Before, the Game of Thrones, the seven kingdoms saw the rise of Westeros as a united country, all seven kingdoms forged into one great kingdom under the greatest dynasty. The story revolves around Aegon and his two sister-queens; their ascent and th...
There's a tavern on the bank of Rhoyne, Visenya sought shelter on her way. The landlord, a stooping man of three and fifty with an arched nose and uninterested gaze maintained a roadside inn for ten guests or so. He'd take in all sorts of travelers, rogue sell swords and runaway lovers, no questions asked.
Visenya landed in the outskirts of Selhorys in the afternoon but had not set foot inside the city walls till dusk when the the followers of the Red god held their ritual march. She could choose to stay at the best guest house would circumstances were different.
Even with her silver-gold hair completely hidden under her hood, Visenya knew her identity cannot be long hidden. Her eyes and complexion gave away her Valyrian descent. She wore plain clothes, breeches under her skirt and a cloak that shielded her from cold and curious stares. It is preferable to have anonymous arrangement.
She had a good ride; this being her fifth time crossing the narrow seas and flying over the bastard cities of Valyria and ruins of Rhoyne. Even in the fog that lingered over the Sorrow, she could spot the broken towers and sunken temples, the Palace of Love reduced to Palace of Sorrow. With an empire so majestic it rivaled that of Valyria and soon brought on the war that sent the civilization crumbling to dust.
Visenya knew the story. She had been an avid reader. When the maester sat with them through their education, she was the first to arrive. The stories he told enraptured her so much, she would not know that it's all in the past now with nothing but skeletons left of it. To her the characters of history in her paper books were more alive then flesh and blood men.
After the capture of the Rhoynis prince, Garin the great, the valyrians hung him in a golden cage, a trophy, spoil of war. Humiliated and grieving, Garin called upon Mother Rhoyne to bring destruction to the invaders. She listened: the river water rose in the dead of night devouring all of Chroyane. The festival city that died overnight, maybe a foreshadowing of what was coming for Valyria. The heavy mists that drapes the ruins, it is said, are cold breaths of the dragonlords trapped underneath the water.
"What can I get you, my lady?" The landlord appeared.
"Mutton" She ordered him, "Smoked, not charred with some peas and good ale."
He took off with a nod and Visenya slumped down on a stool. She could feel eyes on her; it was unusual for a highborn lady travel alone. She pulled her satchel closer and felt the dagger under her robe, praying the cook would hurry up and she could be in the safety of her room.
After dinner, Visenya was shown to her room. The ceiling hung so low that Visenya could hit her head but she did not mind, it is only for a night or two. She buried the satchel under her bed and the dagger under her pillow.
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Dawn found her riding out again, this time on a horse. The man at the stable was hesitant to let her rent one of his stallions and it took her ten more gold to earn his consent. She followed the river south towards Valysar and then deviated east towards the Orange Shore.
The rising sun lit the distant red hills and with the first crow of cock, people emerged out of their huts. Visenya passed the young maiden milking a goat. Her dark eyes glistened with curiosity and awe. Others were less kind. The sight of the lady in black, face obscured by veil made them wary and whisper in her wake. Visenya is used to it, having experienced the same with the people back in the island.
Vegetation grew sparse with more distance she crossed. Cool shades of woods were replaced hot air currant that only fostered prickly cactus. Visenya felt her throat grow dry every now and then; her horse suffered silently, the sound of its hooves rang loud in the wasteland.
When the sun loomed right above her head and her back was stiff from riding, Visenya entered the village that would not show up in any maps of maester. One could debate about it's status as village. It encompassed no more than ten houses, all built of mud and straw. The residents were all women. Maegis, the people called them. God's service they claimed to be. They formed a family out of blood bonds and lived together as spouses, sustain themselves with the crops they grew, collecting water from the muddy stream. Rest of human populations avoided them as pariahs, even the bandits steered clear of their residence.
Visenya stopped at the makeshift gate from which some dried tendrils hung. The women, all wearing black and headress with with colored stones around their neck, cast her a look and went back to their work. Visenya tied the horse to the gate and let it chew on the hedges. To the first woman to come her way, she asked to be directed to their mage.
In front of the last hut that had canopy in its entrance, her companion gestured her to go in. Inside was heavy with incense and reeked of rotting flesh, blood and fumes of acid. A small figure moved in the shadows who seemed to be completely unfazed by her presence.
Visenya did not wait to be acknowledged and sat on the ground in front of a small wooden desk atop which sat a bowl of silver liquid.
The Razek, known to their community as the Learned One, was a short, plump women with high cheekbones and eyes so black that could devour the sun. Said to be older than banyan tree, she went by the name of Nysa before she was cast out of her home and sought sanctuary in the temple of God before being driven away by the villagers out of fear of her abilities.
Once seated and they both faced each other, she procured a glass of viscous liquid out of her robes and offered it to Visenya who accepted and brought the glass to her lips.
"It is made from date." Razek said when Visenya had swallowed the last drop of the sweet drink. "Nooj makes them for my condition-" She lifted her blouse to reveal the black veins on her flabby stomach and with raw, itching skin.
"Is that meant to deter me?" Visenya asked.
"It is meant for caution. Now, tell me what brings you here, silver lady?"
Visenya reached for her satchel and extracted a battered book bound by leather skin. The front cover was marked by a peculiar symbol: a horn etched on a circle with odd carvings. The pages were moth eaten and yellow with time and many of it were marked by black ink in common tongue.
"I do not speak this language." Razek said as she examined it.
"You do not need to." Visenya pointed out.
Razek smirked and placed her right hand over the cover. Her eyes snapped shut and Visenya could feel her withdrawing from this world. Once in a while her eye brows will scrunch and her lips will tremble but Visenya knew better not to disturb her.
Finally she opened the book without raising her lids and ran her hands over the diagrams.
"This is different than anything I've held. The magic is different in the seven kingdoms, it is all about conducting than feeling it inside you. More physical. Nonetheless, a powerful tool. You must have searched the entire kingdom for this."
"Only the Citadel." Visenya answered.
"It is sad that you should do so much to get your hands on this yet you do not want to commit to the surer way."
"And longer. I do not want to spend the my lifetime singing hymn to the deity, that is for you. I neither the patience, nor your spark. I am what you called- practical. But I hear your caution. It is unsafe to practice without a learned one by my side. That'd be you, if only you would agree to my proposal. It still stands. You could have your own temple, more tools like these. Just say the word."
"As much as I'd like to say it is my duty that keeps me here, I do want to leave for a land I do not know, nor I care about. I do not care about the war to come or the castles to perish. I've given shown you the door to our world, dragon lady and you've acquired what you seek. Have care how you wield it."
