After a long day of sword training with Orys, my stamina fell to an almost unrecoverable level. I looked at my Strength. Seeing that it still held a (9) value, without a waver of increment, I sighed. This ultimately meant that not a single effort put into my inaugural training reflected in my status panel.
'I wonder how much exactly I'd have to push.'
I thought, but I also considered the possibility this could be one of the systems that didn't feature progression that way. If this was the case, then I'd have to venture into different tasks that would "reward" points rather than working to improve.
It was already late into the evening when I finally decided to call it a day with my counterparts. The last golden rays of the sinking sun bathed the clouds and bruised the sky. The sea wind had grown cooler, whistling past the stone terraces where our blades had clashed for hours—our jokes and stories as well.
Orys only sheathed his sword after I did, acknowledging my repeated white flags. Lord Daemon, who was only the spectator, told Vaemond to prepare for their imminent leave. I stood still a while longer, staring out at the choppy, darkening waters below.
Someone might think I was pondering something so deep, but I was just wondering how in the seven hells I didn't get a single stat point.
"You asked to speak with me?"
The Lord of Driftmark's hoarse voice came from my side, snapping me out of my shallow thoughts. I looked at the man who approached without ceremony, hands behind his back like me, and a curious look in his dark Valyrian eyes.
I nodded.
"Yes. Walk with me."
We started along the shoreline, the cold sand yielding beneath our boots, the hush of the tide cloaking our steps. From afar, one might take our snow hair for banners catching the wind.
Lord Daemon Velaryon. Lord of the Tides. Master of Driftmark. House Velaryon possesses the most powerful navy I know, and it was under this man's control. Though I don't know much about other Houses yet, I strongly doubt any would rival the Velaryons'.
I had always thought Daemon Velaryon to be the sharpest mind in my circle, and yet again, no one had rivalled that too. He was a man who listened twice before speaking once. From my basic understanding, this kind of man was the most calculating and intelligent.
What's a conquest all about? In summary, I'd say it's about blood, banners, ships, silence, fear, war. In my case, might I add fire too? Regardless, my ambition to conquer and unite the realm must be done with both brute force and insight. When I look at Lord Daemon Velaryon, the Lord of the Tides was precisely the kind of man that would command the strategic notion of my conquest.
Fortunately, our Houses have been allied for centuries. The Targaryens rule the skies, the Velaryons rule the seas.
After we'd shared a few remarks about the day's training—especially how Orys nearly took my arm off—I let the conversation settle into more important matters. Lord to lord, we had a lot to talk about, even though it's not over a regal dinner or court, and Daemon, as ever, took them in with calm nods and thoughtful pauses.
But the more we walked, the more we talked, and the farther the conversation went. I brought the words to a place I doubted even he would expect. My eyes were on the horizon, of course. My eyes were on the prize, faded by the evening's mist.
"Tell me, my Lord. What do you think of the continent we're offshore of—Westeros?"
I didn't see much expression from Lord Daemon at my question. Perhaps he took it as a sudden, idle curiosity, a young lord asking an older lord for the shape of a distant land. When he did speak, his voice was upbeat, as if he too shared some questions about the scale of the continent.
"Westeros? It feels like an endless abyss to me. Far too vast."
'Could it be bigger than Essos? Definitely not.'
I think as I considered Lord Daemon's words. While thinking to myself, my thoughts became audible, and I spoke more to myself than to him.
"I wonder which castle lies nearest, and what House claims it. What sort of people live there—what blood, what tongues, what gods. They say Westeros holds a hundred banners and a hundred more ways of dying. But how many live? Do you know? The nearest lord?"
When I asked Lord Daemon about the nearest Westerosi lord, I believe he understood that I meant the nearest lord not allied to us. Apart from Driftmark, Stonedance is another close castle to Blackwater Bay. House Massey holds the seat there, and House Massey is sworn under House Targaryen already.
I've also heard of Sharp Point in one too many conversations. And it seems Sharp Point is a bleak, storm-wrecked castle at the coast with a minor lord already associated with the Velaryons. That was readily under control too.
I was curious about the possibility of another castle, another House, just lingering beside the same sea I drink and bathe from.
I started to see the expression I'd been waiting for on Lord Daemon's face. His eyes were narrowed now, and he had begun to measure his pauses before replying. He hadn't expected me to be this interested in matters of lords and land.
"Rook's Rest. Held by House Staunton. A stout castle on a hill, overlooking the woods and the sea. Not far."
Lord Daemon still didn't falter. I nodded with my eyes still on the horizon.
"Any other?"
"These are the castles that orbit Blackwater Bay. Beyond them, we begin to ride into the storm."
I smiled as I thanked Lord Daemon for his faithful answers. I began to picture all four castles as if atop a dragon thousands of feet up in the sky.
Dragonstone, Driftmark, Stonedance, and Rook's Rest. Four seats held by four Houses—one already mine, two loyal, and one still unknown. And yet, Westeros was famed for its hundred banners and a hundred more grudges. If this was just a corner of the realm, how vast truly was the whole?
"You've been paying more attention than usual. Your whole family has. Is there any new accord or arrangement I haven't been told of?"
Lord Daemon's careful voice interrupted my thoughts again. As I turned around, I gave him a smile that assured him I was merely being curious, perhaps considering diplomatic approaches. Furthermore, I also picked up his words, and they intrigued me.
"You say my whole family?"
There were only three Targaryens in the world right now: me and my sisters. Lord Daemon must mean them. He gave me the barest tilt of his head as he immediately clarified.
"Mostly Lady Visenya. She's been asking questions, the kind that linger long after the meal ends."
"Speak more."
"She even had us at Driftmark not long past. A wondrous supper. The talk never left Westeros—its Houses, its histories, its tides. Seems she wishes to know how deep the waters run."
Visenya? Of all people?
I couldn't even picture her listening deeper to someone's narration and explanations. Here, Lord Daemon tells me of her inquisitive nature of recent. Visenya?
I was amused, and I was also tired. I also didn't want to press further in order not to put some fear into Lord Daemon that something bad is happening.
I thanked him gratefully, and together, we began the slow walk back to where the noble vessel of Driftmark waited.
Standing there a while longer, I watched the noble vessel shrink into the dusk, its sails catching what little wind the bay still offered. My thoughts, naturally, drifted back to Visenya.
Had she begun to think like I was thinking? Had she started to dream of conquest too?
The blood of the dragon runs thick, and I wouldn't be surprised if she had. After all, she already had a conqueror's mind right from childhood up until now. Father always did his best to keep her in line and make it clear I was the head and heir.
I realized then that I hadn't seen either of my wives all day.
Immediately, the Valyrian blood in me began to boil impatiently because I was becoming restless. When anything was denied to a Targaryen, even something as little as clarity, we often turned feral.
Without wasting another moment, I turned for the castle, setting my steps toward the elder of the two.
My pace was brisk as I climbed stone steps without slowing. My thoughts seemed to echo in the hallways as I navigated to the eastern wing of the castle where Visenya's chamber lay. Once I reached the carved wooden door, I opened without knocking.
No barriers of courtesy existed between dragonblood. She was my wife, after all, and I her husband.
"My Lord."
A chambermaid uttered in sudden fright. My figure suddenly filled the doorpost as she attended to Visenya's bath, so this startled her. With hurried panic, she scurried out.
Once she was out, I stepped further into the room thick with steam. The windows were open, yet the air was warm and foggy. The aroma of boiling herbs made it almost impossible to breathe.
I looked down at the person responsible for it all, who always took her bath as if she were exorcising demonic spirits.
Visenya was there, submerged in the water like something ancient and dangerous. Only her pale collarbone rose above the waterline, slick with heat and steam. Her hair, darker when wet, was undone and hanging like silk over her shoulders, half-draped across the bath's edge.
I often commended her for her stronger Valyrian characteristics, because even I would think twice before taking a bath in boiling water, amplified by herbs too.
Visenya's eyes opened, most likely irritated that her hospitality was interrupted. Every breath she took made her look like a dragon, and her nose, a snout as it inhaled and exhaled steam.
Our eyes found the other with neither alarm nor shame.
"Visenya."
"Aegon?"