Hey everyone. Finally updated with the LAST chapter of the prologue arc! I apologize for this chapter being sooooooo late. Originally it was only going to be about 7000 words but then one small idea evolved into and extra 10000. But also I need to admit that this was a pretty stressful chapter to write, so much that it almost caused me to feel burnout for my story. One of the factors to it would be that it pretty much has 3 chapters worth of development stuffed into one. Had I been able to understand this long ago I would have spread it out evenly in previous chapters and focused on it more.

Apart from this, I proudly announce that a couple weeks ago I finished work on forging my own replica of Dawn and am very pleased with the final result, especially since it is my first sword ever made!

Please leave a review on this one cuz I, my fantastic beta Elphaba818, and the help of Longclaw1-6 went into this and it's got our heart and soul in it. Be safe out there and enjoy the finale of the prologue!

Baelgor

The small fire made before the moon rose was nearly through eating the last of the fuel. The twigs were now glowing red charcoals under the half eaten branches. They couldn't afford to burn a bright warm fire. Who knows if the Tyrosh City Watch was looking for them? The thick flora all around was good cover but even the smallest leaks of light could result in their downfall.

It was an especially chilly night, even for their location. Humid was the air but a cold front from the northeast traveled down and there would definitely be frost forming before dawn. It was alright for Baelgor, he was his own warmth, and the boys were born and raised in colds far worse than this chill. Regardless though, Morghon didn't have a cloak with him any longer because it was left behind on the ship they missed in Pentos. When the boy finally got to sleep, Baelgor covered him with his own coat.

Vedros was curled up over his cloak, clutching tightly at the stone axe he fashioned in a single day (which actually impressed Baelgor) all by himself. "If a Forrester cannot find the tool he needs then he must make one," were the boy's words. Even after the favor of sharing some food, the little prick was still a little prick. But that was good. He didn't trust him and that would develop into caution of others as well.

Morghon though… this child wasn't finding rest easy. It was almost sad for Baelgor to see him in this much misery. Children like him didn't deserve to be thrown into the horrors of the true world so young, so unready.

Baelgor continued as he was, restless and watching the last of the fire as he thought. He sat up against a fallen tree trunk. The Lord of Light had plans for him, no matter how much he didn't want to believe it. Otherwise, he never would have seen those visions like the priests did. He never would have seen those freakish eyes of a demon and neither would he have seen the same frightened boy he met yesterday while pissing in an alleyway.

He looked into the flames, trying to see if there would be something to see. The visions he saw before were not fire taking shape nor changing color, but just there, clear as day. But there was nothing here. He snapped his fingers and let the yellows and oranges burst into flashes of white. But he stopped immediately after, forgetting his own caution.

Small whimperings took his attention from the fire and over to the child they came from. Morghon was shivering as he was trying to sleep, but also holding back tears.

"Can't sleep?" Baelgor asked quietly.

Morghon turned over and nodded, eyes open and still full of fear.

"Hm…" Baelgor reached over to the fire and picked out a small twig that was charred on one end and handed it to the boy. "What troubles you?"

Morghon sat up and took out one of his last strips of parchment. He took the twig and slowly wrote only a single word. 'Everything.'

"I guess it would in this predicament." Baelgor motioned his fingers for Morghon to scoot over next to him. "If you want to cry, do it. There's nothing shameful about it. It shows you still feel when most men don't. Those are the men who would do to you what you've already been through and worse. So go on."

Morghon's hand tightened on the twig, snapping it but it didn't bother Baelgor. Morghon needed to let his sadness out if he wanted to move on from it. But it was certainly strange to watch a child try to moan and wail his worries but not hear a thing. Morghon curled his knees up to his chest and cried into them.

"Listen," Baelgor started, "you won't have to worry about these things for much longer. Once we can travel easy, we'll be going further up the coast. I know a sailor who owes me a favor and you'll be back in your castle before you-" A sudden grip on his right sleeve and tug down cut him off. Morghon looked scared instead of sad now. He was constantly shaking his head, as if pleading not to do something that could mean life or death. And even though Morghon couldn't speak, Baelgor managed to read his lips when he mouthed the words: 'you cannot.'

"Why?" Baelgor asked. "It's your leaving that caused this mess in the first place. That priest was a fucking fool for taking you away. If you're worried about what I said earlier about getting caught, I told you I know someone."

Without a writing utensil and his parchment near gone, Morghon began tracing his finger in the dry dirt. The letters were rushed and a bit crude but easy to read nonetheless. 'Terrible things will happen.'

"Oh? According to who?"

Morghon brushed the words away and wrote again. 'Priest had a vision they would.'

Fucking hells. He wanted to call it a fool's belief in such things, but it would be blasphemous against all he experienced. He couldn't deny the truth of all he has seen. But then again, how much of what those fucking pricks spouted were lies?

Baelgor shrugged and sat back on the trunk of the uprooted tree behind him. "It's your choice. I'm not your father, just a sworn protector. If you don't want to go, then so be it."

Morghon brushed the words away and wrote again. 'I want to go...'

"But you think you can't." Baelgor shook his head at the nonsense of a child. "There's a difference between if a person can and if a person should. You can go home if you want, I have a plan to get you there that would probably work, so that path is open. But whether or not you should take it, that's your choice. If you believe that it will lead you to a worse place than you are already, then find somewhere else to go." He thought the path he chose long ago would lead him to satisfaction, but no matter how many he killed to keep walking it, he only felt more anger.

Morghon slumped back against the trunk with his legs curled to his chest and wiping his tears away.

Dammit all, he didn't want to bother anymore with this, but the feeling was pecking at his mind.

"You have maesters in your castles, right?" Baelgor inquired and Morghon nodded in response. "They ever teach you about the old Kingdom of Valyria?" Morghon held his palm out and rocked it side to side, a gesture meaning "somewhat." "It used to be a glorious place, unmatched by any other is every way. Cities of glass towers and dragons flying overhead as common as flocks of geese." He stole a quick glance at the boy and saw his sadness was turning into a growing wonder. "My ancestors learned to command flames at the tips of their fingers. They would dance with their dragons and spew fire together as none others could, a great rite envied by every other Valyrian. They carved through the earth and made rivers of fire that ran throughout the great cities…"

A sudden breath and blinding light brought Baelgor out of his sleep. There were no hills or mountains close enough in the east, only flat swamplands so the sun rose too early for his taste. He groaned as he turned over on the soft grass and found the will to push himself up. 'Why in hell can I never fall asleep when I want to and never get up when I want to?' He thought to himself. Last night's camp fire still smoked thin lines from the very last of the embers.

They were just barely in the beginnings of the trees that made the forest that eventually became a damn swamp of the city's sewage, almost to Mantarys. Luckily they were many miles from that so the smell would not attack them yet. They were also next to a small creek bank that was big and clean enough for them to bathe in for the first time in weeks.

Baelgor reached over and grabbed one of the logs that went used and tossed it over the ash and embers. He wiped the crust of his eyes with one hand and snapped his flames with the other, restarting the fire and also startling the boys awake.

"Good morning, gorgeous." Baelgor said to Vedros who's hair was sticking out to one side. It was a rather embarrassing look that only headwear could fix for that short of hair. "We got any of the crocodile meat left?"

"No," Vedros groaned as he sat up. "Only got the yams now."

"Hm, would've preferred meat but oh well." Baelgor looked over to Morghon who was trying to keep sleeping. "Oy, get up or I'll sit on your head and let loose." These boys knew too well the wrath of a dragon's stench and among other things it was a powerful motivator to get one to move. It was enough to get Morghon to sit up and slowly and get to his feet. "I gotta take a piss."

"Same," Vedros said.

"Guess that means you're in charge of breakfast, Morghon." Baelgor foolishly jumped to his feet and caught a dizzy spell, nearly tumbling over. He wandered in the opposite direction of Vedros in the trees and did the Lord's work once he found a decent spot. He didn't understand why they wanted him to get privacy to piss, nothing they haven't seen before, hell's that's how they all met.

When he arrived back, Morghon had the yams cleaned and speared with sticks right next to the fire. Morghon was half paying attention to the food and more than half to practising his swordplay with Blackfyre AND Vedros' sword. What got into him to start playing around dual wielding?

"If you burn those yams," Baelgor started, "you're gonna be the one to replace 'em with something else." Morghon then began to constantly look over to the yams after every set of movements he performed. Morghon's form was already decent since he was a natural with one sword and enough that he could well in fact participate in a battle and come out alive. "You really want to wield two swords?" Baelgor asked skeptically.

Morghon nodded and continued to attempt a set of guards and strikes. The different weights of regular steel and Valyrian steel were throwing him off balance though and it was clear to see that it was bothering him.

"Well if you're going to do it, do it right." Baelgor went to his things and unsheathed Fang. He left his sword belt and scabbard next to where he slept and stopped Morghon. Trading Fang for Vedros' sword, Morghon now had two Valyrian Steel swords in hand. "Better?"

Morghon paused to feel the weight of each sword in his hands and nodded. But he still looked troubled about something. It confused Baelgor to think what it could be. Every boy who's ever grown up in a castle would dream of the chance to hold a Valyrian Steel sword and Morghon now had two.

Baelgor let Morghon resume a set of swings, the form had improved now that the balance was even. He stepped in and took a few strikes at Morghon with Vedros' sword and began to spar with his student. He didn't hold back his speed since Morghon had two weapons and neither did he hold back his other advantages in skill. "Do you know why it's folly to use two swords?"

Morghon shook his head as he parried.

"Because they get in the way of each other." He blocked a double strike from Morghon and snuck a hand to his belt, drawing his dagger bringing the blade to Morghon's exposed body. "I have all this room to move and maneuver with a smaller weapon and you don't with such a big blade." He stepped back and took a stance with his dagger in his left hand close to his body and his sword extended out in front. "Stand like this, something normal." Morghon copied the stance and Baelgor immediately swiped his sword and slapped the planes of Blackfyre and Fang out of the way leaving Morghon exposed. "If you're gonna with weapons like these, you need to figure out how to make room for them." Morghon was already a good swordsman with both hands, his teaching was to be thanked, but trying to use both like this was easier said than done.

"If we ever get the chance, I'll try to arrange a day lesson with a pit fighter. One who's fought real dual wielding and can show you a trick or two." He flicked Vedros' sword and interfered easily and caught Morghon off guard with the tip of the sword aimed to kill just at Morghon's heart. "But trying to dual wield with these types of swords is damn near impossible. If your mind's out of focus like yours is, you better just cut your throat before trying."

Morghon stabbed both Blackfyre and Fang into the dirt and signed. 'I assumed so. But better to die trying, right?'

Baelgor chuckled and rustled Morghon's hair. "Better to live to die when you're old and gray. Now, let's try again. Retreat to my advance and defend." The moment Morghon took both swords in his hands, Baelgor sent out a flurry of swings with his sword utilizing the Dancing Dragon form.

Morghon was doing a good job of keeping a firm defense and his footwork was improving but it wasn't nearly as good as Baelgor knew he could be doing.

"Ugh, stop." Baeglor ceased fighting and leaned on the sword. "You're still distracted by something."

Morghon's shoulders fell and he went from looking tired to worried.

"Are you still scared about going back?"

Morghon didn't sign a response. Instead he nodded quietly and looked away. He was scared to talk about it.

Baelgor pinched the bridge of his nose as he gathered his thoughts. Morghon was letting this get to him too much. "Then should we just turn around? Keep avoiding the peril instead of facing it?"

Morghon just shrugged.

"Morghon, do you remember what I told you when we first met?"

Morghon looked puzzled before planting the swords in the dirt then signed, 'was it something you said when you were drunk or sober?'

Baelgor wanted to be annoyed at the question, but he honestly couldn't remember which he was at the time. "Tell me what you know you can do right now and what you feel you should do. Tell me your answer, cause I can't keep giving them for you."

'But I do not know what I can do or what I should do.'

"Well here's an idea. Something I can do is continue to tell you everything you want to hear but that would keep you a lost pup following close behind your master. Now what I should and am going to do is let you figure out to take chances and be brave with your choices."

'I am not the best when it comes to bravery.'

Baelgor almost had the urge to clout Morghon on the ear. "Not the be- Morghon, you've slain a crocodile with magic! You've kicked Bloodbeard in the balls and lived, fought Dothraki Screamers! You even tried to save a bitch of a woman who's never had a single ounce of pity or love for you." He didn't like Catelyn Stark very much after all he heard about her from the boys. "You're brave, Morghon. Maybe you just need me to say it because you are." he patted him on the back and hopefully patted some sense into him to think on. "Now pick up those swords. See if all your desire is just banter or true."

Morghon eagerly grabbed hold of both swords and Vedros had just returned from his business.

"Oh Seven Hells!" Vedros rushed over to the fire and the yams which were now blackening. Both Baelgor and Morghon slumped in dumbfoundedness when they realised what they had forgotten about breakfast. "I leave to take a shit and return to shit." Vedros grumbled as he pulled the yams away. "It's just the skin that's burned." He grumbled as he grabbed a handful of dirt and tossed it and both of them. "Unreliable fire spitting snarks, that's what you two are." He pointed fingers at them harshly.

"Such words! My heart bleeds from them!" Baelgor dramatically held himself before laughing the situation off. "Now let's do it again but faster." They went through the steps once again but Baelgor made sure not to simply repeat the previous moves he had been doing before. This time Morghon made a counter riposte and stole the advance and began to attack. Even though he was ambitious, his body wasn't the size for such fighting. Hopefully the next couple of years would be his growth spurt because he needed it.

Things went on like this for the next several minutes. The yams were cooling and being cut into salvagle pieces by Vedros while the chiming of swords kept bringing music to the woods. It was good fun.

After enough battling about, Baelgor paused from their sparring to take a moment to rest but also take a break and move on to the lesson he was eager to teach. He breathed easy and waited for Morghon to catch his breath. "Now then, let's do something I've been looking forward to."

Baelgor let his flames spark and ignited the blade of his sword. "Every great fighter knows to their core that the weapon they hold becomes an extension themselves. We train our muscles to move and strengthen to our needs until it truly feels like the weapon is a part of us. But never forget that this here," he pointed to the blade, "is just a piece of steel. The real sword is the one who wields it." He couldn't let himself just give the answer, he had to let Morghon learn it for himself if he was to truly grow. "Now try igniting Blackfyre."

Morghon breathed deeply and picked his sword back in his hands. He focused all his attention on Blackfyre's blade. His black flames began flickering at his knuckles below the crossguard. A long tongue of black fire stretched and began licking the surface the black.

"No," Baelgor stopped him. The black flames diminished and the sword planted in the dirt again. "What you're trying to do is cover your blade with a sleeve of fire when it's not that. The flames are a part of the blade itself when we do thi…" His head began feeling heavy and light at the same time. Vedros' sword slipped from his fingers and he nearly fell backwards. He also felt his grip over his magic beginning to fail.

When the sword landed in the dirt, the white flames disappeared and it was a sudden wave of relief that was felt instead of dizziness. Baelgor let himself fall to his rear so he could sit.

Morghon rushed to kneel at his side. 'Are you alright?' Morghon signed after setting the swords aside.

"I… I don't know. I feel like I've been casting my flames for hours on end." When it was only a minute or two that he was. "This is strange. I… I think I ran out already." The Burning Blade was a difficult technique to perform but not exhausting to do. He should have been able to hold that technique for a full hour if he wanted to.

He pressed his fingers to his temple and massaged where the pain of a headache was now growing. What was happening?

Picking up the sword from where it fell, Baelgor focused his magic to ignite the blade but only small spurts of white flames appeared and licked the steel. He tried again but the same results proved it to be in vain. Panic was starting to take over as Baelgor tossed the sword aside and tried to ignite a simple ball of fire over his palm. This time instead of small flickering flames there were popping sparks that would not ignite. "Come on!" He shouted, growing increasingly worried along with frustration.

He didn't know what this was or why it was happening. But what he did know is that he was becoming terrified at the feeling of losing his magic.

Finally, he stopped trying and decided to rest for a moment when he felt more pains returning to his head. If he really did run out of his stamina to use magic then rest is what he needed right now.

"Get me the book…" He told Morghon with a near exhaustion in his breath trailing into his words. "just get me the book and… and just just practise your forms, one sword and no mistakes."

Morghon lingered for a moment's sake before doing as he was told. He gave the Tome of Fire to Baelgor and went off to continue his practising. There was a constant gaze stolen over but Baelgor ignored it.

"Let's see..." It wasn't the spell itself but something in about him that was causing such weakness in it. He skipped the sections regarding spells and techniques and skimmed over the other sections regarding things like the abridged histories and the memoirs of his ancestors. Before the last section and also the smallest was the written understandings of magic itself. Unfortunately, even the wisest of Valyrians with all of their knowledge barely knew a thing about the deep workings of magic. They only knew how to command it.

He scanned over the pages, it had been too long since he last read this part of the book. Half the things he knew he read were now forgotten to him. One page he came upon earned a longer look than the rest.

There was no name on who wrote the entry, only a date of the Valyrian Calendar. Translated to current times, the date marks a few days before the Doom of Valyria happened. Whoever wrote this must have perished with the rest of the Valyrians who did.

For all that is seen and experienced through our uses is the art of taming fire, all accounts have shared the absolute and firm belief that the fire that can be conjured through the use of the magic that that flows in our veins differs from fire which is made from the spark of flint that grows feeding on timber.

Regrettably, only two accounts of the thirty-seven I have investigated have truly listened to the still small life that resides in their flames when it was first born to them. Both accounts manifested their flames at the age of young adults and as I have suspected, the flames matured as their users did throughout their current lifespans.

It is my belief that the flames we birth are a response to the feelings that overcome us at the time. The color itself has the chance to change but will most likely remain what it has been throughout previous bloodlines. It is the emotions of the heart that ignite our first flames into life. As such, like man made flames, the fuel given at birth must remain as it's constant nurture as it grows. Otherwise, such a sudden change will be like throwing wet wood over embers. I suspect that my continuous studies will reveal another theory I suspect, but only time will tell.

The next page was written by someone else and it focused on a recount of the horrors inflicted by the Doom.

Baelgor read the page again to try and better understand whatever words the author meant. Why in bloody hells did they have to make it sound like a giant riddle?

"What's your problem?" Vedros asked with a mouth half full of yam. He passed over some of it to Baelgor as he came over to read what Baelgor was. "Lost your fire?"

"No… I'm not sure what's going on." It is my belief that the flames we birth are a response to the feelings that overcome us at the time. This phrase in the lines struck a chord with him but he wasn't sure why. Does it mean that it's more than just the thickness of his Valyrian blood that gave power to his fire or something else entirely? 'The feelings that overcome us… all I've been overcome with has been rage. Perhaps it's my anger that kept my power as it was?'

He lightly waved Vedros away who just scoffed and went back to the yams. But the sentence he pointed out was one that got him thinking. 'The fuel given at birth…' Maybe it meant what he felt when he had his first flames. 'Shienna…'

Baelgor set the book aside and buried his face in his hand. He didn't want to think about his wife and son. All the joyous memories he had were repressed after their deaths. Thinking back on them or trying to always brought frustration and sadness upon him. Whatever this current problem is, he would fix it by himself.

This type of thinking only made him angry and Morghon took notice. Morghon set Blackfyre back with his things and came up to him.

Morghon picked up the book and sat down next to him, reading the page he was currently on. He then began tapping repeatedly on one of the sentences. Baelgor looked over to the part that intrigued Morghon.

Sadly, only two accounts of the thirty-seven I have investigated have truly listened to the still small life that resides in their flames when it was first born to them.

"That?" That phrase, he remembered that his grandfather once mentioned something similar to that when he was just a boy sitting on his father's knee to listen to stories in the library. "Haven't you ever felt the beating heart of your flames when you held them in your hands? The life within?"

Morghon was going to shake his head, but froze for a moment to ponder his memories. 'I think I did when I first held that dragon of fire you made. It really felt alive in my hands.'

Strange that it was his flames and not Morghon's. "Fire is life, not only destruction. It lives with you the moment it first sparks in your fingers. Only the best fire tamers truly understand this." He realized how hypocritical it was for him to say that. He did everything to ignore that important teaching for so long.

Baelgor closed the book and set it aside. His head already hurt from thinking so much about his dilemma. He needed something to eat now.

He ate his breakfast of yams with the boys before they packed everything up. Today was the day they would finally get to Mantarys and meet with their smuggler. Since they traveled fast, they would be arriving a day early but it wouldn't be a problem, just a day saved for the trip. They smothered the fire, mounted their horses, and headed to the remains of the Demon Road.

The strands of willow branches swayed gently in the warm winds but in the presence of such a horrid environment it was like the curling of a scheming maiden's fingers enticing a man to come to her while hiding a poisoned blade behind her back. For some odd reason there was a crude ambience in the scenery around Baelgor as they traveled on the road.

There wasn't any hard riding today since there wasn't such a press for time. Already they were early and there was still some fatigue from the past few days weighing on them. But it was also necessary since bandits and thugs will set up potholes in the road to trip fast moving horses and steal from the riders. Slower pace meant a less chance of tripping up like that.

During the ride, Morghon had taken it upon himself to constantly pester his attention in the book where Baelgor had been reading. Did he think that he would find something Baelgor missed?

"Don't waste your time with that right now. Read something else." Baelgor tried reaching over to turn the pages but Morghon kept the book away from his reach.

'I want to read this.' He signed.

"You won't understand it." Baelgor advised. "You're reading what my ancestors spent decades discovering and learning. You won't find something new in a matter of minutes, Morghon." Despite his words, Morghon ignored him and kept reading from the same pages over and over.

At times, Morghon even lit a small flame in his hands and just stared at it. Was he trying to listen to the life of his fire too? That's all the boy would do, read and listen, for the next couple of hours as they rode. It was a bit disturbing at times because Morghon went as quiet as a ghost whenever he looked at his fire. His focus was absolute and haunting.

Baelgor stole a quick peek for himself thinking that maybe there was something to see such as a vision in the shadow of flame. But he saw nothing, only darkness. Maybe Morghon saw something he couldn't, something only those who've met death can see. In a way, it reminded him of times when his grandfather would watch their family practise their magic. The way his grandfather watched was just like how Morghon was looking right now.

By midday, they had to let the horses drink but they dared not drink themselves from the river, in fact it was a risk letting the horses drink from such a source. The spot they were at appeared to be cleaner than what was up ahead but who knows how much piss and shit was in there?

Vedros and Morghon looked after the horses while Baelgor went off a little ways to find some focus in isolation. He couldn't get the bothering thoughts of his inability to use magic out from itching the back of his mind where he could not scratch them. He felt as helpless as his two boys did when they first met in that alley.

Baelgor felt a pat on his side and looked over to Morghon to see what he had to say. 'I have been thinking about something.'

"Oh?"

'You said that fire is life.'

"Well I meant it in a more metaphorical sense, but yes."

'What if it is not…' he had no word for metaphorical, 'that way and it might be L-I-T-E-R-A-L?'

"I don't see how it can be literal. I think you misunderstood what I meant the first time. Our flames become a part of us just like the bones, the muscles, and everything else in our bodies. I don't know how many times I have to say that for you to get it. The difference between our flames and every other fire is that our essense extends into ours, hence giving it a form of life."

'But what if it is more than that? What if our fire has its own life?'

"I'm not sure about that. The book says things that make it sound like that is the case but it's not. Otherwise I'm absolutely sure there would have been some account of fire having its own will. I would've remembered if something like that was in the book. Though it's quite the thing to imagine, creatures of fire."

'I do not mean it like that. I mean what if it is like how plants are? They are alive but they are not like animals or people.'

"Then it wouldn't be much of a life but if you mean it like that then it easily falls under the basics of what our magic is. Our essence gives it life. How many times do I have to say it?"

Morghon's hands shuffled as he tried to sign out words but he kept getting stuck. It looks like there were many new words he had no sign for coming up. Regardless, he did his best without them. 'I understand what you mean, but what I mean is something more than that. I do not have a clue how to say it except for what I just said with a bit more to it. It lives but it also can make choices in a certain way. Do you understand what I mean?'

Baelgor looked at him skeptically. "Where are these strange ideas coming from?"

'Three hours of throwing around ideas is where.' Morghon signed. 'This is the least ridiculous of them all. Just answer the question.'

Baelgor sighed in annoyance. "I'm not sure because I don't see how the flames could actually be alive that way aside from how I've told you they are time and time again. If our fire is alive and can make choices, then why doesn't it show us that it is? Why doesn't it give us some sign that it is? You think about that while juggling ideas for three hours?"

'I never thought so until you asked.'

"Well you're asking the wrong person, alright? If my grandfather were alive he could explain this perfectly. But I'm not a scholar like he was and I barely remember half of what's in the book. Everything else that might help was turned to ash."

'Maybe it is not that kind of answer, maybe it's more simple than that. What if there have been things that you have not paid attention to? Signs that feel like instinct or I-N-T-O-O-I-T-I-O-N?-'

"Intuition is spelled with a U, not two O's."

Morghon growled at him. 'Piss on spelling! Maybe your flames are trying to talk to you but you cannot hear them, or maybe you don't want to hear them?'

"Gods in hell, I've never heard any voice from my flames and I've never felt any of what you're spouting. These ideas make no sense! They just keep going in circles!"

'At least I am trying to fix the problem instead of avoiding it.' Morghon signed back at him.

"Avoi- I'm not avoiding anything." Morghon looked at him cynically when he said that. "If you're right, then why haven't I ever felt something like that before? Why hasn't my father or my wife, or anyone else I've known to hold fire?"

'Maybe because you haven't tried? What do you think I was doing besides throwing around ideas?' Morghon held his palm out and as soon as Baelgor saw a spark he swiped Morghon's hand away.

"Don't do that here, you idiot!" He hissed. There was a chance unwanted eyes were in their midst.

'But I need to show you.' Morghon signed.

Baelgor grumbled and his next words left gritting teeth. "Show me what?"

'That it is not life like ours, but more like the feeling that the fire has a… S-P-I-R-I-T.' Morghon held his hand out again and let a small black fire appear in his palm. There wasn't anything special about it and it occasionally flickered.

Baelgor nearly rolled his eyes at the boy but kept them fixed on the flame. Discounting the black color and the shadow the fire cast, there wasn't anything special about it. But then his gaze switched to Morghon who had his eyes closed and looked like he was in some sort of meditative trance.

Morghon's flame dispersed and he looked up to Baelgor. 'I do not know how to say how, but I am not listening with my ears.'

This was getting ridiculous. "Then what were you doing? What do you think I should do?"

Morghon paused to think for an answer. After a moment, he signed again. 'I think you should try listening closer to what you feel the voice of your fire instead hearing it.'

"What do I feel?" He knew that Morghon wouldn't stop bothering him about this until he at least tried. The boy certainly was a stubborn bastard.

He tried casting a small flicker of fire in his palm and there was a candle's worth of flame that ignited. At first, he didn't feel anything other than the small heat it gave but he knew that it was his stubbornness that halted any real results. He shut his eyes and focused on the beating of his heart and how the rhythm resonated in his flames. A sudden wave unwrapped over his heart and he felt guilt out of all things when he looked at the flame as he would someone in the eyes.

'What is it you feel?' Morghon signed.

This feeling he had, he couldn't explain it to himself since he never felt it before. The fire was of himself and yet there was another presence in his hand.

"Pain…" the word just slipped out like a reaction. If Baelgor chose, he would have kept it to himself. "My flames… no, my magic is sad." It made him feel ashamed and unworthy to hold such a beautiful power such as this in his hand. Altogether, it was a great weight of guilt that befell him.

He felt this way once before, eight years ago after he killed every person in the Red Temple of Volantis. It wasn't the murder that made him feel that way, it was something else that he was not sure of, only that he knew he betrayed something great about himself.

The small fire in his hand flared out suddenly and was larger in size. A sensation ran through Baelgor's arm and into the rest of his body. It was almost as if his fire was responding to what he could feel from it. Small bits of strength between him and fire coming back but they were different.

He could feel a pull to the light in the center of his fire, to what his magic was trying to show him beyond the flickerings of flame.

"Bael!" Shienna had quite the leap in her step as she entered his room so quickly.

"Why yes, Shienna, you can come in. Thanks for asking." Baelgor replied in a pleasant but exaggerated tone with his cousin. Truthfully, he didn't mind when she was around, she was always in a happy mood, but asking for permission to enter wouldn't hurt.

"Guess what I did yesterday?" She had a smug but excited look on her face.

"Something quick to tell? I'm about to go meet Deakyn and Laekyr for some drinks-" His words were cut short when Shienna held out her hand and white flames lit on her fingertips and covered her palm. For such warm flames, Baelgor was frozen with shock.

"Oh gods no…" Looks like all that bragging that he would be the first would put his arrogant ass in place soon. "Deakyn and Laekyr are never gonna let me forget about this."

"Do you want to feel them?" It was an odd question, but enticing as well. Baelgor stretched his hand out and felt a wonderful warmth when his fingers touched the white flames. But the warmth was better when his skin touched Shienna's.

"It feels wonderful."

Shienna smiled happily. "I got my flames first which means I won the bet."

Oh hells, he forgot about that. The first one to get their flames got to make the other do whatever they ordered. They made that bet years ago when they were still kids. But a bet was a bet.

Shienna extinguished her flames and took Baelgor's hands into her. "Now I want you to put her hands on my hips like this." She placed his hands on the very top of her thighs. She had such a soft feel.

"Um.. do you want me to dance with you?"

Shienna began to look nervous and was turning red as he placed her hands on his shoulders. "Now close your eyes." Shienna whispered with such a beautiful smile.

Baelgor took a deep breath and did as she told him. All his sense felt heightened as he almost shivered in such a position. He felt something close to fear rising in him.

A sudden warmth on his lips calmed him down and made him forget about everything else around him except Shienna. His hands moved on their own up from her hips to behind her back, pulling her closer to him. He never wanted to let go.

Shienna broke his first kiss and he finally got to open his eyes. She was still smiling, all he ever wanted to see her do for the rest of his life. She ran a hand down his arm and found his hand and they interlocked their fingers together. "Thank you, Bael."

He didn't know what to say, he was at a loss for words, and so was she when her flames ignited in her hand again. They both looked down but Shienna was surprised to see her flames. No, not her flames, his. His first fire.

"Papa!" Althor came running onto the patio overlooking the garden where Baelgor was pacing in thought. Laekyr was off on a cushioned couch with Deakyn, both of them smoking pipeweed. "Papa!"

He paused and caught his son in his arms and raised him as high as he could. Althor laughed and stretched his arms out as if he were a little dragon. "Hey!" Baelgor brought his son down to his eye level. "What's got you in such a happy mood?"

"Look look! The fire!" Althor held his hand out a sudden burst of white fire spread over his hand. Baelgor was aghast as were Deakyn and Laekyr. He couldn't believe it, Althor, a babe of barely five years, cast his flames.

"Althor!" Shienna called on her way outside of the manse. "Althor, where have you go-" The moment she saw the fire, she stopped in place and looked in disbelief.

"Shienna," Baelgor grew a great grin. "Our son's a prodigy!" He began laughing and hugged his boy tightly to him. "Oh, this is amazing, simply amazing!"

Those moments, those were the moments that filled his heart with such life and passion and made him glad that he could experience such magic in this world. And to see Morghon do it, to bring back what he thought would be lost forever, it made him forget the revenge that drove him for years. Revenge was what drove him, what weakened his potential. Not the thinning of his Valyrian blood, but his will to remember why he loved magic in the first place and the love magic gave him.

He still had so much he didn't understand, but what he could right now was that it was his fault for this, his treachery to his fire.

He looked again at his fire and he could see two pairs of eyes looking back at him, eyes he would never forget. 'Shienna, Althor...' He could see them clearly as he could see Morghon next to him. But there were more appearing in his fire. His father, his uncles, his grandfather, all of them looking back at him with the same expression. He could see anger in them all but also a hurting sadness as well. It suddenly felt heavy to hold. He wanted them to disappear but they would not leave. 'Leave me alone,' he begged in his thoughts for he was ashamed to be holding them in his hands now. It was hurting him deeply for his family to see what he has become and judging him.

A light touch on his arm from Morghon brought him out of this miserable trance he was nearly in. The flames dispersed on their own and the two of them were left in the shadows of the alleyway but the weight of his guilt remained.

He couldn't focus straight. His thoughts were swirling in whirlpools altogether and racing faster than Dothraki could still feel the eyes of his family watching him even though the flame was gone. He felt them all deep within him.

Morghon tried shaking Baelgor time and time again to get his attention. But after failing to get a response, Morghon slapped hard across Baelgor's cheek. It stung but not enough that it hurt that much. What it did do was bring Baelgor to his senses. He looked at Morghon who was just as worried as he was right now.

'What in Seven Hells happened?' Morghon signed.

"I… I had to see it to know." He looked directly to Morghon's grey eyes. "You were right." Admitting that put surprise into Morghon.

'I was?'

Baelgor nodded. "I'm a traitor to my fire." Except it was not just his fire, but his name as well. His family was not one of samaritans and saints but they were good people until him. None had ever committed atrocities like he did. A damn disgrace.

"Hey!" Vedros called over to them. "I don't mean to interrupt whatever magic talk you are having, but the horses are done."

Baelgor stood to his feet slowly. There was so much he was just coming to terms understanding and yet so much he still did not know. "We'll talk about this later." When they had a better place to do it and when he thought things over long enough.

They got back on the road and kept at their pace. Small groups of people were becoming frequent leaving away from the city as they got closer. Morghon was back to burying his eyes in the Tome and Baelgor didn't try to stop him from reading this time. In fact he wished that he could be the one reading right now.

Baelgor, Vedros, and Morghon were a mile out, riding along the remains of the road that was now dried shit and mudd. Flies buzzed all around looking to feast on the horde of filth. The road ran next to a grey murky river, one of three that went into the city and out to the ocean.

There was once a book in the Aekylosh library that had a picture of the city just after it was built by the Valyrians. A shining jewel of wonder and beauty. That book was ash among dirt now and the city in the picture was just as a man with leprosy, decayed and hideous.

"Does the city smell better than out here?" Vedros words squirmed out of his mouth as he covered it and his nose.

"No," Baelgor replied, "but less flies." He then patted Morghon on the shoulder. "Time to pack it up. Flash that around and our throats will be slit before someone even gives us a hello. Anything without a sharp edge to cut is the favorite taste for a thief's fingers. So keep your hands close to hilts." Morghon closed the book and stuffed it in his rucksack.

There were no gates, just an open archway that looked just about ready to crumble if someone hit it in the right spot. No one was afraid of an attack on the city because nobody wanted such a place. Even still, there were two guards standing at opposing ends of the entrance to the city. Their armor was beaten and covered in crusted blood. Both of the men were hideous looking, one with a face covered in zits and blisters. The other was chewing lazily on what might be cooked rat.

"Hold!" The blister zit faced one said in Broken Valyrian. He walked his way to stand in front of the horses. "There's a tax for enterin' the city. Ten silvah marks."

It was a miracle that the man could even count that high. Baelgor looked over to the other man eating his rat and saw that he didn't give a single care what was going on. "Very well, but would like them before or after I clean your blood off them when I slice your neck ear to ear?" Instead of Fang, Baelgor drew his knife and held it ready to throw if needed."

The guard was quite the coward however. He stepped back and just grumbled as he moved aside. Couldn't even find the bravery to say an apology or make an excuse. That sword resting in the frog at his hip was just for show.

Vedros shook his head and rolled his eyes at such a scene. "Is everyone here so polite as that?" He asked as they rode into the city.

"No, It's worse." Baelgor replied. They didn't stop at the stables, only a fool would trust the prices they charge there. They had to steer from many potholes in the streets and avoided as many unwanted stares as they did. They stood out too much in this place.

Even though Mantarys was nicknamed the city of monsters and demons, most of the people here were rather normal and simply had nowhere else to go. But the rest, they were the monsters that were cast out just as those afflicted with greyscale are cast away to Valyria.

A pair of men were talking next to a sign post, one of the men had no ears and crude tattoos of spiders that crawled out of the empty eye socket of his right eye while the other man had hands with gnarled fingers and a fat lower lip to match his even fatter nose. Such sights were only a sample of what else was unafraid to live in this place.

There was a brothel coming up, it was actually one of the cleanest places and the smell was nicer around it. From a second story window leaned out a woman with black hair silky as her garments, a thin veil covering over her nose and mouth, and three breasts barely hidden by the scarf that covered them.

Morghon lingered a look and Baelgor saw the woman wink down to him with a small wave. "Hey," Baelgor smacked Morghon upside the head, "you want to keep looking at her or get the fuck out of here as soon as possible?"

Morghon nodded and signed an apology.

"The whores here will fondle your purse more than balls. Nobody with honor like you comes into this city and gains anything. It's always a loss." They stopped at the city square. There was a defiled statue of some historical person forgotten long ago. The head of the statue wasn't the original, but a bronze demon head with tentacles for teeth and horns instead of ears attached to the body.

It was here they dismounted and Baelgor gave the reins to the boys. "Head down that road and you should find the better of the taverns. It's called the Pissing Harpy. Someone's always in need of transportation and will have the coin to buy. Find a buyer but don't sell them, wait till I have made the arrangements first. And watch your backs," he looked to Morghon, "anyone and everyone in this city will cause hell to get a hold of what you have." Blackfyre and the Tome of Fire probably had more worth than this entire fucking city.

Both Vedros and Morghon nodded, leading the horse down the street of the city while Baelgor when down a different one. He rested his left hand of the dragon tooth pommel of Fang and his gaze kept darting from side to side, looking for any poor fool that might dare try to jump him. If it happened, it would only benefit him. A thief's fat purse would be a good thing to have right now. The money he currently had and what he hoped to get from the horses might not be enough. Smuggler's were always expensive cunts.

Baelgor had to stop on his way to the docks. His boots were covered in so much filth and mud, most of it might be dog shit or someone else's. He scraped it off the corner of a barrel and heard the jingle of a coin being dropped into a wooden bowl.

"Blessin's to you, sir," a beggar gave thanks to his donor. He was dressed in what was tattered sheets with holes cut into them to act as clothes. The brown hair of his beard and scalp were a mess and full of grease and dandruff. He looked miserable and hopeless, not bad for his act.

Baelgor pulled out a silver piece from his purse and dropped it into the bowl.

"Blessin's to y-"

"Shut it. You're not bad but need work. You're too filthy, even for this place. Only place that has someone so fucked up as yourself is where the stone men dwell."

The beggar looked up to him in despair, but the expression suddenly turned into an ominous silent glare. "A coin and enlightenment. A man has earned a favor if a beggar can grant it."

Baelgor waved him off. "I have no interest in death today."

There was a ghost of a smile on a beggar's face. "Death will always have interest for dragons." Baelgor felt a shiver creep through his bones. The way a beggar said it, it didn't bode well. "To repay a generous man, a single bit of information for a single coin. The Alchemist's Guild has become rather lazy as of late leaving dangerous oils where they can leak into the sewers. A beggar suggests you see for yourself."

Baelgor didn't understand what the hell that was supposed to mean or what it had to do with anything. Nevertheless he took his leave but continued to feel the eyes of the Faceless Man watching him until he was out of sight. He didn't mean to, but he let out a great breath of relief when he was gone.

The rest of the walk to the harbor didn't take long. Once he was there Baelgor felt relaxed to see more normal looking people. It was the only place they could be found. But also he felt concerned when seeing that there weren't even half as many ships as there should be. It was supposed to be the busiest time of the day yet hardly anyone was around.

Back in the fishing village, he arranged for a certain ship to be waiting here and the captain to negotiate the price. He was looking for a riverboat large enough for at least ten passengers and sporting a figurehead of a zorse. The distinct feature seen from afar would be the bright yellow sails it had.

But looking up and down the docks at the few ships that were anchored, there was nothing that matched that description. He wandered here and there to see if maybe the boat was hiding next to another vessel but it wasn't that either.

'This doesn't make any sense,' He thought, 'we got here in time and there haven't been any storms.' There was one way to know for certain whether something was wrong right now. He found the harbor master at a tall podium with a quill in hand. "Pardon," he asked the old bastard, "I need to know if a ship's dock here yet or not."

"Sorry sir," the old man replied, "but I cannot disclose such information without first seeing proper documentation."

In any other city this would be a load of horseshit, but in this place many precautions were taken by outside men. Luckily these precautions were as weak as a chain with links of parchment. Baelgor huffed an irritated sigh and rummaged out five silvers pieces. "This proper enough?"

The old harbor master quickly swiped the silver away. "I have had over a hundred ships come within the last few days but hardly any today. What is the vessel and when were you expecting it?"

"It's a river boat. The Flouncing Zorse. Yellow sails. It should have arrived two days ago."

The harbor master turned several pages of his record book and scanned his fingers diligently up and down the pages. After a few seconds, he stopped. "Here we are, the Flouncing Zorse. Arrived at late afternoon three days ago but departed early this morning."

"This morning?" Baelgor thought he misheard. Even if the boat arrived a day early, it was supposed to wait at least six days from today. "It left this morning?"

"Along with just about every other ship save those that remain here." He set his quill down in between the pages like a bookmark and leaned over his podium. "I was not present for the morning shift, but supposedly there was talk of some unwanted characters on their way here. I think I heard some sailors say it was probably a Dothraki Horde or some other small force. Gods know what there could be of worth here that they would want. One young lad was spouting nonsense that it was the lost army of Qohor returning from the Doom. Can you imagine an army of the dead like that? Ridiculous I say."

Baelgor abruptly left the company of the harbor master, confused and furious. He was now robbed of what he paid for and the only ships left were probably too large to take the smuggler's route and by the looks of it too untrustworthy to buy passage. If they couldn't take the quick way by ship then it would have to be the long way by horse. If they made good time, they could get to Braavos in a few moon turns. Hopefully the expenses would be few or else it would be half a year before they would see the North.

He left the harbor up a different street, one that was closer to where the harbor master was stationed. The stress of today was aggravating him so much. It was like life chose him to be fucked up the ass every chance it could. He guessed that things might be at their limit to how bad they could be but he was wrong at the sight that made his blood boil.

He stopped abruptly when he spotted a gathering crowd of people at a fork in the street, all of them listening to the preachings of a Red Priestess. This one was the first blonde one he ever saw. Usually they were all dark or crimson haired like their robes but not this one.

His fists tightened at the sight of her. He could feel his fingernails cutting into the skin of his palms. This city was the one place he could kill someone in broad daylight in front of dozens of people and no one would give two shits about it unless there was something to loot off the body.

His hand crept over to Fang's hilt as he took his first step to go to the priestess. But after his first step, he stopped with his fingers hovering just above the leather wrapped handle of his sword.

His breathing started to shiver and great conflict arose in him. He knew he swore never to kill another priest or priestess but he never imagined the desire to do it would be so strong. He shuddered as his fingers twitched, grazing the handle but missing to get a grip. He wanted to kill that bitch, to burn her with his magic and smile as she screamed with blind devotion to a shit god.

But for the first time in eight years, he also felt the want to just walk away. It wasn't honor to keep his oath that gave birth to this absurd feeling to leave, it was the guilt of all of his family when they looked at him and what he had become.

He knew he was a murderer and he could never erase it, but there was just a small part of him that thought that he had the chance to be something better now.

Baelgor's fist tightened again and he stormed off in a new direction. He growled and hissed through his teeth all of his anger and hate. He felt disgusted to just leave that woman there to spout lies for the ones that killed his wife and son.

He found an uncrowded alley that went in the direction of the city square and immediately rushed into it, ignoring any caution for cutthroats or criminals that might be hiding in the darkness.

The alley went far between the structures and turned into a small open area with a collapsed marble pavilion in the center. Hanging from the walls all around were baskets of dried, withered flowers. The stems were black and pale brown petals littered the grounds everywhere. But more importantly, there was not anyone in sight.

Baelgor lifted his head up to the sky and yelled as loud he could. His entire body shook with rage. He hated everything in this moment. He hated the Red God, he hated losing those he loved, but more than everything he hated himself. He hated what he had become.

He fell to his knees and slammed his fists on the dirt beneath him. Usually this type of behavior helped someone feel better but it wasn't working for him. This conflict was tearing him apart.

He became still and letting things fall quiet, it was all Baelgor could do. "It's all my fault…" he muttered as he covered his eyes. "It's all my fault." He kept saying that over and over.

"Papa."

Baelgor looked up and saw Althor standing there right in front of him. "Althor," he nearly stuttered. He reached a hand out to his son hoping that Althor would come forward. But then he withdrew and hung his head down. He shouldn't let his son come near a murderer. "I'm not a good man anymore."

"You can be if you want to."

Baelgor looked up again in disbelief of what he just heard.

"All you have to do is ask to be. And if you fight for what's right then you'll know it too."

Baelgor felt tears begin streaking down his face. How could his son say something like that when he was far from deserving of such words?

He felt a warm sensation in his right palm and saw his white fires burning small in the shape of a child's hand. He looked back to Althor but his son was gone. In Althor's place, peaking out of the collapsed pavilion was a single snowdrop starting to bloom.

Baelgor rose to his feet and looked back at his palm. The white flames dispersed but the warmth remained.

Baelgor returned to the city square and spotted Vedros and Morghon waiting where they had first parted. There was a lean fellow with them with his fists on his hips as if he'd been waiting half the day. Upon second look at the square, one wouldn't think that there was some sort of scare going on at the docks. Here it was lively and had plentiful numbers of people going places.

"Baelgor," Vedros called, "This man will give us enough we'll need." Vedros looked at him oddly when he met them. "Are you alright?"

"Change of plans," He spoke softly. "The ship left this morning. Almost every ship has left. Something's spooked them."

Vedros and Morghon both grumbled. "Son of a whore, this is pigshit is what it is." Vedros cursed. "There's no other ships then?"

"None that we can trust. So it looks like we're going on horse." After hearing that, the buyer growled and stormed off. "But if we make for Myr, we could save some time if we book passage there. We'll need to make some more money…" Baelgor felt shivers creep through him when he realized it was growing unnaturally quiet for where they were. He noticed that the scum and thieves were starting to make themselves scarce all around. They were getting out of the way of a single person standing in the dead center of the plaza. "Shit."

A lone warrior adorned in crimson and copper colored clothing stood in their path. Even though he stood absolutely still, the fabric of his robes rippled in the wind and gave him a haunting presence like he was floating. This man wore no armor and kept his face covered except for the eyes. The eyes were so yellow they glowed like flames just as the eyes of the Fiery Hand did, but this man was not one of them. He was a champion of the Red Priests themselves, a Divine Flame, considered to be the greatest fighter in all of Essos. In his left hand, he carried a spear crafted beautifully in appearance and to kill. The ripples in the steel were similar to those of Valyrian Steel, but it wasn't and they were tempered bright yellow against an evening orange. It was like the blade itself was pure fire given a solid form and sharpened.

The Divine shed a red cape from his shoulders, letting it fall to the filthy paved ground. He ran his bare hand over the blade of his spear and the moment the blade kissed his skin and touched his blood, it ignited in golden and orange flames.

Baelgor crept a hand on Fang's hilt and the boys did the same. "Looks like the Cunt of Light found us." How did they know where to look? Was it a vision they had, that priestess from Tolos? No, it couldn't have been her. Baelgor never told anyone he was going to Mantarys, he was certain of it. This was the first time in years that he felt this kind of fear biting at the tips of his fingers, waiting to make its way through the rest of his body.

"How?" said Vedros.

"I'm not sure. But where this one is, there's certainly more somewhere else." This warrior was not like the Fiery Hand or a general, but a champion that served directly under the orders of his masters and usually had many others with him.

The three of them drew their weapons and stood at the ready when the sounds of marching began to appear from the surrounding streets. A heavy presence of fear befell in the air itself that began to work like a drug infecting the mind. The spooks that the city once had began to feel like nightmares. The horses were beginning to rustle in panic. The marching grew louder and the source decided to show itself. There were dozens of soldiers marching uniformly in the streets to them. It wasn't the Mantarys army, those piss pots couldn't march like that even if offered a King's purse to learn.

The armor these men wore was all that was needed to be seen to know. Red helms that masked the face, crimson garments, and tattoos of flames. Round shields and spears depeicting textures of flames. The Fiery Hand was upon them.

Now it was beginning to make sense with the scarcity at the docks. Those who didn't want to risk being in the sight of godly judgement had better get the fuck out.

The intensity of the gathering force scared the horses to break off. Neither Vedros nor Morghon were keeping hold of the reins which allowed them too. There goes their transport.

The soldiers halted and in one motion moved into a defensive formation with their swords pointing out and shields on guard. One formation in the road in front of them parted ways and three priests dressed in robes more beautiful than the disciples that preached on the streets appeared before them.

Baelgor stabbed Fang into the dirt as if drawing a line that he dared the Fiery Hand to cross. His eyes darted all across the surroundings. This would be a fight they wouldn't win, but they might be able to escape. There was a shop with a half broken window. That would be their passage out, but after that…

He looked forward to the three priests as they stopped right next to the Divine Flame. The one on the left was the oldest looking, the one in the middle wore a stupid smirk on his face, and the one the right look like he had a frog in his mouth. All three were bald of hair but had tattoos of flames carved into their heads. Each of them wore necklaces with red jewels that glowed brightly with warm light.

"I don't suppose saying fuck off would do us any good?" Baelgor inquired.

The one in the middle smirked even more. "Long have we hunted you, demon. Long have you perversed the sacredness of flame with unworthy, stolen power and smitten the Lord's holy servants. No more. It will bring me great joy to see your body burn and be cleansed of sin."

Baelgor smirked at them. "You'll find it to be harder than you think."

The leading priest switched his gaze to Morghon. "Our Lord's Chosen. You need not be chained to a heretic such as him any longer. We can guide you to your destiny." He extended a hand out.

Morghon scowled and shook his head.

The priest merely sighed and folded his hands into his sleeves. "You cannot escape your purpose. If you will not come willingly, we shall do what must be done." The three priest began to chant some form of prayer in High Valyrian. One by one, the swords of the Fiery Hand began to ignite in flames. The Divine then began spinning his spear in his hands and around his body, displaying such skill as one trained in single combat. The light of the flaming spear trailed longer than what felt normal. It was like watching a tail of light following the blade.

Baelgor pulled Fang free from the dirt and stood at the ready with the boys. There weren't any advances made yet, but it was about to happen. Even with his skills, these numbers were too many and the Divine only made things worse.

He focused his magic to ignite his sword but there were only puffs of flames that spurted from the Valyrian Steel. 'Dammit! Please not now!' The priests and even a few of the Fiery Hand were all starting to laugh and snicker at him.

"You see?" The elder priest proclaimed. "Your stolen fire has vanished in the presence of the R'hllor's might! Your judgement is a sealed fate you cannot escape!" He looked around to all of the Fiery Hand. "Off with his head!"

The Fiery Hand began marching forward in unison while keeping a tight formation with absolutely no escape. The Divine remained where he was as the soldiers moved around him. It seems he was only brought in as a bodyguard for the priests.

Baelgor brought his guard up with Vedros, but Morghon did something foolish. Morghon stepped forward and raised one out. His black fire erupted from his hand and shot out and slammed into many of the shields but not the soldiers.

Everyone halted in their tracks and the priests were aghast. They looked horrified at what they just saw when the last of the shadows cleared away.

Baelgor began shuffling nervously when the Fiery Hand continued pressing forward. There were two rows of soldiers creating a near unbreakable cage around them.

Morghon sent out another burst of black fire from his fingertips and kept it continuous at one part of the shield wall. The second row of soldiers quickly maneuvered their shields out in front with the others creating a larger wall and blocking all the fire. If the shields were wood then they would have burns to ash from such an attack. Being steel, the hot metal would be unbearable to hold if the shields were not reinforced with a backing for insulation. It was impossible for them to know that Morghon would have magic but they knew Baelgor did and they prepared specifically to fight against it.

Vedros grunted nervously when the section of soldiers closest to him made a charge forward and without any difficulty bashed hard into him. Baelgor tried to do something drastic but never got the chance as the shield wall hit and knocked him down as well. This distracted Morghon and a pair of soldiers shot out from the shieldwall and nearly tackled him.

Baelgor struggled to get back up but there were so many soldiers all around that put their hands on him wherever they could restrain. He tried swinging Fang up to cut at least one person down. That much alone could give him somewhat of an opening to break free. His attempt was met with a boot that stomped on his arm, trapping him down and forcing Fang out of his hands.

The soldiers started striking him hard with the flats of their swords until two sets of arms forced him up to his knees and bowed down with his face in the ground. Vedros was no better off and Morghon was being restrained with less force after they disarmed Blackfyre from him.

Baelgor growled out in anger at all of this. He couldn't let this happen again, he couldn't lose another to these damn bastards. But without his fire he was powerless, just another man among zealots.

When he saw the look of despair that befell Morghon's face, everything seemed to shut out. The same look that Deakyn had as he died in Baelgor's arms, the same look that Shienna and Althor had when they burned alive.

Althor. Baelgor could still feel the warmth in his hands when he thought to notice it again. If he fought for what was right. 'Not to kill these men, but to save the boys.'

He shut his eyes and breathed calmly, listening to the heartbeat of the flames. This fire was not one struck by flint nor created by the sacrificing of blood, this was magic given life. His magic wasn't born of rage that he used to submit his magic to his will. He cried out with his heart to his fire, hoping it would hear him. 'Please… forgive me.'

He opened his eyes and could see the handprint of fire had appeared in his palm once again. He felt lighter and an inferno of powers spreading throughout his entire body. He didn't focus it to his hand, but all around him. He unleashed a mighty roar as several flames appeared and grew exponentially, bursting out with such force that it knocked back every soldier all around him.

The fires continued to grow into a size Baelgor never dreamed he ever thought himself possible to create and took the shape of great a five headed dragon. His conjured beast breathed out streams of fire at the soldiers all around them, forcing them off of Vedros and Morghon.

Baelgor climbed to his feet and picked up Fang as he did so. The blade of Fang erupted in his flames that shined brighter than ever before. He outstretched his hand and the five headed dragon soared down and plunged itself into the ground. White flames cast from the very ground of the city square at the feet of the Fiery Hand. The flames traveled all around, forming a great circle that kept the Red Followers out of the way. The tips of the flames formed into serpents that hissed and snapped their burning teeth at any that dared to come near. "I am Baelgor of the House of Aekylosh! Last of the Dancing Dragons of Valyria! This is our power! Untainted and true!"

Both of the boys got to their feet with weapons in hand and returned to Baelgor's side. Both of them were still on guard but also staring in wonder at the sheer amount of magic Baelgor was casting.

Before a plan to get out of here could be made, the Divine Flame leapt past the wall of fire, ignoring the parts of his robes that caught fire and simply brushed them off. He was unfazed, even when his allies attempted to cross over the wall of flames but were forced back from the sheer heat.

Morghon and Vedros raised their weapons up ready to fight, but Baelgor motioned with his hand for them to stay back. "This is one on one, boys." If they got involved with such a fighter, Vedros would surely die and Morghon would just be in the way.

The square was now a small but dangerous battleground for the two warriors. The lights spewing from every flicker of white fire banished any form of shadow that tried to appear.

Baelgor raised Fang, holding his family's heirloom sword in both hands and entrusting every part of himself and his knowledge to guide him to find victory. He stepped cautiously and slowly, circling around the Divine and getting his attention away from Vedros and Morghon.

The Divine's fiery eyes narrowed and he began to perform a wonderful but deadly set of spins with his spear as he took his first steps to Baelgor, closing the distance between them.

These movements the Divine had, they already gave away much of his technique for Baelgor to learn in mere seconds and let his mind allow instinct to take over.

The first swing was made, both warriors neither defending or attacking, but to meet each other and to acknowledge this fight between them. It was a slight, but noticeable thing about the Divine that even though he was a mindless servant of the Lord of Light, the warrior spirit within him still lingered.

The beautiful flames that engulfed each blade did not mix their colors as paint but fought against the other just as both men began. When the blades clashed against the other they flashed as lightning in white and orange.

Baelgor did not allow a second of hesitation to pass as he took the offensive and pressed all his precision and might into the swing of Fang. Pivoting swiftly, he spun and let the white flaming blade cut through the air as he began to dance as a dragon against theis zealot of fire. He let his aim lead his strikes low, to get the Divine's legs.

The Divine's skill with his spear was certainly not just a fancy performance, for only after three swings did he flick the butt up and knock Fang aside, taking the advantage, striking hard and fast.

Baelgor had to quickly dodge aside with this next attack that was thrusted straight at his head. He kept Fang up to counter the opening the Divine easily had to follow through was a quick swing. What he didn't expect was the Divine to use his body as well as his spear. The Divine kicked up and hard into Baelgor's stomach pushing him back and almost putting him off balance.

It felt like Fang was pulling itself when the blade blocked the spear just in time. A second later, and Baelgor would have been sliced at his right shoulder. He then used the momentum of his movements to spin around, dodging another thrust and meeting the spear with Fang once again. He wasn't getting any closer to the Divine than when they first began. Against a spear like this, it was best to stay close where the blade couldn't maneuver for a kill, but the Divine was skilled in combat without the use of weapons as well.

He took a chance and leapt forward with Fang stabbing down but it was a feint move. When the Divine swept the butt of his spear to not Fang out of the way, Baelgor let it happen and managed to stop the flaming spear head with his foot, stepping down and forcing the Divine to be pulled with his grip. Within the moment, he slammed the pommel of Fang into the Divine's face, the sound of breaking teeth sounded clear and one of the dragon teeth caught the fabric of the Divine's coverings and tore it off, revealing a mouth surrounded by tattoos of fire and blood and teeth being spit out of the lips.

Baelgor retreated back before his boot burned, putting a good distance between himself and the Divine. He felt the urge to try something ridiculous but also daring. He never felt he had the magic to do something like this but it was now or never.

He held Fang in his right hand alone and let his magic pour into his flames and overflow what was needed for the blade to ignite. His white fire began to drip like water to the ground until it created a whip of flames. With a strong swing of his arm, his fire moved like a tight whip and instead of a snap of leather, the flames roared like a great bellowing beast.

While he had the upper hand and the first blood drawn, Baelgor swung his sword and whipped at the Divine's feet in an attempt to scare him, though his opponent was wicked fast and dodged the first two snaps of the fire. The third found its mark and the white flames wrapped over the Divine's left arm and tightened.

A sudden yell erupted from the Divine as he pulled away free of the fire and ripped off his sleeve. His arm was now covered in bad burns and there was even a part of his skin ripping from the removal of the burned clothing. And yet, this warrior didn't show a single shred of backing down or weakness. Even though he yelled out in pain, the Divine had forgotten the pain as quick as it came.

There was something in those fiery eyes that seemed to glow with a burning battle fury now. The Divine dashed forward with the burning blade of his spear behind him.

Baelgor swung and whipped at the Divine but the flames were caught by the shaft of the spear and burned the weapon through, snapping it in two. Even with the spear broken, the Divine kept hold of both halfs. He was too close now to use the flame whip so Baelgor let the excess fire die out and ran forward to meet the Divine head on.

Both of them struggled to gain the offence while holding their defense. With the butt end of the shaft, the Divine used it bluntly but also as a form of a shield. Fang nicked and hacked pieces off but it didn't deter the wielder. He opened his free palm and let forth bursts of fire spray out to push forward. The Divine leaped back with a great spin in his step, keeping a perfect distance from the flames as Baelgor chased.

There was a sudden change in the Divine's direction and he jumped forward with a mighty thrust. The edge barely scratched Baelgor's cheek as he dodged aside. When they both turned to face each other, their weapons were already clashing edges once more.

Baelgor finally found his moment and swung Fang up from the low guard to cut into the Divine's and kill him. But he didn't expect such a wild maneuver to happen. The blade half of the spear caught his sword and the other hit the back of his hand, forcing him to let go. Fang was knocked far away near the wall of white flames and too far to get. The spear then stabbed into Baelgor just below his ribs and buried deep.

Baelgor let out a great scream as he felt his insides burn and bleed, and yet he knew for an instance of a second that he could hear the crying out of a mute boy. The great white flames that made the wall of fire began to die down until they were completely gone.

He fell down to his knees with the spear still lodged in his body and the Divine still holding it. He turned his scream into a roar as he reached out and grabbed hold of the Divine's arm with his right hand and drew his knife with his left. In a swift motion, Baelgor brought his dagger up and stuck it into the Divine's neck. The Divine's eyes widened as he coughed out and suddenly slumped down to Baeglor's level. The fiery glow diminished as was replaced with blue before the Divine Flame fell down dead.

Baelgor pulled the spear out of his body and fell back. Vedros had caught him though and pulled him as far back as he could to Morghon. He heard the clanging of a sword as Morghon fell to his knees next to him. He looked down at his wound and saw that it wasn't cauterized. Looks like the immunity to fire had its drawbacks.

Vedros forced him to press a hand to his bleeding wound as all they could do was watch as the Fiery Hand readied to advance on them again. Damn, he didn't think he would fail. "Morghon, Vedros," he muttered, "I'm sorry."

"You liars!" Vedros shouted out to the Red Followers rather loudly. "You fucking liars!" He wasn't looking at the soldiers but the priests, or rather the frog faced priest who was holding Fang in his hands with a rather greedy look about him. "This was never about your god! You knew we carried Valyrian Steel Swords and a book of magic! You're probably going to take the first chance you get to say fuck you to your Lord and run off living richer than the King of Westeros!"

Baelgor managed to form a puzzled look. What in the fuck was Vedros doing? These men don't care about riches. But then he realized that while these men didn't, the onlookers did.

The sounds of doors unlocking and creaking hinges began to appear and there were dozens of people looking out with eyes lusting for the riches 'boasted' by Vedros. He was rilling the people up on purpose. Show a desperate man enough gold and he'll go mad just to touch it.

Baelgor smiled up at him. "You fucking genious." he muttered.

Before the Fiery Hand or the Priest had a single chance to clarify any true intentions, several men had drawn weapons ranging from swords to boot knives and attacked the soldiers from behind. It took many of the Fiery Hand by surprise and it looks like the ruckus attracted more of the city scum.

Two men each armed with long knives broke through the lines of the Fiery Hand One of them picked up a sword that had lost its flames and they both ran for Baelgor, Morghon, and Vedros.

Before they got even close, Morghon stepped forward and let out a burst of his black fire from his open hand. The closest of the men's breeches caught fire and he began to scream out as he frantically disrobed.

Baelgor noticed that the priests, now surrounded and guarded by the Fiery Hand, looked at Morghon with somewhat of a horrified expression. He didn't have time to think why that was because Vedros hoisted Baelgor up, causing him to yell out from his wound. Vedros carried him over his shoulder and darted for the only opening to escape they had down a street with Morghon following closely.

Baelgor looked back and caught his final glimpse of Fang, still in the hands of that frog faced priest. 'Goodbye, my friend.' He felt heartbroken letting it fall into the hands of the Red Priests. How much of his family's legacy did they have to pillage until they were satisfied?

He tried to move his feet to help keep a good pace with the boys, but he was practically still an anchor to them. His feet were moving but there was hardly any strength to carry even half of himself. It didn't sound like they were being followed, but neither were they running into any more of the Fiery Hand. If there weren't anymore in the city then the chance was likely that they were outside waiting to cut off any route of escape in case it were to happen.

"Not the gate," Baelgor groaned and the boys stopped. "We'll be found…" He saw off to the side of the road a poorly dressed beggar looking directly at him. There was a haunting smile on the beggar's face when he looked down an alley that went in the direction of a building. The Alchemist's Guild. "Go that way." He nodded his head to the alley and Vedros didn't hesitate to do as he was told. They got off the street quickly and rushed through the cramped space, Morghon leading them with Blackfyre still drawn.

The Alchemist's Guild headquarters was just as wretched and falling apart as the city was. One section of the building was collapsed into and there was a great amount of moss and enormous webs growing over it.

"Inside," Baelgor huffed.

"What?" Vedros argued. "This doesn't look like the best place to make a stand."

"No, escape... There are drains that go to the sewer." And according to the Faceless Man, exactly what he needed to keep anyone from following the boys. "Get inside, fast!"

Morghon sheathed Blackfyre and together they burst through the doors to an entrance hall where several old, fribble men were already huddled in a panic.

"Which way?" Vedros demanded of the men. "Which way to the sewer drain!?"

One of the men, the most injured of the bunch given his eyepatch and bandaged wrapped hand, raised a shaking finger to a corridor. "It- it's in the lower cellar! But we use it for storage! You can't go in there!"

Vedros raised his axe and pointed it to the man. "You want to try and stop us?"

All the alchemists rushed out of their way after the threat was made and Vedros carried Baelgor where they were directed. There were dim lanterns lit down the corridor as things got darker and soon the daylight pouring from the outside vanished, making things harder to see.

Morghon grabbed one of the lanterns and continued leading them into the darkness of the muggy lower levels of the building. This place felt more like a prison than an Alchemist's Guild Hall.

Finally, they came to a door that was locked but all it took was a great kick from Vedros to break the wood. Inside were many clay pots and barrels lazily stored in the room. At the opposite end of the room it was a heavily rusted metal grate.

"Careful with that lantern, Morghon." Baelgor voice was just barely able to be over a whisper. He felt so weak and hardly felt any strength to stay away. His wound no longer hurt nor burned, he was so cold. 'I wonder if this is what snow feels like?' Vedros carefully sat Baelgor up against a large wooden barrel that felt like it contained a heavy substance. Judging by the smell, it was exactly what the Faceless man said. Oils used for alchemy and from the looks of some green luminescence, there was even some wildfire in here as well.

As Vedros began kicking and bashing the rusted grate, Baelgor pulled Morghon down closer to him. "Listen… once you get out of the city, retreat to the woods. Soldiers like these will get lost without a man of the forest like him." He tilted his head over to Vedros with a half smile.

'But we need a healer first.' Morghon signed. 'You're in no shape to travel. Maybe one of the alchemists here-' Baelgor grabbed his hands and stopped Morghon. At that point, Vedros managed to break open the grate.

"We both know that's not going to happen." Baelgor dropped his head and reached into his shirt. He snapped the line that held the ring around his neck and held it out to Morghon. Both Morghon and Vedros saw it in surprise.

"You never sold it." Vedros realized.

"Never." He placed it in Morghon's palm and closed Morghon's fingers over it. "This is one of the rings of the first Valyrians, the first to ever ride dragons. Do not give it up as willingly as you once did." His hands fell to the floor. "Be brave, Mor… Jon. I have faith in you, and you," he said to Asher. "Think you can live without someone to argue with?"

Asher looked angry at himself with his fists tightened. He didn't say anything but he didn't need to.

Jon was beginning to show tears welling up in his eyes and his signing was becoming somewhat sloppy. 'There has to be a way.' His head hung down in defeat.

Baelgor shook his head. "Not this time, not for me."

'I do not know if I can do this without you.'

Baelgor smiled gently. "You can and you will, I know because I saw it happen." There was a still pause between them. "Those demon eyes weren't all I saw when I lost Shienna and Althor. I saw a scared boy that I would soon meet and I saw the man you will become. I am sorry I won't be there in person." His words were growing quiet and faint. "Snow or Stark, I would have been honored to call you my son, Jon."

Jon came and wrapped his arms around Baelgor, near the verge of shedding tears. Baelgor brought an arm to and held him one last time. "Thank you." A sudden clash of noise turned their attention to the door. "Go…"

Asher came and pulled Jon off of him and had to drag him to the grate. Jon reached his hand out to Baelgor, trying to stay but Asher forced him into the hole. Asher gave Baelgor one last look. "Goodbye," Asher muttered before climbing down into the drain.

"Goodbye…" Baelgor's words went unheard to anyone except himself at the leaving of the boys. But he knew that when they emerged out of the city, they would rise into men. Baelgor slid down and fell flat on his body. 'So cold…' why was everything so cold?

'Bael…' he heard Shienna's voice and could swear that she was standing before him. Was this an apparition, a hallucination, or was he already dead? Althor was next to her holding her hand and smiling as he always did. 'One more dance.' She told him. Baelgor reached his hand out to them and could feel the warmth off Shienna as she took his hand in his. He stood up as the storeroom filled with dozens of soldiers and the lead high priest, the one with the stupid smirk. The other two priests were nowhere to be seen.

Baelgor finally looked at his clothes to see how much was stained with his blood and was actually surprised that it wasn't as much as he thought they would be. He leaned on one of the barrels for support while standing as the only thing blocking the way into the sewer.

The dumb priest came only a few paces away. "The Lord's justice cannot be escaped, only delayed. I must know, how does it feel knowing that you failed?"

Baelgor smiled devilishly back up at the priest. "That may be... but at least I'm going out on my own terms!" His left arm ignited white flames. Every last ounce of what magic he could muster was going into this one last spell. 'Father, grandfather, uncles, lend me the strength you all taught me to have.' The fire covering his arm burst forward, scaring back the priest and his soldiers, and caught on some of the oils dripping down one of the nearby barrels. The oils caught and the barrel exploded into white fire. The Fiery Hand raised their shields and protected the priest from any of the burning oil.

"Hah!" The priest laughed! "These pagen flames are no match against the Lord's might!" His troops advanced while the priest fell back behind them. The first of the Fiery Hand raised his burning sword at Baelgor. These fools didn't believe in the power of real magic. They were in for a rude awakening.

The moment before the soldier's blade was going to strike, it was stopped by a blade of pure white fire that was not of Baelgor's conjuring. The white flames of the blade extended and transformed into the form of a man. The body was distorted from the constant motion of the fire, but Baelgor absolutely knew the one standing before him was his father.

Unbeknownst to everyone's attention, the traces of oils on the ground were starting to catch fire and slowly spreading.

Another barrel exploded before anyone had any time to react and the flames began spreading like wildfire. The flames moved of their own will and grew into three other forms of men, each holding their own sword of fire.

The Fiery Hand didn't back down at the sight. It was either blind devotion or foolish bravery that drove those men to push forward even as the storeroom was filling with smoke and fire.

Without a sword of his own and too weak to fight anyways, Baelgor could only stand and watch as things happened. The conjurations of his family stood their ground when they engaged the soldiers of the Fiery Hand. All of the conjurations performed the Dancing Dragon form at the utmost perfection.

Another barrel exploded and the force knocked over another. The oil spilled out and covered the floor where Baelgor stood. It immediately caught fire and started burning through his boots and his pants but he paid no heed.

A wave of fire rushed over to the Fiery Hand and the priest but with a raise of his hand, Baelgor stopped the flames. All eyes, even those of his conjured family, looked directly at him. He made an oath to never to kill any of the priests or priestesses ever, he would honor it to his dying breath for Jon. "Get out," He hissed as a vicious and only warning to them all.

All the Red Followers immediately rushed to get out of the room and the building. The last priest though looked back at Baelgor with such hatred in his eyes.

Baelgor simply grinned and released his control over the flames and let them continue to spread and devour whatever they touched. The flames ate the beams that supported holding up the ceiling above.

As the wood groaned and creaked, Baelgor forced himself to move forward. He hadn't the strength, but he was able to sway and move side to side. He slid his feet on the floor and twirled his body about. The dance of his ancestors would be his last victory before he perished. The flames of those conjured stood as sentinels watching him as everything else seemed to disappear in the light of the fire.

Two more forms grew from the flames to stand watch over him, the two that Baelgor waited so long to see once again. He finished the last step and fell on his knees looking forward to the forms of his family staying with him to the very end.

The ceiling cracked and small pieces fell and the flames around grew bigger as more and more of the oils caught fire and exploded around. Everything seemed to vanish in the fire and only Baelgor remained in the center of it all. He raised his arms high and sang out his family's words. "DANCE INTO THE FIRE!" The supports and beams finally broke and the ceiling buried all engulfed in the flames and became the tomb of the last Dancing Dragon of House Aekylosh.

Morghon

"Come on!" Vedros kept his hand tight on the collar of Morghon's shirt as he pulled them both through the sewer tunnels with his free arm. Even though it was cramped and the smell was awful, it went uncared for because the panic and fear gave ignorance to the scent.

There was daylight at the end of the tunnel, but it felt so far away even though it wasn't. Morghon kept thinking to himself the same thing over and over. 'It's all my fault! It's all my fault!' This is because they tried to go home! Because he made Baelgor swear not to kill them! It was probably that priestess from Tolos that told them where they were!

Covered in shit, Vedros pulled out of the sewer tunnel and both he and Morghon dropped into the filthy waters of the river. The water was shallow enough that they could trudge their way out instead of swimming. Hopefully some of the gunk would wash off.

Halfway to the shore, Morghon finally looked up at what was there waiting for them. There were dozens of the Fiery Hand pointing their burning spears at him. More soldiers were coming and they all looked ready to kill at least one of them. They must have had the entire city surrounded with those that weren't inside.

'Damn them all…' Morghon's felt nothing but rage fill him up at the sight of these cunts that dared to mimic his friend's magic. 'Damn you all to the Seven Hells!'

Morghon stepped forward in the water, face twisted into pure wrath and tiny bits of black fire bursting all around him. For the first time in five years, he was able to make a sound from his lips. A great roar and heartfelt pain burst out and Morghon shot his hands forwards. The small black flames immediately grew in tremendous size and charged to the Fiery Hand continuously like a dragon breathing fire.

The Fiery Hand were caught off guard and engulfed in the shadowy flames. They disappeared in the darkness and nothing but terrified screaming remained and the flames spread all across the bank of the river, consuming every member of the Lord of Light's Army that dared get near and everything that was unlucky to be there. The flames roared just as Morghon had kept on this entire time. These flames carried his sorrow, his anger, and he would let it burn all of these bastards into nothing but ash.

"Morghon, enough! Stop!" Vedros tried to shake Morghon out of the spell, but Morghon refused to listen. He would keep going until he felt like stopping. But his body wouldn't listen to what he wanted. He suddenly felt weak and lost all the strength to stand. His flames stopped and soon the shadow of black fire was replaced with the light of a raging inferno as the color changed to that of regular fire.

Morghon was caught in Vedros' arms and he was carried through the water, the only safe place from all the fire. The depth suddenly got deeper and soon both of them were floating in a river. Vedros kept them both afloat, swimming as fast as he could with the current to get as far away from Mantarys and the Red Followers.

Everything felt so strange to Morghon. It wasn't like when he woke up from death, but his vision had gotten blurry and everything he looked at dragged. His body was heavy as if his limbs were made of iron. He wasn't sure how much time passed when Vedros finally pulled them both ashore from the river and was practically carrying him through the trees.

The sounds of everything around were blurred, but he could distinctly hear Vedros hissing a curse. It felt like they were slammed into the ground and covered by some form of canopy that looked like a husk of a rotting tree.

They just laid there as the sounds of sloshing mud grew closer. Being still, Morghon was able to focus things on what he could hear and see. Things grew brighter from what had to be torchlight, or in this case light from the burning blades of swords.

There were two figures of people that moved right in front of where Vedros had them hid but they were covered enough that they couldn't be seen.

Morghon lifted a hand out to cast his fire over those two men, but Vedros stopped him and forced them to hide like cowards. He didn't have enough strength to fight back against Vedros.

While hiding, the two members of the Fiery Hand were stopped by the shouts of a third chasing after them. When the third caught up, they began conversing with one another in High Valyrian.

"...has ordered… fallen to corruption… be cleansed…" When they were finished speaking, they took off without any more delay.

Vedros waited a while before pulling both of them out of the rooting tree and they were back to getting lost in the trees. The sky had grown so dark out. Was it night time already?

Morghon felt himself laid down next to something, a tree that was pale with red leaves. He'd had not seen many weirwoods in Essos before, but unlike those in Westeros this one had no face that he could find.

He was still awake despite how tired he was. There was too much anger he felt to fall asleep. They never should have tried to go home, he never should have made Baelgor make that stupid oath. Baelgor could have wiped them out if he wasn't bound not to.

Morghon felt his body betray him. He didn't want to fall asleep but he was. The moment he felt his eyes close, he thought he could hear Vedros crying, but immediately he realized it was not him but a woman. Whoever she was, she cried as much as Morghon felt utter agony enveloping her.

But then this woman began to hum a tune and it felt like a pair of arms were wrapped around him. This melody… it felt forgotten in a way he could not explain. It made Morghon feel calm.

'Take wing and fly high to shoot with the stars and drink moonlight'

'The sky falls behind as we go to a land where it's always bright'

'Look out beyond the world and all that we know and we wish'

'I will love you always, my dreams, since our very first kiss'

'Let the world hear us sing, for we shall let them know'

'Where fate shall tread, our adventure shall follow'

'Come fly with me, my great dreams, where no hate can prowl'

'Come fly with me, my great loves, where wolves forever howl'

He felt a familiarity cast upon him and it brought him to feel a bit of joy in all of his darkness. It was a lone star shining in the wrapping darkness. It no longer made him feel that all in his world had ended.

Now I got one more announcement that's gonna go unfavorably. I am going to be taking a break for a while because as I said before, this chapter nearly caused burnout for me and I don't want that to happen. I once considered redoing previous chapters to help spread the development but I've done too much of that kind of thing and I think it's getting annoying. But know that I'm also gonna be using the time off to refine my plans for the rest of the story. It's the writing itself that was causing the stress so a break from that will do me good.

Stay safe out there!