As the smoke of war still curled over the dying battlefields of Westeros, Edward Grafton knew his real war had just begun—not one of steel and banners, but of sails and coin. The land was fractured, its noble houses bled dry and weary. Yet the seas remained open, and Edward saw in their endless horizon the future of his dominion.
His fleet was no longer a collection of old Grafton ships bound by petty trade. It had become an organized maritime force—sleek, modern, and terrifying in its precision. But Edward was never a man to be satisfied with strength alone; he wanted permanence, culture, and knowledge to shape the future.
Thus, the idea of the Gulltown Naval Academy was born.
The construction began swiftly.
He chose the rocky eastern cliffs of Gulltown, overlooking the harbor, where the sea wind was sharp and the waves crashed like drums of distant war. There, in the shadow of his keep, the first stones were laid for a grand campus—stone halls, fortified docks, training yards, and an observatory tower capped with a polished brass dome to study the stars and skies.
Edward appointed Maester Alros to head the academic section of the academy. Alros, once dismissed as a mere scribe by the Citadel, had a genius for logistics and navigation. Together with shipwrights from Myr and Lys, he drafted the first curriculum in naval history, astronomy, storm sailing, trade route theory, and maritime law.
The Academy welcomed its first students within two moons.
Young men from coastal Vale houses, bastards of noble blood, even common-born sons of merchants and captains—all were accepted, so long as they passed the entrance tests. This egalitarian approach alarmed some nobles, but Edward knew better: the sea recognized strength, not lineage.
Soon, a new culture began to flourish in Gulltown. Naval officers marched with precision through the streets. Small merchant fleets flew banners of academy-trained captains. The once-sleepy port town transformed into a buzzing hub of innovation and ambition. Inns catered to foreign dignitaries, taverns were filled with tales of sea monsters and Braavosi storms, and exotic food from the Summer Islands became common fare.
But Edward's ambition reached far beyond the shores of Westeros.
He turned his attention to Essos.
Through his emissaries, Edward began purchasing small shops, inns, and warehouses in major coastal cities: Pentos, Lys, Tyrosh, and even the outskirts of Volantis. These acquisitions were never loud. No Grafton sigil was flown. Instead, they were made through shell companies, merchant proxies, and fake Essosi nobles who had sworn quiet loyalty to Gulltown's cause.
In Lys, a quiet wine business became a front for his spy network.
In Pentos, a fleet repair dock began offering discount maintenance only to Gulltown-certified ships.
In Myr, his agents set up a sailor's guild that indirectly taught Grafton doctrine and Academy techniques under the guise of "advanced training."
Each foothold built Edward's presence deeper into Essosi politics. The Free Cities—divided by internal rivalries—welcomed foreign investment. Edward's gold bought silence, loyalty, and information.
He even secured several lucrative exclusive trade rights from Tyrosh and Lys to import their dyes, silks, and spices through Gulltown, cutting Lannisport and Oldtown out of the deals.
This enraged some Westerosi merchants, but Edward did not care.
He was playing a longer game.
Back in Gulltown, his captains-in-training began taking real command of voyages.
They were tasked with difficult routes: storms through the Stepstones, negotiations with Volantene dock masters, passage through pirate-infested straits. Many failed, but the best returned hardened and legendary, spreading Edward's influence across the Narrow Sea like salt upon the wind.
The Academy grew in stature. Lords from far-off ports sent their sons. Some Free Cities offered joint programs. Braavos, cautious but curious, invited an exchange of instructors. Even Qohor sent steel to test for naval application.
The docks of Gulltown expanded. New cranes, drydocks, and elevated harbormaster towers allowed for better navigation and traffic. The harbor could now house over two hundred ships.
Edward ordered the building of three additional ships for every five merchant deals signed in Essos. He used his wealth not just to build fleets, but to build loyalty.
Every captain who graduated from the Academy received a ship—owned by Gulltown, but theirs to command. Their loyalty was not to House Grafton, but to Edward himself.
And Edward never forgot to reward results.
In one secret meeting, Edward addressed his top captains, merchants, and advisors.
They gathered in a private chamber in the Academy's observatory, surrounded by charts, celestial maps, and miniature models of ships and cities.
"You are not traders," Edward began. "You are builders of empire."
He pointed to the map of the Narrow Sea. "The Seven Kingdoms will bleed themselves dry. Let them. We will feed their armies, sell them their arrows, and build their ships. When the war ends, they will still need us."
He then gestured to the map of Essos. "Here lies the true battlefield. Pentos. Lys. Myr. Tyrosh. Volantis. A thousand squabbles. A thousand opportunities. We will not conquer with swords, but with harbor slips and contracts."
They listened intently, some wide-eyed, others hardened. These men were not lords. They were merchants, sailors, smiths, and spies. But under Edward, they had become something more.
He placed a hand on the globe of the known world.
"Let the nobles chase crowns. We will rule everything else."
Meanwhile, Edward's enemies began to stir.
Rumors spread that Gulltown was becoming too independent. Some whispered of secession. Others accused Edward of plotting to become the Lord of the Vale in all but name. House Arryn was too preoccupied with the war to act decisively, but tensions grew.
Edward welcomed it. A distracted enemy made for a better world to build in.
He funded small rebellions and resistance groups in far-off corners of Essos—so long as they disrupted trade for his rivals. He hired playwrights and singers to praise Gulltown's fair treatment of foreign merchants. He sponsored festivals, games, and markets that became legends in cities across the sea.
Gulltown was becoming a brand, not just a port.
In time, even the nobles of Westeros began to notice.
A knight from the Reach visited the Academy and was astounded by its rigor. A bastard of a Lannister captain returned from Pentos with tales of how Gulltown ships were greeted with more respect than the banners of Houses.
Whispers reached King's Landing: that Grafton's ships could outmaneuver royal vessels, that his sailors were trained like soldiers, and that Edward had outplayed three Free Cities in a single season of trade.
But Edward stayed silent. No proclamations. No declarations. He let his ships do the speaking. Each one that left Gulltown carried the flag of commerce and returned heavier with gold.
He stood again at the eastern cliffs, watching the newest batch of cadets embark on their first training voyage. The morning sun broke across the waves like fire, and the sea stretched forever.
His ships sailed forth, not as merchants or pirates, but as messengers of a new order.
Edward's order.