Legacy of the Dragon Ch. 01

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An exile reunites with Princess Daenerys Targaryen.
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Part 1 of the 3 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 01/30/2018
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- - -

The exiled Lucas Velaryon, rightful Lord of Driftmark, lives in the Free City of Volantis in Essos under a false name but remains determined to someday return to Westeros. When Lucas learns that the similarly exiled Princess Daenerys Targaryen is alive and is travelling Essos with her brother in search of a suitor, he makes arrangements and acquires her, setting off a series of events that change their realm forever.

- - -

LUCAS

Lucas and Daenerys sat in silence across from each other. The only sound either made was the rustling of the satin cushions they sat upon when they slightly shifted their bottoms or legs. They were being ferried in a palanquin on the shoulders of a half-dozen armored guards whose services Lucas had purchased only for the day. Palanquins and other litters were a typical choice of Volantis's wealthy residents to avoid the filth and stench of the streets.

Volantis was a hot and humid port city located on the largest mouth of the Rhoyne river where it met the Summer Sea. It was the most southeast of Essos's Free Cities, the furthest from Westeros. That title, 'Free City,' was accurate only in the sense that it was self-governed and that no distant tyrant ruled it. True freedom was scarce in Volantis. There were five slaves for every freeman in the city. Volantis may have had a surface that was rich, grand, and majestic, but its underbelly was as depraved and sadistic as anywhere else in the known world. Lucas held no love for the city. Though he had now lived in Volantis longer than he had anywhere else, it was not his true home, and it never would be.

Lucas sat with an air of calmness and confidence. His visage was masculine and handsome, with a strong nose and stronger jaw. His eyes were a pale blue. His wavy hair was brown in color and combed to perfection, and he was clean-shaven. He was tall and fit, no shorter than six feet. His skin was naturally fair in complexion, but it had a slightly golden hue to it, lightly kissed by the sun. His attire was lavish but simple, consisting of a cream-colored doublet, white, spotless trousers, and beige, polished boots. A magnificent longsword was fastened to his hip, sitting in a bejeweled scabbard, with a wide, sea green gemstone embedded into the center of its crossguard.

Across from him, Daenerys was strikingly fair and beautiful. Hers was a soft face, with a straight nose and full lips. Her eyes were as violet as amethysts, and they shone just as brilliantly under light. Her silver-blonde hair was long and brushed smooth. It cascaded down her shoulders, falling to the small of her back. Two locks of it were woven into seamless braids around her head, like crowns. Her eyebrows were the same silver color. Daenerys was reasonably slim and somewhat short in stature; she was no taller than five-foot-three, and could not have weighed much more than eight stone. Her pale complexion was noticeably fairer than Lucas's, almost milky in color. Her face was only lightly and tastefully painted, most notably with a pink gloss on her lips and a black shadow around her eyes. The sleeveless, plum-colored gown she wore was cinched at the waist. It hugged her body, showing off the form of her figure, displaying the narrowness of her tiny waist and the swell of her smallish but perky breasts. Her white sandals bared most of her soft, pedicured feet.

Both were meticulously groomed and smelled of sweet perfumes. As their palanquin left the clustered lower city and neared the bay, the thickness and humidity of the air thinned into brisker breezes courtesy of the sea. They had departed minutes earlier from a third party's manse wherein the gaudy magister Illyrio Mopatis had brokered the sale of Daenerys by her brother Viserys. Though he may have claimed otherwise, Lucas suspected that Viserys in truth had no interest in keeping his sister by his side. A princess could serve only one purpose to a ruthless, would-be king: wedding her off to the highest bidder. Knowing the allure of Daenerys's beauty and her status as the last maiden of a usurped dynasty, Viserys desired either a small army of sellswords or enough coin to hire one. Lucas gave him the latter. That had meant handing over damn near every treasure and heirloom he and his father had brought from Westeros years ago ... but even so ... it was worth it.

Daenerys held her hands together at her waist. She seemed timid and meek, but not fearful, not quite. She had seemed more frightened in the presence of her brother. Lucas wondered just how cruelly Viserys must've treated Daenerys for her to be more at ease with a stranger than with her own kin.

Viserys is in the past now, Lucas thought, quelling his revulsion. Daenerys is where she belongs.

Daenerys's gaze was cast out the glass window at their side. She watched the distant reflection of the golden sun as it hovered above the vast, blue sea. It was the middle of the evening. The sun would sink from the sky in less than a few hours.

Their palanquin tilted upwards as the guardsmen bearing it began ascending a tall hill. Lucas pinned his right arm against the wall, preventing himself from falling into Daenerys's lap. Daenerys looked to him when she noticed his movement. "Are we leaving Volantis?" she asked softly.

Lucas shook his head. "We're going to my manse on the south edge of the city, on Ivory Hill," he told her.

Daenerys looked to the window once more. They let the silence return.

Eventually, the palanquin leveled. Lucas let his right arm rest at his side. Daenerys looked back to him. "You said Orello is your name, my lord?" she asked.

Lucas shook his head again. "That's a false name I use here in Essos. Lucas Velaryon is my true name."

Daenerys gave him a curious look. "I see. Well ... my name is Daenerys. I don't know if Viserys ever bothered to tell you."

"I know your name. I knew it long before I met your brother. Daenerys Targaryen."

Lucas's voice hung on her name, breathing the words a little slower than the ones before it. As for Daenerys, she seemed to pay no mind to his. She did not recognize his house. It seemed Viserys did not teach her much history outside of her own family's. But it mattered not. It simply gave Lucas the chance to present his family to her. He would save that for later, for the more lavish environment that such a revelation truly deserved.

"Did Viserys tell you why I purchased you from him?" Lucas asked.

"He told me I'm to be your bride."

"Does that make you nervous? You can be honest."

Daenerys held on the question for a moment. "Yes," she admitted.

"There's no shame in that. But you've no reason to be." Lucas joined Daenerys in gazing upon the sun. "I've centuries of ancestors watching me today," he mused.

"Is this day important to your family?" Daenerys asked.

"No. But you are."

Daenerys turned her head towards him. She was visibly confused, her silver eyebrows lowered. "What do you mean?"

That moment, the palanquin was eased to the ground, and the single door on its side swung open. Tobas, Lucas's middle-aged steward with balding, salt-and-pepper hair and deep lines in his face, poked his head inside and looked to Lucas. "Welcome home, my lord," he said. When his head turned and his gaze found Daenerys, his eyes widened and bulged. "My lady."

A few minutes later, Lucas strode through the halls of his manse with Daenerys following close behind and his steward at the far rear. Daenerys's eyes wandered as they walked, her head turning from side to side as she took in the sight of the grand abode. Teal sashes adorned every pair of curtains, and the same coat of arms of a silver seahorse on a field of sea green adorned all the shields and tapestries hanging from the walls. They soon passed by a doorway to the kitchen, where billowing steam and mouth-watering smells emanated from within.

"It may not be the castle those of our blood and birth deserve, but it's the best we'll have for now," Lucas remarked.

"We deserve better than this?" Daenerys asked with disbelief.

Lucas smiled and chuckled. "Yes, we do. I suppose that seems a strange thought to you."

"Viserys always said we deserved better. This is what I imagined 'better' was."

Lucas's smile slipped away. "You'd be amazed by the homes the Usurper took from us," he grumbled, his mind souring with thoughts of the fat drunkard that now sat on the Iron Throne. "Driftmark is a bit dour, but Gods is High Tide grandiose. And your family's home? The Red Keep? There's nothing in the world like it."

Moments later, they arrived in a small dining hall. The long table squared in the room's center was lined with chairs, but the chair at the far north end was larger and more lavish than the others. It was the lord's seat. It and one of the chairs next to it had a knife and fork rolled in a fine, white fabric placed on the table before them.

Lucas turned his head towards Daenerys, who stood beside him in the doorway. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

Daenerys looked to him and nodded eagerly.

"Seat your lady, Tobas," Lucas commanded him.

Tobas hurried over to the chair adjacent to the lord's seat and pulled it a couple paces backwards. "Here, my lady." After Daenerys sat down, Tobas pushed her closer to the table. "Are you hot, my lady? I could fetch a fan and cool you."

Daenerys gave the steward a meek, clueless look. It was overtly clear that she was not yet accustomed to servants waiting on her.

"I think she's alright, Tobas, thank you," Lucas told him, rescuing Daenerys from her uncertainty.

Tobas nodded. "Of course, my lord." He swiftly placed Lucas in the lord's seat just as he had placed Daenerys. When he finished, he bowed away and backpedaled to his proper station in the northwest corner of the room.

"Tobas here has been with me all my life," Lucas said as he eyed the steward. "He and the others here were the few servants who followed my father and fled to Essos with us."

"An easy decision, my lord," Tobas said. He smiled at Daenerys when she looked at him over her shoulder. "The Usurper is no king of mine. And Volantis is a beautiful city. Wonderful to retire in."

"He's been like family to me. He and the other two here," Lucas said.

Daenerys turned back to Lucas. Confusion colored her gaze. "What did you mean when you said I'm important to your family?" she asked.

"Daenerys, I'm a Velaryon. House Velaryon has been bannermen to House Targaryen for centuries. My family aided yours in Aegon's Conquest, and we supported you during the forsaken rebellion that sent us all here. My father fought in that war beside your brother Rhaegar. I still have the letter he wrote me after the Usurper slayed Rhaegar at the Trident. When Rhaegar died, my father returned to the Capital. Your father Aerys commanded him to escort your mother Rhaella and Viserys to Driftmark. My home. He was to safeguard them till the war's end. When we heard word that the Usurper's forces were coming, we'd already heard how those monsters slaughtered Rhaegar's wife and her babes. My father and Ser Willem Darry decided that the best chance for your mother and brother surviving was to flee Westeros. I was a boy of only ten years, but I demanded to go with. I wouldn't take no for an answer. The day before they had decided, they had been warned by a letter with a gold lion seal: it said that if anyone safeguarded the last of your family, they'd never be welcomed into 'the king's peace.' My father burned that letter the same day. He didn't care, so I didn't care either."

Lucas's eyes floated into a vacant gaze as he recalled that night that was now so long past. It was a night he would never forget.

"I remember the last time I saw your mother," he went on. "She was heavy with you. She was worried, but resilient, for yours and Viserys's sake. She and Viserys boarded a different ship than my father and me. We loaded coin, treasures, and heirlooms into the cargo of our carrack. It was for all of us to survive on, but a terrible storm separated our ship from yours. I'd never seen a storm like that one, and still never have since. My father was certain you were all dead. We found scores of shipwrecks. We thought yours was among them. We would've searched for you if we'd known otherwise."

"My mother died birthing me," Daenerys told him.

"I feared as much. I'm sorry. Mine died when I was young too."

Daenerys's gaze fell to the floor. "I never knew her." Suddenly, her gaze flicked back up again. "But I knew Ser Willem," she said, nodding. "He took care of Viserys and me at the house with the red door in Braavos, when we were little."

"What happened to him?"

"He took sick when I was twelve. He died a month later."

Lucas nodded. Somehow, he was not surprised. "My father died the same way. You and I have interwoven fates, Daenerys. We were meant to wed. We're two sides of the same coin. 'One side blue as the ocean, the other red as blood. The dragon of the sea and the dragon of the sky.'" Those had been Lucas's father's words, after it was learned that Queen Rhaella carried a girl in her belly. His father had not been one to daydream, but he often did after that news. He was never going to rest till his son and heir had a Targaryen wife, as his own father had before him, and his father's father, and so on and so on. He can rest now, Lucas thought to himself.

Lucas's two maidservants Elayna and Clare entered. Both women were middle-aged and had soft brown eyes and long brown hair. Clare was older than Elayna, with more wrinkles on her face and more white in her hair. On each hand Clare carried a large plate of food, both with a single serving of smoked fish crisped with breadcrumbs, oatbread baked with bits of apple, a sliced, sharp white cheese, and a salad of sweetgrass, spinach, and chickpeas. In each of her hands Elayna carried a glass jug, one filled with water, the other with a red wine. Elayna took in the sight of Daenerys with awe. Clare was more composed, wearing a motherly smile from ear to ear.

"This is Elayna," Lucas said, pointing to the younger of the two. "And this is Clare," he said, pointing to the older.

Clare placed the plates before them, first Lucas, then Daenerys. "Here, my lady," she said with warm affection.

Lucas all but knew that Clare had to intensely focus on being proper and resist the temptation to call Daenerys 'sweetheart' and kiss the top of her head. She had always been an affectionate woman. She had in many ways taken the place of Lucas's mother after her passing.

"Can I ... truly ... have all of this?" Daenerys asked, eyeing her food.

"Well of course, my lady," Clare said sweetly.

"'All of this?'" Lucas parroted her, confused. "Your plate isn't exactly overflowing."

Daenerys paused. "Viserys had only let me eat scraps," she said. "He said he didn't want me 'getting fat.'"

"Of course he did," Lucas grumbled beneath his breath. "Well, your food won't be rationed here. I think you're old enough to know how much you ought to eat."

Elayna filled Lucas's cup with wine. She then approached Daenerys with wide, captivated eyes. "Water or wine, my lady?" she asked with a raspy voice, nearly without breath. Despite her middle age, Elayna still revered Targaryens with the same wonder she no doubt held when she was a young girl being regaled with stories of Aegon's Conquering and the Dance of Dragons.

"The water's been boiled and then iced," Lucas noted.

"Water," Daenerys said, giving the maid a courteous nod and smile.

Elayna's hands visibly shook as she poured water into Daenerys's glass. Daenerys cocked her head and looked to her. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yes, my lady," Elayna hurriedly assured her. "Don't you worry about me. 'Just a little touched,'that's what I am. Lord Jacaerys always said so," she explained with an awkward grin. She was unaware that it was perhaps not a trait to be so forthright about. 'Touched' was the kinder word for her; 'lackwit' was what crueler men had called her.

"She's nervous," Lucas interjected on her behalf. "We've dreamt of reuniting you with us ever since we first heard rumors of you and Viserys being alive. Having you here is those dreams come true. Elayna, Clare, and Tobas will all serve you now, just as they serve me. They'll do anything you ask. Brush your hair, file your nails, cook your meals, wash your clothes. Anything. You're their lady now."

Daenerys's throat shifted with a heavy gulp. "Thank you," she murmured, just above the edge of hearing.

"It's our pleasure, my lady," Clare told her.

"No thanks are needed," Lucas said. "Such is expected for those of our birth." He unrolled the fabric from around his knife and fork and took them in each hand. "Come now. Let's eat."

The sound of silver clinking on plates filled the room as Lucas and Daenerys began their supper. The maids departed through the doorway they'd entered from. Elayna frantically whispered in Clare's ear as they left, while Clare simply nodded and let the younger maid voice her own thrill and excitement. They would return whenever Lucas had Tobas fetch them to retrieve their dirtied plates and utensils.

Despite her evident hunger, Daenerys picked at her plate like a proper lady, slicing her crisped fish into small cutlets before eating it.

"We both have the blood of Old Valyria in our veins, do you know that?" Lucas asked after drinking from his cup. He had been admiring the sight of Daenerys's Valyrian traits, the silver of her hair and the violet of her eyes. "Both of our families descend from that motherland. I'd have the same color of your hair and eyes, but I'm a half-blood. My mother was a Tarly."

"Does that displease you?" Daenerys asked.

Lucas shook his head. "There's no shame in marrying outside the blood. Your brother Rhaegar wedded a Martell. Still ... it's enchanting to see a Valyrian as pure as you." Many Volantene nobles had traits of the blood of Old Valyria, but Lucas cared not for them. They were a vile people of a vile city. But Daenerys was of his people, of his land. Her beauty was an untainted one.

They returned to eating. Eventually, Daenerys stopped and took on a puzzled expression, much like the look of a child that had been told something they did not fully understand. Lucas soon noticed. "What's on your mind?" he asked.

"The Usurper ... does he know we're here in Volantis? Won't he want both of us dead?"

"Perhaps," Lucas said with a shrug. "But his grubby fingers have little grasp on Essos," he spat. "And his master of whisperers, the Spider, isn't the ally he thinks he is. We aren't friendless in this world, Daenerys. I'm not the only one who knows that we were meant to wed. Our families have intermarried for hundreds of years, and we're going to keep that legacy alive." Lucas leaned forward in his seat and glared daggers at her. "And we belong in Westeros. We belong in the Red Keep," he blazed, his voice rising, swept up in the swirling tempest of his own resolve. "I am not yet sure when, and I am not yet sure how, but our families will rule Westeros again. The legacy of the dragon will not die in this city."

A little over an hour later, Lucas and Daenerys retired to his bedchamber. The chamber wasn't overly large, but it was grand. Its lavish furniture was lined with blue silk and draped with black furs, including his bed, which was a size fit for a king. His desk, dresser and shelves were carved from dark wood. A crate covered with a small blanket sat on his desk. Tall candles burned around the room, offering sweet scents now and a source of light for later. They were lit by Tobas, who had retreated from the room with a knowing smile when Lucas announced that he and Daenerys were retiring for the night.

On the wall across from his bed hung the largest tapestry in the manse. It depicted a vast fleet of ships, spearheaded by Corlys Velaryon's Sea Snake, engaging in a massive naval battle and wrestling for control of the Stepstones islands. The tapestry had previously hung in Driftmark's castle High Tide before Lucas's father had taken it.