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16. The Old
🕑 Added 2025-04-02 18:33:24 +0000 UTCLaenor POV
Laenor watched as his father and Uncle Vaemond were the first to greet the Rogue Prince. He and Laena stood slightly behind them, observing the exchange. Daemon greeted Corlys jovially, and his father returned it in kind. If it was an act, Laenor had to admit it was a convincing one—Corlys looked genuinely pleased to see Daemon. Vaemond, on the other hand, greeted the prince with the curt politeness required by his rank, nothing more.
When the pleasantries ended, Daemon turned his attention to Laenor and Laena. His gaze became greedy, his interest plain for all to see, and he didn’t even bother to hide it. Laenor’s frown deepened in disapproval, but his expression only seemed to amuse Daemon, who smirked in response.
“If it isn’t House Velaryon’s new little dragonlords,” he said, though the last part carried a tightness to it. His violet eyes locked onto Laenor. “You must be Laenor.”
Laenor met his gaze squarely and nodded.
“Lord Laenor, it is my utmost pleasure to meet you,” Daemon said smoothly, shifting into a more comfortable stance. Then, his eyes flicked toward Laena. “And of course, how could we overlook this beautiful young lady? Lady Laena.”
He extended a hand, which Laena hesitantly offered. Daemon kissed the back of it, never breaking eye contact, making Laena flush slightly before she glanced away, her gaze landing on Laenor.
They both greeted him formally, exchanging pleasantries before Daemon gestured toward Maidenpool. “Your uncle, the King, and Princess Rhaenys await you in the keep.”
With that, Laenor and Laena followed their father, their Velaryon entourage trailing behind, save for a few who remained aboard the ship. As they walked toward the keep, they passed through the market square, where nobles and merchants alike had gathered. All eyes turned toward them. Their House stood out unmistakably, their silver hair marking them as Valyrians among the sea of lesser blood.
Soon, they passed through the pink stone walls of Maidenpool and entered the Great Hall—the heart of the keep. And there, in his full royal splendor, sat King Viserys, ‘the Young King.’ Plump and round-faced, he was the stark opposite of his younger brother. On one side, courtiers clung to his words, while on the other, Laenor’s mother sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching their arrival.
“Welcome, Lord Corlys, and my dear Laena and Laenor. You have no idea how happy I am to see House Velaryon here, my family together,” Viserys declared, his voice carrying through the hall. Then, his expression shifted slightly. “Though I must admit, I was somewhat disappointed to hear you did not bring the new dragons of House Velaryon.”
His tone tightened ever so slightly at the end, and Laenor didn’t miss the way several faces soured at the mention of their dragons.
“It is unfortunate, Your Grace,” Corlys responded smoothly. “But there was little that could be done. I assure you, you will see them soon enough.”
Viserys nodded, seemingly placated. With one last glance at Laenor and Laena, he gestured for Corlys to join him, prompting their father to turn to them. “Go to your mother,” he instructed. “She’s been waiting for you.”
Laenor and Laena wasted no time, making their way to Rhaenys, who pulled them both into a warm embrace, smiling fondly.
“I missed you both,” she murmured. “How was your journey?”
Laena launched into an eager recounting of their voyage, detailing everything from the ship’s speed to the endless horizon. Laenor, meanwhile, let his gaze wander over the assembled lords and ladies. Some watched them with open curiosity, while others pretended indifference. One face, however, stood out—Otto Hightower. The Hand of the King regarded them with his usual measured expression, his glances brief but deliberate.
As Laena neared the end of her tale, Laenor caught sight of three figures approaching. He recognized one immediately, and as for the other two—there was no mistaking their identities. One was a vision of Valyrian beauty, her white-gold hair framing a delicate face. The other, with silver-yellowish locks and a slender build, was no less striking. Even in this world, they were names everyone knew.
The youngest among them spoke first, her excitement unmistakable. “Laena! I’m so glad to see you again.”
“Rhaenyra,” Laena greeted warmly, embracing the youngest Targaryen as one would a sister. Afterward, she turned to Alicent, exchanging a polite greeting before eagerly discussing dragons with Rhaenyra.
Laenor, his mother, and Daemon observed them. While his mother’s expression remained composed, Daemon’s face twisted in thinly veiled boredom and annoyance.
“Rhaenyra,” he drawled, “why don’t you ask your friend the question you’ve been pestering me about all moon?”
“Oh! I almost forgot.” Rhaenyra turned to Laena, her eyes alight with curiosity. “How did you and your brother hatch those stone dragon eggs?” she asked eagerly, ignoring the many curious glances that turned their way. “And don’t tell me they hatched on their own. I’ve read every Valyrian text I could find on Dragonstone with nuncle Daemon, and there’s never been anything like this before. So tell me, how did you do it?”
Laena straightened, pride evident in her tone. “It’s as our mother and father said, Rhaenyra. I was there, watching over the eggs as I had been for days, and they hatched on their own. Now, House Velaryon has dragons of our own.”
Daemon scoffed, his gaze narrowing. “Which you’ll only be able to ride because of your Targaryen blood.”
His words carried an edge, but Rhaenys met them with calm, regal poise. “Dragon lord blood has run in Velaryon veins long before either of our Houses ever set foot in Westeros.”
Daemon’s expression darkened. “Before, House Velaryon wasn’t allowed to hatch or claim dragons. And Dragonlord blood only came from marriages, not because their ancestors tamed the greatest power in the world as mine did. It was only because of my brother’s kindness that House Velaryon now has dragons of their own.”
“The greatest power in the world, is it?” Laenor asked, amusement curling his lips into a smile.
Daemon’s gaze sharpened, his stance shifting ever so slightly. “What? Do you disagree?” he asked, stepping forward, positioning himself directly in front of Laenor. “Then pray, tell—what power rivals dragons? What force can bring ruin and death as they do? It was dragon fire that forged the Iron Throne, dragon fire that bent the Seven Kingdoms. Without them, the Dragonlords of Valyria would not have been able to conquer the whole of Essos. I, for all my years, have never known anything greater.” His voice dripped with mockery, drawing even more eyes to them.
Laenor met his gaze unflinchingly. “The Old. The True. The Brave.” His voice rang clear and steady. “House Velaryon is of the Old Blood. And one never knows what powers it may hold.”
“Oh, I know what powers it has,” Daemon scoffed. “The power to sail wooden boats.” He chuckled, eyes flashing with amusement.
“Daemon,” Rhaenys’ voice cut through the air, firm and unyielding. She rose from her seat, fixing him with a pointed stare.
Daemon merely smirked—until the air itself seemed to shudder with a low, echoing roar from above. His smirk faltered, and then came another roar, louder, more thunderous, reverberating through the great hall. The murmurs of the gathered nobles hushed as all eyes turned toward the source of the sound.
Rhaenys held Daemon’s gaze, her own unreadable, but a challenge unmistakably burned within them.
“Daemon. Rhaenys.” King Viserys’ voice rang out, authoritative and displeased. He rose to his feet, making his way toward them. “Leave you two alone for a moment, and already you find another quarrel to start. We are family. Behave like one.” His gaze swept over them both.
A long silence stretched between them. Then, at last, Daemon huffed, rolling his shoulders as he eased his posture. The roars outside faded.
“He said Velaryon blood is more powerful than dragons, brother.” Daemon scoffed, turning to Viserys with an infuriating smirk. “Come now, be honest—it’s laughable.”
Viserys exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “He is a child, Daemon. And now you lower yourself to mocking a child’s thoughts?” He stepped closer, jabbing a finger against his brother’s chest. “Go to Caraxes. Take flight. Clear your head. When you return, I expect both you and Rhaenys to tell a tale of our youth to the younger ones here. Go.”
Daemon grumbled but did not argue, turning on his heel and striding toward the exit.
Comments
Spooky
Love the story hope for more updates soon
