High in the skies above the sea, Morghul drifted between the clouds, wings beating slow and steady. Atop him, Maekar peered ahead, thinking,
'Driftmark should appear soon.'
True to his prediction, some time later the island's shadow broke through the horizon.
Maekar closed his eyes and slipped into his dragon's sharper sight—the blur of distance sharpened at once, the island taking form in all its weathered glory.
On the southern side stood Castle Driftmark, its dark, damp walls slick from years of saltwater crashing against the stone—a fortress as dreary as the sea itself. Beneath it sprawled the small port town of Hull. On the far side of the island, brighter and prouder, rose High Tide, the castle Corlys Velaryon had built for himself. Its white walls gleamed even beneath the gray skies, and below it stretched Spicetown, its port busy with sails and masts.
Through Morghul's sharp gaze, Maekar's eyes were drawn to a lonely stretch of sand far from the bustle of Spicetown. There, like a living, mossy hill, lay a gigantic shape of bronze and green. Vast, tattered wings spread across the beach like the sails of a wrecked ship.
'Vhagar,' Maekar thought
As if sensing his gaze, the great dragon shifted. Her massive head rose ever so slightly, and eyelids peeled back to reveal piercing green eyes—bright and vast, and even from this distance, they locked on him for a brief moment, before seemingly losing interest and laying back down.
As Morghul descended toward Spicetown's harbor, Maekar's gaze swept the waters. No royal ships waited there.
'It seems I have arrived first,' he thought.
Maekar descended in an open stretch beside the port, close enough for an easy walk to the castle. As he dismounted, a contingent of soldiers approached, banners of House Velaryon catching the wind. At their head rode Vaemond Velaryon, brother to Lord Corlys. Even from a distance, Maekar caught the sour cast of his face.
'Guess he's angry he had to greet a young prince himself—probably sees it as an insult,' Maekar thought.
Vaemond drew near on horseback, four knights armored in Velaryon colors trailing behind him. One held the reins of an empty horse.
Giving only the shallowest of bows, Vaemond said stiffly, "Welcome, Prince Maekar, to Driftmark."
Maekar hummed, nodding once in return. He walked toward the empty horse, and the knight dismounted quickly, offering the reins. Mounting with practiced ease,
Maekar looked at Vaemond for the first time. "Lead the way, Lord Vaemond."
A flicker of distaste crossed Vaemond's face at the deliberate disrespect, but he turned his horse and rode on.
The ride to the castle gates was short, and they were admitted without pause. Maekar dismounted and was led into the Hall of Nine, Driftmark's throne room. The great doors swung open to reveal the Driftwood Throne, where Lord Corlys Velaryon sat regally, his posture commanding despite the grief that weighed on the hall.
To his side stood Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, her shoulders heavy with sorrow. She looked haggard, as though grief itself had carved lines into her face. Corlys, though no less stricken, masked his pain behind a composed veneer. Their son, Laenor, stood nearby, silent and stiff.
Maekar advanced and offered a shallow bow of respect. "Lord Corlys," he said, pausing for a beat before continuing,
"Hearing of the unfortunate passing of your daughter, Lady Laena, has saddened me and my family greatly."
His gaze shifted to Rhaenys. "Princess Rhaenys, allow me to say how deeply sorry I am for the tragedy that has befallen your house. I did not have the honor of meeting your daughter, but I am certain she was a remarkable woman."
Lord Corlys inclined his head, his voice measured.
"Thank you, Prince Maekar, for your kind words."
Rhaenys, pale but still regal despite her grief, added softly,
"You would have liked her. And… thank you."
Even as they spoke, Laenor stood apart, his gaze unfocused, eyes fixed on the vaulted ceiling as though the world below no longer touched him.
Corlys, sensing the moment lingering too long in sorrow, shifted the tone.
"Do you have any idea when His Grace will arrive?"
Maekar gave a thoughtful hum before replying.
"My family departed yesterday, early morning."
He said no more—no one in Westeros knew ships and seas better than the man before him. Then he added,
"Princess Rhaenyra also set out at the same time. They should arrive relatively close to one another."
Corlys nodded in thanks.
"You must be tired from your journey to Driftmark. Please, allow the servants to lead you to rest until the royal family arrives."
Maekar inclined his head in silent agreement and was escorted from the Hall of Nine. The great doors closed behind him with a heavy thud, leaving only the family within.
Corlys exhaled and moved to his wife's side, no longer bothering to keep up appearances now that the young prince was gone.
"What do you think of him, Rhaenys?"
Rhaenys' eyes lingered on the place where Maekar had stood. "He knows his duties well," she said at last.
After a long pause, her voice dropped lower. "But I could tell… he is no ordinary boy."
Corlys gave a slow nod, his expression grave. "Aye. That boy is dangerous."
His gaze shifted to Laenor, his face tightening with displeasure. "Go. Wash your face and make yourself ready. You may look as you do before a prince, on account of your grief—but Viserys is coming soon."
Rhaenys' voice lingered in the silence. "You must have noticed the way he spoke of them. First, he said my family… Then he named his sister apart from them. As if he does not consider her truly of his blood."
Corlys gave a slow nod. "Most likely the work of his mother—words planted in him since he was young."
"A dangerous thought," Rhaenys murmured, her tone edged.
Corlys let out a short, rough huff. "We would not be facing this problem had Viserys married La—"
He caught himself too late. The words had already slipped free.
Rhaenys' eyes flashed, her lips twisting into a sharp, bitter snort. Anger burned across her features as she brushed past him. With a shove, she pushed him aside and strode to the doors.
The great hall echoed as they closed behind her, leaving Corlys alone with the weight of his misstep.
The sharpness of the exchange seemed to rouse Laenor from his haze. His vacant stare broke, replaced by a sudden fire as he shot his father an angry look. Without a word, he turned and hurried after his mother, his steps quick and uneven across the hall.
Corlys exhaled heavily, the sound closer to a growl than a sigh. He sank back into the Driftwood Throne, only to wince as the unforgiving wood bit into his back.
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The next chapter will be about Aemond gaining his dragon and the first major plot change. try and guess what will change exactly.
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