Two Months Later - The Final Preparations
The workshop had been transformed yet again over the past weeks, this time into something that resembled a cross between an armory and an alchemical laboratory. Harry—or Haerion, as he'd grown more comfortable thinking of himself in this world—stood before a polished mirror examining the changes that months of intensive magical work had wrought upon his form.
The lean teenager who had first arrived in the ruins of Old Valyria was gone, replaced by someone who looked like he'd been carved from marble by a sculptor with strong opinions about heroic proportions. The constant forging work, combined with daily weapons training and the subtle transformative effects of his dragon-enhanced armor, had added muscle and presence that would have made his old Quidditch teammates weep with envy. His shoulders had broadened to fill out the armor's magnificent lines, his chest had deepened with the sort of strength that came from swinging legendary weapons for hours at a time, and his arms had developed the defined musculature of someone who had personally forged enough Valyrian Steel to outfit a small army.
"Well," he said with the sort of satisfied assessment that suggested he was pleased with the results of his efforts, "I suppose I look the part now. Very dramatic. Very 'mysterious Dragonlord emerging from legend to reshape the destiny of nations.' I doubt anyone will mistake me for a lost Hogwarts student anymore."
His reflection showed someone who could have stepped from the pages of ancient histories—tall and powerfully built, with the sort of presence that commanded attention without demanding it. The crimson and gold armor flowed around his enhanced physique like liquid fire, adapting perfectly to his new proportions while maintaining its impossible blend of protection and mobility. His dark hair, now longer and showing hints of auburn where the light caught it, framed features that had been refined by dragon-fire into something that belonged in the halls of power and legend.
But it was his eyes that truly marked the change—still that brilliant emerald green, but now shot through with violet flecks that seemed to dance with inner fire. They were the eyes of someone who had looked into the heart of magic itself and emerged not just unburned, but fundamentally transformed.
"*You look like a proper Dragonlord,*" Aegerax observed with obvious satisfaction, his mental voice carrying the rich, resonant tones that had become as familiar as his own thoughts. The dragon's tone held that quality of proud approval that came from watching potential unfold into magnificent reality. "*Magnificent, powerful, and just dangerous enough to make people think twice before offering insult or challenge. Though I should probably mention that your new... presence... is going to attract attention in ways you might not have considered. You no longer look like someone who can blend into crowds or avoid notice when stealth is preferable to dramatic revelation.*"
"Good point," Haerion acknowledged, running a hand through his hair with a gesture that had somehow become more confident and assured over the months of training. "Though I suspect that once we start our campaign to attract Targaryen attention, subtlety will be rather beside the point anyway. Hard to maintain a low profile when you're riding the largest dragon in the world and carrying weapons that probably glow with their own inner light."
His reflection in the polished steel showed someone who could walk into any royal court in the world and be immediately recognized as someone of importance—not through ceremony or wealth, but through the sort of inherent authority that couldn't be faked or learned. It was the presence of someone who had faced impossible odds and emerged victorious, who had rebuilt legendary artifacts with his own hands, who had partnered with forces that most mortals could barely comprehend.
"*Speaking of which,*" Aegerax said with the sort of practical interest that suggested he was eager to move beyond preparation and into action, "*perhaps it's time to turn our attention to the broader strategic situation? I believe you mentioned something about making contact with the current state of affairs in the wider world. If we're going to emerge from these ruins and reclaim your place among the great powers, we should probably have some understanding of the political landscape we'll be entering.*"
"Absolutely," Haerion agreed, moving toward the corner of the workshop where he'd set up what could charitably be described as a strategic planning center—maps, reports, and intelligence gathered from crystal scrying and careful observation of the few travelers who passed within range of the ruins. "Though I have to say, the state of the world is rather more interesting than I'd expected when we started this little project."
The map spread across the table was a masterwork of cartography and magical enhancement, showing not just the physical geography of the known world but the political boundaries, trade routes, and centers of power that defined civilization in this realm. Westeros sprawled across the western portion, dominated by the Targaryen dragon sigil that marked King's Landing and the various strongholds where the royal family maintained their dragons. To the east, the Free Cities of Essos spread along the coastline like jewels on a merchant's chain—Pentos, Tyrosh, Lys, Myr, and the others, each one a potential ally or enemy depending on how they approached the situation.
"Right then," Haerion said, his voice taking on the analytical tone that had once made Hermione beam with academic pride, "let's talk strategy. The goal is to establish contact with the Targaryens in a way that presents us as potential allies rather than threats to be eliminated. Given that they're rather protective of their monopoly on dragons, and given that you could probably take on their entire stable of wyrm-dragons without breaking a sweat, the approach needs to be carefully calibrated."
"*A diplomatic challenge of considerable delicacy,*" Aegerax agreed, his mental voice carrying the sort of thoughtful consideration that suggested he was working through complex political implications. The dragon's tone held that quality of someone who had extensive experience with the sorts of misunderstandings that could arise when legendary forces suddenly appeared in established power structures. "*Show too little strength and they'll dismiss us as irrelevant. Show too much and they'll consider us an existential threat that needs to be eliminated before we can establish ourselves. The ideal approach would be to demonstrate capabilities that command respect while making it clear that we're seeking partnership rather than conquest.*"
"Exactly," Haerion said with obvious satisfaction, tracing potential flight paths across the map with his finger. "Which brings us to the question of how to generate the right sort of attention. We need rumors and reports that will reach the Targaryens quickly enough to matter, but with enough mystery and intrigue to make them curious rather than simply alarmed."
His finger moved across the eastern coastline, pausing at various cities that could serve as potential demonstration sites. "The Free Cities would be perfect for our purposes—close enough to Westeros that news would travel quickly, but far enough from the heart of Targaryen power that we wouldn't be seen as an immediate threat to their capital. Plus, the Free Cities are used to unusual visitors and extraordinary events. A few carefully staged appearances could generate exactly the sort of rumors we need without triggering an immediate military response."
"*Carefully staged appearances,*" Aegerax repeated with the sort of amused interest that suggested he was looking forward to the theatrical aspects of their plan. His mental voice carried that quality of someone who appreciated the dramatic possibilities inherent in their situation. "*I take it you have specific scenarios in mind? Because I should probably mention that my definition of 'carefully staged' may differ somewhat from yours. I tend to think in terms of 'maximum dramatic impact' rather than 'subtle diplomatic messaging.'*"
"Oh, I'm counting on it," Haerion replied with a grin that suggested he was planning something that would either be brilliant or give diplomatic historians headaches for centuries. "The key is to make appearances that are impossible to ignore but brief enough to maintain mystery. Think 'legendary dragon and mysterious rider sighted briefly over major city' rather than 'legendary dragon and mysterious rider land in the town square and demand tribute.' We want wonder and curiosity, not panic and mobilization of military forces."
He pointed to Pentos first, the closest of the Free Cities to the western continent. "Pentos would be perfect for our first appearance—close enough to Westeros that news would reach King's Landing quickly, wealthy enough that they'd have reliable information networks, but not so militarily powerful that they'd try to shoot us down out of misplaced territorial defense. A few passes over the city at dawn or dusk, when the light would create the most dramatic silhouettes, should generate exactly the sort of reports we need."
"*Dawn flights over major population centers,*" Aegerax mused, his mental voice carrying growing enthusiasm for the theatrical possibilities. The dragon's tone held that quality of someone who had spent centuries without proper audience for his magnificence and was looking forward to remedying that oversight. "*I admit, there's a certain appeal to the idea. It's been far too long since I've had the opportunity to remind the world that dragons are forces of nature deserving appropriate respect and awe. Plus, the sight of a proper dragon—not one of those unfortunate Valyrian compromises—should certainly capture attention and generate the sort of memorable reports that travel quickly.*"
"Then we move south along the coast," Haerion continued, his finger tracing a route that would take them past most of the major Free Cities in a matter of days. "Tyrosh, Lys, Myr—each one a different sort of demonstration, each one adding to the growing legend while maintaining enough mystery to keep people guessing about our intentions and capabilities."
His expression grew more thoughtful as he considered the tactical implications. "The beauty of this approach is that it plays to our strengths while minimizing the risks. We're not threatening anyone directly, not making territorial claims or demands for tribute. We're simply... existing. Magnificently and mysteriously, in a way that makes it clear that something significant has changed in the balance of power, but without triggering immediate defensive responses."
"*A campaign of strategic mystique,*" Aegerax said with obvious approval, his mental voice carrying the sort of professional admiration that came from recognizing superior strategic thinking. The dragon's tone held that quality of someone who appreciated elegant solutions to complex problems. "*Generate curiosity and wonder rather than fear and hostility, establish our existence as a factor that needs to be considered without immediately presenting ourselves as a threat that needs to be eliminated. It's the sort of approach that could transform us from 'unknown danger' to 'potential valuable ally' in the minds of anyone with strategic sense.*"
"Exactly," Haerion said with satisfaction, though his expression grew more serious as he considered the broader implications of what they were planning. "Though we should also consider what we'll do when the Targaryens inevitably send someone to investigate. Because they will—they're not going to ignore reports of a dragon larger than any in their stable, especially not one with a rider who doesn't fit any of their known political categories."
"*An excellent point,*" Aegerax agreed, his mental voice taking on the sort of thoughtful consideration that suggested he was working through diplomatic contingencies. The dragon's tone carried that quality of someone who understood that first impressions in high-stakes political situations could have consequences that lasted for generations. "*The first meeting will be crucial—whoever they send will be reporting back to the Iron Throne, and their assessment will determine whether we're approached as potential allies, potential threats, or potential assets to be controlled. We'll need to strike exactly the right balance between demonstrating our capabilities and showing that we're reasonable beings who can be negotiated with.*"
"Which means we need to be prepared for multiple scenarios," Haerion said, his strategic mind already working through possibilities and contingencies. "They might send a diplomat with a military escort—in which case we respond with appropriate courtesy while making it clear that we're not impressed by shows of force. They might send a dragon rider as a display of power—in which case we demonstrate that our capabilities exceed theirs without humiliating them unnecessarily. Or they might send someone with authority to negotiate seriously—in which case we need to have clear goals and reasonable proposals ready to present."
His finger moved to mark King's Landing on the map, the capital where Jaehaerys Targaryen held court with his dragons and his long experience of ruling through both wisdom and power. "The key is to make it clear that we're seeking acknowledgment and cooperation rather than submission or conquest. The Targaryens have held power through dragon superiority for a century—they're not going to react well to anyone who seems to threaten that foundation. But if we can present ourselves as potential partners in maintaining stability rather than challengers to their authority..."
"*Then we transform ourselves from a problem to be solved into an asset to be cultivated,*" Aegerax finished, his mental voice carrying approval for the diplomatic sophistication of their approach. The dragon's tone held that quality of someone who had extensive experience with the delicate negotiations required when multiple powerful forces needed to coexist. "*It's the difference between being seen as a rival Dragonlord seeking to establish a competing power base and being seen as a valuable ally with unique capabilities and complementary interests.*"
"Precisely," Haerion agreed, though his expression grew more thoughtful as he considered one of the more complex aspects of their situation. "Though there is one potential complication we should probably discuss. I'm going to have to explain my origins and capabilities at some point, and the truth is... rather extraordinary. Mysterious Dragonlord emerging from the ruins of Old Valyria with a proper dragon and legendary artifacts is the sort of story that people either believe completely or dismiss as elaborate fantasy. There's not much middle ground."
"*Which means our credibility will depend entirely on demonstrable results,*" Aegerax observed with practical wisdom that came from centuries of dealing with skeptical mortals. His mental voice carried that quality of someone who understood that extraordinary claims required extraordinary evidence. "*Fortunately, we have rather compelling evidence to offer. A dragon of my magnificent proportions is difficult to argue with, and your capabilities with Dragonbane should be sufficiently impressive to establish that you're not simply someone who found a particularly large wyrm and decided to claim ancient titles.*"
"True," Haerion said with a grin that suggested he was looking forward to demonstrating their capabilities to skeptical audiences. "Plus, there's something to be said for the power of mystery itself. The less they know about where we came from and how we acquired our capabilities, the more they'll have to rely on what they can observe directly. And what they can observe directly should be sufficiently impressive to command respect regardless of the backstory."
He stood back from the map, his enhanced physique moving with the sort of unconscious confidence that spoke of someone who had learned to carry power comfortably. The months of training and transformation had given him not just physical strength, but the sort of presence that commanded attention and respect—the bearing of someone who had faced impossible challenges and emerged victorious through skill, determination, and just enough luck to make the victories seem inevitable rather than miraculous.
"*So,*" Aegerax said with the sort of anticipatory excitement that suggested he was eager to move beyond planning and into action, his mental voice carrying that quality of someone who had spent too long in isolation and was ready to remind the world of his existence, "*when do we begin this campaign of strategic mystique? I find myself quite eager to stretch my wings over populated areas again, and I suspect the sight of a proper dragon will be... educational for people who have grown accustomed to thinking of the Targaryen wyrms as the pinnacle of draconic majesty.*"
"Tomorrow," Haerion said with the sort of decisive confidence that had once convinced his friends to follow him into situations that any reasonable person would have avoided entirely. "We've spent months preparing, and I think we're as ready as we're ever going to be. Time to step out of the ruins and reclaim our place in the world."
His emerald eyes, bright with violet fire and anticipation, swept across the map one final time. "Pentos first, just after dawn when the light will be perfect for dramatic silhouettes. Then south along the coast—Tyrosh by midday, Lys by evening. Three cities in one day should generate exactly the sort of reports we need, and the timeline will make it clear that we're not lingering to threaten anyone or make territorial claims. Just... making our existence known to anyone who might be interested in such things."
"*Tomorrow it is, then,*" Aegerax agreed with satisfaction that could be felt through their mental bond like warmth from a perfect fire. The dragon's tone carried that quality of eager anticipation that came from approaching a challenge that would test their capabilities and potentially reshape their future. "*I look forward to reminding the world what a proper dragon looks like. It's been far too long since I've had the opportunity to be appropriately magnificent in front of an audience that would appreciate the display.*"
"Just remember," Haerion said with mock seriousness, though his grin suggested he was enjoying the dragon's enthusiasm as much as his own anticipation, "we're going for 'awe-inspiring and mysterious' rather than 'terrifying and apocalyptic.' Save the city-leveling displays of power for actual emergencies."
"*I make no promises,*" Aegerax replied with the sort of dignified smugness that suggested he was looking forward to showing off after centuries of having no one to appreciate his magnificence properly. His mental voice carried that quality of barely restrained enthusiasm that made it clear he was planning to make their debut as memorable as possible. "*Though I suppose I can restrain myself to merely breathtaking displays of aerial superiority rather than outright demonstrations of why entire civilizations once paid tribute for the privilege of not being incinerated. But only because you asked so nicely.*"
"Your restraint is deeply appreciated," Haerion replied with the sort of diplomatic sincerity that suggested he understood exactly how much effort such restraint would require from a dragon of Aegerax's magnificent capabilities. "After all, we want them curious about our intentions, not fleeing for the hills because they think the Doom of Valyria has decided to take a world tour."
As they finalized their plans for the morning's departure, neither dragon nor rider noticed the subtle shift in the shadows at the edge of the workshop—a deepening of darkness that suggested the presence of something that existed partially outside normal space-time. In the depths below, something that had once been Malachar Peverell stirred with anticipation and carefully laid plans that had been centuries in the making.
The young Dragonlord was ready to emerge into the wider world, to take his place among the great powers and begin reshaping the destiny of dragons and men alike. But he was not the only one with plans for the future, and the games being played in the ruins of Old Valyria were far more complex than either dragon or rider yet suspected.
Soon, very soon, it would be time for a proper family reunion. And when that moment came, the true scope of the Peverell legacy would be revealed—along with the prices that had been paid to preserve it through the long centuries of exile and transformation.
But for now, there was the simple anticipation of tomorrow's flight, of stepping out of legend and into history, of beginning the campaign that would announce to the world that the age of Dragonlords had begun once more.
---
**In the Depths of the Fourteen Flames**
The thing that had once been Malachar Peverell watched through crystallized shadows as the young Dragonlord made his final preparations, and for the first time in centuries, something that might have been paternal pride stirred in the depths of its transformed consciousness. The boy—no, the man now, shaped by months of intensive magical work into something worthy of the ancient bloodline—was ready to reclaim his birthright in ways that exceeded even the most optimistic projections.
"*Magnificent,*" it whispered to the darkness, its voice carrying harmonics that made nearby stones weep tears of liquid starlight. The words echoed through dimensions that existed only in the spaces between heartbeats, creating ripples in reality that would not be felt for years to come. "*More than worthy of the name he bears. More than capable of achievements that would make even my millennium of patient evolution seem crude by comparison.*"
The creature's form shifted through configurations that suggested rather than displayed its true nature—shadow given substance, despair crystallized into purpose, the accumulated weight of a thousand years of careful transformation into something that transcended the merely human. But beneath the alien geometry of its current existence, traces of its original form remained—enough to recognize the familiar features, the inherited expressions, the Peverell bloodline that had shaped them both across the centuries.
"*But he lacks guidance,*" it continued, its mental voice taking on the tone of someone who had identified a problem that required careful solution. The words carried such profound loneliness that even the ambient magical radiation of the volcanic peaks seemed to recoil slightly. "*Such potential, such innovation, such magnificent disregard for conventional limitations... but still constrained by the naive moral frameworks that limit lesser minds. Still believing that power must be wielded with restraint, that knowledge must be tempered with wisdom, that strength must be balanced with compassion.*"
The creature began to pace through corridors that existed partially outside normal space-time, its form flowing like spilled mercury as it worked through plans that had been gestating for decades. The young Dragonlord's emergence into the wider world represented an opportunity that would not come again—a chance to shape the future of magic itself through careful guidance of someone whose capabilities already exceeded anything the world had seen since the Doom.
"*But perhaps that is as it should be,*" it mused, pausing at a nexus point where multiple realities converged in ways that made normal three-dimensional space seem quaint and limiting. From here, it could observe not just what was, but what could be—possibilities spreading like branches of a vast tree, each one representing a different path the young Dragonlord might take. "*Let him establish himself first, let him taste the intoxication of wielding power on scales that reshape kingdoms. Let him discover the limitations of conventional morality when faced with challenges that require... more flexible approaches to problem-solving.*"
The creature's attention turned to the various futures spreading before them like a vast constellation of possibility. In some, the young Dragonlord became a force for stability and order, using his capabilities to strengthen existing power structures and maintain the delicate balance between magical and mundane authority. In others, he became a revolutionary force, reshaping civilization itself through innovations that made the ancient Valyrian Freehold seem primitive by comparison.
But in a few—a precious few that glowed with the sort of dark radiance that spoke to the creature's transformed nature—he became something more. Something that transcended the limitations of conventional morality and embraced the full scope of what was possible when certain boundaries were set aside. Something worthy of the Peverell legacy in its truest, most uncompromising form.
"*Those are the futures worth cultivating,*" it decided, its voice carrying the sort of satisfied anticipation that came from a master strategist recognizing a perfect opportunity. The words seemed to bend reality around them, creating subtle alterations in the flow of possibility that would influence events in ways too small to notice but too significant to ignore. "*But carefully. Subtly. The boy has already shown resistance to direct approaches—his confrontation with the Patronus made that clear enough. He must be guided toward enlightenment through experience rather than instruction, through necessity rather than philosophy.*"
The creature's form solidified slightly as it contemplated the various tools at its disposal. Centuries of patient preparation had provided it with resources and capabilities that existed well beyond the understanding of conventional magical theory. Ancient alliances with beings that existed in the spaces between worlds, carefully cultivated relationships with forces that most sane minds refused to acknowledge, knowledge gathered from sources that had required prices measured in concepts rather than gold.
"*The Targaryens will serve as an excellent catalyst,*" it realized, observing the political currents that flowed through the eastern continent like visible streams of cause and effect. The dragon-kings of Westeros were proud, powerful, and deeply invested in maintaining their monopoly on draconic authority. They would not react well to competition, especially competition that exceeded their own capabilities so dramatically. "*Their response to his emergence will provide exactly the sort of... educational experiences that will demonstrate the limitations of idealistic approaches to complex political situations.*"
The creature began weaving probability like a master craftsman working with familiar materials, subtle alterations to the flow of events that would ensure the young Dragonlord encountered exactly the sort of challenges that would test his moral convictions and reveal the price of maintaining ethical constraints when facing opposition that recognized no such limitations.
"*A few carefully arranged misunderstandings,*" it murmured, its voice carrying harmonics that made the surrounding volcanic peaks resonate with sympathetic vibrations. The words seemed to take on independent existence, flowing out through the ruins and beyond like seeds of future chaos planted in fertile soil. "*A few situations where conventional morality proves inadequate to protect the innocent or achieve necessary goals. A few encounters with enemies who recognize no distinction between combatant and civilian, who see mercy as weakness and restraint as invitation to escalate their depredations.*"
The creature's attention turned to the various powers and principalities that dotted the eastern continent, each one a potential chess piece in the grand game it was orchestrating. Pirates and slavers, mercenary companies and religious fanatics, corrupt magistrates and ambitious nobles—all of them tools that could be influenced, guided, directed toward courses of action that would provide the young Dragonlord with exactly the sort of educational experiences he would need.
"*And when the moment comes,*" it continued, its voice taking on the tone of someone savoring a particularly elegant solution to a complex problem, "*when he stands at the crossroads between what he was taught to believe and what the situation demands, when conventional wisdom proves inadequate and traditional morality becomes a luxury he cannot afford... then he will be ready for proper guidance. Then he will be willing to listen to someone who has walked that path before him and emerged transformed by the journey.*"
The creature paused in its planning to observe the young Dragonlord through crystallized perception that transcended normal sensory limitations. The boy was indeed magnificent—powerful beyond anything the world had seen for centuries, innovative in ways that suggested genuine genius rather than mere talent, and possessed of the sort of unshakeable determination that had always characterized the best of the Peverell bloodline.
But he was also naive in ways that could prove catastrophic when dealing with enemies who recognized no constraints beyond their own ambition. His moral framework, while admirable in theory, was built for a world where good intentions and superior capabilities were sufficient to ensure just outcomes. It was not built for a world where victory often required choices that would haunt decent people for the rest of their lives.
"*Soon, young heir,*" it whispered to the volcanic darkness, its voice carrying such profound anticipation that nearby stones began to glow with reflected emotion. The words seemed to hang in the air like promises written in starfire, beautiful and terrible in equal measure. "*Soon you will discover what it truly means to bear the Peverell name. What prices our bloodline has paid to endure through the centuries of exile and transformation. What knowledge we have gathered in the spaces between light and shadow, where conventional morality becomes as quaint and limiting as a child's fairy tale.*"
The creature settled back into the deepest shadows of its domain, content to wait and watch and guide events toward their inevitable conclusion. The young Dragonlord was about to step onto a stage where the stakes were measured in kingdoms and the consequences of every choice would ripple through history for generations to come.
But he would not face those challenges alone. In the depths below, ancient intelligence stirred with anticipation and carefully laid plans that would ensure the Peverell legacy achieved its full potential—regardless of what prices might need to be paid along the way.
The game was beginning in earnest, and for the first time in a millennium, Malachar felt truly alive with anticipation for what would come next. The age of Dragonlords was indeed about to begin again, and this time, it would be built on foundations that had been tempered by fire and shadow until they could bear any weight, endure any strain, support any structure that power and wisdom could devise.
Soon. Very, very soon.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!