Chapter 10: The Dragonlords of the East
A New Fire (Circa 5,000 BC)
The relentless march of the Andals had reshaped Westeros. The old ways of the First Men, though stubbornly clinging to the North, had largely given way to the Faith of the Seven and the strength of iron. The pain of the Old Gods, as their sacred weirwoods were felled, was a constant, dull ache in my aetheric senses on the Isle of Faces. My influence had been subtle, preserving the core of their power in the North, ensuring the ancient magic wouldn't vanish entirely, but I had watched the dominance of the Andal way with a weary resignation. This was a test of resilience, a shaping of the world through conflict, not unlike the Great Other, but different in its nature.
My vigil over Westeros was constant, but my gaze, honed by centuries of traversing oceans and charting continents, often strayed eastward. The vast landmass, the one crude maps of the First Men vaguely called 'Essos,' was a tapestry of emerging powers. I continued to monitor the Ghiscari, their proto-empire growing, fueled by ambition and slavery, though their true height was still centuries away.
Then, a new energy signature, unlike anything I had felt before in this world, began to bloom on the horizon of my aetheric senses. It emanated from a volcanic peninsula, far to the south-east of the developing Ghiscari lands, amidst a chain of colossal, fire-breathing mountains they called the Fourteen Flames. It was raw, primal, yet incredibly potent – the essence of fire and earth, harnessed and amplified.
I extended my senses, flying unseen over the distant lands, cloaked by aetheric illusions that made me a mere ripple in the air. What I discovered sent a ripple of profound interest through my ancient soul.
A humble, sheep-herding folk had stumbled upon the greatest power this world possessed: dragons. Not the wyverns I'd encountered, but true dragons – beings of immense scale, ancient intelligence, and devastating fire. The Valyrians, as these folk were called, had done the impossible. They had tamed them.
The Dragonlords' Ascent
From my vantage point, I observed their methods. It was not merely brute force or clever traps. There was a unique, symbiotic magic at play, a form of blood magic that resonated deeply with the dragons' innate fiery essence. The Valyrians, through sacrifice and intricate rituals, were forging a bond, a connection that allowed them to ride these terrifying beasts. It was a power that spoke to the deepest, most primal forces of creation, akin to aether, yet distinct, rooted in elemental fire and life-force manipulation.
I sensed the nascent core of their magic. It wasn't the pure, subtle flow of Aether, nor the raw, natural mana of the weirwoods. It was a volatile, potent, and often dangerous form of mana-infused blood magic, channeled through specific, ancient lines within their families. This allowed them to not only bond with dragons, but also to work wonders with metal. I watched as they began to forge steel unlike any other – Valyrian steel. It was lighter, stronger, and possessed an innate sharpness that never dulled, imbued with arcane enchantments that only they understood. My own expertise in aetheric reinforcement would have allowed me to create something similar, but theirs was a unique path, rooted in fire and blood.
The rise of Valyria was swift and brutal. With dragons as their mounts, their sheep-herding ways were cast aside. They became Dragonlords, conquering vast swathes of the eastern continent. I watched their armies, a disciplined force of warriors, with their dragons soaring overhead, spewing fire and death upon their enemies. The Ghiscari, with their lockstep legions and bronze-reinforced cities, were their first great challenge. I saw the five wars between the Old Empire of Ghis and the nascent Valyrian Freehold, each one culminating in a fiery, destructive victory for the dragonriders. Old Ghis, the very city I had observed centuries prior, was razed to the ground, its fields sown with salt, sulfur, and skulls – a horrifying display of power and vengeance.
The Valyrians were building an empire, but they called themselves the Valyrian Freehold. It was not ruled by a king, but by powerful dragonlord families, a council of forty mighty houses. Their society, though grand and magical, was also built on the horrific bedrock of slavery, a practice they adopted from the Ghiscari. The fourteen volcanoes, the Fourteen Flames, which had given them dragons, also provided them with immense wealth, mined by countless slaves.
A Disquieting Observation
From my distant, unseen vigil, I noted a troubling aspect of their power. Their magic, while potent, was also volatile. It drew directly from the fiery heart of the world, from the very essence of creation itself. There was a reckless abandon to their sorcery, a hubris in their constant delving into blood and fire, a disregard for the delicate balance I had come to understand. The Old Gods, through my connection, seemed to sense this as well – a deep unease, a subtle discord in the planet's song that emanated from the Valyrian peninsula.
I saw their expansion push westward, causing ripples that even affected Westeros. The very presence of their growing power, their dragons, their insatiable demand for slaves, contributed to the pressure that drove the later waves of the Andal invasion across the Narrow Sea, fleeing from the shadow of the dragonlords. It was a complex web of cause and effect, and I, the Master of Fate, observed it all, weighing the impact of this new power.
I made no move to interfere. Valyria's rise, while built on practices I found abhorrent, did not directly threaten the fundamental life-force of the planet in the same way the Great Other did. It was a manifestation of mortal ambition, amplified by extraordinary power. My role was to safeguard existence, not to dictate the moral compass of burgeoning empires. But I filed away every observation, every nuance of their magic, every subtle shift in the aether around their fiery lands. The world was growing, evolving, and sometimes, that growth came with the terrible roar of dragons and the relentless ambition of man. My vigil continued, now encompassing a grander, more dangerous stage.