A Song of Ash and Empire

The private chamber within the Red Keep was a far cry from the open courts where politics played out before an audience.

There were no retainers, no scribes, no curious ears lurking in the shadows—only men who needed to know.

At the center of the room, seated at a sturdy table of polished mahogany, was Lord Corlys Velaryon, head of House Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark, and the greatest sailor Westeros had ever known.

To his left, standing with arms crossed, was Prince Baelon Targaryen, his presence an unspoken reminder that this meeting was not a trivial matter but something backed by House Targaryen itself, sanctioned at the highest level.

And sitting directly across from Corlys was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the one who had arranged this meeting.

A small brass case rested on the table between them.

It was small. Unassuming. But the moment Corlys laid eyes on it, his interest was clear.

He was not a man who dismissed things lightly.

Anything presented to him in this manner—in private, sanctioned by Baelon, with precautions against unwanted ears—was no trivial matter.

Which meant it was worth his time.

Baelon broke the silence first.

"This concerns the future of Westeros, Corlys," he said. "And your place in it."

Corlys leaned back slightly, his gaze steady. "You have my attention, Your Grace."

Baelon gestured toward Rhaegar. "Then let us begin."

Rhaegar inclined his head and reached for the small brass case at his side. He unlatched it carefully, turning it toward Corlys so he could see its contents.

The compass gleamed in the candlelight.

Polished brass. A thin, near-weightless needle suspended under clear crystal.

Corlys did not reach for it immediately. Instead, he studied it.

Rhaegar did not rush him. He wanted Corlys to take his time and see for himself that this was not a decoration, not an ornament—but something more.

Baelon, ever the one to push things forward, exhaled. "Pick it up," he said.

Corlys's gaze flickered toward him briefly before he finally picked up the compass.

The weight of the instrument was light in his hands, yet it was solid. Well-made. Durable.

Not a fragile trinket.

He turned it carefully, shifting the angle.

The needle still pointed in the same direction it previously did.

Corlys raised a brow.

He turned it again, slightly faster this time.

The needle still pointed the same way.

Baelon leaned forward slightly. "It always points north. No matter where you stand, no matter how you turn it, it finds its way."

Corlys said nothing, but his fingers tilted the compass once more—deliberate, testing.

The needle remained fixed.

Now, his grip on the device changed slightly—not cautious, but more careful, as if he were holding something rare.

Finally, he looked up.

"And how does it work?"

Rhaegar answered simply.

"It is a tool for navigation," he said. "A ship with this will always know its heading, whether beneath the sun or storm clouds. The days of relying solely on the stars, the coastline, or the memory of sailors—those days can end with this."

Corlys's gaze flicked down to the device again. "You have tested it?"

Baelon gave a short nod. "Everywhere we could. On land, in the woodlands, across the river. It has remained true at every turn."

Corlys's fingers tapped once against the brass casing. "And at sea?"

"We have yet to test it properly," Rhaegar admitted. "But the principle does not change. It will work."

Rhaegar leaned back. "And with some preparations, it can be mass-produced."

A pause.

Then Corlys asked what Rhaegar had been waiting for.

"Who else knows of this?"

Baelon's voice was firm. "No one outside this room besides the King."

"And you mean to keep it that way?"

Baelon met his gaze. "Everyone apart from House Targaryen. Yes."

Corlys's expression did not change, but there was a flicker of something—approval, perhaps.

Corlys exhaled through his nose. "A monopoly, then."

Rhaegar inclined his head. "Yes."

Silence.

But now, the tension had shifted.

Before, Corlys had been simply observing, and assessing. Now? Now, Rhaegar could see the thoughts racing through his mind.

The implications were too vast to ignore.

He understood.

And that meant he was already invested.

The Hook Has Been Set

Corlys placed the compass back down on the table.

Then, he spoke.

"This changes things," he said simply.

Baelon smirked slightly. "That would be the point."

Corlys let out a low hum, drumming his fingers against the wood. "And what do you intend to do with it?"

Baelon did not answer. He only looked toward Rhaegar.

Rhaegar met Corlys's gaze.

"That," he said, "is what we are here to discuss."

A long pause.

Then, for the first time since the meeting began, Corlys Velaryon truly smiled.

It was not a smile of amusement, nor one of politeness.

It was the smile of a man who had just been handed something he could never walk away from.

The bait had been taken.

The hook was set.

The next step?

Reeling in the Sea Snake.