293AC
He stood at the edge of the shrine's steps, for only the priests were allowed to set foot within, and watched the clouds go by across the windy sky. The heady scent of incensed smoke filled the air around him l, and he toyed with the nine long braids that hung from the back of his head. One for each of his years as a Magister, but in that time he had only fought one war. A short-lived thing over the cadet city of Norhoyhos on the shore. It had been battle with Lorath, now ostensibly their ally against Volantis, who as in ancient days wished to swallow them all.
Their eldest sister had bit off more than she could chew this time it seemed. Though she had allies on the Demon Road and her own large cadet cities to call up levies from, she still could not hope to war against all eight of the other cities at once. Even an army from Westeros was coming, to lay waste to the last of the dragonlords who found there.
Still, Volantis had strength enough that it would be a great war, with many prizes to be won, perhaps a cadet city for himself? The thought was appealing, and entirely within precedent, if he could demonstrate himself properly he might become the ruler of Selhorys on the Royne, which was nearly the size of Norvos itself, and larger than Lorath, though far less prestigious.
He came back to himself as the High priest stepped from the temple doors, his beard white with age and dragging along the ground alongside his hair. Arnio quickly fell to one knee, placing his right fist on the ground, as was custom.
The High Priest stood over him, casting his gaze down through his black eyes as if searching for any weakness. He would find none. Arnio was strong and powerful, taller than most men, and with his red-dyed hair rising in carefully greased spikes from his head that would fold down on each other then he wore his helmet. His mustache was necessarily short, but interwoven through it were bands and bangles he had taken at the battle of the rock-beach. After a long moment, the high priest nodded. "Rise, child of Norvos."
He did as he was instructed, rising to his feet, as one of the other priests lifted the newly anointed Long-Ax from its pillow. It was a beautifully made thing of Valyrian steel, forged at the founding of the city, and it belonged to the office rather than its current wielder. It was only taken up by the Magister General in times of war, and it gave him right to lead the city's armies, and more impressively, the Holy-Guard which made up its elite component. The Priests lofted the weapon carefully, holding it above his waiting hands as the High Priest closed his eyes, speaking a short and silent prayer.
"Go then, Child of Norvos, and find victory for your people."
Arnio nodded sharply as he felt the unnatural lightness of the weapon he had held once before. "For Norvos and our God." He said, and the high priest nodded, before sending him from the temple courtyard, and down into the city below armed now as well as any man in the Free Cities.
It took him three weeks to organize supply routes. Boats commissioned to carry food and lumber down the Noyne to where they would be joining with their allies from Qohor, fifty or sixty leagues north of Selhorys. There they would wait for the army of Lorath to arrive before besieging the cadet city.
The hope was that the Volantenes would be unable to respond with their forces tied up fighting the triarchy in the Southern Disputed-Lands, but if their gaze did turn northward the combined force ought to be able to meet them on the battlefield. Indeed, as he looked out over the assembled host of Norvos alone, some fifty thousand men which stood in lines before her gates, with five thousand being long ax-wielding Holy-Guards, and another two or three mounted warriors from amongst the nobility, he felt reassured that even this army alone ought to be able to contest the hosts of Volantis, and there at least this many more on the way from Qohor and Lorath.
As the fifty thousand looked to him, riding high atop his mighty warhorse, his hair-cloak blowing high in the wind, he felt that this was what he had become a general for, not putting down rabble, but leading great hosts of men to war. He placed his helmet down over his head, feeling his heart begin to beat with excitement as he raised his ax into the air above him and the marching drums began to beat.
He took a deep breath into himself, opening his throat to project his voice, and then, with all the fury of a bellows, he shouted over the crowd.
"TO WAR"
The cheer that returned was equally deafening, men stomping, spears shaking against shields, hunting horns blaring.
'Yes…' Arnia thought as he turned his horse about to trot at the head of the great host of Norvos. 'To war.'
286AC
She held the candle in front of her face, the light flickering back forth just a little bit in the muggy evening breeze. It was boring staying inside the cart all the time, but Mother told her to never stray from it while they were on the Demon road.
She hadn't seen any demons on it, only lots of men an women in chains, marching back and forth in great caravans. Sometimes Grandmother would stop and talk to the men from the caravans and lead them in the faith of the Red God, but mostly they left them alone.
Mother said the men from the caravans would snatch her away to be sold at the flesh markets if she strayed from the cart without supervision. Even her brother, the wretch, was allowed to sleep inside the cart while they traveled the road. It irked her that he was allowed the privilege, for he smelled greatly of mule-dung and dirt, and she had to share a blanket with him, but that was selfish, and mother said that the Red God disliked selfishness, so she quieted her tongue.
Instead, to distract herself while mother and grandmother spoke with others, she took a candle and brought it close to her eyes, staring into the flames with the silent prayers on her lips that her mother had taught her.
The flames flickered and burned, and it felt as if all the other light in the tent began to disappear at least to her senses, as she was drawn into the red world of the flame.
She found herself lying beneath a great tree, though everything was cast in a fiery hue. She was looking up to the sky, and amongst the branches of the tree, crows squabbled, cawing at each other and hiding to their branches. She felt a boiling breath at her shoulder and turned to see that it was the head of a long sinuous dragon, a creature of deep purple and black, that seemed to flicker in the fire, its horns were black and fiendish, and its eyes a burning red. It coiled about her shoulders like a snake constricting its prey.
Her eyes turned back to the tree, as one of the crows flew to a branch, and tore out the heart of one of its fellows with its beak, swallowing it down. The other crows recoiled in fear, all save one small and dark, which chased it from the tree, dueling it in the air, but it was smaller and weaker than the murderer, but the murderer did not remain triumph for long, as a hawk descended from the heavens, crushing its body between his talons. The predator glared down at her for just a moment, it's sharp eyes matching her own, and the dragon beside her growled, snorting fire from its nostrils.
The hawk flew into the clouds above and dropped the murderer down towards her, but with a swift bite, the dragon ate it, the crows above all recoiled once more, fleeing the tree and abandoning it. Leaving their nests unprotected.
A noise started to sound in the vision, a sort of harsh and heavy breathing, that seemed to break the vision apart as it all fell back into fire and nothingness.
She felt an odd sensation, pulling her back from the fire, and after a moment where her head felt very odd, she found herself back in the cart, her legs feeling a little strained, and her hands clamped in a death grip around the candlestick.
The noise which had broken her vision was her brother across from her, snoring loudly, and at the sound, she felt anger flash through her veins. Here she had been having her first true vision, her first gift, and connection to the Red God, and her worthless brother had to go and ruin it.
Enraged, she brought the candle into his face, and he awoke with a great shriek as his flesh was burned, his cheek scarred by the fire.
She realized her mistake too late, her brother awoke in a fury, and even with his emaciated form he was so much bigger and older than her, his eyes were as wide as saucers, and burning with anger as his hands closed around her throat tiny throat, pinning her to the wood of the cart with an inarticulate growl of anger and bitterness.
He looked mad and half-feral, and it hurt, it hurt so much that she couldn't think anymore. She tried to scream, to call for her mother, but she couldn't breathe and-and-and…
When Daenerys awoke, it was in the arms of her mother held against her bosom. "Oh… dear dear girl…" her mother said, stroking her hair gently in her hand. Her neck still hurt, but it wasn't the overwhelming, unthinking pain it had been before, and her mother's touch soothed her, promised safety and warmth. "Don't worry… Don't worry… he won't hurt you anymore. You won't even have to see him again, not for a long time."
She wanted to ask what her mother meant, but the woman only pressed a finger to her lips.
"Hush now… don't talk, your Grandmother has taken him away, she will be gone for a while, but we will continue on to the east, until we can find a boat to take us across the sea, all the way to Asshai, you want to see Asshai don't you?"
Daenerys nodded, Grandmother had spoken of Asshai of the wonders to be seen there, and of the greatest temple of R'hllor.
"Good, good." Her mother said, playing with her hair. "Rest now, little dragon. Sleep until morning."
And so, sleep she did.