A gentle breeze rustled past the windows of Viserys Fort, snapping the banner of the three-headed red dragon against the black sky atop the watchtower.
A tall man and woman stood on the balcony of the "White Keep," the royal residence.
Viserys's royal seat had undergone renovations. Built upon a foundation of white marble—symbolizing purity and sanctity—the castle was now known as the White Keep. From the carved limestone balcony, one could overlook the vast, sweeping landscape of the fortress below.
The Black Pearl, Bellegere Otherys, held a goblet of tart Andal sour red in her hands, letting the mountain breeze play with her hair.
Viserys Fort was blessed with gentle winds. It was not like the Eyrie, perched atop the Mountains of the Moon where violent gales tore at the stone; here, amidst the rolling hills, the air was mild and welcoming.
"This wine is sour," the Black Pearl critiqued. "But sour wine is cheap. Only the Andals seem to have a taste for it."
"Soon, a completely new kind of spirit will be ready," Viserys said with a mysterious air.
He had changed into a black doublet fastened with red garnet buttons, giving him the dashing look of a knight rather than a mere administrator.
The distillation equipment Viserys had seized after destroying House Greenvine was intended for exactly this: brandy, whiskey, and golden rum.
" The Viserys in my memory was never a swindler, so I look forward to your success," the Black Pearl said, studying his handsome face. The mantle of kingship had draped him in a layer of sacred charisma.
"Of course. When the time comes, I'll need you to open the trade routes," Viserys said, his voice full of high spirits.
His demeanor now was a far cry from his time in Braavos. He was no longer the beggar king—cautious, timid, and living under another's protection. He was a conqueror, a man restoring his birthright from the ashes.
"That won't be a problem," the Black Pearl nodded. "As long as the liquor is truly intoxicating, there will be no shortage of buyers."
She paused, eyeing him. "You look like you're running low on coin."
"I am always short on coin. Men and horses must eat, to say nothing of city construction and the army. It's a massive drain on wealth. Taxes alone aren't quite enough, and I still lack a proper navy," Viserys admitted frankly.
His income came from taxes and the liquid assets seized from House Greenvine. But the Andal economy was primitive. Aside from coin, many smallfolk paid their taxes in grain, cloth, fruit, or even old family heirlooms like rusted armor. And their ships were mere longboats, not the great war galleys that dominated the seas.
"It is a pity the Iron Bank still refuses to open its vaults to you," the Black Pearl noted. "They are still watching and waiting."
" Is the Iron Bank afraid of a new war?" Viserys asked.
"Precisely," she agreed. "The risks taken by the moneylenders of the Iron Bank are no less than those taken by knights in battle. They still harbor doubts about this newborn Kingdom of Andalos. After all, should you lose a single decisive battle, their investment would vanish like smoke."
"It seems I'll have to produce a victory then. Whether against the Dothraki or some other power." Viserys gripped the finely carved railing, gazing out at the endless sky.
Only through victory in war could the new Kingdom of Andalos be solidified. And situated as it was in a land surrounded by potential enemies, Andalos could not refuse the call to arms.
"I am still secretly providing you with funds, though you spend gold faster than anyone I know, Viserys. You must make the money flow."
"I shall remember this friendship," Viserys told her sincerely.
Beyond the Black Pearl, Viserys was banking on the alcohol trade. And then there was Pentos. Wealthy Pentos had a reputation in the Free Cities as a "golden goose." It was largely undefended, essentially a city waiting to be shaken down for coin.
"That is good. My mother once invested in crabbers, but I have invested in a King," the Black Pearl laughed, clearly amused. "Though your position is far more perilous than catching crabs on the high seas."
"The greater the difficulty, the greater the glory. I am like a man climbing a cliff; I dare not retreat a single step, for I have already entered the fighting pit of power." Viserys had already steeled himself for the wars to come.
"I've brought you gold this time, along with dragon bone, sea snails, and Leviathan crabs. I trust you'll like these gifts."
"You have my deepest gratitude."
"Does my old friend, the Prestayn family, still think of me?" Viserys asked, referring to his enemies in Braavos.
"Likely so. The better you do, the more they will hate you—a mix of fear and loathing," the Black Pearl smiled sweetly. "But when you are hated by such men, you need not ask them personally."
Viserys figured that House Prestayn, or even the Archon of Tyrosh, wouldn't need to act personally. They only needed to whisper to the Iron Throne that the "Beggar King" was rebuilding his kingdom across the Narrow Sea, or tell the Dothraki that the Andals were building cities, and war would follow.
"Those Seven Decrees... did you really come up with them yourself?" she asked suddenly.
"Of course," Viserys replied.
She scrutinized him closely. "I've never believed in geniuses, but you truly have the vision of a King."
"Kingship is not an honor, but a burden. My life is not for myself alone, but for the trampled, for the Andals, the Rhoynar, and all the persecuted."
"Kiss my fingers then, Your Grace. May you soon be a carefree King, rather than sounding like an old politician."
Viserys did not kiss her fingers. instead, he leaned in and kissed her lips.
The Black Pearl was young and lovely, but now a flash of anger crossed her face.
"You are not a man who knows gratitude; you are a beast, Viserys. A savage, cunning beast," she said indignantly, her chest heaving.
"I told you, I am still a young man. And young men are sometimes beasts," Viserys said with a shrug. "Besides, I am a man about to head into battle. I may not return."
"I believe you will always win, Viserys."
Partings were always brief.
Once the Black Pearl and Quellon had departed Viserys Fort, Viserys felt as though her scent still lingered in the air.
"You kissed her, didn't you?" Rhaenys sidled up to him, her voice full of displeasure.
"I did," Viserys nodded.
"It seems the King has many schemes in mind. Not just the Game of Thrones, but the Game of Love as well?" she asked pointedly.
"Don't overthink it, Rhaenys." Viserys ruffled the little girl's hair.
His focus was on his mission, not on chasing women across Essos. He and the Black Pearl simply shared a mutual appreciation.
"The Black Pearl is a good friend. But we... Rhaenys, you, me, Daenerys... we are family. We are the blood of the dragon."
"Mmh," Rhaenys nodded, somewhat mollified.
"If you married her, would she become our family?" Rhaenys asked.
"That is not for me to decide alone." Viserys didn't elaborate. The Black Pearl was a woman of her own agency and career, not an accessory to be collected.
Rhaenys pursed her lips.
In her heart, she felt the Black Pearl was a significant threat. Though Rhaenys was growing into a graceful maiden with beautiful brown hair and dark eyes like a doe, she was still a girl. The Black Pearl was a famous courtesan of the Free Cities.
---
Illyrio Mopatis's caravan departed Pentos through the Sunrise Gate, heading toward the lands of Andalos.
Illyrio sat in a massive palanquin. In his youth, he had been a superb bravo, a sellsword of renown, but now he was so morbidly obese that no horse could bear his weight.
The palanquin was suspended by heavy leather straps between a team of eight high-spirited horses. Four eunuch warriors marched on either side for protection, while more guards trailed behind, watching over the baggage train.
Behind the palanquin trailed a line of mules laden with chests, barrels large and small, and baskets of food to satisfy the cheesemonger's voracious appetite.
"Viserys... what kind of man are you, truly?" Illyrio muttered to himself.
According to Varys's intelligence, Viserys was nothing more than a spoiled, entitled prince. He had been only eight when his dynasty fell, a useless child. Back then, Illyrio and Varys hadn't considered Viserys a player in the game; a strictly exiled prince was no different from a stray cat or dog—hardly worth their attention.
But now, the winds had shifted. This exile had displayed unparalleled talent, re-establishing a kingdom in the lands of Andalos through blood and fire.
Viserys had never been a key part of Illyrio's original plan. He and Varys maintained a secret correspondence regarding the Red Keep—the incestuous chaos of the Kingslayer and his sister, the ambition of Littlefinger—which had led them to proceed with caution, waiting for the right moment.
But now, a variable had emerged.
The Kingdom of Andalos was a reality, possessing a standing army. A war with the Iron Throne was inevitable.
And so, Illyrio was traveling to meet this Viserys who had stirred up the storm.