Dragonstone,
"How does it feel to be a dragonlord again, brother?" Daemon asked Viserys Targaryen.
"As exciting, free, and powerful as when I first claimed Balerion," Viserys replied. He was both happy and a little disappointed that he hadn't attempted this sooner. The emptiness Balerion's death had left behind was finally filled—though Viserys knew he would never forget the Black Dread. Balerion had been both his pride and his family's. And now, so was Vhagar, his father's former dragon.
All in all, Viserys was grateful Daemon had pushed him toward claiming another dragon. It was the growing talk of House Velaryon's rising power that had ultimately convinced him to accept Daemon's suggestion. Viserys knew full well that the smallfolk and lords of the realm were always gossiping about this or that, and any wise ruler would do best not to dwell too much on it—unless there was a kernel of truth.
In this case, there was.
The Velaryons had three dragons, two of which rivaled the greatest and biggest dragon House Targaryen had ever possessed. And Meleys—his mother's dragon, now ridden by his cousin—had seen unprecedented growth in recent years, nearly matching Silverwing, the dragon of the Good Queen herself.
Viserys and Daemon had surmised this growth might be tied to the immense, almost otherworldly dragons Laenor had somehow managed to hatch. Gods only knew how the Sea Snake had come into possession of those eggs. The Shadow Lands, he claimed—but Viserys doubted that. If the Shadow Lands had dragon eggs, Essos would be in chaos. Then again, peace never lasted long in that cursed continent. Only the Valyrian Freehold could hold that continent with the power of the dragons. Now, the merchant princes fight and quabble for littlest bit of fertile land.
"You chose well, brother. In both your dragon, and in taking my advice," Daemon said, clapping Viserys on the shoulder before sliding a piece of parchment toward him.
As Viserys read it, his eyes widened with each line. The growth it described was staggering.
The parchment outlined the Velaryons' magical progress—spell incantations, and what their new spells do, and glimpses Daemon had caught while spying on Driftmark through a glass candle. Daemon had boasted about it last night during supper, pestering Viserys with talk of his findings. But now, reading it in black and white, Viserys had to admit it was more useful than he'd imagined.
Still, something stood out.
"There's no mention of Laenor or his family in this report of yours," Viserys noted, looking up.
"I tried to peer in on their practice too," Daemon admitted. "But Laenor caught me. I don't know how, but he could feel my presence—maybe even identify me. That infuriating smirk on his face the first time I tried was all the proof I needed. He knew exactly who was spying on him."
Daemon leaned back, arms crossed with a smug grin.
"He never let me see inside High Tide. I couldn't glimpse the keep, or how he trains his own little family. But when the other Velaryons practiced beyond the walls, in the woods they now call the Sea Dragon's Wood, I managed to observe how far along they've come in magic. And when those same Velaryons gossiped to their trusted friends outside the keep… I gathered this."
Viserys doubted Laenor was unaware of Daemon's spying. In fact, the boy's silence likely meant one of two things—either he couldn't repel Daemon's attempts certain distance from where he is present and High Tide is the limit, or he simply didn't care. And if it was the latter… then perhaps the boy had grown arrogant, despite Daemon's insistence that he was humble and not a hoarder of knowledge.
"Now is not the time to look smug, Daemon. Don't you see how far the Velaryons have come?" Viserys asked, his tone grave.
It was troubling. And he couldn't turn to his council for advice—not truly. They viewed magic as a corrupting force, and those who wielded it as evil. Loyal subjects, yes. But fools.
The Faith, and the High Septon in particular, grovelled at Viserys' feet almost daily, demanding that the "abomination" Laenor be dealt with—exterminated. Viserys had been sorely tempted to tell them: Go do it yourself. At the very least, the fools could have given him some idea of how far the boy had come.
But it was Laenor's favor to him, his gifts to House Targaryen, and his ties to cousin Rhaenys that quelled those thoughts.
Once Viserys grew tired of hearing Septon, Most Devout, and the Faith dumped them on his Hand, from there it became Lyonel Strong's problem. And the man looked like he had aged decades in just two years.
Lyonel Strong was loyal and just—a good Hand—but if someone had to listen to the Septon's mad ramblings, better it be his loyal Hand than Viserys himself.
"Well, brother, you can safely say I've seen it with my own eyes—or mind, whatever method the glass candle uses to show its user what they wish to see. Unlike you, who have only heard of Laenor's brilliance and power that defies reality, I have seen it. And that much, I did expect. If only his parents hadn't convinced him to be treacherous as well," Daemon lamented. "Anyway, we're making progress. With Rhaenyra being creative, we've crafted some powerful spells. Soon, I'll go to Driftmark to see if I can learn a thing or two about the charms the Velaryons have picked up from Laenor."
"You do that. And try to see what Corlys has in mind. Why has he built so many ships? Have his ambitions reared their head again?" Viserys muttered.
"Corlys may have mighty ambitions, but without his son's backing, he wouldn't act on them. At the Grand Council, he needed Rhaenys and Meleys to support him; now, he needs Laenor. And however powerful Laenor might become, he has no ambition for the Iron Throne," Daemon said with a grunt. "In fact, he doesn't even think much of it. In his own words, 'It is the seat of power with too many loose ends, and I don't fancy myself tying those loose ends.' So you have nothing to worry about, brother. But I'll do as you ask. I, too, would like to know where Laenor intends to sail with that many ships."
Daemon's face grew contemplative. Viserys, sensing his brother had sunk into his own thoughts, let him be and took a sip from the wine cup filled with the finest vintage in the Seven Kingdoms.
His brother was indeed spending the gold earned from selling Valyrian—dragonsteel—weapons wisely, and the wine was damn good. Viserys had been surprised when Daemon said he had his own funds and didn't need gold from the crown. As it turned out, his brother was amassing quite a fortune: from selling dragonsteel weapons to the Essosi, and from tolls and taxes levied at Bloodstone. Viserys figured the Warden of the Narrow Sea must be collecting a handsome sum from the passing ships, judging by Daemon's spending.
A great number of smallfolk and merchants had flocked to Bloodstone from across the Seven Kingdoms in recent years. A city—and a rather large market—had sprung up some miles from the Dragon's Forge of Bloodstone. Even Viserys's Master of Coin was in high spirits from the coin flowing in from the barren islands of the past.
Viserys was pulled from his musings by the door opening—and young Aegon stepping inside. Once the boy spotted him, he walked toward them with short strides, trying to mask his nervousness behind a façade of aloofness. As Aegon approached, Daemon stiffened, and a cold, unapproachable mask settled over his face.
Viserys sighed and shook his head at the sight.
"Kepa, good morrow. I was told you asked for me?" Aegon said.
Viserys could see right through his son's attempt to show off the lessons he had learned in words and courtly manners. Still, he offered Aegon a proud smile and ruffled his hair.
"Aye, Aegon. I wanted to share something with you—and ask your opinion as well. You're five namedays old now. Still too young to begin sword training, but old enough to start your lessons with the maester—reading, writing, history. I'd like you to begin those here, on Dragonstone, our ancestral home."
He paused, watching Aegon closely before continuing.
"And that's not all. If you're willing—and curious—I want you to learn magic too, from your older sister and your nuncle. What say you, Aegon? Would you like that?" Viserys asked, his voice both warm and expectant.
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