Driftmark, High Tide – 122 AC
The royal progress was finally winding down and thank the Gods for that. I was so ready to be done with the endless parade of dusty towns, drafty castles, and sycophantic lords and ladies falling over themselves to impress us. The Vale had been windy and harsh, the Riverlands full of rain and mud, and the Crownlands… well, let's just say I was glad to leave Duskendale behind. But Driftmark? Driftmark was different. Driftmark was home.
Even now, as the ship approached the island, the sea breeze tangling in my hair, I could feel the excitement bubbling up inside me. I leaned over the side of the ship, squinting against the sunlight as Driftmark came into view, its rocky shores and towering cliffs rising from the sea like something out of a dream. The island was draped in the vibrant colors of late summer—deep greens and golds, the cliffs dotted with patches of wildflowers, the waters around it, sparkling like blue diamonds.
The salty tang of the sea air filled my lungs, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I could breathe. Really breathe. Driftmark wasn't just another stop on this never-ending journey; it was where I belonged.
Back when I was Joanna Snow, Winterfell had never felt like home. Oh, I had tried to love it, to convince myself that those cold gray walls were a place I could belong. But Catelyn Tully had made sure I knew the truth—I was a Snow, not a Stark, and Winterfell would never be mine. I was a reminder of a mistake, an inconvenience that had to be tolerated but never truly welcomed. So, I kept a certain distance, a detachment, when it came to Winterfell. It was easier that way. Easier to pretend I didn't care when I was treated like an outsider, easier to remind myself that it wasn't my home, not really.
But Driftmark? Driftmark was a different story entirely. Lucerys Velaryon wasn't some unwanted bastard clinging to a family that barely acknowledged her. I was the Velaryon heiress, the future Lady of the Tides, and this island was mine. I had every right to call Driftmark my home, and I loved it with a fierceness that Joanna Snow had never allowed herself to feel for Winterfell.
The island wasn't as grand or sprawling as Winterfell or King's Landing, but that's what made it special. Driftmark was… alive. The people were vibrant, a mix of Westerosi and Essosi cultures blending together in a way that felt natural and right. The merchants in Spicetown brought goods from all corners of the world—silks from Myr, spices from Dorne, wines from the Arbor. The air was always thick with the scent of exotic spices and roasting meats, mingling with the briny tang of the sea. I loved wandering through the market stalls, listening to the chatter of traders in a dozen different languages, watching the ships come and go in the busy harbor.
Spicetown was a riot of color and noise, there people smiled and laughed, their faces tanned by the sun and roughened by the sea breeze. They were my people, the Velaryon people, and they treated me like I belonged, like I was one of them. It was a far cry from the wary, sidelong glances I used to get in Winterfell, where everyone seemed to be waiting for me to step out of line, to prove that I didn't belong.
High Tide, my family's seat, was perched on a cliff overlooking the sea, a castle that looked like it had been carved from the very rock it stood on. The view from the battlements was breathtaking, the kind of sight that made your heart swell in your chest—endless blue stretching out to the horizon, the waves crashing against the rocks far below, the sun setting the water on fire with hues of gold and red. It was the kind of place that made you feel small in the best possible way, reminded you that you were part of something much larger and more ancient than yourself.
I loved everything about Driftmark—the beaches where Ghost liked to nest, the hidden coves where I could escape the demands of court life and just be myself, the shipyards where my grandsire would take me to watch the ships being built. The Sea Snake was a legend, a man who had sailed farther and seen more than anyone else in Westeros, and yet he always made time for me. He'd tell me stories of his voyages, of the strange lands and even stranger people he'd encountered, and I'd listen, wide-eyed and enraptured, as he brought those far-off places to life.
Driftmark was a place where the past and the present, the old and the new, came together in a way that felt seamless. It was a place where the traditions of Old Valyria were honored, but where there was also room for growth, for change. The people here were proud, but not in the stiff, unyielding way of the northern lords. They were adaptable, open-minded, and fiercely loyal to the Velaryon name.
As the ship pulled into the harbor, I could see the familiar hustle and bustle of Spicetown—the docks crowded with ships, the streets filled with people going about their business. It was loud, chaotic, and utterly perfect. My heart swelled with a fierce kind of pride, knowing that this was my home, my people, my future.
I could see my mother's dragon, Syrax, perched on the cliffs above, her golden scales catching the light. My own dragon, Ghost, was probably somewhere on the beaches, basking in the sun or exploring the hidden coves he loved so much. I couldn't wait to see him, to feel the familiar bond between us strengthen as we reunited.
"My sweet pearl," Laenor's voice broke through my thoughts, and I turned to see him watching me with a fond smile. "You're practically glowing. You're happy to be back, aren't you?"
"More than happy," I admitted, my smile widening as I took in the sight of Driftmark in all its glory. "I've missed this place. There's nowhere else like it in the world."
Laenor chuckled, ruffling my hair in that affectionate way of his. "I'm glad you feel that way. Driftmark is special, and it's yours. One day, all of this will be yours to protect and lead."
"I know," I said, the weight of that responsibility settling over me, but not in a burdensome way. It felt… right. Like something I was born to do. "And I will. I'll protect this island, these people. I'll make sure Driftmark prospers."
Laenor's smile softened, pride shining in his eyes. "I know you will, Lucerys. You have the heart of a true Velaryon."
As we disembarked and made our way through the streets of Spicetown, I couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging that I had never known before. The people here knew me, respected me, not because I was a Targaryen, but because I was Velaryon.
Driftmark was alive with color and sound, the markets full of people from all corners of the world. I could hear the clamor of different languages, see the vivid fabrics and exotic goods on display. The scent of spices hung heavy in the air, mixed with the salty tang of the sea and the earthy smell of freshly caught fish. It was a place of vibrancy, of life, and I loved every bit of it.
As we made our way up to High Tide, I could feel the tension that had weighed on me during the royal progress begin to lift. This was where I was meant to be, where I could finally be myself without the constant pressure to prove something to everyone around me. I didn't need to hide or pretend here—Driftmark was a part of me, as much as I was a part of it.
And as the next Lady of the Tides, I knew that it was my duty to protect this place, to ensure that it continued to thrive long after I was gone. The thought wasn't daunting; it was empowering. I had been given a second chance, a new life, and I wasn't going to waste it. Driftmark would be my legacy, and I would do everything in my power to make sure it flourished.
This was my home, my people, my future. And I would fight for it with everything I had.
The moment we stepped into High Tide, I noticed the hive of activity, buzzing with the energy of preparation for what was clearly intended to be the grandest banquet of the entire royal progress. And why wouldn't it be? This was Driftmark, after all—home of the Sea Snake, the wealthiest man in Westeros, and a place where every corner of the known world seemed to converge. Corlys Velaryon wasn't about to let this opportunity slip by without making a statement. He was aiming to outshine every other banquet we'd attended, and from the looks of it, he was succeeding.
The halls were filled with the scent of freshly caught fish, still practically wriggling, mixed with the heady aroma of spices from Essos—cinnamon, cloves, saffron, all blending together in a way that made your mouth water just by breathing in. The wine was from Dorne, of course—rich and red, with a kick that could knock you off your feet if you weren't careful. And the guests? Well, they were coming from all over. Nobles from Westeros, sure, but also merchants from Braavos, traders from Lys, and even the Prince of Pentos himself was making a stop. High Tide was the center of the world tonight, and everyone knew it.
I couldn't help but giggle as I skipped down the corridor toward my mother's chambers, the silver fabric of my skirt swishing around my legs with each step. The servants were darting back and forth, their arms full of platters, decorations, and all manner of things to make the evening as perfect as possible. The whole castle was alive with the thrill of it, and I was no exception. This wasn't just another stop on our journey—this was home, and I wanted to soak up every moment of it.
Tyla, Alla, and Kate trailed behind me, their faces a mix of amusement and exasperation as they tried to keep up with my pace. I could tell they were just as caught up in the excitement as I was, though. They'd grown up on Driftmark too, and tonight was as much a celebration for them as it was for me.
When I finally reached my mother's chambers, I pushed the door open without bothering to knock—it was my mother, after all. But what I found inside surprised me. Rhaenyra was alone, save for her maids, who were carefully braiding her silver-gold hair, their fingers weaving the intricate patterns with practiced ease. They were working with a kind of reverence, threading rubies into the braids so that they glittered like drops of blood against her pale locks. The effect was breathtaking—she looked every inch the queen she was meant to be.
Rhaenyra caught my eye in the mirror's reflection and smiled, a warmth in her gaze that made my heart swell. "Lucerys," she greeted me, her voice soft and welcoming. Her maids continued their work, adjusting the placement of the rubies and ensuring each braid was perfect, but she managed to give me a sideways hug without disturbing them.
Tyla, Alla, and Kate dipped into respectful bows, but I wasn't about to waste time on formalities. I skipped the rest of the way to her side, wrapping my arms around her waist as much as I could without getting in the way of the maids' nimble fingers.
"Everyone's so busy," I remarked, my voice a little breathless with excitement. "The whole castle is buzzing. Is it true that the Prince of Pentos is coming?"
Rhaenyra chuckled, the sound low and rich, and she pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "It's true," she confirmed, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Your grandsire has outdone himself this time. He's making sure this banquet will be one for the history books."
"Well, it already feels like the center of the world," I said with a grin, leaning into her warmth. It felt good to be here, with her, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of High Tide. No Duskendale, no dark thoughts, just family.
As the maids finished securing the last of the rubies, I glanced around the room, realizing for the first time that it was just the two of us—or as close as we could get with our maids present. "Where is everyone?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.
Rhaenyra's smile widened, and she glanced at the maids, silently signaling that they could step back. "Joffrey is with your grandsire and grandmother," she explained, her voice laced with affection. "Corlys wanted to show him the new ship models they're working on in the shipyard that he has in his office. You know how much your brother loves the ships."
I nodded, a grin tugging at my lips. Joffrey was practically obsessed with the shipyard. "And Jace?" I asked.
"He's with Daemon, Rhaena, and Baela," Rhaenyra continued, turning slightly so she could look at me more directly. "They've been exploring the cliffs and the beaches. You know how Daemon is—always taking them on adventures. They should be back already and getting ready for the banquet."
I couldn't help but laugh at that. Uncle Daemon was like that, always getting himself into some mischief and dragging Jace along with him. Jace didn't mind, though—he loved the excitement, the thrill of exploring places he probably shouldn't.
"And kepa?" I asked, a teasing note in my voice, even though I already knew the answer.
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes in a way that was so perfectly hers, so familiar, that it made my heart ache with love. "Your father is off enjoying his childhood home," she said with a smirk. "Probably reminiscing with your aunt Laena all the places, they used to hide when they were supposed to be studying. Those two are as thick as thieves when they get together."
I giggled, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside me. It was so good to be back, to be surrounded by the people I loved in the place I adored. The worries, the fears that had plagued me in Duskendale—they felt distant now, like a bad dream I could barely remember.
I nestled closer to Rhaenyra, enjoying the feeling of her arm around me, the way her fingers absently stroked my hair. "I love it here," I confessed, the words spilling out without hesitation. "Driftmark… it's different. It feels like… like home."
Rhaenyra's expression softened, and she kissed the top of my head again, her hold on me tightening just a fraction. "It is your home, Lucerys," she murmured, her voice full of warmth and pride. "This is where you belong."
I hummed in acknowledgment to my mother's words, but my attention had already drifted elsewhere. My eyes were locked on the jewelry box sitting on her vanity, the lid slightly ajar, revealing the gleam of something green and beautiful inside. I don't know what drew me to it, but once I noticed the glimmer of jade peeking out, I couldn't look away. It wasn't like me—I'd never cared much for the jewels that were constantly showered upon me. But this… this was different.
Rhaenyra noticed, of course. She always noticed. Her eyes followed my gaze, and I saw the moment when surprise flickered across her face. I could almost hear her thoughts, wondering why I, of all people, would suddenly be interested in jewelry. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate the pieces I'd been given over the years—on the contrary, I knew I was spoiled with the finest things Westeros had to offer. Chests of jewelry, all crafted by the best goldsmiths and jewelers, enough to adorn a queen, let alone a seven-nameday-old princess.
I had everything—a collection passed down from Queen Aemma herself, gifts from my grandsires Corlys and Vaemond, and even from Uncle Daemon, who always managed to find the most exquisite trinkets during his travels. Each piece was more stunning than the last, but if I were honest, they all seemed like… well, just things. Pretty, yes, but nothing more than that. I let my maids choose my accessories because it was what was expected of me. I wore the jewels, the silks, the brooches because I was a princess, and that was what princesses did.
But this jade tiara… it was something else entirely. There was something about it that pulled me in, something that made my fingers itch to touch it, to feel its weight on my head. The green stone seemed to glow in the soft light, the intricate goldwork around it catching every glimmer, every spark. It was beautiful in a way that none of my other jewels were—something ancient, something with a history that felt heavy and real.
Before I could stop myself, I took a step toward the vanity, my eyes fixed on the tiara. But just as I reached out, Rhaenyra moved, quicker than I expected, and picked it up before I could touch it. She turned it over in her hands, her expression shifting into something I couldn't quite read—complicated, like she was remembering something she wasn't sure she wanted to remember.
"Mother?" I asked, the word slipping out before I could stop it. There was something about that tiara, something that seemed to change the air in the room, and it made my chest tighten with an odd mix of anticipation and dread.
Rhaenyra didn't answer right away. Instead, she placed the tiara back in the box and turned to me, her gaze softening. "Sit, Lucerys," she said, guiding me to the seat she'd been sitting in before. Her voice was gentle, but there was something beneath it—something that made me think of long nights and whispered stories.
I sat obediently, looking up at her in the mirror's reflection as she stood behind me. She picked up one of my black locks, running her fingers through it with the same tenderness she always showed. Then, with practiced ease, she began to braid my hair, her movements careful and deliberate. It wasn't often that she did my hair herself—it was usually left to my maids—but when she did, there was something intimate about it, something that made me feel more connected to her than any other time.
She worked in silence, and I didn't dare interrupt her. I watched her in the mirror, her brow furrowed slightly as she concentrated on the braids. But it wasn't just concentration—I could see the emotions playing out on her face, each one flickering in her eyes before she pushed it back down. Nostalgia, sadness, happiness… all mixed together in a way that made my heart ache for her.
Once she finished the braids, she reached for the jade tiara again, her hands steady even though I could tell her thoughts were anything but. She placed it carefully on my head, adjusting it so that it sat just right, the jade stone gleaming against my dark hair.
I looked at myself in the mirror, and a smile spread across my face. The tiara was perfect—more than perfect. It felt right in a way that none of the other jewels I'd worn ever had. I reached up to touch it, feeling the coolness of the jade under my fingers, and for a moment, all I could think was how much I loved it.
But then I glanced up at Rhaenyra's reflection, and my smile faltered. She was watching me with that same complicated expression, her eyes far away, as if she was seeing something other than just her daughter. There was a story here, something deeper than just a piece of jewelry, and it hung in the air between us, heavy and unspoken.
"Mother…?" I began, my voice uncertain. I wanted to ask her about it, to know why this tiara seemed to hold so much meaning for her, but before I could form the words, she shook her head slightly and gave me a gentle smile.
"You look beautiful, Lucerys," she said, her voice softer than before, as if she was holding back something that she wasn't ready to share. "This tiara suits you. From now on, it's yours."
"Mine?" I repeated, the word feeling strange on my tongue. It wasn't just that I was being given another piece of jewelry—this felt different, more significant, like I was being entrusted with something important, something sacred.
"Yes, yours," Rhaenyra confirmed, helping me to my feet. She adjusted the tiara one last time, her fingers lingering on the jade stone as if she was reluctant to let go. Then she took a step back, her eyes sweeping over me with a look of pride, but also something more, something I couldn't quite name.
I looked up at Rhaenyra, wanting to say something, to ask her about what this tiara meant to her, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she took my hand and led me toward the door. "Come, we don't want to be late for the banquet," she said, her tone lightening as she guided me down the corridor.
As we approached the great hall, the sounds of the banquet already spilling out into the corridor, Rhaenyra gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "You look beautiful, Lucerys," she repeated, her voice full of warmth and pride. "Just like a queen."
I looked up at her, and for the first time, I truly believed it. "Thank you, mother," I said, my voice steady and sure. "I'll make you proud."
She smiled down at me, her eyes shining with affection. "You already have."
By the time we entered the banquet hall, the air was thick with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the lively tunes of the musicians. The scent of roasted meats, spiced wines, and sweet pastries filled the air, making my mouth water. Any lingering thoughts about my mother's expression or the weight of the jade tiara perched on my head were quickly pushed aside by the excitement buzzing around me.
The hall was a riot of color and light, the tapestries on the walls depicting scenes of House Velaryon triumphs at sea, the tables laden with enough food to feed a small army. But what really caught my attention was the sight of my brothers, Jacaerys and Joffrey, along with my cousins Baela and Rhaena, already gathered near the long table at the center of the room. Jace was in the middle of regaling them with some exaggerated tale—probably about the time he nearly caught a sea monster or something equally ridiculous. Joff was giggling uncontrollably, his face flushed with excitement, while Baela and Rhaena listened with rapt attention, their eyes wide.
As soon as they saw me, their faces lit up. "Lucy!" Joffrey shouted, bounding over to me with the kind of unbridled enthusiasm that only a five name days boy could muster. He grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the group. "Come on! Jace was just telling us about the time he fought off a pirate with nothing but a spoon!"
"A spoon?" I raised an eyebrow at Jace, who was grinning like a cat who'd just caught a particularly juicy mouse. "Really, Jace? You're going with that one?"
Jace shrugged, not the least bit ashamed. "Well, it was a very sharp spoon," he said, his tone completely serious. "And besides, it worked, didn't it? The pirate ran away screaming."
Baela snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Ran away screaming because he saw how bad you are at making up stories, more like."
Rhaena giggled, her eyes sparkling as she leaned in close. "Don't worry, Lucerys. We didn't believe a word of it."
I laughed along with them, the sound was bright and carefree. It felt good to be with them, to be surrounded by the people I loved most in the world, in a place that felt more like home than anywhere else ever had. Whatever worries or doubts I had been carrying, they seemed to melt away in the warmth of their laughter and the joy of the moment.
We spent the next hour or so eating and talking, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine being poured- not that we were permitted even a drop of it. The food was as incredible as I'd expected—roast boar with honeyed apples, spiced fish fresh from the sea, and sweet cakes topped with sugared flowers. Joffrey, of course, went straight for the honeycakes, while Baela and Rhaena tried just about everything on the table, their plates piled high with treats.
Baela nudged me with her elbow, her sharp eyes flicking up to the tiara perched on my head. "That's new," she remarked, a teasing note in her voice. There was always that playful edge to her, like she couldn't help herself from stirring the pot, no matter where we were. "Where'd you get it? Did you steal it from your mother's collection when she wasn't looking?"
"Hardly," I shot back, rolling my eyes at her. Baela always knew how to push just the right buttons to get a reaction, and tonight was no different. "It was a gift."
She raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she let out a low whistle. "A jade tiara as a gift, huh? That's impressive. Guess that means you're really moving up in the world."
"Or," I drawled, not missing a beat, "my mother just wanted to get rid of some old jewelry." I flashed her a smirk, knowing full well that wasn't true. There was weight behind that tiara, and we both knew it. It wasn't just some old piece of jewelry Rhaenyra had dug up from the bottom of a chest. But tonight wasn't the night to dwell on family politics or long-forgotten legacies. Tonight was about laughter and lightness—something rare enough in our world. And I wasn't about to let the heaviness of that tiara spoil it.
Baela rolled her eyes right back at me, though the grin on her face said she was more amused than offended. She could play the game just as well as I could, and that's what I liked about her. She wasn't the type to back down or give me some empty compliment just because I was Lucerys Velaryon, daughter of the future queen.
Rhaena, quieter and more thoughtful than her sister, had been listening to our exchange with a soft smile on her face. There was something so grounding about Rhaena's presence, always calm in the middle of whatever storm Baela and I whipped up. She looked up at me, her eyes warm as she spoke. "It looks beautiful on you, Lucerys," she said softly, with a kind of reverence. "Just like a real queen."
I blinked at that, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. I could feel the warmth in my chest swell at her words, a tenderness that only Rhaena could spark. "Thanks, Rhaena," I replied, my voice a little softer now. It wasn't just what she said—it was the way she said it, like she really meant it. Rhaena had always been the gentler of the two, the one with more heart, quick to offer a kind word where Baela would just elbow me in the ribs and call me a show-off. I loved them both for it.
The conversation shifted then, as it so often did when we were together, to dragons. Specifically, Morning, the bright pink dragon that had hatched from the egg I had given Rhaena. It was one of the proudest moments of my life, giving her that egg. She hadn't expected it, hadn't even dared to hope, but when that egg cracked open and Morning's little face peered up at her, it was like the world changed for Rhaena.
"She's growing so fast," Rhaena said, her eyes wide with wonder as she talked about her dragon. "Every time I look at her, it's like she's a little bigger. And she's so curious, always sniffing around and exploring everything. I swear, she's going to get herself stuck in some narrow corridor one of these days."
I smiled, listening to Rhaena's excitement. She talked about Morning with a kind of awe, like she still couldn't believe the dragon was really hers. And in a way, I understood that feeling. The bond between a rider and their dragon was something that couldn't be explained, only felt. I had Ghost, my pale white dragon with wings like a winter storm, and from the moment I first rode him, I knew I was bound to him in ways deeper than blood.
"I'm glad you have her," I said, catching Rhaena's gaze. "She suits you. There's something about the two of you together—it just feels right."
Rhaena's smile brightened, and she nodded, her eyes shining with pride. "I never thought I'd have a dragon like Morning. I mean, I dreamed about it, of course, but... I didn't really think it would happen."
Baela, who had been half-listening as she fiddled with the clasp on her bracelet, grinned over at her sister. "You should've seen Rhaena when Morning first started flying," she said with a mischievous glint in her eye. "She looked like she was going to pass out from excitement."
"Baela!" Rhaena protested, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"I'm not wrong," Baela shot back with a laugh. "You were practically vibrating with joy."
Rhaena huffed, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. "I wasn't that bad."
"You were," I chimed in, unable to resist joining in the teasing. "But in a good way."
Rhaena crossed her arms, still blushing but smiling all the same. "Well, I can't help it. Morning's special."
"She is," I agreed, my voice more sincere this time. "Every dragon is."
There was a brief silence between us, a moment where everything felt... right. The three of us together, talking about dragons and tiaras and teasing each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. As the evening wore on, the musicians struck up a livelier tune, and before I knew it, we were all pulled onto the dance floor.
Baela, always the most spirited of us, grabbed my hands and spun me around, her laughter ringing out over the music. "Come on, Lucerys! Show us those moves!"
I grinned, letting her lead me in a wild dance, the two of us twirling and spinning with abandon. Jace and Joffrey joined in, their movements less coordinated but no less enthusiastic. Rhaena, ever the graceful one, danced with a fluidity that made her look like she was floating on air, her feet barely touching the ground. The five of us moved together in a chaotic, joyful blur, the worries of the world forgotten in the swirl of music and laughter.
There was a moment, just a brief one, where I caught a glimpse of my mother and father watching us from across the room. Rhaenyra was smiling, her eyes soft with love and pride, while Laenor looked at us with a kind of wistfulness, as if he was remembering his own childhood on Driftmark. They didn't say anything, didn't interrupt our fun, but just seeing them there, knowing they were watching over us, made the moment even more perfect.
By the time the music slowed, and we finally collapsed into a pile of exhausted, giggling children, I felt lighter than I had in weeks. The shadows of Duskendale seemed like a distant memory, something that belonged to another world, another life. Here, on Driftmark, surrounded by my family and friends, I felt safe, secure, and most of all, happy.
The night had grown late, as I lay there, catching my breath and listening to the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs outside, I couldn't help but smile to myself. The once lively banquet hall was now a scene of drunken revelry. The laughter and music had become a hazy blur, like a dream fading at dawn. Most of the guests were swaying on their feet, their speech slurred, their movements uncoordinated. Even Jace and Baela had given in to exhaustion, their heads nodding sleepily as they leaned against each other, while Rhaena and Joffrey were already snuggled up in a corner, fast asleep.
I was being led back to my chambers by Tyla, Alla, and Kate, the three of them chatting softly as we made our way down the dimly lit corridors of High Tide. The excitement of the evening was still buzzing in my veins, the memories of dancing and laughter warming me from the inside out. But my eyelids were heavy, and I knew it wouldn't be long before sleep claimed me.
As we rounded a corner, the soft murmur of voices reached my ears, along with the unmistakable scent of strong wine. It wasn't unusual to encounter guests who had overindulged on nights like this, but something about this voice was familiar, a low drawl that sent a ripple of unease through my maids. Tyla's grip on my arm tightened just slightly, and I glanced up to see her and the others exchange nervous looks.
"What's wrong?" I asked, my curiosity piqued by their sudden tension. It wasn't like them to be so on edge.
Before any of them could answer, the source of the voice came into view, and I understood why they were so uneasy. Uncle Daemon, visibly drunk, was leaning against a column, a half-empty goblet of wine in his hand. His silver hair was disheveled, his usually sharp gaze dulled by the alcohol. But even in this state, there was something about him that made the air crackle with intensity.
"Uncle!" I greeted him, my voice filled with the same warmth I always felt when I saw him.
Daemon had always been a favorite of mine, with his wildness and unpredictability, his charm and his edge. But tonight, there was something different about him—something that set my nerves on edge. My maids tensed even more, as if they were expecting trouble, but I couldn't see why. Drunk or not, Daemon would never hurt me. He was family.
Daemon's gaze, however, wasn't on me. His eyes were fixed on the jade tiara that still sat atop my head, the one my mother had placed there earlier in the evening. His expression was hard to read, a mix of emotions flickering across his face—regret, longing, sadness. It was as if the sight of the tiara had pulled him out of whatever drunken stupor he was in, grounding him in a memory he couldn't shake.
He took a step closer, and my maids stiffened, but I stood my ground, more curious than afraid. Daemon's eyes finally met mine, and for a moment, I saw something in them that I'd never seen before—a vulnerability, a rawness that made my heart twist in my chest.
"That tiara," he began, his words slightly slurred but still clear enough to understand. "It's beautiful, isn't it? I was the one who gave it to your mother, you know. She was about your age then, maybe a bit older. I found it on one of my… adventures." He chuckled darkly, the sound low and rough. "It's said to have belonged to the Empress of Leng."
The Empress of Leng. Even in my tired state, I recognized the significance of that. Leng was a mysterious, distant place, a land of strange gods and ancient powers. The idea that this tiara had once adorned the head of an empress from such a far-off land made it feel even more significant, more important. But it wasn't just the history of the tiara that struck me—it was the way Daemon spoke about it, about how he had given it to my mother.
I had always known there was something between Daemon and Rhaenyra, something deeper than what they let on. They were like twin flames, drawn to each other in a way that was impossible to ignore, but also dangerous, their combined fire threatening to consume them both. Viserys had done everything he could to keep them apart, but there was a connection there that couldn't be severed by mere words or royal decrees.
Daemon's eyes drifted back to the tiara, his fingers brushing against the rim of his goblet. "She was so much like you, Lucerys," he murmured, almost to himself. "Bright, full of fire, full of life. But I—" He stopped, swallowing hard, his expression tightening as if he was trying to choke back something he couldn't quite put into words. "This time," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "this time, I'll do better. I won't let it end the same way."
I didn't know what to say. What could I say? I was just a child, and yet I understood more than he probably realized. The weight of the unspoken between him and my mother hung heavy in the air, thick with years of regret and missed chances. They were two sides of the same coin, bound together by something stronger than duty or blood, but torn apart by fate.
Before I could find the words, I heard footsteps behind us, quick and purposeful. Laenor and Laena appeared, and I could see the tension in my father's posture as soon as he saw Daemon. Laenor's face darkened, a scowl pulling at his features as he took in the scene before him.
"Laena," Laenor said sharply, his voice cold and controlled. "Take your husband back to his chambers."
Laena didn't hesitate. She moved to Daemon's side, wrapping an arm around his waist, and he allowed himself to be guided away without protest. But as they left, Daemon glanced back at me, a small, sad smile on his lips, and I felt a pang of something—pity, maybe, or understanding. He wasn't just drunk; he was lost, trapped in a web of his own making, and I wasn't sure if he'd ever find his way out.
Once they were gone, Laenor turned to me, his expression softening as he knelt to my level. "Are you alright, my pearl?" he asked, his voice full of concern. "Did he say anything to upset you?"
I shook my head, still processing what had just happened. "No, Kepa. He's just… sad. And regretful."
Laenor's eyes softened, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "Yes," he said quietly, reaching out to brush a lock of hair away from my face. "I suppose he is. But don't worry about Daemon. He has a way of finding trouble, but he'll be fine."
He didn't say more, but there was a weight in his words, a knowing that came from years of experience, of living in this world where power and love and regret were all tangled up together. Laenor stood up and took my hand, leading me the rest of the way to my chambers. The hallways were quieter now, the sounds of the banquet fading into the distance, and the cool air was a welcome relief after the warmth of the feast.
When we reached my room, Laenor helped me into bed, tucking the covers around me with the same care he always showed. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, his gaze lingering on the tiara placed on the nightstand beside me.
"You really are like your mother, you know," he said softly, his tone both fond and wistful. "Strong, brave, always doing what's right, even when it's hard."
I looked up at him, the weight of his words settling over me like a blanket. "Do you think… do you think Uncle Daemon will be okay?" I asked, my voice small in the quiet of the room.
Laenor's smile was gentle, though there was a hint of sadness in it. "Daemon is… complicated," he admitted, choosing his words carefully. "But he's not a bad man, Lucerys. Just a man who's made some bad choices. We all have regrets; things we wish we could have done differently. But life goes on, and we do the best we can with what we have."
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead, the warmth of his touch chasing away the last of the lingering unease. "You don't need to worry about him, though. You just focus on being the amazing person you are, and leave the rest to the adults, alright?"
I nodded, feeling a little more at ease, though the image of Daemon's sad smile lingered in my mind. Laenor gave me one last smile before standing up and heading for the door, leaving me alone in the dim light of the room.
As I lay there, my thoughts swirling like the waves outside, I couldn't help but wonder about the future—about what would happen to all of us. The world was so full of uncertainty, so full of things I didn't understand, but in that moment, I decided that I wouldn't let it weigh me down. I would do what my father said—I would focus on being the best version of myself I could be, on making the most of the life I'd been given.
