The Top of the Balerion Tower
Laenor schooled his expression as quickly as he could. Is this some political move? Did Maelor send her here? came the first two thoughts in his mind. But soon, many other thoughts invaded his mind. What more could the Drakonars want from him other than joining their faction?
Magic, came the instant reply from his mind.
Well, it would be the height of idiocy to teach the Drakonars wand magic. The whole clan is practitioners of the darkest kinds of magic. Only the gods know what they would do in the future if they learned to use wand magic from him. So Laenor was sure that he or his family would in no way in hell be teaching any Drakonar the ways of wand magic.
There were many other reasons and things that might have persuaded Maelor to tie his blood with Laenor, such as Velaryon's dragons, which are superior to theirs, and the abilities of Laenor they had come to know today, bending water to his will on a large scale. Laenor commanding water might not be so surprising and otherworldly to Laenor and his family nowadays, since they had all gotten used to it and accepted it as a fact and blessing they received, even though it was never prayed for. But to the Valyrians and others, it was still no less wondrous and otherworldly than it had been for the Velaryons a few years ago.
Maybe Laenor should go and question Maelor directly.
"It was not my father who sent me here, I thought I made it clear beforehand," came the unamused and disappointed remark to his unspoken thoughts.
"How do you—"
"It was written all over your face." Laenor was rudely interrupted by stone-faced Elaena Drakonar. "I am the daughter of the Drakonar clan. From childhood, I was taught to read the emotions of others by their actions. And your whole body screamed that you smelled some political move in my question, and you are currently thinking about how to respond to it."
The serene face he had seen up until now was gone, as if it had been just an illusion, or perhaps it was not meant for everyone and reserved for only a few — and Laenor had lost the right to see it.
"After you rejected Melisa and the idea of polygamy, I thought you to be a different Lord Laenor," Elaena continued. "Different than the dragonlords of Valyria, who are greedy and unconcerning to others because they can afford it. I thought you to be better than them, more powerful than them. But I was mistaken."
Elaena was in the midst of standing up when Laenor asked, "You mean to say I'm worse than them?" Some heat entered his voice. Laenor would admit he had his own vices, but being compared to slavers and practitioners of human sacrifice was not something he would tolerate.
"Leave it," Elaena replied with a cold smile. "The truth would anger you more than being compared to them."
She stood up, intent on leaving.
"Stop," Laenor said quietly but firmly.
Elaena did not. She took the first step toward another direction.
Laenor shrugged his shoulders. It was her fault for leaving him with no other option.
Without the use of his wand, he willed his magic to conjure water. Transfiguration was not his forte, but wherever water as an element was concerned, everything came as easily and naturally as breathing to him.
The water appeared out of nowhere in great amounts, enough for Laenor to take command and will it into forming a half-dome large enough that its ceiling was ten feet high. It covered a small portion of the tower's floor, barring anyone from leaving that section. Though the sky was open, Lady Elaena was free to jump from the top if she wished.
Elaena turned back toward him, wearing the same stony face, not a hint of worry or anger. The lack of both unnerved Laenor more than he would like to admit.
She did not speak. She simply stared at him.
A minute passed.
Then another.
Then another.
Five minutes passed, and Laenor grew frustrated and annoyed. He was about to speak when a roar of anger sounded from the other side of the dome.
The next moment, a large and explosive torrent of fire slammed into the watery barrier.
Elaena's stony face turned into a mocking smirk.
Laenor scoffed in amusement, a smile on his face. "Call your dragon off," Laenor warned. "Command him to stop, or else you will see it dead before his next breath. And do not take my words as an empty threat, Lady Elaena. It is a promise. I will see that beast dead if it continues to breathe fire."
His voice darkened.
"I do not care what happens next after that. Our recent alliance be damned. I could and would see your family ruined, and this tower drowned to watery depths never to see the light again. Do not test me more than you already have."
There was anger now, more than just a hint.
"By comparing me to the dragonlords of Valyria, you questioned my character and dignity. I do not like it. And what I absolutely hate is being played by others, being tested to take my measure, which you have been doing."
Elaena's smirk vanished, replaced by fury. Her porcelain face flushed red, blood rushing beneath the skin. Laenor could feel her dark magic churning wildly inside her and rolling outward in violent waves. The amount increased with her rage, as if her fury itself amplified her magic.
For a brief moment, Laenor's anger subsided, replaced by surprise — and curiosity.
Then the black dragon breathed fire again.
This blast was powerful enough to burn a hole the size of a pot through the dome. The watery barrier hissed as steam rose violently into the air, water evaporating under the dragon's explosive breath. Laenor has to commend the dragon, he had poured enough magic that even Meleys's breath wouldn't been powerful enough to damage the dome in any way.
"You dragonlords have too much pride and trust in your dragons," Laenor said calmly. "I wonder how you will react when you hear the beast cry in agony and beg for your help for the first time."
His voice was quiet, not raised, but filled with power as both his magic and divine energy erupted around him, ready to subdue the raging black dragon at his command.
"Do not think I enjoy such cruelty. But everyone must bear the consequences of their actions. Dragonlords of Valyria should be no exception."
Elaena's rage-filled face hardened with pride. "You may have won against men wearing steel and walking on land," she said coldly, "but if you and your family think you can defeat a dragon, then all I can say is that you are delusional."
She straightened.
"Have you not heard the saying, Lord Laenor? Lesser men defied the dragonlords of Valyria at their own peril."
Her confidence was absolute.
Laenor laughed, a merry and jovial laugh, as if Elaena had said a very funny joke.
"A lesser man? Oh, dear one! You will never know how wrong you are."
As Morghul's fiery breath stopped, Laenor willed the water from its dome shape into chains, powered by his divine might and magic. The chains lashed out and bound the dragon. First came the dragon's maw, which was forced shut as a thick and large chain made of water wrapped tightly around it at Laenor's command. Morghul struggled for a moment but failed miserably; worse still, the chains tightened further with every violent movement the dragon made.
Next came the legs and forearms, bound tightly to the golden pillars that rose from the tower's peak in the shape of a crown.
Several more watery bindings followed, layering over one another, sealing the dragon in one place completely—squeezing tighter and tighter, enough to damage the beast's hide and draw blood if it struggled even a little more. For several minutes, Laenor and Elaena watched as the creature tried desperately to free itself, fire made flesh clashing violently against water.
The consequences were obvious to Laenor from the very start.
The cries of sheer agony and pain.
Morghul's screams were haunting, loud enough to draw attention from within the tower and from those soaring high above it. Even after ten long minutes, the dragon continued to struggle, and Laenor poured even more of his power into the bindings, tightening them further. The dragon shrieked, wailed, and cried in agony, yet still tried to break free and strike at Laenor.
Perhaps it was that final, tortured scream—or perhaps the sight of her dragon slumping to the ground, black boiling blood spilling across the polished stone of the tower floor—that finally snapped Elaena Drakonar out of her state.
She turned toward Laenor and screamed, a hysterical shout filled with raw rage.
"Stop it! What are you doing? Release Morghul this instant!"
Her fury did not end with words. From the sleeve of her gown, she brought out a well-hidden dagger—its rippling pattern unmistakable to Laenor—and charged at him, screaming like a wounded animal.
Laenor shook his head.
And gave the rider the same treatment as her mount.
Her legs were bound mid-stride, and she crashed face-first onto the floor. Her arms were bound moments later, immobilizing her completely. Laenor lifted his gaze toward the sky as dark clouds churned overhead at his command, heavy and violent. Slowly, the sound of thunder rolled across the heavens.
The next moment, a thunderbolt—thick as Laenor's finger—struck Morghul's tail.
The dragon's scream was louder than ever before. Now with its pride broken and defeat looking inevitable, the beast slumped, though still glaring at Laenor, ready to strike if chains were to disappear.
"Do I still look lesser to you, Lady Elaena?" Laenor asked, mockery dripping from his tone.
"What was it again? That my family and I were delusional?"
Her stony, mocking expression had shattered, tears streaking down her face as she stared at him with pure hatred and terror.
"I promised you, Lady Elaena, and I intend to uphold that promise. One more breath, and your dragon dies. You called me delusional—now watch as your pride brings about the death of your mount."
Laenor's power surged like an unstoppable tide as the storm above thickened. He had no intention of torturing the dragon any longer. One final bolt—thick as the beast's head—would end it swiftly.
"No!" Elaena screamed, desperation tearing through her voice.
"No, please—no! I beg you! Don't kill Morghul! I'll do as you say, I'll tell you anything you want to know—just don't kill him!"
She struggled helplessly against the bindings, dragging herself toward Laenor with pleading eyes.
The bolt was about to descend at Laenor's command when another voice—loud, cold, and familiar—cut through the chaos.
"Lord Laenor… if you kill Morghul, the throats of these three will be slit alongside the dragon's death."
That escalated quickly, didn't it? Elaena shouldn't have tested our demigod, though. Valyrian dragonlords should defy Laenor, Lord of the Seas, at their own peril.😂
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