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WHOOSH, WHOOSH!
The great, dark green dragon soared over the skies of Lanark Island, its massive body casting a wide shadow on the land below.
Why has he come to Lanark Island?
From high above, Jacaerys immediately spotted the large fleet anchored off the island's coast. His expression turned thoughtful in an instant.
The newly transformed and immense form of Vermax had caused confusion once before, just like on Dragonstone. Now again, its sheer size stirred alarm.
But the aerial defense systems once stationed on Lanark Island had long since been dismantled. Without hesitation, Vermax braved the rain of arrows and descended directly onto the island's surface.
The moment Jacaerys was seen dismounting, clad in armor bearing the sigil of House Targaryen, all attacks came to a sudden halt.
As he leapt from Vermax's back, a group of figures rushed toward him in haste.
When he recognized the familiar figure leading them, Jacaerys immediately wore a practiced, formulaic smile.
In a tone that carried more warmth than usual, he called out, "Grandfather, it has been too long. I had planned to invite you over once the situation calmed a bit, and yet, here you are, visiting me first on Lanark Island!"
Hearing these words, Lord Corlys Velaryon returned the greeting with a courteous bow and smiled as he replied, "Your Grace, Jacaerys. I had planned to bring the grain and supplies I have been storing for you on Bloodstone Island back there. But the men stationed at Bloodstone told me you had already moved your base to Lanark. Since I had already left Stepstones, I thought I might as well come here to pay my respects."
Jacaerys waved a hand. "Grandfather, you need not be so formal. I still prefer when you call me Jace. And would you believe it, I have just returned from Dragonstone after visiting Baela."
Lord Corlys raised an eyebrow. "Dragonstone? I thought your grandmother had already taken her back to Driftmark."
Jacaerys laughed softly. "Ah I must have misspoken. Everything has been so busy lately that my mind slipped."
"Well then, you must take care to rest more. How is Baela's health now?"
"She is recovering well but insisted on following me back to Lanark Island," Jacaerys explained. "Of course I refused. She still needs help walking and I would never let her come in such a state."
Lord Corlys chuckled. "Heh, that's just how she is. She's always been as stubborn as any boy."
…
The old man and the young king walked side by side, chatting as they made their way into the inner city of Lanark. To any onlooker, their relationship appeared to be warm and harmonious.
Through the occasional mentions of his childhood Jacaerys had already confirmed that Lord Corlys was not a Faceless Man in disguise.
Once they returned to the governor's study within the inner city, Jacaerys, aware that his grandfather must have come with something to say, dismissed all attendants.
As he browsed through the parchment notes on the desk—Stone's recent records of the past ten days' key events—he spoke without looking up, "Grandfather, now it's just the two of us here."
At those words, the smile vanished abruptly from Lord Corlys' face.
He stepped forward, his voice low and sharp, just loud enough to be heard within the room. "Jacaerys Velaryon, do you even know what you've done? I said nothing about the destruction of Pyr Town and the thousands who burned alive. But now you have gone and destroyed Tyrosh, a city with four to five thousand years of history and home to nearly two hundred thousand souls."
"The one behind the assassination attempt on Bloodstone, the one who left Baela gravely injured and unconscious, was none other than Pachek, the Archon of Tyrosh. And I gave them a chance to live. I warned them. But what did I get in return? Another attempt to kill me. If I were not of true dragon blood, immune to fire, then right now, you would be standing over my grave delivering this lecture."
"No, wait, there would not even be a grave. They would have ground my body to dust or fed it to dogs. But I don't care. Let the floods come after I die. As long as I live, I will never allow anyone to touch my reverse scale!"
Lord Corlys's face had turned ashen, his expression stormy and grim. His memory of Jacaerys was still that of the young man who had been crowned king on Bloodstone Island, someone who relied heavily on his guidance and support.
But in just a few short months, that same grandson now stood before him, no longer needing protection, but commanding authority with a chilling detachment—no longer a boy, but a king hardened by the burdens of power.
The only consolation Corlys could find was that Jacaerys still saw Baela as something sacred, something inviolable, his "reverse scale."
But that was merely Corlys's wishful thinking.
To Jacaerys, the "reverse scale" was not Baela herself, but anything that posed a direct threat to his life.
"No matter the justification," Lord Corlys said quietly, "the destruction of Tyrosh and the deaths of nearly two hundred thousand people are enough to strike terror in anyone's heart."
"You may not yet grasp the current situation in the Seven Kingdoms, but more and more lords are quietly swearing allegiance to Queen Alicent. They will not let this pass. They will seize it as ammunition against you."
Jacaerys let out a soft laugh. "My claim to the Iron Throne has already been stripped away. What more can they possibly do to me?"
Seeing the calm indifference on his grandson's face, Lord Corlys slowly shook his head. "Even if your claim has been taken from you, you are still the firstborn son of Princess Rhaenyra. You and I both bear the name Velaryon. That will never change."
At those words, Jacaerys immediately understood the true reason behind his grandfather's sudden visit.
"Lord Corlys," he said, his tone suddenly colder, more distant and formal, "so what you truly fear is that my actions will bring ruin to House Velaryon?"
The shift in address did not go unnoticed. Corlys's lips twitched and his expression tightened, but with the conversation already laid bare, he had no choice but to press on.
"Jace—Your Grace Jacaerys," Lord Corlys corrected himself quickly. "Lys and Volantis, two of the great Free Cities, have both issued proclamations. They have forbidden dragons and Velaryon ships from entering their waters. They are calling you the 'Evil Dragon.'"
"Once news of Tyrosh's fall spreads in full, the repercussions will reach far beyond Essos. Even Westeros may feel the tremors. Your kingdom rests upon the Narrow Sea, and trade over water is not only vital to House Velaryon. It is just as vital to you."
"I have heard that the magisters of Myr have already bent the knee and submitted to your rule. I come now to request exclusive trading rights with them. Believe me, I can employ more moderate and subtle means of commerce to secure their wholehearted acceptance of your reign."
"Grandfather, I was just troubled by how best to govern Myr," Jacaerys said, a flicker of warmth returning to his voice. "Your arrival is timely. Thank you for helping shoulder this burden."
At those words, he returned to the familiar form of address. Then, pointing to the parchment in his hand, he added with a gentle smile, "By coincidence, the magisters of Myr have arranged a grand gladiatorial spectacle. You might make use of that gathering to negotiate the terms of our trade."
"A grand gladiatorial spectacle?" Lord Corlys raised a brow in surprise. "The people of Myr have never struck me as fond of such bloody entertainment. That kind of spectacle is far more typical of the Free Cities of Slaver's Bay."
Corlys Velaryon was unmatched among navigators, deeply familiar with the customs of every city along the shores of Essos. In response to his inquiry, Jacaerys replied,
"It was originally my suggestion. I had planned to hold the spectacle here, on Lanark Island. But after the magisters knelt and pledged their loyalty, they approached me together with a request, The city, they said, still harbors some uneasy voices, and so they begged that the games be held in Myr itself. A display of martial prowess and controlled violence, they believed, would serve to suppress any lingering defiance."
At those words, the hesitation in Corlys's expression vanished. He knew well his grandson's fondness for such spectacles.
"Very well," Corlys said with a nod. "When is the spectacle set to begin? And since the city is not yet fully under our rule, I shall bring a contingent of our household guard to ensure my safety."
"It begins tomorrow," Jacaerys replied, smoothing the edge of the parchment in his hand. "Of course, your safety remains paramount. I recommend you bring as many soldiers as you deem necessary to move with you."
"Thank you, Your Grace. Then I will not delay." With those parting words, Lord Corlys offered one final bow and turned to leave—addressing Jacaerys by his royal title to the very end, never once returning to the familiar tone of their earlier conversation.
Once the door had closed, Jacaerys remained alone in the study. He let out a quiet chuckle, then spoke softly to the empty room.
"The longer one waits, the more tenuous their power becomes, and the firmer my grip on Myr grows. Magister Moser is a clever man, and the veteran known as the Old Sea Serpent has his wits about him as well. Yet it is often those who pride themselves on cunning who meet their end the swiftest. After all, no one ever sees the assassin's blade until it is already upon them."
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[Chapter End's]
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