With the passing of Ser Willem and the violent end of his retinue, the manse with the Red Door felt suddenly cavernous. A house without people is a dying thing; where the wind gathers, the spirit of a place begins to fray. It was an lesson in the logistics of power: Harrenhal had five massive towers, yet House Whent could barely fill the lower floors of two. Without manpower, even a fortress is just a tomb.
Viserys knew they could not remain alone. To have a future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and a Princess of Dorne scrubbing floors and gutting fish was beyond outrageous—it was a strategic failure. Yet, finding "reliable" help was a minefield.
The solution came from an unexpected quarter. Constable Thassos—or perhaps the silent, lethal "guard" who had accompanied him—sent word that he could provide a vetted staff for the household. It was a gesture as rare as the sun rising in the west.
"He wants eyes in our halls," Rhaenys said, her dark Dornish eyes reflecting the candlelight as she watched Viserys in the reception room. "They won't rob us like the last lot, but every word we speak will find its way to the Sealord's Palace."
"We have no choice," Viserys replied, his voice calm. He was currently focused on a plate of fragrant sea snails, sautéed in garlic and butter. "We are white mice in a cage. What does it matter if the cage-keeper watches us eat?"
He pushed the plate toward the girls. To anyone else, it was an extravagance; to Viserys, it was fuel. The Glutton talent was a relentless engine, converting high-quality proteins into raw kinetic energy. He could feel his strength attribute creeping toward 1.2, but the cost was staggering. At this rate, he would eat through their treasury long before he reached the Iron Throne.
"How much is left?" he asked.
Rhaenys, now the keeper of the small iron chest, sighed. "With the new servants and the lease, we can last a few years. But Queen Rhaella's crown and the remaining jewels... once they are gone, we are truly beggars."
Viserys felt the familiar sting of the "Beggar King" prophecy. In the original timeline, he had sold those jewels to survive, losing his dignity one gemstone at a time. He refused to repeat the error. He needed a way to generate wealth that didn't involve pawning his mother's legacy.
As he pondered his limited options, the translucent panel shimmered in his vision again.
EVENT: THE POISONOUS MUSHROOM INCIDENTFate axis altered. Reward: One Random Talent Skill.
The card spun, a blur of color that finally settled on the image of an obese, spirited chef wielding a spatula like a sword and a wok like a shield. His expression was one of absolute, divine confidence.
TALENT: GOD OF GASTRONOMYFrom the Frozen Shore to the jungles of Sothoryos; from the Sunset Sea to the Golden Empire of Yi Ti. You have mastered the alchemy of fire and spice. To you, no ingredient is humble, and no palate is unreachable.
A flood of sensory information crashed into Viserys's mind. He suddenly understood the exact temperature at which lamprey fat renders into gold. He knew the precise cut for mammoth steak and the subtle interplay of Dornish peppers with Braavosi sea bass.
But there was a secondary effect. His muscles felt a sudden, sharp ache of growth.
"The strength of the wok," he whispered.
A master chef was not merely an artist; he was a laborer. To toss heavy pans and butcher massive carcasses required the forearms of a blacksmith and the endurance of a longshoreman. The talent had "gifted" him the physical foundation of a man who had spent a lifetime in the heat of a professional kitchen.
Viserys stood up, his movements noticeably sharper, his presence more grounded. He looked at the two girls, who were staring at him with curiosity.
"The sea snails were just a start," Viserys said, a slight, knowing smile playing on his lips. "I am going to make something the Free Cities have never tasted. If we cannot win Westeros with an army yet, we shall begin by conquering Braavos through its stomach."
He headed for the kitchen, his mind already cataloging ingredients. He had found his lubricant; he had found his gold. He was no longer just a king of shadows—he was about to become the most sought-after man in the city of the Titan.