Early to Mid 109 AC – Isle of Women (Abulu)
Dromarin POV
"Spread out the seeds, Laria." Dromarin said loudly as he tapped his staff against the stone barrier of the terraced farm. "Use the line of the wall as a guide on where to spread the seeds." He added as he gazed down from the upper most terrace farm.
The soil could not sustain good growth of crops if there were too many seeds planting in the same location. The soil they imported every year from the Summer Islanders may be good but the weather was too frigid on their island so they had to be careful with what and how they planted.
"Yes grandsire!" Laria shouted out and he could her childish frustration in her voice as she continued to spread seeds from her basket though he could see her regain her focus.
'Good' Dromarin thought to himself as he walked achingly across the stone wall that functioned as a path. His granddaughter may only be one and ten namedays and hated working in the field, but everyone needed to do their part for their community, his eyes parting from his working granddaughter to the others who were planting seeds.
Young and old, there were none who did not do their duty and work for the community. It had been like that since the day Nymera and Druselka abandoned them here.
Dromarin continued to walk along the length of the wall, his old eyes studying the laid stone for any that might need replacing. Though rain was sparse, when rain did fall, it fell like waves upon shores, drowning land and stone with hard rain.
It was part of why they had such difficulty growing crops on the flatter lands and the terrible rock soil only made it worse.
For generations, they struggled to feed themselves but, with time and desperation, they managed to tame the island and its harshness and managed to succeed in sustaining their people from the land and the seas.
Dromarin made his way down the steps that ran down the side of the terraced farms, his eyes washing over them and the stones that kept the soil and the sandy and rocky soil that lay beneath. That was until Second Cataclysm.
It took them another two hundred years before they developed this method of farming, high on the mountain and beyond the easy grasp of pirates that had plagued his ancestors for generations after the Second Cataclysm, where they built on the lone mountain, building terraced farms where they laid the imported rich fertile soil of the Summer Isles on top where underneath, there was sandy and rocky soil which itself was on top of gravel and rocks.
The terraces never flood as the water is filtered down through the soils and stones until it sinks into the mountain below where the rain gets collected in caves and in aqueducts that fed into the many wells that their people and their livestock used.
Dromarin gazed upon his people who worked to plant the seeds in time for harvest. The few scrolls that remained were long written after the Second Cataclysm, though the memory of it had still been fresh in the minds of the generations after, and had spoken of the despair that had befallen on his ancestors in the years and decades after their people had been whittled down to just a thousand.
Even now, centuries later, as Dromarin looked upon the hundreds of people who were planting seeds, their numbers had only surpassed half the numbers of the time of what sadly could be considered to be their golden age, and it had been a true struggle to reach even that number.
They were still plagued by pirates who sought to enslave them, though they found it not easy for their people had learnt and were all learned in the art of the spear, girl and boy and women and men alike, and they often lost too many to them, he thought bitterly, but they were as good a place they had been in centuries, he thought with some bitter sweetness as he tapped the butt of the spear against the weathered steps their ancestors carved into the mountain as he made his way down towards the path that lead up to a series of steps that would take him to the villages topside.
It was on this path that he saw a few of the boys running up the steps towards him, boys that should be on the water fishing and he knew immediately something was wrong and there could only be one thing that would send these boys racing up the steps in such a fashion.
"Elder!" the boy named Cyrenn called out in a pant as he raced up the last few steps. "Ships are approaching! Quentyn has rallied everyone to the fortress!"
Dromarin's hand tightened onto his staff as he thought on the situation. He had hoped that the last few years of peace would last a while longer. "Go." Dromarin said hurriedly "Get the others." Quentyn had sent these boys to call upon all men and women still strong enough to wield a spear, Dromarin knew.
The boys scurried off and before long, as he made his way towards the juncture of stairway that would lead directly to the fortress' southern side, scores of men and women with their spears ran down the steps towards the fortress and Dromarin kept an eye out for his granddaughter and he caught her by the arm when she tried to pass him by.
"No. You're too young. You know the rules." Dromarin said sternly as he looked upon his granddaughter's deviant face.
Their people were too few and should the worst happen, the young must be plentiful enough so that their people could carry on. Those like him would be burdened with teaching them all that their people knew so that the little they knew and remembered would not be forgotten.
"The rules are stupid! I'm the best with the spear amongst my age! I could help!" she said angrily as she tried to jerk her arm free from his grasp. 'Alleras, your daughter is a handful' Dromarin said with a sigh and he let go off his staff and placed his free hand onto her shoulder, holding her still.
"Laria of House Trebor!" Dromarin said with a strong voice that verged just below shouting and it made her fight less against him as she looked at him with desperate and betrayed eyes.
"You are the last of our family, Laria. My family. You cannot fight." Dromarin said firmly as he met his granddaughter's brown eyes. She was his last surviving grandchild, her brother Borinn having been taken by the winter chill two years ago.
Out of six children and four grandchildren, she was his only family from his seed left.
"What would our family legacy be if I abandon the fight like Nymera and the others abandoned our family, grandfather?!" Laria said angrily as she managed to jerk free her arm from his grasp though his hand was still on her shoulder.
"Father would want me to fight the pirates like he did!" Laria added and a smack rang as his hand connected with her left cheek, turning her face to the right.
"Your father doesn't want anything more." His voice was still bitter despite nearly a decade having past by, his hand resting heavy on her shoulder.
"I am left t-" he stumbled as his hand that been on Laria's shoulder gave way when she twisted and crouched suddenly felt nothing but air and as he caught his balance once more and tried to grab at her, and failed, soon he saw nothing but her back as she raced down towards the fortress, a feeling dismay washing over him.
"Laria!" he called out after her yet he heard nothing in response and he quickly, as much as he could, followed suit as others from the villages above raced passed him.
He arrived at top of the steps that lead down the pass into the fortress, a fortress that was carved into the mountain where all on sides except for the pass at the back of the fortress was rocky and sharp and incredibly difficult to climb, and impossible for lazy pirates, and saw in the distance two large ships and a single rowboat that was approaching the shores and he frowned heavily at the sight.
This was not ordinary pirates as they would have come with more than just two ships and would have launched a dozen rowboats to attack.
The ships were clearly not Swan ships either, and thus very unlikely to be Summer Islanders too who had never come to their island for as long as he had lived, which was why he could not discount that these were not pirates, and all in all, he was…unsure what this situation was.
He heard shouting down the fortress, shouting that echoed against the rocks of the pass, a feature they often used to relay messages back to the top as the channels they carved into the mountain carried sound well, and he made his way down to the fortress.
The hundreds of warriors were surrounding the leaders of the warband, Quentyn and Obella, who were arguing about whether or not they were to meet the pirates on the rowboat on the shore…and whether or not they were to kill them or to take them for interrogation.
It seemed that they were just as confused as to what was happening.
"We should not attack until we have to." The one and twenty Quentyn said harshly as Dromarin made his way through the crowd of warriors, his eyes searching for his granddaughter who he had yet to see amongst the bodies of warriors.
"Boy, you're advocating for things you do not understand." The eight and forty nameday old Obella said calmly as she stared down Quentyn, her likely successor as the primary leader of the warband.
"These are not Summer Islanders coming to trade. They have not come to our shores for ten generations. They have no reason to come today." Obella said with authority, and her words were keenly agreed by with the rest of the warriors.
Their people might to go Walano or the other smaller islands near it to trade for their soil and their fruits twice a year, but beyond that?
"Even if you say that it could not possibly be the Summer Islanders, we see only one boat coming to our shores which is clearly a sign that they do not come with foul intent. Provoking them when there is no need is folly!" Quentyn returned heatedly and Dromarin sighed knowing that the young man had a point though it seemed that his words divided their warband more than the words of Obella did.
"There is only one reason why others would come to our island, boy, and it has been so for as long as we have made this island our home." Obella gestured with her spear towards the direction of the shore beyond the walls of the fortress as she spoke again "And that boat carries those who wish to see what our strength is."
This had gotten approvals from the elder warriors and a good few of the younger warriors that were not in Quentyn's camp alike.
"We can decide after they've come to shore." Dromarin said before Quentyn could respond and eyes turned to him. He continued "We know the likes of pirates and slavers. That should drive our decision." Dromarin said and it was then that he saw his granddaughter stand amongst a group of youngers, older boys and girls that he'd seen her practice with countless of times.
She'd tied her long brown hair into a tail and seemed to be given an old weathered wooden shield that Dromarin did not think could remain intact after more than one or two blows. Yet from the look on her face, he could see that she would not be dissuaded from her course.
"Dromarin." Obella said respectfully even if her face was cold as she stared at him. "It would be a mistake."
"No, it would be a mistake to cause a conflict if there is not a need, Obella. You know as well as I do the cost of conflict. Are you so eager to see more of our kin follow our children to death, when there might not be a need?" Dromarin's voice was quiet and he knew it was a low blow but the older warriors really should know better than to let their anger speak for them.
Quentyn looked at him with a grateful expression on his face. How strange it was that the younger generation was more careful and mindful of the lives of their people than their elders who should be the ones with the pearls of wisdom.
Dromarin looked around and saw that his words resonated with the majority and that was all that he needed. And all that Quentyn needed as he began to speak again, and began making strategies and assigning people to tasks and groups.
He himself was tasked to go speak with the foreigners.
"I should run you with my spear, Dromarin." Obella said coldly as they walked on the stony shore towards the men by the beached boat.
"You hadn't done it five and twenty years ago for a graver offense, Obie. I wouldn't think you would be so angry for truthful words." Dromarin said as he glanced at her and saw that she wore the same cold face though he could see the anger in her eyes.
"Ghoyan isn't here anymore to make me to think again and his memory has long since faded." Obella said calmly but the intent of her words were anything but calm as she mentioned the name of his first born son of his first wife.
Ghoyan had wooed Obella who had been eight years his older and a woman much vied for, for she had been a beauty and the best warrior amongst her generation, and had been a man any father could proudly call son and any woman proudly call husband.
Both Ghoyan and Mors, Obella's and Ghoyan's only child, had died in the deadliest and heaviest slaver attack for over four generations, along with his eldest daughter and third son.
Whilst Dromarin had lost much of his vigour in the wake of the deaths of three of his children and a grandchild, Obella had instead turned colder, incredibly careless that most mistook for bravery and skill and even more so brutal, having lead their warriors on two other occasions pirates and slavers attacked their island, brutally impaling the surviving slavers and pirates onto the shore for the seagulls to pick at.
Dromarin's nodded silently as he looked towards the men by the boat who he could tell from their dark skin were most certainly Summer Islanders, much to his relief though it was tempered with heavy wariness.
They came to a stop some hundred metres from the Summer Islanders and the Summer Islanders made their way towards them.
"I am Sodhabbas Qhaxos" the Summer Islander said in Rhoynish, his head bowed, catching both he and Obella by surprise though neither of them showed it to them.
Qhaxos was a noble name, a Prince's name at that. "Why have you come, Summer Islander of Omboru? Your people have not come to our island for as long as we have been here." He kept his voice level even if he felt some bitterness about it.
The Summer Islanders had kept their distance from their island, from their people, since the moment they 'gave' them this rock to settle many centuries ago.
He'd been to one of their islands before, when he'd been a young man.
To see their lands so rich and lush, in comparison to their practically barren rock they fought with blood and hunger to make worth something, was something that stuck with him, and he imagined, had stuck in the mind of all of his ancestors.
Qhaxos inclined his head respectfully. "I have not come on the behalf of the Princes of the Summer Isles. I have come on the behalf of Prince Aegon of House Targaryen, the last of the Dragonlord families."
"Obella, wait!" Dromarin's voice was sharp as Obella raised her spear. and Dromarin stepped across from her, initiating some hesitancy in her, enough for him to catch her gaze and, as he turned around to hide his face from the Summer Islanders, he did all he could to signal to her to understand him as he looked upon her with an expression that he hoped she would understand as 'we cannot fight against one of them'
It seemed to drag like a lifetime, when their eyes met and finally, Obella regained her wits and brought down the butt of her spear to the ground and Dromarin let off a silent sigh of relief.
"We have heard of this Dragonlord. What does this Dragonlord want from us, Summer Islander?" Dromarin asked calmly, not acknowledging what had just transpired and he turned around to face the man who looked onto them warily and unsettled whilst the other Summer Islanders had their hands on their swords now.
"He has a proposal for you, Lord…" Qhaxos trailed off with an expectant tone.
"You may call me Elder." Dromarin said, unwilling to share his name amidst the rising concern about the whole situation that was fast growing far too fraught and he asked the Summer Islander "What does the Dragonlord want from us?"
"The Dragonlord does not want from you, rather he wants for you, Elder." Qhaxos said meaning behind his words and Dromarin narrowed his eyes.
Qhaxos continued after the silence from both him and Obella, who gratefully was letting him do the speaking and acting, "Prince Aegon has learnt of your…" Qhaxos took especial care to look around "harsh situation and has bid me to present you an offer that would see your people prosper in a different land and, in time, come to grow numerous enough to be able to take back your river Rhoyne and your ancestral lands and keep it."
"What?" Obella's incredulous and harsh voice sounded out exactly what Dromarin was thinking "You must think us fools to believe such nonsense." Obella sneered coldly at the Summer Islander as her hand tightened on her spear and she was unfazed by the looks of concern from the armed Summer Islanders as she stared down Qhaxos.
"This is nothing more than a scheme to enslave more of the last of the Rhoynar. Foolish and stupid as always but this new scheme of yours truly descends into a new low even for your kind, slaver." Obella spat out and this made the Summer Islanders bristle in anger.
"We are no slavers." Qhaxos said sternly, anger showing in his face "Do not accuse us of such monstrosity, not when us all have felt the bite of chains around our wrists and feet!"
Obella scoffed "You claim to have been slaves?" Obella looked them up and down "Some kind of slave you are." Obella mocked and Dromarin knew that she was trying to provoke them into showing their true colours.
He did nothing to stop her. He also needed this scheme to come to an end and he'd happily die if he had to.
"We were captured but not yet sold. Prince Aegon and his people destroyed the camps in the Basilisk Isles before they could sell us on the markets on the mainland." Qhaxos said to them.
"The gods smiled on you then." Obella said mockingly as she smiled bitterly and Qhaxos nodded to her words.
"Aye."
"Yet you work for the Dragonlord instead of your own people?" Dromarin asked leadingly as he studied the man trying to discern his deceptions.
"I owe him and his people a debt that I must repay."
"In the end, you're still in chains working for another." Obella bit out cruelly.
"Are we all not in chains in some way or another? I and my fellows to our debt, and you to your people to ensure your community survives?" Qhaxos returned and this made Obella scowl lightly at the man though she did not immediately respond.
"We do not believe you nor do we believe you are here on the behalf of this…Dragonlord." Dromarin interjected.
He'd heard from the others that had gone to the Summer Isles over the past five years that a Dragonlord had taken roost on Walano along with his wife and children, all of whom had dragons of their own.
He had difficulty believing even when there were too many accounts for it not to be true. Dragons…truly still existed and had still existed for over two centuries even after the Doom of Valyria.
"He is willing to come here and speak with you." Qhaxos immediately said and Dromarin ignored it though it was not easy when he spoke again.
"What is this offer of new land he is offering?"
Some time later, Qhaxos and the other Summer Islanders returned to their boat and he was left to walk back towards the fortress with Obella, his mind astray with heavy thoughts.
"You're considering it?" Obella asked and he was startled out of his thoughts and turned to look at her.
"If it is truly an honest offer…"
Obella scoffed and her face was marred with bitterness and scorn "What honestness can we expect from a Dragonlord? You know the tales, Dromarin. We would be casting aside ancient wisdom."
"To call frightful stories ancient wisdom is beyond the pale, Obel