90 AC. King's Landing
It had been exactly a month to the day since Lord Corlys Velaryon and his young bride, Princess Viserra Targaryen, stood before King Jaehaerys and the rest of House Targaryen following their triumphant return to the capital. The stifling summer heat hung over King's Landing like a suffocating blanket, leeching the day's accumulated stench from the narrow alleys of Flea Bottom and mingling it with the salty breeze off Blackwater Bay. Inside House Velaryon's manse, however - built of fine white stone with lofty vaulted ceilings - the air remained pleasantly cool.
In Corlys's spacious solar on the second floor of the east wing, the windows opened out toward the bay and the distant, towering silhouettes of the Red Keep. The oak desk was buried under stacks of parchment, ledgers, nautical charts, and blueprints. Corlys sat in a deep, high-backed carved chair, sifting through documents and endless reports, while his younger brother, Daeron, sat opposite him. Between them lay a meticulously detailed map of the Spicetown shipyards, dotted with colored markers.
From the open window, a sudden, distant screeching roar pierced the air, drowning out even the clamor of the city harbor. It was immediately answered by a second - deeper, like the rumble of thunder before a storm. Corlys paused in his reading and glanced out the window. High above the clouds, slicing through the muggy air over the capital, soared two dragons. The massive, blue-and-silver Dreamfyre circled alongside scarlet Meleys, making swift banking turns and commencing another pass over the Red Keep.
"They are in the sky again," Daeron remarked, watching the shadows of giant wings glide across the tiled roofs of the city. "Rhaenys has been training her relentlessly every single day. Viserra returns to the manse half-dead from exhaustion, yet with a look of sheer delight in her eyes that I have never seen in her - save perhaps for the day she wed you."
"It is precisely what she needed," Corlys replied softly, turning back to the papers on his desk. "These sessions with Rhaenys give Viserra a sense of freedom and power. Viserra has a natural love for adventure and liberty, and Dreamfyre is a dragon of strong, at times willful temperament. They needed time to bond as one. Besides, the princesses do not fly alone. Prince Aemon and Prince Baelon join them more and more often whenever their royal duties permit."
Corlys chuckled silently to himself, recalling how regularly he had been giving Viserra subtle yet invaluable counsel on how to handle dragons. Naturally, they both went to great lengths to hide from the royal family how the Lord of Driftmark possessed such deep insight into dragon rider psychology and their magical bond. To the rest of the world, Corlys remained merely a devoted husband supporting his wife's passions, all while secretly guiding her relationship with Dreamfyre through his unique knowledge.
"Back to our affairs," Corlys said, tapping his fingertips against the yard's financial report. "It has been exactly one year since the Crown placed an order with us for the construction of a fleet. Over this past year, we have built, fully fitted out, and launched twenty-five warships. All of them have already passed their main trials in the waters of Driftmark and stand ready for service."
Daeron sighed, resting his elbows on the table and scrutinizing the figures carefully.
Corlys leaned back into the plush leather of his chair, images of the Driftmark docks - familiar down to the smallest detail - flashing through his mind. For several years now, a grand assembly-line system had been operating there, built on the model of the legendary Venetian Arsenal, whose principles Corlys had once brought to Velaryon lands and perfected. Ten thousand shipwrights, carpenters, caulkers, riggers, and smiths worked as one seamless, perfect mechanism. A ship at the Spicetown yards was not built from scratch by a single crew, it moved through the dry dock from stage to stage, assembled from strictly standardized and interchangeable parts. This system, which they continually refined, already allowed them to launch a fully outfitted war galley every four to five days. But Corlys had no intention of stopping there: in his ambitions, he measured himself against the great Arsenal of Braavos, where masters were capable of building and fitting out a ship in a single day.
"We hold back the pace intentionally, Daeron," Corlys said calmly. "And there are two vital reasons for it. First, the Crown and the Small Council must not know the true capability of our shipyards. If the King or his councilors realize that House Velaryon can construct a hundred warships in a matter of months, it will breed only fear and undue suspicion. Our true potential is a secret that must remain ours alone."
He paused briefly, pulling a chart of sea routes toward himself.
"Second, I have no desire to provoke the Triarchy right now. If a hundred brand-new war galleys suddenly appear off our shores, Lys and Tyrosh will view it as immediate preparation for a major war. Igniting a conflict over the Stepstones at this very moment would shatter our own far grander plans. The time has not yet come. As for the gold the Crown will pay for the fleet along with all the bonuses... that is merely a welcome extra, nothing more. The Iron Throne's coin will neither enrich us nor ruin us."
Daeron nodded in understanding, but then pointed to one of the columns in the ledger.
"And what of the material delays? The report notes that last week two dry docks sat idle for several days."
"Our sole weakness at present is our timber supply," Corlys frowned. "We rely far too heavily on ship-oak and pine from Storm's End. The stormlords are sluggish, and their lumberjacks repeatedly fail to meet schedules. Dependence on a single supplier is unacceptable. I have already given orders to establish new trade routes and enter into direct contracts with the Riverlands and the North. Once we organize regular shipments of timber from White Harbor and the riverland forests, the yards will no longer be at the mercy of Storm's End's whims. My goal is to hone our system to perfection so that in the future, our shipyards - like Braavos - can build and fully fit out one ship a day."
"One ship a day..." Daeron repeated in a tone of deep respect. "In Westeros, no one could even conceive of such power."
"Then let them remain ignorant for now," Corlys gave a faint smile. "Now, onto the second project. The sewers of King's Landing."
Corlys swapped the scroll on the table, unrolling a large topographical map of the capital, where red and black lines marked the three great hills - Aegon's, Visenya's, and Rhaenys's - as well as the hollows of Flea Bottom.
"Over the past month, I have resumed my regular attendance at the Small Council meetings," Corlys continued, studying the chart. "Beyond my direct duties as Master of Ships and Admiral, I offer the King counsel on governance and trade. Jaehaerys grows old, but his mind remains sharp as ever, and he fully understands the value of our proposals. The Small Council has officially approved the estimates for the first phase of constructing the underground drains. The masters from Spicetown arrived in the capital a week ago. They are examining the ground beneath the city and have already conducted initial land surveys."
"And what is their verdict?" Daeron inquired. "The capital is built on clay and hard rock, there is no convenient sandstone here like in Spicetown."
"It makes the labor more difficult, but not impossible," Corlys replied, examining the map of the capital. "Our builders are designing a central conduit that will run from the lowlands of Flea Bottom straight into the Blackwater. It will utilize the natural slope of the terrain. To flush the main arteries, we will use specialized holding reservoirs filled by the sea tides, just as we did in Spicetown. By the end of this year, all surveying and tunnel mapping will be complete. And by the turn of the new year, large-scale construction will commence."
"The smallfolk of Flea Bottom are already rife with rumors," Daeron noted, lightly adjusting the cuffs of his linen doublet. "The taverns whisper that the Crown is about to launch an unprecedented construction project and will pay good coin to every beggar capable of holding a pick and shovel, with the work overseen entirely by Driftmark masters."
"And those rumors are true," Corlys confirmed. "The treasury has allocated generous funds for labor, and we are taking full charge of overseeing this grand undertaking. We will need thousands of hands for the earthworks under the supervision of our masons. We will give these people honest labor and the means to feed their families. Not only will this accelerate construction tenfold, but it will also dramatically lower crime in the slums. A starving man will resort to robbery, but one who earns a copper for his labor will prefer to buy food for his children - unless, of course, he squanders it all on whores and strong drink."
Corlys paused, placing his palms flat on the edge of the table, a calculating spark igniting in his eyes.
"However, we must take another vital step, Daeron. We need to subtly plant the right whispers among the populace. The common folk must learn who truly conceived this project, who fought for their welfare within the walls of the Red Keep. Let them know in Flea Bottom that it was Lord Velaryon who proposed this design at the Small Council table and pressed it before the King, taking care that the poor might have bread and their streets cease to drown in filth and disease."
Daeron narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, quickly weighing the advantage of such a move.
"This will glorify your name and our house among the commons, Corlys. A good name and the affection of the people of King's Landing is a force that, at a critical moment, could prove immensely valuable. But such rumors must be spread with the utmost caution. No trail must lead back to us or our direct agents."
"Naturally," Corlys nodded in agreement. "These tales should be scattered through third parties - drunken sailors in harbor dives, street vendors, dockside wenches, and innkeepers. Let the people believe they overheard secret talk from guards or scribes of the Red Keep. The love of the crowd must not appear bought by rumor, but as natural gratitude for my care for them. Holding a flawless reputation among the city's population is a incredibly useful trumps card that will serve us well time and again."
Daeron leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting thoughtfully to the southern portion of the map, where the vast, dark, and mysterious mass of an unexplored continent spread out - Sothoryos.
"The fleet and the capital's sewers are well and good, brother," Daeron said quietly, turning over a page of reports from long voyages. "But I am more concerned with what is happening thousands of leagues to the south. How fare matters in Sothoryos and our settlement?"
Corlys's eyes lingered for a moment on the southern map. At the mention of Sothoryos, the events of recent years flashed vividly in his memory.
"Green Haven grows faster than we dared hope," Corlys said, a note of pride swelling in his voice. "Over the past two years, we have transported several more shipments of freed slaves, bought by our agents in the markets of Meereen, Astapor, Yunkai, and Volantis. Currently, the permanent population living and working in the settled territories has reached fifty thousand souls."
"Fifty thousand free souls on a continent that for centuries was deemed a grave for any foreigner," Daeron whispered, looking at his brother with involuntary pride. "Had the lords of Westeros known how many people we have ferried there, they would have declared us mad."
"The lords of Westeros are far too blind and confined by their castles and petty feudal squabbles to see the future," Corlys replied. "The people we rescued from the lash and bondage have been given land, safety, new opportunities, and the right to the fruits of their labor. They are loyal to House Velaryon to their last drop of blood."
Corlys fell silent, sinking into his memories. In truth, the safety of Green Haven had been bought at an enormous, almost superhuman cost. The brothers knew Corlys utilized ancient runes and blood magic, disguising the true origin of these powers as 'Valyrian secrets.' But they did not know all the details of the secret war he had been forced to wage in Sothoryos just a few months ago.
At the very beginning of the coastal settlement, Green Haven had seemed protected by his magical barrier of obsidian pillars marking the Circle of Cleansing. The runes filtered the air of fever spores and warded off blood-sucking insects. Yet as the sugar cane and coffee plantations expanded deeper inland, his people encountered a threat against which the air-cleansing runes were useless.
The Brindled Men. They had appeared suddenly, like fiends rising from hell itself out of the impenetrable jungle. They had not been present during the initial founding - the savages eternally roamed the boundless continent - but upon stumbling across signs of human habitation, they converged upon the borders of Green Haven. They were creatures that resembled humans only in outward form: massive, with thick, spotted skin, ferocious flat faces, and a total absence of intellect. They possessed no speech, uttering only wild grunts, roars, and deafening shrieks.
The maesters of the Citadel wrote in their rare treatises that the Brindled Men were merely primitive tribes gone wild. But Corlys, when his scouts captured a specimen, had personally conducted an anatomical and mental study, realizing the truth: they were not human at all. They were an entirely different humanoid species, a dead-end branch of evolution driven purely by primal hunger and blind aggression.
The horror of the situation revealed itself fully when a band of Brindled Men launched a brazen attack on an outlying farm beyond the first runic perimeter. The savages wielded primitive clubs and flint axes, acting with unbelievable cruelty. They dragged off one of the settlers - a former slave from Essos who had enjoyed freedom for a mere six months.
When Velaryon scouts alongside Corlys's guards tracked the attackers by their bloody trail into the jungle, they came upon a sight that froze the blood of hardened warriors. The savages were finishing devouring the wretched settler right by their campfire, tearing the flesh with their bare hands.
The scouts slaughtered nearly the entire pack on the spot, but captured one specimen alive, bound him in chains, and immediately dispatched a messenger with news to Driftmark.
Upon receiving word of this nightmare, Corlys had been in King's Landing. His wedding to Viserra was less than three months away, frantic preparations were underway, and he could not leave officially without proper explanation. Leaving Daeron in the capital to cover his absence under the pretext of 'inspecting the Spicetown yards and checking wedding preparations,' Corlys used apparition and vanished directly to Sothoryos from his castle.
Arriving at Green Haven, he locked himself in the subterranean laboratory with the captured savage. Corlys needed to understand how these beasts managed to survive in the putrid swamps of Sothoryos, where ordinary men died of the Red Death in a matter of days.
Utilizing diagnostic charms alongside complex chemical and magical tests, Corlys made a discovery. Through millennia of constant contact with the monstrous pathogens of Sothoryos, the Brindled Men had developed an incredible, impenetrable, absolute immunity. Their bodies did not merely fight diseases - they had become their permanent reservoir and carrier. Yet this immunity had played a cruel joke on them: the colossal resources of their bodies were consumed in constantly suppressing infections in their blood, leaving their brains devoid of resources to evolve or develop over thousands of years. They remained forever wild, cannibalistic beasts.
Understanding that it was impossible to reason with the Brindled Men - they were physically incapable of perceiving anything beyond hunger, violence, and fear - and that they posed a mortal threat to all fifty thousand inhabitants of the colony, Corlys made a radical, ruthless decision. He could not permit cannibals to dwell beside his people.
Using his deep mastery of alchemy and the dark arts, Corlys synthesized a specialized pathogen potion. To an ordinary human or animal, it was completely harmless, but upon entering the system of a Brindled Man, it triggered a lethal reaction with their specific immunity. The incubation period lasted precisely one week - during which the infected specimen felt no ailment, yet became a hyper-contagious vector to its own kind. After seven days, violent fever and sickness set in, followed by inevitable death two days later.
Corlys summoned his house-elves - faithful creatures possessing the unique magic of silent movement - and commanded them to capture as many Brindled Men in the surrounding jungles as possible. Over three days, the elves brought him roughly a hundred specimens from various nomadic packs.
Corlys personally infected each one with the prepared potion, after which the house-elves ferried the savages back, dropping them into the deepest, most populous settlements and encampments of Brindled Men throughout the northern region of Sothoryos.
The result exceeded all expectations. The plague swept through the savage tribes with lightning speed. Within a month, attacks on the borders of Green Haven ceased entirely. The cannibal settlements within a radius of hundreds of leagues died out or scattered into the deep, inaccessible southern jungles, harboring a primal terror of the lands of men.
Yet the Brindled Men were not the only plight. The second bane of Sothoryos remained the wyverns - winged predators that were distant kin to dragons. Thanks to the obsidian runic pillars of the Circle of Cleansing, wyverns could not cross the magical threshold of Green Haven - the ancient magic instilling them with instinctive, panic-stricken horror. However, they continued to circle outside the barrier, nesting in the crowns of giant trees and threatening the future expansion of the settlements.
Corlys resolved to eradicate this threat as well, employing an even subtler cunning. By night, leaving the capital via apparition, he undertook grueling sorties into the uncharted jungles beyond the barrier. Tracking down wyvern nests, he performed an ancient dark-magic ritual of blood-cursing upon them. This curse seared itself permanently into their very essence and passed to their offspring, driving the beasts into an irresistible, blind rage toward members of their own species.
For a full month, Corlys barely slept. By night he hunted beasts in Sothoryos, tracking down wyverns and packs of carnivorous giant apes, cursing their nests one after another, by day he returned to King's Landing, donned a clean doublet, and sat smiling through Small Council meetings or courting Viserra. In total, he managed to curse over three hundred wyverns and more than fifty packs of carnivorous apes. Now, these beasts ceased hunting along the borders, turning instead to tear into and devour one another in the depths of the jungle, rapidly decimating their own numbers.
It had cost Corlys a colossal drain of strength and magic, but the outcome justified every second spent. The path for safe expansion of the colony was cleared for decades to come.
"The savages and wyverns no longer disturb our borders," Corlys said, returning from his memories to reality as he looked at Daeron. "My wards and rituals worked impeccably. Now open land lies before us, merely waiting to be tamed. It is time to expand the magical perimeter and shift the obsidian pillars deeper into the continent."
"We will need to ferry even more people there," Daeron noted, examining the expense ledgers. "Ransoming slaves in Essos requires a constant influx of gold. At present, while the settled area is small, Green Haven provides us a steady, but by no means legendary income. Sugar and coffee cover the garrison's upkeep and food purchases, but little more."
"It is a temporary state, Daeron," Corlys replied, his eyes blazing with the confident fire of a man who looked decades ahead. "We are laying the foundation now. When a developed infrastructure gathers strength, the territory expands, and the population grows to hundreds of thousands, we will fully unlock the colossal, unbelievable potential of Sothoryos."
Corlys rose from his chair, stepped toward the curtained window, and began enumerating, mesmerizing his brother with the scale of his vision:
"Consider it yourself. First, rice. The vast, flood-prone basins of the River Zamoyos and the swampy lowlands of Sothoryos, in this scorching climate, allow for three to four bountiful rice harvests a year. That yield will not merely sustain the colony - we will be able to feed half of Westeros during the harshest and longest winters, when every field in the North and the Riverlands freezes over."
"Selling food to Westeros during long winters..." Daeron whispered, swallowing hard. "That will bring us not only gold, but absolute leverage over the nobility of Westeros."
"Precisely," Corlys nodded. "Second, sugar cane. In Westeros and the Free Cities, sugar is a outrageously expensive luxury item available only to the high nobility. Our cane plantations in Sothoryos are already yielding product of the finest quality. In time, they will bring us astronomical, unprecedented profits. Third, spices. Sothoryos will hold an absolute monopoly on black and red pepper, cloves, nutmeg, cinnamon, and vanilla. Qarth grew rich for centuries simply because it controlled the trade routes from the Jade Sea. When we flood the markets of Westeros and Essos with our own spices, Qarth will lose its status as the world's premier trading hub - because Sothoryos lies three weeks' sail from Driftmark, not at the edge of the world."
Corlys paused, walking along a long shelf of books:
"Fourth, exotic tonic crops - cacao beans, new varieties of coffee, and tea bushes that I secured. Fifth, rare timber. The jungles of Sothoryos abound with mahogany, ironwood, and ultra-durable woods ideal for building rot-proof ships and fine furniture. And finally, natural dyes. Extracting rare tropical insects and plants will allow us to produce the brightest, most enduring dyes, for which the weavers of Pentos, Volantis, and King's Landing will pay any sum."
Daeron listened to his brother open-mouthed. He had always known Corlys possessed an uncanny gift of foresight, but now a picture of true economic dominion was unfolding before him.
"This... this is a grand plan, Corlys," Daeron said with genuine awe. "Yet it is work that will span decades. We will spend years taming these jungles."
"It is work for our children and descendants, Daeron," Corlys replied softly. "We are creating a legacy that will render House Velaryon more powerful than any royal dynasty. Gold we have. And human resources we shall continue to ransom from the slave markets of Essos, granting slaves freedom and a new life."
Daeron tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the table, staring down at the map of Sothoryos:
"There is one problem, Corlys. One I am certain you have considered as well. What happens in fifty or a hundred years? When Green Haven's population exceeds hundreds of thousands? They live thousands of leagues from Driftmark. What is to stop them one fine day from declaring independence and refusing to obey House Velaryon?"
Corlys smiled faintly, appreciating his brother's sharpness, and took a thoughtful sip of wine from his goblet.
"An excellent question, Daeron. In the near future, it will not happen - the freed slaves revere our house as their saviors. But in the long run, any populace strives for freedom if the mother country becomes a blind parasite. Any overseas territory sooner or later grows weary of distant rulers if those rulers commit the same fatal error."
"What error?" Daeron pressed, listening intently.
"The error of blind greed and neglect," Corlys continued, resting his elbows on the desk. "Thus fell the overseas provinces of ancient empires. The mother countries began treating colonists and settlers as second-class citizens. They merely siphoned resources and burdened the inhabitants with exorbitant taxes. And when a new generation rises - one that no longer remembers the hardships of its ancestors or the horrors of bondage - it quite rightly asks itself: 'Why should we feed a distant island across the sea that treats us like servants?' Mutual benefit collapses through the greed of rulers, and the response is inevitable rebellion."
Corlys paused, tapping a finger on the map of Sothoryos:
"To nip this in the bud, we shall establish from the outset a system of partnership, not servitude. The people of Sothoryos must feel themselves not as disenfranchised vassals, but as full, respected members of our realm. They must have their own local governance under a governor from House Velaryon, reasonable taxes, and just laws. When a colony prospers alongside the home realm and possesses a political voice, reasonable men simply have no cause for revolt. Secession would be economic suicide for them."
"That is a sound approach to soft power," Daeron nodded. "Yet what of hotheads and demagogues who may still arise in a couple of generations?"
"For them, House Velaryon will always hold three absolute, undeniable levers of control," Corlys's gaze turned stern and deeply earnest. "First, the key to their survival. The survival of all future settlements and cities rests not on high walls, but on our magic. The runic obsidian pillars of the Circle of Cleansing, the protection against the Red Death, spore fevers, and the curses holding the wyverns and savages in the deep jungle - all of this requires constant tuning and secret rituals. Knowledge of these is passed strictly from the head of the house to his heir. Should the colony ever think to sever ties with Driftmark, the protective barrier will fade, and the merciless jungles of Sothoryos will devour their settlements in a matter of months. They literally breathe by the grace of our house."
Corlys leaned forward slightly, bending a second finger:
"Second, our fleet. We control all sea lanes. Without our galleys, they will find themselves in total isolation from the markets of Westeros and Essos. And third... dragons."
At the mention of dragons, Daeron froze for a beat.
"My marriage to Viserra is not merely a political alliance and genuine affection," Corlys said softly. "It is the Valyrian blood of dragon riders, now forever intertwined with the line of Velaryon. Our children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will ride dragons. The combination of the most powerful fleet in the world, the magical key to the continent's defense, and invincible dragonflame in the skies makes any thought of armed rebellion not merely hopeless, but madness."
Daeron listened to his brother in quiet fascination. Corlys had constructed a flawless, monolithic system: he offered the colonists prosperity, respect, and wealth, yet bound their very existence to the magical and military power of Driftmark.
"Brilliant..." Daeron exhaled softly, shaking his head in deep respect. "Thus we shall secure prosperity for our future generations."
"Everything we do is for future generations," Corlys agreed with his brother. "Yet that is a distant horizon, and we must attend to today's concerns."
"The Stepstones," Daeron said, his voice turning grave. "The Triarchy continues to arm pirates. Lord Rosby reported to the King regarding their covert ties with Lys and Tyrosh. What do you intend to do about the Stepstones, Corlys? We could seize those islands by force right now with our current fleet."
Corlys shook his head, rejecting the notion.
"Invading the Stepstones without the Crown's official sanction would place us in a vulnerable position," Corlys cut in. "We need more than just a victory over the Triarchy, we require absolute legitimacy. Without a royal decree, any conquest of ours would be branded high-handed usurpation, and the other noble houses - and the Iron Throne itself - would question our rights to those islands. I must secure official consent for this war from the King, along with an ironclad treaty. The Crown must recognize the Stepstones beforehand as the lawful, hereditary domain of House Velaryon."
"And how do you plan to persuade the King to grant such consent?" Daeron asked with frank curiosity. "Jaehaerys is cautious. He dislikes sanctioning major wars and will not want to redraw maps at the twilight of his reign."
"I have a few ideas," Corlys replied with a subtle smirk. "King Jaehaerys is indeed wise and cautious, but all kings - from the most righteous to the most cruel - share one common trait. They will never pass up massive gain and the chance to enter history as great builders, provided their vision is not clouded by foolish pride. When the construction of the hundred ships is complete and our fleet displays its full majesty, I will lay before the King and Small Council a plan Jaehaerys simply cannot refuse. We will offer to take upon ourselves the complete cleansing of key trade routes of pirates and guarantee the payment of rich tariffs into the royal treasury. In return, the Crown will officially grant the Stepstones to House Velaryon as our hereditary fief under the protection of the Iron Throne."
Before Daeron could reply, a soft knock sounded at the solar door.
"Enter," Corlys called out.
The door opened silently, and an elderly steward stepped onto the threshold, dressed in a formal doublet with a seahorse embroidered across the chest. He bowed deeply to the head of the house.
"Lord Corlys," the servant said with faultless deference. "Princess Viserra has returned from her dragon flight. Her Highness is currently resting in your joint chambers."
"Excellent," Corlys rose from his seat. "See to it that a hearty supper for three is served in our small dining hall. My brother, the Princess, and I must restore our strength."
"All will be executed to perfection, my lord," the servant bowed once more and withdrew, pulling the heavy oak door shut without a sound.
Corlys bade his brother farewell, promising to come down to the dining hall in half an hour, and set off along the wide corridors of the manse toward the chambers he shared with Viserra.
Entering the sitting room of their suite, Corlys heard the splashing of water and soft humming behind the carved door leading to the bathhouse. He chose not to disturb his wife, instead settling into a soft armchair by the hearth and pouring himself a goblet of watered wine.
A few minutes later, the bathhouse door swung open, and Viserra stepped into the room. She was clad in a loose robe of soft, dark blue velvet, its sleeves embroidered with silver thread, loosely bound at the waist with a silk sash. Her luxurious, silver-gold Valyrian hair was still damp from her bath. Trailing behind the princess came two young maidservants, bearing silver combs, towels, and vials of scented oils infused with mint leaves and jasmine.
With a curtsy, the maidservants seated Viserra before her vanity table and set to work gently brushing her long tresses, neatly styling them and applying drops of scented oil. Through the mirror, Corlys watched his wife's movements with fond affection. She wafted with freshness, lavender, a sweet trail of jasmine, and a faint hint of fragrant soap.
When the maidservants finished their work, helped her into her gown, bowed, and silently departed the chambers, Corlys rose from his chair, stepped behind Viserra, and laid his hands upon her shoulders, gently drawing her close.
"How was today's flight, my princess?" he asked, looking at her reflection in the mirror with warmth.
Viserra turned her head, her eyes flashing with excitement and a genuine, childlike joy that was so rarely seen at the prim royal court.
"Oh, Corlys, it was magnificent!" she exclaimed, holding back none of her emotion. "Dreamfyre grows faster and more obedient with every passing day! It is as though she senses my every move. Today we soared above the clouds, up where the air stings with cold! Meleys, of course, is still formidable, but on one of the turns over the bay, my girl outstripped her! Rhaenys was actually surprised and praised me," Viserra lifted her chin proudly, a faint smile on her lips. "But this is only the beginning! In time, Dreamfyre and I will surely prove to Rhaenys that she is not the fastest rider in the Seven Kingdoms!"
Corlys took genuine delight in her fiery spirit. He leaned down and kissed his wife on the temple, breathing in the scent of her hair.
"I am certain you will," he said encouragingly. "Dreamfyre is a splendid dragon, and you will grow into a fearsome rider. But now it is time for dinner. Daeron is already awaiting us below."
Arm in arm, they descended the grand staircase into the dining hall, where Daeron greeted them at a table draped in a starched cloth. The brothers and the princess exchanged warm greetings, after which the servants served hot dishes: roasted fish with savory herbs, roast chicken, fresh bread, cheeses, and succulent, ripe fruits.
The meal proceeded in a warm and easy family atmosphere. They discussed capital gossip, the princesses' progress in dragon riding, and the upcoming festivities at court.
As the meal drew to a close, Viserra took several juicy chicken drumsticks from a platter. In the corner of the dining hall, sprawled lazily upon a plush rug, lay Ares - Corlys's massive black panther familiar, whose coat shimmered in the candlelight with a deep, velvety sheen.
"Come here, Ares," Viserra called softly, waving the treat.
The great predator opened his intelligent yellow eyes, rose gracefully, stretched his entire muscular frame, and glided silently toward the princess like a shadow. Ares took the meat from Viserra's fingers with delicate, utmost care, swallowing it in a single gulp. Sensing genuine gratitude toward his mistress, the panther drew closer and, with a quiet, trusting sigh, rested his massive, heavy head directly on Viserra's lap.
The princess giggled softly and began gently stroking the beast between his ears, scratching behind his velvet jowls. Ares closed his eyes and let out a low purr, resembling the sleepy, contented grumble of a little bear cub.
Yet in the very next instant, the panther's behavior shifted abruptly.
His ears pricked forward instantly. Ares jerked his head up from Viserra's lap, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed deeply and intently at the air surrounding the princess. Then the beast leaned forward, shifting his intense yellow gaze to her belly, and pressed his massive muzzle directly against her lower abdomen, emitting a low, continuous, and surprisingly tender vibrating purr.
Corlys, watching the display, straightened in his chair at once. His eyes narrowed, his gaze growing intensely focused and contemplative. He felt a subtle, barely perceptible ripple of life force emanating from his wife - an impulse that his sensitive familiar had caught before anyone else.
Viserra froze, sensing the shift in her husband's mood. Stroking Ares along his scruff, she looked at Corlys with a hint of bewilderment.
"Corlys?.. What is it? Has something happened?" she asked, bewildered.
Without answering her question, Corlys rose from the table and approached his wife with slow, measured, yet decisive strides.
"Viserra, stand up, please," he requested softly.
The princess rose from her chair in confusion. Ares gave a disgruntled snort at his master for breaking their connection, retreated a few paces, and returned gracefully to his corner, where the servants usually left his bowl of fresh water and food.
"Corlys, you are frightening me," Viserra said, searching her husband's face anxiously. "What has happened?"
Corlys said nothing. He simply stepped forward, reached out, and with incredible tenderness laid his broad palm over her flat stomach. Closing his eyes, he expanded his magical perception, probing the inner background of her body.
His perception instantly pierced through the outer tissues, and deep within Viserra's womb, Corlys felt a tiny yet unimaginably bright, pulsing new life - a faint spark carrying a trace of his own magic. Barely three seconds later, Corlys slowly opened his eyes.
In all the time Viserra had known him - neither during their wedding nor while soaring on dragonback - had she ever seen her husband so overcome with emotion. In his ever-composed purple eyes raged a storm of wild delight and tenderness.
"Corlys, tell me at last, what is happening?" she asked again, her voice quivering slightly with agitation.
Corlys looked straight into her eyes, and upon his lips bloomed the warmest, happiest smile of his life.
"From this day forth, Viserra, alongside your personal guard and Ser Adam, Ares shall accompany you everywhere and at all times," he declared in a low, firm tone.
Viserra blinked in surprise, her gaze shifting from Ares to her husband.
"But why?.. Why should I need a panther as a permanent bodyguard?" Viserra asked, uncomprehending.
Corlys gently took her hands in his own, squeezed them lightly, and answered with immense warmth:
"Because very soon, Viserra, you are to be a mother."
He paused briefly, tenderly tracing a thumb across her cheek, and added:
"We are soon to become parents."
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A/N
Read ahead on P@treon!
• Navigator Tier: 4 advance chapters & images.
• Master of Ships Tier: 6 advance chapters & images.
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