The following weeks blurred together on the Dragon as the ship carved its way toward Westeros. I trained with Father and Melisandre every day. Sword forms at dawn until sweat ran down my arms. Telekinesis drills that left my mind aching and my concentration razor-thin. Melisandre teaching me the subtleties of mental shields and telepathy until I could keep her voice in my head for hours without losing focus—or keep her out entirely if I chose.
Sometimes Father would remind me there were no shortcuts, that discipline mattered more than raw strength. Every night, when the ship creaked and the stars hung heavy over black water, I dreamed of Daenerys—pushing herself harder under my mother's training, fighting, stumbling, refusing to quit. Sometimes she would mediate and I would talk to her encouraging her to going and telling her she was doing great. She didn't know it was me though.
After a week at sea, we docked briefly in the Summer Isles—bright sun, endless flowers, and music in the air. We stretched our legs, restocked the Dragon, and by nightfall we were gone again, sails catching the trade winds as we turned toward King's Landing.
When the ship finally slipped into the great port of the capital, the smell hit me first. Salt, fish, and tar… and under it all, the stench of too many people crammed into one city. I stood at the railing, Melisandre behind me, her red robes shifting with the breeze, her attendants and a handful of Drakon blade-guards standing silent as the docks swarmed with life.
My eyes scanned the crowd—merchants, dockhands, gold cloaks, then I saw her and my heart leapt. There, standing by the dock, was a face I hadn't seen in months. Storia.
My mouth stretched into a wide smile I couldn't hold back. Her grin answered mine, sharp and bright. As the Dragon slowed to a stop, I didn't wait for the gangplank. I jumped from the helm. Gasps rang out from crew and dock alike. Storia caught me as if I weighed nothing at all, her arms like steel bands around me.
"My young lord," she said, half-surprised, half-grinning. "So reckless." I threw my arms around her neck in a hug so tight it surprised even her. "I missed you so much!" I said, my voice muffled against her armor. "Don't you ever leave without saying goodbye again!"
For a moment, the world melted away just me, and the woman who'd been more like a mother than my own mother ever had time to be. Her own arms tightened around me, her voice soft against my ear. "I'm sorry for that," she whispered. "I'll never do that again." The moment broke when Father's voice rolled over the dock. Samir walked down the gangplank with the slow confidence of a man who owned every inch of space he stepped on. Melisandre glided behind him, her presence like a flame in the cold air, the other red priestesses and guards trailing them.
"A young noble like yourself, my lord," Melisandre said to me in that smooth, amused voice, "should be mindful of his surroundings." I gave her a look that said I understood her meaning but didn't didn't care.
Then we all looked up standing at the top of the stone steps leading up from the port were three figures surrounded by a ring of gold cloaks. A man in golden armor, easy charm written into every movement. A woman in regal green and gold, beauty sharp enough to cut. A small boy, his little hand clutching the hem of his mother's dress.
Jaime Lannister.
Cersei Lannister.
And Joffrey.
My heart sank and my mind ignited at the same time. The joy I'd felt seeing Storia was replaced instantly with the urge to force choke the three of them until their eyes popped. Even Jaime, though part of me remembered the show, remembered he had some redeeming qualities.
But Cersei? Joffrey? There would be no redemption there. Still… I couldn't deny it—Cersei was even more beautiful than her show counterpart, her features sharper, her presence magnetic. Joffrey was just a boy. Three or four name days old. But his eyes… even now, they were cold and through the force I could feel his emotions they felt almost none existent.
I straightened my posture as Jaime descended the steps first, smiling like the sun as he approached. "Lord Drakon," he said, greeting Father with a knight's bow, "and young Lord Samar. King's Landing is honored."
We moved up the steps to where Cersei waited, her smile soft but her eyes calculating. "Welcome to King's Landing," she said, her voice like honey and venom. She gave the pleasantries of a queen, all politeness and grace. "The crown is glad to have the Drakon in the capital once again."
Her gaze slid past me to the figures behind To Melisandre. " Who," Cersei asked, her tone deceptively light, "is this?" Melisandre stepped forward, bowing her head slightly. "I am Melisandre of Asshai, One of the head Red Priestesses of the Lord of Light, R'hllor" she said, voice like silk. "I am currently attendant to the young lord Samar Drakon as a confidant."
Cersei's eyes lingered on the red robes, the ruby at Melisandre's throat, and the line of priestesses behind her. Her smile didn't waver—but the tone of her words shifted just slightly. "I didn't think the Drakon were followers of any faith. Least of all the Lord of Light." She glanced around at the port, at the gold cloaks watching, at the faintly curious stares of the dockhands. "Be mindful. This kingdom follows the Faith of the Seven. Especially in the south. Some will be… harsh to you. Don't let it give you a bad impression of Westeros."
Her words were smooth, but I felt something slip through her mental guard. A flicker of jealousy and a spike of suspicion.
My eyes drifted to Joffrey. He looked at me cold, distant. He didn't say a word so neither did I. I greeted Cersei with perfect politeness. Because for now… she was still the queen. "Hello my Lady I hope you are well and I thank you for coming personally to greet us." Cersei looked at me with a smile that looked as fake a she was. I asked, lightly, "Where is King Robert?"
I already knew the answer. Drunk or in a whorehouse or both. Cersei's smile tightened just slightly. "He is… attending to important duties. But he will greet you at the Red Keep." Before I could say more, Father stepped forward, his voice calm and charming, his amethyst eyes gleaming.
"As much as we would like to visit the Red Keep, we need to be on the road," Samir said smoothly. "We must reach Winterfell on schedule." Cersei tried to insist. "Just for a night," she pressed. But Father smiled, the charm in his voice wrapping around every word.
"Not this time, my queen," he said, pulling a small box from his cloak. He opened it and handed it to her a gold necklace with a ruby the size of a coin nestled in the center. Cersei's eyes lit faintly as she lifted it, the gem catching the sun.
"…beautiful," she murmured. She smiled again, softer now. "I understand you have a deadline to meet. But at least allow us to guide you to the gate." She gestured, and a gold-trimmed carriage was brought forward, its doors swung open by a pair of gold cloaks.
Father's patience was thin. I could see the perfect smile on his face of kindness to the Lannister's. I could feel it rolling off him in waves irritation, frustration, a slow, simmering edge that only the Force could let me taste. Every polite word to the Lannister's, every empty pleasantry, every nod of courtesy, it all carried that subtle tension.
The Lannisters were circling and Cersei was, all beauty and calculating smiles, her son beside her like a smug little prince. While Jaime, the Kingslayer, easy charm disguising watchful eyes. I knew Father wanted nothing more than to load our supplies and leave the capital, to avoid their coils entirely.
That would leave us blind and the Drakon family never played blind. "My great queen," I spoke suddenly, breaking the pleasant monotony, "I would thank you for your hospitality." Cersei's brow arched faintly, intrigued by my sudden formality. "I would accompany you with my confidant," I continued, glancing back at Melisandre, "while my father ensures the last of our supplies for Winterfell are prepared to move."
Father's eyes narrowed then he stepped close, his hand on my shoulder, pulling me just slightly aside. "What are you doing?" he murmured low, his voice for my ears alone. I met his gaze without flinching. "Making connections," I whispered. "I won't take them seriously. But unfortunately we can't just say no because of their status. We also cannot fight until they give us a reason to show our strength, so we must play the game."
I paused, meeting his hard lilac stare. "But we'll play on our terms." I straightened my small shoulders. "Trust me, Father. As your heir."
For a moment, father just stared at me the he glanced past me to the Lannisters, waiting only a few feet away. Finally he looked back at me, his son, his heir, and his expression softened just slightly. "…Okay," he said. He reached into his cloak and slid me a holstered dagger. I tucked it beneath my own cloak, the weight a quiet promise.
Father turned back to Cersei, voice smooth again. "My son and his attendant will be joining you on your ride." Cersei smiled, all perfect teeth and hidden claws. "Good," she said warmly. "My son and your son shall get to know one another." Jaime gestured sharply, and a few of Melisandre's fellow priestesses and Drakon swords were allowed to follow behind the carriage.
I climbed into the carriage, Melisandre behind me, sitting across from Cersei and Joffrey. The doors shut then the wheels turned as we left the port. Not even five minutes into the ride, Joffrey's voice cut the silence. He looked directly at Melisandre, his young face scrunched in curiosity and suspicion. "Are you a witch?"
"Joffrey!" Cersei's tone snapped like a whip. "That's rude to say to someone." Melisandre only smiled, faintly, that same amused smile she wore even when holding fire. "I am not a witch," she said smoothly. "But some see my abilities, similar to the Drakons', as witchcraft, and blood magic my prince."
Joffrey tilted his head, eyes sharp for a boy his age. "Can you do magic?" Melisandre's smile didn't fade. "I can do a few things but i am mainly know for seeing a person's possible future."
Joffrey's eyes lit with a mix of intrigue and arrogance. "Can you see mine?" Cersei's hand came down gently on his arm, her voice warm but with that nervous edge threading beneath. "That's not needed," she said quickly. "She'll see you become king of the Seven Kingdoms—and lead our family into greatness. A just and powerful ruler."
I thought to myself and couldn't help but smirk. Yeah, right. If anything, he'll be exposed as the inbred bastard of her and Jaime… or a mad little tyrant who thinks cruelty makes him strong. But Joffrey wasn't letting go. "I insist."
Melisandre inclined her head slightly, her voice even. "As you wish… my prince." She opened her palm and a flame bloomed in it. The heat filled the carriage instantly, the light flickering across Cersei's flawless face. All three of us were surprised by the feat. I didn't think she could actually conjure flames at most manipulate them.
Melisandre began to chant softly, her red eyes glowing faintly in the fire's light. "Look," she whispered to Joffrey. "Look into the flame."
He leaned forward, wide-eyed. Cersei, tense but curious, did the same. The flame shifted and flickered and Images formed in the fire. Joffrey saw… himself. Older, perhaps sixteen or seventeen. A goblet in his hand. He drank from it and the he began to choke. His young face twisted in panic as he clawed at his throat.
The flame showed Cersei screaming for help, her hands grabbing at her son as he convulsed, the wine spilling red across the table and then the flame died. Joffrey gasped, pale, shaking his head. "What—what was that?!" Cersei's voice was sharp, her mask cracking for the briefest instant. "A trick. That's all it was. And not a funny one. I did not take the Drakon's to make such jokes about Westeros's prince."
I leaned forward slightly, my voice calm but edged with authority beyond my six name days. "With all due respect, my queen…" My eyes flicked to Melisandre. "I won't allow disrespect to my confidant. You know as well as I do, the people of Essos connected to my family have mystical abilities. We do not trick others. Especially children."
Cersei's eyes cut to me, her lips curling in the faintest smirk. "You must be confident in your family's power… little lord to speak with such a tone to a queen." I held her gaze. "I am, my queen. Just as you are with yours."
Her smirk softened, amusement replacing irritation. "It would be… beneficial," she said slowly, "to be friends with the future king of the Seven Kingdoms. Especially with the Lannister's and the Drakons backing Joffrey…" Her smile sharpened. "…he could surpass the Targaryens."
Joffrey sat back smugly, basking in his mother's praise, as if the title of king were already in his grasp. I inclined my head, the smallest, smoothest smile on my lips. "You've given me much to think about, my lady. I may even suggest to my father and mother about teaching Joffrey and Ser Jaime our ways… and the Flow that some speak of."
Cersei's eyes gleamed then she leaned in, voice silky. "I hear from King Robert about Ser Barristan Selmy. That he was always an amazing swordsman and warrior—but after learning your ways from your grandfather…" She smiled faintly, almost to herself. "His reflexes are unmatched. His strength nearly the equal of King Robert in his prime. His intuition… second to none."
She looked at me, eyes burning with ambition. "Joffrey would be one of the greatest kings the Baratheon's and Lannister's have ever produced… if you can make that happen." I smiled back, polite, unreadable. "I will see what my parents say, my lady."
The carriage slowed to a stop and then the door swung open. There, waiting at the gates, surrounded by horses and snow-specked supply wagons, stood Lord Eddard Stark. His gray eyes scanned the scene, his face as solemn as stone. The Drakon supply line behind him, the northern men at his side. Winter's chill seemed to follow him even here, in the heart of the south. And as I stepped down from the carriage, I felt the air shift again.
As the carriage rolled to a smooth halt just beyond the Red Keep's inner gate, I stepped out and turned, my cloak fluttering slightly in the breeze.
I and Melisandre bide our farewells before. "Farewell, Queen Cersei… Prince Joffrey. Thank you for the talk you have given me much to think on." I offered the gesture with all the decorum I had been taught. Cersei nodded with a smile of cold calculation, and Joffrey merely looked away, face stiff and brooding from the prophecy Melisandre gave.
Lord Eddard Stark approached then, his presence like winter steel, solid, grounded, and his presence felt like a man built for honor and duty. "Your Grace," he said to Cersei with a short bow, "please give His Majesty my regards. I regret our departure is so hasty."
"Of course, Lord Stark," Cersei answered, her tone deceptively smooth. "I'll see that he's informed. Travel safely and give my regards to your family." Jaime gave a half-wave and turned, escorting the carriage back to the Red Keep.
Then Ned Stark turned his eyes to me. His gaze was steady, but not unkind. I felt something shift in him then warmth. "You must be Samar," he said. "And you must be Lord Eddard Stark," I replied with a respectful nod.
His weathered face softened slightly. It's surreal, I thought. The real Ned Stark. Alive, proud, tall as a small tower, shoulders broad from war and duty. A man people write songs about who never cared for songs and to think he had some Force training. Even now, I could feel it—a quiet echo, like a sealed well of still water. Hidden, deep.
Melisandre gave her greeting next. "Lord Stark. I am Lady Melisandre a priestess of the Lord of Light and currently lord Drakon's son attendant." He bowed his head politely, but his body remained tense. "Lady Melisandre." He didn't like her presence, but his respect for diplomacy held firm.
And then— "Samir."
"Eddard." They clasped hands like brothers long parted. "It's good to see you again," Ned said sincerely. "And good to be back," my father returned. "It's time the Drakons reclaimed their place in Westeros." As they caught up, Storia and Melisandre brought our horses. The wagons of Stark and Drakon supplies began to roll northward, heavy with winter goods and steel.
My father and Lord Stark rode ahead. I rode just behind with Melisandre and Storia, the southern sun beginning to dip behind the castle's towering walls. "So," I said to Storia, "how was your… vacation?"
Her smile told me it wasn't much of a vacation. "More of a job, really. Lots of travel. I had to ride down to Dorne." That name Dorne, sent a bolt of alertness through me. "Did you… did you meet with Oberyn Martell?"
Her smirk grew sly. "I did." Everything I knew of that man flooded my thoughts: The Red Viper, they are dangerous, passionate and Deadly. More importantly "Storia…" I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "Is Elia Martell and her children alive? What happened to Gregor Clegane?"
Storia's face turned grim. Before she could answer, my father's voice rang from the front. "Go ahead and tell him, Storia. It's not exactly a state secret anymore."
She nodded. "Yes, my lord." She turned to me with a seriousness I rarely saw in her. "Samar… what do you remember from the Lannister sack of King's Landing?" I recited what she'd taught me over the years—the Mad King's descent into paranoia, Jaime Lannister's betrayal, the brutal sack by Tywin's men, and the deaths of Rhaegar's children at the hands of Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch.
"That's what the world believes," Storia said, "and that's all the public needed to know." She looked away, eyes lost to memory. "But the nobility, the knights who were truly there… the Drakon Blades… we knew more. Because I was there."
My heart beat faster. "You were there?"
"Yes," she said softly. "Jaime Lannister and I worked together to save the children from the Mad King. But when Tywin's army arrived and took the gates and Jaime killed the king, Gregor Clegane came with orders to kill the children anyway." I leaned forward in my saddle. "And you fought him?" She gave a bitter laugh but her face said otherwise. "I wish I had killed him."
"I was still inexperienced then. I used everything I had every skill the Order had taught me. He was stronger, heavier, nearly invincible… but I was faster. I managed to disarm him after a brutal fight. He grabbed me by the throat, tried to crush my windpipe… so I used the Flow."
"I choked him back. It was close. Too close." I sat in awe. She had gone toe-to-toe with the Mountain… and won but just barely. "So why didn't you finish him?" I asked, knowing that's what I would've done. Her face darkened. "Your mother stopped me."
"What?" I blinked. "Why?"
"Before she was your father's wife," Storia said, "she was part of a select group within the Drakon Blades. They didn't just fight—they looked for candidates. People who showed signs of being able to touch the Flow."
A chill settled in me. "You mean…"
"Yes," she said with a grim nod. "Your mother saw… potential in him." I stared in horror. "So… Gregor Clegane has our training and knows our ways?"
"Not all of it," Storia said quickly. "Just enough to control him. Your mother kept him away from Dorne, away from Elia and the children. She used him… as a breeding stud to create future initiates."
"How were the Lannister's, I mean lord Tywin was okay with this?" I asked in disbelief. From the front, my father chuckled. "Son, you will come to learn when your mother wants something… there are only three people who can stop her." He paused shortly before speaking again as if he was thinking hard. "And two of them are dead."
I raised an eyebrow. "What about the third?" He said nothing and Storia just smiled while looking at me. "Alright… but what about Elia and her children?" Storia's face softened. "They're alive and safe. They are hidden and trained as Drakon Blades in Dorne just as a precaution. We made a agreement with king Robert "
"So Samar…" she smiled mischievously. "You may have a potential marriage arrangement with her daughter, Rhaenys."
"WHAT?!" I nearly choked. Melisandre laughed softly behind her hand. "Oh, don't look so shocked," Storia teased. "Word has reached Elia of how you've handled yourself with your new house guests. So a reunion is bound to happen. Your mother has made many alliances for your sake even before you were born."
"Just be mindful, my lord," she added with a smirk. "You're still a boy and if you inherited your mother's tastes, House Drakon might have a very interesting line of succession." I blinked, confused. "What do you mean by that?"
She only laughed. "You'll understand when you're older." From the front, my father and Lord Stark both laughed. "Who knows," Ned said. "He might just develop a taste for Northern women."
"Maybe," my father agreed, "they're the only real women left in Westeros." Even Melisandre chuckled at that. Meanwhile, I sat in the saddle, red-faced and utterly bewildered. Wait… are they saying mother liked… harems?
Oh gods, I hope that's not true.