{A/N:
It seems most of you haven't read the Auxiliary chapter labelled "IMPORTANT".... Like I asked, simply, please read it.
To avoid the stupid and repetitive question that I know will be asked. So, you are either stupid or you haven't read the Auxiliary chapter... which is it? I do not know.
Do not take offense for your own folly. So, go and read it, and then read it again.
And In there I have answered your future questions like Sosuke Aizen.
I also at least acknowledge the mistake of forgetting to add in the synopsis the start period of the story, so there... what? You expect a sorry?
Also, do try to not comment dumb shit... the story has already been stated to be ASOIAF AU, why are you surprised when its different to what you expect. That is the beauty in fan-fictions, why should I write exactly as the story has been written, when I have the freedom to alter it. So read the whole fucking chapter, before commenting. You guys & gals, comment on the first part of the chapter, only to find out that most likely, your question has been answered somewhere later in the chapter.
If you are mad at how I responded to this... well, too bad for you, you can leave.
If not, it seems you got some grit, so stay and enjoy this story, and good luck.}
[Demon Fort of Draceryos, Solar, 187 A.D. / 85 A.C]
The solar grew quiet as the last of the maps and reports were gathered, the weight of decisions settling over the gathered lords, masters, and family heads. The flickering light from the hearth cast shifting shadows across the walls, illuminating the carved table of dragonbone, ancient wood, and obsidian that held the future of Valyria itself. I stood at its head, arms crossed, my gaze sweeping across the faces of those assembled.
"My Prince," Vaelys Belaerys began, his voice measured yet laced with the firmness of duty, "the hour draws near when we must look beyond battles and borders. The strength of House Draceryos must not only be measured in swords and sorcery, but in bloodlines and legacy. It is time... you must wed."
A quiet murmur passed through the chamber, not of surprise, but of expectation. This was a conversation long delayed, yet inevitable.
The Grand Master of the Order of the Blood Dragon, Maeryn Aerralis, nodded once, his dark violet eyes gleaming beneath the torchlight. "The people will look to you, my Prince. To unite Valyria's bloodlines once more. To lead not only by power, but by example."
Vaelora shifted slightly in her seat, her silver-gold hair catching the light, her expression a blend of sharp intellect and quiet amusement. "It is true, brother," she said softly. "The future of Valyria rests on more than flame and steel. It rests on family."
I inclined my head, my voice steady, my words deliberate. "And I will do my duty. But not as a prince seeking favor... when I wed, it will not be as a man seeking a lady, but as an Emperor claiming his Empress. The bloodline of Draceryos does not kneel to tradition... we shape it."
The words hung in the air, and I could see the weight of them settle on each face. They understood, this was not arrogance, but vision. A promise that when the time came, I would take my place as Emperor of Valyria, and my wives, yes, wives, would be Empresses, chosen not merely for beauty or blood, but for strength, loyalty, and the future they could forge.
I turned my gaze to Lord Mataeryon and Lord Gelionar, my voice calm, my expression composed. "How fare your daughters?"
Lord Mataeryon, a weathered man with a lined face and a mane of pale silver hair, sat straighter, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Serena is well, my Prince. Strong of will, clever of mind, and trained in the ways of diplomacy. She has not forgotten the promise of House Mataeryon, nor the blood oath we swore... to ride dragons once more, when Tyrosh burns."
Lord Gelionar, a man of quiet authority with hair streaked in silver and steel, offered a slight nod. "Raenesa thrives, my Prince. Her training continues under the tutelage of my armsmasters. Her blade is sharp, her mind sharper still. She is eager to serve, as any of Gelionar blood would be."
A flicker of amusement crossed Vaelora's face, though she spoke no words. The lords and ladies seemed satisfied, pleased that I acknowledged their daughters, that I showed no hesitation or shyness in this matter of duty. It was expected... and it was necessary.
I leaned back, my hands resting on the carved table, my gaze sweeping once more across the faces of my vassals. "Know this, my intentions remain clear. I will take wives, I will strengthen our house, but I will not wed until the crown of Valyria rests upon my brow. When that day comes, they will not marry a prince... they will wed an Emperor."
A hum of approval rippled through the room, quiet yet potent. The lords nodded, some with satisfaction, others with quiet calculation. Vaelys' grin was sharp, predatory, his eyes gleaming like dark amethyst beneath the torchlight.
It was then that I turned to Lord Gelionar once more, my voice steady, my tone lighter, though no less commanding. "And my brother, Vaelon... how fares he?"
Lord Gelionar's expression softened, the faintest hint of pride warming his features. "Your brother is a true warrior in the making, my Prince. Fifteen name days old, yet he rides Anaxigon as though born in the saddle. His martial skills are exceptional, though there is still much to learn. His mind is sharp, his heart fierce. He has accompanied the Dragonguards, the Dragon Hunters, the Dragon Scouts... he has learned the ways of war as all of Gelionar's wards do. He is Draceryos... through and through."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, and I felt the weight of pride settle in my chest, heavy yet satisfying. Vaelon, my brother, my blood... a rider of a Great Dragon, destined for greatness.
Lord Kostagar, a tall, lean man with hair the color of pale sea foam and skin tanned by sun and salt, spoke next, his voice deep and steady. "And Aegionar, my Prince, your brother grows well. Fourteen name days old, strong in arms, sharp in thought. His study of naval warfare, of battle at sea, is impressive. He commands the respect of my captains and has taken to the sea as if born of it. You should be proud, my Prince. Both your brothers honor your name."
I nodded, my gaze distant for a moment as I thought of them, Vaelon, bonded to Anaxigon, a Great Dragon, a living flame of the sky. Aegionar, soon to command ships and fleets, the sea his domain, and hopefully claim his own Dragon. My brothers, my blood, my future.
But the moment passed, and the conversation turned once more, as it must.
Stating what my intentions are to do soon, the solar shifts, as the those who are present are bewildered and stunned at what I have stated.
"My Prince," Vaelys began, his tone sharp, a hint of disapproval lacing his words. "You speak of reforging Stormbringer... your family's ancestral blade, the sword of House Draceryos itself. Are you mad?"
The words hung heavy, a question asked not in jest, but in concern, in challenge.
Vaelora leaned forward, her voice quiet yet firm. "Stormbringer is more than steel, brother... it is our legacy, the symbol of our blood. To reforge it... that is no small thing."
I met their gazes, unflinching, my voice calm yet unyielding. "I do not speak of destroying Stormbringer... I speak of perfecting it. Of transforming it into something greater. The blade was forged in dragon's blood and magic, yes, but it can be made stronger, infused with the knowledge I now possess. I will not desecrate it... I will elevate it."
A hush fell, the weight of my words sinking in.
The Grand Mistress of the Order of the Fire Dragon, her robes of dark orange and gold catching the firelight, spoke at last, her voice a soft whisper of flame. "This is no small undertaking, my Prince... the forging of such a blade requires precision, and the magic that binds it... if unraveled, it could consume."
Maeryn Aerralis, the Grand Master of the Blood Dragon, nodded slowly, his expression tight. "Such a ritual... even your ancestors who merged dragon blood into their veins... they treaded carefully. My Prince, power is a blade... it cuts both ways."
The Dark Mistress, her voice a low whisper like the wind through a crypt, offered no counsel, but her silence was heavy, her presence like a shadow at the edge of the flame.
I stood straighter, my eyes burning faintly once more, the faint glow of the dark side threading through my veins. "I know the risks. I will not act blindly. The knowledge I have... the knowledge I will yet gather... it will guide me. This is not a whim, but a path. When the time comes, I will forge Stormbringer anew... the armor, the Blood Ring... and the crown... when I claim my title as Emperor."
The lords fell silent, each absorbing my words. There was reluctance, yes... but there was also a glimmer of something else, anticipation, perhaps. Curiosity. Even the Dark Mistress, hidden behind her veil, seemed to lean forward slightly, as if drawn by the promise of what was to come.
The conversation shifts once more, towards what must be done by each Lord and Lady, the Grand Master and Mistresses.
Lord Gelionar spoke first, his voice steady. "The roads will be patrolled, my Prince. The demon forts stand, the soldiers prepared. The army will not fail you."
Lord Tyvaros added, his deep voice firm. "The cavalry stands ready, my Prince. Every horse, every blade... yours to command."
Lord Embaryen, his hands darkened by the forge, inclined his head. "The forges will burn bright, my Prince. Steel and fire, shaped by our hands... we will not falter."
Lord Kostagar, his sea-weathered face grim, nodded once. "The ships will be built, the navy strengthened. The sea is ours... it will serve you well."
Lady Magyros spoke last, her voice smooth as silk, her eyes gleaming like embers. "Our mages are ready, my Prince. The Order of the Fire Dragon will answer your call... by flame, by blood, by oath."
Maeryn Aerralis inclined his head, his expression cold and precise. "The Blood Dragon Order will not fail you. The magic flows, and we stand ready."
The Dark Mistress' voice, a whisper of shadow, drifted across the room. "The shadows are yours, my Prince... the Whisps, the Shadows, and the few of the Shadow Masters... in the Free Cities, in the Slaver's Bay, even in Westeros... they are ready, waiting, to serve you, to serve Draceryos and Valyria."
I nodded once, slowly. The weight of it settled on my shoulders, not as a burden, but as a mantle I was born to bear.
The night grew deeper, the embers in the hearth burning low. One by one, the lords and ladies departed, their duty clear, their path set.
And when the chamber was empty, I descended once more into the depths of the keep. The dungeon was cold, the air thick with the scent of ash and ancient magic. I sat cross-legged before a Valyrian glass candle, the flickering flame dancing within its obsidian core. The glow cast strange, shifting patterns across the stone walls, and I closed my eyes, breathing slow, controlled.
I reached into the dark... the Force, the sorcery, the memory of Valyria's fire.
The ritual loomed before me, Sith Sorcery, Valyrian Alchemy, Sith Rituals, Valyrian Blood Magic. It would be a union of power and pain, of knowledge and will. The ambient magic of the world was faint, a dying breath after the Doom. The Weirwood Trees of Westeros after being cut by the Andal bastards has also effected the magic of the world, even long before the Doom. The Wall and the few of the Weirwood Trees... they held a lingering echo, but the dark presence that I sense through the candle... it masked the magic of northern Westeros, as if to chain it, hide it away.
I would break those chains. I would gather the fragments of power, piece them together, and forge myself anew. My will would burn brighter than the Doom itself.
And so, I sat, silent, in the heart of the darkness, the candle flickering before me... and I prepared.