Blackfyre Tower
"I'm not thinking about what Elaena said, Laena. I already have my hands full," Laenor replied calmly, lifting the scroll in his hand as proof. The parchment was dense with new Valyrian script, edges faintly singed by old enchantments. "With reading all these scrolls, I hardly have the time—or the patience—to brood over her words. So you can relax and take your leave. Go spend some time with Rhaenyra, or with Mother, instead of sitting here and watching me read like I'm about to do something scandalous," Laenor said, inclining his head slightly toward the door in a clear dismissal.
"I'm not going anywhere," Laena replied instantly, folding her arms. "And you are not seriously considering these offers, are you, brother?" Her voice was sweet—far too sweet, if Laenor had to judge—which immediately put him on guard.
"Well," Laenor said with a small snort, rolling the scroll back up before setting it aside, "it would be rude not to consider them when they're offering so much in return for a simple alliance with me. Especially when they didn't even demand a blood contract like the Drakonars did." His lips curled faintly in amusement as he spoke.
The Valyrian dragonlord clans—houses, as Laenor preferred to call them—were practically tripping over themselves to gain his favor. Not all of them, of course, but enough for him to glimpse if the Drakonar lord had been short handed with his family or not. Those who had flown close enough to Balerion Tower had seen enough to understand what he represented, and they wasted no time acting on it.
Offers piled upon offers. Lands and vast wealth, dragon eggs, ingots of dragonsteel, ancient tomes pulled from sealed vaults. Most of them sweetened their proposals by offering their daughters as well—always with the same condition: that any offspring born of Laenor and their daughters would one day marry back into their family, restoring prestige and power to their bloodline. One of the weakest among the Forty, the Maegyr clan, had gone so far as to offer their sole dragonrider daughter as a concubine. Not a wife. A concubine.
The desperation alone spoke volumes.
"If you dare add one more woman to the list of those you're going to marry," Laena warned, fixing him with a deadly serious stare, "even your water-bending powers won't save you from me."
The expression didn't suit her face—not with her silver hair tied loosely and irritation flashing in her eyes—and Laenor, instead of feeling threatened, burst out laughing. He leaned back slightly, shaking his head.
"That sounds remarkably familiar," he said between chuckles. "Rhaenyra said almost the exact same thing a few hours ago. That conversation… did not end well for her."
Laena clicked her tongue in annoyance.
"What about Elaena Drakonar?" Laenor asked casually, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You were looking at her quite frequently yourself. Would you mind if I married her?"
He said it jokingly, but there was truth woven into it. His sister had been watching the Drakonar lady even more than he had. Gods, Laena had even encouraged him to ogle Elaena—something she never tolerated back on Driftmark when Laenor so much as glanced at one of her ladies-in-waiting, or one of Rhaenyra's.
Instead of snapping at him, Laena blushed.
"I was deceived by her beauty," she muttered under her breath, barely audible.
Laenor arched a brow, amusement blooming anew. Interesting, he thought. Does my sister swing both ways?
Before he could voice the question aloud—and likely regret it—a familiar, thunderous roar echoed through the air.
Balerion.
Laena's face immediately soured, her good mood evaporating. She turned back to Laenor sharply. "You would still ally with him? With his house?" she asked, clearly displeased. "Even after he threatened our lives so openly?"
Her tone carried both anger and disbelief, and it was clear she did not like the fact that Laenor was still entertaining any dealings with Maelor and the Drakonar clan as a whole.
Laenor did not answer immediately. Instead, his fingers drummed once against the arm of his chair, eyes thoughtful. Then Laenor smiled and gestured toward the many scrolls spread across the table before him, some neatly rolled, others half-unfurled and weighed down with small obsidian stones. "Not even one of them comes close to what he and his house are offering," he said calmly. "Not to mention that he wields the greatest political power in Valyria, rivaled only by the Aetharyon lord." Laenor leaned back slightly as he spoke. "And I've already asked Father's opinion on the matter. He and Mother have no objections to allying with the Drakonars—provided the terms are generous enough to forget what transpired earlier."
"I have an issue with us allying with him and his clan," Laena shot back petulantly. Her face scrunched up in clear displeasure; the intent was to look unhappy, though to Laenor she looked more adorable than angry.
"Then you should take that issue and present it to our parents quickly," Laenor replied, pointing toward the door with exaggerated urgency. "Make haste, if you want your opinion considered before Lord Maelor stands before us again."
This time, Laena rose to her feet—but instead of heading toward the door, she walked straight toward him and settled herself comfortably onto his lap. Laenor blinked in surprise as his sister adjusted herself as if she belonged there.
"You really think you can get rid of me that easily, hmm, little brother?" Laena asked softly, her tone suddenly sultry. She leaned in close, close enough for Laenor to feel the warmth of her breath against his face.
"Laena," Laenor began, lowering his voice, "Mother and Father will be here any—"
He didn't get to finish.
Laena chose that moment to press her lips to his. Her kiss was impatient and demanding, her tongue immediately seeking entrance. With a quiet, resigned sigh, Laenor gave in. His arms wrapped around her slender waist, pulling her even closer as he returned the kiss with equal intensity. What began as a challenge quickly turned into something heated and breathless.
Laenor wasn't sure how much time passed, or how many times they broke apart just to catch their breath before kissing again. What he did know was that they were eventually caught in a deeply embarrassing position. He was kissing along Laena's neck, his hand roaming over her curves, when a sharp, deliberate cough cut through the haze.
Both of them froze.
Laena hastily scrambled off his lap, smoothing her dress with flushed cheeks and avoiding everyone's gaze. Laenor remained seated, an awkward, sheepish smile plastered on his face as he straightened himself.
His mother watched them with unmistakable mirth shining in her purple eyes, thoroughly amused by what she had witnessed. His father, on the other hand, stood silent—his face unreadable, offering not the slightest hint of what he was thinking.
"Lord Maelor visited," his father said as he moved forward and took the seat Laena had occupied moments earlier. The chair creaked softly under his weight. Laena, meanwhile, shifted and settled beside their mother, folding her hands in her lap, her posture stiff and attentive. "He presented me with a blood contract and, after some brief discussion and pleasantries, left without asking for you."
"That is not surprising," Laenor commented calmly, his tone measured, as if he had already expected this outcome.
"Anyhow," his father continued, resting his forearms on the table, "in terms of offerings, he has already given more than what the others are proposing. But this time, he added further concessions from the Drakonar clan as well. These include wealth, land, and dragonsteel at best—and at worst, several manses within Valyria itself."
Laenor hummed thoughtfully at his father's words. More wealth and land—good, even excellent, by Valyrian standards. Owning land within Valyria was considered a mark of immense prestige, something reserved almost exclusively for dragonlords and families of the Old Blood. Still, Laenor couldn't help but feel a trace of disappointment. He would have preferred if Maelor had added a Drakonar dragon egg to the deal. Alas, it seemed the Drakonar lord was not quite desperate enough for that.
Library access, however, was non-negotiable. That was something Laenor fully intended to discuss before signing anything. On that matter, he would not compromise.
"There is one more thing he offered," his father said slowly, his voice dropping into a careful, deliberate cadence, "should you choose to accept it, my son."
Laenor raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering across his face. What more could he possibly add?
His father met his gaze. "His exact words were: 'The Drakonars—and I especially—would be most grateful if Lord Laenor would accept my daughter, Elaena, as his third wife.'"
Laenor's eyes widened instantly. From the corner of his vision, he saw that his sister Laena's reaction mirrored his own—her posture stiffened, her eyes sharp and alert, clearly as stunned as he was.
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