Last True Remnant of Old Valyria

Daeranyx POV

Mounted atop our shaggy unicorns, I rode alongside Lord Stane, Lord Magnar, and their heirs, Eldred and Jorah. The thunder of hooves echoed across the clearing as we closed the distance to the raiders. The men of Skagos trailed behind us, their war cries building like the howling winds of winter.

One of the raiders, clearly more desperate than wise, shouted something in Low Valyrian—a tongue I understood but none of the Skagosi did. "Kill the leaders, and the rest will scatter!" he cried.

I couldn't help but chuckle at his ignorance. What a fool.

The raiders, emboldened by his words, scrambled into a line, shields raised and weapons braced. But they had misjudged the beasts we rode. The unicorns of Skagos—hulking, shaggy, and crowned with sharp, spiraling horns—were more than capable of breaking their ranks.

The first man to meet me fell in an instant. My Valyrian steel sword carved through his crude armor as though it were cloth. Blood sprayed, but there was no time to dwell on it. Another raider charged toward me, only for his shield to be impaled by the horn of my mount, sending him sprawling.

Lord Magnar's booming voice roared over the din of clashing steel. "Don't let them scatter!"

The Skagosi surged forward, cutting off any hope of escape. For a moment, I was fully immersed in the chaos—steel flashing, shouts of pain, and the cries of dying men. My sword danced, cutting through the poorly armed raiders with ease.

Then disaster struck.

A spear came from the side, piercing deep into the flesh of my unicorn just beside my leg. The beast reared, bellowing in rage as it thrashed at the enemy. I barely managed to dismount before it could throw me off. The ground felt jarring beneath my feet, but there was no time to hesitate.

My instincts screamed.

I twisted just in time to avoid an axe meant to take my head. The air hissed as it passed, far too close for comfort. The raider who wielded it bared his teeth in a snarl, raising the weapon for another strike—only for a Skagosi blade to cleave into his neck before he could bring it down.

The man's head didn't come off cleanly. The blade lodged halfway, leaving him to collapse with a guttural, choking sound. I ignored the sickening sight and pushed deeper into the fray.

The battle was a blur of movement and blood, but as the chaos began to wane, I found myself face-to-face with the last of them—a larger man with a scarred face and a predator's gaze. He held his sword with steady confidence, the look of someone who had survived far worse than this.

"If I'm to die here," he growled, voice like gravel, "I'll take you with me."

He lunged.

He was fast—faster than the others—but not fast enough. I caught his blade with a sharp parry, twisting my wrist to redirect the blow and step inside his guard. My sword sang through the air and drove into his ribs. Clean. Precise.

He staggered, eyes wide, blood bubbling from his lips as he dropped to his knees. The fight was over.

The clearing fell into a tense, heavy silence broken only by the labored breaths of the Skagosi men and the crackling fires on the shore. Overhead, Anarion circled like a shadow, his pale wings blotting out the dim light of the sky. He let loose a piercing cry—victorious and absolute.

Lord Stane approached, wiping his blade clean against the tunic of a fallen raider. His chest rose and fell with exhaustion, but his eyes gleamed with triumph.

"A clean victory," he said, though his voice carried the weight of the moment. "No losses. Only glory."

I grinned, running a hand through my hair to brush away sweat and grime. "I promised you, didn't I?"

He returned the smile. "Yes, you did... my King."

His words rang with sincerity this time, spoken not as a formality but with conviction. The title no longer felt foreign—it felt earned.

Around us, the Skagosi men were already looting the bodies, stripping the raiders of their armor and weapons—tools of better craftsmanship than what they themselves carried. There was no shame in their scavenging. In Skagos, survival demanded practicality.

Lord Stane raised his sword high, his voice cutting through the aftermath.

"For Skagos!"

The words were picked up like wildfire, spreading through the men until the entire clearing echoed with their chant.

"For Skagos! For Skagos! For Skagos!"

Even Lord Magnar joined in, his earlier doubts buried beneath the adrenaline of victory and the sight of Anarion circling above.

****_****

"And yet, you placed your trust in an outsider and bent the knee in a single day, without even knowing his true intentions for our home. And here I thought you were one of the wisest Lords Skagos had ever seen," Lord Magnar said, his voice heavy with disappointment and disapproval. His son, Jorah, stood beside him, mirroring his father's stern expression.

Lord Stane scoffed at the accusation, leaning back in his chair. "Then tell me, Magnar—what would you have done in my position?"

I sat quietly, observing the exchange. Lord Stane had already recounted our earlier conversation, the one that ended with his oath of fealty. From the moment Lord Magnar entered the solar, I'd been searching for any advantage I could use to win his allegiance.

So far, it was clear I'd made the right choice by approaching House Stane first. Lord Stane possessed the sharp mind and ambition his fellow Skagossi Lords lacked—qualities that led him to bend the knee when he recognized the opportunity I represented. He saw in me the chance to achieve the prosperity and security his people had long been denied.

Lord Magnar, however, was a different kind of man. A warrior through and through, he lived for the clash of steel, the rush of battle, and the revelry that followed. Had I arrived with an army at my back and crushed him in open combat, he might have bent the knee without hesitation, seeing me as a man worthy of his respect. But circumstances had dictated otherwise.

There was one other path—one that didn't require armies or duels. One that could earn his loyalty without shedding Skagossi blood.

Lord Magnar's voice broke through my thoughts. "I would have refused him," he declared, his tone as heavy as a hammer. "I would have fought him with all my strength and that of House Magnar. Better to die on my feet, a free man, than to kneel and drink with him in my hall on the same day."

Lord Stane's expression tightened, clearly frustrated by what he saw as Magnar's stubbornness. He glanced at me, silently asking if I had something to say.

I didn't hesitate. "And you would have thrown away the lives of your men," I said, my voice cutting through the tension. "All to satisfy your thirst for battle. You saw Anarion. He would have turned your forces to ash before you even raised a banner."

Magnar's eyes flared with anger. "War demands sacrifice, boy. Men die—it's the way of the world."

His words only confirmed what I already knew—he was a warrior, but not a thinker. A man like Robert Baratheon, who saw glory in battle and little else.

"No," I countered, my voice sharp. "From your perspective, maybe this is war. But from mine? It's not even a battle. Your words, your struggles—they would have been scattered like ash in the wind with just one word from me."

Magnar's hand twitched, as though he longed to draw a weapon and strike me down. His son, Jorah, looked equally incensed, his jaw tightening at my words.

I pressed on before Magnar's anger could erupt. "But I didn't come here to make enemies. If that's what I wanted, we wouldn't be having this conversation." My voice softened, but my conviction did not waver. "I chose Skagos to be my home because my own was destroyed. I've sacrificed more than you could imagine to build something lasting. I've given the Targaryens—who were once too weak even to serve my family—what they needed in exchange for Skagos to be free from the Seven Kingdoms. And now I'm here because I can't make Skagos great alone."

I leaned forward, meeting Magnar's gaze. "For that, I need others I can trust—people who will fight alongside me and protect this land, our home, when I'm not here to do it myself."

For the first time since he entered the room, Magnar's anger faltered. It didn't disappear entirely, but there was a flicker of something else—perhaps understanding.

"You've got a silvery tongue," he said gruffly. "I'll give you that. But words aren't enough to sway me." He rose to his feet, towering over the room. "First, we deal with the Crowls—the arrogant bastards who dare to call themselves kings of Skagos. If you can prove yourself in that, then maybe, just maybe, I'll consider bending the knee."

With that, he turned and strode out of the solar, his son Jorah following closely behind.

I leaned back in my chair, releasing a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Lord Stane gave me a knowing smile.

"You're one step closer," he said.

I nodded, but my thoughts were already shifting to what lay ahead. From what I've heard, I don't think the Crowls would kneel. I believe they would be a demonstration of my strength—a clear show of what awaits anyone who defies me. I guess you can't have it all, as they say.

What do you think of the chapter? And give me some ideas on how to uplift Skagos.