A hidden cove south of Tolos
Aemon had been forced to wait another week for Orys to arrive.
It wasn't ideal. In fact, it created a fresh problem.
He needed Orys—needed the ships and manpower to haul the chests filled with the surviving knowledge, artifacts and riches of Valyria. But every passing day gnawed at his nerves. He wanted to return to Dragonstone as soon as possible, he wanted to reach there before the words of his injury reached his siblings.
If Rhaenys heard them before he arrived in person, she would panic. She would imagine the worst. And he didn't want that—not for her, not for any of his siblings.
Now, at last, all the ships were loaded. Every chest was accounted for. Tomes, gold, jewels, artifacts, surviving relics of a dead empire—everything secured in the holds. Orys would oversee the voyage, handle the crew, and ensure nothing was misplaced or stolen. Those who needed dealing with could be handled later on, once they were back.
Aemon stood, watching as the first sails unfurled in the breeze. He would provide them security in the areas known for piracy, but after that he will fly directly to Dragonstone.
It had been long—over ten months since he had left Dragonstone. And by the time he returned, it would be more than eleven. Almost a full year of killings in Grasslands, and of plundering, chasing myths and shadows across the ruins of Valyria. A year of fire, blood and madness.
But soon, he would be home, with his loved ones.
________________________________________________________________________
Dragonstone
Thankfully, Aemon had returned to Dragonstone before word of his injuries ever reached its shores. For once, he was grateful that his family lacked a proper spy network. This had spared his family days of misery—and spared him the efforts to handle that mess later on.
Still, there was no avoiding it once he arrived.
After hearing everything that happened in Valyria, Aegon and Visenya had scolded him, their words were full of concern and love beneath their anger. And his sister-wife, his love… Rhaenys had been inconsolable at the thought of almost loosing him. She hadn't left his side since then.
He hadn't even tried to stop her. Actually, he was loving spending more time with her.
As for the treasures he had brought back—every single ship had arrived safely, and not a single chest was missing. Orys had done his part well. The crew members who had helped with the transport had already been... handled. None of them could be allowed to spread the tales of their new vast fortunes. They couldn't afford that risk. Nowadays, Aegon and Visenya were busy cataloguing and storing everything he had brought in their numerous vaults.
Now, after weeks of recovery, the weight of emotional exhaustion had finally slipped from his shoulders. His strength had returned in full force.
Now, it's time to find out how he can perform those wonderful magics, that he saw in his dreams. He would figure it out.
He had to.
With the power of old Valyria at his fingertips, he was ready to begin his journey.
_______________________________________________________________________
Aegon exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Aemon, this is simply too much."
Aemon arched a brow. "What exactly is too much, Aegon?"
Visenya answered before her brother-husband could. "There's no more space left on Dragonstone. Every vault is full—and that's saying something. The vaults in the keep, the vaults beneath the keep, the vaults under the cliffs… even the massive hidden chambers our grandfather had carved out 'for future use,' as he used to say. We all laughed at that once. Also, there is no safe place left to carve out new chambers."
She folded her arms across her chest, voice edged with exasperation. "We've stored tomes, scrolls, artifacts, gold, jewelry, magical gems, ancient relics—but now we've run out of space for the non-magical gems. You brought back everything that survived the Doom, and we're not ungrateful. We're just telling you the situation we are in: there's nowhere left to put it."
Aegon nodded grimly. "There are thirty chests full of non-magical gems to the brim. Thirty. And the gold we gained from Volantis, Pentos, Norvos, and Qohor for your actions against the Dothrakis, didn't exactly help the matters either."
Aemon gave a slow, thoughtful nod.
"There's only one way to deal with this," Aegon went on. "Liquidation. We will have to sell the excess—obviously not all of it, but majority of them. Convert it into gold we can actually use. With that, we can buy what we need—slaves, laborers, materials. Everything necessary to begin our real work."
Rhaenys, who had been silent till now, finally spoke. "Selling them in small quantities will take time. And words will spread about it. If people think we're desperate for gold, it'll change how they deal with us. It'll invite speculation."
"Which is why we need a single buyer," Visenya said. "Someone who can take it all in one go, and quietly."
Aemon leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing as he turned the possibilities over in his mind. "The banks in Volantis belongs to the Tiger faction. After I crushed their army near Myr, and Aegon destroyed their fleet near Lys, they'll never deal with us fairly. Assuming they would deal with us at all. And if they did, the prices would be rigged."
He looked around the room, meeting each of their eyes.
"If we want discretion, and a fair market price... there's only one institution that fits the bill: the Iron Bank of Braavos."
No one disagreed on that.
______________________________________________________________________
Braavos
None of the siblings had ever visited Braavos before, so they took this opportunity to see the Free City for themselves—the city founded by those who had once defied their ancestors. It was a strange feeling, walking through the streets of a place built by runaway slaves of Valyria.
But they had to leave their dragons outside the city walls.
One dragon would have been tolerated. Four was another matter entirely—it would unsettle the entire population, and send the Sealord of Braavos and the Iron Bank into a frenzy. So, for the sake of diplomacy, the dragons remained just beyond the lagoons.
Now, the three siblings sat in one of the Iron Bank's austere meeting chambers, face to face with Keyholder Ferro Antaryon.
"I want to sell some precious gems," Aegon said calmly.
"Of course," Ferro replied, folding his hands neatly. "How much are we talking about?"
Aegon gestured toward the twenty five chests that had been brought into the hall under heavy guard.
Ferro blinked, then stood, approaching the nearest chest with faint curiosity. As he opened the lid, his expression changed in an instant—his brows shot up, and his mouth parted slightly in astonishment. The other bank officials, alerted by his reaction, quickly moved forward and began opening the rest. The room soon filled with the low hum of stunned murmurs.
Every chest was brimmed with gemstones of all sizes, each perfectly cut, gleaming beneath the lamplight.
"If you would permit us a brief moment, my lords, my ladies," Ferro said, his tone much more deferential now. "I must consult with the other keyholders present in Braavos."
The siblings nodded.
Ferro departed swiftly. Within the hour, jewelers had arrived to inspect and appraise the contents. Couriers were dispatched across the city to summon the remaining keyholders, and by the evening, deliberations had begun in earnest. The discussions went long into the night.
At last, Ferro returned, his composure was restored and his tone was more respectful.
"The Iron Bank is prepared to purchase all the gems for a sum of ten million gold star."
The number exceeded their expectations. It looks like they have to open an account here. The siblings exchanged a satisfied glance. They had a short exchange and came to a decision.
"I will accept this price," Aegon said. "I also wish to deposit eight million gold star into an account under the name of House Targaryen, and take the remaining two million gold star with us."
"Very well," Ferro said, offering a slight bow. "An account in the name of House Targaryen will be opened immediately, and the funds will be deposited accordingly. We will also begin loading the remaining sum onto your ships at once."
But there was still one more matter to settle.
They had decided that it was time to begin building a fleet of their own. For too long, they had depended on House Velaryon for their naval strength. That would not do well for their plans. Independence required infrastructure. A fleet was the first step. For their first invasion they would need fifty war galleys, but they will start with twenty first, and then increase the number to fifty next year.
"We have another task for you," Aemon said, once the financial dealings were done. "We want twenty war galleys constructed."
Ferro conferred with his scribes and shipwright contacts. After careful discussion about the specifications and costs, a final price was agreed upon.
"They will be delivered to Dragonstone," Ferro confirmed. "The first ten ships will be ready within six months. The full order within ten months."
It was only the beginning—but it was a good one.
________________________________________________________________________
They had just exited the playhouse, the last echoes of applause were still fading behind them. The play had been surprisingly good—cleverly written, well acted—and Rhaenys had enjoyed it the most, laughing at the wittier scenes and humming the musicals under her breath.
But Aemon's attention wasn't on the performance anymore.
He had noticed her again—the same woman he had seen shadowing them ever since they had arrived in Braavos. Visenya, Aegon, and Rhaenys had also noticed this.
Enough was enough.
They waited until the street quieted, then slipped into a side alley where no one else was around. When the woman followed them there, they turned on her.
"Who are you, and why have you been following us?" Visenya asked sharply, her right hand resting lightly on the hilt of her dagger.
The woman stopped a few paces away, her face was unreadable beneath her plain, nondescript cloak. Her voice was calm.
"This one is no one. And I wished only to speak with your younger brother—Lord Aemon."
"Don't play games," Aegon said. "You must be someone. What's your name?"
"And why Aemon?" Rhaenys added, narrowing her eyes.
The woman dipped her head slightly. "This one has no name. So this one is no one. And I wish to speak with Lord Aemon because he did the Many-Faced God a great service."
At those words, a chill slid down their spines. All four of them went still.
The realization hit them like a huge stone. Their expressions changed—suspicion turning to wariness, even unease.
Aemon was the first to speak. "All right. But I don't think our lodgings are… private enough. Even we don't talk about sensitive matters there."
The woman nodded once. "Then follow me. No one will disturb us in the temple."
If she had meant to kill any of them, she would have done it already. That much was clear.
Still, as they followed her through the winding streets of Braavos, past the bridges and beneath the lanterns swaying in the sea breeze, they all looked uneasy. The entrance to the House of Black and White loomed ahead, quiet and still, its doors open just enough to invite them in.
With a final glance at one another, the four Targaryens stepped inside.
Before any of them could speak, the woman began to talk. Her voice was quiet and steady—every word was layered with memory, pain, and reverence. She didn't look at them, not directly. It felt more like a confession.
"After every conquest, the Dragonlords of old used to return to Valyria with chains full of the vanquished. Men, women, children. Most were sent to the great mines beneath the Fourteen Flames. The world believes they were worked to death, extracting resources for the Dragonlords. But that's only part of the truth.
Those were no ordinary mines. They were cut deep into the earth, under the very roots of volcanoes. The temperatures inside those shafts were unbearable. The air was thick with ash and smoke, hot enough to sear the lungs. The walls blistered at a touch, and the stone itself radiated heat strong enough to cook meat. Even the floors scalded feet through the thickest of sandals. It was an oven."
The woman's gaze lifted for a moment, distant, as if looking through time.
"And death was everywhere in those mines. There were floods of scalding water, pockets of boiling magma that burst without warning, and fireworms that tunneled unseen through the rocks. Slaves use to die before even reaching the mines. No one could work in those conditions—except the blood mages and the fire mages, not even the Dragonlords.
"Faced with this problem, the Dragonlords turned to their blood mages. They commanded them to find a way—to make the slaves endure those conditions, to keep them alive in those mines. But the blood mages did more than that. And the Dragonlords gave their blessing without even asking the details. If only they had asked for the details, then they would not have given their blessing. Dragonlords had done lots of horrific human experiments, lots of horrible magics, but due to their worship of the Valyrian God Balerion, they knowingly never crossed the line which the blood mages crossed. Dragonlords would have tried to find another way.
"Those blood mages discovered how to bring the dead back—and bind them to fire, and make them fire wights. These fire wights were not alive, but neither were they truly dead. They could work in those mines. They felt all the pain that those mines could have made them feel. And every time they fell, the blood mages used to bring them back. Again and again. For thousands of years. It was eternal slavery.
"Even when death was everywhere around them, they couldn't die. All they could do was toil in those mine and beg for death."
The silence that followed was thick and choking.
"Valar Morghulis," the woman said softly. "Death is a mercy. It is the ultimate truth. It belongs to all. Everyone deserves it. But those slaves were denied that. When we couldn't bear that affront to the Many-Faced God any more, we decided to intervene.
"With the blessings of the Many-Faced God, we entered those mines, and the first gift we gave was to a fire wight. We freed him. Truly. His soul passed beyond the veil. The blood mages could not bring him back. After that, we knew the way and we began freeing the others. One by one. But the blood mages noticed that. They understood that they were losing control. So they changed their magic.
"They created a new kind of fire wight—one that could not be released, unless their entire body was destroyed. We had to stop them.
"So we gave the gift to every blood mage in Valyria who knew how to create fire wights. One after another. But the new fire wights were slower to release. Their souls were trapped deeper, their bindings were stronger. We continued anyway.
"But then came the Doom of Valyria."
The woman paused. Her voice grew softer, touched by something like sorrow.
"We never finished our task. We never freed them all. The Fourteen Flames erupted, and the land itself shattered, and became cursed. And we could no longer return to complete what we had started. We were praying to the Many-Faced God, to give us the blessing, so that we can go there. Before that could happen, you, Lord Aemon, stepped foot upon those cursed lands. Those fire wights were not trying to harm you, they were asking you to release them. The Many-Faced God showed us how you released those who were still trapped. All the fire wights bound to that place are finally gone. Only those ghosts have remained, and with time they will all be free on their own.
"And we are grateful for what you did."
For a moment, no one moved. They knew that the blood mages created the fire wights, but not the details. Aegon's mouth was parted slightly. Rhaenys was staring at the woman as though she weren't real. Visenya found her voice first.
"So… the Faceless Men's shadow war against the blood mages of Valyria is the reason for the Doom of Valyria?"
The woman shook her head. "No. We did not cause the Doom of Valyria. The fire mages lost the control of the Fourteen Flames. Fire Wights had dug too deep. And it turned against them. That was the cause of the Doom of Valyria."
Rhaenys asked, quietly, "But there are still blood mages. In Asshai. We've heard of them."
"Yes," the woman replied. "There are still those who twist the sacred boundary. Who trap the souls. Who deny the release that all of us deserve. But whenever we find them—whether in Asshai, or beyond that—we give them the gift."
Aemon's voice came low, almost a whisper. "I can understand. I know what a person becomes when they try to escape death."
He looked at his siblings.
"I have told my siblings also."
The woman nodded. "That is why the Many-Faced God sent me to you. There are few in this world who understand this. Even fewer who know the horrors of its denial, or the horrors caused by those who try to escape voluntarily. You have seen both."
Aegon's voice broke the silence that followed the woman's tale.
"So… what about the Others? I've seen them in my dreams. I've seen the army of the undead that they command. What are they?"
The woman's expression shifted. "Yes," she said quietly. "We know of the Night King and his wife—the Corpse Queen, and his generals—the Others. They command a huge army of ice wights. They are not like fire wights—who are bound by flames and forged in pain. Ice wights are beings of stillness, of silence, of hunger. Where the fire wights burns, as Lord Aemon had experienced himself, the ice wights freezes. Where a fire wight's soul was twisted and was screaming, an ice wight's soul has been consumed until only obedience has remained.
"They are in hiding right now, far beyond the Wall, beyond even the grasp of our gift. But the day will come when they will come out of their hiding. And when they do, we will answer, and we will do our best to release them."
She turned her gaze fully on Aemon.
"But that is not why I was sent."
Aemon blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in her voice—no longer was she speaking ancient truths, but like a messenger.
"The Many-Faced God is pleased with you, Lord Aemon. With what you've done, before and now also. With what you continue to do. Most mortals fear death, try to avoid it, few even twist it. But you had accepted it. You had honored it. You had embraced it. You had even set souls free, knowingly and even unknowingly. Now along with your siblings, you are also planning to prepare the world for what will come. And so, the Many-Faced God has decided to offer you one boon and one service, both freely given."
Aemon went still. The air felt heavier all of a sudden.
This was the second time something like this had happened. First, the priestess of Tessarion had saved his life—guided, as she claimed, by the will of her goddess. And now the Many-Faced God had sent one. There was something unsettling about these two incidents.
He glanced at his siblings. Aegon was pale. Rhaenys was frozen. Visenya looked stunned.
Slowly, Aemon exhaled. He thought for a long while, weighing possibilities and fears. Then he spoke quietly but firmly.
"For the boon," he said, "I ask that the Faceless Men never accept any contract to kill any member of House Targaryen."
The woman considered the request. "A cautious wish," she murmured. "But a wise one."
Then she nodded. "It will be granted. From this moment onwards, no Faceless Man will ever take a contract against any of you and any of your descendants who will carry the name Targaryen. The only time one of our own will give the gift to any of you or any of your descendants who will carry the name Targaryen, will be if any of you or any of your descendants who will carry the name Targaryen would twist the sacred boundary—if any of you or any of your descendants who will carry the name Targaryen would deny death as the blood mages once did, or if any of you or any of your descendants who will carry the name Targaryen would try to escape it."
For a moment, none of them could speak. Targaryen siblings felt as though a great weight had been lifted from their shoulders—the unspoken fear that one day, someone might try to kill the last of the Dragonlords through the faceless men, was gone.
Aemon saw it on their faces. His siblings had also always carried that fear, even if they never spoke of it. Now, it was gone.
The woman spoke again. "And what of the service?"
Aemon had been thinking about this problem for weeks.
"I want your help in building a network," Aemon said. "A spy organization. One that would not fall with its spymaster. Something well structured. Robust. Enduring. A system that can survive wars and test of time."
The woman gave him a long, unreadable look. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"Yes. It can be done. It will take time and resources, but it can be done. We will help you in building the spy organization of House Targaryen."
________________________________________________________________________
Dragonstone
As the four siblings gathered around a low table in Aegon's solar, the talk naturally turned to what had happened in Braavos.
Aegon shook his head, a wry smile was playing on his lips. "As... eventful as that meeting with Syranna, at the House of Black and White was," he said, "I have to admit—it was fruitful. Aemon, you chose your boon and your service well. It will help our House greatly."
Aemon leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs under the table. "'Eventful' is an understatement," he said dryly. "But yes... it was worth it."
Aegon nodded, and added, "Syranna said she would come in a month's time with two others of her order. They'll help us create our spy agency."
Rhaenys set down her goblet and glanced at Aemon. "We'll need every advantage we can get."
Aemon gave a small nod. "Speaking of which," he said, "Rhaenys and I will leave tomorrow. We're heading out to purchase the slaves we need."
Visenya asked. "Which cities will you visit?"
"Myr," Aemon said, counting off on his fingers, "Tyrosh, Lys, Volantis... and Astapor. We'll try to buy as many skilled workers as possible—smiths, scribes, masons, healers, other artisans etc."
Rhaenys chimed in. "The skilled ones will train the unskilled ones. It'll be a slow process at first, but in time, it'll pay off."
Aemon drummed his fingers on the table, thoughtful. "One thing we should decide now is—when do we set them free? Right after we buy them, or after we bring them back here?"
Aegon snorted. "Does it even matter? Set them free the moment you pay for them—they'll still follow you back here anyway."
Visenya shook her head. "It does matter. It will keeps our hands clean. It will make it clear that they owe us nothing. If they choose to stay, it's their will, not our chains."
Aegon shrugged. "Fine. Free them the moment the gold changes hands."
He turned back to Aemon, more serious now. "Try to buy as many Unsullied as you can. They are extremely good and disciplined soldiers, even untrained ones. Pay extra if you have to."
Visenya added, "If you can, bring priestesses and priests of the Valyrian gods and goddesses from Volantis. It will help our House in the long run."