"A wise king knows what he knows and what he does not. You are too young. A wise young king listens to his counselors and follows their advice until he comes into his own. And the wisest king listens to them even after."
— Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West.
…
A Year Later. Year 284 AC. Essos. The Free City of Lys. The Market Quarter.
Standing in one of the five markets of Lys, I never ceased to be amazed by this city. Thousands of people bought and sold wares, and this was not even on the busiest day, nor at the largest market! Honestly, it was surreal to know that a medieval city was home to around four hundred thousand people, and that was just the permanent residents! How many merchants, travelers, and slaves in transit to other lands were passing through? It was astounding!
In truth, this entire world never ceased to surprise me. Within the same time period, you had the Free Cities, which were a blend of eternally warring Greek poleis and a kind of Arabian luxury and style.
Yet, on the neighboring continent, noble lords had been leading armies of knights and peasant levies into battle for thousands of years. The armor and weapons there were a collection from every period of the Middle Ages that I knew! The same could be said for the clothing. It was perfectly normal to find a lady dressed in a seventeenth-century gown at a ball in King's Landing, standing next to her daughter, who wore a style popular at the French court in the fifteenth century.
And that's not even mentioning the Yi Ti empire, where dozens of princes and three emperors held sway. The mere fact that three dynasties co-existed simultaneously made it clear why this analog of China wasn't engaged in any serious expansion. They'd been mired in minor and major civil wars for hundreds of years! Moreover, according to merchants' tales, each of the emperors commanded armies numbering in the hundreds of thousands.
And then there were the various wild tribes in this world. Beyond the Wall in the North, there were the Free Folk. In fact, if the canon was to be believed, there were also giants and mammoths up there. Mammoths! Utter madness.
And it was in this world that I had set my goal: the conquest of an entire continent.
I was still too young to accomplish anything worthwhile. To raise an army in a world of swords and chainmail, one needed to be an excellent leader, preferably with a reputation as a first-rate warrior. And that was where I had problems. No, my progress was superb; after a year, I had become a strong child, knowing sword and spear forms better than some hedge knights. The problem was that I had just turned nine. At this age, only the most hardcore transmigrators could win duels against seasoned knights and kill foes with a crossbow bolt aimed precisely at the eye. As a less experienced person, I'd have to wait until at least fourteen to look my subordinates in the eye, instead of at their navels, during a conversation.
"Lost in thought again, Jaime?" one of my two bodyguards asked me, using the invented name.
"Quite right, Ser Lorik. I'm pondering a problem," I nodded, walking between the two knights and simultaneously inspecting stalls filled with various exotic wares.
"And what does it consist of, your worship?" inquired Dick, a young man in his thirties with a simple face but large muscles.
At the word "worship", Lorik couldn't suppress a smirk, which he immediately wiped away as soon as he noticed I saw it. Yes, Dick was a simple village lad who had earned his spurs for valor in battle. Therefore, rustic words like m'lord instead of My Lord were common in his vocabulary. For this, my other knights regarded him with slight disdain. But knowing full well that discipline among soldiers came first, I often put these noble Ser gentlemen in their place.
"I need loyal men, and I don't quite know where to find them," I sighed, revealing my problem.
"Hmm, are you looking to secure a trusted inner circle who will become your companions-in-arms in the future?" Lorik asked. At my surprised look, he merely gave a satisfied snort. "It's quite logical, Jaime. I would do the same in your situation."
"Well, if my lord's son is interested in my opinion, I can give a bit of advice," Dick grumbled, all the while keeping a keen eye on passersby for any danger to my small person.
"Yes, Ser Dick, I'd like to hear your opinion," I said, giving a favorable nod and observing a passing man with blue hair and a red beard with interest. Most likely, he was a native of Tyrosh, and judging by his belly and pampered hands, a merchant.
"Well, here's the gist of it. To earn their respect and be followed as a leader, you need to gain a man's trust. Helping them in a tight spot is the first thing that comes to mind," the knight began thoughtfully. "Also, it's best if the men you choose are not much older than you, as it's harder for a boy to earn the respect of a life-hardened old wolf than a young cub. But it's quite possible to raise a seasoned wolfhound from a cub," Dick shared his thoughts.
I agreed with him in principle. Loyal men should be cultivated oneself, just like an army. But where was I to find these cubs that would grow into wolfhounds? I had an idea, though. If I wasn't mistaken, Lys was Varys's birthplace. And the Spider had been an ordinary street urchin. Though, it was unlikely he was all that "ordinary." This was a man who had risen from the lowest depths so that even powerful lords like Tywin Lannister treated him with caution, which was quite an achievement.
The problem, however, was that among the hundreds of street urchins, beggars, and thieves of Lys, finding a gem like Varys was a task worth a million gold dragons. Still, there was a thought. Why search myself when I could entrust it to more competent individuals? I didn't think it would be difficult for Dick, a former peasant, then a sellsword, and now a knight, to carry out my request. Hmm... that was a clearly good idea.
"Dick, I have a task for you," I said, getting my bodyguard's attention. "I need you to find some local criminal boss who wouldn't mind earning a bit. I'm interested in capable lads, no older than fourteen or fifteen. They must be brave, quick-witted, and preferably have leadership qualities. It's also important that they are of Valyrian blood and bone: silver hair, violet eyes, and pale skin. Though, I think you yourself know what those strong in the blood of Valyria look like," I said with a smile.
"I think I understand what you're planning, your worship," Dick nodded thoughtfully, adjusting the sword hanging at his belt. "But I don't think there'll be many such lads. Usually, by that age, street children are cruel but thick as oaks. If we can gather at least half a dozen, that will be luck," he cautioned me. "And it will be quite expensive. Bandits don't usually get involved in this sort of thing."
"Three or four people will be enough for a start, and even if a person fits all requirements except for the Valyrian descent, their candidacy can still be considered," I said, unhooking one of the two purses from my belt and handing it to the knight.
"It will be done, my lord." Taking the money and bowing once more, Dick quickly disappeared into the crowd of passersby.
"Hmm. Why Valyrians, specifically?" Lorik inquired, his gaze lingering with interest on a beautiful woman, clearly of Ghiscaric descent. Her fiery red hair and characteristic attire certainly suggested it.
"I think you'll understand in time," I answered vaguely, not wanting to reveal my plans to my subordinates prematurely.
I had learned back in the army that fully disclosing my intentions to those lower in rank was pointless, and sometimes even harmful. By fully explaining the plans, one might inadvertently imply that you value one fighter more than others and that his opinion matters to you. This could lead to arguments about the expediency of certain orders. You also risk ruin if that information gets out from that person. It doesn't matter how, whether he turns out to be a traitor or just a blabbermouth who told too much over a mug of ale to his comrades.
If the information that I planned to revive dragons and knew at least one method to do so got out, I would be finished. They would either slit my throat just in case, or seize me, wring out all my secrets, and then toss me in a ditch with a slit throat just the same.
And I did know a method, albeit a somewhat questionable one. Daenerys sprinkled the dragon eggs with her blood, then walked into a burning house, where Dothraki khals were being cooked alive at that very moment. She emerged with three winged lizards that would eventually grow into a trio of ultimate weapons that crushed armies, city walls, and castles.
And I did not plan to limit myself to just three dragons. In the Valyrian Freehold, there were forty dragonlord families, and collectively, they possessed two hundred winged monsters that held the entire world in terror for thousands of years.
It was quite foolish to limit myself to just two riders, me and Daenerys. As far as I knew, there were several families in Volantis whose veins, like those of the Targaryens, still carried the blood of the ancient dragonlords. But for them to be truly loyal to House Targaryen, and not just take my dragons, say "thanks a lot, human," and kick me out on my backside, I already needed riders. Say, an order, like the Kingsguard, that admitted only the worthy. But it would be composed of people loyal to my House, flying the dragons entrusted to them. Then, yes, the old Valyrian nobility would be faithful to me and my line. Or, if they betrayed me, they would burn in the fire of my dragon guards. Fire and Blood, as my ancestors used to say, Fire and Blood.
I should also remember the two noble Houses of Westeros: Celtigar and Velaryon. Two Houses that were vassals of the Targaryens even before the Doom of Valyria. It was a Velaryon ship that ferried my sister and me across the Narrow Sea. These two ancient lines never had their own dragons but were fiercely loyal to my House. They also had their own military and trading ships, so their wealth could rival the Starks, Arryns, and Tully's. I believe that upon hearing that the Targaryens had returned, mounted on dragons, they would have bent the knee anyway. But upon receiving what their ancestors had dreamed of for hundreds of years, their own dragons... Yes, they would be mine, body and soul.
And now it was time for the estate. Judging by the sun's position, it would soon be dinner, and the slave I had recently purchased was an excellent cook. Yes, I had become a slave owner, but there was nothing surprising about that here. Entire cities were founded on it. It was much easier and safer to buy a person than to hire a servant who could easily turn out to be a spy. Moreover, I wasn't some savage; my cook and the dozen other purchased workers lived better than some servants of the noble lords.
…
A Week Later. Essos. The Free City of Lys. The Grey Quarter.
"Brother, are you sure this isn't another trap by slavers or other scum?" grumbled a stout but Valyrian-handsome boy with short white hair.
"Daeron, I am the brains of our pair, not the other way around. Of course, I checked everything before going to that estate," replied a youth of about fourteen, who was the spitting image of his interlocutor but had the physique of a lean athlete rather than a warrior like his counterpart.
"Daemon, you have to understand, who needs us except for various perverts in brothels? And here's this information from Tychoris Three-Axes! He's the gang leader known to everyone in the Grey Quarter for supplying little boys and girls from the poor to the pleasure houses! And you trusted that Ghiscaric bastard?" the sturdy boy persisted.
"Of course, I didn't believe a single word from that son of a dog!" Daemon snorted indignantly, smoothing his shoulder-length hair. "But I checked his words. Some nobleman from the Sunset Lands recently arrived in the city, and it was his men who gave that red-haired jackal a tight purse to find clever children from among the orphans, thieves, and poor. Preferably with Valyrian looks, which is interesting. But the most important thing is that he has a son, a black-haired boy no older than ten with purple eyes. Also, one of his knights has a year-old daughter with silver hair and eyes the color of violets, according to a gossipy slave from their estate," Daemon said, raising a finger to the sky in a professorial manner.
Briefly interrupting their conversation to let a squad of city guards pass, the brothers continued talking.
"Ha, any woman would fall for your pretty face, and sometimes even a man," Daeron laughed.
"Hey! I'm not a fan of male beauty!" the brother shoved his shoulder. "And I certainly don't want to hear anything about my face from someone who wears the same one," the first twin returned the smile to the other.
"So, what about the boy and the girl?" the sturdy one asked, adjusting his yellow shirt, which looked neat but was clearly quite worn.
"There was a rebellion in the Sunset Lands recently, just over a year ago. The Targaryen dynasty, the former dragonlords of Old Valyria, was overthrown. That's the news a merchant told me for a couple of silver and a mug of swill," Daemon continued, stepping around a drunken fat man lying in the road. "Only here's the rub. Prince Viserys and his little sister managed to escape the new king's brother and are lost somewhere in Essos," the duo's chief strategist smiled, watching his kin's face stretch with realization.
"You don't think that's them? Especially since the boy has black hair, according to your words."
"Hair can be dyed," Daemon shrugged. "But if my assumptions turn out to be true..."
"...great opportunities will open up before us," Daeron finished for him. "Maybe then Mother's dream will come true..." he began, but was cut off by a wave of his brother's hand.
"It won't maybe come true. It will come true. She wanted us to take back what was lost, brother, and I swear, it will happen!" Daemon said, his tone suddenly becoming serious as he emphasized every word.
"House Reraxes lives as long as at least one person carrying the blood of the dragon is alive. And there are two of us, brother, we will manage. Fire and Steel, Daemon," Daeron nodded in agreement, clutching the pendant hanging around his neck.
"Fire and Steel, brother, Fire and Steel," the young Valyrian returned a harsh smile, a similar amulet dangling from his own neck.
…
At the Same Time. Essos. The Free City of Lys. The "Jolly Steed" Tavern.
"So, what did you find out about the people I asked you about?" asked a young man, setting down his fork and pushing his empty plate away.
"Yes, Maegor," a beautiful young woman nodded, tucking a black lock of hair behind her ear.
Taking a sip of wine, she continued.
"A minor nobleman who fled Westeros. He has a guard of five knights and a dozen recently bought Unsullied. The estate he's renting also houses a couple of serving girls and a dozen newly acquired slaves. And his son, who looks about ten. That's all I could find out," the girl shrugged.
"What about you, Narvos?" the youth turned to a stocky guy in his twenties.
"My boys couldn't get inside their house; you understand, knights and Unsullied aren't the types to sleep on duty. I can add that one of this 'Aemon's' knights has a baby girl, his daughter. Seems like nothing much; he has Valyrian blood in him, and the girl has silver hair and violet eyes, just like yours. But there's one snag: I don't know who the mother of this little one is, but the father has blue eyes and hair that's reddish. The mother would have to be a pure-blooded Valyrian for the girl to have that look. The problem is, such women can only be found among the nobility in Volantis, or the Targaryens. But I don't think a simple knight could impregnate a maiden of the Pureborn or royal blood," the young man rumbled, biting into a chicken leg with gusto.
"Hmm. Interesting. Listen, Veela, what color are the eyes and hair of this Lord Aemon's son?" Maegor tapped the table thoughtfully with his fingers.
"Black as night, and his eyes are purple," the brunette replied, furrowing her brow thoughtfully.
"Ha! Hair can be dyed!" Narvos slammed his fist on the table, leaning forward like a beast that had smelled blood. "You're thinking the same thing as I am, aren't you, Elder?"
"Not a word to anyone. Not even your boys, Narvos," the leader of their small gang of housebreakers and racketeers said in a stern tone. "If our suspicions are correct, we can rise from common street scum to people addressed as 'Your Grace,' and nothing less."
"Or make a mountain of money by saying a few words to the right person. I don't think people like that have few enemies," Veela tilted her head and chewed thoughtfully on her thumbnail.
"We can get money in both cases. But not land and titles. Any reasonable leader will value the people who were with him from the very beginning. Like I value you two," the Valyrian parried the veiled suggestion.
"The main thing is that this leader turns out to be reasonable," the girl chuckled, shaking her head. "You're starting a dangerous game, Maeg."
"No more dangerous than the executioner's sword for what we're doing now," the youth bared a harsh grin, receiving two similar smiles in return. "As for whether this boy is clever or stupid, we'll find out when we meet him."
Getting up from the table and leaving half a dozen coins behind, the trio headed for the tavern exit.
"By the way, they say the Crimson Duo also received an invitation. And they accepted," the girl suddenly recalled.
"It gets more and more interesting," Maegor said, stepping out onto the street and moving toward a notable estate.
The wagers are made. No more bets to be placed.
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