The subtle shift in my mother's body—how her shoulders squared and her chin lifted "This breaks the terms of the pact, Rhaella," Maran said, her voice slicing like a drawn blade. "You were only to contact us if Daenerys was to be taken in by House Drakon."
They're is the confirmation, so I was right. They'd sensed it. Just like I had. Daenerys shined in the Force, raw, full of untapped potential. But if the terms were that strict, I knew this wouldn't be easy.
Rhaella straightened, speaking clearly. "Daenerys has been having dreams. Visions. Not ordinary things."
She looked down at her daughter. "Dany," she said softly, "tell them." Daenerys stepped forward, small hands clasped at her chest. Her voice was light, innocent. Yet something deeper echoed beneath it. "I dreamed I was flying on a dragon… big and black," she said. "And I was burning down a whole town with fire."
I felt my heart clench. King's Landing. I had seen that same horror unfold on a TV screen once… and now she had seen it before it ever came to pass. or was it a possible future?
"But then I dreamed again," she continued. "A taller man… with the Drakon symbol on his armor. He was riding a bigger dragon, and he had a sword made of light. He led an army of people from all over the world, and he fought monsters. They were cold, and their eyes were blue like ice."
My parents froze, but Viserys snorted, dabbing his bleeding nose with a silk kerchief. "They're just the dreams of a child who listens to too many of your stories, Mother." I stepped forward, expression serious. "No… she's a seer. She's seeing potential futures through dreams." Maran turned to look at me and then, slowly, nodded. "I believe so as well."
Her voice softened as she stepped closer to Rhaella. "What is it you want, then? Interpretation? A place to rest? Protection?" Rhaella bowed slightly. "If you will, madam. And we are under increasing attack by assassins and spies. We cannot continue this way."
Her voice faltered. "...I would offer Daenerys to your house. As a future bride for your son." Maran blinked once. Then let out a small exhale, something between amusement and disbelief.
"Bold of you," she said coolly, "to assume Daenerys will rise far enough in our family to earn that consideration. She is not one of us. Not yet."
Her eyes flicked toward me. "And my son is five name days old. He has more important things to worry about than a wife." She crossed her arms and smiled faintly. "Besides, he could have many wives. Or mistresses. Why would he choose your daughter at all?"
My face turned bright red. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but my mother just casually declared that her son could build a harem and might not even look twice at Daenerys. In front of the former queen.
My mom is terrifying and a badass. Rhaella looked taken aback. "Forgive me. I meant no insult. But I believe… they are meant for each other. I feel it that your son and my daughter will change everything together." Maran's expression sobered. She walked toward Daenerys and knelt down. "And what do you want, little one?" she asked softly. "To join our family? Or stay with yours?"
Daenerys looked at her mother… then at Viserys… then finally locked eyes with me. "I'd like to join…" she said carefully, "but can my mother and brother stay too?"
Maran's expression was unreadable. "If they prove useful." She turned to Samir, and he gave her a single nod. With a sharp clap of her hands, she called for more guards. Four Drakon Sword warriors entered silently. "Take the Targaryens to the testing hall," Maran ordered. "See what they're capable of." Then she turned to me. "You will return to the library, Samar. With Seris. Study the tome. Leave the other item untouched for now. When you are done return to your room."
"Yes, Mother," I said. I paused, and then looked up. "May I speak?" She tilted her head. "Of course, son." I tried to gather my thoughts, tried to speak like a child, not like the adult in a child's body. "I think…" I said slowly, "Daenerys would make a good wife and partner. She's strong I can feel it." Maran smiled. "Thank you for that, son. Now go."
As I turned to leave, I glanced back. Rhaella's expression had softened, her face lined with relief. There was hope in her eyes. Hope I hadn't seen there before. Daenerys still watched me, like she was trying to see something hidden just beneath my skin. While Viserys, was still bloody and seething. My father ruffled my hair as I passed, his hand heavy and reassuring.
Back in my chamber, I sat cross-legged with the Tome of Drakon in front of me. Candles flickered. The walls felt warmer somehow—like the very air around me buzzed with ancient memory.
The first chapter was penned by Naerys Drakon's parents, detailing their escape from the Doom, thanks to Revan, and the magical voyage to Essos. Written were the traditions they chose to preserve. Family names. Customs. Magical rituals blood spells from Valyria's shadowy past.
Then came Naerys's chapter, marked in red ink, her seal stamped in wax. Naerys Velarys Drakon, the Warrior Princess. She wrote of Revan—his strength, his teachings, his humanity. He had taught her about war, the blade, and something else, the Force.
She spoke of Meetra Surik, too. How Meetra humbled their proud family. How she forced them to learn to start over. An not be stuck to their rigid ways of Valeria
I couldn't look away. Even when a servant brought me food, I barely touched it. Naerys wrote of her twins, born strong in the Force, gifted and stunning. Their names, Reanous and Meetrous Drakon. They help usher the family into it's golden age none as one of the only families that could oppose the Targaryen Dynasty.
Marriage requests came from all corners—even from Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. She refused each one.
"We will let our children choose their partner's, we will not be stuck by the old rigid system when their is no need for it. " She detailed the foundation of the Drakon Mercenaries and Merchant Guild, forged from her family and loyal outsiders, chosen for their potential in the force and more. A blended through blood, marriage, and power.
She even described how certain bloodlines were selected to reintegrate every few generations—explaining the main and branch family traditions. Then I came to the chapter on R'hllor—the Lord of Light. Naerys had used their growing interest to the family's advantage. The red priests believed her children were divine, that they had been touched by godly fire.
Naerys called it superstition—but a useful one. The more I read, the more entranced I became. Red flames a family adored by fire-worshippers and feared by kings.
I was nearly at the chapter about her visions when
SLAM.
The tome snapped shut and I looked up, startled. My mother stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "That's enough for tonight," she said. "We'll discuss more tomorrow." She walked to my bedside and ruffled my hair.
"Clean yourself and go to sleep." "Yes, ma'am," I said, blinking. I just realized it was already nightfall. I'd been reading for hours. I walked toward the private washroom still dazed by what I'd read. I pushed open the door and immediately froze. Inside, steam drifted from the large marble bath. Candlelight flickered off soft skin.
It was Rhaella, submerged up to her chest, turned her head slowly toward me. Naked and graceful. She is beautiful, even with her age. Her wet silver hair clung to her neck and shoulders. "Oh, pardon me, my lord," she said with an apologetic smile. "I didn't know anyone else would come."
I tried to say something. Anything. My mouth didn't work right. "It's… fine," I muttered, face flushed. Her smile deepened. "Would you like to join me? There's plenty of room."
"…Yes please." I slipped out of my tunic and entered the warm water with her. Nervous. Excited. But somehow… at peace. She pulled me gently into her lap, settling me between her legs like I was a child again. She took the cloth, dipped it, and began to wash my back in slow, soft circles.
Then she began to sing a gentle lullaby. In High Valyrian. Something about soaring in the sky. About burning away chains. About being free, and for a moment—I wondered could I fly like that?
Rhaella pulled me into her soft bosom. I felt relaxed and warm from the water and her skin. "Are you comfortable my lord?" "Yes I am and it's just Samar, when it's us, I hate those formalities plus your a queen."
Rhaella held me tighter crossing her arms around me. "I' am no queen and to be honest I am happy not to be. Every moment I was was spent with unease and troubles. Now I am calm and more relaxed with my children."
"I hope you never have to go back to those days my lady." Rhaella smiled and we stayed like that for a few minutes. Then I got out of the warm water, dried myself off. we said goodnight to each other and went to sleep in our separate rooms.
The next morning arrived with rays of soft golden sunlight breaking through the high windows of the great dining hall. I sat quietly at the long obsidian-inlaid table, wiping my mouth after the last bite of my morning fruit. Something was… different. My parents sat across from me, dressed more finely than usual for a simple meal. That meant today was going to be important.
Maran, ever composed, carved neatly into a piece of sizzling steak with a casual precision that made it almost hypnotic. She looked to me with that calculating but maternal gaze and spoke: "Samar, from today onward, Queen Rhaella will serve as your personal attendant."
I blinked. "What? Her? The former Queen of Westeros?" I said, not upset just stunned. "Not that I mind," I added quickly, "I'm just… surprised."
Maran raised an eyebrow, chewing slowly before responding. "The Drakon family has many sayings," she said as she sipped her wine. "One of them: 'It doesn't matter if you were a king or a beggar if you are now a farmer, be the best farmer you can until you become a king again… or die.'"
She placed her cup down and folded her arms. "Do you know what that means?"
I nodded. "It means… your life can change at any moment. You have to adapt—or be destroyed."
"Correct," she said, satisfied. "Rhaella can no longer bear children, so she can't be your father's mistress. She's too old to train as a warrior. But she has potential in the Force—not like her daughter, but enough to serve."
She said it so plainly—like any of those roles were natural assignments to give a former queen. And worse… she said it all right in front of Father, who ate his soup without reacting in the slightest. "Mother," I asked, narrowing my eyes. "Don't you love Father? Wouldn't you mind him having mistresses?"
She paused mid-chew. Swallowed her food. Then sipped her wine to give herself time. Father said nothing. Then she set the cup down and looked directly at me. "Samar, understand this: I love your father. He is my partner in all things, and I trust him with my life. But I have no romantic feelings for him."
My brow furrowed. "So… was this a political marriage?" Father chuckled, amused. "You've been paying close attention to your history lessons, haven't you?"
Maran nodded. "Yes… and no. I was born into the branch family. We grew up together, your father and I and others. He was meant to marry outside the house, form alliances, but things changed. A proposal was made to me."
She leaned forward, voice even and honest. "I did want children. And I do not fancy men, not in that way. But your father and I agreed: we'd build something stronger. Together." The pieces clicked in my head. I nodded slowly, thoughtful. "So… you two can have mistresses. Or share one. But you, Mother, remain the main wife, right?"
Maran's eyes widened. Then she laughed. "Look at you," she said. "Five name days old, and already thinking like a strategist. You may take this family farther than any of us." I smiled. Then asked carefully: "Could I be introduced to the Lord of Light's religion?"
The room went still and the air shifted. Both my parents looked at me sharply. "Why?" my father asked. "Are you considering following them?"
"No," I said quickly. "But I've read how they adored our ancestors. How they practically worship the bloodline. They're loyal—fanatical even. And I think they could be useful." I leaned forward. "I want to use them. I'm thinking of starting a new order within our house. For espionage and shadow work."
Father arched an eyebrow. "Go on."
I took a breath. "Two branches both female-only, for now. The first: The Witches. Red priestesses and family women with Force sensitivity. They'll mix our arcane knowledge with their fire magic and blood rites."
Maran's interest sharpened. "And the second?" she asked.
I grinned. "The Crimson Women. To the outside world, they'll appear to be red priestesses pious, holy. But in truth, they'll be our eyes and ears. Trained in body control, blade arts, and the Force. Advisors to kings and lords. Maybe even infiltrate the Maesters themselves, if we're bold."
My mother sat back, intrigued." That… is ambitious and dangerous." "I don't want to train them alone," I said. "I want your help. As I grow stronger, you and others can help shape them." Maran tapped a finger against her cup, thinking.
"We'll consider it. But remember this: loyalty is not the same as fanaticism. Fanatics break under pressure. Be careful how far you twist a zealot before they snap." "Yes, Mother. Thank you. And thank you too, Father."
Father gave a slight nod. "Now… about the Targaryens." I straightened. "Viserys is… weak," Samir said. "But he's an initiate, for now. If he doesn't adapt, the others will humble him. Or kill him." His tone was cold. "Daenerys," he continued, "will be part of your education group. You'll train beside her. Learn with her."
I frowned. "Why?"
"Because if you're to lead this family, you must grow with your generation. Learn who stands beside you—and who hides a knife. And if anyone becomes a liability…" he paused, voice like steel, "…you will handle them."
A chill ran down my spine. I nodded slowly. "Yes, sir. I understand."
"Good," he said. Then, with a faint smirk: "And Samar?"
"Yes?"
"I've no issue with you using the former queen as a substitute… but at least wait until you're older before you start practicing with her." My jaw dropped. My face flushed red. My mother chuckled into her goblet. "He's got you there, son."
"I uh I… right." I composed myself and raised a hand. "What about… Elia Martell and her children?" Samir's face darkened. "That's enough for now. Get dressed. You begin your training today."
"Yes, sir. What are we doing in Winterfell?" He stood, brushing off his cloak. "We're repaying a debt to Ned Stark—his family saved lives during the rebellion. From there, we go to King's Landing. We will meet with the Baratheons. Be prepared." I nodded and excused myself.
The training courtyard was alive with energy. Twenty children sat in formation, parchment and charcoal in front of them. Seris stood at the front, elegant and sharp in her robes. "I am Seris Drakon," she announced, "and I will be instructing you in reading, writing, medicine, languages, history, and philosophy. If you pass my examinations, you will be permitted to learn the mystic arts of House Drakon."
I spotted Daenerys seated near the front—her eyes already on me. No Viserys in sight. Then another figure stepped forward. The blonde man from the other day. Conas tall, well-built, silver-haired, with lilac eyes. A walking embodiment of House Drakon's ideals.
"I am Commander Conas," he said. "I will handle your physical education and training. You will learn discipline. Endurance. Strength." His eyes swept the room. "And you will all earn your place."
Then he pointed to me. "That… is your future Lord. Betray him or the family—and he will deal with you personally."
Great. A giant, glowing target painted on my back. Everyone stared at me. Judging. Measuring. Some with curiosity. Others… with envy. I caught Daenerys looking at me again, tilting her head. "Pay attention to Seris," Conas barked, passing out parchment and charcoal. "Take notes." So began my true education.
Meanwhile… Volantis, Temple of R'hllor The flames danced high in the ancient brazier, casting red light against the stone walls. Incense curled into the air like fingers, thick with spice and smoke. A red priestess knelt before the fire, her face obscured by a sheer crimson veil. She chanted softly, in the Old Tongue, fingers glowing faintly with flame.
Another figure entered the chamber—also clad in red, but with a cowl hiding her features. She leaned in, whispering into the praying priestess's ear. The chant stopped. Slowly, the kneeling priestess stood.
She pulled back her hood, revealing a haunting beauty—porcelain skin, burning red hair, and eyes that shimmered like ruby fire. Melisandre of Asshai. She smiled slowly. "So… the new messiah calls for me."