103 AC
Two years later, a raven arrived at High Tide in the pale light of dawn. Laenor watched from the window of his chambers as the black bird spiraled down toward the maester's tower, a tiny dark speck against the brightening sky.
By midmorning, the news had spread throughout the castle: King Jaehaerys, First of His Name, was dead.
Laenor found his parents in his father's solar, bent over a map of the Stepstones as if the passing of the man who had ruled the Seven Kingdoms for over fifty years was little more than a momentary distraction. Corlys barely looked up when Laenor entered, his finger tracing the outline of Bloodstone as he continued his conversation with Rhaenys.
"The Myrish captains will expect payment before they commit their ships," he was saying, "but the Lyseni will accept promissory notes drawn on the Iron Bank."
Rhaenys nodded, making a notation on a piece of parchment. Her face betrayed no grief, no shock at the news of her grandfather's passing. "Tormo Fregar confirms that three Braavosi war galleys will join us within the fortnight. They'll rendezvous with our fleet off Sunspear."
Laenor cleared his throat. "You've heard about the King?"
"Yes," his father replied without looking up. "Viserys will be crowned within the month. We've received an invitation to attend."
The casual dismissal of Jaehaerys's death startled Laenor. He had expected... something. Not grief perhaps, but acknowledgment of the momentous shift the realm had just experienced. The Old King had ruled for over fifty years, longer than anyone in living memory. His death marked the end of an era.
"Will we go?" Laenor asked, stepping further into the room.
Corlys and Rhaenys exchanged a look that spoke volumes. Years of marriage had given them the ability to communicate silently, a skill Laenor both admired and found frustrating when he found himself excluded from their unspoken conversations.
"Your father will attend," Rhaenys said finally. "With a suitable retinue. You and I will remain at Driftmark."
"But—" Laenor began.
"The Sea Snake must pay his respects to the new king," Corlys cut in, his tone brooking no argument. "House Velaryon must be seen honoring tradition. But there's no reason to subject you or your mother to the spectacle."
Laenor understood what remained unsaid. His mother would not bend the knee to the man who sat upon the throne she believed should have been hers. And he would not be paraded before the court that had rejected his own claim.
"Besides," Rhaenys added, her voice softening slightly as she looked at her son, "you have more important matters to attend to here. Seasmoke grows restless without regular flights, and your training with Master Qarro cannot be interrupted."
There was truth in her words, but Laenor sensed the deeper currents. His parents were protecting him from the politics of King's Landing while simultaneously keeping him from Viserys's direct attention. Out of sight, out of mind, until they were ready to make their next move.
"Jaehaerys was a great king in many ways," Corlys said, finally looking up from his maps. "But he was also the man who denied your mother her rightful place, and you yours." His voice carried no bitterness, just a statement of fact. "We honor his memory as is proper, but we do not mourn what might have been a different world under his rule."
Laenor nodded slowly. House Velaryon's relationship with the Old King had indeed been complicated. Jaehaerys had elevated his grandfather Daemon to Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, a singular honor. He had relied on Velaryon ships to enforce the king's peace in the Narrow Sea. Yet he had also been the architect of their greatest disappointment, first passing over Rhaenys for the succession, then allowing the Great Council to deny Laenor's own claim.
"I understand," Laenor said, though part of him wished for a simpler world where loyalty and grief could exist without the tangle of politics and ambition.
"Good," Corlys replied, his attention already returning to the maps before him. "Now, these shipping lanes the Triarchy claims to control, I believe we can disrupt them with minimal force if we position our faster vessels here and here." His finger jabbed at points along the trade routes.
Rhaenys's hand came to rest on Laenor's shoulder, a gentle pressure that conveyed both comfort and dismissal. "We'll speak more at dinner," she promised. "For now, your father and I have preparations to make."
As Laenor left the solar, he couldn't help but reflect on how different his parents' reaction was from what would be occurring in King's Landing. There, the court would be draped in black, nobles weeping publicly for the beloved Old King even as they scrambled to position themselves favorably with his successor. Here on Driftmark, life continued almost unchanged, the death of Jaehaerys barely causing a ripple in the Velaryon's carefully laid plans.
Perhaps that was the true measure of how far they had come from the bitter disappointment of the Great Council. Jaehaerys's death no longer had the power to affect their course. The Velaryons had moved beyond seeking the Iron Throne, at least directly. Now they looked to carve out their own realm of influence, with the Stepstones as just the beginning.
As Laenor made his way to the courtyard where Master Qarro would be waiting for his daily water dancing lesson, he felt the familiar stirring of the Nereid Kyrie within him. The power seemed to respond to his contemplative mood, a gentle warmth spreading through his chest like a reminder of what made him truly unique.
Whatever game his parents were playing, whatever future they envisioned for House Velaryon, Laenor knew one thing with absolute certainty: his path would be unlike any that had come before. Dragon-rider, water-dancer, holder of ancient magic, these gifts would shape his destiny far more than any crown denied or kingdom claimed.
The thought brought a smile to his face as he picked up his practice blade. Let King Jaehaerys rest with his beloved Queen Alysanne. Let King Viserys wear his crown. The true power in the realm was shifting, like the tides Laenor could feel in his blood, and House Velaryon was positioning itself to rise with the coming flood.
"You're late, young dragon," Master Qarro called from the center of the training yard, his Braavosi accent thick with disapproval. "The water waits for no man, not even one with royal blood."
Laenor grinned, settling into his opening stance. "Then let's not waste any more time."
__________________________________________________________
The moon hung low over Driftmark, casting silvery light across the island's rugged coastline. Laenor pressed himself against the cool stone wall of High Tide, listening for the telltale footsteps of guards patrolling the grounds. His heart hammered in his chest, a mixture of excitement and apprehension coursing through his veins. Father had departed three days ago for King's Landing to attend Viserys's coronation, taking with him most of the household guard and leaving his mother in command of their ancestral seat.
Which made this the perfect night for what he had planned.
When he was certain the way was clear, Laenor darted across the courtyard, keeping to the shadows. At nine years old, he moved with a grace that belied his youth, each step carefully placed to avoid the loose stones that might betray his presence. The salt-laden breeze tugged at his silver-gold hair as he slipped through a postern gate and began the winding descent toward the hidden cove on the eastern shore.
His mother would skin him alive if she caught him sneaking out alone at night, but the pull was too strong to resist.
The narrow path down to the cove was treacherous in the darkness, loose shale sliding beneath his boots as he picked his way carefully down the cliff face. One wrong step meant a thirty-foot drop onto jagged rocks below. Laenor gripped the rough stone with practiced hands, finding handholds where others might see only smooth rock. The path was his secret, discovered during one of his many explorations of Driftmark's coastline.
The sound of waves crashing against the shore grew louder as he neared the bottom. The cove itself was a perfect half-moon of black sand, sheltered by towering cliffs on three sides and open to the Narrow Sea on the fourth. Hidden from the castle above and inaccessible by boat due to the treacherous underwater rocks that guarded its entrance, it was the ideal place for what Laenor had in mind.
His feet had barely touched the sand when he felt it, the familiar presence in his mind that always preceded Seasmoke's arrival. A warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading through his limbs like liquid fire, pleasant and invigorating.
"I'm here," he whispered to the night sky, the words carried away by the wind.
The response came moments later, a distant roar that echoed off the cliffs. Laenor grinned, his violet eyes scanning the star-strewn heavens until he spotted what he was looking for, a darker patch against the night, moving with impossible speed and grace.
Seasmoke descended in a tight spiral, massive wings displacing enough air to send the black sand swirling around Laenor's feet. The dragon had grown to enormous proportions in the two years since their bonding, his body now eighty feet from snout to tail-tip. His scales shimmered in the moonlight, the color of wet ash with silver highlights that caught the light with each movement.
The ground trembled as Seasmoke landed, powerful legs absorbing the impact with surprising delicacy for a creature his size. Steam rose from his nostrils as he lowered his massive head, amber eyes fixing on Laenor with unmistakable intelligence and affection.
Laenor stepped forward without hesitation, placing his palm against the dragon's snout. The scales were warm to the touch, almost hot, vibrating slightly with each breath the great beast took. Laenor closed his eyes, leaning forward until his forehead rested against Seasmoke's enormous skull.
The connection between them flared to life, stronger than ever. It wasn't like the stories of dragon-riders past, where beast and rider were separate entities joined by mutual respect and obedience. What Laenor shared with Seasmoke went deeper, as if they were two halves of the same being temporarily housed in different forms.
"You've been hunting," Laenor murmured, catching the lingering scent of blood and charred meat on Seasmoke's breath. Images flashed through his mind, a pod of dolphins spotted from high above, the exhilarating dive, the satisfaction of the catch. He saw it all through Seasmoke's eyes, felt the rush of wind against scales, tasted the salt spray as the dragon skimmed low over the waves.
Seasmoke rumbled deep in his chest, the sound vibrating through Laenor's body. The dragon's hunger was sated, but there was another appetite that remained unfulfilled, the desire to fly with his rider, to soar through the night sky with Laenor on his back.
"It's time for us to fly," Laenor said, stepping back and looking up at his dragon with a grin. "But tonight, we're going to try something new."
From a hidden crevice in the cliff wall, Laenor retrieved the special saddle he'd been working on in secret. Unlike the traditional dragon saddles with their elaborate safety straps and chains, this one was minimal, little more than a padded seat with handholds and a single strap to secure him in place. It was designed for speed and maneuverability, allowing dragon and rider to move as one without restriction.
Seasmoke lowered his shoulder obligingly as Laenor approached with the saddle. The dragon remained perfectly still as Laenor secured it just behind the base of his neck, where the scales were smaller and more flexible.
Once the saddle was in place, Laenor stepped back and took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth. His experimentation with magic had progressed far beyond what anyone, even his mother with her Targaryen blood, might have expected. The manipulation of water came easily to him now, as did the strange ability to influence dragons through song. But lately, he'd been working on something far more personal and potentially more powerful.
Laenor closed his eyes, centering himself as Master Qarro had taught him. He reached for that place inside where the Nereid Kyrie resided, that wellspring of power that hummed constantly beneath his consciousness. But instead of drawing on it directly, he extended his awareness along the bond he shared with Seasmoke, feeling the dragon's own vast reservoirs of magical energy.
Dragons were creatures of pure magic, living embodiments of the elemental forces that shaped the world. And Seasmoke, growing faster and stronger than any dragon in living memory, was practically overflowing with that raw, primal energy.
Carefully, delicately, Laenor began to draw some of that energy into himself, not taking it but rather allowing it to flow through their bond like water through a sluice gate. The effect was immediate and intoxicating. His skin tingled, his senses sharpened, and his muscles seemed to hum with newfound strength.
With a grin of pure exhilaration, Laenor bent his knees and pushed upward. The jump carried him impossibly high, ten, fifteen, nearly twenty feet into the air, before he descended in a controlled arc that landed him perfectly on Seasmoke's back, directly in the saddle.
"Did you see that?" Laenor laughed, securing the single strap across his thighs. "That was at least five feet higher than last time!"
Seasmoke rumbled in approval, his entire body vibrating with eagerness to be airborne. The dragon's excitement flowed through their bond, mingling with Laenor's own until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
"Let's really test ourselves tonight," Laenor said, leaning forward to pat Seasmoke's neck. "No holding back."
The dragon needed no further encouragement. With a powerful thrust of his hind legs, Seasmoke launched them skyward, great wings unfurling to catch the night air. The acceleration pressed Laenor back against the saddle, forcing the breath from his lungs in a delighted whoop.
They climbed nearly vertical, Driftmark rapidly shrinking beneath them as they pierced the low-hanging clouds. The air grew colder, but Laenor hardly noticed. The dragon's internal heat, combined with the magical energy flowing through their bond, kept him comfortably warm despite the thin silk tunic he wore.
When they finally leveled off, they were so high that the entirety of Blackwater Bay was visible below, a vast expanse of moonlit water dotted with the tiny lights of ships. To the west, King's Landing glowed like a cluster of fireflies, while to the east, the endless expanse of the Narrow Sea stretched to the horizon. For a moment, Laenor simply breathed, savoring the perfect freedom that only came with flight.
Then, with a grin that bordered on reckless, he patted Seasmoke's neck. "Show me what you can really do."
The dragon's response was immediate. They plunged into a dive so steep that Laenor's stomach seemed to float up into his throat. Wind screamed past his ears as they plummeted toward the dark waters below, gaining speed with every heartbeat. At the last possible second, Seasmoke pulled up, his wingtips skimming the wave crests as they shot forward just above the surface.
"Yes!" Laenor shouted, the word torn away by the wind. His blood sang in his veins, every nerve ending alive with sensation.
Seasmoke banked hard to the right, wings cutting through the air with precision as they wove between two merchant vessels. Laenor caught glimpses of startled sailors pointing upward, their mouths open in shock at the dragon passing so close overhead.
"Let's give them something to really talk about," Laenor murmured, his fingers digging into the handholds of his saddle.
As if reading his thoughts, and perhaps he was, through their connection, Seasmoke suddenly twisted in mid-air, rolling completely upside down. Laenor's stomach lurched, but the saddle strap held him securely in place as they flew inverted over the waves. Blood rushed to his head, his silver-gold hair hanging toward the water as he laughed with pure, unbridled joy.
Seasmoke completed the roll and shot upward again, climbing in a tight spiral that sent them corkscrewing into the night sky. The stars blurred around them, seeming to dance in rhythm with their ascent.
When they leveled off again, Laenor spotted something in the distance, the massive red bulk of another dragon, instantly recognizable even at this distance.
"Meleys," he whispered. His mother's dragon was flying a patrol route around the island, as she often did when Corlys was away. If she spotted them...
But instead of fear, Laenor felt a surge of mischievous determination. He leaned forward, pressing himself flat against Seasmoke's neck.
"Let's show her what we can do," he whispered.
A vibration ran through Seasmoke's body, something that felt remarkably like draconic laughter. Without warning, the dragon tucked his wings and dove straight toward Meleys.
As they rapidly closed the distance, Laenor felt the familiar warmth of the Nereid Kyrie stirring within him. An idea formed, wild and untested, but too tempting to resist.
Laenor began to hum, a haunting melody that rose and fell like waves upon a shore. The sound seemed to carry impossibly far in the night air, echoing across the empty space between the dragons. He felt the power rise within him, flowing from that hidden place where the Nereid Kyrie resided, channeling through his voice into something tangible.
His humming grew louder, more complex, Valyrian words weaving themselves into the melody. Laenor's eyes began to glow lavender, casting eerie light across Seasmoke's scales. The dragon's own eyes responded, amber irises taking on the same unearthly glow as power flowed between them, amplifying and rebounding.
Seasmoke's speed increased dramatically, his wings beating with supernatural strength. The air around them began to shimmer, as if they flew through heat ripples despite the cool night air. The dragon's scales gleamed brighter, their usual ashen color now infused with silver-blue radiance that left a luminous trail behind them.
Meleys turned her massive head just as they approached, the larger dragon's eyes widening in what could only be surprise. Seasmoke executed a perfect barrel roll around her, spiraling from head to tail in a display of aerial agility that should have been impossible for a dragon his size.
Laenor's song reached a crescendo as they completed the maneuver, the final notes hanging in the air like crystalline droplets. He felt Meleys's consciousness brush against his, curious, impressed, and slightly alarmed.
"Sorry!" he called out as they shot past, though he didn't sound sorry at all. "Just practicing!"
Seasmoke roared triumphantly, shooting straight up into the clouds before Meleys could respond. They burst through the vapor into clear air above, moonlight turning the cloud tops into a silver landscape that stretched in all directions.
"That was amazing!" Laenor shouted, his voice still carrying that strange resonant quality from the song. "Did you feel that? The way you moved? You were at least twice as fast!"
The dragon rumbled in agreement, clearly as exhilarated by the experience as his rider. Through their bond, Laenor could sense Seasmoke's wonder at the new power they had discovered together.
"Let's try again," Laenor said, patting the dragon's neck. "But this time, let's really push it."
He took a deep breath and began to sing once more, a different melody this time, one that spoke of storms and lightning, of power that could split the sky. The Nereid Kyrie responded eagerly, almost hungrily, as if it had been waiting for this moment.
The lavender glow returned to Laenor's eyes, brighter now, casting his features in otherworldly light. Seasmoke's entire body began to shimmer with the same energy, scales rippling with power that seemed to build with every note of Laenor's song.
They dove back through the clouds, emerging beneath them like a silver-blue comet. Laenor's song reached impossible notes, his voice carrying farther than any human voice should be able to carry. The air around them began to crackle with energy, tiny arcs of lightning dancing across Seasmoke's wings.
"Now!" Laenor commanded, his voice layered with harmonics that seemed to vibrate the very air around them.
Seasmoke tucked his wings and shot forward with explosive speed. The world around them blurred, wind screaming past so loudly that even Laenor's enhanced voice was nearly drowned out. His hair whipped behind him, glowing with the same lavender light as his eyes, streaming like a banner in the night.
They broke the sound barrier with a thunderous crack that echoed across the bay, startling sleeping birds into flight from the distant shoreline. Sailors on ships below would later swear they had seen a new kind of falling star—one that moved horizontally across the sky before vanishing into the distance.
For Laenor, the world narrowed to a tunnel of rushing air and pure sensation. He had never felt so alive, so connected to Seasmoke, so at one with the elements around them. This was what the Nereid Kyrie was meant for, not courtly songs to impress Braavosi nobles, but this wild, primal expression of power that united dragon and rider in perfect harmony.
They maintained the impossible speed for nearly a minute before Laenor felt the strain beginning to tell on both of them. His voice faltered, the glow in his eyes flickering as the energy began to wane. Beneath him, Seasmoke's wingbeats became slightly labored, the dragon pushing himself to maintain their velocity.
"Enough," Laenor gasped, releasing the magic and letting his song fade. "That was... that was..."
Words failed him. They had just accomplished something no dragon and rider had ever done before, at least not in any tale he had ever heard. They had transcended the natural limitations of flesh and bone, if only for a brief time.
Seasmoke slowed gradually, his wings spreading wide to catch the air as they glided across the moonlit waters. Both dragon and rider were breathing heavily, exhausted but exhilarated by what they had achieved.
As they hovered above the moonlit waters, a wild idea seized Laenor. He'd been practicing with water manipulation for months, but always from solid ground or ship decks. Never like this.
"Hover right here," he patted Seasmoke's neck, then unbuckled the saddle strap.
The dragon rumbled questioningly, amber eyes glancing back at his rider.
"Trust me," Laenor grinned, the familiar adrenaline rush making his heart pound. "I want to try something."
Drawing deep on his memories of waterbenders,Laenor slid sideways off Seasmoke's back and dropped into empty air.
The wind rushed past his ears as he plummeted toward the dark waters below. Instead of fear, exhilaration flooded his veins. He spread his arms wide, fingers splayed, and called to the sea below.
The Nereid Kyrie flared within him, power surging through his body like liquid lightning. His eyes blazed with lavender light as the black waters below responded to his silent command.
The ocean rose to meet him, not as a hard, killing surface, but as a massive watery hand that reached upward. It caught him gently, cradling his falling body in a cushion of seawater that defied gravity.
Laenor laughed, the sound echoing across the waves as the water hand lowered him slowly toward the surface. Above, Seasmoke circled watchfully, his massive form silhouetted against the moon.
The water hand melted away as Laenor slipped beneath the surface. Rather than swimming back up, he extended his awareness outward. The Nereid Kyrie thrummed within him, connecting him to every drop of water around his body.
With a thought, he formed a perfect bubble of air around his head and torso. The water pressed against the invisible barrier but couldn't penetrate it. Through the clear wall of his bubble, the ocean appeared as a dark void, but Laenor didn't need his eyes to see.
His senses expanded outward, flowing with the currents. He could feel the contours of the seabed below, the schools of fish darting away in confusion, even the massive hull of a merchant vessel anchored a half-mile distant. Every eddy and current became an extension of his own body.
"This is incredible," he whispered inside his bubble, his voice sounding strange in the underwater silence.
Pushing his power further, Laenor extended his awareness along the coastline of Driftmark. He felt the waves lapping against the island's shores, the underwater caves where crabs scuttled in darkness, the roots of seaweed anchored to submerged rocks. His consciousness stretched farther and farther, mapping every detail of the underwater landscape.
When he reached halfway around the island, he felt resistance, not a wall, but a thinning of his power, like a rope stretched to its limit. For now, this was his boundary, but the Nereid Kyrie pulsed with untapped potential. He knew with absolute certainty that his reach would only grow stronger with practice.
A sudden idea struck him. Why settle for mere awareness when he could do so much more?
Laenor focused on the water surrounding his bubble. It began to churn, spiraling around him in a vortex that gained speed with each passing second. The force of the spinning water propelled him forward through the depths, his bubble maintaining perfect integrity despite the turbulence.
He shot through the water like a torpedo, laughing with delight as he accelerated. Fish scattered before him as he rocketed past.
Above the surface, Seasmoke followed his underwater path, the dragon's keen senses tracking his rider's movement beneath the waves. Laenor could feel their bond stretching across the barrier between air and sea, undiminished by the water between them.
Emboldened, he directed the vortex upward. The water spiral carried him toward the surface, gaining speed until he burst from the sea in a magnificent geyser that shot twenty feet into the air. Suspended at its peak, water streaming from his clothes and hair, Laenor spread his arms wide and laughed into the night.
"Did you see that?" he shouted to Seasmoke, who circled nearby with obvious approval.
As gravity reclaimed him, Laenor focused again. Instead of falling back into the sea, he pulled the water up to meet him, forming a twisting column that held him aloft. With subtle movements of his hands, he shaped the column into a staircase of water that solidified under his feet as he stepped down.
Walking on water. Actually walking on water! The sheer impossibility of it sent another thrill through him.
He took a few experimental steps, the water hardening beneath his feet with each footfall, then melting back to liquid after he moved on. It was like dancing on a surface that existed only for him.
"This calls for something special," he murmured, eyes gleaming with mischief.
He drew his wooden practice blade from the sheath at his hip. The wooden sword, weighted and balanced exactly like the real thing, felt perfect in his hand. Master Qarro's voice echoed in his mind: "The water dancer becomes one with the water." How little the Braavosi knew of what that truly meant. drawing his practice blade from the sheath at his hip.
Laenor planted his feet firmly on the liquid surface, feeling the water solidify beneath him as he assumed the water dancer's stance. Lotho's words from their lessons in Braavos before the Moon Pool echoed in his mind: "Look at the moon in the pool, boy. Is it the moon? No, it is a reflection. A shadow of light. If you strike at the reflection, you wet your sleeve and catch nothing. The Water Dancer strikes at the source, not the shimmer."
The irony wasn't lost on him as he stood quite literally on water, the moon's reflection rippling beneath his feet. He raised his practice blade.
"Let's see if I've been paying attention, Lotho," he murmured with a grin.
Laenor took a breath and settled into his opening stance. Feet positioned precisely, weight balanced on the balls of his feet, blade extended. The moonlight caught the edges of his impromptu arena, turning the water-platform into a stage of liquid silver.
He began the First Form, moving slowly at first. Each step rippled across the surface, the water responding to his movements, firming beneath his feet exactly where he needed support. As his confidence grew, so did his speed.
The Second Form flowed into the Third, his body moving with increasing fluidity. The practice blade whistled through the salt-laden air as Laenor spun and lunged, parried invisible opponents and riposted with deadly precision. With each sequence, he pushed himself faster.
"Swift as a deer," he whispered, executing a complex series of strikes. "Quiet as a shadow."
The water beneath him began to respond not just to his feet but to the rhythm of his movements. It pulsed with each strike, rippled with each turn, as if the sea itself were his partner in this deadly dance.
"Calm as still water," he continued, moving into the most difficult sequence Master Qarro had taught him. "Fear cuts deeper than swords."
Seasmoke circled overhead, rumbling with approval as his rider transformed the simple practice routine into something magical. The dragon's presence amplified Laenor's connection to the Nereid Kyrie, feeding him strength and precision that went beyond human limits.
"Quick as a snake," Laenor gasped, his blade moving faster than the eye could follow. "Fierce as a dragon."
The water-platform began to spin beneath him, a slowly rotating disc that added another layer of complexity to his movements. Rather than fighting against the rotation, Laenor incorporated it into his dance, using the momentum to fuel his strikes.
"The man who fears losing has already lost," he shouted, his voice carrying across the empty sea.
Sweat poured down his face as he pushed himself to the edge of his abilities. His muscles burned, his lungs worked like bellows, but he refused to slow. This was what it meant to truly water dance, not just to mimic the movements of water, but to command it, to become one with it in a way no Braavosi swordmaster had ever dreamed possible.
With a final flourish, Laenor completed the sequence, freezing in the finishing stance, blade extended, body coiled like a spring ready to release. For a moment, he held perfectly still, his chest heaving with exertion.
Then, grinning with wild abandon, he straightened and raised his arms. The water-platform responded immediately, rising higher above the waves, carrying him upward like a conquering hero on a pedestal of living water.
"Let's really put on a show," he called to Seasmoke.
The dragon roared in response, circling lower until he was just above the water-platform. Laenor began to sing again channelling Nereid Kyrie flowing from his lips without conscious thought. The platform beneath his feet pulsed with each note, its surface rippling like the skin of a drum.
As his song built in intensity, Laenor thrust his free hand toward the surrounding sea. Columns of water erupted in response, shooting upward in perfect synchronization with his melody. They froze in mid-air, transforming into glistening pillars of ice that caught the moonlight and refracted it in dazzling patterns.
Seasmoke added his contribution, releasing carefully controlled jets of flame that danced between the ice pillars without melting them. Fire and ice, perfectly balanced, creating a spectacle that would have brought even the most jaded courtier to tears of wonder.
Laenor laughed, drunk on power and exhilaration. He spun in place, his blade tracing patterns in the air as the ice pillars began to rotate around him, forming a glittering crown of crystalline spires.
"This is what it means to be a Velaryon!" he shouted to the night sky. "Sea and dragon, water and fire!"
The song reached its crescendo, and with it, Laenor's power surged to new heights. The ice pillars shattered in perfect unison, transforming into thousands of tiny crystals that hung suspended in the air around him, catching the moonlight like a cloud of diamonds.
With a final, triumphant note, Laenor swept his arms downward. The suspended ice crystals plunged into the sea, each one creating a perfect ripple that spread outward in concentric rings.
As the last note faded, Laenor stood alone on his water platform, breathing hard, his arms tingling with the aftereffects of so much channeled power. Above him, Seasmoke rumbled with satisfaction, the dragon's amber eyes glowing with shared pride.
"Well," came a dry, familiar voice from behind him. "That was certainly dramatic."
Laenor's heart nearly stopped. He whirled around, nearly losing his balance on the suddenly unstable water platform.
Rhaenys Targaryen hovered just ten feet away, mounted atop Meleys's massive neck. The Red Queen's scales gleamed crimson in the moonlight, steam rising from her nostrils as she regarded the much smaller Seasmoke with tolerant amusement.
"Mother," Laenor managed, his voice cracking slightly. "I was just—"
"Practicing your water dancing," Rhaenys finished for him, one silver eyebrow arched so high it nearly disappeared into her hairline. "On the ocean. At midnight. Miles from shore. Without permission."
Laenor winced. Put like that, it did sound rather bad.
"In my defense," he began, then faltered. What defense could there possibly be?
Rhaenys's stern expression held for another moment before cracking into a reluctant smile. "Gods be good, but you are your father's son. He used to sneak out at night too, though his adventures involved stealing boats, not commanding the sea itself."
The water platform beneath Laenor's feet was beginning to lose cohesion, his concentration fractured by his mother's unexpected appearance. He frowned, focusing his will, and the water solidified again.
"You're not angry?" he ventured cautiously.
"Oh, I'm furious," Rhaenys corrected him pleasantly. "You'll be mucking out the stables for a month. But I'm also..." She paused, searching for the right word. "Impressed."
Laenor blinked in surprise.
"What you just did," his mother continued, gesturing to the still-rippling sea around them, "I've never seen anything like it. Not in all the histories of our family, not in any tale from Old Valyria."
Pride bloomed in Laenor's chest, temporarily overriding his concern about the promised stable-mucking.
"The Nereid Kyrie," he explained. "It's growing stronger. And when I'm with Seasmoke, it's like... like we amplify each other."
Rhaenys nodded thoughtfully. "I suspected as much. It's why I followed you tonight instead of simply calling you back. I wanted to see what you could do when you thought no one was watching."
Laenor felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. How long had she been observing him? Had she seen his ungraceful splash into the sea? His early, fumbling attempts to create the water platform?
As if reading his thoughts, Rhaenys smiled. "Don't worry, I only arrived for the finale. Though that was spectacular enough." Her expression grew more serious. "You understand why we must keep these abilities secret?"
"Because they make me valuable," Laenor recited, having heard this warning many times before. "And what men value, they seek to control."
"Exactly." Rhaenys nodded approvingly. "Viserys may be amiable and a bit of a dolt, but he sits on the Iron Throne now. If he knew what you were capable of..." She let the implication hang in the air between them.
Laenor nodded soberly, the exhilaration of his magical display giving way to the weight of responsibility. "I understand."
"Good. Now then," Rhaenys gestured to Seasmoke, who hovered nearby, "shall we return to High Tide before the entire household realizes we're missing?"
Laenor glanced down at his watery platform, reluctant to abandon his practice. "Just a few more minutes?"
"It's nearly dawn," his mother pointed out, nodding toward the eastern horizon where the faintest lightening had begun to tinge the sky. "And you have lessons with Maester Gerardys after breakfast."
With a sigh of resignation, Laenor released his hold on the water. The platform dissolved beneath him, but before he could fall more than a foot, he channeled the Nereid Kyrie once more. A swirling column of water shot upward, propelling him into the air in a graceful arc that deposited him neatly on Seasmoke's back.
"Show-off," Rhaenys muttered, though the quirk of her lips betrayed her amusement.
Laenor grinned as he settled into his saddle, securing the strap across his thighs. "Race you back?" he challenged.
His mother's eyes gleamed with competitive fire. "Terms?"
"If I win, no stable duty."
"And if I win?"
Laenor considered for a moment. "I'll transcribe all of Maester Gerardys's astronomical charts for the next season. By hand."
"Done." Rhaenys nodded sharply. Without warning, she leaned forward and Meleys shot away like a crimson arrow, her massive wings propelling her with surprising speed for a dragon her size.
"Hey! That's cheating!" Laenor shouted after her, but he was already urging Seasmoke into pursuit, his heart pounding with renewed excitement.
The two dragons streaked across the night sky, their riders bent low over their necks. Meleys had the advantage of size and power, but Seasmoke was younger, more agile, and, Laenor suspected, more motivated by his rider's desperation to avoid both stable duty and astronomical charts.
"Come on, come on," Laenor urged, the wind whipping his silver-gold hair back from his face. "Show her what you can do!"
Seasmoke responded with a burst of speed, closing the gap between them. They were flying so low now that they left a wake in the dark waters below, twin trails of disturbed sea marking their passage.
The jagged coastline of Driftmark loomed ahead, the imposing silhouette of High Tide castle perched on its highest cliff. Laenor could see Meleys just a dragon's length ahead, her crimson scales catching the first hints of dawn light.
"Not today," he muttered, reaching once more for the Nereid Kyrie. He didn't dare attempt the full song that had propelled them to such impossible speeds earlier, that would be too obvious, but perhaps just a touch, just enough to give them the edge...
A soft hum rose from his throat, barely audible over the rushing wind but pulsing with latent power. Seasmoke's wingbeats strengthened immediately, each downstroke cutting through the air with supernatural efficiency.
They drew even with Meleys just as the dragons began their ascent toward High Tide's dragon pit. Rhaenys glanced over in surprise, clearly not expecting them to catch up so quickly. Laenor gave her his most innocent smile and waved.
The race ended in a near-tie, both dragons touching down in the vast stone pit within seconds of each other. The dragon pit was built into the side of the cliff below the castle proper, a massive cavern with an opening large enough to accommodate even the greatest dragons.
"I believe I was slightly ahead," Laenor declared as he dismounted, landing lightly on the smooth stone floor of the pit.
Rhaenys slid down Meleys's shoulder with practiced ease. "In your dreams, perhaps."
"Maester Gerardys was watching from the astronomy tower," Laenor bluffed. "We could ask him to adjudicate."
"And explain why we were racing dragons before dawn?" His mother raised an eyebrow. "I think not."
They fell into step together, making their way toward the stone staircase that would take them back into the castle. Behind them, Seasmoke and Meleys settled onto their respective stone nests, the dragons curling up for a well-earned rest.
"I suppose we could call it a draw," Laenor suggested hopefully.
"A diplomatic solution," Rhaenys agreed with suspicious ease. They had reached the base of the stairs when she added casually, "Oh, and Laenor? Your hours of studies are going to be doubled for the moon."
Laenor stumbled on the first step. "What? But you said if it was a draw—"
"I agreed to waive the stable duty," his mother corrected him, ascending the stairs with regal composure. "I said nothing about additional consequences for sneaking out in the middle of the night, performing extremely advanced magic without supervision, and flying on dragonback over heavily trafficked shipping lanes."
"But—"
"Consider yourself fortunate," Rhaenys continued, not slowing her pace. "Your father would have had you copying naval charts until your fingers bled."
Laenor hurried to catch up, taking the stairs two at a time. "Additional studies in what?"
"History of the Fourteen Flames, advanced High Valyrian conjugation, and..." She paused at the top of the staircase, turning to fix him with a meaningful look. "Controlling your magic, with me supervising."
Laenor's protest died on his lips. "With you?"
"What you did tonight was impressive but dangerous," Rhaenys said, her voice softening slightly. "Power without control is a sword without a hilt, it cuts the hand that wields it as often as the enemy."
"But you don't have water magic," Laenor pointed out, confused.
"No, but you are a child Laenor," his mother replied. "And whatever this gift of yours is, it must be studied carefully." She reached out to brush a strand of hair from his face, her touch unexpectedly gentle. "We'll work together to understand its limits and potential."
A smile broke across Laenor's face. "Really? You'll help me practice?"
"Under controlled conditions," she emphasized. "No more midnight escapades. No more pushing boundaries without proper precautions."
"Yes, Mother," he agreed readily, too excited by the prospect of formal training to argue about the restrictions.
"Good. Now off to bed with you," she said, gesturing toward his chambers. "You have three hours before breakfast, and you'll need every minute of sleep you can get."
As Laenor hurried down the corridor toward his rooms, exhaustion finally beginning to overtake excitement, he couldn't help but feel that his punishment had somehow transformed into exactly what he'd wanted all along. Perhaps his mother knew him better than he thought.
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