The Fourteen Flames lay within the Valyrian mountain ranges—not merely a set of fourteen peaks, but the tallest summits among a sprawling chain of mountains.
Over thousands of years of brutal internal struggle, the fourteen most powerful Dragonlord families came to control these peaks. These families formed the Dragonlord Council, seizing the highest authority within the Freehold.
To tighten their grip on power and monopolize the right to tame all dragons, the Dragonlord Council enacted the Dragon Code.
All newly laid dragon eggs from True Dragon families were transported to the base of the Fourteen Flames, where they were housed in a labyrinth of winding canyons under centralized management. Through this system, even the True Dragon families were tamed like the dragons themselves, and the Valyrian Freehold thrived under the iron rule of the Dragonlords.
...
The territory known as Flaming Breath belonged to House Aurélion, a massive Dragonlord family with numerous branches spread throughout the region.
The Red Flame Ridge of Flaming Breath was under the command of Lymond Aurélion.
At that moment, Lymond was personally slaughtering cattle and sheep, which his servants then carried away to roast.
His adult dragon, Valenor, preferred cooked meat. It had been fed prepared food since hatching and refused to char its meals with dragonfire—only fresh, cooked meat would do.
Brus stood respectfully beside Lymond and reported, "All ships of the Dragon's Treasure Guild have recently left port. My informants say they headed toward the continent of Essos, but in reality, they looped around and docked at Targaryen Bay."
Lymond paused, then let out a chuckle. "You're not completely useless. I guess I won't have to save your mangy hide from the Targaryens after all."
He stood, wiping blood from his hands onto Brus's spotless white robes.
Brus didn't flinch at the crude treatment. Bowing low, he grinned obsequiously. "It's all thanks to you, my lord, that I'm still alive. Naturally, I'll be a loyal and useful dog."
Lymond sneered at the old man with open disdain. "That rat from House Targaryen will slip away eventually. Many council members are eyeing that prize like starving wolves. Luckily, your inside work with the Dragon's Treasure Guild gave us an early hint. You deserve a reward."
"To serve a mighty Dragonlord like you is old Brus's greatest honor." Brus bowed even lower.
"I'm promoting you to first-class citizen. You'll take charge of the spice trade between Red Flame Ridge and Essos. Keep your surveillance tight. I want a detailed report on the Targaryens' exact evacuation route."
Lymond carved a large piece of meat from a roasting lamb and stuffed it into his mouth, grease dripping from his chin as he chewed greedily.
Suddenly—
ROAR!
A deafening dragon's cry shattered the stillness, echoing through the ridge and setting off a chorus of answering roars from the surrounding mountains. The sound was immense, rattling the very bones of those who heard it.
...
Targaryen Bay lay just beneath the main keep of the Targaryen Hills. Its sheer cliffs were riddled with caves of all sizes.
In one of the more secluded spots was a hidden temporary port.
Normally, this stretch of beach couldn't accommodate cargo ships.
But once a month, during the great summer tides, the sea surged dramatically, submerging the reefs and shoals that typically blocked access. In that brief window, experienced captains could slip their ships into the bay and dock, if only for a short while.
Now, with just one day left until the Dragon Taming Tournament, the high tide had arrived. The makeshift harbor was crowded with ships, including over a dozen large merchant vessels belonging to Aegon's guild.
Aegon stood with his wives, and Gaemon with his sister, looking down from the cliffs at the bustling port below. On the beach, ragged house slaves scurried back and forth, loading crates and sacks onto ships—one after another, tirelessly.
Each of those crates was packed with heavy gold and silver—thousands of years of Targaryen wealth. Even with dozens of ships, the treasure would have to be moved in multiple waves.
"Aegon..." Gaemon spoke softly, his gaze fixed on the vast sea stretching westward.
"Hm?" Aegon turned slightly to look at him.
Gaemon had one arm around his sister's waist. The sea breeze tugged at their hair, their golden and silver strands whipping through the air like fine silk ribbons.
"Did you know? To the west of the Summer Sea lies a vast and bountiful land."
Aegon followed his line of sight into the horizon. "Westeros?"
"That's right. So, you do know something," Gaemon said with a nod. "For thousands of years, the Freehold has focused its ambitions on the eastern continent of Essos. More than forty Dragonlord families have rampaged through that land—pillaging, conquering, draining it of every last drop of wealth. The spoils have long been divided."
"But today, I want you to understand—this migration isn't a desperate escape. It's the beginning of something new."
"These ships are our future. With them, we'll build a mighty dynasty on the continent of Westeros—House Targaryen's dynasty."
Gaemon looked at Aegon, eyes burning with conviction.
"I'll do my part for the Targaryen dynasty," Aegon replied with a faint smile, still gazing out over the sea. He didn't meet Gaemon's eyes. "Aenar truly has a remarkable vision. Not only did he foresee the looming destruction of the Valyrian Peninsula and steer clear of it, he also laid the groundwork for the rise of the house."
From their past conversations—and based on what he remembered of the original story—Aegon had already pieced together House Targaryen's true ambitions. So none of this came as a surprise.
"The position Father has prepared for you is Hand of the King—the first in our dynasty."
Gaemon burst into laughter and threw an arm around Aegon's shoulder. "Honestly, I'd much rather have you as my brother than hold any title my father could offer."
"Being your brother wouldn't be a bad deal," Aegon laughed along with him. "At least I'd know I could trust you with my back. But I'm three years older than you. You're the one destined to lead the clan—are you really willing to call me your big brother and play the part of the younger?"
"We're brothers—what's the point of talking about status?" Gaemon said with a hearty grin. Without hesitation, he shouted,
"Big brother!"
Aegon's smile paused for a beat as he looked at his half-brother. He was genuinely moved by Gaemon's bold sincerity. If this had been ancient China, just that one heartfelt gesture would've been enough for Aegon to give him his loyalty without question.
"Little brother," Aegon replied without delay. For both the man's honesty and the fact that he'd once saved his life, that word was well earned.
"And me! Don't forget me—call me sister!" Daenys chimed in cheerfully, bouncing as she called out to Aegon.
"No need for that. In a few days, I'll be calling you sister-in-law instead. Saves us the trouble of changing titles," Aegon teased with a wink.
Daenylis, Aegon's wife, covered her mouth and giggled softly.
Daenys playfully shook a fist at Aegon, then glanced down at the large hand Gaemon had draped around her waist—and smacked it off with a sharp flick.
"Come on, we've never gone out drinking together. Tonight it's on me. Let's have ourselves a proper night," Gaemon said, pulling Aegon away from Daenylis.
The two men, arms around each other's shoulders, strolled down toward the bustling market at the base of the hills.
...
Now only the sisters remained at the cliff's edge. Daenylis, Aenar's bastard daughter, was just one year younger than Daenys. By blood, they were indeed half-sisters.
"Your Highness, are we also leaving the Freehold?" Daenylis asked. She had grown up on the Targaryen Hills and had never left the Valyrian Peninsula. Now, a mix of curiosity and unease stirred within her.
"Just call me sister," Daenys said warmly. "Now that Aegon has chosen you as his Lady, you don't need to let your birth trouble you anymore."
"Sister," Daenylis replied sweetly, giving a small nod.
"Once we finish taming the dragons, we'll all be leaving this ancestral island," Daenys said, looking down as the ships began to drift away from the harbor. "This fleet is only the first wave of cargo ships. During the two weeks of the Dragon Taming Tournament, two more critical fleets will follow. Those will be the ones that truly matter—they'll carry craftsmen and the most valuable treasures."
She gazed out at the fleet sailing into the open sea and said softly, "We go west across the sea... to build a new home."
...
...
The two brothers galloped down the hillside and soon arrived at the bustling market at the mountain's base.
They headed straight for the largest tavern in the area, one with a bold sign that read: "Peach Wine Tavern."
The moment they stepped inside, the rich aroma of liquor and the clamor of voices washed over them like a tide, completely enveloping them.
Finding an open spot, they sat down and ordered several rounds of a strong liquor called Dragon's Tongue. After downing a few cups, the fiery burn spread through their stomachs, and their spirits lifted.
By this point, Gaemon was feeling the buzz. With a grand wave of his hand, he booked the entire tavern and instructed the staff to summon all the prostitutes to join them.
Before long, a line of lavishly dressed women swayed into view. Their clothing was nearly transparent—just enough to call it clothing—and they came in every shade and shape imaginable.
Gaemon picked four of the women to sit with him, while the rest moved to the stage at the center of the tavern. As sultry music played, they began to sway their hips and dance seductively.
Aegon leaned closer to Gaemon and lowered his voice. "You think there's a risk of catching something?"
Gaemon burst into laughter at Aegon's cautious look, then slapped him on the shoulder and shouted, "Big brother, don't worry! These are premium girls—they're all thoroughly checked. Just relax and enjoy yourself!"
Aegon gave a wry smile and let one of the women curl up beside him, accepting their company.
Still, all he allowed was a massage.
Even he found it odd—how restrained he was acting.
Thinking it through, maybe it was because, although he'd gone from a common man to someone with wealth and power overnight, he hadn't yet had the chance to be fully corrupted by that power. Instead, he'd married early, and the weight of family morals had already settled on his shoulders.
In Aegon's previous life, family had always been a clear boundary for the common folk. A single man might indulge himself freely, but once he had a wife and home, those lines drew themselves naturally.
Gaemon, on the other hand, had grown up in a slaveholding society. He'd probably seen things most wouldn't encounter until much later—if ever.
As Aegon idly ran his hands over the soft curves beside him, he chatted now and then with Gaemon.
Based on how Aegon had carried himself during his wedding night, Gaemon had assumed he was the indulgent type. He'd seen many Dragonlord heirs throw lavish banquets, and when the mood hit a fever pitch, it wasn't uncommon for the evening to spiral into a full-blown orgy.
"If you're not planning to spend the night here, I'll take you somewhere else—somewhere you can really cut loose," Gaemon said, standing up with two women on his arms.
Aegon nodded, brought his two companions along, and followed Gaemon out of the tavern.
As they walked down the street, Gaemon pointed at various inns, brothels, and dye shops and shook his head.
"All of these—the taverns, the brothels, the workshops—they all belong to House Targaryen. But not for much longer. The deals have already been made with other guilds. As of today, the accounts are settled. Once the Dragon Taming Tournament ends, new owners will take over.
So while we can still enjoy them for free... let's make the most of it."