Rhaenys's lips tightened, her dark eyes flashing with restrained irritation at Rayder's blunt assessment of her and her daughter. Yet she controlled herself, drawing a deep breath before replying.
"Why do you remain in Westeros?" she asked, her voice low but sharp. "You have power. You have wealth. You even have dragons at your command. Yet you show little interest in the games of lords and kings. You spurn alliances, ignore titles, and reject offers that most men would kill to receive. You are like a wild rogue—untamed, indifferent. So tell me, Rayder, do not insult me with lies. What is it that you truly want?"
Rayder regarded her for a moment, his expression unreadable. His lips curled into the faintest of smiles.
"What I seek," he said, his tone a mix of truth and fabrication, "is magical energy. Can you give me that?"
Rhaenys searched his face, hoping to pierce the mask he wore. But Rayder's eyes revealed nothing. Whether he spoke truth or mockery, she could not tell.
Her thoughts turned swiftly. Magic. Power. Knowledge of the old Valyrian arts. Only one place in Westeros still carried traces of such things.
"You want Dragonstone," she murmured.
Rayder's smile deepened. "And if I do? Can you offer it to me? It is an excellent island, suited perfectly for raising dragons. Its roots run deep with fire."
But Rhaenys gave no answer. She simply dipped her head in the faintest gesture of farewell and turned away. Her crimson cloak swirled behind her as she departed, leaving Rayder alone with his dragons.
---
The Brothers Approach
Not long after Rhaenys disappeared from sight, two familiar figures strode toward the dragon's lair.
Viserys. And his younger brother, Daemon.
Rayder rubbed his temple and sighed. Lively day. First Corlys, then Rhaenys, now these two.
He straightened, his eyes narrowing. "Well then, do you two have something to say?"
Daemon, usually the brash one, remained uncharacteristically silent. He stood slightly behind his elder brother, his eyes fixed on Rayder with the wariness of a guard dog. His hand never strayed far from the hilt of his sword.
Viserys, however, cleared his throat and forced a thin smile. "As members of the blood of Old Valyria, of the dragonlord family, I believe we should not stand opposed to one another. We should cooperate."
Rayder raised a brow, unimpressed. His mood soured further. He had no patience for honeyed words.
"Spare me the politeness," he said flatly. "Say what you mean. What do you want?"
Viserys faltered briefly at Rayder's directness, but he pressed on. "My daughter, Rhaenyra, is near your age. I thought perhaps—"
Rayder cut him off with a sharp gesture, palm raised. His expression darkened with impatience.
"Stop. Don't waste your breath. You want me to marry into your family? Don't dream of it. Take your schemes and leave."
His voice was sharp, his rejection absolute.
Viserys's face flushed, caught between anger and humiliation. "Rayder, listen—"
But Rayder did not give him the chance. Without hesitation, he seized a rope, swung himself up with nimble ease, and climbed onto the back of the black dragon Im. The great beast rumbled, wings flexing as if sensing its master's foul mood.
Viserys stood rooted, watching Rayder's resolute defiance. A hollow ache opened in his chest. He had entertained hope, foolish hope, that Rayder might be bound to House Targaryen by marriage. With such a tie, they would strengthen their bloodline, secure his dragons, and transform a rival into an ally.
But it was nothing more than wishful thinking.
---
Corlys's Urgency
Elsewhere, Corlys Velaryon felt the sands slipping swiftly through his fingers. Time was running out. Every day brought them further from their chance at the throne.
Viserys was consolidating power. The lords of the realm were bending to him. And King Jaehaerys, worn with age, had already begun transferring authority into his hands.
If they did not act soon, all hope would be gone.
Corlys pleaded with Rhaenys, pressing her to see reason, to act decisively. But before their argument could reach resolution, news came like a hammer blow.
Queen Alysanne was dead.
The queen, who had always been their greatest support, had passed from the world.
---
Mourning
The grief of King Jaehaerys was beyond words. For decades, Alysanne had been his partner, his anchor, his counsel. With her gone, the man who had once been called the Conciliator was left hollow.
The realm mourned with him. Bells tolled in every city. Nobles dressed in black. The queen's funeral was a grand affair, as though all of Westeros itself bent to honor her.
And in her passing, the tension within the Targaryen family eased—for the moment.
Without her support, Corlys and Rhaenys saw their fragile hopes crumble.
---
Withdrawal
Rayder did not attend the funeral.
Instead, Erlad quietly returned a dragon egg to him, a symbolic gesture of withdrawal. With that act, Erlad severed ties, making his intent clear: he no longer wished to be entangled in Rayder's affairs.
Rayder stared at the egg, his emotions tangled. He was not suited for these endless games of politics and intrigue. He had come south seeking opportunity, yet every turn left him entangled in webs of ambition and deceit.
"Was it really my recklessness that scared him off?" he muttered. "Am I truly so terrifying?"
He laughed bitterly.
But in Erlad's eyes, Rayder was no misunderstood ally—he was a madman. Illogical, unpredictable, dangerous. Best left alone.
After the funeral, Corlys made his own decision. He resigned his post as Master of Ships and sailed back to Driftmark, leaving King's Landing behind.
The choice shocked the court, but Corlys knew it was the wisest path left to him.
---
Rayder Departs
When Rayder heard the news, he felt only disappointment. No rebellion. No spectacle. No drama to watch unfold.
"It's all become boring," he muttered.
So he made his choice. He would leave King's Landing. He would return to his own territory, to Nymph Town.
Mounting his dragons, he soared into the skies.
For many in the capital, his departure was a relief. His presence had been a storm cloud looming over the city. With him gone, tension eased.
King Jaehaerys, weighed down by grief and age, felt some measure of peace knowing Rayder was no longer in the capital. But he did not let his guard down.
He summoned Viserys, his chosen heir, and with weary eyes he spoke firmly:
"Never allow Rayder to grow too powerful. Never let him gather lords to his side. Especially not in Dorne."
Viserys bowed his head, obedient as ever. He knew his role well. So long as Jaehaerys lived, he would not oppose him. Only by obedience could he secure his claim, and one day, the crown itself.
---
Arrival at Nymph Town
Rayder's dragon wings beat against the blue sky as Nymph Town came into view.
He had expected little—a backwater village, perhaps. But as the city sprawled beneath him, he was surprised.
Nymph Town was not small. Towering stone walls ringed its edges, sturdy and well-constructed. The docks bustled with ships, sails flapping in the wind. Dense clusters of houses sprawled across the land, their reddish-pink stone glimmering beneath the sun.
It was a true city, alive with trade and activity.
But when his dragons descended, the world below erupted in chaos.
People screamed, scattering in panic. Children wailed, clutching at their mothers' skirts. Fishermen abandoned their nets, merchants their wares. The shadow of the great black dragon Im fell across the streets like a doom from legend.
The sight of three dragons descending upon their city was more than spectacle. It was calamity.
Rayder landed in the midst of chaos, dismounting with casual ease, as though oblivious to the terror he inspired.
"Unlucky lot," he muttered under his breath. "Seems every city I enter, disaster follows."
The people of Nymph Town, however, looked upon him with both fear and awe. For dragons were power, and power, in Westeros, was everything.
-
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