𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐈 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒. otto hightower

UN.

PROLOGUE

Dragon keepers of Old Valyria are rumored to have forged wyverns and wyrms together, unnaturally coercing the birth of dragons. As it was conceived came the first of its creation—the golden batch. One of the first dragon keepers to witness this inched closer to the pile of eggs, digging her hand into the clutch until she felt the slimy scales against her fingertips, unafraid to submerge her hand into the gelatinous mucus, pulling out the first dragon egg, cradling it as the slick mucus sunk into her clothes and underneath until it coated her flesh.

The heat radiating from the dragon egg caused it to appear radiant, she held it up to the sun for a creature like no other to appear. Were dragons to blame for their distaste of humanity, to inch away from the touch of flesh against their scales when forced into this miserable life to be man's servant?

The fourteen rose from the first batch of dragon eggs. The dragon keeper welcomed her first child, forcing a bond between dragon and human, and submitting to its creation. This mythical creature would come to life and become the symbol of power for all houses belonging to Old Valyria. Soon, they only belonged to the Targaryens, a house that took them for granted.

Targaryens rose in nobility and were deemed gods by the smallfolk as they were worshipped in wine and flowers. Only when the rivulets of blood are staining the dragon's teeth that they recognize where God is shrouded.

Since her youth, Naerisa has felt disconnected from the seven gods she was meant to pray to every night. She did not feel the over-consuming faith that fell onto others. Even with her childish prayers of hoping for more sweets the next morrow, all she was met was silence and wind. Long into her sleepless nights, she would pray, in the hopes any god would appear above her, and at the wave of their hand, she would join the dreaming realm. It wasn't until she was approaching her thirteenth birthday had she even dared to think about the old gods of Valryia and where they might be, and rather if they were lonely with no one else praying to them anymore.

The idea of the Old Gods of Valyria consumed her nights, her sleepless nights only spiraling into more questions than answers. Even when she frequented the library within her home, she was met with very little about the Old Gods, simply stating that the Targaryens had abandoned them. Oh the poor Gods, Naerisa thought, they did not deserve to be abandoned at all.

It was not until her question had reached Septon Barth one day in her shared lesson with her brothers that her impatience had finally caught up with her. Septon Barth had been boring the children with histories for the past half hour, so when Naerisa interrupted the others were more than happy with the distraction, even if brief.

"Septon Barth, what could you tell me about the fourteen flames?"

The septon struggles over his words, flummoxed with the interruption and the absurdity of her question causing her brothers, particularly Daemon to snicker at the older man.

"Well princess, the fourteen flames are the Gods that were worshipped in Old Valryia. Now, as I was saying before—"

"Does anyone worship them still?"

Septon Barth sighs as he looks tiredly at the children, nodding slightly as he stands with his arms crossed.

"Well it seems this lesson is going in a different direction, what has compelled you to ask about the fourteen, child?"