The morning sun cast long shadows through the corridors of High Tide as Princess Viserra Targaryen made her way toward her son's chambers, the silk slippers barely making a whisper against the polished marble floors. The ancient seat of House Velaryon had become their sanctuary these past three years, a place where dragons could roost without the suspicious eyes of King Viserys watching their every movement. The castle's walls, built from pale stone that gleamed like pearl in the dawn light, had witnessed the rise and fall of sea lords for centuries, but never had they sheltered such ambitions as those brewing within Prince Aurion's mind.
Guards lined the hallways at regular intervals, their black steel armour bearing the bronze dragon sigil that had become synonymous with Aurion's growing power. These were not the gold cloaks of King's Landing, nor the traditional levies of great houses, but professional soldiers who had sworn their swords to the young prince personally. Each man stood at attention as Viserra passed, their hands moving to their sword hilts in practised salutes of deference. The princess acknowledged them with the barest inclination of her head, her violet eyes fixed firmly on her destination. She had risen early this morning with a growing unease that had been building for weeks, watching as ships departed High Tide's harbour under cover of darkness, observing hushed conversations between her son and Lord Corlys that ceased whenever she approached.
The bronze dragon guards grew more numerous as she neared Aurion's private chambers, their presence a testament to the importance her son now placed on security. The final guard, a grizzled man with scars crossing his weathered face, straightened as he recognised the princess approaching. His hand moved to knock upon the heavy oak door, but Viserra raised her hand to stop him, her expression brooking no argument. The man's eyes widened slightly, caught between his orders to announce all visitors and his inability to bar the prince's own mother from entering. His internal struggle was written plainly across his features, but Viserra had no patience for such protocols this morning.
Without further ceremony, she pushed open the door and stepped into her son's private study, her gaze immediately falling upon Prince Aurion Targaryen. He sat behind an ornate desk of carved driftwood, his powerful frame draped in a luxurious velvet doublet that had been left unlaced at the throat, revealing the three-headed dragon pendant that rested against his muscular chest. The rubies set into the dragon's eyes caught the morning light streaming through the tall windows, seeming to burn with an inner fire. His silver-gold hair, inherited from her Valyrian blood, fell in loose waves to his shoulders, framing a face that combined her ethereal beauty with the strong jaw and determined eyes that marked him as a true dragon.
Documents were spread across the desk's surface like battle plans, covered in his precise handwriting and bearing the wax seals of various houses and merchant princes. A quill moved steadily in his right hand as he made notations on what appeared to be supply lists and troop movements, his violet eyes scanning each line with the intensity of a general preparing for war. The sight sent a chill through Viserra's heart, confirming her growing suspicions about the true nature of her son's recent activities.
"What brings you here this fine morning, muña?" Aurion asked without lifting his gaze from the parchment before him, his voice carrying the cultured tones of a prince but with an undercurrent of steel that had not been there in his youth. The casual use of the High Valyrian word for mother was typical of their private conversations, a remnant of the language lessons she had insisted upon during his childhood when the rest of the realm seemed content to let Old Valyrian fade into history.
"You tell me what you are planning, my dear," Viserra replied, switching entirely to High Valyrian as was her habit when she sensed deception or wished to speak of matters too sensitive for common ears. The ancient tongue of their dragonlord ancestors rolled off her lips with practised ease, each syllable carrying the weight of centuries of Targaryen dominion.
The change in her tone and language choice was not lost on Aurion, who finally raised his head from his work to meet her gaze directly. Those violet eyes, so like her own, studied her face with an intelligence that had always been unsettling in its depth. Even as a babe, he had seemed to understand far more than any child should, watching the world around him with an awareness that had both fascinated and frightened her. Now, at twenty, that intelligence had been honed into something formidable, a mind capable of seeing patterns and possibilities that escaped lesser men.
"Please, sit," he said, gesturing toward a cushioned chair positioned across from his desk. The request was made in the tone of a host welcoming a guest, but Viserra recognised the subtle shift in power dynamics. This was no longer the mother summoning her child for explanation, but a negotiation between equals. She raised an eyebrow at this presumption but moved to take the offered seat, her silk gown rustling softly as she settled herself with the practised grace of a princess.
Aurion brought two fingers to his lips and produced a sharp whistle that carried clearly through the heavy door. Within moments, the guard from outside appeared, his scarred face carefully neutral as he awaited orders. "Guard this door well," Aurion commanded in the common tongue, his voice carrying the authority of absolute command. "No one enters without my express permission. No one." The guard's response was immediate and crisp: "As you wish, my prince." The door closed with a solid thud, sealing mother and son in privacy.
Only then did Aurion set aside his quill and lean back in his chair, his movements deliberate and controlled. The gesture reminded Viserra uncomfortably of King Jaehaerys in his later years, when every action was calculated for maximum effect. "Now tell me, mother," he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement, "what has got you so irritated this fine morning?"
Viserra felt her jaw tighten at his casual dismissal of her concerns. "You are sending large numbers of your men to Essos," she began, her accusations delivered in rapid High Valyrian that crackled with maternal authority. "You and Corlys were engaged in hushed conversations with the Sealord of Braavos at your wedding feast, and those conversations ceased whenever others drew near. And immediately after the wedding, you dispatched your friends Williem Royce and Rogar Reyne back to their respective fiefs with what I can only assume were sealed orders."
Aurion studied her face for several long moments, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a weight that seemed to add years to his age. "Yes, mother. I am indeed planning something." He paused, seeming to weigh his words carefully. "I think it is time that I reveal this to you. I have decided to invade and conquer the Stepstones, and declare myself King of the Narrow Sea."
The words hung in the air between them like a blade waiting to fall. Viserra felt the blood drain from her face as the full implications of her son's declaration crashed over her like a tide. For a moment, she could only stare at him, searching his features for some sign that this was merely the idle boasting of youth. But she found only cold determination in those violet eyes, the same look he had worn when claiming Vermithor at King Jaehaerys's funeral.
"Have you lost your wits?" she whispered, her voice barely audible even in the silence of the chamber. Then, as the reality of his words sank in, her voice rose to nearly a shout. "Viserys will take this as a declaration of war! He has Vhagar with him, the oldest and largest dragon in the world. Are you planning to get yourself killed, or worse, to be branded a kinslayer when you are forced to face him in battle?"
Aurion's response was not the heated denial or defensive justification she had expected. Instead, he chuckled softly, a sound that held no humour but rather a grim acknowledgement of the dangers he faced. Rising from his seat with fluid grace, he moved to an ornate wine cabinet that stood against the chamber's far wall. The piece was carved from rare blackwood and inlaid with mother-of-pearl in patterns that reminded Viserra of dragon scales. From within, he withdrew a bottle of Arbor gold, its contents gleaming like liquid sunlight in the morning light.
With practised movements, he poured two generous measures into crystal goblets that bore the seahorse sigil of House Velaryon, then returned to place one before his mother. Viserra looked at the offered wine with undisguised disapproval, her expression making her thoughts on the matter clear.
"Since when have you started drinking like this, Aurion?" she asked, her voice carrying the same tone she had used to scold him for climbing too high in the towers of Dragonstone as a child.
Aurion sighed, a sound heavy with exasperation and something that might have been weariness. "I am a man grown, Mother. I have killed men in battle and defeated knights twice my age in the lists. I am also now a married man, with responsibilities that extend far beyond these walls. Do not chide me as if I were still a little boy running through the corridors of Dragonstone."
"You will always be my little boy," Viserra replied softly, reaching out to stroke his silver-gold hair away from his eyes with a gentleness that belied her earlier anger. The gesture was one she had performed countless times throughout his childhood, a reminder of the bond that had been forged between them in those early years when the rest of the royal family had turned their backs on both mother and child.
Aurion's expression softened at his mother's touch. "Then tell me why you believe this is a sound plan, Aurion. Do not give me excuses or attempt to deflect with pretty words. I want the truth." asked viserra
Aurion took a sip of his wine, savouring the golden liquid for a moment before setting the goblet aside. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of long contemplation and careful analysis. "We have no place in Westeros, mother. Not truly."
"What do you mean?" Viserra asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.
Aurion rose from his chair and moved to stand before the tall windows that looked out over Blackwater Bay. The morning sun painted the waters in shades of gold and silver, while merchant ships moved like toy boats in the distance. His hands clasped behind his back, he presented the image of a general surveying a battlefield, and perhaps that was exactly what he was doing.
"From the moment you supported Rhaenys and Laenor's claim at the Great Council, we lost any favour we might have had with Viserys," he said, his voice carrying across the chamber with perfect clarity. "He made his feelings toward us abundantly clear when he ordered us to vacate Dragonstone the moment he took the crown. We went from being the castellans of the ancient seat of the heir to refugees in our own kingdom."
Viserra winced at the memory. Those had been dark days, watching as servants packed their belongings while Viserys's men moved in to take possession of the castle that had been their home. The humiliation had burned worse than dragonfire, made worse by the knowledge that her son had done nothing to deserve such treatment beyond being born to the wrong parents.
"Even though Daemon is currently in exile," Aurion continued, "I would wager my entire fortune that he will return, and when he does, Viserys will welcome him with open arms. Ultimately, Viserys will never cast aside Daemon permanently, because they were raised as brothers. Viserys was essentially a father figure to Daemon after our sire Baelon became so consumed with his duties as heir that he had no time for his infant son." The spite and indifference in Aurion's voice when he spoke of Baelon were impossible to miss.
Viserra nodded slowly, understanding the logic. Baelon's complete abandonment of her and her son had been one of the great scandals of the reign, though few dared speak of it openly.
"My position in Westeros is temporary and precarious as long as Viserys lives and Daemon remains in his favor," Aurion said, turning from the window to face his mother directly. "I am certain that Viserys only stays his hand because we command five dragons, four of them fully grown adults. Vermithor, Dreamfyre, Silverwing, and Meleys represent a force that even Vhagar's rider should respect. But that protection is fragile, dependent on his continued caution and the absence of other options."
Aurion moved to stand beside a large map of the known world that dominated one wall of his study. The parchment was marked with pins and colored threads that traced trade routes and political boundaries, a visual representation of the chess game being played across two continents. Taking his dagger from his belt, he used its point to indicate specific locations as he continued his explanation.
"This question has been troubling me since we were forced to leave Dragonstone. I have considered various options to ensure our stability and independence, to create a position of strength that does not depend on Viserys's continued tolerance. Then Corlys presented me with the perfect opportunity: the Stepstones and their pirate infestation."
The dagger's point traced the chain of islands that controlled the shipping lanes between Westeros and the Free Cities, a strategic position that had been contested for centuries. "You know how Viserys has ignored the attacks on Velaryon ships, how he dismisses the losses as acceptable costs of trade. His indifference gave me the justification I needed to act independently. And then, as if the gods themselves were conspiring to aid us, Daemon was banished from Westeros, leaving Viserys with only one dragon under his direct command."
Aurion's voice grew more animated as he outlined his strategy, the excitement of a born commander discussing a campaign he had planned in exhaustive detail. "Princess Rhaenyra is still a child with a young dragon that is nowhere near ready for war. With our dragons, Velaryon ships, my mercenary company, and the forces our allies can muster, we can sweep the Stepstones clean of the Triarchy's influence in a matter of moons. Once we control those islands and establish our kingdom, Viserys will be forced to negotiate with us as equals."
The dagger moved to indicate the major Free Cities of Essos, each marked with different colored pins. "In the worst case, he might announce sanctions against House Velaryon and impose trade restrictions on Corlys. But if we properly secure the Stepstones and Tyrosh and defeat Lys, Myr - we will control the primary trade routes between Essos and Westeros. Ships carrying goods from Qarth, Asshai, and all the eastern kingdoms will have to pay our tolls and respect our sovereignty. Eventually, even Viserys will be forced to come to terms with us, because the realm's prosperity depends on eastern trade."
Viserra listened to her son's exposition with growing amazement and no small amount of pride. The boy who had once cried when sparring partners struck him too hard had grown into a man capable of conceiving and planning a campaign that could reshape the political landscape of two continents. Yet with that pride came a mother's fear, the knowledge that ambition and intelligence were not always sufficient to overcome the harsh realities of war and politics.
"You have thought this through completely, haven't you?" she said finally, her voice carrying a mixture of admiration and concern. "When did you begin scheming and planning without informing me?"
Aurion set aside his dagger and moved to embrace his mother, his strong arms encircling her shoulders as he had done countless times throughout his childhood. The gesture was both comfort and reassurance, a reminder of the bond that had sustained them through years of isolation and contempt.
"In this world, you are the only person I trust implicitly, mother," he said, his voice soft with genuine emotion. "Everyone else, no matter how dear they may be to me, all of them come second to you. You are the only person who has stood up for me time and again, who devoted her youth to raising and caring for me when others would have abandoned me to my fate. Some women might have remarried, and I know there were plenty of suitors who desired your hand, but you refused them all because you feared that a new husband might force you to neglect my care. So never doubt your place in my heart or my trust."
Viserra basked in her son's embrace, feeling the familiar warmth that had sustained her through the darkest days of their exile. "You are the first person to know of this plan," Aurion continued. "Rogar, Williem, and Corlys may be beginning to suspect the full scope of my intentions, but I have told no one else until now."
Drawing back from the embrace, Viserra studied her son's face with the practised eye of a mother who had watched him grow from infant to man. "What of our forces?" she asked, her mind already turning to the practical considerations of such an ambitious undertaking. "What is our total strength?"
Aurion returned to his seat and picked up several of the documents from his desk, consulting figures that had clearly been calculated and recalculated numerous times. "Rogar, as heir to Castamere, can muster approximately three thousand men and five hundred knights from House Reyne's lands and their allies. His family's silver and gold will also prove invaluable in purchasing supplies and maintaining our mercenary companies."
He set aside one parchment and took up another, his finger tracing down columns of numbers and unit designations. "From the Vale, Williem has promised at least one thousand men and thousand knights. I specifically requested that he focus on recruiting knights rather than common soldiers, for the Vale is renowned for producing some of the finest heavy cavalry in the Seven Kingdoms. His cousin, Lady Rhea Royce, rules Runestone in her own right, and I suspect she will be eager to contribute additional forces to our cause, if only to spite her absent husband."
Both mother and son chuckled at this observation, knowing well the bitter marriage that existed between Daemon Targaryen and the Bronze Bitch of Runestone. King Jaehaerys had arranged the union as a way to bind the Vale more closely to the crown, but it had produced nothing but mutual resentment and scandalous rumours.
"Rhaenys has agreed to approach Lord Boremund Baratheon personally," Aurion continued, consulting yet another document. "The Baratheons have always been staunch supporters of House Targaryen, and Boremund has been close to Rhaenys since her childhood since He's her uncle. So Boremund is helping us by sending a large number of troops and knights.I expect she will return with at least three thousand men and five hundred knights from the Stormlands."
Aurion set down the parchments and leaned back in his chair, his expression growing more confident as he outlined the full scope of their military preparations. "My own Bronze Company currently numbers three thousand men and three hundred knights. Every single man in this company was vetted and recruited by myself in either Dragonstone or from Driftmark and trained for years under my command and the knights under my command. Bronze company's loyalty is absolute; they'd die on my command. Combined with the Velaryon fleet and their crew, we should field approximately fifteen to sixteen thousand well-trained men, supported by four adult dragons and one of the most experienced naval forces in the known world."
He gestured toward the map again, his voice taking on the cadence of a general briefing his officers. "The Stepstones will be swept clean of pirate filth and reborn from their ashes as the foundation of a new kingdom. The islands will serve as our base of operations, close enough to both Westeros and Essos to influence trade and politics in both regions, yet far enough from either to maintain our independence."
"You have indeed thought this through completely, Aurion," Viserra said, genuine admiration colouring her voice. Despite her earlier fears, she could not deny the thoroughness of her son's planning or the logic behind his reasoning.
"I believe so, mother, but I intend to summon Corlys, Williem, and Rogar for a final council of war. I want their thoughts and insights before we commit to this course of action. Even the most carefully laid plans can benefit from fresh perspectives."
Viserra nodded approvingly at this display of wisdom. "That is a sound decision, my son." Then her expression grew more serious, and she leaned forward in her chair. "However, there is one matter we must discuss before you embark on this campaign. You need to secure your succession by producing an heir."
The reaction was immediate and emphatic. "Absolutely not," Aurion said, his voice carrying a finality that brooked no argument.
Viserra blinked in surprise at the vehemence of his refusal. "Why not? You have been close to Laena since childhood, and you did not appear unhappy during your wedding ceremony. Surely–"
"Laena is only fourteen years old, mother," Aurion interrupted, his voice carrying a note of something that might have been revulsion. "Aye, she is remarkably intelligent for her age, and has proven herself a capable dragonrider with courage to spare. I have known her since we were both children, and I hold her in great affection. But that does not mean I wish to bed a child, as that is what she remains, despite her marriage status."
Viserra stared at her son in bewilderment. In her experience, most young men of noble birth were eager to exercise their marital rights, particularly with a bride as beautiful and well-connected as Laena Velaryon. "But you need an heir before you ride off to war, Aurion. What if something should happen to you? Who would carry on your bloodline and your kingdom?"
Aurion's response was delivered with exasperated patience, as if explaining something obvious to a child. "Mother, Aegon the Conqueror conquered all of Westeros with only three dragons and fewer men than I currently command. For a collection of relatively small islands defended by pirate scum, I am already far better prepared than he was when he landed at the mouth of the Blackwater. There is no urgent need to produce an heir when the risks are so manageable."
He took another sip of his wine before continuing, his voice growing more serious. "Moreover, I have no desire to see Laena suffer the same fate as Queen Aemma, forced to bear children before her body is truly ready for such trials. Setting aside all other considerations, I simply cannot bring myself to lie with someone so young. It feels fundamentally wrong, regardless of what law and custom might dictate."
Viserra studied her son's face with growing puzzlement. "You behave strangely at times, my dear boy. You insisted on marrying her as quickly as possible, yet you recoil at the thought of consummating that marriage. You do understand that producing heirs is a necessary part of your ambitions to establish a kingdom and declare yourself a king?"
Aurion set down his goblet and met his mother's gaze directly. "I understand the necessity, mother. It is simply a matter of timing. I do not love Laena in the passionate sense, though I like her greatly and believe she is the ideal candidate to be my queen. She possesses a sharp mind, courage worthy of a dragonrider, and the political connections that our alliance requires. A man like Corlys Velaryon will always seek the best possible matches for his children, and if I had delayed much longer, he might have begun considering magisters' sons from the Free Cities or other advantageous foreign matches."
The explanation was delivered with the cool logic of a political calculation, yet Viserra detected something deeper beneath her son's words. "When Rhaenys approached me about the marriage, I accepted readily because it secured our alliance with House Velaryon permanently. I will ensure that Laena is happy and well-cared for always, so my motives are not purely selfish. But I need time for her to mature, both physically and emotionally, before we begin the business of producing heirs."
Before Viserra could respond to this revelation, a knock sounded at the chamber door. At Aurion's command, the guard opened it to admit Princess Rhaenys, her silver hair shining like spun moonlight in the morning sun. She surveyed the scene with knowing eyes, taking in the wine goblets and the scattered documents with the understanding of someone well-versed in the ways of power and politics.
"What conspiracy are you two plotting this morning?" she asked with a wry smile, though her tone suggested she already suspected the answer. "Come, you are both invited to break your fast with the family. Laena has been asking after her new husband, and Corlys wishes to discuss some maritime matters with Aurion."
Aurion began gathering his documents with practised efficiency, securing the more sensitive papers in a locked drawer while leaving more mundane correspondence visible on the desk's surface. As he reached for a silk robe to cover his unlaced doublet, Viserra found herself studying her son with new eyes. Here was a young man who possessed the intelligence to conceive grand strategies, the charisma to inspire loyalty in seasoned warriors, and the moral compass to refuse what many would consider his marital rights out of concern for a child bride's welfare.
As they prepared to leave the chamber, Viserra's thoughts turned to the future her son was planning to forge. Unlike the delusional peacekeeping of Viserys or the cruel scheming of Daemon, Aurion's ambitions seemed grounded in both practical necessity and genuine care for those under his protection. Whatever the dangers that lay ahead, she would support him as she always had, because she believed with absolute certainty that her son was destined for greatness that would eclipse even the legendary deeds of their ancestors.
The sun continued its climb toward its zenith as they walked through the corridors of High Tide, its rays painting patterns of light and shadow on the marble floors that seemed to dance with promise and possibility. In the distance, dragons could be heard calling to one another across the bay, their voices carrying hints of fire and conquest that would soon reshape the known world. The age of Aurion Targaryen was about to begin, and with it, a new chapter in the long and bloody history of dragons and kings.