Chapter 17: The Salt Dragon's Shadow and the Fire Wyrm's Dawn
The rhythm of Skagos was one of patient, relentless growth, a symphony conducted by Aelyx's unwavering will. Decades melted into the past, marked by the maturation of his children, the expansion of his hidden sanctuary, and the ever-increasing prosperity of House Volmark's public domain. The "Heir's Hoard" gold mine continued its staged "production," its riches binding the Northern lords ever closer to Skagosi interests through trade and carefully placed loans. Torrhen, Visenya, Lyra, Maegor, and Aenar were now young adults, their dual lives as Northern nobles and powerful sorcerers managed with practiced ease. The younger clutch of Volmark children – the twins Rhaenys and Aegon, and little Daenys – were already showing prodigious magical promise, their laughter echoing in the fire-lit halls of the sanctuary. Lyanna, his immortal consort, stood beside him, a queen of shadows and ice, her Stark wisdom a vital counterpoint to his Valyrian ambition.
It was during a deep meditative trance, a practice Aelyx employed to extend his consciousness beyond the physical realm and sift the chaotic currents of time, that the first vision struck him, unbidden and starkly vivid. It was not the gentle, often allegorical whisper of common greensight, but a brutal, visceral immersion. He saw the grey, choppy waters of the Sunset Sea, Ironborn longships with their kraken sails cutting through the waves like sharks. He felt the biting wind, tasted the salt spray, heard the guttural war cries of reavers clad in sealskins and iron. He witnessed coastal villages in the North – small fishing hamlets on Sea Dragon Point, the stout wooden holdfasts of Bear Island – engulfed in flame and slaughter. He saw women dragged screaming onto ships, men cut down as they defended their homes, the snow-stained red with blood. The vision was immediate, raw, and bore the chilling certainty of a future just a few short months away.
Aelyx emerged from the trance, his violet eyes narrowed, his mind already a whirlwind of cold calculation. This was not a catastrophic threat to Skagos itself – his island fortress was far too formidable for a mere Ironborn raid, its reputation alone a deterrent. But it was a threat to the North, his carefully cultivated protectorate, his shield. And any instability in the North could, eventually, ripple outwards to affect his long-term plans.
Before he could fully dissect this immediate peril, another, far grander and more terrifying vision overwhelmed him. The previous one had been a sharp, bloody skirmish; this was an epic, world-altering conflagration. He saw a different sky, decades hence, filled with three colossal dragons, their scales black as night, bronze as sun-forged shields, silver as moonlight. He saw a dark-haired, purple-eyed man astride the largest, Balerion the Black Dread, his face stern and resolute. Two warrior women, his sisters, rode the others. He saw armies shattering before dragonfire, castles melting like wax, proud kings bending the knee in fields of ash and cinder. He saw the birth of a new dynasty, forged in fire and blood, uniting seven disparate kingdoms under a single, Targaryen banner. Aegon the Conqueror. The name resonated in his mind with the force of a prophecy.
The sheer scale of this second vision left Aelyx momentarily stunned, a rare occurrence. His own twenty-nine dragons, magnificent as they were, were still young compared to these ancient behemoths. His hidden kingdom on Skagos was a sanctuary of immense power, but Aegon's conquest was a public, world-reshaping event. This was not a threat to be met with simple defenses; this was a fundamental shift in the geopolitical landscape, a challenge to his dynasty's carefully planned secrecy and eventual, subtle dominance.
He immediately sought out Lyanna and Lyra. Lyanna, whose own greensight had sharpened considerably over their shared immortal existence, listened intently as Aelyx recounted his visions, her grey eyes troubled. Lyra, now a young woman whose connection to the Old Gods and the whispers of the weirwoods was profound, closed her eyes, her face serene as she delved into her own prophetic currents.
"The Salt Raiders… yes, Father, I have felt their hunger, their reaving lust," Lyra confirmed, her voice a soft murmur. "They will strike the western shores, from the Stony Shore to the lands of the Mormonts. They are emboldened by a new, ambitious reaver king. It will be a harsh blow, but not a fatal one for the North, if warned."
Lyanna nodded. "My own dreams have been filled with storms from the west, with the taste of blood and salt. Your vision aligns, my lord. The timing… soon. Before the first snows of winter fully take hold."
Of Aegon's conquest, their visions were less immediate but no less potent. "A great fire comes from the east, decades from now," Lyra whispered, her brow furrowed. "Three great shadows in the sky, a crown forged in flame. The world will change. The age of scattered kingdoms will end."
Lyanna shivered. "I have seen a black dragon whose shadow covers the land, and kings kneeling. It felt… inevitable. A tide of fire."
Aelyx absorbed their confirmations, his mind already working with Voldemort's strategic genius and Flamel's long-view perspective. The Ironborn raid was an immediate problem, but also an opportunity. Aegon's conquest was a future storm that required decades of careful preparation.
"The Ironborn first," Aelyx declared, his voice crisp and decisive. "Lyra, focus your sight. I need details. Numbers, primary targets, the sigil of this new reaver king. Torrhen! Visenya!"
His eldest son and daughter appeared almost instantly from their studies within the sanctuary, their expressions attentive. Aelyx briefed them on the impending raid.
"Torrhen," Aelyx commanded, "you will take this information to Lord Stark. Disguise its origin. Speak of troubling dreams, of unsettling reports from 'Skagosi fishermen' who have ventured far west. Emphasize the threat to the western coasts. Offer House Volmark's naval assistance. Our fleet is swift and well-armed. We can patrol the waters, intercept these reavers, and demonstrate our unwavering loyalty to Winterfell. This is an opportunity to further bind the North to us, to showcase our strength not as sorcerers, but as vigilant protectors."
Torrhen nodded, his violet eyes thoughtful. "It shall be done, Father. Lord Stark will heed a warning delivered with conviction, especially if it aligns with his own concerns for the western approaches."
"Visenya," Aelyx turned to his fiery daughter, "you will work with Maegor. I want our Skagosi defense fleet on high alert. Prepare squadrons for rapid deployment. While Torrhen warns the mainland, we will ensure Skagos itself is an unbreachable fortress, and our ships are ready to strike, should any Ironborn be foolish enough to stray too close, or should Lord Stark request our aid in deeper waters. This will be a valuable test for our commanders and crews."
Visenya's eyes lit up. The prospect of action, of unleashing even a fraction of Skagos's true naval might (though it would be presented as conventional strength), appealed to her Valyrian spirit. "They will find Skagosi waters a bitter draught, Father."
While his elder children prepared for these public-facing actions, Aelyx delved into the deeper implications of the Ironborn raid with Lyanna. "We will offer aid, and it will be accepted," he mused. "Lives will be saved, our prestige enhanced. But chaos always creates openings. There may be… opportunities to acquire new assets. Displaced populations, perhaps. Skilled artisans from ravaged coastal towns who might seek refuge under a strong, prosperous lord. We will be ready to offer sanctuary, on Skagos, for a price of loyalty." His mind was already calculating how to turn tragedy to his advantage, a cold pragmatism that Lyanna had come to accept, if not always embrace.
The vision of Aegon's conquest, however, occupied a different, more profound level of his strategic thinking. This was not something to be met with a naval deployment or a diplomatic mission. This was a paradigm shift.
"Three great dragons," Aelyx mused aloud to Lyanna in the privacy of their chambers within the sanctuary, the walls around them thrumming with contained magic. "Balerion, Vhagar, Meraxes. Names that will echo through history. Their riders, Targaryens. Another surviving Valyrian house, one that evidently escaped the Doom with its greatest treasures intact."
"Are they a threat to us, Aelyx?" Lyanna asked, her voice low. "To our children? To this sanctuary?"
"Potentially," Aelyx conceded. "If they knew of our existence, of our own dragon brood, they might see us as rivals, as a challenge to their supremacy. Or, perhaps, as potential allies, though I doubt any Targaryen would willingly share the dominion of Westeros. Their ambition, as I saw it, is singular."
His mind raced through contingencies. "Our secrecy becomes paramount. The world must continue to believe House Volmark is merely a powerful, wealthy Northern house, its strength derived from gold and hardy men, not from sorcery and dragons. The sanctuary must remain utterly inviolable, its wards strengthened, its existence known only to our bloodline and our most deeply bound servants."
He paced the obsidian floor, his mind sifting through centuries of Voldemort's paranoia and Flamel's accumulated wisdom. "We must learn everything about this House Targaryen. Their history, their magic, the lineage and temperament of their dragons. Tibbit and his network of unseen informants must begin to gather whispers, to trace their path from wherever they survived Valyria's fall. We have decades, but that time must be used wisely."
The vision spurred a new urgency in Aelyx's long-term plans. "Our own dragons must be nurtured, their growth accelerated through every magical means at our disposal. Our children's training as riders, as sorcerers, must intensify. Torrhen, Visenya, Lyra, Maegor, Aenar – they are the first generation of our true power. When Aegon Targaryen arrives in Westeros, they must be masters of their abilities, their bonds with their dragons unbreakable, ready to defend our sanctuary, or, if the currents of fate shift, to project our influence in ways the world cannot anticipate."
He thought of his own growing dragon hoard, now numbering over thirty (the original twenty-nine plus a few successful hatchings from their clutches), and his eight children, each a burgeoning magical powerhouse. Aegon had three dragons. Aelyx had a hidden legion. The numbers were in his favor, but Aegon's dragons were ancient, their power legendary. It would be a contest of quality versus quantity, of hidden, patient power versus overt, conquering fire.
"We will not seek conflict with these Targaryens," Aelyx decided. "Our path is one of shadow and subtlety, of building an eternal dynasty that outlasts the fleeting empires of mundane kings and conquerors. We will observe. We will prepare. If they leave us undisturbed in our Northern domain, content with their southern conquests, then we shall coexist, two hidden currents of Valyrian power in a world that believes such magic is dead. But if they, or any other power, ever threaten what we have built, they will discover that the Valyrian fire still burns fiercely in the frozen heart of Skagos, and that we have teeth, and claws, and magic they cannot comprehend."
In the months that followed, Aelyx's plans unfolded with precision. Torrhen journeyed to Winterfell, his warning of Ironborn raids delivered with a grave sincerity that Lord Cregan Stark could not ignore. Preparations began across the North's western coasts. Skagosi warships, under the wolf-and-kraken banner, began conspicuous patrols, their disciplined crews and well-armed vessels impressing Northern observers.
Within the sanctuary, Aelyx, Lyanna, and their older children intensified their magical studies. Lyra's greensight was focused on tracking the movements of the Ironborn fleet, her visions providing Aelyx with invaluable, real-time intelligence. Visenya and Maegor drilled with their dragons in the vast subterranean caverns, honing their aerial combat maneuvers and their control over dragonfire. Aenar worked with Aelyx on strengthening the sanctuary's wards, weaving new layers of complexity into their already impenetrable defenses.
Aelyx himself spent many hours in deep communion with the Philosopher's Stone, drawing upon its immense power not just for transmutation or the Elixir, but to subtly enhance his own magical senses, to extend his foresight, trying to glean more details about the decades to come, about the rise of the Targaryens and the role his hidden dynasty might play in the great game of Westeros.
The salt-stained shadow of the Ironborn was an immediate concern, a test of his public strategy. But the fiery dawn of Aegon's dragons was the true, long-term horizon against which Aelyx now measured his every move, his every preparation. Skagos was his fortress, his children his living weapons, his magic his ultimate assurance. The world was about to enter a new age of fire and blood, and Aelyx Velaryon, the last true Dragonlord of the old blood and the first of an eternal line, would be ready to meet it, from the safety and secrecy of his unassailable Northern throne. The game was becoming far more interesting.