The seasons turned with the relentlessness of the tides, and Laenor's second nameday came and went with celebrations befitting the heir to House Velaryon. Now, five moons into the ninety-sixth year after Aegon's Conquest, Laenor had mastered the art of walking with surprising grace for a child not yet three namedays old. His silver hair had grown longer, falling in wispy waves past his shoulders, framing violet eyes that seemed to absorb everything they beheld.
"Laenor," a voice whispered from the doorway of the nursery. "Laenor, wake up!"
He opened his eyes to find his sister Laena peering over the edge of his bed, her silver curls tumbling forward as she leaned closer. Since he had taken his first steps, her interest in him had transformed from casual curiosity to devoted sisterhood. She had appointed herself his guide and companion, much to the amusement of their parents.
"Come," she urged, her small hand tugging at his sleeve. "Everyone's still breaking their fast. We can go now."
Laenor sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Where?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. It was always the same destination with Laena.
"Dragons," she whispered, her eyes alight with excitement. "I heard Father tell Mother that Seasmoke caught a wild boar yesterday. A whole boar! Don't you want to see him?"
The mention of Seasmoke banished the last vestiges of sleep from Laenor's mind. Through their bond, he could sense the dragon's presence, a warm, pulsing awareness at the edges of his consciousness. Seasmoke had grown too large to remain in the castle, his rapid development necessitating a move to the dragon enclosure where Meleys, his mother's mount, resided.
"Wait," Laenor said, sliding from the bed with careful movements. His coordination improved daily, but he remained mindful of his limitations. "Need clothes."
Laena sighed dramatically but helped him dress, her fingers fumbling with the laces of his tunic. "Hurry," she urged. "Before Septa Myrna comes looking for us."
Once dressed, they slipped from the nursery, Laena leading the way with practiced stealth. At nearly six namedays old, she navigated High Tide's corridors with confident familiarity, guiding them through servants' passages and seldom-used stairwells to avoid detection.
"Do you think Seasmoke will let me touch him today?" Laena asked as they emerged into the crisp morning air. "He always watches me so carefully."
"He's protective," Laenor explained, the words coming easier now with practice. His vocabulary expanded daily, though he still struggled with complex sentences. "He doesn't know you well."
"But I'm your sister!" Laena protested, taking his hand as they descended a steep path toward the dragon enclosure. "I wouldn't hurt you. Or him."
"Dragons choose," Laenor said simply. Through his connection with Seasmoke, he understood the dragon's wariness wasn't personal. It was instinctive, a primal caution around anyone not bonded to him.
Laena's free hand gesticulated wildly as they walked. "When I get my dragon," she declared, "it will be fierce like Meleys. Red and gold and terrible. We'll fly to Essos and beyond the Jade Sea!"
"Where from?" Laenor asked, genuinely curious. Dragon eggs were precious and rare, even among Targaryens.
"Father promised to find me one," she said with absolute certainty. "Or perhaps one will hatch for me like Seasmoke did for you. Mother says sometimes dragons sense their riders before they even hatch."
The path widened as they approached the stone structure built into the side of a cliff, designed to shelter dragons while allowing them freedom to come and go. Seasmoke's presence grew stronger in Laenor's mind, a surge of recognition and welcome that warmed him from within.
"Seasmoke knows we're coming," he told Laena, his pace quickening.
"How do you know?" she demanded, her voice tinged with envy. "Can you hear him in your head? What does it feel like?"
Laenor considered her question seriously. "Not words," he said after a moment. "Feelings. Warmth. Like... like knowing where your hand is without looking."
"That sounds wonderful," Laena sighed. "I can't wait until—"
"And where might you two rascals be heading this early?"
They froze at the familiar voice. Turning slowly, Laenor saw their mother standing on the path behind them, dressed in riding leathers, her long black hair braided tightly against her head. Despite her stern tone, her eyes held fond amusement as she regarded her children.
Laena recovered first, her quick mind spinning a response. "To see the dragons!" she announced boldly. "Laenor misses Seasmoke, and I wanted to show him how I can name all the parts of a dragon now."
Rhaenys crossed her arms, her mouth twitching with suppressed laughter. "Without permission? Without an escort?"
"We're together," Laena pointed out, as if this resolved all safety concerns. "And Seasmoke would protect us."
"From a distance, perhaps," Rhaenys noted dryly. "Considering he's enclosed with Meleys, a good stone's throw from where you stand."
Laenor looked up at his mother, sensing an opportunity. "Come with us?" he suggested. "Please?"
Something in his earnest request softened her expression further. "As it happens," she said, "I was on my way to check on them myself. Meleys has been restless of late." She extended her hands to both children. "You may accompany me, but you must promise to obey every instruction without question. Dragons are not playthings."
"We promise!" Laena declared, taking her mother's hand eagerly.
Laenor nodded his agreement, slipping his smaller hand into Rhaenys's calloused palm.
They made their way along the winding path, past the weathered stone markers that guided visitors toward the dragon enclosure. Unlike the confining walls of the Dragonpit in King's Landing, House Velaryon had chosen a more natural approach to housing their dragons. The creatures were permitted to roam freely across Driftmark's varied terrain, from its windswept cliffs to sheltered coves where the salt spray painted the rocks white.
"Dragons need space," Rhaenys explained as they walked, her voice carrying on the morning breeze. "They're not meant to be imprisoned beneath stone domes like common beasts."
Laenor nodded, understanding instinctively what his mother meant. Through his bond with Seasmoke, he had felt the dragon's joy in flight, the fierce pleasure of wind beneath wings. To cage such freedom seemed an unforgivable cruelty.
A shadow passed overhead, momentarily darkening the path before them. Laenor felt his heart leap before his eyes could confirm what his mind already knew, Seasmoke had sensed his approach and come to meet him.
The silver-gray dragon descended in a graceful spiral, sunlight catching on his scales and scattering prismatic light across the ground. His form had grown significantly in recent months, his body was the size of two warhorses stacked on top of each other, his wingspan wide enough to cast the three Velaryons in shade as he landed before them with surprising delicacy for a creature of his size.
"Seasmoke!" Laena gasped in delight, but Laenor barely heard her.
The dragon lowered his head, amber eyes fixed on Laenor, then gently bumped his snout against the boy's chest. The touch sent a cascade of images flooding through Laenor's mind, the thrill of the hunt, the scent of wild boar through dense forest, the satisfaction of the kill. Contentment radiated from the dragon, warm and proud, seeking approval for his accomplishment.
Laenor wrapped his arms around Seasmoke's snout as far as they would reach, his small fingers tracing the intricate patterns of scales. He closed his eyes and focused, sending back his own emotions, pride, admiration, gratitude, through their shared connection.
"He's magnificent," Rhaenys murmured, watching the interaction with knowing eyes. "The bond grows stronger every day."
Seasmoke's attention shifted briefly to Laenor's companions, his posture remaining relaxed but vigilant. After a moment's consideration, he lowered his head further, allowing Laena to approach with cautious steps.
"Gently," Rhaenys instructed as Laena reached a trembling hand toward the dragon's scales. "Let him come to you."
Laena held perfectly still as Seasmoke considered her, his nostrils flaring as he took in her scent. Then, with deliberate movement, he pressed his snout against her palm. A triumphant smile bloomed across Laena's face.
"He remembers me!" she whispered, her fingers carefully tracing the ridge above his eye.
Rhaenys stepped forward, placing her hand alongside her daughter's on Seasmoke's scales. The dragon permitted their touch, though his gaze remained fixed on Laenor.
A thunderous roar split the morning quiet, and Laenor felt Seasmoke's muscles tense beneath his hands. They all turned toward the sound as a massive shape appeared on the horizon, growing larger with each powerful wingbeat.
Meleys approached like a storm front, her crimson scales blazing in the morning light, gold accents flashing along her spine and wingtips, her presence announcing itself long before she touched ground. The earth trembled as she landed.
Laenor's breath caught in his throat as he beheld Meleys in all her terrifying glory. No matter how many times he witnessed the crimson dragon, her sheer magnitude stunned him anew. Standing beside Seasmoke, Meleys made his own dragon appear no larger than a hatchling. Maester Gerion had explained during their lessons that the Red Queen stretched nearly one hundred and fifty feet from snout to tail-tip when fully extended, and her wingspan was easily double that.
Rhaenys stepped forward, her posture shifting subtly as she approached her dragon. The transformation fascinated Laenor, his mother seemed to grow taller, her movements more deliberate, as if in Meleys's presence she became more than herself.
Meleys lowered her massive head, bringing one enormous amber eye level with Rhaenys. They regarded each other in silence, communing in that wordless language that Laenor was beginning to understand through his own bond with Seasmoke.
"Zaldrīzes ñuha," she whispered, placing her palm against Meleys's scaled cheek. "Skoros iksan ao jorrāelagon?"
The High Valyrian flowed from her lips like music, the ancient tongue of dragonlords that Laenor was still learning.
After the communion with her dragon, Rhaenys turned to her children, her expression shifting to one of sudden decision. "Come," she beckoned to Laena and Laenor, extending her hands toward them. "Today seems a fine day for your first flight."
Laenor's breath caught in his throat. Had he heard correctly? His mother's words seemed to hang in the air between them, impossibly precious.
"Truly?" Laena squealed, already rushing forward. "On Meleys?"
"Yes, little one," Rhaenys laughed, the sound carried away by the sea breeze. "If you both promise to hold tight and obey every command without question."
Laenor felt Seasmoke's reaction before he could process his own, a sharp spike of possessiveness lanced through their bond, the dragon's muscles tensing as he watched Laenor take a hesitant step toward Meleys. The silver-gray dragon emitted a low rumble, not quite a growl but clearly communicating displeasure.
"It's alright," Laenor whispered, turning back to press his forehead against Seasmoke's snout. He closed his eyes, focusing on the thread of connection between them, and pushed reassurance through it. Soon, together. Our time will come. The sentiment flowed without words, pure feeling transmitted from his mind to the dragon's.
Seasmoke's amber eyes blinked slowly, reluctant acceptance filtering back through their bond.
Rhaenys approached Meleys's flank, where an intricately tooled leather saddle was secured behind the dragon's powerful shoulders. Unlike the simple riding pads used by some dragonriders, Rhaenys preferred a proper saddle with handholds for longer journeys.
"Laena first," Rhaenys instructed, interlacing her fingers to create a step. With practiced ease, she boosted her daughter up to the saddle, where Laena scrambled into position, her small hands gripping the forward handholds with white-knuckled excitement.
Then Rhaenys turned to Laenor. "Your turn, little sea dragon."
The nickname, rarely used and all the more precious for it, bolstered his courage. He placed his foot in his mother's hands and felt himself lifted with surprising strength, his body seeming to float upward until he could grasp the saddle's edge. With an ungraceful wriggle, he pulled himself up to sit before his sister.
The world looked different from a dragon's back. The ground stretched away beneath him, suddenly distant and small. Meleys's scales radiated heat through the leather of the saddle, warming his legs. The dragon's massive body expanded and contracted with each breath, a living mountain beneath him.
Rhaenys mounted last, her movements fluid from years of practice. She settled behind them both, her arms reaching around to grasp the reins while simultaneously securing her children. The solid pressure of her body against his back anchored Laenor, providing security amid the overwhelming newness of the experience.
He could feel Laena behind him, her body practically vibrating with barely contained excitement. Her fingers dug into his sides as she squeezed him in wordless delight. His own heart thundered against his ribs, a wild rhythm of fear and exhilaration.
A dragon. I'm actually going to ride a dragon. The thought seemed too enormous to contain within his small body.
Through the corner of his eye, he caught Seasmoke's watchful gaze. The jealousy flowed clear and sharp across their bond, a territorial possessiveness that both warmed and amused him. Laenor sent back a wave of promise. You and I will fly higher and farther than anyone. This is just practice.
Seasmoke's head tilted, considering this reasoning, before he settled back on his haunches to observe.
Rhaenys leaned forward slightly, her breath warm against Laenor's ear as she spoke the command: "Sōves, Meleys."
The sudden acceleration stole Laenor's breath. His stomach lurched as the ground fell away with alarming speed. Meleys's wings caught the air, and they were soaring, climbing higher with each powerful stroke. The wind tore at his silver hair, whipping it across his face as Driftmark transformed beneath them.
The castle of High Tide, so imposing from the ground, shrank to the size of a child's toy. The coastline revealed itself in its entirety, jagged cliffs and sweeping beaches, the waters around the island a tapestry of blues and greens where deep channels cut through shallower shoals.
Rhaenys guided Meleys with subtle pressure from her knees and gentle tugs on the reins, her expertise evident in the smooth banking turns and graceful glides. The dragon responded to her commands with precision, their partnership forged through years of mutual trust.
A wild, joyous sound escaped Laena, half laugh, half scream, as Meleys executed a gentle roll that momentarily tilted the horizon. Laenor's own shout of exhilaration joined hers, the sound torn from his throat by pure, undiluted wonder.
"Look there!" Rhaenys called over the rushing wind, pointing toward the eastern horizon where the morning sun gilded the distant shape of Dragonstone. The ancestral seat of House Targaryen rose from the sea like some great beast, its towers and walls seeming to grow directly from the volcanic rock.
Meleys banked toward it, gaining altitude as they approached. From this height, Laenor could see ships dotting the strait between the islands, tiny specks on the vast canvas of the sea, some bearing his father's seahorse banners as they patrolled the shipping lanes.
The sensation of flight unlocked something primal within him, some ancient knowledge carried in Valyrian blood. This was what humans were never meant to know—the god-like perspective of the world spread out below, the freedom of the endless sky. Yet here he was, barely three namedays old, claiming this forbidden knowledge as his birthright.
Through his bond with Seasmoke, Laenor felt an echo of the dragon's hunger for the same experience. The silver-gray dragon would be watching from below, tracking their progress across the sky with keen eyes, impatient for the day when he would be large enough to carry Laenor alone.
As they soared over Blackwater Bay, Laenor realized with sudden clarity that this moment would forever divide his life into before and after. The world could never again be perceived solely from the ground. He had tasted flight, and like the dragons themselves, a part of him would always belong to the sky.
Time seemed to compress during flight, the half-hour aloft passing in a heartbeat. Rhaenys eventually banked Meleys toward Driftmark once more, the crimson dragon descending in wide, lazy spirals. The ground rushed up to meet them, details sharpening with alarming speed, individual trees becoming visible, then branches, then leaves. Laenor's stomach lurched as Meleys extended her massive legs forward, wings cupping the air to slow their descent.
The impact of landing sent a jolt through Laenor's body. Meleys's claws gouged deep furrows in the earth as she settled her considerable weight, wings folding with a sound like sails catching wind. For a moment, all was still save for the dragon's heavy breathing and the hammering of Laenor's heart against his ribs.
Rhaenys dismounted first, sliding from Meleys's back with practiced grace. Her boots hit the ground with a soft thud, and she turned immediately to help her children. She reached up for Laena, who practically tumbled into her mother's arms, still breathless with excitement. Then came Laenor's turn. Rhaenys's strong hands encircled his waist, lifting him from the saddle as though he weighed nothing at all.
When his feet touched earth, Laenor's legs trembled. The ground felt unnervingly solid after the living movement of Meleys's back. He staggered slightly, finding his balance in this suddenly stationary world.
"Well?" Rhaenys asked, her voice carrying a note of knowing triumph
Laenor looked up at his mother and felt something catch in his chest. The wind had transformed her, her long black hair pulled free from its careful braid, wild tendrils framing her face like strokes of ink against parchment. Her cheeks were flushed, her violet eyes alight with an untamed joy. This was not the courtly Lady of Driftmark who sat beside his father at feasts, nor the patient teacher who guided his Valyrian lessons. This was something else entirely, a dragonrider in her element, a daughter of Old Valyria with the sky still clinging to her skin.
A low, rumbling growl interrupted his reverie. Seasmoke charged across the field toward them, wings half-extended in agitation, tail lashing behind him. The silver-gray dragon's approach sent the gulls scattering in panic, but Laenor stood his ground, recognizing the particular quality of his dragon's displeasure.
Seasmoke reached him in a flurry of wings and scales, immediately butting his head against Laenor's chest with enough force to make him stumble backward. The reproach flowed clearly through their bond, betrayal and jealousy tangled with concern, as if Seasmoke were scolding Laenor for his absence..
"I'm fine," Laenor whispered, laying his small hands against the dragon's snout. "I didn't leave you. I wouldn't."
Another disgruntled rumble vibrated through Seasmoke's body as he circled Laenor, sniffing at him thoroughly, detecting Meleys's scent upon his clothes. The dragon's tail curled possessively around Laenor's legs, creating a barrier between the boy and the others.
Behind them, Rhaenys approached Meleys with reverent steps. Dragon and rider regarded each other in silent communion, a wordless exchange passing between them. Rhaenys placed her palm against Meleys's massive jaw, and the dragon lowered her head to meet the touch.
After a moment of communion with Rhaenys, Meleys's massive head swiveled toward Laenor. The great crimson dragon regarded him with an intensity that seemed to pierce through flesh and bone, as if searching for something hidden within. She shuffled closer, her movements deliberate despite her enormous bulk, scales rasping against stone as she approached.
Laenor stood transfixed as Meleys lowered her massive head, nostrils flaring as she inspected him. Steam curled from her nares, wreathing her scarlet scales in ghostly tendrils. Her amber eyes, each larger than Laenor's body, fixed upon him with unnerving intelligence.
A strange sensation bloomed in Laenor's chest, spreading outward like ripples across still water. It wasn't fear, though perhaps it should have been, standing before a creature that could devour him in a single bite. The flight had changed something fundamental within him, as if some dormant capability had stirred to life. He closed his eyes, trying to isolate the feeling.
His awareness seemed to extend beyond his physical body, reaching outward like invisible tendrils. The nearby sea called to him, its rhythmic surging suddenly more than just sound or sight. He could almost feel the water's movement as though it were an extension of his own pulse, the tide's pull a mirror to his own breathing.
The air around Laenor began to shimmer with lavender light, particles dancing like dust motes in sunbeams.
Without conscious thought, a melody rose from somewhere within him. Laenor's eyes drifted closed as the soft humming escaped his lips, a tune he couldn't recall learning yet knew with perfect certainty. The notes flowed like water, rising and falling in patterns.
Were his eyes open, they would have been glowing a soft lavender.
Meleys went utterly still. The great dragon's breathing slowed, her massive form freezing as if enchanted by the simple melody. The amber eye fixed on Laenor softened, pupil dilating as the crimson beast released a soft, resonant croon that vibrated through the very stone beneath their feet. With graceful deliberation, she lowered her long serpentine neck until her head rested on the ground before Laenor, eyes closing in what could only be described as surrender.
Beside them, Seasmoke began to sway, his smaller form moving in gentle undulation to the rhythm of Laenor's humming.
Laenor felt something unfurling within him, ancient and powerful, flowing through his veins like liquid light.
"Laenor?" Rhaenys's voice came from somewhere distant, tinged with wonder and perhaps a hint of alarm.
He couldn't answer. The music that flowed through him demanded his complete attention, binding him to the dragons in a communion that transcended words. Images flashed behind his closed eyelids, vast oceans churning beneath storm, wracked skies, mountains that breathed fire into the heavens, creatures of impossible beauty soaring through clouds tinged with sunset gold.
When the final note of his humming faded into silence, Laenor opened his eyes to find both dragons watching him with newfound awareness. Meleys raised her massive head, regarding him curiously.
"What did you do?" Laena whispered, her voice small with awe.
Laenor turned to his sister, finding no words to explain what he himself didn't understand. The power that had flowed through him moments before had receded like a tide, leaving behind only the faintest echo of its presence and a deep exhaustion.
His vision narrowed to a thin tunnel, the edges darkening. His legs buckled as the solid ground beneath his feet tilted and swayed like the deck of a ship in high seas.
Rhaenys darted forward, catching him before he could collapse. Strong arms encircled his small body, lifting him against her chest. The familiar scent of her, salt and leather and something uniquely her own, enveloped him as his head lolled against her shoulder.
"Muna," he murmured, his voice sounding strange to his own ears, somehow distant than it should be. "I didn't mean—"
"I know," she interrupted gently. There was a note of concern in her voice Laenor couldn't fully decipher. "Rest now, little dragon."
The journey back to High Tide passed in fragments for Laenor, the rhythmic motion of his mother's stride, the play of sunlight through leaves, Laena's anxious chatter fading in and out like waves against the shore.
"Your father must hear of this," Rhaenys said, her voice vibrating against his cheek where it pressed against her collarbone.
Laenor tried to focus on her words, but exhaustion pulled at him like an undertow, dragging his consciousness down into murky depths. He felt Seasmoke's concern brushing against his mind, a warm current amid the cold fatigue.
"Is he dying?" Laena's voice pierced through his haze, high and frightened.
"No," his mother replied firmly. "He simply needs to rest."
The world tilted again as Rhaenys adjusted her grip, climbing the stone steps that led to High Tide's main entrance.
Servants scattered before them, exclamations of concern following in their wake as Rhaenys strode purposefully through the castle's corridors. The familiar tapestries and stone walls of his home blurred together in Laenor's vision, time skipping forward in lurches until he found himself being lowered onto his bed.
Cool hands pressed against his forehead. "No fever," a voice murmured, Maester Gerion, he thought hazily. "His pulse is steady, if somewhat rapid."
"It's not illness," Rhaenys said. Her voice sounded far away now. "Something awoke within him."
The maester made a noncommittal sound. "Perhaps. Or perhaps the excitement of his first flight has simply overwhelmed him. He is very young, my lady."
"You didn't see it." His mother's voice hardened. "The dragons... they responded to him. To his humming. Even Meleys—"
Their voices faded as Laenor drifted deeper into unconsciousness, carried away on currents of exhaustion. Dreams found him there, visions of startling clarity.
He soared above an unfamiliar coastline, waves crashing against black sand beaches beneath a sky bruised purple with storm clouds. Massive shapes moved beneath the water's surface, their scales catching what little light penetrated the depths. They were dragons, he realized with dreamlike certainty, but dragons unlike any he had seen, sinuous, serpentine creatures with fins instead of wings, perfectly adapted to the ocean depths.
One massive eye broke the surface, regarding him with ancient intelligence. A voice that was not a voice spoke directly into his mind:
Your voice carries power, little prince. The gift awakens.
What gift? Laenor's consciousness trembled with the question.
Nereid Kyrie. The Poem of Endless Green Sea.The song that binds water and children of the flame
The sea around him began to recede, the dream fragmenting as his consciousness pulled him into darkness. The last words followed him:
Remember us when you sing.
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