The tournament grounds were alive with the echoes of cheers and the clash of armor, as knights from across the realm competed for honor and glory. Yet, despite the festive air, an undercurrent of tension ran through the Red Keep. Whispers of the incident between Queen Alicent and Lady Vensalia had spread like wildfire, and the mood was heavy with the fallout from the slap and the ensuing scandal. The servants had no restraint in their gossip, and almost every corner of the castle was alive with murmurs about Vensalia’s rise in the court. And then, of course, there was the matter of the Hightowers.

King Viserys, seething with anger at what had transpired, had initially ordered that the Hightowers be banished from participating in the tournament. The thought of the Hightower name being linked to such disgraceful behavior was too much for him to bear, and he felt compelled to act quickly. However, Lady Vensalia, ever composed and empathetic, stepped forward and changed the course of events. She knew the importance of maintaining some semblance of balance, even when emotions were high.

“Your Grace,” she had said, her voice steady, “the Hightowers are a family, and though many have wronged me, not all of them bear the same stain. I ask that Gwayne Hightower be allowed to compete. I know him to be a man of honor, and I believe it would be unjust to punish him for the actions of others.”

Viserys, though initially resistant, had been moved by Vensalia’s words. He looked at her, his daughter-in-law-to-be, and saw not the manipulative woman some believed her to be, but someone who was guided by a deep understanding of fairness. Her kindness, even in the face of such adversity, shone through like a beacon in the dark.

“Very well,” he had said reluctantly, “Gwayne may compete. But know this: I will not tolerate any further transgressions from the Hightowers.”

The decision was made, and soon the news of Gwayne’s participation spread. It was a moment that no one had expected—especially not those watching from the shadows, who had expected him to behave like the rest of his family. Gwayne Hightower, however, had proved them wrong. When he arrived at the tournament grounds, he approached Vensalia, his head lowered in respect.

“I owe you my thanks, Lady Vensalia,” he said, his voice sincere, though laced with shame. “I know what my family has done, and I am ashamed to be a part of it. I apologize, on their behalf, for the wrongs they’ve done to you.”

Vensalia, ever gracious, waved off his apology. “There is no need for such formalities, Ser Gwayne,” she replied softly. “You are not responsible for the actions of others. I simply wish for fairness, for the chance to allow everyone, even those who may not deserve punishment, to find their own path.”

She gestured for him to rise, her smile warm but her eyes sharp. “Do well in the tournament, Ser Gwayne. Prove that you are your own man, and let your actions speak for themselves.”

And with that, Gwayne Hightower, still bearing the weight of his family’s name, nodded deeply, thanking her again before moving off to prepare for the upcoming jousts.

As word spread about Vensalia’s mercy and kindness, the atmosphere around the tournament shifted. There were whispers, of course, but these were different—admiration, even respect, for the young woman who had shown grace in a time of such tumult. People began to take note of her quiet strength and her ability to influence events with subtlety and poise. They spoke of her as someone who could move mountains without ever raising her voice. The term “darling of the court” had quickly gained traction, and it was not long before even the nobility had started referring to her by that name.

In the royal box, where the King, Queen, and other prominent members of the court gathered to watch the tournament unfold, Vensalia sat quietly, her demeanor calm despite the storm of whispers swirling around her. Aemond was by her side, ever protective, his sharp eyes scanning the crowds, aware of the rumors but refusing to let them touch his family. He was proud of Vensalia, proud of her kindness and her resolve in the face of such adversity.

“You’ve caused quite a stir, my lady,” Aemond remarked, his voice low but tinged with amusement. He could see how the eyes of the court shifted toward her whenever she moved, a mixture of awe and curiosity in their gazes.

Vensalia smiled faintly, her gaze on the tournament, though she was well aware of the attention she was drawing. “It was not my intention to be the center of attention,” she replied, her tone laced with something darker. “But the court thrives on rumors, and rumors are something I have learned to handle.”

Aemond chuckled, his hand resting on the arm of his chair. “You’re more than capable of handling them. You’ve already done more than most would have in your position.”

Vensalia’s smile softened, but there was a calculating gleam in her eyes. “The more they whisper, the more they see what they want to see. And when they finally understand what I am capable of, they will respect me, even if they do not fully trust me.”

Across from them, Helaena sat with a soft expression, her eyes drooping with the weight of sleep, though she clutched a small box filled with moths, a gift Vensalia had given her earlier in the day. The delicate creatures fluttered softly inside the box, their wings translucent in the sunlight. Helaena, despite the chaotic atmosphere around her, found solace in the quiet comfort of the moths. She had always been drawn to their gentle nature, and the gift from Vensalia had been a gesture that meant far more to her than words could express.

“Vensalia,” Helaena murmured sleepily, her eyes fluttering open to gaze at the young woman. “Thank you for the new moths. They make me feel... calm.”

Vensalia’s gaze softened, and she reached over to gently place her hand on Helaena’s shoulder. “You are welcome, Helaena,” she replied, her voice soothing. “May they bring you the peace you seek.”

The tournament raged on in the background, but Vensalia’s focus was on the present—on the two Targaryen siblings beside her, one fiercely protective and the other quietly contemplative. She had no intention of getting lost in the noise of the tournament, but rather to use this moment to cement her place at the heart of the court. The more she interacted with the royals, the more she saw how deeply their fates were intertwined with hers. The whispers about her would only grow louder, and with each passing day, she would find herself standing taller amidst the shifting sands of court politics.

The rest of the court watched the spectacle before them, the jousts, the knights clashing in their attempts to prove their worth. But none of them could ignore the shift in the air, the way Vensalia had become a quiet force in the kingdom. Some may have feared her, others admired her, but all knew that Lady Vensalia would not be easily ignored. Her rise had begun, and it was impossible to stop the tides once they had begun to change.

As the tournament continued, the audience could only wonder what Vensalia’s next move would be.

---

The evening was filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets as the ball carried on after the grand tourney. The flickering lights of the chandeliers cast a soft glow over the room, dancing on the walls, as lords and ladies mingled, exchanging whispers and smiles. In the midst of it all, Lady Vensalia and Aemond Targaryen, her betrothed, were in the center of attention, drawing curious glances and quiet admiration from the court.

Vensalia moved gracefully across the dance floor, her crimson-streaked white hair swaying with every step, her eyes bright with the thrill of the evening. The music played, and she followed Aemond’s lead, the two of them a perfect pair, their movements seamless and fluid. Despite the joy around her, however, a strange sensation began to stir in Vensalia’s chest. The spinning of the ballroom seemed to intensify, her head becoming heavy, and a sense of dizziness threatened to overwhelm her.

Aemond, ever the watchful partner, noticed the subtle change in her demeanor. Her usual composed expression wavered, and her steps began to falter slightly. His grip on her hand tightened, and his brow furrowed with concern.

“Vensalia, are you feeling well?” Aemond’s voice was low but urgent, his hand moving to her waist to steady her. “Would you like to rest for a moment?”

But Vensalia could not respond. The blackness that was creeping up on her vision intensified, like a tide rushing in, consuming her. She tried to steady herself, to focus on Aemond, to ground herself in the present, but it was no use. Her legs gave way, and before she could catch herself, she collapsed in his arms.

Aemond’s eyes widened in shock as he caught her limp form. His heart raced, panic clawing at his chest. She was unresponsive, her body cold, her head lolling to the side. His first instinct was to shout for help, but then his gaze fell on something that made his blood run cold.

Underneath the long strands of Vensalia’s hair, where her white and crimson locks met, there was blood. Dark, thick blood had stained her scalp, just beneath her hairline. It was a small but unmistakable stain, where his great uncle, the man who had once been a shadow in the background of the court, had pulled her earlier.

Aemond’s mind raced, his thoughts like lightning, flashing with a thousand questions. The blood—it was unmistakable. Had she been hurt? Why hadn’t she said anything? His thoughts were frantic, but his actions were swift. He gently cradled Vensalia’s head, lifting her off the ground as a few nearby courtiers gasped in shock. His gaze never left her pale face, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar fear.

“Someone fetch the maester!” Aemond commanded, his voice sharp and full of urgency. His grip tightened around Vensalia as he began to move quickly toward the nearest door, his gaze locked on her face, desperate for any sign that she was still with him.

His heart hammered in his chest, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as he carried her through the halls, his mind whirling with the realization that something more than just her health was at play. That blood, that injury—it wasn’t just a momentary mishap. Ormund had hurt her too much, and Aemond’s anger flared.

Vensalia stirred slightly in his arms, a faint moan escaping her lips. He breathed a sigh of relief, though it was laced with anxiety. She was alive, but how badly had she been hurt?

“Hold on, Vensalia. Just hold on,” he whispered, his voice soft but filled with desperation. His pace quickened as he neared the chambers where the maester would be waiting, hoping that she would be alright, that the injury wouldn’t be worse than it seemed.

By the time they reached the maester’s chambers, Vensalia had become more conscious, though her eyelids fluttered with the effort. She let out a faint gasp, her face pale and streaked with a thin sheen of sweat.

“Aemond…?” her voice was weak, barely audible.

“Shh, Vensalia, don’t speak,” he urged, his voice strained as he set her down gently on the cot. He turned to the waiting maester, his gaze desperate. “Please, help her.”

The maester wasted no time. He moved quickly to Vensalia’s side, examining her closely before his gaze landed on the blood in her hair. His face hardened as he reached for the ointments and bandages, murmuring a prayer under his breath.

Aemond stood nearby, pacing, unable to keep his eyes off of Vensalia as the maester worked. The feeling of helplessness gnawed at him, his frustration growing with every second. He had been too late, too slow to protect her from whatever had happened. His mind flashed back to earlier in the evening, to the way she had looked at him with such warmth and trust, and now, she was here, on a bed, fading in and out of consciousness. He could feel the guilt tightening in his chest.

“She’s strong,” the maester said after a moment, his voice calm but carrying the weight of experience. “It’s a minor injury, thankfully. But she’s fainted from the shock and loss of blood. We will need to keep her resting for a while. She should be fine, my lord.”

Aemond’s tension eased slightly, though the dread in his chest didn’t entirely disappear. He nodded stiffly, but his eyes never left Vensalia’s face. The maester began cleaning the wound on her scalp, carefully removing the blood to get a clearer look at the injury.

As Vensalia lay there, her body still and pale, Aemond felt an overwhelming wave of protectiveness. He hadn’t realized how much she had come to mean to him, how deeply he had come to care for her. His heart swelled with emotions he didn’t fully understand, emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for anyone in a long time.

He couldn’t lose her.

Her breathing was slow but steady, and slowly, Vensalia’s eyes fluttered open. Her gaze met Aemond’s, and she offered him a faint, tired smile.

“Aemond,” she whispered, her voice fragile.

“I’m here,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Vensalia’s smile deepened slightly, though her eyes still held a trace of concern. “I’m sorry… for causing such a scene.”

“Don’t apologize,” Aemond said firmly, his hand brushing a lock of hair from her face. “You didn’t cause anything. You’ve been hurt, and I should have noticed sooner.”

Vensalia’s eyes softened as she gazed at him. Despite the pain, despite the blood, there was a quiet calmness in her that reassured him. She wasn’t afraid. Even in the face of whatever had happened to her, she was not afraid.

The maester finished his work and stepped back, nodding toward Aemond. “She’ll need to rest now, my lord. I’ll check on her in the morning, but she should be alright.”

Aemond nodded, still watching Vensalia carefully. As the maester exited the room, he gently sat beside her, his presence offering her silent comfort. He didn’t need to say anything more. His feelings, raw and unspoken, were evident in the way he held her hand, in the way he refused to leave her side.

Vensalia, still weak, closed her eyes and sighed. “Thank you for being here, Aemond.”

Aemond’s voice was soft, but steady. “I’ll always be here, Vensalia.”

As the night wore on, with the sounds of the ball echoing faintly through the halls, Aemond stayed by her side. His mind remained in turmoil over the events of the evening, but he found solace in the fact that, for now, she was safe. And no matter what, he would do everything in his power to ensure she stayed that way.

---

The atmosphere in the Red Keep had grown heavy with tension as the day dragged on. Word had already spread throughout the castle about the trial of Ormund Hightower, the once proud and influential member of House Hightower, who had been accused of assaulting Lady Vensalia. Whispers filled the hallways, with every servant and courtier speculating about the potential consequences of his actions. Some spoke of his arrogance, others of his sudden and unprovoked aggression, but all were certain of one thing: Ormund Hightower’s fate would not be kind.

Yet, amidst the trial, there was another unsettling event that had drawn the attention of the entire court. The news had traveled faster than wildfire—that Lady Vensalia, Aemond’s betrothed, had collapsed during the evening ball. She had fainted in the middle of a dance, her graceful movements faltering as she struggled to maintain her balance. Aemond, ever the vigilant protector, had immediately noticed her discomfort. Concern furrowed his brow as he reached out to steady her, but before he could react, she had crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

When he knelt beside her, his eyes widened in shock. Beneath the crimson-streaked white hair that flowed so elegantly around her face, there was a streak of blood—a stain that had slowly spread from the base of her skull. It had been hidden beneath her flowing locks, unnoticed by the others until that moment. The sight of it left Aemond cold with fury.

He had recognized the telltale signs immediately. The wound was no accident; it had been inflicted. It was a reminder of the cruel hand that had harmed her, and Aemond could feel the anger building inside him. The flashbacks of that moment in the halls of Red keep when Ormund Hightower had grabbed Vensalia by her hair had only made his blood boil even more. It was no longer just a slap to her dignity—this was an attack on someone Aemond cared for deeply. The memory of his great uncle’s brutal hands on Vensalia’s delicate hair echoed in Aemond’s mind like a terrible omen.

Now, Vensalia lay in Aemond’s chambers, still unconscious. He refused to leave her side, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. He sat beside her, watching over her as the maesters tended to her wound again. She was still in a deep slumber, but at least her breathing had steadied, and her pulse had become more regular. He knew that her fainting had been no accident, that something far more sinister lay beneath it.

The trial of Ormund Hightower continued on in another part of the Red Keep, with the evidence stacking against him. His own family, once so proud of their name, was now forced to reckon with the disgrace that Ormund had brought upon them. Hobert Hightower, his father, had pleaded for mercy, but even his influence could not save him now. After the trial, it was clear that Ormund would be sent away, stripped of his power and dignity. He would be banished from the court, never to return. The Hightowers had fallen from grace, and the consequences of their actions were now beginning to play out in full.

Yet, for all the shame that Ormund’s actions had brought upon House Hightower, it was the fallout from his attack on Vensalia that truly gripped the court’s attention. The news of her injury had shaken everyone, from the lowliest servant to the most powerful lords. They had heard of Ormund’s cruelty, but to witness the aftermath of his assault on Vensalia had left a mark on the collective conscience of the realm.

The moment Vensalia had fainted, the gossip began to swell like a tidal wave. The court was in turmoil as people began connecting the dots. Ormund’s vicious behavior had not gone unnoticed, and now, with the revelation that Vensalia had fainted due to a head injury, the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fall into place. It was impossible for anyone to ignore the obvious conclusion: Ormund had been the one to hurt her.

Among the servants, whispers of sympathy for Lady Vensalia turned to anger at Ormund’s actions. The servants who had once quietly admired the Hightowers now looked at them with disdain. The whispers behind closed doors only grew louder as they speculated about the true nature of the attack and how much Ormund’s violence had contributed to Vensalia’s injury.

Meanwhile, the Hightowers were left to face the consequences of their actions. Otto Hightower, who had once been the most powerful man in the kingdom, could no longer maintain his composure in public. He walked through the halls of the Red Keep, his posture slumped, his eyes lowered in embarrassment as he passed by servants who had once treated him with the utmost respect. Now, all they could do was whisper behind his back, questioning his family’s honor and speculating about how much of Ormund’s behavior had been influenced by him.

But it wasn’t just the servants who took notice of the Hightowers’ disgrace. The other noble houses of the realm were quick to distance themselves from the scandal. The political fallout from Ormund’s actions was undeniable, and the once-proud House Hightower was now seen as a symbol of hubris and shame. Otto knew that the damage had been done, and there was little he could do to salvage his family’s name.

Despite this, there was still one member of House Hightower who had managed to escape the consequences of his family’s actions: Gwayne Hightower, his son. He had been absent from the trial, his whereabouts unknown, but his name had not been mentioned in connection to the scandal. For now, he was untouched by the shame that had befallen the rest of his family. It was unclear how long that would last, but for the moment, Gwayne remained a figure of mystery.

Meanwhile, Vensalia’s condition was still a concern. Aemond had not left her side, and the court watched anxiously for any updates on her health. The longer she remained unconscious, the more the court began to worry. Some feared the worst, while others speculated about the true nature of her injury. Had Ormund’s attack been truly the cause of her collapse? Or was there something more to it?

As the days wore on, Aemond’s concern for Vensalia deepened. He refused to leave her chambers, ensuring that she received the best care from the maesters. Every day, he sat by her side, watching her as she slept, his heart aching with worry. He couldn’t help but feel responsible for not having been there to protect her when she needed him most. He blamed himself for not realizing sooner the extent of Ormund’s cruelty, and it gnawed at him that he hadn’t been able to stop the violence before it happened.

Still, Aemond knew that Vensalia was strong. She had proven herself time and time again to be capable, clever, and resilient. He knew she would recover—he just had to be there for her until she did.

As for the trial of Ormund Hightower, it had been a turning point. The Hightowers, once so proud and so powerful, had fallen from grace in the eyes of the court. Their reputation was tarnished, and no matter how much Otto Hightower tried to salvage the situation, it was clear that the damage was done. The court would never forget what had happened, and neither would Vensalia.

When she finally woke from her slumber, it was Aemond who was the first to greet her. He was sitting at her bedside, his eyes tired but filled with relief when he saw her open her eyes.

“Vensalia,” he whispered, his voice soft but filled with concern. “You’re awake.”

She blinked a few times, her head still heavy from the pain, but she managed to smile weakly. “Aemond,” she whispered back, her voice hoarse. “I’m fine. Really.”

Aemond’s hand reached for hers, his grip warm and reassuring. “Don’t worry about anything,” he said gently. “We’ll take care of everything. You just focus on getting better.”

Vensalia nodded, her eyes flicking to the wound on her head, which was still wrapped in bandages. She knew it would take time to heal, but for now, the most important thing was that she was alive. And as long as she had Aemond by her side, she would recover, stronger than ever.

But as the trial of Ormund Hightower continued, and the repercussions of his actions reverberated through the court, one thing was certain: the balance of power in the Red Keep had shifted. House Hightower was no longer the influential force it once was. And Vensalia, the quiet girl with the crimson streaks in her hair, had become an unexpected symbol of strength and resilience—a force to be reckoned with in the halls of power.

---

In the quiet of late morning, Laena Velaryon sat by the window of her chambers, watching the soft waves crash against the shore, her mind at ease. The ever-present hum of the sea filled her thoughts, grounding her in the familiar. Yet, today was different. She wasn’t alone. Her father, Corlys Velaryon, had come to visit, and as usual, his presence carried weight. But something about the look in his eyes today was unusual. There was a flicker of uncertainty that Laena had never seen before.

Corlys, the mighty Sea Snake, whose name was feared across the seas, stood in front of her with an air of hesitation. He was normally a man of iron resolve, commanding respect without saying a word. But today, his normally confident posture seemed slightly more reserved as he cleared his throat.

“Laena,” he began, his voice carrying the seriousness that usually accompanied his requests, “I need your help.”

Laena blinked in surprise, unsure of what to make of his tone. Her father wasn’t known for asking for assistance; rather, it was he who gave the orders, the one others sought to please. She set her book down, her curiosity piqued.

“What is it, Father?” Laena asked, raising an eyebrow.

Corlys took a deep breath, looking as if he were steeling himself for something he was about to confess. He stepped closer, the weight of his words hanging between them.

“I need you to lend me Daemon,” he said, his voice slightly strained, as if the very act of asking for help went against his nature. “I want him to accompany me to the Gullet. I wish to bond with one of the water dragons there.”

Laena’s eyes widened, her shock evident. She glanced at Daemon, who was standing silently in the corner of the room, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for something. She couldn’t help but look back at her father, whose expression was determined yet awkward.

“Father,” Laena said slowly, blinking in disbelief. “You... you want Daemon to come with you... to the Gullet? To bond with a water dragon?”

Corlys nodded. “Yes.”

A laugh slipped from Laena’s lips, and her expression shifted between surprise and amusement. “But... you’ve always kept your distance from dragons. You’ve never wanted to be involved with them. What’s changed?”

Corlys’ face reddened slightly, though his resolve remained firm. “It’s time, Laena. It’s time I faced my fear of the creatures that have been a part of our family’s legacy for so long. I’ve spent enough time on ships. Now, I need to understand these beasts, too.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking between her father and Daemon, who had begun to shift uncomfortably in the corner, clearly amused by the entire situation. Daemon, who had bonded with the dragons so easily, who had his own dragon, was still something of a mystery to Corlys. Despite the strong ties between their families, the Sea Snake had always kept a healthy distance from dragons, never fully embracing them the way his children had.

Daemon, seeing an opportunity for a bit of fun, let out a soft chuckle, unable to contain his amusement. “So, the Sea Snake, who promised himself he would never come near a dragon, now wants to bond with one?” He let the question hang in the air, his tone mocking yet playful. “How the mighty have fallen.”

Corlys’ frown deepened, but the glint of irritation in his eyes didn’t match the weight of his words. “You may mock, Daemon, but I do not require your approval,” he said, his voice deepening slightly. “It is simply something I must do.”

Laena’s laughter bubbled up once more as she looked at her father. “You really do surprise me, Father. I never thought I’d hear you ask for Daemon’s help to bond with a dragon.”

Daemon stepped forward, crossing the room with his usual confident gait, the teasing smile still playing on his lips. “Do you require a dragon-riding lesson from me, Corlys?” He leaned against the doorframe with an air of casual amusement, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I do have some experience in that department.”

Corlys’ glare could have burned through steel, but he held his ground. “No need for mockery, Daemon,” he muttered, clearly not enjoying the light-hearted ribbing. “This is serious. I want to understand these creatures. I don’t want to remain a stranger to the dragons that our family has been bound to for centuries.”

Daemon’s chuckle grew louder, and Laena could see her father’s patience beginning to wear thin. The Sea Snake, who ruled the seas with an iron fist, was now reduced to the subject of his son-in-law’s teasing. It was a sight that was impossible not to find amusing.

“You know,” Daemon said, still grinning, “you really could use a dragon to match your title. The Sea Snake, but with a dragon, hmm?” He tapped his chin, pretending to ponder the idea. “I can already imagine the stories. ‘Corlys Velaryon, Sea Snake, and now... Dragonrider!’”

Laena couldn’t help herself, and her laughter erupted once again. She leaned back in her chair, trying to regain her composure. “Father,” she said, still giggling, “I never thought I’d see the day. You, of all people, wanting to bond with a dragon. It’s almost poetic.”

Corlys took a deep breath, trying to maintain his dignity as best as he could. “I may not have the same affinity for dragons as you, Laena, but they are a part of our legacy. If our family is to remain strong, I must learn to respect them and understand their role in our future.”

Daemon, still clearly enjoying the moment, stepped closer to Corlys. “Very well,” he said, with a playful smirk. “I’ll go with you to the Gullet. But just so you know, you might need a little more than courage to get close to one of those beasts.”

Corlys raised an eyebrow, his expression now more serious. “I’m not afraid of them.”

“Mm,” Daemon replied, looking skeptical. “We’ll see. But you’re right about one thing. It’s time for you to understand the dragons, just like the rest of us.”

Laena watched the exchange between the two men with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. There was something undeniably entertaining about seeing the Sea Snake, usually so unflappable, floundering just a bit in the presence of Daemon’s playful teasing. But as her father’s words sank in, Laena couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride. Despite the teasing, Corlys was taking an important step. He was learning to embrace the family legacy he had long kept at arm’s length.

“You’ll be fine, Father,” Laena said, her tone more supportive now, her smile softening. “Daemon will be with you. You won’t be alone.”

Corlys nodded, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you, Laena. I suppose this is as much for our family as it is for me. If I am to lead the Velaryons, I must understand every part of our legacy, even the dragons.”

Daemon, now a bit more serious, offered his father-in-law a knowing look. “We’ll go to the Gullet together,” he said, his voice shifting slightly. “But just remember, Corlys, it’s not all fun and games. The dragons don’t care about your reputation or status. They care about respect. And if you’re going to bond with one, you’ll have to prove that you deserve it.”

Corlys gave Daemon a firm nod. “I’ll remember that.”

And so, with a sense of determination—and perhaps a touch of dread—Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, prepared to face a new chapter in his life. The idea of bonding with a dragon was a foreign one to him, but for the sake of his family, for the sake of their legacy, he was willing to take the plunge.

Daemon, of course, would be there every step of the way, offering his help, teasing him mercilessly, and guiding him through the process. It was an unusual pairing, the steadfast Sea Snake and the free-spirited Prince, but in their own way, they made a powerful team. And Laena, standing by in the background, couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in both men, knowing that despite their differences, they were both willing to adapt for the future of House Velaryon.

As they made plans to leave for the Gullet, Laena couldn’t help but laugh quietly to herself. The Sea Snake had certainly taken an unexpected turn. She wondered just how much of a dragon he would become, and whether she would one day find herself with a dragon-riding father. But, for now, the thought was amusing enough.

---

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow across the waters of Driftmark, the mood among the Velaryon and Targaryen family was one of light-hearted anticipation. Laena, her large bump more pronounced than ever, stood with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, clearly entertained by the absurdity of the situation. She had already teased her father, Corlys, about his earlier request, but now the reality of the plan was settling in. She had decided, despite her condition, to ride one of the dragons, a decision that amused her greatly, knowing it would undoubtedly ruffle her father’s feathers.

"I never thought I'd see the day when the Great Lord of Driftmark would ask for my help," Laena said, her voice light and full of amusement. "Though, I admit, the thought of riding one of these magnificent creatures excites me more than I'd anticipated."

Rhaenys, standing nearby, couldn’t help but chuckle at her daughter’s comment. She had watched with a certain fondness as Laena and Laenor had mounted their water dragons a few days ago, with Laena’s determination and spirit clearly shining through. But seeing Corlys, who had long held dominion over the seas and Driftmark, suddenly looking a little sheepish at the prospect of flying on Caraxes with Daemon was a new sight.

Rhaenys glanced at her husband with an amused smile, raising an eyebrow. It was rare for Corlys to show any hint of discomfort, especially around dragons. But today, it seemed that Daemon’s teasing had gotten under his skin.

"Well, it seems not only Daemon has a penchant for teasing you, my dear," Rhaenys remarked with a smile, her eyes twinkling. “Laena, it seems, has inherited that trait as well.”

Corlys, ever the composed Lord of Driftmark, tried to maintain his usual neutral expression. However, his attempt to mask his growing amusement was betrayed by the slight twitch at the corner of his lips. His gaze met Rhaenys’, and for a moment, they shared a quiet, knowing smile, understanding each other perfectly in that unspoken moment. It was rare for them to laugh so openly together, but this, with Laena’s stubbornness and Daemon’s teasing, had been more than enough to crack the stoic veneer they usually wore.

Laena, meanwhile, was already approaching Vhagar, her long silver hair pulled back into a simple braid as she mounted the dragon with practiced ease. Her bump made the task more complicated than it would have been otherwise, but it didn’t slow her down. Vhagar was a familiar presence to Laena—after all, she had ridden the great dragon many times. Her confidence was clear as she settled herself on the saddle, one hand resting lightly on her abdomen. Despite the weight of her pregnancy, Laena seemed to glow with an inner strength.

Daemon, not one to shy away from a challenge, was already perched upon Caraxes, the Red Dragon’s fiery red scales glistening in the dimming light. Caraxes, ever loyal to Daemon, seemed to bristle with energy, eager to take flight. Daemon’s eyes, glinting with his usual mischief, met Corlys’ gaze as the lord of Driftmark made his way over to him.

“Careful, Father,” Daemon teased with a grin that bordered on impish. “You know, if you ever want a water dragon, I’m sure my dragon can give you some tips on flying.”

Corlys’ expression faltered for a brief moment, and though he tried to hide his discomfort, it was clear that Daemon’s words struck a chord with him. He had long been a man of the sea, of the water dragons that thrived in the depths of the Gullet. Flying dragons had never quite been his domain, and the thought of soaring high above the waves on Caraxes was something that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

"Water dragons, not flying dragons, Daemon," Corlys grumbled, clearly trying to stand firm. “Flying on one of these beasts is a skill I do not require."

Daemon only laughed, clearly enjoying the teasing. "You may not want a flying dragon, Father, but I’m certain Caraxes could show you how to soar with grace," Daemon said, his voice filled with sarcasm, though there was a hint of fondness there as well.

Corlys rolled his eyes, clearly trying to stay composed, but the faintest trace of a smile tugged at his lips. It was rare to see the Lord of Driftmark so flustered, and Daemon’s teasing was clearly getting to him.

Finally, after a moment of hesitation, Corlys let out a sigh and looked back at Daemon. "I suppose I don’t have a choice," he muttered, clearly begrudging the decision. “I will ride Caraxes, but only to prove a point.”

Daemon chuckled, clearly enjoying the turn of events. He extended a hand toward Corlys to assist him as the older man climbed onto Caraxes’ back. The dragon seemed surprisingly gentle as Corlys swung his leg over the saddle, but his eyes remained locked on Daemon’s, as though silently daring the younger Targaryen to make another remark.

The moment Corlys was settled on Caraxes, Daemon urged the dragon into motion. With a mighty leap, they were off the ground, soaring high into the sky. The wind whipped around them, and Corlys, for all his bravado, couldn’t help but clutch the reins a little tighter, his eyes wide as the earth below them seemed to fall away.

Laena, already comfortably atop Vhagar, glanced over at her father, a teasing smile on her lips as she glanced at his stricken expression. “How does it feel, Father?” she asked playfully, though there was a glint of amusement in her eyes.

Corlys, ever proud, quickly regained his composure, though his face betrayed a small trace of discomfort. "It’s... exhilarating," he admitted, though it was clear he wasn’t used to the heights.

As the dragons began to glide across the skies, the family soared higher and higher above Driftmark, leaving the shores behind. Laena, feeling the familiar thrill of dragonback flight, laughed softly. Her joy was infectious, and for a moment, even Corlys found himself smiling. Perhaps this flight, this brief reprieve from his responsibilities, wasn’t as uncomfortable as he had initially thought.

They moved through the air, the great dragons weaving effortlessly through the clouds, and the family flew together in a rare moment of unity. The sky stretched endlessly before them, a canvas of stars beginning to sparkle as night approached. The winds carried them with ease, and even Corlys, despite his earlier reluctance, began to relax into the rhythm of the flight.

But it was when they neared the Gullet, the narrow strait of water between Driftmark and the mainland, that the true beauty of the journey became apparent. The water dragons, which had long made their home in these waters, could be seen breaching the surface, their serpentine bodies twisting and coiling beneath the waves. Their massive forms were like shadows in the deep, moving with a grace that mirrored the very sea itself.

Laena leaned forward in her saddle, her eyes sparkling as she saw the water dragons below. Her heart swelled with pride, knowing that this was her home, her legacy. Even though she had come from a long line of dragonlords, it was the water dragons that truly captured her heart. The sense of peace that surrounded them was like nothing else.

“We’re almost there,” Laena said softly, her voice filled with awe.

Corlys, too, couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. The sea had always been his domain, and now, as they soared above it, he felt a deep connection to it. It was as if the Gullet itself had called to him, and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder.

The family continued onward, their laughter and lighthearted conversation drifting through the air as they approached the waters where the great water dragons resided, a place that held both mystery and awe for those who had never seen it. The journey had been long, but it was clear to all that the experience was worth it.

---

The midday sun hung high over the Gullet Sea, its light dancing on the gentle waves. Corlys Velaryon stood barefoot on the rocky island at the heart of the Gullet, his expression a mixture of anticipation and unease. The sea breeze tugged at his thin garments, offering little warmth against the chill of the water. Beside him, Laena, his eldest daughter, watched intently, her own excitement carefully masked by a veneer of calm.

“This is where it begins,” she said, her voice steady yet carrying an undertone of reverence. “You must enter the water and let the sea accept you. Only then will the dragon answer.”

Corlys turned to her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And you’re certain this will work?”

Laena nodded. “It’s not about certainty, Father. It’s about trust. The dragon will sense your intent, your resolve. If it deems you worthy, it will come.”

Corlys sighed deeply, his breath visible in the cool midday air. Despite a lifetime of mastery over the seas, this task felt foreign. It was not about commanding a ship or navigating treacherous waters but surrendering himself entirely to forces beyond his control. Still, he had no choice but to try. The legacy of House Velaryon and the bond with the water dragons depended on it.

With deliberate steps, Corlys walked toward the edge of the island and waded into the water. The cold bit at his skin, but he pressed on, reciting the ancient words Laena had taught him under his breath. The Valyrian phrases were unfamiliar, their meaning tied to traditions far older than even the Targaryens’ reign.

“Valzȳrys issa iā ossȳngnoti. Drōmon naejot issa, ēza lōgor, ēza hen.”

(I am a voyager, seeking my guide. Come to me, great one, come from the depths.)

The words carried over the water, their sound almost swallowed by the waves. Corlys moved deeper until the water reached his chest, his heartbeat steady despite the unease in his mind. He leaned back, letting himself float, and closed his eyes. The world around him faded into silence, broken only by the gentle lapping of the waves.

Minutes passed.

Then came the first ripple.

Corlys felt it against his skin, subtle but deliberate, like a heartbeat in the water. His eyes snapped open, scanning the surface for any sign of movement. The ripples grew stronger, the water stirring as if alive. From her vantage point on the rocky shore, Laena stiffened, her gaze fixed on the water surrounding her father. She had seen dragons emerge before, but this… this was different.

The water swelled, rising unnaturally as a massive shadow formed beneath the surface. Corlys froze, his breath caught in his throat. Slowly, the shadow grew larger, its size dwarfing even the ships he had once captained. When the titan finally emerged, it was unlike anything Corlys or Laena had ever seen.

The creature’s head broke the surface first, its dark blue scales shimmering in the midday sun, each one flecked with veins of silver and green. Its massive form rose higher, water cascading off its body in torrents. Its eyes, glowing a brilliant gold with a hint of turquoise that Laena just noticed despite knowing it already for the past months, locked onto Corlys with an intensity that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. Steam hissed from its nostrils, mingling with the sea air.

Laena gasped audibly. She had expected a water dragon, but not this. This was the titan water dragon—the leader of the water dragons. The one whose name had been lost to time, whose very existence was whispered in legend. It loomed above Corlys like a god of the seas, a creature so ancient and powerful that its presence demanded reverence.

Corlys treaded water beneath the titan’s gaze, his heart pounding. The dragon let out a low melodic sound, deeper than those water dragons, the sound vibrating through the water and shaking him to his core. For a moment, he considered retreating, but something in the dragon’s gaze stopped him. It was not hostility he saw but curiosity, a challenge.

He shakingly raised a hand toward the creature, his palm open and steady, and repeated the ritual words.

“Valzȳrys issa iā ossȳngnoti. Drōmon naejot issa, ēza lōgor, ēza hen.”

The dragon lowered its massive head, its glowing eyes never leaving Corlys. The distance between them closed until its snout was mere inches away. Corlys held his ground, though every instinct screamed at him to flee. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the dragon’s cool, smooth scales.

The bond was instant.

A powerful connection surged through Corlys, filling him with emotions and images he couldn’t begin to understand. The titan roared, a deafening sound that sent waves crashing against the island and reverberated through the sea. Laena fell to her knees, her heart racing as she watched her father form a bond with the most powerful creature she had ever seen.

When the roar subsided, the dragon lowered itself further, its massive body coiling around Corlys protectively. The bond had been sealed, an unspoken agreement between man and beast. Corlys climbed onto the dragon’s back, his movements hesitant but determined. The titan allowed it, adjusting to accommodate him as though they had been partners for years.

Laena rose to her feet, her awe giving way to a deep sense of pride. Her father, the Sea Snake, had achieved what no one else had—he had bonded with the leader of the water dragons. This bond would elevate House Velaryon’s status to unimaginable heights, solidifying their legacy as rulers of the sea and keepers of its greatest secret.

The titan dragon let out another roar before diving beneath the waves, carrying Corlys with it. Laena watched as they disappeared into the depths, the water growing still once more. When they resurfaced moments later, Corlys looked like a man reborn, his confidence unshaken, his bond with the titan unbreakable.

As he guided the dragon back toward the rocky island, Laena ran to meet them. When Corlys dismounted, she embraced him, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Father, this is beyond anything I could have imagined. The titan chose you… House Velaryon will never be the same.”

Corlys nodded, his expression one of quiet determination. “The sea has always been our domain,” he said, his voice steady. “But now, we are truly its masters.”

Laena smiled, her pride in her father evident. Together, they began the journey back to the small camp they had set up on the island, their minds already racing with the implications of this bond. House Velaryon was no longer just a house of sailors and adventurers—it was a house of legends.

---

The low, melodic roar drifted faintly through the evening air, a haunting yet beautiful sound that seemed to resonate with the waves of the distant sea. It was almost imperceptible to anyone else, but Vensalia Vakriyoma heard it clearly. Her heightened senses picked up the call, and a knowing smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. She reclined on the cushioned chair in her chambers, her head resting lightly against the backrest, a fresh bandage wrapped securely over the wound hidden beneath her silver-white hair streaked with crimson. The injury throbbed faintly, but she refused to allow herself the luxury of healing it with umbrakinesis. It wasn’t the time to reveal her secrets.

The melodic roar belonged to the leader of the water dragons, a titan of the seas that the world still thought was a myth. Few in the realm even believed in the existence of these ancient creatures, but Vensalia had always known the truth. The water dragons were real, and they were no longer dwelling in the Thousand Islands, where they once thrived. Laena Velaryon and Daemon Targaryen had relocated them to the Gullet Sea, ensuring their safety and secrecy.

Vensalia had always admired the dragons of the skies, but the water dragons fascinated her even more. They were untamed, mysterious, and hidden beneath the depths of the sea. She could only imagine the sheer power and majesty of their leader—a titan so massive that it would make even the largest Valyrian dragons appear small. The thought of Corlys Velaryon, the famed Sea Snake, bonding with such a creature filled her with a strange sense of anticipation.

“Oh, how I wish I could witness it,” Vensalia murmured to herself, her voice soft but laced with longing.

Her smirk deepened as she imagined the legendary Corlys standing atop the titan, the shimmering scales of the water dragon glinting under the sun. The bond between a Velaryon and such a creature would cement their dominance over the seas forever. It was a poetic image, one she would have loved to see in person. But with her injury, she knew she couldn’t afford to leave the Red Keep or involve herself in such matters.

Vensalia’s thoughts shifted to the delicate balance of power she maintained. While she relished the whispers and admiration she had garnered as the "darling of the court," she knew that revealing too much about her knowledge of the water dragons could disrupt everything she had carefully built. For now, she would let the Velaryons decide whether or not to reveal the existence of the water dragons. The decision was theirs, and she would not interfere—yet.

The melodic roar sounded again, a little softer this time, as if the leader of the water dragons sensed her thoughts and acknowledged her restraint.

“Soon,” she whispered, her eyes gleaming with both ambition and caution.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Vensalia straightened, wincing slightly as the motion jarred her wound. A maid entered cautiously, bowing before addressing her.

“Lady Vensalia, Prince Aemond wishes to see you,” the maid said.

Vensalia nodded, signaling for the maid to let him in. Moments later, Aemond entered the room, his eyes focused intently on her. Concern was etched across his sharp features as he approached her, his movements controlled but filled with purpose.

“You should be resting,” Aemond said, his voice low but firm.

“I am,” Vensalia replied, her smirk returning. “But I suspect you didn’t come here to scold me about my health.”

Aemond sighed, his expression softening as he sat beside her. “I came to check on you. The maesters said you should recover quickly, but I can’t help but worry. That wound…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

“It will heal,” Vensalia assured him. “The maesters are competent, and I am stronger than I appear.”

“I know you are,” Aemond said, his tone filled with a quiet admiration. “But you shouldn’t have to endure such injuries, especially not because of my family.”

Vensalia reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “Aemond, this is nothing. It’s all part of the game we play. Your mother may have acted out of anger, but I have already turned it to my advantage. The court sees me as a victim of her wrath, and their sympathy is a powerful tool.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It shouldn’t have come to that. She had no right to harm you.”

Vensalia tilted her head, studying him carefully. His protective nature was endearing, and she knew he meant every word.

“I appreciate your concern,” she said softly, her voice losing its usual edge. “But this is a battle I am more than equipped to fight.”

Their conversation was interrupted by another knock at the door. This time, it was a servant bearing a message.

“Lady Vensalia, a letter has arrived for you,” the servant announced, handing her the sealed parchment.

Vensalia accepted it, her expression unreadable as she broke the seal and read the contents. Her eyes scanned the page quickly, her smirk returning as she finished.

“What is it?” Aemond asked, leaning closer.

“Nothing of great importance,” Vensalia replied, folding the letter and setting it aside. “Merely news from an old friend.”

Aemond didn’t press further, but he watched her carefully, as if trying to decipher her thoughts.

Vensalia leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the window. The faint sound of the melodic roar still lingered in her mind, a reminder of the secrets she held and the power she could one day unleash. For now, she would rest and recover, biding her time until the next move in her intricate game.

As Aemond sat beside her, his presence a quiet comfort, Vensalia allowed herself a moment of peace. The world outside was filled with chaos, whispers, and schemes, but within these walls, she was in control. And when the time came, she would ensure that control extended far beyond the Red Keep.