[Chapter Size: 4100 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Driftmark, 299 AC.

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The waters of the sea of Driftmark struck with three strong waves while Lord Velaryon stood in his solar, watching the sea crash against the rocks of the uninhabited parts of the island, farther from the main harbor and the castle.

A knock at the door interrupted his brief thoughts, and his gaze turned back toward the entrance. A guard opened it carefully.

“My lord, Aurane Waters is here to see you,” said the personal guard of Lord Monford Velaryon.

His half-brother, a bastard.

“Let him in,” Monford said. In the next moment, the door opened, revealing his brother, who bore the same white hair as his own — a Valyrian trait of Velaryon blood, inherited from a house of Valyrian origin and reinforced by several marriages with House Targaryen centuries ago.

“You sent for me, brother?” Aurane said as he looked at his brother with some doubt. He was younger than Monford, and even being a bastard, Lord Velaryon loved him as a brother. Aurane had grown up at his side, educated within the walls of Driftmark, as few bastards could say they had been so fortunate.

For a moment, Monford turned back to the sea once more, leaving his brother aside without answering him immediately, unable to stop thinking about the matter that had occupied him in recent weeks.

War was spreading throughout all of Westeros, but his eyes always turned northward. Lord Stark had dropped a bomb so great that it made anyone begin to look suspiciously in that direction, expecting a fleet to appear at any moment.

Rhaegar’s son, the true son of the prince. His lineage had not been destroyed, after they believed that Viserys and his sister had been killed, since there had been no news of them in recent years.

Even so, there was a Targaryen — and a man who had already conquered so much.

The Velaryon lords had always been proud as lords of the sea. Some, in certain generations, had even traveled as far as Yi Ti, but no one had managed to do what those men of the North had done. Savages, they were called. Savages who lived among tribes, killing one another, without laws, living in a primitive way, raping women and even eating human flesh.

When Lord Stark’s bastard crossed the Wall with only 8 namedays, even surrounded by giants, everyone thought he would be dead within the next few weeks. But he returned 2 years later, and then the rumor began that a boy of eleven namedays claimed to be king of a place beyond the Wall. A joke, many said, the product of the imagination of a child who had not even fully developed, or simply because he had proven to be a little more than ordinary, but still only a child.

However, no one could deny the wolf he rode — gigantic, larger than horses, big enough to devour men. Nor could they ignore the astonishment caused when four hundred thousand gold coins were delivered to House Stark by an eleven-year-old boy upon receiving the Crown of Winter from Lord Stark, who, after some years beyond the Wall, returned bringing with him wealth and a Valyrian steel sword: Dark Sister.

He disappeared and, some time later, returned with a fleet of two hundred ships to negotiate with Westeros. He did not stop at Driftmark and advanced directly to Dorne. At that time, his father was still alive and had been bewildered, questioning the maesters and all the most intelligent people he knew: how had a band of savages created a fleet of two hundred ships beyond the Wall?

And, according to the reports, those ships were nothing like the ones they had. They were built differently, their designs were different from the common ships that filled the port of Driftmark, but they also sailed much faster than anything known.

So much so that, later, Braavos negotiated directly with the king of Arctic, and he sold some ships in the middle of the negotiations. It was simply not known whether they had been sold for gold or for something else.

Certain rumors said that he had traded the ships for Rhaella’s crown, which had been lost after Viserys sold it for scraps as the beggar king in the gutters of Braavos. Later, it ended up in the hands of one of the keyholders of the Iron Bank, where Jon Arctic negotiated it during his stay in the city.

Braavos had been trying to study the ships since purchasing them, dismantling them and trying to understand their structure, but was facing difficulties even after 2 years. According to his spies in Braavos, the ships had proven what the rumors said, that they were part of the fastest fleet the world had ever seen sailing the seas.

At the time, his father had been deeply worried. Monford saw envy in his father’s eyes.

In any case, that was only a small part of his conquest. After the first negotiations, a war broke out, but with no glory at all for the king and the lords of Westeros. First in Oldtown, then came the destruction of the Redwyne fleet. Later, they were summoned, along with King Robert, to fight the one hundred and fifty ships coming from the Stepstones after they had destroyed an entire pirate fleet that had dared to take arms against the Arcticans. They took a city, resupplied, and then went north against the royal fleet.

And they saw that later, it seemed the Redwyne fleet had not been just a rumor. After hearing the absurdity that 200 ships had been completely destroyed, and not believing it, they advanced to face the fleet of 150 Arctican ships — until the launch of great harpoons by scorpions, which Monford remembered very well for having been there that day, when he saw all the ships being struck from a distance that should have been impossible, with them exploding the ships in wildfire.

His father had lost two thirds of his ships that day, and all they could do was flee. King Robert had fallen by the sword of the king beyond the Wall, and even though he was a child, the boy of only 15 namedays, who until then had been known as the bastard of Ned Stark, showed that they were more powerful than all the Lords of Westeros when it came to ruling the seas.

That was a great blow against the royal fleet and the Velaryon fleet.

Since then, his reputation had only grown. His father had died some time ago, but he received news that the Arctican fleet now numbered five hundred ships, trading with ports all across Essos and reaching limits his father had never achieved in his generation and many others before him.

Of course, there had been jealousy and anger: he had lost to a bastard who had created a fleet in the middle of a frozen wasteland. Velaryon was an ancient house, known for ruling the seas — how could there be someone so powerful coming from nowhere, with all circumstances against the boy?

But Monford still wondered what his father would think if he knew that the very man for whom he had felt so much anger and envy was, in truth, the son of the prince he loved and dreamed of seeing on the throne.

“Brother,” Aurane called him once more, unable to endure the silence any longer. Monford was looking out the window and finally turned to him.

“I called you so that you would prepare to travel with a ship,” he said.

Aurane could not help but raise an eyebrow. “You want me to go to Dragonstone? But haven’t we already settled everything with King Stannis? Why do you need to send me?” he asked suspiciously.

Monford merely shook his head. “It is not to Dragonstone that you are going. I want you to go north, to White Harbor.”

That left Aurane somewhat stunned. Go to the North when they were about to go to battle, take the Blackwater and King’s Landing?

“I should have done this much earlier, but I had no idea about the boy’s lineage…” He began.

‘The prince’s son, how did we never suspect that when Lord Stark brought the boy along with his sister’s body, he could have been her child and the Prince’s…’ He could not help but think, but before Aurane could question what his words meant, he continued.

“…I want you to go and find out everything about Jon Arctic, and whether there is any further sign of him. After all this confusion, we have heard nothing more about Arctic after everything that happened in Winterfell… Perhaps the Manderlys might know…” Monford began.

“You are talking about Aegon Targaryen, whom Lord Stark announced to all the realms?” his brother did not fail to look with suspicion and caution.

Monford gave a small smile. “House Velaryon has always been loyal to the Targaryens. Unfortunately, we have already sworn before King Stannis, and I intend to go to battle with him. I will leave my son and heir in Driftmark, but even so… if he is the son of Rhaegar — who, by the way, has still not died after 7 moons with no news — and being certain that he is a good ruler, one who was capable of making a kingdom prosper that no one had ever seen beyond the Wall, there is no reason not to support him in the future. That is why I want to place House Velaryon in support of his legitimate claim to the Iron Throne.”

The small speech left his brother stunned for a moment.

“Are you certain of this, brother? I was with you on Dragonstone, where we swore ourselves to Stannis. They will notice my absence. They will question why I am going to White Harbor.”

“Do not worry about that. First, you will go hidden aboard a merchant ship. Even with wars, trade still functions, and some of our captains are eager to sell certain goods. We have a few hours before the sun gives way…” he explained. The sun had still not returned to normal; in truth, there were only eight hours of daylight, and by mid-afternoon it was already gone.

Monford still remembered how that had affected all of Westeros. The sun had once lasted only three hours, and no one knew how to explain the reason. Some said it was due to a possible war in the North beyond the Wall, something no one truly understood — and precisely for that reason, most did not believe it was anything more than a strange event, as the maesters claimed.

“So I must go hidden…” Aurane murmured, and his brother nodded.

“I want you to prepare your things, wear a cloak, and go speak with Captain Durviron. You know him. I have already sent my message to him. He will take you in secret.”

With that, Aurane simply nodded and left the solar, while Monford watched him walk away. He then turned back to the sea once more, the sight of the dark, restless waters always calming him and giving him greater clarity of mind.

As far back as he could remember, they had served mad kings, drunken and reckless kings. And now they had a candidate for king to take the throne from the Lannister bastard. Still, Monford could not help but brood over this decision alone. He remembered very well what he had seen on Dragonstone.

He had seen the sept being burned, along with the septon, burned alive by the red witch. That made Lord Velaryon wary of Stannis; hearing the whispers coming from those red lips, full of visions and prophecies, while men were burned alive because of magic, made Stannis seem like another unstable king, perhaps even more cruel. No matter how much Monford respected him for being pragmatic, his actions with that witch… were troubling.

There were also rumors that the red religion itself supported Jon Arctic in the North, but the Red Witch of Dragonstone denied this, lying and saying that everyone was wrong.

That opinion was widespread; the Faith taught that Jon Arctic and the Arcticans were evil beings. They said the king of Arctic was cruel, massacring men of the Citadel, taking cities, destroying fleets, and killing thousands of people without hesitation.

But there were also rumors, unfiltered by the Faith of the Seven, that said he only fought when it was necessary, that he had saved Yi Ti, that he was the one who had freed the slaves of Slaver’s Bay and sent men to change the economic system of those cities with the support of the red religion.

This made Monford think that the stories about what had happened in Oldtown might have been somewhat altered by the Faith and by those who had been harmed by the Arcticans. Perhaps the maesters and the septons had not been as hospitable as they seemed, enough to be attacked in such a way by the boy.

“Perhaps he is a king worth following, better than any other who merely claims to have a crown on his head,” was all Monford murmured, still hypnotized by the sea. His next decisions now would define the future of his house.

On Dragonstone, Stannis Baratheon also seemed to be looking at the sea in the same way as Lord Velaryon, standing before the window of the chamber where the table with the map of Westeros was kept, used by Aegon the Conqueror.

“My king,” Lord Alester Florent approached, and Lord Stannis turned his gaze, staring at the man.

Lord Alester Florent bowed immediately.

“And then?” the king spoke in a harsh tone.

“All the ships are nearly ready. I am sending a letter to Driftmark so that they depart immediately and join us as we advance on King’s Landing. We will launch the attack in the coming weeks, as you requested.”

“That is good,” Stannis replied. “And the pirates?”

The question made the atmosphere grow somewhat heavy. “We tried to recruit all of them, gold attracted many of them well, but… pirates are something difficult to find at this moment…” the man murmured carefully.

Stannis could not help but draw his face into a scowl. Activities at sea had changed greatly in recent years, all thanks to a certain fleet with a power of destruction no one had ever seen in the history of the seas.

They could launch wildfire thanks to the damned giants that were supposed to be extinct, creatures four meters tall, strong enough to move giant scorpions that fired projectiles containing wildfire liquid, which exploded shortly after striking their targets. It was madness.

No ship or force at sea could fight them. Everyone had already seen that.

And the clashes between the Arcticans and the pirates, especially in the Stepstones, had left a void in the sea for illicit activities. The pirates who survived the extermination of thousands of them had gone into hiding, even with no Arctican ships on the sea in the last year… while others were reluctant to continue in the profession.

They could not attack even a single ship bearing the banner of the ice flake, for that was a guarantee of a painful and cruel death. Many abandoned that life, while others were reluctant to begin piracy.

Stannis was hiring pirates, obviously, to increase his power and seize King’s Landing. He had sent the Onion Knight, Davos Seaworth, one of his main trusted men, to negotiate with Braavos in search of support and gold.

However, when they arrived at the Iron Bank, they found only reluctance and refusal at first.

‘Why should we support him?’ was what they said to Davos. He argued about kings, about who would be the best candidate for the throne. Nonetheless, he insisted that Stannis was the best candidate for the throne and the one most capable of paying the debts to the Iron Bank.

They argued that there was also Rhaegar’s son, announced to all the realms, being the best candidate even for the bankers. After all, Arctic was very wealthy, and paying the Crown’s debt did not seem to be a problem — especially since Jon Arctic possessed great wealth deposited in the Iron Bank. And they were speaking of more than 7 million gold coins.

Even so, Davos argued that he was fighting a war of which no one there had any more news, seeming more like a fantasy than a real struggle, and that no one believed it, with him disappearing from the map for 7 moons.

Davos used strong arguments and, in the end, managed to convince some of them. The Iron Bank was divided. In truth, some looked upon Jon Arctic’s fortune with greed, seeking a good chance to take it for themselves. Others insisted that that kingdom would not fall, no matter what it was fighting, and that no one would want to feel Jon Arctic’s fury upon learning that the Iron Bank was supporting another king for the throne…

In the end, Davos did not secure the support Stannis desired, but he did obtain some of it, in gold, with certain keyholders cursing those who had supported that decision and warning that Jon Arctic might see Braavos as an enemy — especially after he had openly threatened the House of Black and White following the incident in Winterfell with the Faceless assassin.

Stannis had secured as many pirates as possible since then, though in smaller numbers than he had hoped. Lord Alester Florent was trying to find more pirate groups.

“Then have everyone ready, we will fight with what we have. We will soon conquer the Iron Throne,” Stannis replied with his habitual coldness. “You may go.”

Lord Alester Florent nodded and left the place. Just as he was about to exit, Melisandre entered the chamber, her red dress standing out, which immediately made the man bow, as if before the king himself.

“My lady,” he said, but Melisandre ignored him and continued walking toward where Stannis stood. After that, Lord Alester Florent left without saying anything more, accustomed to the cold behavior she displayed toward anyone who was not Stannis.

Stannis did not turn, already knowing she was there, merely feeling her feminine footsteps as she approached, resting against his shoulder and staring at him.

“Nervous, my king?” she asked in an amused tone.

He did not look at her, keeping his eyes fixed ahead. “No,” he replied, shortly.

“Of course not. I foresee a great victory. Soon the Iron Throne will be yours, and the Seven Kingdoms will kneel before your presence. Then the great war will come, and you will light the way with your flaming sword,” she said.

“Has the war not already begun? Are the dead not fighting the Arcticans at this very moment?” he asked, letting doubts show about her prophetic words.

She said that he was the chosen one, the one who would lead humanity against the Long Night, which, according to Melisandre, had already begun. The Long Night had started with only 3 hours of sunlight, but it was diminishing somehow, with the days growing longer again.

“They are fighting, yes. The Lord of Light wished it so. But they will fall. After all, you are the one meant to defeat the Great Other, not any other who calls himself king. He is merely a tool on the path for you to become what you were born to be, my king,” she said with conviction, as if she had already debated this with him many times that year.

Stannis was certain that he had already seen her show some doubt, but even so, she always claimed that he was the prince that was promised. In the end, it would be so: the throne was his, not that of some Targaryen named by that cursed Stark.

Lord Stark should have supported him! In the end, he had thrown his own claim into the trash to support a damned Targaryen he had fought for years to bring down, and had raised the prince’s son within his own house under the guise of a bastard.

That had made him lose much support. Many people who once looked at him with absolute loyalty began to feel doubt. Stannis felt the weight of it. His allies were growing less loyal with each passing day. Everyone’s eyes were now on the North, not out of fear of King Robb Stark, but of the forces that would come from beyond the Wall.

They had destroyed the Dothraki in open field — what would they do to the armies of Westeros?

The silence of the Arcticans over the last two moons — almost an entire year — was worse than any possible activity of theirs, for no one knew what was happening there. Even the ships that had been spoken of, sent to investigate, never returned. All of them disappeared. Even the Night’s Watch had been forced to send a large number of men, and in the end, all of them died, sacrificing their own Lord Commander.

But that did not matter now. He had his chance to make everyone bend the knee. He would show them all why they should follow him. If he conquered King’s Landing, his men would have no more doubts. He would be hailed as king of the Seven Kingdoms.

A few hours later, night fell over Driftmark. Aurane moved through the city in the midst of the darkness of night, a cloak covering his face, heading toward Captain Durviron, who was already waiting for him. The harbor was fully lit, even in the middle of the afternoon, already accustomed to the sun appearing for only eight hours in the sky over the past weeks.

“You are here,” the captain said, satisfied. He waved the man over, who did not even need to say his name, for his presence already said everything, as did the strands of platinum hair. Aurane merely nodded and boarded the ship.

Afterward, the captain explained where his quarters would be and led him there. Seated, Aurane thought about his brother’s plan: to go to White Harbor and question the Manderlys, who had given gifts to the Arcticans when Arya Stark, proclaimed Princess of Arctic, left the North. Perhaps they knew more information, and all Monford needed was to discover as much as possible, to know whether they were still alive and whether they would come or not. Lord Velaryon also wanted to know what they were like, to know how to deal with them.

Returning to Dragonstone, from an isolated corner of the island, the Onion Knight moved forward taking advantage of the darkness of night, while carrying a frightened boy.

“From here you will go to Driftmark and then take a ship, understood?” the Onion Knight said to the boy, who was none other than Gendry, used by the Red Woman as a tool in rituals. Davos feared the boy would be burned alive, like so many others had been.

“All right, sir,” the boy replied with difficulty, nervous.

Davos helped the boy into the skiff. The older man pushed the small craft, and at last it touched the water. The boy began to row, taking advantage of the fact that the night would be long — sixteen hours without sun — and thus they would have less chance of being seen.

In one of the windows of Dragonstone’s castle, red eyes stared at the small skiff in the midst of the darkness, not knowing what it was, only seeing a small stain in the middle of the night.

Then she did not care much. Melisandre turned her attention back to the flames in the hearth, seeking any sign of a message from her god, but she found nothing. Only flames.

She sighed; it would not be tonight that her god would speak to her.

She then prepared to sleep. Removing her necklace, she revealed herself to be an old woman of more than 100 years, repulsive enough to make any man vomit at the thought that behind the beautiful red lady there was someone in that form.

As long as no one saw her without the necklace, it did not matter. The old woman, now frail, took a box from beneath her bed as she opened it.

This was a gift she was meant to carry; her god had ordered it, and so she did. She had kept the box with her for years.

She opened it and inside there was a parchment.

It had always been a mystery to her; it seemed to be a painting…

What she did not know, as she closed the box and put it away to finally go to sleep that night, was that the paper was a third part of something greater.

The first part was in the possession of the Empress of Yi Ti, which later passed to her daughter, now married to Jon Arctic as a Queen of Arctic.

The second part was at the top of the Mother of Mountains, in Vaes Dothrak.

Those two had already been claimed and filled in the missing parts of the image that Jon Arctic found in Valyria, upon the map within the ruins of the ancient empire.

The third part was with Melisandre, without her knowing how important it was. And destiny would carry that piece north, to the one to whom it should belong, to finally complete the map.

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