Chapter 32: The Dragon King's Ring
The days slipped quietly into weeks, and the weeks into months. King's Landing, for a time, enjoyed a rare calm. Apart from the muted grumblings from the Westerlands — where old wounds had not yet fully closed — the realm appeared peaceful.
Yet peace never fooled soldiers or statesmen.
Only two kinds of men remained watchful in tranquil times: those who made war, and those who planned for it.
Within the Red Keep, King Jaehaerys II Targaryen continued to receive steady reports. Ravens came daily, carrying tidings from the Westerlands and the Reach, where quiet movements hinted at gathering strength beneath the surface.
In the council chamber sat Lord Ormund Baratheon, Hand of the King; Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard; and young Prince Rhaegar, seated beside his grandfather, listening more than he spoke.
An attendant entered, bowing low.
"Your Grace," the man announced, "Ser Corlys Velaryon of Driftmark has arrived, bearing gifts to celebrate the Crown's victory in the Stepstones."
The room stirred.
House Velaryon had once stood beside the Targaryens as equals in splendor — bound by blood, dragons, and the sea. But those days were long past. With the dragons gone, Driftmark's fleets had dwindled, its voice at court grown faint.
Lord Ormund frowned slightly.
"House Velaryon is eager," he said carefully. "Too eager, perhaps. The young knight has a reputation for ambition."
"If it were any other house, I would decline," Jaehaerys replied. "But the Velaryons have shared our blood and fate for centuries. Let him be received."
Rhaegar watched closely. He knew the name Corlys Velaryon — not the Sea Snake of legend, but a lesser descendant, desperate to reclaim even a fragment of former glory.
The man who entered bore unmistakable Valyrian features: pale silver hair, violet eyes. His attire was elegant but dated, carefully maintained rather than lavish. There was no gold-heavy display, no ostentatious gems.
He is poorer than he wishes the court to know, Rhaegar thought.
Corlys bowed deeply.
"Your Grace," he said smoothly, "in honor of the Crown's triumph and in remembrance of our shared Valyrian heritage, House Velaryon humbly offers these gifts."
Servants stepped forward.
First came a finely crafted harp, its wood pale and polished, strings gleaming softly. Then, more striking, a tall dragonglass longbow, black and glossy, its curves elegant and deadly.
Rhaegar's eyes brightened despite himself.
Dragonglass was rare outside the far North — light yet strong, keen-edged, and prized by archers and scholars alike. Such a bow was no mere ornament.
Corlys noticed the prince's reaction and felt relief bloom within him. The king loved his grandson, and pleasing the child was often wiser than courting the crown directly.
"These are generous gifts," Jaehaerys said, genuinely surprised.
Corlys inclined his head once more.
"There is one final offering," he said, drawing forth a small velvet box. "For Prince Rhaegar."
He opened it.
Inside lay a ring of dark Valyrian steel, its surface etched with delicate flame-like patterns. It seemed old — far older than the Seven Kingdoms — and faintly warm to the eye.
Rhaegar felt his breath catch.
"May I?" he asked softly.
Corlys gestured assent.
The moment Rhaegar touched the ring, something stirred deep within him — a quiet resonance, like distant fire answering a spark.
Collection Acquired: Dragonlord's Ring of House Belaerys
A relic of one of the Forty Dragonlord families of Valyria. Power sleeps within, awaiting a worthy heir.
Rhaegar slipped the ring onto his finger.
It fit perfectly.
The dragonglass bow, the harp — all faded into insignificance. This ring was something else entirely.
Corlys watched the prince carefully, hope burning behind his smile.
If this boy rises, he thought, House Velaryon may yet rise with him.
Jaehaerys II observed the scene in silence, old eyes thoughtful. Perhaps the dragons were gone — but relics, blood, and destiny still lingered.
And sometimes, a small ring could carry the weight of a kingdom's future.
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