Fire and Blood

Chapter 10: Reunions, Unresolved Matters

Dragonstone ― Main hall...

Aeonar sat on Dragonstone's throne with his eyes closed in deep meditation, silently breathing through his nostrils, and exhaling without making a sound. The throne he sat on was built with obsidian and marble and was easier to sit on than the Iron Throne, yet it was harder and smelt of smoke and brimstone. Shaped from stone to look like dragons, the castle has a dark reputation: it was a grim place built by the ancient Valyrians with arcane arts, fire, and sorcery. Throughout every interior and exterior corridor, there was dragon-shaped architecture, such as small dragons framing gates, dragon claws holding torches, a pair of great wings covering the armory and smithy, and dragon tails forming archways and staircases. Hanging from the entryway were banners depicting the colors of House Targaryen – a red three-headed dragon on a black field.

Yet this place felt like a military base, not a palace. Quite different from the luxurious lifestyle the prince was accustomed to growing up.

Quiet, and easy to concentrate... but it is not like the Red Keep. No, this castle is my home now.

A few days have passed since Aeonar reclaimed Dragonstone from his renegade uncle, Prince Daemon. Since then, there have been some significant modifications to his castle; Dragonstone now held a garrison of thirty knights, one hundred archers and crossbowmen, and four hundred soldiers stationed inside and outside taking control of catapults and trebuchets. Not too far from where he was, the Dragonmont had Dragonkeepers stationed at the foot of the volcano near a neighboring village tending to the lair for dragons residing on the island. And if Aeonar wanted something to eat, his staff would serve him seafood gathered from nearby fishing villages.

But that was not the only thing different. A small group of twenty individuals who accompanied Aeonar from Essos kept their faces covered with their platinum-hooded cloaks. Like the Dragonkeepers, they hailed from a monk-like guild, but their now-defunct organization trained a generation of highly skilled assassins specializing in stealth, maneuverability, archery, concocting poisons, infiltration... and, if necessary, combat. For these assassins, speed and stealth were the keys to the success of the missions they were given. Failure was not an option. And without a place to call home, Aeonar brought these people to live with him on Dragonstone in exchange for their service in perpetuity.

"Ñuha dārilaros. (My prince.)" one of the acolytes informed him. "Konīr iksis iā lōgor nyesha. (There's a ship approaching.)"

Aeonar awakened from his trance-like state. "Se skoros ēnka gaomagon se soltan emagon? (And what color do these sails have?)" he inquired.

"Zōbrie se mele. Se bartan va pōja soljagon iksis keskydoso hae aōhon. (Black and red. The sigil on their sales is the same as yours.)"

Aeonar shifted slightly. So, he's finally decided to show himself. "Nyke ūndegon. (I see.)"

"Kessa eman īlva lēkia se mandia gūrogon ūbrēdan hen zirȳ? (Shall I have our brothers and sisters take care of them?)"

"Daor. Ivestragon se Karys Āeksio bona zȳhon jollōriros issi naejot iōragon ilagon. Kesan gūrogon lēda zirȳ nykēla. (No. Inform the Grand Master that his acolytes are to stand down. I will deal with them myself.)"

The acolyte bowed in acknowledgment and turned to the household guards. "Let them in," he said in a thick Lorathi accent. Once the main doors were opened, the acolyte quickly departed. Moving with the silent yet swiftness of a cat, leaping off one of the bridge's pillars, the foreigner quickly disappeared to inform his brethren.

As the guards lined up in an orderly fashion, Aeonar merely sat on the Dragonstone throne awaiting the arrival of these uninvited guests. Regardless, he long suspected that he already knew who was coming. And if the reports from his spies were accurate, they would come to see him. But this time was different. This time, Aeonar was not running. Instead, he would face them with renewed vigor. His time away had changed him. No doubt he suspected Otto told the king what had happened during the occupation of Dragonstone.