89 AC. Driftmark
Corlys sat in his grandfather's study—a room that now belonged to him—gazing at the assembled members of his family. His mother, his brothers, and their wives were gathered there, their faces clouded with grief. Daemon Velaryon had been a good father, a kind grandfather, and a rare soul for such a cruel world.
"Is everything prepared for the funeral procession?" he asked Daeron, who had been overseeing the arrangements.
"All is ready, brother," Daeron replied succinctly, a brevity of speech he had inherited from their grandfather. "The lords are arriving in the city even now; everything will be in place by tomorrow."
"Many lords have sent letters of condolence, stating their intent to arrive and pay their respects," Veylor added.
"It was to be expected," Corlys told them. "Grandfather lived a worthy life and earned the respect of the realm." He took a steadying breath before continuing. "Yesterday, I received a raven from King's Landing."
"Did the royal family actually deign to send us their sympathies?" Daeron asked, making no effort to mask the sarcasm in his voice.
"They expressed their condolences, yes," Corlys confirmed. "But more importantly, the royal family intends to arrive at Driftmark to see their uncle to his final rest." He finished in a grim tone.
"Interesting that they chose now to remember our kinship," Daeron spat, unable to hold back any longer. "For twenty years, they never visited their so-called uncle. But now, seeing our house eclipse every other Great House, they suddenly recall that we share the same blood."
Corlys could not fault his brother's outburst. Every word was the truth. Fourteen years ago, when their father had died during the Shivers—the same plague that claimed Princess Daenerys—the Velaryons had sent letters and offered their grief, yet received nothing in return. Were they not kin? The King and Queen had lost a daughter, but Lord Daemon had lost a son and more than half of House Velaryon. Only they and Corlys's uncle, Vaemond, had survived. Every other man bearing the Velaryon name had been taken by the plague. Despite this, the Targaryens had not sent so much as a formal letter.
"Try to stifle your emotions before the Targaryens, my son," his mother, Alyce, chided gently. "Though I agree with you, insulting the Crown will bring no good."
"I must side with Mother," Corlys admitted. "And I expect all of you to conduct yourselves as befits our house," he added, his tone sharpening. "I am certain they want something from us, and we shall soon learn what it is."
"As you command, brother. We have never failed you, and we do not intend to start on such a somber day," Veylor said, supporting his elder brother.
Before Corlys could thank him, a roar shook the air—a sound only one creature could produce.
"It seems our guests have arrived," Corlys said, looking out the window. "Come. Let us go to meet the royal family."
......…....
POV: Alysanne Targaryen
Alysanne soared atop Silverwing, her companion for the span of her long life. Beside her flew her husband, Jaehaerys, on Vermithor, and their sons: Aemon on Caraxes and Baelon on Vhagar. She was saddened by the news of her uncle Daemon's passing. Though she held no grudge against him—unlike her husband, who still harbored resentment that Daemon had not protected her siblings from Maegor—she had rarely interacted with her mother's family. Now, she realized that was a grave mistake. While she and Jaehaerys had worked to unite the kingdoms after Maegor's bloody reign, their inaction and neglect had alienated the Velaryons.
Over the last decade, House Velaryon had surged in power and influence, driven by her uncle's grandson. Corlys Velaryon, despite his youth, had single-handedly elevated his house to stand alongside the likes of the Lannisters and Tyrells. Many lords loathed to admit it, but the Velaryons were now the wealthiest house in Westeros. Their Master of Whisperers had confirmed that Velaryon influence stretched far beyond the Summer Sea. Alysanne intended to mend relations with her late mother's family by any means necessary. She and Jaehaerys were aging, and their heirs would need the support of such a formidable house.
As they approached Driftmark, she could hardly believe her eyes. The city sprawling around the castle was immense and breathtakingly beautiful. Even from the air, she could see the splendor of Spicetown and couldn't help a twinge of envy. King's Landing paled in comparison to Spicetown's neatly paved streets and magnificent white-stone buildings. She could also spot the so-called University of Driftmark, a structure whose height rivaled the Citadel in Oldtown. The Maesters had been incensed when they heard of its existence and purpose. They had begged the royal family to prevent the Velaryons from opening it, but Alysanne had convinced Jaehaerys otherwise.
When they reached the city, she finally beheld the castle itself, and she did not like what she saw. Nothing of the old fortress remained; in its place stood a majestic, completely rebuilt stronghold that eclipsed even the Red Keep in its beauty. Alysanne glanced at her husband; his pensive expression told her he was thinking exactly the same thing. As they landed in the courtyard, her only thought was that they must bind the Velaryons to the Crown at any cost.
Waiting in the courtyard was the family of her late uncle, led by the renowned Corlys Velaryon. Alysanne had to admit the young man was strikingly well-built and tall, lending credence to the rumors of his prowess with a blade. Looking closely at his features, she noted with a touch of frustration that Corlys did not pale in beauty even when compared to the Targaryens or her own sons.
"Welcome to Driftmark, Your Majesty," he said, his voice firm as he bowed his head to Jaehaerys.
"I am pleased to finally meet you, Lord Corlys, even under such sorrowful circumstances," her husband replied, his voice neutral. "We all deeply regret the untimely passing of our uncle, Daemon, and offer our sincerest condolences."
"I thank you, Your Majesty, for your kind words," the young Lord replied, a spark of intelligence in his eyes.
"Allow me to introduce my wife, Queen Alysanne Targaryen," Jaehaerys said, presenting his family. "And these are my sons, Crown Prince Aemon Targaryen and his brother, Baelon Targaryen."
"A pleasure to meet you, my Princes. Welcome to my home," Corlys replied politely. "Allow me to present my family. These are my brothers, Daeron and Veylor, with their lovely wives, Thea of House Maegyr and Elisa of House Velroy." He gestured to his brothers and their wives from the great houses of Volantis. "And my mother, Alyce Velaryon, whom I believe you already know."
Anticipating the moment, Alysanne stepped forward.
"We do indeed. You look as radiant as ever, dear Alyce," she said, gracefully acknowledging the beauty of the woman who had already reached her fortieth year.
"I thank you, Your Grace," Alyce replied with polished courtesy. "I suggest we move inside. The servants have prepared your chambers, and I am certain you wish to rest."
"We would be most grateful for your hospitality," Alysanne confirmed.
......
For a man as respected as Daemon Velaryon, many lords and trade partners from Essos attended the funeral. Every vassal house of Driftmark and lords from across the Seven Kingdoms were present. The smallfolk had also gathered to honor the man who had so vastly improved their lives.
The funeral rites of House Velaryon differed from those of other families. Daemon was placed upon a magnificently decorated drakkar, and each family member said their final farewells. Corlys delivered a stirring eulogy regarding his grandfather's life, his dreams, and his role in the history of Westeros. Though the King might have forgotten that it was Daemon's men who smuggled Alysane Velaryon, Jaehaerys, and his sister away from Dragonstone when they were Maegor's hostages, Corlys remembered—and he would ensure the world remembered as well. Daemon may not have openly defied Maegor for fear of his family's lives, but it was thanks to his intervention that Jaehaerys lived to sit upon the throne.
After the speech, Corlys and his brothers launched the drakkar without assistance. Once the small ship had drifted a sufficient distance, Corlys loosed a flaming arrow, and the drakkar was transformed into a funeral pyre. After dismissing the guests, the family held a private ritual in the new crypt. Locks of Daemon's hair were sealed in the most ornate and honored place, beside his wife and son.
The Targaryens did not attend the private hair-sealing, but they were shown the crypt later, as Corlys could not deny the King's curiosity. The royal family was visibly impressed by the craftsmanship and the weight of the legacy being built for future generations.
As they were preparing to depart, Jaehaerys asked a question that had clearly been on his mind since he first spotted the two ornate swords at Corlys's hip.
"I could not help but notice those magnificent swords you bear, Lord Corlys. The craftsmanship is extraordinary," the King said, hinting at his interest in their origin.
"I found them during my travels, Your Majesty. The hilts and guards were forged by the smiths of Driftmark," Corlys informed him, unsheathing both blades for all to see.
Gasps rippled through the gathered lords. The blades possessed the unmistakable rippled patterns of Valyrian steel. Jaehaerys's eyes narrowed, but his face remained unreadable. In all of Westeros, only one house possessed two Valyrian blades: the Targaryens. Now, with their newfound wealth, the Velaryons had the prestige of matching them. Upon the hilts were intricate carvings of three dragons and a seahorse. The two swords were nearly identical, differing only in hue: one was dark as a moonless night, the other white as a clear day.
"I have named them Seafoam and Stormbreaker," Corlys informed the royal family.
"Fitting names for such masterwork, Lord Corlys. I have heard you practice a dual-wielding style; I hope to see your skill for myself at the Red Keep in the near future," Queen Alysanne interjected, attempting to end the visit on a gracious note.
"I would be honored, Your Grace," Corlys replied with a smile.
"I am glad to hear it, my Lord. And now, it is time we return to the capital. It was a pleasure to see my mother's home once more. Farewell, Lord Corlys—expect word from us soon."
"Farewell, Your Majesty," Corlys replied, returning the courtesy with easy charm.
With that, the Targaryens mounted their dragons and took to the skies, setting their course for King's Landing.
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A/N
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