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[---]
123 AC, Summer Sea
That cut much of the tension, as the sorcerer snorted, and the Rogue Prince burst into laughter quickly after him, and with the wind howling and the sea turning black beneath them, Aemond found himself smiling as well.
Daemon Targaryen sat in the small ship that the sorcerer had somehow brought to existence, trying his best not to show how out of sorts he felt regarding this entire situation. He had felt compelled to come on this trip with the promise of seeing the gods of his ancestors, the gods of Old Valyria, but he had a moment of doubt when the sorcerer had asked him if he wished to continue, especially after the events that preceded it.
He had not expected to meet a god, even if it was one that belonged to a small island on the far end of the world. There was a saying that Targaryens were more gods than men, and while a part of the Rogue Prince had always found his family to be… more than the rabble of Andals and savages that made up most of the Seven Kingdoms, his brief time in Naath had proved him otherwise.
He had seen a god, felt his power, his will, and he could say that no dragon, not even Balerion at his strongest, had ever come close to it. It was akin to an ant standing before a giant, but perhaps that was nought but an oversimplification. Daemon had seen great and terrible things in his time fighting the Stepstones, but none compared to this. None had even come close to the terror he felt before the Lord of Harmony, a god of a pacifistic people that did not even dare to fight against slavers.
A few of the pirates that had been employed by the Triarchy were slavers, and they seemed to find delight in raiding Naath, though with the risk of the Butterfly Illness. Daemon did not know how one would be able to raid an island with a protective deity being so close, even if that deity liked to use butterflies of all things.
And to make things worse, Potter had spoken to that… thing as if he were its equal. He was utterly unbothered by the power displayed and had bargained with it instead. And now, they sailed in the treacherous waters of the Summer Seas, into something that Potter considered to be true danger, which was something that Daemon struggled to comprehend, given that they had just been in the presence of a god of all things.
Then again, wasn't the destruction of Harrenhal a godly act?
In a way, Daemon would have dearly preferred if Harry Potter were some divine being that was masquerading as a mortal. What was it that the Lord of Harmony had called him again? The Lord of Space and Time.
The world would have certainly made more sense then. After all, while the Rogue Prince knew that he was a prideful creature, he was certainly not arrogant enough to think that he could challenge a god.
And yet, Potter had vehemently denied the accusation, though there was no reason why he could not have been lying. Then again, what kind of God would call themselves 'Harry Potter' instead of something more dignified?
Daemon's thoughts were interrupted by a voice, "Where exactly are we heading?"
The Rogue Prince turned and looked at its source, which happened to be his nephew. Daemon was not exactly fond of his brother's children, though he had rarely even been in their presence to even make a judgment. He had met the two eldest, Aegon and Helaena, during their time in Dragonstone and had not been particularly impressed with them.
Aegon had always seemed somewhat weak to him, though he seemed to be quite dedicated to his children, which was something that he could respect somewhat. Helaena had looked to be nothing more than an absentminded girl, though that was proven to be false, given the sorcerer's words, who had taken her as a student.
He had spent little time with the two youngest of Viserys's children, though he remembered Aemond, the boy who rode the dragon that had once been his wife's and his father before her, for that dragon had once been the true weapon in the hands of the Hightowers.
He did not begrudge him for claiming Vhagar, even if he disliked that Otto had gotten a powerful dragon to scheme with. The boy had claimed Vhagar just as Vhagar had claimed him and had even lost an eye that day. Truthfully, Daemon had not been well in that time, still grieving Laena, while doing his best not to lash out with every breath he took, and repressing the urge to ride Caraxes and burn the world so that all would share his pain.
Nevertheless, Daemon had been impressed by the boy's supposed feats, especially given his age, having fought alongside Cregan Stark to slay the monsters that attacked the Red Keep, and having killed many Shadowbinders. He would not say that he liked the boy, but he seemed to have been the best thing that came of Alicent Hightower's womb.
And yet, here he was, having jumped into danger once more, and Daemon could see it in the boy's eyes that he understood it well. He understood the idea of chasing glory, of cementing deeds for the world to remember as more than just a prince or a Dragonrider, but a legend in the making, that there was more than the scheme of King's Landing. A true ambition to strive for.
Unfortunately, Daemon saw that this desire for greatness was not tempered, not yet. Daemon, himself, had mostly come out of curiosity regarding the gods of his people, for he knew that he would regret not coming for the rest of his life. Harry Potter had shown him that a blind chase for glory was a foolish thing indeed, compared to watching his daughters grow up healthy and strong. The boy would learn, eventually.
As for the sorcerer, he spoke up loudly, "The easternmost island. It shouldn't be long now."
Of course, as if some god had heard the man's words, a large wave lifted their rather small sailboat before letting it settle once more upon the dark waters of the Summer Sea. The vessel creaked softly as it rose and fell, its sail catching the steady wind that carried them eastward. Nevertheless, Daemon stumbled slightly at that and winced as he heard the thrumming sound of thunder so close to him.
He hated sailing on ships. They felt confining, and he had hated every moment he set foot on one during his time in the Stepstones, often preferring to just fly atop Caraxes. And while Potter's ship had been remarkably fast, unnaturally so, even, for he saw many isles pass by during their journey so far, their actual time atop it was quite definitely not peaceful.
The moment they sailed past the golden mists of Naath, the sky darkened with what must have been the largest storm that Daemon had ever seen or even heard of. The wind was strong enough that it would have ripped most masts, the waves large enough that they sometimes towered over the sorcerer's sailboat, and there was an oppressive feeling that would not leave Daemon, an instinct inside him that urged him to leave this place at all costs.
He had known that the waters around the Basilisk Isles were dangerous. Corlys had long since told him a few of his more tragic tales of his many voyages in his drunken moments during the war on the Stepstones. He claimed that he had thought that he would die many times when he braved himself and tried to sail through the Basilisk Isles during his youth. He claimed that the Isles themselves were nought but barren rocks at best, though he did avoid speaking about them, despite it all. Daemon had not cared much then, having been quite drunk himself, and after some time, most of the Sea Snake's tales blended with one another.
Still, he would have remembered if Corlys had said that it would have been akin to sailing in impossible waters. Daemon winced as he pulled himself up while cursing underneath his breath. Even the fucking waters looked treacherous, for he swore that he saw rows of sharp teeth beneath it.
He frowned and focused more. His eyes widened when he realised that it was actually a fucking set of teeth, and he was barely able to unsheathe Dark Sister, as it leapt up at him. Valyrian Steel cut the creature, whatever it might have been, in half, allowing Daemon to finally look at it.
He knew that it would have been quicker to yell for help, but Daemon couldn't help but stare at the corpse as it twitched upon the deck, dark blood mixing with the spray of the sea. It had webbed, yet clawed, hands and feet and was covered with dark scales. It looked vaguely like a combined hybrid between a man, a toad, and a reptile.
The Rogue Prince looked around and saw others of the same creature ready to come aboard their ship. He froze as he noticed others nearby and yelled out, "Arms! Something's coming aboard!"
Daemon's nephew stiffened but quickly regained his bearing, rolling to the middle of the ships, while unsheathing his sword. Immediately after, they were accosted by the creatures, who were quickly climbing up the hull of the ship. Daemon then leapt forward to meet them, using Dark Sister to quickly slice one's head in half. He dodged a swipe that came at him, barely, before stabbing its source in the throat, and kicking it back into the water as it bled out its disgusting black blood.
He did not have the time to celebrate, as the ship suddenly shook, making him trip, and with it, he was barely able to evade as one of the clawed hands tried to kill him, though he did not come out of it unscathed, given the scratches he felt on his face. He rolled to the side and unsheathed a dagger, stabbing whatever attacked him blindly, only to frown as one of the best-forged daggers in Westeros had barely gone through an inch of flesh from the creature.
Daemon did not languish at the impossibility of the feat, choosing to stand up and stare at his attacker, who roared in pain, though the sound was drowned by the distant thunder. He thought it to be one of these strange fish men, but it was certainly large, far larger and more muscular than the ones that he had defeated earlier.
He did not let himself stay still, for he knew that doing so was all but to guarantee death; he only ran towards Dark Sister, picking it up from where he had dropped it, and with a clean swipe of his hand, cut through the incoming attacking creature's hands, slicing its tendons, before beheading it.
He slumped slightly as he saw his nephew on the other side of the hull, standing atop a few dead creatures, while he tried in vain to attack a larger monster, similar to his own, his sword barely able to cut through its flesh. Without thinking, Daemon threw Dark Sister towards the downed boy's form, and Aemond reacted immediately by grabbing it, killing the creature, Valyrian Steel cutting through its flesh with great ease.
The boy then limped up and walked up to the Rogue Prince despite the blood that stained his garments, handing him his weapon back, with a nod of thanks. Daemon gave him one of respect once more, and they stood back-to-back, ready to kill the rest of the attacking monsters.
Or at least, that had been the plan, before he saw a large shape take place, and he froze when a bolt of lightning illuminated the world for a moment, showing its shape, for he recognised what it was on sight. He hadn't thought that they existed and thought that Corlys's claim to have seen one was nought but an exaggeration, and yet, here it was before him, a Leviathan.
It looked akin to a giant whale with giant teeth, each one as large as he was, and the creature looked as if it could have swallowed the entire sailboat whole. Atop it were the same strange demonic creatures that attacked him, riding it as if it were a dragon, and Daemon supposed he could see the resemblance.
Despite the danger they were in, Daemon stood utterly still, for there was nought that he could do to face something like this. The only thing he could do was utter a singular word, "Fuck!"
As the creature's maw approached them, ready to rip the sailboat to shreds, a piercing slice of golden light appeared, illuminating the sky briefly, and in the blink of an eye, the sea flashed gold, and every single creature around them disappeared, as if they had never existed in the first place.
The Rogue Prince stood there, completely stupefied, as the sorcerer stood there, and finally, Daemon could see the small fragment of the man he had seen in Harrenhal. He stood there, completely impassive, with a serious look on his face, one that made the Dragonrider shudder in fear. Just like that, in a moment, the demons that attacked them were gone.
For a moment, the sea stilled, and the storm itself froze as if holding its breath, before it returned anew, shaking the vessel far more violently than it had before. It was then that Daemon knew that the storm was not natural, that it had never been natural. The sky darkened even further than it ever had before.
Daemon grabbed his nephew, who had nearly tripped down, and stabbed Dark Sister to the floor beneath him, to ensure that they would not fall into the depths of the treacherous water, and to Daemon's confusion, the sorcerer started to sing for some reason.
He could not describe it, not truly, the depths of what he heard, for he felt like his words would do it a disservice. If he had to do it, he would say that the song was one of light, of life, or order, of defiance against the inevitable darkness. He knew not when it happened, but the sky began to light itself, separating itself from the rest of the world.
The Rogue Prince could feel the darkness attempt to attack whatever magicks Harry Potter had sung into being, but the sorcerer continued, standing defiantly. Silver doves of light appeared all around them, flying in circles, protectively, before merging into a great giant dove, one that was larger than even Balerion at his mightiest.
The dove looked at the darkness above it and let out a screech, "BEGONE!"
It was not the words that it spoke, but something far more primal, that he was sure even a deaf man would have understood. An order of banishment had been what had been commanded, and finally, the sorcerer's spell prevailed, and the darkness screeched before fading away in the distance. The sea suddenly calmed completely and utterly, and the raging winds became nought but a normal breeze. Finally, the sorcerer stopped singing, and the magic lessened, though the sky remained slightly darker than it would have been elsewhere.
The sorcerer stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring out at the retreating darkness, with an unreadable expression on his face, and neither Daemon nor Aemond seemed interested in breaking that silence after the display that they had witnessed. There were so many questions to be asked, about what that shadow was, what they had actually been facing, and who those people were. Was this the darkness that the God of Naath had spoken of?
Yet it seemed that many of the Rogue Prince's questions would remain unanswered; Harry Potter remained completely and utterly silent.
At last, the sorcerer exhaled slowly, as if releasing a breath he had held since the storm first rose to meet them.
"We're here," he said quietly.
Daemon stiffened at the words, surprised enough that he forgot his questions for a moment. He followed Potter's gaze toward the horizon and finally saw it, an island which seemed to be made from a singular large mountain that emerged from the ocean. The moment he saw it, he remembered its name faintly, for it was Ax Isle, which was rumoured to be the tip of the weapon of a god of the sea, who wished to attack a god of sky.
He would have dismissed it as nonsense if it weren't for the fact that he had just met a butterfly god earlier that day.
None of them said a word when their ship traversed the last stretch of water, stopping when they were on the blackened sand that filled the island's shores. Something about the island felt wrong the moment he laid eyes upon it, and one would have needed to be blind not to notice it, for the island had no colour.
The rock that formed its slopes was a dull, lifeless grey. There were no signs of life, human, cattle, or plants, not even moss atop the stones. Nothing grew here.
It seemed almost ridiculous that something of interest would even be there. At least, that was what he thought until he saw the ruins.
It was barely more than structured rubble, a few fallen walls that were barely noticeable amid the broken stone and drifting dust. Whatever had once stood there had long since been brought low, and the passing of ages had not been kind to it. He could see remnants of pillars, rising crookedly from the ground, leaning at uneasy angles, but it seemed to be the last remnants of a civilisation.
He wondered if Valyria had shared such a fate, and the thought of his ancestral lands looking like this saddened him.
However, as he looked around, Daemon noticed that not everything had fallen to ruin. Oh, much of it was, but there were black walls that looked intact from the ages, something that he had never seen the like before, for he could not help but wonder why this wall survived, when all else had fallen.
Fascinated, the Rogue Prince walked towards it and briefly touched the material. It was oily, much to his surprise, and it was also hot to the touch, enough that he hissed when he felt it. He looked around and noticed that the sorcerer was just as interested in the wall as Daemon was.
In the back, Aemond asked, "What is this?"
"A dead civilisation would be my guess, one that obviously had some skill in magic, given that what they imbued with the Black Stone wall is still working long after their deaths."
"And what is that they did with it?" Daemon asked.
"Black Stone is dangerous, but useful in many ways. Though I have an idea, I'm not particularly attached to it. Let's go see for sure."
The sorcerer turned then and began to follow the line of the black wall where it wound away across the grey earth.
Daemon and Aemond exchanged a glance, and without another word, both unsheathed their swords. The boy must have felt it, too, that something was amiss, but they followed, nonetheless.
The wall did not run straight as any sensible road would, but curved slowly upon itself; it seemed to vanish at times beneath certain rocky sections of the mountain, which Daemon thought defeated the purpose of a wall in the first place, though its surface remained just as smooth, completely untouched by the ruin.
At last, the wall seemed to be entering a cave, of some sort. Daemon tightened his grip upon Dark Sister, and without a word, they entered its depths.
At first, the passage was narrow, the walls pressing close about them, but the passage quickly turned larger as they moved further into the mountain's depths. The air also grew hotter, and each breath was somehow harder than the last. There was definitely something unnatural at the end of the cave, something whose power Daemon could almost feel.
Finally, the passageway ended, and they stepped out into a cavern so vast that for a moment, Daemon could not comprehend what he was seeing. The roof was far above them, enough that he could not see its detail, but he saw a section of the Black Stone Wall rise in the air, into it, moving in a spiral with six other walls that came from different passageways that surrounded the cavern, coiling around one another into the sky.
However, that had not been what had stolen Daemon's breath, for that honour belonged to the thing in the centre. For there, it was, lying on what he could only describe as some sort of cradle of Black Stone, a great glowing object that glowed with power.
It was impossibly vast, perhaps even as large as the Red Keep itself, and its surface shimmered, the colours shifting around for every glance, and even the shape seemed to change, as if the world itself could not handle its majesty.
"What is that?" Daemon breathed out.
"An egg," Potter answered, and that answer made both he and Aemond turn towards him in complete and utter shock, "One belonging to an Elder Dragon."
Daemon stared at the 'Egg', its size alone making him disbelieve what he was seeing. If this were an egg, then how large would an Elder Dragon be? And how powerful would it be, if even its unhatched glowed brighter than a sun?
"It's larger than any egg I'd seen, and it's almost bursting with energy. I have to say that the concentration of magic is a lot higher than it should be. Raw magical energy is still energy, so this place should have been much hotter."
Aemond, who was covered in sweat by the intense heat they felt the moment they entered the cavern, said, "Do you not think that this is hot?"
"Not even close… The heat alone should have melted half of… the… mountain. Oh, I suppose that makes sense. It should have long killed whatever civilisation had once lived here. This would have hardly been subtle, and they must have used the Black Stone to chain the egg, to drain as much power as they could have, with the goal of surviving for as long as possible. The amount of Black Stone alone is mind-boggling, and the magic is… impressive. A constantly executed ritual, one whose energy requirements are absurd even by my standards. It almost worked, too."
"Almost?" Daemon asked.
The sorcerer did not need to say anything, and Daemon's gaze followed the wall of Black Stone near the base of the egg. The prince could see thin fissures running through them like threads of glowing flames that were emerging from the darkness.
Despite the seriousness of the situation and the horrors that they faced to get there, they still looked at the egg in complete awe at its majesty, nonetheless. This was an egg that defied an entire civilisation, that outlasted them. It had not even hatched, and yet the dragon within had been victorious against a magic-wielding people. This was what it meant to be a dragon: to endure when all others failed, to remain when kingdoms fell, and the works of men turned to dust.
After some time, the sorcerer hummed and commented, "My plan was to use the egg alongside the one in Dragonstone to triangulate the magical resonance of the Elder Dragons. It would be the safer thing to do. But this… this could work, and I suppose that one good deed wouldn't hurt anyone, in fact, one might even consider it to be multiple good deeds."
"What do you mean?" Daemon asked, feeling some apprehension rise within him.
"Oh, what I mean is for you to take a grip. You both are about to see something really special."
The man did not say anything else, for he stood in the cavern and began to sing once more. This time, the world did not change, not drastically, and for a moment, the prince thought that he had not performed any sort of magic. At least, that was until he heard the groaning.
The Black Walls, who had likely stood there for thousands of years, began to move, as if dancing to the sorcerer's tune. The movement was slow, oddly stable, despite the fact that it should have resulted in some sort of collapse. The spirals that the walls were obviously meant to emulate started to change, as if they were unknotting somehow.
Harry Potter then raised his hand, and a dove of silver light came forth, much like it had when it repelled the darkness in the Summer Sea. This time, it was much smaller and flew towards the Black Stone, sinking inside it, as if it were water.
The moment that it had, glowing silver symbols started to appear across all of the Black Stone, illuminating the cavern with a silver light. It followed the walls, spreading outward, and Daemon knew deep down that even the sections outside the cavern were lit as well. He wondered what it would have looked like outside.
Then, the lights dimmed for a moment, and the sorcerer stopped singing, leaving the egg almost utterly unchanged. This was a display of magic unlike any Daemon had heard of, and yet, the prince did not know its purpose. The boy, Aemond, had his lone eye completely wide, his jaw hanging open in shock at what he had witnessed.
Neither of them got the opportunity to ask what the sorcerer did, as they heard him whisper, though his voice echoed across the chamber as if it had been shouted, "Awaken."
A thin, cracking sound made Daemon freeze in his tracks. He looked at its source and saw that it belonged to the egg, for there was a faint crack that leaked a bright light. The crack began to spread outward, very quickly, until finally, the shell parted, and Daemon could see no more, for the world was swallowed by light.
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Excerpt from: Of the Mysteries of the Summer Sea
By Maester Alyn of King's Landing
Since history immemorial, the Basilisk Isles remained a den of piracy and slavery, at least, until the great liberation of Slaver's Bay during the Century of Blood, and the spread of the threat of war being waged if proof of the practice be found. The cities of liberty, as they knew themselves, hunted slavers near their waters, which incidentally ended with a drop in piracy in the region, allowing the potential for scholarly expeditions into the Basilisk Isles once more without severe risks.
While we spoke of many of the region's isles and their mysteries, to this day, one of the greatest ones is that of the disappearance of Ax Isle. If one were to misbelieve the fact that an island could possibly disappear into thin air, I would not blame them, but unfortunately, it is what occurred. Even the island of Naath, which is a mystery in itself, still held signs of its presence in the form of its Golden Shroud. However, to all observers, Ax Isle had simply disappeared.
The island itself was well-documented with many voyages across centuries. We can track down its geographies, resources, and even remnants of civilisation, originating in multiple places across the world, showing that it was not some error on the part of the Old Citadel before its reformation. And yet, the island was nowhere to be found.
The mystery had been one that had been spread by many sailors over Essos, enough to gain the attention of Prince Baelon Targaryen, who had attempted to find Ax Isle during a trip to Yi-Ti and could not find it, despite attempting it for weeks. Most consider this to be definitive proof that Ax Isle is simply no more.
To this day, none know the truth of what befell Ax Isle, whether it was swallowed by some violent upheaval beneath the waves, claimed by a shifting current that altered its charts beyond recognition, or concealed by forces less easily explained. There are, as ever, those who invoke sorcery, and while that is a potential explanation, I personally find it quite lethargic to blame every mystery on some form of magic.
What remains undeniable is this: an island once marked upon every reputable map in the Known World was gone. Whether Ax Isle was destroyed, displaced, or merely lost, or any other possibility, remains one of the greatest mysteries in the Summer Isles, and perhaps even the Known World.
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AN: Phew, that chapter got away from me. I was tempted to split it in two, but I decided to just get it over with. The idea was to show a bit of the growing respect between Daemon and Aemond, which I tried to highlight in the fight, as well as their reaction towards the hatching of an Elder Dragon. I also chose Ax Isle out of the islands since I found as little information about it as I could, which sort of allowed me to play around with it a bit.
On a more serious note, I've been feeling a bit off recently, and I think it may have affected my writing somewhat. A friend of mine recently passed away, and it's affected me more than I expected. I'm dealing with it in my own way (writing helps keep my mind off things) and would rather not go into detail, but I wanted to mention it in case the last few chapters felt a little different from usual. So, if you notice anything that felt off, I'd genuinely appreciate hearing your thoughts. It's sometimes hard for me to judge my own writing from the inside. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
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If you want to support me, check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr
I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions on them, so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.
Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.