It' s been quite a delay. Sorry for that. I've had a few matters I've needed to handle. TDS will resume its regular posting now alongside the Celestial Dwarf and the Copy Ninja of Camp Half-Blood!
Early 104 AC
"Absolutely not." Lady Rhaenys Targaryen's voice cut through the solar like Valyrian steel. "I won't hear another word about it."
Laenor stood before his parents in High Tide's private solar, fists clenched at his sides. The morning light streamed through the tall windows, illuminating his mother's face, beautiful and unyielding as carved marble. Her lilac eyes, usually warm when they looked upon him, had hardened to amethyst.
"Mother, I'm not asking to sail to Yi Ti," Laenor said, fighting to keep his voice level. "Just to work on the ships in the harbor. To learn."
"To learn?" Rhaenys repeated, her voice rising. "What precisely do you need to learn about ships that can't be taught safely on land? You're the heir to Driftmark, not some common deck boy!"
Laenor took a deep breath. He'd anticipated resistance but not this wall of maternal fury. "Father began sailing at six. I'm eight. By his standards, I'm already behind."
His mother's nostrils flared. "Your father didn't have a dragon at six."
"What does Seasmoke have to do with this?" Laenor asked, genuinely confused.
"Everything!" Rhaenys slammed her palm on the ornate desk between them. "You're not just heir to Driftmark, Laenor. You're a dragonrider. The only Velaryon dragonrider of your generation. That makes you doubly precious and doubly at risk."
Laenor glanced at his father, seeking support. Lord Corlys sat behind his massive desk, fingers steepled before him, his expression unreadable. The Sea Snake's legendary decisiveness seemed to have abandoned him in this family dispute.
"I'm not trying to use it against you," Laenor insisted. "I'm simply pointing out that sailing is in our blood. It's who we are. Velaryons have been seafarers since before the Doom."
"Father?" Laenor appealed, turning toward him. "You understand, don't you?"
Corlys cleared his throat. "Your mother's concerns aren't without merit."
"Ha!" Rhaenys interjected. "Even your father agrees with me."
"I didn't say that," Corlys replied quietly "I said her concerns have merit. The sea is dangerous, Laenor. More dangerous than most realize."
"I know that," Laenor insisted. "But how am I supposed to be Lord of the Tides someday if I don't understand ships from the keel up? Reading about them in books isn't the same as feeling a deck beneath your feet.
"There will be time—" his mother began.
"When?" Laenor interrupted, frustration boiling over. "When I'm twelve? Sixteen? Twenty? By then, Vaemond and Rhogar will have years of experience on me. They're already working the harbor ships, and they're barely older than I am!"
"Your cousins aren't dragonriders," Rhaenys said dismissively. "Their circumstances are different."
"Different how?" Laenor challenged. "Because they're expendable and I'm not?"
The room fell silent. He'd gone too far, and he knew it immediately. His mother's face paled with shock, and his father's eyes darkened with disappointment.
"I didn't mean—" Laenor started.
"Yes, you did," Corlys said, his voice low and dangerous. "And you will apologize for suggesting such a thing."
Laenor's cheeks burned with shame. "I'm sorry. That was... unworthy."
Rhaenys stood, her hands trembling slightly. "Do you have any idea what happened to your uncles? Both of them?"
"I know they died at sea," Laenor said quietly.
"Died?" She gave a bitter laugh. "Daeron was sixteen when his ship broke apart in a summer storm. They never found enough of him to bury. And Laendon?" Her voice caught. "Pirates took his vessel off Bloodstone. Your father found what was left of him nailed to the mast."
Laenor's stomach lurched. No one had ever told him those details. He glanced at his father, whose face had gone carefully blank, the way it did when painful memories surfaced.
"I... didn't know," he managed.
"No, you didn't," Rhaenys said, her voice softer now but no less resolute. "Because we shield you from such things. As parents should."
Corlys finally spoke, his tone measured. "The sea gives great gifts, Laenor. Freedom. Adventure. Wealth. But it takes just as easily. Sometimes more."
"Then teach me to respect it properly," Laenor pressed, sensing a crack in their unified opposition. "Not to fear it."
His father's eyes met his, and for a moment, Laenor saw something like recognition there, the same hunger for the horizon that drove him.
"Perhaps," Corlys began slowly, "there might be a middle path—"
"Corlys!" Rhaenys whirled on her husband. "Don't you dare undermine me in this."
"I'm not undermining you," he replied calmly. "I'm suggesting a compromise."
"There is no compromise with the sea," she hissed. "It either claims you or it doesn't."
"That's not true and you know it," Corlys countered. "Proper training, proper precautions—
"Like the 'proper precautions' that saved your brothers?" Her voice cracked with emotion. "Or have you forgotten?"
Corlys's face hardened. "I forget nothing." Two simple words, but they carried the weight of decades of grief.
Laenor took a deep breath. He needed to approach this differently. His mother wasn't an unreasonable woman, well, most of the time.
"I understand why you're afraid," he said carefully. "I do. But I'm not asking to sail to Asshai by myself. I'm asking to join the crew of the Dawn Chaser for a simple trading run to Pentos. Captain Xhala is the most reliable captain in Father's fleet. The weather is perfect this time of year.
His mother's eyes narrowed. "You've thought this through, haven't you?"
"I have," Laenor admitted. "For months."
"And what of your studies? Your water dancing lessons with Master Qarro? Your lessons in governance and economics? " She paced before the windows, her silken gown whispering across the stone floor. "You have responsibilities here, Laenor. Responsibilities that matter more than playing sailor."
"I'm not playing," Laenor shot back, stung by the dismissal. "This is serious. If I don't understand our ships, our trade routes, our sailors, how will I rule? Books and maps aren't enough, Father always says that."
At this, Lord Corlys finally stirred. "He has a point, my love."
Rhaenys whirled on her husband, eyes flashing. "Oh, now you find your voice? To undermine me?"
Corlys raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not undermining you. But the boy makes a valid argument."
"The boy," Rhaenys said coldly, "is our only living son. Our heir. The future of our house."
"Malentine sailed to Braavos and back last month," Laenor said quietly, playing his final card. "He's not even ten yet."
Rhaenys closed her eyes briefly, as if praying for patience. "Your cousin Malentine is not heir to Driftmark."
"Mother." Laenor's tone shifted, becoming more determined as he crossed to a small side table where a decorative bowl of seawater sat, tiny carved ships floating on its surface. "I'm not just heir to Driftmark."
With deliberate slowness, he held his hand above the water. The surface trembled, then rose in a perfect miniature wave that curled around the ships without capsizing them. The water danced at his command, forming intricate patterns as the vessels glided through the floating water.
Rhaenys sighed, exchanging a glance with Corlys. Neither looked particularly surprised by this display.
"The ocean obeys me, Mother." Laenor's voice grew stronger, more confident as the water responded to his subtle finger movements. "I was born to sail, to traverse the oceans. This isn't just childish fancy—it's who I am."
A heavy silence fell over the solar. The only sound was the gentle lapping of water against the sides of the bowl as Laenor continued his demonstration, creating a perfect whirlpool that spun the ships in a controlled circle.
Corlys cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "You will be allowed to work with ships."
Rhaenys spun toward her husband, violet eyes flashing. "Corlys—"
"The boy has a dragon," Corlys interrupted, his weathered face set in determined lines, "and he has magic. He'll run off and defy us otherwise." His voice softened as he looked at his wife. "You know he will. Just as you did when your father forbade you from claiming Meleys. Just as I did when my father insisted I follow the traditional naval career instead of exploring beyond the known world."
Laenor's heart leapt in his chest. He forced his face to remain neutral, though it took every ounce of self-control not to whoop with joy.
Rhaenys's shoulders slumped slightly, defeat written in the lines of her body. "We were both insufferable, weren't we?"
"Completely impossible," Corlys agreed, a smile tugging at his lips. "And our son seems to have inherited the worst of both of us."
"The best, you mean," Laenor corrected, unable to keep the grin from spreading across his face.
Corlys raised an eyebrow. "Don't push your luck, boy." He turned back to Rhaenys, taking her hand in his. "We can't keep him in a cage, my love. Not even a gilded one."
Rhaenys stared at the miniature ships still circling in their magical whirlpool. "Fine," she said at last, though the word sounded as if it had been dragged from her. "But there will be conditions."
"Anything," Laenor agreed quickly.
His father held up a warning finger. "Don't agree until you've heard them. You will work as the lowest position on the ship—
"Scrubbing decks and emptying chamber pots?" Laenor asked, his enthusiasm dimming slightly.
"Precisely," Corlys confirmed with a hint of satisfaction.
"You will learn how ships are built before you learn how they're sailed. Every timber, every rope, every nail. After you've completed your foundation, we'll discuss actual sailing. And even then, you may only undertake only the safest journeys, around the Dragonstone region. Seasmoke can accompany the ship, keeping watch from above.
"That's acceptable," Laenor said quickly, before his mother could object.
Rhaenys crossed her arms. "And who will supervise this... education?"
"Master Symon in the yards," Corlys replied. "And myself, when my duties permit."
Rhaenys wasn't finished. She strode forward, stopping directly before Laenor, her face inches from his. "At the first sign of trouble, the slightest hint of danger, you will return to Seasmoke and fly directly home. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Mother."
"And you will continue all your other studies. Maester Gerion reports you've been skipping his lessons."
Laenor winced. "Only a few—"
"All your studies," she repeated firmly. "Or this arrangement ends immediately."
"Agreed," Laenor said quickly, before she could add more conditions.
"Agreed," Laenor said quickly, before she could add more conditions.
Rhaenys studied his face for a long moment, then sighed deeply. "The gods have a cruel sense of humor, giving me a son with my father's recklessness and your father's obsession with the sea."
"And your stubbornness," Corlys added helpfully.
She shot him a withering look. "You're not improving the situation."
"When can I start?" Laenor asked, practically bouncing on his toes with excitement.
"Tomorrow," Corlys said with a nod, his weathered face cracking into a rare smile, "we'll go to Hull, where you'll begin. Every day, sharp at dawn you will be expected to be in the shipyards. No exceptions, no excuses, not even for dragon riding. The sea waits for no man, and neither will your instructors."
Laenor couldn't contain himself. Joy exploded through him like wildfire, and he launched across the room, wrapping his arms around his father's middle.
"Thank you, Father! You won't regret this, I swear it!" Laenor's words tumbled out in a breathless rush.
He released his father and turned to his mother, whose expression remained guarded. For a moment, he hesitated, seeing the worry etched in the fine lines around her eyes. Then he threw his arms around her too, burying his face against the silken fabric of her gown.
"I'll be careful, Mother," he whispered. "I promise."
Rhaenys's resistance melted. Her arms encircled him, pulling him close with a fierceness that spoke volumes. "See that you are," she murmured against his hair. "If you break any of these conditions, it will be your last step on a ship until you come of age. I swear it by the Old Gods and the new."
Laenor broke away, his face flushed with excitement. He backed toward the door, bowing hastily. "I need to tell Seasmoke! And pack my things! And—"
"Go," Corlys chuckled, waving him off. "Before your mother changes her mind."
Laenor didn't need to be told twice. He spun on his heel and bolted from the solar, his footsteps echoing down the corridor as he ran. The stone halls of High Tide flew past in a blur, servants dodging out of his way as he careened around corners.
"I'm going to be a sailor!" he shouted to a startled kitchen maid, who nearly dropped her basket of fresh-baked bread. "A real sailor!"
He burst through the eastern doors into the sunlight, inhaling deeply. The air tasted different somehow, saltier, more promising. Everything looked brighter, the colors more vivid. His chest felt like it might explode with happiness.
He took off across the manicured gardens, ignoring the gravel paths in favor of a direct route across the lawns. He had to tell Seasmoke immediately. The dragon would sense his excitement through their bond, but Laenor wanted to share the news properly, face to face.
He rounded a hedge at full speed and collided with something, someone, soft. Flowers scattered in all directions as both he and the other person tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs and petals.
"Oh! Careful there, little storm," came a gentle, musical voice.
Laenor scrambled to his knees, apologies already forming on his lips. Then he recognized who he'd bowled over.
"Aunt Gael! I'm so sorry!"
Gael Targaryen, sat amid a carpet of scattered wildflowers, her silver-gold hair falling in loose waves around her heart-shaped face. At twenty, she was the epitome of Targaryen beauty of the family, with delicate features, eyes of deep violet, and a long mane of silver hair neatly tied into a braid Unlike his mother's sharp edges and commanding presence, Aunt Gael had a softness about her, a gentle grace that drew people in like moths to flame.
She laughed, the sound like small bells in the breeze, as she brushed dirt from her pale blue gown. "Where are you racing to in such a hurry, nephew? Has the castle caught fire?"
"Better!" Laenor exclaimed, helping her gather the scattered blooms. "Father's letting me work in the shipyards! Starting tomorrow! I'm going to learn everything about ships, from the keel up!"
"Is that so?" Gael's eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. "No wonder you look ready to take flight without your dragon."
She carefully arranged the recovered flowers in her basket, humming softly under her breath, a melody Laenor recognized as an old Valyrian lullaby his mother sometimes sang on rare, quiet evenings.
"These are beautiful," he said, handing her a cluster of blue starflowers. "Are they for the feast tonight?"
"For your mother's solar," Gael replied, her voice as soft as silk.
Laenor watched as her slender fingers wove stems together with practiced ease. There was something different about her today, a new radiance that made her seem to glow from within. Her cheeks were flushed with a healthy pink, and her eyes sparkled like amethysts caught in sunlight.
"You look pretty today, Aunt Gael," he said simply.
She blushed deeper, lowering her eyes. "Thank you, sweet boy. The island air agrees with me, I think."
Finished with her arrangement, she set the basket aside and opened her arms. Laenor dove into them without hesitation, breathing in her familiar scent of lavender and sea salt. She hugged him close, her embrace warm and comforting.
"I'm so proud of you, Laenor," she whispered against his hair. "Following in your father's footsteps already." She pulled back slightly, framing his face with her cool hands. "But please, stay safe. The sea can be as cruel as she is beautiful."
"That's what Mother says," Laenor replied with a slight eye-roll.
"Your mother is wise," Gael said, tapping his nose gently. "Listen to her, even when her caution frustrates you. She's seen the sea take too much."
"I'll be careful," he promised. "Besides, I'm not even going out to sea yet, just working in the yards."
"For now," Gael said with knowing smile.
Laenor couldn't deny it. Even now, he could feel the pull, like an invisible thread tugging at his heart, drawing him toward distant shores.
Before Laenor could respond, a servant appeared at the garden's edge, calling for Lady Gael. She rose gracefully, brushing grass from her skirts.
"Duty calls," she sighed, picking up her flower basket. "Run along to your dragon, little storm. And remember—"
"Stay safe, I know," he finished for her, grinning.
She brushed a kiss against his forehead and glided away, her blue gown rippling like water around her ankles, still humming that haunting melody.
Laenor waited until she disappeared around the hedge before breaking into a run once more, his destination the cliff where Seasmoke waited. His dragon would share his excitement, and perhaps they could take one more flight over the shipyards before sunset, to survey what would become his new domain come morning.
Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.
_________
Hope you enjoy the chapter!
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