Dragonstone, 113 AC
"Knew Corlys would tell the whole world the very moment he learned of it," Daemon said, voice flat and unimpressed. He twirled the parchment from Driftmark between his fingers, as if it offended him simply by existing.
Viserys glanced at the only other person in the chamber to gauge her reaction. His daughter, catching the look, tilted her head with weary exasperation.
"They were bound to find out, one way or another," Rhaenyra said, matching Daemon's nonchalance. "Lady Daena already told us that there were a few families across the Narrow Sea who knew Velaryons were dragonlords once. And now, with Valyria itself returning from the fire… I doubt Velaryons would've stayed ignorant much longer, even if we wanted it so."
Viserys exhaled. They were both right. It wasn't that he opposed telling Corlys — quite the opposite — but Viserys had wanted to reveal it properly, with proof, before the feast, himself. Proof Daena Valarr had painstakingly provided. But fate, as always, had other plans.
"And what of these Volantene Old Bloods enjoying Velaryon hospitality?" Viserys asked. The raven from Driftmark, listing their family names, had left all three of them surprised — and suspicious.
It seemed the Free Cities — or rather the old Valyrian families within them — had finally tired of merely watching from afar as Targaryens and Velaryons reclaimed knowledge lost in the Doom. Now they sought alliances, when they had ignored the dragonlords for over two centuries, content to wallow in their own pride behind the Black Walls.
Daemon snorted as he unseathed his dagger from its sheath, spinning it expertly. A thing his brother likes to do both with his dagger and wand, it seems his wand is unavailable at the moment.
"Matters little how many Old Blood or half-blood mongrels go sniffing around Driftmark. Valyria's return will put every one of them back where they belong." He spun the dagger once more, letting it flash in the firelight. "Do you forget their worth when the Freehold still lived? And as for securing ties with House Velaryon—unlikely. They have little to offer Corlys that he doesn't already have. Their best leverage was that lost past of House Velaryon, or should I say forgotten, and now that's spent. Give it a few days, and Corlys will have them packed back to Volantis."
Viserys looked unconvinced.
"Corlys will at least try for friendship or ties of some sort. You know him—he'll squeeze coin and advantage even from pebbles on the beach. With guests from the Black Wall, he'll smell opportunity."
Daemon scoffed.
"Even Corlys's greed has limits, brother. Velaryon coffers are overflowing already. I wonder how that bastard even organizes it. The vaults must go halfway under the sea by now."
He sheathed the dagger with irritation.
Viserys forced himself to let the matter go. Targaryen fortunes were changing rapidly — but whether for better or worse, he couldn't yet say. His house had gained so much, yet lost its position as the singular dominant power. And Viserys was no fool. He remembered clearly the display Laenor had unleashed on Dragonstone, a show of power. None spoke of it after meeting the god as they were too much shocked and overwhelmed, but the message had been unmistakable and will remain unforgotten to House Targaryen at least.
Velaryon power was growing just as quickly as their dragons had.
Not ideal. Not for his house. Not until the marriage bound their houses.
Rhaenyra must have noticed the troubled look on his face.
"What about correcting Laenor's image, Father? I'm sure he—and his family—will appreciate the effort."
Viserys nodded.
"It's progressing well. Not as smoothly as during the Old King's reign, but I've hired the best mummers and bards—loyal ones, loved by the smallfolk. They're already at work."
He allowed himself a small smile. The performers, septons, and septas he'd sent out the very next day after the betrothal decision served many purposes. House Targaryen would gain much from it, yes — but the Velaryons would also benefit.
Daemon leaned forward.
"And the lords arriving in King's Landing? How many are here already? And is the true reason for the feast known?"
"No, it isn't," Viserys said firmly. "I've taken measures to ensure—"
A day before the feast, King's Landing
Laenor was standing in the Godswood of King's Landing with Jaenara Sehlaeros and Lucella Morrogar. They had arrived the day before, the Volantenes joining them to see the capital of the Seven Kingdoms and the famed Iron Throne. Laenor had visited the capital a few times before, though each stay had been shorter than the last. This time, he fully intended to explore the Red Keep as well as King's Landing as much as he could.
"Why are we here, my lord?" asked Lady Lucella in a bored tone.
"Why, my lady, because you asked to accompany me—and I find this place peaceful compared to the chaos we were in a few moments prior. Don't you?" Laenor asked, amusement lacing his voice. Lady Lucella was bold, a woman who loved courtly affairs—someone who would have been called an extrovert back in his own world. Laenor was sure she wasn't enjoying the peace and quiet as much as he and Jaenara were.
"It is that chaos that would be beneficial for you and your house, my lord. Not these silent trees." Lucella countered, her tone earnest. "You said you wanted to clear your image in the minds of these Andal lords for the betterment of your house. And to do that, my lord, you must talk with them, laugh with them, drink with them—make them realize that you're not some monster using vile powers, or a demon from their seven hells. The more you avoid them, the more they'll think you're hiding something. They will believe whatever poison the wrong people whisper in their ears."
"You're absolutely right, my lady of Morrogar. But you see—you only joined me a few moments ago. What do you think I was doing beforehand, hmm?" Laenor asked with a deadpan look. "While you were among the ladies, I did all that and more. So, I appreciate your advice, but I think I've earned some peace after spending hours talking to multiple lords of the realm, one after another."
He would be a fool not to realize the truth in what Lucella said. Which is why, naturally, after breaking his fast—with the Baratheons, no less, including Lord Boremund, his mother's uncle, and her cousin Borros Baratheon—Laenor had spent the rest of the morning seeking out every lord he could find, conversing and mingling to the best of his ability.
Though the task was no less tiresome than he made it out to be, it had been no less beneficial either. And so, having had enough of courtly chatter for one day, Laenor had come here—upon the advice of the Blackwoods, whom he had met last. It was on his way to the Godswood that he met the two ladies now accompanying him. And when they expressed their desire to join him, he saw no reason to deny it.
"You were always this judgmental, Lucella. A noblewoman of Old Blood shouldn't be so quick to judge another before hearing them out." Jaenara interjected mockingly, shaking her head in disappointment. "I wonder if you are truly the wisest choice to become the next head of your family."
"It is none of Sehlaeros' family business who my mother chooses as the next Morrogar head—"
Laenor promptly tuned Lucella out and turned his focus back to what he had come here for.
He expanded his senses again, trying to trace the source of what he could only describe as a strange presence. No—calling it a ward would be an overstatement. It was too weak to be called that. Some kind of debuff, if he had to use a word, one of magic draining.
A fascinating effect, one he had some inkling about. Not what it was, precisely—but who might be responsible for it.
And his suspicion was confirmed when he sensed the little magic being drawn from his body was being absorbed by the structure atop Visenya's Hill.
The Sept.
It had yet to be given any formal name beyond "the Sept of King's Landing," but Laenor was now certain it was the cause of the strange magical effect, or rather, magic-absorbing effect. And it wasn't just him—it affected the whole of King's Landing. The drain was so minuscule that he had almost missed it entirely… until he meditated.
And now, the question nagged at him: should he go there?
See the Sept for himself? Because the Driftamark Sept has no effect like this, nor do some places Laenor and his crew stop at on their journey to the North. What makes this Sept different from all the others he was in the presence of?
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