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High Tide, Chapter 41: The Thickness of Blood
🕑 Added 2023-09-16 18:20:05 +0000 UTCThird Moon, 109 AC
Gael Targaryen
“Well here comes another useless bootlicker,” her husband complained. Gael turned her eyes to the supposed licker of boots in question, Lord Otto Hightower of Highwatch, Governor of the Stepstones.
She smirked at her husband. “You were the one who decided you wanted to attend court today. You could have been drinking with your cronies and captains out in the city instead.”
Daemon returned her smirk at her. “You would have complained if I did that.”
Gael smiled softly. “And you know it.”
The City Watch’s training had been middling at best and their management and patrols unorganized when Daemon had first taken over as the Commander of the City Watch. In the span of nine years, Daemon had made them into a force to truly be reckoned with. He had whipped them into shape, training and drilling them extensively until they were easily the match if not the better of the City Watch of Lannisport or Spicetown. A proud symbol and example of the order House Targaryen brought to Westeros.
As a reminder of his pride in them, Daemon had given each of the watchmen a standard uniform to be proud of, one of fine make and easily distinguishable from the nameless crowds of King’s Landing. Her husband had issued iron cudgels, dirks, and spears to the rank-and-file and given them black chainmail and boots and gloves to wear. To his officers and the captains of the gates, he had requisitioned black breastplates ornamented with four golden disks to denote their privileged rank and he had gifted each of them with a longsword to wield and had personally trained them in its use. Last but not least was a fine cloak of heavy wool, dyed in gold and worn by every member of the City Watch, including Daemon himself when he was on duty. A proud and noble color that was the truest badge of their authority and position.
The gold cloaks as the people called them, had rid King’s Landing of all its filth and criminals within a year of Daemon taking command. Some called Daemon’s actions brutal in how far he went, but Gael knew full well the extent of the depravity in the darkest parts of the city and had only approval of her husband’s actions.
He was called the Prince of the City now, though his enemies in court dared to mock him as Lord Fleabottom. How Gael hated that insult even as Daemon seemed to embrace it, truly becoming a prince of the people and greatly beloved by them no matter how harsh and strict he was as the commander of their Watch. Out of all of them, Daemon was the one who knew King’s Landing most and the city knew him in turn. He was always on the frontline against criminals or scum, always seen protecting the people, and they loved him for it.
She was proud of what Daemon had accomplished and the dedication in which he served the city and their house but sometimes Gael did worry. What if one day some lowlife got lucky and sank a blade into her husband’s chest? And though she hated to mistrust him so, sometimes she could not help but wonder if Daemon was tempted to stray from her when he was in the city too long, surrounded by all the whores and loose women in the Street of Silk. She knew that Daemon went to many taverns in the city with his men to drink with them, and all too often taverns and brothels were one and the same.
Gael shook her head a little. She had to trust in Daemon. He was her childhood friend, her love. Alyssa had often compared them both to herself and Baelon in their youth and she knew for sure that Baelon had never strayed from Alyssa. Daemon loved her, of that she was certain. They had been inseparable in their youth and she liked to think they were still. He certainly enjoyed her… forceful and seductive reminders that he belonged to her and only her.
If all else failed, she could trust in Daemon’s self-preservation. He could be rash and impetuous and quick to anger but even Daemon knew better than to anger her when she had the dragon and he did not. That would not always be the case true but Syrax was her last safeguard nonetheless.
Turning her eyes back to her husband, she could see that he remained very obviously bored with the proceedings of court. Soon enough he complained again. “Our children are lucky they don’t have to attend this monotonous and repetitive drawl.”
“They were smarter than you,” Gael teased her husband.
Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena had all cited very important lessons that they had to attend, and her son Jaehaerys had proven as crafty as his namesake, convincing one of the Kingsguard to give him some specialsword training that morning. Gael was quite impressed with how her four children had begged out of attending court. That cleverness would serve all of them well later in life, especially if Baela and Jaehaerys married their cousins Aegon and Rhaenyra as she and Daemon hoped.
They were the natural matches in Gael’s mind. Her eldest daughter was a spitfire of a girl, daring and strong. She would make a fine queen one day once she matured a little and learned how to control her fiery personality more. Who else would Aegon marry? Baela was his cousin, and her blood was as pure as it came.
Jaehaerys and Rhaenyra marrying also made sense in Gael’s mind. Rhaenyra had a dragon and she was next in line to the throne after her brother and as her mother Rhaenys had married Viserys to consolidate their claims and dragons for the stability of the succession, it was only logical that Rhaenyra would follow her parents’ example and marry her cousin. It was a mindset that her father had taught the four of them; Rhaenys, Viserys, Daemon, and herself.
Her son Jaehaerys was a good lad. She had named him for her beloved father in the hopes that he would be like the Conciliator. He was only eight, but sweet and brave and dedicated to becoming as fine a swordsman as his father. Gael was rooting for him. She was sure Daemon would be pleased if he succeeded. Both of them had high hopes for their only son’s future.
“We’re just better parents than Viserys and Rhaenys,” Daemon japed. “Our niece and nephew look completely bored out of their mind.”
As Daemon described, Aegon and Rhaenyra did indeed look very bored standing near their parents on the other side of the room. The constant repetition and monotony of lords and houses being announced and entering court was mind-numbing. Her father had been bedridden and ailing for a year and many lords had rushed to the capital in recent months to pay their respects to the Old King and attend his, believed to be impending, funeral.
“Honestly I don’t see why Uncle Aemon is bothering to greet every lord that arrives like this. They’re just a herd of inconsequential sheep. Or worse, jackals circling our house with greedy eyes now that Grandfather is dying.”
As it so happened, the Mooton and Arryn delegation had been announced as their conversation continued. Gael halted her conversation with her husband temporarily to observe her kin. Her elder sisters, Saera and Daella still looked comely and pretty, befitting their heritage. Of her two goodbrothers Jasper had aged much better in her opinion than the younger, Jonah, though both remained fit and capable lords.
Her niece and nephews were of more interest to her. Gael had last seen them at Aegor and Aemma’s wedding seven years ago and they had changed much since. Aegor and Aemma had grown into adulthood well. The blood of Old Valyria ran true in their veins; with Aemma’s purple-blue eyes and silver-blonde hair and Aegor’s reddish blonde hair and purple eyes. Their brood, Aelor, Aelinor, and Aelyx, looked even more Valyrian than they did with silver-gold hair with not a trace of red and purple eyes without the slightest hint of blue.
Maegon walked beside his brother, his arm interlocked with that of his lady wife. Lady Johanna Swann, also known as the Black Swan, was quite the beauty, especially for a non-Valyrian. Their son Maekar toddled along beside them, looking more like his mother than his father.
“Would you include our kin among the ranks of jackals?” Gael turned back to Daemon, inquiring with a raised eyebrow. Her voice was teasing, with a hint of challenge.
Gael was surprised when she saw how serious Daemon had become all of a sudden. His face was grim and his voice serious without a hint of his earlier petulance or playfulness. “They’re the worst kind,” he answered.
As if to prove Daemon’s words, the doors of the Great Hall swung open and in they walked. Six silver-gold haired strangers, looking like foreign royals in their fine and exotic raiments, descended the steps into the throne room as one, their heads held high and proud even as the stares around them intensified.
A small company of elite guards marched protectively beside their lieges. They wore an ocean-blue plate, trimmed in silver with a silver seahorse embossed upon their breastplates. Their undershirts and cloaks were sea-green. The famed Tide Guard, whom some claimed could rival the Kingsguard of House Targaryen. Gael scoffed at the thought.
“Announcing Lord Corlys Velaryon! Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark, Lord of Stonedance, Warden of the Hook, and Archon of Tyrosh!” The herald appeared to hesitate over the last title, and for good reason.
The courtiers and nobles began to murmur to themselves. Some, allies of the Velaryons, were pleased. Others looked askance at each other that not only had Corlys Velaryon returned to court, but his rule over Tyrosh had been implicitly recognized. Gael turned her gaze to her eldest brother seated on the Iron Throne and narrowed her eyes. What are you playing at Brother?
Even as the court continued to gossip, the herald continued announcing names and titles. “His lady wife, Princess Viserra Targaryen! And their children!”
They had all known of course, that the Velaryons had come to the capital. It was hard to miss a small fleet with the Seahorse banner mooring in court or the five dragons flying into the city that morn, four of which were of colors unfamiliar to the townspeople. Still, it felt surreal nonetheless to see the Velaryons in the flesh after nineteen years of absence from court.
Her sister and her husband had dressed their family in shades of teal, blue, and green, and with fashions unknown to King’s Landing though they looked no less extraordinary and incredible. Gael did not doubt that within a month, many of the courtiers and nobles in the realm would be trying to mimic those styles after seeing the grace that the Velaryons wore them with.
It pained her to even admit it, but Viserra was radiant. She wore an impeccable and beautiful slim fit dresscoat of teal and dark blue. It had a high collar and a very deep and narrow neckline, almost resembling a dagger, accentuating her cleavage subtly with class and modesty. Gold and bronze threads delicately affixed an appliqué panel onto the chest of the dress, running from the high collar down to the abdomen.
She hadn’t seen her sister in almost nineteen years but she seemed to have barely aged a day. Gods, was she truly forty? There was not a wrinkle to be found on her face, nor the slightest imperfection on her flawless pale skin. Not even a trace of the fact that she had given birth three times, for what little fat rested on her figure emphasized only her womanly curves.
Viserra shone like a star. Her lustrous silver-gold hair was braided neatly behind her neck and yet it caught the light and seemed to glow. She wore a Valyrian steel necklace with an amethyst set in it and two stunning Valyrian steel and silver earrings. Her deep purple eyes fixed solely on the Iron Throne and the man seated in it as she walked forward, hand in hand with her husband.
Gael was left feeling insecure as she watched her estranged sister. She looked to her own skin and hair despite herself and realized how short her own beauty measured in comparison. Years ago Viserra had been called a goddess, the most beautiful of all of their mother’s daughters, and she hated to even acknowledge it, but it was true. The years had only made Viserra more beautiful and she had grown into her beauty with incredible grace. She had truly earned her epithet as the Star of the Sea.
Her husband stood beside her. Despite entering a throne room he had not been in for nineteen years, surrounded by piercing stares and glares, Corlys Velaryon carried himself with utter surety.
At fifty and six, he did not look his age either; while he was weathered by his experiences and adventures, Lord Corlys had aged extremely well and was hale, hearty, and youthful. He was handsome, dashing, and resplendent in his demeanor and his grooming. He wore a sapphire-blue doublet, embroidered with golden threads and patterns. His silver hair was combed back neatly behind his ears and reached his shoulders.
Strapped to his left hip was no doubt his Valyrian steel sword, Riptide, clasped with silver and sheathed in a white-gold scabbard. It had an ornate silvered pommel and a blued white grip with silvered seahorses rising from the crossguard.
Behind Lord Corlys and her sister, their children followed. First came the twins, Jacaerys and Lucerys. The last time Gael had seen them, they had been little more than babes. Now they were men grown at twenty years old, easily as tall as their father and near matching her brother Aemon’s height.
She was not sure who was Jace and who was Luke yet, but this was only because she had not seen them for many years. Despite being identical, one could distinguish the brothers with ease. One was dressed in a resplendent azure doublet with a gleaming gold placket and gilded patterns. His hair fell loosely from the crown of his head. The other wore his hair in a neat and meticulously groomed style and was dressed sharply in a blue and stiff-collared shirt with a deep neckline much like the style on his mother’s dress. On both of the brothers’ hips was strapped a sword as ornate as their father’s.
A young girl that could only be her niece, Laena the ‘Lovely’, followed behind the twins. Like her mother, she wore jewelry, an exquisite pair of Valyrian steel earrings with aquamarines on the ends and an encrusted gold necklace with a large blue sapphire set in its center. Her coat was the same shade of teal as Viserra’s, though the neckline was different, with a bronze trim along the sides. It went so low and showed so much, Gael was tempted to call it immodest. For Seven’s sake, she swore she could almost see her breasts if she peered hard enough!
The girl was the perfect combination of her parents, and resembled them both greatly. She had not yet fully grown into her beauty but it was clear that she was Viserra’s daughter, drawing near as many looks as her mother did, including from her lovesick and besotted nephew. Gael scoffed seeing him all but fawn over her.
Beside Laena walked the youngest and perhaps the least of the Velaryons. He was young, with a fresh and childlike face, and was shorter than his full grown father and brothers. He was dressed simpler as well, in a deceptively plain dark blue shirt with silver buttons and no patterns save the gold embroidering on his shoulders. Still despite appearing to be lesser than his kin, Daeron Velaryon was still far beyond all the sheep in the room, as her husband called them.
Gael had thought that her other sisters and their husbands had aged well, and the blood of Valyria had run true in their children, but she had been utterly mistaken. Daella and Saera’s families were like a brilliant fire that lit up the night but they nonetheless paled when the morn came with the glory of the rising sun that was the Velaryons.
There was an aura of majesty, of grandeur, almost even of royalty surrounding her sister and her family, and Gael hated it as much as she was awed by it. If she had been a simple and ignorant common woman and was told that the Velaryons were dragonlords from Valyria of old, she would have believed it, so radiant and extraordinary were they.
And it angered her. Royal status belonged to her sister and her sister alone, by the grace of their father’s blood in her veins. It did not extend to her husband or to her children and yet they dared to conquer a foreign city and make themselves kings in all but name, cloaking themselves in royal splendor and glory. They claimed to not be royal but every other thing about their demeanor and actions made it clear that they thought they were. How arrogant.
Lord Corlys and Viserra walked up before the Iron Throne, and the room was silent. The last time Corlys had returned to court after a long absence was almost like a forgotten dream of her childhood, but Gael remembered him showing absolute deference and obeisance by kneeling. This time however, he did not kneel. Whether that was because Aemon was not yet King, or because he cared not to kneel to a Targaryen again, Gael did not know. She suspected it was the latter. Lord Corlys and his sons bowed, but it seemed almost out of respect than fealty, not nearly low enough in Gael’s opinion. Viserra and her daughter curtseyed instead.
With his head still bowed, Lord Corlys greeted her brother. “Greetings Prince Aemon! House Velaryon hears and obeys the summons of your kingly father and are ever his loyal vassals.”
That was the most blatant lie that Gael had ever heard, but she had to give Lord Corlys credit for audacity. House Velaryon? Loyal vassals to her father? Such a sentiment was laughable to even imagine after nineteen years of open defiance of her father’s commands.
She looked to her brother who rose from the throne and stood in place. “In the name of my father, and as Hand of the King and Regent, I accept your greetings and welcome you to King’s Landing,” he told Lord Corlys before he addressed the whole court. “After nineteen years, the King’s kin, House Velaryon, has returned to court! Are you not overjoyed on behalf of your king?” he demanded.
Immediately there was a furious applause in the throne room, breaking the silence; eager cheers from the Velaryons’ supporters and awkward claps from their rivals. Daemon was right. Jackals and sheep the whole lot of them. Gael refused to join. She was not going to applaud the return of House Velaryon of all families to court, and certainly not to accommodate her brother’s delusional dreams of making everything right.
“House Velaryon is the last arrival. I am pleased to announce that court is adjourned for the day!” Aemon announced again, and the applause was more genuine this time as many bored nobles and princes like Daemon were happy to get away from the tedium and monotony of court.
Gael narrowed her eyes as Aemon embraced Corlys and Viserra in open view of the departing courtiers. Her nephew Aegon had rushed to Laena and Daeron Velaryon, and her mother and other siblings, Baelon and Alyssa, were greeting the twins. Even Rhaenys and Viserys approached to welcome the Velaryons.
To this day, she could not understand. What made Viserra so special? Why did Aemon, Baelon, Alyssa, and her mother love her and her family so much? Why did they favor them so? What did they have that the rest of them didn’t?
Her own mother had walked away from her when she was eleven years old. To protest the treatment of a sister that had become a traitor in all but name, her mother had estranged herself from her father and had tormented him with her absence for years despite claiming to love him even still. And she had abandoned her.
Alysanne wasn’t the one who was there to teach her or raise her. She wasn’t the one who comforted her or held her when she was in need. Her mother was not the person she had loved and turned to for advice on her marriage or her children, it had been her father. Her mother had been nowhere to be found, tucked away on Dragonstone with the daughter and grandchildren she clearly cared for the most.
She had only truly returned to court recently, about a year ago, having realized perhaps what she had done, but it was too little, too late. Alysanne Targaryen was not young; she had spent decades away from the Red Keep and it showed. She had not been able to fly Silverwing for years, and had wept in pain the last time she had. She couldn’t even walk properly, needing a cane after she slipped and broke her hip. Her hearing and memory had both begun to fail. Her mother was not the one in the deathbed but it was clear her days were numbered no less.
And what did she do? Even with her injured hip and cane she all but ran into Viserra’s arms and greeted her and her children eagerly, even embracing the arrogant traitor Corlys. Rubbing it in in front of her very eyes just how much she loved Viserra more than her. Her mother was old and dying but even now, when there was so little time left for her to spend with her, to know her, to learn what she had missed, she still favored Viserra more than her.
Daemon squeezed her hands tightly, almost painfully as he clenched his hands in a similar rage, but it felt almost comforting to Gael to know he felt that rage as well. He led her away from the throne room, and away from the Velaryons. There would be time to introduce themselves to their kin later, but for now, Gael and Daemon felt too much rage to even look at them any more than they had to.
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Later that evening, the whole family gathered in the royal quarters at her father’s bedroom. The room was dominated by the aforementioned bed. It had a large and fine canopy of red velvet and was lined with luxurious white satins and silk sheets. Her father need not want for comfort and looked to be almost swimming in the massive bed, nestled warmly in his red blankets.
He looked so small… so weak. It broke her heart to see him so. The father she knew and loved was fading away. Gone was the tall and strong wise man who shielded her from the cruelties of the world and taught her how to face it. Who had carried her into his arms and raised her up to sit on his shoulders. The ravages of time had claimed his mind, sapped the strength of his body before her eyes.
This past year, even his mind had begun going, and he had begun calling out to friends and family long since passed. In a rare moment of lucidity, he had summoned all the family to see him one last time. Despite all their feuds and disputes, they had all answered. Everyone had come, everyone was here. Even sour Vaegon and motherly but distant Maegelle were present, standing on the right side of the bed on Gael’s left.
To Gael’s right, Daemon and their children stood waiting as well with Jocelyn, Rhaenys, Viserys, Aegon, and Rhaenyra. Opposite them, her mother was seated in a chair beside the head of the bed. Aemon, Baelon, Alyssa, Viserra and her husband and children stood there as well. At the foot of the bed, Saera and Daella and their families had gathered.
Her elderly father struggled to raise himself up from his sleeping position and her mother rushed to help him lean against the headrest of the bed. Gael squashed the spark of anger at the sight. Alysanne had been a terrible wife and mother for eighteen years, all these shows of affection were pretentious. False.
She turned her eyes to her father, pleased to see the sharp and unclouded spark in his eyes, a clear sign that in this moment at least, he was here with them fully. He turned his head, ever so slightly, looking at all of them. His family, his descendants.
“Thank you all for coming to see me in my last moments. I – “, his words were cut off by a great coughing fit. Groaning, he continued. “I know I haven’t always been the best father, or grandfather, to many of you, but I am glad that you have come nonetheless. If only to see me die once and for all, some of you feel, I am sure.”
Reaching out his hand to his left, her father called out. “Viserra.”
Her sister froze, a clear uncertainty in her bearing as she hesitated. Begrudgingly she walked closer to him and took his hand. Her father smiled softly. “No words can ever make up for the pain I have caused you my dear child. I do not seek your forgiveness, nor do I accept it. I wish only to tell you that I know. I know I was wrong, about everything. I should have mended all of this years ago, but I was a proud and stubborn old man. Whether you accept my apology or not, you have it Viserra. I am sorry, truly sorry about all that I did to you and your family.
“You’ve grow into an extraordinary woman, and your titles and accomplishments become you and they befit you. Know that even in the depths of my anger, I never ceased to be proud of you, and everything that you did. I only wish I had not been so blind as to not see the path in which we might have remained at peace with one another.”
Viserra looked lost for words. She seemed reluctant to answer for a few moments. “Thank you, Father,” she said at last.
Gael clenched her fists. Her father, apologizing to Viserra? She thought the day would never come, but it seemed that impending death did much to change one’s mindset.
Looking past Viserra, he addressed her brood. “Step forward children.”
Hesitantly, they did so. “I know most of my other grandchildren very well, but you four I know little of. What are your names?”
The girl answered first. “Laena, Grandfather.”
Her father’s eyes twinkled. “A lovely name. I have heard much of you darling. You will go far indeed.”
Laena’s younger brother introduced himself. “Daeron, Your Grace.”
Her father shook his head. “Please. In this moment I am not your king, but your grandfather. Address me as such.”
“Yes, Grandfather,” Daeron said, bowing his head, almost shyly. Despite his epithet as the ‘Daring’, the boy was clearly quite used to being a follower.
“Raise your head. You are the third son yes? I too know what it is like to be the third son. You have a path in life all the same boy. You just need to find it.”
Daeron nodded.
While her father was kind to Laena and Daeron, it was clear that his attention was not focused on them. His eyes fixed on the twins, the only two of Viserra’s children that he had met before today.
“The last time I saw the both of you, you were babes nestled in your mother’s arms. I held you both shortly after you were born. You were strong babes, and you have grown up into strong and strapping young men. It is my shame as a grandfather that I do not know, but I must ask. Which of you is Jacaerys, and which is Lucerys?”
One of the twins, the one groomed meticulously, answered. “I am Lucerys, Grandfather.”
His twin refused to answer, doing his best to hide his anger, but Gael could see the tension in his shoulders and his fists balling at his side.
Her father noticed it as well. His smile faltered. “You are angry at me, and rightfully so. I wronged you both. I took your inheritance from you and all but exiled your family. You have watched as your parents endured hardships that I caused them. There are no words I can give as apology that would truly suffice.
“I do not ask of your forgiveness Jacaerys, Lucerys. All I ask, is that you give me all your resentment and hatred. Let your grudge die with me, so that this feud may finally end when I am ashes.”
Lucerys nodded, but Jacaerys seemed to scoff at his words, and Gael glared at him. How dare he disrespect her father? Who had humbled himself to apologize to him? It was more than he deserved and still he had no gratitude.
“This goes for all of you as well,” her father said suddenly, turning his gaze from the Velaryons to look over the rest of them. His eyes passed over Daella and Saera and their families before it came to rest on them. The younger generation of House Targaryen. Gael thought that her father was staring right at her, and felt almost like a little girl again with him staring into her very soul.
Shaking his head slightly, her father cast his head up to the ceiling like he was looking up to the heavens and closed his eyes. “Dark have been my dreams of late. Nightmares have tormented me, visions of my tragic childhood blurring into premonitions of uncertain futures.”
He brought his head down and looked at them again. Gael thought that his eyes seemed to dwell on herself and Daemon and her nephew Jacaerys most. “One thing has become clear to me though. This feud between us must end. We are kin, blood, and blood is thicker than water. If the House of the Dragon does not stand united, it will crumble from within and destroy itself.
“And that is why I ask you, my children, my grandchildren, put aside your animosities. Do not bicker and make mistakes out of pride as I did. What is paramount is that our family is reunited and made whole. Form friendships among yourselves. Do this, not for my sake, but for your own. Peace is a precious commodity that I fear may run dry if steps are not taken to preserve it.”
Gael did her best not to glare at Viserra and her family. It was because of them that her mother had abandoned her, that her house had been so troubled and challenged these past few years. Now her father was asking her to make peace with them?
She struggled to crush the feelings of betrayal welling up inside her. Ever since her mother abandoned her, her father had raised and cared for her. He had taught her to uphold the prestige and glory of their house, how to be a good and dutiful princess. She loved and adored him; she had named her only son in his honor. She had denied her own daughters dragons because her father had asked her to, because he had taught her to put the needs of the family before her own desires.
Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena had begged her to give them Syrax’s eggs and it had broken Gael’s heart to deny them. They were all jealous of their brother Jaehaerys, who had been given Tyraxes in his cradle while the eggs that should have gone to them had been given to the Dragonpit instead. Her daughters had even named them. Moondancer, Morning, and Stormcloud. Perhaps one day they might be allowed to claim them, Gael hoped so for their sake.
She had done that to her own children, denied them dragons, the dragons that were part of their very souls, because it was her duty to her house. She had made sacrifices for the family that Viserra had never even considered, too selfish and vain to care, and now even her beloved father was choosing to favor Viserra over her? Even going so far as to ask her to forgive and reconcile with her? When Viserra had undermined their house over and over again?
It was too painful to even consider. It flew against everything that she had ever been taught. She was tempted to simply dismiss it as the deranged delusions of a senile old man, that her father would never ask this of her in his right mind, but then a thought occurred to her.
Her father had never outright said reconciliation with the Velaryons should not be done. Only that it had to be on House Targaryen’s terms. She took heart in that; his words need not contradict each other. Yes, there would be peace, just as her father had asked. And it would be on Gael and her house’s terms, just as her father had taught them. Just as it should be.
Suddenly, her father froze. His eyes seemed to focus. “Daenerys??” He called out, stunned.
Gael and her siblings looked to each other in confusion. Was their father mistaking one of them for their deceased sister? Her mother turned to him and reminded him. “Jaehaerys, Daenerys died decades ago.”
“What are you saying Alysanne? She’s right there. Can’t you see her? She looks so young. She has Aemon and Baelon with her as well,” her father said, gesturing to her grandniece and grandnephews. The young Aelinor and her brothers looked utterly confused.
“Father,” Aemon stepped forward. “Baelon and I grew up. Dany… Dany never did. That’s not the three of us Father, that’s your great-grandchildren.”
“Nonsense,” he insisted, seeming to forget even more about where and when he was. “How can I have great-grandchildren when my own children are little more than babes?”
Gael couldn’t bear to watch her father descend into his delusions any longer. If his mind had regressed all the way back to when Aemon and Baelon were near babes in his haze, he probably wouldn’t remember her. It had happened before, and Gael never wanted to see the blank look on her father’s face as he failed to recognize her ever again.
She turned and walked out of the room, with Daemon and her children quick on her heels. Maybe she was thinking too much about her father’s pleas for her to reconcile with the Velaryons. Who was to say those words had truly come from her father and weren’t just the ramblings of senility?
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Daeron Velaryon
“Have you ever been to a more awkward dinner than this?” Aegon asked out loud.
“Whenever our parents sup together?” Daeron suggested, musing Aegon’s question in his mind.
Laena scoffed. “As if. You could take that and multiply it tenfold and it still won’t measure up to this.”
“Laena’s right. Your parents and mine are awkward with each other on the best of days but Aunt Gael and Uncle Daemon are here and they don’t like your parents at all to be honest. Then you throw in the Arryns and Mootons and suddenly everyone has their own grudges and feuds that they are awkwardly pretending to put aside for this one dinner,” Aegon said.
Daeron could not resist the opportunity. “Of course you think Laena’s right Egg, you’re besotted with her. When do you ever disagree with Laena?”
He smirked when Aegon blushed and averted his eyes. His smirk unfortunately was short-lived because Laena rose to Aegon’s defense. Hitting him on his hand, Laena rebuked him. “Don’t tease him, Daeron. Of course he has to agree with me. I’m always right,” she said smugly.
“Sure you are,” Daeron said patronizingly.
She scowled at him but Aegon’s eyes had turned back to the awkward air in the room, with many of the adults in their family struggling to make the slightest of small talk. He shook his head before laughing softly to himself.
“Daeron, if it took Great-Grandfather being on his deathbed to get these folks to even be in the same room with each other; how many more of our relatives will have to follow suit for the remainder to get along you think?” Aegon asked darkly.
Daeron chuckled. “Would there even be any of us left?” He joked.
“You two should not be japing about something like that at a time like this!” Laena lectured the two of them but Daeron could see traces of amusement in her indigo eyes.
It had been like this for almost as long as Daeron could remember. Aegon and he would get up to some mischief or stupid dares and Laena would be there to lecture them about it before she ran after them and ended up forgetting her protests in her competitive desire to outdo them both. The friendship the three of them had had become more layered and complex after Aegon and Laena had unofficially started courting and while a part of Daeron mourned the loss of the simpler times, he was truly happy for his friend and sister.
Aegon had been his best friend ever since he was six years old and Laena, only two years older than them, had completed their little trio. It had started out quite amusingly actually. He had befriended Aegon first and at all of six he had become besotted with his sister and begged him to introduce them. Considering this had happened the very same night Daeron and he had befriended each other, it was likely Aegon was just dramatic.
It had taken years, but Laena had eventually started returning his feelings. Aegon fell first, but Laena fell harder. It amused him at times to see just how much. She tried to hide it out of embarrassment at times, but it was obvious to anyone close to her how much she truly loved Aegon.
“Do you think we might have any luck getting a betrothal for us this time?” Laena leaned closer to Aegon to whisper, though Daeron heard it.
He was close to both of them, but at times he could not help but wonder if he was intruding on their private time with each other. Then again, maybe as Laena’s brother, that was his job, to chaperone them at least until their betrothal was announced. After that his best friend and sister could do as they pleased and he would rather not think about what they would get up to.
“I’m sure you will Laena, don’t worry, but until then, please refrain from public displays like this,” Daeron answered Laena’s question before Aegon could, making the two of them jump apart from each other, precisely his intention. Aegon was staring at him, looking rather betrayed, but Daeron simply shrugged. Aegon might be his closest friend but Laena was his sister, that took precedent.
Still staring at him unimpressed, Aegon continued on the topic, turning to Laena as he spoke. “I’m quite hopeful. It is politically advantageous and would help resolve the tension in the family. Not to mention the two of us are well known to be familiar and likeable to the other.”
“Oh, only likeable?” Daeron teased. Aegon glared at him lightly before continuing.
“My grandfather is supportive of it, and if by some miracle Great-Grandfather recovers, he sounds like he is as well. I don’t think our seating is a coincidence either. The three of us are seated together instead of by the traditional seniority in succession and age.”
“We’re not the only ones,” Daeron said, pointing with his chin to the far side of the table where his older brothers had been seated with their cousins.
“Yes.” Aegon sighed. “Grandfather was hardly subtle there.”
“Luke seems to be taking it in stride,” Laena noticed. Daeron followed her eyes, watching Luke deftly entertain Helaena, Baela and especially Rhaena, though Aunt Gael and Cousin Daemon were glaring daggers at him. Quite the overprotective parents weren’t they?
His eyes moved to his other brother. “Jace on the other hand is producing half the awkwardness in this room entirely by himself. Jaehaerys looks like he’s about to talk his ears off.”
Laena giggled. “He looks so uncomfortable with Rhaenyra fawning over him.”
“Still pining over Cassandra methinks,” Daeron added.
With a bit of a scowl Aegon interjected. “Yes well whatever your brother’s doings with the Celtigar girl, if he and Rhaenyra are betrothed, I expect that my sister will not be dishonored.”
“You have nothing to worry about where that is concerned. Not with Jace,” Laena reassured him.
Daeron agreed. He had always looked up to Jace and Luke, they represented everything that he hoped to be one day. Almost everything at least. “Jace is the best of us. He will do his duty no matter what. Rhaenyra need not fear that he would dishonor her, of that I have no doubt,” he said.
“The thought hasn’t even occurred to her. It worries me a little,” Aegon confessed. “She’s been infatuated with him for years and yet he hardly pays her any mind.”
“Jace is sweet on someone already. Would you give anyone else but my sister that kind of mind?” Daeron challenged him.
Aegon conceded. “Fair point.”
“Besides Egg, I would say it’s a good thing that Jace is not paying Rhaenyra any kind of attention in that way yet. She’s a child,” Laena pointed out.
He frowned. “She’s only eight years younger than he is.”
“She’s twelve,” Daeron said unimpressed.
Aegon shook his head. “Not too young for a betrothal, which is my point. I know your brother too and I believe I can trust that he will keep to his marriage vows. Certainly your mother will have his head if he does not.”
Daeron and Laena chuckled at that. Aegon smiled before continuing. “I just want to make sure that my sister is treated right, even during her betrothal.”
“I can agree with that sentiment,” Daeron said meaningfully, his eyes meeting Aegon’s own pale lilac. His friend nodded, understanding what he was getting at.
Either acting or actually oblivious to their exchange, Laena praised Rhaenyra. “Your sister is quite pretty Egg. Jace would be lucky to have her, and a fool to stray from her, especially once she comes of age.”
Aegon smiled, his face filled with brotherly pride as he looked over to Rhaenyra. “She is the Realm’s Delight indeed,” he said before his smile turned into a mischievous smirk. “Though I would wager that the Pearl of Tyrosh is easily more beautiful than she.”
Laena blushed slightly. “Flatterer.”
“But you like it don’t you?” Aegon teased.
“I do indeed,” Laena said back, suggestively.
Daeron groaned. “Please stop. It’s making me sick to watch,” he said, half japing. Only half though.
Laena and Aegon shared a look and laughed. “Ah little brother. You will understand once you have a girl you’re sweet on as well,” Laena said.
“Has there actually been any progress where that is concerned?” Aegon inquired.
Daeron shrugged. “Not really. Some of the Tarth and Grafton girls are pretty I suppose, but I haven’t really formed a relationship with anyone the way you two have. I suppose I’ll just follow whatever betrothal Mother and Father decide for me.”
In truth, Daeron hadn’t thought much about his future. He was the third son, and he had always just assumed that he would have his parents or Jace and Luke, or even Aegon once he was King, to direct him. Daeron was content to follow those he loved and trusted loyally and serve them well, whether it be as a loyal lieutenant of his brother or as Aegon’s future Hand.
Deep in his heart though, childhood dreams occasionally stirred. As a boy, Daeron had been engrossed in stories of adventuring and exploration. He had taken most to the sea when his father had taught him and his siblings how to sail and he had enjoyed his father’s stories of his famous Nine Voyages greatly. He had even named his beloved dragon, Terrax, for the mount of a famous Valyrian explorer, Jaenara Belaerys. For the longest time he had aspired to follow in her and his father’s footsteps and become a great adventurer.
Daeron was not only daring however, he was also dutiful. He had too many responsibilities and obligations to his family to go voyaging simply to fulfill his childhood fantasies. Even his own father had gone not out of mere wanderlust, but to strengthen their house.
“In any case Egg, what are we doing tomorrow? Care for a bout in the training yard?” Daeron asked, deciding to change the topic. He really did need more practice though if he was to convince his father that he deserved to wield their family’s Valyrian steel spear, Aeglos.
Aegon smiled. “No thank you. I’d rather not get pummeled into the dirt beneath your spear yet again. This is your first time in the Red Keep; I could spend the day showing you two around the castle. Maegor’s Holdfast alone is massive and the godswood is wonderful. Later in the week, we could take a trip down into the city as well.”
“Is that safe?” Laena asked. “I’ve heard rumors of how filth-ridden King’s Landing can be.”
Aegon looked slightly offended. “I’ll have you know that my uncle did an excellent job cleaning up the city. Moving on, both of you brought your dragons right?”
They nodded. “I hate keeping Shrykos in the Dragonpit,” Laena confessed. “It’s so far away and it’s so dark and unpleasant there.”
“I concur,” Daeron said. “I find it so unfair that Mother was allowed to keep Dreamfyre in the Keep. The Den is right below High Tide but the Pit is halfway across the city. It’s so impractical.”
Aegon sighed. “Yes well, the Red Keep only has so much space. Not all of us were so fortunate to have High Tide’s unique location and advantages. Regardless, we haven’t gone riding together in some time. Would you two be interested in that instead?”
Laena nodded. “We could see the Keep at any time. I find myself wishing to beat you both in a race yet again.”
Daeron gasped in mock horror. “The audacity of this woman Egg!” He told his friend.
Aegon only smirked. “I accept your challenge Laena. We could race to Dragonstone and back, the winner gets a favor.”
Laena smiled mischievously. “What kind of favor?”
“Only the best kind.” Aegon’s eyes were alight with mischief and something else Daeron would rather not see.
They were flirting again. Daeron resisted the urge to groan. “You two better not do anything you’re not supposed to.”
“What things would those be?” They asked him innocently and he sighed, making them laugh.
After being rebuked by Cousin Rhaenys for spending all their time talking instead of eating, the three of them rushed to finish dinner. Thankfully the quality and taste of the food was comparable to what was served on Driftmark, though in Daeron’s humble opinion, it still paled compared to the delicacies Tyrosh had to offer.
Aegon wolfed down his food and gulped his wine greedily as quickly as manners allowed him to. He had always greatly enjoyed his food and wine, and they often joked that if Daeron didn’t keep him active in the yard, he would have grown fat by now.
They were about to take their second helpings when the doors to the dining room suddenly opened. Two white-clad knights walked in; their pristine cloaks cascaded off their shoulders like a sheet of snow. Daeron recognized the knights. It was Lord Commander Harrold Westerling of the Kingsguard, if he recalled correctly, and the man to his left was his second, Ser Criston Cole.
His uncle Aemon rose from his seat to greet the knights. “Lord Commander, Ser Criston, welcome. Might I inquire why you have entered without my leave?”
“Forgive our interruption Your Grace,” Ser Harrold said.
Everyone in the room froze. His grandmother gasped loudly. Ignorant smallfolk might have made the mistake of addressing the Prince of Dragonstone as ‘Your Grace’, but the Kingsguard of all people knew that styling was reserved solely for the King and Queen.
Ser Harrold nodded gravely and confirmed their suspicions. “I regret to inform the royal family and their kin, that His Grace, King Jaehaerys, has passed. May his soul rest in peace with the Seven.”
Grandmother sank into her chair in grief, and Aunt Gael immediately rose from her seat and rushed out of the room, his cousins Daemon, Rhaenys, and Viserys were quick on her tail. They were going to confirm the truth for themselves no doubt.
The rest of the family was frozen in shock until his father rose from his seat. “The King is dead!” He proclaimed. “Long live the King!” He declared as he bowed to Uncle Aemon.
Daeron followed suit, and the rest of the family got to their feet as well, all except his distraught grandmother. As one they bowed to Aemon and chorused his father’s words.
“Your Grace, your orders?” The Lord Commander asked.
Uncle Aemon finally snapped out of the momentary daze he had been in. With a solemn expression, he gave his command. “Sound the bells, the people must know that their King is dead.”
Ser Harrold and Ser Criston bowed before turning on their heels and walking crisply from the room to carry out their king’s bidding.
In the next moment, chaos seemed to ensue as the family began chattering loudly among themselves, the shared grief overcoming the earlier awkwardness. Daeron’s own mother soon departed the room with his grandmother and his aunts and uncles. They were going to see his grandfather he guessed.
When he had finally recovered from his shock, Aegon’s first words were, “I guess we’re not going for that race tomorrow.”
Daeron scoffed. “You don’t say.”
____________________________________________
Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! We got introduced to two new POVs and Jaehaerys dying in the same chapter! What a ride. Lmk your thoughts on Gael, Daemon, Daeron, Aegon, and Laena in the comments below or on Discord!
I imagined the HOTD Velaryon theme playing when the Velaryons entered court. The show had so many problems but much like GOT, Ramin Djawadi always delivers bangers. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ulm1ehF-260
Also if y’all are curious what the Velaryons look like now in 109 AC, I have uploaded images in the tide-guard channel on Discord. I based their descriptions in this chapter on these wondrous arts by Cate13! For ease of viewing, here’s an Imgur gallery! https://imgur.com/a/4Yy5MjC
Comments
Tertius711
The Velaryons have no influence over the High Septon or KL Faith, that all rests with the Targaryens instead. Thanks for commenting!
Jesús Leonardo
It occurs to me that the Velaryons could do something similar to the Medici by placing a supreme septon to give them support in the faith and control over their accounts.That would give the Velaryons even more power and make them the biggest bankers in Westeros.
Tertius711
Thanks for commenting! You raise good points. Stay tuned to see how the story unfolds!
Maciek
Well, there goes any chances of resolving this feud somewhat easily. If Gael and Daemon thinks that Old King's pleas to reconcile was madman's babble, there is NO WAY that they stop themselves from complicating situation and hinder any negotiations. Younger generation seems to get along, at least for now. Maybe except Jace......don't know whom he'll eventually marry yet, but I think we can expect at least some serious argument between him and his parents... King is dead, Long live the King........may another round of Game of thrones begin ;)
