Near the base of one of the fourteen flames, Valyria
The Third-person POV
Rhaegon could not believe his eyes. They had witnessed something his mind refused even to consider. A dragon had been brought low by a single man—without Laenor Velaryon so much as lifting a finger or making any great sacrifice to fuel his magic.
What madness was this?
Had the world changed so much in Valyria's absence? Had mages grown stronger in the long years when dragons were few? A thousand thoughts swirled through the head of the Aetharyon clan before he forced himself to halt them.
No. That could not be.
Magic in the world was tied to dragons and the Fourteen Flames. If Valyria had truly fallen into doom, then the magic of the world would have withered with it. Rhaegon was certain of that.
Which meant only one conclusion.
Laenor Velaryon was an anomaly. A dangerous one.
Rhaegon glanced sideways at Maelor Drakonar, who was taking an unmistakable amount of pleasure in the shock on his rival's face. The man had known. Of course he had known. That was why Maelor had done everything in his power to pull the young Velaryon into his faction.
And here Rhaegon had thought the boy to be not more powerful that previous head of the Belaerys clan. That is why Rhaegon even forced Maegor to wear protective trinkets of magic as much as he can.
Rhaegon had even gone so far as to give Maegor—protective rings, enchanted armils from the deepest vaults of the Aetharyon clan. Maegor himself had been wearing every magical protection the Gontaris clan possessed.
And yet it had meant nothing.
The watery blade had sliced through his neck as though those protections were made of air.
Such power.
It seemed Lord Caraxes, the Valyrian God of the Sea, had finally ended his long displeasure with the Velaryons and restored his favor upon them. Rhaegon tried not to dwell on that thought, yet it kept returning no matter how much he attempted to suppress it. What would such power mean if it remained in Maelor's faction?
The implications were troubling.
Rhaegon turned toward Maelor, intending to excuse himself from this place. The battle was over. Maegor was dead, and with his death, the blood contract would become ineffective. There was nothing more to be gained here.
"Lord Maelor, since the battle is over—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
The colossal watery behemoth beside Laenor moved again.
Moments ago, it had stood idle, wearing an expression of bored indifference, but now its watery face sharpened with sudden alertness. In the next heartbeat, it raised its arms and conjured an immense shield of water—positioning itself protectively between Laenor and the surrounding nobles.
Between Laenor… and Maelor and Rhaegon.
Confusion flickered across Rhaegon's face.
Then something even more shocking occurred.
The blue flames of Meleys, the one beside him and Lord Maelor, which had been burning fervently in the ceremonial pit, suddenly came alive. The fire surged upward, its color deepening into brilliant blue streaked with hues of pink. The flames twisted and stretched outward like a living thing.
They moved toward the fallen corpses of Vyraxes and Maegor.
Within moments, the divine fire devoured both dragon and rider.
The heat intensified, though not one dragonlor flinched at the further increase in heat. When the flames finally withdrew, not even a stain of blood remained where the dragon and its rider had lain only moments earlier.
The fire roared in delight.
Rhaegon fell to his knees almost without thinking, bowing his head in reverence. It was unmistakable—Goddess Meleys herself is among them. Around him, others followed suit. Dragonlords, soldiers, servants—all knelt before the divine flame.
Only Laenor Velaryon remained standing with his family.
Even the Targaryens had bowed.
"That was mine by right, you know. I killed both the dragon and the rider."
Laenor Velaryon's calm voice echoed across the clearing.
Rhaegon's eyes widened in horror. Panic surged through him so violently that sweat formed upon his brow—a rare occurrence for the proud lord of Aetharyon.
Did this fool intend to challenge the gods?
Powerful though he might be among mortals, Laenor Velaryon was still mortal. The Valyrian gods were not known for their patience or kindness.
Yet even as panic gripped him, another thought crept into Rhaegon's mind.
What if Goddess Meleys punished the Velaryon for his arrogance?
Would that not be a blessing for House Aetharyon?
As that thought crossed his mind, the flames stirred again.
But instead of turning toward Laenor with wrath, the divine fire drifted toward the bride.
Melisa Zaldri knelt beside her husband. When the flames parted, they revealed a necklace resting in the embers—a piece of pure Valyrian steel adorned with gemstones of pink and golden hue, each gem nearly the size of a newborn's fist.
The young woman bowed her head respectfully before reaching forward to lift the necklace with trembling hands. Tears of joy filled her eyes as she placed the divine gift around her neck.
Her expression changed almost instantly.
Her cheeks flushed red as some realization dawned. She leaned toward her husband and whispered something with an embarrassed smile. Daemion Velaryon himself flushed in response.
Rhaegon watched with thinly veiled frustration.
He would have given a kingdom's worth of gold just to know what power that necklace held.
But Melisa would never reveal it to him.
"I can feel your divine power within it," Laenor Velaryon said calmly. "A most welcome exchange for the bodies that were mine by right. I thank you, Goddess Meleys—Goddess of love and fertility."
He inclined his head in respectful gratitude.
For a moment, the flames flickered as though acknowledging the gesture before slowly dying down, leaving behind only ordinary embers in the firepit.
"Well," Laenor murmured to himself, though many nearby still heard him, "it seems not all of their kind are hostile. Perhaps only those three were outliers."
The words rippled uneasily through the gathered crowd.
Had he met the gods before?
Not one… but three?
Corlys Velaryon sighed quietly beside his family. At this point, nothing his son said truly surprised him anymore. It seemed he had long ago accepted that Laenor was something beyond ordinary understanding.
Still, hearing it spoken so casually was exhausting.
Corlys glanced toward his wife.
Rhaenys Velaryon was staring at Laenor with narrowed eyes, suspicion and calculation clearly working behind them. The gears of her mind were already turning, trying to piece together a puzzle that was laid before her. Corlys wisely left her to her thoughts and turned his attention toward Maelor and Rhaegon, who had resumed exchanging quiet words.
Nearby, Daemion Velaryon shook himself free from his lingering embarrassment and turned to his wife.
"So," he asked with a small grin, "what do you think of my cousin now? Do you still believe he couldn't handle eight dragons if they came at him together?"
Melisa, who had been admiring the fertility necklace bestowed by Goddess Meleys, lifted her gaze from the shimmering gems and looked back at him.
Melisa glanced toward Lord Laenor before replying, "I agree with your view. A divine being living among us," she said softly, a note of reverence creeping into her tone as she looked at Laenor with a new light in her eyes. In Melisa's mind, no mortal—nor any mage or sorcerer of old she had ever heard of—was capable of accomplishing what Lord Laenor had just done.
Vanor and Elaena's eyes, meanwhile, had not left Laenor even for a heartbeat, though their reasons were their own. Yet the thoughts running through their minds were strikingly similar. Both women came from rival clans, raised from childhood to believe that the man they would one day marry must be the most powerful and influential man of Old Valyria—someone whose strength would elevate and add to that of their own house.
Until this day, for Vanor, such a man had never existed. Her father's clan stood equal with the Drakonars, and among the forty dragonlord families, there had been no one clearly greater than the rest. It had seemed impossible that she would ever find a partner stronger than her father and the Aetharyon bloodline.
Yet now, before her very eyes, stood a man who had done the impossible.
A man who was, without question, the most powerful being currently walking the Freehold.
Baelrion Tower, Laenor's POV
Laenor was ready for the council that was hours away, yet his father insisted he dress properly for the event beforehand. The toga he was wearing was of colour black and purple. The fabric was lightweight and breathable, as much as fabric could be, designed so the wearer would not sweat like a pig in the oppressive Valyrian heat. And why Laenor is in Balerion tower, well, because his father had also decided, together with King Viserys and Lord Maelor, that the four of them would make their way to the council together.
So here Laenor sat before one hell of a beautiful woman—Elaena Drakonar—who was hellbent on seducing him, while his father remained in the solar of Lord Maelor learning how to address and conduct himself before the council.
Laenor found that painfully boring, so he had excused himself, only to find himself caught in the clutches of this seductress.
"I might think you want to bed me with how intensely you're staring at me, Lord Laenor~"
Even her voice was tempting and melodious to hear. Lady Tessarion, Goddess of Beauty among the Valyrian gods, had been too generous when she blessed Elaena Drakonar.
"Would you blame me for thinking that?" Laenor replied, too tired to act aloof and dismissive in every attempt she made to get closer to him.
Then there was that strange urge inside him whenever she came too close and touched him. It was not simple lust, as Laenor had first assumed. Sure, he was a healthy male, and lusting after the perfection that was Elaena Drakonar would hardly be a sin in his mind. But Laenor did not think his mind was weak enough to act impulsively every time this woman drew close to him.
It was something else.
And he had no answer for what it was.
"I would not," Elaena replied haughtily. "I would bed myself too if I were in your position."
Laenor's darker thoughts ran rampant at that statement. How ecstatic it would be to accept this woman's advances and hear her mewling beneath him in bed, stripped of that proud and arrogant attitude.
"Do know that I wouldn't put much resistance if you tried, my lord~" Elaena added with a wink and a radiant smile.
Laenor's heart began beating faster again. His gaze traveled from her head to toe, lingering perhaps a heartbeat longer than it should have.
Elaena, mischievous temptress that she has become, suddenly stood and made her way to the couch where Laenor sat. Her hips swayed with a confidence that would have put even the finest models of Laenor's previous world to shame. The smile on her face never faded as she approached.
She sat beside him and leaned fully against him.
Laenor's left hand became trapped between the soft fullness of her pale breasts as she pressed into him, and he could clearly see their shape with how closely she leaned. The faint, intoxicating scent that always made his head spin surrounded him again. It enticed him every single time.
He really should ask her what ingredients she used to make a scent capable of driving him this mad.
But first, there was something else he needed to know.
Taking a deep breath, Laenor used his free hand and slid it beneath Elaena's bent knees, lifting her effortlessly. He placed her squarely in his lap. Both of them ignored the rush of blood surging downward through his body.
Before the little demigod in Laenor's breeches poked against Elaena, who happily squirmed against him as if to entice him further. There was a jubilant look on her face—one that made her seem almost heavenly in Laenor's eyes.
And he was not exaggerating. When she smiled genuinely like that, full of joy and confidence, she truly did resemble a goddess of beauty.
Laenor's hand began roaming across her body almost of its own will. He forgot entirely why he had pulled her into his lap when he saw Elaena watching him with a mixture of anticipation and shyness—an expression one would expect from someone waiting for the other to take control.
Her warm breath brushed against his face and neck, making it even harder for him to focus. His heart pounded violently in his chest, as if trying to escape his body entirely.
Elaena noticed it too.
"Whoa… this is flattering," she said with the same playful smile as she placed her hand against Laenor's chest, directly over his racing heart.
"It's because of you," Laenor admitted quietly. "I don't know why it reacts like that whenever you come close to me… or say something… seducing."
He breathed the last word against her slender pale neck, his lips brushing lightly against her skin.
Elaena's breathing grew heavier as a victorious smile appeared on her face.
"I knew it," she said almost breathlessly.
She nearly shouted in triumph when Laenor's lips brushed her neck again. But he stopped himself before going further and looked at her with confusion and curiosity.
"It works on you too. I knew it," she continued excitedly. "I told my father, but he didn't believe me."
She cupped Laenor's face in both hands, her fingers tracing the line of his cheekbones and the curve of his jaw as she gazed at him almost reverently—much like how Melisa sometimes looked at him after Laenor killed Maegor.
"What you're feeling," Elaena said softly, "is your dragon blood."
She leaned closer as she spoke.
"It's telling you… urging you… to be with me. To make me your partner. Only the purest Drakonars feel this pull for another when the dragon blood in their veins is too strong."
Her thumbs brushed gently across his jaw.
"In simpler and less polite words," she whispered, "the dragon blood in your veins wants me as your mate for life, Laenor Velaryon."
Her face moved closer to his, their breaths mingling.
"The question is… will you accept that or not?" she murmured.
"Bonds like this are rare, even among my clan. Once in a millennium, if I might add."
Her soft body pressed against him as her warm hands held his face with unmistakable possessiveness.
Laenor found himself caught in a dilemma.
Should he accept what Elaena was offering… and reciprocate the pull between them?
Or dismiss her once again—now that he finally had the answers he had been seeking?
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