When Azaerys entered the meeting room, he found Ashara already present with her little bluish-white dragon nestling on her shoulder.
The two men, one old, likely in his fifties, and one young, just over sixteen, were frozen in place, staring at the beast on her shoulder in disbelief.
"Your Grace!"
The knights bowed to him, and the three he had sent out on this mission knelt.
"We fulfilled the task you assigned us. Horace Burnton and his son, Jack, are here. We also managed to convince the pyromancers in Asshai to sell us the eggs," Ser Oswell said, stepping forward and bowing.
"I never doubted you. Please stand," he said, and then walked over to the table to look at the two blades that were placed on it.
One was an arakh, something that the horselords of today loved.
Arakhs were long swords, which curved at the end almost like a scythe, and were meant to be used in one hand by powerful, large men. What was unique about these blades was that, despite their curved blade, they were double-edged swords, which made them deadly to both the enemy and the one wielding them.
The other was a longsword, with a crescent guard and a hilt that could be held with both hands even if you had slightly larger hands. Of course, it was meant to be wielded only by men, not giants.
As for its blade, it was on the broader side, exactly thirty-nine inches long, not counting the hilt, which added another eleven inches to its overall length.
Both blades were special, almost priceless if the person knew their value, and it was because these were Valyrian steel swords.
"Truth of House Rogare of Lys." He smiled as he wielded the longsword. "I wonder how it came into your possession." He finally turned to look at the old man, who was nervously looking at him.
"You are a Valyrian... a dragonlord. Targaryen."
"Yes." He smiled, and then drew the sword up, putting it dangerously close to the old man's neck. "You haven't answered my question."
"Does it matter?" The old man frowned. "And would you believe it if I said that I found it in a place where a skirmish took place and everyone involved died in it? They were pirates."
"Oh." Azaerys drew his sword back. "And the arakh?"
"It's been in my family for generations. I don't know where we got it from."
"I see." He nodded, and then placed the sword back on the desk.
"The two blades belong to me now."
"Only if you hold your end of the bargain." The old man frowned, and despite uttering brave words, he was scared. Not for his life, but for the life of his son. "I was promised the art of forging and reforging Valyrian steel, the secrets they keep in Qohor."
"Ever dabbled in magic?" the Young King asked, as he leaned against the table and looked at him.
"Yes."
"Blood magic?"
His question tensed up the old man, and he smiled.
"The art they use in Qohor is a bastardised version. To make it work, they use blood magic, sacrificing young babes and children." He informed the man, whose face went pale at his words. "Still want to learn it?"
Not just the old blacksmith, but everyone else in the room was very uncomfortable with what he had just revealed.
"No." The old man sadly, but resolutely, shook his head.
"Quite honourable of you to give up your dream because it goes against your morals. I am impressed." He chuckled. "Very well, I will make you an offer, no negotiations, and I will only ask once."
The old man and his son both looked at him in confusion. Was he going to offer them money for these swords?
Just when the old man was about to shake his head to make it clear that he would not sell these swords, the door of the room opened, and two ladies walked inside.
Azaerys stopped and smiled when Lyanna approached the table and was shocked to see what was lying on it.
"Valyrian steel?!" she exclaimed, picking up the arakh, intrigued by its design.
"Yes."
When the door closed again, he turned back to the old man and continued speaking.
"Swear your lives to me and my house. From this day onwards, you and your son, and your future generations, will work for House Targaryen. In return, I will teach you the spells that are needed to forge Valyrian steel. Blood sacrifices will still be required. It is not possible to make it work without them, but you will not have to sacrifice any children. Any life will work. You can become an executioner and take the life of someone who has been sentenced to death."
Everyone in the room looked at him in surprise, and even the old man had a sparkle in his eyes.
"Know that once you dabble in blood magic, since your blood is not magical, you will lose your mind as time passes. You will go crazy and die the most horrifying of deaths."
These words poured cold water on all his hopes.
"Relax. There is more, which does not involve any blood magic. Since these swords and all the Valyrian steel weapons and ornaments have already received their blood sacrifices, I know the spells you can use to reforge these items without needing to make any new blood sacrifices. You will not even require dragonfire for it. Say yes, and I will also give you your first task."
The old man gauged his expressions and then turned to look at the two blades and his son.
"You do realise that I can just have you killed and claim these weapons? These were not yours in the first place. They come from Valyria." He narrowed his eyes as he found the man taking too much time to answer.
"We accept." It was the son who spoke up, and the old man sighed as soon as he heard his decision.
"Good." When Horace nodded his head, Azaerys clapped his hands to congratulate him and then opened the door to whisper something in the ear of the knight who was stationed outside.
The Young King then quickly walked over to the table, where Ashara was sitting, and opened the drawer to take out some papers on which some sketches were drawn.
"Can you make these?" he asked as he offered the pages to him, and the old man stepped forward to take a look at them.
The sketches were of two daggers and a longsword, with their dimensions, and very detailed hilts, and the designs even surprised an accomplished blacksmith like him.
The weapons on these pages were too beautiful, and any blacksmith who loved his work and was good at it would love to create them.
"Yes." He nodded his head, but then turned silent as he looked at the two blades on the table. "I will be reforging these blades?"
"No. I would rather not have you erase the existence of such beautiful weapons. You will be reforging something else. Ser Gerold will be here with it shortly."
And the Commander of the Kingsguard knocked on the door after keeping them waiting for a while.
When he entered, he was carrying something in both his arms, which was covered by a red cloth, and when Ser Oswell quickly closed the door, the old blacksmith could already guess that it was something extremely special.
And sure enough, when it was placed on the table and the cloth was lifted, he and his son were stunned.
It was a shield, a large round shield, blackened, but unmistakably Valyrian steel, and more than fifty inches wide.
On it was the crest of some house, the old man guessed. Two dragons flying headfirst into each other. Some Valyrian house? he wondered.
"A Valyrian steel shield from a fallen house of dragonlords. What do you think? Will the material be enough?"
The old man gulped, his eyes already shining in brilliance.
"More than enough," he said, grinning now. "I could even forge a greatsword out of the remaining steel, or two longswords. Even then I would have enough to create four more daggers of the same size that you have shown me."
He was excited after he checked how thick the shield was.
Azaerys smiled at his words, knowing well that even after the calculations of the old man, there would still be more than enough Valyrian steel for another longsword.
"Good. I will draw you the designs of the hilts of two more longswords, but first, focus on what I have asked you to do," he said, and picked up Truth from the table. "Also, I want the symbol of my house on its pommel."
"It will be done, Your Grace."
"Show them to the forge, and if they need anything more, arrange for it," he said, and Ser Mooton immediately stepped forward to bow to him.
The two blacksmiths and three knights left with the sword and the shield, wrapped under the red cloth, and a small booklet, which Azaerys gave to Horace Burnton.
"Do not teach them to your son until he proves himself a worthy blacksmith." He had told him when the old man accepted the booklet with trembling hands.
"Your Grace." Both the father and son knelt to him, swore their allegiance to his house, and he accepted their vows.
After the three men left, Azaerys turned to look at Ser Oswell.
"Did the pyromancers make things difficult for you?"
"They were hesitant, yes. However, it seemed like they had already tried everything and failed to hatch them. They did negotiate for more than what I initially offered."
"The cost of three dragons?" He enquired, and both Ser Oswell and Ser Rykker laughed, shaking their heads.
"Far from it, Your Grace. Some gold and all the goods on a trading vessel. Fresh water, food, wine, meat, enough to last them a year."
"Ah, we made a loss." He sighed and shook his head, prompting everyone to laugh at his playfulness.
The two knights left the room, leaving him alone with the three ladies, and a dragonling, who was walking on the table towards him.
"Hello, Starfyre." He scratched its neck when it climbed up his shoulder, and the dragonling returned his greeting with a soft cry.
"Where did you get that shield from?" Lyanna, who was holding back the question ever since the cloth was lifted off it, finally asked, and even Elia looked at him in curiosity.
"You know, you could have a kingdom with that much Valyrian steel." She commented, and he smiled at her words.
"I found it five moons ago, inside Stygai," he told them, and watched their faces go pale in fear.
The corpse city, which no one knew how old it was and how long it had been since its doom, was not a place that even the vilest of creatures, bloodmages or even shadowbinders, dared to go into.
There were creatures there, dragons and beasts, long dead, long forgotten, yet still living, guarding it, and the wraiths...
"You don't plan on going there again, do you?" Ashara asked, looking quite restless.
"Not for the time being." He then carefully moved Lyanna's hand away from her body. "Careful, it is Valyrian steel. If it kisses your skin, it will cut, and cut deep."
The reminder tensed up the Stark, who carefully placed the blade on the table.
"Let's go. I am hungry."
He said to them, and before leaving the room, he asked Ser Gerold to store away the Valyrian steel arakh.
Oberyn Martell, Arianne, and his family were gathered together, talking to each other, and he smiled when he found Allyria, Rhaenys, and Aegon hugging their eggs.
"You have already made your pick?" he asked, grabbing their attention.
"Yes!" Aegon brightly said. "Do you know what kind of dragons these are?"
"These eggs were laid by Dreamfyre. The ones that Elissa Farman stole from the hatchery on Dragonstone. So, they are Rhaelyx's siblings."
"Awesome!" The little Targaryen happily grinned, and Azaerys noticed the blush on Allyria's face as she looked at her dragon egg again.
"You don't plan on naming it after Viserys, do you?" he teasingly asked, and the girl looked at him in disbelief.
"How do you know..." She stopped, but it was already too late.
"Aww..." Ashara did not miss the opportunity, and soon Allyria and Viserys' faces were scarlet from all the teasing.