Blackfyre Tower, Valyria
Laenor, along with his family and the Targaryens, waited with bated breath for Rhaenys Belaerys—and the supposedly dreadful and feared family of Valyria, the Drakonars.
"Corlys," Viserys asked slowly, fear plain in his voice, "since the Drakonars and your blood share… history, do you wish to depart with your family?"
It was not only Viserys—every Targaryen present looked shaken after the last words Aegor had left them with. The savage roar of the dragon did not ease their worries.
Rhaenyra, seated beside Laenor, gripped his hand tightly, desperation clear in her eyes. Laenor mentally sighed and placed his free hand over hers in reassurance. The Princess returned a shaky yet beautiful smile.
"No, Your Grace," Corlys replied calmly. "Whatever bad or good history exists between the Drakonars and House Velaryon here stems from the belief that the Drakonars cursed our dragon-taming blood. As you know, that is a curse we do not suffer from. So I see no reason to hate them before learning whether they bear any animosity toward my family—or myself."
Laenor agreed. Why forge enemies among a powerful dragonlord house when they had yet done nothing against them?
Viserys nodded, relief softening his expression as he turned his anxious gaze back to the doors.
They opened moments later.
Rhaenys Belaerys entered first, leading two others—a man and a woman.
Elves.
That was the first word that came to Laenor's mind.
They were tall and slender, their movements graceful and fluid. Their ears bore a slight point—not exaggerated, but unmistakable as well as eye-catching in this world. Their silver-blond hair gleamed with an otherworldly sheen unlike any Valyrian he had ever seen. The man's eyes were pale lilac, while the woman's were a deep indigo that bordered on black in low light. Both wore linen tunics of white and red—the same peculiar garments Laenor had once seen a man wearing in the dream-realm King Arrax had conjured.
A sharp clap snapped Laenor out of his staring.
Embarrassed, his gaze averted the Drakonars and turned toward his family and the Targaryens—who were still openly mesmerized by the Drakonars. Even now, all of them stared with wide eyes filled with disbelief and wonder.
Rhaenys clapped again. "I have already introduced you all."
She gestured toward the pair. "This is the current head of House Drakonar—Lord Maelor Drakonar—and his wife, Lady Hael Drakonar."
The couple inclined their heads in acknowledgment. Viserys, shaking himself free of his daze, returned the gesture.
They took seats opposite them, and an awkward silence followed.
Maelor Drakonar's eyes swept across every face before settling on Laenor. Laenor met his gaze with equal intensity.
He admitted—to himself—that he had been caught off guard by the sheer beauty and presence of the Drakonars. But once his senses steadied, the next thing he did was extend his magic sensing to the Drakonar.
The magic.
It was… less than expected.
Little Aegon possessed far more raw magic than either of them.
Yet what the Drakonars wielded was steeped in darkness so profound that even Laenor's and Daemon's dabbling in blood magic paled by comparison. Their jewelry and trinkets were heavily enchanted—every piece humming with layered blood sorcery. A dark aura clung to them both like a second skin.
Laenor had prepared himself to see such things. Valyria had never hidden its embrace of blood magic. And these Drakonars are considered family even in Valyria, who like to dig too deep into the dark sorcery.
"Greetings to you all," Maelor said calmly. "Lady Rhaenys is the dearest friend of my wife. When she asked for aid for her blood kin—the line we now know to be one that of true seers—I could not refuse. Lady Rhaenys has already briefed me on the aid House Targaryen seeks. However," he added, glancing briefly at Hael, "she did not inform my wife what the Drakonars would receive in return."
The meaning was clear. This was not charity—it was negotiation.
"Lord Drakonar," Rhaenys Belaerys said, steel edging her tone, "I speak for House Targaryen. Tell us what the Drakonars desire in exchange. If the price is worthy of your protection, I believe we can come to an accord."
It was clear she had not expected the terms to be decided today.
"There is little House Targaryen can offer us," Maelor replied evenly, "beyond sworn alliance… and a bride of their blood."
His gaze flicked to Rhaenyra.
Laenor immediately took the Princess's hand and intertwined their fingers—deliberately, possessively—under Maelor's eyes.
Once, he might have balked at such a betrothal and would have tried everything to not let it take place. But no longer. It has been done and announced to the whole realm. The situation and his relationship with Rhaenyra have changed.
And now, Rhaenyra is promised to him. She is his. And Laenor did not relinquish what he claimed.
If this turned out to be a deal-breaker for the Drakonars, then so be it. He would become the shield that protects the Targaryens. Even if all of Valyria came after him—if the dragonlords sought to challenge him—then they would face the terror of their dragons being dragged from the sky into the ocean. It would be the same horror they experienced when they confronted the Rhoynar in battle, but on a much larger scale. Because no river, no matter how great, can compare to the depth and power of the ocean.
Maelor's eyes met Laenor's once again, and the same intense stare of challenge lingered between them until the Drakonar lord smiled faintly and said, "It seems to me that the only daughter of House Targaryen is already promised to another."
"Isn't a permanent alliance and a daughter too much to ask for protection?" Daemon asked, looking at Maelor before turning curiously toward Rhaenys.
"It seems you all know very little about Valyria—least of all dragonlord politics," Maelor replied coolly, his tone carrying a hint of reproach as he looked at Rhaenys. "Lady Rhaenys, I had hoped you would have at least prepared them for what awaits them before inviting me here."
If Rhaenys was offended, she did not show it.
"Anyhow," Maelor continued, "I have said my part. House Targaryen will pay the price if they wish for our aid. Our next encounter will be before the Council. I hope you have your answer ready by then—for your sake."
He rose, clearly intent on leaving, but paused and turned back toward Laenor.
"What is your name?" Maelor asked. "Forgive me—I did not pay much attention when Lady Rhaenys introduced you."
Laenor could not tell whether it was mockery or dismissal. But if this lord believed his name unworthy of memory, then perhaps it was time to correct that notion.
Laenor smiled—the same measured smile Maelor himself had worn earlier—and let his presence fill the solar.
Magic surged outward like a rising tide. Divine power flooded the chamber, drowning the three Valyrian dragonlords beneath the weight of it. For a fleeting moment, Laenor thought he heard stone cracking under the pressure, though he could not be sure—his gaze was locked entirely on Maelor Drakonar.
The man's lilac eyes widened for the briefest instant before he forced his expression back under control.
His wife and Rhaenys Belaerys were not so composed.
Both stared at Laenor in open shock—bordering on horror.
Laenor slowly increased the pressure. Sweat broke across Maelor's brow. His knees trembled beneath the invisible weight bearing down on him. Only then did Laenor withdraw his power.
The pressure vanished as suddenly as it had come.
A thunderclap shattered the silence, the force cracking the window glass. The sharp sound made both women squeak in surprise—an ungainly display Laenor was certain they would regret later. But that was not what held his attention.
It was Maelor Drakonar's face.
Alert. Shaken. Afraid.
Laenor smiled brightly at the sight.
"Laenor Velaryon," he said easily, almost jovially. "Rider of Embaryx. Lord of the Seas. I trust you will remember my name this time, Lord Drakonar."
"Oh, I will," Maelor replied, his voice unsteady. "I will remember it, Laenor Velaryon."
Before he departed the chamber, the roar of a dragon echoed once more—but this time, it lacked the earlier wildness.
Rhaenys escorted Lady Hael toward the tower's summit, excusing herself briefly. Once both women had left, Laenor turned back to the heavy stares being drilled into him by his family and the Targaryens.
"What?" Laenor asked at last, his patience thinning under their silence.
"What? He asks what?" Daemon barked out a hollow laugh.
"Daemon," Viserys said sharply.
Then the king turned to Laenor. "I hope you thought carefully before displaying your power, Laenor. Because I assure you—Lord Drakonar will not forget it."
Laenor inclined his head in acknowledgment.
Viserys returned the nod after a moment.
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