𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑

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The flames crackled and splintered, embers and smoke danced across the vast Hall of Nine of High Tide, illuminating the dimly lit room and its treasuries. The shadows flitted by the many statues that were part of the Seasnake's voyage collections, highlighting the grains and scratches on each artefact caused by time. There was little wind flowing into the room, though it was mostly from the arched windows high above the walls, causing the chandeliers and a sculpture of a Hanging City to sway like the algae when the currents washed by.

The sounds of the distant waves crashing ashore of shingles resounded around the walls; soft and tranquil, just as though the hall was like the massive Nautilus shell next to the Driftwood Throne, carrying the songs of the seas.

As breathtaking as Driftmark's Hall of Nine was in the day with many of the Head of the House Velaryon's prized artefacts gleaming in the sun, it was arguably more beautiful and grand at night. One would even claim the room was even more enchanting yet mysterious when night fell and the candles lit, sending a soft orange glow to spread across the room, further boasting the exquisite traces of Lord Corlys's possessions he had bought, earned and won from his expeditions, besides his title of being the 'Seasnake'.

The hand-painted map depicting the adventures of Corlys fluttered above the curved ceiling along with other silk tapestries, following the waves of the seas; cabochons made from jades and other rare jewels glistened in their settings; hung on the walls were various other ancient weapons and armours, all of which were seized by him during his travels along with many other metal sculptures that were moulded to mirror the appearance of the enemies he had defeated, reminding the Lord of the Driftmark of the formidable opponents he once fought and won against.

Skeletals of beasts were also displayed around the room; some had barnacles and dried corals covering them while others had gems set in their eye sockets and cavities. Each time the moonlight shone down, the polished cuts of the gemstones would sparkle dazzlingly, bringing the deceased slayed monsters to life for a few seconds.

The fabled Lord of the Tides gazed at the flames before his eyes, finding himself lost in the reminiscence of his past. Being drawn to the fire, he began to imagine the glowing wisps of light forming into a sailor as he retold his tales.

The origins of House Velaryon reach back to the days of Old Valyria, some would even regard the family to be older than House Targaryen who ruled the seven kingdoms of Westeros. Despite not being dragonlords like the Targaryens who ruled the skies and realm, the Velaryons ruled the seas and commanded half of the kingdom's naval fleet.

For centuries, House Velaryon had paved its way up by its own strength; scratching an existence from the sea with grit and luck, digging out of the murky depths of the with its own hands.

"When I ascended the Driftwood Throne, I knew exactly what I wanted. So, I went out and seized it," Lord Corlys said with eager determination, the feeling still raw in his heart as if it were only yesterday he started sailing across the seas of the kingdom in search of what he desired. His hands grasping on his seat's armrests, and his fingers trailed over every little carving on the wooden chair.

"Unlike every other lord of the realm, I can say that I built my house's high seat with the strength of my own back," he added, casually glancing around the grandeur vanity. His eyes laid on every relic displayed around; the mementoes of his achievements before he drew his attention back to meet with the fire—

"I've always thought of you and I as having been made from the same cloth," Corlys stated as his gaze landed on the man sitting adjacent to him who was like the flames before him, raging and untameable.

His hair was silver like the Lord of Driftmark, silky and smooth like melted moonlight, and the colour of his eyes was in a similar shade of purple, albeit more saturated, for both men were of Valyrain descendants. However, unlike Corlys Velaryon, the man was of royal blood.

"I wasn't aware you had a king for a brother," the man commented. His voice was husky and a dark glint darted by his eyes as a humoured grin skulked past his lips. The man was none other than King Viserys's younger brother; the second son of Prince Baelon Targaryen and Princess Alyssa Targaryen; the fierce and unpredictable Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Corlys dismissed the prince's remark and simpered bitterly. "We're both men who have had to cut our own way through the world. We've been passed over too often," he said with a tinge of understanding, one he was certain that Daemon empathised with.

Being the younger sibling of the man chosen to be King meant that no matter what he did or said, he would forever remain seen and deemed as the second son, a spare and a shadow. Which too, results in being robbed of countless opportunities to demonstrate his worth.

Daemon's lips curled and he tipped his head to one side. "Did you call me to Driftmark to remind me of my low standing, Lord Corlys, or was there some other reason?" he questioned, sensing there was more to the Velaryon Head than mere talks of compassion. The Seasnake was not someone who would normally speak and share his youthful memories with anyone, and he would certainly only demand an audience with him with an intention.

Corlys studied Daemon for a second, pondering on the man before speaking more plainly. There was no use trying to impress the prince given that many in the realm had done so to him. Moreover, he no longer wanted to beat around the bush because the matter was important and he was desperate for Daemon's help. "You've heard of the troubles in the Stepstones?"

"Some Myrish Prince is feeding Westerosi sailors to the crabs?" Daemon replied and Corlys nodded. When Daemon remained silent, he took his cue to go on explaining the situation in the Stepstones and how the King had been lukewarm to the impending threats despite him bringing up the topic multiple times.

For weeks, Corlys had even petitioned King Viserys to send the House Velaryon's navy into the territory in hopes of diffusing the severity but to no avail. The King had only ever denied him.

"It was never my brother's strongest trait," Daemon said with a faint sneer, predicting the King's response. If anything, he expected no less from his older brother. Although Viserys was a peaceful King whose reign was calm and pleasant, he often struggled to make hard decisions when a problem arose in his way. The King neither waged war nor conquered lands, nor had he suffered any great defeat besides his dear wife, the late Queen Aemma, who had recently succumbed to her death after birthing complications.

It was rare for Kings to not have any war during their rulings, thus it was a strength many considered in the realm. However, in Daemon's view, he believed that Viserys's lack of firm decisiveness was a flaw that might lead to his eventual downfall.

The prince rose to full height and swirled the wine in his goblet, snickering to himself as he wandered to the fireplace.

"What?" Corlys furrowed a brow at his words, following his vision of Daemon as he walked fearlessly closer to the spitting flames. Even while standing in such proximity to the fire, Daemon did not recoil from the heat that might have burned him. He was the dragon, and fire could not hurt him.

"Being King," he answered as his purple eyes focused on the whirling flames, entranced by the nature of the element before his gaze lifted to the glass ornament displayed above the mantle. An intrigued spark flashed before Daemon's eyes when he saw the unusual artefact. It was so small and barely noticeable in the room full of large and much finer relics but he could not contain his curiosity when he spotted it.

Unable to keep his hands from it, the Targaryen prince picked it up to admire it up close. It was a crystal orb that was nearly as big as his palms and encased within it was the most vibrant vermilion piece of scale which seemed to have a hint of dark metallic grey when the light hit at particular angles. More specifically, a scale belonging to a dragon.

A small hum left Daemon's lips, still admiring how brilliant and deep the colour of the scale was. It was even redder than the scales of his dragon, Caraxes. For a moment, he even wondered which dragon it had come from. Undoubtedly, it could not be his, nor his niece's since Rhaenyra's dragon, Syrax, had yellow scales. It was also definitely not Corly's son, Laenor Velaryon's mount, Seasmoke, who was a silver-grey dragon. Although there was a possibility that it could be the Seasnsake's wife's dragon, Meleys's scales were more of a browner red.

The Velaryon Lord stiffened as Daemon held the glass ornament in his hand and stirred uncomfortably in his seat, his posture straightening immediately when he realized he had forgotten to keep the 'gift' away from sight. He swallowed hard and played a fool to the prince's actions, keeping his emotions intact.

Corlys cleared his throat loudly on purpose and went on "The Crabfeeder is backed by powerful entities within the Free Cities who wish to see Westeros weakened. And the King's failures have allowed him to accumulate strength," he relayed the dire situation, tearing Daemon's attention away from the insignificant prize. His rage of unjust was causing his voice to increase louder and his fingers to rub against one another in a state of apprehension and uneasiness.

He huffed as his mind slowly churned with trepidation. "If those shipping lanes fall, my house... Will be crippled." Corlys shook his head in denial, unwilling to allow his house to fall apart like a feeble sandcastle. "And I will not have Driftmark beggared while our King idles himself with feasts— And balls— and tourneys!" he bellowed, slamming a fist on the wooden armrest. His blood was boiling again at the thought of the King's news of remarriage, let alone the betrayal he felt when Viserys chose another woman instead of his daughter to wed.

The prince's eyes narrowed into slits at the Seasnake, warning him to choose the use of his words wisely. He set the ornament down and spoke through gritted teeth. "I will speak of my brother as I wish," he said with a lowered voice. "You will not."

Corlys took a deep breath to recompose himself before carrying on. "Waiting in the Stepstones is a chance for you to prove your worth to any who might yet doubt it. We are the realm's second sons, Daemon," he said, leaning forward towards the prince. The flames in the fireplace reflected in his eyes, matching the igniting passion within him. "Our worth is not given— It must be made."

Daemon remained wordless as his brows knitted while he contemplated long and hard on the proposal. The Seasnake was right, this was an opportunity for him to show his brother who had only ever tried to send him away to the Vale, to the City Watch, anywhere but by his side. If he could successfully destroy the Crabfeeder and its armies, maybe Viserys would acknowledge him as someone capable of dealing with the tainted parts of the realm like his sly Hand, Otto Hightower.

After careful consideration, Daemon decided at long last. "Very well," he said in agreement, expressing his wishes in aiding Corlys to vanquish the enemies of Westeros. The two men toasted with their goblets in hand to their two houses, their shared cause and victory. They clinked their drinks and took a sip of the amber wine, filling their throats with the burning sensation of the strong alcohol as they continued conversing about other nonchalant matters. Corlys even brought the prince around the Hall of Nine to show him some other rare findings he had collected, all to navigate his obsession with the small glass orb of dragon scale away.

As the night deepened, Corlys allowed Daemon permission to explore the room by himself while he took the chance to stash away the ornamental gift. It was only after he did that a strange series of knocks interrupted him.

Corlys, who was nearer to the door turned to it while Daemon, who was on the lower floor was too busy admiring the Snake Orrey that was near the Driftwood Throne to care who was intruding on their evening. It was probably some servant or maid, he thought to himself, returning to being impressed by the ancient artefacts displayed about the space.

"What is it?" the Velaryon lord queried, spotting a familiar face peeking from the cracks.

"Father?" A melodious and silvery voice called out behind the heavy doors. A lock of silver braid cascaded from the gaps and eyes as purple and blue as a sapphire spotted Daemon through the gaps of the carved marble stairway. His back facing her, thankfully.

The young lady blinked away in fluster instantly and adverted her eyes down to the floor, though it was not one out of fear but panic. Her hair shadowed her avoided eye contact with the prince and she squeezed her lids tight and balled her fist, cursing in her own head.

"My lord," she quickly corrected, changing the tone in her voice to one of timidness like a servant's. "I apologize for my intrusion. I was not aware you were occupied with an audience."

Corlys tendered at the young woman, he glanced back at Daemon who was oblivious to the new person. "Have the guards not informed you that I was busy?" he asked quietly.

A meek grin snuck upon the girl's features as she spoke in an even softer voice. "Oh, they did but I ignored them," she whispered sheepishly. "I could not find sleep because I was wondering about the matter you spoke of earlier and my curiosity had gotten the best of me. I thought it would be best to come and see what you have thought of it..."

The older Velaryon man sighed and he placed a hand over his head. "I promised to give you my word in the morning, didn't I?" he stated and she frowned, having a wrong conception of his feelings. However, Corlys did not mean to reprimand her. "What of the guards?" he asked, looking over her shoulder to his soldiers who were outside.

"They're having a short nap as we speak."

Or in other words— She knocked them out. That nimble skill of hers was terrifying him each day and even though it made him proud, he was still worried. For someone who was kept in the dark pretty much her whole life, he had to admit that she had a forte in stealth and fighting, just like his wife...

"I'm still busy deliberating about it, child... Mayhaps later when I am done with my guest, I shall—"

"Who is this?" Daemon interjected, startling Corlys with his stealthiness. Just a moment ago, he could have sworn the prince was still busy glimpsing the treasures yet when did he come up the flight of stairs so quickly?

Corlys stepped forward, almost blocking the mysterious girl behind the door from the prince. However, Daemon had already seen her and it was useless trying to hide her from him. His interest had already been piqued by the young lady whom he hadn't met once during his time here and the sight of her silver hair and purplish-blue eyes reminded him of a certain niece he adored in King's Landing.

The lady before him seemed slightly older than Rhaenyra despite her petite frame. She was six and ten, having just become a woman of age. She wore a plain simple flowy dress, void of much jewellery except a single pearl pendant that was not something any mere servant or slave would have. Even so, there was an indescribable beauty that she exuded along with the captivating aura that was similar to a mermaid's.

How odd, Daemon thought to himself. He was not aware there was another beautiful maiden at Driftmark and he was confident that the Seasnake only had two children: Laenor and Laena Velaryon.

So who was this new lady who had similar traits?

Corlys's lips flattened and he exhaled out of his nose. Considering that Daemon would soon be settling in his home while they plan for their expedition and war in the Stepstones, it was going to be difficult to keep the secret from him. Moreover, it would only be a matter of time before her existence was made known too. Concealing her from the prince would be unwise too, especially since the King and the princess already knew who she was.

He gestured for the silver-haired girl to come closer and she did as she was told, allowing herself to step into the warm room, into the light. "The identity of this girl is still very much obscured from the world," Corlys said and Daemon peered over to her. "She is my stepdaughter that I have adopted. Rhaenys's— child," he revealed, biting down the urge to add the word 'bastard' in between his wife's name.

Because it was true. She was a bastard child whom his wife brought just several years ago. The father of the girl was presumably a bastard Targaryen, who according to Rhaenys had died in some battle. Therefore, the young girl knew nothing of her birth father besides her mother.

Daemon hummed in amusement, he trailed to the young lady who stared back at him with big inquisitive eyes that did not avoid looking at him. Her demeanour took a complete change after Corlys had presented her, and gone was her former coyness.

Her lips curled into a smile and she lowered herself to a small curtsy. "What an honour it is to meet your acquaintance, Your Grace," she said. Her form was graceful and perfect; the times she had practised every night without fail so she would not humiliate her parents when they introduced her were finally showing through her. Even the way she spoke was so eloquent that one would mistake her to be someone of a noble standing.

Though she was— Partially.

"I've heard many stories of you," she added, matching the smirk on Daemon's face as she recollected the tales of the Rogue Prince. Laenor and some other close confidants of his often shared them with her and Laena. Many of the stories she heard had interested her greatly, however, they entertained her more.

Daemon chortled at his popularity and he accepted the compliments. He did wonder which stories she had heard of him but decided not to ask. He could only guess. "The honour is mine, Lady..." he trailed off, realizing he hadn't gotten her name yet.

The father and daughter duo exchanged looks, the latter appearing hesitant to reveal her name. It was rare to be given such chances after all since she was always kept in the dark, being no one. Corlys shot her an encouraging smile and blinked at her, granting her the option of saying it herself.

Although the young lady was a secret member of House Velaryon, she was by every blood and right—

A Targaryen too.

Nevertheless, she respected her mother's husband who so kindly took her in and treated her as if she was his true-born daughter. Although Corlys could have rejected and cast her out and pretended she never existed like most would do in the realm for a bastard child, he did not. Corlys raised her like a father and showered her with genuine love and affection, as did her step-siblings. And she was grateful for that, even going to the lengths of bestowing her the family name.

Because history only remembers names, not blood.

The young lady spun her heels to the prince and reintroduced herself. The fire flickered in her strangely alluring jewelled eyes as she lifted her gaze to meet Daemon's. "It's Maevys, Your Grace—"

"Maevys Velaryon."

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