Chapter Text
The wind rushed by as I followed Caraxes in flight. Despite the size advantage of the Bronze Fury, the Blood Wrym was faster and certainly more agile. For his part, Vermithor certainly seemed to enjoy the long flight, looking about as he carefully flapped his wings to stay aloft. I couldn't quite tell what Caraxes was doing, he seemed entirely focused on the flight ahead. Soon enough, the rocky outcrops of Driftmark came into view.
Holding out his arm, Father signaled me to begin a descent. I followed him, circling down carefully, giving those below ample opportunity to see the two dragons descending. As we got closer to the ground, a red dragon rose from the island, approaching closer, before the rider gave a signal for "follow". All three dragons descended to a large open area along the beach, landing where several men in the garb of the Dragon Keepers quickly moved to help get the dragon's saddles off.
We quickly dismounted our dragons, as Father approached the other rider— a beautiful woman with long black hair and deep violet eyes. Father approached her with a smile and gave her a swift hug, before pulling back.
"Cousin, it is good to know you are well on this day. I have come to speak with your husband," he said. I looked at her and carefully stepped behind Father, before he stopped me with his arm.
"Lucerys, you'll come with me, I still don't have a cupbearer," he said. After a moment, I sighed and nodded. There would be no reasoning with him. He wanted me as a cupbearer, so I'd have to stand there and listen. I stood behind Father and he and Rhaenys talked, catching up on events that had happened since the last time they saw each other.
We ascended the paths from the beach, soon reaching the causeway leading to the marble-adorned castle of High Tide. It was the same color as the Eyrie, but seemed to be built in a style reminiscent of Dragonstone itself— a union of Westerosi and Valyrian. I guess that's a way to send a statement by the man who expected to become King-Consort of the Seven Kingdoms one day. We were escorted into the castle, Rhaenys splitting off as House Velaryon guards took us the rest of the way to the Lords' Solar. In the antechamber, a guard knocked on the door, as Father unstrapped Dark Sister from his belt and leaned it up against a pillar, giving a glare to the guard as if to say "try to tell me not to put it there."
A moment later, we were beckoned entry. I looked about, searching for the Sea Snake, before I finally spotted him, walking towards us. Long silver hair, pale lavender eyes, tanned skin from decades at the mast, he looked maybe in his late thirties, not going on 52. His eyes analyzed each of us carefully, as I quickly averted my eyes before he could realize I was doing the same. When I looked back to him, he seemed to be observing me for longer than I had expected. Crap, did I not avert my eyes fast enough? Eventually, however, he finally looked back to Father.
"Prince Daemon," he said, as formal as was polite. "I thank you for accepting my invitation." Clearly, he hadn't forgiven the brothers Targaryen for their slights against his wife, nor Father for what had happened during the Great Council. I took a breath and stood at attention as Father stepped forward.
"Lord Corlys," he replied, the smarmy smile never leaving his face. "I thank you for the invitation. Truly, the words of a raven cannot equal that of a personal conversation." Corlys seemed like he was moments from rolling his eyes. He directed Father to sit around the table, at which he unfolded a map. Moments later, the door opened, and a boy not much older than me stepped in. Sandy Brown hair, freckles, hazel eyes… I didn't recognize him. He placed two flagons on the small table off to the side, and brought two goblets to the adults at the table.
"The Sealord has proven amenable to my terms, and a representative of the Iron Bank has agreed to a generous line of credit. My agents have been surreptitious, putting out notice with younger sons, mercenary companies, and sellsails. Your brother's letters of marque have proven a boon— the prospects of establishing a base closer have made many local sellsails hope for greater wealth," Corlys explained. "You best know what you're doing, I gave up much to the Sealord for this. His son will have my daughter's hand to fund this conquest, as your brother has no desire to make peace. The bride price was harder to gain, yet it seems the Braavosi will acquiesce." Father bristled.
"I presented my plan and you agreed to it. Dark Sister was made for more than slaughtering sheep, she thirsts for blood, and she will have it on those isles," he said. "The Lysene fleet has a base on Grey Gallows, the Tyroshi patrol the isles, and the self-titled 'Archon' of the Stepstones is the Myrish Admiral Craghas Drahar. He has been the military governor of those isles for near a decade." He pointed at the two westernmost islands as I poured wine for him.
"Sunstone and Bloodstone are the two largest and closest to Westeros. Sunstone has the largest population, mostly Rhoynar. Some Princes of Dorne have gotten the island to pay tribute to Sunspear, but whoever sits there now seems to have no interest. The other isles change composition every few decades when a new pirate lord settles there," Father explained. "Each fleet sails differently, under a different admiral, using a different strategy, even if they all answer to the Crabfeeder nominally."
The Sea Snake looked down at the map carefully. "We'll have to reduce their ship numbers, choke control of the sea lanes from the Three Daughters, then bring the sellswords to landing. Sunstone is likely where we'll have to be based in the Stepstones. I'll speak to Lord Tarth about using the Straits to anchor the fleet. There is still pirate activity in the region, and we can use that as a plausible story for the fleet buildup."
I couldn't keep track of time as the basics were established, a simple plan for the future. Corlys would lead the fleet, with the help of Caraxes, and choke the Triarchy's fleet and control of the islands enough for landings, and then island hop, holding the sea lanes open for support from Westeros and northern Essos. A campaign aimed at freeing the trade lanes for commerce and purging piracy and slavery from the Stepstones, sure to earn plenty of Westerosi support, monetary and manpower-wise. They'd also offer an easy base for any privateers bearing letters of marque, and if developed right could easily become very monetarily rich, providing both Corlys and Father with money to use to both shore up conquests and… well, to just be rich in general.
Soon, the agreements were wrapped up, and we were escorted back to the beach.
"Father, will I not see the Velaryon children?" I asked, tugging on his sleeve. Father shook his head.
"Best not remain here any longer than we need to. Lord Corlys is still displeased with our presence. You will meet your cousins eventually, yet not today," he said. We soon returned to the beach, where Vermithor and Caraxes soon stood ready for flight. Father seemed impatient, wanting to return back to Dragonstone as soon as possible. More irritable than normal as well.
"Father," I finally stopped him, as we approached our dragons. "Something is wrong. Tell me." I looked directly at him, our identical eyes staring into each others' for a moment, before he scoffed and looked away.
"Don't do that," he warned. After several moments, he finally relented. "I wish to return to Dragonstone for Mysaria's sake," he explained. "I do not wish to leave her on that island by herself." That… was shocking. I knew he'd basically set her up as the Lady of the Island alongside him, but he never seemed to care for her any more than whatever lady he was previously screwing, including Viserys' next wife. Then, he answered my question. "Mysaria is with child."
Oh. Oh.