Valyria, Blackfyre Tower
"The one who was exiled by the main branch? Yes, we are the descendants of that Monfrod Velaryon," Laenor replied in the same firm tone.
After learning that a main branch of House Velaryon still existed in Valyria, Laenor had buried himself in texts during every free moment he could steal, trying to understand why any Velaryon of Valyria would ever sail to Driftmark and begin anew—especially when Valyria itself, and even the Free Cities of Essos, offered countless opportunities to one of Old Blood.
After rummaging through ledgers, journals, and the writings of previous lords, he found only one constant name: Monfrod Velaryon, the first of their house to reach Driftmark. Then there was the diary. A personal journal, yellowed with age, filled with little more than bitter longing and obsession. Every page spoke of Drakonar. Laenor endured it to the end, even learning the name of the Drakonar woman the author loved so fiercely—Elaena Drakonar. And on the very last page, at last, the truth was written plainly: Monfrod Velaryon, the exiled Velaryon.
Connecting the pieces was easy after all, Laenor had heard the venom in Jaenara Sehlaeros's voice whenever she mentioned the Drakonars. Laenor could not imagine why the Velaryons of Valyria would think no differently, because as Jaenara said, both family believe they are cursed by the Drakonars, and it is due to this curse that they lost their ability to tame dragons. Any Velaryon who adored—no, who loved—a Drakonar would surely be seen as an aberration, one unfit to remain within the family.
"What do you mean by exiled, Laenor?" his father asked, suspicion flickering in his gaze as it moved from Aegor Velaryon back to his son.
"I ask your forgiveness, Father, for not telling you this sooner," Laenor said evenly. "I only uncovered the truth a few days ago. Monfrod Velaryon—our ancestor—was an exile. That is why he did not choose the Free Cities of the Summer Lands, but instead sailed to Westeros."
Corlys stared at him in shock. The others, too, were visibly surprised.
"But as far as Valyria knows," Rhaenys Belaerys said carefully, turning her gaze toward Aegor for confirmation, "Monfrod was a fool—a third or fourth son who exiled himself because he stood to inherit nothing."
Aegor did not support her words. His eyes remained fixed on Laenor, dark with restrained fury. It seemed the lords of the Freehold did not take kindly to their buried truths being dragged into the open—especially before people they still do not trust to keep their truth buried.
"Of course they would spread such lies," Laenor replied with a quiet chuckle. "The truth behind Monfrod Velaryon's exile was deemed better hidden—especially from the dragonlords of Valyria." Because shame is a powerful thing, after all. And the Velaryons would not have the Drakonars laughing at them for a son who loved a woman far beyond his reach.
"What was it, then?" Corlys asked, fear edging his voice. "What crime earned him exile? Theft? Kinslaying?"
The worry was clear. To descend from a kinslayer or thief was a stain in any land—Valyria or Westeros alike. But fortunately, Monfrod was neither.
"No, Father. He was no kinslayer, nor a thief. If anything, he was the one robbed," Laenor said softly. "Robbed of his heart by a maiden. And it was that love which sealed his banishment."
For a moment, silence hung heavy. Then Rhaenys Belaerys's eyes widened, realization dawning as she turned her surprised gaze upon Aegor.
The others still did not understand the depth of the hatred House Velaryon bore toward the Drakonars. Their impatience was plain. "Elaena Drakonar," Laenor continued. "Monfrod Velaryon fell in love with a daughter of House Drakonar. And for that alone, he was cast out."
Shock rippled through the group. Exile for love sounded like a tale sung by bards, not a truth of the world. No family, surely, would cast out its own blood for such a reason.
"Lady Belaerys," Aegor said at last, speaking for the first time, "it would be best if we continued this discussion within your solar. Some matters are better spoken behind black walls than beneath open skies."
Rhaenys inclined her head and led them down the stairs to the level below. As Laenor followed, he caught a glimpse of a lift shaft—an elevator used by servants ferrying food and refreshments.
Once seated and served, Aegor recounted the tale of Monfrod's love and exile in full. The details aligned with the diary's words, and Laenor listened in silence.
"It may seem outlandish to you," Aegor concluded firmly, "but such is our hatred of the Drakonars. Perhaps it was wrong to never invite Monfrod back—but what is done is done. No Velaryon will ask forgiveness for it."
Laenor nodded. He had not expected contrition so easily, nor did he require it now. That reckoning would come later.
Corlys remained silent throughout, his expression thoughtful and troubled. The Targaryens, though mildly surprised, seemed less affected. And Rhaenys Belaerys cast a wary glance at Lord Aegor Velaryon—doubt and weariness carefully hidden beneath her practiced grace.
"This matter should end here. It is a personal affair of House Velaryon, and it should be dealt with within the family," Rhaenys said firmly. "Let us discuss what we have gathered here for. But before that, you all must tell me what has transpired in these two centuries within House Targaryen. All of it. Do not leave a single detail."
Her gaze fixed directly on Daemon and Viserys, demanding answers.
Laenor and the Velaryons listened closely as Daemon and Viserys spoke, occasionally adding details that had been overlooked but were important nonetheless. Laenor could not tell how much time passed as the account unfolded, but when they finished, both Rhaenys and Aegor wore expressions filled with tangled emotions.
Hunger eventually made itself known, and the gathering broke for food. Once their hunger was sated, all returned to their seats in the solar, wine cups in hand, contemplation etched upon every face.
"The matter of magic worsens your situation," Rhaenys muttered gravely. "The gift of foresight alone would have been enough for them to hound you. But when they learn that you wield magic itself, in a way that dragonlords only dream of… I fear what may befall you."
"But it is not only our house that wields magic," Daemon replied, perplexed. "House Velaryon commands it as well, and in much the same way. In fact, as I said earlier, it was Laenor who taught House Targaryen in the first place."
"If anyone dares even think of pressuring Monfrod's descendants, they will have to go through me," Aegor declared, a cunning smile forming on his face. "House Velaryon may have lost its dragons in the past, but we are still of the Old Blood. Many dragonlord families remain in our debt. The debt of the sea has never gone unpaid."
His gaze shifted to Laenor and his family. "You need not worry about trouble when you return to Valyria."
Then, turning to the Targaryens and Rhaenys Belaerys, he added, "I will aid you as much as I can. Since the Targaryens and my kin are steadfast allies." Viserys nodded at Aegor with gratitude.
Laenor raised an eyebrow at the use of when rather than if. He almost regretted stopping Daemon from revealing the full extent of his power earlier. Not that it would matter—Valyria would learn soon enough should anyone test his family.
"Lady Rhaenys," Daemon said, "you mentioned that you had already reached out to one of the Five to ally with us, did you not? Where are they?"
"Yes," Aegor added, curiosity sharp in his voice. "You said you would tell me which family only once I arrived. I am here now. Is it House Belaerys whom you have reached out to?"
At Aegor's words, Rhaenys's proud expression faltered. She opened her mouth to speak—
—and a ferocious roar tore through the air, wild and savage enough to rattle the chamber. Laenor would later admit that he had never heard a dragon roar with such madness and fury; it sounded as though the cry had ripped itself from the beast's throat.
"No… no," Aegor breathed, fury and hatred barely restrained as he stared at Rhaenys Belaerys. "You didn't. Tell me you didn't."
Rhaenys met his gaze and sent him an apologetic look.
Aegor moved swiftly, nearly running, to the only glass window and flung it open with force. One glance outside was enough. A Lord of the Freehold turned on his heels.
"With that family, you may as well send your kin to their doom," he snarled. "If you believe for even a moment that the Drakonars can be allies, then I have never seen a greater fool."
His furious eyes swept over them, Laenor and his family. "I am leaving this tower for my home—our home—in Valyria. The Sea Dragon Tower. I advise you all to follow me before those of cursed blood arrive here."
Aegor Velaryon left in a rush, his boots echoing sharply against the black stone floor.
Moments later, the sound of a dragon landing thundered through the tower.
While his parents and the Targaryens stiffened with concern, Laenor merely leaned back in his chair, unbothered.
He had heard much about the Drakonars. If Rhaenys had summoned one of them, then so be it. Let them meet and see whether the tales of cursed magic were truth or exaggeration.
Though Laenor would admit one thing—the roar alone was proof enough that the Drakonars were masters of breeding wild, ferocious dragons.
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