94 AC, Driftmark, High Tide.
The traditional seat of House Velaryon was Driftmark Castle—a dark, gloomy, damp fortress.
Built beside the sea, it had endured centuries of relentless tides.
White salt stains clung to its black stone walls, and the air always carried the scent of brine.
That remained true…
Until Corlys Velaryon completed his Nine Great Voyages.
The man the Seven Kingdoms had come to call the Sea Snake returned with immeasurable quantities of spices, silks, and exotic treasures from distant lands.
Those marvels were sold for fortunes beyond imagination, wealth enough to transform the destiny of an entire House.
When his fleet sailed into Driftmark for the last time, the cargo aboard his ships was worth a king’s ransom.
The merchants of King’s Landing went mad with excitement.
Golden Dragons poured into House Velaryon’s coffers like a waterfall.
In a single generation, House Velaryon became the wealthiest family in Westeros—
Surpassing even House Lannister of the Westerlands.
So Corlys gave a command worthy of that fortune and ambition.
He would build a new seat.
One that reflected the greatness of his House.
Thus…
High Tide rose from the shore.
The castle was built entirely from white marble, the same magnificent stone that formed the famed Eyrie of the Vale.
But Corlys was even more extravagant.
Every exterior wall.
Every colonnade.
Every archway.
All were fashioned from flawless white stone.
Its slender towers stretched skyward like fingers reaching toward the heavens.
Their spires were capped in pure silver, dazzling beneath the sun so brilliantly that fishing boats several miles away could see their blinding reflections.
The salty sea breeze swept across the castle.
Yet it did nothing to diminish the joyful atmosphere filling its halls.
Rhaenys had given birth once more.
When the newborn’s first vigorous cry echoed through the thick oak doors of the birthing chamber, Corlys Velaryon leapt to his feet from his chair in the waiting hall.
The midwife’s voice overflowed with barely restrained excitement.
The smile stretching across her face threatened to split her cheeks.
“A boy, my lord!”
“A healthy boy!”
“The Seven have blessed you—mother and child are both safe!”
When Corlys saw the tiny infant wrapped in soft silk blankets…
The wrinkled little face.
The silver hair.
A surge of emotion rushed through him so violently that he nearly lost his balance.
The man whose face had been carved into hard lines by countless years at sea suddenly found himself weeping.
Joyful tears burst uncontrollably from his eyes.
He strode forward and almost snatched his son from the midwife’s arms.
At first, he carefully leaned down and gently pressed his lips against the baby’s forehead, handling him as though he were the most precious porcelain in the world.
Then he lifted the child high above his head.
His voice rang throughout the chamber.
Filled with overwhelming pride, he practically roared,
“I shall name him Laenor!”
“Laenor Velaryon!”
“Look!”
“This is my son!”
“My heir!”
To celebrate Laenor’s birth, Corlys Velaryon resolved to hold a feast unlike anything Westeros had ever witnessed.
From the very beginning, the celebration surpassed the scale of any ordinary noble’s feast for a newborn heir.
Its extravagance even eclipsed the wedding of Viserys and Aemma.
Corlys deliberately chose to hold the celebration at High Tide, rather than at Driftmark Castle, the ancestral seat of House Velaryon.
Invitations adorned with gilded lettering flew throughout the Seven Kingdoms upon the wings of ravens.
Even before the feast began, singers had already started performing in King’s Landing, Oldtown, White Harbor, Lannisport, and countless other cities.
They praised the newborn Laenor’s noble appearance and extraordinary beauty.
The number of nobles who accepted the invitation—
And the prominence of those guests—
Exceeded nearly everyone’s expectations.
Among the most distinguished attendees was Lord Boremund Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and Rhaenys’s uncle.
Beside him stood his sister, Lady Jocelyn—
Laenor’s grandmother.
Her face still carried the habitual sorrow that had become part of her since Aemon’s death.
Yet the moment she looked upon her grandson…
That sadness softened into the warmth only a grandmother could possess.
The royal family, however, had been deliberately overlooked.
Only Queen Alysanne had received an invitation.
She was genuinely delighted that her granddaughter had survived childbirth safely and given birth to a healthy son.
Without hesitation, she accepted.
Mounted upon Silverwing, she flew from Dragonstone.
The feast itself fully deserved its reputation as unprecedented.
Corlys had ordered seventy-seven separate courses.
The long banquet tables overflowed with delicacies gathered from every corner of the known world.
Golden Arbor wines flowed without end.
The fiery dishes of Dorne sat beside the sweet confections of the Reach.
Exotic fruits from the Summer Isles shared the table with lavish meals seasoned by rare spices imported from across the Narrow Sea.
Every dish challenged even the most worldly nobles’ palates.
Musicians filled the feast with lively, somewhat bawdy melodies.
Young lords and ladies danced gracefully across the ballroom floor.
Maegelle had come.
Unlike the other noblewomen, she wore no splendid gown.
She remained dressed in her plain grey septa’s robes.
Yet the serenity and quiet devotion surrounding her somehow made her stand out all the more.
Rhaenys’s face immediately lit up when she saw her aunt.
Gathering her skirts, she hurried forward and embraced Maegelle tightly.
“I’m so glad you came.”
Rhaenys whispered softly into her aunt’s ear.
“Laenor needs the Seven’s blessing.”
“And yours is worth more than anyone else’s.”
Maegelle smiled gently and returned the embrace.
She walked toward the high table before offering respectful bows to Corlys and Boremund.
“May the Father grant this child wisdom.”
“May the Mother bless him with compassion.”
“May the Warrior grant him courage.”
Her voice remained calm and clear, as though she were reciting prayers within a sept.
“May he grow beneath the watchful eyes of the Seven.”
“May he one day become a great Lord of Driftmark…”
“And a loyal servant of the realm.”
Corlys rose from his seat.
With genuine solemnity, he accepted her blessing.
He even inclined his head slightly.
“From your lips to the Seven’s ears, Septon Maegelle.”
“Laenor will remember this day.”
“He will remember everyone who blessed him.”
When the dancing paused, Maegelle found her mother standing alone beside a balcony overlooking the sea.
Alysanne stood silently, gazing into the dark waters stretching toward the horizon.
Maegelle walked beside her.
For a long while, neither woman spoke.
Together they watched the waves crashing rhythmically against the rocks below.
Only after several minutes did Maegelle quietly break the silence.
“Mother…”
“Father needs you.”
Alysanne did not turn.
Her fingertips absentmindedly traced the cool marble railing.
“A king who rules the Seven Kingdoms should not regard two of his greatest bannermen as enemies.”
“The realm requires unity.”
“It requires stability.”
She continued quietly.
“This endless distance…
these repeated absences…”
“They only deepen the wound.”
“They encourage schemers to entertain ambitions they should never possess.”
“Viserys’s wedding became an unfortunate blemish.”
“And today’s celebration…”
She glanced toward the crowded hall.
“Father was not invited.”
“But you came.”
“That is a beginning, Mother.”
“But only a beginning.”
She turned to face Alysanne fully.
Earnest concern shone in her eyes.
“The realm needs you.”
“It needs your wisdom.”
“It needs your gift for mending what has been broken…”
“Just as you once did together with Father.”
Alysanne listened without interrupting.
Slowly, she turned toward the ballroom.
She watched the young ladies and knights weaving gracefully through the dance.
She watched Corlys standing confidently in conversation with Boremund, every inch the triumphant lord.
She watched Rhaenys surrounded by noblewomen, her face glowing with the unmistakable radiance of motherhood.
At last, Alysanne met her daughter’s eyes.
She reached up and gently cupped Maegelle’s cheek.
Then, with slow and affectionate movements, she tucked several loose strands of hair back behind her daughter’s ear.
Author’s Notes:
Regarding the general direction of the story…
The House of the Dragon TV adaptation cut quite a few characters.
For this story, I’ll mainly be following the character relationships established by the A Song of Ice and Fire Wiki.
So if someone appears who never showed up in the TV series, don’t be too surprised.
The timeline has already begun to diverge, and I’m sure many of you have noticed that we’re now in 94 AC.
However, the Black Dread still hasn’t officially exited the stage, and Viserys has yet to claim a dragon.
Don’t worry.
I have plans for both of those developments.
The same goes for several other characters whose deaths will be pushed back compared to canon.
(Truth be told…
I completely forgot that Balerion was supposed to die this year.
So…
I guess the Black Dread gets to live a few extra years.)
As for the current candidate for the second male lead…
I probably don’t even need to say much.
The Black Dragon and the Red Stallion were destined for one another.
He’ll make his appearance in the next couple of chapters, so feel free to guess who it is.
I’ve always been a huge fan of Daemon Blackfyre as a character, and I’ll do my best to make the journey of gathering the Blackfyre fragments feel natural and believable.
As for the female lead, my current choice is Laena.
I may add a few other important female characters later on, but if you’re hoping for Jeyne Arryn, Rhaenyra, or anyone along those lines…
You can probably let that idea go.
Their fundamental interests simply don’t align with Daeron’s, so there’s essentially no chance of them ending up together.
That said…
There may still be a few moments of romantic tension here and there.
Lastly—
I hope every one of you has an amazing day!