89 AC, King's Landing
Sunset painted the sky over Blackwater Bay in shades of crimson and gold, but to King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, the light seemed ominous. He stood upon one of the open balconies of the Red Keep, his hands gripping the stone parapet. From this height, the capital appeared as an endless labyrinth of clay-tiled roofs and narrow alleys. The city lived, breathed, and… it reeked. The stench of nightsoil, sweat, and decay that always haunted King's Landing felt particularly unbearable to the King today.
His thoughts were still miles away, anchored at Driftmark. Before his eyes, he saw not the open sewers of the capital, but the perfectly paved stone quays he had walked only a few days prior.
Behind him, he heard soft, barely audible footsteps. He did not need to turn to know them. Alysanne approached silently, her warm hand settled on his shoulder, offering that wordless support that had been the foundation of their long and often exhausting reign.
"You are still thinking about what we saw," she said. It wasn't a question, Alysanne had always read his mind before he could even give it voice.
Jaehaerys let out a heavy sigh. His gaze followed a lone gull circling the harbor with a cry before vanishing into the twilight.
"It is difficult to think of anything else, my love. We flew to Driftmark expecting to find a house in mourning, grieving for its lord. Instead, we found something..." He paused, searching for a word that wouldn't betray his true agitation. "...something I did not like at all."
"Spicetown," Alysanne whispered. In her voice, usually so steady, there was a strange mix of genuine admiration and deep apprehension. "Until today, I did not believe such a thing could be raised in Westeros. A city so beautiful... so precise."
"It is a challenge," Jaehaerys cut in, his voice harsher than usual. "I have spent decades building this capital. I laid the Kingsroad, I drained the marshes, I built septs and raised walls, believing I was creating the center of the world. And Corlys Velaryon... a boy not yet thirty, has in a scant ten years raised a jewel that makes King's Landing look like a midden heap. Did you see their new castle? High Tide?"
Alysanne nodded slowly, recalling how the sunlight shimmered off the pale stone of the high towers, which seemed almost translucent.
"I confess, I was awestruck. It is nothing like the grim, squat fortresses we remember from our youth," she said, a hint of nostalgia in her tone.
"Precisely." He stepped away from the balcony's edge and began to pace. "I will not deny it—Corlys's castle... it is inspiring." Jaehaerys could not hide the bitterness in his words. After a moment, he continued. "And that University... the Maesters of the Citadel have already sent me three complaints, bearing their heaviest seals. They call it 'heresy' and an 'assault on the monopoly of true knowledge.'"
"Their fear is understandable." Alysanne walked to a small table where a decanter stood. "For thousands of years, they have controlled the flow of knowledge in Westeros, they held the keys to every door in the realm. Every lord depended on their counsel, their ravens, and their lore."
"The Maesters fear losing their grip," Jaehaerys turned to his wife. "Corlys isn't just building pretty buildings of white stone. He is building a new system. A system that allows him to train his own men—navigators, cartographers, accountants. He is creating competent servants who owe everything to him, not to Oldtown. I am angry with myself for not thinking of it first. Instead of relying on the grey rats of the Citadel, he has built his own foundation."
The King took the goblet Alysanne filled, but he did not drink. He stared into the wine as if he could see the reflection of Eastern shores within it.
"You saw their wives, Alysanne. The girls from Houses Maegyr and Vaeloros. That isn't just 'pretty wives from Essos.' That is the oldest blood of Old Valyria. The kind that lives behind the Black Wall of Volantis and considers most of our lords to be upstarts and barbarians. The Velaryons no longer seek the approval of the Westerosi nobility. They do not strive to wed Arryns or Starks. They look East, across the Narrow Sea, and draw influence and riches that other lords can only dream of in their wildest fantasies."
Jaehaerys took a sharp swallow. The tension within him was almost palpable.
"Our Master of Whisperers reports that the Velaryon fortune now eclipses the gold of Casterly Rock. And those swords..." Jaehaerys's eyes narrowed. "Seafoam and Stormbreaker. Valyrian steel grants them status. A status many Great Lords lack. We have Blackfyre and Dark Sister. Now Corlys has two blades as well. That is no accident, Alysanne. It is a declaration of their house's singularity."
Alysanne took a seat in an armchair, gracefully smoothing the hem of her heavy gown. She looked pensive, watching the dancing flames in the hearth, which the servants had lit to ward off the evening chill.
"You are still angry with Uncle Daemon," she said softly. "I can feel it in you. That old wound... it still bleeds, even though he is gone."
Jaehaerys froze. The image of the late Lord of Driftmark surfaced in his mind. Old Daemon, who always smiled, who seemed the embodiment of loyalty... but who chose to stay behind his walls while Maegor the Cruel turned the Targaryens' lives into a nightmare.
"He could have done something," the King's voice sounded hollow and ragged. "When Maegor held us hostage, when he slew my brothers, Aegon and Viserys… when Visenya tortured our mother, and her son raped our sister… Daemon Velaryon commanded a fleet. He possessed influence. Yet he chose the safety of Driftmark. He chose the survival of his house over honor and loyalty to blood."
"He was protecting those who were left, Jaehaerys," Alysanne tried, as she had many times over forty years, to soften his anger. "We both know that rebelling against Maegor while he rode Balerion was pure suicide. Uncle Daemon helped us later. He secured our escape and gave us the chance to claim our rights."
"Later," the King repeated bitterly. "When the wind had changed. When it was clear that Maegor was mad, alone, and doomed. He was a cautious man, Alysanne. Too cautious. And I could never fully trust him after that. But Corlys... Corlys is not cautious. He is made of entirely different stuff. He is ambitious with a fierce, all-consuming ambition I have not seen in any lord in all my reign."
"And that is exactly why we cannot afford to let him become our enemy," Alysanne leaned forward, the firelight highlighting the resolve in her eyes. "We have already pushed the Velaryons away with our indifference over the last twenty years. Corlys Velaryon—a man spoken of in every port from Lorath to Asshai, a man who sailors whisper has been to the very edge of the world—has not once made an official visit to King's Landing. To the capital of the realm where he was born! What does that tell you, Jaehaerys?"
The King remained silent, and she continued, not letting him retreat into his thoughts.
"At the very least, he and his family harbor a deep resentment. At worst—they are hostile and merely waiting for their moment. We cannot be fooled by the hospitality we received at the funeral. The fact that Corlys ignores the capital speaks for itself. He is building his own world, and in that world, we are merely guests of honor, not sovereigns. We must make them our allies before they decide they can do without us."
Jaehaerys set his cup on the table and stared into the fire for a long time.
"He is dangerous. More dangerous than any lord in my kingdom. That is why I hesitate."
"We discussed Viserra's betrothal," Alysanne reminded him. "The match with Manderly."
The King winced as if from a toothache.
"Lord Theomore Manderly is a loyal and steady man. His wealth in the North is vital for the stability of the realm. White Harbor is our key to the North."
"Viserra hates the idea, Jaehaerys. And in truth, I understand her now. I regret that I didn't realize sooner what a mistake we were making." Alysanne shook her head. "Theomore Manderly is old, he is morbidly fat, and his interests do not extend beyond his purse and the Northern lands. We planned this marriage to secure the North's loyalty, but look at what is happening now. Why send our daughter, our own blood, into the snows at the edge of the world, when we have a power rising right beside us that could bolster our throne?"
Jaehaerys began to pace again, his heavy mantle rustling against the stone floor like dragon scales.
"You suggest we give her to Corlys?" He stopped abruptly and looked at his wife. "Alysanne, think how wise it is to let a man as ambitious as Corlys so close to the throne."
"All lords are ambitious by nature, Jaehaerys. If a lord is not ambitious, he is either dead or a fool," she countered. "But consider this: if we wed Viserra to Corlys, we settle every slight, large and small, that has festered for years. In the future, when the time comes for our son Aemon to ascend the throne, he will have the wealth, the fleet, and the power of Driftmark at his back. Our grandchildren will be the heirs to everything we saw on Driftmark. The wealth of the Velaryons and their strength will serve House Targaryen."
"I promised this match to Manderly," he said at last, though his voice lacked its previous conviction.
"You are the King. You can offer Theomore other concessions. Tax exemptions for his port, exclusive trade privileges, or promise a match in the next generation—which may or may not come to pass. Manderly is a merchant at heart, he will see the profit. Viserra... she is our most valuable asset in this game. If she must marry, let it be to a young and powerful Velaryon, not an old man who can barely climb the stairs. A marriage to Corlys benefits House Targaryen a hundredfold more."
The King walked to the table and sat in the chair opposite his wife. His shoulders slumped slightly, betraying his exhaustion.
"You are right. I admit it. The Manderly match no longer carries the same strategic weight. The Velaryons have risen too fast, and if we do not bind them to our family now, tomorrow may be too late. But I am not ready to announce a wedding immediately. I do not want Corlys to think we are forcing ourselves upon him out of fear or necessity. First, I want to see him in action here, in the capital."
"And that is exactly why we need the Small Council," Alysanne noted with a faint, victorious half-smile.
Jaehaerys nodded, his mind already constructing the political framework.
"The office of Master of Ships. The post has been vacant since Lord Grafton's passing, and we had decided to offer it to Corlys even before our trip. But then, I thought it would be a mere gesture of respect to his house. Now, I see it as a necessity. No one in Westeros is better suited for it. His fleet already patrols the Narrow Sea more effectively than my own ships. By inviting him to the Council, we bind him to King's Landing. He will be required to spend months here, away from his city. We can watch him, study his methods, understand the true nature of his ambition, and most importantly—see how loyal he truly is."
"And Viserra will be here," Alysanne added, her voice brightening now that she had convinced her husband. "Let them become acquainted within the court. Viserra knows how to charm when she wishes. If the fire I suspect exists between them ignites, the union will happen of its own accord. You won't even need to compel them by decree, it will look like their own desire."
Jaehaerys stood again and walked to the window. The city below was now fully swallowed by darkness, with only the scattered lights of lanterns and torches on the walls cutting through the gloom.
"There is one more thing we must discuss, Alysanne. The goods he has flooded the market with. It isn't just salt and wool. Our Master of Coin says Corlys has established a monopoly on spices we previously only heard of. Saffron, pepper, cinnamon... their price in King's Landing has dropped, but the volume of sales has grown tenfold. And this sugar from cane? Noble lords now cannot imagine a feast without it. And this black drink from the East... coffee?"
Alysanne nodded. "I tried it at Driftmark. Bitter, invigorating, strange. And the tea from Yi Ti, served in porcelain cups as thin as eggshells. All of these are threads with which he binds Westeros to his purse. Every time a lord in the Reach or a lady in the Vale drinks that tea, they pay Corlys Velaryon."
"Exactly," the King confirmed. "Lords think trade is for merchants. It is not just trade, it is power. If we unite, these trade routes become the arteries of the entire realm. The Crown's income will double on duties alone if Corlys is Master of Ships and our son-in-law. His business in Essos becomes our business."
Jaehaerys turned to his wife, his gaze hard and resolute.
"Very well. The Hand shall send a letter to Lord Manderly. I will find a way to soften the blow, but the betrothal will be rescinded. Tell Viserra..." he hesitated for a moment, "...tell her that her fate remains in my hands for now. But hint that something more worthy awaits her."
Alysanne leaned her head against his shoulder. "I will speak with her, do not worry."
"And I shall write to Corlys tomorrow morning," the King said, looking out at the dark sea where, somewhere beyond the horizon, Spicetown likely glowed with lights. "We will invite him to take his seat on the Small Council. Let him bring his experience, his ideas, and his ambitions to the Red Keep. We shall see how he fares here, serving the Crown. If he is as good at governance as he is at command, then success awaits him. And if not... well, better to have such a man under our watch in the Council than as a free lord on his own island."
"It is a wise decision, one by which we shall gain a powerful ally," Alysanne was pleased she had saved her daughter from an unwanted marriage. "You will see, he will become your right hand upon the sea. Corlys understands the value of a royal alliance. He is ambitious, but he is not a fool."
"I hope so, Alysanne. I hope so," Jaehaerys answered softly.
Far away on Driftmark, Corlys Velaryon, unaware of the decision made in the capital, stood atop the highest tower of High Tide and watched his ships vanishing over the horizon.
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A/N
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