ACT III: The Reign of Jaehaerys I — Part 2: The Severance and Exile (87 AC – 101 AC)
Chapter 16: The Alliance with the Sea Snake (90 AC)
The official announcement of the betrothal between Princess Rhaenys Targaryen and Lord Corlys Velaryon echoed through the halls of the Red Keep like the hiss of an impending storm.
Depending on who was asked in the castle corridors, the reaction wavered between enthusiastic approval and ill-disguised disgust.
King Jaehaerys I stood as the primary opponent to that union.
The Old King, in his eternal political paranoia disguised as diplomatic wisdom, viewed the concentration of naval power, vast wealth, and dragonblood in the hands of House Velaryon with extreme dread.
Yet, Rhaenys’s will was an unshakeable rock.
The young princess was not only utterly determined to marry the Sea Snake, but also had the unconditional support of her father, Prince Aemon, who defended his daughter’s desires with the firmness of a true heir to the throne.
To me, on a personal and dynastic level, that marriage mattered little.
However, the practical aspect of the naval power House Velaryon possessed piqued my pragmatic interest.
Corlys’s fleets crossed the known oceans, reaching the furthest ports of Essos and the mythical lands of the East.
This maritime trade network would greatly facilitate the acquisition of exceedingly rare ingredients for blood magic rituals, advanced alchemy, and ancient relics.
Exotic herbs, bones of extinct beasts, and arcane ores that I would never bother searching for myself could now be delivered directly to the doorstep of my tower, courtesy of Driftmark’s ships.
Approaching the island of Dragonstone mounted on the terrifying back of The Cannibal, I observed the ancestral fortress outline itself against the grey sky.
The black dragon let out a deep roar that made the ocean waters bubble below us before spiraling down, landing with a heavy impact that shook the stones of the castle’s inner courtyard.
As soon as I unbuckled myself from the saddle and stepped onto the volcanic stone ground, I was received by the royal party.
The Prince of Dragonstone, Aemon, stepped forward with a genuine smile on his face, accompanied by his wife Jocelyn Baratheon, his daughter Rhaenys, and her betrothed, Corlys Velaryon.
Aemon walked toward me and wrapped me in a warm embrace.
“Lord Vaelarys!
How long has it been since I last saw your ill-tempered face in these parts!” said the heir to the throne, clapping an amical hand on my shoulder.
“Yes, Aemon.
Especially after you decided to hide away in this gloomy castle,” I replied, adjusting my cloak.
“Ah, but you must admit the salty, sulfurous air of Dragonstone is infinitely better than the smell of sewage in King’s Landing,” the prince joked.
Beside me, Viserra took a step forward, crossing her arms and raising her chin with superiority.
“Have you forgotten about me already, my brother?
Or has your memory faltered in the sea wind?” provoked the Lady of the Blessings.
Aemon laughed openly, bowing in an exaggerated, theatrical bow to his younger sister.
“Never, my lady!
I beg a thousand pardons for failing to properly greet the great Lady of Gifts, the almighty Annatari.
Could you forgive this mere mortal, my lady?”
Viserra looked him up and down, playing with the magical Valyrian steel bracelet on her wrist.
“I’ll consider your case, Aemon.
Perhaps if dinner is good, I might consider granting my forgiveness.”
Aemon greeted Daenerys right after.
The greetings between the two were substantially more cordial and restrained, devoid of the childish teasing he exchanged with Viserra.
After all, Daenerys was his older sister and maintained a reserved demeanor as a sorceress.
When night fell, we gathered around the great stone table in the banquet hall.
Dinner proceeded amidst casual conversation and the sound of the wind howling against the fortress windows.
Aemon, wanting to kick off formal introductions, cleared his throat and addressed me.
“Alright, Arthos…
I know you know practically every influential man on this continent through your mysterious magic, but allow me to introduce him formally.
This is Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, representative of one of the great houses of Valyria.”
I looked at Aemon with the corner of my mouth raised in a cold smile, cutting him off immediately.
“It wasn’t a great house, Aemon.
House Velaryon was merely a small vassal lineage of your own house, which in turn was also a minor lineage among the forty Dragonlords.
It seems you’ve forgotten the history lessons I gave you in childhood.
But well…
Valyria turned to ash, and today, in this Andal realm of Westeros, we can indeed consider them a great house.”
I said that not out of sheer aristocratic arrogance, but as a small, veiled test.
And I watched the man fall into the trap with almost disappointing ease, even as he tried to disguise his irritation behind a mask of politeness.
Corlys Velaryon harbored an immense pride in his maritime achievements and the financial standing to which he had raised his house.
Even if Rhaenys had taken the initiative to seduce him, that had merely accelerated the Sea Snake’s ambitious plans.
Corlys smiled in a restrained manner, maintaining an upright posture beside Rhaenys.
“Yes, Lord Vaelarys…
The times of the Old Freehold are gone, and the glory of that era remains in the past.
Still, having managed to raise my house to the point of making it the second most powerful house of Valyrian origin in this realm is something I take immense pride in.”
Viserra, reading my thoughts as if connected to my mind, set her cutlery down on the table with a sharp click and stared at the Lord of the Tides with her dark violet eyes.
“Ah, I see, Lord Velaryon…” she said, her voice dripping with poisonous condescension.
“So your house hasn’t surpassed House Targaryen in power to become the second strongest of Valyrian origin?”
Corlys blinked, surprised by my wife’s direct attack, but replied quickly.
“Of course not, my lady.
House Velaryon has never aimed nor attempted to surpass House Targaryen as the strongest house in the realm.”
Viserra gave a short, mocking laugh, adjusting her necklace.
“The point, Lord Velaryon, is that the strongest house in this realm is House Vaelarys.
After us come the Targaryens.
And then, down in third place, on a list of only four Valyrian families, comes yours.”
The silence that settled over the table after Viserra’s declaration was equivalent to a funeral.
No one dared breathe.
Only the sound of Viserra’s cutlery slicing the meat on her plate broke the spell, as she continued eating with absolute calm, ignoring the heavy tension she had created.
I let out a low chuckle and broke the ice with disdain.
“Well…
It seems our dear Lady of Gifts has made her opinion crystal clear.”
Aemon, trying to ease the tension, let out an amused sigh.
“Yeah…
By the looks of it, my dear little sister hasn’t changed one bit since getting married.”
I looked directly into Corlys’s eyes.
My storm-grey gaze locked onto the Sea Snake with the gravity of a death sentence, and my tone turned dry, icy, and devoid of any playfulness.
“Don’t do it, boy.
Don’t try to use your futile influence games against my domain.
I have no patience for these idiot court intrigues, and if you annoy me, I will simply destroy your house.”
Corlys froze with his wine goblet halfway to his mouth.
He stared at me wide-eyed, trying to keep a straight spine.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lord Vaelarys…”
“Just keep this in mind,” I continued without blinking.
“Marrying a royal princess and connecting your blood to the king’s family changes absolutely nothing.
If you test my patience or try to maneuver against me and my wife, I will eliminate you and your bloodline the same way I would eliminate any corrupt septon in the gutter.”
I finished my meal in silence.
I stood up from the table, adjusted my tunic, and looked at Aemon.
Don’t worry, it’s something simple.”
I left the hall accompanied by Viserra.
Daenerys had already retired much earlier to wander through the castle’s galleries and libraries, a routine she loved repeating whenever she set foot on Dragonstone.
The next morning, I entered Prince Aemon’s private solar.
The heir to the throne was sitting behind his wooden desk, staring at me with a mix of tiredness and curiosity.
“What in the hell was that last night with Corlys, Arthos?” Aemon asked, crossing his hands.
“The boy is very proud, Aemon,” I replied, making myself comfortable in the chair opposite him.
“But more than that, he’s steeped in the vices of the court.
He wants to play political chess.
My information network 1discovered that he intended to start spreading subtle rumors about Viserra, trying to paint her conduct as loose to tarnish House Vaelarys’s reputation and elevate Rhaenys’s image.
I don’t have the time or patience for these fools’ games.
That’s why I gave him the ultimatum.”
Aemon let out a long sigh, running a hand over his face.
“I see…
I’ll speak to him seriously.
Corlys needs to understand who he’s dealing with.”
I changed the subject without actually caring about Aemon’s explanations.
“Leaving the fleet-boy aside…
I came to this island to accompany Viserra.
My wife wants a dragon and intends to claim one of the wild beasts nesting on the Dragonmont.”
Aemon raised his eyebrows, surprised, but nodded slowly.
“I see…
And does my father know about this?
I ask only to know if I need to send a raven notifying the capital.”
I gave a mocking smile.
“Yes, Jaehaerys knows.
Viserra threatened to make his life a living hell in the capital to such an extent that the old man agreed on the spot.
You know my wife…
She always gets what she wants, one way or another.”
Minutes later, Aemon accompanied us to the rocky slopes of the Dragonmont.
Rhaenys and Corlys walked right behind us, keeping a respectful distance.
Aemon looked at Daenerys, who walked beside me clad in her leather attire with her Valyrian steel rings gleaming under the weak sun.
“And what about you, sister?” Aemon asked.
“Aren’t you going to try claiming a dragon today too?”
My apprentice smiled serenely, without stopping her pace.
“No, my brother.
My dragon is already destined.”
Aemon raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“I imagine our Mage informed you of that through his visions…”
“Exactly,” Daenerys answered.
“And which dragon would this special one be?” the prince questioned.
“Silverwing,” Daenerys declared naturally.
Aemon paused for a second, shock evident on his face.
“But…
Silverwing is our mother’s dragon!”
I chimed in calmly, looking toward the horizon.
“And your mother won’t live forever, Aemon.
Daenerys will only bond with Silverwing when Alysanne passes away, many years from now.”
Aemon swallowed hard, looking at his sister with affection and veiled sadness.
“Well…
No offense intended, my sister, but I hope from the bottom of my heart that you remain dragonless for a long, long time.”
Daenerys smiled warmly and sincerely.
“I hope so too, Aemon.
I hope so too.”
Rhaenys, who was listening to the conversation beside Corlys, chimed in with curiosity.
“And does Grandmother know about this already, Daenerys?”
“Yes,” my apprentice replied.
“I think it’s been years since I’ve seen our mother so happy.
She takes me to Silverwing’s nest herself quite often so the dragon gets used to my presence and my magical signature.”
Reaching the steep trails of volcanic stone that led to the upper caves, I stopped and turned to Viserra.
“Alright, dear wife…
We have two options of wild dragons available on this mountain.
Which, in truth, boils down to only one choice for you.”
Viserra frowned, adjusting her cloak.
“But there are two wild dragons on the Mount, aren’t there?
Sheepstealer and Grey Ghost.”
“Yes,” I replied.
“But I highly doubt you’d want Sheepstealer, even if he’s considerably larger.”
“And why not?” she questioned.
“Because he’s hideous,” I said plainly.
“Aesthetically speaking, he’s one of the ugliest beasts I’ve ever seen.
Though…
indeed, it would be a fascinating contrast to see the realm’s most beautiful princess riding Westeros’s most horrifying dragon.”
Corlys, wanting to make a clever comment to reintegrate himself into the conversation, let slip an unfortunate question.
“Isn’t the ugliest dragon in the world The Cannibal, though?”
I stopped immediately.
I turned my body slowly and deliberately toward the Sea Snake.
The air around us seemed to freeze, and the shadow of my arcane aura weighed heavy over the spot.
“What did you just say, boy?” I asked, my voice so low and menacing that it made the castle guards take a step back.
“I think I misheard…
Did you just call my cute little beast ugly?”
Rhaenys delivered a sharp elbow to Corlys’s ribs—an elbow she tried to make look subtle, but was perfectly visible to me—and quickly stepped in with a nervous voice.
“He meant…
he only knows The Cannibal through stories of the beast’s great fame, Lord Vaelarys!
If Corlys had seen The Cannibal’s majesty in person, he would never say such a thing!”
I narrowed my eyes at the Lord of the Tides, watching him break into a cold sweat under my gaze.
“Right…
I’ll let it slide this time.
Turning my attention back to Viserra, I adjusted my posture.
“Well then, Viserra…
You want Grey Ghost.
What now?”
“Should I enter his cave?” she asked, looking at the dark fissure in the rock.
“No.
I’ll call him out to an open space,” I explained.
“He’ll come here, but mind you: I’m only helping up to this point.
The rest of the taming and bonding is entirely on you.”
I extended my mind through the arcane web, projecting my consciousness through the depths of the Dragonmont.
I located the magical signatures of the reptiles: The Cannibal dozing in his ancestral nest, Caraxes and Meleys resting on their ledges, and the two wild ones hiding in the deep shadows to avoid my black dragon’s presence.
I found Grey Ghost’s mind.
I sent a mental command ordering him to leave the cave.
The dragon, extremely skittish and shy by nature, initially refused, shrinking back into the dark.
*If you don’t get out of that cave right now,* I sent a direct mental message loaded with the image of The Cannibal, *I will send the black dragon in there to drag you out by force.*
The psychological terror worked instantly.
Grey Ghost bolted out of the cave at breathtaking speed.
“Here he comes, dear,” I warned.
The beast emerged from the rocky fissure.
He was a dragon of singular beauty, with pale, translucent grey scales resembling the color of sun-bleached bones and pale yellow eyes like mist.
He looked like a spectral vision in the morning light.
Viserra walked toward him in a slow, firm, and graceful manner.
She spoke to the beast in the Common Tongue, not bothering to use High Valyrian, focusing entirely on projecting her intent of dominion and majesty through her aura.
I projected one last quick mental message to the beast: *If you become Viserra’s mount, I guarantee The Cannibal will never use you as a snack.*
Whether due to the mental warning or Viserra’s overwhelming presence, Grey Ghost lowered his head.
My wife approached the reptile’s snout and extended her hand without a trace of hesitation, touching the dragon’s icy scales.
The bond of blood and mind sealed in that instant.
Viserra Targaryen had just claimed Grey Ghost.
And King Jaehaerys I now had one more dragonrider to manage during his sleepless nights.
Crafting the saddle for Grey Ghost proved to be a fascinating and complex challenge.
The dragon was absurdly skittish and felt terribly uncomfortable near other people or beasts.
Measuring his body required patience, but the truly time-consuming part was manufacturing the equipment.
Viserra demanded the most beautiful, luxurious, and striking saddle in all of Westeros’s history.
Corlys Velaryon, demonstrating that he had finally learned to use his head and putting his pride aside, decided to present my wife with a gift.
The Sea Snake donated an absurd quantity of rare jewels from his personal treasures for the saddle’s crafting.
The gear was worked in light grey and silver leather, inlaid with diamonds and translucent sapphires that gleamed brilliantly under the sunlight, turning Viserra’s mount into an unmatched visual spectacle.
Viserra’s arrival in King’s Landing mounted on Grey Ghost was apotheotic.
Even as the smallest among the royal family’s ridden dragons, the image of the vain princess soaring through the capital’s skies on a grey, spectral beast brought the entire city to a standstill.
Days later, the grand wedding between Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys Velaryon took place.
Once again, I was forced to don formal attire and walk to the Great Sept to witness the ceremony.
The priests of the Faith of the Seven appeared considerably more subdued and frightened in my presence.
They had already realized that something horribly wrong was happening within the church’s internal structure, but it was too late: the silent purge executed by my arcane order had already eliminated most of the realm’s most corrupt and influential septons.
In the banquet hall of the Red Keep, I stood beside King Jaehaerys I.
Watching the newlyweds dance in the center of the hall, I murmured to the monarch.
“It seems my old friend didn’t like this union one bit…”
Jaehaerys sighed, taking a sip of his wine without looking at me.
“Even if you feign being a fool, act like a fool, and sometimes truly are a fool…”
“Hey!
I’m still right here beside you, Jae, and I haven’t gone deaf,” I interrupted with an ironic smile.
The Old King let out a weak laugh, shaking his head.
“Damn you, Arthos…
But back to the point: despite all your antics, I know you’ve realized the Velaryon boy’s real plans, haven’t you?”
“Ah, yes,” I replied, watching Corlys.
“His plan is quite obvious.
He wants to marry Rhaenys and leverage her position so that when Aemon takes the throne, he can expand the Velaryons’ strength and prestige.
He wants to introduce dragonblood and political influence directly into Driftmark.
And when Rhaenys or her son inherits the Iron Throne, House Velaryon will be in a position to replace Targaryen influence, whether by dominating the court or using the dynasty’s name as a mere facade.
It’s a masterstroke to seize supreme power over the continent.”
Jaehaerys looked at me with tired, grave eyes.
“I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who sees it, Arthos…
But tell me: with your vision of the future…
will he succeed?”
I looked at the bride and groom now walking toward us to offer their greetings.
I gave a dark smile and replied in a matter-of-fact tone:
“Not a fucking chance.”
Jaehaerys burst into laughter—a genuine, loud laugh that drew the eyes of the nobles around us—and greeted the young couple with a warm, diplomatic smile on his face.
And my answer was the absolute truth.
Corlys Velaryon would never manage to realize that plan for the simple reason that Prince Aemon would never become king.
I mean…
in truth, I still wasn’t entirely certain about the crown’s ultimate destination.
As for Aemon’s death in the Tarth war in 92 AC, I had already decided that I would intervene with my sorcery to save him from that fatal Myrish arrow.
What would happen after that in the timeline was uncertain territory.
During the celebration, I approached Aemon under the pretext of adjusting his cloak and channeled a subtle arcane scan through my blood perception, analyzing the heir’s internal biology.
I had suspected for years that Aemon might have been the target of some slow poisoning from the Citadel to prevent him from siring more male heirs.
However, the blood exam revealed that Aemon’s body was perfectly healthy.
The fact that he and Jocelyn had only Rhaenys as a daughter had been a deliberate choice by the couple themselves; Aemon loved his daughter so deeply that he wished to see Rhaenys crowned as Westeros’s first Queen Regnant, without competition from male siblings.
In the end, none of that changed my fundamental plans.
I had already accepted in my mind that the future Dance of the Dragons was an inevitable and necessary event.
I would save the few innocent people who truly deserved to be saved and let the rest of the realm burn.
And why allow the Dance to happen in the future?
Because that would be the era when the continent would be populated by the most insufferable, futile, and despicable figures in the dynasty’s history: Viserys I, Alicent Hightower, Daemon Targaryen, Rhaenyra, Aegon II, and the entire retinue of parasitic nobles surrounding them.
The elimination of that scum during the civil war would be the necessary cleansing for the continent’s future.
The dragonseeds and corrupt lords needed to crumble.
Yet, that didn’t mean the magical beasts had to die along with them.
The dragons needed to be preserved…
only the Targaryens could no longer have them.
= green vision