"Mm. Go and set up a reception tent."
When he returned from his dreamlike plans to reality, Viserys had to face an uncomfortable truth: he was a king who didn't even have a house.
Forget receiving envoys in a proper chamber—he was still sleeping in a tent, making do as best he could.
It was winter, and the cold was still biting. The tent did little to keep out the chill.
That was also why he hadn't brought Rhaella and the others over yet.
Everyone had noticed that in his earlier city planning, Viserys had only left an empty space for the royal residence. He hadn't drawn up any elaborate designs. For a king raised in luxury, that was rare.
Because of their setbacks in the war, the envoy sent to meet Viserys this time wasn't a steward like Ruchel but a true elder—Lothan.
Lothan was the only one among the five Rhoynar elders who could wield water magic. He came personally to negotiate, bringing several attendants with him, including his two granddaughters.
As the elder's granddaughters, the girls naturally wouldn't shy away at such a moment.
More than that, they wanted to see for themselves the power of the great sorcerer said to serve under Viserys.
But when they arrived and saw the royal tent, disappointment flickered across their faces.
"Hmph. What kind of king still sleeps in a tent? Are all Westerosi as barbaric as the Dothraki?" Jona scoffed with open disdain.
"Don't underestimate this Targaryen king," her older sister Jorel said calmly. "He chose to build walls first, even if it meant living like this. That's already impressive."
Lothan listened to his granddaughters' chatter without intervening.
Just then, they noticed a knight in silver armor and a white cloak standing outside the tent.
Lothan's experienced eyes immediately recognized him as someone far above the ordinary. His skill was at least on par with Quairo, the Sea Lord's chief swordsman.
For someone like that to guard the young king meant this boy was not to be underestimated.
Arthur led Lothan's group into the tent. (He had been summoned back temporarily once Viserys learned who was coming.)
The moment Lothan stepped inside and saw the others present, his respect for Viserys rose further.
The first to catch his eye was Oberyn, the half-Rhoynar prince. His sharp, snake-like gaze alone was enough to unsettle.
Then there was Oswell—one glance was enough to see he was a rare warrior.
Even the oldest man there, Old Crab, radiated a shrewd sharpness.
At the center, the young king sat calmly behind a table, his eyes steady as they met Lothan's.
"Honorable Targaryen king," Lothan said, "I am Lothan, elder of the Rhoynar of Gohor. I have come to negotiate."
"Go ahead," Viserys replied. "State your terms."
"We hope you will lower the wages for the wall construction and return the people you previously took."
Viserys took a sip of tea and smiled faintly.
"Elder Lothan, I cannot agree to either of those conditions."
At once, Jona glared at him furiously.
Jorel, the older sister, gripped the hilt of her dagger.
Their grandfather's terms had already been generous—he hadn't even demanded the return of the goods seized from the Terno estate.
When Viserys noticed their reactions, both girls quickly averted their eyes.
"Why not?" Lothan's voice remained perfectly calm.
"First," Viserys began, "those Rhoynar were not taken by force. They came to me willingly. I offer them better protection and collect fewer taxes.
"I will also grant them land. While they must build their own homes, I provide them with tents to keep out wind and rain in the meantime.
"You're welcome to try calling them back. If you can get them to leave, I won't stop them."
His confident tone gave Lothan pause.
Conquest usually meant bloodshed and oppression. He had assumed this young king must have used violence to seize so many people.
But since Viserys had said as much, Lothan would have to send someone to test it.
"And the wages? Lowering them would benefit you as well, would it not?" Lothan asked.
"The wages for building my walls are my decision," Viserys replied. "It's a matter of Targaryen internal affairs. I don't believe you have the authority to interfere."
He looked at Lothan knowingly, his expression openly conveying, "It's a trap you can't solve."
"You're just trying to delay their planting and starve the Rhoynar!" Jona burst out, unable to hold back any longer. "You're a poisonous man—"
"Elder Lothan," Viserys interrupted, frowning. "Are attendants allowed to speak so freely during negotiations?"
Jona grew angrier. Viserys didn't even acknowledge her as someone worth speaking to. He was younger than she was, but she had never met anyone so infuriating.
"Forgive them, Your Grace," Lothan said smoothly, his posture relaxed and unshaken.
"These are my granddaughters." He shifted aside and gestured toward the girls. "The older one is Jorel, the younger is Jona. They heard you are of dragon's blood and wished to see you in person."
Lothan's calm flattery brushed away his granddaughters' rudeness like it was nothing.
Before his transmigration, Viserys had been a teacher and was often flattered by parents. He could hear exactly what Lothan was doing. Even though he stayed cautious inside, he had to admit he enjoyed it a little.
The two girls still looked defiant, but they knew speaking again here would be improper.
Their small chests rose and fell as they fumed, reluctantly looking away.
"It's fine," Viserys said, studying the two girls, who were about twelve or thirteen and reminded him a bit of Rhaenys. "Famine, you say? Haven't I been paying them wages?"
The girls fell silent.
Their understanding of production and trade was shallow. They couldn't grasp what Viserys was truly after.
"So," Lothan continued evenly, "you are certain you wish to make an enemy of the Rhoynar?"
Viserys laughed.
"Certain? You Rhoynar are the ones who've been picking fights.
I've done nothing, yet you blocked my wall-building, then tried to dictate my wages. You've been provoking me from the start, making me out to be the villain.
"If you want to fight, then fight. I'll be ready."
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