Summerfield, Vaelarys' Purple Palace.
Orys Serasmyr, the envoy from Braavos, smiled as he watched the children clutching their sweets run back to the courtyard where they studied. Lowering his head, he continued tending to the palace's plants. As a guest of Draezell, Orys lacked personal freedom, yet he had his own unique channels of information—though, in reality, that channel was often used directly by Tigarro himself.
"The prince has 'exiled' Prince Rhaegor." Orys mused to himself. Within the Purple Palace and Dragon's Nest, this was no secret among those close to Vaelarys, but to outsiders, it was highly classified. He never considered whether Rhaegor could be swayed to his side. No matter what intelligence suggested, Orys had both eyes and a mind of his own. He understood clearly that Draezell's 'exile' of Rhaegor—sending his eldest son on an expedition—was truly meant as a trial for the naive young prince. And regardless of how 'unconcerned' Draezell appeared, if an outsider dared lay a hand on Vaelarys' heir... well.
Still, necessary goodwill was important. Orys hesitated for a moment with his shears but ultimately snipped away the withered leaves of a rare plant found only in the vast Dothraki Sea.
By virtue of Braavosi tradition, every Sea Lord's advisor and every Braavosi political player was required to master at least one skill: the ability to always track those around them, guarding against assassins or that unnameable organization lurking in the shadows. Though Orys himself faced no risk of assassination, he had still developed an instinct for slipping into the shadows at a moment's notice.
"Those two brats?" Hiding behind one of the colonnades, Orys observed as two figures clumsily scaled the walls of Rey Palace within the Purple Palace complex.
He recognized them immediately.
The tall, lean, and handsome silver-haired youth was Rhaegon Kaon, heir to House Kaon, who had just celebrated his fourteenth name day a few days prior. The other, muscular and agile, was young Elarion Hoeth, the youngest son of Lord Teclis Hoeth. Years ago, when Elarion was frail as a child, and Lord Teclis was too preoccupied with his rapidly rising house to properly care for him, he had given his firstborn's name to his youngest as a blessing. The original 'Elarion' had then been renamed Essarion. Now Ser Essarion Hoeth had become one of Vaelarys' most prominent commanders. During the Dance of the Dragons, at just fifteen, his battlefield prowess earned him the title of 'the Merciless', and he had been knighted personally by Valar.
Their bond with Prince Rhaegor was akin to that of Lord Hoffa, Lord Aslan, and Lord Sebastian with Prince Draezell.
Orys sighed inwardly. These two, like Rhaegor, had grown up in the Purple Palace. What difference was there between them and the prince, who was raised in Dragon's Nest and the Black Palace of Vaelarys? They were all children of peace, raised in lands untouched by war, their elders having borne the trials of blood and fire in their stead.
But could such things truly be inherited? If Orys were to judge, whether it was Rhaegor or these two boys…
He believed Draezell would come to the same conclusion.
They were all equally naive. Equally foolish.
"Rhaegon, I know this part of the wall is lower, and the trees are nearby. If we slip away before the maester arrives for lessons tomorrow, no one will even notice we're gone," Elarion whispered eagerly, tugging Rhaegon toward the section of the wall he had used for previous escapes.
Just as Rhaegon was about to step forward, he hesitated, his gaze sharpening toward the colonnade.
"What is it?" Elarion tensed instantly. He trusted Rhaegon's instincts, which were as sharp as that self-righteous fool Tarly's. If Rhaegon sensed danger, then there was danger. "Who's there?"
Rhaegon studied the colonnade for a moment, then gave Elarion's sleeve a tug. "Let's go. It's probably just that tall-hat uncle. He won't betray us."
Tall-hat uncle. Elarion relaxed. Among those who grew up in the Purple Palace, aside from their tutors, the three Draezell brothers, Lady Diana, Lady Leyla, and Rhaegor, the Braavosi envoy was the most familiar figure.
Everyone knew the man was kind and tolerant. The children enjoyed playing tricks on him. Even when they snuck out to the mostly deserted Draezell Palace for secret barbecues or skipped lessons, he never reported them.
Still, to be safe, Rhaegon raised his voice slightly and gave Elarion a knowing look. "Elarion, I heard Uncle Bael's shop just got a shipment of Arbor wine. Let's go have a taste and let the others stew in envy for a few days."
"Oh, you bastard, Rhaegon! Sneaking off without me? Believe me, when we get back, I'll tell Renly everything!"
"Go ahead! We'll see if they believe you or me."
Elarion caught on to his friend's intent, swinging a mock punch before sneaking a glance toward the colonnade. Seeing no movement, he and Rhaegon stealthily made their way toward the low wall of Draezell Palace.
Orys shook his head and returned to tending the flowers.
Those two fools. That so-called 'hidden' wall, just high enough for twelve-year-olds to climb over with ease, was put there for exactly that purpose.
The gods alone might know how many eyes were hidden in the small grove beyond the walls.
Dragon's Nest, the Silverblood Tower, the Five Fingers Hall.
"Brother, do you really have the heart to let Rhaegor travel across the Seven Kingdoms alone?" Valar crossed his arms, concern evident in his expression. Ever since the birth of Daenyra, Valar had developed a special fondness for children. Naturally, he was particularly invested in Rhaegor—the very boy who would one day claim his precious little girl. "Back when we were staying inside the black walls, you were so worried about the family bloodline being scattered that you made sure we shared a room. And even when we didn't, you posted guards at our doors. But now, you're sending Rhaegor off on his own... I'm afraid—"
"I never thought my fearless second brother—who doesn't fear gods, blades, or dragonfire—would ever admit to being afraid," Rey teased, his mood clearly lifted by the birth of his son. He glanced at their eldest brother, who was studying the map of Westeros spread across the long table.
"You don't have to worry about that," Draezell said with a faint smile at Valar's concerns. "As long as I'm alive, the family bloodline won't be scattered so easily. As for everything else..."
Draezell pricked his finger lightly on the candlestick, letting a drop of silver-threaded blood fall onto the table. Almost instantly, it was absorbed into the wood.
A vision unfolded before them, visible only to the three brothers.
The scene, glowing red, was simple. Dragon's Nest remained as calm as ever, but one small detail stood out: Diana stood on the terrace of the Silverblood Tower, holding a sleeping Dan in her arms, her gaze fixed in the distance. Following her line of sight, the brothers saw a lone figure.
A young man with a longsword at his waist and a cloth-wrapped spear slung over his back rode a seemingly ordinary warhorse, slowly disappearing beyond the edge of the vision.
Valar's eyes were immediately drawn to the sword at Rhaegor's waist. Though it appeared to be nothing more than a common rapier, as a frequent visitor of the Vaelarys family armory, Valar recognized it at once.
One of the Vaelarys family's Valyrian steel rapiers—Starsinger.
Originally, its hilt, guard, and pommel were set with amethysts, rubies, turquoise, moonstone, and diamonds in a precise pattern. But from the way it looked now, someone had pried all the gems off, disguising the Valyrian steel weapon as an ordinary blade.
"Rey, was this your doing?" Valar clutched his chest in exaggerated distress. "Do you have any idea how rare it is to find a Valyrian steel weapon in its original condition? If you took out the gems, re-setting them once Rhaegor returns will be a nightmare!"
Rey spread his hands. "That wasn't me." He pointed at their eldest brother, whose expression hadn't changed, though the corners of his lips were slightly curved. "Ask him. He knows."
"If it wasn't you, then it must have been Diana," Valar's voice dropped. A terrifying thought occurred to him. "Wait—don't tell me Daenyra did it?"
Draezell nodded. "The girl meant well. She's read too many knightly tales and thinks that boy of hers is setting off on an adventure like one of those storybook knights."
"So she copied the nonsense spun by bards who spend their lives watching noblewomen from a distance? And gifted her beloved with a sacred blade blessed by a princess?"
Valar felt a chill run down his spine, but there wasn't much he could do. "Brother, you won't punish Daenyra, will you?"
"Of course not." Draezell shook his head with a wry smile. Daenyra's gesture, however naïve, proved that the second generation of Vaelarys was just as united as the three of them had been. That was something to be pleased about, not punished.
"The real question, my dear brothers," Draezell continued, "is whether you'd like to confess what you've prepared for Rhaegor?"
Valar scratched his head sheepishly. What he had in mind was, admittedly, a bit excessive. If Draezell hadn't stopped him, he would have outfitted Rhaegor with a full set of Valyrian steel armor, a Valyrian steel bastard sword, and no fewer than a hundred elite Silverblood cavalry. In short, everything except Starsong itself.
Of course, it had only ever been a plan. Valar wasn't foolish—he knew why Draezell was "exiling" Rhaegor, and he understood that revealing Vaelarys' strength too soon, before the boy had gained enough experience, would be unwise.
But what had Rey prepared for him?
From the look on his face, it had to be something valuable—something Rhaegor had already taken, whether he was aware of it or not.
Wait—had their youngest brother been the one who convinced Daenyra to give Rhaegor the sword?
Valar shot a wounded look at Rey.
Rey, who had been ready to play dead and escape questioning, was caught off guard when the Five Fingers Four entered, each with an equally resigned expression.
The moment passed in the blink of an eye. Whether it was Rey, who had been about to feign death by slumping over the table to avoid his brother's interrogation, or Valar, who had been looking at him with a gaze full of grievance, both swiftly straightened and regained their dignified composure.
Together with Draezell, who had maintained his usual calm smile, the Five Finger Hall suddenly took on an air of solemnity and grandeur.
Draezell, of course, knew his younger brothers well. He also knew these four men—subordinates, friends, or perhaps more accurately, lifelong comrades—who had grown up alongside them. He understood their unwavering loyalty and deep affection for his son.
And he was well aware of what they had done upon learning of his decision to "exile" that foolish boy.
Aslan Rondell, working with Valar, had mobilized over two hundred Silverblood cavalrymen. He had even sent ravens to the nearby Silverblood estates. If not for being warned in time, news of the boy's departure would have spread throughout the entire borderlands and even reached the allied noble houses, all eager to lend their aid.
Sebastian had prepared a generous travel fund for Rhaegor, only to have it halted at the last moment. As for what Tigarro and Rey had concocted between them, Draezell didn't particularly care. Among the three brothers, Rey was the one he trusted the most. Even if their youngest sibling indulged Rhaegor, he would do so within reason, ensuring that this journey of growth remained a true test.
Hoffa, too, was someone Draezell could rely on. But he also knew that, despite his strict nature, Hoffa would undoubtedly bend the rules in subtle ways.
For instance, whatever Rey and Tigarro had prepared, Hoffa had likely let it slip through during the final inspection.
Now, the man himself seemed hesitant to meet Draezell's gaze.
"Enough," Draezell finally broke the silence, waving a hand for them to take their seats. "I appreciate your concern for my wayward son. However, the trials he must face cannot be avoided. No boy can grow into a true man without a journey tempered by hardship and blood."
Only then did Valar and Rey take note of the image before them—one visible only to the three brothers.
Rhaegor was now nearly vanishing into the wilderness.
His silver hair had been cut short, revealing his eyes. But now, instead of their natural silver hue, his hair was a deep brown-black. His once-deep violet eyes had turned emerald green.
The changes to his hair and eye color had altered his entire demeanor. Combined with a few minor magical alterations to his features, Rhaegor still bore a faint resemblance to himself, but to strangers—or even those who weren't particularly familiar with him—he would be unrecognizable as the heir of House Vaelarys.
Rey couldn't help but smile inwardly.
He had predicted this. He had anticipated his brother's methods.
That was precisely why he and Tigarro had prepared supplies that, while neither extravagant nor numerous, were the most practical and perfectly suited for travel.
And now, he found himself laughing at his own earlier concerns—he had underestimated his brother's commitment to ensuring the next generation truly matured.
"Brother, it seems Rhaegor, like us, has made some good friends." Valar sighed.
He had spotted Rhaegor's companions.
Rhaegon Kaon and Elarion Hoeth had ridden out from Summerfield, galloping after their departing friend.
Somehow, they had chosen the correct direction.
Valar ran a hand down his face in exasperation. Rhaegor, with no experience at all, had simply taken the main road.
But perhaps that was for the best.
The main roads were safe.
Or rather, the borderlands were safe.
But the rest of Westeros?
"May fortune favor him," Draezell suddenly said with a smile.
Rey glanced at his brother, pressing his lips together. In that brief moment, he caught something in Draezell's gaze—something that finally put his mind at ease.
Only now did he truly let go of his worries.
And yet, a thrill of anticipation sparked in his chest.
Rhaegor… Don't disappoint us.