The Son of Ice and Fire: Lost in Time pt.9

Maekar stood on one of the balconies of High Tide, his gaze fixed on the bustling docks below. The ships from Dragon's Bay were docking, their dark hulls cutting through the water as they anchored. He could see people gathering—the smallfolk of Driftmark drawn to the sight of the unusual ships, each one designed similarly to an 18th-century frigate from Earth.

He watched his soldiers disembark from the ships. Their silver armor gleamed in the late morning sunlight, polished to a mirror shine, their cloaks draped neatly over their shoulders. He had commanded them to sail to Driftmark shortly after he left with Daemon from Dragon's Bay.

What kind of Emperor or Dragonlord would he be without a proper entourage?

Maekar turned away from the balcony, walking back through the corridors of High Tide. He made his way to the walls to wait for them to arrive so he could have them settled.

As he arrived outside, he saw Corlys standing on the walls, looking out at the scene below. Corlys turned his head slightly as Maekar approached, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Those are some impressive ships, my lord," Corlys said, nodding toward the docks, his eyes alight with curiosity.

Maekar came to stand beside him, his eyes following the path of the ships. "Yes, they are," he agreed, a hint of a smile on his lips. "I designed them myself—by making some improvements to the old Valyrian ships."

Corlys looked at him, intrigued. "I've never seen or heard of Valyrian ships like those," he said thoughtfully.

Maekar nodded, his gaze still on the docks. "Certain families had their secrets," he said, his tone almost nonchalant. "We did not all get along well, even back in Valyria, Corlys."

Corlys gave a nod of understanding, though Maekar could see the calculating look in his eyes. Corlys wanted those ship designs, and he wouldn't be subtle about it.

Maekar decided to cut to the chase. He turned to look at Corlys, a small smile on his lips. "I can give you the designs, Corlys," he said evenly. "We are to be family, after all."

Corlys looked at him, his eyes widening slightly, surprise flickering across his face. "You would share them?" he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

Maekar inclined his head. "Valyria is long gone," he said. "There's no point in hoarding old secrets—not when they can be used to build something greater."

Corlys paused, then a smile spread across his face, genuine and filled with excitement. "Thank you, Maekar," he said appreciatively. "This... this could change everything. The Velaryon fleet has always been the pride of Westeros, but with these designs..."

Maekar smiled, his gaze shifting back to the soldiers as they began to march toward High Tide. "It already has, in Dragon's Bay," he said, amused.

Corlys left to ensure his men were properly settled; they were to camp near the castle.

Maekar stood alone on the wall, his gaze following his soldiers as they marched, their armor shining in the sunlight, their movements precise and orderly. He chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head.

I really should write down all the stuff I'm making up about Valyria, he thought, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

After his men arrived and he made sure their accommodations were settled, Maekar found himself spending time with Laena and Laenor.

He was enjoying his stay here, even though most of the time his mind was occupied with plotting.

Still, time passed quickly when he was with Laena. Since their betrothal had been announced, they had grown closer, rarely keeping their hands off each other when they were alone. He hadn't expected such passion between them, but he welcomed it all the same.

Laenor was someone Maekar had also come to like. They would spar often in the courtyard. Afterward, they would drink together, sometimes talking late into the night. Laenor had once even confessed how much he dreaded his father's plans to marry him to Rhaenyra.

That brought Maekar's mind back to Rhaenyra. She was, after all, the key to the Seven Kingdoms. The Iron Throne—his ultimate goal—could only be reached through her. He would need to tread carefully; Laena complicated things, yes, but perhaps it wouldn't be like Rhaenys and Daenerys, who did not like each other, which added to his headaches during the War for the Dawn.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Laena's laughter. She was teasing Laenor.

"Tell me, what is the royal family truly like?" he asked, interrupting them.

Laena tilted her head, her eyes twinkling with thought. "Well, King Viserys is a good king," she said. "Though you won't hear my father or mother say that," she added with a wry smile.

She continued, "There was a time, after Queen Aemma died, that I was almost married to the king."

Laenor snorted sarcastically. "One of Father's great plans."

Laena shot her brother a look but then laughed. "At the time, I was excited—imagine that, being queen. But then again, I was only twelve." She shook her head, her expression amused. "I'm glad the king chose Alicent."

Maekar leaned forward slightly, a curious look in his eyes. "What of Princess Rhaenyra, the heir? It's strange that she's still the heir, isn't it? Didn't your mother get passed over for being a woman?"

Laena sighed, nodding. "She did. Many thought the king would name his new son as heir, but he hasn't. It's... strange, to say the least."

Laenor joined in, his tone thoughtful. "Already, there's a rift in court. People are taking sides."

Laena nodded, her expression serious.

Maekar feigned ignorance, raising an eyebrow. "What sides?"

Laena glanced at her brother before looking back at Maekar. "They call it the Greens and the Blacks. It all began two years ago at a tourney. Rhaenyra and Alicent wore black and green, and since then, those colors have become the symbols of the factions supporting them."

Maekar let out a laugh, shaking his head. "It sounds as though it's all headed for disaster."

Laenor nodded, his tone turning dry. "Oh yes, yes it is. And we'll be right in the center of it when I marry the princess."

Maekar wrapped an arm around Laena, pulling her closer, his voice playful. "You're more than welcome in Dragon's Bay, Laenor, if you wish to escape the evil princess you're going to be bound to." He chuckled, giving Laena a teasing grin.

Laenor smiled, playing along. "I might just take you up on that offer, my lord."

Laena rolled her eyes but laughed softly. "I'm excited to see Rhaenyra again," she said, her tone more sincere. "It's been some time since we last saw each other."

Maekar smiled at her words, the thought echoing in his mind—he too was excited to meet the Realm's Delight.

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Rhaenyra stood beside her father on the battlements of the Red Keep, the wind teasing at her hair as she gazed across King's Landing. From this height, she could see almost everything—the bustling streets, the docks, the sea glinting under the midday sun. The city was filled with anticipation; even the murmur of distant crowds reached up to them. Everyone awaited the arrival of the monarch from the east, another dragonrider—a Dragonlord.

Her gaze traveled upward, and then she saw them—three dragons, their majestic forms growing clearer as they flew toward the city from the sea. She recognized each one: Vhagar with her enormous, ancient wings; Seasmoke streaking like a banner of silver; and Meleys—the Red Queen, her scales glowing with a fiery sheen. But then her eyes caught something else—a massive black dragon, larger even than Vhagar.

Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes, feeling her breath catch at the sight of the unfamiliar beast. It was unlike anything she had ever seen.

Was this how Balerion was? she thought.

"That must be him," her father said beside her, his voice carrying a mix of awe and unease. "The Dragonlord."

"It's true," Rhaenyra murmured, her eyes still fixed on the massive dragon.

Her attention shifted to the docks in the distance. Strange ships, unlike any she had seen before, were moored there, and from them men disembarked.

Viserys followed her gaze, his brow furrowed for a moment before he spoke, almost thoughtfully. "A true meeting of monarchs." He paused, then added, "I suppose I will be the first King of the Iron Throne to meet someone who claims to be on par with it."

"He claims to be Emperor, Father; some would say that would be a higher title," Rhaenyra teased.

"Emperor," Viserys echoed, a smile tugging at his lips, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Some say that is a higher title, yes. But I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms—that alone should surpass such titles." He laughed, but Rhaenyra noted the edge in his tone.

The dragons were beginning to descend toward the Dragonpit, the massive structure more than able to contain such beasts.

"I've changed my mind," Viserys said suddenly, his expression shifting as if deciding something monumental. "I will greet the Dragonlord and the Velaryons in the courtyard."

Rhaenyra blinked, turning to look at her father fully.

"But everyone is already gathered in the Great Hall," her former friend and queen interjected.

"Make it so," Viserys replied dismissively, not even turning to look at Alicent. His focus remained on the city.

Rhaenyra couldn't help the small smile that crept across her lips as she watched Alicent grow annoyed. She, along with the Lord Hand, turned and hurried off. It was a rare thing, seeing Alicent thrown off balance.

"Are you coming?" her father asked, turning to leave himself.

She shook her head slowly, her gaze drifting back to the grand sight unfolding below. "No," she said softly. "I want to watch the procession from here."

Viserys gave her a nod, his lips curving into a smile. "Very well. But don't stay too long." With that, he turned, his robes swishing behind him as he descended from the wall, leaving Rhaenyra alone with Criston.

She remained on the battlements, her eyes fixed on the shimmering line of silver-armored men as they marched toward the Red Keep. They moved with perfect coordination, their movements fluid and putting their own guards to shame. They were followed by servants in foreign garments—they looked like men and women from the East, as she had seen described in books.

Criston's voice broke her reverie. "I don't trust this foreigner."

Rhaenyra laughed softly, not turning to face him. "You haven't even met him yet, Ser," she chided, her voice amused.

"I don't need to meet him to know," Criston replied, his voice edged with caution. "He is an outsider. He arrives with dragons and legions of men and has made an alliance with the family your father is currently at odds with. Such a man is not to be easily trusted."

Rhaenyra turned her head slightly, catching his wary expression. For a moment, she considered the sincerity in his words, the concern reflected in his eyes. Then she smiled, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Come, my knight," she said lightly, brushing her hands against the stone railing. "Let us return to Father." With that, she turned and began walking away from the walls, her heart still fluttering with excitement for what was to come.

She arrived at the courtyard to find the entire court assembled, each member carefully positioned according to rank and importance. Rhaenyra quickly walked over to her father's side and stood proudly in the place reserved for the heir to the Iron Throne. To her right, Queen Alicent stood with her children—her half-siblings—a stark contrast against Rhaenyra's black robes in her dress of vibrant green, the colors of their ever-growing divide.

The grand doors swung open with a deep groan, revealing the first wave of the procession. Soldiers clad in gleaming silver armor entered first, their breastplates emblazoned with the sigil of a snarling dragon. Following them were the Velaryon men. Though noble in their own right and fierce mariners to be sure, compared to the silver-armored soldiers, the Velaryon men looked almost like paupers.

And then she saw him—the Dragonlord. He rode alongside Lord Corlys, with Laenor, Laena, and Princess Rhaenys just behind them. The Dragonlord was draped in black armor that seemed to drink in the sunlight. Rhaenyra leaned closer, overhearing the whispers of Ser Westerling beside her, who thought the armor was Valyrian steel.

Her eyes were drawn to Maekar's face. He was handsome—more handsome than any man she had ever laid eyes on. His silver hair was pulled back, catching the light—a mark of his Valyrian heritage. Upon his head rested a crown grander than anything Rhaenyra had seen—even more intricate and regal than her father's—adorned with deep-cut rubies and obsidian that seemed to pulse with a dark fire.

In that moment, any wanton thoughts she had entertained about Ser Criston Cole seemed to evaporate, swept away by the presence of this mysterious conqueror from the east.

The procession came to a halt, and the Dragonlord dismounted. He approached where they stood waiting. All eyes were on them, silence blanketing the courtyard, broken only by the occasional rustle of fabric or clink of armor.

He stopped a few paces away from her father, and then, in a deep, resonant voice, he spoke in High Valyrian. "King of the Sunset Lands," he said, his tone formal but warm, his gaze meeting her father's with respect.

Her father smiled. "Dragonlord of Essos," he greeted back, also in Valyrian. Then, with a chuckle, he added, "Or do you prefer Emperor?"

The Dragonlord's lips quirked upward, a smile that seemed almost playful. "What about friend?" he said, his voice softer in common tongue, a glint of charm in his eyes.

Her father laughed, the sound carrying across the courtyard, breaking the tension that had held everyone in thrall. "Yes, friend it is," he agreed, extending his hand toward the Dragonlord.

Rhaenyra's eyes caught Laena's. Laena gave her a warm, genuine smile, but Rhaenyra found she had no smile to return. She tried, her lips twitching at the corners, but it felt hollow. She couldn't muster it, for jealousy had taken root within her.

She did not like this feeling at all.

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