To those in the know, the best of those come from the same source. It also likes to take the form of a large ball of fire, which is always neat.

- excerpt from "The Princess of the Wizards Tower, Memoirs of Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen*" written during her Apprenticeship to the Wizard.

- *declared Pyromaniac Extraordinaire and the Best Sister of the Order of Wizards. - Wizard.

- Stop defacing books, you idiot - Pyromaniac Extraordinaire and the Best Sister of the Order of Wizards.

# Wizard

[293 AC]

"Is Lightbringer a sword?" I mused out loud, my left hand atop the pommel of Blackfyre while the tip rested on the ground.

The black sands of Dragonstone stretched out to the large Gatehouse and the long winding path beyond it.

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"It is said so in the ancient prophecies, my lord," said the redhead next to me.

"Fuck the ancient prophecies," I responded, more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything else. Marwyn, next to me, chortled, trying to hide his laugh behind a cough.

Melisandre made to disagree, only to gasp at the pain from her choker.

I had played around with the enchantment of the pseudo-phylactery that had once held her soul, animating the flesh of her being. A dash of loyalty enchantments built around a Geas, and it had this unique effect of twisting her soul in wrong angles that the self-perceived as pain whenever she had a disobedient thought.

Because if I was going to keep a Shadowbinder around, I was going to ensure that she understood that I was the one in charge, even if I had to create my own version of the Cruciatus for it to stick.

"What is your opinion, my lord?" asked Melisandre once she noted that any of the usual rhetoric would mean more pain for her.

"I am the bone of my sword," I repeated sagely, only getting confused looks. I held up my right hand, wiggling my fingers and letting the sunlight catch the scaled pattern of the scars. "I mean that Magic leaves scars," I said simply, "not always physically mind you, but an impression, a memory of the instance it was used... and memories can be called upon."

The wand in my hand unleashed a small puff of golden light. Melisandre's green eyes darkened while Marwyn stood up straight as the small amount of nuclear fire was converted to raw lifeforce and infused into the area around us.

I tucked away the wand into my left grieve, such that I could easily will it into my offhand if need be, but precision was not something I needed for my task.

Putting on my helmet, the black armor I wore etched with runes that contrasted gave the illusion of gold.

[img: data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7]

It was not Valyrian Steel, but the fitted plate and mail of the gothic style were still treated with a thin outer layer of Bloodiron that I took from the Dothraki Outriders that I had lured into Pentos.

It made for a decent protection and gave a more manacing figure that I usually sported, but style was as important as anything else now.

Will gave a thrill, flying off from his perch on the left pauldron shaped like a roaring dragon head that was just small enough to keep its form and ensure that my identity was easy to discern and not give up on functionality.

Shadows darkened, the dead rising to serve me, while a large Serpent of Fire started to uncoil around me from thin air with a whispered hiss.

I grasped Blackfyre, the Ancient Valyrian Steel blade now attuned to my soul.

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The magic of Valyrian Steel was weird in the best of days. The magic infused on it reinforced the material and form by absorbing any other magic. It made a piece of magical steel shaped like a sword better at being a sword, sharper, stronger, lighter and just that bit faster.

That was annoying to work with in the best of days, especially for those who did not have the power to throw around.

Flames licked along the edge of the metal, black flames shot with gold.

I lifted my sword, the swirling black patterns of bound shadows reacting to my presence as they danced.

"A sword on its own has no will, no authority, no understanding of what is being cut. A wand or a sword, if I held a wrench, it would still be Lightbringer, for I am the one holding it. For I am the sword."

The Sun Fire gave me a way to fill up the metal and let the power overflow.

I brought it down, sending an arc of black fire that smashed into the Gatehouse of Dragonstone and shattered the wooden portcullis.

And the Reclamation of Dragonstone began.

# Cressen

"The Wyrmway has fallen," spoke Ser Axell Florent, the Castellan of Dragonstone, as he rushed to enter the room, taking off his helm. His hair was covered in sweat and soot. There was fear in his voice as he said, "The man bears the sigil of the three-headed dragon. Any gate we close opens on its own as though by magic."

"Magic is not real," repeated Cressen to himself, more a prayer now than what he was taught. "And whoever would try to raid Dragonstone is a fool. This must be some foolish pirate using mummery."

Ser Axell yanked Cressen off his feet by his chain. "I just watched a dozen knights charge a man clad in black. The man turned into a fucking dragon and burned them all before walking out of the fire like it was nothing. I saw a dozen of his men clad in black walk through the guards and walk away with no scratch. I care not what you think, you fool I saw what I saw. Pirate or not, the castle is about to fall, and we should leave, daughter."

Lady Selyse Baratheon looked up from where she sat before nodding. "What of my daughter? I am not leaving her."

"The girl has Grayscale, my lady; it would be a danger to anyone involved if she were to travel with rest. The closeness of any ship would make it a danger to everyone involved," said Cressen steeling himself. "I shall remain, ensure that her treatments continue."

"I will not leave without her," declared the Lady.

"We do not have a choice," spoke Axell Florent, nodding at the Maester as he dragged the Lady.

Cressen himself headed to the Sea Dragon Tower. He was not as young as he once was, and he had stopped to catch his breath by the door, coughing into his fist at the exertion. His aching bones carried him all the way to the room where a girl that was by all right a Princess stayed. He took the time to push some of the furniture, finding the strength to barricade himself and the girl.

He looked at the girl sleeping, a toddler, no older than three-name-day-old, whose face was scarred from Greyscale.

The initial treatment of vinegar had been successful, yet the infection was still capable of spreading.

Cressen considered using it against the Pirates attacking, only to dismiss it as foolish. He was a man of healing and reason, not a monster who would spread such a disease to more people, even pirates. No, it was better to give the girl a quick end.

From his sleeve, Cressen took two vials containing beads of poison.

Yes, better a quick end for the girl and him as well, for his crimes.

The door, blockaded by furniture, exploded into kindling as though the wood itself was long rotten, and a figure stood, armored in black with a crimson cloak.

"Expelliarmus," the man spoke, a white stick in his hand. Cressen found his hands empty the next moment before the armored mage took off his helmet, the runes that glowed over the metal fading away.

"By gods dead and alive, this helm is far too stuffy," the man complained, placing the rune-carved helm with dragon horns onto the desk. "Maybe I ought to go for a wide-brimmed hat, enchanted to high heavens and back. You are Cressen, I presume."

The face beneath was young, barely a man grown, but the most distinct features were the white golden hair and the piercing violet eyes that seemed to twinkle and catch the light.

"You presume correctly, and you would be Viserys Targaryen," spoke Cressen, "I am uncertain if I would have preferred Pirates," he said, reaching for the knife in his belt as he knew he was a dead man either way. He would have a single chance, his old bones lacking the strength and speed. He would take that chance, however, to protect the small girl in the room, only for his body to freeze in place.

"None of that now, I think enough people died today," said the young man as the knife flew from Cressen's hand. "Your loyalty gives you credit. Pity you are just another fool."

"Ravens were sent to every major keep in Westeros," spoke Cressen, "The King and Lord Stannis will have your head for this."

"In their dreams, mayhaps," the Targaryen spoke, flicking a finger in the direction of the window and causing it to open. "As for your ravens," he added as a raven landed by the window sill with a message attached to its leg. "I figured out that trick years ago."

"Warg," whispered Cressen. He had not studied the Higher Mysteries in the Citadel, but he knew some things from even before.

"The proper term is Skinchanger when it is not a dog or a wolf; you have no idea how annoying it gets to correct people from that notion over the years. All wargs are skinchangers, but not all skinchangers ought to be wargs," countered another voice that walked in, the sound of a staff slamming into the black stone as a stocky beetle-browed man walked into the room. "But the sentiment is the same, I suppose. This must be little Shireen Baratheon. You were always a deft hand at healing, Cressen, one of the favorites of Ebrose, that fool. But then again, like attracts like."

Cressen recognized the face of Archmaester Marwyn, shock, and betrayal fighting within him, even as he took a stand between the girl and the others.

"Do not confuse me for Tywin, Maester, and the girl is innocent and more importantly, still in pain," spoke the boy, approaching the crib. "And isn't it a bit hypocritical when you were planning to poison the poor girl?"

"Do you think she can be cured?" asked Marwyn leaning over.

"Let us see," spoke the Targaryen, taking off the gauntlets from his hand before flame covered them for but a moment. "Greyscale, and still active too... simply retreated from the surface. Vinegar bath and something... ah, ambient magic of the Wards of the castle reacting with hers to protect her. Yes, a combination of the remnants of the enchantments on the castle and good old Science. The way it had mutated into countering the disease is definitely interesting. Fortunately, I am deeply familiar with the initial conditions needed to start Garin's Curse, and what can be made can be unmade." His hand reached to touch the affliction.

"Is that?" asked Cressen, praying that the Targaryen too would get infected before the hand shifted to look as though it was covered in scales, as though it belonged to a snake... or a dragon.

"No, that is not Greyscale... I suppose if there was a name for it, it would be Dragonscale," he said, showing off his hand. "A magical accident followed by an amateurish attempt to fix a cursed wound and an unrelated ritual has left me marked in more ways than one, I have to admit. Lessons learned and all that, nothing to worry about. Greyscale, I have learned, is what you get when you mix a Basilisk's blood with water and breed what are effectively algae... ah, moss, that absorbs energy and calcifies human flesh."

He unstoppered a vial of green liquid, spreading it over the cracked skin and murmuring some unknown prayer.

The scaled hand glowed a golden light, flames dancing along his fingers, as the fire sank into the skin and the strange potion.

Cressen watched, unable to move and unwilling to look away as the afflicted skin peeled away and turned to ash, leaving behind raw muscle and bone before flesh itself seemed to grow where the golden green flame touched the potions and tinctures that the man applied.

Once he was done, the Greyscale was replaced by silvery scales not dissimilar to the scales that covered the Targaryen's hand.

"Not bad, your grace," said Marwyn, pulling out a notebook and scratching upon it using a wooden stick attached to a piece of coal on one end.

"Hmm... I had to do a bit of fleshcrafting for that. Had to use the other side as a guide, but she may have a bit far too symmetrical face. Not that the scar would show it. I don't suppose she would mind much. Not likely for her to grow to be a great beauty anyhow. I saw her mother, ears for days that one." explained the Targaryen with a shrug. "Speaking of, the Florents are also our guests, even if they tried to make a run for it."

"You healed her," Cressen spoke, not believing what he saw, "with Magic."

"Of course I did," the man responded as if he was saying the sun rose from the East or the sky was blue. "How old is she?"

Fear engulfed Cressen's soul. He now realized that the rumors that many Maesters dismissed were in fact the truth.

"S-she had her f-fourth name day three moons ago," he stuttered.

"My niece was four when the Lannisters came for her," muttered the Wizard, "Gods do love their irony. Like I said, this little one is innocent of any crime, and I fear that her father will eventually give her to flames for some obscure chance to win a fight... though it might not have happened given the changes."

"Are you a Dreamer as well, my lord," gasped Cressen, deciding that discretion was part of the valor. Cressen was the Maester of Storm's End before Stannis had brought him along to Dragonstone. It was Cressen who had been there when the Baratheon siblings were born, and he had been the one to teach them. If he could learn all that the Wizard was able to do and find the opportunity.

"I suppose, though being a Dreamer was part of my skill set, one that is obvious even if I try to keep it a secret," said Viserys Targaryen. "As for what to do with you..."

"I am a Maester of the Citadel; I serve the Lord of the Keep," spoke Cressen, knowing that his life was at stake. "The Maesters take no sides."

"And yet you do, don't you, Cressen, plotting to learn my secrets and find the opportunity to kill me so you can protect those morons you call Lord," spoke the Wizard, his eyes glowing as Cressen felt unseen fingers press upon his head, baring his soul open. "You raised the Baratheons... you care for them. You whispered in Stannis' ears to follow his brother into the Rebellion. Don't give me that look. You are proof that not all Maesters are in on murdering Targaryens, you know. That is what Marwyn thinks at least. He is a bit on the nutty side, but I like his... enthusiasm."

Said Archmaester barked in laughter at that statement.

"It is the way you are trained, the culture that you are indoctrinated into. You cannot help yourself but meddle, thinking you know better. Granted, the lot of you serve are either vicious cunts or idiots or a mix of both, and in most cases, you probably know better. But for all your knowledge, the Higher Mysteries evade your comprehension, and it drives you wild, causing you to hate what you do not understand. It is far more insidious and annoying than some conspiracy that would justify me putting your entire lot to the torch. In the end, you are just... human," the Targaryen said with sad eyes. "I am not really sorry, you know. I saw you try to poison one witch, and I cannot have you hanging around those I care about. I shall make it quick and ensure nothing feasts on your soul in the afterlife."

"What?" was all Cressen could ask before the Wizard spoke once more.

"Avada Kedavra," the words echoed, and Cressen saw a flash of green light and nothing more.

# The Mage on Dragonstone

Marwyn sighed, catching a steel coin from the Wizard, who looked at the corpse of the dead Maester Cressen, pulling out the Maester's chain.

"What are the chances that you idiots figured out how to get magic to work and focused on ensuring it did not work?" Viserys asked, his eyes not leaving the chain in question.

"What do you mean, my lord?" asked Marwyn, recognizing that the boy preferred being referred to as a Lord, mostly after that one boastful rant about being the Greatest Dark Lord and Bright Lord to ever live after getting a bit too into his cups. Granted, the Wine aged in a Weirwood cask certainly had an appeal to the old Archmaester of Higher Mysteries.

"The chain forms a circle," sighed Viserys, "It acts like a localized Ward, using symbolic association of rules that they learned for each chain, chaining reality to their knowledge, linked to the sacrifice that they make. The chains enforce local rules to match what the Maester knows. The chain acts as the Magic Circle. It would be quite brilliant if it was not so annoying."

"Makes sense," said Marwyn, having realized that his spells worked better since he put away his chain, though it might have also been being close to Viserys Targaryen, who, like his sister and that red bird of his, was roiling with Magical Energy. "It explains why most Magic works in Essos or Beyond the Wall and not in Westeros, especially the South. Will it have any effect on your plans?"

"Not particularly. I will have to be indirect about it and pull a bit more power," said the Wizard, freezing and tilting his head in a way that Marwyn learned to associate with him skinchanging into one of his many Familiars, not that it left his flesh vulnerable, given how Marwyn could feel eyes upon him from the shadow of the fellow Master of Higher Mysteries.

Viserys Targaryen straightened as he smirked. "I had accounted for the possibility of the Weirwood interfering with the Magical Energy already, but that is not an issue nowadays. It just means I need to be subtle and use methods that are less overt. It will be annoying, but I can be subtle," said the younger Wizard, an annoyed look on his face.

Marwyn barked a burst of laughter, having heard the stories of how bad at being subtle the boy king was.

"Who are you?" the girl spoke, as she must have woken by the noise, or it might have been the Targaryen Prince who was bored of the conversation and doing something. Her voice was sleepy as a large cloth appeared over the dead Maester at the wave of Viserys' wand.

"Hello," softly spoke the man who had nearly single-handedly butchered a hundred men at arms. "I am Vis, your cousin, twice removed."

"Second cousin once removed, actually," corrected Marwyn, finding it hilarious that a man who could memorize the specific phases of the moon required to make a potion that fixed spots had no care about knowledge of relations in Westeros that the Nobles found essential as breathing.

"Point is, I am your cousin from your father's side. Our families don't really talk, so we never got to meet," said Viserys. "Your father was nice enough to look after my old home for me."

"Is my father back?" asked the girl before freezing, her hand reaching out to touch her unblemished face. "My face is..."

"No, he will be busy. As for your face, it is healed," said Viserys, holding up his hand and making pretty lights. "I am magic like that. Wanna get out of here and go for a walk? This place looks stuffy."

"The Maester said I am not allowed to go outside," said Shireen Baratheon.

"Well, that was because you were sick, and now you are not. Also, see, this is Archmaester Marwyn; he is like the Old Maester Cressen but smarter. He says it is alright to walk, right?" said the Wizard, giving him a look that had Marwyn nodding. "He will even make sure you are alright."

Marwyn did not know what to expect, but looking after children was not on his list when he set out to join the Wizard and learn more about Magic.

That said a lot more about Marwyn than anything, given that he had expected to get chased by Eldritch Horrors, which was fortunately not that common.

# Wizard

Having left Shireen under the care of the Archmaester, I got to work securing the islands, which involved talking with the current Lady of the Keep.

I leaned back on my chair, my eyes meeting the Lady before me.

"I hold the keep. Most of the guards are either dead or surrendered. This is my land, by right of blood and conquest. If the fact that you and your daughter are alive at the mercy of myself, you can also consider that your husband promised anything to the person who could fix your daughter," I said, pulling out a parchment.

"You want the Dragonstone," said Selyse Florent, clutching her daughter in a way that surprised me. Relief was replaced by a mixture of surprise and disbelief; the woman had been holding onto the girl like a lifeline. Granted, this was not the same woman who got turned into a zealot by Melisandre, but still.

"Don't be ridiculous, my lady; you cannot give that which is mine by every right. This signs away your unconditional surrender and acknowledges your unlawful occupation in exchange for clemency," I explained, having drafted the scroll on the way.

Legally, it had no weight.

Magically, I was pulling on the fact that Stannis attacked me and the fact that I spared his life to do some clever bit of magic to reinforce my ownership of the land.

It did not take long for Selyse to sign the paper.

"Ensure that they are well treated," I stated to the guards.

"And my father?" asked Lady Selyse.

"Ser Axell will be treated with dignity as a knight, should he remain cooperative," I responded, "My Steward will meet you to get a better understanding of the Keep; I hope for your sake you do not mislead her."

"The Gods will see to your death, heathen witch," roared Ser Axell, only to stop making any noise after a wave of my wand knocked him out.

"I am sure his emotions will calm down... eventually," I told Lady Selyse, "Be a dutiful daughter and ensure that it does."

I got up, leaving the room and the guards by the door behind.

That was it.

Dragonstone was mine.

I left the room holding Selyse Baratheon, which was located next to her father. Having Shireen as a Ward ensured that the woman complied, even if it meant that I had to threaten a little girl.

"Fight me, you coward," roared the elderly knight as I flicked my wand, transforming the door to be metal bars out of pettiness. Unlike his daughter, the knight was less than pleasant and did not get the luxury of the illusion of having rooms instead of a cell.

While I was confident in my ability to cut down Ser Axell Florent in a duel, I had him as a hostage, and he would be more useful alive... I think.

I ignored the knight as I walked away, rolling the Geas I had crafted that officialized the fact that Selyse, as the Lady of the Keep, yielded the castle to me and signed in her and Shireen's blood.

It was the second part of the plan I had made to reclaim the ownership of the island before I could leverage that ownership to build a stronger Ward Scheme than any this world would have seen.

First had been Stannis himself. His act of entering my home and my mercy allowed for a subtle contract to form, one that was bound to this very same scroll.

The second was Selyse yielding the hearth to me.

The third was going to be trickier, and it would take longer, but I was confident it would work.

As I walked through the black stone hallways, flames rolled from the tip of my wand, spellfire washing away every path that I passed through and cleansing the building.

Leaving Braavos has made me notice a weird interaction between the Local Magic in an area and the spells I could use. It was as though the entire city had an affinity to itself for protection.

In short, Wards in Braavos worked better than Wards outside Braavos... especially ones based on 'non-detection.'

I could feel the difference; reality was less willing to bend in that direction outside of Braavos, which sort of made sense. You were familiar with the history of Braavos and the magics used in the creation of the specific protection magic done by the Moonsingers. Whatever Magic the Moonsingers had managed to cast, through however many sacrifices, the Mists of Braavos were almost eager to hide things.

My best guess was that Braavos itself held conceptual affinity to the concept of being 'Hidden.'

It was one of the few concepts that I was intimately familiar with, pulling on the feelings and experiences to wrap a cloak of fog around myself to accompany the cloak over my shoulders that hid me from sight.

The same logic meant that I needed to visit other places of Magic to better learn certain forms of spells and add them to my ever-growing repertoire. If the location helped take the burden off the caster, it made it perfect as training wheels to learn different branches of Magic. It made things safer.

Ironically, in order to travel, I needed to settle down.

Granted, having unlocked the secrets to Pyromancy-based Teleportation so I could travel in an instant. It made having a base more convenient than any other alternative.

With the Floo Enchantment proven to be working, travel limitations were no longer an issue, and the contacts I had built in Braavos and the safehouse that was still hidden in Pentos could act as one of the two staging grounds to access anything more I needed.

It also meant that I could send out scouts to set up further access points and safehouses in other cities and not waste time traveling for months.

It also meant that I could build a proper base.

Given that I was starting to mess with some serious stuff in my quest for knowledge, a place I could bunker down if it got tough made sense. Some place that I could enchant and improve and build up, some place to lay my head and recover should I find myself in trouble.

And what better base was there than the only Valyrian Outpost that survived the Doom relatively intact?

For all that it was worth, while Braavos was nice and protected and Pentos was likely to need a new leadership, they were not home, they were not what I needed.

'For a Wizard needs a Tower, as a Hermit Crab needs a Shell,' I recalled some Mage tell. The more powerful a Wizard becomes, a larger Wizard's Tower they need to fit all their magic and ego.

And who was I to do away with tradition?

Hence my choice: Dragonstone, the Last Stronghold of Old Valyria.

Granted, there were other options, but Dragonstone was just what I needed.

In my youth, I had dismissed Dragonstone as useless, given that it lacked more strategic resources to allow for a conquest or defense. It lacked bounty or riches. It was far too close to King's Landing. It was relatively barren apart from sheep and fish, but the volcanic soil would prove useful for my future experiments on that front.

Most of those limitations were no longer an issue with my powers, and I had in my possession three dragon eggs that needed a volcano to nest in.

Combined with the spell that I called "Hidden Mists of Braavos" that I bootlegged and bound to the dragon skull that now made up the prow of Revenge, I had a way to smuggle resources through any blockade if I did not bother to Fireball the ships that formed said blockade.

Granted, magically speaking, there were other places of worth as well that I had considered, places that I believed to hold some power that I wished to study.

Harrenhall was the best one, with access to Godswood of Weirwoods. Yet without access to the sea, thanks to the location of King's Landing, locking the mouth of Blackwater, the castle built with Weirwood and exposed to Dragon Flame was as much a liability as any other castle in Riverlands. Not to mention the time and resources it would take me to repair everything and potentially exorcise a few hundred unsettled souls held within, along with whatever bullshit Greenseers had pulled up in God's Eye.

Valyria was a potential option, but it was a bit too far away and unknown, not to mention whatever I might find in there would be a resource sink to fix up. I did not want to have some supernatural pest problem. The occasional Ashwinder setting the drapes on fire was bad enough and I did not want to mess with whatever had time to evolve over the last four hundred years in such a Magically Volatile environment.

There was also the castle once built on the Isle of Bloodstone by Daemon Targaryen after his conquest of the Stepstones. Grounds tempered with dead and dragon fire, Stepstones would have given me what I needed to build something from scratch... but that same freedom made it a resource and time sink.

There was a small castle there, from what I heard, but it was more of an outpost filled with Pirates than anything. It was not a castle that could withstand a siege. Unfortunately, building something from scratch would have to wait, as I could simply take over a better position with a complete Fortress.

Other options were also considered. Skagos, with some Dragonglass Reserves and Unicorns, was far too close to the North and lacked other resources that would make it livable, not to mention the need to build the keep again.

The same reason was why I dismissed Hardhome as another base. I technically should hold some Authority over the land as the Greenseer who is the successor of the region through Morrigan, but I was not going to live in a location that did not have a magically crafted eight hundred feet ice wall between me and one of the few things that could reliably kill me.

Tarth was effectively a paradise but lacked in Magic, and the Shipbreakers Bay made logistics tricky to conduct any war of sorts, even if I would be sitting right in front of Robert's Ancestral Home. There was also a part of me that was biased about House Tarth and they may or may not be related to House Targaryen through one of Aegon the Unlikely's sisters... the one that he was supposed to marry before the girl got impregnated by Duncan the Tall, I think. I also liked Brienne of Tarth as a character; she was one of the few good people in this hellhole of a world and a truer knight than anyone else. I would not steal her lands from her and make her face reality before she was ready, lest I break one of the good things in this world.

I may be a petty cunt to my enemies, but I was not cruel.

Beyond Magic, there were other considerations.

Politically, Dragonstone was the obvious choice.

My control over the island represented defiance against Robert's Reign, as the Targaryens reclaiming the staging ground of the Conquest and their ancient home had symbolic value that I could not simply let go of, even if I was falling into the Sunk Cost Fallacy just a bit. It was the same reasoning while Robb losing Winterfell had led to him losing the war, or how Storm's End falling may have been the key to ending Robert's Rebellion if not for those Tyrells being habitual fence-sitters.

Robert's Reign would mean nothing so long as a Targaryen-held Dragonstone. Then again, making Robert lose sleep was always a worthy goal. The fact that I was within dick-waving distance of King's Landing and would soon turn the island into an impregnable fortress helped.

My feet found me before the large doors of a particular chamber.

"The docks and the village are secured as planned. They are in the Chamber," said Ser Richard, in step with me. "Nervous?"

"A bit," I admitted.

"You will do great," said my Sworn Sword, giving a nod to the Unsullied to open the door.

"And if I don't?" I asked.

"You will Magic something up, though hopefully, not with as much fire. The fire snake trick is already enough for my nerves." shrugged Ser Richard before opening the door.

"All Hail Viserys Targaryen, Third of His Name, Shield of His People, the Last Archon of the Freehold," announced Ser Richard, a grin on his face before adding, "The Dragon Reborn and Archwizard of Dragonstone."

I looked around, to my sister, seeing Daenerys beaming with happiness, standing next to the chest that held the three Dragon eggs.

I saw Lanna nervous but resolute in the face of future conflict.

I ignored Wat and Wat, sending off waves of anticipation and wishing to prove themselves.

Marwyn and Melisandre were to one side, clearly discussing something before I interrupted them.

Jon Connington stood with his Valyrian Steel Hand pin on his chest.

I walked into the room, pulling Starlight and weaving it into my hair, forming a glowing halo around my head.

I winked at Dany, who just rolled her eyes at the display of Magic.

Tough crowd that one.

My fingers trailed through the table as I walked.

The Painted Table.

Constructed by Aegon the Dragon, using wood imported from Seven Kingdoms and shaped into an exact replica of Westeros after months of scouting with dragons.

Where Dragonstone ought to be was now a Glass Candle, placed atop a Weirwood Spear that was embedded into the floor, and bathing the room with light that washed away some colors and amplified them at once.

I nodded in approval; Dany's work was rather straightforward, a logical next step for her that effectively hacked into the Weirwood Network through the Sympathetic bond and highlighted every spear and spear-shaped object in the continent before projecting it all into the Painted Table.

I looked over the Map of Westeros, light forming dots showing the location of every army in Westeros, live.

I smiled.

Yeah, this place made for a perfect Wizard's Tower.

"Right, let's get to work," I said.

# The Princess of Dragonstone

Dany watched Vis wave his wand, a wave of flames washing over the black stone and doing absolutely nothing.

"Do I have to be here for this?" asked Dany, sitting on top of the floating chest containing the Dragon Eggs. Hers was the black one, while Vis said something about the dragon choosing the rider as he had claimed the white one.

"Yes," her brother said, waving his wand around and stopping, "gotcha."

The wall moved out of the way.

"What exactly is the point again?" asked Dany.

"The Dragonpit," said Viserys, pointing at the large ramp-like structure that reminded Dany of the docks of Braavos. "The naturally formed cave system that originally housed the dragons before Maegor fucked it all up and created a lesser copy in the mainland like an idiot."

"Do we need access to the Dragonpit?" asked Dany, "I thought you said we are not going to try to hatch the eggs until the time is right and the eggs are awakened."

"Yes, well, when you start to dream of the dragon, you will be closer to ready, but no that is not the main goal. The cave system provides entrances to the keep that need to be guarded," said Vis, as two ravens flew out of his shadows to perch on one of the openings. "But they also provide a more direct access to the Magic within the island."

"Yes, yes, there are spells woven into the stone," nodded Dany, not wanting to hear the lecture again.

Vis glared at her, though he was smiling, so it was not like he was angry. Dany, being the mature princess that she was, stuck out her tongue in response, only to yelp as the floating chest she was sitting on dropped to the ground.

"Ouch," she said, pushing down the tears of surprise.

"That was... not me," said Vis with a frown, waving his wand as flames seemed to flow in one direction. Vis simply breathed out, "Fascinating."

Dany closer her eyes, focusing on her magic and bringing out her wand in turn. 'Revelio,' she thought, not speaking the words since calling out incantations was for noobs, or so Vis said.

"It feels like the Magical energy is sucked in that direction," said Dany.

"Yes, it does," said Vis with a smile, as though he found a puzzle that needed to be solved. "And it is going deeper into the cave system, deeper into Dragonmont."

"I want to come," Dany demanded, giving her brother the right glare and standing up.

"Right," said Vis, a wave of his wand covered the chest containing the Dragon Eggs in a dome of stone. "Let's keep these here, where only two of us know," he winked. "Oh, and remember the rules?"

"If you say run, I run," said Dany, with as much seriousness as she could, a shiver running down her spine at remembering how the one time she did not take that advice seriously had been one of the few times Vis had genuinely been angry at her.

"Good girl," her brother said, rubbing her head and making Dany hum with how pleasant and warm he felt. "Right, onward into adventure."

"Adventure sucks," said Dany, sweat making her dress cling to her body, even as she made sure to keep the scarf Vis enchanted around her mouth to keep the fumes out. The red silk scarf had already blackened from filtering so much nastiness, and Dany had no intention of inhaling any of it.

Vis was not that different, armor and shirt long since discarded, with only Blackfyre and his wand at his side.

Dany's hand reached for the pommel of the dagger her brother gave her, feeling the comfort and the way its magic absorbed the foreign presence around them.

"Most of the time," nodded Vis, waving a new shield around them that kept the air cool. "The heat is mostly artificial and empowers the spells to keep the people away from this section."

"Oh, that means we are on the right track," said Dany, remembering her lessons. If a Wizard wanted to keep something hidden, protecting it too much was the same as putting up a flag saying there was something interesting there.

"Yes, we are, in fact, here we are," said Vis, as the Targaryen siblings entered a large hall.

"It is empty," said Dany with a puff, even as the feeling of heat simply disappeared.

"Describe it to me," said Vis, going into lecture mode.

"Decorated walls, with Valyrian Glyphs and images of dragons, an intricate dance between the dragons as they move from frame to frame. There is an altar in the middle of the room. The ceiling is vaulted and high enough for an older dragon to move through," said Dany, looking at her brother, who was impatiently tapping his feet.

Dany frowned, not sure what she was missing, as her eyes focused on where Vis was tapping his foot and her eyes widened. "The floor is uneven."

"So it would seem," Vis said with a smile. "See the part that is even. Let's move there."

"Someone flooded the room," said Dany. The altar and the walkway merged with the cooled surface. Dany stood next to the altar. "They hid something beneath the stone."

"I would hope so," said Vis, "Because if that is not the case, I will look very foolish. Be a dear and stand behind that large pillar," her brother added, standing before the altar.

Dany did as she was told, watching as Vis set up something.

Blackfyre was stabbed behind him, between Dany and him, anchoring a shimmering field of some advanced shield as Vis muttered in High Valyrian instead of Latin that Dany knew he preferred, before turning his back and facing the altar.

Valyrian Magic always required Blood and Fire, Maester Marwyn had said... well... ranted.

Vis called them two-bit hacks, unable to understand the intricacies of Magic.

So, as Dany's brother raised his wand, Dany watched with interest behind the pillar as Vis the Wizard spoke Words of Power.

"YOL," the tip of his wand glowed with fire.

"TOOR," the fire leaped out to form a sea of flames over the black obsidian, somehow sinking into the stone.

"SHUL," the fire turned golden as wave after wave of pure energy empowered the inferno of flames.

The stone that had once been solid softened, glowing as it melted into lava once more.

Vis clapped his hands together before pulling them apart with a roar of "Partis Temporum,"

The lake of lava started to move, splitting in two and getting pulled apart as Dany looked on in awe.

This was her idiot big brother.

This was the Wizard that everyone with half a brain feared.

This was Viserys the Dragon Reborn.

The red sea of molten stone parted, revealing a beam of blackened metal that stood like a spike driven into the ground as the two sides of the lava rapidly cooled.

Vis slumped over the alter, smoke coming from his skin.

"Ouch, I think I pulled a muscle," said Vis before sighing and straightening up. "It is safe now," he said. "I think."

Dany walked forward, crushing into Vis in a hug and burying her face in his chest. She did not care about the tears coming from her eyes nor the comforting warmth that had enveloped her.

Vis was an idiot sometimes.

"It appears to be a Ward Anchor," said Vis, looking at the glowing glyphs while sitting on the altar and dangling his feet over the edge. "The Valyrian on it is old, even from what I know, and very archaic, but I think I got the gist of it. It is blood magic."

"Obviously," said Dany, sitting next to him. "Can you translate?"

"That side is about the power, how to start the powering of the wards and have it sustain using the heat of the volcano," said Vis, pointing at one of the three faces of the large pillar of Valyrian Steel. "Standard stuff, really, blood sacrifice, dragon fire, the usual."

Dany nodded, not moving from the altar that was obviously the location that got the blood sacrifice.

"The second face is what the protection does," said Vis, "General protection from outside influence, though I am not sure if that means outside the walls, the island, or the entire plane of existence, but I am sure we can figure it out later.

"What is the last side?" asked Dany.

"Oh, that is the part that instructs what not to do so the wards can remain self-sustaining and general warnings," said Vis with a frown.

"What should not be done?" asked Dany.

"Standard notes on Blood Magic. Turns out Dance did not fully kill the Dragons," said Vis with a frown. "With the adult dragons already dead, Targaryens having given up the old traditions of throwing people into the pit of lava as sacrifice, which is not the worst idea granted, and no Targaryens living on the Island to sustain the Blood Magic, well, the protections of the island needed to get the magic from somewhere."

"Sucked the magic out of the younger dragons?" asked Dany.

"Pretty much," said Vis with a nod, puffing his chest with pride. "The power I fed into the wards should do the trick, and I managed to do a bit of Green Magic to get the Wards at the moment they were starting to unravel and pull them to the present."

"Is this the part where I say that my big brother is awesome?" asked Dany.

"Brat," responded Vis with a smile and ruffling her hair.

"Nerd," replied Dany in kind, though smiling.

"Yes, well, casual Time Magic aside, I got access to the wards for now, but I am not sure I can sustain it," said Vis. "This type of magic is... it is effectively Hearth Magic, very female-oriented. It strains my soul just holding onto it."

"And it will work for me?" asked Dany with a frown.

"Eh, Rhaenyra Targaryen could do it," said Vis with a shrug, "And that bitch had the magical capacity of an above-intelligence gecko."

Dany winced, hoping it was not going to be another lecture on the Dance. She recalled her own lectures, matching the times. Visenya Targaryen had stayed for long durations in Dragonstone, despite the fact that Aegon ruled from King's Landing. Rhaenys Targaryen had similarly stayed on the island when Alysanne was gone. The only time Dragonstone would have been left alone would be during the Reign of Viserys the First, and even then, Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was, would have been in charge of the dragons of the island and close enough.

"The rules are slightly simple," said Vis. "The Volcano is still dormant, and I would rather it stayed that way. The power I gave the anchor should last a good while, and I will add a ritual so it should repower itself once every year and a day."

"Why year and a day?" asked Dany.

"Well, it is technically a year and a few hours," said Vis, "A full rotation around the sun, but the concept is linked to sunrise, so it ensures magic lasts a year and a day."

"Cool," said Dany. "Does that mean I have to be stuck here like some princess in a tower?"

"Not particularly," said Vis with a shrug. "At most, you would need to spend a day for every moon. Since I am setting up the Floo Network, you are not really trapped here. I will have to add some special protections to keep unwanted people out, but it is the perfect home for us."

"But I need to protect us," said Dany, feeling happy that she got to protect their family like Vis had been doing. "I will do it."

"You are my favorite sister," said Vis, ruffling her hair once more.

"I am your only sister, you idiot," Dany responded, not wanting to think about all of their dead siblings.

"Come on, let's go get something to eat," said Vis as if feeling her mood and jumping off the altar. "I am starving."

AN: This is back from the hiatus that the show that must not be named put it on. I shall do the wise thing and remember the saying, "We do not show." Anyway, it's back to semi-regular updates while I mainly focus on my 40k fic. It took me a while to figure out which direction I wanted to take this in, but I am going to still ask you guys before.

The problem is the power difference. Nothing is stopping Wiz from going around killing off every High Lord, starting with waltzing into Casterly Rock and merking Tywin and causing chaos in general, at the cost of being completely blind to the events people are setting up.

For Wiz, War of the Five Kings happening is useful since it shows that Targaryens are the only ones who can give a stable realm to Westeros. It also means the enemies of Targaryens fighting each other.

Also, the timeline is not the best. This is 5 years before the start of books, and all the fun characters haven't grown up yet.

I have ideas on how to continue, but I would love to hear your opinions. I had this idea of a pseudo-Fidelius to keep Dragonstone from being approached from Westeros, but I am open to other ideas.