One month later, a warm summer wind swept across the waters surrounding Driftmark, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of dragon. Corlys stood on the great stone terrace of High Tide, watching as two massive shapes descended from the clouds, their wings casting enormous shadows across the gleaming stone of the castle. Beside him, Rhaenys straightened her posture imperceptibly, her hand instinctively reaching to smooth her gown of deep crimson. Little Laena, barely two years of age, clutched at her mother's skirts with one hand while pointing skyward with the other.
"Dragons!" the child exclaimed, her silver-gold curls dancing in the breeze. "Big dragons, Mama!"
"Yes, sweetling," Rhaenys replied, her voice measured despite the tension Corlys could sense beneath her calm exterior. "The Queen's dragons have come to see your brother."
Corlys placed a steadying hand on his daughter's small shoulder as the first of the beasts descended. Silverwing, ancient and magnificent, her scales the color of polished silver in the midday sun. Upon her back sat Queen Alysanne Targaryen, her slender figure draped in flowing robes of indigo that billowed around her like water. Despite her advanced age, she dismounted with the practiced grace of one who had spent a lifetime astride a dragon, her silver-gold hair catching the light as she removed her riding hood.
Corlys observed the reunion with a careful eye. The dowager queen moved directly to Rhaenys, who stood tall and proud beside the great hall entrance. The two women embraced, silver hair mingling with silver, the resemblance between them unmistakable even across the generations.
"My dear granddaughter," Alysanne said, her voice carrying across the terrace, "you look resplendent."
Rhaenys returned the embrace with equal fervor. The bond between them had only strengthened during Alysanne's self-imposed exile to Dragonstone. Letters had flown between them when dragons could not, and Corlys knew his wife had been a steadfast supporter of her grandmother's position during the succession dispute.
Corlys felt the familiar knot of resentment tighten in his chest as he watched them. The reconciliation between the king and queen changed nothing. Jaehaerys had still denied Rhaenys her rightful place, had still chosen his son over his granddaughter, had still demonstrated that in his eyes, the blood of the dragon flowed thinner through female veins. The thought made his jaw clench. The Sea Snake was not a man who forgave slights against his family, and this was far more than a slight.
The second dragon, Vhagar, landed with considerably more force, its massive bulk causing the very stones to tremble. Baelon descended quickly, followed by his son Daemon, a youth of three and ten namedays with a dangerous gleam in his eyes that Corlys had never quite trusted, and his eldest son Viserys who had recently turned seven and ten namedays who offered a hesitant smile upon seeing Corlys.
But it was Baelon who approached Rhaenys first, after giving his mother a respectful bow.
"Niece," Baelon said, embracing Rhaenys warmly. His eyes, violet and deep-set, carried the weight of grief that had never fully left him since Aemon's death. The lines around them had deepened in recent years, etching sorrow into his otherwise handsome face.
Corlys watched the exchange with mixed feelings. He could not bring himself to hate Baelon, who had never sought to usurp Rhaenys's position and had shown her nothing but respect. The man had even privately expressed disagreement with his father's decision, though never publicly enough to matter. Such was the nature of the Targaryens, family loyalty above all, until it wasn't.
Behind them all, a smaller figure lingered, hesitant to leave Silverwing's protective shadow. Alysanne turned back with a gentle motion of her hand, beckoning the girl forward. The child, no, young woman, though her slight frame and downcast eyes made her appear younger, stepped tentatively onto the stone terrace. She wore a gown of pale blue silk that seemed to tremble with her every movement.
Corlys recognized her immediately as Gael, the youngest daughter of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, born unexpectedly late in their lives. Aged three and ten, the girl moved with the caution of one unaccustomed to attention, keeping close to her mother's side as she approached Rhaenys. Her silver-gold hair, so characteristic of her bloodline, was plaited simply, without the elaborate styling favored by her older relatives.
"My... my congratulations on your son, niece," Gael whispered, her voice barely audible above the persistent sea breeze. "May the gods bless him with health and strength."
Rhaenys's expression softened as she reached for Gael's trembling hands, clasping them firmly between her own. The contrast between them was striking, Rhaenys bold and assured, Gael fragile as spun glass.
"You are kind to come, Gael," Rhaenys said warmly. "I trust you have been well? Your letters have been a comfort to me these past months."
Before Gael could respond, Daemon stepped forward, his violet eyes gleaming with impatience. Unlike his cousin, he showed no hesitation in claiming space, positioning himself directly before Rhaenys with a confidence that bordered on insolence.
"Well, where's this miracle babe we've flown all this way to see?" he demanded, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I hear he's already sprouted silver hair and declared himself a dragonrider."
Corlys felt his shoulders tense at the boy's tone. There was something in Daemon's manner that set his teeth on edge, a recklessness, perhaps, or the casual disregard for propriety that reminded him too much of certain Targaryen ancestors whose ambitions had brought fire and blood.
Baelon placed a restraining hand on his son's shoulder. "Mind your manners, Daemon," he said, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable note of warning. "We are guests in the Sea Snake's home."
Rhaenys met Daemon's gaze steadily, neither cowed nor amused by his presumption. "My son sleeps, cousin. He has had a tiring morning being presented to the household knights." Her lips curved into a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "But fear not, you shall have ample opportunity to pay your respects before you depart."
Alysanne stepped forward, her presence immediately calming the subtle tensions that had begun to ripple through the gathering. "I am eager to meet my great-grandson," she said, her voice carrying the quiet authority that had made her such an effective queen. "Shall we proceed inside? The sea air grows chill, even in summer."
Corlys nodded, extending his arm to the dowager queen with practiced courtesy. "Of course, Your Grace. We have prepared chambers for all of you, and a feast to celebrate your arrival."
As they moved toward the great hall, Corlys noticed young Gael lingering behind, her gaze drawn to the dragons now settling themselves on the wider terrace below. There was something wistful in her expression, a longing that seemed at odds with her timorous nature. For a moment, he wondered what secrets might lie beneath the girl's quiet exterior, what fire might be banked within that seemingly fragile form.
But such thoughts were fleeting. There were guests to attend to, political currents to navigate, and most importantly, a son to protect, a son whose very existence had already shifted the complex dance of power among the dragons.
As they entered the grand hall of High Tide, the stone walls providing welcome respite from the sea breeze, Alysanne's grip tightened almost imperceptibly on Corlys's arm.
"The King sends his regrets," she said, her voice carrying just enough for those nearby to hear. "He was preoccupied with other duties that required his attention at court." There was a slight edge to her words, a tension that belied the practiced smoothness of her diplomatic phrasing.
Corlys noted the careful way she avoided elaborating on those "duties," and the subtle tightening around Rhaenys's mouth at the mention of the absent king. The politics of the royal absence hung in the air between them, unspoken but palpable.
Then, as if casting off a heavy cloak, Alysanne's expression transformed. The steely edge in her violet eyes softened, and genuine warmth spread across her features.
"But enough of such matters," she said, her voice gentling. "I have journeyed far to see my great-grandson. Might I look upon the child who carries both our bloodlines?"
Rhaenys exchanged a glance with Corlys, a silent communication passing between them. He gave an almost imperceptible nod, and she turned to lead the procession toward the eastern wing where the nursery had been established.
"He sleeps soundly, though he has the lungs of a dragon when displeased," Rhaenys said, a hint of maternal pride coloring her words. "The maester claims he has never known a babe with such an appetite."
Corlys watched as they walked ahead, the women of House Targaryen moving in a shimmer of silver and indigo and crimson, their voices lowered as they spoke of matters of childbirth and infancy that excluded the men. Little Laena trailed after them, still clutching at her mother's skirts, fascinated by the presence of the legendary queen.
"Quite the gathering of dragons you've brought to my doorstep," Corlys remarked to Baelon, keeping his voice casual as they followed several paces behind. "I trust Driftmark's accommodations will suffice after the splendors of King's Landing."
Baelon smiled, though it did not quite reach his eyes. "High Tide rivals any keep in the Seven Kingdoms, as well you know, Sea Snake. And the view..." He gestured toward the windows that faced the endless expanse of the Narrow Sea. "Not even the Red Keep can boast such a vista."
Daemon had bounded ahead, his youthful energy barely contained, while Viserys kept pace with the older men, his eyes taking in the opulent surroundings with genuine appreciation.
As they approached the nursery, the delicate sound of a lullaby drifted through the partially open door. Inside, the guards standing vigilant in the corners bowed deeply as the dowager queen approached the ornate cradle that dominated the center of the room.
Inside the cradle alongside the babe, lay a dragon hatchling.
Alysanne moved with surprising swiftness for a woman of her years, reaching the cradle before anyone else. She leaned forward, her silver-gold hair falling like a curtain as she gazed upon the infant and the dragon within.
For several heartbeats, she was silent, and Corlys felt an unexpected tightness in his chest. He had faced storms that would have drowned lesser men, negotiated with pirates and princes across the known world, amassed a fortune that made him the wealthiest lord in Westeros, and yet, in this moment, he found himself holding his breath, awaiting the judgment of this elderly woman upon his son.
"Oh," Alysanne breathed at last, her voice barely above a whisper. "Oh, Rhaenys. They are magnificent."
The tension in the room dissipated like morning mist under a hot sun. Corlys moved to stand beside his wife, their shoulders touching in a gesture of unity as they looked down at their son. The babe slept peacefully, unaware of the powerful figures gathered around him, unaware of the weight of expectation and legacy that already rested upon his tiny shoulders.
"Extraordinary," she murmured, studying the dragon with the practiced eye of one who had spent decades among such creatures. "He is quite large for his age. The bond has formed already, I see." She turned to Rhaenys, one silver eyebrow arched in question. "Have you named him?"
Rhaenys shook her head, her raven hair catching the light from the high windows. "Nay, Grandmother. We believe it is Laenor's right as his rider to name him when he is old enough to speak the words himself."
Corlys watched as Alysanne nodded in approval, her fingers tracing patterns in the air above the dragon, not quite touching its scales. the dragon lifted his head, gold eyes regarding the elderly queen, before returning his attention to the sleeping babe.
"Wise," Alysanne said softly. "Names have power, especially for dragons."
"He has the Velaryon coloring," Alysanne noted, reaching out with one wrinkled finger to gently stroke the wisp of silver-white hair that crowned the infant's head. "But those features... pure Targaryen. The blood of the dragon runs strong in him."
"As does the blood of the sea," Corlys added, unable to keep the pride from his voice. "He will be both dragon and serpent, of the air and the deep waters."
Daemon pushed forward, peering into the cradle with undisguised curiosity. "Small, isn't he?" he remarked, earning a sharp look from his father. "Does this mean the babe is already a dragonrider? Before he can even walk?" There was something in his tone, not quite envy, but a sharp interest that made Corlys instinctively move closer to the cradle.
"The bond begins when it begins," Alysanne replied with the cryptic certainty of one who had witnessed such matters throughout her long life. "Sometimes at birth, sometimes later. The dragons choose as much as we do."
Baelon placed a restraining hand on his son's shoulder again, but his own gaze was fixed on the young dragon with undisguised fascination. "I've never seen one so young show such... deliberate behavior," he admitted. "Usually they are wilder, more unpredictable."
The dragon, seeming to sense it was the center of attention, unfurled its wings, stretching them to their full span, already impressive despite its youth. A collective intake of breath filled the room as the membranes caught the light, appearing almost translucent, veins of gold threading through the leathery surface. A soft rumble, not quite a growl, emanated from its throat.
"He is protective," Rhaenys said, her voice tinged with pride. "The maester believes they share a strong bond already. When Laenor cries in his sleep, the dragon grows restless. When he is peaceful..." She gestured to the current tableau, dragon and babe in perfect harmony.
Little Laena had crept closer to the cradle, her eyes wide with wonder rather than fear. "Dragon loves baby," she whispered, reaching out a tentative hand toward the dragon.
Rhaenys moved swiftly, catching her daughter's wrist before she could touch the creature. "Gently, sweetling," she cautioned. "The dragonling allows few to approach when he guards your brother."
Gael, who had been watching from a safe distance, took a hesitant step forward. "It's beautiful," she said, her voice stronger than it had been in the courtyard. "Like something from the songs."
Alysanne smiled at her youngest daughter, a gentle expression that softened the regal planes of her face. "Indeed, my dear. Though the songs rarely capture the true nature of dragons." She turned back to the cradle, her gaze moving from the sleeping infant to the vigilant dragon. "They speak of fire and majesty, but seldom of this... this quiet companionship."
Corlys watched as the dragon's amber eyes tracked each movement in the room, intelligent and assessing in a way that belied it's infancy. The dragon's head tilted slightly as Alysanne spoke, as if he understood the weight of her words, the authority in her voice.
"Your son will never be alone," the dowager queen said to Rhaenys, her tone carrying a significance beyond the obvious meaning. "Not truly. Not with such a companion."
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The afternoon faded into evening, the sun's descent casting long shadows through the high windows of High Tide's great hall. The company reconvened for the evening meal, the day's formalities giving way to a more intimate gathering. The heavy oak table had been set with the finest Myrish glassware that caught the candlelight like captured stars, reflecting prismatic patterns across the polished surface.
Rhaenys sat with Laenor cradled in one arm, the infant's eyes wide and alert despite the late hour. His tiny hands reached upward, grasping at nothing in particular as he gurgled contentedly. The dragon hatchling, never far from the babe, had curled itself around the base of Rhaenys's chair, its tail occasionally twitching as servants moved about the hall. The creature's amber eyes remained fixed on the child, narrowing slightly whenever someone approached too closely.
Corlys observed his son with quiet pride from his position at the head of the table. The boy's violet eyes, unmistakably Targaryen, seemed to take in the surroundings with unusual awareness, tracking the movement of light and shadow across the vaulted ceiling. There was something in that gaze that stirred an unexpected emotion in Corlys's chest, a feeling that transcended ordinary paternal pride. This child, this union of sea and sky, of serpent and dragon, represented everything he had worked toward, a legacy more precious than all the gold of his voyages.
Across from him, Alysanne leaned close to Rhaenys, their heads inclined toward one another in quiet conversation. Their voices were too low for him to discern their words, but the intensity of their expressions suggested matters of significance beyond mere pleasantries. The dowager queen's slender fingers occasionally reached out to stroke Laenor's cheek, her eyes softening each time the babe responded with a toothless smile.
At the far end of the table, Gael sat with her gaze downcast, methodically separating the components of her meal without consuming much of anything. Her fork pushed a morsel of roasted fish from one side of her plate to the other, tracing patterns in the saffron sauce that adorned it. There was a faraway quality to her expression, as though her thoughts had carried her beyond the stone walls of High Tide to some distant shore known only to her.
Daemon, seated beside his brother, made no pretense of hiding his boredom. His boots thumped rhythmically against the legs of his chair, creating a dull percussion that drew occasional sharp glances from his father. The boy's fingers drummed impatiently on the tablecloth, his attention darting around the room as if searching for some diversion worthy of his interest. When his gaze fell upon the dragon hatchling, his expression sharpened with that same covetous intensity Corlys had noted earlier.
Viserys, by contrast, appeared to be making a concerted effort to follow the conversation between Corlys and Baelon. The young man leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed in concentration as he attempted to parse the complexities of their discussion. Corlys had been detailing the latest reports from his captains in the Stepstones, where increased pirate activity threatened to disrupt the lucrative spice trade from the Summer Isles.
"Three merchant vessels lost in the past month alone," Corlys said, swirling the Arbor gold in his goblet. "The pirates grow bolder with each success. They've begun flying false colors to lure unsuspecting traders into their trap."
Baelon nodded thoughtfully, the candlelight casting deep shadows across the planes of his face. "The Crown cannot afford disruption to trade, especially with winter approaching. The Master of Ships has proposed increasing naval patrols, but the cost would be substantial."
"A cost far less than what will be lost if the shipping lanes become too dangerous," Corlys countered. "Consider what happened during the reign of Maegor, when the Triarchy's stranglehold on the Stepstones drove spice prices to—"
A sudden, sharp cry from Laenor interrupted their discourse. The infant's face contorted, his previous contentment vanishing as swiftly as a summer squall. The dragon hatchling immediately uncurled itself, rising to its haunches with a low, warning hiss directed at the table at large. Its wings half-extended, creating a protective barrier between the child and the assembled company.
Rhaenys shifted her son in her arms, murmuring soothing words against his silver-white hair. "He grows tired," she explained, as the child's cries subsided to whimpers. "The excitement of the day has been much for one so young."
"Perhaps it is time he returned to the nursery," Alysanne suggested, her weathered hand coming to rest gently on Rhaenys's forearm. "A child needs his rest."
"I shall take him," Rhaenys said, rising gracefully despite the burden in her arms. The dragon hatchling immediately scrambled to its feet, padding silently alongside her as she moved toward the door.
"I'll accompany you," Gael offered unexpectedly, her voice soft but clear in the momentary silence. She set down her unused fork and stood, smoothing the folds of her pale blue gown. "If... if you wouldn't mind the company."
Rhaenys smiled warmly at the girl. "Not at all, Gael. Your presence would be most welcome."
As they departed, the hatchling following close at Rhaenys's heels, Corlys noticed Daemon's eyes tracking their movement with undisguised interest. The boy leaned toward his father, whispering something that caused Baelon's expression to tighten momentarily before he shook his head in a subtle gesture of refusal.
"More wine, Lord Baelon?" Corlys offered, deliberately redirecting the conversation. "This vintage comes from a vineyard in the Reach that I acquired last year. The climate there produces a remarkable sweetness in the grapes."
Baelon accepted with a grateful nod, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Your investments are as diverse as they are prosperous, it seems. From ships to vineyards, is there any venture the Sea Snake has not conquered?"
Corlys allowed himself a measured smile, though his thoughts remained partly with his wife and son as they departed. "The sea teaches patience, my lord. Each wave in its time, each tide in its turn. The same principle applies to matters of commerce... and family."
Viserys leaned forward, emboldened perhaps by the absence of his younger brother's disruptive presence. "Lord Corlys, I've heard tales of your voyages beyond the Jade Gates. Is it true you sailed farther east than any Westerosi before you?"
The genuine curiosity in the young man's voice pleased Corlys. There was something refreshingly earnest about Viserys, a quality that seemed at odds with the notorious ambition of his bloodline.
"Indeed," Corlys replied, warming to the subject. "Nine voyages aboard the Sea Snake, each venturing further than the last. Beyond Yi Ti lies a land of golden-spired cities where the inhabitants ride elephants adorned with jewels larger than a man's fist."
As he spoke of distant shores and exotic wonders, Corlys found his thoughts continually returning to the nursery where his son now lay. The world he described, with all its dangers and marvels, would one day be Laenor's to explore, but with advantages Corlys himself had never possessed. The blood of the dragon would carry him where ships could not, to heights the Sea Snake had only ever dreamed of reaching.
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