89 AC. Driftmark
High Tide always smelled of the sea, but in Lord Corlys's solar, that scent mingled with aromas that were entirely foreign to most of Westeros: the earthy tang of coffee beans, the sweetness of dried cacao, and the sharp, stinging notes of rare spices.
Corlys stood by a massive desk carved from a single slab of oak. Spread across it was a vast map of the known world, cluttered with his own meticulous annotations. This was not the standard map used by the Maesters of Oldtown, where everything beyond Qarth and the Jade Sea dissolved into white voids. Corlys's map was detailed, precise, and unforgiving.
His brothers, Daeron and Veylor, sat opposite him. Daeron, the younger and more impulsive of the two, thoughtfully turned a dagger in his hands. Veylor, calm and calculating, studied debt ledgers and profit reports.
"Brother, the voyage to Yi Ti takes nearly a year one way, and that is if the winds are kind," Veylor said, looking up from the scrolls. "Our ships already dominate every sea. House Velaryon is wealthier now than it has ever been. Is it truly worth risking the fleet for the sake of another record?"
Corlys met his brother's gaze. There was no explorer's zeal in his eyes—only cold, hard calculation.
"This isn't about risk, Veylor. This is the foundation. Westeros is a stagnant marsh. Real life and true resources lie in the East. If we are the first to establish a regular trade route, bypassing the middlemen of Braavos and the Magisters of Essos, we will be the ones dictating terms to kings."
He shifted his gaze to the southern part of the map, where Sothoryos lay like a dark, bruised thumb—a continent that men had feared to set foot on for centuries.
"But before we sail East, we must ensure that Green Haven is secure."
Three years ago, Corlys Velaryon had achieved the impossible. He had established a permanent settlement on the northern coast of Sothoryos, near the mouth of the Zamoyos River, not far from the ruins of ancient Zamettar. For centuries, Maesters had written that Sothoryos was a "Green Hell" where nature itself conspired to kill man. The "Red Death," swamp fever, mosquitoes the size of sparrows, and wyverns made the land uninhabitable.
"How is the sugar production?" Corlys asked.
"The initial yields have exceeded expectations," Daeron replied, his voice tinged with genuine respect. "The slaves we bought in Myr and Astapor and relocated there... they call you their savior. Free land, fair wages, and protection—it's what they're willing to work themselves to the bone for. The sugarcane grows there with frightening speed. And the coffee... the lords in King's Landing are already starting to go mad for it."
Corlys nodded. He remembered personally marking the "borders" of the settlement three years ago. Using knowledge from his past life and the magic dormant in his blood, he had constructed a defense system that no one in this world could replicate.
The problem with Sothoryos was its pathogens and parasites. Corlys utilized runic magic—an ancient art he had mastered. Hidden in the jungle around the settlement stood twelve obsidian pillars. On each, Corlys had personally carved signs forming the "Circle of Purification."
The magic worked silently. It did not raise walls of fire; instead, the runes created a field that filtered spores of fever from the air and water, making the zone intolerable for blood-sucking insects. Mosquitoes simply avoided the area. Furthermore, Corlys had enchanted the wells, imbuing the water with purity and making it safe for consumption. The next stage was the purification of the rivers and their diversion to the fields for irrigation.
"The magic is holding steady," Corlys said, as if discussing the weather. "My barriers remain. The wyverns won't fly into the settlement zone, feeling an instinctive dread of the runes. This has allowed us to break the first two thousand acres. But it is only the beginning."
He went to a cabinet and pulled out a small box. Inside were seeds, neatly packed in pouches.
"These are new varieties of cacao and improved coffee seeds. I brought them..." he paused, the impossibility of telling his family the whole truth causing a flicker of guilt. He lied once more. "...from Valyria. They exist nowhere in Essos or Ultos. These strains are more resistant to moisture and yield twice the fruit."
The brothers knew Corlys was withholding something, but they didn't ask. In House Velaryon, it was understood that one trusted their head, especially when that trust brought such immense prosperity.
"There are currently about ten thousand people working in Sothoryos," Corlys continued.
"Escaped slaves from the Disputed Lands and those we bought and manumitted. We give them a life; they give us a resource. Next year, I plan to expand the barriers another ten kilometers inland."
"And the spices?" Veylor asked. "Cloves and cinnamon?"
"They take more time, but the soil of Sothoryos is perfect for them. In five years, we will stop relying on caravans from Qarth. We will be the Qarth of the West, only closer to home. But there is one more thing that concerns me."
Corlys pointed to the Stepstones—the scatter of islands between Westeros and Essos.
"My captains report increased pirate activity. Usually, they are disorganized bands, but now they act with too much coordination. Spies in Lys whisper that the Triarchy has begun secretly supplying them with weapons and provisions. The Magisters of Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh are unhappy that we are bypassing their trade routes. For now, it's just minor skirmishes—the seed of a future problem — but if they entrench themselves on the Stepstones, it will choke not just our trade, but all of Westeros."
Veylor frowned, studying the map. "If the Triarchy is behind them, they'll soon start demanding tolls from every ship. That could eat a third of our profits."
"Which is exactly why I need official influence," Corlys stated flatly.
At that moment, there was a cautious but firm knock at the door. Maester Maleon entered the solar. A man of fifty years from House Rowan of Goldengrove, he still carried the noble posture of the Reach despite the weight of his maester's chain. He was a thorough, pedantic man whose knowledge had served Corlys well in his expeditions.
In his hands, he held a parchment sealed with heavy red wax.
"Lord Corlys," the Maester bowed. "An urgent letter from King's Landing. It arrived just now by the swiftest raven. The King's own seal."
Corlys took the letter. He broke the wax of the three-headed dragon and scanned the lines.
"To Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark.
You are hereby notified that by the decree of His Majesty King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, you are appointed to the position of Master of Ships on the Small Council.
Your presence in the capital is required for the swearing of oaths and immediate assumption of duties. The realm has need of your experience and the strength of your fleet.
We expect your arrival in King's Landing with all haste.
Given under the hand of His Grace, Jaehaerys Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm"
Corlys set the letter on the table. Silence filled the room.
"Master of Ships," Daeron said slowly. "Our grandfather once held that post. It is a great honor, Corlys."
"It is a recognition of our power," Veylor countered. "The King has seen Spicetown. He has seen our fleet. He understands it is better to have you by his side than to let you continue growing without the Throne's oversight."
Corlys walked to the window and looked out at the harbor of High Tide. Below, the world was in motion. Tubs of sugar were being loaded, sailors shouted in a dozen tongues, and his ships stood in perfect lines.
"King Jaehaerys is wise," Corlys said, not turning around. "He wants to leash us to the Iron Throne. He feels the Velaryons are becoming too strong. If I refuse, it will be seen as open defiance. If I agree immediately, I show that I crave his approval."
He turned back to his brothers.
"We will go to the capital. But not tomorrow. Maester Maleon, prepare a reply. Tell the King I am deeply moved by his trust. However, as the new Lord of Driftmark, I must settle the affairs of my house, honor my grandfather's memory, and ensure the stability of my lands before I can leave them. Inform him that I shall arrive in King's Landing in one and a half moons."
"It shall be done, Lord Corlys," the maester said, bowing once more before departing.
"Why the delay?" Daeron asked.
"I need to prepare Green Haven for my absence," Corlys explained. "I must refresh the runes and ensure the shipments of sugar and coffee continue without interruption. Furthermore, I want them to wait for me in the capital. Velaryons are not loyal hounds to be whistled for at a whim. Anticipation makes a lord more significant in the King's eyes. And in that time, we will gather more intelligence on the Triarchy. I want to enter the Council with a solution to the pirate problem, not a plea for help."
He looked to his brothers, his voice turning hard and decisive.
"The plans change. Daeron, apologize to your wife for me—you are coming with me to King's Landing. I will need your blade and your loyalty at court. We must show the Targaryens that the Velaryons stand as a united front. You will continue to be my right hand in the Red Keep."
Daeron straightened, pride visible in his eyes. "I will be ready, brother."
"Veylor," Corlys placed a hand on his other brother's shoulder. "You remain in charge here on Driftmark. You will be my Regent. I trust you with every ledger, every account, and all our trade operations. You are the heart of our house while I am its voice in the Council."
Veylor nodded solemnly. "It is a heavy burden, Corlys, but I will manage."
"Good." Corlys looked at the map one last time. "These weeks will be spent in preparation. We increase the scale of production in Sothoryos immediately. Order the construction of three more warehouses in the city. We need more space for the grain and the sugar."
He stared at the map, his eyes lingering on Sothoryos, then King's Landing. Corlys Velaryon knew that his journey to the capital was not just the start of a new job. It was the beginning of a new chapter for his dynasty.
His brothers dispersed to their duties. Corlys remained alone. He took a small porcelain cup from the sideboard, poured a hot, black liquid into it, and took a sip. There was much work ahead. Sothoryos was the first step; Westeros was the second. And beyond them lay the whole world, which he intended to conquer—not just with the sword, but with the mind.
================================================================
A/N
Read ahead on P@treon!
• Navigator Tier: 4 advance chapters & images.
• Master of Ships Tier: 6 advance chapters & images.
[email protected]/MarcelVelaryon777
I'm deeply thankful for any support you choose to provide by joining my paid tiers. It truly makes a difference! A quick tip to save money: Please use a web browser to subscribe instead of the iOS app. Prices on the app are 30% higher due to Apple's commission, so subscribing via browser ensures you get the lowest possible rate!