Over a thousand horsemen were encamped around Swan Harbor. The knights of Andalos and the Rhoyne stood like a silent forest, their light and heavy armor gleaming in the sun.
The Dothraki screamers, now fighting under Viserys's banner, were visibly shaken by the discipline of this army.
Previously, they had only fought against slippery mercenary companies who fled at the first sign of trouble, not against a perfectly ordered regular army.
Qohor had many Unsullied, so the horselords rarely tested their luck there.
Morosh's subordinates were equally terrified by the sight of the Dothraki warriors and Viserys's armored knights.
They had thought the Dothraki screamers were invincible, yet the long-downtrodden Andals and Rhoynar, led by Viserys, had fought like demons and slain Khal Jhiqui.
The Myrish were historically mediocre sailors and soldiers, famed only for their crossbows and poisons.
Although Morosh's mercenary fleet was battle-hardened and considered a formidable force by Myrish standards, facing such a regular army drained every ounce of courage from the sailors.
Viserys wore a black surcoat embroidered with the red dragon over his silver armor. His tall frame seemed as immovable as a mountain, radiating a sacred aura.
Morosh had a premonition that Viserys would eventually become the highest peak in Essos, climbing step by step to the pinnacle of power.
Morosh had no future in Myr. After years of service, he was still just an admiral of a mercenary fleet. The Magisters were wealthy, but their class prejudice was insurmountable. Now, he saw a chance to wash his hands clean and come ashore.
Viserys looked at Swan Harbor in the small cove. Currently, it consisted of only a few towers and the statue of the hero slaying the swan maiden.
But tiny streams must eventually converge into a mighty river.
King's Landing had once been nothing more than a small fishing village until the administrative will of Aegon the Conqueror forced it to grow wildly into the greatest city in the realm.
Viserys, too, possessed such earth-shaking power. His word was law.
Power surged at his fingertips; this was why millions fanatically pursued it.
Viserys looked around. The black and red dragon banner already flew over this land.
The first structures completed at Swan Harbor were the small docks for merchant ships, a sept for the Seven, a temple for the foreign gods of the Myrish sailors, and a formal town hall.
Next would come the castle, complete with stables, armory, barracks, towers, sept, and library.
"Your Grace, much is still lacking here. But with your support and divine majesty, I believe it will soon be transformed," Morosh guided him. "With a port, soon there will be a fish market, a cloth market, a customs house, taverns, brothels, and residential districts. It is the inevitable growth of a city."
Viserys was very satisfied. "The construction speed is remarkable. You have done a great service, Morosh. However, I want a clean city, not a cesspit like King's Landing."
"As you command, Your Grace," Morosh promised.
Viserys's concern was perhaps premature. Due to population constraints and the siphoning effect of Viserys Fort, Swan Harbor likely wouldn't become a sprawling metropolis. It was more likely to become a beautiful port city like Gulltown.
"You have worked hard," Viserys said to Morosh the Myrman, who was in the prime of his life as a fleet commander. "I did not expect you to be so knowledgeable about town construction, in addition to trade routes."
"A good captain must first be a good planner," Morosh said humbly.
Though the mercenary admiral loved gold, his fleet was undeniably capable.
"Merit must be rewarded." Viserys clapped his hands. Crabb and Hugo carried a chest over to Morosh.
"This is what you deserve." Viserys had the Myrman open the chest. It was filled with gold and silver coins of all kinds.
Pentoshi coins mostly, but also golden Titans of Braavos, Westerosi Dragons and Stags.
Viserys was putting his gains to good use. The money squeezed from Pentos was now buying loyalty.
Money is just money; how it is spent is key.
The Pentoshi Magisters hoarded their gold, failing to realize it could be exchanged for hearts and power.
Viserys now had a longship force capable of river operations, but he desperately lacked an ocean-going fleet. This was why he valued Morosh.
Morosh's mercenary fleet was renowned. Selected by the Onion Knight himself, he was a top-tier smuggler on par with Davos Seaworth and the Pirate Lord of Lys, Salladhor Saan.
The Onion Knight had gone straight, serving Stannis. The Lysene pirate was expensive and slippery—Lyseni wore many hats: smuggler, merchant, banker, pirate. They belonged to everyone and no one.
Furthermore, Salladhor Saan was Illyrio's contact; the fat Magister had a berth on the pirate's flagship.
Of the three, Morosh was the only viable option.
Morosh was currently on the fringes of Myrish high society. Despite his fleet's fierce reputation and his sailors' loyalty, his low birth kept him from the inner circle of the Magisters. He was a useful tool, nothing more.
In this, Morosh and the Onion Knight were similar—men of low birth struggling to climb.
Salladhor Saan, on the other hand, came from a distinguished line of pirates. His family had been wealthy and experienced reavers for three centuries. His ancestor, Samarro Saan, was a member of the infamous Band of Nine.
The eyes of Morosh's crew turned red with greed. Traveling a thousand miles for wealth—it was all worth it now.
Their resentment at working in this backwater vanished. King Viserys gave too much. On top of their pay, there was now a bonus.
"This is my duty to Your Grace. I cannot accept this money," Morosh tried to refuse. He had already made a fortune opening this trade route; taking more seemed greedy.
"Take it, Admiral. It is a gift from King Viserys. A man walks the world based on loyalty and honor; do not be as fickle as a tavern wench," Viserys laughed.
"I am humbled by your bounty," Morosh knelt in gratitude. "This is the King's gift, a bonus beyond your wages! Come and take it, men! Take what corresponds to your work. Let me catch no slackers or thieves taking more than their share, or I'll nail your hands to the mast!"
Sailors and artisans came forward one by one to take their share. Morosh himself took not a copper.
"Viserys the Builder!"
"Viserys the Builder!"
The men cheered Viserys's name. The title was fitting.
Viserys Fort, Swan Harbor... Viserys would build many more cities.
Seeing Morosh's gesture, Viserys made up his mind.
"Walk with me, Admiral," Viserys said.
"It is my honor, Your Grace," Morosh nodded.
He followed Viserys up a green hill overlooking the endless blue sea.
"You and the Onion Knight are good friends?" Viserys asked.
"Yes. Me, the Onion Knight, and Saan," Morosh said. "Truth be told, I don't like Saan. He's too flashy, and a noble besides."
"When I was young, starving in the slums of Myr, a man asked me if I wanted to join a crew. Smuggling became the only thing I was good at. Later, my captain was caught by Pentoshi customs officials and beheaded. I took over the ship and continued to scrape a living. I always dealt with the sea," Morosh said wistfully. "I am confident my knowledge of ships, galleys, and coasts is unmatched in the Free Cities. But I wonder when I can finally come ashore."
"Now I only hope to keep working, to see how much of a legacy I can leave. The Onion Knight went ashore and became a true knight. Saan remains a Pirate Lord. only I seem destined to live and die as a mercenary admiral," the Myrman lamented.
"A legacy is what we leave for our children," Viserys said. "I have a new ship. I wonder if you are willing to board it. The risks are higher, but so are the rewards."
"What ship?" Morosh asked curiously.
"The ship I speak of is my crown, my cause, my kingdom." Viserys looked at Morosh, his pale violet eyes burning with ambition, a fire kindled within.
Morosh looked at Viserys, his heart pounding, truly captivated by the King's charisma.
Viserys's silver armor was so magnificent. Morosh dropped to one knee. "When you gave me that chest of gold, I made up my mind. Not for the money, but for the respect. The Magisters of Myr never learned to speak to me like this in a lifetime. But Andalos is a world without runaway slaves.
"My road in Myr has ended. The Magisters will never allow the son of a runaway slave, a smuggler, a mud-born brat from the slums to sit on a throne. But now, I believe there is a new path. I feel the same tension I felt years ago when I bled on the deck. I am willing to pledge my loyalty to King Viserys's cause, offering my blood, soul, and courage."
Viserys drew his sword and laid it on the Myrman's shoulder. "I promise you, I will give you far more than the Magisters of Myr ever could. The Myrish are stuck in the old world. Let those rotting Magisters tremble.
"As for me, I will create a new world born of blood and fire."