Chapter 24: Dragonfire and Root-Bound Hearts
Time: 16 AC - 46 AC
POV: Kaelen Silvanor
The fifteen years that followed Aegon's Conquest had seen the consolidation of his reign in Westeros, and within the Silvanar Empire, a period of unparalleled internal growth and familial blossoming. Yet, even amidst the serenity of Ael'tharion, a quiet urgency began to settle upon me. My children, the scions of the Silvanor line, grew swiftly, their Elven grace maturing with each passing year, but their mother, my beloved Empress Vala, was mortal. Her years, though long for a human, were but a precious handful compared to the timeless existence of the Ael'athar. I knew this time, this precious family unity, would not last forever in its current form. My focus shifted, anchoring itself firmly on my children and the woman who had brought such vibrant new life into my ancient world.
The most pivotal development in their training began with the hatching of the dragon eggs. These were not eggs gathered haphazardly, but carefully chosen by Vala from the deep caverns of the Sunstone Isles, eggs whose lineage traced back to the very same clutch that had escaped the Doom with House Belaerys. Vala, with her deep understanding of dragon lore and her innate connection to the beasts, took it upon herself to guide our children through the sacred, often perilous, ritual of bonding.
The process unfolded over months in a secluded, sun-drenched valley within the heart of the Sunstone Isles. Each of my five children, their pointy ears a distinctive mark of their heritage against their Valyrian silver and golden hair, underwent the trials with a mixture of apprehension and an innate, ancestral drive.
First was Aerion, now a young man on the cusp of adulthood. His egg, the color of polished jade, sat nestled in a circle of ancient stones. He sat before it for days, his hand resting gently upon its surface, coaxing it with the gentle plant-song he was mastering. When it finally cracked, a burst of emerald light erupted, and a dragon of vibrant, living green emerged. Its scales were like newly unfurled leaves, its eyes the color of forest moss. Aerion named her Veridian, and their bond was immediate, a symbiotic connection that seemed to deepen Aerion's command over nature. Veridian, for her part, often sought refuge amongst the densest groves of trees, her scales camouflaging her perfectly.
Then came Elaron, introspective and calm. His egg was a mottled grey and brown, like a raw, unworked stone. He spent his days in quiet meditation beside it, his hands subtly vibrating with the earth-magic he controlled. When the shell shattered, the dragon that emerged was massive even for a hatchling, its scales the color of granite, with veins of quartz running through them. Its eyes glowed with the molten gold of the earth's core. Elaron named him Terras. Their bond was one of immovable strength; Terras moved with a heavy, deliberate grace, and seemed to draw power directly from the ground beneath him, his presence making the very earth tremble slightly.
Aelia, vibrant and spirited, approached her egg with joyous anticipation. It was a kaleidoscope of shimmering blues, greens, and silvers, reflecting the light like a polished gem. Her boundless energy and command over all elemental forces seemed to hum around the egg. When it hatched, the dragon was a breathtaking sight – its scales constantly shifted in hue, a living opal that shimmered with the colors of the deepest ocean and the clearest sky. Aelia named her Aurora. Their bond was dynamic and unpredictable; Aurora was as quick and agile as her rider, her constantly changing colors a testament to the myriad magics that flowed through Aelia.
Our younger children followed. Valerion, nimble and observant, bonded with an egg of deepest onyx. His dragon, named Umbra, was a sleek, midnight-black creature with eyes like piercing embers. Umbra was swift, silent, and possessed a keen predatory instinct, a reflection of Valerion's heightened senses and agility. They moved as one, a blur of shadow and speed across the skies.
Finally, Lorien, gentle and empathetic, sat with an egg the color of a tranquil summer sky. Her healing touch and affinity for water seemed to soothe the very shell. When it hatched, a magnificent dragon of shimmering azure and sapphire scales emerged, its wings like flowing water, its eyes the clear blue of a mountain lake. Lorien named her Aquaes. Their bond was one of serenity; Aquaes moved with a graceful, fluid motion through the air, and seemed to bring a sense of calm to any place she landed.
The hatching of these five dragons was a monumental event, not just for my family, but for the Empire. It ensured that the Silvanor lineage would not only wield the ancient power of the Ael'athar but would also ride the winds as true Dragonlords, a power unseen since the Doom.
For the next thirty years, my life became an intricate tapestry woven with family. I poured my boundless attention into my children, guiding their powers, nurturing their bonds with their dragons, and simply cherishing the fleeting moments with Vala. We travelled extensively, not for trade or diplomacy, but for the sheer joy of discovery, exploring the vast, untamed beauty of Sothoryos.
Our journey with Aerion, in particular, was a profound endeavor. When he turned twenty-five, old enough to command his power with precision and Veridian with confidence, I began the long tour of Sothoryos with him, seeking a specific challenge, a profound connection that would solidify his mastery over the natural world. Our quest: to find and tame his first Great Ape.
These were not the common, smaller apes of the continent, but ancient, colossal beings, living mountains of muscle and primeval instinct, deeply entwined with the oldest forests of the deepest south. They were guardians, often territorial and fiercely intelligent, almost like spirits of the very land. Finding one was a challenge; coaxing it into acceptance was a monumental task, demanding patience, empathy, and absolute control over life.
We journeyed for years, Aerion and I, often with Veridian flying above us, a green shadow against the jungle canopy. We navigated rivers teeming with monstrous fish, traversed mountains where ancient trees touched the clouds, and endured the humid, vibrant chaos of the unexplored jungle. I taught Aerion to feel the heartbeat of the forest, to understand the subtle cues of every vine, every root, every living creature. He learned to project a calming aura, to offer sustenance from the earth itself, to communicate not with words, but with the silent language of growth and life.
It took seven years to find the specific Great Ape I had envisioned for him – a patriarch known to the few tribes who dwelled in that region as 'Goliath', a beast of immense size and terrifying power, his fur matted with ancient moss, his eyes holding a primal wisdom. For two more years, Aerion patiently worked. He cultivated a grove of the ape's favorite fruits around its resting place, eased its aches with specially grown herbs, and slowly, imperceptibly, wove himself into the very fabric of its immediate environment. There were close calls, moments of intense danger where Goliath's roar could shatter trees, but Aerion's burgeoning control and Veridian's watchful presence always prevailed.
Finally, the day came when Aerion, standing calmly before the colossal beast, extended a hand, and Goliath, with a rumble that shook the forest floor, gently nudged his head into Aerion's palm. It was a bond forged not through dominance, but through understanding and kinship, a true testament to Aerion's mastery of nature. Goliath would not be a 'pet' but an ancient ally, a symbol of Aerion's power and connection to the wild heart of Sothoryos.
While Aerion completed his monumental task, the rest of the family continued their own development. Vala, with her radiant smile and boundless energy, revelled in these years. We took long flights on the dragons, exploring the hidden wonders of Sothoryos, from shimmering crystal caves to vast, ancient ruins swallowed by the jungle. She taught the children the Valyrian tongue, the history of her house, and the nuances of dragon-riding beyond mere command – a deep, almost spiritual connection.
Elaron, with Terras, perfected his geomancy, learning to shape mountains and divert rivers, building fortresses of stone in desolate landscapes only to dissolve them back into the earth. Aelia, with Aurora, experimented with her multifaceted powers, learning to command both flora and stone in intricate, combined patterns, her rapid regeneration making every daring experiment less perilous. Valerion and Umbra became unparalleled scouts, their enhanced senses and quiet speed making them masters of observation and stealth across the diverse terrains of the continent. And Lorien, with Aquaes, explored the continent's myriad waterways, her healing touch a comfort to any creature or plant she encountered.
These thirty years were a deliberate choice, a conscious deceleration from the pace of empire-building. I knew that empires were built over millennia, but families, especially those with mortal mothers, required concentrated time, shared experiences, and bonds forged in the present. We were an unusual family, a blend of timeless Elven grace and fiery Valyrian passion, and every moment spent together was precious.
I watched Vala, her silver hair now laced with delicate lines of age around her vibrant amethyst eyes, her laughter still ringing clear but with a new preciousness. She had given me a family, a true legacy beyond the dreams of any conqueror. My children were growing into formidable beings, each a unique testament to the power that lay within the Silvanor bloodline. The training, the dragon bonds, the deep immersion in Sothoryos – it was all part of forging not just powerful individuals, but the future guardians and leaders of an eternal empire, rooted in this vibrant, ancient land, and ready for whatever the ages might bring.