"Everyone has a debt, great or small."
— Stannis Baratheon
…
Year 284 AC. Location Unknown.
It turns out that soaring through the sky is quite exhilarating. Below me now stretched Lys. The houses and people looked like toys. I had been enjoying this view of the city for a quarter of an hour. The moment consciousness left my body, I seemed to have floated up into the sky.
But then, some force pulled me toward the sea. Hundreds of leagues of water flew beneath me. Soon, I reached a cluster of islands. Flying over one of the cities, I managed to notice dark-skinned people. Fixing upon the natives' skin color, I compared the islands' position with the map I knew. To my surprise, I recognized them as most likely the Summer Isles. But I did not linger; an unknown power dragged me further.
Flying on, after some time, I saw to my left the smoking waters and islands from which clouds of ash and smoke soared upward: the Smoking Sea and the ruins of Valyria. A pang of sadness and yearning struck my chest for some reason. In the next moment, anger flooded my mind. Yet the emotions vanished as quickly as they appeared. Strange. Previously, I hadn't felt much about the Doom of Valyria, though I was saddened that an entire Empire was destroyed in one instant, along with hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of lives. Could this be the old Viserys's homesickness for the land of his ancestors?
But reflections on history were soon cast aside. A new archipelago drifted beneath me. This time, however, the people in the scattered settlements were not of any single nationality. Dozens of peoples and hundreds of ships. The Basilisk Isles. If the Stepstones were the pirate Jamaica of this world, the Basilisk Isles were its Tortuga. Pirates from the Stepstones lived by plundering merchants sailing from Essos to Westeros. Meanwhile, the corsairs of the Basilisk Archipelago dominated the trade routes stretching from Asshai and the Empire of Yi Ti to Qarth and Slaver's Bay.
And further on, beyond these islands, a great land was visible, entirely covered in rampant vegetation. The enigmatic continent of Sothoryos. Giants like the Ghiscari Empire and the Valyrian Freehold had attempted to colonize it. Yet both hegemons failed.
It is not for nothing that this continent, covered in jungles and inhabited by savages, bears the second name Green Hell. Dozens of vile diseases, hundreds of venomous creatures, megafauna, and aggressive savages who navigated the humid forests expertly, unlike the inhabitants of Essos, had done their work. Four cities and dozens of villages founded at different times were ultimately abandoned entirely.
Epidemics, wars with the natives, and highly dangerous fauna won out over civilization. And what else could be expected, considering that, by rumor, even wyverns dwell in this godsforsaken place! Lizards covered in skin instead of dragon scales, reaching thirty meters in length. True, they cannot breathe fire. But a creature the size of a ship that can fly is still a very weighty argument.
But then, the force pulled me forward again. The coast of the mainland rushed past, seeming to consist of forests and rare mountains that soared toward the heavens. Suddenly, I saw the ruins of a once-great city situated on a peninsula. Gorosh, if I am not mistaken, a former Ghiscari colony founded near Wyvern Point.
Having rounded the peninsula, the force did not drag me toward Asshai, though I was curious to see those lands. My consciousness was directed along the coast of Sothoryos. To the left, two large islands flashed by in succession.
My journey ended after about ten minutes. My consciousness stopped at three islands forming a triangle. From the largest one, covered in grass and forest, stretched two bridges, connecting the green island to the two smaller, rocky ones. The distance between them was short, but the two stone bridges commanded an involuntary respect for those who built them.
The vegetation-covered island was roughly the size of a large city, while the other two were no bigger than a couple of football stadiums. The small archipelago was unassailable. Hundreds of reefs and rocks were visible here and there in the water, sometimes jutting out entirely like ugly teeth. But none of this was what captured the majority of my attention.
On one of the rocky islands stood a tower of black stone, resembling a lighthouse. Beside it was a pier made of the same material. From this island, one of the bridges stretched to its grey counterpart, the larger part of which was occupied by some structure. Most of all, it reminded me of the Colosseum, with a domed roof somehow affixed to its top. This structure reminded me of something, making my immaterial heart skip a beat. A similar building, though not made of black stone, was in King's Landing: the Dragonpit. The place where the Targaryen dragons lived when their riders were present in the capital.
Greedily examining every meter of the majestic structure, I had to admit that this strange stone was far stronger than the materials used to build the refuge for my family's dragons. This Colosseum stood practically intact, while the structure in King's Landing had long since withered and was half-ruined.
But the most important thing was on the island overgrown with grass, olive, and fig-like trees. Amidst this green realm, a true citadel proudly rose. The black stone of the high walls contrasted sharply with the white stone buildings behind them. These various two- and three-story structures reminded me most of the Roman houses of wealthy citizens, as depicted by artists and archaeologists.
In the center of the walled area stood a great tower, soaring perhaps fifteen stories toward the sky. Compared to it, the surrounding ivy-covered mansions and various outbuildings seemed a bit faded. The very top floor, instead of a spire, was a flat platform, covered with a roof held up by four columns. Judging by the size and what I had read in the few books that somewhat described the life in the Valyrian Freehold, this was the tower of the Dragonlord, and the top floor was the lair of his partner.
Before I could examine the architecture of this place in more detail, I was pulled downward. Halting right at the water's surface, the force dragged me straight toward the island with the lighthouse. I was tossed about considerably while rounding all the reefs and rocks that made the three-island archipelago literally unassailable by ships. But I memorized the path very carefully, for I already suspected that such a detailed and realistic dream was clearly not given to me for nothing. I do not exclude that this is a Dragon Dream. A vision. A similar one was seen by the daughter of the head of House Targaryen, predicting the Doom of Valyria, thanks to which my family managed to take refuge on Dragonstone. And this path, by which I flew to the lighthouse, is quite possibly the only route by which one can sail to the domain of some Dragonlord.
Having reached the island, I flew along the bridge to the large structure that strongly resembled the Dragonpit. Up close, it was even more grim and majestic. Not lingering long, the force pulled me toward the high tower on the last of the islands.
Briefly stopping at the double doors, surprisingly also made of stone, I passed through them and entered the dark corridors of the building. The force tugged me down, into the basement rooms. My consciousness stopped in a spacious chamber, illuminated by two dozen torches burning with blue flame. Surveying the contents of the underground hall, I felt as if I froze. In the next second, I was overwhelmed by a kind of animal excitement, anticipation, and childlike joy.
It was a treasury, undoubtedly. Surrounded by twenty obsidian statues holding magical torches, were treasures that could buy half of Westeros, if not all of it.
The first thing that caught my eye were mannequins clad in armor and resting their hands on the hilts of swords. More precisely, four of them came complete with swords: two greatswords and two hand-and-a-half swords. The fifth stood with his hands on the pommels of two swords hanging from his belt.
But it wasn't this that was shocking and awe-inspiring to me. It was what the armor and swords were made of. Valyrian steel! Five full suits of armor and six swords! Tywin Lannister had offered a million gold dragons for just one such hand-and-a-half sword. Moreover, none of the Houses that owned them dared to part with such a significant weapon. And here there were not only six swords, but also five complete sets of armor!
When my gaze managed to tear away from the predatory gleam of the sorcerous steel, I saw a couple of cabinets whose shelves held scrolls. I figured since these writings were stored next to such valuable weapons, they must also be worth a fortune and harbor many secrets.
And in the center of it all stood a massive, rectangular stone block with twenty indentations. Although only fourteen of them were filled, I was ready to both cry and laugh from the emotions overwhelming me. Stored there was something far more valuable than Valyrian steel. At least to me. Fourteen dragon eggs!
"From the ashes, resurrect what was consumed by fire," a quiet whisper with growling notes invaded my fervent fantasies of world domination, and chilled my consciousness with the cold of the grave.
As soon as my mind processed that I was not alone, I literally froze and became all ears. It seemed my benefactors, and simultaneously my "employers," had contacted me. And now they would present me with a list of what I must do for such generous gifts. I was ready to bet anything that the demands would match the bounty.
"Restore the flame of faith to the hearts of men. Raise fourteen new Temples, fairer than the old ones," a maiden's voice whispered mischievously.
"Drr-r-rown your enemies in bl-l-lood and flame, young dragon. I bless you," a third voice roared louder than the others.
After his words, a heat consumed my entire being. It was not painful; my whole essence seemed to absorb this fire. Soon, everything was as before. Only deep inside myself, I felt an enormous bonfire, which previously had only flared up occasionally like a torch. My magical power had increased exponentially. And along with it, a series of visions flooded my consciousness.
In a single instant, I lived through thousands of fights with greatswords and paired blades. I was an outside observer of the greatest victories. Sometimes, I died after the battle. Sometimes, I won. Only one thing mattered. In a short moment, the experience of training and battle of hundreds of Valyria's greatest swordsmen, who lived, fought, and also prayed to Vhagar the God of War, was deeply imprinted in my memory. After that, I lived through dozens and hundreds of army battles. I heard the thoughts and absorbed the knowledge of warfare from the Freehold's most skillful military commanders.
When consciousness finally returned to me, I simply stared at the ceiling for a couple more minutes. Gaining the experience of so many killings, for a man who had lived the life of an ordinary historian, was no joke. I fear that if, besides the experience of the victories and defeats of Valyrian swordsmen and commanders, I had also received the memories of their lives, I would have simply drowned and dissolved in that ocean of information. As it was, I felt as though I had aged twenty years. Not in body, but in mind.
"Thank you. I will not fail," my lips sincerely whispered.
Truly, the gods of Valyria, there is no doubt now, have given me a great deal. A chance at a new life. A far more interesting one, though commensurately more dangerous than the last. They sent me a vision showing where to find dragon eggs, Valyrian steel armor and swords, and those scrolls. I believe the information contained within them will be invaluable. In addition, they gifted me with the sense of danger, which has already saved me once from an assassin from the ranks of the Sorrowful Men, who always say "I am so sorry" before an assassination. These gods strengthened the blood of Old Valyria in both me and Daenerys, granting a stronger body and, I am almost certain, amplifying the magical gift.
And the final gift: Vhagar the God of War increased my already considerable magical potential and gave me what I consider most valuable of all. Experience. The memory of thousands of fights with greatswords and paired blades. And also, the one thing without which I cannot build an Empire that will eclipse the Rome and Hellas of my world, as well as the Valyrian Freehold and the Ghiscari Empire that existed on Planetos. Vhagar hammered into my memory the experience of dozens and hundreds of battles, ranging from small skirmishes to epochal events where hundreds of thousands of men clashed in a bloody frenzy and dozens of dragons soared in the sky.
So I will honestly fulfill my part of the bargain. I will return the Dragonlords to scour the skies. I will build fourteen of the world's greatest temples. Valyria will once again dominate all. A New Empire, which I will build considering past mistakes and the experience of my world. Such is the price. The gods of Valyria gave me much. And I intend to repay my benefactors a hundredfold.
Now I was certain. The Targaryens would reclaim their dragons. And with them, my House would acquire a power my ancestors could never have dreamed of.
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