Dragonstone, 114 AC
Laenor sat at the dining table as the white cloak and the Maester of Dragonstone stood nearby, waiting for the others to wake. Laenor, however, already knew they would awaken soon and did not share the Maester's or Kingsguard's worry. Instead, he took a deep breath, trying to manage his anger, stress, and the flood of emotions that had returned to him stronger than ever. After checking everything is fine with his body, Laenor's thoughts ran wild. Within a moonturn, he and his family would have to deal with Valyria and its council of dragonlords and freeholders.
Laenor and Daemon might have once dreamed of living in Valyria—among dragonlords and all their glory—but both knew, or at least Laenor guessed Daemon knew, that the Old Freehold was not like Westeros, where they were the most powerful. The rivalries and struggles for dominance in Valyria were not hidden from anyone. Its politics were far crueler and bloodier than anything Westeros had ever known—save, perhaps, for the Dance, which had come close.
And the greatest concern of all: both House Velaryon and House Targaryen were never the top dragons of the Freehold before—and now they were self-exiled besides. So it was deeply troubling to hear that a dragon god had appeared out of nowhere to warn them that Valyria would soon be revived and restored.
Laenor was still deep in thought when Maester Luke's voice pulled him back to the present as the Maester handed King Viserys a cup of wine. Laenor's gaze swept the room—everyone else had awakened as well.
"Out, all of you. I need to speak with my family," Viserys commanded.
The Maester and the Kingsguard hesitated, reluctant to leave, until a sharp glare from the King made them obey. Soon they departed with the servants, leaving only seven people within the chamber.
"Before proceeding further," Viserys began, "I would like to confirm that we all had the same dream—where we heard that, in a moonturn, Valyria would live again."
Everyone nodded.
"Good. Then I think we can discuss what we are to do with this foresight we've been given."
The chamber fell silent as they all absorbed the weight of the revelation until Daemon finally spoke. "We met the King of Gods. We all saw him—Arrax. Viserys, the gods are real, and we met one of them. One of the Fourteen. What in the hell is happening? I've seen and learned more of this world in the last five years than in the first two decades of my life."
Daemon looked completely unmoored—Laenor realized he had underestimated just how deeply the Rogue Prince had been shaken by witnessing a god with his own eyes.
"For someone who never believed in gods, it must be quite the shock, eh, Daemon?" Viserys said, though there was no humor in his tone. "What did you use to say when Grandmother spoke those words—'Targaryens are closer to gods than men'? You'd laugh and say, 'There are only dragonlords and men; there is no power greater than dragons.' Well, brother, I'm just as shaken as you to see how spectacularly you and Grandmother were proven wrong. Take my advice: accept the gods as fact—as real as the dragons—and focus on how we'll deal with mortals with dragons, which is a far more pressing concern than divine beings who won't be walking or flying on their mounts beside us in a moonturn in this world."
"His Grace is right, Prince Daemon," said Lord Corlys. "Gods, however mighty, are not our problem. They will not come knocking on our door with hundreds of dragons, demanding we bend the knee to the Valyrian Empire as the dragonlords of Valyria might."
Laenor snorted inwardly. Gods are indeed a problem, he thought. Perhaps not for the Targaryens, but for as long as I live, I believe they will be a problem for House Velaryon.
"I don't think Valyria would ask us to bend the knee, Lord Velaryon. They never showed any interest in conquering Westeros before—not once in five thousand years. Why would they now?" Rhaenyra asked.
Laenor cast a sidelong glance at his sister to check if she was well. She had been silent all this time. Laena, however, seemed fine—troubled, yes, but understandably so given the situation.
"That was not for lack of means or desire, Princess, I assure you," his father replied. "Valyria never conquered Westeros because they had no one to rule it in their stead. And dragonlords rarely left the Freehold once the conquests of Essos were done. The Seven Kingdoms, each with enough strength to raise vast armies, required dragons to keep the thought of rebellion at bay. Moreover, Valyria was already vast—its empire spanned nearly all of Essos, save for a few corners. Ruling and maintaining peace across such lands was no easy task, especially when internal rivalries were fierce.
"But now," Lord Corlys continued, "with House Targaryen ruling the Seven Kingdoms, the Valyrians would have the head of the snake in their grasp if they chose to go for Westeros, too. Through your house, they could control the whole body. They may well wish to expand the Freehold to Westeros next."
Laenor thought his father might have been right if Valyria and Valyrian were any fool and greedy besides. Though he is right about Valyria never wanting to thrust its hand into the hornet's nest that was Westeros—but now, with the Targaryens as its crown, it would take only a bend of the knee to seize it whole. But why would they when they didn't do the same thing to Chryonar until the Rhoynish-Valyrian war? Valyrian council prefers being allies first before enemies. At least that was what history tells, and if it's right or not they would soon know in moon.
"What do you think we should do, Lord Corlys?" Viserys asked. "Should I inform my council of this? I'm doubtful, but in a situation like this, we need as much wise counsel as we can gather."
"I wouldn't say informing your council would be wrong, Your Grace—if you trust that this information will remain within those chambers and not spread across the realm. As for our next move, the best we can do is prepare ourselves—arm the keeps with as many scorpions as we can. There is a possibility, however little it might be, that Valyria will welcome us back with little resistance and open arms. Self-exiled we might be, but we are still Valyrians and have preserved many of our homeland's traditions… except a few," his father said, his voice carrying an edge of uncertainty.
Laenor sighed. "They will not sit quietly and leave us alone—that much I'm sure of, Lord Father. You seem to forget that our families now possess magic, a power the Valyrians were once very fond of, and would be after they come back from their fiery end. And you worry for nothing; Valyria is less a threat to us in battle than it is politically. With both dragons and magic, we'll be dragged into their politics soon enough—and I don't think I need to remind anyone what was said about Valyrian politics when the Freehold still lived."
Laenor could face dragons until Valyria decides to unleash its full might upon Westeros, which is far far-fetched thing considering the many conquests and problems they might face with the Free cities, which have grown fat with freedom for the last two centuries. So no, Laenor is not worried about any attacks from Valyria. What worried him most was being ensnared in the endless web of Valyrian political intrigue. He knew he was no master of politics—he'd always relied on his own power to change the game, and it had always been enough. But in Valyria, power alone would not silence rivals. There, flaunting strength could invite daggers and large conflicts instead of deference. That was his concern—everything else, he could handle easily.
"Laenor is right, brother," Daemon said. "Valyria is no threat to us. If you think they'd attack, you're a fool. House Targaryen might have been weak when Aenar fled the Freehold, but not anymore. We have dragons—large dragons—and riders aplenty. The ones who should fear Valyria's return are the Free Cities, not us."
The prince looked steadier now; it seemed he had taken Viserys's words to heart.
"It seems," Laenor's mother spoke, "the days of House Targaryen being the greatest power—and the only dragonlords—are over." Her lips curved faintly. "We need not fear the Faith anymore, my son. With Valyria's return, I doubt they'll keep preaching that too much magic is evil. Now, all that remains is to forge an alliance with the Old Freehold."
Laenor raised a brow in surprise, studying her face. He could never quite understand this woman's motives. Yet, she wasn't wrong—if Valyria truly rose again and House Velaryon secured an alliance with it, their troubles with the Faith could indeed vanish. But was that a wise course?
His gaze drifted to Rhaenyra, who was staring at her father.
"What if Laenor marries both?" the king said, his tone grave. "In times like these, I believe House Targaryen and House Velaryon must be united. I trust House Velaryon has no objection."
"Certainly not, Your Grace," his father replied at once. "If House Targaryen agrees, then House Velaryon stands with it. I think it is the wisest course for the perilous days ahead."
Laenor felt only disappointment. He believed he was fully adjusted to this world, especially after developing genuine affection for his sister. Yet, he was clearly mistaken. Still, marrying Rhaenyra might not be entirely a bad idea if it could lighten his load of courtly troubles. If Rhaenyra, who is quite precocious after gaining magic, could manage the politics somehow, then maybe it wouldn't be the worst choice he ever made.
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