The Red Dragon
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22. Lord of the Sea
🕑 Added 2025-05-25 17:20:23 +0000 UTCHigh Tide
Suddenly, his father stood up and drew everyone’s attention by banging his wine cup on the table a few times. Every man and woman bearing the name Velaryon, household guards and servants, captains and crew of the Velaryon fleet, turned to look at their lord, curious to know the cause for the sudden feast and celebration.
“You may be wondering, ‘Why the sudden feast? What have we to celebrate? We’ve won no great campaign, and my family expects no new addition.’ The answer to your questions lies with my son. They call him the Sea Snake’s boy—but that title is soon to change. For at three-and-ten, my son has surpassed me. I am but a mere Lord of Tides.”
Corlys paused for dramatic effect, and it worked—the crowd was hanging on his every word. A glance toward Laenor told him what his father wanted.
“I present to you my son—the future of House Velaryon, the pride of our blood. The Lord of the Seas, Laenor Velaryon!”
The crowd murmured in confusion at first, but it was quickly silenced when Laenor rose and spread his hands for flair. He pressed his will upon every drop of water in the hall—be it in pots, jugs, or cups. It rose at his command and gathered near the ceiling. Gasps and wide eyes followed.
The water took the shape of the House Velaryon sigil: a seahorse entirely formed of water. Moments later, it shifted again, this time into a great serpentine form—broad and round-bodied, with a head unlike any land-bound creature. Its horns were long, and its dagger-like teeth gleamed as it flew with grace and speed, drawing awe and disbelief from the onlookers.
A few heartbeats later, Laenor willed the water back into its containers.
The silence broke into a cacophony:
“How?”
“Is it magic?”
“Can Lord Laenor control the whole sea like this?”
“Does this mean he’s a sorcerer?”
“Lord of the Seas!”
“Can Lord Laenor control even my piss?”
Laenor’s eyes narrowed, trying to identify the last speaker, but the noise was too great to single anyone out.
“I know you all have questions—how is my son so gifted? How does this power work? My lady wife and I can only offer one answer: Velaryon blood. Ours is of salt and sea.”
He raised his cup high.
“This feast honors not just Laenor, but all of House Velaryon. For just as the Targaryens rule the skies, we shall rule the seas. To Laenor! And to House Velaryon!”
A thunder of cheers erupted through High Tide as bards began to play and people broke into dance. Laenor and Laena found themselves with many eager partners and danced with a dozen each—and with each other. When the tune changed, they returned to their seats. Laena dropped into her chair with a small groan, clearly tired. Their parents returned shortly after, laughing, having danced together.
As they sat together watching their people celebrate, Laenor leaned forward, sensing this was the right moment to speak.
“Father, I didn’t summon you here just to show my powers. I’ve been pushing myself for the past year to grow stronger—so that I can join the campaign at the Stepstones and help you win those islands. Before you refuse me, consider this: the sea is my domain now. With Embaryx at my side, I could be the piece that helps end this war swiftly and with fewer losses.”
He knew his father was a pragmatic man and would see reason in this argument. Laenor kept his eyes on him, ignoring the simultaneous outcry from his mother and sister:
“Absolutely not!”
Laenor didn’t even glance their way. Convincing them could come later. His father’s word was the one that mattered now.
“I see no problem with that, son,” Corlys said. “But hear this: on the battlefield, I will be your commander and your lord. You will obey my every command—without question or complaint. War is not a place for someone your age, and with your gifts, enemies will come for you first. No matter your power, one man alone can’t stand against a dozen. But in war, you’ll find men worth trusting—bonds forged in battle can outlast Valyrian steel.”
He sipped his wine and looked at Laenor meaningfully. Laenor nodded solemnly.
But soon, father and son found themselves in a different kind of war—a war of words, trying to convince two furious women. They won, but only by the grace of the gods, and only by agreeing to numerous conditions Laenor had to follow. If any were broken, he would return home immediately.
Satisfied with his victory, Laenor bid his family goodnight and retired to his chambers. In two days, they would depart for the Stepstones—and there was still much to be done before then.
Vaemond Velaryon
Vaemond watched as his nephew bade farewell to his mother and sister. He could see Laena shedding tears for all to see, while Rhaenys, as always, maintained better control of her emotions. Vaemond thought his niece need not worry—her brother was no ordinary sailor or man. He was a Velaryon, and a blessed one at that.
To think the gods could be this merciful—Vaemond swore he would pray to the Seven every day to thank them for the gift they had bestowed upon his house. To say he was shocked when Laenor revealed his ability would be a great understatement. Never, not even in his wildest imaginings, had he thought that House Velaryon might possess the power to command the very lifeblood of their legacy—the waters of the sea. But that shock had quickly given way to joy. Such was his elation that he had drunk through the night, telling anyone who would listen about the gift the heir of House Velaryon had been given.
By dawn, all of Driftmark knew: Lord Laenor could command the seas and drown islands beneath waves. Corlys had to send men to drag Vaemond from the shipyard, where he had passed out drinking with the shipwrights. But Vaemond didn’t regret it—not one bit.
It was a time for celebration, and a simple feast hadn’t done it justice. It should have been an event to rival the Golden Wedding in grandeur. Let the whole realm witness the heights House Velaryon had reached—for surely the gods would reward them with even more.
But alas, war had called them to the Stepstones, where loyal men of House Velaryon were stationed. And Vaemond did not trust the Rogue Prince’s competence in commanding a fleet. Targaryens, for all their dragon-borne arrogance, could never match the Velaryons at sea. The skies belonged to the Targaryens—but the sea was ours. Always had been. Even Prince Daemon relied on Velaryon ships, as had every Targaryen before him.
And now, with Laenor commanding the very waters, the House of the Dragon would come to see that Velaryons were no mere vessels. Their blood was the same—older, even. Purer, perhaps.
Vaemond was pulled from his thoughts by a raw, guttural sound that reverberated through the harbor. His eyes lifted instinctively. He knew that sound well—it was the roar of a dragon. And by the color of the beast, it was Laenor’s.
Embaryx swooped down from the heavens, and Vaemond had to grip the railings as the ship rocked from the sheer force of the landing. Winds howled as the beast descended.
By the Seven, these dragons of his nephew and niece were growing at an unnatural rate. In just one year, Embaryx was already more than half the size of the Blood Wyrm—and the Blood Wyrm was nearly fifty years older. If they continued at this pace, Embaryx might rival Vhagar herself within a decade. But dragon growth was unpredictable; it slowed after a certain point, so nothing could be said with certainty.
Embaryx lowered his neck for Laenor, and Vaemond once again witnessed the impossible: the beast that gave nightmares to a hundred thousand souls purred like a kitten at its rider’s approach. It never ceased to amaze him—how dragons could be so utterly subservient to their rider, and yet savage to all others.
Not long after, Laenor boarded the ship with Corlys. Vaemond turned to order the sails unfurled, but Laenor stopped him.
“Do not give the order, uncle,” he said.
“Is anyone left for you to bid farewell to on Driftmark, nephew?” Vaemond asked with a smirk.
“No,” Laenor replied, a mischievous smile on his lips. “There’s something I’d like to try.”
He closed his eyes, and Vaemond noticed Corlys watching eagerly. A realization dawned. He turned his gaze to the sea, expecting to see the same magic he'd witnessed during the feast.
But the magic came not from the sea—but beneath his feet.
The ships stirred. Sails unfurled on their own. Rudders shifted. Vessels began to move—not with crews or commands, but as if guided by invisible hands. The ship Vaemond stood upon began to maneuver itself, as though a phantom captain held the wheel.
Madness. Pure madness.
And Vaemond loved it.
Because it meant Laenor—heir of House Velaryon—had not just one weapon, but many. Powers he had kept hidden.
Vaemond laughed. A wild, unrestrained laughter that rang across the deck. The stunned expressions of the crew only made it sweeter.
“Lord Laenor,” he declared, eyes shining with pride. “Lord of the Sea.”
Comments
Zara Greenshields
Another great chapter
Rodrigo Costa
Great chapter! And soon to boost. Hopefully this will become a trend. ;) Keep up the good work and update it soon.
