“But he is a child of Valyrian blood.” Alysanne spoke without a shred of hesitation.
“Furthermore, he tamed that beast to save our lives.
If Quentyn had not mastered Moondancer when he did, Daemon and I would be nothing but ash right now.
Rhaenys, perhaps this was the will of the gods.” “The gods…” Rhaenys opened her mouth to argue, but Daemon cut her off abruptly.
“I don’t give a damn about the gods or their will, but Quentyn has saved my life twice now.” Daemon struck his chest hard with his fist, his white teeth flashing starkly against his soot-stained face.
“That is where I stand.” Truth be told, Daemon did not fully grasp the intricate political web spinning around them, but his gut told him he needed to step forward and anchor his cousin.
A child of Valyrian blood…
a child of Valyrian blood…
A sudden spark of realization flashed through Rhaenys’s mind.
Is this what it means?
Rhaenys’s rigid posture instantly relaxed.
The previously tense Red Queen sensed the shift in her rider’s demeanor and let out a long, rumbling exhale, lowering her massive body to rest comfortably on the scorched earth.
“What of the casualties?” Rhaenys pivoted the conversation smoothly.
The two white-cloaked knights escorted the Queen’s terrified handmaidens back to her side.
Thick smoke still billowed across the docks.
The sails of the Wanderer had been completely incinerated; the eerie green dragonfire could not be extinguished by conventional means.
However, the Pentoshi captain had proven remarkably cool-headed.
He ordered an immediate evacuation the moment the Cannibal attacked, resulting in miraculously low casualties.
Even the unfortunate lookout in the crow’s nest had merely inhaled a lungful of smoke and swallowed some seawater after leaping into the bay.
The only two fatalities from the entire apocalyptic encounter were the two Dragonkeepers caught in the initial blast.
“Tragically, two Dragonkeepers gave their lives,” murmured Lady Margaery Manderly, the Queen’s handmaiden, her voice trembling slightly as the sheer terror of the dragon attack still gripped her heart.
“Prepare their compensations,” Queen Alysanne said with a heavy sigh.
“Summon the Silent Sisters.
They deserve a funeral worthy of their bravery.” Quentyn suddenly felt a wave of relief wash over him, his taut muscles unwinding as if a massive weight had been lifted from his chest.
He silently monitored these profound physiological and psychological shifts.
It was not that he had consciously chosen to relax.
Rather, the moment Moondancer sensed that the Red Queen and Silverwing no longer posed an active threat, the silver beast dropped its guard.
As its rider, Quentyn’s body had involuntarily mirrored that release of tension.
So this is the surface level of the bond between dragon and rider.
He could not remain glued to the dragon’s back forever, but for the immediate future, it was clear that Daemon, Alysanne, and Gael stood firmly in his corner.
Quentyn rapidly reassessed the shifting board.
Rhaenys should also realize that his taming of this beast could ultimately serve her and her children’s interests.
If she possessed the political acumen to see that, then Rhaenys would become a valuable ally in the days to come.
Concluding his thoughts, Quentyn patted the dragon’s scales, letting a heavy, exhausted expression wash over his face.
Moondancer unfurled its folded wings slightly, creating a ramp, and Quentyn slid smoothly down the leathery membrane to the scorched earth below.
He staggered forward a few steps.
Daemon immediately hopped over, grabbing Quentyn’s shoulder with one hand and delivering a light, congratulatory punch to his chest with the other.
“Seven Hells, you terrified me,” Daemon breathed, pulling Quentyn into a rough, one-armed embrace.
“Hah.
You saved my life again.” He looked up at the now-docile pale silver behemoth, clicking his tongue in genuine awe.
“You’ll have to take me up for a flight sometime.” “Of course.” Quentyn forced a weary, drained smile.
Seeing the sheer exhaustion painted across Quentyn’s soot-stained face, a deep surge of maternal affection swelled within Alysanne.
Yet before the Queen could even step forward, Gael hiked up her ruined skirts and bolted past her mother, throwing herself directly into Quentyn’s chest with enough force to nearly knock both boys over.
The young girl buried her face into Quentyn’s armor and burst into loud, hysterical sobs.
“Waaaaah!” Her piercing wails echoed across the docks.
Quentyn could not decipher a single word she was trying to say between her violent hiccups and sobs, only hearing the raw, terrified relief of a child.
Alysanne’s heart melted completely.
She gazed at Quentyn and Gael with eyes brimming with profound, protective love.
Even Silverwing, standing quietly to the side, watched Moondancer with a remarkably soft, almost curious gaze.
News traveled faster than the wind.
Furthermore, Dragonstone and Driftmark were separated only by a shallow strait, and the voyage from King’s Landing took a mere half-day with favorable winds.
A raven took flight from the rookery at Dragonstone, arriving at the Red Keep’s ravenry in less than an hour, delivering the explosive news of Quentyn’s successful claiming directly to the King’s table.
Then, the parchment found its way onto the desk of an uninvited guest.
“Your Grace, this is a far cry from the narrative you spun when you tasked me with hunting down the whereabouts of Elissa Farman!” The Red Keep.
The Small Council Chambers.
The heavy oak table of the Small Council dominated the center of the chamber, flanked by neat rows of smooth marble pillars.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, spilling across the pale weirwood table and illuminating the intense, calculating eyes of the council members.
Jaehaerys rested his chin on his fist, absentmindedly turning a heavy golden orb over in his hand.
The Hand of the King, Septon Barth, had his head buried in a massive tome half as tall as a man, scribbling furiously.
Baelon sat beside the King, idly spinning a polished orb between his fingers, watching the colors shift in the sunlight.
Taking in the scene before him, Lord Corlys Velaryon took a sudden, aggressive step forward, his voice a low rumble.
“Your Grace, dragons are meant to be claimed by Dragonlords.
If any man with a drop of our blood is permitted to claim a mount, I shudder to imagine the catastrophic consequences that will follow.” Corlys ‘The Sea Snake’ Velaryon was forty-one years old.
The greatest mariner in the history of Westeros remained striking and vigorous, his silver hair flowing freely over his shoulders, his beard trimmed with immaculate precision.
Though the blazing suns of his nine great voyages had baked his pale skin a deep, rich bronze, very few wrinkles marred his features.
His physique was as broad and powerful as it had been in his youth.
“Lord Corlys, mind your tongue.” Baelon set his orb back into its cradle, his voice perfectly even.
“We honor the salt and sea that flows through the veins of House Velaryon, but House Qoherys, much like House Targaryen, possesses blood forged in smoke and fire.
Quentyn is the son of my royal aunt, and the founder of House Qoherys was a direct offshoot of House Targaryen.
He possesses the blood of the dragon as surely as we do.” “I know this!
But it is an insult to the balance of power!” Lord Corlys’s tone softened, though the anger remained.
Two years ago, when the King named Baelon the Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne, effectively stripping his wife, Rhaenys, of her rightful inheritance, Corlys had been utterly infuriated.
Upon learning the decree, he had angrily resigned his position as Master of Ships and abandoned the capital.
However, following the birth of his son Laenor earlier this year, a quiet hunger awakened in Lord Corlys’s chest.
After all, Laenor was a son, and the son of a Targaryen princess at that.
Lord Corlys Velaryon’s ambition had quietly rekindled.
Thus, he had intentionally orchestrated his return to King’s Landing.
Jaehaerys held profound respect for the legendary mariner and naval commander, yet Lord Corlys could feel a faint, icy wall of alienation radiating from the old King.
It was to be expected.
In a very real sense, the sheer power and wealth of Lord Corlys Velaryon was the primary pillar supporting Rhaenys’s claim to the throne.
When the news of Quentyn claiming a dragon reached Lord Corlys’s ears, his initial shock rapidly warped into boiling indignation.
As the proud patriarch of House Velaryon, he had long harbored a quiet disdain for House Qoherys.
Historically, House Qoherys had arrived on Dragonstone alongside House Targaryen.
Compared to the indigenous House Velaryon and the Celtigars, the Qoherys line was indeed closer to the Targaryens, bound by blood.
But what of it?
Initially, House Qoherys was nothing more than a vassal to House Targaryen.
House Velaryon, on the other hand, were the proud Lords of the Tides, masters of salt and sea, commanders of the greatest fleet in the known world.
No matter how close House Qoherys’s bloodline was, was it not House Velaryon that had intermarried with the Targaryens time and time again over the past century?
When House Qoherys faced ruin, it was Lady Ysilla Velaryon who sheltered the young Enys Qoherys.
After completing his nine great voyages, which catapulted House Velaryon into the position of the wealthiest and most powerful house in the Seven Kingdoms, his disdain for the struggling Lords of Harrenhal only deepened.
“Lord Corlys, what exactly is it that you want?” Baelon asked the question on Jaehaerys’s behalf.
Baelon was not genuinely surprised that Quentyn possessed the capability to claim a dragon.
Truth be told, given Quentyn’s pure lineage, it would have been stranger if he could not claim one.
The only complication was that he and Jaehaerys had originally planned to let Princess Vaella’s egg hatch, allowing Quentyn to bond with a hatchling.
That plan would have placated Alysanne, balanced the scales with House Velaryon, and kept the true balance of power submerged beneath the surface, an unspoken agreement everyone could live with.
“Laenor is the son of Rhaenys.
I love Rhaenys more than I love my own ship, the Sea Snake.
Likewise, I love my children, Laena and Laenor, with all my heart.
As a father, it is my sacred duty to secure the absolute best future for my blood.
I trust you harbor the exact same sentiments, Your Grace.” Lord Corlys drew a deep breath and sat down heavily in the still-vacant chair reserved for the Master of Ships.
Over the past two years, King Jaehaerys’s energy had visibly waned, and the heavy burdens of the realm were slowly shifting onto Baelon’s shoulders.
At the time, the only man in the realm truly fit to assume the mantle of Master of Ships was Lord Robert Redwyne of the Arbor.
But Robert was still a young man, overwhelmed by the administration of his own vast lands, and had respectfully declined Baelon’s invitation.
“Since Quentyn Qoherys, as the son of Princess Vaella, is permitted to claim a dragon, then my son, as your own great-grandson, is equally entitled to claim his birthright.” “You want to secure a dragon for your son?” Jaehaerys finally lifted his head.
His eyes were hollowed with exhaustion, yet they still burned with the piercing intensity of a torch, his voice a raspy whisper.
The Sea Snake did not deny it.
He simply locked eyes with the King.
Septon Barth hurriedly set down his quill, reaching out a hand to support the aging monarch.
Jaehaerys waved him off, pushing himself to his feet.
His long silver beard bristled like the mane of an enraged lion.
Lord Corlys met the King’s burning gaze with absolute, unyielding calm.
“No.
I am fighting for the rights of Rhaenys’s son,” the Sea Snake said evenly.
“Your Grace, you already stripped his mother of her rightful inheritance.
Do you intend to strip him of his birthright as well?” “Quentyn saved the lives of my wife, my daughter, and my grandson!
He proved the worth of his blood through unparalleled valor.
He proved he is worthy of wielding the sword of fire and blood for his kin.” Jaehaerys’s voice dropped to a low, dangerous growl.
“Can your infant son do the same?” “Laenor is but a babe in arms!” Lord Corlys stared directly into the King’s eyes, refusing to yield a single inch.
“But I swear to you, the day will come when he takes up the sword for the realm and for his mother, just as fiercely.” Just as the arguments in the Small Council chambers raged on without end.
Dragonstone.
The Dragonmont.
Moondancer landed gracefully on the steep, rocky slopes.
The dragon’s low, rumbling song echoed beautifully across the crags, completely devoid of the berserk cruelty it had displayed hours earlier.
The Red Queen had already departed, carrying Rhaenys back to High Tide.
Accompanying Quentyn to Moondancer’s lair were Alysanne, Daemon, Gael, and the two battle-hardened white knights.
Silverwing circled lazily overhead, occasionally letting out a crisp, musical trill.
“Is this Moondancer’s lair?” Daemon looked around the massive cavern with intense curiosity, while Gael huddled nervously in her mother’s embrace, casting frequent, awe-struck glances at Quentyn.
Quentyn nodded.
After Rhaenys departed, Moondancer had grown noticeably restless.
Quentyn yielded to the beast’s intent, accompanying it back to its roost high on the mountain.
Just then, a soft, high-pitched whimper echoed from the deep shadows of the cavern.
A young, emerald green dragon poked its head out, as if eager to welcome Moondancer home.
However, the moment it caught sight of Silverwing circling above and the small crowd of humans gathered below, it froze in clear shock and immediately shrank back into the darkness.
It was an incredibly beautiful, young green dragon.
Its emerald scales shone like polished gemstones, gleaming brilliantly even in the dim light of the cavern.
The dorsal fins running down its spine and the jagged horns crowning its head were a deep, mesmerizing lake-green, while its delicate wing membranes were a beautiful, translucent aquamarine.
At first glance, its structure heavily resembled Silverwing, though it was vastly smaller, estimated to be less than half the size of the massive Moondancer.
The green dragon hissed nervously from the shadows.
Moondancer responded with a low, rumbling, comforting purr.
The green dragon’s hissing gradually subsided.
It tentatively poked its head out once more, its large blue eyes staring timidly at the intruders.
“Hiss…”