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Chapter 35 Daughter
🕑 Added 2025-06-13 15:23:07 +0000 UTCDriftmark, House Velaryon
Within one of its warmer chambers, Lord Corlys Velaryon paced beneath the flickering light of a hearthfire.
In his hands, slightly crumpled from how tightly he gripped it, was a sealed letter bearing the unmistakable seal of the Crown.
The door creaked open. A maid stepped in, bowing slightly.
“My lord… Lady Rhaenys is here.”
Corlys stopped pacing but didn’t look up. He only gave a short nod.
Moments later, Rhaenys swept in, loosening the fur around her shoulders. A faint smile played on her lips.
“It took some convincing to put Laena to sleep. She already has the lungs of a dragon.”
Her tone was light, but it faded when she caught sight of her husband’s face. “What is it?”
Corlys said nothing. Instead, he extended the letter.
Rhaenys took it with a raised brow. As her eyes began scanning the words, her expression slowly shifted…curiosity, confusion… then disbelief.
She looked up sharply.
“This… this can’t be right.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Aegon?”
Corlys didn’t answer. He only watched her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes betrayed his own lingering disbelief.
She read the message again, slower this time.
A royal hunt… in two moons’ time… to honor the awakening of Prince Aegon as a Valyrian Pyromancer…
Rhaenys stared at the words as if they might rearrange themselves into something more believable.
“This…” she stammered. “This can’t be real…”
But then, her breath caught. Memory flared.
The daggers.
The Valyrian steel blades Aegon had given her more than a year ago. Told her they were “discovered,” asked her to sell them discreetly, to keep his name out of it.
She had wondered then, but now the truth hit her like a crashing wave.
She said nothing, only slowly lowered the letter to her lap, her mind racing.
Corlys’s voice broke the silence. “That raven arrived just an hour past. Sent from Dragonstone.”
He sat down heavily in a chair beside the fire.
The fire crackled between them. Rhaenys stared into it, the flames dancing in her eyes, mirroring the storm within.
“…Do you think it’s true?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. She had held the proof in her own hands. Sold it. Profited from it. And promised never to speak of it.
Corlys leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped loosely between them.
“If it’s not true… then the King has lost his wits and sent ravens to every lord and lady in the realm for a jest.”
His lips twitched, but it wasn’t humor, just disbelief laced with a trace of awe. “A royal hunt… named in his honor. That’s not rumor, Rhaenys. That’s a declaration. A crowning.”
Rhaenys was quiet.
Corlys turned his gaze to the fire again, the flames reflecting in his eyes.
“It’s as if the gods themselves favor House Targaryen.” There was no anger in his voice, only a bitter undercurrent of something older: longing… and envy.
Rhaenys moved slowly, almost in a daze, and sank into the chair beside him.
Corlys looked at her, his voice quieter now.
“Already the youngest dragonrider… and now this. A Valyrian Pyromancer.” He laughed once, dryly. “The third son of the heir. Barely past childhood.”
He shook his head. “Why them? Why always them?”
Rhaenys said nothing. Her eyes were still on the letter.
“Our blood is the same,” Corlys continued. “Both of our houses come from the old Freehold. We sailed with them. We bled beside them. But they have the dragons. The fire. The throne.”
He gestured toward the window where the sea crashed below.
“And we… we fish for coin and build ships, scraping our legacy from the waves..”
Silence settled between them, heavy and long.
Only the fire in the hearth crackled, casting warm light across the stone chamber.
Then, Corlys spoke, his voice quiet and thoughtful as his gaze lingered on the flames.
“Did the dragon egg show any signs of hatching?”
Rhaenys blinked at the sudden shift in topic. She looked down at her hands for a moment before answering.
“No,” she said softly. “Only half of them ever do, they say. The rest stay cold.”
Corlys exhaled, slow and deep, eyes distant.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching the fire flicker and dance. Then, after a long pause:
“You know Laena will have to marry someday.”
Rhaenys turned to look at him sharply, her expression tightening. “What are you saying?”
Corlys met her eyes directly. “I plan to betroth our daughter to Aegon.”
Rhaenys stood at once, startled. “No. No, Corlys, she’s barely two moons old! She’s a baby. You can’t mean this.”
Corlys didn’t flinch. “Of course they would not be wed until they’re both much older,” he said, calm but resolute.
“This is only a betrothal. A future alliance.”
Rhaenys’s brow furrowed, her voice rising. “She hasn’t even learned to crawl, and you’re already choosing her husband? What about her wishes?”
Corlys sighed again and stood slowly, approaching her but keeping his tone even.
“I know you care about her happiness. And I know you know about Aegon.”
That made Rhaenys falter.
“You’ve always spoken kindly of him,” Corlys continued. “Do you think he would make a cruel husband? A poor match?”
Rhaenys’s breath caught in her throat. Memories flitted through her mind, Aegon’s wry humor, his clever words, the fire behind his eyes when he spoke of things beyond his years.
She didn’t answer, but her silence was telling.
Corlys pressed on, voice lowering.
“He’s not just the third son anymore. He’s the youngest dragonrider Westeros has seen. And now…” He gestured faintly toward the letter on the table. “Now he’s something no one’s seen since the Doom.”
“A Valyrian Pyromancer,” Rhaenys whispered.
Corlys nodded. “That kind of power… tied to our bloodline? Imagine what it could mean for our House, Rhaenys. For Laena. If we had dragons and fire magic in our blood…”
Rhaenys looked away, her jaw tight, struggling to find the line between her daughter’s future and her family’s legacy.
She understood now, not just the ambition, but the desperation. Corlys didn’t just want power.
He wanted balance.
Targaryens ruled the skies, the throne… and now the flame itself.
And House Velaryon? They were always beside them. But never equal.
Rhaenys closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them slowly.
“You don’t just want Laena to marry a prince.”
Corlys met her gaze without blinking.
“You want House Velaryon to share in that fire.”
Corlys didn’t deny it.
Instead, he stepped closer, placing a firm hand on Rhaenys’s shoulder.
“Yes,” he said quietly, intently. “If it’s true…if he really is a Pyromancer…then I want that fire carried in Velaryon blood.”
Rhaenys looked up at him, and in his eyes, she saw it: ambition, burning and unhidden, like the fires of Driftmark’s forges turned inward.
Her lips tightened. The fire cracked in the hearth, spitting embers as if it, too, had something to say.
“You forget…” she said quietly, “I am a Targaryen too.”
Corlys’s eyes met hers. “Then why didn’t they do you right?” he asked, his voice soft but bitter.
“Your claim…cast aside like it was ash on the wind. Passed over, dismissed… because you were a woman. Because you were not him.”
She didn’t respond, but her silence spoke louder than words.
Corlys stepped closer, his tone shifting, less anger, more urgency now.
“Think about our daughter, Rhaenys. Think of Laena. Think of what could be hers… what could be ours. This…” he gestured broadly, “...this fire, this power… it doesn’t have to be only theirs.”
He paused, watching her closely.
“This isn’t just about them. It’s about legacy. About House Velaryon no longer waiting in the shadows of dragons. It’s about standing beside them…not as shipbuilders and seafarers alone, but as equals. As fire-blooded kin.”
Rhaenys let out a slow breath, her hand brushing over her lap as though calming herself.
He turned and began pacing the chamber, the letter still resting on the table behind him like a coiled secret.
“The Targaryens already have dragons,” he said. “But House Velaryon…we…we must not be left behind. If they have the skies… then we must take the flame.”
Rhaenys’s eyes narrowed slightly. “There are no records…none…that say pyromancy can be passed by blood. This isn’t like bonding a dragon.”
“I know,” Corlys replied, stopping to face her again. “But do we even understand how magic does pass? Who wrote the laws on this? No one’s seen a Valyrian Pyromancer since the Doom, and that boy…” he gestured vaguely toward the letter, “...he’s changed everything.”
He took a breath, then added, “And there’s more than just fire to think about. There’s succession.”
Rhaenys stiffened. “Succession?”
Corlys nodded. “Prince Viserys still hasn’t claimed a dragon. Prince Daemon hasn’t either. But Aegon? He bonded with Dreamfyre when he was barely seven. And now this…pyromancy. That puts him far ahead of his brothers.”
Rhaenys felt a chill settle into her chest, though it warred with a quiet sense of awe.
Corlys turned back toward the fire, the flames reflected in his eyes. “The king passed over us once,” he said, his voice low and bitter. “Said a woman had no place on the throne. But this… this might be another path.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “If our daughter marries him…if she bears his children…then who could question her place at the heart of the realm? That boy’s blood… it’s stronger, older, purer than either of his brothers’. He’s not just the third son anymore. He’s something greater.”
Rhaenys didn’t respond this time. Her mouth was slightly open, her thoughts racing.
Corlys saw the silence, and he smiled, not smugly, but like a sailor who finally saw the glint of harbor lights through storm.
“This is the kind of chance that only comes once in a lifetime,” he said softly. “We cannot waste it.”
He paused, his tone shifting as he turned back toward her.
“But before anything,” he added, “we must see it with our own eyes. Confirm what the king’s letter claims.”
Then his gaze sharpened. “And we must move quickly. The raven reached Driftmark first because of our proximity to Dragonstone. But the other houses… they’ll receive theirs soon enough. And you know how they’ll react. Power like this…it draws attention…and greed.”
Rhaenys didn’t argue. She couldn’t. The truth lay between them like the fire in the hearth, undeniable, consuming.
Slowly, silently, she nodded.
Comments
Hooli4ss
Allying himself even further with the Seahorses is always a good move .
VaeVictis9
Excellent. The politics, the schemes, beautifully done.
Gopard
Thanks for the chapter! And then what makes him think the First Pyromancer since the Doom would agree to be bethrothed to a newborn babe? What makes them think the King and Queen would ever allow such a betrothal to go through this early lmao?
