Driftmark, 113 AC
"…is that so, my lady?" Laenor asked in High Valyrian, his tone dripping with amusement and teasing. The lady he addressed laughed—and Laenor would admit that her tinkling laugh was easy on the ears. Maybe he truly had a thing for Valyrian women, because he was certainly enjoying the presence of Jaenara Sehlaeros, a guest of House Velaryon, along with her brother Maelon Sehlaeros.
"Ah, yes, my lord. I hope you visit Volantis so I can show you the place where it all happened myself." Jaenara invited him again, and Laenor had long since lost count of how many times he'd been asked to visit Volantis by the guests of his house. Jaenara alone wasn't the only one insisting—either they were impressed with Laenor's charms, or far more likely, the sight of the Velaryon dragons. Laenor knew it was the latter, judging by their gaping mouths when they saw Embaryx and Veltharys soaring side by side on the second day on Driftmark, returning from wherever the dragons had disappeared to.
The Lady of Morrogar was the most insistent of all. Laenor could see naked greed in her eyes as she deliberately mentioned how wealthy her house was, how they clung to old Valyrian practices, and how they would give anything to the house that possessed the lost scrolls.
"Well, you have a deal then, Lady Jaenara. But unfortunately, this inevitable visit of mine to Volantis must wait, as there are certain matters I must address first. You see, I have just returned from my journey to the North—a land beautiful in a way only a few can appreciate. If Winter had not arrived as unexpectedly as it tends to, I would have wished to stay longer and see more of that isolated land of the realm. But alas, it was not so. Anyway, what I meant to say is that I must remain on Driftmark for a moon or so before I even think of journeying to Volantis. So the Old Blood behind the Black Wall will have to wait a little longer before they lay eyes on Embaryx," Laenor said humorously.
It had been six days since their arrival—a week, if one counted the day of arrival on which the Volantenes came out only to sup with House Velaryon. Laenor had already coaxed the truth from Lady Lucella Morrogar: it was Laenor and Valyrian magic—by magic, they meant dragonsteel swords and the forging of black stone—that drew them here. House Velaryon and House Targaryen had already begun selling the swords two years past, profiting enormously from the venture. Even now, Robb Storm worked tirelessly in Driftmark's forge with his new apprentices to make as much dragonsteel as possible; his previous apprentices continued their work at Dragonstone. Volantis was among the many Free Cities purchasing dragonsteel and the first to do so. No Westerosi lord had been granted one—until now, as Viserys had asked Daemon and Laenor to forge a greatsword for the Lord of Casterly Rock. Knowing Valyria would be back within the moon, and the amount of gold the Lannisters were offering them, Daemon and Laenor decided to agree.
"Well, your house has already hosted all but one of the Old Blood. And we have all seen your magnificent dragon—though my father, the head of House Sehlaeros, would be glad to see you and your father, as well as Embaryx. In fact, it was my late grandfather who granted your lord father permission to enter behind the Black Wall. Though Lord Corlys never requested to be in the presence of my dear grandfather." Jaenara said as they reached the large silver gates of High Tide.
"Was it your grandfather? Because my father told me of his visit to Volantis and never mentioned that it was the head of Sehlaeros who allowed him entry behind the Black Wall. Mayhaps there was some misunderstanding, or else my father would surely have met your grandfather," Laenor said. It wasn't in his father's nature to decline a meeting with people so influential—one conversation could bring mutual benefit.
"Hmm—curious. Perhaps there was a misunderstanding." One look at her face, and Laenor knew the family that had hosted his father behind the Black Wall would soon be questioned thoroughly. "Anyway, grandfather simply wished to know whether House Velaryon had found a way to break the curse. Though he did get an answer, as we all did, when you and your sister bonded with dragons."
Laenor raised a brow. What curse? The only curse his family suffered was the curse of greed and ambition—one that didn't vanish even after he and his sister claimed dragons. That much he knew. "What curse, my lady?" he asked, genuinely confused.
Jaenara Sehlaeros turned to him with a bewildered expression. "The vile curse that the line of Drakonars laid upon both our families? Has your lord father never told you?" she asked, just as confused as he was.
Drakonars. The name sparked recognition; he had read of them in the personal diary of Velaryon he'd found in the vault. He tossed the book aside after a few pages; it spoke only of how beautiful and powerful the Drakonars had been, which he'd assumed irrelevant, as the family, which was not more than ashes in the Smoking Sea, mattered little to him at that time. "Drakonars—yes, I have heard of them. Their magical prowess, their beauty. Even among Valyrians, they were considered the most beautiful and strongest. But I have never read or heard that they cursed our families."
Jaenara looked stunned. "Does your family truly not know? It was the Drakonar curse that stripped House Velaryon—one of the most respected Old Blood families—of the ability to tame dragons. It was they, the accursed line of Drakonar, who took our pride and left us in a place barely above the Freeholders." There was anger in her tone.
Laenor stared. Velaryons were dragonlords in the past? And she assumed his family knew? Fuck no. The Velaryons had no idea. Hell, Sea, and Salt could be seen as the complete opposite of Fire and Blood.
"There is a curse that can strip an entire bloodline of the ability to form dragon-bond?" Laenor gasped. This was enormous—even for him. The bond between dragon and rider was not something he fully understood, even now. And this lady, before him, claimed that one family had possessed the power to undo that magic for an entire house. That must have been one hell of a curse—and Laenor couldn't help wondering what price the Drakonars had paid at that time to achieve the outcome so big. Valyrian magic always demanded sacrifice.
Laenor halted his spiraling thoughts before they snowballed into a monologue. Instead, he took Jaenara's hand with utmost sincerity—and curiosity.
"My lady, I fear I find myself very curious about your family's history, and whatever fragments of mine you know. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me a little longer so we may speak of it?"
Jaenara's shock melted away; she simply nodded. That was all Laenor needed. He gently guided the lady back toward the Garden his mother had cultivated with Embaryx and Veltharys. Her brother and the others could wait. Laenor needed to hear every scrap of history this kind lady possessed about House Velaryon.
An hour later
Laenor was walking through the corridors of High Tide toward the family quarters. He wondered how his father might react to the truth that the Velaryons had once been dragonlords—actual dragonlords—back from when the first twenty-seven men and women succeeded in taming and bonding with dragons in the known world, blessed by Arrax himself. The same god Laenor and his family had met only days ago. Laenor doubted that divine blessing alone would have been enough; there had to be something more behind it. Otherwise why were no other human races—Andals, Rhoynar, or countless others—ever blessed by their gods with such power as the Valyrians once were?
But answers to such questions were harder to find than a needle in a haystack, and the people who knew them had been dust for five millennia. And Laenor doubted Arrax would ever tell him what rituals or blood magic the first dragon-tamers performed, or what aid the dragon god provided. What Laenor did know was that this world—and its history—was far more unknown and far more complicated than he initially believed.
He spotted his uncle coming from the opposite direction, wearing boiled leather and a sword at his belt, Maester Dywen of Driftmark walking beside him.
"Laenor," his uncle greeted with a forced smile.
"Uncle Vaemond."
"Nephew, it has been some time since we last spoke, and I would have loved to hear of your journey to the North from your own mouth. But I believe Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys will soon ask for you." Vaemond said, while the maester bowed and continued down the corridor. The new Maester Dywen wasn't very talkative—at least not with Laenor.
"And why would you think so, uncle? Has something happened?" Laenor asked. He had planned to meet his parents anyway—to tell them about the newly discovered Velaryon history he'd learned. How the fuck they had lost this information was beyond him.
"Indeed, nephew." Vaemond's grave tone immediately made Laenor curious—and slightly agitated. "Go on. Your father will tell you. And come to the yard this evening, will you? There are some summer boys who could learn a thing or two from you."
"I will, uncle," Laenor replied. Vaemond smiled at that and continued toward the yard.
Soon enough, Laenor entered his father's solar. His mother was there too. The first thing he noticed was the lack of the grave, sullen atmosphere he had expected from Vaemond's tone. The second was the small scroll in his father's hand.
"Laenor, I was just about to send Aurane to fetch you."
"And here I am. Uncle Vaemond stopped me on the way—he said something has happened. What is it?" Laenor asked.
"Ah, yes. Vaemond must have looked grave and troubled, didn't he?" Corlys asked. Laenor nodded. "That foolish brother of mine. Anyway—a raven arrived from King's Landing and Dragonstone. King Viserys has somehow convinced the Faith to annul the marriage between Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce. Daemon is free to marry again—as if his marriage to that Royce girl ever stopped him."
Laenor was surprised, but not overly so. He'd expected something far more dramatic given Vaemond's expression. "That's it?" he asked, wanting to make sure this was what had shaken his uncle. Then again, he should have known—Vaemond's hatred of the Rogue Prince ran deep. Any freedom Daemon gained, no matter how small, was enough to trouble him.
"There is more," his mother added. "It seems Viserys decided his six-year-old son should tame a dragon before the moonturn. Aegon was taken to Dragonstone on Vhagar's back to attempt bonding with an older hatchling or with Silverwing. But the boy—with Hightower blood—surprised everyone by taming Quicksilver."
"A good thing for House Targaryen, I say. But I still believe the former news troubled Uncle Vaemond more than Aegon taming Quicksilver," Laenor said. Only his father snorted at that. House Velaryon should feel no worry or be troubled by Aegon taming a dragon, even if said dragon is as large as Meleys is.
"Now," Laenor continued, "I have some words—and surprises—for you too. And it is larger than the dragon our Prince Aegon has tamed."
If you're interested in reading up to fifteen chapters ahead of this one, you can find them on my Patreon:
Patreon.com/c/Daeranyx_Drakonar
Your support on Patreon helps me continue writing, but rest assured, I won't be locking chapters behind a paywall. They will be available for free over time. If you enjoy the story and would like to support my work, your contribution would be greatly appreciated!