Chapter 22.5- The Seadragon's Roar

I had no magic of my own to act as an equalizer and even if somehow I managed to learn some, what was the guarantee it would be enough? The Valyrians were the best and most twisted mages of an age far more magical than this one. While Euron Greyjoy’s accomplishment was without a doubt an impressive one, he had gone when dragons had died and magic slept. Now, neither of those things were through.

Still, no matter how much I thought about the dangers, the lure of Valyria remained. It was not the Valyrian steel or the near limitless amounts of gold that drew me towards it, no. It was the promise of knowledge. The promise of the magic that the Valyrians had had. The magic to conquer a Kingdom and then some. The magic to not just hatch dragons, but the magic it had taken to create the species in the first place.

No matter what the Maesters said in their books, I would never believe that the Valyrians had n’t created their dragons. For one, why could only those with Valyrian blood ride them. It spoke of a powerful enchantment. So powerful that it would last centuries even after the Doom. In the canon, the dragons did not allow any but Daenerys control or mount them. And then there was the natural ability of dragons to understand High Valyrian. That wasn’t a trait that just naturally occurred in nature. It had to be baked in, ensured, one way or another. Maybe selective breeding, but I doubted it was so mundane. Not for a civilization that had magic in their air and in their water, and in their fucking blood.

Igneel roared, I thought for a second that it was from him agreeing with me until I looked down and noted that he was roaring at a set of ships.. They weren’t just fishing barges, I noted. These were proper merchant ships, not warships by any means. They weren’t near large enough, but they were much too large to even qualify as small fishing boats.

“Let’s go lower, boy” I asked, and he heeded, we slowed down, dropping down towards our quarry. It took them some time to spot us as we got closer, but the lack of panic on their ships said something— I just wasn’t sure what it was. They didn’t fly the Velaryon flag. It wasn’t not one I could recognised, a golden quill on checkered dark and light green, marked it as some sort of sigil. Maybe something from a Westerosi house. There were dozens I didn’t know anything about. It could also be the mark of some merchant prince from the free cities. It would take a lot of audacity for a merchant prince to have his ships crossing this route though. We didn’t have a blockade per se but there seemed to be the understanding that no ships would pass until we had finished our business.

Igneel and I flew even lower, ‘dracarys’, I said and we breathed a long line of fire right in front of the ships before we flew back. It was a clear enough signal— stop there.