Valyria, 113 AC
Laenor was sitting on the edge of the top of the Blackfyre Tower, with Embaryx's head resting at his side, as both dragon and rider took pleasure in watching the numerous dragons—with riders on their backs—gliding through the sky. It was a serene scene. Nothing rare, but a common sight for Valyrians. Yet for Laenor, it still took his breath away, even after spending two full days here in Valyria.
The last two days had been wonderful, to say the least—filled with awe, wonder, and shock—as Lady Rhaenys Belaerys guided them through Old Valyria.
The greatest civilization in the world, indeed. Laenor did not know whether Yi Ti or even the Empire of the Dawn had ever been planned with such meticulous brilliance, but since he had not visited the former and the latter is gone from the world, so for now, he would give the title to Valyria. The city was filled with public baths and latrines, accessible even to slaves, and those two things alone eliminated the greatest weakness of any large city of this era: stench and rot.
Then there were the temples—the colossal temples of the Fourteen Flames. There were others as well, temples to countless gods. Laenor would even say far too many gods, for some he had never known even existed till now had grand sanctuaries raised in their honor.
"Laenor."
Laenor turned his head. It was Rhaenyra.
The princess soon made her way toward him and sat beside him. "Lord Corlys met me on my way here," she said. "He told me to make sure you were ready—if you weren't already." Her gaze drifted back to the sky, wonder softening her expression as she watched the dragons.
"I'm ready."
"I can see that," Rhaenyra said, turning her head toward him as her eyes roamed over the blue-and-white Valyrian-style tunic Laenor was wearing. If Laenor had to describe it, it resembled the toga worn by ancient Romans in his old world. It seemed Valyria's architecture—and its fashion—shared more than a few similarities with that long-dead empire of the world he came from. "I can also see that this tunic looks great on you."
"Not more than the gown you're wearing suits you, though," Laenor replied with an appreciative smile. The purple-and-white gown she wore looked absolutely enchanting on her. "The purple in your dress matches your eyes beautifully."
"Thank you," Rhaenyra said softly, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Laenor smiled at the gesture.
Then her expression shifted, warmth giving way to worry, and she turned those troubled violet eyes toward him. "You will be careful there, won't you? Remember what Lord Aegor said, Laenor. These people are not like the lords of Westeros who consider guest rights sacred. Stay on guard at all times."
"I will," Laenor assured her, placing his hand over hers. "Though I doubt Lord Drakonar invited me to his home only to kill me through treachery. If he had, then he would be king among fools. His tower stands on the edge of the coast—I could drown him, his family dragons, and his tower at the first sign of danger to my family."
Rhaenyra smirked and turned her gaze skyward once more. "Do you think he will ask you to become his ally then?" she asked quietly.
"What do you think?" Laenor replied with a confident smirk. If it was not some attempt at murder, then alliance was the only reason left.
"Will you accept?"
"That depends on what he offers in return. I have no intention of binding myself—or my family—to just anyone. Not even to one of the Five, if they offer nothing worthy in return. Aegor already mentioned the Aetharyon family inviting us as guests. If Lord Drakonar believes I would accept merely out of the privilege of allying with the Drakonars, then perhaps we need not deal at all," Laenor said with a shrug.
Rhaenyra nodded slowly. Silence stretched between them before she spoke again.
"Lady Rhaenys keeps pressing Father and Nuncle to explain the origin of your power," she said. "What if Lord Drakonar feels the same? That your power attracts him, too, like Lady Rhaenys? What if he tries to bind you to his family through marriage?"
Her voice fell to a whisper by the end—but Laenor heard it clearly.
"Does that trouble you?" he asked lightly. "The thought of me marrying another woman?"
"Of course it does," Rhaenyra replied boldly, meeting his gaze head-on.
"Well, I hate to disappoint you, my princess," Laenor said with a grin, "but I don't think I could refuse Lord Drakonar if he offered his daughter's hand. Judging by the parents alone, I doubt that would be a poor match. And refusing such an offer could invite… complications for my family—"
He was interrupted abruptly as an angry Rhaenyra tackled him sideways into Embaryx's flank, pinning his arms beneath her legs as she straddled him and glared down furiously.
"If you even think of accepting such an offer, I will kill you. I will—"
"There is no way you could," Laenor cut in cheerfully. "Forgive me, Princess, but killing me lies well beyond your abilities."
His laughter rang out as Rhaenyra's face twisted in fury at the truth of his words.
"Laena and Velatharys might help me," she snapped.
"They might," Laenor admitted, laughing harder, "but even the four of you together could not accomplish that feat."
His laughter grew louder still, and behind him, even Embaryx let out a rumbling snort.
"Then I will die trying, you bastard!" Rhaenyra shouted, swinging at him—only for Laenor to easily hold her off, still laughing as he enjoyed her futile struggle.
Balerion Tower
Laenor was impressed, to say the least. The tower that the Drakonar family called home was gigantic—truly gigantic. Almost triple the size of Blackfyre Tower of the Targaryens. Balerion, that was the name of the tower, named after the Valyrian God of Death. The same gargoyles of dragons and sphinxes that graced Dragonstone and Bloodstone also adorned Balerion Tower, though here they were larger, sharper, and carved with unsettling precision.
The three Velaryon dragons landed with their riders, wings beating the air in thunderous rhythm. Laenor's father, however, had chosen to travel by land rather than soaring through the skies on the back of Meleys.
Laena was soon beside him, followed by his mother, and the three of them made their way toward a man of roughly Laenor's age, who stood waiting with a score of armed slaves behind him.
Slavery was a vile and abhorrent practice—Laenor thought so not merely because he hailed from another world, but because even in Westeros, the enslavement of men was considered monstrous. And yet, Laenor could not deny that slaves in Valyria lived better lives than the smallfolk of the Seven Kingdoms. So for now, he kept his thoughts to himself and held his tongue.
"Welcome, Lord Laenor Velaryon," the man said with a courteous smile. He turned next toward Laenor's mother and sister, greeting them with equal respect. His slightly pointed ears and striking beauty were proof enough of his blood, but Laenor waited for the man to introduce himself.
"I am Aelor Drakonar," the man continued, "High Steward of House Drakonar, rider of Morghul. My lord Maelor has honored me with welcoming you, as he is currently engaged with Lord Corlys Velaryon, who arrived only moments ago."
Laenor inclined his head. "It is an honor to meet you, Lord Aelor. Please, lead us to Lord Drakonar."
"Of course," Aelor replied smoothly. "Please follow me, Lord Laenor."
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