High Tide, Driftmark
Laenor walked through the corridors of High Tide, nodding at bowing servants and knights alike. The castle was more active than usual, its stone halls buzzing with life. Servants moved briskly, attending to every little need of their not-so-little lord as he prepared for his first great adventure. Their beloved young lord—Laenor.
Ever since he had declared his intention to travel to the North alone, to strike a deal with the Starks and explore the distant region, his mother and father had spared no effort in ensuring every detail was in order. And that meant the keep had been unusually active for the past three days.
Laenor still found himself wondering what all the fuss was for. It wasn't like he was heading to war with a fleet at his back. Even when he was going to war back then, there was this much preparation.
He soon entered the family quarters and made his way toward the room that had become the informal living chamber of the keep. He pushed open the doors and offered a faint smile to the guards posted outside.
"Mother, I was looking for you," Laenor called with a grin.
His mother sat in a chair beside a table, parchment spread before her as she rubbed her temples. Her dark purple eyes—the same shade Laena had inherited—lifted to meet his. Tiredness, and a touch of concern, lingered in their depths.
"Welcome, Laenor. Did you finish your lesson with the Maester?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, suspicion clear in her tone.
"Aye, I'm not as bad as before in other languages. I know my weaknesses and try to improve upon them," Laenor replied easily. "Now… who is going to war?"
His former inability to comprehend foreign tongues no longer troubled him as it once had.
"No one. And you'll thank me for all I'm doing when you need it most on your journey, you ungrateful son of mine," his mother snapped, though her voice lacked true bite.
"I'm not being ungrateful, Mother. You're just being… too much." Laenor sighed. "I'm not going to wage war with the North; I'm going as a potential ally. And they will treat me as such. Guest right is held sacred in the North. I will be under their protection—and frankly, they couldn't harm me even if they tried."
Her stare sharpened, but Laenor stood his ground. A few minutes passed in tense silence before his mother finally slumped forward, dropping her head to her desk in tired defeat.
Laenor shook his head with a faint smile and walked forward, wrapping one arm around her shoulders in a side embrace. They stayed like that for a moment until she looked up, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"Get away from me, you ungrateful son."
"How rude! I shall never console you again," Laenor huffed and stepped back dramatically, feigning injury. His mother chuckled quietly.
He watched from the corner of his eye as she stood and pulled him into a proper hug. "You feel any better?" she murmured.
"Nye," he replied.
"Now you know why I said that. I didn't feel consoled at all," she teased.
This time, Laenor chuckled for real. "Well then, no more hugs for you. I've got family members who actually appreciate them. Like my dear elder sister, for instance."
"Ah, your sister," his mother mused, stepping back. "She clung to you from the moment you were born. I always wondered if the two of you would end up marrying with how close you were—until you changed and started dreaming. And became too engrossed in magic and did not spend as much time with Laena as you used to before."
Laenor smiled awkwardly and quickly looked away, avoiding her gaze. If only she knew… But now wasn't the time to explain the change in his feelings for Laena over the past two years. Curse his Valyrian blood for that. And curse more to his mandia for never stopping in seducing him. Laenor shook his head to escape these thoughts.
"Anyway, where's Father?"
"Corlys is down at the shipyard, inspecting the ships you'll take with you. And Laena is with her ladies," she replied, retaking her seat and motioning for him to do the same.
Laenor sat opposite her, absentmindedly brushing a stray quill aside.
They spent the next hour discussing the terms of the agreement he would offer the North, the formal contracts to be drawn between House Stark and Driftmark. Once the political matters were out of the way, their conversation drifted.
"How's the garden? Any new plants showing magical potential?" he asked, a spark of curiosity lighting his face.
"There are two," she said thoughtfully, "but I wouldn't say for certain that they'll evolve into magical flora. They show signs—but faint. Embaryx's absence might slow their growth."
Laenor hesitated for a breath, then said carefully, "That's why I've decided not to take Embaryx with me. His presence is much more valuable here than at my side."
His mother's expression shifted—first to confusion, then to cold realization. An emotionless mask slid over her face.
"You're jesting," she said flatly. "You've become so arrogant you think you don't need your dragon? He is our greatest strength beside you."
Laenor sighed. In truth, she wasn't wrong—but it wasn't arrogance that drove his choice. It was confidence. He knew no one could truly harm him now. Besides, he was heading North. Winter had begun, and snow would be in abundance. One powerful fire spell would melt it into a sea of water, rippling for his manipulation.
"I've made my decision, Mother. I won't change it," he said firmly.
Her eyes bore into him, a deadened stare filled with unspoken pain. It cut at him to see it—but he stood by his choice. Embaryx was needed here. With his dragon nearby, both Meleys and the magical plants would thrive.
Still, Laenor was not so prideful as to ignore the pain his decision caused. He softened his voice. "I'm sorry, Mother. But I stand by—"
"I need wine," she cut him off loudly.
Laenor leaned back in his chair with a quiet sigh. They sat in silence for several minutes, tension thickening the air like mist. Then the door creaked open, and Laenor turned, expecting to see Laena, or perhaps his father—or even one of their bannermen.
Instead, his eyes widened.
A female servant entered, her movements demure and careful, a wine jug balanced in her hands. At first glance, she seemed like any other servant in the keep.
But Laenor had developed certain skills in the past two years. One of them was sensing magic.
And this girl was wrapped in it.
A faint aura clung to her body, and a concentrated shimmer of it pooled around her head. Worse—he recognized the stench. The same foul magic that surrounded his Valyrian steel sword. Blood magic. Sacrifice-born.
A soft cough snapped his gaze back to his mother. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes wide with a silent question.
"Do you know her?" Laenor asked, his voice low.
"Aye, she's from Spicetown. I selected her myself," his mother replied, eyeing me now with questions of her own.
"Hmm, how daring," Laenor said, amused—but from the way the air shifted in the room, neither of the other occupants missed the dangerous undertone laced beneath his words. "Trespassing in my keep, my domain, uninvited and unannounced—and killing one of my people. I must say, that's either bold arrogance or outright suicide. Then again, considering who you are, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. A Faceless Man. Servant of the Many-Faced God."
To her credit, she didn't flinch. No fear passed over her face, not even a twitch. But the act—the disguise she wore in the form of acting demurly and shy—fell away, like a mask melting in fire.
The jug of wine slipped from her grasp, but not a single drop hit the floor. Every bit of it was caught and shaped mid-air, turned to sharp ribbons of liquid death spinning so fast they could cut stone, and Laenor wielded it to pin the assassin against the wall. One twitch from her—just one—and the wine would slice her jugular before she could whisper Valar Morghulis.
"Tell me," Laenor said coldly, his eyes hard as obsidian, "who sent you? And to whom have you come to offer the gift of your god?"
"To no one—I did not come to offer a gift. None could pay the price to kill one of your blood. The girl whose face I wear was a spy herself; that is why I chose her. I apologize for not revealing my presence sooner, but know this—you and yours need never fear the servants of the Many-Faced God. We do not kill the divine and theirs. Our lord has forbidden it, it is known to every one of us."
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