The seal of Sunspear flared across the parchment. The paper curled inward before dissolving into grey ash, the last flakes vanishing before they could touch the sun-baked road.
Standing beside the carriage, Thaddues watched the remnants disappear. A household guard from God's Grace took an involuntary step back, one hand hovering over the pommel of his sword as his gaze shifted from the fading ash to the Defender of Dorne's calm, unreadable expression.
"To Sunspear, then."
His voice cut through the oppressive heat with effortless clarity. Without another glance at the shaken guard, Thaddues climbed into the carriage, leaving the man rooted where he stood.
The moment the door closed, Thaddues entered the carriage's enchanted interior. At the study table sat a young boy upon a cushioned chair, his dark eyes, flecked with silver, fixed on Thaddues with a mixture of apprehension and quiet wonder.
"Lord Peverell," the boy said softly, lowering his gaze almost at once, as though afraid he had spoken out of turn.
A faint smile touched Thaddues' lips. Beneath the child's fear, he sensed immense magical potential lying dormant. Every tremor of emotion stirred it like the tide—powerful, untamed, yet buried beneath wounds no child should have carried.
"Would you like to see how magic truly works?"
The boy hesitated. His fingers instinctively tightened against the edge of the chair, and for a fleeting moment, memories of cold stone, chanting voices, and the ritual that had bound him as a living anchor flashed across his mind. Then he looked up at Thaddues.
Slowly, he nodded.
During the past several days, he had watched the mysterious lord command wind, fire, and unseen forces with little more than a flick of his wrist. Each display reminded him of the cultists and the ritual that had turned him into a living anchor, leaving his heart pounding before his mind could catch up.
But Thaddues had never used his magic to cause pain. Instead, every spell had brought warmth, protection, or healing. Little by little, the boy found himself watching with growing fascination rather than terror.
"Then stay beside me."
The child hurried across the thick rug until he stood at Thaddues side, small fingers clutching the edge of the lord's obsidian robes.
Rowena crossed to the viewing window, the soft glow of enchanted orbs illuminating her as she looked out. Beyond the glass, the Greenblood wound across the desert like a ribbon of jade, its sluggish waters concealing distorted shapes drifting beneath the shimmering surface.
"You won't deal with them?" she asked, her tone thoughtful rather than concerned. "The spirits are growing restless. The magic in this land is ancient, Thaddues. It recognizes your presence."
Thaddues' eyes remained fixed ahead.
"The river spirits and lingering dead can wait. There are matters of greater urgency."
With a flick of his wrist, the chamber began to contract. Timber groaned as enchanted space folded inward. The towering shelves vanished into polished walls, the lofty ceiling descended, and the plush furnishings shrank until the impossible chamber became an elegant but otherwise ordinary noble carriage.
The boy staggered as the floor shifted beneath his feet.
"Whoa..."
His eyes darted about in bewilderment, struggling to comprehend how a chamber larger than a tavern hall had vanished in the blink of an eye. Only then did it occur to him that such a room should never have fit inside a carriage in the first place.
"Sit down," Thaddues said, resting a steady hand on the boy's shoulder. "We're leaving."
He placed his palm against the carriage wall.
For a brief moment, regret tugged at him.
He had chosen the overland road to King's Landing. Along the way, he intended to experience Dorne firsthand—to tread its red sands, study the blend of Rhoynish and Andal customs, and understand why this unforgiving land had remained fiercely independent. Faster means of travel held little appeal when the journey itself offered so much to learn.
Fate, however, had other plans.
A royal delegation from the Iron Throne had arrived at Sunspear, bringing with it something far more important than diplomacy—a dragonrider. The second bloodline he required had presented itself.
Though the letter never mentioned it, Thaddues already knew why Rhaenys had come to Sunspear.
A low chime echoed through his mind as the voice of the System spoke.
---
"Host, do you wish to arrive at Sunspear using another method of travel?"
---
"Yes," Thaddues murmured.
He could have Apparated to Sunspear instantly. There was no magical barrier preventing it. Yet he had chosen otherwise.
Daemon had waited moons before invading Dorne. Surely Rhaenys could wait a few more days.
Magic flowed from him into the hidden runes carved throughout the carriage. His fingers pressed slightly into the wood as the enchantments awakened.
"I want to be there as soon as possible."
The moment the words left his lips, the carriage began to hum.
It was no gentle vibration, but a deep, resonant thrum that settled into their bones. The runes hidden beneath the wood flared to life, filling the air with a faint blue glow.
Outside, the ordinary world gave way to the impossible.
The household guards of House Allyrion had only just mounted their sand steeds when the four horses harnessed to Thaddues' carriage screamed in eerie unison. They reared violently, their forms shuddering as waves of magic coursed through flesh and bone.
From each horse's shoulders burst enormous skeletal wings. In the space of a heartbeat, dark feathers spread across the exposed bone until four magnificent pinions, black as a raven's plumage, unfurled beneath the blazing Dornish sun.
"Remarkable," the captain murmured, unable to tear his eyes from the spectacle. His mount shifted uneasily beneath him, but he made no move to flee.
With a thunderous beat of their wings, the enchanted horses lifted the carriage from the ground. Its wheels spun once before hanging uselessly beneath the rising coach as it climbed into the cloudless sky, leaving the stunned guards engulfed in swirling clouds of red dust.
Inside, the boy rushed to the window and pressed both hands against the glass.
His jaw fell open as the dunes receded beneath them, becoming a vast sea of gold streaked with crimson ridges. Far below, the Greenblood narrowed into a winding ribbon that snaked toward the distant Summer Sea.
Thaddues watched the child's expression with quiet satisfaction.
"This is what magic is capable of."
The words were spoken softly, yet they carried the weight of knowledge drawn from another world.
"Merlin," he said.
The boy turned from the window and looked at Thaddues.
Looking into the boy's bright eyes, alive with curiosity and wonder, he saw not merely an orphan, but the promise of a future mage whose existence might one day change the course of history.
"From this day onward, that shall be your name."
In Sunspear within the cool halls of the Tower of the Sun, the air carried the fragrance of lemons, roasted cloves, and barely concealed impatience.
Rhaenys Targaryen strode across the polished stone floor, the hem of her silken gown whispering over the marble. Every measured step spoke of restrained impatience, her expression betraying the irritation she refused to voice.
"Three days," she said sharply, stopping beside the open window. "Three days we've waited in this heat for Lord Peverell to cross the sands. My cousin expects answers, yet we remain here."
Princess Dareya Martell sat upon a low cushioned seat, peeling a blood orange with an elegant silver knife. Unlike her guest, she seemed perfectly at ease.
"Dorne does not move at the speed of dragonfire, Your Grace," she replied without looking up. "If Lord Peverell chose to cross the desert by road, then the sands will decide his pace. He will arrive when they permit."
Before Rhaenys could answer, the heavy oak doors flew open.
A household guard stumbled into the hall, breathing hard. His face had gone pale beneath its deep bronze complexion, and he did not even think to kneel.
"Princess! Your Grace!" he cried, pointing toward the ceiling with a trembling hand. "There's something in the sky! It's coming from the west—faster than any falcon!"
Rhaenys was already moving before he finished speaking. Instinct, honed by a lifetime as a dragonrider, sent her striding toward the courtyard. Dareya rose just as quickly, her dagger clattering onto the floor as the forgotten blood orange rolled across the stone. Her guards hurried after them.
They emerged onto the battlements overlooking Sunspear.
Servants, crossbowmen, and lesser nobles had already gathered along the walls, their eyes fixed upon the heavens. Some made the sign of the Seven while others whispered ancient Rhoynish prayers, their voices nearly lost beneath the sea wind.
High above the shimmering desert, something descended through the scattered clouds.
It was a carriage.
Its dark frame gleamed beneath the midday sun, suspended impossibly in the sky. Four jet-black stallions flew before it, their enormous wings beating with thunderous force that echoed across the bay like distant storm clouds.
Rhaenys instinctively reached for the dragon whistle hanging at her belt before stopping herself.
"By the Sevens..." she breathed.
No.
The shape was far too small, too deliberate in its movements. It was no dragon, but a creation unlike anything she had ever witnessed—a vehicle borne through the heavens by a power that did not belong to Old Valyria.
Beside her, Dareya raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glare.
As the impossible carriage descended toward Sunspear's ancient courtyard, she caught sight of the sigil upon its side—a luminous triangle, a circle within it, and a single vertical line piercing them both. The emblem shimmered with a warm golden glow.
Her breath caught.
"He's here."
TBC
The carriage for reference just imagine they are inside. (Click here.)
For 15+ advance chapters.. Join me on Patr*on.
Patr*on.com/Rabbinwriter.
Be a Chapter Seeker!
Be a Chronicle Reader!
Be a Lore Archivist!
Or buy me a coffee ~~~