Violent Tides - Chapter 16: The Return of a Rogue

Corlys' plan is put further into motion when he sends a letter to Pentos...

A Week Later 

Aelora watched as Jacaerys played with Vermax on the floor of the nursery, the pair wrestling over a carved wooden dragon that one of the Red Keep's craftsmen had made for the young prince. 

When Jacaerys managed to rip it away from Vermax, his giggles filling the room as the young dragon began to chase after its bonded rider. 

Aelora sat cross legged next to Lucerys’ cradle with a sketchbook resting upon her lap, absentmindedly drawing Vermax, and occasionally glancing in Lucerys’ direction whenever his sleeping form moved, watching his body wrap itself even more tightly around his dragon egg. 

Unlike herself, her two brothers had not been deemed old enough to be given rooms of their own while they stayed in High Tide, much to Jacaerys’ constant protests that he was too old for the nursery. 

But as of late, their mother had been insisting that Aelora spend her free time in the nursery instead of staying in her own chambers alone. At first, Aelora did not question the request, not until she found that the guards that her family had brought from King’s Landing along with some of her grandfather’s men had begun to follow them all more closely. 

She could tell that something was being kept hidden from her and her siblings, and that this had been going on since House Velaryon’s ships had been attacked by pirates. 

The adults smiled just as often as they always had, but she could see that they were more strained, had seen the servants whispering among themselves, quieting when she would pass, and was aware of how the guards and knights around the castle now stood with hands resting more prominently upon the pommels of their swords, watching every unfamiliar face that passed through High Tide's halls. 

And when Aelora had asked her mother what was happening, Rhaenyra had merely smiled and told her that they were discussing matters that children need not concern themselves with. 

Vermax suddenly chirped as Jacaerys held the wooden dragon above his head, letting out an indignant squeal before continuing to crawl after him, flapping his tiny wings furiously despite remaining firmly on the ground. 

I wish Aegon were here; he would tell me the truth. Everyone else always says I'm too little to understand. Aelora thought, frowning as she added another line to Vermax's wings. 

“Lora!” Jacaerys called triumphantly, holding the wooden dragon above his head. “Vermax says he's the fiercest dragon in the whole world!” 

Vermax chirped loudly seemingly in agreement with Jacaerys, throwing himself at the prince’s legs and Aelora could not help but smile. 

“Does he now?” Aelora asked, setting her charcoal aside. 

Jacaerys nodded vigorously. “He does! He says he’ll be bigger than Seasmoke too! And Syrax! And Meleys!” 

Aelora tilted her head, pretending to think very hard. “That might take a while.” 

“No, it won't!” Jacaerys protested. “You'll see.” 

The princess giggled and was about to say something else when the door of the nursey opened and their father and his closest companion stepped inside, their quiet conversation ending the moment they noticed the children. 

“There you all are,” Laenor said with a warm smile.  

Jacaerys immediately abandoned his game with Vermax, dropping the wooden dragon and running to Laenor. “Papa!” 

Before Laenor could kneel, Jacaerys crashed into him, wrapping both arms around his waist. At the same time, Vermax growled before climbing after his rider and attempting to scramble onto Laenor's boot. 

Laenor laughed as he scooped Jacaerys into his arms while the noise simultaneously stirred Lucerys from his slumber. 

Lucerys let out a sleepy whine, the one-year-old instinctively clutching his dragon egg tighter and whimpering when he opened his eyes. 

“Did we wake you, little one?” Laenor asked softly. 

Lucerys reached both hands toward him, babbling excitedly at the sight of his father. 

Laughing, Laenor shifted Jacaerys onto one hip before leaning over the cradle and lifting Lucerys into his free arm. “Someone is getting heavy.” 

Lucerys responded by grabbing a fistful of Laenor's silver hair. 

“Ow,” Laenor laughed while Jacaerys giggled. “You have become a ruthless prince already, Luke.” 

“Hello, father, hello, Ser Qarry,” Aelora said, pushing herself to her feet. 

Qarl smiled warmly at the use of the nickname Aelora had given him long ago, bowing his head. “Princess.” 

At times like this, Laenor found himself longing for the days when Aelora used to call him papa, bemoaning the change in title that had come with the proclamation of her being the future Princess of Dragonstone. 

Her septas had been persistent in their lessons, reminding her that she would need to conduct herself with the dignity befitting her station, and in Laenor’s opinion, ignoring his daughter’s very young age in favor of preparing her for a future that should still have been many years away. 

Now she only called him father and Rhaenyra mother and had stopped using the affectionate names she had given those she cared about in public, determined to prove that she was every bit the princess realm demanded she become. 

This along with her dragon dreams made Laenor feel as though another piece of her childhood was being robbed from Aelora and there was nothing that he could do to stop it. 

“Father?” Aelora asked, looking up at Laenor questioningly. 

Laenor blinked, realizing he had been staring at his eldest child longer than he intended. 

“Forgive me,” he said with a sheepish smile. “I was simply thinking about how quickly you're growing.” 

Aelora tilted her head. “Is... that bad?” 

“No,” Laenor chuckled. “Only for me. But never mind that, I have come to steal the three of you away for the afternoon.” 

“Where are we going?” Aelora asked, excited at the prospect of spending time with her recently ever busy father. 

“I thought we might make good on my promise,” Laenor replied. 

Aelora's face brightened immediately. “We’re going to the beach?” 

Aelora smiled brightly when Laenor nodded his head, and the man felt some of the weight upon his shoulders lift. 

“And we'll look for crabs?” She asked. 

Laenor smiled. “If the crabs are foolish enough to let us find them.” 

Aelora then turned to Jacaerys, smiling at him. “We can make sandcastles too, Jace.” 

When they had come to Driftmark this time around, Jacaerys had been enamored by the sand of the island's beaches, having been too young to remember that last time he had been this close to these stretches of white sand or the had been this close to the open ocean. 

Jacaerys grinned. “I'm going to build the biggest castle ever!” 

“Bigger than High Tide?” Qarl asked with exaggerated skepticism. 

Jacaerys nodded without hesitation. “Much bigger!” 

Laenor laughed. “Then I suppose I shall have to swear fealty to King Jacaerys of the Sandcastles when you make this grand palace.” 

The heir to Driftmark then allowed his children’s nursemaids to ready them for the beach, waiting by the door for them to finish. 

The back of Qarl’s hand soon brushed against Laenor’s as the two men stood shoulder to shoulder, the touch was fleeting enough that no one within the room paid it any mind. 

“I haven’t seen you smile like this since we first arrived,” Qarl whispered, smiling faintly at his lover. “It is nice to see.” 

Laenor glanced toward his children, his expression softening for a moment before his smile faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. “There has not been much to smile at as of late.” 

What was supposed to be a retreat for himself and his family from King’s Landing, had turned into yet another political headache that Laenor was forced to stomach. 

“I would have thought you to be excited at the prospect of warring with the Triarchy once more. You have spoken of feeling restless and trapped in the capital because of your duties,” Qarl said quietly. 

As a household knight in service to House Velaryon, Qarl had fought during the Rouge Prince and the Sea Snake’s first foray into the Stepstones, and while he simply been one of countless lowborn soldiers and had meant nothing to Laenor, he could not help but be in awe of the eager young dragonrider and how he helped to lead the battlefield the time he had been close enough to see it. 

Now he was being given the opportunity to stand beside his future King Consort, in the same place that Ser Joffrey Lonmouth once occupied, and would be able to fight together for the realm and for their own personal glory. It was a dream he had never imagined possible for the son of a Hull fisherman. 

“I still do,” Laenor said quietly. “But I...” 

Laenor crossed his arms, his eyes never leaving his children as the nursemaids fussed over them. A part of him wished to escape from the confines of his position, to no longer be forced to endure the stares and whispers that followed him wherever he went or expected to attend every court function where he was measured less as a man, a knight, and heir to a noble title than as the husband and father to heirs to the Iron Throne. 

He missed the freedom and exhilaration that came with earning glory through his own deeds rather than standing silently behind his parents and wife. 

His gaze drifted back to Aelora, she had knelt beside Lucerys' cradle once more, carefully wrapping the dragon egg in a soft blanket before allowing the maid to carry it, always worrying someone else might accidentally drop it. 

Jacaerys and Lucerys were both being dressed, the young prince squirming impatiently as his nursemaid struggled to fasten his clothes to his body while Jacaerys smiled as his cloak was placed around his shoulders.  

“Somehow...” Laenor murmured, “They make the burden easier to bear.” 

Qarl followed his gaze. “They adore you.” 

I hope they always will. Laenor thought, wondering if there would ever come a day when the rumors surrounding him would reach his children’s ears. 

Qarl folded his arms. “You could always-” 

“Father,” Aelora said, tugging gently on the sleeve of his tunic. “We're ready.” 

Laenor looked down, his thoughts melting away as Aelora looked up at him expectantly. “Of course,” he replied, taking her hand. 

Jacaerys then took Laenor’s other hand as they left the nursery. “I'm going to catch more crabs than Lora.” 

“No, you're not,” Aelora said confidently and calmly. 

“Yes, I am!” 

“No.” 

“Yes!” Lucerys laughed happily from his nursemaid's arms, not truly understanding the argument between his siblings. “Crwabs! Crwabs!” 

Laenor and Qarl shared a laugh as Jacaerys’ rose higher as he argued with Aelora, while Aelora looked amused by how red his face was becoming.

~X~

Prince Reggio Haratis’ Manse, Pentos 

If you had told Daemon Targaryen years ago that he would enjoy being a husband and father, he would have called you a fool and laughed in your face. 

The gardens of Prince Reggio’s manse were quiet in the late afternoon; the scent of citrus blossoms carried upon the warm breeze drifting in from the bay. 

He watched from beneath a tree as Baela wobblily darted between the marble columns, her laughter echoing through the courtyard as Rhaena chased after her twin with a determined expression. 

Daemon lazily held a cup of pale amber wine in his hand, the other resting upon the pommel of Dark Sister. 

Outside of moments like this, the prince had become thoroughly bored once Pentos had lost its shine and had become monotonous. Life as an honored guest of the Prince of the Free City quickly devolved into an endless parade of banquets, hollow pleasantries, and being displayed like a prized weapon whose mere presence discouraged ambitious neighbors. 

Still, he found Free City to be preferable to living forever beneath the heel of Viserys' judgement, watching as the man squandered the power of their dynasty in favor of bowing down to the opinions of lesser men and sheep. 

Daemon let out a snort when Baela stumbled over her own feet before bursting into laughter as Rhaena triumphantly jumped on top of her. 

“I swear, ever since they’ve learned to walk those two have been working towards injuring themselves in spectacular fashion,” Laena remarked as she turned a corner, smiling as her eyes moved from their daughters to her husband. 

“Their dragon blood makes them restless,” Daemon said. 

“Just them?” Laena asked with a knowing smile. 

Daemon smirked. “Better to be restless than dull. And despite your tone, this a trait they have received from both of us.” 

Laena laughed and smiled softly both at Daemon’s words and Baela managing to escape Rhaena's grasp. 

For a moment, the two quietly watched their daughters play, neither feeling any need to break the comfortable silence that had settled between them. 

Daemon turned his head to look at his wife again, seeing the golden light of the sun catching in her silver hair, admiring how beautiful she looked. 

He would never have been able to stand next to his first wife without wondering how quickly he could escape her company, but with Laena, the hours slipped by unnoticed and the silence with her could be companion enough. 

Laena caught him staring and arched an eyebrow. “What?” 

Daemon took another sip of his wine. “Nothing.” 

She smiled knowingly but before he could continue their banter, Daemon finally noticed the thick, folded parchment paper bearing the seahorse of House Velaryon clasped in her hands. 

“Has your brother sent you yet another letter? Did he not send you one scarcely a fortnight ago?” Daemon asked, eyeing the seal with faint amusement. 

He often teased his wife about how often she and Laenor exchanged letters, almost convinced that the two siblings would drop dead if they went to long without their correspondence. 

Laena playfully rolled her eyes. “You sound jealous.” 

“I am,” Daemon said seriously. 

Laena blinked, staring at Daemon incredulously as she tried to determine whether he was joking or being completely serious, a distinction that could be difficult to make with her husband’s nature. 

A smirk graced Daemon’s lips, as he kept himself from laughing at the confusion written across Laena’s face. “My wife spends half her mornings writing to another man. Why wouldn’t I be jealous of Laenor Velaryon? We are of Targaryen blood after all, although that is a detail I graciously overlook.” 

Laena smacked Daemon’s arm, though the fond smile tugging at the corners of her lips robbed the gesture of any real indignation. “How magnanimous of you, my prince.” 

Laena glanced down at the parchment before looking back at him. “This letter is not from my brother nor is it addressed to me. It did not even come by raven, one of my father’s ships arrived in Pentos this morning to deliver it, I suppose its contents were too heavy for a raven to carry. Apparently, the captain insisted it be placed directly into your hands.” 

Daemon's amused expression faded slightly. “Your father has written to me?” 

“He has,” Laena said as she handed the letter to him. 

“And the knowledge of him writing to me is making you nervous,” Daemon observed, studying his wife's face. 

Laena raised an eyebrow. “Has my father ever written to you before now without desiring something from you?” 

“No, he has not,” Daemon admitted. 

He and Corlys had often found themselves to be allies, but this usually only came about when it was clear that the two of them were up against a common enemy or their interests happened to align, such as their time together on the small council when they would often find themselves united in opposition to Otto Hightower's influence over the King. 

“I can think of a few things that my father would write to you about, at this moment the most likely one is-” 

“The rise in piracy within the Narrow Sea,” Daemon finished. 

Reggio and the other nobles of Pentos had been worrying about the growing boldness of pirates as of late, confidant that the Triarchy was behind it just as the three Free Cities have long used these fringe groups as convenient tools to avoid outright war over nearly two decades since their alliance was formed. 

And because of this recurrency leading to Pentoshi ships and trade routes being affected, more eyes had begun to turn towards Daemon and Laena, and the flattery that had been bestowed upon them since their arrival increased tenfold. 

Poorly hidden suggestions have been made over the family being given swaths of land to settle and the possibility of making Daemon a magister of the city. All in the pursuit of tying them to Pentos and fighting for Pentos should the Triarchy continue to threaten northern Essos. 

Daemon took the letter from Laena and broke the sea green seal with his thumb before unfolding the letter; his eyes moving quickly across the page as he read it. 

Laena watched him carefully. “Well?” 

Daemon did not answer immediately, instead choosing to read the letter a second time before slowly folding it shut and letting out a quiet, humorless laugh. 

“Well?” Laena repeated. 

Daemon tapped the folded letter against the palm of his hand. “Your father never was one for subtlety. It seems we were right about his intentions.” 

Laena frowned as Daemon handed her the letter, reading Corlys speak of the renewed pirate attacks in the Gullet, of the Crown's refusal to take decisive action, and of the growing belief among merchants and sailors that the Triarchy had once again begun testing Westeros' resolve. But it was the final paragraph that drew her attention. 

The work we began together remains unfinished, if the Crown will not secure the Narrow Sea, then men who understand what is at stake must do so themselves. Return to Driftmark, there is much for us to discuss. 

Laena looked up at her husband, searching his face for some hint of what he intended to do. “Are you truly going to fight in the Stepstones again?” 

“Do you not wish me to?” Daemon asked, watching her carefully. 

Laena let out a short, humorless laugh. “The last time a war in the Stepstones was fought, it was a three-year stalemate that nearly killed you and left little to show for it save a return to the status quo as far as the Narrow Sea was concerned and a crown that you abandoned before the year was out.” 

Daemon scoffed, staring at Laena with mocking offense. “You are quite ruthless in your criticism, lady wife.” 

“My mother and I had nothing but time to discuss the Stepstones while my father, brother, and uncle were gone.” 

Of course she did. Daemon thought derisively, knowing how his cousin never struggled or hesitated to criticize him. 

A brief smile appeared on Laena’s face as she knew what Daemon was thinking before she then placed her hand on Daemon’s right shoulder, caressing the area under his clothes where she knew burn scar laid. 

She remembered when she first saw the scar on their wedding night, the angry patch of flesh stretching across his shoulder and upper chest from where he had been struck by a flaming arrow during the war. And since that night, whenever Daemon spoke of the Stepstones, she found herself looking at that scar before anything else. 

“I don’t wish to spend years alone, wondering whether every raven that lands upon our roof brings news that my husband has fallen in battle,” Laena said softly. “Do you truly wish to fight in the Stepstones again?” 

Daemon was silent for a moment, his gaze drifting from Laena to the courtyard where Baela and Rhaena had abandoned their game and were now chasing brightly colored butterflies through the garden while laughing without a care in the world. 

“What would be different this time?” Laena continued. “And that is to say nothing of the reaction Westeros and your brother would-” 

Daemon let out a bitter laugh at the mention of Viserys, hating that once again he was expected to placate his brother’s feelings. “Viserys is the reason this is happening in the first place, if he weren’t so hesitant and easily swayed, he would have allowed us to put the Triarchy to heel years ago.” 

Laena frowned. “And what difference would fighting there again make? Another pirate will rise from the ashes of whichever one you and my father slay this time. The Stepstones and the Triarchy are in an endless cycle of bloodshed and ambition, and fighting to remove the two from each other will just be another.” 

“Perhaps that is why Corlys wishes for me to come to Driftmark, he has thought of a way to prevent this cycle from being formed.” 

Laena sighed as she looked away from Daemon, glancing up at the sky for a few moments before taking a deep breath. “Maybe we should go to Driftmark.” 

Daemon raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said that you do not wish for me to war in the Stepstones again?” 

“I do not, but my father deserves to hear a response in person and if we return to Westeros, return to our home, perhaps we can stay there... permanently.” 

“Laena,” Daemon said, reaching for the hand she had on his shoulder and gently removed it. “We have spoken about this, I am content here, with the life we have built for ourselves. What need do we have to return to the Seven Kingdoms? Besides, I refuse to prostrate myself before my brother, and I doubt that Corlys will wish to continue looking upon my face if I rejected his proposition.” 

“My father would never turn away his daughter and grandchildren, nor you as you are part of our family and if he was petty enough to do so, then you have a niece and I a cousin who would be gracious enough to let us reside on Dragonstone.” 

Daemon became uncomfortable at the mention of Rhaenyra, and he could only imagine what her reaction would be if the first thing he did after not seeing her for over five years was to ask her if himself, his wife, and his daughters could take residence in her castle. 

Would she be wrathful in her condemnation of me? Or would she be more forgiving than I deserve? Daemon thought. 

Daemon did not wish to see how much things had undoubtedly changed in his absence, nor did he relish the thought of being forced to endure the indignity of it all. 

“I know that just as I do, that you miss our family as well, Daemon,” Laena said softly. “You may be happy with me and our daughters, but I know that you have wanted more for your life than this, to be more than a guest for fat and petty magisters and princes.” 

“And will Westeros be any better than this? At least here in Pentos, you know what the sheep want from you for they speak their desires plainly. At least here I am not...” 

At least here I am not discarded and villainized, made to feel like a monster for my disposition. 

Laena frowned. “You are aimless here, Daemon. You need your brother and your niece as they need you.” 

“That is a lie so bold it almost deserves admiration for the strength it took to tell it,” Daemon said with a dry laugh. “Viserys has managed well enough without me these past years and is glad for my absence and Rhaenyra-” 

“They miss you,” Laena said strongly. 

“How do you-” 

“Because I saw it with my own eyes, when the girls and I went to King’s Landing. Do you truly believe that Viserys would have given Baela and rhaena dragon eggs if he hated you? Would he have welcomed us with open arms? During the week that we spent in the capital, Viserys would call for me, wishing to know all he could about how you were doing and what you were up to, whether Pentos suited you, whether you still flew Caraxes each morning.” 

Daemon looked away, clenching his jaw. “And Rhaenyra?” 

Laena smiled faintly. “She tried to hide it better, but you know as well as I that she was never very good at hiding her emotions. She still holds some anger and sadness within her heart, but she was disappointed that you were not there, and she asks after you occasionally in our letters.” 

For years, Daemon had convinced himself that leaving had been the right decision, that he had been cast aside, and that Westeros had become a place where he no longer belonged so to hear otherwise greatly unsettled him.  

Laena gently took his hand. “You do not have to return because my father wishes to use you and your dragon. Return because you deserve to see your family again, and because your children deserve to know theirs.” 

Daemon's eyes drifted toward Baela and Rhaena, watching as the toddlers were still chasing butterflies together. 

Laena hoped that her words had reached her husband, not wanting to continue to live a life so far removed from her home and the people she holds dear, nor did she wish to see her daughters grow to adulthood knowing Pentos better than Driftmark, Dragonstone, or King's Landing. Whatever future awaited House Targaryen, she wanted her family to be part of it, not distant observers across the Narrow Sea. 

~X~

Days Later, King’s Landing 

Viserys sighed as he adjusted one of the newer pieces constructed for his model of Old Valyria, carefully setting a miniature tower beside one of the great roads before leaning back to admire the growing city. 

Whenever the burdens of kingship became too great, Viserys often found himself retreating to his bedchamber and sitting in front of his model, finding a strange comfort in rebuilding the empire that his ancestors had lost, but at this moment it was failing to improve his mood. 

Ever since the recent pirate attack on House Velaryon’s ships, his small council had been fighting amongst themselves over what should be done next and what the Sea Snake could be planning in response. 

Viserys had been sure that Corlys would have adhered to his orders but once reports of lords whose holding sat along the Narrow Sea were corresponding with Corlys, and a few even going as far as to either go themselves to or sending representatives to Driftmark were brought to his attention a few days ago, Viserys started to doubt himself. 

It did not help that Alicent and the rest of his small council were sure that Corlys was planning to once again go to war with the Triarchy and advising the King to act against the man. 

Instead, Viserys had commanded his Hand to send another missive to Driftmark and another to the High Council of the Triarchy, demanding restitution for the attacks and for the Triarchy to control their citizens, warning both that the Crown would not tolerate any further escalation in the Narrow Sea. 

There truly never is a moment’s rest for a King. What is so tantalizing about those barren, wind-beaten rocks that generation after generation of men insist upon staining them red with blood? Viserys thought. 

Viserys was pulled from his thought when a knock at the chamber doors echoed through the room. 

Viserys frowned. “Yes?” 

“Princess Helaena requests an audience, Your Grace,” Ser Harrold Westerling announced from beyond the door. 

Viserys smiled softly. “Send her in.” 

Helaena entered quietly, clutching a small wooden box against her chest. She did not immediately approach her father; instead, she looked around the room before staring at Viserys blankly. 

Viserys watched his daughter bemused; it was not often that his youngest daughter sought him out, not unless something had captured her interest. 

“Come here, sweetling,” Viserys said warmly, holding out a hand. 

She looked at the miniature city for several moments before walking toward her father and carefully opening the wooden box, revealing several brilliantly colored beetles crawling inside. “I found them in the gardens.” 

Viserys blinked. “...I see.” 

Helaena grinned, gently lifting one of the beetles. “This one changes colors.”  

Viserys smiles despite himself. “Does it?” 

The King had found it easier to look upon Helaena than he did her brothers, much to his own guilt. With her, he did not have to worry about seeing Baelon in her features as he did with Aemond, Daeron, and especially Aegon, instead, whenever he looked upon her, he saw only Helaena. 

Viserys carefully held out his hand, allowing Helaena to place the beetle upon his palm. It slowly crawled across his fingers, its shell shimmering from an emerald green to deep sapphire whenever it caught the light. 

“Beautiful,” Viserys murmured. 

Helaena nodded. “They are, I’m going to show them to Aelora when she comes back. She’ll draw them for me.” 

“Will you be able to keep them for that long?” Viserys asked. 

He was aware from his wife countless complaints that Alicent did not like Helaena’s fascination with insects insisting that it was unbecoming of a princess, and though Viserys did not understand why the child should be scolded for simply finding wonder where others did not, often left these kinds of decisions to Alicent's judgment, seeing the raising of young princesses as an area in which Alicent possessed greater wisdom than he ever would. 

Helaena did not answer her father’s question, watching as the beetle crawled across her father's hand before carefully taking it back and returning it to the box. “Are you sad, father?” 

Viserys looked at Helaena, confused. “Sad?” 

“You always look sad to me, even when you’re happy,” Helaena explained. “Like you’re waiting for something bad to happen.” 

Before Viserys could say anything else, another knock was heard from the doors before Harrold’s voice followed it. “Your Grace, the small council has assembled and is requesting your presence in the small council chamber.” 

“My presence-who called for this?” Viserys asked. 

“The Lord Hand, Your Grace,” Harrold answered. “He says new developments concerning Lord Velaryon have come to light.” 

Viserys sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment as the little peace he had managed to find slipped through his fingers. 

“Of course it has,” He muttered as he looked back down at Helaena, whose gaze had drifted from him toward the chamber doors. “Duty never seems content to leave your father alone.” 

Helaena tilted her head. “It never does.” 

The certainty in her voice made Viserys pause, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth despite himself. “No... I suppose it doesn't.” 

Viserys then stood and when he and Helaena left his bedroom, he turned to walk in the direction of the Tower of the Hand, leaving his daughter behind as Ser Harrold followed him. 

I swear when I see Corlys again, I will let him have it for all the strife he has given me over the years. 

When he reached the small council chamber, Viserys found his councilors and wife already waiting for him, the tense atmosphere nearly suffocating him as he walked towards his chair. 

“What has happened now, Lyonel?” Viserys asked. 

Lyonel glanced at the letter in front of him before answering the King. “I received word that a single Pentoshi vessel was seen leaving the city three days ago and has reach Westerosi waters a few hours ago, heading in the direction of Driftmark.” 

“Many vessels leave Pentos,” Viserys said. “Perhaps it carries spices or silks for Driftmark, or a merchant seeking to do business with House Velaryon. Why does this concern the Crown?” 

“They do, Your Grace, but this one was spotted with the dragons Caraxes and Vhagar flying ahead of it,” Lyonel said. 

Viserys froze for a moment before staring blankly at his Hand. “...Daemon has returned?” 

For the briefest of moments, joy, confusion, and disbelief warred within him at the thought of his brother finally coming home, but before he could think of it further, Alicent spoke. 

“Or rather,” The Queen said coolly. “Prince Daemon has returned to Driftmark at Lord Corlys’ invitation, so that he may be of use in his endeavor.” 

The warmth that had begun to bloom within Viserys faded, and he turned to look at Alicent, frowning as he did so.  

“We have spent the last fortnight discussing Lord Corlys gathering support among the lords of the Narrow Sea,” Alicent continued. “Now your brother—the very man who once crowned himself King of the Stepstones, returns directly to Driftmark with his dragon and that of his wife's? We cannot believe this is mere coincidence.” 

Tyland shifted uneasily. “The timing is... unfortunate.” 

Lyman folded his hands together. “We should be careful not to mistake appearances for intent, Your Grace. Prince Daemon may simply be visiting his wife's family.” 

“After receiving a private summons from Lord Corlys?” Alicent asked with a humorless laugh. 

Viserys rubbed a weary hand across his face. “Did Corlys send for him?” 

“We cannot say with certainty,” Lyonel admitted. “But it is a reasonable inference to make given the circumstances. Lord Corlys has been corresponding with numerous lords, and Prince Daemon has now abandoned Pentos after years of absence, and he has chosen to return not to King's Landing, but to Driftmark.” 

“Then we must assume the worst until proven otherwise,” Alicent said firmly. “If Lord Corlys intends to defy the Crown, Prince Daemon is precisely the ally he would seek. Between Caraxes, Vhagar, Meleys, and Seasmoke, House Velaryon would command four dragons before the Iron Throne has even decided upon a response.” 

Viserys remained silent while his councilors argued with each other, leaning back heavily in his chair. 

Seven save me. 

He did not know whether he should rejoice that his brother had finally returned to Westeros or dread the circumstances surrounding that return. 

He had been so angry the last time he had seen Daemon, nearly losing control of his senses when he saw how little space Daemon and Rhaenyra left between themselves as they stood amongst the dancing couples at Rhaenyra’s ill-fated wedding. 

Even then, Daemon could not help himself when it came to his need to drive Viserys to near madness, forever pushing against whatever boundaries had been placed before him. 

Yet for all the frustration, all the arguments, and every insult they had hurled at one another over the years, Viserys had never truly believed that there could be anything that would keep them at odds for long, nor that Daemon would remain across the Narrow Sea forever. The love they had for each other was too great for this to ever be a possibility in Viserys’ mind. 

But instead of coming to the Red Keep with that infuriating smirk upon his face and expecting to be forgiven before the day was done, Daemon had not gone to his brother first but to Corlys Velaryon. 

And Viserys felt angry and ashamed of the jealousy that this notion inspired within himself. Had Daemon truly become so estranged from him that Corlys Velaryon now occupied the place that had once belonged to an elder brother? 

Had it been during the Stepstones? After Daemon’s marriage to Laena? Or had there never been one singular moment at all, only countless arguments and wounded prides that had slowly driven them farther apart until Daemon no longer considered the Red Keep his home and no longer sought out Viserys’ attention? 

“Your Grace?” Viserys blinked and looked around before realizing Lyonel had spoken. 

“Forgive me, Lyonel. What did you say?” 

Lyonel inclined his head. “What are your orders?” 

Viserys was silent for several moments, clenching his fist before responding. “Send a raven to Driftmark, inform Lord Corlys that I expect himself, his family, my daughter, and my brother to present themselves before me and offer an explanation for these reports immediately.” 

Lyonel bowed his head. “It shall be done, Your Grace.” 

Alicent tried to object, fearing that her husband would inevitably allow himself to be blinded by his affection for his brother to cloud his judgment before the truth of Lord Corlys' intentions had been uncovered. “Viserys-” 

“What do you for me to do, Alicent?” Viserys interrupted, exhaustion creeping into his voice. “Arrest my brother because he has returned home? Seize Lord Corlys because they have spoken to one another?” 

The Queen held his gaze, clenching her hands under the table. “No, but neither should we allow them to gather their strength unchecked.” 

“And we will not,” Viserys replied. “If Corlys means to defy the Crown, then he shall answer for it. If Daemon has returned to aid him in such a venture, then he shall answer for that as well. But I will not condemn either man on suspicion alone.” 

Lyonel gave a small nod. “Until we know more, the wisest course is to hear what they have to say.” 

Mellos inclined his head in agreement. “It would also reassure the realm that the matter remains in the King's hands.” 

Viserys exhaled slowly; his gaze drifted toward the window overlooking Blackwater Bay. “Send the raven, Lyonel.” 

Viserys rose from his seat, but to his annoyance Jasper spoke before he could leave the chamber. 

“Your Grace, what should be done if your summons is ignored?” Jasper asked. 

“Then I will go to Driftmark myself,” Viserys said without hesitation. 

He turned away from his councilors, ignoring their surprise as he walked out of the small council chamber. 

“Your Grace!” Alicent called out as she walked as quickly as she could after her husband. “Your Grace! Viserys! To travel to the territory of a man in current opposition to you and your authority is beneath the dignity of a King.” 

“I have already made my decision, Alicent,” Viserys said, still staring ahead even as his wife caught up to him. “And I will only travel to Driftmark if Corlys and Daemon ignore the word of their King.” 

“Viserys, you cannot-” 

“Alicent, I will not repeat myself,” Viserys said, glaring at Alicent. “This is not a position you can sway me from. You wished for me to do something about the Velaryons, and now I am. What more would you ask of me?” 

Without another word, Viserys continued down the corridor, Ser Harrold falling into step behind him. 

Alicent remained where she stood, watching him disappear around the corner, waiting until his footsteps had faded before letting out a slow breath. 

Anger and disbelief swirled inside of her heart at Viserys’ need to always believe the best of those closest to him, even after they had given him reason not to. 

Once again, Viserys is going to allow himself to be walked all over. His weakness will give the Velaryons yet another advantage, and yet another weapon to be used against my family. Alicent thought to herself. 

“Your Grace?” Criston asked once he caught up to her. 

Alicent scoffed and the two began to walk side by side through the corridor. “Does my husband still not realize what another war in the Stepstones could mean for the realm?” 

Criston copied her low tone, lowering his head. “I doubt that His Grace wishes to believe that his own brother would return to Westeros with the intention of undermining him.” 

“That is precisely the problem,” Alicent said. “Viserys refuses to people for who they truly are. Certainly not his brother or Rhaenyra.” 

“I suppose we can only hope that should war come, the pirate scum infesting the Narrow Sea will do us a great favor once the Velayrons and Prince Daemon land on their shores,” Cristion said quietly. 

Alicent paused, looking at the Kingsguard for a moment, processing the meaning of his words. She looked away from the man, slowing her pace. “It would certainly make future planning easier. My husband still has not seen reason concerning the succession, but we cannot not rely on such an outcome.” 

Daemon’s return to Westeros not only inspired anger within Alicent, but fear as well. In her mind, if Daemon remained then it would be a forgone conclusion that he would align himself with Rhaenyra and her faction. 

She already feared what Rhaenyra would do to herself and her children if she were able to ascend the Iron Throne once Viserys passed, then she was terrified of thinking what a monster like Daemon would be capable of doing in Rhaenyra’s name. 

Criston glanced along the corridor before speaking quietly. “Your Grace... should Prince Daemon remain in Westeros; we must be prepared.” 

“I know, Ser Criston,” Alicent said softly. 

I can see it, Criston can see it, the small council can see it, so why can’t Viserys? Why must he continue to bury his head in the sand and ignore everything around him? 

Without another word, Alicent turned and continued down the corridor, Criston following at respectful pace, the bells of the Red Keep echoed faintly through the castle.