Maester Vaegon Targaryen (103 A.C. fourth moon)
Seadragon Holt
Vaegon's solar.
Vaegon looked out his window, holding a raven scroll in his hand, one of Dussard's acolytes had brought him. Gazing at the forge his nephew had built as the sun was setting. Balerion lay beside it. During the day the dragon had occasionally blasted flames into a funnel. It was an odd structure, yet it defined Seadragon Holt. The strangeness of it was a mix of Winterfell and Dragonstone; it truly gave the keep a unique appearance.
The first true snow had begun to fall over a moon ago, yet the sun was still strong enough to melt it. It wasn't like the summer snows that sometimes arrived in the North; those could bury parts of the land for weeks. This is a mystery of the Citadel even after thousands of years. Although many of the correspondences he received from the Citadel spoke of autumn's arrival, it meant only one thing: winter was coming. His good-sister's house words always came true in the end. Yet here in the North, the autumn season meant early snow, and hopefully one more harvest of the winter crops before the ground froze solid.
Still, Vaegon did not worry, Seadragon Point had a harbor that would be able to ship in food for the surrounding lands. Yet Seadragon Point itself had food enough, its surrounding lands were fertile, and Aemon had worked with glassblowers from Myr, whom he had bought, freed, and employed in his service. They had helped design the glass gardens of Seadragon Point, based on the one in Winterfell. Even if they could not use hot springs as a heat source here, Aemon had incorporated an innovation in many of the new buildings at Seadragon Point: pipes that pumped hot water, heated in a furnace, flowing through the walls. That furnace was also part of the keep's personal smithing forge; well in the city, where possible, the same method was used. The only problem was still the water accessibility, and Aemon was already working on a solution for that one.
As for the glassmaking did not come without cost. The sand had to be brought from Dorne, a heavy burden on the coffers, and Myrish glassmakers were expensive purchases. Yet it was necessary to ensure Seadragon Point could produce its own glass. The Lordship of Seadragon Point would expand, as would the city itself. It had already become one of the more thriving industries in the southern part of town.
The discovery Aemon and Balerion had made ensured that fuel was now plentiful. The dragon had been expanding the dragoncaves. When Balerion dug, he used his flames to blast at the rocks, cracking and melting them. Then Balerion dug with his strong, giant legs. At some point, Balerion had stumbled upon stonecoal. It was rare to find the grounds; he knew the lands around the Roynar held similar grounds. In addition to the lands of Senori, records showed that it was found their too. They, yet finding a vein in North, laid out the possibility of more. Small pockets around the Greenblood River in Dorne, as well as smaller rivers in Dorne itself. Vaegon often wondered where it came from or how deep the vein went. If it were large, it could sustain them for many centuries, as even smaller pockets were known to last for long periods of time, depending on usage. Aemon had ordered a new mine built, far from the dragon's excavations. Yet near enough so they would be able to find them.
Another byproduct of Balerion's digging was shattered rock and shards. Some stones looked almost like gemstones, and Aemon had sent a merchant south to see if they would sell, and they did. The merchant had returned with quite a fortune. Aemon had named dragongems. Then there were the glass-like shards, and both he, Aemon, and Dussard agreed it was likely dragonglass or at least similar. Aemon had eyed the shard with hope and promise, and Vaegon had wondered what that was about.
Still, Vaegon shook his head more than once at the strangeness of this all. It truly felt like something in the world that he knew something was changing. By all accounts, how Aemon had built the keep shouldn't have worked. It should have produced only shattered rock and glass shards, like Balerion blasting did. Yet whatever Aemon did in that magical ritual of his had changed the process. The stone fused and allowed itself to be reshaped, creating marvelous works.
Vaegon could watch for hours as his nephew worked. In those moments, he saw his father in the boy. And yet behind Aemon's study, behind his lessons, was a silent determination.
Vaegon smiled as he walked toward the forge, where his nephew had been since dawn. As he arrived, he saw Ser Harrold Westerling and Ser Jeffery Waters.
"How long has he been inside, Sers?" he asked.
"He's come out twice, once to get some food and drink, and once to go to the privy," Ser Jeffery replied, with a chuckle.
"Hmm. Busy like my father. Aemon has his own labors, it seems," Vaegon noted, shaking his head.
"Indeed, he has. And look what he has brought into the world. Truly blessed by whatever gods have favored him," Harrold said seriously.
"Indeed. Dreams are powerful things. They saved my family in the past. And as Aemon says, it has brought these creations back, " Vaegon added, gesturing to what was all around them.
"I have news for him," showing the scroll. As if summoned, the doors of the forge opened. Out came a soot-covered prince of the realm, his eyes bright with delight.
Aemon Targaryen (103 A.C. fourth moon)
The Valyrian Forge.
A few moments earlier
"Sagon jin naejot, sagon hen vekhat. Sagon daor haji Valyria," he chanted each time. (By fire and blood, let the iron be fire. By the blessing of Valyria.) Each time, he chanted the words in the forge he had built in the inner holding of Seadragon Holt.
As he said that, he felt something burn and knew it was the damn glyph on his chest, the fire glyph. It was something Balerion had told him was needed, together with his and Balerion's blood. There was another way that he would never do. The fire and blood glyphs on his flesh, and the sacrifice of his own blood, were enough, and the final tempering in dragonblood.
After the folding of the steel was done, he hammered the steel into the shape of a seax, something he could test. It was something odd, sharpening of Valyrian steel, one needed it glowing hot, unlike normal steel. After tempering the steel, it could not be sharpened again, at least that's what Baleron had told him. That was the saying, if one used a whetstone on Valyrian steel, one would need a new whetstone. After sharpening, he touched it, and blood flowed from his finger.
"One more time, my friend." He asked Balerion. Balerion's flames came through the funnel and sent the blade straight into Balerion's flame. After it was glowing white with heat, he pulled out the coals and black flames and tempered the blade in the boiling blood of Balerion.
The blade hissed, and a small burst of flames burst to the surface.
"Now or never," he whispered to himself. He started to pull the blade out of the blood.
"Don't worry, my friend; you have labored hard these past years and studied all I had to teach. It will work, a newly forged weapon of Valyrian steel," Balerion reassured him.
"It bloody worked!" Aemon exclaimed, as his heart pounded in his chest. All of Balerion's teachings in stonesinging, metalwork, dragon care, lore of the Freehold, and writing had paid off. He had always kept it close until the stonesinging from Seadragon Holt. Yet the stonesinging was something only his house could truly do. The knowledge of Valyrian steel, however, was too valuable to let loose into the world. How many men would try to use vile means to make the steel? He thought, as he marveled at the seax.
He looked at the seax more closely; there were no cracks or bends in the blade, only a newly forged Valyrian steel seax. "I did it, Balerion. I didn't think it would work," he exclaimed through their bond.
"Did I say it wouldn't, my friend?" Balerion asked mockingly. He walked out with the seax after he had attached the guard and pommel to the blade, opening the door of the Valyrian smithy.
"My prince, you were in there for numerous hours; we were worried you had passed out from the heat. I would have come in if the sun had gone under," Ser Harrold said, half relieved, and Ser Jeffery and his uncle nodded in turn.
It was true the sun was setting in the western seas, and he had entered after his fast, only coming out twice for food and to take a piss.
"Well, it was all worth it, Sers. Uncle look," he said proudly, presenting the seax to Ser Harrold, who looked at him with wide eyes, gaping at the seax. His uncle and Ser Jeffery did much the same.
"By all the gods, it does look like Valyrian steel. May I feel it, Your Grace?" Ser Harrold asked, voice still awestruck.
"Of course, Ser. Try it, please," he said, handing the blade to him. The guard of the seax was made of silver, shaped into dragon wings. The handle was engraved with dragon scales, and the pommel was made of white ivory, carved into the head of a wolf with small red gemstones for it's eyes.
"It feels like Valyrian steel, Your Grace. I had the pleasure of testing your father's sword once. It feels similar. A true work of art, and it honors both sides of your family, it seems," Ser Harrold said, examining the seax.
"Indeed, Ser. I hoped it would. A smaller blade, more useful in a shield wall." Ser Harrold's eyes lit up, and he nodded in approval.
"Nephew, what you have done here is a true miracle. This craft, and what we see around, has been lost since the Doom. Yet the Citadel and many in the realm will not be happy. Or they will envy this newfound power, as we all know the might of Valyrian steel weapons and armor, as well as its value," Vaegon stated, his eyes fixed on the seax.
Aemon had, in the beginning, doubted Vaegon's loyalty, whether he was a grey rat or not. Yet during their time together, alongside Harrold and his steward, Vaegon had become one of his most trusted advisors. Even Dussard, if he passed the final test, would be counted among them.
"I know, uncle. And it will not leave Seadragon Holt. This secret shall not leave this place on pain of death," he stated as he gave them all a stern look. They nodded, and his uncle gave a small smile. "Stay on guard. I will make sure everything inside is cleaned up. Then we will test if we can trust Maester Dussard or if Balerion has a nice snack today," he said with a grin, heading back inside the Valyrian smithy.
Leaving the blood to boil was one of the necessities for forging. The dragon blood seemed different than other blood; it didn't dry up when it boiled, only when it cooled and dried, turning into a soft powder. Something he kept in barrels and wondered if it had any other properties.
He picked up the book of lore he had written over the years and closed the smithy, hanging the key around his neck.
"Shall we, Ser Harrold? Wrap this around the blade," he ordered, giving Harrold a piece of cloth.
They walked across the courtyard toward the keep. Aemon looked around and smiled. Seadragon Holt was truly coming along. Soon enough, it would probably be the second fortress in the North, surpassing the Dreadfort, though not Winterfell. Yet in other things like trade, and population, it would hopefully rival White Harbor in time, he mused as they walked on.
Soon they arrived at the main doors of the keep, where part of his household guard, formed over the year, was waiting. There were other side entrances, but unlike the main door, they had double doors, one of wood and the other of iron, with a portcullis behind it, as well as a secret pathway that his builders were currently digging, so he could arrive at the dragon caves in case of dire need.
He knew what had happened during the Dance. As much as the Dragonpit was a marvel of power for his house, it was quite isolated from the Red Keep. There was no easy passage toward it, as far as he knew. The Rhaenyra of that timeline had been weak in that moment, although after the losses she had suffered, she was probably broken, frozen in fear. If she could have done anything, it was to burn the rabble that killed the dragons. Like Maegor had done with the inhabitants of Sept of Remembrance. Truly, the Faith had broken its oath. Maegor had challenged them to trial by seven, and by that right, he should have been king and recognized by the Faith. Yet Maegor had won, yet the Sept still stood defiant. So Maegor burned them in fire and blood.
The men opened the gates and greeted him. Soon, they stepped into the main hallway that led to the great hall, the dragon drum, and other parts of the keep. Over a moon ago, the entire keep had been finished built. After that, firemasonry had taken place in the keep, decorating the chambers, halls, and hallways. It was done with a liquid like wildfire, yet far more stable, and he named it weldfire. One would use a drop of one's blood to drop on the stone, then use the liquid to light it and say the words "stone" and "blood." The stone would then become hot for about an hour and could be molded into different shapes and sizes. One would still need a stone and a blood glyph to work the spell.
He had currently employed three skilled stonemasons to work on it, all of whom had taken a blood oath, or been sworn under weirwood: if they let the secret slip, they would be marked for death, themselves and their families. Yet those three men had done their jobs with skill, had been paid well, and had been promised comfortable apartments in the future servant hold.
As they walked on, they came to the next pair of doors, which let out a dragon's drum; it was guarded by two more men. "Fargus, Tim, how are you doing today, and how are your wives?" he asked kindly.
"It's been a fine day, my prince. Marci is currently busy nursing my second boy," Fargus replied.
"Take good care of them," he noted with a smile, before turning to Tim.
"As Fargus said, it's been a fine day. As for Deby, she is well, my prince. We're currently trying for our first child," Tim said, a small blush creeping up to his cheeks.
"Very good. We need more strong men like you, or girls," he added, grinning.
The guards opened the doors, and they walked in. They arrived in a small hall, leading to different parts of the drum tower. Aemon took the left, where the main staircase was. He walked up to the first level. The rest waited, as was custom. They knew that place was his and his alone. This was his private study, and only he had a key to the place. It took up the entire first level. Yet it was one of the most important parts of Seadragon Holt.
Aemon placed the smithing book down in a chest, where he also kept his other books, those he had written himself, as well as the history of what he remembered of the world after the Dance. There was also the damn book that was his life before all this. Arya and his mother had helped with both. It was valuable information, even if that past probably would never come to pass.
As he walked toward the section that held his animals, the ones he was warging with. He went to one of the pens that held his mice. He would need one of them soon to test Dussard. He had done it before, and so far, Dussard had proven loyal to him. But the creation of Valyrian steel was a whole different matter.
He looked toward the larger opening where his own messenger eagles landed and waited. He stroked one of their heads, and it croaked softly. It was a private line of communication between his mother and him. He had raised them himself when he was in Winterfell, and the bond was so strong he could warg into them even from there. He could easily guide them to Seadragon Point. He was also working on seeing if an alternative to ravens could be established, so the Citadel didn't hold the only means of long-distance messaging. It was one of his long-term plans: to dismantle the Maesters' grip on knowledge in Westeros.
He sighed and walked out of the chambers, closing the door behind him, the small mouse waiting patiently in his pocket.
As they walked down and back out the doorway, they went left, toward one of the main stairways. The main keep had two, and the drum tower had one for itself. Aemon walked on, still marveling at the stonework, and hoped that, in time, he could give the stones more coloring. As much as he enjoyed the look of the fused stone, some more color other than black was something he wouldn't turn away from. Yet dyes and paints were expensive, as were skilled workers to apply them, as were other forms of decoration. Still, Balerion's gemstones had already brought in quite a bit of extra income. So hopefully, in time, he could start decorating the place, even if some of his nameday gifts had helped with it. Targaryen and Stark tapestries were already in the more important place of the holdfast.
They went up two levels and took the left hallway, where they arrived at the doors of the rookery. Vaegon had his personal residence in the drum tower; Maester Dussard and his acolytes had their lodgings in the rookery.
As they opened the doors, the acolytes all stopped their work. Some were cleaning, others scribing something.
"Continue your work," he ordered, and with a small bow, they all did. One acolyte named Jarrold still muttered, "My prince."
Soon, they stepped into Maester Dussard's personal chambers. As they entered, Jeffery closed the door behind them. The maester looked up and greeted them all.
"How can I be of service, my prince?" Dussard questioned.
"Maester Dussard, I have something I wish to share with you. I have made a discovery, a creation, if you will," Aemon said.
"Truly, my prince? What might that be? Nothing of peril, I hope. You have done great work at the keep and in the land. As I've said before, I was more than pleased when I heard I was to be stationed at your keep. I hear you were always a bright young man, stonesinging, firemasonry, weldfire, and how you have so far conducted yourself as Prince and Lord are testaments to that. The Old Gods have blessed you. The dreams, they have a sense of true vision," Dussard noted eagerly.
Aemon smiled at the man. Dussard was a Northerner, and that was a good sign, considering all he said. Yet how could he be sure it wasn't all talk, a front of lies?
"Ah, that's good to hear, Dussard. Ser Harrold, if you please," he gestured to the knight, who laid the covered seax on the maester's desk. "Remove the cloth, and you will understand what I mean," he said to Dussard.
The maester did so and gaped at the seax in shock. While he quietly slipped the mouse into the maester's chamber. He retrieved the mouse from his pocket and placed it gently on the table. Harrold smiled a knowing smile as he saw the mouse slip behind the closet.
"Your Grace… am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?" he asked, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Yes, Dussard. That is Valyrian steel. I just forged the blade, and I will not have the word spread. Is that clear, Dussard? This isn't something that can be made on a whim," Aemon said, his tone authoritative.
The man gulped and nodded. "Of course, my prince. Your will is my command and any lord who rules this land," Dussard said, his voice shaky.
"Good. It would be wise for you to learn more about this in the coming weeks. I'm planning to make more Valyrian steel. This is just a seax. Tomorrow, I shall begin forging a larger weapon, and hopefully, in time, maybe even armor. I would like you to document your learning. I know that some Qohorik smiths can reforge Valyrian steel, but that is not the same. This is newly forged Valyrian steel, something not seen since the Doom. People would kill for the truth. So I will tell you now: betray me and this secret, and I will bring fire and blood upon you and your family," he said with a low growl, making the man turn as white as milk.
"I wish you a good day. I shall see you on the morrow, Maester. Don't be late," he said, leaving Dussard in his chambers.
Then they walked back to his chambers, on the fifth level of the drum tower.
"Jeffery, wait outside. Harrold, uncle join me, please," he said.
"So what now?" Vaegon asked.
"I will show you. Don't panic, uncle. Soon you will discover something people think is a legend," he noted, with a small smile, as he sat down in a chair. Then he turned to Harrold. "You know what to do."
"Of course, my prince. I'll hold the watch," Harrold replied with a smile.
Then Aemon searched for the warg bond with the mouse. He felt it, and his eyes rolled back. He heard his uncle gasp before he was in the study of Dussard. The mouse climbed up the case, and Aemon saw Dussard. The man was nervously muttering to himself.
"This is the moment of your oath, Dussard. Either you stay loyal to the crown and your prince or remain loyal to the Citadel, the same Citadel that made you vow to end all magic and unnatural things. But you are a Northerner as well; you know of the Wall, the legends of the Long Night, and my gods. I was told they are nothing more than trees in that damn place.
"Yet here I am, in a place of wonder, some blessed by the Old Gods. Prince Aemon has rediscovered the secret of the making of Valyrian steel and other things long thought forgotten.
"When I went to the Citadel to learn more, they wanted me to destroy the world's dragons and magic, fearing what they didn't understand. It undermines their power. Damn them and all the gods," the man muttered.
"Let them be ignorant of a truth they cannot control or understand. I will not. I will stand beside a man who wishes to make steps forward, not stay stuck in the past, fearing change."
"I will hold to my vow to the crown and to my brilliant prince. I pledge my mind and loyalty to the man who rediscovered the secret on how to make Valyrian steel. That's better than anything those old men at the Citadel have done," he said, then burned the letter he had written.
After that, Aemon blacked out the warg connection and returned to his chambers.
So, Rhaegar was right. How many of his family, or family members, might have died because of them? Because of their fear of blood… of their connection to dragons? He wondered if they knew of the connection to magic that the Starks have. The maesters were mostly ignorant of that. Otherwise, he wouldn't be surprised if the same thing happened to them, he thought. Slightly shaken, and if he could, he would make sure Aemma would survive Baelon's birth.
"My Prince?" Harrold asked, looking concerned.
"Uncle, Harrold… it seems we have a loyal maester," he said, with a smirk.
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