Chapter 13: Ripples of Black Wings, The Conqueror's Dilemma
The intervention of the "Lost Legion of Volantis" at the battle mockingly dubbed anew by some as the "Second Last Storm" sent shockwaves across the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, far exceeding the localized terror of their appearance. Lord Aerion Vaelaros and his black-winged dragons, materializing from the heart of a tempest to engage one of Aegon Targaryen's own sister-queens, had shattered the narrative of the Conquest. Aegon was no longer the sole dragonlord in these lands, the undisputed heir to Valyria's legacy. A new, enigmatic power, wielding the fire and steel of the lost Freehold, had made its presence known with devastating precision.
Whispers turned to fearful pronouncements in the halls of kings and the hovels of peasants alike. In the North, Torrhen Stark, already contemplating the grim mathematics of facing Aegon's three dragons, now had to factor in this mysterious fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth dragon, and their silent, implacable Valyrian riders. Did these newcomers offer an alternative to Targaryen rule, or were they merely another flavor of foreign conqueror? In the Westerlands and the Reach, shattered remnants of the Lannister and Gardener armies heard tales of the black fleet and wondered if a savior, or a new doom, had arrived too late for them. In Dorne, the Martells, ever watchful and defiant, saw in the Lost Legion a potential counterweight to Aegon, another piece on the great game, or perhaps a warning that Valyrian power, in any form, was a curse upon the land.
But nowhere was the consternation greater than within Aegon Targaryen's own camp. The Conqueror, fresh from securing the Stormlands after the fall of Argilac Durrandon, found his strategic landscape irrevocably altered. He, his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys, and his inner council – Orys Baratheon, now Lord of Storm's End, and his handful of trusted Valyrian and Westerosi advisors – convened numerous tense war councils aboard his flagship, Balerion's Fury, and later in the hastily claimed fortress of Storm's End.
Rhaenys, who had faced Lord Aerion and Vhagarion directly, was visibly shaken, though her pride demanded she downplay the encounter. "Meraxes was harried, brother, but not outmatched," she insisted, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her. "Their lesser dragons fought with a strange, disciplined fury, not like wild beasts. And their leader… this Lord Aerion… his dragon is a monster, black as death, larger than Vhagar, perhaps even rivaling Balerion in sheer menace. He wielded magic, too, not just dragonfire. Shields of force, blasts of wind and lightning."
Visenya, ever the pragmatist and warrior, was grim. "Valyrians. Surviving Valyrians, with dragons and sorcery we do not fully comprehend. They did not fight to win the battle for Argilac; they fought to bleed us both and to make a statement. They are not simple opportunists. They are a calculated threat." She tapped a Valyrian steel dagger on the campaign map. "We must know who they are, where they came from, and what they want. Are they a remnant seeking refuge? Or rivals for the legacy of Valyria?"
Aegon himself, a figure of imposing presence despite his youth, listened intently, his pale violet eyes thoughtful. He had built his conquest on the premise of being the last dragonlord, the rightful inheritor. This "Lost Legion" directly challenged that. "They called themselves the 'Lost Legion of Volantis,' yet Volantis has no dragons, not since the Doom," he mused. "And 'Lord Aerion Vaelaros'… the Vaelaros line was thought extinguished generations ago, a minor house even then. This smells of deception, or a truth more complex than we can guess."
Back in his hidden base amongst the Stepstones, Aizen, having shed the regal but constricting persona of Lord Aerion, meticulously analyzed the data gleaned from the Last Storm. The spiritual energy harvested had been potent, the Hōgyoku humming with quiet satisfaction as it refined the souls of proud stormlanders and grim Targaryen soldiers. The "quality" of Westerosi souls was… robust, tinged with a stubborn, earthy resilience, different from the volatile, magically saturated Valyrian souls or the more refined essences he recalled from Soul Society. Interesting variations for his ongoing study.
His juvenile dragons had performed exceptionally, their coordinated attacks and unique flame abilities (products of his Kido-enhanced breeding and training) proving highly effective against even a mature dragon like Meraxes when she was isolated. The Sentinel knights, with their Valyrian steel and emotionless combat efficiency, had terrified and demoralized mortal soldiers far beyond their actual numbers. And his own portrayal of Lord Aerion – the aloof arrogance, the displays of controlled Valyrian sorcery (carefully calibrated Kido spells, disguised with Valyrian incantations and elemental effects), the commanding presence atop the terrifying Vhagarion – had achieved the desired impact.
"The Westerosi lords are driven by pride, fear, and a deeply ingrained feudal honor," Aizen dictated his thoughts to a silent, recording Kido-construct. "Their understanding of true magic is vestigial. They fear dragons, but they do not comprehend the deeper forces that can be brought to bear. Aegon Targaryen, while a skilled commander and a formidable dragonrider, relies on the brute power of his beasts and a certain mystique of Valyrian lineage. He is a conqueror, not a true strategist of the arcane. His claim to Valyria's legacy is based on blood; mine will be based on undeniable power and superior intellect."
He finalized the communiqué to Aegon. It was a masterpiece of subtle threat and veiled promise, penned in flawless High Valyrian on a scroll of shimmering, obsidian-dark parchment of his own Spire's make, sealed with a newly designed Vaelaros sigil – a stylized black dragon, its eyes emeralds, coiling around a shattered crown.
The message was respectful of Aegon's Valyrian blood and his recent victories, but made no concessions. It spoke of Lord Aerion Vaelaros as the scion of a forgotten branch of Valyrian nobility that had foreseen the Doom and retreated to a hidden sanctuary, preserving "the pure fire and uncorrupted lore of Old Valyria." It stated that the Lost Legion had returned to a world changed, seeking not to contest Aegon's current holdings out of hand, but to understand his vision for the future of Westeros and the role "true Valyrians" might play in it. It proposed a parley, at a neutral location, between "dragonlord and dragonlord, blood of Valyria to blood of Valyria," to discuss matters of mutual interest and the "future of our scattered people." The implication was clear: recognize us as equals, or prepare for a rivalry that could shatter your nascent empire.
Argent was chosen as the envoy. Clad in his featureless black armor, his face hidden by a dark helm, he was the epitome of enigmatic power. He would travel not by ship, but on one of Aizen's swiftest juvenile dragons, one whose scales were the color of a stormy sea, making a direct, audacious approach to Aegon's current encampment, which intelligence placed near the mouth of the Blackwater Rush, where he was said to be planning his future capital.
Argent's journey was a statement in itself. The sight of a lone, unknown dragon rider, flying a beast of unfamiliar coloration, approaching the Conqueror's heavily guarded camp caused widespread panic. Arrows were nocked, scorpions aimed. But Argent, guided by Aizen's precise instructions, landed just outside the perimeter, making no hostile moves, merely holding aloft the obsidian scroll.
He was met by a wary Orys Baratheon and a contingent of heavily armed guards. Aegon, however, intrigued and perhaps unwilling to show fear, agreed to receive the envoy in his command tent, with Balerion himself resting in a massive, newly constructed pen nearby, a silent, smoking threat.
The scene in Aegon's tent, as relayed later to Aizen through Argent's perfect memory and the amulet's sensory link, was tense. Aegon sat upon a simple campaign throne, flanked by Visenya and Rhaenys, their hands near their Valyrian steel swords, Dark Sister and Lady Forlorn (though Rhaenys did not typically wield one, the tension was such). Orys stood guard.
Argent, a figure of silent menace, presented the scroll. When Aegon unrolled it, his violet eyes scanned the elegant High Valyrian script. A long silence filled the tent, broken only by the distant roar of Balerion.
Aegon's expression was unreadable. Visenya's was hard, suspicious. Rhaenys looked more curious, perhaps even a little excited by the prospect of other Valyrians.
"Lord Aerion Vaelaros," Aegon finally said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of command. "A bold claim. Valyria has been dust for nearly a century by Westerosi reckoning, longer by our own. Where has this 'Lost Legion' been hiding, that they emerge only now, with dragons that rival my own?"
Argent, as instructed, replied in flawless, unaccented High Valyrian, his voice filtered and devoid of emotion by his helm. "Our sanctuary was far from the fires of the Doom, and its location remains our own. We have observed the world's turning. We return now because the echoes of Valyria stir once more in this land, through your conquests, King Aegon. Lord Aerion seeks to know if these echoes herald a true restoration, or merely another fleeting ambition."
The veiled challenge was not lost on Aegon. "I conquer Westeros to unite it under one king, one law," Aegon stated. "Valyria's legacy is mine by right of blood and might."
"Might is proven, King Aegon," Argent replied coolly. "Rights are… interpreted. Lord Aerion possesses both. He offers dialogue, not immediate conflict. He believes true Valyrians should not needlessly spill each other's fire upon foreign soil, not when the world is vast and full of lesser breeds who might be… guided by our wisdom."
The thinly veiled contempt for non-Valyrians, a common enough sentiment in Old Valyria, was a calculated touch by Aizen, designed to appeal to Aegon's own Valyrian supremacism while simultaneously establishing Aerion as an equal, if not a superior, in that regard.
After a tense exchange, where Visenya interjected with sharp questions about the Legion's numbers, resources, and ultimate intentions (to which Argent gave vague, non-committal but impressive-sounding answers), Aegon made his decision.
"Tell your Lord Aerion," Aegon declared, "that I will meet him. Not on neutral ground dictated by newcomers, but here, at the mouth of the Blackwater, where I intend to build my capital. Let him come with no more than his flagship and his personal dragon. I shall meet him with Balerion, and my sisters with their mounts. We shall speak, Valyrian to Valyrian. But let him be warned: I am the Conqueror of Westeros. I will brook no rivals to that claim."
It was an acceptance, but also a power play, an attempt by Aegon to dictate the terms of the meeting and display his own dominance. Aizen, upon receiving Argent's full report, smiled. Predictable. And perfectly acceptable.
While awaiting Aegon's formal reply via raven (for show, as Argent had already relayed the decision), the Lost Legion did not remain idle. "Lord Aerion," with a small contingent of his fleet and dragons, made a brief, chilling appearance off the coast of the Vale, near Gulltown. No attacks were made, no demands issued. They simply sailed into view, a line of black warships and their draconic escorts, remained for half a day – long enough for every lord in the Vale to hear of it and for Queen Regent Sharra Arryn to nearly panic – and then vanished as silently as they had come. The message was clear: we can reach anywhere. It further unsettled the Westerosi lords and added to the Legion's mystique.
Argent, meanwhile, led a covert mission to a crumbling, ancient fortress in the northern Reach, once belonging to a minor Gardener bannerman with a penchant for collecting old scrolls. The fortress had been sacked and abandoned during the Conquest. Under the cover of night, Argent and a team of Sentinels infiltrated the ruins, bypassing lingering traps and spectral guardians (minor spiritual residue Aizen found almost pitiful). They "liberated" a small collection of surprisingly intact texts, some dating back to the Age of Heroes, detailing forgotten regional myths, minor hedge magic, and, most interestingly, early accounts of Valyrian traders and explorers making contact with Westeros centuries before the Doom – accounts that sometimes mentioned Valyrian factions and magical practices distinct from the mainstream Dragonlords. This was more grist for Aizen's mill, more pieces for his vast puzzle of this world's hidden history and power.
Back in the Obsidian Spire, Aizen took time to fully process the significant influx of soul energy from the Last Storm. The Hōgyoku, a radiant jewel against his chest, pulsed in harmony with his own divine core. He felt his control over his vast spiritual pressure deepen, his ability to manipulate Reishi in this world becoming as intuitive as breathing. He could sense new pathways of power opening within him, new applications of his Kido-Valyrian hybrid magic suggesting themselves. He noted that the raw, untamed nature of Westerosi souls, particularly those of warriors dying in battle, provided a different kind of "flavor" to the Hōgyoku, a primal energy that seemed to bolster his physical resilience and the raw destructive potential of his energy blasts.
Ignis Primus, in its geothermal incubator, was now the size of a small hill, its magma scales glowing with an inner furnace, its incandescent eyes holding an intelligence that was both ancient and fiercely alive. Its telepathic communications with Aizen were becoming more complex, filled with flashes of draconic lore that predated human memory, insights into the planet's deepest elemental energies, and a shared, burgeoning desire to impose order on a chaotic world – though its definition of "order" was likely far more primal and fiery than Aizen's own intricate designs. It was not yet ready for deployment, but Aizen knew its day was rapidly approaching.
Aegon's formal reply, delivered by a nervous royal raven to a pre-designated drop point Argent had specified, reiterated his terms for the parley at the Blackwater Rush.
"Lord Aerion" received it with feigned Valyrian hauteur. "The Conqueror summons, does he?" he remarked to Argent. "He learns quickly the forms of kingship, if not yet its true substance."
Preparations for the meeting began immediately. Aizen chose his retinue carefully. He would, as Aegon demanded, arrive on the Nyx with Vhagarion. Argent would accompany him, along with a dozen of his most formidable, human-passing Sentinel knights, clad in their imposing black Valyrian armor, their helms concealing their arcane nature. This small force, while adhering to Aegon's numerical restrictions, would radiate an aura of disciplined, overwhelming power.
Aizen, in his Lord Aerion guise, spent hours perfecting every nuance of his speech, his posture, his expressions. He would be polite, respectful of Aegon's Valyrian blood, yet unyielding in his assertion of a Vaelaros's ancient lineage and the Lost Legion's independent strength. He would probe Aegon's ambitions, his fears, his understanding of Valyria's true legacy. He would offer a vision of a renewed Valyrian greatness, a future where their combined dragon power could reshape not just Westeros, but the world – with the unspoken implication that "Lord Aerion" would be the senior partner in such an endeavor.
As the Nyx, with Vhagarion coiled upon its deck like a living mountain of obsidian and emerald fire, and the five escort dragons flying in perfect formation above, sailed towards the Blackwater Rush, Aizen felt a profound sense of control. The Conqueror believed he was dictating the terms. He had no idea he was merely walking into the Weaver's parlor, a kingly fly about to be ensnared in a web of words, ambition, and a power so vast it dwarfed his own fiery conquests. The game for Westeros was about to enter a new, more personal phase.