Two weeks passed.
Two weeks beneath a sky that never truly cleared.
The sea around Old Valyria lived up to every tale sailors whispered in taverns.
Ash drifted constantly through the air.
The water steamed in places.
Strange lights flickered beneath the waves after sunset.
More than once...
The crew claimed to hear voices carried across the water.
No one investigated.
No one wanted to know.
The ship never anchored for long.
The coastline itself seemed alive.
Entire cliffs would collapse without warning.
The sea occasionally boiled beside the hull.
Twice...
They spotted the skeletal remains of ancient ships protruding from black volcanic rock.
Neither had survived the Doom.
Both had remained where they fell for four centuries.
Only I ever went ashore.
The crew refused.
I didn't blame them.
The air itself was wrong.
Every breath carried the taste of sulfur and ash.
Even from the deck...
The sailors wrapped damp cloth around their faces.
After only a few minutes near the shoreline, they began coughing.
One sailor started bleeding from his nose.
No one set foot on land again.
Except me.
"You should be dead."
Celebrimbor walked beside me through the ruined streets.
"I am."
He looked toward the black sky.
"I meant again."
I smiled.
"The poison doesn't bother me."
My lungs still drew breath.
My heart still beat.
But neither truly sustained me anymore.
Celebrimbor had been right.
Death no longer claimed me.
Neither, it seemed...
Did poison.
Old Valyria defied description.
The stories had not done it justice.
Entire mountains had split apart.
Great roads of fused black stone disappeared beneath rivers of hardened lava.
Dragon statues taller than castle keeps lay broken where they had fallen centuries before.
Massive towers leaned impossibly, supported only by melted stone that had cooled around them.
Everywhere...
Silence.
Not the peaceful silence of abandoned ruins.
The oppressive silence of a place that should never have existed.
The city was enormous.
Larger than King's Landing.
Larger than Oldtown.
Perhaps larger than both together.
Yet we found no living soul.
Only bones.
Some human.
Some...
Not.
Celebrimbor knelt beside one skeleton.
Its skull was elongated.
Its ribs unnaturally broad.
"The blood of dragons."
He stood once more.
"The Valyrians changed themselves."
I nodded.
"So the stories say."
Each morning...
I explored another district.
Each evening...
I returned before nightfall.
Even I had no desire to remain in those ruins after dark.
The first week yielded little.
Broken pottery.
Collapsed homes.
Melted coin.
Jewelry fused into stone.
Then...
The discoveries began.
A silver goblet etched with High Valyrian glyphs.
A ceremonial dagger with a dragonbone hilt.
A finely worked Valyrian steel brooch shaped like a dragon with ruby eyes.
Each had somehow survived.
Each disappeared into the growing collection aboard the ship.
The gold mattered little.
The Valyrian steel...
That interested Celebrimbor.
By the second week...
The treasure grew.
Gold cups.
Silver chains.
Jeweled bracelets.
Several small bars of worked Valyrian steel.
Not enough for a sword.
Enough for something smaller.
Much smaller.
Celebrimbor examined each piece carefully.
His excitement became harder to hide.
"Their craft..."
He almost smiled.
"...was extraordinary."
"You sound jealous."
"I am."
One afternoon...
I climbed the shattered remains of what had once been an immense temple.
From its highest surviving balcony...
I finally saw them clearly.
The Fourteen Flames.
Fourteen colossal volcanoes dominated the peninsula.
Even after four centuries...
Many still smoked.
Several glowed faintly after sunset.
One towered above the others.
Its peak vanished into black clouds.
Lava still flowed slowly down one side.
Celebrimbor appeared beside me.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes.
Finally...
He broke the silence.
"There."
He pointed toward the largest volcano.
"You can feel it?"
"I can."
His voice had become strangely reverent.
I looked toward the immense mountain.
"Can you forge the Ring there?"
Celebrimbor remained silent.
Long enough that I wondered if he hadn't heard.
Then...
"Yes."
One word.
His eyes reflected the distant glow of molten rock.
"I believe..."
"...it is the only place left in this world where such a Ring can be made."
A cold wind swept across the ruined city.
Ash drifted between broken towers.
I looked back toward the coast.
Our ship was barely visible from this distance.
Daenerys.
Nymeria.
The crew.
They would remain behind.
The climb ahead was too dangerous.
I rested a hand on the pouch containing the Valyrian steel trinkets.
"So..."
I looked at the tallest of the Fourteen Flames.
"When do we leave?"
Celebrimbor's expression became solemn.
"The moment you accept..."
"...that once we begin..."
"...there may be no turning back."
For the first time since entering Valyria...
I felt something I hadn't expected.
Not fear.
Anticipation.
Tomorrow...
We would climb into the heart of the Doom itself.
And there...
If fate allowed...
An Elven smith and a dead knight would attempt to create the first Ring of Power ever forged in the world of Westeros.
The climb began before dawn.
I left my sword.
My bow.
My pack.
Everything except a waterskin, a dagger, the pouch containing the Valyrian steel.
Nymeria followed me to the foot of the mountain.
Then stopped.
She whined softly.
"You stay."
She didn't move.
For several moments...
The great direwolf simply stared at me.
Then she lay down upon the black volcanic stone.
She would wait.
Just as she always had.
Behind me...
The ship rested at anchor in a sheltered cove.
Daenerys stood upon the deck.
She had insisted on seeing me off.
"Be careful."
"I'll try."
She folded her arms.
"I don't think that's possible where you're going."
I laughed quietly.
"No."
"It probably isn't."
She hesitated.
"Come back."
The words were barely louder than the wind.
"I intend to."
I turned.
And began to climb.
The path wound between ancient rivers of hardened lava.
Jagged obsidian cut through the ash like broken glass.
Sulfur seeped from cracks in the mountain.
Every few hundred yards...
Steam burst from unseen fissures beneath my feet.
The air shimmered with heat.
Even I could feel it.
Celebrimbor walked beside me.
His spirit left no footprints.
He studied the mountain with growing fascination.
The mountain seemed alive.
It groaned.
Deep beneath the rock.
Like some slumbering beast turning in its sleep.
Hours passed.
The climb became steeper.
Ash replaced stone.
The wind disappeared.
Only heat remained.
I looked back once.
The coastline of Valyria stretched for miles below.
Black ruins.
Collapsed towers.
The sea beyond was hidden beneath a blanket of grey smoke.
Even the ship had become a tiny speck.
"We're committed now."
Celebrimbor nodded.
"There is only forward."
Near midday...
We found it.
Not a tunnel carved by men.
A cave.
Ancient.
Natural.
Its entrance yawned from the mountainside like the mouth of some gigantic beast.
Hot air poured from within.
Carrying with it the smell of molten stone.
Celebrimbor stopped walking.
His eyes narrowed.
"I feel it."
"So do I."
Without another word...
We stepped inside.
Darkness swallowed us.
Only the glow of distant magma illuminated the cavern.
The tunnel sloped steadily downward.
Walls of black volcanic glass reflected flickering orange light.
Drops of water hissed into steam as they struck the heated rock.
The deeper we walked...
The hotter it became.
Soon...
The tunnel widened.
Then widened again.
Until...
The mountain opened before us.
I stopped.
Speechless.
The cavern was colossal.
Large enough to swallow castles whole.
Its ceiling vanished into darkness hundreds of feet overhead.
Far below...
A vast lake of molten rock churned endlessly.
The surface glowed with brilliant reds and golds.
Occasionally...
Great bubbles burst.
Sending fountains of fire soaring into the air.
The roar was deafening.
The mountain itself seemed to breathe.
Across the heart of the volcano...
A narrow bridge stretched from one side to the other.
Not built.
Not carved.
Formed by nature itself.
A single span of black stone.
Barely wide enough for two men to walk abreast.
It reached toward a solitary pillar of rock rising from the center of the lava lake.
Like an island surrounded by liquid fire.
I couldn't help myself.
"It looks..."
Celebrimbor finished the sentence.
"...like Orodruin."
I nodded slowly.
"It does."
Only...
Different.
Larger.
Wilder.
The heart of the Doom of Valyria.
Not crafted by Morgoth's corruption...
But by the fury of the world itself.
We stepped onto the bridge.
The stone beneath my boots was warm.
Almost too warm to touch.
On either side...
The lava lake stretched into darkness.
The heat distorted the air until the opposite walls shimmered like a mirage.
Halfway across...
I stopped.
The bridge narrowed here.
No wider than a man's shoulders.
One careless step...
And there would be nothing left to bury.
Celebrimbor looked over the edge.
"The fire is pure."
"So is Mount Doom."
He shook his head.
"No."
His voice was filled with awe.
"This is different."
"The mountain is untamed."
"It has never served a Dark Lord."
"It answers only itself."
At last...
We reached the central pillar.
Its summit was perfectly flat.
Almost unnaturally so.
In the center stood a single stone.
Black.
Smooth.
Untouched by time.
It looked less like an altar...
And more like an anvil crafted by the gods themselves.
Celebrimbor slowly approached it.
His ghostly hand hovered above the stone.
He closed his eyes.
For a long moment...
He said nothing.
He rested both hands upon the black stone.
And for the first time since I had met him...
The ancient Elf smiled.
But with the quiet joy of a master craftsman who had finally found the perfect place to create.
He looked at me.
"The Ring..."
He took a slow breath.
"...will be forged here."
The roar of the volcano echoed around us.
The mountain itself seemed to tremble.