Dragonstone, 114 AC
Daena had seen King Viserys's dragon, Vhagar — the oldest and largest of the Targaryen dragons after the death of their greatest dragon, Balerion. The massive beast was so large that it fed on whales from the sea. Yet this creature of Laenor Velaryon was larger still, with strength and speed Vhagar had never displayed, or at least Daena had never seen. No, Daena should not have been surprised, for she had already heard the servants whisper throughout the keep that the Velaryon dragons had outgrown even mighty Vhagar in a decade. She hadn't believed them — not because servants had said it, but because all she had read from the old Valyrian scrolls spoke otherwise; never in Old Valyria had dragons grown at such a rate. Not even close to this rate.
But perhaps Daemon was right — Laenor Velaryon had been blessed by magic more than even the sorcerers of Old Valyria. And she, who was familiar with the height of the Valyrian bloodmages' art, could say for certain that even after the Sorcerers of Old had spared no effort over thousands of years to make their dragons grow at an accelerated pace, they remained unsuccessful till their last breath in the Doom.
They were now back inside the keep, after the unexpected visit that the dragon had given them — even to its rider. They had returned sooner than expected, for the dragon had not landed, instead flying toward the Dragonmont. A small part of Daena wished it had landed, for then she might have seen it up close. Alas, it was not to be. Perhaps Daemon would take her to the Dragonmont as he had once promised — though Daena doubted it. The Prince now knew what blood flowed in her veins, and he feared she might bond with a Targaryen dragon. Daena, who had lived on Dragonstone for many moons, was always guarded — or, more truthfully, watched — even at night, there are always eyes watching her every move. Though she would never admit it aloud, a small, traitorous part of her feared to even attempt that: that perhaps Valarr blood was no longer pure enough to tame the mightiest power in the world.
"So, Lady Daena," came Laenor Velaryon's voice, smooth yet edged with curiosity. "If you don't mind, I would like to know the purpose behind your visit here to Dragonstone?"
Daena turned toward him. Lys was famed across the Known World for its residents' beauty — all due to the Valyrian blood that flowed through its people, a bloodline yet to betray the Lyseni as it had the Volantenes. Heir of Old Valyria, Daena thought with a huff. Still, she had to admit that the heir of House Velaryon was easily the most handsome man she had ever seen — and that was saying something, for she had seen many handsome men in the pillow houses of Lys. Some Lyseni had queer tastes, and there was no doubt they would pay handsomely if a man like Laenor Velaryon were ever for sale.
Daena shook herself free from such thoughts and replied lightly, "Nothing but the wish to see the farthest stronghold of Old Valyria, my lord. You might say it was my sense of adventure that brought me here."
Laenor inclined his head silently. Daena's eyes flicked to Daemon — and she caught the smirk she had come to dislike more often than not.
"She is here to learn the ways of magic from House Targaryen," Daemon said.
Daena cursed him silently. What was the western buffoon thinking? Perhaps she had given his intelligence more credit than it deserved. Her eyes instantly turn to Laenor, hoping to get a hint of his true emotion
"A surprise indeed," Laenor said with a faint smile, "though one might wonder what she offers in return for such invaluable teaching. For, as far as I know, the ways of magic are guarded zealously — and by very few people left in this world." His eyes lingered on Daemon. Whatever silent exchange passed between the two men ended with Laenor giving a slow nod. "Then tell me, what has Lady Valarr learned so far, Daemon?"
"I'm teaching her the new trick that I have learned," Daemon answered simply.
"Ah! Yes, indeed — how could I forget?" Laenor's tone was calm, almost too calm. "I was surprised, I admit, when I sensed your magical presence in Driftmark — yet neither you nor Caraxes were there."
There was no wonder or curiosity in his tone, which surprised Daena. She herself had been elated when she learned that Prince Daemon would teach her how to use a dragonglass candle — a relic that allowed one to see far beyond physical sight and communicate with others who possess the same thing and know how to use it. And if one mastered it completely, they could even walk through another's dreams. Daena had been so thrilled that she sent one of her trusted slaves back to Lys with the news to share with her family.
The Valarrs, like a few other old families, had not yet lost all trace of magic in their blood — nor the knowledge of how to wield it. While others clung to past glories and hollow boasts of their ancestors' might, her family still possessed the art of pyromancy — weak and faded, but alive. Their flames were no longer strong enough to kill a man, yet the Valarrs took great pride in the faint ember that remained of the fire their forefathers once commanded. And, as Lord Laenor had said, they guarded this art zealously — almost to the point of madness. Any woman who wed outside the family and risked exposing their secret was hunted down and killed, along with her husband and children, without mercy.
Daena herself was the most gifted pyromancer of her line since the Doom. Her flames were powerful enough to kill a man, and they demanded far less blood than those of her kin. That was why her family believed she was blessed — and sent her here, to Dragonstone, to learn anything the Targaryens could teach her, at any cost.
She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of a door opening. Daemon and Laenor were still deep in discussion about magic, while the boy who followed Laenor like a shadow spoke with Princess Rhaenyra as if they were old friends. Daena paid them no mind — her focus remained fixed on the words between Daemon and Laenor, hoping to catch even a fragment she could understand.
Daemon Targaryen
"…the hard part in all of it is grounding yourself amid the ocean of visions that assaults you. I do it with the help of…"
Though Daemon was still ranting about how he had mastered the dragonglass, the question he had asked Laenor — and the answer he had received at the harbor— continued to nag at the back of his mind. He finished his explanation and saw Laenor nod absently, murmuring a few polite words with a well-practiced expression that fooled no one. Fuck this, Daemon thought. There has to be something more — something big. Maybe he saw something in the North.
Patience had never been Daemon's virtue, but Daena's presence — and the way her eyes lingered on every word they exchanged — made him hold his tongue. If Laenor meant to reveal something that could harm them or be used against them, it was best that it be spoken in private rather than here. Still, there was one matter Daemon could not leave unspoken — the very reason he had wanted Laenor here in the first place.
"We have yet to receive an answer from your father, Laenor," Daemon began, his tone calm but edged. "About the betrothal agreement between you and Rhaenyra. He said it would be left to the two of you to decide. I already asked Rhaenyra, and she has no objection to the match. And since we had spoken of this before, I thought an answer from your side would not take this long either."
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