Chapter 17: The First Step
108 AC, Driftmark
It had been a few days since Laenor Velaryon revealed his identity as a Mystery Knight in the joust, and he found himself regretting things slightly, especially as he sat at a table of knights during the final feast of the Tourney, something that he suffered through since earning his knighthood and that his parents had asked of him.
Most of these knights had barely even glanced at him for most of the tourney, probably barely even knowing of his existence, and yet, here he was, sitting next to Borros Baratheon, the heir to the Stormlands, who suddenly clapped him on the back, with a cup of wine in the other hand, almost sending him flying out of his seat, “I had my doubts when I saw you, a bookish boy, they said, ha! You have the Stag’s strength in your blood. How else would you have taken the brunt of so many lances?”
Laenor did his best not to roll his eyes at that. The man had barely even glanced at Laenor despite staying in High Tide. Sure, he had not gone out of his way to see him, as he saw the man to be a brute, and a prideful one at that, and so far, there was very little that he saw that would disabuse him from this conclusion. Truthfully, he suspected the other knight to be illiterate and wasn’t that a concern for the future of the Stormlands? Oh, how he hoped that Lord Boremund would live a long life.
Still, he doubted that the Baratheon would understand the mechanics that he used to dampen the blows and stay upright, while redirecting as much force as he could. And if he did, Laenor was sure, he would declare it to be cheating, as would most knights.
Laenor smiled at his cousin, distant as he might be, and did the best thing he found he could do to the Baratheon, and that was play on his pride, “Perhaps, for the strength of the Stag is mighty indeed.”
The Baratheon knight burst into loud laughter that made Laenor almost wince from the volume of it all. Laughter bubbled across the table, following the future heir to the Stormlands.
Harwin Strong interjected, “Aye, there is no doubt of the strength of the stag, but a woman’s favour… That would encourage a man to fight more than ever before. Perhaps multiple ones allow him to perform impossible deeds. How many favours did you wear, Ser Laenor?”
The laughter roared once more from the knights, and Laenor did his best to join them and not answer the question. Truthfully, while he did not dislike the presence of the knights around him, he could only stand them for so long. They were a brutish sort, and while he had gotten to know them in the last few days and knew that a few of them were truly noble men, one could only handle so many conversations about fighting, riding, or women they lay with, without getting bored.
Unfortunately, they were all mostly heirs to some of the strongest houses in the realm, which would one day be his peers, and so he tried his best not to start any feuds.
Still, it was a great contrast just how much could change in a single tourney. Laenor had never truly considered just how much of a difference the title of a knight would bring him, especially given that he had earned their respect by beating older and more experienced knights. Laenor understood the importance of knighthood, but he always assumed that his status as heir of Driftmark made such titles somewhat unnecessary, or at least, held less meaning than it would have for a second son of a lesser house.
He was proven to be wrong quickly, for the respect shown to him by squires whenever he passed them, and the familiarity from other knights was certainly surprising. Of course, most wished to gain the favour of the heir to the Sea Snake, but that was hardly it.
Even the ladies seemed more interested in him, batting their eyelashes at him. According to Joffrey, the idea of an artist, yet gallant knight, was one that every maiden found absolutely fascinating. They also seemed to believe that Laenor was painting portraits of them secretly in his Workshop to declare his love. The ridiculousness of it all did not stop many noble ladies from trying to sneak into his Workshop, enough that Laenor ended up asking his father to put more guards to stop it.
One of the knights around them, a Beesbury, if he remembered correctly, interjected, “Alas, the Realm’s Delight’s favour seems beyond our reach. For it seems that it was Ser Criston Cole remains a great wall that even the Sea Snake’s son is unable to climb. Though she did seem interested in the Knight of Tree and Stars. You spent the feast alongside her, did you not, Ser Laenor?”
And just like that, Laenor wished that he had never been involved in this mess. Despite the supposed camaraderie, every single person on his table sought out a match with Rhaenyra Targaryen, well, everyone except for him. He had known that there was something regarding the princess that unsettled him, and spending time with her during that feast had been akin to torture.
He could find no true fault in her, not truly. Of course, she was a prideful girl, quite spoiled, but she was a princess, so that was to be expected. Her questions had been ones that tried to pry things about him, especially about his paintings, and if he performed any other forms of art. Laenor had done his best to answer her while doing his best to deal with the feeling of dread that did not go away, but became deeper the more time he spent with her, which made him suppress the urge to jump every time she moved suddenly.
She also wanted him to paint portraits of her, inviting him to King’s Landing to do so, something that he had delegated to his father, since he could not refuse outright. The girl seemed to get more frustrated with every answer he gave her, continuing to pry endlessly for something that he didn’t know, at least that was until her father requested a dance from her.
He had practically run away from her, and her obviously enraged sworn shield, who seemed to be ready to skewer him with his sword by the time the conversation ended.
Laenor was not sure what the princess had hoped to gain out of that conversation, but he knew instinctively that he wanted very little to do with her at all. At least, she would leave soon, and things would finally return to normal. Hopefully, their paths would not cross again for a long time.
He turned towards the eager knights and spoke up, “Oh, it was not much. The princess was simply curious regarding my plans, now that my father had granted me our old ancestral home.”
The disappointment of the knights with his answer was certainly obvious, as they cared very little for something like this. After all, to most, Castle Driftmark was simply a lesser keep, a shadow compared to the beauty of High Tide. And that was true, at least, as things currently were, and Laenor had no intentions to keep things that way.
He had so many ideas, which would require renovating the entire place. He had a lot of projects that he planned on working on, each one with its own complications. He would likely need to design a proper heating system, modify the walls to reduce the draft in the fortress, which would be horrible during winter, and maybe even design an entire ventilation system. He would also need to redesign how latrines would work, and he had certain ideas regarding the sewers that seemed useful, if a little disgusting. There was also the glass garden he planned to make, as well as the great observatory at the top of the castle, with the tower becoming a grand library.
All in all, he had so many ideas that he planned on designing the new Castle Driftmark and ensuring that everything would work as it should before committing to anything. He had new ideas all of the time, some of which were certainly not viable due to a lack of resources or technological precision, but it wouldn’t do to redo his hard work for no reason.
But no matter the designs, he had come to a certain conclusion. His plans for Castle Driftmark would need gold, and a lot of it. He didn’t think that any House, except perhaps the Lannisters or the Hightowers, could do such a project, and the logistics of it alone would likely be a nightmare. Laenor relished the challenge, feeling far greater than the joust that he had been forced to partake in. It was certainly more daunting, and fewer people would pull it off.
Alas, Laenor’s plans would have to wait, as he was brought from his thoughts as Alysanne Blackwood came to him, grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the dance, much to the amusement of the rest of his ‘companions’. He raised an eyebrow in slight confusion, “Isn’t the knight supposed to ask the maiden to dance?”
The Riverlander girl snorted in amusement, “Not even a knight for a fortnight and yet, so proud. Besides, I was tired of waiting for you to ask me, and you seemed to require rescuing from the brutes. I graciously leapt to your rescue. I suppose that makes me the knight in this situation.”
Laenor chuckled, feeling strangely at ease near the girl, “Consider me rescued then, my lady.”
Alysanne pouted at him, “I thought that we were beyond formalities now, aren’t we, Ser Laenor?”
The young Velaryon smiled at her, “Fine, Alysanne. I graciously thank you for the rescue.”
“The company isn’t bad, I suppose. It’s certainly better than listening to girls talk about which knight looked the most dashing.”
Laenor’s smirk widened at that, “Oh, and what do these lovely ladies say about me?”
The girl in his arms scoffed, “That would be telling… though I was surprised how much they are all in good spirits, given recent news.”
Ah, yes, the recent news. Apparently, some magisters from Lys went to Bloodstone for some reason. Rumours claim that it was to set up a trade agreement or a treaty of some sort regarding passing through the Stepstones. It would have likely been a normal, if slightly important, day for most rulers, but Daemon Targaryen ordered his dragon to burn them all and left a single ship to sail back to tell the tale, declaring that all of the Triarchy ships would meet the same fate should they dare to pass through the Stepstones.
This had brought the Lyseni and the rest of the Triarchy to complete outrage, which resulted in them restarting the war in the Stepstones, this time, while committing far more than they ever had before. After all, this was different, for the Rogue Prince’s words had attacked their trade and their profits, something that they treasured far more than the life of magisters, from what Laenor knew of them.
So far, there were rumours that they were employing every single company of mercenaries that they could reach, promising them far greater rewards than they ever had before, and that’s aside from the fleets of pirates that they employed as well, that were making their way to the Stepstones, which his father had spent the last two years of his life securing. It was akin to his father’s worst nightmare coming to life, both in terms of gold and reputation.
Already, Tyrosh and Lys have declared that they would attack anyone who would go through the Stepstones, both merchants and especially those who would provide aid to the Rogue Prince, until he left the Stepstones under their control, which would likely result in far harsher tolls to pay for the ridiculous amounts that they promised the mercenaries.
This would likely inflate the prices of most foreign goods very quickly, perhaps even local ones, as merchants often preferred to sail to port cities across Westeros to trade in, as it was quicker, often passing through the Stepstones, and every lord with a functioning brain was preparing himself for some hard days, especially with winter likely approaching.
As for Laenor, he felt that something was not quite right with this, as if it was not supposed to occur. He did not know why, but every instinct he held claimed that someone had arranged for this war to take place, and that person was likely the one who would benefit the most from this…
Still, Laenor did his best not to get lost in his own thoughts once more and answered Alysanne’s question, “It is their liege lords who would have to deal with this. I would be surprised that most do not know of the consequences of the Triarchy’s sudden mobilisation, aside from there being another war on the horizon.”
“Is your father planning another campaign?”
He knew that she was seeking to get an answer from him now, likely at the orders of her father. Another campaign seemed almost expected from his father. After all, he was the man who had sent the Triarchy running, and would be asked to do so again, something that would likely not be as successful. After all, the Triarchy would have prepared for the Velaryon fleet and its new ships, which had been a sizeable advantage. The depth of the Triarchy’s investment to win this war was also much greater than before, meaning that they would hire even more mercenaries than ever before, which would strain Driftmark’s coffers.
It would be a hard war should his father decide to wage it, though, this time, he could leverage his previous success to gain concessions from the crown. Ideally, it would be the royal family who would fund this war, as this was a threat to the entirety of Westeros, but with Otto Hightower as Hand, he wasn’t sure if that would happen.
And so, he gave her the most accurate response that he could give, “I genuinely do not know for sure. I think my father is likely to wait and see the Crown’s own answer to the war, and whether the King would support the Rogue Prince. It’s also likely that Daemon would not welcome any help, thinking it to be interference in his own domain.”
Alysanne smiled at that, though Laenor could see the sliver of relief and worry that lurked within, “Good. I… I do not wish to see you go to war, Laenor.”
Her tone held a vulnerability that had never been there before in their earlier conversations, and with that, a realisation came to him. He would need to fight this war, wouldn’t he? After all, he was a knight now, and he was old enough to join his father.
He looked at the table of laughing knights and knew that every single one of them would relish the opportunity to fight, to earn more glory, but he couldn’t help but dread the conversation. The act of taking a life, of fighting a war, a pointless war because the Rogue Prince decided to burn ships to the ground, did not bring him any measure of joy.
And so, he let out a sigh, “I do not wish for it either, but I suppose that I will have little choice in the matter.”
The Blackwood girl simply held him tighter as they continued dancing. Honestly, meeting Alysanne had been one of the few positive things that came out of this tourney, aside from Castle Driftmark, of course. She was funny, witty, and intelligent, and he found that he liked spending time with her. As this was the last day of the tourney, there was a chance that they would never see one another again, and he found that he would miss her greatly after her departure.
Out of curiosity, Laenor had research her house in his spare time and found its history to be quite rich and fascinating, having been driven down by the Starks from the North, and settling in the South as one of the few remaining nobles in the Riverlands that still worship the Old Gods, and gathering what was likely one of the oldest feuds in history, with the Brackens, which some claim dated back from the Age of Heroes.
That feud had likely benefitted the Riverlands as a whole, as well as House Tully, as it weakened the vassals and allowed the Lord Paramount to govern more easily in a kingdom where half of its lords claim to have the blood of kings at some point.
An idea sparked in Laenor’s head, one that almost seemed perfect. His eyes widened in delight as a plan came to mind, regarding the situation in the Stepstones, and he exclaimed suddenly, “Oh!”
This… This could work. This could truly work. He could end this war, end the Triarchy, without needing to fight anyone, and the plan that began to form in his mind was one that he was certainly proud of. Seven hells, if things went well, they could even benefit from the entire affair.
All it would take was a ship and his father’s trust. Laenor would also need to go outside of Driftmark for it to work, but there was no reason why his father would refuse.
Every urge he had was to run to his father and tell him, but something stopped him when he saw Alysanne looking up into his eyes questioningly, and perhaps with slight worry, “What is it, Laenor?”
Laenor stopped himself and looked at the girl in his arms, the girl whom he would likely not see for some time. He then looked up at his father, who was speaking with a frown on his face with Lyonel Strong.
He found himself relaxing slightly and looked back at Alysanne, “Nothing. I will simply miss you after today.”
Alysanne smiled at him, and they both continued dancing. War could wait for another day, and he refused to taint this night for both Alysanne and himself with this. Tonight, he would celebrate and dance, but tomorrow, he would go to his father with the hope of destroying the threat of the Triarchy once and for all.
AN: This story is still relatively new, so if you'd like me to continue it, please let me know in the comments what you think of the rewrite so far.
I know that this is a bit slow, but this chapter serves to show Laenor being more active, instead of being forced into things like the tourney. As I said before, the Velaryons will not actively pursue going to war, aside from Laenor's plan (I'm kinda proud of it tbh).
Also, I am planning on uploading more of this story starting next week (outside of normal uploads). I have a bit of a backlog of chapter drafts for this story that I’ll try to go through when I can. I know I said it before, but for some reason, I realised that I wanted to change a few things with some of the coming drafts, which took more time than I expected. As usual, I don’t mind rewriting this chapter depending on your feedback, so please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.