A Mother’s Concern
Chapter 5: A Mother’s Concern
Daeron Targaryen recalled Aemond’s cold words blaming him for Lucerys’s injury. The accusation was a twisting knife, leaving Daeron both resentful and bitter. Yet, his frustration with his own parents ran deeper. They had chosen to send him away to a distant house rather than defend him, and that betrayal stung worse than anything Aemond could say.
As days passed, Daeron’s host, Lord Celtigar, introduced him to the castle’s ancient library, filled with texts on Valyrian culture. Lord Celtigar’s pride in his Valyrian heritage, combined with his extensive knowledge, intrigued Daeron. He became particularly drawn to the old gods and faiths of Valyria, finding solace in the rituals and stories that seemed to resonate with his own inner turmoil.
In the damp, salt-tinged corridors of Claw Isle, Daeron Targaryen found himself standing in the great hall of House Celtigar, a stark contrast to the opulence of the Red Keep. The Celtigars, for all their proud lineage, were isolated, mysterious figures within the realm, and their ancestral seat reflected this. Shadowy, ancient tapestries covered the stone walls, each one woven with the stories of a proud Valyrian heritage.
Lord Bartimos Celtigar, a severe man with silver-streaked hair and an unnerving gaze, moved toward Daeron with quiet dignity. Unlike Daeron’s father, there was an intensity to his presence that demanded respect. Bartimos was known to hold his Valyrian bloodline in the highest regard, a point he was careful to emphasize as he welcomed Daeron into his care.
“Do you know, young prince, that we Celtigars are of ancient Valyrian blood?” Bartimos began, his voice carrying an almost reverential tone. “Our house may not have the dragons, but we have the knowledge—the traditions of old Valyria, the wisdom that far outlives fire and scales.”
Daeron, feeling the bitterness of recent events linger, nodded curtly. “The maester taught me some of our heritage, but the Red Keep is not rich in true Valyrian relics or stories,” he replied, trying to hide his frustration. Here, in the cold, quiet halls of Claw Isle, something felt more… authentic.
Bartimos studied him for a moment, his gaze unreadable, then gestured for Daeron to follow him deeper into the castle. They descended into a dim, ancient library lit only by flickering sconces. The walls were lined with scrolls and books, many of which had aged to the color of dried bone. Daeron could feel the weight of history in the air.
“Here lies the knowledge passed down from our ancestors, the proud Valyrians before the Doom,” Bartimos said, motioning to the shelves. “You see, Prince Daeron, Valyria was not merely a kingdom of dragonlords; it was a civilization that valued balance—wisdom and strength, man and woman.”
Daeron’s curiosity sparked. “You mean… women ruled alongside men?”
“Indeed,” Bartimos said with a faint, approving smile. “Unlike the lords of Westeros who seek to keep women behind closed doors, Valyrian women were warriors, sorceresses, and rulers. They fought and strategized, their word carried the same weight as their husbands’ or fathers’. In fact, some were known to be even more ruthless than their male counterparts. They commanded dragons, ruled over provinces, and wielded power fearlessly.”
Bartimos continued, his eyes gleaming with fervor. “One such woman was Lady Aelyra the Unyielding, a renowned dragonrider and sorceress. She held her own territory within Valyria and was said to be more feared than any man. Tales say she could incite terror with her gaze alone, and that her enemies would submit before even drawing their blades.”
The young prince leaned in, captivated by the image forming in his mind. His sisters, cousin Rhaenys, and even Queen Alicent had been figures of strength in their own ways, but this was something else entirely. These women commanded armies, dragons, even entire cities, not from behind men but as their equals.
“What about Visenya?” Daeron asked, recalling one of the few stories he knew from his own house. “She was a warrior too, wasn’t she?”
“Visenya Targaryen was a descendant of that tradition,” Bartimos confirmed, nodding with a hint of admiration. “She wielded a blade as easily as any man and commanded the respect of all. But it was not only her strength in battle that made her formidable; it was her mind. She understood power, how to claim it and hold it.”
Daeron’s mind raced with the implications of these stories. The thought of women ruling and wielding power independently was new to him. The Westerosi world was rigid in its traditions, yet here was a version of history that defied all he had known. He thought of Rhaenyra, his half-sister who struggled against the restrictions that surrounded her claim, and of Alicent, his mother, who had to use subtlety and charm to achieve her aims rather than raw authority. How different might their lives have been if they had lived in Valyria?
“Did these women… did they ever have to obey their husbands or fathers?” Daeron asked carefully, almost hesitantly.
“Obey?” Bartimos let out a dry laugh. “Valyrian women, obey? No, my young prince. They demanded loyalty, respect, and, above all, equality. If a man did not honor his wife or sister in the way she deserved, he would face repercussions that only a woman of power could devise. Loyalty was everything, yes, but it was freely given, not coerced.”
Daeron’s mind spun with questions. For the first time, he felt an understanding of the power his mother and sister sought, though it was tempered with a new sense of purpose. His fascination with Valyrian culture grew by the hour, shaping his view of his family, his loyalty, and his future role.
As the days passed, Bartimos continued to share tales of Valyrian queens and sorceresses, each story further igniting Daeron’s imagination. In those ancient days, he saw a reflection of the Targaryens’ past strength, a world where his sister could have stood among the most feared and respected rulers.
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The gentle tapping of hammers and murmurs of unfamiliar voices filled the air around Dragonstone. A small crew of foreign workers, with their accents thick and their methods precise, had begun to assemble the glass houses Lucerys had requested. Corlys had kept his promise with a vengeance, commissioning not one but three glass houses and introducing a novel element to the build: dragonglass.
The glossy, black material gleamed in the hands of the workers, who discussed it with a blend of respect and practicality. Under the Dragonstone sun, the combination of dragonglass and crystal-clear panes was mesmerizing, reflecting the island’s raw, rugged beauty. Lucerys, observing from a distance, couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. His simple fascination with plants had grown into a grand project that brought life and novelty to their stronghold.
Watching the men work, Corlys Velaryon explained to Rhaenyra, “They’re using dragonglass in the foundations. An unusual choice, but the material is strong and, in its own way, beautiful.”
If they could shape and refine dragonglass, perhaps there was a market for it, especially in the North, where the material was both useful and symbolic. Selling it could bring steady income to Dragonstone, a way to ensure her family’s independence from the whims of King’s Landing and the Greens.
Rhaenyra’s gaze lingered on the glittering black fragments. She could almost see the possibilities they held. “We could use this,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Imagine if we sold it to the North or other regions.”
Corlys raised an eyebrow. “You see a trade route forming?”
“A discreet one,” she replied, her eyes narrowing as her mind turned to strategy. “We could trade in secret, making allies while keeping an eye on their loyalties.”
She found herself discussing her idea with Laenor later as they walked along the shore. “The North holds dragonglass in high regard,” she mused, “and they may be interested in trade. It would give us a way to form bonds under the guise of business, perhaps gauge their loyalty to our cause.”
Laenor’s eyes brightened at her words. “A wise plan. We could send messages to Winterfell and to other allies in the North, inviting them to see Dragonstone’s work firsthand.”
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Lucerys’s mind turned to his own newfound influence over his grandfather, Viserys.
Only weeks earlier, he had written to the king, carefully crafting a letter that hinted at his interests in rare creatures and plants. Within a fortnight, gifts had begun to arrive from the king—exotic animals, rare seeds, strange colorful birds from across the Narrow Sea, a gilded cage housing a lively troupe of monkeys, even a delicate glass terrarium with miniature butterflies flitting inside.
Each gift thrilled Lucerys, and he watched with amusement as Corlys took notice. His maternal grandfather, competitive by nature, soon matched every gift from the king with one of his own. Dragonstone became a playground of surprises, each package more unusual than the last, much to the amusement of the entire family.
“Grandfather seems… eager to spoil you, Luke,” Rhaenyra remarked with a smirk.
Lucerys gave a knowing smile. “I think he’s making up for my uncle’s… mistake. If his generosity happens to benefit our side, all the better.”
Rhaenyra chuckled. “A delicate manipulation, my son.”
“And perhaps more yet,” he murmured thoughtfully, already considering his next letter to Viserys. Each gift served as a bridge, drawing the king closer to Rhaenyra’s side, albeit unknowingly.
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While on a break from his lessons, Lucerys wandered deeper into the castle than he had before, curiosity tugging him along a twisting corridors until he found a door concealed by shadows. Inside, he discovered a small room with shelves lined with strange jars and tools, an ancient cauldron resting in the center, and old, handwritten books filled with recipes and notes.
“Visenya’s old workshop,” he whispered, eyes widening with awe. Tales of Visenya Targaryen’s skill with poisons and potions had always intrigued him. Deciding to keep this discovery to himself, he placed a rune of concealment on the wall outside the hidden door, ensuring that the room would remain secret.
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Over a quiet evening meal, Rhaenyra sat with Rhaenys and Laenor. She looked at them both, her expression heavy. “Sometimes,” she admitted softly, “I wonder if I’m truly meant to be queen. The demands, the scrutiny… at times, it seems easier to let it go, to leave the court behind and simply focus on our family.”
Rhaenys watched her, her gaze both gentle and firm. “And if you did, who would rise in your place?” Rhaenyra’s eyes darkened as she thought of Alicent’s ambitions and the lengths she had gone to secure her children’s futures.
“That’s exactly what I hate most,” Rhaenyra whispered. “Alicent and I were friends once. She was my closest companion. Now, she’s willing to use any means to ensure her sons rule—even manipulation and deceit.”
Rhaenys placed a reassuring hand on Rhaenyra’s shoulder. “Remember, Rhaenyra, power is often accompanied by sacrifice. But you have your children, your allies, your strength. Jace’s birthright is worth defending.”
Rhaenyra’s voice hardened as she continued, “I’ve tried to view Daeron and the others as siblings, allies even, but the incident with Lucerys has changed that. They’re no longer just family; they’re threats to my children’s safety. I will not let them harm what is mine.”
Lucerys, listening to his mother’s words, felt a fierce protectiveness rise within him. His thoughts turned to Narcissa, his first mother, whose memory still lingered in his heart. He saw something of her in Rhaenyra—the fierce pride, the refusal to yield. She deserved the throne, and he would make certain she sat on it. He leaned closer, his voice steady as he spoke.
“I’ll help you, Mother,” he promised. “In every way I can. We’ll make sure the court sees your worth and Jace’s right to inherit. Whatever the Greens try, we’ll be ready.”
In the quiet of his mind, Draco’s voice rose, calm and calculating. She has enemies that even she may not know. You must prepare her, guide her, so that when the time comes, she is unbreakable.
Lucerys nodded, more to himself than to Draco, but his resolve was set. He would stand beside his mother, supporting her dreams in the way he wished he could have supported Narcissa’s.
Rhaenys gave her a knowing look. “You wouldn’t be the first ruler to question their path, Rhaenyra. But your blood and your children’s blood are royal.”
“I know,” Rhaenyra replied, looking at her eldest son, Jacaerys, across the room. “For his sake, I cannot give up. His birthright must be defended. But Alicent… her greed and ambition taint everything.”
Laenor nodded, sympathy in his eyes. “You were friends once.”
“That was long ago,” Rhaenyra said quietly. “She chose ambition over loyalty, even if it meant betraying her oldest friend.”
The sadness in her voice stirred something within Lucerys, a fierce need to protect her. He had seen, through Draco’s memories, the same isolation in his mother that Narcissa had endured.
“They won’t stop even if you surrender, Mother,” he said, voice firm. “If you were to give up the throne, they would still see you—and us—as threats.”
Rhaenyra looked at him, a glimmer of pride in her eyes. “You’re right, Luke. They would seek to destroy us regardless.”
Lucerys felt a resolve harden within him, a conviction to protect his mother and their family. “We will help you,” he promised.
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Three months passed, the days filled with careful planning and quiet alliances. The family’s hold over Dragonstone grew stronger as they prepared for whatever the Greens would bring against them. But their enemies were not idle.
As the months passed, a shift began to ripple through the realm. Rumors spread throughout the Red Keep, murmurs of Rhaenyra’s sons’ questionable parentage. Whispers drifted from court to common folk, reaching the ears of nobles and smallfolk alike, poisoning their view of Rhaenyra’s claim. The Greens used these rumors as fuel for their ambitions, growing bolder in their assertions that Alicent’s sons were the true heirs.
As the tensions simmered, Dragonstone itself witnessed an unexpected arrival. A storm brewed above as Daemon and Laena returned, their dragons darkening the sky. Caraxes’s whistle mingled with the winds as Vhagar’s shadow spread across the waters, with Baela’s dragon trailing close behind. The arrival of Daemon’s family was a potent reminder that allies stood ready, their strength and dragons a symbol of power that could not be ignored.
The family gathered in the great hall, the tension was broken by the echoing roar of dragons in the distance. Lucerys’s head snapped up, heart pounding as he heard the unmistakable cries of Caraxes and Vhagar, their fierce voices carrying across the sea. Soon after, a smaller but no less spirited roar joined them—Baela’s young dragon, barely reaching the size of a horse.
They rushed outside, just in time to see the dragons circling above before descending in a flurry of wings. Lucerys felt his pulse quicken as Daemon dismounted from Caraxes, his dark gaze sweeping over the assembled family. Beside him, Laena held herself with poise, her eyes gleaming with strength. Baela and Rhaena followed, their young faces alight with excitement, hair whipping around them in the breeze.
“Uncle!” Lucerys exclaimed, rushing forward to greet Daemon as he dismounted Caraxes.
Daemon’s fierce gaze softened as he looked at his great nephew. “Luke,” he greeted, embracing him tightly. He took in the changes to Dragonstone—the glasshouses gleaming in the dimming light, the dragonglass glinting in the foundation. “Much has changed since I last saw this place.”
Rhaenyra approached, her gaze resolute but relieved. “It’s good to have you back, Kepus.”
He nodded, understanding the unspoken words between them. The family was readying itself, preparing for the inevitable conflict, for the silent war that had been simmering was soon to erupt.
“Together, we are stronger,” he said, his voice carrying both a warning and a promise.
Rhaenyra looked out over the darkening sea, her heart steeling for the battles that lay ahead.
The arrival of Daemon and his family brought a sense of renewed purpose. With the Blacks united on Dragonstone, Rhaenyra felt a surge of confidence. Together, they would meet whatever Alicent and her allies dared to send against them.