Laenor
107 AC
Laenor was sweating profusely as he tried to control the small whirlpool he had summoned with his hydrokinesis. But the next moment, the whirlpool began to slowly disperse, and Laenor collapsed onto the sandy shore. Gasping for air, he forced himself upright and staggered toward the training sword. Picking it up, he began to swing it, determined to push himself beyond the last vestiges of strength his body could muster.
Over the years, Laenor had learned that no matter how far he pushed his body, he never seemed to suffer any lasting fatigue. Even after exhausting himself every single day, he only improved. It would be a waste not to make full use of this gift. His training also hardened his willpower; pushing until his body dropped demanded discipline and an iron will.
Eventually, his screaming muscles gave out. Laenor fell flat on his back, heaving for breath. Even drawing air into his lungs sent sharp pain through his body. After what felt like half an hour, some semblance of strength returned. He turned toward the blue sea to his left and began crawling—there was no way he could stand.
Immersing himself in the water in such a state sent euphoric waves through him, as it did every day. Laenor thanked every god there was for sending him here. Life in a medieval world had its demons, but so far, this life had been kind to him. Not that he remembered much of the one before.
He swam aimlessly, letting his thoughts drift toward the war raging in the Stepstones, and his father returning to Driftmark—thanks to Laenor's persistence, or more accurately, the pressure he'd exerted. His mother and Laena would support the decision, though Laena might not show it openly, still bitter at their parents.
The war had begun as it did in the books: Daemon, insulted at being replaced as heir, and his father seeking a shield in case Viserys grew hostile again, had joined forces. It had been over a year since Laenor last saw his father. A moon ago, Laenor realized that while his powers may not win the war outright, they were enough to make a difference.
After five letters and countless pleas, Corlys Velaryon finally agreed to return to Driftmark—for two days.
Convincing his father to send his only son and heir, merely thirteen namedays old, into the fire of war would not be easy. But Laenor planned to reveal the full extent of his water abilities—his powers, his martial prowess, and his mount. All of it combined might just be enough.
His mother and Laena would be more difficult to convince than his father. But he would let his father handle his mother, and he would make Laena understand that he would be safe—no matter what happened out there. With that decided, Laenor let himself enjoy the water, cooling his body and mind. He needed the calm, because once he revealed his abilities, his parents and sister would have many questions.
Emerging from the sea, Laenor began the walk back toward the keep—High Tide. Shortly after the Ascension Tourney, his family had moved there. And High Tide was beautiful. Laenor preferred it to Driftmark, which, in his opinion, could use a few upgrades.
Once in his room, he made himself presentable with a bath and a change of clothes, then made his way to the hall in the family quarters, where he hoped to find his father. He had spotted the Sea Snake anchored when he came ashore.
Upon reaching the hall, he pushed open the two heavy oak doors himself—before the stationed guards could do it for him. Inside, the room was lavishly adorned with items more extravagant than what many minor lords could afford in a lifetime. But Laenor's gaze locked onto the large weirwood table at the center, where his mother and father sat in what looked to be a heated discussion.
With long strides and a practiced, smug smile, Laenor approached.
"There he is. By the gods, Corlys, now you could confirm it yourself. I told you he hasn't told me anything either why he has summoned you here," his mother said with an exasperated tone and a dramatic wave of her hand—one that only made Laenor's smile widen. It also earned him a sharp glare from her.
Corlys Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides, didn't say a word to Laenor. But the single raised eyebrow and the cold glint in his eyes were enough to tell Laenor just how furious he was—furious, but holding it back, only because it was his son standing before him and not someone else.
"Father, first, I want to apologize for being so unreasonable in summoning you," Laenor began, his voice calm. "But I felt it was time to reveal something I've kept hidden."
He had originally planned to make this revelation in front of his entire family—including Laena. But judging by the look on Corlys's face, his father wouldn't wait another moment without erupting like a volcano during the Doom.
"Son, this could have waited until I finished—" Corlys stood, his voice tight, his anger kept just below the surface. But Laenor cut him off.
"I would never have called you here if it weren't important, Father. But I don't think you'll understand until I show you." Laenor's tone was respectful but firm. "So let's go to the shore. You can decide then if it was worth the summons."
With that, Laenor turned and began walking toward the doors.
Before he could step outside, his father called out to him.
"Laenor."
He turned back, curious. His father's voice had softened.
"Me coming here was already worth it. Seeing your faces—yours and Laena's—knowing you're both healthy and attending your lessons… that alone is enough. I was just frustrated, you know… the war and all." Corlys exhaled, then glanced at his wife with an apologetic expression. "I shouldn't have let it show. Not to you. Not to her."
The anger and tension that had marred his father's face melted away, replaced by weariness and regret. With a final glance at his wife, Corlys stepped forward to join his son.
"You don't need to explain, Father," Laenor said with a gentle smile. "We understand."
And so, as a family—though missing one—Laenor and his parents made their way to the shore.
They reached the quiet stretch where Laenor trained daily. The breeze rolled off the sea, gentle but salt-heavy. He stopped. His parents came to a halt beside him, their eyes scanning the surroundings with mild curiosity.
Corlys was the first to speak. "Let me guess—you've found another treasure like you did four years ago. But what could it be this time, for you to summon me here just to see it?"
His mother narrowed her eyes, more observant than speculative. "So this is where you've been training?"
Laenor nodded. "To answer your question, Mother—yes, this is my place. And no, Father. I haven't found any treasure. What I brought you here to see is something I've been hiding since… since I drowned in the sea."
His father's brow furrowed. "Why hide it for so long? Even from us."
Before Laenor could respond, he and his mother shared a knowing glance and matching strained smiles. That habit of interrupting—it was classic Corlys Velaryon. Laenor often wondered how a man who interrupted so much managed to be such a successful trader and diplomat.
"That's what I was about to explain," Laenor said. "I hid it because anything mystical—anything magical—is frowned upon by the Faith of the Seven. Back then, I didn't know if I could protect myself if I was exposed, caught off-guard. And it could have hurt our standing with the Faith. But if I can use these abilities for war—to protect lives—then perhaps it won't be so heavily condemned."
He was lying, of course. That excuse had been prepared well in advance. But it sounded reasonable, and the expressions on his parents' faces—curiosity, skepticism, unease—meant they weren't dismissing it outright.
A long silence followed. Then his father sighed and said flatly, "The ability, Laenor."
Laenor gave an embarrassed smile. "Right. Sorry."
He turned to the sea.
Three years of relentless training had forged a kind of artistry out of discipline. Though he still couldn't raise tsunamis, he had mastered control over smaller amounts of water with such precision that they became deadlier than brute force. Now, with the amount of water he could command steadily increasing, he had begun combining scale with finesse—and he was proud of that.
He raised his hands. The sea answered.
Water surged upward, twisting and contorting until it took the shape of a massive horse—three stories tall, its eyes glistening with the reflection of the sky. Before his parents could even register their shock, the horse sprouted wings. It began galloping over the surface of the water, every stride impossibly fast. Corlys stared, speechless.
Then the creature flapped its wings and soared into the air, ascending high before diving straight down, crashing into the sea like a falling star.
A towering wall of water erupted in its wake, but Laenor raised a hand and a barrier of water surged up to protect his parents from the splash.
Silence fell again. A heavy silence. Salt and spray lingered in the air.
His parents stood frozen, trying to comprehend what they'd just witnessed.
And then—finally—they turned toward him.
Shock on their faces. And a thousand questions ready to fall from their lips.