89 AC. Driftmark
Inside Lord Daemon's study, Corlys sat at the desk, scanning the mountain of reports that seemed to grow more towering with each passing year. Now twenty-four, Corlys had matured into a striking and imposing young man, the kind whose mere presence caused young maidens and high-born matrons alike to flush. He had always been rigorous regarding his physical conditioning and combat training, grooming himself into a warrior so formidable that even the Kingsguard would think twice before crossing blades with him.
The ventures he had begun with his grandfather a decade ago were now yielding staggering returns. The city he looked out upon from his window had surpassed even his boldest expectations. Under his guidance, Driftmark had become the beating heart of world trade; merchant vessels moved a constant flow of imports and exports from every corner of the map. The family's merchant fleet, numbering over a thousand ships, was the largest in the world, while a navy of four hundred warships ensured Velaryon hegemony in the Narrow Sea.
His builders and architects had expanded the port and the city into a sprawling metropolis. Elite gambling dens, taverns, grand hotels, real estate ventures, the glass monopoly, and dozens of other enterprises brought in millions of gold dragons, cementing their influence.
His Order of Assassins, led by Aguilar, had become a lethally efficient instrument for eliminating enemies and gathering intelligence. In recent years, they had even managed to establish branches across Essos. The Order recruited homeless children, training them from a tender age and forging them into a formidable weapon—a life far better than starving to death in the gutters.
The transformation of Driftmark and Spicetown over the last ten years had been meteoric. The castle itself occupied 300,000 square meters, with an additional 800,000 square meters dedicated to meticulously manicured gardens, a stable complex for a thousand horses with riding grounds, and massive granaries stocked for a years-long siege.
High Tide (Driftmark Castle) was protected by a massive curtain wall, thirty-five meters high and five meters thick, built of white stone and reinforced with defensive runes to bolster its structural integrity. The city itself was guarded by a wall fifty meters high and ten meters thick, made truly impregnable by high towers and massive ballistae stationed along the entire perimeter.
The inner courtyard had been expanded and paved with granite, lending the space an air of refined beauty. The most mysterious structure on the grounds was a soaring tower built entirely of white granite. Its construction was not yet complete, and its true purpose remained a secret known only to the family. Beneath the building, wide tunnels descended hundreds of meters into the earth—the future lair for the Velaryon dragons.
The castle boasted over 800 rooms, each decorated in an exquisite style. Marble, tapestries, and paintings by master artists from Essos and Valyria filled every hall, imbuing the fortress with an atmosphere of ancient wealth and luxury.
Corlys had delved deep into his family history. The roots of House Velaryon stretched back to Old Valyria, older even than House Targaryen. Unlike the royal family, they had not been dragonriders—but that was about to change. He wanted his descendants to remember their ancestors through more than just ink and parchment. Thus, he commissioned the construction of a Great Crypt starting deep beneath the castle, with its entrance housed in a magnificent monument bearing the family sigil. Statues of the Lords who had ruled for a thousand years were already being installed, their likenesses taken from the family chronicles.
While the Targaryens burned their dead, the Velaryons traditionally committed their deceased to the sea in scuttled ships set ablaze. Corlys intended to augment this tradition by preserving locks of hair to be interred in the family crypt, allowing the living to better honor their roots and remember where they came from.
Spicetown was a marvel of 300,000 souls. Every district and street was constructed of concrete reinforced with steel beams, ensuring a quality of building unseen elsewhere in the world. The city was divided into specialized quarters for residents, craftsmen, manufactories, and administrative institutions. The port infrastructure now rivaled that of Braavos, making it the finest harbor in Westeros.
Finishing his work, Corlys descended a spiral staircase into a section of the castle where no one but he was permitted. Passing through tunnels illuminated by flickering blue flames, he approached a massive door. Placing his hand upon it and waiting for the rhythmic click of the magical mechanism, he stepped inside. This door was invisible to all but him and his future bloodline; not even a dragon could have breached it. Corlys had saturated the chamber with every ward and protection spell in his arsenal.
Inside lay a hoard that would leave any man breathless. Here, he kept the spoils of Valyria and the books brought from his previous world. Away from prying eyes, he spent two hours refining his magic and studying Valyrian texts before deciding to return to the upper floors.
In the family wing, he went to visit his mother. Her chambers were a whirlwind of activity. The still-radiant Alyce Velaryon was cooing over two little troublemakers—his nephews.
"Mother, I see you're busy as usual, indulging the whims of these two terrors," Corlys said, his voice tinged with amusement.
"Oh, Corlys, don't say that! They are precious, and they look just like you did as a boy," she replied, turning the children toward him. "Daemon, Aurane—say hello to your Uncle Corlys."
The little bundles of joy immediately reached out for him. How cunning she is, Corlys thought, knowing my one weakness. And indeed, family was Corlys's singular vulnerability.
He stayed in his mother's chambers for a long while, playing with the boys as Alyce watched with a soft smile.
"If people knew the dreaded Sea Snake became so soft in the presence of children, your reputation would be in tatters," Alyce teased.
"That's unlikely to happen, as you won't be telling anyone," her son retorted.
"And when do you intend to marry, Corlys? I truly wish to hold your own children in my arms," his mother said, reviving her favorite topic.
"Don't start on the grandchildren again, Mother. You have two right here, and I'm certain my brothers don't intend to stop at two," Corlys replied to the new grandmother.
"I'm only thinking of you, my son."
"I know you are." He stepped forward and embraced her. After his father's death, she had poured her entire life into her sons, and he couldn't fault her for wanting to see them happy. "I will think about it."
"Do you promise?" she asked, hope in her eyes.
"I promise," he answered after a brief pause. "But until then, I must leave you."
Realizing where he was going, Alyce lowered her voice. "Are you going to see the dragons?"
Corlys smiled. "You know they cannot bear to be apart from me for long."
That was the last thing he said before departing.
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A/N
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