The White Dragon - The third Trial begins. (Patreon)

Aemon Targaryen, Near Italy – Mediterranean Sea

The ship glided through the clouds swiftly. According to Lorenzo’s directions, the island should appear at any moment.

Aemon stood on the deck of his ship completely lost in his thoughts, his robe moving with the icy wind of the sea, although thanks to the Stark blood, for him it was only a soft and comfortable breeze.

As Rossana’s father had promised, a full regiment of battle mages from Nova Roma accompanied them.

“A knut for your thoughts?” Rossana asked while walking toward him.

The beautiful witch wore a robe matching Aemon’s, tailored to her form with the most exclusive fabrics and the most beautiful embroidery. The young dragon prince knew the garment was enchanted to resist the harshness of the weather, and even so, the cold October wind had her trembling with cold.

Aemon looked at her for a moment before returning his gaze to the clouds and answering.

“It has been a long road. The final ring before unveiling the Targaryen secrets in Midgard. Every day my return to Vanaheim comes closer… and I find myself cautious,” Aemon said honestly.

Rossana did not judge him. She simply nodded and wrapped her arms around Aemon’s waist, resting her head on his shoulder in complete silence.

An intimate gesture from the princess of Nova that, until a few months ago, would have seemed unthinkable to the young sorcerer.

But much had changed in these past months.

Unlike the second trial, in this one only Rossana and Tonks would accompany him. The rest of his witches had responsibilities in their respective schools, and until the moment of the ritual he had to keep a low profile.

It was already bad enough that he was missing his entire final year at Hogwarts after all.

But there was simply too much to do, and there was nothing the professors had left to teach him.

At least nothing within Hogwarts’ curriculum.

He was certain Flitwick could still beat him senseless in a wizard’s duel if he truly tried.

“Are you ready?” Rossana asked.

And Aemon did not know how to answer, although he understood perfectly what she meant.

Finishing the third trial and obtaining the final part of the Targaryen ring would mean he stood practically at the threshold of returning to Westeros.

And once he returned…

The rules would change completely.

The magical world was… far more civilized and advanced. People were educated to levels that would make a maester look like a useless incompetent, and Aemon had no problem admitting that he had grown accustomed to it.

Even softened a little.

But…

Westeros would be a completely different experience.

Returning meant entering a brutal world filled with suffering and agony, where human life practically had no value.

And although it was within his plans to make drastic changes about that…

First he would have to commit many atrocities before seizing the power of the Iron Throne.

No pressure, Aemon thought with evident tension on his face.

A tension Rossana clearly felt, as her hands began to massage his shoulders gently while she placed soft, sensual kisses along his neck.

Aemon sighed at the pleasant sensation, although he knew perfectly well that the clever Italian was doing it to distract his mind from his turbulent thoughts.

Something he appreciated.

“That… that feels very good,” Aemon said softly.

Rossana continued as if she had not heard him, sliding one of her hands down his chest until reaching the young dragon’s groin, making Aemon inhale in surprise.

The prince turned his head to look at the bold witch, but Rossana did not give him the chance to speak.

“EVERYONE BELOW DECK, NOW!” she ordered firmly.

Her voice carried such power and authority that no one hesitated even for a moment.

The Vallens soldiers descended quickly accompanied by the squadron of Lycants, leaving the regiment of Veelas for last, who looked toward where Aemon stood with obvious envy and desire.

Within seconds the entire deck was empty.

Leaving Aemon and Rossana completely alone.

The dark-haired witch wasted no time and positioned herself before the young dragon, grabbing him by the collar and kissing him with passion and unmistakable desire.

Aemon sighed in pleasure while his hands instinctively moved to Rossana’s beautiful waist as she continued kissing his neck softly.

“It is the duty of any respectable witch to share the burdens of her wizard,” she said, nibbling his neck playfully and slowly breaking down Aemon’s defenses.

With a sigh, the young dragon replied.

“Do you remember what I told you… about the brief conversation with my father?”

Rossana nodded softly while continuing to pamper him.

“He mentioned something… about a wife,” Aemon said, sighing in pleasure when Rossana gave a playful bite to his neck while her hands roamed his body.

“Oh… are you already thinking about new additions to your collection, dear? I must admit I am curious about the kind of women that exist in this… Westeros,” Rossana said with amusement while sliding her hands inside Aemon’s robe.

Aemon shook his head.

“It’s not that. It’s just that… my entire life I thought I would never have a wife, and now…”

Aemon did not finish speaking, letting out a sigh when Rossana dragged her tongue slowly across his neck.

“Now you have pussy to spare. It is not a big deal, dear. All powerful sorcerers in history have always had legions of witches at their service. That only proves how exceptional you are,” the dark-haired witch said firmly as her mischievous hands moved lower.

Aemon simply closed his eyes while Rossana slowly knelt before him, caressing his abdomen and legs gently.

“It’s just that… the last thing I want is to leave problems. That the children I have with you fight with the children of the others over a stupid metal chair,” Aemon said, confessing his greatest concern.

The words of Catelyn Stark still fresh in his memory even after years, comparing him again and again to the Blackfyres.

However, Aemon’s intrusive thoughts vanished the moment he felt his trousers disappear.

Making him forget about the Tully bitch and the past.

And focus on the present.

On his woman.

“What are you doing, my little troublemaker?” Aemon asked with amusement, grabbing Rossana by her beautiful hair.

“Mmmm helping my man relax. Can’t you see?” she replied naturally, using her magic to vanish Aemon’s trousers, leaving him wearing only his robe as the cold sea air touched him.

But before Rossana could continue…

An unusual sensation invaded both their bodies.

And judging by the Italian witch’s reaction…

She felt it too.

The same sensation from the second trial.

Valyrian wards.

“It seems we have arrived,” Aemon said as he looked over the edge toward the enormous island below.

From the air, the clouds gave way to an enormous and frankly terrifying island, a dark stain in the middle of the sea, surrounded by an irregular coastline of black rocks and small beaches where the waves crashed with constant violence.

There was a surprisingly high number of shipwrecks, from wooden ships to imposing and terrifying colossi made of metal.

How the hell was it possible to make metal float?

Aemon did not know, but that had become his top priority. An iron or steel ship would be an incredible advantage in Westeros, to be honest.

Even from this height, it was clear that the island was extremely dangerous.

Aemon even swallowed when he saw what looked like a massive back emerge from the water for a moment before disappearing again.

The land rose almost immediately from the water, forming abrupt hills covered with dense and wild forests.

Between those forests natural cracks opened and narrow paths twisted inward, following the ancient wounds of the mountain as if they had been deliberately designed.

Perhaps they had been.

Because the entire island seemed to revolve around a single place.

The central mountain, which dominated the landscape completely.

From above its steep slopes could be seen clearly, formed by jagged rock spires and irregular cliffs that looked as if they had been torn apart by time itself.

From the heights of those rocks several long and brilliant waterfalls were born, descending at different levels down the mountain.

The water fell in white threads cutting through the dark stone, gathering into streams that eventually disappeared among the forests before reaching the sea.

From this height, the waterfalls looked like silver scars opened across the skin of the island.

And at the very top of everything, dominating the world like an ancient crown, rose the Mausoleum.

That mythical place that would only remain on the island for a few hours before disappearing for another year.

No pressure, Aemon thought.

The temple was clearly Valyrian, very similar to what the books in Winterfell described about Dragonstone.

It occupied the highest point of the peak, built in terraces that followed the natural shape of the mountain.

Its tall and sharp towers rose toward the sky through the mist, connected by walls and courtyards of dark stone that looked as ancient as the island itself.

Even from afar one could feel the strange elegance of its architecture.

Proud.

Severe.

The clouds surrounded the mountain halfway up its height, hiding part of its slopes.

But the temple remained above them.

Watching it from the sky, the same thought returned again and again.

This place was not built for men.

It was built for dragons.

It was built for a Targaryen.

“We must prepare for— AHHHHHG,” Aemon groaned as he felt Rossana’s mouth around him.

“That can wait. I will make sure you are completely focused,” the dark-haired witch said with determination before returning to her important task.

“We don’t have much time, we are racing against the clock,” Aemon pleaded, trying to make her understand that the temple would only remain for one night and every second counted.

Rossana simply raised her gaze with a snort as she stood up.

“Fine, we will do it your way. But this… will be mine the entire trip back. I will chain you to our bed day and night,” promised the beautiful witch with fire in her eyes.

Aemon swallowed and nodded softly.

“Yes dear,” Aemon said with amusement.

They had work to do.

Rossana Vallens, Mausoleum of Blood - Mediterranean Sea

“This place is… strange,” Tonks said, wand raised, looking toward the immense temple from the platform where they had landed.

“It is,” Aemon nodded, looking toward the mausoleum with a certain wariness, a sensation that Rossana shared.

“The sensation of this place is… heavy and dangerous. Blood magic dominates every stone around us,” Aemon said, concentrating his senses as much as possible before moving forward.

Then he crossed the enormous doors with firm steps.

Rossana looked toward Tonks, who swallowed and followed Aemon without hesitation.

The Italian maiden did the same.

And the moment she placed a foot inside the mausoleum—

Everything changed.

Rossana felt as if she had passed through a wall of water, dense and thick, something that made her entire body shiver before the sensation vanished suddenly, leaving her standing inside what seemed to be a Great Hall.

Upon crossing the doors, the first thing that struck Rossana was the silence.

The air felt heavier.

Oppressive.

Enormous columns supported the structure, stretching high into the shadows above.

But the stone…

The stone was not normal.

It seemed alive.

The walls were covered in ancient carvings, subtle patterns twisting across the surface like veins beneath skin. They looked ancient beyond comprehension, older than anything Rossana had ever seen before.

The entire place felt like a relic of a forgotten age.

A place that had witnessed too many secrets.

Too many rituals.

Too much blood.

At the far end of the hall—

Rising above an endless staircase—

A dark, twisted silhouette stood.

More like a mountain of blades than a seat.

Rossana recognized it immediately.

It was impossible not to.

“The famous Iron Throne of Westeros,” the Italian said with open curiosity as she studied it.

The thing was enormous.

Imposing.

A great symbol of power in her opinion, it was not a throne meant for comfort.

It was a throne meant to remind every person who approached it of a single truth:

Power.

The blades that formed it twisted upward like a forest of steel, thousands of swords fused together into a monstrous seat of domination.

The light entering through the tall windows barely touched its edges, and when it did, the metal glimmered like the teeth of a slumbering beast.

It was clear that the entire hall had been designed with purpose.

To make anyone entering it feel insignificant.

To force them to look upward.

To remember who ruled.

However, as terrifying and imposing as the throne itself was…

The truly troubling part was that it was not empty.

A human-shaped silhouette made of crimson flames surrounded by black lightning sat upon it.

The energy around the figure twisted and crackled with power, flames licking upward like a living storm.

And the entity was watching them.

With amusement.

Strange as that sounded.

“You have arrived, Aemon. Just the day and hour those old cunts predicted.”

The voice was masculine.

Deep.

Every word carried enormous magical power.

The entire hall seemed to vibrate with it.

The flames that formed the being pulsed slowly, like a heart beating inside fire itself.

Aemon stepped forward.

“I have come for the third ring,” he said with complete calm.

The entity erupted into a loud laugh that echoed across the chamber.

“Of course you have,” the being replied with mocking delight.

“Then come. Climb the throne and take it.”

The entity stood up from the throne.

For a brief moment its form expanded, the flames twisting violently around its shape before it calmly placed the ring upon the seat of the throne.

Then—

It vanished.

Completely.

Silence filled the hall once more, for several moments, none of them moved.

Rossana kept her wand raised, ready in case it was needed, she will cover Aemon's back.

Always.

They expected something, an attack or a trap.

Anything.

But several minutes passed and nothing happened.

At least...

Until Aemon stepped forward.

The moment his foot touched the cold black metal of the throne—

It happened.

The terrifying structure began to grow.

The Iron Throne expanded, the blades stretching and twisting upward as the entire structure grew larger and larger.

Gigantic.

Until the top of it disappeared far above them.

“Of course it wouldn’t be that easy,” Tonks muttered with a mixture of frustration and resignation.

Then, suddenly—

A male voice spoke behind them.

“Few things worth having ever are.”

The trio turned instantly.

Rossana and Tonks raised their wands.

Aemon’s fingers ignited with flames.

Behind them stood a man.

He was extremely handsome.

Very tall, his hair was silver, like Aemon’s, but long and smooth, falling across his shoulders.

He wore exquisite armor, polished and elegant, and across the chest of the armor was the image of a broken three-headed dragon.

But what struck Rosanna the most was the way he looked at Aemon.

With longing.

With pride.

With a love so deep that it hurt to witness.

The eyes of a...

“My son…” the man whispered, his voice filled with such deep melancholy that Rosanna felt her eyes grow moist.

“Father?” Aemon asked cautiously, clearly just as surprised as she was.

The man smiled softly.

But then his expression tightened with discomfort.

“Prepare yourself, Aemon,” he said quietly.

“The second ring tested the strength of your body.”

“This one will test the strength of your soul.”

“What?” Aemon asked.

But the specter did not answer.

Instead—

His body dissolved.

Transforming into a swirling cloud of spectral mist that rushed forward and enveloped Aemon, Rossana, and Tonks in the blink of an eye.

The sensation that followed was deeply disorienting.

Far worse than a portkey.

It felt as if the world itself twisted around them.

And seconds later—

Rossana and the others were no longer inside the great throne hall, but inside a room.

A much smaller one, but richly decorated.

The luxury surrounding them made it obvious the chamber belonged to someone of high birth.

“The… the city is burning, Aemon,” Tonks said with clear concern.

At those words Rossana and Aemon stepped toward the balcony.

And what they saw…

It was a city.

Although that word felt insufficient.

If Rossana was honest with herself, it looked more like a small medieval town from a storybook.

But there was no beauty left in it now, the place was under attack.

It was burning.

Soldiers moved through the streets carrying banners of golden lions.

The banner meant nothing to Rossana or Tonks.

But to Aemon…

Her prince stared at those soldiers advancing toward the fortress with a single emotion in his eyes.

Hatred.

“You recognize this place,” Rossana said quietly.

Aemon did not deny it.

It was clear he was lost in his thoughts.

“We have work to do. And little time,” he said coldly.

Without another word—

He walked out of the room.

Rossana and Tonks exchanged uneasy glances before following him.

Both of them had a very bad feeling.

And they were not wrong.