A Song of Ash and Empire

The first time Rhaegar truly decided on what he was going to attempt, he had been watching the sea.

From the cliffs of Dragonstone, from the docks of King's Landing, from the battlements of the Red Keep—he had seen it again and again.

The horizon.

A vast, endless stretch of blue, where the world seemed to curve into oblivion, where men dreamed of what lay beyond but lacked the means to reach it.

They sailed, yes, but blindly—tethered to the familiar, fearing what they could not see. They hugged the coastline, followed the stars, and relied on the whims of the sky and the mercy of the gods.

It was not mastery.

It was a limitation.

And Rhaegar Targaryen had no intention of being limited.

The compass had not been easy to create.

Not because he didn't know how—he understood the principles of its mechanics well enough.

The real problem?

Making it in a world that had no damn idea what magnetism was.

He had to work around the limitations of Westerosi craftsmanship, had to test and fail and test again, had to navigate the frustratingly slow process of acquiring the right materials without raising suspicion.

The lodestone had been the first challenge.

The maesters knew of it, though they treated it as nothing more than an oddity—iron that attracted other iron. Some thought it magical, others called it cursed. 

But what was one man's superstition was another man's opportunity.

Through careful questioning, subtle use of his father's influence, some well-placed letters, and more patience than he'd ever had in his last life, he had tracked down enough of the material to begin his experiments.

Next had been the needle itself.

A blacksmith would have been too imprecise, their hands too rough for what he needed. Instead, he had sought a jeweler, someone accustomed to fine metalwork. The first few attempts had been failures—the iron was too heavy, the shape imperfect—but after days of adjustments, he had arrived at a satisfactory model.

Next had been the casing.

Brass—strong, elegant, and resistant to rust.

The glass had been a nightmare—too rare, too expensive, and not viable for mass production.

So he had settled on polished crystal. Sturdy, clear, and resistant to the elements.

After much trial and error, he had settled on polished crystal. Sturdy, clear, and resistant to the elements.

After months of effort, he finally had a working compass.

It was not perfect. Nowhere close to the masterful models he had seen in his previous life.

But it was good enough.

More importantly?

It could be mass-produced.

Because Rhaegar was not here to make one compass.

It was his key to creating a trade empire.

By the time Rhaegar arrived at the King's solar, he had smoothed his tunic, adjusted his sleeves, fixed his hair, and arranged his face into an expression of calm confidence—as if he had not just bolted across the Red Keep like a startled hare.

Jaehaerys Targaryen, the longest-reigning king in Westerosi history, sat at the head of the table, his sharp violet gaze flickering between Rhaegar and the small brass case now resting in his hands.

Baelon, already seated, gave his son a flat stare.

"You made me wait."

Rhaegar ignored him, stepping forward and unlatching the case.

Inside sat the compass.

A small, round device, its polished brass casing gleaming under the sunlight. Polished Crystal protected the thin sliver of iron within, a needle balanced so finely that it moved with no more than the slightest disturbance in the air.

Rhaegar gently lifted the compass and turned it slightly, letting them see how the needle remained fixed.

"This," he said, voice smooth, "is how we claim the sea."

Jaehaerys leaned forward slightly. Baelon, despite himself, tilted his head in interest.

Good.

Baelon broke the silence first. "A trinket?"

Rhaegar exhaled. "A tool."

He turned the compass slightly again.

Jaehaerys leaned forward. "It does not move."

"No," Rhaegar confirmed. "Because no matter how you turn it, the needle always points north."

A pause.

Baelon frowned slightly. "How?"

Rhaegar tapped the compass. "The iron inside has been touched by something rare—a type of stone that draws it toward a fixed point. Always north. No matter the weather, and no matter the time of day."

Jaehaerys studied him. "You are certain of this?"

"As certain as I am that the sun will rise," Rhaegar said.

Another pause.

Then, Jaehaerys exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping against the table. "And what do you intend to do with this?"

Rhaegar exhaled softly. The real game begins.

"The greatest weakness of any fleet," he began, "is that it is bound by what it can see."

Baelon's expression did not change, but he said nothing. He was listening.

"Sailors follow the coastline, the stars, the sun," Rhaegar continued. "They rely on maps, on familiarity. But what happens in a storm? When the stars are hidden? When they are lost in the open sea?"

He tapped the compass lightly.

"This erases that weakness."

The King picked up and turned the device again, watching as the needle steadied. His expression was unreadable. "You believe this will change how men sail?"

"I know it will," Rhaegar said.

Baelon exhaled sharply. "And you would give this to Corlys Velaryon?"

Rhaegar shook his head. "Not give. Sell."

Jaehaerys frowned slightly. "At what price?"

Rhaegar leaned forward. "A partnership."

Jaehaerys's gaze flickered. "Not just a fleet, then."

Rhaegar allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

"No," he said. "Not just a fleet. A company."

Silence stretched between them.

Jaehaerys was watching him again, studying him with the eyes of a man who had ruled longer than Rhaegar had been alive.

Jaehaerys exhaled slowly. "Explain."

Rhaegar did not rush. This had to be done properly.

"The Free Cities dominate trade," he said. "Not because they are stronger, but because they are organized. They have fleets, they have banks, they have institutions that control the flow of wealth."

He let that sink in before continuing.

"But Westeros? We have no such thing."

Baelon's fingers tapped against the table. "And you believe this… company will change that?"

"I believe this company can control that," Rhaegar corrected. "We will dictate who sails where. Who trades what. Who profits, and who does not."

Jaehaerys let out a small smirk. "Ambitious."

Rhaegar smiled. "Anything less would be a waste of time grandfather."

Jaehaerys asked with curiosity. "And how does Corlys fit into all of this?"

Rhaegar was waiting for this question. "His naval prowess and understanding are needed for such an ambitious endeavor. He is one the of few men who have sailed farther than most and seen the lands of Yi Ti and beyond. No one would understand the benefits of such an endeavor better than him."

He continued. "We would offer him a legacy beyond blood. A company, not a single voyage, not a single fleet, but an organization that can last centuries and bring untold wealth to everyone involved. A company under the patronage and protection of House Targaryen."

Rhaegar smiled. "Surely, that and this navigation device will be enough to have his undivided attention at the least."

Baelon exhaled slowly. "And what would the terms of the agreement be?"

"House Targaryen will hold the controlling share," Rhaegar said. "The monopoly on the navigation device remains with us. But House Velaryon will control operations, the trade fleet itself."

Jaehaerys nodded. "And the profits?"

"House Targaryen takes the greater share but not by too much," Rhaegar said simply. "Corlys will understand—we control the key."

Baelon smirked slightly. "You will tell him that outright?"

"No," Rhaegar smirked back. "He will realize it himself."

 Jaehaerys spoke then, voice quiet but firm.

"You are asking Corlys Velaryon to tie his house to ours. Not just for a voyage. Not just for coin. But forever."

Rhaegar met his grandfather's gaze.

"Yes."

Jaehaerys inhaled deeply, rubbing a hand along his jaw. "That is a heavy thing to ask."

"And we have an irresistible thing to offer," Rhaegar countered.

Jaehaerys's lips curled slightly. "You are confident."

Rhaegar met his grandfather's eyes with conviction. "I am."

Another silence.

Then, Jaehaerys placed the compass back down. "Go to Corlys. Show him this. If he is half the man I believe him to be, he will see what it is worth."

Baelon glanced at his father. "You approve?"

Jaehaerys's gaze remained on Rhaegar. "There are three kinds of people, Baelon. Those who keep what they have. Those who seek more. And those who lose everything." He looked into his grandson's eyes as if trying to impart a message to both of them. "We should not be content to keep, lest we stagnate. We cannot be foolish enough to lose. That leaves only one path."

Finally, the King exhaled slowly. "Baelon, you will go with him. Your presence will make the Sea Snake wary of not taking this matter lightly."

Baelon turned to his father, then back to Rhaegar with a knowing gaze. "You expected that, didn't you?"

Rhaegar grinned. "Your presence would solve a lot of problems, so yes I expected it a little."

The Old King picked up the compass one last time, watching the needle hold steady.

"Then go," he said. "I expect nothing less than success." Handing the compass back to Rhaegar.

Baelon sighed, rubbing his temples. "I will arrange the meeting."

Rhaegar bowed, stepping away, the compass warm in his palm. He allowed himself a small smile.

Now, all that remained was the Sea Snake himself.

And with the needle in his hands, he was certain—

It would point him toward victory.