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031 Ashborn

The visions-slash-dreams were tricky to maintain. Greensight was not an inborn trait for me, but I could learn enough of it to peer into the past, and listen to the echoes of the futures that may be. Dreams, acted as a conduit for such magic, and one that I have had in the past was back once more, the white dragon shot with red veins, looking at me with a glare, judging me and finding me... lacking.

I did not sleep much nowadays; my body was filled with too much energy, and the short meditation was the closest I got to proper sleep unless something took hold of me and pulled me under.

Even then, a part of me was too wired to go into the depths, the same fear of drowning that all humans have to keep me afloat.

It was no wonder that my eyes shot open when I heard the yell of "Fire!" from Belle and tasted the distinct taste of magical energy in the air, its flavor matching that of fire.

A wave of my hand froze the flames. They still burned, but the heat stopped as the atoms stopped accelerating... before the fire, too, realized that it had died, leaving naught but hoarfrost covering the surface of the curtains. The energy that took the form of light simply dimmed the next moment, leaving once magical, now normal ice behind.

My eyes roamed, trying to find the reason for the fire. It was not me... I stopped setting things on fire on accident after the third or so time. It was not Belle; her affinity to fire came with a built-in safety to prevent such things.

Noticing the small orange glowing eyes in the corner under the drapes, I knew I found the suspect.

"So that is where it went," I muttered as I grasped the white serpent that crumbled into ash, leaving an egg in its stead. It's life bound to the fire that had been.

This was sort of on me... an accidental binding of a basilisk's soul to fire and ash to practice my Animation Charm was a good idea... on paper. Sure, my end goal was to create a giant flaming serpent ala Voldemort, but you needed to build up to that but application led me to a hole of Magical Breeding that I did not foresee.

One moment, you are controlling a moderately sized elemental serpent of fire and ash, and next, you have bred a new magical species and have an Ashwinder Infestation trying its best to set your house on fire.

The initial Ashwinder, the one crafter purely out of magic did not leave any eggs behind... but with a bit of Flame Freezing Charm and hatching the snake egg within a fire, I was able to combine the properties of the fiery snake animation with an actual magical body... creating a new magical species based on the bastardization of the Basilisk Breeding Ritual that in turn left eggs behind upon death... if only a few had not managed to escape their cage.

Let's just say that the whole fire protection that can hold back the Dragon Fire thing was put to the test over the last week, and no one was injured, apart from the Ashwinders, who were frozen solid before crumbling into dust.

Luckily, the magical fires the new Ashwinders produced, while strong, gave way to the magical cold I could impose over the area rather easily. Ice Magic was not my forte, and I seemed to be working twice as hard to get decent control over that specific branch of Elemental Magic, but it was worth the investment for its versatility.

I know I know... "bad Viserys," "be more diligent Viserys," "those things explode and catch the entire house of fire Viserys," for a seven-year-old, Dany was far too bossy for her good... probably something about being a princess. It was a good thing the entire house was already enchanted to prevent such things as fires.

The Ashwinder Incident at least allowed me to narrow down the way my Magic hooked itself to my own memories, knowledge, and expectations, both conscious and subconscious ones, given that I was sure Ashwinders were native to the Harry Potter Universe even if they would be related in some way to Firewyrms.

I sighed, as I knew that at the end of the day, Magic was not really a Science, and if an idea existed, it was possible to make it into reality.

Now that I was awake, I might as well get some of the work I was putting off done. Let's first do a full cleaning of the entire manor, though... again... just to be sure.

Focusing on the egg covered in hoarfrost in my hand, I could feel the potential... The idea of an infinite loop of a snake born from the fire, laying an egg that created the next fire for the next snake to be born.

I had the end goal of figuring out how to make Firewyrms, both because those were obviously not natural, being elementally aligned with fire and fitting in the same category of 'Magical' as the Dragons and Ice Lich Fae that were the White Walkers, and I had this feeling that Firewyrms were actually required for crafting Dragons of Valyria.

The logic for the Dragons that Barth proposed was not impossible in the end. His theory that the Dragons were bred from a combination of Wyverns and Firewyrms was definitely a possibility. The cockatrice, as I managed to narrow down with my research into Basilisk breeding, was possible if you hatched a snake egg under a chicken, and a fiery snake and a larger winged creature would, in the end, result in the creation of the Valyrian Dragons if I experimented long enough... even if that required me to have access to a Wyvern... or desire to hatch more dragons than I could safely keep.

There was also a strange allure to creating more creatures, like something in my very essence was compelling me to create more beings with magic.

Unlike the magical construct that I lost control of, the hatched Ashwinders were far more stable, even if their birth was linked to the fire that hatched them. They also left behind half a dozen eggs each for me to study, reproducing asexually at that.

It went without saying that Ashwinder eggs were useful for both Wand Cores and some of the strongest potions I had a passing knowledge about.

"Heading out without saying goodbye, lover?" asked Belle, posing naked on the bed. "or have you decided what to do with your little problem."

"Subtly manipulating the city into trying to drive me off despite the wishes of the Sealord is not what I would call a little problem," I countered, approaching Belle.

Poetress, a distant cousin of House Prestayn, had revealed a rather long list of 'offenses' meant to be against me that I had not even noticed before. It was concerning, given the fact that I was careful to avoid antagonizing the local nobility too much.

I had no idea how Belle had figured out that but she was learning from her mother and the Black Pearl had a rather large network of information brokers at her service. Given that they worked for me, I had nothing but praise.

After a month of spying through magical and mundane means, I finally had enough understanding of the plots against me within Braavos to put my hand on the scales. A month later, and I was finally convinced that I should just flip the board on those who wished me and mine harm. A message would be a start... now, I needed to do it in style.

But first, I had a lusty Mistress to sate. Coincidentally, I still held the Ashwinder Eggs, which were used in love potions and acted as aphrodisiacs... if you knew how to control the flow of magic that is.

---

I got this strange 'bad feeling' whenever I thought of moving to another city.

Morrigan told me it had to do with what she referred to as the Mists of Braavos, an enchantment woven by the Moonsingers and powered by the countless sacrifices made to the House of Black and White to keep the city hidden from being scryed upon through Glass Candles or Greensight.

It was sacrificial magic at its finest, even if it was relatively primitive compared to some of my own works... it was more powerful than anything I could bring to bear on my own.

It was... Old Magic... Ancient Magic. It was magic without a system, built over decades, centuries. It was wrought with sacrifice and willpower, changing the very land itself to make it accept that the magic was part of the world.

It was like Mystery, in a way, the ever-elusive concept that governed Magecraft in the Nasu-verse. It took years of effort before it took hold, and the 'suggestion' that a person gave to the world became a 'rule.'

It was not perfect by all means; my understanding of the concept came from the limited number of cases of such effects I managed to study.

It took me a few days of wrangling soul-stuff before I managed to take the original spell and build up from it. The end result was a more stabilized form of the spell, through the runes melted onto the surface of the bronze titan that stood watch over the city to the fires that burned in its eyes. A few Ashwinder eggs into the pits that made up the source of the fire, and I had managed to create a self-sustaining Magical Fire.

"Centuries of work and a boy of five and ten make all of us look like fools," muttered Morrigan, manifesting herself next to me.

"Don't be salty about it," I countered, as I waved my hand and made the guard watching not recall anything being said. "I only took what was already there and made it last longer and more powerful."

"Not... salty, as you say, rather, humbled," countered Morrigan. "To have a way beyond the sacrifice of hundreds, thousands over the years."

Yes, Gubraithian Flame, as I called it, was a tricky bit of magic to master, but once you mastered the Sun's Fires and studied the Ashwinders long enough, it was not impossible.

"Hmm... that only leaves one last thing," I said as I wrapped myself up with the light and disappeared from the view, replacing myself with a Simulacrum that would go through the steps of an elaborate ritual that did nothing to add to the finished work.

As I joined in the shadows, unseen by the naked eye under the enchanted cloak and Disillusionment Charm both, I headed to my destination that required me to have an alibi just to be certain.

Briefly, I noted that the Disillusionment Charm was one of the more complex spells I had access to... as well as the most useful one. Technically, it was an illusion upon the skin and the clothes of a person, making light bend around them. It was most useful when you did not move or when you cast it on unmoving objects. That was the basis of Invisibility Cloaks and why, as objects that had simpler motion, were easier to hide beneath.

The version that I was using was dubbed the Cheshire Mode since it caused my skin to become invisible. Seeing a pair of floating eyes and teeth was creepy, but I would have to turn on my Mage Sight if I wanted to go fully invisible. Seeing the world as the currents of Magical Energy was one of those things that required some adjustment, given the whole thing looked too close to what I would imagine an LSD trip would look like.

'House Prestayn,' noted Morrigan, not needing to read my mind.

House Prestatyn was one of the Noble Houses of the Braavos, one that I did not have too much interaction with. They were rivals to House Antaryon and had tried their hands in countering my power more than once or twice, failing most of the time in their attempt to remain subtle.

I had to give it to them; they were not stupid, at least, and never really tried something that would be considered against me overtly. Unfortunately, they were a threat now that Ferrego was under my control. The Valyrian Steel Ring I crafted with a single drop of my own blood granting me a backdoor access to his mind. The connection was useful to influence him and it withstood distance unlike any other method I found.

Invisible, I stood before the Mansion where most of House Prestayn lived. There were distant relatives as well, but the main trouble was within this house that was protected by people who could not see the end of their noses.

A bit of willpower had the children be sent off to visit distant relatives before the adults called it an early night. It was a bit early, but it was a long day... right? They certainly thought so once I was done with the compulsion.

By the time everything settled, I had already raided their mail, taking in some rather unique letters between the Prestayn Patriarch and a certain Cheesemonger from Pentos. If Ser Willem did not require medical attention almost daily nowadays, I would drop by to say hi to Illyrio... and by say hi, I mean flay him alive to extract all the plots he has cooking before killing him and interrogating him again... but I had more important things to do.

Fortunately for the Blackfyres, I had more important things to do, and the protection of the Mists worked to shield my workings from those outside, while the ones inside Braavos were pretty much cowered after hearing about the Fate of the House of Black and White.

I still had to occasionally deal with a Red Priest mind you, but freezing one's clothes solid while burning another's robes to ash without harming either at once had them confused enough that they left me alone. On the other hand, the House of the Starry Wisdom simply kept away after I added an Elder Sign onto the back of my Amulet of Protection, forged out of Valyrian Steel... and a bigger one on the door to the House.

Going back to the task at hand, there I was, standing in the middle of the Prastayn Library. I only spent time in the mansion because of the curious suggestion that Poetress had made about the first edition book called Lives of the Four Kings. Given that I had read the first part of Fire and Blood, the events that followed were ones that I was curious about, and an unfiltered version had the potential to reveal some secrets.

While I did not have a way to replicate the Duplication Charm, Geminio, I had come up with a clever alternative.

The Book of Mimicry took more effort to come up with than I wanted to admit. It was a simple spell, a Sympathetic Connection between the original and the book itself, bound to the ink to replicate the shape of the ink. The pages of the book were high-quality vellum, alchemically bonded with a potion that took on the properties of the Weirwood, causing the copied text to be a distinctly red color against a background of pure white.

I placed the spine of my book against the rare tomb, watching as the spell took hold of it. The variant Protean Enchantment bound the two tomes together as the contents of one on the shelf were replicated on the surface of the one I held.

A cursory glance did not show me anything interesting in the library before my eyes passed over one scroll... it felt... important.

"Dragon Charmer," I read the title, reading a poem about three heads of the dragon and blood magic.

I knew of the poem in passing; Morrigan had memories stolen about that from a Dragonkeeper during the Dance. Those memories implied that it was some sort of a spell of some sort sung by the dragon riders, potentially a method of training them from hatchlings through the use of the song, allowing for easier bonding. Whatever it was, I now had an actual copy of it in my hands.

I took out a parchment of similar size, the dried animal skin morphing to my will to take a similar shape. After a bit of modification, I had a ruined copy of the scroll that went back into the original place, while the actual scroll went into my bag.

The rest of the books did not survive the foundation collapsing, killing all the members of House Prestayn as they were crushed or drowned, being trapped under the rubble.

While I could have burned the place, that would be linked to me far easier than a rumble of earth, and I was conveniently busy, working another grand magic to protect Braavos, paid rather well by the Iron Bank and the Sealord combined.

With another enemy gone, I could probably relax a bit... even if that bad feeling in my stomach did not go away.

---

Once home, I decided that I would make use of the last Ashwinder Egg I had before I bred a new batch.

Heading down to my workshop, I sent a mental command to Huan, who joined me, before heading to one of the workbenches that was covered with a large fur.

Huan gave a curious sniff at the fur before me.

Hidden among the chests of furs that the Slavers had somehow managed to acquire along with slaves from the Lands Beyond the Wall, there was a cloak made from Direwolf fur that I had claimed to study its properties.

I spent time with the fur, slowly attuning myself to the soul signature in the event that I needed to take control of a Direwolf or something of that nature. I did not trust the Stark Children, given their behavior in the show, and a counter would work well, given that I knew it was possible for a Greenseer to force themselves to disrupt the bond between a dragon and a rider for a short time.

And if my understanding of how close the soul of a Direwolf was to a human, then residual spiritual resonance would lead to some trouble. This world did not need that type of werewolf, along with all the bullshit it had.

The insights I gained, however, allowed me to take a normal Wolf Pelt and treat it with a potion of knotgrass, mixed with blood and ash of both the original body the skin came to and the new wearer of the skin. It was through combining the insight from the Direwolf skin and the magic of the Faceless Men that I managed to create the Werewolf Belt I gave to Wat the Brains.

The Belt was not the hardest thing I had crafted, though mass-producing it was not likely to work. The way magic seemed to slip off of Wat's mind was hard to replicate, even for me.

I did not dare to use the same method to make a belt with the Direwolf pelt... therein laid danger I would rather not try my hand on. I had a distinct feeling that if I tried it, the effect would be permanent and potentially linked to the phases of the moon, and I learned to trust my instincts; thank you very much.

Now that the fur was virtually useless apart from the 'status' wearing it would bring, I wanted to gift it to Huan in a more permanent way. Ironically, the ritual itself was based on the Werewolf Belt in turn... though far more lasting.

While a human wearing the Direwolf pelt would create a Werewolf of some sort, I was counting on the malleable nature of Huan's soul.

Faceless Men themselves used a Valyrian Steel dagger to create a shallow cut on the face of the user, a cut that was less about damaging the skin to let the blood flow and more about damaging the soul to allow it to bind better with external souls. My own ritual to increase my soul mass used a similar concept, the 'damage' increasing the small threads formed that the soul would bind to.

The process was such that the user could wear any face once the first one was made for them, and they were sufficiently attuned to the magical process. The last stage, which was called the Mask of Many Faces, came when the Faceless Men gained so much experience that they could physically transform their face at will, though I had no idea how to achieve such a thing without years of repeated use.

Consuming the heart of the animal provided a form of internal binding to the external binding of the skin, locking the transformation into place. Huan had already gone through the process to improve his smelling abilities with those of a fox.

The lack of a direwolf heart led to me using a wolf heart and wolf skin along with the process, essentially adding the smaller wolf over the dire wolf fur.

The potion I made acted as a way to bind everything together. It was both consumed and applied to the inside of the fur, though I played around with the original recipe of wolf heart, knotgrass, and ground bones of the wolf, adding Ashwinder Eggs to the process.

Something about Ashwinder Eggs and Magical Wolf resonated as far as materials were considered, and one of my more obscure methods of divination, using Water Scrying on the Pensieve, gave me the name 'Eduras' of all things.

Beneath the skin, the flesh felt hard as stone... literally.

It was somewhere between physical petrification and the petrification spell I had access to, acting practically as a less contagious version of the Greyscale. While my Latin was relatively limited, "Duro" was a spell I was familiar with that showed similar results, and I could use the process to effectively replicate the results that I observed on Huan.

The good news was, my dog was now the size of a small horse and practically immune to swords, given the stone flesh his body seemed to transform into.

One unique effect, however, was the reaction between the normal wolf pelt and the direwolf pelt. The best way was that Huan's size slowly started to shrink, his size becoming closer to that of a normal wolf, which was smaller than his original form.

It was a form of Transformation, Enlargement, and Reducement Charm if I recall correctly.

"Fascinating... though now I am curious to know where does the mass go?" I muttered in amazement as Huan cocked his head in question. Scratching behind his ear as I watched him wag his tail in happiness. Huan was a good boy, once capable of becoming a horse-sized half-dire wolf with stone for flesh when he wanted to be, but he was a good boy.

---

"It is not working," complained Dany, looking at the partial transfiguration of the bird that was halfway between a goblet and a bird. It was funny seeing a goblet with wings trying and failing to fly.

I looked up from the parchment that I was working on, inspecting the end results of Dany's spell-work.

Transfiguration was one of the funkiest bits of Magic I had run into. It was not exactly full-on morphing the shape and material of an object, which was what Transmutation was all about.

The best method I could come up with for Transfiguration to work was the use of illusions to make reality think that an object was, in fact, another object. It was at least the insight I gained from the way that the Eduras Potion worked or how Huan became larger than he could possibly be. It was all an illusion, one that was so convincing that the Universe was convinced to be the truth.

"You are trying to make the bird into a goblet," I said, flicking my wand to reverse the transfiguration, "You should instead be trying to convince the bird that it has always been a goblet and layer the illusion over it to make it so."

My initial conclusion of the object's shape, image, and essence was not really off. The similarities of shape helped, while the image was simply the illusion that was placed over it. With a matchstick to the needle, the image was implanted on the organic material and stuck, but when you involved more advanced animals, partial success was expected.

The principles of Transfiguration were a cobbled together one, reverse engineered from the Transfiguration curriculum of Hogwarts, some bits and pieces of Alternation and Projection Magecraft from Nasuverse. Instead of convincing the world that the object was, in fact, another object, you convinced the object itself that it was the other object.

Matchstick to needle thought control over spellfire, how to not make the spellfire burn the target while layering a simple illusion upon the wood. Since the wood lacked a will of its own, it was easy to change into an object of similar size. The next step was Animate to Inanimate Transfiguration, which, while tricky, was straightforward, as the illusion had to be sustained by the target instead of by an outside force.

In that regard, it was overly similar to the final stage of the Faceless Men training... the skill that I called Mask of Many Faces. Over time, the Faceless Men grew proficient enough in the use of faces to transform themselves so that they could change into any face they wanted instead of relying on the skins of those they killed. The skins helped, bringing the memories and the insight to impose the Transfiguration, but they were not really needed once you understood, stopped caring about having a face you called your own, and got used to the process of changing it. It did not help protect them in the method of their death, but the Kindly Man was right in a way; you only needed to puff up your cheeks to change your face... in a manner of speaking.

"The bird must think it was a goblet and impose its own soul to sustain the enchantment, resulting in the sustained glamour," I explained, "It is as much about mind arts as it is about illusions, so creating mental links and similarities always help."

"Is that why most changes rely on alliterations or puns?" asked Dany, noting the main aspect of why certain transfigurations were done before others. "Beetle to Button makes sense, as well as the porcupine to pincushion, but mice to snuffbox is hard to get."

"It is because mice like to snuff around," I explained, knowing that it was not the most straightforward concept, "And bird to water goblet is as much about the shape and function of their beaks and legs and their similarity to goblets as the fact that birds gobble water. The bird does not understand the difference, but you do, and you can impart that bit of your insight into the animal with the spell."

"Their essence remains the same," I nodded, "but unless they are damaged a lot, to the point of death, their form will be sustained. They are still alive, though, so they will starve and die if left as a goblet for long, and the transfiguration will break. Why don't you try again?"

"Other spells do not work that way," complained Dany

"Don't they?" I asked in turn, holding my wand and creating a floating bloom of fire. "It is fire, yet it exists because you pull on the memories of the obsidian, of the fires of the world. The fire is not there, but the idea of it is... and ideas hold power. Charms just hijack the nature of change within the fire to create different changes. It imposes a new functionality to the target and uses the fire to layer an illusion to make it change."

"But it does not last long..." countered Dany

"No, the essence... the very being of an item knows what it is, it remembers, and it does not agree with what it becomes. Stronger the Essence, or the Soul, less mutable it is... both for charms and transfiguration," I said, trying to explain as best as I could. Dany was already aware of the Alchemical Philosophy of Essence, Spirit, and Body, and nothing from my observations suggested that it was different. Could it be further split up? Probably, but I was not going to go around experimenting with my soul more than I had to.

"But the Essence must agree with the Spirit, the Thoughts and Memories of the target. It is why Animate to Inanimate comes before all; you are pushing the animal to think it is something else, and the result lasts so long as the creature believes it is the new object," I added, getting a nod from my sister. "It is why Ashwinders and Basilisks have their own magic; the spells are wrought into their very soul as they are hatched," and it was why Ashwinders I bred were more resilient and actually bred more Ashwinders while the ones I conjured with magic did not.

"Alright, I think I understand it better," said Dany, taking a deep breath and scrunching her face in concentration before muttering, "Vera Verto."

ThThe spellfire hit the bird, and a moment later, there was a goblet where the raven stood. It looked like it still had a few feathers, but it was definitely an improvement over the previous attempt, and it held.

"Good job, little sister," I said, causing Dany to give me a beaming smile before she inspected her work and frowned, "Nothing repetition and some more trial and trial and error cannot fix," I said, getting a determined nod from the seven-year-old.

I was not really an expert in this branch of magic... but I had managed to get to the point where I could turn a pig into a piano. I was trying to get pig-to-pillow working, but the weight difference was stumping me. It might be better to switch gears, so to speak, and try to figure out the next step, Switching Spells.

I focused back on my own project, the complex Arithmancy I was trying to figure out. It was Math if math was multi-dimensional and worked to account for your mood while doing it. I only did it because more complex ritual circles took care of most of the mental load from the caster and made everything much easier, even if any mistake would cause the purpose to be thrown off-course.

There was also an aspect of it that was personal. The knowledge of Arithmancy of the caster guided the spells they cast, similar to how the Toad-Basilisk took on the form of the one from Dark Souls or how the Ashwinder was so willing to become something that I was familiar with or expecting as a result.

That was how the divination aspect of the numbers actually worked in a way. Spells formed influences that caused feelings linked to numbers. When I cast my version of Human Presence Revealing Charm, the "Homenum Revelio," and got an overwhelming feeling of separation, I knew there were two people near me, but if I also had the feeling of oneness, that meant that the number had to both hold the Arithmancy for one and two, which likely meant that there were instead eleven people all around.

In the end, Arithmancy was also a more stable form of Divination than simple feelings, so when it came to stuff that exploded, I had long since cobbled together a system that kept everything stable-ish. I still would not do something with just the Arithmancy to account for since there were aspects other forms of Divination could utilize, but the combination of the methods worked better than individual aspects.

In this case, the ritual circle I drew from ink mixed with animal blood on the animal skin caused the vellum to bubble and slowly morph before it tore itself apart and burst into violet fire.

"Ventus Glacius," I muttered as the air around the parchment turned cold enough that hoarfrost formed over my desk and sucked out all the heat, putting out the fire in an instant.

Dany looked up and raised an eyebrow before breaking down into giggles.

"Eyebrow?" I asked, getting confirmation that I was indeed missing an eyebrow between the sound of laughter. I waved my wand, regrowing the eyebrow with my will alone.

"What was it anyway... I saw your work on it but never seen it do anything like that," said Dany, leaning over to inspect the Magical Symbols on the parchment I had started to draw once more.

"It is Magical Contract, a Geas that will make the signer's blood boil if they break the contract," I stated, having based it off of the tattoo on my forearm that somehow bound me to Morrigan. It allowed me greater control over the spiritual entity that was more than the soul of a Greenseer, but it was also pushing me to do things I normally would ignore. If only I could leverage it for my own use. "Ideally, the same principles can allow one to store spells in scrolls for later use, but... it is a work in progress."

Dany nodded before returning back to her Transfiguration work.

A moment later, a knock came on the door, only for the door to open with a soft "Alohomora." I turned and looked at a smug-looking Dany, turning her wand back to the bird-goblet that had returned back to being a bird.

"Good job, though next time, I expect you to cast silently as well; it is a valuable skill to have and helps with control," I said, reaching out and ruffling her hair.

Dany nodded as Lanna entered, looking at us with a proud grin. "The Stirring Rod for the Potions works like we thought it would," Lanna stated, placing the thin obsidian rod that was twisted clockwise.

I considered myself perceptive, though I would admit that it took a moment to realize that there were a lot of stains on Lanna's clothes, and her hair looked far too unkept, which was odd considering her obsession with keeping her hair tidy. She must have been spending hours working on... obviously potions, it would seem.

I inspected the item, one that Lanna had come up with when she and Dany were complaining about the logic behind why stirring in one direction boosted the magic of the last item while the other direction reduced it or even reversed it... or rather why it was random and not reliable.

"Good job," I said, having told Lanna to figure it out and test it with the help of Morna. Given the latter had a Weirwood Mask that acted as a form of stable divination and danger sense, they were much safer than the stupid number crunching I was doing could provide.

I felt an overwhelming feeling of relief from Lanna, making me reel back a bit. I pushed just a little further, passing through the feelings she felt to trace them back to the thoughts that passed through her mind.

Lanna was smart... she had noticed how things had been moving, realizing that I was preparing to leave Braavos almost at a notice, and she was afraid of being left behind.

"Dany, could you give us a moment, please?" I said to Dany, who nodded and got up. Once my sister left the study, I turned my attention to the blonde before me. The raven was also a part-time water container followed after my sister, though not really willingly until I mentally pushed it the promise of one of the choice cuts for dinner.

"I gave you a challenge, and you overcame it," I said once the door closed, trying to think of a way to reassure the girl that she would not simply be left to fend for herself. After a moment of silence, a... feeling came over me, and I placed the Rowan and Basilisk Horn Wand on the table, along with a sack of coins that I kept in one of the drawers.

"The wand is working for me," I stated, as I saw Lanna give it a look of confusion, "but it feels off... these violent delights have violent ends... a bard once said... I killed the basilisk whose horn made this wand... the same creature that I hatched with magic. Place your hand over it, and tell me what you feel."

Lanna did as she was told, closing her eyes and feeling the wand, her hands hovering over it. "It remembers the betrayal," noted Lanna, "It feels... sad."

I had crafted the Basilisk to provide a core, but it was not a material that I held any form of affinity to. I had killed the Basilisk and taken its horn as my wand core, and that act had tainted it for me. I was its creator twice over, yet I was also its destroyer, its killer, its bane. The Right of Conquest, if it was truly a thing, made the wand mine, but like any under the control of a tyrant, I faced resistance from this wand. There was... simply too much distrust between us.

"Why bring such a thing up, my lord... would a potion help with it?" asked Lanna,

I snorted, "Possibly, though it is not why I asked you. The dragon bone does not make for a good core for you; it has more to do with the affinity one has as well as one's heritage, hence your lack of affinity to such wands." I said, confirming that Tyrion was, in fact, not the son of Aerys. The heterochromia and white blonde hair were still a bit suspicious, but I was pretty sure the Imp of Casterly Rock was not related to me in any way.

It made things better since I could kill the meddling dwarf without any social or supernatural repercussions when the time came. The show-Tyrion was a drunken idiot who was responsible for the failures of Dany's early campaign, and the book-Tyrion was a drunken rapist who fantasized about raping his own sister and sent off a teenager to cause as much chaos in Westeros as he could. He was the type of arrogant who liked to say they were smart even when they were a fool. Killing him was probably the best option, though I would have to see if I could do it discretely.

"This wand is not made from Dragon Bone," remarked Lanna, her mismatched eyes not breaking from me.

"No... it is not," I agreed.

It might have been foolish to give such a wand to Lanna, of all people. Some might argue that giving a wand that I personally betrayed might be a way to get betrayed in turn, but the wand was not the basilisk; it was a rebirth of the basilisk, a new life that recalled an impression of the old life.

Magic... soul magic that the wands worked on was closer to the essence of acts than the actual acts. The Basilisk was betrayed in the same way as Lanna was, with their creator throwing them away. That created a resonance deeper than anything I could mimic with another material. It felt... right in a way I could not put into words.

"Why?" asked Lanna, understanding the trust I was placing in her.

"I will tell you a story... it concerns a proud man," I said, telling her the story of Tywin and his rise to power, of Tyrion and Tysha and their marriage. I told her the truth as I knew it, that Tywin had Tysha raped, that he forced his own dwarf son to rape the girl at the end, paying her with coin and getting rid of her... only for Tysha to make her way to Braavos and becoming the Sailor's Wife.

By the time I was done, Lanna was shedding tears, unable to stop listening, unable to interrupt. It was a cruel thing I did, but certain truths had to be revealed.

Lanna was barely ten, but the medieval world was a cruel one where rape was common, and justice was an illusion unless you had the strength and will to enforce it. That was without mentioning whatever the Alchemist had done to her or what she had witnessed with the other children who died in that basement.

"Now, you have a choice... with what I have taught you, you can probably curse and even kill all the Lannisters... if so, you ought to take the coin here. It is the same coin that was given to your mother as a man raped her. It should be enough to book you a passage to Lannisport," I said, giving her a choice before I could trust her to teach anything more.

"And the other option?" asked Lanna, her mind simply dismissing the idea. She seemed set on staying close to me. I could feel her fear at the thought of being dismissed and not being close. I was not sure it was the most healthy expression of her trauma, but it was what she was using.

I pushed the wand toward her. "Swear your wand to me; your enemies will be my enemies, just as mine will be yours... and when the time is right, Fire and Blood."

"And what is the difference?" asked Lanna, relieved at the option to stay close and also confused. "Lannisters are your enemies as well."

Was I manipulating her, giving her an illusion of a choice... probably. I was not going to let her stay if she wanted to leave, but her own doubts and insecurities meant that I would have to make it look like she was the one making the choice.

I chuckled at that, knowing it to be true, "Sharp as always, but I have more enemies, and I can teach more to you. It is that opportunity to choose that chance your parents did not have, and your fate is only in your hands."

Lanna nodded, thinking it through.

"And you knew... all this time, you knew, that I was a Lannister,"

"I did," I admitted, leaning back. My left hand held four Valyrian Steel Rings, each with a different gem that would allow me to cast with a versatility second only to a wand.

"And you still saved me, shielded me... the blood of your enemy," whispered Lanna, her voice barely audible as revelation slowly came. "Why?"

"You were innocent," I admitted, looking her in the eye, "whatever your grandfather has done... you had no fault in it; when I looked at you, I saw a girl who was in need of help... so help I did."

Lanna blushed before nodding. "What about you? Will you not need a wand?"

"I don't need a wand to cast magic," I stated, knowing that there were certain things I could not have for what was coming, what I was waiting for. A wand was one of those.

Having access to the Basilisk Wand for over a year was useful, even if it was not compatible. It's magic allowed me to refine my abilities to be better, but I had one of those 'Feelings' that told me that having a wand going into what I planned was going to end badly.

It was almost time I finally finished what I started when my wand was destroyed, and an alternative wand that did not really fit me would make it harder.

Lanna reached for the wand, uncertain but fully understanding the meaning behind the gesture of owning such an item. She had my favor and my trust.

I could feel the wand sing a melody... soft hissing in a tone that sounded like the cymbal of a drum set, vibrating at the roots of my teeth.

"I swear myself to you, I name you my lord, Viserys of House Targaryen, upon my blood, my life, my soul," stated Lanna, as magic around us shimmered in the Unseen. "Your enemies are mine. Your friends are mine. Your will is mine."

The tip of the wand released a smoke that took on the form of the basilisk its core was made of, coiling itself down the wand and around Lanna's arm. We both watched, mesmerized, as the smoke sank into her skin and almost bound itself to the wand and the oath she gave.

"Before you leave," I said, pointing at the sack of coins, "It is yours at the end... I was just keeping it safe for you,"

"Melt it down... please, my lord... that coin is useless to me," said Lanna. "House Lannister will end, and the Legacy of Tywin will be a legacy of ashes, and I shall help you with that."

I nodded, taking out the single golden coin and throwing it at the eleven-year-old girl with the maturity of a grown woman.

The rest of the coins, thirty pieces exactly, I placed on the desk.

Spellfire leaped from my ring, answering my call without a wand there, as I slowly traced a Magic Circle in the air made of fire. It was a trick, one that some of the Red Priests could do, used for a more proper purpose instead of minor parlor tricks.

The circle formed a pentagram; the five represented transformation, the alchemical balance of the five elements upon reality. It was often used in things like summoning circles, as the conceptual value of the sign echoed through the subconscious.

This was the difference between Transfiguration and Transmutation; even then, this was the weakest form of transmutation as I channeled the heat through the silver, melting it and letting it flow with my will.

Slowly, the silver blob changed shape, taking the form of a dagger with a thin triangular blade, a spiraling hilt, and a crossguard made up of a single piece that would be impossible to forge.

"Silver has its uses, and might be that inherited silver even more so..." I said, recalling some other works of fiction, "but the gold is for you to keep."

Lanna took the dagger I made, "I recall one of the stories you have told my lord, the one about the ferrymen of the dead. I shall return this to my grandfather... for his ferrymen," said Lanna, bowing. "For a Lannister always pays her debts."

"They will," I said, smirking.... "With Fire and Blood, they will."

---

I did not have to wait long for that feeling of dread I was getting, the unease I was feeling for the last few months, to reveal itself.

In my new life, I had been cut, burned, and poisoned more than once. Most were, admittedly, by my own hand, but some were from the hands of others who wanted me dead. Magic, Mind Arts, Potions, and a shit ton of Baezor got me through it all... helping remove both physical and mental damages, yet none of those pains felt or tasted as bitter as seeing Ser Willem lying there, unmoving.

None hurt more than seeing the lifeless body of the closest thing I had to a father... my helplessness against the cold embrace of death... the numbness that came after.

"His bones should be returned to Darry, as is proper," said Ser Richard, eyeing the funeral pyre I had constructed on my own.

Dany was crying next to me, her face buried into my shirt and I... I could not offer any words of comfort.

'Don't waste it,' echoed his words of the Old Man... 'Don't waste my life... use it to gain as much advantage as you can. I care not if I live, I will die today or tomorrow, it matters not... but I shall not be fed to a cruel god. If it can protect you or your sister, if it can save you one last time... I am willing to die a thousand deaths... as many as it takes.'

"As many as it takes..." I repeated his last words to me, my silent tears landing on his chest, "Careful what you wish for, old man; I can make them real," I said with a sad smile before turning to Ser Richard. "I... I will honor his wishes," I said instead, my voice cracking as I took a deep breath to hold myself upright.

Ser Richard hesitated, before he sighed, knowing that this was something he could not change.

There were many things I could have done with the soul of the one who was most loyal to me. I could have resurrected him, though the Cancer was tricky to work around and had long since spread. Creating a homunculus out of his blood would not work for similar reasons.

I could have built a golem of some sort, taking a few pages out of Elric Brothers to bind his memories and soul to a construct, but it would not be flesh and bone, and it would not be more than an Automaton.

One of the lessons Morrigan taught me was simple, 'The soul needed flesh to evolve, and flesh needed soul to live.'

Any other choice I could have made would be temporary, fake, or not the best thing I could provide in terms of magic. It would not last; as the spells would fade, the soul would diminish, and Ser Willem would forever fade.

It was maybe fate that the one option I considered last was the only one that I knew would grant the man who loved me as a son the eternity he deserved, beyond the reach of any god... even the Many-Faced One.

Morrigan was silent, the apparition of herself projected only to my eyes watching silently... not interfering.

The Ritual I had designed was one that made use of some of the more complex aspects of Magic. I was... on par with the Sun Fire Ritual I used to kill the Faceless Man, a 'Grand Sorcery' as I referred to it, a combination of Thaumaturgy and Sorcery, though the end result would be less destructive and more... utilitarian in purpose.

Poisons and plots hounded me at every step as I held the Ashwinder egg in my hand, knowing that what I was about to do was not only possible, but something was pushing me to complete that which I started.

I had to admit, most of it was me making it up as I went along, listening to both my blood and my feelings, that subtle form of Divination that had let Dany hatch dragons from a funeral pyre in another world... in another time.

The location of the ritual was chosen specifically, the site of the Dragon Well that had been formed from the volatile potions, containing the conceptual meaning of a dragon, would act as the site to power this ritual. It was away from the city of Braavos and out of the prying eyes... as well as a deep reserve of raw Magical Energy that I could tap into should the need arise.

"Two heads to a third one sing," I muttered in High Valyrian. "The price is paid in blood magic."

For a Dragon, that was a horse and a human sacrificed in a fire, as Dany had shown, a mount for a mount, a life for a life.

I was not hatching Dragons, however... I was going to be doing something similar, if not much more foolish... a madness without a peer in this world, to call upon greatness without equal... something more lasting than dragons ever could... for dragons could die, and dragons could go extinct.

It was said that Magic died when the last dragon died... I was doubtful of such a statement, though I was going to ensure that Magic was coming to stay after this... more permanent than before.

That required far more, and the Basilisk and Human provided that. The power of entropy folded into the essence of a Basilisk, reversed in it's death, combined with the soul of the one who was loyal to a fault.

The white raven, specked red with flecks of flame that came with each beat of his wing, had my mind whirling as he landed upon the chest of the dead man. The once black feathers, now white, stood against the background, but when I looked... when I truly looked beyond the Seen and into the Unseen, I caught a glimpse of feathers of red instead of white.

Alchemy, proper Alchemy, not the limited perception this world had, which boiled down to chemistry with added magic, had a single goal in mind... Magnum Opus, the Philosopher's Stone. It was a path to eternal life and the ability to create the Panacea that would heal any wound or illness.

According to my meta-knowledge, Philosopher's Stone was made up of souls used to fuel the spells in one universe, and based on my understanding and observations of Alchemy, it was definitely possible... but that was not the point of this specific ritual.

There were stages to the Magnum Opus, three to be exact.

Nigredo, the Darkening, and Putrification came first, a black smoking raven.

Albedo, Whitening and Purification, a large white bird with embers from each flap of his wings, was next.

Rubedo, the Reddening was the last... an eternity in the form of a fiery bird, immortal, a being that held the secrets of the panacea, it's song to heal the soul and it's tears to heal the body.

Since my start on the tricky road of Magic, I have seen some patterns; chief among them was the nature of Ritual Magic.

Sure, there was the simple aspect of stacking your end of the ritual with as much as possible to gain a stable result, materials, enchantments, runes, glyphs, and shapes to pull on the right Arithmancy and made-up incantations to resonate with it all. That was Wizardry at its core, knowledge compiled and laced together into a stable form.

There was also another aspect, the one that was affected by who you are. Magical Fire came naturally for Dany; Magic came naturally to me, just as I could still feel the Sun Fire that was hidden beneath the surface. That was Sorcery, what you are affecting, and what was through your willpower.

But, Rituals were as much science as they were art... as much Sorcery as they were Wizardry. It was a form of symbolic poetry that I found strangely enthralling. I now understood that The Sun Fire Ritual worked not because of the steps I took but rather because it was me casting the spell. Viserys Targaryen... the Sun Fire... the man who had lived past his death, with affinities of 'Magic,' 'Survival,' 'Fire,' and 'Amplification.' I worked because of who my enemies were as well, a group dedicated to suppressing the knowledge of Magic... ones who had led to the destruction of Valyria.

Of course, that could also be my latest affinity in 'Poetry,' which worked rather well with ritual creation, I had to admit. I had slept with the Poetress for that specific purpose, though a threesome with two of the most beautiful women on the planet did things to my ego; it was her affinity to 'poetry' and how close it was to 'rituals' that was both confusing and intriguing, as such I desired it possibly more than the thought of bedding another girl.

Deep in my memories came another bit of information that I found relevant. Loki, the God of Magic, had once said that Magic is telling a story so convincing that, for a moment, reality believes it.

There was poetry in Magic... I took out the remaining ashes of my first wand as the Firebird watched me. The bond within was special, its value immeasurable as the bond I held with the knight before me. Both were my first shields, and both were my first swords. It was the reason I gave the new wand to Lanna, knowing that it would interfere with the process I was enacting.

I placed a raven egg in the center of the ash pile. "Egg and Bird, Bird and Egg... Fire and Phoenix... Phoenix and Fire... Which comes first?" I chanted in High Valyrian, the Magical energy swirling around me.

Valyrians had a concept of Phoenixes, though it was in the same way that Dragons would be to Westerosi. However, instead of a bird reborn from its own ashes, the Phoenixes were reborn by entering the pyres of the dead. It was intricately linked to the blood magic and the understanding the Valyrians held to it.

Combined with my new understanding of Fire and how to create an everlasting flame, I had everything at my disposal, including the final pieces.

The corpse of the Basilisk wrapped around a raven egg in a way that it was eating its own tail... representing the Ouroborous and the infinity. In life, the Basilisk was the breaking of the infinite cycle of chicken and egg; in death, it was the start of a new one... It's corpse restarting the eternal cycle anew.

There was power in opposing forces... in the meeting of ice and fire... life and death... and death and rebirth.

There was poetry in the relationship between a Basilisk and a Phoenix... the eternal enmity that existed beyond reason the two Magical Creatures.

A Basilisk was the opposite of the Eternal Cycle, as an egg becomes something other than its parent. It was the end of the cycle, a break from the philosophical discussion of chicken and egg. It was why Basilisk Gaze could kill, why its venom was so potent that I could not even contain it without significant risk... but it was also why a Phoenix was the only counter to a Basilisk.

The old legend of the Basilisk being vulnerable to the crow of the rooster made little sense, and in application, it was rather fitting if one relied on the relationship between the sun and the roosters.

More so, the basilisk eating its own tail reinforced the ritual I had designed. It was an irony, forming an Ouroboros that represented infinity through the corpse of a being that was in essence the end of infinity. Just as a Phoenix was anathema to the very concept of a Basilisk, so was the symbol of it's corpse for this ritual, holding the symbolic meaning of the rejoining of the break into the cycle. What I was creating was something new, something more... an eternal cycle with no end but a single beginning. 'And now, eternity begins.'

My blood... my soul called for this... this ritual that was as much Sorcery as it was Wizardry and Witchcraft... a Ritual so closely tied to my identity that it could not be crafted or enacted by another... my own very unique Sorcery, an innate magic that came from my very essence, my very soul. My name binding me to the Sun, my knowledge of Magic, my connection with Death... my Rebirth, purpose-built to create something that ought not to be, a Fantasy brought to Reality... my own rebirth brought forth into creation... into a single being.

Without a word, flames leaped from my fingers, the Sun's fire blooming as the spell burned off the glove of snakeskin, leaving the rune of the Deathly Hollows bare before the world. I felt it, the concepts the rune held... 'Death' holding back the untapped fires of creation. In flames, I felt something touching my mind, looking through my soul... judging me.

Sun Fire did not burn me, as it had done before, as thought it understood what I was doing. The golden flames consuming the funeral pyre made of Weirwood and Nightwood, arranged from North to South, and East to West.

As the fires of the sun burned the body of the man who had been most loyal to me, I felt the Magic around the area be pulled.

"It is incomplete, it is missing something" noted Dany, as though in a trance, looking at the pyre and refusing to look away despite her tears. I frowned as I let my mind see through the time itself. Greensight would take longer to master, but Dany was right.

"Yet the signs are there," said Morna, walking toward us. "Look,"

Her finger was pointed at the horizon, the start of a red line appearing.

"That should not be doing that," I muttered, not recalling if the red comet had actually been on the horizon in the original timeline of these event. Turning to my sister, I met her eyes and for a brief moment, glimpsed at what she saw.

Dany had a specific affinity, 'rebirth', and I knew that the creation of mine would require it as much as it would require the 'sun fire' that I now held.

"Together?" I asked, interpreting the Divination as best as I could.

Dany hummed, her feeling of unease vanishing as the decision was made. Seh closed her eyes in response, listening... or trying. "It is like a larger version of the fire exercise."

Fire Exercise, as I called it, was the variation of the Lorathi Candle Game I reverse-engineered from the descriptions of in from the books... or was it only show specific? The purpose of it was to improve control over fire and it required a second caster. Both sides 'pushed' their control over the flame, in an effort to not burn. The one with the greater control was unharmed and one with lesser control was burned... or at least, that was the original purpose. I had managed to figure out that Dany and I could use it to build our control and strength, sort of like a resistance training that would push each other to greater power.

"He was there when no one else was," I said as the fires reached their zenith, feeding on my loss, feeding on my pain. "He was the one who went beyond his duty. He was not of the Kingsguard, yet he shamed all who had Kingsguard with his loyalty... he was not of the blood, yet he was more true... when my family needed it the most... when I needed him the most... Ser Willem Darry was there."

"When you most need it... There is a song..." I whispered as a crack echoed through the golden flames... echoing through the air in a warmth that was impossible not to hear. "And now... the circle begins anew."

I gave Dany's hand a squeeze, as we both took a step into the funeral pyre.

---

I came to with the sun, my right hand giving a brief twinge at the presence of the link it held to the giant ball of flame. I was holding Dany close to me, as though to shield her from the funeral pyre.

A flex of my will had the ash rise and weave itself into two grey robes around us, when I heard the soft chirping sound. Dany revealing that she was holding onto a small chick between her dainty hands.

"Born under the Bleeding Star," someone said... Richard, I recognized once my brain caught up.

I looked at the sound and saw the few men who followed us to pay their respects on their knees.

And for the first time in an eternity, the song of the world changed. The bird that never was, that never should be, that never would be, was reborn from ashes, its cry filling the air.

It sang a new song, the song of a bird that ever will be.

And I felt Magic roiling off the Phantasmal being, the Phoenix. I felt Magical Energy rise with each of his tiny breath... and I was filled with both hope and dread at once.

AN: I am back from my scheduled study of Barrel-mancy, which may have affected some of the direction of the next chapter, so thank you for your patience.

I am not sure why there was a sudden spike of Fried Chicken related fics in this site, but it fits with the theme so, I dedicate this chapter to those beautiful minds who wrote those stories... and all those HP fics where they turn Hedwig into a Phoenix without an actual explanation other than, it is cool.

Farewell, Ser Willem, the Most Based Knight in the History of Westeros. As far as the names are concerned, I am going for Will the Phoenix for now, but I can be convinced if I run into a strong argument in the comments.