Balerion Tower
Once his parents and Laena were at his side, only then did a small measure of relief wash through Laenor. Even so, he did not allow it to show on his face. He had all the power in the world, yet even that would have meant nothing if Maelor had chosen death and dragged Laenor's family with him into the abyss. His rage, which had been close to boiling over, eased just a fraction when he saw the Drakonar lord staring at him with a mixture of fear, hope, and desperate calculation.
Laenor's eyes shifted to Elaena.
She stood with her head lowered, her pale hair falling like a curtain over her face, hiding her expression from all who looked upon her. Even bound and defeated, there was something proud in the way she held herself, something that refused to be fully broken. Truely a rebellious, that one.
"It would not have come to this if it had not been for your haughty attitude," Laenor said, his gaze flicking from her to the injured dragon behind her. Morghul still glared at him with burning, hateful eyes, smoke leaking from his nostrils, like its rider. His family watched the scene in confusion, unable to understand what had driven events to this edge of catastrophe. "Now tell me what I asked you before I change my mind and finish your dragon. And be very careful when you speak. This time your father has no leverage over me. Do not waste what little mercy he has bought you."
His voice was cold and flat, stripped of emotion. In her current state, Elaena Drakonar did not look beautiful. The defiance she had once worn so proudly was gone, replaced by something hollow and beaten.
"You will not like it," she murmured softly, her head still bowed. "It will only anger you more."
Laenor heard every word.
"Do you truly believe that?" he demanded. "Then tell me why I am worse than them. What cruelty have I done to you or anyone else that makes me more vile than the dragonlords of Valyria? Even now, I have gone back on my word and spared your dragon, when I could have killed it with a thought. You and your family can do nothing to stop me. And yet I have not done it."
Elaena slowly raised her eyes.
There was no fear in them now. Only something cold, sharp, and honest.
"Yes," she said quietly. "I think you are worse than them. Because you, Laenor Velaryon, are a coward."
A ripple of tension passed through everyone present. Maelor looked almost ready to strangle his daughter, but his wife, Hael, held his hand, as she too regarded their daughter with disappointment and disapproval.
"The Valyrian dragonlords are greedy and self-absorbed, yes," Elaena continued, her voice steady, and her gaze on the blood of her dragon's scales. "But they never cowered from taking what they wanted. When the old blood first tamed dragons, they did not hide. Few in number, they built their empire openly. When the world resisted them, they crushed it and reshaped it to their will."
Her eyes burned as she looked at him.
"You are even more powerful than they were. More charismatic, and a dragonrider of a huge dragon besides. Yet you hesitate. You weigh every future and every consequence until you do nothing at all. You call it wisdom. You call it restraint. But in truth, you are afraid to live in the present. A dragonlord who fears the future is no dragonlord at all. So yes—compared to them, you are worse."
When she finished, her gaze dropped again, her shoulders slumping as though she had finally surrendered herself to whatever fate Laenor chose to give her.
"Lord Laenor," Maelor began hurriedly, "as I said, my daughter is foolish—"
Laenor did not hear the rest.
His eyes had shifted to Morghul.
With a single thought, the water chains dissolved. The dragon and its rider were freed at once. Morghul staggered, blood dripping onto the stone, his great body trembling with exhaustion and pain. Yet he did not retreat. Instead, he moved to Elaena's side, spreading his wounded wing around her protectively, baring his teeth at Laenor in a silent, furious warning.
Laenor met the dragon's gaze without fear. His power flowed outward, thick and suffocating, a killing intent so absolute that even Morghul understood it. One step, one breath of fire, and death would follow. The beast stiffened but did not attack.
Even a dragon knew when it stood before something greater.
"Lord Maelor," Laenor said, turning back to him, "if the Council had not convened before today, it will now. Many dragonlords saw what happened here, even if the storm drove them away before they could see all of it. Word will spread. I will not lack for offers—each more tempting than the last."
Maelor swallowed, nodding slowly.
"If you want our alliance to endure," Laenor continued, his voice resolute, "you have until the end of this day. Come to Blackfyre Tower with terms that I find worthy of the compensation you mentioned earlier."
Maelor bowed his head slightly, relief flickering across his face as his mind already began racing with new calculations.
He nodded.
"I thank you, Lord Laenor, for upholding the trust…"
"Lord Aegor did mention that if I chose to accept Aetharyon's invitation to Arrax Tower and join their faction afterward, I would be honored with a proposal to marry into that clan and many more besides. But it was at Lady Rhaenys's request that I decided to visit your family's home first. The rest, I trust, you are wise enough to understand. And not to mention, there is also the Belaerys clan, whom I have yet to meet."
Laenor cut Maelor off without ceremony.
He raised his gaze at the cloudy sky and called Embaryx. The great dragon had been held back by Laenor's will from the moment Morghul first breathed fire. Embaryx had wanted to answer that challenge, to burn the dragon who dared bare flame at him, but Laenor had commanded him to remain still.
Now the restraint was lifted.
Embaryx descended with a thunderous impact, his colossal body striking the stone floor with a heavy crash that made the tower tremble. A roar of raw fury ripped through the air as he fixed Morghul with a gaze that promised nothing but death. Morghul answered weakly, though his roar sounded more like a cry of pain than defiance.
Velatharys and Meleys soon landed beside Embaryx, their wings beating powerful gusts through the space. This time, Laenor's father did not look afraid at the prospect of mounting Laenor's mother dragon, only grimly resolved.
"Lord Laenor," Maelor said, his voice tight, "can we not speak here, in my own home? Surely the wealth and resources of House Zaldri are far more enticing than the hollow honor of marrying into Aetharyon."
There was desperation on his face now, plain for all to see. And the more desperate Maelor became, the more Laenor knew he could benefit from the Drakonar head.
"It is not that I am unwilling to speak here, Lord Maelor," Laenor replied calmly. "Just as you showed generosity by releasing my family, I am returning that same generosity in a different form. Think carefully about what you and your clan are willing to offer me, while I weigh what this Freehold itself might give me."
Both men knew it was not mercy. If Maelor's desperation was any measure, the Drakonar lord now faced a long and bitter reckoning, one where every thought by the moment would trouble him.
"You're punishing my family for something I have done," came a small, trembling whisper. "That isn't fair, Lord Laenor."
Laenor turned.
Elaena Drakonar stood there, her wrists and ankles red and swollen where the chains had held her. Thin lines of blood streaked her pale skin. Shame and exhaustion weighed heavily on her face.
"Elaena, you will remain silent," Maelor snapped. "You have already done more than enough."
Her gaze dropped to the ground, and tears slid silently down her cheeks. The proud daughter of House Drakonar wept before them all.
"I am not punishing your father for your actions," Laenor said quietly. "I was angry at you—until I heard your answer. You gave me something to think about. So do not burden yourself with this."
He turned away and gave Embaryx a final command. The great dragon began to lift himself skyward, wings spreading like a living storm.
Coward.
That word lingered in Laenor's mind as he looked back one last time at the sobbing Drakonar girl. No one had ever called him that before. And yet… it struck far too close to something he did not want to admit.
House Velaryon had grown powerful, unimaginably so—but it could have grown far more. He had always feared unseen enemies, waiting in the dark to strike him down the moment he overreached. And he did not want to die again.
That endless black still haunts him. And more, he did not want to leave this life where he had so much power in his hands.
Blackfyre tower
"She was mad, arrogant, and self-entitled besides. Who acts without thinking of the consequences first—a fool or a madwoman?" Laena scoffed, folding her arms with visible irritation.
Laenor smiled faintly at her expression. His sister had said the same thing a hundred times before in different ways, and yet she never seemed to tire of repeating it. The moment she sensed even the slightest shift in his mood, she was on him, relentless and protective as ever.
In her eyes, Laenor was still thinking about what Elaena had said—about being a coward, about fearing the future—and all of it, according to Laena, was absolute nonsense. Pure, unfiltered bullshit. She could see it written on his face even if he did not admit it, and that alone was enough to annoy her all over again.
To Laena, no amount of beauty or sorcerous pedigree gave anyone the right to question her brother's strength, his will, or the path he had chosen to walk.
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