High Tide, Driftmark
109 AC
The opulence and symbols of wealth that House Velaryon had amassed in recent years were on full display. High Tide bustled with activity, as household servants and knights busied themselves with their daily tasks. But all paused in their duties to bow respectfully to the daughter of their lord.
Laena Velaryon walked through the hallways and corridors of High Tide with graceful, confident strides. She had changed greatly from the girl she had been two years ago, when her father and younger brother left for the Stepstones. Both in appearance and demeanor, she had grown. She was still stubborn and enamored with dragons, but now she carried herself with a confidence and regal bearing that had once been lacking. She resembled her mother more than ever—especially after learning so much from her over these two years.
Laena knew that, though her mother loved her more than life itself, it was Laenor who had always been her sweet child. A true mama's boy. Laena snorted softly at the thought. She, in turn, had always been her father's princess. Yet during these past two years, the roles had reversed. In Laenor's absence, her mother had poured all her affection and energy into Laena's upbringing, taking a far more active role than before. And from the letters Laena had received from her father, it was clear he held nothing but praise and pride for Laenor.
But that was to be expected. Her brother was achieving one miracle after another—reducing casualties and bringing glory to House Velaryon through feats that seemed to resurrect the ancient magic of Valyria. Though the magic part, however, was shared only with House Targaryen and Velaryon. Due to sacrifices needed to perform those spells, well… that part Laena had heard only in passing from her mother, who had been informed by Corlys himself. Laena had received only a few parchments from Laenor—pages containing Valyrian glyphs and instructions on how to create rune arrays—which she practiced diligently, just as her brother had asked.
Laena reached her mother's chambers and pushed open the doors, entering the most lavish room in High Tide, a space rich with comfort and luxury. Her mother was reclining on the bed, reading a letter, but her gaze drifted toward Laena and she set the letter aside to give her daughter her full attention.
"Good morning, daughter of mine," Rhaenys greeted Laena softly..
"It was good—until you greeted me with that face, Mother. What happened? Was it that letter? Who is it from?" Laena asked, rapid-fire. Her mother sighed and rose from the bed.
"It's from your father," Rhaenys replied absently.
A smile bloomed across Laena's face. "So, when are they coming back? Is Laenor flying back on Embaryx? If the letter's from Father, why do you look so down?"
Rhaenys poured herself a glass of water, drank, then replied, "My idiot of a husband and 'King Daemon' have decided to remain in the Stepstones to collect tolls and tariffs—so House Velaryon can recoup the fortune we spent on the war, and Daemon can play king for a while longer," she said, shaking her head in disapproval.
"So… Father isn't coming back?" Laena asked in a small voice. "What about Laenor? Surely he'll return now. With the Stepstones under control, Father and Prince Daemon can manage without him, can't they?"
"As if that boy would come home without Corlys explicitly ordering him to," Rhaenys said. "He's too much like his father in that way. To them, home is a prison. If Corlys had his way, he'd live aboard a ship forever, sailing from place to place. And Laenor—especially after his near-death experience—has started to show the same tendencies."
"But he said he'd return to teach me magic," Laena frowned. Her brother had said so—promised even. He should have remembered that.
Her mother raised a brow. "They'll return soon enough. Either Daemon will grow tired of his 'kingdom,' or Viserys will summon them back to King's Landing," she said, taking a seat on a nearby chair.
"Prince Daemon would never grow bored of the Stepstones," Laena muttered. "Laenor said the Prince enjoys the sacrifices he gets to perform spells without anyone questioning him. He even told me they're working together to rediscover the secret to forging dragonsteel—or Valyrian steel, as lords like to call it. But he also said they'd finish that work on Dragonstone, once he returned home," Laena added, clearly frustrated.
"Hmm. You may be right. Daemon is far too obsessed with Valyrian lore and magic to lose interest that quickly," Rhaenys agreed. "But there is one thing that might lure him back—boasting. He'll want to show off his accomplishments in court. Daemon is too vain to resist that. And with his greatest rival, Otto Hightower, ousted from court, he might return sooner than expected."
"What? Otto Hightower's no longer Hand of the King? When did that happen?" Laena asked, surprised.
"A few days ago."
Laena filed that information away for later, uncertain what to make of it. She took a seat beside her mother, thoughts drifting again to her brother. "If the war's won and the Triarchy's withdrawn, how are Laenor and the Prince still gathering sacrifices for their spells?"
"While the Triarchy may have abandoned the war, pirates and captives taken by Laenor's various bombs still remain. That's where the supply comes from."
"Ah, yes. I hope Laenor finishes those thunder bombs soon. He told me he was nearly done. Imagine dropping thunder bombs from the sky onto ships—it would be more devastating than anything our dragons could do," Laena said, eyes lighting up with excitement. Her brother had already created fire bombs, ice bombs, even wind bombs—which, if her father was to be believed, killed most brutally, shredding flesh like a thousand Valyrian steel blades tearing through bone.
"Laena, we can discuss your brother's bombs after breakfast," her mother said with a sigh. "I also intend to send a raven to Corlys, to order Laenor back. The war is over. Now go wait for me in the hall."
With that, Rhaenys dismissed her daughter from the room.
The Red Keep, King's Landing
One step closer to reigniting the forge that once birthed Valyrian steel—Viserys was of half a mind to sail to the Stepstones himself, or to order Rhaenyra to take him there atop young Syrax. But reason and duty kept him bound to the Red Keep. He could summon Daemon and Laenor to King's Landing—both possessed dragons and would reach the capital swiftly. But doing so would halt the discoveries they were making in magic. And how would he even provide them with the human sacrifices required to continue their pursuit of higher mysteries?
It left a bitter taste in his mouth, the notion that blood sacrifices were needed to perform magic and cast spells. Yet Viserys knew his history well—Valyria was not built on honor and chivalry. The fire and blood mages of old had sacrificed many, and more, to further their mastery of magic. Even dragon-taming itself stemmed from a blood ritual of the highest order. That was well known among his kin, though no one truly remembered who performed the original ritual, or how it might be replicated. What was clear was that if their blood became too diluted—too mixed with those without magic—they would lose their greatest power. The blood of the dragon calls for another of its kind to mate with.
Viserys was proof of that. He had never loved Alicent the way he had loved his sweet Aemma, even though Lady Hightower had given him the sons he once so desperately desired. He should not have wished for that. His obsession with a male heir had cost him the one woman he truly loved. Fool that he was, he thought himself a dreamer. He believed his fancies were dragon dreams. But Viserys had learned from his mistakes—and that was why he named his daughter his heir, in accordance with Valyrian custom, and in the hope of lessening the weight of the regret buried deep in some corner of his heart.
He shook himself free of those thoughts, knowing they would only lead him into grief and despair. Instead, Viserys took up a blank parchment and began to write a letter to his brother, promising that he would receive as much silver as he wants and more—if that was what it took to forge the most coveted steel in the known world.
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