ARC IV: THE SECOND DANCE OF DRAGONS
Regarding this chapter: there might be some errors, or the quality might not be quite up to par. I had almost finished it when I lost everything and had to start over from scratch. I have a splitting headache right now, so I just want to sleep, but I didn't want to leave you without a chapter. In my opinion, it turned out reasonably well, but please let me know if there are any mistakes and I'll fix them tomorrow when I wake up.
Damn Discovery and their new show about figuring out who "The Snake" is—it made me lose everything I had written! 😅😅😅😅😅
Chapter 62: The Leviathan of Skagos
POV: King Aemon Targaryen (305 AC)
The biting Northern sea wind whipped across my face as the heavy wooden prow of the imperial ship cut through the dark, icy waters of the Bay of Seals. I rested my hands on the oak railing, feeling the cold spray of salt water against my skin. My hair—black as night, short and messy—fluttered wildly in the gélid breeze, while my grey eyes, inherited directly from my mother Lyanna and the Stark bloodline, scanned the thick mist along the horizon.
Despite carrying the blood of Valyrian dragons running through my veins and bearing the name Aemon Targaryen, my countenance had always remained unquestionably Northern.
I heard firm, calm footsteps approaching across the deck. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was; the overwhelming, mystical presence that accompanied him was unmistakable. Emperor Arawyn Stark stepped up beside me, gazing at the grey vastness of the ocean with the habitual serenity of a man who kept fate itself held firmly beneath his fingers.
I adjusted the bear-pelt cloak over my shoulders and broke the silence:
— So, Arawyn... Why are we sailing to that island forgotten by the gods?
— For you to claim your true destiny, Aemon, — he replied calmly, without taking his eyes off the sea.
I adjusted my leather gloves and let out a short laugh, tilting my head:
— And my destiny is hidden on a desolate, barren island like Skagos? What happened over there? Did the Skagosi decide to launch another rebellion against the Empire?
— No, — Arawyn said dryly. — The Skagosi clans remain perfectly quiet in their mountains.
I sighed, leaning my back against the wooden railing:
— A shame... Honestly, I would have preferred to go with you to Dragonstone. I heard from sailors and merchants from the East that Daenerys Targaryen is a woman of extraordinary beauty... Is it true, cousin?
Arawyn turned his face to me. A sly, deeply mocking smirk touched his lips as he answered without the slightest restraint:
— Yes, it is the plain truth... And on all fours, naked in bed, she manages to be even better.
I looked at him with raised eyebrows, letting out a smothered laugh:
— And is she good in bed?
— Well... — Arawyn gave my shoulder a light pat, his eyes glinting with amusement. — That is something I strongly suggest you find out for yourself when you meet her.
Among all the members of my family, with the obvious exception of my siblings, Arawyn was always the closest figure to me. Since my childhood in the imperial lands, our bond had been forged by the mystical affinity we shared. Due to my innate talent for the arcane arts and blood magic, I was personally guided and trained by him in mastering the ancient First Men runes. He drilled me with implacable rigor, elevating my mastery over runic matrices to such a level that I eventually surpassed even the lead runeforger of his forge—a fascinating and mysterious woman whom I only discovered much later to be the legendary Shiera Seastar, my own Targaryen ancestor.
Arawyn crossed his arms over his chest and shifted the tone of the conversation, making it more reflective:
— Do you know the historical reputation that island carries among the people of Westeros, Aemon?
— I do, — I nodded. — The Southern tales say Skagos is inhabited by wild savages, stone-worshippers, and cannibals who devour the flesh of shipwrecked sailors.
— And do you know which dragons managed to survive the slaughters of the Dance of the Dragons in the past? — he asked, throwing a question that seemed completely disconnected from the previous topic.
I paused for a few moments, searching through historical records and Valyrian tomes I had studied for years in the Empire's library.
— Silverwing and Morning... — I remarked slowly, connecting the dots in my mind. — And also the wild dragon... the Cannibal.
I stared at Arawyn with wide eyes as the realization hit me like a hammer blow to the chest:
— Wait... Are you telling me that the Cannibal flew to that island after the Dance ended?! And that the stories of cannibalism on Skagos only arose because the natives, speaking in the Old Tongue, tried to warn sailors about the beast's presence and were terribly misunderstood?!
— Yes and yes to both questions, — Arawyn answered with a calculating gleam in his eyes.
Before I could utter another word, Arawyn made a light gesture with his right hand in the air. Through the invisible sorcery of the winds, my sword unsheathed itself from the leather scabbard at my waist. The steel crossed the distance between us and landed smoothly in the Emperor's open palm.
He held the weapon by its blade and admired its intricate craftsmanship. The sword was a masterpiece of arcane weaponry: the pommel of the hilt was carved in the shape of a Northern wolf's head with open jaws, forged from polished runic silver; the crossguard took the shape of a dragon with spread wings, featuring wolf heads at the tips of the guard and a dragon in the center, from whose jaws the runic steel blade emerged, inscribed with ancient runes that glowing red-hot.
Arawyn looked at me and asked in a solemn tone:
— And do you know exactly why I gave you this sword, Aemon?
My relaxed posture dissolved in an instant. I looked at the gleaming blade and answered gravely:
— My mother Lyanna and Ser Arthur Dayne told me my whole life... They said I am the Prince That Was Promised. The heir my father Rhaegar so desperately awaited and prophesied in his visions... Which never made much sense to me, truth be told. After all, Rhaegar desperately expected a girl to complete the third head of the dragon and name her Visenya, not a boy.
Arawyn let out a short laugh and shook his head:
— Do not worry excessively about the literal precision of a prophecy, Aemon. Prophetic concepts are fluid and often interpreted crookedly by human minds. But see here: this blade you carry is the legendary Lightbringer... The sword destined for humanity's true champion against the darkness of the Long Night.
— The great war you always said I would command on the frontline... — I murmured, staring at my cousin. — But what about you, Arawyn? Where will you be when the armies of the dead march upon the Wall?
— I will have to fight somewhere else, — he answered in a cold, distant voice.
I frowned, deeply intrigued:
— Somewhere else? What kind of adversary in the known lands would require your personal presence to the point of keeping you from the main battlefield of the Long Night?
Arawyn looked at me and asked:
— Did you happen to see the mystical vision Bran showed of my battle against the Ice Dragon in the Far North?
— Yes, I saw it... — I answered, feeling a chill run down my spine as I recalled the terrifying images of that colossal beast and the sheer destructive power Arawyn had needed to unleash to destroy it.
— Well then, — Arawyn said casually. — Now multiply that Ice Dragon by a hundred... And add other primordial abominations that awoke alongside the Long Night in the abyss of the world. That is the kind of filth I will be busy destroying far from your eyes.
I felt a bitter knot form in my throat. I looked at him in shock:
— Arawyn... What you are describing would be the absolute end of the entire known world!
The Emperor merely gave a serene smile, adjusted his pelt cloak, and answered with unwavering confidence:
— Don't worry... I am here.
I looked at him for a few seconds, breaking the tension with a crooked, amused smile:
— What a badass line... Can I use that one too when I'm leading the armies?
Arawyn let out a loud laugh and answered immediately:
— No. Come up with your own catchphrases, kid.
A few hours later, the imperial ship anchored in the shallow waters of a rocky, craggy bay on the southern coast of Skagos.
As we disembarked onto the stony soil of the island, we were immediately greeted by the leaders and chiefs of the local clans. Contrary to the stupid myths spread by ignorant Southern lords, the Skagosi were not wild, irrational monsters. They were simply a tough people, protective of their traditions and fiercely loyal to the laws of the land.
A grand assembly was called in the open air, under the shadow of the volcanic mountains dominating the island's center. Among the crowd of warriors wearing bear pelts and bone armor, an elder approached at a slow pace, leaning on a staff of petrified wood. The man was so impossibly old, his skin wrinkled like the trunk of a thousand-year-old weirwood, that he couldn't even bend his knees to kneel before our presence.
In a shaky, raspy voice, speaking fluently in the Old Tongue of the North, the elder recounted his people's ancestral legends. He reported that since his great-grandfathers' time, the clan shamans had always warned everyone never to disturb the rest of the "God of the Fire Mountain," who inhabited the depths of the volcanic caves.
I stepped closer to the old man and asked in the Old Tongue:
— And you... Have you ever had the opportunity to see this God of the Mountain with your own eyes, elder?
The old man nodded slowly, his milky eyes gleaming with a terrifying memory:
— Yes, my young king... I saw him once in my youth. He descended from the mountain peaks like a bolt of thunder from the sky and struck a herd, devouring one of our wild unicorns in a single bite before returning to the dark.
The description the old man gave of the creature's anatomy, roar, and flames was, in unmistakable terms, the perfect description of a colossal dragon.
Without wasting any more time on ceremonies, Arawyn and I left the Skagosi camp and climbed the steep slopes of the volcanic mountain. We walked along craggy paths covered in black ash until we stood before the mouth of a colossal cavern, from which a heavy wave of sulfurous heat and steam emanated.
Arawyn stopped at the mouth of the cave, crossed his arms, and said in a teasing tone:
— Go on in, Aemon... Just take extra care not to turn into charcoal within the first minute.
I turned on my heels and took the first step toward the cavern's gloom. Before I could enter the stone tunnel, however, Arawyn called my name:
— Aemon... Hold on. There's something important I need to tell you before you face that beast.
I turned back to him, my brow furrowed:
— What is it?
Arawyn rested his head against the rock at the entrance and let out a smothered laugh:
— You know the red woman... That priestess from Asshai you've been fucking with such intense lust these past few days in the capital?
I felt my face warm up slightly:
— What about Melisandre?
— Apparently, she's a decrepit old hag hundreds of years old, just like that Skagosi elder down there, — Arawyn said with the most nonchalant face.
I blinked slowly, trying to process the bizarrely random piece of information:
— What do you mean?! I don't understand...
— That ruby necklace she wears around her neck is an artifact of pure blood magic, — Arawyn explained, enjoying my look of shock. — The ruby maintains a visual glamour that keeps her looking young and hot. But if you take that necklace off her neck, she reverts in the exact same second to her original form: a wrinkled, decaying crone.
I felt a surge of mystical dread creep up my spine. Remembering the intense encounters I had shared with the red woman, I asked apprehensively:
— What about Shiera?! Is the Shiera you fuck in the imperial harem an old woman sustained by a necklace illusion too?!
Arawyn let out a chuckle and shook his head:
— No, Shiera is different. Her Valyrian magic is genuine, and she maintains her own youth for real. But Melisandre... Well, it's purely the ruby necklace.
I let out a deep sigh and answered in the most somber, pragmatic tone I could muster:
— Well... Then I'll just make sure she never takes that fucking necklace off her throat while she's with me.
Arawyn burst out laughing at the cave entrance, his laughter echoing against the stone walls as I turned my back and plunged into the hot darkness of the cavern.
From the very first second my boots touched the stone floor of the volcanic tunnel, I felt the unmistakable sensation of being watched by an ancestral consciousness. And I knew perfectly well it wasn't Arawyn.
As I advanced deeper into the cave, the air temperature rose drastically, becoming suffocating. The scent of sulfur and ash burned my nostrils. The tunnel finally opened up into a gigantic subterranean hall, its ceiling lost in the darkness above, its floor cracked with shallow fissures where incandescent magma flowed.
In the center of that vast stone hall rested an awe-inspiring sight: the black, petrified skeleton of a dragon of monstrous proportions.
I approached the carcass slowly and ran my hand over the dark, night-like bones. It was the mortal remains of the original Cannibal—the legendary wild dragon of the Dance of the Dragons, who had flown to Skagos to die in peace centuries ago. Compared to a young dragon like Faegon's Viserion, the skeleton of that leviathan made the bastard's dragon look like a mere sparrow beside an imperial eagle. Touching that black bone reminded me instantly of the draconic remains I had found stored in the deepest levels beneath the Red Keep.
Suddenly, a gust of terribly hot, muggy air struck the side of my body, making my black hair whip around.
I turned my face slowly toward the darkest, deepest corner of the cavern.
Emerging from the abyss of shadow, a pair of yellow eyes like glowing embers ignited in the dark, staring at me with ancestral intelligence and terrifying territorial fury. The creature took its first steps forward, stepping out of the shadows and revealing its physical form in the reddish glow of the magma.
It was a colossal dragon of deep, shimmering red scales. From the top of its head emerged a pair of thick, black horns, curved exactly like those of a wild bull. A continuous line of crests and sharp spikes of the same ebony-black color ran from the base of its skull all the way down its spine to the tip of its whipping tail. The beast was the legendary hatchling that had hatched from the Cannibal's nest before the black leviathan's death—raised in secret in the volcanic heat of that isolated island.
In the exact split second my grey eyes locked with the dragon's yellow eyes, an instant mental and spiritual connection formed between our souls.
However, the sensation of having its mind invaded seemed to deeply irritate the red beast's pride. The dragon raised its colossal head in a rough movement, opened its jaws lined with teeth like iron swords, and ignited a dense, glowing flame deep within its throat.
It was preparing to incinerate me on the spot.
I didn't take a single step back. I didn't flinch. I didn't tremble.
With a swift, precise motion of my left hand, I used my sharp fingernail to slice the skin of my right wrist. Fresh blood of Targaryen and Stark origin spurted into the air. Drawing upon my mastery over blood magic and the runes of the First Men, I shaped my own vital fluid in the air in a fraction of a second, inscribing glowing Valyrian glyphs and ancestral symbols around myself.
— BARRIER! — I roared in the Old Tongue.
The dragon unleashed a colossal column of dense red fire directly at my body.
The wave of infernal flames slammed full force into the runic blood barrier I created. The fire engulfed the entire protective sphere, melting the stone floor and rocks around me into a pool of molten magma, yet unable to singe a single strand of my hair.
After several seconds of devastating breath, the dragon ceased its flames.
Seeing me standing perfectly unharmed in the center of the molten floor, the beast roared in frustration and lunged its head forward to crush me physically. The dragon's skull slammed with full force against the blood magic shield. The runic impact was so violent that the creature itself was thrown several meters back, crashing its shoulders against the cavern's stone wall.
I adjusted my cloak and said with a relaxed smile:
— We can keep doing this all day, big guy... Don't worry, I have all the time in the world.
The red dragon rose heavily, shaking its head and preparing to channel more fire in its throat.
I unsheathed my sword Lightbringer in a single fluid motion. The runic steel erupted instantly into radiant, blood-red flames. With a graceful fencing movement, I slashed through the air. The arc of concentrated fire unleashed from the blade crossed the subterranean hall and struck the side of the dragon's neck, chipping one of its red scales in an explosion of sparks.
The creature halted its attack instantly, widening its yellow eyes in pure astonishment as it felt the sting of a magical blow.
I lowered the blade and took firm, calm steps toward the beast:
— We can keep fighting for hours until we collapse this entire mountain... Or we can simply accept our destiny together.
I walked with absolute confidence until I stood inches from the monster's jaws. I sheathed my sword and extended my open right hand toward its snout.
The dragon stared at my hand for a few seconds, huffing gusts of hot air. Slowly, the colossal creature lowered its head and pressed its red-scaled hide against my palm.
The moment physical contact was established, the bond that had previously merely existed between us consolidated with an overwhelming, definitive force.
The ancestral runes tattooed and carved into my body activated simultaneously in a golden and crimson glow. I felt the dragon's consciousness intertwine with my own, and a reservoir of pure, seemingly infinite magic began to flow directly from the creature into my soul. I knew in the depths of my being that this newly forged bond was no ordinary Valyrian riding pact: it was an indissoluble bond of blood and mind.
— Very well... — I smiled, stroking the scales on its snout. — Let's get out of here. But I'm definitely going to need the Empire's blacksmiths to forge a proper saddle for you in the future.
I mounted the dragon's back heavily, holding on firmly at the base of its black horns. The creature took imposing steps out of the cave, walking toward the light of day.
Emerging at the cave entrance, I found Arawyn in the exact same spot as before. The Emperor had his back to the cave, arms crossed, staring intently at the distant horizon toward the Southern sea.
I raised my head and called out in a loud tone:
— You have a new dragonrider standing before you, cousin... And you don't even bother to look over here?
Arawyn turned his face slowly, gazing at me with calculating serenity:
— I am looking at the other dragonrider that just emerged at this exact moment as well.
I frowned, surprised:
— Another...? Who was it?
— Your brother, — Arawyn answered with a cold smile. — Aegon just claimed Rhaegal on Dragonstone.
My heart leaped in my chest. I immediately thought of my brother Aegon and the glorious vision of the two of us soaring through the skies of Westeros together at the head of our dragons.
Arawyn approached slowly, eyeing the physical structure of my new companion meticulously.
— That red beast is no small thing, Aemon... — Arawyn assessed with a warrior's trained eye. — He is considerably larger than Daenerys's Drogon... Perhaps roughly the size of the old Silverwing from the Dance... No, actually a bit larger than that. But well, names don't matter. From today on, with you by his side and your magic feeding the bond, he will grow at an accelerated rate unlike anything ever seen before. And so will you.
— Yes... — I murmured, looking down at my right hand. — The moment we connected, I felt as if I now possessed truly infinite mystical power.
Arawyn let out a short laugh:
— Not infinite, kid... But you can now draw upon and use the dragon's magical energy reservoir directly. Which, depending on the situation you find yourself in on the battlefield, is practically the same thing as having infinite power.
He looked at me mounted on the beast's back and asked with irony:
— Aren't you going to fly him now?
— Without a leather saddle? — I asked, doubtful.
Arawyn smiled openly and scoffed:
— Both the young rebel griff in the South and your aunt Daenerys in the East flew for the first time on their dragons without conventional saddles. You possess ten times more physical strength than either of them because of your Northern heritage, Aemon... You can hold onto those scales easily.
I looked down and felt the red dragon's mind vibrate in harmony with my own, yearning desperately to tear through the clouds and rule the skies of Westeros.
I pressed my legs against his back, raised my head, and shouted with all the force of my lungs in the language of my Valyrian ancestors:
— SOVES!
The red leviathan let out a piercing roar that shook the mountains of Skagos to their roots. He beat his colossal wings violently, raising a titanic cloud of dust and ash, and launched himself in a spectacular leap straight into the grey Northern skies!