Chapter 43 - Time and Tide wait for no man

124 AC

The eighth day of the fourth moon

Corlys POV

The bones in my weary body ached with the weight of countless years. Oh, how I longed to be released from this mortal coil, to be free of the burdens that have weighed upon me for far too long. But there were things left unfinished, responsibilities left unfulfilled, and I could not rest until they were resolved.

There was a time when I could not fathom a life without my beloved children by my side. Laena and Laenor, the joy and pride of House Velaryon, had been the very essence of my existence. Their laughter once filled the halls of Driftmark, their spirits dancing with youthful exuberance. But now, all that remained were memories etched into the deepest recesses of my heart.

Gone were the days of innocence and happiness, replaced by the bleak reality that accompanies the passage of time. The weight of their absence pressed heavily upon me, like an unyielding stone upon my chest. Each breath became a laborious task, as if the very act of living had become an arduous burden. The world had grown colder, darker, devoid of the light that once emanated from my cherished children.

The Iron Throne, a symbol of power and dominance, loomed over me like a relentless specter. It haunted my dreams, taunting me with its unattainable allure. For House Velaryon, the blood that coursed through my veins, I would endure any hardship, make any sacrifice. But the sacrifices I had made... they were too great.

I had witnessed the loss of so much, tasted the bitterness of grief that lingered on my tongue like an unending lament. My heart bled for the loved ones I had buried, for the dreams left unfulfilled, for the promises broken by the cruel hands of fate. It was a lonely existence, this relentless pursuit of power, a solitary path paved with the shattered remnants of my shattered soul.

And yet, I pressed on, driven by a determination born of desperation. The desire to see House Velaryon ascend to the Iron Throne burned within me like an unquenchable fire. It was the legacy I had inherited, the responsibility I could not shirk. But with each passing day, the cost of my ambition became clearer.

The price I had paid in the pursuit of power was steep. The lives that had been lost, the relationships fractured beyond repair, the pieces of my humanity left scattered in the winds of time. I had become a shell of the man I once was, consumed by the voracious hunger for power that gnawed at my very core. The Iron Throne, the symbol of my desires, had become a cruel mistress, demanding more and more, leaving me empty and hollow.

In the quiet moments of solitude, when the weight of my burdens threatened to crush me entirely, I found myself questioning the choices I had made. Had the sacrifices been worth it? Had the cost of power been too high? The answers eluded me, lost in the haze of regret and sorrow that clouded my thoughts.

I yearned for the comfort of Laena's laughter, the warmth of Laenor's embrace. But they were gone, swallowed by the unforgiving abyss of time. All that remained were their fading echoes, whispers carried on the wind. The walls of Driftmark, once filled with life and love, now stood as silent witnesses to the passing of generations.

As the days turned into years, and the years bled into centuries, I became a prisoner of my own ambition. The pursuit of power had cost me dearly, stripping away the very essence of my humanity. And yet, I could not relent. The fire within me still burned, a flickering flame amidst the darkness.

I had come to realize that the Iron Throne, the object of my desires, was not the true source of power. True power lay in the connections we forge, the love we share, the lives we touch. It was a lesson learned too late, as I stood on the precipice of eternity, staring into the abyss of my regrets.

In the fading twilight of my existence, I yearned for redemption. I longed for the forgiveness I could never grant myself. But as I gazed upon the world with tired eyes, I knew that my time was running out. The weight of my choices, the burden of my ambition, had come full circle, and now I was left to face the consequences.

The eighth day of the fourth moon marked another day of my existence, another day spent in the pursuit of a legacy that would forever be tainted by the choices I had made. And as the sun set on yet another chapter of my life, I could only hope that someday, someone would rise from the ashes of my mistakes and find a path paved with compassion and mercy.

"My Lord, I have brought the woman you requested," announced Vaemond, my nephew, as he entered the room.

I nodded in acknowledgment and watched as he left, leaving me alone with Marilda, the woman with olive green eyes and jet black hair.

"It is good to see you again, my lord," she spoke softly, her voice filled with a mix of gratitude and trepidation.

"Marilda," I murmured, my voice barely audible.

"Why are you here? I thought I had made it clear that you should not come to High Tide due to the risk of Rhaenys, my wife, discovering the truth about our children," I said, my words laced with concern.

"I know, my lord," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness. "But I had to see you. I am grateful for the gift you gave me, the gift of Addam and Alyn, and for saving my father's shipyard. I will forever be thankful to you."

Her words touched a chord within me.

Yet, her presence here posed a threat to the delicate balance I had maintained between my family and the truth.

"I am sorry for your loss, Marilda," I offered, attempting to alleviate some of her pain.

"I have been trying to stay strong for the boys," she continued, her voice wavering. "But deep down, I am consumed by fear for their safety."

Curiosity mingled with concern as I listened to her words. "Why are you afraid?" I asked gently, urging her to share her burden.

"Because a few days ago, a couple of men attacked Addam and broke Alyn's nose, my lord," she confessed, her voice cracking with a sob.

Fury coursed through my veins as I heard the news. How dare anyone lay a hand on my children? The protectiveness of a father swelled within me, fueling my determination to right the wrongs inflicted upon them.

"Do not worry, Marilda. I will take care of it," I reassured her, my tone firm and resolute.

With a steely resolve, I vowed to uncover the perpetrators responsible for hurting my sons and ensure that justice was served.

"Now, tell me, how are our children?" I inquired, trying to shift the conversation to a lighter note.

A genuine smile graced Marilda's lips, bringing a hint of warmth to the room. "They are well, my lord," she replied. "Alyn aspires to be just like you, while Addam dreams of becoming a knight."

I sighed, the weight of their circumstances heavy upon my shoulders. "You know, Marilda, I cannot find a knight willing to take Addam as a squire due to his bastard status and the risk of rumors circulating about my involvement. Furthermore, I cannot risk Rhaenys, my wife, discovering their true parentage."

Marilda's eyes filled with understanding. "I know, my lord," she murmured, her voice laced with a mixture of empathy and longing. "But I wish for Addam to have a chance at happiness."

Her words struck a chord deep within me, reminding me of the sacrifices we had all made for the sake of appearances and maintaining a delicate balance. The constraints of nobility and societal expectations threatened to suffocate the dreams of my children, leaving them in a world where their potential was stifled.

"I will find a way, Marilda," I vowed, my voice filled with determination. "I will ensure that Addam has the opportunity to pursue his dreams, even if it means taking unconventional paths."

A flicker of hope danced in Marilda's eyes as she looked at me, her faith in my abilities evident. It was in moments like these that I felt the weight of my responsibilities as a father and a lord, torn between duty and the desire to protect those I held dear.

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The next day, the sun hung high in the sky, casting its warm rays upon the bustling jousting arena. The stands were filled with a roaring crowd, their cheers echoing through the air, celebrating each mighty blow the White Knight landed on his opponents' armor. With every resounding crash, the spectators erupted in thunderous applause, reveling in the display of skill and valor.

Beside me, Rhaenys leaned, her voice laced with a touch of admiration. "He has improved vastly," she remarked, her eyes fixed on the gallant knight in the field.

"Yes, he has," I replied, but a sudden fit of coughing interrupted my words, reminding me of my frailty.

"Show him no mercy, Ulf!" my granddaughter, Rhaena, bellowed with fervor, her voice carrying over the clamor of the crowd.

In a hushed tone, Rhaenys shared a piece of gossip that had reached her ears. "Apparently, Vaemond's son, Daeron, made a bet with Rhaena. He wagered that his father would emerge victorious in the joust."

Casting a weary gaze towards the arena, I asked softly, "How much?"

"A hundred gold dragons," she replied, her voice barely audible."For the sake of my grandnephew, I hope his father wins. Otherwise, it seems I may have to impart some wisdom upon him," I chuckled weakly, attempting to lighten the heavy air that surrounded us.

As I surveyed the jubilant faces in the crowd, my eyes caught sight of Marilda standing among our cheering sons. A wave of nostalgia washed over me, and I found myself reminiscing about the time I last held them in my arms. Oh, how the years had slipped through my fingers like sand, leaving only fragments of memories behind.

Their fair skin, purple eyes, and silver hair—the unmistakable traits of Valyrian blood coursing through their veins. But the 'legitimate' children of Laenor, my grandchildren were often met with disapproval and disdain. The whispers of their illegitimacy had spread throughout the realm, casting a shadow upon their very existence. The notion that Lucerys Velaryon would one day sit upon the driftwood throne, wedded to Rhaena, was a bitter pill to swallow for my family.

But what mattered in the grand tapestry of history was not the purity of one's bloodline but rather the legacy left behind. The fact that my blood would eventually flow upon the Iron Throne was more than enough for me to find solace in. However, the pride and arrogance that had long plagued my family were sins that could not be easily absolved.

As I reflected upon my family's tumultuous journey, a deep sadness settled within my heart.The weight of time pressed upon me, reminding me of my mortality, and the inevitability of leaving this world behind.

The cheers of the crowd melded into a distant cacophony as I immersed myself in thoughts of legacy, of love and loss, and the melancholy realization that the echoes of my name would soon fade into oblivion. The passage of time had eroded the foundations of my existence, leaving behind only the remnants of a life once lived.

In the end, the White Knight's triumphant victory in the joust would be but a fleeting moment, overshadowed by the vastness of eternity. And so, as the sun continued its relentless descent, I found solace in the bittersweet embrace of a fading legacy, a mournful testament to the frailty of human existence.