Chapter 27: The Passing Crowns and a Promise in the Sands
The long reign of Jaehaerys the Conciliator ended in 103 AC, ushering in an era where the Iron Throne saw kings come and go with a varying rhythm. Viserys I (103-129 AC), a kind but ultimately indecisive monarch, paved the way for the Dance of the Dragons. Then came Aegon III (131-157 AC), the Dragonbane, a melancholy king who witnessed the last dragons die, his reign a long shadow of trauma. His son, Daeron I (157-161 AC), the Young Dragon, briefly rekindled the spirit of conquest in Dorne, only to meet a violent end there.
His brother, Baelor I (161-171 AC), the Blessed, followed, a pious but impractical king whose faith led him to extremes. After him, Viserys II (171-172 AC), the wise son of Aegon III, ruled briefly but left a lasting legacy of reform. It was during his reign that a quiet, peaceful life concluded.
Princess Daena, the Beloved (d. ~180s AC)
Princess Daena, the daughter of Queen Aemma and King Viserys I, born into the chaos of a broken marriage in 105 AC and raised in the sanctuary of House Leywin, lived a long and peaceful life. She had flourished under the care of Ceara, Reynold, and Tesia, growing into a woman of quiet strength and deep wisdom, far from the intrigues of the Red Keep. In the quiet of the Leywin lands, she found love and purpose, eventually marrying her nephew, Viserys II (then Prince Viserys), a union that further solidified the peaceful ties between the Dragon's bloodline and the guardian of the Gods Eye. Her marriage brought a unique understanding and tranquility to the royal court, a quiet testament to the enduring influence of Leywin. Princess Daena lived well into her seventies, a testament to the life-saving boon of my healing coin, and passed away peacefully of old age, surrounded by her children and grandchildren, having seen her husband briefly sit on the Iron Throne.
The kings continued their succession: Aegon IV (172-184 AC), the Unworthy, whose corrupt and dissolute reign nearly tore the realm apart, followed by Daeron II (184-209 AC), the Good, who patiently undid his father's damage and, crucially, brought Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms through a diplomatic marriage, forever changing the political map of Westeros.
Then came the scholarly Aerys I (209-221 AC), followed by the warrior king Maekar I (221-233 AC), and his son, the beloved but unconventional Aegon V (233-259 AC), Egg, who sought to help the smallfolk. Finally, the short reign of Jaehaerys II (259-262 AC), who dealt with the War of the Ninepenny Kings.
The Shadow of Madness (Late 260s AC)
And then came the last era of the Targaryen dynasty's true power: the reign of Aerys II Targaryen (262 AC - 283 AC), soon to be known as the Mad King. Initially a promising young monarch, Aerys's mind began to unravel, consumed by paranoia, suspicion, and a growing obsession with wildfire. His tyranny rivaled Maegor's, though born of insanity rather than conscious cruelty. The peace Jaehaerys had built began to rot from within, poisoned by the King's unpredictable rage.
It was during these troubled times, as the whispers of the Mad King's escalating cruelties reached even the tranquil borders of the Leywin lands, that I felt a particular resonance, a subtle pull towards the south. The realm was unbalanced, and a specific thread of fate was about to become dangerously frayed.
A Promise in the Sands of Dorne
I went to Dorne. The land of red sands and proud, unconquered spirit, now part of the Seven Kingdoms, though retaining much of its unique culture. I moved silently through the scorching landscapes, my aetheric senses seeking the source of the subtle disturbance I felt.
In the sun-baked streets of a small, bustling market town, far from the grand castles, I found her. A young girl, perhaps five or six years old, with bright, intelligent dark eyes and the distinctive Dornish features. She was thin, her clothes simple, and she seemed to be lost, her small face etched with confusion and a hint of fear as she wandered away from the noisy market, searching for a familiar face.
Her name was Elia Martell.
She stumbled, scraping her knee, and let out a small sob. Instinctively, she looked up, and her eyes, wide and innocent, met mine. I had resumed a more human form for this venture, though my eyes retained their golden, cat-like slit and my presence radiated a quiet, ancient power. She did not recoil in fear, as most would. Instead, she simply stared, curiosity warring with her tears.
"Lost, little one?" I asked, my voice soft, calm.
She nodded, sniffling. "Mama… Papa… I can't find them."
I reached out, my hand glowing faintly with aether, and gently touched her scraped knee. The wound vanished instantly, leaving no trace. Elia's eyes widened further, not in terror, but in wonder.
"Come," I said, offering my hand. "I will take you home."
She took my hand without hesitation, her small fingers trusting. We walked through the winding streets of the town, my presence subtly guiding us, until we reached the grand gates of Sunspear, the ancient seat of House Martell.
The guards, initially wary of the strange man leading a lost Princess, instantly recognized the child. As I led Elia to the Inner Gardens, where the Princess of Dorne (Elia's mother, Princess Allyria Martell, or perhaps a ruling aunt) was overseeing a peaceful afternoon, I briefly unveiled a fraction of my true nature. Enough for them to understand.
Elia ran to her mother, who embraced her with overwhelming relief. Then, the Princess of Dorne, her face a mixture of concern and regal composure, turned to me. Her eyes widened, recognizing the immense power, the ancient presence that stood before her. She had heard the whispered legends of the Immortal Lord of Leywin.
"My Lord," she said, her voice filled with awe. "You brought my daughter back. We are eternally in your debt."
"She is safe, Princess," I replied, my gaze lingering on the innocent face of young Elia. "And she holds a thread of fate. Protect her. The years ahead will be perilous for all. This child," I continued, my voice imbued with a subtle, yet undeniable prophecy, "will one day meet great hardship, but she will also know compassion beyond measure. She is a child now, but she has met her saviour, should the darkest hour ever come."
I said no more, offering a silent nod, and then melted back into the shadows, leaving behind a bewildered but grateful mother and a small girl who would carry the memory of a golden-eyed stranger and a suddenly healed knee for the rest of her life. The final, terrible act of the Targaryen saga was nearing, and the fate of this gentle child, Princess Elia Martell, was tragically intertwined with it. My presence in Dorne was a silent promise, a subtle intervention, a prepared sanctuary should the storms of fire and blood inevitably rage again.