A few moments before Laenor handled Morghul,
The Lord's Solar, Balerion Tower
Maelor was with Lord Corlys, deciding the terms and clauses that would be added to the blood contract. Though he did not show it outwardly to anyone, he was extremely pleased and elated that his faction would be gaining such a powerful family in their midst. So much time had passed since the Drakonars had all but ruled Valyria in name. Maelor knew this time would be different from the past, for in those days, the dragonlord families in their faction had feared and respected his house for its dragons and magical might.
This new addition, however, was too powerful for the Drakonars to simply bend to their will. Still, Maelor would gladly take that as a victory over the Aetharyons. But this victory would not be celebrated until the Velaryons signed the blood contract, and that would only be done after the marriage between a Velaryon and Melisa. Maelor had to admit that Lord Corlys was far too cautious and stubborn in negotiation. Many lords with far more dragons and power behind them had come to Balerion Tower, trembling and smiling forced smiles, but Corlys Velaryon stood his ground. Corlys Velaryon was fortunate that his son's presence alone dulled the oppressive charm of the tower.
If only to himself, Maelor admitted he had been unnerved when he felt the tower's dreadful influence fade the moment Laenor entered. For a few heartbeats, that crushing, malevolent aura vanished entirely, replaced by something vast and serene. It was so much different from what he felt that day at Blackfyre tower, when Laenor had used his power against him earlier; it was only the Drakonar lord's ring that had saved Maelor from falling to his knees. The weight of that presence had been endless, like an ocean pressing down upon his soul. Yet the ring—passed from lord to lord since the founding of the clan—was no trinket of small power. It demanded a steep price each year, but in return, it shielded the wearer from mystical pressure, curses, and hostile auras. Maelor could walk the deepest caverns of Sothoryos and emerge with his sanity intact while wearing it.
Still, this time, Laenor's presence felt different. No longer crushing, it was calm and pure, though still boundless. Since the founding of Valyria, no sorcerer—no matter how gifted—had ever been able to resist the aura of Balerion Tower. Not even Argon Belaerys, the most powerful mage Valyria had ever known, son of Rhaenys. Maelor's unease deepened when Laenor's sister casually let slip just how strong her brother truly was. Valyria had always distrusted sorcery for a reason: magic was the only force that could rival dragons. So Valyria crushed mages before they could grow too powerful.
Yet paradoxically, Valyria also revered its own gifted sorcerers. Scholars, ritualists, and arcane innovators were treasured. But Laenor Velaryon's power was beyond anything Maelor had ever seen. If the council learned even a fraction of it, they would send offers of alliance so outrageous they bordered on madness. Only one faction could rival Maelor's own in that bidding war—and Maelor would not let that happen before the contract was sealed.
"So, Lord Maelor," Corlys had said, "since you mentioned the council a few times, I must ask—when does it convene? Surely someone must have noticed the arrival of new dragons. Would that not warrant a gathering? Perhaps even summoning us before it?"
Maelor was about to answer when a sound tore through the air.
A dragon's scream.
Not a roar of fury—but a cry of agony.
Maelor rose from his chair as the sound grew louder and rushed from the solar toward the tower's peak. Morghul had roared earlier, angry roars, but this… this was different. This was pain. His daughter was reckless. Though Hael usually watched her closely, Elaena had always been drawn toward danger. The only reason Maelor tolerated it was her talent—she was the greatest sorceress just behind Argon Belaerys in her generation.
When Maelor and Corlys reached the top, what they saw burned itself into Maelor's memory forever.
Morghul was bound.
Not with chains of iron, but with chains of water, wrapped so tightly the dragon could barely move. The beast thrashed, every motion tearing into its own flesh as the bindings tightened in response. Then Morghul collapsed with a final, tortured scream.
Maelor stood frozen, staring at his defeated dragon, until Elaena's sobbing cry shattered the moment. Only then did he realize how many others were present—his armed slaves, his wife, the Velaryon women—and finally his daughter.
Elaena was bound, kneeling, tears streaking her face as she glared up at Laenor Velaryon in hatred and fury.
Maelor's rage exploded.
With a signal of his hand, his slaves moved to seize the Velaryons. They were unarmed. Corlys tried to resist, but Valyrian steel spears cut off every avenue of defense. Before Maelor could even savor their capture, lightning struck Morghul.
The dragon's scream was horrific.
Maelor clenched his teeth. One part of him, the father, burned with fury at seeing his daughter's dragon tortured. The other part—the Lord of Drakonar—knew this was a disaster beyond imagining. They were on the verge of losing the greatest ally they had ever found.
Morghul's tail smoked and bled, black ichor pouring onto the stone. Fire made flesh, burned by thunder.
And Laenor Velaryon had done it without blood, without sacrifice.
That truth frightened Maelor far more than the screams.
Maelor gritted his teeth hard enough that pain flared through his jaw. With a heavy heart, he was about to speak when the clouds above began to churn like a great storm being born. Thunder rolled and cracked across the sky, terrifying even Maelor. The thought that this boy could wield such power was unreal—and yet it was happening before his very eyes. Maelor knew that if another bolt fell, it would kill his daughter's dragon and might even tear apart his home.
Elaena's desperate, pleading face only confirmed his fear of what would come next if he did not act.
"Lord Laenor… if you kill Morghul, the throats of these three will be slit alongside the dragon's death," Maelor said.
The moment the threat left his lips, everything changed.
The storm exploded in fury. The clouds were no longer confined to Balerion Tower or its surrounding skies—half of Valyria was swallowed by them, spreading outward with every heartbeat. Thunder hammered Maelor's ears until pain lanced through his skull. Hael and the Velaryon women clutched their ears, faces twisted in agony. Even the slaves recoiled, some dropping to their knees.
But the storm was nothing compared to what came next.
Power.
An endless tide of it, so vast that Maelor felt as though he would drown beneath it, as though Balerion Tower itself would be crushed and dragged into the abyss. The others were spared its full weight—but Maelor was not.
His only defense shattered with a sound louder than the thunder above. The ancient ring slipped from his finger and struck the stone floor in multiple parts rather than whole, Valyrian steel ringing sharply. He barely noticed.
Laenor Velaryon's form shifted before his eyes, swelling into a towering, godlike presence. Maelor could barely make out its face, but the rage and hatred radiating from it were unmistakable. The sheer pressure forced his knees to buckle as a voice, deep and dreadful, boomed through the storm.
"Such audacity. Do you and your daughter together wish to see your house brought to ruin, Lord Drakonar?"
All sound vanished, as if the world itself had gone silent to hear the threat.
"One thought from me, and this tower will be nothing. Not a single stone will remain—only a crater and the lost legacy of the Drakonar clan. Do you wish that upon your family?"
Maelor shook his head, teeth clenched, every shred of his will keeping him from collapsing. The thunder faded, leaving only a black shroud of death overhead, yet Laenor's presence still crushed him from all sides.
"I do not," Maelor said hoarsely. "But I also will not stand and watch you kill my daughter's dragon in my home. Your power surged with intent to tear the world apart when I threatened your family, and now you expect me to remain silent while you destroy mine. What would you have me do, Lord Laenor?"
"Your daughter was warned," Laenor replied coldly. "She defied me. Her dragon's death is the consequence of her own actions, not some twisted whim of mine."
Laenor's blazing eyes shifted toward the Velaryons, still held at spearpoint. Rage flared again.
"I apologise on her behalf," Maelor said quickly. "She is reckless and foolish. Forgive her this once. We were allies only moments ago—your father and I had already agreed upon the terms. I beg you, let Morghul live. Elaena will be punished. Severely. To a Drakonar, a dragon is more precious than life itself. Killing Morghul would be killing my daughter. I know you do not intend that. She will apologise. Drakonar will compensate you—anything you desire—"
"Stop all that flowery shit," Laenor snapped. "You have weapons at my family's throats. Release them now, or this tower is gone."
Thunder returned instantly, roaring across the sky.
Maelor cursed his daughter in his heart. "As a gesture of goodwill, and in trust of our alliance, I will release your family first. I hope my apology is enough for my foolish daughter's actions. If not, we can discuss it inside."
He signaled sharply.
The slaves withdrew their spears. The Velaryons immediately pulled away and began moving toward Laenor.
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