6th Moon, 8051

City of Mantarys

Vaekar Targaryen made his way through the fog covered streets of the grim city of Mantarys, his host leading him through the well paved black cobbled stone that weaved through the city like a black river, Aeranyx Zobridar pausing from time to time to point out something.

It was oft said that Mantarys was a city of monsters, necromancers, and all manner of horrible deformed creatures, half men and half beast. Vaekar had assumed all of this to be simply rumor, Mantarys was little known in Westeros and the accounts they did have were clearly exaggerations and fables.

Vaekar soon found that, upon his arrival however, like most rumors there is a grain of truth. While he was not met with the sight of winged half men, or pale bloodsucking fiends, it was clear that the city was afflicted by something. The Doom of Valyria, the mysterious and cataclysmic event that had destroyed the Targaryens homeland hundreds of years before had spared the nearby city of Mantarys to the north of Valyria, but it was clear there was a dark connection with the doom that left much of the cities populace deformed in the years since.

Likely connected to this damnable fog Vaekar thought to himself. The fog was so thick in many parts of the city he could barely see a few feet in front of him, though the well cobbled black stone streets and his host provided ample enough guidance. Mantarys was not a warm city, though neither was it cold, there was a stillness in the weather that unnerved Vaekar, but nothing was as uncomfortable than the very air itself, which was thick, with a cold humidity that seemed to enter the very lungs, Vaekar had managed it reasonably well, something his host attributed to his Valyrian blood, but his sworn shield, Ser Ryon Wells of the Kingsguard was clearly affected by it, with the dornishman seemingly growing weaker by the day, looking like a wraith in white as he shuffled through the black streets, eyes sunken and downcast.

The Prince had never before seen so many hunchbacks, grotesques, or malformed individuals in the same place in his life. Even his host, the honorable Lord Zobridar was not immune to the city's curse, with his lips being drawn upwards, exposing a pair of jutting teeth, though he made great pains to look presentable, wearing the finest white and purple silk money could buy.

It had been a long journey to reach the city, he had sailed from Kings Landing first to Tyrosh, and then to Volantis, from there he had rode by horse east through the southern grasslands of the Dothraki who bordered the Free City of Volantis and the independent city of Selhorys.

He did not have to ride far to find hospitality. Just a few days east from Selhorys he and his small escort were greeted by the scouts of Khal Horro, leader of one of the largest dothraki hordes in Essos that was said to have 20,000 riders. Intrigued by his silver hair, valyrian steel sword, and white armored escort, the Dothraki rather surprisingly invited him to a wedding in the Dothraki city of Rhaesh Dahhan, along with many Volantene nobleman, who were bringing a large tribute to appease Khal Horro.

While he was not permitted to bring Blackfyre to the proceedings, and was seated far away from the main benches, seated alongside the Volantene dignitaries, it was an interesting affair, with there being no less than seven fatal duels between Dothraki bloodriders, and Vaekar was well educated in the skill in which the Dothraki wielded their arakhs. He also learned that Rhaesh Dahaan was not a permanent city, with the Dothraki preferring to live in the plains, leaving behind their slaves and a few guards in the city to make felt and other products.

With those few days of rest done, the truly hard part of the journey began. Continuing east through the southern grasslands, he and his escort then turned south, marching through the painted valleys of Mantarys, huge Valyrian glyphs etched into the massive canyons and valleys, before finally turning west through the demon pass and reaching Mantarys where he was greeted by the Lord of Mantarys and its hinterlands, Aernyx Zobridar.

Lord Zobridar had proved to be a gracious host, showering gifts and artifacts upon Vaekar, horns with valyrian glyphs, jeweled daggers, and rare animal pelts, not once asking for a single thing in return, and was even preparing a feast in the prince's name, welcoming the ‘’son of Valyria’’ to Manatrys.

Even with the fog, the architecture of Mantarys was impressive to behold. There were clear similarities to the buildings of old valyria, with many buildings having long and tall spires that seemed to cut through the fog itself, despite the grim nature of the town, it was quite large and busy, with there being many open air markets selling queer goods from as far east as Yi Ti and Asshai.

Despite the large size of the town and the busy streets, there was an eerie stillness and quietness to the city, as if the townspeople were talking in hushed tones so as not to awake whatever calamity had destroyed Valyria all those years ago.

Lord Zobridar pointed out a final building of interest before they at last turned back towards the palace, where the feast awaited them.

The palace of Mantarys, chief residence of Lord Zobridar was most impressive of all the buildings in the city, a massive building of black stone and spires that his host claimed was fused together by the dragons of the dragonlords of Valyria, the same as the immaculate black cobbled streets that wound through the city.

‘’The servants will have the feast ready….I do hope you have brought an appetite my prince.’’ The Lord of Mantarys said lightly, as always referring to his slaves as servants, Mantarys, like almost all Essosi cities engaged heavily in the slave trade, though Vaekar gathered that Lord Zobridar was a kind master, if there ever was such a thing.

True to his host's word, the feast was indeed ready as they entered the palace to the smell of salt and brine. The smell made Vaekars stomach turn, the Prince had done well adjusting to the climate of the city, but its cuisine was something he could scarcely abide.

The Mantaryans were fond of pickling almost everything, from fish to beef, while other food was served in a sour jelly. Salt was heavily involved in all dishes, and even the wine was taken with a copious pinch of salt, making it bitter to the taste.

Seated beside his host, he watched as pickled pigs feet were brought out, along with jellied cod, it was more than clear he would gain no great enjoyment from the feast, so instead he would need to settle on the next best thing, information…he had several questions he had been waiting for the perfect moment to ask, and the moment had come to do so.

Turning to his host, his knife fiddling with the jelly cod, he began the conversation.

‘’My Lord…..little news of your realm reaches Westeros, and the little of it that does is shrouded in inaccuracy and nonsense, your city has proved to a magnificent one, and your hospitality has helped to shed light on the rather dark rumors I have heard.’’ Vaekar began.

‘’You are kind to say so….Mantarys has prospered under my leadership….I am glad your Grace recognizes that.’’ Lord Zobridar said, pinching some salt into his wine, made from the sour small grapes which grew in Mantarys.

‘’There is however one thing I have heard of your realm that I have yet to gain the truth of….’’ Vaekar began, searching the man's face for a response.

His host smiled, a ghastly action which only accentuated his deformed lips.

‘’I was wondering when you were going to ask about the Dragon.’’ He said, leaning back in his chair.

‘’So the rumors are true….Meraxes is in Mantarys?’’ Vaekar asked, doing his best to hide his excitement, and wondering how he had not seen the dragon, he had travailed the painted valleys of the Mantaryan hinterlands and the Demon Pass for weeks before finally reaching the city, and it seemed that if the dragon were anywhere but in some sort of structure similar to the Dragonpit, he would have at least caught a glimpse of it.

‘’I am afraid you have come too late my friend…..if you had arrived but a year earlier….’’ Lord Zobridar said apologetically.

‘’Tell me of it….of everything.’’ Vaekar persisted.

His host took another sip of bitter wine ‘’Very well…but I fear any tale is likely to end in your disappointment.’’

‘’I would hear it nonetheless.’’ Vaekar replied.

‘’As you wish……this Meraxes as you call it has been known as the silver death ever since it has come to Essos….truly a massive beast…..I can attest to its length as I have seen it from a short distance away…..it surely surpasses 100 feet.’’ His host said, cutting himself some pickled pigs feet before continuing.

‘’From what I understand it fled Westeros after your grandsires sister perished…..first it fled to Volantis, where it was claimed by a particularly brave volantene woman, Triarch Donaro is a paranoid man, and had to take some sort of action against having such a large beast that could level his entire city to ash…..he could bind the woman to her….or attempt to slay it.’’ His host started.

‘’He chose the safer option…not surprising since the man is of the elephant party, preferring to solve problems with trade and peaceful options, he took the woman into his court, lavished her with gifts, and made her the foremost general in Volantis.’’ Zobridar continued.

Vaekar waited patiently When I am King I will need a network of informers in Essos he thought to himself, his father had never much concerned himself with Essosi affairs, but it was unseemly that the news that Meraxes was in Volantis had not reached them.

‘’Triarch Donaro soon had good reason to have need of his foremost general…for in the Great Plaza of the Holy Temple of R’hllor rebellion was brewing…..the fiery hand, the temples private slave army was growing in size, and the red priests were preaching sermons that were emboldening the slaves of Volantis….and Triarch Donaro was never one to leave things to chance.’’

‘’He ordered Meraxes and its rider to burn down the temple whilst the red priestess Parrah herself was preaching to a great crowd, and the silver death emerged from the sky burning and bathing the temple and crowd in flame….well over two thousand poor souls perished that day and much of the temple was destroyed, though it has since been rebuilt….ironic…the followers of the holy flame perished to the very thing they worshiped.’’ His host finished.

‘’What of Meraxes’s rider?’’ Vaekar questioned, not paying much mind to the irony, the followers of R’hollor were heathenous demon worshipers and had paid the price for their blasphemy.

‘’She was later poisoned at a feast….some say the temple of R’hllor hired a faceless man to avenge their temple…while others say Triarch Donaro grew so wary of her after seeing the results of her dragon that he ordered it himself…nevertheless, the fact remains the same…and she perished.’’

Taking a sip of wine, his host continued his tale.

‘’The dragon then flew to my own realm….making a lair in a large cave in the demon pass….you may have even passed by it on your own travels…there it remained for several years, causing terror to all who dared traverse the pass…before an old Mantaryan by the name of Jaqario Kirineon finally tamed it, every day for a year bringing a sheep to the dragons lair before at last the beast let him grow so close he was able to whisper the ancient Valyrian rites and claim it as his mount.’’ Lord Zobridar finished.

‘’Does Jaqario still live?’’ Vaekar questioned.

His host shook his head ‘’Sadly not…he perished of natural causes last year….a shame, he was a good man, and when word reached the neighboring realms that mine own realm had a dragonrider….profits were great, The cities of slaver's bay Yunkai, Mereen, Astapor, New Ghis, and Hazdhan sent tribute, as did Tolos and Elyria, even proud Volantis sent gifts of servants, silver, and spice….like as not if you had arrived the previous year he would have surrendered the dragon to you as your families birthright, or given you permission to claim it after your death…alas good prince, you have come too late.’’

‘’Where is Meraxes now?’’ Vaekar asked, not willing to give up.

Zobridar sighed ‘’The beast flew south to Valyria, and the lands of always summer….beyond the reach of men im afraid…it would be a fool's errand to pursue the beast.’’

‘’You mentioned to me that the effects of the Doom are weakening…that the cities of Slaver's Bay have established colonies.’’ Vaekar pointed out.

Lord Zobridar ran a hand through his stubble ‘’It is true….Mereen has established a profitable plantation in the Otor Lands, while Yunkai has colonized Zoklos and the Melior March….in the lands of the long summer the effects of the doom are weakening…the tides are receding, and the ground is regrowing its famed fertility…but the air….the Yunkish and Meereenese send nearly a thousand slaves every month…..eight out of ten of them will die within a year….these colonies are immensley profitable…both to the hands of the masters who send their slaves to die in their hundreds and to Balerion, the god of death.’’

Vaekar thought of speaking his mind to his host as to his thoughts about that heathen god but he held his tongue, he needed answers ‘’I am sure the Stranger has his due my lord…but you have not answered my questions….if there are plantations why do you think it is a fool's errand to pursue Meraxes….it is true the slaves die to the air, but as you said, I am the blood of Old Valyria.’’

‘’Because Meraxes was last sighted on the west coast of the lands of the long summer, in the howling bogs…the terrain is much rougher than that of the east…and this report is months old…it is true that a man can, with great difficulty traverse the lands of always summer, but if that beast has fled to the islands of old Valyria…..it is beyond the reach of men, the doom is still strong there.’’ His host finished.

‘’Lord Zobridar…..I shall require a map to these howling bogs…and perhaps some guides if you can spare them.’’ Vaekar said after a moment's pause, his mind was made up, he had come too far to turn back empty handed.

Ser Ryon Wells, who had recovered a bit of his color from being indoors placed a gauntlet on his arm ‘’My Prince….I beg you to consider…the dangers of this…’’

‘’No man has claimed something so great as a dragon without a little bit of danger Ser.’’ Vaekar said stubbornly, pulling his arm away to face his host.

Lord Zobridar was studying him carefully ‘’You truly are the blood of the dragon…..I would advise against it once more…but if you are set on this path…it shall be as you say, I shall provide you with a dozen pure blooded Mantaryan guides and as much food and water as you can take…they will withstand the air with some difficult, but your escort…..’’

‘’I will be fine my prince….I was assigned to guard you, and I intend to keep that oath.’’ Ser Ryon Wells responded when Vaekar translated his hosts' concerns to him.

Vaekar turned back to Lord Zobridar ‘’Why are you helping me my Lord…your hospitality has been unmatched.’’

Lord Zobridars normally smiling face grew suddenly serious ‘’There are ancient oaths my Prince…between Mantarys and old Valyria….pacts bound in blood..I will say no more…but House Zobridar keeps its oaths….and….should you prevail in your task, my hospitality would be open for as long as you should wish it.’’

He wants another Dragonrider in Mantarys Vaekar realized quickly ‘’You wish for me to serve you my Lord…should I claim Meraxes.’’

‘’You would have a palace of your own….as grand as this one…with a thousand servants to see to your every need…the finest Mantaryan wines….spices…and in time, should your eyes turn south…towards the lands of the long summer…well, it is as I said my lord, House Zobridar keeps its oaths.’

Vaekar had no wish to reside in such a gloomy place and certainly no inclination for Mantaryan wines, but he found it would be unwise to throw his host's offer back in his face when the man had given, and promised him so much.

‘’You have given me much to think on my Lord…but first…I needs must find Meraxes.’’ He said, choosing his words carefully.

His host nodded slowly ‘’I wish you luck my Prince….you shall need it.’’

Three days later, the Prince, Ser Ryon Wells, and a dozen Mantaryan guides set out from the dark city, heading south, where no Targaryen had gone for generations.

Three Weeks Later, the Howling Bogs, Lands of the Long Summer

The Howling Bogs were as inhospitable a place as Vaekar had ever traversed, and the journey to reach them had been long and perilous.

They had set out west from Mantarys towards the ruined valyrian city of Draconys, the safer route would have been to travel south through the Meerenese and Yunka’i plantations and colonies turning west and looping around the bottom of the inland Sea of Sighs before finally turning north towards towards the Howling Bogs, but such a journey would have taken a large amount of time, not to mention its grueling nature, and Vaekar knew time was of the essence and had elected to go the shorter route, west from Mantarys to Draconys before turning south.

There was a reason that journeying through the ruined city of Draconys was seen as the more dangerous option however. The ruined city and its surrounding areas were infested by bandits, who would use the ruins as a base, venturing into eastern Volantis around the city of Little Valyria and its hinterlands to loot and plunder before fleeing to the ample haunts and hideouts the ruins provided.

Vaekar and his small party soon learned the truth of these bandits, much to the party's sorrow. They spent several days marching through the large ruined cities and forts of Draconys, which were teeming with monkeys, vines covering much of the stone architecture. On the third night traversing the veritable jungle growing amongst the ruins of the city, they made camp beneath a lean to of stone to keep out the rain, setting a small fire.

The bandits had seen this and set upon their camp, loosing arrows at them before charging in. Vaekar, wielding Blackfyre, alongside a weakened Ser Ryon Wells had led their guides in a desperate defense, the bandits were eventually repulsed, and Blackfyre for the first time in centuries spilt blood in the land of its forging, but it had come at the cost of three of Vaekars Mantaryan guides.

A few days later they finally were clear of the ruins of Draconys, but if the party were expecting a reprieve in difficulty, they were mistaken, for things grew even more difficult when they reached the Howling Bogs.

It was a wet and damp place, the fused stone of the old Valyrian roads were still intact, but in the almost 200 years since the doom, water had completely covered some parts of it, while vegetation and marsh were common place, forcing the party to trudge through frigid cold small lakes, and one misstep from the road could submerge a man to his waist.

All around them were ruins, black fused stone and spired buildings that resembled many of the buildings in Mantarys. It was clear that this had once been a fertile land of plantations and palaces, but now only ruins remained of the once great civilization of Valyria.

They had no luck so far in finding any trace of the dragon Meraxes, whose last sighting had been in these desolate bogs. The previous week, nestled amongst the ruins of a spired settlement, they had found a huge pile of animal bones, blackened and charred, and smelling of dragon. They had led an excited search of the area for two days, but it was clear that, Meraxes, if it had ever been here, was long gone,and they continued south through the bogs.

The days seemed to blend into each other as they trudged through the muck, freezing water seeping through their boots as they marched along the old roads of the dragonlords. The ruins had proved to be interesting during the first few days, and Vaekar would often detour from the roads to examine them and inspect the valyrian glyphs, but as the days went on, these expeditions stopped, and Vaaekar scarce paid the ruins any mind as the days turned to grey and gloomy monotony.

The Prince's musings were cut short by a shout from one of his Mantaryan guides. Turning in that direction, he saw Ser Ryon Wells, the dornish Kingsguard knight swaying in the saddle, his normally smooth brown skin had turned sickly and sallow in the previous days and seemed to be stretched too loose along his face.

Before Vaekar could call out to his escort, the Kingsguard fell from the saddle with a thud into the mud and muck that layered over the cobblestone roads. The prince and his guides dismounted, Vaekar approached,laying a hand to Ser Ryons neck…there was a faint pulse, though fading and the man was unconscious.

‘’Get him somewhere dry….’’ And dig a grave for him Vaekar might have said but finished with ‘’Make his final hours as peaceful as possible.’’ The unspoken part was understood even without his words.

Ser Ryon Wells, the first Dornish representative of the Kingsguard passed away a few hours later as the sun set down on the cold marshes of what had once been the lands of always summer. He had died thousands of miles away from his home, cold and wet, with only the monkeys in the surrounding ruins to serve as a funeral dirge.

To call his death a surprise would have been a falsehood, it was plain for all to see in the previous days that the man did not have long, even though Ser Ryon Wells did his best to hide his ailing condition. The heavy and thick mists of the land were bearable if uncomfortable for Vaekar and his Mantaryan guides due to their Valyrian blood, but the dornishman had no such advantage and the doom had claimed another victim.

Vaekar watched as the King's Guards body was lowered into a muddy hole, draped in his faded and dirty cloak depicting the three circles of his house on brown. One of the Mantaryan guides had offered to pickle and brine the man's body, preserving his bones for transport but Vaekar had no wish to inflict such a savage custom onto his loyal guards' remains.

He should have remained in Mantarys Vaekar thought sadly, though at the back of his mind he knew that likely would not have saved him, even in Mantarys his escort had been ailing, and there was no easy way to get back to Westeros from the port of Mantarys, which primarily serviced ships heading east. The man had simply come too far, past the point of no return.

Vaekar recited a few prayers to the seven over the grave, much to the bewilderment of his guides before he took the shovel from the man who had covered the grave, digging a seven pointed star into the mud before filling it with crushed stones.

The fire was a grim one that night, with him and his guide sharing a less than filling meal of stored fresh water and pickled meat.

Vaekar left the fire and the tents for the solitude of the night as he so often did, glimpsing into the starry night for a glimpse of silver…a glimpse of Meraxes…but there was no such luck. Turning back to the camp, he was met with the eldest of his Mantaryan guides who served as a leader of sorts.

‘’Prince Vaekar….we have combed miles of this bog for days and there is no sign of the beast…perhaps it is time to abandon the sea…’’ The man began but Vaekar cut him off.

‘’I have come too far to simply return empty handed….it appears that Meraxes has moved on from these bogs….it can only be to the south…if it had gone east the colonies of Slavers Bay would have sighted it….we press on to the south, towards the hills of Telaria and Rhyos….we will not be abandoning anything.’’ Vaekar said, studying the man's face for any sign of disobedience.

The man guarded his expression well however, nodding his head silently before turning back

I will need to keep Blackfyre close tonight Vaekar though, he did not fear the men, but it was not lost on him how easy it would be for them to murder him and return back to Manatrys, claiming he had met the same fate as the Kingsguard.

Lord Zobridar had provided loyal men however, and there was no such attempt, and on the morn they marched south towards the hills in search of their elusive prey, with Vaekar only hoping Meraxes was still in the lands of always summer…for if it had flown to Valyria it was beyond his reach.

Two Weeks Later

They had lost another two days prior. The man had seemingly been fine the previous day but had been found dead in his tent the following morning, it appeared that even the protections Valyrian blood offered against the mists had their limits.

He had been the second to die since they had buried Ser Ryon Wells, and now the party numbered just 8, seven guides and Prince Vaekar. They had emerged from the bogs some time ago, Vaekar had begun to lose track of the days and had emerged in the hills of Telaria, the going there was easier than in the bogs, but the hills were rolling and the misty fog was extremely thick, trends which continued once they reached the hills of Rhyos.

Today it ends Vaekar thought grimly to himself, today their journey south would reach its conclusion….its absolute limit, for the smoking sea was close his guides promised. Vaekar held out hope that the dragon would have made its lair on the coast, for access to its fish, the other alternative was almost too painful to think about…to come all this way and…

No Vaekar thought to himself, refusing to even think of it…Meraxes was close….of that he was certain…he sensed it, though he could not say how, and when he had shared his feeling with his guide, the man had shaken his head sadly and said that a man in the desert dying of thirst often senses an oasis nearby.

They rode for a few hours in silence as they were oft to do, everything that could be said had been up to this point, there were no jokes to tell, no more tales or theories of where the dragon could be, only silence and wind.

He smelled the sea before he saw it, a great stink of sulfur and salt, before at last they crested a hill and the smoking sea came into view, half sunken ruins submerged in the depths, while an underwater volcano shot shot a steady stream of smoke into the air, far in the horizon the ruins stopped, and there was only empty sea for as far as a man could gaze.

He saw all these sights and more….but no dragon.

He dismounted wordlessly, for what reason he could not say but suddenly the exhaustion had hit him, the hope of his quest leaving his body. He sank to his knees slowly and balled his fists full of the soil, letting it fall from his hands, a strange look in his eyes.

‘’My prince….’’ One of his guides asked with concern, Vaekar felt their eyes upon him…but did not care….he had failed, all the months of travel by ship and by horse had led him to the end of the road…and his road had ended in defeat.

As he sat there, exhaustion seeping into his soul, there was a change in the wind, as a great breeze set Vaekars cloak to flapping.

He turned and saw a great silver beast emerge from the fog behind them, its wings covering the sun and setting their position to darkness.

It was Meraxes,once the dragon of Rhaenys, his grandsires sister, and the largest in the world. Vaekar had grown up in King's Landing, where his sister Laenas dragon Vhagar had been a common sight. Vhagar paled in comparison to the great silver dragon Meraxes however.

Meraxes had nearly thirty feet on Vhagar, and in the short time Vaekar glimpsed the dragon he thought that it surely must be nearly as big as Balerion the Black Dread had been before its death.

As the dragon flew slowly overhead, Vaekars amazement quickly turned to panic, he would likely never get another chance such as this again.

‘’Get the horn’’ He commanded his guides who hastened to grab a horn bound in Valyrian glyphs, all the while Vaekar shouting Valyrian at Meraxes, who ponderously flew overhead.

The shouts made no difference, and even the horn did not cause Meraxes to bestir itself to pay any attention to what for it must have seemed like ants on the ground.

Time after time Vaekar blew the horn as Meraxes slowly made its way towards the smoking sea in the direction of old Valyria, finally disappearing into the smoke and fog, but each time there was no response.

Meraxes, as quickly as it had appeared was gone.

For a brief moment, a bout of madness seized hold of the young prince, who had a sudden urge to sail across the smoking sea to the ruins of Valyria, not stopping until at last he claimed the dragon, but the madness soon passed, sailing across the smoking sea was a death sentence, and while the effects of the doom had begun to fade in the lands of always summer, the southern islands of Valyria were still incredibly dangerous.

Vaekar stood there for a good while, the knowledge of how close he had come proving to be an agonizing realization. He supposed he could continue the search, to try and ascertain where his uncle Matarys’s dragon Aelesar had flown, but that had been a recent event and he had heard no news of the gold and white dragon during his journey….it was time to go home.

Finally he turned to his guides, utterly defeated ‘’We set for Mantarys.’’ He said, and without a second glance turned his back on the smoking sea and mounted his horse.

Weeks later Prince Vaekar would arrive at the gates of the dark city of Mantarys exhausted and ragged, with only three of the dozen guides surviving the long trek. Prince Vaekar would later be heard to refer to his journey to these lands as a waste of time, energy, and life but the prince did not go home entirely empty handed. Upon his return to King's Landing he did so with a ship laden with spices, animal pelts, jeweled weapons and valyrian artifacts, making the Prince a very wealthy man on his return.

As for Meraxes, well over a decade later, that great silver beast would emerge from the wastes of Valyria to take a new rider. A Mantaryan woman of low nobility would claim the dragon and would overthrow Lord Aeranyx Zobridar in a bloody war and install a new dynasty on the Mantaryan throne, but this is a tale for another story.

3rd Moon, 8054

Royal Apartments of the Red Keep

Nyel watched with a tired smile as her granddaughters moved about the room.

Little Jaehaera sat at the foot of their bed, holding Vaemonds hand and reading him a book to the best of her ability, while her eldest sister Lianna ground a herbal tea for the two of them. Normally such a task would have been left to the servants, but the princess was a hardworking girl and it pleased her to help her grandparents personally.

Vaemond had been having trouble sleeping as of late, the stressors of decades of rulership seemed to finally be catching up to him and he had privately confided in Nyel that it was worry about the relations with his children that had ailed him, it was clear that there was a rift between Vaekar and Laena that even he had failed to bridge, and the recent estrangement between Vaemond and their daughter Cymella had proved to be the source of much sadness to her brother who often lamented he had failed the girl as a father by arranging the match with Raymont Baratheon.

Nyel was feeling tired herself. Three weeks ago, she and Vaemond had flown on the backs of Narrah and Moondancer to Highgarden for old Theo Tyrells funeral, both to honor the man that had played such a decisive role in the Lions rebellion, and to see their daughter Alysannes husband Aumary installed as Lord Paramount of the Reach.

During the trip as well, they were able to meet their granddaughter Patrice Tyrell, a small little babe that had been born to their daughter, Nyel knew how much it meant to Alyssane to become a mother as the previous year she had given birth to a stillborn little boy.

Though the trip had been a fine one, and the chance to see her daughter and granddaughter warmed her heart, the journey had taken its toll on the Queen, who had less energy with each passing day. Even Vaemond, while he had enjoyed the trip confided in her that he never felt comfortable in Highgarden as it reminded him too much of their eldest son Aelyx…whose death her brother had never truly forgiven himself for, even decades later.

Nyel felt her eyes closing slowly as she sat at the table, struggling to keep them open as tiredness coursed through her body.

Vaemond as always, understood her and gently told the girls their grandmother was tired and it was time for bed.

‘’To help you sleep grandmother.’’ Lianna said, offering her and Vaemond a cup of tea.

‘’Thank you dear.’’ Nyel said with a tired smile, drinking it before old Lord Commander Harold Langward, now almost seventy years old, escorted the girls to their chambers.

Nyel climbed into bed, feeling the exhaustion as she pulled the covers up, Vaemond kissed her gently on the cheek and snuffed out the candle, and soon both were asleep.

Nyel found herself in the void, the place she found herself during her often prophetic dreams again for the first time in years if not decades, but this time it was different.

She could see so much more than she had been able to in her youth, images and visions surrounded her in the darkness, so numerous that she could scarcely keep track of them, the visions passed by her.

She saw a young man with long silver hair on a beach surrounded by foes, standing alone and wielding dark flame.

A set of bloodstained blue robes lay on the ground, the sad sound of a harp playing as the blood trickled into the dirt.

A young woman with silver hair and purple eyes falling into a white abyss, swallowed by mountains as pale as the moon.

Bird feathers of half a hundred colors burned and smoldered, dancing in the flame.

Turning, she saw a long wooden table in the shape of Westeros oozing blood from every pore until much of the table was covered in dark red crimson.

As usual, the people and figures seemed vaguely familiar, yet obscured as if she had once known who and what they were, yet it had just slipped her mind, barely forgotten yet never to be remembered.

She saw other things too as the visions rapidly passed around her, a halfwitted girl walking down a flight of stairs into the darkness, a smile on her face as she marched to her death, screams echoing from below, a tall man with hair black as night and a face purple as a grape.

In a dark tent a woman with silver hair whispered something to a man with no face, the skulls of the dead staring at the woman with their hollow empty eyes.

Suddenly Nyel felt fear, she had never seen so much before…she was not meant to see so much. I must tell Vaemond She thought to herself, she did not understand these visions any more than she had her previous dreams, but the things she saw chilled her to her very soul.

As she heard the shuffling footsteps she at last understood.

She saw the dark hooded figure slowly approaching, yet unlike when it had come for Aelyx she did not struggle or fight, merely followed it into the darkness, the visions of the past, present and future all around her.

King Vaemond would awake to find Nyel, his queen, sister, and closest friend lying dead in the bed, a strange and sad smile on her face as if she knew some secret others did not.

The servants would find the King sobbing softly to himself, cradling the Queen, his childhood love in his arms, and it was said that this was truly the beginning of the end for King Vaemond, and past this point he would never truly recover.

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