The Targaryen and Velaryon Houses, both noble houses of ancient Valyria, have shared a deep bond throughout history. Together, they survived the Doom of Valyria, but notable differences set them apart.
The Targaryens possess dragons, the rightful rulers of the skies, with the power to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. The Velaryons, who claim salt in their blood, are revered as the Lords of the Tides.
For centuries, these two houses have been intricately linked. Today, Sea Snake Corlys Velaryon is married to Princess Rhaenys, and their children have taken command of dragons. However, the perceived weakness of King Viserys has led the Velaryons to look down on the royal family.
The emergence of Rhaegar Targaryen has shifted this dynamic. By establishing the Dragon Laws, he disqualified the next generation of Velaryons from controlling dragons. Without dragons, the Velaryons are diminished, no longer holding the unique power they once did.
Daemon's children, pure Targaryens, are born with the bloodline and qualifications to command dragons. For them to adopt the Velaryon name would mean renouncing their royal heritage and the right to rule dragons. Daemon, a solitary figure, even refused to father an heir with his former wife, Lady Rhea, to inherit Runestone. How could he allow his child to forgo the Targaryen name for Driftmark?
Rhaegar, understanding Daemon's perspective, shook his head. "I am not a father yet, but my child is my child, and that cannot be changed." The Targaryen identity was far more significant than being a Velaryon, and Daemon's pride in the Targaryen name meant he would never let his children give it up.
If Daemon had not valued this pride, he wouldn't have risked his life by returning to Driftmark with Laena to fight for his daughters' rights. Finding some agreement in Rhaegar's words, Daemon's irritation eased slightly.
Laena had been pressing him about the inheritance. Corlys's offer wasn't unreasonable, but Daemon couldn't bring himself to agree. To him, it felt dishonorable for his children to change their name.
With a sneer, Daemon expressed his contempt for Laenor. "I pray that Laenor, that failure, can father a child so the Sea Snake can have a grandchild to inherit his legacy." If Laenor were capable, none of this would be an issue.
Rhaegar laughed and shook his head. "Laenor can't be with women. It's nearly impossible."
If Laenor could fulfill this role, there wouldn't be so much trouble.
Daemon's eyes flashed with disdain. "Gender is just an illusion. It's the outer skin that matters. A real man should sleep with whomever he wants."
Rhaegar was momentarily speechless, taken aback by Daemon's blunt philosophy. These words disrupted his understanding, and he quickly crushed the unsettling thoughts forming in his mind. Glancing at Rhaenyra, he hurriedly dispelled any improper notions.
Daemon smirked and spoke in a patronizing tone, "You should try different women more often. It's the only way to grow."
He then glanced at Rhaenyra and added, "No matter how good the main course is, any flavor can get boring."
Rhaegar stepped in front of Rhaenyra, understanding the implication. He replied calmly, "Uncle, everyone has different tastes and habits."
"You might be right," he continued. "I used to dislike wine, but now I enjoy my own sweet fruit wine. However, I still long for the sweets I've loved since childhood."
Rhaegar's voice was firm and sincere. The Targaryens were known for their deep desires, but that didn't mean there was no loyalty. He wasn't like his father and uncle, who frequented brothels.
With that, he took Rhaenyra's hand and squeezed it gently. Rhaenyra lifted her chin and gave Daemon a cold look. She despised those who encouraged Rhaegar to stray.
"Whatever," Daemon scoffed. "Enjoying the most abundant rights in the world while suppressing your nature is ridiculous."
Rhaegar frowned at the accusation. Rhaenyra tugged his hand and said dismissively, "Ignore him. Laena is pregnant and won't let him on the ship, so he's holding his fire."
She knew Daemon's persuasive nature all too well. She had once been tempted by his mantra of "sleep with whoever you want." In hindsight, it was an irresponsible notion. How can one be responsible for their family and loved ones if consumed by desire?
Rhaegar nodded, deciding not to argue. Everyone has different tastes and habits. Daemon was Daemon, and he was himself. They were different people and didn't need to conform to each other's ways.
The siblings walked hand in hand towards the Dragonpit in search of their dragons. Daemon watched them go, his eyes glinting with stubbornness. He whispered, "This is your nature, and this is what a Targaryen is."
...
Harrenhal
A desolate ruin on the northern shore of Lake God's Eye, had seen better days. Now, its crumbling walls and steep hillside were the backdrop for a peculiar gathering. Hundreds of rough-hewn laborers clustered around several massive, thick iron cauldrons.
The task was both strange and arduous. They removed stones and mud from the damaged walls and threw them into the cauldrons, mixing in dark, sticky dragon dung.
"Roar..."
A dragon's roar pierced the air as several large orange and white fireballs descended into the cauldrons.
With a sizzle and a hiss, the materials within the cauldrons began to melt into a liquid form. Standing tall and imposing, the priest Tru recited incantations, urging the formation of black dragonstone.
Moments later, the cauldrons contained a boiling, bubbling solution of blackstone. The workers hurriedly placed half-high stone jars beneath the cauldrons. Supported by two brackets, the cauldrons tilted, pouring the molten solution into the stone jars.
Workers inserted flat loads into the arm-thick holes at either end of the jars, then carried them away to pour the solution onto the foundation of the demolished wall. Hundreds of workers worked in unison, and in less than half an hour a towering section of wall over ten meters long had taken shape.
The workers dispersed, not out of laziness, but because of the demanding nature of their material supplier. Nearby, a light-gray dragon lay at the base of the wall, its head drooping lazily, its tail flicking occasionally.
A team of black-armored guards arrived, leading several fat, strong goats. The goats walked slowly in front of the dragon, known as Gray Ghost, who lifted his eyelids, looked at them, and then opened his mouth to release a dragonfire.
"Baa~~"
The goats screamed as they were incinerated, transforming into charred roasted meat. Gray Ghost stretched his neck, devoured them slowly, and burped, releasing a sulfuric scent into the air.
Once Gray Ghost finished its meal, Tru ordered the laborers to prepare for the next round of dragonstone smelting. In the past, the powerful Cannibal dragon had been used to melt dragonstone, but its fire was too intense, often injuring workers and destroying containers.
Now, Gray Ghost was the primary dragon for this task, with Syrax and Dreamfire occasionally rotating in.
"Roar..."
A fierce wind stirred as a black dragon's shadow crossed the vast Lake of God's Eye, soaring above Harrenhal. A golden dragon followed closely, both landing in the courtyard of the Kingspyre and Widow's Towers.
...
The Kingspyre Tower
Rhaegar entered his castle, Kingspyre Tower, with a relaxed air. Despite its grandeur, the castle lacked the solidity he desired. Still, he found the picturesque scenery, pleasant surroundings, and mild climate of Harrenhal far more comfortable than the foul-smelling gutters of King's Landing.
As he entered the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, Tormund and Grey Worm approached, each carrying a white falcon on their shoulders.
"Prince Rhaegar," they greeted him respectfully.
Rhaegar nodded. "What is it?"
Tormund, his chief of intelligence, and Grey Worm, commander of the Harrenhal garrison, were his trusted confidants. Their presence signaled something important.
Tormund gently coughed and produced two letters from his pocket, speaking softly, "A letter from Highgarden and one from Riverrun."
Rhaegar took the letters and began to read. Moments later, Rhaenyra, wearing a red strapless dress, approached with a curious look.
"What are you looking at?" she asked.
"See for yourself," Rhaegar replied, handing her one of the letters.
Rhaenyra took the letter and read it carefully. The elegant handwriting was unmistakably feminine, and the letter was filled with elaborate expressions of admiration for Rhaegar.
"It's from the daughter of the Lord of Highgarden, Margaery Tyrell," Rhaegar explained.
"Hmph, what a rotten Highgarden rose," Rhaenyra scoffed, slapping the letter playfully against Rhaegar's chest. "Someone wrote you a love letter. Why don't you hurry up and answer it?"
Rhaegar took her hand and laughed softly. "Roses have thorns. I wouldn't dare pluck them indiscriminately."
The content of the letter was bold and explicit, undeniably a love letter. It included an invitation for Rhaegar to visit Highgarden, which piqued his interest. Old Tyrell had recently lost his heir, making Highgarden a political powder keg. Margaery's letter at such a tumultuous time made Rhaegar suspicious of her intentions.
Rhaenyra crossed her arms, skeptical. She remembered how innocent Rhaegar had been with Jeyne at first, even refusing her invitations. But when she wasn't looking, their relationship had blossomed. Rhaenyra was wary of history repeating itself.
Seeing her doubt, Rhaegar handed her the other note.
Rhaenyra took it reluctantly, her eyes never leaving Rhaegar's face. She read the message from Riverrun and gasped, "Old Lord Tully is bedridden?"
The letter explained that Grover Tully was incapacitated, leaving Riverrun leaderless and in chaos. His two sons were vying for power, each gathering petty nobles and landless knights, resulting in daily martial duels.
(Word count: 1,583)