A year had passed since Rodrik Aryan had revealed his first invention—the humble compass—and sown the seeds of a revolution in the Vale. From the lofty towers of the Eyrie to the bustling docks of Gulltown, the whispers of prosperity followed every ship that bore the sigil of House Aryan.
With Lord Yorbert Royce acting as both steward and strategist, the wheels of ambition had turned with surprising speed. Under Rodrik's guidance—veiled carefully behind Yorbert's authority—a ship-making yard had been established along the coast of Gulltown. The venture had been forged through a careful partnership with Lord Marq Grafton, head of House Grafton and the ruler of Gulltown, who controlled the largest and most stable port in the Vale.
The agreement was both discreet and ambitious: House Aryan would provide the revolutionary designs, knowledge, and a majority of the capital, while Lord Grafton would provide port access, administrative handling, and long-standing trade connections. Shipbuilders from Braavos—renowned for their naval craftsmanship—had been hired under generous contracts, brought over quietly and kept loyal through both gold and mystery. Most didn't ask where the designs came from; those who wondered were silenced by their pay.
Ten galleons had been completed over the past year. These ships—broad-beamed and double-decked—could carry significantly more cargo than the old cogs used across Westeros. Reinforced with improved keel designs and more stable hull curves, they were swift, reliable, and weather-resistant. Paired with Rodrik's secret invention, the compass, they made up a merchant fleet that could outpace and outmaneuver any rival.
The compass, however, remained an absolute secret—shared only with Captain Marrek, a loyal and trusted sailor of Yorbert's choosing. Marrek used it in secret beneath the deck, navigating with uncanny precision, while publicly crediting his navigation skills to the stars, wind, and sea foam. Sailors whispered of his luck and called him "Sea-Touched"—a compliment in their own way.
The fleet had begun trading not just with Braavos and Pentos, but as far east as Yi Ti, bringing in silks, jade, dyes, and spices. In exchange, they sold tin, bronze, salt, wool, grains, and lumber. The profits flowed heavily into the coffers of House Aryan. The Vale, long considered isolated and mountainous, now held one of the most promising merchant fleets in the realm—and only a handful knew why.
Rodrik, still just five years of age in body, had worked on more than ships. His mind buzzed with ideas—technologies, reforms, and changes that could lift the Vale to heights no other kingdom dreamed of. But to take the next step, he needed Yorbert's total faith. And that final piece of belief would only come with proof—proof that he had been touched by the divine.
A year ago, he had told Yorbert a prophecy: that Queen Aemma would give birth to a daughter, and she would be named Rhaenyra. Now, the news from King's Landing was imminent. The Queen was in the last days of her labor.
Rodrik sat in the solar, quietly sketching improvements to loom mechanisms, when the door creaked open.
Yorbert entered, a sealed letter in hand. The royal seal of the Red Keep shimmered under the firelight. Neither spoke for a long breath. Then Yorbert broke the seal and read.
His brow furrowed, then lifted.
He looked at Rodrik. "It's a girl," he said softly. "They have named her… Rhaenyra."
Rodrik let out a small breath—half triumph, half relief.
Yorbert slowly sat in the nearest chair. He was not a man easily shaken, but the world had shifted beneath him again.
"I do not understand what you are," he muttered, "but I believe… you are not ordinary, my lord."
Rodrik approached, voice calm and clear. "Then we begin."
Yorbert stared at the boy—no, the strange soul within the boy—and after a long moment, nodded.