- Driftmark -
A carriage rode along a paved road of cobblestone carrying in its interior King Viserys and Princess Rhaenyra, their escort of Kingsguard, other guards, and flag bearers atop their horses, along with servants in tow. The group moved swiftly as they made their way through the road to the Castle, High Tide, the seat of House Velaryon, and the power of Driftmark.
Once there, at his doors, Viserys descended from the carriage with the help of his new Hand of the King, Lyonel Strong. Soon after, his daughter Rhaenyra followed. The Kingsguard also dismounted, accompanying their king as he made his way through the open, massive castle door, flanked by Velaryon's men-at-arms. The door led to the castle's inner courtyard, where two young men were sparring with live steel.
The moment Viserys entered the courtyard, they stopped and bowed to him, eyes fixed on their feet. One of the two had Valyrian features: silver-white hair, purple eyes, and a fine, soft-looking face paired with a slender body and white skin. From a distance, he looked more like a woman than a man.
Viserys walked with labored breath, surveying the open space where only the two young men stood.
"Where is Lord Corlys?" Viserys demanded of everyone around him.
Lyonel Strong quickly followed, his voice indignant. "He should be here to receive the King."
The doors leading to the interior of High Tide opened in front of them, and from it emerged a young woman, followed a step behind by a man, drawing the attention of everyone in the courtyard.
The young woman—no, lady—was dressed in clothes befitting noble descent. Her skin was pristine, milky-white, and her silver-gold ringlets cascaded past her waist in a great, lustrous mane. Tall and slender, she boasted perky, ample breasts that would put a white rabbit's to shame. She was a remarkably beautiful woman.
If she stood beside that so-called boy from earlier, people might guess they were related—some resemblance was there. Still, onlookers would sigh at her beauty, yet couldn't help but praise the boy's feminine figure and striking good looks.
"Welcome to High Tide, Your Grace," the woman said, performing a reverence after descending the stone stairs and stopping a few steps in front of Viserys.
"What is the meaning of this, Lady Laena?" Lyonel snapped. "Is this how House Velaryon greets its King?"
Laena Velaryon smiled at them all, her expression serious. "My father has only just returned from his long journey. He has hastened to the Hall of the Nine to await Your Grace's arrival."
Viserys sighed and began walking. "Let's just get on with it."
The large group was led by Laena and her servant through the castle to the throne room, where the seat representing the power of Driftmark stood. As Viserys and Lyonel Strong entered the Hall of the Nine, the Velaryon men-at-arms guarding the door closed it on Rhaenyra and the rest of the escort, while the Kingsguard stood at attention.
"What is the meaning of this?" Rhaenyra asked warily.
"Sorry," Criston Cole muttered to her.
Laena, seeing Rhaenyra's unease, quickly took her arm. "Come, cousin. Let us see what might be had for breakfast."
Meanwhile, Viserys walked through the doors, his face already slick with sweat, his breath ragged as his failing body struggled from the exertion of even a short walk. Inside the Hall of the Nine, Corlys Velaryon sat upon the throne of Driftmark, awaiting Viserys.
When Viserys entered, coughing as he went, their eyes met. Corlys stood from the throne.
"Your Grace." He greeted Viserys, then knelt at his feet.
Viserys coughed again, glanced at Lyonel, and gestured for Corlys to rise. "Rise, Lord Corlys."
He coughed once more.
"Be welcome." Corlys smiled, arms open. "May I offer you a chair?"
The side door opened, and a mature woman appeared. "Cousin!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up at the sight of Viserys.
This mature woman was a stunning beauty who only grew more intoxicating with age, like fine wine. She had long, raven-black hair and piercing lilac eyes, paired with a pale body that was explosive—hot, lewd, and voluptuous in all the right places, complete with a killer rack and big juicy ass.
Viserys smiled in recognition, greeting her warmly. "Princess."
Rhaenys Targaryen, delighted to see her cousin, took his hands gently—but Viserys winced in pain, recoiling. Rhaenys's joy turned to worry as she studied his face, which spoke volumes.
"Are you well?" she asked, forcing a tactful smile.
"Very." Viserys chuckled, his eyebrows twitching in a way that screamed the opposite.
"I congratulate you, Lord Lyonel," Corlys said, turning to the last man left to greet. "I can think of no man more suited to be the Hand of the King."
"That is very kind of you to say, Lord Corlys," Lyonel replied with a smile, nodding to the king. "His Grace has honored me with the post."
"Pity about Ser Otto," Corlys remarked.
"Despite spending most of my days amidst the grandeur of the Red Keep, the halls of High Tide never fail to impress," Viserys said, looking around the room.
"You flatter me, Your Grace. Though I do wish we could meet under happier pretenses."
"How so?"
"Daemon's wife, Lady Rhea Royce, has passed," Corlys said, delivering the news the ravens had carried.
"A hunting mishap," Rhaenys added, preparing drinks at a nearby table. "She was thrown from her horse. Her neck and skull were both crushed in the fall."
"A most surprising end," Corlys said. "Lady Rhea's skill as both rider and hunter were well-known."
"The gods are cruel," Rhaenys sighed.
"Indeed," Lyonel agreed to their words after such surprising news.
Viserys's mind raced with unspoken thoughts before he finally spoke, his breath ragged as he gathered his words. "Lady Rhea was a fine woman... and a good wife to my brother."
"A sad thing that she and Daemon have no heirs to succeed her. She stood to inherit Runestone," Rhaenys said, a faint smirk playing at the corner of her lip.
Viserys smiled, steering the conversation away from Daemon—he didn't want to dwell on where his brother's path was leading. Instead, he wanted to address the troubles with his daughter... and her possible incoming child.
"Mayhaps we can turn toward happier pursuits," he said, changing the matter and then gently declining his cousin's offer of a drink. "No, thank you."
"What did you have in mind, Your Grace?" Corlys asked, intrigued.
Viserys's cough returned. Once it subsided, he spoke. "I wish to propose a marriage between your son, Ser Laenor... and my daughter and heir, the Princess Rhaenyra."
"It's long past time our houses were united in blood—the last pillars of Old Valyria."
"You honor both me and my house, Your Grace. But... there are certain details I would wish clarified before the Princess Rhaenys and I could accept this most... generous proposal."
"What details?"
"We would like to know how the succession... will be handled."
"Rhaenyra is my heir. Upon my death, my throne and my titles will pass to her. She and Ser Laenor's firstborn child, regardless of gender, will inherit the Iron Throne from her."
"Can I presume that, in keeping with Westerosi tradition... their children would take their father's name?"
"That they would be born Velaryons?" Corlys pressed.
"Surely, Lord Corlys, you are not proposing the Targaryen dynasty end with my daughter simply because she is a woman?"
Rhaenys chuckled at those words—she herself had been denied the throne for the same reason.
"I only seek clarity, Your Grace," Corlys said, smiling without malice.
Viserys coughed heavily.
Corlys and Rhaenys's expressions shifted at his condition. "Might I have a chair brought in for you?"
"I do not—" Viserys tried to steady himself. "No. I do not require a chair."
"The firstborn child between Ser Laenor and Rhaenyra, regardless of sex, shall take the name Targaryen," he declared, leaving no room for debate.
Rhaenys and Corlys's faces twitched slightly at these words.
"But... upon the birth of the rest of their children, they shall take the father's name, Velaryon... in keeping with our westerosi traditions," he pointed out.
Corlys and Rhaenys relaxed a little, though they still felt wronged by the firstborn not bearing the Velaryon name. Still, it was a compromise they could accept.
"However, if something were to happen to the firstborn—gods forbid—if any other shall ascend the Iron Throne, he or she will do so bearing the name Targaryen."
"Dragons will rule the Seven Kingdoms for the next hundred years, just as they did the last."
Corlys and Rhaenys exchanged glances before Corlys nodded. "This is an equitable compromise."
"Good." Viserys nodded, a relieved smile finally touching his lips. "Now, if there's nothing further." He turned to leave, his decaying body begging for rest.
Rhaenys and Corlys watched his retreating back, their thoughts swirling in silence.