Driftmark, High Tide – 131 AC
The moment the news of Lucerys's attack reached Driftmark, it was as if a storm had descended upon High Tide. The entire island was in an uproar, the Velaryon forces snapping to attention with a fervor I hadn't seen since the days of the War for the Stepstones. I was at the heart of it, directing preparations, ensuring every ship, every sword, every ounce of our strength was ready to be unleashed upon our enemies. The Triarchy and those cursed Dornishmen had made a grave mistake by coming into our waters, and they were about to learn just how deadly that mistake would be.
Aemond was with me, the boy who would one day be Lord Consort of Driftmark, and though he wasn't born a Velaryon, I could see the blood of Old Valyria burning hot within him. He had flown Arrax to High Tide the moment he heard the news, the sight of his dragon descending upon our keep like a shadow in the night filling me with a grim pride. The boy was fearless, driven, and though he was still young, I could see the makings of a true leader in him. He would be a fitting match for Lucerys, though right now, that wasn't what occupied his mind.
His reaction to the news of Ghost and Lucerys slaying Cannibal had mirrored my own—a sharp pang of pride mixed with a deep, gnawing concern. Lucerys had done what no one else could, bringing down the most fearsome dragon that had ever flown the skies of Westeros. But the cost of that victory weighed heavily on us both. We knew what it meant to survive such battles, the toll it took on both body and spirit.
But then, something changed in Aemond. As the full implications of the attack set in, I saw it—an expression I'd only ever seen on Daemon's face during the height of the War for the Stepstones. It was the Targaryen fire, that infamous rage that seemed to consume them whole, turning them into something more than human. Aemond's face hardened, his eye burning with a fury that promised nothing but destruction for those who had dared to harm his kin. It was as if a dragon had been awakened within him, and I knew then that fire would rain down upon the Dornishmen and the Triarchy.
"You understand what this means," I said to him as we stood on the cliffs overlooking the sea, the wind whipping through our hair, carrying the scent of salt and the promise of blood. "They've crossed a line they can never uncross. They've declared war on us, and they'll pay the price for their arrogance."
Aemond nodded, his jaw set, his hands clenched into fists. "They'll regret the day they ever set foot in our waters," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "We'll burn their ships, slaughter their men, and make them beg for mercy that will never come."
There was no hesitation in his words, no doubt. He was ready, as ready as any warrior I'd ever seen. And I knew he meant every word. The Triarchy and Dorne had awakened the dragon, and there would be no stopping the firestorm that was about to descend upon them.
"We'll sail with the tide," I told him, my own voice hardening with the resolve that had seen me through countless battles. "Every ship we have, every man who can hold a sword, will be ready. And when we reach the Stepstones, we'll remind them why the name Velaryon is feared across the seas."
Aemond's lips curled into a grim smile, a reflection of the one I felt tugging at my own mouth. There was something deeply satisfying about the prospect of war, about the idea of crushing our enemies beneath the might of our combined forces. It was a dangerous thought, one that had led many a man to ruin, but in that moment, I didn't care. The Triarchy and Dorne had brought this upon themselves, and I would see them pay for their insolence.
As we turned to head back to the keep, where the preparations were reaching a fever pitch, I placed a hand on Aemond's shoulder, stopping him for just a moment. "You've grown, lad," I said, my voice quieter now, more reflective. "You've become a man in your own right, and I'm proud of you. But remember this—war is a brutal, unforgiving thing. It will take everything from you if you let it. Don't lose yourself in the fire."
Aemond met my gaze, and for a moment, I saw the boy he used to be, the one who looked up to his elders with a mix of awe and fear. But that moment passed quickly, replaced by the steely resolve that now defined him. "I won't, Lord Corlys," he replied, his voice steady. "But I won't let them take anything from us, either. Not without a fight."
I nodded, satisfied with his answer. He was ready, and so was I. We would sail to the Stepstones, and we would show the world what it meant to cross the Velaryons and the Targaryens. This war would not be easy, and the cost would be high, but it was a price we were willing to pay. The tide was turning, and the winds of war were at our backs. We would sail to the Stepstones, and we would show our enemies the true meaning of fear. The dragons were coming, and the seas would run red with the blood of those who dared to stand against us.
And I, Corlys Velaryon, would lead them to victory.
As we made our way back to the keep, the final preparations were being made. The ships were being loaded with supplies, the men armed to the teeth, their faces set with the same determination that burned within me. Driftmark was a fortress, a place of strength and power, and we would bring that power to bear on our enemies.
As the wheelhouse made its way through the entrance of High Tide, I saw the gathering crowd of smallfolk, and I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. They had come in droves, clutching flowers and murmuring prayers, all for the Pearl of Driftmark—my granddaughter, Lucerys. She wasn't just a princess to them, or their Maiden come again; she was now their Warrior Princess. The way they spoke her name, with such reverence and love, brought a rare smile to my face. It wasn't often that the smallfolk took to one of their rulers like this, but Lucerys had earned it. She had faced down the darkest of nightmares and emerged victorious, and now she would pass into history as one of the greatest Velaryons, perhaps even one of the greatest Targaryens.
It wasn't just the people of Driftmark who were proud of her—so was I. I had always known there was something special about Lucerys, something that set her apart from the rest. She had the blood of Old Valyria running through her veins, and she had proven it with the slaying of Cannibal, a dragon so feared that even the bravest men spoke of him in whispers. That she had faced him and lived was a testament to her strength and her courage. She had done what many thought was impossible, and now she was a legend in her own right.
Aemond was sitting in front of me, he had been quiet since the preparations began, his usual fire tempered by something deeper, something more profound. I could see the change in him, the way he carried himself now—more like a man than a boy, and I knew that Lucerys had a great deal to do with that.
"The smallfolk adore her," Aemond commented, his voice low, almost reverent. There was something in his tone, something that spoke of more than just admiration. It was love, plain and simple, the kind that made a man willing to burn the world for the one he cared for.
I nodded, my eyes still on the gathering. "They do," I agreed. "And they should. Lucerys has done more for them in her childhood than many lords have done in a lifetime. She's not just a princess to them, Aemond. She's their hero."
Aemond smiled, a rare and genuine expression that softened the sharpness of his features. "She's our hero too," he said, and there was no mistaking the pride in his voice. "I don't think she even realizes how much she means to everyone, how much we all love her."
I glanced at him, taking in the fierce determination in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened with resolve. "We'll make sure she knows," I said firmly. "And we'll make sure she's safe, no matter what it takes. I won't let anyone harm her again. Not while I still draw breath."
Aemond nodded, his gaze turning out toward the sea, where the waves crashed against the rocks below. There was a storm brewing out there, both in the world and in the hearts of those who had wronged us. We would meet it head-on, as we always did, but this time, we had something more to fight for. We had Lucerys, and we wouldn't let her be taken from us.
"Have you heard from Princess Rhaenys?" Aemond asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between us. His voice was calm, but I could sense the undercurrent of worry that ran beneath it.
"She's already on her way to Bloodstone," I replied, watching as a flock of seabirds took flight over the waves. "Meleys is with her. She couldn't be kept away, not with Lucerys in danger."
Aemond let out a breath, a small, relieved sound. "Good. She'll be safe with Princess Rhaenys. And Meleys… well, the Queen Who Never Was will make sure nothing touches her."
I couldn't help but scoff, a wry smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Aye, but we better hope Rhaenys leaves something for the rest of us," I said, the thought bringing a dark amusement to my voice. "Knowing her and Meleys, Dorne and the Triarchy will be nothing but ash by the time we're ready to sail. My wife was never one to let an insult go unanswered, and this—this is more than an insult. This is war."
Aemond's smile mirrored my own, but there was a fire in his eyes, a burning desire for retribution that I understood all too well. "We'll make them regret it," Aemond said, his voice quiet but filled with that Targaryen fire that had ignited within him. "We'll make them wish they had never set foot in our waters."
I nodded, my own resolve hardening as I looked out at the horizon. The waves crashed against the rocks, relentless and unforgiving, much like the storm that was coming for our enemies. We were Velaryons, forged in the sea, tempered by fire, and we would not be broken.
"The tide is with us," I said, my voice carrying over the roar of the sea. "And we'll use it to sweep our enemies away. They've underestimated us, Aemond. They've underestimated what it means to cross a Velaryon, to cross a Targaryen. But they'll learn. By the Gods, they'll learn."
Aemond's gaze hardened, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, as if he could already feel the battle that was to come. "They'll learn, and they'll burn," he said, and there was no mistaking the promise in his words. The Triarchy and Dorne had made their move, and now it was our turn.
The smallfolk continued to gather, their prayers and offerings a testament to the love they bore for Lucerys. They believed in her, in us, and that belief would carry us through the coming storm. We would fight, we would bleed, but we would emerge victorious. There was no other option.
As I stepped out of the wheelhouse, watching the people of Driftmark pay tribute to their Warrior Princess, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. This was what we were fighting for—not just for revenge, not just for pride, but for the future of our house, for the legacy we would leave behind. Lucerys was a part of that legacy now, and we would make sure it was one that would be remembered for generations to come.
"Come, lad," I said to Aemond, clapping him on the shoulder as I turned to head back to High Tide. "We have preparations to finish, and a war to win."
Aemond fell into step beside me, his determination matching my own. The storm was coming, but we would face it together, as we always had. And when it was over, when the fires had burned themselves out, Driftmark would still stand, and so would House Velaryon.
Because we were born of the sea, and like the sea, we would endure.
