105 AC - Stepstones - Third Person POV
Each night, as King's Landing slept, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen clasped her sapphire necklace, whispering "Sanctuary." The portkey's magic whisked her to Edinburgh Castle on Bloodstone, where her mother, Aemma Arryn, and infant sister, Visenya, awaited. The castle's great hall, lit by golden candelabras, hummed with warmth, its silks from Yi Ti softening the stone. Aemma, her blue gown regal, embraced Rhaenyra, her voice soft. "You're here, Rhaenyra."
Rhaenyra, her black mourning gown traded for a violet one, smiled, kissing Visenya's silver-haired head. "I wouldn't miss it, Mother." She glanced at Domonic and Daenerys, lounging by the hearth, their presence familiar. "Dom, Dany, how's the king's life?"
Domonic, in a simple tunic, grinned, his Elder Wand tucked away. "Quiet, Princess. Just ruling an archipelago, no trouble at all."
Daenerys, her silver hair braided, laughed, her Mera Mera no Mi sparking faintly. "He's lying, Rhaenyra. He's been tinkering with spells, scaring the servants."
Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled, her voice teasing. "You two are worse than my uncle's tantrums. At least he doesn't make doors open themselves."
Aemma chuckled, her voice warm. "They're family now, Rhaenyra. Magic and all."
Over mulled wine and conjured pastries, they talked—Rhaenyra sharing court gossip, Aemma offering motherly wisdom, and Domonic and Daenerys weaving tales of their adventures, carefully vague.
Before dawn, Rhaenyra clasped her ruby necklace, whispering "Dragon's Rest," returning to the Red Keep, her heart lighter. Her friendship with Domonic and Daenerys grew, their trust a shield against King's Landing's snakes.
---
Fifteen days after the small council's debate, a Triarchy ship docked at Bloodstone, its Lyseni sails catching the dawn. Emissary Zorano Vyn, a wiry man in violet silks, led twenty sellswords ashore, their eyes wide at the island's greenery—oaks and vines where stone once ruled. Edinburgh Castle loomed, its towers alien yet imposing. As they approached, wards woven by Domonic's magic flared, alerting him to intruders.
Domonic appeared on the path, Ace—Gol D. Roger's sword—sheathed at his hip. His voice was calm but edged. "Stop. Who are you, and why do you trespass on my island?"
Zorano, his silver hair oiled, raised a hand, his voice smooth. "I am Zorano Vyn, emissary of the Triarchy—Myr, Tyrosh, Lys. We seek answers. Who are you, stranger, and what became of the pirates who ruled these rocks? Craghas Drahar's silence vexes us."
Domonic's eyes narrowed, his tone steady. "I'm Domonic Augustus, King of the Stepstones. The pirates? Gone. I killed them all."
Zorano's laugh was sharp, his voice dripping scorn. "You? A lone man, king of these islands? You expect me to believe you slaughtered Drahar's thousand, his fifty ships, single-handed?, spare me the jest."
Domonic shrugged, his voice casual. "Believe what you wish, emissary. The truth doesn't bend."
Zorano's eyes flicked to the empty path, his voice probing. "So, you claim this island alone? No army, no fleet? Just you, a self-styled king?"
"Exactly," Domonic said, his smile faint. "No army. Just me."
The sellswords snickered, one muttering, "He's mad." Zorano's tone hardened, his voice skeptical. "And how, pray, did you defeat Drahar's horde? With what sorcery or trick?"
"Alone," Domonic repeated, his voice flat. "No sorcery, no tricks—just me."
Zorano's laugh echoed, his voice mocking. "Alone? You weave a fine tale, but I'm no fool. A man doesn't clear the Stepstones without an army. You're bluffing, and poorly."
Domonic's gaze was unyielding, his tone cool. "It's your choice, Zorano. Believe or don't. Makes no difference to me."
Zorano's sneer twisted, his voice venomous. "Then hear this, 'king.' If you're alone, killing you claims these islands for the Triarchy. A fine prize for our magisters." He turned to his men, his voice sharp. "Take him!"
Domonic sighed, unsheathing Ace, its blade glinting with Haki. "Your funeral." With one strike, infused with Armament Haki, he cleaved through ten sellswords, their bodies falling in a crimson arc. The survivors froze, their swords trembling. Domonic's voice was ice. "Do you want to die too?"
He unleashed Conqueror's Haki, a wave of raw will that drove the remaining men to their knees, their weapons clattering. Zorano, pale, gasped, his voice broken. "What… are you?"
Domonic sheathed Ace, his voice a command. "Go back to your masters. Tell them the Stepstones have a king. If they send an army, I'll erase their cities from the map. Myr, Tyrosh, Lys—gone. Understand?"
Zorano nodded, his voice a whisper. "Y-yes, my lord."
"King," Domonic corrected. "Now go."
The survivors scrambled to their ship, sails unfurling as they fled. Domonic apparated to Edinburgh Castle, his expression calm. Daenerys greeted him, her voice teasing. "Trouble, love?"
"Just Triarchy fools," he said, grinning. "They won't be back."
---
Fifteen days later, Lord Corlys Velaryon's flagship, *Sea Snake*, docked at Bloodstone, its Driftmark banners fluttering. Corlys, informed by Myr spies of the Triarchy emissary's rout and whispers of a magical king, sought not conquest but alliance. With twenty Velaryon soldiers, he strode toward Edinburgh Castle, its green islands a shock after years of barren rocks. Domonic's wards flared, and he moved to intercept them, Ace at his side.
"Who are you, and why have you come to my island?" Domonic asked, his voice firm, Haki scanning for threats.
Corlys, his sea-green robes embroidered with silver, bowed slightly, his voice resonant. "I am Lord Corlys Velaryon, Master of Ships for King Viserys Targaryen, Lord of Driftmark. Are you the new King of the Stepstones, he who humbled the Triarchy's emissary?"
Domonic nodded. "Domonic Augustus, King of the Stepstones. State your purpose, Lord Velaryon."
Corlys's eyes gleamed, his voice measured. "I come not as foe, but as envoy. My spies in Myr speak of your… feats. A man who slays pirates and scatters Triarchy dogs intrigues me. I seek a meeting, Your Grace, to discuss matters of mutual gain."
Domonic's gaze softened, his Haki sensing no deceit. "Very well. Follow me to my castle."
They walked the path, Corlys's men whispering at the lush greenery. As they neared Edinburgh Castle, its doors swung open by Domonic's wandless magic, startling the soldiers. One gasped, "Sorcery!" Corlys's eyes widened, but he masked his unease, his voice steady. "A fine keep, Your Grace. Unlike any in Westeros."
Inside, Daenerys awaited, her black-and-red gown regal, her silver hair loose. Domonic smiled, his voice warm. "Lord Velaryon, my wife, Daenerys Augustus."
Corlys bowed, his voice gracious. "Lady Daenerys, an honor. Your beauty rivals the seas."
Daenerys's laugh was bright, her voice smooth. "Flattery, my lord? You're as bold as your ships."
Corlys chuckled, his tone light. "A sailor's habit, my lady. Your castle's a marvel—how did you raise it?"
Domonic's grin was cryptic. "Hard work, Lord Velaryon. Care for wine?"
They exchanged pleasantries over Arbor gold, Corlys praising the castle's design, Daenerys sharing vague tales of distant lands. The soldiers stood rigid, unnerved by the magical ambiance. Domonic led Corlys to his solar, a chamber lined with books from his Gacha, its windows overlooking green islands.
Seated, Corlys's voice turned serious. "Your Grace, I'll be plain. The Stepstones' silence shook Westeros. Drahar's fall was your doing, yes?"
Domonic nodded, his voice calm. "I cleared them out. Pirates don't trouble me."
Corlys's tone was probing. "Alone, as the Triarchy claims? No army?"
"Alone," Domonic said, his eyes steady.
Corlys leaned back, his voice awed. "A feat to rival Aegon's. But ruling these islands takes more than steel. You need men to hold them, ships to tax trade. House Velaryon offers an alliance."
Domonic's brow rose, his voice curious. "Terms?"
Corlys's voice was firm. "We provide manpower—sailors, soldiers—to secure the Stepstones, collect tariffs on passing ships. In return, House Velaryon takes forty percent of the profits. My fleet ensures your rule, your wealth grows, and we both defy the Triarchy."
Domonic's eyes narrowed, his tone thoughtful. "A fair offer, but I have a condition. Send smallfolk from King's Landing who wish for new opportunities—families, workers. I'll provide housing, food, and work. The Stepstones need life, not just swords."
Corlys's smile was shrewd, his voice eager. "Done. King's Landing's slums overflow with folk craving opportunity. I'll fill my ships with them—within a month, they'll be here."
Domonic extended a hand, his voice resolute. "We have a deal, Lord Velaryon."
Corlys clasped it, his voice warm. "To a prosperous alliance, Your Grace."
Corlys took his leave, his goldcloaks trailing, their fear of magic tempered by their lord's confidence. As *Sea Snake* sailed for Driftmark, Corlys mused on Domonic's power, eager to cement House Velaryon's stake in the Stepstones' new era.
---
#### Bloodstone: A Kingdom Rises
In Edinburgh Castle, Domonic returned to Daenerys, Aemma, and Visenya, Rhaenyra visiting that night. Over dinner, he shared Corlys's deal.