90 AC. Driftmark
Morning over the island of Driftmark dawned clear and crisp. A salty sea breeze brought cool air from the tide, mingling with the smell of sun-warmed stone and a faint, lingering wisp of smoke. Within the courtyard of High Tide, the whole of House Velaryon had gathered.
Upon a spacious paved yard surrounded by high walls of white stone rested Dreamfyre. The silver-blue she-dragon, crowned with bone crests, devoured the herd of sheep and rams with a ravenous appetite. Every shift of her vast, scaled bulk resonated with a low, quiet rumble deep within her chest, while her jaws crushed the livestock's bones with effortless ease.
Watching this spectacle from a safe distance were Corlys's brothers, Daeron and Veylor, alongside their wives, Thea and Elise. Held in the women's arms were two-year-old Corwyn and Aurane. The young children stared at the colossal beast with bated breath, their eyes burning not with fear, but with genuine wonder and childish curiosity. To them, the dragon seemed a fairytale creature brought to life from their wet nurses' tales.
"She is truly magnificent," Thea spoke softly, drawing young Corwyn tighter to her chest as he reached out his little hands toward the dragon. "Yet the sheer measure of her appetite could ruin a lesser house in a matter of a few moons."
Corlys, standing at Viserra's side and gently holding her hand, offered a faint smile. His fingers softly stroked his wife's palm.
"The livestock she feeds on now is no ordinary flock," Corlys spoke up, catching the family's attention. His voice held the unshakeable confidence of a man accustomed to calculating every stride a decade in advance. "Hours before slaughter, my trusted men injected into each carcass special potions and decoctions crafted from rare herbs, dried organs of sea beasts, and minerals. They are entirely harmless to a dragon's belly, yet exert a potent effect upon her metabolism."
Viserra turned her intent gaze upon her husband. Daeron and Veylor exchanged looks, regarding their elder brother with mounting interest.
"What potions are these, Corlys?" Veylor Velaryon asked, clasping his hands behind his back as he watched Dreamfyre swallow a whole ram in a single gulp. "A dragon's growth is a dangerous and unpredictable thing."
"Elixirs devised during my experiments," Corlys explained calmly. "They are meant to aid Dreamfyre in growing faster. Over the next five years, these supplements shall strengthen her muscles, thicken her scales into impenetrable armor, and accelerate her physical development. By the time this five-year cycle comes to an end, her size and strength shall surpass any dragon of her years, catching up to kin hatched long before her."
"You plan to turn her into a true monster in so short a span?" Daeron pressed with a slight smirk, though clear approval gleamed in his eyes. "Corlys, the royal family is already in turmoil over Viserra taming Dreamfyre - a dragon deemed unmanageable in the Dragonpit for years. Should the she-dragon grow twice as fast as normal, it will spark far too many unwanted and perilous questions among your crowned kin in the capital."
"Let them ask their questions of whomever they please and as much as they like, it matters little to me," Corlys cut in with a shake of his head. "Driftmark must be strong, and my wife's dragon is the shield of our entire House. Besides, accelerated growth is but the first and simplest part of my design. There is something far more vital."
He turned to Viserra, looking straight into her eyes, before shifting his calm gaze back to his brothers and their wives.
"When we return from the capital - for a journey there is, alas, unavoidable given the King's summons - I shall perform a special ritual upon Dreamfyre," Corlys continued in a steady, confident voice. "This ritual shall bind the she-dragon to Viserra's bloodline forever. After her death - which, with the Seven as my witness, shall not come for long years yet - Dreamfyre will never accept another rider unless Viserra's direct blood flows through their veins. No strangers, no collateral branches. This will safeguard House Velaryon and our descendants forever."
Elise, Veylor's wife, gasped in wonder, adjusting Aurane in her arms as the child squirmed at the loud crunching from the yard.
"But do not Targaryen dragons choose their riders by their own unpredictable whim, or through shared blood with all Valyrian houses?" she asked, shifting her gaze from her husband to Corlys. "How can a magical creature be bound to a single branch of a family?"
"In ordinary circumstances, yes - dragons choose anyone in whom they feel Valyrian blood," Corlys replied. "Yet the ritual will alter the very nature of this bond. What is more, this rule shall extend to all eggs Dreamfyre lays. The dragons hatched from those eggs will likewise be bound solely to Viserra's descendants. No one else will be able to even approach them with the intent to mount them. They shall simply burn."
Viserra watched him with unhidden amazement. In her years at the Red Keep, she had heard a hundred tales of dragons, but no Valyrian manuscript in the Citadel or Dragonstone ever made mention of such magical bonds. Though after all her husband had shown and done, she could hardly be surprised.
"Corlys..." the princess murmured softly, squeezing his fingers slightly. "Is such a thing truly possible? And what else shall this ritual grant, beyond protection from outsiders?"
"Far more than you think, my dear," Corlys answered, turning to her with a tender smile. "The bond between you and Dreamfyre will deepen tenfold. You shall feel her mood and state across vast distances, even if hundreds of leagues and the Narrow Sea lie between you. In times of peril, you need only call to her in your mind, Dreamfyre will sense your distress, know precisely where her rider stands, and hasten to your aid at once."
"Incredible..." whispered Viserra, picturing it in her mind. She turned to her husband, searching his calm, assured face. "Tell me, Corlys... do you share such a bond with your dragons as well?"
Corlys smirked faintly, a mysterious, dark gleam flashing in his deep purple eyes.
"Yes, Viserra. Deeper, even. You see, unlike you or other dragonriders, who communicate with their beasts through mere emotions, simple images, and basic commands in High Valyrian, I can speak with them directly. I converse with them in Parseltongue - the tongue of serpents and dragons. They grasp not merely my orders, but every thought of mine, as though we held a true conversation."
Daeron shook his head, listening intently to his brother's words and weighing what he had heard.
"With every passing day you reveal yet more secrets to us, Corlys," Daeron remarked. "Dragons have ever been deemed the weapons of House Targaryen, their primary and sole pillar. Should the King learn of the knowledge and power you command, it could spark real trouble with the royal family."
"Which is precisely why the King and his entire Small Council shall learn only what they are meant to know," Corlys parried coolly. "Viserra claimed a dragon because she displayed courage and resolve. That is the whole story for King's Landing."
"And what of the dragonriders themselves?" Veylor Velaryon chimed in. "Princes Aemon and Baelon are no fools. They have flown Caraxes and Vhagar for years. They know the nature of dragons no less than the King."
"They know what they were taught," Corlys replied. "Ordinary dragon-riding and the traditional lore of the Dragonkeepers. Their knowledge is bound by the limits set by their ancestors. We look beyond."
Before Viserra could pose her next question, a deafening, rolling double roar echoed across the skies above Driftmark. The sound was so immense that blades of grass quivered against the castle walls and birds took flight in vast flocks.
Dreamfyre reacted instantly. Abandoning the half-eaten ram carcass, she drew herself up to her full height and unfurled her massive silver-blue wings, casting a shadow over half the yard. Answering with a fierce, deafening roar of her own, the beast voiced clear threat and an instinct to defend her territory. Crouching low to the ground, she braced her powerful limbs and vented twin plumes of thick grey smoke from her nostrils.
Corlys raised his head, peering up into the clouds.
"It appears our escort to the capital has finally arrived," he noted in a measured tone.
Princes Aemon and Baelon Targaryen had been airborne for nearly five hours. Once their father, King Jaehaerys I, received word that Princess Viserra had claimed Dreamfyre, he had summoned his sons without delay. His command had been unmistakably clear: make for Driftmark, ascertain all the circumstances of the event, and escort Viserra and her husband Corlys Velaryon back to King's Landing.
Aemon rode high atop the Blood Wyrm - the long-necked, aggressive Caraxes, whose crimson scales gleamed in the sun. Baelon mounted mighty Vhagar - the greatest dragon living, whose colossal shadow blanketed whole villages as she soared above.
When the outline of Spicetown and the towering spires of High Tide loomed in the distance, the princes angled their beasts downwards. Caraxes and Vhagar let loose loud roars almost in unison, announcing their approach to the island. In reply, the fierce, ringing cry of Dreamfyre echoed back at once from the castle yard.
Banking around Spicetown in a wide arc, Aemon and Baelon clearly spied the silver-blue she-dragon standing in the center of High Tide's yard from above.
"Look, Baelon!" Aemon shouted over the howling wind, shifting Caraxes' reins and pointing below. "She is truly there! Right in the center of the yard!"
"I see her!" Baelon called back, straining his muscles to hold the heavy reins of massive Vhagar. "Yet landing in the yard would be madness! Should Caraxes and Vhagar descend into an enclosed space, Dreamfyre will take it for an attack. They will tear one another apart and level half the castle!"
"Agreed!" Aemon yelled above the roaring gales. "We set a course beyond the town walls! To the hill!"
The princes banked into a turn, guiding their dragons toward the open heath outside Spicetown's fortifications. Bringing their dragons down upon a grassy hill, they commanded them to remain. Vhagar lowered her massive head to the earth with a heavy sigh, while Caraxes, his long neck twitching nervously, settled nearby, eyeing the town.
Some twenty minutes passed before a party of riders emerged from the town gates. Leading the column on fine horses were Corlys Velaryon and Viserra Targaryen, ringed by the Velaryon household guard in their sea-blue and silver cloaks.
Drawing near the princes, the riders halted. Corlys was first to leap nimbly from his saddle, striding immediately toward his wife's mount. He took Viserra gently by the waist and aided her light step down onto the grass.
Corlys took a step forward, maintaining a noble, dignified bearing. At his signal, one of the guards stepped forth bearing a silver platter upon which rested freshly baked bread and a pinch of coarse salt.
"Welcome to Driftmark, Prince Aemon, Prince Baelon," Corlys greeted them in a deep, resonant voice. "In accordance with the ancient laws of the First Men and the custom of Westeros, I offer you bread and salt beneath the protection of my roof."
Aemon and Baelon exchanged glances. The guest right in Westeros was sacred - a boundary no lord dared breach. Breaking off pieces of the soft bread, the princes dipped them in salt and ate, sealing that they were henceforth under the protection of House Velaryon, and that House Velaryon was safe from their steel.
"Our thanks for your welcome, Lord Corlys," Aemon said, wiping the salt from his fingers as he carefully appraised the lord of the castle before turning his eyes to his sister.
"It would seem, given that you have come in person and with such haste, that Viserra's and my wedding respite from the noise of the capital has drawn to its end," Corlys remarked calmly, meeting the heir's direct gaze.
"I fear it is so," Baelon sighed, shaking his head. "By command of His Grace the King, we have come to learn every detail and circumstance of how Viserra came to mount Dreamfyre. And, naturally, to escort you both back to the Red Keep without delay."
Viserra stepped forward with confidence, folding her arms over her chest and offering her elder brothers a light, almost playful smile.
"I shall gladly recount everything to you in full detail, brothers," she said with an encouraging nod. "Yet first, you must rest, if only a little. The grueling flight from King's Landing could not have been easy. The finest guest chambers are already prepared for you at High Tide, where you may wash away the grime and refresh yourselves. And over dinner, we shall discuss all that concerns you in detail and without haste."
Corlys, meanwhile, turned to a knight of his household guard standing nearby.
"See to it that a dozen freshly slaughtered carcasses are brought here beyond the town walls for the princes' dragons. Let Caraxes and Vhagar rest, feed, and regain their strength in peace before the flight back."
Aemon inclined his head in gratitude, appreciating the care shown for their dragons.
"My thanks, Corlys. That is most timely. Vhagar grows rather ill-tempered of late if she is not fed after a long flight."
Guards brought spare horses for the princes. Mounting up, the party set off toward Spicetown. They rode leisurely through busy market streets crowded with foreign merchants, mariners, and the scent of spices, emerging at the massive stone spans of the bridge leading to High Tide.
The princes were ushered into richly furnished guest chambers overlooking the sea. Hot baths laced with aromatic oils and fresh garments of fine wool and silk awaited them. Once refreshed and clean of the soot and brine of their long flight, Aemon and Baelon, flanked by Corlys's guards, made their way to the Dining Hall.
Around the vast oak table, laid with fine silver, the whole of House Velaryon had already gathered, save for the youngest - Corwyn and Aurane - who remained in the nursery under the care of nurses and wet nurses.
Servants silently bore exquisite dishes: herb-roasted fish, fresh lobsters, roasted game under a berry sauce, and goblets filled with aged red wine of Driftmark. For a time, the meal proceeded in quiet, respectful accord, broken only by the gentle clinking of silver and the cries of gulls wheeling outside high windows. At last, Aemon set down his cutlery, took a draught of wine, and, looking directly at Corlys and Viserra, turned to the matter at hand.
"So," the heir to the throne began, leaning forward slightly. "Now that our hunger is sated, tell us how it truly came to pass. Father nearly lost his senses in the capital when the Dragonkeepers reported that Dreamfyre had broken free of the Dragonpit, only for us to receive word that she had landed on Driftmark and accepted Viserra."
Viserra exchanged a look with Corlys, catching a subtle nod as though given the cue to begin their rehearsed tale.
"It all happened quite unexpectedly, Aemon," Viserra spoke, choosing her words carefully and lacing her voice with emotion. "We were on a secluded, distant beach of the island that day. Corlys was teaching me to swim, as he often does. The guards remained on the shore, nearby. And suddenly, out of the sky descended Dreamfyre."
"She was acting with extreme aggression," Corlys deftly took up the tale, leisurely pouring himself dark ruby wine. "Dreamfyre was enraged, roaring and lunging toward the shore. The guards drew steel to shield us, but that only inflamed the dragon further. The situation turned dire. Dreamfyre was ready to devour or burn us and our guard to ash in a heartbeat."
"A moment more, and the guards would have provoked a fight," Viserra continued, looking between Aemon and Baelon. "I called off the men, stepped toward Dreamfyre, and spoke to her in High Valyrian. Calmly, without a trace of fear - much as Rhaenys soothes Meleys when she grows restless."
Viserra paused, sipping wine from her goblet to let the dramatic moment hang.
"The dragon stopped," she added softly. "She studied me at length, then unexpectedly lowered her wing and bowed her head, as if inviting me. I knew we were bound when I felt her mood stir within my own chest. I climbed onto her back, and we soared into the sky."
Aemon listened intently, stroking his chin in deep thought as he weighed every word. He nodded slowly, with respect.
"It seems Dreamfyre took a liking to your reckless courage, Viserra," the prince remarked with unmistakable respect. "Dragons sense fear and deceit better than any man. Had you faltered or shown weakness for even an instant, it might have ended in grim tragedy. And yet... I should like to speak in private with the guards who accompanied you to the beach that day. I require every detail for an official report to our father."
Corlys did not flinch for a second, his face unchanging. Turning calmly to a guard stationed by the door, he gave crisp orders:
"Ser Adam, gather at once the guards who were upon the beach when Dreamfyre appeared. Have them await the princes in the lesser hall. Once dinner concludes, the princes shall question them."
"It shall be done, my lord." Ser Addam bowed and departed the hall at once.
Baelon took a sip from his goblet and looked upon his sister with care.
"As soon as we finish with our questioning, we must make for the capital without delay," he said. "Father awaits us, and he is thoroughly worked up."
"You are exhausted, Baelon," Viserra replied softly yet firmly. "You have been in the saddle for two days, scouring all of Westeros for a stray dragon."
Aemon frowned instantly, catching the detail:
"How do you know precisely how many days we have searched for her? We have only just arrived."
"Merchants arriving from King's Landing were talking of little else on the Spicetown docks yesterday," Viserra parried easily with an effortless smirk. "They babbled on every corner that my Dreamfyre had smashed through the heavy gates of the Dragonpit and flown free. I know our father far too well. The moment it occurred, he would have dispatched you both to hunt for her."
Baelon burst into hearty, booming laughter, shaking his head.
"You are sharp and quick-witted as ever, Viserra! Aye, seven hells, since that very night we've done nothing but sleep in wet saddles, sweeping the entire coast and all of Dragonstone upon Caraxes and Vhagar."
"Which is precisely why you both need proper rest," Viserra stated without room for argument. "Tonight you shall sleep soundly in proper beds, and tomorrow at dawn we shall depart for King's Landing together."
Aemon weighed her proposal against their fatigue and nodded.
"A sound suggestion. A short rest will indeed do us good. Flying on the edge of exhaustion before facing the King is ill-advised."
The remainder of the meal passed in an easier atmosphere. House Velaryon discussed capital news, seafaring, and trade. When dinner concluded, Corlys and Viserra personally escorted Aemon and Baelon to the lesser hall, where the guards stood lined up awaiting them.
The princes thoroughly and rigorously questioned every guardsman present on the beach. Prepared in advance and utterly loyal to House Velaryon, the men answered clearly, confidently, and without hesitation, mirroring the story told by Viserra and Corlys down to the letter. Finding no flaw or suspicious detail in their testimony, Aemon satisfied at last, dismissed them.
Viserra and Corlys then guided her brothers back toward their guest quarters. Walking along the broad castle corridor, Viserra lowered her voice.
"Father is likely none too pleased that I have become a dragonrider..." she murmured softly.
Baelon offered a reluctant sigh and a crooked smirk, shaking his head.
"Let us put it this way, Viserra...'none too pleased' is putting it mildly. Father was in a fury. He intended to dispose of the riderless dragons as he saw fit."
"Viserra bears no blame whatsoever in this," Corlys interjected instantly, a hard, steely edge in his tone. "Dreamfyre chose Viserra of her own accord. A dragon is no lapdog or hound to be instructed which bounds of the courtyard it may cross and which it may not."
Aemon looked at Corlys with surprise, weighing his audacity, then gave a soft huff.
"I have never heard such a comparison, Lord Corlys... but in truth, you are quite right. Dragons cannot be driven like ordinary livestock, nor can they be constrained once they have made their own choice."
Aemon turned to his sister and laid a hand gently upon her shoulder.
"Do not fret, Viserra. You bear no fault in what occurred, and Father, once his initial wrath cools, will surely understand. You are Dreamfyre's rider now, and no power can alter that truth. I congratulate you from the bottom of my heart. I know well how fiercely you have longed for a dragon of your own all your life."
Viserra offered her brother a warm, genuine smile, deeply touched by his simple words.
"Thank you, Aemon. You know... since I met Corlys, my dreams have indeed begun to come true, one after another. It seems my husband brings me fortune."
They bade farewell at the doors of the guest quarters. Leaving Aemon and Baelon to rest, Corlys and Viserra made for their own chambers. Stepping inside and shutting the heavy oak door behind them, Viserra leaned her back against it and let out a heavy sigh, anxiety creeping back onto her face.
"Corlys... what if in the capital they seek to chain Dreamfyre once more?" she asked, distress in her voice. "What if Father commands the Dragonkeepers to drive her back into the vaults of the Dragonpit and shackle her as before?"
Corlys stepped over unhurriedly, taking her hands in his and locking his gaze with hers - a look both tender and unflinching.
"Dreamfyre will never allow herself to be chained again, Viserra. Men cannot force her into shackles against her will. From you, only one thing is demanded: stand for your dragon's freedom before the King to the very end. Suffer no one to make a prisoner of her once more. You are her rider, and henceforth, you are one."
Viserra nodded, taking in his unyielding confidence and feeling her fear ebb away.
At first light the following morning, as the sun's rays gilded the horizon over the Narrow Sea, four riders took to the sky. Prince Aemon led the way atop Caraxes, Prince Baelon rode majestic Vhagar. Viserra and Corlys sat together upon the broad back of Dreamfyre, clinging to the sturdy leather handholds of her saddle.
After several hours' flight over the azure waters of Blackwater Bay, the silhouette of the great city loomed ahead. King's Landing greeted them with the clamor of the smallfolk and smoke rising from a thousand chimneys.
The dragons circled above the city before making their landing upon Rhaenys's Hill, where the massive dome of the Dragonpit loomed. Caraxes and Vhagar settled first, followed by Dreamfyre, who dropped heavily onto the broad yard.
From the shadows of the arched passageways emerged a troupe of Dragonkeepers clad in their scaled armor and bearing long spears, intending to lead Dreamfyre into the vaults and shackle her as they did the rest.
Sensing the approach of the keepers, Dreamfyre growled in warning. She radiated pure hostility toward the Dragonkeepers, dense smoke billowing from her maw.
Viserra leapt down at once, stepping forward to shield Dreamfyre.
"Back!" Viserra commanded the keepers in a ringing, imperious voice, speaking pure High Valyrian.
The attendants froze in confusion, exchanging fearful glances. Aemon approached with quick steps, striving to take charge.
"Princess Viserra, the dragon must be housed within the Pit," the head keeper asserted.
"I feel my dragon's heart!" Viserra declared firmly, turning sharply to her brother. "The Dragonpit revolts her! She will not return to those dark vaults. There is space enough in this open yard for her to rest in the fresh air. Feed her here, and do not dare approach her with chains!"
Aemon frowned. He looked in silence from his sister's flashing eyes to Dreamfyre, who was crouched low, plainly ready to unleash fire upon anyone taking another step. The heir weighed the situation swiftly, knowing a single misstep meant calamity.
"Viserra, leaving a dragon of such size in an open yard is dangerous," Aemon attempted to reason, keeping his tone calm. "She might break loose or terrorize the smallfolk."
"She rested peacefully in the yard at High Tide on Driftmark and harmed no one!" Viserra countered fiercely and with resolve, holding her ground. "Should you attempt to shackle her by force, blood will be spilled. I will not have her imprisoned again."
For several long, tense moments, Aemon looked back and forth between his sister and the low-rumbling Dreamfyre, whose maw already glowed with a dull heat. Realizing his sister would not yield an inch, and that the she-dragon was prepared to fight to the end, he made his decision and turned abruptly to the keepers.
"Do not disturb Dreamfyre," Aemon commanded the Dragonkeepers in a loud voice that brooked no argument. "Leave her in the yard. Bring her fresh meat and keep her fed. That is a direct order from the Heir to the Throne."
The keepers bowed in obedience, if warily, and withdrew slowly into the dark archways.
Viserra, Corlys, Aemon, and Baelon walked to the entrance of the Dragonpit, where an enclosed royal carriage bearing the sigil of House Targaryen awaited them. Boarding the coach, they set off, wheels rattling over the cobblestones toward the hill where the Red Keep loomed.
At the foot of the castle's massive portcullis, a knight of the Kingsguard greeted them - Ser Harrold Westerling. He bowed to the princes and Lord Velaryon, then turned to Viserra.
"Princess Viserra, Lord Corlys," Ser Harrold announced in a formal tone. "His Grace King Jaehaerys awaits you in the Throne Room."
Aemon and Baelon exchanged glances with Corlys, and the entire party followed the Kingsguard knight. They traversed the sprawling halls of the Red Keep, passing rows of guards, until the massive bronze doors of the Throne Room swung open before them.
The Throne Room hung thick with tension. High upon the Iron Throne, forged from the blades of vanquished foes, sat King Jaehaerys I Targaryen. Beside him, on the steps below, stood his wife, Queen Alysanne. Nearby were the wife of the heir, Jocelyn Baratheon, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, the Hand of the King, and a semicircle of Kingsguard knights.
Corlys and Viserra entered the hall with a measured, confident stride. Viserra held her head high, bolstered by the firm support of her husband at her side.
Halting in the center of the hall before the foot of the Iron Throne, Viserra made a graceful curtsy and, lifting her eyes to her father, spoke in a calm, steady voice:
"My brothers told me you summoned me, Father."
================================================================
A/N
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