As Lord Corlys's words rang out, every eye in the Seahorse Hall locked onto Logar.
Curiosity, contempt, impatience — he felt them all and didn't flinch. He stepped forward, offering the Sea Snake a respectful half-bow. "I am Logar, captain of a sellsword company out of Essos. My respects, Lord Sea Snake."
The moment he lifted his head, the hall's candlelight caught his face. A ripple of stunned silence swept the room. His beauty was almost unfair.
He wore a simple dark robe, no armor. Silver hair tied back with a plain ribbon, posture relaxed and graceful, every inch the court-bred prince rather than a sellsword.
Even the serving girls kept stealing glances, cheeks turning pink.
"Heh. You? A sellsword captain?" Malentin sneered openly. "I'd sooner believe you're some Lysene lord's pampered bed-boy."
Laughter burst from the other vassals.
Corlys, however, ignored his nephew's rudeness.
He had already noticed the fierce spark in Logar's violet eyes and the iron confidence in the young man's bearing. It reminded him of an old fighting companion — same Valyrian features, same contained edge.
"My lord, if a man's face decided whether he could lead fighting men, then the famous Sea Snake himself might not pass for a grizzled sailor."
Logar's reply was calm, respectful — and landed a quiet compliment.
"Hmph." Malentin grunted but held his tongue.
Corlys had no patience for more games. He leaned forward on the Driftwood Throne. "You wrote that you can help me take the Stepstones. How, exactly? With that pretty face?"
Another wave of laughter rolled through the hall.
Logar didn't bat an eye. He knew the real test had just begun.
The Sea Snake had already seen his grasp of the bigger picture in the letter. Now he wanted hard, workable plans.
Logar answered with total confidence. "Lord Sea Snake, four powers currently carve up the Stepstones: the pirate crews, the Kingdom of Dorne, the Triarchy of the Three Daughters, and your own Velaryon fleet.
On the western side, closest to Dorne, the Dornish want the islands to expand their reach. But they have to sail past the Broken Arm, so they've never been able to hold or govern them properly. Their constant nibbling is annoying, but hardly a mortal threat.
On the eastern side, the Disputed Lands give the Triarchy their foothold. Their alliance looks formidable, but it's no iron monolith. Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys each chase their own interests. They can work together when the wind is fair, but the first real setback sends their ruling councils snarling at one another. A break-up is not only possible — it's likely."
His analysis was crisp and flawless. The last traces of mockery in the hall vanished.
It wasn't just the logic. His calm poise and elegant, fluent Common Tongue made him impossible to dismiss.
Even Baela, hidden in a shadowed corner and eavesdropping, felt a flicker of surprise. She had never imagined the crude brute who had grabbed her could speak with such clarity.
Unaware of the princess listening, Logar kept going.
"Compared to those two, the pirates barely matter. They keep popping back up because the Stepstones are lawless. Without a strong hand to rule them and keep order, they'll keep raiding your ships and bleeding your trade dry.
Your escort fleets are powerful enough to smash any one of those forces — Dorne, the Triarchy, or the pirates — on their own. But when they band together, you have no answer. And you can't guarantee the safety of every merchant voyage."
He paused, then laid out his offer plainly. "The root of the problem is that your grip on the Stepstones is too weak. If you're willing to reinforce the islands and station a strong, permanent governor there to build fortresses and hold them long-term, your fleets will sail unmolested — and your influence will only grow. Why not seize the chance?"
"So after all that talk," one of Corlys's younger kin, Daemon Velaryon, muttered from below the throne, "you still want us to send men and ships to conquer the Stepstones for you."
Corlys and his senior advisors, however, had fallen into thoughtful silence.
They had considered exactly this years ago, when Corlys and Prince Daemon first took the islands. Corlys had even crowned Daemon "King of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones." But when old King Viserys grew frail, Daemon lost interest in the barren rocks and returned to King's Landing.
House Velaryon had tried to hold the islands afterward, but the Dornish and the Triarchy came roaring back, seizing Bloodstone and Grey Gallows and turning the place into a meat grinder. Without a strong, permanent ruler to keep order, every defeated faction simply regrouped and returned.
In other words, the Velaryons had never lacked the will or the strength — they had simply lacked the right man to plant their banner and keep it planted.
"You are willing to help House Velaryon claim the 'Land of Blood and Salt' and keep our fleets safe from pirates?" Corlys asked slowly.
"Exactly," Logar answered without hesitation. "I wish to swear myself and my company to Queen Rhaenyra and serve you, Lord Sea Snake. I will take firm control of the Stepstones, turn them from a lawless breeding ground for cutthroats into an orderly domain."
(Of course, under my rule, he added silently. He wasn't here to work for free. The Blacks' dragons were still a distant dream; he needed the Velaryon name to carve out his own foothold.)
Corlys gave no immediate answer. If Logar was willing to take the lead and do the bleeding, the Sea Snake had no objection to giving him a few ships and some supplies.
House Velaryon could afford it. Letting the young sellsword charge first cost them nothing and offered everything to gain.
Still, war was not something to decide lightly. "Very well. You clearly don't fear death. But sending more strength to the Stepstones is a matter I must report to the queen on Dragonstone. Stay on Driftmark these next few days and await my word."
He waved a hand — audience over.
"As you command, my lord." Logar bowed once more and withdrew.
For him, the matter was now all but settled — barring any unforeseen disaster.
The Velaryons risked only coin, ships, and supplies. The actual fighting against Dorne, the Triarchy, and the pirates would fall on his shoulders.
Stepping out of High Tide into the salt-tanged air, Logar felt a weight lift from his chest.
Below him, Shelltown bustled in the afternoon light: narrow stone lanes worn smooth by wind and boots, low wooden houses, the sharp smell of shipyard tar mingling with the yeasty scent of ale from crowded taverns. Ships of every size rocked at the quays while dockhands shouted and merchants hawked their wares over the constant crash of waves.
The sight lifted his mood. He decided to enjoy a few easy days here while he waited for the Sea Snake's answer.
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