SI POV V

101 AC, Driftmark

The marble walls of High Tide had never seemed more welcoming as Seasmoke glided across the sky, almost guided by the invisible hand of the warm sea breeze. The journey back was oddly silent, bereft of the usual cheerful squawks and laughs that usually accompanied our trips by air. It was hard to feel content when you had messed everything up.

Why Seasmoke shared in my misery, I did not know. He had done nothing wrong. In fact, he had acted with more wisdom and bravery than I could ever profess to have. Unlike me, he did not spend all his time thinking like a jocular little woolhead. He had trusted in my plans, followed Laena and I scrupulously, and had kept me shielded from the largest dragon in the world despite his own immense terror.

And what had I done in response to the trust he had given me? A suicidal plan that overlooked the chances of any wild dragon coming across us, constant comments on his cowardice, and a fight that could have easily ended into the beginnings of a Dance.

I could not even preempt an avoidable war. No, I was only acting as its catalyst and accelerating it: sowing mistrust where there was none, unintentionally making plays for a throne I did not want through my intervention, endangering the lives of my siblings through sheer recklessness.

And for some reason, they still trusted me.

Unconsciously, my eyes glanced to my right, catching sight of pale pink wings charging towards the same destination as I. For once, my father had silently settled himself behind my mother. Even the Sea Snake hadn't dared to protest mother's simple order to get on the saddle. She had been more than glad to be rid of Dragonstone. Our father had left one of our many distant cousins to deal with sending our belongings back, though I was fairly sure my mother had ordered some older servants to prepare our things already. It was easy to forget how Dragonstone had once been my grandfather's since boyhood, and that a good amount of servants had known my mother since she was a babe and retained a sense of loyalty to her.

And that was with her spending most of her time in court all her life! How could I compete with that? I was the equivalent of a noob at politics. All my subtle nudges towards preservation had floundered into bad attempts at supposed perfidy.

I was thinking too long-term; it had always been a failing of mine.

To think of what could go wrong was not a weakness in itself. One could not live here without expecting a curveball or two to be thrown your way. The world of Westeros did not wait for you to finally fill out your armour; it strove to stick its filthy sword into your back while you were still caught within the struggles of boyhood. To anticipate an attack from just about everyone was a cornerstone to my survival. But wholeheartedly neglecting to consider the short term butterflies had all but ripped my plans into shreds. To have Vhagar on my side was a great asset in a world where the Dance was in full swing. To have her now only sought to bring me closer to the death sentence that is the Iron Throne.

Why are you even complaining, damn fool!

I had all but secured my safety after all. But at what cost? Kingship? I did not want to be king. I did not want to have a gigantic X marked in gory red blood on my back. My whole '12+1' plan revolved on making it out alive by not making myself too much of a danger in the beginning, then pouncing when I had a brood of hellions of my own to capture every dragon of note. I was going to be prince consort to Rhaenyra, quietly focusing on my hobbies and ignoring all the important decisions that did not revolve around Driftmark or my children. How in the Seven Hells had I managed this? Was I such a short-sighted moron?!

Seasmoke let out a smoky snort in agreement, then dipped into a low dive despite my protests. It was only then I realised that Vhagar and Meleys had already long descended. How long had I been mulling over my thoughts?

It hadn't felt that long. Seasmoke's speed had slackened however, and I remembered he had spent the night with me with hardly a bite of food or wink of sleep since. I felt guilt stab at me and let my rebellious flying lizard go without a reprimand. I had pretty much upset everyone I could possibly have upset bar my father and Laena. To consider Laena within that category was a stretch as well given how glum and quiet she had been since 'Nyx had ignored her care.

Whatever swooning I had managed with Rhaenyra had probably gone to shit as well now that I thought about it. Maybe she would have an inkling of sympathy for Rhaenyx, but I was hardly going to get the same treatment. Not after she made it a point to show off her Vhagar plushy to me before dinner.

Damn it.

And Rhaenyx… Well, the less said, the better. He had clung to our mother since he'd been hit, not even allowing Dragonstone's maester to take a look at his wounds when prompted. Instead, he hung onto her hip with an iron grip, trying his damndest to cover what he had called his 'shame'. His voice had sounded small when he had said that to us while Vhagar was getting saddled, as if he were trying to shrink into nothingness.

It was an almost alien sight, so unRhaenyx-like. Rhaenyx was bold, brash, and adventurous, always with a cocksure expression on his bright face. To see him so defeated felt wrong. Like something that should not - could not - happen occurring for the first time, leaving everyone perplexed as to how it had happened.

Except I knew how it had happened. I had all but caused it.

Now, to figure out how to sort this mess out.

The only logical answer that I could now come up with was killing off Daemon and marrying Rhaenyra into my line. It would postpone civil war for at least one generation, giving me more than enough time to die out before the inevitable bloodfest can begin.

That was if I won. Were Viserys to win, I was back at step one, only now I've antagonised my family from the Targaryens completely, vice versa. Odds are it will be us either starting the Dance or sitting back until we can come out on top.

Each step pointed in the same direction though: a conflict of some kind that I would very much not touch with a giant sized Vhagar, thank you very much.

Was it cowardly? Probably. But I had never been one of the types looking for some grand enthronement to precede a new Era of Enlightenment in Westeros. The Iron Throne automatically meant some kind of hard decision down the road and I wanted to keep my hands clean, my family safe.

The thought that the safety of my family might compromise my ethics was sucky to say the least. But seeing what Daemon had done tonight had all but slapped some sense into me finally.

It was a chilling realisation, but one that needed to be made. There was no going back to my old self, comfortable in my laxity. I either was the force that pushed things into motion or the driftwood being carried by the tides of fate.

Fuck me, this is hard.

Seasmoke landed rather roughly, as if to literally emphasize my point. I just barely kept my face away from his neck this time. A welcome party had been placed for my arrival, no doubt to signal my mother if I had gone off on some wild revenge quest. I was a mite offended. I had mostly squashed the burning want to 'dracarys' Daemon in the face. Mostly.

"Hail, nephew," my uncle Rhaegon greeted as he approached Seasmoke, his voice unnaturally grim. "It gladdens my heart to see you well."

He was dressed finely even this late at night. Pale blue silks embroidered with silver thread, with light touches of gold cloth to match his strands of gold that touched his mostly silver hair. Pearls crusted his sleeves, making up an array of wave-like patterns. I would not be surprised if he had actually gone off to change. The man was the definition of a second son. It was hardly a surprise he had begotten a bonehead like Vaemond on his Massey wife. A pair of dragonkeepers followed him, clad in their gleaming black armours. Though I could not see it in the darkness of night, I knew very well that the scales of Balerion lined their helms and a section of their plate. It was an oddity to see after having just been to Dragonstone where the keepers there wore hardly anything beyond linen robes soiled with ash and hardened leather shaped into 'armour'. Did it have something to do with the last vestiges of Valyrian culture being relegated to an island no one other than the occasional Targaryen frequented? Probably.

Still, I had to admit there was a certain charm to it. Living on Driftmark had endeared me to the mix of East and West, and I could still see faint traces of what was once one of Valyria's strongholds.

"Uncle, you are up particularly early," I mumbled tiredly, allowing the two keepers to undo my chains for me.

"I am told that I have you to thank for that," he replied rather tartly. I kept my lips shut. I was not in the mood to take into consideration the words of an uncle I barely spent time with, especially one mine own father had never taken great interest in.

"Everyone has arrived?" My tone was icy.

"Indeed, dear nephew," was Rhaegon's more subdued response. "Your mother has seen to it that your brother and sister are being seen to by the maester."

"And my father?"

"Locked in his solar plotting no doubt." I did not need to even look at him to know how bitter he looked. I could hear it in every word he said.

"I see. You are dismissed then, uncle. I will see myself to Maester Edmund at once."

"Nephew, your mother strictly -"

"I am sure she need not fear for my safety within the confines of my own castle, uncle."

Rhaegon scowled, approaching. "Lady Rhaenys was quite specific in her orders, nephew. And it is more what she fears outside these castle walls that may harm you."

The implication was not lost to me. Of course my mother thought I might go gallivanting into the night again.

I gave him a smile. I had already predicted that, but I was in too deep shit to care. "Take it up to Seasmoke then," I said softly, feeling the air shift as Seasmoke's neck coiled to face us, away from the keepers. In the dark, the silver-grey wyrm's eyes glowed like bioluminescent waves breaking onto the sandy shore. Rhaegon's step faltered, then died.

"Go," he spluttered, his eyes still fixated on Seasmoke.

"Ensure he is given a veritable feast, uncle! It will surely endear him to you!"

I gave my best friend an affectionate pat in thanks, then ran down along the paved courtyard, passing guardsmen and maids and a gazillion Velaryon cousins, most of whom kept asking about me. I ignored them all. Marble statues carved in the likeness of ancient Lords of the Tides stared at me with empty eyes, hidden within their niches where the shadows rendered their gildings, silverings, and inlays worthless.

My legs just kept dragging me forward despite sharp protests from my sore muscles, lungs burning as I rounded past a pilaster, then marched up the stairs. Torches burned bright red in their iron sconces, but no one past the first flutter of concerned relatives noticed me. My clothing was still covered in blood and ash, and the roughspun cloak all but hid the fine silk beneath it. I had been too busy being dragged away from my attempts to hurt Daemon to change as Laena had. I probably looked no different from an armourer's apprentice coming from having worked the forges all night.

The maester's turret was found on the westernmost side of the castle, a short distance away from the Merling's Gate. Like the rest of my home, it was not wholly Westerosi. It was one of the areas my father had deemed not fully complete yet. For all that High Tide felt as old and true as its owners, it was still a babe when compared to damp Driftmark, let alone the towering granite walls of Winterfell. Lord Corlys Velaryon had very much intended for High Tide to be Driftmark's defining trait, his own Magnum Opus. For that to happen, he had commissioned artists and workers from all across the word. Hardly a foot of High Tide could be walked without some piece of art in the surrounding. Merlings and seahorses made of jade spouted water within their own little 'kingdoms', water fountains whose floors were covered in gem-encrusted mosaics. Friezes danced along the pale blue cornice, bringing to life scenes of myth that were breathtaking to behold.

A pair of guards bordered the bronze doors, the polished silver of their lamellar a sharp contrast to the inlay of gold worked upon it, casting visions of sailors on their galleys braving the winds of a fierce tempest. Knee-length blue cloaks made from fine silk hung from their broad shoulders, decorated with silver embroidery along the borders that bespoke the seafaring roots of the man who had had his personal guard decked out so lavishly. Their finely worked greaves and vambraces were of polished steel dyed deep blue, matching the steel of their swords and spears. All in all, immensely lavish and not afforded to all guardsmen.

I recognised one as Ser Aron, the son of one of our cooks and now a captain of our guard, a broad-shouldered man bearing the typical Valyrian colouring of silver hair and indigo eyes. He was one of those whom Rhaenys would no doubt force to tail me constantly; the man was obedient to a fault.

"Lord Laenor," he announced with a curt nod , swinging the door open with a gauntleted fist, "the maester impatiently awaits your arrival."

"And my mother?"

The knight shook his head. "Gone to see your sister to her chambers. She gave us a command to ensure no one be allowed to enter but you, my lord."

I winced at that. That was not exactly giving me the good news I was looking for in regards to Rhaenyx's condition.

"Is my brother well?"

He shrugged. "Well enough, my lord. Mayhaps only twice as bad as you. Nothing you wouldn't see in a scuffle."

I smarted at his words but kept my pace even as I entered. The candles inside gave off a softer, weaker light than its uglier cousins, but birthed a sweet scent that smelled faintly like honey. I placed a hand against the cool wall, giving myself a second to catch my breath, before climbing up two steps at a time. My hand dragged along the wall, painting sharp shadows that broadened the further away they were from me. The warmth of the inside left my nose running again as the numbness from the cold faded away from my face. I could only hope there was no blood accompanying it.

The door was already wide open at the arched opening of the doorway, orange light from a burning flooding the stairwell. I found myself squinting in the light, having to readjust to its harshness.

The room itself was made large and circular, covered with decorated rugs more befitting a high lord than some no-name maester. Lord Corlys Velaryon loved nothing more than to have some excuse to show off his wealth. He had decreed that High Tide was to be the pinnacle of luxury in this day and age, and not even Edmund's refuge was exempt from his lavishness. A mosaic stretched from its middle, weaving together the likenesses of hunters and gatherers, knights and ship hands, all crowded within its expanding rings. Images of the Seven lay betwixt each ring, encircled and encircling the two bands modelled after their calling.

Thick bookshelves of mahogany pressed against the smooth white walls, covering nearly every inch of unused space in the room. Leather-bound books and old stout scrolls filled them to a point of plumpness.

The welcoming sight made me relax. The scent of parchment and potions had grown as familiar as breathing. I could still remember countless check ups at old Maester Desmond's hand before he passed. The visits with Laena and the toddling Rhaenyx on our way to filching one of Edmund's prized books.

Such fond memories, though I doubted this night would be creating any new ones.

It took me a moment to locate Edmund and Rhaenyx in the stuffy room. The maester had my brother seated on a wooden chair at the epicentre of the room while he hovered over him, speaking gentle words as he did the necessary. He had a cloth pack bulging with what looked like ice pressed against Rhaenyx's face though it was hardly going to do much to reverse the bruising.

The makeshift ice pack hid part of the ugly splotches of yellow, purple, and red that crept across his cheek, so swollen that the outline of the handprint could be seen even six feet away. The blood from his split lip had dried up and scabbed, but half of his mouth was bruised a deep indigo. I could not fight the wince that flickered onto my face as I took him in fully.

Rhaenyx did not miss it either by the way he lowered his head after meeting my gaze.

Maester Edmund stood beside the boy, dressed in his linen nightgown, though his maester's chain still hung limply against the flaps of fat he called his neck. He was a barrel-chested man early in his later years, someone who had served the Old King's uncle and then his grandson after him. His brown hair streaked with grey was still moussed from sleep, but he seemed fully alert. I could still spot the blue ink he favoured staining his fingers. He did not turn away from his charge or stop his work as I approached. He barely gave any indication that I was there though I knew full well the man had probably heard me from a mile away. His ears could pierce through castle walls.

"Ah, Master Laenor," the Maester greeted blithely in his Riverlander's accent, still touched by the grit of the Ironborn even a century later. Not quite as refined as that of the southern Reach. "Please sit, my lord. Your Lady Mother will return shortly, so worry not! I am almost done tending to Lord Rhaenyx's wounds."

"There will be no need," I brushed off as I took a seat beside my brother, plopping myself onto one of the two carved wooden chairs that surrounded the round mahogany table. There was a mushed up green paste in a mortar, some of which had been smeared over Rhaenyx's face. A collection of vials and beakers filled with colourful solutions were smattered all over the place, crowded around brass instruments and a burner. One potion vial filled was unstoppered; an antiseptic I supposed. Given Rhaenyx was cringing away from Edmund's ministrations, I wasn't so far off.

"I believe I will be the judge of that, my lord," Edmund interjected just as Rhaenyx let out a moan of pain. The old man's green eyes turned to face me critically. One fat finger prodded gently at my still swollen nose, managing to get a groan out of me despite my best efforts. Mayhaps I was underestimating the damage that Seasmoke's scales had dealt to me.

"You are lucky the bone did not fracture," the maester said finally, twisting back to his table ridden with objects. "The tenderness will persist for a few days, but I suspect that will be the worst of it."

I sniffed. "You act as if my comeliness has not suffered greatly."

Rhaenyx let out a small giggle at that, probably more at the sight of my bruised nose, crossed arms and mock look of annoyance. It felt good to hear him laugh again. It seemed to me such sweet sounds would turn scarce in the moons that followed, beckoning forward the Great Council. Even Edmund turned and reluctantly smiled wryly. In his hand was another small bag full of ice, no doubt for my nose.

I waved it away. "A bruise is not going to kill me. Neither is a long-ended nose bleed."

Desmond frowned but let it drop with a sigh, muttering something under his breath. That man always enjoyed saying I would be the reason he died. I often found myself agreeing with him.

"I will have a runner send a message to our lady then," he announced with a side eye, "I am sure she will be more convincing than I."

Ah, a threat. I missed when those were usually non-lethal.

I waved the old man away. "You will see to her yourself, Edmund. My uncle was as apprehensive as you are, though he was easily convinced."

Edmund's frown deepened, revealing creases and wrinkles that looked far too little for a man so jovial. I could tell just from looking at him that he did not see eye to eye with that.

"My Lord, it will not be wise to leave you both unattended after such a strenuous incident."

I scoffed. "I will not be sneaking my brother out, if that is the scheme you believe me to be plotting. I have not spoken to Rhaenyx all night. Surely you can afford me this small courtesy."

Edmund's worried gaze did not let up, but he did make his way to the banded ironwood with another sigh, scuttling forward like a crab missing a few legs. I let out a sigh the moment he left, before turning to face my brother. His eyes were averted, focusing on the swinging of his dangling legs more than my gaze. A reddish tint had taken over his cheeks, though whether it was from the heat, anger or embarrassment I did not know.

"You need not feel ashamed for crying, dear brother. What you did was very brave."

Rhaenyx did not reply. His small hands, both covered in scrapes from sliding across the rough ground, grasped at his knees tightly. The silk of his trousers bunched together in his grasp. His lips were set into a sullen pout. I sighed.

"I did not mean to exclude you, brother."

More stubborn silence. Another sigh. I was already feeling my own anger beating at me again. I did not blame Rhaenyx for hating me; the Seven knew I hated myself at that moment. Looking at my despondent baby brother sitting swollen and beaten was just another awful reminder of my giant fuck up.

As if things could not get any worse, my thrice-damned nose started bleeding again. That just about summed up my night. The taste of hard iron mingled with the salt of phlegm, creating a concoction that made me want to retch. A thickly thin gloop (words that probably mean no sense lest you could touch the wretched substance) smudged against the back of my hand as I tried to wipe it away. My nose pulsed in pain.

"You look funny." Rhaenyx was looking at me with a small grin, face mildly amused.

I felt a retort climb up my throat but swallowed it down with a weak laugh. That made him perk up more. "Is my nose such a sight to behold?"

"It looks like that red squishy apple thing you like that tastes bad." His silver eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. "The one from Norvos."

"A tomato?"

My brother nodded, his small grin widening. "But it's even bigger than that! Like an ugly carrot!"

That put me smiling. Rhaenyx acting like Rhaenyx always did. "How flattering."

We fell into a comfortable silence, Rhaenyx with his ice pack pressed against his face, me with my fingers pinched around the bridge of my bruised nose. It brought about more mundane thoughts, those that consisted of a nice hot bath and a fluffy bed to sink into. I silently regretted not having ordered a servant to get me a change of clothes and something to nibble on. Rhaenyx had evidently felt the same given there was a silver platter laden with food placed right in front of his chair. Clusters of fat grapes, slices of spiced breads, and hot chunks of roasted meat all spilled from gem-encrusted plates of gold made to fit my brother's size. The familiar smell of lamb stew wafted through the air from a small bowl, making my mouth water. Wisps of smoke trailed from a cup of what smelled like warmed milk.

There was no doubt it was for Rhaenyx: it had been chewed through messily. Even so, there was still so much to be eaten… I eyed the food longingly.

Hopefully mother has some sent to my chambers later, I hoped.

"You can have one," Rhaenyx said tightly, palming a thick slice of bread towards me with narrowed eyes. I blinked, then took it gratefully. The bread was still crunchy when I gave it a cautious first bite, unleashing a whirlwind of spices and herbs that all mixed and matched perfectly.

I couldn't help but moan. "The Seven bless you, 'Nyx. I should have you knighted for this."

Rhaenyx's good mood had however completely evaporated by then. In the place of a little boy chortling about my nose was a morose one who looked at me with a mixture of resentment and defeat.

"I'm still angry," the boy admitted sullenly. "At you and Laena both."

"I know. I deserve it."

"Mama is mad at you." Rhaenyx did not sound pleased.

I shrugged. "She is right too. What we did was reckless."

Rhaenyx snorted derisively at that. "You left me! You two always leave me!"

"It was dangerous!" I protested weakly. "I only took Laena with me because… because I knew Vhagar would like her!"

'Nyx only glowered in response. "You never take me anywhere or tell me anything! I'm not a baby!" he cried out, snot running down his nose.

"No," my voice was stern, "but you are a little boy who would have been the only thing standing between our father and mother's line being extinguished if Laena and I had died."

My brother's eyes widened at that. He had clearly not thought about the possibility of the Cannibal swooping in and turning us all into dinner. His lips worked to say something.

Then, he pouted.

"Stupid baby," Rhaenyx mumbled under his breath. I let out an exasperated sigh though my lips kept smiling.

"Make sure to voice all your insults out before mama gets here," I said, closing my eyes, "You won't be the last person I reckon."

Surprisingly, nothing came. I waited a minute, then two, reluctantly waiting for a slew of angry comments. All I got was the crackle of wood burning in the hearth and… sobs?

I cracked an eye open and saw my brother crying. His cheeks were flushed red, thick rivulets of tears streaking across them. His bruised lips quivered, drowning in a pool of snot that dangled off the end of his small chin. His pale blue eyes were wet, growing redder and redder at the edges. I felt my voice fail.

"I'm de stubid bady!" Rhaenyx said, sniffling. His sleeve muffled his voice. "He bead me!"

I managed a weak laugh. "I am fairly sure you beat him."

Rhaenyx scowled.

"You drew first blood," I explained, nudging him lightly in the ribs. "and didn't even need a dragon or a Valyrian Steel sword to do it. All while weighing as much as a quarter of a Daemon. Think of that! Daemon Targaryen bested by someone whose balls haven't even dropped yet!" I forced out a laugh. "By the Gods, you're amazing 'Nyx! You made a real fool out of me."

"I…did?"

I nodded, giving him a wistful look. His face was so innocent at that moment. So vulnerable. Rhaenyx never dared look anything but tough in front of me. But now, his gaze was searching. He looked to me as if I had all the answers on the tip of my tongue. All the right things to say and how to say it. It was the same look Laena had given me for years on end. How would he feel if he knew I was just as lost and beaten down as him?

That I wanted to throw in the towel and just let the waves guide me?

I opened my mouth, trying to force something out, but all I could see were his red-rimmed eyes, his bruised face, and the half-hiccuped sobs he was trying to hide. A weight settled into my stomach at the sight.

Why do you trust me so much, I wanted to ask. Why do you look up to me like that?

Couldn't he see I was barely keeping my head afloat? My confidence was fraying, my determination shattered. Even if he didn't see it in my face, surely my actions had all but confirmed it for him. I was not the big brother he could trust. I was just a coward. A useless one at that.

A weakling hiding his head in the ground, waiting for the dust to settle.

But you don't need to know that, I finally conceded, my decision at last made. My siblings need not know how hopeless I actually was. In a hopeless mess, all anyone ever wants is an infallible pillar to look up to. How laughable was it that I, the craven, had somehow turned into their stalwart.

"You are the better warrior by far," I affirmed, "and one day, you shall have a dragon of your own. Mayhaps another by Meleys, just like my Seasmoke. Then we'll be blood brothers in all ways." I pressed a kiss on his forehead. "And we'll protect each other. You, me and Laena. No more secrets. I swear it."

Unbelieving eyes looked at me with uncertainty. "Promise?" he asked gingerly.

I nodded, taking my hand in his. "I swear that I'll not navigate this ship alone anymore. On my honour as a seahorse."

"But I want to be a knight more than a sailor!" Rhaenyx protested with sudden gusto, as if a light switch had flicked back on to revive his childish self. Embarrassingly, I felt I could cry at that. My little brother was a terror and a snotty brat, but I would have died a thousand times over to ensure he would never see real a dragon battle in his life.

"You can be both, you know. A sailing knight to rout out evil villains at sea," I said, "I have met few men as doughty and as true as you."

"You said I was a little boy," Rhaenyx pointed out with a surly pout, "not a man."

I grinned widely, clapping him on the shoulder. "And yet you put so many men to shame. I can only imagine how great you shall be whence you reach manhood. You're already more dragon than that crooked-nose knave could ever hope to be."

Red dusted Rhaenyx's cheeks at that, above the preening smile that curled upon his swollen lip. His pale blue eyes shone with newfound confidence. It was a look I had come to love. Even bruised and beaten with a veritable patchwork of bruises clouding his face, Rhaenyx Velaryon looked as puissant as the Warrior himself.


It took my parents two full days to sit down with me to discuss my transgressions. Until then, I was relegated to being confined to my chambers with guards posted at every possible entrance to prevent any tomfoolery on my part. I did not mind. It was better that way, though I regretted that I did not have access to any ravens. I had wanted to send Rhaenyra a letter to start some sort of contact.

But it gave me the time to think. To curse at whatever had put me here, to cry at my no-doubt impending doom, to restart my plan from scratch. Rhaenyx ducked inside my room ever so often which helped. He was one of the reasons I hadn't given up. We would play at being pirates and battle-hardened sailors, knocking wooden swords at each other as we fought for 'treasure'. Most of it ended with me on my back, my treasure whisked away by my baby brother, but I did not mind.

Every moment spent with him was a reminder to keep moving forward. That he snuck in letters from Laena helped as well.

So, when Princess Rhaenys Targaryen came with her husband in tow, I did not shy away from her intense gaze. Instead, I met it with my own lilac one. The time for acting the abashed child had long faded.

The list of my infractions was a long one, punctuated with a punishment for each one. No pastries for a week for threatening to use Seasmoke on Rhaegon. No books for two weeks for using Edmund as my errand boy and denying medical care. A moon without riding dragon and pony alike for the Vhagar stunt… It was endless.

Though that was somehow not even the worst of the punishment.

"The king has written to us, my son," she said severely, her tone evidently displeased at the prospect. "He intends to call on Driftmark on the morrow. You will conduct yourself as the heir to Driftmark should. No pithy comments. No having Seasmoke tossing him in dragon dung. No disobedience."

So it seemed my mother had caught word of Seasmoke saving his bowel movement for Jaehaerys. Damn it. I managed to nod meekly at her demands.

My father grimaced at my mother's tone. "Must we berate the lad, dearest? We both know he is earnest in his regret! Is it such a sin that he helped Laena claim a part of her birthright?"

Rhaenys' stern gaze did not waver in the slightest. "All of our children could have left Dragonstone as corpses."

"Daemon-"

Rhaenys cast him a bone-chilling glare. "Will be dealt with, I promise you. But it is Laenor I am speaking of currently. You have trust in him, husband, and on that I cannot fault you. But I can no longer follow behind blindly. I need to know."

"Know what?" I asked though I had already figured it out.

Pale violet eyes turned to meet mine again, no longer austere. Just… sad.

"Your dreams, Laenor," she said so softly I could hardly hear. Her tone was pleading. "You have denied it again and again, and I have respected your wishes. But now… Things have changed now. I must know, son. What have you seen?"

I gave her a sad smile. "I was not lying when I said I see no visions of the future." I paused. "Nor was I lying when I told you I was scared."

Rhaenys' face fell, defeated. I wondered if I should tell her, yet I knew better than to rope her in. It was not fair to her, just as my existence wasn't fair to my siblings. I had made my choice. No longer would I trust in a future that could have been or the slightest ministrations on my part. I needed to act, to eliminate all the danger root and stem.

King or no, I would do whatever it took to keep my family safe. Even if it meant having to do things that made my skin crawl at the mere thought.

And the death of Daemon Targaryen was the first on my list.

But no one needed to know that.


A/N: A new chapter will now come every two weeks given I've had to neglect my other stories to keep up with this schedule. Plus, I hope to better the quality of my work now that I have an extra full week to work on it.