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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 1&2

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 1

=Sith=

290 AC

Magister Zavis' mansion

Pentos

The Dark Side's greatest gift was the mask it grants you. It allows you to deceive yourself, allowing you to easily live with actions that would otherwise destroy you. And once you walk down such a path, you wouldn't want to remove your mask, for doing so would doom you.

Viserys was intimately familiar with that poisoned gift. During his long existence as a Sith Lord, he made an art of twisting it to serve his purposes. For years, he wore the mask of the man he used to be before the murder of his first wife. That particular mask kept his rage and self-destructive impulses away so he could remain a calculating monster and achieve his vengeance.

The Sith wore no mask after the catastrophic failure that brought him to this world, merging with Viserys Targaryen and claiming said identity as his. Perhaps that was his first, greatest mistake since awakening in the desert. Yet… this youth's memories and experiences shouldn't have affected him as much as they did. He had endured worse since ending up at the Sith Academy in Korriban all those years ago.

Viserys knew the Force wasn't the issue. The Dark Side was much easier to handle in this world. She hadn't been bidding her time to blindside him.

That murderous episode was all him, and that was a big issue. Viserys had to remind himself that he was in a teenage body that wasn't in good condition. While his mind might have been accustomed to the Force and nastier shocks, the hardware he was operating on, so to speak, wasn't. Viserys had regularly used the Force since the first moment he awoke in this world. If he was an untrained initiate, his loss of control and consequent rampage would have been a significant milestone on his path to becoming a proper Sith Acolyte with a bright future. Emotions fueled the Force. Rage and fear were vital in boosting your power until you had the training and knowledge to use them as fuel instead of trading sanity for the raw power necessary for survival.

Instead of being a milestone, the rampage was a disaster. Viserys had no illusion about the consequences they would have to face now. His killing spree painted a massive target on their backs. They no longer had the option of security by obscurity. Everyone relevant would be hunting them down to use them or to see them dead. After his stunt, every group possessing magic would want them, and not necessarily in a beneficial way. The Usurper would be spending a fortune on assassins. The locals would like to neutralize a clear threat or use him against their enemies… and Dany… Dany was his weak spot for whom everyone would be gunning.

Viserys' face scrunched at that admission. His eyes went to Dany, who was enjoying pampering by their hosts' servants in an enormous marble bath. Four girls just a bit older than her were busy massaging scented oils in Daenerys' sore muscles or imbuing her hair with them. His Little Dragon was content, which was a relief.

Experiencing Dany's emotions after Viserys got a grip on himself almost drove him into another rampage. His little sister was utterly terrified by the butchery, yet despite that, she was more scared for him than of him. She was such a precious little thing who somehow retained more than little innocence. Viserys loathed taking that from her, yet if he was to train Dany to survive the coming trials… Was he forever damned to hurt the few people he loved!?

Viserys closed his eyes and slowly but surely bout his building rage to serve him. He needed clarity and cold calculation, not burning fury.

There were advantages to what he did, the Prince kept telling himself, and it wasn't a lie. In some ways, that truth made it all worse because it meant pushing himself to avoid such an episode would be more challenging than otherwise. At least, now everyone would know that Viserys Targaryen was not to be fucked with lightly. People would understand that threatening Dany was a death sentence... yet that very truth heralded his little sister as Viserys' one weakness. His rampage made Dany into more of a target than ever before. Despite that, Viserys was glad that he earned a reputation for violence to bank on instead of being derided as the Beggar Prince.

The most significant benefit of the disaster was that the exiled Prince was able to use his host's terror to get five Spears of Unsullied as a tribute and a comfortable place to stay for now. He had fifty slave soldiers and their five unit commanders at his command.

Viserys picked up the Harpy's Claws from the table before him and looked at the multi-tailed whip. The claws were sharp pieces of dragon bone at the end of each 'tail.' Those were expensive, as they befitted a symbol of command, allowing whoever possessed it to decree the lives and deaths of Unsullied… and everyone they might be able to kill before going down.

Ten of these slave soldiers stood ready for action, guarding the entrances and windows to the bath. The rest protected the manor from would-be assassins or kidnappers.

All but one of the Unsullied's commanders were before Viserys unflinchingly standing at attention for nearly an hour now. He reluctantly drew on the Force, brushing his awareness across the surface of their minds. Viserys could describe their presence in the Force in only one way – they were dull. Kamino's Clones were bright stars, and even they shone less than regular people if you knew what to look for.

"Good soldiers follow orders," Viserys repeated the Clone's mantra, encapsulating the masterful indoctrination they were subjected to since before birth. In that regard, he had the nagging suspicions that these slave soldiers would be pale imitations. The Slave Masters who made them simply lacked the tools and understanding to come close to the Clone Masters of Kamino.

The Unsullied didn't react to his words. Viserys could sense no recognition. They simply didn't care because he didn't give them an order.

"Will you obey the orders of anyone else? A previous master, perhaps? The people who made you into who you are?" Viserys demanded. He used the Force to push for answers while intently studying the commanders.

"You are our Master! We obey only you," they answered as one.

Viserys could detect no hint of deception, only pure conviction.

"So if I order you to kill our host or the Good Masters of Astrapor, will you do it?" Viserys pushed.

"Yes, Master," four throats answered as one.

"Orders are absolute," a Commander added.

Again, there was no deception Viserys could glean, just more utter conviction. He had to admit that those slaver bastards at Astrapor might know what they were doing. That, of course, made him want to murder the fuck out of them even more. Viserys wasn't a fan of slavery. He recalled being one before Academy recruiters found him right after he drew on the Force and butchered his master. Naturally, he didn't let his personal feelings on the matter kill him during his long decades serving the Sith Empire. He wasn't about to allow such a sentiment to kill him or, worse, Dany. Still, if he had an opportunity to give salvers their just rewards, Viserys would gleefully seize it.

The Dark Side offered the power and freedom to break one's chains…. Only for people to bind themselves with chains of their own choosing, which were the toughest of them all. Viserys looked fondly at Dany, basking in her slumbering content. His bond with her was the one chain in this world he would bear with pride and avoid breaking at all costs.

Viserys looked back at the Unsullied. He would need to test their limits. Their initiative, if they had any. With notable exceptions, Kamino's Clones were bred to obey and then further indoctrinated. Yet, they had initiative as well, making them good soldiers. It remained to be seen how the Unsullied compared in that regard because Viserys had his doubts. His brief exposure to the slave soldiers reminded him more of droids with subpar programming than the Clones.

Nevertheless, what made the Unsullied valuable was that he might be able to rely on them to protect Dany. Contingency orders and perhaps a handful of officers he might eventually bend enough to trust with Dany should do the rest.

"Tell me about your training. What tactics do you employ? What are your preferred weapons and armor?" Viserys demanded, ready to absorb and ponder on their answers.

Quickly, it became clear that the Unsullied training was highly regimented and inflexible. The slave soldiers almost universally favored three types of spears as weapons, and none of them were ideal for close-quarters fighting in buildings where short swords, daggers, and perhaps maces would be best. Now, that wasn't an absolute truth. Depending on the building in question, the Unsullied as they were could be supremely deadly... or they could find themselves at a significant disadvantage if the place they had to storm or defend was more suited for butcher's work.

In most cases, the Unsullied and their masters preferred leather armor, which gave them more endurance across most of the Essos, where they habitually fought. A few wealthy cities threatened by Dothraki tended to outfit their slave soldiers with much heavier equipment, which further degraded their little flexibility in the field but increased their staying power against endless cavalry charges.

Only one thing made the dull signature of the Unsullied stir, allowing Viserys to glimpse a hint of pride. That happened when they spoke of their discipline, which was what everyone apparently envied them for. Discipline was an essential trait for any military, worth its salt and vital even. However, it wasn't everything. Some of the deadliest units Viserys recalled commanding or facing lacked conventional discipline, especially out of combat. It was creativity and unconditional tactics that made them so dangerous. The ability to adapt was invaluable, yet the Unsullied might very well lack that.

But perhaps Viserys was giving them too little credit. His experience with professional militaries and warrior cultures made excellent special forces, if not the best line soldiers. In a world like this one, the Unsullied's discipline combined with competent leadership might very well reign supreme against any enemy they were liable to face.

Viserys needed more information, including history accounts and after-action reports from competent veterans who saw the Unsullied wage war. He also needed to see them fight in pitched battles against worthy opponents, but that had to wait.

"Tell me of Astrapor," Viserys demanded.

That place made the Unsullied. It would have training facilities and industry enough to give them basic weapons and armor as well, which could be of great use.

=Sith=

Chapter 2 Part 2

=Sith=

290 AC

Magister Zavis' mansion

Pentos

Their host returned a few hours after sunset. By then, Viserys had tucked Dany into a comfortable bed that almost deserved her presence. He had half of the Unsullied guarding that section of the mansion, with a Spear surrounding her room, ready to kill anyone but him who dared to approach. A person couldn't be too paranoid when people were out to get them.

Zavis was young for a Magister, just like the innkeeper told Viserys before everything went to the Seven Hells. The man was vigorous and athletic, unlike many of the notables who briefly hosted the Targaryens after Ser Darry died. The bastards always grew bored and disappointed when they figured out there wouldn't be any profit in doing so, much less a marriage with Dany, which was the only thing Viserys had to offer them.

His sister wasn't for sale, damn them all!

Watching their host look nervously around and show respect was gratifying after all the years of contempt that Viserys had to endure. That alone almost made his episode worth it.

"My Prince, we've decided on an appropriate tribute for someone of your exalted station!" Zavis squirmed under Viserys' amused stare. "We'll have a war gallery ready to transport you and your retainers to any port in Essos of your choosing!"

That was perfectly fine. Viserys knew the locals couldn't possibly get rid of him fast enough. He didn't acknowledge the offer and kept staring at the Magister pointedly. Zavis nervously toyed with his oiled beard and clearly wanted to be anywhere but before his guest.

"The Magisters of Pentos will graciously supply you with the treasure needed to buy yourself a Century of Unsullied! We all want to avoid a repeat of today's events!" Zavis blurted out.

"On that much, we can agree. You'll present the treasure at the docks for inspection and have it loaded right before departure," Viserys allowed.

At those words, Zavis slumped back in relief.

"As long as you and your colleagues can avoid doing something stupid, I won't have to further demonstrate the Sorcery at my fingertips," For some odd reason, the Magister blanched at the way Viserys smiled at him.

"We would like that very much, my Prince!" Zavis hurried to agree.

"Good. You don't look well, my good fellow. Perhaps a drink is in order?"

"Yes… a drink… I'll go get myself one…" Zavis stammered and left quickly, bowing and scrapping all the way.

Viserys shook his head at that display. People around here must have a frail constitution, he decided. Even after Bothawui, most people he met handled his presence with far more composure and dignity… even if many governments went out of their way to surrender as soon as a fleet under his command entered their system.

=Sith=

The following day, the Targaryens left Zavis' mansion for the docks by way of the market. A small army of city guards surrounded their Unsullied, rapidly pushing away citizens and visitors alike. Dany looked at the spectacle in confusion and a lot of relief. They hit a few clothes shops recommended by Zavis' servants, and this time, the shopkeepers and seamstresses bend backward to outfit them with multiple sets of clothes. The merchants were bending backward to please and get rid of them as fast as possible, which was a far cry from most services Viserys had to endure after Ser Darry passed.

Frankly, it was becoming harder and harder to regret yesterday's loss of control, and that might very well bite him in the ass sooner or later. Despite that realization, Viserys found he couldn't really regret the immediate consequences. Dany's emotions shone brightly and carefree as she tried various light dresses appropriate for the Essos' climate. The realization that she got to have more than the clothes on her back for the first time in over a year had Viserys' little sister barely contain her happy tears. When she was done fitting in, Dany threw herself at him, hugged his side, and cried.

At that point, everyone else froze in terror, expecting Viserys to slaughter them on general principle.

"Pack our clothes," He ordered with a forced smile.

As soon as they left the marketplace, Viserys could sense the incredible relief of everyone they left behind. He had to remind himself that this was a land where sorcery was rare, and displays like his were virtually unheard of in this day and age. The understanding that the other shoe was yet to drop failed to sour his mood.

The docks should have been packed with people minding their own business. Instead, groups of city guards cleared the place and locked down the area. Viserys could sense no danger, which actually made sense. The locals wanted them gone instead of another bloody massacre.

Zavis awaited them near one of the few warships Braavos allowed Pentos to have, surrounded by a handful of wary dockhands, who gawked at the last Targaryens as if they were one of the wonders of the world. The Magister stood beside twenty ornate chests with a scribe by his side.

"My Prince, Princess," Zavis bowed, and his minion did the same. "As promised, your tribute is here for inspection. I hope you will find everything in order."

The large chests contained a literal king's ransom – from gold and silver bars to gems of all types, jewels, and heaps of coins. Frankly, Viserys wasn't equipped to estimate the value of the treasure beyond it being a lot. In his life as a Sith, gold, and silver were very cheap in most worlds due to massive mining operations all over the galaxy. Only the jewels would have been of any interest as a source of income.

"This will do," Viserys graciously allowed after the scribe offered him an inventory of the tribute and its estimated worth. He had the equivalent of a million Golden Dragons – a stark reminder that the Free Cities of Essos were extremely wealthy by Westerosi standards. Only the Great Houses and the Crown would ever see and deal with this kind of money, Viserys thought. He could indeed buy himself a mercenary army or two for this much treasure, but he couldn't trust them. It also underlined how valuable the Unsullied were to the people with means on this continent, for this tribute should be enough for a single Century of them. One hundred soldiers with ten Commanders for the ten Spears. A Century consisted of a hundred and ten Unsullied.

A thousand of them would cost over ten million. Many of the Cities in Essos had a few thousand slave soldiers as their primary defensive force.

"Load the tribute. We'll be leaving as soon as practical. I thank you for being such a gracious host, Magister Zavis," Viserys nodded at his former host. They waited for the deckhands to load the treasure.

=Sith=

They left Pentos at high tide. The Unsullied outnumbered the fighting-fit part of the crew, giving Viserys some peace of mind. He still ordered them to be vigilant and had one Spear stick to Dany to keep her safe. While they waited for the tide, the Prince scheduled guard rotation for his sister and a training regiment for himself and the Unsullied. With that done, he retreated to the Captain's cabin with the Ship's master and the highest-ranked officers on board, for they needed to have a heart-to-heart conversation.

"Where are we heading, my Prince?" to his credit, Captain Kaleb didn't grovel.

The shipmaster was a thin man with wiry muscles and tanned, dusky skin weathered by the elements. His square jaw was a scarred mess that drew the eye of anyone looking at him. Unless you paid attention, it would be easy to miss the intelligence in his eyes.

"Astrapor. The point of this exercise is to buy more Unsullied to guarantee my sister's safety and avoid unpleasantries like those yesterday," Viserys explained.

"Is it too much to ask the reason behind yesterday's events? I am responsible for the lives of everyone on board," Kaleb inquired.

The man had more spine than anyone Viserys had met since his loss of control. For that alone, he deserved credit.

"Westerosi bastards wanted our heads, and worse as far as my sister was concerned. We are golden as long as no one looks crossly at her, much less try something. Otherwise, people are going to die screaming," Viserys happily promised.

"If one of my crew wants to die, I'll keelhaul them myself before hanging them on the mast," Kaleb promised and meant it. His men nodded rapidly in agreement.

"I am glad to hear it." There had to be something wrong with Viserys' smile because everyone blanched when he offered it.

Chapter 863 - 2