75 AC. Driftmark
Corlys sat on the roof of the ancestral castle of House Velaryon, reflecting on his life as the son of Corwyn and Alice. Ten years had flown by in the blink of an eye, packed with events, though he had to admit he had no desire to relive the experience of infancy ever again.
For Corlys, a man who had never known what it meant to have parents in his former life, it was strange to feel all the love showered upon him by Corwyn and Alice. Alice Velaryon loved all her children with equal sincerity. Corlys had two younger brothers growing up alongside him - Daeron and Veylor. Daeron was two years younger than him, and Veylor was four years younger. Corlys truly loved his brothers and took care of them, if there was one thing Grandfather Arcturus had always put above all else, it was the importance of family, and he had made sure his grandson ingrained that lesson for life. Yet not everything turned out so brightly for House Velaryon.
A year after Veylor's birth, in 70 AC, the Summer Fever broke out on Driftmark, as it did throughout Westeros. That was what the maesters called it - known among the smallfolk as the Shivers - but from his past life, Corlys recognized it as the Black Death, or the plague. A quarter of the island's population perished, but worst of all, Corlys's own family caught the infection.
The illness had no effect on Corlys himself: his magic, though weak owing to his tender age, nevertheless protected his body. Yet that strength was not enough to heal his entire family. He could not perform magic at full force as he once had, nor could he retrieve the necessary potions from his soul vault. In those grueling days, Corlys was forced to reveal the existence of magic to his parents and use it to save his brothers. He still remembered that heavy conversation with his father, when Corwyn commanded him to care for the younger ones first.
"Father, I don't have enough magic to heal both you and Mother. Curing my brothers took too much out of me."
Corlys's voice sounded level, almost detached, but beneath that calm lay a soul-searing pain. Over two hundred years of his previous life, he had learned to look death in the face and accept the inevitable without futile tears. Yet now, as his father looked at him with hope, the old longing for family plunged into his heart like a red-hot knife once more. For the first time in centuries, he had experienced what it felt like to be a beloved son, and fate was wrenching that gift away from him yet again.
"You have done enough, my boy," attempted to smile the father Corlys had come to love so dearly. "You saved your brothers - that is what matters most. I could not have dreamed of more since I saw them in such a state. You said you lack the strength for both. Does that mean your magic is enough for one person?" Corwyn asked with hope in his eyes.
"I think so," Corlys managed to force out.
"Then help your mother, son. Heal her."
"But then you..."
His father did not allow him to finish:
"A father's and husband's duty is to protect his family, Corlys. When you grow older, you will understand me. Now go, help your mother."
Corlys nodded silently and approached Alice's bed. His mother lay unconscious, pale as chalk. Placing his hand on her chest, Corlys began directing his power into healing mana. Given his undeveloped magical core, this was the only way to nurse back to health the person who had become dearest to him in this new life. After nearly an hour of painstaking work, his mother's breathing evened out, and a faint flush touched her cheeks. From sheer exhaustion, Corlys collapsed onto the floor, gasping deeply and greedily like a drowning man pulling himself onto the shore.
"You did wonderfully, my son. Were it not for you, our family would have met its end. I am so proud of you," his father whispered quietly, tears in his eyes. It was the first time Corlys had ever seen him like this. "Now I know you will protect the family, and I can peacefully dep..."
"Don't speak like that! You will be alright, Father," Corlys cut him off. "I will rest, and tomorrow I will help you."
"Yes... Tomorrow you will heal me as well, my boy, I have no doubt," Corwyn tried to encourage him. "Now go to sleep and rest, you have done enough today."
"Alright," his son replied dejectedly.
"And Corlys," his father called out one last time as the boy headed toward the door. "Remember that I love you and your brothers with all my heart. Never forget that."
Corwyn Velaryon did not live to see the next morning. He passed away in his sleep with a smile upon his face - knowing that his family was saved and that his eldest son would see to everything.
Though Corlys had been unable to save his father, he practically dragged his grandfather Daemon back from the brink of death. On that day, the young man swore to himself that he would protect his kin, allow no one to harm them, and achieve this at any cost. And that vow would yet become a curse for the countless enemies who would grow discontented with the rise of House Velaryon.
Looking out now over the sea that beckoned to him so irresistibly, Corlys regretted nothing. Over the past five years, as the castle recovered from the plague, he had begun putting his plans into motion through his grandfather Daemon, who readily listened to his clever grandson.
Corlys wanted House Velaryon to attain unquestionable power by the time he himself became its head. He understood that a six-year-old boy behaving like a seasoned, grown man would draw far too much unwanted scrutiny. Thus, Corlys acted through Lord Daemon. At times, he had to resort to subtle mental suggestion, but otherwise, everything went smoothly.
Relations with his brothers developed wonderfully. For a man who had never possessed brothers or sisters in his past life, this was an entirely novel experience, yet Corlys quickly grew attached to the boys. He helped them with their studies and swordsmanship. Corlys himself had effortlessly mastered the dual-wielding style of combat, refining his craft with each passing day.
When his magical core finally stabilized at the age of eight, Corlys began performing rituals to strengthen his body and taking specialized potions. Standing at 1.6 meters tall already, he expected to stretch to nearly two meters by the time he finished growing.
Trade was the family's primary source of revenue, and Corlys resolved to expand it significantly. To that end, he handed his grandfather two things: schematics for a new type of vessel - caravels - and a compass. These new ships and navigation methods allowed the Velaryon fleet to undertake expeditions far faster and more effectively than any competitor. Thanks to this advantage, gold flowed steadily into the House's coffers.
The town expanding around the castle demanded more and more provisions with each passing day. Corlys applied earth magic - which he had learned from druids in his former world - to the local farms and fields, while also instructing the peasants in advanced agronomic methods. The island's crop yields soared to heights that even the lords of the Reach would envy. Driftmark became entirely self-sufficient, fueling a booming population growth.
Furthermore, Corlys noticed that spirits in Westeros bore no comparison to the beverages of his former world. Even what local lords deemed fine vintage tasted to him like downright moonshine. This opened up colossal opportunities. Corlys fully reproduced recipes using the books he had brought from the Muggle world. Whatever one might say about Muggles, they excelled at crafting fine spirits.
For a year now, Velaryon ships had been distributing whiskey, cognac, aged wines, rum, and vodka across the market. These premium spirits rapidly gained popularity and displaced competitors, which naturally aroused overt irritation from the latter. There were even attempts to raid their merchant caravans, yet all proved futile: the new Velaryon ships easily outran pursuers, while the compass allowed them to chart open-sea routes far from the coastline.
The production of spirits alone yielded House Velaryon astronomical sums, which were immediately reinvested into new ventures. One such enterprise was jewelry crafting: artisans invited from Braavos forged exquisite jewelry adorned with raw and cut diamonds. It was all made possible by rich deposits of precious stones on the island, which Corlys had "quite accidentally" discovered inside a cave. Naturally, that was merely the official version - in truth, he had located them using searching charms.
Ever since his rebirth, Corlys had taken an interest in local magic. Information was scarce: the last records of sorcery dated back to the era before the Doom of Valyria. Corlys was fascinated by the culture of this vanished civilization, as his own lineage traced its origins back to its shores. What intrigued him most was how the Valyrians had managed to bend dragons to their will - a species that appeared utterly formidable in this world. At one point, he could not resist Apparating to King's Landing to set eyes upon the famous Targaryen dragons. The city, of course, greeted him with a foul stench, but the trip was well worth it. The dragons amazed him with their size and dense, concentrated magic laced with the taste of flame. Yet what astounded Corlys most was that they communicated among themselves in the language of serpents - Parseltongue. Nothing of the sort had been observed among dragons in his former world.
Corlys concluded that the Valyrians, and the Targaryens in particular, had bound the dragons through ancient blood magic and mass sacrifices. Otherwise, they simply could not have accumulated enough energy to permanently bind such powerful creatures to their bloodline.
Valyria had fallen over a century ago, yet he was certain he would find much of value among its ruins. At present, his body was ten years old, and he planned to set out on an expedition four years from now. By his fourteenth nameday, his mother would no longer be able to thwart his design. Naturally, he had no intention of telling her about a visit to the Smoking Ruins, or Alice would tear his ears off for such recklessness.
It still felt surreal to Corlys that anyone would dare scold him like a mischievous boy, yet beneath that unfamiliar maternal strictness lay so much warmth and genuine concern that he merely smiled to himself. He had never known a mother's affection in his first life, and now he accepted her every rebuke with quiet joy, knowing that true care stood behind them.
Perhaps it was because in his past life he had never truly known Lily. To him, she had always remained a bright phantom, a fleeting glimmer in the mirror when he looked into his own eyes, or a vague image drawn from the memories of others. He had never heard her voice calling him home, never felt her palm on his forehead during illness, and never known what it felt like to be warmed by a mother's embrace.
Alice, on the other hand, had given life to this body and a long-awaited harbor to his long-suffering soul. Every tear she had shed over his cradle, every tender touch, and yes, every stern rebuke bound the blood ties of this new life to his ancient spirit far more deeply than he could have imagined. In the most sacred corner of his heart, Corlys unconditionally recognized Alice as his true mother. And now he treated her with that genuine warmth and love that Harry Potter had treasured inside himself for over two centuries, having never had the chance to give them to Lily.
In turn, the tragedy of five years ago had wounded his mother deeply. Ever since, Alice tried to spend all her spare time with her sons, smothering them in overprotective care - to the point where young Veylor was sometimes ready to howl at the moon. Yet in every other respect, Alice was a wonderful mother. Everyone in the castle genuinely loved and respected her. She saw how hard Corlys and Daemon strove, offering her full support to their endeavors.
The sound of approaching footsteps drew Corlys from his thoughts.
"I knew I would find you here, brother," came Daeron's familiar voice.
"And why were you looking for me, little brother?" Corlys asked with a smile.
"Grandfather ordered the servants to find you and bring you to his solar. Seems you two have another hours-long lecture scheduled on politics and a lord's duties. The servants have run across the entire castle, but all for naught," his brother reported with amusement. "They don't know you as well as I do. So I decided to help."
"Don't rejoice too much. When the time comes, I will personally drag you to those lectures," Corlys replied, mischief gleaming in his eyes.
"Oh, no."
"Oh, yes."
"No!"
"Yes, little brother, just you wait," he teased the younger boy.
"Why do I need any of that? You are going to be the lord! I would rather train to become a great warrior," Daeron stubbornly insisted.
"A warrior you shall become, and a formidable one, I am certain," Corlys said softly. "But I cannot manage without the support of my family. Especially yours and Veylor's. You are my brothers, and you are the only ones I can trust implicitly. Who knows - perhaps one day you will each receive a castle of your own?"
"But our House doesn't have that much land, and we only have one castle," Daeron narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"For now - yes. But who knows what the future holds for us?" Corlys raised an eyebrow mysteriously.
"Whatever you say, brother. Alright, let's go, Grandfather is waiting," Daeron waved his hand and started toward the exit.
Corlys cast one last glance at the boundless sea and stood up.
"Well, enough resting. Time to get to work."