I had allowed my dargonknight to in my pocket dimension to increase the time of their training.
The training had been a success in the real world, barely two moons had passed since the conquest of Volantis. Here, nearly two years had gone by.
The mornings gave way to weapons training. Every man was made to master the longsword, the spear, and the bow. The most promising were given additional instruction in weapons suited to their particular gifts.
Afternoons were for tactics and strategy. I had filled the Black Library's lesser halls with texts on warfare from a hundred civilizations, and I required my soldiers to study them.
Evenings were for catching them up on their education. They learned High Valyrian and much more about the history of the east and Valyria.
Out of the entire group 40 of them stand out the most. These would be giving a chance to claim a dragon and become dragonknight.
I gathered them on the final morning of their training, in the great courtyard where the Light and Nightfuries nested beneath the sky of the Court.
"You have earned the right, forty of you will walk away from this place with more than a sword and a plot of land. You will walk away with a dragon and will be able to call yourself a dragonlord."
The forty approached the nests one by one.
The first to succeed was a man named Aerion, a former slave from Volantis who had been sold to the Tiger Party as a bedwarmer before his skills was recognized and he was elevated to service in a merchant's household. He was slight, almost delicate, with hair the color of tarnished silver and eyes like bruises.
He chose a Nightfury, a sleek creature of smoked glass scales and eyes like molten gold. The dragon was small by the standards of its kind, barely large enough to carry a grown man, but when it opened its wings and chittered at Aerion I knew there was nothing I could do or anything I was willing to do.
The others followed in a cascade.
A burly former sailor from Lys, claimed a Lightfury whose scales shimmered like moonlight on water. A young man who had been a scribe's apprentice in Myr, walked into a nest where a great bronze-scaled dragon had refused three previous claimants and emerged an hour later with his palm pressed to its snout.
All forty had succeeded. The Light and Nightfuries had chosen, and the remaining dragons from the contract had found their riders.
I raised my hand, and golden portals opened above the courtyard. From them descended chests of Valyrian steel swords and armor, each piece enchanted in the fires of my Soul Forge, each one keyed to the bloodline of the man who would wield it.
"For the Forty," I said, and the chests settled at the feet of the dragonriders, "you are the first of a new nobility. Lands will be granted in the lands of the Freehold, enough to raise keeps and hold courts. Your children will inherit your titles. Your blood will be honored as long as Valyria stands."
I turned to the others. "For the rest, you are the first of a new army. You will receive lands as well, smaller holdings, but lands nonetheless. You will be the knights of New Valyria, the sword and shield of the empire we are building."
I watched their faces as the armor settled into their hands. Valyrian steel, the metal that could not be made anywhere in the world outside my forges. They had heard stories of such blades their whole lives. I have to keep reminding myself that the art of making Valyrian steel was lost. Most of these men, probably never saw a single artifact made out of Valyrian steel
-later-
The summons came for them three days after we returned from the Crimson Court. A arrived on a ship from Driftmark, carrying men who bore the blood of Old Valyria.
They were announced in the great hall by Mallor, my knight-commander, his voice sounded off the obsidian walls. "Ser Aurane Waters, bastard of Driftmark. Ser Daemon Celtigar. Ser Alton Celtigar."
The great hall was empty save for us and the three men who walked its length. Aurane Waters was the first I noticed. He was tall for a Valyrian, broad-shouldered and handsome, with silver-gold hair that fell to his shoulders and eyes the color of a summer sea rather than true Valyrian purple. He wore the armor of a knight of the sunset Kingdoms, polished steel with the seahorse of Velaryon worked into the breastplate.
Behind him walked the Celtigar brothers, and they could not have been more different from the Velaryon bastard.
Daemon Celtigar was the elder, I guessed, perhaps thirty years of age, with the square jaw and heavy brows that marked his house's Andal blood more than their Valyrian heritage. His hair was silver streaked with grey, his eyes a pale violet.
His brother Alton was younger by perhaps five years, of a similar build than his brother.
They stopped at the base of the dais, and for a moment, none of them spoke. Finally, Aurane Waters knelt followed by his two convenience.
"You have traveled far," I continued. "From Driftmark, across the Narrow Sea, through waters that my ships now patrol. You came on a Velaryon vessel, bearing Velaryon steel, wearing Velaryon colors." I let my gaze rest on Aurane. "And yet you are not a Velaryon, are you, Ser Waters?"
Aurane's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I am a bastard, my lord. My father was Lord Lucerys Velaryon. My mother was a woman of Lys, a merchant's daughter. I was raised in Driftmark, given a knight's training, allowed to wear my father's colors."
"My lord, my brother and I have come for a different reason. Our house has always claimed descent from Old Valyria. We have kept the old ways as best we could, though four centuries have passed since the Doom. We have kept our blood as pure as we were able, married within the families of the Narrow Sea, taught our children the histories that the other houses have forgotten. When we heard that a true dragonlord had returned, that Valyria was rising again from the ashes... we could not stay away." Daemon said getting my attention.
"You have chosen well," I said finally. "The blood of Valyria runs thin in the west. The lords who once ruled half the known world have become petty lords and broken men, clinging to titles that mean nothing while the world moves on without them." I rose from my throne
I stopped before the Celtigar brothers. "And you will be given the chance to make your house more than a footnote. To write your name so large in the history of this new age that no one will ever forget what it means to be Celtigar."
"But understand this. What I offer is not given freely. You will swear oaths to me and to the Freehold that will bind you and your children and your children's children. You will serve in my armies, fight my wars, build the empire that I have begun. You will take wives of Valyrian blood that I choose for you, and your children will be raised in the old ways, speaking the old tongue, remembering what it means to be dragonlords."
I let my voice drop, let the warmth drain from it until it was as cold as the void between stars. "And if you betray me if you waver, if you falter, if you think for one moment that the oaths you swore to Robert Baratheon or his sons or his enemies mean more than the oaths you swear to me. I will salt your lands so that nothing grows there for a thousand years and kill and rape your kinsman and women for as long as I feel like it. And I will do it without losing a single night's sleep."
Aurane Waters was the first to move. He drew his sword and laid it at the base of the dais. Then he drew the dagger from his belt and laid it beside the sword. Finally, he reached up and unclasped the Velaryon seahorse from his cloak and placed it on the obsidian between the two blades.
The young bastard knelt. "I swear my sword to you, Aurion Vorysion, Dragonlord of Valyria Reborn. I swear my life and my honor and whatever future I might have. I am yours."
The Celtigar brothers moved together. Daemon drew his sword a steel blade, and laid it beside Aurane's weapons. Alton followed.
"You have sworn oaths to me tonight. You will have the chance to prove them. Consider yourself my guest my guards shall sent you to your chambers."
As I saw those three getting escorted I smirk a little, truly I was the most generous man in the entire world.
-later-
I can't say the refusal of Myr, Pentos, Tyrosh came as a surprise to me. I set the scrolls down on the obsidian table and looked out the window of my study. I turned back to my desk and began to write.
I turned from the window. Albedo stood in the doorway, "Assemble the Forty," I said. "They will take the dragons. Have them divided into groups of three each one taking one of the cities."
Albedo naughty as she started writing my commands down. She bowed her head and turned to leave, but paused at the threshold. "My lord. There is other news, from across the Narrow Sea. The sunset kingdoms have torn themselves apart."
I raised an eyebrow, and she continued.
"Five kings now claim the Iron Throne. Joffrey Baratheon sits in King's Landing. His uncle Renly has declared himself king in the south, with the support of the Tyrells and the lords of the Reach. His other uncle, Stannis, claims the throne by right and has taken Dragonstone. Balon Greyjoy has crowned himself King of the Iron Islands and sent his reavers against the north. And there is a fifth a boy called Aegon Targaryen, who landed in the Stormlands with a sellsword army and claims to be the son of Rhaegar."
Oh, that fucking mongrel boy…
-Arega-
The fires were still burning when Arega touched down on the plaza before the Archon's Palace.
His Nightfury, Vindication, settled onto the blackened marble, her smoked-glass wings folding against her flanks. The heat from the burning city pressed against his back, but he had learned to ignore heat. Had learned to ignore many things, in the pleasure houses of Lys.
Arega dismounted, the Valyrian steel sword at his hip was still warm from the fighting, though he had barely drawn it. Vindication had done most of the work, her plasma breath cutting through the Tyroshi defensive towers.
"A fine landing."
He turned to find the others descending. Qarro of Volantis was first, his Lightfury catching the firelight and throwing.
Behind him came Malachor, who had been a scribe's apprentice in Myr before the Emperor's agents had found him in a slave market. His dragon was the largest of their trio, a beast the color of tarnished bronze that had refused three other claimants before accepting Malachor's touch.
"The Archon's palace is secured," Arega said, gesturing to the building behind him. "What of the harbors?"
"Burning," Qarro said cheerfully.
"The Emperor's orders were to hold the city," Malachor reminded them, sliding from his dragon's back. "Not to burn it to ash."
"We held it," he said simply. "The Emperor did not specify the condition." Qarro laughed and Malachor shook his head but said nothing.
-Aurion Vorysion-
Braavos was going to be a problem and regardless what I did, they would never surrender to me. I had offered them the same terms I had offered Volantis, Lys, Tyrosh, Myr, Pentos.
But obviously, I was rejected so I decided to do the only thing I could do.
As I looked at the burning ruins of this city, I smiled to myself. Strangely enough during my destruction, I had felt a presence try to breakthrough my mind only to be consume by the essence of my mind.
It had taken me several days to completely destroy the city, but by the end, the land had become uninhabitable.
No plans would grow on this soil, and for a large amount of generations, that area would be considered a desert.
That's something that he could say for certain.
Returning back into my human form, I prepared myself to return back home before I felt a certain presence. I could feel its power, ancient and vast, a fire that had been burning since before Valyria rose, since before the First Men crossed the Arm of Dorne probably even older than humanity.
I opened my mind and let it in.
Suddenly reality around me started shifting slightly. Out of nowhere a woman appeared, tall and fierce, with hair the color of red crimson and eyes like molten gold. She wore robes of crimson silk that seemed to move even when she stood still, and her skin was warm, so warm that I could feel the heat of her from ten feet away.
"You are R'hllor," I said.
"I am what your kind calls me. I am the Lord of Light, the Heart of Fire, the Flame that Burns Against the Cold. I have been called many names in many tongues, but yes. I am R'hllor."
She walked toward me, her feet leaving no prints in the ash, and I felt the power of her presence pressing against.
"You killed one of my siblings," R'hllor said, with no seeming care. "The Many-Faced God. The one your slaves called the Stranger, the Faceless, the Gift-Giver. You burned his temple, scattered his servants, and when he reached into your mind to claim you for his own...."
That pressure against my consciousness during the burning, they probably tried to end me was a god.
"The Many-Faced God was death," R'hllor continued, circling me slowly. "He was the end of things. He simply waited, and when your time came, he welcomed you home." She stopped before me, close enough that I could feel the heat of her breath. "You took that from him. You consumed the aspect of death itself. And now you carry it with you wherever you go."
She raised her hand, and fire bloomed in her palm. Not red or orange, but white, pure white, the color of a star's heart.
"This is what I offer you. Lightbringer, the sword that was promised. The blade that will drive back the darkness when it comes from the north. Immunity to the fires that would consume lesser men. A domain of your own, a spark of the divine that will grow as you grow."
She closed her hand, and the fire vanished.
"You want me to fight your war," I said.
"I want you to fight our war," she corrected. "The Others are not my enemy alone. They are the enemy of everything that lives, everything that breathes, everything that burns. They are the cold that comes for all fire, the dark that swallows all light. You have seen them in your dreams. You know what they are."
Immediately knew what she was talking about as I remember the vision that I had received in the beginning of this path.
I guess this truly made this go full circle. "I will take your gifts," I said as I looked at the redhead goddess in the eyes.
She raised her hand, and a sword materialized between us.
Lightbringer.
It was a blade of light, of fire, of something that had been burning since the first dawn. The hilt was warm in my hand, not hot, not painful, but warm.
"This is the sword that was promised," R'hllor said. "Forged in the heart of a dying star, tempered in the blood of a god. It has been waiting for you for three thousand years."
I took it.
[Aurion Vorysion - Divine Spark Ignited]
[Domain: Fire, Death, Dragons]
[Status: Demigod (Ascending)]
[Lightbringer - Divine Weapon Acquired]
[Fire Immunity - Divine Blessing Acquired]
[Domain of Fire (Minor) - Divine Authority Acquired]
I smiled to myself, as I felt the power of cording through me my new divine power reshaping my very form.
"You are more than you were," R'hllor said. "And less than you will be. The path to godhood is long, and you have only taken the first step."
"I will be watching," she said, as she slowly dissipating into flames eventually as she turned into ash leaving him.
-later-
Dothrak sea existed no more only learn to be used to rebuild what it was lost.
Kinvara who named the first of them. She stood on the plain where the Mother of Mountains had once cast its shadow over Vaes Dothrak, her crimson robes whipping in the wind, and watched as my undead legions laid the foundations of what would become the largest city in the eastern continent.
"Azor Ahai's Rest, the city of light, the city where the Prince That Was Promised show purity to these beast."
I let her have her naming rights. The red priestess had proven useful beyond measure, her network of followers spreading across the conquered territories. Within a year of Braavos's fall, the Lord of Light had more worshippers in Essos than he had gained in the previous century. Within two years, the temples of the other gods were empty or converted.
Four hundred years of savagery had undone what had taken humanity a thousand years to build.
The roads that had connected the eastern continent from the Narrow Sea to the Bones of the East had crumbled to dust. The aqueducts, the temples, the great works of engineering that had made Valyria the wonder of the world all of it had been trampled under Dothraki hooves.
The first city to rise was the one Kinvara had named. I stood on the walls of Azor Ahai's Rest three years after its founding and watched the sun set over a city of a hundred thousand souls. Free men and freed slaves, Volantene merchants and Lysene craftsmen, Tyroshi dyers and Myrish glassblowers. They had come from across the conquered territories, drawn by the promise of land and opportunity.
They found both. The lands that the Dothraki had claimed as their hunting grounds were vast and fertile, watered by rivers that had run untamed for centuries. My architects had laid out the city in the old Valyrian style, broad avenues radiating from a central plaza, each district dedicated to a specific craft or trade.
And at the center of it all, the temple.
It was not my idea. Kinvara had drawn the plans herself the Temple of the Lord of Light in Azor Ahai's Rest was the largest ever built, its walls of black stone veined with gold, its great doors of Valyrian steel standing always open to the faithful.
-later-
The Dothraki were not entirely gone, of course. Khal Drogo had been the last of the great khals. His khalasar had been the largest when my legions found them in the grasslands south of the Sarne.
Obviously, they were no match to my undead who massacred them and brought them back to life using my own magic.
On a good note, the rest of the Free Cities surrendered and accepted my terms of peace. I did not even need to burn another Braavos. Perhaps they are learning.
Finally, I have found a use for those three Westerosi.
Aurane Waters and the Celtigar brothers have proven themselves more useful than I expected. I gave them the Stepstones that wretched archipelago of pirates and smugglers that has been a nuisance to civilized shipping for centuries. They have taken to it well. I rewarded them with lands, Valyrian steel enough to arm their households, and the right to claim dragons. They knelt when they received their eggs. I wonder if they will kneel as readily when I call them to war.
I have also sent ten of my dragon riders to the Summer Islands. The people there are... fertile, dark-skinned, strong. My riders have their orders to take every woman of suitable stock as concubine.
On another good note, some of my concubines have given birth to my children.
I had each child brought before me in the great hall, carried by my undead servants in cradles of black silk. There are 878 of them now hopefully more in the future.
I checked each one using a new feature of my system, one that unlocked when my first child drew breath. I can now see their potential it is all laid out before me like a map of the future.
I scanned them one by one, looking for a specific trait. The quest has been waiting for months, and I grow tired of it lingering in the corner of my vision.
[Forge a New Dragonlord Dynasty]
Objective: Produce a viable heir with the 'Pure Valyrian' trait.
Reward: Bloodline Legacy Perk
I had hope in the children I had with my son with Daenerys or the children with my concubine of noble Valyrian descent.
Unfortunately, I was disappointed.
I stood in the center of the hall as the children were brought forward. Aegon, the son Daenerys gave me, was the forty-seventh to be presented. I looked at him with my new sight and saw... potential. Great potential honestly he has strong traits and I am confident that he would grow out to be a strong man one day. But he didn't have the trait that would complete my quest.
The children with my concubines of noble Valyrian descent came later. The daughters of Volantis, Lys, and Tyrosh. Women whose families had kept their bloodlines closed for centuries.
Unfortunately, none of them did. There is no doubt in my mind that it will happen eventually. It is simply a matter of time.
-Aegon VI Targaryen "the young dragon"-
After the death of the pretender Renly cut down in battle after he took Storm's End several Stormlander houses swore fealty to me. Especially after I legitimized Edric Storm and made him the new Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. The other Stormlords went to the Usurper's son, the boy called Joffrey. Let them cling to their false king. They will learn their error in time.
The Reach has run back to their homes to defend themselves from the Ironborn raiders. Stannis Baratheon still possesses the support of the North and the Riverlands, though how long that will last with winter coming, I cannot say. My people have sent letters to the Vale, but the Eyrie has ignored us all.
And there is another problem. I have lost all my contacts in the East. Swallowed by the expansion of this new empire.
My current support is House Martell and all of Dorne, thanks to my marriage with Arianne Martell. The Stormlords who raised their banners for me have proven loyal, if not yet tested. It is enough to hold what I have taken. It is not enough to take the Iron Throne.
I will need more.
Like Jon said, I may have to send a letter to this "emperor." Specifically to my aunt, Daenerys, to convince him to help me obtain the iron throne. From what I have heard of the East, she has given birth to a boy and the emperor's firstborn son.
I will write the letter tonight to my aunt.