Pre-Chapter A/N: Here we go with another chapter. Here on time! Next four chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio.
Raising drakes was terrible work. Tedious, draining, and thankless. Because the drakes surely weren't going to thank me for it, and neither were my children. In the latter case, it was more due to them not being able to speak to be fair.
"No," I snapped in Valyrian when Romulus' dragon tried to encroach on the basket where I kept the meat I was feeding them.
"Burn that first." I gestured to the small wooden block in front of him.
Four dragons at a time was a nightmare. Made even worse by just how different the dragons were. The Silver Dragon, Caesar's, was the fastest growing. They were just weeks out of their eggs and yet he was already beginning to gain noticeable bulk when compared to the other three. But then he was also the best behaved. He was a teacher's pet, was one way of putting it. Probably the best way.
His own wooden block lay charred to ash already. The other two, Alexandria's red and Diana's blue, were thick as thieves. And just as mischievous. They only did what amused them but they could be brought in line with a bribe or a stern talking to. Their blocks were charred.
The last one, Romulus', with his green scales the colour of wildfire, was different. He was not mischievous. He was just a bastard, simple and short. He didn't do it because it amused him. He did it because he knew it would annoy you. He had ripped Romulus' swaddling clothes and blankets more times than I could count. Had come close to setting the room on fire once and now just sat there looking at the block with a stubborn set of his head. He could use his fire at will, I knew. The charred bricks on the left corner of our bedroom stood as a testament to that fact. He just refused to.
"If you don't burn the block, none of you are getting anything," I said, trying to get the others to impose their will on him. Bullying for a good cause, if you would.
But that had no effect whatsoever. The others chirped at him, but whatever they said only served to make him more resolute in not burning the block. Just perfect.
Then Alexandria's red one said something, and green was off. It happened so quickly that I could not quite believe it. One second all four dragons were crouched before their blocks, or the ashes of said blocks in most cases, and the next, both Diana's and Caesar's were moving out of the way for Romulus' and Alexandria's to brawl. Romulus' dragon was just a bit smaller than the other two, and more than a bit smaller than Caesar's, but that did nothing to temper his ferocity.
He hit her with all the force he could carry in that small form, hopping more than flying across the distance and forcing his opponent to spin with the force of his charge. They hissed and began to claw and bite at each other along the ground.
"Enough. Stop this now," I screamed, rage taking me once the surprise was gone. They listened nought, continuing to fight amongst themselves. Enough. I rose and marched over to them, not caring for what their claws or teeth could do to me.
I reached down with both hands, grabbing one with either hand and then prying them from each other. They howled their protests and tried to continue their fight, but I would not be denied.
"You. You do not fight," I hissed in clipped Valyrian. They had come out of their eggs understanding the language and I had allowed that to lull me into a false sense of confidence when it came to their reasoning ability. These rascals had not one ounce of good sense between them.
"You don't want to burn your block, yes. Then stay with it," I said, and hurled the green dragon at his block. I would have to name them sooner or later, I feared. Just using colours with them would not work for long. If it was just in my head, then maybe, but they would need something to answer to when I gave them orders. What Mother had done with Igneel could not work for four different dragons. It was just impossible.
"As for you, there was no excuse to cross a line with your brother. He might be stubborn, but he is your brother. You are all family. We are all family. And family sticks together," I said, dropping her back. Green, bastard that he was, still did not burn the block. I could not starve them all for his stubbornness but feeding them without him felt cruel.
'Dragons are not horses or dogs, Laenor. They are strong, savage beasts. And however cruel you think you can be, they are crueller by default. If you want to show that dragon that you are the one in charge, then you must stick by your word. No obedience, no food. This is the only time you will be able to enforce discipline like this. I have seen wild dragons allowed to keep too much of their wildness into adolescence. And I have seen many of them put down by older dragons. If you want this one to survive, then you must be strong now,' Aurion said, uncharacteristically helpful.
"Thank you," I muttered.
He was right. I had to be stern here, but I also had to be careful to avoid creating a dynamic where I unified three of them at the expense of the fourth. All of them needed to see each other as one family. Dragons lived much longer than humans did, and it was my job to ensure that even when I was gone, the thought of my house's dragons turning on each other would be beyond considering. Igneel would be bigger and stronger than everyone and would serve the role of peacemaker when I no longer could, but I had to make his work easier. And even Balerion had died after centuries. When Igneel was gone, these dragons would remain and they would keep the peace and pass the right habits on to the next generation. They had to.
I unsheathed my dagger and began to cut the rabbit I had intended for them to share in pieces. The largest I tossed to Caesar's who had succeeded first.
Smaller, but still large bits I tossed at Alexandria's and Diana's. The rest I left in the bag. If Romulus' wanted it then he knew what he had to do first. I watched as the three dragons I'd offered the meat to struggled to properly char it for a bit. Caesar's dragon breathed out as much fire as he could, until he stopped, coughing and struggling for breath before poking his head against the meat that was only burnt on one side sullenly. It was a cute sight. Made even cuter by the struggles of the others.
When they had all tried, I stepped towards them, careful to keep an eye on the bag of meat I was leaving behind. It would be just like Romulus' dragon to go for the prize when he felt my attention was not on him. I knelt before the three of them and stretched out my hand. A flex of my will and that power within me created a flame in my hand. The dragons all drew closer, looking impressed and excited at the same time. I charred Caesar's meat first, burning through it in one go, pointing my hand at it and shooting out my flames like a dragon's breath. I did the same with Diana's and Alexandria's. Only after did I realise that I had fallen to calling the dragons by their riders' names.
It solved the issue of keeping things clear in my head, but teaching them to associate with their riders' names would not end well. I had to give them their own names, and while it felt like taking something special from my children, I would be giving them well trained dragons in exchange. They would thank me for it. Besides, it was not like children could be trusted to name things either way. By the time they would be able to give good names, the dragons would be well past that point already.
I considered waiting for Laena to debate names, but she didn't have much interest in the dragons to be honest. She'd probably just ask me to handle it either way.
There were two traditions for dragon names in Westeros. There were the old Valyrian names like Syrax, Meleys, Vhagar, Caraxes, and so on. The Conqueror and his siblings had ridden dragons named for Valyrian gods, and that had sent a message. The second, more modern tradition was to give them names in Westerosi common. Names like Quicksilver, Sunfyre, Silverwing, and in another world, Seasmoke came to mind.
For my children's dragons, the options were limitless.
I could take words in High Valyrian and turn them into names, or even just come up with a name using Valyrian sounds, but carefully enough to ensure that it didn't actually mean anything in the language. That was what was done with Caraxes, after all. Even my dragon, Igneel, played on much the same principles. The name was Valyrian sounding enough to those who did not speak the language.
But the names in Westerosi common gained something in legibility that the Valyrian names lacked. There was a legibility to Sunfyre that Caraxes just could not match. Was that a good thing though? Dragons were not supposed to be legible or approachable to the masses. The Valyrian names came with a weight that could not be compared, so I looked at the dragons and contemplated naming them.
But everything I came up with in Valyrian just did not fit. Options like Aegar, Rhagar, Gelythor, and Garaxes flashed through my mind when I looked at Caesar's dragon but none of them just stuck. They did not feel right, and that made all the difference. A traitorous part of my mind whispered Ghostfyre, and no matter how much I tried to get it out of it and pick something else, it just did not work.
Ghostfyre was a perfect name, and looking at all the others, the names came just as easily. Seafyre for Diana's, Dawnfyre for Alexandria's, and for Romulus', the green dragon that still now stared at me sullenly with no intention of listening, the only name that made sense was Wildfyre. Let's just keep fingers crossed that that didn't turn out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, but this dragon was already a little shit even before getting a name so it wasn't like there was much space for his behaviours to get worse towards.
"My Lord," Parvella said from the door. I looked up to find her waiting, a small stack of papers in her hands. Urgent things for me to handle perhaps. That explained her presence here at least.
It was not often that Parvella came towards the rooms that Laena and I called ours, but when she did, it was always for a good cause.
"More loans for me to approve?" I asked.
"Only a few. The rest can wait for your full attention. What can not wait, however, are the requests from the Merchants," she said.
"What do they want now?"
"Someone from your Uncle's crew has a big mouth and has let loose far too much about the proceeds of his voyage. We are receiving bidding requests from both the merchants that call Bloodstone home, and the ones who make port here often enough. They all want to act as House Velaryon's intermediaries for the sales that are about to happen, and with your cousins making constant visits regarding their share of the proceeds, I felt that it could not wait," she said.
"So most of those are merchants offering to make the sales for us, yes?" I asked.
"Yes. I understand that your father had similar arrangements with the merchants of Driftmark whenever he returned from one of his voyages," she said.
"Well, good thing I am not my father. Find out the going market rates of all the things my Uncle returned with. The Bank will buy it all at a 5% premium. As agreed earlier, House Velaryon will keep 50% of the proceeds, my Uncle will have the remaining 50% to share with his captains and crews as he sees fit. Give them their gold. The Bank will handle sales. We will do it slowly and sensibly, so as not to disturb the market and end up making less than..." I froze as Wildfyre seemed to decide that I was not paying enough attention and jumped for the bag of meat.
"Wildfyre, daor," I snarled before reaching down and catching him by the neck before he could rip the bag open.
XXXXX- THE KING
Viserys knew he was not his Grandfather. No matter what the Bards sang, or what his courtiers told him, he knew he was not even half the King that the Conciliator had been. Jaehaerys Targaryen, first of his name, was born to rule. He was born to make the kind of hard decisions that a King had to. Viserys never had the stomach for it, and he had never deceived himself otherwise. He had done as his Grandfather would have only once in his life, and he regretted it to this day.
Faced with a choice between his wife, and the realm's need for an heir to the throne, he had chosen the realm. And he had lost everything for it. It reminded him that no matter what men said about his Grandfather, Viserys knew better. He had seen it with his own eyes. His Grandfather had been an unhappy man. By the time he was on his deathbed, most of his children were already dead, but those who still lived had no wish to see him. Vaegon had escaped to the Citadel and did not even bother to make the journey to spend the man's last days with him, and Saera, the one he called for in his weakest moments, remained in Volantis, aware of his coming death, but uncaring.
Jaehaerys had been a great King, but a terrible father. Viserys was resolute not to make those same mistakes, but that came with the risk of making his own mistakes. One of those mistakes was staring at him now, he realised.
"...to gift that grasping overly ambitious snake of a man with a Queen for a daughter would be foolish, Father, it would..." he zoned out again as Rhaenyra kept going on with the rant. He had never called his daughter to order. He allowed her free rein to make her own decisions and mistakes because she would one day be Queen in her own right, but it seemed that doing so had made her shortsighted. Because what other word could he use to describe her apparent unwillingness to make the match that any idiot could see was the right one?
Baelon would need a Queen. House Hightower, and with them the Reach, were brought into the fold thanks to his marriage to Alicent and Otto's position as Hand, House Lannister and the Westerlands were in the fold because of Rhaenyra's choice of husband. A dynasty could be built on this backing. Adding the wealthiest man in the Seven Kingdoms to the alliance by making a Queen of his daughter was just common sense.
The claim that they held through Rhaenys was still a threat. Viserys would never forget just how close that Great Council had come to placing the crown on Laenor's head instead of his own that day. That kind of support just did not disappear. Otto thought his friendship with Laenor was foolishness, but to Viserys, it was more than just about being family. It was also about keeping the greatest threat to his daughter's reign in check, and now given the opportunity to end the threat once and for all, she would rather reject it.
Viserys knew what Jaehaerys would do in this situation. He would tell her she had no choice in the matter and that she would either accept it or cease to be his heir. He knew Rhaenyra, knew just how much she wanted his throne. She would yield to his will if he pushed for it. But she would resent him even as she did so. And if she resented him, would she come when he withered in a bed like his Grandfather had?
Would he call for her all through the nights while some other young maid read to him? Would he mistake some courtier's daughter for his own in his last moments because she would not be there? And with that possibility on his mind, he knew he would not push.
A great King would push and get his will, but Viserys had never once cared about being a great King. The one time he chose the realm, he had near broken for it. His heart was still yet to recover. He would yearn for his Aemma until the day he died and joined her. His last reminder of her would not be estranged from him. Not if he could do anything about it.
"Your points are noted, Rhaenyra," he said when he realised that she had finished speaking.
"And? You must heed me in this, Father."
"Baelon is your son. You have the final say in his future betrothal. It was an opportunity I wanted to bring to your attention, but if you are not interested, then it will not be," he said, watching her exhale in relief, the tension bleeding from her body. With child as she was, she had no business being so tense. He looked at her now, and tried not to see Aemma as she had been in those their last weeks, heavy with child but radiant and beautiful as ever.
"Thank you, Father. Thank you."
"Anything for you, Rhaenyra," he said, and she rose to plant a kiss on his cheek before turning to leave.
"Would you stay for dinner, my dear? It has been so long," he said.
She turned, looking so much like Aemma then that he barely managed to bury his flinch.
"Of course, Father," she said, and he had no choice but to mirror her smile.
Jaehaerys might have been ten times the King Viserys was, but he would be eating with his daughter tonight, and he found that faced with that, he did not care.
A/N: Felt like we were due a Viserys POV. While marrying Laenor to both sides of the conflict would be fun, I just could not see a world where Rhaenyra agreed. And I could not imagine a Viserys who had watched her birth bastard after bastard in canon and done nothing about it forcing her to agree to the match. Discount on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) for those interested (should be expired by Saturday so do hurry up if you are). Next chapter comes on here on Wednesday night/Thursday morning (depending on your timezone). Next four chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) (same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.