Erlad Stark's steps were heavy as he emerged from the tavern, the weight of his decision pressing on his shoulders like armor forged of lead. His heart wavered in a fierce struggle between loyalty and ambition. For weeks, he had contemplated Rayder's words, replaying them in his mind as if they were the tolling of some unyielding bell.
At last, he had made his choice. He would follow Rayder's wishes.
Erlad had long harbored dissatisfaction with King Jaehaerys. The old king's iron grip and constant interference had left many of the great lords uneasy, but Erlad felt it more keenly than most. He had supported Laenor Velaryon as heir to the Iron Throne, a union that might have brought balance and renewed strength to Westeros. Yet that hope had failed, swept aside by the king's will.
With that path closed, Erlad no longer recoiled from the thought of rebellion. If Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys could be convinced to raise their banners, civil war would not seem unthinkable. Indeed, with Jaehaerys still alive, such a war would likely be short-lived—perhaps nothing more than a scattering of bloody skirmishes before the matter was settled.
That night, Erlad resolved to test Corlys's resolve. The Lord of the Tides had built a fleet unmatched in all the Seven Kingdoms. Such strength did not gather without purpose. But power alone was not enough. Would Corlys have the courage to take the final step? That, Erlad needed to know.
---
Feeding Dragons
At dawn, sunlight crept across the land, glinting off scales black as obsidian. Rayder stood before the lair of his three dragons, their massive forms coiled within like slumbering gods. He carried buckets of sheep's meat, the air heavy with the iron tang of blood.
The dragons stirred, nostrils flaring, eyes opening like molten furnaces. Their appetites were monstrous, their roars shaking the stones as they tore into their meal. Bones cracked like twigs in their jaws, blood steaming on the ground.
Rayder watched with a faint smile. It was fortunate, he thought, that during his ventures into the ruins of Valyria he had unearthed chests filled with gold coins—coins stamped with ancient patterns, yet still gleaming bright. Gold was gold, no matter its origin, and with it he had purchased herds of sheep to sate his beasts' endless hunger.
When the dragons had fed, Rayder set to work on the saddle he was crafting for the black dragon, Im. It was custom-made, reinforced with steel and leather, designed to hold him steady even in the chaos of battle. Each buckle and strap he tightened with precision, knowing that his life might one day depend on it.
He had just secured one of the larger straps when the sound of boots on stone drew his gaze. A figure approached—broad-shouldered, silver-bearded, his expression grim. Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake himself.
---
A Proposal
Corlys wasted no time on pleasantries. His voice was firm, direct, and heavy with intent.
"What do you think," Corlys asked, "about marrying my daughter, Laena?"
Rayder blinked, taken aback. He had expected words of alliance, perhaps talk of ships or trade. But this—this was more.
He quickly pieced it together. Erlad must have whispered encouragement, pressing Corlys to act. Dissatisfied with Jaehaerys's meddling, unwilling to see his son Laenor cast aside, Corlys was searching for leverage. Marriage was his answer. Bind Rayder to the Velaryons by blood, and he would gain a dangerous ally.
Rayder's mind raced. Marriage was not his concern; alliances and advantages were. Corlys sought to tie him tightly to their cause, to make him part of their struggle. And truth be told, there was little reason to refuse.
He gave a short nod. "Yes. That works."
Relief washed over Corlys's face, his stern features softening into the faintest of smiles. "Excellent. Then tomorrow you will come to Driftmark and marry my daughter, Laena."
But Rayder froze. His brows rose, and disbelief colored his voice.
"What? You want me to become a live-in son-in-law?"
His tone rose sharply, echoing off the walls. He stared at Corlys as if the man had lost his senses.
---
A Clash of Pride
Rayder seethed inwardly. He was no petty knight, no nameless wanderer to be folded into another man's house. He commanded dragons. He was a lord in his own right. To be asked to enter another family as a son-in-law—it was demeaning beyond measure.
Corlys raised his hands quickly. "Do not misunderstand. It is no shame. If you agree, I can grant you more than any man could dream. A princely title. Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Influence, wealth, power—"
Rayder cut him off with a glare. "No matter what you offer, I will never agree to be a live-in son-in-law." His voice was cold, final. "Absolutely not."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned back to his saddle, fastening the last strap with deliberate care.
Corlys stood rigid, shock flashing across his face, soon replaced by anger. He had extended an olive branch, offered gifts and titles—and been spurned. His jaw clenched, his temper flaring.
"Fool," he muttered, and with a sharp kick sent the unfinished saddle clattering to the ground. Then he turned on his heel and strode away, his cloak snapping behind him.
Rayder watched him go, his expression darkening. His hands balled into fists, and in a burst of rage, he raised both middle fingers at Corlys's retreating back.
"Hmph," he spat under his breath. "I am a man with a system. You think to chain me with marriage? Wishful thinking!"
He bent to lift the saddle with a rope, muttering curses all the while.
---
Rhaenys's Intervention
Before he could finish, another figure appeared—swift, urgent, her face set with tension. Princess Rhaenys, wife of Corlys Velaryon.
Her dark eyes locked onto Rayder's. "What did my husband say to you?" she demanded, her voice sharp.
Rayder straightened, irritation flashing across his features. Still, he answered carelessly. "Oh, him? He wants me to marry your eldest daughter. Laena. That little girl who hasn't even grown yet."
At once, Rhaenys's expression shifted, horror flashing across her face. "You agreed?" she pressed.
Rayder rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Do I look like the sort of man who would agree to such nonsense? Please. Where did you get the idea I'd agree to that absurdity?"
Rhaenys hesitated, then stepped closer. Her tone softened, almost testing. "And… you have no other thoughts?"
Rayder paused, hand still on the saddle strap. Slowly, he turned to face her, his eyes narrowing in amusement. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Are you speaking of you," he asked, "or your daughter?"
Rhaenys did not flinch. She did not blush or avert her gaze. She was a mother, a woman seasoned by life and politics. Confidence radiated from her as she drew herself taller.
"Both," she replied, her voice steady.
Rayder studied her, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You, at least, have more charm than your daughter. After all, she is still in the stage of growth."
---
An Uneasy Tangle
The words lingered in the air, sharp as a blade yet charged with tension. Between them stretched a silence heavy with unspoken meaning.
Rhaenys's expression flickered—pride, defiance, perhaps even curiosity. Rayder's smirk remained, though beneath it his mind churned.
The game of politics was no longer confined to thrones and crowns. Now it wound its way into bloodlines and beds, where power was sought through unions as much as through battles.
Rayder had refused Corlys's offer outright, but the Velaryons were not done with him. And Rhaenys, it seemed, might play her own hand in this dangerous game.
-
Yearly access offer 50 percent and monthly offer 25 percent
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)