Chapter 25: A Spark of Magic
109 AC, The Narrow Sea
Laenor Velaryon opened his eyes and looked up to see the familiar sight of his cabin. He moved, but his entire body felt sore, as if every single bone had been broken. Though some burning pain radiated from his right shoulder, making him groan at the feeling.
As his mind tried to remember exactly what had happened, a voice spoke up next to him, “I suggest that you move as little as possible. Your armour was cleverly designed, I will give you that, enough that it stopped the worst of the damage to your shoulder, but the crossbow bolt did pierce through it.”
It was then that it all came back to him: the pirates that attacked him, the battle against the Essosi pirate who somehow got his hand on Valyrian Steel, and killing him, before falling unconscious. He had taken a bolt to the shoulder, which explained the pain, but he didn’t remember anything past that, only the faint impression of thunder in the distance, but that might as well have been his delirious mind imagining things. After all, he had taken a few hits to the head, as they fought off the pirates.
Objectively, they shouldn’t have survived the raid. Despite the Galleon being larger and faster than most ships, the pirate ships were obviously geared to war, likely hired by the Triarchy for their spat with Daemon. They were also clever and manoeuvred themselves perfectly to stop the Galleon from getting away, while also having the element of surprise. So, one question dominated all others, “What happened?”
He had spoken this word out loud, and a voice immediately answered him, “That is exactly what I had hoped for you to explain.”
Laenor stiffened, realising that he had forgotten that someone had spoken to him earlier. Oh, how he hoped that the hits to his head hadn’t rendered him a simpleton. He sat up, doing his best not to move his shoulder, and looked at a familiar face, “Maester Gerardys. I did not expect to see you anytime soon.”
“Nor did I expect to see you in such a state either, young Addam. Nor did I expect a humble merchant to slay a Pirate Lord. And yet, the world is full of surprises, is it not?”
Addam? Ah yes, this was the name he had gone by during the trip to Braavos, the one that he had given to Gerardys when he first passed on Dragonstone. However, there was something that the Maester had said that stuck in his mind, which Laenor repeated. “A Pirate Lord?”
“Aye. The man you slew near the end was a well-known pirate, Sargoso Saan, of the Saan family of Lys, descendant of the infamous pirate king of the Stepstones, which he was named after. I have no doubt that the Sea Snake will see you rewarded with your weight in gold for ridding the world of such a man.”
Despite himself, Laenor snorted in amusement, to the Maester’s confusion, and he explained, “I’m afraid that I haven’t been entirely honest with our dealings, Maester. My name is Laenor Velaryon, heir to Driftmark.”
The Maester froze in his tracks for a moment, and he repeated, “The heir to Driftmark? And you offered…”
“Aye. I would be honoured to have you as the Maester of Castle Driftmark upon my return. Should we return.”
Gerardys stiffened, “My lord, I am not worthy…”
Laenor interrupted him before this could continue, “Do not let this change how you act with me, Gerardys. That’s the least that I could do given the circumstances.”
The man looked at Laenor, his eyes narrowed, before chuckling, “It is no wonder that your knight was so desperate for your safety, enough to ignore his own injury. I can hardly fault him, for the Sea Snake would not be merciful if his heir is harmed under his watch.”
His knight… Oh, fuck, “Joffrey! How is he?”
The Maester raised his hand to calm him down, and then moved to the side, revealing the sleeping Joffrey on a bed on the other side of the cabin, “I had to give him some Milk of the Poppy and Dreamwine, for he would not leave your side. He was extremely lucky in the battle. His knee was broken, but thankfully, the fracture is a clean one. I made some wooden braces so that he would not move them. He should wear them for a few moons, until he is able to walk, though he will likely not return to combat for a year.”
Laenor found himself relaxing at that. Joffrey would likely hate every moment of this, but he would see his friend knighted for his bravery, and if his father would not do it, then Laenor would do it himself.
He turned to the Maester and said, “Thank you, Maester. Joffrey is a dear friend.”
“I only performed my duties, Ser Laenor.”
“And you have performed them admirably, Maester. Though I do have some question whose answer I hope you could provide.”
“I would be glad to help, my lord,” Gerardys said, “I have many questions of my own, after all. Some of the tales of what occurred on your ship bordered on the absurd.”
“Like what?” he asked, having raised an eyebrow at that, “I cannot remember anything past killing Saan. I was exhausted, injured, and likely fell unconscious.”
“Well, I can only tell you what I have heard and what I have witnessed. If your captain and crew are to be believed, you called a great storm into being, which sunk the pirate ships. After the storm was gone, the ship, which likely survived because of its size, had somehow been steered by only the wind to Dragonstone. I recognised the ship and went aboard, hoping to accept your offer to serve on Driftmark, but I quickly worked to treat the injured crew, or what is left of them, at least. I found you, my lord, lying next to the corpse of Sargoso Saan, surrounded by… this.”
The Maester raised a piece of cloth which he handed to Laenor. In there was the Valyrian Steel sword that the pirate had been wielding, the Dragonglass dagger that Laenor remembered stabbing the pirate with, and there was also a small piece of parchment, one that was completely drenched with blood, as if it had absorbed it completely.
Laenor did not know why this thing had been the one that brought his attention, and yet, it had. He picked it up and took a closer look at it, and the Maester explained, “You were gasping it when I found you, though I confess that I do not know why.”
It came back to him, quickly, the memory of what that once was, the drawing that he had made during the journey back from Braavos, the drawing of the Merling King.
It had been one of Laenor’s more esoteric drawings, which were often interpretations of his dreams or mythical figures. Then again, wouldn’t mythical figures also be considered dreams in a way? Laenor wasn’t sure, but there was a certain… otherness, a faint echo of power in these types of work, and yet, the piece of parchment dripping with blood did not have this echo, not anymore.
He could almost feel it, for it was drained in some way, spent.
If what the men said was true, and there was no reason why they would lie about that, a freak Storm appeared, destroying the enemy ships while leaving their own relatively unharmed, while also somehow steering it to Dragonstone, despite half of the crew being dead.
This could hardly be a coincidence. Could it?
It was then that Laenor remembered a very clear detail, a desperate plea that he had made for someone… anyone… to help him against the pirates.
He had asked for help out of desperation, for someone, anyone, to come to their aid, knowing that defeat was inevitable, for they had been outnumbered greatly. And a storm had come, bringing them, and the pirates were now no more, while Laenor's ship was unharmed and had somehow made its way to Dragonstone.
There had to be an explanation, and unfortunately, it was one that he was not comfortable with.
Magic.
He had killed a man with the Dragonglass dagger and spilt his blood on the drawing, a drawing of the Merling King, a sea deity. The result was a storm, and now his drawing felt... dead. It had the makings of some kind of blood ritual. He did remember reading somewhere that the Children of the Forest had used their Dragonglass daggers for their rituals in some way.
He did not know.
Had Laenor truly called on something, something that he did not understand?
While it seemed like a very real possibility, one that would have saved his life, if true, the mere thought of it unnerved him greatly.
He did his best not to show that on his face, as he slowly got up, “I confess that I likely do not know my reasons either. I do not… I do not know what happened, not truly. But I feel that you and I will spend a lot of time on Castle Driftmark trying to decipher its mysteries. If you’re still interested in accepting my offer, of course…”
The young Velaryon said these words leadingly, and the Maester looked embarrassed for a moment, “Of course, I am, my lord.”
Laenor smiled at that. At least something good came out of this disaster. With an approving nod, he grasped the Dragonglass dagger, the one that had saved his life, and sheathed it back into its holster. He gave a complicated look at the bloody parchment that was once his drawing, before rolling it and putting it inside his pouch. He would study it later, but he wasn’t expecting much to come out of it.
His eyes finally drifted back to the Valyrian Steel sword, the one that he had earned through combat. He walked up and raised it in the air. He had never held Valyrian Steel before, and it was surprisingly light, unnaturally so, even. He felt it literally cut through the air as he held it and admired the rippled patterns that emerged amidst its dark grey, almost black blade.
He spoke up his thoughts loudly, “I wonder if it has a name…”
“Not that I know of, my lord,” Gerardys answered, “There are many Valyrian Steel blades whose names were lost, especially in Essos. This sword does not seem to have any identifying signs detailing its origin.”
Laenor nodded and took a step forward, walking out of the cabin, taking a deep, refreshing breath. “Then it will need a new name… Riptide… It shall be called Riptide.”
That name had sounded right to his ears, and he smiled as he gave the weapon one last look before he returned it to its sheath that he attached to his belt. This time, the Maester did not say anything, and just left the young knight to his contemplations, which honestly, Laenor really appreciated.
He ignored the sheer awe that the crew and surviving merchants gave him as they looked at him, and instead, looked at the horizon, lost in thought.
This fight… This battle made him realise just how much he lacked when it came to battle. Sure, he was an able swordsman, a good rider, but Laenor had nearly lost everything because he was not prepared, because the thought of anything stopping the Galleon had not crossed his mind. The thought of pirates attacking his ship had not even occurred to him; even, in fairness, this was the first of these attacks on a Galleon. Usually, none would have been foolish enough to risk such a thing, especially since the Triarchy obviously did not want the Sea Snake to fight their war.
They had overreached with this. They would pay for it, of course, but there was very little that Laenor could do, not compared to the damage that his actions in Braavos would cause them.
He felt a vindicating smile appear on his face as he looked forward to seeing the fruits of his labour, the aftermath of his little scheme.
But for now, he had a lot on his mind. For one, he refused to be caught unprepared once more. He would make designs to ensure that such a thing would never occur again. He would build things that would frighten any pirate who would dare attack him.
He would also study the events that occurred, the ones that saved him… And for that, he would need every single piece of information regarding magic that he could have, something that would not be an easy task, given how much the Faith hated the practice, with the Citadel declaring it dead to the world.
It had not looked dead to him when a storm was summoned out of nowhere to destroy a pirate’s fleet.
As he continued to contemplate his future endeavours, Laenor realised that he had remained standing for what must have been hours, especially as he realised that the sun was setting on a familiar island.
Driftmark.
It seemed more beautiful than it had been when he left it. The scene, his arrival, felt almost poetic, and a part of him wanted to say something, to simply convey the change that he felt, how this single journey, one that barely lasted more than a fortnight, felt like it had changed… everything.
However, this was not the time for contemplation. This was the time for action, time for the world to finally see what he was capable of.
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.
As for this chapter, well, I thought to explain a bit about what happened, and Laenor processing the first instance of the ‘Higher Mysteries’. I hope that I didn't overdo it, though. And this should be the end of the Braavos mini arc. I’m really looking forward to what comes next.
As I said before, I am planning on uploading more of this story (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. 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.