A Song of Ash and Empire

A few Moons later.

Driftmark had always belonged to the sea.

Even from the skies, the island bore the marks of its master—its shores lined with shipyards, its harbors teeming with life, the castle of High Tide standing firm against the constant pull of the waves. Masts stretched toward the sky like a forest of wooden spears, sails furled, ropes secured, and laborers moved in a steady rhythm.

Rhaegar took it all in from Vhagar's back, the wind tugging at his cloak as they circled above.

Below, the transformation was already apparent. Shipyards had expanded, laborers worked day and night, and the first keels of their new fleet were being laid.

Baelon, seated in front of him, turned slightly. "It has begun."

Rhaegar nodded. "It truly has."

Vhagar descended, her massive form casting a looming shadow over the stone courtyard. The impact of her landing sent waves rippling across the shoreline, and the wind from her wings caused nearby banners to whip violently.

The Velaryon retainers stood ready, armored in their house colors of silver and blue, the seahorse sigil emblazoned on their chests. They did not flinch much at the sight of the ancient dragon, but there was a look of awe in their faces at the sight of the gargantuan beast.

Lord Corlys Velaryon was waiting for them.

Dressed in the fine blues of his house, he radiated authority, his gaze sharp. He inclined his head respectfully.

"Prince Baelon. Prince Rhaegar. Welcome to Driftmark."

Baelon dismounted first, nodding. "Lord Corlys."

Rhaegar followed, adjusting his cloak against the sea breeze. His eyes flickered briefly to the shipyards, before returning to their host.

"Lord Corlys," he greeted. "I see that our plans are well underway."

Corlys met his gaze evenly. "They are my prince. Come inside. There is much that remains to be done."

With that, they were led into High Tide, passing courtyards where shipbuilders sharpened their tools and laborers hauled freshly cut timber.

The air was thick with the scent of pitch, salt, and sweat.

It was the scent of progress.

The solar of High Tide was prepared for the meeting.

A large table dominated the center of the room, maps, ledgers, and detailed ship plans spread across its polished surface. The candlelight flickered over the outlines of ships in various stages of construction, their forms inked with careful precision.

Corlys took his seat at the table, his gaze sweeping over the assembled documents before addressing them.

"At present, House Velaryon commands just over one hundred ships," he began while pouring all three of them a goblet of wine. "A mixture of warships, trade cogs, and escort vessels. For the fleet of the company, I will dedicate a portion of our existing strength—thirty ships, to serve as the foundation."

Baelon nodded approvingly. "A reasonable number. And the rest will be built to match our needs."

Corlys inclined his head. "With the backing of House Targaryen, the expansion of our shipyards has already begun. If supply chains remain steady, we can produce about forty ships per year without compromising quality, this is including ones from the new shipyards at Dragonstone."

Rhaegar studied the figures before him. A rapid pace, but one that could be sustained with steady resources.

"And the new designs?" he asked.

Corlys tapped a parchment bearing the schematics of a modified sail system—one Rhaegar had worked on alongside the creation of the compass.

"We tested your refinements on a spare Velaryon ship," Corlys said. "The results were favorable."

Baelon leaned forward slightly. "How favorable?"

"Enough that all newly constructed ships will implement them," Corlys stated plainly. "The designs allow the ship to maneuver more efficiently in unpredictable winds, allowing for greater flexibility in travel. Over long voyages, this will make a considerable difference." 

Both princes nodded their heads, pleased.

Baelon shifted his attention to the ledgers. "What of the materials?"

Corlys exhaled. "That is the largest challenge. The lumber from Driftmark and surrounding islands will not be enough. We have made arrangements with the Crownlands, but to sustain this for years to come, we will need additional sources."

Baelon exchanged a glance with Rhaegar before speaking. "My brother Aemon has negotiated with Lord Baratheon on our behalf. The Stormlands will provide a steady supply of timber, ensuring we do not falter in production."

Corlys was satisfied. This was one of the more unpredictable variables, and now it had been secured.

"Then that matter is settled," he said pleased.

A moment of silence passed.

Rhaegar's gaze moved to the lists of shipwrights, laborers, and sailors already being assembled.

"Where are we sourcing the men to crew these ships?"

Corlys folded his hands. "Driftmark will provide many, but for a fleet of this scale, we must look beyond Westeros. The Summer Isles, and Essos have sailors experienced in routes that Westerosi captains have never dared to navigate."

Baelon frowned slightly. "Are they reliable?"

"Enough gold makes men reliable, your grace," Corlys said simply.

Rhaegar considered this. "Foreign sailors will serve their purpose, but they should never outnumber our own."

Corlys nodded. "Of course."

Baelon leaned back, satisfied. "Then we are in agreement."

Rhaegar spoke then. "Then we come to the final matter."

Corlys raised a brow. "Which is?"

Rhaegar's fingers lightly traced the piece of parchment he had brought with him before sliding it forward.

A crest adorned the parchment and below it in bold script, was the name of their enterprise.

Dragon Tide Consortium.

Corlys's gaze lingered on the parchment before exhaling sharply. "Fitting."

Rhaegar inclined his head. "House Velaryon and House Targaryen are the foundation upon which this venture is built. This reflects that truth."

Corlys ran his fingers along the parchment's edge and spoke with conviction and perhaps a promise to himself. "It will be known across the world before long."

Rhaegar smirked. "That is the intent."

With this, the company had been officially named.

A legacy that would last long beyond them all.