Chapter 12: Capturing the Sea Snake
The Small Council chamber in the Red Keep was heavy with heat and the scent of parchment and wax when Prince Daemon made his proposal.
He rose from his chair and said clearly,
> "I propose that Lord Corlys Velaryon—the famed Sea Snake—lend his fortune and fleet to the construction of the Great Sept of King's Landing."
Across the table, Lord Corlys's silvered beard bristled. His sea-grey eyes fixed upon Daemon with a cold, lingering stare.
The Sea Snake had captained his first ship before he was sixteen. He had sailed to the Summer Isles, the Shivering Sea, the Basilisk Isles, and even as far as Asshai. He had faced tempests, pirates, and greedy princes who demanded tribute at every port. Never in his life had he suffered such public extortion as this—especially not in front of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne.
Yet he dared not refuse. The matter concerned the Faith of the Seven, and to oppose it openly was to invite ruin.
He remembered well the chaos in his youth—how during the reign of King Aenys, the High Septon had rallied the Faith Militant against the Iron Throne, plunging half the realm into war. Then came Maegor the Cruel, whose brutal war against the Faith filled the Seven Kingdoms with rivers of blood. Maegor died childless on the Iron Throne itself, and the smallfolk whispered that the Seven had cursed him.
When King Jaehaerys took the crown, he sought peace, vowing to protect the Faith and disbanding the Faith Militant. Since then, no great decision of the realm had been made without the counsel of the High Septon in Oldtown's Starry Sept.
And now, Daemon was using that same piety as a weapon.
Corlys had only just returned from Driftmark, hoping to strengthen support among the smallfolk and lords for his wife, Princess Rhaenys, and their children. To refuse the sept's funding would lose him not only the King's favor, but also the devotion of the faithful—sailors, knights, and merchants alike. Even his wife's cause for the succession could be damaged.
Daemon's voice broke the silence.
> "So, Lord Corlys, will you pay or not? Seventy thousand gold dragons is hardly a large sum for the Sea Snake."
Corlys cleared his throat, forcing a thin smile.
> "I will, of course, support the construction of the Great Sept. But truth be told, these past years have not been kind to me. Last year I lost thirty ships in a storm off Shipbreaker Bay, and this year, pirates in the Stepstones have taken more of my fleet. My losses have been... considerable."
Prince Baelon of Dragonstone laughed heartily.
> "Come now, Sea Snake, are you playing the beggar before us? The Lannisters themselves would blush to hear you claim poverty! The docks of Hull are filled with your ships, and Spice Town's trade rivals King's Landing itself!"
Corlys spread his hands.
> "Sea trade is perilous, my prince. My wealth is not as vast as the songs claim. Still, for the glory of the Seven, I shall find a way to gather seventy thousand gold dragons. But as for using my fleet to haul timber from the Stormlands and stone from the Vale—that is beyond what I can bear."
Daemon smirked.
> "We fully understand Lord Corlys's... difficulties. Yet how tragic it would be if the good people of King's Landing—the poor of Flea Bottom, the City Watch, even the ladies of Silk Street—were to hear that the famous Sea Snake refused to help build their sept. I know many friends among the smallfolk, you see. They do so love to talk—especially about great lords."
He let the words hang, his smile sharpening.
> "If such tales reached White Harbor, Gulltown, Lannisport, or even Oldtown—imagine what the sailors, captains, septons, and septas would think of you, Lord Corlys?"
It was blackmail, thinly veiled in courtesy.
Corlys's jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening around the table edge. He wanted nothing more than to strike Daemon across his smirking face, yet he knew better. The Sea Snake's fortune had been made through trade, not defiance. If he earned the ire of the Faith or the court, his ventures across the Narrow Sea would crumble.
At last, he said coldly,
> "Of course, I will send my fleet to aid the construction. But I insist that the Faith and the court recognize this deed as belonging to my wife, Princess Rhaenys, and to our children, Laenor and Laena. Their names must be remembered for this."
If he could not refuse, then he would at least claim the glory.
Maester Barth, the Hand of the King, nodded.
> "Lord Corlys, your family's generosity shall be honored. When the Great Sept is completed, statues of you, Princess Rhaenys, and your children shall adorn its halls."
King Jaehaerys smiled faintly.
> "The realm thanks you, Lord Corlys. Yet even with your contribution, the treasury remains thin."
His eyes turned toward the Master of Coin.
> "Lord Beesbury, you must find a way to fill the gap. I recall fondly my former treasurers—Rigo Dras of Pentos and Lady Florent of Brightwater. In their days, I never lacked for coin. I trust you'll find a better source of income than your... peculiar Faith tax."
Lord Lyman Beesbury bowed stiffly.
> "Your Grace, I will have a plan ready before the next council."
Queen Alysanne's expression softened into a smile—but her words were sharp as a blade.
> "See that you do, Lord Beesbury. At present, even my grandson Daemon shows more initiative than you."
Then she took Daemon's hand gently and turned to her husband.
> "Your Grace, Daemon has shown both courage and wisdom. He is a dragonrider now, and he has proven his worth today. I suggest he be named your squire and sit upon the Small Council as a royal advisor."
The chamber erupted with protest.
Ser Ryam Redwyne, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, spoke first.
> "Your Grace, Prince Daemon's reputation is... less than spotless. He bloodied a man in a street brawl not a fortnight past. His presence on this council will tarnish it."
Lord Corlys added sharply,
> "To make him a royal advisor will draw laughter from Dorne to Lys. If Your Grace requires counsel, Ser Otto Hightower would serve far better—a learned and capable man."
Archmaester Elysar murmured,
> "Prince Daemon is proud, reckless, and too young to grasp the burdens of governance."
Even Prince Baelon, Daemon's own father, said quietly,
> "He is still a boy, Your Grace. Let him wait a few years."
King Jaehaerys's voice silenced them all.
> "I was not yet fourteen when I ascended this throne. Daemon is sixteen. He may be fierce with his enemies, but he is beloved by the common folk, and I see in him a sharp and hungry mind. The realm grows old, and so do we. It is time to let the young take part."
He looked around the table at his weary council—white-haired lords, stooped maesters, and aging knights.
> "Daemon shall serve as my consultant. And perhaps one day, he may prove fit to wear the Hand's chain himself."
Across the chamber, Queen Alysanne's eyes shone with quiet pride. Gael, attending her side, smiled shyly at Daemon.
When the meeting ended, the ministers filed out in silence. Daemon and Gael escorted the King and Queen back to their chambers.
As they walked through the torchlit corridors, Daemon squeezed Gael's hand.
> "What a day, my sweet. I became a dragonrider, my sept plan was approved, and now I sit on the King's Council. I'd say I've done rather well."
He smiled at her. "And you, Gael—what did you gain today?"
She looked up at him, her smile warm.
> "I witnessed your triumphs."
He leaned closer and whispered,
> "Once we've seen our grandparents to their rooms, come with me to the Dragonpit. I'll take you flying beneath the moon."
Gael shook her head, laughing softly.
> "It's too late, Daemon. I promised to meet the singer Diamanda Waters tonight. She's performing songs of Aegon the Conqueror at the dance hall—and I wouldn't miss it for all your dragons."
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