17 Chapter 13

108 AC, The Red Keep

Otto Hightower POV

Otto watched the foreign dressed man wait with the men carrying in the small crate at the bottom of the stairs, waiting to brought into the Red Keep. His gaze washed over the men, intently studying them, and he could see that they were low born yet they wore fair quality garments typically expected of the merchant class.

One of the guards that escorted them in walked towards him. 

"My Lord Hand." The guard bowed his head "These are the men who claim to be sent on behalf of Prince Aegon the Elder." The guard brought out two letters and Otto took them and he inspected the seal on the letters.

Both of them had the Targaryen seal, the same seal he'd seen four years ago, the last correspondence between the Iron Throne and the third son of Baelon.

Otto flipped the letters over and saw that one was addressed to King Viserys and the other to the Lord Hand, and he began to open the letter addressed to him.

It was standard procedure, to address towards someone of high rank in the capital when letters came from foreign dignitaries or merchants who wished an audience with the King.

It's the Prince's handwriting, Otto recognised after he read through the letter. 

He closed the letter after having read through the inconsequential content which only bore to assuage that it did come from the Prince himself and what the gifts were, and Otto dismissively waved the men to come up.

"Have the rooms by the servants' quarters prepared." Otto said with cool eyes as he eyed the Prince's men once more before returning his gaze towards the guard as he began to turn away.

"And search the crate thoroughly."

It was later during the evening meal when he was with his daughter, the Queen, Viserys and Rhaenyra, that he had the gifts brought that were held within the crate.

"Your brother has brought gifts for his namesake and nephew whilst bringing gifts for Rhaenyra and Alicent." Otto told them before the gifts were brought in by the servants.

"Ah!" Viserys said exuberantly as he got up from his seat and made his way towards the gifts, as did Rhaenyra though his daughter Alicent sent him a quizzical look to which he only nodded slightly before she also got up to inspect the gifts.

The gifts were…worthy, Otto had to concede.

Two-foot-tall ivory statuettes of dragons and lighthouses were amongst the gifts given to the Royal family. His daughter received a jade gemstone necklace, Rhaenyra a diadem made of gold crowned with violet gems whilst his grandson received a dagger with ornately designed hilt that respected both of his heritage.

Extravagant gifts that he was sure could command a fortune, a fortune all but a few Houses could afford to part with at the best of times.

And Viserys would know it too, Otto thought with disgruntlement, and would only embolden the man to seek to return the 'wayward' Prince to Viserys' side.

Otto walked towards Viserys who was in conversation with Rhaenyra about one of the statuettes, about whether or not it resembled Balerion or Vermithor more, and he gestured Alicent to intercede when he needed her to. After she understood, he spoke up "Your Grace." Otto said respectfully, drawing Viserys' attentions.

Rhaenyra pivoted away towards Alicent who called on her and Otto decided then to lean in slightly, saying "Your brother wrote back." 

He fished out the letter with the unbroken seal, the seal unbroken despite his own curiosity what the wayward third Prince wrote, from his inside pocket and Viserys eyed the letter with bright curiosity as he handed it over to the man. "May I suggest you read it later?" Otto said cautiously as he looked meaningfully to the girls.

Viserys visibly warred with himself, before he conceded with a tight smile. "Very well." Viserys said as he tucked away the letter and turned towards the girls, happily discussing the gifts and where they might display in court.

It was later, when he and Viserys were alone, that Viserys broke the seal.

Otto watched Viserys keenly as he read the letter, the excited gleam in his eyes slowly dimming as he read further down the letter, and Otto, felt a sense of relief at the growing and marked display of disappointment on Viserys' face.

He had not been pleased with the prospect of the return of the all-but-self-exiled Prince who Otto believed was…problematic. 

Not in the problematic sense that Daemon was, no, thank the Seven Aegon the Elder was not a threat like Daemon was. His years in court and his time as Lord Hand during the Old King's reign made it clear that Aegon the Elder held contempt for the court…and its people.

The third son of Baelon valued keeping hold of his grudges more than he did the new position he'd found himself despite having all of the opportunity to bolster his position at court and in the realm.

As the man married to the Old King's last daughter, who was clearly in favour with the Old King in his last years, and as the brother of the next King, Aegon could have ensured that he was a major political force on top of being a knight and a dragonrider.

The man eschewed it all and Otto was glad for it.

He'd been surprised to see the Old King include Aegon the Elder as much as he did in the last years of his reign, and it quickly became apparent that it was not because the boy was married to his only living daughter that he'd done so.

The simple truth was…Aegon the Elder was more competent than either of his elder brothers in almost every manner, that early promise of the boy's intelligence Otto had been informed off by the maesters coming into fruition in full.

And Viserys, even if he was fortunately more sentimental than he was understanding of Aegon's skills, knew at some level that Aegon would be a boon for his reign.

And Otto did not want that man anywhere near Viserys for he believed, no, knew, his influence over Viserys would wane in ways that Daemon could never achieve.

Daemon, Otto thought with a contemptuous grimace, was a cruel self-serving violent deviant that thought of nothing else than his own desires and his vices, and Viserys, despite the undeserved love he held for Daemon, knew this, at least deep down, and it had not been difficult to sway Viserys to his ways of thinking in most instances.

Aegon the Elder however?

The man was clever, when he wanted to be, and persuasive. 

He'd seen enough of his persuasiveness when the Old King reigned and when Prince Baelon still lived, having convinced the Targaryen men to let him take Dragonstone under his charge allowing him to develop the ports and towns of Dragonstone when it should have fallen to Viserys as Baelon's heir to manage the seat, which, in the end, had costed the Iron Throne substantial taxes when Aegon absconded away with half of the population and almost all of the shipbuilders when he left.

Not only that, he'd also convinced them to radically change the 'housing system' of Kings Landing whilst getting the Old King to invest in the sewage system that Aegon the Elder had successfully argued was costly and ineffective with the way it dealt with the waste of the smallfolk and the way it ran from street to street.

All this whilst figuring out how to make glass of almost perfect quality, quality that not even the Myr glassmakers could produce, and bartering a contract with the Iron Bank when he was still yet barely a man grown.

And despite the point that an agreement should never have been brought to Braavos when such industry could have transformed Kings Landing, he grudgingly had to admit that the contract was at least adequate, especially given that it was a constant stream of gold that would only increase when the Stepstones debacle was settled.

Some of his kin in Old Town and the maesters believed that the achievement is attributed to that half-maester Edwyn but Otto did not underestimate the third Prince.

The maesters that had been around during the third Prince's early years had much to say about the man, about his intellect and the close relationship he once bore with the late grandmaester Elysar who was said to highly regard the Prince.

And from what he'd seen of the third Prince, Otto acknowledged that there was a sharp mind underneath that head of silver hair.

Viserys knew that too even if Otto thought that Viserys was blind to his youngest brother, who considered Aegon the Elder's achievements to be a joint matter with his sire when it was clear that his youngest brother who should be credited in full.

Which, of course, Otto believed likely contributed to Aegon the Elder decision to depart from the Kingdoms. The relationship between Viserys and Aegon had never quite recovered after the Princess Gael debacle, when the third Prince had been accused of distasteful rumours that saw none of the royal family refute at the time.

He'd been sceptical about the rumours when he'd first heard about as he did not think Queen Alysanne would have left Aegon the Elder to remain free with how much the old woman had loved that girl, and the later announcement by the Old King vindicated that scepticism, even if he was sure it was not the truth.

Nevertheless, the broken relationship between the brothers, the major faults of Aegon the Elder, faults of wilfulness, stubbornness and wrath, made him relatively assured that Viserys' offer would be rejected.

"He refused."

Otto looked Viserys who slumped in his chair and Otto suppressed a smile as Viserys gazed up at Otto with a tired saddened smile. "I had hoped…" Viserys trailed off.

"Your brother has made a life in the Summer Isles. A successful life if the quality of the gifts is anything to go by." Otto told Viserys carefully.

Although he did not expect it to be this successful. 

They did not have an active spy network there, as much as he wanted there to be, but there were plenty in Lotus Port that would inform their people amongst the Old Town merchant ships about the affairs of the island.

In truth, he wasn't sure what to make of the reports. 

The settlement Aegon built, named queerly as Corinth – neither Valyrian or Andal – was reportedly said to be made completely of wet stone that when dried was as hard as any stone found on the Summer Isles, and was said to boast city walls ten feet tall and homes that were all built with the wet stone.

Some of their spies had seen the stone for there were roads built around Lotus Port that had these stones. Unfortunately, they did not know how it was made or even who created in the first place, only that Corinth had sent men to lay the wet stone.

There wasn't much else they could find out about the settlement for the place rarely entertained any outsiders beyond the neighbouring Summer Islander villagers and the traders of Lotus Port, as per the agreement made between the Prince of Wallano and Aegon.

One thing was clear however. 

The industry that had been on Dragonstone had clearly improved for it seemed like much of the gold Aegon made was spent on buying the freedoms of the slaves of Lys and the Disputed Lands, an expensive affair that he'd considered had to taking more than the income of the Braavosi glass industry.

He'd sent a raven to his brother some moons ago about the matters there. The Prince was more successful in trading that he thought he'd be and mayhaps there was more happening there that they needed to know, especially since there were five dragonriders on those Isles, more than the rest of the Targaryens combined. It could be those ridiculous ships were not as much a gimmick as he thought they were.

"He said as much." Viserys said with a miserable laugh as he gestured Otto towards the letter and Otto took the letter and read it.

Otto kept his expression the same as he read it though he was surprised by some of it…especially the tone with which Aegon had written with.

It was…cold…formal, more so than one could expect between brothers.

He'd thanked Viserys for the position and the offer of lands but politely declined, stating that he did not foresee himself and his family returning in next few years and that he did not wish for Viserys to leave the important post unoccupied for too long.

The only parts of the letters that were warm was in regards to Rhaenyra and Aegon, whom he wished best fortunes and that one day he'd get to meet his namesake and see Rhaenyra once more.

Ironically, there was no mention of Aegon's own children.

Otto looked away to the letter and looked towards Viserys who turned to look towards his Valyria model with a faraway look. 

"A life?" Viserys murmured softly, seemingly speaking to himself. "What life?" Viserys shook his head before continuing "what life can he possibly have that is better than one with his own people? His own family?" Viserys asked and Otto was certain it was not to him, not entirely anyway.

"You know what's been said about him, Otto" Viserys spoke up after a moments as he returned his gaze to Otto "That he is as much a flesh peddler as the rest of the Seven damned Essosi." Viserys said with a set jaw. 

Without Aegon present to defend himself and his actions, the nobles that had seen their overtures batted away by the man had taken the opportunity to fuel rumours that his purchasing of slaves was not as pious as some would believe.

Otto had brought the news of the rumours to Viserys and he'd been wroth by the attack on his brother's character. Viserys would have learned of it sooner or later from the Master of Whispers but Otto had seen an…opportunity to win over some of the nobles and Lords to his way of thinking.

Otto had presented an opportunity to Viserys to deal with the rumours and he'd done so during the last courtly festivities where Viserys had addressed the matter by toasting his brother for his pious deeds alongside several influential Septons, effectively defanging the rumours lest they be deemed to be doubting the words of the King and the Faith.

"None of that would have happened if he was here, where people could see him do the good work against slavery." Viserys sighed "I should have offered to help him with this cause of his. Maybe that would have made the difference."

"I cannot answer for your brother's desires, Your Grace." Otto said with a pause as he eyed the man for a moment before continuing. "I did not know him as well as you did." Otto said in a half lie. In truth, he did not understand either, why Aegon threw away everything. Aegon would have gotten what almost all second sons wish for. 

A lordship, land, and an elder brother whose ear could be bent.

Viserys scoffed as he shook his head. "I do not think anyone knows him at all safe for Gael." Viserys sighed. "Safe for Aemma" he added with a sad note to his voice.

Otto artfully thinned his lips, the only indication of his displeasure of the mention of that woman. That woman never seemed to stop haunting the place despite her ashes long having cast into the winds.

"Prince Aegon's men are still in Kings Landing, Your Grace." Otto said, redirecting the conversation as he placed the letter onto the table. "I can have them called up if you wish to have them take a letter to your brother?"

Viserys slightly turned towards him, meeting his gaze before he looked away from Otto, wearing still that disappointed look. "No" he said after a little while.

"There is nothing to share with Aegon. He does not wish to return and it seems like there is nothing I can say or do to convince him otherwise." Viserys shook his head.

"One brother who craves more than it is his to have, and another who craves nothing more but to reject all that he could have granted to him on a silver platter." Viserys chuckled with a rasp before he sighed heavily and turned towards Otto.

"If only my brothers were like you."

Thank the Seven they were not, Otto thought. 

He'd never have gotten this close otherwise.

"I live to serve, Your Grace."

Viserys smiled gratefully before nodding towards him "Go. I've kept you enough."

"Your Grace." Otto bowed before he left.

He made his way through the holdfast, towards his next destination and as he arrived at his tower, he found his informant waiting by the guards.

As soon as they were left alone in his office, he asked without delay "Did you find out where they are going?"

"They are. Though they have stated that they are due to the Vale to deliver gifts for Prince Baelon and Lady Royce."

Otto suffocated the grimace that came across his face as he thought of that displeasing problem.

He'd still not been able to convince Viserys to go back on the betrothal between Baelon and Rhaenyra. 

His correspondence with Lady Royce was positive however, keen as she was to preserve her line and prevent her kin from usurping the House from underneath her.

As it was, Lady Royce was keen to have Baelon marry a daughter of the Vale instead of the Princess, which was a much more palatable eventuality.

For almost everyone involved.

Having Rhaenyra marry Daemon's spawn was a nightmare that was only surpassed by the deviant marrying the girl himself.

He could see it with utmost clarity, the danger of uniting the claims of Daemon through Baelon and Viserys through Rhaenyra.

The rightful claim of his grandson would be placed under unacceptable threat even if he managed to win the Westerlands and the Stormlands to his grandson's cause.

Having a Queen as a ruler of the Seven Kingdoms would be unacceptable to the Lords of the realm but having a Targaryen King, even if he was to be consort, could be twisted into an acceptable compromise for most lords.

He would never see that outcome come to breathe a single breath.

And neither would House Hightower or their allies.

Thankfully, Daemon was as much a threat to himself as he was to his grandson and Lady Royce's hatred for Daemon and her own concerns for her son was the opening with which he'd convince her to allow the betrothal to…simply fall apart.

She'd gain a full heir of her House's name, which he'd see done, and which would have the discontented kinsmen step away, and her son would still have ties, blood ties to the Royal family that mayhaps one day would yield a queen of House Royce.

It was a cleaner solution than having the boy killed. For now.

Rhaenyra would marry someone else should Viserys be opposed to marrying his grandson to the girl, someone more…manageable that could be won over.

Unfortunately, he knew that as Princess, a dragonriding Princess at that, there were only a few Houses worthy of her hand. 

And the two Houses that he knew had the best chances of convincing Viserys were both two Houses that he would do his best to ensure they did not succeed.

"They've hired a ship then?" Otto asked, returning to the matter at hand.

"Yes, my Lord. Although I do not know where after they'd go."

Otto dismissed the point. Likely they'd return to Kings Landing before riding out to Tumbleton where they'd go down the Mander…like they'd done to get here.

It was an option that some merchants were taking rather than brave the Stepstones with the way it was.

Otto briefly considered if he should do more than idly keeping watch, but decided in the end that there was little point and as such, he dismissed the man, telling him to keep him apprised on their guests, and soon he was left alone in his office.

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108 AC – Oldtown, Clover Tavern

Selyse POV

She peered over the balcony of the Clover Tavern, looking over the buildings and the river that fed out of Oldtown. 

It was a pretty city, with labyrinth cobbled stone streets that snaked in and out to lead into markets and shops in the unlikeliest of places.

There was a charm to it, she supposed, but she found the piousness of the people in the city…distasteful. There was a superficiality to it that seemed worse than what she was used to in Lys, where folk could switch from one faith to another several times in a lifetime. 

She herself had followed one faith only to switch to another when it caught her fancy only for her to decide none of them suited her.

But those who truly believed, those who could swear that they were of a faith, they rarely were so contrary to what she'd seen in this city where septons could take pleasure of the flesh and pleasure of the mind yet straightforwardly give a sermon of the evils of lust and sinful debauchery when not a night ago that same septon had a tongue in places that would cause even the most adventurous Westerosi to shield their ears before partaking a riot to hang the sinning septon.

Of course, it wasn't only the septons that were two-faced. Many of the people were too, in a supposed holy city. But she supposed folk, high born or low born, were the same wherever they were. The same kinds of merchants would cheat you in bold-faced lies when their faith decried such actions, and the same kinds of guards took bribes and in the other hand would give such 'hard earned' coin to the Faith who would in turn spend but a pittance of coin on the people.

And then there was the crooks and cutthroats who roamed the streets as easily as they did in Kings Landing and as long as they did not make too much of a problem for the city guard and the Hightowers, they were almost free to act as they pleased.

When they'd first set up their pillow houses here in Oldtown, they'd had to content with these kinds of people much more than they had to in Kings Landing.

It took over a year and more men sent by the Prince for the problem to 'go away', finally edging out the crooks and their competing pillow houses which had to have their support ripped out from the city guard and a few noblemen who protected them.

And now, three years later, they managed to, as the Prince would say, monopolise, the pleasure market in the city. They catered to almost all vices, even introducing desires to men who did not know they had it, and they'd become almost as ingrained within the city as the jewelleries and the perfumes and the wines and the fruits, though they were in the crevices, in the hidden cracks in plain sight, in taverns next to the shops that mothers and wives and servants would go and purchase goods.

Which, she thought, suited this city of contradiction.

And now, she mused as she gazed upon a Hightower ship passing through deeper into the city towards the port that were reserved for the Hightowers, all of that effort over the years would soon come to an end.

She was almost regretful for it, all of the effort that had gone into wresting some control in the city would be gone in just a few weeks should everything go to plan.

It was why she was here too.

She'd received a message from Minisha, her deputy who oversaw the pillow houses they owned in Old Town whilst Selyse had Kings Landing, that one of the girls had snared a target with access and would likely be attempting the plot in the next moon or two. 

She'd gotten the girls to delay until she got there for it was quite likely that the attempt could only happen once lest they raise suspicions and now, after a moon having been here and meticulously going over the plan with the girl, they were ready.

They only needed the opportunity now.

She would have been peeved to be pulled away from Kings Landing for this, regardless of the pretty buildings that was unlike much of Kings Landing, especially in the hasty manner she'd gotten herself to this, quite frankly, distasteful city, at least in comparison to Kings Landing where there was an appeal to its chaotic nature, but given the importance the Prince had placed on this, more important than providing him information on matters of Kings Landing and his family, she was rather curious to understand why the Prince valued these items so much.

She knew of the legends about the items, legends that claimed they could be used to see over mountains, seas and deserts, that they give visions and dreams, all a part of stories and legends that told of Valyria and its sorceries, but she had thought them no more than tall tales told to glorify the past, to glorify the achievements of Lys.

'We slaughtered the Dragon Lords and their dragons despite their sorceries, despite all of their power and magic.' 

Yet…that the Prince wanted these above all else she was tasked to do made her consider that mayhaps…mayhaps there was some truth to the tales.

After all…the Targaryens would be the kind of family to know about it.

She shook her head. It was a shame she wouldn't be able to ask the Prince about his interest in this items and what he planned with them but unfortunately she'd remain in Westeros for the foreseeable future even when they ended their work in Oldtown.

That wasn't to say she would leave it. She'd leave the questioning to Minisha when she and the others who'd take the opportunity made their way to Corinth and leave the life behind with their promised riches and simple lives.

She peered over the city for a little while, most of the time her gaze falling on the street directly below, until finally, she could see the familiar figures approaching the tavern.

Finally, she thought. He was here. 

She'd received a message from Kings Landing only a few days after she'd arrived in Oldtown, that a situation had cropped up, one may interest the Prince…and the Princess.

She'd been exasperated at the, honestly, irritating timing. Why couldn't the girl be found when she was still in the damnable city?

She shook off the thought as she turned around and made her way back inside.

She'd had the girl delivered to her to Oldtown through a rather indirect way – she could rely on the proud family members of the low birth knights and squires the Prince took with him to keep their mouths shut lest they bring shame – but the girl did arrive a fortnight ago.

The girl was every bit what she should be though had she not been certain that her people had surely confirmed her origin and timing, she might have thought that the girl might have been one of the few remaining dragonseeds of Dragonstone.

She'd gotten a message out to Uthrik in Kings Landing after his return from Runestone, who had been amongst their people delivering the gifts to the Prince's family in Kings Landing and later in Runestone – which she suspected had been the real reason why he was in Westeros in the first place – to not board the ship that'd return to Corinth via the Mander – the risk through the Stepstones was still far too great – and now he was finally here.

Whilst she trusted Minisha and their guardsmen with much, she did not want more to know of the girl's origin at present, even if she was a bastard and of seeming no importance. She knew better. Royal bastards were problematic but Targaryen bastards, especially given that only of their blood could bond with a dragon? 

Whilst King Viserys' rule was not…in danger, per se, she could see that it was quite weak. Even those among the ground like her, far from the lofty heights of the Red Keep, those who paid attention, could see that King Viserys' rule was not as strong as a Dragonking's rule should be.

Too many would seek to use her against Daemon – and mayhaps against the Targaryens in general – should it be known and given the enemies the man had in Essos and Westeros, hurting the man's reputation and his already harmed relations with his wife and his heir would be the least harmful way she could see the girl being used. She felt for the girl and decided to intervene.

And she knew that the Prince and the Princess would feel for the girl too, and admittedly she knew that she'd been richly rewarded for the service of bringing the girl to them. She'd been tempted to let Uthrik take the girl on the ship that departed via the Mander but she thought it better for the girl to leave with the four ships amongst more of their people and with a knight like Uthrik.

Uthrik would make sure that the girl was protected above all else.

She made her way downstairs, passing down the third and fourth floor hallways filled with occupied rooms as she gotten to the middle floors, and smiled once she saw the burly knight amongst the guards and a few of the girls, enjoying some cool mead.

He was a well-liked man, as kind as he was strong, and he never seemed anything but genuine with his words and his deeds, especially to the girls who often kept a mask of one or another kind amongst most if not all men.

"Uthrik" Selyse said with a warm smile and it pleased her to see her smile reciprocated on his face. She'd thought of bedding the man, more than a few times, but had thought the better of it. Not at the cost of changing things irreparably. 

She knew well enough to know the signs of a man who verged on viewing her as more than an acquaintance…than a friend even, if given the opportunity. She was not opposed to…something more but as it was…it was nothing but a mere consideration that would break away when given much thought.

Her role demanded her full attentions and at times would command her body and whilst she was fond of the man, she was fonder still of the position she held. 

"Selyse." Uthrik said with an easy smile as he got up and she waved him off, her smile falling off and his expression was one of surprise before it turned into understanding which made way for a question.

"It can wait. Enjoy your drink, we can discuss the matter later." Selyse told him as she turned around and gestured for the tavern girls to bring over plenty of drink to Uthrik's table.

Whilst their taverns were in reality pleasure houses, they were also still plain and simple taverns where folk could get their drink with ordinary rooms on the second floor weary travellers could use to stay a night or two.

She left Uthrik and the small celebration not long after the plentiful drink arrived, and after she'd had a word with one of the girls who'd take Uthrik to her, she made her way to the rooms out in the back where the girls who weren't working slept, next to the guards' quarter, and entered the secluded room at the very back.

Illerah, a fellow Lysene and one of her trusted friends, looked towards her as Selyse entered the room, ceasing her sewing which she oddly picked up in Kings Landing.

She said that it helped her with her 'boredom' and at times Selyse wondered if she wasn't giving enough work to her friend. Still, she had to say that she quite liked the woollen hats Illerah bribed her with.

Her gaze turned towards the other occupier in the room and Selyse saw that she was asleep. "She fell asleep a little ago." Illerah offered to Selyse as she walked towards the child.

The child looked peaceful, her tiny lips parting as she inhaled and inhaled, her silver-blond hair askew across her tiny little face as she slept.

"She looks more at rest now." Selyse commented, remembering how restless the child had been when she'd first came, calling for her mother repeatedly.

"She's getting used to me." Illerah said with an obvious smile in her voice and she turned to her old friend and saw her eying the child quite dearly.

Illerah had always been the more caring out of the courtesans, a mother hen really. She'd looked out for the new girls more than any other, even if the new girls were difficult to help acclimate to their…new life.

It wasn't entirely selfless however. 

Out of all of them, only Illerah had given birth and it had been a girl too. 

Illerah hadn't even had the opportunity to name her daughter before she was taken from her, a punishment given to her for getting with child and a reminder to everyone what would befall them should they make any such…mistakes.

It was a threat that was more feared than a hundred lashings was.

Selyse believed that part of Illerah's kindness…part of her self-given mother role was because of that lost child. Developing from out of guilt and developing a need to mother any new and young girl that came to their pillow house because she would want her child to be looked after like she was looking after other women's daughters.

"I suppose before I know it she'll be knitting little hats." Selyse said with a wry smile and Illerah quietly laughed as she looked to the girl.

"I think this one is a little too wild for that." Illerah said with a hum.

Selyse wryly thought 'Like her father.'

It was a few hours later that Uthrik arrived, merrier but not drunk – he'd never been a man who liked to lose his senses with drink – questions clearly written on his face.

By that time, the girl had awoken and Selyse and Illerah entertained the child and it was amidst this that Uthrik arrived. "What was urgent enough you had me ride hard to arrive here?" Uthrik finally asked after looking queerly at the scene.

"You're looking at the urgency, dear Uthrik." Selyse said with a playful smile as she sat back away from the child who was eying Uthrik curiously but also a little warily.

"Who that?" the girl asked as she pointed at Uthrik and looked to Illerah for answers.

"That is dear Uthrik, a friend." Selyse helpfully supplied to the young girl.

"Fwiend?" the girl asked with heavy frown, tasting the word on her tongue in a way that supposed to help her decipher the meaning.

"Friend." Illerah corrected and distracted the child enough to set her off into a rambling mood. Selyse returned her gaze to Uthrik and she saw his confused expression and she sighed before she stood up from her seat.

"Who is she?" Uthrik asked as he eyed the girl before eying Selyse in an almost accusing manner.

"None of ours." Selyse said with an easy smile that verged on amusement. "Besides, I think you can tell…can't you?" Selyse said a suggestive note in her voice as she returned her attentions to the girl.

And Uthrik did the same, though this time with narrowed eyes.

The girl was no older mayhaps three namedays old, you couldn't quite tell, not when the child was born amongst the poor folk and she could only guess at the approximate age given that the timing fitted, with a crown of light golden and silver hair with a very familiar and very particular shade of amethyst eyes.

Eyes that were always a shade deeper than most eyes belonging to the most Valyrian looking Lysene or Volantene. A shade that they'd seen before in the Princess and the Prince.

"The King?" Uthrik asked quietly, lowly, his body tense and stiff.

Selyse smirked playfully and Uthrik somehow managed to tense even more.

Her playfulness abated as she decided to set him at ease. Well…just slightly.

"Daemon's."

She doubted the maid would have been allowed to live long enough to give birth had it been the King's. Not with a Hightower queen and a Hightower hand.

Uthrik relaxed slightly as he turned his eyes to the child.

"You're sure the girl's…" Uthrik trailed off as the child looked to them with wide inquisitive familiar eyes and Uthrik turned to her and Selyse only raised her eyebrow in answer. It was her bread and butter, to find out secrets, wherever they may be.

Uthrik's sighed before he eyed the girl once more. "The mother?"

"Gave her up for fifty gold dragons." Selyse answered with a shrug. 

The gold dragons would help her parents and her siblings for years to come. After it was found out that the mother was pregnant by the Red Keep staff, who doubtlessly informed someone, likely the Hand, she was let go with nothing.

The girl's family depended on the income of her work in the Red Keep and the money had been drying up at that point. They had only been just getting by when word had reached their ears of a former maid of the Red Keep having a Valyrian child for a daughter.

Admittedly, it was a surprise for it to have stayed a secret for so long and it would be something she'd need to rectify significantly when she returned. There should be no way this should have remained secret for so long. The family seemed to have kept the girl hidden but even so…she had her ears in the Red Keep. Why did not of that reach her? Someone had suppressed it exceedingly well but she also suspected there was another player who was within the city itself, that had kept things quiet.

If that was the case, which was a major reason why she believed the girl was being saved for use later, then it would explain much.

Uthrik sighed heavily and shook his head before he glared at her slightly.

"When you said you had something for me, I thought it would be something else."

Seleyse tickling laughter rang before she smiled at him coyly. "I will have that something else soon too, my dear knight." Seleyse said with aplomb.

Uthrik eyed her with curiosity and surprise "Really?"

Selyse smiled and nodded before telling him that she expected it to be done within the moon. Uthrik looked ponderous for a moment. 

"I could leave now but if it is set to end in a moon or less then I see no reason why I can't wait." Uthrik said finally before he turned to the child and asked after few moments. "What is her name?"

"Her mother named her Breannei." Selyse answered.

"A stormlander name." Uthrik said critically before he smiled a little amused as he glanced at her. "It suits her very well."

The stormlanders were known to be a brash and fiery lot and generally liked to be associated with storms. And given the little storm this girl was, in both name and in happenstance, she thought that yes, the girl suited all the above. 

Fifteen Days Later…

Selyse leaned against the wall of the room in the corridor perpendicular to the main corridor with straining ears, the main corridor where the culmination of years of plotting was being played out in a room at the far end of the hallway, and as she waited and listened, the faint sounds of delight and pleasure in the other rooms ever present, she finally heard the dull and distant sound of items being broken, like the sound of porcelain breaking one house down the street.

She eyed her guards and nodded slightly and the men straightened up a little, looking suitably intimidating, and she angled her ear once more over the edge of the wall.

She heard a very audible and groaning 'no' stemming from an old and weathered voice and a faint smile cut across her beautiful face, satisfaction almost creeping within her but she kept it tight, bound, as she continued to strain her ear.

She heard Ellya's frantic and raised voice though her words were too muted for her to understand it. If the girl wasn't set to get enough gold to set her up for life, she'd have given the girl more for the way she seemed genuine.

Her performance was as good as what Selyse could do though Selyse doubted she could pull off the innocent little lamb as well Ellya could with her small figure and her moon-round face that bore bright brown eyes that could endear her to even the most cutthroat sellsword.

Despite all of that, she would have been worried for the safety of Ellya for what the old man had 'broken' would see him most certainly disgraced and Selyse knew very well what men could do when they were in a fit of rage…and in fear. 

But she'd watched their interactions for the past week and knew the old man was quite in love with the girl, she thought with wry amusement before it was lost after she heard their door clinking open and she peered her head over the edge of the wall.

She peered with narrowed as the old man, pale faced with red blotted circles on his cheeks, so red and so contrasting on his pale face that it seemed as if he'd been hit on both sides of his face, shuffled out of the door with a speed that seemed to be supernatural for a man that age.

"I'm so sorry, Archmaester!" Ellya cried out with a pitiful whimper, her lips, even from this distance, could be seen to wobble, shake, her face drenched in misery and regret as she shuffled after the old man in hastily thrown on sheets to cover her modesty. "I should'a been more careful! It's all my fault! If I hadna been so 'xcited to reward you, we wouldna rolled off th' bed!"

Selyse strode over with her hands clasped together, her steps silent as she readied herself for her act in this charade, the men behind less so subtle but given the way Ellya angled the archmaester away from them, they'd be sure to sneak up on him, especially with the way he was so…off tilt.

"Hush now, my dear Ellya" the archmaester said with a tight face, his eyes wild yet under control though it seemed to be fraying "It was an accident, it wasn't your fault" the archmaester said as he clutched on the bag tighter, the faint tinkles of broken porcelain unmistakable and the archmaester's face pinched in pain as he glanced down at the bag.

Ellya's face morphed into further despair, her hands rising to cover her face though her hands were unable to stop her words, muffled they may be.

"Oh but 't was! They were prizeless! Ye said they were a 'undred years old! 'Nd now you got 't explain to your friends what happened!" Ellya cried out.

It made the archmaester panic as he stepped up to Ellya "No, no, there will be no explanation needed, Ellya" the archmaester said with a strained smile "Just forget about it, please."

"Is there something wrong?" Selyse's hard voice cut through and both Ellya and the archmaester jumped at the 'sudden' arrival.

Ellya's expression turned into horror as she stammered out "My-my l-lady", her eyes flickering to the suitably intimidating men behind Selyse.

"Quiet girl." Selyse said with a stern and commanding note in her voice, her eyes scathing as she looked at Ellya before she turned her gaze to the archmaester, her expression softening and turning friendly yet concerned. 

"Has the girl displeased you? If she has…" Seleyse glanced at Ellya, her eyes turning cold "I'm sure we can compensate you for any inconvenience and slights, good Ser." Seleyse said as she returned her gaze to the archmaester.

"No, no" the archmaester said quickly, his eyes flittering to the horror-struck and almost shaking Ellya and Selyse could see that the man was coming to conclusions as he looked to the men behind her.

And like a love-struck fool…

"There is no problem, truly." The archmaester said "You don't need to do anything" the archmaester added as he looked to the men behind Selyse, his already pale face paling further and she watched the old man back away a little after he'd glanced at Ellya, seemingly evaluating her value to him and finally having come to his senses.

She'd seen it enough times, men who sought lost youths in the bosoms of those old enough to be their grand childes, seeking to fulfil their yearnings of better days.

She imagined, as she intently studied the old man who looked older than he did when he'd arrived not more than an hour ago, closer to the gates of the Faceless God, that such thrills were slowly leaving the old man as everything that transpired and is transpiring this evening was hitting him.

"Are you certain, good Ser?" Selyse continued as she eyed Ellya disdainfully. "We value our customers in this establishment. We wouldn't want to lose you."

"I am." The archmaester said with a tight smile, the word 'customer' causing him to twitch somewhat as she drove further what he was coming to remember in the knife in his chest. "Now my word should settle the matter, should it not?"

Selyse morphed her face to look begrudging "Of course, good ser."

The archmaester nodded quickly and made to leave, his aged feet hurrying.

"Artos!" the archmaester stopped at the call of his name and he slowly turned.

Ellya's expression was vulnerable as she spoke "Will I see you again on the morrow?" her voice timid, soft, like a mewling cat about to die from a mangled paw.

"Of-of course!" the archmaester smiled falsely "I will see you on the morrow!" the archmaester said quickly before he hurried along and Selyse watched the man go as she heard his steps down the stairs.

Selyse turned to her guards. 

"Dyron." She said addressing the younger guardsman. "You know what to do."

"Of course." Dyron said with a hard nod before he began to walk away. He'd tell the others to begin moving their people and stuff to the ships docked at the ports.

The archmaester would not be able to hide this disaster for very long and with the Citadel so deeply entwined in the affairs of the Oldtown and with the Hightowers, it would be only a matter of time before they would come for an accounting.

Her and her people would long be gone by then.

She turned to the other guardsman. "Go and follow the esteemed archmaester. Make sure he doesn't see you follow him. When he gets to the Citadel, return." Selyse told the man. Whilst they had limited eyes in the Citadel – most of their customers from the Citadel were but acolytes or young maesters who unfortunately did not have a liking towards magic as the Prince might have hoped for – they could not obvious in their questioning.

From the information they were able to glean off of the archmaester, the conclave would likely try and keep the loss of the items secret whilst they try and recover them in secret and quietly.

It would be an embarrassment for the truth to come out and questions may be raised about the Citadel and the conclave wouldn't stand for that. They were almost as much as a moral authority as they were a learned authority.

For one of their leaders to give away their treasured treasures, one that the maesters used as an example to initiate their fellows into their ranks, well…

Ellya's expression of vulnerable little lamb twisted into a look of victory, of triumph.

"I was great, wasn't I?" Ellya said with a bright grin, her youthful face standing out ever more so. 

"You were." Selyse said with a kind smile before she eyed the open door "The items are undamaged, yes?" Selyse questioned as she began to walk into the room, the smell of perfume and musk prevalent, a cursory glance given to the Lysene made seven tailed whip and the straps that hung from the ceiling. 

"Of course" Ellya said happily and why wouldn't she be? 

Whilst all of the girls would earn a fortune for their work here once the Prince had what he wanted – to ensure that the girls wouldn't sabotage one another to the detriment of the whole – the girl who managed to get it would get thrice the amount.

Most of the girls had already worked in the pillow houses of Oldtown most of their lives and when Selyse and her people took them over, they'd won the girls over with promises and deeds and better care and eventually developed a code of trust.

Most of the girls had, cynically but grimly rightly, thought that they'd die out in the streets as soon as their beauty waned and their breasts sagged, something they'd seen plenty of times over their years in the pillow houses.

The Faith wouldn't take them in for they were sinful creatures too far gone whilst no man would take them for they were spoiled goods.

The option of going to Corinth to start anew was an attractive proposition, one that also scratched an itch, an itch that flared at the idea, the adventure of it all, for most of these girls and women had never seen a place outside the city walls.

The coin reward would set them for most of their life too, and some even considered to be a worthy dowry should they find a husband to settle with.

She walked over to the bed and reached down underneath the bed and pulled at the hinge which unveiled an opening in the floorboard and Ellya reached out and grabbed the bag which clanked and Ellya opened the bag and revealed four long spiral like dragonglass candles, one green and three black, and she eyed them intently.

The archmaester was rather…deviant in his desires, especially once he'd been exposed to the ideas of some of the more specialist Lysene ways of pleasure.

And the entire act had, an act he'd been exposed to over the weeks and moons, been pre-planned, orchestrated, from start to finish so that this accident was believable, genuine. It was mayhaps too much, too detailed, but she always found that deception so well-hidden that it is no less true than truth itself a satisfying ending.

She carefully took out one of the glass candles and she couldn't help but marvel at them. Not at their odd and somewhat disturbing shape but rather about how similar they were to the replicas.

The shattered dragonglass candles that the archmaester had taken away with him were replicas, fakes, that had been reproduced years ago in Corinth. And from the looks of it, she thought as she handled one of the real ones, they were…had been…very good fakes.

The Prince must have had some kind of description of them, she thought to herself.

"Very well done, Ellya." Selyse said finally as she glanced at the girl. "Go and pack your things. We'll all soon leave before sunrise." By now, she expected their gold and much of their supplies and their goods were on the ships at port, ships that been making regular trips to the Arbor and other close settlements in order to shake off any suspicions.

Carefully moving their people as to not to raise suspicion would be trickiest part.

"Of course." Ellya said with a smile on her face before hurrying away and leaving Selyse with the glass candles.

A few hours later she was with Uthrik, Illerah and the child, the room looking bare as much of their items were taken to the ships.

She handed the glass candles to Uthrik, who she decided may as well take hold of as well as the child's life and Uthrik inspected one of the glass candles keenly and she could see him visibly become more disappointed. "Does it do anything?" he asked.

"Nothing as far as we can tell." Selyse said with a graceful shrug. 

"It hasn't done anything for any of the girls." 

Ellya had said the archmaester told her that the glass candles once upon a time gave off unpleasant bright lights that seemed to show colours unlike anything else but in the last two hundred years, the candles had gone out, like a flame would once it was done burning.

The archmaester claimed that the Doom was responsible and Selyse wryly thought what else could be responsible? The magic of the Dragonlords was extinguished and all that remained of their magic was in the veins of the Targaryens…and probably in the Lysene, she mused to herself. It had been why she tried it and then had Illerah and a few others try it too.

"So its fake." Uthrik said disappointed as the girl in Illerah's arms reached out for the glass candles.

"Mayhaps." Selyse conceded. "But the archmaester thought otherwise and so had many more archmaesters before him."

Uthrik shook his head "Well, it'll be a matter for the Prince to figure out."

The girl made some needy noise and Uthrik glanced at her before carefully handing it to her. It was almost comical, the way it happened, the way their expressions twisted.

Selyse's eyebrows raised almost up to her hairline and her mouth slightly went ajar as the black dragonglass candle lit up with an unnatural gleam, an unnatural light, that seemed to twist and turn into all kinds of colours, as if colours were like the waves themselves falling against the shore before breaking.

Breannei was delighted, her mangled words of pretty the only words said and when, in her excitable state, almost caused her to drop the dragonglass candle, Uthrik took it out of the girl's hand at which point it lost its light though she almost could see something still lingering around the candle.

The three adults glanced at one another before peering all, almost comically simultaneously at the three nameday child who hungrily clawed towards the glass candle, Illerah struggling to keep the girl in her arms, and their silence was only broken when Uthrik cleared his throat rather in a strained way.

"Mayhaps it's not as fake as I thought." Uthrik said as he looked to the girl with new eyes before he looked at the glass candle, this time with a lot more wariness.

Selyse's lips twitched as she calculatingly looked at the little girl. The reaction of the glass candle should probably quell all doubts about her origin.

"No, I don't think so either" she murmured with interest.

----------------------------------------------Break----------------------------------------------

108 AC, Summer Sea

By the time he woke, it was well into the night, only the light of the crescent moon avoiding total pitch blackness, as expected given that waking hours before dawn was by now the default for him.

Aegon peeled himself off of his bed, the steel in his chainmail clinking as he did so, and took the cask of water from beside the bed and drank it, the swaying ship on ever moving ocean barely registering in his mind.

After he had his thirst satiated, he moved towards the rack and unsheathed his bastard sword, twisting his wrist for a few moments before he fell into his stance, his breathing now changed into one of measured breaths and exhales.

He wasn't sure how long he exercised his stances and his movements, often times when he fell into such a trance he'd lose a sense of time, but eventually he was broken out of his trance when he felt the creeping touch of Mīsaragorn in his mind and an image between the clouds came to the forefront of his mind before he tightened close the connection.

It stopped him in mid motion, and Aegon sheathed his sword before he made way towards the door that led out of the captain's quarter. He seemed to be able to focus more when he was out in the open, breathing in the salty air.

Aegon walked passed his guards, waving them off as they moved to move with him, with a brisk pace and soon enough he was on the main deck, amongst the night crew.

First light would not peer over the horizon for some time yet, an absence of hues of reds and oranges amidst the presence of the bright crescent moon, he noted as he walked towards the forecastle deck, passing the men on night duty, with only the light of the moon lighting his way, the push into his mind by Mīsaragorn growing stronger and Aegon let his bonded dragon in after he'd settled at the forecastle deck. 

Images, snapshots really, flashed to the forefront of his mind, images of dark endless blue ocean curving beyond the horizons, yet, amongst that endless blue, there was an island far below.

Mīsaragorn turned his serpentine eyes onto the island, descending all the time, until, he saw pinpricks of yellow light at the eastern coast of the island.

Mīsaragorn dove further down and Aegon pushed feelings of caution through his bond with the dragon so as to not give away his presence and despite the displeasure he felt from Mīsaragorn, the dragon obeyed as he passed and circled the island away from the light of the moon, keeping his presence hidden.

Aegon continued to see through the eyes of Mīsaragorn, watching and studying the pirate lair with intense scrutiny until he felt satisfied that the information they squeezed out over the moons from the pirates married with the information he was seeing right now of the pirate lair named Black Sty.

As the first lights of dawn appeared, Aegon pushed Mīsaragorn towards the northern parts of the island where there was a large outcrop of steep and jagged rocks he could to wait until the moment was right.

By the time he was done with Mīsaragorn, those first lights were at sea level and he settled down with a heavy breath, the fires of battle beginning to warm in his veins.

When more of the sun shone through and more of the crew began to wake, Aegon brought out a roll and laid it out atop the desk, his eyes washing over the map which bore the Basilisk Isles, Naath and the Summer Isles.

He traced his finger along the path they'd taken from Port Corinth. Three quarters of a moon they'd been at sea since they'd set sail towards the Basilisk Isles, having come about from the southern coast of the Naathi coast.

There'd been two reasons for that. 

One, that sea lane was more or less completely unused by merchant ships as any who wished to reach the Summer Isles from the East would do so from well north of Naath, closer to the broken Valyrian peninsula, avoiding as much as possible the pirates from the Basilisk Isles and so they could be assured that their fleet would be unseen for longer and have a greater chance of avoiding escapees.

And the other…

Well, any ships that they did encounter, were almost certainly pirate ships.

The Naathi did not trade, nor did they have coastal towns or cities, only in the interior deep within the valleys of the island were there settlements, one of them large enough to be called a city he thought as he recalled the images Mīsaragorn had shown him as the dragon flew over the skies of Naath, and so there were no reasons for ships to be there…save for one reason.

He'd been proven right, with regards to pirate ships hanging off of the coast, as they made their way to the westernmost Basilisk Isles. It hadn't been long before they found eight war galleys hanging off of the south-eastern coast of Isle of Butterflies, waiting until dusk fell before they'd sent out rowing boats to the coast in time for when night fell when the deadly disease carrying butterflies were not active.

They'd fallen upon the pirates like a plague, Mīsaragorn burning one of their ships in warning and another when they made to run, and they'd surrendered when they knew that they had no hope of escaping or fighting their way out.

They'd executed the majority of the pirates on that first day and the rest in the day after, after having lied to and tortured the rest into giving up information.

The two hundred Naathi on those war-galleys, most of them women and children, were given the rowboats the slavers had used and had gone back to their homeland.

They encountered one another slaving fleet a little further north though this time, he didn't use Mīsaragorn given that it was likely there were slaves on board and he didn't want to burn them alive like he had likely done before.

They lost six men during that battle but they'd saved another hundred Naathi from enslavement. A steep price, in his opinion, their loss but a price that his people were not turning away from paying though it remained on his mind.

Naturally, the pirates had been once again tortured and killed after their usefulness expired, much of what they knew adding to what they'd extracted before.

It should bother him how easy it was for him to disregard the lives of people and how easy it was for him torture those he considered to be lesser…to be filth. 

The fact that it did not bother him worried him. 

Aegon shook his head and refocused on the map though a sigh escaped his lips as he stared at the map with old annoyance.

Maps of this era were…lacking for the most part, when it came to distances and accuracy. Getting from A to B depended more on the navigating skill of the sailors who'd, through experience and shadowing others, know the journeys from A to B.

With the compasses, he'd reduced some of that need of years of experience that was required but they were still many years away from developing tools that could measure longitudinal distances and allow them to make maps of accuracy.

The cross-staff they used, a rectangular wooden staff with a scale that included severe cross-pieces of graduated lengths which would be used one cross-piece at a time whilst holding the end of the staff to their eye whilst sliding the cross-piece to block the sun at the upper edge before lining up the horizon at the lower edge to measure latitude, was accurate enough to measure their latitude but it was developing a tool to measure longitudinal distances that would be key.

Of course, much of that would depend on developing timekeeping instruments, clocks, to compare local time measured by the sun or the stars with the local time at a reference location, and he and his people were not yet close to developing a mechanical clock let alone develop pocket watches he remembered seeing in movies.

Thankfully, he had Mīsaragorn and the strange bond he had with the dragon, mitigating some of the restrictions that would have made this campaign more difficult than it should hopefully be.

As it was, he thought as he stared at the map, he estimated they were only some eight hours sail away from Black Sty with good winds, the first pirate lair they'd hit in this island hopping campaign, based on Mīsaragorn journeys over the past few days who he could guestimate how fast he flew when he was on 'cruise mode'.

Most of the pirates in the Basilisk Isles have made common cause with a pirate named Saathos Saan, a Lysene by birth, who crowned himself King of the Basilisk Isles a few years ago.

Aegon's eyes grew darker. 

Since Xandarro Xhore, a Qartheen pirate, resettled the islands some thirty years ago, after a century of the Basilisk Isles having been shunned because of the Red Death that swept across the Basilisk Isles killing practically everyone on those damnable islands, the infestation of piracy had grown dramatically, especially around the broken Valyrian peninsula shipping lanes where preying on merchant ships and enslaving of their crews was a common enough occurrence that no one traded with the East without some form of escort ships.

Within less than thirty years since Xandarro Xhore paved the way at the Basilisk Isles, nests of pirate lairs and slave pens cropped up like filthy weeds.

The Basilisk Isles had become so much a problem that the Free Cities had sent a number of expeditions to the Isles, aiming to shatter the pirates who'd become a problem even for them but none of them worked, only truly inspiring more brutal and more organised pirates.

And this pirate King was a consequence of one such expedition.

Saathos Saan was a turncoat.

Though to call him only a turncoat would be underestimating the man who finagled himself an understanding with the Triarchy, specifically Myr.

Lys had sent a fleet of fifty ships to clear out the Basilisk Isles after a ship carrying a few Lysene noblemen was attacked and captured which had been led by Saathos Saan. 

Instead, the man and his fleet turned their coats and became pirates themselves, conquering Talos, the Isle of Tears and a few other settlements before eventually winning himself a crown amongst a den of slavers and murderers.

And under him…

Under Saathos Saan, the pirates were in danger of becoming more than just menaces.

He'd heard the rumours his merchants had heard from the city markets across Essos, of slave traders reaching agreements with pirates and it seemed like he should have paid more attention back then.

The pirates were getting political under Saathos Saan and his people were suffering because of it. He heard footsteps up the wooden stairs and he turned towards the sounds and saw Darreth, his second in command on the ship.

The man, somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties, was a Kings Lander by origin, specifically from Cobbler's Square, where he'd born and raised until he worked at the harbour at Kings Landing.

He'd been amongst the earliest who decided to move to Dragonstone when word travelled of the opportunities on the island.

"My Prince." Darreth bowed and Aegon gestured him to be at ease.

"Darreth." Aegon acknowledged as he rolled up the map and stood up, his gaze set towards his right where much of the fleet were.

Their fleet was a fleet of thirty-nine ships, six of them, his included, were Galleon type ships with carvel built hulls with openings for scorpion bolts, the same kind that were returning from the Far East, and the same kind that he'd sent out West.

The majority of the rest of the fleet were Corinth built Carracks, practical fortresses on the open water, three quarters of them with Scorpion turrets on the main deck and the last quarter equipped with modified artillery weaponry that can fire Jarbolt projectiles.

The Corinthian Carracks were about twenty to thirty percent larger than the carracks built by the Braavosi and about five percent larger than the original designs, the local woods facilitating much of that size due the woods being lighter and more buoyant, and much of the lessons they'd learnt over the years had gone in to build the Corinthian Carracks.

Every morning since they'd been at sea, which had been for the past three quarters of a moon, they'd meet at the forecastle deck, and use signals to relay to the captains of the other ships using a bastardised form of Morse Code with a hand held tool that had thin reflective sheet of polished and oiled silver.

He did not know Morse Code but he knew enough of the principle to basically make up an equivalent language code. It did not need to be complicated, the signals, and he'd simplified instructions and communication as much as he could.

For instance, 'Land ahead' was four reflections with ten second pauses in between whilst the fast reflection signals after that was meant to indicate the number of hours.

"We'll reach Black Sty just after midday at our current speed if we don't slow our approach." Aegon said as he looked upon the galleon he knew Galeanys was on. 

On the other side, the nearest galleon would have Lucion and each of the commanders would command a third of the fleet, a fleet that bore three and a half thousand men-at-arms and knights along with three thousand more sailors who could fashion as bowmen and scorpion artillery men.

Later on, when the majority of the heavier populated islands was scoured clean, they'd be tasked to hunt for any stragglers.

"We'll have to slow our approach by half, my Prince, if we want to get use the dying sun." Darreth remarked as he glanced at the sun before looking at how fast they were sailing. 

Aegon nodded slightly.

"Aye we will." Aegon acknowledged before adding "We'll relay the orders to captains that to cut our speed and that today is the day we hit them hard."

Sunset would bolster their cover for a while as they approached the island, allowing them to get closer than they would during midday. By the time they could see their ships coming, it would be too late.

"Yes, my Prince." Darreth said as he straightened a little and Aegon patted the man on the shoulder, earning him a gratuitous smile.

Soon enough the signals were given and the message having been passed down the chain. They'd been fortunate enough to avoid storms on this journey allowing their formation to be unhindered.

Expected since during the spring season the seas were most often calm.

With word that they'd soon be arriving at the first island in the Basilisk Isles and to cut their speed, the men across the fleet would prepare themselves for the battle and the Harbinger, the name of the ship he was on, was no different.

And neither was he.

Over the years he never wavered in his martial training, spending a few hours each day training with his knights or by himself, or with the Omboru warriors whenever they came to Corinth, in order to maintain his strength and speed.

Partly to set an example to his people, and in particular the liberated slaves, many of whom had never even carried sharpened tool in their lives before, instilling in them the necessity of being able to use a weapon. 

The games, the training yards, all of it, was gearing his people into accepting the idea of being a martial people, that one's fate and that of their family depended on their ability to fight, and it was working.

And other part was because of his own fears for the safety of his family and people, driving him to make sure he was as good as he could be.

The choice to leave relatively safe Westeros with his children in tow was always scratching at his mind, the danger he was putting them in. Westeros was no safe place either, not for Targaryen Princes and Princesses, but that was a more passive, cold underhanded danger rather than the hot ever-present danger that was Essos.

Wallano was a peaceful place with a people who he admired and respected, but its surroundings were neither peaceful or admirable which had been why he'd ensured that Corinth was in a defensible place and secluded from most everything else.

The choices of trading with their neighbours, slaver cities and the Free Cities, was partly because of that in mind, to build at least something of a trading relationship with them in the wake of him buying slaves for the purpose of setting them free amongst his people, the charade he orchestrated with Mopanar long having fallen apart, heavily leaning into the notion that it is harder to be enemies when you traded with one another.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth, to trade with them but given how profitable it was and how much it was allowing him to build up the resources of his people, necessity preceded all else. He and his people were not in a position to do more. Be more.

Not yet.

When the pirates first attacked, he thought that the slaver cities had taken insult anyway and were orchestrating attacks, failing in his almost appeasing strategy.

He'd thought wrong.

Instead it was because he'd changed the status quo with the creation of better quality glass, something that earned him the enmity of a politically powerful guild and subsequently the enmity of a powerful member of a powerful alliance.

Actions have consequences, more so in this damnable world where consequences could be catastrophic and deadly in an almost satirical fashion.

As he held his scabbard, having been left alone after being fitted with his armour, his eyes washed over it, studying every dink and damage of the sheathe.

The pirate predations were a wakeup call…of a sort.

And what he'd do next would be amongst the most important decisions he'd take.

He knew he could not fail…fail to be brutal…fail to be utterly ruthless.

The galleon ship design, the concrete he recreated, and the myriad of other inventions he was doling out would make his people a target for the wider world.

They were no Seven Kingdoms, a sleeping behemoth unfortunately too divided to pose a threat to the world order when not threatened or roused, and sooner or later, perhaps sooner if his forced assumption about that some of the compasses of his captured people had fallen in dangerous hands, attentions would be directed to him and his people to take what they had.

The strong ate the weak in this world and mercy was not a language that most of this world understood…or wanted to understand.

It was heard, instead, as weakness and an invitation for exploitation and destroying the Basilisk Isles brutally to make an example would buy him some credibility, he thought with a bitter taste, but he also knew that it would not be enough. 

Their people were still insignificant and so was their combat potential, regardless if he had dragons. Waging a war against the likes of Myr and the Triarchy wouldn't be possible, not with the people he had and everyone would know it.

Aegon set his jaw, his eyes as hard as flint as he set the scabbard in place on his waist and for a long moment he just stood there, thinking, wondering…

'If only it was confirmed that there were lands in the West'

So much was on hold until he had some kind of confirmation, something, whether it was great news or awful news mattered not.

Finally, he moved and he was amongst his men once more.

Hours and hours had passed, and Aegon practiced with his men and went over the descriptions of Black Sty with the men, with the information they'd garnered from the pirates, and soon enough, midday had come upon them.

The wait felt unbearable as the ocean crashed against the hull, the ship cutting through the surface of water like Valyrian steel does through flesh, the sounds of his men and the sounds of the creaking wood a distant noise.

 Watching and waiting until the sight of land arrived.

Until, finally, land was seen.

"Land Ahoy!" rang around him and bells were rung to signal the rest of the fleet into formation, the hubbub within the ship, the fleet, rising to a crescendo.

Aegon commanded the ship to let loose the sails and the other ships followed suit and he paused for a moment to eye the looming island with an inscrutable look. 

The information the pirates had given was that there was only one settlement on Black Sty, the very settlement they were heading towards where there was enough flat land for a base to be built and for livestock to feed in comparison to the rest of the island which was mostly windswept rocks upon rocks.

It was a defensible position, this base, with jagged cliffs and rock at their back and only one real way in. A feature that was almost certain to be replicated across the Basilisk Isles.

Aegon clenched the hilt of his sword as he swept away, back down the steps towards the main deck where the men were. "MEN!" Aegon shouted, drawing attention to himself and he found himself beset with over two hundred pair of eyes, his steps carrying forward until he was at the very centre.

He could practically feel their nerves, their worries, their fear. That they'd die like half a dozen of their comrades had died already. 

"On that island" Aegon began as he swept his hand towards the island.

"Stands before you the ones who wished to destroy all that you hold dear." Aegon said aloud, straining his voice so that the farthest reaches of the ship can hear him.

"The same ilk who have taken our fellows from our ships and have haunted our coasts seeking to take more of our people!" Aegon shouted with an impassioned voice before he rolled his eyes across the faces of the men who would be fighting for him.

He could see the effects his words were having. 'Good.'

"They think they can do that without suffering for it and men, are we going to make them suffer for it?!" Aegon bellowed as he unsheathed his word.

"AYE!" "THEY'LL SUFFER!" 

"Are we going to show them our rage?"

"AYE!" "YES, MY PRINCE!"

"Are we going to show them that pirates and cutthroats are no match for the men of Corinth?!" Aegon roared and his men roared with him, shouting their agreement and Aegon directed his sword towards the island and he waited amidst a hail of roars across the ships as he watched the pirate ships begin to move towards them and few moving away and Aegon, through his bond made his feelings clear to Mīsaragorn.

Soon enough, the moment came and Mīsaragorn's roar was deafening, rage and fury mixed together in a cacophony of noise and it was hard not to imagine the primal fear that must have settled at the back of their enemies' spine.

Amidst the dying light of the sun, Mīsaragorn's hauntingly large figure was a looming nightmare, casting shadows over entire ships as he swept down, his great wings larger than the sails of his ships, larger and longer than even the sails of the galleons and then…

Bright blue flames flashed into existing, bright blue flames erupted out from Mīsaragorn maw, lighting up ship after ship at the docks, an apocalyptic sight as ships were turned into wicks, fuelling the fires that were set ablaze by the creature of magic.

Mīsaragorn turned his attentions to the ships seeking to escape, lighting them up with an ease that was almost disbelieving, and mayhaps he imagined some of the pirates were desperate to wake up from this nightmare, from this massacre.

The roar of approval on the ships sailed through the air as easily as the smells of burning wood began to enter their nostrils and with that fire, fire in their hearts amidst the fires of Mīsaragorn, they descended into their rowboats when they were close enough to the shores.

By the time they could see individual people on the shores of the island, they could see the panic Mīsaragorn had inspired in the pirates as he made passes at the shores and the base when the pirates had gathered in any large force, and it wasn't long before Aegon jumped out of the rowboat, the light of the blue fires that cast a haunting scene lighting their way.

"For Corinth and its people!" one of his men beside him shouted out as they ran towards the pirates and their base and amidst the battle cry of his men, there were four that were discernible.

"For Corinth!"

"For the Prince!"

"House Targaryen!"

"Fire and Blood!"

The first blood his sword tasted had not been the first sword that tasted pirate blood but Aegon cared not as he, with a hungry flame within his chest, descended down on the somewhat organised pirates.

One

Two

Three. Four.

Aegon ducked underneath an axe, his steel blade already singing through the air as he severed the axe-hand at the elbow, blood spattering against his helm and the pirate's face flashing with an expression shock, and Aegon swung back and took the man's head before moving on, moving forward, onto the next.

Aegon lost himself to the battle, his rage and his fears keeping him going like the air he sucked in with every swing, with every slash and hack, and the adrenaline, the adrenaline of fighting at the edge of death fuelling his tiring muscles and quelling the strain in his lungs as he cut down one, three, six more, until, he saw no more before him and he peered across the battle set alight by the blue fires of the shores.

He could see it now, the pirates were surrendering and pleading for mercy even as they saw some of the ones at the front being cut down mid-sentence.

"Tell the men to accept the surrenders." Aegon told the two guards closest to him and the men nodded with a quick 'my Prince' before they went off to do as he told them.

By the time the dust settled and the fires lessened as the cold bite of night sunk into them, they ended up with some hundred and twenty living pirates and some four hundred dead ones on the shores, not including the likely equal or more number of pirates killed in Mīsaragorn's flames.

A third of the living hundred and twenty were pirates fished from the waters as some of the fleet circled around to catch any strays whilst half of the rest had locked themselves in the base whilst their fellows died outside of it.

Aegon eyed the tied up pirates with a disdainful look as he walked passed them and towards the base which had been pried open. Aegon eyed the base with its battlements having dripped melting stone onto the ground before the entrance before he walked through it and came a sight that the stirred into a sense of exhaustion.

Slaves, hundreds, if not over a thousand, mayhaps more, were being fed and watered from the ample supplies of the base, and as one of them stood up, over the campfire, he could see the ribs in the man's naked chest.

Most of the slaves looked Naathi or Summer Islander though it was clear the pirates' predation wasn't kept to people minding their own business in their homes.

The steel in his gauntlet clinked as he clenched hard, unable to wrench his gaze away from the evil that stared him in the face and it took considerable effort to wrench his thoughts of retribution to those…men waiting for their fate outside the base.

After he'd gotten some clarity, he began to consider why the pirates had kept so many here. He considered mayhaps they were waiting for the pirates they killed.

He'd found out when he'd have them questioned.

Thoroughly.

"My Prince." Trytas' hulking form moved towards him as the rest of the men moved around them and Aegon could see the grim face on Trytas' face.

Aegon nodded slightly as the man came into closer view, one that was understood by the large man. Trytas had a sense of justice, a kind of justice that made sense in this world, one that was black and white where nothing was off limits to those who did not operate in the limits that Trytas himself held himself to.

"How many?" Aegon asked and Trytas glanced at the victims.

"We've counted over two and ten hundred, my prince, but I believe we have not yet counted the last few slave pens we've opened up." Trytas turned back to him, his expression shadowed.

"Many of them will die, my Prince."

Aegon thought as much. He was beginning to think that mayhaps they were also waiting for other slaving ships to come and take the victims as the ships they had destroyed would not be enough to transport all of them.

Very clearly whoever they were waiting for hadn't been for a rush and the victims were thus forced to ration to stretch out the food.

"Come" Aegon said after a few moments as he saw the person who might be able to provide a solution and moved towards him. Trytas followed his gaze and grumbled as he followed Aegon.

"Rody." Aegon called out calmly and the man straightened out a little.

He could see the man was somewhat tired as he looked him over.

"My Prince."

Aegon smiled grimly as he nodded though it fell off as he spoke. "If we pack five or six of our ships with these people, can we take them back?"

"To Corinth, my Prince?" Rody asked with surprised on his face before he lost it and grimaced slightly as he turned and looked at the victims.

"I...I don't know my Prince."

Aegon could hear the uncertainty that stemmed from not willing to say the truth.

"Speak truly, Rody. You know I prefer it above all else."

Rody sighed. "Of course, my Prince…I doubt half of them will live even if the winds are good. They need time to heal and eat and drink. Most are very weak and the ones that aren't weak are on the verge of being weak!" Rody shook his head.

"They are better served to stay here until they are less starved t' death."

"And to Naath?" Aegon asked quietly as he turned to look at the victims. 

He doubted the supplies that were left on this island would last. The victims needed to eat to recover their strength and the only reason the supplies probably didn't run out was because they were being rationed…even if the pirates ate heartily.

Doubtless thinking that they could just leave if it got too low.

Rody sighed. "I think more would be able to survive that journey." Rody didn't need to say that plenty would still die from the journey.

Aegon clenched his teeth subtly as he thought over the choice he was left with…awful choices…

He couldn't part with too much of his own supplies for whilst he ensured they had enough for a year long campaign, the food was spread amongst their ships and should they lose more than a few, they'll lose potentially months worth of food.

And there was no guarantee that the food they left behind here wouldn't end up in pirate hands as he considered the possibility of slaving ships arriving to be a real possibility.

He also couldn't spare men to protect this island and the victims.

He forcibly made himself calm down and turned to Trytas with a cold look. He needed answers to help him decide. "Trytas…do whatever it takes to get the answers. You have my complete permission." Aegon said in a cold voice.

Aegon ignored the gleam in Trytas' eyes.

A few days later, Trytas and company extracted the information they needed.

There was a slaving fleet inbound but they were late by over a moon and after they sent a ship to check, the slaving ship wouldn't be coming by for another half a moon now. It was why they'd sent another run at Naath.

"Fabiar." Aegon called out the four and forty nameday dragonseed captain as he stood over a laid out map with his commanders, the leading captains and a few knights that lead men. "You will lead three ships back with the Naathi to Naath." Aegon said as he glided his finger across the map and landing on the island.

"It will take us three or four days to get to Red Gash." Aegon said as he set his finger on the next pirate lair in these cursed island chain. It was a smaller pirate lair, more of a stop after setting off or to Talon, the main slave market of the Basilisk Isles. 

"To and fro from Naath should take you eleven days on full sail, enough time for you to catch up when we make sail towards Talon." Aegon said as he looked up and scanned the faces of his men.

They had not expected the slaves to be in such a…poor condition. 

They'd hoped, though it was with high hope, that they could get hundreds of fighting men amongst the slaves and instead, they had only a hundred strong enough that could adequately fight and another hundred who could be relied upon with a bow and that would only be when they made way to Talon.

They'd have to be more careful now even with their superior armour and weapons. They'd already lost almost three dozen men to the assault on the beach and another five dozen who were injured, most of whom could not fight again for moons.

"Aye." Fabair said with a sigh before he caught himself and added quickly "Aye, my Prince. I can make it happen." Fabair said with a more resolute voice.

"Good." Aegon said with a nod. The three ships will only truly have sailors when they make sail for Naath but the loss of the ships will be felt.

Most of the women and children that were weaker of Naathi descent will leave for Naath as they were the more vulnerable and fortunately, the Naathi that remained were understanding of it. 

In truth, they were simply glad that Aegon and his men weren't slavers and with the weapons of the slavers and a few hundred other men who were not as weakened with hunger and illness they felt as if they could defend themselves if the slaving ships arrived.

Though a few of the Naathi were coming with the fleet as well, most of them younger men who felt like all young men felt at one point or another in their lives, and Aegon would use the opportunity to learn more of their people and their culture.

"If we encounter more like these…camps, my Prince?" Ser Galaenys asked intently before adding "We can't keep doing this."

"We also can't do nothing, Ser." Ser Dorrick remarked with a frown, a recently made knight who impressed Aegon with his intuitive grasp of battle tactics.

"I'm not saying we do nothing." Ser Galaenys said with narrowed eyes.

"Just that we can't keep sending ships and men away. There were a thousand pirates on this island alone, more than what our information told us there were. Who is to say that other islands won't have twice as much…or even five times as much? The more ships we have, the more options we have."

"Enough." Aegon said sternly, ending the conversation before it could devolve into argument. "Both of you are right." Aegon said after he'd seen from their faces that tempers had been kept at bay.

"We can't do this again. Not if we want to completely destroy the pirates and end their threat completely." Aegon said with a grim look as he met his people's gazes.

"Which means we have to make sure we do what we have set out as fast as possible and as efficiently as possible." Aegon said as his finger traced from island to island to island before pressing his fist into the centre of the Basilisk Isles.

"That is the best way we can make sure these people remain free and alive."

Aegon got their acceptance from their faces as they nodded, some grimly and other more determined but nevertheless, the compact that bound them reaffirmed, and Aegon turned his gaze towards Ser Trytas.

"Has the pit been dug?" Aegon asked in a deceptively calm voice.

"Aye, my Prince." Trytas confirmed.

Aegon nodded before his eyes turned cold "Then at dawn, their sentence shall be carried out and Aegon ended the meeting on that note.

Dawn had come and the biting cold of the night still lingered as the pirates were led into the pit, fearful and all too aware that they were soon be dead.

Some begged for mercy. Some looked on hatefully. And some looked defeated.

Mīsaragorn low growl as he brought down his head beside Aegon shook the loose sand, but Aegon paid it no mind as he fixed his gaze to the now overcrowded pit.

Not everyone had followed their death march with grace.

Pieces of them were now settling in Mīsaragorn stomach.

It seemed they'd decided that dying by dragonfire was preferable than being bit into half pieces and forced to watch your lower half cooked and eaten.

A crowd had assembled. A crowd of the would-be slaves and a crowd of his people.

All of them silent. All of them waiting.

Aegon made them wait a little longer.

His eyes moved from one pirate face to another, all of them stripped of most of their clothes.

It was disturbing, the calm he felt…the assuredness that settled within him, despite the mass killing he was but a word away from causing.

Shouldn't he be shaking? Shouldn't he be raging and screaming at himself, at the world, at what he was going to do?

They were scum.

Vile, sadistic and wretched humans.

But human.

Human in the most awful ways, yes, but human nonetheless.

Where was his inner voice to tell him that this was wrong?

Why was it absent?

Mīsaragorn growled once more, licks of blue flame escaping from his maw.

Aegon glanced at his dragon, meeting the huge eye of his other half of his soul.

Unspoken communication passed between them which seemed to last an age, until, finally, Aegon broke the eye contact and turned towards the pirates, some of whom whimpered and still begged and others who only stared.

"Dracarys."

A torrent of blue flame was cast, the sound of it as majestic as it was horrific, the very air around it shimmering and distorting and he felt his armour warming by simple proximity but the heat never touched him, never harmed him. 

The screams were agony itself, the way their voices distorted with pain and later with the distortion of their throats as it melted, and almost as soon as the screams came, the screams ended, agony ended, and with a single torrent of flame, over a hundred souls were ended within a few blinks of an eye.

At the command…

Of a single word.