High Tide (A Corlys Velaryon SI) - Tertius711 (2024)

Chapter 1: Tides Rising

Chapter Text

Daemon Velaryon

Fifth Moon, 61 AC

Winter had ended a few months ago. It had been short but terrible. Crops had failed across the realm, famine had spread, and blizzards had reached as far south as Highgarden. Worst of all was the plague that had come with the winter. The Shivers.

A man could feel cold one night, mistake it for the chill of the wintry air, and be dead by morning. Soon a shivering will begin, one that will worsen until teeth chatter and one’s arms, legs, and whole body will convulse and seize. When the end was near, it was said that your lips would turn blue and you’d cough blood.

Daemon knew these symptoms all too well. When the Shivers had torn through the realm, Daemon had sickened with the disease like many had. He had seen the Stranger at his door, inching toward him, and had thought that his time had come. He had said his last prayers and laid down to die. He should have.

By some chance, Daemon had survived, but in truth it had been no mercy. He had risen from what should have been his deathbed to learn the horrible agonizing truth. His wife, his love Naerys, was gone. Four of their children had perished with her, along with many others of his kin. Three of his daughters were dead, daughters Daemon would never hold or cherish again. His eldest son and heir, Corwyn, his pride and joy, had perished. Corwyn’s wife Primrose, sweet Prim, who had been like another daughter to Daemon, was dead as well, leaving their three boys orphaned. He could not even truly mourn, for the bodies of the dead had been disposed of with great haste once they had passed and Daemon had still been ill when they had all passed.

Across the realm, mothers wailed, fathers grieved, and children were orphaned and bereft of siblings and kin. Prim’s father Lord Edwell Celtigar and his son, her brother, Ser Caspian, had died as well on Claw Isle. Both of them were Daemon’s kin in blood and marriage, and Edwell had been a friend of his. A quarter of Oldtown had perished, and over a third of King’s Landing was gone.

Not even the Targaryens had been excepted. Princess Daenerys had been her parents’ pride and joy, their eldest child, the proof of their Doctrine of Exceptionalism and their claims to being different and favored, of being immune to illness and ailment. Daenerys had sickened and died within a day and a half.

Daemon’s heart, already shattered, had broken all over again for his niece and nephew. He had written a private letter with his condolences to Jaehaerys and Alysanne, addressed to family, not to his King and Queen, and signed as their uncle, not as Lord of the Tides. The only reply had been the formal gratitude and condolences of the Iron Throne, written by the Hand of the King, Septon Barth.

If he was being honest, it had stung. He knew they hadn’t been close since their mother had passed and he had resigned as Hand, but to treat him so distantly? Daemon wished not to tread on those dark thoughts and had chosen to dismiss it as a mistake in grief. Seven knew he had enough of that on his own.

To escape from his sorrows, Daemon had thrown himself into his duties and had found that grief waited there too. A quarter of Driftmark had died. The island’s lifeblood was trade, and trade had carried the disease with it, rumors abound that vermin had spread the disease by some means the Maesters had never determined. It mattered little now. So many had died, and trade had come to a standstill. Driftmark was in shambles, reeling from the crippling loss and devastation. It would be years, decades even, before it recovered.

The state of his island and his house had left Daemon in a melancholy he could not escape. On some days he would pass all his duties onto his beleaguered younger sons Jorgen and Victor, and brood in his solar instead, cursing the Seven for taking so much from him and giving him nothing in return. They were cruel gods indeed, if they even existed, to force him to keep on living when it seemed there was little good in life left to live for. Sometimes he even idly considered simply ending it all, but he had stopped himself from such thoughts for one reason alone.

He could not leave his grandson with the burden of lordship at such a young age. Young Corlys’s eighth nameday had barely passed and he was lucky to see it. Only six months ago Daemon had feared he would lose Corlys as he had his mother and father. The lad had complained of a chill, sickened and become bedridden with the Shivers. He had been so near to the Stranger’s grasp, so very near. His lips had turned blue and he had coughed blood. All had told Daemon to give up on his grandson, for when such signs arose, the end was near.

Daemon had refused to accept that. He had lost too much already. He had ordered that all possible care and treatment continued to be given, and then he had prayed. He had lost all faith in the Seven years ago, when their acolytes had persecuted his sister and her family. The Seven had not spared the rest of his kin, why would they spare young Corlys? Yet still Daemon had prayed, out of desperation if nothing less.

Like him, Corlys had fought to live. Eventually his sickness abated and he had recovered and grown strong again. Whether the Seven had anything to do with that, Daemon did not know. Yet he was beginning to wonder if they had, for Corlys had been acting strange the past year.

When he had awoken from his illness, Corlys had beheld the world around him in confusion, as if he did not recognize it. Soon enough however, his confusion had turned to wonder and he had leapt at his new chance at life. The boy had become a frantic and energetic lad, always off on some adventure or running around on some task he insisted was important.

Corlys had always been close to his younger brothers, Rhaekar and Aurane. Yet since the Shivers, their bond had only strengthened. They were thick as thieves now and getting into constant mischief that irritated Daemon and yet also brought him one of his last pieces of joy.

And yet beneath the energy and vigor of an eight-year old boy, there was a newfound maturity there, a wisdom that was seemingly beyond his years. Sometimes when Daemon spoke to his grandson, he felt like he was speaking to a man, not a boy. There was something in his indigo eyes that had not been there before.

Daemon had attributed all of this to the Shivers and what it had taken from the boy. Bereft of his parents, Corlys had naturally stepped into a position of authority and responsibility over his younger brothers. Having almost died, he had found a new appreciation and enthusiasm for life, as if to make the most of living. All of this made sense… yet he could not help but wonder if there was anything more to it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. “Enter,” he commanded.

Maester Desmond walked in, his hair was a sandy blonde and his eyes were purple, signifying his Valyrian descent. Daemon knew Desmond had once been a member of his own house, if distant. He had specifically requested a Maester from Driftmark after the previous one had died in the plague.

“Maester Desmond, what brings you here this fine morning?”

“Your grandson my lord,” he said with some mild irritation.

Daemon sighed. “What has he done this time?” he asked. Corlys had developed a rather annoying tendency to doodle or write things in class since his bout with the Shivers and much to Desmond’s irritation, always seemed to be able to understand nearly all that was being taught without paying the slightest attention.

The first time it had happened, Desmond had assigned Corlys a question set of extremely advanced sums and numbers he did not expect him to be able to answer, as a lesson in humility and to make him understand the need to learn when he finally failed and gave up. To his surprise, Corlys had answered the questions in less than an hour, and apparently had used a method Desmond had never seen before, despite having a red-gold link in sums and numbers, a subject which the young Corlys had insisted on calling ‘Mathematics’.

Further testing had revealed that it had not been fortune or chance. Corlys was tested extensively by the Maester on any topic he could think of and Corlys performed perfectly in several and learned quickly in those he did not.

“He is bored my lord. There is less and less I can teach him. Nearly any question in most subjects he is taught he can understand and answer with knowledge and insight he simply should not have. He even has knowledge in some subjects that are not taught directly at the Citadel as links. And he has all these strange terms to call subjects and new ways to arrange them into new subjects and subtopics.”

Desmond’s words were making Daemon wonder again at what he had seen in Corlys’s eyes, the wisdom and maturity he now carried that had no place in a boy of eight, even one that had experienced what Corlys had. It was not the only thing strange. Corlys had always been a smart lad, eager to learn and dedicated to his studies, but now he lazily breezed through all his lessons with seeming ease. It was inexplicable.

“You have told me this before. What has changed since last we spoke?” Daemon asked.

“My lord, I must confess, if Corlys continues to advance at the rate he is, I will have nothing left to teach him within a year,” Desmond said, shocking Daemon.

“You mean to tell me, that the education that is expected of a future lord, will be completed by a boy that would have barely just turned nine?” Daemon demanded, stunned at the Maester’s daring.

“Yes my lord. The education that I could provide him of course, which is all only theoretical. I am sure he would have much to learn from you in the actual practice of governance, but the base education he will require will be finished within a year. I am not qualified to teach him much more than that. His knowledge rivals some acolytes I knew in the Citadel, and that is where he will need to go if he wishes to pursue his studies in learning and lore any further.”

“You expect me to believe this?” Daemon asked, still incredulous and though he would not admit it, afraid at the possibility his grandson might ask leave to study at the Citadel, away from him. Daemon feared losing him.

“My lord,” Desmond said seriously. “I am certain that his knowledge and insight on many topics, such as money and accounts,” he said as he pointed to the yellow-gold link representing that study on his chain, “rivals that of fully trained and chained Maesters! Maybe even an Archmaester!”

Daemon was stunned. This should not be possible. No mere boy could have this much knowledge or be this clever. Unbidden his thoughts began to turn to the prayer he had given the Seven when Corlys had sickened. Could there be a connection in any way?

“Allow me to prove it to you my lord,” Maester Desmond said. “Corlys, you can come in now. Show your grandsire what you have been planning.”

The door opened then and in strode his grandson. Tall for his age, and yet still clearly a boy, were it not for the steel gaze in his eyes that once again made Daemon think there was something wise and old behind them.

“Grandfather, it’s good to see you!” he said with a cheerful smile that made Daemon’s heart clench at the familiar sight of Corwyn’s smile on his son’s face.

“Corlys, it’s good to see you too my boy. What’s this I hear of your ‘plans’?” Daemon asked, encouraging his grandson to step forward.

With a grin, Corlys placed two small stacks of parchment on his desk. Taking a chair for himself, he sat down and began excitedly flipping through his parchments. Eagerly explaining some kind of compass that used ‘magnetism’, which Daemon had never heard of, to create a needle that would always point north and allow any seafarer to know the direction he was going even without sight of land or needing to look at the stars.

“Is this true Desmond?” he asked his maester, wanting confirmation. A device like this compass would change seafaring forever if it could actually exist. In this day and age, almost all sailors hugged the coastline when they travelled by sea. Few were foolhardy enough to stray beyond sight of the coast without need. The Summer Islanders were among the few that dared to navigate the open sea regularly, using the stars and constellations in order to navigate.

Desmond nodded hesitantly. “I believe so my lord. The Citadel has long known that certain substances, lodestones, could produce an attraction or repulsion to certain metals. We have even discovered that when suspended freely, a lodestone would curiously always point north. A greater understanding of this phenomenon could almost undoubtedly produce the compass that young Corlys speaks of.”

Daemon nodded, still in disbelief that a boy of eight could conceive of any of this. Precocious was an understatement. It was as if the Crone or the Smith had possessed the boy.

“And… this?” Daemon asked, pointing toward the other stack.

On the top of the stack was a drawing that Daemon was already inspecting. It was of a ship, but it was no idle doodle of an eight-year old but more like an advanced building plan made by a shipwright, outlining construction methods and design, sail riggings, cargo space, and strange triangular sails.

“This Grandfather, is a caravel, and it will change Driftmark forever!” Corlys pronounced with absolute confidence.

“And what makes you so sure of that?” Daemon demanded.

“Allow me to explain Grandfather. This caravel of mine is similar to the Braavosi sunchasers, which they have modeled after Elissa Farman’s infamous ship. They have her designs, they built that ship. We know the design works. The swan ships of the Summer Islands also work on a similar principle.

“The caravel is carvel-built, the planks in its hull do not overlap like in traditional clinker-built cogs or galleys. An adhesive or glue could seal the edges and ensure the hull is watertight. These ‘lateen’ triangular sails will allow the ship to sail upwind.”

Daemon laughed despite himself though deep down he felt some relief. For all his seeming precociousness, his grandson was still dreaming fantasies and had not become a master shipwright without any formal training. “Ships cannot sail upwind,” he said.

“This one can,” Corlys insisted. “In much the same way sunchasers and swan ships do. Those ships do not directly sail against the wind, rather they sail diagonally against it. We would point the bow of the caravel into the wind, angling its triangular sails such that it was able to catch as much wind as possible and propel the ship forward in the relative direction it needed to go. This is a process called ‘tacking’ and would require constant maneuvering and re-rigging of the sail. The end result however would be the ship moving in a zig-zag motion in the general direction of travel. It would not require any oars whatsoever and would be faster than any galley or cog

“Combined with the compass, the caravel would be far more suited for trade or even war on the open sea. I can guarantee you the ships will more than pay off their investment with their increased speed and durability on the high seas and it will greatly speed up Driftmark’s recovery from the Shivers.”

Throughout his entire speech, Corlys had not broken eye contact with Daemon except to flip the pages of his parchment and explain the complicated principles behind his two proposals. Whatever it was he was seeing in Corlys’s eyes had returned in full force, greater than ever, and Daemon would confess that he was both amazed and scared. Corlys spoke with a conviction, a charisma, that no boy his age should possibly possess and which he certainly had not possessed before he had fallen ill.

Desperate, he turned to his Maester. “Desmond, your thoughts on this caravel?”

Desmond raised up his arms and waved them hurriedly. “My apologies my lord, shipbuilding and sailing were not my expertise at the Citadel. I did not expect I would need them here on Driftmark with its many fine shipwrights and sailors such as yourself.”

He understood immediately what Desmond had done. He had deflected the question back to him, and it was one he was far more qualified to answer than the Maester was. Like all Velaryons, Daemon had learned how to sail nearly as soon as he had learned how to walk. He had initially laughed off Corlys’s claims, but as his experience in sailing came to the forefront and his memories of seeing swan ships and sunchasers reemerged, he began to realize that Corlys might actually be right.

Still Daemon was not about to build a fleet of expensive and untested ships based solely on his eight-year old grandson’s wild ideas. He said as much.

Corlys was not fazed. “A test then Grandfather?”

Daemon raised his eyebrows.

“My compass is much less difficult and expensive to build. If I can prove to you that one of my ideas works, will you be willing to at least test the other?”

Daemon pondered his words before agreeing. “Very well. Build me a compass and prove to me it works and I will have the shipwrights build a caravel and we will see if it is as good as you claim it to be.”

“Thank you Grandfather! You won’t regret this!” Corlys said before he dragged the Maester out the door, forcibly recruiting him for his compass building.

Daemon just hoped his grandson was right and he didn’t end up regretting this. (Anti-Plagiarism. Justice for Uyghur genocide, Xinnie the Pooh, Tiannamen Square Massacre, June 4^th, 1989)

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Fifth Moon 62 AC

Daemon couldn’t believe he was actually doing this. He was actually going to sail a ship designed by an eight-year old boy, or nine years old now, not like that was much better. As he stepped on board the new ship, his grandson beside him, Daemon’s thoughts drifted to how he had even come to this point.

A month after his grandson had proposed the test, he and Desmond had placed a strange instrument on his desk. A Myrish-glass covered, circular metal gadget with a steel needle suspended on a stand in the middle. As promised, the compass needle always pointed north and had passed all of the tests Daemon had personally submitted it to.

Working on the compass seemed to have made Desmond and Corlys friends as both of them had excitedly explained how they had worked together to determine that lodestones did indeed work via the phenomenon of ‘magnetism’ that Corlys had described in his notes. Lodestones, naturally occurring in many mines, were a natural magnet and Corlys and Desmond had discovered they could transfer their magnetism to certain substances.

Together they had discovered that stroking a piece of iron in a certain way with a lodestone appeared to transfer the magnetism of the lodestone to the piece of iron. Disappointingly the experiments appeared to have failed as within a short time, the magnetism of the iron pieces failed and they could no longer attract other iron objects and magnets without further stroking.

However, unwilling to give up, Corlys had suggested trying with other magnetic substances as well. The most successful of their attempts was steel. They had found that a piece of steel once magnetised, easily retained its magnetism when compared to iron, though it did require more effort to be magnetised in the first place.

Desmond was already in the process of writing a thesis on magnetism, to be sent to the Citadel, hypothesizing that magnetism worked best on ferrous substances and that it was likely the earth itself had a large ferrous core to explain why compass needles always pointed north. Daemon had ordered him to hold off on publishing it until he returned from his voyage on this new caravel of Corlys’s.

Corlys had built the compass as promised and true to his word, Daemon had built the caravel according to Corlys’s plan, refined by Driftmark’s expert shipwrights. Its crew had been specially trained to rig its lateen sails and maneuver the ship in its tacking.

As the ship set sail, Daemon began to panic. He had no experience with this ship, what if it failed? What if it sank and they all drowned? That was always a risk if ships hadn’t been built properly and this particular ship had been a completely new and complicated design Driftmark had never built before. The risks were not light.

His concern must have shown on his face because his grandson reassured him. “Relax Grandfather, it will work,” he said.

He wasn’t sure about that, but he nodded nonetheless. Fear would cripple his ability to lead. Daemon calmed himself and ordered the crew to rig the sails for tacking, falling into tried and tested habits from years of experience captaining ships. His thoughts began to drift to the voyage ahead.

All the sailors had trained with tacking sailing around Driftmark, but this would be the caravel’s first true voyage. Daemon had chosen Pentos as the destination, one of Driftmark’s main trade partners. He wanted to test if the ship could safely manage a crossing of the Narrow Sea. He had ordered several galleys to follow behind them in sight in case anything went wrong and remembering that allowed him to calm down a little.

Soon he was comfortable enough to relax as the ship sailed smoothly, its trained crew expertly rigging and re-rigging its sails as it sailed diagonally against the wind. It was almost soothing how the ship could sail even when the wind was against it. At one point it had almost felt like it was gliding through the water.

Before Daemon had realized it, the caravel had far outpaced its galley escort, but strangely enough, by then, his fears of the ship failing and he and his grandson drowning had abated.

“See? I told you it would work,” his grandson said smugly.

“Don’t be so smug,” Daemon lectured his grandson. “The voyage is not finished yet. We have proven the ship will not sink, now we shall ascertain if the rest of your claims about it are true.”

“They are,” Corlys declared, not a trace of doubt or uncertainty in his voice.

“We shall see.”

___________________________________________________________

Sixth Moon, 62 AC

Daemon had had no choice but to concede eventually. Despite how wild Corlys’s claims about the caravel had been, they had been true. The caravel did sail faster, and its sail rigging and tacking did allow it to somewhat sail upwind.

It was not that much faster than a galley on average yes but it made up for it by being entirely sail-powered, and could travel much further in a day, even upwind, by use of its triangular ‘lateen’ sails and tacking maneuver. When the conditions were right, the ship could even travel at an incredible 8 knots! Double the average speed of a galley, and it could do it all without a single oar.

Normally it would take three to five days to cross the Narrow Sea with fair winds and calm seas. Daemon had been suitably impressed when the caravel had made it in two. His keen mind was already calculating the potential benefits to trade for Driftmark.

The compass had also proven its worth, and Daemon had greatly enjoyed how easy it was to maintain the correct course to Pentos with its aid in determining which way was north.

Upon their return from Pentos, Daemon had ordered his shipwrights to begin work on constructing more caravels and for work to continue on testing the ship’s capabilities and training sailors to handle it. He had also ordered his artisans and craftsmen to build more compasses for the Velaryon fleets to use.

As Maester Desmond had predicted a year earlier, Corlys had mastered all that he could teach him soon after they had returned from the caravel’s maiden voyage. Daemon himself had taken over Corlys’s lessons after that, though the boy had started to visit the shipwrights and sailors to hone his skills with them as well.

Every day, Daemon tutored with his young grandson, training him and preparing him for his eventual role as Lord of the Tides. They would discuss and study many topics, ranging from Corlys’s academic pursuits, and Daemon was sure he had more innovations in mind, to war, politics and philosophy, where the boy proved to be equally as prodigious if in need of experience and further training.

One of his favorite activities for the boy at present was to present him with several challenges that would face him as the Lord of House Velaryon, and how he would deal with them. Daemon had drawn on his own experiences in his eventful life for these challenges. Each time the boy had risen to the challenge and had impressed Daemon with insightful and clever answers.

He had been very impressed by Corlys’s analysis of the Faith Militant Uprising and Maegor’s reign, and how he would have navigated it. It had reminded Daemon a lot of what he had actually done in that time, even if the specifics were different.

There was no doubt in Daemon’s mind now. The Seven had blessed Corlys with great wisdom, intellect, and knowledge, when they had saved him from the Shivers. It had been their weregild to Daemon, their recompense for stealing so much from him.

Little else could explain the boy’s prodigy. His was a genius the world rarely saw the like of. Perhaps it was grandfatherly bias, but Daemon truly believed Corlys to be one of the smartest people he had ever met. His mind worked in a way that inspired awe. Corlys could think of solutions to problems that Daemon had never even imagined.

The problem of accounting for example was that it was difficult to keep track of records at times, and the more cunning clerks could hide evidences of corruption. Corlys had pioneered a system he referred to as ‘double-entry bookkeeping’ to easily record accounts and balance budgets. Even more importantly, mistakes, intentional or otherwise, were more easily spotted. Daemon had already sent quite a few of his clerks and harbourmasters to the Wall on charges of corruption.

Daemon was very proud of his grandson but… he was not even ten years old yet. Daemon would rather not let news of his grandson’s genius spread too quickly. He had already ordered Maester Desmond to downplay Corlys’s role in the magnestism experiments and innovations to an inquisitive student at most. Though the Maester would not be submitting his thesis to the Citadel for many years still, Daemon didn’t want to take the risk.

Though Daemon himself believed Corlys to be a brilliant child, blessed by the Seven, there were far too many who may believe the opposite for Daemon’s comfort. Far too often, bright children who were too smart were feared and thought witches of some kind, granted magical and unholy knowledge by some demons from the Seven Hells.

Such superstitions were quite rare amongst the educated, yet Daemon did not think highly enough of his peers to believe them all to be educated. Quite the opposite actually. Many could not even read and they believed far too much in the dogma of the Faith.

Daemon may have regained his faith in the Seven with the miracle that was Corlys, but he remained skeptical of the Faith itself, the organization, and its dogmas. Old habits die hard, and none who had lived through the Faith Militant Uprising on the side of the Targaryens would ever be able to fully trust the Faith ever again. He certainly did not trust the Faith to know of his grandson’s genius yet, if ever.

Corlys was not merely a prodigious intellect. He was a very charismatic and charming boy that already showed signs of being a great leader one day. When he was not dreaming up some grand new schemes or invention, Daemon’s precocious grandson spent the remainder of his time socializing. There was a certain charisma about the boy that allowed him to attract friends, from all walks of life. His brothers idolized him, and Corlys personally knew the names of many of their servants and guards.

Daemon personally did not approve very much of his grandson socializing with the commoners overly much but he also knew that even if he forbade it, his grandson would find some way around his restriction anyway.

“You would be surprised how much loyalty you could earn from the smallfolk simply by knowing their names and inquiring after their wellbeing from time to time, Grandfather,” the boy had said when he had made his disapproval clear.

Daemon could not help but concede seeing how much the people of Driftmark had come to adore the young heir of House Velaryon. At the very least, his grandson was earning the loyalty of his future subjects.

At times Corlys felt too perfect. All things he sought to learn or pursue seemed to come to him effortlessly, and he seemed to always know what to do or have some wild plan or invention that sounded nonsensical at first but would end up working brilliantly. Daemon would confess that he was envious and proud of that in equal measure. Corlys seemed larger than life, which was ridiculous for a boy not even ten, but there was no other way to describe it. It was why Daemon always enjoyed watching Corlys in the training yard.

Despite his excellence in many diverse fields, Corlys struggled in the yard. That was not to say that he was lacking martially or that he was unable to learn and master his training in arms and combat, far from it. However, compared to how he seemed so effortlessly ahead in so many other fields and areas of expertise, his progress in his martial training was surprisingly average.

In a way Daemon liked that. If one was good at everything, they would not have the strength of character needed to push themselves to their limits, to challenge themselves to overcome those limits. Those who struggled were stronger than those that did not.

What Corlys lacked in natural skill and strength in arms, he more than made up for it in his unrelenting determination and unwillingness to give up. Though Daemon doubted Corlys would ever be the finest sword in the Realm, with enough dedicated training and practice, he would be more than able to hold his own on the battlefield. That unyielding will would serve him well later in life.

As would his ability to delegate. Corlys was destined to lead, to command, and he was brilliant at it. He need not be the finest sword on the battlefield so long as he could command those swords and lead them to victory.

Still as he watched his grandson struggle to lift his sword after a long morning of practice, Daemon was reminded of how young he was. The boy was only nine and yet Daemon had already begun to rely upon and treat him as if he was a man grown. He would have to remember to let the boy stay a boy for a little while longer, let him enjoy his youth while it lasted.

The Seven having mercy, it would be decades until Corlys had to take up the mantle of Lord of the Tides. When that time came, Daemon was sure that the lessons he learned now in this yard, in his solar with him, and all his other intellect and knowledge, would empower Corlys to weather any storm that would face their house.

Change was coming to the world, Daemon could feel it in his bones and he knew in his heart that Corlys would be the one to bring that change. His faith in him would not waver however. The boy had already proven to him that he was the perfect heir to entrust the Velaryon legacy to. The tides of fortune were fickle and treacherous, but Daemon truly believed that under Corlys, the Seahorse would ride to its highest tides yet.

Chapter 2: A New Era

Chapter Text

Daemon

Sixth Moon, 62 AC

“What is this?” Daemon asked, looking at the chequered black and white board. 16 black pieces occupied the first two rows in front of Daemon and 16 white pieces occupied the two in front of Corlys.

“I call it chess. It is a game,” his grandson said, his tone implying he thought the answer to be obvious.

Daemon sighed. “I am a busy man Corlys. I do not have time to be playing games with you. I know you’re at the age where you like playing games, but you will one day be too old to play silly games like this.”

Corlys raised an eyebrow. “You can never be too old to play games. After all, what are tourneys but green boys and summer knights playing at war?”

It was Daemon’s turn to raise his eyebrow now. The boy had a point there. It was times like this that Corlys confused him even further. He had the appearance and sometimes the mannerisms of a child, yet the moment he opened his mouth and spoke, one could not help but be amazed by his eloquence. His words were more reasoned and logical than half the so called ‘men’ Daemon had met, and his eyes... Corlys’s eyes belied a wisdom far older than his nine namedays.

“Very well then. Enlighten me as to what this game of yours is all about.”

Corlys’s eyes filled with childlike delight, once more starkly reminding Daemon that his grandson, for all of his brilliance and genius, was a boy of nine.

“Trust me Grandfather. This is no mere ‘game’. This board is divided into 64 squares arranged in eight vertical rows called files and eight horizontal rows called ranks. There are six types of pieces on this board and each piece can only move in a specific way.”

And so his grandson explained to him the role and function of each piece. According to his grandson there were two factions in chess, black and white. Each had sixteen pieces in total, made up of eight pawns, two rooks, two knights, two septons, one queen, and one king. The objective of the game was to kill the opponent’s king piece.

“First is the king. He is the most important piece on the board, but he is also simultaneously the weakest because of his importance. To ensure the players understand the king’s vulnerability, he can only move a single step in any direction once a turn.”

“But why is that so? The King is the most important piece. Why should he not also be the most powerful? He is the leader after all,” Daemon asked, curious.

Corlys frowned in thought before answering. “Not necessarily. Take for example, our king, His Grace, King Jaehaerys, long may he live. Without his dragon, his Kingsguard, and his vassals, what is he? Just a man, and any man can die.”

“What about the queen then? Why is she the most powerful piece on the board in the place of the king? Should it not be the knight or perhaps rook?”

Corlys shook his head. “Again, take the example of our king. You are our king’s uncle Grandfather. Tell me, who do you believe is the one person he trusts most in this world?”

Daemon did not even need to think to answer. “His wife.”

Corlys grinned. “Precisely. The king’s wife must be above suspicion, if they cannot be so, then they are useless as a queen. The gods fashioned us for love, to have partners. If you trust someone enough to be intimate with them, you should be able to trust them in all other matters.

“The Queen is the most powerful piece on the board because she is the most trusted and the most valued by her king. A good queen can protect her husband from the foes he never sees. The courtesies of court and the intrigue and skulduggery that lurks behind them, she can navigate it all to ensure her husband need never fear a dagger in the dark.”

Daemon remained silent, listening intently as his grandson explained the function of the remaining pieces. The knights represented knights in service of kings. The septons represented how each faction in any conflict would claim the gods to be on their side. The rooks or castles- Corlys used both terms interchangeably- represented the fiefs of a ruler.

Daemon however interrupted again when Corlys explained the function, moves, and abilities of the last and weakest piece. “Why can the pawns be promoted to the strongest piece? They are meant to represent smallfolk and levies are they not?”

Corlys smirked. “A reminder to all players that even their weakest followers can become their strongest if they are allowed.”

With the explanation concluded, Daemon began his first ever chess match with his grandson. As according to Corlys’s explanation, white moved first. Corlys opened the match by moving his left knight in front. Daemon countered by moving his third pawn from his right of the board. And so their match continued. Perhaps it was the senility of old age or his inexperience in the game but Daemon found himself on the defensive for almost the entire game.

As he struggled to avoid his grandson’s cleverly placed traps, he marvelled at his ingenuity. Corlys had created a game that appeared simple on the surface, but when one looked closer, they could see the intricacy in the game. The game was not only simulation of wars and the strategies and tactics required to win them, but also a reference to the ever ongoing Game of Thrones. The game perfectly demonstrated the risks taken by all when they played the great game. Death was always a possibility when one took a risk too great.

“Checkmate.”

Daemon looked at the board after Corlys’s proclamation. He was right. There was absolutely no move he could make to save the king. He had lost. Perhaps it was expected, but Daemon’s pride bristled slightly at having lost at anything to his ten-year old grandson. You win or you die indeed.

“Again?” Corlys asked, hopeful. “I’ll let you play white this time.”

“I accept your challenge.”

Daemon found the second game far easier than the first, but it was still an uphill battle. Nevertheless, he was heartened. With enough practice he could hone his skills and perhaps even beat his precocious grandson. Never once did Daemon wonder why exactly he had become so obsessed with the game, he was too immersed in his match.

Halfway through their second match, Corlys began the conversation anew. “You told Maester Desmond to downplay my role in the development of the compass in his report”

“I did. What of it?”

“May I ask why?”

“I am sorry to have taken away your rightful achievement, but it is dangerous. You are a bright child Corlys, almost dangerously so. Use that smart head of yours and tell me why,” Daemon answered as he moved his queen to take Corlys’s knight.

“It would bring too much attention and scrutiny. If word spread of my unusual brightness, many would begin to take notice, they would fear me, and either seek to use me for their own ends or eliminate me. House Velaryon and myself would both be endangered,” Corlys replied, moving his rook to avenge his knight.

Daemon looked down on the board. He had made a costly mistake, and now he had lost his queen. “Correct. It is not a very good reputation to develop as lord. It is rarely the place of lords to experiment and invent.”

“But the prestige of the house would be increased as well because we sponsored the experiments?”

“Yes.”

“Then it matters not to me if little credit is given me. Personal glory and fame, though desirable, are short-lived. There will be other opportunities for me to accrue glory and renown, what is most important is that our legacy, our house benefited, though might I ask something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Would it be possible to convince Maester Desmond… to not make the report at all? It would be prudent I believe, to try and hold on to the advantage as long as possible,” Corlys said.

Daemon watched as Corlys took his knight with his septon and inwardly cursed his lack of focus before he answered his grandson, “Perhaps for a little while. His loyalty and oaths are to Driftmark after all, and before he swore his vows, Desmond was a lesser member of our own house. He would protest however that such knowledge should be safeguarded and taught to many so it is not lost, and the best way to do that would be to report his findings to the Citadel for them to test it themselves and introduce it into their curriculum.”

“Mayhaps for now, but surely Grandfather, you do not think it strange that an organisation headquartered in Oldtown has the sole control of knowledge and science in the kingdoms?”

“Perhaps. There are other lesser orders, and many indeed existed before the Conquest in the other kingdoms, but when the Conqueror favoured the Citadel and took them into his confidence, all the others orders faded away in importance and I believe only the Alchemist Guild still keeps any kind of relevance and even they too are losing ground.”

“Yet a monopoly on information by one order is dangerous do you not think? Especially since it is all too easy for monopolisation to turn into stagnation. Why did the Conqueror not take the Citadel under his control, and make them relocate to King’s Landing? For that matter, the Faith could be relocated as well, to be closer to the new centre of power, a powerful symbol of the union of the kingdoms into one.”

“Interesting ideas,” Daemon said. They were also dangerous ideas to be spoken in public and he was thankful Corlys was wise enough not to ponder such ideas aloud near suspicious ears. “It is of course, easier said than done. Putting aside the political capital required to take control of both organisations, what of the logistical difficulty of transporting all the books or copying them? The Citadel is the oldest and largest repository of knowledge in the world, any successor in another location would find itself a pale shadow of the original.”

“We come then to another idea of mine, and part of the reason why I think we might convince him to join us. I have heard some merchants tell me that in Yi Ti, they carve letters and symbols into blocks of wood and use them almost like large seals, allowing them to copy many papers at once. And then I thought, what if we mount these blocks, or seals with individual letters, onto a device like a wine press? We could copy books much faster that way it might seem. It would be tedious perhaps to make the seals and rearrange the letters for each page, but certainly no more tedious than for a scribe to copy a book by hand. We could almost print pages like we would with a seal, and be doing it with a press. Mere parchment would not do for these ‘printing presses’ I think. It is too thick and too difficult to produce in the numbers that would be required for this. I think paper, like the kind used by the Yi Tish would be best.”

Daemon’s mind was racing. “A plausible device,” he said.

Corlys smiled. “Indeed. Of course this is purely hypothetical as of now, but I do think that with sufficient time and experimentation, Desmond and I could develop this press and the kind of paper we would need for its activities, assuming of course he could be taken wholly into our confidence.”

He understood then, what Corlys wanted. Corlys wanted to ensure his inventions and ideas benefitted House Velaryon as much as possible and wanted him to make sure Maester Desmond kept their secrets.

“I will see what I can do, but unless you are planning on building your own citadel, it would be difficult to research and develop all these inventions and ideas of yours without the aid and support of the Citadel in Oldtown.”

“An excellent idea Grandfather,” Corlys said with a beam. “Think about it, with a printing press, we could produce enough books to fill up our own repository of knowledge. And House Velaryon is not poor or miserly, there would be no shortage of scholars, halfmaesters, and other learned men to invite to join our new ‘citadel’, from both Essos and Westeros. You mentioned the Alchemists are struggling? We could sponsor them in exchange for them relocating to Driftmark and agreeing to join our new ‘citadel’. I could be Peremore the Twisted come again, and build a second centre of learning and knowledge in Westeros. Though I think perhaps the term university, like they have in Braavos, would fit more aptly for the organisation and school I envision. I have no intention of reducing the number of potential students and scholars by requiring celibacy.”

Daemon shook his head with a smile. “You truly are bright grandson of mine. I’m proud to have someone like you of my blood.”

Corlys blushed slightly and Daemon laughed at being able to embarrass his precocious grandson for once. “Your ideas have many merits, but I think we should at least finish our game before speeding off on wild new ideas? One thing at a time.”

With an almost blissful silence they continued playing. Daemon loved his grandson very much and enjoyed talking with him but it really was sometimes hard to get him to shut up, and for as brilliant as his ideas and words were, sometimes one just needed to relax for a good game of chess. It was their third game already and he was intent on finally beating his grandson.

“Checkmate,” Daemon proclaimed as he locked Corlys’s king between his queen and rook. ‘That was easy,’ Daemon thought. Almost too easy for the level of skill his grandson had displayed in the first two games. He looked up from the board to his grandson and found him fidgeting, as if he was nervous to bring up something, and with how eagerly he always spoke of his new and wild ideas, that was not like him at all.

“What is it Corlys?” he asked, almost worried he had done something wrong or misbehaved somehow. He was always a well-behaved child, but child he still was, and all children got into some kind of trouble.

“I… I thought of another way to secure the legacy of our house Grandfather.”

“Oh? Do elaborate.” Daemon would never admit it out loud, but he was always rather giddy to hear of another of his grandson’s world changing inventions or schemes. He did wonder as to his strange nervousness though, so unlike his natural confidence otherwise.

Despite his coaxing, Corlys remained slightly uncertain. “Do you recall Grandfather, the outbreak of the Shivers on Driftmark and the rest of the Realm four years ago?”

Daemon’s giddiness faded. A gloomy atmosphere filled the room.

“How could I forget? Half our family died. I lost three of your aunts. I lost your grandmother. I lost your mother, and your father.”

I almost lost you as well.

Corlys’s face was grave, yet also full of hope as he continued. “What if I told you that there was a way we could try and stop that from ever happening again?”

Daemon could not stop the gasp that escaped. “There is? How?”

““A device that could prove the existence of something, something that causes disease. Please understand, it wouldn’t necessarily prevent disease itself, but it could help us…” Corlys dithered, trying to make sure he understood all the details but Daemon would have none of it.

“What do you need?” he said. Any device or method, anything at all that could prevent the tragedy that happened two years ago from ever happening again would have his wholehearted support.

Corlys looked straight into his eyes. “Grandfather, I need you to get me a Myrish lenscrafter.”

_____________________________________________

Ninth Moon, 62 AC

“I do hope you know what you’re doing Corlys. Buying this man’s debt was not an insignificant expenditure. To say nothing of the clear glass and custom lenses you ordered,” Daemon said. It had been three months or so since their conversation and Daemon had rather reluctantly spared no expense for the latest of his grandson’s schemes.

Work on the new printing press as well as further refinements of the compass and caravel designs had been done in that time, but Daemon had been unable to focus on them as eagerly as he had previously, his thoughts brooding on what his grandson had said about potentially preventing more deadly plagues. If this new device could really do that, then in Daemon’s opinion, it would be worth more than every other idea his grandson had come up with simply for that alone. Driftmark would not lose a quarter of its people again, not if he could do anything about it.

“Relax Grandfather. It will work. And if not, well, my new caravels and compass should pay the money back in time. Is it done Orros?” Corlys said, addressing the lenscrafter the Velaryons had saved from indentured servitude for gambling debts.

“Indeed it is my lord. And to think that all it really needed was a readjustment of the Far-Eye’s optic lenses. It is truly magnificent, you must see! The specimens that I can see with this are strange indeed, and they are many.”

Corlys took a glance through the new device’s eyepiece, with a light shining through it, and Daemon could see him smirk. The Maester took a turn after that and Daemon could see his excitement as well. Finally, with his turn having come, Daemon looked through the device, and saw strange structures, almost like prison cells, and smaller even than them were thousands of tiny black shapes. Spheres, spirals, and rods, they moved around and acted almost as if they were animals of some kind. Tiny animals.

“This gentlemen, is a ground-breaking invention of ours. This small-eye, or microscope as I’d prefer to call it, is easy enough to make, requiring only a reapplication of the principles used to make the normal far-eye. Greater than even that however, is what the microscope shows us,” Corlys

“Indeed, the small-eye shows us so much, and to think that we only needed to redesign a far-eye,” Desmond said. Corlys frowned at his preferred name for the device being ignored. “Lord Corlys, when I write my thesis and report on this, I beg you allow me to submit my findings to the Citadel. More than simply an advantage at sea or knowledge, this device could potentially change much of how we understand the world, and perhaps allow us to understand the causes of disease. Lives could be at stake here!”

“Worry not Maester Desmond, I will work with you to develop our thesis. I already have my own ideas on what those ‘cells’ and dots are. We have only scratched the surface of the microscopic world, and indeed the future of science and knowledge as a whole.

“All I ask of you Maester, is that you join us in building a new centre of learning here on Driftmark and swear your permanent loyalty to House Velaryon, not just to Driftmark.”

The Maester was nervous Daemon could see, but somehow he had a feeling he would accept the offer. It would not take much to appeal to his familial loyalty to the Velaryons as a former member of their house and lust for knowledge to convince him.

“Lord Corlys, I swore oaths never to pledge fealty to a house directly. But the Velaryons are Driftmark, always have been, and always will be. Know that my oath and my loyalty will always be to Driftmark first, not the Citadel. We swear no oath to the Citadel.

“As for creating our own place of learning, I admit to being doubtful, but with that you have done and revealed, I think that we can do it, and we can advance our knowledge of the world. It would be a pleasure and honour to work with you in this Lord Corlys. All your secrets, will be my secrets. I will reveal only what you have me reveal.”

“Excellent Desmond, come let us start our examinations and prepare our paper,” Corlys said, excited to start work on their new discovery.

Daemon could not help but overhear as Corlys, Orros, and Maester Desmond began working on their new invention and theory. Words like microscope, telescope, cells, germ theory, and pasteurisation used and thrown about. He shook his head in amusem*nt, all of the science and technical terms beyond him.

It was somewhat disheartening to learn that diseases and sicknesses that took so many seemed to be caused by so small a thing. Yet it was truly wondrous that now they could take steps to minimise the severity of these diseases with the work and experiments of their team.

Corlys had already begun gathering scholars, engineers, and other learned men to him. This was but the beginning of his plans and Daemon couldn’t wait to see what he came up with next.

Chapter 3: The Sea Snake

Chapter Text

-Excerpt from ‘The Sea Snake’, the biography of Corlys Velaryon, Abridged Edition.

Corlys Velaryon. A name that inspires many to this day, and all who know his story can only be amazed and awed at how he singlehandedly brought House Velaryon to the height of its power. It is truly incredible how much he accomplished, but all great men have to start somewhere, and Corlys was no exception.

He was born in 53 AC to Ser Corwyn Velaryon, the eldest son of Lord Daemon Velaryon. From the moment of his birth, the young Corlys had a pedigreed lineage, descending from many Targaryens, with blood considered to be almost as pure as those of the Targaryens. Indeed, for House Velaryon was so close to the Targaryens, that often, when lacking in sisters or brothers for their sons and daughters to take as spouse, the house would turn to the Velaryons.

Corlys’s own grandfather Daemon was the elder brother of Queen Alyssa Velaryon, the wife of King Aenys, and the mother of King Jaehaerys the Conciliator and Queen Alysanne the Good. This kinship with the royals could explain somewhat, the favour Corlys would later gain in their court, but his many accomplishments could never have been achieved by favouritism alone.

Young Corlys was notably gifted, being claimed to be a natural sailor since his first voyage at six years old. He was intelligent and proved apt as a young shipwright, daydreaming and doodling ships during his Maester’s lessons. Somehow, he was always able to keep track of what was being taught as well. However, Corlys’s prodigious intelligence only truly began to express itself more clearly after he almost died of an illness.

In 59-60 AC, the Shivers swept across Westeros and Driftmark was not spared the disease. Corlys’s father Corwyn, three aunts, and half of House Velaryon and the people of Driftmark succumbed to the disease. It was immeasurably disastrous for the Velaryons. For a time as well, Corlys looked to succumb to the disease as well, but as fate would have it, he survived and lived to attain greatness.

At just eight years old, the young Corlys, inspired by the designs of lateen sails on fishing boats he had seen outside the window of his classrooms with the Maester, designed a ship he deemed a caravel and that ship was a truly revolutionary design, it differed from other ships of the era in a number of ways.

Firstly, caravels were carvel-built, not clinker. Most ships at the time in Westeros were built using the clinker method, wherein the edges of the hull planks overlapped each other. The caravel utilised the carvel method where the planks were placed edge to edge, streamlining the boat and increasing its speed. Unfortunately, carvel-built ships had a tendency to leak over time due to saltwater corroding the caulking required to seal the gaps between the planks.

Although prohibitively costly, the problem of caulking corrosion and corrosion in general, was solved by the use of copper to sheath the entirety of the hull. As expected, such a process was incredibly expensive, often times doubling the cost of the ship. Copper sheathing would not become widespread on Driftmark until Corlys became lord, and even after would remain uncommon, though many of his other ideas and innovations, both directly conceived or inspired by him, would continue to be adopted and used with regularity.

That being said, the caravel was not a completely unique ship as ships of a similar design had been used for decades in Essos and the Summer Islands. To the Westerosi however, only one ship of a similar design preceded the invention of Corlys Velaryon, the Braavosi-built Sunchaser of the infamous Elissa Farman (which is believed to have itself revolutionized and advanced ships of its type in Essos.)

The young Corlys would go on to develop and innovate quite a few other ideas and devices such as various new kinds of mathematics, such as advanced algebra and calculus, building on pre-existing mathematics, and accounting methods such as double-entry bookkeeping.

Corlys of course was but one man, a boy really at this time, and so obviously could not truly advance the sciences, mathematics, and technologies of Driftmark alone. With money flowing into the coffers of House Velaryon from his new caravels greatly promoting trade, the young Corlys worked alongside his grandfather to hire many artisans, maesters, scholars, halfmaesters, engineers, and alchemists, from both Essos and Westeros. Organisations like the Alchemist’s Guild found themselves sponsored by the Velaryons and relocated their operations to Driftmark.

Fancying himself a second Peremore the Twisted, Corlys began joining the varied and diverse group, and learned much from them while they learned much from him as well. Indeed, Maester Desmond of Driftmark, perhaps the first member of the new group that Corlys had created, remarked that despite his youth and lack of experience and knowledge in many fields, the young Corlys was remarkable simply because he thought differently and could raise questions and give solutions to topics and problems those around him had never even considered.

This group of learned men eventually formally joined together to form the University of Driftmark, building their first campus and library near the Velaryon shipyards in the town that would later become Hull. Though focused on matters such as shipbuilding, navigation, commerce, and mercantilism at first, it would slowly but surely diversify in time.

The university professors and members pioneered research and innovations and produced many remarkable new inventions and ideas, many of whom are suspected to have originated in the genius mind of Corlys himself, providing the initial inspiration and idea. Revolutionary new navigational tools such as compasses and sextants made navigation easier than ever before, at least for Driftmark’s ships.

Of particular note was the relatively easy invention of the small-eye, derived from the far-eye. Operating on similar principles of magnification, the small-eye enabled Driftmark scientists and scholars to see organisms smaller than the naked eye, so called ‘microrganisms’, from which is derived the much less common name of the small-eye, microscope. Small-eyes led to the understanding that all living things were composed of cells, basic biological units. Smaller than these cells, were germs which caused disease.

Germ theory was not entirely new. It had been theorised before by some Maesters of the Citadel and it was the reason why common medical practice was to sterilize wounds with boiling wine. The invention of the small-eye however dramatically increased germ theory’s likeliness of being true. The news spread like wildfire across Westeros, even catching the attention of King Jaehaerys, who had lost a daughter to disease. Pioneered by Driftmark, what followed in the coming decades was massive advances in sanitation practices and devices, including the use of copper pipes in plumbing for sewers, the boiling of almost all liquids used for food and medicine (velarisation) and even the invention of the flushing toilet and eventually a simple shower with pressure from a water tower.

Another question that might be asked is why the sudden rapid increase in learned mem and the advancement of the sciences? After all, though Driftmark’s university was the first of its kind to truly be able to rival the Citadel, it would certainly not be the last, with similar universities and schools forming all over Westeros. The key reason, is the printing press.

Accompanied by advancements in ink and papermaking processes, the printing press allowed for knowledge and information to easily spread. The literacy rates on Driftmark shot up quickly and by the end of Corlys’s reign, the people on Driftmark itself were extremely well educated, having learned from a young age in schools for children divided according to their ages and level of learning and then studied further in the university.

The invention of the press did threaten the livelihoods of many which was why cunning and politically apt Lord Daemon proceeded to negotiate special deals with stakeholders like the scribe guild, papermaking guild, and the Faith of the Seven, earning House Velaryon much prestige and reputation with the Faith and laying the seeds for bigger and greater plans.

In all of their new methods and inventions which they pioneered, Driftmark was first, with mainland Westeros taking much longer to adapt. Almost every subject imaginable was advanced. Biology and medicine advanced rapidly with the development of germ theory and sanitary practices making surgeries safer while binomial nomenclature and other methods of classification along with the microscope allowed scientists to study and classify living things like never before.

Mathematics, engineering, and physics, were all advanced with new formulas and entire new fields of study. Concrete for example, discovered by chemists, was of great use to engineers building Driftmark’s new buildings. Chemistry, derived from alchemy, flourished with the beginnings of the first periodic table and the understanding of what elements were. Even other subjects like astronomy flourished. A standard metric system of measurements and units was developed based on decimals of ten with specified prefixes, greatly aiding experimentation, calculation, and innovation.

In but three decades, the Velaryons had created an institution to rival, and mayhaps even surpass the Citadel. Universities and schools modelled after Driftmark began developing all over Westeros, in towns and cities like King’s Landing, Duskendale, Maidenpool, Seagard, Lannisport, Gulltown, Barrowton, and White Harbor. Though none of these could truly rival Driftmark simply due to the edge and head start of the latter, Corlys was rather pleased by the development of new institutions of learning, famously saying ‘monopolisation leads to stagnation.’

In the midst of all of this advancement, what was Corlys himself doing? It has already been established that he helped found and inspire the University of Driftmark and its creations. However, Corlys himself was little involved in the actual running of Driftmark or its university during this time. Such duties were entrusted to his grandfather and Maester Desmond, the chosen Dean of Driftmark University.

The young lad had much less experience or actual desire to take up such duties at the time. Instead, when not experimenting with his scholars at the university, or learning the art of stewardship and the traditional lordly education at his grandfather’s foot, Corlys dedicated himself to his true passion. Seafaring.

Working closely with shipwrights at Hull, he developed a superior and larger version of the caravel, which he would deem the carrack. Carracks solved the primary weakness of caravels, which was the lack of cargo space. Despite this, they were considerably more expensive then caravels and so Driftmark would continue to use both ship designs for many decades.

During this time as well, Corlys greatly streamlined the shipbuilding processes used by his shipwrights and taking inspiration from Braavos, began teaching them techniques like the division of labour and specialisation to form an assembly line and potentially mass produce ships. It would be many years indeed before the Arsenal of Hull could rival its namesake in Braavos, but at least it would prove to have no shortage of wood with the Velaryon domains and vassals in Massey’s Hook and Wendwater supplying the shipyards along with Lord Daemon’s negotiations with the Stormlands and North for wood.

By the time he was sixteen, Corlys would have his own ship as captain, and by the time he was twenty, he would have visited every port in Westeros, the Narrow Sea, and even ventured Beyond the Wall to Skagos and Hardhome. Accompanying him on his every voyage in his new carracks were the new tools of navigation he developed, the compass and sextant, as well as maps and charts of geography and constellations made with new techniques.

Corlys however desired much more. He was full of wanderlust and wished to see the world and get rich while he was at it. As ambitious as he was adventurous, he thought to be the first Westerosi to visit every port in the Known World, and even push the boundaries of that known world. To push the boundaries of shipbuilding, navigation, seafaring, and exploration, Corlys had founded and headed a subsidiary school of the University of Driftmark, known as the Driftmark Maritime and Naval Academy to train sailors, captains, and navigators. He even formed a guild of fellow explorers known as the Guild of Venturers to sail with him when he departed, and continue his work when the time came for him to assume the rule of Driftmark.

It was here that he met his greatest obstacle. For Corlys was much beloved to his grandfather Daemon, being the closest to the old lord and highly favoured. Corlys was no doubt very important to the future of House Velaryon, both as a capable heir and also a very intelligent and learned individual who constantly theorised new ideas which revolutionised the world. Lord Daemon greatly feared losing his ‘perfect’ heir in a faraway expedition be it to a storm at sea or some other misfortune and was loath to give his blessing for Corlys’s planned great voyages to Essos.

Many arguments the two would have over the matter. Where once their strong personal friendship and familial affection had resolved many minor disputes, now their tempers flared. Both were stubborn, proud individuals, neither willing to compromise or concede. Finally, after a whole two years of arguments and disputes over the matter, Lord Daemon finally gave in to allow his grandson one voyage, with Daemon giving his approval for future voyages based on the results.

So it was that in 75 AC, at the young and ripe age of twenty and two, Corlys set out from Hull on his first great voyage with seven ships, including his personal carrack, the Sea Snake. That ship would famously become the moniker of Corlys and he would bear the name with pride.

With his fleet, Corlys ventured far east, sailing past the Jade Gates of Qarth to the untapped riches of the Jade Sea, trading with the various island nations and with the Golden Empire of Yi Ti and Asshai. He returned with cargos laden with spices, silks, and other exotic and luxurious goods like cocoa and coffee. In just a single voyage, Corlys had doubled the wealth of House Velaryon.

With his grandfather’s grudging approval, Corlys would continue his voyages, of which he made nine in total, venturing to Volantis, Slaver’s Bay, New Ghis, Qarth, Lhazar, Yi Ti, Leng, Marahai, Asshai, the Basilisk Isles, Summer Isles, Naath, Lorath, Saath, Ibben, Nefer and the Thousand Isles. Every single notable location one could think of, the Sea Snake went, and his Venturers followed behind him, eventually establishing a system of trade fleets to keep on bringing wealth to House Velaryon without Corlys’s direct leadership which included a trading outpost and waystation in the ruined city of Velos on the Isle of Cedars, around halfway between Westeros and Yi Ti.

By his sixth voyage, Corlys was already in the history books, and by the end of his ninth, he had made himself a legend. Every Westerosi-born explorer and sailor who came after him looked to his example, and with the Guild of Venturers and the Maritime Academy that he founded along with his personal invention and pioneering of revolutionary new ship designs and navigational tools, he gained another moniker. Corlys the Navigator.

By the end of his ninth voyage, Corlys Velaryon had earned eternal glory and fame for himself, but most importantly perhaps, enormous wealth for House Velaryon. With the founding of the Driftmark East Trading Company to conduct regular expeditions east, a seemingly endless flow of money began flowing into the coffers of House Velaryon. It was especially helped that Corlys brought back to Driftmark from his expeditions not only exotic goods, but their origins. And indeed, products like tea, cocoa, coffee, and silk would do much for the coffers of House Velaryon.

All of that wealth was not hoarded, but invested back into Driftmark. The guilds of the island were reorganised under Velaryon leadership to promote competition and mercantilism. The vast treasures brought back by Corlys were put to good use building a new and luxurious seat for his house, High Tide, built from pale stone, the same material used in the Eyrie. Its slender towers were crowned with roofs of beaten silver which shone in the sun. When the waters of Blackwater Bay were at high tide, the castle was connected to the island of Driftmark by only a mere causeway.

High Tide stood from then on as a symbol of Velaryon power and wealth. In its shadow was built the product of that wealth, the city of Spicetown. Named for the spices traded by the Velaryons, the city grew rapidly, soon beginning to command trade in the Narrow Sea. By the time Corlys became lord, the nascent city had a population rivalling Gulltown at 50,000, and it had much more room to grow.

Unlike King’s Landing, stinking and rotten, the Velaryons had hired many famed architects to design Spicetown to be beautiful. With great arches and domed buildings. The University of Driftmark’s main body would be relocated to a new campus in Spicetown (and subsequently renamed for that town) while the Maritime Academy remained in Hull which had also grown significantly, boasting an Arsenal to rival Braavos.

The Velaryons had done much to build their wealth and preserve it, even founding a bank, the Velaryon Bank, which had new and innovative methods of operating. The bank kept records with double-entry bookkeeping, and pioneered a new fractional reserve system, giving out promissory notes that soon became traded as if they were worth as much as the money they represented among Driftmark’s merchants. Furthermore, deposits in the bank’s accounts were guaranteed against the wealth of House Velaryon so merchants need not fear that they would lose their hard-earned wealth. As a result, the bank soon became trusted by its creditors and rose to prominence and with it the Velaryons wielded a great deal of capital and influence, controlling guilds, companies, commerce, artisans, and trade routes.

With so much wealth, the Velaryons soon became patrons of the arts, funding many painters, sculptors, poets, writers, musicians, and other artists, with there even being a school for the fine arts founded. Spicetown and Driftmark were not just wealthy and advanced technologically, but also very culturally enlightened with great works of art, music, and writing, and fine architecture dotting the landscape of a clean, well-kept city.

Many a visitor to Driftmark in this time called it the gateway between Westeros and Essos and it was there that the finest combinations and the best of both worlds could be found. In many ways, Spicetown and Driftmark became as powerful as a Free City in their own right, boasting much wealth and influence. Their wealth allowed them to hire mercenaries, and their professional war fleet was the largest in Westeros and competed with the Braavosi for supremacy in the Narrow Sea.

All of this in just under thirty years. And Driftmark had much more to grow indeed before it reached the height of its wealth, splendour, and power.

Yet tragedy would hit the island in 86 AC when it’s aged lord, Daemon Velaryon, passed away at the ripe old age of eighty-eight. His grandson now found himself with full power and responsibility over House Velaryon’s newfound wealth and power.

Corlys would have little time to make the adjustment from commanding a fleet to ruling an island before a raven came from King’s Landing offering him the position of Master of Ships in the Small Council. One chapter of his life had come to a close, another was just beginning, and Corlys had to be ready for the intricacies of court.

His exploits and efforts had not gone unnoticed, his own personal renown was legendary and the newfound wealth and power of House Velaryon had alarmed many of Corlys’s peers and made them turn green with envy. By raising his house fortunes so quickly, Corlys had drawn much attention and now many took note of House Velaryon and some even plotted to cast them down. House Velaryon and its legendary lord had become a player in the game, and when you play the game of thrones, you win, or you die.

Chapter 4: Voyage

Chapter Text

Aurane Velaryon

Eighth Moon, 85 AC

Back home in Driftmark, it would have been the eighth month of 85 AC. Of course, here in Yi Ti, the calendars were dated from the founding of the Bu Dynasty, known to the outside world, as the Azure Emperors.

This was Aurane’s fifth visit to Yi Ti, and it would likely be his last. Like all the previous times, he came accompanying his elder brother Corlys as one of his captains for his expedition fleet. Yet unlike all the others, where they had come simply to trade, something was different this time, and it was that difference that made Aurane nervous, knowing what the plan was.

The first time they had come to Yi Ti, they had only been allowed to trade in one port, and Aurane had been quite angry that they had been so restricted. It had taken years, but they had eventually built a relationship with many Yi Tish merchants and officials as reputable and trusted and so Corlys had managed to gain them an audience with His Serene Imperial Majesty, the Azure Emperor, Bu Yan. Aurane had been impressed enough to hear that, it was a great honor and they could potentially impress the Emperor and open up more of Yi Ti to their trade. Aurane had been feeling much less hopeful about the chances of continued trade with Yi Ti, or the continued attachment of their heads to their bodies, when he heard his brother’s plan.

“Are you insane? If we get caught, they’ll execute us!” Aurane asked his brother.

“Trust me. When have my plans ever gone wrong before?” Corlys replied.

Aurane frowned. Corlys liked to think he was a genius all too often and it was up to him as his annoying little brother to remind him that he could and had failed before. At the same time… when it came to things that really mattered, Corlys had never steered them wrong before.

“I hope you know what you’re doing brother, I like my head attached to my shoulders.”

He saw the slightest hint of hesitation in his brother’s eyes then. “So do I Aurane.”

“Your Imperial Majesty, we graciously offer to you our gratitude and generosity for allowing our delegation but a little of your precious time in an audience with us. As a token of our esteem, please do accept our humble gifts,” Corlys said as they greeted the Emperor.

‘Always were a smooth talker weren’t you brother?’ Aurane thought.

Though they could speak some Yi Tish as well as the common trade languages, they’d had to learn to trade in Yi Ti after all, they had been told by the court officials to speak in their native tongues, as the Emperor would be most displeased to hear them sully the language of his beloved homeland with mispronunciations and bad grammar. Aurane had actually been rather insulted by that, but he had followed Corlys’s lead. It would not do to insult royalty. Seven knew they were prickly enough when not insulted.

As his brother schmoozed and did his best to impress the Emperor and his court with their gifts, the wares and trades of Driftmarks, and their inventions and devices like the small-eye and printing press, Aurane looked around the court room, doing his best to not get caught snooping.

Had it honestly been any other time, Aurane probably would have been awed by the splendor and grandness of the court, of the rich tapestries telling the history of the Bu dynasty and the gilded pillars, and the massive porcelain vases and miniature bonsai trees, and some part of him was still amazed by all of it. The rest of him however was too busy trying to find an escape route in case anything went wrong, not that it would help them much, being so deep inland in Yi Ti in its capital city of Yin.

Turning his attention back to what his delegation was doing, Aurane watched as his brother, with all the showmanship and theatre of his somehow perfectly charismatic self, began to demonstrate how the small-eye, and their other gifts worked, and presented them to the emperor.

The list of gifts really was long. There was a printing press, small-eye, a fine castle-forged steel broadsword, a bow made of goldenheart, a chalice of fine dyed glass inscribed with Yi Tish imperial heraldry, various Westerosi books painstakingly translated into Yi Tish, and so much more. Corlys had spared no expense in securing their audience with the Emperor because the opportunities it would give them were worth so much more than the price of all the gifts.

Finally, after an honestly boring though amusing session, the Emperor graciously accepted all the gifts. The translator spoke out then in heavily accented Common.

“His Imperial Majesty is pleased with your humble gifts, and is quite impressed that a land of savages like Westeros could have the ingenuity and craftsmanship to make so fine objects such as these. His Majesty graciously accepts them and asks if Lord Velaryon would have any boon to ask of him, for in his great magnanimity, he is feeling pleased and generous.”

Corlys smiled happily and replied in Common. “Your Imperial Majesty, your words honor my delegation and I. We could ask for no greater boon than to be allowed to trade further with your great empire, and in more ports, to bring great wealth and prosperity to all parties in the expansion of our mutually beneficial trade relationship.”

The translator spoke softly to the Emperor before replying. “This request is acceptable to the Emperor. His Imperial Majesty has decreed that so long as your traders bring more goods like the ones you have gifted the Emperor, they will be allowed to trade in three more ports, Jiqqui, Liyue, and Qing.”

“We graciously accept His Imperial Majesty’s generous offer for our merchants. We will be sure to inform them of the terms but… would it be possible to ask for one last boon? It has long been a desire of our people to learn more about the process by which silk and tea are produced. Would it be possible to be allowed to observe them, to sate our curiosity? This is by no means a necessity, only a humble request.”

Here it comes. Aurane was honestly half hoping they rejected Corlys’s request. They had already gotten an immeasurable reward for their efforts in the opening of more ports. What more could they need? Yet his brother’s ambition had led Driftmark to where it was now, Aurane just hoped it wouldn’t lead them to their deaths.

The translator again related Corlys’s words to the Emperor and this time there was an almost heavy awkward silence that filled the court room. After an agonizing wait, the Emperor responded and the translator conveyed his will.

“His Imperial Majesty says that in light of the excellent relationship you have built over many years with our empire and your own humble demeanor and bountiful gifts, he has elected to grant your request, and let you have a further glimpse into the true glory of Yi Ti with a tour of the silkworm hives and tea plantations. He asks only in return, that you do not abuse this boon, and seek to commit theft of any kind.”

“Of course not Your Imperial Majesty. I am but a humble adventurer with an insatiable curiosity, I would never dare to seek to incur the wrath of the Great Golden Empire of Yi Ti,” his brother said with a smile so charming and charismatic Aurane might have believed him, if he hadn’t known his ulterior motives. To the surprise of the court, Corlys then repeated his oath in near flawless Yi Tish.

The Emperor snorted before speaking again. Once again, the translator faithfully conveyed his message. “His Imperial Majesty says that your Yi Tish needs more work, but it is passable nonetheless. You may stay the night in the Imperial Palace as his guests. Tomorrow, a guide will take you to see the silk and tea.”

_________________________________________________

Aurane would like to say that he spent all night up planning and worrying over the enactment of the plan but that would be a lie. He slept like a log, relaxing in the very comfortable bedding provided by the Yi Tish. For all their isolation and feelings of superiority, they were extremely good hosts.

It was when morning came that he started panicking, realizing that they were actually doing this, that they were daring to try and steal silk and tea from right under the nose of the Emperor. It wasn’t the first time they had attempted to do so either, they had sent agents on their behalf, but none had been able to even leave the ports to get inland enough. The furthest inland they had ever gotten was their delegation’s audience with the Emperor, and now they were to go even further inland, and they might not come out again.

Once they had packed up, their delegation left around noon, journeying a few miles to the north of Yin to a local village where silk was produced. It was a quaint and cozy little village all things considered. It had some rice paddies to provide food for the village but most of its land was filled to the brim with mulberry orchards.

Driftmark had done its research, having managed to free some Naathi silk-weavers from slavery. They had long since learned that mulberries were essential for the silkworms and had prepared everything beforehand on Driftmark and even a little in Velos for the transport. The only thing missing were the silkworms themselves.

With a heavy sigh, Aurane prayed to the Seven as he slipped some of the larvae and pupae into his wooden cane as Corlys boisterously and excitedly asked questions, drawing attention and distracting their guides and the villagers as they observed the process of silk production. Some of the others in their group took the opportunity to do the same with their canes and by the time the guides turned back to looking at them, they were none the wiser.

That night, he somehow kept his cool enough to partake of the villager’s gracious hospitality, doing his best to squash the guilt he felt when he remembered they had basically stolen from them. As guests of the villagers, they had been given traditional Yi Tish clothing to wear, yinfu, with its long flowing robes made out of linen. As usual, he struggled using the chopsticks the Yi Tish were obsessed with though Corlys used them like a master. It had all felt…strange, but not in a bad way. If Aurane was being honest, much of Yi Ti’s culture, traditions, and people were strange to him, but in a good way. Different did not always necessarily mean bad after all.

Dinner had been rice with soy sauce and some stir-fried chicken with spices and it had been exquisite. Spices were truly the Seven’s gift to men, the flavor of spiced food was so much better and richer. There was a reason after all why the spice trade was so lucrative for the Velaryons, the spice always had to flow, and obviously they kept a supply for their own use on Driftmark.

When they left the village the next day, the villagers gifted them some mulberry leaves and fruits per their request as tokens. Enough leaves to feed the silkworm larvae at least until they got back to their ships with more. Aurane was not amused to see Corlys happily snacking on the mulberry fruits as if they hadn’t just potentially signed their execution writs.

A few days later, they traveled further inland into the highlands and repeated the process with the tea plants, somehow managing to hide a few seeds while covertly working together to memorize the process of tea production so they could collaborate to write it down in the safety of their quarters.

Their tour of numerous production sites would continue for a few weeks more before they were escorted back to port where their ships awaited. As he boarded their ship, Aurane could not help but let out a sigh of relief as their sailors began untying the ropes and the fleet set off westward again, finished with yet another lucrative expedition.

“That had to be the most stressful three weeks of my life,” he said out loud.

Corlys laughed. “Even more so than the storm we faced on the way to Nefer?”

“The sea is less terrifying than being a criminal in the interior depths of Yi Ti. Don’t make me do that again, I won’t be joining you next time Corlys. I quite like having my head attached to my shoulders.”

His brother sighed. “Ah, liven it up a little. We only live once after all. What’s life without a little risk and fun?” There was a glint in his brother’s eyes as he mentioned living only once.

“I do hope you don’t plan anything else as daring as this,” Aurane said instead of replying to his brother’s rhetorical question.

“Fear not, any future plans won’t put us directly at risk. To be honest I wasn’t quite at ease with it either, but after our previous attempts all failed, we had no choice but to go personally to use our rank to leverage access,” Corlys admitted.

Aurane noticed now that at least some of his brother’s overconfidence was just that. Bravado. He could see the release of tension he hadn’t even noticed in the past few weeks, now fading away as they relaxed on the gentle rocking of the Sea Snake as it sailed westward on the green waters of the Jade Sea, leaving the port behind them.

So even his seemingly perfect older brother could still feel fear. Aurane would barely have thought it with how fearless and inspiring he had always been to Aurane, since they were just boys. It had been Corlys who had inspired Aurane to take to the sea like he had, and when he had founded his Guild of Venturers, he had been the first member to sign up. He would never admit it out loud, knowing it would only feed his brother’s ego more, but he honestly idolized him still in some way. He would always be in his shadow, but there were worse things to be than the shadow of a legendary man like Corlys the Sea Snake.

And yet still, a legend Corlys might be, but he is still a man. And all men must die. I hope his fearlessness does not tread into recklessness and get himself killed, or worse one day.

But then, perhaps that was what brothers were for? Who else was there to watch Corlys other than he? Rhaekar? Maybe, but Rhaekar had always been more distant to Corlys and he, perhaps because unlike them, he had never quite taken to the sea, preferring to stay home on Driftmark and settle down. He was already the first of the three of them to wed and have children and had become a fine steward under their grandfather’s tutelage. He would likely be Corlys’s steward as well when the time came.

Thinking of Rhaekar reminded Aurane of the gifts he had promised his nephew and niece, Vaemond and Vaella. He would have to remember that, and remind Corlys as well, though knowing him, he had already come up with some ridiculous overly extravagant gifts for their brother’s children. Maybe even an elephant? Vaemond had expressed interest in the great tusked beast before.

“So… what’s the plan now?” Aurane asked Corlys as the wind changed direction and the sailors re-rigged the sails to tack.

“They’re quite perishable. That’s why I set up everything in Velos. We’ll stop over there and re-provision, make sure the worms and the seeds are still alive, and then continue onward back home.”

“So that’s it then? No more stops?”

“Not really no. Time is of the essence. Although… I do think we can afford one last stop before Velos,” Corlys answered.

This was not according to plan. “What? Where? We have everything we need don’t we?” Aurane asked, surprised.

Corlys grinned. “Not yet we don’t little brother. I promised our nephew an elephant after all, and I intend to deliver… with interest.”

Aurane groaned. Corlys was really doing it! He followed after him, trying in vain to convince Corlys to at least buy one and not a whole bloody herd. As was all too often, his words fell on deaf ears but Aurane could not help but shake his head in amusem*nt.

For all of his brother’s faults and flaws, and for all that he could be annoyingly stubborn at times, he had this charm, this charisma that he breathed that made men want to die for him. Aurane had fallen under its spell when he was only six years old, when Corlys had told him of how he would one day build a great ship and become the greatest adventurer the world had ever seen. Somehow, even at age ten, Corlys had ensnared him. His brother had been that convincing and he had believed he would do it, and now twenty-two years later, he had indeed. He knew, just as he had then, that he would follow Corlys to whatever end, be it to the Seven Hells themselves.

Twelfth Moon, 85 AC

The poor elephants had spent a few miserable months on board their ships after they had been bought at Qarth. Now as they docked in Velos, they were finally being let out. Per the plan for the expedition, they would spend a week in Velos to stretch their legs and enjoy the feeling of land again while also making sure their perishable goods, the silkworms, the tea seeds, and now the elephants, stayed alive.

As their ships moored, Aurane walked down the gangplank alongside Corlys into Velos. Once a thriving city before the Doom of Valyria, Velos had been washed away by the cataclysmic tsunami in the aftermath and had been left deserted for almost two hundred years. What few survivors there had been had left the island behind, which was rumored to be haunted, and as Essos descended into the Century of Blood, no one had really bothered with the Isle of Cedars for generations.

On their very first voyage to Yi Ti, Corlys had led the fleet to stop over in Velos and determine its suitability as an outpost. They soon found that it was perfect for everything they needed. The isle was rich in wood to repair their ships, and it had many wild animals, such as boars, which they could hunt to get some salted meats for the rest of the long journey to Yi Ti. That first voyage, the sailors had feasted on pork for almost every night they were on Velos, for the native animals had had no fear of men anymore, although that had since changed.

In the following years, Velos had been restored somewhat as an outpost of the Velaryon trading empire and was administered by the Driftmark East Trading Company. Corlys had personally visited the various cities of Slaver’s Bay and Ghis, notably Tolos, Elyria, Mereen, Astapor, Yunkai, and New Ghis, and had obtained an agreement from them all that the Velaryons would be able to remain on the Isle of Cedars without interference, in exchange for certain trade privileges and concessions.

Apart from the cost of colonization and the rumors of haunting, a primary reason why the Isle of Cedars had remained uninhabited for so long was because its strategic position in the bay could not be tolerated by any of the primary powers of the Bay to fall into a rival’s hands. The Velaryons then, as a neutral and foreign party that would never have the strength to feasibly hold the island against any individual city-state in the bay due to the distance from Driftmark were considered to be inoffensive to anyone and so allowed to hold the island by the grace and agreement of the cities.

The terms of that agreement did forbid militarization of the island beyond what was necessary to defend Velaryon shipping from pirates, but then they had never really entertained any such ideas as to seriously colonizing the island. It was too far from Driftmark.

No, Velos was good enough for them as it was now. A trading hub by which the Velaryons got access to the markets of Slaver’s Bay and Ghis, and a stopover for their ships to repair and re-provision on the journey to the Far East.

Aurane watched as their men all disembarked from their ships in the harbor of Velos, some even leading out the elephants to the massive pens that had been prepared for them. The port was bustling. Despite the outpost’s relatively small size, still enclosed within the boundaries of the ruined city, it saw new ships almost every day. Its position made it ideal for trade and the Velaryons had taken advantage of that.

As they reported to the harbormaster, Erren, they were greeted warmly. “Ah Lord Corlys, Lord Aurane. On your way back from Yi Ti I presume?”

“That’s right Erren. The usual fees?” Corlys said with that smile again.

“Oh my lord, how could I charge you?” Erren asked with a smirk.

“Yes well, you know it makes the accounting easier if we like all the others pay the fees. We’ll be staying for a week. Making sure everything is settled and the perishables remain intact. I trust everything has been prepared?” Corlys asked.

“Why yes of course Lord Corlys. Everything was prepared according to your orders. Your perishable goods will not be wanting in any way.”

“Excellent,” he said with a grin.

As they walked off further into the small town that had sprung up around the outpost, Aurane observed as sailors and mercenaries gathered around in the various inns, taverns, brothels, and shops that had sprung up over the years. Though it had never been their intention for Velos to be so bustling an outpost, trade drew people, and many of the locals of Slaver’s Bay had come seeking their fortune servicing the needs of the passing merchants and traders.

That the Isle of Cedars was under Westerosi administration, meant that it also obeyed Westerosi law and that had caused some issues with the locals when it came out that slaves were using the isle to escape to freedom. Corlys had had to make the difficult decision of appeasing the slave masters and restricting passage or risk having the combined might of Slaver’s Bay bearing down on Velos. Still though, in secret, the Velaryons helped what slaves they could still, smuggling them out in low numbers, be it to Driftmark or elsewhere, yet Aurane knew that for every slave they smuggled out, a thousand more were in chains just across the bay.

It was honestly the worst part of their trade empire. The sacrifice to their morals they had to accept to be willing to do trade with slavers and appease them so they could keep their outpost. Corlys hadn’t liked it either. Aurane remembered how he had clenched his fists in anger and almost punched a hole in the wall of their ship after they had appeased the slave masters.

Yet for all the power and influence House Velaryon had gained, they were but one faction, just an island and its vassals really. There was little they could do to stop the slave trade. They would do what they could of course, hundreds, if not thousands of slaves had been freed either by purchase or by smuggling by the Velaryons. But even then, that had not always been for altruistic reasons. Those slaves had almost always had some skills or knowledge that would be useful to Driftmark. It was the simple cruel way of the world that people rarely did things just because it was the right thing to do.

Aurane shook himself from his dark thoughts. He hated dwelling too much on the idea, knowing that his family could and should be doing more to fight the slave trade…. but they weren’t, because that would hurt their trade operations and the income that had so drastically seen them rise in power. Sometimes he wondered if that made them sinners in the eyes of the Seven. Sometimes he was able to convince himself that not freeing every slave you could was not the same as holding the whip yourself, but only sometimes.

Corlys had mentioned playing the long game once. By doing what Braavos appeared to be doing, making itself so economically powerful that it could eventually begin restricting the slave trade and perhaps abolish the practice entirely. Already Lorath and the rest of the Shivering Sea had fallen under Braavos’s sway and had abolished slavery to avoid its displeasure and now the Bastard Daughter was turning its attention southwards on Pentos.

Though Driftmark and Braavos were rivals for trade and banking, in the matter of slavery at least, they were united in their aim of seeing it end one day. And with Driftmark’s rapidly rising wealth and influence, perhaps that goal might one day be fulfilled.

“Yes the silkworms are hungry, they matured on the way here, and we barely had enough mulberry leaves to keep them fed,” Corlys said. Aurane snapped out of his dark thoughts, realizing that they had arrived at their destination. On the far side of town, sheltered away from the view of the harbor, was the mulberry orchard they had ordered planted in preparation for the silk heist.

His brother was speaking with the botanists and growers they had hired, calculating how many mulberry leaves they would need to keep the worms fed for the return journey and also inquiring how to keep the tea plants alive. As a precaution, at least half of their stock of tea and silkworms would be left in Velos for the meantime. The operation was quite secretive however, as they did not want to advertise to the world that they had silk and tea prematurely and risk others trying to steal it from them as they had stolen it from the Yi Tish.

Their conversation was interrupted soon however, by one of their sailors from the Sea Snake who came running into the orchard.

“What is it Jon?” Aurane asked. Though the orchard wasn’t hidden, it wasn’t exactly easy to find. Jon had to have been given instructions to find them so quickly.

“The harbormaster and the governor are calling you and Lord Corlys to the port! They say its urgent!” Jon reported.

Aurane shared a look with Corlys. Lucerys Velaryon was not one to summon his own cousins and superiors to him like they were his servants. If they were being called, it was definitely an emergency.

As they ran back to the port behind Jon, Aurane let his imagination go wild. What could warrant summoning him and his brother in such a rude way? Perhaps the slaver cities had realized they were still smuggling slaves and had come to demand they cease and desist? That would be a real mess.

When they arrived at the harbor however, they found no grand armada of Ghiscari ships like he had feared, not even an emissary from the slaver cities. Instead the port seemed to be as normal, but Aurane did note that there was more whispering and rumor mongering among the dockworkers and sailors then there had been earlier.

Their cousin Lucerys was in front of the harbormaster’s office along with Erren and another man that Aurane vaguely recognized as one of Driftmark’s captains who commanded another trade fleet on the Jade Sea route.

As they arrived, Aurane noted that Lucerys’s expression was filled with concern, and grief. “Tell them what you told us,” Lucerys ordered the captain when he noticed their coming.

The captain spoke. “Lord Corlys, Ser Aurane, I fear I must inform you that your lord grandfather has taken ill. He was bedridden when my fleet left Driftmark and I was tasked by your brother Steward Rhaekar to inform you of this were I to meet you.”

Aurane’s heart sank and he saw that Corlys’s face had fallen as well. Their grandfather was not a young man, if he had taken ill enough to be bedridden… even with all of Driftmark’s advances in medicine, there could be no saving him. Even if it was his time to die, what a cruel thing would it be that they would not be there to say goodbye?

“How is his condition?” Corlys asked, his voice almost too calm.

“Stable, but deteriorating. Maester Desmond feared he had less than a year left when we departed.”

“I see… Aurane, how long would it take for us to get back to Driftmark with the fleet if we leave on schedule?”

Aurane thought for a while, the figures coming into his head. “Assuming there are no delays in provisioning and the perishables are taken care of properly, I estimate about another six to seven months back to Driftmark. Maybe a month or two less if the winds are fair and the seas calm.”

By the time he had finished however, Corlys had already come up with a plan. “Lucerys, the elephants and all the other goods of our voyage, I entrust them to you. See to it that they make it back to Driftmark intact. Certain goods have priorities over others, you know what those goods are and what it cost to get them, do not let me down. Aurane, call back all the sailors. The rest of the fleet can leave on schedule with our cargo, we unload the Sea Snake and re-provision it tonight. I want her sails on the high seas west for Driftmark by dawn. Go!”

Nodding his head in acknowledgement, Aurane urgently went to see to his task, leaving behind his brother who remained to sort out with Lucerys and Erren the handling and transport of the rest of their fleet’s cargo, especially the precious cargo they had risked so much for.

Yet even with their rushing to race home to Driftmark, Aurane feared they would be too late nonetheless.

______________________________________________________

Sixth Moon, 86 AC

A few months later, the Sea Snake sailed into the Stepstones archipelago chain and it was here that Aurane’s doubts surfaced again as he remembered what they had forgotten in their haste. The whole reason why the Velaryon fleets travelled in convoys was for safety in numbers against the pirates that trawled the seas and the Stepstones were perhaps the most notorious and dangerous pirate-infested waters in the whole world.

The Sea Snake was a big and intimidating ship, it was a carrack after all, but it was not at present armed for war as it had been used primarily for trade and exploration. They would have to rely on speed to get past the Stepstones. The consequences of getting caught could be disastrous.

Luck it seemed was not on their side, for though they had outrun many a pirate ship on the high seas, in the shallower and rockier waters of the Stepstones, an ambush could be the end of any unprepared ship and its crew.

“Pirates sighted! Due north, three ships!” their helmsman cried out.

Corlys immediately ordered for the Sea Snake to make west but soon they found themselves dangerously close to running aground on one of the islands. With a skill befitting a legendary captain, Corlys then proceeded to have the Sea Snake bank and turn, running circles around the pirates as they attempted to shake them off their tail. His efforts saw at least one of the pirate ships run aground on the same island they almost had and another fail to keep up once the wind picked up. But one last ship was hot on their tail still, and Aurane honestly thought it was the worst possible one to still be pursuing them, eying the banner of the blood-red scorpion on a faded yellow field.

Aurane didn’t think there was a sailor in the world that didn’t know the name of Syrio Vunatis, the self-proclaimed Pirate King of the Stepstones. Taking the scorpion as a sigil, he fashioned himself as royalty and had somehow managed to rally at least half of the pirate bands in the Stepstones under his command, daring even to prey on the large and armed convoys the Velaryon fleets had sailed in.

Their captains had developed a rivalry of sorts with him, fighting him many times as they passed through, and now the Sea Snake, the most famous ship flying the Velaryon banner in the world, was in his reach. His pride would not let them escape. Aurane knew it, and it seemed Corlys did as well as he gave his orders. “Man battle stations! Prepare to be boarded!”

The wind had turned against them now and with not enough time to tack, their carrack was soon overtaken by the oared galley of Vunatis and the fighting began in earnest as the crews of the two ships began releasing volleys of arrows at each other. Tiring of their back and forth game however, Vunatis soon smashed his ship right into the Sea Snake’s hull, damaging both ships but allowing his men to board.

Within moments, the proud Velaryon sailors rushed to drive back the pirates and for a while they seemed to have the upper hand before a volley cut them to pieces and reinforcements joined the boarders from their ship.

Syrio Vunatis had come in person Aurane realized, recognizing him by the description he had heard before. Tall and muscled with long and dark unkempt hair and a messy black beard, looking more like a savage beast with the deranged look in his eyes than a man. And it seemed the rumors that he bore a sword of Valyria were true as well Aurane noticed, catching a glimpse of the smoky swirly pattern of Valyrian steel slicing through their men.

Some called him Scorpion Syrio, after the deadly insect he had taken as his sigil. He had a habit of allowing desperate ship captains a ‘chance’ in a duel with him, promising to let them go if they won. This seeming magnanimity was rather offset by the fact that Vunatis had supposedly never lost a duel and brutally killed all his opponents, like a scorpion stinging its prey. Now that Vunatis had come in person, it was likely only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed.

Suddenly, Corlys cried out, “Parley! I ask for parley!”

The pirates all stopped, and their captain began laughing. “You hear that boys? The Sea Snake asks for pirates to parley with him! Won’t that be a tale for your whor*s?” The pirates all laughed, feeling confident in their victory now. “Listen up Velaryon, we don’t parley with prissy merchants and adventurers. Only with men of real steel! Real strength!” Vunatis said.

“And am I any ordinary man? Is there any other sailor in the world who can claim to have braved the boundaries of the Known World and the dangers of the open seas as much as I have? That takes real courage and strength I would think. Am I not a man worthy of parleying with the great Syrio Vunatis, King of the Stepstones?”

Aurane knew what Corlys was doing, he was trying to play to Vunatis’s ego to try and wrangle something out of him. But still, did he seriously think they could parley with Scorpion Syrio? Why would he let them go?

“Very well Sea Snake. You have earned that much at least! What are your terms then?” Vunatis replied, his tone making it clear he was only humoring Corlys for his own amusem*nt.

“You are King of the Stepstones no?” Corlys asked. “Rather than simply attack us for no reason, I was hoping to treat with a respected ruler, to discuss the terms of the toll for passage through his lands.”

Vunatis started laughing. “Driftmark’s ships have never paid toll to me before Velaryon! I don’t expect them to start now! Besides, I have a much more fun method of exacting tolls from travelers. Tell you what, I’m feeling generous. A gentleman’s duel between you and me. You defeat me, and I’ll let you go with all of your crew.”

“And if I lose?” Corlys asked in return.

“Then you die. Simple as that. Poison has been waiting for its next kill. And I’ll take your ship and all its treasures, the Sea Snake would be a fine prize indeed,” Vunatis said, licking his lips in anticipation thinking what treasures the famed Sea Snake would have in its cargo hold. Aurane had a feeling he would be very disappointed.

“Don’t, it’s a trap,” he warned his brother, hoping he’d listen to him.

“Deal!” Corlys shouted back to Vunatis.

“At least name one of our guards as your champion!” Aurane begged his brother, aghast. They may be in the role of sailors right now, but they were still the heirs of House Velaryon, and their trusted Tide Guard looked distraught that their charge had volunteered himself in a duel to the death

“Can’t. You heard him. It has to be me, captain against captain,” Corlys rebuffed him. Aurane sighed. His brother was right of course. They didn't have a choice. Their sailors were decently armed and trained and the few Tide Guard they had were elites, but against a whole crew of hardened pirates?

“You know he’s going to kill you right? You’re good in a fight Corlys, but you’re a sailor first and a soldier second. Vunatis is going to eat you up alive,” Aurane pleaded, trying to get his brother to reconsider in the five minutes Vunatis had oh so ‘graciously’ given them to prepare.

“Trust me, it’ll be fine. I have no intentions on dying here. The scorpion may soon find that the fangs of a sea snake are just as deadly,” Corlys replied dangerously before telling Aurane what he wanted him to do. He could barely believe it when he heard it. What was it with his brother and insane plans? Yet try as he could, Aurane didn’t really see what other option there was.

As his brother and Vunatis lined up for their duel, Aurane put on the worried face of a brother (not hard to do, he actually was very worried) and made it seem like he was panicking as he secretly signaled their men to get into position.

Soon Corlys and Vunatis’s duel began in earnest and Aurane winced as he saw his brother being outmatched. Corlys was a fine swordsman, but he was no legend, and against Scorpion Syrio, he was always going to be outmatched in single combat. The Tide Guard tightened their grip on their weapons in rage. Aurane hoped they held long enough for Corlys's plan to work.

“Is this all you can do Sea Snake? I’m almost disappointed? Show me some fangs!” Vunatis shouted as he hammered his Valyrian steel sword, Poison, against his brother who barely managed to block his barrage of attacks. In his battle fury, Vunatis had begun using his sword less like a blade and more like a hammer to overcome his opponent with brute force, like some barbaric berserker.

Aurane knew he needed everything ready as soon as possible, the moment Corlys gave the signal that he couldn’t keep up anymore, they had to be ready. He desperately began quietly alerting his men, thanking the Seven and any other god that would listen that the pirates were too engrossed in the ‘amusing’ fight between their leader and the famous Sea Snake.

“The Old, the True, the Brave!” Corlys shouted suddenly as he attacked Vunatis with renewed vigor and a seeming increase in skill. In that moment, the archer that Aurane had secretly managed to dispatch and sneak up to a higher deck near the helm loosed his arrow, narrowly missing Corlys and slamming right into Vunatis’s chest.

Chaos broke out in the next moment as the Tide Guard followed the signal and immediately charged, beginning the battle anew. They were but the spearhead for the assault as the rest of the crew soon followed behind them. The pirates who had all relaxed to enjoy the show of their leader adding another kill to his reputation were taken completely unawares by the violation of parley. At the same time, some of their sailors began cutting the ropes connecting the two ships, separating them and letting the Sea Snake drift away from the pirate galley.

Aurane really didn’t know how, but it seemed Corlys’s assessment of the pirate’s overconfidence had been correct. Everything they and their crew had been doing had been to portray the picture of worry, concern, and fear, and that in turn had fed the ego and overconfidence of Vunatis and his band. That Corlys had somewhat faked his skill with a blade to lull them even further into their relaxation was key as well, as it made the pirates, sick bastards that they were, begin to relax thinking their captain would easily kill his opponent.

Now with the upper hand, the crew of the Sea Snake began to overwhelm the unprepared pirates who were severely demoralized at seeing their captain fall. By the time the last pirate was dead, the Sea Snake was already well on its way into open sea, with the rest of Vunatis’s crew on his galley unable to keep the chase.

As they sorted out the damage from the battle and took note of their wounded and dead, Aurane checked on his brother. “You still alive?” he asked, looking at his brother who had knelt down near the corpse of Vunatis, his blade in the pirate king’s chest.

“Yeah… just… just exhausted. He didn’t go down without a fight, damned bastard managed to stick me pretty good,” Corlys said as he showed Aurane a rather deep gash that had sliced deeply into his right chest and shoulder. Just a few inches deeper, and Corlys might have lost the arm entirely. As it was, Aurane wasn’t sure he’d be able to fight nearly as good as had before, not that his skill had been that noteworthy to begin with.

“You’re lucky you didn’t lose an arm you damn idiot. You need to stop taking crazy gambles like this,” Aurane lectured his brother.

“Yeah… I know, I know. Yet what to do when a crazy gamble is the only way out?”

Aurane gave him an unimpressed look and Corlys smiled sheepishly before wincing in pain as Aurane dressed the wound and bandaged it cleanly. Driftmark had taken to germ theory eagerly, and Aurane was experienced in properly cleaning wounds.

“Keep it clean, we don’t want it getting infected,” he ordered his brother.

Corlys looked offended, “You speak to the man who helped invent the microscope, give me more credit.”

“Nah. A reckless bastard like you doesn’t get to claim that kind of credit when you pull stunts like this,” Aurane shut down his brother’s attempts to claim some semblance of reasonability.

Corlys was taken aback slightly. “I suppose I deserve that. I really have been a terrible brother haven’t? I’ve gotten us into so much trouble, and taken too many risks lately. Maybe you’re right Aurane. Life isn’t some game. I need to be more careful.”

“Oh finally some self-awareness? Too bad it came twenty-six years too late. I think all your sense of caution went out the window when you miraculously survived the Shivers at age seven and took it as a sign you were the Seven’s chosen champion or something. Protected from any and all harm. Who could hurt you if you survived such a terrible disease after all?”

His brother winced at his rebuke. “I deserve that. Would it help reminding you this is the last voyage I intend to take? I’ll settle down on Driftmark after this.”

Aurane smirked. “I’m sure you’ll find other ways to get yourself into trouble brother.” His expression turned more serious then, “You are a good brother, and you’re an amazing leader. Don’t take away your own achievements Corlys. You are a legend. And that is exactly why you must be careful, don’t let all your success go to your head and take insane risks. Driftmark needs you.”

I need you

The last line went unsaid, some pride and shyness perhaps keeping Aurane from admitting it. His brother looked into his eyes, orbs of indigo peering into Aurane’s ocean blue, and he nodded in understanding, as if he had peered into his mind through his eyes and unearthed the secret words that Aurane had not said.

Trying to lighten the tension, Corlys joked, “You know, I really should have expected this. What was I thinking going against Valyrian steel in naught but a sailor’s tunic?”

Aurane froze. In the chaos of the battle, he had forgotten that Vunatis had wielded a Valyrian steel longsword. “Where is it?”

“What?”

“The sword. Where is it?” Aurane asked again. Realization filled Corlys’s purple eyes and he pointed to the side of Vunatis’s corpse.

Almost reverently, Aurane picked up the sword, and admired the smoky and swirly grey pattern of its magical steel.

“Do you realize what this means brother?” Corlys asked him and Aurane nodded vigorously.

“House Velaryon has a Valyrian steel blade again,” he answered in awe. It had been over eighty years since their ancestral blade, Seafoam, had been lost with their grandfather’s namesake in the Battle of Gulltown in the Conquest. It was thought to have fallen to the bottom of the sea when his ship sank. House Velaryon had almost given up hope of having a Valyrian steel sword again, with even all their wealth from their voyages failing to purchase a sword. And now, almost by a stroke of luck, they had one again.

“Grandfather would be very pleased. Let’s present it to him when we get back. He’ll love naming it,” Corlys said as Aurane continued to admire the sword.

“Yes, yes he would. What a surprise it would be for the old man huh? I bet you, sickness or no sickness, he’ll force himself out of bed and march himself to the piers to see us as we disembark, even if he has to be in a wheelchair.”

“Let’s hope we don’t give him a heart attack with this then eh?” Corlys japed and the two brothers shared a laugh.

Yet it was not Lord Daemon Velaryon who greeted them when the Sea Snake limped into Spicetown two weeks later but their brother Rhaekar, a face cold and full of anger and grief as he pronounced the words that Aurane had so dreaded hearing.

“You’re too late.”

Chapter 5: The Mark of Drift

Chapter Text

Aurane

Seventh Moon, 86 AC

When High Tide had been built, the solar had been positioned perfectly to allow their lord grandfather to look out the window and see Spicetown in all its glory and splendor nearby. Every day as he worked in the solar seeing to Driftmark’s matters, their lord grandfather could look out and see the sight Aurane saw now.

A strong and stout set of walls ringed the town, guarding against sea as much as land. Barbicans and portcullises protected their gates. Crenellated battlements with arrow slits and turrets were manned by a loyal and brave garrison. Tall and machicolated towers bristled with scorpions, archers, and other defenses stood proudly along the castle walls, the Velaryon seahorse flying proudly from their standards.

Nestled inside this protective cocoon was the pride of his house. A great harbor, guarded by poleworks and boom chains, full of merchants, ships, and wares from every corner of the Known World. The edge of a large and thriving port town. Factories, warehouses, and rows of shops were common, producing, storing, selling, and buying many items of both beauty and function. Jewelry, glass, armor, weapons, spices, silks, foods, and much more. Almost any goods one could think of could be found, made, or traded in Spicetown.

White cobblestone streets weaved and turned in a grid system through neighborhoods of cozy homes and rows of mercantile markets and manufactories. Three great aqueducts and a host of wells and fountains supplied ample amounts of clean fresh water to the city’s denizens and bathouses while a well-designed sewer system and advanced plumbing kept the city clean and well sanitized, a pleasant sea breeze filling the air. Lush gardens and parks filled the city with a pleasant greenery to contrast the otherwise urban sprawl.

The University of Spicetown itself stood proudly in the distance, as did the Bank, the Museum, Big Ben the Clocktower, and the magnificent Sept of the Waves, just some of many famed landmarks and institutions that had been and were being built. Testaments to the wealth of House Velaryon, the buildings and the institutions they housed were both the cause and result of House Velaryon’s rise.

Concrete, immensely useful for construction, had been one of many discoveries and advances made by the university that was put to work in the building of Spicetown. The town’s buildings and streets boasted many great domes, arches, pillars, and various other designs and features for both practicality and decoration. Iconic of the architecture style the town had been built in, with many inspirations from designs and motifs from across both Westeros and Essos.

A city in all but name now, rich, prosperous, and growing, and it was all his grandfather’s work. It might have been Corlys who had brought the ideas and wealth required to actually build it, but it had been their grandfather and his careful stewardship which had nurtured and expanded Spicetown into the thriving settlement it was today. And not only Spicetown, but the rest of the island also. His grandfather’s work for the past two and half decades had been dedicated to making Driftmark the best it could be, and it was a shame to Aurane that his grandfather would not live to see the plans he had made for Spicetown and Driftmark fully come to fruition.

Driftmark. Spicetown. House Velaryon. They all had much more to grow and prosper, but his grandfather would see none of it. No longer would he watch from this solar with a proud eye upon his city. No longer would he stand upon the piers to greet them as they returned tired after another long voyage. No more would they hear his lectures on their mistakes, his chiding for their recklessness, or his proud praises. Daemon Velaryon was dead, and the world was a worse place for it.

Aurane turned around to see his brothers in the solar. Corlys seated in their grandfather’s former chair, looking every inch a lord. Yet despite how well he held himself, it still looked wrong to Aurane to see Corlys in that seat and he could tell Corlys himself was uneasy being the Lord of the Tides, despite preparing for the role for over two decades. Sometimes no amount of preparation could truly ready you for a position of such responsibility.

Rhaekar was standing across from him, giving a report on Driftmark and its prosperity in the past two years they had been gone. He spoke with a monotonous tone, as if he saw what he was doing as a nuisance. But then, Rhaekar had always taken his duty to their house seriously, so perhaps it was more correct to say he disliked reporting to Corlys over their grandfather now.

“I see. Everything has been well then. Every year our profits rise and Spicetown expands ever further. Perhaps not too long from now, we will need a new set of walls for the city, perhaps a double-set like I proposed all those years ago?” Corlys said with a subdued smile.

Aurane couldn’t help but smile as well. When Spicetown’s first set of walls had been planned, Corlys had dreamed up some impregnable set of double walls, like what Winterfell had. Their grandfather had slapped some sense into him, told him it was unnecessary, and said that if he really wanted to do that, he could do it when he was lord and Spicetown had finished growing.

“I suppose. The expense would be significant though, so I can’t really see the point, especially so long as our fleet keeps all our enemies at bay,” Rhaekar said matter-of-factly.

There was that glint in Corlys’s eyes again. “You can never be too careful. But yes you are right, there would be no point in building such an extravagant set of walls at this time.”

And so on and so forth it went. Corlys trying to coax Rhaekar out of his shell and Rhaekar answering as simply as he could to shut down the conversation. Finally, Corlys lost all his patience. “Damn it Rhaekar, I’m trying to have a proper conversation with you. Can you not even give me that? Are we not family? Have we not just suffered a mutual loss? Why do you treat me so coldly?”

Rhaekar’s careful mask of dutiful obedience came shattering down. “Funny, where was this familial affection for so many years? Where was it when our grandfather asked you to stay on Driftmark and you cast him aside for your adventures? Leaving me alone here to do our duty to our house, to wed and have children, to care for our grandfather as he aged into senility!

“Who do you think has been the one running Driftmark as our grandfather grew old and you and Aurane were off gallivanting to faraway lands trying to get yourselves killed? You think our grandfather was pleased when he heard of the harebrained plan you came up with to steal from the Azure Emperor of Yi Ti?

“Where was all this care and affection for your family when our grandfather laid dying, calling for you? Even at the end, after all you had done, even after the way you treated him, you were still his favorite grandson, his perfect golden heir, and I who had stayed by his side loyally all those years was forgotten. Never mind that I had only ever done as he asked or wished, or that it was I who learned at his feet how to manage Driftmark.

“Did you know that by the end, he could not even distinguish the two of us? In his delusions and incoherence, he called me by your name and spoke to me as if I were you, and I hadn’t even the heart to correct him.”

Corlys glared back at Rhaekar. “That isn’t fair. Everything I did, I did for Driftmark, for our house. Grandfather disagreed with my methods at times, but I never showed him any disrespect. If anyone has been disrespectful here Rhaekar, it’s you.”

Aurane knew what Corlys was demanding, an apology from Rhaekar for daring to insinuate that Corlys had mistreated or not done their grandfather right. But Rhaekar had his own pride, and he had never taken well to being in Corlys’s shadow.

“I beg your pardon my lord,” Rhaekar gritted out. “I have finished my reports. May I have your leave to see to my other duties?” he asked patronizingly.

Corlys kept his stern glance on their brother before giving his leave. After he had left, Aurane pulled out a bottle of brandy, one of many new fermented drinks, liquor, that Driftmark had developed and poured a glass for himself and his brother.

“It is a shame that we haven’t the land to produce this in bulk, it tastes quite exquisite. Unfortunately, it’s not profitable for us at to produce much of these drinks,” Aurane said, trying to steer the conversation away from the rather obvious and awkward topic that had just left.

“We can try marketing them as a luxury good, though the Hook will soon have all of its land planting tea instead, and Driftmark’s spare fields are already tending to our mulberry orchards. There’s no way in the Seven Hells I’m giving the recipes to the Redwynes, so I suppose all these drinks will have to remain rare and uncommon, at least for now,” Corlys replied.

“For now,” Aurane said. If their long-term plans succeeded, Driftmark might one day have the land to grow the crops they needed to produce more of the liquor, but until then, other avenues had to be explored.

“Perhaps an arrangement with the Tyrells?” he asked. “They might jump at the opportunity to undercut the Redwynes’ primary export. We could source the goods needed to make liquor from them, and have the actual distilleries all here on Driftmark, or on the Hook. We would not have control of the entire chain of production like the Redwynes do at the Arbor, but I daresay we’ll make a tidy profit if we market them correctly. It’s another opportunity to weaken the Redwynes as well.”

Corlys stroked his chin. “Those crops could come up the Roseroad, with King’s Landing as port to bring them here. There might be some expenses to cover with the transport and preservation, but that does sound promising. A fine idea Aurane, we will have to add it to our to-do list. It gets ever longer. So many possible ways of making money, yet so little land and time to explore each avenue. Truly what a jape the Seven made at our expense.“

Their conversation lapsed then as Corlys stared at the door that Rhaekar had just stormed out through. “Where did I go so wrong with him?”

Aurane sighed, he hadn’t wanted to have this conversation right now, not when their grief for their grandfather was still so raw.

“You cast a shadow over all of us Corlys. You always have. But it became even worse as the years passed, as our grandfather heaped more and more praise on you. You were so good at almost everything you turned your attention to, it’s easy to see how it would leave Rhaekar feeling inadequate, like nothing he ever did was going to matter. And that made him resentful.”

Corlys leaned back into his chair, his face filled with understanding. “Yes, yes I know that. But it’s never been so glaringly obvious how much Rhaekar resents me.”

“He is grieving. We all are. And I cannot truly blame him for lashing out if it is true Grandfather called for you and mistook him for you before he died. That would hurt any man I think.”

They remained like that for a while, sipping their brandy in silence before Corlys drew out Poison, the Valyrian steel blade they had taken from Vunatis’s corpse, and set it gently on the table, taking care not to scratch the wood.

“I wanted to present this to our grandfather, I wanted him to name it for our house, for him to know that our family had avenged his namesake’s loss of Seafoam with a new Valyrian blade. The prestige this blade brings our house, it’s sheer pricelessness and value, they’re all immeasurable. But if I was to be honest, I’d trade it all away now if it meant having one more moment to speak to him. Just one last time, to say goodbye.”

Aurane smiled sadly. “The world is cruel. It could never be that kind.”

He made to leave then when Corlys called out to him. “What about you? How did you cope with being in my shadow?”

Aurane turned back to his brother and saw him sitting there, genuinely curious and trying to figure out how to fix his relationship with Rhaekar, and he answered.

“I decided that being the shadow of someone like you was not necessarily a bad thing. I grew to accept it. Rhaekar has not, cannot, I think.”

_______________________________________________________

Their lord grandfather had died in the sixth month of 86 AC, barely a week before Aurane and his brother had returned to Driftmark. More than anything, that they had missed his passing so closely hurt the most. His body had laid in state in High Tide for that whole week and upon their return, the invitations had been sent out for the funeral.

Many had come for the funeral of Lord Daemon. The people of Driftmark had gathered, a great crowd congregated as close as they were allowed to the ceremony to mourn their beloved lord. Every member of House Velaryon had been present, save for those scattered across the world unable to attend. Aurane had stood at Corlys’s right, Rhaekar on the left. The three of them were chief among all Velaryons, and with their grandfather’s passing, it fell solely to them to greet any attendees.

Their vassals had all come. Aurane knew their sigils well, having memorized them as a boy. The greatest of them, Bar Emmon, Sunglass, and Wendwater, hailed from lands in the Hook and the edges of the Kingswood. Each one of them had walked forward in turn, paying their respects to their departed liege before stepping to the side. They would renew their oaths of fealty to Aurane’s brother later that day.

The list of attendees was not limited to Driftmark’s domain alone however. His grandfather had been a man well-traveled with many friends and many trade partners. Their kin and allies, the Celtigars, Graftons, and Tarths, sent representatives, as did the Mootons, Darklyns, Manderlys, and various other houses along the eastern coast of the realm. There were even dignitaries from the Free Cities in attendance. Driftmark was a rising power in the Narrow Sea and many from both Westeros and Essos sought to strengthen their ties to the waxing House Velaryon and its new lord.

The most notable of all who attended however, had been the Targaryens. The reminder of their kinship with the Royal House had never been so prominent than when five dragons had come out of the sky and landed, frightening the crowds who had gathered. All of Driftmark had held their breaths and beheld the awe-inspiring sight of Balerion, Vhagar, Vermithor, Silverwing, and Caraxes.

It should have expected that they would come, after all, their grandfather had been the uncle of the King and Queen. Aurane however had not been at all prepared to greet and attend to the King and Queen, or their children, Princes Aemon and Baelon, and Princess Alyssa. Luckily Corlys had handled all of that, and with the last arrivals, they had solemnly begun the ceremony.

They had had eulogies and speeches per tradition. Corlys, Rhaekar, and Aurane, as the closest living kin, had all spoken, as did a few of their vassal lords and their grandfather’s remaining friends. To the surprise of many, King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne had also given a speech, honoring their uncle and stating their firm support for House Velaryon and their appreciation of its loyalty and service. It had been a kind gesture, but one that felt hollow to Aurane seeing how Jaehaerys and Alysanne had rarely visited his grandfather in over thirty years, nor had House Velaryon been represented at court or honored in any way since Daemon had resigned as Hand.

Finally, it had been time for the last rites. Their house was an ancient house of seafarers and mariners. Their funeral traditions were similar to those of the Tullys and other houses in the Riverlands. They would place the departed kinsman upon an old ship with holes punched in its hull, and send it out to sea to sink. As the septon led the congregation in prayer for the soul of his grandfather, Aurane

Their grandfather always had been a stickler for tradition, and had asked to be given their traditional rites, and so, Aurane, his brothers and some of their kinsmen and knights had worked together to set the boat afloat on the water, watching as it went out to sea and slowly foundered beneath the waves. His grandfather had been Lord of the Tides, and it was the tides that he had returned to.

After the funeral, Corlys hosted their guests in High Tide, but it was clear to all that it was a solemn occasion. There was no fancy or joyful feast or celebration. On the morrow, most of their guests would set out to return home.

Aurane’s thoughts were far away, dwelling on memories of his grandfather. In the corner of his eye, he saw the approach of the King and Queen, and shook himself out of his wistful thoughts to listen attentively to their words.

“You have my deepest condolences Lord Velaryon for your loss. It is one that we share. Though it has been many years since, I will never forget the services of my uncle, my first Hand,” the King said.

“Thank you Your Grace. It is still sore, but at least my grandfather lived a long ripe life. Not many can say the same in this harsh cruel world,” Corlys answered.

“If it is any consolation Lord Corlys, our uncle was exceedingly proud of you. When he wrote to us, he would speak endlessly of you, praising your talents. On the occasions we visited, he somehow found the opportunity to turn every conversation to you even as he spoke excitedly of how he was working to better Driftmark. He found joy in you and a new purpose after the losses the Shivers brought to us all,” Queen Alysanne said.

Corlys bowed his head in humility, accepting the compliment. Yet with the recent reminder of how their grandfather’s favoritism had soured Corlys’s relationship with Rhaekar, Aurane had a feeling the queen’s words did not please him as much as they might have once.

That it came from a woman who was all but a stranger to them, from a woman who claimed to be their grandfather’s beloved niece, yet barely seemed to care for him, made it even worse. Aurane had not forgotten, nor had Corlys or Rhaekar, that no raven of condolences had ever come from King’s Landing when the Shivers had taken their father and half their house and people away from them. Oh sure the Lord Hand at the time had written the official condolences of the Iron Throne and the King and Queen, but what about the condolences of their kin? Of Jaehaerys and Alysanne Targaryen as individual people?

The king and queen had lost their firstborn daughter, but what about what they had lost? Had their loss not meant as much, or even more? Were they not family? Why had they their loss and grief been forgotten? For over three decades they had languished, ignored by their supposed kin. No representation at court, royal visits that could be counted on one hand. The two houses were closer to strangers at this point, and now the Targaryens wanted to play up their ties of kinship when they had become rich and powerful?

But Aurane kept his tongue, for to speak such thoughts aloud would be exceedingly unwise. By now Corlys had recovered from his slight hesitation earlier and had slipped easily into the confident charming persona he normally wore, joking around easily, though respectfully with the royals, building a rapport with them and answering all of their many questions about Driftmark’s development and his voyages.

“Yes, I had been hearing reports of this pirate ‘King of the Stepstones’. Lord Manfryd had had half convinced me to send the royal fleet to deal with him when news came to court that the Sea Snake had already dealt with him, and if rumors told true, slew him in personal combat with a Valyrian steel blade as prize,” King Jaehaerys said.

Aurane scoffed slightly at the mention of the grape that had sat comfortably on the rightful Velaryon seat as Master of Ships for over three decades by now.

“The rumors were… highly exaggerated Your Grace. I am unfortunately nowhere near skilled enough to put down one such as Scorpion Syrio by myself. My expertise lies in other fields. But with the support of my crew and a clever plan imparted by the Crone, I was able to defeat the pirate yes. And we did indeed retrieve a Valyrian steel sword.” Corlys drew out Poison from its temporary scabbard, making the Kingsguard beside the king, Ser Ryam Redwyne if Aurane remembered correctly, move to draw his own sword.

The king stayed his guard’s hand. “Peace, Ser Ryam. Lord Corlys would be a fool to try and harm me with so many witnesses and he is kin besides. May I?” He gestured to the sword, asking permission to hold the blade.

Corlys surrendered the blade to the king who admired it and tested its balance, swinging it around slightly with the practiced ease of a warrior. Much like Corlys, King Jaehaerys did not have legendary prowess with a blade, but he had the skill and training to make him deadly enough on a battlefield, not that many would ever face the king’s blade instead of his dragon.

“It’s as light as I expected, and its length and handle are similar to Blackfyre. I suppose it is fitting that House Velaryon should have a Valyrian blade again after so long. I daresay my uncle would have been overjoyed with it.”

“Not just him alone Jaehaerys, our mother would have as well,” Queen Alysanne said to her husband before turning to Corlys. “Though she married first a Targaryen, and later a Baratheon, our mother was always a Velaryon at heart. It would have made her proud indeed to see how far her house has come, to the point that it has risen to become the richest in the realm and has a Valyrian blade once more.”

“You flatter our house Your Grace. We make no claims to being the richest, I daresay the Lannisters and Hightowers would dispute that. It does us well though to hear that a daughter of Driftmark would still have held her home so dear after so many years,” Corlys said.

“I think you underestimate yourself and your house Lord Velaryon. Aye the Hightowers are older, but they do not have nearly as much trade with the east as you do. And the Lannisters cannot use all their gold, lest they devalue gold itself. So in practice, it is likely House Velaryon is or will soon be the richest house in the realm. You can take pride in that at least,” the queen said, smiling to Corlys’s nod as he once more graciously accepted the compliment.

“As for our mother, well, she was a true Velaryon to the end let’s just say. Might I ask your plans for the sword? As sharp as it is now, it’s hilt and handle are rather plain. I somehow doubt whatever name, if any, it had before was fitting for it either,” Alysanne asked.

Corlys answered the queen’s inquiry gracefully, making it seem like he was excited to answer and Aurane really couldn’t tell if he actually was. “The pirate who possessed it before named it ‘Poison’. So that definitely has to change. As for the sword itself, the blade is fine, though I think I will have its hilt and handle refitted to be more clearly a blade of our house, to show its allegiance as the sword of House Velaryon.”

“That would be wise yes, although…”

Corlys quirked in curiosity and the queen continued. “I beg your pardon Lord Corlys, it is not my place, but if you wish for a suggestion for a name, my mother once thought of the name ‘Riptide’ should her family ever obtain another Valyrian sword.”

Corlys grinned. “What a coincidence, our grandfather said the same to me once. It seems the siblings either thought alike or had conversed on the topic. Your suggestion will be taken heavily into consideration Your Grace. I will be sure to let you know my decision on it once the time has come.”

Aurane didn’t really recall their grandfather ever having said that. Either Corlys was telling a white lie to curry favor or it was yet more proof of just how much Corlys had been favored over him and Rhaekar. He didn’t know which was worse.

King Jaehaerys spoke again then. “You might be able to do that in person. We are well aware that House Velaryon has gone long without representation in court and for a family that has served so long and so admirably at our side, that simply won’t do. You may find a raven offering you a post at court in a few months’ time Lord Corlys, unofficially for now at least, but I thought to let you know first.”

Corlys bowed again with a pleased smirk. “You honor me Your Grace. I will be sure to check my letters carefully then.”

___________________________________________________________

Tenth Moon, 86 AC

A few months later, and the brothers had fallen into a rhythm of sorts. Rhaekar handled the day-to-day running, managing the castles and Spicetown and Hull, ensuring everything went smoothly. Aurane saw to the fleet and their merchants and often tagged along with Corlys wherever he went. Corlys for his own part oversaw everything and personally saw to various projects and checked in to ensure the running of their bank and other production operations were going well.

Case in point, today for example. They had taken a trip away from Driftmark itself to see to their lands and vassals on Massey’s Hook. They had already visited the glassworks factory, the new silkworm hives (the worms were thriving, and with how gross they were, Aurane wasn’t sure he wanted them to) and also delighted their nephew Vaemond when their fleet unloaded twenty elephants into a new zoo for exotic animals in Spicetown. At this point Driftmark probably had a large enough menagerie to rival the Sealord of Braavos’s collection. They probably treated them better too with Corlys’s love for the animals and insistence they were given exquisite care.

“They’re growing well,” Aurane observed as he saw the plantation. It was small scale for now, as the Velaryons had yet to grow more of them, but the tea seeds they had stolen from Yi Ti thrived in the low hills of Massey’s Hook, and perhaps in a few years they could have entire acres of it, ready to make House Velaryon even more of a fortune than they already had.

“They better be, with how we actually stuck our own necks out for them. Hopefully in a few years we can start exporting it. We already got the nobility of Westeros addicted to it by importing it from Yi Ti, soon we’ll sate their demands with Westerosi-grown tea and make bank,” Corlys said with a diabolical exaggerated tone.

Aurane could not help but laugh, Corlys always did have a gift for making people laugh. People that weren’t Rhaekar at least.

As he looked around the hills of Massey’s Hook, Aurane’s thoughts drifted to how their family had gotten the land. After all, it was Massey’s Hook, not Velaryon’s Hook. Years ago, before the Conquest, the families of the northern Stormlands had been closer to Dragonstone and its vassals than to Storm’s End. The cousin of the Conqueror, Aethan Velaryon, had wed Lady Alarra Massey, one of many signs of Dragonstone’s influence in the region.

When the conquest began, Massey and several other houses in the region declared immediately for the Targaryens and were made part of the Crownlands. When the war had ended, House Velaryon had been given the overlordship of Wendwater in the Kingswood, as well as the island of Sweetport Sound and its Sunglass rulers and Sharp Point, ruled by Bar Emmon.

Stonedance, ruled by House Massey, would ordinarily be considered too powerful to be sworn to a fief of equal standing such as Driftmark were it not for the circ*mstances. Lord Triston Massey’s only son and heir had died during the Conquest and unlikely to have any more children, Triston had willed Stonedance to his sister’s son, Aurane’s own grandfather, Daemon Velaryon.

So it was that by the time Daemon inherited the rule of Driftmark, he had already inherited Stonedance and with it, dominion of Massey’s Hook. The official titles of their house had been changed to reflect this. Corlys was styled as Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark, Lord of Stonedance, and Warden of the Hook.

House Velaryon wasn’t the only one rewarded in this way. Aegon I had given his master-of-arms and bastard half-brother, Quenton Qoherys and Orys Baratheon, fiefs of their own. Harrenhal to Qoherys and Storm’s End to Baratheon. Despite having troubles like Orys Baratheon losing his hand or Gargon the Guest almost single-handledly driving the Qoherys’s into extinction and ill repute, both houses had since thrived and still ruled their fiefs.

As for the other house sworn the Targaryens before the Conquest, House Celtigar had been given dominion of Cracklaw Point, like they had long desired. It had taken a more than healthy dose of dragonfire to make houses like Boggs, Brune, Cave, Crabb, Hardy, Pyne, and Staunton swear to Claw Isle and pay them taxes. The Celtigars had rebuilt the ruined castle of the Whispers and styled themselves as ‘Lords of the Claw’ but even now their rule over their vassals was far from secure. Probably why House Velaryon was still considered more powerful despite technically having less land sworn to them.

Still though, despite the rivalry that sometimes existed between their houses, Aurane wished the Celtigars no ill. They were kin after all, for his mother Primrose Celtigar had been wed to his father Lord Corwyn Velaryon to continue and build anew their old alliance. Through the Celtigars and his mother’s sisters’ marriages, Aurane could actually claim kinship with the Graftons and Peakes. The ties to Grafton had come in handy when forging an informal trade bloc and alliance with Gulltown, and who knew? Maybe Aunt Prunella might be useful for the Velaryons to arrange trade deals with the Peakes and other houses in the Reach.

As for the Celtigars themselves, Corlys was thinking of reaching out to them and giving them rice from Yi Ti to grow. The wetlands of Crackclaw Point were quite well suited to grow them. Aurane couldn’t say he fully approved, but the Celtigars could be made stronger allies through this and the rice would help feed Spicetown. It wasn’t like the Velaryons had the land to grow it.

Finally, after a long day inspecting the tea plantation and speaking with the entrusted growers, they made their way to Stonedance where they were staying for the night. Though House Massey was long extinct, its legacy had yet to die down and Aurane had a feeling, by the strange looks Corlys and he sometimes got as they passed through with their guards, the seahorse banner flying proudly, that the Hook was still unused to being ruled by the Velaryons. Still they were loyal enough, and with a good castellan, the management of Stonedance was no issue for the Velaryons.

And it was vital that loyalty was maintained, if not strengthened further. Massey’s Hook had proven to be a boon to Driftmark in more ways than one, one they could not afford to lose. It was the hinterlands of Driftmark, producing and supplying vital naval stores, such as mast lumber, cordage, pitch, and tar, as well as iron, be it bog or mined from hills, charcoal and firewood, wool for their sails, and hemp for their ropes. as well as some limited surpluses of mutton, grains, and other small-scale trades. Massey’s Hook, as well as the part of the Kingswood also sworn to them, was a key part of their demesne, and they were not blind to that, it was why Corlys had taken such an interest in maximizing the region’s potential.

Later that night in Stonedance, Aurane was summoned to the solar of Stonedance where Corlys was waiting. Usually the office of Stonedance’s castellan, the loyal man had vacated the office for his lord in the meantime. Corlys was seated in the castellan’s seat looking carefully at a letter beneath the candlelight.

“I believe it was you Corlys, who taught me not to read in candlelight unless necessary, to avoid worsening my eyesight,” Aurane jibed as he entered. The solar reminded him of the ones on Driftmark, in both the old castle and the new. Then again he supposed, solars everywhere seemed to be quite similar.

Corlys looked up unamused. “And this is necessary.” He gestured to the chair in front of him. “Take a seat.”

Aurane did so, and Corlys spoke again. “This just came from Driftmark, with our brother’s seal. It was passed on from King’s Landing. The castellan informed me as soon as it arrived.”

Now that was curious. What could be in the letter? Aurane could barely restrain his curiosity. “And? What’s in the letter?”

Corlys frowned. “King Jaehaerys’s raven finally came. Lord Manfryd Redwyne has resigned his post as Master of Ships, citing old age and long years of service, and returned to the Arbor. The king has named me as his replacement.”

“Well that’s good then isn’t it? Finally, after over two decades, our house has representation at court and the traditional position has been restored to our family. Why are you upset?”

“I’m not… well I’m not exactly upset. Just a bit annoyed. I had hoped to have a little longer on Driftmark to see to its affairs, I certainly didn’t expect Lord Manfryd to resign so early. Never mind though. I am penning a reply to the King that I accept, and in a moon’s time, I will be going to King’s Landing. You will be coming with me.”

“Me? You want to bring me along to court?”

Corlys nodded. “Despite our…disagreements, I can trust Rhaekar to handle Driftmark. Court is a viper pit though. I need someone I can trust implicitly there, and you are the only one who fits the bill.”

Aurane smirked. Corlys had such trust in him! “Well, I’m honored brother.”

It was Corlys’s turn to smirk devilishly now. “Don’t be. You’ll be my errand boy. You’ll be going back and forth constantly between King’s Landing and Driftmark for me, making sure Rhaekar is carrying out my orders exactly as I want him to, and handling any other tasks inappropriate for me to do.”

“So… same as normal then?”

Corlys laughed. “If you want to put it that way I suppose.”

Aurane leaned back into his seat. King’s Landing. He had only ever been to the capital once before. Many years ago, on a brief voyage with one of their uncles in his youth. It would be a little dangerous he supposed, court was a backstabbing cesspit of intrigue at the best of times. But Aurane had faced danger before, his brother had gotten him into fights with pirates and insane plans to steal from Yi Tish emperors, how bad could court be?

Chapter 6: Viserra

Chapter Text

Eleventh Moon, 86 AC

Viserra Targaryen

The court had been in quite the fuss for the past month ever since it had become publicly known that the new Master of Ships was none other than Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake himself. The announcement by her father had sent the court into a flurry of gossip, rumor-mongering, and endless bounds of curiosity.

After all, the name of Corlys Velaryon was probably world famous by now, even to some of the smallfolk. Who hadn’t heard of the Westerosi lordling who had adventured far and beyond to faraway lands like Qarth, Yi Ti, Leng, Asshai, Sarnor, Ibben, and N’ghai, and brought back untold riches for his house? Of the legendary Sea Snake who had braved the boundaries of the Known World and the endless open seas, been guested by emperors and magisters, and defeated pirates in legendary duels of single combat? He had apparently even obtained a new Valyrian steel sword for his house, to replace the lost Seafoam, Riptide. The name was her mother’s suggestion apparently.

Viserra had heard many say there has never been a finer sailor than Corlys Velaryon. Some of the sailors and captains in the royal fleet spoke his name in admiration, awe, or envy. The fabled treasures of the Velaryons were testament at least to his adventures. And they had put that wealth to good use.

High Tide was said to be a castle that could rival any of the great seats of Westeros in size and splendor. With grand silvered roofs, white marble walls, and corridors filled with fine statues, mosaics, tapestries, and paintings, and vaults full of the Sea Snake’s treasures. What a sight High Tide must be! Sat grand and high atop a hill, cliffs overlooking the sea and neighboring Spicetown, and separated from the rest of Driftmark save for a narrow causeway at high tide. The castle was said to be the pride and joy of the late Lord Daemon Velaryon, her own parents’ uncle, who had passed recently.

And though the burgeoning city of Spicetown had not yet the population of King’s Landing, or even Lannisport or Oldtown really, it was said to outshine all of them, with grand and luxurious parks, white cobbled streets, great domed and arched buildings, and a rich and bustling economy and populace, reminding many visitors of the Free Cities yet with a clearly Westerosi flair.

Viserra did dearly hope that she might soon be able to visit Driftmark, she had been very cross when her mother had refused to let her ride on Silverwing’s back to go to Driftmark for Lord Daemon’s funeral. Her mother it seemed had feared that Viserra had not had the right intentions by wishing to go and thought she might offend the Velaryons with insensitive questions and straying eyes at a solemn event.

That had honestly offended Viserra herself. Did her mother think so lowly of her? What kind of insipid girl did she think she was? Certainly, she might not have had the purest of intentions in wishing to go, but that would not have meant she would not have been genuine in her condolences to the Velaryons, or be so stupid as to not at least appear solemn. It wasn’t like her own mother had the purest intentions either. Oh she claimed to be grieving for her uncle Daemon but Viserra couldn’t even recall her mother ever even writing the man, perhaps she did before she was born, what did that say? And then the Good Queen just so happened to suddenly become a good niece again right as her uncle’s famous grandson returned to become lord?

But alas, her mother’s word had been final. Her father had not exactly been in the mood to argue on her behalf, Alyssa had straight up refused to take her on Balerion, Aemon was already taking Jocelyn, and Baelon… her favorite brother had been considering it before Alyssa had turned it down on his behalf as well.

Alyssa was honestly the sister Viserra disliked the most… actually scratch that, second-most, but at least Saera was now wed off to her favorite prissy boy Jon Mooton after the scandal her parents had covered up and out of her hair. Viserra had to deal with Alyssa every day.

She sympathized with her sister’s loss, she really did, and for all of the annoyance, she did love her, all her family, even Saera and her mother. But by the gods did they annoy her a lot. Alyssa had been wild enough before, rambunctious and ill-mannered, but her entire mood and personality had just flipped after Aegon had died in the cradle about a year ago.

It had been a difficult birth, and Alyssa herself had almost died from the exhaustion. Afterward, Grand Maester Elysar had told her that she could never have another child or the birth would kill her. Even worse, little Aegon had lived for all but a year, dying in the cradle. Baelon and Alyssa had been devastated.

Since then Alyssa had become almost smothering of Viserys and Daemon in her overprotectiveness and clinginess to them. Viserra had heard them complaining to their father before. It did not help that Alyssa had fallen into a melancholy of sorts as well, having constant mood swings from moments of extreme joy to raging anger to inconsolable sadness and tears. And if she had been attached at the hip to Baelon before… gods what was she now? She plainly shut down any of Viserra’s attempts to spend time with him, perhaps fearing she might take him away from her in her jealousy. She had become irrational, moody, and short-tempered and simply unpleasant to be around or talk to. Alyssa had always been annoying but at least she had used to be fun as well. She didn’t even have that now, she just kind of existed, not really living for anything other than Baelon and their sons.

Viserra decided to put thoughts of her troublesome family from her mind for now. It was time. It was midday at court, and her father and mother had already handled all the other matters, now the Targaryen family and their courtiers were arranged and ready to receive the man of the hour.

"Announcing Lord Corlys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark, Lord of Stonedance, and Warden of the Hook! And accompanying him, his brother Ser Aurane Velaryon, and their company!" the herald shouted as the door opened and in walked the Sea Snake.

Lord Corlys was tall and tan, resplendent in his silver-sea-green doublet and his fitting pants. He was dashing and daring, his purple indigo eyes shining with confidence, and wearing a bright smile that lit up his face. He looked every inch a proud Valyrian lord, Viserra might even go so far as to say he might be as handsome as her own elder brothers. Strapped to his left hip was a long hanging sword with an ornate silvered pommel and blued-white grip with silvered seahorses rising from the crossguard, clasped with silver and sheathed in a long and ornate white scabbard. Riptide.

Beside his brother stood Ser Aurane, looking much like his elder brother, but not nearly as handsome in Viserra's mind. A biased opinion perhaps, as many other women would say Aurane was just as dashing, but there was simply something about the way Corlys carried himself that drew Viserra's eyes to him, some aura of nobility, intelligence, and perhaps even wisdom. It reminded her of the aura she felt from her own father, and from Aemon and Baelon.

Accompanying the Velaryon brothers were a few well-dressed dignitaries, likely their cousins or officials they had brought from Driftmark, and a small company of armoured soldiers. Presumably the household guard of House Velaryon, they wore an ocean-blue plate, trimmed in silver with a silver seahorse embossed upon their breastplate. Their cloaks and undershirts were a bright sea green.

Once Lord Corlys had neared the foot of the Iron Throne, where her father was seated, and near to where Viserra herself stood with the rest of the royal family, he knelt in obeisance, paying homage to his liege. His brother followed suit soon, as did their whole company.

"Your Grace. I answer your summons, and accept the post that you have bestowed upon me with honor."

"Rise Lord Corlys," her father ordered, using his kingly voice, sounding strong and stern, but she snuck a glance at him and saw that he was pleased. Once Lord Corlys and his delegation had risen, her father continued, "I welcome you to King's Landing Lord Corlys. I hope that your accommodations will be to your liking."

"Thank you Your Grace, I hope to begin work soon. Until then however, I have gifts for you and your family, symbols of our loyalty and faith in House Targaryen," Corlys answered. At his command, his servants came forward with many chests, filled with books, swords, bows, a fine chess set, and jewelry, and several exquisite toys for the children.

"For you, and your sons and grandsons my liege, fine Yi Tish swords and Sarnori scimitars. Books on the rulers and histories of faraway lands, that you might read and enjoy, and broaden your horizons. And for Queen Alysanne, your daughters and granddaughters, I give books as well on the peoples and cultures of the lands I visited, and fine silk dresses and jewelry, and much more besides.And for the Red Keep, a fine clock, made by the finest smiths and artisans in Spicetown, to aid you in the keeping of time."

The Sea Snake had the whole court’s attention easily, enthralled by him like an audience captured by a mummer’s troupe, their gaze fixed upon him as he presented the gifts. Jaehaerys Targaryen remained seated upon the Iron Throne, but Viserra and the rest of the family were quick to inspect the gifts. In addition to what Corlys had mentioned, there were other goods as well, fine decorations and cutlery for the Red Keep, and great sacks of rice, tea, and other foreign and exotic goods and drinks.

Viserra was given a fine amethyst pendant, ivory bracelets, a sapphire ring, and dresses made out of silk and velvet. The silk in particular was of a design that she had never seen before, but one that was exceedingly pleasant to look at, and soft to the touch, a cheongsam, as Lord Corlys had named it.

She watched as her brothers tested out their new swords and bows, and inspected the books carefully, while Alyssa and her mother kept the children from breaking all the gifts they had been given in their childhood excitement. Somehow her father had also come down from the throne before she had even noticed, and had gathered around the great golden clock presented by Lord Corlys with the Lord Hand, Barth, and other courtiers.

And this was all in the midst of court. Ordinarily they would inspect the gifts briefly before taking them away and thanking the gift-giver. Lord Velaryon however had given so many gifts, and of such exotic and thrilling new design, that the Targaryens and their court found themselves distracted by it for longer than was proper.

Tempering his curiosity for later, her father returned to the throne before having their servants take away the gifts for them to continue going through later.

“Your gifts are wondrous indeed. I thank you for your generosity Lord Corlys. As a token of my gratitude, I hope that you and your brother would allow me to dine you tonight, privately, with my family,” her father said, sitting upon the throne once more as he publically invited Lord Velaryon to a private dinner to the royal family. A privilege not given to many.

“You honor me with your invitation Your Grace. Aurane and I would be sure to attend,” Lord Corlys answered with a deferential nod and slight bow of his head. Though Viserra noticed that his back remained straight, much unlike all the sycophants that so often tried earning her father’s favor.

That intrigued her. By giving so many generous and fine gifts, it was clear Lord Corlys was trying to make a good impression on them, and Viserra would not deny he had with his exceeding politeness, deference, and flawless etiquette. At the same time however, the way he carried himself showed he knew not to go too far, and he carried a great measure of pride and self-confidence in himself. He was their loyal vassal, not their slave. She would be watching Lord Corlys quite closely indeed.

Unbeknownst to Viserra, her mother Alysanne had kept an eye on her the whole time and as she watched her all but stare at Lord Corlys, the thoughts had already begun running through her head.

______________________________________________________________

Not that they’d let the court know, but the Targaryen family spent the afternoon quite excitedly cataloguing and sorting through all the gifts they had been given. Viserra’s father had become quite obsessed with the clock, examining it closely with his Hand, Septon Barth, trying to figure out how it worked in a rare show of childish curiosity and delight from the old and wise king.

Alyssa, never really one for dresses and fine jewelry, nonetheless was convinced by their mother to try on the gifts they had been given, looking quite pretty for once in them. Viserra on the other hand, kept fingering the amethyst pendant she had been given, observing in the mirror how it seemed to almost match her deep purple eyes.

Viserys and Daemon, little rascals, had already conscripted Gael into some sort of game as they catalogued the gifts in their own haphazard way and went through them, having to be lectured sternly by Rhaenys to stop. Of course Rhaenys herself wasn’t exactly touching everything with permission.

Aemon and Baelon had a mock spar, testing out their new foreign swords in combat briefly and Viserra overheard an animated conversation between them about how the books were very interesting and potentially helpful. They were particularly interested in a book, called ‘The Art of War’ by some Yi Tish general. The details flew over her head, but from what Viserra gathered, the book had very interesting ideas on warfare.

Honestly she wondered how long Lord Corlys had been planning this, there were even some books on dragons, fairy tales and the like from foreign lands, but also actually useful volumes like one from Volantis apparently concerning old Valyrian battle tactics for waging war from dragonback. It spoke a lot about how carefully he had planned out his gifts, if he had planned to impress, he had succeeded.

Finally, as the sun began to near its setting, or 5 o’clock on the dial, as the new Driftmark clock told, Viserra left to prepare for dinner, having a bath before dressing herself in one of the new silk dresses Lord Corlys had gifted them, and wearing the amethyst pendant. She could quite get used to all these gifts and to numbering the hours of the day in such a manner, it seemed far more logical than the inane animal names currently used to her.

Shortly after sunset, Viserra arrived at the hall and found a table set up, ready for dinner already. Her father and mother were there already, her father seated at the head of the table and her mother to his left. Viserra took her assigned seat and found herself on the opposite side of her mother. Soon enough, everyone else began to arrive and take their seats.

Aemon, Jocelyn, and Rhaenys were all seated to her left, with Aemon closet to her father and at his right. To her left sat Gael and then Viserys. On the opposite side, her mother was closest to her father, followed by Baelon, Alyssa, Lord Corlys, Ser Aurane, and then Daemon.

Either by coincidence or intention, Viserra found herself sitting directly opposite Lord Corlys and had to be careful to not be caught staring, that would be bad manners. She would admit to thinking Lord Corlys was handsome, very much so, but mere good looks were not enough for Viserra, not when she had grown up in the Targaryen family, with her father and brothers the perfect specimens of men.

More than simply handsomeness, there was an aura Lord Corlys seemed to radiate, a charismatic charm that had made all pay attention to him. It reminded her of the way her father had the attention of all no matter when or how, but subtler and less imposing. There was a layer of mystery wrapped around Lord Corlys, some kind of novelty that came with his reputation as an adventurer who had seen much of what there was to see in the world. No doubt he had many stories to tell, and with the way he acted and seemed to impress so easily, Viserra found her curiosity piqued, though she would reserve her judgement for a little while longer.

Before dinner was prepared, they were all poured a cup of green tea, and Viserra tried it cautiously. She had never had the drink before, though many of her friends had and they all seemed to praise it. As she raised the cup to her lips and drank, she found that it was actually quite to her liking.

It was bitter, yet not overly so, and soon the bitterness gave way to a mild sweet aftertaste. The contrast was sublime and Viserra soon found herself taking more sips. It was an acquired taste for some, but Viserra hadn’t taken very long to acquire it at all.

As they all sipped at their tea, the conversation had begun in full as her mother asked Lord Corlys and Ser Aurane to relate some tales about their voyages.

“Well, where do we start?” Aurane asked stroking his chin in thought.

“Maybe with the first one? Sounds quite logical to me,” Corlys ribbed his younger brother, before continuing, “It was some twelve years ago now. Once the Sea Snake was built, Aurane and I took our crew and went east, as far as we could go. We stopped over along at Pentos, Myr, Tyrosh, Lys, and Volantis along the way, resupplying our provisions. Soon we had passed Qarth and we entered the Jade Sea itself.”

“You saw the Black Walls of Volantis right Lord Corlys? Are they really as grand as the bards claim?” Viserra asked, unable to restrain her curiosity. It was one thing to read about these faraway lands and wonders in books, and another entirely to hear about them from the mouth of someone who had seen them in person.

“Oh the Black Walls are glorious. I have seen them many times already, and they never fail to amaze. They are made of fused black stone, like that on Dragonstone, and set in an oval around Old Volantis. Standing an incredible two hundred feet high, they are so wide, no less than six four-horse chariots can ride abreast on its battlements,” Lord Corlys answered her question with a smile, his eyes far away, likely as his thoughts drifted into his memories.

“If I’m not mistaken, exactly that happens every year, as part of the celebrations for the anniversary of Volantis’s founding. Did you ever manage to see it?” her brother Aemon asked.

“Yes, we were invited inside the Black Walls by one of the Old Blood, Lord Aerion Paenymion, one of our trade partners from the Elephant Party. The Sea Snake happened to be in Volantis at the time of the celebrations and we were hosted by Lord Paenymion at his manse and attended the celebrations with his family,” Aurane replied.

“It was quite the spectacle. Truly amazing to see how vast and strong the Black Walls really are. Small wonder then that Volantis has never fallen to any foe,” Corlys supported.

“Does not House Velaryon have the lineage to pass the Black Walls without an invitation?” her father asked with a frown. Viserra was wondering about that as well, though not as pure or high as the Targaryens, the Velaryons were their kin and some of the purest blood for Valyrians in the world. If the Volantene Old Blood did not consider Velaryons worthy of passing the Black Walls on their own merit, it could be seen as an insult against House Targaryen as well as their overlords and kin.

Lord Corlys was quick to clarify. “The idea that Valyrian heritage is all that is needed to enter the Black Walls is inaccurate actually. In truth, no one is allowed in, be they freemen, citizens, or outlanders, without the express permission or invitation of one of the Old Blood families. It’s an entire quarter of the city reserved solely for Volantene citizens of pure Valyrian heritage. The misunderstanding arose I believe, because of those who ask for permission, it’s more often those with Valyrian heritage, and especially appearance, who are permitted in.”

“And you did not ask before?” her mother asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No Your Grace. There wasn’t a need or purpose. But when the invitation came, I took the opportunity of course. I am certain that should a member of House Targaryen visit, the Old Blood would not dare to deny you access, nor would they wish to offend you, but I do not think that you would receive a very warm welcome either. Some sore feelings from the Conqueror’s burning of their fleet persist in Valyria’s Eldest Daughter, especially among members of the Tiger Faction.”

Her parents and siblings relaxed a little in understanding, now that any potential of insult was removed. Volantis liked to think they were the real heirs of Valyria, though the idea was truly laughable given how it was House Targaryen that was last of the Forty Families and had dragons. There wasn’t really a rivalry, not on House Targaryen’s part at least, and they hadn’t even really interacted since her great-grandfather had burned the Volantene fleet before the Conquest. Still though, any potential insult would not be taken kindly by her house.

The conversation skimmed over the cities of Slaver’s Bay then. Viserra had some interest in Tolos and Elyria, as well as the ruins of Velos where the Velaryons had set up an outpost, but she couldn’t care less for Ghiscari slavers and their cities. Neither it seemed could her family as the topic soon changed to Qarth and the Jade Gates it guarded.

“Is it true that the waters of the Jade Sea are a vibrant green?” Jocelyn inquired.

“Very much so. The difference in color between the Summer and Jade Seas is noticeable as you pass the Jade Gates. It’s something about the water from the rivers east of the Bone Mountains if I recall the explanation correctly,” Aurane answered.

“There is also the long association with Yi Ti, and its fame for jade,” Corlys said.

“So what did you do in the Jade Sea?” Baelon asked.

“We stopped over at every port we could. It’s unfortunate, but the Yi Tish are rather isolationist. We were only allowed to moor at one Port, Tiqui, on our first voyage. We traded in our cargo for some silk and other goods, and moved onto Leng and even to Asshai,” Corlys continued, wincing slightly at the mention of Asshai.

“Is Asshai really as bad as the stories say?” Viserra asked. She had meant to ask what Yi Ti was like, but the mention of the infamous city of Asshai-by-the-Shadow had been too alluring to resist.

The table was damnably silent after she asked. Viserra felt her mother’s stare on her. Was she not supposed to ask that question? It was a fair question was it not? They had all asked about the other stops on his voyage, why should this be any different? Yet, as she felt the tense atmosphere, Viserra thought she might have made a mistake. Perhaps it was best to cut her losses before she got into more trouble.

Lord Corlys looked directly at her, their eyes locked. It felt awkward, she had to suppress a shudder as she felt his gaze almost piercing through her, but Viserra would not back down and stared back at him proudly.

“My apologies if the question made you feel uncomfortable Lord Corlys, you don’t need to answer it if you don’t want to,” she said.

“No, it’s fine. It just took me by surprise a little. As for your question Princess Viserra, I can honestly tell you Asshai might actually be worse than the stories say. The whole city is made of black stone that seems to drink in all the light of the world. The sun can be at noon, yet it would always feel like it was overcast, and gloomy, even when there was not a cloud in sight to hide the sunlight.

“Though the city is larger in size than even Qarth, Volantis, Braavos, or Yin, barely the population of a market town lives within its dark walls, with only one out of ten buildings showing a light at night when the entire city becomes more like a ruin for ghosts. And there are no children.”

“No children?” she could not help but ask.

He shook his head. “None at all. I do not know how or why. Some things in this world might be better left unknown.”

“Then why go at all?”

“Why does anyone pass beneath the shadow? A desire for adventure perhaps? To see the measure of that dark city, bring back stories of it, so that Westeros might learn more of it? One visit is more than enough to sate anyone’s curiosity though I think, and in truth there is not that much that Asshai has to trade. It is an ill place I would say, and not one I would wish to go back to. I returned to it only once after, when I made to venture into the Saffron Straits to explore beyond the boundaries of the Known World before my supplies ran low and I had to turn back.”

Trying to steer the topic away, her mother interjected, “What of the rumors that Elissa Farman’s Sun Chaser was spotted in Asshai by ships from Westeros. Any truth to them you think?”

Corlys gave his answer, saying that he personally had not seen the Sun Chaser and thought it unlikely. He then went on to point out how despite being relatively nearby, even the Yi Tish or Asshai’i knew little of what laid beyond the Saffron Straits, suggesting perhaps that the answer was that nothing but empty land lied beyond, making it extremely unlikely Elissa Farman could have made it to Asshai after without a port to resupply in, even if she had made it past the Sunset Sea.

The conversation continued after that, turning to Corlys and Aurane’s later voyages and adventures, but Viserra’s attention was elsewhere. Her imagination was running wild as it filled in the blanks with what Lord Corlys had told her. The picture painted of Asshai was dark and ominous. Even the fearless and adventurous Lord Corlys seemed to have been unsettled by it, as had his brother. She found herself almost cursing her curiosity because perhaps it was better to not know at all.

There were other questions she had wanted to ask. What were the Asshai’i like? Was it true that the fish were deformed and other animals would die if brought to the city? What about the Corpse City of Stygai? Now though, she feared the answers she would get and spoke no more.

To Viserra’s relief the conversation stopped temporarily as the food arrived. Once the traditional grace before meals to the Seven had been said, they partook in their meal. A four course meal, with a starter, two mains, and dessert, all done in an eastern, Oriental style, with Lord Velaryon’s chefs helping to prepare the dishes using the spices and other ingredients that he had gifted them earlier.

First was a shark soup, boiled and well-seasoned with a rather exquisite texture. Despite traditionally being made only with the fins, the Velaryons did not believe in waste and used most of the shark’s meat. Not that Viserra minded as it tasted delicious, despite a slightly rough texture.

As they finished drinking the soup, conversation had resumed again. Her parents, Aemon, Jocelyn, and Baelon had struck up a conversation with Lord Corlys over trade and future plans for the expansion of Driftmark’s enterprises. Lord Aurane had taken to entertaining Viserys, Daemon, and Gael, who had previously been looking bored, with over the top stories and exaggerations of their voyages.

In the middle of the table, Viserra found herself all but excluded from both conversations and kept silent, listening in as best as she could as she tried to figure out what she wanted to say. Soon enough the main dishes had come, a plate of white rice for everyone, and dishes roasted pork done in the Yi Tish style, Qartheen spiced lamb chops, and some kind of leafy cabbage fried in garlic oil and seasoned with salt and chicken essence. Some of them had raised their eyebrows at that last dish, as vegetables were often seen as peasant food.

The Velaryon brothers partook quite eagerly though, and Viserra vaguely recalled being told by her septa to eat more vegetables. Her septa had been reading a book published by the University of Spicetown which suggested that a balanced diet was key to a healthy lifestyle and greatly reduced the risk of gout which only ever affected the upper classes who mainly ate meat.

Shrugging slightly, Viserra took a serving of the vegetable dish, and found that she did not quite mind it. It tasted quite delicious actually, with an exotic garlic flavor. But the other two dishes, the roasted pork and spiced lamb were simply amazing and very flavorful. All of this was with white rice, not exactly flavorful on its own but when flavored with the sauces and eaten with the other ingredients, it was incredible.

Viserra found herself understanding now, more than ever, why the Velaryons were making so much money off the spice trade if it made your food taste this good. And by the look on their faces, while they enjoyed the food, it seemed like they had it regularly. Shame on her family that their vassals ate better than them! She would have to prevail on her mother to order more spices from Driftmark, although by how she saw the rest of her family enjoying the food just as much, maybe that mightn’t even be necessary.

She made her thoughts clear, praising the food and the chefs who had made it, her mother and the rest of her family followed suit in their own way and she saw Lord Corlys smile. It was different than the flamboyant charming smile he had worn in court, softer, subtler, and more genuine. Viserra thought then that she wouldn’t mind seeing Lord Corlys smile like that more often.

As they neared to finishing the main courses of their meal, conversation turned once more to the voyages of Lord Corlys and Ser Aurane, and this time Viserra paid attention as they had come at last to their ninth and last voyage.

She listened, enthralled as they described the experience of meeting the Azure Emperor of Yi Ti, describing the luxuries of his palace and court, and even mentioning how they had been honored by being granted the emperor’s hospitality one night. She somehow got the feeling that that part of the tale was incomplete, as if they were excluding something.

If Viserra was being honest, though his court and palace sounded whimsically grand and luxurious, the arrogance of the Azure Emperor was more than a little shocking. The emperor’s translator had called Westeros a land of barbarians? What? How arrogant were the Yi Tish?

Viserra might not be the best to lecture others on pride. She had gotten in trouble with that more than once with her mother, who had scolded her for being ‘vain’. Many called her a goddess, the most beautiful of the Good Queen’s daughters, and though her septa had taught her hubris was a sin and modesty a virtue, she could not help but agree. She saw nothing wrong in taking pride in her beauty.

At the same time however, Viserra was not so crass or impolite as to outright say that she thought herself better than others, at least not often. Manners and etiquette existed for a reason, and some that she knew, while not as beautiful as her, Viserra considered were pretty enough. The Yi Tish she thought, were quite full of themselves.

Viserra was from the line of Aegon the Conqueror, of House Targaryen, last of the Forty, and the true heirs of the legacy of Valyria, the greatest civilization in the Known World. The Yi Tish might be older, if only slightly, she’d give them that, but if they thought that made their culture and civilization greater than theirs, they were sorely mistaken.

Her thoughts were drawn to another less infuriating topic when Lord Corlys spoke a little about Velos and how it had developed since they had founded the outpost. Viserra found it quite amazing that a Westerosi-run outpost existed halfway across the world and was quite pleased to learn that they helped whatever slaves they could to escape. Slavery was simply abhorrent in every way, and something she felt actually tainted the legacy of Valyria.

After dessert, which had been an eastern-style fruit pudding, a servant came forward with a glass bottle of alcohol, which Viserra would soon learn was not wine, but brandy, a stronger beverage and one of many gifts from the Velaryons to her family. A glass was poured for all of them at the table save for Rhaenys and the other children who were considered too young for such a drink. Viserra sipped at her brandy as the Velaryon brothers continued their story, enjoying its stronger taste once she got used to the slight burn as the liquid went down her throat.

The general mood at the table soon became solemn when Corlys and Aurane told of how they learned their grandfather was bedridden at Velos and began rushing home on the Sea Snake. What followed was a rather thrilling tale of months at sea pushing the Sea Snake to its maximum possible speed and being ambushed by pirates in the Stepstones.

The way the brothers told the story left her eagerly waiting for more. She was on the edge of her seat when they told of how Lord Corlys was challenged by the pirate ‘king’ to a duel in single combat and somehow managed to defeat him and his followers with a clever plan. Not expecting the rest of the pirates to keep their word after they killed their leader, the Velaryons and their crew had coordinated a surprise attack the moment the duel ended and slain all on their ship before breaking loose from the pirate ship and leaving with their prize, a Valyrian steel sword for their house as trophy from the hand of the defeated pirate leader.

However, despite all their efforts, they had arrived too late to see their grandfather before he died and Viserra felt her sympathy for the brothers grow. She could not imagine the pain they must have felt, she tried not to think about how much it would hurt to lose any of her family, even the ones she disliked, without being able to say goodbye. And with their father dead, Lord Daemon had been as good as one to his grandsons.

“A toast, to Lord Daemon Velaryon, our kin,” her father said, standing up with his chalice in his hand.

“A good man, uncle, and grandfather, he will be missed,” her mother said as she too stood up. The rest of them stood up, even the children who lifted their own cups filled with juice, not nearly as impressive but no less meaningful.

“To Daemon,” Lord Corlys said as a final toast. They all chorused in reply before drinking. For some reason, the brandy burning down her throat was more noticeable this time. Viserra could sense a slight tension in the air between the brothers Velaryon and her parents once the topic had turned to Daemon Velaryon, and for the life of her, she could not figure out why.

She was distracted momentarily from the tension in the room when she saw her nephew Daemon feeling silly that they were toasting a man with the same name as him and had to suppress a laugh. She would definitely get in trouble with her mother for laughing at such an inappropriate time.

As she sat back down, Viserra’s eyes met Lord Corlys’s again, almost like he had realized she had sensed the tension in the air and this time, she could not suppress the shiver that ran through her body as his gaze pierced through her.

_______________________________________________

Alysanne Targaryen

“What did you think of the Velaryon brothers?” she asked her husband when they were in private after dinner. They were in Jaehaerys’s solar and he was busy going through some paperwork Barth had put on his table during their dinner.

‘Always hardworking, but then I guess that’s part of why I love you,’ Alysanne thought to herself with a slight sigh as she saw her brother bent over looking at his papers in the candlelight.

Jaehaerys frowned slightly. “It’s complicated. I can’t help but like them a little. They know how to make a good impression for sure, with how they were in court this morning. They’re generally friendly and affable, and always respectful, if not always deferential. At the same time however, they’re hard to read. Aurane is a little easier to see through, but Corlys keeps his true feelings to himself, you wonder how much is genuine half the time. And I can’t help but shake the feeling they don’t entirely like us.”

Alysanne nodded. “The most genuine they felt in the entire conversation, was when they were teasing each other and telling of their voyages. Otherwise it felt almost like they were putting on a polite mask, a smile that was not fully genuine.”

“They are not sure what to think of us I think. They can’t really trust us, or really see us as kin with the estrangement between our houses. There’s definitely a little resentment for the distance between us and Uncle Daemon. I don’t blame them for it, but I don’t think they fully understand why we kept Daemon at a distance.

“He served Maegor. The tyrant that ripped Aegon apart, that had Viserys tortured to death. Even now when I see Alyssa riding Balerion, I can’t help but think of what our brother must have seen before he and Quicksilver died, what he must have felt. Daemon stood by and watched it all happen, let Aegon and Viserys die, did nothing as Maegor took Rhaena and raped her! He did nothing at all!” Jaehaerys said, getting worked up and angry over the matter again.

Even now, over thirty years later, Jaehaerys had never quite forgiven their uncle for doing nothing to save their siblings and Alysanne knew she needed to intervene before he slipped too far into the painful memories of their past and lost himself to his anger. She placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered soothing words into her brother’s ear as she hugged him from behind while standing.

“Uncle Daemon had no choice Jae, you know that. And Corlys and his brothers were very young when Cousin Corwyn died. Daemon raised them, he was their father for all intents and purposes.”

Jaehaerys answered, slightly subdued, “I know. I won’t hold it against them for having some kind of resentment. It’s only natural. In their eyes their grandfather was shunned and ‘mistreated’ for no reason. And I can give them the benefit of the doubt at least, the same way Uncle Daemon tried to avoid holding it against us for not really trusting him. But the estrangement in that relationship was not wholly our fault either. Our uncle visited King’s Landing once after he resigned.”

“I’m not asking you to be alright with the Velaryon brothers resenting us for no valid reason. I’m quite angry myself. I just ask that you not let it affect your judgement of them. Judge them for who they are, not as Daemon’s grandsons.”

Her husband nodded, and Alysanne knew she had managed to calm him down.

“They seem amicable with our children at least,” Alysanne noted, “Aemon and Baelon especially.”

Jaehaerys smirked with fatherly pride. “Everyone likes Aemon and Baelon. If the brothers Velaryon cannot find it in themselves to forgive you or I, it matters not to me as long as they remain loyal to our house, to Aemon, and that is not completely certain, no matter how much they may seem to like our sons. The Velaryons grow richer and more powerful with each passing day. Their fleet has already eclipsed even the Redwynes. Spicetown grows ever larger and wealthier.”

“You’re just upset Spicetown looks better than King’s Landing because the Velaryons had the foresight to plan its expansion compared to whatever mess our grandfather left us,” Alysanne teased.

Jaehaerys flushed slightly and Alysanne took pleasure at breaking his ‘perfect’ facade. She had always been able to get under his skin, even when they were children, and over three decades of marriage had only made it easier, not harder.

“As if I would ever be so petty,” he retorted.

Ignoring her unimpressed look, he continued, “In any case, the Velaryons grow strong, almost too strong some might say. There are already some predictions that in half a century they might have the strength to rival a Free City by themselves.”

“And is that not why we made Corlys Master of Ships? To rebuild ties with the Velaryons and keep them close to remind them of their loyalties? Can you truly say they have been disloyal in any way other than some well-hidden personal resentment for the two of us? Did they not go above and beyond in their presentation of gifts to us?”

Jaehaerys’s brows furrowed as he conceded her point. “Still, what you proposed to me, I question the wisdom in matching Viserra with Lord Corlys. The Velaryons already received a royal marriage when our mother married our father, do they really need another so soon? There are other alliances and matches that can be made.”

Alysanne was quick to defend her plan. “But none with as many advantages as this. House Velaryon are our oldest and most loyal vassals. They are pureblood Valyrians, like us. And now like you say, they have grown rich and powerful.

“Viserra marrying Corlys ties the Velaryons to us again, strengthening our alliance and hopefully resolving the estrangement and resentment between us so that Aemon will have no question of House Velaryon’s loyalty. He and Corlys are already friends. As goodbrothers, that bond would be even stronger and allow us to make use of the Velaryon’s newfound wealth and influence in Essos for our own purposes. And if our plans to lessen our reliance on the Citadel are to proceed, we may need Driftmark’s expertise as well.

“And if I’m being honest, many of our children are already away from us. Putting aside all the other advantages, Driftmark is not so far, and as Master of Ships, Corlys will be spending much time in King’s Landing anyway. Viserra could remain close to us.”

Jaehaerys was thoughtful. “You raise good points.”

Alysanne smirked, she had him. “Admit it Jae, for all the tension that comes up whenever the topic turns to our uncle, you like Corlys. He has managed to impress you.”

Jaehaerys sighed. “Who wouldn’t be impressed? The man is a legend, and rightfully so. He almost singlehandedly made House Velaryon the richest in the realm. That is no small feat when considering the competition. What I want to know is if I can trust him.”

“I think Corlys can be trusted, his loyalty was never in question, only his feelings toward us. He will treat Viserra well I think, and I do not believe she will mind the match. She is already showing interest and curiosity in him, and he has been the picture of politeness when answering her.”

“And we might wish to move with at least a little more haste. Viserra’s seventeenth nameday has already passed. The lords will begin asking why she has not been betrothed yet, we should try and avoid what happened with Saera,” Alysanne said.

Jaehaerys’s eyes darkened at the mention of their disgraced daughter who had bedded a man who had not been her betrothed and been hurriedly wed off. Fortunately, no match had been decided for her yet, but the scandal had been a public disgrace for their house. She knew Jaehaerys had hated the whispers, hated how it reminded him of what the realm had said of their father. For all the love he still bore for him, few things angered Jaehaerys more than the idea of ruling like Father.

Alysanne had tried for years to cool her husband’s anger to their wayward daughter, convince him to allow her back home in King’s Landing, but he had remained stubborn. Still she would continue to work on him slowly, and until that day came, Saera was a rather useful example to convince her husband of what was necessary for Viserra.

“I would like to think Viserra would know better than to follow Saera’s example,” he said, angry at even the thought.

“She does, but I thought Saera would not be so foolish either. I would like to avoid the problem entirely.”

“And you think a betrothal to Corlys Velaryon best?”

“Yes. Not yet of course, it would be premature, but in a few months’ time once we have gotten the chance to learn the measure of the man himself, I think it would not be out of place.”

“Very well Alysanne, we’ll do it your way… for now.”

She smiled, happy that she had convinced him. “Now then, we are going to bed.”

Jaehaerys protested. “I have work to do! You have been distracting me enough already!”

“It can wait until tomorrow. I’ll help you if you wish. What cannot wait is your wife that you have been all but ignoring for your work. We are going to bed, not necessarily to sleep either,” Alysanne ordered.

Jaehaerys looked at her, his beautiful purple eyes filled with love and lust, and raised his eyebrow. “Oh? Is that so. Then I must do as my queen commands.”

“Indeed,” she smiled before she kissed him lightly. As he made to deepen the kiss, Alysanne broke it and walked to the door, leaving Jaehaerys slightly dazed before he got up and followed after her.

Chapter 7: The Master of Ships

Chapter Text

Eleventh Moon, 86 AC

Aurane

The day after their dinner with the royal family, Aurane and Corlys got up to take control of the Royal Fleet. Per their directions, the officers of the royal fleet had gathered in one of the buildings in the port, and much to Corlys’s consternation, it was not an official building owned by the royal fleet and used to hold their records and meeting rooms. No, it was just a simple warehouse keeping the royal fleet’s supplies that the ship captains also used to hold their meetings.

Corlys had had such a headache when he had heard that and Aurane could not agree more. How inefficiently run was the royal fleet? For many years after the Conquest it had been one and the same as the Velaryon fleet and so the Velaryons had simply used their own system to run the fleet. Aurane found himself wondering why Manfryd Redwyne had not implemented a system of his own, surely a House such as the Redwynes understood the importance of proper organization for their fleet?

On Driftmark, their navy was headquartered in Castle Driftmark. The castle was a proud and old fortress and with the main branch of House Velaryon no longer residing there, it was perfectly suited as headquarters for the Velaryon military. Their naval and marine officers all met and planned there and with the Driftmark Academy and the Arsenal of Hull nearby, they were close to the training and garrison grounds of their officers, sailors, and marines, and their shipyards. Half the Velaryon fleet was at Hull and the other half at Spicetown.

Everything that had been unnecessary or unrelated to military matters had been removed, including much of Driftmark’s library which had been relocated to High Tide for the most part. Although under Corlys’s orders, some of the books had been reprinted and added to the new military library filled with history books, geographies, histories, maps, and other such books, intended to both educate and entertain the officers. Much of the rest of the library space or former quarters had become reserved for recordkeeping and paperwork as well as confidential military documents.

In comparison, the pathetic little warehouse they had arrived at felt extremely lacking. There were clearly no records or paperwork to speak of other then what Redwyne had kept in his office in the Red Keep. The officers were all waiting for them when they arrived, seated on chairs, and stood at attention to salute them as they entered.

“Lord Velaryon,” one said in salute to Corlys as they entered.

“It’s not my title as Lord Velaryon that gives me authority over all of you, but that of Master of Ships. Address me as Lord Admiral from now on. You may use also use ‘sir’.

“Ser, Lord Admiral? We know that you’re a knight, but to address you merely as such seems awfully ill-fitting.”

“Not quite ‘Ser’ Captain. With an ‘I’ instead. Same pronunciation but it’s a simple and easy term to remember to address your superior officers rather than saying a mouthful. We need information quickly in battles after all, and cannot afford delays with courtesies. If you must though, I will also answer to ‘Lord Corlys’,” his brother explained.

The captain relaxed somewhat. “Understood… sir.”

Corlys grinned. “That wasn’t so hard now was it?”

All the officers introduced themselves and they spoke extensively with each of them. The highest ranked among all of them were captains, and after that there were only lieutenants for each ship. A simplistic chain of command. They’d have to add it to the list of things to do.

“So, what are your thoughts on the officers?” Aurane asked his brother when they were in private on their way back to the Red Keep.

“All of them at least seem to know what they’re doing. The fleet serves its purpose well enough. Manfryd Redwyne was many things, but he was no incompetent. And that’s the problem. Half of the officers or more are Redwyne cronies, and they are likely competent enough to warrant a valid reason to replace. Then again, almost all of them are petty nobles and second sons, born with a silver spoon in their mouths. I doubt they have the excellence Driftmark strives for or the standards we hold our officers to. They don’t have the drive for it. I think I’ll run them through the academy exams from Driftmark, that would give us a decent excuse to weed out some of them and replace them with loyal Velaryon officers to bring the fleet back under our control.

“The chain of command is also too short for my liking. I’ll have to have the whole fleet recalled to King’s Landing as I figure out how to reorganize it. Moderation is key. I don’t want to lift up the royal fleet to Driftmark’s standards or organization and training, in case we ever lose the position again, but at the same time I need to do something about this to show the King I’m actually making some improvements and establish an actual bureaucracy so I don’t go insane doing all the paperwork myself.”

“Perhaps a more simplified system than Driftmark’s organisation? We still use galleys on Driftmark, we could follow the organisation used on our ships. The standard dromond used by the Royal Fleet has a crew of about 300 men. We could have seamen, midshipmen, one lieutenant, and one captain per ship. The Royal Fleet numbers about 75 galleys. 50 here, and 25 at Dragonstone. We divide this into seven squadrons of ten ships, with 5 in reserve, and appoint one in every ten captains as commodore of a squadron,” Aurane suggested.

Corlys stroked his chin. “We’d also have to remember to account for the cogs and hulks but I think that could work. It’s simpler than our fleet’s chain of command though, and will probably be less capable than ours, but also easier for us to manage, fulfilling our objectives. Their fleet isn’t very diverse though. Galleys, cogs, and hulks are not exactly the best ships for the open ocean. Our caravels and carracks are by far superior in that aspect, for all that one may argue that the galley still has greater maneuverability and speed in shallow waters without wind.”

“The Iron Throne doesn’t really need a large and comprehensive navy. It’s not like it’s doing much of anything at the moment. Redwyne probably knew that, hence why he didn’t bother with building a more developed bureaucracy or trying to obtain carracks and caravels, not for the royal fleet at least. The King is not likely to give us any funds to expand the fleet either. Navies are expensive and his infrastructure projects are a drain enough on the treasury,” Aurane replied.

“So we turn the royal fleet into a glorified coast patrol for Blackwater Bay. We could set it to patrolling Shipbreaker’s Bay as well. Princess Jocelyn is a Baratheon by birth, and other than some twenty ships owned by Tarth, the Stormlanders have no fleet. They won’t mind having some extra aid patrolling their waters I think,” Corlys mused.

“I think the Tarths will surely agree, they’re our goodfamily through Rhaekar after all, and we can negotiate a mooring fee to dock a squadron or two there, and keep the rest in the Blackwater to just patrol the Crownlands.”

“Well, our navy will be the real one then I guess,” Corlys joked.

“Just Driftmark alone may not be able to fulfill the goals we are aiming for,” Aurane warned.

“Perhaps, but those goals are not a necessity to Driftmark’s continued prosperity. Our naval supremacy is. And if we play our cards right, we might have air support no one can stop,” Corlys said hopefully.

Aurane wondered how likely it was they could get that support, but if they could convince the King of its benefits, it could work. They were careful not to use the exact wording, intentionally speaking vaguely with each other so eavesdroppers would not understand their conversation.

Upon their return to the Red Keep, the brothers returned to their own chambers to retrieve some things they needed before they proceeded to the office of the Treasury, where they had arranged a private meeting with the Master of Coin, Lord Martyn Tyrell to discuss a potential business deal.

When they arrived at the Treasury, they found the door guarded by a few Tyrell men at arms, the golden rose proudly displayed on their green surcoats.

“Lord Velaryon.” They nodded in acknowledgement, respect in their voices but not deference.

“I have a meeting with your liege good Sers. If I might be allowed to pass?” Corlys asked.

The guards looked at each other briefly before opening the door and they entered to find Lord Tyrell waiting for them at his desk. His wife, Lady Florence Fossoway, the unofficial and actual Master of Coin, was similarly seated.

Privately, Aurane doubted Lord Martyn was as dumb or weak as some thought him to be. It took a clever and humble man to recognize one’s own shortcomings and allow their wife to handle those areas for them. And the Reach and later the realm as a whole had prospered greatly under Lord and Lady Tyrell’s stewardship. That they retained some level of control over the Reach as well, notoriously disloyal to the Tyrells, while being away in King’s Landing, was doubtlessly very impressive as well.

Lord Tyrell rose, a friendly smile on his face as he shook hands with Corlys and Aurane. Lady Florence curtseyed politely as well.

“Lord Corlys, Ser Aurane. It’s a pleasure to meet you more properly again, after our brief introduction in court. I’ve heard much about your adventures and would very much like to hear more about them, if you are willing to tell the tale of course.”

“Certainly,” Corlys said politely, putting on his own charismatic smile.

“Excellent.” Lord Tyrell’s smile was radiant. “Please, have a seat.”

“I hear Lord Corlys, that there are now elephants on Driftmark?” Lord Tyrell asked as they took their seats.

“Indeed, a purchase from my last voyage. They were requested by my nephew Vaemond and have been attracting visitors to Driftmark’s zoo.”

“Along with other such beasts as zorses and Little Valyrian lemurs right? I think by now, Driftmark’s menagerie must rival that of the Sealord of Braavos!” Lord Martyn said, half in jest and the other half in admiration.

“Perhaps you can come visit it for yourself to see?” Aurane invited.

Lord Tyrell’s eyes lit up. “I have heard many stories about Driftmark as of late. Perhaps another time though. There is much work to do still in King’s Landing. Now come, tell me of your voyages, I hear you were invited inside the Black Walls of Volantis?”

Their conversation continued for a while, simple small talk as they told of their voyages and adventures, of the lands they had seen. They told of the wonders of Driftmark and their grandfather’s stewardship and received condolences for his death.

In turn they began asking about the Reach and Highgarden, and heard almost whimsical stories of the lush and fertile fields of the Reach, teeming with crops as far as the eye could see. Soon the conversation had turned to more financial matters. Aurane and Martyn got sidelined somewhat as their brother and wife respectively began discussing currency standardization and other such complicated matters.

“It has never made sense to me, why we do not have a simpler currency system with standard divisions and units,” Corlys declared.

“Yes, I feel the same. The inconsistencies and variations have made many of my calculations incredibly difficult,” Lady Florence agreed. “I must say that the metric system your university came up with for measurements was incredibly revolutionary, as was binomial nomenclature in High Valyrian for the taxonomic classification of plants and animals. What do you think a good system for the realm’s currency would be?”

“Decimalization perhaps? The metric system works on a base ten system of numbers so perhaps a hundred copper pennies to a silver stag, and a hundred silver stags to a gold dragon? That would simplify matters greatly I think.”

“Hmm, that could work. And we could form the base of all the other coins around these three. Say copper groats are worth ten pennies mayhaps?” Lady Florence asked, thoughtful.

“Yes. I based it off the Braavosi’s decimalized coinage. As for the stars, as holy as the number seven is, it simply does not work very well in our currency. That particular coin may have to be devalued I fear,” Corlys answered.

“Best not tell the High Septon that,” Lady Florence jested. “As for the rest, it’s an interesting idea Lord Corlys, but you must understand that changing the value of the coinage is no simple task. Not to mention that though it might make some calculations easier, others may be much harder, like those concerning three, and any kind of devaluation would not be taken well by many. It will take many months before I could even have a proposal ready for the King,”

“Of course, of course. And when the time comes, I will lend my support to said proposal, worry not. A decimalized currency would do wonders for our taxation and commerce, and make theft and cheating much harder to hide.”

In the midst of the two’s conversation, Aurane leaned over to ask Martyn, “Do you have any idea what exactly they are speaking of?”

“Somewhat. I confess I am no expert in these matters. Florence was always the clever one, but she is also far less willing to bother with social niceties. Her mindset for mathematics has made her blunt, that’s where I come in,” Lord Martyn answered.

Aurane nodded. “I admire you my lord. Few are the men willing to admit their wives are better than them in any way.”

Martyn smiled, accepting the compliment graciously. “Well the Seven do command us to be humble, and the Seven-Pointed Star says that though a woman may answer to her husband, so too must a husband treat his wife well and answer to her in turn. Far too often is this forgotten by many prideful men.”

“But not you.”

“No. Not I. I like to think I have enough humility and wisdom to realize that Florence being cleverer with numbers than I does not make me lesser than her any more than she is lesser for not being as charming as I can be. We complement each other, and cover each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Just as the Seven intended I believe, and just as our good king and queen do. Aye I could have been like any other lord and sought to stifle her, but House Tyrell would not have been nearly so rich nor I as happy with my wife.”

“That is a wise mindset indeed Lord Martyn. If only more thought like you and our king,” Aurane praised.

“I thank you for your praise Ser Aurane.” Martyn smiled.

“On the matter of finances, my lady, would you be interested in a proposition for House Tyrell?” Corlys asked, turning Aurane and Martyn’s attention back to the other conversation in the room. Martyn was intrigued and Aurane was just pleased Corlys had final gotten to the point of their meeting with the Tyrells, drawing out the bottles they had been carrying and helping Corlys set them on the table.

Lady Florence raised an eyebrow. “And these are?”

“From right to left, we have vodka, whiskey, and brandy. They are fermented drinks, stronger than the usual wines, meads, and ciders. We call them liquors.” Corlys answered as Aurane took a few glasses with Martyn’s permission and began pouring some small shots for the couple.

Martyn coughed slightly after downing the vodka. “That is very strong. It burns as it goes down my throat, but the taste, once you get used to the strength, it’s quite exquisite.”

“Perhaps not to your liking then. I personally prefer brandy so I understand, but I can think of many who would enjoy a very strong drink. The Northmen for one,” Aurane replied.

“How exactly did you get them stronger than wine? I didn’t think there was a fermentation process that could do it,” Florence asked, curious.

“Trade secret,” Corlys said with a disarming smile before continuing. “Driftmark has the production methods for these drinks, but we don’t have the grain to mass-produce them.”

“And you want the Reach to supply these grains?” Lady Florence guessed.

“Not the Reach my lady, House Tyrell in particular,” Corlys said with a more serious face, but Aurane could tell he was smirking inside as the Lord and Lady Tyrell were noticeably interested. They had set the bait, now they just had to wait for the fish to bite.

“What kind of grains?” Lord Martyn asked.

“Cereal grains. Malted would be fine as well. Crops like barley, oat, wheat, and rye. Grapes as well,” Corlys answered.

Martyn looked to his wife, the thoughts seemed to be running through her head, her famed calculations running. Doubtlessly she had realized the opportunity for House Tyrell to enrich itself massively. “What is your offer?” she asked.

Corlys drummed his right hand fingers on the armrest before answering, “I think that for a contract to exclusively buy the raw ingredients from House Tyrell for a period of five years, a discount of seventy percent when buying in bulk in exchange for a ten percent discount on the final product sounds reasonable.”

“Seventy?” Lord Martyn asked in shock, insulted. Aurane thought he was half about to jump out of his chair and throw them out for such a slighting offer. Even one not as clever as him could see the outrageousness of Corlys’s proposed deal.

“Are you trying to rob us Lord Velaryon?” Lady Florence asked.

“Certainly not Lady Tyrell. However, I am merely pointing out what I could reasonably get, from you at least.”

“Why would you ever think any self-respecting house would agree to such extortion?” Lady Florence asked, outraged.

“Because simply put, you need this deal. If only to deny it to your rivals. House Peake could easily and likely gladly fill the role if you would not and they would give me a very good and very mutually beneficial deal. I and Lord Peake are cousins through our Celtigar mothers after all, and they say blood is thicker than water for a reason. And not just the Peakes, I could deal with any other house along the Mander.”

The implicit threat was sent. House Tyrell’s hold on the Reach was so weak already, what with Redwyne and Hightower all but ignoring them. How much shakier would Highgarden’s hold be if Peake was to be so enriched as well? Or Florent or Caswell or any other house with a stronger claim to Highgarden. They could all be made even more powerful rivals, toppling the fragile house of cards House Tyrell’s power rested on.

“On the other hand, an arrangement sealed by contract in which House Velaryon exclusively buys from House Tyrell could see you pre-empt this,” Corlys continued. The threat had been delivered, the stick revealed. Now to give the carrot.

“Nor am I an unreasonable man. While I am sure that the famed and capable House Tyrell could shoulder the burden, I seek to make friends, not enemies, and forcing a respected house, and two people I respect and like personally to such extortion is not the way to do it. I am willing to negotiate.”

If the Tyrells bargained the discount low enough, they could kill two birds with one stone, denying their powerful vassals an additional source of revenue while enriching themselves. Now to see how far they managed to push it.

“A thirty percent discount for the supply in exchange for a discount of fifteen percent on the final product and a contract of twenty years sounds reasonable to me,” Lady Florence bargained.

“Come now my lady, you will have to do better than that. Less than half of what I am asking for? Fifty-five at least would be reasonable to me if you are asking for a discount of fifteen in return. And twenty years is far too long a time, what if the price of Reach exports increases in that time for whatever reason? It would be dangerous for my business, surely you must understand,” Corlys answered.

“Yet there is only so much liquor House Tyrell would buy back from you, the discount would not benefit us overly much. You on the other hand could sell this to everyone else at the full price for a hefty profit and without a long contract, what is stopping you from renewing the agreement and going to another house? Forty percent off and for a period of ten years, no lower,” Lady Florence countered.

“While I would prefer to deal with you and yours Lady Florence, I could just as easily turn to my cousins, might I remind you. A fifty percent discount for all of our ingredients in bulk purchases in exchange for a fifteen percent discount on any purchase of the finished products by House Tyrell and a contract of seven years, with House Tyrell having the exclusive right to renegotiate for that contract before any other house. That is fair I think, considering the circ*mstances,” Corlys said, his tone making it clear he had tired of the haggling and would brook no further argument.

There was a tense silence for a while as the two stared at each other. Lady Florence was likely running the calculations and risk assessments in her head. There were many things to consider. In good years, the Reach had a profit margin of twenty to twenty-five percent on their crops, and to give half of it away on what they sold to House Velaryon could not be pleasing. Yet House Tyrell would not really suffer, and could even possibly turn a profit given the market research reports Corlys had given the two suggested there would be high demand. That the two houses were negotiating directly also minimized middlemen, increasing potential profits and margins even further.

Yet Lady Florence remained hesitant still. Corlys continued, almost whispering, “Bear in mind my lady, that certain powerful vassals of yours, could suddenly find themselves more loyal to House Tyrell.”

The Reach produced a lot of wines, meads, ciders, and other drinks which could potentially be sidelined or have their profit margins reduced by the new competition from Driftmark. The Redwynes would suffer most but so could houses like Peake and Hightower unless they had an arrangement which allowed them to reap profits from supplying the raw ingredients while also having a large margin of discount for the final goods they would likely buy back in turn. House Velaryon could get a favorable deal with almost any other house in the Reach, though perhaps not the figures they were demanding from the Tyrells.

At the end of the day, they held the cards. They didn’t need the Tyrells, but the Tyrells certainly needed this deal, if not for profits then to deny their vassals more power.

“Of course, a house with a reasonable agreement with us could find themselves with greater access to the markets and luxuries of the east and at favorable rates too. We are generous to our friends and allies after all. One need only look to House Celtigar for proof,” Corlys said, sweetening the deal.

House Velaryon’s trade routes and contacts were envied by many and allied houses like the Celtigars and Graftons had benefited greatly by their association with House Velaryon, in more ways than one as well, Aurane thought, thinking of the rice paddies growing in Cracklaw Point after they had made their deal with their cousin. There was no way Lady Florence, the Master of Coin in all but name, responsible for overseeing the taxes, tariffs, and commerce of the realm, was not aware of this.

“I… I think that we can come to an agreement Lord Velaryon. Your words have much merit and when considered all together, your offer seems reasonable. Further negotiation over the finer details of the contract will be needed though. We have yet to discuss the transportation and storage fees for example,” Florence said.

Corlys had a pleased smile.” Of course, Lady Florence. We are both busy individuals, over the course of the coming weeks, we should be able to find the time to discuss all the finer details and come to a satisfactory arrangement for both parties. Until then, a toast to a fruitful and prosperous trade relationship between House Velaryon and House Tyrell?” Corlys asked.

“Why not?” Martyn asked. His previous anger had dispersed, though Aurane sensed he hadn’t quite forgiven them yet. Still, in politics, you did what you had to.

Aurane poured them all a glass of brandy, and Corlys toasted. “To a mutually beneficial relationship between our houses.”

“To new friends,” Martyn toasted in turn and Aurane and Florence followed suit.

Friends. Aurane snorted. In politics, true friends were few and far between. Houses had no permanent friends or enemies, only permanent interests and the allies and rivals they created on their way to attain them.

The tension in the air was thick as they drank their toast. If such a thing was tangible, Aurane might have thought you could have cut it with a knife. He doubted they would ever be overly close with the Tyrells. Allies of convenience rarely were. For now, there was no harm in being cordial to them and detached from politics and business, Aurane knew his brother liked the Lord and Lady Tyrell as individuals. Yet at the same time, he did not doubt that Corlys would cut them loose without hesitation should their interests no longer align. That was simply how the game was played.

___________________________________________________

Aemon Targaryen

Their first Small Council meeting with a new Master of Ships was about a week after Lord Corlys had arrived, to give him time to settle in and take control of the fleet. Meetings were always… interesting, when a new member was attending for the first time. When Aemon and his brother Baelon arrived, they found their father seated at the head of the table as always. Their mother and the Hand, Septon Barth, were seated in their usual seats to his left and right respectively. The rest of the table was empty.

Aemon took his seat beside the Hand while his brother sat opposite him beside their mother. Soon the rest of the Small Council members filtered in. Lord Martyn Tyrell and his wife Lady Florence, the official Master of Coin and the real holder of the position, sat beside Baelon while the Master of Whisperers, Lord Quentyn Qoherys, and Grand Maester Elysar took seats to Aemon’s right. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gyles Morrigen, and his lieutenant, Ser Ryam Redwyne, stood guard. The former behind the King and the latter at the door, both armed and ready to strike down any assailant or threat at a moment’s notice.

The meeting was set for 10 o’clock according to the new clock that had been gifted to them and currently stood ticking away behind his father against the wall. A simple glance at the clock told him it was five minutes to ten. Very convenient, Aemon had a feeling his father would be ordering more of those clocks soon, given how much he and Barth had been intrigued by it.

The only member of the Small Council not yet present was their newest and latest member Lord Corlys and Aemon impatiently drummed his fingers on the table, thinking that a man like Corlys Velaryon had to know better than to be late to his first ever Small Council meeting. Sure enough, at three to ten, he stepped into the room, dressed in his by now recognizably usual clothing, a silver-green doublet and slim fitting grey pants.

Corlys stopped, seeing them all seated and impatiently waiting. He glanced to the clock. “I’m not late am I?”

“No. You’re two minutes early actually. The rest of us just came earlier,” his father answered.

Corlys raised his eyebrow slightly before taking his seat. With the table filled up, only the seat directly opposite the king was left. “Since we are all here then, shall we begin?” he asked as he took his seat.

Nodding, his father gestured to his Hand to begin the meeting. The first order of business was a report on the roads. The Kingsroad from Storm’s End to Harroway was fully paved in stone and the rest of the Crownlands were quite well paved as well, with major roads like the Rosby Road, Claw Road, and the Hook Road linking all the major holdfasts in the Crownlands together. Trade had greatly increased and the coffers of every Crownlander House had greatly increased, as had their taxes. However, the expense of all of these roads had been quite the drain on the Treasury and his father’s intent to expand the paved roads to the rest of Westeros, where his earlier dirt roads had already been placed, was facing a lack of funds

Aemon listened to Barth giving the report on how much funds the extension of the paved roads would cost and felt like he had a headache just thinking of the hundreds of thousands of gold dragons required. Once built, the roads more than paid for their maintenance and construction but they required a massive initial investment.

The current plans proposed, for a paving of the River Road, Goldroad, Roseroad, and Ocean Road, would by themselves cost the Iron Throne three hundred thousand gold dragons to cut and lay all the stones in place. And this price was already lower than it should be. As Master of Coin, Lord Martyn Tyrell had offered to help foot the bill for the parts of the project in his domain and get his vassals to contribute in exchange for some concessions. Plans were being made to reach out to Lords Lannister and Tully to offer similar deals.

“What about concrete?” Lord Corlys asked.

They all turned to him and he continued, “I’m sure all of you know by now that on Driftmark, we use concrete in our construction projects. It’s a liquefying agent that can help speed up the rate of construction as it hardens like stone once it sets. This could reduce the stone costs. I’d be willing to sell them to the Crown at a discount for some tariff reductions. Of course even without that discount, it would still be cheaper I think than the quarry and stonemason fees.”

“The market rate for Driftmark concrete is around a hundred and twenty silver stags for a cubic metre. This is in comparison to a hundred and seventy silver stags for the same amount were we to use quarried stone. However, concrete is in general much easier to use and requires less workers, so we could potentially reduce labour costs. How much would you be willing to discount Lord Corlys?” Lady Florence asked.

“As low as seventy could be done easily, but it would harm Driftmark in the long run unless…”

“Unless?” his father asked.

“Your Grace, early on in your reign, you imposed very high taxes and tariffs on the import of exotic luxury goods. These taxes, while lucrative for the Iron Throne no doubt, have greatly stifled the growth of Driftmark and other trade ports who could have provided income taxes to the royal treasury,” Corlys began before continuing with his request.

“I would ask that Driftmark be exempted from these tariffs in exchange for a great discount on our concrete for the construction of all royal roads in Westeros. Once that has been done, I believe a general reduction if not outright removal of these tariffs could prove wise as the increase in trade from the new roads and the tax reduction would see coin flow into the Crown’s coffers from other sources, while also pleasing many merchants and nobles.”

His father was thoughtful. “Lord Martyn, Lady Florence, run the calculations and bring your predictions to me by the end of the day. I will make my decision then. Your suggestion is… interesting Lord Corlys. Those tariffs have been in place since near the start of my reign, but if there is any merit in their removal, I will consider it.

“Next on the agenda. This matter concerns you actually Lord Corlys. Why exactly have you submitted a request for funding to construct an administrative building? Does the Red Keep not suffice?”

“The Red Keep is too far from the port. The offices allocated to the Royal Fleet here have been gathering dust for years. The ship captains assemble in a warehouse at the docks. I am hoping that a manse or another building near the port would allow the Royal Fleet a place to store its records and also hold meetings for the fleet. It would greatly simplify the organization and running of the fleet if we were to have a single fixed headquarters that was clearly under our jurisdiction with which to train and coordinate our officers and file the paperwork,” Lord Corlys answered, meeting the King’s eyes.

“Haven’t you dismissed half of those officers?” his father asked with a raised eyebrow.

“They failed to pass the standards I set and were too proud to accept my training course. They were thus dismissed for gross incompetence and insubordination. The officers I intend to hire and train to replace them would ideally have a headquarters to work in when in port, which is why I submitted my request. The Red Keep is not ideal for that.”

Aemon had to give Lord Corlys something, he was a cunning man. As Master of Ships he had the authority and power to staff the fleet with whoever he wished but by submitting the officers to assessments, he could obtain a more legitimate reason than his own whim to remove them. And obviously he would hire men from Driftmark to replace all the cronies of Redwyne who had found themselves dismissed. The Velaryons had wasted no time it seemed in securing control over the royal fleet once again.

“Very well. Since you are requesting this Lord Corlys, I expect your offered discount from earlier for the concrete, to reduce costs. I’m sure you understand. You need your funds for your new bureaucracy after all,” his father said, leaving no room for argument.

“Of course Your Grace. That was my intention. Thank you for your understanding and generosity,” Corlys answered with a deferential and grateful nod.

And on the meeting went. Lord Qoherys reported that the Brackens and Blackwoods were in yet another dispute. His mother reported his sister Daella’s concerns that the Mountain Clans of the Vale were growing bolder once again. Lords Mooton and Darry were apparently having a boundary dispute. It seemed the Mootons had grown bold with a princess wed to their heir. Aemon grimaced recalling the dark looks on his parents’ faces when the matter was brought up.

Countless other matters, petitions, and proposals on all topics were brought up, discussed, rejected, and accepted over the course of the morning for the running of the realm never ceased. The Small Council usually met weekly and in a single week, an enormous amount of matters requiring the attention of the whole council would accumulate. It usually took them until late in the evening to finish going through them all.

They had a break for luncheon and Aemon ate with his family, spending time with Jocelyn and Rhaenys, before returning to the Small Council room after his meal.

“I hope all of you had a hearty meal. We have much more to discuss,” Barth said as they took their seats. “Reports are coming in from the Stormlands of increased raids from pirates. With the death of Syrio Vunatis, the Stepstones pirates splintered into several bands, many of whom were forced to leave and have begun raiding Tarth, Estermont and other regions in the Stormlands. With no great navy of their own, the Stormlands have requested the support of the Royal Fleet in patrolling their coasts until the pirate menace is dealt with.”

“Lord Corlys?” his brother Baelon asked, turning to the Master of Ships.

“The Royal Fleet has twenty-five ships stationed at Dragonstone. I had hoped to finish my reorganization and retraining of the fleet before sending them out on operations but if our countrymen have asked for aid, we must of course answer. A raven to Lord Tarth informing him he will need to help moor twenty royal ships would be best. I will contribute some ships from my own fleet. Perhaps the entire Velaryon fleet will assemble for pirate hunting in the Stepstones as well.”

“That would be for the best Lord Corlys. The pirates of the Stepstones have long been a thorn in the side of our trade. No matter how many times we clear them out, they come crawling back in,” his mother said, with a frown.

“Why don’t we establish a permanent presence on the archipelago then? I’m thinking perhaps a fort on Bloodstone, to moor some ships from the royal fleet. I’ve no doubt my own sailors wouldn’t mind fighting some pirates. They’d be happy to help patrol those waters,” he proposed.

His father frowned. “A fort on one of the Stepstones could be seen as a prelude to the Iron Throne claiming those islands as a whole, if Tyrosh protests, we could have a diplomatic problem.”

“Tyrosh has laid claim to those islands for centuries and done nothing with their claim, or perhaps they were not allowed to. In any case the Iron Throne would not be claiming dominion over said island or charging any tolls, only establishing an outpost on it to patrol the Stepstones. Tyrosh could hardly protest that,” Corlys argued.

“I agree,” Aemon said, surprising his father slightly. “It would not be breaking our agreement of non-interference and should the opportunity arise, we could sow the seeds for an eventual takeover of the whole archipelago with Tyrosh being able to do naught but protest.”

The King leaned back into his seat, stroking his chin thoughtfully. His father trusted his judgement in most matters, would he trust him here?

“Very well. Lord Corlys you may proceed with your fort,” he ordered.

“Thank you Your Grace,” Corlys said and Aemon saw him giving him a silent nod of thanks.

The meeting continued a few hours longer, with Lady Florence finishing her calculations and reporting that the discount Lord Corlys had offered would reduce costs by a significant margin and it was shortly thereafter approved. It seemed much of what Lord Corlys had proposed was being passed. The man had proven capable of getting fellow councilors to support his ideas. When the meeting finally ended, Aemon stayed behind to speak with Corlys for a while.

“I’d like to thank you for supporting me earlier Prince Aemon,” Corlys said gratefully.

Aemon waved it off, “Think nothing of it my lord. Your ideas have merit, and I trust your judgement.”

“You honor me with your words my prince. If I may, it is good to see how much wiser you have grown since you became Prince of Dragonstone all those years ago. The realm will be in good hands when the time comes for you to sit the throne.”

Aemon smiled, recalling how his younger sixteen-year old self had felt so lost once he had taken up the rule of Dragonstone. Funnily enough, he had met the nineteen-year old Corlys during that time as well, before he had gone on his voyages and made himself a legend.

“I can say the same about you Lord Corlys. Back then you were not Lord Velaryon or even the Sea Snake, simply a ser with grand ambitions. Look at you now.”

It was Corlys’s turn to smile. “Time does that. It is fortunate that we proved to be among those who bettered as they aged rather than worsened.”

They continued talking for a while, reminiscing a little on the times they had met previously and discussing their opinions on the various issues raised in the Small Council. Their conversation turned to talking about the Art of War where Aemon again thanked Lord Corlys for gifting him and his brother copies of the book, telling his thoughts on the book’s rather interesting ideas to the Velaryon.

Aemon would admit that he liked Lord Corlys and found conversing with him enjoyable. Truly intelligent men were hard to find in King’s Landing among the sea of sycophants and flatterers and far too often the clever ones proved to be deceptive schemers.

Corlys on the other hand, he was ambitious, Aemon suspected he had plans of perhaps claiming the Stepstones with his massive fleet. Yet despite his ambitions, Aemon felt himself strangely at ease with Lord Corlys, not enough to trust him as a close friend, but trustworthy enough to be a good ally. And Aemon needed allies to secure Rhaenys’s succession without dispute. Perhaps in time, Lord Corlys might become more than an ally and a friendly acquaintance, but a true friend as well. Only time could tell if Corlys would prove to be an ally of convenience, or a friend in truth.

_____________________________________________

Viserra

“And of course, Ser Desmond proved to be quite the charmer,” Laena said, amusing all the ladies as she told her tale.

Viserra couldn’t help but smile herself. Laena did always know how to make her laugh. She was probably the closest of her friends if she had to choose. As the daughter of Lord Qoherys, Laena could relate to Viserra in ways the others never could, sharing the Valyrian looks, culture, and language with her. She resisted the urge to giggle recalling a few times they had annoyed the others by having a fluent conversation in High Valyrian in front of them. Most nobles learned it to some degree, but they couldn’t possibly hope to match those who spoke it as their mother tongue.

“What happened next?” Bethany Darklyn, another of her ladies asked.

As Laena continued, becoming more dramatic and exaggerated as she went on, Viserra would have to admit she was only half paying attention, her mind drifting to ulterior motives Ser Desmond might have for courting Laena. He was after all the heir of House Darry and Laena the eldest daughter of Lord Quentyn of Harrenhal.

The Qoherys were a highly pedigreed family who had once served as retainers to the Targaryens in Valyria and on Dragonstone during the Century of Blood. Ser Quenton Qoherys had been the master-at-arms of Dragonstone, the very man who had taught Aegon the Conqueror himself how to wield a sword and he was rewarded for his loyal and leal service with the largest castle in Westeros and the town charter he requested for it. Since then, the Qoherys had used their charter to convert the ruins of the castle of Harrenhal into a prosperous town. The Harrentown outside its walls was brought within them, and the tax revenues used to pay for the rebuilding of the ruined fortress into a great castle-town. Harren the Black’s five towers had long since been torn down and replaced with townhouses and markets.

Apart from some unfortunate hiccups such as the rather deserving murder of Gargon the Guest, House Qoherys had only grown in power in the decades since the Conquest and was one of the most powerful houses in the Crownlands. House Darry could grow immensely with a marriage alliance securing Harrenhal’s direct backing.

Ser Desmond’s apparent attempts to court Laena seemed far less innocent when these political motivations were considered, yet ultimately there was nothing Viserra could or would do. Sad as it may be, marriage was rarely for love among the nobility. Noble scions married for duty, for political and material gain first and foremost. Ser Desmond could not truly be faulted for doing his duty to his own house in trying to secure the best possible match politically. Some might even say it was admirable of him to do so. Certainly Viserra could think of other far less responsible lordlings.

The match was not a bad one either. House Darry was powerful in its own right, an ancient and proud house that had controlled vast tracts of fertile land near the mouth of the Trident for centuries. They had expanded in recent decades as well, having been granted all the former holdings and vassals of House Harroway, including the towns of Harroway and Saltpans, by Maegor the Cruel after he destroyed that house. Though their strength and prestige might be lesser than that of the Valyrian House Qoherys, it would be wrong indeed to say the Darrys were upstart paupers reaching beyond their place.

Ser Desmond himself was a popular figure at court, a chivalrous and respected knight. Viserra could not truly think of anything against him, except perhaps that he had refused to play the stupid games she had made several squires play for her favor when she was younger. In hindsight that was probably a good thing. She did know for certain though that he would treat any wife of his with the love and respect she deserved.

Soon enough Laena had finished telling her tale and Lady Rylla Redwyne began speaking next, complaining of how the new Master of Ships had dismissed several of her grandfather’s appointees in the royal fleet.

“It’s unfortunate, but only natural Rylla. Still though, Lord Corlys is quite the enigma. Thirty and four and yet unmarried? With looks like that? Did he love the sea so much he would not take a wife?” Bethany wondered aloud.

“Viserra would know right? Your family had dinner with him, what was it like?” Laena asked cheekily, putting Viserra on the spot.

“Well he was very well traveled…” Viserra began to explain, giving her recollections of the dinner and her impression of Lord Corlys, though she decided to leave out how she had made him uncomfortable asking about Asshai, there was no reason to tell that to them.

“So in short, a handsome, dashing, rich lord with many an adventure and story to tell? My, my, Viserra, the way you describe him, one might think you infatuated!” Laena teased.

“I simply described him as he was!” she protested, struggling not to blush. Damn Laena!

“She’s blushing!” Bethany crowed.

“Truly? Viserra? Our Viserra who had boys wrapped around her finger by the time she was twelve? Oh how the tables have turned now that she has taken a fancy to someone for once!” Rylla joined in, seemingly forgetting her own complaints about Lord Corlys for an opportunity to tease Viserra.

Viserra shook her head in exasperation. When did these three grow so brave to treat her like this, she thought with mock outrage. Out of all her ladies and friends, only they dared to tease her in return. They hadn’t always been so either, once demurely accepting her stupid childish games and plans when they were younger. Yet as they had aged and matured, they had grown out of such childish occupations and these three had grown more daring, pushing the boundaries of their friendship.

Deep down, she didn’t really mind though. In the company of these three, and even some of her other ladies, Viserra felt like she could relax and enjoy herself. Not placed under the judging eyes of her mother, or the jealousy of Alyssa. Not the little sister or daughter to protect and shelter, but a friend to jape with and confide in. Small surprise perhaps that she had become closer to them than any of her siblings, even Baelon, reluctant as she was to admit that.

Soon the door opened and Rhaenys stepped in. Viserra rose to her feet in confusion. “What are you doing here Rhaenys?”

“Mother sent me Aunt Viserra. She said it would be good if I was to spend some time with the older ladies rather than always in the yard or on Meleys,” she replied.

Viserra was at a loss on what to answer. Laena quickly saved her. “We’d be delighted to have you Princess Rhaenys. Please, come have a seat.”

Rhaenys sat down awkwardly in the midst of all of them, not sure how to act or what to say, but soon enough she had all the attention. Little by little, Viserra ceased to be the center of the room and conversation like she had been and became just an observer in her own group of friends as they entertained Rhaenys.

They were so different the two of them, Rhaenys with her raven tresses and pale violet eyes and Viserra with deep purple eyes, silver-gold hair and flawless white skin. The both of them were blessed with the beauty characteristic of their Valyrian heritage, and while some may call Viserra the more beautiful of the two, there were none who would rank her higher. It was Rhaenys who rode a dragon. Rhaenys who was the second in line to the Iron Throne. Rhaenys who had everything that Viserra did not.

And she? She was just Viserra. Beautiful Viserra. Vain Viserra. Nothing but the tenthborn child of the King and Queen, with seven older siblings, a niece, and two nephews who were always more important than she was, and likely always would be. She had just been reminded so sharply of her unimportance, even her friends, close to her as they were, recognized that Rhaenys was more important than her.

Feeling sick, Viserra got up and made to leave. Rhaenys noticed and tried to ask her what was wrong but Viserra brushed her off and all but ran from the room.

She held in her tears. A dragon she did not ride, but a dragon she was nonetheless, a proud princess of the House of Targaryen, and she would not cry. Not for this. Not for anything. Yet despite her will, the tears still stung in her eyes.

Barely watching where she was going, she felt herself colliding with someone. She looked up nervously, having a feeling she was going to have to apologize profusely or get in trouble with her mother yet again. She was slightly relieved then, when she saw that it was Lord Corlys.

“Are you alright Princess?” he asked as he helped her to her feet.

“Yes, I…I’m well. Thank you.”

“You don’t look well,” he noted, seeing her bloodshot eyes. Viserra flinched away, not wanting to let him see her weakness, her vulnerability.

“You’re upset. Come, it would not do for a princess of the realm to be seen crying out in the open,” he said as he led her to a nearby balcony, far enough away from any prying eyes or eavesdropping ears.

He stood there for a while as she composed herself, before she spoke. “You’re not going to ask? A princess fled from a room and ran into you crying and you don’t wonder why?”

“I figured you didn’t want to say anything. It’s not my place or business to pry Princess, but I couldn’t very well leave you there in distress, that is not what a knight should do, what any man should do. If you wish to tell me, I am willing to hear your words. If not, then I will wait a little and then go once I am certain you are well. With your leave of course.”

“Aren’t you busy? I am sure a member of my father’s council has more important things to do than pamper His Grace’s fifth daughter.”

“Well…” he said, drawling out the word. “I did just finish with a very long and honestly very boring council meeting. I’m tired, and with quite a few tasks I will need to see to that was decided at the meeting. You are right, I certainly have much better things to do than to comfort a crying princess,” he said plainly.

“Then why are you here?” she asked, more than a little cross. Perhaps it was her vanity speaking again, but for once in her life, Viserra wished that she was the priority, the most important thing to someone.

“Because I want to be perhaps? Yes, there are many things that should logically be of higher import to me, but humans are not driven by logic alone and my own morals compel me to ensure a damsel in distress is taken care of. Logically you should not be the priority, but why should that matter to me?”

She chuckled slightly. “How chivalrous of you Lord Corlys. What a way with words you have, one might almost call you a flatterer, insinuating that a lady is of more import to you than your tasks even though they should not be.”

He smirked. “I aim to please, my princess.”

“No. I don’t think you do,” she said. Lord Corlys was not a man who seemed the kind to bend over just to please others, he was no Aenys. He had a purpose for doing this, an ulterior motive for keeping her company, they all did, even her friends. Yet she was so starved for attention, she would take even the company of a practical stranger rather than brood in her lonesome about how unfair the world was.

They stood there for a while, Viserra with her arms on the railing as she watched the setting sun and the milling hustle and bustle of the castle below. After what seemed to be an eternity, she finally broke the silence.

“It’s hard sometimes,” she all but whispered but with how quiet it was, he heard her.

“What is?” he asked as quietly, leaning against a nearby pillar.

“Being the eighth child. I grew up with seven older siblings and one younger. Yet of the nine of us I was favored the least or given the least attention. Even Gael is favored more than me, coddled as she is by my mother. And when my siblings had children? They were all more important than me as well.

“Aemon and Baelon, Father’s perfect sons, his perfect heirs. Alyssa, dragonrider, Baelon’s wife. She was favored much as well, even though she was the complete opposite of what a lady should be. Maegelle, the fussy one. All strict and diligent, made perfect sense that she became a septa. Vaegon as well, though a bore, he was the cleverest of us. And Daella… well, Mother coddled her as much as she does Gael. Saera? Mother always looked at her in suspicion, even more than me but Father always indulged her right up to the moment of her disgrace.”

She noticed Lord Corlys shifting a little as she spoke of Saera’s scandal without a care. “Oh don’t give me that. There’s no point pretending it didn’t happen.”

The sun had all but set now, it’s last rays receding as twilight took the world.

“For better or for worse, I stand in the shadow of my siblings. Why can’t I be as perfect as Aemon and Baelon? As clever as Vaegon or as diligent as Maegelle? As demure and polite as Daella? Why can’t I be as obedient as Gael? Will I prove to be as bad as Saera? And for Alyssa, heavens know why I’m in her shadow. Perhaps because she has a dragon, and I am discouraged if not disallowed from having one?”

Something whispered to Viserra, a voice eerily similar to her mother’s, saying she should not be spilling her secrets and troubles with her family to some stranger but for the life of her she could not care less.

“Tell me Lord Corlys, you are the eldest child, do you know the shadow that you cast over your own siblings?” Viserra asked. She was being rude and breaking etiquette and probably going to get shouted at by her mother when Lord Velaryon complained that she had asked yet another uncomfortable question but she just didn’t care.

To her surprise, Lord Corlys did not grow angry, but thoughtful instead, choosing his words before answering. “I do. I was reminded very strongly of it just recently. I know the shadow I cast and yet I do not know how to lessen it or make my brother feel less resentful.”

“Your brother… Aurane?”

“No, the other. Rhaekar. He is between Aurane and I.”

“Ah, the middle child. Yes, I sympathize with him greatly. I can only tell you this Lord Corlys, it is the way of the world that we live in that children often find themselves in the shadow of their greater siblings, be they older or younger. Nothing can truly soothe that bitter realization. Yet if I were your brother Rhaekar, what I would want is your acknowledgement at least. The acknowledgement of my idol.”

“Rhaekar… idolizes me?” Corlys asked out loud, as if he couldn’t understand the notion.

“I idolized my mother and father when I was young. And most of my siblings as well, except for Saera, she was always a bitch. In any case, no matter how old we grow, some of that idolization, some of that need to be acknowledged, it never truly goes away.”

“But I do acknowledge Rhaekar, I have thanked him many times for what he has done in the service of our house,” Corlys said, confused.

Viserra laughed, “And logically he would have accepted your acknowledgement and moved on but people don’t just operate on logic do they?”

“Then what should I do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know the relationship between you or your brother, or the cause of the distance between you and him. All I can say is this Lord Corlys, that you have recognized the problem and are seeking to correct it, already makes you better than all the other siblings out there who cast that shadow on their siblings.”

“I see. Thank you for your advice then Princess. I will take my leave now then.”

She nodded her thanks, expecting him to leave her alone to her thoughts, but he turned and spoke again, drawing her attention.

“I think there is something that stands out about you Princess. More than just vanity or beauty. What it is I cannot put into words exactly, but you are special for more than just your appearance, and one day I think your family will see that.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Lord Corlys hadn’t even phrased it that well. He didn’t know how to put it into words? Yet that made it feel genuine to her, so she smiled and thanked him with a curtsey. “Thank you for your compliment Lord Corlys,” she said graciously.

“Please Princess, for the insight you have given me, call me Corlys.”

“Then you must do the same for me,” she ordered imperiously and slightly haughtily. It was a great honor to call a princess by name after all, and an even greater one to be on first name terms with the one and only Princess Viserra, beautiful beyond belief, special in a way words couldn’t even describe.

Lord Corlys’s eyes glinted slightly with amusem*nt. “Very well then… Viserra.”

Chapter 8: The Princess and the Queen

Chapter Text

Fifth Moon, 87 AC

Alysanne

“Construction of the fort on Bloodstone was completed three months ago. In the time since, our fleet has cleared through several pirate dens on the Stepstones but the moment we leave an island, the pirates always come slinking right back in,” Ser Aurane, the youngest of the Velaryon brothers reported.

“What of the locals?” her husband asked. She had always loved how he looked when he was trying to be serious and focused.

“There aren’t that many of them. Some villages of fisherfolk here and there. Most of them are likely the families or allies of the pirates. We receive little to no aid from them and we suspect the pirates are blending in with the local populace.”

Lord Quentyn Qoherys spoke then. “Give me some time Your Grace. I can have my men rooting out the pirates.”

“I highly doubt that Lord Qoherys. The pirates have a mutually beneficial relationship with the villagers and many of them are close-knit family groups, villagers and pirates alike. External spies will find a very hard time trying to get any information,” Lord Corlys pointed out, his brows furrowed in thought. “Unless we wish to be barbaric and cleanse the isles of the peoples living there outright, I can’t think of many ways we can deal with this problem so long as we restrict ourselves to only controlling Bloodstone.”

“Then we don’t. The simplest solution to me seems to be to take full control of the region. We already have a fort on Bloodstone, if we allow Lord Corlys’s fleet to continue its work, we can begin establishing a presence on each island,” her eldest son Aemon proposed.

Alysanne raised her eyebrow. “An annexation of the Stepstones? Tyrosh would have much to say about that I think.”

“Tyrosh… may soon have bigger things to worry about. As you might recall Your Grace, my brother and I were invited behind the Black Walls years ago by our Paenymion associates. Recently those associates informed me that their family ran for the annual elections for the Triarch seats as one of the three Elephant candidates. For the first time since the Century of Blood, the Triarch seats fell to the Tigers who attained a majority with two Triarchs,” Lord Corlys said.

“According to our associates, the rising tensions in the Disputed Lands are the likely cause of this new turn of events. Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh have seemingly put aside their enmity to ally against Volantis yet even in a three on one fight, Volantis near conquered all the Free Cities by herself. It will not be a short war. We have never had a better window of opportunity.”

Eyes turned to the king then, to Jaehaerys. He looked at Aemon and Baelon, at Lord Corlys and Ser Aurane, and then he looked at her, his purple eyes flickering onto her blue. Alysanne gently nodded her head. Their son had raised the idea, and he was no glory-seeking fool. There were many benefits and disadvantages in seizing the Stepstones but right now, undermining their heir was not wise.

Their subtle, wordless conversation went unnoticed by the room, having been but a few seconds. Jaehaerys turned back to the council and asked, “When is it expected that this war would break out?”

“Within the year most likely. I have heard rumors of it myself,” Lord Quentyn replied.

“Lord Corlys, have the fleet redouble its efforts to clear out the pirates. However, an expansion from Bloodstone can only begin in full once the Three Daughters go to war with the Eldest,” Jaehaerys ordered.

“Understood Your Grace.” Corlys nodded his head in a half-bow, accepting the order, but Alysanne could see he was very pleased. With the Velaryon fleet controlling the Stepstones, who else could be its lord once they formally annexed it? She shared a glance with Jaehaerys. They both knew they would have to accelerate their plans. Ser Aurane begged his leave and was dismissed and soon after the meeting continued onto other matters.

“In other news, work has continued well on the roads. The Gold Road and Roseroad as far as Deep Den and Bitterbridge have been paved in concrete and stone, which is impressively fast considering it has been only five months since we started paving the roads beyond the Crownlands. The efforts of Houses Tyrell, Velaryon, Lannister, and others must be noted for contributing their resources, ideas, funds, and men to speeding up the project. The Iron Throne will officially thank all of you and give you your promised reimbursem*nts. If work continues at this pace, it is quite likely we could have all the major highways of the kingdoms fully paved within the next two decades and from there who knows how many roads we can work on in each kingdom, expanding on the roads built under the pre-Conquest rulers,” Barth reported.

Other members began submitting their reports and proposals for the continuation of the paving projects, but Alysanne paid little attention to them, her thoughts far away, remembering how she had met Florence all those years ago. She had not been… in the best of places at the time. Deprived of her will to live after the death of her daughter Daenerys, it had been Florence who had coaxed her out of her shell once again, proving to be a life-long and capable friend, and just as her husband had hoped, she had eventually begun attending the Small Council meetings again due to her influence.

“Your Grace, you and Septon Barth asked to hear my proposal on the coinage?” Florence asked once the discussion on the roads had concluded. Alysanne’s attention was drawn again recalling her and Florence’s own conversations on the matter.

“Yes my lady. The queen has told me much of your idea, I and all the council would like to hear it,” her husband answered.

“Very well. The currency and its conversion rates are currently very hard to calculate and convert with. I looked to other currencies and coinages for inspiration as well as the market prices of the precious metals used in the coins and have found, I believe, the best possible system for all these factors,” Florence said, before presenting her proposal.

According to Florence’s proposal, the silver stag would be slightly devalued so that roughly 240 stags would be equal to a gold dragon. 240 being chosen for being a more highly composite number then the previous 210 which had been chosen for religious reasons related to the number seven. New stags would be minted with the correct amounts of silver and the old coins could be traded in for them once they became commonly used. The silver moon would be reminted and reissued with newly weighed amounts of silver to be worth 12 of the new stags (instead of the previous seven) and with 20 moons to a gold dragon. The silver stag would be decimalized, with a hundred pennies to a stag with these new pennies having slightly less the value of the old, now defunct, halfpennies. A groat would be worth ten of these new pennies, a halfgroat worth five. As for the copper star, Lady Florence had remarked. ‘It should be worth 49 pennies, for seven times seven, but we need to make it a bit easier for people to use them. I'm sure the Seven would understand.’ Eventually, the council had concluded the extra penny could symbolically represent the holder of the money, charged by the Seven to use it wisely.

All the new denominations of the coins would have conversion rates for the older versions of the coins which could be traded in, melted, and reminted for the new coins. She could tell Jaehaerys and Barth were quite pleased by the new system, though Lord Corlys looked a bit put out. According to Florence, he had wanted a decimalization of the dragon as well. Given the Driftmark metric system, it wasn’t that surprising Lord Corlys had wanted a completely decimalized dragon as well, but that was difficult to achieve given the coins did not have fixed values or conversion rates like what Braavos had achieved with its iron coins.

Soon the discussion turned to a topic Alysanne would rather avoid. “Princess Viserra’s nameday passed about a month ago. The princess is now eighteen, and many wonder why there is yet to be even a betrothal for her,” Barth said.

Well, this is awkward. Alysanne thought, sharing a glance with her husband. They already had someone in mind for Viserra, and discussing it in front of him and the whole council before the topic had even been raised with the man himself was not proper.

“Viserra’s marriage, while important, is not so nearly as urgent. It needs to be discussed soon, but if need be, can be left for a later meeting,” Alysanne said as she saw her husband lean into Barth’s ear to whisper their reason for dropping the subject.

Distracting the other council members, especially the ever observant Corlys Velaryon, Alysanne changed the topic to one that was similar but would interest all of them more. “Rhaenys’s betrothal on the other hand, is far more important. The girl is soon to be four and ten. As the second in line to the Iron Throne, who she marries is of vital importance to the stability of the realm.”

She ignored Aemon’s anger that Rhaenys’s marriage had been brought up, his overprotectiveness of her was too much at times honestly. She focused instead on the rest of the council, Barth’s frown and Jaehaerys’s thoughtfulness standing out the most. Suggestions were tossed around, lords like Frey, Caswell, Hightower, Reyne, or Royce, from all over the kingdom. Lord Qoherys even suggested the possibility of Prince Morion Martell, the reigning Prince of Dorne, for the possibility of bringing Dorne into the realm at last. The idea had been shut down almost immediately however. There was too much bad blood there, and Alysanne knew her brother Boremund would be especially infuriated by the idea of his niece marrying a Martell Prince.

Grand Maester Elysar's proposal however would gain the most traction among the council members. "What of Ser Tion Lannister? The younger brother of Ser Tymond. He is not the heir and with his brother wed and expected to have children soon, any children he has with Princess Rhaenys could easily take the Targaryen name instead. It would give the Princess the solid backing of the Lannisters and the gold of the Rock," he said.

‘And also tie Rhaenys to the burgeoning western alliance,’ Alysanne thought with a frown. The Velaryons' rise had not gone without notice and quite a few of the rich western houses were forming a bloc to counter their influence. The Lannisters had begun trading more extensively with Oldtown and working on joint ventures with them and there were rumors that her daughter's handmaid, Lady Rylla Redwyne, might soon be married to Lord Hobert Hightower, uniting three powerful houses at the heart of a growing alliance on the western coast.

A marriage to the future queen would dangerously empower them, and Alysanne had had little trust for Oldtown since the Faith Militant had rebelled and almost killed her and her family. House Lannister as well, she trusted them about as far as she could throw them. Even when her sister Rhaena had stayed in the West, they had looked upon Dreamfyre with greed in their eyes and sought to have dragons of their own. Sometimes she wished her grandfather had eliminated the Lannisters alongside the Gardeners, it would have saved them the trouble of dealing with this overly mighty vassal of theirs. Daella marrying into their house could have tied them to the Iron Throne with little risk but Rhaenys? The future queen in Lannister hands was a troublesome prospect indeed.

“House Lannister is loyal and leal, but they may overreach should they feel empowered with such a match,” her son rejected, taking a great interest in his daughter’s marriage. Alysanne knew what he would prefer, a house powerful enough to support her claim, but not powerful enough to overreach and become overly mighty.

“What about Prince Viserys?” Lord Corlys asked suddenly. All eyes turned to him. “He is but nine years old at present yes, but betrothals are just that. He is not far apart in age from the princess and they could wed when he comes near of age. From what I recall, they are close and filial as all cousins should be. A marriage between them would not be disastrous, and has many benefits. It would consolidate their claims and unite Prince Aemon and Prince Baelon’s lines, removing any disputes in succession and any concern that the princess’s future reign might be challenged by her cousin or his descendants.”

For once Aemon and Baelon looked to be in disagreement, the former perhaps fearing that Viserys would usurp Rhaenys’s power and overstep his bounds as consort while the latter looked thrilled at the idea of uniting his line with his brother’s and having their shared grandson sit their father’s throne.

Alysanne herself thought the match made perfect sense, and had indeed thought of it before. Aemon might fear Viserys might usurp Rhaenys’s power, but Alysanne knew her grandchildren. Rhaenys was too strong to be browbeaten and Viserys too non-confrontational to challenge her on the matter. It was not that Viserys was weak, far from it, but he did not seek out arguments or disputes for no reason, and was all things considered, a very polite and well-mannered boy, quite unlike his rascal of a little brother who had lured her daughter Gael on so many mischievous misdeeds around the Red Keep.

Viserys was the perfect kind of consort in Alysanne’s eyes. Strong enough to support his wife, but not ambitious or power-hungry to challenge her in matters of state. That he was also a Targaryen and the eldest son of her second son simply made it better, consolidating the claims into a single line and rewarding Baelon for his long dutiful service. Alysanne had no doubt that Aemon and Baelon would not betray each other, but then, her own father would never have thought his brother would betray him and kill his sons and rape his daughter. Who knew what the future held should Rhaenys and Viserys marry into differing houses? There were many in Westeros who thought that a man should rule and not a woman, even if he was the child of the second son and not the eldest. Fools the whole lot of them.

Jaehaerys she knew, had long been concerned about the prospect of Rhaenys one day being queen in her own right, worrying that her succession would see them and their children posthumously named usurpers for passing over their niece Aerea to ascend the throne. It was a valid concern, though one that was honestly far-fetched in Alysanne’s opinion. Aerea, the poor thing, was long dead, and Rhaena had abdicated on behalf of her daughter as her regent. Still the fact remained that primogeniture had not been obeyed and a precedent for male-only succession had been set.

As he gave the matter serious thought, Alysanne could see Jaehaerys coming to the same conclusion she had, assuaging all his own worries while still ensuring Rhaenys could sit the throne as queen with her succession unquestioned.

The problem now was Aemon, who was simmering in silent anger. Not many things could provoke her son’s wrath in this way but his daughter Rhaenys. She would not enjoy dealing with him afterwards.

_____________________________________________

Viserra

Things were rather tense in the Red Keep. Viserra hadn’t been able to get much, but apparently there had been a disagreement during the Small Council meeting that had escalated into a full argument between Aemon, Baelon, and her parents.

Some of the servants had been gossiping about it, but Viserra had shushed them before dismissing them. It would not do for the whole castle to know about a little family spat. Alyssa had taken the children (her sons and Rhaenys and Gael) out to the yard not wanting them to be around with tempers flaring. Viserra had declined to go along, hoping to finish reading the book that Corlys had gifted her for her nameday, one of many gifts she had received from the Velaryons.

She suppressed a smile thinking of how she had come to be gifted the book. Since their conversation on that balcony, Corlys and her had become friends of a sort. They did not exactly go out of their way to meet with each other, a single unmarried lord and a maiden like her meeting regularly would not be thought proper by anyone and would cause many to assume that Corlys was courting her, but whenever they encountered each other in the Red Keep (which was quite often) they would speak at length. Corlys had gotten so annoyed of her pestering for details on Driftmark that he had gifted her a book on it, freshly written and printed explicitly to answer her many questions on the island.

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, Viserra gleefully thought of how many more questions still unanswered that she would torment Corlys with once she had finished the book. Still, the picture the book painted of Driftmark was wondrous. Whoever wrote it had a skill with words indeed. Viserra was already dreaming of the castle of High Tide when the water separated the cragged islet it stood upon from the rest of the island at high tide. It’s silvered roofs and white walls looming gracefully over the great arches and domes that featured in the architecture of the Spicetown, a city in all but name.

There was so much to do and see on Driftmark, and it only made Viserra wish even more that she had been able to go and see it all. Alas, it hadn’t been meant to be, but she swore that no matter what, she would visit the island and see the famed wonders of Spicetown and High Tide for herself one day. And why stop there? She may not be as adventurous as Corlys was, having sought out all there was to see in the Known World, but there was much to see in Westeros alone. A procession perhaps, like the ones her parents had used to go on?

Viserra’s excitement dulled when she realized that her parents were unlikely to sponsor a procession for her. Their second-youngest child. A daughter. What use would a procession be for her? For Aemon or Baelon, there was much to be gained. But not for her. Her destiny in life was to simply be wed off to whatever lord her parents chose for her and live out the rest of her days at his castle, nothing more than a broodmare really. It was only a matter of time, her eighteenth nameday had passed already.

Trying to distract herself from those dark thoughts, she made to pour herself a cup of water from her jug and was bitterly disappointed when barely a drop poured out. Sighing, Viserra bookmarked her page and set the book on the table before leaving to refill her jug. There was no exquisite state of the art plumbing in the Red Keep like High Tide was rumored to possess (using some kind of science involving a water tower that was beyond her). Normally, she’d have a servant do it but she had just dismissed all of them and sent them out of the family rooms.

Seems like I’m doing it myself for once.

As she neared the door that led out into the rest of the castle, Ser Ryam called out to her. “Going somewhere Princess?” The Redwyne knight and his fellow Kingsguard, Ser Clement Crabb, were standing guard at the entrance to her family’s exclusive wing of the Red Keep.

Viserra nodded in acknowledgement, showing the jug she was carrying. “Yes, I’m going to find one of the servants and have them refill this jug for me.”

“Would you like one of us to accompany you?”

“That would be appreciated,” Viserra answered firmly, speaking politely but with the authority of a princess.

Ser Ryam nodded to his sworn brother who stepped out and made to follow her before they heard a rapping on the door. Acting instinctively, Ser Clement darted forward to answer the door for her and opened it to reveal one of the guards, Viserra thought he looked familiar though she couldn’t recall his name for the life of her. He was just one of many guards in the castle. Ser Clement clearly recognized him however, as he let him pass to speak to her.

“Princess Viserra,” he bowed. “I was sent by the guards at the gatehouse to inform you and your family that Septa Maegelle and Archmaester Vaegon have arrived.”

Maegelle and Vaegon were here? Viserra had heard nothing about this.

“I see. It will be good to see my brother and sister again. Do me a favor ser and have one of the servants refill this jug for me. I will inform my mother and father that my siblings have arrived,” she said, handing the guard her water jug before she turned around. “Ser Clement, I trust you will escort them here safely?” she asked.

“Of course Princess,” the Kingsguard knight nodded before walking off to fulfill his duties.

‘What are Maegelle and Vaegon doing here?’ she thought as she walked. Viserra hadn’t seen either of them in almost a decade. She barely knew them, barely remembered them. Would they even recognize her as she was now? She struggled to dig up old memories of them. Maegelle, always busy praying and being oh so pious and Vaegon, looking down at her from the pages of a book. If she recalled correctly, Vaegon had insulted poor Daella very cruelly on one public occasion. Viserra had watched as Baelon and Alyssa tossed him around the training yard for it. Of Maegelle she recalled even less, she had been naught but a toddler when Maegelle had left for Oldtown, though she at least had returned on occasion to visit. Vaegon had never done so.

Still, she continued walking and as she neared her father’s solar she could hear the shouts of the argument inside, overhearing a few words. ‘Velaryon’ and ‘betrothal’? Unable to suppress her curiosity, Viserra pressed hear ears against the door and listened in on the conversation as much as she could, hearing her mother saying a betrothal would strengthen their house. What betrothal?

‘It’s for me,’ Viserra realized. It only made sense. She was eighteen years old already, it was far past time. It seemed her parents had chosen Velaryon, and that could only mean Corlys. Well, she couldn’t do much better than that to be honest, and she liked Corlys well enough. Soon enough her head was filled with fantasies of Driftmark and her as its lady. She had to admit, she liked the idea very much, imagining how she’d indulge her curiosity in all the new and exotic luxuries and inventions coming out from Driftmark, finally seeing the famed island for itself. Every day she’d be living in the legendarily splendid High Tide and visiting Spicetown and King’s Landing at her pleasure.

Corlys honestly was simply in the background of all these dreams, but Viserra certainly did not mind being married to him of all people, recalling his charisma and handsomeness, and his kindness to her, seeing potential in her that her family did not believe she possessed. That he was at the very least a friendly acquaintance of hers and the rich, dashing, and charismatic lord of the island that had so intrigued her was simply the icing on the cake so to speak.

She was so distracted by her imagination that she almost failed to realize that the argument had died down and one of her family members was approaching the door. Hurriedly backing away, she knocked on the door and tried to look as unassuming as possible. She really did not want to know what punishment she’d get for eavesdropping.

Her brother Aemon opened the door and was surprised to see her. Behind him Viserra spotted Baelon and her parents as well, looking a little tired, same as Aemon.

“Yes Viserra?” Aemon asked politely, though she sensed his heart wasn’t really in asking.

“The guards informed me that Maegelle and Vaegon have arrived. Ser Clement is seeing to them. They should be here any moment.”

Her mother’s face brightened at the news. “Excellent. Come my children, we must go greet your siblings.”

“Mother, why wasn’t I told earlier that they were coming?” Viserra asked, more than a little distraught, though she hid that from her mother. She knew all too well that her mother did not tell her much of anything, but surely she should be informed that her own siblings were returning to King’s Landing?

“Ah forgive me, I had meant to inform you earlier but I was distracted,” her mother apologized swiftly before she told Baelon to go fetch Alyssa and the children.

A while later, Ser Clement escorted Maegelle and Vaegon into the Red Keep’s Royal Wing and Viserra took a deep breath as she looked upon her siblings for the first time in years. Vaegon was much as she remembered, dour, stern, and an utter bore. Maegelle was the same as well, still looking ever so kind, still so insufferably pious.

“Ah my children, come here,” her mother ordered, enthusiastically embracing Maegelle and then hugging Vaegon who stood awkwardly like a plank as their mother lavished attention on him.

“Vaegon, Maegelle, it’s good to see you both again,” her father said as Aemon, Baelon and Alyssa stepped forward to greet their siblings. It seemed Vaegon still held a grudge because he rather noticeably kept Alyssa at a distance though he greeted Aemon and Baelon with some level of warmth.

By this point, Viserra had garnered Maegelle’s attention and she came to stand in front of her. “Viserra. You’ve grown a lot.”

“Maegelle. It is… good to see you. It’s been a long time. Seven years if my count is correct.”

“Since Daella’s wedding yes. Time flies,” she said before turning her attention to the children beside her. “And all of you have grown as well! My, the last time I saw you Rhaenys, you were busy toddling after Viserra. And Viserys, Gael, you were just babes in the arms of your mothers!”

“I don’t think you’ve even met little Daemon have you?” Viserra asked, noticing her nephew looking quite put out to go unnoticed.

“No, Alyssa was pregnant at the wedding if I recall. You must all have so many stories to tell me and many things to ask, but we can save it for dinner tonight. I would like settle into my rooms first,” Maegelle said as she was dragged away by their mother before Viserra had the opportunity to ask why she had come to King’s Landing again after all these years.

“Viserra,” Vaegon said as he approached her.

“Vaegon.”

“You’ve grown well, little sister. Hopefully there’s some brains to go with all that beauty. It would be quite unfortunate to have another idiot in the family,” he said in his usual obnoxiously insufferable way

“Yes. You will find I am no insipid, stupid girl,” she said bitingly, perhaps a little too fast.

“Any more you mean? Mother was at her wit’s end trying to deal with you just a few years ago, Maegelle still has the letters,” he said with a raised eyebrow and the slightest upturning of his lips.

A rare smile from Vaegon, and it had to be when he was mocking her. Of course it was. But Viserra could give as good as she got. “I see you have maintained your talent for insulting your sisters. Well done. Keep practicing and you’ll make it an art form. Archmaester Vaegon, the master of impoliteness and rudeness. Sounds quite impressive don’t you think?”

Vaegon’s brows furrowed slightly in anger before he ignored her and was introduced by Aemon and Baelon to their children. With her part in the family reunion at an end, Viserra extricated herself and went to find the servants. She still hadn’t gotten her water jug for goodness’ sake.

_____________________________________________________

“Truly?” Viserra asked, slightly surprised. She had known it was coming, but she hadn’t expected it to be nearly this fast.

Laena nodded in affirmation. She would be leaving court soon. Her betrothal had been finalized. She was to marry Ser Clement Celtigar, son and heir of Lord Bartimos, much to the disappointment of Ser Desmond.

Lord Quentyn had chosen an even greater match than House Darry. The wealthy and prestigious House Celtigar boasted Valyrian descent just like the Qoherys, as well as overlordship over Crackclaw Point, a respectable fleet, and ties of kinship, trade, and alliance with the Velaryons of Driftmark, the Graftons of Gulltown, the Peakes of Starpike, and Tarth.

Idly, Viserra thought to herself that it might be a strange twist of fortune. If she was indeed to marry Corlys, Laena would be her kin by marriage. Ser Clement was Corlys’s first cousin, the latter’s mother an elder sister of Lord Bartimos. The two families were close allies and Claw Isle was not at all far from Driftmark. There would be many opportunities to visit.

All in all, it was a match even Viserra had to admit was worthy of her best friend. She didn’t really have a choice but to let her go when the time came so she opened her arms and beckoned her friend into her embrace. “I wish you all the best, in everything.”

“And you as well, Viserra.”

“What about the rest of you?” Viserra turned to ask her other ladies. Slowly the answers came one by one. Rylla was soon to be betrothed to Lord Hobert Hightower. Bethany, ironically, was to marry Laena’s failed suitor, Ser Desmond Darry. Even Beatrice was getting married.

Beatrice Butterwell was a bit emptyheaded if Viserra was being brutally honest, but she was pretty enough to get a good match arranged for her. She was happy for her, really. They had been much closer once, before Laena, Rylla, and Bethany had supplanted her in her confidence.

And Beatrice was just one of her many other ladies. On and on it went, her ladies each revealing the man and house they were to be tied to for the rest of their lives. Betrothal after betrothal. Some had already been betrothed for years, but would soon be finally leaving her side to marry at long last.

It was to be expected, but it was only now dawning on Viserra just how quickly her life was changing before her eyes. Of all of them in the room, only Viserra and Rhaenys were yet to be betrothed and that would change very soon. Thinking she might share the news of her own betrothal and brag about it a little, Viserra asked them again what they all thought of Corlys Velaryon.

“Ugh. He’s handsome enough I guess, but that’s all he has going for him,” Rylla said.

“That’s your House’s jealousy speaking Rylla,” Bethany said patronizingly.

“Whatever you say Bethany.” Rylla scoffed mockingly.

“He’s a handsome man. Charming, rich, powerful. He would be every maiden’s dream. From what I have heard, it is not just looks, he is genuinely quite good-natured and chivalrous. If I recall our dear Viserra has spoken with him at length a few times,” Laena answered.

“Oh. Is that so?” Bethany leaned in.

Viserra had to will herself not to blush, much to her annoyance. She didn’t even in Corlys’s presence, why when her friends asked her about it?

“We have spoken on occasion. I might have also pestered him about his home to the point he gifted me a book on it with a note attached saying I could stop bothering him,” Viserra confessed.

“And did you?” Laena asked conspiratorially.

“No,” Viserra answered in a mischievous tone, making her ladies laugh.

“I agree with Laena. He’s handsome for sure, but more than that I find myself impressed by everything he’s accomplished. His achievements are honestly incredible,” Rhaenys said, surprising Viserra.

Jocelyn had continued to make Rhaenys join them in their gatherings, and after the first time, where Viserra had been able to explain her sudden departure with some fabricated excuse, she had eased herself into the group somewhat. It wasn’t that Rhaenys had taken part in the conversation that had surprised Viserra, but what she had said.

She hadn’t realized that Rhaenys had held such an interest in Corlys. Viserra felt herself spacing out as she came to a disturbing realization that maybe the betrothal had never been for her in the first place.

It made sense. Her brother had been searching for a suitable betrothed for Rhaenys for years and from the court gossips, he and Corlys had become quite good friends, building on an already cordial and friendly relationship dating back to Aemon’s ascension as Prince of Dragonstone. Aemon could feel more secure knowing that the rich and powerful House Velaryon would be backing Rhaenys’ succession without question, and also without seeking to manipulate her for their own ends. And if Rhaenys herself held an interest in Corlys, Aemon, ever so overprotective and doting, would definitely take that into consideration.

Viserra felt like slapping herself. She had assumed too much. Once again it seemed that she, a grown woman, was to play second fiddle to her niece, a child barely in her teens. If Corlys was offered the choice between them, who would he pick, she wondered uselessly. The choice was obvious. She might be his friend or acquaintance, might be more beautiful, but Rhaenys would give him the Iron Throne, give him a dragon. How could she compare?

‘Yet are you going to let everything that could be yours go to Rhaenys yet again without doing anything about it?’ Viserra heard a dangerous, treacherous voice in her mind asking her.

She looked back at Rhaenys and her ladies, talking without a care in the world, not realizing the crisis she was going through and she made her decision.

No.

Chapter 9: The Conciliator

Chapter Text

Fifth Moon, 87 AC

Jaehaerys Targaryen

“So it is confirmed then?” he asked.

“Not quite, but am I one of the leading candidates yes. Septa Laila nominated me as her replacement when she was still with us and the rest of the Most Devout will be convening soon to decide it. The raven should be coming any day now,” his daughter answered.

“That is good news indeed. And the Citadel Vaegon? What news?”

“The Conclave is panicking to be honest. Driftmark’s university, alone, was of little concern to them but now imitators have sprung up all across the continent. The printing press has made it easy. The other Archmaesters are very torn on their feelings for that invention. Less and less initiates are coming to the Citadel with each passing year and there are concerns we may soon have to relax the stringent oaths.”

“And what do you think of all of this?”

“I’m rather irritated. I could care less that Driftmark has made some university or that they have mimics copying them across the continent but the Citadel has been nagging me to ask you to do something about it and they won’t shut up.”

“What would they think of the idea of potentially relocating to King’s Landing?”

Vaegon raised his eyebrow. “If you offer them your patronage Father, and the possibility of regaining their diminishing influence in exchange, it might be possible.”

“You would be willing to support this proposal?” Alysanne leaned forward in her seat.

Their son sighed. “If you ask it of me, yes. Though I would prefer not to have too much work to do so I can focus on my research.”

“And your thoughts on the succession?” Jaehaerys asked, wanting another opinion on the matter. They had already filled in Maegelle hoping that she could reason with Aemon.

“I think that Aemon is being unreasonable,” Vaegon answered bluntly. “A match with Viserys is the best for Rhaenys, it would prevent any disputes over who is the heir. It has happened many times historically as well, in the kingdoms before the Conquest.”

Jaehaerys nodded. “Very well. Thank you, Maegelle, Vaegon. We should be able to secure the funds needed to raise the new sept and citadel here sometime soon. Your mother has more of the details than I.”

“Come, your father has a meeting with Lord Velaryon soon. We should leave him alone,” Alysanne said as she led their children out of the room, leaving him alone to his thoughts.

The clock in the corner, one of many he had ordered from Driftmark for the Red Keep, slowly ticked away to reach eleven in the morning. At ten to eleven, he heard a rap on the door.

“Come in,” he called out.

Corlys Velaryon stepped into the room, and part of Jaehaerys was taken back forty years to the memory of another man, another Velaryon. In his mind’s eye, his uncle’s form stalked into the room and Jaehaerys felt like a young man of six and ten again, hearing the counsel of his first true Hand.

Lord Velaryon raised his eyebrow, looking at the board on the table and the black onyx and white marble pieces. “Chess Your Grace?”

The illusion was dispelled and Jaehaerys was shaken back to the present. The man that stood before him was not his uncle, no matter how alike they looked.

“Yes. We have much to discuss Lord Corlys, but I had thought it might be interesting to have a game of chess as we talked.”

Lord Corlys smiled slightly, before taking his seat at the table opposite Jaehaerys.

“You may have the first move, my lord,” Jaehaerys said, pointing to the white pieces in front of Corlys.

“Thank you Your Grace,” he said as he moved his right knight out into the center lane.

It was one of only two ways to start a chess game. Either a white pawn or a white knight moved first, and Corlys had chosen the knight.

“An interesting move Lord Corlys. I do believe I heard it said once that to control the center was to control the game.” Jaehaerys moved his own black knight into position.

“You heard correctly Your Grace. Control of the center allows one to move their pieces easily into position, and threatens the opponent’s king, who stands on a center lane,” the Velaryon answered as the game continued. “However, one who understands the game can exploit his opponent’s single-minded focus on the center to take the advantage,” he said a few moves later when his septon emerged and took Jaehaerys’s knight.

Jaehaerys found himself markedly impressed. It was not often that he had a challenge. Many who played chess against him either did not have the ability or courage to beat their king in a game. Lord Corlys may soon join the list of the few who could.

As their game continued into the later stage, Jaehaerys reminisced on how he had started playing chess in the first place. The game had become very popular amongst the nobility of Westeros some twenty years ago, and was played even by many in Essos, where the rules and pieces were changed slightly to reflect the differences in Essosi society. Come to think of it, where had the game originated? If he recalled correctly, it had been from merchants and knights of Driftmark teaching the game to their fellows from across the kingdom.

Feeling curious, Jaehaerys decided to ask. “My lord Velaryon, if I do recall correctly, chess spread from Driftmark many years ago, though by this point, many have forgotten whence the game came from. I find myself curious though if you have any idea who conceived the game?”

Lord Corlys looked hesitant for a brief moment before smiling and answering. “I did, Your Grace.”

Jaehaerys was taken aback briefly, Corlys couldn’t have been very old at the time and chess seemed far too complex to him to have been developed solely by a child. “That… that is very impressive indeed my lord. You could not have been more than twelve!”

“Nine actually Your Grace. But it was no grand feat like you suggest. It was simply a game I idly conceived of in my free time and played with my grandfather. I conceived of the basic rules and movements of each piece of course, but the levels of complexity and strategy involved, they all slowly developed later over time without my input.”

“Still, it is a testament to your wit, my lord. I am most impressed. It is far too often that many of the high lords think they need be good only with a sword or spear and not with their mind as well.”

“The mind of a child I have found, is a wondrous thing. My own nephew and niece are just as intelligent as I was at that age, if not as knowledgeable perhaps. Sadly, many let their minds dull as they age. Books are the whetstone with which to sharpen our minds after all and they are unfortunately not as read as they should be.”

Jaehaerys nodded his head in agreement, thinking of the creative mischief his children had gotten up to when they were younger, the mischief his youngest Gael and his grandson Daemon still infuriated Alyssa and Alysanne with.

“You said your grandfather helped you with the game?”

Corlys nodded. “That is correct. While he did propose some rules and changes, the stubborn child that I was turned down most of them, insistent on having my game played the way I wanted it to be. Still, my uncle did help me greatly to explain why some rules for the game were the way they were. By the traditional rules for example, pawns cannot eat a piece directly in front of them, and with my grandfather’s help this was explained as a means to make the game more strategic and prevent the pawns from clearing the front lanes of each other too fast and not as the whims of a nine-year old boy.”

“So you have an explanation then? For why all the pieces move the way they can and cannot?” Jaehaerys asked.

“Indeed. I could tell anyone who asks that the pawns can only move a square a move to represent how they are the weakest servants of any leader, hence their name. Of how knights are incredibly mobile just as they would be on the battlefield, of how septons can cut deep into enemy lines by being able to move diagonally in a parallel of how religion is often used as a weapon. Of how the rooks move stalwartly on straight paths, bringing to mind the image of formidability, just like the castles they resemble,” Corlys explained.

“I must confess. I have always wondered, why is it that the king piece so weak? Why is the queen so much more powerful than him? How can a simple pawn be made the most powerful of pieces?” Jaehaerys asked. He had never seriously considered the questions in truth, for they had just been idle musings on a simple game. Yet he wasn’t one to pass up the opportunity of addressing his questions to the creator of the game himself. To his surprise, Lord Velaryon started chuckling.

“Forgive me Your Grace. Those are perhaps the most common questions I have heard asked. Indeed, they were the very first my grandfather addressed to me once I had explained the rules. It is hard to comprehend to many, raised as they are in the rigid hierarchy of our society but I believe I can explain it well enough.

“The king’s strength lies less in his personal skill at arms but more in his ability to command others. You for example Your Grace, are noted to be a fine warrior, yet would you consider your martial ability above those of your Kingsguard? I would think not considering the legend of the Kingsguard. They are not given such a high accolade for being lesser with the sword than their liege but rather because they are greater.

“A wise king knows the areas in which he is lacking, and delegates to those with greater skill and talent then him. He listens to his counselors and heeds their advice but does not let them rule him. If I may be frank Your Grace, you are one of the finest examples of this ideal,” Corlys complimented him before continuing.

“In keeping with this notion, the king in chess is the single most important piece but he is also limited in how he can move for he is meant to command and lead, not necessarily to fight himself, though he can if he must or wishes. The true power of a king is their charisma, the ability to inspire others to do great things in their name.”

Jaehaerys found himself intrigued by Corlys’s explanation but also perturbed, the idea that the king did not have power alone but must rely on others was unsettling to him. Yet, his reasoning was logical and Jaehaerys would not lie and say he would not feel less sure in his actions if done without the support of his counselors.

“And my other questions? What of the queen and the pawn? Does not what applies to the king similarly apply to the queen?”

“In some ways perhaps, in others not. A queen regnant performs the role of a king for she is the ruler in her own right but a consort? A consort is different. At a first glance they seem insignificant for they have only the power that their spouse deigns to give them but in practice they wield immense power, or at least, they should under normal circ*mstances.

“The king’s consort is and should be his most powerful ally, the most important person to him. After all the queen shares the king’s ear, the king’s bed. She is the mother of his children, one of, if not the primary influence on his heir. The queen commands the court in ways the king cannot, forming relations with other ladies who in turn influence their husbands. If the king cannot trust his queen, who can he trust? History has proven that men who had strained relations with their wives often failed as rulers and failed to raise their heirs correctly.

“However, queens need not represent consorts only. They represent any powerful ally that a king would be loath to give up, be it his most trusted warrior, or his heir, or his most skilled general. Someone who brings the most to his cause, someone who he values as much as his actual wife. But, like all pieces in chess save the king, the queen is ultimately expendable,” Lord Corlys said as he moved his septon piece into position, springing the trap he had laid a few moves earlier.

Jaehaerys looked down at the board carefully. His queen was pinned between his opponent’s septon and knight and should he not move her out of the way, she would likely be captured in the next turn and his king would be at risk. At the same time however, he had a pawn on the seventh square and the loss of the queen, while a setback, would not be devastating given the newly promoted queen replacing her would be in the position to immediately check Corlys’s king. Jaehaerys hastily moved his queen to a safer position, anticipating that his opponent had no doubt seen his pawn on the brink of being promoted and would not press the attack in favor of removing the threat to his king.

“There are some who sacrifice their queen for strategic gain, willing to losing a valuable piece if they can gain an advantage in the game,” Corlys said as he moved his knight yet again, once more presenting the choice of piece before Jaehaerys and it was clear now that Lord Corlys had no pieces in place with which to immediately counteract Jaehaerys’s new queen, should he choose to sacrifice the old and promote the new.

He looked to see Lord Velaryon watching him intently to see what move he would choose. It was clear that he was talking about the game, it should have been at least. Yet with how recently Lord Corlys had spoken of what the queen represented in reality, Jaehaerys wondered…

Making his decision, he moved his pawn forward one more square and promoted it. A queen on his enemy’s squares. A dagger pointed at the heart of his king. “Check,” Jaehaerys declared.

“And there we have it. Promoting a pawn. A reminder that men can rise to power from the unlikeliest of places. The lowliest of servants can become the highest of powers, if they overcome the obstacles in their path. If fortune favors them like it favors the pawn which makes it all the way to the eighth square. A mere pawn can become a queen, just as a bastard can become the Lord of Storm’s End or a commoner septon be made Hand of the King,” Corlys said as he moved his rook back to protect his king from Jaehaerys’s new queen.

Jaehaerys moved his new queen to start cleaning up the lanes of Corlys’s pieces but as he did so, Corlys’s own queen and other pieces continued pinning his king. The game continued on for several more moves until a stalemate became inevitable.

“A fine game. I should have expected no less from the creator of the game,” Jaehaerys praised.

“You give me too much credit perhaps Your Grace. Simply creating the game would not have made me this skilled at it. Practice and play was needed in great amounts to refine my skills and you, Your Grace, are among the finest I have had the pleasure of playing against. Another game?”

“Yes,” Jaehaerys nodded. “I hope that we do not end in a draw again. Two kings running around the board by themselves appears rather strange.”

“It is indeed.” Corlys laughed. “You should have the first move this time Your Grace,” he said as he placed his captured white pieces on Jaehaerys’s side of the board.

As their second game began with Jaehaerys moving his center-left pawn forward, he turned the conversation toward his true purpose for summoning Lord Corlys to speak with him.

“If you would indulge my curiosity my lord, I find myself wondering. Who are you considering as your queen?”

Corlys raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon Your Grace?”

“Your wife. You talked at length about how a king’s consort should be his most trusted ally and advisor. I wondered if you had a lady in mind for your ‘queen’. You must admit that it is the talk of the court that you are still unmarried at thirty and four. I am certain that a man of your reputation has many offers,” Jaehaerys elaborated.

“There are so many I fear my office might soon be overflowing in them Your Grace!” Lord Corlys japed and they shared a laugh before the mirth died down and his tone turned more serious once more. “I held back against marrying younger because I felt that my wanderlust and need for adventure would have made any marriage doomed to fail. I could not force any woman into that sad loveless marriage, nor leave them to raise my children and heirs alone as I spent years at sea on my voyages. It would be exceedingly irresponsible and detrimental to my plans to properly educate my heirs.”

“But things have changed now surely? Is it not time to settle down?” Jaehaerys asked with a frown.

Jaehaerys’s own voice turned wistful, remembering of how the odds had seemed stacked against his and Alysanne’s marriage and how by their perseverance, things had turned out well in the end. “It might seem inappropriate but I do not think you have chosen a wrong model to aspire for in your marriage my lord.”

“Thank you Your Grace.”

“What do you think of my daughter Viserra then? Would you consider her a woman who fits your desires?” he asked plainly. “Many at court have noted your cordiality, some might dare even to call it friendship.” Is it more than just friendship that sees my daughter seek you out?

“Princess Viserra is a woman of many qualities and intelligence from what I have gathered in our conversations. She would be a tribute to any house she married into.

“I would be honored to call her a friend, though I cannot claim to know if she would reciprocate. I can promise Your Grace, that nothing untoward has occurred between us. It is but a casual passing relationship, a cordial one developed from mutual interests. The Princess has asked many questions of my home and I have been delighted to answer her.”

Jaehaerys knew that of course, there was little that went down in the Red Keep that he was not informed of. Paranoid of another incident like what had happened with Saera, he had tasked some of the guards with watching all of Viserra’s interactions with the Lord of Tides whenever they did meet once their relationship had been made known to him. He had been relieved to find out that there truly was nothing improper going on, and all of their conversations were well within the boundaries of what was appropriate.

When that had been settled, his relief had soon turned into a calculating opportunism. If Viserra was mindful of her sister’s err and was simply befriending the Velaryon lord out of her curiosity on Driftmark, it boded well for her betrothal and eventual marriage to him with that background. Alysanne had been nagging him to approach Lord Corlys on the matter for quite some time and Jaehaerys had finally acquiesced.

“She would be a tribute to House Velaryon then?” Jaehaerys asked. Corlys’s eyes narrowed but Jaehaerys could see the anticipation he expected in his eyes, the anticipation all men would have when implicitly offered a princess for a bride.

“Yes, I do believe she would be, and I would be honored to have her as wife, should that be Your Grace’s decision.”

“It is.”

“Words cannot truly express how grateful and honored I am to be trusted with your daughter Your Grace. I graciously accept.”

Jaehaerys smiled. “Excellent. We can work out the finer details of the betrothal contract at a later date but I do believe a dowry of some hundred thousand gold dragons would not be amiss, considering my daughter’s status as Princess of the Realm. This is subject to negotiation of course, but that is the general area of what I would offer.”

“Your Grace, might I suggest… an alternative dowry? I have no true need for gold, as House Velaryon has gold aplenty from my voyages and the trade routes established by them. But the expansion of Spicetown has been limited by the town charter that was granted fifteen years ago. I would ask that a new charter be granted for Spicetown, recognizing it as the city it has become in truth if not in name, and granting it all the trade rights and privileges that come with that charter. The finer details could of course be negotiated.”

Jaehaerys was thoughtful, a part of him had suspected that the Velaryons might ask for a charter instead. He could insist on gold instead of course, his family had never allowed Duskendale a better charter to restrain King’s Landing’s competition after all, but his roads were not cheap, and ultimately some words on a piece of paper would do little to impede the Velaryons considering the wealth Spicetown had already. Unlike Duskendale, Spicetown was not dependent on a charter to succeed, it was already fabulously wealthy and prosperous, and sure to grow more, and Jaehaerys could leverage a charter to better relations and his house’s position.

“That would be acceptable. I will ask the Maester to consider that when inking the contract. But I would insist that a percentage of the profits be entitled to Viserra and her children in perpetuity, I would not have them beggars for any reason. Should we meet again perhaps the day after tomorrow to draw up the draft of the contract?”

“That is acceptable to me Your Grace but might I request something before the negotiations?”

Jaehaerys nodded his consent.

“I would like for the Princess to be informed beforehand that we are negotiating for her hand… and also given a choice. I believe she finds me agreeable, but if for any reason she does not, I would not have her forced into a marriage she does not desire. It would not be good for any of the parties involved I think.”

Jaehaerys was astounded but also impressed. “You are a rare kind of man indeed my lord. Very well. I agree to your request.”

“Now onto the matter of the Stepstones; it is many years yet until the Iron Throne will officially annex the Stepstones and we still have yet to secure them all. When we do, we will need someone to rule them.

“The contributions of you and your house have not been forgotten. With your position as the Master of Ships and your house’s trade routes and capable fleet, you would be apt for this position and you are soon to be kin in both blood and marriage. It is my hope that you will accept the governance of the islands when the time comes,” he said.

Lord Corlys looked exceedingly pleased, perhaps even more so than when offered Viserra for bride. “You honor me greatly Your Grace. I will work hard to prove worthy of your trust.”

“You already have my lord. It is my hope that the strong relationship between our houses will continue to be strengthened and maintained with your marriage to my daughter.”

“A toast then Your Grace? To our two houses and their impending union?”

“An excellent idea! Let me pour us each a drink,” Jaehaerys said as he got up from his seat to retrieve the bottle of liquor in his shelf, inspecting it briefly before pouring two glasses. He had been gifted this same bottle half a year ago when Lord Corlys had presented himself in court. It was fitting perhaps that it be opened now and drunk to celebrate Lord Corlys’s betrothal to his daughter.

“To the union of our houses!” Jaehaerys toasted.

“To House Targaryen and House Velaryon. May they be forever close as kin and loyal to each other,” Corlys said in turn.

Once they had drunk their glasses of wine, Jaehaerys sat back down with Lord Corlys to begin discussing the finer details of Corlys’s future overlordship of the Stepstones and the terms of his betrothal to Viserra. While the negotiations for the latter could not officially begin until the first draft of the contract was made and the former years premature, Jaehaerys felt it could not hurt to at least begin discussing them now when they both had time. Perhaps over yet another game of chess? Their second round had ended in the middle of their conversation with yet another draw and he was feeling in the mood to challenge Lord Corlys to another and perhaps finally determine a victor.

Yet before any of that could truly happen, they both heard the knock on the door. I explicitly asked not to be disturbed. Irritated, Jaehaerys allowed the knocker in, deciding that the message would either be urgent or he would make whoever sent it wish it had been. He was surprised then to see the ever obedient Ser Ryam disobeying his order to stand guard outside the door entering the room.

“Ser Ryam. I believe your orders were to stand guard outside the solar,” he said unimpressed.

The ser bowed. “Forgive me Your Grace. A messenger arrived with an urgent message and was incessant in their refusal to wait. Mindful of your orders, I elected to pass it on to you myself.”

“Very well then. Give your message.”

Ser Ryam glanced to Lord Corlys suspiciously and Jaehaerys suppressed a sigh. “Lord Corlys.”

“As you wish Your Grace,” the man said before graciously leaving the room.

Ser Ryam must have feared Lord Corlys would eavesdrop because he stepped close to him then and whispered into his ear. Jaehaerys’s eyebrows raised in alarm at what he heard and he soon rushed out of the room. Seeing Lord Corlys patiently waiting, he spoke.

“Forgive me my lord, but an urgent matter has arisen. I believe that our meeting must end here today.”

Lord Corlys nodded graciously before taking his leave. “It is no matter Your Grace.”

As he walked, Jaehaerys shook his head in disbelief and anger. He had hoped that Viserra would not make the same mistake her sister did but somehow she had done something far, far worse.

______________________________________________________

As he sat on the Iron Throne, Jaehaerys brooded, his thoughts drifting to events years long gone. Events he had thought surely would not repeat themselves. First he remembered the time the rat his sister had taken into her bed had dared to steal three dragon eggs from them and sold them to the Braavosi Sealord. Jaehaerys recalled the Sealord had been wearing a smug smirk when he had confronted him as the cretin dared to threaten his family with assassination if they continued pressing the issue. To this day, Jaehaerys still remembered with satisfaction how he had wiped the smirk off the arrogant Sealord's face after reducing the House of Black and White to ashes.

The Braavosi may have forgotten, or liked to pretend otherwise, but Jaehaerys had learned the truth at the foot of a woman he had hated and respected in equal measure. Visenya Targaryen had taught him of how their ancestors had defeated the original Faceless Men in the Century of Blood, one of many reasons why Gaemon was called the 'Glorious'.

Those who had called themselves the Faceless Men since were simply pretenders, possessing nowhere near the skill and a mere sliver at best of the magic their forebears had had, but then, the Targaryens were no different in that regard. Victory had come at no small cost. The last member of their family to practice any magic had been Visenya, and her knowledge had died with her.

Still, magic wasn't what had made the Targaryens kings. Dragons were, and it had been with a dragon that Jaehaerys had brought Braavos to its knees. In the end, he had retrieved the eggs and made an example of any who had dared to steal from his house. Everything had turned out well ultimately.

The second time however had ended much less happily. His niece Aerea had run off with Balerion, causing a massive search as they had scoured Westeros and Essos for her. She had returned a year later, sick with a pestilence too horrible for him to even bear to think of again. That incident had directly led to the formation of the Dragonkeepers as an order, to guard and protect their dragons and make sure no one accessed them without his leave. It was supposed to never happen again, yet it had because of his oversight in not barring Viserra from the Pit.

'Maybe I should increase the number of Dragonkeepers,' Jaehaerys thought with a slight groan as Viserra was brought before him, flanked by Aemon and Baelon. He had been told that it had taken much convincing by her brothers for her to land, and nothing had convinced her to return her newly claimed dragon to the Pit. Dreamfyre was flying freely above the city for the first time since his sister Rhaena had died.

"What do I do with you Viserra?" he asked his errant daughter, his voice cold, full of anger and disappointment. She did not cower, her deep purple eyes stared back into his defiant and daring.

Chapter 10: Dream

Chapter Text

Fifth Moon, 87 AC

Viserra

At times Viserra wondered why it was she was allowed to enter the Dragonpit. Her parents had never expressly forbidden her a dragon, yet neither had they granted their permission either, so why was she allowed into the pit? The temptation was there, all she had to do was reach out her hands and grab it.

Unbidden, forgotten childhood memories came to mind recalling how Saera and she had asked for a dragon like their eldest siblings. They had never actually been told ‘no’. They had been told the classic answer, used when putting off decisions. ‘We’ll see.’

It was only when she had grown older that Viserra had realized what they had meant. They had been waiting to see if they would have any brothers who they could wed when they grew up so that dragons remained in the family, so that only those with the name Targaryen would ride Valyria’s war beasts. But both of Viserra’s younger brothers had died in the cradle, she’d never even known them. With them died the chances of Viserra ever being seen worthy of a dragon in her parents’ eyes.

The last time she had been in the Dragonpit had been years ago. She had been egging on a cadre of stupid boys to put their head in Balerion’s mouth, promising her maidenhead to whoever dared to do so. The Dragonkeepers had dragged her back to her mother and she had gotten a lecture, a regular occurrence in those years. It was embarrassing to recall how immature she once was though the memory did make for a good laugh.

For long years after that incident, her mother had forbidden her from entering the pit without escort and feeling that her mother had ruined all the fun, Viserra had not gone, not even when her mother had slackened her restriction. By then Viserra had grown out of her childishness but had grown into something else instead. Resentment.

She had near everything that anyone could ask for yet it was empty and meaningless. The life of a princess was a gilded cage, dependent on the whim of their father. Viserra had seen for herself how easily those whims could change. Saera had been their father’s favourite, among his daughters at least - none could displace Aemon and Baelon, and he had doted upon her, enabling her antics and thinking nothing of them.

And all it had taken was Saera giving her maidenhead to a man she might have been betrothed to anyway for all that affection to dissipate. The scandal had been all the gossip of the court, and some sly few murmured that Jaehaerys could not even control his own children, daring to whisper that the king was starting to show signs of weakness, weakness that ran in the blood.

It had only been a few small whispers, spoken by fools, but some whispers can ring as loud as dragon’s roars in the ears of the wrong people. The comparison to the late King Aenys had filled her father with wroth. The very next day in court, he publicly rebuked Saera before all the courtiers and their whole family and ordered her to do three months of penance for her sin against the Maiden of the Seven, having disregarded her command for all virtuous women to remain chaste until their wedding night. She was to cast off all luxurious cloth and food and pray for guidance to virtue in the castle sept daily.

Conspicuously, her new betrothed, Ser Jonah Mooton, had not been given so heavy a penance nor had it pronounced publicly in court. He had simply been ordered to pay a weregild to her father, forfeit the dowry for Saera’s hand, and spend a fortnight in the sept praying for forgiveness from the Maiden for deflowering a lady out of wedlock.

Saera however, spoilt Saera, had never been one to take punishments lightly. Before the whole assembled court, she had spoken back to their father, declaring she saw nothing wrong with what she had done beyond offending the overly prudish sensibilities of a septa and declaring that she would not do as she was commanded.

In that moment, Viserra remembered her father’s wroth blazing, his purple eyes filled with fury. He had risen from the Iron Throne and stood as he pronounced Saera’s doom. “It seems you are now breaking the command to honor your father as well. Your penance has been tripled, for now you must pray not only to the Maiden but to the Father also. This command you will heed or the Silent Sisters will await you at their chapterhouse.”

Saera had been dragged away from the throne room by their mother’s sworn shield, Jonquil Darke, and Ser Ryam Redwyne of the Kingsguard, favourite no more.

Viserra had never really liked Saera. They were only two years apart and similar in some ways, some might have thought they would be close, but Saera had never been likeable at all. Arrogant, spoilt, condescending, envious, and a bully. Yet in that moment before the Iron Throne, she could not help but feel sympathy for her estranged sister, remembering a time when the potential was still there for them to have a true sisterly bond. That chance was gone now, lost to the years and to the childish immaturity that had characterized both of them.

But more than sympathy, Viserra had been filled with fear watching the spectacle of Saera’s disgrace. It had been proof before her very eyes of how a daughter so favored could be so disgraced so easily. What could happen to her? To her, Viserra, who had grown up in Saera’s shadow? Always her mother would compare her to her sister and demand she not grow up to be like her, and unlike Saera, Viserra had not had her father’s doting affection to get away with it all.

She had felt her family’s eyes upon her since then, watching her carefully for any signs of foolishness, hoping desperately to keep her from being another Saera. Even from Baelon who had once adored her, Viserra could feel a slight cooling in their relationship, as he ceased to be so amused by her antics.

And so Viserra had grown up to survive. She had put aside her stupid pranks and foolish dares and become the perfect little princess her family so desperately wanted her to be. Yet nothing she had done had ever been enough for her to escape the shadow of Saera. And even if she did? Maegelle or Alyssa would forever be seen as more worthy than her.

In Driftmark she had seen her chance to get away from it all, to be someone away from the expectations of her family. A life with the same luxurious lifestyle if not more so than she currently enjoyed as a princess, and with all the freedom her family denied her with a man she could trust. In a scant few months, Corlys had shown her more understanding then the rest of her family had for eighteen years… and that included Baelon.

But even that was to be denied her. Far from the life she had dreamed off of on Driftmark, she was to be packed off to some lord to be his broodmare, her freedom even less then what it was now, while Corlys and Driftmark went to Rhaenys who got everything. And if she refused? Her father might make good on his threat to Saera, but for her instead. A life as a Silent Sister did not appeal to her any more than being someone’s trophy princess wife did.

The Dragonpit stood before her atop the Hill of Rhaenys, a massive domed castle of steel and stone, burrowed into the hill with great vaults to contain the greatest and most majestic creatures in the world. The temptation was stronger than ever and Viserra was tired of resisting it. She would take her destiny into her own hands for once in her life.

“You’re spending an awful time gawking at the pit, are you coming?” her niece Rhaenys asked.

Viserra nodded her head, spurring her horse forward alongside Rhaenys’s as they rode to the horse stables near the Dragonpit. She did her best to crush the guilt she felt as they rode.

Rhaenys had tried befriending her for years now, heavens knew why, and after one of their gatherings with her ladies, Viserra had taken advantage of that burgeoning friendship and had asked if she could accompany her on her latest visit to the Dragonpit to see Meleys. Rhaenys had eagerly accepted, even offering to give her a ride, and Viserra had put on airs and demurely thanked her niece for her generous offer, hiding her true intentions.

Though she was technically allowed into the Pit still, Viserra had felt it wiser to come accompanying Rhaenys as it would give her more freedom of movement with Rhaenys there to vouch for her. The Dragonkeepers no doubt remembered the foolish mischief she had gotten up to on her last visit.

Once they dismounted their horses, a stablehand led them away by their reins. The great main gates of the pit stood before them. A bronze and iron barrier so wide thirty fully-armored knights could ride through it abreast. It was so enormous even Balerion the Black Dread had little difficulty emerging from the Pit on the occasions Alyssa took him out to ride.

But it was not the main gate that they would be entering through, no that was only for when dragons left or entered the pit. For mere men and women, tiny in comparison, there were a score of lesser entrances, oak-and-iron doors of a more normal size. It was through one such entrance that they entered the Dragonpit.

As Rhaenys led the way to her dragon, Viserra took in the pit around her, the eighty thousand seats nestled in tiers before the walls around the central courtyard in a circle for reasons she didn’t really understand. The pit was for keeping their dragons, why by the Seven were there benches that could fit so many taking up valuable space, and for what purpose?

She shrugged off her useless thoughts, the oddities of Maegor’s designs for the Dragonpit were none of her business and would only distract her from the task at hand. Seven knew the man had been insane enough, a spike-filled moat for the Red Keep had been but one of many eccentricities her father had gotten rid of upon ascending the throne.

As they walked toward the undervaults beneath the seats where the dragons dwelt, they passed by one dragon after another. Caraxes the Blood Wyrm, ferocious and aggressive as ever roared at her as they passed, though the dragon seemed almost like a purring cat as it allowed Rhaenys to pet him, recognizing his rider’s blood in her. Vhagar was further down, and Balerion himself was at the opposite side of the ring, so massive he was clearly visible from this distance.

Each vault was massive, five times the size of the lairs on Dragonstone and each of them with walls on three sides and chains to keep the dragons from lashing out and starting fights with each other. Hatchlings wrestled with each other in the nursery while vaults with hot fireplaces kept the eggs secure and warm. Rhaenys’s own Meleys was in the vault neighboring Caraxes, but Viserra took advantage of the distraction caused by the Dragonkeeper opening Meley’s chains and left Rhaenys to her dragon, walking over to the dragon in the far corner.

She had intended to claim one of the younger dragons, less dangerous to approach, but something had pulled her here to this vault. Pale blue scales shimmered like aquamarine as Viserra hesitantly approached the dragon within. Her last rider had died fourteen years ago and since then the blue dragoness had not left the Pit even once. The mournful dragon emanated despair and loneliness, it dampened her beauty. The Dragonkeepers had said the dragon had taken all the loneliness and bitterness of her rider and carried her grief still.

As a child, Viserra had avoided the dragon, put off by the aura of sadness surrounding it. But now, she found herself drawn to it. It was a kindred spirit in many ways, and the sad story of her Aunt Rhaena’s life had never seemed more relatable and depressing. Her lover had betrayed and abandoned her, husband, daughter, brother, father, and mother alike all dead, and her last remaining siblings estranged to her. Who had her aunt had in her final days but her beloved Dreamfyre?

Viserra ran her hand gently down the dragon’s silver crests before panicking as she felt it stir from its sleep. Dreamfyre lifted her head and for the first time, Viserra saw the dragon’s eyes open. They were a gorgeous shade of silvery azure, gleaming like a sapphire, with slits for pupils that reminded her of the cats Daella had once kept.

The dragon’s eyes fixated on her and Viserra could sense her growing anger and annoyance that she had disturbed her rest and woken her from her grief. She should have run, should have backed away, why had she chosen to approach Dreamfyre over a hatchling? A hatchling wouldn’t have eaten her!

But she steeled herself, she was Viserra of the House Targaryen, scion of dragonlords and conquerors. She would not be cowed. She would do what she had come here for. Viserra just had to think of Dreamfyre as a big cat, that’s all. Cats didn’t like being woken from their naps after all, but then cats weren’t massive fire breathing beasts with an endless array of ways to send her to the seven heavens.

Viserra held her hand out and hesitantly approached Dreamfyre again, intending to place her hand on its snout and slowly move around to climb atop her. She could feel Dreamfyre’s amused gaze as she approached and felt like the cursing the bloody beast. Her parents had never taught her anything on how to do this! How was she to know the proper way to claim a dragon?

“Princess! Please back away from the dragon!” Viserra turned around to see the panicked Dragonkeeper pleading with her as Dreamfyre began to bare its teeth and growl, though at who she couldn’t tell.

Viserra felt her own panic growing, was she to fail after having come so far? Either the Dragonkeeper would drag her away to safety and she wouldn’t ever be allowed back into the Pit or Dreamfyre would eat her. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

So lost was she in her panicked thoughts that she failed to notice the dragon moving until it had touched its snout to her hand. Viserra flinched, looking up to see that the slit pupils had dilated into a rounder shape and filled with a welcoming gaze as the dragon accepted her.

It was… hard to explain how it felt. In a single instance she felt as if something had changed within her, some presence had come in the back of her mind, emotions and feelings she didn’t quite understand, that weren’t wholly hers filled her. Viserra felt full, but more than that she felt complete. Like she had been empty before and only now was she fulfilled.

Was this how all dragonriders felt? If that was so, Viserra could understand why it was her parents and siblings lavished so much love and attention on them.

The Dragonkeeper made to move forward and grab her hand to try and pull her away from her dragon, but he was stopped in his tracks by Dreamfyre’s growl. It pleased Viserra greatly that she knew exactly who the growl was intended for this time.

As she turned back to her dragon, Viserra showered her with affection, scratching the underside of her jaw and running her hands gently over her scales. It was only a few moments ago that she had thought Dreamfyre was about to eat her but she knew now that Dreamfyre would never harm her.

She heard Rhaenys’s voice then. “I think, that my aunt needs no saving from her dragon Ser. You should unchain Dreamfyre, they’ll both be wanting their first flight soon enough.”

She turned around and saw Rhaenys, an unreadable expression on her face. “I guess you won’t be wanting that ride on Meleys now.”

Viserra smiled sadly. “We can fly together?”

Rhaenys shook her head and Viserra could see the sadness and hurt in her eyes then, though she did her best to hide it. “They’ll come after you. I don’t fancy having them mad at me as well.”

Rhaenys gestured with her head and Viserra turned around to see that the Dragonkeeper had been slowly inching off to report what had happened. “You best unchain Dreamfyre before she decides she no longer tolerates your existence Ser. It is unwise to not give dragons what they want. Release and saddle Dreamfyre, and then you may go as you please,” Viserra ordered.

Another growl from Dreamfyre as she unfolded her wings and began crawling out was enough to convince the knight. He unlocked the chains and helped Viserra saddle her before he hurriedly took his leave.

Rhaenys returned to Meleys, but not before warning Viserra, “Be ready, they will not be pleased with you.” Viserra did not need any more indication who ‘they’ was. She knew what she had been setting herself up for, but with Dreamfyre on her side, she felt unstoppable, and she’d never give up that bond for anything now that she had felt it.

She led Dreamfyre up to the surface, and the great bronze-iron doors that she had seen when she had arrived earlier opened up onto the hillside. The Dragonkeepers were no fools, once Dreamfyre had started growling at them, they had been quick to open the doors.

Moment of truth. Her heart was pounding. This was it. She climbed atop Dreamfyre and sat in the saddle and she urged Dreamfyre into the sky with a command of Sōvēs. The she-dragon beat her pale blue wings for the first time in over a decade and soon they were off.

Viserra had assumed Dreamfyre would be sluggish and a bit weak after not properly exercising or flying for over fourteen years. She was wrong. Within minutes they had climbed so high, the Dragonpit which had seemed so massive was now like a tiny speck. Even the Red Keep had shrunk, now appearing to her eyes the size of the toy castles Daemon and Gael amused themselves with. Viserra had no particularly great fear of heights but she grew nervous nonetheless as they climbed higher and higher.

Dreamfyre was gentle and patient. Despite her wariness of the height, Viserra had never felt safer. Her dragon would never let her fall. They soared into the sky together and Viserra felt herself falling in love with flying more and more.

The rush of wind as it blew past her face and lifted her hair up into the air was exhilarating. Clouds that had once seemed so far were now so close she could almost reach out and grab them with her hands. Feeling more confident, Viserra urged Dreamfyre forward into a dive and screamed, half in delight and half in panic as her dragon folded its wings and dropped like an eagle on its prey. Soon enough, Dreamfyre had leveled again, but even the sharp drop had not changed the view.

All the land was below her and Viserra realized now how small everything truly was. From the eyes of a dragon, everything seemed small and insignificant. The city of King’s Landing and all its great landmarks and towers were nothing more than a tiny maze; the great Blackwater Rush itself but a small stream.

It was perhaps the best moment of her life. And of course her family had to ruin it, as they always did, she thought resentfully as she espied Caraxes and Vhagar flying up toward her. Resisting the urge to order Dreamfyre to fly faster, Viserra remained where she was, circling the spot as she waited for her brothers to reach her.

“Viserra.” Like his daughter, Aemon sported an unreadable expression, but Viserra could see the disappointment in his eyes. Baelon however wore his heart on his sleeves and Viserra could see easily the mix of anger, love, confusion, and disappointment writ all over his face.

“My darling big brothers. Come to take me to our mother and father?” Viserra asked with a sweet voice.

Aemon frowned at her tone but steeled himself. “That is right. Do not try to flee. You cannot outrun both Baelon and I.”

“I believe the word ‘outfly’ would better, but I digress. Worry not Aemon, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Viserra said slyly as she rubbed the scales on her dragon’s head.

Aemon was not amused. “Come now sister, before our father’s wrath grows greater.”

“Terrifying isn’t it? The wrath of a man who never once had to fight an enemy he couldn’t cow with his dragon. I shudder in fear. Perhaps I should go, let us see how he deals with someone who can actually give him a fair fight for once,” Viserra mocked. She would never have dared say such things aloud even an hour earlier but now? Now she felt heady with power, on top of Dreamfyre she felt like she could do anything.

It was probably good then, that Aemon was not their father, he raised his hands in peace. “We’re not here to fight you Viserra. We’re here to bring you home. You did something very dangerous and irresponsible. Have you forgotten what happened to our cousin Aerea?”

The reminder of what had happened to Aerea made her wince. She was even more appreciative of Dreamfyre now and she swore to herself that she would never take her dragon for granted.

Not willing to expend the breath for a snide reply to Aemon, Viserra turned to Baelon. “Nothing to say Baelon? No lectures or admonishments?”

Baelon’s eyes widened for a moment before he answered with a simple question. “Why?”

Why? It made her feel like laughing. Everything that she had felt, that she’d been through, and they couldn’t even begin to comprehend why? But like she had just so many times, she hid it all and answered back. “You’ll find out soon enough I guess.”

With her gentle prodding, Dreamfyre descended and the city that had been so small returned to its true size, but Viserra’s view of it had forever been changed. She had seen for herself just how insignificant King’s Landing really was.

Landing in the courtyard of the Red Keep, Viserra saw her brothers’ dragons being chained and ordered Dreamfyre to return to the skies as soon as she dismounted. Seeing Dreamfyre take off, Baelon ran up to her panicked. “Viserra! We’re not supposed to leave our dragons unchained when we’re in the city!”

“Spare me Baelon. I will not leave my Dreamfyre in chains so long as the thought might enter our father’s head to leave her in them and take her from me,” she bit back.

Baelon backed off thankfully, and her brothers escorted her to the throne room. The oak-and-bronze doors of the throne room were dwarfed by the great gates she had beheld at the Dragonpit, yet they were far more imposing and ominous then those had been. She knew what awaited her behind those doors. Her parents.

She almost wished she was back quivering in fear before Dreamfyre again. Her brothers pushed open the great white doors, and they marched alongside her as they came before it. At the end of the hall it stood, dominating the room in a way only a dragon could match. A twisted jagged monstrosity of steel melted and beaten from the defeated foes of her great-grandfather, Aegon the Conqueror. The Iron Throne.

The steps leading up to the seat were forged into the throne itself and Viserra followed them up, locking eyes with the man that sat upon it. Her father, Jaehaerys of the House Targaryen. The First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

Even knowing he was mad at her, Viserra could not help but admire the way her father held himself on the throne. His eyes blazed with cold fury and disappointment, his back straight and leaned forward slightly to avoid the jagged blades. His very presence emanated power and confidence. Every inch a king.

A king should never sit easy. Viserra recalled the famous words of her ancestor as he had forged his infamous throne and designed it so that none who sat the throne could relax and lean back. ‘Well’, she thought to herself with mirth, ‘I guess I’m another reason now’.

Though the Iron Throne and her father seated upon it had dominated the room and Viserra’s attention, she now noticed that her mother and brother Vaegon were present as well to the right of her father. Her sisters, Maegelle and Alyssa, stood to the left of the Iron Throne.

Her attention was soon dragged back to the throne by her father’s words. "What do I do with you Viserra?"

“Nothing?” she asked cheekily. She doubted she’d get away with this with no punishment, but she’d be damned if she didn’t at least try.

“Nothing? You snuck into the Dragonpit and stole a dragon and you expect me to do nothing?” her father demanded, fuming.

“Technically, I didn’t steal anything. I was never barred from the Dragonpit, nor was I ever explicitly forbidden a dragon either,” she answered slyly. “Regardless, it was Dreamfyre who chose me, I simply accepted her bond. Would any of you give up your dragon for anything?” she asked, reaching out desperately to her siblings and parents’ own attachment to their dragons.

If any of them felt even a fraction of what her bond with Dreamfyre was with their own dragons, surely they could understand? A glimmer of hope appeared when she saw Aemon, Baelon, and even Alyssa becoming thoughtful. But her mother and father were too angry to even consider her words, and Vaegon, who had no dragon, couldn’t understand at all.

“You broke the spirit of our father’s commands, if not his actual wording. He may never have denied you a dragon, but he never allowed you one either, and as the King and your head of house, that is his prerogative,” he sneered. “You abused the privileges granted to you and engineered a scenario in which you could take a dragon and maintain some form of plausible deniability; a far more cunning plan then I would have thought you capable of sister, but not cunning enough. The Dragonkeeper reported it all to us. We see through your facade.”

Flying above the Red Keep, Dreamfyre roared as if sensing the affront to her rider. Viserra glared at her least favourite brother. “Vaegon, you cannot even tell the difference between compliment and insult. I question your ability to see through any facade whatsoever. Do not speak of what you do not understand, Dragonless.”

“Enough,” their mother said firmly. “These childish retorts are beneath you Viserra. Vaegon is right. Regardless of the nature of how you and Dreamfyre bonded, you took a dragon without permission. It was incredibly short-sighted. The last foolish girl who did that died a horrible death.”

“I am no Aerea and Dreamfyre is no Balerion. How different is how I claimed Dreamfyre from how Aemon claimed Caraxes? How Baelon and Alyssa claimed Vhagar and Balerion themselves? Two dragons mightier and more powerful than Dreamfyre? And all of them were younger then I was now.

“No, tell me Mother, what is the real reason you take such offense? More than just your anger that I ‘endangered’ myself or did something without your permission, there is something else there.”

Her father spoke again then, having calmed himself somewhat. But his voice still rung with a quiet anger. “Because you will be marrying out of the house. Your children will not bear our name, nor will your descendants hold any true familial loyalty to our house. Dragons in the hands of another house, would be disastrous and destabilizing for the realm.”

“The truth at last. I didn’t expect you to be so forthcoming Father. In other words, I had no brother to marry. Is that it? Is my worthiness of having a dragon solely dependent on that? Is yours Mother? How about you Alyssa?” she turned to her mother and Alyssa and questioned, finding frowns on their faces.

“It’s not a question of worthiness. You are not entitled to a dragon simply for having the name Targaryen. Political considerations have to be taken into account more than your worthiness or supposed lack of it,” her father answered.

“What political considerations? I do not recall myself being betrothed to anyone outside the family.”

“Did you expect to live as a spinster your whole life Viserra? Something tells me that you do not particularly have an interest in becoming a septa like your sister Maegelle.

“I promised your hand to Lord Velaryon not an hour ago. He did ask that you be consulted before the betrothal finalized, but we both believed you would have no qualms with the match with your acquaintanceship with him.”

The words rung in her ears. The betrothal had been for her after all? She had assumed too much it seemed. But she would not regret her decision. It was no mere betrothal that had seen her claim Dreamfyre, it had simply been the straw that broke the camel’s back. A lifetime of neglect and resentment, left in the shadow of her siblings, made to feel like she was not worthy. Atop Dreamfyre she felt safe, she felt important, like she was the equal of any of her siblings and she knew that she could no longer be ignored any longer.

Her self-reflection was interrupted by her father’s words. “Now your actions have put everything in jeopardy. You have been selfish Viserra, you’ve thought only of yourself and nothing of your duty to the family.”

Duty?

“Duty? Where was duty when you disobeyed your regent and absconded with mother? Where was all this care for the house and its future when you married your sister a scant few years after the entire realm rebelled against your own father for your elder brother doing the same? Was that not selfish of you father?

“Where was this worry for dragons leaving the family when Aunt Rhaena put dragon eggs in your cradles; the cradles of a thirdborn son and second daughter? Where was this praise for duty when I did all I could to be the perfect princess for so many years yet had all my efforts ignored? Was I not doing my duty then? Speak not of the bitter fruit that is duty to me Father. You did naught to sweeten it.”

Her father’s fists balled in anger. She saw her mother frowning, her eyes flitting between Viserra and her father, as if trying to decide whether or not to speak up. Just as it seemed she would, Aemon spoke first, asking a question perhaps none of them had expected.

”Father, tell me honestly. Based on what you have been saying, I must ask; is this why you have been so insistent that Rhaenys has to marry Viserys or Daemon? If I was to die tomorrow, who would you name as your heir?”

There was silence in the room. Aemon slowly shuffled close to Viserra and she breathed a silent sigh of relief that at least one of her siblings appeared to have taken her side, even though it was not the one she expected. She would have thought Baelon would support her but he stood further off, between them and the dais where Vaegon, Mother, and Alyssa now stood. Neutral or simply torn and unable to choose between them?

Vaegon continued to sneer at her, but Viserra could not tell what Alyssa was thinking. Her mother remained troubled still, Aemon’s question had made her think, Viserra could see that, and she could also see that she was not satisfied with her husband’s answer, or lack thereof.

Jaehaerys Targaryen remained seated on his Iron Throne. His heir had asked him a question, but silent he remained still, his face impassive in stone but his eyes belied an emotion Viserra had not expected to see. Was that… guilt? Carefully hidden and not as strong as it should have been in Viserra’s opinion, but guilt there still was at the silent admission that he would betray the memory of his eldest son and deny his daughter her inheritance should the worst indeed come to pass and Aemon die before he did.

“You cannot even answer, but you need not, I see it in your eyes. You would name Baelon over my daughter, the heir by all the customs of Westeros, a defiance of primogeniture, for the same reason you denied Viserra a dragon? Because she is a woman who would not marry a man with the name Targaryen?” Aemon demanded.

‘He champions Rhaenys not me,’ Viserra realized. Aemon had taken the matter so seriously only due to his love and overprotectiveness for his daughter, not her. Had he a son, would he defend her so strongly?

It saddened her a little that her only defender did not do so for her sake truly. But Viserra had never been close to Aemon, she would be grateful still for his aid, regardless of his intentions. She needed all the help she could get.

“I cannot say I condone what Viserra has done, but this bickering is pointless. We still have not gotten to the heart of the matter, why Viserra decided to claim Dreamfyre, and what should be done about it,” Alyssa said then.

“She deserves a right to explain and defend herself does she not?” Maegelle asked, stepping down from the dais to serve as the arbitrator and the peacekeeper. “It will only be when we have the full story and argument from both sides can we see if a resolution can be found.

“Our parents have made their argument Viserra, what is your defense? Do not speak slyly of technicalities in the commands our father gave, they are now worthless. I do not think any of us truly believes you chanced to tame Dreamfyre, not when you entered the Pit today for the first time in years. What is your reason for seeking a dragon?”

All eyes turned to her now and Viserra swallowed her nervousness.

“When I was a child. I asked if I could one day have a dragon of my own. Mother and Father gave me no clear answer. As the years passed it became clear to me what it was they were waiting for, to see if I would have younger brothers to marry, so that our children might bear the name Targaryen and keep dragons in the family. Our father just admitted to it himself. Still, I grew to accept it, if resent it. It was a logical if unfair argument, and I kept my silence and entertained no further ideas of claiming my own dragon.”

“And your point?” her mother asked, patronizingly.

Viserra glared at her, “You’re making it for me. How many years have you talked down to me so dismissively and carelessly? I like to believe you do not intentionally do so, but you do it nonetheless. I am your daughter, not some subordinate for you to command and dismiss callously.

“How long has it been that you treated me like this? That all of you treated me like this to varying extents?” Viserra said, looking around the room at the faces of her family. “You remember only the vain and stupid girl I was, not the woman I’ve become. But more than that, you see Saera’s shadow in me, see the superficial similarities and fear that I will prove the same. And so you lecture me, you criticize me, ignore my opinions and will because how could Vain Viserra not be like Saera? We must do everything we can to stop her from following her errant disgrace of a sister’s footsteps.

“That is, if you give me any attention at all. I can’t remember the last time I spent any proper amount of time with any of you that didn’t involve me in trouble of some kind. Every time we’re together, I feel at edge, fearful of making a mistake that displeases any of you. It’s choking me.

Her voice cracked then as she found it harder to control her emotions. “I’m… I’m not Saera. I never was, I never will be. Stop seeing her image in me.”

“No more. I couldn’t accept it anymore. I couldn’t stand it any longer. To live like that until the moment I was packed off as broodmare to some lord I’ve never met who would expect me to continue acting the same, to flawlessly maintain the mask of the perfect princess. The idea was terrifying to me. So I made the choice, to protect myself and take at least a part of my future into my own hands and I do not, cannot regret it. Dreamfyre understands me in a way none of you ever tried to, with her I feel safe. I feel at ease, like I can be myself.”

Viserra looked at the floor, her pride was demanding her to pull her face up, to look her family in the eyes, but as much as she tried she found herself frozen. She had bared herself before them like she never had before and she was terrified of how they would react.

Hearing footsteps she raised her eyes slightly to see Alyssa was in front of her. She flinched and closed her eyes as Alyssa raised her hand as if to slap her, only to feel her arms wrapped around her in a gentle embrace.

There were no words said between them in that moment, but they were not needed. Viserra realized then that Alyssa must have felt something similar the past few years, for Viserra’s words to have affected her so. A lone tear dripped from Alyssa’s mismatched eyes but she wiped it away before Viserra could say anything and she walked to stand beside Baelon, below the dais she had previously stood upon.

Her mother looked up to her father on the Iron Throne, and before her eyes he seemed to age years as he sank at the realization that he had lost the upper hand in the argument. His children, his dragonriding children, were all either neutral or defending Viserra.

“Roads were easier then daughters,” he muttered. “Viserra, I am not a cruel man. Saera called me cruel, but what I did to her was not cruelty, only a lesson to a spoilt girl.

“Dreamfyre is yours now. It is finished and done. I cannot take her away from you as much as the rational part of me demands I do so. It would be cruel to take a dragon from its rider. But you are not getting off this with nothing. Justification you may claim to have, but my command you still broke, my permission you did not gain. And for this your punishment will be thus.

“You will pray in the sept for forgiveness for disobeying your parents, in the morning before you break your fast, and in the night before you sleep, for a period of three months. Maegelle will be responsible for supervising you.

“You wanted Dreamfyre so much? Her care is now yours, and yours alone. You will shovel her droppings, you will groom her, and you will treat her with all the respect and care that she deserves, and there will be consequences if she is not adequately cared for. The Dragonkeepers will give aid only when it is impossible for you to perform the task by yourself.

“Alyssa will see to your training as a dragonrider, and I will instruct her to be as thorough as possible. You will ride Dreamfyre on your own only once she is satisfied in your ability to not fall off your dragon.”

Viserra glanced at Alyssa who was smirking at her devilishly. They might have come to a new understanding but that didn’t mean Alyssa, jealous and spiteful, wouldn’t relish the opportunity to ‘train’ her.

“And what of my betrothal?” she asked curiously, wondering what her father would do about that. After all, it could very well lead to House Velaryon permanently gaining dragons.

“Your betrothal to Lord Velaryon will proceed,” Jaehaerys said. Viserra was quite amused to hear the strain in his voice as he spoke. “Assuming that is, you consent?”

Viserra was confused momentarily before remembering Corlys had asked for her consent before the betrothal was finalized. That was sweet of him. Yet another point to his favour.

“Yes, I do Father. May I be dismissed now?” She had enough respect still for her father, and enough memory of her courtesies to know leaving the presence of the king without leave was not wise.

She made to depart from the throne room, leaving her siblings behind to likely have another conversation with her parents. She had barely taken a few steps when she heard her father calling out to her and turned back.

“Viserra. Don’t make me regret this.”

She had no answer for her father. She simply nodded in acknowledgement before turning to leave, for real this time. Thoughts of her family she pushed away, in favour of thoughts of Driftmark, and Dreamfyre.

Chapter 11: Wonders of Driftmark

Chapter Text

Fifth Moon, 87 AC

Aurane

Aurane was waiting on one of the battlements of Maegor’s Holdfast. His brother was currently speaking with the king, having been invited for a private audience.

The invite had been worded politely, but it had been clear that refusing was not an option. When Jaehaerys Targaryen commanded you to attend to him, you obeyed. The reason for the invite had not been said, but it had been obvious to Aurane and his brother.

Half the court was expecting a betrothal announcement any day for his brother and Princess Viserra. For all their efforts to keep their burgeoning friendship out of the public eye, it had been observed by many that they were speaking much to each other.

On paper, the match made perfect sense for both parties. For the Targaryens, Corlys was a man grown, with a legend and reputation forged, but also with the fire of youth not yet faded at the age of four and thirty. He was the Lord of the Tides, richest man in the Seven Kingdoms. Many men wanted to be tied to him, and the marriage offers had been coming ceaselessly for him for well over a decade by now.

And for them? Princess Viserra was the most beautiful of the king and queen’s daughters, a woman grown past her majority by now. With her hand came a reconciliation in full with their estranged kin, and with that unity showcased to all the realm once more, Aurane knew that so many concessions and privileges could be granted to them, to strengthen House Velaryon further. A charter for Spicetown, tax remits, trading rights and privileges, and countless other such generous boons. And when the time came for the Iron Throne to annex the Stepstones, who better to entrust with the territory but their loyal kin House Velaryon?

Aurane had spent over a decade as his brother’s lieutenant. He had not been formally trained for politics and governance by his grandfather like his elder brothers had been. Aurane had always been the best sword of the three of them, the finest knight, a capable commander for their fleet. Yet serving by Corlys and Rhaekar had let him pick up many things his younger self would not have been able to see. Where once in his youth, he might have seen only what was obvious until his brothers pulled open the covers, now he was capable of seeing the true scenario for himself. And that only made him a more capable right-hand man for Corlys.

He knew, just as Corlys and all the realm did, that the hand of Princess Viserra could allow House Velaryon to reach a position of power like never before, to become so strong, they could not possibly be cast down. The western bloc, the Lannisters, Hightowers, Redwynes, and their allies, they might try and weaken them, but none would dare to move openly against the goodson of the king. And when Viserra bore his brother children, those ties would cement permanently.

Yet more than just that, Aurane wanted his brother to be happy. He had shown little interest in romance for many years now, his heart too dedicated to his adventures, to strengthening House Velaryon to ever truly allow someone into his heart.

He had asked him once, why his brother had denied all of their grandfather’s attempts to marry him off, attempts which had only intensified after Rhaekar had married Lady Irina of Tarth. His brother had not answered him at first, instead entering into length on a story Aurane had not heard until then, known as ‘Aldarion and Erendis’.

Aldarion was the heir of a faraway kingdom named Elenna and Erendis was the noble lady he courted and later married. As a youth, Aldarion had become renown in his kingdom as the finest mariner in the land, and ever did the sea beckon at him. Upon marrying Erendis, he would settle down, and prepare to rule Elenna after his father, even having a daughter with his wife.

For a time, they had been happy together, but ever did the sea call to Aldarion, for it had a hold on his heart, and his wife Erendis was a jealous woman guarding of her husband, who would brook no rival to her husband’s affections. When Aldarion at long last readied for another voyage, the grace of his father, and of his wife he did not have, and Erendis exacted a promise out of him, to return within two years. A promise Aldarion did not keep through no fault of his own, having been delayed by the urgent needs of their allies overseas, and the harsh winds keeping him from returning to the Isle of Elenna.

He returned finally after nine long years, his wife grown cold and distant, and his daughter a woman grown, recognizing him not. And for all his attempts at mending his relationship with them, they would remain estranged for the rest of their lives.

Corlys had ended his story then, saying that he wished not to subject his wife or children to a distant husband and father who would always be traveling away from them to sate his wanderlust and uplift the fortunes of their house. Time there would be, he said, for such matters later.

Aurane wondered, had the time then come at last, for Corlys to open his heart? He knew more than anyone, that Corlys had had his fair share of trysts and broken hearts left behind on their voyages. But none of them had ever enthralled him the way Viserra Targaryen had.

His brother could deny it all he wished, but Aurane saw it in his eyes whenever he spoke of the Princess. There was something about her that could not be easily put into words, a sort of spark beyond just her beauty, that drew Corlys’s attention. Perhaps deep down, Corlys had realized that he had found someone that could be his partner and equal, not simply a broodmare or a roll in the sheets.

He chuckled, he would enjoy teasing his brother if he truly was betrothed to Princess Viserra. The singers and maidens alike would rejoice, Corlys Velaryon, secretly a romantic!

A roar in the distance drew his attention. Aurane looked in surprise as a sky blue dragon emerged from the Dragonpit. Aurane knew the colourings of every dragon ridden right now, and that was not one of them. As far as he recalled, a dragon could have only one rider at a time, which had to mean that the dragon had been claimed by a new rider. But who? Princess Rhaenys rode her Meleys already, Prince Viserys, Prince Daemon, and Princess Gael were all far, far too young. Princess Saera and Daella were not in King’s Landing, which meant that unless someone who was not a Targaryen had somehow managed to steal a dragon from the Pit, the rider had to be either Archmaester Vaegon the Dragonless or Septa Maegelle who had arrived earlier in the week, or none other than his brother’s possible betrothed.

Aurane’s mind was racing, considering the ramifications when Corlys walked onto the battlements.

“I’ve got plenty of good news to share Aurane! Our predictions were correct!” his brother said with a smile.

“Save them for now. Everything has changed,” he said, pointing to the dragon flying in the sky, watching as his brother slowly but surely came to conclusion he did.

“So… she chose Dreamfyre. Not a bad choice,” Corlys said finally.

“Did you put this idea into her head?” Aurane asked, concerned and exasperated. It sounded like the kind of plan his reckless brother would come up with.

“What? No. This took me by surprise too, I had nothing to do with it,” Corlys defended himself.

Aurane continued eyeing him suspiciously nonetheless, not sure if he could believe his brother’s denial or not.

They watched as Caraxes and Vhagar climbed into the sky, and the three dragons rested there for a while as their riders spoke, before they descended onto the courtyard of the Red Keep. The rider of Dreamfyre was undeniably Viserra. Her brothers escorted her into the throne room, but not before she sent Dreamfyre back into the sky before the guards could chain her down.

“Clever girl,” Corlys mused when he saw that.

“Let’s hope that we aren’t also punished for her actions Corlys. I’m not sure the King will give you her hand anymore, and if he has reason to believe that you put her up to this…”

“I know,” Corlys said, watching as Viserra entered the Great Hall and disappeared from their sight. “Everything rests on Viserra now.”

________________________________________________

Viserra

Seventh Moon, 87 AC

She wasn’t sure how to explain the past six weeks of her life. They had been hellish in many ways. Every day she would be woken up at the crack of dawn, escorted to the Dragonpit to groom Dreamfyre, feed her, and shovel her sh*t, all by herself, before Alyssa arrived and gleefully drilled her relentlessly on the practice and theory of riding her dragon until her body and mind were exhausted. Truly her father was a petty man.

Yet despite the aches in her muscles, the bruises from the hard work, and the utter indignity of being reduced to shoveling sh*t, Viserra wouldn’t trade any of it away if it meant losing her dragon. (Though she might need to think hard on that if it meant she never had to shovel sh*t again in her life.)

Nothing felt better than the moments she was free atop Dreamfyre, released from Alyssa’s strict orders, from the smirking insufferable Dragonkeepers mocking her as she tried to care for Dreamfyre. Nothing could compare to the freedom she felt atop Dreamfyre, in those moments she almost felt like she could choose her own destiny, until she landed back on the ground and the illusion dispersed. Dragonrider or no, Viserra remained under the thumb of her parents.

Another day of training had ended. Viserra had enjoyed flying circles around Alyssa and Balerion, it had soundly irritated her sister, and likely made her regret her decision to choose the aged Black Dread over Meleys.

‘What had been her reasoning again?’ Right, to have a dragon ‘bigger even then Baelon’s Vhagar.’

She led Dreamfyre to her vault, noting the thick iron door that now enclosed it. Her father was taking no chances with the Dragonpit after her ‘theft’ of Dreamfyre. She never felt easy leaving Dreamfyre to be locked inside her vault now, always fearing that her father would change his mind at any moment and keep her locked inside, taking her away from her.

As if sensing her unease, Dreamfyre nuzzled her snout into her hand, making Viserra smile. Somehow, Dreamfyre always knew what she was thinking and how to comfort her.

Reluctantly, she led Dreamfyre into her vault, and after seeing to her food and water, she clenched her fists with restrained rage as she let the Dragonkeepers lock her inside.

It was only for a little longer, she told herself. When she went to Driftmark, there would be no Dragonpit to keep Dreamfyre locked up, her beloved dragon could have all the food and freedom she wished for.

And though she’d certainly not continue shoveling sh*t, she’d gladly continue seeing to much of the rest of Dreamfyre’s care personally. She’d never have expected a dragon to take such a high place in her heart, but it had.

As she rode back to the Red Keep, having traded a dragon for a horse, Viserra felt the wind blowing through her hair as she released it from its braid. Thinking on how she’d care for Dreamfyre on Driftmark had reminded her of something that had been pushed to the back of her mind the past weeks. Her betrothal.

It was finally starting to sink in that she was formally betrothed, the kingdom stunned to learn that a dragonrider was being betrothed to another house. Many were no doubt seething with jealousy to learn that House Velaryon was getting a dragon riding princess. She knew her parents were already having a headache on the terrible precedent that set, though Viserra couldn’t bring herself to truly care. It wasn’t her problem so long as her parents abided by their agreement and let her keep her Dreamfyre.

But beyond what the match meant politically, Viserra was beginning to ponder if she felt truly ready for the role. Not five weeks ago, she would have been, had been, over the moon dreaming about the wealth and power she’d have as Lady of the Tides, but her time with Dreamfyre had humbled her somewhat, making her consider things a little more.

She would be a liar if she said that she was not excited, for was not Driftmark supposedly immensely beautiful and rich? It was any maiden’s dream to be their new home if the tales told true. Yet she had learned in her time caring for Dreamfyre, that all such things came with responsibilities.

And Viserra had to consider not only the responsibilities of her new position, but also the man she would be marrying. She couldn’t say she loved Corlys, she was no swooning maiden heads over heels for him. But of all the men in the Seven Kingdoms, she did think she had gotten the best she could have, in every possible measurement. Be it in looks, wealth, or personality. And she liked Corlys as a person and a friend, if not loved him as a woman. Corlys had been an ear to listen to her troubles when no one else was, perhaps the first person who had seen her as just Viserra and not Princess Viserra of House Targaryen.

It certainly helped that Corlys had the looks to go with his reputation. Flowing long silver hair, tan skin, and indigo eyes, and a chiseled body and handsome face. He was the picture of imagination to many maidens, and Viserra was not exactly immune to that.

As if the gods themselves were laughing at her, Viserra spotted the very man she was thinking of walking her way… and she was a mess. Her hair messy and unbraided, sweating and smelly, likely dirt all over her normally flawless skin… Viserra screamed inside her head.

“Viserra, tis good to see you. How has your day been?” Corlys asked, not all fazed to see her like this.

“It went well, thank you for asking Corlys. How have you been doing?” she answered and asked in turn.

“Well enough. My duties continue to remain demanding, and yet still fulfilling.

There was no way he didn’t notice, but Viserra was glad that he did not comment on it. Now that she thought of it, this was their first time properly speaking since their betrothal had been announced. Corlys had given her a pair of sapphire earrings as a betrothal gift. Two small blue gems, shaped like raindrops.

He had asked her then, if their betrothal was what she wanted. She had told him it was. Yet they hadn’t really been able to speak on what it meant for them personally, both of them had been very busy since then.

“I’m sorry Corlys, I didn’t quite catch what you said,” Viserra apologized, snapped out of her thoughts.

“Would you like to follow me back to Driftmark? I will be making my latest visit in a fortnight and you have long pestered me for tales of my home, this is your chance to see it in person.

“We would have to be chaperoned of course, betrothed or not, it would not be proper. I believe one of your siblings could serve that role well. I hope to show you my home before we wed, a time for you to truly experience what Driftmark has to offer without worrying so much about responsibilities and other such matters,” he explained.

“I will gladly take you up on your offer Corlys. I look forward to seeing Driftmark. I hope it will not fail to live up to expectations?” she asked with a slightly teasing smile. Her thoughts were already drifting into excitement as she recalled the fanciful tales of Driftmark, now at long last, she could see if the isle truly lived up to its reputation.

Corlys smirked, confident and proud of his home. “I believe that we’ll impress you yet Princess.”

____________________________________________________

Eighth Moon, 87 AC

“Tell me again, why I let you convince me into this?” her sister Alyssa asked. Corlys’s ships had taken their guards and luggage ahead to Driftmark for them already. Viserra however had elected to fly to Driftmark, and had gotten her sister Alyssa to serve as her chaperone.

“I told you already. It would be a fine way for you to see how I handle long-distance flights on Dreamfyre. Also, you’re the best person to keep an eye on me by your own words. And lastly… I’d prefer you chaperoning me rather than mother, or Seven forbid Aemon and Baelon. I mightn’t be able to even speak to Lord Corlys if they were there.”

Alyssa laughed. “You’re exaggerating little sister, but I understand. You think that I would be more lenient on scrutinizing your interactions with Lord Corlys. Now I wonder what kind of interactions you are hoping for my dear Viserra.”

Before Viserra could respond, Balerion took to the sky, leaving them by the Dragonpit. Groaning, Viserra urged Dreamfyre into the sky after Balerion. Alyssa had had the last word this time, but she swore she wouldn’t let her have it the next.

Four hours later, and they were approaching Driftmark. By ship the journey took a day or two, but on a dragon? Her siblings had raced between Dragonstone and King’s Landing within a day as youths.

As Driftmark came into view, Viserra looked in awe as she beheld Spicetown. The city was beautiful indeed. Neat and wide grey-white cobblestone streets weaved through a grid design with blocks of bricks and concrete. Dark blue and orange tiles covered the city’s roofs in an almost mosaic pattern. In the harbor, a great traffic of ships poured into the port, navigating through a labyrinth of defensive poles beneath the watchful eyes of the harbor towers. They would all unload their cargos on the many piers and take them to the markets where the merchants sold their wares.

Leading Dreamfyre in a round, Viserra observed many other landmarks. Including a grand ornate sept, a great manse complex with gardens, a white marble building with a seahorse adorning the spire of its central towers, and much more. Great domes and arches dotted the city, adorning its streets and buildings. She found it hard to believe that none of this had been here thirty years ago, and now forty thousand souls called Spicetown home, a city it may not be yet officially, with the granting of the charter supposed to be only at her wedding, but a city it undoubtedly was.

What drew her attention more than anything however was what lied in the distance overlooking the city. Atop a small islet, raised high from sheer cliffs, was a castle made out of pale stone. Its slender towers rose like spikes of pearl, crowned with roofs of beaten silver that shone in the sun. The castle stood stout and strong, looking not only defensible, but beautiful and luxurious, resembling in many ways a palace more than a fortress, with glass windows in its keep and gardens in its grounds. A gentle sea breeze blew the banners of the Velaryon seahorse flying from the battlements.

It was high tide, only a narrow causeway connected the rest of Driftmark to the small islet upon which the castle rested, looking almost like the castle and the cliffs upon which it was built rose from the waves. Viserra knew then why the castle had been named High Tide.

High Tide happened to be their destination, so Viserra urged Dreamfyre to land in the courtyard of the castle. Corlys and Aurane were waiting for them, as was a man who resembled both of them. So this must be Rhaekar then.

“Princess Viserra, Princess Alyssa, it is my honor to welcome you both to High Tide,” Corlys said with a welcoming smile as they took the bread and salt to seal their guest right.

“It’s a pleasure to be here again in better circ*mstances Lord Corlys,” Alyssa said as she greeted them.

“I must thank you again, for inviting my sister and I here Corlys,” Viserra said, cursing in her mind when she saw Alyssa’s raised eyebrow and realizing she had left out the address of ‘Lord’.

“Please Princess, it was my pleasure. You have already met my youngest brother Aurane, allow me to introduce you to our brother Rhaekar, Driftmark’s finest steward,” Corlys praised his brother proudly as he introduced him.

“A pleasure to meet you Princess Viserra,” Rhaekar said as he kissed her offered hand. He made to do so for Alyssa too but was waved off for a handshake instead. The only person Alyssa had ever really giving her hand to kiss was Baelon.

“Your brothers have told me a little about you Rhaekar,” Viserra said then, being a little bold. She noticed the slight alarm in Corlys’s eyes, hidden as soon as it appeared.

Rhaekar raised an eyebrow. “All good things I hope, Princess?”

“Very good things,” she reassured him. “Corlys told me how much he trusts and appreciates you. He spoke very highly of you.”

Rhaekar looked at Corlys suspiciously, almost in disbelief. Corlys conveniently changed the topic then. “Your rooms have been prepared, and my servants are waiting to escort you to them. I am sure both of you are very tired after your long flight. I’ve taken the luxury of having the servants prepare your clothes and a warm bath for you both.”

He pointed to one of the castle keep’s towers then, and Viserra was surprised to find she had not noticed the massive clock on it earlier. “Dinner will be at seven. The full hospitality of Driftmark is yours my princesses. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

Corlys begged their leave and left then, Aurane quick on his heels. Rhaekar tarried a little longer to guide them to their rooms with the servants, and soon Viserra was alone in the chambers that had been prepared for her.

They were the picture of luxury. A dark mahogany wood floor gleamed with a polished shine. Several book shelves and ornate tables and chairs furnished some of the rooms. The bedroom had a large ironwood canopy bed, its canopy and bedsheets made of velvet silk and its pillows soft and fluffed with feathers.

There was a large clear glass window with two halves, both able to open out horizontally, and Viserra opened it to see a beautiful view. To her right, she could see Spicetown, and to her left and front, the waves of the sea stretched on for miles.

Tearing herself away from the view, Viserra inspected the rest of the bedroom. An ironwood closet rested in the corner, and Viserra opened it to find that all the clothes she had sent ahead had been neatly placed inside, including all of her jewelry.

Noticing the ornate silvered vanity beside the closet, Viserra set some of her jewelry on the dresser in front of the vanity and looked at herself in the mirror. As she saw the grime and sweat of a hard day flying ruining her normally flawless appearance, she thought to herself, ‘This just won’t do. I can’t attend dinner like this.’

Viserra heard a loud knock on the door of the main entrance to her chambers. She took her time to walk there and opened it to find a young woman with hazel eyes and chestnut hair.

“Greetings my princess,” she said with a curtsy. “My name is Pina. Lord Corlys has made me your servant and maid for the duration of your stay, and I have come to help prepare your bath.”

Pina led Viserra into her bedroom’s adjoined bathroom, and Viserra soon found herself stunned when the maid demonstrated how the complicated chamber pot was in fact a device known as a flushing toilet. There was a large bath already filled with hot water, taps with running water, and even a ‘shower’ which she was told, could with a hand pump, allow her to bathe without needing a traditional bath. Almost in shock, Viserra asked Pina how these things all worked.

“I am not quite sure of the science behind it all Princess. I believe Lord Corlys or his scholars at the university could tell you more. It’s something to do with a water tower, and some hand pumps for pressure? I am not sure. The servants are not taught how these devices work, only how to use them. I will be waiting outside your bedroom if you need any help in dressing Princess. Will you be requiring assistance in using the facilities of this bathroom?”

“Uh… no thank you. I believe your instruction was sufficient,” she answered nervously.

“Very well Princess. If you need any assistance bathing or dressing, I am nearby. Enjoy your bath,” Pina said, curtseying again before she left, leaving Viserra alone in this strange bathroom, with all its fancy amenities.

It had taken her longer then she would admit to figure out how to use the devices in the bathroom, though once she had, she felt like she could never go back to the positively primitive bathrooms of the Red Keep. Her parents and siblings had resided in High Tide before, had they never thought to ask Lord Corlys how to import the system High Tide used for the Red Keep?

No matter, she pushed those irrelevant thoughts from her mind, having Pina help her dress and style her hair in front of the vanity, noticing two new books stacked on top of each other on the dresser that had not been there earlier.

“Pina, what is this?” Viserra asked her maid.

“A gift from Lord Velaryon, my princess. I was asked to put them on your dresser.”

Viserra looked at the first book then, noticing that it had come with a handwritten note from Corlys hoping that she’d enjoy her stay and enjoy the book.

“The Mariner’s Wife,” she said the title out loud, before reading the smaller subscript, “The Tale of Aldarion and Erendis.”

The book was bound with leather and the cover was a white tree above a triangular sailed ship, a caravel, if her memory was correct. She opened the book to a random page to find neatly aligned rows of word. The letters were identical to each other in size and shape, as she had expected, proving that the book had been printed by a press.

“A classic tale,” Pina said as she combed Viserra’s hair.

“You know this story?” Viserra asked, a little surprised.

“I do. It was first published some twelve years ago now, I read it when I was but a small child.”

Viserra noted that Pina could read. She had been told that most of Driftmark’s people could read, but this was her first experience with it personally.

“Could you tell me about the story?”

Pina shook her head with a smile. “I’m afraid not Princess. I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you.”

“And if I make that an order?” she asked, curious.

Pina again smiled. “I would answer then of course Princess, though it would only be your loss to spoil a good book for yourself.”

Viserra shook her head in amusem*nt. Were all of High Tide’s servants this cheeky?

“Very well then, you may go, I will see to the rest of my dressing myself,” Viserra dismissed Pina. Once she had gone, Viserra opened the book again to find the summary on the first page.

In the island kingdom of Elenna, the King despairs that his son and heir Prince Aldarion has no interest in marriage or the fathering of heirs, for his heart is called ever to the sea. Yet the King’s hopes seem to be fulfilled when the Prince meets the Lady Erendis, a woman who captivates him and perhaps stands a chance at drawing his heart from the sea…

_____________________________________________

“Are your chambers to your liking?” Corlys asked as they took their seats at the dinner table. She was seated beside Corlys at the high table. Her sister was to her left, and to Corlys’s right was his brother Rhaekar and Aurane. Rhaekar’s wife Irina and their children were seated opposite them, along with some of the higher ranking members of Corlys’s court.

The Velaryons it seemed, had spared no expense, the great hall of High Tide was bustling with people, the Velaryon banner draped from the pillars, and many a bard or entertainer having a lucky day and invited into the lord’s hall for the feast. The starter course was due to come out soon, and Viserra for one, could not wait to see what delicacy High Tide’s chefs had come up with.

“They are yes, more than satisfactory in fact, they seem almost wondrous. High Tide’s reputation as a palatial paradise is well-earned.”

Corlys smiled at the compliment, and Viserra took the opportunity to sate her curiosity, asking him countless questions about High Tide’s design, especially about the system of plumbing and water pressure used in its bathrooms.

“Viserra, I think you might have asked Lord Corlys too many questions in a single breath. Don’t be impolite,” her sister chided gently.

“It’s quite alright Princess Alyssa. Viserra is a naturally curious person, I would hate to smother that. And answering your question Viserra, I am not completely sure myself. We will be visiting the University of Spicetown on the morrow, and I can introduce you to the engineers who designed the system, if you like.”

“Really? That would be appreciated, thank you,” Viserra answered.

“It seems you have taken a strong liking to your chambers,” Corlys said with a smile. “I’ll be pleased to tell you that you can get used to them, they will be your chambers when you become the lady of this castle.”

“Giving my sister her chambers before you even wed, being a little quick are we Lord Corlys?” Alyssa said then, almost teasingly.

“I see no harm in it. It will allow the Princess to settle into her chambers more easily when the time comes.”

Viserra was silent during her sister and betrothed’s banter, her thoughts dwelling on the fact that the rooms she had been so intrigued by were to be permanently hers, in her role as the Lady of Tides. She was reminded then, that she was to be wed in eight months, preparations were already underway for her wedding. Viserra wondered again if she was actually ready.

Chapter 12: Spicetown

Chapter Text

Eighth Moon, 87 AC

Viserra

The morning after their arrival at High Tide, Viserra met Corlys at the gatehouse of High Tide. He was wearing a silver-blue doublet and sea-green cloak. A squadron of his household guard were protecting him. Their plate was ocean-blue, trimmed in silver and they wore mail hauberks and bright sea-green shirts beneath it. The same sea green proudly adorned their shoulders as long flowing cloaks. House Velaryon’s elite Tide Guard wore its colors with pride.

Sea green was not the only cloak color she saw. Ser Clement Crabb’s white cloak was visible from countless yards away. He and her sister and three others of their guards from King’s Landing were waiting with their horses for Viserra to arrive.

“I hope I haven't kept you waiting for long,” Viserra said as she mounted her horse, a gentle white mare loaned to her from Corlys’s stables.

“Worry not Princess, you are just in time,” Ser Clement said, pointing at the clock tower.

“We should be off now that everyone has arrived,” Corlys announced once he saw that she was ready. He led their party down the paved road on the cliff leading down from High Tide to the causeway. The tide was low, the sea had receded, come in, and receded again since her arrival yesterday afternoon, revealing a gorgeous beach with white sands and crystal clear waters illuminated by the light of the morning sun.

Viserra had little time to appreciate the spectacle unfortunately, and resolved to herself to visit the beach at a later date as she turned her attention back to keeping her horse on the causeway’s trail. She idly wondered how her dragon was occupying herself before catching sight of her flying over the sea in the distance, likely preying on some unfortunate schools of fish.

Soon they had reached the main island of Driftmark, and the road forked. Splitting off to the right was a path to Castle Driftmark and Hull, both of whom, being toward the northwest of the island, were almost two day’s ride from High Tide, though they were easily reachable within a day by sea.

To the left, the gates of Spicetown were but a few hundred yards away, already open for travelers and traders. Spicetown looked even more impressive from the ground then the sky in some ways. From the sky, things often appeared small, but Viserra truly saw how rich and vast Spicetown was when she walked in its streets. It was no King’s Landing, but it was no fishing village either. By now it had eclipsed Maidenpool and Duskendale and rivaled Gulltown or White Harbor in population.

It seemed that their coming was not unknown, for a crowd had gathered to greet them as they entered the town. The townspeople called out to them, with blessings for House Velaryon, for Lord Corlys, and even some for Viserra and her sister Alyssa.

“Praise be to House Velaryon!”

“Long live Lord Corlys!”

“The Old, the True, the Brave!”

“Welcome to the Princesses!”

Viserra had been afraid that the crowd would hinder their movement, but they moved out of the way respectfully to the seahorse banner carried by Corlys's Tide Guard. The Spicetown Watch, easily recognizable with their chainmail and grey doublets adorned with the Velaryon seahorse, helped to keep order in the streets as they passed.

Spicetown was the opposite of her home city in almost every way. It’s cobblestone streets were wide and neatly spaced in a grid, so unlike the messy winding roads of the capital. A layout designed with street names on the intersections, traffic rules, addresses for each building, and even an advanced mail system.

There was no stench in the air either, only a pleasant sea breeze. Viserra noted water fountains, statues, and other similar decorations, providing clean water and giving the city a rich aesthetic and cultural motif King’s Landing simply lacked.

They were not in Spicetown simply to ride in its streets though, their first major destination was the markets by the port. They had left their horses with some of the guards at the entrance and soon they had entered the markets.

Viserra's senses were assaulted from all directions by a myriad of sounds, smells, and sights. Busier even then the port and markets of King's Landing, Spicetown had truly earned its name. The smell of every spice Viserra could think of filled her nose. Peppers, chilis, cassias, cardamoms, cinnamons, gingers, nutmeg, star anise, clove, turmeric, thyme, dill, basil, and more she couldn't recognize. Numerous in both their raw uncooked form and their scents emanating from roasting and grilling street foods that made her almost salivate, making her rather sad that Ser Clement had forbidden her from eating anything from the streets, citing concerns of poisoning.

Rolls of more silk then she had ever seen in her life hung from stalls and shops. Carpets, pots, toys, weapons, tea, grains, and rice, were but a few of the goods she noticed. Rich shades of color and excited debate and auction surrounded the countless exotic luxury goods from the faraway ports of Sarnor, Ibben, Slaver's Bay, Qarth, Yi Ti, Asshai, the Summer Isles, and the Free Cities. Spicetown truly was the bridge between east and west. To the Essosi, it was the gateway to the untapped Westerosi market, and for Westeros, it was the merchant that brought them exotic treasures from the east and south.

This was reflected even in the city’s architecture, which for all it reminded her a little of the usual building styles of Westeros, had a clearly Essosi design and motif. It made sense after all, the Velaryons had built Spicetown with the best materials and people they could get from both sides of the Narrow Sea. Half of Spicetown’s souls were not Westerosi in origin, being freeborn merchants, scholars, artisans, and more immigrating from lands beyond, or slaves and their descendants, freed by the Velaryons.

As Corlys led them on a tour of the market, he surprised Viserra at just how popular he was. He knew many of the shopkeepers and merchants by name, and was treated with respect and almost reverence by those he did not know personally. Everywhere they went, she noted how everyone took note of their presence, the iconic blue cloaks of the Tide Guard telling the people that Lord Velaryon had come.

As they moved closer to the port, Viserra found her attention caught by a stall selling jewelry. Necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and other such adornments, made not of gold or silver or precious gems, but of things Viserra had never considered might look beautiful as jewelry, polished whalebones, and even seashells.

And it was not just the usual, though beautiful looking sea shells that drew Viserra’s attention, but rather shells made of such resplendent colors she found it hard to believe they were shells at all. Paua shells, they were called by the shopkeeper, coming from the Summer Isles. They came in all the shades of the rainbow, the colours melding together and forming endless shades seamlessly, vivid and bright, and immensely beautiful.

There were pearls too, all white and cream, smooth and almost perfectly round. Viserra’s eyes were drawn to a particular necklace with paua shell and pearl beads.

As she was gushing over the necklace, Ser Clement informed her that their party had dispersed across the market. Viserra looked up and noticed that he spoke true, Alyssa was nowhere to be seen, having run off somewhere with the rest of their guards. Corlys and his own guards were two stalls away, the former in a lengthy conversation with a shopkeeper.

As she made to pay for her necklace, Corlys arrived, heard the price she was paying, and shook his head vehemently. He then spoke a little with the shopkeeper, bargaining the price lower then Viserra thought possible, before insisting on paying for it for her. Viserra remembered trying to hide the blush on her face when Corlys had hung the necklace on her neck for her.

She asked Corlys how he managed to lower the prices so much as they left the market.

“The merchant was a cunning man. He saw the Kingsguard next to you, and realized that you were a princess, thinking you to have lots of money and little sense. He purposely set the price as high as he dared, and you were just about to pay him upfront for it almost double its true value.”

“Isn’t that fraudulent though?” Viserra asked, aghast at the lengths some would go to make money.

“Not really, there isn’t any specific law forbidding merchants from setting any price they wish on their goods save for a few exceptions. And it is a natural part of trade, one man sets the price that he wishes to sell the good for, another sets the price they wish to purchase it for, and they bargain and negotiate until a compromise is reached.

“The merchants have long since learned that they could get away with gouging the nobles of Westeros because they just don’t follow that process. You certainly won’t find most of our peers bargaining in the markets like this. Many nobles disdain trade and look down upon it as ‘counting coppers’. Well, the merchants count their coppers well indeed, and the lords have too little sense and too much money to care,” Corlys explained.

“But not you?” she asked.

“House Velaryon has never been a typical noble house.” He smirked. “Unlike many of our brethren, we understand that trade is the true source of wealth, and where others disdain it, we relish in it, achieving deals and prices most nobles never could. More than just my voyages, that is the real reason we have grown so wealthy, and now no one dares to look down on us. We have all the pride, martial prowess, and prestige of any traditional noble house, and wealth enough to rival the great magisters of the Free Cities.”

“A powerful combination,” Viserra observed, mounting her horse.

“Indeed, and one that you will have to learn to master,” Corly said, as they rode toward their next destination.

“…Me?” she asked, surprised.

Corlys nodded his head. “Did you think I intended for you to be a mere trophy wife my dear Viserra?”

“Well no, but trade?”

“Trade, war, diplomacy, politics, economics. House Velaryon dabbles in many such fields, and a careful balance is needed to maintain our fortune. It is not a job for one person alone, at present my brothers and I are handling the running of our house well, but an extra pair of eyes and hands would lessen all of our loads. As my wife and the lady of our house, you will command an authority that rivals if not exceeds both of my brothers in many ways, and you will also be the eventual mother of our children and heirs. It is vital that you understand at least some of these tasks and duties.”

Viserra wasn’t sure what to think of that. She had hoped to be more than just the usual noble lady, but this had been far more than her expectations. Viserra had expected to be given the running of the household, like most noble ladies were, like she had been trained to do. This though? It sounded more like what Rhaenys was being trained for! She told Corlys as much, confiding in him her concerns, that she knew little of these matters.

He chuckled slightly. “Did you think I was going to throw you into the deep end of the sea and expect you to swim? Worry not, I will teach you all you need to know. You have a brilliant and very observant mind Viserra, I should think you would have little issue picking it up with my tutelage.”

“If you say so…” Viserra trailed off, unsure still, but feeling more confident now with Corlys’s reassurance.

Before she had even realized it, they had arrived at their next destination, the University of Spicetown, the center of Driftmark’s learning. It was an almost palatial complex, surrounded by a high brick wall and iron fence, enclosing within its grounds great buildings and wings resembling the manses of the Free Cities and adjoined botanical gardens that put the godswood of the Red Keep to shame. Similar to the gardens in High Tide’s own godswood, the gardens on and adjoined to the campus grounds were filled with many beautiful fountains, streams, trees, shrubs, and flowers, neatly arranged and designed.

They had lunch in those gardens, a picnic of sorts, just the two of them (and Alyssa technically she supposed). Corlys had ordered High Tide’s chefs to prepare food similar to what had been sold in the market, so that she could experience them still. Ser Clement and the others stood guard around them protectively as they ate and were merry.

After their lunch, which Viserra would fully admit was delicious and full of the flavor she had come to expect from Driftmark’s spiced foods, they visited the university library. Part of the library was open to the perusal of the general public, and it was the largest in Westeros save the Citadel. Bookshelves stacked up high to the roof on each floor with printed books, ladders needed to reach the higher shelves. Viserra had thought she might spend her whole life in that library and never finish reading every book.

Viserra was eventually begrudgingly corralled away from the library by Corlys, who as promised, introduced her to the engineers and architects who had designed High Tide and its water systems. She was excited to indulge her curiosity… and soon found that just like Pina, she could barely understand their explanations. Still, she left satisfied, having gained a little more understanding and thanked them for their time, on Corlys’s reminder.

As they toured the university, Corlys explained that a key reason for Driftmark’s success was its educated populace. In Corlys’s words, ‘An educated populace, is a skilled populace. A vital resource for any ruler.’ Driftmark utilized a system of public schooling unheard of even in Essos, and certainly in Westeros. Yet despite the expense, it had proven its worth by giving the Velaryons a loyal core of skilled workers who could be put to use productively furthering the development of the island.

It was through the university, that many of Driftmark’s more fantastical inventions and new methods had been developed and pioneered, Corlys having played minimal, if any role in much of them. He spoke rather lowly of the Citadel, whose past monopoly of knowledge he said, had inadvertently stifled innovation for centuries, innovation that was speeding up once more with the advent of universities like Spicetown’s across Westeros.

Suddenly, Corlys stopped. In the distance, Viserra could hear loud bells ringing. “It’s three in the afternoon, we best be getting to our next stop for today. Spicetown is safe, but I would prefer to not be out at night.”

Viserra was a little confused. “Wait, how do you know it’s three o’clock?”

Corlys pointed at a tall tower towards the centre of the city, near the large Sept of the Waves. “That’s Big Ben, it’s a clock tower much like the one up in High Tide, but even bigger, and louder. Its bells are tolled every hour much the same as the other clock tower. That way, even though most of the townspeople cannot afford a clock, they can still tell the time easily.”

“That… that’s amazing.” Viserra was amazed yet again. Driftmark seemed so advanced beyond anything Viserra had ever seen before.

Corlys had a proud smile. “It is.”

“Anyway, we must be going, I had hoped to show you one last place in the town before we head back to High Tide,” he said as he led their party to their horses once again.

As they followed Corlys back out into the town’s streets, Viserra idly wondered where Corlys was taking her next. He had promised to show her every location of note in Spicetown at least once by the end of her two-week trip and he had so far shown her but two.

They arrived at their next destination after a half hour ride. Yet another palatial complex like the University, though far smaller, and its design and architecture was even more pronounced, almost like it had been made as a work of art.

“Welcome to the Spicetown Museum,” Corlys announced as the guards opened the gates for them to enter the newly identified musem.

“This place looks newer then the university,” Alyssa observed as they entered the building.

“That’s because it is, very much so in fact. The university was one of the very first things built in Spicetown, it’s over twenty years old at this point. This museum finished construction barely three years ago, and has yet to open to the public.”

“Why’s it so much younger?” Viserra asked curiously.

“Well, my grandfather was not so much of a patron of the arts as I am and prioritized the building of our university. It was a wise decision to make, our need for the technical skills trained in our university was much greater,” Corlys explained as he led them past exhibits of treasures and curiosities from faraway foreign lands.

“Then why build this museum at all?”

“Well, the sciences are important, inarguably so. Yet the arts are just as important in many other ways. I feel that the sciences are how we survive and thrive, but the arts are how we live. Just think about it, how dull would our lives be, without tales to entertain us, music to soothe our ears, or fine jewelry and architecture to look pleasing to our eyes? All of those things traditionally fall under the category known as the ‘arts’ and I had decided that it was time to give the arts the focus they deserved.”

Viserra noticed her sister Alyssa looking thoughtful at Corlys’s words. For her own part, Viserra thought that it made much sense, certainly there was no way Spicetown would look as beautiful as it did with its fine architecture, had the arts been ignored.

“Of course, it is early days yet, I hope to attract more artists and the like to Driftmark, and cultivate more artistic talent. Most of all of this museum’s current exhibits have been donated from the treasures collected on my voyages and all the pieces in the art gallery were commissioned by me. I’m hoping a more natural growth could occur in the future that doesn’t require me constantly funneling money into it.”

“Could we see those art pieces?” Viserra asked, curious.

“Certainly,” Corlys said, always happy to show off his trinkets.

With a slight spring in his step, Corlys led them past some musical instruments, which he identified as a piano and violin, “prototypes for now, they don’t sound right quite yet,” by his words.

Finally, they arrived in the wing of the museum that housed the art gallery, and Viserra understood what it meant by ‘early days’. There wasn’t much of anything in the gallery, but what there was, drew her attention. There was a single half-sized sculpture of a Tide Guardsman in one corner that looked quite impressive, though Viserra could tell that it was no masterpiece. There was a painting of Corlys’s famous ship the Sea Snake during a storm hanging beside a portrait of the city of Spicetown and High Tide during a concurrent high tide and sunset. Both looked very impressive indeed, but Viserra’s thoughts were occupied by the painting that was front and centre, clearly intended to be the focus of the exhibit when it opened.

A large rainbow illuminated the scene, each of its seven colours lovingly painted to perfection. The sky beneath it was that of the rising sun, while the sky above it was that of the starry skies of the heavens at night. A blonde man knelt upon the hill, seven figures standing before him, intentionally painted larger than the man in all ways.

Of the seven figures, the one directly in front of the blond man was dressed like a ruler, his hand was stretched up to the heavens and summoning down seven stars that were fashioned into a crown and placed upon the man’s brow.

The other six figures were not idle. To the left of the ruler-like figure, two of them, one a young maid and the other a motherly woman, had their hands placed on a young girl supple as a willow with eyes deep blue like pools. Around the young willow girl, were many small boys, and though she did not count, Viserra knew there to be forty-four in total scattered around the hill. Beside the young maid of the seven figures, was an old crone carrying a book with the number forty-four engraved on it. One the other side of the ruler, a blacksmith forged great suits of armor for the young boys, even as a knight trained them how to fight. A hooded stranger was slightly off to the distance, watching the whole scene with cold eyes.

Viserra did not even need to look at the caption to recognize the scene the painting portrayed. She did not think anyone who grew up in the Faith of the Seven would need to either, to recognize the founding moment of their faith.

Speaking aloud the words they all thought, Corlys confirmed it. “The Crowning of Hugor,” he said proudly.

“It’s beautiful,” Viserra said. She would not call herself very pious or devout, not by what her sister Maegelle would consider at least, but believe she still did, and she wasn’t sure what emotions she felt seeing the single most important scene in their religion’s history so lovingly brought to life in this masterpiece of a painting.

“It is. The painter was a former slave if you would believe it, one that had a talent he could never have explored under his former masters. He painted the other two paintings in this gallery as well, and quite a few others before that which he claimed to not be worth displaying.

“He was one of the few we were able to save in Velos, and he converted to the Faith shortly after arriving on Driftmark. This painting is his finest work, his thanks to the gods who led us to him and brought him to salvation,” Corlys explained proudly.

“I should like to meet him, if that is possible,” Viserra said, wanting to meet the artist who had created such works of art.

“He is sadly no longer with us, he died not a year ago, after completing this. It was an illness we found difficult to cure, suspected to be caused by his terrible upbringing as a slave. But his memory will be honored and remembered for all time with this painting,” Corlys said with melancholy in his eyes.

Viserra felt a deep pang of sadness then, at the reminder of the cruelties of slavery. The world held such beauty in it, and yet it was also a cruel and savage place. That contrast she feared, would exist for all time.

________________________________________________

Her time on Driftmark seemed to fly by in a flash. Viserra had but blinked her eyes and now it was the second to last day before her departure. A farewell feast had already been planned for her and her sister the following night, and Viserra knew that she would be missing Driftmark in the months to come until her wedding, having fallen deeply in love with the island.

In the past two weeks, she had seen all the major landmarks of Spicetown, such as the Velaryon Bank or the famed Globe Theatre, and had visited many of its guilds and factories, like the glassworks and ironworks, the papermaking guild and the printing presses, and the distilleries where the Velaryons made their liquors such as brandy.

She had visited villages in the interior of the island, seen the fields of crops more prosperous and yielding far more then she’d have thought possible for a small island. Apparently some new means and techniques and rotations of planting, plowing, and sowing, had done much to improve Driftmark’s agricultural productions.

She had finally gotten her trip to the beach near High Tide, and visited many other iconic places on the island too. Corlys had showed it to her all with a passion, seeming to genuinely love his home island, being as excited to see many of the places as Viserra herself was, confessing that his duties and voyages had meant he had been unable to visit many of them in years. He had promised to show her even more of the island once they wed, reminding her that they had yet to see Castle Driftmark and Hull, leaving Viserra with a feeling of excitement.

Yet all things came to an end, and Viserra woke up in a room that was now familiar to her after two weeks, a room that was to be hers for the rest of her life, for what would be the second-last time for almost six months.

After washing up and breaking her fast, Viserra met Corlys at the gates like she had the past twelve days, Ser Clement was present, but she found that her sister was not present, having bowed out yet again. Viserra wondered how much their mother would scold her for that once Ser Clement reported that to her parents.

Corlys had remained very tight-lipped about what today’s destination was, refusing to tell her even as they trotted toward Spicetown. It was only when they were in front of the building itself, a modest though large house, had Viserra found out, reading the sign on the gate wall.

“Breezehome Orphanage?” she asked, confused.

“Yes, a humble visit, after all the places I showed you previously, but one I felt was necessary.”

As they entered the orphanage, they were greeted by a beautiful woman who looked to be around Corlys’s age. She had the classic Valyrian looks, with silver-gold hair and purple eyes. Viserra felt the stirrings of jealousy, jealousy she didn’t know she had, rising in her stomach as Corlys greeted the woman with a warm embrace and a kiss to her cheek, trying her best to suppress it but half-failing.

“Corlys, who is this woman?” Viserra asked, not unkindly, though remaining the picture of politeness.

“Honestly Corlys, you greet a beautiful woman like me in front of your betrothed like that, without even telling her who I am? You gave her a fright,” the woman lectured Corlys.

Corlys looked almost… sheepish? “You are right of course. My apologies Viserra, this is my aunt, Lady Laena Velaryon.”

Laena? Viserra was quite fond of that name, it was after all the name of her best friend. Her thoughts were soon occupied by another realization.

“Your aunt? But she’s so young?” she asked, confused.

Laena Velaryon laughed. “You flatter me dear, I am in fact but two years older than our dear Corlys, but then your own sister Gael is of age with your nieces and nephews no? It’s hardly unheard of.”

Viserra nodded her head in understanding, now wondering why the daughter of Lord Daemon Velaryon, someone who by all rights should have been a worthy match for most any lord, was the spinster matron of an orphanage.

As they entered the house, Viserra found herself face to face with no less than thirty young children, all of whom were excitedly running up to Corlys and greeting him, and to her shock, calling him by name. Suddenly, Viserra heard herself being called to the children by Corlys and she was introduced to them.

“Now children, there is someone I’d like to introduce to you. You must treat her with respect understand? This is Princess Viserra,” Corlys said, and the children went wild. Suddenly they were all over her, asking her the same incessant question.

“Wow a princess! Are you really a princess?”

Corlys lectured them then, and told them off for crowding her. He then ordered them to assemble in a line and introduce themselves to her by their name and age and allowed them each to ask her one question, though he specified that the questions had to be different.

The questions were, well, what’d you expect. One asked her what it was like being a princess, some asked her questions about King’s Landing, and her family. A particularly bold boy asked her if it was true that she was marrying Lord Corlys and started cheering and telling his friends ‘I told you so’ when she said she was.

The one that made the most impression on her though, was a small young girl. She introduced herself as Mysaria and said that she was eight years old. Alone out of the children in the orphanage, she had the Valyrian look that Viserra, Laena, and Corlys had. But she was very shy and withdrawn, full of crippling self-doubt.

She asked a question that stuck with Viserra, asking, “You are beautiful Princess, the others say I am also. Is beauty all that matters in life?”

Viserra froze. It hadn’t been long ago at all that she had clung onto her beauty as a shield for her own crippling feelings of self-inadequacy. Corlys had told her otherwise, that she was more than just a pretty girl, but she hadn’t truly believed him until she had gotten her Dreamfyre.

“No one’s worth should be judged solely by their beauty. Be proud of your beauty, nurture and cherish it, but it is not the sum of who you are,” she said finally. She wondered if her mother would be proud to hear her say something like that at long last.

After that, Viserra sat at the table with Laena Velaryon, watching as Corlys entertained the children. “He coddles them,” Laena said at last, breaking the awkward silence.

“I can tell. The orphanage is a good cause, but I can’t help but wonder, why – “

“Why does Corlys pay so much attention to it? I asked him about it once. He told me that he had a soft spot for cripples, bastards, and broken things.”

“But, they’re not any of those?” Viserra was confused.

“Aren’t they? In the eyes of our society, orphans are often pitied, yet rarely truly cared for. People make a big show of donating to orphanages, but how much do they actually care? The children that grow up in orphanages have no parents, no family. When they come of age at 16, and sometimes sooner if the orphanage isn’t well-funded, they’re basically kicked out into a world they are little prepared to live in. Corlys might not understand everything these children feel, but he understands enough to care.”

Corlys had told her once that both his parents had died in the Shivers. His grandfather had raised him well after that and he had loved him much, but nothing could truly replace that loss. It made Viserra reconsider if she was truly satisfied with her relationship with her parents. They had hurt her very much, and she them, but perhaps she should try at least, even if only to say she did, try to mend things with them? It was something she needed to consider carefully.

“So how about you then?” Viserra asked, “Why are you – “

“The matron of an orphanage instead of the wife of some lofty lord?”

She nodded.

“I was married, and to a man I thought loved me. We were wed for six years, and we had not a single child I did not miscarry.”

She looked at Viserra’s solemn face for a while, before continuing her story. “I was set aside, for giving my husband no heirs. The Faith annulled our marriage, and I had to watch as he married another. He had a son within the year with his new wife.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Bah, don’t be. I couldn’t have any children of my own womb, but children I have nonetheless. Twenty-nine of them, and I wouldn’t give them up for anything.”

Despite her words, Viserra sensed that Laena was still hurt, but she respected her decision to find solace in the orphans she now cared for. Her story however, had made her feel a little insecure for herself. “Do you think that Corlys – “

“Is the kind to do something like that? It’s hard to say girl, Corlys was the pride of my father, the consummate politician my father raised would certainly do that, but Corlys is not, never has been simply what his grandfather raised him to be. All of eight years old and we all knew he was going to be something greater.

“As for you my dear Princess, the political ramifications of setting you aside, no matter if you give him an heir or not, will keep him from doing so. You are the King’s daughter, a dragonrider, it would be a slight of immeasurable proportions to set you aside, and that would endanger House Velaryon, and that is something he will never do.”

While she felt comforted by Laena’s words, Viserra wasn’t sure what to feel at the idea that politics was the sole reason Corlys would not set her aside.

Somehow sensing what she was thinking, like she had three times already, Laena continued. “It’s more than just politics girl. Corlys likes you, in a way I don’t think he’s liked any other woman before. He’ll hardly admit it, but he’s a romantic at heart. The kind of man who has always wanted a wife that could be his equal and trusted partner. That ideology was the whole reason the queen was created as the most powerful piece in his little game.

“Whether you actually are or not, he thinks that you could be his queen, so you can be sure that when he says he will be yours until his last day, he damn well means it.”

Viserra smiled, though she remained unsure. “How do you always know what I am thinking Lady Laena?”

“I just do, call it a natural gift. And don’t call me lady, I’m not a lady anymore, I’m a matron.”

And yet more lady-like then half the ladies in the Seven Kingdoms.

___________________________________________________

The sun was setting by the time they returned to High Tide, Corlys had asked Viserra to speak with him in private atop High Tide’s highest tower, a tower jestingly called ‘the Highest Tide’ by the castle denizens.

She had ordered Ser Clement to wait at the bottom of the staircase after much cajoling, leaving her and Corlys alone at the top of the tower, a conical roof all that remained above them.

Viserra looked out from the tower. If she had thought the view from her room was good, the view she saw now was nothing but phenomenal. Atop the round platform at the tower peak, Viserra could see it all, all of Spicetown, all of Driftmark up to the horizon, the sea stretching for what seemed to be forever beyond the island’s shores. And in the distance, a small glimpse of a mountain.

“Is that?” Viserra asked, surprised.

“The Dragonmont yes. On a clear day, you can see it from here, the easternmost point of Driftmark. Our two houses have always been close, and never has that been more apparent. Geography, nature itself, seems to want us close.”

They remained there for a while, watching as the orange rays of the sun continued to recede from the world before Corlys spoke.

“Today was the thirteenth morning you woke up on Driftmark. Thirteen full days spent on this island I call home. How has it been?”

“It’s been incredible. I will miss it when I leave the day after tomorrow,” she said, before gushing about the parts she had liked the most and hoped to visit again.

Corlys smiled softly, and Viserra thought that he looked more handsome when he smiled like that, rather than the dashing smile full of bravado and confidence he put on for court. It felt more genuine, more real.

“Do you know why I brought you to the orphanage?” he asked then, his eyes remaining fixed on the ocean.

“It was a test wasn’t it? You wanted to see how I would treat the children, how I would deal with them.”

“Yes. I showed you much of Driftmark and Spicetown, all of our great buildings and exotic treasures, but I wanted to know if you had realized what was the most important part of all. You had showed some signs of realizing it, but I needed to be sure.”

“It’s the people. More than your navy, more than your trade or university or bank, it is the people who live on Driftmark that have made this all possible.”

Corlys’s smile grew ever more. “An educated populace, is a skilled populace.”

“A vital resource for any leader,” Viserra finished, before frowning. “Don’t sell yourself short, people are nothing without someone to lead them, and it is you who leads Driftmark, you the visionary responsible for much of this, for all that you claim to have done only a small part. That is what everyone says, what your family saw in you since you were a small boy. There is a limit to humility.”

Corlys laughed. “That is not what the Faith says.”

“You’re right. It’s a good thing I’m not Maegelle then, because that’s what I, Viserra Targaryen say. Humility, like all things, is not good in too great an amount. At some point it ceases to be humility and turns into self-doubt.”

They looked at each other for a while, the understanding implicit between them that she was speaking from experience. A girl who had been told to be humble, when she found nothing special in herself but her beauty, beauty she clung to like a cloak, a shroud of vanity in the hopes that it would protect her from the world outside.

Corlys turned to her then, and Viserra could see that he was a little nervous, choosing his words wisely. “I told you once, that there was something special about you that I could not put into words.”

“Oh? And have you found those words?” Viserra teased, while secretly becoming immensely curious but also apprehensive of what he had to say.

“I do not think I could ever find all the words to describe what makes Viserra Targaryen special,” he announced then, making her blush, “but I think, that I have found some.”

She waited attentively for Corlys to continue, but what he said shocked her.

“You care. You pretend that you don’t, show the world the mask of a vain and haughty princess, but deep down you care deeply.”

Viserra was shaking her head in denial. Her? A caring person? Someone who manipulated her own niece to get a dragon out of her own selfishness? Who took pride in her own vanity despite being told to stop? “I’m not a caring person,” she denied.

“Yes, you are. I thought so before, but I know now for sure. You were saddened by the story of the painter who was once a slave weren’t you? Do you know that there are countless nobles in Westeros who can’t give a damn for all that they claim to follow the teachings of the Faith?

“You sympathized with my aunt, you took the care to teach the young girl in the orphanage an important lesson. Few are the nobles who give a single thought about the feelings of a ‘useless’ barren woman and the peasant orphan girl she raises.”

Viserra felt herself filled with an emotion she couldn’t understand, she didn’t know if she wanted to cry or laugh, if she wanted to slap Corlys or embrace him.

“Did you know? Rhaekar and I are mending our relationship now,” Corlys said wistfully.

Viserra looked at him. “Surprised? Yes, I am too. It was just a little thing, just that little offhand comment you made on the day you arrived. I’ve told him myself so many times before, but it seems hearing it from a stranger finally made him realize that I do love and acknowledge him.”

“We’re not suddenly close by any means, we are too different and too much time has passed for him and I to have the kind of relationship I have with Aurane. But we have come to an understanding and I like to think we can have a different kind of brotherly bond in the future one day. And that’s possible because of you Viserra. Because you cared. You knew my relationship with him was tense, and you did the little that you could to try and mend it, and I am grateful for that.”

Viserra wasn’t sure to believe him, but she knew now that she could believe Laena’s words. Yet doubt, once it had taken root, was a terrible thing to behold. She made to ask him what he would do if she proved barren like his aunt, would he set her aside? But fear had her ask another question instead.

“The book you had the maid put on my dresser. The Mariner’s Wife. Why did you give me that story in particular to read?”

She had been thinking on it for a while, the parallels between her and Corlys and Aldarion and Erendis might be superficial, but they still existed.

“That story… That story was the explanation I gave to my family as the reason I never wed until now. I gave that book to you, so that you might better understand that, and understand that… I am serious about our marriage. I am not Aldarion. For all that we are six and ten years apart, that we are so different in many ways, I want to make this work. The sea I have put aside, my appetite for her filled. All my attention now is to be devoted to Driftmark, and to its future lady. This is my promise.”

Erendis was a fool in Viserra’s honest opinion. For all that her husband’s heart was torn between the sea and her, she refused all his attempts to reconcile, even when it was not his choice to stay away for so long, even when he had done what he could to help her understand why it was that he loved his voyages so. She had remained stubborn and obstinate, until the moment regret had filled her in her old age and she had drowned trying to see him one last time.

“I am not Erendis,” she said.

“And I am not Aldarion,” he agreed.

The sun had set over the course of their conversation, and the stars filled the sky. No matter how good the painting of the crowning of Hugor was, nothing could compare to the real thing.

“Viserra.”

“Yes Corlys?”

“Do you think, that you will be happy living on Driftmark, and being its Lady?”

“Yes, I think I will be very much happy as Driftmark’s lady.”

They continued watching the stars for a while, hearing the clock towers of both High Tide and Spicetown sound as the hour changed.

“Viserra.”

“Yes Corlys?”

“Do you think that you will be happy as my wife?”

“Yes.”

Chapter 13: The Seahorse and the Dragon

Chapter Text

Second Moon, 88 AC

Alyssa Targaryen

Alyssa Targaryen was the eldest daughter. Had been since the moment she was born. Eldest, but not firstborn. In another life, a sister she had never met might have held that lofty position and not her, and Alyssa would have been glad for it.

Her shadow lied over her even now. The spectre of a child long dead and in her heart Alyssa still felt lacking in comparison. Daenerys had been the eldest daughter her family deserved, Daenerys would not have abandoned her younger sisters, for was that not what Alyssa had done?

Maegelle had clung to her as a child, and Alyssa had bristled and ignored her. Daella had been alone and it had not been who had reached out to her. For all that she had ‘defended her honor’ against Vaegon, how many times had Alyssa truly been there for Daella?

And Saera? She had failed Saera most of all, all of them had, even if they would not admit it. Sweet Saera, who had toddled after Aemon and Baelon, who they had allowed themselves to spoil rotten. Sour Saera, who had bullied Daella when they were children, and none but Maegelle and their mother had bothered to correct.

Aemon, Baelon, and their father had dismissed it as harmless amusing pranks. Maegelle and their mother had sternly reprimanded Saera to no avail. And Alyssa had not cared enough to teach her sister the right way, only judging her for her actions.

Sweet or sour, in the end, not a single one of them had spoken for her when their father’s wrath at last fell upon her. Perhaps she was judging herself and her family too harshly. No matter her upbringing, it remained without a doubt that Saera’s choices that had led her to where she was now. Alyssa was not convinced by her own defense though, for all her misdeeds, Saera had still been a member of their family. They had not raised her right and when she had misbehaved, rather than try and teach her the right path, her family had all but made her an outcast.

But Alyssa did her best to turn her thoughts from Saera. For this day was not Saera’s. It was the day of a sister she had yet to fail, though not for lack of trying.

Viserra looked resplendent in her wedding dress. A rich red velvet, with gold and silver embroidering. The cut covered her perfect form brilliantly, enough to accentuate it, but not enough to be immodest or improper. Draped around her shoulders was a cloak bearing the banner of their house, the red three-headed dragon on the black field. She looked every inch a Targaryen princess.

Her arm was interlocked with their father. Jaehaerys Targaryen was dressed no less splendidly then his daughter and his posture was straight and proud as he walked her down the aisle.

By the altar, the High Septon awaited. The wedding of a royal princess demanded no less than the highest ranked clergyman of the Faith, and the High Septon, and most of the nobles of the realm in fact, had arrived weeks ago in preparation for the day at last.

The castle sept of the Red Keep was full to the brim, Westermen, Reachers, Stormlanders, Northmen, and more. The royal family had certainly spared no expense for the wedding, lavishly decorating every pew and window with flowers, ribbons, and luxury. A reminder to their lords, that it may be Velaryon or Lannister who claimed to be the richest, but House Targaryen remained above them all.

Her sister stepped up to the altar where her husband to be awaited and the High Septon began the ceremony. Preaching all the usual formalities, courtesies, and verbose statements that characterized the Faith’s ceremonies. She remembered being bored to death by them countless times before.

Soon though, Alyssa was taken back to the past when her sister and her betrothed began saying their vows. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself on the day of her own wedding as she said those same vows, and felt a melancholic nostalgia as she tried to recall the way she had felt back then. Gods, sometimes it felt like a different person altogether had said those vows.

Finally, the moment had come, her father removed the cloak of their family, and Lord Corlys placed the cloak of his own around her sister’s shoulders, a silver seahorse on an aquamarine shade, halfway between ocean blue and sea green. More than a change in color or animal, the cloak represented how Viserra had passed from their family to another’s.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” they both said as they ended their vows and sealed their marriage with a kiss, the first of likely many.

She looked happy, Alyssa thought. Happier then she had ever seen her, save for the few moments she had spied of her alone with her dragon. Lord Corlys made her happier than their family ever had, so Alyssa supposed that it was only right that she be happy, like she deserved.

Alyssa regretted the hostility with which she had treated her sister for so long. It had been undeserved, the lashing out of a mourning woman still unable to process her grief and jealously hoarding what little she judged herself to still have.

Her son was dead before he had even truly lived. Little Aegon had lived for barely a year, hadn’t even made it to his first nameday. A year in which Alyssa herself had been bedridden, fighting desperately to cling to life and recover her health. Sometimes she wished she hadn’t fought so hard, if her reward at the end of it all was to be told her son was dead and she would bear no more.

She was tired of being tired. Weary of being weary of the world. More than anything, she wished to once again be the Alyssa that had married Baelon, that had so recklessly taken her newborn sons flying on her dragon. That Alyssa had been so full of life and energy, so full of everything that she lacked now.

As the ceremony ended and the wedding guests dispersed for the feast in the Great Hall, Alyssa surprised her husband and sons by embracing them each in her arms and holding them tight. She brushed off their concerns, because there was no need for them.

She had not been the best daughter, sister, wife, or mother, and she probably never would be, but from now on, she could strive to be the best that she could be.

_________________________________________________

The Lady of Oldtown

“Viserra, you look gorgeous!” Laena Celtigar née Qoherys cooed as their friend preened at the praise. Bethany Darklyn had all but leapt from the table in squealing delight and placed a violet flower that matched her eyes when she arrived, and the three of them had been left awestruck by their friend’s beauty, enough to match any angel of the seven heavens.

Never let it be said that Viserra Targaryen shied away from a compliment, Rylla thought. In all the years she had been her companion, Viserra had almost actively gone out of her way to get praised for her beauty and intelligence.

If she was being honest, it had always seemed vain to her. but she had held her tongue. She had been but the granddaughter of the King’s Master of Ships. What place had there been for a mere lady to correct a princess?

“Viserra, you look beautiful. Congratulations on your wedding,” she said to her friend.

Viserra smiled again and Rylla felt her heart torn between delight and ugly jealousy at how beautiful it looked on her immaculate face.

“And congratulations to you too Rylla! I’m so sorry I couldn’t attend your wedding,” Viserra said in kind as she sat in the empty chair and engaged them in conversation.

Rylla smiled and thanked her for her kind words. A sincere smile, if one tinged with melancholy. Try as she might to shake off the thoughts lingering at the back of her mind, Rylla could no sooner escape them then escape the reality that her friendship with Viserra was doomed to fade.

Their houses were now opposed. It was no blood feud, no great game where the players won or died, yet rivals they remained, and that could sour any relationship. The house of her birth and her husband would never allow themselves to be surpassed by the Velaryons without fighting every inch of the way.

No matter who Viserra had married, the relationship between the four of them had always been destined to fade away one day. It was simply the way of the world.

Laena had already wed, marrying Clement Celtigar. Bethany was betrothed to Desmond Darry, and Rylla herself had wed the Lord of the Hightower, Lord Hobert. Chances were, Laena, Bethany, and Viserra might maintain their friendship, being all of them still in the Crownlands, especially Laena and Viserra. Seven knew they had always been closest and the two families they had married into were close allies and kin. She foresaw their friendship remaining strong for years to come.

But for Rylla? Viserra’s wedding had been the first time she had returned to the capital since her wedding. All of her time was spent busy helping to run the oldest city on the continent as her new husband’s family plotted and researched endlessly, seeking to compete with the house her friend had now married into.

For now, at least, their friendship could remain, a relic of girlhood. Yet how long before allegiances to their house, to their husbands and future children took precedent? Blood was thicker than water.

And she saw her fears come to light when her husband and Viserra’s came at the same time to pick them up for a dance.

“Lord Hobert,” Lord Corlys greeted, “a pleasure to see you on this fine occasion.” His words were polite, but empty platitudes at best for the lack of sincerity in them. The smile he wore did not reach his eyes.

“Lord Velaryon, my congratulations to you and the Princess for your marriage. May it be fruitful and happy,” her husband answered back. Rylla knew him well enough to know he was doing his best to remain polite. It would not do to make a scene at a royal wedding.

“Thank you. How is the Hightower and Oldtown? I have not had the pleasure of seeing them for many years now.”

“Doing well indeed. We are pushing ever for more research and trade, more construction and expansion. His Grace’s rule has been good to Oldtown, allowing it to prosper in the peace. The Citadel is already deliberating new policies to match with the universities springing up across the realm, and our shipwrights and those of our friends across the straits at the Arbor test new designs for ships. You keep us all on our toes Lord Velaryon, and us less adventurous folk must find other means to keep on the road,” Hobert said, his words polite yet with a note of tension simmering beneath.

“Well I am pleased indeed to hear of it. A little friendly competition never hurt anyone. I look forward to seeing if you could catch up to us, I’m sure it will give my lazy shipwrights and researchers a drive of their own,” Lord Corlys all but taunted.

“I like to think we will manage to meet your expectations my lord,” her husband said, a glint in his eyes.

Their war was with niceties, their swords the false flatteries they spoke. Every sentence left Rylla feeling more and more sick of it all, of how fake it all was.

Hate was a strong word, and Rylla would not say that the two men hated each other, for indeed both had many reasons to admire and like the other. But allegiances to one’s house came first and foremost, and it was inevitable that rivalry would color their every interaction.

Having failed to get a rise out of her husband, Lord Velaryon took his leave and Viserra with him for a dance. As they left, Viserra turned back with an apologetic expression on her face.

Oh Viserra, this was only the beginning.

_________________________________________________

The Prince of Dorne

Even in Dorne, word had come of the wedding of Princess Viserra Targaryen to Lord Corlys Velaryon. While those in the northern kingdoms might greet the news with cheer or joy, if for some interspersed with feelings of rivalry, Prince Morion could feel only anger, and fear.

The Targaryens were a threat. Why had his father not seen that? They had marched their knights into the Red Mountains, Dorne’s mountains, and his father had done nothing. No action to aid their fellow Dornishmen when the Targaryens fell upon the latest Vulture King in Lord Rogar’s War.

That cowardice was a mark against Dorne’s pride, and one that left him feeling gravely concerned. It was not so long ago that dragons had flown in the skies above Dorne and brought their wroth and devastation upon their lands. And now there were more dragons than ever before and the Iron Throne encroached upon Dorne with their most loyal bannerman as a proxy. With his father’s cowardice still in memory, who was to say that the Iron Throne might not encroach further still and seek to complete Aegon’s Conquest at last?

Only a fool could not have seen the writing on the wall when the Targaryens and Velaryons had established a presence in the Stepstones, when their fleets had begun clearing its waters and islands of pirates. They meant to annex the Stepstones, that was for sure. No doubt they would give it to their pet Sea Snake, and then they would have a foot on the throat of Dorne’s trade and a dagger at Sunspear ready to strike at any time. And Morion was not the kind of man to think that there would not be a Targaryen who would take advantage of that one day.

He had been readying for war, as much as he could, for the past few years already. Though Dorne had yet to truly recover from the Dragon’s Wroth, strength and valor they still had. His vassals had already pledged their support, seeing as he did the existential threat a Targaryen-Velaryon Stepstones was to Dorne.

For the first time since Nymeria’s ten thousand ships, Dorne had a navy once again. Their ports and ships built with generous loans from the Iron Bank and with the aid of the pirates driven out from the Stepstones by the Velaryons, pirates whom he had offered Dorne as a refuge and a means to revenge. Soon his fleet would be ready, and every ship was armed with scorpions of the like which had brought down the great Meraxes.

Perhaps it was all a fool’s gambit, but ultimately there was no other option. Fight now for a chance for Dorne or prove himself a coward like his father and let the Targaryens take yet another step to crushing them once and for all, and Morion meant very much to fight, even if it cost him everything.

Chapter 14: The Lady of the Tides

Chapter Text

Third Moon, 88 AC

Viserra

While she had worked alongside him for weeks already since her wedding, Viserra was still in shock at the amount of work that Rhaekar had to do. As the steward of High Tide, and consequently of Driftmark and all the Velaryon lands, it was his responsibility to handle a great deal of the day to day affairs of the fief, especially whenever Corlys was absent from the island serving as her father’s Master of Ships.

There hadn’t been a true Lady of the Tides for many years now, not since the Velaryon brothers’ grandmother had died in the Shivers along with their parents and half the rest of the family. While their aunts, including Laena, had at various times served as an acting lady of the household, all were by now married or in Laena’s case, the matron of a simple orphanage.

Consequently, in addition to the usual duties of a steward, Rhaekar had for many years handled all the matters concerning the household that he would normally have shared with the lady of the castle. This had changed slightly upon Rhaekar’s own marriage to Lady Irina of Tarth, who had become the highest ranking lady in High Tide until Viserra’s own marriage and so had taken up a great deal of the tasks reserved for the lady of the household. Tasks which were now Viserra’s duty to learn so as to reduce the burden on Rhaekar and Irina at long last.

Which was why from dawn till dusk for every day of the past few weeks, Viserra had been busy following both Rhaekar and Irina around as they taught her how to manage the Velaryons’ fief.

“Oh good Viserra, you’re already here. We have much work to do today,” Irina said as she and Rhaekar entered the office. Viserra had had her personal maid Pina wake her up a little earlier today. She wanted to make an effort to try and arrive earlier then Irina and Rhaekar today, so as to get a head start on the work for the day.

Lady Irina Velaryon, née Tarth, was certainly a woman men would call beautiful. Warm golden blonde hair curled down past her shoulders, contrasting brilliantly with her sapphire blue eyes. In some ways, her appearance reminded Viserra of that of her own mother, and yet Irina was infinitely more approachable then Alysanne Targaryen. Velaryon blood ran through her veins as much as it did through Viserra’s. Courtesy of her grandmother, Larissa Velaryon, a niece of Lord Daemon.

Irina’s arm was locked with that of her husband Rhaekar, a handsome man who like his younger brother Aurane, greatly resembled their eldest brother Corlys, Viserra’s own husband. Rhaekar’s own indigo eyes were the exact same shade and shape as Corlys’s, though he tied his long hair up in a ponytail while Corlys let his down the sides of his neck.

“Well let’s begin,” Rhaekar said as he stepped forward to look at the latest ledgers and reports, all of which had been brought in by the accountants and clerks earlier as Viserra had watched.

“We’ll have to balance the budget for the expenses of the houshold today. Viserra, can we leave that to you?” Irina asked.

“Of course, I’ve already taken a look at the accounts. I can get started any time,” she answered.

“Good lass, get to it then,” Irina ordered.

Any pretensions Viserra may have had to take charge and order people about simply by virtue of title and seniority had been quashed swiftly. The servants and workers at High Tide were polite and obedient to her, but their respect and trust had to be earned and the best way to do that was by proving she actually knew what she was doing. The only way to do that was by swallowing her pride and accepting that Irina, older and more experienced than her, knew everything that she had to learn and it was Irina who the servants still deferred to as the lady of the household.

A natural consequence of this was the dropping of social niceties and formalities between herself and Irina and Rhaekar. Oh Irina might curtsey and call her ‘my lady’ in public, but here in the privacy of their rooms, it was Irina who was the teacher and Viserra her humble (that part was questionable according to Irina) student.

A younger and vainer Viserra might have petulantly demanded Irina, Rhaekar, and everyone else’s obedience and deference outright like a spoilt brat but she was past such immaturity by now… mostly. It would have gotten her little ultimately and would have greatly soured her relations with the Velaryons and their servants, which would have been terrible. Though somehow Viserra had a feeling that princess or no, Corlys would not have accepted her hand had she still been the petulant vain princess of four and ten.

That Viserra had thankfully grown up. She was almost a score old now, nine and ten, a woman grown and wed, a dragonrider, and a young lady learning how to run her keep. She wasn’t sure a time would ever come when she would thank her mother for those endless lectures, reprimands, and punishments, but it seemed at least some of it had done its job and sunk in.

As the day continued, Irina soon left to handle other duties, though for once Viserra did not follow her, remaining in the office with Rhaekar to continue balancing the budget.

“Rhaekar,” she called, getting her goodbrother’s attention.

“Yes?”

“How do I do this part?” she asked, pointing to a part in the account book she wasn’t sure about. Viserra had of course been taught how to keep a household as part of her education growing up, yet the accounts on Driftmark were more thorough then she was familiar with, and organized in an efficient but unfamiliar way. Adjusting to the double-entry and all the various other new accounting and recording methods took time.

“Ah, well you have to…” Rhaekar began to explain and she listened attentively.

She had been warned by Corlys that being the Lady of the Tides would not at all have been what she had expected, yet even then she wasn’t fully prepared for the amount of study that would be required. Every day it felt like the education she had received from her tutors, what should have been the best in the realm, was insufficient.

Another example perhaps, of how Driftmark was increasingly more advanced then the mainland. How long would it be before even the Maesters of the Citadel could no longer claim to be the most educated in the land? Had that already come to pass? She knew the university professors would argue so.

As she continued her own work, she watched Rhaekar look carefully at the map and could not resist her curiosity. Peeking over, she noticed it was a map of the Crownlands and Rhaekar was focusing particularly on the lands of the Velaryon vassals in Massey’s Hook and the Kingswood.

“Anything interesting?” she asked.

Rhaekar looked at her. “Have you finished balancing the budget yet?”

“Almost. I should be done soon,” she replied, checking the books.

“Alright, take a seat then,” Rhaekar gestured to the chair in front of his desk. Viserra obliged.

“So when you look at this map, what is the first thing that comes to mind?” Rhaekar questioned.

“You’re working on something, related to our vassals in the Hook and Kingswood?” Viserra asked.

“Yes, they are more important than one may think for seemingly backwater lands. They provide Driftmark with invaluable supplies of timber, lumber, firewood, and naval stores. Along with various other resources such as wool and bog iron. And of course, our new tea plantations are in the hills of the Hook.

“Driftmark’s fleet, merchant marine and war fleet alike, as well as its market economy are highly dependent on the raw resources provided by the Hook and the Wendwater. Them being sworn to Driftmark gives us a great deal of influence that makes our economy more secure and increases our profit margins, as well as of course, levies for any wartime needs that may arise.

“Having said all this, how do you think we should further tie our vassals to us and develop their lands to better benefit ourselves?”

Viserra wasn’t exactly sure all of this fit under her role as the lady of the castle. Helping to manage relations with vassals was one thing she had expected, but all of these matters pertaining to economy, fleets, and resources were a little beyond her purview no? Then again, Corlys had told her to expect more than just the usual roles of a lady when she became his wife.

“Corlys put you up to this, didn’t he?” she asked.

“He may have mentioned something toward wanting you trained to handle matters like these in their fullest capacity yes. As much as myself and Aurane are. Even Irina will be able to answer all of this, and we will train Alys to do the same.”

“Really? Alys too?” Viserra was not sure her other goodsister would be really interested in these matters. Alys Grafton had wed Aurane only a few weeks after her own wedding, she was the youngest daughter of Lady Prudence and Lord Gerold Grafton, a fitting match for a third son some would say. The match had been intended to further reinforce and strengthen the ties of kinship and alliance between the two families. Alys and her siblings were Corlys and his brothers’ first cousins through their mothers, Prudence and Primrose Celtigar respectively. Viserra had found her to be a sweet girl and a fast friend, yet she couldn’t say she would entrust her with responsibility. Not the kind Rhaekar was describing at least.

“Well… maybe not to this degree,” Rhaekar admitted. “Still, neither myself nor my brothers have ever believed that any member of the house should not carry their weight in some way. We’ll find something for Alys to do that matches her talents once she’s settled in, but we’re getting distracted.

“Any ideas on what to do in the Hook? You don’t have to be specific with details you don’t have, I would just like to hear your general plan.”

“Well, I suppose the most important step is to bind our vassal houses to us by marriage. You and your brothers are all already wed, and with members of very prestigious houses. However, you do have many cousins who are unmarried and would draw interest despite their low rank in the house simply because the prestige and wealth of House Velaryon is so greatly beyond any of its vassals, enough for a match to a cousin of the Lord of the Tides to be a good one.”

“Good, but all of this I think goes under what you would have been trained to see by your tutors in King’s Landing. But go outside your comfort zone, what can you tell me about the infrastructure of the region? How do we maximize our resource extraction and the transport to Driftmark?”

Yes, this was quite beyond what she had been taught by now. She was finding that to be the norm more than the exception on Driftmark. Still it was worth a try at least.

“I suppose, roads?” she said hesitantly.

“Are you asking or are you telling me?” Rhaekar asked pointedly and for a moment Viserra found in herself the confidence and authority to speak assertively. She was the Lady of the Tides for Seven’s sake, this was not, could not be, beyond her ability.

“I’m telling you. We will need more roads as a general rule of thumb. Preferably paved or concrete, but dirt tracks will do if that expense cannot be afforded. We should also consider looking into helping our vassals, especially Wendwater, invest into building many new sawmills to expedite the production of lumber. Expanding the port at the mouth of the Wendwater should also be a priority.”

“Very general and brief and certainly not covering anywhere near all that should be done but a good assessment. How much of that did you get from glancing at my notes earlier?” Rhaekar asked.

“Almost everything,” she admitted shamelessly.

Rhaekar laughed. “Well I suppose I can’t blame you. These kinds of matters were highly unlikely to have been taught to you in any true depth. Still despite that seeming handicap, you have been learning remarkably fast. I have every confidence that you will become an extraordinarily capable Lady of the Tides, in all the roles and duties entailed by that position, both traditional and not.”

“Thank you Rhaekar,” Viserra said, and she meant it. Without Rhaekar and Irina, she would have been so lost, like a fish out of water.

“You better get back to that budget before Irina comes knocking,” he said as he turned back to his work. The stack of papers behind him remained very tall.

The clock that stood at the room’s corner told her that it was soon to be ten in the morning and Viserra doubled her pace to finish at Rhaekar’s reminder, mindful of the time that had been wasted getting a lesson on the economy and infrastructure development of the Hook. Within the next fifteen minutes, she had finished her work and gave it to Rhaekar.

“This is very well done Viserra,” he praised, making her smile. Her smile soon dropped when the ‘but’ came and he proceeded to criticize the seemingly endless mistakes she had made. He was kind, but the reminder that for all her efforts, her work wasn’t enough to be perfect stung. It shouldn’t have felt the same, but it reminded her a little of her mother’s lectures, deserved or otherwise.

Noticing her change of mood, Rhaekar stopped and his face turned melancholic. “It’s not meant to make you feel bad, it’s to teach you how to do even better in the future. But sometimes it doesn’t feel like that does it?”

“You saw right through me. Speaking from experience?” Viserra asked.

Rhaekar leaned back into his chair. “Well I was not always an expert steward you know. It wasn’t truly that long ago that I was young and inexperienced like you. Actually I think I was worse than you. I was almost completely clueless, and an arrogant little brat.”

“What made you change?” Viserra was curious.

“My grandfather. Let’s just say Lord Daemon was a strict teacher, though I doubt Corlys remembers him the same way.”

Rhaekar it seemed could not resist elaborating, as he began to tell her long stories of his tutelage under his grandfather, who though strict and overbearing at times, had still been very much a man he loved and respected. Shortly enough he was telling stories, many embarrassing, of the mischief he and his brothers had gotten into when they were younger.

“…and then Corlys, this rascal, tells our grandfather that he was experimenting. And our grandfather actually bought it, would you believe that?” Rhaekar asked exasperatedly as he finished a particularly entertaining tale of how Corlys had roped him and Aurane into yet another harebrained scheme that he claimed would benefit their house.

“And was he?” Viserra asked as she laughed.

“Well, technically I suppose. Seven knows he came up with too many good ideas for Grandfather to reject his explanation outright. That’s Corlys, he comes up with the most ridiculous plan you can think of and then somehow it works. Latest example was the utterly reckless plan he had to steal silk and tea from right under the nose of the Emperor of Yi Ti and somehow he didn’t get his head on a spike outside the Imperial Palace.”

“And yet you sound like you admire him despite that,” Viserra noted.

Rhaekar sighed. “I suppose I do. My feelings toward Corlys are very complicated. I mentioned earlier how strict my grandfather was with me. I can’t help but think that was because of the long shadow Corlys cast, that he was trying to push me to match him when I never could. For all his recklessness and seemingly far-fetched ideas, he was, still is, absolutely brilliant.

“When Corlys speaks, men listen. When he has a plan, people will follow it. He has this charisma, this drive to change the world that makes everyone take notice of him. And now look where he is. Lord Corlys the Sea Snake, the most famous explorer the Seven Kingdoms have ever known, and soon to be the richest too! I suppose part of me can’t help but feel resentful, even though it’s not fair or right of me to. Does that make me a bad person?”

“No,” Viserra reassured him. “It makes you human. Younger siblings in the shadow of their older siblings is a tale as old as time. That you feel this way need not be necessarily wrong, what matters most is how you deal with it.”

“Speaking from experience?” Rhaekar asked.

She nodded. “Speaking from experience.”

Rhaekar fiddled with his hands for a while before asking, “What should I do then?”

“Reach out to him. Make him understand. You are blessed Rhaekar, for by your brother’s own words he wants to understand, to try and fix this estranged relationship between you. It took claiming a dragon to make my family hear me out. You don’t have such an obstacle, all you have to do, is speak.”

They sat there in a contemplative silence for a few moments before Rhaekar spoke again.

“Did things get better between you and your family after they heard you out?” he asked.

“With some yes, with others… well it’s hard to say. My father is still angry I think. He has this cool stare when he looks at me sometimes. My mother it seems no longer has any idea what to think or feel about me and I don’t really care what Vaegon or Maegelle think of me if I’m truly honest. Yet for all that I may have angered or estranged some of my family, there are others of my family that are closer now then I might have expected,” Viserra said.

In the months after she had claimed Dreamfyre, she had found herself shocked at how close she had become to both Alyssa and Rhaenys. Even Aemon, whom she had never been close to as a child had become closer to her, and Baelon too had come over, becoming the doting older brother to her once again. She told Rhaekar all of this.

“How do I know he will listen?” he asked cautiously.

“He will, and if he doesn’t, I’ll make him. I have a dragon, I’ve been told that makes you very convincing,” she jested.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door and soon entered Corlys himself. Viserra wanted to groan at the bad timing.

“Rhaekar,” he said.

“Corlys,” Rhaekar nodded back stiffly.

“Do you mind if I borrow Viserra for a while?” he asked politely, though anyone could tell it was not a request to be denied.

“Be my guest,” he said as he moved his hands to emphasize his words.

“Thank you. Viserra?”

“I’m coming, don’t worry,” she said before turning back to Rhaekar. “Consider it,” she told him before leaving with Corlys.

___________________________________________________

As she walked with Corlys through the marble corridors of High Tide, Viserra felt a bit awkward. Despite being newlywed, she had barely seen him the past few weeks. They had both been very busy, and Corlys himself was not always on Driftmark in the first place, flitting between Dragonstone, King’s Landing, and the Hook in his roles as both the Master of Ships and the Lord of Tides.

Seeking to break the awkwardness, she decided to make a bit of small talk.

“Your timing was rather unfortunate,” she said after mustering her courage.

“Oh?” he asked curiously.

“I was trying to convince him to talk to you about well... you know. I think I almost had him but then you showed up.”

“I appreciate that Viserra, I do. Thank you. Keep working on him. With any luck he’ll be open to have a proper conversation with me about everything one of these days.”

And like that the conversation had died again. And now Viserra’s thoughts had begun drifting exactly to where she had wanted them not to go. It was hard to otherwise, considering they had spent so little time together that wasn’t in the bedroom the past few weeks.

She felt her face growing hot and red at those memories and shook it off. She was a Princess of House Targaryen, a dragonrider, Lady of the Tides! She wasn’t going to let something like that make her shy and flustered!

“You’ve been awfully quiet. Everything alright?” Corlys said suddenly, turning to her as he stopped. She blushed even more as he ran his hand through her hair, moving it out of her eyes.

“There’s no problem. Everything is well,” she reassured him, and was most definitely not flustered as she said it. Definitely not.

Corlys didn’t seem wholly convinced but he dropped the matter. “Alright, we should keep going then.”

While relieved that he had dropped the matter, Viserra also felt a strange sense of… disappointment that he had relented so easily? As they continued walking, she desperately foraged for any topic to keep that line of thought and the dreaded awkward silence away.

“I’ve been reading the Odyssey,” she said suddenly.

Corlys’s hummed response made it seem like he was quite aware of her desperate change of topic but she pushed on.

“It’s very well written. A part of me can’t help but see the contrast to Aldarion and Erendis.”

“Yes, those books are almost like the same side of the coin in a way. Did you read the Iliad as well? It’s almost of a must to understand the Odyssey properly.”

“I haven’t yet. I’ve been very busy learning how to manage the castle. Rhaekar and Irina have been quite the demanding tutors. I must say though, the author who wrote Aldarion and Erendis and the Odyssey had quite the vivid imagination.”

“And what makes you think they were written by the same author?” Corlys asked with… was that a hint of amusem*nt in his eyes?

“I don’t know, the same style of writing perhaps? The similar yet differing message and theme. Awfully convenient books for the wife of a seafarer to read I’d say,” she said knowingly.

Corlys laughed and she chuckled with him, glad to feel the awkward feeling had begun to dissipate.

Soon they were taking the stairs down deeper into the castle’s under levels, and Viserra felt her curiosity grow.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“We’re almost there, I want it to be a surprise,” he answered.

Soon they had reached a gated iron door that reminded her of the doors at the Dragonpit. A knight of the Tide Guard stood watch to the left of the door and opened it at Corlys’s command. It opened to reveal a large cave in the side of the hill that High Tide was built on, with a large entrance exposed to the air. Viserra’s attention however was drawn first and foremost by the large blue dragon that was napping in the middle of the cave.

“Dreamfyre!” she exclaimed in delight as she rushed toward her dragon, though she sensed that Dreamfyre was not as excited.

A sinking feeling soon began to fill her as she realized that Corlys was not the only one she had not been seeing very much the past few weeks. Dreamfyre was, to put it lightly, grumpy. Viserra winced as she felt her displeasure, feeling her snort a jet of warm air at her face as she got up.

“I’m sorry Dream. I’ll make it up to you girl, I promise,” she said to her dragon as she stroked the scales on her nose affectionately. Dreamfyre huffed another jet of warm air, though Viserra could tell it was a little gentler then the previous one. Dreamfyre could never stay mad at her for long.

Corlys stood behind her, mindfully keeping a respectful distance from her dragon. “What is this place?” she questioned him.

“I call it the Dragon Den. I don’t think you noticed, but when you visited Driftmark before our wedding, Dreamfyre nested inside this cave. I decided to expand it and connect it to the castle so that you will be able to easily reach her. Better I would say, then a long ride to the Dragonpit in King’s Landing.”

“It is better yes. Thank you,” Viserra said. A den for Dreamfyre beneath High Tide, one that she could access from the castle itself, was extremely convenient for her.

“It was my pleasure,” he said with a smile that made her heart skip a beat.

Noticing the saddles in the corner, a thought occurred to Viserra. “Corlys? Could you bring me one of the saddles please?” she asked.

He did as requested, and approached warily. It wasn’t long before Dreamfyre started growling at him, stopping him in his tracks.

“Dream,” Viserra chided, putting her hand on her dragon and projecting her will onto her. Harming Corlys in any way was unacceptable. Rebuked by her rider, Dreamfyre relented and allowed Corlys to approach.

As he handed her the saddle, she beckoned him to come closer. “I’m not sure about this,” he said, lacking his usual confident smirk for once.

Viserra was quite amused to see that. “It’s fine. Dreamfyre won’t hurt anyone unless I tell her to.”

“I’ve never been this close to a dragon before,” Corlys said almost breathlessly, a look of childlike wonder on his face.

“You’ll get closer still. Here,” Viserra said as she took his hand and guided it to Dreamfyre’s snout.

Perhaps sensing her rider’s trust for him, Dreamfyre relaxed and graciously moved into Corlys’s hand. Corlys laughed a little, overwhelmed by the amazement. Viserra smiled at the sight.

“Help me strap the saddle on. You’ll be riding behind me.”

Corlys paused at that. “Wait, I’ll be riding with you?” he asked, surprised.

“I don’t see why not. Are you scared?” she teased.

He shook his head, his confident smirk returning, though she couldn’t help but feel it was all merely bravado. “Of course not.”

Viserra simply gave him a smirk of her own in response. “I’ll take your word for it then.”

It took them almost half an hour to prepare the saddle, but Viserra would say they couldn’t be too careful since she was taking an inexperienced passenger with her, one she would have to make sure to chain to the saddle quite securely.

“You ready?” she asked as Dreamfyre unfurled her wings and crawled toward the mouth of the cave. As they reached the entrance, Viserra looked down and noticed the sheer drop and the jagged rocks below. Impossible to scale. No one would be claiming the Den could compromise the security of the castle, that was for sure.

Of course, that view was probably not doing Corlys any favours. “Can I say no?”

She chuckled before urging Dreamfyre into the sky with simply a thought. Soon High Tide became small as they climbed into the sky, seeing all the island of Driftmark before them. In the distance, she even spotted Hull and Castle Driftmark, which she had yet to visit still.

Her thoughts were soon drawn however, to the way Corlys had wrapped his arms around her waist and was trying to pretend he was not terrified. “So, you’re scared of heights then?”

“It’s merely a healthy appreciation of the danger of falling to your death,” he retorted.

“Oh that’s too bad. You don’t trust me?” she teased before taking Dreamfyre into a spin that sent blood rushing to her head and exhilaration through her veins.

“Nope, no, I most definitely do not trust you!” he rebuked, annoyed. Viserra laughed, the contrast with the supposedly fearless explorer who had braved the greatest storms and harshest seas the world could throw at him tickled her. It made him seem a little less like a legend and more like a person.

For a few brief moments however, Viserra was so absorbed by the feeling of riding Dreamfyre again that she forgot about her passenger. To his credit, Corlys did not complain as she took Dreamfyre through a number of dives and spins, though she did notice how his grip around her would tighten, ever so slightly.

Feeling a little guilty, she reined in Dreamfyre and set her on a steady and gentle path through the sky for the Dragonmont in the distance. A thought occurred to her, that perhaps it was not necessarily the height itself that scared Corlys, but the loss of control. The captain of a ship, even in the harshest storm, was the man who gave the orders. It was rare indeed that the captain would put their life and the lives of their crew entirely into another’s hands.

Viserra decided to coax Corlys into it gently. “It’s alright. See? Feel the way Dreamfyre soars through the sky, feel the confident beating of her wings and the breaths she takes. She’s never let me down, and she won’t you either.”

“It feels surreal. I never thought that I’d be riding a dragon,” Corlys said, the fear having mostly dissipated and the amazement and wonder having returned to his voice.

Viserra turned back toward him and smiled. “Right? It never gets old. The feeling of wonder as you fly through the sky, it’s hard to even describe it. I’m sorry about earlier, it’s been some time, I couldn’t resist taking Dreamfyre for some spins.”

“It’s fine. They weren’t exactly unenjoyable, but, a warning perhaps next time?”

“Yes, of course.”

They continued flying like that for a while. Eventually Viserra started taking Dreamfyre into more dives and spins, taking care to warn Corlys as she had promised. Soon she felt him relaxing, enjoying the ride as much as she was.

It was hard to find words to describe the way it felt to fly atop a dragon. The feeling of power and pride, like you were on top of the world. The wonder as you saw the clouds close enough to reach, the lands below as small as toys for children. It was beautiful, breathtaking, and extraordinary, and Viserra wanted to share it all with Corlys.

Eventually they finally made it to Dragonstone and Viserra noticed that Caraxes and Meleys were both on the island, the two giving roars of recognition to Dreamfyre who responded in kind. For a moment she thought of landing to greet Aemon and Rhaenys but decided against it. She could do that another time, this moment, this ride, was for her and Corlys. It wouldn’t do to interrupt it.

Rounding Dragonstone, Viserra continued to fly Dreamfyre around the area of the Gullet, even going so far as to spot Massey’s Hook in the distance. At one point she even descended low enough for Dreamfyre’s wings to strafe the clear blue waters of the sea as they sped along so fast the wind blew her hair into Corlys’s face. They had had some laughs over that.

They spoke rarely, if even that. More than the wind making it hard to hear the words stopped them, neither wanted to disturb the tender beauty of their flight, as if fearing that acknowledging it would make it vanish.

Time seemed to slip away from them. They finally returned to High Tide having missed luncheon and almost dinner too. The sun was setting when both had managed to slip away from Rhaekar’s lecture to meet atop the ‘Highest Tide’, the nickname given to the tallest tower in the castle by its residents, and the very same one in which they had spoken at the end of Viserra’s first trip to Driftmark all those months ago.

“Well I can’t say that has been the first time I’ve been lectured by Rhaekar for being irresponsible,” Corlys said as they reached the top of the tower and out of earshot of the man in question.

“It was for me, I felt so awkward. And Irina smirking at me was not helping!” Viserra said, aghast.

“Ah, Rhaekar was going easy on you. He likes you too much to really lecture you.”

Considering they were on the topic, Viserra decided to tell Corlys a little of what she had heard of how Rhaekar felt, in order to prepare him for the conversation she had a feeling they’d be having soon.

“I can promise you that I’ll listen to what he has to say, and do what I can. I want to mend my relationship with him as much as you. But he has to be the one to approach me, I’ve tried talking to him before and he won’t hear it. It has to be on his terms,” Corlys said at last.

“Thank you, that’s all I need from you.”

Corlys nodded before looking out from the tower and she followed. Like the last time, the Dragonmont was in the distance, yet for the two of them who had seen it in all its glory just earlier that afternoon, it seemed a pittance now.

“The view doesn’t quite compare does it?” Corlys asked.

“It has its merits,” Viserra said.

“That’s just you trying to be polite. But it’s alright. Once you’ve see the world from the eyes of a dragon, any view would pale in comparison,” Corlys said wistfully, staring into the skies and the tint of the setting sun’s light gilding the clouds.

“And how was it?” she asked, making her husband snap out of his daze.

“It was extraordinary. It’s hard to truly find any words that do it justice I think,” he finally answered after taking a few moments.

“Something special that you cannot truly put into words?” she teased, bringing up the old jape.

Corlys laughed and Viserra could not stop herself from thinking that she liked his laugh. “Something like that.”

“As special as myself?” she asked, half teasing, half genuinely curious.

“I don’t think I’ll ever find anything that’s quite as special as you, Viserra Velaryon,” he said, emphasizing her new family name, making her shiver at the way he said the name. As if he was pleased to be able to claim she was his.

“It was incredible to fly. To feel the wind on my face, my hair flowing behind in the air, the clouds I stared at as a boy now close enough to reach out and touch.

“It was also humbling I suppose, to see that everything I’ve built looks so small when seen from a dragon’s eye. Yet none of that can compare to the pride and joy I felt with you in my arms, knowing that you were there to share that experience with me, to give it to me.”

Viserra felt her cheeks burning red. Just when she had calmed down and he was making her feel shy all over again. Was he doing this on purpose? She turned away, trying to hide her blush. “Flatterer.”

He laughed, amused at her reaction. “I wouldn’t call telling the truth to be flattery.”

“The last time we were on this tower together, do you remember what I asked you?” he asked suddenly.

“You asked if I thought I would be happy, as Driftmark’s lady and as your wife,” she replied as the sun finally dipped below the horizon and twilight took the world.

“And are you? I got a lecture from Irina the other day, about leaving you to drown in work you are not prepared for.”

Viserra felt a bit down. She had thought to have impressed Irina but she thought she was unable to handle the duties of the Lady of the Tides?

“She also said that you were perhaps the fastest learner she had ever seen, picking up things faster even then she had. Do not feel upset Viserra, she was only looking out for you and her praise is not something she gives for no reason.

“It’s also made me realize that I haven’t been entirely fair with you and I am sorry about that. I’ve been extremely busy the past few weeks and I haven’t been able to spend time with you or teach you all this like I promised I would. I apologize.”

“It’s alright. It’s just… it’s been very stressful. The education given to me by my tutors did little to prepare me for being the Lady of the Tides, I can’t help but feel that there’s something lacking in me,” she confessed.

“Never think that Viserra. Not once has either myself, Irina, or Rhaekar thought that of you. It’s not your fault, it’s mine for not doing more to prepare you. I can reassure you that had you been the lady of any other castle, whatever you had learned growing up in the Red Keep would have been more than sufficient,” Corlys said to her, turning her face to his to look into her eyes, indigo on deep purple.

“But not High Tide, not Driftmark,” she countered.

“Well, that’s less to do with you and more to do with us.”

“I know, Rhaekar said something like that. Something about having every member of the family carry their weight in whatever way they can?”

“Yes. I have scores of cousins from cadet branches of the family and not one has been allowed to sit and leech off our treasury. Each one has been found a job to match their talents, so they may contribute in some way to the house. Be it as the governor of Velos, captains of ships both mercantile and military, accountants, artists, clerks, knights, guards, officers, and more.”

Viserra raised her eyebrows. “I can think of a few houses that would stand to benefit if they do the same.”

Corlys smirked. “Well like I told you before, House Velaryon operates differently from our peers. I am sorry that you had to find that out the hard way. But let me make it up to you. I will be clearing some of my schedule in King’s Landing so I can handle matters both as the Master of Ships and Lord of Tides here in the area of the Gullet. While there probably will be traveling to say, the Hook or Dragonstone, I don’t think that that will be a problem.”

Viserra was a bit confused, why was he telling her this? She said as much when she asked him.

“That’s because you’ll be coming with me. For the next few weeks until I have to return to King’s Landing to report to the Small Council, you will be accompanying me, not Rhaekar or Irina. Irina can handle those particular duties you may be concerned about for the time being. What’s important is that we bring you up to speed on the way we do things here in Driftmark.

“I can kill two birds with one stone, spend time with you and also teach you what you need to know, and I can promise you that the next time I return to King’s Landing and you are left as the highest ranking person in this castle, you will not feel like you have been thrown into the depths of the ocean and asked to swim without being taught how.”

“That would be amazing, thank you,” Viserra said, a little stunned. It would be a change to go from barely spending any time with her husband, to working alongside him for weeks on end, but she could not say it was an unwelcome one.

They remained there for a while, just taking in the view as the stars came out, no longer outshone by the sun, before she excused herself, saying she needed to take a bath before supper. Before she left however, Corlys called out to her.

“Viserra, I would like to fly with you again, if you don’t mind,” he said tenderly as he looked at her.

“Of course not, I’ll ask if you’re free the next time I take Dreamfyre out for a ride,” she replied. “I’ll see you at supper,” she added on almost as an afterthought before she walked down the stairs, leaving her husband alone to his thoughts.

Chapter 15: Blood is thicker than Water

Chapter Text

Sixth Moon, 88 AC

Viserra

“Alys dear, have you been settling in well?” Irina asked. She took a sip of her tea as she let Alys consider the question. The three of them were having their luncheon together today, a private meal Irina had invited her goodsisters to.

They would be eating a light meal of more simply flavored (though no less delicious) chicken and some rice and garlic-fried vegetables to accompany it. High Tide’s residents, Viserra had found, were quite obsessed with rice. Many insisted it was the best grain to eat as staple with all the exotic dishes that had become commonplace on the island due to its spice trade. They said it best absorbed and complimented their flavors.

“Well enough I suppose. Driftmark is… it’s very different from Gulltown,” Alys answered.

‘I can relate to that,’ Viserra thought. Driftmark would certainly be different from anything Alys would have expected. The island, its people, and the house that ruled it all alike.

“But do you like it here?” Viserra questioned as their lunch arrived. She hoped she wouldn’t feel any nausea eating it. It had been plaguing her mornings for some days already, much to her annoyance.

“I suppose I do. We’re not too far from Gulltown if I ever get homesick, and Driftmark and High Tide both beautiful and wondrous, like out of a song or fairy tale. The beaches are exquisite, the city exciting, and the castle like a luxurious palace. And there’s so much to learn and explore. So many new ideas and inventions to fascinate yourself with, it can feel overwhelming at times.”

“Don’t worry Alys,” Irina reassured. “I was much the same when I first came to Driftmark. It took me time, but I adapted. You will too. And I agree, there’s something special about Driftmark and everything that can be found on it, but it can be very overwhelming when you first see it all. I was lucky to have Rhaekar to guide me through it.”

“Aurane has done similarly, when he has had the time,” Alys said with a smile that did not wholly reach her eyes.

“And how have things been going with Aurane? Well?” Viserra asked, interested to hear of how her goodsister and goodbrother were getting along. She knew Aurane least of the Velaryon brothers.

“Well I guess. He’s a perfect gentleman when we meet, but I cannot help but feel ignored at times. I understand he’s one of Lord Corlys’s trusted advisors and lieutenants, and with much to do, but I can’t help but feel a little lonely.”

“I could speak to him about that if you wish,” Irina offered.

“No, it’s only my own selfishness. I know he’s very busy. I wouldn’t want to be a bother to him,” Alys rejected worriedly.

Viserra frowned. It was hardly a bother for a newlywed wife to expect her husband to spend more time with her was it? She wasn’t very close to Aurane, but she could ask Corlys or Rhaekar to subtly raise the topic with their brother. She doubted there was any malice in Aurane’s neglect of his wife, but it was not right nonetheless. Viserra knew what that felt like, if for only a brief time. She would not have Alys continue to dwell in it if she could help it.

“I was curious to ask something actually Irina. It felt improper to ask Aurane or his brothers. What was Lord Daemon like? You actually met him, unlike Viserra or myself. I find myself curious to hear what sort of man raised those three brothers,” Alys inquired, changing the topic.

Viserra didn’t wholly approve of Alys changing the topic quite unsubtly, and glancing over to Irina who sighed softly, she ascertained that neither did she. Still, she straightened slightly in her seat to pay attention to Irina’s answer. She was quite curious herself.

“A proud man. Stubborn at times even, but strong. He cared deeply for his family and for the wellbeing of Driftmark,” Irina recalled. “Those grandsons of his are much the same. Proud, often stubborn, and yet brilliant, so very brilliant and capable. They have a passion for this house and for this island. They’ve each worked hard and continue to work hard for years, seeking the continued betterment of Driftmark, never faltering or ceasing. I always thought it was a shame that there was so much tension between Rhaekar and Corlys. The pride of two stubborn men, unable to realize that they both wanted the same thing, that they need not compete for Daemon’s affections for he had enough for them both.”

Irina nodded to Viserra. “We have you to thank Viserra, for setting them onto the path toward reconciling. I tried myself, but I have never been close to Corlys, and Rhaekar would not heed my advice.”

Viserra shook her head. “I was simply in the right place at the right time.”

“And we are fortunate that you were.” Irina smiled.

“Mother, Vaella’s lost one of her toys and now she’s complaining. What should I do?” The ladies of Driftmark turned to see Irina’s ten-year old son Vaemond standing next to their table, a worried expression on his face.

“Well, be a good brother and go help her find it then,” Irina chided. Vaemond soon scurried off.

“Honestly that boy. Sometimes I thinks he does that on purpose to annoy me,” Irina said with some endearment in her voice. “The slightest possible excuse and he comes to see me. I suppose it’s some clever plan he has come up with, a way to disturb me and make me pay attention to him, even when I am busy with my work.”

“That sounds sweet,” Viserra said.

Irina sighed. “I suppose it is. It can be annoying at times, but it does make me happy. My son is still at that age where he wants his mother’s attention. I will have to cherish this time.”

“Your son is quite responsible for his age. Polite, good-mannered, and always looking after his sister,” Alys complimented politely.

“He is, isn’t he?” Irina asked in that proud tone only a mother could have. “Sometimes I wonder how I was blessed with children as wonderful as Vaemond and Vaella, for all that they can be infuriating at times. I would not give them up for anything in this world. It’s a sentiment I feel you both will understand in the coming years.”

Viserra looked down at her plate and made to finish her meal. Thankfully, she’d been able to enjoy the taste and keep it down so far. As she distractedly picked at the remnants of her food, she considered Irina’s words. She had always known that she would one day be a mother. It was expected of her to bear the heirs of House Velaryon and she was by no means opposed to that. Yet a part of her found motherhood daunting. A challenge she did not know if she was ready for. She was not sure if she would ever be ready. Her own example was lacking; to herself at least.

When they had all finished their lunch, Irina called the servants to bring dessert. Viserra was quite pleased to find it was chocolate cake. An exquisite new flavor and snack deriving from the cocoa bean, which was imported from the Summer Islands, chocolate had swiftly become one of Viserra’s favorites in her time on Driftmark, or at least it had been.

Taking a bite of a piece of cake, Viserra had to suppress the desire to gag as she begrudgingly swallowed it and set the rest down on her plate. She was unlikely to take any more. That was strange and disappointing, it was usually one of her favorite snacks. This was not the first change in her taste for food she had noticed.

“Something wrong Viserra?” Alys asked.

“Yes actually. This past week or so, I’ve found myself with strange taste in food. Things which I favored before, like this chocolate cake, I now find impossible to stomach. And things I had little appetite for, I now find irresistible, such as lemons, raw and bitter.”

Irina leaned in closer. “Is that all?”

A thought began to occur to Viserra, recalling the past days spent with either an uneasy nausea or even a violent retching at times. She remembered now, that her moon’s blood had already been absent one month and wondered how she had not seen the signs earlier. “No,” she answered her goodsister, realization in her voice. “I believe I’ve been having morning sickness as well.”

Irina leaned back into her seat. “You should see Maester Desmond to confirm but… Congratulations Viserra.”

“I… Thank you Irina. I’m still trying to come to terms with it myself.”

“It’s alright. Take all the time you need.”

“How?” She grabbed Irina’s hand almost desperately. “How will I know I’m ready?”

“It comes naturally to some… but for others, like myself and I think you. You’ll just have to take a leap of faith.”

To think only moments ago Viserra had been thinking about the challenge she feared from motherhood when she had already been set on an inescapable path toward it. The irony was great indeed.

______________________________

Rhaekar Velaryon

Rhaekar looked at the portrait before him. Like most paintings, it used perspective to give the illusion of depth, creating a shockingly realistic portrait that looked exceedingly lifelike. Yet no matter how stunningly accurate or realistic his portrait was, Daemon Velaryon’s portrait was not him.

The door opened then, and in strolled the Lord of the Tides. Rhaekar stood at attention as Corlys takes his seat, the lord’s seat, their grandfather’s seat. Even though near two years have passed already, Rhaekar still struggled to accept that this solar and that seat was now his brother’s and not their grandfather’s.

“Take a seat Rhaekar,” Corlys said, and in that moment he reminds him very much of their grandfather.

Obeying his lord, Rhaekar took a seat in front of Corlys and began reporting what he had come to say.

“Work in the Hook and Wendwater is proceeding well. We are expecting a greater yield from the tea plantations this harvest, and we will likely soon see profits from them. I have prepared a plan to use those profits to reinvest into our holdings in the Hook. There are countless other resources we haven’t fully tapped yet. More funds would help us maximize the potential of those resources. The Wendwaters have also submitted a request for a joint venture in expanding their port on the mouth of the river,” Rhaekar reported.

“Our cousin Aella is the Lady of Wendwater correct?” Corlys asked. Rhaekar couldn’t blame him. House Velaryon was very large, despite its losses in the Shivers. It could be difficult at times keeping track of so many cousins and who they had wed or what they were doing.

“Yes. She has also written a personal letter supporting her family’s proposal and arguing it would be beneficial to Driftmark also.”

“I’m inclined to believe her. Do you have her letter with you?”

“I do,” Rhaekar said, drawing it out from his pocket.

“Thank you.” Corlys took the letter from his hands and started reading it. When he had finished, he gave it back to Rhaekar. “Write back to Aella, tell her that I will consider her request more fully in the coming days in order to work out a full plan outlining how much Driftmark will contribute and what we will expect in turn. However tentatively, you can tell her the answer is yes.”

“Understood. There are also a few other matters I wished to speak to you about…” For the next few minutes, Rhaekar reported everything he thought relevant, concerning both Driftmark itself and the Hook and other lands sworn to it. There were no particular crises or problems at present, simply the routine running of a large fief, much of which was the day to day management which had long since been delegated to Rhaekar. However, Rhaekar felt more confident when he knew for sure his lord approved of his actions or gave him direct instructions.

Loath as he may once have been to admit it, Corlys was a good lord. When he was around on Driftmark to help in its running, he did an exceedingly good job. So much so that it sometimes left Rhaekar feeling insecure once again, that even in his chosen field of expertise, Corlys was just as good as him, maybe even better.

Their grandfather hadn’t been wrong to put his trust in Corlys to lead their house. Rhaekar had always known that, but he supposed a part of him, that jealous resentful part he tried to lock up, had not wanted to accept it. Had searched for any flaws it could to justify his feelings of resentment, to hide the deeper and truer feeling of inadequacy.

Soon the conversation strayed from routine matters of stewardship and governance to someone they both cared for. “How is Viserra doing?” Corlys asked.

“Very well actually. She’s a dedicated student, and a very fast learner. Irina and I have often found ourselves surprised at how fast she has picked up,” Rhaekar praised.

Viserra had become somewhat of a protégé of both Rhaekar and his wife in the past few months. She was by now a good friend, in time something akin to the little sister he had never had perhaps. Their similar, if somewhat different experiences with being the middle child of their families had helped them form a connection. It was Viserra’s insights that had seen him slowly relent on his feelings toward Corlys, even if they were yet unsettled.

Corlys smiled and Rhaekar could not help but feel wonder at the expression on his brother’s face. It reminded him much of his own smile for Irina. He was happy for him. Viserra was clearly good for him.

“I’m glad to hear it. She’s a very brilliant and clever woman. It’s wonderful to see her growing into her own,” Corlys said.

“She is,” Rhaekar agreed. “It is not solely her efforts that should be praised but yours too. I noticed, and she said so herself, her progress improved dramatically after you tutored her.” Rhaekar said, trying to give a compliment to Corlys. He wondered if it came across correctly.

“Thank you Rhaekar. It is rare that I receive a compliment from you,” Corlys said gratefully.

And I you, Rhaekar could not help but think. Corlys had tried, no doubt on Viserra’s prodding, to show more overt acknowledgement of Rhaekar’s contributions. He was grateful for it, but they still felt like rare occurrences, and hollow even though he knew they were sincere.

“Yet one cannot help but feel that Viserra is still possessed by an overly strong drive to prove herself. A leftover symptom perhaps, from the lack of acknowledgement she judged her family to have given her. She is not the only one.”

Rhaekar looked at his brother in surprise. This was how he sought to settle things?

Corlys smiled sadly, almost awkwardly. “Must I be blunt? I will confess, awkward cordiality and politeness is much better than the thinly concealed hostility it was before Viserra came, yet it is not a long-term resolution. Whether we like it or not, we must have this conversation sooner or later before the tension between us festers once more like an undressed wound.”

“And you would rather it be sooner?”

“Yes. I want my brother back. The brother who was thick as thieves with Aurane and I when we were boys. The brother I trusted with Driftmark.”

Rhaekar found himself confused. “It was our grandfather that trusted me with Driftmark. Not you.”

Corlys looked to the portrait of Daemon hanging near the door of the solar and shook his head. “Our grandfather… he didn’t expect as much of you or Aurane. It’s the truth, bitter as it may be. I will confess my fault in that. I was too brilliant a child and our grandfather, broken and grieving after the loss of so many of our kin, latched on to me as the future of our house. When you and Aurane proved to be far more ‘ordinary’, he was disappointed.”

Rhaekar knew it wasn’t Corlys’s fault, but he felt his anger return, clenching his fists on the desk. It wasn’t Corlys’s fault, but it was so much easier to be angry at him who was alive and present before him than a dead and buried grandfather he had loved deeply and tried to make proud all his life.

“You remember I am sure, the arguments that I had with Grandfather when Aurane and I planned our first voyage?”

“Yes. Of course I do.”

“When our grandfather’s wrath was at its peak, he demanded to know what he should do, should a storm take Aurane and I? I told him then, that I had two brothers, and the one I was leaving behind was a worthy heir. He made you the steward of Driftmark because of that.”

Rhaekar, who had turned his face toward the ground away from Corlys in an effort to suppress his anger, turned it up sharply toward him and barked. “You’re lying.”

Corlys shook his head. “I am not, Rhaekar. I knew even when we were boys, even when you seemed an immature and arrogant brat at times, you had the potential in you to be extraordinary in your own way. And now I know my predictions were true. You are perhaps the finest steward Driftmark has ever boasted.

“Our grandfather made you steward when I left that first time. To test you perhaps. I know you felt he was strict and overbearing and expecting too much. Quite honestly perhaps he was, but it was borne out of a desire to see you reach the potential I claimed you to have. Perhaps motivated by some residual anger toward myself, he wanted to see if you failed. Lo and behold you surpassed his expectations and proved to be a very promising junior steward. He told me as much himself when I returned.”

Rhaekar didn’t know how to feel. He didn’t want to feel.

“Do not resent Grandfather. Flawed as he was, he cared for you and realized your worth in the end. You were right Rhaekar. You were the one who spent years with our grandfather, managing Driftmark and caring for him as he aged into dotage and senility. You may feel that he didn’t care for that compared to my achievements, but I guarantee you he did. He made that clear enough to me,” Corlys said with a tint of resentment he barely detected.

Rhaekar looked at his brother and realized that in his own way, his brother too must have had his difficulties with their grandfather. “I was not alone in questioning our grandfather’s affections was I?”

After all, Corlys and Daemon’s relationship had not been perfect, they had argued much over his remaining unwed and going on dangerous voyages once he had grown up. Rhaekar had used to resent that his brother still seemed to have their grandfather’s love and esteem despite it all, yet now he realized that perhaps those arguments had been Corlys’s own chafing against the expectations of Daemon Velaryon.

“No. You were not. I was the closest to him when we were younger, but we grew more distant eventually. You know the story. I wasn’t content with spending my youth merely ruling and developing Driftmark. I sought adventure and riches for our house, and argued as much to him. I tried to convince him that I would be serving the house as much, if not more than if I stayed on Driftmark to continue ruling it with him. He would not listen. That first voyage, Aurane and I went without his blessing. He told me that he would see us when we returned in failure. Instead we returned laden with the riches with which we built High Tide and later Spicetown with.

“He was amazed of course, and pleased at our surprising success no doubt. But it is easier to forgive someone for being wrong than for being right. I always had a feeling he had never quite forgiven that I had so blatantly defied him and had brought immense fortune to our house despite his predictions. A blow to his pride he could not truly forget despite himself.

“And in those days, when Aurane and I were gone for years at a time. It was you that he turned to. The grandson that remained with him, and he taught you all that you needed to know of stewardship and governance in my stead. It was no longer I that spent the most time with him, but you.”

Rhaekar nodded in understanding. For a time, the two brothers remained in a silent contemplation before Corlys spoke again.

“I have said my part. Now I would hear from you Rhaekar. What is it that you feel towards me? How can we mend this relationship of ours? What do you expect of me, and what can I expect of you in turn?”

Rhaekar gulped. He had wanted to vent on Corlys for years, yet now that it had finally come, it felt daunting, especially given the new information he had learned. He felt like he was in the wrong in some way for feeling or thinking some of the things he did. Yet he shook the hesitation away. Corlys had laid bare his own feelings and told the truth, he should return in kind.

“When we were boys, I admired you. You were everything that I wanted to be. I suppose over the years, the seeds of jealousy were sowed under that admiration. Especially when you and Aurane proved to be fine sailors, and I a lacking one. I, a Velaryon born to ride the waves, and I could scarcely bear to be on a ship.

“You and Aurane went gallivanting across the world against the will of our grandfather, and you proved wildly successful, without me. Gone was the time when the three of us did everything together. You took Aurane and left me behind to care for our grandfather and govern Driftmark and I did, commendably by your own words. And yet to me it seemed always like he favored you more and the pragmatic part of me cannot help but agree for you had brought back such phenomenal wealth. You singlehandedly lifted our house to its zenith Corlys. I was resentful I suppose. Part of me still is, to be left unable to take part in that, and feeling like the work I could do was not appreciated,” Rhaekar confessed.

“Thank you, for telling me,” Corlys said finally. “I feel I must reassure you Rhaekar. You are not lesser simply because you were left behind, nor is the work you do any less important even if it may be thought less prestigious by others. Personal glory and renown need not be the most important things in life.

“Did you know, our grandfather covered up my invention of the compass and chess, and so many other things because he feared the attention it would bring to me? Of course in time when our university was established and my own reputation had grown, such things became more generally known anyway but I accepted his wishes, if begrudgingly. So long as our house was uplifted, it mattered less to me if I was given personal accolades.”

“You never told me that,” Rhaekar said, though he had guessed as much.

“It feels unjust to be denied credit, denied appreciation for your hard work doesn’t it?” Corlys asked. “And fair or not, history will remember a steward less than the Sea Snake or his lieutenant. You will never be the face of our house, never the famed adventurer or sailor Aurane and I are but you became something just as important, if not more. You are our rock Rhaekar, now even more so that our grandfather has passed.

“It is upon your capable stewardship that our house rests. You ensure I have the funds needed for all my projects and plans. You keep our fief and house in good order, while I politick in King’s Landing or travel our domain. I would never have felt at ease leaving Driftmark for my voyages, for my business as Master of Ships or otherwise, if I did not know that I had you to hold it for me. Someone I trust implicitly despite our differences. Someone I know who is better than me at handling its affairs. My brother, Rhaekar Velaryon, Driftmark’s finest steward.”

Corlys stood up then. “No man rules alone brother. A house divided against itself cannot stand. I cannot do this without you. Will you stand with me, reconciled and true brothers once more?”

Rhaekar rose from his seat. “I will never be Aurane. I will never blindly follow you into foolish plans like he does.”

“I don’t need you to,” Corlys said seriously. “I don’t expect you to follow me into the depths of Yi Ti to steal from the Emperor, or to carry out reckless gambles with pirates. All I need you to do, is to continue as you have been, a capable and shrewd steward, and one who is not afraid to speak his mind and tell his lord when he is making a mistake. I need you as you are now, preferably without the awkward politeness or hostility.

“The scar I received from Riptide’s former owner is testament to my ability to make mistakes, as much as I am loath to admit it. I want you to continue being the critic, and to become my right hand as Aurane is my left. Can you do that?”

Rhaekar grasped his brother’s outstretched hand firmly. “You’re giving me license, no not even that, asking me to keep criticizing you? Gladly,” he jested with a hearty smile as he agreed.

Corlys smirked at the jape, remembering as Rhaekar did, a time when this brotherly banter was common and not taken as insult. “We have an agreement then brother.”

“Aye.”

In that moment, a forgotten memory came to mind. Rhaekar remembered once how his grandfather had said that each of the three of them, Rhaekar, Corlys, and Aurane, each had a role to play in their house, and if they worked together, nothing could stop them. He wondered if his grandfather would be proud to see his estranged grandsons fulfilling his vision at last.

__________________________________

Viserra

Viserra leaned her head on the wall beside the door of Corlys’s solar, listening in on a conversation not meant for her ears. She knew she shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but she found it calmed her nerves, distracted her from her own worries. She was also excited to see, or rather hear, the completion of the task she had been working on for what was by now, years. The reconciliation of Corlys and his brother Rhaekar.

A rather happy but unexpected coincidence that it would be now though. It seemed that Corlys would be receiving two joys today, not just one.

The door opened suddenly, scaring her a little with the abruptness as Rhaekar walked out and noticed her leaning against the wall. It was too late to pretend she wasn’t listening. Rhaekar shook his head in fond exasperation before walking away. “Thank you,” he said earnestly as he walked, not turning his face back toward her once.

She looked toward the door, trying to find the courage. She wasn’t sure what she was afraid of. Rhaekar had closed the door behind him as he left so Corlys shouldn’t know that she was here. She paced in front of the door for a little while, trying to think on what to say. As she mustered up her courage, the door opened.

“Do you have something to say to me Viserra? I could hear you pacing since Rhaekar left,” Corlys said, an amused smile on his face.

Like a deer caught in the torch light, she froze momentarily before regaining her bearings. “I… I do.”

“Please, come in then.” He opened the door wider and gestured towards the seats with his hand.

Corlys took his seat but Viserra did not take her own yet. Not having any desire to sit in a recently occupied seat, she took the colder seat and dragged it over beside Corlys. Sitting gracefully on her chair, she took both of Corlys’s hands in her own.

“I am with child,” she announced.

She watched as the inquisitive expression on his face morphed into the brightest smile she had ever seen adorn it and felt her heart skip a beat.

“Truly?” he asked, as if in disbelief.

She nodded. “I had my suspicions, and Maester Desmond confirmed them. Not quite ten weeks he said.”

“I… I had not thought it would be this soon, but I suppose it was not unexpected,” Corlys said, mirth in his eyes.

No indeed, Viserra thought, recalling their many nights together the past few months.

Corlys’s expression dimmed a little then and he looked into her eyes and pressed his forehead to rest gently against hers. “Will you be alright? I know you are already nine and ten, but part of me cannot help but fear…”

She shook her head. “It is not the birth I fear, but the motherhood that follows that gives me pause.”

“Why?” he asked. Confusion writ on his face.

“How good of a mother will I be? Can I be, with the example I was given? I cannot possibly emulate my own can I?” she confessed, pulling back from him.

Corlys pressed his lips against her forehead before he moved his fingers to brush some of her hair that had fallen from her neatly kept fringe. Tucking it gently behind her ear, he brought his hand to caress her cheek softly and she felt herself relax into his touch.

“Viserra Velaryon. You are not your mother,” he said softly. “You were listening in earlier were you not? Rhaekar and I have mended our relationship at last after many long years. You made that possible. I have every faith that you will rise to the challenge of raising your children, our children, regardless of the poor example given to you by your own mother.”

She looked into his eyes and saw what she thought might be love in those purple irises. Unspoken, and undeclared, but she did not need it to be right now.

“And if your worries trouble you still, there are many you can look to apart from your mother. My aunt Laena perhaps, if you feel she has any wisdom to impart to you. Irina also will be happy to help and advise you, as will your elder sisters I am sure.”

Viserra idly wondered how helpful her elder sisters would truly be where this was concerned. She’d never write to Saera of all people for advice and while Alyssa and her had become close in the past year, Viserra remained hesitant to ask her. Alyssa was after all, the reckless madwoman who had taken her infant sons riding on her dragon within a fortnight of their birth. Following that example seemed… unwise to Viserra.

Alyssa had also fallen into melancholy and grief after losing her third son in the cradle and becoming barren. It might be cruel to remind her so blatantly of what she had lost, and Viserra had no wish to hurt her any further.

Daella perhaps? Viserra had never been close to her, though neither had she bullied her like Saera had. Shy and sweet little Daella. She knew her mother still wrote often to her though the rest of the family seemed to have forgotten her. Perhaps it was time to reach out to her? But how did one even go about writing to a sister they barely knew?

Irina might very well be the best option thought Viserra. She had already helped her earlier and the older woman was somewhat of a mentor and friend to her. Corlys’s aunt Laena might have some sage wisdom to offer as well, experience from managing the orphanage and that pack of rambunctious children.

Now that she thought about it, her friend Laena Qoherys, was also nearby on Claw Isle. Viserra had been so swamped by her new duties, she had completely forgotten to visit or write her old friend. A trip to Claw Isle, or a letter at least was definitely in order to share the good news.

“You know. This is making me think once again…”

“Hmm?” Viserra turned her attention back to Corlys, curious.

“How will we decide our children’s names?” he asked.

Viserra would confess, the idea of what name to give her unborn child hadn’t even crossed her mind yet, but now that her husband brought it up, she could not help but ponder. “I don’t know.” She giggled childishly, feeling herself overcome by a strange mix of worry and excitement anticipating the moment those names would be needed.

Corlys chuckled. “A compromise perhaps? You name any daughters that we may have, and I will name any sons.”

“And what if there are only sons and no daughters, or the reverse?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“Well, that is the gamble,” he replied, wearing a mischievous smile. Viserra decided to humor him.

“Very well. I accept your proposal. Though I will keep my motherly right to veto any horrid names you may find yourself possessed to bestow upon our poor sons.”

“Hah. And do I get any fatherly right to this for our daughters?”

“No,” Viserra said, a smirk on her lips, a glint in her eyes. “No you do not. You can be sure that I would give my daughters only the most beautiful names, befitting the beauty they will surely inherit from me.”

“I believe you.” Corlys was amused. In endearment he said, “I don’t quite mind then, but I will retain my freedom to make suggestions.”

“As I retain mine to reject them if I so please,” she said overly seriously before both of them could hold back no more and laughed in delight.

As their laughter subsided, Viserra felt her worries begin to creep back up. As if sensing that, Corlys placed his hand on her cheek again in a gentle rebuke. “Put aside your worries. Leave them in the future where they belong. Focus on this moment, right here, right now. Because this moment Viserra, is the happiest moment of my life. The first of many I wish to have with you. And I hope one day, all these moments of mine will be yours too.”

She wasn’t entirely sure what feelings ran through her then. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart quickened. It felt like there was fire filling her veins, making her bold. She leaned in and kissed him. Her answer was not spoken. It did not need to be.

Chapter 16: Hatchlings

Chapter Text

First Moon, 89 AC

Alyssa

Her sister’s screams tore through the air, shrill and brutal. Alyssa winced. She knew that pain very well, had experienced it thrice herself.

She lied on a great canopy bed, red satin and velvet adorning pristine white sheets she was currently crumpling as her fingers squeezed in pain. Her little sister Viserra, Princess of House Targaryen, Lady of House Velaryon, rider of Dreamfyre, and yet for all those lofty titles, not even she could overcome the birthing bed so easily.

“Alyssa, it hurts. I’m scared,” Viserra cried to her, her deep purple eyes wide and panicked.

She sat on the edge of the bed and held her sister’s hand, gently squeezing. “I know. You must have faith. Be strong now Viserra, and all will be well.”

“Where is Corlys?” she asked tiredly.

“He’ll be here soon, I sent a servant to inform him quite some time ago,” Alyssa reassured her.

Viserra nodded absentmindedly before withholding another scream as pain flared through her body again.

Alyssa did her best to calm herself. If she started panicking and worrying, she would only stress Viserra unduly and she refused to do that. Everything would go well. Viserra had the best care possible, the attention of Grand Maester Elysar, the finest midwives, acolytes, servants, tools and methods. She even had those forceps tools, sterilized in boiled wine to the insistence of Maester Desmond, her goodbrother’s personal maester from Driftmark and the primary advisor to Viserra during her pregnancy. He too was present and had mandated a strict standard of cleanliness for his lady’s health.

Yet doubt crept into her heart nonetheless. Had she not had the best care herself? What good had that done in the end? And Viserra was early too, thirty-five weeks instead of the expected forty. It was not necessarily a cause for alarm but with everything that could go wrong…

Alyssa shook her head in anger at herself. Now was not the time. She refused to think of such horrid things or succumb to the melancholy that still threatened to drown her when she even thought of the last time she had given birth, when she had been told it would be the last time she could ever give birth. Her sister needed her right now. She would not fail her.

“Princess Alyssa, Princess Viserra,” a servant called, having come to stand before them, the same one that she had sent to call her goodbrother.

“Yes? Is my goodbrother coming?” Alyssa demanded of him.

“He is Princess, but…Her Grace, the Queen, is with him.”

Viserra’s grip on her fingers tightened but Alyssa ignored it for now.

“And why did you feel it necessary to inform me of this?” she asked, an edge in her voice.

The servant quailed. “I-It was Lord Velaryon Princess, he bade me run ahead and inform you. He did not say why.”

“Go.”

He bowed his head. “With your leave Princess.”

She turned her attention to her sister, still in pain and with a grimace that was not from childbirth alone.

“Viserra...”

“Don’t.”

“She is our mother,” Alyssa pleaded.

“I don’t care. I don’t want her here. I don’t want her to see me like this,” Viserra choked out, pain colouring her words. A vulnerability she kept cloaked in vanity and bravado now exposed like an open wound.

Alyssa sighed. Viserra’s relationship with their mother had always been… difficult, and it was not the right time or place to corral Viserra into letting her back into her heart. For now, she would do as her sister wished. The last thing she wanted was to burden her sister with any unnecessary worries during such a delicate time.

She got up from the bed and waited by the door for Lord Corlys and her mother to arrive. It was not long before she spotted them, walking briskly and hurriedly toward the room.

“How is she?” Lord Corlys asked as they arrived.

“There is nothing concerning as of yet, but she is in pain, as you would expect. She is waiting for you Lord Corlys,” she answered.

He nodded and entered the room immediately. Her mother made to follow him but Alyssa stood in her way.

“Alyssa?” she asked, confused.

Alyssa only shook her head, a sad expression on her face.

The disappointment on her mother’s face was bitter indeed. Crestfallen, she said, “I’ll wait here then. Will you… will you let her know that at least?”

“I will,” Alyssa said. A sliver of relief came over her mother, as if a small weight had been removed but the greater part of the yoke remained on her still.

She turned back around and closed the door behind her as she returned to Viserra’s side. Corlys was opposite of her on the right side of the bed. As promised she told her sister of their mother’s words and watched as a strange mix of emotions writ all over her face, as if she did not know how to feel.

Alyssa wondered why Viserra so feared their mother’s presence if she could not fully hide the traces of happiness that lit up her eyes. Perhaps she feared looking weak, having worn a mask of perfection for so long in an attempt to please her. Perhaps she simply despised the idea of that demanding strict mother watching her in such a troubling moment and yet all the same, she could not help but feel pleased knowing her mother was there for her even still.

It was a strange torrent of love and joy, fear and anger, that was soon swallowed up by a feeling greater than them all in that moment. Pain. Soon enough Viserra had no time or mind to think about their mother because she was soon to be one herself and the little one was not making it easy.

It was hours before the babe came. Alyssa and Corlys and all the others took turns tending to Viserra as each had to break and refresh several times. There was no break for Viserra however, who labored unceasingly throughout it all.

By the time Maester Desmond announced the babe was coming, the sun was setting. Alyssa remembered that Viserra and her had been breaking their fast together in early morn when her labours had started.

There was a brief moment of tension as Grand Maester Elysar and Maester Desmond bickered over who would actually use the forceps and deliver the babe before Lord Corlys ruled in favour of Maester Desmond.

“I have no doubts in your capabilities Grand Maester, but there is no one I would trust to deliver my child more than Desmond.”

With that said, Corlys personally gave Maester Desmond the forceps and soon he and the midwife were ready and looking to her and Lord Corlys.

Corlys leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Viserra’s forehead as Alyssa pulled her hand up to her lips and did the same there.

“Viserra, we’re going to need you to be strong now,” Corlys said to her.

“Haven’t I been strong long enough?” she asked weakly.

“One last push sister, I promise,” Alyssa said before nodding to the maester.

“Princess, I’m going to need you to push now, on the count of three,” Maester Desmond said and Viserra nodded.

“One, two, three.”

Viserra screamed again but soon, finally after so many long hours, the baby’s cries sounded loudly through the room. Maester Desmond held the babe in his arms like it was the most precious thing he had ever carried. Considering the old man’s fanatic loyalty to House Velaryon, it might very well be.

“It’s a boy my lord, my lady,” he said as he wiped the baby clean of the blood. Reverently he carried the babe over to Viserra who almost snatched him from his arms.

Alyssa sent a servant to call her father and the rest of the family. She was sure they would want to meet the latest member of the family. She then clambered onto the bed and craned over to Viserra to see her nephew.

He was an adorable babe truth be told, one might even call him beautiful. Fitting, for the son of Viserra. Small tufts of silver-gold hair covered her nephew’s little head and dark purple eyes stared into her own. Viserra and Corlys looked absolutely enamored with their newborn son. In her mind’s eye, another babe that died too soon took her nephew’s place but she crushed that thought mercilessly. It was a happy moment, by the Seven she would let herself be happy as well.

Her mother finally entered then, and Viserra did not reject her this time. Alyssa watched as Viserra allowed her mother to hold her grandson briefly before asking for him back. She could have sworn she saw a tear fall from her mother’s eye as she waited by the side of the bed.

Unexpectedly then, Viserra’s back arched as she suddenly groaned in pain again. Corlys hurriedly took their son from her as Alyssa called to Maester Desmond, who was cleaning his forceps.

As the maester examined Viserra who was still moaning, Alyssa asked, “Is it the afterbirth?”

“No Princess,” the maester said, staring at her. “There is a twin.”

“I have to push out another one!?” Viserra exclaimed.

“Yes my lady, I am sorry about that,” Maester Desmond answered, wincing when his lady proceeded to scream gutturally.

Viserra’s eyes turned to hers and to her husbands’, flitting around in panic. “I can’t do this, not again, not so soon.”

“You can and you will Viserra,” their mother said then, shocking both Alyssa and Viserra who had forgotten temporarily that she was still in the room.

Queen Alysanne sat by her estranged daughter’s side and held her hand, looking at the guarded look on her daughter’s face.

“I gave birth three and ten times, but never to twins. I can’t imagine what it must feel to go through that. But I know you my daughter, and I know that you are strong. You can and you will do this because you are Viserra Targaryen, you are a dragon. And dragons do not give up.”

Viserra sat up a little, chin held high as she nodded and her body began to tense, ready to push one last time. Soon Maester Desmond and the midwife were ready again and nine and ten minutes after the first, her sister’s second child came into the world with a cry louder even than its brother’s before it.

Viserra collapsed into the bed, exhausted. “Desmond,” she moaned. “My child.”

As reverently as he had the first, Maester Desmond carried the babe over to Viserra. “It’s another boy my lady.”

Viserra turned her head over to her husband, still nestling the first babe in his arms. “Corlys. Give me that one too. I would have both my sons with me,” she said, heavy breaths interspersing her sentences.

Corlys smiled before obeying and soon Viserra was nestling two babes to her breasts. As twins often were, the babes were identical, the same face, hair, and eyes, though only time would tell if that would persist as they grew up.

As Corlys sat on the bed, careful not to lean on his tired wife, his gaze never once left his newborn sons, neither did Viserra’s. They looked like a portrait perfect family in that moment and for once dark thoughts did not come to Alyssa’s mind as she felt herself grinning in happiness at the sight.

It was not long before the rest of the family arrived. Her father, Aemon, Baelon, and Maegelle as well as Rhaenys, Viserys, Daemon, and Gael. Vaegon was rather conspicuously absent despite his presence in the capital. Alyssa noticed her mother’s frown when she also noticed his absence. She’d be giving him an earful later, that was for sure.

Good, Alyssa thought to herself. He deserves it.

Baelon came to stand beside Alyssa herself and she leaned her head onto his shoulder. Though not as exhausted as Viserra was, it had been a long day for her as well.

Daemon and Gael hurriedly rushed over to Viserra, the latter practically squealing, and started fawning over the babies. It did not take a genius to see that Viserra really did not have the energy to deal with them right now.

Her mother was faster than her in acting. “Children!” she rebuked as she practically carried them away by the scruffs of their necks. “You should know better than that! Apologize to Viserra! And Daemon, remember that she’s your aunt!”

The pair of them looked rather sheepish. “Sorry Viserra/Aunt Viserra,” they said together, almost synchronized.

“You are forgiven. Just don’t do that again in the future,” Viserra said. She was still clearly very tired, probably would be for several days.

Alyssa shook her head in slight exasperation as her mother deposited her son at her feet. He looked rather afraid she was going to scold him as well.

She clucked her tongue in a disappointed tone. “I think your grandmother has said everything that needs to be said already, don’t you think so?”

Daemon nodded his head hurriedly.

Alyssa sighed. “You have to be more mindful Daemon. Go stand with your brother and your cousin,” she said, gesturing to where her eldest son Viserys was standing with her brother Aemon and his wife and daughter.

Once Daemon rushed off to his brother’s side, Alyssa looked up to see that her father had taken Daemon and Gael’s place by Viserra’s bed. He was far quieter than those two had been, but his presence was stronger than two boisterous children. His every movement and word was calculated and measured.

“Father,” Viserra said with a hint of nervousness in her voice. “Your grandsons,” she said as she presented them to their father, one after the other.

The two babes started crying in Jaehaerys’s arms but he was not offended. “Strong sons, healthy, and with a pair of lungs on them both!” he joked as he returned Viserra’s sons to her, breaking the tension in the room.

“You have done well Viserra. Take pride in your sons,” her father said.

“Of course. I’ve had them for all of an hour and I’m already proud of them both,” Viserra answered firmly.

The King nodded in agreement, understanding the sentiment it seemed. He did not notice the brief glance between Alyssa and Viserra. She saw in her sister’s eyes the jealousy she recognized in her own at times. Their father loved them, loved all his daughters, even Saera, that was not in doubt. But roads were easier to him than his daughters and all of them knew it was Aemon and Baelon that were his favourites and not any of them.

“Have you decided on any names yet?” her father asked then, turning to Lord Corlys.

Lord Corlys nodded, but instead of answering, he whispered into Viserra’s ear. A smile grew on her face as she nodded and announced, “We have Father. Jacaerys for the elder and Lucerys for the younger.”

Their father’s face was impassive. “Good names. Valyrian names. Strong and noble.”

Viserra nodded at their father’s words. “Family of mine, let me introduce you all properly to my sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon.”

__________________________________________________

Viserra

They were already a day old, and yet Viserra still could not tire of looking at her sons, still mesmerized by their beautiful deep purple eyes, her eyes. Her heart swelled with so much love she felt like it might be full to bursting.

Jacaerys and Lucerys. She tested their names aloud, finding they rolled off the tongue pleasantly. Quite the lengthy names though, perhaps in time they would shorten them for common use.

Her husband had chosen quite the lordly names for their sons. If she remembered her lessons on House Velaryon’s history correctly, Jacaerys and Lucerys were contemporaries of Aenar the Exile and Gaemon the Glorious and had done much work during the Century of Blood to secure House Velaryon’s continued prosperity in the wake of the Doom. They were good names, proud and storied. Velaryon names.

She looked down at them again in their shared cradle as they kept their hands close to each other as they slept. They had refused to be parted and had cried when she had tried to lay them in separate cradles. Both of them were staring at her, wide eyes and adorable. She wondered if they knew her to be their mother. They had certainly eagerly clung to her breasts earlier, both hungry for milk. It had been… an interesting experience, though Viserra doubted she would be doing it much in the future. They had wetnurses for a reason.

Twins. Viserra still had difficulty believing it herself. Maester Desmond had told her it might be a possibility some months ago, though he had not been able to tell for certain. She had had more severe morning sickness than usual according to Desmond, and had showed earlier, yet nothing concrete enough to say for sure. Viserra had not truly considered the idea that she would have twins until the moment she was told she had to push the second out.

Viserra sighed softly. She loved them both dearly already but Seven knew they had exhausted her greatly just on day one. Birthing them had been difficult enough, imagining the mischief this pair would get up to once they could walk almost had Viserra tearing her hair out.

Idly she recalled that the last time there had been twins in the family, on her side at least, were her cousins Aerea and Rhaella, the children of her Aunt Rhaena, the previous rider of Dreamfyre. How coincidental, Viserra thought, that both of Dreamfyre’s riders would be Targaryen princesses who gave birth to twins. But her Aunt Rhaena had never given her twin daughters Dreamfyre’s eggs.

She turned to see her husband by the fire as he removed the eggs that had been kept warm near the fireplace. Dreamfyre had laid a clutch of two eggs during their stay in King’s Landing, and had refused to allow anyone but Viserra close enough to retrieve them. Viserra had thought she would give birth on Driftmark, she wasn’t supposed to be due for another five weeks. She had retrieved the eggs from Dreamfyre’s vault in the Dragonpit so they might be packed for their return to Driftmark, but it seems her babes had wanted out earlier.

Briefly she wondered if Dreamfyre had somehow known. Two eggs for her two sons? And laid so closely to the day she gave birth? She shook the thought away. As intelligent and dear to her as her Dreamfyre was, it was rather ridiculous for a dragon to have predicted that or had the mindset to specifically lay the correct number of eggs. Yet the coincidence was uncanny.

She examined the eggs, touching them gently with her hands. They were hot to her touch but not so hot as to burn. Once they had cooled to a pleasant warm, it would be safe to lay them in her sons’ cradle with them. One was a dark cobalt, with ribbons of bright beaten copper swirling and streaking across the blue. The other was black as night, an obsidian burnished with flecks and stripes of sulfurous yellow.

Carefully, she picked up the blue egg and bade Corlys to carry the other before walking over to her sons’ cradle. Making a split-second choice, she laid the cobalt and copper egg beside Jacaerys while Corlys followed suit and placed the black and yellow in Lucerys’s arms. Almost immediately their sons reacted, drifting away from each other a little to snuggle with their eggs instead.

Corlys wrapped his arms around her from behind, letting the tired Viserra lean back slightly into his shoulders as they both continued to watch their twin children. Viserra was enthralled by almost everything about them. The way the strands of their silver-gold hair fluffed and floated gently in the air as a slight breeze blew through the window. The way their purple eyes, deep and dark, struggled to remain open before gently closing as they drifted off to sleep. What dreams did the minds of babes conceive she wondered.

There were no words between her and Corlys at that moment. Neither wanted to break the quiet silence, break the spell that had seemed to be placed on them both as their sons bewitched them with their beauty and the joy they brought them.

Viserra knew then, that any loyalty she had left to House Targaryen was gone. She loved her family, her parents and siblings… well most of them, and she never wished ill on any of them, not truly, not even on Vaegon and Saera. But Jacaerys and Lucerys? Her sons? Her own flesh and blood? Her loyalty was to them first and foremost now. And through them, her place and allegiance to House Velaryon was cemented permanently. The future of that house, of her house, was that of her sons. And there was nothing Viserra would not do to ensure her sons had the best possible future she could give them.

Perhaps this was exactly why her father had so dreaded the idea of a daughter with a dragon marrying out of the family. Her loyalty could never be to House Targaryen first anymore, not when her sons… and her husband, took so much of her heart.

The silent spell was broken when Corlys spoke at last. “Thank you Viserra.”

“What for?” she asked, confused.

“You have given me the greatest gifts I have ever received. Filled my life with a joy I have not felt for many years now. You and our sons, you make me feel more alive than all the adventures and voyages, than all the wealth in the world,” Corlys said, his indigo eyes beginning to fill slightly with tears.

He wiped the tears away. “Forgive me, I did not mean to be so emotional.”

“No. There is no crime in tears of joy,” Viserra reassured him.

He nodded and turned his gaze back to their sons. “My house has a saying. Every Velaryon is born to ride the waves. Our sons Viserra, their birthright is more than just the waves. They will be the first Velaryons to ever ride dragons as well, born to sail the seas and skies alike.”

Viserra rebuked him with a smile and her hands on his. “Our house.”

Corlys’s smile grew wider than she had even thought possible and his indigo eyes sparkled with delight.

“Our sons will be great Viserra. I will make sure of that. You and I will make sure of that. We will raise them together to be the best they can be, and they will be great,” he declared.

She nodded in agreement as she turned her gaze back to her boys. Her sons would be the greatest House Velaryon had ever known. So lost in her dreams of her darling sons and their bright futures was she, that she almost missed what Corlys said next.

“I only regret that I will have to leave them soon.”

What?

Viserra whipped around to face her husband again, the question written all over her face.

He sighed. “At the Small Council meeting, before we were interrupted by the servant, we received news from Essos. The war between the Three Daughters and Volantis has reached its apex. Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh have recently won a great battle against a Volantene host and have formally cemented their alliance by joining their cities in a confederation they call the Triarchy. But Volantis remains undefeated and Lord Quentyn believes that the war has years left to go before it ends.”

Viserra crossed her arms. “This affects you how exactly?”

“The King has decided that the time has come to annex the Stepstones at last. As the Master of Ships and Lord of Tides, I will be the supreme naval commander of the fleet sent to secure the Stepstones.”

“You would leave your newborn sons so soon?” Viserra asked, feeling cross.

Corlys shook his head. “I don’t like it, but this is for their sake as well. Viserra, your father promised me and our house lordship over the Stepstones. This is our sons’ inheritance.”

She relented then. Had she not sworn that there was nothing she would not do for her sons? How could she hold it against Corlys for doing the same. Already her mind was hard at work imagining it. There was no doubt in Viserra’s mind that the Stepstones could qualify as a kingdom if the Iron Islands did and that meant that her sons, her descendants, would be the Lords Paramount of the Stepstones. House Velaryon would join the ranks of the Great Houses, rise as high as they possibly could without seeking the Iron Throne itself. That would be hers and Corlys’s legacy, the inheritance they leave to their sons.

It was intoxicating to even think of it. House Velaryon was already great, but the power, the prestige and wealth they would soon have was unimaginable. Her father was more generous than she thought if he would give them such a gift.

“How long do you expect to be gone?” she asked.

“I don’t know. A few weeks at least I think as we establish a presence on each island and set the fleet to patrolling. There is a lot of work to be done. For the past two years, our fleet has slowly been clearing the islands of all the pirates already but there may still be some dens we have yet to root out. Infrastructure has to be built, the tolls collected, and the local villages pacified.”

She caressed one of his cheeks with her left hand almost absentmindedly. “Do you expect the Triarchy to cause any trouble?”

“No. I expect them to offer a token protest at most, Volantis is not yet so weak that they can afford an entanglement with us. The threat will be from Dorne. Lord Quentyn has informed the Small Council that Prince Morion has been building a large fleet. He has called his banners and hired many sellswords not already involved in the war in Essos. We believe he intends to contest our annexation with military force.”

At the worried look on Viserra’s face, Corlys was quick to give reassurance. “Worry not. Your father intends to accompany the fleet, along with your brothers. Vermithor, Vhagar, and Caraxes will make short work of Morion’s fleet and army, and Dorne will rue ever crossing us.”

Viserra shook her head. “But it is still war you sail to. Danger you are putting yourself in.”

Corlys frowned. “Have faith in me Viserra, I know better than to take unnecessary risks.”

Now that, Viserra would not tolerate. She placed her hands on her hips and clucked, eyebrow raised. “Really? So you aren’t the man who came up with the most harebrained plan I have ever heard; to steal silk and tea from right under the nose of the Emperor of Yi Ti? Who then proceeded to challenge a pirate to a duel to the death knowing he could not best him without trickery?”

Oh yes, Viserra had long since heard the true story behind those tales. Rhaekar and Aurane saw to that. She found the difference between the truth and the story told to her family to be rather… enlightening.

To his credit, Corlys grinned sheepishly. “I know better now,” he amended. “I have much to live for and I have learned from the mistakes of my recklessness, I still bear the scar Vunatis gave me. I will never forget.”

Viserra was not wholly mollified. “That may be so, but I will still be going with you,” she declared.

Corlys sighed. “Viserra…”

“What? Dreamfyre would be a boon, you cannot deny that. My father and brothers are men, they are wont to lose themselves having fun destroying the Dornish fleet and forgetting that they are to defend yours first and foremost. I will see to that in their stead and let them run loose on Morion. Let them bring Fire and Blood upon that fool and make him rue the day he dared to think he could challenge the dragons,” Viserra argued, passion in her voice.

“I do not think your father will approve of you going to war with us.”

Viserra took her husband’s hands into hers and stared into his eyes. “Then it is a good thing my father is no longer my head of house. He has no right to command me where this is concerned. Only you do. Will you deny me?” she asked softly, tugging on his heart.

He shook his head in exasperation. “No, no I won’t. Gods Viserra, you infuriate me so much sometimes when you say things like that, but I love you for it anyway.” His last words were muttered quietly but she heard them nonetheless and froze.

Corlys noticed and realized that it had slipped out but he did not retract. Instead he smiled. “I love you Viserra.”

Her heart pounded and she felt warmth in her body and soul as she nodded, still too stunned to speak. Before she could respond, Corlys leaned in and kissed her. Her lips went ablaze as she felt fire spread throughout her whole body. Her mind burned with need and she leaned into the kiss hungrily, tasting her husband as their tongues intertwined, her hands wrapping around his neck and head.

When they finally broke the kiss, she was breathless and panting on his shoulder as he gently shuffled her about.

“I love you too,” she said finally.

The smile on his face filled her with so much warmth and joy she feared she might melt the Wall if she had touched it in that moment.

_____________________________________________

Aemon

The Small Council was hard at work debating the logistics and strategies of the war to come but Aemon’s mind was elsewhere. The specifics of troop and fleet movements and the supplies they needed were not that necessary for Aemon to concern himself with, there were other men more suited for that like Lord Corlys.

No his mind dwelt on something far more important than a war that had been decided before it was even declared. Resting on the very thing that gave him the certainty that victory was certain, no matter how many ships or men the fool Morion brought. Dragons.

It was the dragons that had made House Targaryen Kings of Westeros. It was dragons that made them closer to gods than men. Dragons that made them… exceptional. And now, for the first time in history since before the Doom, there might soon be dragons ridden by those that did not bear the name Targaryen, though they bore their blood.

His nephews Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon, adorable little boys, but they had been given dragon eggs. In hindsight they should have all seen it coming. Their father certainly had. Dreamfyre was a notoriously fertile dragon and Viserra of all people was not one to withhold her own dragon’s eggs from her own sons.

And yet what was there to do? Loath as he was to admit it, his father had had a very good point. A dragonriding princess married outside of the family was disastrous. How exactly were they to stop her giving her children her dragon’s eggs or just outright passing her dragon to her Targaryen-blooded children? It was not like dragons refused to bond with men or women just because they did not have the Targaryen name. Such things did not matter, despite all the mummery that their subjects had swallowed about only Targaryens riding dragons.

At the end of the day, only blood mattered. The blood of the dragon, the real reason why their family wed brother and sister and had done so for generations. When they said they kept the blood of the dragon pure, they really meant it. Not that the people or lords of Westeros understood that. They had thought them perverts and degenerates, abominations of incest and now finally after decades of war and corralling and propaganda, they had come around to seeing it as simply an eccentric quirk of their ruling family, permissible for the dragons they rode and the clear lack of any ill effects that lesser men might have from it.

He had no doubt Viserra’s children could ride dragons, on account of their mother alone, and their father had Targaryen blood as well, if distant. If the eggs hatched, it was a certainty that Jacaerys and Lucerys could and would ride them one day. In that aspect, House Velaryon was perhaps both the worst and best possible family to have dragon eggs.

They were the oldest and truest of his family’s allies and vassals, ancient and High Valyrian in their own right. Long had they served House Targaryen. As far back as the Doom itself, behind every notable Targaryen Lord or King, you would find a Velaryon by their side.

Lord Jacaerys Velaryon had been the first to swear fealty to Aenar Targaryen after the Doom. His son Lucerys had stood beside Gaemon the Glorious as he waged his campaigns during the Century of Blood. Valaena Velaryon had been the mother of Aegon the Conqueror himself and his sister-queens. Her brother Lord Daemon had given his life valiantly in his nephew’s service during the Conquest and his son Aethan was the Iron Throne’s very first Master of Ships. Aethan’s son Daemon, named for his own father, had served his grandfather Aenys loyally as Lord Admiral and had served his father as his first true Hand and now his grandson, the greatest of them all, Lord Corlys the Sea Snake, had married his sister and served as Master of Ships.

Thrice had a younger daughter of a Targaryen Lord wed into House Velaryon during the Century of Blood, and twice had a Velaryon lady mothered the next generation of Targaryens. Aemon knew this intimately. Alyssa Velaryon had been his own grandmother, a grandmother he shared with his daughter. His wife Jocelyn’s mother. The grandaunt of Lord Corlys.

Velaryon blood ran in the veins of every Targaryen as much as Targaryen blood ran in the veins of every Velaryon. Of all the families to rise to become dragonlords like the Targaryens, Aemon had to admit the Velaryons were the one family he would begrudgingly choose if he had to. They were more than just their traditionally closest allies and vassals. They were kin. They were family.

And yet still did a part of him fill with revulsion at the idea that anyone else but House Targaryen lay claim to and ride dragons, even though they be his own nephews. There was nothing that he could do about that now though, they could not demand Viserra remove the eggs from the cradles. It was too late for that the moment she claimed Dreamfyre. If she resisted the command and disobeyed, the only course of action left would be to force her and that was something the entire family recoiled from.

Would they slay their own kin? Because that is what it would inevitably come to if she resisted to the end. Could they kill their own daughter and sister over something so small as the right to give your children dragon eggs? Something they all took for granted? The answer to that question was no. They would not. Could not. His family was flawed and petty and many things besides, but they were not kinslayers.

Aemon had defended Viserra after she had claimed Dreamfyre but sometimes he wondered if he regretted that. In his mind’s eye, it was not Viserra that he had seen crying and broken down that day. In truth, it was Rhaenys he had defended, not Viserra.

When his father had confirmed to Viserra, confirmed to them all, that the one reason she was not allowed a dragon was because she had no brother to wed, Aemon had felt compelled to speak. In his heart he had known, even then, that his father’s words were logical and true but the matter was too familiar, too similar to another he was arguing at the time. It had compromised his judgement. He had been fresh from days’ worth of arguments with his parents and brother over betrothing Rhaenys to Viserys when Viserra had taken Dreamfyre.

The plight of their family’s women, the inherent unjustness of the world they dwelt in that saw women cast to the side and considered unfit to rule, Aemon was intimately familiar with it all. His daughter Rhaenys would prove to be a great queen, and yet to defend her right to be that queen, he was being asked to marry her to the next in line, as if she did not have the right to sit as queen in her own right, did not deserve to ride a dragon or pass dragons down to her children if she did not marry another Targaryen.

It was not that he had anything against Viserys, his nephew was a good boy and Baelon and Alyssa defended him fiercely. They had said that he would not challenge or usurp Rhaenys, even if they were to wed, and he believed them but the principle of the matter remained. It would not be required for Rhaenys to wed her cousin simply to secure her own succession if she was born male and he hated that difference. Hated that it seemed more and more likely his daughter would have to marry her cousin simply to gain her right to rule, a right that should have been unquestioned.

Viserra’s plight had been too similar to his own daughter’s and so at the time, Aemon had defended her. It was over and done with, Dreamfyre was already claimed and they could not change it, why harp on it and risk endangering Rhaenys with every word? That is what Aemon had thought at the time. But the world was not black and white, and in the year and a half that had passed since Viserra had claimed Dreamfyre, Aemon had had no choice but to realize that.

In an ideal world, neither Rhaenys’s right to the Iron Throne nor Viserra’s right to a dragon would be in question. But this was not an ideal world. Things could not be given simply out of fairness and justice. Nothing worked like that in the echelons of power. Rhaenys should be queen and unquestioned but men would rather compromise the rightful line of succession than kneel to a woman. Viserra and her children should have every right to dragons as descendants of their family but their name was wrong and they would be a threat. The real world, was not as simple as the ideal.

Aemon honestly hoped the eggs did not hatch. He felt guilty about it, but he did. The eggs hatching complicated so many things and left so many concerns and problems for the future. No, it would be for the best if they never hatched and left all those difficult questions unanswered. If he was a hypocrite for continuing to staunchly champion Rhaenys but hoping in his heart that Viserra’s children did not hatch their dragons, so be it.

One thing remained for certain though whether the eggs hatched or not. House Velaryon had to be bound to the Crown. By any and every means necessary. More marriages, honours, positions at court, charters, tax breaks, trade privileges, everything and anything to remind them of the family ties and the benefits of loyalty. With luck, House Velaryon would become an extension of the Crown and House Targaryen, kept in check by House Targaryen’s advantage in dragons and their reliance on the easy wealth and power they accrued by remaining loyal and at their side.

Aemon looked to his father, the man who had taught him how to think like this, how to think like a king, and wondered if he was thinking the same. He surely was, Aemon thought. He had seen the problem before they all had and had no doubt been long considering how to solve it. He had faith that his father would make the right decision.

When the Small Council adjourned, Aemon remained behind to speak to his father on the topic and spoke his thoughts on it. His father praised him for his insight and said that he was still considering his exact course of action. Before Aemon could ask what his father currently had in mind however, somebody knocked on the door.

“Enter,” his father said, giving his leave.

In strolled an armoured knight. His gleaming black armour, trimmed in red, signified him as a captain of the Dragonkeepers. His helm was crested by a row of dragon scales that continued down onto his back plate, diminishing downward.

The Dragonkeeper bowed. “Your Grace, my prince. I have come to inform you that Princess Viserra has requested the aid of the Dragonkeepers to tend to her sons’ dragons.”

His father’s face was impassive, looking like it was carved out of stone. “The eggs hatched then?”

“Yes Your Grace,” the Dragonkeeper confirmed.

“Go. Do as my daughter has requested. Keep me informed on the growth of her sons’ dragons.”

The Dragonkeeper bowed. “As you command, Your Grace.”

Once the Dragonkeeper had left, Jaehaerys sat back into his seat and brooded. Aemon remained standing, shaking his head. The eggs had hatched as he had feared. All that was left to do now was to deal with the consequences.

He sighed. “With your leave Father,” Aemon said, as he made to leave the room.

“Aemon,” his father called out to him as he left, making him stop and turn back.

“You will make a fine king one day. Thank you for your thoughts. They have given me much to consider. I hope, that no matter what course of action I choose to take, you will support me in it.”

Aemon nodded. “Of course Father.”

Chapter 17: Sea Dragon

Chapter Text

Viserra

Fifth Moon, 89 AC

The storm had delayed them. Viserra felt the wind blowing through her hair and the rain lashing onto her cheeks. Her father and brothers had laid their dragons down near Greenstone Castle but Viserra had chosen to land Dreamfyre near the port. Near the men of her house.

The Velaryon fleet had moored near Estermont, receiving its last supplies from skiffs rowing from the jetty as they waited for the storm to pass. Everywhere she looked, the Velaryon seahorse proudly flew, prancing on the sails and standards of every ship and adorning the banners carried by the sergeants of the Driftmark Marines.

With each step she took, men bowed to her. ‘Princess’ some called her, but many and more called her ‘Lady Velaryon’ as well. There was not a soul in the fleet that would not recognize her. They all knew who she was. She was the Targaryen princess that had given their lord dragons and cherished sons and heirs. Her baby boys, not even five moons old and growing more adorable by the day, were already near worshipped by the Velaryon servants and men at arms.

Her sons were Driftmark’s pride. ‘Lord Corlys’s boys will be dragonriders,’ they said with glee and joy. Even now, the devotion of the people of Driftmark to her husband and his family still astounded Viserra. At times it reminded her of the welcome that would greet her parents on their progresses throughout the realm.

Viserra had made a decent impression on the people of Driftmark during her time as Lady of the Tides, but the birth of her sons had been what had ultimately truly endeared her to them. And when it had become known that she was accompanying Driftmark’s fleet for the sole purpose of protecting its sailors from the Dornish, her popularity and esteem in Driftmark had only grown. Especially when rumors spread that she did so against the desires of her kingly father.

Like she herself had realized, she was now seen as a Velaryon. By everyone, not just Driftmark. The realm as a whole now considered her a Velaryon first and a Targaryen second.

She found Corlys in the small residence he had claimed for them both near the pier. The Tide Guard stood proudly around the small house, complemented by a platoon of marines. All of them bowed their heads to her in respect as she strode past them into the house. The storm had started to subside by now, and the light of the sun had begun to peek through the clouds.

Corlys was reading a missive when she entered. “Your father has ordered that the fleet set off as soon as the storm subsides. There are concerns that the delay may have allowed the Dornish to land troops on some of the isles. We will make for the fort on Bloodstone first to regroup before dispersing throughout the Stepstones and clear out any interlopers as we secure each island. Men from the Stormlands have been levied to provide reinforcements for our marines as we garrison the islands and the fleet will have the task of shipping them over from Cape Wrath.”

“Did my father say when he will be meeting us?” Viserra asked.

“The King has informed me that he and your brothers will be flying to Bloodstone on the morrow. They have things to attend to first in the Stormlands and the King is confident that the Velaryon fleet will not face any difficulties making it to Bloodstone on its own before then.”

Viserra clenched her fists in barely suppressed anger. Her assumptions had been correct. Her father and brothers’ priority was not the safety of her husband and his fleet. She didn’t know what was. The defeat of Dorne, or rather their personal glory from it? A night of comfort in warm beds in a castle instead of out riding and patrolling?

Her father’s words were technically correct. It was not likely that Morion’s fleet had bypassed the Velaryon squadrons already patrolling around Bloodstone to threaten Corlys’s fleet, but that was not the point. The dragons were supposed to accompany the fleet, not leave it to sail alone so their riders could enjoy the fruitful hospitality of House Estermont just a day longer!

No matter, she thought as she shook her head. She would accompany the fleet, as she had promised. “When do we leave?” she asked.

“You intend to come with the fleet already?” Corlys asked. There was surprise in his voice, hidden, but Viserra could still hear it.

She bit down her hurt. Did he truly still doubt her so? “I made a promise didn’t I? I’m here to protect you and our fleet, so that you and every man on those ships can return home to your families. To our sons. I will not leave you.”

Corlys looked a bit ashamed now. “I had thought that you might...” he trailed off.

“Yes?” Viserra hummed impatiently, her eyes watching him carefully.

He shook his head. “Never mind. It is no matter. We leave at midday. The storm is already relenting and I am sure the clouds will have dispersed by then. I will see you later Viserra,” he said, a little too quickly for her liking, before he left.

Viserra sighed as she sat down. Deep down, did some part of him still see her as only a vapid and vain girl? Or was he merely surprised at how willing she was to sacrifice comfort and luxury? Viserra had to confess, she found herself wondering that at times herself. She had been horrified when she had learned just how bad life in war camps could be, and of the utter lack of most luxuries when at war. And yet she had still refused to back down in her insistence on going, even when her father had asked her to reconsider. Why?

Viserra knew she was vain. She was self-aware enough to see that. For all of Corlys’s insistence that it was merely a mask she had worn to make herself feel important and relevant at court and in her family, Viserra knew better. She genuinely took immense pride in her status, her rank, and in her beauty, to the point of arrogance many had said in the past, and still did, even if she thought she might have improved.

The person she was four or five years ago, would never have even considered doing half the things Viserra had done since then. She would not have deigned to personally tend to Dreamfyre and shovel her droppings, nor speak to the smallfolk and learn their worries and complaints, nor eagerly sacrifice her safety and comfort to wage war.

So what had changed? Perhaps Corlys was right in what he had told her all so long ago, atop the highest tower in High Tide. Had she, somehow along the way, learned to truly care about others like Corlys had claimed? But how? And why?

She felt herself sinking deeper into her seat, her mind hard at work as she reflected on her life, trying to find the cause of it all before her eyes widened slightly in realization. Oh. Well that made a lot of sense didn’t it? In truth it was Corlys himself that had inspired her to change.

When they had met, she had been vain and immature. She had been recently forced to grow up and rein in her vain and mischievous behavior to escape the fate of Saera, but she hadn’t changed, not in truth. It was just another layer she had added to her mask. Corlys Velaryon, and the stories of his adventures and the riches of his fabled island, had been the path she had chosen to try and escape it all, all of her doubts and insecurities and vanities, and he had seen right through her.

And yet, he had not rejected her. Corlys had listened and understood when no one else had or could. They had formed a friendship, borne out of the mutual advice and words of encouragement. As they befriended each other, Corlys had answered all of her questions about Driftmark, sating her curiosity and teaching her about their way of life, about his personal philosophies and wisdoms. In some way, he had begun even then to impart them to her as well. It had left an impression, a foundation for something more to be built.

The process was not fast. After all, it had still been her selfishness and her vain insecurities that had seen her claim Dreamfyre, out of an incorrect fear that the riches of Driftmark and the handsome Lord Corlys would be denied to her, the most beautiful and deserving princess. If she could make that choice again, Viserra still would every time. Dreamfyre was precious to her. But she would not justify it to herself with vain excuses now as she had back then.

Slowly but surely, somewhere along the way, Corlys’s belief in her had changed her. His stories, questions and teachings, his guidance and remarks as he had shown her Driftmark and all its people, it had taught her how to care, or rather inspired within her, a subliminal desire to care, to live up to the potential he had seen in her. It had provoked first a vain attachment, then a caring compassion, and now love.

It was love that motivated her now, her love for her sons and for her husband, her love of Driftmark and its people and everything about it. Perhaps that is why it stung, to have the man she loved, the man that inspired her to become who she was now, to doubt her.

Viserra shook the thoughts away. She knew she was overthinking this. She looked out the window and noticed the rain had stopped. The clouds had dispersed as her husband had predicted. The sun had risen high in the sky. Viserra got to her feet. She had a promise to keep.

To her surprise, Corlys was waiting for her when she arrived, his hands gently stroking Dreamfyre, the blue dragoness having warmed to him over the past year as Viserra had taken him on many more rides as she had promised.

“I’m sorry about earlier…”

“It’s fine,” Viserra tried to brush him off.

He grabbed her hands gently. “No. It’s not. I… I should not have... You have long since proven to me that you are more than just a spoilt princess. Sometimes you remind me just how much. Do not fret, I always knew you were more than that, but I think both you and I can agree that a year ago, neither of us would have thought you willing to forego the luxuries and comfort you so love to wage war. I am not saying that I would think of you any less if you had chosen to stay. It’s just, it is a bit hard to wrap our heads around it isn’t it?” he said with a cautious smile.

Viserra smiled tightly. “Indeed.”

Corlys’s smile vanished as he turned somber. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. You can fly with your family tomorrow.”

At the angry look on her face, he hurriedly continued on, “I just don’t want to make you feel that you are pressured into doing anything. And above all I want you safe. Your father might say war is not for women, and you might fear I think you an insipid girl who cannot sacrifice luxury but that is not what I think at all. I care about your comfort and your safety first and foremost. I don’t want you in danger and I don’t want you to have to ever have to live with anything less than the highest and greatest comfort and luxury possible. You have proven that you deserve no less than that.”

Viserra relented in her anger but she remained steadfast. “Luxury and riches, the safety of peace, and the comfort of our sons in my arms and the white walls of High Tide shielding us; they are all good and wonderful and I will be sure to enjoy them again very soon. But here and now my love, nothing gives me more comfort than to know I am ensuring your safety with my very own hands. Nothing makes me feel safer than knowing your fleet, our fleet, is there to watch my back.

“We can’t always have it all our way right? We can’t always live in peace and luxury. Sometimes you have to be willing to get your hands dirty and sacrifice the comforts of life now so that you and yours may enjoy them forever more later. You taught me that. Have you forgotten?”

Corlys shook his head as they both remembered long lessons in days spent together as they ruled Driftmark in peace. “No.”

“Then trust in me. Trust that I will be safe. That I will come out well from all of this and we will celebrate our victory, together.”

He nodded then, determination on his face. “Be careful.”

Viserra grinned before she adjusted her hair into the usual braided ponytail she wore it in when she flew. “I always am.”

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.”

Corlys looked like he wanted to say more but thought against it. With a nod he turned around and left, leaving Viserra with her dragon.

As she saddled Dreamfyre and readied her for flight, she watched as the Velaryon fleet, which had been waiting for Corlys, began to move. Their sails unfurled, the carracks began to tack with the wind and oars emerged from the war galleys in the fleet to row. The Velaryon fleet was going to war.

The fleet had all unanchored and set sail when she mounted her dragon. The sun’s light glimmered off of Dreamfyre, and her aquamarine scales glowed. Her silver crests and markings shone brightly as they reflected the light.

“Dohaerās Dreamfyre,” Viserra said as she climbed onto her dragon. At times her thoughts alone seemed to be enough to command her dragon, but she would not be trusting in that, not today. Whip and words would have to do. Gently, she lashed the whip toward Dreamfyre’s side and gave one last command. “Sōvēs!”

With a beat of her large pale blue wings, Dreamfyre surged forward on her legs before she climbed into the sky.

________________________________________________

Viserra would never admit it out loud, but her father might have had a point. After flying for hours with no enemy in sight and nothing but open sea and clouds, Viserra found herself tired and bored. The ships in the Velaryon fleet were among the fastest in the world, but even they were like snails to Dreamfyre whose speed was surpassed only by Meleys and perhaps Silverwing among the dragons.

As a result, Viserra had no choice but to restrain Dreamfyre from flying too fast and outpacing their fleet lest they circle back over and over again. It made for a rather boring flight. Of course, she had attempted to entertain herself at first, soaring high into the clouds doing aerial maneuvers that would have made Corlys cry if he was riding with her. She had even skirted the waves and let Dreamfyre dip her wing tips and legs in the water, feeling the sea spray on her face before climbing into the sky again.

However even that lost its appeal after a long enough time. Serving as escort to a fleet was a boring task for both dragon and rider. She could sense Dreamfyre’s annoyance with their slow pace, the dragon wishing to fly at her maximum speed rather than this lethargic half-hearted flight.

Viserra found herself wishing for something interesting to happen. Anything at all to cut away from the boredom. Perhaps a pod of whales might be spotted on the horizon? And then she’d have to restrain Dreamfyre from going after them she thought, chuckling to herself a little. Perhaps a patrol from Bloodstone would finally show up?

She scratched at her back, feeling the annoying itch creep up on her again. Viserra had never flown so long before and it was starting to take its toll on her, especially due to the chainmail and boiled leather armour she was wearing, on the insistence of all of her family members. It was not uncomfortable at first, but spend hours in it, and it became extremely tiresome to keep wearing it.

The sun was close to the horizon. In an hour at most it would be setting. It had been part of the reason Corlys had hoped she would fly on the morrow instead. The fleet was expecting to sail through the night. Compasses, stars, and the relatively short distance would keep them on course.

If Viserra insisted on remaining with the fleet however, she’d have to continue flying for hours more guarding them. When she knew full well Dreamfyre could make it to Bloodstone before sunset, that made it all the more unappealing. She might just end up flying by Corlys’s ship and shout her intention to go ahead, regardless of her previous determination.

Still, she had made an oath to her husband that she would guard their fleet. Viserra would do her best to keep that oath, even if she knew her husband would not mind if she ended up speeding on ahead to Bloodstone. It was a matter of principle and pride to her.

Finally, Viserra spotted something at last. A ship in the distance toward the south. Unable to restrain her excitement at something interesting happening, Viserra urged Dreamfyre to full speed with a crack of her whip and a shouted command. Was it a patrol from Bloodstone? Perhaps a fishing boat? Or perhaps even most excitingly, a stray Dornish scout ship?

As soon as she neared however, Viserra found herself remembering why it was said that one should be careful what they wish for. That was not just a single ship, and the massive fleet she found facing her was not friendly either. The Martell sun and spear was the most notable of the many Dornish sigils emblazoned on their sails.

She heard shouted cries of alarm before a volley of scorpion bolts launched toward her and Dreamfyre. She took Dreamfyre into a spin as they barreled forward before climbing into the sky. What bolts they didn’t dodge failed to pierce Dreamfyre’s scales. There was little respite however before a hail of arrows shot into the sky, most of them bounced harmlessly off of Dreamfyre, but Viserra flinched as several flew dangerously close to her.

Taking her dragon high into the clouds, Viserra steered Dreamfyre into a hard right turn before hurriedly rushing back to the Velaryon fleet. Dreamfyre set herself down on the water beside Corlys’s flagship with a crash, the large dragon none too pleased with a landing on the sea. The sea water steamed off from the heat of her body, a salty spray rose as Viserra shouted to Corlys.

“The Dornish fleet is here! They’re coming from the south, look to the horizon!” she shouted.

“So far north? How did the patrols from Bloodstone not spot them?” one of Corlys’s midshipmen said.

“The storm that hit us at Estermont could have blown through the Stepstones first and disrupted the patrols!” Corlys replied logically.

That made sense, Viserra thought to herself. “It doesn’t really matter how they slipped by our patrols, what matters is that they are here now!”

Corlys understood what she meant. “Alert the fleet! We man our posts and prepare for battle!” he shouted out orders to his crew before he walked over to the edge of his ship deck, leaning over as far as he could to speak to Viserra in private… well as private as it could get when they were almost shouting across the distance.

“Viserra. You can do this,” he said.

She nodded. Emboldened by the encouragement, she shouted a command at Dreamfyre again and with a lash of her whip, Dreamfyre swam forward before launching herself into the sky with a furious flap of her massive wings and a strong kick of her legs.

In Viserra’s experience, dragons hated landing on the sea. The cold seawater would cool their scales and taking off without a proper running start required more energy than usual. Luckily, Dreamfyre and her had had a rather quiet day until now and with their leisurely flying earlier, Dreamfyre had strength to spare. A lot of it.

Still, she noted to herself in her mind the need to develop a better method of communication between her and the fleet when she was on dragonback. Landing on the sea to speak in person was inefficient and potentially dangerous. If she did not tightly control Dreamfyre’s landings, she could capsize the ships.

As the Dornish fleet continued to make for them at full speed, Viserra idly wondered if the Dornish were extraordinarily brave or simply fools. If she was a sailor on that ship and she had seen Dreamfyre in the skies, she’d have mutinied to turn the ship around.

But that was not what the Dornish did. While Corlys’s fleet had moved into formation and waited for them to come to them, they continued charging headlong into their jaws. Viserra even spotted what she thought might be Morion Martell’s flagship at the head of his fleet. An ornate ironwood hulled ship with three masts, bronzed and gilded, the Martell sigil proudly flying from all its standards, embossed on its sails.

“Rȳbās,” Viserra lectured her dragon as she bayed in excitement. “Lykirī. Umbās.”

Dreamfyre calmed at her command but Viserra could feel her impatience still. Her own nerves were all a-fray. Her muscles were tense and taut as she readied herself.

A more experienced dragonrider like her father would not have required a supporting fleet, but Viserra was not that confident in herself. Not yet. She was reluctant to admit it, but she had been spooked by the earlier volley of bolts and arrows Morion’s fleet had sent at her. It had taken her completely by surprise. It was why she had chosen to remain near Corlys’s fleet rather than go ahead to destroy Dorne’s on her own.

The fear was gripping her. What if some lucky bolt pierced into Dreamfyre’s eye like it had Meraxes? What if a stray arrow hit her and killed her? That was not unheard of either. She’d never see her sons again if that happened, or anyone else she loved and cared for.

For all the power Dreamfyre held, Viserra herself was no warrior. She had never fought a true battle. Once more she wondered why she had volunteered for this, insisted on being here. What was even the point, if she could not find the nerve?

She shook her head, steeling her grip on the reins. With a lash of her whip, she urged Dreamfyre to climb into the sky, her sister’s words coming to her again then.

“If you ever have to attack with your dragon,” Alyssa had said. “Attack from above. Dragons always attack from above.”

When they reached the height Viserra wanted, Dreamfyre preempted her command, sensing her thoughts once again, like she often did. Folding her wings into her body, Dreamfyre dived onto Morion’s fleet like a falcon onto its prey. All the while Viserra leaned forward, all but hugging her dragon as she clung on to her saddle, the chains perhaps the only thing keeping her in it.

The moment was nigh then. The fleet was below them and fast approaching. Viserra had to say but one word and the world would be lit in fire.

“Dracarys.”

In hindsight, Viserra wondered why she had feared so much. In an instant, azure-aquamarine flames burst from Dreamfyre’s maw, igniting the entire front line of the Dornish fleet instantly. To onlookers it looked as if the sky and sea itself had turned into a fire that destroyed ships and men with ease.

The smell of salty steam filled the air but it was not alone. The scent of charred and smoking wood accompanied it, as did a strange odor of pork. The stench of burning flesh as men cooked alive in the heat.

Completely freed of her fear, Viserra took Dreamfyre into a hard left turn, laying waste to the flanks of Morion’s fleet and encircling them in a wall of burning ships. There would be no escape for Dorne here.

Below her, men burned and died by the hundreds, if not thousands. All because of her. Viserra could not find it within herself to care. She did not know these men, did not know their faces. She did not hear their dying screams or their last words, for she was too high up to hear or care. Up in the sky, there was only the silence, the silence of the death that Viserra would bring upon the Dornish, no, upon any enemy that would dare to try and hurt her and hers.

She had come far indeed, from a girl whose life was once dictated by those around her to a woman who now held the lives of thousands in the palm of her hands. It was power like Viserra had never felt or experienced before. It was intoxicating. She felt herself growing heady, as if she had drunk too many cups of brandy.

Grounding herself in the moment, Viserra shook away those thoughts, though they remained present in the back corners of her mind. It was time to finish the job. She brought Dreamfyre down again and this time before she could even give the command for dragonfire, Dreamfyre was eagerly bellowing out a column of pale blue flames, bathing the encircled remnants of the Dornish fleet in azure agony.

Thousands died screaming as Viserra once more demonstrated the power of Dreamfyre. A part of her felt somber about the loss of life, another relished in it, felt vindicated by it. These men had dared to come and try and steal her sons’ birthright from them. They would have tried to kill her husband and all the men of Driftmark if they could. Men Viserra had sworn to protect. It was her duty as the Lady of the Tides to protect her husband, her people, and her soldiers. Protect them she did.

Dreamfyre roared triumphantly as the last ship was set aflame as she circled around the destruction to continue onward to Bloodstone. With their task done, both of them were no longer willing to wait around at a snail’s pace. Dreamfyre flew at full speed and Viserra did not order her otherwise.

The Velaryon fleet had watched as their lady reduced the Dornish ships to charred ruin and driftwood. They burned throughout the night even after the sun had set, like candles on the sea. There was not a soul onboard that fleet that could tear their eyes away from the spectacle. When the fleet finally moored at Bloodstone later that night, they saw Viserra waiting to welcome them near the piers

A crowd began to gather before her, and Viserra saw awe, amazement, and even fear from the sailors and marines. Some even started kneeling to her.

“Hail our princess, our lady! Viserra the Sea Dragon!” a voice in the crowd shouted suddenly.

Viserra could not tell who started the chant, but soon enough the entire fleet was cheering her name, chanting their praises for ‘the Sea Dragon’. She looked for Corlys in the crowd and found him smiling before he joined the cheers.

The Sea Snake and the Sea Dragon. What a pair they made.

The Sea Dragon

_______________________________________________

Sixth Moon, 89 AC

In the end, the fleet that Viserra had destroyed was confirmed as the main Dornish fleet. She still remembered with glee the shock and astonishment on her father and brothers’ faces when they had learnt that she had personally destroyed the fool Morion and the bulk of his fleet. Served them right for their sloth.

Despite the defeat of the main Dornish fleet however, concerns that the Dornish had landed troops in the Stepstones had been proven true. It had taken a month to properly clear them and any remaining pirates out. Viserra had left most of that to her father and brothers, who seemed eager to gain glory for themselves in some way with her having already claimed the lion’s share.

During that time, Viserra had remained on Bloodstone with Corlys, working to build and prepare the infrastructure and organization for their impending administration of the islands. Corlys had actually wished to remain for longer in fact to see to that, but their father had ordered them both back to King’s Landing for the victory celebrations and neither of them had seen their sons in over a month.

They had stopped at Driftmark along the way to King’s Landing to see their sons. It had only been about six weeks since she had seen them last, but they had already grown far more than she would expect. They had seemed happy to see her and Corlys, though Viserra wondered if they truly did recognize them.

Their hatchling dragons were still in the nursery as well, often coiling about them affectionately. The elder was a dark cobalt blue with bronze crest, claws, and belly scales. Its sibling was black and yellow. The scales on its back, head, legs, and the top side of its wings were as black as night, but its crest, claws, belly scales, and the underside of its wings were a shade of sulfurous and volcanic yellow.

Both of the hatchlings were still unnamed, as most dragons were customarily named by their first rider. Though there were exceptions, Aemon and Rhaenys had not named Caraxes and Meleys, the Dragonkeepers had, Viserra had no intention of taking away her sons’ right to name their own dragons.

The hatchlings in question were naught but five months old and they were already the size of a small dog. They were growing fast and Viserra dreaded the day she’d have to order them moved to the stables. The twins and their dragons alike would be quite upset at the separation.

As for her own dragon, Viserra had a feeling that she was preening. Dreamfyre had been in rather high spirits and seeming all too pleased with herself ever since what was now referred to as the Battle of Bloodstone (despite the fact it took place several miles away from the island in question and Viserra would hardly call it a battle, more a one-sided slaughter).

Was Dreamfyre pleased to have her first taste of war in decades mayhaps? To have shown off? Perhaps she was somehow proud of her new nickname? And yes Dreamfyre now had a nickname. As Viserra was now called ‘the Sea Dragon’, Dreamfyre had been dubbed the Blue Queen, by the Velaryon sailors. An epithet very much like Rhaenys’s Meleys had, but Dreamfyre had earned it in battle.

The herald announced her father then and Viserra put aside her thoughts on her dragon for now. The ceremony was starting. All the court had gathered for the celebration. Viserra stood with Corlys and Aurane on the left side of the Iron Throne. Opposite her, her mother and siblings stood with the rest of the family to the king’s right.

Her father climbed up the stairs of the Iron Throne before he turned around and stood in front of the seat, proudly making his proclamation to the whole court.

“My lords and my ladies, and to all my kin present here. I am sure that you have already heard the good news, but I would like to say it once more. Dorne has been defeated, and the foolish Prince Morion and his fleet lie at the bottom of the Narrow Sea!”

The King’s announcement was met with an incredibly loud cheer and a thunderous applause. And it was no surprise. The Fourth Dornish War had lasted a month. It had been short and it had been a glorious victory. The Stepstones had been successfully secured and incorporated into the realm, and with barely any loss of life on their part as well. Only a few hundred brave men had had to give their lives valiantly in the pacification of the islands. Not even Aegon the Conqueror could boast of such small losses.

The vast majority of the losses had been on the side of the Dornish and their pirate and sellsail allies, even when the Velaryon fleet had been forced to clear out the islands. The dragons had proven their worth in cowering even the most recalcitrant of foes to bend the knee and by then news had spread of what Dorne was calling the Butchering at Bloodstone.

Many of Dorne’s nobility had been onboard the fleet Viserra had destroyed, for Morion had been successful in rallying Dorne against the threat of a Targaryen and Velaryon ruled Stepstones. If there was a Butchering, there had to be a Butcher. Viserra had earned the enmity of all of Dorne for her actions. Not that she gave a damn what the Dornish thought of her.

Where Dorne despised her, King’s Landing had welcomed her and all the other victors home with a riotous triumph. If there was one thing that united most Westerosi, especially the Reachers and Stormlanders, it was the agreement that the Dornish were raiding scum. The scars of the previous Dornish Wars ran deep and before them were millennia of bloodshed. Ancients wars and raids fought between Dorne and its neighbors.

Victory against the Dornish, in such a decisive and brutal way, had all of King’s Landing and much of the realm cheering in triumph. Some had even begun to say that the loss of Queen Rhaenys in the First Dornish War had finally been avenged.

Her father calmed the cheering and applause with a mere wave of his hands. “I thank you for the applause my lords and ladies, but I am not done yet. This victory belongs not only to me but to the realm as a whole! And it would not be possible without the aid and contributions of many. My sons Prince Aemon and Prince Baelon both distinguished themselves admirably, and of course my daughter Princess Viserra destroyed Morion’s fleet with her dragon. They are all deserving of your praise and applause!”

The applause and cheers continued then, though it was muted as the crowd sensed the King had more yet to say. They were proven right when he continued further.

“However in all those who have distinguished themselves, one house, one man even, stand out from the rest. The realm thanks House Velaryon and its lord, Lord Corlys, for their exemplary service and contribution to the war effort. Without their ships or their marines, this campaign would not have been possible. In fact, I have one more announcement to make pertaining to this. Lord Corlys, step forward.”

Viserra watched eagerly. This was what they had been waiting for. Thrumming with anticipation and excitement, her husband walked out from his place beside her to stand before the Iron Throne.

“As you know my lord Velaryon, the Stepstones have been incorporated into the realm, but they cannot possibly be ruled directly from King’s Landing. Someone must hold it for the Crown.”

The entire court watched with bated breath. Allies and rivals of House Velaryon alike all believed they knew what was about to happen, the great boon that would elevate House Velaryon to the highest tide it had ever reached.

“In light of your house’s and your own personal contributions to the war effort, your long years preparing for the conquest, your fleet’s vital role in the defense and protection of the Narrow Sea, and your own sheer quality of character, your commendable service and honor, I can think of no other man I would rather have as my Royal Governor of the Stepstones.”

The crowd started murmuring to each other then. Viserra was confused. Governor? She and no doubt most of the court had thought the title would be Lord Paramount, or even Lord at least. She was confused and she saw that Corlys was as well, though he had hidden it with a seemingly pleased smile that did not reach his eyes. Viserra was growing increasingly concerned. Governor was not a common title in Westerosi history but every time it had been used, it had always referred to a man who held a castle or province on behalf of his king, like a castellan but larger in responsibility. It was also always distinctly not hereditary… no, it could not be!

She turned her eyes back to the Iron Throne to see her father continue his speech. “That is not all my lord Corlys! For the rule and lordship of Bloodstone is yours, with all its attendant lands and incomes. You and your sons and grandsons, shall hold and enjoy that honor until the end of time. Bloodstone shall be your seat from which you hold the Stepstones in my name as governor.”

The murmurs continued and Viserra knew why. The King had explicitly stated that Bloodstone would pass to Corlys’s sons and grandsons, for all of time. No such statement had been made for the Stepstones as a whole.

Viserra wondered who else had realized what a farce this was. She turned her gaze to see her family looking either neutral or concerned. The Hightowers, Lannisters, Redwynes, and the rest of the ilk of the western bloc at court were gleeful while the Velaryons and their allies and kin looked outraged.

She turned her eyes on her husband then. His face still held that fake smile but in his eyes she saw the same realization she had in her own. Her father had betrayed them. Desperation and anger almost made Corlys explode in rage, but her husband controlled his temper enough to speak in his usual magnanimous voice.

“Your Grace, you… you honor me with your praise and your rewards. I do humbly accept these honors, the Lordship of Bloodstone and the Governorate of the Stepstones alike.”

Her father smiled then, as he joined Corlys in putting on a show for the court. “Then kneel my lord, and make your oath of homage.”

Viserra had no choice but to watch as Corlys swore the usual oaths of fealty anew for the fief of Bloodstone, and then with her father’s aid in prompting, he swore a new oath for his role as Governor of the Stepstones. Every sentence hammered the nail deeper into the coffin of betrayal.

When her father gave the last vow for Corlys to swear, the silence in the court was so thick, Viserra could have heard a hairpin drop.

“Do you understand that the position of Governor is not hereditary, and that you serve at the pleasure of the King in whose name you rule the Stepstones on his behalf?”

The die had been cast. There was no going back. Her father had just confirmed before all the court that Corlys was not the true ruler of the Stepstones. He was the true owner and ruler of those islands, Corlys was merely his deputy, a governor who held it on his behalf and in his name.

A slight, an insult of the highest order! How dare he do this? How dare her father steal her husband’s rightful and hard-earned reward, the inheritance that was promised to her sons, his own grandsons!? How could he do this to them, to her? Viserra was fuming, furious and hot with righteous anger.

“I do Your Grace,” Corlys’s voice cut through the silence and Viserra knew it was the most forced sentence she had ever heard him say. “I do hereby swear to serve you ably and loyally as Governor, and with the understanding that the Stepstones have been entrusted to me and me alone, not to my sons or their descendants.”

“Then rise Corlys Velaryon. You knelt as the Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark, Warden of the Hook and Lord of Stonedance. Now you rise as the Governor of the Stepstones and the Lord of Bloodstone as well.”

What choice did he have? What choice did any of them have? Viserra did not know but she did know that this? This wasn’t over. She looked to her father and saw the triumph in his eyes and felt so much rage she thought she might breathe fire like Dreamfyre and show him why the sailors called her the Sea Dragon.

Chapter 18: The Parting of the Ways

Chapter Text

Sixth Moon, 89 AC

Aemon

What was his father even doing? Aemon did not know. He just knew that with a single decision, his father had burned the bridges they had labored so long to build, set fire to them more thoroughly then if he had used Vermithor.

Immediately after his father had dismissed the court, almost the entire Targaryen family had raced to meet him in the royal apartments. His decision had taken them all by surprise and they all wanted to know what he was thinking.

Viserra had beaten them there however. Her venomous and furious shouts could be heard down the corridor, accompanied by several curses that should not have been in a princess’s vocabulary. Aemon winced, it was a good thing he had told Rhaenys and Maegelle to take the children away from this. He had a feeling this conversation would not be for the ears of Viserys, Daemon, or Gael. Ser Ryam Redwyne was waiting by the door, a grimace on his face as he bowed his head to the royals and opened the door.

His father was not that foolish it seemed. No less than three knights of the Kingsguard stood beside him as he sat on his chair and listened to Viserra’s tirade. Lord Corlys was almost physically restraining his sister, perhaps in fear she might attempt to assault their father. She blazed with rage and fury, Aemon had never seen her so angry before. Not even when she had stood before them all, crying and angry after she had taken Dreamfyre.

His father looked to Aemon and his mother and siblings accompanying him and welcomed them with a smile. “Ah! Good, you have all come, as I expected. Could you help me calm your sister down? She appears to have taken things the wrong way.”

“T-the wrong way?” Viserra laughed bitterly and angrily at that, as if she could not believe what she was hearing. “What do you consider spitting on my sons, your own grandsons, and trampling over their inheritance to be!? How else am I supposed to take that but as an utter insult and farce, Father?”

King Jaehaerys fixed his eyes upon her like he was gazing upon an errant child of ten and not a woman grown with children twice that age. “Perhaps you should not have assumed too much Viserra. Or think to take insult where there is none.”

Before Viserra could go into another tirade, her husband finally spoke. His words were measured and calm, but Aemon knew him enough to know there was a barely restrained rage in them, veiled barely by politeness and deference to kingly authority. “Your Grace… forgive my impertinence, but did you not promise myself that the lordship of the Stepstones would be mine?”

His father narrowed his eyes and his voice went low. “Think back to our conversation carefully Lord Velaryon. I promised no such thing. I promised you the governance of the Stepstones, and as you heard and swore earlier, I have kept my word exactly. Perhaps this was not what you thought your reward would be, but your assumptions are not my responsibility. I promised you the governance of the Stepstones and I have delivered as promised. The exact details of your administration of the Stepstones will be discussed with the Small Council over the following days. I hope that you will be in attendance, both as Master of Ships and as Governor.”

There was a dangerous glint in Corlys’s eyes as he bowed to the king. “Of course Your Grace. I will be there. My apologies for my assumptions.”

The cold steel never left his father’s tone. “Good, I’m glad we have settled that. It has been a long and tiring day. More tiring for some than others,” he said with a slight glance to the steaming Viserra, “and I think we can all do with some rest. I will speak with you more on the morrow my lord. Take my daughter with you, I think she needs some time to calm down.”

Viserra left very begrudgingly, still indignant and furious. Corlys had to near physically move her even after whispering into her ears as she stared daggers at their father. If looks could kill, their father would be burning in the seven hells right now.

“Jaehaerys, what are you even doing!?” his mother demanded before Viserra and her husband had left. His sister perked up, emboldened at hearing their mother come to her defense, but her husband continued leading her away nonetheless.

“As I explained to Lord Corlys and attempted to explain to Viserra, I kept my word. I don’t really see what the problem is. Something was promised and it was granted in full. There is no reason for Viserra or anyone else to complain,” his father defended.

“Trivial excuses. No matter what your intentions or promises were father, you knew how the Velaryons would see it and you made no effort to correct or clarify. You let them continue falsely believing that you were giving them lordship over the Stepstones and then you humiliated them in open court in front of all the nobles!” Alyssa interrupted, looking furious. “To begin with, I’m not even sure I believe you when you say you never once intended to actually give them lordship. The title of governor doesn’t even have any precedent in Westeros! Or in our family’s rule over it!”

Their father leaned back into his seat. “You would be wrong there Alyssa. On both counts. Historically, while rare, the title has been used by the various kings of the lesser realms before the Conquest, and during the First Dornish War, mine own grandfather appointed governors over Dorne, Lord Jon Rosby who was Castellan of Sunspear and Warden of the Sands. Though the title of ‘governor’ itself may not have been used, the function it served most definitely was.”

Alyssa scoffed. “You’re not even willing to admit the truth! Damn your excuses! I don’t even know why you did this but you are driving Viserra away from us! Right when she was coming back to us! Do you not care at all!?” she exclaimed, marching toward their father, only to be stopped by the Kingsguard. She backed off, the fury still in her eyes as she stormed out of the room. A curt cut delivered as she left, “Maybe Saera was right about you after all.”

“Alyssa!” Baelon said as he chased after her, whether to scold her or agree with her, Aemon was not sure. Perhaps both.

His mother shook her head. “This conversation is not over Jaehaerys. We will be having words later. You better hope your actions have not estranged our daughter from us,” she warned before following Alyssa out, leaving Aemon alone with his father.

Aemon stepped forward then. “Why? Don’t tell me what you told the others. I don’t want to hear it. You and I both know it’s all just excuses. I am your heir, if there is anyone you must be frank with here, it is me.”

His father stared at him, as if deciding what to say. Finally, he sighed, and rose from his seat to approach Aemon.

“Do you remember our conversation a few months ago? After Viserra’s sons were born? This is my response to the concerns you raised,” his father said.

“Why did you choose to do this? What happened to everything I suggested? You told me you would consider it!” Aemon demanded.

“I did. In fact, I foresaw this problem years ago, from the very day Viserra claimed Dreamfyre. I knew that chances were, she would be able to give dragons to her children, with Dreamfyre being as prolific as she is. I chose to proceed with her betrothal to House Velaryon because if there was one family in the realm that I would choose to have dragons, if I had absolutely no choice, it would be my mother’s house.

“That does not however, mean that I like it, or that I see no problem with it. House Velaryon is the richest family in the realm, and they possess the largest fleet. And now, now they have three dragons and the family’s next generation riding dragons is sealed in stone. Was I to give them the Lord Paramountcy of the Stepstones as well, their power would grow too large by far. It would not be long before they had power to rival that of House Targaryen and that is unacceptable.

“I considered your plan, and while it has merit, I find myself disliking that the entire plan hinges on the personal loyalties and relationships between us and House Velaryon. There were many who were ‘loyal’ to our family in my youth. All proved faithless when the hard times came.

“My father gave only gifts and rewards, and never made threats, never gave punishments in fear that it would anger his vassals, and in the end he was deserted. I will not make the same mistake. It is the lesson that I learned as a child Aemon, you cannot rule with love and loyalty alone. You must be feared as well. You must be respected.”

“But fear and respect alone do not suffice if you sacrifice love and loyalty to attain them! Maegor proved that did he not?” Aemon interjected.

“There is no reason we cannot still implement your plan in some way. Love and loyalty yet remain, bonds of kinship cannot be broken so easily, regardless of Viserra’s temper tantrum, and they can be repaired. The Velaryons must be bound close and rewarded for service that is true, but neither can they be given free rein. There must be a balance. Should they prove loyal, great rewards and boons would come, and perhaps in time, they may yet receive the Lord Paramountcy of the Stepstones as they so desire, should they prove faithful and pass the test.”

“And if they do not, if the Velaryons prove to be too dangerous and disloyal, then the option will remain for us to legally remove the Stepstones from them and give it to another family. That will keep them in line.”

His father’s words had logic in them, and yet still Aemon was not sure. “Even so, is it not a step too far? You risk driving the Velaryons away entirely should they feel slighted enough. And then what? Do you think the threat of losing the Stepstones to be enough to keep them in line?”

“The fact of the matter is, the Velaryons need the Stepstones. Their trade routes all run through them. I do not think they will take lightly the threat that they may fall into the control of a rival such as House Redwyne or Hightower, who might so easily begin to restrict or perhaps even cripple the trade which has brought them such great wealth. Your sister has once again proven herself to be an immature child, and I doubt she has the wisdom to see this, but Lord Corlys is a smart man. He knows this as well as I do I am sure. I trust that he will act wisely, to preserve his house if nothing else.

Seeing Aemon was still not convinced, his father continued. “I do not make this decision lightly Aemon, and I do not act solely out of the interest and concerns of House Targaryen, but those of our vassals as well.” At Aemon’s curious look, he continued. “I have received petitions, letters, and requests, from many houses and lords throughout the realm, all of them concerned, in one way or another, about the rise of the Velaryons.”

“I’m sure you have,” Aemon said sarcastically. “From that cadre of overambitious and grasping families in the west no doubt. Lannister, Hightower, Redwyne, and the rest of their little alliance. The Velaryons are our family, our kin, Father. They may not have our name, but I would still trust them more than any of these ambitious western houses. What do dragons care of the opinions of the sheep?”

His father frowned and shook his head. “No Aemon. The western alliance were not the only ones who spoke to me. I received letters from houses across the entire realm, not just the west. My brother Boremund spoke to me at length on the matter. Daella of all people, wrote to me on it.”

That got Aemon’s attention. Daella had written to their father? How? When?

Seeing Aemon’s surprise, his father nodded. “Yes, it was surprising to me as well. Daella has changed much in the years since her wedding it seems. She wrote at the request of her husband and goodfather, asking me if anything might be done to restrain the Velaryons.”

“Why would Daella even do that?” Aemon asked, stunned.

“The Velaryons have not risen alone. If there is a western alliance, then the Velaryons have formed a coalition of their own, a league in the Narrow Sea. Preeminent among their allies are the Graftons, the Celtigars, and the Tarths. House Grafton has become very powerful and wealthy from its trade with Driftmark and that has started playing into the internal politics of the Vale. The Eyrie has grown concerned with how much influence House Grafton has in the Vale, and how much weight they have started throwing around. Boremund has complained similarly of House Tarth and other Velaryon allies in the Stormlands, and of course in our very own Crowlands, the Celtigars continue to wax alongside the Velaryons. And now that the Velaryons have dragons, their allies grow emboldened and more daring,” his father explained.

“Do you begin to understand now Aemon? The Velaryons are not just a potential danger to our own family, but they may very well prove to be a danger to the stability of the realm as a whole. They are greatly disturbing the balance of power and many houses fear to challenge them because of their dragons. It is us they turn to, to protect them. And it is certainly not in House Targaryen’s interest to allow one of our vassals to become so greatly elevated and empowered.”

“The Velaryons are still our kin though Father, and our oldest vassals beside! Surely they are not as destabilizing as you claim?” Aemon protested.

“I have also received complaints from House Tyrell, that the Velaryons are exploiting them for profits with a threat of undermining their rule over the Reach by dealing with the Peakes instead should they refuse their demands.”

Aemon frowned. “Whether that is true or not, it is not officially a crime. Families may deal however they please so long as the King’s laws are not broken. I highly doubt the Velaryons blatantly threatened to undermine their rule in such a way.”

“Oh I don’t disagree. Florence and Martyn were no doubt exaggerating in the hope that I would take action. However, it has proven a point to me. We have long kept dragons out of the hands of other houses such as the Lannisters because we know they have the grasping ambition and greed to empower themselves and overreach, maybe even for the throne itself. Now I see, that kin though they may be, the Velaryons are proving to be little different to the Lannisters or Hightowers in this aspect. Only, unlike the Western alliance, they may become an actual threat to House Targaryen itself because they have dragons.”

Aemon felt defeated. He wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t know if he agreed with what his father was saying, but he did understand his concerns and intentions. Still, the way his father had handled this entire matter did not sit well with him at all.

“You should have told me all of this much earlier, back then even maybe perhaps, when I spoke to you on it. We could have worked on it together, perhaps found a better way. At the very least I could have spoken to Viserra and Lord Corlys and smoothed over any ruffled feathers rather than having this dropped on them in court at the last moment. Did you even speak to anyone on this matter before you made your decision?”

“I spoke to Barth of course... and Vaegon.”

Aemon laughed. “You asked Vaegon? Why? What possessed you to do that?”

“Dour and unpleasant your brother may be at times Aemon, but he is very intelligent and an archmaester. You would do well to heed his counsel,” his father rebuked with a frown.

“I do not dispute Vaegon’s intelligence, only his judgement in this matter. He and Viserra are not exactly on the best of terms. And that still leaves why you chose to make such an important and controversial decision without the input of myself! Your heir! Do you not trust me?” Aemon asked and he hated that the slightest shred of insecurity and hurt slipped into his voice as he spoke.

His father was chastised. “I feared I might start another argument with you, should you disagree. You defended Viserra so strongly when she claimed Dreamfyre, I wondered… It is no matter now. I was wrong. Forgive me my son, it was a mistake and I shan’t repeat it.”

Aemon was still upset but he needed to maintain a rapport with his father if he was to salvage anything from this mess. “So how do we proceed now?” he asked.

“We wait and see how Lord Corlys reacts. It is his reaction that I am anticipating. Perhaps in a few years, should he conduct himself admirably, I would be amenable to granting him what he desires. Your cordial relationship with him will help you implement your own plan, while I keep the Stepstones hostage according to my own. I believe the term used for this arrangement, is the carrot and the stick? A strange new saying, but it sums it up quite well.”

As his father spoke, Aemon just sighed softly to himself. This was a right proper mess his father had created, and he just hoped he’d be able to get them all out of it.

___________________________________________

Viserra

“Corlys!” she shouted at her husband once they were in the privacy of their rooms. “How could you just stand there and listen to my father’s nonsense!?”

Her husband did not answer, only slamming the door shut and locking it.

“Are you even angry? Where is the rage? The wrath at the insult to yourself, to your sons? Seven’s sake! Say something Corlys!”

“Viserra!” Corlys suddenly rebuked as he grabbed both her hands and held them tightly. His eyes were cold and Viserra saw the fury in them. “I am angry, just as much as you are. But I am merely a vassal lord. You are the dragonriding princess, you have the leeway to scream at the King and curse him. I do not.”

Calming slightly, Viserra weakly said, “You can say it to me… in private. It’s not like I’m going to tell him am I?”

Despite the situation, Corlys laughed a little. “Patience my dear. I will tell you now. You want to know how I feel? I feel like I want to tear the world down and your father with it. The humiliation, the betrayal, they sting like a hornet upon my heart and a slap to my face. But if we are to undo this, we cannot act rashly and scream at the world with no restraint. Put aside your fire, temper your rage and let it simmer instead of blaze.”

Softening his gaze, he laid a gentle kiss upon her brow before leaning into her ear to whisper. “I dare not speak any more on this. Not here. The Red Keep has ears.”

“Then where? When?” Viserra asked, distraught.

“On Driftmark. I beg you give me some time Viserra. I will attend all of these meetings your father has arranged and learn all the details of this… governorship. When that is done, we will gather our most trusted advisors. House Velaryon will answer this slight Viserra, that I swear to you.”

Before Viserra could respond, they both heard a knock on the door.

Cautious, Viserra edged toward the door and opened it. Alyssa wrapped her in a tight embrace as soon as she had opened the door.

“Oh Viserra, I am so sorry. I promise, I will do everything I can to speak to him. He will know my anger, oh let’s show him together sister, why he should beware the wrath of his daughters!”

“Did he say anything about why he did this? The truth that is?”

“No, he’s being insufferable and infuriating. Still insisting that nonsense about not breaking his word. He even cited vague historical precedent as justification to me!”

“Do you think… it might have anything to do with Jace and Luke’s hatchlings?” Viserra asked. It was the only thing she could think of that might be the cause of her father’s decision. Either that or he really was just a terrible person.

Alyssa sighed. “Nothing is certain, but that’s near as I can figure. I think he’s still holding a grudge over you taking Dreamfyre even now, and your sons having dragons of their own has only compounded that grudge into paranoia and resentment.”

Viserra slammed her fist into the door. “Damn him! The matter with Dreamfyre was settled and done years ago! He made no protest whatsoever to my sons having dragon eggs, and he allowed me the Dragonkeepers to care for their hatchlings! Where does he even pull these harebrained schemes and grudges from?”

“I do not know. Any ideas Baelon?” she said, asking their brother standing nearby.

“I can’t say for sure. Your idea about the dragons seems the most logical Alyssa, but there may be something else we have missed. I will have to speak to Aemon to know for sure, if there is anyone that can get a straight answer from our father, it’s him.”

“Or me,” their mother interjected as she walked up. “Your father will soon realize his mistake if he has not already once I get my hands on him.”

It still felt weird to think her mother was supporting her, but Viserra had to admit it filled her with joy nonetheless.

“Viserra,” she said as she stood by the door. “I promise. I will do everything I can to undo this. This slight to you and your family, it will not stand.”

“Thank you Mother, for supporting us. It… it means a lot to me,” Viserra said, struggling to keep her voice from breaking. Her relationship with her mother had never been the best, but it was times like these that reminded her, that her mother truly did love her. It was more than she could say for her other parent at least.

Eventually, she dismissed her siblings and mother, asking for time alone. She felt lost. Before today, it had felt like everything had finally fallen into place and all Viserra had to do was follow the path laid out before her for a happy and prosperous life for herself and her family. Now everything was in question, the future uncertain, and she just felt overwhelmed.

“I will fly back to Driftmark on the morrow,” she said aloud, making her decision.

The hurt on Corlys’s face almost made her reconsider, but she pressed on.

“Forgive me, I feel reluctant to leave you alone, but I need time. Away from this abominable court, away from all this politics. I need to see our sons for more than just a brief day.”

Corlys nodded, but Viserra was not done yet. “But that is tomorrow. Tonight…” she said as she sat on the bed and pulled him into a kiss. “Tonight I need you.”

In the embrace of the man she loved, Viserra felt content again, for a brief time. A shelter away from the world, just for the two of them, if only for a little while.

_______________________________________________________

As she flew over Driftmark, Viserra noticed the roads. She always did. Almost every road on the island was paved, in stone, cement, or concrete. They were straight as an arrow, had grooves for carts, and even had signboards to most any location on the island, signboards the smallfolk were actually able to read.

They linked every part of the island together, from the small hamlets in the interior, to the fishing villages on the coast, to the town of Hull and the old castle in the northwest of the island, to the great port of Spicetown and the palatial castle of High Tide in the far east. From the air they almost resembled a spider’s web, crisscrossing the isle and knitting it together.

Viserra had flown over Driftmark many times in the past few years, and she had long ago realized just how developed the island was. Its layout and infrastructure had all been meticulously planned and designed, to maximize the economic output of the entire island, not just the towns of Spicetown and Hull.

Waterwheels and small little dams clogged near every stream and river in the interior, powering mills and manufactories. Canals fed farms, many of which were enclosed and used advanced crop rotation methods. There were likely a hundred other little things she failed to notice. Every part of Driftmark just worked together seamlessly.

Today’s flight however, was not a leisurely survey of the island she called home. Viserra flew with a purpose, a destination that was within sight at last. A grim and damp old castle, with salt-stained walls that stood on a crag beside the sea. Dreamfyre roared as they arrived, as if to announce her presence.

Two weeks had passed since her father had betrayed House Velaryon, and Corlys had finally sent word of his return to Driftmark. But it was not to High Tide he was returning, but to Castle Driftmark, the old ancestral seat of House Velaryon in the island’s northwest.

Landing Dreamfyre in the courtyard of Castle Driftmark, Viserra helped Rhaekar and Irina down from the saddle before she climbed up to the battlements. Castle Driftmark was much the same as she remembered. Viserra found herself wondering, with no small amount of apprehension, why had Corlys summoned them to Castle Driftmark of all places?

It was not a light request to simply gather on a different part of the island. Castle Driftmark was the headquarters of the Velaryon fleet. It served as prison for their enemies and barracks for their marines. Castle Driftmark was where House Velaryon hosted its officers and war planning, it was where most of the administration and records related to their fleet was kept.

She looked out from the battlements to see the town of Hull beneath the walls of the castle. The Arsenal of Hull stood proudly near the harbor, producing more ships every day. The Driftmark Maritime Academy, the original campus of the University of Spicetown stood right in front of her, down the paved road from the gatehouse. It was now an institute dedicated to the training of maritime trades, and one dominated by the training of the Velaryon fleet’s officers.

The training grounds and barracks of the Driftmark Marines dominated the lands between the castle and the town. Hull was where the elite soldiers of the Velaryon fleet were trained and garrisoned. It was Hull that made most of their equipment, their longbows, spears and swords, their mail and leather.

The town itself was littered with smithies and crafts, taverns and inns, and all the usual that you might expect from a market town, but that was not its true purpose. It had trade, just the same as Spicetown, but the town had been built and designed to support the Velaryon fleet first and foremost.

If High Tide was their palace and Spicetown their port, then Castle Driftmark and Hull were their armory. The Velaryons traded in Spicetown, but it was in Hull that they made war.

The last time Viserra had been here, Driftmark had been preparing for the annexation of the Stepstones and the expected conflict with Dorne. She wondered if soon, Castle Driftmark and Hull would have another war to prepare for. But with who? And when?

Noticing the Sea Snake had moored in the harbor, Viserra thought she might soon get her answers. Descending from the battlements, she greeted her husband when he arrived with a tender kiss before greeting Aurane who stood at his side.

“Thank you for coming. I’m sure you are all wondering why I decided to meet you here instead of High Tide. But please, allow me to freshen up first. After that, we will have our long awaited meeting in the solar,” Corlys said before he walked off.

After refreshing and having a light meal, Corlys summoned all of them to what was once the lord’s solar in Castle Driftmark. Taking a seat beside her husband, Viserra wondered what conversations Corlys and his brothers might have once had with their grandfather in this very room. This was the castle they had grown up in after all.

“We’ve all been very patient with you Corlys, but I think I speak for all of us here now when I ask. What is the plan?” Viserra asked.

“Yes, about that. First things first,” Corlys said before he suddenly slammed his hand on the desk and threw a number of papers to the floor in an uncharacteristic display of rage that stunned his family members.

“Sorry about that. Needed to work some anger out. To put it bluntly, and a little crassly, Jaehaerys has completely and utterly f*cked us over,” Corlys declared.

Having all of their attention, he continued, “I attended all of his little Small Council meetings and this governorship really is a farce. Explicitly, we do not own the Stepstones, they are the demesne of the Crown. House Velaryon only owns Bloodstone, of which I was named the Lord, a paltry pittance of a consolation.

“The King has the right to set the tolls, but this is delegated to me as governor and I may set them as I please though he has the authority to change those rates. We are entitled to a fifty percent commission of the toll profits, with the remaining fifty percent going to Jaehaerys. We have the right to waive toll fees on our own ships and with some clever accounting and hands off ruling by Jaehaerys, we can easily play with the rates to benefit our allies and disadvantage our rivals. A lot of the rules and regulations are vague or not clear. This is rather unprecedented in Westeros after all. We thus have a lot of room to move or interpret our directives and profit handsomely still from the governorate, especially since I was able to convince Jaehaerys, that I would need the Crown’s treasury to help fund the infrastructure and defense of the Crown’s demesne in the islands.”

“That actually worked?” Rhaekar asked, surprised.

“It did yes. I think I made Lady Florence weep when she heard how much I asked for. Suffice to say, we might be able to get away with having the Crown bankroll the upkeep of everything that is not on Bloodstone. The fleet, the toll stations, the expansion of the forts, and the like.”

“Are there to be any other vassal lords?” Irina questioned.

“Officially no. Jaehaerys has opted against that. Castellans or some other lower officials that I have the right to appoint, subject to his approval, will aid in the administration and governance of the region.”

“It sounds like it’s going to be a real headache to build this bureaucracy,” Aurane noted.

“It will be, but we can expand Driftmark’s bureaucracy onto the islands and try and go from there. There is a silver lining to this governorate, however so slight. We are in the position to develop Bloodstone at the expense of the other islands, so long as we do it carefully enough that Jaehaerys does not have grounds to act against us. We can make Bloodstone the economic heart of the Stepstones, and combined with how we would design the bureaucracy, we can effectively make it so that we will have control over the region no matter who the governor is. In theory.”

“Why only in theory?” Viserra asked.

“For that we come to the last and frankly the most aggravating part of this whole governorship. It’s an appointed position, and explicitly not hereditary. It’s more like a Small Council position than a lordship. That decrepit old codger made me swear in open court, to acknowledge that I served at his whim like I was some dog. Your father is a complete and utter prick Viserra, no offense,” Corlys said, anger in his voice.

Viserra smirked. “None taken, I said much worse to his face if you recall.”

Corlys smiled briefly before his smile dropped and his tone became very serious. “Now I have to be honest with you all here. I think some of you have already noticed the chief problem with this governorate Jaehaerys has forced on us.”

Rhaekar gritted his teeth in anger. “The Stepstones can be taken away… and given to a rival.”

“Yes,” Corlys clenched his fists. “In fact, with the difficulty in running the bureaucracy and the fleet and expertise that would be required, there’s only two houses that could really run the Stepstones apart from us. House Redwyne and House Hightower.”

Corlys suddenly slammed his fist on the desk again. “I would rather die than let the Stepstones we conquered and we built to fall into their hands, and yet this is the trap that Jaehaerys has put us in. He has placed a Sword of Damocles above our heads, ready to fall upon us at any moment, and there is nothing we can do to stop him from actually doing it if he decides to do so.”

Viserra wasn’t sure who or what Damocles was, but she got the meaning well enough. She hadn’t even considered this. She had been too angry at the principle of being denied the Stepstones to yet consider the potential political ramifications.

“For the slightest insult or mistake or just his whim, he could take away the Stepstones tomorrow and give it to the Hightowers or the Redwynes. If we build up Bloodstone and our bureaucracy like we discussed earlier, we could make life hell for any governor, but slowly but surely they will inevitably be able to secure some measure of control over the Stepstones, especially if Jaehaerys supports them.”

At this point, Corlys had unearthed a map of the Narrow Sea and had laid it out on the table. “The Stepstones dominate the sea lanes between the Narrow and Shivering Seas and the Summer, Jade, and Sunset Seas. Any and all trade that passes between those regions must go through the Stepstones. They are the single most important trade route in the world.

“The geography that so blessed Driftmark, may now be its undoing. Unlike Oldtown or the Arbor, our ships must pass through the vicinity of the Stepstones to reach the lucrative trade routes with the Far East. We can weaken the Hightowers and Redwynes by making their trade past the Stepstones difficult, but if the tables are turned and Jaehaerys gives the Stepstones to them, they could potentially cripple us.”

Viserra was growing deeply concerned now. “What can we do to stop that from happening?”

“We can do our best to minimize Driftmark’s reliance on the southern trade routes, reorient some of it toward the Shivering Sea, diversify our economy, but it probably still won’t be enough. We built our fortune off of the routes to the Jade Sea, we can’t just abandon them.” Corlys shook his head.

“What I want to know, is why?” Irina asked suddenly. “Why would the King do this to us? We have been loyal vassals have we not? Viserra is his very own daughter, and Jace and Luke are his own grandsons! Why has he betrayed us so?”

Viserra was downcast. Corlys sat back down into his seat with a sigh. “We think it may be because of the dragons. It likely does not sit well with Jaehaerys that House Velaryon now has dragons. He probably fears we will grow too powerful if we have both the Stepstones and dragons.”

Aurane breathed in deeply before he spoke, his voice low. “And that means…”

“The chances of him ever giving us the Stepstones in truth, are not high,” Viserra finished for him.

“What about the rest of your family Viserra? What have they to say of all of this? Do they agree with your father?” Rhaekar asked, hopeful.

“My mother, and my siblings Alyssa and Baelon have told me of their disagreement. They have promised to speak to my father and try and change his mind, but I am not sure how successful they will be,” Viserra confessed.

“Prince Aemon spoke to me as well,” Corlys said. “After one of the Small Council meetings. He apologized and said he was trying to resolve the issue on his own part.”

“Is that the plan then?” Rhaekar asked. “We put our trust in the Targaryen royals and hope they come through for us?” He did not sound very enthused by the idea.

Viserra turned to Corlys who shook his head vehemently. “I mean no offense to your family Viserra, but I am done trusting in the promises of the Targaryens. We have all seen how much they are worth. Jaehaerys is a proud man. He will not change from this course of action now that he has already fixed upon it and slighted us. There will be no convincing him.”

“My father will not live forever…” Viserra protested weakly.

“I respect your brother Aemon, but will he come through for us Viserra? Will he really? Your father has a decade more to live, at least. How long before Aemon is convinced on the merits of your father’s plan? Or comes to enjoy the security he feels in dangling the Stepstones above our head, either as reward or punishment?”

“No,” Corlys declared. “I will not accept that vulnerability, that weakness. We in this room? We built House Velaryon from the ground up with our own hands. We did not rely on the handouts of the Targaryens, we made our own path, forged our own fortune. We cannot allow House Targaryen to dictate to us or abuse us on a whim. House Velaryon must be in control of its own destiny.”

“If we are to ever negotiate with Aemon, with the Targaryens, it must be from a position of strength. We must have something to offer. In the meantime, it would also serve as a safeguard for us to fall back upon should we lose the Stepstones. Something that would allow us to maintain our trade routes, if precariously, without the interference of our rivals.”

“What could that even be? You’ve gone out of your way to stress the importance of the Stepstones this entire time!” Viserra asked, not knowing what he was talking about.

“To be honest, some would argue it is part of the Stepstones,” Corlys said as he drew his dagger and plunged it into the map through the northeastern island of the archipelago. “We go for Tyrosh.”

Chapter 19: Conquest

Chapter Text

Eighth Moon, 90 AC

Viserra

Dreamfyre beat her wings gently, relaxed but alert and ready. Beneath them, the Velaryon fleet sailed, larger than Viserra had ever seen it. Their masts were like a forest upon the sea. Every ship was full to the brim with supplies, weapons, marines, and mercenaries.

A lot of effort and planning was needed to wage a war of conquest, so much so that it had taken them over a year to prepare for it, and that was with the neighboring Stepstones as a basing ground to make their preparations and launch their invasion from.

It was far more work than Viserra remembered for the Fourth Dornish War. Then again, if she recalled correctly, House Velaryon had been preparing for that annexation for years, building forts, ports, naval bases, and other such infrastructure in the Stepstones. Infrastructure that had been further expanded in the past year, on the Crown’s funding too, and put to use aiding them in their preparations for war once again.

If all went according to plan, they would have control of a great city that dominated the Stepstones region economically with its dyes and strategic port. Tyrosh also had claims to a great part of the Disputed Lands, claims which could allow them a narrow corridor along the mainland coast by which to bypass the tolls in the Stepstones, should they ever lose them to a rival. Tyrosh even had its own claims to the Stepstones that might be used to pressure said rivals.

They had meticulously planned out everything about the war, and yet still Viserra worried about what the consequences might be. How would the world react? Rhaekar’s words were still on her mind. She thought back to that conversation in the solar of Castle Driftmark, well over a year ago now, when Corlys had revealed his daring plan.

Corlys’s hand remained on the dagger he had thrust into the map as he explained his plan passionately. Once he had finished, he removed the dagger and sheathed it, sitting back into his seat as he waited for their response.

Rhaekar spoke first. “Corlys, this sounds exceedingly risky. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Viserra asked, curious. For her own part, she thought the plan was excellent. It was bold, daring, a proper response to her father’s betrayal and a way to secure her sons’ and house’s future in one fell swoop. But if Rhaekar was concerned, perhaps there was something she had missed?

With all of them looking at him, Rhaekar continued. “In short, what you are proposing brother, is that we ally with Volantis in their war with the Triarchy yes? With most of the Triarchy’s forces occupied in the east, we will strike them from behind and seize Tyrosh and its hinterlands on the continent.

“Militarily I am confident in our ability to take the city. Dreamfyre ensures that. In the long term however, can we really hold it? Tyrosh has over eight times the population of Spicetown! Near four hundred thousand souls! And that is in Tyrosh alone, to say nothing of its hinterlands. Dragons are powerful yes, but I find myself wondering if we can hold it with only the might of Driftmark and Massey’s Hook behind us.”

“Aegon the Conqueror did it,” Viserra noted.

Rhaekar shook his head. “It is not that simple, the Conqueror planned his war years in advance, he knew the political landscape of Westeros and how to insert himself on top with minimal difficulty. The system of governance is different in Tyrosh compared to Westeros, we will not be able to so easily replicate what Aegon did. Not unless we are to trust in the local elites and nobles…”

Corlys interjected, “There will have to be some level of collaboration between us and the more amenable local elites. That is inevitable. However, the majority of the population of Tyrosh, is slaves Rhaekar. Freeborn are outnumbered by slaves three to one. If we free the slaves, we will gain the devotion and loyalty of the majority of the populace. That should make it easier for us to hold the city.”

“Abolishing slavery will be a massive challenge! The Tyroshi economy is built on it! There would be a great deal of economic turmoil in the city, compromising its industries, and reducing our profits, maybe even resulting in a net loss in our incomes until Tyrosh is stabilized and that could take years! It is easier said than done Corlys!” Rhaekar protested.

Her husband did not relent. “I know, which is why I would trust only you to handle it. You have served admirably as Driftmark’s steward for decades Rhaekar. Under your administration, the island has prospered. If anyone is capable of stabilizing Tyrosh, it is you. And with you by my side, I believe we will be able to hold the city.”

That gave Rhaekar pause. He seemed to be torn between preening from the praise and slamming his hand into his forehead. “That…” He sighed. “Even if we were to be able the hold the city and not lose our entire fortune in the process, have you even considered the consequences? The world is not just us and Tyrosh Corlys, everyone will react to our conquest, likely badly. The Free Cities are not likely to look kindly on our conquest of one of them. They will despise the precedent, and may fear they would be next. They are not our main trading partners but we trade with them in no small amount either. They could embargo us or apply economic and political pressure on the Iron Throne to rein us in. Which brings me to my next point! You say the King fears our power and wealth, do you think he will let us get away with conquering a foreign kingdom for ourselves with zero consequences!?”

Corlys was calm, confident. “The Free Cities can be appeased. Volantis would naturally have allied with us to take their own spoils from the Triarchy. They would have little reason to act against us. Pentos too can be mollified with lands from Myr. Braavos may be an issue, but some concessions and negotiations can sort that out. Norvos, Qohor, and Lorath, are quite irrelevant to us and not that likely to care with how far away they are.”

“And the King?” Rhaekar demanded.

“We are still his kin. We will be safe from the worst possible reprisals. I anticipate that at most, he will revoke the Stepstones governorate from us. That is also only a possibility. At the moment every soldier on those islands, every fort, every port, they are all ours. He dismisses us and he could potentially lose the Stepstones entirely.”

Rhaekar did not seem satisfied, but before he could say anything more, Corlys said, “I know there are risks involved, but I genuinely believe with all my heart, that Tyrosh is the future of House Velaryon. Will you all trust me, and follow my lead?”

“Of course Corlys,” Viserra said quickly. Rhaekar raised good points, but her faith and trust was in her husband first and foremost, and he had defended his plan well.

“You’ve had some stupid and utterly reckless and harebrained ideas in the past, but this does not sound like one of them. You’ve never led us astray Corlys, I will always trust in you,” Aurane said, giving his support as well.

“Rhaekar?” Irina asked her husband.

He sighed heavily. “I’m not sure about this, but you are my lord, my brother. For all your past recklessness, Aurane is right. This plan is thought out. It’s just… unpredictable, we might bite off more than we can chew, start something we cannot finish, face a consequence we did not predict and cannot escape from…”

“We’ll face it all, together,” Corlys said firmly.

“We might lose everything,” Rhaekar said, distraught.

“Then we’ll do that together too… but I do not think it will come to that.”

A thousand emotions ran through Rhaekar’s face before he grew determined. “Very well. If we’re to do this, we do it properly.”

Tyrosh was in sight now. Over a year’s worth of preparation, planning, and worrying. It all culminated in this moment. Dreamfyre surged forward toward the city at full speed, beating her wings furiously.

The bells tolled. People ran in panic and stunned surprise at the docks as the Velaryon fleet approached the city. Tyrosh had been taken completely by surprise, its fleet and army were all away fighting the war against Volantis. The battle was decided before it even began.

At her command, Dreamfyre descended upon the gates separating the docks from the rest of the city and destroyed them. She then had Dreamfyre bathe the battlements in flame, killing any defenders that were gathering there. The way had been cleared for the Velaryon fleet to land its army without opposition.

Viserra scouted over the city as the fleet disembarked its marines and sellswords. Resistance was futile and limited. Few dared to face the Velaryon soldiers with Dreamfyre flying overhead.

By noon, the Velaryon army was before the black walls of Tyrosh. The Black Fortress, the innermost and oldest part of the city, built millennia ago by the Valyrian Freehold as a fort to control the Stepstones. Within the fortress was a complex of palaces, manses, government buildings, gardens, fountains, libraries, and so much more, almost like a city within a city. Not even dragonfire could melt the black dragonstone walls that guarded this complex. But it would not need to. Once again, Dreamfyre blew open the gates, allowing their army to storm the fortress.

A short while later, Viserra landed Dreamfyre in the courtyard of the Archon’s Palace, dismounting from her dragon as her husband strolled into the courtyard, his Tide Guard around him and a company of Driftmark Marines following behind. Watching her surroundings carefully, she stepped quickly into the escort of bluecloaks and stood beside Corlys.

While it was unlikely the Tyroshi were foolish enough to do anything with Dreamfyre so close, it was best to be cautious. Better safe than sorry… or dead. Viserra was wearing armor, like she had when she had flown against Morion Martell’s fleet. Corlys had made her promise to not take unnecessary risks. Staying in her dragon’s saddle when they were on the ground left her exposed to archers and Viserra was not going to let herself die stupidly because she was overconfident.

Protected by the shields and swords of their elite guard, and the great dragon by their side, the Lord and Lady of the Tides stood secure and safe. As safe as they could be in a battle at least.

At Corlys’s order, their marines made to march in to secure the palace but before they could, the Archon of Tyrosh himself emerged. His hair and beard were dyed an extravagant deep blue and his robes were a rich Tyroshi purple. A platoon of Unsullied escorted him.

In a fit of rage and bravado, the Archon marched up to them. “What is the meaning of this unprovoked invasion Lord Velaryon?” he demanded, full of bravado.

Viserra did not like his tone. Dreamfyre roared and the Archon’s mask shattered as he cowered. Even his Unsullied, said to have no fear, took a step back as the dragon continued to growl softly, dangerously.

Her husband spoke then. “There was an incident in the Stepstones. Ships flying the Tyroshi banner attacked my fleet’s patrols. This outrage could not go unanswered.”

The Archon protested, a sliver of courage in his voice once again. “Where is your evidence! I ordered no such attack! Even if what you claim is true, where was the complaint? Why did you not seek redress? It could have been settled diplomatically!”

“This is our redress,” Viserra announced coldly. Her voice was low, a promise of retribution. If the Archon remained stubborn, perhaps a demonstration was in order?

“Dreamfyre!” she called. Her dragon obeyed, sensing her thoughts and will. The courtyard shook as she crawled forward, stalking up to the Archon. The back of her throat and maw glowed with azure flame.

“A word is all it would take,” Viserra warned.

Terror filled the Archon’s face, his eyes clouded in fear. All but whimpering, he turned to Corlys. “What are your terms Lord Velaryon?”

“Unconditional surrender. Of this city, this palace, and yourself, to me. Furthermore, you will order all your warships and soldiers on the continent to stand down and return home to surrender themselves to the custody of my fleet and my army,” Corlys declared.

Despair and anger warred on the Archon’s face before he grew resigned to his fate. “Tyrosh is yours my lord,” he said before ordering his Unsullied to throw down their weapons.

Viserra looked to her husband, their eyes meeting briefly before he stepped forward to receive the Archon’s surrender. Tyrosh was theirs. Now they had to hold it.

_____________________________________________

Ninth Moon, 90 AC

Aemon

“Much has happened in Essos in the past moon,” Lord Quentyn Qoherys, the Master of Whisperers said.

His father leaned forward, giving Lord Qoherys his full attention. The rest of the council was alert as well.

“As this council has been before informed, Lord Corlys and Princess Viserra have waged war on the Free City of Tyrosh, with the justification of an incident in the Tyroshi Straits near the Stepstones where supposedly, Tyroshi ships attacked Velaryon patrols.

“House Velaryon used infrastructure funded by the Crown in the Stepstones to supply their fleet and launch their retaliation. However, I have been informed by reliable sources that the Velaryons had been building up military preparations on the islands for well over a year, so the validity of their war against Tyrosh is also called into question.

“The Velaryons did not just stop at the city of Tyrosh, but pushed onto the mainland, securing the hinterlands of the city. They also destroyed or captured the Tyroshi fleet and army, alongside that of Lys and Myr. They actively aided Volantene forces as well, going out of their way to destroy Triarchy forces in the east away from Tyrosh. Princess Viserra and Dreamfyre have shed much blood the past moon.”

“We have heard this all before Lord Qoherys,” his mother said, annoyed by his stalling. “What new information do you have for us?”

“Of course my queen, I was merely recollecting, so that all present here would remember the context of the situation in the east, for a greater understanding of the direness of this new information.”

Lord Quentyn looked to his father before continuing, “His Grace called this unscheduled meeting to discuss rumours that I brought to him. Rumours saying that Lord Corlys has declared himself Archon of Tyrosh. I am here to inform this council, that further investigation has verified these rumours. My informants in the city have confirmed them.”

His mother looked stricken, as did Baelon. Aemon himself was angered. What were Viserra and Corlys doing? Was this their response to the whole mess with the governorate in the Stepstones? Because if so, they had chosen the worst possible response.

“Continue Lord Quentyn,” his father ordered. Aemon could see a cool fury in his purple eyes, a rage he was barely restraining.

Ser Aurane, Corlys’s brother and deputy as Master of Ships, was looking more and more nervous.

“The Archon of Tyrosh is elected from amongst a conclave of the city’s wealthy and noble families. The Velaryons had this conclave remove the former Archon of Tyrosh from power, ‘elect’ Lord Corlys Archon in his stead, make the position hereditary, and then vote it absolute powers. I am told Princess Viserra’s Dreamfyre was rather coincidentally in the room when the conclave voted.

“In effect, Lord Corlys Velaryon has become an independent ruler with absolute and hereditary control over the city of Tyrosh and its hinterlands. He has also enacted a series of sweeping reforms and other changes, the most notable of which is the abolition of slavery in Tyrosh and all its dominions. Another is the transfer of ownership of many of the Dye Guilds and other businesses to either the Velaryons, or local elites that are believed to have allied with them.”

“There has also been a treaty signed in Tyrosh. This ‘Treaty of Tyrosh’ has the signatures of Lord Corlys himself, the Triarchs of Volantis, the Prince of Pentos, the deposed former Archon of Tyrosh, and the leaders of Myr and Lys. The treaty formally outlines all the territorial and political changes in the area.

“Lord Corlys has been formally recognized by all other signatories as the hereditary Archon of Tyrosh. All other signatories have also relinquished their claims on Tyrosh and its dominions, which now include lands which were disputed with Myr and Lys before the formation of the Triarchy.

“Volantis has annexed Lys and the remainder of the Disputed Lands, including all Myrish claims south of the River Myrllu. They have also annexed the Golden Fields north of the Lhorulu River which Myr had claimed. Pentos was given most of Myr’s northern territories and Myr itself has effectively been made a vassal of Pentos and Volantis, both of which were given great economic and political concessions there.”

“Is that all Lord Quentyn?” his father asked.

“For now Your Grace, but I am sure new developments will arise soon. I will continue reporting on them as they come to my knowledge.”

“Thank you. Do you have any explanation for the actions of your house Ser Aurane?” Jaehaerys asked, finally turning his attention onto the Velaryon present.

In all the previous meetings, Aurane had successfully given excuses or deflected attention but there would be no such success this time.

“House Velaryon has only acted according to the laws of the realm Your Grace. A foreign power attacked us, we asked for leave to act and were given it. We were attacked, we retaliated,” he said, staring meaningfully at his father. “That the Tyroshi conclave elected my brother as Archon was not our intention, but we had no reason to reject their generous offer.”

“A likely story,” his father said, his tone mocking and dangerous. “Tell your brother the next time you see him that he is no longer my Master of Ships or the Governor of the Stepstones. You may consider yourself dismissed from this council meeting Ser.”

“May I ask the reason Your Grace?” Aurane asked, confused, though Aemon wondered if he truly did not know or was simply pretending.

“For abusing his positions to help him wage a foreign war without my leave. Perhaps your memory is faulty Ser Aurane, I gave my leave for your house to seek redress concerning the supposed attack on your ships. Not to conquer Tyrosh for personal gain! I care not one whit for the excuses and justifications and pretensions you have cloaked yourself in. Now get out of my city!”

Ser Ryam of the Kingsguard dragged Ser Aurane to his feet. The Velaryon brushed him off. “There will be no need for that Ser Redwyne, I know the way to the docks.”

“Your Grace,” he said to his father with a curt bow before he promptly walked out of the room.

Once Aurane had left, the mood in the room was dark. Most of the councilors did not know what to say while his father brooded on his seat in anger. His mother spoke finally, breaking the awkward silence.

“Did Ser Aurane speak truly? Has House Velaryon broken the King’s Peace or not?” she asked.

Aemon was chosen as the Master of Laws for a reason. He had long studied the customs and laws of the realm in preparation for his eventual reign. It was a private ambition of his, to continue and surpass his father’s work in unifying and codifying the law of the realm, much of which remained vague, unclear, and contradictory, despite his father’s law code. This question was well inside his field of expertise.

“That is a difficult question to answer. In reference to his law of peace, Aegon the Conqueror once declared, ‘The first law of the land shall be the King's Peace and any lord who goes to war without my leave shall be considered a rebel and an enemy to the Iron Throne.’

“This seems to imply that it refers to war in general, foreign and internal, but in the actual wording and context of the law itself, no reference is ever made to foreign wars beyond Westeros. The law has primarily always been used to maintain internal stability and prevent private war between the nobility, as existed before the Conquest.

“In terms of precedent, that too is mixed and confusing. Lord Rogar Baratheon asked permission of the King in 61 AC, to wage the Third Dornish War against the second Vulture King. This would indicate that foreign war requires the leave of the King, however in the decades since Lord Rogar’s War, there has continued to be intermittent raiding on the Dornish border, between the Reach and Stormlands on one side and Dorne on the other. No leave is ever asked by the Marchers for this, nor has it ever been expected. There is also the matter of the ironmen who were forbidden to raid the shores of Westeros and instead reave foreign ships and lands. This too the Iron Throne usually turns a blind eye too, disavowing them to any complaints from the Essosi or Summer Islanders, but not taking action against them either.”

“As for the Velaryons and the situation in Tyrosh, there is no precedent in the history of the realm since the Conquest for such an event. Before Aegon’s Conquest, such a thing was disapproved of by many kings, but they could not outlaw it. It was considered a breach of the rights of the nobility. Aegon’s own laws are not clear on it, and the precedents are confusing and contradictory. The only thing we can really conclude is that the Velaryons have broken the spirit of the law, if not its letter. Frankly the only person that can decide if they broke the King’s Peace or not is the King himself,” Aemon finished.

All eyes turned to his father then. A thousand emotions warred on his father’s face. “If I declare that House Velaryon has broken the King’s Peace… I will be branding my own daughter a traitor to the realm. She is an active accomplice in their actions, if not the main contributor.”

Aemon’s nerves grew taut and tense in anticipation. “Jaehaerys,” his mother said. A warning? Or a plea?

His father gritted his teeth and clenched his fists before slamming them onto the table. “The Velaryons should consider themselves fortunate that I still value the bonds of kinship. That terrible proclamation shall be averted, so long as they do not continue to provoke the Iron Throne’s wrath.”

His mother and Baelon breathed loud sighs of relief. For his own part, Aemon felt immensely relieved as well. For all his anger at Viserra and Corlys, to declare them traitors and very possibly have to kill them would break his heart.

“Yet that does not mean I can let them go unpunished. This is a slight to House Targaryen, a challenge to our authority. We cannot allow our vassals to conquer foreign lands and make themselves independent rulers as they please,” his father continued.

Aemon’s voice was neutral. “One might argue that the revocation of the Stepstones and their removal from the Small Council is already punishment.”

“It is not enough,” his father barked. “That is the bare minimum for an overreach like this.”

“What are you considering Your Grace?” Lord Martyn Tyrell inquired.

“I am not sure myself. Any proposals?”

“Is it necessary Father?” Baelon asked. “The Velaryons asked for the Crown’s support in the conquest of the Stepstones. Can they really hold Tyrosh without our aid? The expense would be incredible. They may very well be forced to abandon Tyrosh within a few years and the embarrassment and humiliation from that would be punishment enough after the loss of the Stepstones and the Master of Ships.”

Lady Florence shook her head. “House Velaryon is the richest house in the realm my prince. No matter how great the expense is, they are likely to be able to weather the storm.”

“That’s it!” his father exclaimed. “Lord Martyn, Lady Florence, I want a report by the next meeting on every option the Iron Throne has to cripple the finances of House Velaryon. Tariffs, tolls, taxes, trade policies, anything and everything you can think of. I also want it impressed on the Velaryons’ allies, that any support given, monetarily or militarily, to their occupation of Tyrosh, will be met with the Iron Throne’s displeasure. With the example we will make of the Velaryons, they will understand what we mean.”

The Tyrells nodded at the King’s command.

“Tariffs and trade policies are well within the Iron Throne’s right, but would it be legal for the Crown to raise tolls and taxes on just one house if no crime or grievance has been officially committed?” Grand Maester Elysar asked.

“There should be many ways for the Iron Throne to punish and cripple the Velaryons that are well within the bounds of the law,” his father said. “And if there aren’t any, I will make it legal.”

The Small Council stared at his father as he continued to speak. “I want the Velaryons broken and chastised for this outrage. Punished for this overreach! I want Corlys Velaryon on his knees before the Iron Throne, humbled and ruined! Begging for my mercy. Only then will I relent. Until that day comes, he and his are barred from this court.”

It was beyond Aemon’s ability to aid Viserra and Corlys now. Beyond his desire even. Though he did not have his father’s fury, he was still angry at them. Their conquest of Tyrosh was foolish, reckless, and a complete insult and challenge to the authority of House Targaryen. How could their vassal dare to conquer a foreign land and proclaim themselves an independent ruler? They had inadvertently proven all of his father’s fears, given weight to his justifications, and made themselves a threat like never before.

One day perhaps, when he was King and tempers had cooled, when the Velaryons had been humbled, he might reach out to them and reconcile. But now? There was nothing he could or would do. His father was going to do everything he could to ruin them, and Aemon would not protest.

You reap what you sow.

___________________________________________

Tyrosh and Surrounding Lands

Dark Blue-The Archonate of Tyrosh, an independent and hereditary realm now ruled by House Velaryon of Driftmark who conquered the island and its hinterlands through military force. They are suspected by many to have used a 'false flag' operation to justify their war and then were 'voted' as Archon at dragonpoint. Dreamfyre is quite convincing.

Light Blue -The Lordship of Bloodstone, also held by House Velaryon, but as a fief sworn to the Iron Throne. Jurisdiction over the island is disputed between House Velaryon and the Governor of the Stepstones

Yellow -The Governorate of the Stepstones, a Crown demesne administrated by a governor appointed by the King on the Iron Throne. Was previously held by House Velaryon and has now been revoked. A new governor will likely be chosen soon... though might King Jaehaerys decide to change how the Stepstones is administrated after what House Velaryon did? Only time will tell.

Dark Red -The Free City of Volantis. Volantis has greatly expanded and regained control of lands it has not controlled since the Century of Blood.

Green -The Free City of Pentos. Pentos has also gained greatly from the Treaty of Tyrosh, annexing most of Myr's northern provinces and gaining great economic concessions.

Orange -The Free City of Myr. A shadow of its former self. The Triarchy is destroyed, its allies Lys and Tyrosh have been annexed by foreign powers while Myr itself has lost over half of its lands and all its claims in the Golden Fields and Disputed Lands and is now the plaything of Pentos and Volantis. The only thing that prevented its annexation was the rivalry of Pentos and Volantis and now its only hope to survive is to play them both against each other. Either that or swallow their pride and grudge and ask for the aid of House Velaryon, which now rules Tyrosh.

Chapter 20: A Hightower Knight

Chapter Text

The Second Son of the High Tower

Tenth Moon, 90 AC

As a boy, Otto had once climbed to the top of the High Tower with his older brother Hobert. There the great beacon of the tower was set and they had watched enthralled as the wardens had fed more wood to feed the fire.

Soon enough, Otto’s attention had turned to the majestic view around him. The Hightower was the tallest structure left in the Known World after the fall of Old Valyria’s topless towers, taller even than the seven hundred-foot Wall at the other end of Westeros, a thousand leagues away.

All around and beneath him, Otto had beheld Oldtown stretching out beyond the Battle Isle. Beautiful and sweet, unlike the stench of King’s Landing, Oldtown smelled like flowers. Like the foliage of melons, moonbloom, nightshade, peaches, and pomegranate that dotted near every corner of the city. White cobbled stone streets paved through a labyrinth of wynds, crisscrossing alleys, narrow crookback streets, bridges, and markets. And around it all, high and thick stone walls that had protected the city for generations.

Otto was twenty and two now, standing exactly where he had as a boy. The view remained as stunning as it had then but where he had once been a mere boy gazing in wonder, now Otto was a man who looked upon Oldtown in pride. Gifted in the art of governance, finance, and administration, Otto had served as his brother’s lieutenant and steward for many years now and under his guidance, Oldtown had bloomed.

Long had Oldtown been the wealthiest, most prosperous, and beautiful city in Westeros, nay the whole world. And Otto and his brother had refused to let it be surpassed by the Velaryons and their Spicetown. As young men they had dedicated themselves to their studies, learning every skill and craft they had thought necessary to help them ensure Oldtown would continue to grow, that it would continue to light the way of progress and civilization in Westeros.

They had studied upriver, at the Citadel, still the greatest seat of knowledge in the Known World no matter what Driftmark claimed. There they had studies mathematics, economics, history, politics, and philosophy.

Once the Citadel had been the only place men might have gone in Westeros to learn such great knowledge in detail, but no longer. The creation of the printing press had changed everything, spreading knowledge to every corner of the realm. Books, once the painstaking work of months, if not years to write and transcribe, could now be mass-produced and printed in hours.

The Velaryons had founded a great centre of learning they had called a ‘university’ to challenge the Citadel, but they had not been the last. The Lannisters had followed suit and soon universities had spread across the realm like wildfire.

Halfmaesters and other non-vocational students were common in the Citadel now, for few wished to take the stringent vows of the Order of Maesters. Those dedicated and sworn Maesters still served the realm’s castles as they had for millennia but their vocations had grown thin and fewer lords called upon the Citadel for a Maester with every passing year. Why would they? When they could call upon learned men and scholars from the universities closer to home?

Even the very title of Maester had been stolen. Centuries of habit were not so easily undone and impostor or not, these scholars were called maester no matter that they did not hail from Oldtown or had studied in Peremore’s Citadel. In this day and age, it was no longer necessary to have studied at the Citadel to be called a maester it seemed.

Yet let it not be said that Oldtown’s Citadel would let itself fade into irrelevance, nor would the Maesters let this affront to their order go unanswered. These universities might have spread like weeds across the realm, but they were like young saplings measured against an aged and enormous oak. The Citadel remained the oldest, greatest, and proudest seat of knowledge in Westeros.

They had adapted, like they had when the Andals had come, when Oldtown had knelt to House Gardener. If halfmaesters and students with no Maesterly vocation were now common, so be it, the Citadel would teach them nonetheless, building a great educated class to continue Oldtown’s growth in prosperity. And where these pretender universities and their false maesters worked upon new and shaky ground, the Citadel stood on a pillar of stability, pulling on centuries of tradition and lore as it greatly expanded and reformed its curriculum and teaching to include new knowledge and teach many more students.

Radical ideas such as accepting women as students or loosening the stringent Maester vows were even being considered, not that Otto approved or desired of that. If they surrendered all of their tradition, they would be no better than those they decried.

It was not radicalism or wild and untested innovation that would lead Oldtown and the Citadel in the future, but rather the repurposing of old traditions and knowledge expanded and enriched with new and methodical experimentation and discovery.

Despite his annoyance with House Velaryon’s university, Otto would begrudgingly admit that Driftmark was as advanced as the Citadel and Oldtown, likely even more so. Driftmark had raced forward, trailblazing a new wave of discovery and innovation and leaving Westeros in its wake. Yet testament to the Citadel’s knowledge and skill, they had been the fastest to react and begin to catch up and House Hightower and Oldtown had benefited greatly.

Where once they had waited for the merchant ships of the Summer Islands and Free Cities to come to them, now Oldtown caravels and carracks sailed the Summer Sea, trading in ports from New Ghis to Tall Trees Town. Equipped with compasses and far-eyes and using advanced charts and cartography.

Oldtown was not alone. Redwyne, Lannister, and others along the western coast had advanced as well, banding together in an alliance borne out of mutual interests and benefit. The boundaries of science were being pushed, new technologies were created, the arts flourished, and the lucrative trade routes thrived. A new era was dawning on Westeros.

House Velaryon might have started all of this, and still they remained ahead, but Otto believed that their fall might soon be imminent. All of Westeros had heard of how House Velaryon had angered the King with their brazen conquest of a Free City. The Stepstones had been revoked, their trade tariffed, and taxes on Driftmark raised. King Jaehaerys was intent on bringing the Velaryons to their knees and all of Westeros would feel the effect of his economic actions soon enough. Even Oldtown might suffer from it temporarily.

And yet, when one house fell, there would always be rivals to take its place. In the absence of the Velaryons, there was much that the western alliance, and most importantly his house, could do to fill the gap. Power, prestige, and wealth of heights once thought unimaginable now awaited them if they knew how to reach out and grasp them.

Perhaps, there might even be a chance for Otto to make something for himself and his own children for once, he thought, thinking of his young children, Oscar and Alicent. Both of them were little more than babes at the moment, toddling after him whenever he visited them. Their births had made Otto dream for more than just being his brother’s steward.

He was still loyal to his brother and house, still devoted to Oldtown, but he had his own dreams and aspirations, a desire to make his own mark and legacy upon the world. It was why he had always admired the Sea Snake in some way, despite their family’s rivalry. Corlys Velaryon had not been content to merely inherit and maintain his family’s legacy, he had forged one of his own and made House Velaryon one of the greatest houses in the realm.

Otto had thought to do the same. But where Corlys was the firstborn son, Otto was the second and he feared that all his accomplishments and deeds would be forgotten. Would he forever be in the shadow?

“The view remains as beautiful as I remember.” A voice cut through Otto’s thoughts.

Otto turned around to find the owner of the voice. “Hobert.”

“Otto.” He stepped forward to stand beside him, looking out at the city they had ruled together for years since their father’s untimely death.

Otto idly wondered what his brother would think if he ever revealed to him his own ambitions. His brother and he were reasonably close, as brothers should be, but the younger brother was to serve and obey the older, that was the way of things. His eyes glanced over briefly to the Starry Sept downriver. It was what their faith taught.

It would not do to make his brother think he was overly ambitious and grasping. Many a second son had found themselves sent to the Wall for scheming against their lord brothers. Otto had long ago decided to keep his own aspirations to himself and remain the dutiful younger brother.

“A raven has arrived from King’s Landing,” Hobert said suddenly, his eyes still fixed on the city below. Behind them, the crackle of the burning firewood thrummed in the air.

“As expected,” Otto replied eagerly. “The King has seen our worth now that House Velaryon has proven itself grasping. He turns to us now.”

“Not us alone,” Hobert revealed. “My goodfather has written that he has received a similar letter and has asked for our parties to travel to the capital together. Lannister has not spoken of it, but I have heard that he too has been summoned to the capital, as have been dozens of other great lords throughout the realm.”

Otto raised his eyebrows. “Is that so? Interesting.”

“I am not that surprised in truth. This trade embargo of the King’s has placed a great burden on many folk and the lords wish for something to be done about it. The Velaryons must be punished yes, but the rest of the realm should not suffer for it.”

“I imagine the Stepstones will also be a matter of import,” Otto mused. Within days of the King’s revocation of the Stepstones Governorship from Corlys Velaryon, the entire Velaryon fleet and all its marines and officials stationed in the Stepstones had immediately abandoned them and departed for Bloodstone or had gone to reinforce their lord in Tyrosh.

The Velaryons’ sudden withdrawal from the Stepstones had left them undefended and unoccupied. They had since fallen back into the hands of pirates, many of whom were newly exiled sailors fresh from the fall of the Triarchy and eager to prey on the trade lanes. Rumours were abound that Dorne was giving them aid, though Otto wondered at that, given how the Fourth Dornish War had broken Dorne’s fleet and emptied its treasury.

“Our meeting with the king will be in two months’ time. I have already overseen the preparations. We leave in a fortnight,” Hobert said.

“I understand,” Otto replied. “Worry not brother, I will hold Oldtown in your name until you return, as usual.” He had ruled on his brother’s behalf the last time Hobert had gone to the capital, for the wedding of Lord Corlys Velaryon to Princess Viserra. Oh how things had changed since then.

“You misunderstand me Otto,” his brother shook his head. “You will be coming to King’s Landing as well.”

Otto blinked his eyes. This was unexpected. “I beg your pardon?”

“The King has asked for you, by name. I trust you can see to your own preparations?”

“Of course. I will be ready,” he answered, bowing his head to hide his smile.

Perhaps the chance had come at last for Otto Hightower to prove his worth and make his own legacy in the world. He wondered what the King wanted him for. Given the circ*mstances, it could surely only mean good things right?

___________________________________________

Twelfth Moon, 90 AC

The ride to King’s Landing had taken a month. Even using the Rose Road, which was well built with gravel and being upgraded with concrete, the distances were simply too great to travel any faster with carts and horses. Perhaps in the future that might change. Some new invention or device could allow them to travel faster on land, but Otto could not see that happening anytime soon, not even with the new era of innovation that the continent was entering.

The night they had arrived, they had been feasted in the Great Hall of the Red Keep by the King and his family along with many other lords who had already arrived in the capital. Lord Tymond Lannister and Lord Boremund Baratheon chief among them, but Otto had noted many other banners and sigils. Darklyn, Swann, Estermont, Connington, Farman, Reyne, Darry, Mallister, and Blackwood among them.

The King it seemed, had invited many of the great houses of the realm to the capital, and Otto had a feeling he knew why. It was to remind them of where their loyalties lay, ensure they supported the Iron Throne in this censure of the Velaryons, and coordinated their response to any unfortunate consequences that might result from said censure.

It was exceedingly cunning and wise. Otto was deeply impressed. King Jaehaerys lived up to his reputation.

He of course did understand what many did not, that the King, no matter his reputation and legend, was still a man, flawed and imperfect and he made mistakes, his handling of the Velaryons was testament of that. Of course Otto would never say that out loud and certainly could not complain given how it benefitted his house. What did impress Otto however, was that even in his mistakes, King Jaehaerys acted with surety and confidence and moved swiftly to minimize any negative consequences. It was a mindfulness and skill many lacked.

The day after the feast, Otto and his brother were summoned to a private meeting with the King. Despite himself, Otto was tense, his nerves frayed. It was not every day that one was called before their king. He feared speaking out of turn, embarrassing himself and his house, ruining everything they had hoped for. His mind had run wild with imagined scenarios and nightmares before he steeled himself. He was a son of the High Tower. He would not fail here, nor would he succumb to his own fears before even entering the room.

As they reached the King’s solar, the Kingsguard nodded to them. There were two stationed beside the door, and Otto recognized the one standing on the left. Ser Ryam Redwyne, the youngest brother of Lord Robert, his brother’s goodfather. The Kingsguard put aside their old familial allegiances when they swore their vows and donned the white cloak, but blood and kinship was not so easily ignored. It calmed Otto somewhat, to be reminded that a man he could call kinsman and ally stood guard outside the door as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

Entering the solar, Otto and his brother bowed immediately to the King in deference, as well as to the Prince of Dragonstone who was seated at his father’s right.

“Your Grace, Prince Aemon,” they greeted.

“Raise your heads my lords. Please, be seated,” the King said, gesturing to the two chairs in front of his desk.

Obeying, Otto took a seat and idly noted that his brother had followed suit and sat in the chair to his right so that he could be directly opposite the King. He could not help but let his eyes roam the chamber, observing the bookcases and documents all around, neatly organized and categorized meticulously. Otto expected no less of a man like Jaehaerys.

Behind the King’s seat hung three tapestries, in the middle a great and finely adorned Targaryen banner, the three-headed red dragon on black, and to the left and right were what appeared to be family portraits. Recognizing the King and many of his family that he had met in the portrait on the right, Otto assumed that it must have been made somewhat recently, for it featured the King and Queen and all of their nine children. As far as he recalled, the last time all of them had been in the capital together was at Princess Daella’s wedding ten years ago, and the portrait suggested much the same, with many of the royal children looking much younger than they did today.

Yet the portrait to the left… Otto could not place that at first. He had first thought it to be a portrait made much earlier in the King’s reign, when they had had less children, but when he looked closer, he found that the Queen in that portrait was dressed in Velaryon sea-green and while there was a clear familial resemblance, she was very obviously not the same Queen Alysanne Otto had met yesterday. Which meant that the quiet unassuming third son Otto had assumed to be Prince Vaegon was none other than the King himself as a boy.

Otto struggled to connect the quiet boy in the left tapestry to the surety and power of the man of he had become. There was an air about the King, of nobleness and wisdom, and yet also of power and might, and of the wrath that would fall upon you if you crossed him. His very presence commanded the room and demanded you pay him heed.

Jaehaerys had once been a younger son like Otto himself, the spare of a spare, overlooked for his older brothers. In a world where they had lived, would Jaehaerys still have grown into the presence and aura he commanded today? Would his name still be known, even as a mere third son? Or would he have been relegated to obscurity and irrelevance, a footnote in history?

Otto felt a strange kinship with the boy in the tapestry, and wondered if he might ever make a name and legacy for himself that could even be mentioned in the same breath as what that boy would go on to accomplish.

That same boy sat in front of him now, a man grown, a boy no more. And he had mastered all that Otto desired to master. Had forged a legacy that would be forever remembered. No matter what mistakes he may make now, King Jaehaerys’s legend and legacy would never die.

And he could see why. Effortlessly, the King made small talk, inquiring after his family and of Oldtown, giving praise and flattery that even Otto was not immune to. And his brother Hobert danced to his tune, allowing the King to dominate the conversation and lead it to wherever he wished it to go.

It was irksome just how easily the King seemed to do it and Otto marveled at it. Still though, too much small talk was tiresome, and Otto attempted to steer the conversation over to a matter his house and their alliance had hoped to bring up to the King. Having noticed that the King was slowly leading the conversation over to the matter of trade and commerce, Otto saw his chance.

“If I may Your Grace, my brother and I, along with a number of houses in the south and west, have considered a means by which the economic and financial struggles currently facing the realm might be mitigated.”

Prince Aemon raised his eyebrows but the King was intrigued. “Oh? Do go on Ser.”

“Of course Your Grace,” Otto said, his eyes flitting to his brother briefly before continuing.

“For centuries now, there has been much trade between Oldtown and the peoples of the Summer Sea. The Summer Islanders especially have long sailed to Oldtown’s port and traded there, using it as an intermediary for trade with the Westerlands, bargaining for the metals they lack with goods from their homeland in return. The Summer Islands are rich in spices such as nutmeg, cinnamon, and pepper, and they have an abundance of gemstones and pearls, and also sweet wines, and exotic fruits and animals that are highly valued in the Seven Kingdoms. They also have many valuable hardwoods, including the famed goldenheart. Though they are loath to export that, they might be convinced should our offers be good enough.

“Until recent years, we have always lacked the ability to sail to the Summer Islands and had had to wait for their swan ships to come to us. But now with our carracks and other advances in navigation and mapmaking, House Hightower and our associates in the western and southern coasts have begun to think the time is ripe to expand our trade with the Summer Islands, especially in light of the recent events in Essos and Tyrosh having led to a… deprivation of Essosi luxury goods in the realm, causing many mercantile enterprises to fail and many lords to grumble.”

“And your house seeks to supplement this cut off supply with goods from the Summer Sea?” the King asked, his expression and voice betraying nothing of what he truly thought.

“That is correct Your Grace.”

“These… associates that you speak of. Would I be correct in assuming that they are Houses Lannister and Redwyne?”

“They are our chief partners in this venture yes,” Otto admitted, careful to avoid the word ‘ally.’ While it was an open secret, Otto saw no reason to explicitly confirm to the King the existence of the alliance they were building. Kings rarely liked such alliances, even if they made no moves against their throne.

“What then are you proposing?” Jaehaerys finally asked.

“We had hoped Your Grace, that the Iron Throne might be interested in joining this venture of ours. Currently we are in talks to form a ‘South Sea company’ of sorts, jointly owned by our three houses, that would integrate and expand our existing trade with the Summer Islands and also organize large expeditions to the archipelago to build trading posts and a working relationship with the local princes. We believe we could easily form a stable and lucrative trade route of our own in time, that would benefit not just Oldtown, the Arbor, and Lannisport, but the realm as a whole, bringing prosperity and profit to all. Any houses or merchants are welcome to join and contribute to this venture and receive a stake and a direct share in the profits of the trade routes, or a chance for their own holdings to be integrated into those routes should they wish it.

“In short, what you desire is for the Iron Throne to lend its name and patronage to this South Sea company, so that you may reduce any administrative complications surrounding your venture’s formation and operation, and acquire greater deals with the Summer Islanders with the direct backing of the Iron Throne increasing your leverage and negotiating power. Is that correct Ser?”

Otto was taken aback briefly at how bluntly the King had spoken, but he recovered in stride. “Yes, Your Grace. I must fully admit that our houses stand to prosper greatly from this venture should it succeed, but my brother and I and our associates are of the belief that this prosperity need not be limited to us alone, but could be shared with the realm as a whole. The Iron Throne’s support would help enable this and the Iron Throne would itself stand to benefit greatly, from the tax revenues and from its potential share in the profits from its stake in the venture.”

The King’s face might as well have been carved from stone. Otto could not read the man at all. He had not an inkling what he thought, only knowing from his eyes that he seemed to be calculating.

Finally, he spoke. “I cannot promise anything yet until I have more details Ser Otto, but know that you have my tentative interest for now. Lord Lannister and Lord Redwyne are also in the capital, and I imagine there will be opportunity for us all to speak on this in more detail over the coming days.”

“Of course Your Grace, my brother and I and will await your summons eagerly,” Hobert interjected, briefly eyeing his brother before turning back to the King. “Beg your pardon Your Grace, but did you have a particular reason of your own to summon my brother and I? As pleasant and thought-provoking as our conversation has been, I cannot help but feel there is something that you yourself wish to propose, as my brother has.”

Oh brother, perhaps I thought too little of you.

Raising an eyebrow, the King said. “Very well then. Let us speak plainly my lords, this deprivation of Essosi luxury goods you speak of, the hardships that have fallen upon the realm, they are indirectly of my making, you need not pretend they are not for politeness’s sake.”

“Your Grace!” Hobert protested. “We-we would never think to question your wisdom on the realm’s finances or commerce! You have led us wisely for many decades now and have seen the realm prosper! I have the utmost faith in your ability to see us through the storm!”

The King chuckled. “You flatter me my lord. You have my gratitude for your continued trust in me. However, I must confess my own part in the realm’s troubles. It was not my intent of course, but sometimes when one is presented with two evils, they have no choice but to choose the lesser of the two.

“House Velaryon overstepped its boundaries, reached beyond its status, aspired for what they could not. They have been punished, and will continue to be punished until they repent. I am not however blind to the suffering that this has begun to cause throughout the realm, nor of the problems it has left in the Stepstones.”

With a nod from his father, Prince Aemon unrolled a map of the Stepstones on the table. Otto peered down upon the map to see that it had been oriented to favor him and his brother. He confessed himself slightly surprised that Grey Gallows had not been renamed but he supposed it was too well known to be so easily replaced. All the other islands however…

“The names are different than what I remember,” he observed plainly.

“Yes well, I found that Torturer’s Deep and the Skulls made for rather… poor names,” the King said dryly.

There was a pause for a moment at that before Prince Aemon snorted and all of them began laughing heartily at the King’s jape. Even the King smiled cheerily.

“Many of these are old and long forgotten names for the islands from Dornish or Stormlander sources. And some of the more commonly known names were kept,” Prince Aemon explained.

His face turning serious again, the King continued. “My lords, the venture you proposed to me, the South Sea Company. It is intriguing I must confess and I assure I will give it the strongest consideration. It is my hope you will in turn consider my own joint venture. As you have no doubt heard, as part of their punishment for their stunt in Tyrosh, I revoked the Governorship of the Stepstones from House Velaryon. Now I seek to give the Stepstones to more loyal and trustworthy houses.”

That got Otto’s interest, as he leaned in and paid rapt attention to the King.

“Unfortunately, the Velaryons proved themselves even more unreliable when they immediately abandoned the Stepstones following that revocation. They have since fallen back into the hands of pirates and a new campaign will be needed to drive them out once and for all.”

Before the King could continue, Hobert interjected. “My king, House Hightower will be honored to serve the Crown. The beacon of the Hightower will burn green once more. Our fleets will join the royal fleet for this campaign.”

“I thank you for your support my lord. Yet I do not ask this of your house and think of giving nothing in return. That is neither just nor fair.”

Prince Aemon placed two rolls of parchment on the table before them. The King took one into his hand and spoke. “This here is a royal decree, that once I affix my seal to it and announce it in court, will formally name Ser Otto Hightower as the Lord of Highwatch and all of the islands’ territorial lands and waters, as well as any smaller islands within those waters, including Felstrong and Tor.”

Otto froze. He had not in his wildest dreams, expected that the King would be offering him a lordship. He felt his heart pound, and his excitement growing.

Pointing to the other roll of parchment on the desk, the King spoke again. “This on the other hand, is a contract containing the terms of the granting of this lordship. It must be signed by all parties in this room for this decree to be given my assent and seal.”

Before his brother could even unroll the contract, Otto had snatched it from the table and begun unrolling it, reading every line carefully. Prince Aemon was nothing if not meticulous, every detail was set out in clear and concise terms. Those terms were as such:

He, Otto, would become the Lord of Highwatch and all its attendant lands, and swear directly to the Iron Throne. This fief was defined to include the island of Highwatch itself, the smaller islands of Felstrong and Tor and their territorial waters and any smaller islets within them. These territorial waters were described as all the waters between the three main islands of the fief and several miles from their coast in all other directions, especially in the east.

That was much more than he expected. He idly wondered if some of that claim would overlap with the Velaryons and their claimed Tyroshi corridor and if the King had intentionally created a dispute there but he brushed off the thought. Surely the King had other reasons? Otto could see one already. The territorial waters had to be extended as far as possible so as to increase the area in which their ships were legally allowed to patrol and demand tolls, lest ships skirt around their waters to evade the toll.

Speaking of tolls. Otto, in his capacity as Lord of Highwatch, would have the authority to set the tolls for passage through his territorial waters at any rate he wished within the range set by the Iron Throne and its appointed Governor of the Stepstones. However, a third of his toll revenues was to be sent to the Governor and from there to King’s Landing.

The Crown would provide military support to the re-conquest and stabilization of the fief, after which it would provide charters for ports to help develop the fief’s economy and would expect the usual taxes and customs from the fief and its port. Apart from this and a short-term waiver on taxes and its percentage of the tolls until the fief was declared sufficiently developed, the Crown would not directly provide any funding, though its military support and protection remained guaranteed. Furthermore, it was expected that the Royal Fleet would be allowed permanent basing rights and moorage free of charge, and Otto himself was expected to raise and maintain at least twenty ships to contribute to the Combined Fleet that would patrol and defend the Stepstones. He otherwise could do with his demesne as he pleased, with the typical rights and privilege of a lord.

House Hightower of Oldtown on the other hand, would by signing the contract, be obligated to contribute to the campaign to reconquer the Stepstones, and after which it would help develop the fief of Highwatch and station at least twenty ships from its fleet there to join the Combined Fleet, for a period of fifteen years from the contract’s signing. They would in exchange be reimbursed for their services with a flat fifty percent of the fief’s final income after the Crown’s taxes for that same period. They would also have, in perpetuity, permanent preferential treatment and other similar trade privileges and concessions for their merchant marine and Oldtown enterprises as well as safe harbor and passage for their warships whenever they passed through the area. The contract also stipulated that the two branches of House Hightower may renegotiate between themselves their own terms so long as it did not hinder or obstruct the Crown’s dues from this contract.

Otto was quite pleased. Though it was a shame to surrender a third of his toll revenues, he knew that if he developed his fief well, the tolls would be but a fraction of his income, even when including the usual taxes. The Stepstones sat on the greatest trade route in the world and there was much money to be made even without tolls. He had read and reread the contract several times, finding no loophole or hidden double meaning that would be problematic for him. Satisfied, he signed the contract before his brother had even read the contract, writing his signature below the signature and seal of the King. The chance to make his own legacy had fallen into his lap, and Otto would not let it pass him by.

Hobert took the contract then, and read through it himself. Otto sat in his seat, waiting eagerly. For a moment a thought occurred to him. Could his brother not sign it? It would be an insult to the King and the end of Otto’s dream, surely his brother could not be so cruel? The minutes felt like eternity as Hobert read the contract through to his own satisfaction before he inked the pen and signed it himself.

Suppressing a sigh of relief, Otto turned to the King who had a pleased expression on his face. “Excellent. The formal ceremony where you swear your oaths of fealty and I present you the Stepstones can be held in court later this week. For now, though, let me offer you my personal congratulations,” he said, offering his hand.

Otto grinned and shook the King’s hand eagerly. “Thank you Your Grace, truly. I will not let you down.”

The King smiled. “No. I don’t think you will. I plan to discuss any further details regarding the Stepstones, the South Sea Company, and the general financial policies we will be considering for the realm, over the coming days with all the lords that have come to capital. I hope that you will sit in and contribute to these discussions. As the former steward of Oldtown and now Lord of Highwatch, your counsel and opinion will be exceedingly important.”

“Of course Your Grace.” Otto nodded his head.

“And perhaps, you will also be contributing to those discussions with yet another qualification.”

At Otto’s confused look, the King laughed good-heartedly before Prince Aemon drew forth another contract and set it on the table.

“This contract my lord, requires only your signature alone to be fulfilled,” the King explained, as Otto looked at this second contract and read over the contract carefully. He was shocked at its contents. Its first line read as:

Lord Otto Hightower of Highwatch hereby accepts the privilege, office, rank, and responsibilities of the Governor of the Stepstones.

The contract listed out the various obligations, conditions, and responsibilities of the position, stressing that it was a non-hereditary office and he served at the pleasure of the king. He had the duty and power to protect and defend the islands, arbitrate disputes between their lords, set the toll ranges for the Stepstones fiefs, and so on.

His eyes widened when he saw that as Governor, he would be entitled to keep all his toll revenues from his personal fief, instead of paying the third due to the Crown. Furthermore, he would be entitled to thirty percent of the toll revenue paid by the other islands to the Crown, which he as governor would have the responsibility to collect and send on to King’s Landing.

However, with this extra money, he was also expected to contribute at least sixty ships to the combined fleet that defended the Stepstones, though he had a grace period of twenty-five years to develop his personal fief and the Stepstones as a whole before that number of ships was expected from him.

“Your Grace?” he asked, still in disbelief.

“I must confess Ser Otto. I have thought long and hard on who I desired to serve as my governor in the Stepstones. For many years now, I have heard nothing but praise for you and your talents in managing Oldtown and making it prosper. If you could bring even a portion of that talent with you to the Stepstones, I think you would make a fine governor.”

“This… you humble me with your praise and generosity Your Grace. I graciously accept,” Otto said as he signed his first ever contract as Lord Otto Hightower, Lord of Highwatch.

“Wonderful. I believe this momentous occasion calls for a toast!” the King announced. His son pulled a bottle of Arbor Gold from the cabinet and poured four cups for them and they all stood up, cups in hand.

“To House Hightower, both of Oldtown and Highwatch!” the King toasted.

“To His Grace and Prince Aemon, may they live a long and healthy life, ruling Westeros in their wisdom and majesty!” his brother followed suit.

“To Lord Otto, Lord of Highwatch and Governor of the Stepstones. May he have wisdom, temperance, and fortitude, for the responsibilities he has accepted,” Prince Aemon said, nodding to Otto.

The three men were staring at Otto now. His mind raced thinking of a toast before he decided on one he felt fitting. “To new beginnings and new friends. May we all work together to leave a legacy behind for the next generation, that they may live well and prosper, and forever remember us!”

At that the four men cheered and drank their wine. The Arbor Gold was sweet, but not as sweet as the knowledge that at long last, Otto had a path to his ambition. A legacy for himself.

_______________________________________________________

Otto and his brother had dinner that night with the Redwynes. His brother Hobert and Lord Robert Redwyne sat at the ends of the table. Otto sat on his brother’s right and to his left was his lovely wife Elinor. Opposite him was his goodsister, Lady Rylla and beside her was her uncle Ser Rickard who sat at Lord Robert’s own right. Besides his wife Elinor and to the left of her husband was the Lady of the Arbor, Lord Robert’s wife, the Lady Jeyne.

Having invited the Redwynes to dine with them, Hobert stood up and spoke. “I would like to call a toast! Today has been auspicious indeed! Tonight we celebrate! We celebrate Lord Robert’s appointment as the Master of Ships. We celebrate Ser Rickard’s appointment as the Lord of Redwater and Larazor’s Rock! And we celebrate my brother Otto’s appointment as the Lord of Highwatch and Governor of the Stepstones! To House Hightower and Redwyne! May we remain faithful and true to each other and continue to prosper together for evermore!”

Lord Robert cheered. “I’ll drink to that! To our houses!”

There was a great cheer from the gathered Hightowers and Redwynes as they celebrated the elevation of their members.

Everyone seemed to be in good spirits, Otto noted. Lord Rickard and his wife and brother both looked pleased. Hobert seemed cautiously optimistic. Otto himself was feeling quite thrilled and excited, and his wife Elinor was as well ever since he had told her of his elevation immediately after his meeting with the King.

Only Lady Rylla did not have a smile on her face, her expression neutral. He found himself wondering if she was upset. Both of her families, by birth and marriage, were being honored greatly and finally gaining the upper hand over their rival. What was there to be upset about?

Otto put those thoughts away however, and soon found himself being drawn into conversation by the Lord of the Arbor. Lord Otto, he called him and oh did it feel good to be addressed as a lord, as an equal, for once.

“Lord Otto! I hear that you are to be the new Governor of the Stepstones! I must admit I am surprised. Your brother only mentioned your Lordship of Highwatch when we spoke earlier.”

“Forgive me goodfather, I had thought it might be a pleasant surprise,” his brother interjected.

“Oh there’s nothing to forgive son. This is good news! With Otto here in Highwatch and as Governor, my brother over in Redwater, and myself as Master of Ships, things have been set up well for our houses to rule the Stepstones together. I’m counting on you Lord Otto, to keep this rascal brother of mine out of trouble,” Lord Robert joked.

“Of course my lord,” Otto grinned. “I am sure that when he’s not getting himself into trouble, Lord Rickard will be a fine ally.”

“You flatter me my lord,” Lord Rickard said with a smile.

The conversation drifted off into small talk after that. Everyone inquired after each other, their health, how they were finding King’s Landing, and so on. Otto himself, out of curiosity, asked Lords Robert and Rickard how it felt to be reunited with their brother Ser Ryam and their thoughts on his accomplishments. Much as he had expected, both were exceedingly proud of their younger brother, who was the Lord Commander and most famous member of King Jaehaerys’s Kingsguard.

“So the King has shown an interest in the South Sea Company?” Lady Jeyne Redwyne asked.

“Indeed. He was most intrigued to hear of our proposal and has asked to discuss it further with all of us and Lannister over the coming days,” his brother Hobert answered.

“I am sure he was,” Lord Rickard said. “We all know of the difficulties being caused by the restriction of the Velaryon’s trade. The South Sea Company would be an easy way for His Grace to help alleviate those difficulties.”

“Perhaps it is fitting then that the King has asked me to increase the royal fleet from fifty to two hundred ships. At least a hundred of these are to be carracks, so that the Royal Fleet may easily sail the open sea,” Lord Robert revealed.

“Forgive me for interrupting my lord, but is the King asking to hire the Redwyne Fleet to contribute these ships? As I recall that was what your lord father did during his own tenure as Master of Ships, and the Velaryons did the same before their disgrace. Can the Redwyne Fleet take such a loss? The Velaryons had always been able to run both fleets in tandem because Driftmark was in Blackwater Bay, but the Arbor is far away from the capital and would be left undefended if it lost that many ships,” Otto asked, a little worried.

“Actually no. It seems the Velaryons’ betrayal has unnerved the King. He has instructed that these ships are not to come from House Redwyne’s personal fleet, but are to be built in the Crownlands and owe fealty only to the Iron Throne.”

“That would be very expensive,” Hobert noted. “Do you have any idea how the King intends to pay for that?”

“Not at all,” Lord Robert answered. “Perhaps the revenues from the Crown’s stakes in the South Sea Company, should he decide to sponsor it? I cannot say, but I have faith in His Grace. I served as the Commander of the Watch of this very city for sixteen years before I resigned to return to the Arbor. In that time, I had come to build an excellent relationship with the King. He trusts me, and I trust him. I believe he knows what he is doing.”

Otto nodded. He could only hope to one day have such a strong relationship with the King.

“In any case,” Lord Rickard began. “Fifty or two hundred, my brother’s command over the royal fleet and his powers as the Master of Ships will be of great aid in our management of the Stepstones Lord Otto. With your own position as Governor and any support Oldtown and the Arbor can provide us, we can make Highwatch and Redwater the finest fiefs in the Stepstones, easily securing our control of the region and the trade routes wherein.”

“Do we have any idea who the other lords in the islands are?” Otto inquired.

“I hear tell that Lannister is one of them. Lord Tymond was preening to anyone who would listen how he had gained the islands of Guardian and Golden Haven for his son Tyland,” his wife Elinor said conspiratorially.

Otto was shocked that she knew that, they had only been in the capital for a day. Shock soon gave way to endearment and amusem*nt however. Elinor was already picking up on the local gossip. How in character of her.

“Tyland? Aren’t he and his twin brother but babes barely a year old?” Hobert asked, aghast.

“Presumably Lord Lannister will be appointing a regent to hold the fief until his son comes of age. It is no matter. Tis good news for us. If Lannister has chosen to give an infant their island in the Stepstones, it will reduce their ability to compete with us in the short term at least. With Lannister out of the picture, I do not see how anyone might challenge us for dominance in the region,” Otto explained.

The Redwyne brothers nodded at that but Hobert remained unsure. “I have heard rumors of my own that the Baratheons may be given the Veiled Isle.”

“Are you sure?” Otto asked, a little put off from his excitement now. “As far as I recall, Lord Boremund has no younger son to receive the island. His only son and heir Borros, is a lad of six.”

The Veiled Isle, or ‘Veil’ as King Jaehaerys had shortened its name to, was the island closest to the Stormlands in the region. The Baratheons might not have any great fleet or experience with commerce, but they were the Lord Paramounts of the Stormlands, an entire kingdom separated from the Stepstones by only a rather narrow strait. They may not need the expertise or fleet when they could pour resources and influence into the Stepstones through Veil by their sheer proximity and size as a kingdom. Quantity had a quality of its own.

“Lord Boremund is also the King’s own brother. He could easily ask for the island to be held in reserve for any younger son he or Borros might have in the future. And even if that were not the case, unlike Oldtown and the Arbor, which are unfortunately sworn to the Tyrells first, Lord Boremund swears only to the Iron Throne. There would be no contradictory fealties preventing him from holding the island outright.”

Otto sank back into his seat. His brother’s logic was sound. And somehow Otto knew in his heart that the rumour was true. A man of Jaehaerys’s caliber would not give over total control of the world’s most important trade route to him so easily. Still, it was not an insurmountable obstacle, merely a challenge to overcome.

“The Velaryons may also pose a threat,” Hobert continued.

Lord Robert spoke up at that. “Are you sure? They have incurred the wrath of the King. Already he is crushing them beneath his punishments, even to the extent of affecting the rest of the realm. And occupying Tyrosh is bleeding their gold reserves.”

He could not help but agree with Lord Robert. From what whispers he had heard, the Velaryons had been having enormous difficulties overseeing the end of slavery in the city and its transition to their rule. Their occupation of Tyrosh was costing them immensely to maintain and with the flow of income from Driftmark restricted by Jaehaerys and Tyrosh’s own trade and revenues in disarray from the transition of power and the end of slavery, the city was at present only making the Velaryons a serious loss at a time when their usual income was being cut off, dangerously endangering the Velaryon fortune. At least, that was the belief in Westeros and the hope of many who wished to see the Velaryons fall.

Otto was not inclined to disagree. There was little doubt in his mind of the chaos that must be consuming Tyrosh right now. It was no simple thing to storm into a city with your army, proclaim half a million slaves free, and expect the city’s traditional power structure to go without a fight or for the city’s commerce to survive the sudden change. The logistics involved in freeing hundreds of thousands of slaves were incredulous. Everything cost money. Money to feed and house the new freedmen, to transition businesses from unpaid to paid labor, to pay the soldiers and administrators, to seize and redistribute any lands and wealth to form a new power structure with the Velaryons at the head. Money the Velaryons may not have.

In fact, given the newfound popularity of the Faith, which was spreading like wildfire among the newly freed slaves, House Hightower had already convinced the Starry Sept to try and obtain jurisdiction and influence over the city. Progress was slow given Driftmark’s own Sept of the Waves was also active in the city. They were but puppets of the Velaryons and loath to surrender the city to the Starry Sept’s jurisdiction. Still, the Sept of the Waves was still technically beholden to the Starry Sept, and one could not so easily ignore the High Septon, Vicar of the Seven on earth.

Hobert shook his head. “The Velaryons are weakened but not destroyed. Let us not forget, they were called the richest house of the realm, greater even than us Hightowers or the Lannisters of the Rock. How much of that was hyperbole we cannot say, but we can know for a fact that House Velaryon’s reserves run deep indeed. The King might choke all their trade with Westeros, he might even suffocate Driftmark, but with their rule of Tyrosh as an independent city, the Velaryons can simply ship their goods from Driftmark to Tyrosh and trade from there.”

“But surely, their reserves cannot be maintained forever? It is not a simple thing to redirect all of their trade away from Westeros, formerly their primary trade partner and market. And the markets in Essos are more competitive by far and will take time for them to establish themselves enough to replace their trade with the realm. Might they not bleed dry before this?” Lord Rickard countered.

“The Velaryons successfully shifting eastward is reliant on them consolidating their control over Tyrosh I would say,” Otto said, adding his own voice to the discussion. “If they stabilize the city, they will be able to rebuild its previously lucrative dye industry and potentially leverage its geographic position and its massive port to reap large incomes. This would be in addition to all of the trade Tyrosh would regain in time which would have Driftmark’s own exports thrown behind it as well, giving it a place in the balance of trade in Essos.”

Having the attention of everyone at the table, Otto continued. “Of course, this is not a guarantee. It is very possible that the Velaryons fail to secure and calm Tyrosh, and if they fail, there will come a time when they have no choice but to flee back to Driftmark with their tails between their legs and pray for the King’s mercy.”

“That is no doubt what the King hopes will happen,” Hobert noted, “but am I not so sure. Corlys Velaryon may be an arrogant man with delusions of grandeur but he is also exceedingly capable and competent. If there is anyone I would believe capable of controlling and rebuilding the mess in Tyrosh into a prosperous city-state, it will be the Sea Snake. Regardless of their current difficulties, House Velaryon remains immensely rich, technologically advanced, and their trade with Essos continues and will likely only grow to replace what they have lost in Westeros. And we cannot forget that Corlys has a dragon. We underestimate him at our peril. Between Bloodstone and Tyrosh, he could trap the Stepstones in his pincer.”

Otto saw the wisdom in his brother’s words. It would be foolish to assume the Velaryons had been defeated. Corlys Velaryon was not the type of man who gave up. He would have to tread carefully in the Stepstones it seemed. A thought occurred to him then, quickly squashed, but lingering at the back of his mind. Highwatch and the Stepstones may not solely be the generous gift he had thought at first.

“I have no doubt that the King would surely protect us from that. He has six dragons and the Velaryons have but one of relevance. And it is not Corlys himself who has the dragon, but rather his wife. Princess Viserra is the King’s own daughter, her loyalties are divided. Surely she will not wage war against her own kin?” Rickard questioned.

“Perhaps my lords, we should ask this question of someone who knew her better than any of us,” Hobert said, nodding to his wife. Lady Rylla had remained quiet the entire evening, indulging only in small talk and staying out of the discussion on politics.

“An excellent proposal goodson,” Lord Robert praised. “Well then daughter, any insights to give on Princess Viserra? You were her lady in waiting for many years after all. Who knows her better than you?”

Otto saw a flicker of hesitation in Rylla’s eyes but it had soon disappeared as her face became impassive. She was thoughtful and methodical in her answer.

“Viserra… in all the time that I knew her, was above all things, a force of character. She was exceedingly clever, charismatic and charming, and yet often very petty, vain, and immature. By the time she was twelve she had all the squires of King’s Landing wrapped around her finger and egged them on to do stupid things for her favor, taking pleasure in how they tripped over themselves to do her bidding. She especially enjoyed humiliating overly proud boys with her games and would often use her position as princess to get away with anything she could. She outgrew all of that eventually, but remained vain even unto her coming of age. You would either get caught up in her charm and be endeared to her personality or be repulsed by it. There was no in between,” Rylla said bitterly.

“She had a few friends that she was close to, myself included, but as far as I can remember, she was never very close to her parents, or to most of her siblings either. I always got the sense that she felt excluded, picked on, judged too harshly by them. Her family paid her little attention, except only to criticize and scold, of which she complained to us many times. And so she clung to the praises the court sang of her beauty and took that to be her worth.

“She was… very insecure of her own position. There was once that Princess Rhaenys was sent by her mother to join us for tea, and within a few minutes of us speaking to Rhaenys, Viserra ran from the room crying. Perhaps she had felt like she was being replaced?” Rylla pondered.

Despite himself, Otto could not help but sympathize with the Princess Viserra a little. Being overlooked for a family member more senior than them was something he knew all too well. And yet nonetheless, it was a very valuable insight that told him much of her character and relationship with her family. All of this would be useful in helping him judge her personality and predict her actions.

“That day, she ran out and encountered Corlys Velaryon. They spoke on a balcony. I still remember, I had followed her out of concern and had seen it all. I did not hear what they spoke of, and at the time I was respectful of her privacy and did not eavesdrop. But after that day, Viserra spoke much of Corlys and spent much time with him. Even after her wedding, what few letters I received from her amounted to little more than her swooning over her husband and her new home.

“Her bond with him is deep. It is stronger than any loyalty she has to her family. And the birth of her sons has only cemented that bond. The servants of the Red Keep still whisper of how they had heard her screaming obscenities at the King for the perceived slight to her husband and sons with the Governorship of the Stepstones.

“She never told any of us why she claimed her dragon, but I had always thought that it had something to do with Corlys. And what has she done with that power but use it for his ambitions? It was Viserra and her dragon that laid waste to Dorne’s fleet, who conquered Tyrosh. Viserra the Sea Dragon, the Butcher of Bloodstone, the Princess of Tyrosh.”

Rylla’s eyes narrowed then. “Tread carefully uncle, goodbrother; because if you become a threat to her husband and her sons, Viserra Velaryon will not hesitate to destroy you.”

____________________________________________

Tyrosh and the Stepstones (91 AC)

_____________________________________________

His goodsister’s words rang in Otto’s mind as he knelt before the Iron Throne to swear his oaths as the Lord of Highwatch and Governor of the Stepstones. He still remembered how an ominous silence had followed Rylla’s speech. No one had known what to say.

As he said his oaths, reciting them from memory, a part of him wondered if this was the right thing to do, but then his thoughts turned to Elinor, to Oscar and Alicent, and he knew it had to be. He would accept nothing less. This had to be the right decision. Rylla’s words were merely a warning to remain mindful of the danger. Otto had no choice but to brave the storm if he was to secure his legacy and a future for his children.

“Rise Otto Hightower, Lord of Highwatch and the Governor of the Stepstones,” the King ordered.

With a start, Otto rose and was dismissed, taking a place at the side of the court to watch the next proceeding. Before he had even realized, he had finished swearing his oaths to the King. His mind had been far away, dwelling on other matters. He hoped that no one had noticed.

“Lord Rodrik of House Arryn! Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East, Defender of the Vale! And his son and heir, Ser Jasper Arryn, and his gooddaughter Princess Daella of House Targaryen!” the herald cried.

All eyes turned to the doors of the throne room which had swung open and in strode the House of Arryn. Lord Rodrik was first, short compared to the rest of his company, he was bald and had a kettle belly. Otto’s first instinct was to think him weak or soft, but he knew that instinct to be wrong. There was no weakness in the man that had served as the Master of Laws for over twenty years, and only enough softness for Rodrik to be highly beloved and respected in the Vale.

Unlike his sire, Ser Jasper Arryn was tall and strong, his stomach was flat and hard like as an oaken shield. He was blond with charming blue eyes and a dazzling smile that made many maidens in the court swoon. Yet Otto’s attention rested not on Jasper Arryn but on his lady wife.

Few had ever thought much of Princess Daella. The dimwit princess she had been called. She had been married off to Ser Jasper, a childhood sweetheart, at her own choosing and then packed off to the Vale. Few would have ever expected the shy and timid Daella to have ever amounted to anything more than the simple Lady of the Eyrie but the woman that walked before the Iron Throne now was nothing like Otto had expected.

Looking closely, he could sense the hesitance in her steps, the bravado in her stride, and yet to most who saw her, Daella looked confident and capable, not at all like the sweet and simple princess they had last seen leave ten years ago. Many in the court who had been here then looked astounded at the change, including, Otto noted, members of Princess Daella’s own family.

As House Arryn did the usual greetings to the King, Otto’s mind was hard at work thinking on the reasoning. It was no coincidence that House Arryn returned to the capital now. They had not even attended Princess Viserra’s wedding two years ago, matters in the Vale concerning the mountain clans had forced their absence. And yet now, with the King rallying the realm against the Velaryons, they returned at last.

House Arryn was one of two great houses linked by blood to the King, and like the Baratheons, they had overly mighty vassals allied to the Velaryons whose wings they would very much like to clip. House Grafton it seemed, was in for some rough times.

Soon House Arryn had been greeted and dismissed from the center for the next party to enter and if Otto had been mildly surprised before, now he was stunned at who was announced.

“Lord Jonah of House Mooton, Lord of Maidenpool! And his lady wife, the Princess Saera of House Targaryen!”

The court broke out into a chorus of murmurs and whispers at that. Otto however had still not gotten over his shock. He watched in silence as the Mooton party entered the room. Lord Jonah led the company, but there was no confidence in his step. His eyes darted around, looking anywhere but at the King he was slowly walking toward. Otto moved his eyes past him and there she was.

The King’s disgraced daughter, the scandalous Saera in the flesh. She was beautiful, of that there was no doubt, but Otto did not like the haughty expression on her face, nor was he put at ease by the anger he knew burned in her purple eyes.

She walked before her father and stared him in the eye as her husband cowered beside her, brazen and unbowed. After six years of exile and disgrace, Saera Targaryen had returned to King’s Landing.

Chapter 21: Sisters

Chapter Text

Twelfth Moon, 90 AC

Alyssa

How had it come to this, Alyssa wondered? Two years ago, all had seemed right in the world. Viserra had just had her newborn sons, the alliance and bond between Houses Targaryen and Velaryon had seemed stronger than ever, and Alyssa had felt like she was finally clawing her way out of the melancholy that had haunted her for years, returning to who she had once been, little by little.

Now though? Now that alliance was in pieces, the broken shards strewn on the floor, edges sharp and cutting. Viserra was far, far away from her. In a foreign land, doing foreign things. And Alyssa felt like she was at the edge of a cliff of despair all over again.

She and Viserra had never been that close when they were younger. Maegelle and Daella had been the sisters dear to Alyssa’s heart. To her Viserra had been too young, too irritating, too spoilt. She and Saera had seemed all too similar to her. Baelon had remained close to Viserra but in truth, Alyssa had never been the most pleased by that, well aware of the childish infatuation Viserra had had for him. She’d had it as well after all, and knew best what it could make you do. Envy had crept in little by little as every year passed and Viserra grew more and more beautiful, tainting her every interaction with her younger sister, and they had not been common to begin with.

The more Alyssa thought about it, the more she began to wonder just how alone her younger sister really had been growing up. She had drifted away from Saera long ago. Once they had seemed close friends, only two years apart and so very similar. Too similar it would seem, for both Saera and Viserra were the kind of people that demanded attention, desired to be praised and loved. And in the groups they frequented, there was often only room for one Targaryen princess.

With no true companionship from her siblings and parents too busy to pay any attention to her, Viserra had turned to her beauty and her daring to draw friends and affection. Formed a circle of lickspittles and bootlickers that fed her ego and her vanity further. Alyssa was thankful that from that circle, true friends had eventually arisen, friends Viserra had relied on more instead of the sycophants following Saera’s scandal.

She dreaded to think what Viserra might have become if they hadn’t. What she had believed she was right up until that fateful day Viserra stood before the Iron Throne, tears in her eyes but steel in her spine. Defiant and vulnerable. Like a book she had finally opened and turned the cover, Alyssa had seen the real Viserra that day for the first time.

In the months after, she had watched as Viserra had blossomed and grown into herself, becoming confident and self-assured. Her vanity had slipped away slowly and surely like the mask Alyssa had only then realized it to be. Viserra was beautiful that would never be in doubt, but her beauty was not her only worth and she had seemed to realize that after she had claimed Dreamfyre.

Alyssa had grown close to her once estranged sister in that time as they had shared a mutual love and passion for their dragons. She had watched as she eagerly absorbed every lesson she could from her, and learned quickly and brilliantly. Viserra’s bond with her dragon was one of the strongest and closest Alyssa had ever seen and it had had an incredible effect on Viserra’s confidence and strength of will. Seeing Viserra strive forward had inspired Alyssa to drag herself out of her own melancholy.

Which was why it hurt. It hurt to know that the one who had inspired hope in Alyssa was so far away from her now. To realize that the sister she had finally become close to after so many years was pulling away from her and they were becoming estranged once again.

Every letter Alyssa had sent Viserra in the months since House Velaryon had taken Tyrosh had been unanswered. The couriers had assured her that they had personally delivered it to her hands, tucked away and busy behind the walls of Tyrosh’s Black Fortress, and still they had not been answered. The only reason Alyssa knew Viserra was even still alive was because Baelon told her the Master of Whisperers’ weekly reports on Tyrosh in the Small Council.

It was not just Alyssa. The letters their mother and Aemon had written had been ignored. Even the letters Baelon had sent had been as well. Viserra was ignoring all of them.

Was she simply too busy? So much so that she could not find the time to write a single letter in four months? Did she resent them perhaps? Blame them for what their father was doing to her husband’s house, the house of her children? Hold it against them in some way for not holding his anger in check?

What right did Viserra have to be angry at them for that? When their father had humiliated Viserra and her husband in open court in front of their allies and rivals, Alyssa had stood by them. When he had stripped her nephews’ inheritance from them and taunted Viserra, Alyssa had stood by her. They all had. Their mother, Aemon, Baelon, and her. They had all promised her their support to overturn the decree and restore the rightful rewards Viserra and her husband had earned.

And how did she repay them? With an illicit war to conquer a foreign nation and set her husband up as an independent ruler, daring to make him an equal of his rightful liege House Targaryen. It was an absolute betrayal of their family, undermining their position as the rulers of Westeros and their reputation among their other vassals.

Whether they had agreed with his initial decision or not, House Targaryen had had no choice but to unite behind their father and king to face the ramifications of what Viserra and the Velaryons had done. Their reprisal had been swift and brutal.

With Aemon and Baelon’s backing, and her mother’s reluctant approval, her father had begun methodically destroying the finances and influence of House Velaryon in any way that he could, throwing the full weight of his power and reputation as the legendary Conciliator behind it.

Her father’s wrath was quite terrifying when it was aroused. The charter of Spicetown that had been Viserra’s dowry, had been effectively suspended. Numerous taxes, tariffs, customs, and every possible legal and bureaucratic obstacle had been placed on Driftmark to impede its ability to export goods to both Westeros and Essos. Foreign ships and merchants were encouraged and enticed to make port in King’s Landing or even Duskendale as far as possible, and provided all the reasons to not go to Spicetown as they might have before. The trade Driftmark had once drawn from King’s Landing had returned at long last.

The true Master of Coin, Florence Fossoway, and her brother Aemon, the Master of Laws, had worked meticulously to provide her father with these options. They had even helped him draft new laws and raised new and high taxes that appeared impartial and fair but in practice were only applicable or enforced on the Velaryons and those who dealt with them.

The Velaryons had attempted to work around the restrictions by shipping goods with their personal fleet to Tyrosh, bypassing the tariffs, and exporting from there instead but then her father imposed similar restrictions on Tyrosh shortly after. While he couldn’t stop Tyrosh’s exports to Essos the way he was restricting Driftmark’s, he could deny them any purchase in Westeros. With Tyrosh as unstable and shaken as it was from the war and the abrupt end of slavery, surely the Velaryon fortune could not long survive and they would be forced to withdraw and beg for clemency from the King?

In truth that was merely an assumption, a hope to be honest. They did not actually know. Not even Quentyn Qoherys, the Master of Whisperers himself or his spies, had been able to ascertain the current state of the Velaryon’s fortune.

Customs officers and inspectors dispatched to Driftmark had reported on how badly the restrictions were affecting Driftmark’s merchants and smallfolk, many of whom had seen their livelihoods diminished, if not destroyed. Yet so far it seemed not a dent had been made in the Velaryon’s seemingly endless wealth. They still paid their servants and guards the same wage they had before, and had even begun giving aid to the people of Driftmark.

Contrary to her father’s expectations and hopes, the people of Driftmark had not turned against House Velaryon. Instead, it seemed their loyalty to the Seahorse was stronger than ever. They rallied behind their lord and lady and whispered to each other of the tyranny and heavy-handedness of the supposed Conciliator.

Gulltown, Crackclaw Point, and Tarth were outraged. The new policies and restrictions affected them most severely as the largest trading partners of Driftmark and House Velaryon’s strongest allies. They and other Velaryon allies and trading partners had petitioned and sought redress or relief at court but their attempts had been for naught. Her father was King and wielded great power. With one hand he deftly ignored the petitions of the mere merchants and smallfolk, dragging out decisions with ‘careful deliberation’ and ultimately changing nothing, and with the other he extended a helping hand to Houses Grafton, Celtigar, and Tarth, if only they would reduce their support for the Velaryons.

Driftmark and her allies were not alone in their suffering however. Though no restrictions had been imposed on the rest of Westeros beyond the bans and limitations on imports from Driftmark, many had already begun complaining and protesting her father’s restrictions. Smallfolk and nobles alike from the Crownlands, Riverlands, and Stormlands appeared in the throne room of the Red Keep daily seeking redress and the King’s aid in solving their crises, and their number and status was great enough that he could not ignore them all. King’s Landing itself had suffered grievously from the restrictions. Many whose businesses and trades had depended on exports and imports to and from Driftmark now found their livelihoods threatened.

The Velaryons had traded extensively with much of the eastern coast of the realm, selling spices and silks and other exotic luxuries from the Far East or exporting their own innovations and designs such as the compass, concrete, and other highly valuable and useful imports. Suffice to say, the upgrading and expansion of her father’s beloved roads had halted as an alternative to Driftmark concrete was searched for.

Her father was not unaware of this however. No king accrued the reputation of the Conciliator without a measure of competence and skill. Cunning as always, her father had summoned many great and wealthy lords and merchants to the capital. Houses such as Darklyn, Rosby, Estermont, Whitehead, Swann, Peake, Caswell, Footly, Manderly, Redwyne, Hightower, Lannister, and many more.

The work had already begun. Robert Redwyne was now the new Master of Ships, his brother Rickard was the Lord of Redwater and Larazor’s Rock in the Stepstones. Their goodbrother Ser Otto Hightower had been named the Lord of Highwatch and Governor of the Stepstones. Lord Darklyn’s younger son had been given Dustspear. Tymond Lannister’s infant son, had been given the Lordship of Guardian and Golden Haven, just so the Lannisters backed her father and his policies with their immense wealth. And Lord Theomore Manderly, always so close and loyal to her parents? His second son had been given Serpentholm.

With her uncle Boremund having been given Veil, only two major lordships were left in the Stepstones to give out. Scarwood and Grey Gallows. Perhaps that was why her father had summoned Saera of all people back to the capital? An attempt to gain the support of Maidenpool and make amends with an estranged daughter for the sake of family unity?

Her father spoke a lot about family unity these days. It was for the sake of the family, so he had said, that he had confirmed the plans for the construction of the Royal Citadel, a branch of the Oldtown Citadel meant to help King’s Landing compete with Driftmark’s university. It was for the family that he had approved the construction of a new great Sept on Visenya’s Hill, to replace the Sept of Remembrance that Maegor the Cruel had once destroyed. Vaegon and Maegelle would be heading the new Citadel and Sept, and perhaps in time House Targaryen might have full control of both the Maesters and the Faith. Surely that was good for the family?

Was it for their family and house, that their father had all but ordered Aemon to give Rhaenys’s hand to Viserys? The betrothal had been confirmed already, though it had yet to be announced publicly. They would wed in two years when Viserys was five and ten. Part of Alyssa felt like she should be overjoyed, Baelon certainly was. Their son would be King Consort, their grandson would be King in his own right, their line would be joined with that of their beloved elder brother Aemon.

Surely that was good for the family? It united the claims, kept their house from splintering. Even Aemon himself had reluctantly consented to the match and had come to see its benefits, having told as much to Baelon himself. Yet why did it leave such a foul taste in her mouth?

Perhaps she wished her son and niece had been given the right to marry for love as she had? Perhaps she wished her brother had wanted to join their lines out of love for her and Baelon and not political demands? Alyssa wasn’t sure. It felt like something had gone very wrong with her family lately.

Wasn’t Viserra their family too? For all that politics and the ever present game of thrones demanded it, this feud with House Velaryon was not something Alyssa wanted. Viserra had been her sister long before she had been the Lady of the Tides and the rider of Dreamfyre. Why did those titles stand in the way between them?

At this point Alyssa wasn’t even sure who she resented more. Was it her father, who had created this whole damn mess with his stubborn and obstinate refusal to give the Velaryons the Stepstones like they had rightfully deserved? Was it Corlys Velaryon? The overly proud and arrogant fool who had been so incapable of patience he committed treason in all but name and dragged her sister into it? Was it Viserra herself? Who had blindly followed her husband and set herself down a path that could lead to her being killed by her own family?

That was Alyssa’s greatest fear right now. It haunted her dreams. The idea that a terrible day might come that House Velaryon’s defiance goes too far, their sins too great to be forgiven any longer. On that day, her father would order House Targaryen to war, and one of them, be it her father, her mother, her brothers, or even Alyssa herself, would end up killing Viserra. Her little sister, beautiful and vain, proud and passionate, loving and kind, would die for the pride of two stubborn fools.

Alyssa cursed her father again, but she found her resentment burned more for the Sea Snake. Her father had made a stubborn mistake but he was the King and he was kin. There were ways that the Velaryons could have appealed or sought support from other members of her house. Instead they had turned to the most drastic possible option and it was all the fault of Corlys Velaryon.

To think that she had once thought him good for her sister! Corlys Velaryon lived up to his epithet. He was a snake indeed. He had wormed his way into her innocent little sister’s heart, turned her against her family for the sake of his pride. Her father might have started this feud, but it was Corlys who had escalated it so dangerously with his brazen conquest of Tyrosh. It was all that arrogant self-proclaimed Archon’s fault! He had ruined her family and taken her sister away from her!

As her anger reached its peak, unbidden the memories came of that day. Viserra in tears as her family judged her for something that would not have been a crime if she had only had a brother to wed. Her heart on her sleeves for the first time in years, the mask thrown aside as she revealed the depths of her despair.

Her rage left her, and Alyssa sank into her chair, tired. Her anxious mind had led to her pacing worriedly around her quarters for the past hour when she should have been getting ready for dinner.

How much could she really blame Corlys for turning Viserra against her family, when they had already done half the work for him? She thought of her sons, Viserys and Daemon, even Aegon her precious babe who had died before he had truly lived. Would she not do anything for them? To see them get what they deserved? How could she resent Viserra for doing the same for her boys?

But she had to try! No matter how good Corlys had been for Viserra, if he continued leading her down this path, regardless of her own willingness to pursue it, it would only have a tragic end. For the both of them, and their sons.

Viserra was the key to Corlys’s occupation of Tyrosh. Without Viserra and Dreamfyre, Corlys would never have been able to take the city to begin with. If she withdrew her support for any reason, the Velaryons would have no choice but to withdraw and this crisis could come to an end.

For Viserra’s sake, for all of their sakes, Alyssa had to convince Viserra to pull back. She knew that was asking her to betray her husband and the father of her children, but she’d rather that than both of them dead and their children left hostages of the Iron Throne. So long as Viserra refused to answer her letters however, Alyssa couldn’t get her to do anything. And it was so frustrating to feel so powerless.

A knock on the door distracted Alyssa from her dark thoughts. Making herself presentable in a hurry, Alyssa spoke. “Come in.”

Her husband entered the room. Baelon was as dashing and gorgeous as the day they had married. He always was. It was Alyssa herself who had fallen from the bold girl she had once been but Baelon had remained a constant, a rock in her life, and she would always be grateful for that.

“What troubles you?” he asked.

Despite herself, Alyssa smiled. Baelon knew, he always knew. Even when she had been in the depths of her melancholy and despair after her son had died, Baelon and their wonderful older two children had been what had kept her from giving it all up. He had tried so hard to understand, even when he couldn’t truly, even when it burdened him to even try. He was her light.

And sometimes, there was no need to dim that light with your burdens. She had already confided in Baelon before, and had seen how it had worn down on him. She hated that, hated dragging her love down with her. So she kept her thoughts to herself this time.

“Just wondering how dinner is going to go with Saera and Daella in the same room,” she lied with a smile.

She could tell that Baelon didn’t believe her. He knew her too well. But he let it pass, for now, and she was grateful for that.

“It will be… interesting, that’s for sure,” he said in reply to her lie.

“More interesting than Saera and Father sharing a room again?” she teased with a smirk, eliciting a genuine laugh from Baelon.

“I genuinely do wonder how that is going to go.”

Alyssa melted into the comfort of her husband’s presence. Soon the dark thoughts were banished, for the time being at least.

_________________________________________________

She twiddled her thumbs anxiously, seated at her place at the dinner table. Her husband and eldest son were beside her but they were not comfort enough to ease her mind. Something Alyssa had learned long ago about having a melancholic state of mind, was that one often found new things to brood on even when they didn’t want to. For now, her thoughts and worries over Viserra and the Velaryons were laid to rest, but a new concern, if less worrying, had arisen.

It had only really just sunk in that Saera and Daella had returned to King’s Landing. Both had presented themselves at court that morning, but Alyssa had not been able to greet either of them before they had disappeared with their families to settle into their quarters.

Now, now they had returned and Alyssa was left uncertain. She hadn’t seen either of them in years. Neither had attended Viserra’s wedding. Saera, disgraced as she was, had not been invited, but Daella and her family could not attend either despite their invite. Raids by the Mountain Clans had made the Vale unsafe to travel at the time and Daella’s husband and goodbrother had actually gone out to fight.

She had a niece, and two nephews she had never even met coming for dinner today. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that, but she suspected guilt was part of it. She had promised Daella years ago that she would write and visit but after her son Aegon had died in the cradle in 85 AC and she had fallen into melancholy and despair, she had stopped keeping that promise. Even when she had begun to recover, she hadn’t written again. It hadn’t felt right, for some reason.

The room was beginning to fill with the members of the royal family and their kin. Her uncle Boremund and his wife were speaking with Aemon and Jocelyn by the door. Borros seemed to be making friends with Daemon and Gael. Rhaenys appeared from a neighboring room and eagerly greeted her uncle.

The door opened then, and in walked the Arryns. Lord Rodrik looked much similar to what Alyssa remembered from her youth. Short, and pot-bellied, but humorous and affable. He was no great warrior but he was beloved nonetheless by all in the Vale. A strong and just ruler that had served ably as the Iron Throne’s justiciar and Master of Laws for decades.

His son was beside him, the dazzling Ser Jasper Arryn, some in court were calling him the ‘Darling of the Vale’. Alyssa would admit they did not do so without reason. Ser Jasper was tall and broad, with a flat stomach as hard as oak. All the warrior his father was not. His eyes were kind and charming but also belied his protectiveness.

The years had been kind to Jasper Arryn, and he had grown up into himself very well from the lanky awkward boy that had married Daella ten years ago. Yet where the change in Jasper was surprising, the change in his wife, in Alyssa’s sister, was nothing more than astounding.

The timid, shy, and sweet sister Alyssa remembered was hard to find in the confident and daring young woman that stood in front of her. She carried herself with surety and elegance in an Arryn sky-blue dress. Her hair, silver and glowing like the moon, had clearly been fashioned to resemble the moon on the Arryn banner, with a crescent moon headdress helping to create the image. Her back was impeccably straight, head held high, grace in her steps as she treaded along to their mother and embraced her dearly.

Their father looked absolutely astonished by the change in Daella’s character, though their mother had instead a proud smirk. A sliver of guilt crept up as Alyssa remembered that alone of the family, other than perhaps Maegelle, her mother had kept writing to Daella and had even visited her at times, including at the birth of her daughter, the adorable little Aemma, all of eight years old and clinging to her mother’s dress.

Little Aemma Arryn was her mother’s spitting image. Purple-blue eyes on a cute little face with silver-blonde hair tied neatly in an imitation of her mother’s hairstyle. The little lady clearly adored her mother and sought to emulate her.

As she approached Daella, Alyssa realized that if she looked hard enough, she could see hints of bravado in her step, traces of hesitance in her stride, as she walked over to them. Few would recognize it, and Alyssa certainly would never have until she had had to learn how to do it herself Sometimes the easiest way to become confident was to pretend until it became real.

“Alyssa!” her sister said with cheer as they embraced. Little Aemma was beside her, all but hiding behind her mother.

“Oh I’m sorry about Aemma. She’s not usually this shy. I think she feels a little nervous about meeting so many family members she’s never met before.”

“That’s alright Daella,” Alyssa said as she knelt. “Hey. I’m your Aunt Alyssa, your mother’s older sister. It’s nice to meet you Aemma.”

“It’s nice to meet you too Aunt Alyssa,” she replied shyly, an adorable half smile on her face as she shuffled nervously.

“I know just the trick to make you feel a little less shy Aemma, don’t worry,” she told her niece. “Daemon! Gael! Come here!”

“Aemma, I want you to meet some people. This here is my younger son, Daemon, he’s your cousin. He’s only about a year older than you so I hope you two get along,” she said as she pushed her son forward.

Let it not be said that her son couldn’t be a gentleman when he wanted to be. He graciously bowed and took his cousin’s hand and kissed it gently. “A pleasure to meet you Lady Aemma. Might I say, your hair looks splendid,” he complimented. The blush on Aemma’s pale face made her resemble a cherry.

Gael seemed to be irritated though, amusing Alyssa. She remembered what that felt like. Why couldn’t the stupid thickheaded boy just realize it yet? Baelon had realized it… eventually, and if Daemon took too long to do the same, Alyssa would just have to be a good sister and mother both and beat it into his head.

“This here is your Aunt Gael, your mother’s and my younger sister,” Alyssa said, introducing Gael to Aemma.

Poor little Aemma looked positively confused. “But you’re my age!”

Gael seemed to find her astonishment amusing. “Two years older if I recall correctly.”

The knowledge that her aunt was older than her by two years did not seem to diminish Aemma's surprise very much. Alyssa understood the feeling. Gael was even younger than Rhaenys and Viserys were. Children had a tendency to expect all their aunts and uncles to be much older than they were and were usually shocked to find that wasn’t always the case. Quite often not actually. Alyssa’s own uncle and aunt, Boremund and Jocelyn were of similar age to her elder brothers, barely older than she was.

“Don’t worry Aemma. There’s no need at all to be so polite with Gael. We only call her Aunt if we’re trying to annoy her,” Daemon said conspiratorially to his cousin.

The look in Gael’s eyes promised retribution. She grabbed Aemma’s hand and pulled her away. “Come, let’s go meet Rhaenys and Borros. We can leave Daemon here with his ‘Aunt’.”

“Hey!” Daemon was insulted. “Wait for me!” he shouted as he ran after them.

Alyssa laughed. The antics of the children never failed to make her laugh, even in her darkest moments. “Viserys?” she called her eldest son, noticing his approach.

Viserys hurriedly embraced his aunt in greeting before turning to her. “You called mother?”

“Yes, do follow after your brother. Make sure he and the others don’t get into any trouble. Rhaenys is there as well,” she emphasized the last sentence pointedly.

Hiding a slight wince, Viserys nodded. “Yes mother.”

As she watched her son walk off, Alyssa suppressed a sigh. Viserys was ever so dutiful. Her elder boy was so eager to obey and please. He was charming and made friends easily, and though not as talented as his younger brother, he was not incapable with a sword either. Why didn’t Rhaenys see any of that?

“Do Rhaenys and Viserys not get along?” Daella asked.

Alyssa snapped back to her sister. She had become terrifyingly observant in the past ten years. Releasing her sigh, she answered.

“It’s not that, they don’t dislike each other or anything it’s just… things have been… awkward between them since their betrothal was arranged. Father hasn’t announced it to the realm yet, and they’re already like this. I shudder to imagine what it will be like once it is common knowledge,” Alyssa explained.

“I take it Rhaenys was not impressed with her husband to be?” Daella noted.

Alyssa suppressed a shudder at how astute her guess was. “She was not. She hasn’t been impolite but she hasn’t been acting much like a betrothed either. It’s really weighing on Viserys.”

“Tell your son he has to value her, and reassure her. I think that in time her disappointment with Viserys as a husband will fade as she comes to appreciate his good character, but she can never do that so long as her fear that she will be usurped by him remains.”

“You think Rhaenys is fearful of that?” Alyssa asked.

Daella grimaced. “I have heard that Father has let it slip that he thinks Rhaenys is unsuitable as an heir. That he all but ordered this betrothal would be alarming to her I’m sure. Once they are wed, she can be disinherited so much easier, with the excuse that nothing will have changed, she will still be queen. But she will have been reduced from ruling to a consort.”

Alyssa was impressed by Daella’s astute political observations. It was the last thing she expected of her once timid little sister. And she sensed that something was not quite as it seemed.

“You feel strongly about this for a reason, don’t you?” Alyssa said, looking at her niece. Her sister followed her eyes. Aemma Arryn was happily babbling with her cousins Borros, Daemon, and her aunt Gael. Rhaenys and Viserys stood awkwardly to the side watching them.

“Aemma is Jasper’s only child. He and I are in agreement, as is my goodfather, that she is his heir. There are… many in the Vale who do not agree. My goodbrother Eldric is among them. He has a son not much younger than Aemma who is similar in age to her. Arnold by name. They do not get along well. He struts about the Eyrie like he is its heir. If I told Aemma she had to wed him, no matter the reason, she would be angry at me. She despises him,” Daella said, as she gazed at her only child amongst the better half of her kin. The look in her eyes was one Alyssa recognized. The eyes of a mother, worried for her child’s future.

She grabbed her sister’s hands. “You have grown very wise in the years since we last met Daella. You have come a long way and I am so very proud of you. I just regret that I wasn’t there to see any of this journey. I broke my promise to you… I’m so sorry little sister,” Alyssa said, her voice cracking.

She felt a strange sense of loss. Though the pride she felt was immeasurable at seeing Daella finally grow up into a strong young woman and devoted mother, Alyssa could not help but feel grief knowing the little sister that had toddled after Maegelle and her was gone. Time had made a fool of Alyssa, and she had let it steal away from her years she might have spent watching her sister blossom. She was like a stranger to her now.

“No, no Alyssa,” Daella said as she embraced her again. “It wasn’t your fault sister. When you stopped writing to me, I admit I felt sad. I felt abandoned, and lonely. But Mother came to see me shortly after and explained what happened. And I am so, so sorry you had to go through that. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to lose a child. I don’t blame you Alyssa. I… I hope we might rekindle our sisterhood now.”

Alyssa smiled. “Of course Daella.”

Daella looked like she wished to say more, but it was then that Saera walked into the room. All conversation in the room halted at her abrupt entrance. Her two sons were on either side of her and her husband was behind her. Like he had been in the throne room, Lord Jonah Mooton was clearly submissive to his wife, though it seemed he was doing a better job of hiding that now that he was a little less terrified of the King’s wrath after having been welcomed in peace.

“I’m not late am I?” Saera demanded bluntly.

Ever the peacemaker, Maegelle broke the silence. “Not at all Saera. You are quite on time. Please, do come in, take a seat.”

Saera ignored Maegelle and turned to their parents. “Mother, Father,” she said stiffly before pushing her two sons in front of her. “These two brats are my sons. Aegor and Maegon. Go on, introduce yourself to your grandparents,” she told her sons.

Her mother seemed overjoyed to meet more of her grandchildren and just as she had with Aemma earlier, she eagerly introduced herself to them and spoke to them. Meanwhile, Saera and their father were staring at each other, each observing the other in silence before they broke away.

When the greetings had all finished, Father had called them all to their seats. Maegelle, ever insistent on following the Faith’s teachings, led them all in prayer, saying grace and thanking the Seven for the food, before the servants brought them out.

The food was… disappointing. Alyssa would admit, she had become spoilt the last few years. When Corlys had become Master of Ships, spices had flowed readily into the Red Keep like never before. That flow had been cut off at her own father’s command.

Spices were much rarer now, imported from passing swan ships or Essosi traders. She suspected her father had had some of the last of the Red Keep’s spices used for this meal, there had been a complete lack of them in the previous weeks. Yet still it was not the same flavors that they had once been, the richness in taste that she had grown accustomed to was not present. A not unexpected side effect of their feud with the Velaryons, but a bitter one indeed.

She noticed several of her family members had similar feelings about the meal. The trace amounts of spices were enough to promise the flavor they craved but not enough to deliver. It was agonizing. She hoped her father’s plans to make the spice flow again came through soon or half the family might defect to the Velaryons just for spice.

And oh Seven, whose brilliant idea was it to seat Saera and Daella directly opposite each other!? She could feel the tension in the air. Daella was glaring at Saera with no small amount of malice in her eyes while Saera only smirked smugly.

“Daella, I must ask. I think you’ve surprised almost all of us with the change in your demeanor. The last time many of us saw you, you were scared of your own shadow. Now I look at you and I see an elegant and poised lady. It’s amazing to see, but I’m quite curious as to how it happened. Would you mind telling us?” Jocelyn asked, breaking the silence.

That drew attention from the entire family. All of them had been shocked by Daella’s change. Many began paying rapt attention, curious to hear of how Daella, deemed unteachable by the Maesters, had learned to read and write properly.

Daella, a bit surprised to be put on the spot, recovered and took it in stride. “Well, it took time. It didn’t happen overnight. It started... well I felt a little ashamed if I was being honest. With Lady Arryn sadly having passed away, I was supposed to be the new Lady of the Eyrie once I married Jasper, but unable to read properly, I was completely lacking. I threw myself into my studies and forced myself to learn how to distinguish the letters, best as I could. I eventually found that I could, with great difficulty and focus, read better. Once that was done, improving my writing was simply the next step. And after that, familiarizing myself with the accounts and other matters of the Eyrie’s household came along in time.”

In the corner of her eye, Alyssa noticed Vaegon scoffing and felt strongly tempted to pour a cup of wine on him again, like she once had years ago. Maybe it would remind him to not be a rude sod to Daella. To her surprise however, the smirk had fallen off Saera’s face and she was paying close attention to Daella’s story, a neutral and unreadable expression on her face.

“You used to struggle to memorize your prayers. The slightest thing would scare you,” their father noted.

Daella nodded. “Yes. It took time to overcome those as well. As my reading improved, so did my confidence in myself. I was able to remember more easily, or at least be more sure that I remembered them. And eventually things that had once scared me, I forced myself to confront them. The Lady of the Eyrie could not be frightened of cats and bees.”

“Lord Rodrik imparted some wisdom to help me in this time as well,” Daella said with a gesture of thanks to her goodfather. “I had asked him once how to be brave when I was scared. He told me that that was the only time I could be brave. That courage was not the absence of fear, but the decision that something was more important than that fear. I decided that my duties to my daughter and to the Vale were more important than my fears.”

Her mother was beaming proudly at Daella. The smile on her face was the widest Alyssa had seen since before the dispute with the Velaryons had started. Her father, Aemon, and Baelon looked amazed, and also proud. Uncle Boremund looked thoughtful. If she remembered correctly, his son Borros was barely able to read, much like Daella had been. Perhaps he wondered if he might help his son using what Daella had learned.

“Did Jasper help you with any of this?” Alyssa asked curiously. If the goodfather had helped, why not the husband? The Darling of the Vale preened beside his wife, a proud smile on his face as he looked at her.

To her surprise, Daella, who she had not thought the type to blush anymore, blushed as red as her daughter Aemma had. Oh? Alyssa thought, amused.

“Jasper was a great help. Whenever I felt like I wanted to give up, he would encourage me and push me to work harder, promising me… favors if I succeeded in my goal for the day.”

She tried her best, she really did, but Alyssa could see the red bleeding into Daella’s cheeks as her thoughts lingered on these favors. A grin found its way onto her face. Alyssa wondered if any of those favors had happened in bed. Oh where indeed had that sweet shy Daella gone? Little Daella would be scandalized to hear of what her older self had gotten up to.

Not that Alyssa had ever thought anything wrong with that. As far as she was concerned, what a wife did with her husband was between only the two of them and nothing to feel ashamed about. She had waited years to bed Baelon and she had ridden him eagerly when the time came.

Ah it was times like this that Alyssa felt a little more like her old self. It felt good. Things had been going surprisingly well. She clenched her fists around her cup when their mother asked Saera next however.

“How about you Saera? How has your time in Maidenpool been?”

Saera froze, looking like she hadn’t expected the question. Chugging some wine, and Seven, Alyssa really hoped she wasn’t getting herself drunk, Saera put down her cup and began to speak.

“Maidenpool was good. Is good. Better than King’s Landing that’s for sure, much less stench there. I made sure of that too. Had all the sewers expanded and redesigned.”

Oh Seven. Alyssa took a sip of her own wine. You always needed to be just a little bit drunk yourself to handle Saera. Was she really poking at their father’s work on King’s Landing? Damn it Saera, didn’t she know that was a sensitive topic with their father? Then again she probably knew exactly that, and that’s exactly why she was bringing it up. It seemed grudges died hard.

“I heard you increased the incomes of Maidenpool tenfold in four years. I remember Lord Martyn and Lady Florence were astounded by the report,” their mother said.

At this Alyssa scrutinized Saera more closely. She had not been aware of this at all. What even… tenfold? How did she accomplish that?

Saera leaned back into her seat, ever so pleased with herself. “That I did mother. That I did. See I was in a new town. The people were… a little apprehensive of me. I can’t imagine why. Can’t be a certain event that never happened. Certainly not. So there I was in a new place, alone without any family or friends, tossed out with nary a dowry, in a town that disliked me. How ever was I going to survive?

“Well I’ll tell you how. I’ll let you in on a little secret. Most people tend to like you if you make them rich. Most. For some reason I can’t imagine, the increase in taxes we sent to King’s Landing didn’t do much to improve opinions of me here. I didn’t get even a single letter for six years. Quite a curious difference from the norm.”

Alyssa’s eyes glanced over to their father. His expression was carefully guarded, and his face looked like it was carved from stone. She wondered why he had summoned Saera back to King’s Landing if this was the result.

“The Maester always did tell me I was very clever. I just didn’t ‘apply myself’. Whatever that meant. So I just did it. You would not believe how inefficiently half the things in Maidenpool were done. Why some of them were still writing important records by hand! And then they got all mixed up or wrong and suddenly an entire shipment’s gone missing. Can you imagine? Ugh. I had that sorted out right away. Had some printing presses brought in from Driftmark.

“Things went so smoothly after that and all the other nonsense was taken out. To be quite honest I wasn’t expecting our incomes to increase that much. Who knew making money without a city charter was so easy?”

Alyssa felt like slamming her head into the table at this point. It was like Saera couldn’t say a single paragraph without aiming a blow at their father. Now she was mentioning Driftmark and discarding the need for the city charter he had denied her.

“Soon enough, Maidenpool adored me. I’d made them rich, very rich. I was very loved. Everyone would wish me well, people in the court respected me and didn’t slander me behind my back. Or if they did, they were smart enough to do it where I could not hear them,” Saera said, a dark smile on her face.

Alyssa felt the slivers of guilt begin to creep up. Had Saera? …Of course she had been. She had been a wild princess, controversial and scandalous. Even before her disgrace, many had whispered of how wild and unladylike she was. Court was rarely a nice place and Saera had obviously not been spared its savageries.

“Eventually I had these two little rascals, and well things seemed perfect then,” she said, a shocking tenderness in her voice as she ruffled the hair of her sons, disturbing their neat grooming and irritating them. Tough love Alyssa supposed.

Conversation was rather stilted and stiff after Saera’s speech. It had been riddled with so many subtle and unsubtle jabs at their father, everyone had been left on edge wondering if the King was suddenly going to explode in anger. To his credit, her father seemed unaffected by Saera’s words, engaging in casual small talk and even smiling, but Alyssa could not help but feel that there was some tension in the air still.

As the silence began to fade away and the room was filled with the bustle of a dozen conversations, Alyssa’s thoughts drifted. All things considered, Saera had been rather restrained. Alyssa had half expected her to curse at their father with enough obscenities to make Maegelle’s septa ears bleed and make Daemon admire his foul mouthed aunt forever more. That boy had enough of a foul mouth already, she didn’t need Saera adding to his repertoire.

She hated to admit it, but Saera had displayed a shocking maturity. She had seen it most obviously when she had spoken of her sons. That tender care and love, that pride, it was clear to see. Even if she showed it differently than the rest of them did, Saera still had that motherly love for her children. It was the best of her. Saera had changed, it was undeniable. The years had made her responsible and far more mature than she had once been. Perhaps with even the slightest shreds of wisdom.

She still remembered how she had been disgraced. It had been over six years ago. At the time Alyssa had been heavily pregnant with the son that would be doomed to die before his time, but she had still been active enough to be involved with matters of the court.

Saera had always been difficult. Mischievous, even outright malicious at times. She had played cruel pranks on the court fool Tom Turnip and had brutally bullied Daella without relent. That is what had really made Alyssa dislike her. All of them did in some way or another. The daughters of Alysanne Targaryen had always agreed on few things but one thing they had was that their sister Saera was unlikeable and somehow their father and brothers just didn’t see that.

Alyssa had complained to Baelon many times about it, but much like Aemon and their father, he had brushed off her misdeeds as childish mischief, amusing pranks that she would grow out of. Alyssa had disagreed but even then she had never expected what would happen.

It was eventually discovered, that Saera and her five friends, Lady Alyn Turnberry, Lady Perianne Moore, Ser Jonah Mooton, Lord Roy Connington, and Ser Braxton Beesbury, had been involved in a lurid scandal. Whispers had reached the court of kissing games and supposed orgies.

Alyssa and the rest of the family had suspected that Saera had been involved with all three men, possibly even the ladies as well. And yet when their father had questioned Saera, she had refused to answer, stubborn and defiant.

Perhaps he might have let it go, and swept the whole scandal away, had word not reached his ears of whispers that he was weak and unable to control his own daughter. Some had even dared to compare him to the late King Aenys. It was too late by then.

By the next morning, court had been gathered and were stunned to see Princess Saera and her five companions before the Iron Throne in shame. The King’s wroth had grown immeasurable and his patience was at the breaking point.

Before the entire court, King Jaehaerys had demanded that his daughter name the man who had taken her maidenhead. Perhaps realizing that her time was up, Saera took a moment to think before she named Ser Jonah Mooton. Even now, Alyssa doubted that was true. In her mind, Saera had weighed her options and chosen the most appealing option, the richest, with a town worthy of being a city to his name as heir.

The very next moment, their father had pronounced her betrothed to Ser Jonah and commanded her to do penance in the Sept. She was to cast off all luxurious cloth and food and pray for guidance to virtue in the castle sept daily for three months.

Never one to take punishment lightly, Saera obstinately declared before court that she had done naught but offend the sensibilities of overly prudish septas. She was already to wed her betrothed. What need have she of penance?

Their father had grown wroth then and had tripled her penance and commanded her to obey or join the Silent Sisters. Dragged out by a Kingsguard and their mother’s sworn shield, the King turned his attention on the remaining five.

Ser Jonah had been ordered to pay a weregild to her father, forfeit the dowry for Saera’s hand, and spend a fortnight in the sept praying for forgiveness from the Maiden for deflowering a princess out of wedlock.

The remaining four were told to choose the partners they would wed. Later Alyssa had learned that the Kingsguard had whispered in their ears that the King had demanded their stories lined up with that of Saera’s and Jonah’s and if it diverged in any way, the consequences would be dire.

With the furious King atop his throne, they were all cowed and obeyed. Ser Braxton Beesbury would marry Lady Alyn Turnberry, and Lord Roy Connington would marry Lady Perianne Moore. All four would be banished from court for their part in a disgraceful scandal and once Saera’s nine-month penance was over and she was wed to her Mooton betrohed in a quick and simple wedding, they too were banished from court.

She was brooding again. Alyssa shook herself from her thoughts, trying to shake out of the memories and dark thoughts.

Despite her efforts, it was not long before she found another to linger on. As the small talk continued, she felt it strongly. The keenly felt absence. With the gathering of the whole family like this, the absence of Viserra and her family felt like a scar on her heart, no matter the feud between their houses.

It was at that moment, rather uncannily, that her father stood up and began to make a speech. “My dear family. I thank you all for being with me here today. I have long pondered how we have been divided. Mistakes made in anger. Misunderstandings. Regrets left to linger.” His eyes seemed to dwell on Saera as he said that last sentence.

“But no more! I hope to right any wrongs that exist between us, put aside the bad blood and animosity. We are kin! We are family! We must stand united in these trying times! A house divided against itself cannot stand, and though not all of us have the same name, what is undeniable is the bonds of kinship, by blood and by marriage, that bind us all together,” her father said passionately as he took up his wine cup.

“To family!” he said as he raised his cup in a cheer.

“To family!” many of them chorused back, some eagerly, others only in obedience to their king.

Someone, Alyssa was not sure, began clapping at the King’s speech, and soon the entire room was applauding her father’s speech and calls for unity. All but one. Saera had not joined the cheer or the applause. Instead a look of exaggerated confusion had found its way onto her face.

“Forgive me father, I must confess myself… confused. You speak of uniting the family, putting aside bad blood and animosity… how can we do that when not all of us are gathered here?”

The silence was deafening. Thick and heavy, no one dared to speak a word as father and daughter glared at each other. Lord Jonah seemed to be silently pleading with Saera to stop but she did not listen to him. She stood up and continued, anger barely held in check on her face.

“I have one more sister. Do you remember her name? I wonder if I do because she hasn’t even been mentioned at all. She has reason enough to seek redress does she not? I hear she is married too. Such a shame I wasn’t invited to her wedding. Isn’t her husband the famous Sea Snake? I was quite looking forward to meeting him, and their two brats that she apparently gave dragons to. But she’s not here. Isn’t she family as well?

“So tell me Father. Where is Viserra? Where is that vain little sister of mine and her brats and husband? Where is House Velaryon? Archons of Tyrosh and dragonlords? Are they not family as well? Do they not deserve to have their animosity settled? Or is that the truth that you have not spoken? The truth the rest of you know as well but are merely content to leave hanging in the air,” Saera said as she pointed to the rest of the family.

“Let us not mince words Father,” she said mockingly, turning her attention back onto the family patriarch, “you did not gather us all to make amends and unite the family. You brought us here to ensure we were behind you as you moved against the Velaryons. To be your willing servants as you persecuted yet another of your daughters.”

The mask had broken, the anger and fire was clear to see in the eyes of both their father and Saera. Alyssa made to rise to try and calm tempers, her mother, Maegelle, and Aemon, and Baelon did too. But before they could, Daella spoke.

“Blunt as ever Saera. I see Maidenpool hasn’t taught you the art of subtlety, or even common courtesy,” she remarked drily.

Saera sneered. “Like the Vale apparently taught you how to read? Spare me your mocking Daella. It feels almost laughable coming from you.”

Tempers were rising but it seemed like the anger had faded slightly from Saera when she spoke next. “I fear this conversation is not going well. May my family and I be excused, Your Grace?” she asked of their father… no, of her king.

Jaehaerys continued to glare at his wayward daughter before he finally said, “Go,” and sat down immediately after.

Saera turned and walked out the door, her husband and sons quick on her heels. Alyssa sighed, placing her head in her palms. Her recently improved opinion of Saera had lowered all over again and yet… not a single word she had spoken had been untrue.

Chapter 22: Lady of the Vale

Chapter Text

Twelfth Moon, 90 AC

The Lady of the Vale

Breaking your fast with your mother and sisters should have been an opportune time to strengthen family bonds. Daella just wasn’t sure about any of that happening today. Her eyes moved around the room, observing her kin.

Jocelyn, was as kind as she remembered. Her hair remained as black as a raven’s feathers, and her eyes were still that dark purple, so dark they were almost black until the light shone on them. She had once been quite close to Jocelyn, so much so that her brother Boremund had been considered a potential husband for her. That was not meant to be ultimately, but they had remained close nonetheless.

Her daughter was her spitting image, though her eyes were her father’s pale violet. Little Rhaenys had been a petite and precocious child, always eager to play with her aunt. She was not so little anymore. At seven and ten, Rhaenys was six feet tall towered over Daella’s own short stature of barely five feet and two inches. It was to be expected, with her mother but an inch shorter, and her father two inches taller, but it had taken Daella time to adjust to the little girl she had once known becoming so tall and grown up.

When Daella looked at her now, she didn’t see just her niece, she saw the queen in waiting, as her mother had proclaimed her at court before. Her back was straight, her demeanor graceful and poised. She was as elegant as she was strong, as clever as she was daring. Rhaenys seemed to flip perfectly between the roles of lady and heir. Daella hoped her own daughter might one day be like her cousin.

Her adorable little Aemma was sweet and lovely, with a streak of mischief and adventure that Daella herself had not had at her age. As soon as she overcame her shyness when meeting strangers, her girl truly bloomed in the right company. Gael and her had both scarfed down their meal before running off together. Daemon and Borros were likely waiting for them somewhere.

While she wasn’t quite sure of how good an influence the rowdy and mischievous Daemon and Borros were for her girl, Daella trusted in Gael to keep her safe. She had been a babe last she had seen her, but she had grown up well, and was responsible for her age. She found herself feeling a kindred spirit in Gael, for both of them had been frail and assumed simple by the Maesters when they were young. Her mother had encouraged Gael to open up and be brave after learning of what Daella had done, and the effects had been incredible. She felt immeasurably proud of her youngest sister.

“Daella, pass me the honey please,” Maegelle said. Daella did as asked, her short dainty arms reaching for the jar of honey to pass to her sister.

They had been close once. She was the sister Daella had loved most when they were young. Alyssa had run after Baelon, Maegelle had toddled after Alyssa, and Daella had in turn clung to Maegelle.

Maegelle had been her guiding star. She had been the only person Daella had not been afraid to sing for. Daella had long been told her voice was sweet, but she had always gotten the words wrong and felt embarrassed. Yet Maegelle had made her feel encouraged when everyone else in court would have only laughed at her behind her back. It was Maegelle who had guided her to her faith in the Seven. Daella had taken comfort in her older sister’s soothing presence away from the whispers of the court, as she had tried to teach her the prayers and hymns. It was Maegelle who had first sat with her and tried to teach her to read when the maester had given up on her.

But Maegelle had also abandoned Daella. When she was only eight years old, their mother had promised Maegelle to the Faith, and her sister had eagerly accepted and gone south to Oldtown to study as a novice. Daella had been left behind. Her star had abandoned her. She had felt so very alone. Nothing had seemed right in the world then.

She had failed more and more in her lessons without Maegelle’s tutoring and encouragement, and with it, Vaegon’s cruel remarks only worsened. Daella had always disliked Vaegon, but she had come to truly abhor his presence that year, especially after he had called her stupid in front of the entire court. She remembered she had run from the room in tears, and not even her mother had been able to make her calm down.

Even the animals turned on her. Her pet kitten had scratched her and rebuffed her love. A bee had stung her in the gardens, making her scared to even go outside. She had grown more and more terrified of anything and everything around her.

That was when a new star had shone its light upon her. Alyssa had always terrified her, she was so loud, so daring, so wild. And yet that wild elder sister had championed her. She had poured a flagon of wine on Vaegon in rebuke for his cruel words, and Daella had watched as she had thrown him around the yard for it a few weeks later.

Despite Alyssa’s rebukes, Vaegon had never repented or changed his attitude toward her. In fact, he had gotten even worse afterward, and Daella was glad to see the back of him when he left for the Citadel a few years later. A guilty part of Daella had felt glad to see his humiliation. The Seven taught that one should not feel pleased to see the suffering of others, especially not their kin, but Daella had not been able to shake the feeling, no matter how hard she tried.

Guilt did not erode her gratitude however. Alyssa had defended her, and so from then on, Daella had followed her as closely as she had followed Maegelle. She had bristled at first, as she had when Maegelle had followed her, but eventually she had warmed to Daella. Maegelle had taken Daella under her wing and taught her in cloistered rooms but Alyssa shielded her from the rigors of court, and the worst of Saera’s pranks.

Her gaze turned upon her. She looked bored, as if breaking fast with her mother and sisters was not of any interest to her. Saera noticed her gaze and smirked. Daella felt her anger rise despite herself. Saera had always been able to provoke her anger, even more than Vaegon had.

When she had been younger and more naïve, Daella had honestly wondered if Saera was a demon from the Seven Hells interloping in her family. A twisted creature of spite and malice wearing the face of a human, cruel and vicious. The things she had done to the court fool Tom Turnip, attested. And Saera had been no less vicious to her own flesh and blood.

She was younger than her by three years, but Daella could barely recall a time when Saera had ever held any proper love and respect for her as her elder sister. Ever since they were young, she had always tormented her. She would trip her as they passed in the corridors, destroy her things, and play on her fears. Saera had known she had hated and feared cats, so she had constantly snuck cats into her room. Once she had even filled her chamberpot with bees. Daella hadn’t even known until she had gone to relieve herself, and she had been stung severely, needing treatment from the Grand Maester.

Saera had not been punished at first. Her father and eldest brothers had never taken Saera’s pranks seriously, and her mother’s warnings and reprimands had never seemed to last or work. Even her mother had been fooled that time, as Saera had insisted her innocence, even gone so far as to provide witnesses attesting that she was elsewhere.

But Daella had seen her smile of triumph and gloating. Seen that smug smirk as their eyes had met. With no one else to turn to, she had turned to Alyssa for protection once again. Alyssa had smiled and told her she would handle it. All she asked was that she keep silent.

Weeks passed and Saera was the recipient of many cruel pranks, many of which were the exact mirror of those she had done to Daella. Some had suspected her of retaliating at first but then dismissed the idea when they remembered what she was like. Each time Saera was pranked, a message was left demanding she confess or the pranks would continue. When Saera finally broke and confessed, she was punished severely by their mother. Alyssa had smirked at her when they had heard the news, and had raised her finger to her lips, shushing her.

Saera had never dared to attack her so overtly again. Words became her new weapon as she picked up where Vaegon had left off, tearing at what little pride Daella had, deriding her wit and courage and dripping poison with every word. And the pranks continued eventually, less obviously, enough to avoid suspicion.

Alyssa never went after Saera again, because Daella had never asked. She had felt guilty to have troubled her beloved elder sister, and to have stooped to Saera’s level. She had tried to harden herself, so the words and pranks did not hurt so much, but that had done little, and she had cried herself to sleep many nights after a particularly bad encounter with Saera.

She wished she could say Saera had changed, but looking at her now, with that damnable smirk still on her lips and the condescension in her eyes as she sipped from her cup. And that wasn’t tea was it? It was wine. Seven’s sake, she hoped Saera wasn’t getting drunk. Saera was even worse when she was drunk.

“You’ve been glaring at me for quite some time Daella. Do you need anything?” she asked with false innocence, a lilt in her voice.

“Yes… I just wanted to tell you how much I pity you. You are truly pathetic Saera,” she said, with as much scathing as she could put into her voice. Ten years later, and she could finally give as good as she got. It felt as liberating and enjoyable today as it had at dinner last night.

Saera seemed to be torn between a laugh and a scoff. “I’m the pathetic one?” she asked.

Before either of them could continue, their mother’s voice rang through the room.

“Enough. The morn has barely begun. I will not have two of my daughters squabbling like rabble. Cease this meaningless bickering at once. You are princesses of the realm, ladies of great houses. Act like it.”

Chastised, Daella relented. “Yes Mother.”

Saera dramatically obeyed. “As you command Your Grace,” she said, gesturing into a mock bow with her hand.

Their mother stared at her, disappointment writ all over her face, But Daella could see traces of regret as she sank back into her chair.

She had always adored her mother. In her mind, she had been the perfect lady, the perfect queen. Before Alyssa or Maegelle, her mother had protected her and nurtured her. She had always comforted her and sought the best for her. Daella loved her dearly. It felt wrong to see her so tired and defeated.

Her mother had aged. Gracefully some might say, but Daella knew of the aches in her bones that she hid, the worries that laid heavy on her heart. One of her daughters was not here in the Red Keep, and the reasons for that absence gave rise to only more worry.

Whatever the mistakes she had made, however Daella wished she had done some things differently, her mother loved each and every one of her children dearly. In a better world, maybe Daella could have said the same. There was already no love lost between her and Vaegon and Saera. As for Viserra…

Her absence weighed heavily on her mother, but Daella wasn’t sure she could say the same. Viserra had been eleven when she had left King’s Landing, and Daella would admit to herself that she had not been close to her. She had reminded her too much of Saera, despite never having actually done anything to her to justify that. They barely had any relationship worth speaking of.

Yet… Viserra was still her sister. She had never done anything wrong to her, for all that her demeanor had reminded her of Saera. She had been surprised to get a letter from Driftmark in her hand, over a year ago, asking after her. Daella had replied promptly after recovering from her surprise. Their correspondence had been limited, but in time, they might have built a semblance of a relationship.

Yet even in the best of worlds, they were never going to be close. That ship had sailed. House Arryn and House Velaryon were always going to be at odds due to the latter’s alliance with House Grafton who controlled the Vale’s largest and most important port and along with their ally, House Celtigar, dominated trade in the Bay of Crabs.

The Graftons had always chafed under the rule of House Arryn. Grasping and ambitious, they had become bold, pushing their interests in the Vale to an unacceptable extent. Many houses had become indebted to them and susceptible to their influence. House Grafton’s neighbors such as House Royce had consulted the Eyrie in concern that the rising power of Gulltown could endanger their fiefs should they press their claims on disputed lands. Some had even wondered if Gulltown was amassing enough power and wealth to challenge even the Eyrie should they command them to relent.

Daella had written a letter on behalf of her house to her father asking for his consideration of the matter. She had hoped for something to be done, but she had never expected what had followed. When she had first learned of her father’s decrees, first of the governance of the Stepstones and later of the punishment of House Velaryon for their actions in Tyrosh, Daella had been conflicted.

Daella Targaryen, sister of Viserra Targaryen, had been angry on behalf of her sister. Her and her husband’s rightful reward had been taken from them, their sons’ inheritance stolen by their own grandfather. Even when they later justified her father’s actions against them, Daella had not forgotten that it was her father’s decree who had started the whole feud to begin with.

But much like Viserra was, Daella was loyal to her husband and house. Daella Targaryen might have sided with her sister, but Daella Arryn could not, would not. The Lady of the Eyrie knew, that for all that her sister and her house were being crushed underfoot, it was to her husband’s benefit. Her daughter’s benefit. With House Grafton reeling from the attack on their ally and their trade, her lord goodfather had eagerly reasserted his dominance over Gulltown. Because of what Viserra had done, of how their father had reacted, Aemma might rule over a Vale that answered to her and not Gulltown.

She hated to admit it, but Daella knew Maidenpool would be a more than worthy ally to deal with both Celtigar and Grafton. A large and wealthy port town that desired more share of the trade in the bay. Making common cause with them could only be beneficial for House Arryn. If only dealing with Maidenpool didn’t mean dealing with Saera.

She looked up at her. She was still sipping her wine and getting more drunk. Daella shuddered to even think of it. An alliance between Maidenpool and the Eyrie? It was laughable.

“Saera, I was asked to tell you that your father wants to meet with you and your husband in private one of these days,” her mother said, not even looking up at her daughter.

Saera scoffed. “I’m surprised he wants to even see my face after last night.”

Daella could not resist retorting. “Maybe you shouldn’t have questioned his decisions in front of the entire family. He’s our father and king Saera. Have the years addled your mind?”

She glared back at her. “Can’t be any more addled than yours can it? How can you even manage the Eyrie? How many people need to check your work for you? Five? Ten?”

“Saera!” their mother shouted.

Everyone at the table was glaring at Saera. But Daella waved them off.

“It’s fine. Saera’s taunts are but a weak attempt to distract others from her own shortcomings. They’re meaningless,” she said.

That did not stop her from getting to her feet however. “Daella? Where are you going? You haven’t even finished your food yet!” her mother pleaded, and Daella almost relented.

“I’m sorry Mother. Forgive me. I have no more appetite. It was a pleasure mother, and I hope we do this again sometime soon, perhaps with more pleasant company.”

She ignored her mother and sisters’ pleas as she walked away from the room. Saera looked almost guilty as she walked out, but Daella didn’t believe that for one moment.

As she struggled to make her way to her quarters, the walls of the Red Keep looked as menacing as they had when she was young. Red and angry and judging her for weakness. So unlike the welcoming and wondrous white walls of the Eyrie. Was this what Maegor the Cruel had intended? Because if so, he had succeeded.

Daella remembered an old chant she had made for herself once. ‘Saera always lies’. She had spent years telling that to herself, trying to convince herself that her words were just lies, poison meant to hurt. She had thought she was stronger than this, but even now Saera could get under her skin so easily because deep down Daella knew that at least part of what she said was true.

The truth was, Daella had not improved as much as she had pretended. Deep down she felt like she was still that scared little girl who had struggled to read and understand anything. For all of her efforts to improve her reading and writing, many of the servants at the Eyrie struggled to read her letters and commands at times. Most of the accounts she handled were checked by sometimes as many as five people because the fact of the matter was that Daella was not clever.

She wasn’t a dimwit or dumb as Vaegon and Saera had insisted, but she was never that smart. Even with the improvement in her reading and her memory, it took longer and more effort for her to understand and do things that anyone else could do in half the time. She could certainly never hope of being as successful as Vaegon, an archmaester, or Saera, who had increased the incomes of her house tenfold.

Daella had made it as far as she had purely by hard work and sheer determination. Forcing herself to focus and study and work as hard as she could just to keep up. And she just felt so frustrated and tired. Why did the Seven reward Vaegon and Saera, cruel and spiteful, with such intellect and cleverness? Why had she, who had worked so hard to even be allowed a small part in managing her own household, her traditional right and role as its lady, been left to languish?

She did not know. And that injustice made her angry. Throwing open the door to her quarters, Daella marched to her desk and pulled out a letter. It was to some random lord in the Vale, but the contents did not matter, not for what she intended. Placing the letter on the desk, Daella took a blank piece of parchment, dipped her quill in the ink, and began to write, at least she tried to.

Copying the letter was a simple task anyone who knew their letters could do as easily as breathing. It should have been easy. It should have been simple. It was not. Not for her.

As she read the letter and tried to write her copy, the words moved. They floated off the page, drifted side to side like they were dancing. The individual letters pulled apart and then slammed into each other. Her vision started to blur as her eyes struggled to focus, protesting her reading. This always happened.

She shook her head and closed her eyes briefly before opening them and forcing herself to focus. It had been an agonizing few minutes and she had barely written a sentence. Her head was starting to hurt. Her eyes began to water from the strain of her focus and frustration. As she struggled to read and copy more sentences, her headache grew worse, and the chaotic dance the letters and words indulged in had grown more frantic as each sought to do worse than its neighbor.

Finally, Daella couldn’t take it anymore. In a fit of rage, she slammed her fist down on the desk and tore the letter and her unfinished copy into pieces. The ink bottle tipped over during the commotion and spilled all over the desk and her dress, dripping onto the floor. Daella couldn’t bring herself to care.

When she was young, the septa and the Maester had told her parents that she was not clever. It had taken her years to learn how to read, and it had been haltingly, and without true comprehension. No one had ever believed her when she had told them how the letters and words danced and floated off the page. They had thought that only to be her overly imaginative excuse for her own stupidity.

Unable to even read and cruelly mocked by the siblings closest in age to her, what little had existed of Daella’s confidence and courage had crumbled. She had become frightened of the slightest thing, unwilling to even try or dare to do anything about it.

The whispers of the court that had followed her around had not helped. Alyssa had been the strong and ribald eldest princess, Maegelle the pious second, Saera the wild and mischievous prankster, Viserra the sly and beautiful, and Gael, the Winter Child. But Daella? When they thought she wasn’t listening, for the Good Queen was fiercely protective of her daughter, the courtiers whispered to each other and murmured behind her back that she was the dumb princess, the dimwit. A pretty face with nothing of value in her head. Scared of bees and cats and her own shadow. Sensitive and delicate, unable to handle any japes or jests. Prone to crying if you spoke nary a word in a loud voice. Pious but couldn’t even remember a prayer to save her life.

Daella had grown to hate the court and those judgmental stares. But what she had grown to hate most of all had been the glances of pity. Those who had not mocked her wits or her bravery, but had instead found her pitiful and pathetic. It grew worse when Daella had started seeing those same looks of pity on her own family members.

To her mother, Alyssa, and Maegelle, she had only been something to protect. Her father, Aemon, and Baelon, had always spoken to her tenderly and lovingly, but they had been distant and far away from her. Barely making time for her.

Her parents and older siblings had loved her, but they had coddled her. They hadn’t really believed in her. To them, she had been a precious doll to protect, to coddle and shelter and give a good life to. They hadn’t even been the most successful at that given how her father and brothers had failed to protect her from Saera, indulged her until she disgraced herself.

She knew she was being unfair. Daella hadn’t helped matters herself. How could her family believe in her when she hadn’t even believed in herself? She had failed at almost everything she had tried to do, and gave no impression that she wasn’t just a doll.

She just wished that things had been different. That she hadn’t been born like this, struggling to even read. She wished her mother had told her she believed she could be just like her, a strong and confident queen and lady. Instead, it felt like her mother and everyone else had slowly given up on her. And so in the end, Daella had given up on herself too.

“Daella,” she heard a voice, a voice that had become her new guiding star. She turned to the door and there he was, the Darling of the Vale. He had that nickname because Daella had named him such at a feast in the Vale and the lords and ladies had all agreed.

Her darling Jasper was as pious as he was handsome, as dashing as he was chivalrous, as kind as he was strong. His eyes were a resplendent blue. She had spent hours lost in those eyes before.

“What have you done to yourself?” he said exasperatedly as he walked over to her and started cleaning the ink off her with a napkin. The desk was ignored.

“I’m sorry.” Daella trembled. She hated disappointing Jasper.

“No, don’t apologize. Just tell me what’s wrong. What happened? You look troubled.”

“It’s nothing, it’s just… Saera.” Daella shook her head.

Jasper understood what she meant immediately. “What did she do?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She tried to brush it away.

“It matters to me, Daella.” His voice was kind but firm, the hints of a lordly command.

“She asked… she asked me how many people need to check my accounts in the Eyrie. In that usual mocking of hers. I know it shouldn’t mean anything but I just can’t help but – “

Jasper wrapped her in his arms before she could continue. “Daella, you are a wonderful mother and a capable lady. Even if you have difficulties and struggles, you are not lesser for them but greater. You have striven to make yourself more than what you were given.”

“I just wish I could be like everyone else,” she choked out.

“I know.”

She melted into the embrace. Jasper had never needed to say much to console her. His presence was more than enough.

“I’ve made your doublet dirty,” Daella said, wiping away tears from her eyes.

“There are others,” he did not speak more, but his eyes asked another question.

Daella nodded meaningfully. She was better now. Jasper made her better.

They had first met when she was one and ten, and he a boy of two and ten. Her sister Alyssa had just wed their brother Baelon, and Daella had been left alone as Alyssa spent much time with her new husband. Despondent and lonely, she had wandered the keep aimlessly, and that was when she had met him.

Long before he had been the Darling of the Vale, Jasper had been a sweet and charming boy, with a shyness that rivaled their daughter Aemma’s. Unlike everyone else at court, Jasper had been raised with impeccable manners. Even when young, he had sought to embody the tenets of his house words. As High as Honor.

Like a dashing knight, he had spoken to her fondly and had not mocked her for her weaknesses. Later Daella learned that he had humiliated some squires who had made fun of her in the yard. Even at the age of 12, Jasper had had the makings of the greatest of knights.

They spent weeks together after that, and for the first time in her life, Daella had known what it felt like to have a friend. Someone to confide in that was not her sisters. Everyone else had always scared her, but Jasper was someone she felt safe with.

She had told him her hopes and her fears, her dreams and desires. And he in turn had told her of his own. His unhappiness with seeing his father so rarely, for the Lord Rodrik had at the time been the Master of Laws, and his worries over his relationship with his brother Eldric, who even then, had already been jealous and distant.

All too soon, Jasper, who had come only for her sister’s wedding to begin with and had long since overstayed, was to go back to the Vale. He had promised to write her and that was where it had started.

Daella had felt horribly embarrassed having to have a servant read to her friend’s words, and dictating to the servant her reply. Somehow her mother helping her made it even worse. This was her friend, her private letters. Daella hadn’t wanted anyone else to know what was only between them.

She had forced herself to pick up the books she had hated so much and tried to read them as much as she could, try to learn her letters and sums again. She had practiced and practiced writing letters until her hand felt like dropping off.

All the while, Jasper continued to encourage her in his letters. Daella felt herself growing closer and closer to him. Their letters became more affectionate, more tender, though they never crossed the line of propriety. Both were all too aware their correspondence was being read by simple virtue that Daella still had yet to master her letters.

When she reached her age of majority at six and ten, the topic of marriage had arisen again, and when her mother had asked her who she wanted to wed, only Jasper had come to mind. Everyone else were strangers she did not know. Jasper was her friend. Her mother had only smiled knowingly.

Years later, she had learned from her goodfather Rodrik Arryn, that her marriage had been discussed at the Small Council. Her kingly father had considered sending her on a tour of Westeros in search of a prospective husband. Her mother had shaken her head and said that there was no need. Lord Rodrik’s son would more than suffice.

With her consent, the betrothal was finalized and the date set for her wedding. In his last letter to her before then, Jasper had confessed himself happy to wed a dear friend like her, and said he was eager to see her again.

When they met again for the first time in five years, Daella had felt her heart flutter. She had barely grown in stature, though her mother had assured her she had become womanly and mature, but Jasper had grown tall indeed. Tall enough that Daella felt dwarfed in his shadow. For a moment she had felt frightened, but then he had spoken to her in that same tender voice, huskier and deeper, but just as kind, and Daella knew that her friend was still the same. He had wrapped her in his arms, and she had felt as safe and comfortable as she had when they first met.

Leaving her family had been hard. Daella had cried to leave her mother and Alyssa behind, but when she arrived at the Eyrie she wept no more. The Vale became enamored with their Princess, and Daella had seen too many wondrous new sights and done too many extraordinary new things to weep.

In their time at the Eyrie, Jasper had coaxed her out of her shell. Little by little she became braver, a little more each day. She mastered her sums and letters eventually with great difficulty, and Jasper had cheered her with every step.

Soon Daella found herself with more friends, and more kind souls. Ladies that were not like the ilk of Saera or others at court, but genuine and pious like her. The court of the Eyrie dared not whisper of their lady as the court of the Red Keep had. For the Darling of the Vale had declared that any man that spoke ill of his wife would face him in the arena. She was entrusted with duties of the household, if with supervision. She was loved and respected instead of pitied and ridiculed.

King’s Landing had been where she was born and raised, but the Vale became her home. Home is where the heart is, and her heart had begun to long for the Vale and long for its heir years before she had even realized it.

“I broke fast with your father, and mine,” Jasper said, as he helped her to wash in the bath while a servant cleaned up the spilt ink.

Daella nodded. She had known of this. “What did you speak of?”

“A number of things. Most relevant to us is that we will have more duties when we return to the Vale.”

“And why is that?” she asked, curious.

“My father will not be returning with us.” He looked up at Daella and their eyes met. “Your father has offered him his old post as Master of Laws again. He accepted.”

Daella was confused. “What of my brother? Surely my father would not remove Aemon from the council?”

Jasper shook his head. “He has not. Aemon is to be Master of Coin from now on instead. Lord Tyrell has resigned from the council, and will be returning to Highgarden within the moon.”

“I did not know of that.” Daella was stunned.

“No one else does. It has yet to be announced. My father and I were told in confidence, so as to offer my father the position on the council. Take care to not spread it around, we do not want gossip.”

Daella nodded, still in shock. For as long as she remembered, Lord Martyn Tyrell and his wife Lady Florence Fossoway had been a constant presence at court. Lord Martyn and Lady Florence had served jointly and ably as the Master of Coin for well over thirty years. They were some of the longest serving members of her father’s council, why now were they resigning? Even when Lord Martyn’s elder brother had passed and he had inherited Highgarden, he had not resigned his post on the council, merely taking a few months of leave each year to resolve any matters in Highgarden. His wife remained in King’s Landing throughout it all, diligent in her duties as the true Master of Coin.

She expressed as much to Jasper. He shook his head.

“I suspect the Reach may no longer be stable enough for them to remain here. For decades Lord and Lady Tyrell could remain secure in their position knowing that they had the King’s favor but now… Now the Redwynes have been restored to the admiralty. Robert Redwyne is the Master of Ships like his father once was. Ser Otto Hightower is the Governor of the Stepstones. And rumors are abound that the King has agreed to sponsor a company of the Hightowers, Redwynes, and Lannisters to trade in the Summer Sea.

“None of this bodes well for House Tyrell. House Hightower and House Redwyne have always been among those who have chafed under their rule and tended to call upon the Iron Throne to arbitrate disputes rather than Highgarden. Now those same houses have the ear of the King and control over the most important trade routes in the world.”

“But why resign?” Daella asked. “Surely if your bannerman has a post on the Council as well, you should not leave the council entirely?”

“I suspect that their years of absence may have done more ill than good for the Tyrells at this point. Their authority in the Reach may soon be nonexistent regardless of their supposed closeness with the Crown if they do not return. Their previous power was backed directly by the King’s favor and now that seems to have gone to the Hightowers and Redwynes instead.”

Daella was just aghast. Lord Martyn and Lady Florence had served her father loyally for decades, Lady Florence was supposed to be a close friend of her mother’s! Why would they do this to them?

“It is the way of the game my dear,” Jasper said, reading the expression on her face. “Your father’s interests have changed, and the houses directly aligned with him have altered as a result.”

“I leave such matters of governance and alliance to you and your father,” Daella shook her head. For all of their vaunted honor, both her husband and goodfather were capable players of the great game of houses and politics. Daella was a novice at best compared to them. What little she knew had come from their teachings.

“It’s not all so complicated and difficult love,” Jasper said. “Just think about this instead. Now that I am to be Lord of the Eyrie in my father’s place and rule on his behalf, we will finally be able to send Eldric and his family away. Our Aemma will not have to contend with their nonsense any longer.”

Despite herself, Daella smiled. “What are you thinking?”

Jasper smirked back. “The Knight of the Bloody Gate has confided in me that he desires to retire soon. He is old and has served long and ably. It’s a prestigious and important position, enough so that Eldric cannot refuse without giving offense, but not so dangerous as to be a threat to us. I will of course impress on him that he should not be away from his family, so of course his wife and son must follow him.”

Daella was quite impressed with her husband’s cunning. It was moments like this that reminded her of his fierce love for her and for their daughter. There had been a time that Daella had doubted it, and she still regretted it.

When she had laid bedridden after giving birth to Aemma, the Maester had told them that another child would most likely kill her. As it was, she had almost died. The Maester said she might very well have in olden times, before recent advances in cleanliness and tools such as the forceps, all of them pioneered by Driftmark.

She had sobbed to Jasper, despondent. She had failed she had said. She knew how much Jasper had wished for a son, he had told her of his dreams for a boy he would raise into a paragon of chivalry like himself, raise to lead the Vale with honor and justice. She had wanted so dearly to give him that son, and she had felt so much guilt that Jasper would never have him.

She was a princess of House Targaryen, and she had bled and almost died to give her husband a child. No matter if Daella herself had consented, Jasper could never have set her aside. Her parents would have been enraged and the Vale would have been endangered, and Jasper would never do that.

In despair, she had wondered to herself if maybe it would have been better if she had died. Jasper had heard her. And he had been enraged. It was the first time he had ever been wroth with her. He had told her to never think so lowly of herself again, that she was his wife, his love, and their daughter was his heir, and that would be the end of it.

It had taken time for Jasper to truly forgive her for that, for doubting him, and for doubting herself. Their daughter had brought them back together fully. She was so clever and charming, so kind, so perfect.

Daella and her husband were both determined to fight for their daughter’s right to succeed him. Her life’s work now was to ensure that Aemma had anything and everything she needed to succeed as the Lady of the Eyrie, and rule unquestioned, and unchallenged.

She’d let nothing get in her way. By the laws of gods and men, Aemma was her father’s heir. Honor demanded no less, and Daella was an Arryn now. As High as Honor.

Chapter 23: Disgrace

Chapter Text

Twelfth Moon, 90 AC

The Disgrace

She watched her older sister leave, saw the tears in her eyes that she struggled to hold back. And despite herself, Saera felt the shreds of guilt, the slightest sliver of shame. How many times had she made Daella cry?

It had started out small. As a child, Saera had pranked as many of her siblings as she had dared. All had either been amused or angered by it. It was just the usual rowdy behavior between siblings. In a way, Saera had felt it make her closer to them, especially her much older eldest siblings, all of whom were distant from her for the most part.

Yet, the first time she had ever pranked Daella, had been different. Saera couldn’t even remember what her first prank on her was anymore, it had been that long ago, and she had been so young. It had been something insignificant, and yet her mother had reacted with such fury. How dare Saera prank precious Daella? How dare she make her cry?

It’s not like she’d known she would cry anyway. Saera had always known Daella was weak and pathetic, but the extent of it had shocked her. And then it had angered her. Why did this weak pathetic little crybaby get so much attention from her parents? This dull dumb excuse for a princess who couldn’t even read, couldn’t even stand up for herself, deserve all the protection and sheltering?

It had made her resentful. She had started pranking Daella more and more, each one more vicious than before. At the start she had told herself she was doing this for Daella’s own good. The little crybaby needed to toughen up and harden herself. The world wouldn’t cave to her whims and protect her like their parents did. Her big sister needed to be strong to protect herself, and if she refused to learn, then Saera was going to teach her the hard way!

Eventually she stopped lying to herself. It wasn’t for Daella anymore. It was for herself. Anything to distract herself from the crippling feelings of inadequacy and worthlessness she had buried deep in her heart. Daella was just the perfect target for her to vent her frustrations on.

And she was clever about it too, she always did in a way that could downplay her involvement or the actual severity of the prank. Sometimes she even managed to lie her way out of trouble entirely. Aemon and Baelon, always so distant, had been amused by her pranks, never truly realizing the true nature or extent of them.

Her mother hadn’t been so easily fooled. She had caught her lies most often of all, and when she didn’t, Alyssa would instead. She remembered with a slight shudder of just how terrifying Alyssa could be when she wanted to be. Alyssa’s retribution to her after she had pranked Daella one time too many still haunted Saera. She had taken every prank she had ever done to Daella and returned them with interest.

Saera had confronted her about it, and she had laughed in her face. “My dear little Saera. Do you think anyone is going to believe you over me?” Alyssa’s expression had been taunting, her eyes vindictive, and her smirk viciously smug.

Before she had left King’s Landing, Maegelle, had been much the same as Alyssa. She had barely ever done anything to her, but Daella had clung to her then, so of course she had taken her side. Maegelle’s eyes had always been full of righteous anger, and something akin to their mother’s disappointment. Saera had hated it.

For a time Saera had thought she would make common cause with Vaegon, united in their dislike of Daella at least. But that had not led to anything either. Vaegon treated her with as much disdain as he did Daella, and it seemed for all his insults to Daella, he greatly disapproved of Saera’s actions as a whole.

Saera had pranked Vaegon several times for that rejection. It had been very fun to make the dumb bore rage. In time however, it had grown stale, and Vaegon had eventually left King’s Landing anyway when she was barely one and ten.

And then there was Viserra. Oh Viserra, Saera didn’t even know what to think of her anymore. She hadn’t even been invited to her wedding. She hadn’t expected to be, given her banishment from court, but it had still stung. A confusing chaos of emotion warred in her head. Bitter jealousy and admiration clashed.

Jealousy. Saera had always envied Viserra, even when they had been young girls. She had been more beautiful than her even then, and Saera had resented that. Yet another sibling that drew attention away from her. And now that jealousy was tenfold. Viserra had everything Saera had once dreamed of.

She had a gorgeous husband, a man of the like any maiden would swoon over. The legendary Corlys Velaryon and his seat, the richest and most splendid in Westeros, with wealth that could give even the Lannisters pause. It consoled Saera only a little, that that splendor and wealth might soon be diminished due to her family’s actions against Viserra, because she would always have her dragon.

Once long ago, so long ago that even Viserra had likely forgotten, she and Saera had been… close. Of a sort. Gael had not been born at the time, and their younger brothers Gaemon and Valerion had died in the cradle. Viserra and her had been the youngest children of the King and Queen, only two years apart and so very alike. They used to play together as children and they had always been by each other’s side.

It was then long ago, that Saera had asked their parents when Viserra and her would get their dragons. Their mother had looked to their father, and he had not truly answered. ‘We will see,’ he had said. It had taken years before Saera had realized the truth. Would that Gaemon and Valerion had lived, perhaps things might have been different. Without them, Viserra and her were never destined to have dragons.

As the years passed, Viserra and her had grown apart, into distance, and eventually even dislike. Viserra was vain, sly, arrogant, manipulative, and deceitful. It was like looking in a mirror for Saera. Deep down she knew it was everything that she hated about herself embodied in a sister all too similar to her, and she had hated it and hated her for it. Viserra had no doubt felt the same. It was little wonder they had grown apart. Their similarities had pushed them away from each other instead of bringing them together from then on. They had each formed their own group of friends of which they were the center, neither willing to compete for attention with a sibling yet again.

And yet despite all her jealousy, anger, and hatred, a part of Saera admired Viserra for doing what she could not. She had seized control of her own destiny from their family, claimed her own dragon. Viserra, had gotten the life she had wanted, and lived out their childhood dreams, and for that Saera admired her and envied her.

She remembered feeling morbidly amused at what she had thought to be Viserra’s self-destruction with her stunt in Tyrosh. Yet she could sympathize with her still nonetheless. What their family was doing to Viserra now felt so familiar. But regardless of how she felt about any of that, it didn’t matter. Saera would do what was best for Maidenpool. That was all she had left.

Even now she still felt so lonely. Surrounded by her mother and sisters, and yet always the outsider. She could feel their anger, see their glares and the disappointment in their eyes, their disapproval of her. If they hadn’t already, Rhaenys and Gael were now learning to hate her too.

And to think she had considered apologizing to Daella. After all these years, she had finally understood why her mother had given so much love and care to Daella. Once she had had children of her own, understood the depths of her love for them, she had finally understood why Daella had been so dear to her mother. Just the idea of one of her children being sick or weak in some way made Saera want to coddle and protect them. And Daella’s problems had been well known to them all.

She had come to King’s Landing angry and bitter at everyone, but when she had seen Daella, some part of her had felt guilt and wished to apologize. The part of her that felt proud of Daella, the remnants of the long lost little sister who had wanted her dear elder sister to be strong.

She had just been so angry. Her pride could accept apologizing to the Daella she remembered from years ago, not this Daella, this proud strong woman, who mocked Saera and shrugged off her insults. Seeing her like that, seeing her mother and Alyssa still fawn all over her, and Saera had felt a jealous rage she could not control and lashed out. Now even that small chance was gone. Daella would never accept an apology from her, not after their recent altercation especially.

There was no use feeling useless regret anymore. Saera got up from the table, saw those judging looks. She didn’t need to take this any longer. She excused herself, and left the room. They did not call for her and plead for her to stay like they did Daella. How typical of them. Saera had expected no less, but it still stung.

Her husband found her on her way back to her quarters. Despite herself, Saera smiled. She could not say she loved Jonah, but she was found of him nonetheless. He was not the cleverest of men, but he was decent, and loyal to her. His devotion to her and his weaker will than hers had allowed her to rule him and Maidenpool both. She wondered at times if she would have been happy with either Braxton or Roy as well, but it didn’t matter anymore. She had made her choice.

“Jonah, what a pleasant surprise. Well what is it?” she demanded.

“Saera…” Jonah was hesitant. “The King has summoned us both to his solar to meet with him. I was on my way to get you.”

“Has he now?” she asked, her voice having gone cold. “Well then, we mustn’t keep our king waiting.”

It was a long walk to her father’s solar. The Red Keep was huge, larger than the keep in Maidenpool was by a great margin. As they walked, Saera could not stop her thoughts from drifting.

Her mother had always been so disappointed in her, so difficult to please, so difficult to fool. All of her sisters had grown to dislike her over the years. She cared not a whit for Vaegon and Aemon and Baelon had been kind but distant. The one member of her family that Saera had been truly close to had been her father.

Saera had barely had her parents’ attention as a child. She eventually learned that the easiest way to get their attention, was to perform some act of mischief, some wild prank or brazen feat. Her mother had struggled to control her as a child, but her father, busy with the governance of the realm hadn’t cared to. He had only loved and indulged her. She would get her mother’s reprimands and punishments that ultimately had done nothing, but what she had really wanted was her father’s amusem*nt and his soft whispered words to be better.

Saera had lived for those words. Every now and then, her father would put time aside to spend with her, alone of all his daughters, and soon she had learned how to get anything she wanted from him. All she had to do was act out in one way or another, some stupid prank, and she’d get her father’s attention again. And once she had it, she just had to act innocent, play up her love for him with sweet words and tender embraces.

She was more than self-aware enough to know she was describing a spoilt little brat. Yet that spoilt little girl had still loved her father beneath it all, and thought he’d be the one person to always be on her side. That little girl had been wrong. Brutally wrong.

The rage was overpowering, the feeling of betrayal and humiliation gushing like a river as she remembered that day. And beneath it still was the grief. She had lost the rest of her family long before that day in truth, but it was only then that she had suffered the greatest blow of all and realized she’d never mattered at all, even to the one she had loved most.

She knew she had been summoned to King’s Landing for a reason. Summoned back from exile after eight long years. She had even guessed at her father’s true purpose, dared to confront him about it before the entire family. But she had thought she would have more time.

Time to familiarize herself with King’s Landing and the court again. Time to adjust to her family’s hatred of her and harden her skin again. She hadn’t been prepared for this, to meet her father again in private, barely a day after she had returned to the city and called him out in front of the entire family.

As they reached the solar, the Kingsguard stared at them before knocking on the door. Her father’s voice answered with a command through the wood of the door. “Send them in.”

The door opened, and Saera took a deep breath, intent on reining in control of her feelings. She swore to herself, she’d remain calm and collected no matter what, no matter what nonsense he spewed or any threats he used.

“Saera, Lord Jonah. Welcome! Please have a seat!” the King said with a charming smile and a friendly tone of voice.

What in the actual f*ck? Saera was completely stunned. Why was he being so polite to them? She literally challenged his authority and insulted him to his face in front of the entire family last night! What? Was this a trick? Some kind of façade meant to make them lower their guard?

“Saera!” Jonah whispered a shout to her as he sat down, Saera recovered from her shock and made to claim her seat. She shook her head, whatever this strange approach of her father’s was, she’d make sure she resisted it. She’d be sure to come out on top.

“I am sure both of you are aware of recent… laws and policies that have resulted in a decrease in trade in the Bay of Crabs region,” her father said.

Yeah, like you destroying the trade of House Celtigar and House Grafton,’ she thought to herself.

“In light of this, and with the increase in demand for certain Essosi and other goods that were previously imported into the realm, I have considered the possibility of Maidenpool being a worthy replacement for other ports that are… not as able to adapt to the new policies.”

That was pretty much along the lines of what Saera was expecting. Her father had f*cked up with his overly heavy handed actions crushing the trade of the Velaryons and their allies. It had had dire consequences and now he was desperately trying to solve it by reaching out to other houses and other ports to replace the loss.

Saera didn’t particularly feel too great about joining her father and helping him oppress Viserra. Logically she’d be more inclined to support Viserra out of spite if nothing else, but Saera had her own children and house to think about as well. She had to be pragmatic. She’d see what her father offered.

Besides, if she was clever about it, nothing stopped her from trading with the Velaryons under the table, exploiting their desperation to leverage a good deal while still supporting them against her father and sticking it to him, if in secret. All the while they’d still be receiving the Crown’s generous support and patronage. Maidenpool would thrive.

The King unrolled a scroll of paper then, the more expensive bone-white paper, not some cheap brown paper or parchment. He placed it on the table. Saera snatched the paper up before Jonah could, and read through it, devouring every word.

She dropped it on the table, her mind trying to process the shock. Jonah took the paper and started reading it as soon as she did. It was a charter, the likes of which would make Maidenpool not only a city, but grant it so many rights and privileges as to become the dominant port of the Bay of Crabs region. Saltpans, Darry, and Harroway wouldn’t even stand a chance, and they’d be more than capable of providing an alternative to the ailing Graftons and Celtigars.

On its own that would be more than they could have even hoped for and Saera wouldn’t hesitate to accept, but the way in which it was to be given was infuriating to no end.

“Payment of dowry?” Jonah was confused and also hopeful as he read the provisions of the offered charter.

“Yes. Six years late I believe. A shortcoming of mine, please forgive me for that. I’m ever so forgetful at times,” he said with a charming smile that hid his devilish intentions. He was taunting her!

“We don’t need it,” she spat out.

Jonah was stunned. “Saera, what are you talking about? This charter is everything we could dream of! Think of our sons, how much this could benefit them!”

Saera felt herself growing disgusted by Jonah’s foolishness. The first rule of any negotiating, was to never show the enemy just how much you wanted something, even if they already knew it.

“I said we don’t need it Jonah!” Saera all but shouted at her husband before she turned her attention on the King. “Maidenpool has done well enough with a city charter for years. I increased its incomes tenfold by myself! All I had was my wit and my cleverness to use what I had. I did not need a hand out from the Royal House to make my job easier. If you wanted to bribe us to join your little war on the Velaryons, framing it as a late dowry was the worst possible thing you could have done!”

Her father’s charming smile had upturned into a smug smirk now. Saera knew all too well where she had gotten that from, and she hated the reminder.

“Saera, if the King is offering us a charter, late dowry or no, we should accept it!” Jonah pleaded with her.

“The dowry was forfeited! It’s not late, it’s not forgotten. It never existed to begin with! We were thrown out of King’s Landing and abandoned, all but exiled! Have you forgotten that Your Grace?” she directed the last question to her smug father, sitting in his seat.

Her fool of a husband was moaning in horror now. “Oh please forgive my wife Your Grace. She can be overly emotional at times. You know how women can be.”

Jonah was likely terrified of her father burning Maidenpool for the insult, Saera understood that. It didn’t make him any less pathetic in her mind.

“I understand Lord Mooton. I too have a wife. It’s something all men must simply learn to adapt to. Fret not! I shan’t hold your wife’s words against you, nor can she stop you from signing and accepting the charter. You are Lord of Maidenpool, not her,” her father said, friendly and welcoming. How fake. What a snake.

“Thank you Your Grace,” the relief in Jonah’s voice was palpable.

“Don’t thank me yet, I have more to offer your house Lord Mooton!” If it was even possible, her father’s smile grew even wider. “There are two islands left in the Stepstones that will be in need of lords,” he said, as he unrolled a map of the Stepstones and placed it on the desk.

Jonah’s eyes grew wide and almost excited. Saera scoffed.

“In particular, I can think of no one more suited to rule Grey Gallows, in the center of the archipelago,” he said pointing the island out on the map, “than mine own grandson. Your second son Maegon.”

“He’s two years old.” Saera was unimpressed.

“He will grow up in time. I cannot think of anyone worthier to control the central island of the Stepstones than my own flesh and blood. Of course, the resources of House Mooton of Maidenpool will be needed to help clear out the island of its pirates, build a new keep, and administrate it, until Maegon comes of age. I’m sure there will be some long term advantages for Maidenpool from that as well however.”

So that’s what he was after. And Jonah, the fool, was quite ready to foolishly sign and get their house directly entangled in the mess that was the Stepstones, without even thinking about it.

“Get out Jonah,” she ordered.

“What?” he was outraged, but her fury was greater than his.

“I said, get out! This is now a conversation between a daughter and her father, come between it at your peril.”

Jonah looked to her father instead of her, and Saera grew enraged by that. She’d make him pay for that once they had returned to Maidenpool. At her father’s nod, Jonah bowed and took his leave.

“I’ll be waiting outside Your Grace. Just call me back in when it’s time to sign,” he said, partly directing his last words to her. Saera knew what he meant. Jonah was putting his foot down as lord for once and declaring that they will accept this.

She scoffed, before she turned back to her father. “What is this?” she demanded, slipping into their native Valyrian. “What game are you playing here offering us so much? What kind of sick perverse pleasure are you taking in offering any of this as a dowry after what you did to me?”

Her father sighed. “Saera, why do you wound me so? Is it so wrong for a father to want to give a gift to his daughter whom he loves?”

“How dare you? Where was your gift when you humiliated me in front of the entire court? Where was your love when you threatened to send me to the Silent Sisters? When you threw me out of King’s Landing and abandoned me? Banished from court! Not a single letter for six years. Exiled to a backwater town that resented me for the scandal and humiliation I had brought upon them. I clawed my way up to where I am now, fought for everything I have now, and you think you can come back into my life, butter me up with all of these gifts and all will be forgiven? I loved you, and you betrayed me!”

Her father roared then, like the dragon he was. “What about you then Saera!? Where was this love for me when you whor*d yourself out to three men, none of whom were your betrothed? You and I both know for all your claims otherwise that you laid with all three of those curs. Where was this love for me when you dared to proclaim to my face that you could take all three as your husbands like Maegor the Cruel? The man who slaughtered my brothers? Where was this affection, when you humiliated me in front of the whole realm with your misbehavior?”

His words gave her pause. It was the first time Saera had ever considered it that way. Like it had earlier with Daella, a torrent of guilt began to rise and she struggled to crush it until her father continued.

“I gave you so much, and that was how you repaid me? You were an ingrate. I should have sent you to the Silent Sisters from the start. I showed you mercy.”

Saera was not about to take that lying down. “Mercy? You call that mercy? You’re the one who indulged my every whim, spoilt until I didn’t even know any better! You were the only I had left after I had ruined everything else like the idiot I was, and then you abandoned me! Cast me away from you!”

She was grasping at straws now and she knew it. Her father would never accept that argument and he was right not to. Saera was responsible for her own actions. To her shock though…

“I know,” her father said, defeated and tired. “And I’m sorry Saera. I failed you. I remained willfully blind to all your flaws, spoiled you rotten until you became an arrogant brat. I create an idealized image of you that I loved, and I treated you too harshly when you didn’t live up to it. You were a child, you didn’t know any better. I did, and I let you continue the way you were. I should have known better. I should have been better.”

Saera couldn’t believe it. The man she had idolized as a child, the man who had thrown her out of her home in a fit of rage, the proud and indomitable Jaehaerys apologizing to her and saying he had failed her? It was all she had fantasized of in her most spiteful dreams ever since she had been disgraced, and now that it had finally happened it felt… wrong. Only earlier that day, Saera had made Daella cry again, like she always had when they were children. Her father had no responsibility in that. Saera and Saera alone had done that.

“No Kepa. I failed you. And I’m sorry. I realize that now. I treated Daella and the others horribly,” she was choking back her tears. She refused to cry in front of her father.

Before she knew it, her father had walked up to her and was wiping away the tears she had willed not to fall from her eyes. “Must we continue to fight my child? We have both done wrong, to each other, and to others. Must we continue to hate and resent each other? Can you not forgive me, and be my sweet little Saera again, if only for a little while?”

She had hated her father for years, as much as she had loved him before that. Yet it was tempting, so very tempting to just accept his offer. But she knew Jaehaerys Targaryen, knew the measure of the King he was. She wouldn’t put it past him to be manipulating her, as she had once manipulated him.

“You’re just saying that…” she choked out. “To make me loyal to you again, and eagerly support you as you crush the Velaryons.”

“You’re not wrong,” he admitted. How very honest of him. Saera was about to reject his apology before he continued. “But you don’t know everything either. I’ve questioned my decision for years. Your mother has spent the last six years trying to convince me to reverse it.”

What? Her mother had done that?

“Yes your mother,” her father said, reading the confusion on her face. “You’re right she’s extremely disappointed in you, she told me no less. But unlike me she always knew who you really were, what you were really like, and she loved you nonetheless. And despite her disappointment she is proud, so very proud of what you have accomplished, what you have built for yourself in Maidenpool. Your mother still loves you Saera… as do I, no matter how much I wanted to deny it. It took me a long time to finally admit it to myself, and I will not lie this new feud with your sister and the Velaryons helped me realize it, but I… I missed you Saera.”

Saera looked up into her father’s beautiful purple eyes, the exact same shade and shape that she had inherited from him. The slightest tears were falling from them now. She knew he’d deny it to his dying breath if she claimed to see the King crying, but here and now, this wasn’t the King. It was only her father.

“I missed my daughter, my little girl who sat on my lap as I worked in this very solar. The girl who would beg me for toys and sweets and favors so adorably. The little girl who told me of her dreams and hopes. But does she miss me as well? Does she also want me back?”

“I missed you also Father,” Saera said, her voice breaking as she embraced her father. She couldn’t stop the tears anymore and let them flow as she sobbed into her father’s shirt.

They could never go back to the way they were. Too much had happened, and Saera was certainly never going to blindly follow her father ever again. Even with this fragile reconciliation, Saera would not, could not stop her plans. Everything she did now was for Maidenpool and her sons, only them and no one else. There were so many things she needed to worry about. How should she proceed from here? How she should handle the Velaryons and the Iron Throne for the best possible outcome for House Mooton? So much to consider, so much to fret over.

But for a single brief moment, Saera let herself rest. She put aside all her thoughts and worriers. They weren’t important right now. In this one moment, she had her father back. It was like a dream, and dreams end.

Chapter 24: The Lion Lord

Chapter Text

Twelfth Moon, 90 AC

The Lion Lord

Many of the nobles of the realm had gathered in King’s Landing in the past month, as King Jaehaerys had invited many houses to meet with him to discuss and prepare a united front to move forward in light of the new trade policies and taxes. Unofficially, everyone had known that it was to unite the realm against the rogue House Velaryon.

After a month of feasts and balls, discussions and enfeoffments, and carousing and negotiating, the time had come for a closing feast. All the negotiations had been completed, the Stepstones lordships and governorate had been given out, the Small Council had been adjusted, and certain houses, towns, and newly formed trade companies, had been given charters designed to help them fill the gap left by the Velaryons’ removal from the realm’s trade.

It had given much opportunity for a man like Tymond Lannister to form many connections and make new friends, spreading the influence of his house further throughout the realm. Making use of that opportunity, Tymond had engaged three notable lords in conversation.

“Is it true Lord Boremund, that the King has forgiven Princess Saera?” Lord Theomore Manderly asked Boremund Baratheon.

Tymond leaned in. Rumors had been rampant in the court, as the courtiers had witnessed the rather shocking affection and politeness that the King and his erstwhile disgraced daughter had been showing each other, but hearing confirmation from the man’s own brother would be for the best.

Boremund nodded. “He has. The years have made my brother realize that family is more important than old grudges.”

And yet the King continued to attack the Velaryons, his kin in more ways than one. Not that Tymond was complaining, he just found it amusing. He looked closer at Lord Boremund, trying to find any hint of the man’s own Velaryon heritage. There was little trace of it. No silver hair or purple eyes, no lean or lithe build.

Boremund was all Baratheon, big, brawny, and bulky. His eyes were a brilliant bright blue and he had a beard and mane of hair that were thick and black as charcoal. His laugh was powerful, booming and boisterous to friends, but when you made an enemy of him, Boremund Baratheon was like stone, hard and strong and unmoving.

The man was unquestionably loyal to his elder siblings, none other than the King and Queen themselves. His younger sister Jocelyn was the Princess Consort of Dragonstone and would one day be Queen. House Baratheon traced their ancestry in the male line back to Orys Baratheon, the alleged bastard brother of the Conqueror himself.

Their lineage, history, and loyalty was intertwined with the Targaryens, and yet for all of that pedigree and relation, it was the Velaryons who had historically been reckoned the second house of the realm. It was the Velaryons who had once held the greatest favor with the royals, who had been allowed to claim and ride dragons.

Boremund Baratheon’s mother had died when he was barely two years old. He had no allegiance to his Velaryon heritage. He was all Baratheon, and there was no doubt in Tymond’s mind that Baratheon resented that it was Velaryon and not them who had gotten dragons, the favor of the royal house, and the recognition of the realm. Until now that is.

Tymond’s green eyes shifted, like a lion choosing his prey. “Lord Darklyn, what are your thoughts on this? Maidenpool and Duskendale have long had relations and connections after all. How does this bode?”

Duncan Darklyn was tall and weedy. Tymond doubted he had much if any martial skill. There was wit in his eyes however, belying a sharp mind. “It bodes well I would think,” he answered. “It is always good to hear of a father reconciling with their child. I am happy for His Grace. And Princess Saera has come very far indeed from her scandal. She has increased the incomes of Maidenpool tenfold, and some of that wealth has come to Duskendale as well. Why, she’s already approached me about the possibility of funding a road between our two towns.”

“Towns no longer,” Tymond said with a welcoming smile. “I hear that the King has granted charters to both Duskendale and Maidenpool.”

“That he has,” Darklyn said with a pleased smile of his own. “His Grace is very generous and has entrusted great responsibility to me. With the recent disgrace of the Velaryons and by association, their allies, Celtigar and Grafton, Maidenpool and Duskendale have both been charged to try and fill the gap left by the loss of the trade those houses and their ports formerly handled. I have already been hard at work, negotiating deals with some magisters from Essos, some of whom are here tonight.”

Tymond wondered how true the rumor he had heard on Princess Saera’s erstwhile relationship with her younger sister was. If court gossip was to be believed, the two had not gotten along. Too alike, some had said. He decided not to raise it however, mindful that their uncle was here. Gossip about one’s family members, even when estranged from them, was rarely appreciated. Tymond was here to make allies, not enemies.

“That is good news. I’m glad to hear it,” he said in reply to Darklyn’s words. “Let us hope that House Celtigar and Grafton see wisdom and return to the fold.”

“Personally a part of me is hoping not. Duskendale’s been doing so well in their stead. I’d hate to see that stop,” Darklyn japed, making the four of them laugh.

Tymond knew Darklyn, like many before him, had worried over the decline of Duskendale. King’s Landing and Driftmark had both drawn trade away from the old town, and even a new city charter might not be enough to halt the decline. The man was insecure and worried. The perfect target to lure into House Lannister’s influence.

While Darklyn might selfishly want House Celtigar and Grafton to weaken forever, Tymond was smart enough to know that would not always be the case. They, like many of House Velaryon’s allies and trading partners along the eastern coast, had already begun distancing themselves from the rogue house, afraid that the Targaryens’ displeasure might fall on them even more than it already had.

Yet who was to say that distance would last forever? With the King already so opposed to them and rivals prospering at their expense, Celtigar, Grafton, and others may decide to double down instead and return to the Velaryons, especially if they succeeded in stabilizing Tyrosh. Corlys Velaryon’s mother had been a Celtigar, and through her, he shared blood with Celtigars, Graftons, and Peakes. Lord Bartimos Celtigar was Corlys’s own uncle. His brothers had married a Tarth and a Grafton. If the Velaryons rose again, their kin would be quick to return to their side.

Maidenpool and Duskendale both stood to lose a lot should that happen, and it was not in House Lannister’s interest to see the Velaryons and their allies grow stronger again if it could be avoided.

“Should you need any aid, House Lannister would be glad to give it. We share a mutual interest in the realm’s prosperity as a whole,” Tymond said, laying the bait.

Darklyn’s eyes grew wide and greedy. “I appreciate the offer Lord Lannister. I am sure Mooton will as well. Perhaps we might discuss this further another time?”

“Certainly my lord. I can already think of one area in which we can cooperate. If I am not mistaken Lord Darklyn, your second son was given the island of Dustspear in the Stepstones were they not?”

“Aye, my boy Steffon. He’s a little too young to hold it himself right now though. I will need to appoint a castellan for him.”

“I will need to do the same for my son Tyland. Until the time comes that they are of age to take their seats however, we shall rule the islands on their behalf through the castellans. I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities to work together there, and even overland between the West and Duskendale as well.”

Theomore Manderly joined the conversation then, having been silent for some time. “If I may Lord Lannister, Lord Darklyn, I am sure my son Wylis will be interested to work together as well.”

“That would be excellent my lord. He is the new Lord of Serpentholm yes?” Tymond asked, always eager to meet another potential ally.

“Indeed. He is somewhere in this hall, likely speaking to some other lord. I will call him over for you.”

“No trouble my lord. There is no rush,” Tymond reassured Lord Manderly, recalling what he remembered of him. The Lord of White Harbor was stout and canny. He had become a personal friend of the King and Queen in decades past, and had hosted them at his seat a number of times. White Harbor was the North’s most major port, and building relations with them could hardly hurt. If for nothing else, it would help to deny a potential ally to the Velaryons.

“Would White Harbor itself be interested in discussing potential deals with the West?” Tymond asked. He didn’t know if Manderly would bite, but it was worth a shot.

Manderly smiled. “Now Lord Lannister, I see your game,” he jested. “I am not opposed to discussing anything in principle, though I wonder what exactly we have to offer each other. There is hardly any real way for White Harbor and the West to trade after all.”

Tymond was not discouraged. “Perhaps the Stepstones might be a useful meeting ground? It just occurred to me that many of us here have second sons granted an island or two in the Stepstones. Lord Mooton, Lord Darklyn here, and you Lord Manderly, as well as myself. My associates Lord Hightower and Lord Redwyne’s younger brothers both hold islands as well. Why Lord Otto is not only the Lord of Highwatch, but the new Governor as well!”

“Don’t forget Lord Baratheon.” Darklyn gestured to their peer in the conversation.

“Of course my lord. Forgive me Lord Baratheon, I meant no offense. There are many houses that were granted lands in the Stepstones, it is hard to keep track at times…. though if I am not wrong, you hold Veil directly don’t you?”

Baratheon nodded. “That I do. I have no second son as of yet unfortunately. His Grace was gracious enough to grant Veil to me to hold directly until such a time I do, and should the gods decide I am not to, my son Borros will keep the island.”

“Perks of being the King’s brother eh?” Darklyn teased, though Tymond felt there was a little envy in his tone. Baratheon did not deign him with a reply.

“And how is your son doing Lord Boremund? Well I would hope?” Tymond asked.

It was a bit of a risk to bring up Baratheon’s son. Tymond knew from personal experience that all fathers loved to boast about their sons, but that was only when there was something to boast about. From what he had heard from the rumors, Borros Baratheon could barely read. Some had likened his condition to that of his cousin Princess Daella, but then apparently she had much improved over the years.

Baratheon’s eyes narrowed, perhaps wondering if he sought to give any slight, before he answered. “Borros is doing well. He grows taller and stronger every day. Much like I did at his age. I’m proud of him. He will be a good lord one day.”

Well said Baratheon, Tymond thought to himself. “I’m glad to hear it. My own sons, Jason and Tyland, they are only two, but they are already my pride and joy.”

“Your sons are twins I believe Lord Lannister?” Darklyn asked.

He nodded. “Indeed. Identical as well. I sometimes struggle to tell them apart!” Tymond japed.

Left unsaid but thought by probably all four of them was that there was another pair of identical twin boys only a year younger than the Lannister twins and far more infamous.

“I heard Lord Swann’s younger brother was given Scarwood. How many sons does he have again?” Manderly inquired, changing the subject.

“None,” Baratheon answered. “Only a daughter, Johanna by name if I recall correctly.”

“Is that not worrying?” Tymond asked. “Would not a male heir be best to control a dangerous and important fief in the Stepstones?”

“Only time will tell.” Baratheon waved it off.

“What news from the rest of the Stormlands Lord Baratheon?” Darklyn asked. “Has Tarth seen wisdom and returned to the fold?”

This it seemed concerned Baratheon far more than the succession of Scarwood. “We can only hope. There’s too much damnable Velaryon influence on Tarth. Too much intermarrying between those houses, too much trade between their islands. Tarth has been stubborn so far, but they will see wisdom or they will see my hammer in their face. This continued defiance of the King will not be allowed to stand much longer,” he declared, trying to make it seem like he hadn’t lost control of his vassal.

Tymond couldn’t resist needling him a little. “Forgive me for prying my lord, but with Tarth so reluctant to lend you aid, how exactly do you and House Swann intend to reach your new islands in the Stepstones and patrol their waters?”

At that, Baratheon smirked. “With our new fleet of course,” he bragged.

Tymond raised his eyebrows. “Your new fleet?”

Baratheon nodded boisterously. “Indeed! I have decided to invest into a personal fleet along with other houses such as House Estermont and indeed House Swann. A hundred keels have been laid already, all across the Rainwood, or even in the capital’s very own dockyards by the grace of the King. His Grace has graciously extended us a generous loan to help build this new fleet. The Stormlands have no lack of timber for shipbuilding, it is time we realize our potential!”

Darklyn and Manderly congratulated Baratheon politely, but Tymond was shocked. The Stormlands might have no lack of shipbuilding timber but they could say the same of storms. What experience with shipbuilding or managing a fleet did Baratheon or his vassals have? Such matters had always been given to Tarth in the past. Where even did Baratheon intend to moor his new fleet? Shipbreaker’s Bay?

Tymond would have to watch this new development carefully. Perhaps a new power was rising in Westeros? Or maybe the Baratheons’ inexperience would prove itself and their supposed fleet would turn out to be an embarrassing failure. That would be funny.

For a while after that, the conversation paused as they all sipped from their wine cups. Tymond’s eyes searched the room briefly before he returned to his company, intending to begin the conversation again. Suddenly, before he could do so, Lord Manderly sighed loudly. “It is such a shame I think to myself sometimes.”

“What is?” Tymond asked. Darklyn and Baratheon looked curious as well.

“Well Velaryon of course. Whether you liked him or not, The Sea Snake was a man to be respected and admired. He had accomplished much for his house and had built a great alliance of houses to trade. Why, I had even considered joining White Harbor with it myself. Alas, Lord Corlys succumbed to the foolishness and recklessness of pride and youth,” Manderly said, somehow dripping grandfatherly like disappointment into his voice.

Darklyn nodded. “I too was considering the same. But the Velaryons have proven themselves unreliable allies, disloyal and treacherous to the King as well. It is dangerous to associate with a house of such rogues.”

Allying with Velaryon might have helped to arrest Duskendale’s decline once upon a time, Tymond conceded. They would never know now. With their foolish conquest of Tyrosh, the Velaryons had burned many bridges that they had once had. Any discontent that some might have felt seeing a fellow lord denied their just reward had evaporated away like mist then.

Tymond was again about to steer the conversation to a topic he wanted to raise when Lord Manderly interrupted yet again. “Ah, the food is here at last. Please excuse me my lords, all this talking has made me hungry. Perhaps we shall continue this later?” He said, as he bowed away and left.

Darklyn and Baratheon followed suit. Sighing, Tymond refilled his cup of wine and sat back at his table with the other Westermen who had come to the capital. The food was good, as expected of the King’s hospitality, but Tymond did note that it had disappointingly few spices. Hopefully the new South Sea Company he had agreed to join with Redwyne and Hightower could help remedy that soon.

With the food having arrived, the feast had truly begun at last. Boisterous lords drank and jested while the ladies gossiped. The serving girls did their best to avoid the more drunk lords, not that they had much to fear. No lord, no matter how drunk, was foolish enough to take liberties with Queen Alysanne’s servants. The ministrels and bards plucked their harps and played classic songs to the cheers of all. Tunes such as the Bear and the Maiden Fair were sung along to eagerly by the excited crowd.

Eventually the King rose from his seat, calling the room to attention. “If I may have your attention my lords and ladies,” he said. “Noble and dignified magisters and dignitaries from the east,” he gestured in welcome to the invited guests from Essos, each one important in the trade and leadership of Braavos, Pentos, and Volantis.

“Tonight is a fine occasion! We gather together here, many of the great lords and houses of the realm, as well as our friends from Essos! I would like to take this opportunity to raise a few toasts. First, to our new Lords of the Stepstones, and their Govenor, Lord Otto Hightower of Highwatch!”

There was a thunderous applause at the King’s words. Tymond himself joined in it. While he had hoped for a position on the Council himself, or for one of his family members to be made Governor of the Stepstones, he was satisfied with what he had gotten. It was hard to expect the King to give a Lannister the Governorship when Tymond had asked for his infant son Tyland to be given the Lannister fief in the Stepstones instead of an adult such as his brothers.

His twins had a destiny ahead of them indeed. One was destined to lead the West into greatness. Another would found a worthy cadet branch that spreads Lannister influence in the most important trade route in the world. Tyland was barely two years old and would not be doing any of that anytime soon, but that was acceptable to Tymond. He was patient. He could wait. The lion did not ruin his hunt by pouncing too early. No, he bided his time. He grew stronger and mightier, moving silently and unnoticed until the time was right.

Tymond took a sip from his cup. The Arbor Gold was sweet and lush. He had to support his allies after all. Though their alliance was but one of convenience, he did not begrudge them their success. House Lannister would have its time one day. All Tymond needed to do to rein in Redwyne and Hightower’s newfound ego should he find it grating, was remind them that their precious new South Sea Company was impossible without the gold and metals of the West backing it. What did they have to offer the Summer Islanders without them?

He listened as the King continued his speech. “Secondly, to my council. A toast I would call, to members both old and new! We welcome Lord Robert Redwyne, son of the late Lord Manfryd, may his soul rest in peace, as the new Master of Ships! We also welcome back a familiar face, Lord Rodrik Arryn, as Master of Laws!” As the King named each lord, a new round of applause and shouts of cheer rang through the room. Those from the Vale cheered loudly and boisterously for their lord in particular.

“And we thank Lord Martyn Tyrell, for his long years of noble and loyal service. They will always be remembered! Go in peace old friend!” Jaehaerys praised his old Master of Coin, who had resigned after over thirty years of service.

Of course, it had been an open secret that Lord Martyn had not been the true Master of Coin, but instead his wife, the Lady Florence. Still, that they had resigned spoke a lot on matters in the Reach. It seemed the Tyrells were nervous about the waxing of Redwyne and Hightower.

As they should be. They were nothing but pretenders to true nobility, upstart stewards whose writ would barely extend beyond the walls of Highgarden without the Iron Throne’s favor. Of course they were wary of the rise of the true nobles, many of whom were more worthy of ruling Highgarden and the Reach by far.

“And lastly, I would call a toast! To my family! With our renewed bonds of filial piety, we shall stand strong and ready to lead this great realm, no matter the adversity. I take this moment to announce with pleasure and with pride to all of you great lords and to the realm, the betrothal of my eldest grandchildren, Princess Rhaenys, and Prince Viserys! May their union represent a beacon of our realm’s future, united, and strong!”

The applause was loudest for the King’s last announcement. A royal betrothal was always heralded by great cheers. No lord wished to seem disloyal by not loudly applauding such an announcement. Tymond rose to his feet to applaud better, and not wishing to be outdone, soon every other lord in the hall had followed suit.

Tymond had once been a suitor for Rhaenys’s hand, as he had for her aunt Daella’s before her. It was disappointing that neither suit had succeeded, but he would admit it was a wise match for Princess Rhaenys. Many, including Tymond himself, had wondered at Rhaenys succeeding her father. Though the customs inherited from their noble Andal ancestors were clear in that she was their heir, that custom was not always followed. Hadn’t been already in fact, by the Targaryens, given how King Jaehaerys had ascended by passing over his niece by his elder brother.

The union of the two strongest claims by marriage was a good indicator of stability and peace for the realm. House Targaryen would remain strong and united, and with that, the realm would prosper, assuming that House Velaryon does not cause any more trouble.

The Velaryons had thought that trade alone made them the best and greatest. They had arrogantly strutted about, flaunting their new wealth and inventions foppishly, bragged about their accomplishments, their wealthy new bank and their innovative and clever university. The singers had written sonnets describing the splendor and beauty of High Tide and praising the adventurous and daring bravery of the Sea Snake. Men of Driftmark boasted of how they had surpassed the Lannisters of the West.

The Lannisters did not take challenges lightly. The Velaryons had thrown the gauntlet, dared to think themselves their betters, how arrogant of them. A Lannister always pays his debts, and Tymond had a debt indeed to pay to the Velaryons. People claimed they were richer than them. Tymond laughed at the thought. Like any mere coin counter could have the wealth to match Casterly Rock.

Tymond was no fool, he knew the importance of trade. He did not disdain it as many in the realm did. Lannisport had always thrived off trade and brought great wealth to the West. Yet, trade was useless without gold. He who controlled the gold, controlled the trade, and House Lannister’s gold was famed even in faraway Asshai-by-the-Shadow.

Let the Velaryons boast about their accomplishments. They will turn to mud and empty swagger as the King’s sanctions on them destroyed their fortune and left them with no choice but to come scurrying for his mercy. Rumors had already begun to spread into Westeros, speaking of the troubles the Velaryons had encountered in that poisoned chalice of a city they had conquered.

What was the Velaryon Bank worth, when it was led by fools who defied dragon kings and destroyed their own fortune? Who would trust in that failed bank over the Golden Bank of Casterly Rock, founded in and named for a mountain of limitless gold and backed by that wealth? What could the University of Driftmark hope to invent, when there was no more wealth to fund their studies while the endless Lannister fortune poured into the University of Lannisport?

Even now the University of Lannisport was pushing the boundaries of mining and metallurgy, seeking new and better ways to extract and refine metal. The shipwrights of the West had built their own carracks and their smiths had made their own compasses, and if the Redwynes and Hightowers did not restrain their pride and pay them their proper respect, they may soon have no need of them at all.

The Redwynes and Velaryons may boast of their fleets and innovations, but the Lannister fleet was rising stronger and faster as well. The Hightowers may still cling to their Citadel and try desperately to build their own Bank of Oldtown, but both would soon be eclipsed.

Let Velaryon fall from his pedestal. Let Hightower and Redwyne have their time in the sun. One day, Westeros will hear House Lannister roar once again, and it will be heard.

________________________________________________

Lords of the Stepstones

• Lord Otto Hightower of Highwatch, Felstrong, and Tor. Governor of the Stepstones.
• Lord Corlys Velaryon of Bloodstone, and Tyrosh and Pryr
• Lord Wylis Manderly of Serpentholm
• Lord Boremund Baratheon of Veil
• Lord Jonos Swann of Scarwood
• Lord Maegon Mooton of Grey Gallows
• Lord Rickard Redwyne of Redwater and Larazor’s Rock
• Lord Steffon Darklyn of Dustspear
• Lord Tyland Lannister of Guardian and Golden Haven

Note: Lord Corlys Velaryon and Lord Boremund Baratheon hold lands outside of the Governorate of the Stepstones. Boremund Baratheon is also Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and Corlys Velaryon is also the Master of Driftmark and also Archon of Tyrosh. His Tyroshi domains, independent of the Iron Throne entirely, are shown on the map also.

Chapter 25: Tyrosh

Chapter Text

The Princess of Tyrosh

First Moon, 91 AC

Viserra

A silver seahorse leapt from the sea and shapeshifted into a dragon. The silver dragon flew up into the starry sky, where a red dragon awaited it, growling menacingly. In the land beneath, a tower wept tears of blood and a pale fortress was set aflame, burning into the night like a candle in the dark. Fanatical legions worshipped at a shrine before they arose, chanting as they marched, spreading war and chaos wherever they went. The wailing of a newborn babe became the roar of a dragon.

“My lady?” a voice called to Viserra and she awoke from her dream. She groggily rubbed her eyes and rose reluctantly from the sheets of her bed, shying away from the bright light that shone into the room as her maid opened the curtains.

“You look troubled my lady.” Pina sounded concerned. “Is there something wrong?”

Viserra shook her head. “No, it was nothing. Just a bad dream.”

“What about?” Her maid was curious.

She thought back and tried to remember her dream, but the details were already starting to slip away from her. “I don’t really remember.”

“It mustn’t have been important then,” Pina assured her.

“I suppose not,” Viserra agreed, though she could not help but feel like she was missing something.

As her mind awoke from the daze of sleep, a thought occurred to her. “What time is it?”

Her maid was almost mischievous. “It’s past midday my lady.”

“What?” Viserra was outraged, rising to her feet. “I gave you explicit instructions to wake me up no later than half past eight in the morning!”

Pina did not frighten. “Lord Corlys countermanded those orders my lady. He told me that you needed the rest after you stayed up late working last night. If I may my lady, I don’t think he’s wrong. You look more refreshed than I’ve seen you in weeks.”

Viserra sighed. “Whatever,” she said exasperatedly, though not without a hint of endearment. She should’ve expected Corlys to do something like this, and his recruiting of Pina into it was not as surprising as it should have been. Pina had been her maid since before she had even been married, and that long relationship had given her a rather interesting view on what loyalty was. Apparently it meant conspiring against your lady with her husband for ‘her own good’.

“Get me my meal. I’ll break my fast with luncheon,” she ordered.

Loyal as ever, Pina bowed obediently. “As you wish my lady.”

As she ate her lunch, Viserra went through her letters. Irina’s last letter had told a tragic tale of the difficulties Driftmark had encountered as a result of the sanctions. It made Viserra proud and pleased to know that Aurane had found many eager volunteers from Driftmark to join their army or staff, or to move to Tyrosh and help set up new business and rebuild the city’s economy, but she wished that it hadn’t mostly been because Driftmark was suffering and they needed the work.

She replied to Irina on Driftmark, assuring her that Rhaekar, Corlys, and herself were all well, and that things in Tyrosh were… as well as they could be. In turn, she inquired after her wellbeing, and the health of her children. Viserra also asked, almost desperately, after her own children. She hadn’t seen Jacaerys and Lucerys in months. It had been decided that Tyrosh was too unstable and safe to bring them to the city. She was beginning to fear her children wouldn’t remember her when she next saw them.

Having penned her reply to Irina and sealed it, Viserra opened her next letter, and broke the double seal of House Qoherys and House Celtigar. Laena’s letters, as usual, were of concern and desperation. Their personal friendship, and their houses’ longstanding alliance and blood ties had seen the Celtigars remain faithful for now. Laena’s goodfather Bartimos was Corlys’s uncle and her husband Clement was his cousin. However, kin or not, old friendship regardless, Laena was warning that they could only take so much before they had no choice but to accept the King’s commands.

Viserra wrote back, imploring Laena to hold out, to convince her husband and goodfather and try to convince her father, the Master of Whisperers, to speak for House Velaryon as much as possible and not abandon their alliance or trade agreements. She reassured her friend that House Velaryon will prevail, that things would turn out well. A part of Viserra’s mind whispered dangerous words of doubt in her head, but she squashed it. She had to believe, or she was lost.

“Pina,” Viserra called.

“Yes my lady?”

She handed her the letters. “Take these to the couriers. Make sure they’re sent back to Driftmark and to Claw Isle.”

“Understood.”

In the corner of her eye, Viserra saw a stack of letters she had been hoping to forget existed. A letter came from King’s Landing for her almost every week. Her mother, Aemon, Baelon, and Alyssa had all been writing her for months but Viserra had not replied. She couldn’t bring herself to.

She just felt so…. so angry, and betrayed. When the letters had first arrived, Viserra hadn’t known what to expect. She had hoped her family would remain supportive. She should have known better than that. Aemon, Baelon, Alyssa, her mother... their promises of support had really just been empty words and lies. Viserra had broken open the Targaryen seals and seen pain. Words of condemnation, disappointment, criticism, and anger, cloaked in a veneer of love and affection. Some of the letters had been filled with sly allusions to the dangers of her husband’s ambitions and warnings to not follow him on that path toward what they called a dark future, pleading for her to come home.

Why didn’t they understand? House Velaryon was her home now. Rhaekar, Irina, Aurane, Alys, were the siblings she had wanted growing up. Corlys was her heart, and their sons were her joy. There was no home for Viserra without them anymore.

Viserra had thought, that after all those years, some of her birth family had understood her at last. Had seen her pain. Had wanted to love her as she was, not as who they wanted her to be for them. Yet, once again, Viserra had been thrown away. Discarded and abandoned when she was difficult, just like she had been in the past. She had heard of how the whole family had gathered, gathered to unite against her. Even Daella and Saera had been there.

Her father was the root of it all. She had loved him once, despite all his distance, all his denial of a dragon to her, Viserra had always loved him. Now that love had turned ash. Resentment and hatred coiled around her heart, snuffing out what love remained.

Jaehaerys Targaryen was the cause of everything wrong in her life right now. He had started everything by denying her sons their rightful inheritance, and threatened her and her house, placing a Sword of Damocles above their heads. And now when they had tried to escape his trap, he had taken away the Stepstones entirely, removed her husband from the Council, and named rivals to those positions. He had done his very best to cripple their finances, destroying the lives of the people of Driftmark, and attacking their allies like a tyrant. Because of her father, Viserra was away from her children, and trapped here. She wanted to see her sons again, hear them babble nonsense and toddle after her.

She was just so, so tired. Rhaekar, Corlys, and her, had been running themselves ragged for months trying to stabilize this damnable city. Last night, was perhaps the first time she had had a full night’s rest in nearly two weeks. Otherwise she was always staying up late working and waking up at the crack of dawn. There was just so, so much to do. Viserra felt like she was drowning in it.

It had started out well. Even now she still remembered how the Tyroshi Conclave, that old council of relics that called themselves nobles and magisters, had been so defiant. They had changed their tune and cowered when Viserra had brought Dreamfyre into the room and let her speak for herself. The memory brought a smirk to her face.

With Dreamfyre’s very convincing speech, the Conclave had unanimously voted her husband Corlys the Archon of the Tyrosh, made the position hereditary, and granted it absolute powers over Tyrosh. The very first decree Corlys had made with his new power, was to affirm the status of their sons as his heirs. The second was to declare an end to slavery in Tyrosh and all its domains. The third was to confiscate all the assets and wealth of every person in Tyrosh who owned, traded, or raided for slaves.

Within days, Tyrosh had erupted into chaos. Now freed of their enslavement, many slaves had risen up in violent chaos and slaughtered entire families of their enslavers. To stop any more chaos and needless bloodshed and the loss of innocent lives, Corlys and her had ordered the Velaryon army to round up all those affected by the third decree and hold them in the Black Fortress for their own protection as the rioting slaves had burned down manses and butchered their former masters.

The most notorious slave raiders, traders, and owners, had been executed. Their innocent, spouses, children, and loyal households had been granted safe passage to a city of their choice. All of them had ended up choosing Pentos, as Myr was seen as too weak and unstable due to its loss in the war, and Volantis seen as the enemy still. Despite siding against them as the war ended, Pentos had long maintained good relations with Tyrosh and had agreed to accept the families of the former Tyroshi elites, magisters, and nobles, on account of their nobility and Valyrian bloodlines.

Perhaps Pentos thought more scions of noble Valyrian blood would enrich their city. Much like Tyrosh, Pentos had many noble and wealthy families that traced their ancestry back to Old Valyria and spoke High Valyrian. They had even gone so far as to name themselves the Forty Families of Pentos, in some pretentious imitation of the forty dragonlord families of old, of which only one was left, her own. Her anger with her family notwithstanding, Viserra would never cease to take pride in her lineage.

Having eaten her lunch and freshened up, Viserra dressed herself for the day and walked out of her chambers, resigning herself to another busy and long day. As she left her room, one of the two Tide Guards stationed by her door loyally detached himself and followed behind her. His silver-trimmed ocean-blue armor and his sea-green cloak made who he was escorting clear, and all knew to give her a respectful berth or they would answer to him.

The servants in the Archon’s Palace had mixed origins. Some of them, the most loyal and trusted, had been brought in from Driftmark, like Pina. The majority however were former Tyroshi slaves, and they were far more skittish around her. They bowed to her reverently, calling her Zaldilaros, a contraction of two words in High Valyrian. ‘Zaldrīzes Dārilaros,’ or Dragon Princess.

Viserra soon encountered someone she knew moderately well. Lysos Eranyr, a Tyroshi noble and former member of the Conclave, now a willing ally and servant of the Velaryons. Some of the former elites of the city, had been spared and allowed to stay. These were the more honorable slave owners, who had treated their slaves with some basic modicum of respect and dignity.

These elites had agreed to collaborate with the Velaryons and help smooth the transition of power and the end of slavery. In exchange they were restored to their former wealth and holdings, and even granted more on occasion, confiscated from their now exiled rivals. All of them filled important roles in the Velaryons’ government in the city. Lysos Eranyr foremost among them.

Before the Velaryons had conquered Tyrosh, Lysos Eranyr had spoken in the Conclave many times about the civic duty of the Valyrian nobles to be benevolent slave masters and guide them to civilization and culture, even going so far as to propose gradually emancipating slaves once they had been civilized. He was considered a kind master, said to oppose slavery on philosophical grounds, and on occasion even emancipating his slaves for loyal and good service.

Kind however was relative. When they had researched the nobles to decide if it was worth offering any of them a chance to collaborate with them, Viserra and Corlys had discovered that Eranyr had once had some of his slaves whipped for trying to run away and had ordered salt rubbed into their wounds to scar them as ‘a lesson to be better.’ He was considered ‘kind’ by the slaves because other masters would have crucified at least one of the runaways as an example for all to see. And despite his supposed opposition to slavery, Eranyr had never directly challenged its legality in Tyrosh, or taken overt steps to emancipate most of his slaves. He had even purchased more on occasion, though he otherwise had no involvement in the slave trade.

His reputation was altogether mixed. On one hand, the slaves seemed to respect him as one of the kinder masters, and the Eranyr manse had been among the least affected by the riots and destruction immediately after the city had fallen into their hands. On another however, he had still kept slaves and had even punished them severely for misdeeds, if to a lesser degree than his peers would have. Yet, Eranyr was hardly that different from many of the nobles of Westeros in that aspect. Though the smallfolk were not slaves, the lords of Westeros oft treated them as such, especially before her father’s reign.

Eranyr had seemed to consider the institution of slavery to be some kind of necessary evil for whatever reason and had been quick to change his tune when Viserra had taken the city with her husband. He had been the first of the old elites they had offered to join them, and he had accepted it almost eagerly. Since then, Viserra had built a working relationship with Eranyr.

“Lord Eranyr, a pleasure to see you this fine morning,” she greeted him cordially, speaking in High Valyrian.

She was a Targaryen. High Valyrian was her mother tongue, in some ways more than Common was. Growing up, her family had used the two interchangeably, sometimes even in the same sentence. Even House Velaryon spoke High Valyrian, both out of pride for their own heritage, and also practicality as even now almost two hundred years after Doom, High Valyrian was the most common language used for trade and diplomacy in most of the Known World. All the affluent elites in Tyrosh had spoken High Valyrian, and House Velaryon’s mastery of the language had allowed them to communicate with them readily, though the same could not be said for many of their soldiers and servants from Driftmark.

“Princess Viserra, as beautiful as ever,” Eranyr complimented with a charming smile. His hair was as flamboyantly vivid and blue as it always was. A curious tradition amongst the well-off locals, who enjoyed dying their hair in extravagant and vivid colors to show status and wealth. Dyes were the wealth of Tyrosh after all, and renown across the whole world.

She smirked. “Flatterer.”

“How has your day been Princess?” he asked politely.

“It’s barely started. My husband conspired with my maid to let me sleep in,” she said, putting a little disgruntlement into her voice.

Lord Eranyr laughed boomingly. “Our gracious Archon made a wise decision. It would be a shame for your cheerful demeanor to be sapped any longer by your lack of sleep, if you forgive me for saying so Princess.”

“Think nothing of it. You are forgiven my lord.” Viserra waved it off. “How is your family doing?”

“Well as ever Princess. My wife has been nagging me to stop working so hard so I can spend more time with her and the children,” Eranyr explained with a fond smile.

“You should listen to your wife,” Viserra warned teasingly.

Lord Eranyr smiled but shook his head. “She doesn’t fully understand. One day, when the work is done, and I am satisfied that my children will grow up in a Tyrosh free of slavery, prospering and thriving, I will spend that day and every day forward with her as much as she pleases.”

Pretty words, but were they genuine or a dramatic act to earn her favor? Viserra was not sure. “An admirable goal,” she said diplomatically, “though one that may take a long time my lord. I’d advise you to appease your wife in some way until then. The seven hells have no fury like the wrath of a woman scorned.”

Lord Eranyr chuckled. “Is that a saying from your Seven-Pointed Star?”

“No.” Viserra smirked. “It was from my husband.”

At that the lord burst out laughing in good cheer and Viserra joined him soon enough. Moments of laughter and mirth were precious and few in these trying times and busy days. She enjoyed the feeling.

“Where is my husband actually?” Viserra asked the bureaucrat.

“The Archon is in the throne room I believe, along with Ser Rhaekar. They are meeting with some dignitaries and envoys from the other Free Cities.”

“I best be along then. Have a good day Lord Eranyr,” Viserra said, wishing the noble well.

“You as well Princess,” he said, with a bow before he departed.

With the conversation at an end, Viserra made for the throne room, her loyal guard in tow. She was not sure what to think of Eranyr. He was polite and respectful, but so was everyone smart enough to play the game.

The guards at the door noticed her coming and opened the doors. The throne room of Tyrosh was quite unlike the throne room back in High Tide. It was larger, more intimidating. Some dragon busts featured prominently, left over from the days when Tyrosh was a military outpost of the Freehold. Tapestries relating Tyrosh’s proud history draped from the ceiling.

The throne at the room’s end was not the familiar light and white-brown chair carved from driftwood. It was an ornate and cushioned seat, of dyed velvet and silk, with gold and silver ornaments on its ebony chair. A testament to the wealth of Tyrosh, stewarded by the Archons who sat in the seat. And now Viserra’s husband was seated in it, ruling Tyrosh absolutely as its Archon.

He made a dashing and formidable picture, dressed resplendently as he always was, in an exquisite silver-blue doublet and sea-green pants. He wore the Archon’s Ring on his finger, and carried a sceptre. The two tokens of rule given by the Conclave to their elected Archons. In many places around the world, many would have called a man who bore a sceptre a king. Corlys certainly had the image and air of royalty, and were it not for the lack of a crown or any official title, Viserra would not have hesitated to name him such. He was her consort after all. Husband of a princess, even if her title meant little and less in these dark days.

Ten of the Tide Guard stood at the base of the dais, ensuring no would be assassin could get close to the Velaryons behind them. Rhaekar stood to Corlys’s right, a few steps below the throne on its raised dais. He was calling the assembled crowd into order.

“Magisters, gentlemen, please. His Excellency, the Archon of Tyrosh will speak to you now. Each of you please step forward one at a time, according to your place in the line.” Rhaekar attempted to corral the crowd of envoys, speaking in High Valyrian, which the three of them had agreed would remain Tyrosh’s court language.

Corlys noticed her coming and smiled before rising from his throne to greet her. He took her hand and spoke to the crowd. “My lords. Magnificent magisters and dignified dignitaries. Esteemed envoys. May I introduce my wife? The Princess Viserra, rider of the Blue Queen, Dreamfyre. She and my brother Ser Rhaekar will speak with my voice in these negotiations. You owe both of them the same respect you would pay to me.”

Viserra noticed that Rhaekar gave a begrudging nod at Corlys’s words, still upset that he couldn’t make the crowd obey him it seems. She whispered a question in her husband’s ears in Common, to reduce the risk of eavesdropping. “Who exactly are all of these people?”

He replied. “Magisters and business owners from across Essos. All of them had previously had dealings with Tyroshi guilds and businesses. They are wondering if those agreements still stand or if new ones might be made to replace them.”

Viserra nodded in understanding. Tyrosh had produced most of the best dyes in the Known World. It had also produced a large variety of other goods, such as pear brandy, wines and other goods. Gold filigreed armor and helms shaped like animals and chased with precious metals had also been a noted produce of the city, despite its people considering trade a more honorable profession than arms. Tyrosh had also been home to many banks and the services they had offered.

Having conquered the city and destroyed its previous ruling class of slave-owning elites, nobles, and merchants, House Velaryon had come into possession of the vast majority of the city’s banks, property, lucrative dye guilds, and other industries and businesses. A massive acquisition, and one they were still struggling to sort through and manage.

The uncertainty of the transition of power had caused Tyrosh’s economy to come to a standstill as international partners did not know if their previous contracts and deals held up, and in cases where they did, the previous profit margins the Tyroshi had operated on for their exports and imports were no longer tenable due to the abolition of slavery.

For months now, Corlys had been inviting almost every major trade partner Rhaekar and him had found in the records, that Tyroshi owned businesses and guilds had dealings with, to work out new agreements or reaffirm old ones. The banks were especially key, as many foreign guilds and magisters had held money in Tyroshi accounts and had demanded it released to them before resuming trade. Corlys had acquiesced in order to start rebuilding Tyrosh’s economy so unfortunately the acquisition of the banks wasn’t as much of a boon as they might have hoped.

Oh well, at least they had kept everything previously owned by the Tyroshi elites, and had been able to add it to the considerable fortune left in Driftmark and its own bank to help fund their occupation and administration of Tyrosh. Unfortunately, there had been little if any Valyrian steel in Tyrosh. Selling just one or two blades might have alleviated all of their financial problems.

Corlys looked like he wished to say more to her, but the calls of the crowd pulled him away. Looking at them, he turned back to her and said that they would speak more later, before he descended the steps further, coming closer to the crowd. Some attempted to move up the steps to reach him, but the Tide Guard barred their way. “Keep a respectful distance from the Archon,” the captain ordered in halting Valyrian.

“At ease Captain, the good magisters are simply excited,” Corlys ordered in Common before switching to High Valyrian. “However, my loyal guards are correct. Please forgive me gentlemen, I must ask we keep a respectful distance for this meeting. Nothing personal, only a precaution. Please understand.”

As the crowd settled down, Corlys began to speak further. “Now, what brings you here on this fine morning gentlemen?”

Instantly the room burst into a cacophony of noise and shouts once again. Corlys raised his voice slightly, so that all could hear him. “Gentlemen! Please, please, one at a time. You,” he said, pointing out one of the men in the crowd.

“What’s your name good sir? Where are you from, and what interest do you represent?” her husband asked the man.

“I am Magister Donicho Nahen, Your Excellency. I am from Pentos. I have money in a number of Tyroshi banks and I previously had dealings with some Tyroshi magisters and guilds, purchasing dyes and slaves.”

“I can reassure you Magister Nahen, that your money is safe, and you are free to withdraw it as you please though I must warn you, that Tyrosh no longer trades in slaves. However, I would be happy to speak to you on the matter of dyes, and I am sure we can come to a new and mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Magister Nahen looked pensive but nodded nonetheless. Another magister or dignitary eagerly raised his hand after that and Corlys spoke to him as well, and the next man after him, and on it went until Corlys had addressed near half the crowd.

“Would I be correct in assuming then, that all of you are Magisters, or envoys, representing interests of guilds and esteemed nobles and business owners across the Free Cities, such as Braavos, Pentos, Myr, and Volantis?” he asked.

The crowd looked to each other and nodded.

“Would I also be correct in assuming that each of you or those you represent, previously had dealings with Tyrosh, trading many diverse goods and services between the respective cities such as slaves, spices, silk, dyes, wines, armor, weapons, and even ships, and many more?”

They nodded once again.

Corlys looked thoughtful before he spoke. “Very well then gentlemen. Please, allow me to invite all of you to enjoy the hospitality of Tyrosh for a few days more. With so many esteemed guests representing or coming from many honourable interests and backgrounds, it would be remiss of me to deal with you all in this large gathering. Please, give your names to my brother Ser Rhaekar,” he said, pointing to Rhaekar at his side with a pen and paper, “and we will see to it that each and every one of you will have a personal meeting with me over the coming days to discuss new arrangements and the reaffirmation of old ones. Until then, please, enjoy yourselves. The hospitality of Tyrosh is yours welcomed guests.

“Lastly, I must reiterate, that the Free City of Tyrosh no longer practices slavery, and so we will not continue any dealings in that trade, nor allow them to be conducted in our territory,” Corlys said politely and firmly.

Viserra agreed with him. It was unfortunate that Tyrosh had previously built such a strong reputation as a slaver city. Slaves had outnumbered freeborn three to one in Tyrosh, and Tyroshi slaver ships had been notorious for their aggression and eagerness, even sailing Beyond the Wall to capture and enslave wildlings, whose apparently exotic looks and rugged strength made them of great demand in Essos as pleasure slaves, gladiators, and manual labor.

“However, I am blessed to not only be the Archon of Tyrosh, but also the Master of Driftmark. Thus I can offer you many goods produced or traded in Driftmark, including our own concrete, printing presses, and so on to name a few, as well as the spices and silks and other luxury goods our trade routes bring from the Far East. All are on the table in our negotiations. I hope to see all of you soon and build a new and positive trade relationship and mutual understanding for the future. Thank you for your time gentlemen,” Corlys said as he dismissed the crowd.

Viserra noted that several had looked greedy and hopeful hearing of the offer of goods from Driftmark. Others had looked skeptical, perhaps wondering if they could deliver in light of the Iron Throne’s sanctions on them.

As the crowd moved out of the throne room, Corlys turned back to her and walked up the steps, a teasing smile on his face. “I see you finally woke up.”

“No thanks to you,” Viserra shook her head in exasperation.

“Ah well, my princess needs her beauty sleep.”

“And you don’t?” Viserra asked, half teasing and half concerned. Corlys had been staying up late as much as she was after.

“Nah. I use my natural good looks and charm,” Corlys bragged.

Viserra rolled her eyes. She meant to make a retort when Rhaekar said out loud. “Next envoy is coming in now!”

There was a disappointed look on her husband’s face before he turned around to face the envoy. “Ah, Lord Antaryon. Last I saw you, you were representing Braavos as an observer when we signed the Treaty of Tyrosh. What brings you back here my lord?”

“The Sealord has sent me Lord Velaryon,” Antaryon said. “He – “

Viserra interrupted him. “You speak to the Archon of Tyrosh, Lord Antaryon. The proper respect must be paid to him,” she growled.

“Now Viserra, I think it simply slipped the good lord’s mind. My recent ascension to Archon is relatively recent after all. I’m sure he meant no offense,” Corlys said, calming the tension.

Antaryon’s expression was guarded. “Quite. Your Excellency, last we met, I was not properly informed on what Braavos’s interests are. Now that I have been, I would like to speak to you on them, on behalf of the Sealord.”

Corlys nodded. “Go ahead my lord, I am eager to hear them.”

“Firstly, Braavos has a number of longstanding trade agreements with Tyrosh. On matters concerning tariffs, customs, import duties, currency exchange, and others.”

“I’m perfectly willing to negotiate on these and give generous rates to Braavos,” Corlys said, but before he could continue, Antaryon interrupted.

“You misunderstand Your Excellency. Braavos has no desire to negotiate here. We want these agreements to stand at the exact conditions they were agreed upon, as they have done so for over a hundred years since the Century of Blood.”

That was ridiculous, Viserra thought. Braavos had forced near exploitative terms for those agreements on Tyrosh decades ago, taking advantage of its desperation as Volantene ships had encroached on its walls. They had even gone so far as to make Tyrosh give up all of its Valyrian steel as tribute and payment to Braavos. It was part of why the Iron Bank was so wealthy and powerful; it backed the money held in its accounts against the Valyrian steel it held in its vaults.

The Lyseni and Myrish had been similarly mistreated under Volantene rule, with Volantene Old Blood proudly flaunting their wealth and Valyrian steel taken by force from their subject cities. The shared resentment of foreign interference was part of why the three cities had grown closer together and hoped to form the Triarchy. Together, they had thought they might throw off all foreign influence and imperialism, be it from Volantis or Braavos.

She spoke up. “Is Braavos in the practice of forcing exploitative terms on honourable partners and friends now? Some might even call that slavery,” she said, poking at the Braavosi’s claimed hatred for the institution despite the little they had done to end it. In five months, Viserra and her house had done more to end slavery in Essos than Braavos had in over six hundred years.

Antaryon smiled. “No Princess. It is not enslavement to ask that partners keep their word. Your word is your bond.”

“We never gave any word,” Viserra said, walking slowly along the steps, moving back and forth every now and then, prowling like a dragon around her prey.

“The Free City of Tyrosh did Princess. The same city you and your husband claim to be the legal rulers of in a legitimate transition of power from the previous rulers. That means it is your word,” Antaryon said, seeming amused.

“There is also the matter of our alliance against Volantis. Braavos asks that be maintained as well. Historically the Braavosi war fleet has been allowed safe and cheap passage and harbor in Tyroshi territory under the terms of that alliance as our cities cooperated to control piracy in the Stepstones and deter Volante aggression. The Sealord wishes for this alliance to be honored and Braavosi ships allowed to return to these waters,” he said, changing topic.

Corlys chuckled. “Is something funny Your Excellency?” Antaryon demanded.

“Forgive me. It’s just that Tyroshi waters are rather crowded with our own fleet at present. You remember the Velaryon fleet of course, and any of Tyrosh’s previous ships that surrendered or were handed over to us. There is no room for Braavos’s ships here.”

“Then please forgive my impertinence, but make room, Your Excellency. Honor demands no less! The terms of our alliance are clear!”

“So why didn’t you keep them then?” Rhaekar interjected. “Tyrosh went to war with Myr and Lys many times in the past century and asked for aid many times and was denied it. Braavos also provided no aid in the recent war against Volantis. Unless you are accusing of us of lying in our own records?”

Corlys nodded to his brother. It was a brilliant point to raise. Antaryon looked agitated.

“You would know Ser Rhaekar, if you had read the alliance treaty, that Braavos offered military aid to Tyrosh only against aggression from another polity apart from Myr and Lys. We had no desire for Braavos to be entangled in petty wars between the three quarrelsome daughters over the Disputed Lands. They earned their name well.

“Furthermore, you speak of the recent war against Volantis. Braavos did indeed offer its aid to Tyrosh, and we were rejected. Instead Tyrosh allied with Myr and Lys to form their ill-fated Triarchy. It cannot be Braavos’s fault that our aid was rejected. You cannot help someone who refuses to be helped.”

“So why did you refuse them when they did ask? When House Velaryon moved against Tyrosh, why did Braavos not aid Tyrosh?” Corlys asked, a mischievous smile on his face.

That really confused Antaryon. “What? You are House Velaryon! You seized power by violent conquest before Braavos could even react!”

“Incorrect my lord. The forces of House Velaryon occupied this city for a whole month before Corlys Velaryon was elected Archon. In that time, before the transition of power, numerous requests for aid were sent to Braavos, and all were rejected. We have this in our records,” Corlys said, keeping a straight face.

Antaryon was getting annoyed. “Let us stop with these games Your Excellency, and speak frankly like gentlemen. You are Corlys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides. You conquered Tyrosh with military force within a month, forced the Conclave to make you Archon under duress, and now you complain that Braavos did not help to stop you from doing all that? Why would that be a problem?”

“Because Lord Antaryon, if you expect me keep the word of the previous rulers of Tyrosh, why did Braavos not keep its word to them? I thought your word was your bond?” her husband asked, that ridiculous smile on his face, the smile of a man who knew he’d won. The charming co*cky smile of the man she’d fallen in love with.

Antaryon scoffed. “If you want to be difficult, you might be interested to know that my counterpart in King’s Landing tells me that King Jaehaerys has offered Braavos exceedingly generous terms.”

“Didn’t he burn down parts of your city and threaten to burn the rest?” Viserra was not impressed.

“I am told the terms are generous enough that we might forgive our old grudge against him. Perhaps even enough that we will acquiesce to his request to stop trading with Tyrosh and Driftmark,” Antaryon said, faux politeness in his voice.

“Are you threatening us Lord Antaryon?” her husband demanded. His jovial mischievous tone was gone, replaced with a low husky rasp, warning in his voice.

“Not at all. It is simply a statement,” Antaryon said with cheer.

“Perhaps you should remember what happened the last time Braavos made statements to dragonriders Antaryon,” Viserra said menacingly.

“Indeed I do. I was there, just a young boy at the time when the Bronze Fury descended upon the House of Black and White and reduced it to rubble. But then your father rides that dragon does he not? He is the King of Westeros and let us be frank, he is not very happy with you or your house right now Princess. Will he truly allow you to continue to run roughshod across Essos like a rogue, destroying and conquering as you please?”

Viserra’s retort was quick as a whip. “Small comfort that would be to you my lord, when your city lies in ruins, and you will be too dead to care. My father burned one building. How many shall I burn? Maybe I’d choose to destroy the Arsenal, or the Sealord’s Palace, or perhaps even the Antaryon manse.” Her voice was cold as ice, her last words were almost whispered, yet they were deafening for Antaryon.

“Are you threatening me Princess?” Antaryon demanded.

“Not at all. It is simply a statement,” Viserra said, falsely polite and trying to hide her glee.

“Come now, there is no need for such aggression, from either side,” Corlys said, putting his hand on hers to calm her in a show of reassurance to the envoy now that the statement had been made.

“Lord Antaryon, this is what I am willing to offer Braavos. Our treaty of alliance, including the terms by which Braavosi warships are allowed to be based in our waters, will be suspended and replaced with a declaration of friendship and mutual interest. Braavos’s previous exploitative rates for its tariffs and other duties will be removed for fairness. However, in light of the long relationship shared by our two great cities, I will be open to negotiating exactly what the new rates for those duties and other financial exchange and trade will be.

“Furthermore, I would like to offer Braavos an opportunity. There are currently unjust sanctions imposed on Tyrosh and Driftmark by the Iron Throne of Westeros. Many of the goods both regions produce are consequently in high demand and scarce supply in Westeros and will fetch handsome prices. And as you have yourself admitted, Jaehaerys has offered Braavos generous terms, terms you may negotiate to uphold your sovereignty. Surely you don’t intend to let Jaehaerys Targaryen, the man who dared to burn a Braavosi landmark, to dictate who Braavos can or cannot trade with?”

Antaryon was thoughtful. “What are you proposing?”

“Braavos can be the middleman of these goods, purchasing them from us here in Tyrosh, and then transporting them to Westeros and selling them there. By my calculation, Braavos would stand to profit handsomely. Furthermore, our allies in Gulltown, Claw Isle, and Tarth, have large and established ports to receive these goods and give Braavos better deals for them too.”

“In other words, you will be able to circumvent the sanctions on your trade, your allies will receive some much needed relief, and Braavos will profit immensely,” Antaryon observed.

“Everyone wins,” Corlys said confidently.

Antaryon shook his head. “I don’t believe in such optimism. What if Jaehaerys discovers what we are doing? You think he’s stupid? We’ll be trading with both House Velaryon and House Velaryon’s allies in goods House Velaryon is known for producing. Why wouldn’t he act against Braavos?”

“I dare him to try,” Corlys said co*ckily. “He can watch his entire economy collapse because of it. Come now Antaryon, you and I both know Westeros is already shaken by Jaehaerys’s pointless sanctions against me. Look around you,” he said, pointing at all the exquisite tapestries and fine velvets and other symbols of wealth and status in the throne room.

“Jaehaerys has done so much against us and for what? The wealth of House Velaryon is unfazed! He can sanction Braavos if he pleases, but Braavos and House Velaryon at the same time? The economy of Westeros will be beyond its breaking point. No I can assure you my friend, Jaehaerys will not dare to move against Braavos.”

“If that isn’t enough to convince you my lord, then how about this? I have already spoken to the ambassador of the Prince of Pentos on this matter, and Pentos has been trading with our allies in Westeros as our middleman for some weeks now. I am told that they have been reaping enormous profits and have yet to encounter any problems with the Iron Throne’s customs officers at the ports. Furthermore, I have negotiated independently with many magisters and guilds based in Myr and Volantis as well already. All are interested and all believe they will make money. Do you want Braavos to be left behind?”

The answer was clear on Antaryon’s face, but he did not wish to admit it.

“And lastly, it would be a shame if Volantis were to discover of Braavos’s involvement in the Lyseni Resistance and the Myrish Bloodbath. Or hear of how Braavos has been approaching Qohor, Norvos, and Essaria to form a coalition to contain Volantis,” Corlys said with a smile. The Sea Snake had struck.

“Is that your statement?” Antaryon asked mockingly.

“No. I don’t make statements. I make threats, and I always carry through with them,” Corlys hissed.

Defeated, Antaryon backed down. “I will relate your words to the Sealord, and bring his reply back to you. I think you have given Braavos much to consider.”

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Corlys said, jovial once more.

“By your leave, Your Excellency,” Antaryon bowed his head slightly.

“Go in peace, friend,” her husband said.

There was barely any break before the next envoy came in. Aerysar Qhaedar, from Volantis. Qhaedar and Antaryon actually directly passed each other and the two envoys seemed to glare at the other as they passed.

Qhaedar exchanged pleasantries with her and her husband and goodbrother and the conversation was mostly friendly, discussing the border in the Disputed Lands and further trade agreements. Volantis was still grateful for their aid in the war against the Triarchy, but they disliked that they had abolished slavery in Tyrosh, or had taken Tyrosh to begin with, desiring the city for their own. Still, they were cordial enough for now. Certainly far less aggravating than Antaryon had been.

Viserra was utterly bored by the time Qhaedar left. Corlys and Rhaekar had spent almost an hour simply chatting with him like an old friend, laughing and japing while occasionally getting to business. She knew they were reaffirming relations with a partner, but Viserra had barely been able to give any input to the conversation.

“Any more dignitaries to meet today Rhaekar?” Viserra asked.

“Only one. And he’s not exactly a dignitary. Ario Orlyr.”

Viserra snapped out of her boredom and to attention immediately. “Why is he coming here?”

“I invited him of course,” her husband said.

“And why would you do that?” Viserra demanded.

“He has a lot of influence among the freedmen. Especially those who are educated or trained as soldiers. Those people are all either vital to maintaining Tyrosh’s civil services or its businesses, or would be dangerous to leave to their own devices,” Corlys defended.

Viserra didn’t like it all, but she begrudgingly conceded Corlys’s point. House Velaryon now controlled the majority of the businesses and property in the city, as well as the government, yet while they had purged or exiled the vast majority of the former wealthy ruling class of the city, the same could not be said of their subordinates.

Below the wealthy and noble magisters and elites had been tens of thousands of artisans, craftsmen, overseers, managers, accountants, lawyers, bureaucrats, guards, and soldiers. And many, many of them, had been slaves.

Seventy-five percent of Tyrosh had been slaves. Freeborn had been outnumbered three to one. Before they had conquered Tyrosh, Viserra had never realized exactly what that number meant. Tyrosh had been greatly involved in the slave trade, and they had raided far off lands for slaves. Naathi, Lhazarene, Wildlings, Summer Islanders, even some Westerosi, and many more, had been taken from all corners of the world. It was a diverse and varied population, with many different skills, roles, and histories. It was a very complex situation that they had to navigate with care in order to try and transition all these disparate peoples to a free life as fast as possible.

Her conception of slavery had once been limited to men in chains forced to toil endlessly in the mines and farms or construction sites in manual menial labor or women forced to debase their bodies in brothels. She had been wrong. While those things did indeed happen, and millions suffered under those injustices, slavery was far more complex than she had imagined. For one, not all slaves were necessarily the property of their masters. Many were still legally considered their own person but were forced to pay their debts in unpaid labor and services. This sounded rather uncomfortably similar to the conditions some smallfolk experienced in Westeros, though not anywhere in the Velaryon domains.

Then there were those slaves who had lived in Tyrosh for generations and no longer even remembered their original homelands and language, and their blood and race had been mixed beyond recognition. Among these slaves, many, even those who were considered property, were not actually treated as such. They would be enslaved in name, but in practice their skills and crafts and education made them too valuable to treat like chattel. These slaves would rise to high positions in their masters’ households, managing their finances and businesses, commanding other slaves. Many would also serve in the city’s civil service or as bureaucrats below the Conclave, nominally owned by the Archon, and collecting taxes, and enforcing laws on even freeborn.

Then there were the buzdari azantys, or the Buzantys as their name had been formalized and shortened after centuries. Initially formed as a corps of slave soldiers trained from birth for absolute loyalty to the Archon of Tyrosh, the Buzantys had branched off in the centuries since their founding, becoming a caste of bureacrats and artisans in addition to soldiers. Many of the most skilled craftsmen or civil servants in the city were Buzantys, and of course, the entirety of Tyrosh’s guards, city watch, and army were Buzantys.

Tyrosh had rarely, if ever, sent the Buzantys to war against Myr and Lys. Rather than risk their elite soldiers, they had employed sellswords and sent them out to battle in the Disputed Lands instead. However, in history, the Buzantys had proven their worth when they had held the walls of Tyrosh against many Volantene attempts to take the city before her ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, had come to put an end to the conflict, burning the new Volantene fleets massing at Lys and destroying any chance they had to take Tyrosh or even hold Lys itself.

This system had evolved over thousands of years out of necessity. Tyrosh had not had the magic or dragons of its founder to keep the slaves in line. The system had been well established enough even to survive the tumults of the Doom. Otherwise, there was no sustainable way for barely a hundred thousand freeborn to keep three hundred thousand souls enslaved. And that was just in the city. Tens of thousands more had been enslaved on the estates in Tyrosh’s mainland holdings. Captain Ario Orlyr had been a part of that system, a relic of that era of slavery and corruption.

He was a Buzantys who had held the title of Warden of the Bleeding Tower before their conquest of the city. The Bleeding Tower was a stronghold and fortress watchtower built on an island in the mouth of Tyrosh’s great harbor. It commanded the entrance to the harbor, with great boom chains between the tower island and the harbor fortress walls, and was Tyrosh’s first line of defense by sea.

To be named its Warden, was considered one of the highest honors in all of Tyrosh, for it represented the city’s trust in the Warden to remain loyal and not betray them. The tower was so important to Tyrosh, so central to its culture and identity, that it was stamped on their coinage. It was a landmark known throughout the world and visible from nearly every corner of the city, always taking up a great place in the minds of the Tyroshi.

Orlyr’s appointment as Warden of the Bleeding Tower had been part of an old tradition going back decades to the Century of Blood. According to legend, the tower gained its name from an incident where its warden at the time had been bribed by Volantis to betray Tyrosh by letting their fleet into the city to conquer it. His betrayal had been discovered by the Buzantys guards of the Tower, who had killed him for his treason, and his life’s blood had spilt from the ramparts of the top and bled onto the tower, staining its stone red. When morn had come, Tyrosh had woken to see blood on the tower, and from that day onward, it was known as the Bleeding Tower, and its Warden would forever more be a Buzantys, for they had proven their loyalty was beyond reproach or question.

Ario Orlyr had been relieved of his position as Warden immediately after they had taken the city but that had not stopped his rise. As a slave, if in name only, he had been spared their purge of the old elites, and in the months since, Orlyr had built a great following. As the last ‘legitimate’ Warden of the Bleeding Tower in the eyes of many, and a charismatic and dashing Buzantys warrior and leader, many had rallied to his side. Among his followers were the majority of his fellow Buzantys, many of the freeborn, some of the clergy of the local religions, and thousands of the former nominally enslaved artisans and bureaucrats that had run the city’s trades and government below the elites.

Viserra didn’t like it, didn’t like the idea that they had to treat with a man who had benefited so greatly from the old order, who had been a tool used to oppress other slaves. And this Buzantys, slave in name, who had had a comfortable privileged life while his fellows had toiled and died in the cruelties slavery truly had to offer, had the audacity to claim he spoke for all the freed slaves.

Before she realized it, Orlyr was walking into the throne room like he owned it. His stride was confident, measured. His eyes glanced over the room with familiarity. As the former Warden, he had no doubt been in this room before many times. He was not an unhandsome man. He had a ruggedly charming face, and friendly warm brown eyes and dark hair.

Good looks were not enough for Viserra to trust anyone however. And she felt a small victory realizing that both Corlys and Rhaekar were taller than Orlyr, even if the man had an inch or two over herself. She could not help but feel he was suspicious. A man such as Orlyr who had prospered so much under the old order could not be happy with the changes they had brought.

“Your Excellency! Thank you for inviting me here! I’m truly honored by this opportunity,” Orlyr said dramatically, bowing to her husband. Viserra hated it, but his High Valyrian was nearly perfect.

Corlys shook his hand. “The honor is mine Captain Orlyr.”

“Ser Rhaekar,” he nodded to her goodbrother before turning to her. “Princess Viserra. The whispers of the people truly do not do your beauty justice,” he said, before he bowed extravagantly and took her hand and kissed it.

“Yes, a pleasure to meet you,” Viserra gritted out.

Turning back to Corlys, Orlyr spoke. “Your Excellency, I must again thank you for allowing me this audience to speak with you on the behalf of the freedmen. Over four months have passed since your ascension as Archon and your abolition of slavery. Many of the freedmen, and those of the freeborn who were less fortunate, have confessed to me that they are concerned.”

Corlys smiled. “Of course, that is why I invited you here. Please do tell me their concerns.”

“Yes. Many are worried and concerned if their positions and trades will be upheld. As you know, former slaves or freeborn held many critical roles in Tyrosh’s guilds, banks, businesses, and bureaucracy. They are also concerned with wages. Now that slavery has been abolished, former slaves are no longer provided free food and shelter by their masters. They need higher wages to pay for such things now and many are not skilled enough to manage their own finances, having never even touched a coin before. This is of critical importance to many of the more unskilled slaves who had only done manual labor or farmed on the estates in the hinterlands.”

“I understand. You can affirm to all your friends Captain, that they will retain their positions as they currently are, or be offered equivalents as we rearrange and reform the guilds and government. On the matter of wages, financial literacy, the redistribution of wealth, and the acquisition of new trades and employment for the unskilled workers, I promise we will look into that as well. As a show of good faith, I would offer you Captain Orlyr, your former position as Warden of the Bleeding Tower once more. Take it as a promise that I will keep my word.”

Orlyr bowed. “You honor me Your Excellency. I most graciously accept. If I may, I believe that this show of good faith will go a long way to reassuring many of my fellow Buzantys and in turn, the others who have voiced their concerns. The upholding of such an old tradition will do much to endear you to the people Your Excellency.”

“Thank you for your praise Captain. I hope that we might work together, to resolve these problems, and build a new and prosperous Tyrosh for all,” Corlys replied.

“Yes. I feel the same. There is also something else that I would like to raise Your Excellency. Myself and many other slaves were born and raised in Tyrosh. Despite our previous enslavement, this is all we know, and we consider this city our home. However, there are many who were enslaved only recently and still remember their homelands and their old lives. They are clamoring to go home, and are wondering how much aid they will receive in this?” Orlyr asked.

“Any former slaves are now free men and women, and are of course free to go wherever they please,” Corlys answered. “However, there are so many of them, that the logistics make it impossible for the Velaryon fleet to take them home. They will have to find and pay for their own passage out of Tyrosh.”

“Forgive me Your Excellency, but did the Velaryon fleet not give free and safe passage to the families and households of the old masters to a city of their choice? Many will be discontent with this seeming preferential treatment for the old slavers over the former enslaved,” Orlyr questioned, putting the right mix of deference but also challenge in his voice.

“That is only partly true. It was not exactly free, considering that I had already confiscated their wealth and left them only the clothes on their back. Their safe passage was also to prevent the wanton and needless violence and shedding of innocent blood when many aggrieved former slaves massacred the children and wives of their former masters in often horrible ways. Such atrocities are unacceptable, be they committed by slaver or slave,” Corlys declared firmly.

“I understand Your Excellency… I just worry that others may not. Unrest may brew in the city. The role of men like Lysos Eranyr as well… Though his reputation is admirable, his being one of the old masters and having such a large role in your council and government is upsetting many,” Orlyr said, trying to sound reasonable.

“I trust that you will help to smooth these concerns captain. Dissension and unrest would be… unproductive for our mutual goal of seeing Tyrosh recover and prosper,” Corlys said assuredly.

“I will do my best Excellency,” Orlyr bowed his head again slightly, putting on a show of humility.

“There is something that I too desire to bring up Warden,” Viserra said, begrudgingly addressing Orlyr by his restored position.

She detected the slightest trace of annoyance in his bearing. “Of course Princess, what do you wish to say?”

“I have heard disturbing rumors of Buzantys soldiers harassing the newly built septs and their followers,” Viserra explained.

For a moment, Viserra thought that she saw his true face, saw the disdain in his eyes, before it was gone in a flash. “This is Tyrosh. Like Old Valyria before us, we welcome all faiths and all religions in this city. Any Buzantys who has engaged in such behavior has disgraced our traditions. If the rumors are true, I will see to it that justice is done to the perpetrators Princess,” Orlyr said charmingly.

Viserra stared at him. “Ensure that you do.”

As usual, Corlys calmed the tension. “Thank you for accepting my invite Captain Orlyr. I believe the Bleeding Tower is now in need of your steadfast presence. I thank you for bringing yours and your groups’ concerns before me. I will consider them at great length, and I believe you and I will need to have many more conversations like this over the coming months to sort out the details.”

“No. Thank you for your time Archon. I too hope to continue working together, for a safe and prosperous Tyrosh for the future! Until the next time, Your Excellency, Ser Rhaekar, Princess,” Orlyr said, nodding to her with a meaningful look in his eyes.

As Orlyr was escorted out of the throne room, Viserra turned to her husband. “I don’t trust him.”

“I don’t either, but it’s better to keep your friends close and your enemies closer still,” he replied.

“Why keep your enemies close when you can destroy them? Just say the word Corlys. Dreamfyre can reduce his tower to rubble immediately. Kill all his Buzantys and their threat to us in a single stroke,” Viserra said confidently.

“If we do that, we will cripple Tyrosh’s economy even more than it already is. The Buzantys and their allies have a massive share of critical roles in the bureaucracy and the guilds and industries. That’s not to mention that they are armed and trained soldiers. Killing Orlyr will not solve the problem, it will only make him a martyr and us tyrants. We will have an uprising on our hands having lost the trust of the freed slaves,” Corlys rebuked.

“I hate to admit it, but I do have to agree with Corlys here,” Rhaekar said. “As much as I would like to replace all the Buzantys and others in their critical roles with men from Driftmark, that cannot be done easily, or quickly. They are too vital.”

“And that’s precisely why we have to act! The Buzantys and their allies have a stranglehold on Tyrosh’s industries and civil service. Ario Orlyr is a charismatic scoundrel who has the support of half the city and has a rival powerbase to ours! If it wasn’t for Dreamfyre, I’ve little doubt he’d be challenging us for the rule of the city already!” Viserra pleaded.

“That’s exactly why we can’t act so overtly against him Viserra!” Corlys said exasperatedly. “We need to handle this with care, and a deft hand. The last thing we need is Tyrosh collapsing into civil war and anarchy.”

A thought occurred to Viserra. “We already have collaborators from the locals. Eranyr and the rest. They can provide legitimacy to any action we take against Orlyr and they and their subordinates can fill the role Orlyr’s faction does.”

Corlys shook his head. “Eranyr is cut from the same cloth as Orlyr. He and his ilk wield great influence among the freeborn especially, but because they were supposedly kind masters, the slaves have respect for them too. And for all that you have complained that Orlyr is too close to the local religions and may be helping them harass the septs Viserra, Eranyr is doubly close to them and has their favor due to his many generous donations to the temples he worships at.

“As it stands Eranyr and Orlyr compete for support from the same groups, Buzantys, artisans, bureaucrats, and so on. I would rather use them both. Use their combined resources as a means to stabilize the city fast while keeping the other in check. Once we are secure in our position, we can get rid of them and their factions both.”

Viserra begrudgingly conceded hearing Corlys’s plan. While she thought Orlyr was far more untrustworthy than Eranyr, the latter hadn’t exactly proven his loyalty was beyond reproach either. He had simply adapted his own beliefs slightly and opportunistically joined them to save his own skin.

“Perhaps if it wasn’t for the sanctions, we would be able to remove both Orlyr and Eranyr with ease,” Rhaekar mused. “However that is not the case. As it is, we have no choice but to work with them for now and try to slowly undermine them and their factions and replace them with our loyalists. The priority is to stabilize Tyrosh as fast as possible and working with Eranyr and Orlyr both is the best way to do that.

“Despite our mummery otherwise, our wealth is not inexhaustible. The sanctions your father put on us are crippling Driftmark and our coffers are bleeding every day. Tyrosh is not helping, as we have to invest blood and treasure trying to make it stable while it produces no profit in the current chaos.”

“Are we in any danger of going bankrupt?” Viserra asked Rhaekar.

“Not any time soon thankfully. Our coffers might be bleeding, but there is a lot to bleed. The trade routes from Velos and the Far East are still open and regardless of Jaehaerys’s sanctions, the demand for our goods is still there. You saw how Braavos and all the other dignitaries got greedy just thinking of getting a cut of our trade, and probably taking the lion’s share. We can increase production of our manufactured goods in Driftmark such as concrete and other innovations, and try and get our domestic yields of silk and tea higher so we can reduce costs of importing from Yi Ti,” he explained.

“And we can combine Driftmark’s goods with Tyrosh’s. Imagine, we could make silks in Driftmark, have them dyed here in Tyrosh, and sell them for an exquisite price,” Corlys said eagerly.

“The implementation of such things take time,” Rhaekar countered. “As does apparently everything in this blasted city. Time is the commodity we do not have. The longer Tyrosh drains our reserves, the closer we inch to bankruptcy. And speaking of banks, the Velaryon Bank has lost all confidence from account holders outside of Driftmark, including our allies. They’ve all withdrawn their funds and since the bank operated on a fractional reserve, it didn’t actually have that much money on hand. Which is another loss for us because we had to bail out the bank with our personal house fortune. And now Corlys has promised the same to all the foreign account holders in the Tyroshi banks we now own as well. All those things add up. We didn’t become rich by spending money carelessly and now circ*mstances have forced us to.”

Viserra wasn’t as skilled a steward as Rhaekar, or as brilliant as Corlys, but she had been the Lady of House Velaryon for over three years now. She knew what was at stake. Luxuries and things they had once taken for granted now had to be sacrificed, only used and flaunted to guests to pretend House Velaryon remained as exorbitantly rich. If they were careless and exhausted their reserves, they could ruin themselves. Their bank, university, army, fleet, and all their other institutions and investments would fail.

Ultimately Tyrosh had to stabilize and start making a profit again soon. Once they had unlocked the full potential of a Free City, her father’s sanctions would be pointless. Until that time came however, they walked a dangerous line.

Unfortunately, they couldn’t even do much to retaliate against her father directly. Overly overt moves would see them executed for treason. Most of her father’s troubles at present were self-inflicted. The Velaryons had had little role in them beyond their excision from the realm’s trade and the Stepstones.

“We’re in the eye of a storm,” Viserra said out loud. “I hope you can lead us through this Corlys.”

“Don’t I always?” he asked co*ckily. “We will make it through this Viserra, I promise. Trust me,” Corlys said confidently, but there was the slightest uncertainty in his voice.

Rhaekar scoffed. “You trust Corlys to lead us through the storm Viserra?” he asked, sounding amazed. “He’s the one who steered us into it in the first place! The rest of us have to clean up his mess. As usual.”

Corlys sighed. “Can we not do this today? Please?”

“Whatever, Your Excellency,” Rhaekar mocked as he walked off.

Viserra glared at him as he left. Rhaekar might be her friend but Corlys was her husband. His words were completely uncalled for. “I’ll talk to him.”

“No, leave him be. He needs some time alone to get over it. You speaking to him now might make it worse. Typical Rhaekar,” Corlys said, sighing tiredly as he sat down on the stairs.

Viserra sat down beside him. “Are you well?”

“I think I will be. I’m just frustrated and so, so tired. Everything about Tyrosh is so much more complex and harder than I thought it would be. I thought that Tyrosh would be our salvation but I miscalculated. Jaehaerys’s reaction was more severe than I had dreamed possible and now we’re in this mess…”

She took his hands into hers and squeezed them tightly, reassuringly. Their eyes locked, her deep purple on his wondrous indigo. “It’s not your fault understand? Whatever that’s happened to us, whatever we and Driftmark suffer? All of that is on my father’s hands, not yours. You are not to blame for our misfortune Corlys.”

“So why does it feel like I am?” he asked, his indigo eyes staring off into the room. The Tide Guard continued to guard them loyally as they sat for a few desperately needed moments of rest. The throne room of Tyrosh was silent, hundreds of miles away from their home and their children.

Chapter 26: Purple

Chapter Text

Second Moon, 91 AC

Viserra

“Seven blessings to you Zaldilaros,” the woman said in Tyroshi.

“You are most welcome,” Viserra replied.

Tyroshi Low Valyrian was hard to grasp at times, as it had evolved from High Valyrian in the past two centuries, but the two were still mutually intelligible. Most of Tyrosh’s populace, including slaves who had been here for any longer than a year, all spoke Tyroshi to some degree or another. High Valyrian had been kept to only by the elites.

She looked around at the building. It had been converted into a rudimentary sept since their takeover of the city. Soldiers and servants from Driftmark had prayed in a sept they had set up in the Black Fortress and then the septons had come to preach, arriving from both Driftmark as well as Oldtown, and they had only begrudgingly let in some of the latter. The rising presence of the Faith of the Seven in the city had aided them greatly in helping the slaves transition to free lives. It helped distribute food and teach the freed slaves important skills needed for being their own masters.

For those slaves who had not been Buzantys or similarly favored, life had been terrible and miserable. All the other gods and religions in the city, R’hllor, the Trios, the Pattern, and others, all of them had either approved of slavery, or had been indifferent to it. Some had even gone so far as to demand slaves obey their masters, been used as tools by the old elites, much like the dragonlords in Valyria had done.

It was not surprising then, that more and more former slaves were converting to worship the Seven with every passing day. Unlike the many gods of Tyrosh who had been unsympathetic to their plights, or the gods of their homelands who had abandoned them and let them be captured and taken away into slavery, the Seven condemned slavery and the Velaryons, who followed the Seven, were seen as saviors sent by them to free the slaves of Tyrosh.

Corlys and Rhaekar were revered as well, but Viserra, who was known throughout the city as the rider of the great dragon, was almost worshipped. Zaldilaros they called her, with unshakable faith. Faith so strong that Viserra, who had tried to convince them to be just a little less religiously deferential to her, had been ignored and the people had called her humble for it before bowing to her and all but worshipping her again. It had made her a little uncomfortable at first, but if she was being honest, she had begun to enjoy it. It sang to a part of her she had thought forgotten. The girl who had once simply agreed with a squire who had called her a goddess.

Some believers had begun proudly wearing the seven-pointed star, and many had even gone so far as to carve it on their heads like the Faith Militant of old. It was what had led the group as a whole to be known as Stars to others in Tyrosh. It was but one of four factions of note that had consolidated since their conquest of the city.

Velaryons soldiers and servants from Driftmark often had a tendency to wear seahorse insignias or display the sigil in some other way. Their long loyalty and traditional association with the Velaryons had seen them named as Seahorses by the common man on the streets. Some had even begun considering them a joint faction with the Stars for their shared loyalty to House Velaryon, if it was expressed in different ways. Seastars, some had japed the two groups might be called together.

Another faction were the Dyes, made up of the nobles who had collaborated with the Velaryons and their followers among the freeborn, most of the clergy of the local religions, and many of the formerly enslaved artisans and bureaucrats. They were called Dyes because their unofficial leader, Lysos Eranyr, and the other nobles, were famed for having extravagantly dyed hair and clothes.

As she left the sept, the Stars gathered around her eagerly, begging her to stay with them a little longer. Putting on a dazzling smile, Viserra turned to them. “I must go now my Stars, but fear not. I will return another day!”

They cheered as she mounted her horse and rode away from the sept, her Tide Guard escorts riding around her. As she galloped her mare to the Black Fortress, Viserra noticed some of the men on the road and narrowed her eyes. They had come too close to the Stars for comfort. The last of the four major factions that had formed in Tyrosh.

They called themselves, ‘The Noble and Most Honorable Protectors of Tyrosh and Her Traditions’. A lofty and pretentious title. Velaryon soldiers just called them Towers, for the badge of the Bleeding Tower they all wore proudly on their breast. An alliance between the Buzantys, about half of the privileged slave artisans and bureaucrats, and some of the freeborn and local religious clergy, led by the charismatic and exalted Ario Orlyr, who else. In other words, a consolidation of nearly every group in the city that had reasons to oppose Velaryon rule. How convenient.

Unfortunately, Viserra had been overruled by Corlys and Rhaekar when she had proposed crushing the Towers by force. Something to do with them controlling too many interests in the city and being vital to its recovery. In Viserra’s mind that was precisely why they had to be curtailed now but she had been overruled and she would abide by it.

She didn’t have to like it though. She glared at the Towers as she rode past them and noted to herself the need to increase security around the septs. Towers had an awful habit of harassing septs and Viserra had had to post more and more guards around them with every passing week. It was coming to the point that the Stars were taking up arms to help alleviate the tired Velaryon marines and that had certainly not done the them any favors in the opinion of either Corlys or Rhaekar, both of whom were wary of a Faith Militant forming under their nose.

Viserra could understand their concern, but she did not wholly agree with it. The Stars were loyal to her, to their house, first and foremost. To them, House Velaryon were the saviors sent by the Seven. Their word and orders were like commands from the Seven-Pointed Star. She had seen this in action. The Stars were more trustworthy than the Towers, that was for sure.

When she rode into the courtyard of the Archon’s Palace, she saw her maid Pina waiting for her with a worried expression on her face. Dismounting her horse, Viserra asked her, “What is it Pina?”

“My lady,” Pina bowed her head slightly. “I was told to inform you that you have been summoned to an urgent meeting with Lord Corlys and Ser Rhaekar at once!”

Viserra nodded and handed the reins to her horse to one of her guards before rushing off to Corlys’s solar. The urgent summons scared her. A million thoughts ran through her head. Had something happened on Driftmark? To their children? To Irina, or Alys, or Aurane? What was going on?

As she reached the solar, Viserra heard the shouts. “This is all your fault Corlys!” Rhaekar screamed.

She walked faster, ran if she was being honest. The Tide Guards posted at the door had been expecting her and opened it for her as she walked in. Corlys had his head in his palms, looking defeated as Rhaekar berated him. Both looked at her as she walked in.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

Rhaekar turned to her husband. “Tell her then. Tell her Corlys!”

There was uncertainty and worry in Corlys’s face when he looked at her. The confident smile he had once always worn was gone now. “Viserra… Velos has fallen.”

Her mind raced. “What?” she choked out.

“A few scattered ships have come in from the east bearing ill tidings. They say the cities of Slaver’s Bay gathered and attacked Velos together, setting fire to the outpost and slaughtering or recapturing any former slaves they found. Whoever managed to escape fled east on ships and came here, slipping through their blockade. Our cousin Lucerys is missing, and no word has come for ransom from the slavers. We believe he’s dead, along with thousands more in Velos.”

“How could this have happened? Without us even knowing of it until now?” Viserra asked.

“Because Corlys was co*cky.” Rhaekar’s voice was cold, full of anger and indignation. “He miscalculated yet again and we are paying the price for it now.”

Viserra stared at Rhaekar. “Were you any different?”

Rhaekar shook his head in shame. “No.”

“Jaehaerys is cunning indeed. He must have known all too well that we would have recovered in time,” Corlys said, his fury beginning to show.

“You think my father had a hand in this?” Viserra asked, her own anger steaming.

“Do you think the slavers would have dared to move against us alone so long as you ride Dreamfyre?” Corlys demanded. “No. This has Jaehaerys’s hands all over it. The slavers have even gone so far to attack our ships mooring in New Ghis or passing along the trade route in the Summer Sea. It isn’t safe for them anymore. I’ve already given the order for all our ships to withdraw west of the Doom.”

“They have not won yet,” Viserra said angrily. “I can leave for Slaver’s Bay within a week, take a fleet with me. We’ll stop for provisions in Volantis, and then once I round the Doom, I can show Slaver’s Bay the meaning of Fire and Blood and reduce every single damnable city in that blasted bay to ash and ruin!”

“You cannot Viserra.” Rhaekar’s voice was stern and firm. “We need you here.”

“I don’t answer to you Rhaekar,” Viserra said before she turned to Corlys.

He shook his head and her heart sank. “Rhaekar’s right Viserra. You can’t leave Tyrosh.”

“So you’re just giving up?” she demanded.

“I’m not,” he denied. “I’m making a strategic withdrawal. Viserra, Tyrosh is unstable! We have Dyes, Stars, and Towers, all clamoring to usurp us and take over this city! It would be folly to spend men and money we don’t have to send a fleet thousands of miles away to retake Velos, and without Dreamfyre, such a war is doomed to fail anyway, as is our rule here. There will be time for vengeance one day, but that day is not today, or any day soon.”

“What are we going to do then?” Viserra asked desperately. “Without Velos, and with Slaver’s Bay openly hostile, our trade routes to Yi Ti are no longer tenable! Our coffers will bleed without stanch!”

Corlys looked frantic, searching desperately for an answer in his thoughts. “We… we’ll have to figure something out. Trade through Volantis as a middleman to bypass Slaver’s Bay maybe. Increase the production of our domestic silk and tea as much as possible. The mainland territories we received in the treaty could help with that. We… we’d have to innovate on Driftmark as much as we can, increase production of our local goods and develop new ones to export.”

“All of these things require money to do Corlys! Money we don’t have! Unless you are foolish enough to suggest we compromise our reserves entirely? Will you empty the vaults of High Tide on this hopelessly ambitious and optimistic plan?” Rhaekar demanded, frustrated.

“We’d have to take the money from somewhere else. Right now the biggest drain on our coffers apart from everything needed to support our rule in Tyrosh… is Driftmark.”

“What?” Viserra asked, shocked. Surely Corlys wasn’t suggesting…

Rhaekar slammed his fist into the desk in front of Corlys. “What did you say?”

Corlys did not flinch and stared his brother in the eye, indigo met indigo. “The subsidies we’ve been giving to Driftmark’s businesses to keep them afloat are the most unnecessary part of our expenses right now. I don’t see any other option but to reduce them, or remove them altogether. They’re also exposed to the Targaryens. It would also be wise to begin moving many of our institutions and industries here to Tyrosh, far away from the reach of the Iron Throne.”

“Then what would happen to Driftmark?” Viserra asked.

Corlys did not answer. Rhaekar shook his head and walked to the door. Her husband called out to his brother almost desperately. “Brother, where are you going? I need your counsel, now more than ever!”

Rhaekar snapped back to him. “Do you? Then why do you never listen to me? Why do you always ignore me? I told you from the very start that this was a bad idea. You didn’t listen, now look what has happened. The Targaryens are ascendant! The Stepstones will soon be ruled by Otto Hightower and his ilk. The son of our grandfather’s hated rival is now the Master of Ships. The lords of Westeros are united behind Jaehaerys; all of them eager to see us fall and rise in our place!

“Our allies and kin are on the brink of deserting us; their loyalty rests on a knife’s edge. Velos is dead and our cousin with it! The source of our wealth is gone and now you propose destroying what remains of our grandfather’s legacy? What are we supposed to do Corlys? Just watch it all wither away slowly? Driftmark will die if we cut off our support to it! What a poor repayment for the loyalty of our people! You’ve gone too far now Corlys. Not even Driftmark is to be spared as sacrifice on the altar of your ego?”

Corlys rose. “Do not shirk your responsibility and put all of this on me Rhaekar! You backed me, you advised my plan! How were any of us to know the extent of Jaehaerys’s reprisal? That is on all of us!”

“You’re right. I did back you ultimately,” Rhaekar admitted. “That was my mistake. I trusted you. I believed that the great Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake himself, could perform another miracle. I was wrong. I’ve warned you our entire life Corlys. Warned you that your arrogance, your overconfidence, your recklessness, would lead you into trouble one day. I was right. It has. And you’ve dragged the rest of us into it.

“When will your eyes open Corlys? You keep spouting all these hopeless plans because you know the truth in your heart. Admit it. We lost. You lost. It’s over Corlys. All that’s left to do now is write a speech begging Jaehaerys’s mercy and hope its forthcoming,” Rhaekar said as he walked out of the room.

Corlys sat back into his chair, defeated. “Say, if I sent for the Driftwood Throne to be brought to Tyrosh, do you think Rhaekar will strangle me?”

Viserra was not amused. “That was a pathetic attempt at a jape.”

“I know. I know.”

“Corlys, you have to reconcile with Rhaekar. Our situation has become dire. We can’t afford to have division between us now. House Velaryon has to stand united or fall divided. I’ll talk to him, arrange a meeting. We’ll have dinner together, just the three of us. I’ll get him in the seat, but you are the one that has to talk to him. Apologize, beg, plead, I don’t care, but you must reconcile with him!” Viserra ordered.

Her husband nodded in understanding. “I will.”

As Viserra walked around the desk to come closer to her husband, he continued speaking. “It’s not all bad news. Aurane sent me a missive; he’ll be coming soon. Rhaekar was too angry to look at it.”

“He’s been busy the past few months,” Viserra noted.

“Yes. Ever since he was dismissed from the Small Council he’s been hard at work and now it’s finally bearing fruit. Almost six months’ work gathering whatever resources and funds he can from our allies and vassals, and from our own lands in the Hook and on Driftmark. He’s promised to bring reinforcements, thousands more freshly trained marines and soldiers, hundreds of servants and officials to help us staff the Black Fortress and run the city, and the funds to pay for all of them too.”

They had taken Tyrosh with ten thousand men, half of which had been sellswords. All those sellswords had since left, frightened off by the sanctions Jaehaerys had placed on their house. Corlys hadn’t tried all too hard to keep them around; sellswords were notoriously expensive and of dubious loyalty, there was too much fear that they would fall in with the Towers or Dyes or some other external party and become yet another threat to them. Their departure had not been unwelcome as a result, but it had left their loyal soldiers overstretched.

They couldn’t call their banners either, they had taken scutage from their vassals in the Hook instead of levies for their obligations due to the questionably legal nature of their conquest of Tyrosh. Though they could recruit men from the Hook to join their personal standing forces, unless Driftmark itself was under threat, any attempt to directly call their vassals and their banners to war might breach the laws on the King’s Peace, resulting in the interference of the Iron Throne, especially if their vassal lords protested. The levies taken would also further burden Driftmark and its lands and hasten their decline from the sanctions.

Thankfully, three thousand more loyal soldiers sworn to their house had already come to Tyrosh from the Stepstones and they had been a great boon but with the departure of the sellswords, their loyal soldiers had still been overextended. Eight thousand men was barely enough to keep control of a newly conquered city like Tyrosh and its still extant Buzantys corps. Hearing that more reinforcements were coming was great news indeed, but there had to be a cost.

“What of Driftmark then?” Viserra asked again. The thought of the wondrous island’s splendor being lessened in any way was saddening.

“Driftmark will survive,” Corlys said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. “It always has. It always will. It will have lean times now, as we move more and more men and resources here and cut our subsidies.

“The people will inevitably follow as we move our institutions as well. Tyrosh needs a branch of the Velaryon Bank, to take possession of the assets of the local Tyroshi banks. It will need branch headquarters for the various companies of Driftmark if they are to hope to survive. Maybe even a branch of the university. The University of Tyrosh perhaps?

“But all of these things take time, and I worry over the wisdom of doing them so long as Tyrosh remains unstable and uncertain. The city is like a barrel of wildfire, waiting to blow. We could bring thousands more of our people here but I fear it will still be a struggle nonetheless.”

“The seven hells are empty,” Viserra mused.

“And all the devils are here,” Corlys finished.

Corlys looked down, placed his head into his palms and sighed. “At times like this, I understand Rhaekar’s anger. How did it come to this? Where did it all go wrong? Driftmark is our home. It is our grandfather’s legacy. Our legacy. We spent years building it into what it is and now I have to tear it down with my own hands for the sake of our house.”

Viserra hugged him from behind and laid her head on his shoulder, her arms around his. “You’ll make it right. I know you will.”

There was a silence for a while before Corlys spoke again. “I’m thinking… when Aurane comes, I’ll send Rhaekar back to Driftmark for a time. Let him see Irina and their children. He could get to work on alleviating Driftmark’s struggles as much as possible. He’s very good at that. It will do him much good to have a break from all of this mess in Tyrosh I think.”

Viserra nodded. “I agree.”

Corlys smiled before his eyes became wistful. “I wish I could go with him. I want to see our sons again, hear them babble and call to me as they crawl into my arms and cherish me. Six months feel like eternity away from them. We even missed their nameday. Two years old now…I fear they may not even remember us soon enough.”

“I worry as well. The idea that our sons will look at me and see a stranger… it kills me inside to imagine,” Viserra confessed.

“We have to make it safe here Viserra, as soon as possible,” her husband said seriously, locking eyes with her. “Either so we can bring Jace and Luke here to Tyrosh or return home to Driftmark, to them.”

“I want to take Jace and Luke walking on Driftmark’s beaches. I want to show them those brilliant white sands. Let them feel the sand beneath their toes and the cool crystal clear water licking at their feet. And then I’d have them look up and we’d see it together.

“Can you see it Viserra? That pale castle on the hill? The cliffs rising sheer from the water? The tide has come in, and only the causeway connects it to the rest of Driftmark now. Its walls are pale and its slender towers rise into the sky like spikes of pearl; the beaten silver crowning their roofs shines in the morning sun.”

“I can. I remember,” Viserra said. Her husband’s work evoked a strong image in her mind, an image of home, of children and laughter and joy. An image far away from them.

Her husband turned to her, his eyes honest and tender. “One day, when all of this is over in Tyrosh, we will return to that castle on the hill. Then a great shout will rise from Spicetown, full of cheer and laughter: The Lord and Lady have returned! The glory of Driftmark will be restored and all will be made as it should be once more.”

They stayed like that for a little while. It was soothing, a much needed break from the chaos of Tyrosh. Moments like these were precious and had become rarer as the months had passed and their workload had seemed to increase instead of decline. Eventually, Corlys pulled out a letter from the pocket inside his doublet and handed it to Viserra behind him.

“What’s this?” she asked, noticing the seal on it. A red salmon on white field with a golden tressure, quartered with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

“It was bundled with the missive from Aurane. He said it came by raven from Maidenpool,” Corlys answered. “It’s from your sister Saera. She’s proposing a deal between our houses,” he said as Viserra read through the letter.

When she had finished reading the letter, Viserra set it down on the desk.

“Your thoughts?” Corlys asked. Do you think she can be trusted?”

Viserra shook her head. “I would trust Saera as much as I can throw her… but in this at least I feel she is being genuine. She has little real need to do this, and even if it is exposed to Jaehaerys, punishment for this would fall most squarely on her and her family, not on us. There’s not much more he can do to punish us than he already has.”

Corlys smirked in amusem*nt. “Your sister Saera is cunning indeed. With one hand she will accept your father’s outreach to reconcile with her and support his policies, and with another she will trade with us in secret. She gets the best of both worlds and profits handsomely. I can’t help but admire the audacity and the cleverness.”

“This could help Driftmark itself. No middlemen. No need to bring goods to Tyrosh first. If Saera says Maidenpool has much less scrutiny on its customs than Gulltown and Claw Isle, we have no reason to not take her at her word. The whole realm was shocked to hear of how she reconciled with our father. It seems she was just playing him for her house’s benefit,” Viserra observed.

“Yes. It’s good news. Hopefully Rhaekar can be convinced by this and our offer for him to return to Driftmark when Aurane arrives,” Corlys said, looking pleased and hopeful.

Viserra smiled before raising another point. “That being said, it would be poor gratitude to repay my sister by inadvertently leaking her plan. We should approach this with the utmost care.”

Corlys nodded and burned the letter in the candle flame. “I’ll have one of the Tide Guard carry our reply to her. If necessary he can be our envoy as well, and handle any further negotiation on our behalf.”

She raised an eyebrow. “In disguise I hope?”

Corlys laughed. “Obviously my dear. The Tide Guard are not defined by their distinctive blue armor and eye-catching sea-green cloaks. That is merely their uniform, and a proud one. What defines our Tide Guard most is their loyalty and their discretion. Their ability to keep our secrets and carry them on our behalf. They would kill for us, and they would die for us. I trust every member of that guard implicitly.”

Viserra was satisfied. Corlys was right. She had seen the Tide Guard’s loyalty in action many times before. Her husband knew the names of many of them personally, and Viserra had striven to match him there. It was the least they deserved from them. The Tide Guard was exceedingly devoted to them. They were zealous, devoutly loyal, and enthusiastic in their duties. As fine a regiment as her father’s Kingsguard. Yes, their most loyal and capable guards could certainly be trusted for a mission like this.

She sensed that Corlys wished her to stay a little longer, but she had to go. Their duties called. Apologetically, she pulled away from him and walked toward the door. “I’ll arrange for dinner now Corlys. I’ll see you there.”

He nodded. “See you later darling.”

______________________________________________________

Later that same day, Viserra had finally finished with her duties for the day. Immediately after leaving Corlys’s solar, she had arranged for their dinner with the servants, tracked down Rhaekar and convinced him to come for dinner, and then had a rushed luncheon before cramming in as much work as she could into her afternoon. All in all, a pretty typical day in her life right now.

As she walked to the private dining room that had been reserved for their use, Viserra noticed one of the servants leaving the room humbly. He had the look of a Westerosi, tall and pale-skinned. She would admit to feeling pleased about that. Driftmarkers were more trustworthy than anyone else in this city.

“Princess.” He bowed, noticing her presence.

“Well met good man. Are you our waiter for the evening?” Viserra asked kindly. She could not place the man’s name, though she could swear she had seen his face before. She tried to memorize the names and faces of every single one of her servants, but when she was served by hundreds or even thousands of people, that was no easy task.

Growing up, her mother had impressed upon all her children the need to treat their servants with respect. Viserra hadn’t fully understood that until she had visited Driftmark for the first time. The loyalty one could accrue was incredible, just a few simple words remembering a man’s name and asking after his wife, and his sword would be yours forever.

To think, so often all that was needed to earn loyalty was to be polite and show basic respect to everyone. Of course, it was easier to give respect to those who gave it back. The servant was not wanting in that aspect. It was more than what many of the Towers gave her.

“No my princess. I was simply told to bring the wine. Another servant will be waiting on you this evening,” the servant explained, his head still bowed in respect.

“Very well then. You may go. Have a good evening.”

“You as well Princess. Thank you,” he said respectfully before walking off. As he did, Viserra noticed that he had a strange birthmark or a scar perhaps, near the jaw on his left cheek. It somewhat resembled a fiery heart. How peculiar.

Taking the last few steps, Viserra opened the door, nodding to the Tide Guard beside it, and stepped into the room. A moderately large round table had been luxuriously prepared. A finely dyed velvet tablecloth was draped over the table, which had a smooth pale stone top, carved from a single piece, and resting on an ironwood support and legs. Exquisite, such casual displays of wealth were strewn all over Tyrosh, and back home on Driftmark. It would be a dark day indeed if their wealth should decline so far that even these small luxuries would be denied to them.

She sighed as she noticed her husband sitting at the table nervously. His brother was opposite him, looking rather grumpy, like he’d rather be anywhere else. Must she do everything?

Viserra took her seat beside Corlys, and called for the food to be brought out. The waiter came out and laid their meal before them. A creamy and tarragon chicken, alongside roast beef, and stir-fried vegetables. All exquisitely flavored with spice. A rather small victory they still had over King’s Landing in these times, but Viserra would take it.

Almost immediately, Rhaekar started eating. He took a knife and started cutting his chicken and his beef, and eating them. He seemed to be ignoring them. Viserra sighed. Was Rhaekar trying to be clever here and taking her at her word to have dinner with them?

The waiter came by and poured some wine into their cups, Myrish glasses, perhaps the last of their kind given the unrest in that city. Corlys thanked the waiter before turning to Rhaekar and trying to speak to him.

“Rhaekar I… I wanted to say…” Corlys said before he looked at his brother, stopping short. Rhaekar continued eating his food, completely ignoring him.

“Oh for gods’ sake Rhaekar. You’re a grown man. Act like it. This is your lord and elder brother. I asked you to have dinner with us so you can talk to him not ignore him as you scarf down your food,” Viserra said, disappointed in Rhaekar’s pettiness.

He sighed and took a deep sip from his wine glass. “I’m listening… but this is good food, might be the last spices we have for quite some time. Can’t let it go to waste. Let’s talk as we eat.”

Viserra sighed. Corlys shrugged and made to take a sip from his own wine glass. Viserra stopped him.

“What? He’s drinking already!” he demanded, gesturing to Rhaekar with his chin, who was happily eating his beef and sipping his wine with it.

“Rhaekar is trying to get himself drunk. And if both of you are, this conversation will be pointless. Say your part to him first, and then you can drink.”

Corlys scoffed. “Fine,” he said as he begrudgingly set down his glass. With nowhere else to run, Corlys looked at his brother and sighed before he spoke. “I’m sorry Rhaekar.”

Rhaekar it seemed did not hear him. Frustrated, Corlys said it again, louder. “I said I’m sorry Rhaekar! I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to us! That we have lost Velos and so much else, that Driftmark’s splendor will be dimmed. And I’m sorry for my part in that. I made a mistake, I miscalculated. I assumed too much… and we are paying the price. Happy now?”

Rhaekar finally looked up. “I almost can’t believe it,” he said, surprise writ all over his face. “It must be the first time I’ve heard you apologize to me in a long, long time.”

Despite himself, Corlys smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh I’m savoring it, that’s for sure,” Rhaekar smiled before his smile died. “But does it matter?” You’ve apologized for getting us into this mess. What use is it if we can’t get out?” he asked, despondent.

“That may not be completely true Rhaekar,” Viserra assured. “My sister Saera has written to us, proposing a deal to trade with Driftmark in secret, taking advantage of her supposed reconciliation with our father to avoid suspicion. It could do much to help sustain Driftmark through the worst of this crisis. And with those funds freed up, we could put them to use paying for our occupation here in Tyrosh. Velos is a blow, a grievous one, but it need not be mortal.”

Rhaekar was pensive. “You know – “ He coughed suddenly, interrupting his words. He took another deep sip of wine to clear his throat before he continued. “That might actually work. I’ll have to, kof, run the calculations, but it could work.”

“You could run them on Driftmark itself,” Corlys said with a pleased smile. “Viserra and I were thinking, that once Aurane comes – and he is coming, you were just too angry to read his letter – that you could return to Driftmark in his place, take a break from all the troubles in Tyrosh, see Irina and Vaemond and Vaella again, maybe write us a letter on how Jace and Luke and everyone else are doing. You could oversee everything that needs to be done on Driftmark, as you always have. Do your best in preserving our grandfather’s legacy while the rest of us work here to continue it.”

“That, kof, would be kof, nice,” Rhaekar sputtered out, his words broken by a sudden coughing fit as he stood up and hacked his lungs away onto the floor.

Viserra and Corlys rose from their seats. “Are you alright Rhaekar?” she asked, concerned.

“I’m, kof, fine,” he said, picking up his glass. “Just feeling like there’s kof kof, like there’s something in my throat. I, kof, I can’t, kof…” Rhaekar’s expression was growing panicked now.

The glass slipped from his hands and fell to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. Dark purple wine was sent running across the varnish. The doors immediately burst open as the Tide Guard rushed into the room, hearing the breaking glass, but there was naught they could do.

“He’s choking!” Viserra said, distressed as she ran to her friend and desperately began pounding him on the back. Rhaekar was so desperate to breathe, he had fallen onto the floor, and cut his hands on the glass shards of his cup. His blood began to gush out and mix with the spilt wine.

“Guards!” Corlys shouted. “Bring the Maester quick!”

One of the guards ran off as fast as he could, the other stayed beside Corlys as he ran toward his choking brother. Rhaekar’s hand’s slipped on the glass shards and wine and he fell onto the ground on his side.

Corlys rushed to his side and helped Viserra turn him over onto his back, ripping the collar of his shirt open. Viserra had been kneeling on the ground as she had tried desperately to help Rhaekar. Her beautiful sea-green dress was stained with blood and wine.

Rhaekar began convulsing, his legs flying wildly, his body thrashing around as his fingers clawed at his throat desperately, his nails tearing gashes in the flesh. Blood began to ooze from his self-inflicted wounds. It was red, so red. Like a rose in a garden.

“Rhaekar! Rhaekar stop!” Viserra begged him, but he did not listen. His indigo eyes were full of fear and pain as he desperately gouged at his throat and tried to breathe. His face was beginning to turn purple now. Saliva and vomit oozing from his mouth.

Thinking quickly, the Tide Guard had taken one of the spoons from the table. Laying by Rhaekar’s head, he and Corlys hurriedly pried his mouth open and forced it down Rhaekar’s throat desperately, either to try and dislodge whatever was choking him, or help him breathe. To no avail.

A desperate wheezing cry sounded from Rhaekar then, the sound of air being desperately sucked through too narrow a gap. And then it stopped. The thrashing subsided, Rhaekar’s fingers froze in place, never to move again. His body was still and his eyes were unseeing.

Viserra barely remembered the next few moments. It was like a dream, or rather a nightmare. Her blood and wine-stained hands touched her face, and she was surprised to find her face was wet. Oh. I’m crying. The realization did not stop the tears. It only made them flow more. Like a river that would not run dry.

The Tide Guard reluctantly pulled the spoon out of Rhaekar’s mouth, his face full of shame and failure. Corlys took his brother’s body into his arms. His hands and entire body trembled, his face full of anguish and grief as he looked into those cold unseeing eyes, so very much like his own. And then he screamed and Viserra’s heart shattered even more to hear the agony in his rage. Corlys’s scream was like the wail of a wounded animal, guttural and broken. It was the cry of a man who had lost everything.

Anguish became anger. Corlys rose to his feet and barked orders to their guard furiously, but Viserra did not hear them, or rather she could not understand them. Her mind was in a daze. The world her eyes saw felt distant from the world her mind felt. She knew she had to move now, there were things that had to be done, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even lift a finger. Her mind wouldn’t even think.

She did not know how long she was in that daze. Time felt like an eternity and an instant all at once. When she came to, Corlys was shaking her desperately, calling her name. The guard was gone, off to carry out his lord’s bidding. Rhaekar’s body was gone as well. Where had it gone?

“Viserra please!” Corlys begged.

“I’m here,” she said, and her own voice sounded strange to her now. It was too calm, too relaxed. It shouldn’t be right? It should be full of anguish, full of pain, and grief, and rage. Why wasn’t it??

“You’re in shock,” Corlys explained before taking her into his arms, not caring at all that the stains of blood and wine that had soaked into her dress would dirty his doublet as well. He hugged her tightly, needily, almost painfully.

“Don’t touch the wine. It’s poisoned. Better not eat the food either. Once you recover, I’ll take you to wash up. We better not take any risks,” Corlys instructed her.

Viserra’s mind slowly began to work again as his thoughts sank in. “Poison?” she asked, stunned. Her mind was racing. Who… who would even dare?

“Yes. There’s no doubt in my mind, and once Maester Desmond confirms it, I swear to you Viserra, I will make whoever is responsible for this pay. They will die in pain like Rhaekar did, begging for our mercy, and they will have none!”

There was anger in Corlys’s eyes, rage and grief and the vindictive promise of vengeance all at once. Viserra felt none of it right now. That would come later. For now, she lost herself in Corlys’s indigo eyes, so full of fury, so alive. So unlike Rhaekar’s dead unseeing eyes. The same exact shade and shape, unmoving and still. It would haunt her dreams tonight, and every night hence.

Pitiful sad wails tore their way out of her throat and Viserra broke down into tears again. Corlys held her as she sobbed. Nestled her face in his breast as he wept with her. Their tears joined the blood, wine, and poison on the floor.

Chapter 27: The King and His Ghosts

Chapter Text

Second Moon, 91 AC

Jaehaerys

Whenever Jaehaerys made a decision he was unsure of, he found himself wondering what his elder brothers would have done in his place. His father Aenys had been a weak pathetic man who failed them all with his indecisiveness and mewling weakness. His uncle Maegor had been a cruel tyrant and kinslayer. Jaehaerys hated them both. They were unworthy kings and even less worthy men.

No, it was not Aenys and Maegor that Jaehaerys looked up to. It was not even his grandfather, the Conqueror, who had become a broken man after his grandmother died in Dorne and failed to do so many things he should have done, things Jaehaerys had been forced to do in his place. It was his brothers, Aegon and Viserys.

Aegon the Uncrowned the singers called him and the maesters wrote in their histories. To Jaehaerys he had only ever been his elder brother. In his memories he was lean and handsome, and strong. He towered over Jaehaerys always, for all that he knew he had grown greater in stature than his elder brother long ago. Six and ten, barely a man grown and gone. Viserys had died even younger. And yet they remained so large in his memories.

Jaehaerys was born the third son. Sometimes he felt like a pretender, a fake. He was never meant to be King. That was Aegon’s birthright, and Viserys was to be his Hand. What era would his elder brothers have ushered in? What would their reign have been like? Would they have made the laws he had? Make the decisions he had? Suffer the losses he had endured? Jaehaerys did not know.

Maegor had killed them both. He had torn Aegon and his dragon apart with the Black Dread. He had tortured Viserys for nine days until he had died from the pain, too broken to even scream anymore. He would never know what his brothers would have done in his place. All that remained of them were the ghosts in his memories, haunting every choice, every path he took.

“Lord Redwyne, are the fleets in position?” his eldest son asked his new Master of Ships.

“The fleets from the west have arrived in Veil my prince. Lannister, Hightower, and of course, Redwyne. Lord Baratheon was wise to secure the island ahead of time and his doing so alone with only a small fleet of fishing boats is commendable. The royal fleet and its auxiliaries from the eastern coast are moored at Estermont and are ready to sail at a moment’s notice. Unfortunately, House Velaryon has rejected all requests to moor ships at Bloodstone and without a royal decree, I cannot send any of our ships to moor there.” Lord Robert answered.

He was a good man, and son of one too. He had been a captain in the Watch for many years before his father had resigned, and Jaehaerys had been glad to have his service once again.

“Not that our ships would be safe in Velaryon lands anyway,” Aemon shook his head. “Still, the rest of these tidings bode well. The treasury is in order. Our coffers are ready and full for the campaign to begin Your Grace,” Aemon reported, turning to address him.

Jaehaerys’s eyes flitted over to his son. His eldest. His brother Baelon was on his right and his daughter Rhaenys on his left. They had had their disagreements, but Jaehaerys would always be immeasurably proud of Aemon. He would be a fine king, and with Baelon at his side as Hand one day, they would bring Westeros into a new era of peace and prosperity, and raise their house to new heights of greatness. Jaehaerys had no doubt of that.

In his mind’s eye, he saw the spirit and memory of his elder brothers in his eldest boys, his pride and joy. Yes, Aemon and Baelon will bring glory to their house. His succession and legacy would be secure for one more generation at least. The generation after that… his eyes dwelt on Rhaenys, sharing her father’s pale violet eyes, he was less sure.

“Good work Aemon. You have adjusted well to your new position,” he praised his son and heir.

Aemon bowed his head in gratitude, a pleased though small smile on his face.

Looking over the rest of his council and down at the map below, Jaehaerys felt approving of the preparations. The time had come. He had never thought he would have to conquer the Stepstones again, but fate had willed that he must, and he would.

“Lord Robert, give the order to the fleets gathered to begin their landings in the rest of the archipelago. The houses granted each island are to have the honor of leading the vanguard taking that island. My family and I will ride on the morrow to provide aid,” Jaehaerys commanded.

He looked over at his family members in attendance and saw their nods of approval and obedience, though it was perhaps reluctant in one or two. His wayward daughter Viserra had gained world renown for her feats atop her dragon. Viserra however, had but one dragon. Her sons’ dragons were hatchlings and neither they or their dragons would be fit for battle for at least another fifteen years. Jaehaerys commanded six.

All the dragonriders at House Targaryen’s disposal would take part in this second war for the Stepstones. A show of force to the world and to the rebellious Velaryons in nearby Tyrosh. A reminder that it was they and not them who were the last of the Forty. They and not them were the last true dragonlords in the world.

He would ride Vermithor of course, his beloved Bronze Fury had never failed him, and he did not expect him to now. His sons would follow him as they always had, riding the fierce Blood Wyrm, Caraxes, and the mighty Vhagar. And for the first time, Alysanne, Alyssa, and Rhaenys would as well. The latter two were in attendance at today’s Small Council meeting because of it.

Jaehaerys was still unsure of that. War was a savage and vicious thing, not at all the glorious and heroic struggle the tales spoke of. It was cruel and brutal, and not something he had ever wanted the gentler members of the family subject to. He had seen what the result of that could lead to. Still they had volunteered and their house sorely needed more dragons on the battlefield to make their power clear.

Alysanne’s sleek Silverwing and Rhaenys’s swift Red Queen, Meleys, were built for speed, and would be ideal for protecting his fleets and patrolling behind in safer territories. Alysanne and Rhaenys could both contribute to the war effort from a safe distance, be seen by the men and boost morale, but never be in any true danger. It was Alyssa and the Black Dread that gave him pause.

The Black Dread was a monster. Born and bred for one thing, and one thing only. To destroy. He had been much displeased to hear Alyssa had claimed Balerion all those years ago. Jaehaerys had instructed the Dragonkeepers to dissuade her, hoping the promise of thrilling speed on Meleys would convince her, but she had not been convinced and had claimed Balerion anyway. It was not an unworthy dragon for her, but every time he saw him fly, a corner of his mind dreaded that he would see the Cruel riding and not his daughter.

He would have to consider how best to use Balerion in this coming fight. Alyssa was not Alysanne or Rhaenys. When she shook off the melancholy that clung to her bones, the fierce and daring brave woman she once was came charging to the fore, and Balerion was all too eager to obey her commands. Even in his old age, his black breath still burned hot.

As the rest of the council continued deliberating and planning the campaign, Jaehaerys looked askance at the empty seat. It was not like Lord Qoherys to be late. His Master of Whisperers was loyal and dedicated to his duties, attending every meeting faithfully but he also knew his allegiance was torn as of late.

Quentyn’s only daughter Laena had been affected deeply by the new laws and tariffs. Her new house by marriage, House Celtigar, was notoriously close to the Velaryons and still refused to break that alliance. They had suffered for it. Laena Celtigar had written many desperate letters begging her father to speak on their behalf and he had. Jaehaerys had turned him down every time. Gently; he too knew a father’s love.

His beloved Alysanne had given him six sons and seven daughters. Tragically, Aegon, Gaemon, and Valerion had all died in the cradle. Raising the three that remained however had been easy. Aemon and Baelon were his pride and joy, and Vaegon, though a difficult child, Jaehaerys had finally been able to find what made him happy and gave it to him. A life as a Maester.

But his daughters? Sometimes he wondered if Barth was right when he said he found roads easier than daughters. Jaehaerys knew how to build, how to bring order. Prepare the routes for your roads, hire the workers, choose the material to build the road, ensure it had funding. Daughters were complex, emotional, and messy.

Daenerys… even now his heart clenched to remember his eldest daughter. She had been the apple in Alysanne’s eye… and his as well if he was being honest. Gone too soon. Alyssa, wild and brave, had half raised herself, chasing after Aemon and Baelon. Maegelle had been simple enough as well, giving her a prayer book and letting her spend an afternoon at the castle sept had always seemed to be enough.

After Maegelle however, things became less simple. Daella had been complicated, a shy and timid girl scared of her own shadow, unable to even read. Jaehaerys had loved her dearly, wanted to shelter and protect her against the world forever, but he knew as all fathers did, that one day that duty would go to another man.

He had despaired at Daella ever finding a husband with her… weaknesses… but Alysanne had reminded him of her friendship with Lord Rodrik’s son and hope had shone its light on him. Jasper Arryn had been exceedingly good for Daella, and Jaehaerys had been immeasurably surprised at her transformation into the confident and proud Lady of the Vale and proud. So very proud. Despite the rough beginning, Daella had found her happy ending and he was glad for her.

Then there was Saera. Parents were not meant to play favorites but they all had them if they were honest. Aegon had been his father’s and he himself had been his mother’s. Aemon and Baelon were his favorite sons and he was immeasurably proud of them, but there had been a time Jaehaerys had wondered if Saera might be his favorite child of all.

She was so much like him. Clever, cunning. Manipulative and sly too, and he knew where she got that from, loath as he was to admit it. He remembered fondly even now. Saera would sit on his lap or by his side on his solar, chat away at him as he worked. Begging for favors or sweets with an adorable smile and endearing eyes, so very familiar eyes. He knew them well. He saw them each time he looked in a vanity.

Her betrayal… it had hurt him more than he had wanted to admit. She had abused his trust and his favor, whor*d herself out and lied to his face. And then she had dared to think herself Maegor come again and take three husbands. Perhaps he might have been gentler with her if she had likened herself to Floris the Fox instead.

He had been so furious with her and before his anger could cool, she had remained defiant and blatant, openly disobeying him in court and making him look weak. Jaehaerys could not have ever stood for that. He had made many mistakes throughout his life, questioned his decisions many times, but he had never been weak. Aenys had been weak. He was no Aenys.

Yet still, he regretted the severity of his punishment to her. For so many years he had resisted Alysanne’s rather unsubtle attempts to convince him to summon her back and make peace with her. His anger had not cooled, his wrath remained. Recent events had made him reconsider that and he was glad for it.

He was glad to have Saera back but it still hurt, to know that it would never be as it once was. The little girl who had sat on his lap was gone and it was by his own hands. Yet even this pale shadow of what their relationship had once been was enough to console his heart.

But Jaehaerys was honest enough with himself to admit the truth. His anger had only cooled toward Saera because he had found a new daughter to be angry with. He had reconciled with Saera and given her so much not only because he had wanted his daughter back, but also because as King he had known Maidenpool would be key in aiding him against the Velaryons.

The Velaryons… where to even start with them? An old and proud house that had historically been the most loyal and trusted vassals of his own. Kin in more ways than one. The sister of the first Daemon Velaryon had mothered the Conqueror. The sister of the second had mothered Jaehaerys and his siblings. Velaryon blood ran in his veins and his wife’s and children’s as surely as his blood now ran in the veins of the next Lord of the Tides, his grandson Jacaerys. And yet they were at odds.

Jaehaerys had a long and troubled relationship with the Velaryons. His mother Alyssa had been a proud Velaryon to the end of her days, and had always been close to her brother Daemon. Daemon had been Jaehaerys’s first true Hand after Rogar Baratheon, the first he had truly approved of. He was his own uncle after all. It was natural.

But time revealed all secrets, and it eventually became known to Jaehaerys what exactly his uncle had done when he served Maegor. Things his mother had conspired to hide from him. His uncle Daemon could have saved Viserys from his torture and he did nothing. He told Maegor to take Rhaena and marry her; suggested to a tyrant to rape his own niece. How his mother had forgiven him for that, Jaehaerys had never understood, and it had shattered his faith in his uncle completely.

Despite his own Velaryon blood, House Velaryon had seemed so unreliable to him then. Its lord was a traitor who had served the usurper, stood by and watched as his brothers died, advised to the usurper to take his own sister and rape her for the sake of peace. And Daemon’s sister? She had betrayed him also. His own mother. She had married Rogar Baratheon without his leave, a man he had little approved of, and conspired with him to deny him Alysanne, his love.

Jaehaerys had been left betrayed, the one house he had thought would never turn its back on him had betrayed him. Treacherous snakes and traitors. Ties of kinship alone had spared them. He could not move against his own mother and uncle. Once his mother had died, Daemon had been wise enough to resign as Hand, and that had been the end of it. It should have been the end of it.

Instead, House Velaryon had risen again, stronger than ever before. Daemon’s grandson had proven to be a genius prodigy and soon King’s Landing was filled with the tales of Driftmark and its adventurous Sea Snake. The wealth of House Velaryon had swelled so great men claimed it eclipsed the Lannisters and fables of High Tide and its silver towers and the wonders of Spicetown were all the talk in court. When his uncle had finally died, Jaehaerys had finally visited Driftmark for himself again, to take a measure of this legendary new lord and his seat.

What he had found, had exceeded his wildest expectations. Every fable and rumor had been true. Spicetown was a clean and orderly city, sweet smelling and pleasant, so unlike the stench of King’s Landing he despised. It had luxury and wealth aplenty. Spices and silks and all other exotic treasure imaginable could be found in its wares and there it was in the distance. Rising like a spike of pearl, a beautiful castle stood atop a hill and cliffs on an islet at high tide, connected only by a narrow causeway to the rest of the island.

It was more than he could have imagined and he had been jealous yes. What had the Velaryons done to deserve that? Why was it them and not his house who had such a beautiful city? It had fueled Jaehaerys’s resentment and ambition. He would recruit Lord Corlys, reward him for his talents, and hope to learn his methods to use them to rebuild King’s Landing into a true bastion of civilization.

Corlys Velaryon… Jaehaerys had respected him, admired him even. A man he was once proud to call goodson. He had given him his daughter as bride, a lordship, a governorate, a charter. He had given and promised Corlys Velaryon so very many things.

He was the image of his grandfather and it had been hard for Jaehaerys to not think of him as such. Still he had striven to treat him as his own person. In the time Corlys had served as his Master of Ships, he had built an amiable relationship with him and found that he had been loyal, or had at least appeared to be. He had given him the benefit of the doubt and kept his worries about his ambition to himself.

Perhaps he had handled the Stepstones wrong, perhaps he should have given the Lord Paramountcy as Corlys had believed he would. It was moot now. He had decided otherwise while keeping within the boundaries of his promise and Corlys had lashed out. Like an angry child throwing a temper tantrum. His every concern about his ambition had been proven right in an instant but even Jaehaerys had not thought him to be so daring. So blatant in his flouting of every rule and tradition they had. What vassal thought they could make themselves king in all but name and not be punished? It was a direct challenge to the authority and legitimacy of House Targaryen and it could not stand.

Corlys was not his grandfather, he was not as unworthy and unreliable as Daemon had been. He was even more so. A dangerous power hungry man with aspirations beyond his place and delusions of grandeur. And to his shame, Jaehaerys had given him exactly what he needed to fulfill them.

When Viserra had claimed Dreamfyre, Jaehaerys hadn’t known what to do. He had weighed his options and found them all wanting. He had thought that Corlys, a man he had come to know and even like personally, might be trusted with a dragon. He had been wrong of course, but at the time the person he had judged more dangerous with a dragon was Viserra herself not Corlys.

Oh Viserra. Vain and sly, beautiful and daring. So very much like Saera. For the very same reasons Jaehaerys had favored Saera, had he kept Viserra at a distance, knowing what it had led to for her older sister.

Viserra had dared, she had dared to do what even Saera had shied from. She had stolen into the Pit and taken a dragon for her own. Jaehaerys had been furious at sher blatant disobedience and audacity, yet a small part of him had been proud as well to see her standing there so defiantly like a true Targaryen.

Too true. The Sea Dragon riding the Blue Queen, Butcher of Bloodstone, Conqueror of Tyrosh, Bane of the Triarchy; Viserra had earned many accolades. She was perhaps the most accomplished dragonrider in recent history and therein lied the problem. Jaehaerys could not help but see the similarity between her and Visenya.

Two capable dragonriders who felt their sons cheated of something that was never theirs. Two dangerous schemers and plotters. Would Jacaerys and Lucerys be the next Maegor? Would they rise in rebellion in thirty years and either topple his house or wreak havoc on the realm in their bloody defeat? With Viserra whispering in their ears all along about how the Targaryens had stolen what was theirs? Teaching them how to ride dragons to war and slaughter kin?

Jaehaerys had feared this ever since he had given Viserra’s hand to Corlys, and his fears had only grown since. The eggs had hatched for his grandsons in the cradle, ensuring House Velaryon’s future as dragonriders. Viserra had proven herself far too capable and Corlys far too ambitious and dangerous. Both had lashed out dangerously when denied a prize too great for their grasping hands and had resorted to the extreme.

Love had stayed Jaehaerys’s hand then. Love for his daughter, and his grandsons. He should have destroyed the Velaryons the moment they had dared to proclaim the Sea Snake Archon of Tyrosh but he couldn’t, he had tried. His heart had failed him even though his mind knew what had to be done.

They were his own blood, his flesh, his descendants. Even now he could not stop himself from feeling pride in them, in what they had accomplished, it was truly extraordinary no matter his thoughts as King. As father and grandfather, he could not help it but feel proud. He would not, could not slay them. He would do whatever he could to avoid war with them.

But he knew in his heart, unless he could bring the Velaryons into line, war was inevitable. In thirty years how many dragons might the Velaryons have? Six? Ten? Viserra would have more children, that was for sure, and Dreamfyre was a very fertile dragon. Every single one of Viserra’s children would have dragons and when they were all grown, Jaehaerys feared for the future of both their houses.

Long ago he had played two chess matches with Lord Corlys; both had ended in a draw. This was their third game and Jaehaerys had to win this time. No more draws. His sanctions had to break them now, make them give in before it was too late. He had placed them in check. He had taken almost every step he could to ensure they would break.

One still awaited his decision. He knew that no matter what he did, the Velaryons would recover soon enough from even what he had done in Westeros, so long as their trade routes to Yi Ti remained intact. This could be averted quite easily if he reached out to the masters of Slaver’s Bay and promised his support of an attack on the Velaryon outpost at Velos. It was harbouring escaped slaves, and it was a crucial waypoint in the Velaryon trade routes to the Far East. Yet, Jaehaerys was still hesitant. Consorting with slavers to attack his vassal, if only indirectly, was a dangerous step to take and not one that would reflect well on him if it was ever discovered.

He would have to consider it more, and in the meantime he would wait and hope that it was not necessary. Even the vaunted fortune of House Velaryon must surely be depleting soon. Their allies in Westeros were suffering, Driftmark was dying, and Tyrosh remained resistant and unproductive. Surely they must see sense soon and return to beg his clemency?

He would grant it to them for sure. He was the Conciliator after all and they were his kin. He would take Jacaerys and Lucerys as his wards, they would be safe with family in King’s Landing and they could be raised loyal and true. Corlys would be humbled and Viserra restrained and left to stew on Driftmark which would be restored and the sanctions lifted as a show of goodwill. Perhaps in time they might even be reconciled with him.

A small trace of doubt nibbled at his mind, insisting that there was another way to do this. A better way, but he squashed it. He could not question himself now. If he looked back, he was lost.

Jaehaerys sighed. Daughters were so difficult. He had been lucky with Maegelle and Alyssa. Daella, Saera, and Viserra had given him such headaches, he could only hope Gael would prove to be like the former two and not the latter three.

Alyssa had already proposed marrying Gael to her son Daemon. It was a fine match and he saw no problem with it at all. The two were close and it would keep Gael in the family, allow her to claim a dragon with little risk, and help them keep the advantage over the Velaryons. With any luck, Gael would be happily and simply married to Daemon and he would not have to worry over her giving him any problems.

He had spent too much time in his thoughts by now. A habit of brooding Alysanne often complained about. He shook his head and sought to pay attention to the meeting once more, finding himself pleased with the progress made in the planning of the campaign. At this rate, they would be able to depart on the morrow to bring the Stepstones back into the fold and the rigors of war would keep his worries away from his mind for a time.

Lord Quentyn was still late however and Jaehaerys was much disturbed by this. It was not like him at all to be late to a meeting and they had dire need of the information the Qoherys lord provided to plan their campaign.

He was about to raise the matter to the Council when Lord Qoherys came bursting into the room. “Your Grace, please forgive my tardiness! I was speaking to an informant of mine who gave me important tidings. I rushed here immediately to relate it to you and this council,” he said worriedly.

“You are forgiven my lord,” Jaehaerys reassured him. “Please, tell us your tidings.”

“I have received word that the Velaryon outpost in the Isle of Cedars has fallen. The cities of Astapor, Yunkai, Meereen, and New Ghis conspired to attack and sack the town of Velos together. The governor, Lord Corlys’s cousin, is missing, and presumed dead.”

“That… that is news indeed. What is the status of the island?” Jaehaerys asked. This was a surprise indeed, but perhaps a welcome one. He had known in his heart that it had to be done but he had been reluctant to take such a drastic step. It turns out he wouldn’t have to. The slavers had been far too eager and excited to see the Velaryons fall and had done it without him entirely.

“The town of Velos has been burned to the ground and whatever few survivors there were made their way to Tyrosh to join the Velaryons there. However, the Slaver Cities cannot decide who should have the island and have begun squabbling amongst each other now. I believe it likely that it will be left to the wilds once again, as it was before the Sea Snake founded the outpost.”

Jaehaerys nodded. It was a shame that so many good Westerosi men had to die in a foreign land for their lord’s ego, but thankfully, their deaths were not on his hands, only the slavers. It was distasteful, but perhaps their deaths might even have meaning for his plans. Velos had fallen and the trade routes to the east with it. The pressure on House Velaryon had increased tenfold. Jaehaerys could feel it in his bones, they would break soon enough.

“This was not all you had to say was it?” Alysanne demanded of the Qoherys lord with narrowed eyes.

Lord Quentyn shook his head and shuffled nervously. He glanced around the room hurriedly before he spoke again. “Ser Rhaekar Velaryon is dead.”

Jaehaerys was confused. “How did this happen?”

“Poison, Your Grace. The ser was having dinner with his brother Lord Corlys and Princess Viserra. By some fortunate happenstance, only Ser Rhaekar ingested the poison and perished. The Princess and her husband survived unscathed with the Seven’s grace alone.”

At that the mood in the room darkened. Everyone looked concerned. Jaehaerys’s eyes found his family members, his wife and children and saw them all to be gravely troubled and worried.

All his thoughts about Velos were inconsequential now. His daughter had almost died. If she had, his grandsons would have been orphaned. House Velaryon would have been left leaderless and he would have won… but at what cost? Viserra would be dead. Dead without ever having reconciled with her family. She would be gone and he would never ever see her again.

“Who was responsible for this?” he demanded, his voice cold and stern. His fists clenched in anger as his rage grew.

“Unknown,” Qoherys reported. “The Sea Snake is tearing through Tyrosh as we speak hunting for the culprits. I suspect it was elements of the city’s former nobility and elites who had reasons to dislike the Velaryons and their rule.”

“Do you suspect possible connections to any Westerosi?” Jaehaerys asked. His eyes flitted over to Robert Redwyne who seemed to be visibly protesting the subtle accusation.

“No, Your Grace. I do not believe so. No Westerosi house has the resources to assassinate anyone in Tyrosh at present. I truly believe someone local is responsible,” Lord Quentyn answered.

“Investigate nonetheless. There are many in Westeros who may desire them dead as well and if any are found to be responsible or connected in any way, their heads will roll,” Jaehaerys said, watching Lord Robert quail under his gaze.

“Estranged or not, Viserra is still my daughter, my blood. Any cur who dares to lay their hands upon the Blood of the Dragon shall suffer for it,” he proclaimed to the loud approval of his children.

Alysanne however had other ideas. “Why not bring her home then?” she asked.

Jaehaerys looked to her and saw her, truly saw her. Alysanne was tired. She had aged swiftly these past few years. This feud with the Velaryons had not been kind to her and she had been in a state of near constant worry and concern since it had begun. She had begrudgingly backed Jaehaerys’s actions after Tyrosh but she had never stopped berating him for, in her eyes, beginning the whole feud with the debacle concerning the Stepstones.

Now his tired and exhausted wife turned her eyes on him. The once vibrant blue had dulled, full of grief and despair. This latest crisis had worn on her further and it broke his heart to see it.

“Jaehaerys, it is time to bring our daughter home,” she declared in their mother tongue.

It was tempting. So very tempting. To just let go. To stop being the King for once and be a father first. He wanted to bring his daughter home, assure himself that she was well, that she was alive, that she was safe.

Alysanne’s next words dripped like honey, luring him in. “We could reconcile with her. They can keep Tyrosh and the Archonate if they would only swear fealty to us. The Stepstones would stay with Otto Hightower and the Master of Ships with Lord Robert. Nothing need change there. We could lift our sanctions and restore Driftmark. We could have peace Jae.”

Was it possible? Was such a thing even meant to be? Jaehaerys did not know. It was so tempting to think that reconciling with Viserra might still be possible even now. He was afraid to even reach for it. Afraid to even hope for such a dream.

Robert Redwyne ruined the moment. “Your Grace, please forgive me for interrupting, but I must counsel against this,” he said in Common.

The dream began to die before his eyes. Of course their conversation was not as private as he had hoped. The Small Council was made up of some of the most educated men in Westeros. They of all people would be able to glean a general understanding of his conversation with his wife in High Valyrian.

His annoyance at the interruption grew, but still Redwyne did not stop. He dug his own grave deeper and deeper. “I have a daughter myself Your Grace, if anything happened to her, I would be at her side immediately if I could be, but the needs of the realm outweigh my needs as a father. House Velaryon’s misdeeds stand. Their occupation of Tyrosh is illegal, and was never recognized by the Iron Throne. They continue to obstruct our attempts to bring order to the Stepstones. They must be reminded of their place. To forgive them now would show the realm that House Targaryen does not abide by its decisions. It would be a sign of… it would not be showing strength.”

Noticing the glares of the Targaryens, Redwyne began to tremble in fear. Every one of them present stared at him, daring him to say another word. If looks could kill, Redwyne would be burning in the seven hells. He might find his way there soon anyway if he did not watch his next words carefully.

“Redwyne, do you think that your past and current service to my family allows you to dictate to the royal house what should and should not be done?” Alyssa demanded.

“N-no Princess. I…I live to serve House Targaryen. When His Grace appointed me his Master of Ships, he asked me to always give him honest counsel, even if he did not wish to hear it. This is me keeping my oath. His Grace is a wise and virtuous king. I have faith that he will listen to my words and not judge me for them, even if he does not heed my counsel,” Robert defended himself passionately but his last words were more of a plea than a defense.

“Lord Redwyne,” Jaehaerys called out. The table was silent. You could hear a quill drop. The other members of the council shuffled awkwardly and trembled. His family members continued to glare at the audacious grape, staring him down. Alyssa even smirked.

“Tell me my lord, do you think flattery will save you?” he said mockingly, like a dragon baring his teeth.

Redwyne trembled. “No, Your Grace.”

“No indeed. You are a brave… and foolish man Lord Redwyne. One who dares to tell his king to his face that it would be unwise to reconcile with his daughter. Dares to say that he would be weak to forgive her,” his glare intensified as he stared at the now cowering Lord Redwyne, imagining how satisfying it would be to feed him to Vermithor.

But that was the thought of tyrants, of the Cruel, and Jaehaerys could not relent to it. The dragon had to be put back to rest before it destroyed everything he had worked for. His temper cooled ever so slightly as he sighed. “Fortunately for you my lord… you are also right.”

Relief spread across the face of Lord Redwyne and confusion on Alyssa’s. Aemon, Baelon, and Rhaenys were pensive, their eyes switching between Jaehaerys and his wife.

“Jaehaerys,” Alysanne warned.

“Forgive me Alysanne,” he begged her in High Valyrian. “Please. I have no choice. As much as my heart screams for me to listen to you, I am King. My duty is to the realm first and foremost. I cannot back down now.”

“Yes you can,” she insisted. “You are the dragon! Your word is truth… and law! You decide what is weak and unwise, you and no one else! This is nothing but your excuse for your own stubbornness and pride!” Alysanne roared before she rose to her feet and slammed her hands on the table hard. Her fingers turned red from the bruise.

“Damn you Jaehaerys! Damn your pride and your stubbornness! Our daughter almost died and you sit there talking to me as the King? Where is my husband!? Where is our children’s father!? What would you have even done if she had died?” she demanded.

Jaehaerys roared himself and slammed his hands on the table. “I would have burned Tyrosh to the ground. Razed every single inch of that pathetic city and wiped it from the face of the world like the filth it is! Anything to avenge our daughter!”

They glared at each other, neither one unwilling to back down. His anger cooled first however. He always hated fighting with Alysanne. She was the love of his life, his other half. It was like tearing at his own soul.

“But she needs no avenging Aly. Our little girl is still alive and well. And she still needs some humility. Perhaps this tragic incident will teach her some. My decrees stand. House Velaryon remains banished from this court unless they return to ask for my judgement and mercy. The tariffs and taxes raised on them and their allies remain in place. And no member of House Targaryen is to visit Tyrosh or Driftmark without my explicit permission.”

Alysanne glared at him. Her anger had not cooled. “The Seven Hells take your decrees Jaehaerys,” she said before she turned and walked away.

“Alysanne! Where are you going!?” he demanded.

“To see my daughter, Your Grace.”

Seemingly emboldened by her mother’s defiance, Alyssa rose to her feet and kissed Baelon tenderly. She glared at Jaehaerys furiously before following after her mother.

As they left, Jaehaerys called out to them again. “Alysanne! We have been together since we were babes. I know you as well as you know me. Right now you may think that you do not need my leave to bring her home, that you can mount Silverwing and fly to Tyrosh by yourself. What would you do then? Go to her in the Black Fortress? Do you think she will run into your arms crying and begging for forgiveness? Do you think she will be comforted by your coming? She is more like to slap you and scream at you. Has she answered even a single letter you sent her?”

Alysanne clenched her fists, frustration on her face. He was right, they both knew that.

“You want her, you need her, I hear you… but she does not want you or need you. If she did, she would have answered your letters long ago. Leave her be Alysanne. In a few years more, we might bring her back, not now.”

Aly looked up to him again. “That may be so Your Grace. Perhaps Viserra looks not for my coming and she will scorn me. Still I must go, if only to look upon her with my own eyes and know that she is alive and well.”

“Will you return to King’s Landing then? Once you have seen our daughter and confirmed her wellbeing for yourself?” Jaehaerys pleaded, hoping to salvage what he could. Deep down he was afraid Viserra might convince her mother and sister to take her side once more.

Alysanne’s next words shattered his heart. “No. No I don’t think I will. My anger with you has not abated. I will not fight your war Jaehaerys. Silverwing will not fly to the Stepstones. She will bear me to Dragonstone, and there I will remain.

“Until when?” he asked, feeling the pieces of his heart tear at his soul. It was agonizing.

“So long as you insist on maintaining this cruel battle with your own daughter,” she spat.

“And if I bid you to return before it ends?” Jaehaerys begged.

Alysanne smiled sweetly. “Make me,” she challenged before continuing on her way. Jaehaerys felt his heart shatter.

Alyssa watched her mother leave before she turned to face him. “I will return here from Tyrosh, but it is for Baelon and my sons. Not you Father,” she told him. “You will not have Balerion in the Stepstones either.”

“So be it,” he answered, too tired to argue anymore. Alyssa stormed out from the room, following after her mother.

Jaehaerys remembered then that they had an audience. He looked down at Redwyne and all the other lords and would suffer them here no more. This was a family matter. “What are you all gawking at? Out! This council is dismissed until the next meeting!”

The lords rushed to their feet and all but ran out from the room. Ser Ryam, and the other Kingsguard remained in the room, loyal as ever. The Lord Commander did not seem concerned that Jaehaerys had threatened his brother, perhaps his faith and loyalty in him was that strong. Jaehaerys appreciated it.

As Aemon and Baelon rose to their feet, Jaehaerys called to them. “Aemon, Baelon. My sons. Will you leave me also?” he asked them.

“No Father. I will not. You are my king and I am your heir. Your success is mine,” Aemon said before he walked away. His answer was curt and there was little warmth in it.

“And you Baelon?” Jaehaerys beseeched next. His second son was brave and loyal to him, but he knew how dearly he loved Alyssa and their mother.

Baelon looked torn, like his heart was being pulled apart. “I will not either Father. I will not abandon you or Aemon. But I will not abandon Alyssa or Viserra either. You should make peace with Mother as soon as possible.”

He followed his brother out, leaving Jaehaerys alone with the Kingsguard. Save one. Rhaenys was fidgeting as she approached him.

“What are you still doing here Rhaenys?” Jaehaerys asked tiredly. He was in no mood for games.

“Grandfather… I… I wanted to tell you, even if you didn’t ask me, that I won’t leave you either. I am loyal to you, and to our house,” she said with a bow.

Despite himself, Jaehaerys laughed. Rhaenys stiffened up.

“No, no. Do not be frightened dear girl. I do not mock you. I am impressed with your cunning. You approach me and pledge your loyalty when I have just been abandoned by my wife, hoping that I will think well of you and you will secure your inheritance more? Most impressive Rhaenys. Well done.”

Rhaenys rose with a cautious smile on her face from her grandfather’s praise.

“Remember my dear girl. Wise rulers know how to play the game,” Jaehaerys said, deciding to teach his granddaughter a lesson in the art of governance.

“The game Grandfather?”

“There is only one game truly worth playing. The game of thrones. The stakes are high, and the consequences for failure are dire.”

“Can you win the game then? Stop playing?” Rhaenys asked.

“The game never ends Rhaenys. Only the players do.”

She looked unnerved then, and he wondered yet again if she had the strength to rule. Still, Viserys was hardly better and both of them were young. There was time for them to learn. Together perhaps, they could do it.

“It is quite a valuable skill to be able to speak to people and turn them to your side Rhaenys,” he instructed her. “You did well to approach me as you did, though perhaps in the future, you might try being a little more… subtle. It is but one of many skills you will need to hone to rule effectively.” Jaehaerys advised.

“And will I be ruling Grandfather?” Rhaenys challenged.

“Yes. You will be. Your father will be King after me and you will be his Princess of Dragonstone, but something tells me that isn’t what you wanted to hear is it?”

Rhaenys shook her head. Jaehaerys sighed before turning to look back at the map of the Stepstones. Tyrosh was on the corner, taunting him.

“Do you know why I was hesitant on your ascension to the throne?” he asked his granddaughter.

“Because you think that men are the better rulers?” Rhaenys dared to answer.

Jaehaerys laughed again. This girl really had quite the nerve. “Not quite as simple as that my dear. While I will confess I feel men are more often than not the stronger and harder sex, more suited for ruling… I grew up at the foot of Visenya. I hated her so much, but I cannot deny that she was a very capable ruler. Perhaps if my grandsire had valued her more, things might have been different for our house. No, my concerns lie elsewhere. I took the throne before my eldest brother and sister’s daughter Aerea.”

“I know the story,” Rhaenys said, nodding.

“Then you understand the precedent that was set. Aerea may be dead but there is the worry that not following the precedent that let me inherit over her may brand our entire line usurpers.”

“We have dragons. What is there to fear?”

Jaehaerys smiled. “I think Maegor proved that dragons alone are not enough no? Power is an illusion Rhaenys, a perception that we create. The dragons help us produce that illusion but if you rule with dragons alone, you risk becoming a tyrant the realm will rise up against, like they did with Maegor. House Velaryon challenges the perception of power by which we rule. It is why I am so wroth with them, so much so that my own daughter almost dying is still not enough for me to forgive them. Not yet.”

His granddaughter was pensive now, waiting for his next words. Jaehaerys took pity on her and gave her the assurance she was looking for, cutting his lesson short.

“We will have time to continue these talks another time I suppose. For now, Rhaenys, rest assured. You will be Queen, so long as you keep to your betrothal and marry Viserys. He will be King, but consort only. Your father will see to it that you sit the Iron Throne and I do not intend to contest this. There is enough division in the family as it is.”

“Are you not still worried about breaking the precedent with Aerea?”

Jaehaerys shook his head. “That is why you are marrying Viserys. He is the next claimant in the male line. By your marriage, the male and female claims of House Targaryen will be reconciled and none will be able to gainsay your son when he ascends. His right to the throne will be uncontested and unchallengeable under any law or custom we have. It is imperative, now more than ever, that our house stands united.”

Rhaenys laughed bitterly. “Hasn’t that already failed? Grandmother and Aunt Alyssa have disobeyed you.”

“I have faith that they will see wisdom eventually… and if not… it is no matter. They are not the future Rhaenys. You are. You, Viserys, and your children. This burden is not a light one. If you want to be queen, you must be ready for it when it comes to you.”

Rhaenys nodded. “I understand. By your leave Grandfather,” she asked permission to leave.

“Go.”

Rhaenys curtseyed to him before she turned to depart. As she left, Jaehaerys called out to her. She turned around to hear his words.

“Rhaenys. You will make a fine queen,” he told her.

His granddaughter’s pale violet eyes widened before she curtseyed again and then bowed. “Thank you Grandfather.”

As Rhaenys left, Jaehaerys felt his strength crumble. Alysanne had deserted him. He had driven away most of his daughters. His sons obeyed him only out of duty now. If he could make everything right again, he would, but it was too late for that.

He could do everything, revoke all his laws, restore the Stepstones to her, recognize her husband as Archon of Tyrosh, and still Viserra would never forgive him. Perhaps one day, Aemon might be able to implement his own plan and lead them to peace that way, but for Jaehaerys only one path was left. For all his sacrifice and suffering to mean anything, he had to stay the course and hope it did not lead him to tragedy.

“Aegon, Viserys, what would you have done?” he asked aloud. The ghosts did not answer him. They never did.

Chapter 28: Into the Sea

Chapter Text

Viserra

Second Moon, 91 AC

“Maester Desmond has confirmed my suspicions. The poison was the Strangler. The symptoms match perfectly,” Corlys said as he walked into the room. His words were calm and measured, but his face gave away his anguish.

Viserra knew it was mirrored on her own. She sat on the edge of her bed, her mind brooding. “If I hadn’t stopped you from drinking the wine… you’d be dead as well,” she said, haunted by the thought.

In response, Corlys wrapped her in his arms. “I’m here. I’m alive. Feel me Viserra; feel the warmth in my blood, the beating heart in my chest. You will drive yourself mad if you think of things like that.”

“We almost died Corlys! We were so close to death! It was in our very hands!” she said, distraught.

“But we didn’t! Both of us are still here Viserra.” Corlys’s embrace on her tightened.

“It’s been a week… and it still haunts me,” she confessed. “I see it in my mind, I see it in my sleep. Rhaekar, choking to death before me. His eyes, begging, pleading for me to help him. And I freeze and do nothing. I just watch him die, over and over again!”

“It haunts my dreams as well Viserra. My little brother, dead in my arms. He’s been with me since we were babes, and now he’s gone.” She looked up and saw how tired Corlys was. Dark bags beneath his eyes and a weary face.

“Corlys… this can never happen again. We were lucky this time, and Rhaekar still died. Will we be lucky next time as well? I… I don’t feel safe here anymore.”

Before Rhaekar had died, they had decided against replacing all the staff and guards in the Black Fortress with Driftmarkers. Corlys and her had thought that keeping local Tyroshi in some capacity would have helped to make them appear as legitimately elected rulers rather than foreign conquerors. Clearly, it had been a mistake.

Even so, by their instructions, their quarters and food had been tended to only by trusted servants they had brought from Driftmark, each of whom had automatically assumed high ranks in the staff of the Archon’s Palace and the greater Black Fortress. For seven months, they had not had a single incident or assassination attempt due to that arrangement. Until now.

He nodded. “I know. I’ve already taken precautions. The kitchen staff, the waiters, the cupbearers, and the food tasters have all been secured. The Tide Guard are questioning them as we speak.”

“What have they been saying?

“Most don’t know anything, or claim to not at least. They prepared and tasted the food and wine as normal before they served it to us, nothing was wrong. I am reluctant to question them sharply quite yet, they have never lied to us before. These are trusted men and women of Driftmark.”

“How else would poison have found its way into the wine?” Viserra demanded. Either an assassin had somehow slipped by their loyal Seahorses, or they were not as loyal as they had thought them to be. Viserra did not know which scared her more.

“A skilled assassin might have been able to sneak past the Seahorses, especially if they were already part of the staff. You and I both know our Driftmarkers are far outnumbered by the local Tyroshi. The Black Fortress is huge, almost like a city within a city. Plenty of buildings and places to hide, to blend in. I’ve already expanded the questioning to all the servants with duties anywhere close to that dining room.

“Some of them have been reporting curious things. Strange unscheduled shift changes, or a servant from another part of the fortress suddenly being on duty there. One of the Tyroshi guards in the very corridor where the dining room was has even confessed under sharp questioning, that he was paid to look the other way from anything suspicious, by a man from the Temple of the Trios… the same temple that Lysos Eranyr worships at most regularly.”

Viserra snapped up. “You think it was Eranyr?”

Corlys’s face was grim. “I can’t say for sure… not yet, but I’m collecting the evidence. The Strangler is not a common poison. Its necessaries are costly, and hard to acquire. The plants used are found only on islands in the Jade Sea and they are mixed with spices from the Summer Islands. It is a long and complicated process to make the poison. No common lowlife could get their hands on it. Eranyr has the means. He is the richest man in Tyrosh now apart from us and he has many trade dealings with the Summer Islands and the Jade Sea.”

“But does he have the motive?” Viserra asked. It did not feel right. Eranyr might have had a checkered past, but in their time working together, Viserra had found him to be honorable and courteous. Assassination did not become him.

“Why not? Eranyr has the reputation and respect needed to rule Tyrosh. Furthermore, he already has a place in our regime as a collaborator. If all three of us had died, it would have been all too easy for Eranyr to have taken control of the city. The chance for absolute power corrupts many men.”

Viserra was not so sure. She felt like they were missing something. Like she was missing something. She cast her mind back to that terrible day, desperately trying to remember. Grief and shock were clouded her memories like a haze. She searched harder and harder but she could not remember what she had forgotten. And then it occurred to her.

“The man who brought the wine,” she said aloud.

“What?”

Viserra was frantic now. She turned to her husband. “I think… I remember. When I went to dinner that day, there was a man leaving the room. He said he was told to bring the wine Corlys. The poisoned wine.”

Corlys was thoughtful. “I do not remember someone leaving the room before you entered.”

“Why would you have? Like you said the assassin could blend in with our staff. Corlys, this man was a Driftmarker, that alone would have put you at ease, even had you not been distracted trying to think of what to say to Rhaekar.”

Her husband was alarmed. “Are you sure?”

Viserra nodded. “He looked Westerosi. Tall… pale… and dark haired.” she said, trying to recall what he looked like. “He had a birthmark, or maybe a scar, on his left cheek near his jaw; it looked a lot like a heart in a wreath of fire.”

“That may not be a birthmark but it might be a scar,” Corlys said. “Almost every Tyroshi servant we questioned had a brand of some kind somewhere on their body, usually denoting their religious beliefs or who their master was. Slaves had little rights and would be branded as a mark of belonging. I will speak to the Tide Guard. They will know if we have the man you speak of, and if not, I will have them double the search.”

“The rest of his appearance however? I could have sworn he was Westerosi!” Viserra protested.

Corlys shook his head. “There were wildling slaves in Tyrosh. This man might be one, or be descended from one. We were careless here. In hindsight, a man with wildling descent could easily blend in among the Driftmarkers. I will have the Driftmark servants checked for any birthmarks like you describe, but I am beginning to think that there is no treachery from them after all. A cursory inspection of our staff records will let us determine if he is one of them or not easily now.”

Another thought occurred to her. “Ario Orlyr worships at the Red Temple does he not? The symbol of the Red God is a fiery heart.”

“You think Orlyr was behind this?” Corlys raised an eyebrow.

“He has all the motive Eranyr does, does he not?” she challenged.

“Perhaps, but does he have the means?” he wondered.

“Why wouldn’t he? Half the city supports him. There were men with connections to the Buzantys and the local religions amongst the native servants wasn’t there?”

“There was but the same could be the said of the Dyes. May I remind you that Eranyr actually lives within the Black Fortress as one of our councilors and ministers? It would have been infinitely easier for Eranyr to carry out the plot than Orlyr. You’re biased against him.”

“As you are against Eranyr,” she retorted. Corlys was silent. She placed her hand on his cheek and caressed it gently. “It can’t hurt to follow every lead can it? Rhaekar deserves no less.”

Corlys softened beneath her touch and placed his hand on hers, holding it closer to his cheek. “You’re right. He does. I will investigate them both. Whichever one of them it is, I swear Viserra, whoever killed my brother, tried to kill us… their heads will roll.”

“No they won’t,” Viserra said. Her husband’s face wrinkled in confusion adorably. She stared into his eyes. “Dreamfyre prefers to cut her meat herself.”

He smiled vindictively. “That would be a very fitting death for those filth.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Viserra agreed. “I’ve never seen it before. I confess myself curious.”

“Oh it will be gruesome and brutal I am sure, and no less than they deserve,” he said darkly, eagerly. Rarely did Corlys speak in such a manner. Viserra found that she liked it. It was strangely arousing.

“What will be done to safeguard us from any more assassination attempts?” she asked him

“I’ve already seen to the arrangements. As before, we will only eat meals made and served to us by servants from Driftmark but we will go further than that. Now Driftmark men and women will taste our food and drink before our very eyes before we eat anything. Buzantys and all other armed men that are not our own will be barred from the Black Fortess, excepting a few that may remain to protect our esteemed friends like Eranyr and Orlyr. Velaryon men will be the only soldiers allowed in this fortress in any true number. When Aurane comes, we will replace all the servants and staff of the Archon’s Palace entirely with Driftmarkers and take steps to replace as many officials throughout the rest of the fortress and even the city as well, where possible.”

“And what of the Tyroshi? Those innocent in the plot? They will lose their livelihoods,” Viserra felt compelled to ask though she could not bring herself to truly care about their plight in light of recent events. Her question was borne out of pragmatism alone. The unemployed were too easy to radicalize.

“I will arrange for them to work outside the Palace either in their current jobs, if that is possible, or in new roles. If none exist, that will simply be unfortunate for them.”

Viserra nodded. There was a knock on the door before either of them could say anything else. Standing up from the bed, Viserra made herself presentable, and saw Corlys had as well. “Come in,” she said.

Her trusted maid Pina entered the room. “My lady,” she said running into the room before noticing Corlys. “My lord,” she added with a hurried bow of her head.

“What is it Pina?” Viserra asked. She noticed that her trusted maid looked rather worried and unnerved.

“My lady, you must come at once! Two dragons have been spotted approaching Tyrosh!”

_______________________________________

Immediately after hearing Pina’s urgent warning, Viserra had raced to Dreamfyre. If her family… if the Targaryens had decided to act against them now, Dreamfyre and her were their only chance at survival.

Mounting her beloved dragon, Viserra urged her into the sky. She was relieved to find that the dragons she now recognized as Balerion and Silverwing had not started burning Tyrosh or the Black Fortress. They had instead landed in the courtyard in front of the Archon’s Palace and were surrounded by very nervous Velaryon soldiers pointing spears at them.

With just a thought, Viserra commanded her dragon and she glided over to the courtyard and set herself down before the other dragons. Dreamfyre growled at Balerion and Silverwing. Both dragons took offense at Dreamfyre’s challenge but were calmed by their riders.

“Lykirī,” her mother commanded Silverwing before turning to the antsy soldiers around her. “Lower your weapons. I am still your queen am I not? I come in peace, to see someone I love. I did not come to destroy you.”

Viserra walked forward then. “It’s hard to tell the difference these days,” she said to her mother, though at her gesture the Velaryon soldiers relaxed.

Her mother’s expression faltered. Her queenly face faded away instantly as she rushed to her and wrapped her tightly in her arms. Viserra struggled to breathe in her mother’s embrace.

“Viserra! My love, my child! You are alive! You are safe and well!” her mother cried out in relief.

Viserra felt her eyes begin to water. Despite everything, her mother had come to see her after all. Looking beyond her mother, she saw Alyssa hesitantly approach and reached out her arms to her too. She was still angry at many of her family members, but now, so soon after Rhaekar had died, that they would come to see her was like a balm on her heart.

As they reluctantly broke the embrace, Alyssa began to speak. “We were so worried when we heard Viserra!”

“You… you were?” she asked, disbelieving.

Her nodded, her voice breaking. “Of course we were! We love you Viserra!”

“Are you injured? Poisoned? Are you well?” Alyssa demanded. “Lord Qoherys told us a little but we feared the worst.”

Viserra shook her head. “I am well but… my goodbrother Rhaekar…”

“We heard,” Alysanne nodded. “You have our condolences Viserra. We did not know the man, but we heard much of him. He was a good man.”

Viserra trembled. “Yes. Yes, he was.”

“We heard of Velos as well Viserra. I lit a candle before the Stranger in the sept before we left, so that the souls of the dead there might find their way to the seven heavens. What those slavers did was unjust and barbaric,” Alyssa said firmly.

Viserra remembered Corlys’s suspicion that her father had been involved with the fall of Velos, but she kept those thoughts to herself. She looked at Balerion and Silverwing before speaking again.

“Is your presence here a herald of my father’s forgiveness? Has he reached out his hand to me like he did to Saera?” she asked, and she hated that even now she still felt that sliver of hope, hope that her father still loved her.

Her mother and sister looked to each other. “Your father remains stubborn. He has refused to forgive you or your house. His decrees stand. Alyssa and I defied him to come here. I will not be returning to King’s Landing for quite some time. I am quite wroth with him.”

Viserra despaired. There truly was no other way then. Not even her nearly dying could soften her father’s hard heart. She shuddered to imagine what his judgement would be should they actually return to receive it.

“Has he no love for me at all?” she asked.

Her mother embraced her again. “Men are stubborn my dear. Their pride compels them to do things they should not, and keep grudges they should let go. Your father declared that he would have burned Tyrosh to the ground in your name in vengeance if you had perished, but because you had lived, he said you still needed to learn some humility.”

“His words of avenging me have no meaning then,” Viserra said bitterly.

Her mother did not respond. She and Alyssa were glaring at something in the distance. Viserra followed their eyes to see her husband cautiously approaching, flanked by men of the Tide Guard. Breaking away from her, her mother marched up to Corlys, Alyssa beside her.

“Your Grace, Princess Alyssa,” Corlys greeted respectfully with a slight bow of his head, though Viserra knew her husband and knew that it galled him to be deferential to any Targaryen anymore.

“Lord Velaryon… or I hear you prefer the address of ‘Your Excellency’ these days,” her mother said, though now her voice and tone had once more become that of Queen Alysanne.

“Depends which position I am acting in, Your Grace,” Corlys said. “Nevertheless, as both Archon of Tyrosh and Master of Driftmark, allow me to welcome you to Tyrosh my queen,” he said as the Tide Guard presented bread and salt to her mother and sister.

With guest right secured, Corlys and everyone else seemed to relax. Viserra took the opportunity to invite her mother and sister to lunch. Corlys gave her a look of annoyance but did not protest or gainsay her. As the Tide Guard led her mother and sister to the dining room, Corlys took her aside to speak with her.

“I am wary of having your mother and sister be in Tyrosh any longer than they have to be,” Corlys began.

“Why?” Viserra asked. “Isn’t this perfect? It’s exactly what we’ve been hoping for, my mother is the Queen, my sister rides the Black Dread. If they could be convinced to join us, we will be one step closer to ending this feud and getting my father to remove the sanctions. We need it now more than ever.”

Corlys was thoughtful. “Give them spiced food. I suspect they have not had very much of it these past few months.”

“Why do you sound like you are not going to be there?” Viserra demanded.

Corlys gestured to Balerion and Silverwing behind them. “Someone has to see to the stabling of those dragons.”

“That someone does not have to be you. You’re running away from my family. Why? Does my mother and sister terrify you that much?”

“Did you see how tense our greeting was?” Corlys said aghast. “Your mother and sister do not like me and I happen to share the sentiment. The less time we spend together, the better for us all.”

“They’ll put it aside for my sake.” Viserra was sure of that. “Please? Just one luncheon. I would like to have you beside me. I love them, but I don’t want to be alone with them. And maybe together we could reach out to them better?”

Her husband looked skeptical but sighed before he conceded. “I will be there alright? But give me some time. I’ll come later.”

Viserra nodded before they parted and she made her way to the dining room. Corlys and her had both refused to ever eat in the room Rhaekar had died in ever again. That room had since been torn down entirely and would be repurposed for another role. One of the many other dining rooms had been prepared for the occasion.

Her mother and sister were waiting for her there, as were the host of guards and the cupbearers and food tasters. Only when Viserra had watched the tasters try every piece of food and drink on the table in front of her did she begin eating. Her mother and Alyssa followed suit.

As they ate, Viserra traded stories with her mother and sister. They told her of what had been going on in King’s Landing, of seeing Daella and Saera again. Viserra was rather shocked to hear that Daella had very much improved from the timid and shy young woman she had once been. If Alyssa told it right, she was a strapping and confident young lady now. It was disappointing that political necessities had estranged them and left them on opposing sides.

When they spoke of Saera, Viserra had had to hide a smirk. Saera after all was in the process of secret negotiations with them to trade goods in secret, exploiting her supposed reconciliation with their father. She was not surprised to hear Saera was much the same in person as well and it filled her with no small amount of glee to hear of how she had lambasted their father in front of the entire family gathered, though it was rather disappointing to hear that she was falling into old habits with Daella.

For her part, Viserra told of her time in Tyrosh. She avoided speaking of Rhaekar’s death or the investigation, or of their monetary problems. She restricted her tales solely to matters concerning the freeing of the slaves and her missing her children and Driftmark. Viserra judged those topics to have the least possible risk.

Looking at the clock, Viserra felt frustrated. Already twenty minutes had passed. Where was Corlys? Think of the husband and he shall appear it seems because barely a minute after that thought of hers, Corlys appeared.

“Forgive my tardiness Your Grace, Princess,” he said with a dramatic bow. “I was seeing to the stabling of your wondrous mounts.”

“No matter my lord,” her mother said with a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Please, have a seat.”

Alyssa was even less convincing than their mother, she was barely keeping the glare off her face. Corlys sat down nonetheless. As he did he asked a question. “If you don’t mind my asking Your Grace, but how long do and your daughter, the Princess Alyssa, intend to be staying with us? The hospitality of Tyrosh is yours of course but I will need to inform my servants of the duration of your stay so they can attend to you.”

Her mother looked at Alyssa and then to her with a smile on her face. “I was thinking perhaps two weeks. Ser Rhaekar’s funeral should be by then yes? I would like to attend and pay my respects. I hear from Viserra that he was a good man.”

“The very best,” Corlys said, grief threatening to break his mask. Viserra could have sworn he looked almost genuinely touched by her mother’s words. “You honor my brother Your Grace, thank you.”

As if following their mother’s lead, Alyssa attempted to give a compliment of her own. “The food is exquisite Lord Corlys, as good as I remember.”

“Thank you Princess. Forgive me for asking, but you have not had very much spices these past few months have you? I am truly sympathetic to your plight. They are a wondrous thing and I pity those who must live without them. It is a shame that His Grace’s sanctions have barred our trade from Westeros. I have heard concerning things about the state of the realm.

“I fear there may have been some kind of misunderstanding. His Grace seeks to punish my house for an imagined indiscretion and now the realm suffers for it. It was never our intention to give any offense but all of our pleas back to King’s Landing have fallen on deaf ears.

“The realm suffers for nothing. His Grace’s sanctions are not even affecting us all that much. While certainly not an easy challenge, it is a manageable one. Tyrosh and our trade situation is under our control but I cannot help but wonder… is Westeros?” Corlys asked.

Viserra was tense. She knew Corlys was following her plan but she felt it was far too soon to speak of matters like this!

“Is it? Is it really under your control Lord Velaryon?” her mother demanded then, her face had turned sour and Viserra began to fear the worst.

“Pardon Your Grace?” her husband asked, matching her mother’s expression.

They had miscalculated Viserra realized. She had miscalculated. She hadn’t truly judged just how angry her mother had been, and how much she had been restraining it for her sake.

She tried to interject, “Perhaps we should leave this discussion for another time – “

“Do not interrupt Viserra,” her mother brushed her off. “I have questions for your husband and I will have my answers,” she said before turning back to Corlys.

“Do not lie to your queen and pretend that everything is well Lord Velaryon. I have ears. I have long since heard of how Velos burned. Your trade routes have collapsed. Wealth you may still have aplenty but it is now very finite and then there is the matter of Tyrosh.”

“What about it?” her husband demanded in a low, dangerous voice.

“Where was your security? You’ve controlled Tyrosh for almost seven months now. How did someone slip poison into your wine? Where was your guards? Your cupbearers? Your food tasters? Your trusted kitchen staff? Unless you mean to tell me that you are so incompetent that all of them were compromised!? My daughter almost died because of your failure!

“But then what did I expect from the Sea Snake? Arrogant to a fault and reckless too. Someone who dared to challenge the Iron Throne and seduced my daughter to enable his plans. What did you do to convince her to follow a fool like you into this madness Corlys Velaryon?”

Before Viserra could say anything else to try and calm everyone down, Corlys retorted, “Maybe it would have been easier for us if your sanctions hadn’t made it more difficult to begin with!”

Alyssa joined in then, no longer able to restrain herself. "All those sanctions are your fault! Your stubbornness and your pride is just as bad as my father’s! Worse even! By your actions you have thrust the realm into chaos and endangered my sister’s life for nothing more than the sake of your arrogance! We promised you aid. Do you remember that Lord Corlys? And you spat on it!”

Tempers had risen, with no other choice, Viserra stood and raised her voice. “ENOUGH!”

Corlys, Alyssa, and her mother turned to her.

“Corlys needed to do nothing to convince me to follow his plan! I planned it with him, because we were betrayed by my own father. House Targaryen had gone back on its word to us once before. We could not trust that it would not do so again.”

“We promised you our support to undo Father’s decree Viserra! If you had waited but a few years you could have had it in all anyway! Your husband’s actions have escalated this dispute beyond comparison, need, or reason! It is madness!” Alyssa shouted

“My actions,” Viserra reminded, making Alyssa pause. “I read your letters Alyssa. I am not some foolish little girl being led around like a horse on a rein. I make my own choices, my own decisions.”

“if you read them then why did you not write back?” Alyssa asked, hurt.

“Because they hurt me. I had thought that you of all people would understand me Alyssa. That you would have felt my pain, understood my reasons. But I see now that I was wrong to ever think that. First you gave me promises you could never have kept. Then, in your letters you made insinuations and accusations about my husband. Now you come here and instead of being with me in my grief, you challenge my husband and scream at him? No, I think it is time for both of you to leave,” Viserra declared.

“Viserra,” her mother pleaded.

“I’m sorry. I am grateful, so very grateful to know that I have not been forgotten, that you have come to see me in these dark moments of grief, but it is clear to me that you cannot stay here anymore. All of Tyrosh dreaded to see your coming, fearing the Targaryens had come to destroy us. Your presence here will only lead to more anger and heartbreak for all of us. Please, go.”

Alyssa looked at her heartbroken before she rose from her seat. “As you wish Viserra. I can see I’m not welcome here.” She glared at Corlys. “If her life is ever in danger again Velaryon, if she is injured or hurt, or gods forbid she perishes because of your stupidity, you will answer to me,” she warned before she stormed out of the room.

Viserra glanced at her mother. She walked up to her and held her in a tight embrace again. She had been too shocked to realize it earlier, but when her mother had embraced her after she landed, it might have been the first time she had in many years.

“You may reject me now, but I will always love you Viserra. I will write you no more letters, I see they will fall on deaf ears; but Viserra, if you reach out to me with a letter of your own. I will answer it. All of us will,” she said before she turned around and followed Alyssa out to the courtyard.

She watched as her mother and sister mounted their dragons and flew away from her. It may have been at her own request, but once again Viserra felt abandoned by her family. Why couldn’t they understand? They knew nothing of her pain, of her reasons. Of her fears and anger.

“I’m sorry,” Corlys said as they watched Balerion and Silverwing fly away in the courtyard. “I could have handled that better.”

“I’m sorry too; for thinking they were better than this,” she said, though secretly she felt that second sentence applied, at least a little, to her husband as well. He just had to open his mouth and pretend they had everything under control didn’t he? And of course that would anger her mother who thought he had failed her as he had failed Rhaekar.

Corlys was remorseful at least and he had always been there for her. He held her as she cried into his shirt. The Tide Guard wrapped around them, surrounding them in a protective formation to give them privacy from any onlookers.

______________________________________________

Third Moon, 91 AC

The Velaryon fleet would never cease to be a glorious sight. Aurane commanded only a fraction of it and it still looked intimidating and impressive sailing into Tyrosh’s harbor. Dozens of carracks, cogs, and galleys sailed or rowed into the harbor. In the distance the Bleeding Tower stood watch as they passed it. She wondered if it grated on Ario Orlyr to let the ships pass.

The Seahorse banner flew proudly from every ship’s sails and standards. It was a proud and reassuring feeling to see so many of their banners fluttering in the breeze, and a great boost to morale. The Velaryon soldiers and servants already present in the city had come to welcome their brethren and cheered loudly to see their coming. They were not alone anymore. Their kin had come to aid them, brothers and sisters from Driftmark.

Viserra waited on the main dock with Corlys beside her, watching as Aurane’s flagship, a proud four-masted carrack, sailed right up beside the pier. The anchor was dropped into the water and the gangplanks fell from the ship onto the pier. Sailors immediately ran down to fasten the ropes to the pier, mooring the ship at the docks.

Aurane walked down the gangplank. Her goodbrother had not changed much. He still looked very much like his older brothers. He was clean shaven now however and he wore an ocean blue doublet that brought out the color of his equally vibrant blue eyes.

He walked right into his elder brother and grabbed him tightly in a firm embrace. Corlys held onto his last remaining brother desperately, like a sailor clinging to a piece of wood in a stormy sea, treating it as the last hope of life it was.

“Corlys… Rhaekar… he…” Aurane said, getting choked up.

“He’s with grandfather now,” Corlys reassured his brother with a peace Viserra knew he did not feel. He was being strong for his younger brother, but who would be strong for him? There was only her to do that.

Aurane nodded before he backed up and straightened, standing at attention. His full height did not match his brother’s but it was easily six feet nonetheless. He raised his right hand to his forehead in the Velaryon salute, the salute her husband had taught his men. Five fingers, straight and aligned.

“Admiral Aurane of the Velaryon Navy, reporting for duty, my lord.”

Despite their grief over Rhaekar, Aurane and Corlys shared a smile at the tradition. “At ease Admiral. What have you brought me Aurane? Exact numbers if you can.”

Aurane was quick to answer. “Not counting the ships you sent back to Driftmark to help me ferry them here? Fifty ships previously stationed at Driftmark, as well as two thousand fresh troops, and around three thousand servants and other administrative staff.”

“Excellent,” Corlys said, beaming. “We intend to replace all the staff and guards in the Black Fortress with people from Driftmark. The men and women you’ve brought will let us do that easily. Driftmarkers could start taking up important positions in the local guilds as well. You’ve done very well Aurane.”

“I was also able to scrounge up the funding to support this extra manpower for at least another year without taking from our reserves in High Tide’s vaults, maybe two. It’s waiting on Driftmark, but we can bring the gold here at our leisure.”

Corlys patted his brother on the back. “Brilliant. Well done Aurane. You’ve helped our situation so much here in Tyrosh.”

Aurane’s face turned grim now however. “I wish I could say the same about Driftmark. Despite our subsidies, things are worsening there.”

“Are the people turning on us?” Viserra asked, concerned.

“Thankfully no. In fact, I’d wager they’re more loyal than ever, but they are suffering. There’s only so much we can take from Driftmark before it dies. Tyrosh will have to return some of it eventually for our home to be restored to its former glory,” Aurane warned.

Corlys shook his head. “A worry for another time. Today little brother, we celebrate, and we mourn.”

Before Corlys could say more to Aurane, Viserra tapped his shoulder and pointed him to the gangplank. Irina was descending now. Her son Vaemond had had a growth spurt and was far taller than when she last saw him. He would be three and ten this year, Viserra remembered. He was growing so fast. Vaella was beside her brother. She hadn’t grown nearly as much as him, but eight months had left their mark on the nine-year-old nonetheless.

Corlys moved to greet their goodsister hesitantly, perhaps fearing she would slap him, but she hugged him tightly instead.

“Irina… I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for Corlys. Rhaekar knew the risks… he did his duty for our house. It is not your fault, no matter what he himself said to you, understand?”

Corlys did not seem to believe her, but he nodded.

As Corlys and Irina embraced and mourned together, Vaemond walked up to her, looking grim and resentful.

“Did he suffer?” he asked her, stone-faced.

He died in my arms, thrashing and wheezing desperately as he suffocated, she thought to herself.

“No. It was peaceful, like falling asleep,” she said instead.

Vaemond was not convinced by her lie. “A strange poison. Most ones I know are painful,” he said before he walked off to stand with his mother and greet his uncle.

She did not have time to call out to Vaemond again however, as Vaella, adorable as ever, rushed into her arms and hugged her tightly. “Aunt Viserra!” she said excitedly.

Viserra embraced her gladly, even picking her up and spinning her around a little before putting her back down. “You’ve grown so big Vaella!” she exclaimed.

“She’s not the only one!” a voice called out from the ship.

Viserra turned to see Alys walking down from the ship. She had a noticeable baby bump, but she also carried two of them in her arms. Technically they weren’t babies anymore, but Viserra would never stop considering them such deep down.

She ran to Alys and took her sons from her arms. Making a split-second decision, Viserra decided to worry about the how later and knelt down to embrace her sons for the first time in over eight months. Jace and Luke had grown so much while she was gone, too much. They were so much bigger now, and giggled ecstatically in her arms.

“Jace, Luke! Oh my boys!” Viserra said as she nestled her face in their necks and felt their comforting warmth and small beating little hearts. This, this what she had missed most. This was what she needed. Her mother and Alyssa’s presence had been a double-edged sword, but Viserra could feel nothing but joy with her sons in her arms.

“Muña, it tickles!” Luke complained as his brother Jace squirmed in her arms. Viserra felt her spirits soar. Her boys remembered her! They knew who she was!

Finally having managed to writhe out of her arms, Jace ran to Corlys standing nearby and embraced him. Corlys was still shocked to see their sons but he embraced Jace tenderly.

Holding Luke in her arms, Viserra stood up, feeling his weight. He was so heavy now. All too soon she wouldn’t even be able to carry him anymore. She still had a few more years however and Viserra was going to make sure she made the most of them.

Turning around on Aurane, Viserra demanded answers. “I’m happy Aurane, so happy to see them; but I’m also furious. Corlys and I gave you direct orders to leave Luke with Uncle Jorgen and Uncle Victor on Driftmark. Why did you bring them here?”

Alys answered on behalf of her husband. “They’re precocious boys. Authoritative brats too. They couldn’t understand why you were gone. They’ve been asking after you for months. When they heard that we were going to see you, they put their foot down and demanded to come, even daring to threaten to set their dragons on us.”

Viserra looked down at the boy in her arms. He sheepishly nestled his face in her neck. “We want see Muña.”

She clucked her tongue disappointedly but Corlys was more direct. “Jace, Luke. You are not to threaten your family members with your dragons. Understand?”

Jace nodded while Luke buried himself more into Viserra, if that was even possible. She wondered if they even understood what Corlys was saying beyond the idea that he was angry at them.

Corlys sighed and put Jace down and ruffled his hair. “I’m happy to see you Jace, and you as well Luke, but some things are just not done. Alright?”

Jace nodded furiously again, eager to avoid any more punishment.

“Where are their dragons anyway?” Corlys said, directing his question at Aurane. “They would not have let the boys come so far without them.”

“They followed us south but a few miles out from Tyrosh they seemed to have gotten distracted and flew off somewhere,” he answered.

“You didn’t put them on the ships?” Viserra asked.

“Hells no. They’re even larger than they were when you left, twenty-feet wingspan from tip-to-tip, and they breathe fire too. No way I was putting them on my ships. The boys called them to follow and they did. They kept up with the fleet well enough, though sometimes we’d see them disappear to go hunt or play or even rest in the water. They always came back by the next day.”

“Tessa will come! Always comes!” Jace said proudly, utter surety in his voice.

“Ghul will come!” Luke shouted himself, as if agreeing with his brother.

Viserra shook her head in fond exasperation. Her sons’ antics were so amusing. They seemed to think saying things together made their argument more convincing. How had she survived eight months without this? Eight months without them? Letting them go again would be so much more painful now.

She remembered, almost a year ago now, Corlys and her had sat down with the boys to help them choose some proper names for their dragons. Viserra had run through the names of Old Valyrian gods and heroes or tried to create some names to suggest to her sons. The ideas they were coming up with on their own had all the imagination of toddlers. No dragon deserved the ignominy of childish names like ‘Blue’ and ‘Goldie’.

Eventually Jace had settled on Tessarion for his cobalt blue and bronze dragoness, and Luke had chosen Morghul for his yellow-black drake. The dragons had seemed to like their new dignified names and they had stuck. By now the names had spread enough that all Velaryon soldiers knew them by heart. The names of the dragons that would one day lead them to war, they whispered to each other.

“I let Dream off her chains to fly alone today. I’ve been so busy lately I’ve barely been able to fly with her. She was getting grumpy. Tessarion and Morghul likely sensed her presence. She’ll bring them back,” Viserra reassured her family members, some of whom were looking a little worried about the prospect of missing dragons. She set Luke down as she spoke, she was getting tired carrying him so long.

A roar sounded in the distance then, as if Dreamfyre had heard her. Turning to look they saw her flying in the distance, Tessarion and Morghul following her on her flanks behind.

“Right on time then,” Viserra boasted. Her sons were not the only ones proud of their dragons.

The dragons approached fast, as they watched, they soared overhead. Dreamfyre led her much smaller progeny to the Black Fortress.

Seeing their dragons fly toward the fortress, Jace and Luke took off toddling after them but the Tide Guard caught them at Corlys’s silent gesture. “Not so fast boys. It’s not quite safe here, let’s go to the carriage together. Also, we will discuss your punishment when we reach the fortress.”

Her two sons whined. Viserra laughed at their disgruntlement. Aurane followed after Corlys, Vaemond and Vaella in tow.

Only Alys and Irina were left now and Viserra embraced them both warmly. They were like the sisters she never had. Even Alyssa hadn’t shared a bond with her like she did with Alys and Irina, she might have once, but she’d thrown it away.

A week had passed since Alyssa and her mother had come to see her. Viserra still hadn’t fully forgiven them. She had been so happy to see them, so grateful knowing they had come to comfort her in her grief and reassure themselves that she lived, because they loved her, they cared for her. Joy had turned to pain all too soon however, like it always seemed to with her family. No matter, she didn’t need them anymore.

“Alys! Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant!” Viserra complained as they walked.

“I knew I would be coming soon, I wanted it to be a surprise!”

As they watched Corlys stuff Jace and Luke into the carriage, Irina spoke. “I hope you convince Corlys not to be too harsh on your boys. It’s their uncle’s funeral, they have as much right to be here as the rest of us. They missed you terribly as well. You shouldn’t punish them too much.”

Viserra nodded. “I will. Besides, it’s only a short trip. They deserve that much at least, considering they’d be back on Driftmark soon enough.”

Irina and Alys looked at her strangely. “Viserra… surely you don’t intend to send them back with Irina?” Alys asked.

“Why wouldn’t I? Tyrosh is unsafe for them. It would be putting their lives at risk!”

“Viserra,” Irina called her. “You just reunited with your children after eight months away from them. Are you so sure you can part from them again?”

“What choice do I have? This city is dangerous for them! It killed Rhaekar, it almost killed Corlys and me, I can’t in good conscience raise my sons here!”

“You won’t raise them at all then Viserra. Think about it. With Rhaekar…. With Rhaekar dead, this city is growing out of control. It will be years before you leave Tyrosh and return to Driftmark. You will barely see Jace and Luke if they stay on Driftmark. Eventually they might even resent you for it. Do you want that?” Irina argued.

“I know you, and I know Corlys. I can see how much these eight months have taken their toll on you both, away from your sons and now with Rhaekar gone? Whether you accept it or not Viserra, you will need your sons Viserra. Need them to ground you, and remind you why you struggle and suffer. It’s for them,” she continued.

Viserra’s mind was racing now. She refused to be her parents, she would not abandon her sons or neglect, never let them even think that she did not love or care for them, as Viserra had once lied in bed wondering about her own parents on her darkest days. Yet the nightmares of Rhaekar’s death plagued her mind also, replacing her brother and friend with her sons, suffocating and turning purple in her arms. She could not bear that either.

“You’ve already done everything you can to make sure what happened to Rhaekar doesn’t happen again. You can take every step necessary to safeguard your sons Viserra. Just…. Just think about it,” Irina said before she walked to join her own children in their carriage.

_______________________________________________

Reuniting with their family had been an event surprisingly full of joy and smiles. Seeing Irina, Alys, Aurane, Vaemond, Vaella, and especially her sons Jace and Luke, had done Viserra’s heart so much good.

All good things came to an end however. Eventually they had to get to the reason why everyone had come. Once they had put Jace and Luke safely in their chambers, with Pina watching them and near an entire platoon of the Tide Guard protecting them, Corlys and Viserra took the others to see Rhaekar.

His body had laid in state before the throne of Tyrosh for almost two weeks, dressed with spices to preserve it. Irina had broken down in tears seeing it and Viserra had felt like crying all over again. Young Vaella had been in denial and had run from the room, and Vaemond had only stared, stone-faced as ever and so very silent.

Now the day had come at last to give Rhaekar his burial. A small crowd had gathered on one of the beaches on the far side of the island from the city. Members of the Velaryon family, some trusted servants and vassals from Driftmark accompanying them, while three platoons of Tide Guard and Driftmark Marines stood guard.

Some of the Tyroshi elites and officials had tried to come for the funeral service. People like Lysos Eranyr and Ario Orlyr. Corlys had accepted their condolences but turned down all their requests to come for the funeral. This was a private event for family. Corlys was in agreement with her. They would not have men suspected of murdering Rhaekar attend his funeral. It would be absurd.

The rites had been done, and the eulogies given, all according to Velaryon traditions. Now it was time for one last tradition. Viserra watched as they pushed the small ship carrying Rhaekar into the sea. Corlys and Aurane held positions in the centre, Tide Guard around them, but it was Vaemond, as Rhaekar’s son, who would give the last push.

“Vaemond. It’s time,” Corlys told his nephew.

No longer able to hold back the tears, Vaemond finally cried as he stepped forward and joined his uncles as they pushed the ship out with one last shove.

Having pushed his brother’s funeral ship into the sea, Corlys came to stand beside her. As they watched the ship drift further out to sea, and slowly, ever so slowly begin to sink, Corlys began to mutter.

“We should have done this on Driftmark. Rhaekar wanted to go home, and now even in death he can’t,” Corlys said resentfully. There was loathing in his voice. Self-loathing, Viserra realized.

She grabbed his hand and held it tight. “Maybe… but then we wouldn’t have been able to attend. Irina consented to doing it here remember? The sea will bear his spirit back home to Driftmark, take solace in that.”

“Small comfort to his children,” Corlys said bitterly. “Their father died in a faraway land and never came home. This will only solidify that in their minds.”

To that Viserra had no answer. Even now Vaemond stared at his father’s sinking funeral ship and tried to hold back his tears to no avail. Vaella on the other hand, was screaming at her mother in denial, unwilling to accept it even now.

“Mother! Father’s ship is sinking! He’s going to drown!” she cried.

Irina burst into tears and hugged Vaella but she kept complaining and crying, insisting that her father would wake up, they just had to save him from the sinking boat. Viserra pitied her niece. Nine years old was far too young to be faced with loss like this. Old enough to understand it, but not yet old enough to accept it, still hoping in her heart of hearts that her father would wake up and come home to her.

Corlys clenched his fists so hard they began to tremble, his teeth grit together firmly. Viserra watched him, concerned.

“When I die Viserra,” Corlys began to say.

“Corlys, please don’t say something like that now,” Viserra protested.

“Valar Morghulis my love. All men must die one day. When I do, please lay me to rest in the waters near High Tide, beside my grandfather.”

She nodded but she added. “We will have many decades together before that time comes.” Viserra’s voice was firm. She would accept nothing less.

“I know I said we should send them back to Driftmark… but I’m wondering if it would be better to keep Jace and Luke here with us in Tyrosh,” Corlys said hesitantly.

“Irina suggested something similar to me. She said it would be years before we return to Driftmark and if we send Jace and Luke back, they might grow to resent us. We’d be like strangers to them.”

Corlys nodded. “We will have to triple security. Make sure that nothing and no one can touch us or them in the Black Fortress. There is a risk, there always is, but it will be worth it. The alternatives are too painful to even imagine.”

Looking to Vaemond and Vaella, Corlys continued. “They’re going to grow up without a father. I refuse to let the same happen to Jace and Luke.”

“The sooner we track down who killed Rhaekar, the safer we all will be. We could raise Jace and Luke here and fear little,” Viserra declared.

“It will be done,” Corlys promised her. “I will take no risk with our sons’ safety.”

Turning back to sea, Viserra saw that the ship had almost sunk now, and with it her friend would be gone forever. As the finality sank in, she felt grief and rage boil inside her. Whoever had done this to Rhaekar would pay dearly. Viserra hated them, and she hated her father for forcing them onto this path.

He had had the audacity to write her a letter for the first time, expressing his condolences and his thanks to the Seven for her wellbeing, even as he continued to maintain the sanctions on her house. His words felt so empty. It wasn’t just her father though. She resented the rest of her family too, for abandoning her yet again, for slandering and threatening the man she loved. She was even a little angry at Corlys, for not holding himself in check dealing with her mother.

Above all however, Viserra was enraged at herself. She had failed her friend, her brother, and he had died in her arms. The memory would haunt her for the rest of her life. It would never leave her, never let her rest, and Viserra swore then. She would never let it happen again. No matter what.

The dragons roared then, interrupting her thoughts. They flew out into the sea. Before her eyes, as Rhaekar’s ship disappeared into the water, Dreamfyre, Tessarion, and Morghul gave it a fiery salute, lighting up the sky above in blue and yellow-black flames.

Chapter 29: Loyalties

Chapter Text

Third Moon, 91 AC

The Lady of Maidenpool

“Mother!” Maegon called out to her eagerly as she arrived in his rooms. At three years old, her younger son would be starting his lessons soon, but for a little while longer at least, he would be free to play all day. His toys were strewn around the room, including a stuffed dragon her father had gifted him.

She tried not to think about it, but sometimes she wondered if she was a good mother. She loved her sons dearly, if someone like her could love, but even they had been in some way tools of her spite and vengeance, by their very names.

Aegor and Maegon. Saera had been clever enough not to name any child of hers for Maegor, not directly at least, not after how her father had reacted the last time she had brought up that name. Still, that had not stopped her from naming her sons as closely to that name as she could. They were turning five and three this year, and already they were starting to look like her father. If that continued it would be quite amusing to have spitting images of Jaehaerys Targaryen running around with names similar to the man he hated most.

Spiteful actions and petty amusem*nt had kept her going after her disgrace and exile from King’s Landing, but it had been selfish of her. Names were your very identity. Several of her siblings had been named for beloved family members or given good names to make their own, Saera had named her sons after the Cruel for spite alone. What kind of mother did that? What legacy was she giving them to be proud of?

Then there were the moments she looked at her sons and felt her heart swell and knew that that she would die for them. Everything she did now was for them. Not Jonah, not really herself either. Everything Saera did was to further her sons’ interests and ensure they would have the best they possibly could. It was why she had accepted her father’s reconciliation, to give Aegor the strongest Maidenpool she could. Her own feelings on the matter were inconsequential.

As for Maegon… he would have Grey Gallows, a barren rock in the Stepstones for now and the foreseeable future, but perhaps it might be more one day. She’d have to arrange all the details for their regency over the island until Maegon came of age; appoint a steward, send some of their ships and soldiers to start patrolling, and get to work on building the keep and port. Her father had been very generous in his aid for that, the least he could do for his grandson he said. How grandfatherly of him, she thought dryly.

A knock on the door drew her attention. “Saera, a word?” Jonah said.

Maegon rose to his feet and eagerly greeted his father before Jonah sent him back to his toys. Placing the stuffed dragon in her son’s arms, Saera left her son to his toy to speak to her husband. He had been very annoying after their trip to King’s Landing, but in time Saera had reasserted her authority. Judging by the look on his face however, she had a feeling she’d have to give him another reminder.

“What is it Jonah?” she demanded as they stood by the door. Oblivious to his parents’ conversation, their son stood up and ran around the room with his toy dragon, pretending he was flying.

“There is a man at the gates who has asked to speak with you. He is dressed inconspicuously but he carries a medallion embossed with a silver seahorse,” he said, unimpressed.

“Excellent, I have been expecting him,” Saera replied in a dismissive tone.

Jonah was not amused. “Saera, years ago I agreed to let you handle most of these matters because you had proven to me how capable you were in them but… this? What were you thinking? Dealing with the Velaryons? You risk endangering everything we have. Do you hate your father that much?”

Even now she still wasn’t sure what to think of her father, or where they stood. It felt… good, to not be sniping at her father anymore or to be disgraced, but that didn’t mean her loyalty had miraculously returned to him as he no doubt hoped it would. They may have forgiven each other for their past grievances, but six years of resentment and hatred were not so easily undone. Forgiven, not forgotten seemed to be the new normal for the two of them.

“No,” she answered. “Our reconciliation was… genuine but perhaps not complete. My loyalty is to House Mooton, Jonah, to our sons. Everything I do is to forward them and their interests.”

Deep down she would admit to herself that she enjoyed being in her father’s favor again, but she knew all too well how fickle it was. There was too much bad blood for them to be truly as close as they once were, even if they had let themselves forget it for one tender moment. If Saera was being completely honest with herself, while she had been touched by her father’s words, her reconciliation with him had been mostly borne out of pragmatism once she had overcome her emotions.

Not only did it accrue much and more for her house, including a long desired city charter that was already making them fabulous profits, but many other valuable concessions besides. Her reconciliation with her father had also, she had found, made him pliable to her wishes once again, to an extent, just like he had been when she was a young girl and she had used that to weasel even more concessions out of him.

Hopefully, it will help her get away with this brilliant scheme she’d thought up as well. She would support her father in the eyes of the realm, but in private, in secret, she had devised a plan that would benefit her and House Mooton and not her father, and Saera did not care. Her loyalty was to her sons now, not her father.

Jonah raised an eyebrow. “And you think that dealing with the Velaryons helps that?” he asked, aghast. “They’re finished Saera. Velos is destroyed and Corlys Velaryon’s younger brother is dead. Tyrosh is still not pacified and their coffers are bleeding. It is only a matter of time before they return to beg the King’s mercy.”

“Incorrect Jonah. The Velaryon fortune is immense. It may be bleeding but do you know how much there is to bleed? It was likened to the wealth of Casterly Rock for a reason.”

“Then why haven’t the Velaryons used it then? Tyrosh remains unpacified. They could hire a few thousand sellswords and purge all the dissidents with ease.”

“Because they need the city intact to produce money for them. Yes, they have the wealth needed to pacify it now, but it will be a brutal pacification and cost a fortune to carry out and pay for the rebuilding when it is over. Their wealth may end up diminished for nothing. The Velaryons are being cautious here. They did not become so rich by spending their money on a whim. They have more than enough to survive this struggle but I suspect they are so cautious and paranoid they do not even realize it themselves.

“When you are used to being unfathomably rich, it will weigh on your mind to see only the mounting losses with your income cut. However, we must remember where all these losses are coming from. I have studied their fiefs and their governance. Are you aware that the Velaryon coffers bleed to support not only their occupation in Tyrosh, but also to maintain their fleet, companies, and all other institutions such as their bank and university?

“Even now I am sure that great sums of money are flowing into keeping those institutions and companies not only alive, but ready to grow again when the time is right and with the resources of a Free City backing them, that new growth will be phenomenal once it arrives. I must also mention that they are subsidizing all the merchants on Driftmark long enough for them to reorient their trade to Essos and perhaps even relocate their operations to Tyrosh to escape the sanctions.”

Saera shook her head. “No my dear Jonah, the Velaryons are not finished. Far from it, it is certain to me that they will inevitably rise again in the future. And when they do I intend to ensure that our house stands to gain from it. We must strike now, while the Velaryons are weakened and desperate. We deal with them in secret and we can profit handsomely, and when they rise again, Maidenpool will profit greatly from the trade and concessions we will surely receive from it.”

Jonah, bless him, looked overwhelmed. Despite being the lord of a trade port, sums and counting coppers had never been his strong suit beyond the painfully obvious. He was far better at hitting stuff with his lance and sword. Still he managed to recover eventually.

“What about the risk? If your father discovers what we are up to, the consequences will be dire. And he can still crush the Velaryons at any moment if he pleases with his dragons.”

Saera shook her head. “Remember more recent events Jonah. He does not have the support needed to do it. He cannot even keep his own house in order.”

Everyone in Westeros and probably Essos too had heard of the Great Quarrel between King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne by now. Her sister Viserra had almost died in an assassination attempt that had poisoned and killed her goodbrother Ser Rhaekar Velaryon. Rumors had spread swiftly that her parents had argued furiously in the Small Council chambers over her father’s refusal to reconcile with Viserra in light of the recent tragedy.

Her mother and eldest sister Alyssa had flown off to Tyrosh in a fury but apparently something hadn’t gone quite right there either and soon enough they had left Tyrosh. Alyssa had returned to King’s Landing begrudgingly but her mother had gone to Dragonstone and there she remained. The entire realm was watching House Targaryen with bated breath now, and so was Saera. All this drama was quite amusing to her.

“We do not know how long that will last. The King and Queen have stood together for decades. Will this truly divide them?”

“Long enough for the Velaryons to have recovered to the point that working with them will fully bear fruit. I know my family, and I was reacquainted with them recently, I cannot see them being willing to outright kill Viserra even now.”

“That will not stop your father from punishing us should he discover our deceit,” Jonah insisted.

“He has far more pressing matters to worry about Jonah,” Saera answered.

Right now her father, her brothers Aemon and Baelon, and apparently even Aemon’s daughter and presumed second in line to the Iron Throne, Rhaenys, were leading the combined expeditionary fleet clearing out pirates in the Stepstones. Maidenpool soldiers had been sent to join that fleet when it was massing in the capital months ago.

Her father had wanted to reconquer the Stepstones with all six dragons at his disposal, to remind the realm of the power of House Targaryen. Instead, his queen and eldest daughter had deserted his war and remained at home doing nothing after a visit to his estranged daughter. The message it gave the realm’s nobles was one of weakness and division in the royal house, and Saera knew full well how much her father hated being thought of as weak.

She related her thoughts to Jonah. “This Great Quarrel is putting my father’s authority over his own house in question. All of his work to shore up the Iron Throne’s power and unite the realm in accepting his ridiculous sanctions and taxes is now being challenged. Sooner or later, the lords will begin to realize how pointless they are, especially once the Velaryons recover.

“Smuggling is rising. The piracy problem in the Stepstones will likely persist as well. The sanctions will soon prove their ineffectiveness, the nobility will begin to protest his laws once they begin feeling the effects in earnest, and his authority over his house is already in question. Where in all of this does he have the time to worry about us?”

Jonah was wary. “You and I both know how your father reacts to being perceived as weak.”

“I know. Still, it is a risk I am willing to take. With his current difficulties, difficulties that will only grow more, he will be desperate for support. I can use that to make him lower his guard with Maidenpool.”

Saera had already exploited her father’s emotional turmoil, writing letters reaffirming her support. She was also planning to visit King’s Landing upon his victorious return from the Stepstones to speak to him in private and shore up that impression. Old childhood skills being put to use once more.

Her husband narrowed his eyes. “You are not doing this out of any misplaced sense of sisterly love for Viserra are you? No sudden sympathy that has emerged after her recent near death?”

“No,” she answered promptly. It was a bit sad to even think it, but the idea was almost laughable. There was no love lost between her and Viserra. Still it had unnerved Saera nonetheless to hear that she had almost died. She didn’t wish death upon any of her siblings, they were still her kin despite everything.

Before this whole feud between Viserra and their father had started, Saera had even considered aligning Maidenpool with the Velaryons and their allies, seeking profits from the trade they had offered. It had certainly not been out of sisterly love then, and it wasn’t now either. It was pragmatism, as ever, for the benefit of House Mooton and her sons, and deep down a part of her knew that it was for the slightest bit of spite against her father as well.

Jonah scrutinized her further before sighing. “Very well. I will trust in your capabilities once more Saera, but on one condition.”

Saera stared at him, unimpressed. “Go on,” she said curtly.

“When we were in King’s Landing, I spoke to a certain ser at great length on a number of topics, primarily the possibility of further dealings between our houses and what they would entail.”

“Get to the point Jonah,” she said, cross with his dithering.

“The ser in question is Jasper Arryn, the heir and regent of the Vale.”

Saera froze. “Daella’s husband.”

“That is correct.”

“What did you even speak of?”

“Certainly not our wives and their animosity for each other. That was rather obviously avoided. We were speaking on the possibility of a more formal trade arrangement between the Vale and Maidenpool. Separate your feelings concerning Daella from it. What does that mind of yours tell you of the benefits of this Saera?”

Her mind had begun racing the moment Jasper’s name had been brought up. Saera hated to admit it but she knew working with House Arryn could only be beneficial to both of their houses. The Arryns were having… difficulties with their by now, most powerful vassal, House Grafton, the lords of the chief port in the Vale. Maidenpool would be well positioned to help them reduce their reliance on Gulltown, and in a way that would avoid empowering yet another of their vassals such as House Royce, who had their own ports. Even better for the Arryns, Maidenpool was in the King’s favor now and was around the same distance from the Eyrie as Gulltown was.

As for Maidenpool, Saera answered Jonah’s question. “A closer association with a great and noble house like the Arryns will strengthen our prestige and help to reduce any image we may have as lowly copper counters. Exports that might have previously gone through Gulltown will be funneled through Maidenpool instead, strengthening our appeal as a port city by having access to a whole kingdom’s goods. Of course, the increase in trade profits certainly won’t hurt either.”

“Not only that, the Arryns are held in more favor than us by the Iron Throne and have more power and prestige to fall back on. Allying with them may help shield us from any reprisal, should your dealings with the Velaryons be discovered.”

Saera raised an eyebrow. “Becoming trading partners is not the same as an alliance Jonah. The Arryns will cut us loose if that happens.”

“Not if we are kin,” he countered.

Her mind halted. “What on earth do you mean by that? If you want to be fussy, I suppose we are kin through myself and Daella, but that is certainly not going to forge an alliance considering the state of our relationship.”

“It will not,” Jonah agreed. “No Ser Jasper and I had something else in mind. We are in agreement that the blood of the dragon in our houses should remain as pure as possible. He suggested a betrothal between our son Aegor and his daughter Aemma.”

“You want to betroth my son to Daella’s daughter?” Saera was aghast.

“Our son, Saera, and yes. I do.”

“Why?”

“It would solidify our alliance and it would help keep the Targaryen blood in our families as pure as possible. Don’t you Targaryens love that?”

“That’s different. My family members marry and f*ck siblings to keep our Valyrian blood pure for the sake of keeping control over the dragons… Dragons. That’s what you want.” Saera realized.

She noticed Jonah was eyeing the stuffed dragon Maegon was playing with avarice now. “Yes,” he rasped. “House Velaryon proves it is possible through a Targaryen princess. In these increasingly trying times, dragons will ensure the safety and power of our house.”

“The Targaryens will never let it happen! My family is very paranoid after Viserra stole Dreamfyre. The Dragonpit and Dragonstone both are locked up tightly and they will never allow our children or Daella and I close enough to be tempted.”

“True enough but there are other reasons justifying the match. It will ally Maidenpool and the Eyrie unbreakably and allow both our houses to grow strong. And should the opportunity to acquire dragons ever arise, it is better to have the blood needed when the time comes. You should make sure our sons’ High Valyrian is passable enough for that opportunity. They will need it, either for themselves or to teach our grandchildren.”

“Do not be blinded by your greed Jonah! That opportunity may never come! Besides, Aemma is much older than our son! They are both heirs, how will the succession be handled?” Saera protested.

“I am being greedy perhaps, but it need not be for dragons. Prestige, wealth, power; House Arryn has all of these in spades. They will make a fine ally for us, dragons or no. Aegor and Aemma are only four years apart, and she is the elder. Considering her mother’s difficulties with childbirth, the older the better for her to marry and have children. As for the succession, neither us nor the Arryns or the Iron Throne are interested in a union. Heirs have wed before, it would be a simple matter to divide the inheritance between their children, and should they not have any or enough, Maegon and his children will be in line to inherit Maidenpool,” Jonah answered, countering all her points.

She found herself irked by how logical it was beginning to sound. Jonah took the opportunity to strike then. “Saera, you told me that everything you did is for our sons and to further their interests. Your loyalty is to House Mooton and everything you do should be for our house first and foremost. Does holding onto this grudge against Daella help you with any of that? Or does it do the opposite?”

Saera refused to answer that. Her reluctance must have showed on her face because Jonah continued. “You don’t need to be friends with Daella, you don’t need to love her or be kind to her, but this feud between you two has to end. This alliance will die in the cradle if Daella poisons her daughter against our son because of her hatred of you. Make peace with her, apologize if you must. do not endanger this alliance. Back me in my dealings with the Arryns and I will back you in yours with the Velaryons. Do we have an agreement?”

She hesitated.

“Do we have an agreement Saera?” Jonah pressed further.

“Yes, we do,” she said begrudgingly as she looked over to Maegon. The things I do for love.

___________________________________________________

The Guard

Princess Saera was quite different from his lady. The two were sisters and he had heard that once they had been quite alike, but he struggled to believe it. In his own experience, Princess Viserra was nothing but kind, gracious, and strong. A capable and elegant leader and a fine lady for their house.

Her sister however was well… he would be honest; he didn’t like her at all. She was haughty, and arrogant, and while she was polite to him, she just did not rub him the right way. Was it simply in the nature of Targaryens to be unbearably arrogant? Even his lady was as well, though her arrogance was endearing rather than irritating.

No matter, he shook his thoughts of Princess Saera away. His mission was almost complete now and he need not think of her any longer. The letter she had given him was tucked away safely in his pocket and would not leave his person until he had personally delivered it to either Lord Corlys or Princess Viserra. He hadn’t read it of course. The seal remained unbroken. He was sworn to keep House Velaryon’s secrets if told to him or he overheard them, not go out of his way to learn them. It was none of his business, though he could certainly guess at its contents.

Maybe the dealings between Princess Saera and his lord and lady could help Driftmark, he thought as his ship moored at the dock in Pentos. How he wished he could return home, but his mission required the utmost secrecy, and a detour to Driftmark was unnecessary. Duty came before desire. Loyalty trumped all lesser and unworthy feelings.

Still, it gladdened his heart nonetheless, to see a ship bearing Driftmark flags moored in the harbor. He had booked passage on an ordinary trade ship from Maidenpool to reach Pentos but Lord Corlys would forgive him a little detour before he chartered another ship to reach Tyrosh wouldn’t he?

Unable to resist the chance to speak to some fellow countrymen from Driftmark, he approached the ship. As he reached, one of the sailors standing guard asked him to introduce himself.

He told him his name. “I’m from Driftmark as well. I saw the standards you’re flying and couldn’t resist coming to see the ship,” he told the sailor.

“Aye. Driftmark flags can be a rare sight these days I know. Too many people are hiding theirs to avoid any problems. Still my crew and I will fly the standards of Driftmark with pride, no matter what. House Velaryon has done so much for us, even now they bleed their own fortune to make sure small merchants like me still have a livelihood.”

“You’re the captain of this fine vessel?” He was not flattering; it was a fine merchant carrack indeed.

The newly identified captain smirked. “That I am,” he said before his smirk faded. “I used to have two more ships like this as well. Damn Jaehaerys. Wise conciliator my arse, he’s just a tyrant. I hope our lord and lady give him a right old knocking.”

Rather treasonous words for the captain to say, but he was certainly not going to expose him. Here in this foreign city, few would care about the words of a petty ship captain anyway.

“What tidings have you of home kinsmen? I have not returned in some months, since before the sanctions actually. How fares Driftmark?”

The captain was downcast. “Not well I will admit. Spicetown has hardly any spices left in it anymore. Makes sense after Velos was lost I guess but still… it just doesn’t feel right you know? Every time I go back to Driftmark, I feel wont to cry. Jaehaerys has torn out Driftmark’s heart, and its lifeblood is ebbing away. The Velaryons are doing their best, but not even they can stop the decline forever.”

“Will that shake your faith in them?” he asked, carefully. It would be useful information to report back to his liege what the common men of Driftmark thought.

“Heavens no. The Velaryons have never steered us wrong before. All of this is the Targaryens’ fault, not theirs. Driftmark men fought and bled to bring old Jaehaerys the Stepstones, our lady destroyed the damn Dornish by herself, our fleet held the islands in his name, and what did the King do? He slighted us all with his dishonorable betrayal! A pox on him! Our good lord was only doing what he had to, to protect Driftmark and House Velaryon. That the Targaryens would prove to be such tyrants is not his fault at all.”

“Does everyone on Driftmark think the same as you?” he asked.

“No,” the captain said, a bit of shame in his face. “I know there are some whose faith in the Velaryons has been shaken back home. I will admit I can see why, especially with Ser Rhaekar dead now, may his soul rest in peace in the seven heavens.”

His mood darkened. His and his brothers’ failure to save Ser Rhaekar still weighed on him heavily. It was their greatest shame and he was disgusted in himself for letting it happen under his watch. Ser Rhaekar had been a good man, gracious and affable. Before Princess Viserra had come, and when Lord Corlys had been away on his voyages, it had been Ser Rhaekar whom he had known best of the Velaryons, and now that good man was dead, his wife widowed, and his children orphaned.

“Still, it’s not like the King will suddenly forgive us lowborn for turning on our liege will he? Driftmark will still continue to be punished.” The captain continued, unaware of his dark thoughts. “No we keep our honor and our loyalty to House Velaryon. It is because of House Velaryon, and because of Lord Corlys especially, that we even had the prosperity for Jaehaerys to take away.

“You might be a bit young to remember this lad, but Driftmark was all but ruined by the Shivers. It was the Velaryons who rebuilt the island and made it into the best damn land in Westeros. Some of us might have our misgivings, our worries, but I can promise you this; even now anyone who dares to speak ill of House Velaryon on Driftmark will get a black eye.

“I for one will never lose faith in the Sea Snake. I had the honor of accompanying him on one of his voyages. Any man who can lead his entire fleet through the worst storm I’ve ever seen without losing a single ship has my trust to weather this storm. And I am sure that our princess will keep him safe throughout it all with that dragon of hers. If you won’t bet on our lord and lady lad, bet on the Blue Queen.

“Mark my words, there will be a reckoning for the Targaryens one day. House Velaryon will rise once again. We will rise again. The Old, the True, the Brave!” the captain finished, proudly reciting the words of House Velaryon.

“The Old, the True, the Brave,” he could not resist chorusing. “I look forward to that day eagerly my friend. The second rise of House Velaryon will be a glorious sight to see.”

“That it will be,” the captain agreed firmly. “I just hope I’ll still be around to see it. I mean, I’m not exactly young,” he said in jest, gesturing to himself.

“If you don’t mind my asking, where is your next destination?”

“Tyrosh. Seems like everyone’s destination nowadays if you come from Driftmark to be honest. Lord Corlys is encouraging all ships and merchants to base ourselves in Tyrosh to avoid Jaehaerys’ damn sanctions. I hear plenty of companies will be moving, some say the bank and the university might even relocate as well.”

“Truly?” he asked.

“The headquarters at least. Why leave them at Jaehaerys’ mercy on Driftmark when they could be free and independent in Tyrosh? The people will follow too and Driftmark will diminish. Just the way things work I guess but it does feel sad nonetheless.”

Despite himself, he put his hand on the captain’s shoulder. “I’m sure our lord and lady do not intend to abandon Driftmark. Once Tyrosh is rebuilt under their guidance, they can restore Driftmark with the funds from it.”

The captain nodded. “Aye. I hope so. Do you need passage to Tyrosh then? Since you asked.”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure to help out a kinsman,” the captain reassured him. “Go get your things onboard, we can settle the fees later.”

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Fourth Moon, 91 AC

Two weeks later, the carrack sailed into the harbor of Tyrosh. He looked at the Bleeding Tower warily as they passed it, well aware of his lord and lady’s distrust of its warden. Once they had docked, he thanked the captain for his passage once again before he made his way to the Black Fortress.

Dressed nondescriptly as he was, he could not so easily walk into the Black Fortress, especially not with the new security measures after Ser Rhaekar’s assassination. He removed his silver seahorse medallion from where it was safely ensconced in his pocket and the guards at the gate immediately let him in.

He frowned. While it was convenient, he would not put it past the Towers or Dyes or any other damnable assassins to kill a Tide Guard and steal the medallion to bypass the other guards. He would have to raise the matter with his brothers and their lieges later. Still, that could wait. He had a more pressing task.

Before he reported to his lord and lady, he went to his barracks and dressed himself in his uniform once more. It had been several weeks since he had worn the ocean-blue plate and sea-green cloak. It felt good to don the guise of a true Tide Guard once more. No more skulking in the shadows for him. While he was proud to serve House Velaryon in any way they saw fit, becoming a Tide Guard had always been the highest calling and greatest accomplishment of his life.

As a young orphaned lad on Driftmark, he’d had nothing. His ma and pa had always taught him that good honest men did not steal, but orphans had no other way to eat. Torn between his hunger and his love for his parents, he’d resisted as long as he could. He had been on the brink of starvation when he’d seen it in the market. A stall full of oranges, his favorite fruit. Wanting to have one last meal with a favorite food before he died, he’d succumbed to the temptation and stolen a few oranges from the stall. The Spicetown Watch had caught him before he made it half a street. It was the end for him, he remembered thinking. He would lose his hand and be thrown out into the streets to die as a cripple.

Instead, House Velaryon had been merciful, House Velaryon had been generous, House Velaryon had taken him in. They had sent him to Breezehome Orphanage, and he later discovered that the matron there was the Sea Snake’s own aunt. Lady Laena had been like a second mother to him, or an older sister. She had teased him endlessly for his love of oranges, calling him ‘orange boy’, but he had been too grateful to even care about the teasing.

The Velaryons had taken him in when was alone in the world. They had clothed, sheltered, and fed him. They had taken him from the gutter and paid for him to have an education out of their own pocket and raised him. Their generosity and care for him had fueled his devotion and loyalty, and with it his ambition, his drive to become the best he could be.

He had taken up arms training and driven himself to be the finest soldier possible, all in the hopes of becoming a member of the revered Tide Guard. The most honorable and envied soldiers on Driftmark; trusted with House Velaryon’s own protection and secrets.

Sometimes he wondered if Lady Laena had recommended him to her nephew because he was still astounded he had made Tide Guard when he wasn’t even twenty and two. Lord Corlys and Lady Laena had seen something in him, a lowly orphan boy, and so he was determined to work even harder to meet their expectations and prove he was worthy of their generosity and esteem.

It was part of why he felt such shame. He claimed to be devoted to House Velaryon, dared to feel pride wearing the armor of a Tide Guard, and yet he had allowed Ser Rhaekar to die on his watch, in his very arms. It would forever be a black mark on his soul, a stain on his honor.

Even now he was haunted by the memory of Princess Viserra’s tears and Lord Corlys’s agonized screams as they had mourned their dead brother. He had never felt such shame and guilt in his life. He had begged Lord Corlys to command him to fall on his sword, ashamed and unwilling to live anymore, but his lord had pulled him to his feet and demanded he continue to serve, and it was then that he had given him his mission to carry his words to the Princess Saera.

Now he returned to his lord and lady, having succeeded for once, and he prayed that he might regain some favor in their eyes. He knew nothing could ever redeem his failure but he hoped this success might gladden his lieges’ hearts.

He found them in the solar after speaking to his brothers, hard at work on some task or another, papers strewn across the room that were none of his business unless they made it so. It was worse now than it was before he thought, seeing how tired they both looked.

Even before Ser Rhaekar had died, the Tide Guard had been growing worried that their lord and lady were not resting enough and were exhausting themselves. Now with Ser Rhaekar and his capable stewardship gone, it was even more pronounced, and he did not imagine grief made it any better.

He had read the Iliad in his youth and when he had met Princess Viserra for the very first time, he had been awestruck by her great beauty. She had been a vision, Helen of Troy come to life, out of the pages of the book. Yet even Helen’s beauty might be diminished by grief and exhaustion.

The Tide Guard saw dark bags under the Princess’s eyes, though she had done her best to hide them with her powder. She was not alone, his lord had new wrinkles on his face that hadn’t been there when he’d seen him last.

“Ser Jaremy,” the Princess called out his name, recognizing him. His heart soared, like it did every other time. That feeling of acknowledgement, that your liege knew who you were by name, it was intoxicating. It was a credit to the Princess and Lord Corlys that they knew the name of each and every member of their Tide Guard. All two hundred and twelve of them.

He was also aware that they did their best to know the names of as many of their staff as they could apart from their most trusted guards, and they would often ask after their wellbeing and their families. Little things like this, things he was sure no other noble in Westeros would do, reaffirmed his loyalty to this family, to this house.

There before him sat a true king and queen, Jaremy thought. A man and woman worth serving to his dying breath. Even now they were pushing themselves tirelessly for the sake of their people and their house, even in the midst of their grief. Few would have begrudged them their rest in light of their loss, but both had known that their house and their people could not wait. They had thrust themselves into their duties ceaselessly regardless of their pain. How could he not do the same?

Jaremy swore to himself once more that he would not fail them again. No Velaryon would die under his watch ever again. It was more sacred and important now more than ever with the little lords Jacaerys and Lucerys residing with their parents in this very fortress.

They could not fail. They had to be better. More skilled than ever, more paranoid, more cautious, more protective than ever before. What happened to Ser Rhaekar must never happen again. If it did, the Tide Guard might as well all commit suicide in shame, Jaremy knew he would.

His lord and lady were looking at him expectantly, realizing he had become lost in his thoughts, Jaremy bowed deeply. “Your Excellency, Princess Viserra. I come bearing Princess Saera’s reply to your missive.”

“Well done Orange,” his lord and archon said proudly.

Jaremy straightened in pride hearing the familiar nickname from his liege. What had once been a childhood jape teasing him for his love of oranges had long since become a badge of honor given to him by his lord. Orange was the name of his loyalty!

As he was dismissed from their presence and left the solar, Jaremy swore his oaths as a Tide Guard all over again in his head. He was Jaremy of the Tide Guard, Orange Knight, and he would protect the Velaryons and follow them to whatever end. And if that led him to his death? So be it. It would be his pleasure and his honor to die for House Velaryon.

Chapter 30: One Heart, One Flesh, One Soul

Chapter Text

Viserra

Second Moon, 88 AC

She shivered briefly as her father took her cloak off. The three-headed red dragon of House Targaryen was soon replaced with the silver seahorse of House Velaryon as Corlys wrapped his own cloak around her protectively. She nestled in the warmth.

The High Septon spoke as he brought out the ribbon. “My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. Corlys Velaryon, and Viserra Targaryen have come before the Seven today to be wed. To be made one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” As he tied the ribbon around their hands, he told them to begin their vows.

Following the High Septon’s instruction, Viserra turned to Corlys, her new husband, their eyes met as they spoke their vows. Corlys had asked her if she might be willing to say some vows of their own making with him, as some who wed did. She had seen no reason to deny him.

Before the entire realm, they vowed to love and cherish each other, to always be always faithful and true. They swore to stand by each other’s side, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, in wealth and in poverty and to always protect and defend each other, till death did them part.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity,” the High Septon said when they had finished with their first vows. He then unraveled the ribbon. It was no longer needed.

The most famous and sacred vow awaited them now and at the High Septon’s nod, they began to speak together. “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.”

“I am his and he is mine…” Viserra said.

“I am hers and she is mine…” Corlys chorused at the same time.

“From this day, until the end of my days,” they finished together.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife,” Corlys declared as he placed his hand gently on her chin.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you to be my lord and husband,” she replied before he kissed her.

The crowd cheered loudly at that. As they broke the kiss and turned to face the crowd, the High Septon declared with triumph. “Let it be known that Corlys of House Velaryon and Viserra of House Targaryen are now one heart, one flesh, one soul! Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder!”

Viserra saw pride in Alyssa’s eyes, and tears in her mother’s. Her father and brothers looked proud and happy, and her old friends and ladies cheered loudly. Laena was particularly boisterous to be her cousin by law now. Her new husband stood beside her as they basked in the crowd’s adulation and congratulations. A man she was fond of already, and one she hoped to grow to dearly love. All was right in the world, as it should be.

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Fourth Moon, 91 AC

“I think you’re being too hasty,” Viserra said. This was not the first time they had had this argument.

Ever since Rhaekar died, there had been a gap in House Velaryon. They had stewards and bureaucrats beneath them, but none as skilled as Rhaekar had been, or as trusted. None of them were family. Aurane and Alys were capable enough aides but their talents did not lie in stewardship.

It had fallen to Corlys and Viserra to fill the gap and they had been arguing more and more often, disagreeing on what decisions to make as they ruled the city without their capable steward and brother. Their sleeplessness had not helped at all. If they had been running themselves ragged before Rhaekar had died, now it felt like they were on the brink of exhaustion.

“In what way? The evidence speaks for itself Viserra. Eranyr is guilty. His allies have been caught disposing of Strangler stocks. He and the Dyes had plenty of servants and spies in place in the Black Fortress to carry out any plot and many of them were personally on hand to direct it. These agents have nearly all been implicated in suspicious activities. Unscheduled guard and servant shift changes that could easily allow assassins to slip by. Corruption and embezzlement of government funds.

“At this point, everything seems to suggest that he either ordered or abetted the plot to kill us. And failing that, his influence in the city is so strong it would be better to remove him altogether now that we have evidence of his general duplicity and corruption. Even if he wasn’t involved in trying to assassinate us that time, whose to say he won’t leverage his influence to move against us in other ways? He’s already been stealing from us.”

“All of this applies to Orlyr as well!” Viserra insisted. “Remember what you said? They balance each other due to their competition for support from the same groups in the city. If we remove Eranyr, Orlyr’s power will swell.”

“It’s different now,” Corlys rebutted. “We have our own people from Driftmark ready to step into the Dyes’ positions. The Towers’ growth in power can be mitigated and our replacement of the Dyes with our loyalists will strengthen our regime.”

“Why not remove them altogether if we have the men then? Dyes and Towers alike? The Towers had agents in the Fortress as well no?”

Corlys’s face was grim. “We have evidence to move against Eranyr, we don’t have nearly enough to move against Orlyr. If we do Viserra, the city will riot. He’s even more popular than Eranyr is.”

“So be it. We have ten thousand soldiers in this fortress and I have Dreamfyre. We can crush any dissent by force.”

“Then what? You will have us rule over ashes? Feed our sons the bones of the rebels you slaughter when we become destitute? Have you forgotten that our coffers are still bleeding? Disposing of the Dyes will give us full access to their assets and allow us to recoup some of our losses. Moving against the Towers might ruin us further on the other hand.”

“You’re exaggerating. What about all the treasures we acquired earlier? From the nobles when we first conquered the city?”

“Much of that has been reinvested to help rebuild Tyrosh’s businesses and economy, or to help support the freed slaves. A lot more of the wealth of Tyrosh is still tied up in the hands of Dyes and Towers or their supporters.”

“All the more reason to purge them all and retrieve that wealth.”

“And what will support us as we carry out that purge Viserra? If the city revolts and we destroy half of it putting it down, what will see us through all of this?”

“Our reserves. We have stacks of gold and treasure, accumulated from years of trade and fortune, saved up in the vaults of High Tide, still untouched.”

“Viserra, are you suggesting we compromise the last wealth of our house because of your prejudice against Orlyr?”

“It’s not merely a prejudice Corlys! You promised me that you would hunt down and make whoever killed Rhaekar and tried to kill us pay. The man with the fiery heart scar has still not been found. You cannot say for sure Eranyr or his allies killed Rhaekar. What if it’s Orlyr? What if this is all a cunning misdirection? Will you let Rhaekar’s killer go free? Let him gather more power to strike again? Our sons are here in this city, and every day the killers are free puts them at risk.”

Corlys’s face was grim and hesitant. “I’m still building my case against Eranyr. You have three weeks before I move against him. All our resources are at your disposal. Find me the man with the fiery heart scar Viserra, bring me the evidence I need, and I will do as you ask.”

He looked into her eyes. “I will destroy the Dyes regardless, it will strengthen our position and they are guilty of more than enough already, but if this assassin reveals that Orlyr and his Towers killed Rhaekar, I will destroy them as well, as I promised you.”

“Even if it causes a rebellion?” Viserra asked.

“Hopefully it will not, but yes, I will. We are in agreement. Rhaekar’s killer cannot go free. But I must have evidence Viserra. If I act without any, I will be looked upon as a tyrant, no better than your father. Tyrosh will reject us and that will be immeasurably dangerous for us.”

“I will bring you the assassin,” Viserra said determinedly. “And we will finally cleanse this city of the filth that defies us, Dyes and Towers alike.”

Corlys nodded. “I look forward to it.”

Turning around, Viserra left Corlys to his work and left the solar. She was on her way to speak to the guards when Pina approached her.

“My lady, there are some papers you need to look at, concerning the distribution of food to the former slaves.”

“Put it in my chambers Pina. I will see to it later,” she instructed her… what even was the right word for Pina? She was her maid officially but by now she was so much more, really more like a personal secretary and assistant aide as well without having officially been named such. She should look into making that official when she was less busy. Pina more than deserved that elevation and the increased wages it came with.

She continued walking toward the guard barracks once Pina had heard her orders, sighing. Her eyes drooped and if she allowed herself to lean against the wall to rest, she feared she might fall asleep as she had many times before. She had so much work to do, so many things to worry about. Sometimes she felt like she was drowning beneath it all, but she had to push through it. For her house, for Corlys and their sons, for Rhaekar.

__________________________________________________

Fifth Moon, 91 AC

Viserra was so determined to find the assassin, she only realized later that she had neglected her other duties in her singlemindedness. She had barked orders at the Tide Guard and other soldiers, sending them to search throughout the city and interrogating many of the now dismissed servants of the Fortress to no avail.

Many sleepless nights had been spent planning and worrying over it. It had had a cost. Her exhaustion had grown and she had slipped up in her normal duties. She could have sworn she had ensured all the paperwork had been in order, but if she was being honest she knew she hadn’t been paying as much attention to her other tasks as she should have been.

There had been a riot. Not a major one like Corlys had feared they would face if he arrested Orlyr, but a riot nonetheless. There were many problems the city faced, wages were often not high enough, subsidized food would not be distributed on time, street fights would break out between former slaves competing for food and jobs, or the Stars and Towers would clash in the streets over religion. One time too many, and a riot had started.

“Viserra, when I told you to find the assassin, I did not say neglect your duties to do it,” Corlys said, standing in front of his desk. The disappointment in his voice was crushing, but Viserra could barely even hear his words. Her eyes were betraying her as she struggled to keep them open to listen to Corlys’s reprimand. Of course he had to reprimand her, why couldn’t he just let it be and let her rest?

“I… I know,” she stuttered out awkwardly, trying to find a defense but none came to her quick enough.

“Do you understand the position we’re in now? Orlyr put down the riot. If we arrest him right now after he has done us such a service, we will most definitely have a rebellion against the tyrants on our hands; and you still haven’t brought me the assassin either. Do you understand? My hands are tied.”

She nodded tiredly, wanting him to get to the point already. Or was that his point? She didn’t know, nor did she have the energy to care.

“What were you even thinking? Viserra I told you it would be three weeks until I arrested Eranyr. I never said you had to find the assassin within that time or I wouldn’t act against Orlyr at all. You could always have taken your time and we could have dealt with him later. Why did you feel the need to exhaust yourself like this? It was unnecessary. I expected better of you.”

His voice was exasperated, chiding, like a teacher teaching his student. Much like it had been when he had tutored her in the art of stewardship, but Viserra heard something else. In her mind’s eye, it wasn’t just Corlys saying that but her mother, lecturing her for one stupid thing or another. Her eyes widened and her drowsiness evaporated. She felt a wrath empowering her, like a dragon Corlys had awoken. The restraints on her rage slipped and she did not have the energy or will to pull it back before it was too late.

Corlys expected better of her? After everything she had done for their house? What right did he of all people have to say that?

“What about you?” she demanded, her voice cold and angry.

“What?” Corlys was confused.

“I expected better of you as well. I thought you had a plan, that you would save the day just like you always did, that you knew what you were doing, but you don’t do you? You led us all into this crazy quest to conquer Tyrosh and now we’re in this mess. Rhaekar is dead because of you! We are forced to let his murderers go free just to stave off the ruin of our wealth, because of you Corlys! You and your miscalculation!

“You drove my mother and sister away from Tyrosh when they came as well, because you were too impatient too resentful of my father, too eager to brag. They could have helped us so much, they could have helped us out of this, but because of your pride and stubbornness you drove them away and that chance is gone! You’ve made so many wrong decisions and we are all paying for it! Why weren’t you better?”

Her anger had betrayed her. Viserra could see her words sink into her husband, piercing into him like Valyrian steel daggers, the hurt showing clear as day in his indigo eyes. The eyes she loved so much and she had dimmed their light with her cruel and thoughtless words.

She regretted saying it the moment she did, regretted giving voice to her darkest, guiltiest, and most selfish and unfair thoughts. They had insidiously tormented her for months now, their pestilence growing after Rhaekar had died especially, poisoning her feelings for her husband despite her best efforts to not let them control her but they had slipped out in a moment of weakness. Her tired mind had failed to keep her tongue on a leash. It was too late for regret. Words once spoken could never be unsaid.

“Corlys… I…” she tried to apologize, but it was too late.

He leaned onto the desk, seeming to lose the strength in his legs as his arms grabbed onto the desk. Corlys had always liked to show strength, even to her. He seemed to think it was his duty, his responsibility, to be the strong indomitable leader. So rarely did he let her see his vulnerabilities and insecurities but they were writ all over on his face now.

Yet Corlys the Sea Snake was never one to back down from a challenge or slight, not even from the person he loved most. His desperate hands clenched into resolute fists and he grew filled with a terrible rage of his own. She had seen Corlys’s wrath before, but never like this, never directed at her. His indigo eyes narrowed like a snake watching its prey, his body stiffened as he raised himself to his full height.

When he spoke at last it was with a cold and calculating wrath, with words meant to tear, hurt, and eviscerate. “You know, even at my lowest, I thought that you of all people was someone I could trust to have my back. That after everything we’d been through, you wouldn’t throw that in my face because you knew that I felt it already. I didn’t need yet another person, my own wife nonetheless, beating it into me.

Do you think I don’t know I f*cked up Viserra? Do you think I’m not brutally aware of it? I KNOW! I know I failed! I know I screwed everything up! Rhaekar’s ghost knocks at the door of my dreams every night, asking me why I got him killed, why his murderers have still not paid, why our house continues to suffer, why our grandfather’s legacy dies! I feel like drowning from the grief and the guilt, so much so I sometimes wish to die so I be free of it!

“You are supposed to be my light, my salvation from all of this. The hand that reaches out to me and pulls me from my despair, stands by me through good times and bad, wealth and poverty, sickness or health, that’s what you swore! I guess I was wrong to assume too much.”

He stalked closer to her, but he stopped short in arm’s reach. “You want to play the blame game Viserra? Own up to yours. Rhaekar accepted his part, and I have mine. You? You stand there like a spoilt princess, forgetting that it was you who raged at your father when he slighted us like a petulant spoilt child. It was you who demanded that I do something and we know full well you would not have tolerated anything less than what we ended up doing, because your pride was hurt by yet another humiliation by your family.

“You were fully onboard with conquering Tyrosh Viserra, before anyone else, before Rhaekar, and Irina, even before Aurane. It was you Viserra, not I, who ultimately asked your mother and sister to leave Tyrosh. I wouldn’t have liked it but I could have tolerated having them baring their teeth at me a little longer. You’re the one who couldn’t take the emotional turmoil having them near brought you.

“Don’t you dare shirk your responsibility in all of this! Has it even occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, we’re in this whole f*cking mess because you were a spoilt and selfish vain little girl who claimed a dragon so she could feel important for once in her life? You and I both know that the dragons are why Jaehaerys acted against us; if it wasn’t for your selfish reckless decision, none of this would have ever happened at all!”

Her rage had burnt out, and Viserra felt only hurt, only grief. A kind of hurt that shattered her being and crippled her body. Like knives were tearing her soul apart.

“I did that for you,” she choked out. Corlys had asked her a few times what had led her to claim Dreamfyre, but she had never been forthcoming with him, it was very personal and she spilled it now like a cracked jar of water.

“I thought that you would be Rhaenys’ and not mine and I couldn’t bear it. Maybe, just maybe, a dragon could let me be with you, to have one thing for myself for once that my family couldn’t take away. It was selfish and reckless I know but you were the last straw, my last ounce of courage to take that last step. Everything I’ve done since then has been in the service of our house. I turned my back on my family, and gave dragons to yours. I burnt and I killed thousands for you, protected you… and you throw it all back in my face?”

She could see the regret in his eyes, regret she had felt moments ago herself. But like it was then, it was now. It was too late to take back what had already been said.

“Does it feel good to let it out? These dark thoughts that have poisoned your mind for what I’m sure must be months now? I guess we’re both being honest for once. Good to know I’m such a vain and spoilt disappointment to you Corlys. I suppose we can both say that about ourselves now,” she said before she walked out of the solar and slammed the door behind her.

She held her emotions at bay as long as she could, feeling them threaten to drown her and pull her under. The servants sensed that she was in a foul mood because none dared to approach her. She thought of going to her sons and drawing solace for her soul from their presence but she needed to be alone right now. It wouldn’t do to let them watch her cry.

Throwing open the doors of her chambers, Viserra ran to her bed and screamed as she finally let her grief out, let the teardrops fall like a waterfall. She hadn’t even had the presence of mind to close the doors behind her, her loyal Tide Guard had done it for her.

The world felt like it was collapsing around her. Rhaekar had died, her family were far away and either against her or trying to tear her away from her husband. Her friends were distant and desperate with their own troubles and her sons were too young to be plagued with her worries for all that they were like a balm on her soul.

It sometimes felt like Corlys was all she had left and he had turned on her and cut away at her shaky confidence cruelly. Why did it have to hurt so much? They said that the person you loved most could hurt you the most. Her parents had experienced it, Viserra guessed it was her turn now.

Viserra sobbed and screamed into her pillows, not caring for her duties or her responsibilities. She was just so, so tired…

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When Viserra came to, it was dark outside. It was midday when she had come into her room. She hadn’t even noticed that she was falling asleep. She really was tired wasn’t she? Even now she felt it still, like an exhaustion that had seeped into her bones. But for the first time in weeks she felt refreshed and a little less weary.

She rose from her bed and noticed Corlys had fallen asleep in the chair by the window. Seeing him there, brought a torrent of emotions she didn’t even fully understand. Anger, grief, shame, guilt, love, and joy all swirled into one and she was left uncertain of what she truly felt. Not knowing what to do, she seated herself in the chair opposite her husband and just watched him sleep.

It occurred to her how rarely she was able to watch him sleep. Corlys almost always slept even later than she did and he woke up before her as well. He looked relaxed and at ease for once, not tense or troubled or busied. The wrinkles that had become so present on his face had smoothed. Seeing how peaceful he was right now made her realize that as tired as she had felt, how doubly more exhausted had he felt?

After Rhaekar had died, Corlys had thrown himself into Tyrosh, working himself to the bone. He knew just how many mistakes he had made and he was trying desperately to redeem himself, to be the man they all needed him to be. The weight of expectations you could not meet was crushing.

Much of Corlys’s life’s work was destroyed. He had spent decades building Velos and the trade routes to Yi Ti and now they had quite literally all gone up in flames. The grand idea that Tyrosh would save them from her father’s trap had proven to be false. In a cruel irony, the actions they had taken to prevent their trade and wealth from being threatened had made them so.

She knew all of this. Long ago, Viserra had already seen the hints. She had known how much Corlys’s failure had weighed on him and she had still twisted the knife deeper. Viserra did not crush the guilt, she let it flow because she knew she deserved it. She should never have said any of that, her well rested mind was tormenting her with the reminder of her stupidity now.

Viserra didn’t know how long she spent watching her husband sleep, lost in the novelty and wonder of the experience. She had been unfair to him she realized as she watched him snore lightly. She’d put him on a pedestal, lionized him like everyone else had, and thought him to have all the answers and solutions and resented him when he hadn’t.

He’d been like a hero to her, and it had been a disservice to him. Corlys wasn’t supposed to be her hero, but her husband. He was just a man, a wise and kind man, but a man nonetheless. Human all the same, and all of them were flawed and full of mistakes. Each and every one of them needed someone to pick them up when they fell.

Finally, Corlys began to awaken and his indigo eyes widened in love as he took her in. Viserra sensed an uncertainty in his demeanor however, the same turbulent swirl of warring emotions. Almost as one they spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Viserra chuckled and Corlys smiled. “You first,” she said. Corlys had sought her out, it was only courteous to let him speak first.

“I’m sorry Viserra, I’m so, so sorry. I should never have said that, I shouldn’t have –“

She had wanted to let him speak, but seeing him lost, she placed her finger on his lips. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have said it either. I’m sorry.”

Corlys nodded. “Exhaustion has a way of loosening your lips. It makes you lash out; say things you don’t really understand or mean in anger. We both said things we shouldn’t have; cruel, vicious things. We’ve both hurt each other Viserra, and I hate it. I... I want to forgive you, put this all aside and just forget about it, could you do the same for me?”

Deep down, Viserra knew they probably both meant and felt what they had said. Their true feelings had revealed themselves and if she was being brutally honest she couldn’t say that either of them were wrong to feel that way, but exhaustion and anger were definitely not excuses for saying it as cruelly as they both had. For a moment her anger and pain threatened to drown her all over again but Viserra forced it down. She didn’t want to fight anymore; she didn’t want to be angry any longer.

She nodded and took the out Corlys was offering them both and let him stitch the sutures over the tear in their marriage. She saw his face ease in relief. Things were right again between them once more. Both of them had hurt the other with cruel words and they had forgiven each other for it; all should be well now right?

They sat there awkwardly, staring at each other and looking away. Viserra finally broke the silence. “Our duties for the day?”

“Settled. I finished as many of them as I could and I gave the rest to Aurane and Alys and the others. We really should delegate more,” Corlys smiled awkwardly.

“Yeah. We should.” Viserra returned his awkward smile. They were both trying, and that was enough. It had to be.

They sat there for a while, just talking for once. Not about Tyrosh, or Rhaekar’s death and the search for his killers, or the problems facing their house. They spoke not as the Lord and Lady, but as just Corlys and Viserra. For the first time in so very many months, they told stories and laughed at japes, reminisced over happy memories and the books they had read together.

Throughout it all, Viserra felt a burning need begin to grow. A desperate urgent desire pooling in her body, but it was not simply lust. She needed a balm to reassure her heart and soul. Even now with their mutual apology and reconciliation, things felt so uncertain and awkward between them and she couldn’t bear it.

She pulled Corlys into a kiss suddenly and deepened it, their tongues met and danced as she tasted him. It had been weeks since they had made love, both of them too busy and exhausted, but now, refreshed from their sleep and with their tasks for the day settled, there was nothing stopping them.

Viserra pulled Corlys to the bed and he fell gently on top of her and began slowly taking her dress off. She giggled in ecstasy as he kissed her body delicately, moving down from her lips to her neck and going further below and soon she lost herself to the pleasure, lost herself in him.

Her life was chaotic and messy enough already. She needed something to be certain, something to be stable, a bedrock to see her through it all, and she knew what that bedrock was. That Corlys loved her, and she loved him.

He was her heart, her love, her joy. He held half of her soul. Her love for him had grown slowly like embers for years before she had fed it kindling and it had roared into being. Even now with all the pain and hurt between them, that love remained, dimmed perhaps but not extinguished, it would never go out, Viserra knew that for sure. He was her Florian, her Odysseus, and she was his Jonquil, his Penelope. They had sworn years ago that they would not let themselves become Aldarion and Erendis, and Viserra meant to keep that promise.

___________________________________________________

Sixth Moon, 91 AC

Viserra placed the last letter to the side and leaned back in her chair briefly, enjoying the light of the morning before she took out a fresh sheet of paper to start writing a reply. She had been dithering for months, but she had decided to finally reread and reply to the letters her family had sent her.

She wouldn’t bother gracing her father’s sole letter with a reply, but she did intend to write back to her mother, and to her three eldest siblings, Aemon, Baelon, and Alyssa. They had proven that they still cared for her, in their own way, and pragmatically, Viserra knew that having supporters inside House Targaryen will help strengthen their position once they had stabilized Tyrosh. If they ever hoped to bring an end to these sanctions, they would need that support.

Corlys entered the room then and came to sit at the table by the window with her. He had been doing this more often since they had fought and reconciled, taking steps to spend more time with her away from work.

It had done wonders for their relationship and Viserra felt that it was stronger than ever, for all that they continued to clash and disagree on several matters administratively, including him still moving forward with arresting and executing Eranyr and the Dyes. Still she consoled herself that Corlys had at least been smart enough to frame it in such a way that they were guilt of crimes meriting execution regardless of their involvement in Rhaekar’s death, which they were for now, considered guilty of, though she feared the true killers were still at large.

It wasn’t all so grim and worrying though, Viserra had just received some very, very good news. News she planned to add to her letters to bring her mother and siblings some joy, but first she had to inform Corlys, it was only proper. It had started when she had experienced a familiar sickness in the morning and her breasts becoming sore. A short consultation with Maester Desmond and it had been confirmed.

“Darling, I’m with child again,” Viserra said happily.

Corlys was stunned and for a moment Viserra saw fear and worry in his eyes but a radiant smile soon replaced it, a real smile that drove away all the worries. “That… that’s brilliant.”

“I hope it’s a girl this time,” Viserra jested. “Jace and Luke are wonderful, but we need more girls around in this family.”

He laughed. “You know; I hope so too. It would be wonderful to have a little girl of our own. Imagine her running after Jace and Luke, dazzling all the soldiers and servants with her charm and beauty. She’d surely be as radiant and gorgeous as her mother, a spitting image of her.”

“Or perhaps as cunning and clever as her father,” Viserra countered with a teasing smile.

“Aye. That would be incredible,” he said and his eyes grew excited imagining the possibilities. “If it is a girl, what do you want to name her?” Corlys asked, reminding her of their agreement.

She searched for a name briefly in her head, but she had her answer very soon, almost like it was meant to be. “Laena. For your aunt, and my best friend. I would like to honor them both, they’ve both taught and helped me so much.”

Corlys had a look in his eyes, like he knew something she did not. “Laena Velaryon,” he said, testing the name aloud. “I like the sound of that.”

Viserra smiled. She understood Corlys’s worry. Tyrosh wasn’t exactly stable yet and her being with child complicated things for at least nine months. It certainly limited her ability to ride Dreamfyre if there was any urgent need for it.

Yet, Viserra could not bring herself to truly care or worry right now. She would leave the worrying for another time. She would not poison this moment. This moment of joy and happiness was something they both sorely needed, a bright star to light up the dim darkness they and their house had fallen into. Her child was a blessing; one she would cherish as she did its older brothers.

She wasn’t sure why, but something told her that they were reaching a turning point. Perhaps sometime very soon, the future would look bright indeed for House Velaryon.

Chapter 31: Justice

Chapter Text

Second Moon, 92 AC

Viserra

Just a few more days, and it would mark one year since Rhaekar died. Even now it was still hard to believe that he was really gone, but he was, and the world had moved on without him. Aurane and Alys had had their first child, a child that would never know an uncle, a son named Rhogar. Soon, Viserra would have another child that would also never know its uncle as well.

Beyond Tyrosh and House Velaryon, the world turned, uncaring of their loss. The Targaryens had successfully reconquered the Stepstones after several long months, and Otto Hightower had been installed as Governor. His governorate might be tenuous but it felt like a permanent reminder of their loss of the Stepstones.

91 AC had been a bad year for House Velaryon. Their wealth, once said to rival even the Lannisters, had depleted greatly, though they remained very wealthy still. All but the closest of their allies had deserted them, and the Targaryens seemed ascendant for all that they faced division within their own house and realm.

Tyrosh had been like her own personal hell, as Viserra had drowned in the troubles and duties of ruling the contentious and stubborn city. To stay sane, she had grounded herself in her children, her two boys Jace and Luke, and the child growing in her womb. Whenever she had felt like giving up, she would go to her eldest sons, and remind herself of why she fought and struggled so hard. Her pain mattered not if she could give them a bright future.

Against the odds they had persevered. She had persevered. House Velaryon still stood, and while their coffers were still being drained, it seemed like they might have finally stanched the bleeding. A new year had dawned, and Viserra greatly hoped that it would be better than the year before it had been but perhaps her hopes had been premature.

Ever since the execution of Eranyr and his closest allies, the Dyes had been dissolved as a faction. Their wealth had all been seized by the Velaryons and many of the roles and positions they had once held had been filled by their loyalists from Driftmark, the men and women called Seahorses by the locals. The acquired wealth had helped them to recuperate their losses and their loyalists now filling much of the city’s civil service and trade guild management went a long way to strengthening their regime.

Unfortunately, things were far from resolved in Tyrosh and it was because of the other two factions in the city. The surviving Dyes had unanimously joined the Towers and Ario Orlyr’s power had swelled as he now had the undivided support of the city’s Buzantys, elites, local religions, and many of the slaves. His stranglehold on the city’s economy and civil service had only grown with the power of the remaining Dyes and their supporters joined to him, almost so much that Viserra wondered if destroying the Dyes was even worth it for House Velaryon.

On the other hand, the Stars had also grown. There were more septs than ever before and more and more believers. With those came increasing conflict and clashes with the Towers and their backers from the local religions. Conflicts that Corlys and her had to mediate to prevent the city from erupting into religious violence.

“Why does this godforsaken city have to be so difficult?” Corlys asked angrily, tiredly as they walked into his solar.

Viserra sympathized with him. This was no easy matter to resolve. In the latest clash between the Towers and Stars, a Red Temple had supposedly been vandalized and several Towers had been stabbed to death. A sept had been burned down, allegedly in retaliation. Both factions claimed the other was guilty of striking first and Corlys had rounded up all the perpetrators from both factions and imprisoned them in the Black Fortress while an investigation was carried out. Viserra knew he had done that to buy himself time to decide what was to be done.

They were running out of time however. Tensions were rising in the streets, as Towers and Stars fought daily, clashing against each other with their own personal forces of militias while the Velaryon guards struggled to keep the peace. Viserra feared it was only a matter of time before the violence became uncontrollable.

“What are you going to do?” she asked her husband.

“I’ve invited both the Towers and the Stars to come to the fortress tomorrow. Hopefully we can resolve this in a way that doesn’t result in riots in the city.”

“Ario Orlyr and the leaders of the Stars in the same room?” Viserra asked, amused by the idea before she grew horrified. “I hope you do not intend to listen to Orlyr’s demands,” she asked concerned.

Corlys nodded. “I don’t have a choice. I have to at least hear him out. You will deal with the Stars for your part, they have more respect for Zaldilaros than myself. We will try and come to some resolution.”

“And if that cannot be found? If violence cannot be avoided?” she asked urgently. “What exactly am I supposed to tell the Stars Corlys? What is your plan?”

“What do you expect me to do Viserra? Tell me please, because I don’t know. I don’t have a plan. There is no miraculous way to resolve this and keep everyone happy. The Towers and the Stars are both calling for blood. If I side with one, the other will turn on us and almost surely rebel, and if I side with neither and try to be fair, both will be displeased with us.

“I have militant and aggressive Towers burning down septs, angering Stars and Seahorses alike, but their warriors and importance to the economy keeps me from moving against them. Their leader is a charismatic rogue with the support of half the city and if I do not placate him, he can incite that crowd to violence.

“On the other hand, I have fanatic Stars arming themselves and all but creating a new Faith Militant. They stab people to death in the streets like some gang and call for a revolution to tear down all the slave masters of Essos, endangering our relations with many of our last remaining trade partners and the economy of the whole continent if they are not restrained.

“Either way I look, I see danger and trouble ahead. Support raving fanatics who want to burn down all the slavers in Essos, destroying its economy and creating chaos and anarchy, or back militant warriors and administrators who have a stranglehold on Tyrosh’s economy and civil service, or maybe anger them both.”

“The Stars are better than the Towers!” Viserra argued passionately. She still believed that the Towers had something to do with Rhaekar’s death. She refused to let them get away with more crimes. “The Towers have opposed us from the beginning, prevented us from taking full control of Tyrosh’s businesses and we both know they have slowed our recovery from the sanctions. If you must choose a faction to anger, why not them over the worshippers of the Seven who see us as their saviors?”

“Are the Stars better? Truly? Do you honestly believe their loyalty to you is reliable Viserra? It is not. Religious fanaticism is a double-edged sword and when their messiahs do not follow the ‘tenets’ of the revolution, the fanatics turn upon them.”

“Who knows what the far future holds Corlys. Right now our biggest problem is the Towers. If there is truly no way to resolve this peacefully, I must urge you to consider moving against them at last!”

“Without Dreamfyre?” Corlys demanded. “You are pregnant Viserra, and vulnerable. If the city fell into violence tomorrow, you will not be able to ride Dreamfyre and bring peace by force. Instead you will be in danger and I cannot accept that. I swore to keep you safe,” Corlys said as he placed one hand over her belly and another on her face to caress her cheek.

“Towers or Stars, it doesn’t matter ultimately. No matter what decision I make here; the stakes are higher than they have ever been, and I am terrified Viserra, that I will make the wrong decision. I don’t know what to do. I cannot be wrong again Viserra, I cannot. I can’t lose you,” Corlys said, his voice breaking. The wounded and almost desperate expression on Corlys’s face made her heart break.

“What about fair trials?” she suggested. “We keep both the Towers and Stars imprisoned while an investigation is carried out. Anyone from either side, who is guilty of arson and murder, we will execute as the law requires, regardless of who started the dispute.”

“That was my first thought as well, but I fear it’s not that simple. It will please no one Viserra. It runs the risk of turning both the Towers and the Stars against us completely.”

“But it will also show that you are above petty factionalism as the Archon of Tyrosh. The rule of law prevails and any who break it will suffer. That is something the Towers must abide by to keep their own self-proclaimed philosophy of bringing order to Tyrosh.”

“And the Stars will be satisfied by that? Even now they are calling for the death of all the Towers as vengeance for their burnt sept and murdered brothers and sisters. Not even the Towers are saying that, as much as you hate them.”

“I will rein them in. Have faith in my ability to do that will you?”

At the hesitant expression on Corlys’s face, Viserra pleaded. “Please? It’s worth trying at least. Do you have any better ideas?”

Before he could answer, there was an urgent knock on the door of the solar. “Come in!” Corlys ordered.

Her remaining goodbrother entered the room, alongside Ser Jaremy of the Tide Guard. They dragged a prisoner in by the manacles on his arms.

“Who is this?” Corlys demanded.

“I think I might have found the answer to your dilemma Corlys,” Aurane answered.

Viserra stared at the man in shock. The scar was different, branded over with the Seven-Pointed Star, but it was still there, at the bottom of his left cheek. A tall, pale, and dark haired man. A man she could not forget. Rhaekar’s murderer.

“It’s you!” she said venomously before she slapped him as hard as she could.

Aurane looked vindicated. Viserra turned to him. “How did you know who he is?”

“I didn’t. He confessed and begged to be brought to Zaldilaros. Said he would only reveal who ordered him to kill Rhaekar to you. Ser Jaremy was the one who realized he looked quite similar to the description you gave all those months ago.”

As he faced her with a new mark on his cheek, the man chuckled morosely. “I probably deserved that and much more my lady.”

“Who are you? Why did you kill Rhaekar? Were you always a Star?” she demanded, horrified by the possibility that the Stars of all people might have slain Rhaekar.

“Rest assured Zaldilaros, the Stars remain loyal to you. They know not who I am. But before I tell my tale, I must have your word, that you will spare the lives of my brothers in bonds. I confess for their sake alone.”

Corlys rose to his feet in anger. “You stand here after confessing to the murder of my brother and ask me to spare the lives of yours? Murderers just like you? How dare you! Your audacity disgusts me!”

“I am a murderer yes, but my brothers? They are not. It is not murder to kill murderers, only justice. They came in the night, claimed we vandalized their temples and burned the sept. I led my brethren and hunted each and every one of those savages for their crimes. If you must punish anyone for what you call murder, then punish me alone. Or I will not speak.”

At that, Ser Jaremy punched him in the face with his mailed glove, sending him to the ground in agony.

“Enough Orange. We need his mouth intact to speak,” her husband ordered.

Jaremy bowed apologetically. “My apologies. Please forgive me Your Excellency.”

“No matter, no permanent harm done,” Corlys said as he stalked up to the poisoner and kicked him as hard as he could. “Speak cretin, or I will let Ser Jaremy hit other parts of your body.”

The assassin groaned in pain loudly before he started laughing bitterly. “If you think your threats scare me Sea Snake, you truly do not know who it is you are dealing with.”

“Answer me damn it!” Corlys demanded as he grabbed the assassin and threw him into the wall of the solar.

“Corlys!” Viserra rebuked. “We need him alive, and we need him to talk. I for one am impatient to hear the truth. Is it so difficult to spare the lives of a few insignificant Stars if it means we can have the truth at last?”

“Of course you would want the Stars spared Viserra. You adore them so much despite the evidence before our eyes!”

At that Viserra glared at him and he backed down. He would not question her motives, not for this, not for Rhaekar’s killer.

“Speak assassin. Zaldilaros commands you. Every truth you speak; I will spare one of your brothers. Every lie and I will have one tortured to death as you watch,” Viserra ordered.

Coughing, the poisoner pushed himself up from the floor and leaned against the wall. “My name… is Aero Dirrin. I was born into the Buzantys caste, by virtue of my father, but my mother was one of the Free Folk.”

“A wildling. That explains why you look Westerosi then,” Viserra said. Their long-held theory had been confirmed. “You say you’re Buzantys, does that mean the Towers are behind it then?”

The man nodded tiredly. She turned to Corlys feeling vindicated but his gaze remained fixed on his brother’s killer.

“I was an experienced and capable spy for the Buzantys, in fact I reported to none other than the Warden himself, Captain Ario Orlyr. Long had he had me stationed in the Black Fortress, leveraging my exotic looks and roguish charm to acquire information for him. And then you Velaryons came and conquered Tyrosh, and a new opportunity arose. With my Westerosi appearance, I could easily blend in among your servants, and reach places that no other spy could.

“I spent months preparing, learning the schedules and the routines, manipulating your servants to trust me with a charm. I was waiting for a time when all three of you would be eating dinner together. The poison was acquired long beforehand and it was kept as a stone in my private quarters in the Fortress. The Buzantys had long known of Lysos Eranyr’s stock and it was not overly difficult to acquire it and implicate him for the crime. His slaves were not as loyal to him as he thought they were, especially after that brutal whipping he gave some of them for trying to escape.”

“So Eranyr was innocent then?” Viserra asked, beginning to feel sick. Had they condemned him to death for nothing?

“No. Eranyr was plotting something of his own. Orlyr and him had some rivalry, a race to acquire more power and Orlyr won their little game. The plan was simple, the three of you would all die, we Towers would seize control of the Black Fortress and ‘investigate’ and we would find Eranyr guilty and execute him. With the Velaryons and Dyes both removed, nothing could stop the Towers from ruling the city. And failing that, even if we killed only one Velaryon, the hope was that in rage, the survivors would turn upon the Dyes and allow us to grow more powerful, powerful enough to try again.”

At Corlys’s troubled face, the assassin laughed again, taunting him. “That’s right Sea Snake. You played right into our hands when you executed Eranyr! At least you played into Orlyr’s. By that time, I was no longer a Tower.”

“I was wondering how you became a Star,” Viserra commented.

Dirrin nodded. “Orlyr hid me from your search in the Bleeding Tower itself, but when the Targaryen dragons came, he seemed to have come to a realization that assassination was no longer feasible. In our ambition, we had forgotten that Zaldilaros was one of the Targaryens, for all her estrangement from them. He grew to fear that if you died, the Targaryens would destroy all of Tyrosh in revenge.

“He changed his plans then, decided that he would try and ingratiate himself to you by killing me, and then presenting my corpse as a token of his loyalty. His plan was to become a trusted member of your administration and attain more power that way, in the hopes that he could eventually make it difficult enough for you to rule the city, that you would leave on your own volition and he would be the undisputed ruler.”

“Sounds desperate of him. Clearly you escaped,” Aurane observed dryly.

“I did. I was warned by friends of mine. I left the Tower and fled but loose ends cannot be left lying around as you know. The Towers hunted me down and I almost died. Luckily for me, I was near a sept at the time, and the Stars took me in.

“Their kindness shocked me. Never had I ever seen any religion so caring and welcoming to slaves. It preached against the horrors of slavery but R’hllor had always instructed slaves to obey their masters, no matter what. The community of Stars welcomed me, and I turned my back on my old life because I had come to realize that everything I believed in was a lie.

“I was only ever a pawn for Orlyr and the Buzantys and Towers. But in the Stars I found new meaning. I hid from the search for me by branding the Seven-Pointed Star over my brand to R’hllor and decided that whether the Seven were the true gods or not, their worshippers had a cause worth believing in.”

“Why didn’t you confess earlier then, if you were so loyal to the Stars?” Viserra demanded.

“I was loyal to them yes, but I was done with dying for any cause, no matter how worthy. I… I wanted to live, and while I knew that it would benefit the Stars greatly if I confessed, I was too selfish to do it. There was a girl I was sweet on and I selfishly wanted a chance of happiness.

“She died when the sept burned. I hunted her killers down with nothing left to live for. And now I confess in the hopes of atoning for my sins, that my death will buy my brothers freedom and avenge my love.”

Viserra clenched her fists. “I can sympathize with your loss, but I will never forgive you for killing Rhaekar. What stops me from simply having you and your brothers executed now that I have what I need?”

At that, Dirrin grew desperate. “Wait! Please, I have more information for you! I know the important leaders in the Towers! Where they have hidden away their weapons, and… and the treasure they stole from you and the city! I can help you more still!”

“And why can’t I just have you handed over to Ser Jaremy over there and let him question you a little sharply to make you talk?” Viserra asked with a sad*stic smile promising pain and retribution.

A sliver of a smile made its way onto the assassin’s face. “Because you gave me your word. You have honor Zaldilaros, you are determined to be better than Orlyr. And if that doesn’t convince you, then be pragmatic. My information will be more forthcoming and reliable if I give it willingly rather than have it tortured out of me. And it will help you verify that I am telling the truth. Stars have no reason to know the location of any of those caches and not have shared it with you Zaldilaros. If even one of those caches is where I say it is, you will know I speak the truth.”

Corlys spoke then. “Ser Jaremy. Take this filth to a room nearby and interrogate him, sharply if he proves difficult. Procure the information he offers and write it on a list and return to us promptly. I’m warning you Dirrin, if we find none of these caches, if you are proven to be a liar, I will execute every single one of your fellow Stars and flay you within an inch of your life until you speak the truth.”

“There will be no need for that Sea Snake, I assure you,” he said as he was frog marched out of the room by Jaremy.

“How do we know he’s telling the truth?” Corlys demanded once the man in question was out of earshot.

“He gave us a way to verify it himself,” Aurane noted.

“That just makes it even more suspicious! He could have buried them in advance to prepare for this,” Corlys defended.

“What would he have done that for? He wanted to live after all, no intentions to confess until now,” Viserra said.

Corlys dismissed that. “He was a spy and an assassin. He would naturally have had emergency caches.”

“We could assess by the size of these caches. No mere assassin would have them beyond a certain size and if they’re too small, they are useless for the Towers to use in bulk in any way,” Aurane argued.

“I think he’s telling the truth,” Viserra said. “I can see it in his eyes. His rage against the Towers is genuine, it speaks of betrayal, and regret. Corlys, I’ve told you many times before that Orlyr had as much to gain from killing us as Eranyr did. You’re just reluctant to move against him because of the difficulties involved.”

“No mere difficulties involved in challenging the faction with the loyalty of half the city with our dragon grounded! This is dangerous!”

“As dangerous as letting a man who tried to kill us once before already go free? You swore to me that you would give me the head of Orlyr if the assassin implicated him.”

Corlys relented. “You’re right… I did.” He turned to Aurane. “You agree with her?” He asked.

“I do,” Aurane nodded.

Her husband sighed. “Very well then. If these caches are found where he said they would be, and if they’re large enough to implicate the Towers, then we move to arrest as many of them as we can tomorrow. Hopefully with the evidence acquired, we would be able to prove our case in the eyes of the people, or we will have a rebellion on our hands.”

_______________________________________________

To Dirrin’s credit, he had in fact been telling the truth. Despite his information being several months outdated, they found each and every cache exactly where he said they would be, each one containing far too many weapons and treasures to have been planted by him.

With his tale confirmed, they had moved to arrest as many of the Towers as they could within the next day, using his information and advice to strike at key targets. Ario Orlyr himself, and many of his closest allies, were arrested the moment they entered the Black Fortress, answering the summons Corlys had given earlier.

Taken completely by surprise, the Towers had barely been able to put up a fight, and when they were interrogated sharply, their stories all mostly lined up with Dirrin’s, despite some of them attempting to pin it on the Stars, though with their clear lack of preparation, it was clearly false and did not at all line up with their fellow Towers.

Orlyr himself had raged at his defeat and had taunted them for failing to catch him for so long once his execution was ordered. It seems with his death inevitable, he wanted to die with as little regrets as possible and flaunt his intelligence and victory one last time.

Well, Viserra thought darkly as she saw him chained before her, scared sh*tless, he didn’t look all too victorious right now. Several of the Towers were chained up before him, many still recovering from their torture and clearly injured. All were terrified of the dragon beside her.

Viserra had not approved of Eranyr’s execution and so Corlys had hanged him, but now? With the true killers found and her vindicated that it was indeed the men she had hated and suspected? She would be keeping her promise to Corlys, with interest.

Dreamfyre roared without her command, though not against her wishes. She clearly sensed and agreed with her desire to make these scum suffer and fear for as long as they remained breathing. Which was not much longer now at all.

The trials had been successful, and each and every Tower leader they could find and arrest had been found guilty in the eyes of the law. She didn’t know if that would placate their more radical supporters, but Corlys was hoping that the moderates who supported the Towers only nominally, or by virtue of being the same religion as them, could be swayed to remain neutral.

With her permission, Dreamfyre stalked toward the Towers, who grew more and more terrified at her approach. She sniffed and nudged and bit almost gently, almost tasting her food in advance. Before finally, at her command, she bit down on one of the Towers and tore him apart, roasting him with a light jet of flame before swallowing him whole.

It happened before her victim could even scream. All the Towers began screaming then, mumbling incoherently in shock and fear, begging for mercy, or even praying to their gods to save them. But there was no god here but Viserra and her dragon, and there would be no mercy from them for these scum. No swift dracarys to end their miserable existence instantly. No, Dreamfyre would feed, and she take her time with it. She did like playing with her food after all.

On and on it went, Dreamfyre slowly stalked around, playing with her food and slaughtering the Towers, one by one. Their fear had them all piss their pants by now, but Dreamfyre didn’t care. The flames cleansed it all. Finally, only Orlyr was left, precisely as Viserra had wanted.

“No! I am Ario Orlyr! Buzantys and Warden of the Bleeding Tower! You… You can’t do this to me!” He screamed desperately as Dreamfyre stalked toward him, backing as far as he could with the chains securing him in place.

Dreamfyre halted at her command. “My dear Orlyr, I think you will find that I very much can do this. And I will, with pleasure.”

At her urging, Dreamfyre took the most time playing with Orlyr, slowly cooking him alive with a low-powered flame to give him the most excruciating death possible. His screams would have horrified her most other times, but for this man? This man she hated so much, and had taken her friend and goodbrother from her and caused her and her house so much hurt? They were like music to her ears.

The courtyard was silent once Orlyr finally expired, only the sound of Dreamfyre chewing him up broke the quiet. The Tide Guard were stone-faced for the most part, but Ser Jaremy seemed to have enjoyed the spectacle and Aurane and Corlys had vindictive smiles.

Viserra walked up to Dirrin, seated at a desk in front of the carnage, having witnessed every other execution. Corlys came beside her, and poured some wine into a cup, placing it before Dirrin. As he watched, Viserra removed a dark amethyst crystal from her husband’s pocket and dropped it into the wine. They watched as the crystal dissolved in the wine, turning it from red to purple.

“What is this?” Dirrin demanded.

“Mercy,” Viserra said simply as Dreamfyre stalked up behind her. “You could choose to die by Dreamfyre too. I don’t mind either way but Corlys wants to see you die the same way Rhaekar did and I agree there is a certain poetic appeal to it.”

Dirrin stared at the cup with dread in his eyes.

“You have kept your end of the bargain and given us very valuable and useful information. Your fellow Stars will be spared, but this is where you end Aero Dirrin,” Corlys said firmly.

Glancing at Dreamfyre, Dirrin took the cup, and drank it all. Within seconds he was suffocating and he fell to the ground convulsing in spasms, desperately trying to breathe and tearing at his throat. Just like Rhaekar did. Viserra stared resolutely throughout it all. It could be quite fascinating, though morbid, when it happened to someone you didn’t have the slightest care for.

Once Dirrin finally stopped breathing, Viserra let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. Finally, at long last, on this day, the one-year anniversary of his death, a date Corlys had chosen for a reason, Rhaekar had been avenged… no, he had been given justice.

Corlys breathed out heavily before he interlocked his hands with hers and they walked away from the courtyard. They would sleep quite soundly that night.

_______________________________________________

Orange

Ser Jaremy was a perfectly mature, calm, and collected man, but he would fully admit that he had struggled to contain his excitement when his lord and lady had executed the scum who had killed Ser Rhaekar. It was just so epic, and so very deserved.

Of course, he was a knight, he did not relish in the unnecessary suffering of others, but as a Tide Guard? A Velaryon loyalist? He had most certainly considered it not just deserved but necessary. Let the brutal punishment of the Towers be a message to all enemies of House Velaryon what the price of striking at them was.

Many of the Towers had fled and scurried when their masters had been captured and executed, hiding throughout the city in little holes like the vermin they were. For the past week since the execution, Jaremy and his fellow Tide Guard had been tasked with leading the Velaryon soldiers to root out these surviving Towers. Begrudgingly they had also accepted the offered aid of the Stars, to cover more ground faster.

“Ser Jaremy, the Tower is here!” he heard one of the Stars shout from down the road.

Spurring his horse onwards, Jaremy galloped down the streets, uncaring of who was in the way. He was here on official Velaryon business, they either moved or were trampled. Simple as that.

As he arrived, he saw that a huge crowd had gathered around the Stars as they tried dragging the desperate vermin that called himself a Tower away. The crowd was jeering and booing at the Stars and someone was wailing at the door of the house, presumably the man’s wife.

Seeing him approach, she rushed to his side. “Good ser! Please I beg you! Spare my husband, he is innocent!” she said in her native Tyroshi.

“Innocent? I’ll be the judge of that,” Jaremy said as he dismounted his horse. Walking up to the man being dragged away by the Stars, he drew his dagger and cut away at his shirt, revealing a brand of the Bleeding Tower, prominent on his back.

“Only true zealots to the Tower cause will have this symbol branded so prominently on their back. By the decree of my lord and lady, this man is guilty!” Jaremy declared. “As a loyal Tide Guard, I have no other course but to do as my loyalty commands me and take him away for their judgement!”

The crowd became louder, booing and jeering, some even dared to step forward to try and stop him, but he unsheathed his greatsword and they backed away. The insults and spittle began flying and finally the Stars had had enough. “Shut up!” one of them shouted, making the crowd quiet temporarily from the sheer loudness of his rage.

“This man and filth like him do not deserve your sympathy or kindness. They have burned down septs, murdered the poor, raped innocent maidens, and abused the young! He goes to Zaldilaros, the Dragon Princess! And she will give him what he deserves!” he said as he pulled the man to his feet by his hair. “Death!”

The crowd went wild, jeering even louder than ever before. Suddenly, a rock hit the Star in the face and as he fell to the ground, the Tower grabbed his dagger from his sheath and tried to kill him with his own blade. Before he could however, one of the other Stars impaled him with his spear.

The Tower’s wife screamed in despair as she rushed to her dying husband while the Stars helped their brother to his feet. Slowly but surely, the Tower bled out in his wife’s arms. Before Jaremy knew it, the crowd had turned very, very hostile. Dangerously so.

“Murderers!” someone in the mob shouted.

“They stab good godsfearing mean to death, just like the rumours say! The Stars are not only infidels and heretics, they are savage bandits and killers also!” another shrieked.

The crowd began to chant and scream loudly as they surrounded Ser Jaremy and the Stars

“Back away! Back away!” the Stars said desperately as they pointed their spears at the mob, who had begun to pick up rocks from the road and some had even gathered rudimentary staffs and other weapons.

Suddenly, the Tower’s wife shouted as she rose from her dead husband’s side. “They killed my husband! After trying to take him from his home and family! No justice, no honor, no virtue! I say we kill the Stars and their masters! Death to the Stars! Death to the Velaryons!”

The crowd took up her chant. “Death to the infidels! Death to the usurpers! Death to the tyrants!”

This was not good at all. Jaremy used his greatsword to cut his way through the crowd as fast as he could and rushed for his horse, the mob quick on his tail even as their brethren began tearing the screaming Stars left behind apart with their bare hands.

“Chase him down! Do not let the infidel escape!” the mob shouted as they chased after him but they were running on foot and he was mounted. The rocks they threw at him barely missed him as he desperately spurred his horse to a full gallop. As he rode away, rushing for the Black Fortress, Jaremy was disturbed by the chants of the mob behind him.

“Death to the infidels! Death to the tyrants! Morghon! Morghon! Morghon!”

Chapter 32: Morghon

Chapter Text

Second Moon, 92 AC

Viserra

Corlys had dreaded this for months, and now that it had come at last, Viserra finally understood just a little why he had been so worried. Tyrosh was in flames. The loyal Ser Jaremy had described how the arrest of a Tower had turned sour, and now a massive mob was rioting and tearing through the city. Their call to arms was a roaring chant of death. “Morghon,” they cried, calling for death; death to the infidels and heretics, death to the tyrants and usurpers, and death for themselves, the faithful who will gladly give their lives for their noble cause.

The rebels had already seized control of several key parts of the city, and were burning down septs and slaughtering Stars and Velaryon soldiers as they encountered them. Parts of the city were already in flames from torches thrown or dropped during the riots. A council of war had been called urgently, to discuss how to coordinate the disparate response to the revolt. It was not going well.

“The rioters are trying to push to the Bleeding Tower, calling for the liberation of Ario Orlyr’s seat of power! We cannot allow the Tower to fall, or they can cut us off from our fleet!” one captain shouted.

“Who cares about the Bleeding Tower when the rioters are marching closer to this very Fortress?” Another rebuked him. “The Black Fortress has its own docks separate from the main harbor for our fleet to resupply and reinforce us if need be. I say we pull our forces back to the inner walls of the city, with all our supporters, and wait for Princess Viserra to recover from childbirth. Dreamfyre will lay waste to the rebels soon enough.”

“With the city in ash what would be the point of our occupation of it?”

“Better we rule over ashes than be dead!”

“We cannot wait for our lady to give birth! It will be weeks at least until she recovers from the birth enough to ride the Blue Queen. Your Excellency,” one commander said, addressing her husband. “I beseech you, allow me to call our men from the ships. We have thousands of good, loyal Velaryon men on those ships. If they were to disembark, we could double, or even triple our forces!”

“And throw away the lives of the sailors of our fleet? Are they to be spear fodder and thrown ahead of the soldiers to the mob?” another commander demanded.

“Obviously not! Our sailors are trained enough to fight pirates! They can garrison the Black Fortress or serve in support roles!” Yet another captain rebuked. The bickering seemed ceaseless. Chaos had set in, and there was no clear leadership.

Viserra narrowed her eyes at Corlys beside her. He seemed to be paying rapt attention to every suggestion by his commanders, and yet quite unlike him, had offered none of his own, nor any criticism. He had been uncharacteristically silent, and she noticed that Aurane to Corlys’s right was looking worried as well, though he was distracted trying to make some sense of the many furiously shouted plans.

Every commander seemed to have their own ideas on dealing with the crisis at hand. Different suggestions and strategies were all raised, ranging from doing nothing, to securing certain areas only, to disembarking their entire fleet and throwing 50,000 Velaryon men at the rioters, and so on.

One voice eventually broke through the cacophony however. “Why don’t we go home to Driftmark?”

All eyes turned to the officer. He was around her husband’s age if Viserra had to guess, with brown hair and eyes, not ugly, but not quite comely either. He looked tired and defeated, with no fighting spirit left in his body.

“My lords, Princess, my fellow officers. Is it not time to admit we are defeated? Ser Rhaekar is dead, and Driftmark is dying. We thought that destroying the Towers would redeem our losses, but it has only exacerbated the chaos. How many more men of Driftmark must die before we admit we are beaten? How many more will not go home to their loved ones because of our stubbornness? I beseech you, all of you, to do the right thing and admit our defeat.”

“Coward!” one of the other officers shouted.

“Craven! You would have us return to Driftmark with tail tucked between our legs? Shall our lord go cowering before the King begging mercy?”

“It is an absurd proposal. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

The hail of condemnation grew louder until it suddenly came crashing down. “Silence!”

You could hear a pin drop. Their lord had spoken at last, and all saw Corlys Velaryon’s anger. “You are officers and captains in the proud Velaryon Navy, or knights and men-at-arms sworn to House Velaryon. This bickering is beneath you, as is your crude insults to one of your brethren. Such things divide our house, and division will be fatal for us now. Cease with your attacks on the person of Commander Addam at once.”

“Commander Addam has a point,” Corlys began to say. “Pride goes before the fall. Perhaps we… no, I have been proud for too long. Perhaps it’s time to withdraw at last. Wisdom is knowing when you are beaten.”

The officers were shocked, many looked horrified. Aurane was downcast. All of them saw Corlys’s defeat, the loss of his will. The legendary Sea Snake’s once indomitable spirit was broken. Morale plummeted as the mood in the room soured. With their own lord losing hope, many began to fear that all was lost after all.

Viserra could not abide by that. She refused to accept it. Pushing her chair back, she took no care of the normal manners to ensure the legs did not grate on the floor. No she wanted to draw attention, she wanted to be heard. She could feel all their eyes on her, her defeated husband looking at her in confusion.

“My lords, my captains, my officers, I know that my skills in commanding war are lacking, if not nonexistent, but I feel that we cannot give up here. There is a path still to take that will see us emerge victorious. My belly may be heavy with my child, but a grounded dragon is a dragon no less. Dreamfyre will obey my orders even now, and there are thousands of loyal, brave men, who will surely beseech us to ensure the sacrifices of they and their brothers was not in vain. Defeat is by no means certain, not so long as our spirits and will remains strong!

“In my opinion, fleeing would not be the correct choice, even if it would bear us hither to safety. The sea is nearby if you wish to flee and the ships are ready and waiting. They will certainly bear you safely home to Driftmark. Yet, ask yourselves gentlemen, if you would rather that safety than the glory of a meaningful death when you return home empty-handed to Driftmark and our people ask you if our sacrifices meant anything at all?

“Valar Morghulis; all men must die it is said, and for one who has ruled, it is intolerable to be made an exile and forced to flight. I for one refuse to suffer such ignominy. The day will never come where I am deprived of Tyroshi purple, and not hailed as Zaldilaros, Princess of Tyrosh. It is here in Tyrosh, that House Velaryon must make its stand, and if it should be its end, then it shall be a proud end. The noblest shrouds will be of Tyroshi purple and Velaryon sea-green.”

As Viserra spoke, she could see the straightening in the backs of the commanders as they were moved to excitement and eagerness at her words. Even those who had been most defeated looked pensive, a feeling of reluctant hope in their eyes.

Attention turned once more to her lord husband, hope there was also in his indigo eyes, but it was chained and locked away by his own doubts. Viserra knew then, that this was not an ailment she could cure with the council around them.

“Leave us, all of you. Wait outside until your lord bids you to return.”

Some looked to protest but quailed at her glare and followed their brethren out at once. Viserra sat back down and looked to her husband.

“Did you really mean what you said?” he asked, haunted.

“I did, every word.”

“Even if it means to die? Viserra you can’t be serious! Rhaekar is already dead, you cannot mean to join him! You cannot!”

“I do not seek my own death Corlys, but I will choose death over the other choice. The King’s mercy is a poisoned chalice. Do you truly think that if we scurry away from Tyrosh like a dog with a tail between its legs, that he will show us true clemency? That he will pardon us? He will take our children from us, his hostages for our compliance, his wards to mold into his image, and when they return to us, they will not know us. I would rather die than let that happen.”

Corlys gritted his teeth, imagining the nightmare, the abyss that they could not let come for their own sanity. “You do not know that for sure.”

“He’s my father Corlys. I know it in my bones, because it’s exactly what I would do if I were in his place. I have denied it even to myself for so many years, but we are so very much alike, my father and I. But my father did not bow and submit to Maegor, I will not to him either.”

“The rebels are too many, our men will bleed dearly to end it. Without Dreamfyre, so much blood will be spilt, is it even worth it?”

“Such is the way of the world. To turn back now, will be to disrespect the sacrifices of those who have already given their lives, and dishonor the hopes and dreams of the ones awaiting our glorious return in Driftmark. Dreamfyre will not abandon you either, I may be with child, but I can still command Dreamfyre. She will be able to aid you in at least some part of the suppression of the revolt. Perhaps we might lure the rebels with a feigned retreat, entice them to take their reward and find it to be a mouthful of dragonflame.”

“And what of the destruction that will be unleashed, the carnage raging even now? The wealth of House Velaryon is at a nadir. We may not ever recover from this. Could you accept a life without luxury or amenity?”

“Gladly. I would empty every last reserve, spend every last coin in the vaults of High Tide and be a proud pauper if it meant our victory in Tyrosh. If it meant that our children remain by our side, and we do not dishonor Rhaekar and so many others’ sacrifices to beg mercy from the Iron Throne. Tyrosh is where we make our stand Corlys, together.”

“We could still lose.”

“We’ll do that together too. “

At that, Corlys despaired. “Why? Why do you still have so much faith in me? Did you yourself not say that I had failed you? Failed Rhaekar and failed our house with my stupidity, my foolishness?”

Viserra felt guilt as the unforgotten scars of words that should never have been said revealed themselves once more. “Those words were said in anger. I did not mean them, not truly.”

“Some part of you did, deep down. A part you wished didn’t exist but does nonetheless. Viserra, that part is right. All those months ago, you asked me why I wasn’t better? I’ll tell you why. It’s because I was a fool! I was a stupid, arrogant man, who thought that the world bent to my whims, that the gods themselves wanted me to succeed and I was wrong. In my hubris, I led our house blindly into the calamity Rhaekar had warned me of for so many years, and now he is dead because of my failure. I led my little brother to his death. An unforgivable sin that will forever stain my legacy.”

“And does that undo everything else? Look at what you have done, at all that you have accomplished! The story of your life is not failure, it is success and victory against all odds! This is not a defeat Corlys, it is only a setback, an obstacle that I am sure you will overcome. You cannot jump between two extremes; from reckless hubris to indecisive caution and cowardice. Walk the middle path my love, choose your battles, know which ones to fight, and which ones to leave. That is the wisdom that you crave.”

“I… I made the mistake of thinking you were perfect. When you came into my life, I was in a dark place. You were a light shining brilliantly. You seemed so wise to me, so knowledgeable, so daring and brave. I admired you, I wanted to be like you. I thought that you would never lead me astray, that you would never fail me. And when you made mistakes, little by little a part of me grew to resent you and I am ashamed of it, because I was wrong.

“You’re not some perfect all-knowing lord Corlys. You aren’t an almighty chosen avatar of the gods who will never fail. You are only human, and all humans make mistakes. Is it better to never fail, or to overcome your failures to succeed tomorrow? Is it better to never fall, than to plunge into the abyss and still have the strength to climb back to the top?

“Even now, your men will follow you to whatever end! They crave your approval! They have the utmost loyalty in your vision! They will die for you, because they believe in you. As do I! Your failures do not condemn you Corlys, not so long as you find the strength to overcome them and rise above them. Even now, I swear to you, I still believe in you! I still have faith in you, because I love you Corlys, because I know that you are better, that you can still be so much more.

She leaned in, almost to kiss him, but instead caressed his cheeks tenderly. “But do you? You are the one who must find the strength within yourself to fight again, the strength to forgive yourself for your failings, for not being perfect. Put aside the perfect peerless paragon, he never existed. Embrace who you truly are.”

“And that is?” Corlys asked her, awe on his face.

“My husband. The father of my children. Aurane and Rhaekar’s brother. The Sea Snake, the Lord of the Tides, the Archon of Tyrosh. A man who braved all the storms and seas in the world, all the dangers of court, all the recklessness of ambition, just so that he could make his house the greatest that it can be, give his people the finest lives they could dream of. A man who has made enough mistakes to drown in his failure, and yet I know that he will rise beyond them all and lead us to a victory like we have never seen before today!”

Corlys straightened then, rising to his full stature, and there was no uncertainty in his bearing. Viserra felt her heart skip a beat seeing that fire in his eyes once again. It had been lost for so long, but now that it had returned, she felt her spirits soar, and her confidence grow.

Her husband reassumed his former self like it had never been gone, but it was no longer a mask. Like a crucible tempering steel, their suffering and struggles had not been without purpose. Both of them had been tempered, been made wiser and more measured. Her husband had found his wisdom and restraint, but he had paid for it by surrendering everything that had made him who he was, his daring, his courage, and his fire. But one could not exist without the other, and now that he had found them both, restrained his recklessness with caution, and kindled his wisdom with fiery daring, there would be no stopping him.

“Thank you Viserra, for helping me find myself again.” He looked down at her, so proud and loving.

“I just said what you needed to hear,” She tried to dismiss it.

“And no one else would have. Not since Rhaekar died, not in this way. Either they would condemn me for my failures, or they would continue to blindly follow me no matter what. You Viserra, are what I need, as I needed Rhaekar. To remind me that I am simply mortal, that it’s acceptable to fail. Thank you.”

He embraced her tightly then and Viserra melted into her husband’s arms. Reluctantly she tore herself away. “There will be time for that later. We have a battle to plan and a rebellion to quell.”

Corlys nodded and made for the door to call their officers back in to resume their war council, but Viserra’s smile faded away as she felt an all too familiar pain. A dull ache in her lower back and abdomen, a cramp that reminded her of her worst moon bloods. It was slight at first, and she had hoped dearly that it might be a trick, but this was no farce. She knew for sure as she felt another strong contraction.

Not now little one, please!

But her pleas were for naught. She was forced to lean on the table to rest as she felt the aches radiate through her body like waves on the sea. Corlys noticed, of course he did. He rushed to her side.

“Viserra? What’s wrong?” he asked panicked.

“N-Nothing!” Viserra choked out before she moaned in pain. What an impatient rascal she carried.

“Your labors have begun haven’t they,” Corlys said, suddenly realizing.

“No, no. It’s nothing. The babe just kicked a little too hard,” she denied.

“I’m sure they did,” her husband replied, unimpressed, before he picked her up in his arms.

At his shouted command, the doors were pulled open by the Tide Guard and Corlys walked briskly past his brother and all the officers, uncaring of how undignified he looked carrying his pregnant wife in his arms like a newlywed bride. Corlys shouted commands at Aurane and the officers to gather in the council room and await his return before he rushed her to her chambers and summoned the Maester.

Within a few minutes, Maester Desmond had arrived, with all his tools and remedies. The midwives had come as well, and her goodsister Alys was there also. Maester Desmond inspected her and told them that all was going well for now, but Viserra soon overheard his whisper to Corlys that it was dangerous for her to be moved. Immediately he rose from his place kneeling by her bed and made to leave. Desperate, Viserra reached out to grab her husband’s hand.

She hated how pathetic she sounded. “Please, please don’t go.”

“I must. The men will need me to lead them if we are to win the day.”

“No you don’t – aaah!” Her words were interrupted by an unexpectedly strong contraction sending pain and discomfort through her entire lower body. “I cannot command Dream like this! She will not obey me. She won’t leave my side! You will be alone; Dreamfyre won’t protect you!”

“As it should be. The moment your labors began Viserra, I knew we would have no aid from Dreamfyre. Her duty is to you, first and foremost. We will do well even without her, worry not. I’m sorry, so sorry. I wish nothing more than to be by your side, as I was with the twins, but I must quell the rebellion, for your safety if nothing else. You have your battle Viserra, and I have mine. I will return to you Viserra, when we have both attained victory. I swear.”

“No Corlys!” Viserra screamed, in pain and desperation as her husband regretfully left her to her labors.

I can’t protect you if you leave me. Please, don’t go. Don’t go to where I can’t follow, to where I can’t keep you safe.

______________________________________________________

Aurane

The entire room rose to attention when Corlys marched in. “At ease,” he ordered firmly. He had caught barely a glimpse of it earlier, but Corlys’s very demeanor had changed and he was glad for it. Gone was the indecision, the weakness, they had been purged by a fire that had reignited in his soul.

“Your Excellency, is the Princess well?” one of the officers asked worriedly.

“She is. Her labors have begun and she has been restricted to her bed on the Maester’s instructions,” Corlys replied.

Some of the officers looked around hesitantly. “Then her words of Dreamfyre’s support…”

“A promise that she cannot keep through no fault of her own, and it will not be held against her,” his brother said, with warning in his voice.

“Of course!” the officers chorused.

“My captains, my lords. Why do you fear? We are House Velaryon! Do we need a dragon to do all the dirty work for us? No! We are the Old, the True, the Brave! We didn’t need a dragon to rise as high as we did, and we don’t need a dragon now. I promise you my friends, follow me, and we will win. That is my oath to you as your lord, as your Archon.”

Corlys’ had never stood taller or prouder, Aurane felt himself straighten in pride and faith. His charisma had never failed to inspire men, save only when it had failed its own master in his indecision and hesitance. Those thoughts of defeat had been vanquished now however. Only victory was on Corlys’s mind now, there was no other option with what was at stake.

“You have returned,” one of the officers said suddenly and Aurane realized it was the very same who had suggested abandoning Tyrosh earlier.

“Forgive me for my doubts earlier my lord. I see now, you have found yourself again. Your fire, your confidence, your belief. I worried because you yourself seemed unsure, but now I know I have nothing to fear.”

Corlys nodded. “Thank you Commander, but you owe thanks for that not to me but to your princess, my wife. It is in her honor, her defense that we will fight. Our princess, our lady has given her sweat and her tears and her efforts to protect and defend us! She shielded us at Bloodstone, championed us against the Triarchy. Will we abandon her in her hour of need?”

“No!” a resounding chorus sounded, with every officer in agreement for once.

“On this day, I fight to defend Princess Viserra, our beloved Sea Dragon! I will gladly bleed and suffer if it means that she is kept safe by my hand. I mean to eviscerate this Morghon Riot, destroy the Towers and any who would oppose us once and for all! Who’s with me?”

“I am!” Aurane shouted with the entire room.

“Good,” Corlys said as he leaned forward and placed his hands on the table, as if to conspire. “Because here’s what we’re going to do.”

As Corlys explained the plan, Aurane felt his heart pound with excitement. It was like having the old Corlys back. The plan was so audacious, so daring, and yet it was not reckless, it was tempered with wisdom and careful foresight. Truly the best of both worlds.

A while later, Aurane armored himself in the armory near the courtyard with his brother, the Tide Guard helping them to strap the pieces on. They rarely used full plate, as that was a burden on the seas, but here in the carnage awaiting them? Full plate would save their lives.

Their armor was much similar to that of the Tide Guard, ocean-blued and silver trimmed, with sea-green mail and doublets, though theirs were even more ornate and decorated with sapphires, aquamarine, and diamonds, as befitting their status. As Corlys strapped the last piece of the armor on his arm, Aurane held his arm to stop him briefly. He looked at him expectantly.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Aurane asked.

“What?” his brother demanded, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“You can still take off the armor and go back to your wife. No one will fault you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong little brother. I’m asking these men to risk their lives for the sake of my house and my wife, I cannot do that if I do not stand with them. If the king does not lead, how can he expect his subordinates to follow?”

“You’re not a king,” Aurane countered.

“That’s right. The principle remains the same however. I will not give orders from the rear, not today Aurane. Today, I must lead.”

With that said, Corlys strapped the last piece of armor to his chest and once the Tide Guard had tightened the straps, he marched out of the armory. With nothing else to do, Aurane followed suit behind his brother, as he always had.

His mind raced. Corlys was fighting to defend their house, but above all it was Viserra he fought for. Viserra who labored even now ceaselessly, working to bring his niece or nephew into the world. His thoughts drifted to Alys beside Viserra in that room, to his nephews Jace and Luke, and his son Rhogar, under heavy guard and attendance by their servants, ready to be ushered onto a ship bound for Driftmark at any moment. Aurane steeled himself, he knew what he was fighting for as well.

They walked out into the courtyard, mounting their horses and riding them to the front of the gathered column. Aurane looked over at their army. The preparations had been made. The most battle experienced sailors had all disembarked from the fleet and would support their forces as auxiliaries, the rest would either man the ships and resupply their forces throughout the city or garrison the Black Fortress.

The gathered force was a motley crew made up of Tide Guard, Driftmark Marines, Velaryon knights and sergeants and men-at-arms, sailors, and even Stars. Corlys had suggested a radical idea at the council no one had even considered; reach out to the Stars already fighting the rioters, and arm and armor them.

In private, he had confided his worries about arming them to his brother, but he had only said that desperate times called for desperate measures. Corlys had reassured him, that the Stars were so radical and fanatic, they would gladly bear the honor of the vanguard against the riot and take the most losses. They would kill two birds with one stone, and the surviving Stars could be rewarded with official positions within the Velaryon forces and be distributed evenly and assimilated into its ranks, preventing the rise of a new Faith Militant.

As the army saw them at the head, they straightened instinctively. Many, the Stars in particular, looked eager, but others, many of their fine warriors from Driftmark were troubled and concerned. Aurane looked over to his brother, and saw resolve fill his face.

With a bellowing shout, he called his army up. “Attention! Arise, arise Men of Driftmark! Stars of Tyrosh! We gather here for a purpose! To end this revolt, and bring peace to Tyrosh for the glory of Driftmark, the Seven, and our house!”

“I know that some of you may have concerns, that you worry your death will be in vain. Worry no more, for if it is to be our death, than it will be a glorious and meaningful death. Behind you is your lady, even now she labors to bring the next Velaryon into the world! With her are your brethren, all your friends and fellows who do not bear arms. It is for their sake that you will die. Beyond the sea is Driftmark, your homes and families; even now they still await to hear of your glorious victory! Will you disappoint them?”

“NAY!” the army responded with a resounding chant.

“Some may say that the day will come that we forget our traditions and legacy; that we dishonor our oaths and flee like cowards. I say that day will never come. We are House Velaryon! There are no traditions that we will dishonor, no oaths that we will forsake, no battles that we will cower from! We are the Old, the True, and the Brave! Beside you are your brothers, before you is your lord, behind you are your mothers and your sisters and your wives! We are all of us united for one glorious purpose! We are House Velaryon and we will be victorious!”

“VELARYON?” Corlys bellowed, louder than ever.

“AND VICTORY!” the army chanted furiously as the gates began to open, and Aurane felt his heart skip a beat. Never before had the battle cry of Driftmark been so poignant and strong, and he thought his ears might deafen from the fury of their shout.

“THE OLD!” Corlys called out.

“THE TRUE! THE BRAVE!” the army chorused, and their voices rumbled like thunder in a storm.

“VELARYON!”

“AND VICTORY! VELARYON AND VICTORY! VELARYON AND VICTORY!”

Aurane could not help but join in the cry as Corlys and he, followed by the Tide Guard and the knights trotted on their horses toward the opening gates. The feeling was infectious, the confidence swelling in their hearts, the purpose strengthening their bones. They could not lose; they would not lose.

As the gates opened, Aurane saw a city in flames, carnage and violence in its streets as innocents were butchered, and the rebels clashed with Stars and soldiers. For a moment he hesitated, but there was no hesitation in his brother’s voice.

“Move into the city! Destroy all who would defy you! For the time of mercy and restraint has passed. The hour has come for wrath, for ruin, and a red dawn!”

The horns blew furiously. “Velaryon and Victory! Advance!” Corlys shouted before he spurred his horse onward. With a final battle cry, they charged with their lord, out into the city.

_____________________________________________

Aurane had eventually split up from Corlys during the fighting. As Corlys’s brother, his authority on the battlefield was second only to his and he was charged with securing the docks. With his task completed, Aurane had received orders to reinforce his brother’s position.

“Aurane!” Corlys called out to him as he approached. “It’s good to see you brother. How goes the work?”

“Well,” he answered. “The rioters have been cleared out of every building between the Black Fortress and the docks, and the assault on the Bleeding Tower was turned back.”

“Good news indeed! We’ve been having some difficulties over here. The damn rebels have barricaded themselves inside the Red Temple. Whenever we get too close to the walls, they’ll pepper us full of projectiles. They even sallied forth once, crazy fanatics. I need you and your men to secure a perimeter in front of the gate, and allow our archers to move in closer.”

“Understood. How long until we storm it?” Aurane asked.

Corlys’s face was grim, though Aurane saw the hints of a vindictive smile on it. “We’re not storming anything. These fanatics love their Red God so much? They can join him in the holiest of ways. Fire is the purest death after all.”

Aurane raised an eyebrow. “Half the city is on fire already; you want to add more to it?”

“One building more would make no difference. I’ve already sent for the water and had my troops create a perimeter. The fire will not spread, but my archers need time to ready their arrows. Enough time for a sortie if the rebels figure out what we’re up to.”

“What do you want me to do then?” Aurane asked.

“Attack the gate first. Barricade them inside and do not let them sally forth or escape.”

A horn sounded then and they heard the cry from the sentry. “Enemy sallying forth!”

Corlys looked to him. “Well, there goes that plan. Get your troops in order. We will have to drive the sally back to the Temple the hard way.”

Unlike the previous sallies, in which their defense had held with the support of their archers, this time their arrow stocks were low and many of the archers were busy preparing for an incendiary volley on the temple. Rather than slow down the preparations for the fire arrows, Corlys had opted not to have any supporting volleys for their soldiers. Instead they were to advance in a solid formation, as solid as Marines were used to at least, to confront the sally of the rioters.

As they approached calmly and methodically, the rioters were wild and uncoordinated. Though there had been Buzantys in their ranks, many of those had been taken by surprise when the Velaryons had moved against the Towers and those few that had remained could not whip a rabble of peasants into any kind of discipline in a mere day.

Still that didn’t diminish the fanatic energy of the rioters. “Morghon! Morghon! Morghon!” They chanted as they ran at them, armored rudimentarily in leather brigandines and the odd chainmail here and there and armed with spears, knives, and axes, and other primitive tools. The few Buzantys were the most dangerous by far, being well armed and armored and trained. The rest of the rioters were easy to cut apart for a trained soldier but they remained dangerous still in numbers.

“Hear that boys?” Corlys called out as the rioters approached. “They’re calling for death! Let’s give it to them! Velaryon and Victory!”

“Velaryon and Victory!” Aurane and his men chorused before they moved forward, keeping their formation to meet the rioters head on. The rebels had some modicum of sense, sending their most heavily armored Buzantys in front to try and break their formation.

Aurane drew up his battle axe and parried the thrust of the armored Buzantys, before he brought the axe head down on his neck and collar bone, smashing through the chainmail and leaving a deep gash in the now dying man’s neck and upper body. Aurane pulled his embedded axe out and finished the Buzantys off with a clean swing decapitating his head from his body before moving on.

Beside him, the men of their formation parried the rioters with their own spears, swords, and battle axes, but the most awe-inspiring weapon of all was Riptide. In the hands of a warrior of at least decent skill, like Corlys, Riptide performed more than admirably, slicing through peasant jerkins and rebel brigandines like a knife through butter. It did not even have any difficulty with chainmail, as the sharp and indestructible blade forced its way through the links on any Buzantys foolish enough to challenge Corlys.

For all their fanaticism, even the rioters knew when they were defeated and began to flee back to their Temple one by one. On Corlys’s orders, Aurane pursued them back to the Temple gates. Much like their own forces, the rioters were low on arrow and other projectile stocks, and so they had little opposition as they cut down any fool who sallied forth and began barricading the gates shut from the outside.

As his men continued barricading the gates, Aurane watched as the hail of fire-tipped arrows descended upon the temple like a rain of light. Soon a fire spread despite the desperate attempts of the rioters to put the flames out. Aurane and his men held the gates as the screaming started and the desperate defenders tried to escape. By the time the sun began to set, the temple had burned down, and all its defenders with it.

Exhausted, Aurane followed his brother back to the Black Fortress, feeling incredibly tired after a long day of fighting. The rebellion had been far from fully quelled, and they would have much more work to do over the coming days to root out the remaining holdouts, but they had broken the rioters’ initiative. They could no longer threaten the Velaryon position in the city.

It was twilight by the time they returned back to the Black Fortress, passing patrolling soldiers, weeping women, and burnt out buildings. Many of their soldiers would be sent to rest, while their fresh brethren would patrol and ensure that the remaining rebels did not get any ideas. Come morning, the carnage would begin again in full but there would be a break in the battle for the night at least.

They were given a hero’s welcome when they returned to the Black Fortress, those that had been left behind greeted them with thunderous cheers and exuberance. It would do much to raise the spirits and morale of men that would have to go back to battle tomorrow, Aurane knew.

Their family was waiting for them in the throne room of the Archon’s Palace, guarded by a Tide Guard platoon. Alys nestled Rhogar in her arms, while Jace and Luke excitedly ran and greeted Aurane and his brother. “Kepa! Uncle Aurane!” Jace said eagerly. “Did you beat all the bad guys?”

Corlys smiled and ruffled his sons’ hair. “Yes. There are more to beat tomorrow, but don’t worry, we got most of them.”

“So cool!” Luke exclaimed.

Alys stepped forward to greet them, carrying Rhogar in his arms. Aurane felt his heart swell. He wasn’t sure he loved Alys, but he was fond of her. Their relationship might have started off a little weakly due to their age difference and his lack of time to spend with her, but they had eventually overcome it. Their son linked them together, and Aurane could not fully describe the feeling of joy he felt seeing Rhogar’s eyes light up in recognition of him, babbling happily with all the coherence of a babe ten months old.

Viserra walked forward then, and nestled in a bundle of silk and cotton, was a truly wondrous sight. “Corlys, Aurane. Let me introduce you to the newest member of House Velaryon. Laena Velaryon.”

She made to hand Corlys his daughter to hold but he turned her down. “I would love to, but later. I will need to have a bath first. I’m still filthy from the battle.”

Viserra smirked. “I could tell. I could smell it when you entered the room,” she teased, making them all chuckle.

Aurane smiled, full of cheer. It had been a long day, full of carnage and chaos, and the loss of men he had known, but if this was the reward that awaited them, it had surely been worth it. This was what they fought for.

“Speaking of battle, I have heard some of the servants already whispering to themselves of an epithet for little Laena here,” Alys said. “She was born amidst the chaos of the Morghon Riot, so they’re calling her Battleborn.”

“Laena Battleborn,” Corlys said aloud. “A fierce and strong name. She will live up to it I am sure.”

“Not for many years more let’s hope,” Aurane said. “For now at least, let the children be young. We will fight the battles in their stead, and bring them a bright future.”

The next day, Aurane and his brother went back out into the city to continue leading their troops. It took six more days of fighting, but eventually after a week, the riots had been put down, and dissent had been crushed throughout the city. Scattered survivors might survive in isolated corners, but they would be put down over the coming months, never posing a true threat ever again.

The devastation of the Morghon Riot would become clear as the dust settled. At least thirty thousand people had died in the carnage, and half the city had burned to the ground as a result of the riots and the battles. It would take years for Tyrosh to recover from the devastation, but fortunately, House Velaryon had found the funds to support the rebuilding.

Much wealth had been squirreled away by the Towers, embezzled from the government and businesses of the city. The local temples were also extravagantly rich and ornate, and with each of them having joined the rioters, the Velaryons had stopped caring of religious protests and seized every last piece of wealth they could from anyone and everyone in the city that had opposed them. Viserra’s recovery made it even easier too, as Dreamfyre soon reinforced the Velaryon soldiers as they brought the city under their absolute control.

Furthermore, their efforts to help Driftmark recover from the sanctions had finally begun to bear fruit after all these years. Domestic production and yields of silk, tea, and other products such as concrete had increased greatly and trade had shifted to Essos as they found new markets or expanded old ones. Little by little, funds began flowing back into the depleted coffers of House Velaryon, and they had decided that it would be safe to pull from their reserves to speed up the rebuilding of Tyrosh and Driftmark both.

House Velaryon had emerged victorious from the trial of Tyrosh. Their fortunes were rising once more, and Aurane for one was eager to see what high tide they might reach next. If only Rhaekar were here to see it, he thought regretfully.

Chapter 33: Steps and Stones

Chapter Text

Seventh Moon, 94 AC

Viserra

It had been over two years since the Morghon Revolt had been crushed. Those two years had seen a massive turn in House Velaryon’s fortunes as Tyrosh was brought under their full control. Now, House Velaryon ruled in Tyrosh absolutely, unquestioned, unchallenged.

The militant Stars, which had been loyal but worryingly fanatic and independent, had been greatly bloodied and their numbers had been thinned during the revolt. The survivors had been recruited and assimilated into the Velaryon forces, spread thinly and evenly distributed to keep the more fanatical worshippers under control and prevent the rise of a new Faith Militant. Though still nominally under the oversight of the Starry Sept and the High Septon, the Tyroshi Faith of the Seven was in practice fully under Velaryon control, with Viserra’s reputation as Zaldilaros playing a key role in that control.

Viserra had actually acquired a new epithet related to that. Corlys had likened her beauty and shining light to that of a radiant star guiding sailors home in a feast celebrating their victory over the rioters. Ever since then, Viserra had been called ‘The Star of the Sea’ by many, often shortened to ‘Seastar’ and symbolizing the union of the last two factions of Seahorses and Stars in Tyrosh in their shared loyalty to her and her house.

The last factions directly opposed to their rule in Tyrosh, the Towers and the remnants of the Dyes which had joined them, were destroyed when the Morghon Riots were suppressed. Corlys hadn’t been wholly incorrect when he had said the Towers had helped to stabilize Tyrosh in the aftermath of their conquest and the abolition of slavery, but ultimately they had been a rot that had to be expunged.

Removing the Towers had allowed them to recover many of the funds that they and the Dyes that had joined them had squirreled away and embezzled from the city’s government and businesses, and had given House Velaryon full control of the entire city’s economy and government for once. With the new funds acquired from the purge, Viserra and Alys had convinced Corlys and Aurane to begrudgingly open the reserves of High Tide and channel much needed funds into the rebuilding of Tyrosh, which had been devastated by the destruction the Riot had caused.

Furthermore, the stabilization of the city had allowed them to clear up the hinterlands as well, putting their plans for the mainland territories into action. House Velaryon personally owned most of the Tyroshi land on the Essosi continent, seized from the estates of the old elites. Work was underway redistributing some of it to the freeborn workers and freed slaves though House Velaryon would always hold the dragon’s share. With the implementation of efficient Driftmark methods of farming and the planting of new staple crops such as rice, yields had increased dramatically, removing the possibility of any more food shortages in Tyrosh.

In addition, it had been decided that the climate in the Heel of Essos was much more suited to farming tea than Massey’s Hook had been. The underwhelming tea plantations in Massey’s Hook had had one last harvest and been promptly replaced with lumber plantations, with the tea having been transferred to the warmer and more fertile Tyroshi Heel, where they had thrived, further increasing their profits.

Work was continuously in progress finding new crops and methods and expanding farms, plantations, and infrastructure, to ensure the Tyroshi hinterlands continued to produce the city with more than enough food and luxury goods to help sustain its economy.

The Tyroshi economy was recovering tremendously fast now that the obstacles in its way had been removed. Businesses, merchants, and companies had begun moving to Tyrosh, many of them encouraged to move from Driftmark. For example, the rebuilding Tyrosh was now home to many silk farms housing silkworms and producing high-quality silk in the very same city as the dyes that would color them exquisitely, reaping immense profits for House Velaryon. Much like tea, it had been decided that Tyrosh was better for the silkworms climatically and also removed them from the oversight of the greedy Iron Throne.

The people moved with these opportunities, and the population lost to the Riot had since been more than replenished by a tide of immigrants arriving from not just Driftmark, but Myr as well. The Free City was still mired in instability though its civil war had been forcibly ended by a joint Volantene-Pentoshi intervention. Skilled artisans, workers, and merchants all migrated to Tyrosh from Driftmark and Myr, as well as from all over Essos though in fewer numbers, enriching the city.

The Velaryon Bank had formally relocated its headquarters to Tyrosh and incorporated all the assets of the Tyroshi banks seized by House Velaryon from the old elites. The debts of the banks had all been settled and confidence had begun rising in it once more. A stable and increasingly prospering bank had helped to further drive the economy of the recovering city and encouraged investment and trade deals from the other Free Cities.

Plans were also underway to increase the production of many goods that Spicetown had made, such as concrete, compasses, and even glass, with the aid of Myrish artisans, in Tyrosh. A large market existed for those goods in Essos and the Velaryons were constantly negotiating with merchants, magisters, and dignitaries from Braavos, Volantis, Pentos, and merchants for new trade deals. The University of Driftmark was also building a new campus in Tyrosh, and when it was completed it would help cultivate and educate the intellectual talent of the city, driving its innovation, and helping the city grow in the Driftmark style that had made Spicetown and Hull great once.

Trade also passed through the stable and pirate-free Tyroshi corridor, bypassing the Stepstones and greatly benefitting Tyrosh. It was thought that the city might eventually require expansion beyond what its limits had been before the Velaryon Conquest. Such was the inflow of people and opportunities. It was hard to believe it had been only two or so years since half the city had burned down. Its rebuilding from that destruction wasn’t even yet complete and its growth was already projected to be so great.

Tyrosh had truly terrifying potential. With the stagnation of slavery and the elites that had sought to conserve it removed, it could truly be unleashed. With absolute control over Tyrosh, House Velaryon unshackled the chains on its potential and developed it like they had Driftmark, taking the clean slate given by the destruction of the Morghon Riots to truly make the city their own.

They moved many of the institutions and industries that had built Driftmark to Tyrosh, combining them with the city’s own local industries and potential from its strategic location and dye trade to cultivate a prospering Free City. The work was not done by far, but in ten or twenty years, Tyrosh would have far surpassed Driftmark and be well on its way to truly being a potential Queen of Cities.

Unfortunately, though they had tried to mitigate it as far as possible using their replenishing wealth, with Tyrosh’s rise, came Driftmark’s decline. A tenth of Tyrosh’s population was now Driftmarker in origin, replenishing the losses of the Morghon Riot in Tyrosh, but gutting Driftmark in the process. The island was continuing to suffer under harsh sanctions and the loss of forty thousand of its people and many of the businesses and institutions and trade that had driven its economy could not be understated.

The Velaryons had done right by their people, and led them through the storm to a new tide of prosperity in Tyrosh, but for the foreseeable future there was no place in that tide for Driftmark. Perhaps by the time Viserra’s father had died, the sanctions might be removed, but by then Driftmark would be permanently diminished into a shadow of its former self as Tyrosh rose in its place.

The Velaryons’ recovery had not gone unnoticed. Their old allies Celtigar, Grafton, and Tarth, had tentatively reopened their accounts in the Velaryon Bank and increased trade with the resurgent Velaryons, no longer worrying about the sanctions. In Essos many cared little for Jaehaerys’ sanctions to begin with and were more than happy to deal with Tyrosh and the Velaryon Bank once the situation had become stable.

In their letters, Viserra’s brothers Aemon and Baelon had been quite neutral in their thoughts on her house’s recovery. Her mother and sister Alyssa had been quite supportive on the other hand, and she had not received any word from her father or any other member of her family. Westeros seemed to be reeling from their unexpected recovery, and many of the rivals that had laughed at their fall now feared their resurgence.

A crisis had developed as a result of this. In the two years the Velaryons had struggled to assert their authority over Tyrosh and rebuild it, Ser Otto Hightower had become the Governor of the Stepstones. For the past few years, he and the other Stepstones lords had been tediously clearing out the pirates in the Stepstones to middling success and begun building the necessary infrastructure to actually hold the islands and collect the tolls. They had been supported in this endeavor by the Iron Throne, and all the progenitor houses of the cadet branches given the islands.

Unfortunately, enough time had apparently passed for the Stepstones Lords and their Governor to feel confident pressing the territorial claims and jurisdiction her father, damn him, had given them over Bloodstone and the Tyroshi corridor. For the past several years, more and more disputes had arisen between the Velaryons and the Stepstones Governorate over those territorial and jurisdiction disputes.

Otto Hightower and his cronies and allies had to fear the growing economic might of Tyrosh. It was half the reason her house had taken the city to begin with. Tyrosh would always naturally economically dominate the Stepstones, and with their control over Bloodstone as well, they effectively surrounded Hightower and his subordinates. Their only hope was to enforce their claims on the waters and jurisdiction her father had given them.

The sailors and merchants were already calling it the Stepstones Crisis. A combined fleet from all the Stepstones islands, supplemented with ships from the Redwyne and Royal fleets, had intruded into Velaryon waters in two areas of interest. Firstly, they had entered into the waters of Bloodstone, to enforce the authority and jurisdiction of Governor Hightower after a dispute over taxes. Secondly and by far more seriously, they were intruding into the Tyroshi corridor as far as the claims granted by Jaehaerys extended, interdicting their trade in the area. If they did not leave soon, it could be considered an act of war.

Her father had given Otto Hightower the authority to collect taxes from all the Stepstones Islands and gather them in Highwatch for accounting before forwarding them to King’s Landing. He had also given Hightower the power to arbitrate regional disputes between Stepstones lords. Viserra and her house had recognized neither of these powers and considered Hightower an illegitimate governor. They had refused to send any taxes to Hightower and had begrudgingly forwarded their dues from Bloodstone directly to the Iron Throne alongside Driftmark’s much diminished dues.

No rebuke had ever come from King’s Landing ordering them to pay to Highwatch however, despite Hightower’s incessant complaints. Even now with Hightower’s insistent demand that they obey his jurisdiction with his ships in their waters, no royal command had been forthcoming.

That hadn’t stopped Hightower from sending his ships into Velaryon waters. Ordinarily Viserra would have simply flown to his fleet with Dreamfyre and deterred them with a demonstrative blast of dragonfire but she couldn’t. Hightower had timed his intrusion well. Viserra was with child once more, in her eighth moon of pregnancy no less.

“Viserra?” her husband called to her, his expression was calm, so unlike the storm she felt raging inside. The seagulls cawed as they flew overhead. The smell of salt on the sea breeze filled her senses, but they were muted to Viserra, who had been lost in her thoughts.

“I’m well Corlys. Just… just worried,” She answered abruptly.

He smiled reassuringly and for a moment Viserra felt all her worries banished. “There is little to worry about Viserra. This is a dispute, not a war. Hightower will not dare to break the King’s Peace.”

Viserra nodded, but in her heart her fears refused to loosen their grip. They had gathered at the docks attached to the Black Fortress to see Corlys and Aurane off. The Velaryon Fleet was sailing to an emerging crisis and despite Corlys’s words, Viserra could not help but worry.

Alys was to the side, holding both her sons, the three-year-old Rhogar and the infant Rhaekar, named for his late uncle. Viserra’s own children were with her. One in her womb, and three by her side. Her boys Jace and Luke were five years old now, and their little sister Laena was two.

“Kepa!” Jace said as he walked forward to Corlys, Luke quick on his heels. Corlys knelt down to hug them.

“Hey. How are my little men doing? Take care of your mother and sister alright? Your Aunt Alys and your baby cousins too. Uncle Aurane and I will be back soon, but until we are, you two are the men of the house. You’ll have to be responsible.”

Jace and Luke nodded eagerly, both of them straightening and wearing comically serious faces. Viserra had to resist laughing and ruining their moment. They were so adorable.

Viserra stepped forward and gave her husband a tender kiss before he smiled and nodded at her. “I’ll be off then.”

As they watched and waved, Corlys and Aurane boarded their respective ships, Aurane was heading to Bloodstone, while Corlys was heading to the disputed waters near Highwatch. Her heart pounded in her chest with worry as the ships set sail and as they neared the horizon, her children impatiently asked her to take them back up to the palace.

At her children’s request, she took them to see their dragons. When they arrived at the stables, the dragons trilled in greeting, always happy to see their bonded. Her children eagerly ran to their dragons and began to pet and play with them eagerly, making Viserra a little uncomfortable. Her children looked far too small to have dragons so massive.

Tessarion and Morghul’s rapid growth had not at all slowed, and they had already doubled their size from when they arrived in Tyrosh, gorging themselves on the offerings of the Velaryons or the fish and now whales they were let loose to hunt freely on occasion. Even Laena’s Shrykos was growing fast, a stunningly beautiful silver dragoness with a silver-white crest, claws, and scales, and snow-white wing membranes.

Despite her at times recurring worries about her young children having such large dragons, the dragons were endearingly devoted to her children, though Viserra had forbidden them to ride them until they were much older. Her children weren’t the best at disciplining their dragons either, due to their young age and lack of will, so much like Viserra mothered her children, Dreamfyre mothered her hatchlings and kept them behaved.

Speaking of Dreamfyre, Viserra walked forward and eagerly rested her face on her dragon’s snout, drawing comfort from her soothing warmth. Dream was as beautiful as ever with her pale blue scales shimmering like aquamarine and sapphires and her silvered crests running up her spine like the adornment of a queen. A Blue Queen.

Viserra hugged her dragon tighter and did her best to avoid letting her children see her cry. It was not that she resented being with child, it wasn’t exactly enjoyable but her children were very much worth it and Viserra would not trade them for anything. She did however resent the feeling of helplessness, of powerlessness. She just always had to be with child when these things happened didn’t she? Or rather their enemies conspired to strike only when she was with child, too cowardly to dare antagonize them when she was fit to ride.

This was twice now that she had been forced to watch Corlys leave her to fight. He might say that there would be no fighting, but Viserra could see the concerns he had kept from her, the smile that was a little too intentionally bright. It had been hard enough during the Morghon Revolt, and now it was even worse knowing he would be so far away and she could do nothing to help or protect him.

She had done her best to prove that Dreamfyre was for the benefit of their house. And yet at the moments when her dragon was most needed, when she was most needed, they had failed to protect their house. Thousands of their people had died in the Morghon Revolt because of her failure, how many more would die now if the Crisis escalated? What would happen if Hightower did not back down?

Dream breathed on her then, and Viserra trembled. Her breath was warm enough to be uncomfortable, but not hot enough to be painful, like entering a hot bath before it had cooled enough. It was almost like Dreamfyre was chiding her.

Her dragon nudged her gently with her snout and Viserra looked into those gorgeous azures eyes of hers. They had a knowing look to them, betraying an intelligence even Viserra did not fully comprehend the limits of. Viserra had a feeling her dragon was all too aware of her inner turmoil. She felt a surety from Dream, that no matter what she commanded right now, she would obey.

A dangerous idea came to Viserra’s mind then as she felt a heady rush of intoxicating power and confidence rush to her head. A dangerous, stupid, terrible, no good idea, yet also one that was far too appealing. She was already rationalizing it to herself, and looking back to Dream, she saw only loyalty and trust in her eyes. Dreamfyre was hers to command and for the first time, Viserra felt like that actually scared her.

________________________________________

The Governor of the Stepstones

The past few years had not gone quite as well as Otto Hightower had believed they would. By mid-year 91 AC, the Targaryens had burned out most of the pirate dens in the Stepstones, and had proceeded to leave the rest of the hard work to their fleets and lords. As the appointed Governor, the task of overseeing all of this had fallen to Otto.

There was so much work to do. The Velaryons and the pirates had built barely any infrastructure so Otto had to oversee the construction of ports, forts, and toll offices. Furthermore, the pirates had not been as eradicated as they had hoped, many of them were hiding in the isolated tiny islets scattered throughout the archipelago and making a menace of themselves, and with their ports and forts in the process of construction, the pirates had much room to prey on their shipping the past few years, making many opt for the safer Tyroshi Corridor instead.

Otto strongly suspected that either Dorne or Tyrosh, or even both were giving safe harbor and funds to the pirates to annoy him, because they kept coming back! An incessant nuisance that was not severe enough to draw the attention of the Targaryens, no matter how much he had requested their return, but not insignificant enough as to not make his duties more difficult than they had to be.

The difficulties in enforcing his jurisdiction had not helped either. Otto did not even have a proper dedicated fleet with a single chain of command, no instead he had to cobble together ships from many different houses and fleets, and run himself ragged somehow trying to coordinate the various and fractious groups active in the archipelago.

Corlys Velaryon was Lord of Bloodstone, so Seven knew he had gotten absolutely nothing out of Bloodstone these past four years. Boremund Baratheon, the bloody Lord of Storm’s End, held Veil and ruled it like it was an extension of the Stormlands, paying little heed to Otto’s technical jurisdiction over it. Both the Royal and Redwyne fleets were active in the region and while they were cooperative and under the command of his friend and goodbrother Robert Redwyne, the Master of Ships, the chain of command remained no less muddled because they weren’t technically under Otto’s command.

Many of the people Otto had to deal with weren’t even lords! Instead they were obstinate stewards appointed to rule on behalf of some snot-nosed brat until they came of age by said brat’s father, who was providing all the men, gold, and ships for said island until their brat took charge. Which meant that whenever Otto requested something these bloody stewards thought exceeded their mandate, he had to wait until the reply from their masters returned, slowing things down even more. It had been even worse before the new Maesters had trained their ravens.

The blasted Targaryens had pawned this ridiculous hellhole off on Otto and then ditched him to do everything while they had barely lifted a finger. It was times like this that he wished once more that he had been content to remain the Steward of Oldtown, but no he had to be ambitious, he had to have accepted the King’s offer and what did you know, it turned out to be too good to be true. The Seven had to be laughing at him for his hubris, truly.

His only comfort and solace throughout all of this had been his wife Elinor and their children, Oscar and Alicent, as well as their youngest two boys, Leyton and Gwayne, who had been born in the years since he had become Governor. Every day, Otto had run himself ragged for their sake, seeking to coordinate the Stepstones and develop his fiefs.

Highwatch, Felstrong, and Tor might be mostly barren rocks, but Otto had spoken to Lannisters long enough to know that there was value even in those. Precious minerals, gems, and metals had been found in the hills of all three islands, causing everyone else to prospect their islands as well in search of wealth. They had even found some sort of hardened compost-like rock, that the Maester had reported to be hardened seabird droppings. It made for excellent fertilizer, and his brother Hobert ensured that Oldtown purchased whatever his domains had to give for it.

Unfortunately, the islands’ true potential had not yet been truly unlocked. Though they had found the wealth in its lands and begun exploiting what farming and timber there could be had from the rocky islands, so long as the pirates remained a persistent menace, trade and fishing were greatly limited.

The Stepstones should have been, by right, the wealthiest trade crossroads in the world, but with the pirate problem unresolved, most trade redirected to the neighboring Tyroshi Corridor, protected and patrolled by the Velaryon fleet and their mistress’ dragon. They still received enough revenues from their tolls and mines to break even, sometimes even profit, but the unfathomable wealth they had all been promised had not been forthcoming.

Otto had written many letters to King’s Landing requesting that something be done about it, but it seemed the Targaryens did not understand that he had more than enough ships in the Stepstones, he needed to have command over them! What was the point of them assigning two new squadrons from the Royal Fleet to Highwatch and sending in Baratheon’s fancy (and shoddily built in Otto’s opinion) new fleet when Otto needed to deal with egotistical fools to get them do anything he wanted them to do?

The only end result was more sword rattling and ego-stroking as the lords and captains competed for glory to clear out pirates and even extort merchants. It felt like trying to stitch together a tapestry but each sewer went off in their own way with differently sized needles. It was aggravating.

Finally, finally, a breakthrough had occurred a few moons ago, when the King had finally listened to his pleas and authorized him to requisition ships from all the lords and fleets active in the Stepstones to create a joint expeditionary fleet that was solely under his chain of command. It was for a temporary purpose only, akin to calling the banners, and Otto would have to relinquish command of the ships back to their true lieges eventually, but he would take this stopgap.

If nothing else, it should take the pirates some time at least to crawl back in once he’d exterminated this current infestation. For the past few months, Otto had put his combined fleet to work, efficiently and methodically clearing out the islets and hidden pirate dens. Truly the wonders of having your own fleet. They had even found evidence that the Dornish had indeed been supporting and sheltering the pirates, with quite a few having taken refuge in the Broken Arm, where their fleet could not go without risking war with Dorne.

Otto had forwarded the evidence to the Targaryens, though he somehow doubted they would do anything much beyond a stern letter to Sunspear. They were too obsessed with the Velaryons or distracted with their own internal familial issues.

Though she had attended her eldest grandchildren’s wedding, Queen Alysanne continued to refuse to return to King’s Landing permanently, even now that her first great-grandchild, Prince Aegon, had been born to Prince Viserys and Princess Rhaenys. Rumours continued to spread of a quarrel between the King and Queen and Princess Alyssa, with Princes Aemon and Baelon attempting to mediate. Most agreed that it likely was due to disagreements with the King’s handling of the Velaryons, though all were wise enough to discuss their gossip beyond the earshot of any tempestuous Targaryen.

Speaking of Velaryons, Otto was quite displeased that they were rising once again. Despite all their arrogance and brazenness, despite all their efforts to bring them down, the stubborn Velaryons were rising once again. Ever since they had crushed their little revolt, the Velaryons’ fortunes had massively improved and now they threatened to economically dominate the Stepstones and lure away all their trade and toll revenues entirely.

If there was one good thing about the Velaryons rising again, Otto would say that it had made the Western alliance stop bickering amongst themselves and rally once again to face the threat. Coordination between their forces in the Stepstones was at an all-time high, and the South Seas Company was now making more profit than ever with the crippling infighting and indecision curtailed.

Most of Westeros continued to deal with the restrictions of the sanctions, despite their proven ineffectiveness, and as each year passed, more and more cracks began to appear in the King’s grand scheme. To averting that end, the King had promised his implicit backing to a request that Otto had made to him to use his new combined fleet to finally enforce his jurisdiction and territorial claims as Governor of the Stepstones on the defiant Velaryons.

And so that brought him to today, in the midst of the Stepstones Crisis. There was a small islet in the Tyroshi corridor along the border of the waters his ships had claimed and were interdicting. Corlys Velaryon had invited him to negotiations there. Otto somewhat found himself looking forward to it. He had met the Sea Snake once before, when he had voyaged to Oldtown. It felt like a lifetime since then.

Despite their rivalry, he did maintain a respect for the Sea Snake and his accomplishments. Of course, respect wouldn’t stop him from holding his advantage over him. They were all quite aware of the fact that Princess Viserra was in the late stages of her pregnancy. Word had spread of how Dreamfyre had been grounded during the Morghon Revolt because of her childbirth. Otto was feeling quite confident that the Blue Queen would not be showing up anytime soon. That was quite important. Rather aggravatingly, the Targaryens had not replied to his requests for a dragonrider to help him enforce his demands on the Velaryons.

His ship had reached the islet now. Boarding a skiff, Otto was rowed to the beach by his men, as his guards rushed to secure the meeting site. The banner of truce recognized by all the faithful flew high above the meeting ground. A rainbow-striped flag with seven long tails, on a staff topped by a seven-pointed star.

The Sea Snake himself was waiting for him there. Otto smiled and greeted him. “Lord Velaryon! Thank you for agreeing to come to this meeting!”

Besides Velaryon, one of his knights growled. He wore the typical armor Otto knew was associated with the Tide Guard, though in a rather shocking display of individuality, he had also been allowed to bear a badge of… an orange? “Know your place Hightower! You intrude into the sovereign waters of the Free City of Tyrosh. In this domain, the proper address for my liege is His Excellency, Archon of Tyrosh!”

Otto smiled again. “A title that is not recognized by my liege, King Jaehaerys of Westeros, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the First Men, and the Rhoynar. Isn’t he your liege as well Lord Velaryon? Have you forgotten that he has granted these waters to the Stepstones Governorate?”

Velaryon frowned. “They were never his to give. Tyrosh never swore any oaths to the Iron Throne nor were any of its waters ever under its jurisdiction. These grants are invalid and as Archon of Tyrosh, I do not answer to Jaehaerys.”

“But you do as Lord of Bloodstone do you not? Why then have you refused to recognize the jurisdiction of your sworn liege’s lawfully appointed Governor?” Otto pressed.

“What do you want Hightower?” Velaryon demanded.

Not bothering with niceties it seemed. Very well then. Otto would have liked to play with Velaryon a little longer but it would not do to overly antagonize him. Otto would prefer to settle this without a war, but if war was what was required to make the Targaryens finally act and crush the Velaryons, then so be it.

“In short, you must allow my tax collectors and toll officers to land in Bloodstone to oversee the dues that are owed to me per my jurisdiction as Governor of the Stepstones. Furthermore, Tyrosh is to remove its ships and forces from these waters that are legally ours by the decree of King Jaehaerys.”

“Completely unacceptable,” Velaryon declared.

Otto shook his head dramatically. “Come now Velaryon, I am willing to negotiate on the matter of the Tyroshi corridor. I understand that it’s a sovereign dispute between two states. That is not the case in Bloodstone, which is by all right under my jurisdiction as Governor and sworn to the Iron Throne which appointed me as governor to begin with. You are honor bound to obey my orders where Bloodstone is concerned at least.”

“Unless you can produce a writ from the King that is signed and sealed, I have no obligation to recognize you as my Governor. I don’t think the Targaryens will mind overly much if Bloodstone continues to pay its taxes directly to King’s Landing instead of to you first Hightower. You don’t seem to be doing that good of a job in keeping the Stepstones under control to begin with.”

Otto gritted his teeth. “If words will not persuade you my lord, perhaps fleets will? I have the authority of the Iron Throne and two hundred ships behind me. And that is only here. Another hundred surround Bloodstone.”

“You would not dare to break the King’s Peace,” Velaryon said, unimpressed.

He raised an eyebrow. “Like you did when you conquered Tyrosh? Velaryon whether you recognize it or not, I am the Governor of the Stepstones, authorized by the King himself to enforce my jurisdiction over the territory he has granted me oversight of. I have his confidence and backing also. Unless you mean to challenge Jaehaerys yet again, do the smart thing and bend for once in your life Velaryon. It will make things easier.”

“I’ll believe you when I see a Targaryen dragon beside you. As one is clearly not present, this whole crisis of yours Hightower, seems to be nothing more than your desperate sabre rattling. Tell me, are you that scared of my house’s resurgence that you must stoop as low as threatening war? Are you challenging the Velaryon fleet Hightower? We are legion for we are many. I can promise you that the resources of a Free City are far beyond what your mind can dream of. We have many, many more ships than you.”

“And if you come into conflict with elements of the Royal Fleet under my command and slay soldiers sworn to the Iron Throne, do you think the Targaryens will stand idly by as you break the King’s Peace once again Velaryon?”

“My wife is their kin. My house has dragons of its own. You are insignificant in their eyes Hightower.”

“That is true, but your wife is with child, unable to ride. Your children are but babes with no control over their dragons. And if you strike against vassals of the Iron Throne, you will leave the King no choice but to name you traitors.”

Honestly Otto was bluffing. He refused to let Velaryon see how much his words had unnerved him. He truly did not know how the Targaryens would react. Anyone else they would brutally destroy but this one house in particular they were so hesitant, so unpredictable.

“We are at an impasse then,” Velaryon stated.

“That we are,” Otto agreed.

“Are you truly willing to risk all-out war?” Velaryon demanded.

For a brief moment Otto hesitated, thinking of Elinor, of Oscar, Alicent, Leyton, and Gwayne. “I don’t want war. But I will do whatever it takes to secure my family’s success and future and carry out my prerogative as Governor, even if that should lead to war.”

For a brief moment, Otto saw respect in Velaryon’s indigo eyes, before it was gone. “Will you not back down?” Otto asked.

“I will not. Or rather, I cannot. To do so would be a betrayal of my people.”

Otto felt a grim resolve fill him then. Perhaps the Targaryens may not act against the Velaryons directly, but with Dreamfyre grounded, neither did the Velaryons have dragons to bring to bear on him. While Velaryon might boast of his Free City’s naval might, Otto had the backing of the royal and Redwyne fleets. It may be possible to win a decisive battle here and drive the Velaryons out of the disputed waters. At which point the Velaryons would be inching ever closer to risking Targaryen intervention to attack the Iron Throne’s territory.

Before Otto could break off the negotiations and set them on the path to battle and likely war however, a sudden roar sounded. It was loud, mighty, and furious. Otto felt his bones trembling in shock and fear. He realized that Velaryon and his men were shocked as well, though they tried to hide it.

The Blue Queen descended upon his fleet and breathed flame upon the water close to them, boiling away the surface into sea spray in a show of power before she circled around back to the islet. With a loud thud, she landed upon the sandy ground.

“Ser Otto Hightower, you and your invasion fleet, are to leave the waters of Tyrosh and Bloodstone immediately,” the Sea Dragon commanded.

“By what right do you give me orders?” Otto demanded, finding some courage.

The dragon roared in their faces and Otto could have sworn he saw the promise of blue flames in its maw. “By my right as the Princess of Tyrosh, Lady of the Tides. You have intruded into my house’s waters. Leave now, before I make you leave!”

By the Seven, wasn’t this woman supposed to be with child? “I am the Governor of the Stepstones!” Otto said indignantly. “I am under the protection and orders of your father Princess! House Targaryen has many more dragons than you do, larger than yours too! Are you challenging the Iron Throne?”

In that moment, Dreamfyre breathed flames and Otto thought his life was going to end. He felt the searing heat, but found himself a little shocked to open his eyes and find himself still alive. He and his party turned to find that the dragon had reduced the grass near the beach to ash, and some of the sand had even been melted and fused into misshapen glass.

“Those larger dragons are far away. Dreamfyre is right here, right now; and nothing and no one can save you from her but me. Shall I have her give a demonstration on what dragonfire can do to the flesh of bodies and the wood of ships next?” Princess Viserra taunted.

Otto stared agape. She was mad, truly unhinged. He could see it now, the bulge in her belly. This woman was clearly with child and yet she had risked her life and that of her child’s to fly to threaten him. She was risking the retaliation of the Targaryens on her entire family by threatening him and she clearly did not care.

She was right, nothing would save him from her right now if she decided to set her dragon on him and his fleet. Otto found himself caring no longer for the feuds of the Targaryens or the jurisdiction of the Stepstones. Dragons were very convincing.

“No need Princess,” he said begrudgingly. “You have made your point.”

With no other choice, Otto bent to the demands of the Princess of Tyrosh and withdrew his fleets from the contested waters and stopped pressing his jurisdiction on Bloodstone. If the Targaryens refused to support him against their crazy kinswoman, they could enforce their own bloody jurisdiction themselves.

A week after the Crisis had come to an end, a letter arrived from King’s Landing, signed and sealed by the Prince of Dragonstone, ordering him to stop antagonizing the Velaryons. Otto stopped caring about the opinions and desires of House Targaryen completely after that.

______________________________________________

Viserra

Seeing Otto Hightower cower before her and tuck tail and run had been satisfying, Viserra would not lie. Overseeing his fleet’s departure had also given her a stay of execution. The moment Hightower’s fleet had been on their way, Corlys had marched her to the Sea Snake and led her to his bed, gently, but firmly. She could sense his anger.

“You will not be riding Dreamfyre back to Tyrosh,” Corlys ordered. “I’ll have Ser Jaremy escort you on one of the other carracks back tonight itself. Dreamfyre can make her own way I’m sure.”

“The sun will set soon. It won’t be safe to go by ship. I’ll have to ride if you want me back home today.”

“No. No way in hell.” Her husband’s answer was firm, with no room for negotiation.

Feebly, Viserra protested. “It would be faster. Besides, I told Alys and the children I would be back home tonight.”

Corlys groaned. “Ah, you’ve made a right mess of everything haven’t you?”

“Have I displeased you?”

“What kind of question is that? Are you just pretending Viserra, or are you actually that stupid? Oh Viserra I am not displeased. I am f*cking furious with you!

“How could you do this? What were you thinking? You are eight months pregnant and you rode?? You rode your dragon to a potential battlefield! What if something went wrong? What if someone in Hightower’s fleet got unnerved and loosed a stray arrow at you? What if you injured our child with any enthusiastic riding?? Viserra you’ve put not just your life, but the life of our child at risk! I thought you knew better than this!”

Viserra bit her lips hard, trying not to feel the sting. Her memories of the last time Corlys had expressed his disappointment in her burned their way to the forefront of her mind.

“Tell me Viserra, what could have possessed you to do something so stupid??” Corlys demanded.

She couldn’t bring herself to look at his face, to see the disappointment in his eyes, the anger in his brow. She knew, she had known from the moment she had mounted Dreamfyre, that this was a horrible plan. Yet she hadn’t been able to stop herself.

“Well?” he pressed.

“I… I was afraid,” Viserra said instead, looking to the side still, unable to face him. She felt like an errant child being lectured for something mischievous.

“Afraid? Do you know how afraid I was when I saw you riding here? I thought my heart was going to stop! All it would have taken was a single arrow for you to be killed and our child with you! Words cannot describe how irresponsible and foolish you were!”

“I know!” she screamed. “I knew it from the very start.”

“So why?? Why did you risk our child’s life? Do I have to worry about you taking unnecessary risks with Laena and the twins now as well!?”

“I won’t do that!” Viserra protested vehemently.

“How would I know that? That’s not what your actions show Viserra!”

“I won’t do it again, I promise. I just… I needed to do it this time.”

“What? No you are not weaseling your way out of this. I cannot trust that you aren’t going to run off on another harebrained scheme like this. That’s supposed to be my flaw Viserra, not yours! What were you so afraid of that it would compel you to put yourself and our child at risk unnecessarily??”

“I… I couldn’t bear to see you go again! While I’m left pregnant and waiting, praying that I won’t hear that you’ve died, that some disaster has befallen our house and our men! My mind was driving me mad with the idea of you dying. It scared me!”

Corlys grabbed her head and forced her to look into his eyes. She couldn’t even tell what emotion he was feeling, his eyes and expression were in such chaos. “I did my best to allay your fears did I not? I had the Velaryon Fleet with me, all the strength of Tyrosh mustered against Otto! Viserra we put down the Morghon Revolt by ourselves, we don’t need you and Dreamfyre to coddle us for everything! Especially if it puts our child at risk! I can promise you that every man in that fleet thinks the same right now.”

Viserra looked away, ashamed. “When you left me in that bed that day, I thought the world was ending. I was giving birth to our child and you weren’t there! You were out fighting and I couldn’t help you, I couldn’t protect you! I hated feeling so powerless, so helpless! I couldn’t bear feeling it again!”

“I know. I know it hurt you that day Viserra. But didn’t I prove to you that you could trust me? That I could protect you for once? I did everything I could to reassure you this time. Do you trust me so little?”

She detected the slightest traces of doubt and insecurity in his voice. “No! It’s not you! I had every faith in you! I just… I couldn’t stop worrying. I’m the problem Corlys, not you! I made the mistake! This isn’t your fault!”

“But it is. If your only reason is your excessive worry, then I have some fault as well. I was worried but I tried, I tried so hard to assure you that everything would be well, that you didn’t need to come protect us. And you saw right through me.”

Viserra wouldn’t stand for her husband’s self-deprecating any longer. They’d been through this once before and that was enough times for her already. Deep down she already knew what she needed to say but she was scared. She was scared to admit her selfish, stupid wish and be judged and rejected for it. It might break her, but she had no choice. Both their house and Corlys could not afford him losing faith in his own judgement again.

“No Corlys! It’s my fault! I’m sorry! I… I wanted to prove I was worth it!”

“What?” Corlys was confused.

Viserra sighed. There was no turning back. “You said it yourself right? You didn’t need me or Dreamfyre when you put down Morghon. You did it by yourself, because you are amazing Corlys. You are the incredible Sea Snake, and you accomplished so much. You never needed me at all. I… I held you back. It’s because I claimed Dreamfyre that we suffered so much. I was a hindrance to you. Maybe if I hadn’t claimed Dreamfyre, if you hadn’t married me at all, you might never have had to lose so much. Rhaekar didn’t have to die. And I… I felt so worthless and so guilty. I felt like I needed to prove that marrying me was worth it. That Dreamfyre could be a blessing and not just a hindrance.”

“Viserra.” Corlys sighed, and she shied away hearing the disappointment. She braced herself for the reprimand, for the rejection. But it never came. Instead she felt a pull and suddenly Corlys wrapped his arms around her.

“You are not worthless. Understand? Don’t ever think that you are. You are worth so much. Sometimes I can’t believe my luck that I got to marry someone like you,” Corlys said firmly.

Corlys continued when she made no answer, still tongue tied and speechless. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see this coming. I should have. That day… your words cut so deep, but I never realized just how deep mine did in return. And I’m sorry that I ever said that Viserra, that I ever made you feel worthless, that everything was your fault because you claimed Dreamfyre. I was angry and frustrated. We both said things we shouldn’t have that day.

“Viserra, Dreamfyre is a blessing. Not a hindrance. She never was and neither were you. The dragons you have blessed our children with will ensure our house’s future. How the Targaryens reacted to that, to everything, that’s on your father, and it’s on me for how I handled it. You were never at fault for any of it and don’t you dare think otherwise.”

“You think that your dragon is what determines your worth? No Viserra. It’s not. You are worth so much more! You are Zaldilaros, the Princess of Tyrosh! The city worships you, and you have won their love and their loyalty with your kindness and your care for them. Driftmark and our men are devoted to you as well, they see how hard you work for them, the risks you are willing to take for their sake.

He broke their embrace slightly to place his hand under her chin and raise it so their eyes met once again. “You say that I’m amazing? Perhaps I am, but you make me better. That day, the day of the Morghon Revolt, I was lost. You were my light. You shone like a lone star in the night sky, guiding me home from the storm. You lit the way for me, for our people.

He tightened his arms around her. “For too long now, you’ve measured your own self-worth wrongly. First you attached it to your beauty, cloaked yourself in vanity like a shield. Then when you claimed Dreamfyre and held all her power, you thought that she gave you worth, gave your life meaning beyond being a pretty face. Viserra you are so much more than that.

“Yes you are beautiful. Immeasurably so. You are Jonquil, Helen of Troy. You shine with the radiance of a Seastar. Any man would boast that their wife is the most beautiful woman in the world, but perhaps I’m the only one who isn’t exaggerating. And yes you are a fine dragonrider, and you should remember that you and Dreamfyre have long since proved your worth to us in the war against Dorne, against the Triarchy. With her power you can do so much.

“But these things do not define you. You are so much more than your beauty and your dragon. Set them aside Viserra, they are not your worth. They only enhance what was already there, the diamond that you have cut and polished to splendor unknowingly.

“I told you once long ago, that there was something special about you, that words could not describe. And they never can truly do you justice. You are a wonderful person, who has learned from her mistakes, who seeks out the best for those she cares for. You are as persevering as you are caring, as shrewd as you are loving… and there are so many words that I could say but not even the Seven can sing all your praises.”

“You are Viserra Seastar. The most beautiful woman in the world. A princess born of the line of Aegon the Conqueror, who has by her own merit become the rider of the Blue Queen, the mighty Dreamfyre. You are the Sea Dragon who defends our people, the Star that lights our way. You are the Princess of Tyrosh, the Zaldilaros who is worshipped as a messiah by those she saved from the shackles of slavery. You have worked hard for years to govern Tyrosh and lead it back to prosperity and our house back to splendor. You are the Lady of the Tides, and all the might of House Velaryon and its people, of Driftmark and Tyrosh, are at your command because you have proven worthy of their faith.”

He laid a tender and loving kiss on her lips. “And most importantly of all. You are a wonderful wife and mother. Long ago you worried that you would fall short because your own mother was not the best example. You surpassed her long ago Viserra. You made a mistake today but it’s but a drop in the ocean of how incredible you are truly. Our children love and adore you because you are a good mother, and you care for them deeply. You would do anything for them, and have done so. You have suffered and cried and endured many sacrifices for their sake.

She felt her eyes begin to water and clung to her husband tighter, struggling to control her emotions.

“Don’t hold back. I will never blame you for your tears my love. On this night, and every night to come, my shoulder will always be yours to cry on and put to rest your worries and fears and insecurities. Come morning though, and you will stand proud. You must stand proud. Because you are a powerful and capable person, who has accomplished so much. Take pride in your achievements, in your gifts. That you are someone that our children can admire and aspire to be.”

“Viserra, I have done many great things in my life, built so much, but all of that would have come to naught without you. You stood by me, you believed in me when I didn’t even believe in myself, so I will return the favor to you now.

“Everything that I have is meaningless if I don’t have you to share it with. All our power, our fleets, our wealth, they would turn to ash in my mouth if I lost you. You are my world Viserra. The love of my life, the light in my darkness, the star that guides my way.

“You and our children are what matter most to me. Not our wealth, not our pride or our prestige, not even our people. It’s you Viserra, and the four little joys that we created with our love. So please, please do not think that you are worthless or a hindrance ever again. Please don’t put yourself and our children in danger because of your insecurities any longer.

“You don’t have to prove yourself worthy of me because you proved that to me long, long ago, and you still prove it to me every single day. Even when you think you don’t, even when we argue and tear each other’s throats out. I will always love you, and you will always be worthy in my eyes, no matter what.”

Viserra couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. As Corlys held her, she cried. Her tears, she didn’t even know if they were of sadness or joy. It just felt good to have a shoulder to cry on and let all her fears and doubts drain away.

_______________________________________________

Tenth Moon, 94 AC

A few weeks later, Viserra gave birth to her fourth child. As if to make up for his absence when Laena had been born, Corlys had stayed with her throughout her entire labor, never leaving her side at all. Thankfully, her little escapade had not endangered her child, though she had been lectured by both Maester Desmond and Alys upon her return to Tyrosh.

The pain and difficulty had lessened with each birth, but it was no less aggravating. After hours of struggle, Maester Desmond finally presented her with her child. Another boy. Her third son.

“He’s beautiful,” Corlys said, awestruck by their son.

Some said that newborn babes did not look comely, but perhaps as the babe’s mother Viserra was biased because she certainly did not agree. Like his sister Laena, her son’s eyes were Corlys’ indigo. Small tufts of silver-gold hair crowned his head, like it did his three older siblings.

Sighing, Viserra leaned her head back and japed. “I guess I don’t get to name this one.”

Corlys smirked. “I am open to negotiations. You worked so tirelessly to bring him into the world after all.”

Viserra smiled. “Where was that gratitude for Jacaerys and Lucerys?”

“They are my firstborn. I wanted to name them. I’m being generous here, given our agreement,” Corlys jested lightly.

“I tell you what. I’ll bring the other three so they can meet their new little brother. You can think of some suggestions while you wait,” he said before he walked out of the room, leaving Viserra to think.

There were many Targaryen names to choose from, but in her heart Viserra knew that a Targaryen name would not truly fit any child of hers with the current feud. It had to at least be a name with some history in House Velaryon as well.

She ran them through her head pondering. Jacaerys and Lucerys were taken already. Rh… that would hurt too much as much as he deserved to be honored. Besides, Aurane had already claimed the name for his second son with Alys. Aethan was another possible name, and a fine one, though Viserra found herself tempted to surprise her husband by proposing they name their son for his beloved grandfather Daemon. Unfortunately, her rascal of a nephew already had that name, and while that didn’t have to stop them, Viserra wanted her son to have a name he could fully claim as his own.

Viserra thought a little longer, and felt that she might have a suggestion by the time Corlys returned with their children. Laena was holding his hand and walking adorably slowly while Jace and Luke ran up to her and jumped on the bed eagerly. For a brief moment, Viserra remember another time, and another pair of children that had done that before she brushed it away.

“Hey! What have I said about jumping on my bed!” she said sternly.

“Sorry Muña,” Jace and Luke said despondently before their mood instantly cheered up at seeing the bundle in her arms.

“Is this our little brother?” Luke asked as Corlys approached with Laena.

“Yes,” Viserra said as she lowered her child low enough for his siblings to see him. “Valonquar!” Laena said as she began jittering on her feet excitedly. She looked very proud in a childish adorable way.

Viserra smiled. “Yes Laena. This is your valonquar.”

“What’s his name?” Jace asked.

Viserra looked to her husband. “We haven’t decided that yet. Your mother was supposed to think of some names while I brought you three little rascals,” he said to the children.

Three pairs of purple eyes looked to her expectantly. Viserra sighed and chuckled. She hunched down almost conspiratorially and whispered to her children.

“Do you like the name Daeron?” she asked them.

Jace and Luke nodded. “Dae!” Laena shouted, so she assumed that she approved too.

“Well there you have it then. Your little brother’s name is Daeron,” she said louder, so Corlys could hear.

He shook his head looking exasperated but he did not dislike the name Viserra noted.

“Daeron. A proud name with history in both our families, though in yours I believe it predates the Doom.”

“Yes, the last Daeron Targaryen was the father of Aenar the Exile, or so our family records say. I didn’t name our son for him though, but I thought we might honour your grandfather, even if my nephew already has his name.”

Corlys’s eyes widened in surprise. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you. I didn’t even consider that myself.”

He looked down at their son, and with her permission, he took her from her arms, gently cradling him in his. Their older children seemed to pout that their father had taken their brother from their reach so Corlys knelt down for them.

“Daeron Velaryon,” He said, almost in a daze. “Our young dragon. Perhaps he will become a daring adventurer one day, or be a good administrator for Jace.”

“But for now, just a babe,” Viserra said firmly.

Corlys nodded, looking at the other three. “They all are.”

They protested.

“We’re not babies Kepa!” Jace and Luke insisted.

“Not baby!” Laena chipped in.

Viserra laughed. “No matter how old you become, you will always be our babes to us in some way my dear children. Best get used to it.”

Shortly after that, their older children enthusiastically helped them lay Daeron’s egg in his cradle. The egg was ocean blue, with ribbons of sea green swirling on its scales.

In her last clutch, Dreamfyre had produced four eggs. One of which had hatched to Laena as Shrykos and the second they gave now to Daeron. The last two eggs would be kept for now, though Viserra wondered if she would have any more children. She was still young, and she had plenty of time if she wished, but there was a certain feeling of completion and contentedness that she felt as the five of them stared at little Daeron, enthralled by the newest and perhaps final addition to their family.

Perhaps she would decide to have more children with Corlys in time, or perhaps those two eggs would go to any future grandchildren she might have, and Seven did that give her a headache to even think of right now. Feeling tired, Viserra laid back down on the bed and rested, while Corlys began massaging her feet lovingly. Her children babbled and chattered eagerly with each other or with them as their younger brother slept.

Viserra’s heart was full of love and joy. Moments like this were what she strived for, wonderful moments that she wished could last forever but were precious precisely because they did not. She felt whole. She felt fulfilled and complete in a way her parents and siblings had never made her feel.

Perhaps that was always the case for a young new parent, or perhaps it was because she had had a difficult time growing up in her own family. Nevertheless, Viserra was certain that this family, the family that she had made, was the most precious and important to her, and she would never give them up. No matter what.

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The Heel of Essos, 94 AC

Chapter 34: Storm

Chapter Text

Twelfth Moon, 94 AC

The Storm Lord

Things were not going to plan for Boremund Baratheon. The Velaryons should have been humbled in Tyrosh, crushed by his older brother’s sanctions and forced to return to beg his mercy. Instead the opposite had happened. They had defeated all who would defy them in Tyrosh and had begun to rebuild the city, reaping vast profits and wealth. They had forced Otto Hightower to back down in the Stepstones Crisis. His older brother’s sanctions had proven useless. House Velaryon was rising again.

The winds of change were blowing, and now they had turned against House Baratheon. Boremund was uneasy. He had asked his brother, King Jaehaerys, to put to rest his worries years ago, but now they had returned tenfold.

Emboldened by their kin’s victory and success, House Tarth had rallied to the Velaryons. Uncaring of the sanctions, they traded openly with House Velaryon and their wealth and power swelled. Tarth was a large island, and its ruling house had never been poor, but now the Evenstar could call upon a fleet mightier than near any other in the Stormlands, and an army that could rival even Storm’s End.

In the harsh Stormlands, might was right, and if the might of House Baratheon, his might, was in question, then the Stormlords would turn to another. Already, House Estermont and House Whitehead, which had ties of trade and kinship to the Velaryons and Tarths, were drifting back to their side, and the Velaryon fleet was always hungry for timber. How much more of the Stormlands could fall under their sway? Could Mertyns, Wylde, Rogers, Morrigen, or even Connington and Swann come to obey Tyrosh and Evenfall Hall before they did Storm’s End?

Absolutely unacceptable. Boremund would not stand for that. He felt his fury growing hot and restrained it. Ours is the Fury were the words of his house, but they had to ensure that the fury was theirs and they were not the fury’s. He would not be ruled by his anger, it would be a tool that drove him, shackled to his command.

Boremund calmed himself. He had learned from his father’s mistakes as a youth. Rogar Baratheon had been a capable and respected lord, but he had disgraced himself the last year he had served as Hand of the King. His elder brother and sister had never truly forgiven him for it and the death of their mother a few years later when Jocelyn had been born had made matters worse. His eldest sister Rhaena, someone he’d barely even known for she had cared not one whit for him, had even threatened his father.

It was so very easy to become lost in your anger and fury. Both Targaryens and Baratheons fell prey to this. Boremund refused to add his name to that list. He took a deep breath and let it out, enjoying the feeling of swelling his powerful lungs with life-giving air and releasing it. It was calming.

With his anger restrained, Boremund reassessed his plan to recoup his influence in the Stormlands. Not all was lost yet. Griffin’s Roost should remain loyal to him, his wife Cassandra was the sister of Lord Connington, and their son Borros would succeed him one day. The houses of the Kingswood had little reason to desert him, nor did the Marchers, and together they made up the majority of the Stormlands still. Cape Wrath and the Sapphire Isle however, would have to be reined in, and Boremund had an idea on how to do it.

The primary reason Tarth and the houses of Cape Wrath were leaning to the Velaryons was because of the monetary incentives that allying and trading with them could bring them. Historically, neither House Baratheon or their ancestors House Durrandon had been a maritime or trade-focused house. Many predecessors of his had not seen the problem in this, and had been content to mostly delegate the matters of trade and ships to House Tarth, seeing it as a lowly mercantile occupation of counting coppers. Foolishness.

It was because of their short-sighted actions that House Tarth had grown so much in power once the opportunity had arisen. So much so they were on the precipice of challenging Storm’s End for primacy. The Tarths had never forgotten that they were once Kings.

Boremund knew better than his predecessors. For the past twenty years, he had been working hard trying to improve his domains. He had greatly supported his elder brother’s roadbuilding plans in his kingdom, and had spent great funds expanding them on his own to link all corners of his realm together. In recent years, he had also, with the help of his elder brother’s investment, developed the Rainwood and strengthened ties with the lords of Cape Wrath.

His new fleet had been under construction for the past five years. It had been a great expense, and not one he could have afforded alone. His elder brother had generously loaned him a great sum to build the fleet, and many of his vassals had contributed their own ships and monies in exchange for certain concessions.

Though it was not yet large enough to match the sixty-strong and growing warfleet of House Tarth, the first fifty ships of Boremund’s Storm Fleet had already been completed, and he was very proud to see his family’s crowned stag flying proudly from their banners.

With House Tarth uncooperative, he had recruited the first sailors of his fleet from fishermen, and had worked to expand the fisher fleets as well. It was Boremund’s hope that more ships would increase internal and external trade in his kingdom, and allow them more wealth and prosperity, as well as finally giving them a proper fleet to call their own. One strong enough to defend their waters and project their power beyond their shores.

It had been years of preparation and work even before the fleet had begun construction. Boremund had developed the roads in the Rainwood and worked with his vassals to build sawmills and lumber plantations. He had helped expand the harbors and ports of House Estermont and Whitehead, as well as expanded the extraction of resources such as furs and amber and other minerals from the region. It was part of why he was so wroth to see them leaning to the Velaryons after all the work he had done to develop the region.

He had been a good and leal overlord to those ingrates. It was time to remind them of the iron fist he still bore. With the Velaryons having won such a great victory in the Stepstones Crisis, many houses in the Stormlands were rushing back to their side like a whor* spreading her legs for the next buyer. It was disgraceful.

From the parapets of the colossal drum tower of Storm’s End, Boremund looked down on his fleet in pride. The preparations had been made. He had conceived of a plan. He had gathered his fleet in the docks of Storm’s End, and he would be setting sail with it on the morrow. He and his family would be traveling on a tour of the Stormlands, they would sail first to Tarth and stay there for a few weeks, and then down to Cape Wrath, touring the region and sailing along the coast before they sailed over the strait to the nearby Veiled Isle to inspect their island in the Stepstones, before returning to Storm’s End.

All in all, it would be close to a year of sailing, feasting, hunting, and overseeing. Boremund would remind his vassals of his open-handed generosity, remind them of their shared efforts to improve the Stormlands together, and with the other hand he would remind them of his power. This was essential. He could not rely on the Iron Throne here. No lord could truly rule if they required their dragonriding older siblings to bully their vassals into submission for them.

He was quite pleased with how Veil was developing. Its castle and port were on schedule in their construction, and when his fleet was complete, Veil would be an extension of the Stormlands that would secure their border and allow them to reap the trade and tolls of the Stepstones. Otto Hightower’s complaints about his insubordination to his authority mattered little. He was the King’s brother and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, being commanded by an upstart knight from Oldtown was beneath him.

Looking at his fleet one last time, Boremund turned around to retire to his chambers. It would be a long day of sailing on the morrow. He needed to get some rest.

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When the morn came, Boremund and his family, and their sailors had boarded their ships and the fleet had set sail. As their ships moved through the waters, Boremund breathed in the sea breeze and sighed contentedly.

His lord father had never taken well to the sea, often cursing at it and the storms it threw at their lands. From his youth however, Boremund had always enjoyed the sea. He had loved to play in the waters near Storm’s End as a boy, and he’d enjoyed learning how to sail as a lad. Building a fleet had filled him with pride. Perhaps it was something he shared with his mother.

At times, Boremund wondered what Alyssa Velaryon would think of him. He never knew the woman; she’d died when he wasn’t even two years old. His father would never speak of her. His elder siblings would tell him some stories of her, but the only thing Boremund had left of her to call his own was a scant precious few half-remembered memories. Meaningless and yet he’d dwelt on them for many years. Those broken memories were more than his younger sister Jocelyn had.

Would Alyssa Velaryon approve of the fact that he cared little for his Velaryon heritage? Would she reprimand him for his resentment of his mother’s house and their success? Decry him for his jealousy that they had received dragons, that they had so much wealth, that they had been reckoned the second house of the realm by many despite his being worthier? Boremund didn’t know. It didn’t matter he supposed. Alyssa Velaryon was dead, and what she cared for meant nothing anymore.

It slipped the minds of many that he was indeed Alyssa Velaryon’s son. He looked nothing like Alyssa Velaryon, and she died so long ago. At times men would have to pause and remember that he was indeed the King’s brother. It had always made him laugh bitterly.

Sometimes it was easier to forget that Velaryon blood ran in his veins. It stopped him from having to think too much. Kin or not, the Velaryons had overstepped their place, crossed every line. They were greedy beyond their station, and much like her older sister Saera, his niece Viserra was a spoilt reckless girl playing with things that she did not understand.

He was the King’s brother, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, the head of a house descended from the Conqueror’s own brother, loyal and true. Why was his house reckoned lesser to the Velaryons? Why did they deserve dragons and wealth when they had proven worthy of neither? Had they been anyone else but his brother’s daughter and her family, Boremund knew Jaehaerys would have wiped them from the earth years ago.

Boremund sighed. His family was troubled right now. He and his brother were at odds with their mother’s family, a family they had strengthened ties with when Viserra had married into them. Alysanne was still at odds with Jaehaerys. She had attended the wedding of their grandchildren and proceeded to leave immediately after.

The division between the King and Queen was still not healed after almost five years. With the Velaryons recovering, people around the realm were beginning to whisper that Jaehaerys was ineffective, weak. He could not keep his own house in order and thought to lecture them for trading and cause them hardship with his sanctions. While his reputation as the Conciliator and his deeds until now would ensure his brother was never truly disliked, discontent in the realm was rising against his policies.

Faith Boremund still had in Jaehaerys, out of mutual interest if nothing. The Velaryons had to be contained and humbled or they would destabilize the Stormlands and the Realm. He knew Jocelyn agreed with him, though his goodbrother and nephew Aemon had begun to disagree greatly with how his father was handling the Velaryon problem, though it remained in private. Aemon knew better than to let the vultures see that the Royal House was even more divided than it appeared.

It was why his tour had to succeed. They needed it to strengthen their legitimacy and prestige. House Targaryen and House Baratheon were losing the faith of the realm, and while the Targaryens at least had dragons to hold power, Boremund had no such fortune and he was smart enough to know there was no chance of getting dragons for House Baratheon in the foreseeable future. Perhaps in a generation or two, but right now it was completely untenable.

As he continued breathing in the sea air, Boremund heard his son groaning as he stalked to his side and vomited over deck into the water.

“Haven’t gotten your sea legs yet eh?” Boremund asked his son.

His son looked too miserable to answer, so he ruffled his hair and set him down on a chair to rest a while. Borros was… difficult at times. Stubborn to a fault, mischievous, demanding, arrogant. Sometimes Boremund felt he’d let Cassandra spoil him too much.

Borros had always had difficulties reading, much like his niece Daella had. He’d struggled to learn his sums and numbers, but after learning of how Daella had accomplished it, Boremund had personally sat down with him and forced him to learn it for hours on end. He’d hated him for a while, but he would thank him some day.

His son was a little rough around the edges, he was boisterous, belligerent, and temperamental, but he had a good heart, and he was willing to do better once you’d broken down his stubborn shell. He was only ten years old. There was time still for him to learn.

Boremund was only so hard on him because he had no other choice. Borros was the future of House Baratheon. Cassandra had had difficulties conceiving another child, and Boremund was no whor*monger or dishonorable cur as to father bastards. Unless the gods saw fit to bless him and Cassandra with another child, Borros was the sole heir of their house. He had to be capable enough, or their house would end.

He loved his sister Jocelyn, and he adored her daughter Rhaenys. Rhaenys would be a woman he would be proud to call his Queen one day, fiery, brave, and strong and capable. Yet, no matter how much he loved Jocelyn and Rhaenys, Boremund did not want them to inherit Storm’s End. Rhaenys was to be Queen, and had married her cousin Viserys. Her son Aegon was a Targaryen. Even if she had a second son to give Storm’s End to, that son would always choose to be a Targaryen and not a Baratheon if it meant he could have a dragon.

The line and name of Orys Baratheon would come to an end if Borros died. With the gods’ grace, despite all his difficulties, Boremund had never had to fear that. Borros was a robust and brawny boy, stronger and taller than all his peers. He’d never even gotten sick. He was ten right now, but the time was already ripe that Boremund would have to start considering betrothals for him.

There were a number of options. The most logical choice would be a good Stormlander girl. Caron or Swann, or maybe Estermont even. Some corner of his mind considered Tarth as a good option to lure them back into the fold. A lady of the Stormlands would go a long way to shoring up his house’s authority and give his son a reliable ally when he ascended as Lord.

Still he need not be hasty. The western alliance had recently put aside their divisions in light of the Velaryon resurgence and Hightower, Redwyne, and Lannister all had eligible girls for Borros to marry, though perhaps they were a tad young. As a future Lord Paramount, Boremund would accept nothing less than the children of the lords or future lords and unfortunately all of those in the aforementioned houses were much younger than Borros was. Little more than babes.

The closest girl to Borros in age from those families was actually Otto Hightower’s daughter Alicent, and her father had been brazen enough to offer her hand to him. If he thought that would make him recognize his authority over Veil, he was sorely mistaken. It might be worth considering as a way to accrue greater influence in the Stepstones however. Boremund stroked his chin. Something to think about at least.

His thoughts were broken as he heard the ship groaning. The wind picked up and Boremund felt it buffet into him. Thunder rumbled in the clouds above as they darkened. Nobody grew up in the Stormlands without knowing the signs.

“Captain, how much further to Tarth?” he demanded of the commander of his ship.

“Shouldn’t be much longer my lord. A few hours at most.”

“I believe it would be safer to continue on to Tarth than attempt to turn back to Storm’s End. Do you concur?”

“That I do my lord. Tarth is much closer, and with how far out into the bay we are, it would be better to not risk it.”

“Very well then. You know what must be done.”

The captain nodded. As he shouted to the sailors to ready for the storm, Boremund instructed his son to wait with his mother below decks in their quarters.

It had been a pleasant and sunny day when they had set sail that morning, but this was Shipbreaker’s Bay. A storm could arise at any moment, and any true Stormlander knew how to brace it. Elenei’s parents had never forgiven the people of this land, so the legends said, and they must always be ready to endure their wrath.

Within minutes, the storm had begun in earnest. Lightning flashed in the skies above and the winds buffeted through the ships, battering against the planks and the unfortunate souls that had to stay above deck to keep the ships on course. Boremund held onto the railing as the captain of the ship desperately tried to keep control of the helm.

As the waves and wind battered into the fleet, Boremund and thousands of others found themselves tossed around by force of the impact. Eventually something gave way.

“The ships! The ships are sinking!” Boremund heard one of the sailors cry in horror and turned to his side.

With how heavy the rain was and how strongly the wind was blowing, Boremund had to squint to see anything. In the distance he could see the other ships of the fleet begin to flounder around theirs. Some were being tipped dangerously to one side by the heavy waves and capsizing, while others were even breaking apart into pieces from the sheer force of the waves and wind.

Fear began to grow in Boremund then. His wife and son were on this ship and the rest of the fleet around them was beginning to sink or were close to it. He made to shout an order to the helmsman when he fell to the deck hard, losing his footing from a sudden impact slamming into the ship. Some water splashed overboard, adding to the ship’s weight. Rising to his feet, Boremund shouted orders furiously at the sailors. “Get that water off the deck!” According to legend his ancestors withstood the storms of the very gods. Boremund was not about to let a mere storm end him or his line today.

The wind ripped the furled sails right off the mast, riggings, spars, and all. The very mast began to creak and crack. It groaned before it snapped, landing on the right side of the ship with a furious thud that sent Boremund and all the sailors to their feet. The mast tore into the side of the ship as it landed, breaking away at the decks.

Without a mast, they were at the sea’s mercy now, and it had none to give. Water rushed in furiously to the holes in the decks left by the broken mast, even as the added weight of the mast and the water began having the ship tip over to the right. The waves tossed the ship around like it was made of paper until finally a massive wave came from the left. It soared high above the deck of the sinking ship, and Boremund beheld it in horror before it crashed down upon them. The ship capsized.

It was dark, the water was everywhere. His lungs begged for air, and against his will his body sucked desperately but only death came. As he drowned, Boremund’s last thoughts were of his wife and son. He wished he’d been better.

So ended the line of House Baratheon.

Chapter 35: Loose Ends

Chapter Text

Viserra

First Moon, 98 AC

A zealous army marched forth from a pale fortress. As numerous as the stars, they waved silver-green banners and chanted for victory as they marched ceaselessly towards the sea where a great fleet of ships awaited. Suddenly the banners faded into embers, the army into ashes, and the ships into cinders floating upon the sea. The pale fortress burned, its splendor igniting into flame, its silver towers melting into a sea of rising tides. Dragons roared in the sky, and the earth trembled before their wake.

Viserra rubbed her forehead, her thoughts dwelling on a cryptic dream she’d had that morning. It was vague and difficult to remember, vanishing from her even as she awoke disturbed. But one image had seared itself into her mind. The pale fortress burned.

Her family had a history of strange and prophetic dreams but somehow Viserra doubted that she was a dreamer like Daenys was. Daenys had not had only one dream about one event but many and had predicted many occurrences. She was considered a true seer for a reason. When she had dreamed of the Doom of Valyria, the visions had plagued her near every night until her father had acquiesced to her pleas to leave, or so their family histories went.

Viserra couldn’t be sure her single scattered nightmare was really any vision at all. More likely it was just her troubled mind playing on her fears. She shook herself. She had more important things to worry about than a strange and meaningless dream today.

As she walked to her meeting with Corlys in his solar, Viserra reflected on their time in the city. It was coming to eight years since they had conquered Tyrosh. Years of struggle and suffering, of a fall from grace that would be told in the tales. Yet that was only the beginning. Joy and laughter had come in time, and so had a rise to a new wealth and prosperity that was only just beginning to truly form.

Tyrosh was thriving. Work had progressed well on rebuilding the city in a new architectural style that was quite reminiscent of Spicetown, yet also paid homage to Tyrosh’s local motifs. Its hinterlands were further along in their development and the work continued to make Tyrosh prosper. The University of Tyrosh’s first buildings had been completed, and work was underway to expand it as it continued to drive innovation forward.

More and more people had come to Tyrosh from Driftmark and Massey’s Hook, even from Claw Isle and Gulltown as well. Myr as well was practically faded at this point, as the city had been left so destabilized by its civil war that Tyrosh, Volantis, and Pentos had lured away all its artisans, artists, and scholars. Tyroshi glass was now said to be finest in the market, building on the work Driftmark had once made in the field, and they could now reliably produce their own far eyes and small eyes without needing to import any lens at all.

Tyrosh traded glass, silk, dyes, tea, and a whole host of other goods to ships passing along its coastal waters, reaping enormous profits for her house, which had made major progress in recouping the investment of a vast portion of their fortune in the city.

The Velaryons had truly made Tyrosh and the Black Fortress their own now. When they had destroyed the old elites and the Towers and the Dyes, they had come into possession of every building within the Black Fortress, which had functioned similarly to the Black Walls in Volantis. At their command, the entire fortress had been redesigned and rebuilt to serve as a central governance hub in a secure fortification.

Manses had become ministries and palaces had been made institutions. The Velaryon Bank had been headquartered within the mansion once owned by one Lysos Eranyr and taken possession and oversight of all the Tyroshi banks. Headquarters or branches of many of Driftmark’s institutions and companies had come to be based within the fortress as well, though the university and a branch of the bank remained outside the black walls for the smallfolk to access easily.

Inside a labyrinth of beautiful gardens, statues, pathways and institutional buildings, thousands of men and women worked hard in long hours seeking the restoration and uplifting of House Velaryon’s pride and dignity. And at the center of it all, stood the Archon’s Palace, an ostentatious and enormous manse with high ceilings and buttressed pillars and exquisite frescoes and windows, decorated to the heights of luxury. A show of wealth and power.

The Black Fortress lived up to its name as well. Barracks and drill fields all had a place within the Fortress, and all manner of weapons, fortification, and crenellations and barbicans had their place along its walls and gatehouses. Viserra and her house would take no risk with their safety after assassinations and armed rebellions.

As part of that effort, House Velaryon had reforged and reorganized its military in the years they had been in Tyrosh. The push for a formal standing army and a unified and clearly outlined chain of command had come over the years in Tyrosh when the Velaryons had realized that there had been difficulties in coordinating their forces from various different units. No longer would Driftmark Marines serve with household guards on land in a disjointed mess of units and officers, instead those marines more attuned to war on land were reassigned and joined by an eager host of new recruits from the Stars, Velaryon knights and guards, and townspeople of the urbanized Tyroshi city to form a new professional army.

They drew men and taxes from separate territories technically in differing sovereignties and so an informal name for their domain had been coined, known as the Velaryon State. Named for the ruling house of both Tyrosh and Driftmark, to avoid any jurisdiction problems considering the latter’s technical vassalage to the Iron Throne. This legal fiction lent its name to the Velaryon’s military branches as well which similarly operated in both regions. Rather than being the Tyroshi or Driftmark Army and Navy, they were named for the common ruling house, none other than House Velaryon.

A formal Velaryon Army had been established, incorporating all their guards, men at arms, retinues, household knights, castle garrisons and town watches both here and on Driftmark. The Tide Guard, their personal elite household guard, was a formal part of this army but it existed on its own outside the normal chain of command and answered only to House Velaryon and its internal officers. Meanwhile their vassal levies from Massey’s Hook were officially classified as auxiliary forces operating parallel to the main army and would be included in the chain of command in times of war if and when the levies were called.

This Velaryon Army was a professional and elite force, light infantry equipped with a minimum of chainmail and gambesons with heavy units given brigandines or even full plate for the most elite and loyal, as the Velaryons’ smiths worked to advance their metallurgy with their scholars in the universities.

A moderate force for now, but one that was growing larger and becoming more elite. Unlike feudal Westeros, Tyrosh and its style of governance operated similarly to old Valyria which had maintained standing armies. Implementing that old system again was not that hard to arrange and finance with the Velaryons’ near monopoly on the city’s productive and profitable industries, estates, and businesses.

At her husband’s directive, the Velaryon Army drilled in pike square and bow formations, with their weapons of choice being mostly javelins, darts, poleaxes, pikes, halberds, maces and axes, as well as the traditional sword as a secondary weapon. Furthermore, the old decree on Driftmark and Massey’s Hook that all villagers train with the longbow weekly had since been expanded to Tyrosh as well, giving their Army and Navy both a large recruiting pool of trained archers.

It was early days yet for their army, and the expense was immense, but the wealth of Tyrosh allowed them to cover it reasonably well. Of course, one could hardly consider the Velaryon Army and not mention the by far more prestigious and senior service. The Velaryon Navy.

Though it had not always existed in its current organization, the Velaryon Navy or Fleet, had existed as long as House Velaryon had held Driftmark. By now it had successfully incorporated all the Tyroshi ships and there were plans underway to build a new Arsenal in Tyrosh. The Driftmark Marines, now called simply Velaryon Marines as part of the new rebranding, were reorganized as a force purely designed to fight on the ships in ship to ship combat, or secure islands and beaches in amphibious landings, rather than being a multi-purpose land and sea army like they had effectively functioned as until recently before the Velaryon Army’s official formation.

Per the traditions began by Corlys, the Velaryon Navy prided itself on being the finest and most innovative fleet on the sea. They pioneered professionalism and new and innovatively efficient methods of record keeping and organization and communication such as naval flag signaling and coded torches.

They also benefited greatly from the advance of technology, as research was almost complete that could see the Navy’s ships outfitted with wildfire flamethrowers and spitfires once the Alchemists stabilized the substance into one relatively safe to transport. Corlys was quite excited for that, men and their toys. Viserra didn’t see the point, seeing as they had Dreamfyre, but to each their own. She only knew so much about all this because Corlys had almost giddily explained it all to her in great detail, hoping she’d be interested. It was fascinating she supposed.

Unlike their Army which couldn’t really pay for themselves beyond being put to work on their infrastructure projects, the Navy very much could. The Velaryon Navy had always had an intimate relationship with their Merchant Marine. Now, with House Velaryon on the rise again, their merchants were once again proud and unafraid to fly their banners. The old system had been restored.

The Velaryon Merchant Marine referred to all ships owned by merchants and captains based in Velaryon territory, which now extended to include Tyrosh. They took oaths of allegiance to House Velaryon and were entitled to its protection, showing they had it with a single Velaryon banner that would fly above their normal standards on their ships. Often the Velaryon Navy would accompany groups of merchant ships in armed convoys, along predetermined trade routes. House Velaryon itself owned many solely merchant ships and often times their warships also carried trade cargo and stock to help pay off the expenses of maintaining a standing navy.

Much to the Navy and merchants’ delight and as explained by her once again, all too excited husband, new ship types and classes were being designed and prepared for construction as well. Galleons, fluyts, and xebecs Corlys had called them. Viserra would admit that ship types and their differing functions and capabilities were mostly beyond her, embarrassing for the Lady of the Tides she knew. Still what had been related to her on the potential of these ship classes was very promising and anything that benefited her house and made it stronger had her approval.

By now, they had solidified absolute power in the city, and their influence only continued to grow. More and more immigrants came from their lands in Westeros, from Driftmark and the Hook, increasing the population of loyalists. Furthermore, even the freeborn locals begrudgingly enjoyed the prosperity they had brought to the city, and of course many of the freed slaves were converting to the Faith of the Seven, which was now the majority religion in the city of Tyrosh itself, and a plurality in the hinterlands.

The Star faction might have been formally dissolved and its militants assimilated into the Velaryon Army and Navy, but its ideology had not died. The Faith of the Seven in Tyrosh was quite different from that of mainland Westeros. Though they were still officially under the aegis of the High Septon and Most Devout, who were now based in the new Great Sept of Jaehaerys atop Visenya’s Hill in King’s Landing, in practice the Tyroshi Faith operated completely independently without oversight from the Great Sept, much like House Velaryon did with the Iron Throne.

The Tyroshi Faith had no special privileges like it did in Westeros. The Faith Militant was abolished and after the Stars had proven radical, religious were not allowed to bear arms at all unless as part of the Velaryon forces. The clergy and religious would be tried in state courts and the septs would pay taxes, though often these would go into a government fund designated for their protection and maintenance.

Viserra’s title of Zaldilaros was still in common use and was formalized. She was still seen as the Breaker of Chains, the Champion of the Seven, and had an almost messianic role. Her husband Corlys had in his role as Archon, taken the title of ‘Defender of the Faith’, and they were together the ceremonial heads of the Tyroshi Faith of the Seven. The understanding was that their son and heir Jacaerys would unite both titles in his person when he inherited.

In practical terms, the Faith was run on a day to day basis by a Synod, made up of the leading senior septons and septas in the city, and chaired by an Archsepton of Tyrosh. Of course, Viserra and her husband had seats on the Synod as well at a place of honor, though they did not attend every meeting.

Plans were also in the making for a great sept to be built, designed in imitation of the Sept of the Waves in Driftmark to be built to seat the Archsepton and the Synod. Various names had been suggested, such as the Tide Sept, or Ocean Sept. Some had even considered breaking away from the sea motif and naming it the Sept of Freedom, or Liberty, or even for Viserra herself as Zaldilaros. They were even considering moving the painting, ‘The Crowning of Hugor’ to Tyrosh, as they were quite certain it would find many who would appreciate its beauty and religious significance here.

Doctrinally, the Tyroshi Faith was quite different from its Westerosi counterpart as well. There was a greater emphasis on the sin of slavery and their counterpart of the Doctrine of Exceptionalism went even beyond what her father had originally forced the Starry Sept back in Oldtown to accept. Known as the Zaldilaros Creed, which outlined the beliefs of the Tyroshi believers, in the eyes of the Tyroshi Faith of the Seven and its adherents, Viserra and her family were the chosen representatives of God on earth, entrusted by the Seven to free Tyrosh from the shackles of slavery and given divine right to rule it. Of course this doctrine also included the normal exceptions to the sin of incest and arguably polygamy her family had back in Westeros, and elevated them into an especial, almost messianic position.

Corlys was deeply uncomfortable with all of the implications, but the faith of the believers had been so strong this was the least they could have them agree to. Many seemed to believe an even more extreme version, that Viserra was the avatar and incarnation of the Mother, Maiden, and Crone all in one, and she would lead a glorious revolution to purge slavery from all of Essos. That was honestly flattering and it would not be a bad cause but they didn’t have the time or will to pursue it in any way.

House Velaryon was not as altruistic as their followers often seemed to believe. They cared for the common folk of course, but they could not solve all the world’s problems, nor did they want to. Their primary concerns were for the health, wealth, and wellbeing of their house and people, and no one else.

Of course, the Starry Sept and later the Great Sept had protested all of this most bitterly. They had been greatly angered by the insubordination and supposed heresy of the Tyroshi Faith and after they had refused all orders to adjust their doctrine back to the standard and accept the oversight of a septon from the Most Devout, they had threatened to excommunicate Viserra and her entire family and all their followers.

It had been a major issue a few years back but it had ultimately ended in her brother Aemon overruling the High Septon and Most Devout, and restoring an uneasy limbo for Tyrosh and even Driftmark’s status in the greater Faith of the Seven. Viserra had thanked her brother profusely in a letter. Her father might remain stubborn but Viserra had built a rapport with her mother and eldest three siblings in the past few years, and she was tentatively optimistic that a peaceful resolution to this feud in their family was still possible. A religious schism on top of the existing political one, would be nearly impossible to heal.

The politics beyond Tyrosh were quite complex. The years since the Stepstones Crisis had seen a great upturn in their fortunes. In that crisis they had proven to the entire world that House Targaryen’s threats and sanctions against them, were effectively toothless. Despite her own recklessness, even Corlys had admitted that it had gone perfectly for them though Viserra continued to pray that her youngest child Daeron would never suffer any consequences as a result of her riding her dragon while pregnant with him. They had been exceedingly lucky.

As a direct result of the Crisis, and the increasing wealth of Tyrosh, House Velaryon’s negotiating power had grown greatly. Trade deals and agreements had been made with Volantis, Pentos, Braavos, Norvos, Qohor, Essaria, Sarnor, and Ibben. In Westeros, Houses Grafton, Celtigar, and Tarth had firmly rejoined their side and they were spreading their influence across the kingdom once again. Houses such as Penrose, Whitehead, Estermont, Peake, Tyrell, or the various houses of Cape Wrath had proven receptive.

Many of them had once dealt with the Velaryons, though they had never been truly close allies. All had abandoned them in their fall, but they were too pragmatic to hold onto too much of a grudge, mostly. Corlys had told her he fully intended to squeeze the Tyrells brutally for their role in justifying and preparing her father’s initial sanctions and they would have no choice but to take it, desperate for any succor from the rise of the Hightowers and Redwynes.

Throughout it all, her father’s sanctions were mostly ignored. They had never been removed despite her siblings’ attempts to convince her stubborn father, not that it had ultimately stopped their subtle loosening under Aemon’s subtle directive, first as Master of Coin and now as Hand of the King with the death of Septon Barth the previous month. Perhaps her father still refused to back down publicly out of his foolish pride but was privately pragmatic enough to concede to Aemon’s wishes?

Things in Westeros were rather messy right now. Even their attempts to restore and expand their influence there had been complicated. One of the main regions they had focused their efforts on had been the Stormlands, due to their proximity to Tyrosh and the Stepstones. However, the death of her uncle Boremund and cousin Borros four years ago in a storm off the coast of Tarth had left the Stormlands in the hands of her brother’s wife Jocelyn.

Much like her brother Boremund had, Jocelyn resented their influence amongst her family’s vassals. That dislike had only worsened after her brother had died attempting to change that and Jocelyn had seen that influence first hand. No ruler wanted their vassals too close to an outsider. It had placed tensions on their rapport with Aemon, he was unwilling to anger his wife too much, and not even he wanted to see them accrue so much influence in the Stormlands. They’d had no choice but to moderate their activities in the region.

In their place, the Targaryens and the last Baratheon had doubled down on strengthening their influence in the region. Rhaenys was often in Storm’s End helping her mother rule, or touring the region with Viserys and their children; their son Aegon, who was of age with Viserra’s own youngest Daeron, and their daughter Rhaenyra, who had been born only last year in 97 AC. The Stormlanders enjoyed the royal attention and favor, and many had become avid supporters of Rhaenys and her family.

Viserys and Rhaenys had not been the only members of her family that had been paired up. Alyssa had gushed to her in her letters about Daemon marrying their younger sister Gael last year. They had twin daughters now, only a few months younger than Rhaenyra. Baela and Rhaena. She had heard that they were identical just as her eldest sons were.

Even Saera’s son had been betrothed, to Daella’s daughter of all people. Viserra had been in shock when she had heard of that. She had never even considered such a betrothal possible given who their mothers were, but it had already been finalized and the two would be marrying in a few years, when her nephew Aegor was fifteen and her niece Aemma nineteen. The union of Maidenpool and the Eyrie was a radical and unexpected move that almost no one had predicted. It set the stage for a more dynamic game in the Vale and northern Crownlands.

Her friend Laena had written to her of her worries over such a match already. Both House Celtigar and House Grafton were deeply concerned by the movements of the Arryns and Mootons, and Viserra concurred. They had traded with Maidenpool and dealt with Saera in secret, but it was clear that she’d had her own agenda all this time. House Mooton had profited fabulously from that illicit trade and they remained high in the Iron Throne’s favor, even having secured a betrothal that would have the future Lord of Maidenpool as consort to the Lady of the Vale. Their gamble had paid off. Viserra wasn’t sure how she felt about that at all.

It was clear however, that the time was fast approaching for House Velaryon to return to Driftmark. They had spent almost eight years in Tyrosh and it was time well spent with the results clearly showing. Their work was done, things were going exceedingly well in Tyrosh, and the city could easily continue to develop under the stewardship of Aurane or Victor, without needing their direct oversight. Corlys had calculated that if Tyrosh’s rate of growth remained steady, they might even surpass the wealth they had had before they had conquered it, within the next ten years.

It came at a cost however. Driftmark had continued to decline as its people and businesses moved from the island and its vassal lands to better opportunities and greater independence from the tyranny of ‘King Jae’ in Tyrosh. It felt bittersweet in a way. Everything that had made Spicetown and Driftmark special was slowly been given to Tyrosh now. They were even upgrading bathrooms and plumbing to match Driftmark’s standards. The Archon’s Palace in particular would have all the amenities of High Tide, which was something Viserra certainly approved of, but once she had felt proud that only High Tide had that.

They had spent eight years in Tyrosh, Viserra and her husband agreed that they would return to Driftmark eventually. Their children only knew Tyrosh, it was time to take them home, and repay the island and her people for their loyalty and sacrifices. Viserra wanted to restore Driftmark to its former glory, and that was something they could only see to properly if they were there.

She wanted to show her children High Tide and Spicetown, even diminished as they were. Take them walking on the white sands and see the crystal clear waters. Her children could meet some of their cousins as well, the Tarths, the Graftons, the Celtigars, amongst their closest allies and kin, and even the Targaryens. Their dispute with her father might remain, but returning to Driftmark would give options to meet with her mother and siblings and begin laying the pathway to restoring their status in Westeros. They had been away for too long. It would soon be time that they re-entered the fray in Westeros.

Not yet though. As much as Viserra hated Tyrosh deep down, the city that had taken her friend, her brother from her, and caused her so much hurt, there were a few last things that needed to be settled first before they could leave.

She opened the door to the solar that she shared with Corlys to work. Her husband was scanning through a letter when she arrived. She noticed the seal on it. A running direwolf.

“What does Lord Ellard Stark have to say?” she asked her husband with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s relating the tragic death of Lord Theomore. His grandson Lord Desmond has proven more… receptive to the desires of Winterfell.”

Viserra chuckled as she took her seat. “That’s wise of him.”

Once they had successfully stabilized Tyrosh, Corlys had reached out to the Starks to discuss the potential avenues they had to work together, as part of their efforts to diversify their trade routes to the Shivering Sea. There was no love lost for her father in the North. The smallfolk might respect her father and adore her mother for ending the First Night, but the nobles had greatly resented that law and the forced donation of the New Gift to the Night’s Watch.

In such an environment, the Velaryons had found an eager partner and ally. With secret discussions over the years, the Starks and several of their vassals had begun to work with the Velaryons. With White Harbor too far in her father’s orbit under the late Theomore Manderly, they had begun focusing elsewhere.

The North was rich in resources, but they lacked the expertise or funds to extract them. That was where the Velaryons had come in. They had partnered closely with many northern houses. In a joint venture, new ports had already been and were being built along the North’s eastern coast, primarily at Ramsgate, the Weeping Water, Last River, and Karhold, greatly benefitting Houses Hornwood, Bolton, Umber, and Karstark, and their overlord House Stark, which had positioned itself carefully to not be threatened by these developments.

Velaryon expertise helped build sawmills and mines and expand farms and fields. Tyrosh exported agricultural tools, methods, and innovations that had seen the North’s population begin to boom. They had found eager learners and buyers for four-field crop rotation, Tyroshi glass for glasshouses, and glass jar canning for food preservation in the North, amongst many other products that they sold to them, including the occasional silk or some other luxury.

In return, House Velaryon had become the middleman between the North and all their external trade partners, transporting and selling their exports to Braavos and other buyers in Essos, and selling the North their expertise, investment, and the luxury goods and technologies of Tyrosh and the rest of Essos. Velaryon ships were allowed to use the Northern ports they had helped build as basing grounds for their activities in the Shivering Sea, running the trade routes and also fishing and whaling in the Shivering Sea.

These ports had been built alongside the various rivers on the west coast and from those rivers, a great tide of goods flowed downstream. Furs from trappings, wool from sheep, ores and minerals from the mountains, ironwood and other timbers and lumbers from the various forests, and ice from Long Lake and other bodies of water.

The ice trade had also proven quite lucrative. With hay and sawdust to insulate it, the ice could preserve and transported in large blocks over great distances. It had proven to be extremely profitable when sold to many of the Essosi who lived in hotter climates, cooling the drinks of many wealthy magisters and nobles. The ice could also be used to cool milk, cream, and other perishables to prevent spoilage. It had led to her husband making a new dessert that her children absolutely adored, ice cream. Corlys had even purchased maple tree sap from the Northmen and made a sweet syrup from it to go with the ice cream.

All of this trade had been enormously and mutually beneficial for House Velaryon and the North. With the new Lord Desmond Manderly seeming to no longer obey her father as much as his grandfather had, it would be a ripe time to expand their operations even more. Either Lord Desmond had finally bowed to Winterfell’s wishes, or he had realized that his grandfather’s stubborn loyalty to the Iron Throne had seen his house lose out on a lot of wealth and trade to their rivals. Whatever the case, it was good news for their house.

Though rival ports had been built to the North, White Harbor remained the premier port in the North, commanding its richest and most fertile lands and the mouth of its longest river. It was closest to the trade routes of the world, and the White Knife could soon be opened to Velaryon trade, allowing them to access the resources of and export their goods to more of the North, including a direct route to Winterfell.

“Has Lord Ellard agreed to the betrothal?” Viserra asked her husband.

Of course, the North wasn’t simply a place to make money and allies easily. They had to play the game as well. The houses on the North’s western coast, Dustin, Tallhart, Ryswell, Glover, and Mormont, were trading extensively with the Western Bloc. Lannister, Redwyne, and Hightower were all trading with them and investing in them similarly to how the Velaryons were in the east. Their rivals had seen their success in the North’s eastern coasts and had been unwilling to let the whole North fall into their sphere without a fight.

Viserra had to respect Ellard Stark’s cunning. He had intentionally allowed this to happen so that his entire kingdom could prosper from the rivalries of them southerners. Crafty. Of course, that hadn’t stopped both them and the Western bloc from trying to go for the jugular. They’d both offered betrothals for Ellard’s grandson Rickon, the son of his eldest son Benjen, and the future Lord of Winterfell after his father and grandfather. Viserra and her husband had offered their niece Vaella. The Western bloc on the other hand had competed with each other as much as with them, and Lannister, Redwyne, and Hightower had each offered had offered Ellard a pick between the young infant daughters or nieces of their lords and heirs, or older cousins that could be wed sooner if that was his preference for his son’s bride.

She was wondering what Ellard would choose. He could reject them all in favor of a local match, though those local houses were also subject to their competing influences, or he could accept one of them and potentially break his neutrality. Personally she was expecting Ellard to choose a local match and only indirectly align his interests with either the Velaryons and Western bloc without alienating either party. It would be what she would do.

To her surprise however, Corlys nodded. “He has. Vaella will wed Rickon in either 100 or 101 AC.”

“That’s wonderful news… but a bit surprising. He risks compromising his relations with the Western bloc does he not? That could affect the western coasts and his vassals there, who would surely complain and cause him issues,” Viserra said.

“Perhaps he feels confident he can appease them. Either way, our niece will be the Lady of a Great House, consort to a lord who rules a third of the Iron Throne’s realm. This is a great victory for our house.”

“Why do you think Ellard chose us? He has to be expecting something, something that hasn’t been mentioned.”

“What do we have that the Western bloc doesn’t? It’s dragons. Your parents forced Ellard’s father to give up massive amounts of land under pain of dragonfire. By allying with us however, another dragonriding house that are at odds with the Targaryens…”

“The Starks have secured their protection from any more draconic dictates,” she concluded.

“That’s right.”

“And you’re fine with this?”

“I see nothing wrong with it. It’s all implicit. All vague. We aren’t actually obliged to defend them if we don’t wish to, nor is it likely the Targaryens would press anything on the Starks at this point. They have more important things to worry about.”

Viserra nodded at his reasoning. “We’ll be able to get back in time for the wedding you think?”

“Most likely. It’s in what, two, three years? We should be finished by then. We can take the kids back to Driftmark and take a trip up north with Vaella for her wedding.”

She sighed. “One last task to settle before then though, and such a long one too.”

Corlys placed his hand on her shoulder. “But no less necessary. The slavers are long overdue their comeuppance.”

Viserra did not disagree. It was past time that Slaver’s Bay was repaid with fire and blood for their cowardly attack on Velos all those years ago. House Velaryon could not let that slight go unanswered any longer. Still…

“I know. I just dislike the idea of leaving our children for so long. It will be a year at least that we are parted from them.”

Corlys’s expression was sympathetic. “I understand, but remember. It is for their sake that we are doing this. It is for them that we remind the world that House Velaryon will not let attacks on it go unanswered. The trade routes we reopen will see our house flourish even more, and it can only benefit them.”

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation then. Ser Jaremy who was standing guard outside the door announced who it was. At their command, the door swung open. A beautiful young woman walked in, lithe and lissome, with skin as pale as milk. She wore a hooded black velvet robe lined with ocean-blue silk and silver trims. A silver badge in the shape of a conch seashell was proudly clipped to her left breast. Viserra didn’t think she’d ever met her before, but her face was strangely familiar.

The woman bowed to them respectfully. “Your Excellency, Princess. I am pleased to give my report on the results of my team’s mission in Slaver’s Bay.”

Corlys was thrilled. “Ah, yes of course. We were expecting you a little later, but the White Worm always goes above and beyond.”

“You flatter me Excellency,” the woman said, though there was a pleased smile on her face.

“Hardly flattery to praise the work of an incredible agent. Viserra, are you familiar with Lady Mysaria? She is one of the rising stars in our Conches.”

“Only by reputation. I’m pleased to meet you Mysaria. Have we perhaps met before? You look rather familiar,” Viserra said, still trying to place her face.

“I’m honored that you remember me Princess. We met briefly many years ago, it was before you married Lord Corlys. I was an orphan in Breezhome Orphanage,” she explained.

“You were the little Lyseni girl.” Viserra remembered now. It felt like a lifetime ago now. A different life, a different Viserra.

“You’ve done very well for yourself since then,” she noted.

“I have you to thank for that my princess. You and House Velaryon. Every member of that orphanage ends up serving House Velaryon in one way or another. It’s a stable job, and a good cause.”

“Ser Jaremy at the door is also another Breezehomer. He was before your time there,” Corlys interjected proudly.

Mysaria smiled. “It’s good to know that I have another brother here.”

“Please, have a seat Lady Mysaria. I am eager to hear your report,” her husband said welcomingly.

The smile faded slightly off her face as her professionalism reemerged. “Of course Excellency.”

As Mysaria gave her report to Corlys about the current state of Velos and Slaver’s Bay, Viserra reflected on how the organization she belonged to had even come to exist. It had been decided years ago that the death of Rhaekar and the surprise attack on Velos were unacceptable intelligence failures for House Velaryon. They could no longer tolerate them, for to be blindsided again could mean disaster, or death.

Thus, the complicated and informal web of informants and spies that House Velaryon maintained like every other noble house worth their salt, had been formally unified into a specialised agency known only as the Conches. A secret organization that officially did not exist to anyone but the highest ranks of House Velaryon; they were named for the seashell in which one could hear the whispers of the sea.

The Conches’ role was exactly that. They were the Velaryons’ eyes and ears. They personally infiltrated and spied on their targets, and also operated a web of informants and contacts who by protocol, would never know the information they were relaying was passed to House Velaryon. The Conches were dispatched throughout the world to regions and persons of interest to House Velaryon and they reported back their findings to their masters unfailingly, constantly whispering to them what secrets they had uncovered in the sea of knowledge, just like the seashells that echoed the sounds of the sea.

The Iron Throne foolishly entrusted its intelligence operations to a third party noble who often had an agenda of his own. Furthermore, these networks were informal and not fixed, they had to be rebuilt every time a new Master of Whisperers was appointed. The Conches had no such failings.

They were perhaps the first corps of their kind in the world, if one did not count the various assassin guilds whose sole purpose was as murderers for hire. The Conches were a formal organization with a standardized chain of command, training, and methodology. They had a cause they believed in, and each of them had been recruited not just for their skills but for their unflinching loyalty to House Velaryon. Loyalty that did not expire when their chief spymaster died.

Quick and efficient, Lady Mysaria had finished her report within a few minutes and left the room, leaving Viserra alone with her husband.

“It’s time then,” she said.

“It is.”

______________________________________________

Second Moon, 98 AC

They had delayed for a month. Ostensibly for the sake of finalizing their preparations, but House Velaryon had been preparing this campaign for years. Corlys and Viserra both knew they had delayed because they had not wished to miss their daughter Laena’s sixth nameday. They’d have to miss Daeron’s fourth in the tenth moon of that year already, and that hurt Viserra deeply. Her little boy would be turning four years old and she wouldn’t be here.

There was no more delaying. The fleet was prepared, its armament full, and its provisions stocked with glass jar canned foodstuffs and essence of lime and orange to prevent scurvy. The Velaryon Fleet was ready for war, its masters had to be as well.

In the sky above, Viserra could see Dreamfyre circling impatiently. She was all ready to go. Dragons it seemed had much less difficulties leaving their children. All of Dreamfyre’s hatchlings were back at the Fortress and had not cared to see her off; Tessarion, Morghul, Shrykos, and the youngest Terrax, who had hatched for her youngest son in his cradle like all his siblings’ dragons had. A young blue-green dragoness with ocean-blue wings and scales and a crest, claws, and belly scales as sea green as the Velaryon banner; Corlys had joked that Daeron’s dragon could join the Tide Guard with those colors many times before.

Corlys, and Aurane and her were at the piers of the dock ready to leave. Alys, Victor, and the children had come to see them off. As Aurane bid farewell to his wife and his four sons, Rhogar, Rhaekar, Malentine, and Monford, Viserra had her own brood clinging to her and Corlys.

“Do you really have to go Muna?” Daeron asked sweetly and Viserra felt her heart squeeze at the sadness in his voice.

“Yes darling, I do,” she knelt down and hugged him. “I tell you what. I’ll bring you back a nice toy when I return, a souvenir from Meereen. How’s that?”

“A toy would be nice,” Daeron agreed, noticeably cheering up.

Viserra smiled sadly, it hadn’t really set in for Daeron yet just how long they would be gone. She hoped he didn’t resent them when they returned. Beside her, Corlys had been twirling Laena around in his arms for a few minutes and finally let her down, giddy and laughing.

“I won’t be able to do that for a while my little pearl, so I had to get my fill of it now. You understand right?”

Laena giggled. “Of course Daddy! Let’s go again!”

Corlys chuckled. “I think that’s quite enough. I’ll do it as much as you want when I get back, don’t worry.”

“Jace, Luke,” Viserra called out to her eldest sons. Seven were they already nine? It felt like yesterday that they’d been babes in her arms. They were growing so fast.

“Yes Mother,” they chorused together in the twinspeak they liked to do.

“Look after your younger siblings. While we’re gone, Aunt Alys and Uncle Victor have full authority over you. You are not to ride your dragons without my supervision, understood? Wait until my return, and if I find out you did, you will be in for it.”

Her eldest boys nodded and she softened. The stuffy responsibilities were out of the way. “Look after yourselves alright? I’ll miss you, all of you. We both will. We’ll bring you back some souvenirs from Slaver’s Bay in a year or so, and it will be like we were never gone.”

They nodded again and at that Viserra took them both into her arms and hugged them dearly, eventually relinquishing them to Corlys who hugged them in turn.

“Nuncle,” Corlys called out to his uncle standing some ways away. Victor stepped forward. “I’m entrusting you with Tyrosh. The stewardship of the city is yours with Aurane and I gone. Alys has the household and the children, but you will be our regent and the commander of our forces. I’m placing everything in your hands uncle.”

“You can count on me Corlys,” Victor said in a deep raspy voice. He was well over sixty years old, but still hale and strong. An old man, but by no means feeble. He walked up closer to her husband and clasped his arm around his shoulder. “Send those slavers to the seven hells for me. For Lucerys.”

Corlys nodded grimly. “I will.”

Viserra looked on a little sadly. Corlys’ cousin Lucerys had been Victor’s son, and he had been presumed dead years ago when Velos had fallen to the slavers. It was his death, and the deaths of many more that they were sailing to avenge now.

As she boarded the Sea Snake, Viserra turned back and saw her children waving her off. She waved back at them and only when they were no longer in sight, did she allow a few gentle tears to fall from her eyes. This parting was for their sake, Viserra reminded herself. For the sake of their house, to avenge Lucerys and so many more. It didn’t make the separation hurt any less, but the pain was far more bearable.

Corlys held her as their fleet sailed away from Tyrosh. Eventually she broke from his embrace and stopped looking at the horizon where Tyrosh had long disappeared. She turned and faced the front of the ship, looking at the sea ahead as they tacked with the wind.

Onward then, to Velos, and war.

Chapter 36: Slaver's Bay

Chapter Text

Viserra

Seventh Moon, 98 AC

“Dracarys!” Viserra commanded as Dreamfyre dived. Instantly, a column of blue flames emerged from her maw. A rain of fiery death pouring from the sky. Within minutes, the enemy fleet had been reduced to smoldering planks and cinders burning on the sea.

Fools, Viserra thought. The Ghiscari had forgotten the might of dragons and had thought to defy them yet again. She looked back to her fleet which now sailed north for Velos completely unopposed. Corlys must be disappointed that his fancy new wildfire flamethrowers were not seeing any use, but why have flamethrowers on your ships when you had a dragon in the sky?

Their journey from Tyrosh had taken them five months, and when they had rounded the Doom and arrived in the Gulf of Grief, they had been confronted by a massive fleet flying banners and standards Viserra had recognized to be from the Slaver Cities of Astapor, Yunkai, Meereen, and New Ghis. The very same that had sacked Velos all those years ago.

The coming of House Velaryon was well known in Essos. Word had spread quickly and Slaver’s Bay had been aware of their approach months in advance due to how far the distance was. Not that that foreknowledge would save them from their wrath.

Following their plan, Viserra flew over the Velaryon Fleet as it sailed for the ruins of Velos. She communicated with them using a system Corlys, she, and the fleet captains had been developing for some years now. Flags displayed and waved in certain colors, patterns, and orders from the ships would indicate certain things and Viserra would communicate back by leading Dreamfyre in a number of different acrobatic maneuvers and could do multiple in different arrangements for longer messages. She and the sailors would use glass far-eyes to read each other’s signals from further away and the far-eyes also had other great uses in scouting, no more being surprised by a single ship actually being the head of a fleet for Viserra.

It was a little complex to learn and memorize the new system, but it got the job done and it was far more efficient and practical, especially during battle. It was safer too, the ships would no longer be almost capsized if Viserra didn’t control their landing carefully, and she and Dreamfyre wouldn’t be exposed to any enemy attacks when they went down to sea level. Dreamfyre was a lot happier with the new system as well, as she no longer had to land on the sea, which she hated doing.

As she soared over the sea, Viserra felt her eyes drawn to the waves below. The water was a blue so deep it appeared to be almost black, and as they approached the southern shores, it changed to a shimmering blue turquoise. The beaches near Velos were full of pale sands that reminded Viserra of Driftmark.

When they finally arrived, Viserra immediately understood why her husband had taken Velos’ loss so personally. She had not seen the outpost before its destruction, but she had heard of his descriptions of it. In her mind’s eye, a part of her expected to see the port they had rebuilt, the inns and bazaars that had sprouted up, the ships that had filled the harbor. A modest but prosperous town that Corlys had spent years building up as a waystation during his voyage. Years’ worth of work, destroyed by the greed of slavers. Only charred ruins and rubble remained now.

At her command, Dreamfyre landed gracefully in a ruined courtyard shortly before the Tide Guard rushed in. Corlys and Aurane walked into the courtyard soon after that and they stopped in front of the charred ruins of a house. Before it was burnt, Viserra might have called it a manse, if a modest one. It had clearly been larger than all the other buildings surrounding the courtyard.

She walked up to her husband and goodbrother. “Anything particularly important about this house?”

“This was our cousin’s house, before the sack. Lucerys… he followed me on many of my voyages back in the day. After the sixth, Velos had sprouted up into a small but increasingly prosperous town. It needed a steward. Lucerys volunteered to be its governor, and I gave him the position gladly, because I trusted him. It led him to his death,” Corlys explained.

“It wasn’t your fault alright?” Viserra said grabbing his hand gently. “The slavers did this. Ghiscari filth killed your cousin and everyone else here. We will avenge them now.”

Perhaps weary of the heavy discussion, Aurane changed the topic. “The slavers are more foolish than I thought. We expected to face a garrison when we landed, but the island appears to be devoid of any men.”

“More’s the pity,” Viserra said darkly. “Dreamfyre would have enjoyed roasting them all.”

“It’s better this way. We can save the roasting for when we move to the mainland in a few days. In the meantime, the Isle of Cedars is the perfect base for our men to rest after the long journey and to restock our provisions,” Corlys said.

“When we first arrived here, the island’s animals had no fear of men and would approach us eagerly. Including wild boars and pigs. We filled our larders up with salted pork, smoked ham, and bacon,” Corlys explained as they walked.

“The men would enjoy those I’m sure,” Viserra said.

“They’d enjoy the monkeys less. Damnable pests infested Velos back then, and they’d come to the ships as well, making a nuisance of themselves stealing food and swinging between spars,” Aurane said.

“There were rumors of ghosts and horrors in Velos when we first came here years ago as well. Those stories came to an end eventually as we rebuilt the city, but with it having fallen back into ruin, perhaps those ghosts have returned?” Corlys said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Nice try Corlys,” Viserra shook her head unamused. “Ghosts mean nothing to a dragonrider.”

“Even dragons might find themselves scared sometimes,” Corlys warned with a faraway look in his eyes.

That night, they feasted on wild boar, roasted with spices and curry to cut away the gaminess of the meat. There was in fact, no horrors or ghosts, though that had not stopped Viserra from having Dreamfyre rest herself right outside the house Corlys and her had claimed for themselves.

One of the few with an intact roof, the Tide Guard had secured it for them and had moved many of their things from their quarters on the Sea Snake to it for them, including their bed. Viserra slept soundly that night, on solid ground for the first time in months, and if Corlys had noticed her slight wariness of the supposed horrors, he did not comment on it.

Over the following days, their scout parties pushed further north into the interior of the island, hunting pigs and collecting mushrooms, flowers, seeds, and other edible foodstuffs to restock their provisions. After they’d spent a week foraging and hunting, it was decided that they had sufficiently restocked their supplies and rested their men.

Aurane was left in charge of a large garrison to hold Velos against any surprise attack and start work on clearing the rubble for the eventual rebuilding of the outpost. Scout parties were to continue foraging, hunting, and exploring in the interior as well. The waters around the island were also rich in fish, and many of the ships left behind were put to work fishing when not on patrol duty. If their plans for the Isle of Cedars were to see fruition, they needed to have food and shelter aplenty.

Viserra and Corlys on the other hand, led the bulk of the fleet to their first target. The city of Astapor was the closest of the Slaver Cities to the Isle of Cedars. It was about a week’s sailing before they reached the city.

Viserra had taken to the sky as they had approached the city, and she looked over it from above. The bay shore was dominated by red pyramids, each with great steps, and the largest of which was four hundred feet high, not that such heights mattered to a dragon. The city’s walls were red, but the bricks were crumbling and red dust blew all over the city. She remembered an old rhyme. Bricks and blood built Astapor, and bricks and blood her people.

Their coming had clearly been expected. The city’s famed Unsullied manned the crumbling walls and gates. Had it not been for Dreamfyre, Astapor would be difficult to take indeed for House Velaryon. As it was however, Viserra had to resist the urge to simply order Dreamfyre to lay waste to the entire city. It was so tempting; it would be so easy. But it would be so wasteful as well.

Viserra landed Dreamfyre out of range of Astapor’s archers, where the Tide Guard had set up a pavilion for Corlys and her. She wiped her brow, feeling her sweat drip from her body. The hot Astapori sun was unforgiving, and the heat was brutal.

It was not long before an Astapori delegation arrived to negotiate with them. A modest company of Unsullied lead many manacled in chains and several chests of gold. At their head were three Astapori Masters. The company came flying a banner of truce, so the Tide Guard begrudgingly let them pass.

“Greetings Your Excellency, Princess Viserra. It is an honor to meet the Archon of Tyrosh and his consort, the rider of the great dragon,” the head of the delegation said, speaking in High Valyrian with a filthy Ghiscari growl that made Viserra cringe to hear how her mother tongue was butchered. “I am Krazdan ro Akhaz, one of the Good Masters of Astapor.”

“And what have you come here for Akhaz?” her husband replied in proper, perfect High Valyrian.

“Only to say that, we need not be adversaries Your Excellency. Astapor has a gift for the House of Velaryon. Chained behind me in manacles, is the captain of every ship that led the assault on Velos all those years ago. They were motivated by greed, and acted without the Good Masters’ authorization. There is also a great gift of gold, incense, and other precious luxuries, as the token of our goodwill and the compensation of Astapor for the unfortunate events at Velos.”

What nonsense, Viserra thought, but she said nothing out loud.

“I’m afraid Akhaz, that even if we were to believe that you and your fellow Good Masters had no part in the attack on Velos, this compensation is paltry for the damages done to Velos. I would have my rightful compensation for the death of my cousin and many of our people.”

Akhaz bowed. “Of course Your Excellency. What is it that you would ask of the Good Masters of Astapor?”

“I accept all the gifts that you have offered me, but furthermore I would have all of your famed Unsullied, both fully trained as well as the uncut boys and those whose training is not yet complete. I intend to sack Yunkai and Meereen, and I would have more soldiers with which to do this. Unlike esteemed Astapor which has graciously agreed to negotiate with us and have given us these gifts in a show of good faith, I am quite certain the Wise Masters of Yunkai and the Great Masters of Meereen are guilty.”

“Certainly they are Excellency,” Akhaz said, with a malicious greed in his eyes at the thought of Astapor’s chief rivals being destroyed, allowing the declining city to monopolize the slave trade in the bay.

A worried expression filled his face then. “However, I am left uncertain about this compensation you ask for. The Unsullied are Astapor’s chief export, our pride and wealth. Without them we are left defenseless, and without our profit. It is not cheap to train Unsullied, and you desire the uncut and untrained as well? We cannot have green and raw boys sullying the reputation of our Unsullied.”

Viserra shook her head. “Come now Good Master, we all know that Astapor will profit greatly from Yunkai and Meereen’s downfall, Unsullied or no. And perhaps you misunderstand, this is not a request.” At her words, Dreamfyre moved over to them and breathed hot air on the Good Master.

Akhaz looked terrified. “I… I cannot speak for all of my fellow Good Masters in this. Please allow me some time to convince them of the wisdom of accepting.”

“Of course,” Corlys said magnanimously. “You have one day Good Master.”

Akhaz nodded before he turned to leave. The Unsullied made to retrieve the chests of gold and other goods and lead the chained prisoners back. The Tide Guard made to stop them but the resolute and fearless Unsullied only halted when Dreamfyre growled at them, making them all freeze in terror. Viserra was amused. Not even the infamously harsh training of the Unsullied could break the fear of dragons it seemed.

“Leave them,” Corlys ordered. “They are gifts are they not?”

Akhaz nodded again, almost pissing his trousers, before he all but ran from the pavilion back to the city, his Unsullied in tow.

After a brief and sharp interrogation in which they concluded that the prisoners were in fact the same men who had led the assault on Velos all those years ago, Corlys ordered their soldiers to line them all up within open view of the city and at Viserra’s command, Dreamfyre slowly roasted and ate each and every one of them.

By noon the next morning, Akhaz had returned. Behind him marched a massive army of Unsullied in perfect formation, uncaring of the hot midday sun above them. Behind the Unsullied lagged those whose training was not yet complete, and their discipline was notably much weaker.

Akhaz approached them and handed Corlys a whip. “The Good Masters have agreed to your demands. All we ask is that you make for Yunkai as soon as possible and trouble us no longer. We would have peace with House Velaryon.”

Corlys said nothing to Akhaz but accepted the whip. He marched forward and barked orders at the Unsullied formation, all of whom followed perfectly, while their less trained brethren struggled to withstand the heat of the sun as they moved.

Satisfied with the results, Corlys gave the next order. “Unsullied, I and House Velaryon have come to free the slaves of Astapor! This is my command! Fight alongside those who bear the banner of the Seahorse! Sack Astapor! Kill every master and take their wealth and bring it to us! Break the chains of every slave, but harm no women or children younger than three and ten!”

At that, Viserra made for Dreamfyre. They would have to break the gates of the city and clear a path for the Unsullied and the Velaryon Army to have unhindered access to sack the city.

Akhaz looked horrified. “This was not what we agreed Velaryon!”

Her husband looked toward him. “You are mistaken Akhaz. I never agreed to anything. Only you did.”

Infuriated, Akhaz drew a dagger and charged to stab Corlys, but the Tide Guard put him down before he got anywhere close to their lord.

With her husband safe, Viserra mounted Dreamfyre and outpaced the marching Unsullied and Velaryon Army for the city. At her command, her dragon blew open the gates of Astapor and they laid waste to all the defenders on the walls and in front of the gate, slaying any soldiers and sellswords that remained.

With the path cleared and the gates broken, the Velaryon Army and the Unsullied moved into the city and sacked it. Everything of value was taken, even those that were nailed down. Gold, silver, gems, silks, spices, and more luxuries and goods of great value. They took all the foodstuffs and stocks as well.

Astapor was smaller than Tyrosh, but it was a large city nonetheless. It took three days for their sack of the city to be complete. The evidence of their work was clear. Astapor the Red City was running red with blood. The blood of slavers, but also of the innocents slaughtered in the chaos. Not every freeborn person in that city had been a slaver after all, and they would suffer greatly from what they had done to it. But the world was cruel, and Viserra could not bring herself to care too much. It was not her duty or responsibility to care for these Ghiscari strangers.

Viserra stood with Corlys on the plain in front of the city, watching Astapor burn. The Unsullied had gathered in the plain in front of the broken city gates, with many of the freed slaves having come out as well, leaving the freeborn to weep and grind their teeth in the ruin of their city.

“UNSULLIED! I AM NO LONGER YOUR MASTER!” Corlys said as he broke the whip and Viserra had Dreamfyre burn it into ashes.

“From this day, from this moment forth, you are all free men! And as free men, I ask you, to serve my house and I willingly. Together, we will sack the Slaver Cities of Yunkai and Meereen, and you will be the guardians of your fellow slaves whom you will free from the shackles of slavery and bring to freedom on the Isle of Cedars across the Bay! What say you?”

“We will fight for Velaryon! For Zaldilaros!” one Unsullied captain eventually said after a pause, and soon the whole army followed suit.

“Velaryon! Zaldilaros!” they chanted, as did the slaves they had freed.

“I thank you for your loyalty! In a week’s time we march, for Yunkai and war!” Corlys shouted and the slaves cheered eagerly.

“Until then my friends. Laugh and be merry! Enjoy your freedom! On the morrow we load the ships, for the freed slaves and the riches and food to be moved to Velos on the Isle of Cedars. There they will settle and make homes for themselves, and when this campaign has ended, the Unsullied will join them, and defend them forevermore!”

The freed slaves and the Unsullied cheered. That night, a great feast was held outside Astapor even as the city continued to burn. The freed slaves of Astapor mingled with the Velaryon soldiers and were merry.

____________________________________________________

Tenth Moon, 98 AC

Three months after the Sack of Astapor, the Velaryon Army, now some twenty thousand strong with the addition of the Unsullied and the slave soldiers of Yunkai, marched onwards to Meereen.

They had spent the past three months sacking the city of Yunkai and raiding the hinterlands of both Yunkai and Astapor, freeing slaves wherever they went and seizing whatever wealth, ships, and foodstocks they could find.

The Velaryon fleet was tasked with transporting all these freedmen and the wealth and provisions to the Isle of Cedars, where work was currently underway to rebuild Velos and settle farmlands to feed the freed slaves in the long term.

In the short term however, the slaves would be fed easily with the foodstuffs they had seized from Astapor and Yunkai. Viserra was well aware that the surviving people of Astapor and Yunkai would have a great famine due to the loss of their foodstuffs, but she could not bring herself to care after seeing for herself the extent of their brutality toward the slaves. Right now, Viserra wished her ancestors had done the job properly and wiped out the Ghiscari culture entirely rather than letting it survive in any way.

Unlike Tyrosh, where the slaves had outnumbered the freeborn three to one before they had seized the city, in Astapor and Yunkai, the reverse was the case. They constantly exported and traded slaves, and the slaves were treated with such brutality that had they outnumbered the freeborn, they would have surely butchered them all already. As it was the slaves had taken to killing many of their masters and the freeborn in brutal reprisal and unlike in Tyrosh, Viserra and Corlys had not cared enough to stop them. They had no intention to rule Slaver’s Bay, it could burn for all they cared.

Having finished up in Yunkai finally, they were to move on to Meereen. As the army crossed over into Meereenese territory, Viserra was horrified to see a slave child nailed up on the first milepost. The boy could not be older than five, and his entrails were hanging out, with one arm outstretched and facing Meereen. For a moment, Viserra saw her son Daeron on that post. She had missed his fifth nameday. She shook her head desperately and the image of her son was gone, but the sight that remained was no less haunting.

Corlys ordered the Tide Guard to remove the child and bury him. Viserra grit her teeth as she watched them take his body down, forcing herself to not vomit from the disgust and horror she felt at the sight.

Their army continued its march and the Great Masters of Meereen had fled before their advance. They had harvested all they could and burned what they could not, bringing all their wealth, slaves, and people north with them as they retreated. Scorched fields and poisoned wells were all they came across as they marched, requiring the Velaryon Fleet to continuously resupply them. “They’re doing it for us,” Viserra had remarked to Corlys as they marched.

Unfortunately, that was not all that they were greeted with. At every milepost, another slave child was nailed, and as if they were taunting them, the Great Masters had begun nailing slave children with silver hair, likely of Lyseni stock. It made it even easier for Viserra to see her own children’s likeness in the cruelly executed slave children.

By the time they reached Meereen, Viserra had counted one hundred and sixty-three slave children nailed to the mileposts. One hundred and sixty-three miles, one hundred and sixty-three taunts. Her fury could not be restrained any longer.

“Corlys,” Viserra said, gritting her teeth. “I will burn this city to the ground, as my ancestors did Old Ghis. Tear down its buildings brick by brick, reduce them to ash and cinder with dragonflame and sow its seeds with salt, sulfur, and the skulls of slavers.”

“Let me sack it first. When its wealth is taken and its slaves freed, the Velaryon Army will follow your every command with Meereen.”

The Sack of Meereen was by far the most brutal so far. The city was larger than both Yunkai and Astapor combined, and was swollen with wealth and people from the Meereenese retreat. The Velaryon Army and the Unsullied took out their anger and wrath from the horrid sights they had seen along their journey out on the city.

Astapor and Yunkai had been sacked in three days each, Meereen was sacked in nine. By the end of it, the survivors had fled into the countryside where they cared not to follow them. Their army pulled down the walls and slew all the slavers. The freed slaves and looted treasures and foodstuffs were loaded up onto the Velaryon fleet as well as the Meereenese merchant and military ships they had seized and slowly moved to the Isle of Cedars.

Viserra had personally fed several of the Great Masters to Dreamfyre herself, and she had had the remainder nailed to crosses in the plaza beneath the Great Pyramid of Meereen. Everything of value had been removed from the city, and the slaves had all been freed and sent to Velos. Most of the freeborn had fled into the countryside during the sack already and if any remained? Collateral damage. Such was the way of the world.

With nothing else stopping her, Viserra mounted Dreamfyre and they rose into the sky together. They climbed higher and higher, until they were well above the Great Pyramid of Meereen.

“Dracarys!” Viserra commanded and Dreamfyre bellowed out a great stream of azure fire. The Great Pyramid melted and warped before the heat of Dreamfyre’s flames and the structure began crumbling. Unfortunately, much like her ancestors had faced with the colossal Great Pyramid of Old Ghis, pyramids were remarkably resilient to dragonfire so unless she wanted to spend a week melting it, there would be little she could do the pyramid. Nevertheless, she did her best, melting all the entrances of the pyramid shut and warping its shape.

Moving on from the pyramid, Viserra and Dreamfyre laid waste to every street and building in the city with long bursts of flame as they flew over them, setting them all aflame. It took several hours before all of Meereen was on fire and still Viserra did not stop, adding more fire to the carnage wherever she felt there was too little destruction. She took a savage glee in razing Meereen to the ground. When her wrath had finally burned through, Meereen looked more destroyed than Velos had.

______________________________________

Eleventh Moon, 98 AC

With Yunkai and Astapor sacked, Meereen razed, and the wealth and slaves of all three cities taken, they had finally sailed back to Velos. Viserra found herself stunned by the progress Aurane had made with the outpost in just four months. All the rubble had been cleared, and the work was well underway building new houses and clearing the neighboring forests for farmland.

Former slaves from the cities of the Bay filled the outpost and mingled and worked on rebuilding it. Not every slave had been brought to Velos of course. Though the Velaryons had freed hundreds of thousands of slaves, not all had chosen to come to the Isle of Cedars, nor could they all, for the island remained undeveloped and could not support so many at once, even with the foodstuffs they had taken.

Many slaves had chosen to remain behind in Astapor and Yunkai, where they now ruled instead of the masters and in the hinterlands, hundreds of thousands more had remained enslaved on the estates that the Velaryons had not had time or the care to raid. They had come for revenge and wergilds, not to liberate all the slaves.

Still they had extended an open offer to the freedmen of Yunkai and Astapor to flee to the Isle of Cedars at any time should they need it. Hopefully by then, the island would be more developed and able to support them. It was of considerable size and would be more than capable of supporting every slave in Slaver’s Bay was it not a wilderness.

As the Sea Snake moored, Viserra and Corlys were greeted by excited chants and cheers as the crowds shouted Zaldilaros, and Velaryon. They walked out and greeted the crowds while the Tide Guard cleared the way for them to move to their destination.

Finally, they made their way through the excited crowds and arrived at the house they had been told Aurane had claimed for himself. They had also been told that Aurane had a surprise for them both that he had requested the garrison not mention to them until they arrived.

As they entered the house, Viserra saw Aurane speaking with another silver haired man. His eyes were indigo just like Corlys’ were. She noticed that the man had a striking resemblance to Victor Velaryon, Corlys and Aurane’s uncle.

“Lucerys?” her husband asked in shock.

Viserra turned to him, seeing the surprise and disbelief in his eyes. So this was their son’s namesake? Lucerys Velaryon, son of Victor, cousin of Corlys and Aurane?

The now named Lucerys Velaryon did not answer in words but instead walked up to his cousin and embraced him dearly. “I knew you would return Corlys.”

“How?” Corlys asked, still lost for words.

Lucerys had a sad smile. “When Velos fell, I and a few others managed to survive the destruction. We fled deep into the interior of the island where the Ghiscari and slavers would not find us. Soon enough they began fighting each other and they had forgotten about us entirely.

“We built a village of sorts in the interior, hunting pigs and monkeys for food, and picking mushrooms and fruits to eat. We even managed to salvage some mulberries from the outpost to grow, among other crops.”

“How many of you?” Corlys asked.

“About a hundred of us only. We’ve been just waiting in the interior for so many years wondering if and when our brethren would ever return from the west. You would not believe how exuberant we were when our hunters reported seeing men with the seahorse sigil emblazoned on their doublets exploring the island. I rushed to meet them immediately and they took me to see Aurane, and well the rest is obvious isn’t it?”

“When was this?”

“About a week ago. Aurane and I have been spending that time catching up. He’s been telling me all about Tyrosh and your wonderful children. Corlys, I am sorry about Rhaekar.”

Corlys’ smile faded briefly. “Thank you Lucerys. We avenged his death, but I still mourn him sometimes.”

“You should always mourn family who have passed. Where is my father? And everyone else?” Lucerys asked.

“Your father is holding Tyrosh for us at the moment. Aurane’s wife Alys, and their children, and my children are in Tyrosh as well. Uncle Jorgen, and Irina and her children are on Driftmark still. Ah, where are my manners, I don’t believe you two have ever met. Lucerys, this is my wife Viserra,” Corlys said, introducing them.

“A pleasure to meet you Princess,” Lucerys said as he kissed her hand.

“The pleasure is mine Ser Lucerys. I have heard much about you from Corlys.”

“All good things I hope,” he said smiling.

“They were,” Viserra reassured him.

“So what’s the plan now?” Lucerys asked Corlys.

“Well when we are finished up here in Slaver’s Bay, we’ll be returning to Tyrosh. You can come along and meet Alys and the children, and see your father again. Your sister and Irina and the rest of our family is still in Westeros and we intend to return to Driftmark soon as well.”

“That’s all well and good, and I will gladly go and see them, but I am the Governor of Velos and I intend to return here eventually and keep that post if you will have me.”

“Of course!” Corlys said. “If you want it still, it’s yours.”

Lucerys nodded. “So what’s the plan here then? Aurane has had my people showing his around the interior, and it’s hard to miss all the slaves that keep getting offloaded here from the mainland every day.”

“We have sacked Yunkai and Astapor, and we razed Meereen to the ground. The wealth of all three cities has been brought here, along with enough food to sustain the slaves here for at least a year, possibly longer. We’ll set up a route to Tyrosh as well to try and bring in enough food long enough for Velos to set up its own farmlands.”

“So we are officially annexing the Isle of Cedars this time?”

“Under the Archonate of Tyrosh yes. The island is more than large enough to support all these freed slaves in the long run, all it needs is time to set up its farmlands to feed them. I expect over the coming years as the Ghiscari will recover, any slaves that haven’t yet arrived here will find their way here, and the Velaryon Fleet will be on standby to ferry them over at all times as they wish.”

“We’re outright colonizing the island then, using the former slaves of the Bay as the colonists and allowing us to develop the island quickly. Clever as always Corlys,” Lucerys praised his cousin.

“That’s not all. We’ve already punished Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor, but New Ghis was involved in the attack as well and their harassment of our trade routes forced us to stop our trade with the Jade Sea. That’s not something that we can forgive.

“I intend to conquer and annex New Ghis, with Ghaen as its hinterland to feed it. It will secure our route to the Jade Sea and give us another group of islands to settle the freed slaves on. We can expel all the freeborn Ghiscari as well so they don’t give us any trouble.”

“I see you are ambitious as ever as well Corlys,” Lucerys observed.

Corlys smiled. “Perhaps, though I find that my ambitions have been tempered with pragmatism and wisdom these days. Fact of the matter is, New Ghis must be ours for our route to the Jade Sea to be secure again.”

__________________________________

Second Moon, 99 AC

True to Corlys’ words, only a few weeks after returning to Velos, the Velaryon fleet had moved again, landing in Ghaen and seizing control of the large island before they had sacked and conquered the city of New Ghis. Not even the famed Iron Legions of New Ghis could stand before Dreamfyre’s fury.

In the months since, they had expelled all the freeborn Ghiscari, especially the nobles, and settled the three islands of Ghaen, New Ghis, and Ghilos, with freed slaves from Ghiscar, as well as some excess from Velos that were burdening the outpost’s food stocks.

At Corlys’ command, New Ghis was renamed in her honor as Viserria and the city, along with Velos in the Isle of Cedars, would be the two main waystations for the reopened Jade Sea trade routes. The island groups they were capital of would serve as important colonies and bases providing key resources and exports for the Velaryons in the center of the Summer Sea. Perhaps many decades for now, they might even be bases from which they might colonize the Basilisk Isles to the south as well.

Perhaps it was due to their experience in Tyrosh, but Viserra and the Velaryons found little difficulty integrating the Isle of Cedars and the islands of New Ghis to their rule, taking quick and easy possession of all the slavers’ property and transferring and settling slaves. Still it would take many more years before their new colonies were fully developed and operational, but thankfully that did not require their personal presence.

A distant cousin of Corlys, Aethan, descended from a younger son of the first Lord Daemon, was charged with holding Viserria and Ghaen. He would be answerable to Lucerys in Velos in the long term once he returned from visiting family with Corlys and herself in the west.

A hundred ships of the Velaryon Fleet had been left behind to defend the colonies and guard the trade routes. Slaver’s Bay had been broken and would pose no threat to them. They had seized almost every ship from the mainland to supplement the hundred ships they were leaving behind, be it for war, trading, or fishing. Over the coming years, it was quite likely many more slaves would flee from Ghiscar to the Isle of Cedars and Ghaen and the squadrons of the Velaryon fleet left behind here were tasked with transporting those refugees to the islands.

The only real threat to their colonies in the region now, was Volantis. Volantis had not approved of their war with Slaver’s Bay, and they had refused to provision their fleet in either Lys or Volantis itself on the journey eastward. Perhaps an indicator of the fact that they had never been anything more than allies of convenience to Volantis, an alliance that was beginning to fray as the Velaryons waxed in power and expanded their territory further.

Their actions against the slave trade likely did not help improve opinions in Volantis. Astapor, Yunkai, Meereen, and New Ghis had each been big parts of the slave trade, and the Velaryons had destroyed or conquered each city and freed all the slaves, crippling the slave trade. Their fleets were also not going to allow slaver ships to pass the Gulf of Grief from now on, effectively ending the slave trade in Slaver’s Bay.

Volantis was currently waging war to conquer Mantarys, Tolos, and Elyria. Each city was Valyrian in origin, with majority of their people still having Valyrian looks and speaking High Valyrian. Volantis who considered herself heir of the Freehold had always been interested in conquering them and they were acting now.

Their Conches had informed them that they had ambitions to extend their rule to the ruins of Bhorash, and perhaps even to the destroyed ruins of Meereen, in an attempt to secure the lucrative gap in the slave trade the destruction of Slaver’s Bay had brought. It made some sense, as they could use the dragon road between Meereen and Volantis to move slaves by land to Volantis and export them from there by sea or the Rhoyne.

Of course, that required Volantis to win the war, as they were currently also having skirmishes with Pentos, Norvos, Qohor, and Essaria, all backed by Braavos, with the potential to escalate into a war the Free Cities had not seen the like of since the Century of Blood.

Not that any of this was truly Viserra or House Velaryon’s concern. Essos knew better than to provoke their wrath at this point, their demonstration in Slaver’s Bay had made it clear what the price of angering House Velaryon was. Viserra doubted they would see any trouble in Essos for now.

Her thoughts dwelt on her children. They had missed Jace and Luke’s nameday in First Moon already, and today was Laena’s nameday. They were already on route back to Tyrosh, nearing the Doom. Hopefully they could make it back in time for Daeron’s nameday at least, so they wouldn’t have to miss it again. The power, prestige, and wealth of House Velaryon had grown because of her and Corlys’ separation from their children and Viserra begrudgingly accepted that it had been necessary but she had no wish to be like her parents and neglect her children for governance and politics.

With any luck, they could make it back to Tyrosh in time for Daeron’s fifth nameday and after they had spent a few months seeing to any remaining matters in Tyrosh or Slaver’s Bay, it would be time to return home to Driftmark. Back to Westeros, where House Targaryen dwelt…

The Velaryon State

Chapter 37: Homeward Bound

Chapter Text

First Moon, 100 AC

Viserra

They had left Driftmark to conquer Tyrosh in the eighth moon of the ninetieth year since Aegon’s Conquest. It was the first moon of the hundredth year now. Nine years and five months that she had spent away from her true home. Nine years and five months since she had last seen that wondrous isle.

Those years had changed Viserra greatly. She was not the foolish and reckless young girl that had conquered a city anymore. The passing of time and her experiences had wizened her, aged her, even if Corlys insisted she looked even more beautiful now at thirty-one then she had when they had met. That flatterer.

“Mother, what are you doing? The sun’s not even properly risen yet,” Jace asked her as he walked up to stand beside her on the aftcastle of the ship.

Her sweet boy. Viserra loved all her children dearly, but Jace and Luke were her eldest, her and Corlys’ heirs. Everything had really started when they were born. She had fought so hard for their future, sacrificed so much for them both.

She looked at her darling eldest son, soon to be eleven years old. Growing up so fast but still her little boy for a little longer. Luke and him looked more like Corlys every day, but their eyes were hers. The same shape, the same shade of deep purple. When Viserra looked at her eldest son, she thought that all she had suffered and sacrificed in Tyrosh was worth it once again, if it meant that this child of hers could live the most fruitful life he could.

“Nothing in particular Jace,” she answered her son. “I woke up a little early is all. Thought I would start the day rather than try to fall asleep again only to be woken up any way.”

Jace nodded in understanding before he walked up to stand beside her, placing his hands on the railing. “Is it much longer until we reach Driftmark?”

“Not at all. The captain told me we’ll be reaching it in just a few hours.”

“I wonder what it’s like. I barely remember it.”

“That’s understandable. You were very young when you left Driftmark. Laena and Daeron haven’t ever been there at all,” Viserra mused.

In her mind, she still saw the image of Spicetown, its wares and spices and haggling merchants beside a full harbor, with High Tide rising sheer from the cliffs in the distance. None of her children had that image in their minds. Driftmark was not their home, Tyrosh was. Still she hoped that they might find a home in Driftmark as well, as she had all those years ago.

It was halfway to noon when Driftmark was sighted. By now Viserra’s husband and their three younger children had all woken and broken their fast as well. They had gathered on the forecastle to watch as the fleet sailed into the harbor of Spicetown.

Above them, Viserra espied their dragons soaring effortlessly through the sky. Dreamfyre, matriarch and largest of them, roared triumphantly as she sped toward a familiar castle in the distance. The Blue Queen had returned to Driftmark, and her offspring accompanied her. Tessarion and Morghul, both a quarter the size of their mother in scant eleven years, an incredible growth rate. Their younger siblings Shrykos and Terrax were not much further behind, being both around a fifth the size of Dreamfyre.

While the five dragons flew over Spicetown in mere moments, their riders were left to get there a more conventional way. Corlys had decided that after so many years away from Spicetown, it would be best for the people to see them returning rather than flying into High Tide immediately. It made it easier as well, Viserra absolutely hated mounting her dragon at sea, and she knew Dreamfyre hated it too.

As the Sea Snake and her escort fleet carrying all their retinue and triumphant returning Driftmark servants and soldiers entered into the harbor of Spicetown, Viserra felt… disappointed.

“This harbor was a lot busier the last time we saw it,” she told Corlys.

He nodded, looking around with a dazed and saddened look on his face. “The trade has left Spicetown.”

As their ship moored and the gangplank lowered, the sailors moved to tie the ropes and anchor the Sea Snake to the dock before the Tide Guard rushed down the gangplank onto the pier and secured it.

Viserra and her family followed shortly after. As her children looked around in curiosity and wonder, she whispered to Corlys, gesturing to the Tide Guard surrounding them and holding their shields aloft, ready to cover their lieges at any moment. “A bit excessive isn’t it? This is Driftmark. Who would hurt us here?”

“It is precisely because it is Driftmark that we cannot let down our guard. Our enemies will know Driftmark is where we feel most secure, and we cannot say for sure how the people will react to our return after almost ten years. Driftmark has suffered a great deal in the past decade.”

The Tide Guard escorted them to their horses where they met Aurane and Alys and their sons, who had disembarked from their own ship already. They greeted them before they mounted their horses, with the Tide Guard mounting their own to ride alongside them. Viserra took her son Daeron to ride in her saddle with her, while Corlys took Laena. Their youngest two children might ride dragons, under her strict supervision, but their horse riding skills were lacking. Their eldest two brothers mounted their horses with the Tide Guard’s help however.

“Sure you two can ride?” she asked them.

Luke nodded. “We rode horses back in Tyrosh all the time. Why would this be any different?”

Viserra shook her head. “Those were your own horses, ones that you were familiar with. Horses might not be dragons, but an inexperienced rider like you most definitely are, may have trouble riding an entirely new horse with an unfamiliar personality and mannerisms. If you don’t feel comfortable, Ser Jaremy and his sworn brothers would gladly take you in their saddles.”

At her words, Luke glanced down at his horse, and then over to the grinning Ser Jaremy.

“Oh come on Luke. Don’t tell me you’re scared? You ride a dragon. What’s a horse to you?” Jace demanded.

“I’ll race you to the castle!” Luke countered.

“Confident are we?” Jace asked.

“There will be no racing, of any sort,” Viserra interjected. “You will have plenty of time to race each other on either your horses or your dragons another time. Today we are riding through Spicetown, poised, elegant, and dignified. Jace, Luke, these people have not seen either of you in almost nine years. They cheered when you were born, and they suffered for your sake. Show them that you are the heirs of House Velaryon, and you carry yourself with the dignity befitting that. It will reassure them that their sacrifices were not in vain.”

At her words, Jace and Luke straightened in their saddles and nodded, as did Daeron in her saddle in front of her. All three of them were dressed in fine dark blue doublets with silver trims, and their sister Laena was in a riding habit. The silver seahorse of their house was proudly embroidered on all of their clothes, though lately Viserra had begun wondering if sea dragon might be a better description of that sigil. She had seen what it had used to look like before Lord Aethan had changed it, and it looked a lot less like a seahorse nowadays.

With their company mounted, Corlys gave the order and they began riding through the streets of Spicetown. As they rode, Viserra kept her watchful eyes on the city around them, her mind conjuring images of the past that she struggled to reconcile with the present.

As befitting the jewel of Driftmark, the city’s decline could not be seen in its infrastructure. The subsidies they had been sending from Tyrosh had been more than enough to maintain Spicetown so it was materially much as she had last seen it.

No, something far more important was missing. People. The life and bustling vibrancy of Spicetown was lost. She had seen the census reports Irina had sent them in Tyrosh before they’d left. Of an estimated one hundred and fifty thousand people that had lived on the isle ten years ago, about seventy-five thousand had sought out greener pastures in Tyrosh and its hinterlands.

Corlys had been worried about how the people of Driftmark would greet them, but Viserra was beginning to fear that there were none. Spicetown was perfectly maintained, but its shops were empty, its homes unlived in, and its streets untrodden. A ghost city. An eerie painful sight that was so unlike her memories.

Suddenly Corlys held up his hand, and the company came to a stop. Viserra saw traces of life ahead. She wouldn’t call the market bustling, not when she had seen both Spicetown and Tyrosh at their prime, but it was full and busy at the very least.

As they trotted through the market, careful to not disturb the shops’ wares, Viserra could feel the stares of the people of Driftmark on them. An awkward silence passed before the Driftmarkers began bowing.

“As you were. We are only passing through. No need to tend to us,” Corlys ordered.

“Lord Corlys and Princess Viserra have returned to Driftmark!” one shopkeeper shouted.

A great cheer erupted, but it was cut through by bitterness. The people were glad to see them home, but their joy was tainted by the bitterness of their suffering.

Viserra spoke up then. “It saddens my heart, to see Driftmark so denuded of its people, even if I know that they are not lost to us, and have merely sought out better opportunities in Tyrosh. With our return, we hope to see Driftmark restored to its glory!”

“I beg your pardon for speaking Princess, but how do you intend to do this?” one of the women at the market said aloud. The crowd nodded at her words.

Corlys spoke then. “Our great island has suffered much before. Forty years ago, the Shivers devastated Driftmark. A quarter of our folk died, and trade came to a standstill. But we prevailed! We rose up once again, just like the ebbing of the tides! House Velaryon has risen again, and the time has come that we return the favor to our true homeland! We are House Velaryon of Driftmark!”

“The Old, the True, the Brave!” the same shopkeeper who had announced their presence earlier shouted proudly and the crowd chorused his words.

“As you were,” Corlys repeated as they began trotting faster. Soon they had passed the market entirely and were well on their way to High Tide.

As they passed through the city, Corlys took the effort to greet the people wherever they could be found in large numbers along their path. They introduced their children, spoke to the people, and heard their worries and pleas. As a result, by the time they left Spicetown, midday had passed and Viserra could tell that their children grew hungry.

A simple inquiry confirmed her suspicions and Corlys doubled the pace of their company. High Tide loomed in the distance and Viserra felt her heart skip for joy as they approached the castle. The pale fortress rose sheer from the cliffs of the tidal islet it rested on. Its silver-crowned towers glimmered in the afternoon sun.

It was high tide, the sea had risen and the shallow waters had engulfed the white sandy beach plains between Driftmark and High Tide. The water was crystal clear and Viserra’s children were staring in awe at the water and the castle rising high in the distance, appearing to rise from the waves itself, just as they had described it to them.

Their company rode along the narrow causeway to the castle, once they passed the causeway, they ascended the hilly road along the cliffs and came to the gatehouse of High Tide. She had passed this gatehouse many times years ago, and now she had returned to it. As they approached the gatehouse, the portcullis raised and the gates swung open.

They rode through High Tide until they reached the courtyard before its main keep. A few familiar faces were waiting for them on the steps. Viserra dismounted her horse and took Daeron down, letting him run free with his siblings as they moved toward the entrance to the keep.

Irina was waiting for them there. Traces of grey hair lined her honey blonde hair and there were some wrinkles on her face. The years and grief had aged her goodsister, but she remained beautiful nonetheless. Her children stood beside her, Vaemond and Vaella, both so impossibly tall and mature Viserra hardly believed her eyes seeing them. Vaemond in particular made her feel like she was looking at Rhaekar again.

It was not just those three however. Viserra recognized a familiar silver-gold haired man with purple eyes standing there as well. Corlys’ other uncle, Jorgen Velaryon, who never married from what she recalled. Lord and Lady Wendwater were present as well, with their children. If she remembered correctly, Lady Aella Wendwater née Velaryon, was Corlys’ cousin, and the sister of Lucerys whom they had rescued in Velos. He had followed them home to Driftmark to see his home island and his sister once more before he returned to his posting in the east.

Last of all was her daughter’s namesake, Corlys’ aunt, Laena Velaryon. The matron of Breezehome Orphanage was not a rare sight in High Tide but neither was she a common one. It seemed she had decided to make the trip today to welcome them home.

As they arrived, Irina stepped down and embraced them, she hugged them each in turn, starting with Corlys and Viserra, and then moving to Aurane and Alys before she started cooing over their children. Irina hadn’t seen Jace and Luke since they were toddlers, and she’d never even met Laena and Daeron, or any of Aurane and Alys’ four sons. To the side, Aella and her husband greeted them before Aella embraced her elder brother Lucerys dearly and started berating him for letting her think he was dead for so many years.

“Aunt Viserra,” Vaella said before she embraced her. Seven, she was so tall now, neither Irina or Rhaekar had been short and Vaella had clearly inherited their height. Viserra was by no means short herself, she was taller than all her sisters save Alyssa, but Vaella was taller than her even still.

Beside her, Vaemond embraced Corlys. She knew Corlys had written Vaemond for years, feeling obliged to look after him after Rhaekar had died. The years had dulled the pain of that loss for Vaemond, and he had followed in Rhaekar’s footsteps, becoming an excellent steward and helping Irina and Jorgen govern Driftmark.

They had a late lunch with their kin, with all of them catching up and trading stories, repairing bonds left stagnant by time and distance. There was also a rather amusing interaction between her daughter and her namesake.

“You can’t be Laena Velaryon! I’m Laena Velaryon!” her daughter had said, with all the certainty and energy of a little princess. Seven Corlys was spoiling her, she had him wrapped around her little finger. It was innocent and endearing for now, but Viserra knew where that could lead if it went too far.

“Laena, don’t be rude,” She chided her daughter.

Laena the elder laughed. “Ah this is entertaining. Now little princess, I was Laena Velaryon first. If anything you are the impostor,” she teased.

Her daughter gasped and turned to her worried. “She’s only teasing you dear. It’s alright. People can share names you know? You were named for Aunt Laena here, and my friend Laena Celtigar.”

“Why’s there so many Laenas? I want to be the only one,” she pouted adorably. She was all of eight and she still looked and acted so cute. It would be bittersweet indeed for Viserra when Laena grew up.

“Now Laena, you’re not the only one who has to share their name,” Luke said.

“That’s different,” she insisted.

Luke shook his head unimpressed. “No it’s not,” he said before he turned back to his conversation with the other boys. All eight of them had gathered; Vaemond sat at the head of a table with Jace, Luke, Daeron, Rhogar, Rhaekar, Malentine, and Monford. Seven only knew what they were getting up to.

Vaemond was twenty-two this year, twice the age of the next eldest in the group, Jace and Luke, and yet it seemed despite the age gap, he came to life in the company of younger male cousins, all of whom seemed to admire him. They listened to his stories with bated breath.

Distracted from her protesting that someone else had her name, her daughter was soon led away by Vaella to the boys’ table where the cousins started playing some game, leaving the adults to catch up on their own. It was a good time, full of jokes and laughter.

This was what she had missed in Tyrosh. They had had family there yes, and after the city had settled it had been pleasant enough, but it just hadn’t felt like home. Viserra thought it might never be home to her, not like Driftmark and High Tide was.

___________________________________________

They had spent the rest of that first day simply spending time with family. Corlys and Viserra had showed their children around High Tide, even as they relished the feeling of having returned to their true seat and home themselves. In the evening they had taken their four children to play in the water on the beaches near High Tide, and nearly the entire family had come along for the trip.

It had been a day of rest, of peace and luxury and Viserra had enjoyed it. It had not lasted however. By the next day, Viserra and the other adults were back to work, though Vaemond and Vaella had been given leave from their duties to continue spending time with their cousins.

Viserra sat in the solar and looked around with a wistful feeling. It was almost like looking back in time. Out of respect to them, neither Jorgen or Irina had used this solar, and had only ordered it dusted in the nine years they had been gone.

The solar was more than large enough to host a small meeting and Corlys had called for one. Aurane, Alys, and Lucerys took their seats, while Jorgen and Irina came with several sheets of paper and parchment.

“Thank you all for coming. Uncle Jorgen, Irina, you have my utmost thanks for keeping Driftmark in order these past nine years. We could not have done this without you.”

Jorgen nodded. “It was no matter nephew. I only wish that we could have preserved Driftmark better.”

“That’s part of what I would like to discuss today actually,” Corlys said as he unfurled a newly made map he had commissioned in Tyrosh and hung it from the board. It was an exquisite map of the Known World, that rather expensively colored in the various states and polities on the continents. Chief of which, was the Velaryon State in dark blue.

“These are our domains as they stand. In the Crownlands of Westeros, we have Driftmark, Massey’s Hook, and Wendwater. In the Stepstones, we have Bloodstone. All of the aforementioned are technically sworn to the Iron Throne. As an independent state, we also have the Archonate of Tyrosh which controls Tyrosh, Pryr, the Tyroshi Heel, and the cities of Velos and Viserria in the east near Slaver’s Bay with the surrounding islands. Together they are informally known as the Velaryon State.

“Uncle Jorgen, Irina, you are both aware I’m sure, of what the rest of us did in Slaver’s Bay to acquire these territories. I’m pleased to announce that as a direct result of our campaign in Slaver’s Bay, we have officially surpassed the wealth that we had before we conquered Tyrosh.”

The others cheered and applauded, Viserra smiled. The campaign in Slaver’s Bay had been enormously lucrative for their house indeed, all the ill-begotten treasures of the slavers had been theirs for the taking, once some of it had gone to their soldiers as their rightful spoils of course. They had seized many exquisite treasures of gold, silver, precious gems and other valuable goods; silks, spices, satins, and the like.

The most extraordinary prize of all however had been the truly priceless collection of Valyrian steel that they had gathered from the sack of the four cities. In total there were a dozen daggers, two longswords, a spear, and over two hundred pieces of jewelry, décor, and other miscellaneous objects.

The spear was rather unique. It was not merely a Valyrian steel spearhead mounted on a wooden shaft but was instead cast as one solid piece from shaft end to spearhead. Due to the properties of the metal, it was also light enough to be wielded with ease. Apparently it had been the ceremonial weapon of the commander of the Iron Legions of New Ghis. Corlys had been greatly intrigued by the polearm and had taken to training with it in his free time. He had even given it a name, Aeglos.

Many of the other Valyrian steel pieces were inlaid or bound with precious metals or jewels; rings, pendants, necklaces, armlets, anklets, bracelets, hairpins, and the like. They had even found exquisite sets of Valyrian steel cutlery, horns, and candlesticks of all things, and so much more. What made it even more stunning was that this windfall was what was left after two centuries of war and bribes paid to Dothraki Khalasars.

Corlys continued his speech with a pleased smile of his own. “Granted, much of that new wealth is tied up developing and rebuilding Velos and Viserria, and settling and feeding the freed slaves that have joined us on both island groups. That being said the reopening of the trade routes to the Jade Sea are certain to bring massive profits into our coffers once again, and I expect that we will be seeing the fruits of this by the end of this year.

“In a few months, Lucerys will board his ship for Velos and take up overall command of our eastern theatre. For the next ten years, Lucerys will oversee all Velaryon operations east of the Doom, including the rebuilding of Velos and Viserria, the settling of Ghaen and the Isle of Cedars, and our trade routes to the Jade Sea.

“I quite honestly expect the region to develop very fast. We have a large and multi-skilled population of settlers in the form of the freed slaves, and immensely strategic positioning. Viserria can control the eastern trade routes while Velos controls the outlet of Slaver’s Bay. Working together they can interdict and control all trade in the region, prevent any seaborne slave trading, and make great profits.

“In the long term I have some ideas on the potential of expanding our colonies and influence in the region to the Basilisk Isles or Moraq and the Cinnamon Straits, but let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. We can leave that discussion for the future. For now, Velos and Viserria’s developmental plan are set and there is nothing we need to worry about in that area anymore. Well except for you Lucerys.” They all chuckled. “The east has been settled, and the spice flows once more.”

What Corlys hadn’t mentioned was that he intended to split off Viserria from answering to Velos if both were developed and rebuilt enough after those ten years. For now, both regions were severely underdeveloped and needed joint coordination of their resources and defenses, and so Lucerys had been entrusted with both, with Aethan Velaryon in Viserria answering to Lucerys not Corlys directly.

Long term however, while they trusted Lucerys, Corlys and Viserra had agreed that was too much power and resources to be placed in one man’s hands. Once both regions were rebuilt and developed enough, their governance and defense would be split and both would answer to Tyrosh and Corlys separately of the other.

To smooth over any potential problems that might arise from this with Lucerys, Corlys intended to eventually grant him a peerage in the Isle of Cedars. It was a new system of nobility that Corlys had devised, inspired by the Free Cities themselves in fact.

Unlike in Westeros, which operated on a feudal system, nobility was rather different in the Free Cities. Nobles were still often styled as lords, though not always, but they had estates and businesses instead of fiefs. They owned large amounts of private land but they did not rule said private land as a fief, only the central government did. This was how Volantis, Braavos, and many other Free Cities in Essos governed such large expanses of land without feudalism. The freehold system of Old Valyria.

Of course, House Velaryon was not a freehold. Corlys was the undisputable Lord of the Tides and Archon of Tyrosh and they were certainly not going to share that power. That didn’t mean they couldn’t delegate however. Tyrosh’s nobles and elites had all been purged for their actions against the Velaryons, but the time was growing ripe that a new class had to be built to ease their rule and reward their followers without compromising their own power. That’s where Corlys’ peerage system came in.

Unlike Westeros with its feudal hierarchy, the peerage of Tyrosh was so named because every member would be legally equal and all of them would be styled equally as lords or ladies. They would receive no fiefs, nor have any of the feudal rights Westerosi lords might have. They could however be granted an expanse of land or a company as an estate, and they would be entitled to certain legal and political privileges such as the right to audience with the Archon and to be tried only by his court. They would also naturally be the first choice for positions in the Velaryon administration and military.

Corlys intended to formalize the laws forbidding private armies above a certain size, private warfare, and private fortifications above a certain strength within the Tyroshi domains, before he formally established the peerage system as well. Further preventing the possible feudalization of their Essosi domains. He called it an enlightened absolutist state, and while Viserra didn’t yet fully grasp what he meant by that, she very much enjoyed the concept.

She would admit it was a rather clever way to delegate lands and responsibilities and reward their loyalists without dividing up the power and territories of their house. Corlys had every intention of passing their domain in its entirety to Jace, but with the peerage system, Luke, Daeron, Vaemond, and Aurane and his sons might all receive titles, incomes, and estates of their own without compromising the cohesion and unity of the Tyroshi state in the way feudal fiefs might.

There were several other candidates Corlys had in mind for peerage both inside and outside their house and he intended it to be a furthering of the Velaryon tradition of every member having a paid position and responsibility, thus having their own way to make an income and livelihood without relying on and sapping the main branch’s funds, while also contributing to the incomes and prosperity of the house as a whole.

“Moving on from the east,” Corlys continued, “Tyrosh is by far the most profitable of our territories as of yet. It’s not even yet fully recovered or rebuilt from the Morghon Riots and it’s already making so much money. I would honestly not be surprised if it became the rival of Braavos and Volantis in size, wealth, and prosperity within the next twenty to thirty years. Who knows, perhaps Tyrosh might grow to even cover the entire island it rests on one day.

“The city and its hinterlands in the Heel are producing incredible amounts of goods and services, which are enriching us and the Tyroshi, and driving the economy’s growth and our profits ever higher. Uncle Victor has been left as Lord Mayor of Tyrosh to oversee its day to day running and Viserra and I intend on visiting it at least once a year going forward. Dragons will allow us to travel fast if need be. The city’s importance to our house cannot be understated. The success of Tyrosh is the sole cause of our change in fortunes, we cannot allow it to decline or falter.

“We have paid little attention to neighboring Bloodstone the past few years, but if what Otto Hightower and the other lords in the Stepstones have found is any indication, Bloodstone could potentially have many valuable resources to us. I have sent prospecting teams from Tyrosh to investigate if the island has any gems or other mineral resources we can mine and of course this guano fertilizer Hightower and the others are mining in droves will greatly increase yields in our mainland estates in the Heel of Essos.

“Long term I hope to develop Bloodstone as an extension of Tyrosh. We can expand its port and fort to help oversee this and I am sure the island’s development will help contribute valuable resources to Tyrosh.”

Jorgen raised his hands. “One problem with that Corlys. There are certain limits to what we can do on Bloodstone no? The island is still sworn to the Iron Throne, and technically it is under Otto Hightower’s jurisdiction as Governor of the Stepstones.”

“Indeed. Still I believe the Stepstones Crisis we had a few years ago proves what Otto Hightower or the Iron Throne’s control over Bloodstone amounts to in practice. Functionally nothing. It’s too close to Tyrosh to not use and it will effectively allow us to surround Hightower in the Stepstones.”

“That’s precisely the problem. Hightower knows this, as do the Targaryens. They’ve been content to let the matter lie since the Crisis because we didn’t really do anything with Bloodstone, but if we start building it up, making it important economically, and militarize it with a fleet, do you think they’ll still do nothing?” Jorgen asked.

Corlys was thoughtful. “They didn’t do anything last time.”

“They might now. The Princess of Dragonstone is also the Lady Paramount of the Stormlands and the Lady of Veil now. The Targaryens are closer and more attentive to the Stepstones than they have ever been and there is no way that they haven’t been paying attention to Tyrosh’s incredible recovery, or your campaign in Slaver’s Bay,” Jorgen pointed out.

“We know for a fact they are,” Viserra said. “I have been in communication with several of my family members. Those I have spoken to are neutral at worst and supportive at best of our house’s decisions and fortunes the past few years.”

Jorgen frowned. “May I ask who you have been writing to, Princess?”

Viserra nodded. “Of course. It’s primarily been my mother, the Queen, and my eldest two brothers and sister. Aemon, Baelon, and Alyssa.”

He stroked his chin. “That could be promising. The Queen’s opposition to the King is well known in the Seven Kingdoms by now. Their quarrel has almost lasted ten years with scant few moments of thaw only for their grandchildren and Princess Gael’s weddings. Not to mention Prince Aemon is the Hand of the King now and Prince Baelon still sits as advisor on the Small Council, some say as his brother’s deputy. They have been responsible for loosening the sanctions on our allies and across Westeros I have heard.”

“And yet those sanctions still stand,” Irina interjected. “Even if they have been loosened elsewhere, they are tighter and firmer than ever before on Driftmark. It’s like the King wants to squeeze us to death as much as he can. Corlys I know you want to restore Driftmark, but I just can’t see how that can be done right now.

“You saw the harbor when you came into Spicetown didn’t you? It’s empty. There are no more spices in Spicetown. The trade has dried up due to these sanctions. The success of Tyrosh did not help. You moved so many of our institutions to Tyrosh and so many of our companies and businesses followed, and with them went our people. Driftmark’s population has been halved and we have no hope of restarting our manufacturing or innovation. Everything Driftmark can make or create, Tyrosh can do better, free and away from the influence of the Iron Throne and sitting astride the greatest and most important trade route in the world. Driftmark simply can’t compete. Our house is prospering but Driftmark is dying.”

Viserra refused to accept that. “There has to be something we can do.”

Irina shook her head. “The only thing Driftmark has right now is its location. We still sit astride the Gullet, and we still have the infrastructure needed to trade at a capacity higher than we currently do. If the sanctions are removed, we can use Driftmark as a gateway into the Westerosi markets once again, use it as a waystation to trade goods from Tyrosh and Essos. In time, some of the businesses and companies that moved to Tyrosh may come back here, but they will no longer be headquartered here as they once were, they’d be branches of their true headquarters in Tyrosh now.

“Driftmark’s former glory can never be fully restored to be frank, but we could give it a new chance to prosper, even if it would always play second fiddle to Tyrosh in our domain. But the sanctions have to be removed for Driftmark to have any chance of recovery. We have no trade, at least previously before Tyrosh was stabilized, we traded with Tyrosh, but now we don’t even have that. Driftmark has nothing to offer Tyrosh anymore now that everything we did offer just moved to Tyrosh instead.”

“The Hook,” Corlys said suddenly. They all turned to him and he elaborated. “Massey’s Hook might not have tea anymore but to be honest it was always crap for growing tea anyway. What Massey’s Hook does have however is a lot of timber, furs, bog iron, wool, and other resources from its forests and hills. Wendwater nearby is still sworn to us and its part of the Kingswood will give even more timber and wood too. The Hook has always furnished the Velaryon Fleet with naval supplies and with our expansions into the east, we need those more than ever.

“Driftmark still has Hull does it not? The Arsenal is still there? We can make ships. We can process and refine the raw resources from the Hook here on Driftmark before exporting it to Tyrosh in large amounts. Furniture, wool, ships, naval supplies, and whatever else the Hook can produce the raw resources for. Driftmark has the infrastructure still required to do all of this, and at least some of the talent.”

“Why can’t Tyrosh simply trade with Massey’s Hook directly?” Aurane asked.

“We can’t very well lug logs halfway across the Narrow Sea can we? The Hook also just doesn’t have the infrastructure required for international trade. We designed it that way remember? The Hook was Driftmark’s hinterlands and it supplied everything to Driftmark which would refine and trade it in turn. That system still exists even if it’s died down in recent years.

“With subsidies from Tyrosh, we can revive that industry and give Driftmark a new fighting chance, while I would also naturally use my authority over both Tyrosh and the Hook, to ensure they don’t trade with each other directly. Not that hard either because like I said, the Hook does not have the infrastructure required to trade with Tyrosh directly in any large amounts.”

Lucerys spoke up then. “We can have a feast celebrating our triumphs in Tyrosh and Slaver’s Bay and our return to Driftmark, and we invite our vassals. Aella and her husband are already here, and Bar Emmon and Sunglass will come as well. We can coordinate with them.”

“An excellent idea Lucerys,” Corlys praised before he began elaborating on his ideas for said celebratory feast and the details of his plan in Massey’s Hook.

The rest of them looked at each other briefly knowingly but followed Corlys’ lead. What was known by all of them present save for Lucerys and intentionally left unsaid, was that House Velaryon had long since lost all confidence in its vassals in mainland Westeros. Irina and Jorgen had reported their suspicions to them years ago that Bar Emmon, Sunglass, and Wendwater were falling under Targaryen influence, and the Conches had confirmed it. Unfortunately, they hadn’t really been in the position to stop that at the time with other things occupying their attention in Tyrosh.

As Driftmark declined, their vassals in Westeros had grown nervous seeing the sanctions they were hit with. It likely did not help that in their eyes, the Velaryons had gone rogue, conquered a foreign land against the King’s will and created a heretical cult. They later realized that Wendwater, Bar Emmon, and Sunglass must have been bought off by Jaehaerys to subtly undermine Driftmark. None of them were ever sanctioned by him, even as Grafton, Celtigar, and Tarth were pummeled into the dirt by his sanctions.

They were quite clever about it as well. It didn’t happen all at once, and it wasn’t obvious at first. It was the little, subtle things that slowly added up over the years. ‘Oh apologies for that missed shipment.’ ‘Forgive us for our mistake with the shipments,’ and so on. All the while their trade with King’s Landing increased even as their trade with Driftmark decreased.

It was not dissimilar to what they had done with the Graftons and Tarths against the Arryns and Baratheons to be completely honest, but nobody ever wanted it done to them in turn. What made it worse though was that the Velaryons had intermarried with their vassal houses to bind them to Driftmark. They were supposed to be kin, Lucerys’ own sister was the Lady of Wendwater, hence why they were reluctant to speak openly about it in his presence. It just went to show that blood wasn’t everything, and Viserra had a lot of experience with that herself.

Perhaps some of the reasons for the betrayal went back to history, Viserra mused. Bar Emmon, Sunglass, and Wendwater had never wanted to swear to House Velaryon, it was the Targaryens they had wished to swear fealty to and perhaps that would have been what happened, had Aegon the Conqueror not wished to make amends for the death of his uncle, the first Lord Daemon, to his cousin Aethan.

Maybe the Wendwaters, Bar Emmons, and Sunglasses were only doing what was logical to secure the interests of their own houses, but Viserra just didn’t care. They were Velaryon vassals and had been disloyal to them. While they might not be able to punish them too overtly due to the likelihood of Targaryen interference, they could make their displeasure known in many other ways. She happily agreed to Corlys and the oblivious Lucerys’ plans to hold a feast with their vassals. She’d be sure to have Dreamfyre greet them in the courtyard when they arrived.

It was quite fortunate that they controlled the majority of Massey’s Hook, greatly reducing the issues that might be caused by their three strongest vassals going over to the Targaryens. Stonedance had once ruled the Hook as a petty kingdom after all and their domains were vast. Though they had many petty lords or landed knights sworn to them within Stonedance’s lands, none of them had felt quite brave enough to defy them and fall in with the Targaryens like Sunglass, Bar Emmon, and Wendwater had.

Eventually the meeting adjourned, Aurane, Alys, Jorgen, and Lucerys all left, but Corlys called out to Irina before she followed them out. “Irina, stay back a little longer please. Viserra and I have something to discuss with you.”

She obeyed and took a seat in front of the desk. If Viserra remembered right, that was the same seat Rhaekar would always use when he spoke with Corlys in this solar all those years ago.

“How does Vaella feel about her betrothal? Is she ready to marry?” Viserra asked. She remembered having both dread and excitement for her own impending nuptials.

“Well I told her about it when we were negotiating with the Starks. She didn’t seem at all opposed to it, but she didn’t sound particularly excited either.”

“There are benefits and disadvantages both I suppose,” Corlys mused. “On one hand, the Starks are a Great House with a storied history of kings and legends. They rule a third of the Iron Throne’s realm and are prestigious, powerful, and increasingly wealthy. Yet they are also remote and far from home, and with a culture that is quite different to ours.”

“I do think these thoughts are what are running through her head,” Irina agreed. “She’s just uncertain and worried about the change. She doesn’t want to leave home.”

“We all have to leave the nest one day,” Corlys said and Viserra scowled at the thought of her own children leaving the nest one day. She shook that thought away. There was still time.

“But I’m not at all unsympathetic to her worries. Could you tell her that Viserra and I would like to speak with her? Perhaps we might assuage her worries about it?” Corlys asked.

“I’m asking because Vaella is already eight and ten. Now that we have returned to Westeros, it is quite likely that Lord Stark will ask that we honor the betrothal. I am of a mind to send him a raven first in fact. Most probably, Vaella’s wedding would be before the year is out. We could take a trip up north for her wedding and see her off.”

“She’d like that.” Irina smiled. “I will tell her, thank you Corlys.”

“No problem Irina. Please do close the door on your way out,” Corlys told her.

As Irina left, Maester Desmond entered the room and Viserra smiled to see him. She liked Desmond, he had delivered all four of her children. His services to House Velaryon went back decades. Corlys had told her that he had played a key role in helping to found the original University of Driftmark. He was loyal and innovative, and went wherever they ordered him to. He had followed them to Tyrosh and back. He was one of a kind, quite literally. Desmond was perhaps the last Citadel trained Maester in the service of House Velaryon, all their other ‘maesters’ had only the title and had studied at the University instead.

“Your Excellency, Princess,” Desmond greeted before he handed them a stack of letters.

All of them were from various houses across Westeros, welcoming them back home and offering or suggesting so and so. She espied a letter from the Celtigars among them and noted to herself that she would definitely have to arrange a meeting with her friend Laena and introduce their children to each other sometime soon. Desmond however had placed by far the most important letter on top, one sealed by the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

“Thank you Desmond, you may go now,” Viserra said, dismissing him. Desmond bowed and left the room obediently.

Viserra reached for the letter and broke the seal before reading the contents and passing it to Corlys.

He looked to her. “Are we going?”

She nodded. “Obviously. We can’t let this opportunity slip us by.”

It was time for a little family reunion it seemed. Her mother Alysanne had invited them and their children for dinner on Dragonstone the following night and had confided that Baelon and Alyssa would be in attendance. Viserra was quite happy to hear that, and looked forward to seeing her mother and older siblings again. She was left feeling a bit cautious and apprehensive about who else her mother had said would be in attendance however; Rhaenys, Viserys, and their two children, Aegon and Rhaenyra.

Their return to Westeros had not gone unnoticed. Things were already beginning to move. The game was afoot.

Chapter 38: Reunion

Chapter Text

First Moon, 100 AC

Viserra

The ride over to Dragonstone was not long. The island was visible from the highest tower of High Tide, and a dragon covered the distance in little more than five and ten minutes. Her first instinct had been to take Laena and Daeron to ride with her on Dreamfyre, like they’d taken them when they rode the horses. However, her two youngest children had begged and cajoled her to let them ride their dragons and she had begrudgingly relented after ensuring they were strapped and chained securely to their saddles.

She might not fully trust her very young children’s riding skills quite yet, but she had plenty of trust for their dragons, Shrykos and Terrax, who continued to grow ludicrously fast. Jace and Luke at eleven were more than capable riders already and their dragons, Tessarion and Morghul, were even more massive than their younger siblings. If their rates of growth continued to hold up, her children’s dragons would all be at least a third the size of Dreamfyre before they came of age at 16. She didn’t quite know what to feel about that.

As they reached Dragonstone, Viserra observed the dragons on the island with a confusing mix of respect, nostalgia, and wariness. Balerion the Black Dread was still alive, but the ancient dragon was slowing with old age. Viserra had heard the Dragonkeepers say once before that her elder sister claiming the Dread had rejuvenated the sluggish and aging dragon and given him a new breath of life, but even that could not last forever.

Beside Balerion roosted his oldest remaining companion, Vhagar, the dragon ridden by her elder brother Baelon the Brave. Like Balerion, Vhagar was ancient and massive, but far more energetic and vigorous. Meleys the Red Queen and Silverwing rested near the castle as well, and Viserra also spotted two young dragons sleeping beside Meleys and Silverwing. One a splendorous and magnificent dragon with pale pink wing membranes and gleaming golden scales that shone in the sunlight like beaten gold, and the other a silver-grey drake with pale red crests and accents. Sunfyre and Seasmoke.

Knowing better than to land too close to the other dragons, Viserra led her children to land near the castle gates on the far side from the Targaryens’ other dragons, though that distance did not stop the dragons from all roaring threats and greetings at each other. As Corlys dismounted Dreamfyre, Viserra followed him down and helped her children out of their saddles. Their trusted Tide Guard, Ser Jaremy and his men, were waiting for them when they arrived.

Though they had initially intended to come alone, Ser Jaremy had begged them to allow him and some of his men to go ahead of them, insisting that they could not go to a Targaryen stronghold without protection. Viserra had been dismissive of his concerns at first, knowing that it was family she was visiting but he had begged and pleaded and she could not bring herself to reject his wish in the end.

It was a precaution for their safety after all, and Ser Jaremy deserved the peace of mind at least. He was by far the most loyal and trusted of their Tide Guard, which was no small feat given how the entire Guard had been chosen for their zealous loyalty and devotion to House Velaryon. Ser Jaremy had risen high in the ranks to become the lieutenant and second in command of the Guard, with the rank of Captain, and sure to become Lord Commander when the current commander retired from his post.

In all his long years of service to House Velaryon, Ser Jaremy had only ever asked one other thing from them, when he had asked for and been granted their permission to marry Viserra’s servant and friend Pina. Pina had herself served Viserra for many years, and by now she had formally promoted her to being her private secretary and chief of staff, overseeing her schedule, her maids, and all her other personal matters.

Ser Jaremy and Pina had bonded it had seemed, over their mutual loyalty to Viserra’s family and their close proximity to them, and they were happily married. Even now they both continued in their fierce loyalty and service to their family, and knowing them they’d raise their children to be equally as devoted future servants of their house, be it as Tide Guard, maids, servants, secretaries, or whatever other employment they might find.

Corlys she knew intended to give Jaremy a peerage once he established that system of titles in Tyrosh. Though for some odd reason he had insisted to her that it would be on the condition that Jaremy take the house name Gottwell or something similar, and had then proceeded to smile ridiculously to himself. Viserra just didn’t understand that but knowing Jaremy, he’d accept taking the most horrid and embarrassing surname imaginable if Corlys asked it of him. All things considered, Gottwell was not at all a bad name.

Ser Jaremy and the Tide Guard escorted them into the castle, even as the Kingsguard and Jonquil Darke watched over their company. As they passed through familiar halls with rich red satins and dragon gargoyles, Viserra remembered why exactly she had never personally liked Dragonstone all too much. Much like the Black Fortress of Tyrosh, the black dragonstone it was built from might be indestructible, but it made it feel so dull and lifeless, so unlike High Tide and its well-lit and gleaming halls and shining floors and marble walls.

Finally, they were led to the dining room where members of Viserra’s family that she had not seen for years were waiting. She was struck speechless seeing just how much her mother had aged, the years had not been kind to her at all. Her once honey blonde hair had completely grayed and her skin had wrinkled, and yet from the way she carried herself, Viserra knew that her mother Queen Alysanne had not lost all her vigor yet. Strength there still was in her bones, and fire that still burned in her blue eyes.

Her elder siblings Baelon and Alyssa had similarly aged in the decade since she had seen them both last, though not quite as much. Both had gained a few more wrinkles, but it did little to affect their beauty. Any grey hairs on Baelon were hidden by his naturally silver-gold hair and Alyssa had none to speak on in her dirty blonde hair either. In fact, Alyssa looked the happiest that Viserra had recalled her being in many, many years. It seemed that after all this time, Alyssa had finally won her battle against her melancholy and reclaimed who she had once been. Viserra was happy for her.

Lastly her attention was drawn to perhaps the two she was most nervous about meeting again. Rhaenys and Viserys had both grown since she had met them last. The former matched her mother’s height and towered over Viserra herself at six feet. Viserys was taller even still, by at least an inch. Both of them were young, full of fire and youth. There was steel in both of their spines, though Rhaenys could tell that Viserys was more naturally laidback and welcoming than his wife and cousin was. Rhaenys was staring at Viserra like she didn’t know what to think of her.

That was fine, Viserra felt the same. Her thoughts of Rhaenys were soon banished as her mother and Alyssa called out to her excitedly before embracing her.

“Viserra! It is so good to see you again little sister,” Alyssa said.

“I agree, it is good to see you again sister,” Viserra replied. It had been over nine years since they had last met in person and it had not ended on good terms so all of them were being careful to drag up old wounds. Her mother and Alyssa were both rather awkwardly polite to Corlys standing near her though there was no awkwardness needed as they enthusiastically introduced themselves to her four children.

Viserra was proud to say all four of her children handled meeting their enthusiastic grandmother and aunt quite well. When Baelon walked up, Viserra embraced him gladly as well. Part of her would always be the little girl who had adored her elder brother and she was still grateful that he continued to support her even now. She noticed Jace and Luke looking at Baelon with slivers of admiration in their eyes and resisted the urge to chuckle. They had loved her stories of her elder and favorite brother Baelon the Brave, who had punched Balerion and mounted Vhagar, and lived to tell the tale.

Once they’d finished with the niceties, Baelon called out to the other denizens of the room. “Viserys! Rhaenys! Do come and introduce yourselves and your children.”

Viserys obeyed his father eagerly, though with a hint of hesitance as he looked at his clearly reluctant wife, but Rhaenys followed nonetheless. Walking alongside them was a young boy the same height and age as her youngest son Daeron, and a three-year-old toddler girl.

“Aunt Viserra!” Viserys greeted her eagerly, and she found herself surprised by his excited embrace and his enthusiastic shaking of Corlys’ hand. “It’s so good to see both of you again! Ah, where are my manners? This is our son, Aegon, he’s of age with your youngest I believe,” Viserys said as he introduced the young boy next to him.

Little Aegon looked like a miniature version of his father, if not for the pale lilac eyes he shared with his mother and grandmother.

“This is my daughter Rhaenyra,” Viserys said cheerfully, picking up his young daughter and letting Viserra see her better. She was an exceptionally beautiful child, possessing her father’s violet eyes and otherwise looking like a perfect blend of her parents.

“And of course, you remember Rhaenys I’m sure,” Viserys said cheerfully.

Viserra nodded, feeling a bit uncertain herself now. “I do. It’s wonderful to see you again Rhaenys.”

She hid it well, but Viserra had enough experience to see the wariness in her lilac eyes. “I feel the same Aunt Viserra.”

Once the introductions and niceties had been dealt with, they took their seats for dinner. Her mother, as the highest ranking present, took the head of the table as decorum demanded. Viserra sat to her left, with Baelon directly opposite her at their mother’s right. Their spouses were beside them and then after that followed their children. Jace, Luke, Laena, and Daeron sat beside Corlys, while Rhaenys sat beside Alyssa, followed by Viserys, and then their two children.

Aegon immediately struck up a conversation with her children, while his little sister Rhaenyra struggled valiantly to involve herself in the cousins’ conversations. They seemed to be getting along well, especially Aegon and Daeron and Laena, who were all close in age. It gladdened Viserra’s heart to see. It was important that the feud between their families did not persist into the next generation, or only tragedy awaited.

She looked over to her mother, engaged in a cordial if still awkward conversation with her husband and elder siblings, and felt some form of hope for the future of their family. The last time she had seen her mother and eldest sister in person… it had ended badly, but years of heartfelt letters had done well to heal the divide.

Viserra had eventually even felt confident enough to confide in her mother the difficulties she had had growing up and she had been surprisingly understanding. Perhaps having isolated herself away from the others on Dragonstone had given her mother a new perspective? Either that or it had made her desperate for a proper reconciliation with her.

Whatever the case, Viserra’s relationship with her mother was stronger now than it ever was before, and meeting Alyssa and Baelon in person again after years of letters, feeling for herself the ease in which she spoke with them, it made her confident that she could restore her relationship with them as well. It was a shame that Aemon could not attend today, but Viserra understood his difficulties with having to placate their father and his wife. She was certain that she could rebuild her relationship with him as well in time, and it would prove fruitful in ending this feud once and for all.

Yet it was crucial that she rebuilt her relationship not just with her mother and three eldest siblings, but also with Rhaenys and Viserys. Her mother and elder siblings would not live forever, and one day Rhaenys would be the Ruling Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of the Andals, the First Men, and the Rhoynar, and Viserys would be her King Consort.

Viserra looked at her niece from the corner of her eye. She had matured so much from when she last saw her, not just in body, but in mind as well, in how she carried herself. Rhaenys was no longer the young teen that had followed Viserra around, tried to befriend her and join her circle of friends. Now she was a woman grown, with children of her own, the proud and stubborn heiress of the Iron Throne and Storm’s End. There was steel in her spine and fire in her eyes. Viserra had much experience in dealing with many types of people, and she sensed a fiery temperament in her niece that she kept on a leash, and she was not at all eager to find out what it would take to loosen that leash.

Despite herself, Viserra found that she was reluctant to directly engage Rhaenys in conversation. Their past with each other was mixed, and despite Rhaenys’ own efforts, they had never been true friends. The last time they had really interacted with each other… had been when Viserra had played on her hopes of befriending her to sneak into the Dragonpit and claim Dreamfyre. After that, they’d just never had the time to sort out their relationship. Viserra had been busy with dragonriding training and then her marriage and being the Lady of Driftmark, and then the conquest of the Stepstones and everything that happened thereafter. Her acquaintanceship with Rhaenys had been dropped, and they had not been close enough for Viserra to write her in her years in Tyrosh.

The conversation took a brief break once dinner arrived. Viserra would confess that she was dissatisfied with the quality and quantity of the spices used. Even now, Westeros had yet to fully recover their spice trade, though the South Seas Company had done its best to supply the demand with spices from the Summer Islands, it was not of enough variety and quantity to match the amounts the Velaryons had once imported from the Jade Sea, amounts they easily stood to bring into Westeros once again, if only the sanctions were removed. Until then, the Free Cities were more than happy to purchase their stocks, as were their trusted Westerosi allies.

Once everyone had been served their food and taken their first helpings of the dishes, the conversation resumed once more as Viserra and her husband spoke of their time in Tyrosh, of their children, and in turn inquired after events in Westeros. Unlike Viserys and his parents who were eagerly partaking in the conversation with the rest of them, Rhaenys was strangely silent and she sensed her eyes on herself at various points during the conversation, and had to resist the desire to shuffle. She would not let her niece’s gaze unsettle her. She had faced much worse before.

Eventually as they all almost finished their dinner and with dessert still some time away, Corlys sent for a bottle of liquor that he had given to Ser Jaremy and his men to carry on their ship for them. Her brother Baelon was delighted when it came.

“Tyroshi pear brandy?” he inquired.

“Indeed. It’s seven years old,” Corlys answered with a smile.

“The older the better, but seven years is not half bad,” Baelon said as he poured some of the brandy into his wineglass and sipped it contentedly.

“It has a sweet tangy taste,” Alyssa said, thrilled. She had always had a liking for sweet things.

“Driftmark’s own distilleries moved to Tyrosh, I’m assuming?” her mother asked her.

Viserra nodded. “Among many businesses. They took up control of the local distilleries damaged by the riots and started joint production of both Tyrosh’s and Driftmark’s specialties. In time, we hope to bring some of those industries back home to Driftmark but that is difficult at present.”

Her mother grimaced. “You would have thought that your father would have seen sense by now. His stubbornness in keeping the sanctions is only hurting both our houses.”

“Is there any chance of convincing him?” Viserra asked, hopeful.

“Not as of yet. Honestly I do think it’s him clinging to what remains of his pride, I can tell that even he knows it’s pointless, he just doesn’t want to lose face. Not to mention, Jocelyn, the Arryns, and the western houses are all against removing the sanctions so he has the excuse he needs to not remove them,” Baelon answered for their mother.

It was disappointing but not unexpected. “That’s unfortunate,” she said.

“We are trying our best Viserra, but you know Father. He’s very stubborn,” Alyssa told her.

In the corner of her eye, she saw that Rhaenys and Viserys’ expressions were carefully neutral, betraying nothing of their true opinions on the matter.

“I understand Alyssa. I just hope that he will see sense eventually,” Viserra said carefully.

Privately Viserra doubted that her father ever would, and she wouldn’t ever forgive him even if he did, but it was still worth trying to put the feud to rest sooner rather than later. The longer it persisted, the greater the rift became and the harder it was to heal it.

She continued to observe Rhaenys and Viserys as inconspicuously as she could, trying to gauge their reactions. Viserys appeared to noticeably relax when she moved on from discussing the feud but Rhaenys remained impassive and neutral. Viserra decided to change the topic, this was a family reunion first and foremost, and there would be time to discuss politics when the proper seeds had been sown and the right relationships cultivated again. She needed to try and gauge Rhaenys and Viserys’ positions if possible.

“Might I ask why Daemon and Gael couldn’t come? I would have liked to see them as well, and meet their children. They just had their third daughter a few months ago no?” Viserra asked.

“They did. Little Helaena is adorable,” Alyssa cooed over her latest granddaughter, just as she had gushed over her sons’ weddings to her.

“Any particular reason why they didn’t come?” Viserra pressed. Viserys looked nervous though Rhaenys remained hard to read.

“They had other matters to attend to, but they did ask us to pass along their regards. Perhaps we could arrange a meeting at a future date,” Baelon said, but Viserra knew her brother and knew that despite his charming smile meant to assuage her worries, he was troubled by something.

Viserra nodded and took another spoonful of her food, her mind racing on the possible implications as she chewed her food slowly, delicately. Eventually she decided on another question.

“Viserys, if you don’t mind my asking, why haven’t you and Daemon claimed your dragons yet? There’s no shortage of eggs I’m sure, and I heard that Gael has already claimed Syrax. What are the two of you waiting for?”

She didn’t know why at first, but it seemed she had asked a question she shouldn’t have. The air in the room became heavier, and her mother and Baelon and Alyssa looked a little unsettled by the question and she couldn’t tell why.

Viserys put on a smile and seemed to swallow back his unease. “We have talked about it, with each other and the family and well, both of us are in agreement that we will claim dragons one day, and while we would like to take the skies like the rest of our family, we would want to do so on the dragons we feel are… right for us.”

Viserra frowned at that, but she hid it as fast as she could. This kind of rationale was not something that she had expected, but she should have in hindsight. The last person to have delayed claiming his dragon was Maegor, because he desired Balerion. Her parents were not young, and Viserra was aware that they would both die within the next fifteen years or sooner. Vermithor and Silverwing would be left riderless and the Targaryens were aware of this and had already taken the steps to ensure that their third and fourth largest dragons would remain relevant in any negotiations or projections of power.

Judging by the reactions of her mother and siblings, it seemed to be something that the family as a whole was aware of, if not in support of. A reminder that for all their seeming support of her, they were still Targaryens and wanted House Targaryen to succeed first and foremost.

“You understand right Aunt Viserra?” Rhaenys said suddenly, and Viserra snapped out of her thoughts to attention. “Not all of us were so fortunate to have an adult dragon ready to be claimed in the Dragonpit,” she said, her face as impassive as ever, but her lilac eyes betrayed the hidden challenge in her words.

Viserra narrowed her eyes at her niece. If it was even possible, the mood on the table became even more awkward, to the point that the children noticed it as well. Her mother hurriedly changed the topic to something… safer, and soon they had moved on from the awkward pause in the conversation, but it had not been forgotten by any of them.

Once they had finished dessert, they had started breaking up one by one. The children had all gathered around her mother at the table to listen to her stories, Corlys was entertaining her siblings and Viserys over at a neighboring table, with another bottle of wine, provided from Dragonstone’s cellars this time, and Rhaenys had walked out onto the balcony.

Viserra warred with herself on what to do. She could easily join her mother in telling stories to the children, or catch up with her siblings with Corlys, yet she knew what she should do instead. She walked slowly towards the balcony.

Was it too much to hope that all of House Targaryen was open to reconciling with her and her family? Her father was stubborn and would likely never give in, intent on holding on to his meaningless pride until the day he died. Jocelyn was still stubbornly opposed to them due to her resentment, and as Lady of Storm’s End and Princess of Dragonstone, her voice had more weight than it should have.

Daemon and Gael might be following her father and Jocelyn’s lead on this, for whatever reasons. It was not something that the others had wanted to confirm but Viserra had enough experience to guess at the truth. Her mother, Baelon, Alyssa, and Aemon were genuine in their desire for reconciliation she hoped and yet they too remained Targaryens first and foremost and she had a feeling that they might have their own views on how the reconciliation should be like, views that might not align with Corlys’ and hers. Viserys was affable, but clearly conflicted and cautious.

Worst of all was Rhaenys however, who seemed to be hovering between indifference and thinly veiled hostility. Her niece had far too many conflicting influences for Viserra’s comfort. Her own parents were at odds on the matter, her goodparents’ influence running headlong into those of her peers, Daemon, Gael, and possibly even Viserys. Not to mention that she could not discard the possibility that her father had directly influenced Rhaenys either. Viserra knew all too well the lengths one could go to seeking out Jaehaerys Targaryen’s favor, and Rhaenys the insecure female heir could very possibly have gone to lengths greater than she was ever willing to.

It was a necessary reminder of the difficulty of the task ahead of her family. Even with the support of the Queen, the future King, and a Prince and Princess, a large rift had already opened between their two houses and bridging it would be challenging to say the least.

Part of her was tempted to not even bother. For all that they had reconciled later, even her mother and eldest siblings had opposed her family’s rule in Tyrosh and had turned them away when they had been in need of aid. House Velaryon didn’t need the Targaryens to succeed anymore. They had bled and suffered for their own success, won against the odds when the Targaryens had tried to crush them with their sanctions. Why should they turn back now and subordinate themselves to them once again? To the very same house that had betrayed them first?

A few years ago, a proposal had been made by some in their service, that House Velaryon should properly consolidate its rule over Tyrosh by formalizing Viserra’s courtesy title as Princess of Tyrosh for the entire family, styling Corlys, herself, and their children, as Princes and Princesses. Corlys had even pondered how they could be addressed with stylings of ‘highness’ or ‘majesty’, and it had been tempting, so very tempting. Viserra had wanted nothing more than to give her husband and children the honors, the titles that they deserved, that their family had earned. She had daydreamed of the glory that her children would have as royals in their own right, their rightful status as the ruling family of an independent Free City.

Yet in the end Corlys and her had reluctantly decided against it. They had been in agreement that it would be wiser to not antagonize the Targaryens and alienate their supporters in the family. They could not compromise their chance of peace for pride like her father was doing even now.

If they did not make some kind of peace, Driftmark would wither away. More than that, Viserra feared the worst; ties of kinship alone had stayed her parents and siblings’ hands. Had she been anyone else but their daughter and sister, her house would have been made naught but a memory long ago. She was wise enough to see that now.

Ties of kinship had not stopped Maegor and Visenya. How long would it stop House Targaryen from acting against her children if the rift wasn’t healed eventually? Perhaps they could win, they had five dragons now against the Targaryens’ eight, but Viserra had not walked out of Tyrosh and all its struggles only to remain a careless risk taker. It was her children’s lives on the line if it ever came to that dark possibility.

That was why, even if it was difficult, even if made her feel like tearing her hair out, Viserra had to at least try, try and come to some kind of understanding with the Targaryens, with Rhaenys.

She walked out onto the balcony, ignoring the rather overly decorated railing filled with dragon gargoyles, and turned to her niece staring out into the starry sky. Viserra made to announce her presence awkwardly, but Rhaenys already knew she was there.

“Aunt Viserra,” she said, acknowledging her presence.

Viserra summoned up the courage. She had tried doing it indirectly, trading niceties and courtesies, but it had not accomplished anything with Rhaenys. She had to be frank.

“Do you resent me Rhaenys?” she asked suddenly.

Her forwardness seemed to have taken her niece by surprise and finally broken the carefully maintained mask of impassiveness she wore. She turned to her, guarded, and asked, “What makes you say that?”

“It’s just a feeling I get,” Viserra said as she walked forward to stand beside Rhaenys, leaning her arms over the balcony. “You are so curt and cold towards me; I cannot help but wonder. Then I think on what could possibly be causing this resentment, and I find too many causes indeed. Perhaps you are loyal to your mother? Even now House Baratheon has quarrels with the Tarths and other houses in the Stormlands that we trade with, perhaps some of your mother’s frustration has rubbed off on you? You spend no small amount of time with my father as well, perhaps he too has influenced you?”

Rhaenys scoffed. “Do you think I am so weak that my opinions are based solely on those of the people around me?”

“Being influenced by the people dearest to you is not necessarily weakness Rhaenys. I find that there is a line between wisdom and weakness when it comes to listening to others.”

“And what is that line?” Rhaenys demanded.

“What do you think?” Viserra asked in turn.

Rhaenys did not answer, instead she hid a scowl and turned away. It was a little while longer before she spoke again.

“I wouldn’t say that I resent you necessarily, but as you have stated, the situation between our families, and Mother and Grandfather’s opinions, do complicate matters,” she admitted. “It does not help that our own past together is complicated, and that could lead me to have a less welcoming disposition towards you.” Rhaenys was choosing her words carefully.

Viserra sighed, it was not wholly unexpected. She knew how easy it was to hold a grudge over things, be they big or small. She had experienced it herself, seen it in others.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What for?” Rhaenys said warily.

“I never apologized did I? All those years ago, you were so eager to befriend me and I… I must admit I took advantage of that for my own ends. It was never my intention to hurt you… but I have no doubt that my selfish actions did nonetheless, and for that I am sorry.”

The wariness in Rhaenys’ expression faded slightly. “It did hurt. I… I wanted to be your friend, I wanted us to have a close relationship. You were the closest to me in age among all our family members and I wanted that friendship to blossom between us. I admired you and envied you, you were so beautiful and womanly, and I hoped to learn from that. Instead you used me to steal a dragon, and then you discarded me like it was nothing. We never even talked properly after that.”

Viserra smiled with melancholy. “I’m glad you thought that of me Rhaenys. I envied you as well. You had a dragon, you were the heir to the throne, you had the attention, the importance that I wanted. At the time I thought that all I really had was my beauty and it made me jealous, it made me lash out. For whatever reason I came to fear that you would take my betrothed as well, and whether I knew it or not, I think I had already come to love Corlys in some way by then. So I acted, and I hurt you, and I am truly sorry for that. As for what came after, I was so busy with my own life, I never stopped to consider what effect I had had on yours. It’s no excuse I know, I failed to consider your feelings once again and I must apologize for that as well.”

Rhaenys was looking at her strangely. “The Viserra that I knew didn’t apologize for anything unless Grandmother forced her to.”

“She was a vain and spoilt little princess wasn’t she?” Viserra agreed. “I was that person once, not anymore. I like to think that my experience in Tyrosh has given me some little bit of wisdom. Enough to know that we should resolve this Rhaenys.

“We might never be friends; too much time has passed, and too much resentment and political complications have festered, but we could still be cordial and friendly with each other. If not for ourselves, then for our children.”

Viserra turned around, making Rhaenys do the same. They both saw the wondrous sight before them. Jace, Luke, Laena, Daeron, Aegon, and Rhaenyra, all playing and laughing together. Velaryons and Targaryens, a vision of hope for a better future.

“Can you see it Rhaenys? A future where House Targaryen and House Velaryon are united once again, growing strong together. That future is still within our grasp, if we would only put aside our grudges and reach out our hands to grasp it.”

She offered Rhaenys her arm. “Could you forgive me? Or at the very least, agree to work with me to bring that future to fruition?”

The few moments that she waited felt like an eternity but finally, tentatively, Rhaenys grasped her arm. “We shouldn’t pass our grudges down to our children I agree, it can only be to our houses’ benefit if they grow closer and befriend each other. I’m willing to work with you on that, but for now, I can’t promise anything else.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Viserra answered. “The rest will come in time I think. Thank you Rhaenys, for considering this.”

Rhaenys nodded reluctantly before she walked away, leaving Viserra to wonder about the future of their houses.

___________________________________________

Rhaenys Targaryen

It took less than a day for them to fly from Dragonstone to King’s Landing, Meleys had outpaced Balerion and Vhagar at several points, but as Viserys and their son were riding with his parents, Rhaenys had decided to slow her pace and wait for them.

It was acceptable. Rhaenyra, her dear daughter, had enjoyed the relaxed ride with her on Meleys. Upon their return to the capital, they had landed their three dragons at the Dragonpit, and once their dragons had been seen to, they had taken the waiting carriages back to the Red Keep. Ser Clement Crabb of the Kingsguard had led a company of their finest household guards to escort them through the city.

As Rhaenys stepped out of the carriage, she looked up at the imposing towers of Maegor’s Holdfast and immediately felt at home. Dragonstone might officially belong to her father, and eventually to her, but it had never really felt like home to her. Rhaenys had grown up in the Red Keep, and it was from the Red Keep that she would one day reign.

Daemon and Gael had come to greet them when they arrived. Their elder twin daughters, of age with Rhaenys’ own had immediately rushed into their waiting grandparents’ arms eagerly. Their youngest babe, Helaena, was probably sleeping in the nursery.

Rhaenys greeted Gael with a strong embrace and a kiss on her cheek even as her husband hugged his brother tightly with a laugh.

“Welcome back cousin,” Daemon told her in greeting.

“Good to be back,” she responded.

“Dragonstone had a seahorse infestation I hear. I’m sure it’s much better to be back home with the true dragons,” he said with a smirk.

“Daemon,” her aunt Alyssa stated warningly.

“My apologies mother,” he said, completely unapologetic. If Rhaenys had to guess, he was sorry that he said it in front of her, not that he said it at all.

Her uncle Baelon only sighed.

Gael’s expression was stony as Daemon inquired after their grandmother. It still surprised Rhaenys sometimes, just how much her youngest aunt disliked her grandmother. They had seemed close to her when she was younger, but she supposed that her grandmother abandoning King’s Landing and Gael had not gone over well with her.

Eventually as the conversation tapered off and Rhaenys had started to make for her chambers to settle her children back home and refresh herself, one of the Kingsguard interrupted them.

“Ser Ryam, what brings you here?” Uncle Baelon asked of the Lord Commander.

“Apologies for the interruption, my prince. His Grace has commanded me to escort Princess Rhaenys to his quarters. He wishes to speak with her.”

“Now?” Rhaenys asked.

“If possible Princess,” the Kingsguard said.

Viserys shook his head. “Best not keep Grandfather waiting Rhaenys. I’ll settle the children.”

Rhaenys nodded and followed Ser Ryam, but she did not miss the meaningful looks that Daemon and Gael gave her as she left. Almost like they knew exactly what the King wanted from her.

As they made their way to her grandfather’s chambers, Rhaenys wondered what he wanted of her. Why had he summoned her, not her uncle or her aunt, or even Viserys, why her in particular? As they reached the King’s chambers, Ser Ryam nodded to his sworn brother, Ser Clement at the door, who opened it.

“This is where I leave you Princess,” Ser Ryam said, before he took up a post beside the door with Ser Clement who closed the door shut behind her.

Rhaenys continued walking until she turned a corner and saw her grandfather sitting at a small round table in his bedroom.

“Rhaenys, my dear, welcome home,” her grandfather said, smiling at her.

Every time she saw him, Rhaenys felt impressed at the strength her grandfather still had in his body. He was sixty-six years old, but still hale and hearty. His body had weakened and his bones had become brittle, but his mind was as sharp as it had ever been.

“Grandfather,” she greeted before she embraced him gently and kissed him on the cheek.

“Take a seat Rhaenys,” he said, gesturing to the other seat at the table. Rhaenys did so.

“How was your trip to Dragonstone? Is your grandmother well?” he asked eagerly.

Rhaenys felt that ever present twinge of sadness when she thought of the state of her grandparents’ marriage. Ten years had passed, and still her grandmother had never forgiven him. Rhaenys feared that if she did not swallow her pride soon, they would die estranged from each other.

Taking pity on her waiting grandfather, she told him of how her grandmother was doing, told him that she was getting old, but was still healthy and hale much like he was. She was pleased to see that her words were soothing to him. He had tried pleading with her to return to King’s Landing many times in the past decade, both in person and by heartfelt letters. Her grandmother had turned a deaf ear to them all, and had returned to the Red Keep only for her wedding to Viserys and Daemon and Gael’s a few years later.

The two of them made small talk on the topic of her grandmother and Dragonstone for a little while, and her grandfather sounded very much like a wistful old man reminiscing over a castle he barely saw anymore. He might soon be too old to travel at all, and she made a note to herself to redouble her efforts to convince her grandmother to reconcile with her grandfather, at least partially. She knew their estrangement was only hurting both of them.

Eventually, they came to what had to be the true reason he had summoned her so urgently. “It was not just your grandmother that you visited on Dragonstone as we are both aware Rhaenys. Your cousin Daemon has been complaining quite loudly about it, and by now the entire realm knows that you have met with the Velaryons.”

“I did, with my father’s instructions. He said that you permitted it.” Rhaenys felt the need to defend herself.

“I am not condemning you, Rhaenys,” her grandfather reassured her. “I merely wanted to ask after your thoughts on your Aunt Viserra, and her family.”

“What would you like to know?” she asked, a frown on her face.

“Tell me everything.”

And so she did. She told him of her meeting with the Velaryons, of the dinner and their conversation with her grandmother and uncle and aunt about trying to convince him to remove the sanctions. She told him of her children mingling with the Velaryon children, of Viserra’s offer to settle the animosity between them for the sake of their children.

“What do you think of that, Grandfather?” she asked cautiously. She was secure in her position and she could not take back her words to Viserra, yet her grandfather’s approval was important to her nonetheless.

Instead of answering her directly, he asked a seemingly unrelated question. Drumming his fingers on the table, he asked, “How large would you say Dreamfyre is at this point?”

Rhaenys frowned. “Dreamfyre is as large as Silverwing, if not larger I would say. Balerion, Vhagar, and Vermithor are easily still larger than her of course, but that gulf matters little and less with the ancient dragons all being increasingly close to each other in size.”

“Yes. Balerion’s growth has slowed, Vhagar is catching up to him, and Vermithor and Silverwing, and now Dreamfyre I hear, are not far behind. And Dreamfyre’s offspring? What of them?”

It was here that Rhaenys grew a little nervous. “Massive, far larger than I would have thought, to be honest. The elder two are easily a quarter or more of their dam’s size, the younger two a fifth, and their growth is not stopping or slowing down either. It is quite likely that each might be a third the size of Balerion before they are even twenty years old.”

That worried her grandfather it seemed, his eyes widened. “Vermithor grew that fast in my youth. To think that the Velaryons of all people would have dragons of that quality.”

He continued to drum his fingers on the table, humming to himself before he answered. “Despite everything else, your Aunt Viserra is not wrong in this. It would be best if you ensured that your children befriended hers Rhaenys, it could bring only good tidings if they do. The Velaryons have five dragons already, and of increasingly alarming size. They must be brought back into the fold.”

Rhaenys fought the inclination to raise her eyebrows. Her grandfather hated anyone doing that in his presence. Instead she asked, “You support reconciling with them then?”

“Reconciling with them?” her grandfather said aloud. “You could call it that I suppose. It must be done on House Targaryen’s terms, not the Velaryons’.”

“Why haven’t you done it then?” She could not help but ask. Why was her grandfather continuing to persist in this feud with his own daughter, estranging himself from his wife, and straining his relationship with his eldest children, if he agreed with them that reconciliation was the way it should be?

Her grandfather smiled sadly. “A father can easily forgive his child, but a King cannot forgive his subject. If he is to remain king, he cannot be the one to fold or else others may question his will to rule and seek to undermine his authority. You must always tell your people you are right, even when your heart knows you are wrong. To show otherwise is weakness. Indecisiveness is the death of a monarch and a calling to the leeches and crows, and the rats and snakes of the realm to dine."

“And Rhaenys, even if I were to go against my every instinct and forgive Viserra, it is too late. There is too much bad blood between the Velaryons and I. My role in this cannot be to facilitate the rapprochement between our houses, my past experience with them will only taint that agreement, and make the Velaryon stubborner, more demanding of things that they should not have.

“No, the part that I will play in this will be the firmly opposed head of the family. By keeping to my restrictions on the Velaryons, in all their harshness and strictness, my successors will seem magnanimous in comparison, and Viserra and her family will have no choice but to take what is offered, allowing us to bring them back into the fold without our house looking weak to the realm. You are the second in line to the Iron Throne Rhaenys; when the time comes, I am counting on you to see this through. I will not live to see it.”

“Me, Grandfather?” Rhaenys asked, confused. “What of my father?”

Her grandfather sighed. “Your father is a good man, he is a good Hand, and he will be a great king. I have never changed my opinion of that. However, much like myself I must admit, he can be blinded by his own vision of what things should be. Your duty as his heir, will be to support but also restrain that vision of his when necessary. As he has done for myself, so must you for him.

“It is crucial Rhaenys, that the Velaryons are brought back into the fold, but it cannot be done at the expense of our own house. Your father wishes to make the Velaryons an extension of our own house, shower them with honors and positions and marriages. Once that might have worked but now after they have defied us for ten years? We will look weak if we are so openhandedly generous to them. That is why Rhaenys, temper your father’s generosity with pragmatism, be the firm iron fist beneath the velvet glove he intends to treat the Velaryons with.”

Rhaenys nodded. She made to ask another question of her grandfather but he dismissed her. “Another time Rhaenys. I am sure you must be tired after your trip. My apologies for the sudden summoning. You should go now and rest. I find that I am in need of it myself.”

“Of course Grandfather,” she said, bowing to him before she took her leave.

As she walked away, Rhaenys overheard something she knew she was not meant to. Her grandfather sighed loudly and spoke sadly to his absent wife. “Alysanne, what did I do wrong?”

She hurried away at that, fearing that she might be caught eavesdropping on his deeply personal recollections. The Kingsguard opened the door for her when she knocked and she walked briskly towards her quarters.

If there was one word that Rhaenys Targaryen would use to describe herself right now, it was conflicted. She felt so, so conflicted, with so many of the people she loved and cared for pulling her in different directions, she feared that one day she might be torn into pieces.

She admired and looked up to her grandfather. He had taught her so much about governance and ruling in the past decade, and she had learned so much at his feet. He had trusted in her and secured her position as heir, it was only right that she strived to be a worthy heir of the Conciliator in return.

Like her, Viserys, Daemon, and Gael had spent much time with her grandfather and learned at his feet. Daemon believed firmly in the supremacy of their house, and he was of the opinion that the Velaryons’ actions and their defiance of their grandfather was tantamount to challenging their supremacy and authority. He considered them upstarts, traitors even, though he was always careful to not say these things in earshot of his parents, who were greatly disquieted by his opinions.

Gael agreed with Daemon, but more than that her grievance with the Velaryons was greatly personal as well. Apart from the natural desire to support her husband, Gael resented that her mother, Queen Alysanne, had abandoned her for the sake of an older sister who had turned her back on the family. Her grandmother had left Gael to be raised solely by her grandfather and had secluded herself on Dragonstone for the past nine or so years, Rhaenys did not know what she was expecting would happen, but Gael was very much her father’s daughter now, and lived and breathed his teachings more than even Rhaenys was willing to.

Many of her grandfather’s teachings seemed to contradict her father’s, especially on the matter of the Velaryons. Where she admired her grandfather, she adored her father. He had always doted on her and championed her, even before her grandfather had seen her worth. How could she not love and respect him, desire to follow his teachings?

However, there was no doubt in her mind that her father was not necessarily correct. Her grandmother, and her uncle Baelon and aunt Alyssa were all trying to sway her to their point of view on the Velaryons, and her father was supportive of this. They were blinded by their love for Viserra, or in her father’s case, his own vision for the future that contradicted with her grandfather’s.

Her own mother was staunchly against the Velaryons. She had never said it, but Rhaenys knew that she was still angry and bitter over the way her brother had died. Not to mention that even now, with a dragonrider for a husband and daughter, the Stormlords were difficult to rule, and many were still close to the Velaryons and overly confident because of it. It saddened her. Her parents had never fought when she was growing up, but once her uncle Boremund had died and her mother had ascended as Lady of Storm’s End, their arguments over how the Velaryons should be handled had placed a strain on their marriage that broke Rhaenys’ heart to see.

Rhaenys sighed. Her parents, her grandparents, her cousins, and aunts and uncles, all of them were trying to sway her to their side, to see the world as they did, and she was just sick of it all. She was so torn, so conflicted. She didn’t know which path was right, whose teachings were correct. Perhaps it was a test of her ability to be Queen, but Rhaenys was struggling with it, and it was all because of the Velaryons.

It all came back to the Velaryons didn’t it? Every line of division in her family right now was solely because of them and Rhaenys could not help but resent them for it. Viserra might have apologized for some girlhood wrong she had done to her, but that was honestly the least of her quarrel with her after all these years. Rhaenys had accepted her apology only because she knew that it was what her father would have wanted, and at least now she knew that her grandfather approved as well. Just a little tiny bit of the conflict warring inside her could be settled.

Viserys gave her some solace as well. Despite having the same pressures that she did, Viserys had an admirable ability to navigate it all. He was a family man first and foremost, and his dearest wish was that their whole family could get along. An admirable if tragically naïve notion. Had he been in line to the throne instead of her, Rhaenys wondered if it might lead to tragedy, yet as her consort it was exceedingly refreshing and essential to her.

She would not say that she was in love with Viserys, but she loved him nonetheless. He was her cousin, a close friend of hers by now after seven years of marriage, and he was the father of her children. She had asked him once, what his opinion on the whole matter was; did he agree with his brother and Gael or with his parents?

Rhaenys would never forget what his answer was. He had told her that his opinion, was hers. Whatever she chose to support or do, he would support it for her sake. It had meant a lot to Rhaenys, to hear that from him, and it had removed the last insecurities that she had in her marriage to him, that he would one day usurp the true power of the throne from her by right of being the male heir.

The children that they had been blessed with were their pride and joy. Viserys doted on Aegon and Rhaenyra lovingly even more than she did herself. They were beautiful, wonderful, and perfect, and mischievous, and full of joy and laughter. Her father and uncle’s blood ran through them both, the union of their claims and lines, the future of House Targaryen.

Aegon would one day be the Second of His Name, and there was no doubt in Rhaenys’ mind that he would live up to that legacy. Little Rhaenyra was already being called the Realm’s Delight, perhaps one day when she had grown into a young maiden, her daughter might surpass her vain aunt Viserra as well. It was petty, but Rhaenys felt no small amount of pride and excitement at the possibility of Viserra being outdone by her daughter in what she had once valued most.

Young and innocent as they were, her children were uninvolved in politics and the family feuds. More than even their father, they had been Rhaenys’ refuge from it all. They were precious to her, so very precious. Rhaenyra’s birth had been more complicated than it should have been, and the Grand Maester had warned her that another child would be risky to carry and give birth to. Aegon and Rhaenyra were possibly the only children that she would ever have, and now she was being asked to throw them to the wolves.

Her grandfather and father were in agreement. Her children would befriend and mingle with the Velaryons in their childhoods, and they would become irreversibly involved in this damnable feud and their disagreements on how to resolve it. Her refuge would be gone.

So be it. Rhaenys wanted to be Queen, and both her grandfather and father had taught her that the Iron Throne came with duties and responsibilities that demanded sacrifice. A king should never sit easy, Aegon the Conqueror had famously said, and if Rhaenys wanted to prove that she could rule as well as any king, she must accept that for herself as well. The Game of Thrones continued, and Rhaenys had no intention of losing.

___________________________________________

Aemon

“Gold or red?” Aemon asked his siblings as they entered his solar in the Tower of the Hand.

“Gold,” Baelon answered.

“Red,” Alyssa said.

Aemon chuckled. “As usual then.”

His siblings smiled as they took their seats. Aemon poured out their cups of wine and poured a mix of Arbor Gold and Red for his own cup. The three of them sipped for a while, sparingly, savoring the taste.

“This is good,” Baelon said. “But I find myself wanting more Tyroshi brandy,” he said to Alyssa.

“Ohh?” Aemon raised his eyebrows.

“Indeed.” Baelon smiled. “Corlys brought a bottle of pear brandy, distilled in Tyrosh. It was exquisite.”

“Sounds extraordinary,” Aemon agreed.

“Oh it was. You should’ve been there Aemon,” Baelon said, and Aemon knew he meant for more than just brandy.

He nodded. “I know. I was busy handling matters for the realm, and for Jocelyn in the Stormlands. I was also not quite sure how Father would react if I went as well. As Hand and heir, my meeting a house he has banished from court could undermine him.”

“Or it could indicate that he is taking steps to resolve this pointless feud,” Baelon pointed out. “No matter how our father takes it Aemon, you have to meet with the Velaryons in person if you wish to see this rapprochement through.”

“It’s not that hard,” Alyssa said with a smirk. “You’re the Prince of Dragonstone and our mother lives there. Just make a visit one day to see to your castle’s affairs, see Mother, and if the Velaryons who live nearby on Driftmark had just so happened to visit on that day, well that’s just a coincidence now isn’t it?”

Aemon and Baelon both smiled at their sister’s cheeky answer. It was so very typical of her, now especially. The melancholy that had once gripped at Alyssa had faded for the most part and it rarely returned. She was once again the jesting, bawdy, and bold woman she had once been. It did Aemon’s heart good to see Alyssa’s spirit had returned to her at last.

“How were they by the way? Viserra and her family? Letters can only go so far.” Aemon asked.

“Viserra and Corlys are very different honestly. No longer such vain and arrogant braggarts. There’s wisdom in their eyes now, a wisdom that speaks of many diverse experiences and years of hardship and learning. They’re almost…humble,” Baelon observed.

“The events in Tyrosh would change anyone,” Alyssa said.

Aemon nodded, recalling the events in question. With Lord Quentyn Qoherys’ constant reports, the Small Council and thus their family had remained relatively well informed about the events in Tyrosh. “For the better it seemed, do you think that they will be amenable to discussing the possibility of Tyrosh swearing to the Iron Throne?” he asked.

“Maybe. If you had asked me that before yesterday I would have said no immediately, but having seen how Viserra has changed in person, I think that may be more possible now,” Alyssa answered.

“You won’t know for sure unless you speak with them in person and broach the topic Aemon, and I am sure that even if they are willing to submit Tyrosh to the Iron Throne, they would still ask for a great many things in return,” Baelon warned.

“I’ll have to arrange a meeting with them, perhaps more than one. There are some things they will definitely want. The removal of the sanctions is a given, the bare minimum for negotiations to even start. After that, I can imagine that they will want the Stepstones, and certain rights and privileges for Tyrosh.”

“A lot to consider and discuss certainly,” Baelon said.

“Our father is not young, but he’s still in good health. It will likely be years before we could move forward with any compromise we come to. The longer this persists, the more the rift widens between our families. Rhaenys, Viserys, Daemon and Gael are very close to our father and so they will all have reasons to dislike the Velaryons,” Alyssa interjected, a little concerned.

Aemon frowned. “I know Rhaenys is close to our father, but she is closer to me. I’ve always championed her right to succeed me. I have little doubt that she will follow my lead when the time comes.”

Baelon nodded. “I noticed her speaking with Viserra in private yesterday. It seemed to have been a meaningful conversation.”

“Perhaps, but Jocelyn is another influence on her as well,” Alyssa noted.

Aemon’s mood soured. Jocelyn’s resentment of the Velaryons was perhaps not entirely baseless. Her brother’s death along with his wife and son had taken them all by surprise and it had cost the Iron Throne hundreds of thousands of gold dragons which they had loaned to House Baratheon to help build the fleet which had sunk with Boremund.

Jocelyn still insisted that tragedy had happened because Boremund had needed to show that House Baratheon had the strength to rule in the face of the Velaryon-backed Tarths and other houses undermining their rule, something that was still happening now. He would most definitely have to demand that Viserra and her husband take steps to help him correct that; it was the least they could do if they were genuine about wanting a peaceful resolution to their feud.

Whether the Velaryons’ actions had indirectly caused his death or not, the Stormlands had become very chaotic and difficult to rule ever since Boremund had died. Aemon had a feeling that it was only him and Rhaenys with their dragons that was keeping the Stormlords in line and begrudgingly obeying Jocelyn.

One day they’d be formally annexed into the Crownlands and answer directly to Rhaenys and the Iron Throne. He would have to take steps to ensure that transition went as smoothly as possible and reconciling with the Velaryons and forcing them to back down from their meddling in the Stormlands would help with that. Now if only Jocelyn could see that.

“Leave Jocelyn and Rhaenys to me,” Aemon said. His siblings nodded. “None of us have any real influence over Gael, but Gael’s voice alone will not amount to much if Viserys and Daemon do not back her. Will your sons fall in line with us?” he asked them.

Baelon and Alyssa looked at each other before answering him. “Viserys will I think,” Baelon said. “Easily. He will follow Rhaenys and he’s always been a family man, eager for there to be peace between kin.”

“Daemon will not fail us,” Alyssa said in turn. “Yes, he is close to Gael and our father and shares many of their opinions, but he’s always been exceedingly dutiful and loyal to our house and to the commands given to him. Baelon and I are still his parents and he will heed us when the time comes. He won’t like it, but if we are firm with him, he will obey.”

“Perhaps we could arrange some marriages to help bind our families together and smooth over these rifts? Aegon with Laena perhaps? Rhaenyra with Jacaerys? Maybe even Baela and Rhaena to Lucerys and Daeron as well. It will unite the family lines and allow Baela and Rhaena to claim their dragons,” Aemon proposed.

“Sounds promising. It will require more thought and discussion to finalize of course, but there is plenty of time. The children are all still very young,” Baelon answered.

“Do you foresee the Velaryon children causing any problems?” Aemon inquired. He was not blind enough to think that his niece and nephews would not have the slightest resentment for his house after all their family had suffered.

His siblings both shook their head. “The four of them are adorable, precocious even. I can’t imagine them being an issue and if they do, Corlys and Viserra have a firm hand over them and will see to them I’m sure,” Alyssa reassured him.

Aemon nodded. There was a time that he had agreed wholly with his father’s view on the situation. Though he had initially supported Viserra and Corlys against his father’s betrayal of them and denying them the promised Lord Paramountcy of the Stepstones, Aemon had been enraged when they had then gone behind their back and conquered Tyrosh in a blatant act of defiance. It may not have been in Driftmark, but the fact that a vassal of theirs had dared to declare sovereignty and independence anywhere was unacceptable.

It still was, but Aemon was now willing to begrudgingly tolerate it and let bygones be bygones if they could move on to a greater future. When Tyrosh had first been taken, he had fully backed his father’s punishment of the Velaryons and thought that they would reap what they had sown. They had, just not in the ways he had imagined.

Just as they had hoped, the Velaryons had encountered great difficulties ruling Tyrosh and transitioning it away from slavery while their backs were broken by the heavy sanctions his father had placed on them. For a time, they had thought that they might run out of money entirely and be forced to return to King’s Landing begging for clemency as his father had desired. It never came to pass.

The first real crack had come when they had heard that Rhaekar Velaryon had died and Viserra and her husband – though none of them had cared very much for Corlys – had almost died with him. That particular piece of news had almost broken his family apart. His father had come so close to ending his feud with the Velaryons in light of the tragedy but ultimately he had rejected the notion. His mother had never accepted that; she had stormed away to Tyrosh to see Viserra and then later went to stay on Dragonstone, separated from his father.

Even now his mother remained estranged from him and it saddened Aemon to see it even if a part of him could not help but think that his father’s stubbornness and pride was the cause of it all. He loved him dearly, and he would always remain loyal to him, but his father had made many mistakes. Aemon meant to correct them once he became king.

At the time, he hadn’t been sure if his father’s decision was the right one or not, but later on he had come to realize it most definitely wasn’t. Within a year of that incident, the Velaryons had found Rhaekar’s murderer and they had purged Tyrosh of all resistance to their rule in the Morghon Riots. Aemon remembered the Small Council being stunned by the news when it had been reported, especially because the report was that his sister had been in the childbed during the incident and so Dreamfyre had not contributed in any way. The Sea Snake and his soldiers had put down the revolt entirely on their own.

He remembered how his father had been relieved to hear that Viserra and her children were all well before the realization had set in and he had become enraged that Corlys Velaryon had won such a great victory, without a dragon. From then on, it had only gotten worse. Tyrosh was rebuilt and became increasingly profitable for the Velaryons, making his father’s sanctions utterly useless.

Then recently they had even avenged the Sack of Velos by sacking and destroying most of Slaver’s Bay and conquering New Ghis; amassing a massive treasure hoard from the loot of that campaign, including unprecedented amounts of Valyrian steel. Far from being punished for their defiance, the Velaryons were stronger and wealthier than ever and no longer reliant on Westeros at all.

After his father’s gambit in the Stepstones Crisis had failed, Aemon had known it was time to give up on making House Velaryon submit by force. He had ordered Otto Hightower to stop antagonizing the Velaryons and he had started reconsidering old ideas that he had put aside.

What felt like a lifetime ago, just after Jacaerys and Lucerys had been born, and before everything had gone to the seven hells and back between his father and the Velaryons, Aemon had proposed a plan to his father. A plan in which they would turn House Velaryon into an extension of House Targaryen in all but name, binding them to their side with continuous intermarriage, honors, tax breaks, trade concessions, charters, and court positions. Anything and everything that would remind them of the ties of kinship and that working with House Targaryen would be safer, easier, and far more lucrative than opposing them would be.

Did some prideful part of him still demand that the Velaryons be humbled deep down? Yes, of course, Aemon would be lying if he denied that. However instead of being proud and foolish, Aemon would rather be pragmatic and successful. That humbling was never going to happen. They were not willing to go to war with House Velaryon and kill their kin, and even if they were, such a conflict would be greatly costly to them. Dragons and family members would die on both sides and with them great swathes of land and thousands of lives; such a massive and shameful waste of resources.

Why not instead swallow his pride and work to reunite the two houses under a common cause and shared interests? With their combined might, who in the world could stand against them? Who would dare challenge over a dozen dragons and all the wealth, armies, and fleets of their two houses?

No one. The names Targaryen and Velaryon would be feared and revered throughout the world entire. While it grated at his pride that his beloved house would have to share that power and prestige with another, the Velaryons were their kin, Targaryens in all but name at this point, and they had been traditionally allied with his house ever since they had left Valyria. Perhaps it was always going to end up like this, one way or another.

The Velaryons were the last piece of the puzzle. They had the Stormlands, and by complete accident. They had had the Faith and the Citadel ever since Maegelle and Vaegon had helped them move the two great institutions to King’s Landing three years ago; they were headquartered in the eponymously named Great Sept of Jaehaerys and the King’s Citadel now. They had all of the work that his mother and father had done to shore up the power of their house throughout the rest of their reign.

All that they needed now was the only other house of dragonlords in the world, the only other house that could ever truly challenge them. If they could be brought back into the fold, if they could work with Aemon and his house once again instead of against them, a new era might dawn for House Targaryen, allowing it to reach greater heights than ever before and become truly all-powerful and unstoppable.

That was his vision and there was very much indeed that Aemon was willing to give to see it realized.

Chapter 39: The New Generation

Chapter Text

-Excerpt from ‘The Sea Snake’, the biography of Corlys Velaryon, Abridged Edition.

The very first meeting of King Jaehaerys the Conciliator and Lord Corlys the Sea Snake happened at the funeral of Lord Corlys’ grandfather, Lord Daemon Velaryon. As aforementioned, Lord Daemon was none other than the uncle of Jaehaerys himself, and so the presence of Jaehaerys, his sister-wife Alysanne, and their three eldest children, Princes Aemon and Baelon, and Princess Alyssa, at the funeral, should not have been a surprise, and yet it was. Why?

Historical writings from the journal of Ser Aurane Velaryon, the youngest brother of Lord Corlys, indicate that the Velaryons had become estranged from their Targaryen kin ever since Lord Daemon resigned as Hand of the King in the year 54 AC. The reasons for this are complicated and manifold.

Lord Daemon was reported to have developed a fierce rivalry with Lord Manfryd Redwyne, who replaced him as Master of Ships. Supposedly King Jaehaerys overruled his motion to dismiss Lord Manfryd and replace him with Daemon’s own son, Ser Corwyn. Furthermore, in 54 AC, Daemon’s younger sister, the Dowager Queen Alyssa, perished in childbirth with the Lady Jocelyn Baratheon, cut open, so the histories say, so that her last child might be born. This is said to have also greatly troubled Lord Daemon, who had been very close to his sister once.

Perhaps it was both reasons, or it was for neither, but regardless, Lord Daemon tendered his resignation to King Jaehaerys, and rumour has it that King Jaehaerys was not all that sad to see his uncle go. According to the family records and histories of House Velaryon, apart from an invitation to court in 58 AC for the tourney celebrating the ten-year anniversary of Jaehaerys’ coronation, there was little if any interaction between Houses Targaryen and Velaryon in the years between Daemon’s resignation and his funeral, a far cry from the privileged place as ‘the second house of the realm’ that House Velaryon had previously enjoyed.

Ser Aurane’s journals indicate that he and his two older brothers, Lord Corlys and Ser Rhaekar, as well as their uncles Jorgen and Victor, had all grown to greatly resent the Targaryens for this estrangement and lack of attention from their kin. Reportedly, it was expected by the Velaryons that Jaehaerys and Alysanne would give their personal condolences for the losses the family faced in the Shivers, being among them Lord Daemon’s eldest son and heir, Ser Corwyn, and his three eldest daughters, and a whole host of cousins and other relatives. The Velaryons themselves had forwarded their deeply felt personal condolences for the death of Princess Daenerys, and yet their cousins King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne never actually sent anything in return. It was the Hand of the King that did.

For his part, it is claimed by the Targaryens that King Jaehaerys had his reasons. Lord Daemon’s support during the years of Maegor the Cruel’s rule over the Seven Kingdoms is well known to history, and some argue that Jaehaerys could never fully trust his uncle because of this.

Furthermore, during the Shivers, he and his queen were deeply in grief over the death of their eldest daughter and who is to say that some correspondence with their uncle giving their regards was not lost to history? Furthermore, they cite evidence, such as the later entrusting of one of the illicit wives and families of Ser Lucamore the Lusty to Lord Daemon in 73 AC, as proof that Jaehaerys and Alysanne did not ignore their Velaryon kin.

Of course, the Velaryons also dispute these points. They argue that every house in the Seven Kingdoms at least nominally recognized the Cruel during his rule, for to do otherwise was to burn in the Black Dread’s fury. Lord Daemon’s proximity to Maegor the Cruel later allowed him to betray him when the time was right and prove a leal and loyal supporter of his nephew Jaehaerys. Furthermore, if any regular correspondence did indeed exist between House Targaryen and House Velaryon during those years, why were Lord Daemon’s sons and grandsons unaware of it? Why was House Velaryon given not even the most minor of positions in court for decades?

It is important to understand this context, because this historian believes that it will prove crucial in understanding the conflicts that will soon follow. We return now to 86 AC, some thirty-two years after Daemon’s resignation as Hand of the King.

As aforementioned, the Targaryens’ presence at the funeral greatly surprised the Velaryons, though they hid it. Aurane’s journals indicate that the Targaryens commented on the recent acquisition of the Valyrian steel sword that would later be reworked and renamed Riptide, from the pirate lord Syrio Vunatis. Allegedly, Queen Alysanne suggested the name for the blade, remarking that it was the name her own Velaryon mother, Alyssa, had hoped her family would name a new blade should they ever acquire one. Honouring the Dowager Queen, his late great aunt’s wishes, Lord Corlys agreed to name the blade as the Queen had suggested.

It is also suggested by Aurane, that during this very conversation, King Jaehaerys informally offered the position of Master of Ships to Lord Corlys, a position that he graciously thanked the King for and accepted, being open the possibility. Perhaps giving credence to Aurane’s words, it was only a few months later in the Tenth Moon of 86 AC, that the formal offer arrived at Driftmark and was accepted.

Within a month, Lord Corlys and his brother Aurane, and their retinue had arrived in King’s Landing. After presenting lavish gifts to the Targaryens and being feasted by them that night, the Velaryon brothers got to work, reforming and reorganizing the Royal Fleet into an organization worthy of its status and name. They also furthered their connections at court, building friendships and alliances with families such as the Tyrells, and also with members of House Targaryen, notably Lord Corlys personally befriended two individuals that are sure to be very well remembered in history. The eventual King Aemon, then Prince of Dragonstone, and the woman that would later become his wife, Princess Viserra Targaryen.

Viserra Velaryon nee’ Targaryen, is perhaps one of the most famous women in history, and would eventually accumulate a list of accomplishments that leave her remembered with more fame and clarity than both of Aegon the Conqueror’s sister-wives. One would not have thought this however, with how her story began.

Princess Viserra was born the fifth living daughter of King Jaehaerys, and was later regarded as the most beautiful of her sisters, who numbered six including her. Considering that House Targaryen was the last scion of the inhumanly and ethereally beautiful Forty Families of Old Valyria, there is considerable grounds to label Viserra as the most beautiful woman in the world as a result, or as a real life ‘Helen of Troy’ as some who might have read the Iliad would say.

Unfortunately, this immense beauty had also given the princess an ego to accompany it. She was noted to be extremely vain, to the point that she once simply agreed with a squire who called her a goddess. She was also deceitful and sly, and known to wrap boys around her finger, egging them on to do stupid things for her favour. Such actions did little for her esteem in her parents’ eyes, who saw in her perhaps, the shadow of her elder sister Saera, who had been disgraced for similar behaviour.

It might shock some that Lord Corlys formed a connection with Princess Viserra then, given his pride and her personality, one might have thought them to be prickly with each other. The singers say that Lord Corlys and Princess Viserra were enamoured of each other from the moment they first set eyes on the other, Princess Viserra’s journals indicate that this was not fully the case.

She was indeed impressed by his looks, but furthermore by his wealth, his accomplishments and daring, his reputation. Lord Corlys was the epitome of a dashing adventurous rogue, and made many a maiden swoon. For her part, Viserra’s beauty is well known, so first impressions were already excellent for both.

Aurane’s journals shine more light here however, for the image of the vain and sly princess that Viserra projected to court, was later discovered by his brother Corlys to be only a superficial mask hiding a deeply insecure young princess neglected by her parents and by the court until she had turned to her beauty to draw any kind of attention and thus had inevitably become vain. Over the course of the next six months, the two would build a connection, bonding over a number of shared interests, such as Viserra’s great interest in Driftmark and stories about it, and a number of discussions on philosophy, siblings, and more.

During this time, Lord Corlys would also continue his stalwart service on the Small Council, and his brother Aurane attributes a number of key historical events to suggestions Corlys made at the meetings of the Council. Including the proposal to conquer the Stepstones for the Iron Throne, and to resolve the succession after Prince Aemon by wedding his daughter and only child, to Prince Baelon’s eldest son, Prince Viserys. Both proposals would eventually be accepted by the Targaryens, though in later years, Aurane recalls that his brother regretted ever making them at all.

The burgeoning friendship of Corlys and Viserra did not go unnoticed, and eventually in the Fifth Moon of 87 AC they were formally betrothed following a private meeting between Lord Corlys and King Jaehaerys. Ser Aurane testifies that it was during that meeting that King Jaehaerys offered the Lord Paramountship of the Stepstones to Lord Corlys along with the marriage, and both were eagerly accepted.

Unbeknownst to either party however, was that very same day, Princess Viserra had snuck away from her niece Princess Rhaenys on a joint outing to the Dragonpit, and claimed the dragon Dreamfyre, the mount of the late Rhaena Targaryen, Viserra’s aunt.

According to Ser Aurane, Lord Corlys did have any involvement in Princess Viserra’s decision to claim Dreamfyre. The reason has never been clear to history, though perhaps we might guess that Viserra was tired of being neglected by her family and claimed a dragon to make them take her seriously. She got her wish and perhaps that was both fortunate and unfortunate. After a confrontation with her family, the details of which are murky and partly lost to history, Viserra was ultimately allowed to keep her dragon and her betrothal to Corlys, which was announced a week later, making many in the realm look askance at King Jaehaerys’ seeming decision to effectively give House Velaryon dragons.

Over the coming months, Lord Corlys and Princess Viserra would deepen their connection, including a trip in which Viserra visited Driftmark for the same time. A visit that reportedly left the young princess astounded and amazed.

Finally, in the Second Moon of 88 AC, the pair wed. Lord Corlys was thirty-four, going on thirty-five. His bride was six and ten years his younger, having been born in 69 AC, Princess Viserra was eighteen going on nineteen at the wedding. Despite their not insignificant age difference, it was the opinion of near every guest at their wedding that the pair were exceedingly well matched for each other, in their demeanor and appearance.

After the wedding, Princess Viserra would settle into her role as the new Lady of the Tides, finding that Driftmark was so very different to rule than she had expected. In time however, she blossomed into this responsibility and became exceedingly capable under the tutelage of her husband, and her goodsiblings and close friends, Ser Rhaekar, and his wife, Lady Irina of Tarth.

Viserra and her husband would have a happy married life, by all accounts, and within a year of their marriage in fact, their first two children would be born. In the dawn of the eighty-ninth year since Aegon’s Conquest, was born Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon, identical twin brothers and sons of Lord Corlys and Princess Viserra. Named for famed Velaryon lords from the Century of Blood, Jacaerys and Lucerys were known as Jace and Luke to close friends and family.

On the very same day that they were born, their parents placed two eggs in their shared cradle, two eggs that would later hatch within that very week, this was noted to be an unprecedentedly fast hatching of cradle eggs, even among the Targaryens, a sign perhaps of the destiny awaiting the Velaryon twins. In any case, the young brothers would eventually name their dragons Tessarion and Morghul, and the role that they and their dragons play in history is no doubt familiar to the readers of this volume, but for the sake of expediency it shall be recounted later on.

In any case, many including Princess Viserra herself, a belief she passed down to all her children and grandchildren, attribute the hatching of these first two eggs to be the cause of trouble down the line.

Within a few months of the birth of Jacaerys and Lucerys, the Iron Throne seized and annexed the Stepstones archipelago, through which the most important trade routes in the world flowed. Ever since Lord Corlys’ initial proposal, the Iron Throne had established a presence in the island chain based on Bloodstone and had been clearing pirates. With their foothold fully established, the time had come to seize the archipelago in full.

A key reason this was judged to be the correct time, was because the Free Cities of Tyrosh and Lys, which also had claims on the archipelago, had recently gone to war against Volantis alongside Myr in the alliance known as the Triarchy, and were thus greatly distracted. Nonetheless, there was opposition to the Iron Throne’s annexation, in the form of a fleet led by Prince Morion Martell of Dorne, who challenged the Targaryens and Velaryons’ claim to the islands and instead claimed them for Dorne.

Princess Viserra accompanied her husband Lord Corlys on the campaign that would later become known as the War for the Stepstones, otherwise known as the Fourth Dornish War. By happenstance, the Dornish encountered the Velaryon fleet some miles off the island of Bloodstone. Princess Viserra was the sole dragonrider accompanying her husband’s fleet at the time, having elected to follow them over to Bloodstone while her father and brothers rested with their dragons at nearby Estermont.

Nonetheless, Princess Viserra soon proved that one dragon was more than enough to deal with the enemy fleet. It was the very first time that she saw combat, but perhaps as a testimonial to the power of a dragon, within a mere hour she had reduced the entire Dornish fleet to ashes and cinders, with their wreckages burning for days like candles in the night. Prince Morion and an entire generation of Dorne’s young men died that day, along with all the wealth that had been used to build the fleet, for Morion had brooked no expense constructing the fleet he had foolishly sailed against dragonfire. For this victory, Viserra would forever be cursed in Dorne as the Butcher of Bloodstone, to House Velaryon and the rest of Westeros however, she would be remembered instead, as the Sea Dragon, and her mount Dreamfyre would be hailed as the Blue Queen.

Once Morion’s fleet was at the bottom of the sea, it was a simple matter for the Targaryens and Velaryons to clear out the remaining pirates and Dornish from the entire archipelago and station their soldiers on the islands, the annexation was formalized, and within two months, King Jaehaerys, Princes Aemon and Baelon, and Lord Corlys and Princess Viserra returned to King’s Landing triumphant.

The cheers they received when they returned were incredible, for not even Aegon the Conqueror could boast of winning a war with such few losses. Victory was made bitter however when King Jaehaerys betrayed the Velaryons. In open court before all his rivals and allies, King Jaehaerys made Corlys swear that he recognized that he would not be the Lord Paramount of the Stepstones, as he had been promised, and would instead be a non-hereditary governor. Bloodstone was given to him as hereditary fief, a paltry pittance to what had been promised.

Jaehaerys defended his decision, saying that he had never explicitly promised lordship, using the word governance in his agreement with Lord Corlys, which he had fulfilled. This wordplay infuriated the Velaryons who soon departed for a private meeting on Driftmark. Though they left King’s Landing with the support of Prince Aemon, Prince Baelon, Princess Alyssa, and Queen Alysanne, their trust in House Targaryen had been broken. Few realized it at the time, but this betrayal would define the history of Westeros forever.

Aurane’s journal entries noting what happened next were written only decades later. On Driftmark, Corlys called a meeting of his closest circle and advisors. His brothers, his goodsister Lady Irina, and his beloved wife Viserra. They met ominously in Castle Driftmark instead of High Tide, a symbol of what was to come for in the years since the Velaryons had moved to High Tide, their own original seat had become a fortress where their army and navy was headquartered.

There in that room, House Velaryon came to the decision that they could not trust in Targaryen promises anymore, or wait for them to strangle them. On a whim the Iron Throne could take away the Stepstones from them and give them to a rival, such as House Hightower or Redwyne, and they could choke Driftmark to death. Corlys rejected this future, this possibility, and he convinced all his kin to do the same. He decided that the only course of action left to them was to conquer the Free City of Tyrosh, securing an alternative trade route bypassing the Stepstones if need be, and leveraging Tyrosh’s economic might to dominate the Stepstones. Much later in life, Corlys would admit that this had been a hasty decision but at the time it seemed perfectly logical.

Thus it was that over a year later in the Eighth Moon of 90 AC, after House Velaryon had gotten justification for war from an incident involving their ships and the Tyroshi fleet in the Stepstones, they moved to conquer the city. Dreamfyre and a Velaryon fleet suddenly appeared in the horizon of Tyrosh one day as the Velaryons suddenly joined Volantis in its war against the Triarchy.

Within a month, the world order had been forever changed. At dragonpoint, Lord Corlys was voted by the noble Conclave of Tyrosh as the Archon of Tyrosh, with the office made hereditary and granted absolute power like it once held when Valyria of old appointed the Archon. Immediately Corlys abolished the Conclave and purged all of the elite noble families who resisted his rule openly, seizing their wealth, lands, and assets.

He then signed the Treaty of Tyrosh with his predecessor as Archon, the Triarchs of Volantis, the Prince of Pentos, and the leading magisters of Lys and Myr as the other signatories. In that treaty, House Velaryon and Corlys were recognized as the rulers of Tyrosh, as were their claims to the lands Tyrosh had held actual control over in the Disputed Lands prior to the formation of the Triarchy.

Other than House Velaryon, Volantis annexed Lys and the remainder of the Disputed Lands, including all Myrish claims south of the River Myrllu. They also annexed the Golden Fields northeast of the Lhorulu River which Myr had claimed, though its control had been tenuous at best. From Myr, Pentos annexed the northern half of its territory, and Myr was made in practice, an economic and political vassal of Pentos and Volantis both due to the sheer number of concessions it was forced to give them. Discontent in Myr over the treaty would later result in the brutal civil war known as the Myrish Bloodbath.

In Westeros, House Targaryen was infuriated by the Velaryon conquest of Tyrosh, though no laws forbade it, wordplay in the decrees might once again allow Jaehaerys to punish the Velaryons, though he thankfully balked at that, knowing it might require him to kill his daughter. However, Jaehaerys would not let it pass lying down. He refused to recognize Corlys as the Archon of Tyrosh and enacted a series of punishing sanctions on House Velaryon and Driftmark as well as revoking the Governorship of the Stepstones and the Mastery of Ships from Corlys, and banishing House Velaryon from his court unless they were to return on their knees, humbled and begging for his mercy.

In the following months Jaehaerys would summon many great lords and work with them to coordinate his sanctions. He reconciled with his disgraced daughter Saera, the Lady of Maidenpool and he chartered the South Sea Company under Houses Lannister, Hightower, and Redwyne. On the Small Council he appointed Rodrik Arryn as Master of Laws once again, and named the son of Lord Manfyrd Redwyne, his former Master of Ships in the place of his deceased father, replacing Lord Corlys. He furthermore distributed the Stepstones islands out to the second sons of many of his vassal houses, chosen for his trust in them but also for their economic might.

Chief among these second sons was Otto Hightower, who was ennobled as the Lord of Highwatch, Felstrong, and Tor, and appointed Governor of the Stepstones in Corlys’ place. Under his authority was Lord Rickard Redwyne of Redwater and Larazor’s Rock, brother of Robert, the new Master of Ships; Lord Wylis Manderly of Serpentholm, Lord Jonos Swann of Scarwood, Lord Maegon Mooton of Grey Gallows, Lord Steffon Darklyn of Dustspear and Lord Tyland Lannister of Guardian and Golden Haven. In theory, Lord Boremund Baratheon of Veil, and of course, Lord Corlys Velaryon of Bloodstone were under Otto’s authority as well, but in truth due to their great power and extensive lands beyond the Stepstones, being the Lord of Storm’s End and Archon of Tyrosh respectively, Otto had no true authority over either of them. This would later cause problems.

Back in Tyrosh, the year 91 AC was a hard one for House Velaryon. They had miscalculated the difficulty of ruling the city and transitioning it away from slavery, and they had severely underestimated the extent of Jaehaerys’ reprisal for their questionably legal conquest of the city. House Velaryon was struggling to deal with the sanctions and competing factions within the city threatened to tear it apart.

The Seahorses were those Driftmarkers, soldiers and servants alike, who had come directly from Driftmark and were fiercely loyal to House Velaryon. The Stars were radical converts to the Faith of the Seven among the local populace, in theory loyal to House Velaryon, or rather to Viserra whom they called Dragon Princess or Zaldilaros, but their fanaticism troubled Lord Corlys.

Ostensibly loyal were the Dyes, led by Lysos Eranyr, made up of the collaborationists among the local elites and nobles. In addition to this was the Towers, led by Ario Orlyr, Warden of the Bleeding Tower and a captain in the Buzantys slave soldier corps of Tyrosh. The Towers claimed to champion the cause of the slaves and the local religions.

Matters came to a head in Second Moon, 91 AC. News came from the east that Velos had fallen to a coalition of slaver cities, Meereen, Yunkai, Astapor, and New Ghis. Thousands of Velaryon men had died and their trade routes to the east and the incomes from them were cut off.

Furthermore, on the very same day that news arrived, Ser Rhaekar was poisoned with the Strangler. The loss of their friend and brother greatly troubled Princess Viserra and Lord Corlys, and his stewardship skills would prove sorely missed over the coming year as House Velaryon struggled to consolidate and stabilize the ailing city even as Driftmark continued to falter under the weight of Jaehaerys’ sanctions.

Evidence initially pointed that Lysos Eranyr and the Dyes were behind the death of Ser Rhaekar, in addition to corruption and many other treasonous activities and so they were purged. It was however eventually discovered in Second Moon 92 AC, a year later, that the true culprit were the Towers led by Ario Orlyr. Though the Dyes were indeed guilty of treason and everything else, they had been framed for the murder of Rhaekar by their rivals the Towers, who in the months since the Dyes’ purge, had grown very powerful indeed, having absorbed the Dye remnants.

Though the Velaryon purge of the upper echelons of the Towers was successful, with Ario Orlyr and his inner circle all fed to Dreamfyre, the purge greatly upset the already unstable situation in the city and resulted in the Morghon riots, wherein a mob of Tower supporters called for the death of the Velaryons, the usurpers, tyrants, heretics, and infidels.

As it so happened, Princess Viserra was pregnant with her third child at the time, and entered labor even as the riot progressed. Consequently, House Velaryon would have no support from Dreamfyre during the riots. Instead, a combined force of Seahorses and Stars would be led by Lord Corlys and Ser Aurane to victory, crushing the riots over the span of a week. By the end of the carnage, half the city had burned to the ground and thirty thousand people had died.

Yet amidst such destruction and death, new life could be found as well, for Lord Corlys and Princess Viserra’s first and only daughter Laena would be born amidst the shadow of battle. Their third child would consequently bear the epithet of ‘Battleborn’ though it would eventually be just one of many she held.

Laena was not the only one that would gain an epithet, for only a few weeks later at a feast celebrating their victory over the rioters, Lord Corlys called his wife the Star of the Sea, praising her beauty and personality profusely, and likening her to a radiant star shining light to guide his way, and the way of House Velaryon, like a star leading them home. Ever since then, Viserra would be called the Seastar by many. The name also symbolized the union of the last two factions of Seahorses and Stars in Tyrosh in their shared loyalty to her and her house.

In the years to come, her two main epithets would contrast and complement each other. When men spoke of Princess Viserra’s terrifying skills and many accomplishments at war and as a dragonrider or of her anger and force of personality, they called her the Sea Dragon. When men praised her beauty and kindness, they would call her the Seastar.

Lord Corlys would say both epithets were well earned by his wife, who had been crucial in the success of his house in the Stepstones and Tyrosh, crediting her always encouraging him and giving him the strength to fight for their victory over the Morghon revolt.

Victory over the Morghon riots gave the Velaryons absolute control over Tyrosh. In the following years, the Velaryons would slowly begin to recover from the sanctions, and with each passing year, their rise became faster. It did not go unnoticed. In 94 AC, when Princess Viserra was pregnant again, a crisis arose in the Stepstones.

When Jaehaerys had given the Stepstones lords their lands, many of them had been granted territorial waters that were actually in practice held by Tyrosh and the Velaryons. Encouraged by the King, Otto Hightower sought to finally press his governorate’s claims to these waters and to authority over Velaryon-owned Bloodstone. Having seen that Dreamfyre had been grounded in Tyrosh during the Morghon riots as a result of Viserra’s pregnancy, Otto timed his escalation exceedingly well, Viserra was eight moons pregnant with her fourth when he pressed his claims and sent his fleets to intrude into the territorial waters of Tyrosh and Bloodstone.

This was an affront to their authority and sovereignty the Velaryons could not brook, especially because the Tyroshi Corridor was a large part of why they had conquered Tyrosh to begin with, if they allowed Otto to enforce his claims, their trade route independent of his control would be under threat. However, with Viserra pregnant, they could not deter him with Dreamfyre.

Therefore, Lord Corlys and Ser Aurane would lead the Velaryon fleet near the disputed waters with Highwatch and treat with Otto Hightower on an empty islet. Just when it seemed that negotiations would fail and battle and maybe even war would be had, Dreamfyre appeared in the sky with a roar. Though she was heavily pregnant, the Sea Dragon had come and Hightower had no choice but to relent.

History does not record what words the furious and concerned Lord Corlys said to his wife in private after, but we do know that both husband and wife emerged from their conversation and men said that there was something different about them, like a load lifted off of their shoulders. Two months later, in the tenth month of 94 AC, their last child was born, a son they named Daeron. Corlys and Viserra’s family was complete, for this generation at least.

The full details of Tyrosh’s growth and recovery in this time period are too great to be done justice in this abridged edition, but for the sake of continuity, we shall cover them briefly.

In the years following the Stepstones Crisis, Corlys and Viserra would throw themselves into building up Tyrosh, the former with the same passion he had first built Driftmark. Many other Velaryon institutions and ventures moved their headquarters or main base of operations to Tyrosh, including their trade companies and the Guild of Venturers. The Velaryon Bank moved its headquarters to the Black Fortress in Tyrosh and took ownership of all the assets and liabilities of the various Tyroshi banks, becoming the main and central bank of Tyrosh.

In collaboration with the Tyroshi treasury and the mints, which were operated alongside the Velaryon bank, new coinage was minted in honor of the new rulers of Tyrosh. Archon Corlys and Princess Viserra had little interest in continuing to mint the old square coins that had proudly featured the Bleeding Tower or other Tyroshi landmarks and cultural symbols after those same symbols had rallied resistance against them. Instead three new denominations of coin were minted. All of them had Corlys’ image as the reigning Archon and it was a move that indicated that Tyrosh had truly become a sovereign monarchy even if they did not have a traditional monarchical title.

The first and lowest denomination was the Copper Sail, which had a stylized image of the sails of ships on one side. This was meant to represent and boast of the naval power of House Velaryon and Tyrosh and serve as a reminder that their wealth came from their ships and their trade. The second denomination was the Silver Star, which had a seven-pointed star representing the Tyroshi Faith of the Seven and its strong influence in the city. As that same faith was zealously devoted to the Velaryons, it also strengthened their legitimacy and rule over Tyrohs.

The last but certainly not least denomination was the Golden Banner. On one face, the coin had the Velaryon sigil and on the other was the image of the reigning Archon of course. The coin was initially supposed to be called the Gold Seahorse but a fierce debate soon raged on what exactly the Velaryon sigil was. Older iterations that had been preserved looked notably much more like a seahorse compared to the current version which had distinctly more draconic features. Some argued that the coin and sigil by extension should be known as the Gold Sea Dragon to strengthen House Velaryon’s prestige against the Targaryens and serve as a reminder that they also had dragons.

Eventually Corlys himself intervened and quelled the debate, declaring the name of the denomination to be the Golden Banner. Regardless of what the sigil was, be it sea dragon or seahorse, it was undoubtedly the Velaryon banner. The symbolism of this of course, represented House Velaryon’s rule over Tyrosh and a reminder that under their banner, all of Tyrosh’s wealth and prosperity was made possible. Every time a man paid for his goods with a gold banner, he was paying with a token representing House Velaryon’s guarantee of the currency of Tyrosh and the protection and prosperity of the state as a whole.

The three denominations were also decimalized per Corlys’ design. 100 copper pennies were equal in value to a silver star and in turn 100 silver stars would be equal to a golden banner. The Velaryon Bank and the Treasury and Mints of Tyrosh would later become influential and trusted enough that these conversions were maintained at the same coin weightages despite fluctuations in the value of gold, silver, and copper.

The old coinage of Tyrosh remained legal tender for several years until they were phased out or collected by the Treasury for melting and reminting. The coinage of the Seven Kingdoms was also easily tradeable and could be used to pay for goods within Tyrosh in order to ease transactions and trade with Westeros, especially with Driftmark still bound to the Iron Throne. In order to aid in this, the golden banner was pegged to be equal to the value of the Iron Throne’s gold dragon, even if their subdivisions and lower denominations were not equal.

Due to the difficulties of carrying large sums of money between Driftmark and Tyrosh, and later Velos and Viserria, the Velaryon Bank and its subsidiaries in Tyrosh began issuing promissory notes which were redeemable for a certain sum of bullion specified on the note, usually a specific number of gold banners, silver stars, or copper sails. These ‘banknotes’ as they came to be called, eventually evolved into a form of legal tender in their own right within the Velaryon State. Paper money of course had a long history in Yi Ti but Velaryon banknotes were the first of their kind west of the Bone Mountains. With the gradual emergence of paper money, also came the rise of fractional reserve banking, greatly increasing the size and potential of the Tyroshi economy.

A new university campus was built in Tyrosh and was made the new headquarters, with Spicetown being reduced to a branch campus. This ushered in a new era of innovation and progress, ambitious plans and research efforts for new metallurgy processes and blast furnaces, textile looming and weaving, shipbuilding, and many more were made.

A new Arsenal was also built in Tyrosh in this time as well, greatly increasing the naval strength of House Velaryon. In tandem with the University, Velaryon engineers and shipwrights at the Tyroshi Arsenal pioneered and researched new methods of building ships such as diagonal bracing, the introduction of iron elements, and improvements to the designs of the bow and stern, as well as a new method and device to repair ships in dry docks easily known as Velaryon Blocks.

With these new methods, new classes of ships such as galleons, xebecs, and fluyts would be designed and constructed and would prove exceedingly useful in cementing the dominance of the Velaryon Navy and Merchant Marine. Indeed, some have even claimed that by 109 AC, the Velaryon Navy was five hundred purpose-built warships strong and the Velaryons’ merchant fleet was larger than the rest of Westeros combined. Whether these claims are simply hyperbole or not, the extent to which House Velaryon came to dominate the world’s oceans and trade routes is undeniable and in later years some would say that ‘Velaryon rules the waves’, with an entire song even being composed in honor of this famous saying.

With these new methods, new classes of ships such as galleons, xebecs, and fluyts would be designed and constructed and would prove exceedingly useful in cementing the dominance of the Velaryon Navy and Merchant Marine. Indeed, some have even claimed that by 109 AC, the Velaryon Navy was five hundred purpose-built warships strong and the Velaryons’ merchant fleet was larger than the rest of Westeros combined. Whether these claims are simply hyperbole or not, the extent to which House Velaryon came to dominate the world’s oceans and trade routes is undeniable and in later years some would say that ‘Velaryon rules the waves’, with an entire song even being composed in honor of this famous saying.

The Myrish Bloodbath allowed Tyrosh to benefit greatly as Myrish artisans fled to Tyrosh, which when combined with Driftmark’s previous expertise, made Tyrosh’s glass now the foremost in the world for its strength and clearness. Advancements in glassmaking also allowed the Velaryons to pioneer the long-term preservation of food in glass jars, a process known as canning.

Progress was also made to try and create a marine chronometer, advanced clocks that would not be disturbed by the motion of the sea on ships, thus greatly benefitting navigation if it could be made. A large fortune was offered to the first who created a working marine chronometer, though none had yet succeeded by 109 AC. Mechanical clocks had been made before, in Braavos and Driftmark, but none were able to tell time as precisely at sea as the chronometer the University of Tyrosh was attempting to develop, not even the previously famed pendulum clocks of the Clockmaker’s Guild of Myr before the Myrish Bloodbath.

The movement of the university, banks, and other institutions to Tyrosh made the city bloom. As a Free City, Tyrosh had already previously had enormous potential, a much greater foundation so to speak to build on, and with the Velaryons rebuilding the city and upgrading its infrastructure and institutions to Driftmark standards, it thrived. With this economic prosperity, the arts and cultures flourished.

Among many institutions moved to Tyrosh, was the Spicetown Museum, now known as the Tyroshi Museum. Its relocation sparked a cultural awakening in Tyrosh that saw arts, music, writings, plays, opera and many other arts and cultures flourish alongside the sciences in the university. Furthermore, the movement of perhaps the most famous artwork previously displayed in the Spicetown Museum, ‘The Crowning of Hugor’, did much to energize the Tyroshi Faith of the Seven.

First originating in the Star movement, the Faith of the Seven grew incredibly fast after the Morghon Riots, with adherents making up seventy percent of the city’s population by 109 AC as a result of Driftmark immigration and conversion from the natives. This eventually led to the construction of the Zaldilaros Sept as the headquarters of the Tyroshi Faith, named in honor of Zaldilaros, Princess Viserra.

Though still paying nominal deference to the High Septon in Westeros, now located in the King’s Landing Great Sept of Jaehaerys, the Tyroshi Faith had become very autonomous, its day to day running was handled by a Holy Synod and an Archsepton of Tyrosh, though Zaldilaros, Princess Viserra, and Lord Corlys, the Defender of the Faith, were considered the true heads.

Doctrinally as well, the Tyroshi Faith practiced the Zaldilaros Creed, an even more developed version of Targaryen Exceptionalism that all but worshipped the Velaryon House as the champions of the Seven, liberators of the slaves given divine right to rule and free Essos. The only reason excommunication by the High Septon in Westeros did not happen was due to the interference of Prince Aemon.

Overall, the progress in rebuilding Tyrosh was fast enough that within eight years of the Morghon Riot, Tyrosh was well on its way to recovery, with most of everything that had made Driftmark special eventually being moved to Tyrosh. Unfortunately, with Tyrosh’s prosperity, came Driftmark’s decline.

Never fully recovering from the sanctions and with Tyrosh free from the Iron Throne’s interference and far better placed for trade and with a much larger foundation, it was perhaps inevitable that Tyrosh would overshadow Driftmark. The population of Driftmark was cut in half by 100 AC as its people migrated with the opportunities to Tyrosh, which was also attracting immigration from across Essos. The loss of thirty thousand people to the Morghon riots was more than made up for in this time eventually.

This also presented a unique problem, as Westerosi immigrants spoke in Westerosi Common, while the locals spoke in Tyroshi Low Valyrian. High Valyrian was chosen as the common language between the two groups, with schools founded to help teach it. As the international language of trade and diplomacy and one favoured by the elites of Essos and both House Targaryen and House Velaryon, it was an ideal choice, especially considering that many Tyroshi and Driftmarkers already knew it for these reasons.

Tyrosh was thriving, so much so that in 98 AC, Corlys and Viserra would feel that it was safe enough for them to lead an expedition to avenge the Sack of Velos six years prior. Much work had been done in expanding and reforming the Velaryon Army and Navy for this war and any wars to come, work that would continue for decades. New units, organization methods, pike square tactics, armaments, and ships, would make the Velaryon military a force to behold and their wrath was just as terrible.

Rather ironically, even as Lord Corlys and Princess Viserra set off on their eastern expedition, House Targaryen threw a grand tourney celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of King Jaehaerys’s coronation in King’s Landing. It was an exceedingly grand event with great pomp and pageantry that was meant to showcase the power of House Targaryen and its newly born children, and yet with the absence of Queen Alysanne and the Velaryons in the east, and the tourney happening after years of political and economic uncertainty, some considered it an empty display of splendour with no meaning.

Back with the Velaryons, by Third Moon, 99 AC, the cities of Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor had been sacked utterly. The Velaryons took everything that was not secured, and some which was. All the wealth of the three cities and their closest hinterlands was seized by House Velaryon. All the slaves were freed, and most though not all, accepted the Velaryon offer to settle on the Isle of Cedars.

Notably, Meereen was not just sacked, but also torn down and razed to the ground by Princess Viserra and Dreamfyre after the former took offense to the atrocities committed by the Meereenese masters to taunt the Velaryons as they marched on Meereen from Yunkai. The masters had foolishly nailed slave children of Lyseni stock to every milepost, as if threatening to do the same to Viserra’s own children, who had similar appearances to the mutilated slave corpses. Infuriated and disgusted, Princess Viserra loudly declared that she would do as her ancestors did to Old Ghis and burn and salt Meereen. She kept her promise.

A few weeks later, the Velaryons sailed for New Ghis in the Straits of Ghiscar, though unlike the previous three cities, it was not so brutally sacked. The Velaryons desired to annex New Ghis, due to its strategic position along their Jade Sea trade route. Every freeborn New Ghiscari individual was either purged or expelled to the mainland, replaced by slaves from Ghiscar or Slaver’s Bay who settled in the islands of Ghaen, Ghilos, and New Ghis. The city and island of New Ghis was renamed Viserria by Lord Corlys in his wife’s honor.

Within a few months of this victory, Corlys and Viserra would take ship with the majority of their fleet back to Tyrosh, leaving behind their trusted and appointed governors. One of whom, Lucerys Velaryon, was the cousin of Lord Corlys and had actually been the original Governor of Velos and had been believed dead after the Sack. Miraculously he and a hundred others from the original outpost were discovered alive and Lucerys gladly resumed his post.

The treasure that the Velaryons gained from this campaign in Slaver’s Bay is often said to have been enough that it tripled their wealth. They acquired enormous quantities of gold, silver, precious stones and jewels, silks, spices, ivory, exquisite tapestries and carpets, fine velvets and satins, delicately carved and inlaid furniture, ornaments of all shapes, sizes, and value, and so much more. They even seized enough foodstuffs from the sacks to support the former slaves in Velos and Viserria until they could feed themselves with the farmlands on Ghaen and the Isle of Cedars.

The most wondrous windfall of all however, was Valyrian steel. Two longswords, a dozen daggers, a spear, and over two hundred pieces of jewelry, décor, and other miscellaneous objects were taken from the ruin of Slaver’s Bay and New Ghis. Upon their return to Tyrosh, Corlys and Viserra gifted each of their four children one of the twelve daggers. The remainder of the priceless collection was sent to the vaults to be kept safe, though Lord Corlys took a liking to the spear and trained with it often in his spare time.

The spear, renamed Aeglos by Lord Corlys, was cast entirely in one solid piece of Valyrian steel from shaft end to spearhead and had previously been a ceremonial weapon wielded by the commander of the Iron Legions of New Ghis. Though he never truly mastered the spear, Princess Viserra was once overheard saying that her husband simply enjoyed the novelty of wielding it in the yard.

In the coming years, Velos and Viserria would develop into great colonies and outposts of the Velaryon State, bolstered by the immigration of hundreds of thousands of slaves, and later even the innocent freeborn, from the mainland, more of whom came every year fleeing the Ghiscari who wished to enslave them once again or the raids of the Dothraki who now tormented a Slaver’s Bay unable to pay them tribute. Astapor and Yunkai would be sacked again by the Dothraki, but there was no wealth to take, and the angered Dothraki would raid far into the hinterlands, destroying what the Velaryons had not.

Volantis would attempt to conquer Mantarys, Tolos, and Elyria in the aftermath of the Velaryon campaign against the other Slaver Cities, seeking to take more territories populated by Valyrians and also secure control over the remainder of the slave trade. However, Braavos, Lorath, Pentos, Norvos, Qohor, and Essaria would form a massive coalition and move against Volantis in 99 AC, while Lys and Myr had riots against Volantene rule and influence. After a five-year war ended in a stalemate, the borders of Essos were largely unchanged. Mantarys, Tolos, and Elyria’s independence had been preserved but their hinterlands were ravaged by the Volantene invasion and Volantis was not truly defeated, merely rebuffed temporarily and waiting for its next chance.

Meanwhile, the Velaryons finally returned home to Driftmark in 100 AC to find a Westeros greatly changed by their ten years of absence. Driftmark, as aforementioned, had fallen sharply into decline, and though the Velaryons maintained the island’s infrastructure exquisitely, it was empty and deserted with so many people having departed. Over the coming years, the Velaryons would work to restore Driftmark as best as they could, but without the removal of the sanctions, their efforts could not truly heal the island, only slow its death.

Yet while Driftmark had declined, its rulers had risen to new heights. After their expedition in Slaver’s Bay, House Velaryon’s wealth formally eclipsed what it had been before their conquest of Tyrosh, and by no small amount, even if much of the wealth was kept in the east to build their outposts in Velos and Viserria.

Furthermore, the Velaryons strengthened and rebuilt ties with their allies, such as Houses Grafton, Tarth, and Celtigar. They built new alliances as well. Begrudgingly, they began to trade and work with old fair-weather friends such as House Tyrell once again.

They also invested greatly into building a lasting trade alliance with the North, constructing ports and other infrastructure along its eastern coasts to facilitate this trade. Most prominent of these new ports was Tuppents near Ramsgate, Tearport on the Weeping Water, Enttinsmoor on the Last River, and Wrensgrace at the mouth of Karlon’s River.

Ice, wood, lumber, furs, amber, wool, metal ores and minerals, and much more would flow out from the North’s rivers and eastern coasts, while the Velaryons exported their technologies, methods, and products such as glass for glass gardens and canning glass jars and agricultural methods from Tyrosh as well as the luxuries and goods of the rest of Essos. Velaryon ships were allowed to use Northern ports to fish and whale in the Shivering Sea, prospering greatly. In their turn, Houses Bolton, Umber, Flint, Manderly, Locke, Hornwood, Stark, and many more would prosper greatly from the trade alliance and the North was greatly enriched.

The alliance was further sealed by the marriage of Lord Corlys’ niece Vaella, by his dearly departed brother Rhaekar, to Rickon Stark, the grandson of Lord Ellard Stark of Winterfell. The wedding took place near the end of 100 AC, and by 109 AC, Lady Vaella would have four children with her husband. Cregan, Corwyn, Irina, and Sara Stark. It was the talk of the realm that House Velaryon had secured a fruitful match with a Great House, with some seeing it as a clear sign of House Velaryon’s return to power and prominence.

Among other signs was their growth in influence in the Vale. In 102 AC, Ser Aegor Mooton, son of Saera Targaryen and grandson of Jaehaerys married his cousin, Lady Aemma Arryn, herself a granddaughter of Jaehaerys through her mother Daella. Aemma was four years Aegor’s senior, with the pair wedding when he came of age. Their marriage was ostensibly for the union of the prestige and economic might of both houses though some postulate that it was also to preserve the ratio of Targaryen blood in both houses, in hopes that they may claim dragons in the future with the precedent House Velaryon set.

History has proven that House Mooton did indeed work and trade with House Velaryon extensively during the sanctions of King Jaehaerys despite their supposed reconciliation with the King. Many have called Saera Mooton, the matriarch of the family, the ‘whor* of Maidenpool’ for this. In any case, this cooperation was greatly cut back on, if not halted entirely after Aegor’s marriage to Aemma.

In their stead, House Velaryon accrued influence over House Royce. As if to contest or protest the marriage of the heir to the Eyrie to a Mooton, the very same year that Aegor and Aemma married, Aemma’s cousin and the heir of the male line, Ser Arnold Arryn, married Lady Rhea Royce, the heiress of Runestone.

Lady Rhea’s father, Lord Yorbert, was believed to have arranged this marriage so as to secure the claim and prestige of the male line of House Arryn for his descendants, and indeed the children of Arnold and Rhea would claim to be of the House of Royce-Arryn and quarter or halve both families’ traditional sigils for their own heraldry, never forgetting what they considered to be their rightful claim to the Eyrie.

In pursuit of that claim, House Royce-Arryn began to trade and work extensively with House Grafton and House Velaryon. Ser Vaemond Velaryon would marry Lord Yorbert’s younger daughter, Lady Ryella, and by 109 AC, the couple would have two sons, Daemion and Alyn. With this match, Runestone fully joined the Velaryon bloc and with the addition of the Royce ports to that alliance, cutting off the rest of the Vale near entirely from trade with the outside world, and as a result, accruing significant influence among the other houses of the Vale. Internal politics in the Vale would play an adjacent role to the greater political events further south.

The Targaryens were not idle in the midst of all of these happenings either. Shortly after Ser Rhaekar’s death, Queen Alysanne and Princess Alyssa visited Viserra in Tyrosh and comforted her, though they would soon leave due to an argument they had with Lord Corlys. Despite that, Viserra remained in correspondence with them and her eldest two brothers, Aemon and Baelon, building a rapport with them.

Indeed, according to Otto Hightower’s testimonial in the Citadel, Prince Aemon had commanded him to stand down following the Stepstones Crisis, indicating that even then, elements inside House Targaryen were supportive of the Velaryons.

Nonetheless, House Velaryon’s rise despite House Targaryen’s official position in attempting to crush them was greatly humiliating and a loss of prestige for the latter house. King Jaehaerys was reputedly greatly concerned about this turn of events, and happenings such as the Stepstones Crisis have been attributed to his attempts to mitigate or correct it.

To make matters worse, Lord Boremund Baratheon and his wife and son perished when their fleet was sunk off the coast of Tarth as 94 AC died. This tragedy was a great personal loss to House Targaryen, for Boremund had been Jaehaerys’ own brother. Furthermore, they had subsidized the construction of the fleet which had sunk, further humiliating them on top of the financial loss they incurred.

Yet many argue that although the manner in which House Baratheon had perished was in the short term, yet another humiliation for House Targaryen, in the long term, it was greatly to their benefit. The next in line to Storm’s End was Boremund’s sister Jocelyn, the Princess-consort of Dragonstone. Her daughter Rhaenys would stand to inherit both the Iron Throne and the Stormlands, greatly increasing the power of House Targaryen. It is no surprise then that despite their divisions with regards to House Velaryon, the Targaryens moved immediately to secure the Stormlands for Jocelyn. Years of work would then begin preparing the region for its eventual incorporation into the Crownlands.

Not to mention, in 96 AC, years of Targaryen planning finally bore fruit with the relocation of the Faith and the Order of Maesters to King’s Landing. Though the Great Sept of Jaehaerys had finished construction by 94 AC, it was only in 96 AC that the High Septon and the Most Devout agreed to relocate the seat of the Faith from the Starry Sept in Oldtown to the Great Sept in King’s Landing. Maegelle, once a princess of House Targaryen, had governed the Great Sept as its Most Devout during those intermediate two years and had been crucial in convincing her fellow clergy and religious of the move. Similarly, Vaegon Targaryen, Jaehaerys’ third son, used his authority as the chosen Seneschal of the Maesters in 96 AC, to authorize the move of the order’s headquarters to the Citadel in King’s Landing, called the King’s Citadel, by some.

The move of the two great institutions to King’s Landing sent shockwaves throughout much of Westeros, especially in House Hightower, which had been abandoned by its long-time associates. It is a testament to Jaehaerys’ skills as the Conciliator that this perhaps ruffled less feathers than it should have, and certainly both the Faith and the Maesters enjoyed the royal patronage they now received greatly.

Furthermore, House Targaryen was fortunate that, Jaehaerys, though undoubtedly foolish with regards to his handling of the Velaryons, still managed to prove why he was called the Wise in regards to the marriages of his Targaryen grandchildren. By his arrangement, Princess Rhaenys, the only child of his eldest son was wed to Prince Viserys, the elder son of Jaehaerys’ second son, Prince Baelon. The two married in 93 AC and would have two children together.

Aegon, the elder, born in 94 AC, was the undisputed heir to the Iron Throne by every law, custom, and precedent in Westeros. He united the claims of his parents, and the lines of Prince Aemon and Prince Baelon would forever be mingled in his person. Furthermore, he was also the heir of the Stormlands after his mother. The future looked bright with Aegon II in line for the throne with such pedigree and inheritance and he had an exceedingly kingly dragon for his reign. Sunfyre the Golden, an egg laid in his cradle that had hatched for the young prince.

Rhaenys and Viserys’ younger child was their daughter Rhaenyra, born in 97 AC. Rhaenyra was an exceptionally beautiful child and grew into an even more beautiful woman, some even dared to compare her to her infamous great aunt Viserra. By the time she was seven, the girl was hailed as the Realm’s Delight. As the only daughter of the future Queen and King consort however, she was rather spoilt and tempestuous. Like her elder brother, Rhaenyra too was a dragonrider, having been given the egg that would become the dragon Seasmoke in her cradle.

Rhaenys and Viserys were not the only Targaryen pair to wed in the tenth decade after Aegon’s Conquest. Viserys’ younger brother Daemon, who was considered quite the rogue by many, married his aunt Gael, the youngest of Jaehaerys’ daughters. Shortly after the marriage, Princess Gael claimed the dragon Syrax from Dragonstone.

Though custom dictated that only the male line grandchildren of the monarch should have princely titles, Jaehaerys elected to extend princely titles to his grandchildren by Gael, since their father was his direct male descendant. Daemon and Gael had four children together, Baela and Rhaena, identical twin daughters born in 97 AC and of age with Rhaenyra, Helaena, born in 99 AC, and finally their son Jaehaerys, called the Younger by some, born in 101 AC.

While Jaehaerys the Elder forbade that any of Gael’s daughters be given dragons until their marriages were decided, his namesake was given an egg in the cradle that would later hatch and be named Tyraxes. In the Dragonpit however, the eggs that some said could have gone to his older sisters hatched and were named Morning, Moondancer, and Stormcloud.

Any student of history can tell you why it is important that these six young Targaryens are studied in such great detail, but to the uneducated, it is primarily because of the role these six played in the events to come, especially in their interactions with the four children of Corlys and Viserra Velaryon.

Shortly after the Velaryons’ return to Driftmark in 100 AC, members of House Targaryen and House Velaryon would meet face to face for the first time in over nine years at a dinner on Dragonstone. Present at that meeting were Queen Alysanne, Princes Baelon and Viserys, Princesses Alyssa and Rhaenys, and the young Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenyra. Corlys, Viserra, and their four children were all in attendance.

The purpose of the meeting was to the sow the seeds such that an attempt at reconciling the two houses might be made in the future. The estranged family members built up their rapport further, making amends, and working to heal old wounds, while trying to ensure that the feuds of the older generations were not passed down to the younger children, who mingled uncaring of such matters.

In the nine years following that first meeting, Corlys and Viserra worked extensively on a number of important matters. They continued rebuilding Driftmark and their alliances and trade in Westeros as far as possible, they also strengthened their rapport with Queen Alysanne, Princess Alyssa, and Princes Aemon and Baelon. Furthermore, they built a working relationship with Princess Rhaenys and Prince Viserys, and their children befriended each other over the course of many meetings and experiences together during those nine years.

Much like the six Targaryen children, the four Velaryon children would play a significant role in events to come, with each of Corlys and Viserra’s children having a notable personality and key role in history.

Daeron, the youngest, was at first the baby of the family, but perhaps seeking to disprove that, he grew up to be bold, adventurous, and daring. After one reckless adventure too many, his father jested that he should be called Daeron the ‘Daring’, and the epithet soon spread to the people of Driftmark, and then beyond to Tyrosh and Westeros.

Unlike his elder brothers, who primarily favoured the sword and axe, Daeron was a most excellent jouster and came to favour the spear even when on foot, though he trained with the sword nonetheless as his secondary weapon. He dedicated himself to his training, hoping to impress his father enough to be granted Aeglos, the Valyrian steel spear his parents had taken from New Ghis years ago, once he was knighted.

Close in age to Prince Aegon, with their namedays being but a few months apart, Daeron and Aegon became fast friends from the moment they first met at the age of six. Soon they were as close as brothers, with some even wondering if Daeron was closer to Aegon, his best friend, than to his elder twin brothers five years his senior. They often raced together on their dragons or had adventures exploring Driftmark and Dragonstone as children. They also took to challenging each other in the training yard, pitting sword against spear, and strengthening both their skills and their brotherly bond.

Laena was close to Aegon as well, much to the pleasure of her parents who hoped for a betrothal between the two. Only two years the senior of her younger brother and cousin, the three would form a trio of adventurous friends in their childhood, one which history tells us would eventually blossom into something more for Laena and Aegon.

Laena was exceptionally dear to her father, who lavished great gifts and affection on her, but she was very much her mother’s daughter. Like her mother Viserra, there are often said to be two sides to Laena Velaryon.

As her mother was the Sea Dragon, Laena was Battleborn. By the time she was seven and ten in 109 AC, Laena Velaryon was known to be perseverant, fierce, adventurous, and strong-willed, befitting her first epithet. Though she was not trained formally in swordsmanship, the young Laena always carried the Valyrian steel dagger that she had been gifted and was trained in its use.

She was also an avid falconer, loving to raise and train birds of prey, and called her dragon Shrykos, whom she loved dearly, to be the largest and dearest of her ‘birds’. She enjoyed riding greatly, and would spend many a morning or evening riding her horse in the woods of Driftmark or racing in the skies above on her dragon alongside her siblings and Prince Aegon.

Laena was also said to have inherited her mother’s great beauty, kindness, and at least some of her vainness. She was said to be the Seastar’s spitting image, and was exceptionally ladylike when she wished to be. She enjoyed wearing all manners of expensive and complex dresses and jewelry, and very much reaped the fruits of her family’s wealth. Ever since she was a girl, her exceptional beauty had seen her be called the Pearl of Tyrosh, and the people of Driftmark, proud and defiant of the Targaryens to the end, called her Driftmark’s Delight, in opposition to Rhaenyra. Last but not least, her kindness and general light-hearted and charming demeanor had seen her named Laena the Lovely by many.

Jacaerys and Lucerys were rarely far from each other’s company. In their boyhood, they were thick as thieves, insisting on wearing the same clothes and styling their hair the same way. They would often mischievously exploit their identical appearances to prank and confuse others by pretending to be their twin and they were on occasion said to finish each other’s sentences.

This boyhood mischief would eventually fade away however. By 109 AC, the twins were twenty years old, men grown with all the expectations that manhood came with. They took to dressing and styling themselves differently in order to be distinguished from the other. Both were knighted at the age of seven and ten and their father gifted them the two Valyrian steel swords taken from New Ghis years earlier.

The younger, Lucerys, was often called the Loyal, for he was fiercely dedicated to his parents and siblings and devoted to his house. As a token of his fidelity and faithfulness, he named the sword bequeathed to him by his father, Allegiance.

Jacaerys on the other hand, named his sword Seafang. The eldest of the Velaryon siblings has quite the interesting tale. Unlike Daring Daeron, or Lovely Laena, and Loyal Lucerys, Jacaerys had not acquired any common name or epithet by 109 AC. He was known primarily as the heir of the Sea Snake and the Sea Dragon, and the expectations of that position weighed heavily on him, expectations from his parents, his siblings, and everyone else, but most importantly his own expectations of himself.

If we would, rather inappropriately, reduce the siblings’ complex and multifaceted personalities to a single defining trait, then Lucerys would be loyal, Laena would be a fierce beauty, and Daeron would be daring. Yet for Jacaerys? His single most defining trait was his ambition. Deep in his heart, Jacaerys longed to prove that he was worthy to succeed his parents as the Lord of the Tides and Archon of Tyrosh, worthy to carry and continue the legacy of House Velaryon. Jacaerys, who had grown up in the shadow of his parents and been compared to them all his life, sought to not only match their accomplishments, but surpass them.

Perhaps the road to some of those ambitions being fulfilled truly began in 109 AC. Many things of note happened that year. As it dawned, Balerion the Black Dread finally died of old age. The bold whispered to each other that the era of Targaryen dominance had symbolically ended now that the largest dragon had died and House Velaryon now possessed five dragons. Of those five, Dreamfyre was almost the size of the next largest dragon, Vhagar, and her four offspring, Tessarion, Morghul, Shrykos, and Terrax, were each at least a third the size of Vhagar in 109 AC.

Only a few months after Balerion died, a letter arrived on Driftmark from the Red Keep. It was sent by Prince Aemon of Dragonstone, Hand of the King, Heir and now Regent of the Iron Throne. The letter was a royal summons undoing the decree that had banished the Velaryons from court. King Jaehaerys had been sickening and deteriorating for almost a year and now that he was on his deathbed he had summoned his whole family to meet with him, one last time. The game of thrones would soon change forever.

Chapter 40: Jacaerys

Chapter Text

Third Moon 109 AC

Viserra

Nine years had passed since her family had moved back home to Driftmark. In those nine years, Corlys and her had worked hard to prove that their people’s faith in them was not misplaced. They had strived to rebuild Driftmark’s shattered economy in a myriad of ways.

First of all, they had reined in their defiant vassals; Wendwater, Bar Emmon, and Sunglass. All three had had little choice but to accept their invites to several feasts on Driftmark celebrating House Velaryon’s return home. Each feast had proudly displayed the wealth and power of House Velaryon with exquisite luxuries and dishes. At the after parties their vassals had then been introduced to their dragons, as friendly visits to see the wonderful creatures, and to reassure them to not worry if they saw dragons flying in their lands on one of the children’s regular flights.

The message had been understood. After that, their vassals had stopped undermining and defying Driftmark. Though they were not as loyal as Viserra would like them to be, they had been cowed enough to obey. That was all they needed.

With the cooperation of their vassals, and funds funnelled from Tyrosh, they had gotten to work expanding and rebuilding the economy of Massey’s Hook, with Driftmark as the sole exporter of the Hook’s goods. Timber, lumber, furs, wool, bog iron, amber, and many more goods were sent first to Driftmark where they refined and manufactured into ships, paper, furniture, bows, naval supplies, clothes, and whatever else that could be made from the raw resources of the Hook.

From Driftmark, these goods would be sold to Claw Isle, Tarth, or Gulltown, which were similarly affected by the sanctions and so were eager for any trade they could receive. Alternatively, they would be sent to Tyrosh and supplement Tyrosh’s own exports to the rest of Essos. Driftmark had also become a useful stopping point for Tyroshi merchants trading with the North. Their crews could easily stop in Spicetown to restock on their foodstuffs and naval supplies or have the Arsenal at Hull repair their ships.

They had also attempted to revive the Maritime Academy at Hull and conducted training of some of their soldiers and marines at Castle Driftmark and the surrounding lands, providing more revenue for Driftmark’s people as they worked to support and arm the soldiers. Even so Tyrosh still far outweighed anything Driftmark did in this field.

Altogether, Driftmark had recovered in part, if only enough for its people to live a good life and not nearly enough to regain its former glory and prosperity. Spices had returned to Spicetown at last, but where once they would be traded in the city’s great markets and sent onward to King’s Landing and Duskendale, now they served only the demand of Driftmark’s own people, and there were much less of those than there had once been. Despite their efforts, the population of Driftmark continued to decline, even if their work rebuilding its economy had reduced that decline to more of a trickle than a deluge.

It helped that the sanctions and unfair taxes on Driftmark had been increasingly reduced or unenforced ever since her elder brother Aemon had been made Hand. While they continued to stifle Driftmark’s recovery, with many people unwilling to return to the island until sanctions were permanently removed, it had still helped significantly and it boded well for Driftmark’s future, even if Viserra had to admit that there was no way its glory days could ever truly return. No those days were gone. From now on any future Driftmark had even once the sanctions were removed, was to be Tyrosh’s gateway into the Westerosi market.

Nine more years of growth had seen Tyrosh only thrive. Its economy continued to grow and its population grew with it. Due to Tyrosh’s prosperity, they had more than made up every coin they had spent on stabilizing and developing it, even with most of their spoils from the Slaver’s Bay campaign left in the east to develop Velos and Viserria. By now, Corlys estimated that their wealth might even be double or triple what it had been before they had conquered Tyrosh, though wealth was hard to quantify due to the distances involved and its separation into cash, assets, and estates.

The continued growth and prosperity of Tyrosh had gone hand in hand with their efforts to strengthen their existing alliances and build new ones. Trade links were stronger than ever with Tarth, Claw Isle, Gulltown, and the North. In the North, Vaella had been married for nine years and she already had four children, Cregan, Corwyn, Irina, and Sara, all with a mix of Stark and Velaryon looks.

Out of respect to Aemon and to not strain their rapport with him, they had greatly dialled down their trade and attempts to garner influence among his wife’s vassals in the Stormlands. Nonetheless they had found eager new allies and trade partners elsewhere. With the warming of relations between Viserra’s house and House Manderly of White Harbor, the latter’s cadet branch in Serpentholm had also warmed and begun dealing with them, if in secret. Even Otto Hightower was trading with them to supplement his toll revenues, and they had begrudgingly agreed to deal with him, if in a limited scale. They couldn’t get rid of him, they might as well profit from him.

The greatest and most trustworthy new ally they had made in the past nine years however, was House Royce of Runestone. Around seven years ago, the niece and nephew that she had never met, Aemma Arryn and Aegor Mooton had married. Perhaps protesting at that marriage or simply taking the opportunity to strengthen his house, Lord Yorbert Royce had arranged the marriage of his daughter and heir Lady Rhea to Aemma’s male cousin and third in line for the Eyrie, Ser Arnold Arryn.

As he was the son of Lord Jasper’s brother Ser Eldric, the current second in line to the Eyrie, Arnold represented the prestige, name, claim, and legitimacy of the male line of House Arryn. By his marriage to Lady Rhea, Arnold had acquired for himself and his descendants one of the greatest fiefs in the Vale, a potential foundation to eventually press their claim. House Royce had in turn acquired the prestige of the Arryn male line. Already Arnold and Rhea’s eldest son, named Eldric for his grandfather if she recalled correctly, had been given a personal heraldry that was the Royce and Arryn banners quartered. The boy was not even six yet; his parents were quite eager and ambitious on his behalf.

With his house now at odds with the Eyrie, Lord Yorbert had sought out new allies for Runestone. He had begun coordinating with his neighbours to the south, the Graftons, House Velaryon’s own allies, to dominate trade in the Vale together. Runestone and its ports were the only major competitor that Gulltown had and with the two houses now working together, they were spreading and increasing their influence throughout the Vale enormously.

Yorbert had also sent Viserra and her husband a marriage proposal, offering his younger daughter Ryella for their nephew Vaemond. Corlys and her had deliberated over the matter at great length, weighing its benefits and disadvantages. It would worsen relations with the Arryns and Mootons that was for sure, but the Arryns had never liked them much at all to begin with and the Mootons had simply been allies of convenience that had cut them off once their elder son had married the Arryn heiress.

The Mootons of Maidenpool at least. Her nephew Maegon in Grey Gallows had taken to trading and dealing with them extensively, cosying up to Tyrosh in trade. He had learned from his mother no doubt. Some were already starting to call Saera the whor* of Maidenpool once it had gotten out that they had been trading with Driftmark.

It was Jace that had convinced Corlys and her to agree to Yorbert’s proposal ultimately. As their heir, they had had Jace shadowing them for years, and he was in the know about almost all of their house’s dealings and plans. At all of 13, Jace had argued passionately in favour of his cousin’s marriage to the Royce lady, saying that it would be a very prestigious and well deserved match for Vaemond that could match the near queenly marriage his sister had gotten. Furthermore, it would bind House Royce to them and their bloc, serving their house’s interests to dominate trade in the Narrow Sea.

When Corlys and her had pointed out that antagonizing the Arryns might antagonize the Targaryens they were allied to, Jace had defended his argument again. He had said that they had already backed down in the Stormlands, upsetting the Tarths. They couldn’t back down in the Vale and upset the Graftons as well, not to mention that the Vale was much more distant from the Targaryens than the Stormlands were with the Princess of Dragonstone ruling it, especially since Lord Rodrik had died and Lord Jasper had not taken up his post as Master of Laws. Furthermore, even if the Targaryens took issue to it, they could defend it as their house seeking to reintegrate into Westeros by forming new alliances and connections with Westerosi houses instead of isolating themselves in Tyrosh.

Corlys and her had been impressed with Jace’s defense of his argument and they had eventually conceded and agreed to the match. Vaemond had married Ryella Royce, and in the six years that they had been married, they had already had two sons, Daemion, and Alyn.

Ryella’s father and sister had aligned Runestone firmly with Gulltown and Driftmark after the marriage, and they had all benefited from the alliance. While the Arryns had been understandably not happy, they couldn’t do anything without Targaryen support. Aemon and the others had not mentioned any concerns about the match before and after the marriage had happened in their letters to her. Ultimately Jace had made a good call.

She was proud of Jace. Her eldest son still had some rough edges, some aspects that he needed to improve on, but no one was perfect. She had faith in him that he would continue to improve and live up to his duties and responsibilities, to the expectations of his position as her and Corlys’ heir. He had proven his capabilities to them many times.

Viserra foresaw great things for all of her children, but it was Jace and his twin Luke that had given her all her hopes and dreams for the future of their house when they had been born. She was proud that they had lived up to those hopes ever since they were children. She loved all her children, and had taken care to never neglect Laena and Daeron as she had been, but after all these years she could begrudgingly understand why her own father had had so much pride in his eldest sons. A part of her still wished that he’d just been proud of the rest of them as well, the way that all four of her children made her proud.

They were making her proud right now, training diligently in the yard. She had always enjoyed watching the men train in the yards of High Tide, it was fascinating and appealed to the part of her that still loved the childhood tales of dashing knights. Before they had gone to Tyrosh all those years ago, she had watched Corlys and his brothers with the Tide Guard in the yards. Ever since they had returned, she watched her sons.

Lucerys, her second son was already twenty years old, a man grown and knighted. His skills in the yard were a sight to behold, almost beautiful, like a dance of steel and strokes and parries. Luke was better than his twin with a sword and axe, their favoured weapons, if only because while Jace had spent much of his time learning the art of governance with her and Corlys, Luke had spent all that time training in the yard instead.

Where Jace had squired for Corlys himself, and many of those duties had involved shadowing him as he ruled and managed their family’s vast lands and assets, Luke had squired for Ser Jaremy Gottwell and perhaps it had been his teachings that had so strengthened Luke’s already strong loyalty to his twin and to their family.

Ser Jaremy’s loyalty to their family was almost legendary at this point and Viserra would never forget the steadfast service of him and his wife Pina, who was still her most trusted servant and secretary to this day. Ser Jaremy had long since become the Lord Commander of the Tide Guard, and he had already been promised estates and a peerage by Corlys upon his retirement, though he had on the latter’s insistence, already been ennobled and taken on the new house name Corlys had wanted for him enthusiastically.

Even when the inevitable day came that Jaremy retired from the Tide Guard and took up his peerage, Viserra would keep Pina as a lady in waiting instead of a secretary if she had to and she did not doubt that Jaremy would find some other way to serve them still, for such was the loyalty of them both. Their young children had been groomed with that loyalty and Jaremy seemed to have taught it to Luke as well.

Under Ser Jaremy’s tutelage, her second son had truly grown into his own, becoming more confident and building a reputation and skillset of his own that set him apart from his twin and younger siblings. All of Driftmark already called Luke, ‘Lucerys the Loyal’, and the epithet had spread to Tyrosh as well.

Of course, Luke had more than just martial skills and loyalty. It was not that they had not taught Luke, Daeron, or even Laena to rule as they did Jace. They had, just as Corlys and his brothers and eventually Irina, Alys, and Viserra herself had all been trained to aid in ruling the family together. Nonetheless Jace was the heir, and Luke and the others the spares. It was only logical that they would be trained to play different roles in the family, even if she knew Luke would be as capable as Jace if he had to take up the lordship, though she dearly hoped that he would never have to.

Her eldest two boys had a special bond with each other, they had been with each other since they had been in her womb together, and they were almost inseparable. When they were younger they used to play mischievous pranks on the castle servants or their younger siblings pretending to be each other. They no longer acted or dressed as identically as they used to but they were still very close. Even now it was strange to see one without the other.

Which was why Viserra was peering at the yard curiously. Jace was not shadowing Corlys or her today, nor did he have any duties of his own that she was aware of. She had expected to see him standing beside his twin, together the two could take on as many as five foes at once. To her slight surprise, it was not Jace beside Luke, but Daeron.

Her youngest son was just a year shy of his own manhood, and he was training hard for a knighthood, hoping to impress Corlys enough to be granted a Valyrian steel weapon as his older brothers had been. Jace and Luke had been given their swords, Seafang and Allegiance, when they were knighted. They were the same two swords that they had taken from Slaver’s Bay all those years ago.

Viserra knew Corlys intended to give Daeron their Valyrian spear, Aeglos, no matter what, as in his words, Daeron had long surpassed him and would wield the weapon with better grace than he did. Certainly all three of her sons had talent that far exceeded their father. Her husband was by no means a poor swordsman or knight, but martial skills were not his passion or true calling.

Still, Viserra would keep that to herself. It was a good incentive for Daeron to keep training. His skills had yet to match either of his elder brothers in swordsmanship but he was already far better with a lance and spear than they ever would be and in Viserra’s opinion he might very well have more potential than either of them did as a warrior.

As she watched Daeron train and improve every day, Viserra felt not just pride but also relief. The devoted mother in her had never forgiven herself for endangering him as she had when she had flown to the Stepstones Crisis heavily pregnant with him. Every day since that he had lived healthy and growing ever more talented was a balm to her soul, even if his daring antics scared the life out of her.

Daeron was always the first to volunteer for some challenge or dare, seeming to have almost no fear, it was what had had earned him the moniker of ‘the Daring’ from the people of Driftmark. Sometimes she felt that her youngest boy had yet to fully determine his place in the family and the world, hence his daring almost reckless feats, but she knew that he would figure it out. He was young, he still had time, and he had family to help him.

“Laena,” she called out to her daughter, who like her, had come to see her brothers training in the yard.

Like her elder brothers, her daughter had also come of age, and had blossomed into a strong and lovely young maiden of seven and ten. The part of Viserra that was still very vain preened knowing that her beauty had come from her, but Viserra could not claim sole credit. Laena looked very much like her but there was much of Corlys in her face and demeanor as well and if she was being honest her loveliness and kindness had come entirely from Corlys no matter his claims that she had gotten it from her.

Perhaps it had been neither of them, for Laena was simply such a lovely and polite girl one could not help but love her no matter what. As charming as she was strong-willed, as charismatic as she was adventurous, and as fierce as she was polite. Laena was very much the kind of person that would kill you with words if she disapproved of anything you did, weaving sarcasm and innocent politeness effortlessly.

If you truly angered Laena however, as some had before, she would cast aside the mask of the Lovely and remind you why she was also known as Battleborn. At that point the restraint was gone entirely and she would come after you with a grudge in a way that terrified almost everyone. Except for her of course. Laena might have Corlys, her brothers, all of Driftmark, and even Prince Aegon himself wrapped around her finger, but even she knew better than to cross her mother. Viserra had ensured that Laena would not become a spoilt brat like Saera had and they were all thankful for that.

“Yes Mother?” Laena replied.

“Where is your brother?” She asked.

“Which one? I have three,” she replied cheekily.

Viserra was unimpressed. “The one not currently training in the yard with the other two, unless you have misplaced your eyes?”

She resisted the urge to sigh. Laena was normally so polite and proper but on occasion she would feel the mischievous urge to be cheeky or sarcastic. She had to have gotten it from Corlys, there was no other explanation.

Realizing that she wasn’t in the mood for jesting, her daughter replied seriously. “Not sure. He took his dragon out riding this morning.”

“Did he say when he would be back?” Viserra asked. Jace was a grown man of twenty, knighted and armed, and he had Tessarion with him. There was nothing that could harm him. Still that did not mean she liked not knowing where he was.

“He didn’t. He probably just went to Claw Isle again,” Laena said reassuringly.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Viserra said, not at all reassured as her thoughts shifted.

Her family had lived ten years in Tyrosh, with their children shielded by Corlys and her from the worst of their difficulties in that damnable city. Even after they’d returned to Driftmark, the children would ask to visit Tyrosh, especially Jace and Luke. So much so they had spent as much as six months in Tyrosh at one point. And ever since Jace and Luke had come of age four years ago, they would regularly visit Tyrosh alone on their dragons.

Viserra could understand why. While Tyrosh was bitter for Corlys and her and the rest of the older generation of their house, for the children, Tyrosh had only good memories. Jace and Luke were too young to really remember what the worst of it had been like but old enough to remember growing up in Tyrosh until they were eleven. That had stayed with them. She knew they loved Driftmark as the rest of them did, but they loved Tyrosh more. There was nothing right or wrong about that, it was just how it was.

Nonetheless Driftmark and Westeros was still their home even more than Tyrosh was in some ways. Viserra had done her best to familiarize and settle her almost homesick children in Westeros. She remembered years of meetings and playdates, introducing her four children to their kin on Driftmark, or visiting friends and relatives in Claw Isle, Tarth, Gulltown, and even Dragonstone.

Viserra had taken those opportunities to rekindle her own friendships with Irina, Alyssa, Baelon, Aemon, her mother, her friend Laena Celtigar, and many more. She had also formed new connections and friendships with the matriarchs and ladies of the Graftons, Tarths, and other families and even with Rhaenys and Viserys…somewhat. It had been her hope that her children would follow after her and make friends with the children of her own friends.

It had worked, Jace and Luke had followed after her example. They had made friends and connections easily with the natural charm they had inherited from Corlys and her both, especially among their kin and allies in Houses Grafton, Tarth, and Celtigar.

Perhaps it had even worked too well, Viserra thought as she recalled the Jace’s relationship with her friend Laena’s girl. They had met when Jace was eleven and she nine, and they had been very close since. Cassandra was a wonderful young woman and in any other world Viserra would have been pleased to have such a fine gooddaughter. Yet in this world, no matter how much she knew her son desired it, had pleaded with her for it, Corlys and her could not agree to Jace marrying Cassandra. Not yet at least.

Jace’s hand would be a powerful advantage in any future negotiations with the Targaryens. Her father was not a young man, and Aemon had made clear to them his intentions to negotiate an end to the feud once he was King. One of the many points they had discussed over the years was the idea of Aemon’s granddaughter Rhaenyra marrying their son Jace. It was not an offer they could afford to reject should it be given, and to allow Jace to marry someone else in the meantime would be a slight to Aemon.

They had explained all this to Jace at length before, though Viserra wondered if he truly understood it. She had lectured him many times about keeping an appropriate distance from a woman who was not even his betrothed. She sincerely hoped that that Jace had not deflowered her or done anything else inappropriate with her that might ruin her future should circ*mstances not allow them to marry, she had taught him better than that.

Viserra released the sigh she had had held in earlier. She loved her children dearly, and she would not give them up for anything, but they had been a challenge to raise nonetheless. All children were in truth. For many years now she had found herself beginning to understand her mother’s struggles with raising so many children.

“You shouldn’t worry too much Mother,” Laena said reassuringly. “I have faith that Jace will do the right thing with Cassandra.”

“Thank you Laena. I just worry sometimes.” Viserra accepted her daughter’s consolation before she decided to pay her back for her cheek earlier. “And how is Prince Aegon doing?”

To her credit, Laena did not blush, though in Viserra’s opinion it was a near thing. Her eyes widened in surprise before she averted them and cleared her throat slightly. “He’s doing well,” she finally answered. She did not elaborate any further and did her best to ignore her gaze as she turned back to focus on her brothers sparring in the yard. Viserra resisted the urge to chuckle at her daughter’s embarrassment.

She found it rather ironic that Jace and Luke had been born in Westeros and yet they had had to coax them to adjust to it. On the other hand, Laena and Daeron had been born in Tyrosh but they had come to hold onto Westeros more tightly in their hearts than their older brothers did.

Then again, they had only been eight and six when Corlys and her had moved the family back to Driftmark. Younger and more adaptable. Perhaps it was also due to the friends they had made. Like their older brothers, her youngest two children had befriended many Westerosi nobles and formed connections with their allied houses, and even their vassals in the Hook as well, whom Jace and Luke had never liked very much.

Yet perhaps the most important connection they had made was with the young Prince Aegon after years of visits to Dragonstone. Egg, as they called him, was of age with Daeron and sometimes it was easy to forget when she saw them laughing over some immature jest with each other, that one was destined to be the King of Westeros and the other a dragonriding peer of the richest house in the Known World. If Aegon got his way, perhaps Daeron might even be Hand as well.

Viserra had not missed the looks that young Aegon had given her daughter ever since they had first met, looks her daughter had finally begun to reciprocate a few years ago. Besotted looks of longing, love, and even lust as the two had matured into a young man and woman. She trusted Daeron to keep the two of them chaste for he was never far from their side, but otherwise she approved of their burgeoning relationship.

Much like Jacaerys’ eventual betrothal to Aegon’s sister Rhaenyra, Aegon and Laena marrying would bind their houses together and make things right again. It would be a fair trade, a daughter for a daughter, each riding a dragon. Jacaerys would one day be Aegon’s goodbrother, his Master of Ships and sworn to him as Master of Driftmark, Archon of Tyrosh, and Lord Paramount of the Stepstones. Luke would be by Jace’s side as his ever loyal lieutenant even as their younger siblings were Aegon’s Queen and Hand.

The vision was sweet in her mind. House Targaryen and House Velaryon, united again as they had always been meant to be before her father had torn apart their unity. Yet often, certain thoughts crept into her mind asking her why she was so pleased at the idea of her house giving up its hard-earned sovereignty and independence to become wholly subservient to the Targaryens once more.

She would admit it to herself, though not to Jace because he would certainly use that against her in their next argument on the matter, a part of her did resent that idea. That everything Corlys and her had done and accomplished in Tyrosh would be served up on a silver platter to the Targaryens after everything they had done to them.

Viserra shook her head. She forced herself to remember, as she always did, the support that her mother and siblings had given them for the past eighteen years. She owed it to them to at least try for a resolution.

She had to remind herself of the consequences of being too greedy, of not restraining one’s ambition. It was for that reason after all, that Corlys and her had refused the numerous attempts of the Tyroshi people to crown them as sovereign Prince and Princess or even as King and Queen over the years. No matter how much a part of Viserra longed for it, longed for the titles and status she knew her family and her deserved, their lives were more important than their pride.

Even now, with her children and her riding five adult dragons, House Targaryen still outnumbered them. Balerion the Black Dread had finally died just a month ago, and still House Targaryen had nine ridden dragons with three more in the Dragonpit and no lack of riders to claim them if the need arose.

Corlys and her had ultimately agreed that if possible, seeking a reconciliation with the Targaryens under Aemon would be the best choice for their house. They would squeeze the Targaryens for it, with royal marriages, the Stepstones, and many more concessions, privileges, and unprecedented autonomy as was their right as a dragonlord house. Ultimately though, however begrudgingly, they would be the vassals of House Targaryens wholly once more, with even Tyrosh subordinated to the Iron Throne.

The alternative was to remain in this limbo and legal uncertainty. Were they independent rulers who held fiefs sworn to the Iron Throne? Were they defiant vassals of the Iron Throne refusing to fully rejoin the fold? And what of their claims to the Stepstones? What of the territorial and jurisdictional disputes between them and the Stepstones lords that had already caused a crisis once before? All of this could easily lead to war if they were not careful, and Viserra was not confident that they could win.

For her children, there was nothing Viserra would not give up. Her pride was simply the first in a long list that she would sacrifice for them. And it was hard for her to accept, but she had to be able to let them stand on their own as well.

Jace and Luke were twenty already, both knighted and capable young men. Jace had even fallen in love whether she liked it or not, and part of her still could not help but see him and Luke as her little boys still. The little boys she had conquered Tyrosh and defied her father for.

Laena was seven and ten, already a woman flowered and grown even if Viserra had to resist thinking she was still a sweet little girl. Daeron was also coming of age soon and once he did she would have much less excuses to coddle him or protect him from his own recklessness.

Her children, her babies were all growing up. Corlys and her had done their best to protect them from the world, to train them for it, teach them how cruel it could be, but eventually there was nothing else to do but let them face the world on their own. They could not shield them from everything forever.

Whether Viserra liked it or not, the wheels were beginning to turn. For about a year now, her father had been bedridden and growing ill and old, and many in the realm were uncertain that he would recover, given his advanced age. It left Viserra with many mixed feelings. A confusing concoction of eager anticipation, mourning, and dread for the uncertain future that awaited.

“Princess.” A voice called out to her from behind, interrupting her thoughts.

Viserra turned around toward the voice, and Laena, curious as always, did as well. She smiled when she saw who it was. “Ah Desmond. Do you have a letter for me?”

He nodded. “That I do Princess, from King’s Landing,” he said as he handed her the letter.

Laena, busybody that she was, stayed as Viserra opened the letter. She broke the seal and her heart dropped the moment she read the first line.

______________________________________

Jacaerys Velaryon

Tessarion glided through the sky effortlessly, barely having to beat her wings to stay aloft in the strong morning breeze. It was soothing riding her like this. The feeling of riding a dragon in the skies was hard to do justice to with simple words. It was otherworldly, intoxicating, maybe even humbling to see how small the world really was from the eyes of a dragon.

Other riders chose their dragons as adults, and a dragon rejecting a prospective rider of the right blood was exceedingly rare. Even so, Jace had always felt that Tessarion had chosen him and not the other way around. She had hatched for him in his cradle within a day after all, or so his mother had always said.

With the knowledge and dragonlore that she had learned from her elder sister, his Aunt Alyssa, and from the Dragonkeepers at the Dragonpit, his mother had trained a new corps of Dragonkeepers loyal to House Velaryon and charged with the protection and care of their dragons. Nonetheless she had instructed Jace and his siblings to care for their dragons personally as much as possible, as she too did for Dreamfyre whenever she could. It made the bond between them stronger she said, and Jace could not help but agree.

Tessarion was like a part of his soul, and she mattered to him as much as his own flesh and blood siblings did. They had been together their entire lives, and not one day passed that he did not go to her and draw comfort from her warmth.

A thought occurred to him, and before he could even give the command, his dragon pre-empted him, folding her wings and pointing her snout down as they dived toward the crisp blue sea. The light of the morning sun glimmered and reflected off the waves as they approached. Jace tucked his body forward keeping it close to Tessarion’s body. At the last possible moment, Tessarion untucked her wings, keeping them aloft just feet from the water’s surface. Her wingtips strafed the water’s surface creating a gentle sea spray as they sped across the ocean.

Jace let out an excited shout, laughing and giggling to himself in carefree joy and childlike delight. Moments like these were precious to him, chances to forget about his worries and doubts. He was proud to be heir and to enjoy the privileges of his station and carry out the duties expected of him. He loved his family, and he loved his house. His parents and siblings were the best he could have ever hoped for and he would not trade them for anything but at times it was difficult.

His parents loved him, but Jace had always known that they had expectations of him. He was their heir; the man they were entrusting to carry on their legacy. All his life Jace had struggled to match those expectations. He had thrown himself into his studies, filled his every waking moment with thoughts on how to better serve House Velaryon and improve its status and position. Sometimes it was all just too much.

Every person that he had ever met, that he ever knew, expected greatness from him. It was not easy being the son of such famed and renowned people as his mother and father. The Sea Snake and the Sea Dragon had a list of epithets as long as his arm and any book detailing their great deeds would be thick indeed. Their accolades were well deserved, his parents were extraordinary, and he was left trying to be as well. Wondering if he could ever step out of their shadow and be remembered for his own merit, as more than just the dutiful and forgettable heir whose only accomplishment was the bare minimum of maintaining what had been passed down to him.

His younger siblings had gathered epithets of their own already, all of them standing out in their own way. Luke was the Loyal; dedicated, devoted, and dutiful, and Jace had never had any reason to doubt him or his skill with a sword that had long ago surpassed his. Laena had grown into a great and fierce beauty, their mother made small, the Lovely Pearl of Tyrosh, Driftmark’s Delight, Battleborn. Daeron was the Daring; he was brave, charming, witty, and a menace with his spear.

Yet what of Jace? Everything that he had ever done or accomplished trying to be the perfect heir, it had felt like it was nothing special. Few seemed to see the dedication and effort he put into his duties and his preparations to be Lord of the Tides. It was simply expected of him.

Everyone looked to him, wondering how he would measure up to his parents, how he would stand out from his siblings. He had felt the eyes on him ever since he was a boy, watching him, judging him. His parents, aunts, and uncles expected him to succeed and rule well as the next leader of House Velaryon. His siblings and cousins looked to him to lead them. The other nobles, the courtiers, and the servants and soldiers all watched wondering what he would do to prove himself. Everyone wished to know; what was the measure of Jacaerys Velaryon and what could he do?

It was years ago that the answer had become clear to him, and ever since then a fire had been lit in his soul that could not be put out. It was unthinkable and horrifying to him to even consider the idea of failing those expectations and being remembered in that way, as a failure and disgrace. The only option left then, was to not just meet the expectations on him, but to go beyond them.

Jace was not content to simply live up to what was expected of him and die forgotten and little remembered because he had only followed the path paved for him. He would not be an indolent heir, satisfied to boast about the achievements of his ancestors and never doing anything of note himself. Some heirs failed to even maintain what they had inherited. Jace refused to be like them. He would not be a lesser son of greater sires. He meant to be great, to seize it with his own hands and prove to everyone what his worth was. He would not just carry on his parents’ legacy; he would surpass them both. Jacaerys Velaryon dreamed of empire.

His parents had brought House Velaryon dragons, they had conquered Tyrosh, Velos, and Viserria, and brought to their house wealth of such enormity it was greater than any other in the Known World, or so they boasted. Jace meant to make that boast a reality. He would see to it that their dragons grew to a true thunder. They would break the slavers of Essos, and unshackle the chains of the slaves who would worship them as their saviors.

Lys and Myr would bow to House Velaryon and Tyrosh, almost like a new birth of the Triarchy. Volantis, Pentos, and all the rest would do them homage as the true hegemons of Essos. The banner of the Seahorse, of the Sea Dragon, would fly from Driftmark to Tyrosh and Myr. From Lys to Naath, the Basilisk Isles, Slaver’s Bay, and Moraq and the Cinnamon Straits. None, not Volantis, not Jazdaan, or the corsairs of the Basilisk Isles, would contest or trouble their trade routes any longer. Their rule over the Summer Sea would be absolute. Their ships would voyage and trade from the Summer Islands to Asshai, from White Harbor to Ibben. They would no longer have to boast that they were the greatest and richest house in the world, it would simply be a fact that all acknowledged.

And Jace would be remembered as the man who had brought all of this to fruition. He would finally have stepped out of his parents’ shadow and more than lived up to the expectations on him. He would have made his own contribution to the legacy of their house and strengthened it forever. He would hold his head high, having proven that he was great on his own merit, not because of who his parents were.

These ambitions of his, he had entrusted in only a few. His devoted loyal twin was one of them and Jace knew that when the time came he could on Luke to be by his side. He was not as close to Laena and Daeron as he was to Luke, but the four of them were closer than many families he knew and he was sure that they too would follow his lead. The four of them had grown up together, thick as thieves, always getting into trouble with each other or playing some games or racing on their dragons. House Velaryon was greatest together, and Jace did not intend to see his ambitions through alone. It would be with his siblings by his side, as his uncles and aunts were beside his parents in Tyrosh.

No, it was not Jace’s siblings that worried him, it was his parents. He wished them a long and happy life together, they more than deserved it. His own father had made his name and reputation when he was not even the Lord of the Tides yet, Jace saw no reason he could not do the same… unless they held him back.

Sometimes Jace dared to wonder if the fire in his parents was gone, snuffed out by the death of his uncle Rhaekar and their struggles in Tyrosh. They were overly cautious and called it wisdom, no longer daring enough to do what was necessary to strengthen their house. At times they seemed all too happy to allow the Targaryens to gain ground against them. It was nauseating just how much his parents were willing to forgive the house that had betrayed them and cast them out, undermining their own loyal allies for the sake of disloyal and treacherous kin. He remembered how much he had fought with his parents and championed Vaemond’s match to Lady Ryella Royce until they had finally conceded. Such a match should have been immediately accepted instead of almost rejected out of some idle concern of angering the Targaryens!

Yet his parents wished to reconcile with the Targaryens and Jace had no choice but to obey their wishes for now. He could not be the ambitious conqueror and empire maker if he was not first the dutiful son and heir. He would not undermine his parents; he would not betray the legacy of their house out of his own selfishness. When the time inevitably came that the Targaryens showed their true colors once more, he would be ready to turn his parents and siblings to the better path.

Perhaps he was being too cynical. Laena and Daeron were exceedingly close to Prince Aegon and Jace would begrudgingly admit Aegon was a good lad and a true friend to them both. He would be willing to call Aegon his goodbrother if that future came to pass, but deep in his heart Jace wondered if that future was meant to be. It felt too good to be true.

His parents thought that they had kept him shielded from it all, but Jace remembered a little of their darkest moments in Tyrosh. He remembered his parents crying, cracking under the weight of their struggles, and it was all because of what Jaehaerys Targaryen had done to them. How he loathed the man. His supposed grandfather had never shown them the slightest care or any signs of love and affection. He was more a tyrant than a grandfather to Jace.

His grandmother and his Targaryen uncles, and aunts, and cousins might talk about reconciliation and forgiveness and support, but Jace recalled none of them being there when he was young and growing up either. They had come crawling back once they had proved they were strong enough to do without them and he feared that the Targaryens would not be sated unless they bowed their heads and became truly subservient to them once more. That, Jace refused to ever do, and he hoped his parents would as well.

Tessarion growled at him lightly, breaking him out of his thoughts. He sensed her annoyance at his brooding and he smiled at her.

“Thanks Tess,” he told her and she seemed to become smug at the praise. Without his direct command, she picked up the pace as they approached their destination. Almost as if she wanted to keep him from brooding again.

Jace felt a smile come to his mind at the sight on the horizon, feeling himself unable to brood on other matters even if he wanted to. Claw Isle was a beautiful and soothing sight to see. He might be biased but he would not consider the island or its castle to be as beautiful as High Tide and Driftmark, or as splendorous and glorious as Tyrosh. Yet Claw Isle had something none of those places had, and a part of his heart belonged to it because of it.

He set Tessarion down in the courtyard of Castle Claw as he had many countless times before. The guards were not even the slightest on edge, so used to his coming were they. As he dismounted from Tessarion, one of them approached and greeted him.

“Lord Jacaerys.”

Jace nodded to him. “Captain.”

“The Lady Cassandra is – “ the captain began before he was interrupted.

“I will take it from here Captain, thank you,” Lady Laena Celtigar said as she seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Jace,” she greeted him with a smile and her arms outstretched.

He grinned. “Aunt Laena,” he greeted in turn before he embraced her eagerly.

His family and House Celtigar were very close and Jace had visited Claw Isle many times in the past nine years. It had been a tad bit confusing for him at first, too many Laenas in his life. There was his sister and Lady Celtigar and also his father’s aunt, the matron of Breezehome Orphanage, whom he also called ‘Aunt Laena.’ To avoid confusing them, he had addressed Laena Celtigar as ‘Lady Laena’ for a time before she had insisted he call her aunt as well, citing that she and his mother were as close as sisters and she was the wife of his father’s cousin. Jace had acquiesced to her request. Perhaps one day, he might even call her mother as well, but he was getting ahead of himself.

“Will you be staying for supper?” Aunt Laena asked.

He shook his head. “Only luncheon I’m afraid. I might have neglected to inform my mother I was coming here.”

There was amusem*nt in his aunt’s eyes but also a bit of warning. “You need to stop doing that Jace.”

“I know, but her constant nagging whenever I come here can get annoying,” he confessed.

“I can understand that, but be mindful Jace. The only reason I don’t nag you as well is because I trust you with my daughter and I trust that you want what is best for her. Do not give me a reason to believe otherwise,” she warned him, a hint of challenge in her eyes.

Before she could continue, Jace heard some excited voices calling out his name. He turned to face them and could not resist smiling widely at the sight. Two of his closest friends walked out of the keep. Ser Caeryn and Caspian Celtigar, sons of Ser Clement and Lady Laena, grandsons of Lord Bartimos. Their appearance was Valyrian, befitting their ancestry. Silver-gold hair and purple-blue eyes.

Jace’s eyes however were drawn to their sister walking between them. Her hair was a delicate shade of pure silver with nary a trace of gold, curling wondrously as it cascaded down her shoulders free of any braid today. Her eyes were as blue as the ocean on a clear cloudless day, and her face was as beautiful as he remembered.

He rushed to Cassandra and hugged her tightly, only breaking their embrace when her brothers cleared their throats beside them at the inappropriate duration before he embraced them too in turn. When he turned around, his aunt had gone

Keeping in mind her warning, Jace went about the rest of his day with his friends. With the servants’ help, they had set up a picnic on the beach and Tessarion had flown down promptly, ensuring they would be given a wide berth for privacy.

While they were his friends as well, Jace had truly come here to see Cassandra, not Caeryn and Caspian, who were frankly their chaperones. Still they were not unsympathetic to their sister and friend’s plight and turned the occasional blind eye, occupying themselves with a sword spar on the beach.

“Aren’t you going to join them?” Cassandra asked him as she looked over at her brothers nearby on the beach. They were resting under the shade the servants had set up for them. Her head was nestled in his lap and he resisted the urge to run his hands through her silvery locks.

“Maybe later. This is more important.”

“We’re not even doing anything,” Cassandra protested. As if to prove her point, she was idly playing with a piece of dried grass in her hands, twisting and twirling and pulling at it.

“Even doing nothing is important, as long as it’s with you,” Jace told her seriously.

Cassandra blushed and turned her face away to try and hide her embarrassment. “That was a poor attempt to woo me Jace,” she said, though he did not believe her.

Suddenly Tessarion snorted, puffing out some hot air from her nostrils beside them. Cassandra seized the opportunity. “See! Tess agrees with me!”

Jace had the strangest idea that his dragon was laughing at him from the chortles in her throat she was making and he was not about to let it go unanswered. “I think she’s just jealous. Don’t worry Tessarion, you’re just as important to me,” he told his dragon, to Cassandra’s giggles.

Tessarion snorted, unamused, and turned away. Jace had to resist the urge to laugh at her antics. It wasn’t all flattery, Tessarion was truly important to him and in his very humble and definitely not biased opinion, Tessarion was the most beautiful dragon he knew, with her dark cobalt scales and burnished bronze crests and horns. Of course, perhaps it was just a bias each rider had because every other rider he knew would disagree vehemently and propose their own dragon for that lofty title.

“She’s grown a lot from when we were younger, hasn’t she?” Cassandra asked him.

“A third the size of Vhagar at least,” Jace agreed happily, proud of how large his dragon had grown. She was truly a queen among dragons. “The Dragonkeepers measured the last time Uncle Baelon met us at Dragonstone.”

Something seemed to be up with Cassandra however, because far from smiling at his praise for Tessarion, as she normally would, she was frowning instead.

“Something wrong Cass?” he asked her, worried.

“It’s nothing, it’s just. A thought just came to me. I wonder if your future wife’s dragon will be as large as Tessarion.”

It was Jace’s turn to frown. “What’s brought this on Cass?”

She rose from his lap to sit up on her own, and his heart and body alike both groaned in protest, sorry to see her go.

“Cassandra?” he pressed.

“It’s just… we can’t wait much longer Jace. You’re already twenty, and I’m eight and ten. We’re both of age and yet your parents continue to refuse to even entertain a betrothal between us, let alone a marriage. My grandfather has sent many proposals and requests to High Tide on the matter and all of them have been rejected outright. Don’t tell her I said this, but my mother is growing upset with it as well. She thinks Aunt Viserra and you are leading us on with false hope.”

At that Jace’s mood soured. “It’s not false hope if I have anything to say about it,” he told her firmly.

“I can’t measure up to Princess Rhaenyra Jace,” Cassandra told him. “She’s the granddaughter of the Prince of Dragonstone, a Targaryen princess, a dragonrider. I can’t give you anything in comparison and we all know that.”

“You make me happy Cassie,” he said firmly. “That’s all that matters to me.”

He regretted his words the moment he said them. They both knew it wasn’t true.

“Don’t lie to me Jace,” Cassandra said, her voice struggling not to break. “You have all these hopes and dreams, these ambitions, your plan to be the greatest ruler your house has ever seen. Am I really someone that you can choose to stand beside you as your wife, even if it means turning your back on your family’s wishes and everything you’ve worked for your entire life?”

He held her tightly to himself instead. “Let’s not tread too much into dark thoughts. My grandfather is only seventy-five and he could still recover from his illness. He could live another decade and if he does we will surely marry. Even if not, the Targaryens are unreliable and unlikely to give my family what we deserve. Not even my parents would be willing to make me wait at that point and if by some chance they are I will fight them for it, for us.”

Cassandra nodded, her eyes were tearing up and it broke Jace’s heart to think he had caused her any pain. He wiped her tears away before he leaned in and kissed her. He had meant for it to be a chaste peck, but like a thirsty man finally given water, Cassandra clung to him tightly, deepening the kiss as she moved closer to him. Their tongues locked and intertwined.

Cassandra tasted savory, like the food they had eaten for lunch, but there was something deeper there as well, something that he had only ever tasted in her, a subtle and sweet flavor. She held onto him desperately, almost like she was afraid he would vanish from her arms if she broke the kiss.

Eventually Jace’s lungs cried for succor and he broke the kiss. He turned to Cassandra in awe. “That was a lot more intense than I was expecting.”

She seemed to have recovered from her despair. “I wanted a proper kiss, and I took it,” she said, smirking.

“Your brothers are right next to us,” Jace pointed out.

“I don’t care,” she said.

Jace’s gaze softened as he looked at her, as their euphoria from the kiss faded, the dark mood seemed to return to Cassandra and he wanted to dispel it. The only way he knew how.

“I love you,” he said softly, but he was sure she heard him.

Her eyes widened and she stared at him in shock. It was an unspoken rule between the two of them that they would never say those words, never truly give voice to the feelings in their hearts, so long as their betrothal was not confirmed. It hurt too much to feel that happiness knowing it could soon be taken away from them.

“I’ll speak to my mother again when I get back today alright?”

She nodded slowly, still speechless from the shock but he knew his words had made her happy. There was a light in her eyes and a soft smile on her lips, one she didn’t even notice was there.

“Have faith Cassie. There is hope left for us still.”

He pulled her back into his arms and they sat there, wrapped in each other’s arms for the rest of the afternoon, and not even Caeryn and Caspian’s prodding and teasing would have them let go of each other.

______________________________________________

The sun had long since set by the time he had returned to High Tide. Jace cursed his foolishness. He had lost track of time, so absorbed in Cassandra. He’d probably missed dinner already.

Leaving Tessarion in the care of the Dragonkeepers in the Dragon Den below the castle, Jace climbed up into the castle proper, making his way to the kitchens to get some supper. The servants of High Tide adored him and would be more than happy to prepare a meal for him, even this late.

He kept an eye out for his mother as he stalked to the kitchens. He had told Cassie that he would speak to her but he would rather do that on a full stomach and not listen to her lecturing and nagging as he was trying to eat. Sadly, his hopes were dashed when he saw his mother had guessed at his plan and was waiting for him in front of the kitchens.

Steeling himself, Jace greeted her. “Good evening Mother.”

“Spent the whole day at Claw Isle did you?” she asked, an eyebrow raised.

“So what if I did?” Jace was becoming defensive. “No Mother, before you ask, I did not dishonour Cassie, or take her maidenhead or any such lurid scenario you have imagined. I do wish I could marry her though, as I’ve asked you many times before. Do you know the Celtigars are getting angry about how much you and Dad are stalling? If we let this go on, we could sour relations with our most trusted ally. Mother, I beseech you- “

“Jace!” his mother raised her voice ever so slightly and he quieted, resentful that she was silencing his plea once again.

“I did not wait for you here to lecture you about Cassandra yet again.”

Jace was confused. “Why are you here then?”

He was beginning to grow worried now. There was something solemn and serious in his mother’s bearing, far more than it would be over Cassandra. He couldn’t read the expression on her face, couldn’t tell what emotion was there, almost as if she didn’t know what to feel herself.

“A raven came from King’s Landing today. We’ve been summoned to court,” his mother said at last.

Jace frowned. “Aren’t we barred from court?”

“We were. Not anymore. The King has come to believe that he will not recover from his illness. He has summoned every member of his family to see him on his deathbed, and whether we like it or not, that includes us.”

Jace was stunned. He closed his eyes shut, desperately trying to think. His grandfather was dying? If he did die, then that meant…

He opened his eyes, resignation in his voice. “When do we leave?”

“A week from now.”

Chapter 41: The Thickness of Blood

Chapter Text

Third Moon, 109 AC

Gael Targaryen

“Well here comes another useless bootlicker,” her husband complained. Gael turned her eyes to the supposed licker of boots in question, Lord Otto Hightower of Highwatch, Governor of the Stepstones.

She smirked at her husband. “You were the one who decided you wanted to attend court today. You could have been drinking with your cronies and captains out in the city instead.”

Daemon returned her smirk. “You would have complained if I did that.”

Gael smiled softly. “And you know it.”

The City Watch’s training had been middling at best and their management and patrols unorganized when Daemon had first taken over as the Commander of the City Watch. In the span of nine years, Daemon had made them into a force to truly be reckoned with. He had whipped them into shape, training and drilling them extensively until they were easily the match if not the better of the City Watch of Lannisport or Spicetown. A proud symbol and example of the order House Targaryen brought to Westeros.

As a reminder of his pride in them, Daemon had given each of the watchmen a standard uniform to be proud of, one of fine make and easily distinguishable from the nameless crowds of King’s Landing. Her husband had issued iron cudgels, dirks, and spears to the rank-and-file and given them black chainmail and boots and gloves to wear. To his officers and the captains of the gates, he had requisitioned black breastplates ornamented with four golden disks to denote their privileged rank and he had gifted each of them with a longsword to wield and had personally trained them in its use. Last but not least was a fine cloak of heavy wool, dyed in gold and worn by every member of the City Watch, including Daemon himself when he was on duty. A proud and noble color that was the truest badge of their authority and position.

The gold cloaks as the people called them, had rid King’s Landing of all its filth and criminals within a year of Daemon taking command. Some called Daemon’s actions brutal in how far he went, but Gael knew full well the extent of the depravity in the darkest parts of the city and had only approval of her husband’s actions.

He was called the Prince of the City now, though his enemies in court dared to mock him as Lord Fleabottom. How Gael hated that insult even as Daemon seemed to embrace it, truly becoming a prince of the people and greatly beloved by them no matter how harsh and strict he was as the commander of their Watch. Out of all of them, Daemon was the one who knew King’s Landing most and the city knew him in turn. He was always on the frontline against criminals or scum, always seen protecting the people, and they loved him for it.

She was proud of what Daemon had accomplished and the dedication in which he served the city and their house but sometimes Gael did worry. What if one day some lowlife got lucky and sank a blade into her husband’s chest? And though she hated to mistrust him so, sometimes she could not help but wonder if Daemon was tempted to stray from her when he was in the city too long, surrounded by all the whor*s and loose women in the Street of Silk. She knew that Daemon went to many taverns in the city with his men to drink with them, and all too often taverns and brothels were one and the same.

Gael shook her head a little. She had to trust in Daemon. He was her childhood friend, her love. Alyssa had often compared them both to herself and Baelon in their youth and she knew for sure that Baelon had never strayed from Alyssa. Daemon loved her, of that she was certain. They had been inseparable in their youth and she liked to think they were still. He certainly enjoyed her… forceful and seductive reminders that he belonged to her and only her.

If all else failed, she could trust in Daemon’s self-preservation. He could be rash and impetuous and quick to anger but even Daemon knew better than to anger her when she had the dragon and he did not. That would not always be the case true but Syrax was her last safeguard nonetheless.

Turning her eyes back to her husband, she could see that he remained very obviously bored with the proceedings of court. Soon enough he complained again. “Our children are lucky they don’t have to attend this monotonous and repetitive drawl.”

“They were smarter than you,” Gael teased her husband.

Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena had all cited very important lessons that they had to attend, and her son Jaehaerys had proven as crafty as his namesake, convincing one of the Kingsguard to give him some special sword training that morning. Gael was quite impressed with how her four children had begged out of attending court. That cleverness would serve all of them well later in life, especially if Baela and Jaehaerys married their cousins Aegon and Rhaenyra as she and Daemon hoped.

They were the natural matches in Gael’s mind. Her eldest daughter was a spitfire of a girl, daring and strong. She would make a fine queen one day once she matured a little and learned how to control her fiery personality more. Who else would Aegon marry? Baela was his cousin, and her blood was as pure as it came.

Jaehaerys and Rhaenyra marrying also made sense in Gael’s mind. Rhaenyra had a dragon and she was next in line to the throne after her brother and as her mother Rhaenys had married Viserys to consolidate their claims and dragons for the stability of the succession, it was only logical that Rhaenyra would follow her parents’ example and marry her cousin. It was a mindset that her father had taught the four of them; Rhaenys, Viserys, Daemon, and herself.

Her son Jaehaerys was a good lad. She had named him for her beloved father in the hopes that he would be like the Conciliator. He was only eight, but sweet and brave and dedicated to becoming as fine a swordsman as his father. Gael was rooting for him. She was sure Daemon would be pleased if he succeeded. Both of them had high hopes for their only son’s future.

“We’re just better parents than Viserys and Rhaenys,” Daemon japed. “Our niece and nephew look completely bored out of their mind.”

As Daemon described, Aegon and Rhaenyra did indeed look very bored standing near their parents on the other side of the room. The constant repetition and monotony of lords and houses being announced and entering court was mind-numbing. Her father had been bedridden and ailing for a year and many lords had rushed to the capital in recent months to pay their respects to the Old King and attend his, believed to be impending, funeral.

“Honestly I don’t see why Uncle Aemon is bothering to greet every lord that arrives like this. They’re just a herd of inconsequential sheep. Or worse, jackals circling our house with greedy eyes now that Grandfather is dying.”

As it so happened, the Mooton and Arryn delegation had been announced as their conversation continued. Gael halted her conversation with her husband temporarily to observe her kin. Her elder sisters, Saera and Daella still looked comely and pretty, befitting their heritage. Of her two goodbrothers Jasper had aged much better in her opinion than the younger, Jonah, though both remained fit and capable lords.

Her niece and nephews were of more interest to her. Gael had last seen them at Aegor and Aemma’s wedding seven years ago and they had changed much since. Aegor and Aemma had grown into adulthood well. The blood of Old Valyria ran true in their veins; with Aemma’s purple-blue eyes and silver-blonde hair and Aegor’s reddish blonde hair and purple eyes. Their brood, Aelor, Aelinor, and Aelyx, looked even more Valyrian than they did with silver-gold hair with not a trace of red and purple eyes without the slightest hint of blue.

Maegon walked beside his brother, his arm interlocked with that of his lady wife. Lady Johanna Swann, also known as the Black Swan, was quite the beauty, especially for a non-Valyrian. Their son Maekar toddled along beside them, looking more like his mother than his father.

“Would you include our kin among the ranks of jackals?” Gael turned back to Daemon, inquiring with a raised eyebrow. Her voice was teasing, with a hint of challenge.

Gael was surprised when she saw how serious Daemon had become all of a sudden. His face was grim and his voice serious without a hint of his earlier petulance or playfulness. “They’re the worst kind,” he answered.

As if to prove Daemon’s words, the doors of the Great Hall swung open and in they walked. Six silver-gold haired strangers, looking like foreign royals in their fine and exotic raiments, descended the steps into the throne room as one, their heads held high and proud even as the stares around them intensified.

A small company of elite guards marched protectively beside their lieges. They wore an ocean-blue plate, trimmed in silver with a silver seahorse embossed upon their breastplates. Their undershirts and cloaks were sea-green. The famed Tide Guard, whom some claimed could rival the Kingsguard of House Targaryen. Gael scoffed at the thought.

“Announcing Lord Corlys Velaryon! Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark, Lord of Stonedance, Warden of the Hook, and Archon of Tyrosh!” The herald appeared to hesitate over the last title, and for good reason.

The courtiers and nobles began to murmur to themselves. Some, allies of the Velaryons, were pleased. Others looked askance at each other that not only had Corlys Velaryon returned to court, but his rule over Tyrosh had been implicitly recognized. Gael turned her gaze to her eldest brother seated on the Iron Throne and narrowed her eyes. What are you playing at Brother?

Even as the court continued to gossip, the herald continued announcing names and titles. “His lady wife, Princess Viserra Targaryen! And their children!”

They had all known of course, that the Velaryons had come to the capital. It was hard to miss a small fleet with the Seahorse banner mooring in port or the five dragons flying into the city that morn, four of which were of colors unfamiliar to the townspeople. Still, it felt surreal nonetheless to see the Velaryons in the flesh after nineteen years of absence from court.

Her sister and her husband had dressed their family in shades of teal, blue, and green, and with fashions unknown to King’s Landing though they looked no less extraordinary and incredible. Gael did not doubt that within a month, many of the courtiers and nobles in the realm would be trying to mimic those styles after seeing the grace that the Velaryons wore them with.

It pained her to even admit it, but Viserra was radiant. She wore an impeccable and beautiful slim fit dresscoat of teal and dark blue. It had a high collar and a very deep and narrow neckline, almost resembling a dagger, accentuating her cleavage subtly with class and modesty. Gold and bronze threads delicately affixed an appliqué panel onto the chest of the dress, running from the high collar down to the abdomen.

She hadn’t seen her sister in almost nineteen years but she seemed to have barely aged a day. Gods, was she truly forty? There was not a wrinkle to be found on her face, nor the slightest imperfection on her flawless pale skin. Not even a trace of the fact that she had given birth three times, for what little fat rested on her figure emphasized only her womanly curves.

Viserra shone like a star. Her lustrous silver-gold hair was braided neatly behind her neck and yet it caught the light and seemed to glow. She wore a Valyrian steel necklace with an amethyst set in it and two stunning Valyrian steel and silver earrings. Her deep purple eyes fixed solely on the Iron Throne and the man seated in it as she walked forward, hand in hand with her husband.

Gael was left feeling insecure as she watched her estranged sister. She looked to her own skin and hair despite herself and realized how short her own beauty measured in comparison. Years ago Viserra had been called a goddess, the most beautiful of all of their mother’s daughters, and she hated to even acknowledge it, but it was true. The years had only made Viserra more beautiful and she had grown into her beauty with incredible grace. She had truly earned her epithet as the Star of the Sea.

Her husband stood beside her. Despite entering a throne room he had not been in for nineteen years, surrounded by piercing stares and glares, Corlys Velaryon carried himself with utter surety.

At fifty and six, he did not look his age either; while he was weathered by his experiences and adventures, Lord Corlys had aged extremely well and was hale, hearty, and youthful. He was handsome, dashing, and resplendent in his demeanor and his grooming. He wore a sapphire-blue doublet, embroidered with golden threads and patterns. His silver hair was combed back neatly behind his ears and reached his shoulders.

Strapped to his left hip was no doubt his Valyrian steel sword, Riptide, clasped with silver and sheathed in a white-gold scabbard. It had an ornate silvered pommel and a blued white grip with silvered seahorses rising from the crossguard.

Behind Lord Corlys and her sister, their children followed. First came the twins, Jacaerys and Lucerys. The last time Gael had seen them, they had been little more than babes. Now they were men grown at twenty years old, easily as tall as their father and near matching her brother Aemon’s height.

She was not sure who was Jace and who was Luke yet, but this was only because she had not seen them for many years. Despite being identical, one could distinguish the brothers with ease. One was dressed in a resplendent azure doublet with a gleaming gold placket and gilded patterns. His hair fell loosely from the crown of his head. The other wore his hair in a neat and meticulously groomed style and was dressed sharply in a blue and stiff-collared shirt with a deep neckline much like the style on his mother’s dress. On both of the brothers’ hips was strapped a sword as ornate as their father’s.

A young girl that could only be her niece, Laena the ‘Lovely’, followed behind the twins. Like her mother, she wore jewelry, an exquisite pair of Valyrian steel earrings with aquamarines on the ends and an encrusted gold necklace with a large blue sapphire set in its center. Her coat was the same shade of teal as Viserra’s, though the neckline was different, with a bronze trim along the sides. It went so low and showed so much, Gael was tempted to call it immodest. For gods’ sake, she swore she could almost see her breasts if she peered hard enough!

The girl was the perfect combination of her parents, and resembled them both greatly. She had not yet fully grown into her beauty but it was clear that she was Viserra’s daughter, drawing near as many looks as her mother did, including from her lovesick and besotted nephew. Gael scoffed seeing him all but fawn over her.

Beside Laena walked the youngest and perhaps the least of the Velaryons. He was young, with a fresh and childlike face, and was shorter than his full grown father and brothers. He was dressed simpler as well, in a deceptively plain dark blue shirt with silver buttons and no patterns save the gold embroidering on his shoulders. Still despite appearing to be lesser than his kin, Daeron Velaryon was still far beyond all the sheep in the room, as her husband called them.

Gael had thought that her other sisters and their husbands had aged well, and the blood of Valyria had run true in their children, but she had been utterly mistaken. Daella and Saera’s families were like a brilliant fire that lit up the night but they nonetheless paled when the morn came with the glory of the rising sun that was the Velaryons.

There was an aura of majesty, of grandeur, almost even of royalty surrounding her sister and her family, and Gael hated it as much as she was awed by it. If she had been a simple and ignorant common woman and was told that the Velaryons were dragonlords from Valyria of old, she would have believed it, so radiant and extraordinary were they.

And it angered her. Royal status belonged to her sister and her sister alone, by the grace of their father’s blood in her veins. It did not extend to her husband or to her children and yet they had dared to conquer a foreign city and make themselves kings in all but name, cloaking themselves in royal splendor and glory. They claimed to not be royal but every other thing about their demeanor and actions made it clear that they thought they were. How arrogant.

Lord Corlys and Viserra walked up before the Iron Throne, and the room was silent. The last time Corlys had returned to court after a long absence was almost like a forgotten dream of her childhood, but Gael remembered him showing absolute deference and obeisance by kneeling. This time however, he did not kneel. Whether that was because Aemon was not yet King, or because he cared not to kneel to a Targaryen again, Gael did not know. She suspected it was the latter. Lord Corlys and his sons bowed, but it seemed almost out of respect than fealty, not nearly low enough in Gael’s opinion. Viserra and her daughter curtseyed instead.

With his head still bowed, Lord Corlys greeted her brother. “Greetings Prince Aemon! House Velaryon hears and obeys the summons of your kingly father and are ever his loyal vassals.”

That was the most blatant lie that Gael had ever heard, but she had to give Lord Corlys credit for audacity. House Velaryon? Loyal vassals to her father? Such a sentiment was laughable to even imagine after nineteen years of open defiance of her father’s commands.

She looked to her brother who rose from the throne and stood in place. “In the name of my father, and as Hand of the King and Regent, I accept your greetings and welcome you to King’s Landing,” he told Lord Corlys before he addressed the whole court. “After nineteen years, the King’s kin, House Velaryon, has returned to court! Are you not overjoyed on behalf of your king?” he demanded.

Immediately there was a furious applause in the throne room, breaking the silence; eager cheers from the Velaryons’ supporters and awkward claps from their rivals. Daemon was right. Jackals and sheep the whole lot of them. Gael refused to join. She was not going to applaud the return of House Velaryon of all families to court, and certainly not to accommodate her brother’s delusional dreams of making everything right.

“House Velaryon is the last arrival. I am pleased to announce that court is adjourned for the day!” Aemon announced again, and the applause was more genuine this time as many bored nobles and princes like Daemon were happy to get away from the tedium and monotony of court.

Gael narrowed her eyes as Aemon embraced Corlys and Viserra in open view of the departing courtiers. Her nephew Aegon had rushed to Laena and Daeron Velaryon, and her mother and other siblings, Baelon and Alyssa, were greeting the twins. Even Rhaenys and Viserys approached to welcome the Velaryons.

To this day, she could not understand. What made Viserra so special? Why did Aemon, Baelon, Alyssa, and her mother love her and her family so much? Why did they favor them so? What did they have that the rest of them didn’t?

Her own mother had walked away from her when she was eleven years old. To protest the treatment of a sister that had become a traitor in all but name, her mother had estranged herself from her father and had tormented him with her absence for years despite claiming to love him even still. And she had abandoned her.

Alysanne wasn’t the one who was there to teach her or raise her. She wasn’t the one who comforted her or held her when she was in need. Her mother was not the person she had loved and turned to for advice on her marriage or her children, it had been her father. Her mother had been nowhere to be found, tucked away on Dragonstone with the daughter and grandchildren she clearly cared for the most.

She had only truly returned to court recently, about a year ago, having realized perhaps what she had done, but it was too little, too late. Alysanne Targaryen was not young; she had spent decades away from the Red Keep and it showed. She had not been able to fly Silverwing for years, and had wept in pain the last time she had. She couldn’t even walk properly, needing a cane after she slipped and broke her hip. Her hearing and memory had both begun to fail. Her mother was not the one in the deathbed but it was clear her days were numbered no less.

And what did she do? Even with her injured hip and cane she all but ran into Viserra’s arms and greeted her and her children eagerly, even embracing the arrogant traitor Corlys. Rubbing it in in front of her very eyes just how much she loved Viserra more than her. Her mother was old and dying but even now, when there was so little time left for her to spend with her, to know her, to learn what she had missed, she still favored Viserra more than her.

Daemon squeezed her hands tightly, almost painfully as he clenched his hands in a similar rage, but it felt almost comforting to Gael to know he felt that rage as well. He led her away from the throne room, and away from the Velaryons. There would be time to introduce themselves to their kin later, but for now, Gael and Daemon felt too much rage to even look at them any more than they had to.

____________________________________________

Later that evening, the whole family gathered in the royal quarters at her father’s bedroom. The room was dominated by the aforementioned bed. It had a large and fine canopy of red velvet and was lined with luxurious white satins and silk sheets. Her father need not want for comfort and looked to be almost swimming in the massive bed, nestled warmly in his red blankets.

He looked so small… so weak. It broke her heart to see him so. The father she knew and loved was fading away. Gone was the tall and strong wise man who shielded her from the cruelties of the world and taught her how to face it. Who had carried her into his arms and raised her up to sit on his shoulders. The ravages of time had claimed his mind, sapped the strength of his body before her eyes.

This past year, even his mind had begun going, and he had begun calling out to friends and family long since passed. In a rare moment of lucidity, he had summoned all the family to see him one last time. Despite all their feuds and disputes, they had all answered. Everyone had come, everyone was here. Even sour Vaegon and motherly but distant Maegelle were present, standing on the right side of the bed on Gael’s left.

To Gael’s right, Daemon and their children stood waiting as well with Jocelyn, Rhaenys, Viserys, Aegon, and Rhaenyra. Opposite them, her mother was seated in a chair beside the head of the bed. Aemon, Baelon, Alyssa, Viserra and her husband and children stood there as well. At the foot of the bed, Saera and Daella and their families had gathered.

Her elderly father struggled to raise himself up from his sleeping position and her mother rushed to help him lean against the headrest of the bed. Gael squashed the spark of anger at the sight. Alysanne had been a terrible wife and mother for eighteen years, all these shows of affection were pretentious. False.

She turned her eyes to her father, pleased to see the sharp and unclouded spark in his eyes, a clear sign that in this moment at least, he was here with them fully. He turned his head, ever so slightly, looking at all of them. His family, his descendants.

“Thank you all for coming to see me in my last moments. I – “, his words were cut off by a great coughing fit. Groaning, he continued. “I know I haven’t always been the best father, or grandfather, to many of you, but I am glad that you have come nonetheless. If only to see me die once and for all, some of you feel, I am sure.”

Reaching out his hand to his left, her father called out. “Viserra.”

Her sister froze, a clear uncertainty in her bearing as she hesitated. Begrudgingly she walked closer to him and took his hand. Her father smiled softly. “No words can ever make up for the pain I have caused you my dear child. I do not seek your forgiveness, nor do I accept it. I wish only to tell you that I know. I know I was wrong, about everything. I should have mended all of this years ago, but I was a proud and stubborn old man. Whether you accept my apology or not, you have it Viserra. I am sorry, truly sorry about all that I did to you and your family.

“You’ve grow into an extraordinary woman, and your titles and accomplishments become you and they befit you. Know that even in the depths of my anger, I never ceased to be proud of you, and everything that you did. I only wish I had not been so blind as to not see the path in which we might have remained at peace with one another.”

Viserra looked lost for words. She seemed reluctant to answer for a few moments. “Thank you, Father,” she said at last.

Gael clenched her fists. Her father, apologizing to Viserra? She thought the day would never come, but it seemed that impending death did much to change one’s mindset.

Looking past Viserra, he addressed her brood. “Step forward children.”

Hesitantly, they did so. “I know most of my other grandchildren very well, but you four I know little of. What are your names?”

The girl answered first. “Laena, Grandfather.”

Her father’s eyes twinkled. “A lovely name. I have heard much of you darling. You will go far indeed.”

Laena’s younger brother introduced himself. “Daeron, Your Grace.”

Her father shook his head. “Please. In this moment I am not your king, but your grandfather. Address me as such.”

“Yes, Grandfather,” Daeron said, bowing his head, almost shyly. Despite his epithet as the ‘Daring’, the boy was clearly quite used to being a follower.

“Raise your head. You are the third son yes? I too know what it is like to be the third son. You have a path in life all the same boy. You just need to find it.”

Daeron nodded.

While her father was kind to Laena and Daeron, it was clear that his attention was not focused on them. His eyes fixed on the twins, the only two of Viserra’s children that he had met before today.

“The last time I saw the both of you, you were babes nestled in your mother’s arms. I held you both shortly after you were born. You were strong babes, and you have grown up into strong and strapping young men. It is my shame as a grandfather that I do not know, but I must ask. Which of you is Jacaerys, and which is Lucerys?”

One of the twins, the one groomed meticulously, answered. “I am Lucerys, Grandfather.”

His twin refused to answer, doing his best to hide his anger, but Gael could see the tension in his shoulders and his fists balling at his side.

Her father noticed it as well. His smile faltered. “You are angry at me, and rightfully so. I wronged you both. I took your inheritance from you and all but exiled your family. You have watched as your parents endured hardships that I caused them. There are no words I can give as apology that would truly suffice.

“I do not ask of your forgiveness Jacaerys, Lucerys. All I ask, is that you give me all your resentment and hatred. Let your grudge die with me, so that this feud may finally end when I am ashes.”

Lucerys nodded, but Jacaerys seemed to scoff at his words, and Gael glared at him. How dare he disrespect her father? Who had humbled himself to apologize to him? It was more than he deserved and still he had no gratitude.

“This goes for all of you as well,” her father said suddenly, turning his gaze from the Velaryons to look over the rest of them. His eyes passed over Daella and Saera and their families before it came to rest on them. The younger generation of House Targaryen. Gael thought that her father was staring right at her, and felt almost like a little girl again with him staring into her very soul.

Shaking his head slightly, her father cast his head up to the ceiling like he was looking up to the heavens and closed his eyes. “Dark have been my dreams of late. Nightmares have tormented me, visions of my tragic childhood blurring into premonitions of uncertain futures.”

He brought his head down and looked at them again. Gael thought that his eyes seemed to dwell on herself and Daemon and her nephew Jacaerys most. “One thing has become clear to me though. This feud between us must end. We are kin, blood, and blood is thicker than water. If our houses do not stand together, this kingdom will crumble from within and destroy itself.

“And that is why I ask you, my children, my grandchildren, put aside your animosities. Do not bicker and make mistakes out of pride as I did. What is paramount is that our family is reunited and made whole. Form friendships among yourselves. Do this, not for my sake, but for your own. Peace is a precious commodity that I fear may run dry if steps are not taken to preserve it.”

Gael did her best not to glare at Viserra and her family. It was because of them that her mother had abandoned her, that her house had been so troubled and challenged these past few years. Now her father was asking her to make peace with them?

She struggled to crush the feelings of betrayal welling up inside her. Ever since her mother abandoned her, her father had raised and cared for her. He had taught her to uphold the prestige and glory of their house, how to be a good and dutiful princess. She loved and adored him; she had named her only son in his honor. She had denied her own daughters dragons because her father had asked her to, because he had taught her to put the needs of the family before her own desires.

Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena had begged her to give them Syrax’s eggs and it had broken Gael’s heart to deny them. They were all jealous of their brother Jaehaerys, who had been given Tyraxes in his cradle while the eggs that should have gone to them had been given to the Dragonpit instead. Her daughters had even named them. Moondancer, Morning, and Stormcloud. Perhaps one day they might be allowed to claim them, Gael hoped so for their sake.

She had done that to her own children, denied them dragons, the dragons that were part of their very souls, because it was her duty to her house. She had made sacrifices for the family that Viserra had never even considered, too selfish and vain to care, and now even her beloved father was choosing to favor Viserra over her? Even going so far as to ask her to forgive and reconcile with her? When Viserra had undermined their house over and over again?

It was too painful to even consider. It flew against everything that she had ever been taught. She was tempted to simply dismiss it as the deranged delusions of a senile old man, that her father would never ask this of her in his right mind, but then a thought occurred to her.

Her father had never outright said reconciliation with the Velaryons should not be done. Only that it had to be on House Targaryen’s terms. She took heart in that; his words need not contradict each other. Yes, there would be peace, just as her father had asked. And it would be on Gael and her house’s terms, just as her father had taught them. Just as it should be.

Suddenly, her father froze. His eyes seemed to focus. “Daenerys??” he called out, stunned.

Gael and her siblings looked to each other in confusion. Was their father mistaking one of them for their deceased sister? Her mother turned to him and reminded him. “Jaehaerys, Daenerys died decades ago.”

“What are you saying Alysanne? She’s right there. Can’t you see her? She looks so young. She has Aemon and Baelon with her as well,” her father said, gesturing to her grandniece and grandnephews. The young Aelinor and her brothers looked utterly confused.

“Father,” Aemon stepped forward. “Baelon and I grew up. Dany… Dany never did. That’s not the three of us Father, that’s your great-grandchildren.”

“Nonsense,” he insisted, seeming to forget even more about where and when he was. “How can I have great-grandchildren when my own children are little more than babes?”

Gael couldn’t bear to watch her father descend into his delusions any longer. If his mind had regressed all the way back to when Aemon and Baelon were near babes in his haze, he probably wouldn’t remember her. It had happened before, and Gael never wanted to see the blank look on her father’s face as he failed to recognize her ever again.

She turned and walked out of the room, with Daemon and her children quick on her heels. Maybe she was thinking too much about her father’s pleas for her to reconcile with the Velaryons. Who was to say those words had truly come from her father and weren’t just the ramblings of senility?

____________________________________________

Daeron Velaryon

“Have you ever been to a more awkward dinner than this?” Aegon asked out loud.

“Whenever our parents sup together?” Daeron suggested, musing Aegon’s question in his mind.

Laena scoffed. “As if. You could take that and multiply it tenfold and it still won’t measure up to this.”

“Laena’s right. Your parents and mine are awkward with each other on the best of days but Aunt Gael and Uncle Daemon are here and they don’t like your parents at all to be honest. Then you throw in the Arryns and Mootons and suddenly everyone has their own grudges and feuds that they are awkwardly pretending to put aside for this one dinner,” Aegon said.

Daeron could not resist the opportunity. “Of course you think Laena’s right Egg, you’re besotted with her. When do you ever disagree with Laena?”

He smirked when Aegon blushed and averted his eyes. His smirk unfortunately was short-lived because Laena rose to Aegon’s defense. Hitting him on his hand, Laena rebuked him. “Don’t tease him, Daeron. Of course he has to agree with me. I’m always right,” she said smugly.

“Sure you are,” Daeron said patronizingly.

She scowled at him but Aegon’s eyes had turned back to the awkward air in the room, with many of the adults in their family struggling to make the slightest of small talk. He shook his head before laughing softly to himself.

“Daeron, if it took Great-Grandfather being on his deathbed to get these folks to even be in the same room with each other; how many more of our relatives will have to follow suit for the remainder to get along you think?” Aegon asked darkly.

Daeron chuckled. “Would there even be any of us left?” he joked.

“You two should not be japing about something like that at a time like this!” Laena lectured the two of them but Daeron could see traces of amusem*nt in her indigo eyes.

It had been like this for almost as long as Daeron could remember. Aegon and he would get up to some mischief or stupid dares and Laena would be there to lecture them about it before she ran after them and ended up forgetting her protests in her competitive desire to outdo them both. The friendship the three of them had had become more layered and complex after Aegon and Laena had unofficially started courting and while a part of Daeron mourned the loss of the simpler times, he was truly happy for his friend and sister.

Aegon had been his best friend ever since he was six years old and Laena, only two years older than them, had completed their little trio. It had started out quite amusingly actually. He had befriended Aegon first and at all of six he had become besotted with his sister and begged him to introduce them. Considering this had happened the very same night Daeron and he had befriended each other, it was likely Aegon was just dramatic.

It had taken years, but Laena had eventually started returning his feelings. Aegon fell first, but Laena fell harder. It amused him at times to see just how much. She tried to hide it out of embarrassment at times, but it was obvious to anyone close to her how much she truly loved Aegon.

“Do you think we might have any luck getting a betrothal for us this time?” Laena leaned closer to Aegon to whisper, though Daeron heard it.

He was close to both of them, but at times he could not help but wonder if he was intruding on their private time with each other. Then again, maybe as Laena’s brother, that was his job, to chaperone them at least until their betrothal was announced. After that his best friend and sister could do as they pleased and he would rather not think about what they would get up to.

“I’m sure you will Laena, don’t worry, but until then, please refrain from public displays like this,” Daeron answered Laena’s question before Aegon could, making the two of them jump apart from each other, precisely his intention. Aegon was staring at him, looking rather betrayed, but Daeron simply shrugged. Aegon might be his closest friend but Laena was his sister, that took precedent.

Still staring at him unimpressed, Aegon continued on the topic, turning to Laena as he spoke. “I’m quite hopeful. It is politically advantageous and would help resolve the tension in the family. Not to mention the two of us are well known to be familiar and likeable to the other.”

“Oh, only likeable?” Daeron teased. Aegon glared at him lightly before continuing.

“My grandfather is supportive of it, and if by some miracle Great-Grandfather recovers, he sounds like he is as well. I don’t think our seating is a coincidence either. The three of us are seated together instead of by the traditional seniority in succession and age.”

“We’re not the only ones,” Daeron said, pointing with his chin to the far side of the table where his older brothers had been seated with their cousins.

“Yes.” Aegon sighed. “Grandfather was hardly subtle there.”

“Luke seems to be taking it in stride,” Laena noticed. Daeron followed her eyes, watching Luke deftly entertain Helaena, Baela and especially Rhaena, though Aunt Gael and Cousin Daemon were glaring daggers at him. Quite the overprotective parents weren’t they?

His eyes moved to his other brother. “Jace on the other hand is producing half the awkwardness in this room entirely by himself. Jaehaerys looks like he’s about to talk his ears off.”

Laena giggled. “He looks so uncomfortable with Rhaenyra fawning over him.”

“Still pining over Cassandra methinks,” Daeron added.

With a bit of a scowl Aegon interjected. “Yes well whatever your brother’s doings with the Celtigar girl, if he and Rhaenyra are betrothed, I expect that my sister will not be dishonored.”

“You have nothing to worry about where that is concerned. Not with Jace,” Laena reassured him.

Daeron agreed. He had always looked up to Jace and Luke, they represented everything that he hoped to be one day. Almost everything at least. “Jace is the best of us. He will do his duty no matter what. Rhaenyra need not fear that he would dishonor her, of that I have no doubt,” he said.

“The thought hasn’t even occurred to her. It worries me a little,” Aegon confessed. “She’s been infatuated with him for years and yet he hardly pays her any mind.”

“Jace is sweet on someone already. Would you give anyone else but my sister that kind of mind?” Daeron challenged him.

Aegon conceded. “Fair point.”

“Besides Egg, I would say it’s a good thing that Jace is not paying Rhaenyra any kind of attention in that way yet. She’s a child,” Laena pointed out.

He frowned. “She’s only eight years younger than he is.”

“She’s twelve,” Daeron said unimpressed.

Aegon shook his head. “Not too young for a betrothal, which is my point. I know your brother too and I believe I can trust that he will keep to his marriage vows. Certainly your mother will have his head if he does not.”

Daeron and Laena chuckled at that. Aegon smiled before continuing. “I just want to make sure that my sister is treated right, even during her betrothal.”

“I can agree with that sentiment,” Daeron said meaningfully, his eyes meeting Aegon’s own pale lilac. His friend nodded, understanding what he was getting at.

Either acting or actually oblivious to their exchange, Laena praised Rhaenyra. “Your sister is quite pretty Egg. Jace would be lucky to have her, and a fool to stray from her, especially once she comes of age.”

Aegon smiled, his face filled with brotherly pride as he looked over to Rhaenyra. “She is the Realm’s Delight indeed,” he said before his smile turned into a mischievous smirk. “Though I would wager that the Pearl of Tyrosh is easily more beautiful than she.”

Laena blushed slightly. “Flatterer.”

“But you like it don’t you?” Aegon teased.

“I do indeed,” Laena said back, suggestively.

Daeron groaned. “Please stop. It’s making me sick to watch,” he said, half japing. Only half though.

Laena and Aegon shared a look and laughed. “Ah little brother. You will understand once you have a girl you’re sweet on as well,” Laena said.

“Has there actually been any progress where that is concerned?” Aegon inquired.

Daeron shrugged. “Not really. Some of the Tarth and Grafton girls are pretty I suppose, but I haven’t really formed a relationship with anyone the way you two have. I suppose I’ll just follow whatever betrothal Mother and Father decide for me.”

In truth, Daeron hadn’t thought much about his future. He was the third son, and he had always just assumed that he would have his parents or Jace and Luke, or even Aegon once he was King, to direct him. Daeron was content to follow those he loved and trusted loyally and serve them well, whether it be as a loyal lieutenant of his brother or as Aegon’s future Hand.

Deep in his heart though, childhood dreams occasionally stirred. As a boy, Daeron had been engrossed in stories of adventuring and exploration. He had taken most to the sea when his father had taught him and his siblings how to sail and he had enjoyed his father’s stories of his famous Nine Voyages greatly. He had even named his beloved dragon, Terrax, for the mount of a famous Valyrian explorer, Jaenara Belaerys. For the longest time he had aspired to follow in her and his father’s footsteps and become a great adventurer.

Daeron was not only daring however, he was also dutiful. He had too many responsibilities and obligations to his family to go voyaging simply to fulfill his childhood fantasies. Even his own father had gone not out of mere wanderlust, but to strengthen their house.

“In any case Egg, what are we doing tomorrow? Care for a bout in the training yard?” Daeron asked, deciding to change the topic. He really did need more practice though if he was to convince his father that he deserved to wield their family’s Valyrian steel spear, Aeglos.

Aegon smiled. “No thank you. I’d rather not get pummeled into the dirt beneath your spear yet again. This is your first time in the Red Keep; I could spend the day showing you two around the castle. Maegor’s Holdfast alone is massive and the godswood is wonderful. Later in the week, we could take a trip down into the city as well.”

“Is that safe?” Laena asked. “I’ve heard rumors of how filth-ridden King’s Landing can be.”

Aegon looked slightly offended. “I’ll have you know that my uncle did an excellent job cleaning up the city. Moving on, both of you brought your dragons right?”

They nodded. “I hate keeping Shrykos in the Dragonpit,” Laena confessed. “It’s so far away and it’s so dark and unpleasant there.”

“I concur,” Daeron said. “I find it so unfair that Mother was allowed to keep Dreamfyre in the Keep. The Den is right below High Tide but the Pit is halfway across the city. It’s so impractical.”

Aegon sighed. “Yes well, the Red Keep only has so much space. Not all of us were so fortunate to have High Tide’s unique location and advantages. Regardless, we haven’t gone riding together in some time. Would you two be interested in that instead?”

Laena nodded. “We could see the Keep at any time. I find myself wishing to beat you both in a race yet again.”

Daeron gasped in mock horror. “The audacity of this woman Egg!” he told his friend.

Aegon only smirked. “I accept your challenge Laena. We could race to Dragonstone and back, the winner gets a favor.”

Laena smiled mischievously. “What kind of favor?”

“Only the best kind.” Aegon’s eyes were alight with mischief and something else Daeron would rather not see.

They were flirting again. Daeron resisted the urge to groan. “You two better not do anything you’re not supposed to.”

“What things would those be?” they asked him innocently and he sighed, making them laugh.

After being rebuked by Cousin Rhaenys for spending all their time talking instead of eating, the three of them rushed to finish dinner. Thankfully the quality and taste of the food was comparable to what was served on Driftmark, though in Daeron’s humble opinion, it still paled compared to the delicacies Tyrosh had to offer.

Aegon wolfed down his food and gulped his wine greedily as quickly as manners allowed him to. He had always greatly enjoyed his food and wine, and they often joked that if Daeron didn’t keep him active in the yard, he would have grown fat by now.

They were about to take their second helpings when the doors to the dining room suddenly opened. Two white-clad knights walked in; their pristine cloaks cascaded off their shoulders like a sheet of snow. Daeron recognized the knights. It was Lord Commander Harrold Westerling of the Kingsguard, if he recalled correctly, and the man to his left was his second, Ser Criston Cole.

His uncle Aemon rose from his seat to greet the knights. “Lord Commander, Ser Criston, welcome. Might I inquire why you have entered without my leave?”

“Forgive our interruption Your Grace,” Ser Harrold said.

Everyone in the room froze. His grandmother gasped loudly. Ignorant smallfolk might have made the mistake of addressing the Prince of Dragonstone as ‘Your Grace’, but the Kingsguard of all people knew that styling was reserved solely for the King and Queen.

Ser Harrold nodded gravely and confirmed their suspicions. “I regret to inform the royal family and their kin, that His Grace, King Jaehaerys, has passed. May his soul rest in peace with the Seven.”

Grandmother sank into her chair in grief, and Aunt Gael immediately rose from her seat and rushed out of the room, his cousins Daemon, Rhaenys, and Viserys were quick on her tail. They were going to confirm the truth for themselves no doubt.

The rest of the family was frozen in shock until his father rose from his seat. “The King is dead!” he proclaimed. “Long live the King!” he declared as he bowed to Uncle Aemon.

Daeron followed suit, and the rest of the family got to their feet as well, all except his distraught grandmother. As one they bowed to Aemon and chorused his father’s words.

“Your Grace, your orders?” the Lord Commander asked.

Uncle Aemon finally snapped out of the momentary daze he had been in. With a solemn expression, he gave his command. “Sound the bells, the people must know that their King is dead.”

Ser Harrold and Ser Criston bowed before turning on their heels and walking crisply from the room to carry out their king’s bidding.

In the next moment, chaos seemed to ensue as the family began chattering loudly among themselves, the shared grief overcoming the earlier awkwardness. Daeron’s own mother soon departed the room with his grandmother and his aunts and uncles. They were going to see his grandfather he guessed.

When he had finally recovered from his shock, Aegon’s first words were, “I guess we’re not going for that race tomorrow.”

Daeron scoffed. “You don’t say.”

Chapter 42: Peace in Our Time

Chapter Text

Sixth Moon, 109 AC

Viserra

Her father had died late in the third moon of 109 AC. It was early in the sixth moon now. Though many had been increasingly coming to court to pay their respects to the ailing king, the true tide of arrivals had begun arriving once his death and the date for his funeral was announced across the realm.

Every lord, great or small in the Crownlands, down to even the smallest landed knight had come. The great houses of the realm had all arrived, those former royals like Lannister, Stark, and Arryn were here, as well as the Lords Paramount, Tyrell and Tully, and Greyjoy, the Lords of the Iron Islands. House Baratheon was represented by her goodsister, Jocelyn, as Lady of Storm’s End and Queen Consort. The Lords Vassal had come as well, Manderly, Royce, Grafton, Tarth, Hightower, Redwyne, and many more.

The realm was inside this building. Every lord with a name worth anything was among those that stood in the pit alongside Viserra and her kin but there was more than just them. The remaining nobles were seated in the lowest benches closest to the pyre, and above them all eighty thousand seats in the Dragonpit were filled to the brim with all the smallfolk of King’s Landing.

No matter how her father had handled his relationship with her and her family, his legacy as the greatest king in Westeros’ history was undeniable. Not even the Conqueror could be said to have done as much as her father had for the realm. Aegon conquered the Seven Kingdoms, but her father had made them one.

As the High Septon finished with the rites, Viserra and her fellow riders ordered their dragons into position. Every dragon House Targaryen and House Velaryon had was in the pit at this very moment. The young Moondancer, Morning, and Stormcloud were locked in their vaults, but the remainder had gathered around the pyre of her father.

Her mother’s Silverwing, Baelon’s Vhagar, Aemon’s Caraxes, Gael’s Syrax, Rhaenys’ Meleys, Aegon’s Sunfyre, Rhaenyra’s Seasmoke, and her father’s namesake, little Jaehaerys’ Tyraxes. Her own Dreamfyre and her children’s Tessarion, Morghul, Shrykos, and Terrax were beside them as well. The Bronze Fury was present as well, now under the command of her nephew Daemon. Despite having been claimed by a new rider, Vermithor still looked solemn and mournful to bid farewell to the rider he had loved and accompanied since his birth.

The only dragon missing was the Black Dread himself. Balerion had died a few months ago, and Viserra felt for Alyssa; losing one’s dragon was a loss that she would not wish on anyone. She could hardly imagine what Alyssa was feeling to have lost her dragon and their father so close to each other. If Viserra was being honest, she didn’t want to imagine it. She didn’t even know what to feel herself.

“Mother,” Aemon said, turning around and calling to her. “It’s time.”

Their mother, the great Alysanne Targaryen, the Good Queen, Queen Dowager now, stalked forward. Her bones were creaking, as she struggled to walk with Aemon and Baelon’s help on her cane. She stared at her father’s body, well preserved with spices and linens on the pyre, for a few moments, and the entire Pit was deathly silent waiting for the old queen to say her last goodbyes.

After what seemed like an eternity, her mother finally withdrew from the pyre and once she had reached a safe distance, she turned around and called out to her dragon. “Dracarys!”

As one, Viserra and the rest of her family bonded to a dragon chorused their matriarch’s command to their own dragons. Their mounts obeyed. The flames ushered out, seeming like every color of the rainbow, red and green, blue and bronze, and many more besides. They swirled and mixed and mingled, and they did not stop until the pyre of her father had been reduced to naught but ash.

Some of her family members were in tears as the fire burned. You would think over two months would be enough time to process one’s grief, but her mother was in tears, and so were Gael and her children. Alyssa and Maegelle’s eyes teared up while her brothers and nephews looked on, grim and stone-faced. Her own husband and children looked entirely apathetic, though she could see Daeron and Laena comforting Aegon and Rhaenyra, who looked aggrieved, though neither were crying. Saera, Daella, and their families all looked solemn.

Viserra… did not know what she felt. Part of her thought that she should feel elated, the tyrant who had started this whole feud and persecuted her family for so many years was dead. Yet at the same time, her father, the man who had raised her, who had apologized to her on his deathbed, who she had loved once, was gone. A tangled and confusing mix of emotions was in Viserra’s heart, as myriad as the flames that consumed her father’s body. If these feelings, this confusion hurt so much, Viserra would rather feel nothing at all.

Once the fire had burnt out, the royals and their kin departed first, as was their right. The Dragonkeepers led the dragons back to their vaults. Daemon was merely a Prince and her mother had grown too old to ride her dragon anymore, and so both Vermithor and Silverwing were kept in the Dragonpit now. As a mating pair, they had been observed to be more comfortable in the same vault, and so they had been given the largest vault, which had once belonged to Balerion. Vhagar, Sunfyre, and Seasmoke were also housed in the Dragonpit, as were her children’s dragons for the duration of their stay in the capital.

Aemon’s Caraxes and Rhaenys’ Meleys on the other hand, would be kept at the Red Keep from now on, and so would Dreamfyre whenever Viserra visited the city. That was the agreement she had with Aemon.

As they walked out of the Dragonpit, Viserra noticed Aemon and Rhaenys taking their spouses onto their dragons for the ride back to the Red Keep and did the same with Corlys. She looked back to check on her children, seeing them getting into the wheelhouses beside the other Targaryens, with a company of Kingsguard and Tide Guard surrounding them.

With her children’s safety seen to, Viserra secured her husband and herself to her dragon’s saddle. “Sōvēs!” she commanded, and at once Dreamfyre obeyed, not even needing to hear the whole word before her wings began to beat.

____________________________________________

The next morning, Viserra walked with her hands intertwined with her husband. Such public displays of affection often raised eyebrows but she cared not. She loved Corlys, and Corlys loved her, and she was proud to show the world just how much. Their son Jace was following behind them, alone of his siblings.

Aemon and Baelon had asked to meet with them to discuss how they could resolve the differences between their houses. Corlys had commented that it was promising that Aemon and Baelon seemed to be in lockstep, it boded well for any agreement they made being kept to. Her brothers were rather ambitious, hoping to finalize the compromise before the coronation. It would quite literally be Aemon’s crowning accomplishment if they succeeded.

The Lord Commander was waiting at the solar when they arrived and he opened the door for them before they could even knock. When Viserra walked in with Corlys however, she was surprised to not see her brothers Aemon or Baelon as they expected but rather her mother. She was seated in the chair that had belonged to her late father, and her back was turned to them as she stared at the tapestries on the wall.

“Mother,” Viserra called out. “What are you doing here?”

Finally turning around, she answered. “Ah Viserra. Forgive me, I asked Aemon and Baelon if they could wait a little longer. I wanted to speak to you, in private. Lord Corlys, Jacaerys, if you would.”

Reluctantly, her husband bowed his head ever so slightly. “As you wish Your Grace. I will wait for the King and the Prince-Hand outside,” he said before departing the room. Jace turned back to look at them before he followed his father out, leaving Viserra alone with her mother.

Shaking her head, Viserra approached her mother, who had risen shakily to her feet and hobbled on her cane, still enthralled by the tapestries on the wall. As she came closer, Viserra observed her mother and realized just how old she had become.

Age was cruel. Her mother’s once flawless skin had wrinkled, her hearing and memory had faded, and after she had slipped and broken her hip a few years ago, she had had to walk with a cane. Ever since her father died, there had been a despair in her mother, that reminded her greatly of the melancholy Alyssa had once had. She did not think her mother would outlive the year.

Turning her eyes from her mother, she saw the tapestry that she was beholding and felt a pang of wistfulness. Her parents were both there at the center, standing proudly in the prime of their lives. Aemon stood to her father’s right as he always had, the perfect heir. Baelon and Alyssa were to her mother’s left, and the rest of them were to the sides and in front. Maegelle and Vaegon were beside Aemon and Daella, Saera, and Viserra herself were in front of their mother and older siblings. Gods, she’d been so young. Only eleven years old when this portrait was made.

“This was made at Daella’s wedding, wasn’t it?” she asked.

“That’s right,” her mother answered. “It was the last time I had all nine of you gathered in one place. I remember your father had to give Vaegon a royal order to make him return for the wedding.”

Viserra shook her head disapprovingly at the memory. “He always was quite a prick.”

Her mother chuckled. “Perhaps, but he is my son. I love him all the same. I love all my children, but sometimes I wonder if I showed that enough…”

A heavy air began to lay over their conversation. Viserra tried to change the topic. “You know, I always thought this portrait was strangely incomplete. I mean, at the time Aemon had already married Jocelyn and had Rhaenys, and Viserys had been born as well, but they’re missing.”

Her mother shook her head. “Your father and I wanted a portrait that was only the two of us and our children. Goodchildren and grandchildren were excluded intentionally, not because they were not family, but because this was a special portrait just for us. You are right though, it is incomplete.”

She walked up to the portrait and placed her hands on the portrait and Viserra gasped slightly in shock. Four empty places had been left in the portrait. It had been very cleverly painted and sewn to hide those gaps unless you looked carefully.

“I don’t think any of you ever realized that there were gaps in the portrait, but they were left there on purpose. I think about them sometimes. If Aegon and Daenerys had lived, would they be a worthy King and Queen? Would they have been good older siblings to all of you? If Gaemon and Valerion had lived, might Saera and you have married them? You could have had dragons from the beginning, never having to leave the family at all, and none of this would have ever happened.”

Viserra allowed herself to dream of world where her four siblings had lived, but try as she might, she found it strange. She could not bring herself to truly imagine her life without her current husband and children. She did not wish to upset her mother though, so she said nothing.

“I hear them calling to me sometimes; Aegon, Daenerys, Gaemon, and Valerion. My lost babes whisper to me in my dreams, asking me to join them. I hear my parents and my older siblings calling out to me, and now your father’s voice has joined them,” her mother said as she walked over to the portrait on the left.

It was a family portrait as well, with her grandparents and their children, including her young mother and father. The aunt and uncles she had never known stood beside her young and seemingly unassuming parents, with much more presence than they had had.

“I am old Viserra. Deep in my heart, I know I will not live much longer. Your father, as difficult as he was at times, he was my life. Now without him, I shan’t live much longer I think. Nor do I truly want to either. I regret that I didn’t return sooner, I wasted so much time I could have had with him because of my pride and now he’s gone,” she said, beginning to break down in silent tears.

Viserra rushed to her mother’s side and helped her back into the chair, kneeling at her feet. Her mother’s blue eyes stared into her own deep purple lovingly. Her mother tilted her head. “My dear Viserra. I called you here for an apology… and also a warning.”

“An apology Mother?” Viserra inquired, wondering what it could be. This talk of a warning gave her pause as well.

“Hearing your father apologize to you, it occurred to me. We might have made amends through our years of letters and visits, but I never truly did apologize to you, did I?”

“Apologize for what Mother?” Viserra asked, confused.

“I realized it years ago, but with us repairing our relationship, I feared reopening old wounds. Those fears don’t matter anymore; I must say it now before I lose the chance forever. Viserra, I am sorry. I was… not the best mother to you. I was unfair to you when you were growing up. Your father and I saw Saera’s shadow in you but you proved us all wrong. You are not Saera, you have long since proven to be her better and it’s our shame we didn’t see that sooner,” her mother said seriously. “I also wish that I was more supportive and understanding when I came to Tyrosh to see you all those years ago.”

“Mother, this was all forgiven years ago!” Viserra protested.

“Was it?” her mother asked with a knowing and sad smile. “Or did you bury your resentment for the sake of your children? It was admirable of you Viserra, but you don’t have to anymore. Please, even if you don’t accept it, at least acknowledge my apology instead of pretending.”

As her mother spoke, Viserra did indeed feel the old wounds reopen, but sometimes you had to let it hurt before you could let it truly heal. She had buried the feelings, never truly resolving them. Rebuilding her relationship with her mother and siblings had been more important. Her house and children had come before her own hurt feelings.

“Thank you, Mother. Even many years late, I… I appreciate it,” Viserra said, and she felt like a weight had lifted off her shoulders.

“You are most welcome my daughter,” her mother said sweetly. “And now my warning. You were not the only child I should have done better by. Beware your sister Gael. The years have made her most resentful of me, and by extension you and your house.”

Viserra nodded slowly. “I noticed that she’s rather hostile to us, but this sounds like it goes even deeper than I thought.”

Her mother nodded sadly. “I was so angry at your father all those years ago, it took me… time before I realized that I had left Gael behind in the Red Keep.”

Viserra was not unaware of this, but it was the first time her mother had outright admitted it to her. She sighed. “Mother…”

“I should have been better, I know. I’ve made many mistakes Viserra, and this is one of them. I should have tried harder. Your father did not wish to let me take Gael and by the time he relented, Gael no longer wished to come with me. She resents me for abandoning her, and she rebuffs my every attempt to reconcile with her. I fear that her resentment of me extends to you as well, perhaps for taking me from her.

“And we must not forget; your father raised her alone and he spent many years teaching Gael and Daemon, and even Rhaenys and Viserys as well. Who knows what he filled their heads with? Ever since you took Tyrosh, your father struggled to keep the family together. Myself and your eldest siblings opposed his will, and in our place he taught those who would listen to him. I’m afraid that Aemon will find it even harder to control the family than your father did.”

Viserra pinched her forehead in frustration. “So what are you telling me then? It’s pointless to hope for reconciliation? For an end to this pointless feud?”

“I’m telling you what your father should have all those years ago, instead of taking you and Corlys by surprise with his announcement on the Stepstones. Temper your expectations Viserra. Restrain your husband’s pride and ambitions. No matter what compromise you come to with Aemon, it may be a promise he cannot keep if Baelon and he cannot rein in the young ones. I’m asking you to be ready for that possibility. I understand that you are expecting much, deserving of much, but you and I both know that if peace is not solidified at whatever cost, tragedy awaits our family.”

At that her mother bid her farewell and was helped out of the room by one of the Kingsguard. Viserra was left to think, alone in her father’s solar. She had allowed herself to believe that reconciliation could be easy once Aemon was king, and now her mother was warning her otherwise?

Before Viserra could process her thoughts, the door opened and her husband and son walked in with her brothers. They were laughing and japing with each other, and she found herself heartened to see that even Jace was as well. He had always seemed a little distant from their Targaryen kin.

“Apologies for our tardiness Viserra. Mother wanted to speak with you first, and then the four of us got rather caught up in an amusing story your husband told us,” Baelon explained with a charming smile that would have made her teenage self swoon.

“It was quite uproarious,” Aemon agreed heartily as he took his seat.

They paused for a while as Aemon sighed in disbelief. “We’ve been discussing what the formal reconciliation between our houses could be for many years now, and now that we’re here at last to finalize the agreement, I find myself a bit in disbelief that we are finally ready to bring peace.”

Viserra watched everyone in the room carefully. Jace’s expression was guarded, Corlys was wary but hopeful, and her brothers seemed to be convinced that they had the perfect compromise and plan all worked out. And yet her mother’s warning ringed in her head. Where was Rhaenys? Corlys and her had brought their heir, where was Aemon’s?

Aemon’s jovial expression became more serious. The smile did not fate, but his eyes focused. “This is what I am prepared to offer, and this is what I expect in return. We can negotiate on the details,” he began.

____________________________________________

Gael

Syrax outpaced Vermithor at times because she was nimbler, but the larger dragon beat his wings with power and strength, often catching up to her with ease. Gael shook her head in resignation and amused dismay as Vermithor overtook Syrax and her and sped onward to the Dragonpit. The Bronze Fury roared his triumph as he landed and Gael saw a victorious smirk on her husband’s face as she landed Syrax beside Vermithor.

“This is unfair,” she protested with a chuckle. “You are far too good at this.”

“What can I say?” Daemon replied co*ckily. “I’m a natural.”

The Dragonpit’s great bronze-iron doors were opened by the Dragonkeepers, and Vermithor and Syrax marched into the Pit with them still mounted atop of them. As they entered into the Pit’s centre, the Dragonkeepers helped them dismount and tended to their dragons, slowly leading them back to their vaults.

She noted the joint enclosure given to Vermithor and Silverwing and shook her head. Her mother hadn’t been able to ride Silverwing in years but the dragon had stayed by her side on Dragonstone or at the Red Keep during that time, as was her right as Queen. However, recent circ*mstances had changed that. Her mother was only Queen Dowager now, and more than that, she was likely to die soon. Viserys had his eyes on Silverwing after her mother passed but he was not the only one.

Gael had helped her husband claim her father’s dragon barely a day after he had passed. Daemon had waited many years to claim a dragon and she did not begrudge his impatience, her father would surely have understood. More important than propriety however, had been the danger. Something had told Daemon and her that they had to secure Vermithor immediately.

When they had gone to claim Vermithor, sure enough, they had found their kin, Aegor and Aemma, lost exploring in the castle, and accidentally stumbling too close to Vermithor’s stables. Daemon had immediately gone to claim Vermithor then while Gael and the guards ensured that Aegor and Aemma did not approach anywhere near the Bronze Fury.

Unfortunately, there was not enough evidence to charge them and her brother Aemon was hesitant to destroy relations with their family’s closest remaining vassals and their own kin without it. Aegor and Aemma had walked free, but there was a tension in the relationship between their houses that had not existed before.

After that, Vermithor and Silverwing had both been moved to the Dragonpit, and the only dragons that would remain at the Red Keep henceforth were Caraxes, Meleys, and Dreamfyre. She disapproved of that last one but it was a minor matter not worth fighting for.

“Our races will become more entertaining once Jaehaerys is old enough to ride Tyraxes to Dragonstone and back with us,” Daemon said as they began to walk out from the Pit.

“Perhaps our daughters might join us as well,” Gael said, noticing Moondancer, Morning, and Stormcloud in their vaults as she always did.

“Perhaps they will.” Daemon’s voice was tinged with hope and pride.

Having ridden their dragons the whole morning, the tired pair took a wheelhouse back to the Keep instead of riding horses. When they arrived back in the Keep, they passed by the training yard on their way to Maegor’s Holdfast and their chambers wherein.

Gael could not help but smile at what she saw. Their son Jaehaerys was in the yard with his cousin Aegon teaching him swordsmanship stances. She felt no small amount of pride and joy at the sight, taking heart in the bond between the cousins. It was only fitting in her mind. Aegon was currently squiring for Daemon and perhaps their son might in turn squire for him one day, strengthening the bonds between their family further.

The boys were not alone. Rhaenyra and their daughters were watching them, and unfortunately the Velaryon brats were present as well. Gael’s smile thinned. Laena Velaryon was with their girls cheering Aegon and Jaehaerys on and her brothers, Lucerys and Daeron, were training against each other and the castle guardsmen nearby. Gael wondered briefly where the eldest Jacaerys was, before she decided that she didn’t actually care.

Daemon scowled at the sight of the sword strapped to the hip of Lucerys Velaryon. He had been ill-tempered and envious ever since he had realized that the swords the Velaryon twins bore were none other than Seafang and Allegiance; famed as the second and third Valyrian steel swords.

It grated on Gael that House Velaryon had acquired so much more Valyrian steel than they the last scions of the Forty Families possessed, but her husband’s bitterness was much more personal. Despite being by far, without equal, the finest warrior in their family, Daemon did not have a Valyrian steel blade. House Targaryen had only two to give anyway to begin with, if one did not count the family dagger that Rhaenys now held.

Blackfyre was the Sword of Kings, and it was her brother Aemon’s right to wield it. One day it would be Viserys’ or Rhaenys’, or mayhaps it would pass over them entirely to be bequeathed on Aegon. Dark Sister however had been held by Baelon ever since their father had granted the blade to him when he had been knighted.

There was a bit of a disagreement in the family on who should have Dark Sister. Aemon and Rhaenys were not subtle in their desire for tradition to be kept and for the blade to pass to Viserys as Baelon’s elder son, but Gael thought that unfair. Viserys was already to be King Consort, either he would wield Blackfyre or his son would as King in his own right. It would be avaricious and unfair for him to have Dark Sister as well.

Some said that Valyrian steel was worth kingdoms. Aemon was given a kingdom and Blackfyre, and so their father had given Baelon an inheritance of his own; Dark Sister, a piece of the family heritage that he could call his own and pass down to his own children. Baelon was a warrior more than worthy of the blade, and so was Daemon. If like Aemon, Viserys was to have a kingdom and Blackfyre, if only by marriage, why not could Daemon be given Dark Sister as Baelon was as an appanage?

It was the least of what they deserved. Rhaenys had happily given Rhaenyra a dragon the day she was born, seeming to not care about the ramifications of her decision. Gael had restrained herself and her husband from giving their daughters their own eggs. Rhaenys was to be Queen one day, she would be Lady of Storm’s End, her son would wield Blackfyre, her children both rode dragons; must she have Dark Sister as well? How was that fair?

Gael was glad to have been able to help Daemon claim Vermithor, at the very least he had that part of their inheritance. She hoped Baelon would give him the other. She would never doubt Baelon and Alyssa’s love for Daemon, but their relationship was difficult at times because of their many numerous disagreements on the Velaryons. It all came back to that damnable house didn’t it?

The Velaryon brats finally noticed their presence. Daemon glared at them and Gael looked in their eyes and knew that they returned it for all they tried to keep it hidden. She felt similarly to Daemon, but she had little desire to cause a scene or ruin her children’s day. Shaking her head, Gael turned and led Daemon away with her hands before he stewed in his anger and jealousy even more. He was a nightmare to deal with when he got into those moods.

___________________________________________

Dinner that night was blissfully free of infuriating Velaryons and opportunistic Arryns and Mootons for once. A rare occasion ever since their kin had all come crawling back at her father’s summon like the jackals they were. No for once, it was only them, only House Targaryen, as it was meant to be.

Aemon was seated at the head of the table, his wife Jocelyn and their mother was to his left, and Baelon and Alyssa to his right. For reasons Gael could not comprehend, she had been seated next to her mother on Jocelyn’s left and Daemon was beside her of course. Rhaenys and Viserys were opposite of them beside Alyssa. The children filled up the remainder of the table to the left.

Begrudgingly, Gael conceded to her mother’s attempts to make small talk with her. As always their conversations were stilted and awkward, but Gael would not make her mother’s mistake. She would give her these moments at least, if only to prove that she was better than her.

Finally, as the servants took the finished dessert plates away at the end of dinner, Aemon hit his glass gently with his spoon, getting all of their attention before he rose to his feet. “Thank you all for supping with me tonight. It is ever so wondrous for me to eat with you all. I see in each of you, the faces of my closest kin. We are House Targaryen, the last of the Forty, the scions of the dragonlords of old!”

At that, Daemon called out. “Fire and Blood!” They all chorused his words with pride, their pride to be Targaryens, the greatest house the Known World had ever seen.

Her brother smiled. “Ever since Father died, I find myself thinking on his last words to us. He asked us to put our grudges and animosities aside, to reconcile and mend our family. A house divided against itself cannot stand.”

He looked at each of them. “Our house does not consist solely of those with the Targaryen name. Our kin may not have our name, but they have our blood, and they are no less of the Dragon then we are. For nineteen long years we have been at odds with House Velaryon, our kin, our oldest and closest allies and vassals. No more I say, in memory of our father, Jaehaerys the Conciliator, let us reconcile with our estranged sister and her family.”

Aemon’s rhetoric was impressive, but Gael still found herself dubious at the idea. Still, reconciliation wouldn’t be all that bad if it was on House Targaryen’s terms at least, and as Aemon said, it would honor their father’s last wishes. She could see begrudging acceptance on Daemon’s face, unreadable neutrality on Jocelyn, Rhaenys, and Viserys’ faces, and excitement on Baelon, Alyssa, Aegon, and Rhaenyra’s. Strangely enough however, her mother looked resigned and defeated, and Gael did not understand why. Was this not what she had wanted for so long?

“Earlier today, Baelon and I had a meeting with the Velaryons to discuss what the details of this reconciliation could be. We have not finalized our agreement yet, but the points that we have already agreed to are making me believe that this really could be it, a compromise that will ensure peace for our families. Peace in our time.”

What? Why had none of them been informed? Gael saw that Jocelyn and Rhaenys looked particularly surprised, though they hid their anger. How could Aemon and Baelon negotiate with the Velaryons without even consulting them first? After they had criticized their father for his handling of the Stepstones matter for so many years, they went and acted alone just like he did?

Hiding her surprise and upset, Rhaenys spoke. “Forgive my interruption Father, but what points are these, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Aemon smiled widely. “I’m glad you asked Rhaenys. It was a long and hard day of negotiations, but I was able to secure certain concessions and agreements. The very first thing discussed was of course the sanctions and other such restrictions both of our houses have placed on the other. They shall naturally be mutually removed at once; family should not seek to hurt each other’s fortune.”

Gael could begrudgingly agree to that. As much as it pained her, even her father had privately admitted that the sanctions had eventually become useless. Smuggling had become rampant and the Velaryons had often simply traded through middle men like Braavos and Pentos or their allies in Westeros. All the sanctions had done at that point had been to preserve their pride at the expense of the people of the realm. It was pointless to keep them any longer.

“Furthermore I am pleased to inform you all that the Velaryons have agreed to swear fealty to the Iron Throne in Tyrosh, placing the Archonate of Tyrosh firmly under our control and ending this uncertainty over the Velaryons’ independent status.”

“And in return?” Gael asked. “Viserra and Corlys will not have given up their hard-won prize for nothing.”

“Corlys will remain as the Archon of Tyrosh and keep his styling as His Excellency instead of being demoted to a lord,” Aemon admitted. “Tyrosh and the Velaryons will have a great deal of autonomy and privileges, including the right to rule their territory as they please with their peerage system and their own laws without our interference, save for certain broader laws such as the ban on the First Night.

“Furthermore, they will have the right to wage war in Essos and Sothoryos, to protect their borders and trade routes from pirates and slavers, without first consulting the Iron Throne, and this would not be considered breaking the King’s Peace. The Iron Throne in turn will not be obligated to defend Velos, Viserria, or those trade routes, House Velaryon will see to their defense on their own but we will receive a portion of their revenues in taxes from House Velaryon.”

“Will we still be receiving taxes from them to begin with?” Gael asked, growing very worried.

“Of course!” Aemon said assuringly. “Though there will be some changes to how they are collected. Velaryons have argued that their autonomy and differing methods of organization mean that the Iron Throne’s tax collectors and customs officers will have difficulty. Henceforth the Iron Throne will not directly collect taxes or tariffs and customs from any part of House Velaryon’s domain, instead the Velaryons will collect all of these incomes on their own, including their taxes from their feudal vassals, and gather them in Tyrosh and Driftmark, from which they will send the Iron Throne its share.”

“Am I to understand that these taxes are at reduced rates?” Gael asked, her fists clenched tightly in her lap as she tried to control her anger. What on earth were Aemon and Baelon thinking?

“That is correct,” Baelon said. “The Velaryons have also agreed to stop minting their coinage in Tyrosh if the Seven Kingdoms’ own currency system is reformed. Certain things like decimalisation and the exchange rates will still have to be discussed further for full reintegration of the Tyroshi and Westerosi currencies and economies.”

“What of the Stepstones? There’s no way the Velaryons did not demand them,” Viserys asked.

“They did,” Aemon confessed. “I have agreed to right our father’s wrong here. It started this feud all those years ago and now we shall end it. Lord Otto shall be dismissed as Governor of the Stepstones and gifted a handsome sum of monies to thank him for his years of loyal service. Henceforth, he and all his fellow Stepstones lords will swear fealty to Tyrosh and Corlys will be named the Lord Paramount of the Stepstones.”

“What of Veil?” Jocelyn demanded, her voice was curt and stern.

Aemon took his wife’s implicit accusation in stride. “The Velaryons asked for Veil as well, as a de jure part of the Stepstones. I denied them as they are getting the rest already. Veil will be officially transferred to the Stormlands to remove the disputes over its jurisdiction. You need not worry there Jocelyn,” he reassured his wife.

Begrudgingly Jocelyn backed down.

A thought occurred to Gael. “What of the tolls and other revenues of the Stepstones?”

Baelon answered smoothly. “As the Stepstones will now be part of the Velaryon domains, its revenues will fall under the previous agreement we have with. All their revenues and taxes will go first to Tyrosh for collecting and accounting and then the Iron Throne’s share will be sent here.”

Aemon continued, “Hightower was already collecting the toll revenues and taxes like this, this is simply a continuation of that. The Velaryons will be entitled to the same powers and privileges the Governor had, only their position is now hereditary as was originally promised long ago.

“Furthermore, I have offered Lord Corlys his old place on the council as Master of Ships to make amends and regain his expertise for our royal fleet. He may choose to take the position himself or nominate one of his relatives to hold it in his stead as his deputy.”

Gael sank into her seat, feeling a numbed shock fill her body. Had her brothers gone mad?

“Any marriages or betrothals Grandfather?” her nephew Aegon asked hopefully. His sister Rhaenyra looked eager beside him.

“Worry not my dear grandchildren; your wishes have been granted,” Aemon said. Gael straightened in her seat, her eyes trained like a hawk.

“We have been discussing the matter for many years, and it should come as no surprise that I have consented to Aegon and Rhaenyra’s marriages to Laena and Jacaerys Velaryon. It has been agreed that Laena’s dowry will be significantly greater than Rhaenyra’s and include a very handsome sum of gold, silver, and other exotic treasures and also trade rights and stakes for the Iron Throne in the Velaryons’ companies and trade routes. Rhaenyra will be married to Jacaerys in return, and she will one day be the Lady of the Tides and Tyrosh. A fair and equal trade binding our houses together; an eldest daughter for an eldest daughter.”

Aegon and Rhaenyra looked pleased, but Gael could only feel her own horror and anger growing as she struggled to keep control of herself. Beside her, Daemon was clenching his own fists so hard they were starting to swell red.

“Gael, Daemon,” her brother said, addressing the two of them. “I also raised the possibility that Baela and Rhaena could marry the younger Velaryon boys. It will keep the blood pure, and since they would be staying within our two houses, we could let them finally claim their dragons.”

“No!” Daemon’s response was visceral and full of rage.

Aemon recoiled slightly, though the poise and guise of a king never left him. “I don’t understand why you’re so hostile. Lucerys and Daeron are the finest possible grooms for your daughters, in every possible way. What complaint could you have?”

“Complaint?” Daemon shouted. “This is my complaint. This disgrace of a deal that you have arranged? It is not peace. It is a humiliation. It’s you bending over backwards for the Velaryons so they can f*ck you in the arse! It’s you showing our belly to the Velaryon snake so they can devour us! Weakness of this like hasn’t even been heard of since Aenys himself!”

“Daemon!” Her brother Baelon rebuked and his voice was full of rage and fire. “You go too far. Remember who it is you are speaking to!”

“Does he?” Daemon demanded. “He’s supposed to be our king! The head of House Targaryen! He’s meant to protect our interests, not theirs! Not the Velaryons who betrayed us and made us laughingstocks in the eyes of the realm!”

“I am protecting our interests! The Velaryons are brought back into the fold, and war is averted!” Aemon shouted back at Daemon. “Do you even understand how extraordinary it is that they have agreed to surrender their independence in Tyrosh entirely?”

“How are you protecting our interests? Rhaenyra marrying the Velaryon brat? Rhaenyra is in line to the throne after her brother! If any tragedy befell Aegon, the Iron Throne our ancestor forged will be usurped by the Velaryons! And even if it did not, how can the Velaryons deserve to have a Queen and a Princess as Lady of the Tides after everything they have done? They spit in the face of our generosity, break our most sacred laws, and prance around like they are kings in all but name! Now you want to reward them for this defiance with the Stepstones, royal marriages, and special privileges? The realm will laugh at us as they laughed at Aenys!

“No, I refuse to accept this. I swore an oath to my grandfather when he asked me to claim his dragon, that I will serve the interests of House Targaryen all my life, and I do not mean to break my oath to him.”

“On what grounds do you deny your king Daemon!?” Alyssa demanded.

“As the rider of Vermithor Mother, as a prince who loves his family and his house. I cannot allow this to stand.”

“You’re insignificant Daemon. You may have your concerns but your arrogance is unacceptable. You, a mere sixth in line to the throne, dare to insult your King and question his decisions so openly? If you were any man but my brother’s son, I would have you hanged where you stood!” Aemon declared, outraged.

Gael made to rise at that; she would not tolerate threats to her husband’s life from her foolish brother. Before she could do anything, her mother suddenly rose to her feet with a fury. “Enough! Cease this meaningless bickering at once. Sit down Aemon! You too Baelon, Alyssa, and especially you Daemon, insolent grandson of mine!”

All of them recoiled at the sudden fury of the family’s matriarch. “My husband is barely put to rest and now all of you are disrespecting his final wishes and memory with your actions! Shame on you all!”

She made to say more but she suddenly collapsed back into her seat, exhausted, Alyssa rushed to her side. Rhaenys rose at last and spoke finally for the first time since she had inquired on the details of Aemon’s foolish agreement with the Velaryons.

“Father, Daemon was out of line, but he raised fair points. I was exceedingly shocked to find out that you had gone behind my back to negotiate without me, and promise my children’s hands in marriage without my consent. I must insist that I am at the next negotiation with the Velaryons. Surely we can find a better compromise?”

“I concur,” Viserys said, rising to his feet as well. Jocelyn followed suit, and Gael and Daemon both declared their intent to be at the next negotiations as well. Frightened and upset by the furious argument, the children were half in tears and scared. The only real support Aemon had left was Baelon, Alyssa, and their mother, and that was even weaker than it seemed. The Black Dread was dead; Alyssa was now dragonless and their mother was dying and unable to support Aemon much longer. Even his own wife and daughter had turned against him.

“Very well then.” The look of defeat and tiredness on his face was almost enough for Gael to forgive him his foolishness and weakness. Almost.

Chapter 43: Peace is a Lie

Chapter Text

Sixth Moon, 109 AC

Rhaenys

“Viserys, what do you think should happen with the Velaryons?” she asked her husband and cousin.

He sighed. “I’ve told you once before that my opinions are yours did I not?”

“And I appreciate your support, but when my own opinions are yet to be fully formed, I need counsel from my husband, unless your opinions are as unbuilt as mine? Be frank with me Viserys, what are your honest thoughts?” Rhaenys said sternly. Viserys’ unconditional support was endearing at other times, but not now.

“On which parts specifically? There is much to consider.”

“Our children’s marriages for one,” Rhaenys said. “Who do you think they should marry?”

He looked at her and hesitated, sighing again before he answered. “Rhaenyra should marry Jaehaerys.”

“You think so?”