89 AC, The Red Keep
POV: Corlys Velaryon
My first month in my tenure as Master of Ships had passed in endless labors that bore little resemblance to the heroic tales of wayfaring mariners. Sitting in my solar, located in one of the sea-facing towers of the Red Keep, where the faint scent of salt and the cries of gulls over the Blackwater drifted through the open window, I surveyed the parchments piling up on my desk. The status of Master of Ships had brought not only power but a mountain of reports - a bureaucratic chaos that demanded my personal attention. "Before me lay timber manifests, accounts from the purveyors of raw materials, and incessant complaints regarding the shortage of skilled shipwrights. Every single one required my signature and oversight.
I pulled the report on the state of the King's Landing shipyards toward me and closed my eyes for a moment. My first weeks in office had been consumed by inspections that left the stewards' hands trembling. What I witnessed did not please me, rather, it stirred a dull irritation: many vessels of the Royal Fleet had sat in dry dock for years, turning into rotting hulls. Corruption among petty officials had ensured that substantial funds meant for repairs instead lined the pockets of middlemen, while decks were patched with unseasoned green wood. I put an end to the practice immediately, sacking three head stewards and replacing them with my own trusted men from Driftmark. Now, every span of timber purchased underwent a rigorous inspection. Repairs moved swifter once men realized that an attempt to cheat the Crown would earn them not a reprimand, but a dungeon cell or the headsman's block. Now, the capital's docks teemed with activity: dozens of ships had been hauled ashore for careening, their hulls scraped of barnacles and their rotting planks replaced. The air in the port was thick with the scent of hot pitch and fresh shavings.
Ten days ago, I returned from Dragonstone. The situation there was a mirror image of the capital's negligence. Of the twenty ships based at the Targaryen ancestral seat, only five were fully seaworthy. The rest suffered from the same maladies: worn sails, frayed rigging, and decayed hulls. I met with the castellan and the island's master of the yards. My orders were uncompromising and stern: mobilize every free hand, bring in quality timber from the mainland, and begin the fleet's restoration without delay. By the time of my departure, hammers were already ringing across Dragonstone, and smiths were casting new fittings for ropes and sails.
I turned my focus especially toward the men. The sea does not suffer ignorance, and a fleet is, above all, built on coordination and discipline. I began training my subordinates in the chancellery, forcing them to master the intricacies of logistics. A sailor who does not understand how to calculate the necessary stores of fresh water and salt beef for a month's voyage is useless. The crewmen, meanwhile, underwent drills in the harbor under the watchful eyes of my officers. I did not demand miracles, I required technical precision. We practiced raising sails on command, maneuvering through the narrows of the Blackwater, and, crucially, the accuracy of the scorpions mounted upon the decks. These war engines were few, and every bolt had to find its mark. I personally oversaw the exercises, correcting captains when their crews acted too sluggishly. I did so without needless shouting or punishment, simply pointing out the errors that, in true combat, would cost the lives of the entire crew.
The only place where I could briefly shed the weight of state affairs was the Godswood of the Red Keep. There, amidst the ancient trees and silence, Ares felt most at home. The black panther, whose fur seemed a dense shadow even on a sunny day, prowled lazily among the roots of the weirwood while I read my ledgers. It was there that I began to frequently encounter Princess Viserra. To my surprise, she showed no fear of Ares a reaction I found strange, as I was accustomed to quite the opposite toward my feline companion. Furthermore, a peculiar bond had formed between them, the panther, usually wary of strangers, allowed the princess to stroke him and even purred contentedly when Viserra scratched behind his ears.
Viserra proved to be a girl of sharp intellect. Beneath her outward beauty lay a well-read mind and a keen interest in the world. We discussed more than just Ares' habits, we spent hours talking of politics and history. She navigated the complexities of the Free Cities with ease and understood the balance of power in Essos. Several times, she aided me in the Red Keep's library. Amidst the endless shelves of dusty scrolls, she unerringly located ancient maps and chronicles of naval battles from antiquity that the maesters had shoved into the furthest corners. Conversation with her was effortless, she knew how to listen and how to ask the right questions.
Occasionally, her niece, Princess Rhaenys, would join us. Rhaenys was different - more composed, with the steady gaze of a dragonrider. We often spoke of the political situation in the Seven Kingdoms. she always possessed sound ideas: how to pacify the headstrong lords of the Riverlands through trade preferences or how to bolster coastal defenses in the North. It was evident that Prince Aemon devoted great care to her education. He was raising more than just a princess, he was molding an heir fit to rule. Despite the prejudices of many lords who believed a woman could not sit the Iron Throne, I saw in Rhaenys the potential for a Great Queen. Her judgments held more wisdom and practicality than those of many venerable lords who sat upon the Council.
Finishing yet another order for the purchase of sailcloth, I dipped my quill into the inkwell and placed a bold signature beneath the report on the King's Landing docks. The sun was already dipping toward the horizon, painting the tower walls in crimson hues. The hour for the Small Council session drew near.
A soft knock at the door broke my ruminations.
"Lord Corlys, it is time for the Small Council meeting," came the steady voice of Ser Adam.
I sighed heavily, closed the final ledger, and stood, stretching my stiff back. "I am coming, Ser Adam. I hope today's discussion proves more productive than yesterday's."
We moved through the long corridors of the Red Keep. Ser Adam walked a pace behind, remains vigilant, his hand habitually resting on the pommel of his sword, though we were hardly in danger within these walls. At the doors of the council chamber stood knights of the Kingsguard, who acknowledged our passing with a formal inclination of the head.
Inside, the others were already assembled. The atmosphere was business-like yet tense. King Jaehaerys I sat at the head of the table, his silver beard neatly trimmed and his gaze as piercing as ever. Septon Barth spoke in hushed tones with Prince Aemon. Martyn Tyrell leafed through the documents before him, while Grand Maester Elysar dozed, or feigned sleep with his head bowed. Lord Gilbert Rosby, as usual, looked pale, occasionally pressing a silk handkerchief to his lips.
"Pray, be seated, Lord Corly," the King said, nodding toward my chair. "We were just about to begin."
The first two hours were spent on routine matters. We heard Martyn Tyrell's report on grain taxes from the Reach and briefly discussed a border dispute between minor houses in the Vale. Then, the turn came for the internal affairs of the capital.
"Your Grace," I began, addressing the King formally. "This past month, I have spent much time in the port and the surrounding districts of the city. The security situation in the city leaves much to be desired. Bands of cutthroats in the slums, particularly in Flea Bottom, terrorize not only common citizens but the small traders who are the backbone of the capital's prosperity. This hurts trade and, more importantly, the authority of the Crown. I propose a significant increase in Gold Cloak patrols in these parts of the city. The Watch must be present on the streets constantly, not merely guarding the gates."
Martyn Tyrell looked up from his papers and frowned.
"Lord Corlys, increasing patrols will require additional expenditure for wages and upkeep. The treasury, as you well know, is not bottomless, and we have only just allocated funds for the shipyards and vessels."
"These costs will be recouped through order and the growth of trade duties, Lord Martyn," I replied in a cold tone. "Furthermore, there is another issue. The city is home to a staggering number of homeless children. They are the thieves and murderers of tomorrow if we do not provide them another path. I propose building orphanges under the Crown's patronage, where they will be fed and taught trades. The fleet is always in need of ship's boys and carpenters. We can turn a burden on the city into a resource that aids its development."
I scanned the faces of those present.
"Moreover, the adult poor can and should be used as labor for city needs. This is cheap labor that requires only a roof and sustenance. Instead of allowing them to rot in the gutters, we can direct their energy into work that benefits the Crown."
Prince Aemon nodded, intrigued by my approach.
"The idea of orphanages and utilizing the labor of the poor deserves detailed consideration, Lord Corlys. Order in the city is the key to stability. But while we speak of order..." He paused for a moment, as if choosing his words. "When we visited Driftmark for the funeral of your grandfather, Lord Daemon, I could not help but notice one thing. In Spicetown, despite its size and the number of people living there, there was none of that foul reek that permeates King's Landing. The air there was clean. How did House Velaryon achieve such cleanliness?"
Every council member looked toward me. I inclined my head slightly, feeling a moment of quiet pride for my House.
"It is a matter of systems, Prince Aemon. My grandfather and father invested heavily in the construction of underground sewers. Beneath Spicetown lies a network of tunnels through which waste is carried far into the bay, never lingering on the streets. We utilize the sea tides to flush the main drains. It requires engineering skill, but the result justifies the cost. The city knows no epidemics, and the streets remain clean."
Prince Aemon turned decisively to the King.
"Father, King's Landing chokes on its own stench and disease. It is a disgrace for the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. If we wish the capital to be the worthy face of the realm, we require such a system. I propose we begin the design and construction of sewers here in King's Landing."
King Jaehaerys thoughtfully stroked his beard, looking at his son.
"This is a massive and extremely costly project, Aemon. It will require engineers and masters who understand such construction."
"Lord Corlys," Prince Aemon addressed me, "could House Velaryon provide us with masters to oversee this task? And, returning to your suggestion: we could utilize those very poor and homeless you spoke of for the earthworks under the supervision of your men. Naturally, the Crown would pay the workers fairly, and your House would receive a separate fee for leadership, the provision of blueprints, and oversight."
"It is feasible, Prince Aemon," I replied. "My masters have experience with stone and complex drainage. Using the poor as cheap labor would significantly expedite the process and solve the unemployment in the slums. If the Crown is prepared to allocate funds for materials, we will provide the guidance."
"Excellent. Septon Barth, record this. We shall discuss the estimates at the next session," the King concluded. "Now, let us turn to more troubling matters. Lord Gilbert, you had news from across the Narrow Sea. I gave you time to verify the rumors regarding the Triarchy."
Lord Gilbert Rosby straightened, tucking his handkerchief into his sleeve. His eyes, usually dull, now burned with a cold fire, indicating he had succeeded in his mission.
"Yes, Your Grace. My informers in Lys and Myr have confirmed the intelligence Lord Corlys provided the council a month ago. The Triarchy has moved from secret plans to open action."
He unfurled a small scroll covered in fine script.
"Officially, they claim to be fighting piracy for the good of trade. But in truth, Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys are themselves sponsoring the most brutal corsair captains. They provide them with ships, steel, and gold. The goal is clear: to seize the Stepstones using these 'pirates' as their proxies. Once the islands are under the control of these raiders - who are, in fact, men of Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys - the Triarchy will declare itself the sole guarantor of security in the region and begin dictating the terms of passage for all cargo. They seek to seize control of the world's primary trade route without involving themselves in a direct war with the Seven Kingdoms. But the pirate captains take their orders directly from Lys and Tyrosh."
A heavy, oppressive silence fell over the council chamber. King Jaehaerys's face seemed to turn into a stone mask. His fingers slowly curled into a fist upon the table.
"They think we are blind," he said in a voice low, yet vibrating with fury. "They think Jaehaerys Targaryen has grown too old to protect his waters and the right of his subjects to free trade. They mistake my long peace for weakness."
The King turned sharply to me.
"Lord Corlys. Your initial plans for the construction of forty ships for the first stage... forget them. They are no longer sufficient."
I braced for the worst, but the King's words proved quite the opposite.
"I command you to build one hundred ships. In the shortest time possible. The realm needs a fleet capable of not just patrolling, but crushing any threat in the Stepstones. The treasury will allocate thirty-five thousand gold dragons for each vessel, as we previously agreed. Lord Martyn, find the funds for this task."
Jaehaerys leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine.
"But mark me well, Lord Corlys. Time is our most precious resource. If you can deliver this fleet before the appointed deadline, House Velaryon shall receive an additional one-tenth of the total sum as a reward for loyalty and zeal."
I quickly did the math in my head. Three and a half million gold dragons a staggering sum capable of revitalizing any shipyard. The ten-percent bonus was an even more compelling argument.
"It shall be done, Your Grace," I answered firmly, maintaining my outward composure. " "I shall personally see to it that the Crown receives its fleet with all possible haste."
"Lord Gilbert," the King continued, "continue to watch every breath drawn in Tyrosh and Lys. Direct whatever resources you require. We must know when they decide to make their next move."
The session was declared closed. The lords began to disperse, discussing the scale of the decisions in hushed tones. Martyn Tyrell looked as if he had a sudden toothache at the thought of such expenditures, while Septon Barth focused on finishing the minutes. I remained at the table for a minute longer, staring at the map of the islands. War in the Stepstones was inevitable, but now I had the resources to meet it in full force. The war I had been planning since the moment I was informed of the Triarchy's designs was drawing near.
"Lord Corlys," Prince Aemon called to me at the exit. "A hundred ships is a challenge. I believe no one is better suited for it than you."
"My thanks, Prince Aemon," I replied with a shallow bow. "The sea has always been kind to the Velaryons. Rest assured, Driftmark shall provide these ships on time."
Emerging from the council chamber accompanied by Ser Adam, I felt the weight of responsibility pressing on my shoulders, yet a familiar sense of exhilaration grew in my chest. My month in the capital was only just beginning, and ahead lay work capable of changing the face of the Seven Kingdoms for decades to come. But most importantly, the Targaryens without even realizing it were helping me to exalt the name of Velaryon.
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A/N
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