( FOURTEEN FIRES )
⟵ ◊ ⟶
chapter 7: like vultures, they circle.

HE was being watched, he knew. While tightening and looking over his dragon's saddle in the training grounds of the Great Coliseum, Maegon Paethorys did everything in his power to ignore the leering adversaries lurking a stone's throw behind him. He could feel their gazes and snide attention focused on him where he stood as they jested and snickered.

Maegon was strong enough to ignore the slights muttered about him, which he could so clearly hear. He was capable of maintaining his composure despite wanting to draw his sword to challenge them where they stood. They were not worth his time, he told himself over and over.

He would not embarrass his house with a lack of control over his emotions. Kevlir sensed the brewing anger building in him, his copper dragon rumbling deeply. His mount was no gigantic horned and plated dragon, like the war beasts that could deflect any arrows aimed for them and unleash the mighty destruction of a volcano from their maw. He was built for speed that could rival the rolling winds off the Gulf of Grief, swift as a shooting star.

"Surely you do not expect to find victory with your mount?" Markaes Gythmari, heir to the House Gythmari that rivaled House Paethorys in power, cheekly called from where he stood with his group of cronies. Along with his younger brother, Tymond, the other young men were members of lower-ranking dragon-lord houses. All following after the Gythmari brothers like flies on shit. "A scrawny thing, he is. He will not make it through the first lap."

Maegon had been training for quite some time to partake in the Spring Solstice race, an event that was the commencement of a week-long celebration throughout the capital in honor of the goddess, Syrax, and the new life she was to bring in the form of hearty crops, hatched eggs, and strong babes. The people of Valyria partook in the festivites by fucking, drinking, singing and dancing until they could no longer. Priests would perform their ceremonies and sacrifices that would bleed life back into the Valyrian way of life.

The winner of the race saw glory unequaled among the houses that governed over the Freehold, the victory foretelling fortune ahead for whatever house they belonged to. Winning meant he could set up a prosperous path for him and Vaella, their wedding in the coming moons ahead.

"My mount was bred for racing," Maegon replied without looking in the direction of Markaes. As if it were common sense.

"As was all of ours," the heir of House Gythmari replied, Maegon hearing the smug grin in his voice. "But if you wish to make it anywhere passed the starting line, I only hope your mount is swift enough to dodge the other competitors before they get a hold of you. I wonder what will be made of that whelp once my dragon gets a hold of him and his soft belly."

The race was deadly. For moons now, Maegon's lord-father had tried to convince him not to partake after he had declared his intention to participate. Begged him truthfully. Vaella had done the same, her tears nearly enough to call it all off. But he'd stood firm. Most riders did perish, but Maegon had grown confident enough with Kevlir's speed and dexterity that he knew he had a fighting chance at winning.

Once the dragons took off from the finish line, nothing was stopping them from descending on each other. Whoever survived three laps around the colassal coliseum came out as the winner.

"We shall test the durability of his armor, then," Maegon quipped dismissively. He went to ready himself for the flight home and leave behind the confrontation, but Markaes' next words froze him where he stood.

"Once I've dealt with you in the race, I'll take your pretty sister to wife," heared the Gythmari heir grin cruelly. "And I'll fuck her better than you ever could."

Maegon moved with a quickness he didn't know he was capable of. One moment, his boot was rising to climb up the rest of the way up Kevlir's wing to his saddle, the next, his hand was gripping Markaes' richly adorned doublet with a vice-like grip. The sapphire studs sewn into the deep red fabric dug into his skin harshly, but he ignored it. The other young men scrambled to yank him away, but Markaes' stopped them, a wild grin on his features as he focused on Maegon.

"If you ever speak of my sister again, I will gut you where you stand," Maegon uttered, his voice shaky with rage. He was ready, there and now, to rip the dagger from his belt and shove into into the heirs belly. Only extreme self-control kept him from doing so. For a moment, Maegon's violet gaze blazed into Markaes', before the Gythmari heir chuckled lightly.

"The Paethorys whelp does have fangs," Markaes seemingly announced with excitement to his brother and the other young men, who watched with narrowed eyes but grins of their own. Yet, there was a flicker of doubt, or perhaps fear, that gleamed in his eyes. Maegon let go of his doublet, shoving him back as he began his retreat back to his dragon. With a devilish grin, the heir said, "Let us hope he brings them to the race."

They had besmirched the honor of his house, of his betrothed. The Gythmari heir spouted obscenities at him as easily as breathing.

Now, more than ever, Maegon was determined to win the race.

♜

WIND battered the strands of Vaella's hair against her face that had loosened from her braids, the salt of the Narrow Sea touching her senses whenever she wetted her lips with her tongue. She clung to her saddle, body pressed as low as she could as her dragon dove doqn the the clouds after Gaemon and his mount.

They were starting their efforts in learning about each other with frequent flights and general exploring of the island, and today they would explore the mainland.

Saeghar, Gaemon's pale grey and slate-colored dragon, unleashed his wings to facilitate a landing on a grassy hill. Larger than Opalia, his wings were like that of the giant trading ships of Yi Ti Vaella had seen on her many travels, sail-like membranes catching in the wind that carried him down. Just as his large body thudded to the grass-covered ground, Opalia did the same at his side. The dragons whickered at each other with low hisses.

Vaella straightened her back and looked at her husband, who was already standing from his saddle and balancing on Saeghar's back. He offered a smirk to her, resting his hands on his hips.

"Will the terrain suffice for our hike today, lady-wife?"

In response to his question, the Paethorys woman looked around the valley they'd landed in. The flight from Dragonstone earlier that morning had lasted for quite some time, and Vaella never quite knew when they would stop. Yet, now that they'd landed, she was ever grateful to be given the chance to stretch her legs again.

"Perhaps," she replied, looking at the foreign scenery.

Around them, there were rolling hills of soft green grass as far as the eye could see, until they melded into groves of pine that met the base of the jagged mountains that seemingly went on forever. The wind thankfully did not bite, but there was no sun there to provide a comfortable warmth against the cold Vaella had found hard to shake since leaving the comfort of the boiling heat of the Valyrian capital. An overcast hung in the sky with perhaps a promise of rain.

Before Vaella rose from her seat, she pulled her loose hair away from her face and yanked off her riding gloves with her teeth. With the tresses of her short dress gripped in her hand she moved her panted legs to descend the dragon's wing, Vaella began to move. Still catering to what Valyrian fashion she could, she ensured there would be remnants of her former life present in her new one. The Targaryen's had taken to what seemed like a blended form of Valyrian and Westerosi fashion, something she'd found quite strange.

Gaemon was there to offer his hand to her when she was ready to hop to the ground. After taking his hand, Vaella planted herself on the grass. She adjusted the belt that carried the sheath and knife Aenar had gifted her, the draconic handle complimenting her charcoal-colored dress that was accented with red. Much to her chagrin, Vaella had begun to adopt the colors of her new house. But a hint of her maiden house lingering in the form of the giant, deep blue sapphire hanging from her neck. The metal incasing it was Valyrian steel so dark it was almost black, making the ripples of it's fabrication barelt visible even in the sunlight.

"What might we be seeing today on our hike?" Vaella asked her husband. "This outing was rather spur of the moment, afterall. It would be quite inconsiderate for you to dissapoint your wife with a drab hike."

Gaemon smirked at her jab. "I thought we best doing something other than dining or fucking together, and that you might like seeing some of the terrain the mainland has to offer and get away from the ash-covered island. It is quite beautiful, and the local smallfolk should not bother us. They're mostly made up of pockets of hill tribes and civilized Westerosi lords, our scouts have found. If we are to meet trouble, I will defend you." He patted the sword sheathed at his side for emphasis, the blade named Dark Sister, he had told her.

Vaella smirked. They had indeed mostly seen each other at supper or during couplings, so she supposed this wasn't a bad idea for them to do something together other than legitamate obligations. They had agreed to make the best of the match they found themselves in, and that required bonding beyond the marriage bed.

"If these hill tribes are dangerous, I suppose I'll have to put the blade your father gifted me to use."

Gaemon grinned again, then gestured to the rolling hills. "They wouldn't come close enough to allow you to with me here. Shall we?"

The two set off, leaving their dragons resting and waiting for them where they'd landed. Vaella tried her best to keep up with her husband, his stride far quicker than hers due to his substantial height. She was not accustomed to such physical labor, either. Her life growing up in the capital had been pampered, to say the least, and never did she go hiking. This was going to be challenging, but letting on that she was greatly struggling would not happen.

The two seemingly only passed craggy rock outcroppings, swaying heather, and endless fluctuations of inclines and declines. Vaella was growing tired and bored of the physical activity, and the idea of returning to her saddle for the flight home seemed so far away. Only when they reached a resting point did she allow her complaints to be heard.

"Are we to only see heather and rocks on this trip?" She asked Gaemon, who'd paused to sit on a rock and gulp down water from a skin he'd brought with him. Despite her dismay, the light breeze was crisp and fresh and smelt of pine and ice.

When he finished gulping away his thirst, he offered the water to her, saying, "Just a little further and we'll reach the place I wanted to show you."

Vaella sighed, before relenting and taking the water skin. The water was delectable as she downed it before handing the skin back to Gaemon. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Lead away, then."

One large hill later, Vaella found herself thankful she'd agreed to keep going. Gaemon brought her to a sloping area at the base of the mountain that had been closest to them where a collection of water gathered in a large pond. A small waterfall fed the source, mist billowing upon the water's impact to pool. It was a quaint area, but it was beautiful. Nothing she would have been able to see if she still lived in the capital where the Fourteen Fires fed rivers of lava.

"The scouts told me of this place a few moons back," Gaemon told her. "It is nothing special, but I thought you might like seeing it. To get away from Dragonstone for a while."

Vaella had only seen similar sites when traveling abroad with her family from the Capital. If her father was traveling far enough to warrant a long stay in somewhere worthy of exploring, he would bring them along. She'd seen tropical black sand beaches that glowed in the night when one shuffled through receding waves. The lush jungles that Yi Ti held their empire within, and their mighty statues of pure jade that towered as tall as trees. Seen the Titan of Braavos, so large it seemingly dwarfed any dragon that might fly beneath it's legs.

All the things she'd seen in her life, yet the waterfall's simplicity was a unique of memory on its own.

"Land untouched by the Freehold," Vaella half murmured to herself in realization as she watched the water cascade down the rock. Given the people they came from, the thought of the dragon lord's having any manner of restriction in their endeavors was alien. It was no secret that no lands set up by conquest had been able to resist dragon fire and the might of the people that wielded it, yet this land was untouched since the day the gods created it. It felt removed. It felt safe.

"A refuge, I think," Gaemon said in response. "There are no competing dragon lords to contest with to hold our own here. The upper ranks rule the Freehold mercilessly, as I know you are aware, coming from one of those houses yourself. With no offense to your own house, of course."

Vaella sighed. He was not wrong. Her family sat nearly chief among the two score dragon lords that governed with an iron fist. The only contesters being rival houses; perhaps one of the reasons Maegon found himself targeted and slain. It was no unheard of for the ruling class to quarrel within itself, but when dragons were involved, it was almost certainly deadly. In Maegon'w memory, she would endure this new life set before her. She would even do it well.

"So, beyond this waterfall, what else did you wish to do?" She asked her husband, allowing a tinge of playfulness to lace her tone. "Might we see these hill tribes you speak of?"

Gaemon returned the sentiment. "Well, we could partake in one of our usual activities. Only if you wish it, of course."

His hand reached to snake around her waist, pulling her front flush against his. Her heart fluttered in response, and a smirk blossomed on her lips. Already, her body responded to him. To the way he looked, the sound of his voice, the scent of him.

Arousal leeched into her tone as she said, "And here I thought you wished to do more than dine and fuck."

His eyes darkened, and his usual grin turned more predatory than usual. "Must a man feel shame for desiring his wife?"

Vaella couldn't suppress the airy laugh that left her lips. The way he held her had become more and more familiar

"I suppose not, but he is beholden to ensuring he pleases her if he chooses to forsake his prior statement."

She said it sensually, her tone evening out to a breathless whisper. The tumbling roar of the water fall seemingly made it feel as if the world's attention was no longer them, but the water as it cascaded from the mountain crevice above. As if they'd found a slice of privacy despite the vast blue sky and mountains around them.

"I will do that and much more," Gaemon replied truffle, his indigo gaze fiery with lust. "I shall make your cries of pleasure echo so loudly throughout this vast valley that Syrax herself will glare down in envy." Against her, she felt his desire harden against her. Her heart skipped and she was flushed with her own need, an ache blossoming within her.

As their lips pressed together, a part of Vaella's soul sighed with contentness. This was not the capital of volcanoes she'd been raised among, with the endless traffic of dragons and slaves and every manner of finery and innovation. The man that held her was still arguably a stranger, but some part of her began to think she might come to love him, to love this life they were beginning to live.

"Prove it," Vaella challenged, her eyes darkening with lust. His did the same, and the lingering smell of his sweet breath further drove her crazy.

He grinned devilishly, and soon she was planted on the ground, already being ravaged.

♜

NO amount of peace was waiting for Vaeron upon his and his wife's return to the capital. Still, there was unrest that could be felt in the halls of his keep, echoes of the absense of their deceased son. The lingering absence of Vaella and the gaping hole left by Maegon's passing left a crator deep in the lord's heart.

The Capitol only held desolation for Vaeron; the city and governing families that upheld the culture that took his son's life. The god's damned Spring Solstice event, held on a pedestal by the Valyrian culture and it's need for blood, lust, and power. To praise the gods.

His closest confidant, Lord Baeryn Rinaema, was visiting to look into the status of all that was troubling House Paethorys.

"My efforts to learn more about the race and it's... events, have not gotten far, I fear," Baeryn sighed from where he stood with a glass of wine in hand. "I've tried speaking with the game arbitrators and their subsequent subordinates, but nothing could be determined on who was behind the assault. And dare I say, if it were a targeted assault."

Vaeron shot a glare at his colleague. "It is in doubt that my son was directly assaulted?" He uttered.

Baeryn frowned. "Many find it trivial that Maegon received anything other than what the event calls for and always has. Many die during this event every year, and many believe his death nothing more than the direct result of partaking in it. They view it as a dutible sacrifice to the gods in the eyes of the people, both him and his dragon."

Valyrian culture had always been like this, Vaeron knew. Dragon hatchings and whelps were often sacrificed to the gods if they didn't suffice to serve the empire, and rarely were grown adults rendered to serve as praise and worship to their creators. But with the evidence he held, the intimidation and cruelty that Maegon had faced prior to his death, the dragon lord could only help but hold firm in his belief that his sons death was orchestrated.

"Maegon was honorable to a fault," Vaeron muttered into the glass of wine he'd be nursing and refilling since he'd woken that morning. A habit he'd developed in recent times. "He would not have lied to me about his encounter with the heirs of rival lords. They orchestrated this and I will not abandon that fact. This sort of tragedy was far too deliberate to have been chance."

Baeryn was frowning at him when he finally looked up from his glass. Vaeron suddenly became self aware of himself, aware of his disheveled appearance and visible lack of sleep that showed in the form of dark circles under his eyes. Daevara wasn't fairing much better, but she'd at least taken to turning most of her focus to Maelys and the impending birth of his first grandchild.

"What of the motive, then?" Vaeron's colleague asked. "Was it merely a quarrel of young, hot-headed heirs, or do you believe there is more to this?"

The dragon lord's of Valyria had always quarreled in some form or another. Since Vaeron had taken up his position as the head of his household, he'd garnered much power in the way of trade, slaves, allies, and dragons. The only reason he could deduce as to why his rivals were finally coming for him was his substantial climb toward success. He had done nothing directly or specifically to beg for their retaliation.

"It could be as simple as sheer jealousy," Vaeron muttered.

Baeryn nodded thoughtfully. "Your recent endeavors with the emporer of Yi Ti had proven as such. It worries me to reveive reports from my spies that at least a handful of other lords have learned of them."

A visit to the neighboring empire across the world had been a way for Vaeron to develop ties outside of Valyria; merely to establish strong trading ties for the jade, gem stones, and precious metals that the mountainpushes jungles scattered across cross the land offered. Not only did he seek to further his affinity for strong trading ties, but if all else failed in a situation eerily akin to the one beginning to blossom, he could take his family and their dragons there for asylum.

Originally, it had been in exchange for Vaella's hand in marriage to the emporer himself, but Vaeron would not break the betrothal between she and Maegon. Had he lived, they would have been able force to be reckoned with. Alas, tbe emporer succeeded to an immense deposit of gold and slaves, sent on ship many moons back. Word must have spread somehow, reaching his rivals.

"My alliance with Yi Ti..." Vaeron half murmured to himself in realization.

"They must believe you are trying to set yourself upon becoming emporer of the Freehold," Baeryn uttered in stark realization.

Vaeron hadn't even considered such a thing. His house was strong, yes, with and incredible yoke of grown, rideable dragons, but he lacked the riders to form the force he would need to defend against almost every single enemy house he would come to face, outside of his closest allies, such as Baeryn. It would be simply maddening to think he would try such meticulous, deadly scheme.

"The vulnerability of your household after Maegon's death may have the other lords convinced you suring up your defenses," Baeryn said. "They must believe you are making moves to secure the support you need."

"Through Yi Ti," Vaeron murmured. He sat in silence for a long moment, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
He needed to devise a plan. Though he'd never desired to take on such drastic measures in order to protect him and his family, Vaeron was left with little options given the situation. "I will write to the emporer in request of support."

He couldn't flee for asylum yet. The moment he abandoned everything he'd built upon, his rivals would swoop in like rushing waves to claim what he'd left behind: estates, slaves, ships, establishments, gold, dragons. They would consume his success without a moment of hesitation before then setting their sights upon hunting him down. The dragon lords of the Valyrian Freehold were vicious and decisive like that; they weed out their opposition root and stem.

He would need to be tactful with his movements. Plan carefully to avoid the snares that were surely being set before him.

"I'm sure the Emperor will require something great of me if he deigns to answer my call for aid," Vaeron murmured in defeat. "I only hope it is something that wealth alone can afford."

♜

ROARING dragon fire raged in Vaella's dreams. It demanded to be known, to be felt. The all to familiar flash of Gidrad's blue flames consumed her, swirling grief and the agony of mortal loss deep within her soul. These were the same flames that had consumed Maegon's crumpled body, the body that had free fallen from the sky with his disemboweled dragon falling closely behind. All to crash with a sickening crunch, fractured wings and dust left in its wake.

Yet, as the flames dissipated and the familiar Great Colesium of the Valyrian capital appeared, she felt as if she were there again, watching her brother fall to his death at the behest of other riders who had so viciously descended upon him with tooth and claw. They'd hunted him like a pack of wolves, coordinated and precise. Razor sharp teeth clamped around the neck, a wing membrane shredded like gossamor with a definite ripping noise as flesh separated.

Consumed with the helpless she'd felt that day, it was as if every single step she tried taking into the developing void to catch him was hindered by persistent steps in mud. She couldn't run, couldn't get there quick enough. With every step forward, she was somehow two steps back, and Maegon was ever so closer to his death.

Then, as if time accelerated mockingly, he was broken. Amidst the dust he was twisted in the most obscene angles, his skull caved in, his neck twist, his spine snapped and limbs missing. It was as if Balerion, the god of death himself, wished for Vaella to peer upon him as some form of punishment. What had she done, to be forced to live this? To not only lose her love, her brother, but to see him die so unceremoniously? Again and again, for she had faced this very dream many times since his death. A tribulation she was forced to bear all on her own.

Then, she was suddenly prone. Lying flat on a bed of tinder on her own funeral pyre, dressed in her finest gown with lillies arranged within her beautifully splayed hair. Around her, her family grieved. She tried speaking, but the words were caged. Then, looking to her left, did she realize her pyre was arranged directly next to Maegon's. They were both dead, prepared to burn and journey on to the after life.

Gidrad then appeared, her father's great beast opening his maw to conjure a building of blue flames down his gullet. As quickly as they swelled did they shower over her, consuming her mind.

Then suddenly she was awake. Drenched in sweat and violently nauseous, she didn't take another another moment before rushing toward the bowl and pitcher she typically washed her hands and face in before going to sleep. The water hit the stone floor with a splash, and Vaella wretched into it.

Almost instantly she knew what was going on. There was seemingly no other alternative, not when she'd been partaking in the marriage bed with Gaemon as expected.

Leaning up from the bowl, she wiped spittle from her lip, her mind still swirled with the aftermath that had been her dream. She'd always had such vivid ones. Gaemon was stirring, leaning up from his pillows to look toward her with squinted eyed.

Vaella looked at him, ready to inform him that they likely had an heir on the way. Yet she felt no joy, as she would have expected. Maelys had been ecstatic to know she was carrying she and Aelyx's first child, but Vaella nothing. She was not angry, nor sad nor scared. But she wasn't happy either.

"Are you all right?" Gaemon asked, still weary from his sleep.

A flicker of attraction stirred inside Vaella's belly as she looked at him, at the disheveledness of his hair. A part of her wanted to put off the announcement in favor of pouncing on him then and there, but her arousal faded with the lingering reminder of her harrowing dream.

"I believe we shall have an heir."