"Will we fight?"
"Men can always fight, your Grace. A better question is, will we win?"
— Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard
…
Year 284 AC. Essos. The Free City of Lys. Temporary Residence of House Targaryen.
The brightly lit hall held little furniture, but what was present was clearly expensive. A large table, carved from weirwood for twelve persons. Chairs upholstered in velvet and covered with the carvings of skilled craftsmen. A substantial hearth, built from beige stone, and a pair of cabinets filled with various tableware. The white marble floors could be used as a mirror, they were so clean. All this splendor was illuminated by the rays of the morning sun, access to which was granted by three large windows overlooking the garden.
I sat at the head of the table. To my right, comfortably seated, was Willem Darry, or as he asked to be called, "Master." A pair of Unsullied stood by the sole entrance. At the opposite end of the hall, directly behind the backs of the hypothetical guests, stood a second pair of warriors. Just in case, as it were.
"I'm the only knight here. Don't you trust your own men?" my tutor asked casually, swirling wine in his goblet.
"Overly trusting people live suspiciously short lives, Master," I replied, giving no unambiguous answer.
The experienced knight merely snorted into his mustache. Rightly so; the question required no answer. Since Unsullied were brought to the negotiations instead of knights, everything was clear without unnecessary words.
"If the Master, the head of my guard, and the only man I obey, is a traitor, then all this is meaningless. I am simply a corpse or someone's bargaining chip, and I just haven't been informed yet," I said, shrugging, spearing a sausage with my fork, and biting into the wondrous meat.
"Ha! Can't argue with that," Darry slapped the table and began to wash the meat down with golden Arbor wine.
"My Lord, your guests have arrived," the eunuch soldier in the corridor announced as he opened the door.
"Let them in," I waved my hand, looking with interest at the doorway.
In the next moment, new faces began to appear in the hall. First came the two twins with Valyrian features. They were of different builds and had different hairstyles—namely, a short crew cut and a shoulder-length ponytail. Both were dressed neatly but not ostentatiously. To the eye, they looked like the ordinary sons of a modest artisan. Only the scabbards of decent-sized daggers, attached to their belts, broke the illusion.
"My name is Daemon," the leaner boy introduced himself with a slight bow, looking directly at me. "And this is my brother, Daeron," he motioned toward the stockier youth.
"My name is Jaime, and this is my Master, Willem," I nodded in greeting, noting that the brothers reacted to my invented name with knowing smirks. "Please be seated, gentlemen, and help yourselves. The servants exerted themselves today and have served excellent meat."
Bowing again, both brothers sat down at the table, their backs to the wall. They likely did not want to leave the back of their heads open to a potential archer outside the window.
Following them came another trio.
In the center strode a young Valyrian, who looked sixteen at most. His short fringe of white, golden-hued hair was swept to the side, while his temples and nape were cleanly shaven. His clothes were clearly richer than the previous pair's but conveyed a utilitarian impression. Loose gray trousers, a short-sleeved blue shirt revealing muscular arms, and light leather sandals would look organic on a wealthy sellsword but not on a "poor" youth raised on the streets. A short sword in a simple, unadorned scabbard completed the picture.
In contrast to her leader, the black-haired girl, Veela, was dressed in a revealing dark blue dress that emphasized her toned figure more than it concealed it. No weapon was visible, but I'd bet a dozen gold coins that a decent arsenal was hidden beneath the folds of her clothing.
The last person to enter was the oldest of all present, excluding the eunuchs and my Master. A young man of about twenty with bruised knuckles and a hatchet tucked into his belt. A good choice for a tight space and city streets. Most likely a trophy from a slain ironborn.
"I welcome you to my home. My name is Jaime. I suggest that before our important conversation, we partake of this excellent food and fine wine." I smiled warmly.
"My name is Maegor," the leader nodded in greeting, his keen gaze sweeping over all the armed men in the hall, including the twins. "And these are Veela and Narvos, my trusted lieutenants."
Maegor's companions merely bowed silently, although the girl favored me with a charming smile. It was a shame to disappoint her, but as I'd said, I was not a grim, classic transmigrator. So alas, a ten-year-old body was physically incapable of sexual arousal.
"You have little guard," Maegor noted, sitting down on the opposite side of the table from the twins, with whom he exchanged brief nods.
"It is enough. I see no sense in a greater number of men. After all, we are here for a conversation, not a brawl." I sliced off another piece of sausage and put the fried meat into my mouth.
"Conversations often turn from words to the clang of steel," noted Daeron, who had been silent until now, visibly enjoying a fresh piece of baked pork.
"Hey, Crimson Duo, I know you're good fighters. But I don't think even the five of us could take on one of the seven best blades of the Sunset Lands," Narvos said with a smirk, drinking the wine in his cup in a single gulp.
"Ho, those White Cloaks whose fame echoes even in Essos?" Daemon leaned forward, interested, examining the figure of Willem, who was calmly sipping his wine.
"No, Narvos, you are slightly mistaken. But close. Willem Darry was the Master-at-Arms of the Red Keep. Something like the chief of the garrison, the castle steward, and the tutor for young nobles, all in one glass." I slightly altered the idiom. I didn't think these men, though clever, but uneducated in the Citadel, would know what a phial was.
At my statement, the leaders of both groups smiled triumphantly, having their suspicions confirmed. Darry, meanwhile, frowned, clearly not expecting me to lay my cards on the table so easily.
"Your Highness, why?" Willem asked tensely, placing his hand on the hilt of the sword propped up against his chair.
"It's simple," I said, giving the knight a reassuring smile. "Either they themselves, or their people, questioned the slaves. And the slaves told them exactly what I commanded. I think that's why these young people came to this house. Curiosity," I nodded toward the girl. "A thirst for battle," I pointed to Daeron and Narvos in turn. "And, of course, the desire to become men who will eventually be noble lords, close to the king," I concluded, indicating the tense leaders, Daemon and Maegor.
"You yourself ordered the slaves to lift the veil of secrecy for us?" Veela hid a sly smile, taking a sip of wine. "Quite clever for such a young youth."
"Assuming this isn't all just a continuation of the show that started with the chatty servants," Narvos shook his head, carefully scrutinizing my face.
"Hoo, I don't think so. Ser Willem was clearly surprised by the turn of the conversation. And a warrior would hardly be that good at masking his expression," Maegor mused, then looked at his lieutenants with enthusiasm. "Well, have you all been convinced of what kind of leader this one promises to be? Wise, or not?"
"I don't know about leadership qualities, but not everyone can so skillfully dupe my brother. Right, Daemon?" the short-haired twin laughed sharply. "He dangled a sweet carrot, and we came running like two asses."
"The main thing is that this carrot isn't shoved up our arses," Daemon interrupted his brother's laughter, thoughtfully smoothing his hair.
"This is all very interesting, boys, but I would like to hear the proposal that you wished to voice, Viserys of House…" Veela cooed.
"...Targaryen," Maegor finished in a serious voice, pushing his empty plate away.
"Well, now that we are all fed, we can talk," I said as firmly as my child's voice allowed.
"I should start by saying that, yes, my mother gave me the name Viserys Targaryen at birth. And you are correct about the purpose of your invitation here. I need people. Companions-at-arms who will help me come to power and will then receive what they deserve." I decided to speak plainly. After all, I was still a poor politician and schemer, so it was better to be honest and direct.
"Hmm. Companions-at-arms, not allies?" Maegor clarified.
"Yes," I continued, leaning back in my chair. "An alliance is between equals. But for now, you are merely very capable street dealers. You can offer me only your skills and abilities. Nothing more. While an ally can provide an army and resources."
"I have about twenty strong lads, as well as a dozen skilled cutpurses and housebreakers," Narvos countered. "Also, Veela has girls in three pleasure houses in the lower city, who extract useful information from clients. My men guard that place. And Maegor has a tavern by the port. It brings in decent money and rumors," the young man continued to defend his worth, likely stung by my words about allies.
"Ho, decent money and a good number of men," I acknowledged. Narvos proudly lifted his chin, but Maegor narrowed his eyes. "How much money do you make, Maegor?"
"The whole gang brings in about three hundred gold pieces a month," the head of the trio answered.
"Three hundred? Not bad," Daeron nodded his head. "How much did the ten Unsullied you bought cost, Prince Viserys?" one of the brothers turned to me.
"I paid a hundred gold for them. Ten coins apiece. With weapons and armor," I replied.
"So you could buy about thirty eunuch warriors a month," Daemon nodded. "My brother is right, three hundred gold is not a small amount. For a mid-level gang. But not enough to wage a war."
"Daemon and Daeron are right. Tywin Lannister, one of my enemies, has several million gold dragons in his treasury. And the North alone, far from the wealthiest region in terms of soldiers, can field about forty thousand good warriors. Fifty, if it pushes itself hard."
"How much?!" Narvos exclaimed in surprise, while Maegor nodded, conceding my point.
"Prince Viserys is right. We don't have enough blades and gold to compare with even one lord of the Sunset Lands. And there are hundreds of them. I'm not even talking about their Great Lords, who can throw tens of thousands of iron-clad warriors and hundreds of thousands of gold pieces for their equipment, food, and so on into battle. But," Maegor raised his index finger, "We still haven't heard your proposal."
"I need to grow up so people will follow me and I can create an army. But I need people who can serve me right now. People who are not connected to the big fish, yet are capable of benefiting me," I paused to wet my throat with fresh juice, then continued.
"With your trio, Maegor, a decent hierarchy is evident. You are the leader. Narvos is your right hand and commands your fighters. Veela gathers the rumors that help you in house robberies and in your protection racket for minor merchants, a few cheap brothels, and a tavern."
"I beg your pardon!" Veela snorted indignantly. "Cheap brothels. Why, I..."
"Stop, Veela. Everything the Prince of the Sunset Kingdoms has said is consistent with the facts," Maegor interrupted her elevated tirade.
"But we don't need a small, albeit well-organized, gang," Willem Darry took the floor, having received my nod. "We need reliable information, our own people everywhere. A whole network of spies. And the further it spreads, the better. We don't need a couple of dozen blockheads with clubs and rusty knives. War requires an army, not thieves and other rabble," the knight couldn't resist a dig at the local mafiosi. "And you can help us with that."
"And how?" the head of the trio tilted his head, pursing his lips at the words "thieves and other rabble."
"We will give you money. Enough to start the business. You will stop guarding and start owning the public houses, taverns, and inns. First in the poor quarters and the port. Then in the rich districts. And then beyond Lys, in the other Free Cities and even Westeros. If Lord Manderly of White Harbor beds his serving girl, we should know the color of her hair. If a rich merchant from Braavos argues with his son, we should know why. If the stinking Walder Frey begets a new bastard, we should know what he was named. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Veela nodded very slowly, seeming only now to realize the scale of the business we were about to undertake.
"Next, the army. The Prince and I discussed and thought long and hard about how to organize all this. And we came to the conclusion that creating our own sellsword company is the best solution. We will create a company. The brothers Daemon and Daeron will command the heavy infantry. The two of them killed fifteen men in the tavern, if the rumors aren't lying."
"They are lying. We cut down a couple more on the way out," Daeron grumbled.
"There, that's what I meant. They're insane! Courageous and utterly mad bastards. Those are the kind of men you need in the heavy infantry that breaks the enemy's lines like a sword slicing through a chunk of fat," Darry nodded.
"As for you, Narvos, I think you'll be fit to command the foot soldiers. Shield, pike, mail, and a short sword—that is the tool of such warriors. And Maegor, the cavalry will suit you well."
"There is only one problem," Daemon raised an eyebrow.
"We're as much warriors and commanders as you are a Valyrian, Ser," Daeron finished for his brother.
"That is why I will command the entire army. I will teach you. As warriors and as commanders. And do not take me for a fool. Besides me, there are four other experienced knights in this house who have seen battle. They will become your advisors and teachers, and with them, you will master the martial sciences."
Standing up from the table and pacing the length of the room, the former Master-at-Arms of the Red Keep continued.
"Moreover, no one is saying that you will command thousands of men from the start. I think initially, we can find a couple or three hundred strong lads, whom we will drill and turn into real warriors. Then we will recruit the same number again. And the veterans will teach the novices how to fight, and the commanders will help."
Yes, this was the plan. To gather a small company, arm it at my own expense, and sign contracts with the men for about ten years. And to slowly expand it, hardening it in battle. Essos was an unstable place. The eternal conflicts of the Free Cities, guarding merchant caravans and ships, and repelling the raids of Dothraki khalasars. All of this would temper our future army. And iron discipline, my notes on the structure of the Roman legion, the Macedonian phalanx, and the tactics of the English longbowmen, coupled with the experience of Westerosi heavy cavalry—knights... this would birth an army that would crush anyone. And given the prospect of dragons, I didn't think even the massive armies of Yi Ti could stand against this war machine.
Were we afraid that this cultivated army would not want to swear fealty to me a decade from now, when the events of the canon begin, and I start to act decisively? Not at all. The risk of that was extremely small. All the high command would be loyal to me. And given the iron discipline, fixed pay, and equipment provided by the company, paid for from my purse, the rank-and-file would do what their commander ordered. And all the commanders are my people from the start.
"What do we get in return for our service?" Daemon asked. Judging by the concentrated faces of all five of my guests, the answer to this question was important to all of them. And I would not disappoint them.
"Riches, titles, power, and land. You must wager your loyalty and your life. But you will receive much in return," I said what they wanted to hear. However, I wasn't lying. Glory and gold for my friends. Fire and blood for my enemies.
Exchanging glances with their leader and receiving his nod, Veela, Narvos, and Maegor began to rise from the table. Understanding what was coming, I also stood up and walked toward them. Stopping across from them, I had to crane my neck to see their deadly serious faces. You wouldn't think Maegor was only sixteen. He held himself like an adult man.
All three simultaneously dropped to one knee. Maegor began to speak the oath, and his companions followed suit.
"I, Maegor, swear before the eyes of the old gods of Valyria that I will be loyal to Viserys of House Targaryen and his line. To come at the first call beneath his banner. To defend my liege and his honor. To be a faithful and honest vassal. And to have no other lords but Viserys of House Targaryen. The words are spoken and heard!"
The oath was delivered in the Valyrian manner popular in Volantis and Lys. Since that was the case, I should answer in the same manner.
"I, Viserys Targaryen, head of my House. I accept your oaths, Maegor, Narvos, and Veela. I swear before the eyes of the old gods of Valyria to be a generous and just lord. To protect my vassal and his kin, to aid in difficult times, and to be a patron in your affairs. The words are spoken and heard!"
After discussing plans a little longer, we agreed to meet in three days. That was how much time my new vassals would need to prepare their gang for transformation into something much greater.
"So, what was it you wanted to say that you decided to wait until we were alone?" I asked the twins, who had only just stood up from the table.
"When swearing an oath of fealty, one must state one's full name. We don't trust those three yet. So we prefer that they remain in the dark. At least for now," Daemon said.
"And we have one mandatory condition, Viserys Targaryen, before we swear the oath," Daeron added.
I looked at the two Valyrians with interest, raising an eyebrow, inviting them to continue.
"We will swear the oath only on one condition. If you vow before the gods of Valyria that you will help us. Help us restore the former greatness of what has almost sunk into oblivion," Daeron clenched his fists, staring intently for the slightest change in my facial expression. "And if you somehow acquire dragons, you will give two of them to us," Daemon narrowed his eyes.
I thought feverishly. These boys had struck me as strange, off, from the start. And now I understood what had caught my eye. While Maegor, like all descendants of Valyrians, had white hair and violet eyes, yet had some features, due to mixed blood, more typical of those from Old Ghis, they had no such imperfections. That meant the blood of Valyria was very strong in them, as it was in the Targaryens and the Pureborn of Volantis. But surely, some vagrants and whores who breed street urchins wouldn't be looking after the purity of their blood, would they?
Unless they really were the sons of some whore. But what if they were a remnant of a House like my own...
"You understand correctly, Viserys of House Targaryen," Daeron drawled. "Allow us to introduce ourselves."
"Daemon and Daeron of House Reraxes, flesh and blood of Old Valyria," the long-haired youth announced, spreading his arms.
A cough sounded from behind. Glancing over, I saw Willem choking on his wine. Ha, I could understand him. By right of ancient blood, these boys were essentially my equals. An ancient Valyrian dragonlord family ready to bend the knee to me? If they asked me for four dragons, I'd agree. Such vassals were very prestigious, especially if they had something to prove their ancestry.
"Do you have anything that can confirm your words?" I immediately clarified.
Exchanging looks, the brothers were silent for a minute, and then Daemon took a step forward.
"Two Valyrian daggers bearing the sigil of our House: a purple dragon on a yellow field. Six scrolls detailing the history of our House. And a hereditary ring made of Valyrian steel."
It was clear why they hesitated to reveal themselves. Valyrian steel was extremely expensive and prestigious. What was more, even I, a Targaryen Prince, did not possess a sword of that steel. A situation I planned to rectify in the future.
"That is quite sufficient," I nodded and continued. "But I will not swear to you that if I acquire dragons, I will give you two. No."
"But..." Daeron started to frown, but I cut him off.
"I, Viserys Targaryen, swear that if House Reraxes remains a faithful vassal to House Targaryen, you will both receive your dragons no later than fifteen years from now."
"You know something," Daeron grinned predatory.
"Mind your words, Targaryen. I will remember them. Fire and Steel," Daemon said, voicing what I realized was his House's motto.
"And I yours, Reraxes. Fire and Blood."
Both brothers dropped to one knee...
…
The Same Place, After All the Guests Had Left.
"Clever lads. I think they are suitable for you," Willem spoke, sipping his wine.
"But you yourself complained, before they arrived, that men raised on the street have no honor," I remarked cheerfully, remembering that two of the five guests turned out to be my equals in terms of ancient blood.
"Honor is a rare thing these days, my lord," Willem lamented.
"They said that hundreds of years before us, and they will say it a thousand years after. Funny, isn't it?" I smiled, looking out the window at the departing pair.
"They are engaging individuals with a multitude of talents," Darry noted, following my gaze.
"The more multifaceted a man's nature, the more interesting he is, but also the more dangerous," I replied.
"But those are precisely the kind of people you need, my Prince."
"Exactly, my friend. The more dangerous people we have in our ranks, the closer we are to victory."
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