Chapter 67: Heirs of the Sea Dragon

Ninth Moon, 130 AC

Baela

"Pay attention," she lectured her children who were fidgeting and muttering to their siblings and cousins. They stood in an exclusive and elevated place of honor near the Father's statue in the Myrish sept and the congregation's eyes were on them as much as they were on the clergy carrying out the service.

"Is there even any use in any of this though Mother?" her second son Daemon whispered a protest. "It's all just pointless posturing and pageantry. How much do we really believe in it?"

The rest of the children nodded and seemed to agree with Daemon. The children had never really been devout and they had not been tutored by septons or septas like many Westerosi nobles were. They saw little purpose in attending the weekly sept services even though Baela and the other adults in the family continued to make them all attend.

Before she could answer her son, her husband did it first. "It doesn't matter whether we believe in it or not, they do," Jace said as he tilted his head slightly to gesture at the congregation that was doing a good job pretending they weren't watching them with both scrutiny and awe.

"To them we're not just any ordinary mortal ruling house. We are Zaldilaros. Seven-ordained and appointed, sacred and exceptional. The chosen champions sent to liberate and save them, to rule them with benevolence and wisdom. We cannot look like we do not follow the very religion that gives us the legitimacy to govern, whether we believe in it or not. It is our duty and in our own interests to at least appear devout.

"The younger ones can be excused, but Daemon, Baelor, Serra, Jaenara, Rhaelle, the five of you are already old enough to understand this and I expect you to practice it, just like Corlys is," he said, gesturing to Corlys beside him who had been following the service dutifully. "One day, it will be your responsibility to uphold and maintain the Zaldilaros Creed, the foundation of our dynasty."

"So we're just keeping up appearances then? Isn't that lying to our people?" her nephew Baelor asked.

"From a certain point of view. But we prefer to think of it as an omission with good intentions. Practice what you preach, live up to what the Creed says of us, and whether it is a lie or not won't matter anymore," Luke answered his son's question.

Baelor and the other young ones looked thoughtful at Luke's words but then Rhaena spoke. "Yes. We're quite familiar with that, aren't we?" she said, looking to Luke and to a lesser extent Jace.

The children were either confused or paid Rhaena's words no mind, though the older ones seemed to pick up on the tension. Jace glared at her, Luke's expression was stony, Daeron and Laena looked worried, and Baela simply sighed. Corlys, the only one of the children yet who knew about the Dance and thus the reason for the tension between his uncle Luke and aunt Rhaena looked at Baela sadly and she nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

It had taken several years before Rhaena had forgiven Luke for the lies or allowed him into her bed again. It was the reason why there was such a large gap between Serra and Aethan, why out of the six of them, Rhaena and Luke had the least children.

Forgiven but not forgotten seemed to be the philosophy Rhaena had adopted. Most of the time Luke and her appeared the perfectly married couple but on occasion things like this would slip out and it would be clear that Rhaena still nursed a grudge that she struggled to let go of. Whenever her and Luke argued over anything, even if it was completely unrelated, it was always the first thing that Rhaena pulled out to favor her argument.

It made Baela a little sad. She knew Rhaena still loved Luke and she did a good job showing it most of the time, but their relationship hadn't been able to recover as well as her and Jace's had. She only hoped that Rhaena understood that holding on to this grudge was only souring what should otherwise be a perfectly happy marriage.

Some thought that they had all the time in the world to repair their relationships but Baela was one of the few who knew for certain that wasn't the case. A war unlike any other drew nearer and nearer, a dance between dragons that would decide the fate of the Known World.

They had planned and prepared meticulously for it of course. On a strategic level, they had made significant progress with the glass candles. None of them had truly mastered the candles to their fullest potential and Baela doubted they would in time before the Dance, even if some of the Conches were coming close, but what they could do was more than enough.

With the glass candles, Baela and the other adults in the family could contact each other and communicate across the entire world, they had tested it whenever Daeron and Laena had gone on their voyages. And while they couldn't yet scry in close enough detail to overhear conversations or tamper with minds and dreams, they were more than capable of seeing where dragons and armies were at all times with a movable bird's eye view, almost like looking down upon the land like it was a board game.

This long-range surveillance and communication was the centerpiece of their plans for the war, which basically amounted to seeking out the enemy dragons wherever they may be, isolating them from their brethren, and destroying them. But destroying dragons was no easy feat. Consequently, for the past ten years they had trained and drilled relentlessly for dragon duels.

Aerial maneuvers, races between Driftmark and Tyrosh designed to build endurance, speed, and strength, mock dragon duels, and so many more. Anything they could think of that would improve their skills as a dragon rider they would do and drill to perfection. And they would force their children to do it as well, hiding the exercises as fun and competitive games so they could still have some semblance of a childhood despite it all.

They had used up a significant portion of their Valyrian steel collection to create several sets of flexible and gapless plate armor for their dragonriders that would be resistant to fire, as well as perfecting the wingsuits and parachutes, all in the hopes of increasing the chances that they would survive dragon duels. In addition, Baela and her fellow adults had become adept pyromancers and they were teaching it to those of their children that were old and mature enough for them to guarantee their safety and discretion with the arcane arts, giving them another key tactical advantage against opposing dragonriders.

Each and every step was being taken to ensure their safety and their victory but no plan survived first contact with the enemy. For all of their planning, they couldn't know for sure what the future held and she hoped that none of them would find themselves with any regrets and words left unsaid to their loved ones.

So lost in her thoughts, Baela barely noticed as they took their seats with the opening hymn and prayers at an end. She snapped out of her thoughts to pay attention to the sermon, lest she make herself a hypocrite in her children's eyes. She narrowed her eyes when she realized who had stepped up to preach the sermon at today's service.

Archsepton Janos, once the chief septon at the Sept of the Waves in Spicetown, now the Archsepton of Myr. He was a Velaryon loyalist, a fierce adherent of the Zaldilaros Creed, and a hater of House Targaryen, the old Driftmarker remembering all too well what Baela's maiden house had done to his home island.

"Before I begin, I would like to thank the House of Zaldilaros, for honoring all of us faithful with their presence at today's service," Archsepton Janos said, a bootlicking sycophant as usual.

Despite her dislike of the man, appearances had to be kept up. As one with her husband, sister and goodsiblings, they all nodded in acknowledgement of the Archsepton's words. Baela idly noted that the children sat up straighter after the Archsepton had said that, maybe he did have some minor benefits after all.

As soon as he continued speaking however, she was reminded of exactly why she disliked the man. He was long-winded, beginning with the story of how he grew up on Driftmark and was inspired by House Velaryon's good deeds and acts of charity to become a septon. Baela had to resist rolling her eyes, it was good for her house's reputation, but the archsepton had told this story so many times it got repetitive and tiresome.

Archsepton Janos then went on to explain how the oathbreaking House Targaryen had betrayed Lord Corlys Velaryon by denying him the true overlordship of the promised Stepstones and insulting him with a mere governorship. House Targaryen then became oppressive tyrants in addition to oathbreakers when they tried to crush Driftmark's economy and cause its people suffering for their lord's 'selfless and righteous attempt to secure his house's prosperity in the conquest of Tyrosh.'

He then narrated through the long list of grievances House Velaryon and their people had with the Targaryens. The Stepstones Crisis, the years long embargo that destroyed Driftmark's economy utterly, the breaking of their word once again when King Aemon's proposed reconciliation agreement had been retracted, the hostility showed to them after the Pacification of the Basilisk Isles and the Triunification, the unjust limits imposed upon House Velaryon's right to wage war that was an infringement of their sovereign rights, the continued refusal to restore the Stepstones to them, the spurning of Lady Laena by Prince Aegon, the list went on and on. All for one purpose, to paint House Targaryen as the enemy.

Baela's fists were clenched by the time the Archsepton reached the last grievance on his list. "And then we have the latest in a long list of grievances. In the Summer Isles, the Targaryens and their servants unfairly disadvantage our traders and our ships, seeking to steal our trading posts and use them for their own ends! Violence has broken out! Skirmishes, raids, lives lost! And what does the Iron Throne say? Nothing. The dotard old King Aemon has grown weak and frail, no longer able to even control his own realm, or even his own house!

"How much longer will Targaryen tyranny and aggression continue to go unanswered? We cannot know for sure when it will happen, but my brothers and sisters I tell you solemnly, as certainly as the sun rises, there will be a reckoning for House Targaryen. The Seven will ensure that there is, and their chosen champions will be the ones that shall deliver it."

Earlier she had hoped that none of them would find themselves with any regrets and words left unsaid to their loved ones. It was a fool's hope in truth. Because the enemy that Archsepton Janos ranted and raged against, were none other than Baela's own parents, siblings, and cousins. She would have to take her own children to war and the foe would be their flesh and blood, their kin. No matter who won, she was going to lose. The question was simply how much?

Their visits to Summerhall grew rarer and rarer, and her and Rhaena's attempts to subtly convince their parents and brother Jaehaerys to neutrality fell on deaf ears. Whenever they went there, they could see the battle lines being drawn in front of their very eyes, the awkward tension that rested in the air whenever they spoke to their younger siblings and parents, the hatred between their husbands and their cousins Aegon and Rhaenyra, the distance between the children who had picked up on the tensions and now kept each other at a distance. Even the bond that her son Corlys had once had with Helaena's boy Aemond had faded away, maturing into a mutual rivalry and distrust instead as the two heirs became increasingly aware of the feud between the families.

She might hate the Archsepton, but he wasn't wholly wrong in what he said. There were already skirmishes in the Summer Isles and Uncle Aemon was struggling to control House Targaryen. There was no doubt in Baela's mind that war was inevitable once her uncle died. The rift between their houses had simply grown too great to be bridged at this point.

"I think that I speak for all of us, when I say that I have the utmost faith and trust in our rulers, the Seven-ordained House of Zaldilaros Velaryon to guide us through this latest crisis. We are so very blest to have them among us today, attending service like all devout faithful do. There sits our lords and ladies, the sons and daughters of our Archon, of the Sea Snake and the Sea Dragon. Seven willing one day they may be more than just archons, lords, and ladies, but no matter what their title, I for one will never give up my faith in them or my trust that they will rule us to the best of their ability," the Archsepton concluded.

With his sermon at an end, he stepped down from the ambo and there was silence for a few minutes as the congregation was left to reflect on the message he had given them. Baela could not help but glare at the Archsepton, she had enough to worry about on her plate without him and his compatriots riling up the people of the Triarchy to war against House Targaryen.

Baela also noticed that the children were thoughtful and uncharacteristically silent. She hoped that they didn't actually believe in any of the tripe that the Archsepton had said. Besides the fact that he was basically telling them to risk their lives to deliver a 'reckoning' on their own kin, there was a fine line for them to balance between skepticism of the religion and genuine belief, one that they had to walk.

If they were too outwardly skeptical of the Zaldilaros Faith, they risked undermining their own legitimacy to rule, but if they genuinely believed in it too much, they weakened their willingness to manipulate and control it for their own ends and risked letting it control them instead. Baela was self-aware enough to know that it was a dangerous thing to tell young and proud dragonriders that they had been chosen by 'God' to rule. She supposed that was their job as parents, to keep them on that line and teach them how to walk it by themselves when they were no longer around.

Eventually the silence was broken when the Archsepton stepped back up to the ambo and called the congregation to prayer. "Let us recite the Zaldilaros Creed."

As one the congregation spoke, and reluctantly Baela added her voice to the chorus of thousands.

"I believe in one God, the Seven-Who-Are-One, Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, makers of the seven heavens and earth, of all things visible and invisible.

"I believe that the House of Zaldilaros Velaryon are the Seven's appointed representatives on earth, their ordained and chosen champions, given the right to rule over all men as the Supreme Head and Defender of the Faith. On all matters both temporal and spiritual, they have the final authority before the Seven, made holy and sanctified with wisdom and grace.

"They are the blood of Old Valyria, the spirit of Hugor of the Hill. Their dragons are a symbol of their divine right, their bloodline sacred and most pure. To ensure the preservation of its purity and the ceaselessness of its continuation, mortals shall not judge the customs of the Zaldilaros, for they are exceptional and answerable to none but the Seven and their head of house.

"For our sake and for our salvation, the Zaldilaros came to free us from the evils of slavery, tyranny, and cruelty. They are our liberators, our saviors, and our rulers. By the Light of the Seven, they govern benevolently over all, bringing justice to the evil and avenging the weak and downtrodden.

"I believe in the indivisible unity and the unquestionable legitimacy of the Velaryon State and its Faith. I confess one enlightenment, and I look forward to the liberation of all men and the goodness of the world to come."

After the Creed, the rest of the service passed in a daze for Baela. Once it was over, Jace went to speak to the Archsepton and tell him to tone down his rhetoric. Tone down, not stop… she knew that Jace agreed with most of his words and disapproved only of his timing and the overly strong and harsh phrasing of his words at such a premature stage.

With the service complete, the Tide Guard reverently and dutifully escorted them to their horses and wheelhouses outside so they could make the trip back to their manse. Jace met them there, all smiles after his conversation with the Archsepton.

After ensuring that her younger children, Aurion, Daena, and Valaena were safe and secure with their maid in the wheelhouse, Baela mounted her horse, keeping a caring and watchful eye on her eldest two sons as they mounted their own horses. Looking back, she could see that Rhaena and Laena had done similarly while Jace, Luke, and Daeron had seen to the Tide Guard and ensuring they were secure before they moved.

It was not a long journey between the moderately sized sept (it was not small but it was no Sept of Liberty) and the Ocean Manse that had become their house's residence in the city, both were within the inner walls of Myr, the walls which had supposedly surrounded the Andal town on the site which had been conquered by Valyria millennia ago and had since been rebuilt and reinforced a dozen times with Valyrian engineering.

Like in Tyrosh, Volantis, and many of the other Free Cities, that inner wall and the land it surrounded was where the nobility had chosen to place their manses and all the governing bodies and institutions of the city. It had only been ten years since the Triunification and so many of their own institutions had not yet completed the move from Tyrosh's Black Fortress but they were not one of them.

The House of Zaldilaros Velaryon had been the first to move to Myr followed by the Triarchy Council and other institutions afterward. If Baela was being honest, she had disliked the move. Myr was a Free City yes, but it had undergone much decline in the past few decades that would have to be corrected and it lacked a certain grandness that Tyrosh had. The inner wall of Myr was no Black Fortress and the Ocean Manse was no Zaldilaros Palace.

Yet they had moved regardless. The strategic reasoning simply could not be ignored. Tyrosh was richer and grander and far more developed after forty years of Velaryon rule yes, but it was also right on the border with the Targaryens and exposed to any surprise attack from Westeros. Even with their Conches monitoring the glass candles at all times, that was not a risk they had wanted to take. And so they had moved to Myr, centrally located and theoretically more able to project power over the whole Triarchy, but most importantly of all, further away from Westeros.

Perhaps after the Dance, if things went well, they could return to Tyrosh, but until then they would remain in Myr. It may not have all the famous landmarks and monuments or all of the institutions and amenities that they were accustomed to, but it was safe and secure.

And there was one thing at least that Myr had that Tyrosh didn't, Baela thought as they approached the Ocean Manse. Behind the manse and standing taller than it was a massive domed building, a dragonpit. It was not nearly as large as the Dragonpit in King's Landing and it was not yet complete, but it was already able to house fifteen dragons, with the remainder kept in the grounds of the Ocean Manse.

They had intentionally decided to build the Dragonpit as close to their residence as possible, even if that would limit its size and capacity, desiring the security of having their dragons closer to them. If need be, they could always build another dragonpit in the future. They had needed this one built as quickly as possible so it could house and protect the dragons of their young children and any unbonded dragons that might hatch. The latter could serve as spare mounts if the worst should come to pass, though Baela knew that that was easier said than done.

There were only three unbonded dragons in the Pit to serve as spares and in truth they were far too young to be of any actual use in battle as they had only hatched in 125 AC, making all three of them barely five years old. They were perhaps capable of facing lesser men and armaments if one was willing to accept the higher risks due to their young age and smaller size, but they would be little more than food for larger and stronger dragons if they tried to take them into a true war between dragonlords right now.

And even if they had battle-ready spare dragons, it was no easy task for riders to replace their first dragons, even if they wanted to. All too often their sentimental attachment to their first dragon would color their impression of the dragonbond and they were likely to end up rejecting a second dragon for not being similar enough to their first. No two dragons were the same after all, just as no two humans were, and Baela could never imagine replacing Moondancer. She had a feeling the rest of her family felt similarly, but at least the opportunity would be there should it be necessary. She hoped it wouldn't be, but who knew what would happen in the Dance.

Once they arrived back at the Ocean Manse, they changed out of the fine clothes they had worn to attend the service at the sept into their riding leathers and breeches before they walked over to the Dragonpit and mounted their dragons, the younger children rode in the saddles with Baela and the others while the older children mounted on their own dragons. Many of the younger children's dragons were too young to make this trip, and so they would be left in the Dragonpit under the protection of their Dragonkeepers and the Tide Guard.

They would be flying to Driftmark, stopping over in Pentos for the night before they crossed the Narrow Sea the next day. After years of training and drilling, Baela was reasonably confident that she could make the trip on Moondancer without having to stop for the night but not only would it leave her unnecessarily tired, this was not a drill for the Dance, but a simple family visit to see her goodparents.

Her feelings on Corlys and Viserra Velaryon were very mixed. She did her best not to openly show her distaste for them, but she laid much of the blame for the situation she was in on their shoulders. Their actions had caused the deterioration in the relations between House Velaryon and House Targaryen. Viserra had taunted her mother and Corlys was an outsider whose pride and grasping ambition had split Baela's family in two for decades. And worst of all, it was on their orders that Jace had lied to her for five years, about something so important and sacrosanct.

If it was up to her, she would never see them again, and she wouldn't let her children do so either. But it wasn't. Jace had acquiesced to her demands that their children know her parents and that he be civil to them and so she would do the same for his parents, begrudgingly. And bitterly she knew that her children were much closer to Corlys and Viserra than they were to her own parents and looked up to and trusted them in a way that they would never trust Daemon and Gael Targaryen.

Baela sighed. Her parents hadn't invited her or Rhaena and their families to Summerhall for quite some time, ever since news of the skirmishes in the Summer Isles had reached Westeros. She really, really wished that things could be different, but they all knew that the end was nigh.

______________________________________________

Viserra

She watched as the servants removed yet another tapestry from the walls, folding it reverently and packing it into a crate to join the rest of the furniture and furnishings that were being removed from High Tide. They were doing it discreetly, to try and avoid making the Targaryens think something was going on, but the famed treasures of High Tide were all being moved.

It had been an ongoing process for fifteen years already, but as Aemon grew sickly and old, they had tripled their haste. The vaults and all the monies, gold, silver, jewels, and rare artifacts within, the busts, statues, tapestries, paintings, artworks, woodworks, furniture, ornate furnishings, and all other precious items had all been boxed up and packed into ships. They would be moved either to the Black Fortress in Tyrosh or the Ocean Manse in Myr or even their residences in Lys, ensuring that nothing truly valuable was left in High Tide.

Even the Driftwood Throne would be going to Myr; it was long overdue in truth, the seat of House Velaryon's power had long since shifted from Driftmark. Their children and grandchildren still visited Driftmark often, but their true home was in the Triarchy, in Zaldilaros Palace and Ocean Manse and all the other luxurious residences their house owned in Essos. Some might say that each of them could rival High Tide in splendor and majesty now, especially with their inheritance of its treasures, but Viserra's heart remained with the old white castle, and she could not help but feel a little sad knowing that it would no longer be the seat of her house once she and Corlys passed.

Soon the servants had finished boxing up the tapestry, leaving behind an empty white wall as they moved on to find the next artifact to pack away. Viserra turned and stalked down the corridor, feeling bittersweet as she saw how empty and sparse the castle now looked.

If only it didn't have to be so, but it was better to remove everything they wanted from High Tide than lose them all when the castle burned, when her dream came true. Yet despite the loss of all its furnishings and treasures, the glory of High Tide remained, dimmed but not destroyed. Its silver roofs still shone in the sun and its pale white walls still stood with pride as the Sea Dragon flew aloft from its standards.

The plans and schematics for the castle had already been copied several times and sent to Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr. Perhaps one day, the castle might have a new life in Essos, in a new form, but the original's time was ticking.

High Tide was not alone in this nakedness and emptiness. Reluctantly, Viserra and her husband had overseen the final death of their home for the past decade and a half. Driftmark was denuded of all her people now. When Viserra had first visited the island forty-two years ago, it had been at the noontide of its glory, boasting a population of 150,000 souls. Barely 1000 still lived on the island today.

As the island had declined, hundred and then thousands had departed with every year, seeking out prosperity and opportunity in the Triarchy, but some stubborn few had still clung to the island, until even she and Corlys, who had long since tried to preserve Driftmark, began encouraging, incentivizing, and helping their loyal people to migrate from the island for greener pastures in the Essosi territories under their children's rule.

Much like High Tide, everything of value had been removed from the rest of Driftmark where the people had left. Castle Driftmark had been abandoned, its records and administrative offices long since moved to Tyrosh and Myr, its garrisons having been reassigned either to the Triarchy or to High Tide to guard their lord and lady in their twilight years. Hull was empty, everything of value and worth from its academies and shipyards had long since been stripped and sent to the Triarchy; the Maritime Academy was dilapidated and the Arsenal had been dismantled so it would not fall into Targaryen hands.

Spicetown was deserted as well, its streets abandoned and its homes derelict. The bustling markets that Viserra had explored all those years ago were long gone. Fallen leaves were scattered all over the empty city, the sea breeze blowing them from the overgrown gardens, and there were none to sweep them away anymore. Now the only real activity in Spicetown was the ships in the harbor loading up the last treasures and peoples of Driftmark to bear them to a new life in Essos.

The famous landmarks of Driftmark had almost all been rebuilt in the Triarchy, the Museum, the Arsenal, the clocktower, and so forth. Even the Sept of the Waves was being rebuilt in Myr and there was the much larger Sept of Liberty besides in Tyrosh. The great institutions, large libraries, imposing landmarks, and the loyal and skilled people that had made Driftmark special had all been taken away and preserved in the Triarchy.

Even in its decline however, Driftmark was still beautiful. Many of the abandoned towns and settlements on the island still stood proudly even after all these years without maintenance, testament to the quality of the engineering which had built them. The forests and shrubbery had begun reclaiming the hamlets in the interior of the island, but they had yet to intrude into Spicetown or High Tide, which remained perfectly preserved, windows offering a glimpse into a more glorious time for Driftmark. There was a haunting beauty to them, a sparse emptiness that promised they could be brought back to life if only they were given the chance.

In truth Driftmark still had the potential to be a rich fief again one day. Its advantageous location had not changed, and much of the infrastructure that they had built was still intact and useable. But the people and institutions that had made its wealth were gone and they would never return, not under House Velaryon.

Of the thousand or so souls that remained on the island, the vast majority were the Tide Guard, the staff and garrison at High Tide, and the laborers and dockworkers in Spicetown that ensured the port was maintained and helped load all the treasures and goods of Driftmark onto the ships and unloaded the supplies sent by the Triarchy to feed the island now that its farms had been mostly abandoned.

Apart from those individuals in House Velaryon's direct service in High Tide and Spicetown were some scattered individuals and families who still lived in the interior, refusing the call to move to the Triarchy and abandon their homes. Viserra understood their feelings more than they would ever know.

From Driftmark, they had also overseen a similar relocation of assets from Massey's Hook. The Hook had always been much less reliable in its loyalty to their house compared to Driftmark and Viserra was all too aware that many of their duplicitous vassals would eagerly swear fealty to the Targaryens over them, but they had still had many loyal knights and smallfolk in the region, especially under Stonedance's direct demesne.

And so for the past fifteen years, they had squeezed as much taxes and resources out of the duplicitous vassals as they could get away with and moved all the loyal vassals and people to the Triarchy along with any of their valuables and useful assets in Stonedance Castle and its environs. Now only a skeleton garrison held Stonedance and its direct fief was almost as denuded as Driftmark was.

Because of their years of preparation, House Velaryon was now ready to detach from its Westerosi holdings at a moment's notice. But its lord and lady were not, Viserra thought as she walked into the solar and saw Corlys staring at the portrait of his grandfather.

Unlike the rest of the castle, the solar was almost untouched, with all of the familiar desks and bookshelves still here for their convenience and ease of use. Any important documents or books had been copied and sent to the Triarchy already. Everything that remained here would stay here until the end, though they would have to make sure the documents did not fall into Targaryen hands. Everything that is, except one portrait.

"Still deciding?" Viserra asked.

"I think I'll leave it here. It's been there since before I was the Lord. It would be very strange if it was removed," Corlys answered.

"It's a portrait of your grandfather. You don't want to preserve it?"

"My grandfather could not have even imagined what House Velaryon has become by now. Putting this in the Triarchy feels… odd. Rhaekar, Aurane, Irina, and Alys are gone, and so are Uncle Jorgen and Victor. There's no one left who would care for this portrait enough to see it removed from its rightful place here. Our children never knew him; I doubt they'd care to have a portrait of him."

"They'll be coming soon. You could ask them. Who knows, perhaps they might. They all grew up looking at this every time they came into this room. It's a piece of history, a fine portrait of the man who raised Corlys the Sea Snake. I'm sure Vaemond and your cousin Lucerys would also prefer it if it was saved. Our children might not have known Daemon, but they did."

Corlys sighed. "I suppose you are right. It's just… I know that we are supposed to be clearing up as much of High Tide as possible to preserve its legacy, but sometimes it doesn't feel like that when we strip it of everything it's supposed to have."

Viserra hugged her husband from behind comfortingly, though even in his old age he still stood hale and tall enough that she had to tiptoe to place her head on his shoulder. "I think you should move the portrait. You'll regret it if you don't ultimately."

Corlys did not say anything, but she knew him well enough to know he was considering her words. Viserra went back on her feet and moved over to the desk to rest her aching knees, she was only sixteen years younger than Corlys, and though she didn't look old at all, her knees were certainly not as strong as they used to be.

On the desk, she noticed a series of handwritten books, and the latest one was still incomplete. "What's this?" she asked.

"My memoirs. Everything that I recall from my life and all the lessons I've learned from it. Ideas and thoughts that I've had to improve our domains, philosophies, concepts, my ruminations, just the whole lot of it. My last gift for Jace and the others. I'm not sure how much they'll want their old man's advice when they take the full reins of power over our house, but it will be in here if they want it," Corlys said wistfully, his expression bittersweet.

Viserra's heart melted. "That's very thoughtful of you darling."

Her husband smiled widely before he continued, with some hesitance. "I've also written down details on some dreams that I've been having."

That snapped Viserra to attention. "Dreams? Like my dreams?" The dreams of High Tide burning continued to haunt her sleep at least once every few months and she had a feeling she would never truly be rid of them. She would never have thought Corlys of all people to have dragon dreams, but she supposed he did have enough dragonblood to have them, if only barely.

He nodded. "Of a sort. They don't really seem to describe anything in our future or past, but they do seem to tell a story of a kingdom similar to ours, which had a civil war between dragonriders."

Viserra was confused. "What… so like some kind of fictional story? How do you know it's real then?"

Corlys shrugged. "The dreams were rather vague, it reminded me a little of how you've described your dreams to me in the past. And well, it's probably all just fictional, but there are some interesting points here that I thought could be useful for us to keep track of as we prepare for own dragon war. Who knows how these dreams work."

"Hmm," Viserra said thoughtfully as she quickly read through the section of Corlys' memoirs that described this civil war he spoke of. If she was being honest, she was almost tempted to tell her husband that his dream was useless given how the way this fictional war was set up made absolutely no sense to her.

How contrived and convoluted! A king who stubbornly insisted on keeping his eldest daughter as the heir over his son? A proud dragonriding family letting said king's daughter cuckold them and masquerade bastards as their joint heirs because their son was a sword swallower unable to do his duties? And so much more, it all sounded ridiculous. The events in the actual war were equally bizarre; dragons dying to peasant mobs, minor falls or the attacks of fleets? Whatever had sent her husband these dreams had been quite delusional.

Still, she did see her husband's points. Beneath all of the nonsense, which she attributed to the story's dreamlike nature, there were some interesting points to consider. The two dragonriding factions obsessively split up their dragons to their detriment, shackling them to protect and pamper armies or fleets or spread out too wide to cover too large an area instead of concentrating their power, exactly what they were hoping to goad the Targaryens into doing in their own war plans.

While ridiculous, the Storming of the Dragonpit and the Battle at the Chokepoint as her husband had termed them were worth looking at as lessons of what not to do for any dragonrider, even if Viserra was still certain no adult dragon could die the way the dragons in the story had.

The most valuable parts of the dream she thought though, were the parts touching on dragon duels. They had practiced and drilled religiously for dragon duels for over a decade but nothing could compare to the real thing. They were so starved of experience on what an actual dragon duel would be like that whether they were real or not, Viserra found plenty of value in reading about these fictional dragon duels. They seemed to have a lot of similarities to some of the scenarios Corlys and her had theorized for many years alongside their children.

An outnumbered or outmatched dragonrider facing dragons larger than their own or more dragons was likely to die though if they had sufficient skill they could have a chance to mutual kill the enemy or do a lot of damage to them. There were quite a few scenarios like that in the story. There was also one pretty fantastical part where one of the dragonriders jumped off his dragon to thrust his sword through his opponent's eye as the dragons grappled, she'd put that in the unlikely category as well, but it was somewhat worth considering; some suicidal and skilled dragonriders with nothing to lose might try it though Viserra was pretty sure that their pyromancy would protect them from that if any of the Targaryens tried it.

A series of roars shook her out of her reading. Corlys and her looked at each other and smiled. They recognized those roars. Making their way down to the Dragon Den, they noticed Dreamfyre greeting Tessarion and the other dragons who had landed while their children and grandchildren had already dismounted.

"Father, Mother," Jace said happily as he embraced them both in turn. His siblings did the same. Baela and Rhaena did not, greeting them curtly as usual.

Viserra ignored their cold greetings, she had accepted long ago that there would be no repairing her relationship with her gooddaughters. Corlys and her had agreed that they would leave it be so long as their gooddaughters' hatred for them did not endanger their house or influence their relationships with their grandchildren, which it had not so far.

And speaking of grandchildren, Viserra soon found herself swarmed by a young pack of energetic little youngsters and talkative teens. She couldn't even keep track of who was talking but she didn't care, simply laughing in joy and happiness.

Corlys and her had been blessed with fifteen grandchildren. Five from Jace and Baela, Corlys, Daemon, Aurion, Daena, and Valaena. Four from Luke and Rhaena, Baela, Serra, Aethan, and Aeryn. And six from Daeron and Laena, Jaenara, Rhaelle, Naerys, Maelys, and the twins, Daenaera and Daerea. There were almost too many of them to keep track of, Corlys and her had joked before that they would need a list. After Corlys the Younger had bonded with Sheepstealer, now renamed Telarion, all fifteen of them were bonded to dragons as well.

Their fifteen grandchildren were their pride and joy alongside their children, and in each and every one of them Viserra saw the future of House Velaryon and knew that it would be safe to leave it in their hands. Now their task was to make sure that there would be a future for these little ones.

After a hearty lunch and eager conversation with their children and grandchildren catching up on things since they had last seen each other, Viserra returned to the solar with Corlys but they were no longer alone. Seven dragonriders followed them, Jace, Luke, Laena, Daeron, Baela, Rhaena, and young Corlys, the only one of their grandchildren who knew the truth.

Once they had all taken their seats, Corlys gave his stack of completed memoirs to Jace with an explanation on what they were. Their children all looked grateful to have them and they soon started flipping through them. They had a similar reaction to herself when they reached the part about Corlys' bizarre dreams but they absorbed whatever useful information they could from that alternate Dance of Dragons before they moved on.

Eventually, they set the memoirs aside as Corlys began speaking. "I still have a few more volumes of those to write and hopefully I can get them done before the Dance. For now though, take these back with you when you return to Myr. The Driftwood Throne and a lot of the other treasures, valuables, and furnishings from High Tide and Spicetown are being loaded onto the fleet in the harbor so watch over them when you fly back as well."

Their children nodded in acknowledgement before Jace spoke up. "Speaking of the Dance, when do you think it will be? We keep getting word of more and more disputes and skirmishes between the South Sea Company and our traders in the Summer Isles. At this rate, it will not be long before there are outright battles between our navy and theirs in the region. The Stepstones lords and the Stormlords are also fortifying their castles and stocking up their supplies. People are starting to prepare for war."

Corlys looked grim. "A few years at most. Aemon has sworn to us that he will arbitrate the disputes in the Summer Isles and bring all the wrongdoers to justice fairly no matter which side they are on, but his authority grows weaker as his body fails him. Aemon does not have long left to live; he looked haggard and frail the last time we saw him. Rhaenys is the true power in King's Landing now, and I suspect the moment her father is cremated we will be receiving her ultimatum to submit or else."

"Do you think we're ready for war?" Laena asked, worried.

"Is there such a thing as being ready for a dragon war?" Viserra said bitterly. "We have done the best that we can. All that's left to do now is train and drill our plans and strategies to perfection and then hope for the best."

Left unspoken was the taboo proposal to preemptively strike the Targaryens before Aemon died. Even now it was not a plan that Baela and Rhaena could bring themselves to agree to so long as the slightest chance their parents and siblings might relent after a show of force remained and they couldn't move forward without their approval in the delicate situation they were in. And Viserra knew there were a hundred other risks to consider for that plan as well.

For one, even with glass candles, the chances for success were not high enough for them to be comfortable with it; the Targaryen dragons were too large and too concentrated in King's Landing and Summerhall. She also was not sure if her sons and daughter had the stomach to murder their kin without any qualms and without being threatened first. She wondered if she had the will to kill Aemon because her beloved elder brother deserved more than that from her.

Not to mention, it would be a dishonorable and brutal act that would make them look like aggressors and manic murderers. While they might justify that to some of their people, it would unsettle others and beyond the borders of the Velaryon State, their reputation and ability to influence others would suffer. There were many who were perfectly willing to accept that trade and Viserra knew that she might be one of them if the target was anyone else but her brother and his family, her own maiden house.

Eventually, the awkward silence was broken by someone unexpected. Her young grandson Corlys. Her husband's namesake was normally quiet and attentive during these meetings, listening more than speaking since he was very young and had little experience, but not this time. "We have to tell them," he said.

"Tell who?" Jace asked, but they all knew the answer already.

"Daemon, Baelor, Serra, Jaenara, and Rhaelle. Everyone who was born before the Triunification. Everyone who is old and mature enough to understand the stakes, to fight when war comes or to protect the younger ones wherever they are sent."

Laena and the others looked distraught. "Rhaelle is ten. Daemon and the others are barely older."

"And are you saying they're too young after you trained all of us for this war for a decade?" her grandson challenged. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, and they're all old enough to know what awaits us. They deserve to know. They're not dumb, some of them already suspect, and they're asking me about it because they know that I know."

"He's right," her husband said finally, the two Corlys's in agreement. "They're young to us but Corlys and Baelor will be of age in less than two years, Jaenara and Serra not long after them and Daemon and Rhaelle will be old enough to ride at least. They deserve to be given the knowledge at the very least, it's their right."

"They're children," Rhaena said, haunted.

"You gave them as much of a childhood as you could Aunt Rhaena," her grandson said before he looked to everyone else. "You all did. But playtime's over now."

"Daeron? It's your daughter who is the youngest here. What do you think?" Viserra asked.

Her youngest son clenched his fists before he sighed, his fists unclenching as he gave up. "I say we tell them."

"Then so be it," Corlys said, making the final decision as their lord.

Shortly after that, they called in the five and sat them down to tell them the truth and bring them in on all of their plans to prepare for and win the war. It seemed that her eldest grandson was correct because many of them had already guessed or suspected the truth, even little Rhaelle, though Daemon seemed a bit slow on the uptake compared to the others.

In hindsight, Viserra supposed it shouldn't have been such a surprise. They often underestimated how clever children were but they picked up on a lot and the tensions had been growing for years. No doubt they had heard the rumors of skirmishes in the Summer Sea and noticed the increasingly worried demeanor of their parents.

They were worried and fearful, of course they were, but they put their trust in them, their parents and grandparents, and they did well hiding how much it had affected their mood when they conversed and played with their younger siblings and cousins.

Dinner that night was an inevitably more somber event than luncheon was but it was not long before some of the children began conspiring to do silly antics to try and make them all laugh and lighten the mood. Viserra was not ashamed to admit that it worked as she laughed uproariously and let herself forget about the worries and troubles for a little while.

No matter what came, no matter what darkness laid in the future, she would keep this moment in her heart. A single precious moment of peace with her husband and all of their children and grandchildren alive and well, merrymaking and laughing. A memory to give her strength and remind her what she fought for when the time came.