Baela VII
Deep within Dragonstone's halls of molded stone, the whipping winds of the winter storm could not be felt. A fire roared within the hearth, hissing and snapping with the fury of serpents. Baela shifted, carefully turning the vellum page of the manuscript before her, worried that any haste might cause lasting damage to the tome. For the past several days she had spent much of her time within Dragonstone's ancient library, picking over various texts and reading those that struck her fancy. Nearly three quarters of the knowledge within was written in High Valyrian, a rarity on the continent and a headache for Baela herself. If she had not been so determined to find a quiet refuge, she would likely have abandoned her efforts in frustration long before. At first, attempting to parse the words of her ancestors had grated upon her, only contributing to the headaches that she had come to expect with her moonblood. In her frustration, however, she decided to redouble her efforts, and in time she was able to parse some of the simpler passages.
Having spent many years in Pentos, she was no stranger to the bastard Valyrian that was spoken throughout the city of her birth. High Valyrian, however, was another matter entirely. Her father had insisted that she and Rhaena be trained in its higher mysteries, and whilst they had both taken to the learning with passable skill, Rhaena had proven more capable. Her sister had later confessed that she had tried exceedingly hard to master the ancient tongue when it seemed unlikely for her dragon's egg to hatch. The trick, according to Rhaena, was to anticipate the many ways that the ancient Valyrians loved to complicate their writings. The ancestors of the Targaryens and their contemporaries were a verbose lot, preferring metaphor, allegory and soaring rhetoric to the short and concise passages of other peoples. Baela suspected that this might have in part been due to the extreme wealth of the Freehold, whereupon parchment and vellum, along with ink and transcribers, could be afforded in vast amounts. The more one wrote, the more one could flaunt the all-encompassing and prestigious nature of one's education, and the wealth that could fund such pastimes. In the height of Valyria's power, it was said that for every dragon rider there were ten poets and at least five amateur historians. Some may have even been of passable quality, Baela thought to herself with a smirk. While many considered the Fall of Valyria to have been most epitomized by the loss of its dragons, Baela's time in the library had taught her that a less well-known result was the loss of its vast pools of authorial talent. For while Dragonstone offered a vast array of popular works from before the Doom, it held only a few works from after, mostly written by Westerosi Maesters.
Baela had originally entered the library to embark upon the quest that she suspected all Targaryen princesses undertook at some point: the search for the long lost Signs and Portents penned by Daenys the Dreamer herself. Unfortunately, she found little to suggest that any of it remained, buried beneath the piles of scrolls and shelves of dusty tomes. As the headaches subsided, she traversed between manuscripts, taking a different one into hand for browsing depending on which suited her fancy. Some occupied her attentions for a only a few minutes at a time, whilst others consumed entire days. The text she currently read was well-worn; the edges of its pages were darkened from generations of perusers. Baela had been surprised to see notes kept in the margins, added on in the century after the Targaryen flight from Dragonstone.
The first notes had been added in by Aelyx Targaryen, who had turned to the manuscript in hopes of finding practices for bonding with a second dragon, as his first mount had been slain in an Essosi war that had left him permanently crippled. Those same injuries would later leave him too weak to avoid a winter chill that carried off a third of the souls that called Dragonstone home. The subsequent entries had been even more riveting. Aerea Targaryen had written of her longing to master a dragon, that she might no longer be imprisoned by her mother, who had time for every maiden on Dragonstone save her own daughter. Vaegon Targaryen had evidently found the notes of his predecessors most troublesome, as he had taken the time to cross out sections he felt unimportant or factually incorrect, adding corrections in his own hand alongside the condemned. Most movingly, however, were her own grandmother's additions. Alyssa Targaryen had been an accomplished dragonrider, and had added insightful advice regarding the ways in which a rider might better utilize the abilities of their mount. Baela found herself saddened that she had never had the opportunity to know her other grandmother, as she sensed that they'd have had much in common.
The section of the text she was currently perusing dealt with the realities of dragonriding in inclement weather. Much of the information she had been taught by her father, as he had insisted that she learn the most important basics in their limited time together when she was but a child. Interestingly, however, there were notes that her father had not included in his lectures. This particular tome spent a great deal of time describing the various ways that the Valyrians of old had adorned their dragon saddles. The Valyrians had been able to convey simple messages based upon the colors of the tassels and decorative ropes fastened to their saddles; oftentimes conveying whether they came in peace, or had a specific reason for their visit. Baela assumed that this practice had been ruled unnecessary by Aegon and his wives in the Aftermath of the Conquest, as the Westerosi that had been subjugated had no means of parsing the intricacy of Valyrian draconic diplomatic protocols. Other passages included the best cuts of meat to feed one's mount, as well as a provision that strongly discouraged riders from flying during storms, due to the risk posed by lightning.
As she turned the pages of the text, Baela found herself growing hungry, and decided that it might finally be time to find something to eat. While she occasionally took her meals in her chambers, she often preferred to fetch her fare from the great carven kitchens, sharing her meals with the household knights or Dragonstone's sworn nobility, if they were present for matters of trade and arbitration. Aegon- the King, she corrected herself- had given her a great deal of discretion when it came to matters of governance, as Viserys was still far too young to assume his duties as Prince of Dragonstone. Often matters were simple, such as ruling on territorial disputes across the island, or mediating between the interests of vassal lords. She knew from the beginning that she would need to carefully observe neutrality when it came to matters of Driftmark, as she was a Targaryen, despite her mother's house of birth. With the conflicts between the Three Daughters growing ever more violent, it was important that the principle Houses of the Narrow sea be ever-ready to coordinate matters of defense. The Bar Emmons and Celtigars, along with the Sunglasses had from the beginning been properly deferential, if a bit reserved, which Baela suspected was due to concerns that Dragonstone's new mistress would adopt stances that favored her grandfather overmuch.
They could have no way of knowing that he and I have not exactly seen eye to eye on matters recently, Baela thought grimly. Nonetheless she had done her utmost to ensure impartiality in matters of dispute resolution, favoring no house, but ensuring that the much poorer houses in vassalage to Dragonstone were not taken advantage of. In her weeks on the island that strategy had seemed to bear fruit, as those very houses had sent members of their extended families to attend her and assist with preparations for the defense of Blackwater Bay, should it be required.
Since the Gullet, Blackwater Bay had been dominated by Velaryon patrols. Raiding parties had occasionally been able to slip through their defensive sweeps, but few had actually escaped capture even if they had successfully captured shipping or raided a coastal village. It was in the deep and treacherous waters of the Narrow Sea beyond that matters were far more grave. During the war neither Blacks nor Greens had had the resources or energies to project their strength into the Narrow Sea itself, and in the war's aftermath the Crown simply did not have the funds to combat the rampant piracy, enslavement, and impressment that was a daily occurrence. Despite her own opinions on the matter, she had heeded her counselors and not taken Moondancer for a sweep of the deeper waters, as though she itched to take the fight to the enemy she could little-afford to endanger her mount and herself so far from support. Moondancer's growth had accelerated in the recent months, finally surpassing that of Vermax's before its death, but the uncomfortable fact remained that her dragon was still largely vulnerable to projectiles; her scales unable to fully ward off the dangers that an elder dragon could.
Baela finally reached the kitchens, having been lost in thought. She unfurrowed her brow to offer a smile to the cooks, accepting a rich bowl of crab stew alongside a loaf of freshly baked brown bread. She politely declined an offer to join some knights at a table in the hall where they were feasting, instead taking her meal through the courtyard and into the Sea Dragon Tower, climbing its winding steps until she reached the upper chambers where the maester's quarters could be found. Dragonstone's new maester, Maester Podrick, had been appointed not long after the isle had been reclaimed from Aegon II's sympathizers. The Citadel had been informed in no uncertain terms that the successor to Maester Gerardys needed to possess his loyalty, discretion, and most importantly, his lack of any kinship to the Hightower family. Maester Podrick had been the result, a quick-witted affable man in his late forties who could trace his roots to the town of Bitterbridge as the son of a horse trader. Though the supposed neutralities of the Citadel were a matter of pride for the esteemed order, Maester Podrick was not shy about his opinions of the Hightowers or their accomplices. He had lost distant kin in their sack of his hometown, and had been all too eager to depart Oldtown for good the moment word arrived of the actions of Lord Ormund and Prince Daeron. When he had arrived, he had spoken often of that 'damnable tower' that overlooked the well-kept streets of Oldtown, gazing down condescendingly at the ever-pliant townspeople below. He had accepted his appointment to Dragonstone with gusto, eager to be 'as far from the Hightowers as he could go, save the godsforsaken North.'
As Baela entered, Podrick offered her a conspiratorial grin, his slightly crooked teeth adding to his roughspun charm. "Have you come to hear what arrives on the wings of the ravens, my Lady?" He asked invitingly.
Baela smiled in return. "As much as I adore the many stairs I must climb to reach you Maester, I have indeed come for tidings from afar. But lest you grow too distraught, I also could not allow you to languish in this forlorn tower without companionship."
Podrick nodded in a playfully deferential manner. "You've always been most courteous, my Lady."
Lifting a sheaf of paper from the table where they rested, Podrick, sat with a huff and began to leaf through them.
Baela took a bite of stew, winced at the heat, and sat the spoon aside for a moment. "What news has arrived, then?"
The Maester began a small list, with much of it being information from the houses sworn to Dragonstone concerning their winter stores, defensive preparations, and shipping tolls.
He stopped at another letter. "Ser Addam Velaryon sends his regards from Pentos. The Prince has feasted him and Ser Malentine in his palace, and he states that the Prince's entreaties for an alliance against the Three Daughters could not be less subtle. He adds that Pentos is beautiful, though the slaves within the city sadden his heart. He ends by adding that Ser Alyn has just arrived with the majority of the Velaryon fleet, and that they are taking on provisions before sailing for Myr." The Maester's eyes narrowed. "He adds in a hastily written note that Ser Malentine has seemingly become rather fascinated by a Priest of R'hllor, a beast of a man sporting tattoos the color of flame and standing at over six feet of height. His complexion is darker than a Summer Islander's, though his hair does not match that of the Islanders, being bone white. Supposedly he bears an iron staff that can spit flame?"
Baela raised an eyebrow. "Does Ser Addam's handwriting noticeably decrease in quality during that last passage? I fear he may have indulged in too much Pentoshi strongwine when recording his observations. I doubt such a man exists."
Maester Podrick gazed at her with a nonplussed expression, as if to say: how should I know?
Baela laughed and held out her hand. "I shall take Ser Addam's letter, that I might draft a response."
After handing her the correspondence, the Maester shuffled the remaining letters. "This letter comes by way of Tarth, whose Maester claims that the raven carrying it needed relieving, due to the distance traveled. He states that it was sent by a distant cousin of his serving within the Maiden's Men as a sellsword. Supposedly Volantis' election has concluded…"
"... with the election of two elephants and a single tiger. Come now, Maester, any child schooled in Essosi politics could tell you that Volantene politics have been rather predictable since the Century of Blood." Baela smirked, taking a bite of stew only after blowing upon it to cool it.
The Maester pursed his lips, displeased at having been interrupted. "While most could indeed claim such things, they would be incorrect in this instance. It seems that the Merchant and Shipwright guilds, long bastions of support for the Elephants, have defected to the Tigers, allowing them to win two of the three Triarch seats. It seems that much of the city is in uproar over the depredations of the Three Daughters and their attacks on shipping. "
Baela's smile faded. "Two Tigers could mean war, could it not? Not since the days of Horonno has Volantis risen two of them to power."
Podrick pursed his lips. "It very well could. This was sent weeks ago. It could be that the might of Volantis is already gathered for a thrust across the Rhoyne. The Eldest Daughter of Valyria has never truly accepted the humbling that it was dealt at the hands of the Triarchy."
Baela frowned. "The Crown and Regency must be made aware of this." Pausing, she considered the letter. "Could this not be of benefit to the King and his subjects? A Volantis committed to war with the Triarchy could very well be a natural ally for Sers Addam and Malentine. Ser Alyn's fleet, with their dragons, could cut Myr off from sea whilst the Volantenes menace it from land."
The Maester nodded. "They could prove allies, if even temporarily. But I do not know if we would wish to swear ourselves brothers in arms. The Elephants have done much to ameliorate the reputation of Volantis in the wake of the Century of Blood. The Tigers, however, are of a different sort. They believe in the glories of the ancient days… in conquest and the utter subjugation of their foes. Their long-term priorities may be at odds with the Crown's. The Conqueror himself intervened in Essos to prevent the Volantenes from seizing too much of Essos, before turning to Westeros with his sisters."
Baela nodded, unconvinced. "Volantis would be capable of fielding armies far larger than any we could hope to afford so far from our own holdings. Myr, Lys and Tyrosh each dwarf King's Landing in population, and will be difficult to force to capitulate even with the threat of dragons. That is to say nothing of the hundreds of towns, estates and smaller cities of the Disputed Lands."
"I was not under the impression that we were committed to a conquest of the Triarchy and the Disputed Lands, my Lady."
Baela rolled her eyes at his barb. "We are not, my good Maester. But mine own sire fought the Three Daughters on land, sea and air for years, and was unable to force them to fully capitulate. My Grandfather's fleets are weaker now than they were then, and I fear that they will be unlikely to make up for the difference with one more dragon. Sers Addam and Malentine simply cannot be everywhere at once."
The Maester nodded in acquiescence to the point, but Baela could tell he was unconvinced. Scanning the rest of the letters, she handed them back to him. "See that King's Landing is notified of the news of Volantis. My Grandfather should know of these developments, and make of them what he will."
She rose to depart the chamber, but was paused by the Maester rising. "My Lady, there is one more matter that I feel should be brought to your attention. As Sunfyre has continued to recover from his wounds, his appetite grows ever greater. The Seven have blessed us, as he continues only to feast upon livestock, and not manflesh. But his appetites are a source of great concern to the smallfolk, who claim they cannot sustain themselves through the winter if he continues to devour their flocks and herds.
Baela winced. Would that Meleys had saved us the trouble of finishing off that beast when she had the chance. "What is the state of our coffers, Maester?"
Maester Podrick shifted uncomfortably. "Tolls on shipping to and from Braavos and Pentos allow us to make due without support from the mainland, but I would be misleading you to say that there is much to spare after the expenses of the citadel and its maintenance are taken into account."
Baela nodded, understanding. "See that funds are diverted to purchase foodstuffs to compensate the smallfolk. We cannot afford to go without compensating them for their sacrifices. Sunfyre is far too dangerous to slay, or to drive away." And if matters grow any worse, we may need to find him a rider.
The Maester nodded, bowing before leaving to fetch a quill and parchment. Baela left him in his chambers as she had found him, burdened with much to think about.
The wind whipped about Baela as she rode atop her dragon. Trusting in her saddle chains, she raised both of her hands above her head, shouting with joy as the beast dove, feeling herself rise slightly from the saddle and her stomach drop as they descended several hundred feet towards the isle below. At what seemed to be the last moment, the dragon righted itself, soaring perhaps ten to twenty feet above the wharves of the harbor below. Baela's nose recoiled at the smells of the port, of rotting fish guts and tar. Soaring along the surf, they passed the tanneries that were kept outside of the town, the smell of nightsoil almost overpowering. She guided her mount out to sea to avoid the unpleasant odors, relishing in the smell of salt and brine.
The dark waters, gray with winter's cold, obscured the depths below them. Moondancer flew close to the surf, allowing its talons to skim the waters edge, eventually snatching a particularly large catch from the waves, bathing it in flame before consuming it with a snap of its jaws. Baela whooped, giving her mount a congratulatory slap on its scaled back. She cracked her dragonwhip, signaling for the dragon to climb, and climb it did, causing her stomach to drop again as they gained an impressive amount of altitude, approaching the clouds and forcing Baela to hiss at the cold and the air growing thinner.
They circled back, flying back to the shores and flying overland, gradually making a circuit of the island. As they passed Dragonstone's northern shores, Baela spotted a cog in the waters below, approaching land. A gust of freezing wind made her wince, causing the branding upon her cheek to ache. She pulled her scarf close about her face, its exterior cold from where her breath had frozen upon its exterior. Guiding her mount lower in the air, she circled the ship below, watching as its standards snapped in the wind. Beneath her winter wear, a grin spread across her features. Her sister's arms flew proudly in the wind, the Targaryen and Velaryon sigils quartered. Circling the vessel as it made its way to port, Baela raced to the Citadel in order to ensure that she could order for a carriage to be prepared.
Baela had spent the last hour or so arranging impromptu lodgings for her sister and her betrothed within the castle, finding lodgings for Rhaena within the Stone Drum (near her own quarters) and ensuring that Ser Corwyn was allotted fine chambers in the Sea Dragon Tower, where he could be attended to by Maester Podrick. She had also arranged for a feast to be held in honor of their arrival, insisting that the finest preparations be made, at least with the extremely short notice she could provide. As both unofficial commander of Dragonstone's defenses as well as Lady of the Castle, she had a variety of tasks that she was expected to officiate, including managing the castle's roster of servants; ensuring its stores were adequate; coordinating with the Master-at-Arms, and much more. She had mostly neglected her duties as Lady of the Castle, finding them tedious at best and aggravating at the worst, far preferring her forays into the citadel's library and her daily rides atop Moondancer. But with her sister arriving so suddenly, she found herself grasping desperately for the authority that came with role, specifically its ability to coordinate such celebrations. When she had requested a meal fitting for her sister, they had vowed to do their best, though she could sense their annoyance. In the end, they had sworn they could prepare something worthy of Rhaena's arrival in two days time. Baela had left them to it, rushing to join her sister within her chambers within the Stone Drum tower as soon as her duties had been completed.
She found Rhaena seated, watching the sea roil in its winter fury far beyond the shoreline. When her twin turned to face her, she was taken aback by the exhaustion written across her features.
"Was the journey taxing, sister?"
Rhaena smiled wanly. "Not overmuch. The events preceding our departure were far more unpleasant than the voyage itself; though Corwyn was not eager to brave the fury of the seas. He never has fully acquired sea-legs, and his recent wounding has left him unsteady on his feet to begin with."
Baela pursed her lips. "I am well-pleased that he seems to be on the mend. An infected wound often is a death sentence."
Rhaena still did not turn, but her shoulders tensed at Baela's words. "The Gods would have been most cruel to take him from me, before we could even be wed. I still wonder why they allowed a blackguard such as Eldric Arryn to rule."
Baela frowned. "The will of the Gods is difficult, if not impossible to parse. If things were simple, we would have a mother, and a brother. Vhagar would never have been sullied by Aemond's grasping hands, and Rhaenyra might sit the throne."
At that Rhaena turned to face her. "True enough. But while I do not dare curse the Gods for their rulings, I find it harder to forgive the mistakes of mortals. Eldric Arryn deserved the headsman's axe, not an entire Kingdom. Joffrey Arryn was a hard man, but he was the Lady Jeyne's heir. That should have meant something. In the darkest days of the war, she and Jessamyn Redfort provided me with guard and succor. Yet when Jessamyn needed me the most, I could do naught. She died with poison upon her lips only a few chambers removed from me, as the Gates of the Moon opened to welcome their new lord."
"Jessamyn's choice was her own. With Joffrey dead and the Valemen rallying around Eldric, there was naught to be done. You were but a guest of the former Lady, nothing more."
"But Gaemon could have done more. He wields more power than he yet realizes. Not since the days of the Princes Aemon and Baelon has the realm had such powerful men serving the King. And his bonds of kinship are far more tenuous."
"I read the words that came by raven, Rhaena. Gaemon attempted to intervene. But there was little he could do once the Valemen's blood was up. Besides, the Queen did little to prepare her Seeds for independent command. How can we expect them to act on their own impulses when they were warned against doing so for the entire war?"
Her sister studied her, her face grim. "You are right, of course. But the fact remains that our brother sits atop a throne of sand. The North has gone silent since Lord Cregan's return, and I would wager its Lord never intends to return south, now that he has no hope of the fulfillment of his pact with Prince Jacaerys. Torrhen Manderly remains our only link to his erstwhile liege, and we would be fools to believe that he serves without hope of reward. It was his own sister pledged to Joffrey, and from what I hear, he eyes Viserys with covetous eyes. Borros Baratheon plots with our own grandfather to dominate the Crown, and the Riverlands and Reach are spent, and riven with local grievances and desires for vengeance. The West longs to put the Isles to the sword, and by all reports the man appointed to keep the peace could be frightened by the sudden breaking of wind. Before Eldric, the Vale was the last stalwart that could be relied upon, and now even that region seems ready to withdraw its staunch loyalty."
Baela smiled. "You weave such a hopeful tapestry, sister. We might as well call Maegor the Cruel back from the Seven Hells, that he might rein the Seven Kingdoms back into line with Fire and Blood."
Her twin's face brooked no attempt at humor, morbid as it was. "Your jests fall on deaf ears, sister. Our House has not faced worse trials since the death of King Aenys. If we do not circle ranks, we will not survive. We must pray that the loyalty of those who still command dragons of warfighting size remains as unflinching as before, lest we lose it all."
Baela nodded. "If they were not tempted to turn cloak at Tumbleton, they will not be tempted now. I have little doubts as to their loyalties."
Rhaena raised an eyebrow tiredly. "If you were to cast aside your favor for Gaemon, would your thoughts remain the same?"
Baela immediately opened her mouth to issue a retort, then decided to think about the question seriously. "Yes. I've fought with two of those who still serve. The question of Ser Malentine's loyalties remains the only troublesome factor. He and his brothers served the Usurper willingly beginning in the earliest days of the war. I do not believe that he would put aside his thirst for vengeance for any reward, even the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms. Of what use is a Hall of One Hundred Hearths without kin to share them with? The loss of his tongue may have been his first grievance, but the loss of his brothers troubles me more. I could not imagine setting aside your death, should you be wrongfully taken from me."
Rhaena nodded gravely. "I have thought much the same. Even as children, the sons of Aethan Velaryon kept unto themselves. It was only after his death, and after the rumors regarding our cousins, that they revealed their true intentions, and that the malicious untruths spilled forth from their lips."
Baela frowned. "They paid dearly for those claims."
Rhaena's eyes were cold. "Perhaps not dearly enough. What is most odd, however, is his willingness to serve grandfather. Before Vaemond's death, those in opposition to Laenor's heirs considered Corlys equally responsible for the robbery of their birthright. Perhaps Harrenhal was balm enough to soothe those ills, but…"
Warning horns sounded against the winter storm wailing outside of the Stone Drum. Baela rose immediately, hearing the whisper of Rhaena's dress behind her as her twin followed her lead. Glancing at her sister, they dashed down the hall, through the winding stairs, making their way to the great hall. Several household guards moved in unison with them, hands gripping their spears or sword hilts tightly. All was quiet at first, until the doors of the hall were sounded thrice by those posted outside. With a resounding groan, they were dragged open to reveal Dragonstone's newest visitor, cloaked in layers of black coverings to ward off the freezing winds and rains that whipped the island. Small icicles cascaded from the cloak as the visitor removed it from over his head, and as the red Valyrian war-braids revealed themselves, Baela was stunned to realize that Gaemon Waters had arrived on Dragonstone.
By the grim look on his face, she knew that something was amiss immediately.
Falling to one knee, Gaemon bowed his head. "My ladies, I apologize for the lack of notice regarding my arrival. Had matters not been so pressing, I would have sent word first by raven."
Baela felt her throat tighten. "What matters, Ser?"
"Might we speak somewhere with greater privacy?" Gaemon asked.
Nodding, she motioned for him to follow her and her twin. After a few minutes of silence and climbing, they arrived at the apex of the Stone Drum, in the darkened room that housed Aegon's Painted Table. The great polished bronze doors that separated the balcony from the room itself sounded with the pelting of freezing rain, and the citadel around them boomed and groaned with the cacophony of thunder. Gaemon leaned against the right side of the table, his arms resting near Massey's Hook.
"I am not certain if the Hand, your grandfather, made you aware of my movements, but I was commanded to travel to Dragonstone not long after Sers Addam and Malentine were dispatched to menace the Three Daughters, or whatever had replaced them. There were well-founded concerns that in their voracious hunger for slaves the Free Cities would try their luck at raiding the exposed coasts of the Crownlands and Stormlands. The worries of those fearful of such developments proved true. Not long after I landed upon Driftmark to allow the Cannibal to feed, the Regency changed my posting to Sharp Point. While there, the Cannibal and I burned no less than five ships, including one war galley that had raided a small village that was sworn directly to Lord Bar Emmon." Gaemon rose, gliding his hand along the edge of the table, bringing it to a rest on the isle of Tarth. "Lord Bryndemere's castellan and master-at-arms begged for aid against similar raids, and it was after I had received permission to relieve the isle that I received even more dire news. A fleet of Myrish and Tyroshi corsairs had put Estermont to siege with a force of nearly three thousand men and fifty galleys and cogs of various sizes. Lord Estermont was hard-pressed to ward them off, as he had contributed a significant force of his own men to Lord Borros' army that now garrisons the capital. I immediately departed to attempt to relieve the siege, but after I arrived it was made clear to me that the Velaryon Fleet had already beaten me there, having provisioned in Pentos a week or so previously. The Myrish and Tyroshi had been warned by their patrols of the Velaryon approach, and had abandoned the siege already."
Gaemon placed his hand upon the painted waters that bordered the isle of Estermont, tracing the waves absentmindedly. "I was informed that Sers Addam and Malentine had flown onwards, attempting to catch the enemy whilst they were still in the midst of the Narrow Sea, far from support. According to my sources, they caught them quickly, lighting the majority of the fleet afire before they even realized they were under attack, using the evening mists to disguise their approach. It was a fearful slaughter." Gaemon's eyes narrowed. "But whilst I could confirm the flotsam was mostly the remnants of the Daughter's fleet, I also saw several burned-out hulks that sported the Silver Seahorse… also scarred by dragonflame."
Baela's blood ran cold. "Dragonflame? Could they have been captured by the Myrish and Tyroshi in a boarding action? What cause would Sers Addam and Malentine have for burning them?" A gnawing fear began to tug at her insides, icy cold in its grip. Five tongues, and four brothers.
Rhaena watched them both, her knuckles white as she gripped the table near the Three Sisters. She turned to Baela, eyeing her intently. "No boarding action would prompt the burning of a galley; they are too valuable to be cast aside so callously. Those ships were burned intentionally, by one of their own."
Gaemon nodded, confirming their rising fears. "I finally caught Ser Alyn and the rest of his fleet where it had anchored in Stonehelm. They had lost nearly ten ships, and several hundred men. But none of those losses were to the Myrish and Tyroshi. Ser Alyn swore to me that as he arrived, the enemy had already been slaughtered with a savagery that was reminiscent of the Gullet. Burned and blackened corpses were strewn amidst the waves, and screams sounded from the crackling remnants of their vessels. The battle was already over, and was a clear victory. As Seasmoke circled above the waves, watching for any sign of additional enemies, Silverwing attacked from above, grasping her wings within her talons and tearing at her neck with her jaws. The attack occurred so quickly that none were prepared, and Seasmoke was slain in seconds, its head nearly torn from its neck. The sailors swore the sea boiled when its corpse sank beneath the waves."
Baela's stomach turned. "And what of Ser Addam? Did he survive the attack?"
The muscles that flickered across Gaemon's face spoke of pain. "There was no sign of him, though Maletine immediately set upon the fleet, evidently intent on killing Ser Alyn as well. He set several ships alight in the blink of an eye, and would have set even the Queen Rhaenys afire had a lucky volley of arrows not struck Ser Malentine. Several swore that at least one took him between the helm and gorget, causing Silverwing to cease her attack and flee the scene."
Rhaena spoke once more, her voice tight. "Ser Alyn would never have abandoned his brother to the waves, even if the chances of his survival were slight."
Gaemon eyed her. "He did not. After Silverwing's flight, the fleet searched for hours, but as the attack had occurred at sunset, Ser Alyn was forced to retire, as his captains were terrified of another attack at night, when they lacked the sun to guide their aim. When I spoke to him at Stonehelm, he was insistent that we resume the search, but by that point he had received a raven from King's Landing, commanding him to return to Driftmark, that he might inform his grandfather the Hand of the events personally."
A flash of lightning lit the stone floor, its light arcing from beneath the great doors that shielded them from the howling winds. For a time, the room was silent.
Baela finally spoke, the ice within her melting as flames of rage began to stir. "Malentine Velaryonhas spit upon the laws of Gods and Men with his crimes. I name him kinslayer, and I mourn the day my grandfather offered an open hand in reconciliation. I see now that there was never a true opportunity to make amends, only the serpent coiling, waiting for a chance to strike."
Gaemon eyed her, his gaze forlorn. "Ser Addam was a true friend, and a trusted comrade. I feel his loss most keenly. I came here to warn you, and to make certain that Silverwing did not flee to familiar environs. It seems that the great beast has eluded me once again."
Rhaena slammed her first into the table, startling them both. "This year has proven to be a monstrous one for our kin. Such a grievous crime cannot go answered. If the Betrayer was struck in the neck, he may already be dead. More importantly, Silverwing is one of the largest dragons that remains to our family. We cannot allow it to roam loose and maddened in Essos. How many there possess a drop of dragon blood? How many will brave its flames, chasing the irresistible allure of Valyria's greatest weapon? It may kill one hundred would-be riders, but only one need succeed."
The implication was sobering, to say the least. Baela ran her fingers through her hair, steadying herself. "You are of course correct, sister. We must needs pursue Silverwing, as soon as is possible." She turned to Gaemon. "My Moondancer has grown larger by the day. She may not be large enough to threaten Silverwing, but she is far faster, and could aid in the search."
Rhaena pursed her lips. "Grandfather will despise the thought, but if he refuses we will have to beseech Ae- the King ourselves. This matter is of the gravest concern to the Crown. We will need to depart soon." Standing straight, a small smile appeared on her lips. "We may yet still have friends in Pentos as well. We were once its cherished daughters, after all."
Baela smiled in return. "If the city recently hosted Ser Addam and his Betrayer, we might be able to obtain evidence of Silverwing's whereabouts there."
Gaemon eyed them each cautiously. "The Crown has suffered far too many betrayals recently, and I shall not give it justification to view my actions as such. If we are to depart, I wish to do so with a royal order in hand." He stroked his chin. "Besides, Ser Alyn would be enraged if we did not allow him to aid us in any possible way. We must coordinate our response with him as well; whether that includes the Velaryon fleet or not."
Rhaena nodded. "Then we must each ready ourselves for our respective tasks. Ser Addam's widow should also be informed of her new status, grim and tragic as it is."
Baela frowned. She had forgotten the matters regarding Lady Cassandra. "Sister, would you be able to console the Lady Cassandra in her grief? It would allow you to inform Ser Alyn of our plans."
Rhaena pursed her lips. "Actually, sister, I feel it may be far more prudent if you went to High Tide. From all that I have heard, Grandfather still harbors frustrations after your last parting. If I may speak frankly, he also suspects the two of you of impropriety. If you both petition him to fly away to Essos, he is liable to react poorly, regardless of the actual justification."
Gaemon frowned, glancing at Baela, who resisted the urge to grin. Annoyingly, she knew immediately that Rhaena had the right of it. "I… I will go to Driftmark in that case, that I be able to coordinate our response with Ser Alyn and pay my respects to the Lady Cassandra." A pang of sorrow resounded within her at her own words. I am sorry, Addam.
The dragonseed before them bowed his head in thought, before nodding his assent. "Lady Rhaena, in that case, I will be ready to depart for King's Landing in the morn. We will only have a short time to persuade the Lord Hand before Alyn's fleet arrives and Silverwing slips through our fingers."
Crossing the distance, Baela took both Gaemon and Rhaena's hands into her own. She was no longer a stranger to war, but the pursuit of a beast such as Silverwing was no trivial matter. Steeling herself, she squeezed the hands of her companions. "Let us prepare then, that justice be done for Ser Addam, and House Velaryon."
Rhaena and Gaemon glanced at each other, before squeezing her hands in return.
Her sister offered her a small smile, one that reminded her poignantly of their mother. She spoke quietly, but firmly. "For House Velaryon. The Old, the True, the Brave."