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Inside the yacht's cabin, Viserys looked at Sea Lord Ferrego. Though the man appeared ordinary—a common merchant in middle-aged repose—he exuded the absolute gravity of someone at the pinnacle of power.
"Viserys, you are a genuine troublemaker," the Sea Lord said calmly.
"Because I bear an impossible mission, I often bring trouble to the world."
"A man only chooses one path," Ferrego mused. "Seeing you so vibrant, I truly envy you. If you had no hatred, you could easily become a playboy like Aegon the Unworthy. But hatred is a whetstone; it has made you sharp. Too sharp for Braavos. Besides Preston, it would be unwise for you to provoke any other families."
The Sea Lord leaned forward, his voice a kind whisper of warning. "The Iron Bank will not lend you money—not yet. They prefer the safe interest of Robert Baratheon's mounting debts. But the gold your Courtesan friends lend you? That is private coin. It has nothing to do with the official state of Braavos."
Viserys scoffed. It was a clever firewall. By funneling support through the Courtesans, Braavos could maintain its diplomatic mask with the Iron Throne while keeping a foot in the door of a potential Targaryen restoration.
"It seems the Iron Bank values the Usurper's extravagance," Viserys noted.
"Robert is a magnificent spender," Ferrego agreed. "Between his tourneys, his new fleets, and his feasts, he will soon be a favored client. But the moneylenders of the Iron Bank face more dangers than knights; they play a long game. I suggest you do the same."
Ferrego spread a detailed vellum map across the table. His finger traced the coast south of the city, moving toward the Andalusia Hills and the plains north of Pentos.
"Land and manpower—these are your hunger," Ferrego said. "Following the Rhoyne south, you will find lands laid waste by the Dothraki and old wars. The Andals and Rhoynar have left few descendants there; it is a wilderness of ruins and ghosts."
"The bandits in the Andalusia lands are numerous," Ferrego continued. "Braavos and Pentos have failed to eradicate them. But where there are bandits, there are strongholds. Abandoned forts that a determined man could use as a foothold. Here is the map. And a gift: three sand-steeds from my private menagerie. A farewell for the troublemaker."
Viserys accepted the map, his mind already calculating. He thought of the Velvet Hills and the legends of the Velvet Castle. He also remembered the tales of the sword Lady Forlorn—if his [Just Judgment] talent was linked to such a blade, he might find more than just stone in those hills; he might find a weapon of justice.
Stepping off the Sea Lord's barge, Viserys felt the shift in the wind. Braavos was a cage he had outgrown. Waiting for him at the quay was his small but growing council: his young relatives, Ser Roland, and the circle of Courtesans—the Black Pearl, Nightingale, the Daughter of Darkness, and Moonshadow. Ringo and Syrio stood nearby, their expressions a mix of pride and concern.
"Gathered here today, I thank you all," Viserys said.
"By your tone, it sounds like a goodbye," the Black Pearl noted, a hint of regret in her smile.
"The Sea Lord has politely shown me the door," Viserys admitted.
But he was not leaving alone. As word of his victory over Mero spread, a group of Westerosi wanderers had gathered at the Moon Pool. Some were soldiers who had fought for Rhaegar, others were outlaws who had fled the Usurper's "justice."
"Dragon King!" they called out. "We once served the true blood! We wish to pledge our steel to you!"
Viserys looked at the ragged group. "I need men of the Crownlands, King's Landing, and Dragonstone. Men who know the weight of an oath and the soil of home. Ser Roland, screen them. We take only those with a reason to fight."
Ringo stepped forward, clapping Viserys on the shoulder. "I'll find you more. There are Westerosi fishermen in the docks who are tired of the salt and ready for the hills. I'll pick the best for you."
With the Black Pearl's gold, the Sea Lord's horses, and a contingent of hardened exiles, Viserys had his first army. Their destination was the Velvet Hills—a place of ruin where a dragon might finally build a nest.
"Pack the supplies," Viserys ordered, his purple eyes fixed on the horizon. "We leave for the Velvet Castle at dawn."
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