104 AC
The year had shifted to 104 AC, and Laenor had turned ten. Over the past few moons, he had been hard at work every single day at the docks, learning the basics of ship navigation from captains and his father when free.
He had even undertaken a basic journey to Claw Isle and back. Despite this, he remained at the very bottom of the totem pole.
Currently, he was scrubbing the bilge when Seasmoke sent an alert along their bond. Vhagar was nesting at the Driftmark Cove. The Old Queen had been coming with increasing regularity recently, and Seasmoke was a little miffed that his favorite spot to doze had been taken.
Laenor sent a reassuring pulse along the bond, saying they'd go on an extra long flight once he was done for the day.
The wooden brush in his hand squeaked against the slimy wood as he worked. Nearly half a year of labor had hardened his once-soft hands into calloused tools better suited for a commoner than an heir. The smell down here was atrocious - a pungent mixture of rotting seaweed, stagnant water, and something unidentifiable that made his eyes water. Still, Laenor attacked his task with the same determination he brought to everything.
"Boy! Are you still down there?" Captain Moreo's gravelly voice echoed down the hatch.
"Yes, Captain!" Laenor called back, wiping sweat from his brow with his forearm. "Almost finished!"
"Well, hurry it up! Your lord father's come aboard looking for you."
Laenor's heart leapt. Father rarely visited the trading vessels unless something important was happening. He scrambled to his feet, splashing through the shallow, murky water toward the ladder.
As he emerged into the bright afternoon sunlight, he had to blink several times to adjust his vision. His father's tall figure stood at the quarterdeck, resplendent in sea-green velvet trimmed with silver thread, his long silver hair bound in a sailor's practical queue. Even dressed for court rather than sailing, Corlys Velaryon carried himself with the easy confidence of a man who had conquered oceans.
"Father!" Laenor called, hurrying across the deck, suddenly conscious of his filthy appearance. His once-white shirt was now a patchwork of stains, his trousers soaked to the knees with bilge water.
Corlys turned, his weathered face breaking into a smile that softened the hard lines around his mouth. "There you are, my boy." He wrinkled his nose slightly as Laenor drew closer. "I see Captain Moreo is keeping you appropriately humble."
"The bilge needed scrubbing," Laenor replied with a shrug. "Someone had to do it."
"Indeed." Corlys nodded approvingly. "No task beneath you, no skill too small to learn. That's the way." He clapped a hand on Laenor's shoulder, seemingly unbothered by the grime. "Walk with me. I have news."
They moved to the ship's rail, gazing out over the bustling harbor of Hull. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the water, turning the waves to liquid gold. Ships of all sizes dotted the bay, from tiny fishing vessels to massive trading galleys flying the seahorse banner of House Velaryon.
"I've been watching your progress these past months," Corlys said, his voice carrying the faint accent of Old Valyria that emerged when he was feeling particularly thoughtful. "Captain Moreo speaks highly of you, as do the shipwrights."
Laenor felt warmth spread through his chest at the praise. "I've been trying to learn everything I can."
"So I've noticed." Corlys turned to face him fully. "Which is why I've decided it's time for your first true voyage."
The words hit Laenor like a physical blow. He stared at his father, hardly daring to believe what he'd heard. "A voyage? A real one? Where to?"
Corlys's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Not to Yi Ti, if that's what you're hoping. But something more substantial than your trip to Claw Isle." He gestured toward the mouth of the bay, where the open sea beckoned. "The Sea Serpent sails for Oldtown in two weeks time. I've spoken with Captain Xhala, and she's agreed to take you on as her cabin boy."
Laenor's heart leaped with excitement. This was a chance to see the legendary Hightower. The tallest structure in the known world. And Oldtown was a famous port as well.
"Oldtown?" he whispered, barely able to contain himself. "With the Citadel and the Starry Sept and—"
"And the Hightower, yes," his father finished with an indulgent smile. "I thought that might interest you."
Interest was too mild a word. Laenor had read about Oldtown in dozens of books, the ancient seat of House Hightower, home to the Citadel where all the maesters trained, and crowned by the magnificent Hightower itself. A structure so tall it was said you could see all the way to the Wall on a clear day. An exaggeration, surely, but still...
"When do we leave?" Laenor asked, already mentally cataloging what he would need to pack.
"The Sea Serpent sails with the morning tide in two weeks," Corlys replied, watching his son's face with evident pleasure. "That should give you enough time to complete your current duties and prepare for the journey."
Laenor nodded eagerly, then hesitated. "Does Mother know?"
A shadow passed over Corlys's face. "She does. We had a... spirited discussion about it last night."
"And she agreed?"
"Eventually." Corlys looked out over the harbor, his expression thoughtful. "Your mother worries, Laenor. It's her nature. But she understands this is necessary for your education.
Necessary. The word didn't begin to capture what this voyage meant to Laenor. This wasn't just a trip, it was freedom, adventure, his first real chance to test himself against the wider world, without his father accompanying him.
"There are conditions, of course," his father continued, his tone growing more serious.
"Of course," Laenor echoed.
"You'll obey Captain Xhala without question. You'll continue your studies with Maester Gerion during the voyage, I've arranged for him to accompany the ship. And Seasmoke will follow at a distance.""
Laenor frowned at the last condition. "Won't that look strange? A dragon shadowing a merchant vessel?"
"Perhaps," Corlys conceded. "But it will ease your mother's mind. And Seasmoke can stay high enough to remain largely unnoticed while keeping you within bond-range."
It was a reasonable compromise, Laenor supposed. And he could hardly complain about the opportunity to explore Oldtown, even with conditions attached.
"Thank you, Father," he said earnestly. "I won't disappoint you."
Corlys's face softened, and for a moment, Laenor glimpsed something vulnerable in his father's eye
"See that you don't," Corlys said, squeezing his shoulder. "Now, finish your duties here and come to High Tide for supper. Your mother wishes to discuss the preparations for your journey."
The way he emphasized "preparations" told Laenor everything he needed to know. His mother would have her own list of conditions, likely twice as long as his father's.
As Corlys departed, Laenor returned to the bilge with renewed vigor. Nothing could dampen his spirits now. In two weeks, he would set sail for Oldtown, following in his father's wake at last.
_______________________________
At the end of his shift, Seasmoke landed gracefully on the worn stones of the shipyard as the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the docks to pick Laenor up. Laenor patted the dragon's neck affectionately, his mind still racing with plans for the upcoming voyage. Two weeks seemed both an eternity and no time at all.
"You're really going?" Marilda's voice piped up from behind a stack of crates. She emerged, her dark hair even messier than usual, smudges of tar decorating her small face like war paint. "All the way to Oldtown?"
Laenor sighed. Word traveled faster than dragonfire in Hull. "Yes, but it's not official yet. How did you even hear about it?"
"Sailors talk." She shrugged, climbing onto a barrel to bring herself closer to eye level with him. "Especially when they think no one's listening." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You weren't going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?"
"Of course not," Laenor assured her, though in truth he hadn't given much thought to farewells yet. "We don't sail for two weeks."
Marilda crossed her arms, her lower lip jutting out in a pout that would have looked comical if not for the genuine hurt in her eyes. "You have to bring me something. Something special from Oldtown. Not just any trinket - something a real sailor would value."
Marilda's smile was radiant. She hopped down from the barrel and flung her arms around him in a fierce hug that left more tar stains on his already filthy clothes. "I'll hold you to it, Laenor Velaryon. And I'll expect full reports of everything you see. The Hightower, the harbor, the ships - especially the ships."
Laenor disentangled himself gently. "I'll tell you everything when I return. Now I need to get back to High Tide, my parents are expecting me."
She stepped back reluctantly. "Fine. Go be lordly." But her smile softened the dismissal. "Just don't forget about us common folk when you're sailing the high seas."
"As if you'd let me," Laenor retorted with a grin.
Seasmoke rumbled impatiently, sensing Laenor's need to depart. The dragon lowered his shoulder, allowing Laenor to climb aboard with practiced ease.
"Goodbye, Marilda," Laenor called as Seasmoke's powerful wings began to unfold. "I'll see you tomorrow!"
"You'd better!" she shouted back, shielding her eyes against the dust kicked up by the dragon's wings.
As they rose into the air, Laenor could see her small figure still watching, a dark silhouette against the golden light of the setting sun. Something about her stance - fierce and determined even in her youth- made him think she would indeed make a formidable captain someday, regardless of what tradition dictated.
Seasmoke banked sharply, catching a thermal that carried them higher with minimal effort. Through their bond, Laenor sensed the dragon's contentment at being reunited, mingled with curiosity about the new scents clinging to Laenor's clothes.
"Just bilge water and tar," Laenor explained aloud, patting the warm scales beneath his hands. "Nothing interesting."
A questioning sensation flowed through their connection.
"Yes, we're going on a long journey soon," Laenor confirmed. "To Oldtown. You'll follow the ship from above."
Seasmoke's enthusiasm surged through their bond like a warm wave. The dragon loved new territories to explore, and this would be their furthest journey together yet.
They soared over Driftmark's central ridge, the magnificent silhouette of High Tide coming into view against the darkening eastern sky. The castle's silver towers caught the last rays of sunlight, gleaming like beacons calling them home.
As they approached the courtyard, Laenor noticed a slender figure standing near the dragon pens, her silver-gold hair unmistakable even from a distance. Laena. She had become withdrawn over the past year, choosing to distance herself from Laenor.
Seasmoke landed with a gentle thud on the flagstones, folding his wings with meticulous care. Laenor slid down the dragon's shoulder, landing lightly on his feet.
"Laena?" he called, approaching his sister cautiously. "What are you doing out here?"
She turned, and Laenor was struck by the strange, distant look in her eyes, as if she were seeing through him rather than at him.
"She's been here again," Laena said, her voice oddly flat. "Vhagar."
Laenor nodded slowly. "Seasmoke told me. She's been coming to the cove."
"Three times this week." Laena's fingers twisted in the fabric of her dress, a nervous habit she'd had since childhood. "Always at dusk. Always alone."
Something in her tone made the hair on the back of Laenor's neck stand up. There was an intensity to her fixation that hadn't been there before, something almost... predatory.
"Laena, what are you planning?" he asked directly.
Her gaze snapped to his, suddenly sharp and present. "Nothing," she said too quickly. "Just observing."
Before he could press further, she turned away. "Mother's been looking for you. Something about preparations for your grand adventure." The bitterness in her voice was unmistakable.
"It's just Oldtown," Laenor said, following as she started toward the main keep. "Hardly the end of the world."
"It's a journey," she replied without looking back. "That's what matters."
They walked in silence across the courtyard, Seasmoke settling in for the night behind them. Laenor studied his sister's rigid posture, the tense set of her shoulders beneath her fine blue gown. Something was definitely amiss, but trying to force confidences from Laena was like trying to catch the wind, the harder you grasped, the more it slipped away.
The great hall of High Tide was ablaze with light when they entered, candles and torches reflecting off the silver and mother-of-pearl inlays that decorated the vaulted ceiling. Servants bustled about, setting the high table for the evening meal. Their parents were already seated, deep in conversation that ceased abruptly when they noticed their children's arrival.
"Laenor," his mother called, her voice carrying across the hall. "Come, we've much to discuss before your journey."
Laena peeled away without a word, taking her place at the table and immediately reaching for her wine goblet. Laenor approached his parents, bracing himself for what promised to be a lengthy list of instructions and cautions.
Dinner was an elaborate affair, as it always was at High Tide. Course after course of seafood delicacies - oysters poached in wine, crab claws with butter sauce, sea bass baked with herbs and lemon - but Laenor barely tasted any of it. His mother dominated the conversation with a detailed inventory of everything he would need for his voyage, from spare clothing to medicines for seasickness (despite his protests that he never got seasick).
Throughout the meal, Laena remained silent, picking at her food and staring into her wine cup as if it contained some profound secret. Even when directly addressed, she gave only the briefest responses, her mind clearly elsewhere.
Lord Corlys noticed too. "Laena," he said during a lull in the conversation, "you're unusually quiet tonight. Is something troubling you?"
She looked up, startled, as if she'd forgotten she wasn't alone. "No, Father. Just tired."
"Perhaps you should retire early," Lady Rhaenys suggested, studying her daughter with narrowed eyes. "You look pale."
"I'm fine," Laena insisted, straightening in her chair. "I'll retire early."
Rhaenys called after her. But Laena didn't turn around. The sound of her daughter's footsteps faded down the corridor, punctuated by the sharp slam of a distant door.
"What is with her these days?" Corlys asked, swirling the amber liquid in his goblet. His weathered brow furrowed as he fixed his gaze on the empty doorway.
Rhaenys sighed, placing her hand over his. "She's feeling left out with no dragon. It's eating the poor girl alive." Her lilac eyes softened with maternal concern. "I shall go and talk to her before we retire."
__________________________________________________________
Laena PoV
Laena lay perfectly still beneath her blankets, forcing her breathing into the slow rhythm of sleep as she heard her chamber door creak open. A sliver of light from the hallway cut across her floor, growing wider as someone entered. She kept her eyes closed, fighting the urge to peek.
"Laena?" Her mother's voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "Are you awake, sweetling?"
The mattress dipped as Rhaenys sat beside her. Laena maintained her charade, keeping her breathing deep and measured despite the storm raging inside her. The bitterness that had been festering all day clawed at her throat, demanding release. She swallowed it down.
A warm hand brushed the hair from her forehead. "I know you're hurting," Rhaenys said softly. "I see it in your eyes, though you try to hide it."
Laena fought to keep her face relaxed, to prevent her eyelids from fluttering. The tenderness in her mother's voice was almost worse than her usual commanding tone. Anger was easier to bear than this gentle understanding.
"When I was your age," Rhaenys continued, "I wanted nothing more than to claim Meleys. I would watch her for hours, hiding in the rocks of Dragonstone, willing her to notice me." Her mother's fingers continued stroking Laena's hair. "My father told me I was too young, too small. That Meleys would burn me to ash if I approached her."
The mattress shifted as Rhaenys leaned closer. "But I knew, deep in my blood, that she was meant for me."
Laena's heart pounded so loudly she feared her mother would hear it. This was the first time Rhaenys had ever spoken of claiming Meleys. Usually, she talked only of Laenor's bond with Seasmoke, as if dragons were his birthright alone.
"I waited until a stormy night when everyone was asleep," Rhaenys whispered, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "I snuck out to where she was nesting in the old volcanic caves. The rain soaked me to the skin, and lightning struck so close I could feel my hair stand on end."
A pause. Laena strained to hear every word, still pretending sleep.
"I was terrified," her mother admitted. "Not of the storm, but that I was wrong. That my blood wasn't strong enough after all." Rhaenys sighed, a sound full of memory. "But when I stood before her, Meleys looked at me with those ancient eyes, and I knew we belonged to each other."
The room fell silent except for the distant crash of waves against the cliffs outside. Laena's chest ached with longing.
"I see that same certainty in you when you speak of Vhagar," Rhaenys said, her voice dropping even lower. "The same fire that burned in me burns in you. But Vhagar is not Meleys, sweetling. She is the oldest living dragon, temperamental and wild. Her riders have been the fiercest warriors of our blood."
Laena felt her mother's warm palm against her cheek.
"I worry for you," Rhaenys whispered. "Not because I doubt your blood - never that. But because I couldn't bear to lose you." Her voice cracked slightly on the last words. "Who would protect my fierce daughter if she faces the oldest and most dangerous dragon alone?"
The bitterness that had been choking Laena all day began to dissolve, replaced by a painful hope. Her mother didn't think her unworthy. She was afraid for her.
"I know you're not truly asleep," Rhaenys said after a moment, a hint of her usual sharpness returning. "Your breathing changes when you're dreaming, and your right eye twitches. It always has, since you were a babe."
Caught, Laena opened her eyes. Her mother's face hovered above her, illuminated by the single candle she'd brought. In the soft light, Rhaenys looked younger, more like the woman in the tapestries depicting her youth.
"I want her," Laena whispered, abandoning pretense. "I need her, Mother."
Rhaenys's expression didn't change, but her eyes, so like Laena's own - softened. "I know you do. The dragon dreams have been coming to you, haven't they?"
Laena nodded, surprised her mother had guessed. "How did you know?"
"You call her name in your sleep sometimes. And you've been walking the cliffs at dawn, looking eastward. The same way I did before Meleys." Rhaenys smoothed the blanket over Laena's shoulders. "Our blood calls to them, and theirs to us. It has always been thus."
"Then why won't you let me try?" The words burst from Laena's lips. "Laenor has everything - Seasmoke, his magic, Father's attention, your pride. What do I have?"
"My heart," Rhaenys answered simply. "From the moment you first kicked inside me, so strong I knew you'd be a warrior."
"A warrior needs a dragon," Laena insisted.
Rhaenys was silent for a long moment, studying her daughter's face. "Yes," she finally agreed. "A true warrior does."
Hope flared in Laena's chest. "Then you'll help me claim Vhagar?"
"No." Her mother's voice was firm again. "I cannot help you claim a dragon. No one can. That bond must form between rider and dragon alone, or not at all." She paused, then added more softly, "But neither will I stop you from trying, when the time is right."
Laena sat up, suddenly wide awake. "When? When is the right time?"
"Not yet," Rhaenys said, rising from the bed. "Vhagar is still mourning Baelon. Dragons feel loss differently than we do. More deeply, more slowly. To approach her now would be to court death."
"How long?" Laena demanded.
"I cannot say." Rhaenys moved to the door, her silhouette outlined by the hallway light. "But I promise you this: when I believe you're ready - truly ready - I will tell you."
"And if I don't wait for your permission?" The words escaped before Laena could stop them.
Rhaenys turned, her expression sharpening. "Then you are a fool, and likely a dead one." Her voice softened again. "I would rather have a living daughter than a dead dragonrider. Remember that."
When the door closed behind her mother, Laena's facade crumbled. She hurled her pillow across the room, knocking over a delicate porcelain figurine that shattered against the stone floor. The crash brought no satisfaction, only a hollow emptiness that echoed the void inside her.
"When the time is right," she mimicked her mother's voice, bitter and low. "As if she'd ever think I'm ready."
Laena slipped from her bed, bare feet silent on the cold floor as she moved to her window. The night sky stretched above Driftmark, stars scattered like diamonds across black velvet. Somewhere out there, Vhagar was sleeping. Waiting. The massive bronze dragon had become Laena's obsession, consuming her thoughts day and night.
She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, breath fogging the window. Her mother's words had stirred something inside her- not hope, exactly, but determination. If Rhaenys had defied her own father to claim Meleys, why couldn't Laena do the same?
"Because you're not special enough," whispered the cruel voice in her head. "Not like Laenor."
Her brother. Always her brother. Two years younger but miles ahead in everything that mattered. Laena's hands clenched into fists as she thought of him flying off to Oldtown, the wind in his hair, Seasmoke carrying him across the skies as if he'd been born to it.
And perhaps he had. The gods certainly seemed to favor him, gifting him not only with a dragon but with water magic. True, powerful magic that made him even more precious in their parents' eyes. The heir who could command both dragons and the sea itself.
Just yesterday, jealousy, hot and bitter as bile, had risen in Laena's throat as she watched Laenor fly with Seasmoke. Seasmoke had dropped low to skim the waves and as he did, the water beneath him rose up in perfect arcs, following the dragon's path like trained dolphins leaping in formation.
It was beautiful. It was terrifying. And it had been everything Laena wasn't.
What did Laena have? Pretty features, a good mind for numbers, and an ancient name that grew heavier on her shoulders with each passing day.
She hated herself for the envy that coursed through her veins, poisoning every thought. She loved her younger brother, of course she did. He was kind and clever and never lorded his gifts over her. It wasn't his fault the gods had blessed him so abundantly while leaving her with nothing but dreams and longing.
And yet...
And yet she couldn't help the dark satisfaction she felt imagining Vhagar, three times Seasmoke's size, with bronze scales that shimmered like living metal in the sunlight. The oldest, most powerful dragon alive, bonded to her. What would Laenor's water magic look like then? How impressive would her little brother seem beside the majesty of the greatest of the Targaryen dragons?
She turned from the window, moving to her dressing table where a small wooden box sat among her combs and perfume bottles. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it, revealing a single bronze scale, its surface iridescent in the candlelight.
Laena had found it three months ago, half-buried in the sand of the cove where Vhagar often rested. She'd kept it hidden, this precious token, afraid someone would take it from her if they knew. Sometimes at night, she held it to her cheek, imagining she could feel the dragon's heat still lingering in the metal.
"She'll be mine," Laena whispered, running a finger along the scale's serrated edge. "I don't care what anyone says."
A drop of blood welled where the scale had nicked her skin. Laena watched, transfixed, as the crimson bead grew and then fell, staining the pale wood of the box. Dragon blood called to dragon blood - wasn't that what all the stories said?
She sucked the cut, tasting copper and salt, her mind racing with possibilities. Her mother thought her too young, too rash. Her father barely noticed her these days, too consumed with Laenor's training and his own ambitions. Even silly Aunt Gael with her flowers and dreamy smiles seemed to have more purpose than Laena felt some days.
No one was watching her. No one would notice if she slipped away tomight, just as her mother had done all those years ago. Mother had come and visited her as well tonight. There would be no suspicion.
The thought sent a thrill of terror and excitement through her. Could she do it? Approach the oldest living dragon in the world, with nothing but her blood and her courage to protect her?
She returned to her bed, mind whirling with plans and possibilities. As she imagined herself astride Vhagar's massive neck, soaring higher than Laenor had ever dared, faster than Seasmoke could ever fly. In her fantasy, her mother looked up in awe, her father's weathered face broke into a proud smile, and Laenor...Laenor finally saw her as an equal.
For months she had watched Vhagar, studying the ancient dragon's habits. Unlike the younger dragons, who were unpredictable and temperamental, Vhagar followed patterns. She hunted at dawn, soaring over the shipping lanes to catch whales in the deeper waters. She rested during the hottest part of the day, and in the evenings, she returned to the secluded cove on the eastern side of Driftmark to sleep.
Laena turned from the window, a plan forming in her mind. Tonight. It had to be tonight. Her brother would soon leave for Oldtown, drawing everyone's attention. Her mother would be distracted with preparations, her father busy with ships and trade. No one would notice her absence until morning, and by then...
By then, she would either be a dragonrider or she would be dead.
The thought should have frightened her, but instead, a strange calm settled over her. Wasn't that what she wanted anyway? To be something extraordinary or nothing at all? Better to die in dragonfire than live forever in her brother's shadow.
She moved silently to her wardrobe, selecting clothes suitable for her purpose - sturdy leather boots, woolen breeches beneath her nightgown, and a dark cloak to blend with the night. Proper ladies didn't wear breeches, her septa always scolded, but proper ladies didn't claim dragons either.
Laena braided her hair tightly, securing it at the nape of her neck. No loose strands to catch fire. She'd read enough accounts of dragon claims to know the dangers. The leather pouch she'd prepared weeks ago still hung at the back of her wardrobe, dried meat for Vhagar, a small knife (more symbolic than useful against a dragon), and a length of chain fine enough to serve as a makeshift harness if needed.
She hesitated, then reached for the small wooden box hidden beneath her undergarments. Inside lay a necklace, a perfect teardrop of dragonglass hanging from a silver chain. A gift from her grandfather Aemon on the day of her birth. A gift for the grandchild he had never had the opportunity to know.
Laena fastened it around her neck, tucking the pendant beneath her shirt where it rested cool against her skin. She didn't truly believe it held any power, but it connected her to her Targaryen blood, to the legacy of dragonriders that was her birthright.
Fully dressed, she crept to her door and pressed her ear against it. The corridor beyond was silent. Most of the household would be asleep by now, even the servants. Only the night guards remained, and they patrolled the outer walls, not the family quarters.
She eased the door open, wincing at the slight creak of the hinges. The corridor stretched empty before her, lit only by a single torch at the far end. Laena slipped out, closing the door softly behind her. She knew every creaking floorboard, every watchful guard's post. She'd been planning this escape for months, rehearsing it in her mind until she could navigate the castle blindfolded.
Down the servants' stair, through the kitchens with their lingering smells of tonight's feast, past the pantry where a cook snored softly on a pallet near the hearth. A brief pause at the postern door while a guard passed on his rounds, then out into the night air, cool and salt-laden.
The grounds of High Tide were beautiful in the moonlight, the formal gardens silvered and mysterious. Laena kept to the shadows, her dark cloak pulled tight around her. The eastern path would take her down to the shore, and from there, it was a half-hour walk along the cliffs to Vhagar's cove.
Her heart pounded against her ribs. Each step took her closer to her destiny. Each breath brought her nearer to the moment that would define her life, or end it.
"I am blood of the dragon," she whispered to herself as she slipped through the garden gate.
The path down to the shore was treacherous in the dark, loose stones shifting under her boots. Twice she nearly fell, catching herself against the rough cliff face, scraping her palms. The pain was distant, unimportant. All that mattered was reaching Vhagar.
At the bottom, the narrow beach curved away into darkness. Waves lapped gently at the shore, their rhythm soothing despite her mission. Laena paused, orienting herself. The cove lay to the east, beyond the point where the cliffs jutted into the sea. At high tide, the path would be underwater, but tonight the moon was waning, and the tide was out, leaving a narrow strip of wet sand to follow.
She walked quickly, her footprints immediately erased by the incoming waves. The cliff face rose beside her, a dark wall against the star-scattered sky. Ahead, the beach disappeared around a bend in the coastline. Beyond that bend lay Vhagar's cove.
Laena's steps faltered as she rounded the point. What if she was wrong? What if Vhagar wasn't there tonight? What if—
The thought died as she saw her, a massive shape darker than the surrounding darkness, curled upon the sand. Steam rose from flared nostrils, dissipating in the cool night air. Even at rest, Vhagar radiated power, her bronze scales gleaming dully in the moonlight.
Laena froze, her breath catching in her throat. The reality of what she was attempting crashed over her like a wave. Vhagar was enormous, ancient, a creature who had lived through the Conquest and beyond. She had burned entire armies to ash, devoured countless foes. And Laena, a slip of a girl only twelve name days, thought to claim her?
For a moment, doubt paralyzed her. This was madness. She should turn back, return to her bed, forget this foolish plan.
But then she thought of her brother, of Seasmoke's silver wings cutting through clouds. She thought of her mother astride Meleys, fierce and free. She thought of always watching, always waiting, always being the one left behind.
No. She had come too far to turn back now.
Laena took a deep breath and stepped into the cove. The sand shifted beneath her boots, the soft sound unnaturally loud in the stillness. Vhagar's head remained resting on her forelegs, but one great eye slid open, molten gold in the darkness, fixing on the approaching girl.
"Great Vhagar," Laena said in High Valyrian, her voice steadier than she felt. "I am Laena of House Velaryon, daughter of Rhaenys Targaryen.
Vhagar regarded her with an ancient, unblinking gaze. The moment stretched between them like an eternity, the only sound the gentle lapping of waves against the shore and Laena's own heartbeat thundering in her ears. Then, with deliberate slowness, the massive dragon raised its head from its forelegs and brought it closer to the girl.
Laena's breath caught in her throat. Vhagar's eye alone was the size of her entire body, molten gold with a vertical slit of deepest black, studying her with the accumulated wisdom of nearly a century of life. In that gaze, Laena saw herself reflected, tiny, fragile, yet standing her ground.
Her great bronze maw opened slowly, revealing teeth as long as grown men, gleaming white in the moonlight. The stench of sulfur and charred meat washed over her. Laena squeezed her eyes shut, her body trembling but her feet planted firmly in the sand.
This is the end, she thought. At least I was brave at the last.
Heat engulfed her, so intense it stole her breath. But the pain of being consumed never came. Instead, the dragonfire roared past her, so close that her skin flushed angry red, her hair singed at the edges despite her careful braiding. The sand a metre beside her turned to glass in an instant, shimmering and molten.
Still, Laena did not move. Did not flinch. Did not run.
When she dared open her eyes again, Vhagar was watching her, something like respect in that ancient gaze. The massive head regarded her for what felt like an eternity, and then finally it bowed it's head as if acknowledging her courage, her bloodright, her claim.
With trembling hands, Laena reached out. The distance between her fingers and the dragon's snout seemed infinite and nonexistent. Then contact, her scales were hot, rough and smooth at once beneath her palm.
Tears streamed down Laena's face, not of fear but of wild joy. The bond that surged between them was unlike anything she had imagined, not words or images but pure sensation, as if a part of her soul that had always been missing had suddenly slotted into place.
"You're mine," she whispered, pressing her forehead against Vhagar's snout. "And I am yours."
The dragon rumbled in agreement, the vibration traveling through Laena's entire body. Without hesitation, she moved to Vhagar's foreleg and began to climb, finding handholds among the massive scales. It was nothing like mounting a horse, this was scaling a living mountain, one that shifted and breathed beneath her.
When she finally settled at the base of Vhagar's neck, gripping the bronze spines that would serve as her handholds, Laena felt truly alive for the first time in her life. This was where she belonged, where she had always belonged.
Vhagar's stood up to it's full height slowly, and roared. The sround that erupted from the ancient dragon's throat was deafening, a sound of acceptance, of claiming. It echoed off the cliff walls, surely carrying all the way to High Tide, announcing to the world that Vhagar had chosen a rider once more.
"Vhagar. Sōves," she commanded, her voice stronger now, filled with newfound authority.
Vhagar's muscles bunched beneath her. Massive wings unfurled, displacing air with such force that the sand below swirled in miniature cyclones. With a powerful thrust of her hind legs, the ancient dragon launched them skyward, and Laena's stomach dropped as they soared into the night.
The wind tore at her clothes, her carefully braided hair coming loose to stream behind her like a silver banner. Far below, the cove shrank to a tiny crescent, then disappeared entirely as Vhagar climbed higher, higher than Laena had ever dreamed of going.
Her first instinct was to close her eyes against the dizzying height, but she forced them open. She would not miss a moment of this, her first flight. The island of Driftmark spread beneath them, a dark shape against the darker sea. High Tide's silver towers gleamed in the moonlight, no larger than toys from this height.
"Show me everything," Laena whispered, leaning forward against Vhagar's neck. "Show me the world as you see it."
The dragon banked sharply, turning eastward toward the open sea. Beneath them, the waves glittered like black glass scattered with shards of moonlight. The horizon curved at the edges of Laena's vision, revealing the true roundness of the world in a way no book or map ever could.
She laughed, the sound torn away by the wind, lost in the vastness of the night sky. Let Laenor have his ships and his water magic. Let him sail to Oldtown and beyond. Laena Velaryon had claimed the greatest dragon of them all.
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