A week later, Driftmark, 113 AC
Laenor snorted as Pegasus neighed in displeasure when he handed his reins to the stablehand boy. Hobb soon came running from whatever work he'd been doing and snatched the reins away from the stablehand. Good thing, too—Pegasus tended to grow aggressive and try to hurt anyone other than Laenor and Hobb the first chance the horse got. Laenor still didn't know if it was a side effect of the life-force and magic Pegasus absorbed from him.
"Tell Hobb that I will return tomorrow as well," Laenor said to the stablehand still lingering nearby, watching Hobb lead Pegasus away. The horse neighed again at Hobb's words, as if he understood perfectly. The boy bowed hastily.
Casting one last glance at Pegasus, Laenor began walking toward the keep. He and his family had returned to Driftmark two days prior; his father wanted to personally inform the entire House Velaryon of the betrothal and the upcoming feast. Laenor had already planned to come here regardless—to check up on Pegasus and the others living beneath the sea. For moons they had been without the energy they had grown accustomed to, and he needed to know how that had affected them—if it had at all.
To his surprise, nothing seemed wrong, except that the pace of their growth had slowed. But even then, it wasn't severe—their mental development was completely intact. Their intelligence needed to grow; Laenor relied on it. He couldn't have a triangular-headed squid named, triangular head—now grown to such a monstrous size it would be called a Kraken once it surfaced—accidentally destroying his own ships while following orders to sink enemy ones. He had learned over time that as squid and octopus grew more aware, more intelligent—beyond what their species naturally possessed—they obeyed him. There were no exceptions. A small, dull-minded squid might reject his commands outright or even try to kill him if he pushed it enough. So he caught one, isolated it, fed it his energy for a moon, and only then did it warm up to him. Starving it until it accepted food from his hand helped, too.
"Ah… Lord Laenor!" Aurane came rushing toward him, slightly winded. He managed a few deep breaths before speaking. "My lord, Lord Corlys… Lord Corlys has asked for you. He said to tell you that the ship carrying the Volantene host has arrived. The guests are already making their way to the hall."
"Aurane," Laenor said as they crossed the courtyard, "for the past few days, I've noticed you've become more of a messenger and less of a proud member of House Velaryon. Don't you think so, too?" He didn't slow his pace, and Aurane quickly fell in behind him.
"No, my lord. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys trust me with finding you because no other can do it, my lord. It is an honor," Aurane replied with a puffed-up chest.
"Oh? Is it? And who told you that—my lord father?" Laenor asked, glancing back. Aurane bobbed his head eagerly. "Figured as much. Anyway, if you're the only one who can find me quickly, then would you enlighten me: how much time passed between my father sending you and you actually finding me?" Laenor asked just as they reached the open doors of the hall.
Aurane froze, then answered honestly, "It… has been some time, my lord. But you're not easy to find. Ask anyone if you wish—I asked many where they last saw you and made haste as best I could…" He trailed off as they stepped into the grand hall of High Tide.
Laenor clapped him once on the back in a parting gesture and sent him on his way with a teasing smile. Aurane grumbled as he headed toward the corner of the hall where some distant kin stood whispering, waiting to observe the Volantenes.
Laenor moved his gaze across the hall and saw a sizable group of men and women with silver-gold hair and striking Valyrian features, all richly dressed in the Volantene style. They looked around the hall with open curiosity and admiration.
"…now, if you excuse us, my lord of Velaryon, we would retire to rest. It was a long, arduous journey. One I do not regret, for High Tide is as magnificent keep as the rumors say. I'm sure my masters feel the same," said the man speaking—likely a slave, given the tattoo of a coin on his cheek.
"Of course," Laenor's father replied. "Tell your masters that Vaegor here will show them to their guest quarters. We shall expect them at supper." He motioned Vaegor forward to lead the guests away.
As Laenor entered the hall, the Volantenes—having just turned their backs—naturally spotted him. Vaegor bowed, and even if he hadn't, it would not have taken much thought from the Volantene so-called old blood to recognize him. They all looked at him with different expressions. Laenor walked straight toward the driftwood throne where his father sat, passing by the Volantenes as whispers and murmurs rose instantly behind him.
"Aurane has found you at last, it seems," his father commented, glancing toward the corner where Aurane stood wearing an expression of deep embarrassment. "It appears the Old Blood of Volantis has decided to reach out to us with an alliance. I had assumed it would be another ship of gifts, since the current Triarchs prefer to send their delegations with flowery words and presents only when House Velaryon's actions directly or indirectly benefit them. But that seems not to be the case this time."
His father leaned back slightly, lowering his voice just enough for Laenor to know this was important. "Anyhow, Laenor, I will admit I have not spent much time behind the Black Wall, but in the few hours I have, I learned that there are families there who are extremely wealthy and influential—as well as prideful of their ancient Valyrian history, which they can actually prove, unlike many others. At least that is what I have heard. I heard only four names spoken with such reverence, and all of them are here. That, along with one more I know little about. Vaelithar was the name the slave mentioned. I have never heard much of it, so I will look into it.
"In the meantime, I intend for you to mingle among them, interact with them, they are all young, your age, one of them will surely slip, maybe some woman will, try to gauge their purpose, since they claim this is merely a visit and nothing else. I would have believed them more if they had said the sun would come from the west instead of saying that the Old Blood of Volantis came out from their Black Wall to see High Tide."
"Very well. May I know their names?" Laenor asked. Well, he could mingle with them. It was always good to learn more about the world, and Volantis was one of the grandest and most renowned Free Cities.
"Family names, I assume," his father said, to which Laenor nodded. "Sehlaeros—little is known about them beyond the fact that their name is spoken with utmost respect and reverence even behind the Black Wall. Morrogar—biggest of the slave-trading families in Volantis, a matriarchal house, so I've heard. Pyranthys—a house that benefits heavily from trade, much like ours. And last, but certainly not least, Velyrarion—a family that still keeps to the Dragon Gods of Valyria, openly." Corlys paused. "This is the extent of what I know."
Laenor nodded. "I would suggest sending a raven to Dragonstone. Tell Daemon or Rhaenyra to ask Daena Valarr if she knows anything more about guests than you do, Father."
"A wise decision. I will tell the Maester to do so."
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I was going to change my clothes—Pegasus was not gentle with the sand on the beach." Laenor bowed his head slightly, then made his way toward his chambers.
Third-person POV
While the Targaryens and Velaryons resumed their lives—without too much disruption—after learning of the inevitable return of the Valyrian Empire, the rest of the world did not. It was not hard for men or women to sense what was coming. Those gifted with the sight—visions of the near future—or with dreams that revealed what was to come, had already seen the warnings. And all of them were troubled.
Westeros might not have been as shaken, for it was not Westeros that the Valyrians once ruled, but Essos. And Essosi mages remembered, or had heard from their predecessors and mentors, what it meant to live beneath the yoke of the Valyrian Empire. If they had been born without these blessings, there would be no issue except forced into slavery and sent to work in mines.
Valyrians might have indulged in magic, but they did not like—nor tolerate—others wielding forces that could harm them. Prince Garin had done too much damage, and after him, Valyrian dragonlords began hunting mages across the Empire the moment they discovered them with their blasted candles.
So while the common people of Essos had yet to feel any change in their daily lives, those with magic in their blood could see clearly what awaited them if they stayed too long in the Free Cities—a place that had been their home.
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