Fourth Moon 275 AC

  I always found that there was something about old castles that modern architecture from the old world failed to capture in any essence. It's like the sheer weight of time pressing down on oneself from all sides and angles. Dragonstone has that feeling in practical spades, add in the background magic seeped into the very stones... well it's a strange type of feeling. Centuries perhaps millennia of history in every blackstone, dragon gargoyle and tapestry. I've been here for a moon or so now and new secrets appear every day, how they weren't discovered beforehand is baffling. Perhaps my connection to magic is leading to the castle itself seeming coughing up it's secrets, serving them to me on a proverbial silver platter.

  Today it revealed exactly what I wanted... something extraordinary.

  I was in one of the lower levels, down in the deep labyrinthian bowels of the castle, a room that even the servants rarely visit. I followed this strange pull that I've felt ever since arriving on this dreary island. It started out small, just a small throbbing feeling... well it grew stronger as time passed. It's a persistent tugging feeling behind my breastbone, in my heart it's purpose appears to annoy me into following it's pull.

  As I said I followed it into the lower castle depths after dismissing any guards of course, I ended up in a shadowed corridor.

  Now this corridor ended in what appeared to be a solid stone wall, utterly unremarkable baring a small dragon carved into the rock. Alongside it there were Valyrian Runes scratched into the stone itself. I'd by this point passed a thousand of similar decorations, but there was one odd detail apart from the runes that caught my attention. It was the eyes. The dragon's eyes contained small shards of red dragon glass, they caught the light of my candle and gave off a faint crimson glow. I turned to the runes and found I was oddly able to read them.

  "Blood of the dragon." I whispered out loud, running my small hand across the dragons sculpted teeth. I ran it across the sharp edge and felt it slice through my skin, blood welled up coating the fang in sticky blood.

  The wall didn't slide open dramatically like you would expect from an Indiana Jones movie or a Tomb Raider game. No... instead the stone simply wasn't there anymore. It was as if there had never been a solid wall there before. A perfect and more importantly physical illusion that had clearly fooled generations of my family judging by how dusty the air was.

  The chamber itself was small, maybe fifteen square feet in total. It was lined with shelves upon shelves of leather-bound journals and the occasional strange objects, most likely magical artefacts. While the air was filled with the haze of dust it was odd that the books were not. It was like the room was freshly cleaned... as well as one can claim a medieval castle made using the blood of slaves and gods know what else. The room did not show what you would expect after centuries of disuse. Perhaps some kind of preservation spell is in play?

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Is it on the books and objects? Or maybe the room itself?

  Questions for later I'll wager.

  At the rooms centre stood a small writing desk, a single journal sat upon it unmarred by time itself. The journey had a kind of lock on it, specifically some kind of ward or rune that throbbed a bloody red in colour. A note sat beside it written in perfect High Valyrian.

  'The blood must be given willingly to open this book and my secrets, never taken. This is the first principle and the most crucial of magic, especially when using the dragon blood during rituals. Magic is your intent upon the world made manifest at it's core, blood magic doubly so.'

  I suddenly felt a slight chill went up my spine as I fed it the blood it wanted from my still wounded hand. I gently opened the book, it revealed diagrams of ritual circles, spells and certain recipes... all annotated. This was of course if you guessed no normal book, no it was a grimoire... a spellbook of the highest order. As I looked at the first page more closely... my breath got caught in my throat.

  Visenya Targaryen

  Visenya... The Warrior Queen.

  The dark sister to Aegon's comparatively bright flame. History remembers her as fierce, uncompromising and stern. A women warrior who wielded the Valyrian Steel sword Dark Sister with deadly skill and precision. She was the mother of a monster, and it's no doubt he became somewhat of what he became because of Visenya's parenting. Maegor the Cruel... a topic for another time. Either way, here before me was evidence of her other talents, ones maesters had clearly expunged from history. Or perhaps she only performed magic in secret.

  My hands physically trembled from my sheer joy as I leafed over the other volumes, briefly skimming over the words. Decades worth of research and information now at my grasp. Notes on dragon-binding, weather manipulation, mind suggestion, notes on long lost healing magics. Scattered throughout there were references to blood rituals that made my amateur experiments look like a child playing with sticks. Which, I suppose it's the truth. I'll freely admit to losing track of time, sending the servants in a frenzy to locate me so I was told later. I devoured this knowledge, all of it. Some would make the weak hearted skin crawl, others filled me with terrible excitement. This wasn't the fragmented trash of mistranslated remnants of Old Valyrian scrolls I'd been forced to rely on before. No, this was a practical and preserved system of magic from someone who seemingly mastered it.

  A sound from the outside corridor cut me from my dreamlike state... footsteps. I slipped the journal into my tunic... I'll visit again that's for sure. As I passed through the gap there was a strange shimmering and the solid stone wall magically reappeared like it never vanished.

  Ser Gwayne rounded the corner mere moments later, concern extremely evident on his face. "My Prince, we've been searchin for you, it's well past the hour of the bat."

  I smiled, the kind of innocent smile that came far too easy for my still young face. "I was exploring Ser Gwayne. The history here is really fun... it's a good place for hide and seek. Do you think we can play sometime?"

  He of course didn't notice the slight bulge of the journal beneath my cloak, nor the gleam in my eye... a dark gleam after all well everything is coming together now. Visenya's knowledge has changed everything, my timeline... my plans for the East. All of it now needs reconsideration. I wonder, what would Visenya make of me, a stranger wearing the skin of a dragon. Would she see me as a kindred spirit, a fellow sorcerer. Or would she see me for what I truly am?

  An interloper, thief of this body and a legacy that isn't truly mine because I shouldn't exist.

  Well it doesn't matter. The dead aren't here to judge. No the only thing she can do now is teach.

  It turns out I'm nothing if not an attentive student.

  ~ Aelyx