Daemon entered his wife’s chambers slowly, carefully.
It was dark, only a few candles lighting the room.
The maids and the Maester had long left.
“Wife.”
“Husband,” Rhea answered, rather weakly.
It was rare, seeing his wife, always so strong, sound this fragile.
Daemon stepped around the bed, his eyes landing on the small creature lying tightly pressed against Rhea’s chest.
He could have sworn she pressed the baby even tighter.
“A boy.
Like you wished,” Rhea said, without revealing any emotion.
Daemon nodded absentmindedly as wind and rain streaked against the windows outside.
His thoughts were still with his grandmother, who had passed just moments ago.
At least it still felt like it.
“She died, didn’t she?” Rhea suddenly asked.
Daemon’s eyes widened.
How did she know?
“I can see your sadness, Daemon.” Rhea sighed, easing the grip around her newborn child.
“Do you…
wish to hold him?” She asked, almost too quietly.
Daemon stretched out his hands, feeling the weight of the child.
His child.
Small, and warm, fingers curling weakly in the air.
It was a strange feeling.
Especially the baby’s hair, mostly brown, with only a few streaks of silver threaded through it.
With that, Daemon’s unguarded smile dimmed, ever so slightly.
It stayed.
Only less warm than before.
“He shall be called…”
He had thought about this for a long time.
“Aemon.”
Rhea nodded.
The castle of Harrenhal seemed utterly silent, compared to everything that had happened before.
The lords, then the banquet, the sounds of childbirth, and now…
An old and tired king, sitting alone in a dark chamber, sobbing quietly beside his wife’s cold corpse.
It was a dark picture.
A Snake, his pride wounded, sitting alone in a lit banquet hall, swirling his wine, while two musicians still played on, half-forgotten.
A young heir, moving a quill slowly, sketching a figure, deep in thought.
Yet elsewhere, out in the cold, another pair of silhouettes moved through the night…
Laena glanced toward the castle in the distance.
They had been walking for a while now.
She was cold, soaked through by rain and wind.
Had someone else asked her something like this in the middle of the night, she would have refused, perhaps called a Velaryon knight, but not him.
Maekar was walking before her.
And far behind them, a lone knight followed.
It was Ser Criston Cole, who had smuggled her out of the keep.
The only thing she knew was that the prince wanted to give her something.
But what would it be?
A gift?
She looked at his broad back.
It wasn’t like the backs of other boys her age.
Maekar was different.
So she gathered all the courage she could, and stopped.
“Do you…
do you really wish to marry me, prince?”
The question had lingered in her mind for a long time now.
Ever since her father had proposed the idea to the king.
Although the king had refused, her father remained convinced that one day she would marry Maekar.
But she wanted to hear it from him.
The Prince turned back, his silver hair waving slightly in the wind and rain.
His eyes seemed to pierce everything, or so it felt to her.
He knelt down slowly, his knee sinking into the wet grass.
“I want to answer with a question, Laena.”
“Tell me the word you think of when I say…”
He paused.
“Dragon.”
“Beautiful,” Laena said, her eyes shining as she smiled.
It was true.
The one thing she thought of was their beauty.
Especially her mother’s dragon…
Maekar laughed quietly and shook his head.
“Yes, they are beautiful.
Truly, they are.”
“But when I think of dragons, I think of something else.”
Laena tilted her head, while Maekar’s eyes narrowed.
“Power,” Maekar said.
“A dragon is not loved because it is beautiful, Laena.
He paused, looking towards the cloudy sky.
“It is loved because power is the one true beauty in this world.
There is nothing more magnificent.”
His eyes seemed to sparkle, captivating Laena.
Yet in the next moment she frowned, not quite understanding.
How was this an answer to her question?
Maekar spoke like an adult not a child.
But Maekar continued.
“A dragon can only belong to a dragon.
Power can only match power.
Weakness can never,” he said.
“Do you…understand?”
Laena thought for a long moment.
Then, slowly, her eyes widened.
“It means I am not one yet.
A Dragon,” she said quietly, her childish voice suddenly so grave.
She wasn’t fit to marry the Prince…yet.
Maekar nodded, satisfied, and rose to his feet, before turning his head toward the hill in the distance. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
“Then show me,” he whispered.
“There is one waiting.
Beautiful and powerful alike.”
Laena looked between Maekar and the hill.
Then she walked forward, her fear diminishing with every step.
She thought of Alicent, and all the others who were older, more mature, perhaps more beautiful than her.
This was her only chance.
Of course she knew, or at least had some idea, what kind of impact this could have, but whatever she could not understand, she simply dismissed.
Then she looked back one last time.
Maekar met her eyes, then turned his own upward, toward the sky.
From the dark clouds, something even darker fell, sinking down like a god until it landed.
Laena did not look a second time, turning her back towards the Prince and his own Dragon.
Only when she finally reached the top of the hill did she stop, looking upward.
The dark Dragon flew above her.
When her head lowered, she saw its destination.
In the grassland below, two Dragons slept, a short distance apart.
One bronze, big and ferocious.
And one silver.
She could make out the colors, even in the dark.
Morghul roared, and the bronze one woke at once, answering in kind.
She finally remembered its name.
“Vermithor,” she whispered, in fear, but her eyes stayed on the silver one.
This one was truly beautiful.
Long horns, pale scales.
It woke as well, seemingly unsure whether to join Vermithor, who had already taken to the sky, or stay.
Before it could decide, it caught her scent.
Laena trembled as hot Dragon breath engulfed her…
This one had just lost its rider, and now a new one dared to pursue it.
Under the night sky, a little girl, clad in black, her white nightgown glimmering beneath, stood like an ant before Silverwing…
Maekar was surprised by the girl’s courage.
So young, yet so brave.
He leaned against the dark, scarred skin of Morghul.
It was the only warm thing on this cold night.
“Kessa iā sȳrī hen ñuha rȳbagon.”
Make sure you occupy the angry one.
With that, Morghul roared loudly, rising into the air and flying over Laena, who had already climbed the hill.
Maekar noticed Ser Criston approaching from the side.
His armor clanked slightly with every step.
“Do you believe I am sending her to her death?” Maekar asked, without turning.
Cole stopped just a step behind him.
“No.”
“I believe in her, and in you, my prince,” he answered.
A perfect answer.
“But I do,” Maekar said, smiling slightly as he met the young knight’s eyes, which widened.
“At least there is a good chance that girl will die trying.
All because love made her blind.
So blind she even forgot to fear.
This is a cost I am willing to bear for absolute gain.”
If she succeeded, Maekar would shake the balance of power in Westeros, gaining a second dragon for his cause.
Or he would feign ignorance when a charred corpse was found in the morning, weeping while already searching for another match.
Cruel.
He really was, wasn’t he?
Far off, roars carried through the night, Morghul’s the loudest among them.
In the sky, he could see two dragons dancing, one dark and one bronze.
He did not fear for his own.
“Many have done far worse for ambition,” Cole suddenly answered, drawing Maekar’s attention.
Maekar could hear the respect in the knight’s voice, but beneath it lay fear.
A good mixture.
“Ambition.
Yes.
Tell me of yours, Cole.
What do you wish to become?”
Cole looked down at the sword in its sheath, his hand resting on the hilt.
“The best.
The greatest.”
Maekar turned around, a deep, demanding look in his eyes.
“And what are you ready to give for it?”
Cole seemed to ponder this question more deeply, a long silence passing between them.
Maekar did not interrupt him.
Then something changed on the horizon.
In the far distance, between the dark clouds, the first rays of sunlight broke through.
Pale, small, weak, but there.
First it was quiet.
A small chuckle.
Then it grew louder.
Maekar was laughing, his eyes wide upon the small figure that revealed itself on the hill.
It was Laena.
Covered in mud and ash.
But breathing.
“Everything,” Cole finally answered, as a large silhouette revealed itself right behind the little girl.
There, in the first rays of morning, Laena and her Dragon Silverwing announced themselves to the world.
Fortune favors the bold, after all, Maekar thought as he walked toward her, his own dragon landing behind him.
Fresh blood trickled down its side.
Maekar looked at the wound for a moment, before saying:
“Is jāre hen sȳz bēvȳla iksos.”
He must be in an even worse state.
Both Laena and Maekar drew closer, the morning sun gaining strength with every second.
Maekar’s hands were clad in dark leather gloves.
He removed one and then the other, reaching out.
Laena did too.
The girl had tears in her eyes.
And so they met.
“It’s a match,” he whispered, as though announcing it to the King himself.
Some time had passed since the Queen’s passing, but the unrest across the realm hadn’t dimmed at all.
Otto pressed two fingers against his temple as he looked down upon the crowd of petitioners forming a line inside the throne room.
More of them every day, it seemed.
The King would return today, alone, on dragonback, from Harrenhal, where he had stayed far longer than anyone had planned.
Ruling in his stead had fallen to Otto, and he had done it well.
Masterfully, if he allowed himself to say so.
But his pride soon dimmed under an unwelcome thought.
Laena Velaryon.
The whole court had spoken of little else these past weeks.
A girl of no Targaryen name, riding the deceased Queen’s Dragon.
It unsettled not only him.
Dragons belonged to Targaryens.
That was not law, no maester had ever written it down, but it might as well have been carved into the walls of the Red Keep.
Otto had his suspicions about how it had truly happened.
He did not believe for a moment that a little girl had simply wandered up a hill alone and walked back down a dragonrider.
There had been another figure that night.
It had to be him.
The wedding proposal was no coincidence as well.
Prince Maekar.
A prince revealing himself to be a rather masterful player.
At such a young age…
just what would become of him if he grew up?
Otto twitched slightly, memories playing in his mind.
All the players who had crossed his path had fallen…one by one.
Still, it left a sour taste in his mouth.
Alicent, too, had taken the news worse than most.
The Velaryons, in general, had been souring the pot for him rather badly of late.
Especially because Viserys’s position grew shakier by the day, and that was something Otto could not allow.
A cough drew him back to the hall.
“Lord Hand.” The next petitioner had already been waved forward, a ragged man.
“There have been numerous attacks in the Vale.
They tell the tale of a monster in the skies, destroying villages and looting settlements!
My uncle and many others have died in a recent attack in the hills.”
Otto studied him.
The man seemed genuinely terrified.
“A winged monster.
Are you speaking of a dragon?
If so, that is a grave accusation.”
The villager trembled slightly as he lowered his head.
“I wouldn’t dare…” he muttered.
Otto wondered, briefly, whether whatever truly stalked those villages had anything to do with the girl.
Surely not.
A wild Dragon most likely or simply the savages that live in the hills.
He dismissed the man with a wave of his hand.
“There will be a few knights dispatched to investigate the matter.”
“Thank you, Lord Hand.” The man bowed once more.
Some wild dragon, real or imagined, was the least of Otto’s worries.
For now, he had only to wait.
Wait until the old king died, and then his own plans would unfold and bloom.
He glanced toward the painted windows.
He allowed himself, just for a moment, to imagine what the room might look like with his own blood sitting on this chair.
Maekar watched a silver Dragon dance across the sky above Driftmark.
He had returned to the island, where he was still, officially, “fostering.”
His exile was still ongoing, though he was certain that with the King’s death, not only would there be no one left to stop him, they would beg him to come back.
Otto Hightower would.
Viserys would.
They needed him, just as they needed Daemon.
Especially now, with the first Velaryon dragonrider to ever emerge, and Corlys Velaryon not exactly the crown’s most loyal follower these days, or so some evil tongues liked to whisper.
“A ship has just arrived.”
It was Corlys’ voice.
The lord joined Maekar, who had been sitting on a half broken stone wall.
Below them stood a training yard.
Dozens of men swung their swords there, sweat and steel catching the afternoon light.
Ser Clement and Ser Cole stood a little apart, watching.
Watching what would, in time, become Maekar’s men.
Knights.
“It carried a dozen chests full of gold.
The first payment from the Stepstones,” Corlys began.
“They even sent a bit more, to show their generosity,” he added, almost mockingly.
“Suddenly we are dealing with rich men, it seems,” Maekar said, and laughed.
“I am sure we are dealing with one,” Corlys said, glancing sideways at him.
“I am far from saturated.
You know that,” Maekar answered, looking out toward the horizon.
“It is already overdue.”
Corlys tilted his head.
“What is?”
“A new generation.
A new king.
A new age.”
With that, Maekar stood, walking toward the massive shape sleeping in the grass a little further outside the castle.
He climbed onto Morghul, who roared with excitement and took a few heavy strides before shooting into the sky.
A wide smile spread across Maekar’s lips.
“I wonder what their faces will look like when they finally understand.”
“Oh, they will bleed.
All of them.
I can see it.”
Morghul cried out, understanding his rider’s bloody intentions.
Two monsters rode together through the skies.
Which one was worse?
Love this chapter also…TIMESKIP TIME!