It had taken only a short voyage across Blackwater Bay, yet to Roslin Massey it felt as though she had crossed into another world. Sent by her father on a friendly visit as relations between Stonedance and Dragonstone continued to warm, she stepped ashore beneath the shadow of the ancient fortress the Valyrians had carved from smoking stone. There were no familiar towers or graceful keeps here. Every arch twisted like the neck of a dragon, every gargoyle seemed poised to leap, and strange runes and fused black walls spoke of a people far older and stranger than any in Westeros. Equal parts fascinated and unnerved, Roslin found herself slowing with every step, unable to stop staring at the castle that looked less built than summoned.

She reached out to lightly brush the cold black stone of a dragon carved into a doorway, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's... beautiful."

She looked upward toward the towering stone dragons watching from every rooftop.

"And just a little terrifying."