The voyage at sea remained long, but the return journey was triumphant, and the ship sped forward as if eager to reach home.
Viserys Targaryen, fifteen years old, was a King and a Dragonrider.
To return home in the flush of youth was a fine thing. In the days of Old Valyria, his age wouldn't have been remarkable for a dragonrider—many claimed their mounts as small children. But in this era, the return of dragons was a true miracle.
Viserys's greatest prize was, of course, the golden-red dragon, Sunblaze. But he also carried a miniature dragon-nest of purple-red stone, four dragon eggs from the blood-mage scions of House Deucalion, and a single purple-gold egg from the fire-mage lords of House Belaerys.
Though he hadn't managed to raid the main strongholds of the Dragonlord families, the individual inheritances of the Dragonlords Aurion and Daenys were staggeringly rich. By comparison, the gold and the Valyrian steel greatsword left behind by House Lannister looked downright shabby.
The personal effects of top-tier Dragonlords—Valyrian steel armor, weapons, rings, bracelets, books, and glass candles—would be priceless treasures in any age.
House Targaryen had been a minor house among the Forty Families of the Freehold. When Aenar the Exile fled based on his daughter Daenys the Dreamer's prophecy, he sold all his holdings in the Freehold and the Lands of the Long Summer. He left with only two Valyrian steel swords—Blackfyre and Dark Sister—some ancient scrolls, and five dragons.
Even at the height of the Freehold, not every Dragonlord family had the wealth or power to commission a full suit of Valyrian steel armor; a single suit was worth a kingdom.
Viserys's adventure had instantly elevated House Targaryen's reserves to an elite tier.
---
In the captain's cabin, Viserys sat before a fine long table of raw timber.
The centerpiece was the volcano-shaped dragon nest, crafted from dry black stone and adorned with purple and red gems, its surface etched with exquisite flame patterns. Valyrian black stone was known for its dryness, unlike the oily black stone rumored to be made by Deep Ones.
Viserys placed the purple-gold dragon egg into the nest.
As if by magic, the nest seemed to pull the egg in, cradling it perfectly. With the egg in place, the artifact was complete. Using fire as a catalyst, this nest was designed to gather and concentrate fire essence.
Old Valyria had been filled with pillars, platforms, and nests carved with fire-gathering runes, but the art had died with the Doom.
Viserys gazed at the five magnificent eggs. They were perfect works of art, shimmering with color even in their fossilized state.
"Where did all the previous Targaryen dragon eggs go?" Viserys wondered aloud.
Even a single fossilized egg could buy a great merchant ship; such immense value didn't just vanish into thin air.
Historically, House Targaryen had never lacked eggs. Records stated that a dragon could lay a clutch of at least five.
During the Dance of the Dragons, when Aegon II took King's Landing, he brought seven of the most promising eggs from Dragonstone—all alive—attempting to hatch them after Sunfyre died. These were kept under heavy guard in the vaults of Dragonstone. Aegon II had even filtered out the ones that had turned to stone over time.
Later, the Dragonbane, Aegon III, brought nine mages from across the Narrow Sea to try and hatch a clutch—rumored to be nine eggs.
Then there was Aegon the Unworthy. After spending a night with the three daughters of Lord Butterwell, he gifted a dragon egg to the Lord as "payment" for impregnating them all.
Even as recently as thirty years ago, Viserys's great-grandfather, Aegon V (Egg), used seven eggs in the tragedy at Summerhall.
The Targaryen stockpile must have been far larger than just seven. The fact that such a hoard had seemingly evaporated was suspicious.
Viserys had only been seven when he fled King's Landing; he knew little of the family's deeper secrets. He hadn't managed to grab a single fossilized egg, let alone access the vaults where they were kept.
"And where is my cradle egg?"
By tradition, a Targaryen prince should have had an egg placed in his cradle. But he had none—if he had, he certainly would have taken it when they fled.
When Aerys went mad, his most trusted master of whisperers, Varys, didn't seem to know where they were. Even Stannis Baratheon, who now held Dragonstone, clearly hadn't found them. If he had, he would have sold the fossils for gold and grain to fund his grim rule.
It was more likely that the crisis at Summerhall had happened so suddenly that Aegon V took the secret of the eggs' location to his grave. Neither his son Jaehaerys II nor his grandson Aerys II knew where they were hidden.
"I will wait for the tide of magic to rise, even without the family hoard," Viserys murmured, running his long fingers over the fossilized egg. It was as beautiful as the finest enamel work.
Legends said Dragonstone held caches of eggs, and Viserys agreed that was the most likely hiding spot. He would scour the island with fire magic once he retook it.
But for now, House Targaryen didn't have enough blood to need a mountain of eggs. Eight or nine would be plenty. Even if he only hatched three or four, he already had two female dragonriders in mind. The rest could be saved for heirs.
Viserys pushed the thought aside.
Far to the North, there was the Raven's Dragon (Brynden Rivers), the Wolf's Dragon (Jon Snow), and the Maester's Dragon (Aemon). But were they truly dragons anymore?
Viserys was skeptical. He felt only the old Maester was worthy of trust. He hoped to contact Aemon when the time was right.
As for Jon Snow, Viserys felt no affection for him. They were strangers. Besides, the romance of the Dragon and the Wolf was the spark that had burned House Targaryen to the ground.
And Bloodraven? That corpse-like thing fused to a tree had long since transcended human kingship. His eyes saw the cosmos and the Old Gods, not the Iron Throne.
Though the Targaryen restoration was technically a return of the old regime, Viserys was determined to forge a new kingdom by his own will—breaking what needed breaking, merging what needed merging.
As for those three distant relatives, Viserys decided to let them be. Everyone had their own fate.
---
Viserys looked up at the two suits of Valyrian steel armor hanging on the wall. They shone as brilliantly as the mithril armor of legend.
The first was the soapstone-colored scale armor of the fire-mage Aurion, named Dragonkeeper. Ancient glyphs on it read: "I am the Dragonkeeper. No mortal may truly command me. To wear this armor, one must walk the path of blood and fire."
The second was the gold-tinted plate of the blood-mage Deucalion, named Lightshield. "Deucalion, Head of the Blood Faction. Blood for fire, blood to rule fire. Shield of Light, Armor of the Dragonlord."
The craft of making such armor was lost to time. Sorcerers had spent lifetimes inscribing these plates with blood and fire wards; they were far more precious than any sword.
Viserys polished the armor, though it didn't need it. The act just brought him immense satisfaction.
The world was about to get very interesting.
Whether it was Aurion or Deucalion, their spirits would surely be pleased to see how he intended to punish the traitors of this world. After the Doom of Valyria, the magisters and citizens of the Free Cities had ambushed and slaughtered the surviving Dragonlords. That was partly why Aurion had tried to march back into Valyria—the hostility outside was too great.
Viserys turned his attention to the other treasures he had salvaged from the ruins.
From Aurion: the dragonbinder horn, the purple sword True Dragon, the golden lance Long Summer, the Valyrian steel circlet Emperor of Valyria set with amethysts, and rings and bracelets of fire magic.
From House Belaerys: a twisted golden glass candle, along with broken lenses and gems.
The sorcerers of the Freehold used glass candles to see across mountains, seas, and deserts. They could enter dreams and communicate across half the world.
This was the fifth known glass candle. Legend held that a thousand years before the Doom, four glass candles—one green, three black—were brought to the Citadel. Viserys's candle was of the same kind, though likely of higher quality.
Next to Aurion's legacy lay the treasures of the Dragonlord Deucalion.
A bronze box filled with "seeds of life," the Valyrian steel greatsword Dominator, the blood-red sword Secret Blood, the warhammer Roar of the Wrathful Dragon, a blood ring, bloodstones, and the red crystal dagger Blooddriver.
The Valyrian chariot lay disassembled nearby.
Beyond the heirlooms of the two great lords, Viserys had also looted weapons from the remains of Aurion's legion: a Valyrian steel arakh, a unicorn-horn rapier named Legend, and a battleaxe named Fury.
From the Warlocks of Qarth, he had taken the morningstar Blazing Star, the shield Raging Tide, and a fragmented map. From House Lannister, he had recovered the greatsword Brightroar.
Viserys had already gifted the Valyrian steel arakh to Agos Blackpine, his earliest companion. Agos named the blade Dragon's Grace, swearing to remember his King's generosity forever.
The morningstar Blazing Star was set aside for Ser Roland Lake, the master-at-arms who had been the first knight to rally to his banner.
The remaining daggers and smaller items would be rewards for merit.
Valyrian steel was a cheat code—indestructible yet feather-light, giving the wielder a massive advantage in speed and power. But not all Valyrian steel was created equal.
No house in Westeros could compare to Viserys's armory. The quality, materials, and magical integration of these weapons were on a different level. Items infused with blood and fire arrays, or those with unusual shapes, were far rarer than standard blades.
Valyrian steel armor was unheard of in the West. Most Westerosi Valyrian weapons were bastard swords or greatswords like Ice and Brightroar—solid chunks of metal that, if melted down, could make two smaller blades.
Viserys scanned his loot with satisfaction. His gear was perfect, and soon, the world would see it on the battlefield.
---
Viserys unrolled a map, studying the geopolitical lines of Essos.
Some of his supporters were still overseas; Dorne and House Martell maintained secret channels of communication. Some minor lords in Westeros, punished by Robert or simply dissatisfied, were already whispering their loyalty, claiming they had waited bitterly for the return of the true King.
But his supporters were far away, and his enemies were right in front of him.
"From the Dothraki Sea to the Valyrian Road at Ghoyan Drohe, an Iron Curtain has fallen across Essos. Behind this line lie the Free Cities and the Dothraki tribes. Tyrosh, Lys... they are rallying under the banner of opposition. Add the Baratheons across the Narrow Sea, and I am facing enemies on at least three fronts," Viserys analyzed.
This wasn't just a war between the reborn Andalos and the Free Cities. It was a war between slavery and abolition, between maritime trade routes and overland caravans.
The good news was that his enemies wouldn't attack all at once. Geography and culture divided them. If they tried to coordinate a joint invasion, they'd spend months bickering.
Civilized nations found it hard to ally with Dothraki, who despised "milk men" and rarely kept their word. The Kings of Sarnor had learned this the hard way—paying Dothraki with gold and slaves to fight their rivals, only to bring ruin upon themselves.
After the fall of the fortress-city of Mardosh, the remaining Sarnori kings realized their mistake and united, but by then it was too late. They were annihilated at the Field of Crows.
Therefore, the Dothraki would be the first wave to hit Andalos.
Viserys looked at the Free Cities surrounding him on the map. Braavos and Pentos would likely remain neutral—Braavos due to internal conflict, Pentos due to lack of an army.
Braavos's aid had been a trickle. The Iron Bank hadn't officially issued a loan; Viserys was surviving on "angel investments" from individuals like the Black Pearl.
The rapid rise of Viserys's stronghold had surprised the Braavosi. As his power grew, their attitude became complicated. Viserys had turned the White City into a beacon, accepting destitute Andals, Rhoynar, and runaway slaves. The new Kingdom of Andalos looked vibrant, not like a chaotic refugee camp.
The Sealords and Keyholders wanted to see a dragged-out war between Targaryen and Baratheon so they could profit from both sides. They did not want a powerful land empire rising on their doorstep.
Furthermore, Andalos was much closer to Braavos than their old rival Volantis. Even though Braavos was a naval superpower, they relied on the mainland for timber, fresh water, and minerals.
And Viserys was no longer a fledgling exile hiding in their Secret City. He was a King, a dangerous and cunning warrior with a reputation for being undefeated. He had slaughtered Dothraki. No one could guarantee he would focus on Westeros; he might turn around and strike Braavos or Pentos.
This created a split in Braavos: the optimists wanted to support him, but the pessimists and enemies were gaining influence.
Despite the ambiguity, neither the Sealord nor the Prince of Pentos had the stomach to march alongside Dothraki savages. They would stay neutral.
Volantis hated Viserys for poaching their slaves, but they were too far away to intervene directly.
The Three Daughters—the Triarchy—were a different story. They were close, and they hated him. Andalos had been a prime source of slaves for them, and Viserys had cut off the supply.
Myr's attitude was mild, mostly because the Myrish were terrible fighters. But Tyroshi slavers were warlike, and Lys needed bed-slaves—they couldn't exactly fill their pleasure houses with Ibbenese.
So, from the south, Viserys marked Tyrosh and Lys with red Xs. They would likely provide naval support or mercenaries to encircle him.
Looking around the map, Viserys actually found two potential friends.
Qohor and Norvos. These were inland cities, allies against Volantis, and generally friendly toward Viserys.
They were smaller powers. Norvos was austere and cold; Qohor was the City of Sorcerers.
Norvos offered a unique connection: Mellario, the estranged wife of Prince Doran Martell, was a noblewoman of Norvos with significant influence.
But the main driver was shared interest. These inland cities were suffering from the disruption of trade routes.
The Qohorik were rich, but before the Dothraki rose and destroyed the Kingdom of Sarnor, they had been ten times richer. If not for the Unsullied holding the line three centuries ago, Qohor would have been wiped out.
Both Qohor and Norvos hated the Dothraki to the bone. Unlike the coastal cities, they had no sea trade to fall back on. They watched their caravans dwindle and their hatred grow.
"I need to court the Black Goat and the Bearded Priests," Viserys decided. These cities could threaten the Dothraki rear.
But both cities were cautious. They wouldn't move until they saw a winner. Unless Viserys gained a strategic advantage, they would watch from the sidelines.
As for Saath, the last remnant of the Sarnori, their population was barely twenty thousand—hardly enough to fill a gap in the line. But Viserys would try to woo them nonetheless.