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123 AC, Naath
The past few moons had been strange for Aemond Targaryen. His role in repelling the attack on the Capital, in fighting creatures of shadows, as well as slaying the Shadowbinders, and saving his house's dragons, had elevated him in ways that he never thought possible. It was not close to the acclaim that Cregan Stark rightfully earned, but it was quite close.
He was now the youngest knight in the Seven Kingdoms. Ladies swooned when he walked nearby, as opposed to almost fleeing at the sight of his lone eye. He was more than the Targaryen who had lost an eye, more than even a Dragonrider, for he was now the Dragon Knight, a legend of his own making.
Aemond was to be his brother's blade, the one who would protect his claim on the throne, and he had long since resigned himself to this role. The idea of something… more… had always felt like a distant dream, for war had seemed almost inevitable.
That was no longer the case, for the Great Council had changed things. Aegon did not need Aemond to secure his claim, for he had none, not anymore, and despite the acclaim, despite the glory and titles, the rider of the greatest living dragon had found himself lost.
It was Helaena who helped him find a purpose once more. It had felt… right, to be the true blade of House Targaryen, to protect their family together. They worked wonderfully together, with Helaena, the Dreamer, hatching plans that spanned the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms and even beyond, while he would aid her in executing them in the shadows.
Aemond still remembered the scared looks on Jeyne Arryn's and Tyland Lannister's faces after their conversations, and had seen the devastation that she caused with only a few letters, and they were all stark reminders that Helaena was just as much a dragon as they all were.
He had asked Helaena why she had done all of this not to be Queen, and she simply told him of a future where some lords would push for Rhaenyra's descendants to sit upon the Iron Throne, and it always ended in a rebellion, with black dragons amidst an ocean of blood. Aemond's first instinct was to just rid the realm of the whore and her children, but he knew that this was a foolish course of action.
It was a shame, as Helaena would have been a wonderful queen; then again, if she all but shaped the realm to her will with her dreams, then wasn't she all but a queen in everything but name?
At least, Aegon seemed completely and utterly overjoyed to have avoided the throne altogether. He was… better since his children's birth, though a part of him thought that Helaena had something to do with it. He was happier, though their mother's pestering about him being usurped was obviously grating on him.
His mother had certainly not been happy with the results of the Great Council, and given the rumours he had heard, neither was Rhaenyra, yet both seemed just as powerless as one another trying to reverse it.
Aemond, himself, was rather content with it all. The whore, Rhaenyra, could not afford to usurp her own child, and the Strong boys had been humiliated, with the lords of the realm not even considering them for the throne, given their parentage, while being usurped by their babe of a trueborn brother.
The truth of their bastardy was now an open secret, and they would never rise to anything, not anymore. They would be set aside, hoping to be forgotten by the world around them. Oh, Aemond hated them. He hated them with a passion of an all-consuming flame, but he was satisfied with this, for now, for they were lesser than him… bastards…
He should have been content. He had found glory. His deeds would be etched in history, but there was something that would not leave his mind, and that was the Potters. He still remembered the display in Harrenhal, the golden light that had saved Aemond's life, the sheer power he had felt. He knew that the Potters had been involved in the attack and the call of the Great Council, but he had not seen a trace of them.
Which was why, when he heard strange noises as he walked past the Red Keep's library, he had come to investigate, and he saw a strange doorway of magic closing in, he all but ran, and jumped into it without a single thought.
In retrospect, jumping into any form of magic might have been a mistake, especially as he fell in what seemed to be a great beach, the sorcerer giving him an unimpressed look, and the Rogue Prince standing before him, his hand on Dark Sister, as if he had been one breath away from taking it out and skewering him with it.
Aemond's long eye met Daemon Targaryen's own for what felt like an eternity, and the older prince finally spoke up, "What is it that you are doing here, Aemond Targaryen?"
The youngest knight in history did not have the time to answer, as the prince turned towards the sorcerer and asked once more, "I thought that you had some form of magic that stopped people from noticing you."
Potter simply shrugged, "The interference when I tried to map out Sothoryos must have destabilised the wards somehow or at least weakened them. The energy was rather corrosive to magic, so that would make sense. I wonder if it was on purpose. The ward should have acted like a barrier of some kind, preventing magical resonance from leaving the boundaries of the library, so if it targeted it on purpose, it would suggest a certain degree of intelligence, as it tried to circumvent the magic that kept it contained, even if it was not exactly its purpose. Very interesting…"
The Rogue Prince rolled his eyes, likely not having understood much more than Aemond had of the sorcerer's words, "Interesting it might be to you, I will not suffer the presence of a child given where we are to go."
"I am the youngest knight in the history of the Seven Kingdoms," Aemond protested with heat in his voice.
"A boy is what you are, and a knighthood does not change that. Knighthood is nought but a title, one that does nothing but allow you to participate in tourneys, giving you the illusion of glory. From what I have heard of you, boy, you have talent, despite losing half of your sight and the Hightower blood in your veins, but talent will not stop you from dying a painful death nonetheless."
Every single instinct that Aemond had wanted him to lash out at the Rogue Prince's words. To think that he would be treated like a child, like a squire, instead of a prince of the realm, was very insulting. He also knew for a fact that yelling out angrily would do nothing more than to prove the older man's point for him. After all, that had been a favourite tactic on his grandfather's part.
Instead, he answered with a smug expression on his face, "Perhaps that is what you think, but it seems that Helaena disagrees with you, as she was the one to arrange for this."
He felt the lie turn heavy in his mouth, the moment he uttered it. He knew that it was not a wise course of action, but he didn't have it in him to regret it, for he needed to understand Harry Potter, to see what he was capable of. It had been his fascination ever since the fall of Harrenhal. He did not know why, but Aemond knew that he would not have been able to continue with so many of his questions remaining unanswered.
Thankfully, his scheme seemed to have worked. The Rogue Prince froze for a moment before turning towards the sorcerer. Did Daemon know of Helaena's dreams? He certainly knew of a connection between her and Potter. Speaking of the sorcerer, he was frowning as he looked at the young Prince, and Aemond felt utterly vulnerable beneath the man's gaze, as if the man was seeing directly through him. The man frowned and asked clearly, "Are you sure about this, Aemond Targaryen?"
The young prince gulped and nodded.
The sorcerer continued, "Very well."
Suddenly, Aemond felt as if a heavy weight had lifted from his shoulders, though he could almost hear his own heart thundering. The Rogue Prince scoffed, but did not complain audibly, obviously respecting the sorcerer's words.
That did not matter. Aemond would soon clear the man of his doubts. He would earn the Rogue Prince's respect.
Despite being fated to oppose one another once, Aemond respected Daemon the most out of the members of the House of the Dragon, for he was the one who understood the most what it meant to be a Targaryen. Their house did not conquer the Seven Kingdoms with feasts and tourneys, but with Fire and Blood, with their dragons, and there ought to always be a strong Dragonrider in Court, much like a Kingsguard, to protect the interests of the Royal Family.
Daemon Targaryen was such a person for Aemond's father, a figure that would inspire fear and make the lords rethink their schemes. It was after the King had sent him away that the Court started to undermine him, and as he weakened, Otto Hightower had been the one to rule the realm. His grandfather, the man might have been, there was no doubt that he had overstepped in many ways, for the realm had seen the king as nothing more than a toothless dragon. This would likely not come to pass again; Daemon would not allow it, not when it would be his son on the throne.
Still, that didn't explain much regarding what the Rogue Prince was doing with Potter. Looking around, as he pushed himself up, Aemond noticed that he was on a beach, though near the horizon, what looked like a strange golden mist. He shook his head and grunted, "Where are we anyhow?"
"Naath, also known as the Isle of Butterflies, home to the Peaceful People," the sorcerer answered.
Naath… Naath… The name was familiar to him, but it was only when Potter spoke of butterflies that Aemond stiffened. He had heard of it most recently from some Essosi Magisters who had attended the Great Council. They had complained that no raid had successfully managed to find slaves in Naath in the past few Moons, and that they were losing gold because of it, as the Naathi were widely sought out.
Naath was an island near the Valyrian Peninsula, which was made up of a peaceful people who did not even summon the strength to protect one another, and instead practised pure pacifism. Aemond had found the entire affair humorous, but not as much as the tales of deadly butterflies that would cause men to die a slow and very painful death. He stiffened and almost jumped as he saw butterflies flying around in the distance, not wishing to die from some plague. Still, he stopped when he saw that the Rogue Prince had snorted in amusement, though his eyes did seem worried.
Still, all of this did not explain why in the Seven Hells were they in Naath of all places. It didn't seem all that interesting for anyone but slavers.
Suddenly, a swarm of butterflies appeared from thin air, encircling them and filling their vision with countless colourful insects.
He heard a voice speak up all around them, resonate with enough strength that it made Aemond's bones shake in his body, "YOU WERE NOT TO RETURN."
The young prince felt the urge to kneel at the pressure that the voice returned, but the sorcerer seemed utterly unconcerned, "Sorry about that, I'm not planning on staying long. I just needed to be closer to the Basilisk Isles."
"I HAVE FELT THE PASSING OF THE FIRST MOTHER; WITH IT I ASSUME THAT YOUR QUESTIONS WERE ANSWERED. WHAT IS IT THAT YOU SEEK NOW, LORD OF SPACE AND TIME?"
"Oh, thanks for that, by the way. Your help was very valuable there, and she was quite helpful. As for now, I'm in something of a pickle, I guess. I'm looking for the seed left behind by the Elder Dragons, but there seems to be… interference… that's stopping me from looking for it."
"THE DARKNESS IN THE SOUTH STIRS, ENOUGH THAT IT TESTS ITS BORDERS ONCE MORE. THE LAST TIME SUCH A THING OCCURRED, THE OLD ONES WERE BOUND IN CHAINS OF ROT IN THE LANDS OF FLAMES."
For the first time since the conversation started, Aemond saw the sorcerer visibly wince, "And I suppose you're not exactly inclined to help. My main goal is finding the Elder Dragons, wherever they went after they were freed from Valyria."
What? Aemond understood little of what was being spoken. What even were Elder Dragons? Ever since the voice had made itself heard, Aemond had felt akin to a spectator at a monumental event, a conversation that was far greater than anything he had heard in his time in King's Landing.
The butterflies swirled higher, rising in a spiralling column of living colour, until the very sunlight seemed fractured through their wings.
"I CANNOT," the voice continued, vast and resonant as the tide beneath the earth, "MANY OF MY BRETHREN WOULD SEE MY INTERFERENCE AS AN OVERREACH SHOULD I REACH BEYOND THESE SHORES."
Harry inclined his head slightly, as though in understanding.
"I'm not asking you to interfere beyond your shores," he said calmly. "Just let me use the island as a vantage point. The seed's energy should have a signature, and if I stand within your realm, I should be able to track it. That wouldn't be outside your purview, would it?"
The butterflies shifted in the air, their wings beating in a way that was almost musical. The pressure in the air lessened, though the presence did not.
"YOU WOULD USE MY DOMAIN, MY REALM…" the voice resonated, seemingly unhappy with the suggestions.
"Yes," Potter answered simply, "I know that it's a lot to ask, and I would be here if I didn't need to. I don't think that this stirring darkness is an isolated thing."
"A RESTORED DEATH, A STRENGHENED FATE, AND YET A GREAT IMBALANCE REMAINS. A TERRIBLE PRECIPICE. A FINAL NIGHT. AND A FIRST DAWN. THIS HAS UNSETTLED MANY."
These were nought but nonsensical words to Aemond, though it seemed that they did mean something to the sorcerer, for he pursed his lips and answered, "I know," he then slumped down slightly, "I know… But the Elder Dragons' presence wouldn't hurt, would it? You said that they were the ones who held back the Darkness once."
There was a long pause after the sorcerer spoke up, with the butterflies practically hovering in place, before the formless voice spoke up once more, "VERY WELL. BUT MY AID DOES NOT COME WITHOUT COST."
"Name it," the sorcerer commanded with a seriousness that had been lacking before.
"A BOON, YET UNNAMED, TO BE CALLED LATER."
"No. It will be a boon that I shall decide on, one that I shall gift, and one that is equal to what I owe," Potter retorted immediately.
For a moment, the pressure on the island increased a hundred-fold, and despite all his pride, Aemond found himself falling to the ground. At the side, the Rogue Prince fared no better, almost kneeling, and only holding himself up on Dark Sister's sheathed form.
And yet the sorcerer remained standing, undisturbed by the formless voice, "WE HAVE AN ACCORD, LORD OF SPACE AND TIME."
"We do, Lord of Harmony," the sorcerer retorted.
Finally, the pressure lessened, though it still remained in the corner of Aemond's awareness, and the young prince slowly pulled himself up, trying to keep what little was left of his pride. In the meantime, Harry Potter had a serious look on his face, "I don't have to tell you of the risks involved, do I?"
"WITHIN THESE SHORES," the so-called Lord of Harmony declared, and now the voice seemed less like thunder and more like the turning of seasons, "I AM THE CREATOR OF SUN AND MOON. THE SOURCE OF ALL THAT BREATHES AND BLOOMS. NO DIVINE CREATURE WOULD DARE TRESPASS. OUTSIDE, PERHAPS. BUT NOT WITHIN MY REALM."
For a moment, the sky seemed impossibly vast, the sun above them radiant beyond reason, and Aemond felt as if the world itself was shifting, becoming greater and more brilliant than it ever was.
Then the sky returned to normal, and the butterflies scattered in every direction, with the beach finally becoming visible, and the pressure disappearing outright. The sorcerer raised an eyebrow, as if nothing had happened, and muttered, "He's certainly more dramatic this time."
"What… What was that?" Aemond stammered.
"Oh, yes. This is the Lord of Harmony, the god of Naath. Nice fellow. Oh, and do try to avoid the locals. He's fiercely protective of them, and they don't have the best of histories when it comes to Valyrians."
"A god?" The Rogue Prince yelled, "This was a God?"
Aemond would have found Daemon Targaryen's reaction to be humorous had he not felt the urge to do the same. It had made sense, in a way, for the existence, the voice, had felt more than human, mightier than even a dragon.
And yet, in this small moment, came the realisation that Harry Potter had bargained with such a creature as if they were on equal grounds. He knew that the man was certainly not a normal sorcerer, for the feats that he had witnessed were unlike even that of Old Valyria, probably even surpassing that of legends dating back to the Age of Heroes. What had the Lord of Harmony called him again? The Lord of Space and Time.
He turned towards the sorcerer and asked a question that had been on his mind since he realised that this butterfly creature was a god of some sort, "Are you a god?"
The being that might possibly be a god snorted in amusement, "Don't be silly, I'm only human. Now, why don't you wait a bit for your questions? I'm sort of busy right now."
Before he could reply, the sorcerer knelt down and palmed the sand beneath them, which started to glow in a golden colour with strange symbols appearing around them. Aemond decided to leave the sorcerer who might be a god to his devices and turned to Daemon, who seemed just as pale and just as disturbed as he was.
For a long while, neither Aemond nor Daemon spoke. They merely stood there upon the pale sands of Naath, in complete silence, hearing the waves sloshing back and forth, none of them daring to break it.
After all, they had just been in the presence of a god.
It was not some tale that some Septon told, or a faint coincidence that people often mistook for a blessing of some sort. No, this had been a God, a divine being, and it had spoken to them. Aemond was never the most Faithful of men, thinking the Gods to be little more than a product of lesser minds to justify their sufferings. And yet, now, he knew that it was false, for true gods existed.
Did the Seven Who Are One exist as well, the gods that his mother worshipped so vehemently? Did the Old Gods? Did the Gods of Old Valyria?
There were so many questions to ask, and so few answers, as their source was kneeling on the pale sand, with glowing symbols encircling him, thrumming in power. Aemond's thoughts were interrupted by the rapidly darkening sky above the island, which was quickly followed by the faint golden mist that he saw in the distance, suddenly glowing heavily, making the darkness recoil and withdrawing, the sky returning to normal.
Then the golden figures around Potter dissipated faintly, and the sorcerer rose to his feet. "I know which island we need to go to. A debt is owed, as promised, O' Lord of Harmony. I will return with a worthy boon, one that will benefit your children."
It might have been Aemond's mind playing tricks on him, but he swore that he saw the butterflies deeper in the island rise once more in distant spirals, as if they responded to the sorcerer's words, which they likely were.
Harry dusted the sand from his palms and turned to face them fully, "This is probably your last chance to back away. From here on out, things will not be pretty. We are about to embark on hostile waters, outside the protection of a god. I will not be able to guarantee your safety, not here."
Aemond found himself freezing for a few moments, only to be stopped as Daemon glared at them, "I am no craven, Potter. I said that I would come with you, and I shall not be known as a liar."
That spurred the passion in Aemond's heart, "Nor will I!"
Potter studied them both, though the young prince swore that he saw a mixture of weariness and perhaps a spark of respect in the man's eyes, "So be it."
The man raised his hand, and from the depths of the sea, a sailboat appeared, as if it had been swimming beneath the waves previously. The vessel moved towards the shore, somehow still floating atop the water, even when it truly shouldn't have. After taking a closer look, Aemond noticed that it wasn't particularly a large boat, barely larger than most fishing vessels that he had seen in the Capital, but it seemed quite well-built, nonetheless, and likely brimming with magic.
The sorcerer then perked up, "Oh, yes. I decided not to risk making a portal, given that just scrying was so troublesome, so it seems like we'll take the scenic route."
That said, Potter casually stepped onto it, and Aemond shrugged and followed his lead, with Daemon entering.
The vessel then moved on its own, another act of magic, and he saw the island of Naath disappear in the distance, likely far quicker than it would have been possible with a normal boat. And so, they moved closer into the Basilisk Isles.
And as the sky darkened, the winds turned more violent, and the sea more restless, Aemond remembered a question that had been at the back of his mind ever since he set foot on this island, "Oh, I forgot to ask, but what was it that we're sailing to seek, exactly?"
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.
Most would have likely called him mad, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement at the thought of the adventure ahead. And no matter what awaited ahead, Aemond knew deep in his heart that he had made the right choice, for he would have forever regretted not being part of it had he refused, in the many years that awaited him in the snake pit that was King's Landing.
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Excerpt from: Of the Mysteries of the Summer Sea
By Maester Alyn of King's Landing
From the many great mysteries that exist in the Known World, I would personally say that the island of Naath is one of the most significant. Most mysteries are often the result of unexplained structures that had likely belonged to previous unknown civilisations, but not Naath, for it is strangely only in recent years that the island gained its reputation.
The island of Naath, or the Isle of Butterflies, was the home of the Peaceful People, a primitive civilisation that had only survived because of their immunity to a disease that ran rampant in their island, one that is said to be connected to the many butterflies that roam the isle.
Of course, that had not deterred slavers from capturing them, having found that the disease took time to take root, and many thought the risk to be worth it, for a Naathi slave was said to be worth more than a hundred ordinary ones, not only because of their exotic appearance, but because of their intelligence, and their ability to learn tongues very quickly. They were not great fighters, for the Naathi were extremely pacifistic, to the point of foolishness sometimes, even to the detriment of their own survival whenever they were captured.
Alas, Naath only truly became a mystery with the appearance of the Golden Shroud, a golden mist that surrounded the island without warning. To this day, none had ever ventured to Naath, with most either becoming lost in the mist and returning days, if not moons later, utterly confused, while others simply vanished and never returned. Most consider this mist to be magical in nature, for it is unnaturally thick, and the effects are too unbelievable. The fact that it was erected in 123 AC, so close to the Resurgence of Magic, and the Second Doom of Valyria, lends credence to such a fact.
The demand for Naathi slaves had exploded so utterly in the century that followed this, with their existence turning almost mythical. Many fleets, originating from Slaver's Bay, attempted to make their way to Naath, and none were seen again. It is said that the obsession of the Masters of the Free City of Slaver's Bay on the matter had caused them to overreach, which had weakened the region significantly, which had great impacts in the expeditions to the ruins of Valyria, the Second Century of Blood, and the Slave Rebellions that followed.
What little we know of Naath today is thanks to the culmination of historical accounts prior to 123 AC, but also the few Naathi themselves who had left the island of their own volition. It seemed that with the absence of raids, a few adventurous few had attempted to explore past their shores, though they rarely had issues returning to their home, despite sailing through the Golden Shroud unharmed, claiming it to be their god's protection.
These Naathi were a wealth of resources, for they traded silks born of their own silkworm caterpillars, whose quality remains unmatched to this day, and that many mages seek out immensely, for it seemed to be uniquely receptive to magical enchantments, mostly with the goal of creating protective garbs for nobles and rich merchants across the Known World.
The Naathi's success of their travels across Essos was nothing short of a miracle, given that they were often hunted down by slavers when they first ventured out, and pirates in search of their precious silks. This improbability was often seen as further proof of some sort of magicks protecting the island and its inhabitants.
Many mages attribute this to the Hearth Stones of Naath, a curious amber warm stone that the Naathi often wear amongst their garb, often in the form of a necklace, something that had never been reported prior to the appearance of the Golden Shroud in 123 AC.
It is said that it provided their god's warmth and blessing of fortune to the people of Naath, born of the pool of golden fortune, which was a gift from a clever raven. This cannot be confirmed, of course, but the few mages who interacted with the Naathi often say that they were immensely magical, though none had ever retrieved one. Still, while many would call such a thing a product of their imagination, it is no secret that not a single vessel with a Naathi on board had ever sunk or been attacked by a pirate. The Peaceful People are now often considered mythical to most sailors and a good omen that their ship would find its destination, even in the harshest waters.
Today, Naathi silks, while rare, are luxuries that could be afforded in most courts, and yet, in the last centuries, none had set foot on the Island of Naath. None truly knows of the Isle of Butterflies, but from the tales of its peaceful inhabitants, making it, in this author's opinion, one of the greatest secrets in the Known World.
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AN: That chapter really got away from me, and I'm not really sure about it. I wanted to explore a bit about Aemond's thought process, while also making one last chapter in Naath. It didn't feel right just jumping into the Basilisk Isles without it, especially without settling Aemond a bit more. Of course, Harry knows that he's lying, but he's indulging him for good reason. Aemond, himself, is an overconfident teenager who wants one last glorious adventure before he returns to King's Landing. There's meant to be a parallel between him and Daemon, which I'll go into more in the next chapter, though I liked showing them both freaking out a bit about some of the stuff Harry deals with (interacting with a god, etc.).
As for the deal with the Lord of Harmony, I thought about extending the dialogue a bit, but it had gone on for long enough. Harry's side of the bargain is shown a bit in the historical section, which involved the golden pool of fortune, which I like to think is made from Felix Felicis. I'm pretty excited about the next chapter. 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.