89 AC. The Isle of Antillia
Corlys breathed in the fresh air, saturated through and through with magic. He was proud of what he had made of this remarkable place. The island was one of a chain of islands known as the Stepstones. Ten years ago, when he had decided to hatch the dragons, Corlys had run into a problem. Hatching them was not difficult; far harder was finding a place where they could grow and develop away from prying eyes. Had the lords, and the royal family in particular, learned that the Velaryons possessed dragons, the Targaryens would have tried to destroy them; of that Corlys had no doubt. And back then, the Velaryons had not yet been ready to stand against the rest of Westeros. To spare himself needless headaches, Corlys had chosen this island. Antillia, as he had named it, was ringed by reefs for ten kilometers in every direction, preventing any ship from reaching its shores. Beyond that, Corlys had used magic to shroud the island in a mist that no dragon outside his family could fly through. All of it had been done to protect the island and those who dwelt there.
From the books he had found in Valyria, Corlys had learned that there were three ways to hatch a dragon. The first, the one the Targaryens used, was to place an egg in a babe's cradle and hope it would hatch. The second was to set the egg in a great pyre, light it, and feed it life force through human sacrifice. This method worked even on eggs that had turned to stone, but it had its drawbacks: dragons born this way grew wilder, more disobedient, and less intelligent than their kin. The third way was to use dragonfire or sorcerous fire to pass into the dragon the magical energy that would awaken it. The book claimed that dragons born by this third method grew stronger, cleverer, and fiercer.
Before hatching the dragons, Corlys had performed a ritual over the eggs that bound each of them to his bloodline. Because of it, no Valyrian or Targaryen without his blood in their veins would ever be able to claim these dragons.
Corlys would never forget the day those three magnificent dragons hatched. The way they had clambered onto his shoulders, and the unbreakable bond that had formed between them in that moment, would stay with him forever.
The island had become home not only to his dragons but to other magical creatures he had brought from his previous world. All manner of magical plants grew here as well, later used as ingredients for potions. House-elves looked after everything, gladly helping Corlys make the island what it was. Thanks to the magical creatures and plants that lived here, the ambient magic on Antillia was stronger than anywhere else. But Corlys had not stopped there. He had performed a ritual connecting the island to the ley lines of this world, strengthening the ambient magic even further. This had hastened the dragons' growth, and they were already larger and stronger than Caraxes, the best proof that dragons needed freedom, not cages and chains.
Corlys's thoughts were interrupted by the roars of three young dragons. Sensing their rider's presence, they flew toward him, weaving around mountains and through narrow gorges with incredible speed and agility. They radiated happiness and boundless joy. Upon reaching Corlys, they landed with a grace and lightness uncommon in creatures so large.
"At last you've returned, Corlys," one dragon hissed in Parseltongue.
Corlys was glad his guess had proven correct and that the dragons of this world truly understood the language of serpents. He had also confirmed that, thanks to the method of birth he had chosen, his dragons were cleverer and more obedient than the Targaryens' captive dragons.
"How could I ever forget you, brother?" Corlys asked with a smile.
He could never have imagined how much he would come to love these magnificent creatures. Their bond grew stronger with every flight, and nothing in the world could compare to that feeling. His skill at Quidditch had helped make him a fearsome and seasoned rider.
"You were gone a long time," another dragon hissed.
"I flew with you just two days ago, Isis," Corlys protested.
Yes, he had named them after names from his previous world. Neltharion was an enormous black dragon with violet markings across his body and eyes of the same color. Midir was a beautiful she-dragon with silver scales and blue eyes. Isis, named for the Egyptian goddess of magic and fate, had grey scales and piercing emerald eyes. Corlys had not limited himself to Valyrian potions to strengthen his beloved companions: he had developed many new ones that increased their strength and the toughness of their scales. Thanks to his experiments, it would now take great bolts of Valyrian steel to pierce their hides. And given how little of that metal remained in the world, it was unlikely anyone would be willing to sacrifice even what little they had.
"How about a flight?" he asked mischievously, already knowing the answer.
Neltharion lowered a wing, allowing his rider to climb onto his back, and at Corlys's signal, he soared into the sky. The two she-dragons kept pace, letting out joyful cries. Corlys circled the island several times, then silently commanded Neltharion to climb higher and higher. Once they had reached the right height, he unbuckled the chains that held him to the saddle and prepared to perform a stunt no other rider would ever dare.
With one last look at his companion, he stepped off into the void. The free fall was intoxicating and breathtaking. Corlys knew he could rely on his dragons, and Midir, as always, did not let him down. She glided through the air beside him, drawing closer with every moment. When the water was dangerously near, Corlys caught hold of the saddle, and at the last moment, Midir leveled out and skimmed just above the waves with a joyous roar.
"Now it's Isis's turn to catch you, Father," she told her rider, and began climbing toward the clouds.
Corlys repeated the stunt several more times and then flew with his beloved dragons until sunset. He loved these flights dearly. They reminded him of the days when he had taught his children to fly on broomsticks and play Quidditch.
After bidding the dragons farewell, Corlys Apparated home. He was tired, but he already knew how he would spend the evening.
89 AC. Driftmark
It was late, and the sun had long since set. In Corlys's bedchamber, the bed creaked, and a woman's moans filled the room.
"Don't stop," the dark-haired woman begged, wrapping her slender, shapely thighs around his waist.
With a smirk, Corlys squeezed her full breasts and quickened his pace. They went on like that for some time, until Corlys felt himself reaching his limit. He gripped her hips and began driving into her harder and harder.
"I'm close," he growled into her ear, and with a final thrust, he spilled himself inside her, carrying her over the edge of pleasure with him. Breathing heavily after a three-hour marathon, Corlys fell back onto the bed.
"Gods, you have no idea how much I needed that. You've had hardly any time for us lately. Pity Alysia couldn't join us; I could have used her help," Joanna said, wrapping her slender arms around him and settling onto his chest.
Joanna Stokeworth, a beautiful woman of thirty-two, was one of his mother's ladies-in-waiting. At eighteen, she had been married off to an old man who died a month after the wedding, and ever since, she had flatly refused to wed again. Her lord had wanted to send her to a septry, but then Alice had offered her a place as a lady-in-waiting at Driftmark.
Alysia Tarth had a similar story. She had been wed to one of the lords of the stormlands. After three years of marriage in which she failed to give her husband a child, she was cast out of his castle like a discarded thing. That this so-called husband was seventy-five and could barely get anything to work interested no one. Alice had known Alysia's mother and decided to help the poor girl, whose own father cared nothing for her. Alysia was now thirty-four and quite content with her life on Driftmark.
To this day, Corlys could not understand parents who married their daughters off to old men for a scrap of land or a bit of coin. Had anyone come to him with such a proposal in his previous life, he would have buried the fool on the spot.
Their passionate affair had begun when Corlys was eighteen, and he had been more than pleased with his mother's decision to make these women her ladies-in-waiting. Though they had kept their nightly adventures hidden, his mother had sniffed them out soon enough. She had raged for a long time and been cross with the women who had "seduced" her son. Corlys always found that amusing; who had seduced whom was still very much up for debate. In the end, his mother calmed down and found the upside of the situation. Better this than her son frequenting brothels or letting in some flighty girl with her eye on the Velaryon fortune. As for her two wards sharing her son's bed, she would get used to it somehow.
Waking the next morning, Corlys began to get ready for the day. Joanna was still asleep and seemed in no hurry to wake. Stepping out of his chambers, he found, as expected, his familiar lying by the door: a black panther he had found as a cub during one of his travels. Ares usually slept in his room, but when Corlys was not alone, he preferred to wait outside rather than see how his master spent his time.
"Sorry if last night's moaning disturbed you, my friend," he said to his faithful familiar, who was looking at him as though he wanted to bite his head off.
That would hardly have been a challenge. Ares was a large beast, rivaling even lions in size.
After the midday meal with his family, Corlys turned to his duties and did not notice how quickly the time passed. Returning to the castle, he learned that Grandfather Daemon had ordered a family supper.
At supper, everyone was in fine spirits. The table groaned under all manner of appetizing dishes; Corlys had shared many recipes from his previous life with the cooks, and now the whole family enjoyed them. Grandfather Daemon looked happy as he watched over his family. Though he had lost more than half his kin to plague many years ago, he could now take pride in the standing of his house. The Velaryons were stronger than ever, and the old lord knew he could entrust the future to his grandsons, and to Corlys above all.
He looked once more at his great-grandson, curled up snugly in his arms. The babe looked very much like his grandfather, so it was no wonder he had been given his name. At the thought of his son, the old man's heart ached, but he pushed those thoughts aside and chose to dwell on happier things, of which there were plenty. Handing little Corwyn back to his mother and taking one more look at all his family, the lord asked Corlys to walk him to his bedchamber.
Passing through the richly decorated halls of the castle, grandfather and grandson reminisced about old times and the pranks the boys had tried to play on their beloved grandfather. Daemon could not stop smiling as he remembered what little mischief-makers his grandsons had been. At the door to his bedchamber, he embraced Corlys and bade him good night.
The first rays of sunlight had barely appeared when a maidservant entered Corlys's chambers.
"My lord," the girl called, trying to wake him.
"What is it, Elsa?" he asked sleepily. "Why are you waking me so early?"
Elsa looked at him with such sorrow that Corlys understood something terrible had happened.
"My lord…" she began. "At dawn this morning, the servants went in as usual to lay out Lord Daemon's clothes…"
Corlys's heart skipped a beat.
"Lord Daemon passed away in his sleep, my lord. Please accept my condolences," she said, bowing her head.