Chapter 14

Late 108 AC, Basilisk Isles

Ser Maekar Romaerys POV

Red Gash

His rowboat swept past corsair ships that burnt like candle flame, the songs that were sung by his fellows, his brethren, seemed as if they kept the ships burning with merely their desires, their lust and hunger for vengeance, for the blood of those who once prowled those ships, that called those ships sweet home, only to grow dissatisfied when too many were fed to hungry green and blue flames that feasted on their life and flesh and bones, consuming them whole until there was nothing left.

Nothing, nothing, nothing…

Nothing but anticipation, a moment that seemed to be transfixed into becoming unending time, yet, it never took hold, for his feet set upon the sands of Red Gash, and sparked time into moving faster than it ought to move.

His feet battered the ground, the grasping ground, the shifting sands, yet, he felt as if he was flying, fleet of feet, swift with sword, his lungs lacking in taxation for his blood, for his desire pulled at his might, at his wish to live, at his pride, and his sword swung and would swing with intent, with furious, deadly, intent.

Shouts, and chaos, screams, and anarchy, sounds of flesh and bone cut and torn asunder, and bedlam, into the fray they went, rang and rang and rang so did the steel, until the mists and fogs of war clouded his vision until all he saw was those to kill.

His sword rose and fell within a blink of an eye, less than a blink of an eye, a man, corsair he may be but a man he was still, was without much of his arm, and death came at this man, this deserving man, moments later as his sword cut through the pitiful leather armour and opened him up from chest to navel, blood spewing, blood dripping, his life seeping out of him in dreadful lethal amounts, his face was forever etched in agony and fear and knowing despair at the coming of death. Such despair…

Maekar moved onward, forward, never sparing another glance at the dead man, to the next one unfortunate enough to come across him, to the next man to make dead. 

One. 

Two. 

Eight.

Maekar lost count, his sword swinging and battering, his body moving almost as if it was its own being, with its own wants and desires, wants of death and wants of vengeance, and he let himself fall into the abyss of these wants and desires, his mind, his thoughts, made empty for there was no space, for there was no room for anything but the battle, but the wants and desires that would see him live and others dead.

A horrific sound shook the battlefield. 

A shaking shocking sound. A quaking quivering melody. 

The sands beneath his feet moving like turbulent water of a once gentle river, or like the earth moving beneath the hoofs of ten thousand panicked, frightened horses.

A sound that ate at his subconscious mind even if his conscious mind said...

'Fire and Blood is not ours to receive…'

The battle came to a halt, the feeling of dismay precipitated in the air, so rich and dewy it seemed, as a shadow the size of the blood moon loomed above them.

There was something majestically dread inducing about the sound of dragonfire, a thousand times worse than the sounds of crackling fire, and a thousand times worse than the sound of steel cutting through flesh and bone, a physical representation of one's helplessness against fate, against destiny, against the inevitable.

A torrent of blue white flames that made even the most beautiful blue jewel anyone ever set their eyes upon look ordinary, the fire tearing, burning, through the field of pirates, columns of men, like a sharpened knife though the belly of freshly caught fish, their agonising panicked cries made in horror, made in terror, cries and begs of mercy, cut short, and their last moments of life forever remembered in the ash they left behind, in the ash that was, and would be, carried by the fleeting-but-ever-present gusts of wind and the sour salty sea.

In the distance, the far distance, between the rows upon rows of men and steel and shields, he briefly glimpsed the Prince battling amidst the sea of men and amidst the fringes of blue fire, a whistling blur of death, and he lost sight of the Prince just as soon as he'd seen him. 

Maekar returned to the fold with his sword tightened under his grip, and he threw himself back into the battle, his sword, one amongst many hundreds of others, of more, cut short the breaths and lives of those who were lucky enough to escape the quick deaths that the breaths of death provided, with, instead, the shedding of blood.

Ample, copious, boundless blood.

He was not sure when, how, but still, the rivers of blood came to an end and the stream of death fell away into silhouettes of dancing blue fires, dancing joyfully, murderously, unendingly, as the mettle of their enemies whittled away into the form of prostrating figures, desperately praying with their shaking bodies for mercy, before the Prince who gazed down upon them with a beard dripping in blood and his armour bathed in the blood and guts and flesh of their fellows.

…mercy that never came. That would never come.

He stood by amongst his fellows as necks snapped broke and ropes whipped sharply, sparks of life ended just as sudden as they intended for the lives of those unfortunate ones that had come across these pirates on unforgiving seas to end, forever altered, clasped in chains and into lives of misery and servitude and early death.

Mercy…

Mercy was a luxury none of these pirates, these men, would receive from them.

These pirates brook none of it unto others and thus they would receive none of it.

And their steel…their conviction…both made in the forges of labour and fire, demanded no less than the end of all that they were…all that they represented.

Maekar had looked upon those they'd freed. At Black Sty. At Red Gash. And he saw, they all saw, the thousands and more slaves that were freed.

The gratitude. The relief. The disbelief.

Maekar had never known the chains of slavery.

He had been but a boy of Dragonstone. 

Low birth, a son of a poor fisher, but nonetheless, he'd been fortunate. 

Fortunate to be born on Dragonstone, on the lands of the Dragonlords who his ancestors had come with, and fortunate to be given the opportunity to rise to knighthood when Prince Aegon gave him and his brothers the chance to squire for knights of the Realm and got to learn to fight. To learn to read. To learn to learn.

So many of these people had been like him. Fortunate to be born in peaceful lands but never fortunate enough to live protected in the lands of the last greats of Valyria.

Never fortunate enough to feel the warmth of House Targaryen.

It came at the cost of forty of his fellows, his brethren, whose pyres they all watched burn into ash and their ash collected to be returned home to their people.

Men who died for the vengeance of Corinth, for the liberty of others, and a hundred more were injured in their duty.

Yet, Maekar thought as he cut down his sixth pirate on the white beachy shores of Talon weeks later, he knew that such losses did not weaken the collective resolve of the men of Corinth.

No.

Blue white flames burned and burned and burned in the distance, on the coasts, mixed and intermingled the fires of sickly green flames, like the fires that burned in the bellies of his fellows, his brethren, sickening them into bringing ills and torment to those who practiced and brought ills and torment to so many innocents.

Maekar brought his sword down in a wide arc, so fast and hard that the air shrieked around it, and his sword found purchase where neck met shoulder, stilling his victim with almost immediacy, before Maekar pulled back and let the warm blood flow so it would ran dry.

Maekar moved and moved and moved, faster, stronger, his blows sharper, and his injuries, the cut on his thigh received on Black Sty and the bruised bone on his left arm gifted on Red Gash, did little to halt him in his quest to kill as many as he could.

It would be an insult, to let his healing injuries prevent him from joining his fellows in driving the pirates to the Stranger who beckons them so.

As the pirates were chased away from their prized market of slaves and their beaches of barter, wrenched bloodily from their claws, from their wicked talons, those many few retreated back into their dark, lightless refuge, the honeycombed caves that seemed abyssal in depth and abyssal in waiting hunger for the blood of his fellows.

That hunger was never seen fulfilled.

 Wails and screams, fused in melodious agony, echoed off of the mazing blazing walls of the cave that he gazed into with its torrents of racing fire, green licks of flames that danced with furious and tempestuous delight as the sickly green fires reached out at the air, carrying the wails and screams with them on their way out.

Wails and screams that ended far sooner than the green fires did.

Maekar walked amongst his fellows in the red-and-brown graced grounds of the market square, a ground that stank of blood and shit, where people were sold in the same fashion as his father would have sold his largest catches in Kings Landing.

They saw ten thousand more slaves freed from the grasps of Talon, people of such variety that called places as far as Leng home, even men that could not be said to be men, creatures that bore skin and looks of men but were short yet more muscular than any men he'd seen before with long arms and heavy jaws in squat faces, though nonetheless these creatures had fought alongside the other enslaved men as they escaped and fought with their chains or their squirrelled away filed iron weapons, throwing the pirates in much welcomed disarray. 

Beyond the liberated peoples, Talon was a prize. 

As a market to sell catches of rarity, it was well stocked in provisions and with a little aid of the tortured pirates and the former slaves themselves, entire crates of gold and silver was taken from Talon, adding to the sacks of gold and silver they took from the ships they boarded.

The cost…however, had been high. Over a hundred of their fellows had died, thrice times the lives they'd lost thus far and as many were injured.

A steep cost. Yet still a cost that had not chipped at their resolve.

Not when they saw what the sacrifice of their fellows had wielded. 

What their sacrifice would wield.

For many of them, for the men of Corinth who'd once called Dragonstone and Westeros home, slavery was an affront. An evil that would see the Seven curse you to the Seven Hells.

But, as they came to know the slaves that the Prince and the Princess had freed in their boundless goodness and piety, as they all, as a people, opened their homes and their lives and their families to these children and people, such feelings of affront had only deepened, and Maekar knew that for many, to strike open the chains of these people had been a tribute to those back home whom they called friend…or foster-son…or foster-daughter.

And, as they welcomed almost two thousand former slaves amongst their ranks, two thousand swords and bows joining their quest to scour clean the cursed islands of the pirates and their pirate King, their host of locusts grew ever more ravenous to consume all and leave behind nothing but barren and dead wastelands.

The weeks rolled on by.

Grey Waters. Bloody Rock. Misty Shores.

Each of these cursed islands were fallen upon, and each of these islands were left behind with burning and ash-ridden lairs, its captives set free, and five hundred more of the thousands joined in their cause of leaving behind nothing but dead pirates.

Their ships would come to these lesser shores, though cursed they were still, with greetings of burnt of wrecks adrift in the bays and the wrecked harbours, the pirates that still lived only to live further until they met their end by steel.

Pirate lair after pirate lair was hollowed out, their gold and their food and much of their precious ill-used ships, all that which survived the fires of vengeance, taken as spoils of war, as blood debt owed by dead men, as they moved from one island to another island like the first instances of skipping stone onto the surface of lakes, quickly, rapidly, their deeds long felt after they were done being made.

Ships that thought themselves gruesome and fearsome with severed heads festooning their hulls and their decks, seeking to build a legend spoken in horrified whisper, were nought but ships to feed to the depths of the seas as their prideful hulls and their boastful masts were but wicks to the green and blue flames, the fear they once stoked in the hearts of others made to turn inward as their lungs filled with ash or fire or seawater, their burgeoning legend, once one of striking fear, instead, turned into one of warning, warning of what it means to pull at the tail of a dragon.

By the time they arrived at the Isle of Tears with their blockading ships, the seat of power of this King of the Basilisk Isles, they came with fifty-three ships and over nine thousand men. Three thousand sailors of Corinth. Three thousand fighting men of Corinth. And three thousand men who were destined to be of Corinth.

All united in one cause. 

The only cause.

The cause of Fire and Blood.

"Of course you're writing in that stupid book of yours" the familiar sound of his brother broke him out of his thoughts, out of his writing and Maekar looked up to see his elder brother look at him with an exasperated but knowing look.

Out of all of his brothers, Maekar was the most studious, the one who took full advantage to learn and learn and learn. His father had recognised his curiosity and difference to his brother and once said to him that had he the coin, he'd have sent Maekar to the Citadel so as to have him become a healer.

In truth, Maekar was rather glad that his father never managed to scrounge up the cost needed for a commoner to learn at the Citadel for he would never have been a good healer. His talents, Maekar mused, had lain in the arts, not in the sciences.

"You need to stop calling whatever you don't understand as stupid, Lomerys." Maekar said with a humorous note to his voice.

"Pah! As if anyone wants to understand your flowery words" Lomerys said with a roll of the eyes before he sat by Maekar with a heavy thud.

His brother breathed out heavily, as if he'd run a tremendous gauntlet, but Maekar knew that it was out of boredom. Out of all of his four brothers, Lomerys was the most easily bored. Unless it was about fighting and at present no one was exactly in the mood to be battered by his brother just so that his boredom would wane away. 

"You look like you want to write yourself." Maekar said with a raised eyebrow.

Lomerys turned him with a scowl on his face but it was not offensive in meaning, not truly. "I'll leave the story-telling to you, little brother." Lomerys shook his head.

"Nay, I'm just…restless, is all." Lomerys said after a brief pause. 

Maekar closed his journal, his eyes scanning his brother's face before he turned his head towards the distance, towards the Isle of Tears, which sat in the distance with tantalising 

"No word when we'll attack yet?" Maekar asked somewhat quietly.

If they'd attack.

The Isle of Tears was not a normal island. It was an island that was different from the lairs, the markets and the strongholds that they assaulted thus far.

This…this was a seat of power that was as much a town as it was a stronghold.

And over ten, near enough mayhaps twenty, thousand people lived there. 

And many…many amongst its denizens were naught but people. Runaway slaves mixed as easily as slavers in that town. Just as the children of former slaves mixed with that of slavers…and that of slaves.

Almost different from the lairs and strongholds they scoured clean. They'd wrung out the truths out of the pirates about this town that Saathos Saan has made his own, and the town was a ball of contradiction, a ball of chaos that, Maekar supposed in an odd and grim way, made sense. These pirates lived by a kind of code, one that meant the strong would always find a place amongst the strong, regardless of your past.

Whether that past meant nobility, or common, or slave, mattered not.

Maekar looked upon the town in the distance. Of course…none of those people mattered. Such people were of the same ilk as the pirates. Cutthroats and murderers and slavers and those that profited from them. What really mattered was the innocents, few they may be, that they were reluctant to let die in either dragonfire or as flesh shields. 

They had not been as thorough as they'd hoped, in this scouring. Some ships had escaped during their last battles and some of those ships, surprisingly, had come to the Isle of Tears to warn them about their coming.

Who knew that the pirates had such code of brotherhood amongst themselves?

A few of their people had fortunately seen the ships escaping and the Prince, rather than have his dragon hunt down those ships, had taken to burn down most of the pirate ships that had been anchored in the harbours here well before they arrived but it also meant that they no longer had the element of surprise.

As it was, the defences within the town were made formidable and assaulting it would cause many of their men to die and they could see the slaves that had been nailed to posts outside of the town wooden walls with the Far-Eyes.

A warning and a promise, Maekar had thought to himself.

"None." Lomerys said with a faint scowl before he sighed and continued "We've burned down all of the ships, the ones that hadn't been by the Prince's dragon anyway, and the few lairs around the limits of the islands that the pirates did not think cursed or too close to Gogossos, so the townfolk and pirates have no chance of escape. And there are a few men the island already making sure that none are able to escape into the jungles should they bypass the burning trees."

The Prince had burned the jungles around the town which was situated on the northern coast of the island which sharply rose into dense and hilly jungle once you were less than a league outside the bounds of the town.

"So nothing has changed since yesterday." Maekar surmised. Or the day before.

"No." Lomerys admitted "And I doubt Saan is interested in negotiating anything."

They'd sent a ship to the bay of the town and managed to get an envoy from Saathos Saan to approach the day they arrived. The Prince of course didn't trust that anyone they'd sent in wouldn't just be captured or worse, die, and so they'd managed to signal at the town for them to send someone to speak with.

The terms had been simple. 

For the town to surrender and that the Prince would not kill everyone in the town in return. Of course, the envoy had demands of his own, one that could be summarised as 'leave with some of our gold and we promise not to attack you ever again'. It was idiotic in truth and apparently no matter what Ser Galaenys had threatened the envoy with seemed to change this stance of the pirates.

"Of course not" Maekar muttered "he knows he's dead, no matter he does."

"And he'd rather see everyone dead amidst him than die alone." Lomerys said with a grunt before his shoulders slumped slightly and a faint scowl formed on his face.

"I'm surprised he hasn't been killed yet." Maekar said aloud what everyone probably was thinking. The pirates stood a better chance of surviving if they turned on their leader. Of course, there was one glaring reason why they hadn't yet.

"I think our reputation has scared them into following Saan." Lomerys said with a wry smile before it turned grim "We should have been more thorough."

Maekar suspected that the tales of the escaped pirate ships had scared the townfolk into following Saathos Saan to the bitter end.

An end that may well come for everyone in that cursed town.

"Do you think the Prince will do it?" Maekar asked after a long moment of silence.

"I'd rather not see our people die for those who stand by pirates." Lomerys said in a hard voice and Maekar turned to look at his brother who gazed upon the town.

"And neither would our Prince. It is only a matter before it happens."

The look on his brother's face was resolute in this belief and he suspected that it was what everyone must feel and think. 

Maekar was in two minds about it. 

He agreed with his brother but he also thought this was different from burning fields of fighting men with dragonfire. Innocent people would die. Maekar sighed slightly as he turned away from his brother's gaze and turned towards the town that loomed in the far distance.

Yet he couldn't help but think that there was little saving those people anyway. The resolve of the pirates to make it as hard as people was clear.

Hours Later…

The sound of a deafening roar shook him out of his sleep and almost out of his hammock and, as he grabbed hold of the sides, he exchanged looks with one of his comrades who was in the hammock next to him before both of them jumped out and grabbed their easily put on pieces of armour and swords, joining the others who were racing up to get to the main deck.

And, as they walked up the steps, the blazing sound of the war horns rang around them and they all knew that they were to attack to town.

As he arrived at the main deck, the light of the sun, though waning it was as the sun amply peaked out of the horizon, and they saw the giant figure of the Prince's dragon and as he tightened the knots to his armour, Maekar paused for a moment, ignoring all of the movements, all of the splashes of water that came with the rowboats being brought down into the water, and instead, gazed upon the dragon who set a direct path to the town.

And Maekar knew, everyone knew, that the Prince had decided to end it all.

Maekar saw some arrows, some that looked like mayhaps ballista, fired at Mīsaragorn but they were useless as the dragon passed down low and opened its maw.

The flames that left Mīsaragorn's maw were almost the width of the dragon itself and even from this distance, Maekar heard the terrible sound of dragonfire moments after it was breathed out. 

"Maekar!" Maekar snapped out of staring and saw his brother angrily beckon Maekar to him and Maekar moved out of his stillness and hastily arrived at the rope ship ladders and descended down.

As they rowed toward shores, the sight of Mīsaragorn passing over and over again, spewing dragonfire, was impossible tear one's gaze away from it.

Smoke and blue fire struggled against one another to rise higher than the other, and it looked like the sight of the Seven Hells themselves, brought to the earth by the passing dragon who looked, through the fire and the smoke, like it was sent by the Seven to judge and accurse the townfolk for their sins.

By the time they arrived at the shores – they were not amongst the first to arrive – the fires that had burned and burned had largely gone out, and so had the clouds of smoke and Maekar could see his fellows walking around into and around the town.

The strong wooden walls that sheltered and protected the town were no more, burned down into ash. And as they walked into the town, Maekar saw that it was much the same within the once-walls.

Smoke and ash and mist filled the air, and there was nothing else but ash and burnt wood to smell. No blood. No shit. Nothing but ash and burning.

Maekar had not seen behind the walls but he could imagine where homes had once stood from the way molten stone and rubble collapsed into themselves and as Maekar saw more buildings, further into the town he walked, buildings that were less burnt to ash though still crumbled and molten, and he could see how closely built all of the buildings must have been.

"Survivors" his brother said with surprise in his voice and pointed towards the distance where some of the smoke was less clouding their sight.

"And buildings that are more or less intact." Maekar commented with almost disbelief as he looked upon the largest building through the fog of smoke. It still had tasted the licks of fire but it seemed to be moderately saved.

The Prince must have done it on purpose though how the Prince managed to keep them so protected, Maekar could not know.

By the time night came, Maekar and his fellows had chained up the survivors they could find, some of whom had been lucky enough to escape both the fire and the smoke, or mayhaps unlucky, whilst parties had been sent out into the surroundings to track any that managed to get away. 

The man who brought all of this vengeance, Saathos Saan, was amongst the survivors.

Maekar had caught the angry expression on their Prince's face, one that was accompanied with the constant low angry growling of Mīsaragorn, who had taken roost at the centre of the burnt husked out town, as the Prince gazed upon the survivors of this destruction and it was not a difficult decision to stay clear of the Prince. He looked as if he was the Stranger himself, with that anger on his face.

Maekar understood, at least he thought he understood. 

He knew that the Prince was a good man. 

He'd known of the Prince and his good deeds, deeds the Prince had done before Prince Aegon had even grown into manhood, deeds that he did for the people of Dragonstone and the poor of Kings Landing and since they arrived at Corinth, he'd gotten to see first hand how good the Prince and the Princess truly were.

And for the Prince to be pushed into causing such indiscriminate death? 

It was no wonder the Prince was so angry.

Still. He felt no pity for Saathos Saan and the men and the people who'd survived. 

The keep in which Saathos Saan had barricaded himself in had over two hundred people with him and when the destruction had come to an end and the flames died out, mostly, the doors to the keep had opened and Saathos Saan, along with his family, were led out by the survivors who'd cast away their weapons.

It seemed like they hoped that bringing out their King to the Prince would earn them leniency. It would remain that…hope.

For the next week, after the bodies of the townfolk found underneath rubble had been burnt, there had been so many, the Prince had them scour the town for any valuables that might have been left intact, at locations the survivors had been persuaded into telling them.

They found molten and dirty gold and silver in many places though in some locations, they managed to find some intact caches of gold and jewellery but the majority of the coin they seized had been in the keep of Saathos Saan which also had other treasures like jewelleries, even a number of Valyrian steel daggers, and some cask that had that pyromancer Fororlan excited according to the rumours.

There might have been more for the pirates claimed the rest of the gold was at the bottom of the sea, in wrecks that had sunk after the Prince's dragon had burnt them down, and the Prince had some of the survivors try and bring these supposed treasures from the bottom the sea for much of the week but nothing came of it.

Maekar didn't think it wasn't for the lack of trying for the promise of their crimes being forgiven had been motivation enough for them to try honestly.

And now, now it was time for the executions to happen.

Maekar stared as the ropes were being hung around the necks of the men, over a hundred and fifty of them, many of whom were looking very weak. They'd been barely fed and watered, intentionally so, and now they could barely muster the energy to rage at them.

Maekar glanced at the few that would be spared the ropes. Women and children mostly, and a few that had been the slaves fortunate enough to be within the keep or those who managed to find shelter in the dungeons of their master's homes.

All in all only one and thirty would live out of over four and ten thousand people that called this town home.

Maekar heard rumours that the Summer Islanders that had come with them had agreed to take them in when they returned home when the Prince asked them to.

Maekar hoped that the children, which included several of Saathos Saan's grandchildren and a daughter, would use this chance they were given to start anew.

Whilst the sins of the father were not inherited, they were not forgotten.

One by one, the men were pushed off and one by one the ropes snapped and so did their necks, the only noise that disrupted the sounds of breaking necks had been the sobs of the children and the cheers of his fellows.

And as the last neck was broken and his life ended, so was this war.

"Men." The Prince began, his eyes sweeping across them all as they stood crowded together, their attentions captured by the Prince who stood before them, in the centre, in front of the hanging dead men, the figure whom they all revolved around, for whom they had fought for.

"We did not ask for this war" the Prince told them, his tone severe and gestured towards the hanging dead men. "But we have not turned away from it and we have shown them the folly of setting against the people of Corinth!"

Deafening cheers rang around as chants of 'Corinth!' 'Fire and Blood!' and 'House Targaryen!' rang around.

"We have avenged our brethren who were taken by this scum and we have taken everything from in return! Their gold, their ships and their lives!" jubilant cheers rang once more. 

"And each and every one of you have done your duty for our people and to my House and for that you will receive a share of the spoils to do with as you will." The cheers that followed were even louder. Whilst they had not fought as hard for gold like swellswords are want to do, gold was always welcomed by everyone.

"We also shall not forget the men that we have lost. The men who died for their duty shall have their spoils shared amongst their closest kin." The tone of the Prince was more solemn now and the cheers were more subdued but Maekar, like them, looked upon the Prince with approval and reverence.

"We do not forget our own." The Prince said with a nod before he continued "The rest of the spoils shall be taken in the name of our people so that we may use these once ill-gotten coin for the betterment of our own."

"And, we shall return home." The Prince unsheathed his sword and raised it up into the air "Triumphantly!" the cheers that followed last long into the night.

As did the song and merriment that night.

The day after, it was confirmed that most of the fleet would sail to the islands that still had the former slaves there and either take them along to the Summer Isles, or give them enough supplies to last until they sent ships to come and pick them up.

The rest of the fleet would go to the Isle of Toads with the Prince though why he did not know. 

On the eve before they were set to leave, as he wrote in his journal by one of the campfires on his lonesome, adding his latest additions to his chronicling of the war, he heard someone call out his name and he looked up and saw it was one of the Prince's guards and his eyes widened when he saw that it was the Prince himself.

He quickly stood up and bowed from the hip. 

"My Prince." Maekar said with deep respect and reverence. The Prince inclined his head slightly as he gestured for Maekar to stand back up.

"Sit with me." The Prince said as he moved to take a seat on one of the pieces of rubble. Maekar did as he was bid and he looked to the Prince.

He wasn't sure what the Prince wanted him for. 

He'd spoken with the Prince on numerous occasions, and even duelled against the Prince once, but each interaction had been very much short and not like the interactions the Prince had with some of the other higher ranked knights.

 The Prince's gaze fell upon Maekar's journal and Maekar thought he could see Prince Aegon look pleased? "I have heard from your commander that you often spend your free hours writing in that journal of yours."

Maekar was surprised at that and for a moment he began to grow worried. Was Prince Aegon taking offence at his chronicling of the war?

"Be at ease, Ser Maekar." The Prince's voice was sharp and cut through his thoughts and Maekar met the Prince's gaze again which was piercing.

"I have no issue with you writing the war as it took place. On the contrary, I fully support it." The Prince told him and Maekar couldn't help but look very surprised.

"I find it refreshing to see a warrior, a knight, to take the chance to write the story as he had lived it rather than a maester or scholar many years after the battle or war took place." The Prince further said and then looked to the crackling fires.

Maekar's words spilled out before he realised "My Prince. I…" the Prince returned his gaze at Maekar and there was questioning in his eyes.

Maekar looked away from them but nonetheless he answered the unasked question "As a child, I loved the stories that the elders of the village would tell us children."

"Would one of these elders be Old Gran Nesaenna?" 

Maekar turned around sharply and saw the Prince look at him with an amused glint in his eyes. "You knew her?" Maekar asked with a shocked note in his voice.

Old Gran was often amongst their mothers looking after them as children when their fathers were out at sea or working by the port, or later the docks. Everyone who was born on Dragonstone would have known her.

"Briefly" the Prince said with a slight nod "I had the chance to meet her when some of the shipbuilders kept using her name as a threat."

Maekar couldn't help but laugh "Aye. Old Gran was beloved to many of us though she could be mightier with her words than a giant with an axe could ever be."

"It was a shame she never quite managed to show me her might but I saw moments of it." The Prince said with a faint smile.

If there was any commoner that could dare speak in ways like she'd spoken to countless of men strong enough to break her in half, it would have been Old Nesy.

"I interrupted you, Ser Maekar, please continue." The Prince brought him back to what he was going to say and Maekar told the Prince.

He told the Prince of his wonder at the tales of Aegon the Conqueror, and how he was reminded of it all whenever he saw glimpses of the dragons. 

He told the Prince of how interested he was in the histories of Houses and the wars that were fought and when he was taught how to read and write by the scholars, he couldn't help but want to write himself and leave a piece of himself in history as one of the men who had lived it.

By the time he'd finished, more wood had to be added to the fire to keep it burning.

After a little while, the Prince stood up and Maekar looked up at the Prince who glanced at him. "Keep writing, Ser Maekar" the Prince said to him.

"One day, I'd like to read what you have written of this day." The Prince turned away from Maekar. "Keep it truthful. Not only to the events that had happened today but also what you thought of it."

"And mayhaps some of our future descendants will take heed of the violence and ugliness that comes with war." The Prince finished before he walked away with his guards, leaving behind Maekar to his thoughts…

And his journal.

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Late 108 AC – Isle of Tears

The flaps of his tent open and his guards escorted in the men who'd asked to meet with him.

"Greetings my Prince." The men gave the traditional Summer Islander greetings of a smile on a bowed head and their right hand placed in the centre of their chest.

Typically, the right hand would be offered to greet where the middle finger snaps the middle finger of the person you are shaking, but as Aegon was a Prince and the men before him not, the lower ranked individual was to do as the men were doing now. 

Aegon eyed the men that stood before him, tall men that were taller than Aegon was. There was a variety of them, some bore skin as brown as hardwood trees and others as dark as ink. He'd gotten to know where such skin tones belonged over the years.

The Summer Islanders with the darker skins tended to be from Isles like Jhala or Moluu whilst the lighter skinned ones tended to be from Walano, Koj or Omboru though the nobility were a range of skin tones since intermarriages between Princely and Lordly Houses was very common.

Aegon set his eyes on the man that the men behind him had followed.

"Greetings." Aegon returned to them in the Summer Tongue. 

"May Peace be upon you."

The Summer Islanders looked pleased with the use of their native tongue.

Aegon wasn't fluent in the Summer Tongue, the sentence structure was a bit different to much he was used to, but he could understand it and get by speaking it.

"And may Peace be upon you" the Summer Islanders returned to him and Aegon gestured the men to sit down in his tent. 

These five men had been amongst those who had fought beside his people after they'd been liberated from Talon. For that, he would not refuse their request to meet with him, even if he knew that the main man before him was of noble stock.

"Your name… Sodhabhas Qhaxos…you're a son of an Omboru noble family, are you not?" the dragon Prince asked him, his eyes boring into him intently.

"Yes…the lord of the Golden Vale is my great uncle. Balal Qhaxos. I was raised alongside my cousins." Sodhabhas answered him.

"I'm not familiar with your great uncle but I am familiar with Balhas Qhaxos."

The name seemed to be familiar to Sodhabhas. "Ah, yes, he is my second cousin." 

"He is a good warrior." Aegon told the man truthfully. Balhas was amongst the Omboru warriors that Aegon had sparred with. He was great with a spear.

"As are you, my Prince." Sodhabhas said gracefully before adding "The tales of your prowess are not exaggerated" the man said with praise in his voice.

Aegon eyed the man intently. "So you were still in the Isles before your capture?" Aegon asked, moving away from the flattery.

"I was." Sodhabhas said soberly. "Four moons ago, I was journeying on Jhala along the west coast with my people, after my business in Ebonhead was complete, and take a boat from one of the villages on the northern coast to Omboru."

The Indigo Straits were, all things considered, not that far apart from each other and a fishing boat could easily make the journey for the waters were rather gentle in between the islands. When it wasn't the rainy season.

"I see." Aegon said as he sat back in his chair with a grave look on his face. "I am gladdened that me and my people were in time to prevent your misery from growing"

From what they gathered, the slaves from Talon were expected to leave for Slaver's Bay in the next three or four moons. During spring and summer, the pirates and slavers, a time where the Summer Isles were less patrolled because of their religious festivals and gatherings, did the bulk of their slaving in that period.

"And you have my eternal gratitude for preventing more of my people to feel the chains around their wrists. It is why I am here, in fact." Sodhabhas said.

"No debt is owed, only friendship" Aegon told the man and for the most part it was true. He hated slavery with a passion and his empathy was strong for the enslaved.

Of course, Aegon thought with ever growing darkness, there was another part of him that wished to use the returned people of the Summer Isles for his own purposes.

Sodhabhas shook his head "You are owed more than my friendship and many of my friends agree with me." Sodhabhas looked at Aegon and met his eyes.

"I owe you my life. I offer it to you in service."

The words were said in Summer Tongue and Aegon knew somewhat the connotations behind it. Like most cultures, the Summer Isles had codes of honour, and one of those codes was the idea of repaying the debt owed for the saving of their life.

From what he could understand, it had come from being a culture of seafarers, where people depended on one another to do their part. When a ship was wrecked and their survivors found by a passing ship or village, and their lives saved, there was an expectation that the individual or individuals repaid that kindness in some form.

"You wish to become one of my guards?" Aegon asked the man before his gaze turned to the rest of the Summer Islanders, asking the same with his eyes.

"I am not adequate enough with a spear or sword to be one of your guards, my Prince, nor do I expect to my adequacy with a bow to be enough." Sodhabhas said with humility. "The other men who wish to serve you as well are better served than I am in that regard. But I am a speaker of seven different tongues and I am good at diplomacy. I have often been sent by my great uncle to act as his voice." 

Seven languages was impressive, Aegon had to admit. Aegon was fluent with Common and High Valyrian. Passable with the Summer Tongue. 

And English and Greek didn't count.

The diplomacy part however…he did have a number of people who Aegon could see being decent diplomats, if he needed them to be, but most of them were former Braavosi or other freedmen and he didn't exactly trust them, even if some of them had intermarried with his people.

There was some aspects that he made sure those people didn't know, like how to produce compasses or the missions to the West. He was fairly sure they would not betray him but he wouldn't give them the opportunity to.

He didn't trust this Summer Islander either but he was at least sure that the debts that was owed to Aegon and his people was strong enough and he didn't have obvious an incentive to betray Aegon.

"How many other men wish to serve me and the people of Corinth?" Aegon asked.

"Seven hundred of us." Sodhabhas answered.

Seven hundred out of the two thousand. Mayhaps it would be more when the rest of the freed slaves were taken to Lotus Port. 

Aegon stared Sodhabhas with an intense gaze, almost trying to see the truth of his words in the man's face. Seven hundred men, men who could fight, was significant to absorb in his small army. Enough to be problematic.

Could he risk it? 

Betrayal was always on his mind. The reasons and causes behind it. How he interacted with people. His own actions that may earn him betrayal.

One slip was enough to bring the end of all that he cherished and all that he fought for. Was fighting for. His entire purpose of being. 

He made sure he understood his people. The people from Dragonstone. The people of Lys. The people from Braavos. The people from Volantis. What drove them. What made him earn their loyalties.

And as he studied the man before him, he had to weigh up the chances of if he could be sure that he could earn their loyalties even after the gratitude of being freed waned away. If he could expect them to fall within the expectations of how they'd behave.

"Very well." Aegon said, having decided. "I will speak with Ser Galaenys and inform him to take you with him to Corinth when the fleet returns to the Summer Isles."

The relief and happiness on their faces was clear to see but Aegon remained hard faced. One slip…

Hours later, as sunset arrived, Aegon watched the bulk of the fleet go. 

The majority of the fleet and men were returning home though before they left, they'd swing by the islands that bore the liberated slaves and take them to Port Lotus.

Some of them may elect to stay with his people, most probably would not.

Aegon's expression turned into cold stone.

None of his people had been found amongst the slaves they'd liberated. Not one. Saathos Saan had said that they'd made sure to sell those slaves first and said that he'd had them sold to Volantis and to Meereen.

His sailors could be anywhere now. Some estate down the Rhoyne. Or mayhaps already killed in the fighting pits of Meereen.

The leather of his gloves creaked under his fists. Or mayhaps, being worked like a chattel slave. Fortunately, he'd gotten the names of the men that Saathos Saan and his men sold slaves to and mayhaps…and mayhaps they could return them home.

Aegon's forcibly lessened his clenched fists and sighed silently, and focused on the leaving ships, knowing he could do nothing for his people. Not yet.

The minority were all from all kinds of places, even as far as Yi Ti, Qarth or Leng. 

Aegon had instructed his captains to inform the Easterners that they'd be taken to Port Lotus where they might be able to chart a ship home but also to offer them a stay at Port Corinth and join the trading fleet back home when the ships returned.

He expected quite a few of the Far Easterners to accept his offer of stay. 

He wanted to learn more of their homelands and what opportunities they might know of that would benefit his people and his family. Mayhaps he'd learn of a way to safely transport silkworms across the seas.

Most of the slaves were of Summer Islander or Naathi descent who Aegon would see go home. The Summer Islanders would be able to get to their home isles rather easily for the Islanders traded amongst each other every day and none of the captains of those ships would refuse another Islander free board, not in these circumstances.

The Naathi…

The Naathi were more of a special case. 

He'd taken the chance to speak with the very few Naathi who decided who help with the ship alongside his sailors and he couldn't help but admire their people. And pity them somewhat. Not because he thought less of them, no, far from that. He'd seen their settlements and their city around the centre of the island atop Mīsaragorn. 

They were a developed civilisation at a similar state as the rest of the civilisations of this world. No, his pity was regarding their culture, their peaceful and serene way of life, which would never survive in this world. 

Or in his old world in any time before the 21st century.

A people who practiced extreme pacifism, who preferred to make music and would not kill anything, not even animals for sustenance, was a people who would always be targeted for the very things that made them a people to admire.

Aegon's expression darkened.

If it had not been for the butterfly fever, these people and their culture would have long been cast into the abyss of history, the last remnants of their people only remembered by the quirks of facial and racial features in their descendants in the cities of Slaver's Bay.

Vengeance and anger had boiled within him when his people had been enslaved but now that he'd come across the slave pens, the hopelessness, the starvation, the smells of rot and decay… 

He turns and around and gazed upon the blackened and dead land.

Such feelings of rage and vengeance had been boiled out of him when he'd come to the decision to unleash Mīsaragorn's flames upon thousands of people, and in its stead, had come grim soberness and solemnity.

He'd killed thousands of innocents along with thousands of guilty people.

Sacking and killing were easy things to say, and easier to contemplate, but coming to face the harsh reality of what it meant as it had now, was another thing.

He could say that he had no other choice. He would be right to. And people understood. His men understood. Their people would understand too.

For what else could he have done? To attack conventionally and risk the death of hundreds if not more than a thousand of his men? 

To siege and starve them out, waiting for moons and risk their escape?

His duty had been to his people. To see them return to their families. 

Even at the cost of other people.

Even at the cost of his humanity.

As he walked through the dead town, towards Mīsaragorn, the thought that had grown into a blossoming tree in his mind kept pushing to the front of his mind.

Despite the grimness he felt, despite the sadness he felt for the deaths he caused, the guilt at the deaths of innocents, he would do it again. And again. And again.

If there has been one thing made clear to him on this campaign, it was that softness was a penalty that would be exacted on you…on your people.

"I will be back in the morning." Aegon told his guards as Mīsaragorn came closer to the ground to let him climb aboard.

"Of course, my Prince" one of the guards said and as Aegon climbed into his saddle and he spared a glance at his surroundings. 

They lost too many of their people to these accursed islands.

They lost almost two hundred and fifty men in this campaign. Over double that were injured with a significant number unable to fight again.

That same, unrelenting thought kept on coming to the forefront of his mind.

They needed more people. 

They needed more soldiers.

Wherever they settled, may it be East or West, they needed more people. 

And…

They needed a reputation, one that made other pause from attacking them…or dare to enslave his people. These people of this world…they understood only one thing.

And Aegon, as Mīsaragorn rose to his full height and after several shaking steps, took flight, and Aegon would see they could come to see his people be understood.

After almost an hour of flight, they came into view of their destination, a destination that was hard to miss amidst jungle and greenery.

Black walls of fused stone greeted them as they neared the ruins of Gogossos, ruins that seemed to stretch far towards the coast with overgrown weeds and trees nestled between the buildings, or in most cases, within the buildings themselves.

And as they flew lower and over the ruined city, Aegon saw magnificent black statues of gorgoyles and sphinxes and dragons, and the remnants of the distinct architectures of differing heritages. Pyramidal and spiral foundations dotted the ruined city though many of the spiral and roman-esque buildings were in far better shape than most of the pyramidal structures.

This city…this city was a monument to all that had been wrong with Valyria.

Built upon the carcass of the Ghiscari, a people whom Valyria had learnt far too much from, foul magicks had purported to have happened in this Tenth Free City.

Magicks that warped and twisted and befouled people into half creatures and halflings, stripping people of the last thing they had left, their very nature.

Aegon bid Mīsaragorn to fly lower and to land on one of the flanking towers which was large enough for Mīsaragorn to land upon.

After Mīsaragorn landed, somewhat inelegantly, Aegon set his gaze once more upon the ruins of Gogossos. The air was thick and the quietness was eerie.

Quietness that was only broken by the rustling of leaves and the calls of birds.

This city may have hosted over a hundred thousand people.

Once upon a time.

Aegon was not saddened to see it lie in ruins.

Aegon set his sights upon the massive domed building that stood at the centre of the city that stood out amongst the trees that dominated all of the surroundings.

It seemed like the building had once upon a time stood within a city square, where all roads seemed to lead to it and so the trees had the greatest space to grow in. 

Aegon's expression darkened as he thought on why that was. Gogossos was the capital of chattel slavery, at best equal to what is practiced in Slaver's Bay and at worst…

Aegon quieted his thoughts as he stared upon the ruins of Gogossos. 

What he'd seen in the Basilisk Isles was nothing but a small part of what this world wrought onto itself. Brutality, cruelty and sheer inhumanity.

What a legacy Valyria and its people left behind.

Amidst all of the wonders and magic Valyria left behind, however meagre they may be in comparison to all that was lost, Valyria's true legacy was before him.

Not House Targaryen. Not Valyrian steel. Not even the Valyrian ethnicities.

No…

It was their culture which propagated such horror and inhumanity that remains their greatest legacy, a legacy that practically had an entire continent practice inhumanity and revelled in it safe for one city at the very edge of it.

From sheep herders to slave masters of unparalleled cruelty.

Aegon and Mīsaragorn remained atop that flanking tower long into the night and only after dawn came, did Aegon and Mīsaragorn leave, but, his thoughts never quieted as he left the ruins of a dead city behind in the distance.

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Late 108 AC – Isle of Tears

Fororlan POV

Fororlan stared greedily at the cask as he deliberately took his time to remove the cork from the cask, and breathed in the smells of rotten flesh and spoiled meat with a look of bliss on his face as his eyelids drooped low.

He'd never smelled anything sweeter, anything grander, than what he was smelling now. 

For years, decades, he'd wanted this liquid but could never find it anywhere.

Not in Volantis. Not in the other Free Cities, not even amongst the merchants of Slaver's Bay. More than a few times he thought to go to Qarth and brave the chance to purchase even a measly vial from whomever may have it.

He always stepped away from that decision, knowing that to go to the seat of power of the warlocks of Qarth would likely spell his doom.

The first account he could find of them had been a century before the Doom, where tales of powerful magic users had fashioned themselves a power within Qarthene society and since the Doom, tales of their influence had remained present on Essos.

Where they may have come from, or where they learnt their magic, no one could truly say, but there were tales of a Valyrian sorcerer that matches around the time that the warlocks came into power, a Valyrian sorcerer that returned from Qarth with incredible wealth and a fleet worth of slaves.

Mayhaps they were granted some kind of magic by this Valyrian sorcerer in return for the gold and the slaves or mayhaps they'd learnt magic where most others not Valyrian had learnt their magic…in Asshai.

He rather considered the tale of the Valyrian sorcerer to be truer than not for the kinds of magic the warlocks were capable of, a form of immortality, divination and illusions that could make one believe to have lived an entire life in the space of a heartbeat, were not the kinds of magic one learnt from Asshai.

But the lack of a name of this Valyrian sorcerer was the most glaring fault in the story. This Valyrian sorcerer was also claimed to have visited as far as the Wall and the Five Forts, though whether or not this was true, just as whether or not the man had existed, who could say.

He did not believe the warlocks were capable of creating their own magicks otherwise they would have been able to do more than simply live off of their tonic and unknown desires for the past two and some centuries.

So yes…whilst the warlocks of Qarth were charlatans, fools that played with magic that was beyond their grasp and left them into husks and unable to leave their rotting keep for a lengthy time, they were powerful in magic and they'd see him coming. 

Fororlan carefully placed the cork back into the cask. Who knew that he'd find such priceless treasure when he'd been forced to come on this accursed expedition?

The flaps to his tent opened and he turned his gaze towards it.

"Fororlan." The Prince's voice was sharp and stern as he walked towards Fororlan.

When he'd met Prince Aegon after being invited to Dragonstone with promises of reward and funding, he'd thought the Prince was nought but a child unknowing of what the meaning of magic truly was.

His questions had certainly such rings to it.

And Fororlan had thought to use the boy to learn the secrets of the last Dragonlord family. Even if it was said the Targaryens were a lowly ranked family of the Forty Families, it was sure to be that they had a wealth of knowledge in their possession.

Unfortunately for him, both of his initial thoughts had been wrong. Prince Aegon was far from the naïve boy he thought the Prince to be and the Targaryens were just as unknowing of magic as most were, despite their dragons.

Still, Fororlan mused, they were making progress to rediscover much of what was lost, even if the Prince was reticent to delve into the true might of magic.

It frustrated him greatly but he knew he could nothing to raise any suspicion on his loyalty to the Prince for he knew he'd be dead the moment he was acting outside of the Prince's orders. 

He was watched too carefully by the Prince and the acolytes the Prince made him take from amongst his own people and whilst he could likely escape and return to Volantis, so that he could experiment freely, Volantis had its own dangers and threats that could see him in far worse conditions. 

Plus, Fororlan thought irritated, he'd not left the Alchemist Guild in Volantis in good standing, not after the books he'd taken with him from their libraries.

For now, he was safest with the Prince.

"If you want to use it, go ahead" the Prince said and Fororlan look to him only to see piercing eyes gazing at Fororlan. And as the Prince sat down across from him, the Prince added "and if you die because of the poison, it'll be on your head."

Fororlan's face twisted in a pained scowl before he nodded tightly "Fine, we'll wait until we're in Corinth. One of the acolytes can test it first."

"Not without them knowing what it actually is" the Prince said sternly as he sat back in his chair with a look of displeasure on his face.

"Yes, yes, I know, no trapping people." Fororlan said somewhat agitated.

The Prince said nothing in response to that, instead turned his attentions to the cask.

"You truly believe it is shade of the evening?" the Prince asked the same question he'd asked when he received word about the discovery.

"Yes." Fororlan said once more as he glanced at the Prince before also looking at the cask with unbridled attention. "It is without doubt shade of the evening."

He knew almost everything about it, the tales, the myths, the things it could do. The only things he did not know even partly was where the tree from which the leaves are used to make the drink came from…or exactly what it would do for him.

There were…differing accounts about the substance. Some were gruesome whilst others seemed to be too good to be true. He hoped it was leaning heavily to the accounts that were too good to be true.

"Without a doubt', Fororlan?" the Prince said and Fororlan saw the Prince looking at him with a raised eyebrow "I thought you better than to assume that that, is without a doubt is shade of the evening. The instances of shade of the evening leaving Qarth can be summarily counted on one hand" the Prince closed his fist, indicating zero.

Yes, yes, not even Fororlan could contest that. He'd never found any source either.

"Saathos Saan confirmed it, did he not?" Fororlan returned before adding "Why would he lie about it knowing that we'd test it?"

When asked about the cask, Saathos Saan claimed that he'd boarded a ship out by Qarth, a ship that bore sails with a drop of blue in a backdrop of white sails, a heraldry or ownership he'd never seen before, and found it to be escorting two withered bald men with disturbing blue eyes. 

He and his men killed the bald men and took their wares and their ship, which according to Saathos Saan claimed was head to Braavos, and Saathos Saan said that the ship had carried the single greatest treasury he'd ever caught before. The cask looked strange and the liquid seemed to be show blue light even in the dark and Saathos Saan had kept it on a whim, thinking it something like poison.

"He did." The Prince said with a nod. "But he was willing to say and do anything to convince us to spare his daughter and grandchildren. That he claims he never had it tested alarms me however" the Prince said as he glanced at the cask.

"The higher powers terrify lesser men." Fororlan said scornfully to the Prince before he lost the look as he gazed upon the hard and cold look of the Prince.

"They should terrify all men, Fororlan" the Prince said in a quieter tone before the Prince sighed "Although I think this will just cause you to go on a hell of a trip."

Fororlan frowned at what the Prince said but before he could ask, the Prince continued as he peered at Fororlan "Do you truly think it'll help us fill the gaps?"

Fororlan considered it for a moment.

There were two things the Prince wanted to recreate above all else…Fused Dragon Stone and Valyrian Steel. And present, they were only somewhat on the right path to recreating the fused stone the Dragonlords were famous for.

But with the Prince refusing any sacrifice, even that of pirates and vagabonds, they were forced to find another path. Fororlan met the Prince's gaze briefly before looking at the cask.

The Prince was not accepting that all Valyrian magic, even the most ancient kinds like fused stone and Valyrian steel, had been a product of the sacrifice of dozens, mayhaps hundreds or thousands, powering these great feats of magic with the life and blood of these sacrifices.

The most frustrating part of it all was that despite the evidence and personal accounts of what shadowbinders and the Priests of R'hollor could do with sacrifices, the Prince was unmoved from this position of his and said that without certainty that it is how the Valyrians had created fused stone and Valyrian steel, he'd not even think of it.

The Prince claimed that not all Valyrian magic required human sacrifice and the solid rumours that the Qohori can reforge Valyrian steel without human sacrifice was something that the Prince considered to be a truer accounting than the hearsay of others.

They'd found that Valyrian steel dagger that the Prince had been gifted by Jaehaerys could not melt even slightly under temperatures that were great enough to make normal steel behave like water.

Under dragonfire however…

It took many days of the Prince, his dragon and the blacksmiths to restore the dagger.

The Prince was under the impression that the secret of fused stone and Valyrian steel was not in human sacrifice but with the dragons. 

Fororlan could not discount the idea but he could not see how it all fitted together.

Neither could the Prince.

The latest try had the Prince use his dragon's flames and his fire magic to almost create fused dragon stone but it was not enough. Was it a matter of more repeated bursts of dragonfire? Or was there another component that was missing?

And what about Valyrian steel?

There were some stories, legends truly, that claimed that the Valyrians used their dragons in forges and with fire magic and blood crafted Valyrian steel.

He'd long ago discounted such simple theories for it made the Valyrian sorcerers as nothing but glorified blacksmiths and he would still discount 

"Mayhaps." Fororland finally said. He continued "It is said that anyone who consumes shade of the evening will see and hear the truths laid before you. Mayhaps whomever consumed the drink before the Valyrian steel will see the truth about it."

The Prince looked at him wearily "I can't say that I am convinced."

No…neither was Fororlan. "It is mayhaps the only way we might find some clues. Else there is always Asshai." 

The Prince smirked slightly, amusement and challenge dancing in his mismatching eyes. "If you're volunteering…"

"I haven't the time to go on such a detour." Fororlan said a little too quickly. The Prince had asked him a few times if he wished to go to Asshai, to learn, but Fororlan had no wish to set foot on that accursed land. 

He'd seen what that cursed land did to one of the Wisdoms of the Guild, and he looked as if he was a mere toe away from death which wasn't even the worst of it.

No, the worst of it was the drastic change in his demeanour. Where once there had been arrogance and intellect in his eyes, now there was cruelty and emptiness.

He'd disappeared a few years before Fororlan left Volantis but it was rumoured that the other Wisdoms had him fearfully killed to stop him from carrying out some ritual that was even too horrible to speak of.

Fororlan sighed slightly and he spoke without thinking. "All of this would be easier if you just…" Fororlan trailed off, realising what he said and he stiffened as he looked at the Prince, memories of the same face he'd seen the Prince wear when he'd been clad in blood and flesh flashing at the forefront of his mind.

"And like the last time…" the Prince narrowed his eyes "or the times before that…" the Prince's voice turned low, threatening and Fororlan looked away from his gaze.

"The answer is no. I will not have our magic be tainted by the kinds of practices that doomed the civilisation of my ancestors. Nothing good can come from the kinds of magic you wish to try and discover or rediscover." 

"Look. At. Me." 

Fororlan looked and he paled slightly under the Prince's hard and piercing gaze.

The light of the torches seemed to dim and flicker and Fororlan began to pale even further. "Do you understand?" the Prince's voice was quiet but the danger in it was unmistakable…as was the danger he could feel on his very skin.

"Yes, my Prince." 

The Prince stared at him a while longer before he sat back once more.

"We'll be leaving for the Isle of Toads on the break of light" the Prince told him before he looked away from Fororlan and towards the skull of a Brindled Man, taken from Talon, which he'd add to his collection when he was back in Corinth.

Fororlan peaked at that. He had never gone to those ruins, nor had he come across the strange peoples that are said to inhabit that island.

The Brindled Men that he got to examined, the dead and the living, made it clear that there were truths to the strange peoples of this part of the world.

It was fascinating to see how truly unnatural they looked. And how much they struggled to speak and when they did speak, they spoke with high pitches like that of a hysterical woman. No, worse than a hysterical woman.

He knew that Essos was also home to some of these kinds of creatures, creatures that he'd seen bones of, so it wasn't entirely surprising to see a Brindled Man.

And mayhaps…

Mayhaps the tales of the Toad Stone were true also.

He stared at the Prince who kept looking at the skull. 

The oily black stone was a matter of interest to the Prince as well, who believed that it may be a remnant of the time of the Dawn Age, and mayhaps may lead to explain the mysteries of what had befallen these civilisations.

Fororlan suspected the Prince believed that these civilisations may have practiced foul magicks that had come bring about their ends but Fororlan was doubtful of that.

Else, Asshai would have joined them in demise whose city was built almost entirely by the stone. "Of course, my Prince. "

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Late 108 AC – Corinth

Polaerys POV

His eyes remained closed as his back and his head moved, up and down, along with the breaths that were breathed in and breaths that were breathed out, nasally breathing and low guttural throaty sounds was all that he heard around him, and Polaerys was never more relaxed, even as he felt Tyraxes breathing on his face.

At times, when he was just with her, alone, he felt as if he was feeling two things at the same time, but it never felt…different. Like it was two different things. 

It wasn't like the feeling of the cool river around your ankles and the heat of the sun, two things that were different but felt at the same time, but rather it was like the taste of lemon tarts, sweet and bitter all at once, mixing but different at the same time.

It was more like that, the two feelings that he was feeling at present from himself…and from Tyraxes. He and his brothers were allowed to spend most of a day every week with their dragons, as opposed to a few hours every other day during the week, whenever they did their duties and their learnings and their training.

He heard her grumble slightly and images crept into his mind of himself relaxing on her belly and Polaerys' laugh was only slightly stopped at the top of his throat.

He knew what she wanted and she was more of a Princess than Rhaena was!

Mayhaps it was because of the way he was spoiling her, like Castorys says he was but Polaerys was happy enough to do it. 

He didn't fully remember but he remembered enough, of the jealously and sadness he felt for not having a dragon like father and mother and Castorys and Valarr had.

And he remembered the first time he'd seen Tyraxes and when she'd nipped at his fingers when he'd reached out to her. Even now, it was still a memory that was very clear in his mind and it was his most favourite memory ever.

So he didn't care that he was spoiling his Tyraxes and if she wanted him to sing to her, he'd sing to her. Polaerys cleared his throat slightly and then he began.

"Fire breather. Winged leader. But two heads. To a third sing." Polaerys sang, the first few sentences to the lullaby that father and mother used to sing to him as a child.

His parents told them that it was one of the few remaining Targaryen family songs that they still had, and father said that he thought that it mayhaps as old as Valyria itself.

Mayhaps it was true, for Tyraxes seemed most pleased whenever he sang it to her.

 "From my voice, the fires have spoken. And the price has been paid. With blood magic." Polaerys opened his eyes slightly and turned his head towards Tyraxes who was staring at him with her large yellow eyes.

He continued with a growing smile to which Tyraxes gave a guttural growl "With words of flame. With clear eyes. To bind the three. To you I sing."

Tyraxes showed her teeth and the growing smile on Polaerys' face grew even larger.

"As one we gather. And with three heads. We shall fly as we were destined." Polaerys sang a little quieter as Tyrax bend her neck and got to him closer, close enough for her head to almost rest on Polaerys' thigh and he finished with almost a whisper.

"Beautifully, freely." 

He loved the song, the lullaby. It always felt right, whenever he sung it, as if it was part of his very blood…part of Tyraxes' blood.

The other songs were a bit like this though they were also very different. Where this song felt to him had to be sung to a dragon, the others felt like they had to be sung to the ancient Valyrian gods.

Plus, Polaerys thought with a scrunched up face as his eyes closed, the words were not nice at all. Mother hadn't been pleased at all that father had taught them the words and the meanings behind them, at six namedays old. Father had said, then, that it was part of their history and they should know it so that they can learn from it.

Father could be strange like that, sometimes, where he often told them terrible things, and would ask them questions, like what they thought, and then tell them what he thought and why it was right or wrong or how it could be done differently.

Polaerys drifted away to the feeling of warm breath on his face and he was roused up from his half sleep when he heard the shout "Polaerys!" and Polaerys recognised the voice his twin brother.

Tyraxes growled slightly and Polaerys lightly tapped on her neck "Easy, Tyraxes. He's annoying, yes, but he is my annoying brother."

"Funny." Castorys said with a mild glare before he spoke up again with an excited look. "We've got people coming from Westeros! Lots of them." 

Polaerys peaked at that. "Really?" 

"Yes, really! I overheard one of the guards speak to mother about it!"

"Are they visitors?" Polaerys asked as he got up, his hand absently stroking Tyraxes neck scales. They rarely got visitors from outside of the Summer Isles and when they did, it was from like Lys or Braavos, and never Westeros.

"How would I know?" Castorys said exasperated "I only overheard that there were lots of people from Westeros." Castorys pointed out.

That was true. Polaerys nodded "OK, let's go." Polaerys gave Tyraxes a hug goodbye and a promise to come see her later and soon enough they were making them down the hill with the guards escorting them.

Apparently, mother was already at the Port with Ser Cedrick and Valarr was at one of the horsing training yards in the town. "Should we get Valarr first? You know he'll be moaning all day if we find something out without him."

Castorys groaned "But it's on the other side of town." Castorys said with frustration in his voice before he continued with a heavy sigh "But you're right. Valarr wouldn't stop complaining if we excluded him again like last time." 

They'd gone to see the Little Valyrian monkeys that were kept in the big cages by the healer's buildings, the monkeys that came all the way from Qohor, who were set to give birth to babies.

Valarr hadn't stopped complaining about that for three whole days.

"We can take the ponies there and get to the Port quicker." Polaerys said and Castorys nodded and they quickened their pace.

"Yes, we'll do that!"

By the time they were riding towards the Port, they had seen quite a few people walking down towards Corinth and Polaerys could see that most were women of Westerosi descent. "Why do you think they're here?" Valarr asked their elder brother as he glanced towards another crowd some way ahead.

"I don't know." Castorys admitted before Castorys turned to one of their four guards who were riding on either side of them.

"Do you know, Ser?" his brother asked the guard.

"I don't, my Prince" the guard said dutifully "Mayhaps they heard of Corinth and decided to come and make a life here, like others."

"That makes sense." Castorys said with a frown "but why so many women?"

"I do not know why, my Prince."

"Castorys, we can ask mother." Polaerys said to his brother. Mother would have the answers. From what Castorys had overheard, mother must have known about it.

Castorys looked to Polaerys with dubious eyes, which Valarr also did, and Polaerys knew what they meant and simply shrugged "We're here anyway, mother might."

None of them said anything further as they arrived at the Port, knowing that the chances that their mother would order the guards to take them back was rather great.

When they saw their mother with Edwyn and Uthrik, they saw Edwyn carrying a small crate and mother carrying a baby in her arms. 

Did mother bring Rhaena or Solonys with her? Polaerys wondered.

The guards noticed them and ushered them closer and when mother had set her eyes upon them, it was clear to see she was angry to see them.

Polaerys noticed that the babe in mother's arms was neither of his younger siblings, no, this babe was much older and different looking. 'Who was this babe?'

"Why are you here?" mother demanded from them.

"We, uh, we wanted to know who had come to Corinth, mother." Castorys said with a sheepish smile and Valarr and Polaerys nodded in agreement.

Mother's look was withering before she set them to the guards. 

"Why did you not stop them?"

"My Princess, our orders are to protect and serve the Princes. We could not stop them, my Princess." One of the guards, Carden, said with a sorry look on his face.

Mother sighed and wearily looked at them all "From now on, unless I say otherwise, you are to make sure they are not anywhere they are not meant to be."

"Of course, my Princess." Carden and the other guards said.

Mother looked to them but before she could speak, Valarr asked the question they all wanted to know. "Who is that, mother?" Valarr asked with deep curiosity.

Mother looked surprised by the question and the large babe in mother's arms turned to look at them and began to speak in Common.

Mother looked down at the babe and then back at them and sighed before she said.

"This is your cousin by your uncle Daemon. Her name is Breannei."

"That isn't a Valyrian name" Castorys said with a scrunched up nose "Who named her that?" he asked with surprise and dubiousness in his face.

"Her mother of course" their mother said drily and Polaerys laughed a little at Castorys' indignant face.

Still…

Polaerys had many more questions.

"Why isn't she with cousin Baelon and their mother?" Polaerys asked, a little confused. 

His mother looked a little uncomfortable before she smiled a little wearily "Your cousin was born to a different mother than Lady Royce."

"Oh." Polaerys only said. That meant that the girl was a bastard. His father had explained to them what it meant. Father had said that there were two kinds of bastards…bastards by nature and bastards by innocence and that bastards by innocent were no different than trueborn. 

"That doesn't matter" Castorys said with a shrug and eyed their mother intently "She'll stay with us, right? She's family." 

"Yes!" Valarr said in agreement and Polaerys nodded his own agreement silently. 

Polaerys knew that being a bastard had little to do if you were good or bad. Almost all of the former slaves in Corinth were probably bastards anyway and there was nothing wrong with them. 

His mother looked pridefully at them and smiled softly as she spoke "Yes, she'll stay with us. At least for a little while."

"Because uncle Daemon is fighting in the Stepstones?" Valarr asked knowingly and with a nod. It made sense, Polaerys thought. If uncle Daemon was away, then it was probably best to keep watch for her until the war over.

"Yes. Because uncle Daemon is fighting in the Stepstones." Their mother said a little impatiently before she looked to their guards and said "Take them back to the keep and make sure they don't leave."

Their muted protestations fell on deaf ears and soon enough they were journeying back to their home.

Moons later – 109 AC

Polaerys was training in the yard, like most mornings, though the commotion that he saw around Ser Cedrick was strange. Even stranger was the way Ser Cedrick ran off. "What is going on?" Castorys asked one of the guards, a question that had been on his mind also, but the guards knew nothing.

As much as they wanted to go and find out, Polaerys knew that their mother would have their hides if the guards said they'd ran out and so they did their training and set it aside to find out later.

When later came, the news had already been spread to everyone.

"Finally!" Valarr said excited as they looked towards the Port but unfortunately, they couldn't quite see the ships. "They took far too long!" Valarr swivelled his head towards Polaerys and Castorys, his eyes wide with excitement.

"What do you think they saw? Krakens? Giants?" 

"Everyone knows giants live north of the Wall" Polaerys said drily.

"Mayhaps these are different giants." Valarr returned "Mayhaps they are the same as giants as to us as they are to giants!" Valarr said with a laugh in his voice.

"Mayhaps they saw dragons." Castorys said in the same way their father spoke and Polaerys groaned inaudibly.

"You think so?" Valarr asked excitedly.

"Mayhaps." Castorys said and Polaerys could see the excited look on his brother's face. "Or mayhaps they found new beasts. New beasts, new land!"

Yes…Polaerys thought, that was mayhaps more the case. Every land had their own kinds of beasts. Westeros had wolves and shadowcats. Essos had lions and birds as big as wolves whilst Sothoryos had wyverns and huge serpents.

"Do you think they'll be as large as our dragons?" Valarr asked them before he looked back towards the port.

"Nothing can be as big as our dragons." Castorys said strongly.

"Krakens are said to be bigger than Balerion the dread." Polaerys commented and Castorys looked at him with some annoyance.

"Krakens cheat! Their tails don't count."

"Tentacles." Polaerys corrected and Castorys rolled his eyes.

"Anyway." Castorys said, still some annoyance in his voice which went away when his face brightened up "I can't wait to hear what they found. Beasts and all."

"You truly think they found land?" Valarr asked them and for a moment they thought about it. They all knew the story. Father had said there was land West and everyone believed father. Some of the boys they trained with even thought that the Seven had blessed the Prince with a vision of these lands.

"They wouldn't have come back if they hadn't." Castorys reasoned, breaking the silence. Polaerys mayhaps thought wouldn't they have come back also if they found nothing?

The hours that went by afterwards had gone quick and it had also been strange. Polaerys saw more of the guards and men-at-arms walking around and saw the gates to Corinth close as well.

And they found out why later that evening, when mother told them the reason why.

Land had indeed been found…west of the Summer Isles.