Dragonstone
Laenor walked through the corridor of Dragonstone, making his way toward Aegon's Garden. It was evening. Yesterday, after a few minutes of his father's agreement to King Viserys' proposition, all of them had taken their leave to rest. With all that had happened and the little rest he'd had during the trip, Laenor slept until midday and woke only when Aurane came to wake him for lunch.
Lunch had not been much of a quiet affair as he would have preferred, as his father pointed out several reasons why he had agreed to Viserys's proposition right away. Laenor only nodded and left the hall after assuring his father that he wasn't unhappy—no, not at all. And truth be told, he wasn't even that unhappy as his father thinks he is.
With lunch done and nothing to occupy him, Laenor decided to take a dip in the sea. Embaryx, content just being near him, was off hunting somewhere. Laenor was gone for hours, returning to the surface only when his mind felt lighter, much lighter. In a better mood, he made his way back to the Keep, debating whether he should go and spend some time in the sky with Embaryx, as the weather is pleasant today. The idea won, but before he could do so, Aurane stumbled upon him. The boy had apparently been searching for him around the Keep for hours.
From Aurane, Laenor learned that Rhaenyra had invited him to see Aegon's Garden in the evening—so here he was. Laenor stepped into the garden, surrounded by dark trees as he walked further in. The air smelled pleasant, though the gloom of Dragonstone never seemed to lift, even here. Soon, he found Rhaenyra standing beside the wooden bench with her handmaidens, gazing at the wild roses before her.
They were in the midst of a conversation, and Rhaenyra had her back turned to him, so she wasn't the first to notice. One of her handmaidens spotted Laenor easily and wasted no time informing the princess. Rhaenyra turned, saw him, and said a few words that made her companions leave her—though not without some giggling on their way out.
"Princess," Laenor greeted her with a nod.
"Lord Laenor," Rhaenyra replied. A moment of silence followed their exchange—one that Laenor used to appreciate the roses.
"Our families have decided to announce our betrothal to the realm in a fortnight," she said.
"I'm sure the number of people who hate me across the realm will only increase after that announcement. Not that I'd regret it," Laenor said with a faint smile. His father had already told him of the feast that would take place in a fortnight, during today's lunch, and Laenor was eagerly awaiting the feast. Because Laenor wished to see how the realm would react to his presence—and to the return of House Velaryon to court, as his father had accepted the position of Master of Ships offered by Viserys.
"Why do you think that?" Rhaenyra asked, her brows furrowing. Laenor turned his gaze from the roses to her, one brow raised.
"That they would hate you more after the announcement of our betrothal," she clarified.
Laenor's smile grew—the same smile his crew often called his 'charming smile.' "Why, of course. Because I'm marrying the Realm's Delight. With that one announcement, I'm sure many hearts across the realm will break—and the only one they'll blame is poor me."
Rhaenyra's first expression was one of surprise, though she masked it quickly. Yet Laenor saw the corners of her lips twitch upward in a smile, and he took that as his victory.
She turned her head aside before looking back at him, her face now blank. "Yesterday, you behaved as if marrying me was the greatest compromise of your life. You even admitted to having feelings for your sister. And now you're flirting with me? Are you right in the head, Laenor Velaryon?" she asked, her tone laced with anger and frustration.
"You're right on both counts," Laenor said evenly. "I wouldn't lie to you about that. But much has changed since then, and to be honest, I'm not a man who turns away from duty. Strong and powerful I may be, but I am also heir to House Velaryon and son of Corlys Velaryon. As my father and lord, he decided to agree with your father's offer to marry us both. So instead of being angry or sulking about it, I've decided to accept it. Life becomes easier when you learn to accept certain things as they are, Princess, as I have come to realize after spending hours in the depths of the sea." And that was not all that Laenor came to realize once he was in his domain.
At that time, when Arrax had said he would bring back the whole of Valyria—with its people and dragons of old—Laenor had taken it as fact, awe and wonder filling him as it did everyone else. But today, while meditating deep beneath the sea, his mind wandered back to that meeting, and he realized the sheer power and authority it would take to accomplish such a feat.
Then another thought struck him—if the dragon gods of Valyria could wield such immense power from beyond the veil, what was to stop other gods from doing the same? Not to bring their people back, but to reshape the world as they pleased. He remembered then what the Old Gods had told him about the Council—and decided to add one more question to the growing list he would ask the Storm God when the time came. Was it the Council that decided that Valyria needed to be alive again? And if yes, why now?
"And why would you accept it? You're powerful enough to change things—why just be meek and accept them as they are?" Rhaenyra asked.
Laenor laughed softly at the question. "You think that with power in my hand, I could do anything, Princess? And pray tell, what should I do? Tell my father I disagree with his decision—and disrespect him, then what? Deal with the Faith alone until their zealots grow tired of their holy crusade to kill me? I don't intend to waste years, or even a single day of my life, dealing with those people. Besides, I'm free to marry my sister as well, so I see no reason to go against my lord father's will. Not to mention, you're beautiful—probably intelligent too—and that's reason enough for me to accept it."
"I'm intelligent," came her instant rebuke before the princess nodded in satisfaction. "I just wanted to confirm you're not accepting it for the mere sake of it, so I don't have to deal with your grumpiness all my life. Join me for a walk through the garden, would you?"
Rhaenyra tilted her head toward the path, and Laenor nodded, extending his hand for her to take—which she did.
"Well, I've told you my reasons for agreeing to the betrothal. What are yours?" Laenor asked as they strolled through the garden.
"Well, there's no better candidate in the realm than you. That, and if I'm to be queen one day, I can't allow House Velaryon—currently more powerful than House Targaryen—to remain untied to my house," replied Rhaenyra.
"Very wise. A prudent decision—the sort I didn't expect from you, of all people. Though I was hoping for something like, 'Laenor, your charming looks captured my heart,' or perhaps, 'Laenor, your dashing smile quickens my heartbeat,'" Laenor said, amusement dripping from his tone. It was good to talk with Rhaenyra again, as it had been in Winterfell—at least when she wasn't pestering him about why he hadn't yet accepted the betrothal.
"I'm intelligent, as I said before—you'd better remember it," she retorted, striking his arm lightly with a feigned glare to emphasize her words. "And I'm not some maiden of Andal origin to fall for your charm. I'm the blood of the dragon."
"I seem to recall a woman shivering and running from the mad hound of Winterfell to hide behind my back for protection. I wonder if she was a poor maiden or not," Laenor said, feigning deep contemplation.
"I did not have a weapon at that time, or that mad dog would've died by my hand. And you promised not to bring up that day ever—"
Qarth
Qarth, the Queen of Cities, lies upon the Jade Gates that link the Summer Sea to the Jade Sea. It is a city of splendor, surrounded by three thick walls and ruled by the Pureborn of Qarth. Within its walls, countless guilds and brotherhoods ceaselessly vie for influence, each seeking to wrest a measure of control from the Pureborn. Yet, above all these powers stands one that even the Pureborn themselves regard with respect and fear—the House of the Undying and its masters, the Undying Ones.
The shouting and screaming that echo from the House of the Undying are not uncommon to the Qartheen, but in the past week, they have grown so constant that the cries no longer cease, not even through the night. Many Pureborn whisper that the warlocks are at work on some great and terrible magic, and so they keep their distance, lest they draw the warlocks' wrath or displeasure.
What most do not know, however, is that one of the Undying Ones lies dead. His heart was the first to burn before the fire consumed his body entirely, leaving behind nothing but the dust. The elder warlocks—those who have studied the notes and records of their predecessors—understood all too well what this meant. His death was no quiet passing either; he screamed until his final breath, his voice echoing through the halls: "They are coming! That accursed race is returning to the world!"
When asked who—or what—was coming, his last words only deepened their dread: "Valyrians. They will live again."
Many among the warlocks dismissed his final ravings as the delusions of one who had taken too much shade of the evening, but there are others who have begun their preparations—to flee westward to Asshai, or even beyond it. To the lands where it is said, dragonlords once dared not tread.
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