Domeric spoke with Viserys a while longer.
In the end, he left with a finely crafted sword at his hip and a personal letter addressed to Roose Bolton.
After him came a representative of House Zalyne of Braavos.
His name was Urom Zalyne.
A man in his forties, with a black beard that merged seamlessly into his sideburns.
He had come bearing a dragon egg.
A gold-inlaid box was opened before Viserys.
Inside lay a dragon egg of deep ocean blue, like the darkest waters of the Narrow Sea.
"Your Grace," Urom said respectfully, "it is time for this to return to its rightful owners."
He did not attempt to demand concessions in exchange for the gift.
Instead, he stated plainly that it had always belonged to House Targaryen.
Viserys understood. Urom wished to establish ties.
And Viserys did not mind fostering divisions within Braavos.
House Zalyne had once produced a Sealord. Its roots ran deep, and Urom himself had the standing to be considered for the position in the future.
Braavos was the strongest of the Nine Free Cities.
Though Viserys had won the Battle of Gohor the previous year, he had not crippled the titan of Braavos.
It was already recovering at alarming speed.
The upper Rhoyne still lay within Braavosi control.
If Viserys could cultivate an ally inside that power, the advantages would be considerable.
"On behalf of House Targaryen, I thank House Zalyne for safeguarding this egg," Viserys said, gesturing for Mathos to secure it.
"The honor is mine, Your Grace."
"You have come regarding navigation rights, I presume?"
A significant portion of House Zalyne's trade routes ran along land corridors that now intersected with Viserys's expanding influence.
"Your wisdom is without equal, Your Grace," Urom replied. "House Zalyne places great value on the Upper Rhoyne. May I ask how you intend to administer its trade routes?"
"My attention is limited," Viserys answered evenly. "Any formal measures will require consultation with my council."
Urom's expression flickered with disappointment.
He had not surrendered a dragon egg merely for a meeting.
He wanted reduced tolls.
Viserys continued.
"But I can promise you this. House Zalyne's goods will be taxed at no more than three percent of total value."
Urom's surprise was genuine.
It exceeded even his most optimistic expectations.
"You are most generous, Your Grace. House Zalyne will remember this friendship."
"I do have a small request," Viserys added smoothly.
House Zalyne's resources included skilled craftsmen and advanced techniques.
Gohor had been rebuilt from nothing.
It lacked everything.
Population. Supplies. Expertise.
It was a hungry city, consuming all it could obtain.
After Urom departed, Viserys met briefly with envoys from several other Free Cities. As for the Westerosi nobles, each was handed a sealed letter and dismissed.
House Tyrell had sent only two bastards.
An insult.
Just as Viserys prepared to rest, Mathos approached once more.
"Your Grace, Ser Gerold wishes to present someone to you."
"Who?"
"Jon Connington. Former Hand of King Aerys."
Jon Connington.
Viserys felt a surge of excitement. This coronation had been worth every effort.
Connington had once served as Aerys's Hand.
After the Battle of the Bells, where Robert Baratheon escaped while hiding among commoners, Aerys had exiled him.
He had crossed to Essos and joined the Golden Company.
A former Hand. A man who had once defeated Robert in battle.
He had risen swiftly within the Golden Company, nearly becoming its commander.
Later, he would support Young Aegon in taking Storm's End.
He was capable.
Loyal.
His overall ability rivaled anyone currently in Viserys's service. If possible, Viserys would have appointed him Hand immediately.
But a king could not act rashly.
Had Connington arrived a year earlier, when Gohor stood on the brink of destruction, no one would question such an appointment.
Now, however, the city had already survived its darkest days.
It was visibly flourishing.
Connington's arrival was an embellishment, not salvation. Viserys would have to proceed carefully.
He also remembered something else.
Connington's devotion to Rhaegar had gone beyond friendship. He had openly shown jealousy toward Elia.
Regardless of motive—guilt or love—Viserys decided to meet him.
Soon, a tall man with dyed blue hair was escorted inside.
Jon Connington stood straight, well groomed, the faint lines at his eyes giving him a hardened edge.
He looked every inch a soldier and commander. Strands of auburn showed faintly at his roots.
He no longer seemed intent on hiding who he was.
Viserys studied him.
Connington, in turn, observed Viserys carefully, trying not to offend. He seemed to be searching for something.
Perhaps understanding.
Perhaps the shadow of the Silver Prince.
During his time as Hand, Connington had seen Viserys in court.
He remembered a boy unremarkable, temperamental in ways not unlike Aerys.
How had that child become this commanding figure after the deaths of father and brother? Why did men now revere him?
Before coming to Gohor, Connington had thoroughly studied Viserys's achievements.
The naval victory at the Gullet.
The battle at Shipbreaker Bay.
The stratagems used to conquer the Rhoynar.
Each testified to sharp intelligence.
After taking a long look at the young king, Connington bowed with flawless formality.
"Your Grace, I am Jon Connington. I once had the honor of serving as Hand to King Aerys."
"Yes," Viserys replied evenly. "I remember you. You were a capable Hand. You merely faced a shameless opponent."
He did not press blame.
Connington felt a tightness in his chest.
Robert's escape had been his failure.
If dismissal by Aerys had brought guilt, hearing of Rhaegar's death at the Trident had brought torment.
To Viserys, Connington's motive did not matter. Whether guilt or love bound him, such a man required no intimidation.
His purpose was singular.
Avenge Rhaegar.
House ambitions ranked far below that.
Viserys spoke again.
"Ser Connington, I am pleased you have come to Gohor to serve House Targaryen.
Begin by bringing the settlements along the Rhoyne under our banner. Let them become subjects of the dragon."
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