Ben Ulnar stared silently at his own feet. Without hesitation, Droko swung his blade, severing Ben's head. Blood splattered across the silver-gold hair of the last descendant of the Dragonlord. Only then did the Unsullied and Tiger Cloaks in the cabin emerge one by one, only to have their heads cut off and their skulls smashed in quick succession.
It was at this moment that Draezell noticed Daemon flying nearby. The old prince looked much older now. Before the war, Daemon had always been impeccably groomed, never keeping a beard. Every time Draezell had seen him, Daemon would have his hair neatly tied back, his face clean-shaven, and sometimes even a hint of perfume lingering around him. But now, Prince Daemon's silver hair was thinning and heavily streaked with gray, and his once-smooth face bore an unkempt beard. Even mounted atop the fierce and untamed Caraxes, Daemon's face revealed exhaustion and age.
"Draezell, let's discuss this further when we reach Dragonstone," Daemon said, watching as Shoof led the warriors to finish off the last Unsullied before returning to Ratcatcher. The ship slowly retreated, freeing itself from the galley's hull. Vermithor unleashed a fiery breath, setting the thieves' ship ablaze.
Draezell, seeing Daemon in such a state of decline, couldn't help but sigh. Vermithor spread its wings, slowly following the course of Caraxes, whose head had turned toward Dragonstone. Joffrey hesitated for a moment, glancing at the two young boys retreating to Ratcatcher, but eventually gestured for the ship to follow. He himself took to the skies alongside the two great dragons, heading for Dragonstone.
When Joffrey saw the brothers Adam and Erin, memories of his grandfather's last words came flooding back.
---
The scene rewound to the Sea Snake's final days.
High Tide, The Hall Of Nine.
Joffrey hurriedly cast aside his dark blue cloak, dashing up the spiraling stairs leading to the hall. Along the staircase, rows of square niches held exotic treasures of all kinds. Passing a golden harpy statue adorned with emeralds and green gemstones, the dark-haired youth entered the vast and empty hall.
At the center stood the great ship model of the Sea Snake, crafted from nineteen rare materials including gemstones, bones, and weirwood. Surrounding the model were whale skeletons, Quill's idols, and treasures from Yi Ti and even Asshai, alongside preserved specimens of strange beasts. Together, they formed an enormous maritime map on the floor. The glow of pearls and gemstones under firelight was enough to illuminate the entire hall.
In the middle of this vast hall sat an elderly man on a driftwood throne, his frail body slouched as he quietly watched his grandson enter.
"Grandfather, why are you here?" Joffrey rushed forward anxiously. "The maester said your condition no longer permits such exertion."
Hearing his grandson's voice, Corlys Velaryon struggled to lift his head and open his eyes. "Joffrey? What time is it?"
"Grandfather, it's the Hour of the Wolf." Joffrey anxiously tried to help him up, but it seemed as though the Sea Snake had taken root in the driftwood throne, immovable.
"The Hour of the Wolf... dawn is near," Corlys muttered, motioning for Joffrey to come closer.
"Grandfather, you must return to your chambers at once!"
"Where are Aliandra and Rhaena?" Corlys asked instead.
Joffrey paused briefly before answering, "They're resting. Rhaena was up late playing with Morning and is sound asleep now."
"Good, good," Corlys murmured indistinctly, aware of the life draining from his body. There was one secret he needed to pass on to Joffrey.
The lesser branches of House Velaryon were of no use, and he would not allow Joffrey or any children of House Martell to wed those of diluted dragonblood — useless fools who had even tried to assassinate him and Joffrey during his lifetime. They had, of course, failed. Led by Malentine the Tongueless, those conspirators had been burned alive by Tyraxes's dragonfire. Only Daeron and Daemion, the two sons of Vaemond Velaryon, had refrained from participating in the plot and thus been spared. They had since been rewarded by Joffrey and pacified.
Upon learning of their submission, Corlys had sneered and remarked, "They are unworthy of the Velaryon name. Our bloodline once soared with dragons, wielding dragonfire — not trembling cowards who wet themselves at its sight."
The Sea Snake had never abandoned his longing for dragons. His descendants, who carried the purest Velaryon blood, were the family's best hope of keeping dragons within their lineage.
The rise of House Vaelarys was now unstoppable, unless a great romantic scandal erupted within House Targaryen. Otherwise, it would be the blood of House Vaelarys, not Velaryon, flowing through the veins of the Iron Throne's future queen.
"Come closer, child. I must tell you something," Corlys said softly. "But first, you must swear on our ancestors and the Seven that you will never reveal this secret."
"As long as you promise to return to your chambers, I swear by the Old and the New Gods, by the ancestors of House Targaryen and Velaryon, that I will not defy your wishes," Joffrey quickly vowed.
Satisfied, Corlys nodded and leaned forward with great effort, whispering, "This is a shameful matter. I may have wronged your grandmother."
"What?" Joffrey's mouth fell open, but he quickly covered it with his hand.
Corlys chuckled faintly. "I'm not entirely certain. At the shipyard in Hull, there was a girl nicknamed 'Rat'. I think her name was Marinda... or Marla, I can't quite recall. She was a sweet girl. Her father, a shipwright of mine, was of dragonseed lineage. Yet neither he nor she bore any Valyrian features."
Joffrey understood what "dragonseed" referred to — the illegitimate offspring of Targaryen men who had indulged in pleasures outside their noble circles. These children, known as "dragonseeds" by outsiders, were particularly numerous on Dragonstone. Despite the Good Queen Alysanne's abolition of the first-night custom, the people of Dragonstone still held dragonseeds in high regard. Dragonseeds often intermarried to ensure their "noble" and "divine" Valyrian bloodlines continued. Their esteemed fathers sometimes paid significant sums to the women they had wronged, ensuring that dragonseeds often lived relatively decent lives.
Joffrey decided to keep listening.
"Your grandmother's love for Meleys rivaled, perhaps even exceeded, her love for me," the Sea Snake said calmly as he recounted his love story with Rhaenys. "There were times I even felt jealous of that dragon," he added with a laugh. "To be honest, if I had a dragon of my own, I'd probably love her more than my wife too." Despite Rhaenys's passion for dragons, battle, and flight, the fiery love between her and the Sea Snake was undoubtedly real.
"From the moment your grandmother married me, I stopped going to brothels in town. Even when we docked in Lys, I never disembarked again," Corlys murmured. "But I never expected that the young girl at the shipyard I frequented would end up pregnant. It happened just after my ship was repaired. I tried to recall, but I couldn't remember ever lying with her, nor could I remember her being with anyone else aside from me or Laenor. When the child was born, it became clear he might indeed be of our blood."
Joffrey drew a deep breath. He now understood why his grandfather hadn't continued the story — it was obvious. If the child was unmistakably of Velaryon descent, then the girl must have given birth to a silver-haired, violet-eyed Valyrian.
"She gave birth to two children," the Sea Snake continued with some regret, "but she never brought them to the castle. I sought her out privately while my ship was under repair. She claimed the children were Laenor's." Corlys scoffed. "Laenor's children, she said! As if I didn't know better."
The Sea Snake knew Laenor better than anyone else. The boy couldn't even lie with a woman. Back when he wed Rhaenyra and they tried to conceive an heir, Laenor would even bring his male lovers to bed, with Rhaenyra tolerating it. Not even when Rhaenyra disguised herself as a man to help him.
"Claiming they're Laenor's children... well, I don't believe it," Corlys admitted. "Yet, even I have no clear memory of leaving my seed behind." Deep down, however, Corlys knew the truth. On those cold nights, he remembered who had warmed his bed and shared his sleep. He simply refused to confront the reality of having betrayed his wife.
"I understand." Joffrey felt a mixture of emotions — pity and helplessness. "I'll bring them home when the time is right. They are, after all, my brothers in name and carry Velaryon blood. I won't let them roam the world as outcasts."
The Sea Snake smiled faintly. "I still remember their names — Adam and Erin." The old man reclined in the Driftwood Throne, closing his eyes slowly. He was exhausted and needed to rest.
This rest, however, would be his last.
Returning to the present, Joffrey dismounted his dragon in Dragonstone's courtyard, intending to head to the docks to see if the two silver-haired, violet-eyed boys were indeed Adam and Erin.
Meanwhile, Draezell and Daemon had landed on the beach of Dragonstone. Standing at the shore, Draezell looked at the aging Daemon. "Cousin, your beard is now longer than King Viserys's was in his final days."
"Draezell, enough with the teasing," Daemon replied with a self-deprecating laugh as he stroked his beard. "It wasn't until I truly sat on that damn Iron Throne that I understood the burdens my brother carried. Every day, it's petty issues — ones you can't ignore. Honestly, I'm relieved I didn't inherit it back then. As for Rhaenyra... well, lucky her. She died early and left the mess for us to deal with."
"What do you make of what Hoegon and Ben mentioned?" Draezell shifted the conversation back. Dragon's Nest wasn't particularly vulnerable to theft — not unless one could fly. Accessing the dragon pit or the tower where dragon eggs were stored was nearly impossible. Moreover, Argo's Khalasar kept watch over the area. These nomadic horsemen revered winged steeds and faithfully tracked the dragons' movements. Every estate of the Silverblood Legion also monitored dragon activity. The only wild dragon left, Vermax, was not one to be easily tamed.
"Dragonstone isn't without its intruders," Daemon admitted. Daemon also knew that if these troubles were to be discussed, Draeze and his family were the culprits. They were the ones who rekindled the madness of the Dragonlords descendants. But he couldn't blame the most important ally of House Targaryen. "Dragons aren't tame creatures. Over the years, hundreds of white-haired fools have come from all over, hoping to steal dragon eggs or ride a dragon. But they underestimated the creatures themselves."
Daemon gently stroked Caraxes's long neck as the dragon stretched it toward him.
"Before the Conquest, dragonriders lived on the island. The dragons they tamed would actively hunt strangers who approached the Dragonmont. After the Conquest, Targaryen dragonriders occasionally returned to stay on Dragonstone. Later, wild dragons emerged. These beasts would kill their own kind without hesitation — humans are nothing to them, just meat. Take that gluttonous Cannibal we hunted, for example. The bones of would-be tamers piled high before its lair." Daemon suddenly recalled something and asked urgently, "Draezell, how many dragonlord families are left behind the Black Walls of Volantis?"
"That depends on how you define it," Draezell replied. "If you mean families like mine, true descendants of dragonlords, there are only two or three. The rest are offshoots expelled from the Freehold or families founded by former slaves left behind in Volantis." Draezell found a clean rock and sat down. Daemon joined him. "The age of dragonlords is over," Draezell remarked. "Ambition without power is nothing more than an empty dream."