Balerion Tower
"I have come here often since that day," Elaena said softly. "Both in the mornings and in the evenings. Looking over Valyria and the ocean from this height soothes my mind. It grants me a small respite, if only for a few moments, from the thoughts that hound me throughout the day."
Her serene smile faltered as she finished speaking, and a more somber expression settled upon her face. Silence followed her words. Laenor did not know what to say, nor did he dare to console her. There was a strong possibility that he himself was the cause of the despair she now tried to quiet by standing at this height.
"Forgive me, Lord Laenor," Elaena added quickly, as if catching herself. "You did not come here to listen to my troubles. May I know the reason behind your visit?" The smile returned to her lips, but this time it appeared practiced rather than natural.
"You may," Laenor replied evenly. "I have come to escort Lady Melisa. My cousin, Daemion Velaryon, who is to wed her at midday, wished to meet her before the marriage rites bind them together. I thought it only proper." His gaze remained steady. "I trust Lady Melisa is present within the tower?"
"Yes, she is here," Elaena answered with a nod. "She arrived some hours ago." She began walking slowly toward him, the regal composure returning to her posture. "The guards have already gone to inform my father of your arrival. If you permit it, I can guide you directly to Lady Melisa and send word to my father regarding your purpose. You may meet him afterward. This way, Lady Melisa will have sufficient time to prepare herself before meeting her betrothed."
Laenor studied her for a brief moment before nodding. "A reasonable proposal. Lead the way, Lady Elaena."
She inclined her head and turned. They made their way to the floor below and headed toward the elevator. Eleana informed one of the guards stationed near the lift and sent him toward her father's solar, before stepping inside. Laenor followed after her.
As they descended toward the lower floors, Laenor once again noticed how smooth and steady the Valyrian lifts were—far superior to the crude mechanisms found in Westeros. The platform was large enough to accommodate ten or fifteen men with ease, yet the enclosed space felt narrower than it should.
Elaena stood closer than necessity required.
Close enough that his heightened senses betrayed him. He could see the faint pulse along her neck and hear the quick rhythm of her heartbeat beneath the silence. Laenor was surprised by how quickly her heart was beating. Then an aroma came off her. A subtle fragrance — citrus layered with a faint aquatic sharpness. It was pleasant, more to his liking than he cared to admit.
Laenor drew in a slow breath, steadying himself, only for the scent to linger stubbornly in his senses.
Fortunately, the lift came to a halt sooner than he expected. The doors opened with a soft mechanical sigh, and Elaena stepped out swiftly, as though eager to place distance between them.
Laenor followed after her, his expression carefully neutral.
The thought that she might feel anxious—perhaps even uneasy—about the elevator crossed his mind for a fleeting moment. But he dismissed it almost immediately. Why would she fear something she had likely used every day of her life? Elaena had been raised in a tower; lifts and heights were as common to her as the sea was to a Velaryon.
"So you and Lord Corlys have no issue with the marriage taking place before the Council convenes?" Elaena asked, her voice echoing faintly through the long corridor as their footsteps rang softly against the polished dragonglass.
"Yes," Laenor replied evenly. "My father and I see no issue if the marriage is to take place before the council meeting."
"My father will be very pleased to hear that," Elaena said, turning her head slightly to look back at him. A grateful smile touched her lips. "I thank you for understanding the need for haste and agreeing so readily."
"There is no need to thank me," Laenor answered. "The decision rested with my cousin. It is his marriage date we were discussing, not mine. We merely ensured that his wishes aligned with the timing."
She nodded at that, accepting the answer, though her pace did not slow.
"When will you be marrying, Lord Laenor?" Elaena asked after a brief silence. Her tone was neutral, almost detached, and she did not glance back this time. "Though Lady Rhaenyra is young, your sister Lady Laena is of age. Why have you two not yet married?" Her voice carried the faintest trace of hesitation now, and she risked a quick look over her shoulder before facing forward again. "Forgive me if I have overstepped. You need not answer if you would rather not."
Laenor exhaled slowly, lengthening his stride to match her quick steps. The question lingered longer in his thoughts than he expected. Back in Westeros—before the Freehold's return became certain to him—there had been talk of marrying him to Rhaenyra first, even before Laena's own match. He had not opposed it. Nor had Laena, when he had asked her plainly. At the time, he had been far more concerned with training, with refining the control of his godly powers, with preparing himself for threats unseen. Marriage had seemed distant, almost trivial compared to power and survival.
"I do not know," he admitted at last. "I have not given it serious thought until recently. Perhaps this year. Or the next at most." He paused, then turned the question back on her. "And you, Lady Elaena? Why are you not married? Surely many would have vied for your hand."
It was not uncommon for those past twenty to remain unmarried in Valyria and in this world at large, yet neither was it entirely ordinary—especially for someone of her lineage.
Elaena gave a soft huff. "You think anyone is worthy enough to marry me?" she asked, and this time the familiar edge of arrogance returned to her tone. "There was one, perhaps. But he was too arrogant and too absorbed in his pursuit of lost arts and ancient secrets for me to tolerate him for long. My father did not favor him either—and my father is known to favor any man who wields power and magic and dragonlord lineage not too lower then ours." A faint scowl crossed her face. "I speak of Lady Rhaenys's son, Aegor Belaerys."
Her expression soured at the very mention of his name.
"You sure are arrogant, if you find no one worthy enough to marry you in Valyria of all places in the world." Laenor said bluntly, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly.
"Well," Elaena replied with a slight lift of her chin, "I am a Drakonar. And not without talent in the mystical arts. There is no sin in possessing pride when one has earned it." A smirk curved her lips. "You should be as well—more so than I. You are… something else, Lord Laenor. Of a kind not seen in ages. You should not shackle yourself with the timid upbringing and cautious thoughts drilled into you in that barbaric land."
She slowed just enough to meet his gaze properly.
"You are in Valyria now—the Freehold of Dragonlords. Here, the strong rule. And they do as they please. The dragons do not ask; the world is their birthright."
She stepped closer again, deliberately this time, her hand brushing against his as though by accident. Laenor stilled, his gaze locking with hers. Lilac met blue, not softly but in open challenge. He did not fully understand what was unfolding between them, only that something fierce and primal stirred within him. His heart began to hammer against his ribs, each beat louder than the last, his breath turning uneven despite his effort to steady it.
By the fires of Valyria, the urge that surged through him was overwhelming. A reckless, possessive desire rose up—an instinct to seize her, to press her back against the cold stone wall and claim her there and then. The thought came unbidden yet powerful, drowning out reason. His fingers twitched, almost closing around her hand. That small movement was enough. Elaena took it as invitation rather than hesitation and stepped closer still, erasing what little distance remained between them.
Now there was barely space enough for breath. He could feel the warmth of her body through the thin barrier of cloth, could sense the quickening of her pulse just as his own raced wildly. His breeches strained, the physical proof of his loss of control impossible to ignore. Each slow inhale only worsened matters; the faint scent that clung to her skin seemed to coil around him, feeding the fire rather than quelling it. The more he tried to calm himself, the more his body betrayed him.
For a heartbeat longer—perhaps two—he teetered on the edge of surrendering to that dangerous impulse. He might have acted, might have done something irrevocable, something he would later curse himself for, had it not been for a small, hesitant cough that cut through the charged silence.
The sound struck like a bucket of cold water.
Laenor's jaw tightened as clarity returned. His rational mind seized control from the consuming heat of the moment. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped back, putting necessary distance between himself and Elaena. Only then did he turn toward the source of the interruption.
Lady Melisa Zaldri stood a short distance away, clearly having witnessed enough to understand more than she should have. Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink, and she avoided looking directly at either of them for more than a second at a time. She wore a simple white dress that contrasted sharply with Elaena's bold crimson. Her hands twisted together nervously before her, fingers fidgeting with the fabric.
"Melisa, what a fortunate coincidence," Elaena said smoothly, though the tightness beneath her words betrayed her displeasure. "We were just on our way to your chamber."
At the tone, Melisa's head dipped even lower, as if she wished to disappear entirely.
"May I ask what compelled you to leave your room?" Elaena continued, and this time there was a sharper edge beneath the politeness.
"I would like to know that as well, Lady Melisa," Laenor added, offering her a reassuring smile as he moved past Elaena to stand nearer to the young woman, placing himself subtly between them.
"I—I was summoned by Lord Maelor," Melisa replied, her voice trembling slightly. "There is news regarding the Gontaris clan. Lord Maelor said it was urgent, which is why I came at once. I did not mean to disturb you… I am very sorry, Lady Elaena. Lord Laenor."
She bowed her head in apology, shoulders tense, as though bracing herself for reprimand.
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