Dragon's Nest, Silverblood Tower, Small Library.
Rhaegor sat fuming as he watched Draezell quietly reading a book. At nine name days, he had grown into a handsome young boy, inheriting his father's pure silver hair and deep violet eyes, along with his tall and slender frame. At first glance, he looked like a miniature version of Draezell. However, he had also inherited a touch of his mother Diana's softer features. To prevent anyone from mistaking him for a girl (though no one ever actually had), Rhaegor had deliberately kept his hair cropped short.
"Father, are you really going to let Dowager Queen Baela act so recklessly?" Rhaegor sat beside his father. Though he respected his elders, he had no qualms about pointing out their absurd behavior, a trait that had earned him a reputation for being harsh and rigid. He was unbothered by these labels—if anything, he took pride in them. "She leaves, riding her dragon without a word, doing as she pleases. Meanwhile, Aegon and the others are left to struggle with learning how to rule a kingdom. And Viserys is willing to sell away his own marriage for political gain."
Draezell continued reading, unfazed, which only made Rhaegor more impatient. "Father."
"I'm listening, Rhaegor." Draezell set the book aside, silently reflecting on his son. The boy excelled in every way—his abilities, his speed of learning, even his martial prowess were all exceptional. If not for his lack of magical talent, he would be his exact replica. But he was also rigid in his thinking, which, truth be told, was not necessarily a bad thing. House Vaelarys needed an heir like him. He might never be sung of by bards or adored as Draezell himself was, but he would be a leader whom all would respect.
"Do you know what Baela is trying to do?"
Rhaegor shook his head but then, realizing something, immediately stood up and lowered his head. "I apologize, Father. I made a mistake again. I shouldn't question Dowager Queen Baela's actions just because of how she behaves. I should understand the full picture before passing judgment."
See? He was already reflecting on his own actions.
Draezell casually pushed open the window beside his chair and gazed at the setting sun. "Baela knows she is not suited to be a queen in the traditional sense, Rhaegor. Court life is suffocating for her. And after everything she witnessed with little Jae, ordinary men no longer interest her. She cannot help Aegon rule the kingdom, nor can she fulfill the duties expected of a royal woman." Draezell suddenly paused.
"Rhaegor, if one day your sister or your daughter faced such a situation, what would you do?"
"I would protect her and let her live as she wishes," Rhaegor answered without hesitation. "I have Starsong, so I'm not afraid of threats from mortals. Our family holds Dragon's Nest, Silvercrown, Brandyport, and Summerfield—we have more than enough land to shelter our kin."
As soon as he finished speaking, the boy froze. He realized that by his own logic, Baela had done nothing wrong. And yet, this didn't align with what he had been taught.
In Westerosi tradition, noblewomen had three duties: to marry for their family's alliances, to care for their husband's household, and to fight against the Stranger on the birthing bed, bearing children for their husband or their own family.
For a moment, he was at a loss for words.
"Baela has a dragon," Draezell mused. "There's no denying it—dragons are the source of our power, the foundation of our confidence. With her dragon, she dares to dream of soaring across the world. Tell me, do you know what Baela seeks?"
Rhaegor shook his head, utterly clueless.
"She wants to fly to the unexplored lands of Essos and Sothoryos," Draezell said, suddenly smiling. "She is naïve. This world is vast, filled with places even the sorcerer-kings of old Valyria dared not tread. But she is also brave. If she succeeds and sends back her discoveries to Westeros, she will achieve a feat greater than Corlys Velaryon himself."
Speaking of the Sea Snake, the great navigator who completed nine grand voyages, his achievements were indeed remarkable. He completely opened the traditional Summer Sea route, proving that as long as supplies were sufficient, Westerosi ships could sail endlessly eastward, all the way to the fabled city of sorcery—Asshai, at the world's edge. Now, the merchant ships of the Silver Fleet followed that very route, continuously transporting goods from the domains of the frontier princes and bringing exotic merchandise from the eastern continent.
"That only matters if she actually sends the information back," Rhaegor muttered. Yet, as he thought about what Baela was attempting, he found himself unexpectedly intrigued.
No, Rhaegor, stay calm. You are the one who will inherit Father's responsibilities. You must remember the duty you bear for your family.
Forcing himself to rein in his thoughts, the boy gave his father a firm nod.
"I understand, Father. I will work even harder."
"Alright, alright." Draezell ruffled his son's hair. "Come with me. There's something you need to know, child."
"Huh?"
Still confused, Rhaegor followed his father out of the small library.
Dragon's Nest was vast, and moving between its various towers could take a great deal of time. To save time, Draezell had ordered the craftsmen to install numerous lifts throughout the castle. In the narrower spaces where lifts could not be placed, they used baskets suspended by ropes to speed up travel between levels.
Otherwise, simply walking from Silverblood Tower to the Hidden-Sword Tower would take them an entire afternoon.
"The cellar of the Hidden-Sword Tower ?" Rhaegor was puzzled by why his father was bringing him here. This was where House Vaelarys stored their war trophies—a collection amassed since his grandfather Claelorius first established the Silverblood Legion.
The vault contained the braids and bells of Dothraki warriors, along with the exquisite crafts they had plundered. There were banners from countless ill-fated mercenary companies, and silver-inlaid skulls. Most of the collection, however, came from their conquests in Dorne—the spoils and severed heads of defeated foes, as well as trophies from the Dance. The head of Ormund Hightower was here too, though it had long since been boiled clean of flesh and set in silver.
But nothing stood out more than the massive dragon skulls.
Not one, but three.
The largest of the skulls was big enough to fit an entire horse inside. The medium-sized one had a slightly avian shape, while the smallest was clearly young. Rhaegor measured it with his gaze—hmm, slightly smaller than his own dragon, Starsong.
None of these trophies frightened him in the slightest.
Still, he couldn't help but be taken aback by these three dragon skulls.
"Vhagar. Sunfyre." Draezell walked up behind his son, casually glancing at the smallest skull. "Tessarion. I killed two of them with Vermithor."
He placed a firm hand on Rhaegor's shoulder.
"Rhaegor, do you know what I'm trying to tell you?"