Warships cut across the sea like great schools of fish—swift, cohesive, and unstoppable.
And indeed, they were. Ever since Robert's fleet was crushed at the harbor, the Dragonstone fleet had become the undisputed ruler of the western Narrow Sea.
Inside the ship's cabin, Viserys was deep in thought, pondering how to deal with the children brought from the Crab Claw Peninsula.
To train them for two or three years—perhaps even longer—only to throw them straight into the chaos of war would be a senseless waste.
It was akin to shoving gold bars into a latrine.
These children had left behind everything they once knew. Their social ties had been severed. With just a little care and attention, their loyalty could be won completely.
In other words, these nearly five hundred children all had the potential to become fanatically loyal warriors.
Viserys intended to train and educate them personally. The sharpest minds among them would become his elite officers and covert agents.
Those of average intellect would serve as low-ranking commanders or as his personal guard.
Though it may have been a fantasy, Viserys found himself imagining a future where he brought every last one of them home.
"Your Grace, the count is complete. There are four hundred and eighty in total."
The voice came from Mathos, the fourth son of Davos, whom Viserys had placed as an apprentice under Maester Faelor.
He handed Viserys a roster—a form Viserys himself had taught him how to make. It recorded each child's name, origin, and age.
"I see. Go get some rest," Viserys said.
"Yes, Your Grace." Mathos bowed and left.
Exactly four hundred and eighty. Viserys decided to divide them into twelve "classes," forty in each. He would personally teach them reading, writing, and history.
They would undergo rigorous physical training, and once they reached the proper age, he would begin infusing them with essence.
In doing so, he would raise a generation of officers with both brains and brawn—men capable of commanding tens of thousands.
A uniform would be necessary, as well as a unifying slogan.
Viserys was brimming with ideas for these children. He wrote down dozens of development plans, working late into the night before finally going to sleep.
The next morning, the fleet reached Dragonstone.
Back on the Crab Claw Peninsula, Viserys had already received news of Daenerys's safe birth. Though Rhaella had been unconscious for two days, she was no longer in danger.
This was the only reason Viserys had felt comfortable delaying his return.
When the fleet arrived at the harbor, he resisted the urge to rush to Rhaella's side.
First, he stabilized the troops and saw to the proper settling of the Crab Claw Peninsula's "preparatory royal guard" before finally heading to her chambers.
He found Rhaella eating some meat porridge, looking in good spirits.
When she saw Viserys, her eyes filled with both pride and concern.
He hurried to her bedside.
She stroked his hair gently and said, "Viserys, you are my pride."
"Mother, we won a great victory."
"I know."
"And Daenerys?"
The nursemaid stepped forward, carrying a small bundle wrapped in pink.
As Viserys looked upon the infant Daenerys, a scene from the original story flashed through his mind.
In the original history, Viserys had once bitterly complained that Daenerys should've been born earlier—then she could have married Rhaegar, and perhaps the entire tragedy could have been avoided.
To which Daenerys, risking a slap, had retorted by asking why Viserys wasn't born a girl, since that too might have prevented the disaster.
Naturally, he hit her for it.
Looking down at her now, Viserys smiled and said to Rhaella, "She's going to be a stubborn one, I can tell."
Rhaella nodded in agreement.
"Your Grace, Lucerys has been locked in the dungeons. Would you like to see him?"
The message came from the guard outside. But Viserys didn't respond immediately. Instead, he turned to his mother.
"Mother, I think we should execute Lucerys."
Back when Aerys and Rhaegar were still alive, Lucerys had gained favor with the king by slandering the prince. While he may not have schemed as deeply as Pycelle or Varys, his behavior was just as despicable.
Even worse, while Crabfeeder had only made a failed attempt at rebellion, Lucerys had already begun stirring trouble from his advantageous position on Tides.
Such betrayal required a heavy hand.
Yet Rhaella hesitated.
The Targaryens and Velaryons had intermarried countless times. Both families had suffered the curse of dwindling numbers in recent years.
Only Lucerys and his two sons remained of House Velaryon.
After some thought, Rhaella said, "Strip him of his title and spare his life."
"Why? If not for him, the rift between his father and brother wouldn't have grown so deep. And he openly betrayed House Targaryen! Mother, if we don't punish traitors, how do we reward the loyal?"
Rhaella frowned, then said, "He has two sons. Let them stay by my side as cupbearers."
"No! I may spare their lives, but they must never come near you."
She gently took his hand.
"Viserys, I am your mother. Trust me."
This would be the first execution since House Targaryen fled to Dragonstone.
The day before he was to be executed, Lucerys shaved off his trademark silvery-gold hair.
His bald scalp bore several fresh wounds. If he had gone to the block with his Targaryen-like appearance, it might have stirred the wrong sentiments.
Few spectators gathered. Most were mid-to-lower-ranking officers in the army.
They had recently received rewards for their valor in battle. Now, this execution served as a deterrent—an assurance that loyalty would be enforced.
Viserys knew fear alone would not keep men loyal for long. He needed to relocate to the eastern continent as soon as possible.
Also present at the execution were the uncle and nephew of the Crabfeeder—both dangerously close to joining Lucerys at the block.
Viserys had decided to carry out the execution himself.
Partly in hopes of extracting some last-minute secrets about Aerys. Partly because he didn't want to waste valuable essence.
"You're nothing but the next Blackfyre," Lucerys said, twisting his neck around to glare up at Viserys from the execution block.
"Oh? Why is that?" Viserys frowned.
Lucerys grinned. "Because—"
Before the sentence was finished, Viserys struck.
He knew that a person could remain conscious for a few seconds after decapitation.
Looking down with a sneer, Viserys murmured, "You didn't really think I cared about what you had to say, did you?"
Lucerys's severed head rolled away, the muscles in his face twisted in frustration, unable to speak his last words. His eyes never shut.
As his body was removed, Maester Faelor—whom Viserys had never fully trusted—approached with a letter.
What lay inside would soon ignite a storm of fury across all of Dragonstone.
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