Eleonora Darennis had heard stories about the Temple of Meraxes since she was old enough to talk.
Before their exile, her parents had spent ten straight years as its patrons and protectors—pouring in gold, influence, and their very souls.
No wonder they could still rattle off every gilded detail like it was yesterday.
After she finally returned to Volantis, Eleonora had never once set foot inside.
The golden dome left her cold. The over-the-top towers did nothing for her. And the priestesses' sugary, affected voices sounded like expensive poison.
Besides, Meraxes was supposed to be the gentlest of the old Valyrian gods. A warrior woman who had spent her life far from anything soft or divine had zero reason to care.
Until today.
Until her lover, her commander, and her king—Viserys Targaryen—stood ready to marry his sister and princess, Daenerys Targaryen.
Now she had no choice.
The birth of the living dragons had set all of Volantis on fire.
When the Targaryen siblings walked out of the Red Temple carrying three breathing, chirping hatchlings, the entire city woke up like it had been slapped.
Loren Rayne and his Black Knights had to fight like hell just to keep the religious fanatics from mobbing them long enough to get Viserys and Daenerys safely back behind the Black Wall.
Inside the Wall, a whole new crowd of worshippers was waiting.
For centuries the old-blood nobles had bragged that they alone guarded Valyria's true traditions. Yet none of them had ever held a living dragon.
Now the pampered lords and delicate ladies finally had their chance to stare at the reborn glory of their ancestors.
Viserys, ever the practical sellsword at heart, wasted no time.
He returned to the palace and immediately announced that anyone who wanted to see the dragons had to pay the Triarchy ten thousand golden dragons—or goods of equal value.
By the next morning a long line of stewards snaked across the palace square, haggling over visiting times and prices.
Viserys himself came out to greet the endless stream of guests—friends, enemies, loyal fighters, reluctant allies, rich men, and people hoping for protection. Everyone wanted a look.
Think about it.
Three hatchlings barely out of the shell were already bringing in serious coin without a single forced tax.
More important, the old-blood nobles were losing their minds with joy. No one complained about the price. No one stayed away.
So when Viserys declared that the dragons' birth would be celebrated with his wedding to Daenerys, the news was met with pure, heartfelt cheers.
For once, old Volantis and new Volantis agreed on something. Arrogant lords and the lowest free citizens were all delirious with excitement.
Some saw the dragons as the sign of a brand-new age. Others whispered about R'hllor's blessing. Still others believed it was the moment to raise the fallen banner of the Freehold and reclaim its lost glory.
On the wide avenues and narrow alleys, drunk on wine and hope, people sang slurred praises to heroes long dead, then reached the same conclusion every time:
None of those ancient legends could hold a candle to the new Triarch.
He had crushed a khalasar and brought dragons back to Valyrian blood.
Soon he would crush, humiliate, and destroy the three whore-cities.
Those days, whether you were a highborn master or a barefoot beggar, you looked up at the blood-red comet burning across the sky and shouted the same words:
"Red dragon!"
"Red dawn!"
"The will of the Lord of Light!"
The phrase spread like wildfire. Everyone started believing the signs.
The whole city was buzzing, already tasting the coming wedding feast.
Yet the groom himself stayed strangely calm.
Eleonora had known Viserys for years. They had shared a bed, blood, fire, pain, and pleasure. She had helped him seize the First Daughter. She had seen him grieving and triumphant, victorious and beaten.
She knew him better than anyone.
And right now she was certain he was hiding something.
He hadn't told her the full story of what really happened inside the Red Temple the night the dragons were born.
That secret still weighed on him, keeping him from throwing himself completely into the celebration the way he normally would.
She had only a few days left to pry it out of him. In five days Weymond Dorya would march out with the army. A month later Viserys himself would sail with the fleet.
If he stayed silent now, he might never speak of it.
But at least today, Eleonora Darennis was glad for her man.
Today Viserys looked lighter. He smiled, joked, greeted loyal servants and friends with real warmth, and dressed with quick, sure hands.
He had chosen the full Volantene lord look—gold rings on every finger, a rich purple robe that wrapped him from neck to ankle.
Right now he looked every inch the dragonlord of old Valyria at the height of its power.
Loren Rayne carried the red dragon banner like it was part of his arm.
Eleonora and Ser Jorah rode as Viserys's personal escort, one on each side.
A tight ring of trusted Black Knights surrounded them. Beyond that stretched a sea of lords and servants so thick you could drown in it.
The roar of the crowd made individual voices impossible to pick out, but the smiles, the laughter, the pure joy made one thing crystal clear:
Today the old blood loved the Targaryen siblings and could not wait for the rest of the celebration.
Outside the Black Wall the common folk would celebrate in their own loud, honest way.
On the Triarchs' orders, free bread and wine were being handed out in the streets at Viserys's personal expense.
Tavern keepers had lowered their prices. Actors and the best whores poured into the squares.
In the fighting pits across the Rhoyne, a grand spectacle had been ordered—Dothraki screamers who had once ridden with Khal Drogo would battle the arena's deadliest champions. The stewards swore they would give the crowd a bloodbath worth remembering: a thousand warriors dead by nightfall.
And when men had watched enough death, the enslaved Dothraki women in the pleasure houses were told to work twice as hard. People always wanted to prove they were still alive after seeing that much blood.
Inside the Black Wall the feast would be just as lavish.
But first the ceremony had to be completed.
Ancient custom said Daenerys had spent her last unmarried night inside the temple, prepared by the priestesses and young slaves for the most important moment of her life.
The bride and groom would meet at the altar of Meraxes, and the rite would be performed there.
Four people climbed the temple steps.
The bride Daenerys. Ser Jorah. Ser Loren. And the groom Viserys.
Temple guards allowed only the two of pure Valyrian blood to pass.
Their Westerosi companions understood and stopped obediently at the great black doors. They would still be the very first to congratulate the couple once the rite was done.
Eleonora herself had been chosen as official witness. She would watch the entire ceremony and announce its completion when they emerged.
Inside the temple she almost let out a low whistle of genuine awe.
She was used to the noisy luxury behind the Black Wall, but this place felt different.
The corridors were covered in the finest carpets from Slaver's Bay. Marble statues of impossibly beautiful men and women from a lost age filled every niche.
Hundreds of scented candles and flickering lamps lit up the splendor.
The dome soared overhead, painted with colors so vivid they looked untouched by time.
She saw countless multicolored dragons, proud warriors, breathtaking maidens, and buildings that took your breath away.
Eleonora wondered what hidden wonders lay inside the even greater Temple of Balerion, the chief god of the Valyrian pantheon.
But Viserys's attention was already on the woman who now stepped forward—the mistress of this magnificent temple.
She wore a floor-length crimson-and-gold robe that left her arms and neck bare.
"We have waited for you since midnight, my lord," the woman said. She was neither young nor old, but her violet eyes and proud stride carried the unmistakable stamp of the Freehold.
"I have come to claim my dragon bride," Viserys answered exactly as the Keeper of the Foundation had taught him.
The old man seemed almost giddy that he would witness a rite only his most distant ancestors had ever seen.
"You have been judged worthy," the priestess said with a slight bow. "The dragonlord gives you his daughter. Come, my lord. Step into eternity."
According to the Keeper and the priests, this wedding would follow the exact ritual from the dawn of Valyria—the same ceremony used when the hero Aelion wed the daughter of the mighty Balerion, the dragon goddess Syrax who had taken human form for love of him.
Every old-blood child grew up hearing the tale a hundred times.
The goddess had fallen so deeply in love with the mortal hero that she chose to live among men. Her father, the Father of Dragons, wanted to destroy the man, but the wise Vhagar and merciful Meraxes persuaded him otherwise.
Still unwilling to let his daughter go, Balerion set Aelion twelve impossible labors.
With courage, cunning, and the constant help of the woman who loved him, the hero succeeded—shattering the legions of the Ghiscari Empire, crossing the Shadow Lands, reaching the Hidden Sea, and even capturing the Morning Star itself.
In the end the great father had no choice but to accept his daughter's happiness. He blessed the union and granted Aelion and Syrax's descendants the power to command dragons, setting their blood above all other men.
It was that fierce, all-consuming love between mortal hero and dragon goddess that gave birth to Valyria.
And its dragonlords had always been worthy heirs.
Today, in the Temple of Meraxes, the last children of that blood would renew the ancient vow.