Two Days Later, Blackfyre Tower
Laenor was walking through the corridors of the Blackfyre Tower, his measured footsteps echoing softly against polished stone. His destination was the chamber that had been given to Vaemond and his sons. Maelor had asked both Laenor and his father for permission before sending a dragon legion of the Drakonar clan to fetch Vaemond and his boys from across the seas. His father, seeing no reason to deny such a request, had agreed without much hesitation. Laenor himself had found no cause to object either.
Thus, Laenor's uncle and cousins were brought to the Freehold two days later, arriving at Blackfyre Tower under the cover of darkness, in the quiet and watchful Hour of the Wolf.
Since the journey had likely been rushed and uncomfortable—dragonback travel was never gentle, certainly not of such long distance—it was his father who immediately arranged rooms for them at Lady Rhaenys's tower. Rhaenys Belaerys herself had been woken from her rest to accommodate them, though she had done so without complaint. The intent was simple: let them rest for what remained of the night before any work and talk could take place among the family.
Now, with the morning well upon them, Laenor was making his way toward their chamber to see whether his uncle and cousins had woken. It was time for breakfast, and Laenor intended to walk with them to the dining room that Rhaenys Belaerys had assigned to their family. Supper, by custom, was a shared affair—Targaryens, Velaryons, and Lady Rhaenys herself all dining together—but breakfast was usually a quieter, more private matter, taken within the rooms allotted to each household.
Reaching his destination, Laenor knocked twice upon the door and waited, hands clasped loosely behind his back. Just as he was about to turn away—thinking his uncle and cousins might have already gone ahead—the door opened.
An amused, mildly annoyed smile tugged at Laenor's lips as he found himself looking at his cousin Daeron, who stared back at him with clear surprise and no small amount of happiness.
"Cousin Laenor," Daeron said, stepping aside and opening the door wider to allow him entry. "Forgive us for making you wait. My brother and I were just about to head to the dining chamber to break our fast."
Laenor nodded absently as he entered. The chamber was warm and comfortably appointed, with the faint scent of incense lingering in the air. Daemion stood near a polished mirror, adjusting the fall of his clothing with a seriousness that bordered on reverence.
Soon, the elder of Vaemond's sons turned toward Laenor and bowed his head respectfully in greeting.
"Ready to impress Lady Melisa, are you, Daemion?" Laenor said lightly, returning the greeting with a teasing edge to his voice.
Daemion flushed at once, clearing his throat and turning his head toward his younger brother as if seeking aid.
Daeron, being the more mischievous of the two, did precisely the opposite.
"You wouldn't believe it, cousin Laenor," Daeron said eagerly, "how Father and my elder brother took the news of his betrothal—to a dragonlord lady of Valyria, no less. Father's reaction was more or less what one would expect, but Daemion? He stood there gaping like a fish hauled onto dry land. It took Father's glare—and a pat strong enough to nearly knock him over—to bring him back to his senses. And since then, I've caught him wondering about this Lady more times than I can—"
Daemion lunged, shoving Daeron backward onto the bed and clapping a hand over his mouth to silence him before he could say more.
Laenor chuckled softly as he watched the brothers wrestle and argue in low voices, Daeron protesting muffled beneath Daemion's hand until he was finally released.
"Aren't you both hungry?" Laenor asked, amusement clear in his tone. "Because I certainly am. If you're done with your lovers' quarrel, I'd rather not let breakfast grow cold."
He was only half joking—his stomach chose that moment to growl faintly in agreement.
"Of course, cousin Laenor," Daemion said at once. "Forgive us."
He straightened, smoothing his ruffled clothes and casting a sharp glare at Daeron, who merely rolled his eyes before standing as well. Moments later, the three of them left the chamber together, heading toward the dining halls.
As it would take several minutes to reach the dining chambers—situated on a different floor altogether—Laenor decided to fill the walk with conversation.
"How fares your magic?" he asked casually, glancing between them. "Any progress with water and wind?"
Daemion and Daeron exchanged a look before Daemion answered.
"We focused mainly on refining our fire magic, rather than splitting our attention too much," he said carefully. "But we didn't neglect water and wind entirely, I swear it. Both of us can perform those spells more easily now than when you last saw us cast. If you wish, we can show you later."
Laenor nodded thoughtfully. "So instead of learning new spells, you chose to sharpen the ones already in your arsenal. Is that right?"
Both cousins dipped their heads, a touch embarrassed.
"There's no need to look guilty," Laenor said reassuringly. "I only suggested water and wind because I thought you might want to impress Uncle Vaemond—and you both know how much he favors the sea, ships, and all things water-bound." He paused, then smiled. "That said, I'm no less pleased that you're devoting yourselves so earnestly to fire. Mastery matters more than variety."
Daemion's and Daeron's faces broke into relieved smiles as both of them immediately launched into an eager explanation of how their fire spells had progressed and just how far they had come since Laenor last oversaw their practice. Their words tumbled over one another, enthusiasm evident in their voices and gestures, until both of them abruptly trailed off.
Their excitement faltered the moment they noticed Laenor stopping before the door and inclining his head toward it, a silent gesture clearly meaning enter. Both cousins looked faintly disappointed at the interruption. Laenor chuckled at their expressions as Daeron reached forward and slowly pushed the doors open, and the three of them entered one after another.
Daemion and Daeron stepped inside first—then both halted almost immediately.
Laenor, following behind them, glanced past their shoulders toward the long dining table and instantly understood why they had stopped. His cousins had been told that breakfast would be a private affair, meant only for the Velaryons. Instead, nearly every Targaryen presently residing in the tower was already seated, turning their attention toward the newcomers with varying expressions.
Laenor only registered a few clearly—Daemon's amused smirk, sharp and knowing, and Rhaenyra's openly jubilant expression, one he had been seeing with increasing frequency over the past two days.
Suppressing a sigh, Laenor set his thoughts aside and moved toward his seat without hesitation. The empty chair between Laena and Rhaenyra was unmistakably his, and he wasted no time claiming it. Hunger overruled all social niceties at the moment.
He reached for food at once—several strips of bacon, a generous portion of eggs, warm bread torn apart by hand, and a small drizzle of honey. He began eating immediately, paying little attention to the conversations around him or the mild disruption his entrance had caused.
Only once his stomach stopped growling in open protest did Laenor finally look up.
He found Viserys deep in conversation with his father, both men leaning slightly toward one another, voices low and serious. The others at the table appeared equally engaged—save for Aegon, who looked bored, and Laenor's cousins, who were clearly still adjusting to the unexpected audience.
A light poke against his right hand drew Laenor's attention aside.
Rhaenyra was looking at him with a mix of curiosity and concern.
"You didn't even greet anyone before breaking your fast," she said softly. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," Laenor replied, waving off her concern with a dismissive flick of his fingers. "My stomach was simply louder than my manners this morning. That's all."
He paused, then glanced around the table.
"But forgive me—why is your family here? I wasn't informed that you'd be joining us for breakfast."
"You didn't hear?" Rhaenyra asked, genuinely baffled.
"What?" Laenor frowned slightly. "It's morning, Rhaenyra. You know I'm not exactly fond of early rising. I only just got out of bed, went through my morning rituals, and came straight here. So no—I didn't hear anything other than my boots echoing against the stone floor and the occasional dragon roar or two. Which, as you know, is fairly normal around here."
Rhaenyra scoffed.
"Well, perhaps if you paid a little more attention to what happens around you instead of the sound of your boots, you'd know. And honestly, your eyes have been glued to them ever since you bought them from the market. They're not even that special. They're just—"
"Just boots made from firewyrm hide," Laenor cut in flatly, meeting her gaze dead-on. "Something I didn't own until recently, and a luxury besides."
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes.
"Anyway," she continued, lowering her voice slightly as if sharing a secret, "a dragonrider arrived at first light. The Council is gathering today—this evening, to be precise. Both your father and mine have been summoned."
Laenor blinked, surprise finally breaking through his composure.
"Not only us," came his father's calm voice from across the table, "but you as well, Laenor."
Laenor turned toward him and met a sharp, calculating gaze—one already at work, weighing strategies and appearances, planning how House Velaryon would present itself before the Council for the very first time.
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