gleaming against her throat. Other red priestesses flanked her, their red robes creating a sea of crimson below the stairs.
"The Lord of Light has blessed your victory," Kinvara declared, her voice carrying through the chamber. "The flames showed us your triumph before it came to pass."
Maegor's lip curled in a satisfied smirk. "I wish I was there to see it myself."
"Their slaves now look to you for leadership," another priestess added. "The ones who bore the flame tattoos of the Qol-Daras family await their fate."
Saera descended the stairs. "They will be given a choice. Serve us like they served their masters, or they can leave and find their own life." Saera said with a little sly smile.
"A generous offer," Kinvara observed, falling into step beside Saera. "But I must ask, now that Volantis kneels to House Targaryen, what comes next? This city holds more slaves than any other in Essos. Its fleet is unmatched. Its wealth, now yours, is vast."
Maegor exchanged a knowing look with his great aunt. "Come," he said, leading them through ornate corridors to a chamber dominated by an enormous table.
The map table was painted directly onto its surface was a detailed map of Essos, from the Free Cities to the Bone Mountains. Cities were marked with golden dots, trade routes tracked in red lines, and territories delineated in various colors. Small dragon figurines carved from obsidian were placed strategically across the surface.
Saera traced her finger along the coastline. "Volantis is merely the beginning. Look here – Lys, Myr, Tyrosh. The Disputed Lands between them have kept them at each other's throats for centuries. They're ripe for unification under the right banner."
"Our banner," Maegor added, moving one of the dragon pieces to hover over Lys. "The Three Daughters have grown fat and corrupt on their slave trade and petty wars. They'll never expect us to move so soon after taking Volantis."
Kinvara leaned over the map, her ruby casting red reflections on its surface. "And the Lord of Light's temples in these cities? What shall become of them?"
"They will flourish," Saera assured her, placing a hand on the priestess's arm. "We've seen how your priests can sway the hearts of the common people. Your words brought us thousands of supporters in Volantis alone."
Maegor nodded. "The Lord of Light's teachings will spread with our conquest. Every city that bends the knee will hear R'hllor's wisdom."
"But it won't stop with the Three Daughters," Saera continued, her eyes alight with ambition. She swept her hand across the map. "Pentos, Norvos, Qohor – all the Free Cities will be free no longer. They'll be united under the dragon's wing. But not just them, we will take over Bravoss as well, but that will take a long time, but for now we will focus on the free cities."
"An empire," Kinvara breathed, understanding dawning in her eyes. "Not seen since Old Valyria itself."
"Better than Valyria," Maegor declared. "We'll build something new. Something lasting."
A red priestess stepped forward, her voice trembling with excitement. "The prophecies speak of a time when darkness will be banished by the Lord's chosen. When fire will cleanse the world and forge it anew."
"And what better tools for R'hllor's work than dragons?" Saera asked, smiling. "Fire made flesh."
Kinvara clasped her hands together. "The Lord of Light has truly blessed this union. Our temples will call all faithful to your cause. From Volantis to the Shadow Lands, they will know that R'hllor's chosen ones have come to lead them into the light."
"But first," Maegor said, placing another dragon piece over Myr, "we must secure our position here. Volantis's fleet will need to be expanded. The army trained to our standards. The city's defenses strengthened."
"The gold we've claimed today will help with that," Saera noted, gesturing to a servant who carried in a ledger. "The Qol-Daras family's trading contracts alone will fund our initial expansion."
"And what of the other families?" Kinvara asked. "Those who submitted to your rule rather than fight?"
"They'll be given the chance to prove their loyalty," Maegor answered, his voice hard. "Those who serve well will prosper. Those who plot against us will join the Qol-Daras in hell."
Saera moved to stand beside her nephew, their matching violet eyes fixed on the map before them. "Every city has its own politics, its own power structures. We'll need to understand them all, find their weaknesses, their pressure points."
"The temples can help with that," Kinvara offered. "Our priests hear many secrets in their daily duties. The common people trust us with their fears and hopes."
"Perfect," Saera smiled. "And in return, R'hllor's teachings will spread with every city that falls under our protection. A fair exchange, wouldn't you say?"
Maegor placed his hand over Saera's on the map table. "The dragons will soar again, and all of Essos will remember why they once knelt to those who command them."
"The night is dark and full of terrors," Kinvara intoned, the other priestesses echoing her words. "But the fire of the dragon will light the way to dawn."
Outside, below, in the streets of Volantis, the news of the day's changes spread like wildfire. The dragon banners of House Targaryen flew from every tower, and in the temples, the red priests sang songs of prophecy and power.
"Which cities shall feel the dragon's breath first, your Graces?"
Maegor moved his hand across the newly acquired territory of Volantis. "Before we march on any city, we must forge our captured resources into a proper army. The slaves we've inherited from the Qol-Daras and other families – half of them will be trained as soldiers."
"Half?" Saphira asked, her striking beauty enhanced by the red robes of R'hllor that draped her form. Unlike the other priestesses, her hair was long, dark as night, with red rings.
"Yes," Maegor confirmed. "We have over twenty thousand able-bodied men and women who were kept in chains. Once trained, they'll fight for us with the fervor of the truly liberated."
"The other half will work the fields and mines. Volantis has relied too heavily on the slave trade for too long. We'll diversify our exports – precious metals, crops, textiles. When other cities see how we prosper, they'll be more inclined to join us willingly." Saera added with a commanding voice.
"A sound strategy," Kinvara nodded. "But which city will be your first target?"
Saphira leaned over the map, her finger hovering between two points. "Lys or Mantarys? Both are within striking distance."
Kinvara's face darkened at the mention of Mantarys. "The demon road is not to be trifled with, even for those who command dragons. The stories we hear from travelers who survive that cursed path..." She shuddered. "Even the Lord's light struggles to penetrate those shadows."
"Agreed," Maegor said firmly. "Mantarys can wait. We'll focus on the Free Cities first, beginning with Lys." He placed a dragon figurine over the island city. "Their defenses are formidable, but they rely heavily on sellswords and their fleet. Dragons change those equations significantly."
"My King," Saphira interjected, her voice carrying a note of concern. "There is something you should know about Lys. Prince Qoren Martell of Dorne is a frequent visitor to their pleasure gardens. He has... significant investments in several establishments there."
Saera's laugh was sharp and musical. "Let him enjoy his pleasures while he can. Dorne's protests will mean little once we have the strength of Essos behind us." Her eyes took on a predatory gleam. "In fact, Dorne itself will kneel to us eventually. The Martells may have resisted Aegon the Conqueror, but they've never faced me and Maegor."
"You plan to cross the Narrow Sea?" Kinvara asked, intrigued.
"In time," Maegor replied, sharing a knowing look with Saera. "But first, Lys. Their wealth and naval power will be crucial for our future conquests."
"The pleasure gardens and pillow houses will make excellent recruitment grounds for our cause," Saera added. "Those slaves hear everything their masters discuss in unguarded moments. And the Lyseni pride themselves on their spy networks – networks that will soon serve us."
Saphira moved closer to the map, studying the sea routes. "Their fleet is considerable. Almost as large as Volantis's."
"Combined, they'll be unstoppable," Maegor declared. "We'll need that naval power when we move against Tyrosh and Myr. The Stepstones will become our highway across the Narrow Sea."
"And what of the current slaves in Lys?" Kinvara asked. "They number in the thousands."
Saera's smile was cold and calculated. "The same offer we made here – freedom in exchange for service. Those who choose to fight will be trained. Those who prefer peaceful work will help build our growing empire. The pleasure slaves will be given special consideration – many have valuable skills in gathering information."
"The Lord of Light showed me great fires spreading across the waters," Kinvara said, her eyes growing distant. "I saw dragons casting shadows over marble palaces and chains melting in their wake."
"Your visions serve us well, High Priestess," Maegor acknowledged. "But we'll need more than visions. Your priests in Lys – how loyal are they to the main temple here in Volantis?"
"They will do as the High Priestess commands. I will talk with her tomorrow," Kinvara assured him. "When the time comes, they'll spread the word of your coming among the faithful. Many slaves in Lys follow R'hllor – they'll be ready to act when you arrive."
Saphira stepped forward, her voice urgent. "My King, if I may suggest – the Lyseni pride themselves on their beauty and their blood ties to Old Valyria. Playing to that vanity might serve us well. They might be more willing to submit to those who truly carry the blood of the dragon."
"An excellent point," Saera agreed. "We'll send envoys first, of course. Give them the chance to bend the knee peacefully. Those who resist..." She trailed off meaningfully.
"Will learn why the dragons are feared," Maegor finished. He turned to Kinvara. "How long before our new troops are ready for battle?"
"With R'hllor's blessing and proper training, three months should suffice for basic combat skills. The more talented ones might be ready sooner."
"Good. That gives us time to consolidate our hold here and prepare the fleet." Maegor began placing more markers on the map, representing troop movements and supply lines.
"What message shall we send to Prince Qothor?" Saphira asked. "He'll certainly report our movements to Sunspear."
"Tell him nothing. Let him discover our presence when dragons shadow his favorite pleasure house. The time for diplomacy with Dorne will come later, when we're ready to turn our eyes westward." Saera said with a gleam in her eyes.
"The Prince might try to rally support against us," Kinvara warned. "Dorne has many friends among the Free Cities."
"Let them plot," Maegor declared confidently. "By the time they realize what we are doing, it will be too late, and even if it's not, we have dragons. The Free Cities have grown soft and complacent in their wealth. They've forgotten what it means to face dragons in war."
"And what of the Dothraki?" Saphira questioned, pointing to the vast grasslands on the map. "They've been unusually active lately, pressing closer to the Free Cities' territories."
"The horselords will learn to fear dragons as their ancestors did," Saera said dismissively. "Perhaps we'll give them a demonstration when they next approach our borders."
Kinvara raised her hands, and the torches in the room flared brighter. "The Lord of Light guides your path. Your enemies will burn, and from their ashes, a new empire will rise."
"Not just an empire," Maegor corrected, pulling Saera close to his side as they looked down at the map together. "A dynasty that will last a thousand years. The Targaryens will rule again, greater than ever before."
"What about the east territory of Essos?" Saphira asked.
Saera's finger traced a long arc around the smoking ruins of Valyria. "To reach Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen, our fleet must take the long route around the Smoking Sea. It will add months to the journey, but..."
"But it's the only safe path," Maegor finished, his eyes fixed on the ominous region marked as the Smoking Sea. "Unless..." He turned to Kinvara. "Has anyone successfully traversed those waters since the Doom? It's been 230 years."
Kinvara's face grew solemn, the ruby at her throat pulsing more intensely. "Many have tried, my King. Adventurers, treasure hunters, madmen seeking glory – they sail into those cursed waters with dreams of Valyrian steel and ancient magic. None return."
"None?" Saera leaned forward, intrigued. "What befalls them?"
"The stories vary," Saphira interjected, her voice hushed with reverence and fear. "Sailors speak of waters that boil ships like eggs in a pot. Some claim the very air burns their lungs and drives men mad with visions."
Kinvara nodded gravely. "In the flames, our priests have seen terrible things dwelling in those ruins. The teachings of R'hllor speak of firewyrms – massive serpentine creatures, like dragons without wings but twice as large. They burrow through stone and earth as easily as fish swim through water."
"Firewyrms," Maegor mused, his hand unconsciously moving to the hilt of his sword. "Could they have survived the Doom?"
"Our texts suggest they not only survived but thrived in the aftermath," Kinvara continued. "The heat and fire that killed everything else only made them stronger. But they're not alone in those ruins. There are... other things. Creatures so horrific that no living person has seen them and lived to describe their form."
Saera's violet eyes widened suddenly. "Princess Aerea," she said softly. "She might have seen them."
"Princess Aerea?" Saphira asked.
"A stupid Princess of our family," Saera explained. "She rode Balerion the Black Dread and one day she disappeared for more than a year. When she finally returned to King's Landing, she was dying."
Maegor's face darkened. "The maesters' records describe her condition in detail. She burned with fever, yet felt cold to the touch. And there were... things moving beneath her skin."
"Moving?" Saphira's face paled.
"Whatever was inside her," Saera continued, "it killed her within a day of her return. The Grand Maester who treated her reported creatures writhing inside her body, trying to burst free. And Balerion, the most powerful dragon ever known, returned with massive wounds across his chest."
Kinvara's eyes flashed. "Firewyrms could have caused such wounds. They're the only creatures known to rival dragons in size and power. And the things inside the princess..." She exchanged a meaningful look with Saphira.
"Soulburrowers," Saphira whispered. "The ancient texts speak of them – parasitic worms that enter through the mouth or nose while their victims sleep. They grow inside the body, feeding on blood and flesh until..."
"Until they're ready to emerge," Kinvara finished grimly. "The princess was fortunate to die before that happened."
Maegor studied the map intently. "Balerion was the only dragon known to have returned from Valyria since the Doom. Even he, with all his power, did not return without a wound that some say caused his death. Perhaps the long route to Slaver's Bay is wise after all."
"The sea route has its own dangers," Saera pointed out. "Pirates in the Basilisk Isles, storms off the coast of Sothoryos, and the journey would leave our forces exposed for months."
"Still better than facing whatever dwells in the Smoking Sea," Saphira insisted. "At least pirates can be fought. Storms can be avoided. But those... things in Valyria..."
"There are other tales," Kinvara added, her voice dropping lower. "Some of our oldest scrolls speak of stone men who were once human, of demons that take the form of beautiful women to lure sailors to their doom, of ancient dragons gone mad and feral, their minds twisted by centuries of isolation."
Maegor traced the coastline of the Smoking Sea. "The Doom destroyed the greatest civilization ever known in a single day. Whatever power caused that destruction might still linger."
"And now these creatures roam freely through the ruins," Saera concluded. "No, we'll take the long route to Slaver's Bay. When the time comes, our forces will sail around the Summer Sea, past the Basilisk Isles."
"A wise choice," Saphira agreed. "Though it means we should focus on the Free Cities first, building our strength before attempting such a lengthy campaign."
"The Free Cities, then Slaver's Bay," Maegor confirmed, returning to their earlier planning. "By the time we reach Astapor, our reputation will precede us. The Good Masters might be more inclined to negotiate when they hear what became of Lys."
"And if they don't?" Saphira asked.
Saera's smile was cold. "Then they'll learn why the Doom of Valyria wasn't the end of dragon fire in this world. Their walls may be ancient, but they'll melt all the same."
"And the slaves?" Saphira questioned. "The Unsullied of Astapor alone number in the thousands."
"They'll join our cause," Maegor stated confidently. "The Unsullied are the finest infantry in the world. Once freed, their discipline and skill will strengthen our armies immeasurably."
Saera thought this would be the end of their discussion when Maegor asked a question that caught her a little off guard. "What news from Westeros?" Maegor asked. "The flames must show you something of the war."
Saphira stepped forward. "The Red Queen is dead. Rhaenys and her dragon Meleys fell at Rook's Rest. Burned by both Vhagar and Sunfyre."
"Two against one," Saera scoffed, pushing open the heavy doors to their chambers. "How very brave of them."
"There's more," Saphira continued as they entered. "Your father, Prince Daemon, has taken Harrenhal. But the flames show... darkness around him. His intentions toward Queen Rhaenyra grow... uncertain."
Maegor's expression tightened slightly. "And The Whore Queen?"
"The Queen is not well," Kinvara interjected. "Her mind fractures like ice in spring. The loss of her sons... she sees enemies in every shadow."
Saera lounged on a velvet couch, laughing coldly. "Poor, dear Rhaenyra. All those years of being the Realm's Delight, and now her realm delights in tearing itself apart for her." She reached for a goblet of wine. "Let them destroy each other. It will make our eventual return all the easier."
"You sound almost disappointed that you won't get to kill her yourself," Maegor observed, studying her face.
"Oh, I don't care enough to want her dead," Saera replied dismissively. "Let her live and suffer. Let her watch everything she thought was hers turn to ash."
One of the red priestesses moved to pour more wine as Maegor paced the chamber. "Daemon has two children with her."
"Don't tell me you're growing sentimental," Saera's voice carried a warning edge.
"Not sentimental," Maegor replied carefully. "Strategic. Aemond One-Eye needs to die. He and Vhagar are too dangerous to leave unchecked."
"You want to help them?" Saera's tone was incredulous.
"I want to remove a threat," he corrected. "A visit to Westeros might be worthwhile, just long enough to deal with Aemond."
"And Vhagar?" Saera sat up straighter. "Will you kill the old dragon too?"
Maegor exchanged a subtle glance with Kinvara, one that Saera missed as she drank deeply from her goblet. "No. Vhagar is more valuable alive than dead."
"The oldest and largest living dragon," Kinvara mused, her ruby choker pulsing. "Such power should not be wasted."
Saera waved her hand dismissively. "Do what you want with the war in Westeros. Play the hero for your father and his little dragonspawn if it pleases you. Just remember where your true destiny lies." She rose and walked to him, pressing against his chest. "Remember who made you king."
"I remember everything," Maegor assured her, though his eyes met Kinvara's again over Saera's shoulder.
Saphira cleared her throat softly. "The flames show another path. Aemond's death could change many things. Vhagar without a rider..."
"Would be a powerful ally," Maegor finished. "Or a dangerous enemy."
"Unless someone worthy were to claim her," Kinvara added meaningfully.
Saera pulled away from Maegor, moving to the balcony that overlooked the city. "Let them have their dancing dragons across the sea. We have real work to do here. Real kingdoms to conquer."
"The war will keep them distracted," Maegor agreed. "They won't notice what we're building here until it's too late. But Aemond... he's too unpredictable. Too dangerous to ignore."
"The flames show him burning cities," Saphira warned. "Reveling in destruction for its own sake. He brings chaos where he flies."
"Then go," Saera said, still gazing out over Volantis. "Go play with your father's war. Kill Aemond. Save whoever needs saving. But remember, my love..." She turned, her violet eyes gleaming dangerously in the torchlight. "I won't wait forever."
"A few weeks at most," Maegor promised. "Just long enough to remove a threat and... secure certain advantages."
The red priestesses exchanged knowing looks. They had seen what was coming in their flames, had seen the plans within plans that were unfolding. Saera might not care about the dragons of Westeros, but she didn't need to. Not yet.
"When you return," Kinvara said softly, "the army will be ready. The fleet will be prepared. And the Lord's light will guide us to greater victories."
"And if you don't return?" Saera's voice carried both threat and promise. "If the dragons of Westeros keep you too long?"
Maegor crossed to her, taking her face in his hands. "Nothing in Westeros could keep me from our destiny. This empire we're building, this power we're gathering – it's everything. A few weeks to remove a threat and strengthen our position is worth the investment."
"Just remember where you belong," Saera insisted, pressing her lips to his. "With me, conquering the east, not playing savior to our your father's other children."
"When have I ever forgotten my purpose?" Maegor asked with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Now, shall we help you two relax, your graces?" Kinvara offered as she walked over to Maegor, pulling him a little away from Saera, who was quickly distracted by Saphira.
As Maegor drew Kinvara close, her lips met his with warmth. He knew that Red Priestess were always warm to the touch, but tonight, their bodies felt warmer than ever before. The ruby at her throat blazed bright enough to cast red shadows across their faces as his hands explored the curves beneath her crimson robes.
His breath caught as he tasted her—the warmth from her mouth wasn't just hot; it was blazing, like pressing his lips to the heart of a bonfire.
Kinvara moaned into his mouth, the sound vibrating through his chest as his hands roamed her voluptuous form, eager fingers tracing the full, ripe mounds of her breasts through the delicate red silk of her dress. Every touch seemed to ignite her skin even more. The ruby nestled at her throat pulsed in tandem with her growing desire, flashing crimson light that illuminated her flushed skin.
"Mmmmm, yes," Kinvara moaned softly against his lips, her voice like a sultry breeze. She pressed her curves harder against him, and he groaned as he felt her body melt into his. "Take me, my dragon king," she purred, her breath hot and heavy. "Fill me with your seed, and make me stronger."
Later
Maegor's eyes opened to darkness, but not the familiar darkness of his bedchamber. Gone were the sleeping forms of Saera and the priestesses. Instead, he stood alone in a place where smoke hung thick as fog, and the very air seemed to shimmer with heat. Nearby, water bubbled and hissed in pools that glowed with an inner light.
"Maegor..." a voice called, the ancient Valyrian words sliding like silk through the darkness. "Māzigon kesīr... Come here..."
He moved forward, drawn by the voice. The ground beneath his feet was warm, almost hot, and in places, steam escaped from cracks in the stone. Through the haze, shapes began to emerge – enormous structures that seemed to touch the smoke-filled sky.
"Kesīr... here..." the voice beckoned.
As the smoke parted, Maegor's breath caught in his throat. Before him stretched the impossible grandeur of Old Valyria. Towers of fused black stone rose like spears thrust into the heavens. Dragons carved from marble and precious stones perched on every corner, their eyes seeming to follow his movement. Streets paved in patterns of dragonglass led to plazas larger than the Red Keep's courtyard.
"Impossible," he whispered in Valyrian.
A figure appeared at the end of a wide avenue – a woman in flowing robes – but when Maegor blinked, she was gone. Then another, a man in armor that seemed made of living flame, vanished as soon as Maegor tried to focus on him.
"Are you real? Or am I going mad?" he called out.
"Real... not real..." the voice answered. "Past... present... future... all one here..."
More figures flickered in and out of existence around him. A group of children playing with a baby dragon. A procession of priests carrying crystal staffs. Warriors mounted on full-grown dragons soaring between the towers. Each vision lasted only seconds before dissolving like smoke.
"What is this place?" Maegor demanded though he knew the answer. "Why have you brought me here?"
"Your blood brought you," the voice replied. "The blood of Old Valyria calls to its own. Look closer..."
Maegor approached one of the massive buildings. Its walls were covered in writing – spells and histories carved in letters that seemed to move and shift as he watched. He reached out to touch them, but his hand passed through the stone like it was mist.
"This isn't real," he said. "This is a dream."
"All dreams are real here," the voice countered. "The city remembers. The stones remember. The magic remembers."
A dragon's roar echoed through the empty streets, but when Maegor looked up, he saw only the swirling smoke above. More figures appeared – nobles in rich robes, servants hurrying on errands, merchants with exotic wares. They moved through him as if he were the ghost, not they.
"What do you want from me?" Maegor asked, his voice echoing off walls that might not truly exist.
"Want?" The voice seemed closer now. "We want what we have always wanted. Power. Knowledge. Control. The same things you want, son of Valyria."
"Show yourself!" Maegor commanded, turning in place as more phantom figures appeared and vanished around him.
"We are shown," the voice replied. "In every stone, every shadow, every breath of smoke. We are Valyria. And you... you could be more."
A window in one of the towers caught Maegor's attention. Unlike the other structures, this one seemed more solid, more real. Through the window, he could see a room filled with scrolls and strange instruments. On a pedestal in the center sat something that made his heart stop – a dragon egg, but unlike any he had ever seen. Its scales were black as night but seemed to shift with internal fire.
"More than a king," the voice continued. "More than a dragonlord. You could be what we were... what we are..."
"And what is that?" Maegor asked, unable to take his eyes off the egg.
"Gods," the voice whispered, and suddenly the city seemed to pulse with power. The phantom figures multiplied, hundreds now, thousands, all going about their lives as if the Doom had never happened. Dragons filled the sky, their shadows dancing across the streets.
"This is what was lost," Maegor realized. "This is what could be again."
"Yes..." The voice was everywhere now, in the stones, in the smoke, in his very blood. "But first, you must claim it. Claim us. Claim your birthright."
"How?"
"Return..." The phantoms began to fade, the city growing dimmer. "Return to us, son of Valyria. Return and learn what your ancestors knew. Return and become what they were."
"Wait!" Maegor reached for the window with the egg, but it was dissolving like all the rest. "I need to know more!"
The voice called again through the smoke-filled air, and this time Maegor detected its feminine quality, ancient and powerful. His eyes were drawn upward to the highest tower of black stone, where something moved in the darkness.
What he saw made his breath catch in his throat. A dragon unlike any in history sat perched upon the spire, but to call it merely a dragon seemed an insult to its magnificence. Two sets of massive wings spread against the dark sky, crimson lightning dancing between them like living webs of power. Its scales weren't the typical dragon armor he knew – they appeared to be made of Valyrian steel itself, rippling with the same dark patterns he'd seen in his sword.
The creature's horns rose like black spears, wickedly curved and adorned with smaller spikes that gave it a crown-like appearance. But it was the eyes that truly captured him – two burning red stars that pierced the darkness, each one blazing with an inner fire that made even the red priests' rubies seem dim in comparison.
"Gaomagon nykēla, ñuha ābrazȳrys, (Come to me, my dear child,)" the dragon spoke in High Valyrian, its voice both terrible and beautiful, like the song of steel on steel mixed with the music of the spheres.
"Skoros... skoros iksā? (Who... what are you?)" Maegor asked, his voice steady despite the awe filling his chest.
The dragon rose to its full height, and Maegor's mind struggled to comprehend its size. He had seen Vhagar, had known she was the largest living dragon, but this beast made Vhagar seem like a hatchling in comparison. Its body alone was five times the size of the ancient dragon, with a wingspan that could have covered the entirety of the Red Keep.
For a moment, Maegor thought such a creature could never achieve flight – its mass should have made it impossible. Then the dragon launched itself from the tower. Red lightning exploded around it as it took to the air, moving with a speed that would have made even the Blood Wyrm envious.
The beast circled him, leaving trails of crimson lightning in its wake. The very air seemed to crack and split at its passing. When it landed before him, the ground shattered. Fissures spread out from its claws, glowing with inner fire, while bolts of blood-red lightning struck the earth around them.
Maegor found himself staring into eyes larger than he was tall, each one a pool of living flame. Despite the creature's overwhelming presence, despite every instinct screaming at him to run or cower, he stood his ground. His heart raced, but his stance remained proud, his gaze steady as he met those burning eyes.
A sound like rolling thunder emerged from the dragon's throat – laughter, he realized with surprise.
"Vēttan kēpāzma mazōt daor ziry issare dōrīngon nykeā, (Centuries have passed since any mortal stood before me,)" the dragon spoke, its voice making the very air vibrate. "Tolī lo daor bona kostagon gevie ūndegon hae ziry. Issi... gevivesa, byka zaldrīzes. (Longer still since one did so without fear. You are... interesting, little dragonlord.)"
"Iksan ñuha kepa iāys, (I am my father's son,)" Maegor replied. "Se ñuha māpas. Raqiros dōrī jiōragon ñuha bē sylutegon sȳrī. (And my mother's. Fear has never served my bloodline well.)"
"Daor (No,)" the dragon agreed, crimson lightning playing between its teeth as it spoke. "Raqiros issa syt bōsas iksi. Yn ao... ao vīlībāzma Valyrio iōragon. Daor lys qrimbrōzā kēli lanti ēngos issa. (Fear is for lesser beings. But you... you carry the true blood of Valyria. Not diluted like so many others who claim our legacy.)"
"Ēngos īlva? (Our legacy?)" Maegor caught the word. "Bisy iā... ao issi... (Then you are...)"
"Iksan skoros iksā, (I am what was,)" the dragon interrupted. "Skoros iksā. Skoros moriot kostagon māzigon arlī. Iksan ōñōr ñuhys āeksio gīmigon, drīvose zirȳ kīvia, ānogar zirȳ raqiros jiōragon. (What is. What could be again. I am the power your ancestors knew, the truth they kept hidden, the destiny they feared to embrace fully.)"
Its massive head lowered until one eye was level with him. "Se ao, ābrazȳrys hen nādīn se prūmia, ao iksā se vala bona ziry istan jorrāelagon. (And you, child of fire and blood, you are the one I have waited for.)"
"Skoros ao jorrāelagon hen nyke? (What do you want from me?)"
"Jorrāelagon? (Want?)" Lightning crackled around its horns. "Nyke jorrāelagon skoros ao jorrāelagon. Ōñōr. Drīvo Ōñōr. Daor prūmia velmizan ao lenton iā Westerosi jevi. Daor zōbrie mazverdagon ao vēzos iderēbagon ziry sȳndin. Tolī ōñōr. Ōñōr bona mazverdagon bisy ñāqira. Ōñōr bona mazverdagon ziry arlī. (I want what you want. Power. True power. Not the pale imitation your family plays with in Westeros. Not the weak magic your red priests think they understand. Real power. The power that built this city. The power that could build it again.)"
Maegor's mind raced with possibilities. "Ao jorrāelagon nyke māzigon iā Valyria. (You want me to come to Valyria.)"
"Nyke jorrāelagon ao naejot ēdrure iā ñuhys ryvves, (I want you to claim your birthright,)" the dragon corrected.
"Bisy ēdrus issi udrir bōsa drīvose. Māzigon iā prūmia bona iksā. Māzigon iā Valyria Embōs. Skorion, ao rhaenagon skoros daor belmȳn. Skorion, ao gīmigon skoros ao sīr naejot iksā. (These dreams are but shadows of truth. Come to the heart of what was. Come to Old Valyria itself. There, you will find what was lost. There, you will understand what you truly are.)"
"The Doom..." Maegor started.
"Ziry iksos lantra naejot kostagon ēngos rȳbagon, (Is a barrier to keep the weak away,)" the dragon finished. "Yn ao... ao emagon se jēdar. Se drīvo jēdar. Umbagon Daor kostagon mazveragon skoros ziry gīmigon hae hāedus. (But you... you have the blood. The true blood. The Doom cannot touch what it recognizes as its own.)"
Red lightning illuminated the ruins around them, and for a moment, Maegor saw the city as it had been – magnificent, impossible, eternal. Then darkness fell again, leaving only the dragon's burning eyes.
"Māzigon nykēla, (Come to me,)" it commanded. "Māzigon iā Valyria Embōs. Ānogar ao bē āeksia kessa emagon zirȳ māzis iā ñuhys ēngos. Māzigon, se sagon skoros ao kostagon sȳrī sagon. (Come to Old Valyria. Your destiny awaits in the city of your ancestors. Come, and become what you were always meant to be.)"
Before Maegor could respond, the dragon launched itself skyward. Its roar split the heavens, and red lightning consumed everything in a flash of crimson fire.
The Full Version of All One Shots written so far are available for Sergeant Tier or Higher.
