Maekar was surrounded by darkness.
It stretched in every direction.
Then it stirred.
A vision began to form.
He looked around.
He was standing inside a city.
Torches and colorful lanterns lit the crowded streets.
Music and laughter filled the night.
Maekar frowned.
A woman with silver hair stood apart among the crowd.
She looked middle aged.
She leaned against a burly man, who was drinking wine.
Her hand rested on his chest.
He blinked.
A little boy appeared behind her.
Then another.
Finally, a third.
All of them had silver hair.
Maekar suddenly woke, breathing heavily.
He looked around.
Sunlight poured through the open balcony doors, illuminating his pale face.
Tyrosh.
He was still in Tyrosh.
But what he had just seen was not.
“You had a dream?” a gentle voice asked.
Kinvara sat on the edge of his bed, smiling at him.
“What are you doing here, and who let you in?”
Maekar slowly stood, buttoned his silk shirt, and stepped out onto the balcony.
Kinvara followed, not bothering to answer.
“Tell me what you dreamed about, my Prince.”
Maekar sighed and rested his hands on the stone railing.
He looked at her for a moment before answering.
“A plague.”
“My aunt.
Saera Targaryen.”
He nodded to himself.
He was certain of it.
He had never met her, but he had heard enough.
It was an open secret that she lived in Volantis.
“Will you eradicate it?” Kinvara asked as she stepped beside him.
“It has already taken root.
Whether it poses a danger to House Targaryen will be decided soon.”
As he spoke, he watched Corlys walking through the gardens, talking with a young man who looked surprisingly similar to the Lord of Driftmark.
Interesting.
After another moment, Maekar turned and left the room.
Kinvara followed.
Ser Clement, standing outside, was speechless for a moment, but decided not to comment.
“Next time, make sure no one slips through, Ser,” Maekar said as they walked through the halls of the Archon’s residence.
Ser Clement cleared his throat awkwardly as they reached the garden.
“Archon,” Maekar greeted the peculiar looking man who seemed to have been waiting for him.
“Dragon Prince,” Tytos replied with a nod.
“Would you walk through my humble garden with me?” he asked.
The garden was magnificent, filled with flowers and plants from across the world.
Some Maekar had never seen before.
A few slaves were already tending them, bowing deeply even from a distance.
“Your offer has been considered,” Tytos began as they walked.
“And it has been accepted.”
“Very good.”
“I can act within one moon.
A visit to Volantis is still due,” Maekar said, glancing toward Kinvara, who walked a few steps behind them.
Tytos had noticed her as well.
He looked curious, but not concerned.
“That is acceptable.
Our forces will be ready by then.”
The two parted, and Maekar walked over to Lord Corlys, who stood beside a small fountain.
“A friend?” Maekar asked, looking after the man Corlys had been speaking to, who was already disappearing into the gardens.
Corlys looked at him for a moment.
“Nothing like that.”
Maekar simply nodded.
“Will you return to Driftmark now?
The council draws near.”
“Indeed I will.
But it seems you will not,” Corlys replied.
“Did you forget your special invitation?”
Maekar shook his head.
He had read the letter.
It had been written by his grandmother and delivered by messenger.
The old king had apparently been too proud to write it himself.
“I will travel to Volantis first, conclude my business with the Triarchy, and then return.
Morghul is fast enough for that.”
Corlys’ eyes widened before Maekar had even finished speaking.
“You continue to surprise me.
Though I suppose I should stop being surprised by now.” He smiled faintly.
“I must thank you for including me in this agreement.
House Velaryon will not forget it.”
“House Velaryon is destined for greatness,” Maekar said.
Corlys watched the water flowing from the fountain, as Maekar added something else.
“One day, you may even claim the Stepstones for yourself.”
Rhea Royce stood in the doorway and felt her stomach tighten.
Daemon was sitting relaxed on the throne of Runestone.
Her throne.
“Husband,” she said, her voice cold, “have you confused your seat with mine?”
Daemon looked down at the wood beneath him.
“I am keeping it warm for my son,” he replied, glancing at her belly and the small bulge.
Rhea placed a hand on her stomach.
The maester had said she was due in six months.
She still could not believe she was carrying Daemon’s child.
Their marriage had been a cold and difficult path.
If she could stop him from having too much influence over the child, she would.
Never would she allow a second Daemon to terrorize the world.
“The maester said I am due in six months,” she repeated aloud.
“I don’t trust these rats,” Daemon answered, looking at the letter she was holding.
Rhea felt a wave of irritation.
He never trusted anyone but himself.
“You haven’t told me that the exile of you two princes has been lifted for the Grand Council,” she said, lifting the letter.
“Yes, and I will go in your stead.
You will go to King’s Landing to give birth there.”
Rhea shook her head.
She did not like when he decided things for her.
“That is not for you to decide.”
Daemon stood up slowly and walked toward her with measured steps.
Rhea’s body tensed.
His hand reached for her belly.
She twitched the moment he laid his hand on it.
“Do it for our child,” he said softly.
Rhea looked at his face.
For a moment she wondered if he really cared.
For a moment she fell for it.
She placed her own hand over his, but she did not smile.
“I will attend the council and return to Runestone to give birth,” she decided.
Since the council was in three months, it was possible.
Daemon glanced at her for a long moment.
His gaze was filling with anger, as his hands tightened around her shoulders.
Then he just let go and walked past her without a word.
“Off to your whore?” Rhea shouted as the door shut behind him.
Her voice cracked.
She stood there alone in the hall, breathing heavily.
Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
One hand rested protectively on her belly.
Rhea closed her eyes and took a breath.
How had it come to this?
She had never wanted this marriage.
Daemon had never wanted it either.
And now she was carrying his child in a cold, loveless union.
Then there was that girl from the mountains.
The girl that he claimed was just an orphan.
Rhea did not believe it for a second.
She had only ever seen the girl with her hood up, never clearly seeing her face.
Her heart ached.
Not for Daemon, but for the life growing inside her.
“I will protect you,” she whispered softly to her belly, her voice determined.
Something inside her gaze changed.
It grew dangerous.
“No matter the cost.”
Daemon was angry.
It was the lack of control, mixed with his wife’s recklessness.
She was risking the child just for a formality.
If something happened to it…
He clenched his fists as he walked down the hallway.
It wasn’t Rhea he cared for, but the child inside her.
Although it was tainted by her blood, it was still his.
He looked outside through a small window.
It was already late.
The sun had set an hour ago.
He continued to his chambers.
His solitary chambers.
No woman from Runestone lay beside him.
He closed the door behind him, opened his doublet, and discarded it on the ground.
His head throbbed.
Daemon stepped onto the balcony.
The warm summer air hit him, but it was still colder than in King’s Landing.
His family.
Maekar and Viserys.
He was happy that he could see them again.
“My Prince.”
A delicate hand touched his torso from behind.
He could feel something soft pressing against him.
“I have bathed and changed as you ordered,” she said.
For a moment only their breathing filled the room.
Then a few torchlights outside brought Daemon back to reality.
He turned around and shoved her away.
“What are you—” He stopped mid-sentence as he looked at Marra.
The bastard girl had changed completely.
Her now clean face revealed the beauty that had been buried beneath layers of filth and dirt.
Daemon gulped as he studied her body, clad in a thin white silk gown.
That was no girl anymore.
It was a woman.
It seems his wife would be right after all.
Slowly he stepped forward, cursing himself in his mind, but unable to stop.
He grabbed her chin gently and lifted her face.
Their eyes met.
They were beautiful.
Valyrian.
Just like he had always dreamed, Daemon thought.
Their lips met in a kiss.
He led her backwards toward the bed, his hands moving over her body.
The silk gown slipped from her shoulders as they fell onto the sheets.
Their bodies pressed together…
Maekar could feel Kinvara’s warmth, as she was sitting behind him on the saddle.
“Volantis.”Maekar noted out loudly, as Morghul tilted behind his massive wing, a large city revealed itself.
“Lantys, Morghul!”
Land Morghul
Morghul descended, his shadow passing over the waters of the Rhoyne.
The river split the city into two halves, with the Long Bridge connecting them.
Kinvara leaned closer to him.
It is governed by three Triarchs.
They are elected by all landowners and must be of the old blood.
Right now, the Elephants hold the power.
There is only one Tiger Triarch.”
Morghul landed on the stone plaza outside the Temple of the Lord of Light.
The crowds screamed and ran away, some falling to their knees as the black dragon folded his wings and towered above them.
They whispered, prayed, some even wept.
“Dragonlord.” Maekar heard the word somewhere in the crowd.
His eyes landed on a young man with a large tattoo on his face.
His lips moved.
“Dragonlord!”
Then a little girl.
And her mother.
Everyone.
“Dragonlord!
Dragonlord!” they shouted.
Kinvara climbed down from the saddle, and Maekar followed.
He looked at the red columns of the temple and the thousands of people staring at him with fear and reverence.
“Look at their faces, Prince,” Kinvara said quietly as she stepped beside him.
“The tattoos.
In Volantis, five out of every six people are slaves.
Their faces are marked with tears, flies, or flames to show the work they do.”
Maekar adjusted his gloves, looking past the crowd toward the massive wall of black stone in the distance.
“The rulers,” he noted as he stepped forward.
The crowd parted before him, keeping a fixed distance as they stumbled backwards.
They opened a wide corridor leading to the steps of the Red Temple.
“Let these pretenders come, and let them witness the true remnant of Old Valyria,” Maekar whispered as he climbed the wide steps toward the temple.
Kinvara followed, while the red robed guards stood in a line before the temple.
Alios sighed as he glanced at the people flanking the road.
He was sitting on his seat, transported by dozens of slaves underneath him.
A tiger’s hide was coating his right shoulder.
He had been elected Triarch for the first time and had been eager to change Volantis.
But all he met was defiance and an opportunity to observe the old machine up close.
The two Elephant Triarchs, Tolos and Tylaurus, proclaimed a new era of peace, of trade, of wealth, but Alios knew that the so called era was nothing more than a lie.
Those merchants only cared about filling their own chests with gold while the military strength of the city grew weaker every day.
They ignored the growing unrest of the slaves and the ambitions of their neighbors.
Suddenly, a massive shadow covered the street.
A deep roar shook the stone buildings around them.
The slaves stumbled, nearly dropping the heavy platform, as the crowds on the street began to scream and run in all directions.
Alios leaned over the edge of his seat, looking up at the sky.
A black dragon, larger than any ship in the harbor, was circling right above the rooftops.
Its wings blocked out the remaining light of the sunset as it descended toward the plaza of the Red Temple.
“Hurry!” Alios shouted to the guards and slaves below him.
“To the Red Temple!
Now!”
Perhaps he could be faster than those fat merchants, and perhaps a chance would open up for him.
As he reached the plaza, he saw the very same dragon standing in the middle.
He had heard the stories.
It had to be a Targaryen dragon, and its rider…
He looked towards the temple.
Is it him?!
The boy?
For a moment, Alios thought about turning back, but then he collected himself.
No matter how young the boy was, he was a Dragonlord and a Prince.
He had to greet him accordingly.
As he opened his mouth, his gaze fell upon movement on the opposite side of the street.
An elephant rose above the crowd.
“Tolos!” Alios called out angrily, as the elephant Triarch had obviously been faster than him.
Maekar rested his hand on the hilt of his sword as he watched the spectacle with quiet amusement.
Had he ever been welcomed like this in Westeros?
Of course not.
The elephant marched through the sea of people, followed by a massive procession of guards, servants, and nobles.
The crowd bowed as it passed, their voices fading into silence.
As the beast reached the foot of the temple, Maekar stepped forward.
The elephant looked like a toy in comparison to Morghul.
“Welcome, Prince of House Targaryen and Dragonlord!” the burly man seated atop the elephant called out.
The beast came to a halt before the first step.
He spoke Valyrian, though a lesser form of it.
Maekar studied him for a moment before giving a small nod.
“Thank you, Triarch.”
“May I ask the reason for your visit?” the man asked.
“I will gladly tell you,” Maekar replied.
“But if you wish to speak with me, then ascend these steps.”
He paused.
“With your feet.”
The Triarch froze.
For a ruler of Volantis, touching the ground in public was almost unthinkable.
Especially before thousands of watching eyes.
“I only touch the ground within my own home.
It is our custom, Prince,” he answered carefully.
Maekar did not respond.
He simply stood there.
“Prince?” the Triarch called again.
He did not respond.
Instead, he was already turning around when a loud murmur spread through the crowd.
The Triarch’s expression slowly darkened, while a faint smile appeared on Maekar’s face.
Footsteps echoed across the plaza.
Another man stepped forward.
A tiger hide rested over one shoulder, and he climbed the stairs one step at a time.
Calm.
Confident.
Without hesitation.
He stopped before Maekar and lowered his head.
“My name is Alios of the Tiger Party.
It is an honor, Dragon Prince.”
What is Maekar planning?