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Dragonstone, Westeros.
57 A.C.
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Dragonstone had always been a place of wind and salt, a bastion of black stone that guarded the history of an empire that no longer existed; yet even a hundred years after its fall, its works in the world remained strong. The fortress was warm, heated by the hot winds blowing from Dragonmont.
But that climate had felt much heavier for some years now. The fortress, already dark in many parts, felt further swallowed by shadows and whispers. Rhaena Targaryen, the Queen in the West—as the mouths knew her of some lords and ladies of the realm—observed the Narrow Sea from the battlements of the Painted Table. Her face, marked by loss and isolation, was a cold mask of wrinkles born of the stress and the weeping that had been her constant companion since her daughter, her precious Aerea, disappeared three years ago.
This had profoundly influenced her demeanor. If she had behaved with hardness before, a product of all she had endured during her years with Maegor, she had now become a mosaic of coldness, rage, and grief so deeply embedded in her soul that it had made her look much older.
"My Queen," a soft and somewhat fearful voice spoke from the entrance of the hall. Rhaena did not turn; instead, she continued watching the waves break against the coast. The woman was Maria, a girl who had been given by Larissa at Greenstone before returning to the fortress. "News has arrived from Essos."
"Speak quickly, for once," Rhaena's rebuke came without delay, making the girl nearly jump. "Um, yes... My Queen."
"A merchant from Driftmark arrived a few minutes ago, my Queen. He wishes to speak with you; he claims to have news of a sighting of a dragon resembling Balerion." The mere mention of the dragon with which her daughter had vanished made Rhaena look at the young woman for the first time since she arrived.
A multitude of emotions flickered through her gaze: confusion, understanding, longing, hope—only to be buried once more under grief. "Where is he?"
"In the Great Hall, my Queen."
Rhaena did not respond. Instead, she began to walk at a brisk pace through the corridors of the fortress. The walls passed as blurs in her eyes while her feet carried her to her destination with a firmness that had not abandoned her since she was forced to marry Maegor.
She reached the Great Hall in seconds, where several people were already present. The fortress's Maester was there, along with guards stationed at the doors and key points of the room. But none of that interested Rhaena. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the man standing in the center of the Great Hall with a fearful look.
"Speak. Who are you?" Rhaena ordered, her voice firm but tinged with an urgency she could not entirely hide. "What rumors do you bring from the East that have made you skip Driftmark and come to Dragonstone instead?"
The man, weathered by sun and salt, knelt with trembling hands. "My Lady... I am a captain of a ship under Lord Velaryon. I come from Volantis, and the situation there is delicate."
"News has arrived that Qohor has fallen. It did not happen by an ordinary siege or a coup from within, but at the hands of a Dothraki Khal. They call him Khal Caspian... Reports say thousands of innocents were burned in bonfires at the hands of the Red Priests of the Temple of R'hllor."
Rhaena hardened her gaze. She knew of the alliance between Volantis—or more specifically, the Red Temple—and a Dothraki Khal of the Grass Sea. She even knew Qohor had fallen to said Khal's Khalasar; the news had reached her via raven a week ago. She had not stayed alive without remaining attentive to what happened everywhere.
But even knowing that, she could not stop being confused by the fact that the Red Temple would ally with a Khal. It was well known that such men loathed all displays of magic, and the Red Priests were living proof of it. Such a communion was unthinkable, and yet, it existed.
"And the dragon?" she asked, her heart beating with a painful force against her chest. "There is talk of dragon sightings. What do you know of this?"
The captain swallowed hard. "A dragon was seen, my Lady. A creature of copper and beige scales that spat bolts of light instead of fire. But that is not all... There is something more. Merchants from Norvos speak of an even greater shadow. They say a massive black dragon flew over the city weeks ago, and then turned toward Vaes Yeraan, the city that Khal built upon the ruins of Vaes Khadokh."
The silence that followed was absolute. Rhaena felt the world tilt. Balerion the Black Dread had been missing along with her daughter for three years. Heaven knows messengers had been sent across the realm in search of them. But what if they had been looking in the wrong place all those years?
The rumor of a dragon of that magnitude and characteristics could only mean one thing to her. Aerea. Her daughter, who had taken Balerion years ago and of whom nothing was known, could only be linked to a sighting of such caliber.
"My Lady, these are but tales of sailors and smallfolk," the Maester intervened, not believing in such nonsense. "No one has seen Balerion in three years. A dragon of his size would have been spotted long ago. Even then, sightings of another dragon with purple lightning breath is merely the people's imagination."
"People do not invent black dragons in the heart of Essos without a reason," Rhaena sentenced, turning around with a determination that reignited within her. "If there is a dragon of that magnitude in Vaes Yeraan, and if this Khal Caspian has dragon riders in his ranks, I will not stay here waiting for ravens to bring me ashes. We both know such a dragon can only be Balerion, and if there is even a single chance to see my daughter again, I will take it."
That same afternoon, the roar of Dreamfyre shook the skies over Dragonmont. The silver-blue dragon ascended into the clouds, flying away from Westeros. At the same time, a raven left the Sea Dragon Tower heading for King's Landing.
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Volantis, Essos.
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While Rhaena crossed the sea, the fate of another great Free City was being decided on the banks of the Rhoyne. Volantis, the First Daughter, stood with the pride and temper that had characterized it since its founding.
The arrival of Caspian's forces a few hours ago was a choreography of intimidation and power. First, the riders appeared. Four thousand Dothraki, armed in iron armor and mounted on stallions armored in the same metal, positioned themselves before the East Gate.
Their presence was mesmerizing to all who saw the Dothraki ride. Surprise was reflected on the faces of many, as the riders who arrived looked nothing like the screaming savages of the Grass Sea. They did not wear rags, nor did they move uncontrollably; instead, they rode in formation, which, though not perfect, maintained a neat order.
Beside them, a contingent of five hundred Unsullied, their shields gleaming under the scorching sun of Volantis, formed another sight rarely seen, especially in such large numbers of slave-soldiers.
Among the Dothraki, more than two dozen of Caspian's witches positioned themselves at the front. Their silhouettes were like spectres. Dressed in dark robes and mounted on horses black as night, they projected a presence that even stood out more than the well-behaved Dothraki.
Many Red Priests were already present at the site, waiting, while the citizens of Volantis crowded the heights that the surrounding buildings offered, watching with a mixture of expectation and fear.
And then, the sky roared. A shadow emerged over the sky of the plaza, and moments later, Endaxia descended.
The dragon landed with the lightness of a cat upon the plaza, her copper scales reflecting the sunlight with an intensity that blinded the spectators. Caspian descended from her back, followed by Valka, who had traveled with him atop Endaxia.
Caspian wore a hybrid armor of late-Gothic style with strong Persian influences. It was composed of plates with chainmail, thick fabric, and elaborate ornamental details crafted in Netherite by the village blacksmiths.
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Valka, on the contrary, wore a tight robe in the Oriental-Islamic style, with gold embroidery on the chest, neck, and shoulders. A veil made of golden mesh, from which numerous chains and hanging ornaments fell over her chest and cheeks, covered her face. As was common among the witches, she also wore a type of hijab crafted from gold and silver cloth that completely covered her hair
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Both represented well what Vaes Yeraan had become, and what Volantis would very quickly follow.