Two weeks later, Driftmark
Maelon Sehlaeros was pacing across the length of the couch, while the others—including his sister, who had also come to the West—sat with shaken faces, each of them stunned by the messages they had received from their respective families.
"How is it possible—and after more than two centuries at that?" Vaelon Vaelithar asked, his face a mix of bafflement and frustration. Maelon almost let out a snort of amusement. The Vaelithars prided themselves on knowing things before they happened; the other five Old Blood families never understood how Vaelithars seemed to find out happenings around the world before the rest, and no one—not even Maelon's family—had ever uncovered their method.
So it was amusing, even now, to see a Vaelithar frustrated, shocked, and completely unprepared.
"I bet there will be no one who would know how an entire city—so doomed that no man returned after venturing inside for two centuries—could return overnight exactly as it was in its prime," Lucella remarked dryly. Of them all, the Morrogar woman was faring the best. Maelon knew why. Morrogars were all mad—mad for magic, mad for blood rituals, mad for anything unnatural. In fact, Maelon would wager his family's fortune that Lucella's mother was celebrating this news with one of her infamous, private orgies.
"It can't be. This has to be a lie. Lies spread by lesser men and drunk sailors. How could so many come back from death? Even the Lord of Light wouldn't be able to bring them back!" Aurion Pyranthys burst out. His panic was something Maelon had expected. If Lucella was the least shaken, Aurion was the most. For obvious reasons. The Pyranthys branch in Volantis would be burned alive if even a hint of their theft of gold ever reached the main branch. Perhaps that was why no word or slaves had come from Aurane's family recently. Aurane learned of Valyria's return from them, not from his mother, who would have been likely more terrified than he was if Maelon had to guess.
"Did the lord or lady of your house command you to return as soon as possible, too?" Jaenara asked quietly. She was surprised as well, though she hid it better than Maelon could.
"Yes. My sire has commanded me to depart from Driftmark as soon as possible," Vaelon replied smoothly, masking his shock as any Vaelithar would.
"I will return to Volantis with Vaelon," Aurion said hastily, nodding quickly toward the Vaelithar. The two of them would likely sail tomorrow, Maelon guessed.
"I intend to stay here," Lucella said, surprising both Vaelon and Aurion. "My mother did not tell me to return, and I want to spend a few more days here before making my way back to Volantis."
Maelon was surprised as well. His father had commanded him to return—though Jae, his elder sister, was ordered to remain.
There had been six of them who came here. One, Maerion Velyrarion, had left two weeks ago when the red comet appeared, declaring it a sign that the dragon gods were waking. Now, looking back, Maelon wondered if Maerion had been right—and if it truly had been Arrax who brought Valyria back. However powerful the old dragonlords and mages had been, none were powerful enough to claw their way back from death and bring their whole city with them. This whole incident—Valyria's return—reeked of divine intervention.
Aurion and Vaelon took their leave, claiming they had to reach the docks and order their slaves to pack their belongings. Maelon, weary of pacing, finally took a seat. He was about to ask Lucella something when he noticed her staring unblinkingly at Jaenara. Maelon turned to his sister to find her in exactly the same state.
"Stop this. This is not the time for your petty rivalry," Maelon said firmly. Jaenara flushed in embarrassment and reluctantly looked away. Lucella only glared at him, offering no apology.
"Your mother commanded you to stay here—to watch how the Targaryens, and especially the Velaryons, react to this. And to learn their next steps. Isn't that right?" Jaenara asked, giving Lucella a challenging stare.
"Same duty your father gave you, I assume," Lucella shot back with a smirk.
Jaenara did not back down. Instead, she smiled—dangerously. Both Lucella and Maelon stared at her, confused by her sudden confidence.
"Yes, the same duty. One in which you failed… and I succeeded."
Now Maelon understood her triumph.
"How?" Lucella demanded.
Jaenara's smile widened as she answered, "They all knew beforehand. We saw Daemon and Laenor's reaction the night the red comet appeared. Do you remember what Laenor told Daena when she asked the meaning behind the dragon's dance?"
"The warm welcome," Lucella breathed.
Realisation dawned on both her face and Maelon's. How was it possible? Did the Velaryons and Targaryens possess magic to see the future? Was there a new seer among the Targaryens—one the world had yet to know of?
Rhaenys Belaerys
Rhaenys wiped the tears from her eyes and stood, checking herself in the mirror. She looked a mess. Taking a seat, she called for her slaves to assist her in getting ready. It had been fourteen days since they all returned to life—fourteen days since the whole of Valyria rose and breathed anew again. The mourning period for her only son, the previous Lord Belaerys, ended today.
Rhaenys still could not believe Argon was dead… and that the rest of the Belaerys family was glad of it. Oh, she knew. Behind those false words of sympathy and those carefully schooled sad smiles lay nothing but joy. Joy that Lord Argon Belaerys was gone. And why? Because her son had been ambitious? Because he had ignored the counsel of a council full of old men? Because he dared do what he wished rather than grovel before them like a whipped dog?
Rhaenys spat in disgust at the memory of them. These same old men—who scowled and fretted when Argon dismissed their counsel—had been boasting before the Forty when he proved himself a mage of rare ability and an exceptional dragonlord besides. Hypocrites. Every one of them.
And now, before the day was even over, they had arranged a family gathering to decide who would be the next head of House Belaerys. Vultures, all of them.
Once dressed, Rhaenys rose and walked to the window. The view outside was pure chaos. Dragons flew in haste across the skies, wings beating hard, tailwinds scattering ash and dust. Valyria was still reeling—every man, every woman, every family—from the impossible truth that the Freehold had returned after two centuries.
It had been a great shock for them. For her. For all of them. Two centuries had gone by in a world where they all had been dead.
Yet Rhaenys, being a member of House Belaerys—one of the oldest of the Five, as ancient as Valyria itself—knew very well who was responsible for bringing them back. She had already spoken her gratitude and grievance to her sire and lord, Arrax, the sire of all dragonlords.
At present, the High Council was scrambling to gather as much information as possible about the two centuries that had passed. The few sailors they had captured knew little. Not that Valyria lacked other means of learning what transpired in their absence—but all of its resources were now bent toward controlling the Fourteen Fires before they erupted again.
Every family—from the Forty to the humblest freeholders—was sending their best mages and unearthing every scrap of lore they possessed on the volcanoes that they all call home. For the first time since the fall of Ghis, the entirety of Valyria was working together, united in one purpose: ensuring that the Doom the world spoke of would not come for them a second time.
Rhaenys turned away from the window and began searching for her glass candle. In her grief for her son, she had not yet contacted her sister—the only true family she had left. The side-branch calling themselves the Freehold Targaryens might share her blood, but Rhaenys did not consider them her family. Argon had been her blood. Her sister remained her blood. These false and dragonless Targaryens… did not.
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