At dusk on Tidepool Island, the sky was stained gold and crimson.
The sea breeze carried a chill and the tang of salt.
Inside the Dragonpit.
The Red Queen, Meleys, glided smoothly in from the western horizon.
Her scales were a pure, vivid red.
She was much smaller than Vhagar, only a quarter of her size, yet still large enough to make any mortal tremble.
She landed with elegant precision, displaying the astonishing understanding she had built with her rider over years together.
Rhaenys Targaryen, the Uncrowned Queen, unfastened her saddle straps and dismounted deftly.
She wore dark silver riding armor beneath a deep red cloak. Though weary from the journey, she was still full of energy.
She turned and reached out to stroke Meleys's lowered, warm head.
The dragon's breath was heavy and warm, carrying the scent of sulfur. Rhaenys gently rubbed the rough, rocklike scales around her snout, murmuring something in Valyrian.
A sound of satisfaction rumbled in Meleys's throat. Her huge red eyes half closed as she basked in her mistress's caress.
"Good work, old girl," Rhaenys said fondly. "The wind was strong today, wasn't it?"
Meleys gently nudged her palm with the tip of her snout.
Just then, Rhaenys noticed the tall figure waiting quietly at the edge of the Dragonpit.
Earl Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake—her husband. His gray-blue eyes watched her with a hint of disapproval, but more than that, with quiet concern.
Rhaenys patted Meleys's neck to let her know she could go and rest.
The Red Queen let out a low rumble.
Only then did Rhaenys walk over to her husband. Her steps were steady, with no sign of fatigue from the long ride.
"Corlys," she said when she reached him, tilting her head up slightly to look at him. "Were you waiting for me?"
Corlys smiled at Rhaenys and gently chided her.
"Every time you ride alone, I can't relax until I see you land safely."
"Rhaenys, we're not young anymore. Isn't such a long flight... a little too dangerous?"
Rhaenys raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous? Corlys, a dragonrider belongs in the sky."
"Not lying in the end on a sickbed, with pain and potions eating away at the last scraps of dignity."
Corlys fell silent for a moment. He knew his wife's pride and love of flying too well to think he could talk her out of it.
He sighed. "I'm just afraid... of losing you, Rhaenys."
"I'm here, Corlys." Rhaenys reached out and squeezed her husband's hand, calloused from years at the helm but still strong.
Corlys nodded, then smoothly changed the subject. Together, they began walking slowly toward the castle.
"Some voices in the family have been growing louder again lately," Corlys said quietly.
Rhaenys's expression darkened slightly. "The same old talk of bastards?"
"Yes." Corlys looked ahead. "My brother Vaemond and some of the other branches have been gossiping in private."
Rhaenys gave a cold laugh.
"Without you, how could House Velaryon have amassed a fortune to rival a kingdom's?"
"You built the strongest navy Westeros had ever seen."
"And now these people want to steal the fruits of your labor."
Corlys shook his head. "They're terribly shortsighted."
"So what if Lucerys and Joffrey aren't of my blood?"
With a smile, Corlys continued, "I've already made arrangements. Lucerys and Joffrey will marry Daemon and Laena's daughters—our granddaughters, Baela and Rhaenyra."
Rhaenys paused, looking at her husband with a complicated expression.
Baela and Rhaenyra had the most striking features of both the Targaryens and the Velaryons: silver hair and purple eyes.
Corlys continued in an even tone. "That way, the next generation will also have Velaryon blood."
"As for Jacaerys," he added after a brief pause, "Rhaenyra has personally promised me that the queen he chooses as his heir's mother will one day be a daughter of House Velaryon."
Rhaenys nodded.
The Sea Snake did not voice the deepest part of his calculations.
In his long political career, having witnessed countless twists and turns, blood purity and hair or eye color had never been the most important things.
What mattered was that the three boys acknowledged themselves as Velaryons, that they had dragons, and that they were Princess Rhaenyra's heirs.
Through these marriages, he could bind more Velaryon descendants to the Targaryens—and secure their ties to the Iron Throne.
Perhaps House Velaryon could use this opportunity to reach beyond merely being the "Lord of the Tides" and become a maritime power.
They could quietly weave their bloodline more deeply into the blood of the true dragons.
They could easily have their cake and eat it too.
They could become a second dragonlord house...
And in time, have dragons and Dragon Eggs of their own...
Of course, he would never—and did not need to—lay bare these more far-reaching, even somewhat presumptuous ambitions to the wife he loved.
Suddenly, Corlys changed the subject, his tone unusually grave.
"Otto, our Hand, still doesn't seem to have given up."
"What is it?" Rhaenys asked curiously.
"Our informants in King's Landing sent word that Otto has already dispatched men to contact the Three Daughters."
"The Triarchy?" Rhaenys furrowed her brow. "Didn't they sign a truce with us and give up their claims to the Stepstones?"
"Agreements are paper; profit is gold," Corlys said coldly. "It seems our Hand isn't satisfied with looking for allies within the Seven Kingdoms alone."
"Now the Triarchy has sent envoys who will arrive in King's Landing in a few days. Officially, they're coming to reopen trade with the kingdom."
"He wants to bring in outside support? Use the Triarchy's fleet to counterbalance ours?" Rhaenys sensed how serious this was.
The Velaryon fleet was indeed powerful, but if the Greens reached an understanding with the Triarchy, or even cooperated with them, the situation in the Narrow Sea would become complicated in an instant.
"Very likely," Corlys admitted. "But what worries me more isn't the Triarchy's warships."
He stopped and looked at his wife. "Rhaenys, we have dragons and the strongest navy in the Seven Kingdoms."
"But what worries me most is Oldtown, where House Hightower has put down roots."
"It's the scholars of the Citadel, and the septons of the Starry Sept, who can sway the minds of millions of the faithful."
He paused. "Public opinion, faith, knowledge... These unseen forces can sometimes be more terrifying than swords and Dragonflame."
"House Hightower has held sway in Oldtown for a thousand years. Its foundations run deep, and half the nobles of the Reach follow its lead."
"If the Faith and the Citadel also start fanning the flames behind the scenes..."
Rhaenys fell silent. She knew her husband was right.
The Targaryens' rule depended on dragons, but they had never truly gained complete control over ancient powers like the Faith of the Seven and the Citadel.
After a long while, Rhaenys finally spoke. "At least... Jacaerys and Helaena are still betrothed. The king himself agreed to it."
"If the marriage goes ahead, it could at least ease the hostility between the Blacks and Greens and show the neutral nobles that peaceful coexistence is possible."
"Surely the Hightowers and the Greens won't openly defy the king's will—or oppose a marriage that could bring peace?"
Corlys looked up at the last streak of twilight, about to be swallowed by darkness.
"That's exactly what worries me most, Rhaenys."
He spoke slowly. "I believe the Greens, especially Otto Hightower, will never accept this marriage."
"Accepting it would mean acknowledging Jacaerys's legitimacy, undermining their legal grounds for backing Aegon's claim to the throne."
"Their silence now may simply mean they're waiting—for a chance to break the betrothal, or make sure the marriage can never take place."
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