Red Priestess:

Pentos had not changed since Melisandre of Asshai had last set foot on the city all those years ago.

It had taken her longer to travel to the City of Merchants than she anticipated, as her journey from Asshai to Volantis had been delayed by a few pirates... pirates that were sacrificed to the might of R'hllor's fires, his will enacted through his servant.

The scepter within her grasp, the gift of her god, proved its worth as it allowed her to not only weave illusions of great power to make the unfaithful cower but burn the servants of the Great Other that would dare to defy the Will of R'hllor.

Within Volantis, she had to work with High Priest Bennero to ensure that the gift from R'hllor would be known to as many as possible. There were a few trinkets from Old Valyria, but none have worked or been created after the Doom. The Ring upon the High Priest's finger is one such gift, allowing one to bring out the flames of their Red God to bear. The scepter would need to be known by the forces of the Light so that they would be ready when the Long Night came.

Still, the scepter in her hand felt heavy. It had been the reason for the delay... and even as she disliked the thought of letting Azor Ahai wait in ignorance, the secrets revealed in the Fire were better to be shared.

The visions still showed a man holding a flaming blade, the background one that Melisandre had recognized as the City of Merchants... and it had not been hard to gain the passage from Volantis to Pentos after the gift of knowledge Lady Melisandre of Asshai had brought the Red Temple of Volantis.

Bennero whispered of a potential source of her visions that Azor Ahai was in Braavos... the last Targaryens, the Last Dragonlords of Valyria... yet Melisandre saw nothing when she wished to see Braavos and the Last Targaryens.

So, there she was, within the Red Temple of Pentos, awaiting the next vision, preying and asking for more visions, yet she got the same vision every time she looked for him.

Was Azor Ahai in the city?

If so, why was it that every time she looked, all she saw were vermin?

It had been months still since she first set foot on this retched city, and she had nothing to show for it.

One moment, it was calm, and next, she felt the surge of magic, her eyes finding the Red Comet in the sky through one of the open windows of the Temple.

She almost stumbled when she felt it... releasing a moan of pain and ecstasy at once, feeling herself being filled to the brim with the Life Force, as though she had been through one of the nights of passion with the believers... back when she was no more than a Temple Whore... back before she had been deemed powerful enough to be taught the secrets of R'hllor.

Some sort of great magic was being worked, and it was far away and not within the city.

Had the visions been wrong?

Was she too late... was she too early?

She had somehow ended on her knees in the middle of the Red Temple, the priests around her similarly fallen as all had the vision of a fiery form, with a large white dragon hovering over the burning man.

The Watcher on the Wall:

The Song had changed... the Singers felt it... just as he had felt it.

The air felt fresher, colors were sharper. He could feel it, something pushing back against the Chill of the Cold Ones... lessening the burden that the Greenseer had taken upon himself.

It was not such that the Summer would last longer, but it had brought him time that he did not have in the end... maybe a few years... but that would have to be enough to unmake the influence of the enemy below the Wall.

Winter was insidious like that... the cold did not manage to get past the spells woven into Wall, yet their influence had been subtle, hiding treachery, shifting the minds, hiding that which would have been used against them.

It was hard for the one who was known as the Bloodraven to not feel the distinct ripples that touched his soul... the fire within what passed off as his blood nowadays.

What was this power?

Who was the source of this change?

Thrice Magic had stirred now, shrugging off the dust that had settled upon it since the Death of Dragons... since he had given up on the House of his father's. Thrice, Lord Bloodraven... the Last Greenseer had failed to find its source... hidden as it were from the sights of those from the outside.

First, was the visions he had once had of that staff of wood, cored with the bone of a dragon, turning into a white dragon breathing shadow-flame... had it been half a decade already?

It had been a shift, a small one that brought the old Lord Commander some degree of hope, as his visions changed to a boy of silver hair holding a flaming blade.

There were only two who could fit that description... and each brought a different form of dread for the former Hand of the King.

Years later, there was the Second Shift, more noticeable than the First, and it was one that provided him the cleanest vision. The white dragon that had oft represented Lord Bloodraven himself now championed another... its golden flames burning away shadow and skull alike before wrapping the rest in chains of word and will.

It was not one of the players in this Game of Gods, at least not the ones that mattered. He had kept a close eye on those... as was his duty as the Watcher on the Walls.

The failed replacement was gone from the shores, exiled from his sight, but his presence was hard to conceal, even if Bloodraven's sight was less precise across the Narrow Sea. He was seeking knowledge from all he could find... putting together dredges of half-forgotten lore to awaken that which was denied to him.

The Song of Ice and Fire, which his manipulations brought about, was safe and hidden behind the strangest Magical Protections that had been brought to bear by the first of his kind.. the Builder, denying even his eyes upon the Promised Child. Plans were formed and discarded as Bloodraven's spirit gave a sigh.

The Red Priests preached as they always did, yet their power had remained mostly the same. Their God was stirring. It always did; its influence a threat to the Weirwoods that bound the Greenseer... yet its priests were man... and man could be controlled.

The Warlocks of Qarth might have been to blame. Their Black Trees holding power on par with the Power of Greenseers... yet they were slow to act, phantom tortoises a good representation of their masters. Immortals tended to act lethargic even when the world changed around them... a fault that Brynden himself saw within him.

The ones hidden beneath the shadow slumbered and waited, as they oft did. As with the Warlocks, these immortals too acted slow, patience and sloth woven into their very essence as it were.

Bloodraven steeled himself before turning his gaze into the smoky ruins of Old Valyria... and what lay beyond the ruins... it was as it had been in the past... a threat lurking but waiting still... bound within the lands of Valyria as any land outside would not sustain them... until now.

That was a threat he would have to figure a way around, but as far away as it was, the Realms he was charged to protect would be last to be affected. He had time, as his predecessors had time, to deal with the Slavers who took over Old Valyria.

That left only one source, one that was harder to see than any other. The Greenseer's gaze turned to the Mists that shielded the Free City of Braavos... bringing all of his might to catch a glimpse at the two sources that he knew lay in the city with such power.

The Faceless Men had been gone... wiped away by the Second Working of the Great Magic that brought the sun's wrath upon them. It had released enough energy for Lord Bloodraven to sustain his own workings for a moment or two, allowing himself to be shielded from the workings of the Enemy in turn... allowing him to push the changes he needed... to ensure peace was possible once Spring came.

That left the Moonsingers, whose workings in the past had commanded the seas and the tides... yet the ones that remained were naught but a shadow of themselves. Yet, their magic was made for healing and protection, and the sun was in opposition to the Moon. They had their plots still, and without eyes on the city, all he had were rumors and stories of the sailors that had visited the city.

Those rumors were why he had even looked at the last two potential sources in the first place. Within Braavos, his sight was limited, his blood too distant from his kin to be of any use, even if he could use it as Shiera had once taught him.

The girl was too young, even if the storm that brought her to this world was one wrought with magic of blood and sacrifice... the blood spilled on the now-named Ruby Ford, spilling into the sea, bound with the wrath of the Storm Lord... even then, wisdom of watching the workings of old implied that the Sorcery of the Second working would have been one of thunder or storm had it been the girl... or dragon's flame if the portends were to be believed... telling of the Thunder of Dragon Wings.

No, the Faceless Men were not struck down by the wrath of heavens as lightning fell upon them... nor were their flesh turned to the scales of dragons as one Bloodpriest could have done in the olden times.

That left only one... the boy named after his own grandfather.

Viserys Targaryen... vexed him.

Too close to Aerys in his youth... too powerless to be of any use but a pawn... too much like Aerion even before the cruelty of exile for Brynden to like... yet the shift had been there, hadn't it?

Dragonstone was beyond his sight as a Greenseer, his Blackwood blood being rejected by the protections layered onto the old stronghold, deeming him what he was... a bastard unworthy of the lands of the Dragonlords. He needed to see what had changed in the island for Viserys Targaryen to become as he did... yet the answers were hidden from him.

Had Bloodraven missed something?

Had Rhaella called upon something in her dying breath to protect her children?

The Wizard of Westeros, the rumors called the exiled Prince... yet Brynden needed eyes to see for himself... trusting rumors never worked.

A small part of him hoped against all hope... that the descendants of the brother he loved would be safe.

Another sent another raven to brave the ocean winds, hoping that this one would make it to the isles hidden behind the mists.

The Key Holder:

The weight of the key on his neck felt heavy as he sat upon the chair in the hall facing the rest of the Key Holders.

The Sea Lord ruled Braavos in matters of politics, yet the Key Holders held the true reins, controlling the money, and as such, they were the true rulers within the Hidden City.

They did not have a name, yet some called them the Shadow Council. Made up of Key Holders of the Iron Bank and the influential

Three were missing in their meeting.

"What happened to House Prestayn cannot be allowed to stand," said one of their members. "We did nothing when the boy destroyed the Faceless Men. We did nothing when he all but took over the control.... even now, his whispers in the ear of Sealord threaten our very way of life. If we remained silent..." his words impassioned, "Who among us will be the next?"

"No need to ask who will be next when it is all of you," said a voice as all turned to find the visage of a man with a long white beard and purple robes… dressed as a wizard… though all knew that he worked for one.

"Tycho Nestoris... you traitor!" one of the keyholders exclaimed, making to get up, only for his legs to leave their strength.

"Do not blame dear Tycho on this, dear," said a voice, the shimmering of light revealing the robes of the High Priestess, wearing a mask made of Mother of Pearls and holding a Staff adorned with Moonstones. "This was all your doing, that I can reassure you."

"This will not be allowed to stand," the first voice said.

"Stand? My dear, this is where you fall," said the High Priestess, slamming her staff down and causing all the council to crumble to their legs. "Years ago, when Braavos was first founded, there was an agreement made... years ago, when this city was built upon the corpses and blood of the Moonsingers, the First Law came to be... and yet the Iron Bank did not follow through."

"What are you implying, Priestess? Iron Bank does not trade in flesh," countered one of the keyholders.

"No... merely profits from them," responded Tycho, dropping a stack of letters.

Grabbing one in random, the key holder found it to be a deal between House Prestayn and a Magister in Pentos... regarding the relocation of children... slave children.

"This is preposterous... we do not deal in slaves," he tried to say, only for his tongue to be tied.

"The light of the Moon reveals that which is hidden," countered the High Priestess. "Take care to select your lies better."

The Key Holder sank lower on his chair, knowing that those who could not pay off their debts through coin had to pay it in some way. How was he wrong if their flesh could pay what was the Iron Banks due?

Those were his last thoughts when the last sleep claimed him.

# Maiden of the Moon

The shadows unwrapped themselves around her as Moonshadow stood next to the High Priestess. The Moon hid that which needed to be hidden, and Moonshadow had spent enough time around the Targaryens to pick up a trick or two.

"Is it wise to trust his words..." the words muttered through the silent hall. "The Sun's Champion he may be, yet he is dangerous... too uncontrollable."

"So were the House of Black and White," countered the High Priestess. "Once, they were much less refined than they had been later in their existence. There are records of the bloodbath they unleashed within Valyria that would make your bones chill, girl. It is our duty to guide, not to judge. There is a reason we gave up our names, Moonshadow... we are not the Sun to burn away the dark. We are the Moon's light, holding the dark at bay until the Sun rises to do the deed for us."

"He holds to the words of an oath, even if he finds ways around the spirit of it." countered Moonshadow, "How are we to trust such a man?"

"Through understanding that he was born in a world of lies and deceit. It makes one so used to such things, but also value truth more, that is why you gained his attention above others who might have been less willful. Be yourself, and the Wizard will lend an ear to your concerns," countered the High Priestess. "Trust in him to do what he believes is right... guide him when he needs a light. He is no different than other jhat, one wise enough to heed the council of others."

"It is just… he has been more brutal lately... more murderous; House Prestayn was his doing, I am sure of it," countered the Acolyte, who strafed under the burdens of the duty Moonsingers took upon themselves.

"Of course, it was. Yet, House Prestayn was a tragedy... yet we have reason to believe that they were seeking allies against the Wizard from outside our city... such actions tend to lead to chaos and suffering within the city once they unfold," countered the High Priestess "It had happened before when a House had the Sealord murdered and blood and chaos was all that was left. The loss of a single Keyholder Family is worth the price for peace, even if the consequences might lead to the Wizard being driven off. Would you say he would choose to fight?"

"I think not," countered Moonshadow. "He struggles, yet he holds back all the same... though for what reason, I do not understand."

"When one loses all, they tend to value what they have left. What of the girl?" asked the High Priestess. "Is she the one we are looking for?"

"The Wizard has taken her on as his apprentice, teaching her spells of power..." explained Moonshadow. "She is fire and blood, far more than her brother, however... though she listens when I have something to say."

"Good... that is good to hear," said the High Priestess. "Start teaching her the songs of the Moonsingers, and keep an eye on them... ensure that he heeds your wisdom... whatever means necessary. We will clean this mess up," she added, pointing to the corpses of men with keys around their necks. None had seen the poison that was added to their drinks… the shadow of the Moon hiding it from sight.

"Was this necessary?" Moonshadow asked paler than she would be.

"The tide washes away the sands clean, heralding a new day. Rejoice, apprentice of mine, can you not feel the song... the Curse of Blood Betrayal has been broken..." said the High Priestess, "The Long Night of Magic has ended, and the Sun has risen once more."

"And now, the sleepers awaken," nodded Moonshadow, repeating the old words she learned in their sermon.

"And now, the sleepers awaken," repeated the High Priestess, "so men will need our guidance more than the word of those controlled by their greed."

Black Pearl

Bellegere Otherys laid back against her seat, the lute in her hands thrumming with each stroke of her long, delicate fingers as she watched her lover work on... whatever it was he worked on.

Belle had watched Viserys walk into a funeral fire and come out with not a scratch... his sister was the only one to share in such an act.

It was not the most magical thing Viserys had done; sharing the bed of the man who claimed the title of Wizard with pride let you see some interesting things... let you learn some things that even the greatest priests dared not know.

Hatching the Phoenix, who was named Will by Viserys, was peculiar, but Belle chalked it up to whatever magic her lover had done. Hatching a bird was not that significant as far as Belle was concerned, even if the creature seemed to be unique... it was not a dragon... was it?

Belle knew not to underestimate the red bird that looked so much like a raven chick at first. Viserys did not do things halfway... as he had proven over and over again.

Killing off the entirety of the Faceless Men after defending her had been only the last in the long line of actions that made her fall for him. She was his, in body and soul.

At first, he was kind, walking around as though the world around him would crumble at his touch. Belle had found the act that was not oddly endearing, and she rather enjoyed it when he stopped holding back and took what was his, showing the power hidden behind his eyes.

To think her fate was to be a glorified whore, to please the whims of any and all highborn who found themselves in Braavos before Belle met her Dragon.

As much as he called himself wise and cultured, Viserys Targaryen was a Dragon through and through... and dragons, as Belle found out, liked to hoard things. This one specifically hoarded people, people who were utterly devoted to him. It was unlikely that he would let Belle go... not that Belle would like to leave at all.

The way he held himself, the way he moved... there was something primal hidden beneath, though it was brought more and more to the surface as time passed. It made Belle weak at the knees and wet between the legs.

The fires of the funeral had changed something. However, Belle could tell.

His right hand, the one that had been covered in burns after the same morning of his spell to destroy the Faceless Men, had changed once more. The rough and scaly snake skin glove was gone, yet the skin itself looked healed, covered in silvery skin with smaller scales. Belle could feel her fingers interlaced with his in their moments of passion.

The bird's thrill-filled the room, and Belle felt it in her soul, guiding her to match the melody of the bird.

"When were you going to tell me we were leaving Braavos?" asked Daenerys Targaryen as she barged into her brother's room.

Bellegere's fingers paused over the strings that reverberated through her soul and the air itself each time she plucked them.

The girl was the only one who could do such an act without punishment... even if the punishment was of the fun kind.

A lesser woman would feel jealous.

A lesser woman would be dead.

Viserys Targaryen were many things: a Dragon pretending to be a Targaryen Prince, a Wizard with Power over Life and Death..., and a great lover. What he was not, however, was a patient man when it came to those he deemed to be a danger to his family... a family that was made up of the silver-haired girl in its entirety... now that the old knight was gone.

His actions against House Prestayn were proof of it once Belle managed to convince the Poetress to share their bed. It had been enough to bring the Noble House of Keyholders to the attention of the Dragon.

No one could be certain... so of course, everyone knew. Everyone also knew that House Prestayn was one of the few families who had been working against Viserys and his interests... not that her Dragon had cared until she guided his gaze at them.

Belle had read enough from the diaries of her predecessors to know that House Prestayn was always against those of Valyrian Descent. Descended from Rhoynish slaves, it would seem old grudges did not go away so easily.

It did not take her and her mother to prepare the required paper trail to implicate the House Prestayn for slavery. Combined with Viserys' own knowledge of the works of the Pentoshi Magister, it was almost far too easy.

With the Sealord under his thrall and the keyholders dealt with, Braavos was a city that belonged to Viserys, that belonged to them, even if none knew it to be so—a conquest within the shadows, subtle and deadly.

And to think her lover always complained about lacking subtlety.

"There are places we ought to visit, contacts that need to be reminded of our existence," said Viserys as his eyes turned. "Items of import that need recovering."

Items of import... Belle almost snorted. There were only two that would make the Wizard leave the comfort of Braavos: Dragon Eggs or the Sword.

Will gave a cry upon his golden perch, a warning for Bellegere or something else she did not know. As Viserys' eyes turned to the phoenix... before shifting to the hearth, Belle caught that minute widening of the eyes that usually meant her bed would be cold for the next few nights as Viserys worked out whatever new miracle he cooked up.

"Though... maybe..." said Viserys, looking at the fiery bird that was perched, "its travel did not last as long; Braavos makes for a good base, after all. I would not like to leave it undefended."

Belle's fingers glided over the Valyrian Steel Strings of the Lute her lover had gifted her, calling upon one of many songs she listened to in the Pensieve that held knowledge beyond anything Belle understood.

She picked one of those that was a favorite of her lover, with how vivid the memories were in the Pensieve of his that he shared with her.

"Aldiun's wings, they did darken the sky..."

AN: This was a bitch and a half to write because writing to reactions of Wiz's brand of crazy is always harder without spoiling everything and because I had trouble finding the right POVs for it and re-wrote it a bunch of times. I know it took more than a month but RL deadlines and work needed to take priority. I will not say that it will not happen again but I have enough story threads to make this last until the Long Night, so not gonna abandon this for the foreseeable future, even if I want to split my time writing this and my other fics.

As always, I appreciate all the feedback, comments.