The moment Rhaegor spoke, the hall fell silent. The young men who had been speaking out earlier now wilted like trampled grass, their earlier fervor drained away.
Rhaegor's words were undeniable—House Vaelarys' rise to power had been built upon the two dragons, Vermithor and Silverwing, which Draezell had summoned, dragons that once belonged to House Targaryen. And now, they were protesting the Targaryens taking Vermax…
"Brother, Jacaerys isn't entirely wrong," Seryna said after a moment of thought. Beside her, Orion obediently poured her a cup of mulled wine sweetened with sugar and nutmeg.
"The matter of dragon ownership is an issue," she continued, taking a small sip. "Candlelight is in King's Landing, and Vermax is in Dragon's Nest. If we honor our agreement and allow the Targaryens to claim Vermax, then in the future, reclaiming Candlelight for our own children would be justified." She paused, her mismatched eyes sharp. "But, brother, this also sets a dangerous precedent—what about Vermithor and Silverwing?"
"Seryna's right," Orion quickly added. "What if the Targaryens decide Vermithor and Silverwing are theirs too and demand the right to tame them?"
"Are our dragons just decoration?" Jacaerys snapped. "Forget Father's power for a moment—brother, we might allow Vermax to go, out of obligation, promises, and the late king's friendship with our family. But Vermithor is Father's dragon, and Silverwing is Uncle's. We cannot let them slip from House Vaelarys' grasp."
What he didn't say aloud was this: Vermithor and Silverwing were the two largest dragons in the world. With them, no matter how the tides of fate turned, House Vaelarys would remain the undisputed first house beneath the throne.
"Even at the cost of our lives?" Dan interjected softly, trying to temper the mood. "Sendros once resonated with me, but you all saw how it rejected my attempt to tame it. Without your help, I would have died in its flames. And Sendros is just a young dragon—Vermithor and Silverwing are another matter entirely."
He reached for Seryna's cup of mulled wine, only for Valenna to silently pluck it away and return it to her sister. The silver-haired girl shot him a reproachful look before handing him the medicinal tea she had been preparing.
"Thank you, Valenna," Dan murmured sheepishly, accepting the drink. His wounds from his failed dragon-taming attempt still needed tending. He downed the bitter draught in one gulp before continuing.
"Vermithor is larger than a mountain. Silverwing is an ancient beast. Even if we combined all our dragons, we couldn't subdue them." He met their gazes. "Brother, Jacaerys, sister—I think we should wait and observe."
Jacaerys simmered but forced himself to calm down. "You're too cautious, Dan." He turned to Rhaegor. "Brother, I won't take part in the Targaryens' dragon-taming."
"Neither will I," Seryna said. "I agree with Dan. House comes first—but we won't aid the Targaryens with our methods." Her heterochromatic eyes locked onto Rhaegor's, gleaming with quiet intensity.
"Brother, Father left the decision to you. Make the call."
Rhaegor studied his siblings—Jacaerys' defiance, Seryna's cool logic, Dan's caution. Then his gaze settled on Daenyra, who had remained silent but whose loyalty to their house was unwavering.
Finally, he stood.
"We'll proceed as Dan suggested," he declared. "House Targaryen has its own ways of taming dragons. We will not interfere."
---
While the younger generation debated dragons in the hall, a far quieter scene unfolded in Valar's chambers in the Twins' Tower.
Since Lady Leyla's death, Valar's room had grown cold and lifeless. These days, he preferred drinking with his brothers or drowning his sorrows in Silverwing's lair over staying here.
But now, his body was failing him.
"To think I wouldn't die on the battlefield after all," Valar muttered, pressing a hand to his sunken stomach. His wasting sickness had grown severe—his wounds refused to heal, his flesh rotted, gout tormented him, and a host of unnamed ailments had left him too weak to ride a dragon.
At his bedside sat Draezell, his expression unreadable. Leaning against the doorway was Rey—still slender, still sharp, his silver hair untouched by age. At fifty-two, he looked decades younger than his years, a fact that never failed to amuse Valar.
The youngest of the three brothers, once just a follower, had become a dragonrider who made lords tremble and a lord in his own right.
Valar ignored Rey's disapproving frown, focusing instead on Draezell's calm face.
"Big brother… I always thought you'd never age," Valar whispered. "But even you've grown old."
"All men wither. All men die." Draezell clasped his brother's hand, his deep purple eyes flickering with something darker. "Valar, you must feel it too. Your body—"
"I know. That wound from Silverwing's scale never healed… It's like little worms burrowing under my skin. When I'm still, they crawl. When I move, they feast." He chuckled weakly. "And my belly—hurts worse than when Silver Scorpion drove his spear into me. But I'm no child. No use complaining now."
His gaze drifted to Rey. "Little brother… you've grown old too. Come. Let me look at you properly."
Rey sighed and sat down beside Valar. "Did you really have to do this to yourself?"
"The war is over," Valar muttered bitterly. "Big brother knows—I was born a warrior. My life is tied to battle. I wasn't meant to die in bed. Damn the old gods..." He slapped his sunken stomach in frustration. "I shouldn't have dodged that spear. I knew it—my silver shield couldn't stop it, Silverwing couldn't intercept it in time. If I hadn't moved, I'd have died on the battlefield like I was supposed to."
"Shut up, Valar." Rey's nose twitched. "A dragonrider dying to a scorpion bolt? You—" He bit back the rest of his words.
"Pathetic, I know." Valar chuckled weakly. "But still less humiliating than this."
"Valar, if you wish..." Draezell placed a hand on his brother's forehead, just as he had when they were children. "I can grant you more time. At a cost, but—"
"Blood for blood, life for life," Valar murmured. "No, brother. I won't trade dozens of innocent lives for my own. Those I killed in war were enemies—I shed no tears for them. Those executed by the Black Widow's blade were criminals—I feel no pity. But this?" He shook his head. "I remember the stories you told us. The blood magic for life-extension doesn't just need prisoners, does it?"
Draezell nodded.
Indeed, blood magic that defied death was a blasphemy against the gods' design. In ancient Valyria, pyromancers and bloodmages sought not just reanimation but true immortality. Their experiments in the Fourteen Flames and the towering ruins of Sothoryos demanded horrifying sacrifices—thousands with magical blood, and at least ten chosen vessels of the gods. Even extending a dying man's life required hundreds.
"If you desire it, I can give you years," Draezell repeated.
Valar laughed. "Brother, I won't spend those years leeching off your blood. That's no way to live." He turned his gaze to the ceiling, where once Leyla's tapestries from the Crab Isle had hung. Later, they were replaced by myths and histories for Daenyra and Valenna. Now, only Leyla's tapestries remained.
"Brother... just let me ride a dragon one last time. Properly."
Draezell closed his eyes for a long moment. "You may ride as long as you wish."
"Thank you." Valar shifted weakly. "I'm tired now. Let me sleep. Tomorrow's the feast—and you won't stop me from drinking."
Rey opened his mouth to protest, but Draezell silenced him with a look.
"Fine."
Valar smiled and closed his eyes.
---
Draezell watched his brother for a moment before placing his hand on the candleholder. Flames coiled around his fingers, then receded into a single drop of crimson liquid. As it fell onto Valar's forehead, the tension in his face eased. Soon, the room filled with the sound of his steady breathing.
Outside, Rey nearly choked on the tears he refused to shed. "Brother, I—"
"Tell the children," Draezell interrupted, leading him to the twin towers' bridge. Below, Summerfield blazed with light—the violet glow of the palace, the sun-bright markets, the endless candles of the Sept of the Seven Dragons.
"At tomorrow's feast, no one stops Valar from doing anything." Draezell's voice wavered, just slightly. "And tonight, have them gather at the Dragonpit's summit."
The tremor faded as quickly as it came.
Rey nodded and left.
---
The Next Morning
The first to arrive at Dragon's Nest were the children's wheelhouses—Daeron and his siblings, followed by little Aegon and Viserys' brood.
The king, queen, and Prince of Oldtown descended on dragonback into the courtyard. The moment they dismounted, Stormcloud leapt eagerly from the battlements, with Candlelight and Aegarax close behind. Their destination was clear:
The Dragonpit.
King Aegon and Queen Samantha exchanged pleased glances. Only Viserys seemed displeased, though he accepted the scene before him.
Stormcloud landed first, letting out a low rumble. Candlelight and Aegarax followed, their claws scraping against the rough stone.
From the shadows, the resident dragons stirred. Shadowmare, Starsong, and Vermax roared in greeting as the newcomers settled into their old nests.
The dragonpits were still intact, though Candlelight's nest had long been shared with Aurorae, leaving little room for two full-grown dragons. Candlelight glanced left and right before nodding at Aurorae, who responded by tilting its head, blue light flickering in its eyes. In an instant, a torrent of blue-and-charcoal flames sliced through the cavern walls like an axe through timber.
Space was no longer an issue.
The two dragons nuzzled affectionately, Candlelight extending its tendrils to stroke Aurorae's scales before brushing Starsong's flank outside the cave. Then, like old comrades slinging arms over shoulders, they vanished into the expanded den together.
Stormcloud, meanwhile, roared excitedly at Shadowmare and Vermax, occasionally trading bellows with Starsong across the cavern.
Morning had never been fond of such noisy exchanges. It remained curled in its shared hollow with Shadowmare, dozing in silence.
The newly hatched drakes had been herded deeper into the pits by Hovendes, kept clear of the adult dragons' reshuffling.
Only Sendros seemed restless, baring its teeth as if wrestling with some unseen impulse. Skyfyre shot the much larger dragon a glare—though typically gentle, it always lost its calm around Sendros.
What dragon wouldn't snap back when another keeps sneaking in bites?
"Wood... No watching for bronze-friend," Skyfyre growled.
"Quiet. Endure," Sendros snarled before retreating to its nest.
Skyfyre barely noticed Aegarax slinking toward its shared hollow with Zarafax. When the smaller dragon saw Zarafax—massive, coiled atop the swollen, heat-retaining mound of mud and dragon secretions where eggs once rested—its expression shifted in a way that, had humans been present, might've been called heartbreak.
Zarafax rumbled low, joined by Skyfyre's deeper warning. Aegarax stared between them, its draconic features cycling through shock, pain, and finally resignation. With a last, soft whimper, it turned to leave.
Then Zarafax lazily crooned.
Aegarax perked up instantly, scrambling back to the egg-mound. After a frantic series of chirps (inaudible even to Viserys' trained ear), it earned twin looks of bewilderment from Zarafax and Skyfyre.
---
As the dragons socialized, the feast hall beneath the Silverblood Tower prepared for revelry.
With the king and queen seated, the banquet began in earnest.
Aegon's gaze swept the room—these were the future of the realm. Never before had so many dragonriders and aspirants gathered under one roof. The king's eyes prickled.
'The kingdom... truly thrives under my hand.'
"Hah! Everyone waiting on me, eh?" Valar's voice boomed as his blood-sworn brothers, Arthor Celtigar and Joffrey Cafferen, carried him in on a chair. "What's the delay? Shall we starve Their Graces? Serve the food! And you—" He jabbed at the musicians. "Play something lively!"
Only then did servants rush forth with platters, and minstrels tune their instruments.
"Prince Valar, your health..." King Aegon began, concerned. Queen Samantha glanced at her father and brother—then, reading the grief in Draezell's eyes, squeezed her husband's arm in silent warning.
The king swallowed further questions.
---
Draezell studied the visiting Targaryens:
- Prince Daeron, handsome and charming, his smile like spring sunlight.
- Prince Rhaegar, brooding yet forcing politeness.
- The girls were unremarkable, but Prince Aegon (dashing yet leering at Seryna and Valenna) and Prince Aemon (straight-backed despite his limp from taming Caraxes) drew notice.
- Young Illyon fidgeted under Aemon's watch, eyeing the food.
- Princess Alysanne, lovely and bold, kept stealing glances at Dan and Jacaerys.
(Jacaerys, clean-shaven and inheriting his mother's beauty, rivaled even Rhaegor and Dan in looks.)
---
Viserys broke the pre-feast hush.
The silver-haired (now graying) prince rose with a goblet of pale wine, though his gaze lingered on Draezell beside the king.