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A Crown of Fire, Throne of Blood by Illuviar

Star Wars & Game of Thrones Xover Rated: M, English, Fantasy & Adventure, Daenerys T., Viserys T., OC, Words: 162k+, Favs: 1k+, Follows: 1k+, Published: Jun 13, 2024 Updated: Jan 3

444Chapter 2 Parts 3&4

Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, the Game of Throne or the Star Wars books, TV series or games. They belong to their creators, publishers and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale or rent.

Chapter 2 Part 3

=Sith=

290 AC

Stormchaser

The Narrow Sea

The ship's deck barely had the free space to see a Spear of Unsullied train. That made keeping a steady rotation between training, downtime, guard duty for Dany, and keeping an eye on the crew for shenanigans a bit more complicated than it should have been. At least in theory, the sailors had no incentive to cause trouble, yet that wasn't something Viserys could afford to trust.

"Captain, pray tell me, what did you do wrong to get saddled with this job?" Viserys inquired shortly after they left Astapor.

"This is a war galley," Kaleb nodded at the "indentured servants" chained to the oars. "All my people have families in the city. We are delighted to get you as far away from Pentos as possible, as fast as possible," Kaleb admitted. "Compared to a few other ships, my crew didn't lose any family to your rampage, my Prince."

Viserys nodded in understanding. He couldn't sense any deception or hatred coming from either the Captain or his crew. The explanation sounded plausible, but he wouldn't take those words at face value. And if someone wanted to make trouble, Viserys would make an example of them unless Kaleb lived up to his keelhauling promise.

As soon as they left the bay protecting Pentos' harbor and headed south, the Prince joined his Unsullied in their training. He focused on conditioning first because he was little more than skin and bones due to a lack of training and regular good food. The same was true for Dany, though intense physical training wasn't a great idea given her age. In her case, Viserys focused on speed, agility, and endurance. They spent a few hours each day tempering their bodies, spread out throughout the day to coincide with the training regiment of different Spears.

To Viserys' great amusement, by the end of the first week, everyone but the Unsullied was wincing whenever they saw Dany train with a blade. Considering how small she was, he had her practicing stabbing tights, slicing at the back of her knees, and slamming her blades at the right head for the manhoods of unfortunate bastards. As a nice bonus, that training had the sailors on their best behavior. It did help that from time to time, Viserys loudly announced that he was teaching Dany how to best utilize the magic he used to gut hundreds of people back in Pentos. He didn't even have to lie, even though he was only teaching his sister right now a theory about the Force. Viserys allowed Dany to experience the Force by channeling it while holding her, though that was it for now. A wooden ship at sea wasn't the place to train a baby Force Adept in case a mishap happened.

Viserys' goal, as far as the training went, was to have the two of them in reasonable shape by the time they got to Astapor. They had a few months-long journey, perhaps longer depending on the weather. The rough estimate might double if they had to avoid storms or go into port for repairs.

=Sith=

By the time rumors of the events that took place in Pentos reached as far as King's Landing, Braavos, and Norvos, the Stormchaser was already approaching Tyrosh. The ship would be past the Stepstones before Varys would be confident enough to bring the issue before King Robert's Small Council.

However, some factions across Essos didn't rely on mundane communications. In many Red Temples, priests and priestesses of R'hllor stared in the flames. Their god often granted visions to his followers, though it was up to them to correctly interpret what they saw.

Some perceived a great shadow rising from ashes. Others got a glimpse of a warrior in black armor wielding a sword of fire. Shadows came alive to swallow the light, yet R'hllor was the god of both Flame and Shadow. A few saw living shadows shift into a concealed figure holding a glowing crimson blade. Darkness stirred, ready to devour the world in its cold embrace. The Great Other was no longer slumbering, and the war of the Dawn was approaching.

In Quarth, within the House of the Undying, Warlocks drank shade-of-the-evening as if it was going out of style. Terrible visions ravaged their minds, igniting their appetite for power. They were once among the mightiest practitioners of magic in the world, second only to the terrible Sorcerers of Old Valyria. The Doom broke their power, as it broke magic itself, letting it wane for centuries. Now magic was set to return to the world, as heralded by the first Dragon Sorcerer seen in over four hundred years. Their path to power was clear now. The Warlocks needed to consume the magic within the blood of Dragons, and only two such creatures were left in the world – the last Targaryens.

In far-off Assai, Shadowbinders listened to the very shadows that were the heart of their craft. The shadows stirred, heeding a call South. There was a new power in the world, and many sorcerers coveted it.

Within the Corpse City of Stygai, daemons stirred, feeling the song of foreign power. They simply knew that foolish sorcerers would soon call upon them to bargain.

In Norvos, Bearded Priests saw portents of power rising in the East, though they could not agree on its relevance to the greatest city in the world.

The Black Goat of Qohor awoke, sensing a change in the air. Its priests doubled their sacrificial offering, pleasing him. The power of countless blood sacrifices sustained him, and in exchange, the daemon granted boons and protection to its city. It was in his nature to sense when a great bloodletting was on the horizon and coming faster than anticipated.

In the true North, far beyond the Wall, the song of the Old Gods changed. A new kind of energy seeped into the land. Brynden Rivers awoke within the roots of a Weirwood tree. His Targaryen blood ignited with long-dormant magic. In far-off Essos, the fate of the last Targaryens carrying his House's name, blood, and magic changed. There was power in names, magic, and thus might in ancient blood. The future was in flux. He could no longer see what might happen in Essos, much less what would happen.

All across the Iron Islands, priests of the Drowned God awoke screaming. A nightmare featuring a tide of Fire and Blood seared itself in their minds. The Drowned God raged, demanding sacrifices and retribution. Dark things stirred below the waves around the Iron Islands, waiting to be unleashed.

Below distant Leng, ancient creatures clawed at the sealed entrances to their underground cities. On the surface, sorcerers and their bound demons smelled the change in the air. There was something fundamentally different in the world, even if they couldn't precisely point at it.

The priests of the Church of Starry Wisdom felt a chill seep within their flesh and bones. Ancient weapons would soon awaken and march. The work of the Bloodstone Emperor might finally be done. Yet everything was not all right. A different darkness was rising as if daring to challenge the Lord of Night and Terror.

In his room within the moving fortress of Greywater Watch, Jojen Reed awoke screaming.

=Sith=

Chapter 2 Part 4

=Sith=

290 AC

The Red Keep

King's Landing

During the Greyjoy Rebellion, King Robert Baratheon felt truly alive for the first time since he took the never sufficiently damned crown. Seven years ago, he quickly found out that he didn't have the temperament to be a King. He wasn't meant to sit on a damned uncomfortable chair, listen to petty squabbles that should have been dealt by Lord Paramounts, not the Crown, much less attempt to wrap his head around counting coppers. Robert was meant to swing his Warhammer and break heads. War was in his blood, and his was the fury! Ah, why didn't he fuck-off to Essos to fight all day, drink with buddies every evening and fuck new whores every night?!

At least he still had wine and whores to keep him occupied and as far away as possible from his bitch of a Queen. Fucking Lannisters. Did Tywin really think Cersei could ever replace his beloved Lyanna!? At least that cunt knew how to throw a tourney. Now, that was an idea. A tourney might be just what Robert needed because, after the war, the tedium of King's Landing was getting to him worse than ever before.

Until then, perhaps a nice little hunt? That was a good idea, Robert decided, because he felt ready to start climbing the walls already. After tasting combat again, all the boring parts of being a King were unbearable.

Robert paused his contemplation when he reached the Small Council Chamber, dearly hoping that Jon called him for something good. Perhaps the Dornish were feeling uppity? The Triarchy might be attempting to seize the Stepstones?

The King's first clue that something was off today came from Pycelle. The old useless bastard was wide awake and alert. The last time Robert saw him that way was when he was busy delivering his children and, more importantly, when the news of the Greyjoys burning Lannisport arrived. That by itself was enough to make Baratheon pay attention.

"Jon," Robert greeted his foster father, ignored Stannis's habitual attempt to grind his teeth to dust, and sat down at the head of the table. "Why did you call us?"

"We have news about the Targaryens. It's not good, Robert." Jon's grave tone perked Robert up.

The King should have been infuriated at the very mention of that cursed family. Make no mistake, Robert was angry. After all, he killed that prick Rhaegar in his dreams every single night. However, if Viserys was gathering an army or something like that, it meant it was smashing time again! For that alone, Robert might give the Targaryen bastard a clean death when he got his hands on him!

"There have been some unbelievable rumors coming from Pentos, Your Grace," Varys simpered.

Robert glanced at his Master of Whisperers and simply stared at the eunuch. The plump creature looked like he was ready to crawl into an early grave.

"Varys took the time to confirm what he had been hearing, and I have to agree, Robert. Without confirmation, no one would have believed it," Jon's words shifted the King's attention.

"What did they do? Hatch a dragon?" Robert chuckled.

"Foul magic, Your Grace," Varys wheezed.

Pycelle nodded gravely in agreement.

"Magic has been gone from the world; everyone knows that!" Robert scoffed. Did he need to find replacements for those two? Wasn't that Jon's job?

"Everything I can find agrees with the rumors my Little Birds brought me, Your Grace," Varys forged on undeterred. "I am sorry to say that magic still exists; I know that for a fact," the eunuch shuddered.

Everyone except for Littlefinger and Stannis grimaced at the reminder of how Varys became a eunuch.

"A month or so ago, two Westerosi knights and a group of Ironborn ran into the Targaryens at the bank of Pentos," Varys finally spoke some sense.

Robert leaned forward, eager to find out what in the Seven Hells had his Master of Whisperers in such a state.

"These people were loyalists to the Crown, so they followed the Targaryens to bring them to you, dead or alive. Rumor has it they boasted so before confronting the exiles."

"Why aren't the Targaryens' heads on spikes on my castle's walls?" Robert demanded. "Did those fools kill each other instead of going for the prize?"

"Viserys Targaryen happened, Your Grace. Everything I can dig up, every rumor my Little Birds can bring me, even a reliable friend in the city, they all agree. The Beggar Prince wielded foul sorcery and slaughtered hundreds when the loyal knights and the Ironborn confronted him. He murdered everyone in the area, safe for his sister, before demanding entrance into the manor of one of the Magisters of Pentos. After watching him murder so many people, Magister Zavis agreed to host the exiles," Varys shuddered as he told the tale and sweated profusely in a way Robert hadn't seen him even on the hottest of days.

"I received similar claims from the Citadel. Rumors of foul sorcery in Pentos wielded by the pretenders brought to Old Town by sailors," Pycelle pipped up.

Robert heard but didn't quite comprehend. Magic of all things.

"Do you really expect me to believe this shit?" the King demanded.

"That was my reaction when I first heard, Robert. We would have informed you earlier, but the rumors were so insane we decided to wait for more information," Jon reluctantly admitted.

"I heard the same madness from ships taking port at Dragonstone. Rumors of Viserys being a Sorcerer-Warlord are undoubtedly spreading through the Narrow Sea houses. No one believes it for now," Stannis ground out.

"What is that dragonspawn up to, Varys?"

"Pentos offered him ransom like they do to Khals that arrive with large Khalasars. I know they left Pentos in a warship, guarded by half a Century of Unsullied and with a million gold dragons or so. The most persistent rumors claim that Viserys is heading for Astapor to buy himself an army," Varys explained.

"With that much gold, he can buy himself a large mercenary army," Baelish interjected. "I won't put it past the Golden Company to join him if Viserys Targaryen has that kind of gold to throw around. He is apparently a Beggar Prince no more," Littlefinger chuckled at his quip.

"Stannis, can you intercept the dragonspawn's ship before he can get to Astapor?" Robert speared his brother with a glare.

"If they left a month or so ago, they are past the Stepstones by now. The only ships that could intercept the Targaryens, if they can find them in the first place, would be Dornish," Stannis pointed out.

If anything, the Dornish might help the bastards out of spite.

To everyone's surprise, Robert didn't go into an apocalyptic rage. Instead, he smiled.

"Varys, find more. Stannis, I want you to fully rebuild the Royal Fleet and then expand it! Pycelle, get those useless sacks of shit in the Citadel to find out how to counter whatever sorcery Viserys might be wielding!" Robert ordered.

"Preparing for war might be a bit premature at this stage, Robert. We still need to rebuild after the Greyjoy Rebellion. Taxes income will take time to recover," Jon warned.

"We all know that the Targaryens will come for us if they have the means! Sorcery or not, a million dragons can buy a big army! There will be a war, and I will be ready!" Robert happily announced.

"We might be better served to avoid a war. Wars are expensive, I should know," Littlefinger stuck his beak where it didn't belong.

"The Master of Coin is right, brother," Stannis kept being a pain in the ass.

"Jon?" Robert grumbled unhappily.

"We can have them killed. Offer a larger reward. Send people to hunt them down," Littlefinger suggested.

"We have to keep their foul sorcery away from Westeros!" Pycelle agreed. "We must tell everyone how far the Targaryens have fallen!"

"I like that! Make everyone see them for the monsters they are!" Robert gleefully agreed. "Jon, see to it. A Lordship and a million golden dragons for the heads of the Targaryens! Varys, find competent cutthroats and send as many as you can get your hands on to hunt down the dragonspawn!" Robert glared at his brother. "Stannis, make sure to keep your boot on the necks of those Targaryen bootlickers in the Narrow Sea, or I will find someone who can do it properly!

Who would have thought that it would be the damned Targaryens who made him feel alive again?! Robert got up and eagerly headed to meet the Red Keep's Master-at-Arms. He had to go train for the wars to come!

Chapter 864 - 3