Chapter 28: Negotiations
House Varezes' fleet sailed in grand formation past Lys, the city's warning bells ringing as the armada darkened the horizon. The fleet paid the so-called City of Lust no mind, scattering the lingering pirate vessels outside its harbor before turning northward along the coast toward Pentos.
Five of the swiftest three-hundred-oared war galleys were dispatched ahead to the agreed meeting place. Aboard them rode three hundred Silver Blood soldiers clad in plate-and-mail, armed with halberds, spears, and flails. Fifty tiger-striped warhorses stamped within reinforced holds. With them traveled Aslan Longdel, Hofa the Law-Holder, and Lynn Valtaken—Dragonzel's closest retainers.
The chosen site lay upon a rugged coast south of Pentos.
A piercing dragon's roar shattered the stillness.
Caraxes, the lean red wyrm, slithered up the cliffside, his long neck curling toward his rider. Nearby, the Red Queen—Meley—lay resting while Princess Rhaenys gently polished her scales, the old princess tending her companion with care.
They had arrived well in advance.
"Daemon, what are you truly planning?" Rhaenys asked, stepping beside him. "I have seen the terms Viserys offers. An empty title of Royal Prince, a frontier governorship, a strip of land, and a marriage pact that may not be honored for years. Perhaps it is accepted now—but later?"
She held his gaze. "Do you believe succession will be smooth? That Princess Rhaenyra will ascend uncontested? That House Targaryen's descendants can forever suppress those of House Varezes? They too descend from dragonlords. Silverwing will lay eggs. You cannot bar their line from dragons forever."
Daemon exhaled slowly. "That will be for the next generation to contend with. While my brother sits the Iron Throne, your claim remains unchallenged. But once he is gone… if Rhaenyra and I are absent from King's Landing, loyalty may falter. I must prepare."
Rhaenys smiled faintly. "At last, you see clearly. The lords may have sworn, yet men's oaths bend with circumstance. Perhaps only Lady Jeyne of the Vale and the Northmen will stand firm if winds shift. Have you thought how to secure broader support?"
"The Princess's sons are capable," Daemon said. "I will send them to serve as squires among the marcher lords until they come of age."
"Have they agreed?"
"Jacaerys volunteered," Daemon replied, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Two dragons broke through the cloud cover, descending in tandem. Far below, the distant sails of a fleet cut the waterline.
Rhaenys stiffened. "Was Vermithor ever that large?"
Daemon's expression darkened. "No. Not on Dragonstone."
Meley lifted her horned head and roared skyward. Caraxes answered in kind.
Vermithor's thunderous call rolled across the coast in reply.
"Vermithor, land," Dragonzel commanded.
He wore the restored Valyrian scale armor Dragon Knight, though without its ornate helm. Silver Blood rested at his hip, and the sigil of House Varezes—the Silver Dragon and Laurel Leaf—was emblazoned upon his cloak.
The Bronze Fury descended heavily upon the cliff, Silverwing alighting just behind.
Daemon studied the great dragon carefully. "His scales are brighter. His horns thicker. Larger than before."
He noted also the armor worn by the two young men dismounting beside Dragonzel, their longswords gleaming at their sides.
For a heartbeat, even Prince Daemon stood silent.
Rhaenys stepped forward first, arms open. "Welcome, cousins."
Dragonzel and Valarr inclined their heads together in formal greeting.
"Dragonzel," Daemon said, resting a hand upon Dark Sister, "it has been many years."
"You remain unchanged, Daemon," Dragonzel answered lightly.
"We bring terms from the Iron Throne," Daemon said plainly. "King Viserys extends his proposal upon learning of your return."
"I am listening," Dragonzel replied. "I have returned with over a thousand ships, wealth beyond counting, thousands of craftsmen and laborers, and six thousand soldiers. They must be fed."
Daemon nodded. "The Iron Throne will recognize House Varezes' royal status, given Princess Cenilla's blood. You shall bear the style of Royal Prince. Valarr and Prince Rei may also use princely titles."
Dragonzel remained silent.
"The Crown proposes a marriage alliance," Daemon continued. "The last two dragonlord houses should unite their blood."
Dragonzel folded his arms. "There are no daughters of suitable age within House Targaryen."
"Then the next generation," Daemon said. "A Targaryen daughter shall wed one of your heirs—or Prince Rei."
Dragonzel inclined his head slightly. "And the land?"
Rhaenys unfurled a map between them.
"The Crown offers Summerfield, a highland north of the Red Mountains," Daemon explained. "House Tarth and House Swann have negotiated its transfer. Tarth will cede High Ridge and seeks your protection against Dornish incursions. In addition, the lands of Balance Valley, Choice Frontier, Risk Frontier, and Swelling Peak shall form your demesne."
Dragonzel studied the parchment without comment.
"Any territories you conquer in Dorne will be yours outright," Daemon added. "You will bear the title Frontier Governor. In time of war, the marcher lords shall answer your command."
Silence lingered.
"To show good faith," Daemon continued, "Prince Jacaerys Velaryon volunteers to serve as your squire—should you accept the Faith of the Seven."
"Dragonlords do not worship," Dragonzel replied evenly. "But we show courtesy to all gods, should necessity demand."
Daemon nodded. "Prince Lucerys Velaryon will soon complete his fostering at High Tide and may serve Prince Vaella. My son, Prince Aegon, shall squire for Prince Rei when he reaches eight years of age."
He smiled thinly. "The Crown welcomes the return of its kin."
Dragonzel's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Beside him, Valarr stood stunned into silence.
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