Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Chapter 428: Valsha’s Dragon

Viserys recounted his experiences battling the wights, sharing his worries and concerns. He also mentioned the Dragonbone Tower. Valsha listened intently, her expression calm but intrigued, as though she were hearing an entertaining tale rather than a plea for her involvement.

When he finished, she responded with a faint smile. “Interesting. But the Night King cannot reach me, and I trust you can mine enough Dragonbones on your own.”

Her smile widened, revealing a set of unnaturally white teeth. It was then that Viserys noticed a subtle change—her skin, once coarse and textured like poundstone, had turned smooth and pale. It was clear her magic had advanced significantly. If I can bring her along, he thought, our chances of surviving the Doom Ruins would increase dramatically.

He decided to press further. “But by then, the White Walkers will keep attacking Chroyane. Can you really hold them back? They’re already dead, after all.”

Valsha chuckled softly. “How I deal with the White Walkers is my concern. But don’t get too careless, Viserys. Failing to uphold our previous agreement wouldn’t end well for you.”

Halfway through her sentence, her piercing grey-green eyes flicked to his brow. Her smile faltered as her expression hardened. “And why,” she said sharply, “did you put that rubbish inside yourself? You’re forbidden from entering the Palace of Sorrow again with those things here.”

Her tone was icy, her displeasure clear. She crossed her arms over her slender frame, her voice firm.

It took Viserys a moment to process her words. Rubbish? She must have meant the souls of the Undying Ones he had absorbed and controlled. Her ability to detect them took him by surprise. Once again, Valsha’s power exceeded his expectations.

But her disapproval wasn’t his priority now. If she was confident in holding back the Night King, this angle wouldn’t sway her. He realized he had to change tactics.

“Fine,” he said after a moment’s thought. “If you don’t want to go, I won’t insist. As your friend, I should have spent more time here with you. But my advisers are still bleeding on the frontlines, and I must mine the Dragonbone as soon as possible. Forgive me.” He bowed slightly, his tone respectful.

Valsha remained still, her expression unchanging, as Viserys turned to leave. She didn’t say a word, even as his back faced her. It wasn’t until one foot crossed the threshold that her voice rang out.

“If you want me to go, you’ll stay here with me for another three hundred—no, five hundred years!”

Viserys froze mid-step. He turned back with a small smile but said nothing, silently rejecting her offer.

If I agree now, she’ll keep pushing her demands, he thought. After another polite bow, he continued walking.

“Two hundred years!” she called out, her tone more urgent.

Viserys paused again, his voice calm but firm. “Princess Valsha, if you truly don’t wish to go, I won’t force you. The Doom Ruins are incredibly dangerous. It’s not worth the risk.”

“One hundred years!” she said quickly, her voice tinged with frustration, as though she hadn’t grasped that bargaining further was futile.

Although Valsha had lived for centuries, much of that time had been spent in isolation. Her way of thinking was simple—childlike, even. In this moment, she seemed more like a teenager than the ancient sorceress she was.

Viserys offered no response, neither acceptance nor refusal. Valsha, oblivious to his silence, began bargaining with herself, unaware that her offers had already lost their leverage.

Viserys saw an opportunity and seized it. “Actually, there’s something I haven’t told you,” he began carefully.

Valsha tilted her head slightly. “What?”

“There are still living people inside the Doom Ruins,” Viserys said, letting the words linger for a moment. “And they’re from the Sennesta family.”

At this revelation, Valsha’s grey-green eyes widened. She reached up and tore away the strips of cloth covering her face, revealing a surprisingly youthful complexion beneath. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, and her cheeks still held a touch of baby fat. Though they had met before, it was the first time Viserys had seen her true face.

“Are you certain?” she asked, her voice a mix of doubt and anticipation.

“I swear on my unborn child,” he said solemnly.

This declaration seemed to strike a chord with her. The Sennesta family was infamous for declaring war on the Rhoynar Kingdom, a tragedy that had brought immense suffering to Valsha’s people. Years ago, a member of House Sennesta, also named Viserys, had sought Valsha’s aid in acquiring the gift of magic. Though she had tricked the family, her revenge paled in comparison to the devastation they had inflicted on her people.

Now, Valsha appeared torn. Her emotions flared visibly; the strips of cloth trailing from her moved restlessly, a stark contrast to her still figure. It was clear her grayscale had long since healed—those strips were no longer necessary. She had kept them only as a reminder, perhaps, until now.

Her movements stilled, and she fixed Viserys with an intent gaze. “You mentioned earlier that the Night King is actually from House Vystarion?” she asked suddenly.

Viserys recognized this as a pivotal moment. Though Valsha’s personality could be immature, her capabilities were formidable. Deciding honesty was the best strategy, he nodded. “That’s what he claimed, but I don’t know exactly what the Night King is. Maybe it’s an entity, or something else entirely. What I do know is that it’s parasitically living in Vystarion’s body.”

Valsha’s grey-green eyes seemed to ignite with purpose. Her chest rose and fell sharply as she turned away from him, heading toward the throne. Instead of sitting, she focused on the dragons that surrounded it. Under Viserys’s watchful gaze, she approached the largest of the dragons and climbed onto its back with practiced ease.

The four half-dead dragons, which had been emitting constant streams of gray mist, immediately fell silent.

Viserys took a few steps forward, his mind racing. As Valsha retrieved a blue cloak and draped it over her shoulders, he realized something extraordinary: Valsha could ride dragons. This was unheard of—she was not of Valyrian descent. The implications challenged everything Viserys thought he understood.

The dragon she mounted rose to its feet, its immense form towering over the hall. The other dragons followed suit, moving in unison behind her. Each was massive, measuring 18 to 19 meters in length, their grey scales glinting dully in the dim light. Valsha, perched confidently atop the leading dragon, exuded the aura of a general ready for war.

Outside the hall, Wealthbringer sensed the presence of the other dragons and stiffened. His golden scales rippled as he prepared for a confrontation, his body coiled with tension. His eyes locked onto the grey dragons emerging one by one, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled hot breaths of steam. His hostility was unmistakable, and it seemed he might pounce at any moment.