Seahorse's tail, Stepstones
Perched atop the jagged crown of the tallest hill on the island now called Seahorse's Tai is a black tower, the tower rises like a blackened fang toward the sky. Forged from fused stone, that is impossibly smooth and seamless, making the Valyrian were known for, the structure seems less built than carved from stone.
The tower is cyclopean in scale, narrow and cruelly elegant, rising higher than any watchtower in Westeros except Hightower, its height commanding a wide, unbroken view of the Stepstones' treacherous currents and pirate routes.
Carved along the base of the tower, its foundations etched with unnatural precision, are massive sculptures of Valyrian seahorses—serpentine and armored, with crested heads and fins like blades. They rear from the stone like guardians, mouths open in a voiceless scream, as though eternally shrieking warnings to the sea.
Twisting around the middle ring of the tower are interlocked dragon and seahorse reliefs, coiled in endless struggle or dance. The dragons are unmistakably Valyrian, their wings flared, but the seahorses are not gentle creatures of coral reefs—they are water dragons, long and scaled, eyes made of polished opals that glint even in stormlight. Some spout trickles of water from their mouths that vanish down unseen channels, making the tower feel faintly alive.
High above, at the upper parapets and windows, perch gargoyles—fierce and ancient things, molded into poses of agony or wrath. Some resemble half-dragon, half-man forms, while others are aquatic monstrosities with webbed claws and barnacle-crusted maws. During storms, the howling wind gives these stone figures voice, moaning like drowned men or screeching like wyverns lost at sea.
Inside, the interior is dark and vaulted, the walls warm to the touch from some deep-seated Valyrian magic. At least that is what the men of the Velaryon army think. Spiral staircases without visible supports climb upward through echoing chambers.
At the very top lies the Seawatch Hall, a high chamber of glassy obsidian windows overlooking every direction. Here stands a single massive throne of fused stone, its back shaped like a breaking wave flanked by dragons, where the Lord of the Seahorse's Tail may sit and look out across the Narrow Sea.
Laenor Velaryon, Poseidon Tower
Laenor stood at the base of the Poseidon Tower—aye, he had named it himself. At first, everyone looked at him with curiosity and furrowed brows, but once he spoke the name a few times, they approved. Thus, it became known as the Poseidon Tower of the Seahorse's Tail. Strange, perhaps, but fitting in its own way. The tower was still under construction, with the rooms unfinished. That part wasn't Laenor's responsibility—it had been entrusted to his cousins, the sons of his uncle, Vaemond Velaryon, since this tower was to become their father's seat.
They had the help of Embaryx, of course. A dragon was needed to melt the stone so it could be reworked and shaped. Valyrian fused black stone—the method of crafting it had proven surprisingly easy to rediscover. It was said the Valyrians used dragonfire to melt stone and mold it to their will. And truly, that part was simple enough. Add some blood, runes, and dragonglass—Laenor's additions—and they could shape the stone with intent, rather than relying on songs as he and Daemon first did.
Aye, after the bombs worked so splendidly on Bloodstone, Laenor began teaching runes to his family and to Daemon as well. It was Daemion who first suggested crafting other elemental bombs, believing the originals used fire magic. So Laenor created ice, wind, and water bombs and stunning bombs, to stun enemies and capture them as they have much use to them being alive. Earth and thunder were set aside as they turned their attention to rediscovering the secrets behind Valyrian fused stone.
They knew that melting the stone with dragonfire was the first step, and Daemon confessed he had done it before. Yet the result remained ordinary magma. The challenge was turning it into that seamless, glossy black stone like the walls of Dragonstone. Laenor and Daemon tried blood sacrifices, as that seemed to solve most magical issues—and they were both successful and disappointed. The magma did turn black as night, ready to be shaped, but any attempt to work it failed. The stone broke when cooled, and lacked the smoothness of true Valyrian work.
It was during one such experiment that Daeron, Laenor's cousin, cut his hand on nearby dragonglass. His blood dripped into the molten stone forged by Caraxes's fire. In the next instant, a curse from Daemon echoed across Grey Gallows—the stone had suddenly surged upward, nearly taking the Prince's head off. Daemon was both elated and shaken. He cursed Daeron for two moons, glaring at him as if the boy had nearly murdered him. Daeron, poor soul, couldn't even claim the credit for the breakthrough.
It turned out that it wasn't just Daeron's magical blood, but the combination of the blood with intense emotion from him that allowed the shaping of the stone. Pain, shock—anything raw and powerful. Daemon even suggested sex as a method to trigger the effect, and annoyingly, his wild theories seemed to work. Though both of his cousins were eagerly waiting to have their turn at moulding the stones while using Daemon's discovered method, their father and Laenor's father put a stop to it. So they have to find another method. Laenor then suggested they try using Old Valyrian—not as a spell, but as a song. And it worked wonderfully.
So they sang. In Old Valyrian, directing their will at the stone. It was arduous and slow, but it worked—and more importantly, it was the first method that didn't require full blood sacrifice. A small amount of magical blood sufficed to turn magma to black stone, and singing shaped it.
After three moons of effort, Laenor created a runic array that could be used in place of song. By then, he and Daemon had grown quite bored and used to rediscovering one of Valyria's lost secrets. So they passed on the task of building to Daeron and Daemion.
The Poseidon Tower now stood as proof of their brilliant work.
Over the last two years, Laenor hadn't abandoned his quest to find a way to use magic without blood sacrifices—but he hadn't succeeded. Nor could he devote himself fully to it. His father had made him second-in-command of the Velaryon fleet. Laenor now led battles from the decks of ships rather than the skies atop Embaryx.
Once most of the Stepstones were under control, Daemon brought forth an idea that had also been swirling in Laenor's mind for some time: to recreate Valyrian steel—or "Dragonsteel," as they liked to call it.
Laenor knew it would cost lives. A hundred, maybe more. Unlike black stone, Valyrian steel could not be made with just their blood. But by then, even his father and Vaemond—once fervent follower of the Seven—had come to accept sacrificing Triarchy men for the wonders magic could offer. And there were many wonders, all right, their ships sailed faster. Their bombs stunned enemies into surrender. Destructive bombs had ended the war before it truly began. Four years stationed far from home hardened even the most devout.
So Laenor joined Daemon in earnest.
They began with steel and dragonglass, melded with dragonfire and blood. The result? Slag—too smooth, incapable of holding a sharp edge. They adjusted the ratio. No success. Laenor concluded they needed a third component. So they experimented—each trial fed by more Triarchy lives. Daemon didn't hesitate. Laenor, numb to the mounting deaths, pressed forward.
It was bronze that showed promise. Laenor replaced steel with bronze, and they finally forged a magical alloy. It wasn't true Valyrian steel—anyone could tell that at a glance. But it was something new. The blade was dark as night, laced with blood-red veins. It looked more appealing than dragonsteel, and it far outperformed even the finest castle-forged steel. But it couldn't match the sharpness of Dragonsteel. It couldn't slice through stone or armor as cleanly as the blades of old.
Still, it was magical. Of that, there was no doubt.
"Nightsteel, that was what this metal would be called," Laenor named their first magical alloy. Though there was no steel, none questioned it. Used to his weird naming habit.
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