Viserys stood before a tall bronze mirror while attendants adjusted the clasp of his cloak and straightened the fall of his tunic.
As they worked, reports continued without pause.
Adrian Celtigar, the Old Crab, held a parchment ledger and read aloud in his dry, precise voice.
"This year we have stored thirteen million four hundred twenty thousand bushels of grain.
Road toll revenues reached one hundred fifty-eight thousand three hundred gold dragons.
The Printing Bureau earned six hundred seventy-nine thousand four hundred gold dragons.
Lottery income and trade taxes combined total ninety-six thousand gold dragons…"
Gohor's growth had become almost frightening.
The population within the main city alone now exceeded three hundred fifty thousand, and it was still rising.
Across Targaryen lands, the total number of subjects approached eight hundred thousand, racing toward the mark of one million.
In five short years, Viserys had not only completed the three defensive walls, but strengthened them beyond the original plans.
The outer two earthen ramparts were reinforced with timber pilings driven deep into the soil.
The innermost Balerion Wall stood as solid stone.
The Feathered Mountain range, the Lower Rhoyne, much of the Upper Rhoyne, and nearly a quarter of the greater Rhoyne itself had fallen under Targaryen influence.
All of it traced back to one invention.
The printing press.
Religious texts, historical chronicles, technical manuals—these poured wealth into his coffers.
With books came knowledge.
With knowledge came leverage.
Through print, he had acquired Volantene glassmaking techniques and Lyseni winecraft.
Gohor's crafts and workshops flourished.
Printing had become the springboard that lifted the city toward dominance among the Free Cities.
For a brief period, he had even sold indulgences.
The idea was to harvest coin from nobles and wealthy merchants. Instead, poor smallfolk scrambled to buy them.
Conscience stirred. Viserys ended the practice.
Rapid expansion brought new strain.
The land was no longer enough.
Viserys dreamed of rebuilding Nasar as a second great city. To its south lay fertile golden plains—ten times the arable land of Gohor.
Yet claiming it would mean confronting both the Three Daughters and increasingly active Dothraki riders.
His strength was not yet sufficient.
When Celtigar finished, Viserys nodded to Jon Connington.
Connington stepped forward with his own notebook.
"This year saw sixty-nine thousand new residents.
One hundred seven leagues of irrigation canals constructed. Four hundred seventy leagues of road repaired.
Four ports expanded, seven newly built.
The armories delivered two thousand seven hundred suits of armor, one hundred six thousand spears, and four thousand seven hundred longbows…"
Viserys inclined his head.
Connington had once served as Hand to King Aerys.
Administration was second nature to him.
Gohor's present stability owed much to his diligence. Over the years, his contributions had won broad approval.
Viserys had restored him as Hand of the King. Though his authority was limited to internal governance.
The longbows concerned Viserys most.
Two years earlier, he had sent Gerold and Willem to crush coastal raiders in the Stepstones, securing abundant yew timber.
Now over forty thousand longbows lay in storage.
When Gerold, overseeing military matters, concluded his report, Viserys smiled faintly.
He knew the army's true condition even better than his commanders. His unique insight never failed him.
Military, administration, finance.
Power rested firmly in his grasp.
Perhaps one day he would formalize the structure—three high ministers, nine secretaries.
For now, this sufficed.
"Well done," Viserys said. "Ser Connington, construct more granaries. Next year I want grain reserves increased by fifty percent. Double our cloth and fur stores as well."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Connington had long noticed the king's fixation on grain.
Viserys had never known hunger in childhood. Yet he treated food stores as sacred.
Better to overprepare than squander wealth like the Usurper.
Two years ago, Robert had postured about invading Gohor.
His fleets sailed.
Pentos and Braavos reacted immediately. The campaign dissolved before they even glimpsed the Lower Rhoyne.
As for Viserys's grain hoarding, he had never revealed the truth.
The Long Night.
The Others.
The world now basked in the longest summer in living memory. If no other disruptions occurred, it might last a full decade.
Five or six good years remained.
He would use them to prepare.
Food. Cloth. Iron.
Everything stockpiled.
When the reports concluded, Viserys's attire was complete.
He stood nearly as tall as Gerold now. His bearing differed from Rhaegar's quiet introspection.
Viserys radiated calm command.
Confidence without arrogance. It drew loyalty naturally.
Outside the chamber waited a white-cloaked knight in silver armor.
Arthur stood with two ranks of guards.
"Your Grace."
Arthur's eyes shone.
The boy king had grown.
His armor still hung slightly loose upon his lean frame, proof he had yet to reach his full height.
"Ser Arthur. Let us go."
"At once."
Viserys intended to inspect the longbow corps he had nurtured for five years.
Universal archery training and forty thousand yew longbows in reserve formed the backbone of his future dominion over the Rhoyne.
As they left the chamber, two young women stood some distance away, deep in conversation.
One, near Viserys's own age, glanced repeatedly toward the door.
Arianne Martell.
Beside her, slightly younger and shorter, stood Rhaenys.
The moment Arianne saw Viserys, she brightened like a squirrel spotting nuts, hurrying forward with unrestrained delight.
Rhaenys's expression darkened instantly as she followed.
"Your Grace," Arianne said, breathless.
"Princess Arianne. Rhaenys."
Viserys replied courteously.
It remained his settled policy not to bind House Martell too closely.
An alliance was acceptable. But a Martell daughter would never be his queen.
"Viserys, where are you headed?" Arianne asked.
"The armory delivered new longbows. I'm going to test them. Would you like to join me?"
___________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor