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Chapter 59, Chapter 60, Chapter 61, Chapter 62, Chapter 63, Chapter 64, Chapter 65, Chapter 66, Chapter 67, Chapter 68, Chapter 69, Chapter 70, Chapter 71, Chapter 72, Chapter 73, Chapter 74, Chapter 75, and Chapter 76 are already available for Patrons.
Kinvara's chamber was dim, lit only by the dancing flames in the hearth. Kinvara stood before them, her crimson robes seeming to shift and flow like liquid fire in the flickering light.
Daemon's footsteps echoed softly as he entered, but Kinvara didn't turn. "Prince Daemon," she said, her voice carrying that mysterious lilt that always seemed to hint at hidden knowledge. "I wondered when you would seek me out."
"What are you doing?" he asked, coming to stand beside her, careful to maintain a proper distance. Even in the half-light, her beauty was striking.
"Your son bid me learn what I could of Lykard Martell." She turned her head slightly, watching his reaction.
Daemon's face darkened at the name. "The man who killed Laenor." His voice was tight with controlled anger. "The man who brought down Seasmoke."
"Indeed." Kinvara moved closer to the flames, the ruby at her throat pulsing with an inner light. "Though I confess, he remains... elusive to my sight."
"And what does that mean, exactly?"
She turned to face him fully now, a slight smile playing at her lips. "It means, my prince, that some men cast longer shadows than others. But we both know that's not why you're here."
Daemon didn't bother denying it. He'd seen enough of Kinvara's abilities to know better. The memory of her first meeting with Caraxes still haunted him - how his fearsome mount had melted under her touch like a hound being scratched behind its ears.
"There's something about my son," he said finally, his violet eyes reflecting the flames. "Something... not quite right."
Kinvara's expression sharpened with interest. "Tell me."
Daemon began to pace, his dark armor catching the firelight. "He knows things he shouldn't know. Things he couldn't possibly know." He paused, turning to face her. "When we spoke of the Stepstones, he knew details. Came up with good strategies, he discussed as if he'd commanded them himself."
"Is that all?" Kinvara asked, her voice carrying a hint of amusement.
"No," Daemon admitted. "There's anger in him. Deep anger that seems to come from nowhere. Sometimes I look at him and see... something else. Something older than his years."
"Something that frightens you?" she suggested softly.
"Nothing frightens me," Daemon snapped, but they both knew it for a lie.
"The flames show many things, Prince Daemon," Kinvara said, moving closer to him. "Your son stands at a crossroads, but the paths before him are shrouded in smoke."
"Speak plainly, woman. I've no patience for riddles."
She laughed then, a sound like distant bells. "Plainly? Very well. Your son carries a burden, one he didn't choose but accepted nonetheless. The anger you see? It's not just his own."
"What do you mean?"
"Tell me, have you noticed how he looks at Lord Corlys? How he seems to know exactly what to say to ease the man's grief?"
"He's perceptive," Daemon said, but uncertainty crept into his voice.
"Is he?" Kinvara's green eyes seemed to glow in the firelight. "Or is he something else entirely?"
"You know something," Daemon accused. "Something you're not telling me."
"I know many things, my prince. But some truths must be discovered, not told." She reached out, her fingers barely brushing his armored chest. "Your son is exactly who he needs to be, at exactly the time he needs to be it. Isn't that enough?"
"Not for me," Daemon growled. "He's my son. If there's something wrong-"
"Wrong?" Kinvara's laugh cut him off again. "Who are we to say what's wrong or right? The Lord of Light works in ways beyond our understanding. Perhaps your son's... uniqueness... is exactly what's needed in the days to come."
Daemon caught her wrist, holding it away from his chest. "You speak in circles."
"And you ask questions whose answers you're not ready to hear," she countered, unafraid of his grip. "Watch your son, Prince Daemon. Watch how he heals what's broken, how he knows what needs to be known. And ask yourself - is this truly something to fear?"
He released her wrist slowly. "When Caraxes first saw you, he bowed his head. Why?"
"Perhaps he recognized something in me," she said mysteriously. "As I recognize something in your son."
"And what's that?"
"Purpose," she said simply. "Divine purpose, though he may not know it yet."
Daemon didn't answer that; he kept quiet, not for the first time; he wished Lyanna was still with him. She would know what to say.
"Why does this concern you so deeply?" Kinvara asked, her eyes searching his face. "Many young men have their secrets."
Daemon was quiet for a long moment, his jaw working as if the words were difficult to form. "He's supposed to be the best of us both," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The best of me and Lyanna."
Kinvara's expression softened at the mention of Lyanna Stark. "Laenor's death-"
"No," Daemon cut her off, shaking his head. "This isn't about Laenor. I know my son well. While Laenor was a good friend, he was never someone that close with him. Laenor might have been his cousin, he might have been his friend, but...The rage... it was always there. He hides it well from others, but not from me. Never from me." He turned to face her fully. "I've seen that same rage before, every time I looked in a mirror before I met Lyanna."
"Ah," Kinvara breathed, understanding dawning in her eyes. "Now we come to the heart of it. You fear he'll follow your old path."
"Before Lyanna, I was..." Daemon paused, searching for the words. "I was darkness itself. Cruel. Ruthless. The Rogue Prince, they called me, and I earned that name with blood and fire." His voice grew heavy with memory. "Then she came into my life with her wolf's blood and her winter roses, and somehow... somehow she made me want to be better."
Kinvara stepped closer, her voice gentle. "Every father wants better for their children than they had for themselves."
"I don't want him to be what I was," Daemon admitted, the words seeming to pain him. "I see that darkness in him sometimes, and it terrifies me more than any battle ever has."
"Look into the flames," Kinvara said suddenly, gesturing to the hearth. "Perhaps R'hllor will show you what you need to see."
Daemon scoffed. "I'm not one for gods, red or otherwise."
"And yet here you are, seeking wisdom from a red priestess," she countered with a knowing smile. "Look into the flames, Prince Daemon. What do you have to lose?"
With a resigned sigh, Daemon turned to the hearth. At first, he saw nothing but the dance of ordinary fire, and he felt foolish standing there, staring at flames like some superstitious peasant.
But then...
The flames began to shift, to take shape. Colors swirled and merged, and suddenly he saw him - Aenar, but older, his features more defined. He stood in what looked like a garden, and in his arms...
"Who is she?" Daemon whispered, watching as the vision showed his son holding a woman with the unmistakable Targaryen features - silver-gold hair and violet eyes. They seemed to be laughing about something, and the happiness on his son's face was unlike anything Daemon had ever seen.
The vision faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Daemon blinking in surprise.
"What did you see?" Kinvara asked, though her tone suggested she already knew.
"I saw..." Daemon shook his head, still processing what he'd witnessed. "I saw him happy. Truly happy."
"Then perhaps," Kinvara said softly, "the darkness you fear isn't all there is to him. Just as it wasn't all there was to you."
"Who was she?" Daemon asked. "The woman with him?"
Kinvara's lips curved in a mysterious smile. "Some questions are better left for time to answer, my prince. But know this - your son's path may be complicated, but it need not lead to the same shadows you once walked."
Daemon turned to leave again, but paused at the door. "If you're wrong about him..."
"I'm not," she said with absolute certainty. "The flames never lie, Prince Daemon. They merely show us what we're ready to see."
As he strode away from the temple, Daemon found himself wondering about the vision, about the happiness he'd seen on his son's face. Perhaps Kinvara was right. Perhaps there was more to Aenar's story than the darkness he feared.
But still, as he walked through the night air, he couldn't shake the memory of that rage he sometimes glimpsed in his son's eyes - a rage that seemed older than the boy himself.
One Month Later
The war room in High Tide was thick with tension as lords gathered around the massive table, carved to display a detailed map of the Stepstones. Candlelight caught the silver in Lord Corlys's hair as he leaned forward, his eyes sharp despite his grief.
Aenar stood at the head of the table near his father. "The pirates think they're clever, hiding in their caves like rats," he began, his voice carrying the weight of command that seemed beyond his years. "But rats can be flushed out."
"How do you propose to do that?" Lord Celtigar asked, his massive axe resting against his chair. The man's eyes gleamed with barely contained bloodlust.
Daemon watched his son carefully, noting how naturally he commanded the room's attention. It reminded him of someone, though he couldn't quite place who.
"A small boat," Aenar said, moving wooden pieces across the map. "We'll need men willing to approach the caves. Once there, we'll use a special mixture - I have created something that will force them out. Those ships needs to get close to the cave entrace. They'll have two choices: suffocate in their holes or run out to face dragon fire."
"And what of reinforcements from the Three Cities?" Lord Bar Emmon asked, his young face creased with concern. "They've been supporting these pirates with gold and ships and from the reports, tomorrow at night they will sail towards the Stepstones. We don't know how many ships they will bring, but I fear it will be a hundred ships."
Corlys stepped forward, his voice hard with determination. "My fleet will form a blockade here," he indicated a stretch of water. "No ship will pass without our permission, and we will use Wildfire to create a burning chain in the fire to ensure that no ships will pass through. The Stepstones will be their grave."
"The dragons will be key," Aenar continued. "Princess Rhaenys on Meleys and my father on Caraxes will target the sails only. No direct attacks on the ships themselves."
"Why not just burn them all?" someone called out.
"Because we learned from Laenor's death," Daemon answered sharply. "Any ship could be packed with wildfire. We won't lose another dragon to such treachery."
Aenar nodded. "Instead, Lord Corlys's ships will use their scorpions to launch burning arrows. If a ship explodes, we'll know it carried wildfire, and our dragons will be safely out of range."
"And what of survivors?" Lord Celtigar asked, stroking his axe's handle almost lovingly. "Those who try to swim away?"
"That's where Laena and Vhagar come in," Aenar said, his eyes darkening. "The largest living dragon will ensure no one escapes. Those who don't burn will drown."
Corlys smiled grimly. "My daughter will enjoy that task."
"The timing must be perfect," Aenar stressed. "Once we begin, we cannot allow a single ship to escape and warn others. This must be decisive."
"How many men do you need for the cave assault?" Daemon asked, studying the map intently.
"Three small boats, five men each," Aenar replied. "Volunteers only. It's dangerous work."
Other lords quickly volunteered their best men, eager to prove their worth to the Sea Snake and the Targaryens.
"What of the smoke mixture you mentioned?" Corlys asked. "Where will you get it?"
A slight smile touched Aenar's lips. "I have my sources. It's a combination of substances that, when mixed with water, creates a thick, choking smoke. They won't be able to stay in those caves longer than a few minutes."
Daemon caught that smile and felt a chill. Sometimes his son's knowledge seemed to come from nowhere, as if he'd lived another life entirely.
"The pirates have grown fat and lazy," Aenar continued. "They think their cave networks protect them, that they can hide from dragons there. We'll show them how wrong they are."
"When do we begin?" Lord Bar Emmon asked eagerly.
"Tomorrow," Corlys answered. "We need time to position the fleet without arousing suspicion, and the ships of the free cities will arrive tomorrow. This will give the free cities a clear message. They thought they could fight with dragons, but they will soon learn that their Valyrian blood, what little is left in them is nothing to a real dragon."
"Tomorrow," Aenar agreed. "And then we finish this. No more raids on trading ships. No more stolen goods. No more murdered innocents."
"And no mercy," Lord Celtigar added with a savage grin.
"No mercy," Corlys echoed, thinking of his son.
The lords began to disperse, discussing preparations among themselves. Daemon approached his son as the room cleared.
"This plan," he said quietly. "You seem very certain it will work."
Aenar met his father's gaze steadily. "It will work. Sometimes the old ways are best - smoke out your enemy, then destroy them completely."
"And where did you learn these 'old ways'?"
For a moment, something ancient and cold flickered in Aenar's eyes. "Some knowledge comes to us in strange ways, father. What matters is how we use it."
Corlys joined them, his face set in grim lines. "Your son has a good head for strategy, Daemon. This plan... it feels right."
"My son always had a good head for war and battles. Sometimes I am sure I'm the younger one here and not him," Daemon said with a japing voice, not noticing how Aenar tensed briefly.
"The pirates will learn what it means to wake the dragon."
As they left the war room, Lord Celtigar's booming laugh echoed down the corridor as he described to his men exactly how he planned to use his axe. Daemon watched his son walk ahead with Corlys, discussing final details and wondered again about the darkness he sometimes glimpsed behind those purple eyes.
But then again, he thought, perhaps some darkness was necessary. The Stepstones had been a problem for too long, and if his son's plan worked, they would finally be free of pirates, and House Martell had killed one of them. Daemon would never let that slide; he just hoped that after the pirates were dealt with. After House Targaryen conquers Dorne, after his son shows everyone that he is a worthy king . Daemon hoped the light in his son's eyes would return, and he would be happy again.
Lyanna, please give me strength. Please watch over our son. I want nothing else but for him to be happy. I hope that day comes, and I know it in my heart that our son will live a good and happy life...
Night
The night was thick and oppressive, a darkness that seemed to swallow all light. Laena found herself astride Vhagar, soaring through an inky sky that blended seamlessly with the sea below. The air was heavy with an acrid smell, and as she looked down, she saw why.
Green flames danced across the water's surface, spreading like living creatures, consuming everything in their path. The sight was terrifying, the fire's unnatural hue casting an eerie glow over the turbulent sea.
Suddenly, a voice pierced through the crackling of the flames and the rush of wind.
"Laena, Laena! Help me!"
The cry was achingly familiar, a voice she thought she'd never hear again. Her heart lurched in her chest as she recognized it.
"Laenor?" she whispered, her eyes frantically scanning the burning sea below.
There, amidst the churning waves and encroaching flames, she saw him. Laenor, her beloved brother, struggling to keep his head above water. His face was contorted with fear, his arms flailing as he fought against the merciless sea.
Without hesitation, Laena urged Vhagar into a steep dive. "Hold on, Laenor!" she shouted, her voice nearly lost in the wind. "I'm coming! I won't let you die!"
As they plummeted towards the water, a whisper echoed in her mind. 'Again.' The word sent a chill down her spine, but she pushed the thought aside, focusing solely on reaching her brother.
The green flames drew closer to Laenor, their hungry tendrils licking at the water around him. Laena could feel the heat rising, see the terror in her brother's eyes as the wildfire approached.
"Faster, Vhagar!" she urged, leaning forward as if she could will them to move quicker. But something was wrong. Despite their descent, the water's surface never seemed to get any closer. It was as if they were suspended in time, forever falling but never reaching their destination.
The wildfire reached Laenor, and his cries for help transformed into screams of agony. The sound tore through Laena, ripping at her very soul. She watched in horror as the flames engulfed him, his skin blackening and peeling away.
"No! Laenor!" Laena screamed, tears streaming down her face. She pulled at Vhagar's reins, trying desperately to change their course, to somehow reach her brother. But it was futile.
As the flames consumed him, Laenor's screams of pain morphed into something else. His voice, distorted by agony, began to hurl curses at Laena.
"You let me die!" he howled, his eyes locked on hers even as the fire ate away at his flesh. "You abandoned me! How could you, Laena? How could you?"
Each word was a dagger to her heart. Laena sobbed, her body shaking with grief and guilt. "I'm sorry!" she cried out, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry, Laenor! Please, forgive me!"
"Sister..." His voice was barely human anymore, rasping through a ruined throat. "I curse you. I curse you with my dying breath!"
Those final words transformed into an unholy shriek as his skull split from the heat, brain matter boiling out through the crack. His body began to sink beneath the burning waves, still twitching, still burning.
The last thing Laena saw was his hand, reaching out towards her, before it too disappeared beneath the green inferno.
"No!" Laena screamed, her voice raw with anguish. "Laenor!"
With a violent jerk, Laena's eyes flew open. She gasped for air, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. For a moment, she was disoriented.
"Laena! Laena!" A voice called out to her, but this time it wasn't Laenor's. Strong arms encircled her, and she found herself pressed against a familiar chest.
"A-Aenar?" she choked out, her voice trembling.
"I'm here," Aenar's soothing voice replied. "It was just a dream, Laena."
The reality of her surroundings slowly sank in. She was in her chamber, the soft glow of candlelight chasing away the lingering shadows of her nightmare. Aenar held her close, his warmth making her feel safe.
Unable to hold back any longer, Laena broke down. She sobbed against Aenar's shoulder, her body shaking with the force of her grief. "I can never apologize to him," she cried, her words muffled against his skin. "He's gone, and I can never make it right."
Aenar stroked her hair gently, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Shh, it's alright," he murmured. "Laenor knew how much you loved him. He wouldn't want you to torture yourself like this."
But Laena couldn't stop the flood of emotions. The dream had brought all her guilt and sorrow rushing back to the surface. "I should have been there," she wept. "I should have protected him. He was my little brother, and I failed him." Aenar tried to say that it wasn't her fault and that she should not feel guilty, but Laena wasn't listening to him.
"The Martells," she hissed, her violet eyes narrowing dangerously. "They did this. They took him from us."
Rising from the bed. She began to pace the room, her movements sharp and agitated, like a caged dragon ready to unleash its fire.
"Laena," Aenar started, but she cut him off with a look that could have melted Valyrian steel.
"No, Aenar. No more comforting words," she snarled. "They murdered my brother. And for that, they will pay."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, but the venom in her words was unmistakable. "I swear it by the old gods and the new. I swear it on Vhagar's flames and on Laenor's memory. I will kill every Martell I get my hands on."
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