Inside the Seahorse Hall, Lord Corlys was reading Logar's letter.
He was only giving it his time because the man who had returned his granddaughter safely had written it.
The opening was pure flattery. Logar poured on praise for the Sea Snake's nine legendary voyages to the eastern continent, laying it on thick.
Corlys kept reading with mounting irritation—until the tone suddenly changed. Logar pointed out that as Master of Ships for the Blacks, Corlys and House Velaryon had bled and sacrificed more than anyone for Rhaenyra's cause, yet they still lacked real influence at court. Their future looked shaky at best.
The letter went on to spell out the risks facing House Velaryon: by committing the entire fleet to the Black queen on Dragonstone, their once-thriving trade routes had begun to wither.
The Stepstones—the vital choke point on every voyage—had been pacified years ago by Corlys and Prince Daemon together. Now the pirates, the Dornish, and the Triarchy were swarming back, strangling Velaryon shipping. Trade was already collapsing.
Writing as an outsider, Logar laid out every painful truth the Sea Snake was wrestling with. Corlys couldn't even argue—these were exactly the problems keeping him up at night.
Finally, Logar expressed his deep admiration for the Sea Snake once more and stated plainly: he was a sellsword captain fresh from Essos, ready to swear his company to Queen Rhaenyra and the Blacks. All he needed was an introduction from Lord Corlys. In return, he would help sweep the Stepstones clean of every rival crew and hostile power.
Once the islands were pacified, Velaryon trade routes would boom again. The Stepstones could become a safe way-station and toll point for every ship sailing between Westeros and Essos.
Of course, Logar was willing to do all this out of respect for the Sea Snake himself. He asked only for fair pay and supplies for his company—and he would lead his men at the very front of every Velaryon battle line.
The letter was masterful. It struck straight at Corlys's deepest worries and asked for nothing outrageous in return.
Yet when he finished reading, Corlys sat silent for a long moment. Then he passed the letter to his eldest nephew, Malentin Velaryon.
Malentin scanned it and scoffed. "Uncle, I've never even heard of this so-called sellsword captain. He may have analyzed our situation perfectly, but he could have picked that up from tavern gossip for all we know.
The Stepstones are a snake pit. What can some nobody mercenary company possibly accomplish there?"
Corlys turned to the merchant factor who had survived the voyage. "How many men does he have? What about his ships?"
"Uh… roughly three hundred fighters, my lord," the factor answered. "Nine ships total, but only three are proper warships."
Malentin snorted. "That's barely more than one of our own trading squadrons!"
"But…"
The factor hesitated, then added, "Their fighting quality is… impressive. Especially their leader. He's very young, but ruthless with his enemies…"
Young?
Corlys's interest sharpened. "Very well. Invite him to High Tide. I'll see him myself.
I want to meet this young man who dissected our family's troubles so cleanly in a single letter. Let's find out exactly who he is."
The Stepstones had become a thorn in Corlys's side he could no longer ignore. He might not be able to strengthen his position among the Blacks right now, but if he let his own family's backyard fall apart, he would be a fool.
Besides, the terms Logar offered were genuinely attractive. Meeting the man in person could do no harm.
...
The moment Logar received the invitation from Lord Corlys's messenger, he let out a long, relieved breath. So far, his plan was working perfectly.
He left the harbor, ordering his men to rest and resupply in Shelltown on Driftmark—but warned them to cause no trouble.
The crew had been cooped up too long. At his command they roared with delight and poured into the town's taverns and brothels, silver stags from their recent victories burning holes in their pockets.
After instructing Femon and the others to keep the men in line, Logar followed the messenger alone toward High Tide.
The path was packed dirt worn smooth by sea wind and countless boots, crunching with broken shells and sand underfoot.
High Tide rose ahead on the cliffs—black basalt walls snaking along the ridge, granite towers stabbing into the sky like spears thrust at the clouds. The silver-and-blue seahorse banners snapped wildly in the wind. Below, the Narrow Sea crashed against the rocks, filling the air with salty mist that wrapped the castle in a hazy shroud.
Even after surviving more than a dozen bloody fights since crossing into this world, Logar felt his pulse quicken. Everything hinged on this meeting with the Sea Snake.
His staged rescue wasn't flawless. He was betting everything on Corlys Velaryon's legendary vision—the man widely regarded as the Blacks' clearest strategic mind.
Soon Logar stood before the gates of High Tide. He drew a deep breath, unbuckled his weapons, and stepped inside.
The moment he entered the Seahorse Hall—filled with every hallmark of Velaryon power—he saw Corlys seated on the Driftwood Throne. The old lord looked even wearier than Logar had expected.
Beside him, eyeing Logar with open disdain, was surely the nephew Malentin. Several other lords and younger Velaryon men stood nearby—Corlys's kin and vassals.
As Logar crossed the threshold, the Sea Snake only gave him a brief, indifferent glance before turning back to his advisors, deliberately ignoring the young sellsword who had so bluntly exposed his vulnerabilities in that letter.
A calculated slight.
Logar simply smiled, unfazed, and began studying the grand portraits of past Velaryon lords lining the walls.
From Corwyn Velaryon, Corlys's father, all the way back to the first Lord Commander of the Kingsguard who had sailed with Aegon the Conqueror. The family's history stretched far longer and grander than most realized.
Yet knowing how House Velaryon would fade after the Dance, Logar couldn't help feeling a pang of melancholy as he looked at those proud, gilded images.
Times changed. Empires rose and fell. Who could have guessed that the mighty Velaryons—lords of the tides—would slowly decline after this war?
"Ahem!"
Corlys, who had intended to let the young upstart stew, finally cleared his throat, irritation flickering across his face. Treating my hall like a damn museum?
He could ignore him no longer.
"Young man," the Sea Snake said, voice carrying across the hall, "step forward and state your business plainly."