# The War Council Chamber, Pentos - Evening
The transformed chamber had taken on an almost intimate atmosphere as evening settled over the city, the maps and strategic documents temporarily cleared away to make room for a proper dinner between two scions of ancient Valyrian houses. Servants—former slaves who now worked for wages and took obvious pride in their roles—had arranged a meal that showcased the prosperity that ethical governance had brought to Pentos. The table groaned under dishes that represented the best of Free Cities cuisine: roasted peacock stuffed with pomegranates and spiced rice, honeyed lamb with mint and almonds, fresh seafood that still smelled of salt and freedom, and delicate pastries that practically dissolved on the tongue. Wine from vineyards that no longer relied on forced labor caught the light of crystal goblets that had once graced only the tables of slave masters, while the flames of beeswax candles—not tallow rendered from human suffering—cast dancing shadows across walls hung with tapestries depicting dragons soaring through clouds rather than chains and whips.
Haerion sat across from Prince Baelon with the sort of relaxed elegance that suggested he was genuinely enjoying the opportunity for civilized conversation with someone who understood both the weight of ancient bloodlines and the practical challenges of governing in the modern world. His crimson and gold armor had been replaced by formal robes that somehow managed to make him look even more imposing—the deep burgundy fabric embroidered with silver thread in patterns that seemed to shift and flow in the candlelight like liquid starfire, while the cut emphasized the powerful frame that months of enhancement and training had sculpted into something that belonged in classical statuary. The emerald green of his eyes caught the warm light, revealing those distinctive violet flecks that marked true Valyrian heritage, while his dark hair fell in waves that would have made Renaissance masters weep with artistic inspiration.
Prince Baelon, resplendent in midnight blue silk that brought out the violet of his own eyes, possessed the sort of rugged handsomeness that spoke of a man equally comfortable in both council chambers and battlefields. His golden hair caught the candlelight like spun treasure, while the confident way he handled himself suggested someone accustomed to command but wise enough to appreciate when he was in the presence of an equal. The easy camaraderie between them spoke of two men who had found unexpected common ground in the most unlikely circumstances.
"I must say," Baelon observed, raising his goblet in appreciation of wine that was considerably better than most of what reached Westeros—a vintage that tasted of sunshine and freedom rather than the bitter aftertaste of forced labor, "whatever else your revolution has accomplished, it certainly hasn't suffered the usual deterioration in quality of life that tends to accompany rapid social transformation. This meal would do credit to the Red Keep's kitchens, and I've dined with kings."
Haerion's smile was pure mischief, the sort of expression that had once made professors at Hogwarts deeply suspicious of his apparently innocent questions during Defense Against the Dark Arts lectures. "One of the unexpected benefits of eliminating slavery," he replied with obvious satisfaction, swirling the wine in his goblet with the practiced ease of someone who had learned to appreciate fine vintages during his transformation from traumatized war hero to conquering dragonlord, "is discovering how much better people perform when they're working for wages rather than under the lash. Turns out that voluntary cooperation produces superior results in everything from agriculture to culinary arts. Revolutionary concept, I know—treating people like human beings and discovering they respond with actual competence."
He gestured toward the elaborate spread with obvious pride in achievements that had exceeded even his optimistic projections, his voice carrying that particular blend of British wit and genuine satisfaction that made even his casual observations sound like profound insights delivered with impeccable timing.
"These servants chose to continue their positions when given alternatives—shocking, I'm aware—but now they're paid well, treated with respect, and take genuine pride in their work rather than simply trying to avoid being whipped to death for insufficient enthusiasm. The difference in quality is, dare I say, rather remarkable. Who would have thought that people cook better when they're not terrified of being murdered for oversalting the soup?"
Baelon nearly choked on his wine, caught off-guard by the casual delivery of observations that were both hilariously obvious and profoundly revolutionary depending on one's previous experience with labor management systems.
"Revolutionary social change implemented through enlightened self-interest," he managed once he'd recovered his composure, his own grin suggesting genuine appreciation for both the sophisticated approach underlying their success and the sardonic wit with which it was being presented. "Rather more sustainable than transformation based purely on moral conviction, I imagine. Though I suspect your definition of 'adequate incentives' during the initial adjustment period might have been somewhat more... direct than conventional diplomatic protocols would typically recommend."
"Moral conviction backed by practical demonstration that ethical systems work better for everyone involved," Haerion confirmed with that particular smile that had once convinced skeptical professors that his unconventional approaches to academic problems might actually produce superior results—the sort of expression that suggested he found the entire concept of resistance to obviously beneficial changes mildly amusing in an intellectual sense. "Though I confess, having adequate force to discourage the more stubborn adherents to traditional brutalization techniques certainly helped during the initial adjustment period. Amazing how quickly people embrace ethical labor practices when the alternative involves personal encounters with irritated dragons who take systematic oppression rather personally."
The conversation had been flowing comfortably through topics ranging from administrative challenges to the comparative merits of different approaches to dragon care when Haerion made an observation that caused Baelon to nearly choke on his wine for the second time in ten minutes.
"You know," Haerion said conversationally, apparently unaware of the bombshell he was about to drop as he selected another piece of honey-glazed fruit from the elaborate dessert arrangement, "you're actually the second member of House Targaryen I've had the pleasure of meeting during this campaign. I encountered Princess Saera during our liberation of Lys—though I suspect she's not precisely the family representative you'd have chosen for first diplomatic contact with the resurgent heir of House Peverell."
*Oh, this should be entertaining,* Aegerax observed through their mental bond, his thoughts carrying the sort of anticipatory amusement that came from watching his partner navigate potentially explosive family dynamics with all the diplomatic subtlety of a volcanic eruption. *Nothing says 'establishing cordial relations between ancient Valyrian houses' quite like casual revelations about exiled relatives' current professional activities.*
*I prefer to think of it as providing valuable intelligence about family members whose activities might be relevant to ongoing diplomatic considerations,* Haerion replied mentally, though his amusement at the situation remained entirely undiminished. *Besides, his expression suggests this is the most detailed report he's received about dear Saera's entrepreneurial ventures since she left Westeros. Consider it a public service.*
Baelon set down his goblet with the sort of careful precision that suggested he was working very hard to maintain diplomatic composure while processing information that challenged several fundamental assumptions about family members whose activities were supposed to be carefully monitored by royal intelligence networks.
"Saera," he repeated with the sort of measured calm that came from years of practice in handling unexpected complications involving relatives whose personal choices had created ongoing political sensitivities—the tone of voice that suggested he was already mentally composing reports that no royal spymaster was going to enjoy writing. "And how... how did that encounter proceed, if you don't mind my asking? I assume it was... civil?"
"Oh, she attempted to seduce me with considerable enthusiasm and what I must admit was genuinely impressive professional skill," Haerion replied with the sort of casual honesty that suggested he found the entire situation mildly amusing rather than diplomatically sensitive, his emerald eyes sparkling with mischief as he watched Baelon's carefully controlled diplomatic expression begin to crack around the edges. "Quite persistent about it, actually—very creative in her approaches, remarkably flexible in her suggested arrangements, and possessed of an apparently comprehensive understanding of techniques I hadn't previously realized existed outside of certain rather specialized academic texts."
He paused to take a leisurely sip of wine, clearly savoring both the vintage and Baelon's expression of dawning horror at receiving far more detailed intelligence about family members than any reasonable person would want to process during dinner.
"I gather she's developed quite a reputation in Lys for that sort of thing," he continued with the sort of cheerful academic interest that made deeply uncomfortable topics sound like fascinating intellectual exercises. "Runs a rather successful establishment catering to wealthy clients with expensive tastes and exotic requirements. Quite the businesswoman, actually—her organizational skills are genuinely impressive, her staff management techniques are surprisingly enlightened for someone raised in traditional noble households, and her understanding of market dynamics would do credit to guild merchants with decades of commercial experience."
"I... see," Baelon managed, his diplomatic training warring with what was obviously considerable curiosity about family members whose activities had been sources of ongoing concern for royal security assessments. His expression suggested someone trying to balance professional interest in intelligence gathering with personal reluctance to learn too many details about his sister's current career trajectory.
"Oh, you haven't heard the best part yet," Haerion said with the sort of delighted anticipation that suggested the truly entertaining revelations were still to come. "I declined her rather creative proposals, naturally—nothing personal against your sister's undoubtedly impressive professional capabilities, but I'm not particularly interested in such entertainments, especially not when they come with the sort of political complications that intimate involvement with exiled royalty tends to generate."
His grin took on distinctly wicked proportions as he continued with obvious relish for Baelon's increasingly horrified fascination.
"She seemed genuinely shocked by the refusal, actually. Apparently it's been some time since anyone turned down her professional services, particularly someone she'd identified as potentially useful for expanding her business interests into recently liberated territories. Made several increasingly creative counter-proposals, each more elaborate than the last, culminating in suggestions that involved accessories I hadn't previously realized existed and arrangements that would have required engineering consultations to implement safely."
"Accessories," Baelon repeated faintly, apparently trying to process family intelligence that definitely hadn't been included in any reports he'd received from the royal spymaster. His expression suggested someone discovering that familiar territories contained entirely unexpected landscapes that challenged comfortable assumptions about geography.
"Nothing I care to elaborate upon in mixed company," Haerion replied diplomatically, gesturing toward the servants who were maintaining perfectly professional expressions despite obviously listening to every word of conversation that might provide valuable gossip for the staff quarters later. "Though I will say your sister has developed considerable entrepreneurial expertise since leaving Westeros. Quite adaptable, remarkably innovative in her approach to customer service, and possessed of business acumen that suggests she could probably run successful ventures in multiple industries if she ever decided to diversify her professional interests."
He leaned forward with the sort of confidential air that suggested the sharing of particularly valuable intelligence.
"The truly impressive part," he continued with genuine admiration, "was her reaction when she realized I was serious about the refusal. Instead of taking offense or attempting to negotiate alternative arrangements, she immediately shifted to discussing potential business opportunities that my liberation campaign might create for legitimate entertainment establishments in recently freed territories. Sharp as a blade, that one—recognized a changing market when she saw it and began adapting her business model before I'd even finished explaining my policy positions on voluntary adult services versus systematic exploitation."
"Business opportunities," Baelon said with the sort of careful neutrality that suggested he was trying very hard not to think too deeply about what sorts of opportunities his sister might be identifying in recently liberated slave cities.
"Oh, absolutely," Haerion confirmed with obvious enthusiasm for Saera's entrepreneurial acumen. "Voluntary adult entertainment between consenting parties isn't remotely comparable to slavery—her workers choose their profession, keep their earnings, and can leave whenever they please. No moral objection there whatsoever, though I did ensure they all understood their legal rights and had access to alternative employment if they preferred different occupations."
His expression grew more serious as he continued with the sort of professional respect that suggested genuine appreciation for competently managed business enterprises.
"Actually implemented some rather progressive labor protections before I'd even suggested them," he added with obvious approval. "Healthcare provisions, retirement planning, professional development opportunities—your sister may work in an unconventional industry, but her management practices would shame most guild masters for their treatment of employees. Quite impressive, really."
"Progressive labor protections," Baelon repeated with the sort of faint hope that suggested he was looking for aspects of this conversation that might reflect positively on family honor while simultaneously trying not to think too hard about the specific context in which such protections were being implemented.
"Indeed," Haerion said cheerfully, apparently oblivious to Baelon's internal struggle with family pride versus diplomatic horror. "Though she did seem rather impressed by the whole 'liberating dragonlord' concept when she realized refusal of her personal services didn't indicate lack of appreciation for her overall professional capabilities. Made several creative suggestions about how I might relax after the stresses of revolutionary governance, some involving recreational activities I hadn't previously considered and others requiring equipment I wasn't entirely certain existed outside of specialized artisan workshops."
He grinned with the sort of mischievous satisfaction that suggested he'd found the entire encounter genuinely entertaining from multiple perspectives.
"Quite the family you've got there, Prince Baelon," he concluded with obviously sincere appreciation. "Your sister combines traditional Targaryen determination with genuinely innovative approaches to challenging market conditions. Admirable qualities, really, regardless of the specific industry in which she's chosen to apply them."
*Your diplomatic skills continue to astound me,* Aegerax observed through their mental bond, his mental voice carrying the sort of fond exasperation that came from watching his partner navigate sensitive family topics with all the subtlety of a war hammer applied to delicate glassware. *Perhaps we could move to less potentially explosive topics before Prince Baelon decides that alliance with someone who has detailed knowledge of his sister's current professional activities represents unacceptable security risks to royal dignity.*
*Where's your sense of intellectual curiosity?* Haerion replied mentally, though his amusement at the situation remained entirely undiminished. *This is valuable cultural exchange—learning about how different branches of ancient Valyrian bloodlines have adapted to changing circumstances over the past century. Besides, look at his face. This is the first detailed intelligence he's received about Saera's activities since she left Westeros. I'm performing a public service by providing comprehensive family updates.*
*Your definition of 'public service' continues to demonstrate remarkable creativity,* Aegerax replied with the sort of resigned affection that suggested long experience with his partner's unconventional approaches to sensitive diplomatic situations. *Though I admit his expression suggests this conversation is providing intelligence that royal spymasters have somehow failed to gather despite having professional responsibilities for monitoring exiled family members.*
Perhaps sensing that the conversation was veering into territory that required careful diplomatic navigation—or possibly just noticing that his wine goblet was trembling slightly in his grip—Baelon chose that moment to reach for the sword at his side with movements that spoke of ceremonial significance rather than any suggestion of threat or challenge.
"Since we're discussing family heritage," he said with obvious relief at having found a safer topic that wouldn't require him to write reports about his sister's innovative approaches to customer service, "perhaps you'd be interested in examining this. Dark Sister—one of the Valyrian steel blades that have been passed down through House Targaryen since before the Conquest."
He drew the sword with the sort of reverent care that suggested genuine appreciation for legendary weapons, revealing a blade that seemed to drink in the candlelight while reflecting it back as ripples of impossible sharpness. The steel held that distinctive Valyrian ripple pattern that spoke of techniques lost with the Doom, while the balance and proportions marked it as the work of master smiths whose capabilities had been legendary even among the dragonlords of the Freehold. Even inactive, the weapon radiated an aura of barely contained lethality that made the air itself seem sharper in its presence.
"Now that," Haerion said with genuine appreciation as he accepted the blade with the sort of careful respect that such legendary weapons deserved, "is absolutely magnificent craftsmanship. Beautiful work—the proportions are perfect, the balance is extraordinary, and the steel itself..."
But as his enhanced senses examined the weapon more closely, his expression shifted from simple appreciation to something approaching awed recognition, his emerald eyes beginning to glow with faint traces of golden light as deeper perceptions revealed details invisible to normal sight.
"Good God," he breathed, his voice carrying notes of profound wonder as he studied runic patterns that blazed like captured starfire to his enhanced vision while remaining completely invisible to conventional observation. "This... this is Peverell work. Not just Valyrian steel—this was forged by my ancestors. The runic matrices, the harmonic resonances in the crystalline structure, the integration of fundamental magical principles into the metallurgical framework... this is probably Aegon Peverell's work, possibly his masterpiece."
He traced patterns in the air above the blade's surface with movements that suggested someone reading invisible text written in languages that predated conventional history, and where his fingers passed, brief traceries of golden light seemed to follow like calligraphy written in liquid starfire, revealing hidden enchantments that had been worked into the steel's very essence during the forging process.
"Remarkable," he continued with growing excitement as deeper layers of the weapon's construction became apparent to his enhanced understanding, his scholarly enthusiasm overriding even his appreciation for dramatic presentation. "The cutting enchantments are obvious, of course—any competent mage could identify those—but look at the subsidiary matrices embedded in the steel itself. Self-sharpening algorithms keyed to the wielder's intent, perfect balance adjustments that compensate for variations in strength and technique, resonance amplification matrices that allow channeling magical energy through the blade with unprecedented precision and power..."
His voice took on the sort of reverent academic excitement typically reserved for discovering lost texts that revolutionized entire fields of study.
"This isn't just a sword," he concluded with absolute certainty, his emerald eyes blazing with golden flecks as he continued examining enchantments that had been invisible for over a century. "It's a masterwork of applied magical engineering disguised as a weapon. Aegon Peverell probably spent months on this single blade, integrating techniques that were considered theoretical impossibilities even by Freehold standards. This would have been a commission piece of extraordinary significance—possibly a wedding gift or diplomatic gesture representing the absolute pinnacle of what Peverell craftsmanship could achieve."
"Resonance amplification?" Baelon asked with obvious curiosity about capabilities that had never been mentioned in any descriptions of the blade's history that he'd encountered during his studies of family heirlooms and their documented properties.
"Here, let me show you," Haerion said with the sort of delighted enthusiasm that suggested someone discovering a favorite childhood toy in perfect working condition after decades of absence. He rose from his chair and moved to an area of the chamber where there was adequate space for demonstration, the candlelight catching the planes and angles of his face in ways that emphasized both the classical nobility of his features and the confident power that radiated from his enhanced physique.
Raising Dark Sister with movements that suggested the weapon recognized him despite over a century of separation, he channeled a carefully controlled amount of his enhanced magical energy through the ancient blade, causing the Valyrian steel to begin glowing with soft violet radiance while the air around it took on qualities that made breathing feel like inhaling liquid starlight.
"The blade acts as a focus and amplifier," he explained with professorial precision while performing a series of careful passes that left trails of light in the air like calligraphy written in captured starfire, each movement demonstrating perfect harmony between wielder and weapon despite their lack of previous acquaintance. "Someone channeling magic through Dark Sister could cast spells with considerably greater precision and power than would be possible with conventional focuses. The resonance matrices actually learn from the wielder's magical signature, adapting their amplification patterns to optimize output for individual casting styles and preferences."
He shifted into a more complex series of movements that caused the sword to sing with harmonic resonances that seemed to make the very stones of the chamber respond with sympathetic vibrations.
"It's essentially a Valyrian steel wand shaped like a sword," he continued with obvious delight at the weapon's responsiveness to his magical signature, "but with capabilities that exceed anything conventional wandlore could achieve. The integration of metallurgical and magical principles creates possibilities that most wizards would dismiss as theoretical impossibilities even if you showed them detailed schematics."
"No wonder Aegon and his sisters were so successful during the Conquest," Baelon murmured with new understanding of how three individuals with dragons had managed to overcome kingdoms with vastly superior numbers and established defensive positions. "If all their weapons possessed such capabilities..."
"Oh, they didn't," Haerion said with certain knowledge that came from deep understanding of Peverell crafting techniques as he reluctantly lowered the still-glowing blade while its radiance gradually faded back to conventional steel. "This level of enhancement requires individual attention from a master smith working at the absolute peak of their abilities, using techniques that were considered trade secrets even within the Peverell family. Aegon Peverell probably spent the better part of a year on this single blade, incorporating innovations that pushed the boundaries of what was theoretically possible even by Freehold standards."
His expression grew more thoughtful as he continued examining the weapon with enhanced perceptions that revealed layers of craftsmanship invisible to conventional observation.
"The fact that it's responding to my magic so readily despite having been bonded to Targaryen wielders for over a century suggests the original bonding enchantments recognized Peverell blood regardless of temporal separation," he added with scholarly fascination that made even technical discussions sound like exciting intellectual discoveries. "Remarkable foresight on Aegon's part—he built in compatibility protocols with potential future members of the family line, probably anticipating that circumstances might eventually reunite the blade with descendants who possessed appropriate magical signatures for activating its full capabilities."
"Speaking of family heritage," Baelon said as Haerion reluctantly returned the magnificent blade to its sheath with movements that suggested genuine regret at ending such an extraordinary demonstration, "perhaps you'd be willing to share the story of your own weapon? I confess considerable curiosity about what appears to be a double-bladed axe that radiates power I can feel from across the room even when it's supposedly inactive."
"Ah, Dragonbane," Haerion said with obvious pride as he moved to where the legendary weapon rested in its specially crafted stand, his entire demeanor shifting to reflect the sort of profound satisfaction that came from having successfully created something that exceeded even ambitious projections. Even inactive, the axe seemed to pulse with barely contained energy, its crimson steel flowing with golden veins that caught the candlelight like captured flame while the Resurrection Stone in its base glowed with soft red radiance that made the surrounding air shimmer with barely visible potential.
"My own work," he continued with the sort of confident satisfaction that suggested someone who had not only mastered theoretical principles but successfully applied them to create functional masterpieces that demonstrated superiority to previous achievements. "Though built on techniques developed by several generations of Peverell smiths and enhanced with certain... innovations that would have been impossible in the original Freehold, primarily because some of the component materials simply didn't exist in our previous reality."
He lifted the weapon with casual ease despite its apparent size and weight, the massive axe moving like an extension of his will as he demonstrated the perfect balance and supernatural responsiveness that marked true masterwork craftsmanship enhanced by magical principles that transcended conventional understanding of metallurgy and enchantment.
"The basic structure is traditional Valyrian steel enhanced with dragonfire and blood magic," he explained with the sort of technical precision that made complex magical engineering sound like straightforward craftsmanship, "but the core components represent integration of techniques that didn't exist when your ancestors' blades were forged. The handle incorporates elements of the Elder Wand—one of three legendary artifacts created by the original Peverell brothers—while the focusing stone provides resonance amplification that allows the weapon to channel energy on scales that would normally require multiple trained mages working in carefully coordinated concert."
To demonstrate the weapon's capabilities, he channeled a brief pulse of power through the axe, causing the entire weapon to flare with golden radiance that seemed to make reality itself take notice while the air around it took on qualities that suggested breathing liquid starlight enhanced with barely contained volcanic force.
"Impressive," Baelon said with genuine appreciation, though his expression also carried the sort of professional wariness that came from recognizing capabilities that substantially exceeded anything in his previous experience with legendary weapons. "And the armor you wore earlier? I assume that represents similar innovations applied to defensive rather than offensive applications?"
"Lysander Peverell's masterwork," Haerion replied with obvious pride in his ancestor's achievements as he gestured toward the armor stand where the crimson and gold protection rested like a sculpture of controlled lethality. "Adaptive protection that can shift between complete invisibility and full manifestation depending on tactical requirements, with defensive capabilities that would turn aside anything short of direct dragonfire channeled through legendary weapons specifically designed to overcome magical defenses."
Even unoccupied, the armor seemed to flow and shift as adaptive enchantments maintained themselves in readiness for immediate deployment, the surfaces reflecting light in patterns that suggested reality itself wasn't entirely certain how to interact with materials that existed in multiple dimensional states simultaneously.
"The invisibility enchantments are based on integration of the third Deathly Hallow—the Invisibility Cloak—with Lysander's theoretical frameworks for selective manifestation," he continued with obvious enthusiasm for technical innovations that pushed the boundaries of what most people would consider theoretically possible. "The result is armor that can choose which aspects of reality to interact with on a moment-by-moment basis, allowing the wearer to be completely immune to physical attacks while remaining fully capable of offensive action, or visible and tangible for social interaction while maintaining complete protection against magical assault."
"Deathly Hallows?" Baelon asked with obvious curiosity about terminology that didn't appear in any historical texts he'd studied, despite his comprehensive education in both magical theory and family histories.
"Which brings us," Haerion said with the sort of careful consideration that marked someone preparing to share information of genuine historical significance that would either establish credibility beyond question or mark him as the most creative storyteller in recorded history, "to the story you've been politely waiting to hear all evening while I demonstrated weapons and discussed your sister's entrepreneurial ventures. How someone claiming Peverell heritage managed to emerge from the ruins of Old Valyria when those ruins have been desolate for centuries, and when historical records suggest House Peverell disappeared decades before the Doom itself."
He settled back into his chair with movements that suggested someone preparing for a long and potentially challenging conversation, his expression growing more serious as he prepared to share truths that challenged comfortable assumptions about the nature of reality, the possibilities of divine intervention, and the relationship between legendary magic and practical governance.
"The truth is both simpler and more extraordinary than any explanation that would satisfy conventional historical frameworks," he began, his voice taking on the sort of formal cadence that marked stories of genuine significance passed down through bloodlines that had survived impossible circumstances through methods that most people would dismiss as pure fantasy. "House Peverell didn't die with the Doom because we weren't in Valyria when it occurred. We had departed decades earlier, following warnings that came from an unexpected source whose prophetic abilities apparently extended beyond the conventional boundaries of time and space."
"Warnings?" Baelon asked with sharp attention, his scholarly mind immediately focusing on historical details that could provide crucial context for current political relationships while simultaneously challenging established timelines of major historical events.
"Your ancestor Daenys the Dreamer," Haerion confirmed with genuine respect for the Targaryen prophet whose visions had ultimately saved both their bloodlines from destruction that would have eliminated the last remnants of Valyrian civilization from the known world. "Her dreams of fire and destruction reaching beyond Valyria itself convinced my ancestors—the three Peverell brothers, Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus—that the catastrophe would consume not just the Freehold but potentially spread to threaten magical civilization throughout the known world."
He paused to study Baelon's face with the sort of careful attention that suggested someone gauging reactions to claims that challenged comfortable assumptions about how prophetic dreams worked and what their implications might be for people wise enough to heed warnings that came from sources beyond conventional understanding.
"The brothers made a decision that seemed impossible at the time," he continued with the sort of matter-of-fact precision that somehow made extraordinary claims sound like straightforward historical facts, "but which ultimately ensured the survival of our bloodline through methods that most people would dismiss as pure fantasy if they weren't sitting across from the living proof of their success."
"What sort of decision?" Baelon asked with the sort of careful curiosity that came from recognizing when conversations were about to move into territory that would either provide crucial intelligence about unprecedented magical capabilities or demonstrate that his diplomatic mission was dealing with someone whose grasp of reality was more tenuous than previous evidence had suggested.
"They made a pact with Balerion—not your family's dragon, but the Valyrian god of death whose name your ancestors honored when they chose it for the Black Dread," Haerion explained with careful precision while his emerald eyes held steady contact that suggested absolute confidence in claims that challenged fundamental assumptions about the boundaries between mortality and divine intervention. "A covenant that transported them to another world entirely, a place where they could preserve the Peverell bloodline and accumulated knowledge until such time as their descendants might be needed to return and restore what had been lost to systematic destruction and moral decay."
The silence that followed this revelation was profound, weighted with implications that challenged fundamental assumptions about the nature of reality, the power of ancient magic, the existence of multiple worlds, and the relationship between divine intervention and mortal affairs in ways that made conventional diplomatic protocols seem inadequate for processing information of such extraordinary significance.
"Another world," Baelon repeated slowly, his voice carefully neutral as he processed claims that seemed impossible but which were being presented by someone whose demonstrated capabilities suggested that conventional impossibility might not be adequate grounds for dismissal of information that came from sources with access to knowledge beyond normal human understanding.
"A world where magic existed but remained hidden from the majority of the population," Haerion confirmed, apparently untroubled by the obvious skepticism such claims would naturally generate from anyone operating within conventional frameworks for understanding historical possibilities. "The Peverell brothers established new lives, married into established magical bloodlines, had children, and passed down their knowledge through family lines that gradually integrated with the existing magical population of their new home while maintaining the essential techniques and principles that had made Valyrian civilization great before corruption and moral decay led to its destruction."
His expression grew more somber as he continued with portions of the story that carried personal pain despite the passage of years and the achievement of objectives that honored the sacrifices made by people whose loss continued to motivate his current campaign.
"But bloodlines thin over centuries when they're not carefully maintained through strategic marriages and deliberate preservation of magical capabilities," he said with quiet sadness that suggested personal experience with loss that extended beyond individual tragedy to encompass the gradual decline of entire civilizations. "The Peverell line gradually diminished as descendants died in wars, accidents, or simply chose not to have children, while the knowledge and techniques that had once made us the premier magical engineers of Valyrian civilization became scattered among family branches that lacked the concentrated expertise necessary for maintaining the most sophisticated applications."
He paused, his emerald eyes reflecting depths of loss that encompassed not just personal tragedy but the systematic destruction of knowledge that had taken generations to accumulate.
"By the time I was born," he continued with the sort of matter-of-fact precision that somehow made tragic historical developments sound like straightforward chronological facts, "only two individuals carried sufficient Peverell blood to activate the ancient enchantments our ancestors had created as safeguards against the sort of catastrophic destruction that had consumed the original Freehold—myself, and a man named Tom Riddle who had chosen to abandon his heritage in favor of pursuing power through methods that would have made even Malachar Peverell question his moral flexibility."
"Tom Riddle?" Baelon asked with professional interest in names that might prove relevant to assessing character and motivations, while his expression suggested someone trying to process historical information that challenged comfortable assumptions about the relationships between bloodline inheritance and moral development.
"Better known as Lord Voldemort," Haerion replied with the sort of grim satisfaction that came from having successfully eliminated threats to civilized society through direct personal action backed by superior capabilities and clear moral conviction. "A would-be dark lord who spent decades terrorizing the magical population through methods that made conventional warfare seem positively civilized by comparison. Systematic torture, murder of entire families including children and infants, corruption of governance through terror and intimidation, development of magical techniques specifically designed to cause maximum suffering rather than simply achieving tactical objectives—the usual repertoire of megalomaniacal dictators with delusions of racial superiority and unlimited entitlement to other people's lives and property."
His emerald eyes hardened with memories that clearly still carried personal significance despite whatever emotional distance time and achievement might have provided, while his voice took on tones that suggested someone who had seen the worst of what unchecked evil could accomplish when good people failed to respond with adequate force and moral clarity.
"He killed my parents when I was a year old," he continued with matter-of-fact precision that somehow made the casual revelation more chilling than dramatic presentation would have achieved, "attempting to eliminate potential threats to his vision of magical society reformed according to principles that would have made slavery look like progressive social policy. Spent the next sixteen years of my life attempting to finish what he started, culminating in a war that cost thousands of lives and nearly destroyed the civilization I'd grown up protecting from monsters who thought systematic brutalization was an acceptable approach to political problem-solving."
"And you killed him," Baelon observed with the sort of professional assessment that came from understanding how such conflicts typically resolved when one participant possessed significantly superior capabilities combined with moral conviction that transcended personal considerations.
"Eventually," Haerion confirmed with grim satisfaction that suggested someone who had paid prices that few people would be willing to contemplate for the privilege of eliminating existential threats to civilized society. "Though not before he'd cost me nearly everyone I cared about, including the woman I loved more than life itself. Hermione Granger—brilliant beyond description, brave to a fault, probably the most genuinely good person I've ever encountered in any reality. She died defending innocent people from monsters who thought systematic brutalization was entertainment rather than simply a tool for achieving political objectives."
The pain in his voice was unmistakable, carrying depths of loss that explained much about his current campaign and the particular fury he brought to conflicts involving the systematic oppression of innocent people by those who possessed power but lacked any moral framework for its responsible application.
"When Voldemort finally died and I found myself the last surviving member of the Peverell bloodline," he continued after a moment of respectful silence that allowed the weight of such losses to settle properly before moving on to their consequences and ultimate resolution, "Balerion appeared to me with an offer—return to the original world, reclaim my true heritage, and restore the Peverell legacy in the land where it belonged, using the knowledge and techniques I'd developed during my years of war to ensure that systematic evil would face consequences that discouraged its continuation."
"And you accepted," Baelon said with understanding that carried no judgment about choices made under circumstances that few people could even imagine facing, let alone surviving with sufficient moral clarity to make decisions that served broader interests rather than simply personal revenge or escape from unbearable memories.
"I had nothing left to stay for," Haerion replied with simple honesty. "My parents were dead, my love was gone, my friends were moving on with their lives while I remained trapped by memories of loss and war. The opportunity to start fresh, to build something meaningful from the ruins of my family's legacy... it seemed like the only choice that offered any possibility of genuine purpose."
He gestured toward the window, beyond which the transformed city of Pentos glittered in the evening darkness like a constellation brought down to earth through moral conviction and adequate force.
"So here I am," he concluded with the sort of quiet satisfaction that came from having found meaningful work that honored both personal loss and family heritage, "continuing the Peverell tradition of using superior capabilities to improve civilizations that have lost their way, while ensuring that the sacrifices made by people like Hermione weren't wasted on someone too broken by grief to accomplish anything worthy of their memory."
The weight of the story settled over the chamber like morning mist, carrying implications about duty, loss, redemption, and the sort of personal motivations that could drive someone to attempt the systematic transformation of entire civilizations as a form of memorial to love that had been destroyed by forces too evil to tolerate.
"That," Baelon said finally with genuine respect for both the story and the man who had shared it, "explains a great deal about your approach to systematic social reform and your particular fury when confronting systems based on the brutalization of innocent people."
"Indeed," Haerion agreed with quiet certainty. "I've seen what unchecked evil can accomplish when good people fail to respond with adequate force and clear moral conviction. Never again—not if I possess the capabilities to prevent it."
"Which brings us back to your current campaign," Baelon observed with growing understanding of the personal stakes underlying what might have seemed like abstract moral crusading to outside observers. "Your war against slavery isn't just about improving social systems—it's about ensuring that systematic evil faces consequences that discourage its continuation."
"Precisely," Haerion confirmed with the sort of resolved determination that made it clear certain principles were non-negotiable regardless of whatever diplomatic complications their defense might generate. "Every slave freed, every system of oppression dismantled, every slaver who faces consequences for their choices—it all honors the memory of people who died fighting monsters, while ensuring that such monsters understand that profitable evil has prices that rational actors should be unwilling to pay."
The conversation continued as they discussed the practical implications of Haerion's campaign and the potential benefits that Targaryen cooperation might provide for achieving objectives that would serve both their interests. As the evening progressed, it became clear that diplomatic contact between their houses offered opportunities for mutual benefit that could reshape the political landscape of both continents.
"I have a proposal," Baelon said as their discussion reached what seemed like a natural conclusion, his tone carrying the sort of formal authority that indicated he was speaking with full royal backing rather than mere personal opinion. "My father would very much like to meet you personally—both to establish formal diplomatic relations and to discuss opportunities for cooperation that could prove beneficial to both our campaigns."
He leaned forward with obvious sincerity, his violet eyes reflecting the candlelight as he continued with what was clearly a carefully prepared invitation.
"Would you consider accompanying me to King's Landing? Full diplomatic immunity, of course, with appropriate recognition of your sovereignty over territories you've liberated and formal acknowledgment of your legitimate status as heir to House Peverell of Old Valyria."
The offer was generous and diplomatically sophisticated, representing recognition and respect that few rulers would extend to someone whose power base existed entirely outside their traditional spheres of influence.
Haerion considered the proposal with obvious interest, his analytical mind clearly working through the implications of formal diplomatic contact with the Iron Throne while assessing how such recognition might serve his broader strategic objectives.
"I'm honored by King Jaehaerys's invitation," he replied with genuine appreciation for the gesture while maintaining the sort of measured consideration that suggested important reservations, "and I can certainly see the benefits that formal diplomatic relations could provide for both our campaigns. However, I'm afraid I cannot accept such an invitation until after the liberation of Volantis has been completed."
"The timing is that crucial?" Baelon asked with obvious understanding that military campaigns often created diplomatic constraints that couldn't be ignored without compromising operational effectiveness.
"Volantis represents the final major slave-trading center before we move against Slaver's Bay itself," Haerion explained with tactical precision. "Delaying the campaign to pursue diplomatic opportunities, however beneficial, would give our enemies time to coordinate resistance and develop countermeasures that could significantly complicate what should be a straightforward liberation operation."
He paused, his expression showing genuine regret at having to decline an invitation that could prove crucial to long-term strategic relationships.
"Plus," he added with characteristic honesty, "half a million people remain enslaved in Volantis while we discuss diplomatic protocols. Every day we delay the liberation means another day of systematic brutalization for people who have already endured far more than anyone should be expected to tolerate."
The moral reasoning was impossible to argue with, representing exactly the sort of principled thinking that had made Haerion's campaign so effective while simultaneously creating scheduling conflicts that could complicate beneficial diplomatic relationships.
"In that case," Baelon said with the sort of decisive authority that suggested he was prepared to make commitments that would require royal approval but which circumstances clearly justified, "perhaps I could offer assistance with the Volantis campaign itself. Vhagar and I have considerable experience with precision tactical operations, and additional dragon support might prove useful for ensuring minimal casualties during what will necessarily be a complex urban operation."
The offer was extraordinary—a Targaryen prince volunteering to participate directly in revolutionary military campaigns against established Free Cities authorities, backed by one of the most experienced dragons in the known world.
"That," Haerion said with obvious delight at the prospect of cooperation between dragons that had once ruled the skies above Old Valyria, "would be absolutely magnificent. Having two dragons coordinatingTactical operations should allow us to demonstrate overwhelming superiority while maintaining the sort of precision that prevents unnecessary casualties among the populations we're trying to liberate."
*This should prove interesting,* Aegerax observed through their mental bond, his thoughts carrying anticipatory satisfaction mixed with professional curiosity about working alongside another dragon of comparable size and experience. *I haven't coordinated aerial operations with another intelligent dragon since before the Doom. It will be... refreshing to work with someone who understands proper tactical sophistication rather than simply following human directions.*
*Indeed,* Haerion agreed mentally while maintaining conversational focus on the practical implications of Targaryen military cooperation. *Plus, having Prince Baelon participate directly in liberation operations should provide him with firsthand experience of our methods and objectives, which could prove invaluable when he reports back to King Jaehaerys about potential alliance opportunities.*
As the evening concluded with detailed planning for combined dragon operations against the largest and most heavily defended slave-trading center in the Free Cities, both princes understood that they had taken the first steps toward establishing cooperation between two branches of Valyrian civilization that could reshape the balance of power throughout the known world.
The return of Old Valyria was about to receive reinforcement from the surviving legacy of Aegon the Conqueror, and together, they would demonstrate why the blood of the dragon had once ruled half the world through capabilities that transcended conventional understanding of what individual determination could accomplish when backed by adequate force and clear moral conviction.
Volantis was about to discover what happened when legendary dragons worked in concert to eliminate systematic evil from civilizations that had forgotten the true meaning of Valyrian superiority—not conquest for its own sake, but the power to transform the world according to principles that honored the best rather than merely the strongest aspects of human nature.
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