GoT: The Blessed and the Cursed

When Azaerys entered the meeting room, he found Ashara already present there with her little bluish-white dragon nestling on her shoulder.

The two men, one old, likely in his fifties, and one young, just over sixteen, were frozen in their place, staring at the Beast sitting on her shoulder in disbelief.

"Your Grace!"

The Knights bowed to him, and the three he had sent out on this Mission, knelt.

"We fulfilled the task you had assigned us. Horace Burnton and his son, Jack, are here. We also managed to convince the Pyromancers in Asshai to sell us the Eggs," spoke Ser Oswell, and Azaerys stepped forward to pat him on his shoulder.

"I never doubted that you would fail. Please stand." He said and then walked over to the table to look at the two blades that were placed on it.

One was an Arakh, something that the Horselords of today loved.

Arakhs were long swords, which curved at the end almost like a scythe and were meant to be used by both one and two hands by powerful and large men. What was unique about these swords was that despite their curved blade, they were double-edge swords, which made them very deadly to both the enemy and the one wielding them. Especially since they could not be kept in traditional scabbards due to their scythe-like curve at the end.

The other was a longsword, with a crescent guard, and a hilt that could be held with both hands even if you had slightly large hands. Of course, it was meant to be wielded by only men, not giants.

As for its blade, it was more on the broader side, exactly 39 inches long, not counting the hilt, which added another 11 inches to its overall length.

Both the blades were special, almost priceless if the person knew their value, and it was because these were Valyrian Steel Swords.

"The Truth of the House Rogare of Lys." He smiled as he wielded the longsword. "I wonder how it came into your possession." He finally turned to look at the Old Man, who was nervously looking at him.

"You are a Valyrian... a Dragonlord. Targaryen."

"Yes." He smiled and then drew the sword up, putting it dangerously close to the neck of the old man. "You haven't answered my question."

"Does it matter?" The old man frowned. "And would you believe it if I said that I found it in a place where a skirmish took place and everyone involved died in it? They were pirates."

"Oh." Azaerys drew his sword back. "And the Arakh?"

"It's been in my family for generations. I don't know where we got it from."

"I see." He nodded and then placed the Sword back on the desk.

"The two blades belong to me now."

"Only if you hold your end of the bargain." The old man frowned, and despite uttering brave words, he was scared. Not for his life, but for the life of his son. "I was promised the art of forging and reforging the Valyrian Steel, those that they keep secret in Qohor."

"Ever dabbled in magic?" The Young King asked as he leaned against the table and looked at him.

"Yes."

"Blood Magic?"

His question tensed up the old man, and he smiled.

"The Art they use is Qohor is a bastardised version. To make it work, they use Blood Magic, sacrificing young babes and children." He informed the man, whose face went pale at his words. "Still want to learn it?"

Not just the old blacksmith, but everyone else in the room was very uncomfortable with what he had just revealed.

"No." The old man sadly, but resolutely shook his head.

"Quite honourable of you to give up your dream because it goes against your morals. I am impressed." He chucked. "Very well, I will make you an offer, no negotiations, and I will only ask once."

The old man and his son both looked at him in confusion. Was he going to offer them money for these swords?

Just when Horace was about to shake his head to make it clear that he would not sell these swords, the door of the room opened, and two ladies walked inside.

Azaerys stopped and smiled when Lyanna approached the table and was shocked to see what was lying on it.

"Valyrian Steel?!" She exclaimed, picking up the Arakh, intrigued by its design.

"Yes."

When the door closed again, he turned back to the old man and continued speaking.

"Swear your lives to me and my house. From this day onwards, you and your son, and your future generations will work for the Hosue Targaryen. In return, I will teach you the Spells that are needed to forge the Valyrian Steel. Blood sacrifices will still be required. It is not possible to make it work without them, but you will not have to sacrifice any children. Any life will work. You can become an Executioner and take the life of someone who has been sentenced to death."

Everyone in the room surprisedly looked at him, and even the old man was having a sparkle in his eyes.

"Know that once you dabble in Blood Magic, since your Blood is not magical, you will lose your mind as time passes. You will go crazy and die the most horrifying of deaths."

These words poured cold water on all his hopes.

"Relax. There is more, which does not involve any Blood Magic. Since these swords and all the Valyrian Steel weapons and ornaments have already received their Blood Sacrifices, I know the spells you can use to reforge these items without needing to make any new Blood Sacrifices. You will not even require Drgaonfire for it. Say yes, and I will also give you your first task."

The old man gauged his expressions and then turned to look at the two blades and his son.

"You do realise that I can just have you killed and claim these weapons? These were not yours in the first place. They come from Valyria." He narrowed his eyes as he found the man taking too much time to answer.

"We accept." It was the son who spoke up, and the old man sighed as soon as he heard his decision.

"Good." When Horace nodded his head, Azaerys clapped his hands to congratulate him and then opened the door to whisper something in the ear of the Knight who was stationed outside.

The Young King then quickly walked over to the table, where Ashara was sitting, and opened the drawer to take out some papers on which some sketches were drawn.

"Can you make these?" He asked as he offered the pages to him, and the old man stepped forward to take a look at them.

The sketches were of two daggers and a Longsword, with their dimensions, and very detailed hilts, and the designs even surprised an accomplished blacksmith like it.

The weapons on these pages were just too beautiful and any blacksmith who loved his work and was good at it would love to create them.

"Yes." He nodded his head but then turned silent as he looked at the two blades on the table. "I will be reforging these blades?"

"No. I would rather not have you erase the existence of such beautiful weapons. You will be reforging something else. Ser Gerold will be here with it shortly."

And the Commander of Kingsguard knocked on the door after keeping them waiting for a while.

When he entered, he was carrying something in both his arms, which was covered by a red cloth, and when Ser Oswell quickly closed the door, the old blacksmith could already guess that it was something extremely special.

And sure enough, when it was placed on the table and the cloth was lifted, he and his son were stunned.

It was a shield, a large round shield, blackened, but unmistakably Valyrian Steel, and over 50 inches wide.

On it was the crest of some house, the old man guessed. Two Dragons flying headfirst into each other. Some Valyrian House? He wondered.

"A Valyrian Steel Shield from a fallen House of Dragonlords. What do you think? Will the material be enough?"

The old man gulped the saliva that pooled up in his mouth, his eyes already shining in brilliance.

"More than enough," he said, grinning now. "I could even forge a Great Sword out of the remaining Steel, or two Longswords. Even then I would have enough to create four more Daggers of the same size that you have shown me."

He was excited after he checked how thick the shield was.

Azaerys smiled at his words, knowing well that even after the calculations of the old man, there would still be more than enough Valyrian Steel for another Longsword.

"Good. I will draw you the designs of the hilts of two more Longswords, but first, focus on what I have asked you to do." He said and picked up Truth from the table, "Also, I want the symbol of my house on its pommel."

"It will be done, Your Grace."

"Show them to the forge, and if they need anything more, arrange for it." He said, and Ser Mooton immediately stepped forward to bow to him.

The two Blacksmiths and three Knight left with the Sword and the Shield, wrapped under the red cloth, and a small booklet, which Azaerys gave to Horace Burnton.

"Don't teach them to your son until he proves himself a worthy Blacksmith." He had told him when the old man accepted the booklet with trembling hands.

"Your Grace." Both the father and son knelt to him, swore their allegiance to his House, and he accepted their vows.

After the three men left, Azaerys turned to look at Ser Oswell.

"Did the Pyromancers make things difficult for you?"

"They were hesitant, yes. However, it seemed like they had already tried everything and failed to hatch them. They did negotiate more than what I initially offered."

"The cost of three Dragons?"

Both Ser Oswell and Ser Rykker laughed, shaking their heads.

"Far from it, Your Grace. Some gold and all the goods on a Trading Vessel. Fresh water, food, wine, meat, enough to last them a year."

"Ah, we made a loss." He sighed and shook his head, prompting everyone to laugh at his playfulness.

The two Knights left the room, leaving him alone with the three ladies, and a beautiful dragonling, who was walking on the table towards him.

"Hello, Starfyre." He scratched its neck when it climbed up his shoulder, and the Dragonling returned his greeting with a cute little cry.

"Where did you get that shield from?" Lyanna, who was holding back the question ever since the cloth was lifted off it, finally asked, and even Elia looked at him in curiosity.

"You know, you could have a Kingdom with that much Valyrian Steel." She commented, and he smiled at her words.

"I found it five moons ago, inside Stygai." He told them and watched their faces go pale in fear.

The Corpse City, which no one knew how old it was and how long it had been since its Doom, was not a place that even the vilest of creatures, Bloodmages, or even Shadowbinders dared to go into.

There were creatures there, Drgaons, and Beasts, long dead, long forgotten, yet still living, guarding it, and the wraiths...

"You don't plan on going there again, do you?" Ashara asked, looking quite restless, but she knew that what Azaerys meant by going into Stygai was his Dream-Walking.

"Not for the time being." He said then carefully moved Lyanna's hand away from her body. "Careful, it is Valyrian Steel. If it kisses your skin, it will cut, and cut deep."

The reminder tensed up the Stark who carefully placed the curved sword back on the table.

"Let's go. I am hungry."

He said to them, and before leaving the door, he asked Ser Gerold to store away the Valyrian Steel Arakh.

Oberyn Martell, Arianne, and his family were gathered together, talking to each other, and he smiled when he found Allyria, Rhaenys, and Aegon hugging their Eggs.

"You have already made your pick?" He asked, grabbing their attention.

"Yes!" Aegon brightly said. "Do you know what kind of Dragons these are?"

"These Eggs were laid by Dreamfyre. The ones that Elissa Farman stole from the hatchery on Dragonstone. So, they are Rhaelyx's siblings."

"Awesome!" The little Targaryen happily grinned, and Azaerys noticed the blush on Allyria's face as she looked at her Dragon Egg again.

"You don't plan on naming it after Viserys, do you?" He teasingly asked, and the girl looked at him in disbelief.

"How do you know..." She stopped, but it was already too late.

"Aww..." Ashara did not miss the opportunity, and soon Allyria and Viserys' faces were scarlet from all the teasing.