90 AC, Driftmark
The cool sea breeze idly tugged at the edges of Corlys Velaryon's dark cloak as he stood motionless at the very edge of the high stone pier. The water struck the oaken pilings and the polished granite blocks of the wharf, stretching far out into the sea, with a quiet, soothing murmur.
In this hour before dawn, the royal fleet was preparing to set sail. Corlys watched intently as the shore crew cast off the flagship's last mooring lines, while the captains barked out their final orders, the sound echoing over the quieted harbor. On the decks of the sturdy vessels, the figures of armored guardsmen bearing the sigil of the three-headed dragon moved to and fro. The rulers of the Seven Kingdoms were leaving Driftmark.
The royal family had remained at High Tide for three more days after King Jaehaerys's arrival. Those days had been filled with intricate diplomatic dinners, veiled hints, tense conversations, and the constant sense that every move on both sides was being carefully weighed. Corlys himself was not due to sail for King's Landing for another two weeks, so that he might continue to carry out his duties as Master of Ships. Until then, he intended to devote every moment to his family - his wife Viserra and their newborn son, Daemon.
The noise over the harbor suddenly swelled as a deafening roar sounded overhead. Corlys lifted his gaze and saw enormous wings tearing through the misty clouds. One by one, the Targaryen dragons emerged from the thick haze. Vermithor flew in the lead, his bronze, scaled hide gleaming in the first rays of the rising sun, while graceful Silverwing glided beside him. A little higher and off to one side flew Caraxes and Vhagar, tracing wide circles above the ship departing the port, and the procession of dragons was closed by Meleys.
Corlys watched the departing dragons with a perfectly calm and unreadable expression. For any other man in Westeros, the sight of so many grown dragons soaring through the sky would have inspired awe, or an overwhelming fear - but the head of House Velaryon knew something the crown did not even suspect. His own strength, and his own dragons, hidden away on the island of Antillia, were already in no way inferior to the great creatures of House Targaryen.
When the Targaryen ships had dwindled into barely visible dark specks on the horizon, and the roar of the dragons had finally dissolved into the sound of the sea waves, Corlys turned and walked away from the edge of the pier. A short distance behind him stood his younger brothers, Daeron and Veylor. Both wore comfortable doublets of heavy cloth embroidered with seahorses upon the chest, and waited patiently for their elder brother. Beside them stood Ser Adam Right, the loyal commander of the household guard, along with a dozen Velaryon guardsmen. One of the guardsmen held the reins of several well-bred horses, which stamped restlessly upon the cobblestones still wet with morning dew.
"Well, that's the end of it," Daeron said, turning his face into the cool sea breeze and narrowing his eyes slightly against the rising sun. "Our great king and his numerous relations have finally gone on their way. Spicetown belongs to us alone once more."
"They left behind a great deal to think on," Veylor replied with restraint, taking the reins of his horse from the guardsman who had come up to him and swinging himself into the saddle with practiced ease. "But I agree with my brother - the castle feels a far more comfortable and secure place without our particular guests."
Corlys smiled faintly, taking the reins of his own fine stallion from Ser Adam's hands. He mounted with ease and, with a single brief motion, turned his horse toward the broad avenue leading from the harbor straight into the heart of the city.
"We will have ample time yet to discuss all the political consequences of their visit," Corlys said, setting the pace of his horse and gesturing for his brothers and their guard to follow. "For now, let us go home. We are awaited in the garden."
Accompanied by Ser Adam and the party of guardsmen, the Velaryon brothers rode unhurriedly through the streets of Spicetown. The city was already stirring from its night's rest. The fresh smell of baking bread drifted from the bakeries, craftsmen were opening their shops, and the first passersby were appearing upon the stone- and granite-paved streets, bowing to their lord and his companions with genuine respect. Passing along the broad approach road and through the castle's grand gates, the riders entered the grounds of High Tide.
The ancestral seat of House Velaryon struck the eye with its scale and the whiteness of its stone. Riding up to the inner courtyards, Corlys and his brothers dismounted, handing their horses over to the stable hands who hurried to meet them, and made their way toward the southern part of the castle complex, where the vast, well-tended gardens lay. This garden had been the favorite retreat of Lady Alice, Corlys's mother. Here, beneath the lush green of exotic trees brought from the far reaches of Essos, a pleasant coolness and a sense of peace always reigned.
Approaching a large marble gazebo set in the shade of a spreading almond tree, the men saw the whole of the family's womenfolk gathered there. Upon the soft couches and wicker chairs sat Lady Alice, along with Daeron's and Veylor's wives, Thea and Elise. They were speaking quietly and easily among themselves, delicate porcelain teacups in hand. A little way off, right upon the lush green grass, two small boys were running about. Corwyn and Aurane, the sons of Daeron and Veylor, were thoroughly enjoying the morning sun, laughing loudly as they tried to catch one another, paying not the slightest attention to the stern admonitions of their nursemaids standing nearby.
At the very center of the gazebo, leaning back against soft cushions, sat Viserra. The princess of House Targaryen, and now Lady Velaryon, looked somewhat weary, but her violet eyes shone with tenderness. In her arms she gently rocked a small bundle of soft cloth, in which their newborn son Daemon lay sleeping. Viserra hummed an ancient Valyrian lullaby to him under her breath, swaying gently in time with her own melody.
Corlys and his brothers approached the gazebo, parting the branches of a flowering shrub. Sensing the men's approach, the women turned their heads, and the Lord of Driftmark's nephews paused for a moment in their noisy game to wave happily to their uncle and their fathers.
"The royal fleet has cleared the harbor and set course for the capital," Corlys said, coming closer to his wife and settling quietly onto the edge of the wooden bench beside her, so as not to wake the sleeping child. "Now we may breathe easy. For the next two weeks there will be no kings, no retinues, and no prying eyes at High Tide, so we may simply rest."
"Rest, until you yourself set off for King's Landing," Viserra replied, a faint trace of hurt in her voice as she paused her singing for a moment and fixed her husband with a stern look from her bright Valyrian eyes. "I still do not like this plan, Corlys. You mean to leave me and our little one here, while you go off alone into that nest of vipers. I ought to be at your side, not sitting in this castle like some caged bird."
Corlys gently laid his broad, warm hand over hers, feeling the tension in his wife's fingers begin to ease beneath his touch.
"We have discussed this more than once already, Viserra," Corlys said softly but firmly, leaning in slightly toward his wife and studying her lovely face closely. "After giving birth, you need full rest and time to recover, here among your family. Our son Daemon should grow up here, on Driftmark, amid the clean sea air, not in the stifling, foul-smelling halls of the Red Keep. Besides, you are forgetting the main thing: I promised you that I would use apparition every evening to return to High Tide. I will spend every night and every evening with the two of you, so we shall hardly be parted at all."
Viserra sighed softly, shifting the sleeping Daemon to her other arm, and looked closely at the man whose strength and magic she had long since ceased to doubt.
"Mind you, Corlys, you truly must not break that promise," Viserra answered quietly, though a faint smile had already begun to play at the corners of her eyes. "If you make me wait alone for too long, I shall find a way to fly to the capital on Dreamfyre myself, and demand an accounting from you for every moment you have missed."
Seated across from them, Lady Alice smiled warmly and quietly, taking a small sip from her cup, and shook her head at the young princess's words.
"Do not fret so, sweet Viserra," Lady Alice said, addressing the princess with genuine maternal tenderness and warmth. "In all his life, Corlys has never once broken a promise he gave. If he has said he will return to you every evening from King's Landing, then so it shall be. His magic and his resolve have always proven stronger than any distance or obstacle."
Alice turned her attentive, knowing gaze upon her eldest son, her expression shifting slightly to something more serious and thoughtful.
"This whole matter of our little Daemon's dragon has, in the end, turned out quite favorably for our family," Lady Alice went on, gazing thoughtfully at her sleeping grandson swaddled in his blankets. "I am nearly certain it was Queen Alysanne who counseled King Jaehaerys to settle the matter in just this way. She has always had a remarkable gift for smothering a fire before it can truly catch, and for preserving peace within a family. I am truly glad that it was all resolved without bloodshed, and without open enmity between our two houses."
Lady Alice fell silent for a moment, smoothing the edge of her silk gown, and when she spoke again, a faint note of maternal worry crept into her voice, one she could not quite hide.
"And yet one concern still troubles me, Corlys," his mother continued, looking thoughtfully at her son. "When Daemon is grown and goes to the capital as a ward of the Targaryens, might he not become, in effect, some manner of noble hostage there? What if the king or his councilors should decide to use our boy as a means of pressuring House Velaryon, should we ever fall out of the crown's favor, or choose to defy the will of the Iron Throne?"
Viserra shook her head before Corlys could even open his mouth to answer. Her voice carried the absolute certainty of one who knew the character and habits of her own kin all too well.
"That is hardly likely, Lady Alice," Viserra said, her tone even and calm as she set the good mother's fears to rest. "I hold not the slightest illusion about my father and his capacity for cold political calculation where power is concerned. But even should such a wild notion ever cross his mind, my brothers, my mother, and Rhaenys above all would never in their lives allow Daemon to be used as a hostage. My mother values the bonds of family too dearly, and Aemon and Baelon are honorable to their very bones. They would simply never permit such dishonor to be done to their own grandson and nephew."
Corlys nodded, agreeing with his wife's conclusions, and leaned forward slightly so that his words might be clearly heard by everyone present in the gazebo.
"Viserra is entirely right, Mother," Corlys said in a deep, calm voice, studying the faces of those gathered around him. "But the true reason lies elsewhere. I agreed to give Daemon over to the Targaryens' care only because I myself will be constantly present in King's Landing, on account of my office. In truth, it is I who will be guiding our son's upbringing, raising him, and overseeing his every step in the capital. The Targaryens, for their part, will get exactly what they so dearly wish for: Daemon will grow up before their eyes, among them, and will come to truly regard them as his second family. It is the perfect political screen, behind which we shall retain complete freedom of action."
Daeron, who had until then been listening silently to his elders' conversation while watching his son Corwyn try to wrest a wooden toy away from Aurane, spoke up, propping his chin upon his hand.
"In all likelihood, such an outcome ought to suit absolutely everyone," Daeron said, shrugging his broad shoulders slightly and looking to his brother. "The crown has bound us to it with strong ties, and we, in turn, have gained direct access to the capital and to the inner affairs of the Targaryens. And who knows, brother - perhaps, in time, one of our own family might yet become Queen of Westeros. Seeing as King Jaehaerys has firmly decreed that dragonriders born into House Velaryon must, without exception, wed only those of House Targaryen."
"Life will show us how it all comes to pass in the end, Daeron," Corlys replied quietly and thoughtfully, shaking his head. "In matters of politics, one cannot plan decades ahead, for everything in this world depends upon fate, and upon how wisely we make use of the opportunities given to us. But one thing I know for certain: House Velaryon will never kneel, nor beg for mercy."
Corlys rose smoothly from the bench, straightened his doublet, and turned his gaze to Viserra, in whose violet eyes genuine interest at once flickered to life.
"There are matters we can no longer afford to put off, even for a single day," Corlys said, his voice taking on a particular, deep tone. "We must perform the ritual for Dreamfyre. We must bind her, once and for all, to your bloodline, and to the blood of your descendants yet to come."
Viserra sighed softly, passing the sleeping Daemon into the arms of Lady Alice, who had come nearer, and turned fully to face her husband, smoothing the hem of her silk gown.
"We have already put off that ritual for far too long, Corlys," Viserra agreed readily, tucking an escaped strand of silver hair behind her ear. "First our prolonged journey to King's Landing stood in our way, and then my mother, Rhaenys, and Gael remained here for far too long. With so many Targaryens and their dragons about, performing such a rite would have been far too great a risk."
"Which is precisely why, now that nothing stands in our way and there are no prying eyes upon the island, we must perform this ritual this very evening," Corlys declared firmly.
Veylor, who had until then been sitting quietly beside his wife Elise, tilted his head in surprise and leaned forward.
"I have noticed that Dreamfyre has grown a good deal larger of late than she was on the day Viserra first rode her," Veylor said, genuine curiosity in his voice. "By now, in size and wingspan, she is scarcely inferior to Vermithor, and the king's dragon was reckoned among the largest in all Westeros. How is such a thing even possible in so short a span of time?"
Corlys turned to his brother and smiled faintly, as though revealing only the smallest fraction of some great secret of his own.
"That is the direct result of Dreamfyre being wholly free, Veylor," Corlys explained calmly, clasping his hands behind his back. "Unlike the dragons penned within the capital's Dragonpit, she flies over sea and island whenever she herself desires it. But more than that - certain special potions I have prepared for her have helped her a great deal. These elixirs considerably hasten a dragon's natural growth, make its muscles and bones many times stronger, and remarkably reinforce its scales, turning them into an impenetrable armor."
Viserra nodded eagerly, confirming her husband's words with genuine excitement in her voice.
"Yesterday, when I took my first flight upon her after so long a pause, I noticed the change quite plainly," Viserra said, her eyes lighting with the fire of a true rider. "In the months I was unable to fly because of my pregnancy, Dreamfyre has become even faster and more agile. I had thought she would feel heavy and out of practice, but she flew as though she herself had become part of the wind."
"That is the direct effect of the potions," Corlys confirmed with a slight nod. "They do not merely increase her size and body mass, but through the tremendous growth of her inner magical power, they make Dreamfyre considerably faster and hardier as well. No ordinary dragon in Westeros could now hope to catch her in the sky."
Viserra drew closer to her husband and looked intently into his eyes.
"When exactly shall we perform this ritual?" she asked with interest.
"This very evening," Corlys answered, smiling faintly. "As soon as the sun begins to set beyond the horizon, meet me at the Dragonpit."
Evening settled over the island of Driftmark, staining the smooth surface of the sea and the sky above in deep, purplish-crimson hues. After one more exhilarating, long-awaited flight over the boundless expanse of the sea, Viserra guided Dreamfyre back toward the castle complex of High Tide. The enormous dragon, her scales blue and touched with silver along her wings, descended with a wind-cleaving whistle and landed gracefully upon the broad stone platform before the Dragonpit.
This monumental structure Corlys had spent the last several years building. It stood as a tall, majestic edifice of white granite, harmoniously worked into the architecture of the castle. Leading the great dragon inside the colossal central hall, from which enormous underground tunnels branched off in every direction toward individual dens, Viserra caught sight of her husband at once.
Corlys stood at the very center of the hall, beneath the arches of the high dome. As they had agreed beforehand, he had already dismissed every Dragonkeeper and every member of the Dragon Guard.
The Dragon Guard was a special, elite order that Corlys had personally established some months earlier. These warriors had but a single purpose: to protect the dragons of House Velaryon from any outside threat, from poisoning, or from attempts at theft. At present, the order numbered exactly thirty men, chosen from among the most loyal and skilled fighters to be found. Each of them was paid a generous wage, many times greater than the income of any ordinary guardsman at High Tide. Service in the Dragon Guard was regarded as an extraordinary honor and a mark of great prestige. Moreover, every single guardsman, before being admitted into the order, swore an unbreakable magical oath of loyalty upon an altar, binding himself to protect the dragons and to do them no harm under any circumstance. The warriors themselves had no notion that their oath carried real magical force, but that magic reliably sealed off any thought of betrayal or harm toward the dragons.
Viserra led Dreamfyre slowly closer to the place where Corlys stood. The great dragon hissed softly, releasing two thin plumes of smoke from her nostrils, but there was not the slightest trace of aggression in her manner. On the contrary, she regarded the man before her with respect and recognition.
Corlys stepped forward, laid his palm upon the warm scales of the dragon's snout, and spoke. From his lips came the hissing, guttural, strangely mesmerizing sounds of Parseltongue:
"We shall now perform an ancient ritual, one that will forever strengthen and deepen your magical bond with Viserra. It will make the two of you one."
Dreamfyre slowly lowered her great head toward the floor, half-closing her golden, slit-pupiled eyes, and a low, resonant hiss escaped her jaws:
"I consent, rider," Dreamfyre answered him in the tongue of serpents, her voice carrying a deep dignity. "I feel myself growing stronger with each passing day upon this island. I place my full trust in you, man, for you have kept every promise you have ever made me. I no longer sit in hated chains beneath the earth - I am wholly free in the skies, and I grow stronger with every day that passes."
Corlys smiled with genuine warmth and gently stroked the dragon along her scaled ridge.
"I thank you for your trust, Dreamfyre," Corlys said with deep respect. "This ritual shall not take long. For now, I ask that you rest quietly at the center of the hall, while I prepare all that is needed."
The dragon obediently settled down upon the granite flagstones, folding her enormous wings beneath her and laying her long tail alongside her body.
Corlys turned toward a wooden table standing nearby. He took up a heavy silver bowl, its entire surface covered in intricate, ancient runes. Uncorking several vials of dark glass, he carefully poured a series of pre-prepared alchemical potions into the bowl. The liquid within at once began to bubble, its color shifting to a deep violet. Having finished mixing the elixirs, Corlys turned to his wife and gestured for her to come nearer.
"Give me your hand, Viserra," he asked, his voice calm and even.
Viserra looked at her husband with a light, playful sigh, but without hesitation stepped forward and held out her right palm.
"And will this ritual again require my blood?" she asked, a touch of irony in her voice, studying the strangely shimmering liquid within the ritual bowl.
Corlys answered her question with a quiet laugh, drawing a small, elegant dagger of Valyrian steel from his belt.
"I see you are learning the basic principles of true magic remarkably quickly, my dear," Corlys said in a teasing tone, before his expression grew serious once more. "Yes, your blood is required. It is needed to bind Dreamfyre to you on a far deeper, mental level, and to ensure that even after your death, this dragon will accept as riders only your direct descendants. This ritual requires a portion of your life force."
Viserra nodded silently, showing that she fully grasped the weight of what was happening. Corlys carefully made a quick, thin cut across her palm, directly above the ritual bowl. A few crimson drops of blood fell at once into the violet liquid. As soon as the blood mingled with the potion, the bowl in Corlys's hands began to vibrate faintly, and the runes carved into it flared with a bright red light.
Viserra looked down at her hand in astonishment. As the red glow of the runes upon the bowl gradually faded, she felt the sharp pain of the cut vanish in an instant. Before her very eyes, the wound upon her palm closed swiftly, the skin smoothed over, and within a few seconds nothing at all remained of the cut - no scar, not even the faintest redness.
"Remarkable..." the princess murmured softly, studying her perfectly healed palm.
Without wasting another moment, Corlys turned and made his way toward the resting Dreamfyre. He stopped beside the dragon's foreleg, lifted his head, and spoke once more in Parseltongue, addressing her.
"I shall need but a little of your blood to complete the potion, if you will permit me to take it," Corlys asked respectfully.
Dreamfyre answered only with a low sound of assent deep in her throat and extended her foreleg slightly forward, placing her full trust in the mage. Using the same ritual dagger, Corlys made a careful, small incision between the sturdy scales of the dragon's leg and held the bowl beneath it. A few thick, nearly black drops of dragon's blood fell into the vessel.
In that same instant, the runes upon the ritual bowl flared once more, but this time their red light was tenfold more intense, bright, and blinding. The liquid within the bowl began to seethe outright, saturated with the dragon's colossal magical energy.
Corlys returned to Viserra and began to intone the words of an ancient incantation in a low, singing voice. The thick substance within the bowl began to spin of its own accord, forming a miniature, funnel-shaped vortex. By the time the spell drew to its close, a thick, translucent vapor rose from the vessel, shimmering magically through every possible hue - from fiery red to a deep, saturated blue.
Having finished reciting the first part of the incantation, Corlys carefully passed the ritual bowl into his wife's hands.
"Hold it a moment, Viserra, and take care not to spill a single drop," Corlys asked, bending down toward the leather satchel lying upon the stone floor.
The man began drawing from the satchel a set of astonishing, strangely shimmering stones. They were perfectly smooth and gave off a soft, pulsing radiance. As he arranged them upon the floor in a strict, prescribed pattern around Dreamfyre and Viserra, Corlys continued to explain the meaning of his actions to his wife, unhurried.
"These are ritual stones I brought back from Antillia," Corlys said, carefully setting the third stone upon the granite flagstone. "They are saturated to their utmost with pure magical energy drawn from the ley lines there. These artifacts will serve as powerful conduits and stabilizers, helping to direct and focus the flow of magic straight between you and Dreamfyre. There are exactly seven stones in all, for in the higher arts of ritual, the number seven is held sacred, a number of perfection. Most of the most powerful rituals are fitted precisely to this figure, in order to achieve a perfect balance."
Having finished arranging all seven stones in a perfect circle, Corlys asked Viserra to remain within the improvised ritual circle he had created, while he himself remained outside its bounds.
"Now drink the potion from the cup, down to the very last drop," Corlys ordered, in a tone that brooked no argument.
Without the slightest hesitation, Viserra raised the heavy bowl to her lips and took several large swallows. The liquid proved strangely warm, but carried a sharp, unmistakable metallic taste of blood and herbs. As soon as she had drained the cup, Corlys took the empty vessel from her, setting it upon the table, and handed his wife the ritual dagger.
"Now cut your palm, and smear your blood directly beneath both of Dreamfyre's eyes," her husband instructed, watching her every movement closely.
Viserra took the dagger, drew a deep breath, and drew it decisively across her left palm, hissing softly at the sudden flare of pain. Fighting through the unpleasant sensation, she approached the dragon's enormous snout. Dreamfyre stood perfectly still, gazing at her rider with nothing but trust. Viserra lifted her bloodied fingers and carefully smeared crimson streaks directly beneath each of the dragon's golden eyes.
The moment she finished, the wound upon her own palm closed instantly once more, healing without a trace. Viserra returned to her place and held the ritual knife out to her husband.
"Now I shall begin to speak the final, culminating incantation," Corlys said, taking the dagger and stepping back outside the circle of stones. "Do not be afraid - it will not hurt you."
The man closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and began to intone the words of the incantation loudly and solemnly in the ancient Valyrian tongue. Almost at once Viserra felt the atmosphere around her shift sharply. The air within the ritual circle grew impossibly heavy and dense, suffused with a strange glow.
Corlys continued reciting the incantation without pause, moving slowly clockwise along the outer edge of the circle. He approached each of the seven ritual stones in turn and touched each lightly with his palm. At every touch, the stones flared instantly with a bright blue light.
When Corlys touched the seventh and final stone, the ritual circle closed completely. An extraordinary surge of magic filled the space: the very air between Viserra and Dreamfyre began to glow with a visible, pulsing blue light. More astonishing still, Viserra watched in wonder as distinct, interwoven threads of luminous energy appeared in the air. It was the lingering, pure image of magic itself, weaving itself before her eyes into unbreakable bonds, forever binding her soul to the dragon's very essence.
Corlys spoke the final, loudest words of the ancient spell. The blue light flared with an incredible, blinding intensity, forcing Viserra to shut her eyes for a moment, before vanishing instantly, dissolving completely into the air and into the bodies of those who had taken part.
The heavy pressure in her chest vanished at once. The air within the hall grew light, fresh, and clear once more. Viserra drew a shuddering breath and breathed deeply, feeling an extraordinary surge of strength and a faint dizziness.
"Corlys... is the ritual already finished?" Viserra asked quietly, catching her breath and looking at her husband, who stood a little way off.
Corlys smiled at his wife, warm and open, as he returned the ritual implements to his satchel.
"That, my dear, you must tell me yourself," Corlys answered, a note of mystery in his voice. "Simply close your eyes, and listen closely to what you feel within."
Viserra obediently closed her eyes and turned her full attention inward. In that same instant, her mind was swept by a colossal wave of entirely new, extraordinary sensations. She felt Dreamfyre as she had never felt her in all the years of their bond. It was not the vague emotional echo that riders usually feel. Viserra could distinctly sense every breath her dragon drew, the steady and powerful beat of her gigantic heart, the measured circulation of blazing magic through her veins, and the tremendous, crushing strength that lay coiled within that enormous body.
But the most astonishing thing happened a moment later. When Viserra tried to look still deeper into that bond, her consciousness seemed to lurch forward in an instant.
Viserra suddenly saw herself and Corlys from an entirely different vantage - from above, and slightly to one side! She saw her own figure standing at the center of the circle of stones, saw Corlys smiling... Startled and shocked, the princess snapped her eyes open at once. Bewildered, she looked over at Dreamfyre, then down at her own hands, and then at her husband standing beside her.
At last, understanding of what had just happened dawned upon her. In that moment, with her eyes closed, she had been looking upon the world not through her own sight, but through the eyes of her dragon!
Corlys smiled even wider, seeing the utterly astonished, and equally joyful, expression upon his wife's face.
"Judging by your eyes, you have just found the most complete answer to your question," Corlys said, genuine pride in his voice, coming closer to his wife and wrapping an arm around her waist. "Now that your mental bond with Dreamfyre has at last become perfect, there is a great deal I must teach you. Your abilities as a rider have, from this moment on, risen to an entirely different level."
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A/N
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