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The sky over Braavos was a bruised slate, heavy with the promise of freezing fog. Inside his small study, Viserys Targaryen sat in the guttering candlelight, turning a dragonbone-hilted dagger over in his hands. The black bone felt warm, almost humming against his skin, though the steel of the blade was common Braavosi forge-work, not the legendary Valyrian ripple he craved.
He had gifted similar blades to Rhaenys and Daenerys. In a city of assassins, a princess without a knife was merely a victim waiting for a name.
"You say the Moonsingers have sent for you?" Rhaenys asked, leaning against the doorframe. She was growing into a delicate beauty, her Dornish features sharp and elegant, her eyes holding a maturity that mirrored his own.
"Nightingale is their creature," Viserys replied, sliding the dagger into its sheath with a soft click. "The Temple is the largest power on the Isle of Gods. In this world, Rhaenys, crowns may break, but altars endure. Religions have followers, gold, and memories that span centuries."
"I have heard they are all female prophets," she murmured. "Why would they want a dragon in their halls? Their ancestors fled yours."
"Perhaps they want a song. Or perhaps they simply want to see if the last of the Dragonlords still burns." Viserys looked at the silver coin Nightingale had given him. "They were famous for their prophecies when magic was thick in the air. Now that the tides have receded, they are likely just another faction playing for influence."
Rhaenys walked to the desk, her eyes falling on the map of Essos spread across the parchment. "Our lives are stable now, thanks to your... talents. But what is the next move, Viserys? We cannot be bards and gourmets forever."
Viserys traced a line with his finger along the Rhoyne River. "Braavos is a sanctuary, not a kingdom. We are building our capital here, but we cannot build an army in a city that forbids slavery and disdains masters. We need a foundation."
He looked at her, his violet eyes hard. "Tell me of Volantis. Tell me of the Tiger and the Elephant."
Rhaenys recited the history with the precision of a scholar. "Volantis is the First Daughter of Valyria. After the Doom, the Tiger Party—the old nobility—sought to reclaim the empire through fire and blood. They conquered Lys and Myr, believing themselves the rightful heirs to the world. But they were overextended, faced with the alliance of the other Free Cities and even Aegon the Conqueror himself."
"And the Elephants?" Viserys prompted.
"The merchants and moneylenders," she said. "They advocates for trade over conquest. For a century, the Tigers bled the city dry until the Elephants took control. Now, Volantis sits behind its Black Walls, stagnant and proud."
"Tigers and Elephants exist everywhere," Viserys said, his voice dropping an octave. "Tigers are the predators of the old world; Elephants are the pacifists of the new. But the world is changing again. The Dothraki have turned the lands west of the Rhoyne into a graveyard. Every town they burn is a gap in the map. A gap where we can take root."
Rhaenys frowned. "Those are ownerless lands for a reason. Once the Dothraki cross the river, they leave nothing but ash. Even the Archons of Pentos pay them 'alms' to stay away."
"Risks are the price of a crown," Viserys countered. "I will not trust mercenaries who sell their loyalty to the highest bidder. I want an army forged from the ground up—men who owe their lives and their freedom to me alone. It is a slow path, a foolish path to some, but it is the only one that leads to a throne that won't collapse."
"And Dorne?" she asked softly.
"Dorne plays dead," Viserys said, his jaw tightening. "Jon Arryn is old, but he is a fox. He keeps the Martells on a short leash of peace. Unless I stand before the gates of King's Landing with ten thousand spears, the 'Royalists' will remain silent. I will not beg for their help. I will make myself a force they cannot ignore."
He stood up, the dragonbone essence in his marrow making his movements unnervingly fluid. "Robert Baratheon sits on a throne of glass, held together by an alliance of convenience. I will build a throne of iron, forged in the fires of a new order. We shall find our land, we shall find our people, and then, we shall show the world that the Century of Blood was merely a prologue."
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