The Aftermath

Laenor POV

Maidenpool

"Why would Quicksilver do something like that? From what I know, there's nothing here in Maidenpool that would earn her anger," said King Viserys, pacing back and forth across the room. Laenor, along with his family and all the Targaryens, were currently gathered there, just after Quicksilver had caused a massive incident—one that could easily overshadow the ongoing tourney.

"To answer your question, brother, we'd either have to teach Quicksilver our language and make her speak, or learn to speak and understand the language dragons converse in," said Daemon, wearing an infuriating smirk.

"Daemon, speak to me like that again, and I'll send you back to the Vale the next moment," Viserys gritted out, anger flashing in his eyes. Daemon wisely shut his mouth but glared back at his brother.

"In simple words, cousin, there's no answer to your question. We can only assume why Quicksilver did what she did," Laenor's mother added with a sigh. And Laenor thought that was the only answer Viserys needed. After all, whatever reasons they conjured in their minds could be right—or not. No one truly knew why Quicksilver had tried to attack the royal family.

"I know, Rhaenys, gods be good, I know that. But you—you and I and everyone in the royal stand saw it, didn't we? She was looking at us. Us, Rhaenys. That means she came for us. What deters her from attacking again? And I don't think Vhagar will always be there to come to our aid. Without her, that would leave Caraxes and Meleys to take on Quicksilver alone—and that could turn bloody fast. Someone among you could be injured or, gods forbid, killed," Viserys ranted, his voice growing harsher with each word. A dragon, though powerful, was not like a man. It didn't scheme, it didn't hold grudges—or so they had believed.

"That is a serious concern, Your Grace. What would happen if older dragons like Vermithor, Silverwing, Cannibal, and the others started to act so violently when angered? We must do something. Mere chains are clearly no longer enough," said Lord Otto Hightower, the King's Hand, stepping forward.

Laenor, meanwhile, completely ignored him. He still couldn't believe that Viserys had allowed Otto to be present at such a sensitive meeting, though truth be told, all others in the room besides Viserys seemed to share his disapproval. Yet the man was nothing if not persistent; even when facing cold glares from all sides, he didn't so much as request to leave.

"And what do you suggest we do now, Lord Hand?" Daemon asked, raising an eyebrow and letting his anger bleed into his voice. "Chain them tighter? Starve them until they grow violent and mad beyond taming? Or are you suggesting we kill all the dragons?"

Hearing that, everyone turned toward Otto with dangerous expressions. He had just suggested something that made it clear—at least to the others—that he was no true well-wisher of the House of the Dragon, despite all his pretenses. Even Viserys was staring at his Hand with an intensity that spoke volumes, waiting for Otto's next words.

Call Otto a backstabber, a schemer, or a lickspittle if you wanted—but he was no fool. He sensed the hostile mood in the room and chose his next words with care.

"I would never suggest that, my prince," he said, his voice dripping with such contempt that you could almost taste the poison hanging in the air. "Rather, I suggest we seek the aid of the Citadel. The Maesters are wise and well-versed in many kinds of knowledge. As faithful servants of His Grace, they are duty-bound to act as he commands."

His velvety words seemed to sway only Viserys. Everyone else either rolled their eyes or outright scoffed at the idea of consulting the grey rats—as the Maesters were often called—when it came to dragons.

"Come now, brother, you're seriously considering his suggestion?" Daemon said, half-shocked. "We'll be asking Maesters, of all people, to solve the problem of a dragon? Have you already forgotten Grandmother's words about how the Maesters reacted when they saw Aerea after she returned from Valyria?"

"What choice do I have, Daemon?" Viserys snapped, though his anger seemed more directed at himself than his brother. "I cannot risk the lives of my family and my subjects on the false hope that Quicksilver won't attack again. If you have a better idea, I'm all ears."

Laenor could see Daemon silently seething in his seat. Yet, like the rest of those present, he had no immediate alternative to offer that would spare Viserys from seeking Maester aid.

Seeing the silence stretch, Laenor decided to voice his thoughts.

"The way I see it, Your Grace, you have two options. One: prepare King's Landing to shoot down Quicksilver if she attacks again. Or two: tame another dragon. We all saw that Vhagar alone was enough to scare Quicksilver off. There's also Vermithor, who is almost as large as Quicksilver."

Everyone turned to look at him oddly, so with a sigh, Laenor continued:

"I know it's not ideal to kill a dragon as old and valuable as Quicksilver, who might still be tamed and serve House Targaryen again. But as Your Grace said, you cannot risk so many lives. Killing Quicksilver would not be a total loss. It would show that House Targaryen can—and will—deal with even their own dragons when they grow too dangerous. With one sacrifice, we could also free those dragons who are docile and tamed from the chains they've been forced into because of the fear others hold."

Laenor inhaled deeply, finishing his speech.

Aside from his parents, the strange looks everyone had given him shifted to expressions of interest and surprise.

"Though young Lord Laenor presents a realistic option," Otto began, "I still believe we should first consult with the Maesters—"

"Forgive me, Lord Otto," Laenor interrupted smoothly. "The Maesters, for all their wisdom, are not the ones to turn to regarding dragons. Frankly, I believe we stand a better chance finding aid in Volantis than at the Citadel. And even if the Maesters could offer some help, they would first require time to study the dragons properly. That would only be possible if the dragon and its rider cooperated—which they won't. And even if they did, that path would take far too long. Quicksilver could attack again long before the Maesters gave us anything useful."

With that, Laenor efficiently—and decisively—shut down any further discussion of seeking help from the Citadel.

Otto, maintaining his indifferent mask, simply nodded and fell silent.

"I think Laenor has given us enough reason not to turn to the Maesters," Daemon said. "But I also disagree with his suggestion of preparing King's Landing to kill Quicksilver. Though I won't stop you from doing so, brother, but what I think about that is that it was a one-time thing— and Quicksilver will not attack again."

With that, Daemon stood up, gave a respectable nod, and excused himself from the room.

After he left, the adults resumed their discussion on ways to arm King's Landing. Laenor, tuning them out, found his mind wandering.

Why hadn't Viserys considered taming another dragon? Laenor had deliberately mentioned the idea, hoping to plant the thought—to see if a man could tame a second dragon in his lifetime. This was the perfect situation to push Viserys toward such a choice. But, clearly, it had not worked. He really wanted to see if it is possible or not, damn it.

"Hey, Laena, Laenor—let's go," little Rhaenyra said, standing up and dusting off her skirts. "I think we can all agree it's boring to sit here listening to them talk."

Laena looked at Laenor questioningly. With a small nod from him, both she and Laenor rose to their feet and followed Rhaenyra out of the chamber.

0o0o0o0o0

Laenor, along with his parents and Laena, was having dinner in a private setting. It had been more than a week since the day he had seen Quicksilver. Unlike what he had suspected, the tourney had not been cancelled. One by one, the competitions had concluded, and the nobles of the realm had begun to depart. Now, only the Velaryons, the members of the small council who were in service to House Targaryen, and House Mooton remained in Maidenpool.

"What was Ser Criston's answer, Father?" Laenor asked. He had earlier requested his father to approach Ser Criston Cole about entering the service of House Velaryon—a move that would fulfill several purposes. The man could prove a valuable and loyal subject, provided the Realm's Delight did not distract him.

"Although I do not understand why you made such a request," his father replied, "I did ask him if he would be interested in serving House Velaryon." He paused briefly before continuing. "As I expected, he declined. He wishes to join the Kingsguard."

Laenor shook his head, unsurprised by the response. Still, it had been worth the attempt. If Criston Cole had accepted, House Velaryon would have gained a capable and competent retainer. 

"When are we leaving?" Laena asked, her impatience clear. Being separated from her dragon for so long had made her restless.

"Tomorrow morning."

After that, they ate in silence. When they finished, their mother and father reminded Laenor and Laena to have their belongings packed and ready before sunrise.

Laenor understood what weighed on his father's mind, but at his current age—and with his still-growing abilities—there was little he could do. For now.

That would not always be the case.

With that thought, Laenor silently vowed to hone his skills, to train harder, and to prepare himself for the future. He was certain that both his and Laena's dragons would grow large enough to be true weapons of war in the years to come.

And when that time arrives, Velaryos will rise higher than they already are.