Allen1996
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Chapter 3: the Tide waits for no one
🕑 Added 2024-10-05 01:00:13 +0000 UTCThe wind carried the smell of salt and seaweed, and the cries of gulls echoed in the distance. Hull was alive with activity, the small harbor town bustling like a disturbed anthill as the preparations for war intensified. Driftmark, once a quiet bastion of Velaryon power, now felt like a hive teetering on the edge of chaos.
I sat on the Sea Mist, lazily leaning against the mast, one leg dangling off the edge as the crew below scrambled to load the ship with supplies. My gaze was unfocused, half-lidded as I stared out across the harbor, watching as the ships bobbed in the water. I’d been sitting here for what felt like hours, letting the world around me carry on without my input, and frankly, it suited me just fine.
The truth? All this noise, the clattering of swords being forged, the constant barking of orders, and the endless meetings of nobles pretending they had any control over what was coming—it bored and annoyed me. Westeros was about to tear itself apart in a war over who got to sit on a chair made of melted swords. A chair. An ugly one at that. Dragons would burn cities, people would die, and all of it would be for nothing in the end. All of this for Bran the broken to sit centuries later on the throne. Such a joke. It was the kind of triviality I couldn’t be bothered to engage with.
If I wanted to, I could sink Driftmark right now. I could pull the harbor and its ships into the depths, leaving nothing but bubbles and silence. Or I could make everything float—ships, men, entire buildings—until the entire island drifted into the sky like a great, floating city. I could, but I didn’t.
Not because it wasn’t possible. No, I had gravity wrapped around my finger. It was more that the effort didn’t interest me. It was, as I often thought to myself, too much work. Life was a long, lazy river, and I preferred to drift along it without paddling unless absolutely necessary. Besides, as I looked out at Hull, I couldn’t help but smirk at how fragile it all was. Let the world play its game of thrones. I was just here for the ride.
The sound of footsteps approaching pulled me from my thoughts. I didn’t even have to look to know who it was—Corlys Velaryon. My uncle moved with the weight of a man who had carried the sea on his back for years, each step deliberate, each decision calculated. He was proud, always so composed, but beneath it all, there was something else. Something that, in moments like this, almost felt like desperation.
He didn’t speak immediately, just stood at the edge of the ship, his gaze fixed on the horizon like he could see the war coming from across the Narrow Sea. I could feel his presence behind me, heavy, like the gravity of the whole situation was pulling at him in ways I couldn’t fully appreciate.
“You’ve been out here a lot,” he finally said, his voice gruff but calm.
“Been out here less than I’ve been in my own head,” I replied, not bothering to turn around. The sea had more interesting things to look at.
Corlys stepped closer, his boots thudding against the deck as he stood beside me, arms folded. “The war is coming. You know that.”
“I’ve heard rumours,” I said, shrugging.
The way we interacted wasn’t normal. He was the head of my house, a legend amongst sailors and nobles alike, someone who had married a Targaryen Princess, who had sired dragon riders and who had an ego the size of the moon.
None could speak to him in such a way, none would be able to do so except me for some reason. I didn't understand why but if it allowed me to dispense of the metaphorical ass-licking most did, I didn't see why I would try to change that.
He was silent for a moment, and I could feel his eyes on me. It was that same look he always gave me, the one that said he couldn’t figure me out. To be fair, I didn’t exactly make myself easy to understand. It wasn’t like I tried to be mysterious; I just didn’t care enough to explain myself. Let them guess. It was easier that way.
“You don’t seem concerned,” Corlys said eventually, his tone more curious than accusatory.
I finally looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Should I be?”
His gaze hardened slightly, but there was something else there too—worry, maybe. It was subtle, but I could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his hands clenched on his cane. He wasn’t just worried about the war. He was worried about the family. About me.
“Monterys, you’re a Velaryon,” he said, his voice heavy with meaning. “This war… it will determine the future of our house. Lucerys will need all the support he can get. Driftmark’s position is not secure.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. We were back to this again. The bloodline. Lucerys. The Driftwood Throne. All the things that Corlys had spent his life fighting for, and none of it mattered. Not really. Sure, Lucerys might sit on the Driftwood Throne one day, but he wasn’t a true Velaryon. Everyone knew that. Even Corlys, though he would never admit it.
The main reason why Lucerys was still the heir of Driftmark even though it was clear he wasn’t Laenor’s son was because of Corlys himself, not Daemon or Rhaenyra, it was Corlys.
Once I supposed he may have been loved by his subjects, by his family for the wealth our house was able to obtain due to him but now with Vaemond’s Death, with Lucerys as heir, with both his dragon riding children dead, with my brother losing their tongues, the people of Driftmark and Hull, the members of our house didn't see him as a hero anymore. They still respected him of course and would still be loyal to him but love? Most of them stopped doing so and it showed.
I was the only one amongst our kin able to look at him without thinly veiled hatred or anger. I hummed. Maybe that was why he didn't leave me alone and allowed me to talk as I wished to him.
“And what do you expect me to do about it?” I asked, my tone lazy. “You know as well as I do that Driftmark’s fate is tied to Rhaenyra’s claim. If she wins, Lucerys gets his throne. If not… well, none of this will matter, will it?”
Corlys’s expression darkened. “It does matter. Our legacy matters.”
If only he knew what his legacy would amount to two centuries later. Ironically, a bastard, Aurane Waters.
“Legacy,” I muttered, letting the word roll around in my mouth like a bitter drink. “Your legacy is built on bloodlines, Uncle. But what happens when the bloodline is a lie?”
His jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue even though I knew he wished to do so, probably wanted to tell me to be careful about my words or maybe something like history remember names instead of blood
Corlys turned away from me, his eyes once again scanning the harbor, though I doubted he was really seeing any of it. “Lucerys will inherit Driftmark because I say he will. Because that’s how it must be.”
“More than that,” he added, “he will marry Laena’s daughter.”
I leaned back against the mast, arms folded behind my head as I stared up at the darkening sky. “You can say it all you want, but it doesn’t change the facts.”
He didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t have an answer or because he didn’t want to argue. Either way, the silence between us stretched on, thick and heavy like the fog that sometimes rolled in from the sea.
Finally, I sighed, deciding to throw him a bone. “Look, Uncle, I get it. You want to protect the family. You’ve lost too much already—Laena, Laenor, Vaemond, my father. You’re clinging to whatever’s left. I get it.”
Corlys stiffened at the mention of his children. I ignored it as if I had seen nothing. I continued speaking.
“That’s why you’re so fixated on Jacaerys and Lucerys, isn’t it?” I continued, my voice softening just a little. “They’re your last chance at keeping the name of Corlys Velaryon alive even beyond, to be remembered in history, isn’t it?”
Corlys’s shoulders sagged slightly, and for the briefest moment, I saw the weight of everything pressing down on him. The weight of a legacy he was struggling to maintain. The weight of a world that had taken so much from him. It made him look like an old man. I guess it made him an old fool too and yet, I couldn't deny that he still stood, still fought. It was… admirable, I supposed. If you cared about that sort of thing.
He turned back to me, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter, almost tired. “I need you to understand, Monterys. Driftmark isn’t just a place. It’s our home. It’s our blood. And when I’m gone, it will be up to Lucerys, Rhaena And you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Me?”
He nodded. “Whether you like it or not, whether you acknowledge it or not you are part of this family. You carry the Velaryon blood, the legacy. And when the time comes, you will have to choose where your loyalties lie.”
I chuckled, the sound low and humourless. “Loyalty? To what? To a throne of lies?” I quipped.
I had to admit that at this point, I was just pushing his buttons on purpose, the way he stiffened each time, the way I could practically feel him restraining himself.
That was fun.
Corlys’s gaze hardened again, but there was something else in his eyes this time. Not anger, not frustration, but something more complex. Fear, maybe. Or resignation. He didn’t expect me to care, but he needed me to. And that was the crux of the issue, wasn’t it? The world around me needed me to play my part, to pick a side, to care about the game they were playing. But I didn’t.
I had died once already. None of this mattered to me.
Still, I could see the desperation in Corlys’s eyes. The man who had built ships that sailed to the edges of the known world, who had amassed wealth and power that rivaled the Lannisters, was now standing before me, pleading with me in his own way to care about something I couldn’t bring myself to care about. What he was doing was as close to begging that he'll ever come close to. I wondered if I could push just a little bit more.
I forced a sigh , leaning forward and resting my arms on my knees. “You know, Uncle, it’s funny. You’re so focused on legacy, on keeping Drift mark afloat, that you’re missing the bigger picture.”
Corlys turned toward me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And what picture would that be, Monterys?”
I glanced at him, a lazy smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “The one where all of this—Driftmark, the Velaryon name, the Iron Throne—none of it matters. We’re all just ants, running around in circles, fighting over scraps of power while the world spins on, oblivious to our little games. You could fight tooth and nail for Lucerys, for the Velaryon legacy, and in a hundred years, no one will remember your name. Or mine. You could do everything that is right and still lose. You could still do your best and still be forgotten.”
He clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on the railing of the ship. “You sound like a man who’s already given up.”
I shrugged, looking back out at the sea. “Not given up, Uncle. Just… indifferent. I’ve already seen how this ends. Thrones don’t last. Bloodlines fade. And power? It’s all fleeting.” if only he knew my words were literal, that I had seen how that shitshow would end.
Corlys let out a slow breath, the tension in his body easing slightly as he stared at me. “You may think you’re above all of this, Monterys, but one day, you’ll realize that power isn’t just about ruling or controlling. It’s about protecting the people you care about. Your family.”
I tilted my head, considering his words. Family. The concept had always felt distant to me, like something I was supposed to care about but couldn’t quite muster the energy to invest in. Maybe it was because I had died once already, severing the ties to my old life. Or maybe it was because I saw through the illusion of power that everyone around me was so desperate to cling to.
But as I looked at Corlys, standing there, weathered and worn from years of carrying the weight of his house, I felt a flicker of something. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was respect. Whatever it was, I didn’t dwell on it. Feelings were fleeting, like everything else.
“I get it, Uncle,” I said, my tone softening. “You want to protect what’s left of the Velaryon name. But don’t ask me to pretend I care about it the way you do. Because I don’t.”
Corlys’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he sighed and ran a hand over his beard, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I’ve lost too many already,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Laena, Laenor, Vaemond, even your brothers in their own way. The Velaryon line is thin. You and Lucerys are all that’s left.”
I blinked. Was he going senile? He was repeating himself. This is why I prefer lazing around. The guy should be worrying over a possible Alzheimer instead of a throne. Oh, yeah, people in this world probably didn't live long enough to get it.
He paused, his gaze flicking back to me. “That’s why I need you to go to Dragonstone.”
I blinked, the sudden shift in conversation catching me off guard. “Dragonstone?”
He nodded, his tone firm. “Rhaenyra and her sons will be at the center of this war, and Lucerys will need someone by his side who understands what’s at stake. You’re only two years older than him, and yet you’ve always kept your distance. That needs to change.”
I leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “You want me to bond with Lucerys? Really?”
Corlys didn’t smile, but there was a glint of something close to amusement in his eyes. “Yes, Monterys. You’re closer in age to him than anyone else in the family. You may not care about the throne or the politics, but Lucerys… he needs an ally. And whether you like it or not, that ally should be you.”
I stared at him for a moment, wondering if this was some kind of joke. Me, an ally to Lucerys? The boy was… well, a bastard, plain and simple no that I truly cared about that. The one in fault here was his mother and Laenor and Corlys too probably but not Lucerys. More than that, I saw him just as a product of a game I had no interest in playing for now, an unskippable scene it could be said. Still, I could see that Corlys wasn’t asking. He was telling me.
“And if I refuse?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. More annoyance probably and my so beloved comfort threatened. I don't think I would be able to sleep in something not made or very comfortable materials again.
Corlys’s gaze hardened, his voice low and steady. “Then you’ll be turning your back on your family. On me.”
The weight of his words hung in the air, heavier than any gravity I could manipulate. I sighed, a true one this time running a hand through my hair. This was the problem with family. They always expected you to care, even when you didn’t.
“All right, fine,” I said, waving a hand in defeat. “I’ll go to Dragonstone. But don’t expect me to suddenly care about Lucerys and his claim to Driftmark.” A fleeting one I didn't mention with him being the first casualty of the war and all of that.
Corlys’s expression softened, just a fraction. “I don’t expect you to care about the driftwood throne or the iron throne or any throne Monterys. I expect you to care about your family.”
I didn’t respond, simply standing up from where I had been lounging on the deck. The conversation had exhausted me, not because it was difficult, but because it was the same old story. Family. Duty. Legacy. All things I didn’t particularly care about, but which I couldn’t escape from, no matter how much I tried.
As I made my way off the Sea Mist and back toward the main keep of Driftmark, I couldn’t help but wonder what awaited me at Dragonstone. Lucerys was young, inexperienced, and woefully unprepared for the storm that was about to engulf Westeros. And me? Well, I wasn’t exactly a mentor.
But if Corlys wanted me to play the role of dutiful nephew, I could do that. I could be the gravity that kept Lucerys grounded, even if he didn’t realize it. I didn’t have to care about the war to make sure my family didn’t collapse under its own weight.
And maybe, just maybe, I’d find something in Dragonstone worth caring about, interesting enough to not pass time completely bored and annoyed.
Comments
Rachel N
I'm seriously loving this so far! I was a bit worried about our SI's thoughts on Rhaenyra's children's bastardry, but, 'The one in fault here was his mother and Laenor and Corlys too probably but not Lucerys.' This definitely made me feel better.
