It did not take long for the royal family to arrive at Driftmark. King Viserys, with Queen Alicent and their young children at his side, disembarked with the King's Hand, Ser Otto Hightower, the heavy golden pin gleaming on his chest. They were received and personally escorted by Lord Corlys himself, who wasted no time in guiding them to where all was prepared.
(In the show, Otto went to King's Landing, where he got his position back, and then went with the king to Driftmark. I made a mistake, so just consider Otto meeting the king on the way by order of Viserys.)
Laena's stone tomb lay upon the cliff's edge, her face and upper body finely etched into the slab—solemn, lifelike, and cold. Soon it would be pushed into the sea, as was the ancient custom of House Velaryon.
The royal family gathered in a solemn line about the bier. King Viserys stood at the center, his face drawn and weary. Beside him, Princess Rhaenys wore black, a thin veil shadowing her grief. In her arms, the twins—Rhaena and Baela—clung to her, their muffled whimpers barely audible.
Maekar stood to the right of his mother, his posture still and solemn. Aegon loitered beside him, his expression distant, almost bored.
Then Vaemond Velaryon stepped forward, beginning the funeral rites in High Valyrian. His voice was deep and steady, yet beneath the ritual words lay a sharp undertone. His gaze flicked toward Princess Rhaenyra more than once, and though no words were spoken outright, the insinuation in his tone was plain.
Rhaenyra's jaw tightened, her grip firming around her two brown-haired sons—conspicuous among the pale-haired kin of House Targaryen and Velaryon, and standing out all the sharper in this moment of grief.
The funeral rites finally ended as Laena's tomb was given to the cold embrace of the sea. With the solemn duty done, the royal family and the gathered nobles drifted back into the halls of High Tide, where soft words and light drinks carried them through the night. The air was subdued, grief still lingering beneath the surface, yet duty demanded courtesies.
By midnight the gathering had thinned, nobles retreating to their chambers, servants clearing the last of the cups.
All the while, Maekar lingered on a high balcony, apart from the murmurs and the wine. When the hall had grown near silent, he stepped down and made his way toward a shadowed corner of the courtyard below.
There stood Aemond, staring out toward the dark sands of Driftmark, his small frame rigid in the cool night air. At the sound of footsteps, he turned sharply. Upon seeing his elder brother approach, he straightened and inclined his head.
"Brother," Aemond said.
Maekar stopped a pace away, his purple eyes steady on him.
"You should go for it," he said quietly.
Aemond frowned, brows knitting together.
"What are you talking about?"
Maekar's gaze never wavered, fixed on the faint rumble that had rolled across Driftmark's shore all night.
"Vhagar," he said at last. "You should go for it, Aemond."
Aemond's eyes fell to the ground, his voice low.
"How did you know?"
Maekar shifted closer until the distance between them was nothing.
"You look to her as though salvation lies in her shadow," he said.
then took his younger brother firmly by the shoulders. He turned him toward the dark stretch of beach where the bronze-green titan rested. Maekar leaned close, his words almost a whisper against Aemond's ear.
"This is your chance. If you succeed, you will be the rider of the largest, most seasoned dragon in the world."
Aemond swallowed hard, the thought alone setting his heart racing. He glanced sideways at Maekar, searching his face.
"Do you think I can do it?" he asked, his voice unsteady.
"Without a doubt," Maekar answered. "You are a Targaryen, Aemond."
For a moment there was silence, only the sea wind and the distant growl of Vhagar. Then Maekar added, his tone sharper and deliberate:
"One word of advice. Dragons hate cowards. The moment you show fear is the moment she burns you alive."
With that, Maekar shoved him forward. Aemond stumbled down the stone steps, landing on the sands below. He turned once, eyes locking with his brother's.
"I will wait for you in the welcoming hall," Maekar said evenly.
Aemond straightened, his jaw set. After a heartbeat of hesitation, he nodded with newfound resolve and began his walk toward the beast.
Maekar walked toward the entrance of the welcoming hall, memory tugging at him.
'this was the night Aemond would lose an eye.'
He found a chair by the wall and sat, the dim lantern light stretching his shadow long across the stone.
Half an hour passed in stillness before the silence was broken by the heavy beat of wings. A deep, resonant growl shook the air as Vhagar circled above the castle, vast against the night sky, before descending in a storm of wind and dust near the hall.
Aemond slid from the dragon's back, his clothes in disarray, his hair wild from the flight. But the pride on his face burned brighter than any dishevelment—his smile wide, his eyes alight as he spotted Maekar waiting for him. He took a step forward, then another—
But before he could reach his brother. Four figures rushed out into the courtyard: Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon, and Daemon's twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena. Their eyes fixed on Aemond, wide with shock and anger.
Rhaena's voice cracked with fury as she cried out that Vhagar was hers, that she had the right. Aemond turned, smug and sharp, replying with a cutting insult that made her cheeks burn. Baela lunged forward, shoving him, but Aemond threw her aside with ease. The others—Jacaerys and Lucerys—stepped in, their hands curling into fists, ready to join.
The scrape of wood against stone froze them all. From the shadows of the hall, a chair slid back, and Maekar rose to his feet. For the first time, the four children noticed him standing there, tall and calm, his gaze fixed coldly on them.
"I think you should go to sleep, little children," Maekar said evenly, stepping forward. His eyes never left them.
"Vhagar has a new rider now. Aemond."
He passed between them as if they were nothing more than ghosts, clapped his brother on the shoulder, and said,
"Well done, Aem-"
The words cut off as a stone struck his back. Maekar turned slowly, his gaze landing on Baela, still in the throwing stance, her eyes blazing with defiance.
"You shouldn't have done that, little girl," he said, voice low.
He strode toward them with measured steps. Fear flickered across Jacaerys and Lucerys' faces—they knew he could crush them all without effort. Maekar raised his hand and struck Baela hard across the face with the back of his palm, sending her crumpling to the ground.
He turned to leave, but Rhaena, shrieking at the sight of her sister struck, rushed forward recklessly.
Maekar let out a weary sigh. His boot snapped forward, kicking her in the stomach, folding her in half. She dropped with a silent gasp, clutching her belly on the dirt.
Jacaerys and Lucerys, with no choice left, attacked. Jacaerys struck first, a small knife flashing in his hand, its point aimed straight for Maekar's belly.
Maekar caught his wrist mid-thrust and twisted it cruelly. Jacaerys screamed, dropping to his knees, clawing at Maekar's grip with his free hand.
Maekar's boot slammed into his stomach, driving the breath and a cry of pain out of him. Tears welled in the boy's eyes as he collapsed, wheezing.
Lucerys froze in terror, unable to move as his brother writhed at Maekar's feet.
Releasing his grip, Maekar turned, ready to take Aemond and leave before matters worsened.
But then a shadow fell over them... Daemon.
Dark Sister hung at his hip as his eyes took in the scene: Baela sprawled, cheek bruised; Rhaena curled up, clutching her stomach; and Jacaerys sobbing on the ground. His daughters' names tore from his throat.
"Baela! Rhaena!"
Maekar stepped back, cursing inwardly.
'Well, that's bad. Shouldn't he be fucking his brother's daughter right now? What is he doing here?'
Daemon dropped to his knees, brushing his hand gently over Baela's swollen cheek, then Rhaena's trembling form. His head snapped up, fury burning in his eyes.
"Who did this?!" He roared.
Maekar exhaled, voice steady.
"I did. What are you going to do about it?"
Daemon's gaze locked on his, cold and sharp. He rose slowly, straightening to his full height, his hand closing tight around Dark Sister's hilt.
With a swish, the swiftly drawn blade rang against the walls.
"I'm going to do this, boy."
He lunged, covering the distance in a blink, the sword's point aimed for Maekar's ear, a punishment he will always remember every time he looks in a mirror for daring to lay a hand on his daughters.
But Maekar did not cower. His eyes unblinking. He lunged forward in turn, dagger flashing into his hand.
The movement jolted Daemon, surprised by the boy's courage.
The boy's sudden rush shifted his own blade from ear to neck. He tried to halt the strike, but it was too late.
Steel kissed flesh.
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