The golden-red dragon circled high above, where the sky was vast and the clouds were thin.
Viserys wore the steel circlet of the Dragonlord Aurion, his short silver-white hair gleaming in the sunlight. The purple amethysts on the steel band accentuated his pale violet eyes and his chiseled, aristocratic features.
Aurion's crown was distinctly Valyrian in style. Unlike the seven-sided crown of Jaehaerys I, which honored the Seven Gods with its gems, Viserys preferred this symbol of pure, unadulterated power.
Sunblaze soared freely. Here, the sky was not the nightmare of the Valyrian ruins. There were no natural predators for a dragon; here, the dragon was the apex.
Viserys had strapped Aurion's saddle onto Sunblaze. It was a masterpiece of art and function—leather inlaid with Valyrian steel, gold, silver, and studded with rubies and amethysts.
The young dragon was growing constantly; all he needed was plenty of food and time on the wing.
The Lysene islands were now a distant line on the horizon behind them, and the Stepstones were rising from the sea ahead.
Piercing through the clouds, the dragon looked like a small black speck, swift as fire. Along the way, many sailors claimed to have seen a dragon hunting flying fish, but the world knew that sailors' tales were as famous as their love for rum. Unless there was a true dragon battle, most people would dismiss the sightings as jokes or drunkards' ramblings.
Navigating the winding channels of the Stepstones, the fleet only needed to pass the routine inspection at the pirate checkpoint on Bloodstone before they could sail north to Andalos.
Near the coast of Bloodstone, Morosh was surprised to see Salladhor Saan's flagship, the Valyrian, a massive three-hundred-oar galley.
A cluster of Lysene warships surrounded her, their hulls painted in the distinct, colorful style of their city.
Salladhor Saan, the self-styled "Prince of the Narrow Sea," was as flamboyant as any Lysene.
Morosh hadn't expected to find Salladhor at Bloodstone. It seemed there was time for a chat.
A patrol boat politely escorted Morosh from his own ship to board the Valyrian and greet the pirate lord. Even accounting for the time spent in the ruins of Valyria, their return journey had been swift.
"Captain Morosh! Come, sit with me. Have a blood orange? They are delightfully sweet." The Lysene Salladhor was as smooth-talking and smiling as ever. His attire was famously extravagant on both sides of the Narrow Sea.
Today, he wore a brilliant coat woven with silver thread, with sleeves so long they trailed on the floor. His buttons were jade, carved in the shape of monkeys. Perched atop his thin, curly white-blond hair was a fan-shaped green hat adorned with peacock feathers.
Two eunuch stewards followed him like shadows, serving as his valets. He carried himself with the airs of a true prince.
"Thank you, Prince." Morosh accepted the blood orange. The fruit was cloyingly sweet and fragrant—exactly what a sailor needed at sea.
Salladhor Saan was immensely wealthy, a pirate born of a noble line of pirates. He was a smuggler, a merchant, a moneylender, and a notorious reaver, yet he styled himself "Prince of the Narrow Sea."
If a pirate has enough gold and ships, people will call him Prince.
Morosh, a smuggler and the son of an escaped slave, was a tier below, though he had his own crew. Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight, had been even lower—a mere craftsman of smuggling—before he went ashore to serve Stannis.
---
"You've made your fortune in Andalos, and now you don't recognize your old friend?" Salladhor said, eyeing Morosh.
Morosh shook his head. "It is a new trade route, true, but I haven't made nearly as much as you. I make my living on the sea; it's hard-earned coin."
"My dear Captain Morosh, what I want is gold. You know that when my fleet sails, it costs me thirty thousand Gold Dragons a month." Salladhor's eyes twinkled cunningly. "I hear you can get gold. You have connections in Andalos. This trip to Volantis—was it not to market that new 'brandy' from the Andal lands?"
"Are you asking for an introduction to King Viserys? I do have a trade route into Andalos, but the risks are high," Morosh said evenly.
In these complicated waters, pirates and smugglers were sometimes rivals, sometimes brothers.
"That little Andalos king is in a bad spot, my friend. My friends in Lys dislike him. My friends in Tyrosh hate him. The Volantenes wish him ill. Without Andalos, where will we get our dock slaves and bed slaves?" Salladhor took a bite of his blood orange. "And more terrifying still—that young, foul-smelling horse lord, Drogo, has already ridden out of the Great Grass Sea with his horde of screaming knights."
"The King must be informed."
"I suspect he already knows," Salladhor said. "War is inevitable, my friend. You are safe enough; the horselords fear the ocean, they fear the poison water. I advise you to jump ship early. Don't forget, we serve the coin purse. Don't let the Tyroshi hold a grudge against you... You're a clever man, surely your brain hasn't rotted like the Onion Knight's..."
"Thank you for the compliment."
"It is not a compliment; it is an offer, old friend. You have ships. You could help me smuggle out the recipe for that grape brandy, or perhaps some ancient Andal or Rhoynar idols. They would fetch a fine price in Pentos or Myr."
"Or we could slip quietly into Braavos, King's Landing, or Volantis in the dead of night, unseen by gods or men, and slip out with silks and spices. See? We could both be rich."
Morosh hesitated, then shook his head. "I don't think the situation is that dire."
"It isn't just dire; it's catastrophic. Andalos has no navy, nowhere to run. Your few ships aren't enough. The wrath of tens of thousands of screaming savages isn't child's play. The Archons and Magisters are rubbing their hands together; there's going to be a grand slave auction soon."
"Perhaps the Andals will win?" Morosh suggested.
"Win?" The Lysene looked at him as if he were mad. "Slavery is the center of world trade, and the Dothraki are undefeated butchers. I may be getting on in years, but I'm not senile."
Salladhor added, "I see you are like the Onion Knight—blinded by the chance to climb high. Most of my assets are in Lys; I will not accompany a boy king on his foolish errands."
"It is all an investment," Morosh replied quietly.
In the old order, he had no chance to rise. Now was the time to ride the wind.
Seeing Morosh unmoved, Salladhor didn't press further. He was the Prince of the Narrow Sea; like a shark, he had his pride and his vision. These smugglers who licked blood from knife edges might look slippery, but some were stubborn.
"Very well, friend. I wish you fair winds." Salladhor touched the heavy pendant on his chest. "I wanted to do business with you, but it seems you disagree."
"Farewell, my friend." Morosh bid the pirate prince a polite goodbye.
Salladhor waved a hand heavy with rings. He wouldn't detain Morosh this time, but next time might be different.
Morosh breathed a sigh of relief as he left the Valyrian.
They had said all there was to say.
Three men, three smugglers, three different fates. Morosh and Davos relied on great lords, while Salladhor Saan was a power unto himself.
To avoid the Prince changing his mind, Morosh ordered the ships to full speed. Like stampeding bulls, they cleared the Bloodstone checkpoint and navigated the winding channels.
Once the checkpoint had disappeared from view, the black speck in the sky grew larger. Following the signals from the lookout's flags, Viserys guided Sunblaze down to the deck.
If he had wanted to strike, Viserys could have killed the Prince of the Narrow Sea then and there. But this was not the moment for dragonfire.
"I saw the Prince of the Narrow Sea, Your Grace," Morosh reported.
"What sort of Prince is he? A pirate, a banker, a slaver..." Agos grumbled. He knew the Lysene's reputation well.
"Salladhor Saan?" Viserys knew the name.
"He knows the Horselords are marching west. He knows war is coming, and he tried to recruit me. He let me go this time, but next time he might seize us."
"It seems there is little chance of cooperation with the old pirate." Viserys wiped the two rings on his hand—one of fire, one of blood.
In the game of thrones, it is often easy to distinguish a partner from an enemy. If they cannot be partners, they must eventually be killed.
Salladhor might be a pirate, but his roots were in Lys, making him a defender of the old order.
"Will the Tyroshi and Lysene come by sea?" Viserys asked.
"I doubt it," Morosh shook his head. "Andalos has few ports and no navy. If they push too far inland from the coast, they'll have supply issues. Plus, they have to consider Braavos. The most likely scenario is that Tyrosh and Lys will hire sellswords and strike from the land."
The Tyroshi were a martial people; their city began as a military outpost, and they didn't lack for mercenaries and warriors.
The Lysene, on the other hand, felt that war was beneath them. Typical Lysene had blue eyes, white-blond hair, and smooth, pale skin—the blood of Old Valyria ran strong in them. They disdained hard labor, preferring to import slaves for everything.
So, Viserys faced enemies on two fronts: the Dothraki from the East, and the Tyroshi and Lysene mercenaries from the South.
"Your Grace, I..." Morosh hesitated. "Salladhor and I are friends, of a sort. For the sake of past ties, I ask for leniency if possible."
Viserys nodded. "I will spare him once. If he lives that long."
The battlefield had no eyes; if Saan died in the chaos, that was his own bad luck.
---
Viserys couldn't wait to return to Viserysfort, the city he had built with his own hands.
With the arrival of Sunblaze, Viserys had designed a new structure: a Dragon's Roost atop a high tower.
This wasn't a flight of fancy. It was inspired by the tapestries and architectural diagrams of Valyria he had studied.
Aside from the volcanic lairs of the Fourteen Flames, the Valyrians relied on high towers within their cities.
Keeping a dragon chained in a pit or behind a gate, as the Targaryens had done in King's Landing, was dangerous in the long run. Dragons needed the sky.