The Son of Ice and Fire: Lost in Time pt.3

Corlys Velaryon

Bloodstone, the Stepstones - 113 AC

The great hall of the keep in Bloodstone was alight with celebration. The air was thick with laughter and the scent of roasted boar, the flickering flames of torches casting a warm glow across the stone walls. The room was filled with men who had survived the battle—soldiers, sailors and knights. They mingled freely with the whores and other servants, their laughter and shrieks filling the space. Tankards clinked together in toasts, ale spilling across tables as men cheered their victory over the Triarchy and the Dornish fleet.

In one corner, a group of sailors sang a drunken sea shanty, their voices rising above the rest. Near the hearth, a group of knights gambled, coins and trinkets scattered across the table as they played dice, their laughter punctuated by groans of loss and the occasional cheer of victory.

Away from all this raucous celebration, in a quieter corner of the hall, sat Corlys Velaryon and Daemon Targaryen, the self-styled King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea. Between them was a table littered with half-empty goblets, scraps of food, and a few maps they had forgotten to clear away.

“Time magic?” Corlys asked, sounding skeptical. He looked across the table at Daemon, his brow furrowed. His voice was filled with disbelief, as if he couldn’t even begin to imagine something so fantastical being real.

“Yes, indeed,” Daemon replied confidently, taking a deep gulp from his goblet before slamming it back down on the table. “Maekar called it a ‘dragonbreak.’ Apparently, there's an ancient Valyrian legend about it—something about people being moved forward in time by strong magic,” Daemon added, his tone dismissive of any disbelief, as if he had all the answers.

Corlys shook his head, his lips pressed into a tight line. “And you truly believe this?” he pushed.

Daemon leaned back in his chair, the firelight flickering across his face. “Why wouldn’t I believe him?” Daemon replied, his voice calm but firm. “Maekar has no reason to lie about this. Besides, some things you need to see to believe. Only a dragonlord could have managed to conquer an entire empire in just six years. That takes more than just skill with a sword,” Daemon said, his eyes narrowing. “It takes magic, wisdom, and a dragon from old Valyria.”

Corlys frowned, his eyes falling to the goblet in front of him. He was still skeptical. Time magic, dragonlords appearing from the past—it all sounded like the kind of tale a drunkard might spin in a tavern to earn a few extra coins. But then again… Daemon’s confidence, the sheer power that this Maekar had demonstrated—it was difficult to dismiss.

Daemon leaned forward suddenly, his voice dropping lower, his eyes intent on Corlys. “Think of the opportunity here, Corlys,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “If you befriend Maekar, think of the trade deals you could strike with him. Half of Essos is under his dominion. You could be the wealthiest man in the Seven Kingdoms. Think of what that could mean for House Velaryon.”

Corlys paused, his eyes meeting Daemon’s as he let the words sink in.

Slowly, Corlys nodded, the realization dawning on him. His skepticism began to ebb away, replaced by a growing sense of ambition. The possibilities were almost too tempting to ignore.

Daemon’s lips curled into a knowing smile, his eyes glinting with triumph. “No one else in Westeros has contact there. You could be the only one,” he said, his tone confident.

Corlys took a deep breath, a small smile finally appearing on his face. “Very well,” he said.

He glanced back at Daemon, his curiosity still gnawing at him. “Why did this dragonlord come with you?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Daemon shrugged, a smirk on his face. He seemed almost pleased by Corlys’ curiosity. “He wanted to see others like him—true Valyrians, like us,” Daemon said, his tone softening slightly. He paused, his gaze shifting as if he was lost in thought for a moment, then he added, “And besides, I couldn’t let the Free Cities get their hands on him.”

‘That makes sense,’ Corlys thought, nodding slightly as he caught sight of the man they had been discussing walking towards them. Maekar was weaving through the celebration, his tall frame cutting an imposing figure among the revelers.

“Maekar!” Daemon called out, waving his arm with enthusiasm. “Join us! You can have those whores another time!” His voice carried across the hall, drawing glances and a few chuckles from those nearby.

Maekar approached, nodding in greeting to both Corlys and Daemon. He moved with an effortless grace, his Valyrian steel armor shimmering slightly in the firelight.

Daemon turned to him. “Oh, Corlys, if you still don’t believe me about Maekar…” He let the words hang in the air, a sly grin spreading across his face.

“I believe you—” Corlys began, raising his hand, but Daemon wasn’t finished.

“No, no, no,” Daemon insisted, shaking his head, that same grin never leaving his lips. “This will make you a firm believer.” He turned towards Maekar, his excitement practically bubbling over. “Show him, Maekar. Show him your Lightbringer.”

“Lightbringer?” Corlys repeated, confusion clear in his voice. He glanced at Maekar, who remained calm, almost amused, as he unsheathed the sword from its scabbard.

The sword glowed with a soft, almost ethereal light, warmth radiating from its core. Corlys could feel the heat emanating from it even from where he sat. The edge glimmered, as though fire itself was forged into the steel, and it hummed softly.

Corlys’ eyes widened, his breath catching at the sight. This was magic, the kind of magic that had been lost with Valyria itself.

Daemon smirked, clearly enjoying Corlys’ reaction. “See? The magic of old Valyria, Corlys. This is what we lost—what we were robbed of.” His eyes glinted with something darker for just a moment—a hunger for power.

Corlys swallowed, looking at Maekar with newfound respect, perhaps even awe. He had doubted before, but now… this was proof.

Maekar sheathed Lightbringer, the glowing light fading as the blade disappeared back into its scabbard. He took a seat beside them.

“Daemon has been telling me about the Seven Kingdoms,” Maekar said, his voice smooth, with a hint of curiosity. “I would love to visit one day,” he added.

“Yes, you should,” Corlys said, still gathering his thoughts. He forced himself to regain his composure, a small smile forming on his lips. “You’re more than welcome at Driftmark, Maekar,” he added, his tone warm.

Maekar nodded his thanks, a polite smile crossing his face. But just then, a thought crossed Corlys’ mind. A question he hadn’t asked yet, but one that now seemed all too important.

“Do you have a wife, Maekar? Or wives?” Corlys asked suddenly, his curiosity piqued.

Daemon threw his head back, laughing loudly, the sound carrying across the hall. “Ha! As if there were any pure Valyrians left in Slaver's Bay,” he said, shaking his head, his grin wide and mocking.

Maekar chuckled as well, a glint of amusement in his gray eyes. “No, no wife or wives,” he said simply.

Corlys nodded, his eyes lingering on Maekar. And as he watched the dragonlord, a thought began to form in his mind—something that could elevate his house to heights never imagined.

Laena—for years he had been delaying her marriage to that spendthrift son of the former Sealord. Now he had a chance: the possibility of aligning his family with a true dragonlord, an ancient one, a man who once walked the streets of Valyria and who now commanded half of Essos. The opportunity to forge such a bond, to have a dragonlord within House Velaryon, was not just appealing—it felt like it was necessary.

Corlys turned back to Maekar. “I will be heading back to Driftmark soon,” Corlys announced. He then turned to Maekar, a smile forming. “You should come with me.”

Daemon's eyes narrowed, looking at Corlys with curiosity. “Why the sudden rush to go back, Corlys?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.

“I've been away too long, my friend,” Corlys replied. He gave Daemon a firm clap on the shoulder, his voice carrying a tone of finality. “And now that you’re here, I trust things will be taken care of. You can manage everything here without me.”

“I shall take you up on that offer, Lord Corlys,” Maekar said, and then turned to Daemon. “I hope you’ll join us soon, Daemon,” Maekar added, his tone warm, but there was something behind it—something that gave Corlys pause.

Daemon laughed, his eyes alight with excitement. “It might be a while, my friend,” he said. “I have my own plans. I want to conquer Dorne—and the Triarchy, once and for all.” His eyes gleamed as he looked at Maekar. “Your conquests have inspired me.”

Maekar lifted his goblet, his expression unreadable. “It is only right. We Valyrians should see to the end of the Rhoynar,” he said.

Daemon lifted his own goblet, laughter spilling from his lips. “Here, here! Those damned sand dwellers need to be shown their place.”

Maekar nodded. “And the Free Cities could use the guidance of a dragonlord.”

Corlys watched them both, feeling a sense of unease. Daemon was ambitious, but he was not always careful. And there was something about the way Maekar spoke to him—almost as if he was fanning the flames of Daemon’s ambition, encouraging him to pursue dangerous paths. The words felt rehearsed, not genuine, as though Maekar was pushing Daemon towards something, using him for some greater scheme.

‘Perhaps it was just the wine making me see things,’ Corlys thought, shaking his head slightly to clear his mind.

Maekar turned back to Corlys, his smile returning, warm and seemingly genuine. “I look forward to seeing Driftmark,” he said.

Corlys smiled back, his mind racing with possibilities. He saw a future where House Velaryon was not just strong, but ascendant—with dragons and ships and wealth beyond imagining. If fortune favored him, perhaps he could gain more than just an ally—he could gain a dragonlord as a son-in-law.

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Laena Velaryon

Driftmark- 113 AC

Laena stood near the edge of the cliffs, her gaze fixed on the vast expanse of the blue sea stretching endlessly before her. The wind whipped through her silver-gold hair, making it flutter like a banner in the breeze making the shirt she wore clung to her slender frame.

She turned towards Vhagar, a soft smile touching her lips. The great beast loomed above her, scales catching the afternoon sunlight.

"Come, old girl," Laena whispered, her voice tender. She approached Vhagar’s flank, her fingers trailing along the ancient dragon's scales. She mounted the dragon, and with a practiced motion, grabbed hold of the saddle and pulled herself up, her body moving smoothly as she swung her leg over and settled into her seat on the dragon’s back. Vhagar let out a low rumble, as if acknowledging her presence, before spreading her massive wings wide.

She gave the command, her voice steady, and with a powerful surge, Vhagar launched herself into the sky. The ground dropped away beneath them, and Laena felt the rush of air against her face, the thrill of the ascent filling her with joy. The dragon’s mighty wings beat powerfully, propelling them higher and higher until the world below was nothing more than a distant dot.

Flying with Vhagar was the only time Laena ever truly felt free. The only time when the weight of her titles, her duties, and the expectations that bound her seemed to melt away into the wind. The sky was her escape, her sanctuary.

As they ascended higher, she allowed her thoughts to drift. She looked down at the blue waves rolling far below, the sun reflecting off their crests like scattered diamonds. Her life on the ground felt dull compared to this. Lately, her days seemed to blur together, the only true moments of joy being when she took to the skies.

She thought of her betrothed, the former Sealord's son, whom she had spent the day avoiding. He had grown restless lately, eager to finalize their nuptials. His restlessness, however, was not born of love, but of convenience. He was desperate—a spendthrift, a man who had squandered his father's wealth and power, now reduced to lingering at Driftmark, waiting for a future that seemed increasingly uncertain.

As her thoughts turned to marriage, memories surfaced—memories of her parents attempting to arrange her marriage to King Viserys. She remembered the excitement she had felt, the chance to become queen, only to have it all slip away when Viserys chose Alicent instead. Her father had tried to hide his disappointment, but she had seen it in his eyes. He had quickly arranged for her to be betrothed to the Sealord's son, a match that seemed promising until the Sealord died and his son squandered all his fortunes.

For eight years now, her father had found ways to postpone the wedding, always delaying, always finding excuses. Part of her was grateful, for she felt no love for the man she was promised to.

Laena yearned for love—something passionate, consuming, the kind of love she had read about in old stories. She wanted a husband she could love, someone with whom she could share her life. She dreamed of children, of taking them flying, showing them the freedom of the skies. But she knew that, for now, those dreams were beyond her reach.

Flying with Vhagar calmed her, made her feel like she was reclaiming a piece of herself that seemed to be slipping away. Up here, she was not Laena Velaryon, daughter of the Sea Snake. Up here, she was simply Laena, rider of Vhagar.

Suddenly, Vhagar let out a deep, rumbling roar, breaking Laena out of her thoughts. The sound was different—low, almost uneasy. It sent a shiver through Laena, and she felt a flicker of unease.

“What is it, girl?” she whispered, trying to soothe the dragon. Vhagar’s massive head swung around, her eyes scanning the skies. She seemed… tense, agitated. And then, Laena saw it—a shadow moving across the water below, a dark shape that blotted out the sun.

Laena’s heart skipped a beat, a chill running down her spine. She looked up, her eyes widening as she saw a dragon—far larger than Vhagar, its dark scales gleaming with an ominous shine in the setting sun.

There were no dragons that were supposed to be larger than Vhagar. The sight of it took her breath away, the sheer size of the beast overwhelming.

‘Vhagar was the largest dragon alive—how could this be?’ she thought shakily.

The massive dragon veered, descending to her level, and Laena felt Vhagar shift beneath her, the great beast growing restless, her wings twitching as she let out a low growl. Laena placed a calming hand on Vhagar’s body, trying to steady her.

“Easy, girl… easy…” she murmured, her own heart racing.

The enormous dragon descended until it was flying beside them, its wings beating slowly, each movement sending a ripple through the air. Laena’s eyes locked onto the rider—a figure dressed in black armor, polished to a mirror shine, a helm concealing his face. He looked at her, then lifted a hand, waving in a friendly gesture.

Laena blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected greeting. She hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Before she could react, the stranger leaned forward, urging his dragon into a sudden dive, the massive beast plunging towards the sea below.

Laena’s eyes widened in realization.

“A race?” she whispered, her lips curving into a smile.

The stranger wanted a race.

A thrill shot through Laena, and for a moment she didn’t care who this stranger was or why he had a dragon larger than Vhagar. The mystery, the impossibility of it all—it only added to the excitement. She leaned forward, her hands tightening on the reins, a fierce grin on her face. “Let’s show them, Vhagar!” she shouted.

With a great, echoing roar, Vhagar responded, her wings folding slightly as she dove after the dark dragon. The wind whipped against Laena’s face, the cold bite of it stinging her cheeks, but she welcomed it. Her heart pounded, the rush of adrenaline making her feel like she was part of the sky, one with the wind and the dragon beneath her.

The stranger's dragon flew ahead, his dark silhouette cutting through the twilight sky, moving with incredible grace for a beast of its size. The sea glittered in the light of the setting sun, the cliffs and rocky shores of the island passing quickly below.

Laena narrowed her eyes, leaning lower, urging Vhagar to greater speed. She could feel the power of her dragon, every beat of Vhagar’s wings sending ripples through the air, propelling them forward. The dark dragon ahead twisted sharply, its wings dipping as it swooped low over the water, the tip of its tail skimming the waves.

The stranger was skilled—Laena had to give him that. He moved as if he were born on dragonback.

Laena wasn’t about to let him outmatch her. She urged Vhagar on, her heart racing, the thrill of the race pushing her, filling her veins with fire. They twisted and turned, soaring above the cliffs, skimming past the tops of trees, diving over the rocky shores.

Eventually, the stranger led his dragon into a wide descent, circling down towards a beach on the edge of the island. The dragon’s massive wings spread out, catching the wind as it landed with surprising elegance, sand spraying up around it.

Laena followed, her eyes fixed on the dark dragon as she guided Vhagar down. The old dragon landed with a heavy thud, her great claws sinking into the sand as she folded her wings slowly to her sides.

Laena took a deep breath, her heart still pounding from the excitement of the race and the uncertainty of who she was about to meet. She dismounted, her boots sinking into the soft sand as she approached the stranger. Her eyes were sharp, studying him as he moved.

The rider stood beside his dragon, his dark armor gleaming in the fading light. He reached up, his hands moving to unfasten the dark helm that obscured his face. Laena paused, her breath catching as she watched him. Slowly, he lifted the helm off, and her eyes widened.

He was striking—silver hair that seemed to shine even in the dim light, sharp Valyrian features. But it was his eyes that held her attention as she got closer—steely gray, unlike the violet or lavender of most Valyrians. His gaze met hers, and Laena felt as though she had been struck, as if something had shifted deep within her. There was an intensity to his gaze, something that seemed to look right through her—beyond her titles, beyond her noble bearing, straight into her very soul.

He smiled—just a hint, the corner of his mouth lifting—and Laena felt her cheeks flush with warmth. She quickly looked away, her hands nervously adjusting the belt at her waist. There was something about that smile that made her heart race, something that unsettled her in a way she couldn’t quite understand.

“You ride well, my lady,” the stranger said, his voice smooth, his words spoken in Valyrian.

Laena’s gaze returned to his, her lips curving slightly despite herself. “You too,” she replied, her voice even, though her heart was still pounding.

“Who are you?” she asked, her eyes shifting to the large black dragon standing behind him, its green eyes watching her with an unsettling intelligence.

The stranger inclined his head slightly, his expression polite. “I am Maekar Belaerys,” he introduced himself.

“Belaerys…” Laena repeated, her brow furrowing as she tried to place the name. She had heard it before.

Maekar nodded, his eyes flicking towards the horizon. “I came with your father. I believe he should be arriving here now,” he said, looking towards the sea, in the direction where High Tide would be.

Laena blinked, his words slowly sinking in. “My father has returned?” she echoed, her surprise evident.

Maekar nodded. “Indeed. I came here with him—until I saw you and your dragon,” he added, his gaze shifting back to her.

Laena glanced at him again, her heart giving a strange, involuntary flutter. There was something about him—something that drew her in, that made her feel… different. Something she hadn’t felt before.

She quickly schooled her expression, her face becoming a mask of composure. This was her father’s guest, after all. She needed to be proper, to act the way a lady of House Velaryon should.

“Lord Belaerys,” she said, her tone polite, her voice steady. “I shall lead you to High Tide.”

Maekar smiled, inclining his head slightly. “Very well, my lady,” he said.

Laena nodded, turning back towards Vhagar, her heart still pounding, her thoughts swirling with confusion and curiosity. She climbed back onto Vhagar’s saddle. With a command, Vhagar spread her wings, lifting into the sky once more, and she saw Maekar mount his own dragon, following her into the air.

As they flew towards High Tide, Laena couldn’t help but glance at Maekar out of the corner of her eye. There were so many questions—questions she hoped would be answered soon.

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What do you think of this so far?

I'm considering making it a spin-off with 20 or more chapters that covers the entire Dance of the Dragons.

I'd love to hear your thoughts.