High Tide, Driftmark
Laenor watched as seagulls flew in circles above the sea, the sun shining brightly on the light-blue water, which looked ethereal from the sandy beach where he sat. Today was the day he would leave for the North. Laenor might have been joyous on this day—perhaps even excited—if not for the Faceless Man's visit and the words of the death god.
Over the past few days, he had been poring over the history of this world—something he had ignored until now. Not that he found any meaningful differences from what he remembered reading about it in his past life on Earth. With no further leads on the existence of other demigods, Laenor decided at least to educate himself by reading about all the gods of the Known World. From the Old Gods of the North to the New of the Andals, the Black Goat of Qohor, and many more.
He didn't know how powerful the gods of this world were, or whether they could interact with the mortal realm at will. He doubted it. Gods—however prideful, vain, or arrogant they might be—usually cared for their worshippers, at least a little, that's what Laenor thinks. Yet this world was overflowing with suffering and offered only a few known miracles in the history books. So either this world had the cruelest gods imaginable—which wasn't good news for him, to say the least—or they couldn't interact directly and had to rely on subtler other methods.
But in the end, all of it was speculation—notes written in haste on parchment. Laenor couldn't act or prepare further unless he found a god willing to part with the kind of answers he sought. And by the sea, there was one hope: the Storm God of Storm's End. Laenor had not met many gods. He had visited the Sept a few times since arriving in this world, but the Sept always felt… empty. Hollow. Not like the stormlands, which thrummed with something ancient and real. Something welcoming and warm, and happy to see him.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the salty air mixed with a faint sulfuric smell—thanks to one of his companions. Turning to his right, he reminded himself he was not alone. Embaryx was with him.
Laenor had already told his mount he wouldn't be bringing him on the journey North. And though slightly disgruntled by the decision, Embaryx took it better than expected. Both Embaryx and Veltharys had grown not just in size over the past two years, but in intelligence. Laenor would even say they had grown more in consciousness than in physical form.
Still, there had been no sign of dragon eggs from Veltharys, and both of them had been together for some time.. That was a disappointment. But Laenor suspected the Velaryon dragons weren't so different from Targaryen ones, and mating likely began around their twentieth year of life. Looking at Embaryx always inspired awe. The sheer size alone was astonishing—and when he flew, with that massive body, it was no wonder people had believed magic hadn't gone extinct so long as dragons still lived.
Embaryx let out a huff and a low growl, like two boulders grinding against each other. Laenor smiled faintly and shook his head in response. Embaryx snorted in return, releasing a puff of smoke hot enough to steam the damp sand, then turned his draconic gaze toward the seagulls above. Laenor could see the hunger in his eyes—but also the laziness that kept him grounded.
"He's a little conscious about being watched, isn't he? But I didn't know Embaryx doesn't prefer you watching him either," said a voice to his left.
Laena. She was sitting beside him on the ground. Energetic and chattering box though she was, she usually stayed quiet when they came here in the mornings. She knew Laenor liked peace and silence at dawn.
"He doesn't like being stared at. That's all," Laenor replied. "And he didn't mind me watching him. He was just asking, 'What?' You still need more practice understanding what Embaryx is saying, Sister." He smirked.
Laenor turned toward her and met her dry stare with one of his own—unamused and patient. She wasn't nearly as skilled at reading Embaryx as she liked to think.
"Anyway," Laena said, changing the subject, "tell me—what have you decided?"
"Asking the same question a hundred times won't change the answer, Sister," Laenor replied. "You're not coming with me."
"Why not? I really could be useful, Laenor. You know how much my magic has grown. I can already cast more spells than anyone—"
Before she could launch into another of her rambling defenses—ones Laenor had heard far too often—he interrupted her, louder than intended.
"Still not taking you."
Laena froze. Her face fell, and for a moment, she looked like she might cry. But before she could, Laenor continued.
"Laena, you're the most powerful person on this island after me. In my absence, I need someone here to protect Driftmark. That's why Embaryx is staying. With your magic, and our dragons—who you can command—you'll ensure that neither the Faith nor anyone else threatens our family while I'm gone."
Laena scoffed, then linked her hand with his and leaned her head against his shoulder.
"They can protect themselves. All Velaryons are strong enough to not need anyone's help," she said. "So take me with you."
Her tone had shifted—more affectionate than insistent. Laenor noticed the lack of that usual stubborn fire she used when trying to get her way. She wouldn't push this, he guessed. Not this time.
"I miss you so much when you're gone. You always leave for years," Laena said softly. "I couldn't come with you to the Stepstones. So please, take me with you this time."
It hurt his heart to deny her every time, and there was a chance he might have taken her with him—if not for the unpredictable way the Old Gods might react to his presence. The Old Gods were among the oldest of deities, and that meant power and knowledge in terrifying measure. Powerful Laenor might be, but he was no omniscient being; he could never truly know what schemes his enemies plotted in shadow. Call him paranoid, but if there was one thing Laenor would never gamble with, it was and always would be his family. He would never forgive himself if harm came to them because of him.
Laena's soft voice pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts.
"You know, Laenor," she murmured, "Winter has started, and the North will be cold this time. So cold. You'll need someone to warm you. And if you take me with you, we don't have to stop our sessions that we have every day."
It was a clumsy attempt—at least compared to the kinds of flirting Laenor had seen and read about in his past world. But damn, the innocent eyes and quivering red lips of Laena made it more effective than any words ever could.
Laenor took a few deep breaths before managing to speak, though Laena closing the small distance between their bodies certainly didn't help his attempts to calm himself. Hadn't he already passed his puberty phase? Then why was his body reacting like this?
He turned his gaze to Laena again and said with a firm voice,
"Your lackluster seduction will not work on me this time, Laena."
And that, Laenor realized a second too late, was exactly the wrong thing to say—judging by the bright, knowing smile that curved her lips.
"So you agree it worked before. Then I'll just have to try harder," Laena whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief. And before he could react, she surged forward, closing the last sliver of space and crushing her lips against his.
The thought of pulling back flashed briefly through Laenor's mind. But then his senses registered the feeling of her lips—soft, warm, and familiar, a sensation he'd grown to crave over the past month. That fleeting hesitation vanished as he kissed her back just as fiercely. His hand moved up to her soft, white-gold hair, fingers threading through the silken, smooth strands as he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.
Laena moaned softly into his mouth, and Laenor nearly lost himself in that sound alone. Her hands clutched at the front of his cloak, drawing herself even tighter against him. He could feel the press of her chest, the quickening rhythm of her breath, and the way her body fit so perfectly against his.
Eventually, Laena broke the kiss, gasping for air. The sight of her chest rising and falling—full and heaving—was a sinful delight in the morning. She had grown wonderfully in the past months, and Laenor found it nearly impossible to tear his gaze away.
Alas, he would have to leave all of this and her for moons until his return.
"I'll return soon this time," Laenor promised, voice thick with longing.
"As I said," Laena replied, brushing her fingers over his lips, "I'll just have to try harder. I'll convince you to take me with you."
With that, she leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time, yet deeper. The world and all its dangers—including the wrath of the Old Gods and all gods—were forgotten as they surrendered to each other's presence, the warmth between them more fierce and brighter than any fire. And for a little while, Laenor forgot all about the perilous road and the incoming dangers that lay ahead.
If you're interested in reading up to fifteen chapters ahead of this one, you can find them on my Patreon:
Patreon.com/Daeranyx_Drakonar
Your support on Patreon helps me continue writing, but rest assured, I won't be locking chapters behind a paywall. They will be available for free over time. If you enjoy the story and would like to support my work, your contribution would be greatly appreciated!