Arthur IV

289AC

The Vault proved to be as much of a treasure trove as I expected, more so even, with the enormous cache of Valyrian Steel weapons. Though it became increasingly clear that it predated the Targaryens entirely, being some sort of reserve vault for one of the Dragonlord houses.

The fact that this much wealth could be concentrated in what amounted to a colonial garrison fortress was terrifying in a way, demonstrating the ludicrous power Valyria possessed at its height before the Doom.

That said, I had to impose strict rules at the moment, no one who entered the Garden was allowed to leave the confines of the castle. Even Mother agreed. It was simply too much wealth in one place. Wars had been fought for less.

No, we would not fall victim to lax security, we would sit tight and take inventory until my father got back, then decide what to do from there, as the treasure was, by rights, his. Until then the castle might as well be under siege. Even the Ravens were kept under lock and key at my request. Any that came in would be taken care of here for the time being and not sent back to their masters. It might step on some toes, but we were not going to let a word escape these halls. It, unfortunately, put a stop to classes for a while, but that was the price of our security, and father was returning soon anyway.

Still, it was thrilling in a way just counting everything out. Enough Gold sat in the vault alone to fight a war, and that was in many ways the least of its treasures.

Seventy-two dragon eggs remained in viable condition. They were now being kept in the Dragonglass tower with my other more secretive holdings. They were worth little to us except perhaps in trade, but perhaps someday I or my descendants would discover the method raising them once more. Until then they would sleep in the most secure place I could find.

Then there were the books, which would likely help make that endeavor marginally less fruitless. Not a one was original, a marvel in its own right given how expensive copying books was without one of my presses, but then the Valyrians had slaves for that. Still, it was a remarkable cache, an ancient history long ago passed into myth was now made clear, albeit with a strong Valyrian bias. The real treasures were the dragon lore. The Valyrian methods for hatching, rearing, and keeping dragons, and more besides. There was even a book on their uses for architecture, twisting their fire into stone to create structures like Dragonstone itself. The Targaryens themselves clearly didn't know half of this shit, else Maegor's holdfast would probably look more like Barad-Dur.

Then came the armory. A thing of utter beauty and no less absurdity. There were no less than 47 separate items crafted out of high-quality Valyrian steel, including two sets of armor, four shields, and a helmet. The forty weapons were each a work of art in their own right, and while I would wait for my father's return to give them names, I had still held each one in my hand testing their weight, though most I couldn't properly swing.

In addition to the Valyrian Steel, there was a truly staggering amount of Dragonbone stored in a side chamber. Skeletons of Dragons great and small decorated the walls, and a good number of mighty wing bones had been forged into bows. It was almost a shame that they would soon be outdated by firearms.

Finally, there was chest after chest of luxury goods, stored in great stacks of uniform wooden boxes against the bottoms of the walls in both the side chamber and the main. Mirrors of polished gold, jewelry of ludicrous finery, indeed even a necklace of Valyrian steel encrusted with an enormous emerald and rows of pearls, fit for some warrior princess of old to wear. Valyrian clothing fit for the Dragonlords somehow preserved against the effects of time, apparel fit for the royalty of the most powerful empire in the history of the world.

Amongst them were several silk skirts that I planned to quietly sell off as fast as possible. The Valyrian style left little to the imagination, and I wished to see neither my sister nor my mother don the near-transparent clothing. Even if it did sparkle like diamonds in the torchlight.

Overall, I spent a good part of my next few days in that damp, cold vault, withdrawing treasure after gilded treasure from its depths. My mind racing through the possibilities it provided for both my family and myself.

Truly, I thought, I had been blessed with the luck of the Gods.

It was only on the day before my father returned that I noticed the curse that I had taken on in exchange for that luck.

It was then that the skin on the edge of my right shoulder blade began to turn a sickly grey and start to flake off. Becoming hard and stiff like granite.

Evidently, the Gods loved their jokes.