Viserys stood atop the highest obsidian tower of Dragonwing Castle, the briny sea wind stirring his silver hair. Ghidorah lounged on the platform outside the walls, its three heads draped across one another, sunlight blazing across its dark-gold scales.
Blackflame was nowhere in sight; after all, it now served as the busiest 'patrolman' and 'engineer' on the Valyrian Peninsula, occupied most days with work across the region.
In the courtyard below, Daenerys and Rhaenys played with Ashara in the garden—precious free time amid their lessons. Missandei sat quietly on a stone bench, a book in her lap, occasionally glancing up to check on the girls.
The peaceful scene warmed Viserys's heart, yet when his gaze swept eastward a cold glint flickered in his eyes. Under Arthur's guidance the Free Bay province had found its footing, and the recent war had displayed the empire's might, but that did not mean outside threats would vanish.
In his hand lay a confidential dispatch just arrived from Astapor, sent by the agents Ser Alliser had planted in the Disputed Lands. The report stated that the Golden Company—proclaimed the strongest mercenary force in Essos—was showing unusual movement: contingents of its elite had left their camps and vanished.
Meanwhile, another stream of intelligence indicated New Ghis's ruling council was meeting frequently, its city defenses visibly strengthened, and ships suspected to be from Qarth and Volantis had appeared in its harbor.
'New Ghis… the Golden Company…' Viserys murmured.
New Ghis, once a colony of the Freehold of Valyria and still a major player in the world's slave trade, naturally regarded him—the breaker of chains and new master of Valyria—as an enemy. The Golden Company's maneuvers, however, were more intriguing; the powerful band of exiles' descendants had always kept its loyalties ambiguous.
While he pondered, an Unsullied soldier hurried up the tower. This time the man bore no letter, only an oral message: 'Your Grace, the outer patrol has seized four suspicious persons near the castle. They claim to come from the Disputed Lands with vital news for the Dragon King. Their leader calls himself "Lord Griff."'
Griff? Viserys's interest sharpened—he had not expected the man to seek him out. 'Take them to the council hall and watch them closely,' he ordered. 'I will receive them presently. See that Princess Rhaenys and Princess Daenerys hear nothing of this.'
'By your command, Your Grace.'
When Viserys, now dressed formally, entered the council hall, he spotted the four detainees at once.
Their leader was a middle-aged man in plain traveler's garb, faded red hair streaked with grey. Yet he stood straight, eyes keen, the bearing of a former noble unmistakable.
Behind him walked a youth of eleven or twelve, blue-eyed, dark auburn hair, handsome but with a restless arrogance, glancing about in uneasy irritation. Two silent guards brought up the rear.
'Lord Griff,' Viserys said, stepping into the hall and fixing his gaze on the older man, 'an exile still daring to claim a title. You trespass in my domain—your reason had better be compelling.'
Jon Connington—Griff—drew a breath and dropped to one knee, startling the youth behind him.
'Your Grace Viserys, forgive our intrusion, yet the tidings I bear may touch the safety of your realm and the future of House Targaryen.' He paused, glancing at the Unsullied behind the throne. 'I beg a private audience.'
Viserys replied, 'These men enjoy my fullest trust; speak freely.' Still Connington hesitated. 'But, Your Grace…'
With an impatient wave Viserys cut him off. 'Speak. My patience is not infinite.'
Connington lifted his eyes to Viserys. 'I am no mere mercenary or adventurer. I am Jon Connington, once sworn to your brother Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.'
Viserys showed precisely measured surprise and appraisal. 'Jon Connington—whose blunder lost us the Battle of the Bells, afterward stripped of all and banished by my father. What brings you here?'
'I bring word from within the Golden Company. New Ghis has secretly approached several of its captains with rich offers, seeking to unite forces from cities of the Disputed Lands. While your foothold is still fresh, they plan a sudden strike against Slavers Bay to sever your trade, cripple your prestige, and if possible seize or slay your dragons.'
Viserys's eyes narrowed. 'Has the Golden Company accepted New Ghis's proposal?'
'The Company is not of one mind, Your Grace,' Connington said. 'Captain-General Myles Toyne prizes contracts and coin, but some elder officers—men with Westerosi blood—still harbor old loyalties to the name Targaryen, or at least see more profit in backing a dragon-bearing Targaryen than in serving New Ghis. Only part of the high command knows the scheme. My companions and I—'
He glanced at the youth and the two guards. '—have some influence in the ranks. When we learned of it, we judged you should know.'
'Why tell me?' Viserys asked. 'What gain for you—or what price do you ask?'
Connington looked at the youth beside him, a complicated emotion flashing across his face.
'Your Grace, if New Ghis succeeds, the Golden Company becomes a mere pawn of city politics and loses its independence. And I desire to see the usurper Robert Baratheon and his henchmen pay—goals you are most likely to achieve. In return, we ask only to serve you—not as sellswords, but as knights and soldiers once more. More within the Company would follow the true Dragon King than you imagine; I can rally them.'
Viserys turned to the silent youth. 'And who is he?'
The boy straightened under the scrutiny, pride gleaming. 'I am Young Griff, Lord Griff's ward.'
'Ward?' Viserys echoed, amused, non-committal. He looked back at Connington. 'Your goodwill is noted, Lord Connington; I will verify your intelligence. But support from the Golden Company must be proven. If you wish to serve me, you must first earn trust. Until then your ward remains in Valyria—I shall see to his education.'
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