Chapter 17: The Century of Blood and a Leywin Legacy
The Century of Blood (Circa 100 BC - 0 BC)
The devastating aftermath of the Doom of Valyria sent profound tremors through the entire known world. The mighty fire-breathing empire was no more, leaving a massive power vacuum in the East and a chaotic scramble for dominance. In Westeros, the relative peace forged by the unyielding deterrence of House Leywin continued. The Andal kingdoms, having learned their lessons over centuries of futile assaults, generally steered clear of the Riverlands under my protection. The Storm Kings, though ambitious, found their incursions met with immediate, overwhelming displays of power that discouraged any protracted conflict. My domain remained a tranquil bastion amidst a continent still finding its footing.
"Honestly, Princess, they're still poking around the edges," Regis mused, his shadowy form lounging on a gargoyle carved from pure aether-hardened stone that jutted from the castle wall. "You'd think after a thousand years of 'don't poke the unkillable giant', they'd find a new hobby."
Ceara, my wife, stood beside me on the battlements of the Grand Castle of Leywin, her presence a steady warmth against the cold winds. Her striking appearance had been a defining feature since our reunion: dark blue hair that shimmered with hints of black, bright red eyes that burned with fierce intelligence, and subtle, graceful horns that curved elegantly from her temples. This was no mere magical transformation; it was the direct result of Agrona's vile experiments in our old world, a forced melding of her human form with a fragment of Asuran basilisk essence. Centuries of living in this Aether-rich world, constantly infused by my presence and the ancient magic of the Old Gods, had merely stabilized and perhaps perfected this unique lineage. She was a living testament to both the horrors and the wonders of our past, a perfect counterpoint to my own Asuran form.
"Some lessons take longer to learn than others," Ceara replied, her voice resonating with an undercurrent of newfound power, her red eyes distant as she sensed the political currents of Westeros.
My primary focus, however, remained drawn eastward. The destruction of Valyria had plunged the vast eastern continent into what would become known as the Century of Blood. The sprawling lands formerly under Valyrian dominion were now a fragmented tapestry of warring city-states, ambitious warlords, and the remnants of the Freehold's vast slave population seeking freedom.
I observed this monumental chaos from afar, my aetheric senses spanning oceans and continents. The once-dominant Valyrian roads became battlegrounds. The Free Cities, previously under the shadow of the dragons, now fought fiercely for independence and dominance. Lys warred with Tyrosh, Pentos with Myr. Former Ghiscari strongholds saw a resurgence of their old, brutal ways. It was a relentless, brutal struggle for supremacy, a period of unchecked ambition and constant warfare.
"This 'Century of Blood' is a much more fitting name for what they're doing over there," Regis commented, his mental voice laced with amusement as I processed distant aetheric readings of a massive naval engagement between two Essosi city-states. "It's like watching a bunch of feral cats fight over a pile of scraps. All that 'civilization' they built, and they devolve into this in a few decades without the dragons."
"They are finding a new balance, however violent," I mused, acknowledging the inherent instability of unguided power. "Their conflicts, however, keep them occupied. They will not look westward for some time."
The Dragon's Whisper: Aegon and His Sisters
While Essos exhausted itself in cycles of conflict and the rise of new, smaller kingdoms, my global aetheric senses remained attuned to a peculiar anomaly on the volcanic island of Dragonstone. The last surviving family of dragonlords, the Targaryens, nurtured their remaining three dragons – Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar.
I had observed them for decades, their numbers dwindling, their power a shadow of what Valyria once possessed. Then, the next generation was born. Aegon Targaryen, and his sisters Visenya and Rhaenys. Even from across the Narrow Sea, I could feel the unique resonance within them – the diluted, yet still potent, blood of the dragonlords, a legacy of fire and magic. They were young, but their ambition, tempered by the memory of the Doom, was palpable.
Aegon, in particular, was a fascinating study. He possessed a strategic mind, a thirst for knowledge, and a quiet, unshakeable will. The legends of Westeros would undoubtedly reach him on Dragonstone. The tales of the Immortal Lord of House Leywin, the guardian of the Gods Eye, the entity who had driven back both Andals and Ironborn with powers beyond mortal comprehension, would certainly pique his interest. He would hear of the invincible castle, of the undying lord, of the Riverlands that no King had ever truly conquered. He would know that this land had a protector unlike any other.
Regis, of course, found the Targaryen dragons utterly hilarious. "Princess, you're telling me those glorified lizards are supposed to conquer a continent? Balerion looks like he skipped arm day for a thousand years. And the other two are practically glorified pigeons with bad breath. The dragons back home would eat them for breakfast and call it a light snack."
"They are enough for this world, Regis," I replied, watching a young Balerion circle Dragonstone in the distance via my aetheric vision. "Their impact will be profound."
A New Legacy: The Children of Leywin
Amidst the grand sweep of history, the centuries of war and observation, a more personal, infinitely more profound event unfolded within the walls of the Grand Castle of Leywin. My marriage to Ceara, a quiet bond forged in the crucible of time and shared immortality, blossomed into something truly extraordinary. The centuries I had spent as Arthur Leywin, Master of Fate, had honed my existence, but it was with Ceara that I truly felt whole.
Our love, unique and deep, bore fruit. After centuries of companionship, Ceara conceived. The blending of our essences – my Asuran aetherial body, her uniquely transformed half-Asuran basilisk form – created a miracle.
The births were quiet affairs, witnessed only by Regis, a few trusted Children of the Forest, and a handful of loyal Leywin guards who had pledged their lives.
First, Reynold Leywin was born. He was strong, with Ceara's fierce intelligence and a quiet wisdom beyond his years. His hair was a deep, midnight black, but his eyes held a glimmer of bright red, like embers, a clear echo of his mother's basilisk heritage, and I could sense a subtle resonance with the Old Gods, a faint echo of my own connection to the land's magic. He was fiercely protective, observing the world with a seriousness that reminded me of my own human youth.
Years later, came Tesia Leywin. She possessed Ceara's striking dark blue hair, inherited from her mother's unique form, but her eyes, like mine, held a vibrant, curious spark, often reflecting the subtle flow of aether that only I could truly perceive. She was energetic, compassionate, and shared a deep, intuitive connection with the living world around her.
"Congratulations, Princess," Regis said, hovering over the bassinets, a rare tenderness in his voice, quickly followed by his usual quip. "Now you have two little minions to terrorize. Just try not to turn them into scaled demigods too quickly. Ceara might have a heart attack, even with her… basilisk enhancements." He gestured towards Ceara's horns with a theatrical flourish.
Ceara merely rolled her bright red eyes, a fond smile gracing her lips. "He's just jealous they got cool horns and he didn't."
I held my children, feeling the warmth of their tiny bodies, their innocent life. Reynold and Tesia. My son. My daughter. My legacy was no longer just the protection of a land or a distant prophecy. It was flesh and blood, a tangible link to a future I had forged. The Immortal Lord of House Leywin had found not just love, but family. And with Aegon and his sisters now growing in the East, the coming storm would be faced not by a lone guardian, but by a family preparing for the dawn of a new, fiery age.