Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire and related media, it belongs to G.R.R. Martin.

Dragons of the Sunset

Chapter 1

The Valyrian fleet slowly but steadily proceeded over the waters of the Blackwater Bay towards the river's mouth, sails furled and with oars slowly dipping in-sync into the waters to push the great fleet towards the shores of the Sunset Kingdoms. Legate Vaemar Velaryon, Proconsul of Driftmark stood on the command deck of his flagship the hexareme Tide Breaker, looking out over the waters of the bay in the Moonlight.

As Legate of the Western Fleet, Vaemar normally commanded the two hundred-odd ships with which the Freehold controlled the centre of the Narrow Sea. It was small compared to the fleets of the Free Cities of the Essosi Territories – Volantis alone had a fleet of well over five hundred ships – to say nothing of the greater Freehold, which could muster thousands of ships by itself. Not that he really needed a big fleet: the petty kingdoms which surrounded the Blackwater could each muster at most three proper warships, and that was rare in itself, to say nothing of the poor quality of their crews compared to the professional, citizen-soldiers of the Freehold.

The Kingdom in the North and the Kingdom of the Mountains and the Vale had more ships and better men, operating from Gulltown and White Harbor, but not real threats to Valyrian naval supremacy in the Narrow Sea. Indeed the only real naval threats from the Sunset Kingdoms were on the other side of the continent, the royal fleets of the Kings of the Rock, of the Reach and of the Isles and Rivers based from Oldtown, Lannisport, and Pyke.

Vaemar knew that in the event of war with the Sunset Kingdoms – prior to the current expedition that is – his fleet would be tasked with setting and containing a 'line' of battle in the middle of the Narrow Sea, behind which the fleets of the Free Cities and the Freehold would assemble before sailing out to crush the Westerosi. And of course, that didn't factor in the dragons from Dragonstone, usually those of the resident praetor and his family, a position currently held by House Targaryen.

Times and things changed though, and reinforcement from the homeland meant that Vaemar now commanded a huge fleet of a full one thousand ships, mostly triremes back by larger quadriremes and quinqueremes for the battle fleet, smaller biremes carrying the men of the army and would be landing them as well, and the giant hexareme flagships. Of these only four hundred were taking part in the landings and then to secure the coasts of the Blackwater afterwards, with another four hundred ships moving south to take up a position near the Stepstones in case the fleets of the Reach, the Rock, and the Isles and Rivers tried to challenge the Valyrians at sea.

The remaining two hundred ships were to the north, as a guard against the Arryns and the Northmen. Not that Vaemar believed the Arryns would be foolish enough to fight them at sea without a proper fleet of their own, and personally he didn't think the Northmen would help the Andal southerners on either land or sea.

From what he knew, there was little love lost between the 'First Men' and their King in the North, and the Andal Kingdoms of greater Westeros.

Still, as the legate with overall authority over naval matters, it did well to plan for any possibility that might arise, especially with the Rhoynish whore's descendants ruling over the southernmost of the Sunset Kingdoms. The Dornish might not have a fleet, but that didn't mean they couldn't whip up sentiments in the bordering Reach against Valyria.

The Freehold hadn't planned to go that far – yet – but that didn't mean trouble couldn't come from that quarter either.

No, it was better to be careful now than to pay for carelessness later on.

Dragonlord Aegon Targaryen was woken by his sister-wife Elaena Targaryen early before the dawn, and was served a light breakfast in the candlelight before she helped him put his armour on. His torso armour was made from more expensive segmented plate than the cheaper – but just as serviceable – mail armour favoured by most ordinary soldiers, though all forms of Valyrian armour incorporated segmented plates over parts of the arm exposed by the torso armour.

Normal steel of course: dragonsteel was too expensive, difficult and even dangerous to make for it to be used in armour or indeed anything that required lots of metal. Only swords and similarly-scaled items were made from dragonsteel, and even then they were uncommon. For instance House Targaryen only had two dragonsteel swords, and even if they were ranked among the low-ten they were still a dragonlord family.

Elaena fastened her brother's cloak over his shoulders, and then watched silently as he strapped Dark Sister to his waist along with a dragonglass dagger behind him. She smiled as her husband finished his preparations and held out his helmet.

"Take care of yourself." She said. They'd always been close, even before they'd been taught as per the traditions of the Valyrian Dragonlords that they'd be wed to each other, more so than their parents. Not that Gaemon and Daenys had had an unhappy marriage but Gaemon's ambitions and Daenys' prophecies had coloured their relationship, though they did all they could to keep it from affecting their children.

"I will." Aegon said. "Take care of Aerys and Maegor until I get back and of course mother as well."

Elaena chuckled. "I'll take care of the children, don't worry about that." She said, stepping forward and embracing her brother. "And mother can take care of herself. But you…don't get killed out there. Our children are still so young and…and…I don't want this to be the last time we see each other."

"It won't." Aegon assured Elaena, returning the embrace and kissing her silver-gold hair. "I'll be back, and when I do we could probably leave this castle to another praetor before settling down on new lands to the west. We could have more children, and raise them someplace better than this dusty stone castle in the middle of the sea."

Elaena pulled back, and smiled at him. "I'll hold you to that." She said, and closing her eyes exchanged a kiss with her brother. "You should go you wouldn't want to be left for the horn blowing, would you?"

Aegon smiled and shook his head, and left his and his sister-wife's chambers, Elaena accompanying him until they reached the doors to the nursery. "Mother's here I think." Aegon said, and opened the door. Sure enough Daenys Targaryen was there, holding her infant grandson in her arms while her other grandson, Aerys, a boy of three snoozed in a nearby sofa.

"Aegon…" Daenys said with a nod. "…Elaena…good morning."

"Good morning mother." The siblings said, and Daenys smiled.

"Take care, Aegon…" she said. "…you and Elaena get along so well, that it would a shame if this is far as you get. You certainly have a brighter future together than me or your father had…"

Daenys trailed off and shook her head. "No, don't mind this old woman's ramblings." She said. "Anyway I also told your father not to get killed out there, but remind him just in case would you Aegon?"

"Of course mother…" Aegon said while Elaena walked over and sat down beside her other son. "…will you two be fine here? A horn-blowing isn't the most…comfortable sound to be heard…"

"That's an understatement." Elaena said with a laugh, holding her son and rocking him back to sleep, having been roused by her and Aegon's arrival. "Don't worry we can handle the children just fine. Unless of course you meant that we can't handle a horn-blowing ourselves…"

Elaena trailed off with a smile, and Aegon laughed at her while Daenys smiled. "Of course not…" Aegon said, stepping further into the room and caressing Elaena's face. "…well if that's all there is…"

He trailed off, and Elaena nodded in farewell. Aegon stepped back and embraced his mother, who held his face in her hands. "You've grown up so well Aegon." She said. "Don't throw it all away out there alright?"

"Yes mother."

Daenys smiled. "Don't worry about Hexys and Silverwing." She said, referring to her and Elaena's dragons. "They'll probably get a bit bad-tempered that we won't be riding them to war with the other dragonlords, but I'm sure extra food for the next couple of days should solve that problem."

"You should take them out for a ride too." Aegon said, and Elaena nodded.

"That's a good idea. We'll keep it in mind."

Aegon smiled and nodded, and kissed his mother on the cheek before heading out towards the highest tower of the castle, or rather the ramparts adjacent to the tower, and from where the chanting of sorcerers could be heard by the assembled dragonlords below. Aegon exchanged a nod with his father as he arrived, and a few more nods with other dragonriders. Most of them looked cold and grim, and in the case of the honorary ones, apprehensive.

Aegon couldn't blame them of course.

The blowing of a dragon horn was sorcery of the highest degree, a violation of the natural order on a level so profound that it struck at the very heart of those that heard it. It was terrible and perhaps wrong, but necessary. Dragons were fire and magic made flesh, and would not suffer the will of even the greatest of men lightly or completely.

And even Valyrian dragonlords were still men, and they knew that to wield power they had to recognize and respect that fact. Hence the necessity for dragon horns, though as with all great accomplishments a price must be paid to achieve it.

Even the miracles of magic had prices attached to them.

A sorceress cloaked and hooded in gold and red walked to the gathered dragonlords and bowed. In one hand she held a dagger with a long blade forged of dragonglass, while behind her in matching red and gold was an acolyte with a bowl of dragonsteel inscribed with glyphs. Gaemon Targaryen was the first to pay of life to strengthen his connection to his dragon, frozen fire drawing the offering of blood and spilling it into the bowl.

One by one the dragonlords and dragonladies offered their blood, the sorceress healing their injuries after they made their individual offerings, and then with another bow left accompanied not only be her acolyte but also by Gaemon Targaryen. "Here it comes." One dragonlord muttered, and Aenyx looked at him.

"I thought there was a ritual involved during the blowing of a dragon horn." He said.

"There is." The dragonlord replied. "But it's not for the faint-hearted. It's one thing killing another man with your sword, or even burning them with your dragon's fire. And it's another thing entirely, to use them as fuel for magic."

"It's a necessity." A dragonlady nearby added. "Power demands sacrifice, as much as our ambitions here demand sacrifice. But we don't necessarily have to like it. It simply has to be done."

Aenyx hesitated, and then swallowed. "Have you…have you ever seen and not just heard a horn-blowing?" he asked.

The two of them nodded, and Aenyx paused again. Before he could continue, another dragonlord spoke up. "What was it like?" he asked.

"It was hideous." The dragonlord from before replied. "As our female colleague put it, it's a necessity, but not something to be relished. The dark side of our greatest achievement I suppose."

Aenyx looked up at the tower looming overhead, and then started as someone placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned his and spotted the dragonlady he'd befriended yesterday, Renaera Tareris. "Your first time hearing a dragon horn?" she asked, and he nodded hesitantly.

One of the dragonlords he'd spoken to smiled thinly. "Well now…" he said. "…perhaps we'll see if you're worth the title you've been given, shall we?"

Renaera gave him a dirty look, but Aenyx again craned his head up towards the tower. "Would you care to watch?" another dragonlord, an older one with a neatly-trimmed beard asked. "You can if you want, just go up there. But I would advise against it. And steel yourself: even just hearing it will test you."

Aenyx nodded. "Thanks for the advice." He said. "And I think I'll just stay here. I know enough, from the stories, to know what's coming."

The older dragonlord nodded in approval, while another one smirked and made to say anything, only to fall silent at the elder's stern glance. Silence fell, broken only by the chanting above.

A circle had been cut into the stone floor, broken at fourteen points with interlocking septagrams, glyphs indicating the name of each of the fourteen gods and goddesses of Valyria inscribed on the space within each point. At the tip of each point stood a sorcerer, each holding aloft gilded staffs topped with gilded dragons wreathed in sorcerous flame. Heat and light the flames emitted, and yet the dragons remained untouched, and the staffs cool to the hand.

Behind the sorcerers in a great circle stood a choir of acolytes, vocalizing and chanting to the rhythmic tapping of the sorcerers' staffs. And kneeling before each sorcerer facing the glyphs of the Valyrian gods and goddesses was a slave, stripped and shaved, bleeding glyphs carved into their flesh. Blood ran down their bodies to the stone floor, where it pooled and spread, yet by some sorcerous miracle it refused to run into the grooves cut into the stone.

The chanting continued as Gaemon, the ranking sorceress, and her acolyte arrived. With them came a group of men carrying a massive chest bound with dragonsteel. The sorceress opened the chest with a touch of her hand, and the men lifted the great horn from within, made of dragonbone and bound with dragonsteel, inscribed with glyphs of power.

The acolyte poured the gathered blood of the dragonriders below into the grooves of the stone floor, where they ran unsullied with the blood of sacrifices until the circle was fully-consecrated with the dragonriders' blood, the dragonsteel bowl impossibly clean afterwards. The men stepped forward, carrying the horn and placing it reverently in the middle of the circle.

The power of a dragon horn might be terrible and fearful to invoke, but it was still a cause for grim reverence and pride for the people of Valyria.

As one the sorcerers raised their staffs and brought it down on a resounding note. The acolytes fell silent, the sounds of nature – the blowing of the wind, the sighing of the sea, the rumble of the Dragonmont, the breathing of man and beast – alone to be heard. And then with the smooth sound of glass against cloth, the sorcerers drew dragonglass blades from their robes, and in one smooth motion slit the necks of the sacrifices open.

The slaves fell forward, blood spilling onto the glyphs of the Valyrian pantheon. The glyphs flashed with fire, hungrily consuming the dying slaves and setting the bloody circle of power alight. The head sorceress stepped forward, cloak and robes alike falling as she traversed the circle of power untouched by fire, until she stood before dragon horn, the sounds from the sorcerers and their acolytes now accompanied by the crackling of sorcerous fire.

Fire cannot harm a dragon.

The sorceress drew her breath, silence falling once more with a resounding note of the sorcerers' staffs, the flames ebbing to a low point. And then putting her lips to the horn, she blew.

The sound of what seemed like thousands of souls in agony tore through the air, the sorcerers and acolytes sinking to their knees as the fire rose in a burning spiral high into the sky where it exploded into the form of a great and fiery dragon which roared a thunderous roar drowning out even the horn's actual sound. Only Gaemon Targaryen stood unbowed, unheeding of the sorcerous heat from without and the sorcerous heat raging within, watching as the fiery dragon spent itself.

And its roar was answered.

From the Dragonmont dragons roared as they took to the skies, and Gaemon Targaryen turned his gaze from the dragons wheeling up from the blackened slopes of the Dragonmont to form a great spiral above Dragonstone, and addressed the ranking sorceress as her acolytes helped her robe herself. "Your services are appreciated sorceress." He said. "And we will have need of them in the future."

"We all serve the Freehold as our talents would best." The sorceress replied with a bow.

"Quite…" Gaemon said, walking over to the parapet as he spotted one dragon, the scales the colour of sapphire but with his horns, crest and wings the colour of the starless night, wheel and spiral its way down from the dragons above to the castle beneath. Gaemon tensed as Vyrinx swooped towards the tower, and then he jumped, landing in a crouch on the dragon's crest and ran still crouched to the chained saddle behind his dragon's neck.

Vyrinx flew once around the castle as his rider bound himself to his saddle, and then with a flyby that covered Dragonstone's castle town with his shadow flew back into the sky. One by one, other dragons flew down, dragonlords jumping off of the ramparts to land with inhuman accuracy on their dragons.

Aeryx marvelled at the ease with which he seemed to…communicate for lack of a better word – since dragons couldn't talk per se – with his Seafyre, and marvelled even more at how…right it felt. Even the sheer terror he had felt at the blowing of the dragon horn – and he was glad to not have been the only dragonlord to have been physically cowed at the sorcerous flame that had split the pre-dawn darkness – was gone.

No…it was gone even before he had seemingly lost his mind, jumping off of Dragonstone to land on Seafyre's crest and clambering to his saddle. In his place he felt…exhilaration, freedom, confidence…as though the world was his and his alone.

Reason spoke against it and he heeded it but…the feeling was still there, and he relished it.

"Is this what it's like to finally be a dragonlord?" he thought. All 'born' dragonlords had at least heard one horn-blowing before they came of age, unlike honorary dragonlords like him. Now he realized that simply taming a dragon wasn't enough.

It was enough for the honorary title, but to actually be a dragonlord…more was needed.

And he had it now.

"Can you hear me Seafyre?" he thought. "Let's get through this together, and soar in the heavens on wings of fire!"

Seafyre roared his agreement, and Aeryx laughed loud and uncaring as he and his dragon joined the great dance of dragons above Dragonstone. "Well done…!" Aeryx heard someone shout from behind him, and he turned his head to spot one of the dragonlords from before, the one who had spoken down to him. "How does it feel, being a true dragonlord?"

"It feels great!" he shouted back. "I don't know about you, but I don't think this is a feeling that could be beat!"

"No arguments there." The other dragonlord said. "I'm Aenar Velaeris. What's yours?"

"Aenyx…!" he said, recognizing the name of the mightiest of the dragonlord families. "Sorry about not recognizing you earlier but…"

"Ah don't sweat it." Aenar said. "I'm just a spare anyway…though I don't plan to just stay that way, any more than you probably want to stay without a noble name, isn't that right?"

"I won't deny that." He replied, and they shared a laugh before a shout caught their attention.

"Heads-up…!" another dragonlord shouted, pointing to where Gaemon Targaryen and his dragon – mighty and worthy of a Lord Freeholder even when compared to those of the high-ten – was breaking the dance and heading west, away from where the pearl and rose of dawn was breaking over the horizon.

As one the dragonlords and dragonladies followed the Lord Freeholder, a great V of dragons and their riders flying high over the Blackwater towards the Sunset Kingdoms. As dawn continued to break, Aenyx noticed smaller or even the average-sized dragons sporting armour over their scales.

Not so with the bigger ones, though that was to be expected: the elder dragons' scales would probably only be surpassed by dragonsteel, and if making armour for men out of dragonsteel would be prohibitively expensive, how much more for dragons.

Still it was food for thought, and while his Seafyre's scales were formidable, they weren't invincible.

"Lord Velaeris…" he shouted over the wind. "…if I might ask, what material is usually used to make armour for dragons?"

"Dragonbone…" he replied, also shouting over the wind. "…dragonsteel's too expensive, and ordinary steel's too heavy to be used in useful amounts. Dragonbone though…it's as hard as steel, but as light as and can be worked like wood. It's perfect for dragon armour."

"Though it can be expensive…" Renaera added from behind them. "…if you don't have a stock of them handy that is."

Aenyx nodded sagely, understanding what she meant. The dragonlord families kept the bones of their fallen dragons, and while it felt a bit like desecration, on the other hand being used to protect their descendants seemed a better fate than gathering dust in some crypt in a field or underground. "What about the wings?" he asked. "That doesn't look like dragonbone, more like leather. Moulted dragonskin…?"

"You guess right." Aenar answered with a grin. "And just call me Aenar, or if it still makes you uncomfortable, Lord Aenar."

"I…yes Lord Aenar."

The dragonriders flew on in silence, every one of them letting the soothing breeze and the gentle play of cool air and gentle dawn warmth stimulate their thoughts. Gaemon was thinking of names for his new colony. Aegon was thinking of a country manse to raise his and Elaena's children in, and so on further down the generations. Renaera was thinking of the unexplored reaches – from the Valyrian perspective – of the Sunset Kingdoms, and of how she'd love an opportunity to explore it on her Starflame's back.

Aenyx was thinking of how much land and glory he'd have to earn to snag himself a noble name and a pretty girl to spend the rest of his life in peace with. Many if not most cadet lines in any case preferred and were allowed to stay away from the politics of the capital, managing the family estates under their name instead, and he hoped to do the same here in the Sunset Kingdoms.

Aenar was thinking along similar lines, although in his case he cared less for a noble name – he already had one – and more recognition from his father, who always seemed to overlook him for his elder brothers and sisters (which at times led Aenar to wonder if his being overlooked was merely the result of his being a seventh son with no sister left to marry with their mother's age having finally caught up with her). Land and glory in the Sunset Kingdoms seemed to promise that recognition, and perhaps an advantageous marriage – in both personal and political terms – with it.

Cheers and shouts went up as they rode past a patch of cloud, and they spotted before them gleaming in the morning, the white shores and green hills of the lands of the west. "The Sunset Kingdoms…" Aegon shouted to his father. "…our Sunset Kingdoms, father."

Gaemon nodded, turning his head to see the great encampment being set up on both sides of the Blackwater Rush by the army, with the fleet – well at least a part of it – anchored by the shore, smaller ships lashed together into a makeshift quay to offload supplies on. "Yes our Sunset Kingdoms…" he echoed. "…and that shall be the name of our legacy: Sunset Harbour."

A/N

And cut…!

Sorcery's not pretty, especially since Valyrian sorcerers in my interpretation are basically a whole order of Melisandres (not that it's a bad thing seeing as she's really pretty to say the least) only without the religious overtones. Well high-level sorcery isn't pretty but the low-level ones shouldn't be too bad.

And yes, Sunset Harbour is this story's version of King's Landing. Given that its foundations will be laid at the height of Valyrian power and will be built under the direction of resident Valyrian engineers and architects, well let's just it will be a very different city compared to King's Landing.