Chapter Text
YEAR 122 BC (20 YEARS BEFORE THE DOOM)
The city of Valyria was perfectly lit up with the rays of the merciless sun. The tall towers of the capital were peaking through the mountains, like thorns, the crystal ornaments of the tops were glimmering in the sunshine. Oh, the bustling city it was, full of noises and life. The columns of merchants, common folk and slaves were moving along the narrow roads above the land and the sea. Yet, countless voices of people could only resemble the squeaking of mere insects, if compared to the beastly screams of dragons. These creatures, tens of them, were flapping their wings with unimaginable strength, sending waves of wind across the sky. They seemed to be so strong that were able to move the clouds if they so desired. Among these majestic beasts, there wasn't a single untamed one. All of them belonged to noble families of the Freehold or pretended to belong to them by merely forming powerful bonds with their riders.
One of the tallest towers of the capital was surrounded by a small crowd of people that day. The guards, their bodies covered with golden armor, were placed all across the square, not allowing a single low-born to set their foot onto it. Every single person, who was taking their stand in the square, had silver or golden tresses, braided elaborately or let loose to fall on their shoulders. The fabrics of their garments, made of expensive silks, adorned with precious metals and stones, were moved slightly by the wind. The dozens of purple eyes were directed to a single sight: a dragon, a beautiful silver beast, sitting by the tower. On both right and left the dragon was surrounded with women, a total of twelve. Their faces, all stripped of any emotions or expressions, were covered in blood, the droplets of which stained their simple white gowns.
Suddenly, a noise fell onto the ears of everyone present: it was a scream of an animal, dragged towards the dragon by three men. Their faces, as well as the women's, were crimson red, and their hands were covered in horrifying burn scars. Having brought the animal to the sight and having tied the rope holding its neck to the pillar in the center of the square, they took quite a few steps back. One of the blood-covered women, on the contrary, stepped forward, having turned everyone's attention towards herself in a blink of an eye.
"We have all gathered today to bring this sacrifice to Great Meraxes!" Her voice was loud and strong. "May the Goddess be merciful and bring us good news today!"
The woman turned her gaze to the dragon, and a single word has left her lips.
"Burn!"
The silver beast opened its mouth slowly, and the silver-haired men could see the cloud of fire forming in its throat. Seconds later the flames were released, setting the animal in front of the dragon ablaze. The gleams of fire were twinkling in the curious pairs of purple orbs, as they were watching the creature being burnt to ashes. It was not an understatement at all, as the flames of unimaginable heat kept getting released until all that was left of the animal was a mere pile of dust.
With a single breath of the dragon, the ashes got scattered all across the square, forming strange shapes and patterns. The bloody women, that very second, rushed to the ashes, observing them with the highest degree of thoroughness. It seemed like they could see something there, something that couldn't be noticed by anyone else. The nobles didn't take their eyes off the priestesses. No one dared to shed a word: the square was completely silent, as their eyes followed the movement of the women carefully. Long minutes later, they have all gathered by the silver dragon's side once again, exchanging worrisome glances and several phrases. The main priestess, having taken another step forward, has attracted the attention of the crowd once again. Some were now whispering, as if hesitant to hear the prediction.
"Meraxes is warning us, well-respected Lords!" She had declared, pointing at the pile of ashes next to her feet. "No important events or grand-scale changes are to be held this moon! Vhagar will be raging, if we dare disobey, Meraxes tells!"
"As expected." The quiet voice of a man was only heard by another silver-haired Lord, much older than him. The shade of annoyance in it was quite obvious, so the elder turned around, hastily giving the lad a warning glance.
The crowd was slowly dispersing, all immersed in a lively discussion. The two silver-haired men were walking slowly towards their dragons, who were waiting for them patiently by the very water, a mere few minutes walk from the main square.
"I have told you, Father. It is quite a curious coincidence, indeed: the moon of Archon's reelection has arrived, and the Gods are displeased with grand-scale changes." The young man seemed to barely be able to suppress his boiling rage, his fists clenched as he was walking. "I doubt the priestesses of Meraxes have any connection with the goddess at all. However, they do seem to have quite a connection with the new Lord of House Arhaemont."
"Gaemon!" The older man turned his face to his young son. His hand quickly grabbed the sleeve of the lad's garments. "You may say whatever you want at home, yet not here." He hissed, barely audibly, so that nobody would hear.
Gaemon, the young man, snatched his arm away, fixing the fabrics of the sleeves on his shirt.
"If we stay silent, Father, the Freehold will soon turn into a Kingdom. It is already happening, yet everyone chooses to ignore it, either too weak or too ignorant." He mumbled, moving his glance towards the road.
The father only sighed. Despite his desire to argue with his heir, to prove him wrong, he kept silent, for he knew: Gaemon was not completely wrong. However, who cared for the truth coming from the House with barely any meaningful power? The Targaryens were rich, that nobody doubted. They were Dragonlords, which was obvious. Most importantly, they were pure-blooded Valyrians, and that fact alone made them one of the most powerful families in the Freehold. And yet, if compared to other noble Houses of Valyria, their position and influence, Targaryens were neither strongest nor most important. They lived off their countless lands and properties, collecting taxes and not spending them without a certain need. Aenar Targaryen, the Head of the House, was wise enough to understand their position and at least maintain it, or so he thought. His son, only but four-and-ten of age, however, was more ambitious than that. Or so he thought.
* * *
"So, will you tell me the legend you promised to?" The voice of a little girl fell onto the ears of another one, slightly older.
They were both sitting on a pile of soft cushions, observing the city from the balcony. This so-called room was indeed quite unusual: there were no walls at all. The chambers were on the very top of the tower, and a mere stone railing was the only thing that prevented the children from falling off the edge of their own playroom. The weather conditions were not at all a bother: it was never cold in Valyria, nor it rained much. The children were bright enough not to play by the very railing, yet the heights did not terrify them much: they would witness a much more horrifying one from the dragons' backs one day, so they were taught not to be afraid of it. This, among others, was one of the traditions of Valyrian nobility.
The older girl smiled at her little sister. She was wearing a lovely sleeveless blue dress, her arms adorned with sophisticated golden bracelets. Her silver hair was let loose, and only two little braids, that were supposed to frame her face, were secured on the back of her head with a little golden pin. Her inquisitive gaze was now completely focused on the skies, as she uttered:
"Of course."
The girl approached the railing carefully, encouraging her sister to come closer as well. The little girl, only six years of age, came closer, her purple eyes following wherever her sister's finger was pointing.
"Do you see the tall tower right there, Maera? The one with the crystal on top."
"I do, Daenys." The child uttered, her lips pressing together slightly, making her little face appear more thoughtful.
"That tower is a part of the Temple of the Three. This is where we worship the gods of the time."
"The gods of time... Balerion, Vhagar and Meraxes?" Maera asked, her fingers clenching on the railing.
"Yes. Balerion, the god of the past, guards our memories, and the memories of our ancestors. He is the keeper of our history." Daenys stayed silent for a moment, having found herself admiring the beauty of glimmering crystal roof of the tower, and then went on. "Vhagar, the goddess of the present, controls the balance between the Past and the Future, allowing our hearts to beat at this very moment. And then..." Her voice trembled subtly. "Meraxes. The deity of the future. She is the Prophet, the one in whose hands our fates lie."
"Who, do you think, father will name my dragon after?" Maera asked excitedly. "All our dragons are named after deities, aren't they? Balerion, Vhaegon."
The older girl nodded, raising her eyebrow slightly. Daenys's own dragon was named after the god of the past, which she appreciated greatly. As for the name Vhaegon, in fact, it was her brother Gaemon's idea, which went against all the Valyrian traditions. The Targaryens expected the boy's hatchling to be female, having relied on predictions from the priestesses, and Lord Aenar, as the head of the House (for only the oldest male of the family had a right of naming the dragons), had picked the name Vhagar for her, to honor the goddess (or to seek her blessing for some particular reasons). However, the dragon hatched a male, and the name was not at all suitable. So young Targaryen dragon rider took the liberty of altering the name, suggesting "the male version of Vhagar", Vhaegon, to his father. The idea was accepted by Lord Aenar, who found it quite unusual and unique, yet the fact that it was the son who picked the name was kept secret from anyone outside of the family. The laws and obedience to them were the primary foundation of Valyrian Freehold, and the breakers of these rules would pay a dear price for it.
"Then yours should be Meraxes, to complete The Three. It reflects your name in a certain way too. However, we do need to wait till the egg hatches, and then father..."
"The legend, Daenys? What of the legend?" Little Maera seemed to have no patience at all, having interrupted her older sister, as if she had completely lost interest in the talk about her future dragon.
Daenys took a seat right next to the railing, breathing in the fresh air of the sea.
"Legend has it that all three of them - Balerion, Vhagar and Meraxes - were once mere humans. Balerion was a sinful man, haunted by the mistakes of his own past. He wallowed in his guilt and regrets, unable to let go of it, so the past swallowed Balerion, making him the deity of it. However, whether he is the ruler or a slave there, it is quite hard to tell. Vhagar was said to be a cheerful young woman, who could enjoy every single moment of her life, no matter the struggles. The past and the future never bothered her, so her soul got stuck in the forever present. Meraxes was a mother of many children, the legend says. Her heart was never in peace, for she worried endlessly about the future of her babies. She had nothing to give them, so her motherly heart couldn't help but wonder if her offsprings would live at all. The deities saw her anguish and bestowed her with an ability to see things that had not yet happened. Meraxes was so grateful for this gift, that after her death her soul kept wandering around the world, showing some men their future. As time went by, she became the goddess of the future, and she therefore sends her visions to the chosen priestess in the Temple of the Three."
Maera, despite the fact that she was indeed a very active child, sat through the whole story, listening to her sister with the strongest concentration she was capable of. Her mouth opened slightly, for she was completely amazed by how educated Daenys was in her young age, and how fascinating the stories of the deities of time were.
"Do you think these legends are true?" The girl uttered, not taking her eyes off her sister's face.
"I do..." The older silver-haired girl responded. She fell silent for a moment as if intending to say more but hesitating. The smile quickly disappeared from her face, being replaced with a look of slight concern. Silver-haired Maera didn't leave the change in her sister's demeanor unnoticed, the question swiftly followed.
"Is something bothering you?" The little girl put her little hand onto her sister's, looking at her with subtle worry.
Daenys sighed. She didn't want to answer the question: as she did with most of them, she intended to ignore it at first, but something felt different this time.
"May I... Tell you a secret, Maera?" She spoke quietly, her eyes moving to the door into the room as if trying to see if anyone listened to them.
The Targaryen girl nodded.
"Will you promise me to keep it a secret, if I tell you?" Daenys went on, obviously postponing the moment of actually speaking on the matter.
"Yes, I swear to The Three." Maera said rather confidently.
The older girl squeezed her sister's hand gently, seeking certain support in her, which, as was expected, she felt. The feeling of warmth spread across her body with an impressive speed, which in the end made her talk.
"I... I see Meraxes in my dreams sometimes. She..." Daenys gulped nervously. "She tells me things, shows me things. And the things she talks to me about... They scare me. I often don't understand them."
Maera's eyes widened slightly.
"Did you tell mother and father about it?"
The older girl flinched at a single mention of her parents.
"No. I did not. I..."
Barely she managed to say the beginning of the sentence when the door of the chambers opened. Both girls turned their heads towards it, noticing how a tall, beautiful woman entered the room. Her silver tresses were falling on her chest, almost reaching her slim waist, and the fabrics of her pink dress covered her arms tenderly.
"Daenys! Maera!" She exclaimed with a bright smile on her youthful face, rushing to the girls.
"Mother!" The children ran to her instantly, wrapping their arms around her waist. A strange feeling it was, Maera thought to herself, as if her mother's belly was slightly bigger than it used to be. The little girl raised her gaze to the Lady Alaerys's face, when the woman, seeing the spark of realization in her daughter's eyes, spoke.
"You could tell, couldn't you, my dear?" Her voice was filling with certain excitement. "We will soon welcome another child."
While Maera's face instantly lit up with joy, the complete opposite happened to Daenys's. The color instantly drained from her cheeks, and an expression of fear froze on her face as if the most terrifying news had been brought to her. The feeling of uneasiness took over her body. She couldn't understand where it was coming from, nor what it meant, yet she simply felt it - this would not end well.