The house smelled of jasmine, old wood, and lemon cakes his mother's favorite. It sat on a quiet hill above the harbor, far from the brothels and bazaars of central Lys. The shutters were open, letting in the sea breeze, and the maid Nella, a soft-spoken girl with quick hands was humming as she swept the veranda.
Vaelros stepped through the gate, cloak slung over one shoulder, and caught the scent of steeped mint before he saw her.
"Late again," his mother called from the garden table. "I was beginning to think you'd finally run off with one of those masked priestesses."
He smiled. "They're too loud. And too flammable."
She laughed, a dry, musical sound. Serenya, once the most sought-after courtesan in the Sapphire Quarter, now wore her silver hair in a loose braid and her silks in softer colors. Age had not dulled her wit only her knees.
Vaelros kissed her cheek and sat across from her. "You look well."
"I look old," she said, pouring his tea. "But I feel clever. That's enough."
They sipped in silence for a moment. The garden rustled with birdsong and the distant clatter of the city below.
"It's been a few days," Serenya said, eyeing him. "You've got that look again."
"What look?"
"The one that says you've been up all night reading something dangerous and forgetting to eat."
He chuckled. "You know me too well."
"I raised you. Of course I do."
He swirled the tea in his cup. "It's a book. Valyrian. Old. From a house called Vherion."
Serenya's brow lifted. "The dragon-blood alchemists?"
"You know them?"
"I knew a man who claimed to be one of their last descendants. He tried to turn my bathwater into wildfire once. Very romantic."
Vaelros snorted. "They weren't dragonlords, but they studied them. Not just the beasts what they were. What they meant. The book says dragons weren't just creatures. They were... conduits. Living fonts of magic. Breathing it into the world."
Serenya's gaze softened. "And now there are so few left."
"Exactly. After the Doom, magic faded. Some say it was the fault of the Fourteen Flames. Others blame the dragonlords themselves. But I think... maybe it was the magic itself. Too much power, too long in one place. Like pressure in a sealed jar."
"You think Valyria exploded because it was full of magic?"
"I think it was leaking. And someone tried to stop it. Or use it. And it broke."
Serenya sipped her tea. "You always did like to overthink your bedtime stories."
"They're not stories anymore."
"No," she said. "They're your inheritance."
He looked at her then, really looked. The lines around her eyes, the way her hands trembled slightly as she reached for a lemon cake. He'd made sure she was comfortable paid for the house, the maid, the garden. But time was a tide no ward could hold back.
"I've been thinking," he said. "About Westeros."
She raised an eyebrow. "Planning to charm a noble lady and steal her castle?"
"Something like that. There are things I need to learn. People I need to find. But... I don't want to leave you behind."
Serenya smiled, setting down her cup. "Darling, I've been left behind by better men than you."
He laughed. "That's comforting."
"I'll be fine. Nella's a better cook than I ever was. And I've got my books, my garden, and my memories. Go chase your ghosts, Vaelros. Just don't forget to write."
He reached across the table, took her hand. "I'll come back."
"You'd better," she said, squeezing his fingers. "Or I'll have to summon a demon to drag you home."
He smirked. "You always said blood magic was beneath us."
"Desperate times," she said, eyes twinkling.
They sat together until the tea went cold, the sun dipping low over the sea. And for a little while, the weight of ancient fire and forgotten names lifted, and he was just a son, and she was just a mother, and the world was quiet.