Chapter 76 — Sea Snake's Resignation, and Death's Shadow
The cabin of the Sea Snake was dim, lit only by a single lantern swinging with the ship's slow breathing. Before it stood Lord Corlys Velaryon, hands clasped behind his back, listening without emotion as the Qartheen warlock called When Raven Fell whispered venomous counsel.
"You should kill them," the warlock murmured. "Prince Baelon… and Prince Daemon. Let the blame fall upon Dorne, or the Triarchy. Two heirs dead, a kingdom gasping—and Princess Rhaenys rises. You rise."
Corlys did not even look at him. Instead, he lifted a carved piece of Qohor ebony from the long table—a dragon in flight, bearing a lone rider. Some claimed it was Aegon the Conqueror. Others, a forgotten Valyrian Dragonlord. But to Corlys, the rider resembled the future he envisioned for Laenor—wind in his dark curls, astride a dragon of his own.
"When I wed Rhaenys," Corlys said softly, "I dreamed that Velaryon blood might one day ride dragons again. Yet the Dragon Laws bar my children at every turn. Laena and Laenor deserve the sky… but the sky is barred."
When Raven Fell's thin lips split into a blue-stained, wolfish grin.
"Then reclaim the sky where it begins. Return to the sea."
Corlys gave him a hard glance. "Speak sense."
"King's Landing is Aegon's stone cradle," the warlock said. "A place of crowns, politics, and suffocating rules. But Dragonstone—ah, Dragonstone… there, dragons live by older laws. Wilder laws."
Corlys raised an eyebrow. "Even the Dragonstone keepers guard the mountain. A wild dragon is no easier to tame."
"Perhaps," the warlock whispered, eyes glinting with sorcerous light,
"but the future I glimpsed in shade-of-the-evening shows a young dragon—born of sea-mist and smoke—flying not to the Dragonpit, but toward Driftmark. And it will not be alone. More dragons will follow."
Despite himself, Corlys's heart quickened.
He hid it well.
"Are you boasting you can tame wild dragons now?" he asked coldly.
"No," the warlock said, bowing his head. "Only that the tides of magic shift. Old Valyria is dead, Yi Ti far away… but Dragonstone and King's Landing burn with power again. Leave this city of knives, Lord Corlys. Return to Driftmark. And dragons will return to you."
Corlys did not dismiss him, but he did not answer either. He simply set the carving down and left the cabin.
But the seed had taken root.
---
The Sea Snake Resigns
At the next meeting of the Small Council, Lord Corlys Velaryon presented his resignation as Master of Ships.
The Iron Throne was empty save for the weight of duty; King Jaehaerys, weak and bedridden, had entrusted governance to Prince Baelon, the Hand of the King.
Prince Baelon did not pretend to be surprised. Their clash the previous day still burned in the air between them.
"Lord Corlys," Baelon said, trying diplomacy, "the realm needs you."
Corlys laughed—a bright, salt-hard sound.
"The realm will survive. Driftmark needs me more. A Sea Snake belongs on the water."
He bowed, offered polite farewells to Otto Hightower, Archmaester Yalar, Viserys, Daemon, and Ser Ryam Redwyne, then turned and strode from the chamber without looking back.
The chamber chilled in his absence.
Otto Hightower broke the silence first.
"We must fill the vacancy at once. Tensions with Dorne and the Triarchy worsen daily. The next Master of Ships must be firm—unyielding."
He folded his hands.
"I propose Ser Steffon Redwyne, commander of the Arbor fleet."
Ser Ryam Redwyne nodded. "He is my nephew, and though I should recuse myself, I admit he is a capable choice."
Daemon leaned forward lazily. "I propose Ravon Greyjoy, 'Son of the Wind'. Naming an Ironborn sends a message—and could earn us their oaths."
Archmaester Yalar, pale and wheezing, shook his head.
"The Ironborn are raiders by nature, my prince. The fleet would become a pirate armada."
Baelon nodded in agreement. "Another candidate?"
Viserys, normally silent, spoke at last.
"I recommend Patrek Arryn. He served years with the Sistermen fleet."
The true reason was personal—Viserys wanted an ally. Aemma Arryn was suffering miscarriage after miscarriage, and Viserys increasingly suspected Daemon's sorcerous companions.
Baelon looked pleased. "Patrek Arryn is suitable."
Daemon said nothing, though his purple eyes flashed coldly.
The council voted: Patrek Arryn would become Master of Ships.
---
Whispers of Assassins
Ser Ryam Redwyne reported grim news.
"Dozens of suspicious men and women have been arrested. Possible Faceless Men… or agents of the Triarchy. The dungeons overflow."
Daemon doubted a true Faceless Man would be caught so easily—though legends told of one such assassin who had once been taken and sent north to the Wall.
Archmaester Yalar, too frail to continue his duties, introduced Maester Lunettel, the bald dwarf appointed by the Conclave to assist him—and soon to replace him as Grand Maester.
The council adjourned.
---
Brothers at Odds
Only Baelon, Daemon, and Viserys remained.
Daemon spoke first. "Corlys's resignation stinks of conspiracy. Driftmark will not sleep quietly."
Baelon answered, "Let him go. His ambition is a storm best spent at sea. Here he would only seek dragons again."
Viserys lingered. Baelon placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You did well today. Building your own power is wiser than relying on your brother's shadow. With Patrek Arryn in the fleet, you have your first foothold."
Viserys sighed. "But Corlys takes the Velaryon fleet with him. What remains is pitiful."
Baelon frowned. "Then I will speak to Daemon. His Blackwater fleet may serve the realm better than him alone."
But Viserys hesitated—then finally confessed.
"Father… I fear the witches with Daemon. Aemma has suffered so much. Something is wrong."
Baelon's expression hardened.
"If those women harmed Aemma, they will die screaming."
---
A Dragon Is Hatched
Seven days later, at Flame Castle, the dragon egg Daemon had placed in the cradle of his third son—also named Baelon—hatched.
A hatchling cracked its way into the world, jade-green scales glittering, golden eyes bright with fire.
Daemon named it Ancalagon.
When Gael asked what the name meant, Daemon spun a tale of a mythical wyrm from "lands beyond the farthest maps."
A feast was held in celebration.
Viserys attended—then drank far too much Arbor gold.
Gael approached him gently. "If Daemon and I have a fourth son, we will name him after you."
Viserys forced a smile—but inside, jealousy gnawed.
"I should be honored," he slurred. "As if I can't father sons of my own."
The hall went still.
Daemon quickly signaled Mia Hogg and Mona Darklyn to escort Gael and the children out.
"Brother," Daemon said quietly, "you and Aemma will have a son."
Viserys, drunk and trembling, raised his cup again.
"I dreamed of him… my son. Crowned in gold, ruling all lands. A conqueror greater than Aegon. The world bowed to him."
Baelon touched his shoulder. "Enough, Viserys."
Viserys jerked away. "I'm not drunk! Daemon—did your witches curse Aemma?"
Daemon stiffened. "Nonsense. Lies spread by Corlys or the Triarchy."
Baelon's voice was low and dangerous.
"I have investigated Alys Rivers and Terra Uller. Their reputations reek of sorcery. You keep them close. Too close."
Daemon's temper flared. "You investigate me? While I defend the realm from assassins?"
"I investigate the danger," Baelon replied. "Maegor the Cruel let a witch guide him—and drowned the realm in blood. I will not let it happen again. Hand them over."
"No," Daemon said simply.
"And they carry your bastards," Baelon added. "I know."
Daemon's jaw tightened. "They are mine to protect."
Baelon's patience snapped.
"Then hear this:
You are stripped of command of the Kingsguard.
You are removed from the Small Council.
And if you defy me further, I will petition the King to strip you of land and title."
Viserys, swaying with drink, added bitterly,
"Give the Kingsguard to me. And Daemon's lands too. They should be mine."
For the first time, Daemon stared at Viserys as if seeing a stranger.
Baelon dragged Viserys away.
---
Death Arrives
Alys Rivers and Terra Uller stepped from the shadows like wraiths.
Daemon hissed, "You must flee. My father means to have you seized."
Alys Rivers touched his cheek gently.
"I fear Baelon far less than he thinks."
Terra laughed softly. "The poor fool. Death stands beside him already."
Daemon's stomach dropped.
A shout rose from the courtyard.
"Prince Baelon has collapsed! Fetch the maester!"
And just like that—
death came for the Hand of the King.
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