High Tide, Chapter 71: High Tide (Patreon)

First Moon, 132 AC

Viserra

“Your Excellency, please I beg you, allow me to stay by your side!” the ever loyal Ser Jaremy cried.

“No Orange. You have your orders, and you shan’t disobey them. You are to command this fleet and see to its safe arrival in Myr where you will report to the highest ranking Zaldilaros Velaryon and take up command of the Tide Guard in the Triarchy.” Corlys’ reply was firm, and uncompromising.

“Princess, if we may,” her old secretary Pina tried to beseech her.

“You may not,” Viserra answered. “Jaremy, Pina, you have served us for many long years and your continued loyalty and devotion is an honor to Corlys and I. And it is for that reason that we cannot in good conscience allow you to remain with us. This is our fight and not one that you will be able to contribute to. I will not let you stay here and die in the fight that is coming. Jaremy you are the Lord Commander of the Tide Guard, a peer, a Protector of the Triarchy. And you are his consort Pina, chief amongst the secretaries and ladies in waiting of our house.

“There is so much more that the two of you can do, both to serve our house and for yourselves. Do you not want to see your children and grandchildren again? All of them live and serve in the Triarchy. Do you not want to spend the rest of your lives in happiness and bliss? Continuing in the service of our heirs while seeing to the happiness and prosperity of your own?”

“And what about you then my lord and lady? Do you not want the same for yourselves? Why do you condemn yourselves to this fate?” Ser Jaremy was distraught.

“We do what we must, Jaremy. Viserra and I have our part to play in ensuring the success and safety of our house and people and so do you. Go now, in peace and goodwill before I force you onto that boat and dismiss you from your post for insubordination Lord Commander,” Corlys said, reaching the end of his patience though he did his best to say his warning as lightly as possible.

Ser Jaremy bowed. “Your will be done my lord,” he said, choking out the words through tears.

Corlys softened his tone as he spoke again, placing a comforting hand on the loyal old knight’s shoulder. “Captain Sandoq has enjoyed far too much free rein over the Tide Guard hasn’t he? It’s time the Lord Commander returned home to the Triarchy to remind him who is in charge.”

Despite his distress, Jaremy could not help but smirk a little at the jest Corlys had made. Their son Jacaerys’ chief sworn shield had held operational command over the Tide Guard in the Triarchy for several years now since Jaremy had elected to stay by their side.

“Aye. I’ll put that young rascal in his place,” he said with a smile, continuing the jest. “The day shall come soon enough when Ser Jaremy Gottwell commands the whole Tide Guard once more!” he said proudly in the dramatic and endearing style he had long been known for.

“And the thought shall gladden my heart, even unto the end,” Corlys said proudly, though with a somber smile.

Ser Jaremy’s mood, which they had worked so hard to uplift fell again and Viserra thought he might break into tears again but he swallowed his despair and when he spoke next, it was with a solemn reverence.

“Return home to the Triarchy you said… Yes, it will be good to see my children and grandchildren again. To see the wonders of the Triarchy where our people thrive and prosper, a peace that was bought with so much sacrifice. Perhaps I might even be happy. But with all due respect my lord, it was never my home.”

Looking around at the empty and dilapidated Spicetown, he continued. “This is home. This is where I was born and raised. As was my wife, and many of our friends and colleagues. Our home was Driftmark, High Tide and Spicetown. Our home was with you, our lord and lady. And we will always miss it.”

Viserra struggled to keep her emotions in check at the touching words Jaremy said, feeling humbled but also unworthy of the honor knowing what she might have been forced to do to all of these loyal and brave souls. She noticed that many of the crowd who had been loading their families and belongings onto the ships had also stopped to listen to him speak.

“The last Velaryon ships that will ever leave Driftmark… very well then. Let it not be said that the vassals of House Velaryon are disrespectful to their lieges! Ladies and gentlemen!” he cried out. “One last salute for our lord and lady!”

“The Old, the True, the Brave!” Jaremy, Pina, and the whole crowd shouted together before they bowed reverently.

When he finally rose, Jaremy grasped her husband’s arm and held it firmly. “Velaryon and Victory my lord. Farewell!”

“Farewell, old friend,” Corlys said with a grateful nod.

Immediately after that, Jaremy turned to her sons and grandchildren, grasping Lucerys and then Daeron’s arms. “Until we meet again Lord Lucerys, Lord Daeron, Masters Baelor and Daemon, Lady Jaenara.”

“At war’s end in the Triarchy Ser,” Luke promised.

“Agreed. The celebrations will be a sight to see. Perhaps we could have a spar, just like old times,” Jaremy replied.

Luke smiled. “Of course Ser.”

Viserra smiled as she witnessed the heartwarming promise between her son and his old mentor, the man who had taken him on as his squire and taught everything that he knew about the way of the sword and all other weapons. She only wished that she could be there to see it come to fruition.

With his farewells at an end, Ser Jaremy boarded his ship with his wife Pina. At his command, the crews raised anchors and dropped their sails. They turned hard south as they exited the harbor before sailing off into the distant twilight horizon. Night fell soon after.

It was a somber family dinner that night as they ate the last meal prepared by the chefs of High Tide before they had boarded Jaremy’s fleet. No one was really much in the mood for small talk, only thinking of the inevitable fight ahead.

Everything had escalated so fast. Viserra had barely had time to think about it all. In the early hours of the morning, they had learned that two of their Conches, one their double agent within Larys Strong’s inner circle and the other his handler, had unfortunately been captured last night and were being interrogated. Corlys had immediately tasked all their other agents in the capital with finding a way to break out their lost comrades or silence them before they revealed too much and discovering how much the Targaryens had learned already and what their plan was before it was too late.

Unfortunately, by the time they had done this, much had already been exposed. While trying to devise a way to break out or silence their compromised agents, the Conches had discovered that Larys Strong and his confessors had already extracted through vicious torture the details of some of their various plots to assassinate the Targaryens which they had been leaving in reserve, still undecided on whether to execute them.

According to their spies, their poor and brave captured comrades had valiantly resisted torture for many hours and when they could not take the pain anymore and had felt close to breaking, they had followed their training and had given up information that they deemed less essential, first giving up their non-Conch assets and then exposing their assassination plots while keeping everything they could about the Conch organization itself such as its name and structure secret. The most important secret of all, the glass candles, the wondrous and terrifying tools that they used to instantly communicate and scry across the world had still not been compromised fortunately.

Discovering that the Conch organization and the glass candles had not been leaked had been welcome news but they had all known that it was only a matter of time before the captured spies broke entirely under torture. Operational security and compartmentalization between cells in the capital might have been maintained with the assets, but the Conches themselves had had to maintain uninterrupted communications with each other if they were to have any chances of carrying out the intended plans to assassinate several Targaryens and other key individuals simultaneously.

As a result, several individual cells and their missions in the capital had been exposed already, sending the Conches overseeing them scrambling as they tried to hide from the Clubfoot’s vicious purge. Luckily no more of their agents had been captured as a result of this exposure but many of their covers had been blown and several of their assets had been seized and were being interrogated.

The Conches had related all of this to Corlys and herself about two hours after they had first informed them that their colleagues had been captured. By then, the Targaryens had apparently already been notified by Larys Strong as they had been in the process of moving all of their dragons from the Dragonpit to the Red Keep during that second report.

Corlys and her had become very desperate for information at that point. They had then ordered the Conches to accomplish two critical missions. First, they were to uncover exactly what the Targaryen plan was now that they were aware of the assassination plots against them by House Velaryon and as soon as they had accomplished that, they were to break out or silence their fallen brothers at all costs, even if it required compromising their remaining covers or giving up their lives. The secrets of the glass candle and the finer workings of the Conches had to be kept safe no matter what.

Those of their Conches whose covers had not yet been compromised were consequently tasked with the most difficult parts of their new assignment. Their compromised brethren were to provide support and take on the riskier roles since their covers had already been broken entirely or undermined.

To ensure that no further information could be leaked if any more of the Conches were captured trying to accomplish these objectives, they had been instructed to follow a certain protocol in their training, the ingestion of poisons that would kill them within a day unless the antidote, kept in hidden places, was taken. In the worst case scenario, the Conches would storm the black cells to kill their captured comrades before either killing themselves or resisting torture long enough for the poison to kill them if they were captured before they could commit suicide.

The news that their Conches and by extension themselves had been exposed to the Targaryens had caused a mass panic in Viserra’s family. The uncertainty over what exactly the Targaryens were planning and the possibility that more of their secrets such as the glass candles might be imminently exposed, potentially costing all of them their lives, had had them reeling.

Desperate, Luke and Daeron had even proposed rushing King’s Landing with their six dragons on Driftmark and attacking the Dragonpit and the Red Keep but Viserra and Corlys had rejected it immediately. It would have been at least a few hours’ flight to King’s Landing and by the time they would have arrived, the Targaryens would have already moved all of their dragons into the Red Keep, ready to fend them off.

With the Targaryens on high alert, there would not have been even the slightest possibility that they would win. After all, they had believed they could not win a straight with the Targaryens even with all thirteen of their combat-ready dragons and riders after all. Pitting a mere six against the Targaryens’ seventeen in one place, even with many of those dragons being bonded to or ridden by children, would have been nothing short of suicide when they lacked even the element of surprise.

A flurried and panicked discourse had then traded between Driftmark and Tyrosh over the glass candles as they had bickered and argued with Jacaerys’ squadron in the south over what they were going to do. Meanwhile Viserra and her husband had hurriedly overseen the evacuation of the last of their people on Driftmark, loading all of the staff, sailors, soldiers, retinues, and workers onto the ships in the Spicetown Harbor with a final call sent out to any remaining people in the interior that the last ships were departing imminently.

For a few grim hours as they had scrambled in the dark without any information, they had feared that the Targaryens would move to strike at Driftmark with ten or more adult dragons bearing down on their six. It was what Viserra would have done seeing how her foes had divided themselves in two while her own forces were united in one place. They had rushed the evacuation of Driftmark as much as they could because of that fear, but Viserra had always known that it would not be done in time. Even if it was, their ships would not make it far enough to escape the Targaryens on dragonback.

The choice that Viserra and her squadron would have had to make if that nightmarish scenario had come to fruition would have been grim and heartbreaking. They would either have had to stand and die in an attempt to bleed the Targaryens and allow Jaremy and his fleet time to escape or abandon them and flee to regroup with Jacaerys’ squadron in the south, burning all of the Stormlands and Dorne in their wake as they prepared for a last stand against a united House Targaryen with larger and more powerful dragons.

The second option would have been the only chance of survival, of winning the war in that worst-case scenario. They would have deserted Driftmark and the evacuating ships and fled south as soon as they saw the Targaryens leaving King’s Landing on the glass candles, but in the process they would have had to abandon Ser Jaremy, Pina, and all of their other loyal guards and staff to the tender mercies of the Targaryens.

That plan was why she had felt so unworthy when Jaremy and the others had honored her and Corlys. She still felt guilty to remember that she had considered abandoning them and those same loyal servants had been honoring her and begging her to let them stay.

Jaremy was smart, he had probably guessed that their abandoning him and the others had been one of the possible plans and had accepted it, willing to die for the sake of his lieges as always. But not everyone in that fleet was as devoted as Jaremy, and Corlys and her had been desperate to find another way that would not throw away the lives of Jaremy, Pina, and everyone else on that fleet whether they were willing to die for them or not. They had lost too much already.

Luckily for them, the uncompromised Conches had reported back in again at noon. By then they had had a workable plan to extract or silence their lost brothers within the day and they had known exactly what the Targaryens were planning.

According to their reports, the Targaryens had been bickering over some ludicrous proposal to rein in their house that Rhaenys had brought up when Larys Strong had interrupted their meeting with the news of their assassination plots. Supposedly the previously divided Targaryens had then rallied behind Rhaenys, filled with a righteous rage mixed with a fell fear and a dreadful desperation. A most dangerous combination.

The Targaryens had then planned on a rushed ceremony to crown Rhaenys at noon, (as in while the Conches had reported all of this to them), after which the dragonriders would all have a quick lunch before hurriedly flying off to their deployments.

Daemon and Vermithor, Aegon and Sunfyre, and Jaehaerys and Tyraxes, had been deployed to Summerhall in Dorne while Viserys the Elder and Silverwing, Viserys the Younger and Arrax, and Rhaenyra and Seasmoke had been dispatched to Storm’s End. Ostensibly their deployment was to rebuff any strike Jace and his squadron might make into either the Stormlands or Dorne but at sunrise the following morning, all six would depart from their bases and converge on Tyrosh simultaneously, using the rising of the sun to coordinate their attack as they had no glass candles and were still ignorant of their true potential.

Rhaenys and the rest of the family would remain in King’s Landing and hold down the fort before they too would strike the next morning, similarly using sunrise to time their attack on Driftmark. Rhaenys, Gael, Helaena, Aemond, and Visenya would be the ones carrying out that attack, riding their dragons, Meleys, Syrax, Stormcloud, Vhagar, and Vermax.

Knowing that they still had at least one night before the Targaryens attacked had given them all some much needed relief after an incredibly stressful morning. They had stopped panicking and had taken advantage of the time to make their final preparations, methodically ensuring that Jaremy and everyone else was loaded up onto the fleet and seen off to safety. By the time the war began, they should be safe from it in the middle of the Narrow Sea and well on their way to the Triarchy and safety.

Ironically enough, despite receiving confirmation of the Targaryen plans to attack by the next morning, the entire family considered it good news. And that was because the Targaryens had made a crucial mistake, one that would cost them the war.

Despite having such a dominating advantage in Blackwater Bay and the chance to crush half of their family in an instant, the Targaryens had opted against a full assault on Driftmark with their whole force. As Viserra had noted earlier, such an assault would have forced her and her squadron to make a difficult choice and no matter what choice they made, it would have been complete chaos in the aftermath, with little way for their house to predict what would happen next.

Fortunately for them however, it seemed that the capture of their spy might have been a hidden blessing in disguise, one that had provoked the Targaryens into starting the war before they were truly ready and had egged them on to divide up their forces to try and end the war quickly to minimize the damage to their fiefs and the threat of assassination against their family.

The war would be quick alright. Just not in the way the Targaryens hoped it would be. The Targaryens dividing up their dragons was something they had been anticipating and preparing for years and with the confirmation that they were indeed dividing up their dragons and with the exact locations confirmed finally, they could rest somewhat easy in the familiarity of their long prepared and practiced plans.

They had already scryed the deploying Targaryens over the glass candles, tracking their movements. The two Viserys’s and Rhaenyra had reached Storm’s End an hour before sunset and Aegon, Daemon, and Jaehaerys were expected to reach Summerhall at around nine or ten o’clock at night.

As soon as Aegon, Daemon, and Jaehaerys reached Summerhall, Lucerys, Daeron and the others would coordinate their departure from High Tide with the departure of Jacaerys and his squadron from Tyrosh. They would converge on Storm’s End in the night and kill the three Targaryens there, eleven dragons against three, before flying south to do the same to the three Targaryens in Summerhall. With any luck, they could catch the Targaryens by surprise with a blitz attack in the night or overwhelm them with sheer numbers, taking no casualties in the process against the exhausted and tired Targaryens.

Corlys had always insisted that the Targaryens would divide up their dragons and spread them out to protect and command fiefs, fleets, and armies, and he had been proven right it seemed. It reminded Viserra a little of those strange dreams he had had about that other Dance of Dragons in another world.

But just because the Targaryens had made the decision to split up and allow her family to carry out their long strategized plan for victory did not mean that it would be easy or guaranteed. She had learned long ago to expect the worst. Something could go wrong, the Targaryens might clue in on what they were doing, her children and grandchildren might be exhausted from the incredibly long flights and two consecutive dragon battles, especially the five flying south from Driftmark. Some of them could die.

No plan survived first contact with the enemy Corlys had often said and even if this one did, even if their children and grandchildren successfully destroyed the Targaryens or forced them to terms without a single casualty, even if all their wildest dreams came true and they had their independence recognized with Jacaerys becoming Emperor and building a great empire in Essos, the Stepstones, and the Summer Isles, there was still no future for her or Corlys.

Once they had finished dinner, Viserra sent her sons and grandchildren to bed. They had tried to protest but Viserra had crushed their dissent with all the force of will of a fearsome mother and grandmother. They needed their sleep since they’d be riding through the night. She and Corlys would wake them up when it was time for them to go and until then they’d take turns watching over Ser Jaremy’s fleet, the Targaryens, and communicating with the Triarchy over glass candle.

They still looked hesitant though, looking at her and Corlys as if they’d never see them again and Viserra knew what this was all about. She put on the brightest smile she could. “Go to sleep dears. We’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Reluctantly they obeyed and went to their sparse rooms which had long since been emptied. The only things left in the rooms were the beds themselves and all the necessities that they would be packing on their saddles or wearing when they rode.

The hours went by faster than Viserra knew it, the last hours of her life ticking away rapidly, just like how the last sands of an hourglass fell the fastest. They took turns monitoring the glass candle for any urgent communications from the Triarchy and scrying the progress of Ser Jaremy’s fleet and the Targaryens en route to Dorne. When not on the candle, they would idly roam around the castle, a ball of bloodfire in hand to light the way as they took in every last inch of their beloved home and castle for the last time.

Finally, at half past ten in the night, on Viserra’s shift on the candle, she saw Aegon, Daemon, and Jaehaerys landing at Summerhall in Dorne. Willing the candle to extinguish, she turned to Corlys who was sitting anxiously beside her. “They’ve arrived in Dorne.”

He nodded, getting up to wake up their sons and grandchildren while she went to start saddling and preparing their dragons in the Dragon Den below the castle. Her beloved Dreamfyre greeted her happily as always but Viserra wasn’t saddling her, not yet.

She had finished saddling Jaenara’s Urrax and had just started on saddling Daemon’s Saffyre when he and the others rushed into the Den.

“Don’t overwork yourself Mother,” Luke said before he took over from her and helped Daemon saddle his dragon before saddling his own alongside Baelor and Daeron while Jaenara adjusted her saddle slightly. Each of them was dressed in the gapless Valyrian steel plate armor that had been designed for this war, with the integrated gliding wingsuits and external parachutes that could help save their lives.

They each packed food and any other necessities in their saddle bags and Viserra handed the sea green glass candle she and Corlys had been using to Luke while Daeron kept the other that their squadron had taken from Myr.

Luke took the candle from her gingerly before he looked to her. Corlys stood beside her while Daeron and the others came to Luke’s side. This was the last goodbye and they all knew it.

“You’ve no time to be wasting. Jace called already. He and his squadron have taken off from Tyrosh. You will need to leave now if you want to meet them at Storm’s End in time,” Viserra warned.

“You mean we’ve no time to be wasting,” Luke said defiantly. “I’ve calculated all the travel times in my head. There’s absolutely no reason why you have to stay here and ‘delay’ the Targaryens when our plan calls for us all to attack Storm’s End while it’s still dark and be on the way to intercept Aegon and the others in the Stepstones by sunrise. By the time Rhaenys arrives on Driftmark, we will have won the war in the south and with Dreamfyre at our side our victory would be even more certain!

“Mother, Father, your journey need not end here. I know this is your home but it was Ser Jaremy and the others’ home as well and yet you still sent them away to the Triarchy because our house still needed them. Well our house still needs you. We still need you,” Luke said desperately.

“What would we even do after the war?” Corlys asked, and Viserra knew it was a genuine question. Neither of them had ever been able to imagine it. Deep in their hearts they had known their journey ended right here in High Tide, they would never have been able to accept it any other way.

“Become Emperor and Empress of course!” Luke said passionately. “Jace would yield to you, I know he would! You are our parents, the legendary Sea Snake and Sea Dragon, the founders of our dynasty, of the Zaldilaros Creed. The Triarchy is as much your home as Driftmark is!”

“No Luke. It isn’t,” Viserra answered. “It’s Jace’s, and yours, and the rest of you. Our hearts were never in Tyrosh or the rest of the Triarchy. For decades it has been Jace and the rest of you ruling Tyrosh and then the Triarchy. You are the ones who truly made it into what it is today, not us. We didn’t even take part in the campaigns that created the Triarchy. It’s not ours Luke, it never was.

“You surpassed us long ago, all four of you did. For years and years, you have ruled without us, you don’t need us anymore. And part of growing up is learning how to stand on your own two feet without parents looking over your shoulder. Your father and I, we’re relics of an older time, the last of our generation. All we’ll do if we move to the Triarchy is stifle and frustrate Jace and the rest of you with our outdated ideas and visions. The new House Velaryon needs new leaders, leaders that are not us.”

“Father?” Luke turned to his father desperately but Corlys shook his head.

“The captain goes down with his ship Luke,” Corlys said firmly.

Luke flinched. “I suspected something was wrong when you had the Sea Snake sunk as soon as we got here from Tyrosh, but I didn’t want to believe it. How could you? You promised Jace, you promised all of us!”

“In time, Jace and the others will understand. When he reaches the age I am now and looks back on everything that he has built, his life’s work; how do you think he would feel to imagine being forced to slowly tear it apart, even if it is so it might have a better future elsewhere? What do you imagine he would think if he is compelled to surrender it to the enemies that have plagued him for decades, the very same that had left him with no choice but to tear it down, without even a fight?” Corlys demanded, the anger that he had kept leashed inside for so many years finally revealing itself again.

Decades upon decades’ worth of anger and bitter hatred and grudges with House Targaryen that he had suppressed and put aside for ‘peace’ or ‘wisdom’ or ‘clear mindedness’ could no longer be restrained. He had changed over the years, they both had, but deep down Corlys was still the man who had dared to defy a dragon king and conquer a Free City because he felt slighted. Pride was his fatal flaw; it always had been. Hers as well, perhaps it was why they had always understood each other so well.

“Do you need me to relate that to him?” Luke asked almost mockingly.

“You can if you want to, but I already told him, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

Luke was confused. “How did you…” he said before his eyes widened in realization. “The memoirs.”

Corlys smiled sadly. “Indeed. You cannot sway us from the course we are set on Luke, so please, let us not part in anger,” he pleaded.

Luke couldn’t hold back the tears anymore as he rushed into his father’s arms and held him tightly before sobbing. Daeron and the others started tearing up now and Viserra struggled to control her own emotions.

The candle burned again in Luke’s saddle bag. Jace was calling them, wanting to confirm they had left High Tide. “It’s time for you all to go,” Viserra said, trying to be firm and authoritative.

“We know. But can’t we have just one last moment with you?” Daeron asked, vulnerable and heartbroken.

Viserra felt her own heart break before she tearfully embraced her sons and then her three grandchildren, each in turn. She knew that she was wasting precious time, but if she didn’t do this, she wouldn’t have the strength to stay in High Tide and see it through to the end as she had resolved herself to long ago.

When their farewells ended all too soon, Luke and the others mounted up their dragons. “Don’t worry about the delay,” Luke told them, “I’ll call Jace once we take off, we should still be able to coordinate our attack on Storm’s End without any problems.”

Viserra and her husband nodded. “We have the utmost faith in you all!” she shouted to their son.

Luke looked somber but accepting then. “As we do in you… and the choices you have made all your lives. Farewell to thee Mother, Father,” he said before he turned his dragon around for the exit of the Den. With a fearsome burst of his wings, Morghul took off into the night sky, with Terrax, Aegion, Urrax, and Saffyre right behind his tail.

Viserra had heard once that time passed by swiftly when you wanted it to be slow and slowly when you wanted it be swift. Perhaps it was true. The hours before that last solemn farewell had ticked away without mercy and yet the hours after Luke and the others departed would go by agonizingly slowly. As if time itself wished to leave them in suspense ere the end.

No longer pacing around High Tide and losing themselves in the memories and lacking a glass candle to scry and communicate with, the two of them found themselves with nothing to do but sit at the desk in Corlys’ empty solar, fighting not to fall asleep and waste their last hours in this world as they watched the clock tick so ever slowly.

One might think you’d want as much time as possible before certain death but when one had too much time on their hands, they tended to think too much, and if they allowed themselves to think too much, their resolve would falter. So to distract themselves, they just talked. For hours and hours.

They reminisced about the past, about Driftmark in its glory, the memories that they had shared with Rhaekar, Irina, Aurane, Alys, and all of their other family and friends that they had lost over the long, long years. Perhaps that was the greatest reason why they could not bring themselves to let go of High Tide and abandon it without a fight, even if it was an overly stubborn and proud thing to do and arguably the more unwise decision strategically. The empty husk of Driftmark was all that they had left of those halcyon and long gone days. Truly, the cruelest thing in the world was the passage of time, Viserra thought.

At other times, they would amuse themselves by imagining what Jace would do once he had full rein over their house as Emperor. They imagined him and the rest of the family expanding across Essos, crushing slavery and building a glorious future.

For a few brief moments, Viserra wondered what it might be like to live, to see that future for herself. It would be wonderful she thought, to see all her grandchildren grow up, see Jacaerys become the Emperor that he was born to be, but deep down she knew that she would never forgive herself if she did. She would never be able to accept giving up Driftmark and everything that Rhaekar, Irina, Alys, and Aurane had all lived and died for so easily.

The words they had told Luke rung true. They might be forever remembered as the founders of the House of Zaldilaros Velaryon, but in their hearts they were the last of House Velaryon of Driftmark. One day even the memory of Driftmark would fade away for their descendants as they conquered and ruled Essos, but not for them, never for them. They were the Master and Mistress of Driftmark, and they would not abandon their seat nor let it fall into enemy hands without a fight, without doing every last thing they could to deny their enemies the satisfaction of taking it from them, whole and unmarred.

Yet as the sun began to rise and with it the approach of their end, Viserra felt her resolve waver. By now, her children and grandchildren must have destroyed Storm’s End and slain the Targaryens in it. They should be well on their way to the Stepstones to intercept Aegon, Daemon, and Jaehaerys before they reached Tyrosh. It was too late for them to join them, but it wasn’t too late for them to live.

Despite her own determination, the oath Corlys and her had sworn years ago to see it to the end, she felt herself growing fearful as she came to terms with her own mortality, with her impending and permanent end. It was a death she had willingly chosen for herself, a glorious and proud death, fit for the songs and legends, yet it was a death nonetheless and even dragonlords feared what came after.

“Viserra? Are you well? You look agitated,” Corlys said, always so caring and thoughtful.

She didn’t want to face him, to admit her own cowardice and growing desire to turn back from what they had both agreed on. So she tried to distract them both with a question.

“Do you think we had a good life? That we did everything that we could? That there isn’t anything more that we still could do that we are willingly throwing away?”

Corlys looked thoughtful before he answered. “I don’t think it’s possible to do every single thing imaginable in one lifetime but I don’t think it matters either. Even if we suddenly changed our minds and left for the Triarchy, would that change the emptiness that we both feel having reached the end of our era? I think not. We made this decision because we knew our journey ended here and no matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t imagine and accept a future without Driftmark and without everything and everyone we had known, not in this life at least. We couldn’t accept the idea that the Targaryens might have our life’s work and pay nothing for it.

“I think ultimately we had a meaningful life. We faced so much hardships and endured so much pain but we also enjoyed so much happiness and that joy had so much meaning because we knew the price for which it had been bought. I can’t say I have no regrets, but I think I’ve accepted that we did everything we could. We did what we thought was best the whole time. Sometimes, often even, we made mistakes, so many mistakes, but we learned from them and moved on to do better. Isn’t that what life’s all about?”

“If you put it that way, I guess we really did have a good life. One worth living, and one worth letting end on our own terms,” Viserra said hesitantly.

Corlys looked at her then, his eyes seeing deep into her soul. “Are you frightened my love?”

“Yes. Very much so. Just because you’ve chosen your own death, doesn’t mean that it won’t frighten you,” she admitted at last.

“An understandable sentiment. One I might have related to once… a long, long time ago. But you shouldn’t fear death itself. Death is just another path, one we all must take. And to a well-organized mind, it is but the next great adventure. I would know. I’ve experienced it myself before.”

“What?” Viserra was confused. “When… when was this? Was it the Shivers when you were a boy? Some near-death experience? Did you see something?”

Corlys smiled gently. “Of a sort. Close… but not quite. It’s a bit hard to explain honestly, and it’s been so many years I wonder why I’m even saying it now but I suppose I wish to comfort you my dear. Dying is just like falling asleep and never waking up, a quiet and content peace, a blissful nothingness.”

“That sounds a little frightening, but still… better than I thought. How do you even know this isn’t something you just imagined as a fever dream when you were sick though?”

At that Corlys looked hesitant. “It’s hard to dream up an entire other life. Decades worth of memories and experiences that shaped you and altered you forever. Eventually you have no choice but to conclude that it was true once, that you truly are living again after dying, in another world, another body, another life.”

Viserra was struggling to understand what Corlys was saying now. “What are you talking about? Are you claiming that you lived some other life? Or that you were given the memories of someone else and that made you different? I don’t understand. This sounds like the plot of some storybook I’ve read.”

“I know the book you speak of. I had it written after all. As I had many of the books in our library, even if I didn’t personally write them,” Corlys said. “Rebirth, living again after dying, a new start, a new life, with new memories to make while keeping your first life’s knowledge and experiences to guide you in your second; that is what I experienced in the Shivers, or rather it is what I finally remembered. When I died in my first life, my soul, my memories, the essence of what makes me what I am, was given to the body of one Corlys Velaryon. And when I almost died in the Shivers, those buried memories reawakened in me. I am and always have been Corlys, but I was someone else too once.”

“Why did you never tell me any of this?” Viserra demanded.

Corlys’ smile faded. “I don’t even remember the name I had once. You must understand Viserra, that just as you struggle to remember some things that were decades ago, I am no different. All of this, was almost eighty years ago for me and if you trace it back to my first childhood in that first life, it’s well over a century and a half.”

“A century and a half…”

“It was so very long ago, and I grew so accustomed to keeping it secret, because who would even believe me? And would there be any point except to fill my loved ones with doubt about my true identity and confuse them? I considered telling you many times but I… I feared your reaction. I feared you would not understand. I am and always have been Corlys Velaryon, and that doesn’t change just because I have memories of being someone else as well. I have lived and remember far more of being Corlys Velaryon than that nameless first life, a life that feels almost like a dream I barely remember now.”

“So why tell me now? Why confuse me now and make me doubt now?” Viserra asked.

“I suppose I did not want to die again without telling you my last secret. Especially if it would comfort you, even if just a little.”

“How does this comfort me?” Viserra was confused.

“Because now you have what no one else ever does. Certainty. You know what’s after death, what it’s like, what it feels like. And you know that perhaps there might be something after it as well. A new start, a new life, new memories and experiences.”

Viserra sighed and leaned back into her seat, still struggling to wrap her head around the absurdity of it all.  She wasn’t sure if she truly believed him or thought he had gone mad from the stress of their impending death but she knew that he was trying to comfort her and make her feel better in his own way, and she could never be angry with him for that.

“Your first life… tell me about it? As much as you can,” she said. She wanted to learn as much as she could about this part of her husband she had had never known.

And tell her he did. For the remaining hours they had left, Corlys spoke of a life he barely remembered and what he had done in it. And she understood why he said he had always been the same because the person he described was so similar to the man she fell in love with, a confident and ambitious merchant and sailor, innovative, daring and proud.

When she asked him if he had been married or had children, he hesitated briefly before answering, telling her a little about his first family. She thought that she might be jealous, but instead she found herself only curious. After all, Corlys had always been so much older than her, she had always known that he had likely loved and lost long before he had met her, perhaps even fathered a few bastards in his adventures across the world.

From Corlys’ tale, she began to understand much about him. It was not that he had hidden any part of himself from her but rather learning this one last thing about him had recontextualized and enriched everything else she knew about him. He had been an only child the first time, explaining his inexperience with siblings that had caused his issues with Rhaekar. His previous happy marriage and experience raising children had made him uniquely suited for the task of raising a new family with her.

There wasn’t truly anything to be jealous about. The way Corlys described it, it was just like fond memories from childhood, almost like a dream. The only reason he still remembered so much about it was because he had written down as much of it as he could as soon as he had recovered from the Shivers, those experiences and the knowledge within had aided Corlys greatly in his ambition to elevate House Velaryon to the highest tide he could take it and in that Viserra would say that he had succeeded without a doubt.

 “So, is that everything? Any more world-shattering secrets to drop on me?” Viserra japed.

“Sort of. It’s part of this one I guess. Do you remember the book I gave you about that strange other Dance of the Dragons?”

“Where are you going with this?”

“Those weren’t dreams. The information within was too important for me not to give to you all but I couldn’t figure out how to explain all of this so I just said they were.”

“What are they really then?” Viserra wasn’t sure anything could surprise her anymore but she would be surprised.

“It was this world, or a version of it,” Corlys said, shocking her completely.

As he explained, she realized why he had never told her or anyone else before. It was near impossible to wrap your head around and Viserra could only do it because of the books she had read, which perhaps had been Corlys’ entire intention for having those books written to begin with. According to Corlys, in his first life he had read about and watched the world that they lived in like it was some storybook or mummer’s play. Though he theorized that perhaps the creators had some buried memories or visions of this world because it was far too real to be something purely imaginary and according to him, they had gotten a lot wrong about it.

Yet they had gotten enough right for Corlys to make use of it and change things for their benefit, though he was not always successful in that task. It was strange to imagine that Corlys could have married Rhaenys in another world given how much they despised each other, and she did her best not to dwell on it. Old insecurities she thought she had gotten over long ago might reemerge, but she consoled herself that Corlys marrying Rhaenys hadn’t exactly led to anything good for their house and though he could have still married her and used his future knowledge to shape things to his benefit, he had chosen to pursue her, to marry her, and he had never regretted it. That made Viserra very happy.

Knowing of what her fate was in that other world did not and she was going to pretend she never heard it for the little time she had left in this life. It was absolutely ludicrous, her parents had not exactly been good to her but they wouldn’t have done that… right? She wasn’t sure, she didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Corlys used this other world as proof that their lives had been very meaningful, that their actions, for better or for worse, had changed the world drastically from what he remembered in that storybook. In Viserra’s humble opinion, it was most definitely a change for the better, even if they hadn’t been able to prevent the Dance.

That was her biggest regret, and if she felt that way, she could only imagine how much worse Corlys felt when he had known for so long that it might be coming and all of his attempts to avert it had only ended in failure or made things worse. Yet perhaps it was simply meant to be. Something that needed to happen for the world and their house to move on into the future that Jacaerys envisioned.

“Don’t you want to tell anyone else? I don’t know if they’d believe since it all sounds like a tall tale, but just like those supposed dreams about that other Dance that you wrote in your memoirs, I’m sure that Jace and the others could find something useful in all of this hidden knowledge of yours,” Viserra said.

Corlys smiled. “They already know… or they will.”

For a moment Viserra was confused before she recalled their farewell to Luke. “The last volume. The one you told Jace not to read until after the war.”

“Yes. In the first pages you and I both apologized for staying here in High Tide and explained why in the hopes that he and the rest of our children might understand how we feel one day. We gave them our last farewells, telling them how much we loved and adored them, how much we trusted that they would succeed without us. After that, I wrote a confession of my own, telling them everything that I told you about my first life and more.

“Everything that I could remember, all of the insights and wisdoms that I had because of my knowledge of the other timeline of this world and the first world that I had lived in. So much that I had considered or thought of doing but never had the time or opportunity. All of the history, omens, and warnings that I could think of. I wrote it all in there. The last volume of Corlys the Sea Snake’s memoirs. My last gift to our children. I can only hope that they will understand and appreciate it one day, when the hurt is no longer so raw.”

Viserra held Corlys’ hand. It was her turn to comfort him now. “They will,” she reassured him.

He looked to her hopefully and nodded before letting out a breath he had been holding, relaxing slightly into his seat. They continued holding hands for a while, looking out from the window in the solar. To the south the empty streets and buildings of Spicetown were still intact but the sun rising in the east heralded their doom. There was no turning back for them now.

“You know… I don’t really think you’d lie about something like this, but I still struggle to truly comprehend it. The idea of being born again in a whole new life, with a whole new body to see a whole new world, it’s unimaginable,” Viserra said.

“You need to experience it yourself to truly understand it I think,” Corlys said.

She scoffed skeptically before smiling slightly. “Maybe. But even if I’m reborn, if it’s without you, there wouldn’t be any point in living again anyway,” she told him.

Her husband was stunned by her declaration. His eyes full of love and adoration, he leaned across the table and captured her lips for one last wonderful kiss. His touch had never failed to soothe her soul and she deepened the kiss, their tongues meeting as they tasted each other for the last time. Their hearts beat rapidly in their chests, unable to get enough knowing that they would never have a chance to experience this feeling again.

All too soon, they were forced to break the kiss. Corlys rested his forehead against hers as he caressed her cheek. “It’s time for us to close the chapter.”

At this, Viserra’s mood became bittersweet as she nodded reluctantly. Her resolve had been strengthened but the task ahead still had to be completed. The end could not be put off anymore.

Together, hand in hand, they walked down to the Dragon Den and strapped the saddle onto Dreamfyre with practiced ease, having done it together so many times they didn’t even need to speak to know how to do it together, acting more like two halves of one person than two separate wholes.

Mounting Dreamfyre and strapping herself and Corlys both into the saddle with the chains, Viserra turned back and looked at the Dragon Den one last time, searing the memory of one of Corlys’ very first gifts to her into her mind before they took off. If the people they had been back then had known how it would all end, would they have been content she wondered?

As they soared through the morning sky, Viserra espied Dragonstone in the distance. No doubt the Targaryens had expected them to burn it but with the fortress itself impervious to dragonflame it would have been meaningless. Destroying innocent fishing villages was not something Viserra had wanted to do on her last day in this life and so Dragonstone had been spared.

In the shallows near High Tide and Spicetown, she spotted the still pristine wreckage of the Sea Snake sitting on the white seabed, easily visible through the crystal clear waters. Many years ago at Rhaekar’s funeral, she recalled that Corlys had expressed a desire to be buried in the waters off of High Tide no matter what. Perhaps his wish might still come true.

They were running out of time Viserra knew, but she still wanted to wait a little longer, guiding Dreamfyre over the whole of Driftmark as she and Corlys took in all the sights of their beloved home island for the last time. Even all but completely bereft of people, it was still beautiful and pristine. It hurt her heart a little knowing that they would soon mar its beauty, but she would rather that than let the Targaryens have it untouched.

One day, House Targaryen might restore the island, bring it back to life with new people and new settlements, and Viserra who loved the island of Driftmark itself didn’t truly mind that thought. But the Targaryens would have to rebuild it all from scratch.

They would not have Castle Driftmark where Corlys had grown up, nor would they have Hull where he had built his first fleets; the wildfire would destroy them and hopefully take as many of the Targaryens and their servants with it as it could. Neither would the Targaryens have Spicetown, the city of wealth and splendor that Corlys had built, his life’s work.

And under no circumstances would they have the crown jewel itself, the beautiful and famed High Tide, the castle that she had fallen in love with all those years ago, the home that Corlys and her had made together, their only true home for over forty years together and longer even for him. That they refused.

In the saddle behind her, Corlys pricked his finger with the hidden blade in his ring, with the blood drops soon igniting into a ball of bloodfire as he prepared to symbolically add it into the pyre they were about to create. There was no wildfire in Spicetown or High Tide. Practically because until yesterday both had been populated and symbolically both Corlys and her had agreed long ago that wildfire was too ignoble a way for them to burn.

As Dreamfyre descended upon the empty streets and buildings of Spicetown, Viserra spoke only one word and all the world was bathed in fire.

“Dracarys.”

Azure-aquamarine flames erupted from Dreamfyre’s maw as she set fire to the abandoned city, the column of blue flames was surrounded by the occasional jet and bolt of hers and Corlys’ red bloodfire, and as the buildings and streets burst aflame, they burned yellow and red, even as the blue and red raining down from the sky continued to feed the inferno. They continued their blaze until every inch of the city was afire.

With all of Spicetown burning, they turned their gaze north, to where a pale fortress rested upon a tidal island. High Tide was hers and Corlys’ in a way that it had never been their children’s and all those who had loved it as they had were gone now. It was where Corlys and her had fallen in love, where they had spent their golden years, all their happiness and joy and peace. It was their home, and no matter how much they or their children might have wished it otherwise, neither of them could just abandon it and let the Targaryens have it or its ruins without a fight any more than they could cut off their own arms.

They were the Lord and Lady of High Tide. Let the Targaryens do with its broken and burnt ruins as they wished, all would know that anything they created would only ever be an impostor. High Tide’s legacy would be remembered only in the paintings and books, and perhaps one day its image might rise again in her children’s empire with the schematics they had sent to the Triarchy long ago, but Viserra would not live to see it. Not in this life.

She recalled her dreams of High Tide burning, and she wondered why she had ever thought the Targaryens would be the ones to destroy it. Unless it was destroyed in a battle, Viserra knew the Targaryens and she doubted that they would destroy High Tide. They coveted it rather, and sought to possess it and its beauty for themselves and there was no way Corlys and her would ever let that happen. Over their dead bodies.

She had realized long ago that the dreams hadn’t been a warning, not truly. They had been an instruction, a message, and an oath. It was her destiny to love and destroy High Tide, it always had been, ever since the day she had conquered Tyrosh with Corlys and the dreams had first come to her. Everything had been calling her, leading her to this very moment.

The tide was coming in, rising to fill the shallows and separate the castle from the rest of Driftmark. Corlys and her held hands as Dreamfyre approached the castle, they would do this together. Blood red flames came to life in their free hands and while Viserra could not see it, she knew that Dreamfyre was sparking a flame at the back of her throat. The anticipation grew thicker and heavier as they descended upon High Tide until finally…

“Dracarys!” Corlys and her shouted together as they threw their hands out and cast their bloodfire at the castle. Azure-aquamarine flames poured out of Dreamfyre’s mouth, falling upon the white battlements and silver towers. Silver-green Velaryon banners caught fire and burned into embers as the flames raged all around them. The silver melted off the roofs of the towers even as their bases began to crumble and warp from the heat. It was not long before some of the towers were crumbling off the hill entirely, falling into the rising tide below. The pale fortress burned.

And yet still they did not stop. More thoroughly and more ferociously than with Spicetown, the three of them continued to pour their fire onto the castle from above, intent to reduce it to ash and rubble and deny as much of it as they could to the Targaryens. Remembering her thoughts of the Dragon Den from earlier, Viserra even guided Dreamfyre down to its entrance so they could spread the fire down there as well.

As they burned the castle, memories of her life with Corlys and their family and friends flashed through her mind, forty-four years’ worth since the moment she had first set eyes on the pale fortress. A lifetime ago. It was a bittersweet feeling, it was sad that the castle had to be destroyed and all those memories with it, yet it felt almost liberating to destroy it all herself knowing that she would deny them to the Targaryens who would only corrupt and pervert what had made High Tide beautiful.

When they finally relented, they set Dreamfyre down on a hill further inland, the very same hill that their children and grandchildren had often used to have picnics on or learn how to ride their dragons. They raised the truce banner that had been prepared in advance atop the standard at the summit of the hill. From there they overlooked the east coast of the island and beheld all of the destruction and carnage that they had unleashed upon Spicetown and High Tide.

The fires continued to burn brightly and furiously, and they would rage and consume until naught was left but twisted stone and cracked concrete. At the sight of the destruction, Viserra felt a strange sense of peace, of freedom. In that moment, she thought that she could accept what happened next no matter what, whether she died and would know nothing forevermore or was reborn into a new life and a new start, she cared not. She was content with what she had accomplished in this life, in this world, and she would go to her death with her head held high and her back straight, proud and unyielding.

There was nothing left for her to lose except her life, and dying a worthy death in the defense of her home was a perfect end for her story, Viserra thought as she espied five dragons in the sky bearing from the west. The Targaryens had finally arrived.

____________________________________

Rhaenys

Rhaenys braced herself for the battle ahead. All below her, the island of Driftmark looked deserted and empty. They had been hearing for years that the Velaryons had been moving all of their wealth and people from Driftmark to the Triarchy. Some members of her family had taken that to mean the Velaryons were preparing to declare independence, but they all knew better now. They had been ensuring that there wouldn’t be any collateral damage to worry about when the time came for their attack.

Rhaenys just hoped that they had been able to take them by surprise. She had only five dragons on her side going up against six but admittedly they did have an edge if ever so slight with Vhagar on their side alongside Meleys and Syrax. The main threats on the opposing side were Dreamfyre, Morghul and Shrykos, not the younger three. It would be a hard fight but they would prevail, they had to.

As they came up on the eastern end of Driftmark however, all of them were shocked to see that both High Tide and Spicetown were on fire, the flames burning so hot that they melted and twisted stone and collapsed concrete buildings. Bearing witness to all of the destruction, Rhaenys noticed Dreamfyre and two figures that had to be Viserra and Corlys on a nearby hill overlooking the burning city and castle. The peace banner of the Faith of the Seven was raised on a standard at the summit of the hill beside the dragon, a rainbow-striped flag with seven long tails, on a staff topped by a seven-pointed star.

Rhaenys would not admit it aloud, but it was an imposing picture; Corlys and Viserra with their dragon atop the hill before the very castle that only they could have burned.

She didn’t know where the other five Velaryon dragons or their riders were, but Rhaenys wasn’t taking any chances in case this was yet another Velaryon trick. She ordered Helaena, Aemond, and Visenya to circle the area and hold the perimeter against any sudden surprise attack while Gael and her went down to the supposed truce. She was beginning to suspect where exactly the other five riders had gone but she wanted to confirm her suspicions and perhaps satisfy her ego by confronting her hated aunt and her husband one last time.

Meleys and Syrax landed atop the hill with a loud thud on the ground. Dreamfyre growled aggressively at them but Viserra stayed her dragon. “Calm yourself Dream. We are still under a peace banner after all.”

Rhaenys almost lost her temper in rage then as she remembered why she was here. “Peace? After what you and yours tried to do to our family Viserra? You must be mad! I should kill you where you stand,” she said venomously.

“If that is what you think, why did you even land then?” Corlys asked her.

“Not even denying it then?” She scoffed. “I suppose I wanted to speak with you, one last time before I ended it all. If only so I could rub my victory in your face. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me where the other dragons are?”

The Velaryons smoldered, their silent glares expressing all of their hatred and wrath.

“Thought not,” Rhaenys drawled. “Still, at the very least Dragonstone Castle itself will survive. I can’t say the same about yours though.” She mockingly gestured to the burning ruins in the distance.

“It’s such a shame, I always did like High Tide. It would have had a fine place under my rule. Is your spite and hatred for us so strong that you would destroy your own castle rather than let it fall into our hands?” Rhaenys asked.

“Yes,” Corlys said defiantly. “High Tide was my life’s work, a castle that I built with my own blood, sweat, and tears, a home that we raised our family in and spent the best years of our lives. We would never have let you or anyone else from your accursed family have it Rhaenys. Over our dead bodies.”

“It would be my pleasure to arrange that,” Rhaenys said gleefully.

Before the three of them could say anything more, Gael suddenly interjected. “I just needed to ask you both… was it worth it? All these years of ambitious defiance and malicious plotting to murder your own family, did you get what you wanted from it all in the end? Our houses at war and set to tear each other apart… will it be worth it when our children and grandchildren are dead and broken because of your pride? What will it all mean in the end when our house crushes yours underfoot?” Gael choked out, a part of her still distraught at the thought of killing her eldest daughters and their children.

“Overconfident are we?” Viserra retorted. “Where do you think the other five dragons that were here on Driftmark went?”

“Dragonstone, where else?” Rhaenys mocked. “Are you hoping to stall for time so they can return to save you? I’m sorry to disappoint you dearest aunt, but I think they would be hard pressed to make it past Vhagar.”

At that, a menacing smirk appeared on the faces of both Corlys and Viserra. They were malicious smiles, crowing in triumph and dark glee. “I hear Storm’s End is rather nice this time of year,” Viserra said sickeningly sweetly.

In an instant all the blood drained from Gael’s face as she started to panic, rage filled her spirit and drove out all of her earlier despair. “How dare you?” she demanded as she almost forgot herself and charged at the two traitors.

Rhaenys physically restrained the one aunt she still cared for. “Calm yourself Gael. They’re just trying to rile me up for their own amusement, they know how much I care for Storm’s End. There’s no way that they could possibly know,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as she did her aunt.

It was just a coincidence… wasn’t it? There was no way for the Velaryons to have known where they had deployed their dragons, and even if some of their spies had somehow managed to relate that information to Driftmark from King’s Landing yesterday, the news could not have possibly reached Tyrosh before the five dragons at High Tide had departed for Storm’s End. The Velaryons were not coordinated. Viserys and the others still stood a chance.

“Isn’t there?” Corlys mocked.

“Enough with your poisonous words! The two of you have lived too long,” Rhaenys declared.

“On that much niece, we agree,” Viserra said firmly.

At that Dreamfyre bowed her neck without her aunt even needing to command her, allowing her and Corlys to mount up in her saddle and chain themselves in. Hurriedly, Rhaenys and Gael raced back to their dragons to do the same.

With but a word, Meleys climbed into the sky, with Syrax quick on her tail. Above, Helaena, Aemond, and Visenya prepared to join them. They were five facing one, and with such odds, even the legendary Sea Dragon could be defeated.

As one the five of them began to converge on Dreamfyre when the unexpected happened. Four jets of blood-red fire jetted out of the hands of Corlys and Viserra Velaryon atop Dreamfyre. One of them was inbound for Rhaenys atop her dragon. Instinctively she whipped Meleys on the right side, and as a dragon’s first instinct was to attack not flee, she swerved into a hard right turn, evading the blast of red fire.

“What the fuck was that?” she cursed aloud though she already suspected what it was. It seems that her family’s long suspicion the Velaryons had learned some dark magic from Gogossos was true after all. As she regained her bearing, she checked on the rest of her family.

Like herself, it seemed that Helaena had dodged the blast of red fire entirely while Vhagar had absorbed it almost completely unharmed with her armored underside for her rider Aemond, unable to fully turn out of the way in time. Rhaenys winced when she noticed that one of Syrax’s eyes had been scorched by the red fire however, even with their resistance to fire, the eye was one of the most vulnerable spots in a dragon’s body. She hoped Syrax hadn’t been blinded in that eye, but she wouldn’t be surprised if she had been.

A panicked screech from Vermax sent a chill running down her shoulders as she realized the Velaryon pair had sent out four blasts of red fire, not five. Snapping her head around, what she saw horrified her to the core. Dreamfyre was four times larger than Vermax and it showed. She sank her teeth into the younger dragon’s throat and near effortlessly bit his head clean off even as the claws on her legs opened his guts and the fire poured out from her maw and the hands of her riders, igniting the wings and remains of the newly deceased dragon.

Even as she watched it happen, Rhaenys ordered Meleys to dive for Dreamfyre and Vermax. Somewhere in her mind she knew that there was no saving her granddaughter or her dragon but emotion and panic had taken over Rhaenys’ mind and she urged Meleys faster and harder, to use all of the speed that had once made her famed amongst their family’s dragons. If they couldn’t save Visenya and Vermax, they would avenge them at the very least.

They had to act now, while Corlys and Viserra were too distracted with the murder of her granddaughter to notice their approach, while they still had a chance to kill them and rid the world of their filth once and for all. Meleys was near the size of Dreamfyre, she had the strength and size needed to kill her, everything that poor Vermax and her dear Visenya had so lacked.

Rhaenys’ rage had betrayed her however. Just as they were about to slam into Dreamfyre from above and gain the upper hand in the grapple that would inevitably follow, the blue dragoness snapped her head around and turned to face them with a nimbleness that her size belied. In the following minutes, the Blue Queen and the Red grappled and twisted in the air, biting and clawing desperately as the two evenly matched dragons tried to gain the upper hand.

To Rhaenys’ horror and despair however, the grapple soon turned ill for Meleys as Dreamfyre almost tore her right wing off and her leg claws began tearing through her scales and opening deep gashes in Meleys’ sides and underbelly. The dragons’ two heads clashed as they wrestled, each trying to get a safe grip on the other’s neck. Desperate, Rhaenys tried to order Meleys to detach so they could escape and leave Dreamfyre to be finished off by Vhagar and the others who were diving after them as they plummeted to the ground below but soon her world was filled with pain.

She screamed until her voice was hoarse. From the corner of her right eye she saw Corlys and Viserra in the saddle of Dreamfyre, barely in her line of sight with the constant bucking and twisting of the dragons. Their hands were outstretched toward her, full of blood that ignited as soon as it had left their bodies. The source of all her pain.

She tried desperately to escape, to move and shield herself from the fire, but the chains limited how much she could move in her saddle and the pain was debilitating as her skin blackened and burned her armor beginning to melt into her right arm.

Eventually Meleys, sensing her pain and distress, tried raising her wing to grant her some reprieve from the constant stream of red searing fire. Unfortunately, while Meleys’ action had succeeded in shielding her from the Velaryons’ accursed flames, it weakened her position against their dragon. Dreamfyre took advantage of her distraction to dig her claws deeper into her underbelly and latch onto her neck and start biting down hard.

Rhaenys turned her head a little to the left and saw the beach below rapidly approaching. As she struggled to put out the fire burning the right side of her body, a part of Rhaenys thought that the waves rolling onto the white sands of the beach were a welcome sight. There was water in waves after all, water that would save her from this fiery agony. What little remained of her logical and rational mind knew that her end was near. Before she knew it, they hit the ground and her world faded into darkness and in that darkness, Rhaenys found relief from her pain.

When she finally awoke days later, the first thing Rhaenys felt was pain. According to the Maester, she had severe burns all over her body, a broken hip and several broken ribs, and her armor had melted into her right arm, leaving it a mangled and mutilated shadow of its former self that hurt to even look at. Yet despite the agonizing pain, Rhaenys pushed on, demanding to know what had happened in the time that she had been unconscious.

She learned that Corlys, Viserra, and their dragon had survived the impact with the ground with much less severe injures than her or Meleys but they had not enjoyed their victory over them very long. They had barely made it back into the sky when Aemond and the others had descended upon them, tearing Dreamfyre apart. Her body and those of her riders had then fallen into the shallow waters near the Sea Snake's wreckage where they would rot forever.

Knowing her hated enemies had perished while she had miraculously survived should have filled Rhaenys with triumph and glee but it didn't. When she was told about how many had perished that day, that Meleys was slowly dying from her injuries, she screamed. She screamed in grief, from the pain of her gruesome and horrifying injuries, from the agony of feeling her dragon slowly fade away through their bond while she was helpless to help her. She screamed and sobbed, enduring the pain until she was begging for her own end and the Maester forced the milk of the poppy down her throat. In that moment, Rhaenys envied Corlys and Viserra, wishing that she could have died in that fall instead of being forced to live like this. Burnt, broken, and dragonless.

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Author’s Note: Sorry about the delay again as I had technical issues but the chapter is here at long last! So much has been building up to this, so many chapters’ worth of foreshadowing and groundwork leading to this very chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it!

Lmk your thoughts and suggestions in the comments below or in the patron chats over on Discord! https://discord.com/invite/NSEwuzpcWmReminder that this exists. Any of you have the time and knowledge to really make it pop? Please do contribute if so! https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/HighTide