75 AC. Driftmark
Corlys sat upon the roof of the Velaryon ancestral castle, reflecting on his life as the son of Deamon and Alyce Velaryon. Ten years had passed in what felt like a single heartbeat, yet they were rich with consequence. Though, he had to admit, he had no desire to ever repeat the experience of infancy.
For Corlys—a man who had never known what it meant to have parents—it was strange to feel the boundless love bestowed upon him by his new parents, especially Alyce. Alyce Velaryon was a woman who loved all her children with equal fervor. Corlys now had two younger brothers: Daeron, two years his junior, and Vaelor, four years younger. He loved and looked after them deeply; for if there was one thing Grandfather Arcturus had placed above all else, it was the importance of family, and he had ensured his grandson understood that lesson well. Yet, for the Velaryon family, not everything had been sunlit and golden.
A year after Vaelor's birth, in 70 AC, an outbreak of Summer Fever swept through Driftmark and across Westeros. The maesters called it by that name, but Corlys recognized the plague from his previous life as the Black Death, the pestilence. A quarter of Driftmark's population perished, but worst of all, Corlys's own family was stricken.
The disease held no power over Corlys. His magic, though still frail due to his young age, shielded his body, but it was not enough to heal his entire kin. He could not cast spells as he once did, nor could he retrieve medicine from his soul-vault to treat them. In those desperate times, Corlys revealed the existence of magic to his parents and used it to save his brothers. He vividly remembered the conversation with his father when Deamon commanded him to care for the others first.
"Father, I do not have enough magic to heal both you and Mother. Saving my brothers has taken too much out of me," I said, unable to restrain the tears rolling down my cheeks. Why? I had only just found a family, and now they were slipping through my fingers while I stood helpless to stop it.
"You have done enough, my boy," my new father said, trying to muster a smile—the man I had come to love so dearly. "You saved your brothers; that is what matters most. I could not have dreamed of more since seeing them in such a state. You said you lacked the strength for both. Does that mean your magic is enough for one?" He asked, hope flickering in his eyes.
"I believe so," I managed to choke out.
"Then help your mother, son. Heal her."
"But then you—"
Father did not allow me to finish.
"It is the duty of a father and a husband to protect his family, Corlys. When you are grown, you will understand. Now, help your mother."
I nodded silently and approached my mother's bedside. She was unconscious and pale as chalk. I placed my hand over her heart and began to pour my magic into her, transmuting it into healing mana. Lacking any other alternative due to his underdeveloped magical core, this was the only way to save the woman who had become one of the most vital people in his new life. After nearly an hour of painstaking labor, her breathing leveled out, and a faint flush returned to her cheeks. Exhausted, I collapsed to the floor, gasping for air like a drowning man reaching the shore.
"You did well, son. If not for you, our family would be at an end. I am so proud of you," Father said, tears in his eyes. It was the first time I had ever seen him so. "Now I know you will protect the family, and I can peacefully go—"
"Do not speak so. You will be fine, Father," I interrupted him. "I will rest, and tomorrow I will help you."
"Yes. Tomorrow you shall heal me too, my boy, I have no doubt," he said, trying to hearten me.
"Now sleep a little and rest. You have done enough for today."
"Alright," was my despondent reply.
"And Corlys," Father called out one last time before I left the room. "Remember that I love you and your brothers so much. Never forget that."
Deamon Velaryon did not last until the next day. He passed away in his sleep with a smile on his face, knowing his family had survived and that his son would look after everything.
Though Corlys could not save his father, he had effectively brought his grandfather back from the brink of death. On that day, he swore an oath to himself: he would protect his family, allow no one to harm them, and achieve this at any cost. That vow would become a curse for the many enemies who would eventually oppose the rising power of House Velaryon.
Sitting now and looking at the sea that beckoned him, he regretted nothing. Over the last five years, once the castle had recovered from the plague, Corlys began implementing his ideas through his grandfather, Lord Daemon, who listened closely to his grandson's counsel.
Corlys wanted House Velaryon to be sufficiently powerful and dominant by the time he became head of the family. He understood that a six-year-old boy acting like a grown man would draw unwanted attention, so he used his grandfather to execute his designs. At times, he had to employ subtle mental suggestions, but otherwise, everything went smoothly.
His relationship with his brothers was wonderful. For a man who had never had siblings, it was a novel experience, but he admitted they held a special place in his heart. He assisted them with their studies and swordsmanship training. Corlys himself had mastered the dual-wielding style with ease and improved it daily.
Once he gained full access to his magic at the age of eight, he began performing rituals to strengthen his body and followed a regimen of potions. Now, his height stood at 1.6 meters, and it was expected that by the end of puberty, he would stand nearly 1.9 meters tall.
The family's primary business was trade, and Corlys decided to expand the enterprise. To do this, he provided his grandfather with two things: blueprints for a new type of ship—the caravel—and the compass. With these swifter vessels and the compass, the merchant fleet could complete expeditions more quickly and efficiently than any competitor. Thanks to this advantage, House Velaryon began to amass staggering amounts of gold.
The town growing around Driftmark expanded every day, and all those people needed to be fed. Thus, Corlys applied earth magic, which he had learned from Druids, to the farms and surrounding territories. He also helped train the people in modern agricultural methods. Now, the island's crop yield was so high that even the lords of the Reach would be envious. All this made the island self-sufficient and spurred population growth.
Corlys had noted that the alcoholic spirits of Westeros were incomparable to those of his old world. Even what the local lords considered their finest vintages, he regarded as little more than rotgut that made one want to retch. He saw this as an opportunity he would not miss. Corlys fully adopted the Muggle methods for producing various spirits, aided by the knowledge from Muggle books he had brought from his previous world. Whatever one could say about Muggles, they knew how to craft alcohol superbly.
For a year now, Velaryon ships had been distributing goods alongside new spirits: whiskey, cognac, fine wine, rum, and vodka. They were rapidly gaining popularity and displacing competitors, much to the latter's chagrin. There had even been attempts to attack the merchant ships, but they were unsuccessful; the new Velaryon vessels were simply too fast for their older counterparts. Furthermore, the compass allowed his ships to sail far from the sight of land, as they no longer required coastal landmarks to navigate.
From alcohol alone, House Velaryon was earning fabulous sums of money, which they reinvested into other projects. One such project was the crafting of diamond and gemstone jewelry by jewelers invited from Braavos. This was made possible by the mineral deposits on the island, which Corlys "accidentally" found in a cave. That was the official version; in reality, he had located the veins using a spell while prospecting for resources. This line of profit brought the family an impressive income.
Since arriving here, he had been fascinated by the magic of this world. Information was scarce, and the last mentions of magic dated back to the Doom of Valyria. Corlys was intensely interested in Valyria and its culture; after all, his own family originated from the shores of that fallen civilization. Most of all, he wondered how those people had managed to subdue dragons. The dragons of this world were formidable creatures. He hadn't been able to resist Apparating to King's Landing to observe them. The city was repulsive, reeking of filth, but the journey was worth it. The dragons amazed him with their size and that raw magic laced with the scent of fire. But what intrigued him most was that they communicated with each other in Parseltongue—something never observed in the dragons of his old world.
Corlys suspected that the Valyrians, and the Targaryens in particular, were able to bond with dragons through blood magic seasoned with mass sacrifice. There was no other way they could have accumulated enough energy to bind such powerful magical beings to their bloodline.
Valyria had been destroyed over a century ago, but he was certain he could find much of interest there. His body was currently ten years old, and he planned to set out on a voyage in four years' time. He would be fourteen then, and his fiercely overprotective mother would be unable to hinder his ambition. Of course, he didn't plan on telling her he was visiting Valyria; Alyce might just pull his ears off for such a stunt.
The tragedy that struck their family five years ago had affected her deeply. Since then, she tried to spend every spare moment with her sons and was extremely protective, especially of the younger ones. At times, the doting was enough to make Vaelor want to howl at the moon. Aside from her hyper-protection, Alyce was a wonderful mother and person. Everyone in the castle respected and loved her. She saw the effort Corlys and Daemon put in and helped their endeavors in any way she could.
Thinking of all this, Corlys heard someone approaching.
"I knew you'd be here, brother," he heard the familiar voice of Daeron.
"And why were you looking for me, little brother?" was his reply.
"Grandfather ordered the servants to find you and bring you to his study. It seems you're in for another multi-hour lecture on politics and a lord's duties. The poor fellows have been searching everywhere and can't find you," his brother reported with amusement. "But they don't know you as well as I do. So, I decided to help and escort you to Grandfather."
"Don't be so joyful. The time will come when I'll be the one escorting you to such lectures," Corlys replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes, little brother. You'll see," he teased the younger boy.
"Why do I need all that? You're the one who will be Lord. I'd rather train to be a warrior," Daeron answered.
"A warrior you shall be, and a formidable one, I'm sure," Corlys began to explain. "But I cannot manage without the support of my family. Especially yours and Vaelor's. You are my brothers, and you are the only ones I can trust implicitly. And who knows, maybe one day you'll be lords of your own castles."
"But we don't have that much land, and only one castle?" Daeron asked suspiciously.
"That is true for now, but who knows what the future holds for us," he said enigmatically to his younger brother.
"If you say so, brother. Come on, let's go, Grandfather is waiting." And turning away, he marched toward the exit.
Corlys glanced at the sea once more and prepared himself for the meeting.
"Well then, enough rest. Time to get to work."