Mid 100 AC
Two years passed like the changing of the tides, each day flowing into the next with the steady rhythm of the sea.
Laenor stood at the edge of the practice yard, wooden sword clutched in his small hand as he watched the master-at-arms drill the older squires. At six namedays, he had grown remarkably tall for his age, his slender frame already promising the height that would one day rival his father's imposing stature. His silver-gold hair had grown longer, falling just past his shoulders in waves. The baby roundness still remained however, and his cheeks remained a favourite pinching target of all the women in his family much to his chagrin.
"Your stance is too wide," called Ser Vaemond, striding across the yard toward him. "You'll lose your balance at the first strong blow."
Laenor adjusted his feet immediately, muscle memory from both this life and his previous one guiding his movements. He raised his practice sword, violet eyes narrowing in concentration as he moved through the forms Ser Vaemond had taught him.
"Better," the knight grunted, circling him with a critical eye. "Much better. You learn quickly, little lord."
The praise warmed him, though Laenor kept his expression serious. He had been working diligently to match his growing knowledge with his still-developing body. Each day brought new strength to his limbs, new coordination to his movements, slowly closing the gap between what his mind remembered and what his body could accomplish.
"Again," Ser Vaemond commanded. "From the beginning."
As Laenor moved through the sequence of strikes and parries, he felt Seasmoke's presence in the back of his mind, a constant companion even when the dragon was hunting far out over the Blackwater Bay. Their bond had deepened over the years, growing from tentative connection to something so fundamental that Laenor sometimes found it difficult to determine where his thoughts ended and Seasmoke's began.
"Milord!" A servant's voice called from across the yard. "Your lord father requests your presence in his solar immediately."
Laenor lowered his wooden sword, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Thank you," he called back. "Tell him I'll be there shortly."
After returning his practice sword to the rack and thanking Ser Vaemond for the lesson, Laenor made his way through High Tide's winding corridors. Servants smiled at him as he passed, some ruffling his hair or offering him small treats smuggled from the kitchens. His height might have made him look older, but his delicate features and wide violet eyes still inspired protective instincts in the household staff.
He paused before a polished silver mirror hanging in the hallway, straightening his tunic and brushing the dust from his breeches. His reflection showed a striking child, tall and slender, with an almost ethereal quality to his beauty that was distinctly Valyrian. Yet there was something else there too, a gravity in his violet gaze that seemed at odds with his youthful appearance.
"What do you think, Seasmoke?" he whispered, though the dragon was miles away. "Presentable enough for Father?"
A warm pulse of amusement flickered through their connection, and Laenor smiled to himself. Even at a distance, Seasmoke's presence was a comfort.
When he reached his father's solar, he knocked firmly on the heavy oak door.
"Enter," Corlys's deep voice commanded from within.
Laenor pushed the door open to find his father standing by the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the afternoon light. Maps and charts covered the massive desk in the center of the room, some held down by ornate paperweights shaped like sea creatures.
"You wanted to see me, Father?" Laenor asked, closing the door behind him.
Corlys turned, his weathered face breaking into a smile as he beheld his son. "Yes, come in, Laenor." He gestured to the maps spread before him. "I have something to show you."
As Laenor approached, he saw that the largest map depicted the coastline of Essos, with particular attention paid to the Free Cities and the lands beyond. Small notations in his father's precise handwriting marked trading ports, dangerous reefs, and favorable currents.
"I've been invited to Braavos," Corlys said, tapping a finger on the map where the Free City was marked with a golden dot. "The Sealord wishes to discuss new trading arrangements that would grant House Velaryon exclusive rights to certain luxury goods."
Laenor studied the map with interest. "That would strengthen our position considerably," he observed, his young voice thoughtful. "Especially if we could secure silks and spices before they reach the Braavosi middlemen."
Corlys's eyebrows rose slightly at his son's astute assessment. "Indeed. And I've decided that you shall accompany me on this journey."
Laenor's head snapped up, his heart suddenly racing. "Truly?"
"You're six namedays now," Corlys said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Old enough for your first diplomatic mission. The journey will take us through the Gullet and across the Narrow Sea. Not the most challenging voyage, but a good introduction to life aboard ship."
Excitement surged through Laenor like a tidal wave. His first real journey beyond Driftmark! The first step toward becoming the explorer he had vowed to be.
"When do we leave?" he asked, unable to keep the eagerness from his voice.
"A moon from now," Corlys replied, his lips quirking in amusement at his son's obvious excitement. "That should give me enough time to preapare you. Speak with Maester Alton about what you should bring. And mind you pack warm clothes, autumn is giving way to winter, and the Narrow Sea can be bitter cold this time of year."
"Yes, Father," Laenor nodded solemnly, though inside he was bubbling with anticipation. "What about Seasmoke? Will he be able to follow the ship?"
Corlys's expression grew more serious. "That is something we must discuss. A dragon following a diplomatic vessel could be seen as... threatening by our Braavosi hosts."
Laenor felt a pang of disappointment. The thought of being separated from Seasmoke for weeks was distressing. Their connection had become so integral to his sense of self that the dragon's absence would feel like losing a limb.
But he nodded. "Understood father."
"Good." Corlys nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Now, tell me what you know of Braavosi customs and politics. If you're to accompany me as a representative of House Velaryon, you must be prepared."
For the next hour, Laenor demonstrated his knowledge of the Free City's complex social hierarchy, trading practices, and recent history. He had spent countless hours in High Tide's library, devouring books on foreign lands and cultures, supplementing his education with questions to the castle's maester and visiting merchants.
Corlys listened attentively, occasionally correcting a detail or adding context from his own extensive travels. By the end, he was nodding with approval.
"You've been studying diligently," he observed. "That will serve you well. Remember, in Braavos, knowledge is as valuable a currency as gold or ships."
"I won't disappoint you," Laenor promised, standing a little straighter.
"I know you won't." Corlys placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "Now go and find your sister. She's been asking for you all morning, something about a promise to take her to the tide pools."
Laenor had indeed promised Laena they would explore the rocky coves on the eastern shore today. With a quick bow to his father, he hurried from the solar, his mind already racing with preparations for the journey ahead.
As he navigated the stone corridors of High Tide, he reached out with his thoughts, seeking the familiar presence of Seasmoke. The dragon responded immediately, a surge of curiosity and excitement flowing through their bond.
"We're going on an adventure," Laenor whispered.
Laenor made his way across the courtyard toward the sound of his sister's animated chatter. Laena's voice carried on the sea breeze, her enthusiasm palpable even before he rounded the corner to find her gesticulating wildly to their aunt.
"But don't you see? If dragons truly descended from wyverns as the Asshai texts suggest, then their fire should—" Laena stopped mid-sentence, her violet eyes widening as she spotted him. "Laenor!"
She launched herself at him like a bolt from a crossbow, nearly knocking him backward with the force of her embrace. Her silver-gold hair whipped against his face as she pulled back, eyes blazing with excitement.
"Laenor, you promised to take me and show me your new tricks," she accused, though her grin betrayed her delight. Her fingers dug into his forearm with surprising strength for an eight-year-old.
Gael looked on with amusement, one elegant eyebrow arched as she observed their interaction. She had grown into a beautiful woman, one of the most prized brides in the Seven Kingdoms, but she had rejected every suitor thus far. Today, she wore a gown of sea-foam green that complemented the silver circlet nestled in her platinum hair.
Laenor found himself amused by his sister. Despite their physical ages, he often felt the older of the two, the weight of his memories and knowledge from another life creating a strange dissonance when faced with her childlike enthusiasm.
How could I forget?" he replied, reaching up to ruffle her hair and earning a scowl in return. He reached out, taking Laena's hands in his. "Come, let's go to the Cove. Seasmoke is waiting."
As they made their way down the winding path that led to the secluded bay, Laenor recounted his conversation with their father. The salty air filled his lungs, bringing with it the tang of freedom that always accompanied thoughts of flying.
"Father says I'm going to Braavos with him soon," he explained, watching his footing on the rocky descent.
Laena gasped, her face contorting into a thunderous pout. "How unfair!" she exclaimed, lunging suddenly to grab him in a headlock. Her small arms wrapped around his neck as she attempted to wrestle him to the ground. "You can't leave me behind! Who will teach me about dragons and help me with my studies?"
Gael moved between them quickly, her slender hands separating them before Laenor could retaliate. The concern in her eyes was evident as she steadied them both.
"Careful now," she cautioned, her voice carrying a note of worry that Laenor rarely heard. "The path is treacherous enough without the two of you tumbling down it like wildlings."
Laenor felt the weight of Gael's gaze upon him, searching for something in his expression. The lavender light flickered behind his eyes, and for a moment, he wondered if she could sense the change in him, the growing power that even he didn't fully understand.
"Besides," Gael continued, her tone softening as she turned to Laena, "your brother won't be gone forever. And perhaps this separation will give you time to develop your own talents.
The path opened onto the hidden cove, and there, gleaming like polished silver in the afternoon sun, Seasmoke awaited. The young dragon lifted his massive head at their approach, steam curling from his nostrils in greeting.
The dragon had grown remarkably over the past two years, now standing at an impressive fifty feet tall. His muscular frame was draped in shimmering silver-gray scales that caught the sunlight like polished armor. Though fully capable of carrying a grown man on his back and in his claws as had done so with some of the sailors when he was feeling mischevious, Laenor's parents had strictly forbidden him from flying until he turned seven. This was already far earlier than they would prefer, but Laenor's unusual maturity had earned him certain allowances that other children his age would never receive.
Laenor ran his hand along Seasmoke's snout, feeling the warm scales beneath his palm. The dragon huffed softly, sending a puff of steam that ruffled Laenor's silver-gold hair.
"Okay, my dear sister," Laenor said, turning to face Laena. Though she was still pouting from their earlier conversation about his potential departure, he could see excitement beginning to build in her violet eyes. "Watch."
He stepped toward the water's edge, his boots sinking slightly into the wet sand. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and reached inward, finding that familiar well of power that was Nereid Kyrie. Over the last two years, he had slowly and carefully refined this ability under the close supervision of his mother and father. They had been immensely relieved to discover that, unlike most magical gifts in this world, the power itself didn't seem to take anything from Laenor in exchange for its use aside from stamina, at least not yet.
As he understood it, Nereid Kyrie provided him with three specific abilities. First was the active empowerment of dragons. While Seasmoke passively benefited by virtue of their bond, his experiments with Meleys under his mother's guidance had revealed that the dragon could fly swifter and produce flames with greater power when influenced by his gift. The drawback was that empowering Meleys left him utterly exhausted, whereas with Seasmoke, who he shared a natural affinity with, the drain was minimal.
The second ability allowed Laenor to hypnotize dragons through song, making them drowsy and more amenable to his will. He had discovered, however, that the older the dragon, the more difficult it was to enthrall them. Aside from his initial awakening of the sacred gear, he had never been able to charm Meleys for longer than a few seconds.
The third ability, control of the ocean, was the trick he intended to show Laena and Gael today.
Laenor closed his eyes and tapped into Nereid Kyrie, feeling that ball of power that existed behind his diaphragm. It pulsed in response to his attention, warm and alive. He could feel it moving through his veins like liquid light, and he pushed that awareness outward into the ocean before him. Motes of flickering lavender light began to flow from his softly glowing figure. Behind his closed eyelids, his eyes began to glow with the same lavender hue.
And then he began to pull at the ocean. Push and pull.
Like a waterbender, he grinned internally, drawing on memories from his previous life.
The sea responded instantly to his call, rising up in sinuous tendrils that twisted and shaped themselves according to his will. First, he crafted a leaping dolphin, its watery form arcing through the air before splashing back into the bay. Next came a horse, galloping across the surface of the water, its liquid mane flowing behind it.
"By the Seven!" Gael gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
Laena clapped her hands in delight, all traces of her earlier pout vanished. "Make a dragon!" she demanded, bouncing on her toes.
Laenor smiled without opening his eyes, concentrating harder. The water rose again, this time forming the unmistakable shape of a dragon in flight. Its wings stretched wide, its tail lashing behind it as it soared over their heads. Beside him, he heard Seasmoke rumble with interest, the real dragon watching his water counterpart with keen amber eyes.
As he held the water dragon aloft, Laenor felt a familiar strain beginning to build behind his temples. This level of fine control still taxed him, especially when maintaining such complex shapes. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool sea breeze.
"That's incredible," Gael breathed, her voice filled with wonder and something else, concern, perhaps. "But don't overextend yourself, Laenor."
He nodded slightly, acknowledging her warning without breaking his concentration. With a graceful gesture, he guided the water dragon into a final dive, sending it crashing back into the sea in a spectacular spray that left both Laena and Gael laughing and wiping droplets from their faces.
As he released his hold on Nereid Kyrie, the lavender glow faded from his skin. The sudden absence of power left him feeling momentarily hollow, but he had grown accustomed to the sensation. Opening his eyes, he found both his aunt and sister staring at him with expressions of awe.
"Could you teach me to do that?" Laena asked immediately, her voice hushed with reverence.
Laenor shook his head, offering her an apologetic smile. "I don't think it's something that can be taught, Laena. It's like having dragon dreams or the ability to bond with dragons, you're either born with it or you're not."
"But we're both of the same blood," she protested, disappointment clouding her features.
"True," he agreed, "but even among Targaryens and Velaryons, not everyone has the same gifts." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Besides, you have talents I don't possess."
"Like what?" she challenged, though her expression had softened slightly.
"Your memory for dragon lore is unmatched," he pointed out. "And you've already memorized the lineage of every dragon in Westeros. Even Father says you'll make a formidable dragonrider one day."
This seemed to mollify her somewhat. Laenor turned his attention to Gael, who had been watching their exchange with a thoughtful expression.
"What do you think, Aunt Gael?" he asked. "Will Father be angry that I showed Laena?"
Gael's violet eyes, so similar to his own, studied him carefully. "Your father instructed you to practice with discretion," she said after a moment. "But I think he would understand that you trust your sister and me with this secret." She moved closer, kneeling in the sand to bring herself to his eye level. "Laenor, what you can do... it's remarkable. But power like this will not go unnoticed forever."
"I know," he admitted quietly. "Father says the same."
"And he's right to be cautious," Gael continued. "In our family's history, those with unique gifts have often found themselves both blessed and burdened by them."
Seasmoke chose that moment to interject, nudging Laenor's back with his snout hard enough to make him stumble forward a step. The dragon's amber eyes gleamed with impatience, and Laenor felt a clear desire through their bond, Seasmoke wanted to fly.
"Not today, my friend," Laenor said aloud, reaching up to stroke the dragon's jaw. "Soon, though. Father says when I turn seven."
Seasmoke snorted, a plume of steam rising from his nostrils that suggested skepticism.
"He doesn't believe you," Laena said with a giggle. "Dragons aren't meant to wait."
"Neither are Velaryons, apparently," Gael observed with a smile. "Come, both of you. The tide is rising, and we should return to High Tide before your mother sends out a search party."
As they began the climb back up the rocky path, Laenor glanced over his shoulder at Seasmoke, who had settled onto the sand with what could only be described as a draconic pout. The bond between them thrummed with shared frustration, both dragon and rider longing for the sky they couldn't yet claim together.
The journey back to High Tide was filled with Laena's endless questions about his abilities and what other feats he might be capable of performing. Laenor answered as best he could, though in truth, he was still discovering the limits of Nereid Kyrie himself.
The ease with which he had shaped the sea to his will stirred something deep within him, a hunger to explore the full extent of his abilities. What else might he accomplish with his gifts?
He imagined standing at the prow of one of his father's ships, hands extended as he parted treacherous waters before them. The Sea Snake's legendary voyages had been accomplished through skill and courage alone, but with Laenor's gift... storms could be tamed, fog dispersed, hidden reefs avoided. Ships guided safely through the most perilous passages in the world.
I could halve the journey time to Yi Ti, he realized, the thought sending a thrill through him. Calm the Smoking Sea enough to glimpse the ruins of Valyria itself. An actual water mage.
The possibilities unfurled in his mind like one of his father's charts. He could call the very ocean to himself, summon tidal waves to protect Driftmark from invaders or clear paths through ice floes in the Shivering Sea. Trade routes that had been deemed too dangerous could be opened, treasures recovered from sunken wrecks, new lands discovered beyond the edges of the known world.
And the dragons... Laenor's gaze drifted skyward, where clouds scudded across the blue expanse. If a wild dragon ever attacked Driftmark, threatened his family or Seasmoke, he could sing it into submission. The thought of commanding such ancient power made his chest tighten with both excitement and trepidation. Even the oldest, most fearsome dragons might yield to his voice, a weapon unlike any other in the Seven Kingdoms.
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Mid 100 AC - The Red Keep
The King of the Seven Kingdoms sat alone in a darkened chamber, his weathered hand clasped around the frail fingers of his queen.
Jaehaerys Targaryen had witnessed the rise and fall of a dynasty, had forged peace from chaos, had built a legacy that would endure for generations. Yet here, in this quiet room where death lingered like a patient shadow, all his power meant nothing.
"More water?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. When Alysanne didn't respond, he reached for the silver cup anyway, gently bringing it to her cracked lips. A few drops spilled onto the embroidered coverlet, darkening the dragons that had been stitched there with meticulous care.
The chamber felt stuffy despite the open windows. Jaehaerys had ordered all the heavy drapes pulled back, allowing Alysanne to feel the breeze from the bay one last time. The scent of burning incense mingled with the medicinal herbs that Maester Elysar had prescribed for pain, creating a cloying sweetness that reminded Jaehaerys of funeral pyres.
How many had he attended over the decades? Too many to count. Sons, daughters, friends, counselors, all turned to ash while he remained. But this loss would be different. This one would break him in ways that even he, with all his hard-earned wisdom, could not fathom.
"The Small Council is waiting," Ser Ryam Redwyne said from the doorway, his white cloak immaculate against the gloom.
"Let them wait," Jaehaerys replied, not bothering to look up. "The realm has survived without me before. It will survive a few hours more."
After a moment, he heard the soft closing of the door as the Lord Commander withdrew. Jaehaerys sighed, his thumb tracing circles on the back of Alysanne's hand. Her skin felt like parchment, the blue veins visible beneath like faded ink.
"Do you remember our first flight together?" he asked, knowing she probably couldn't hear him. "You were terrified. Not of falling, never that. You were afraid Silverwing would sense your fear and reject you." A smile ghosted across his lips. "But she knew you better than you knew yourself. She saw your courage."
Alysanne's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, each one a battle hardly won.
"The maesters say I should prepare myself," he continued, his voice growing thick. "As if there were any preparation for this. As if I haven't been dreading this moment since the first gray hair appeared at your temple."
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against their joined hands. The crown felt heavy on his head, a burden he had once shared with her. Now its weight would be his alone to bear.
A soft knock interrupted his vigil. Before he could dismiss the intrusion, the door opened to reveal Prince Baelon, his features a younger echo of Jaehaerys's own.
"Father," he said softly, crossing the room with quiet steps. "How is she?"
Jaehaerys straightened, suddenly conscious of his slumped posture. Even now, even with his son, he could not entirely shed the mantle of kingship. "The same. Perhaps a little weaker."
Baelon nodded, coming to stand on the opposite side of the bed. His eyes, so like Alysanne's in their kindness if not their color, studied her face with naked grief.
"The ravens have arrived from Dragonstone," he said after a respectful silence. "Rhaenys sends her prayers. She writes that she will arrive on the morrow with Gael and her children."
Jaehaerys felt a twinge of relief. His relationship with his granddaughter had been strained since he had named Baelon as heir over her. It was heartening to hear that she would come for Alysanne.
"And what of Corlys?" he asked, his tone sharpening, his thoughts turned unbidden to Corlys Velaryon, that ambitious, overreaching sea serpent. The man had wormed his way into royal blood through Rhaenys, and now commanded not one but two dragons through his wife and son.
The thought burned in Jaehaerys's gut like wildfire. Dragons were meant for Targaryens alone, their birthright since Valyria. To see them bonded to a Velaryon felt like a perversion of the natural order. Even now, knowing that Alysanne's last breaths were upon them, he could not quell the resentment that rose within him when he thought of Rhaenys's choice.
It was tantamount to spitting in his face, a rejection of everything he had built. And for what? For love? For spite? Either way, the damage was done. The sacred bond between dragon and rider had been extended beyond the Targaryen line, and there was no undoing it now.
"Lord Corlys writes that he will be unable to come as he sails for Braavos within the week. A trading expedition." Baelon's tone carried a hint of disapproval.
"Leave us," he said suddenly, feeling the walls closing in. When Baelon hesitated, Jaehaerys softened his tone. "Please, my son. I need... I need these moments with her."
Understanding dawned in Baelon's eyes, and tears rose unbidden to his eyes as he looked upon his mother's face. With one last kiss to her brow, and a respectful bow, he departed, leaving Jaehaerys once more alone with his dying queen.
"They're all afraid," he whispered once the door had closed. "Afraid of what I'll become without you to temper me. Perhaps they're right to fear."
A memory surfaced, unbidden, Alysanne standing before him in their youth, hands on hips, violet eyes flashing as she challenged his decisions. How beautiful she had been in her righteousness, how utterly fearless in speaking truth to power. Even his power.
"Who will tell me when I'm wrong now?" He closed his eyes as he spoke to the faintly breathing form before him. "Who will remind me that I'm just a man beneath this crown?"
When he opened his eyes, Alysanne's eyes were open, those remarkable violet orbs finding his face with effort.
"My love," he breathed, leaning closer. "Are you in pain? Should I call for the maester?"
She managed a small shake of her head, her lips parting as she struggled to form words. Jaehaerys waited, patient as only one who has loved deeply can be.
"Promise me," she finally whispered, her voice so faint he had to strain to hear it.
"Anything," he replied without hesitation. "Anything at all, my queen."
"Promise me... you won't let it consume you." Her fingers tightened weakly around his. "This grief. This throne. Promise me you'll remember... the boy I fell in love with."
Tears burned behind his eyes, but Jaehaerys refused to let them fall. He would not burden her with his sorrow, not in these precious final moments.
"I promise," he said, the words catching in his throat. "Though how I'll keep that promise without you to remind me who that boy was, I cannot say."
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "You'll find a way. You always do."
Her eyes drifted closed again, the effort of speaking clearly exhausting her diminished strength. Jaehaerys remained where he was, watching the rise and fall of her chest, counting each breath as if by his vigilance alone he could prevent them from ceasing.
The afternoon light shifted, casting long shadows across the chamber floor. Servants came and went, lighting candles against the gathering dusk, but Jaehaerys barely registered their presence. His world had contracted to this room, this bed, this woman who had been his partner in all things for over five decades.
As twilight deepened into night, Alysanne's breathing grew more labored. Jaehaerys felt it then, that terrible certainty that had eluded him until now. This was indeed the end. Not tomorrow, not next week, but tonight. The realization struck him like a physical blow.
"Not yet," he pleaded, abandoning dignity as he clutched her hand tighter. "Please, not yet. There are still so many things we must do."
But the gods, if they existed at all, had never been particularly interested in the prayers of kings. Alysanne's breathing slowed further, each inhalation separated by terrifying pauses that stretched Jaehaerys's nerves to breaking.
A soft, rattling breath drew his attention back to Alysanne. Her chest rose once, trembled, and then fell silent. The moment stretched between them, endless and infinitesimal.
"My love?" Jaehaerys whispered, though he knew she was beyond hearing.
Something broke inside him then, some final barrier against the grief he had been holding at bay. A single tear escaped, trailing down his weathered cheek and into his silver beard. He did not brush it away, did not move at all, as if by remaining perfectly still he might keep the world from changing.
Outside the window, a mournful keen split the night air. Vermithor, sensing his rider's anguish, gave voice to what Jaehaerys could not. The dragon's roar was joined by another, Silverwing, bidding farewell to her rider. The dragons' cries echoed across King's Landing, a royal announcement more potent than any herald's trumpet.
Queen Alysanne, the Good Queen, beloved of the realm, was gone.
Jaehaerys closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the crown pressing down on him more heavily than ever before. For fifty-five years, they had ruled together, built together, dreamed together. Now he would have to continue alone.
The candles guttered in their holders, casting strange shadows across the chamber. Jaehaerys sat motionless, holding his queen's hand as it grew cold, watching the last vestiges of color fade from her beloved face.
Tomorrow, he would be king again. Tomorrow, he would don the mask of strength that the realm required. But tonight, in these final hours alone with her, he was simply a man saying goodbye to the better part of himself.
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