89 AC. The Red Keep
Evening in King's Landing descended slowly, staining the towers of the Red Keep in crimson hues. After the ceremony in the Throne Room, we were escorted to the Maidenvault. The chambers assigned to the Lord of Driftmark and his brother were located in the same wing, connected by a shared gallery. It was a convenient arrangement, one that underscored the special status of our House.
My quarters were furnished with that heavy, opulent luxury characteristic of the Targaryens: a four-poster bed draped in scarlet velvet, massive wardrobes inlaid with ivory, and a wide window offering a sweeping view of the Blackwater Bay. I shed the ceremonial doublet I had chosen for the evening, remaining in a light silk shirt, and poured myself a splash of wine from a decanter left by the servants.
A knock came at the door—a distinct, rhythmic tapping. It was Daeron. He had already managed to change and looked far more at ease.
"The heat here is wretched," Daeron said, seating himself unbidden in a chair by the hearth. "How do they live here for years on end?"
I chuckled, taking a seat opposite him.
"One lives here for ambition, brother. Get used to it. In Driftmark, everyone respects us and obeys without question, but here, everything is different," I warned him. "This place is a nest of vipers, where courtiers and lords wait only for a single misstep to use against us."
"I haven't forgotten our grandfather's lessons, Corlys," he replied with a smirk. "Nor yours."
"I am glad to hear our lessons weren't in vain."
"I saw the way you looked at the King when you handed him the ring," Daeron's eyes narrowed. "You didn't choose Valyrian steel by accident. It was a risk. Had he seen it as an attempt at bribery or a display of excessive pride..."
"He is no fool," I cut him off. "Jaehaerys understands the language of symbols better than any lord in Westeros. I let him know that we are not merely wealthy merchants, but invaluable allies to his House. And judging by the invitation to a private family supper, he understands perfectly."
Daeron nodded, inspecting his hands.
"The servants whisper that Queen Alysanne personally asked for our places to be set. It's a fair omen. Did you see the faces of the guards? They look at Ares as if he's about to feast on the King himself." My brother couldn't suppress a laugh.
"Let them look," I took a sip of the wine. It was decent, though it paled in comparison to our finest vintages. "Ares is my faithful companion and part of the image. In this city, you are respected either for what you can give or for how much you can terrify. The panther serves excellently as a deterrent, he reminds them that a Lord of House Velaryon is not always a predictable man."
We spoke for another half-hour, discussing the finer details of the upcoming evening. Daeron recounted what he had managed to glean from the servants and junior officers of the guard—gossip in the Red Keep spread faster than wildfire. It turned out the arrival of the "Sea Snake" had already become the chief topic in every tavern in the capital.
Our conversation was interrupted by Ser Adam. My personal sworn sword entered noiselessly, his armor polished to a mirror sheen, his gaze remaining cold and focused. Adam was a man of few words and fanatical loyalty—qualities I valued deeply.
"My Lord," the knight bowed his head. "Ser Harrold Westerling waits without. He has been sent by the King to escort you to the dining hall."
I rose, adjusting my collar.
"It is time. Ares, to me."
The massive black cat, which had been sleeping in the corner on a pelt, rose instantly. Ares stretched, his powerful muscles rippling beneath his glossy coat, and approached me, nuzzling his nose into my palm. His yellow eyes glowed in the dim light of the room.
When we stepped into the corridor, Ser Harrold Westerling—clad in his storied white plate—instinctively took a step back. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword, and the two guards standing behind him turned visibly pale.
"Lord Corlys," Harrold said, straining to keep his voice steady, though I saw the tension in his shoulders. "We appreciate your... attachment to this creature, but His Grace and the royal family... The presence of a predator at supper may be deemed unsafe. I must ask that the beast remain in your quarters."
I looked Westerling straight in the eye.
"Ser Harrold, Ares is my companion, not a wild beast. He has sailed with me through the storms of the Jade Sea and faced many other perils. He is more disciplined than many men and knights. By my side, Ares is calmer than any of your guardsmen, Ser Harrold," I replied coolly, without slowing my pace. "I give you my word: he will harm no one unless he perceives a threat to me."
Westerling hesitated, exchanging glances with the other guards, but seeing my resolve, he reluctantly stepped aside.
"Very well, my lord," Harrold finally removed his hand from his sword. "But I shall walk beside you. And my men will be on high alert."
"That is your duty, Ser Harrold. I have no intention of hindering it. Let us go."
The path to the dining hall led through a series of chambers and galleries. Servants we encountered pressed themselves against the walls, eyes wide as the black shadow passed them by. Ares walked soundlessly, his claws only faintly clicking against the marble floor—a haunting, rhythmic sound.
The hall where the supper was held was smaller and more intimate than the Throne Room. Tapestries depicting the history of Aegon's Conquest lined the walls, and a fire crackled merrily in the hearth to ward off the evening chill. The table was set for nine.
Two members of the Kingsguard stood at the entrance. Ser Ryam Redwyne, the Lord Commander, looked the very embodiment of the knightly ideal—silver hair, a noble face, and the eyes of a man who had seen everything. Beside him stood Ser Gyles Morrigen, younger but no less formidable. Both tensed in unison at the sight of Ares, but receiving a nod from the King, they remained at their posts.
The entire family was already gathered. King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne sat at the head. To the right were their sons, Baelon and Aemon, to the left sat the Hand of the King, Septon Barth. Rhaenys and Viserra sat a little further off, conversing in low tones.
"Lord Corlys, Ser Daeron," Jaehaerys greeted us. His gaze immediately fell upon Ares. "I see you have brought... a weighty argument for any dispute."
"Your Grace," I bowed. "This is Ares. My faithful companion. I thought that in the circle of House Targaryen, a family accustomed to scaled giants, a small black cat would cause little concern."
My jest broke the tension. Alysanne smiled, and Rhaenys practically leaned forward with curiosity.
"What beautiful fur he has!" Rhaenys exclaimed. She was especially radiant tonight, wearing the sapphire necklace I had gifted her earlier. The color perfectly complemented her eyes.
Viserra sat beside her, also wearing my gifts—earrings with rare emeralds. It was clear how close they were, the girls sat shoulder to shoulder, their movements possessing that harmony found only in true friends.
"May I touch him?" Viserra asked. Her voice was clear and melodic.
"If he allows it," I replied.
I gave a signal to Ares, and the panther padded slowly toward the princesses. The guards made a move to intervene, but the King stayed them with a wave of his hand. Rhaenys was the first to reach out, cautiously touching Ares's head. The panther froze, then, to the surprise of everyone, let out a low, vibrating purr and leaned his head into the Princess's palm.
Viserra began to stroke him as well, an expression of pure delight crossing her face. She looked at Ares with such wonder that for a moment, I forgot where I was.
In that instant, Viserra's resemblance to my late wife, Daphne, became almost unbearable. The same delicate features, the same habit of biting her lip when captivated by something... Daphne had been my anchor in that other world, a woman who understood me without words. To see her features on the face of a Valyrian princess was both uncanny and painful.
Rhaenys was also incredibly beautiful—vivid, charismatic, with that fire in her eyes that heralded a great future. She made a strong first impression as a future queen, but it was Viserra who struck that deep chord within me that logic cannot explain. Perhaps it was a longing for what I had lost in gaining this new life.
Servants began to serve the meal. First came a thick crab bisque from Claw Isle, followed by venison roasted with forest berries and quail in a wine reduction.
When the main courses were finished and the tables were cleared for cups of wine and those lemon cakes topped with sugar that the Westerosi nobility so adored, the atmosphere grew even more relaxed.
"Tell us of your voyages, Lord Corlys," Baelon Targaryen requested. "We have heard legends of your travels, but we should like to hear the truth from the man himself."
I leaned back in my chair, feeling the eyes of the entire family upon me.
"The world is far larger than we are accustomed to thinking here in Westeros. To the east, beyond the Jade Sea, lies the Golden Empire of Yi Ti. Their cities are unlike any of ours. The capital, where the Azure Emperor reigns, is built of multi-colored bricks—every district has its own hue. Buildings there reach into the heavens for dozens of tiers, supported by pillars of carved jade. There is none of the chaos of King's Landing. Everything is governed by strict symmetry. Even the trees in the imperial gardens are pruned to mimic the shape of clouds."
"Is it true that people with wings live there?" Rhaenys asked with curiosity.
"I have seen much," I smiled. "In the City of the Winged Men, I saw creatures that soar over abysses on thin, leathery membranes, though they are not men as we know them. And in Leng, an island of eternal mist, there are labyrinths that descend deep into the earth. There dwell priests who commune with gods whose whispers make the very stones weep."
"And Asshai?" Viserra asked softly, never ceasing to stroke Ares, who now lay at her feet.
"Asshai... the city of shadows," I grew somber, pausing as I recalled a place that was far from pleasant. "It is built of black stone that feels oily to the touch and drinks all light. A perpetual gloom reigns there. The architecture of Asshai is unsettling: massive, windowless towers and narrow passages where you will find neither child nor beast. It is a place where time seems to have stood still. They say Asshai was built before men even learned to write their own history." I did not mention that magic saturates the air there, heavy as lead.
I told them of ships and voyages, of markets where one could buy the secrets of eternal life—or so the sellers claimed. Everyone listened with bated breath. Even the Old King seemed, for a moment, to forget the burden of his crown, immersed in my descriptions of distant lands.
As I spoke, I decided to conduct a small experiment. My mental faculties, honed in this body through the experience of my past life, allowed me to sense intentions and read thoughts without the need for a wand. I cautiously extended a "tendril" of my mind toward King Jaehaerys. I needed to know the sincerity of his trust and whether he viewed me as a threat.
I touched his consciousness... and recoiled instantly, as if burned. The King's mind was neither empty nor simple. It was shrouded in a dense, searing mist emanating from something external. It was not his own defense—it was a bond. A bond with a dragon.
In that same heartbeat, from the open window facing the Dragonpit, an earth-shattering roar erupted. It was the voice of Vermithor. Loud and furious, it made the very walls of the keep tremble and the crockery on the table rattle, while the wine in the cups rippled in circles. The dragon had sensed a stranger in the thoughts of his rider.
Jaehaerys flinched and rubbed his temples. He looked bewildered—he felt the dragon's rage, but did not understand its cause.
I realized my mistake. Riders and their dragons are linked on such a profound level that any mental intrusion into the mind of one is instantly reflected in the other. And while I might easily read a man's mind, the fury of an ancient dragon was a most vexing obstacle. Vermithor, sensing my "touch," had answered with a roar, warning of the consequences.
"It seems Vermithor is not in a pleasant mood tonight," Jaehaerys remarked calmly, though I could see he was unsettled by the dragon-rage he felt through their bond.
"Remarkable creatures," I replied, striving to remain unperturbed. "And quite volatile, as I see."
"You have no idea, Lord Corlys, how temperamental they can be at times," the Queen added.
If only you knew how much I truly know of these creatures, was my only thought.
The supper drew to a close. Queen Alysanne thanked us for the wonderful company and for bringing a touch of the world's wonders into their home. The girls, Rhaenys and Viserra, were reluctant to part with Ares, promising to visit him again.
"Lord Corlys," Jaehaerys rose from his seat. Everyone else followed suit. "You have proven that Driftmark is full of surprises. I have need of your knowledge and your resolve. Tomorrow, after midday, a session of the Small Council shall be held. I expect your first report as Master of Ships."
"I shall be ready, Your Grace." I bowed my head.
As we were escorted from the hall under Ser Harrold's watch, Daeron whispered to me:
"What was that roar? I nearly dropped my cup."
"It was the answer to a question I hadn't yet asked," I replied, watching the back of the guard walking ahead of us. "Come, Daeron. Tomorrow, the real game begins."
We walked through the dark corridors of the Red Keep, Ares—the silent shadow of my power—following behind. I felt the threads of this realm's fate beginning to weave with my own, and in that pattern, there was no longer any room for chance.
I thought of Viserra. Her resemblance to Daphne would not leave me in peace. In this world of dragons and intrigue, to find something so personal and familiar was both a blessing and a curse. But I could not allow emotion to take the helm. Tomorrow was the Council, tomorrow, the Stepstones, tomorrow—the future of House Velaryon.
And if I must face the fury of dragons and the intrigues of the court to cement our power, then so be it... I have proven more than once that victory always belongs to me.
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A/N
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