Chapter 353

“Can you stop calling it ‘Lightbringer’? It’s just a Valyrian steel sword.” Aegor wasn’t at all surprised by Melisandre’s reaction and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, responding with a weak jab of realism. He unsheathed the sword slightly, revealing a sliver of the blade to bolster his argument. “See? It doesn’t glow, and it’s not hot.”

“Do you think I’m some peasant woman who’s never seen a Valyrian steel sword?” Melisandre narrowed her eyes, her expression suddenly both dangerous and alluring. “From Asshai to Slaver’s Bay, from the Free Cities to the Seven Kingdoms, there are hundreds, maybe thousands of Valyrian steel swords still in existence. The temple of R’hllor in Volantis once held one. I’ve seen more Valyrian blades than you can count, and yet this sword in your hand radiates more magic than all the others I’ve seen combined. And you dismiss it as ‘just a Valyrian steel sword’?”

Aegor blinked, then looked down again at the blade in his hands, scrutinizing it anew. But he couldn’t discern any difference—this was, after all, only the second Valyrian steel sword he had ever seen.

Over time, Aegor and the Red Priestess had shared countless conversations, some more revealing than others. While neither could claim complete openness, there was enough mutual understanding to form a fragile trust. Aegor had learned to navigate her manipulative tendencies—she had a knack for inspiring awe or earning trust through cunning methods or subtle rhetoric. However, she rarely outright lied, at least not in a way that Aegor could catch. If Melisandre said this sword was different, perhaps it truly was.

“Is this sword truly unique among Valyrian steel blades?” Aegor asked.

Melisandre’s expression grew grave as she pressed her point. “What is the name of this sword?”

“Dark Sister.”

“Dark Sister?” Melisandre repeated, the name stirring her memory. “The blade once wielded by Visenya Targaryen, the sister of Aegon the Conqueror?”

“That’s right.”

“This sword was beyond the Wall? How curious... Hmm.” She seemed lost in thought for a moment, then glanced at the guards trailing behind Aegor. After a brief hesitation, she added, “Send your men away. I need to speak with you alone.”

Though puzzled, Aegor complied, signaling to his guards to give them space. Once they had moved out of earshot, Melisandre continued.

“This is no ordinary Valyrian steel sword. It is a Dragonlord’s sword.”

Ah, here it comes. Aegor stifled a sigh, knowing she wouldn’t continue until he played along. He gestured for her to elaborate. “What’s the difference? Explain.”

“Valyrian steel has always been considered a magical metal. It is also called ‘dragonsteel.’ For centuries, people believed its properties came from dragonbone being incorporated into the forging process, but the truth is far simpler. Valyrian steel was reserved for the ruling elite of the Freehold—the Dragonlords. It was a material that only the most powerful families, the true aristocracy, could afford to commission. But here’s the strange part—this metal, meant to symbolize the supremacy of the Dragonlords, was later sold to outsiders. Not just to the Freehold’s colonial elites, but to kings and lords across the Narrow Sea, in Westeros. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

Aegor began piecing it together. “Are you saying the Valyrian steel sold to outsiders wasn’t the real deal?”

“No one knows for sure—no one has ever been able to compare a Dragonlord’s sword with an outsider’s blade. Outsiders’ Valyrian steel swords have all the properties one would expect: strength, sharpness, light weight, and magical infusion. How could anyone call them counterfeit? At the height of Valyria’s power, who would dare to question them? And after the Doom, when nearly all the Dragonlord swords perished with the Freehold, the opportunity to verify this suspicion vanished... Until now. At last, I am looking at a true Dragonlord’s sword.”

Aegor’s thoughts raced. The Targaryens, though not among Valyria’s most prominent families, were still a Dragonlord house. If Valyrian steel had grades, then the swords wielded by Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters were undoubtedly of the highest quality.

Dark Sister wasn’t just any Valyrian steel blade—it was a Dragonsteel blade. While their physical composition might seem identical, something about the forging process, some critical step, set them apart. Perhaps it was the infusion of magic, or perhaps it was some closely guarded technique lost to history. Whatever the reason, the difference was real.

“Do you know why these swords are different?” Aegor asked.

“I don’t know for certain, but I have a theory. It’s said that in the final step of forging a true Dragonlord’s sword, the master smith would summon the blade’s intended owner. The Dragonlord would then perform a blood ritual, pouring their own blood into the forging process to enhance the blade’s power,” Melisandre explained. Her fiery gaze fixated on the blade as she gingerly caressed the exposed length of Dark Sister. “Can you imagine? A highborn Dragonlord shedding their precious blood for someone else’s sword? Of course not. The blood’s power is in its lineage. Not just any blood can fuel magic.”

The priestess’s eyes gleamed with reverence as she examined the sword, her fingers tracing its edge like one might handle a sacred relic. “Think about it—this blade may have been blooded by Visenya Targaryen herself, or even one of her purer-blooded ancestors. Its magical potency is dozens of times greater than that of any common Valyrian steel sword. And it can store and regenerate magic far beyond the capacity of an ordinary blade. Do you realize what that means?”

“What does it mean?” Aegor asked earnestly.

“It means,” Melisandre whispered, “that this sword is not just a weapon. It’s a conduit for power. It can kill White Walkers with unmatched efficiency and sustain enchantments far longer than any other blade. If I were to imbue it with fire magic, it could burn as brightly and as eternally as the legendary Lightbringer itself.”

And there it was. The real reason she had wanted the guards dismissed.

Aegor sighed, cutting her off. “Enough. I’ve told you before—I won’t use tricks like this to gain the approval of R’hllor’s followers.”

Melisandre’s fiery temper flared at his defiance, her eyes narrowing as she fixed him with a glare. Yet Aegor held her gaze, unyielding. After a tense moment, she relented, averting her eyes with a frustrated sigh. For all her power and cunning, she couldn’t compel him to do what he refused.

“Do as you wish,” she said at last, her tone exasperated. “But guard this sword well. It will be the key to victory.”

“About that...” Aegor hesitated. “I was planning to sell the sword to Tywin Lannister, under the condition that it remains with the Night’s Watch for Jaime to wield.”

“You—!” Melisandre’s voice rose in a sharp, incredulous outburst. Even the distant guards turned to glance in their direction. “Are you out of your mind?!”