After careful consideration, Viserys chose the sea route.
Though longer, it had its merits. Sailing down the Rhoyne to Volantis would require changing to larger sea-going vessels anyway, which was a hassle.
By sea, they could sail directly to Volantis, resupply, and then proceed to the ruins of Valyria.
Viserys knew that Tyrion Lannister would later take the Rhoyne route, encountering no bandits but running afoul of the Stone Men and the Old Man of the River.
Quentyn Martell, the Frog Prince, would take the sea route and face corsairs.
Either path carried risks.
"Soon, the Swan will dance, bringing more excitement to the world," Viserys told Morosh.
Morosh nodded, though he only half-understood.
After inspecting Swan Harbor, Viserys led his host across the Andal hills toward the White City, Viserys Fort.
Hooves drummed on the dirt road, accompanied by the scent of grass on the wind.
After some time, the familiar white castle atop the hill came into view, the black and red banner flying proud.
Viserys relaxed. It felt like home.
It had been a long journey. Viserys had completed a circuit around Andalos: first to the ruins of Ghoyan Drohe, then south to Pentos, inspecting Swan Harbor, and finally returning to the capital.
To avoid trouble, Viserys ordered the Dothraki to encamp in the pastures at the foot of the hill. Later, they would serve as scouts, monitoring movements along the Rhoyne.
Viserys Fort now boasted four layers of walls: two encircling the city below and two protecting the White Keep atop the hill.
The city adjacent to the fort had grown, with docks and fish markets springing up along the river. The White City was no longer just a concept on a map; it was a breathing reality.
Blond-haired, blue-eyed Andals, dark-haired, olive-skinned Rhoynar, and runaway slaves from all over Essos lived here in contentment. The city welcomed outsiders.
"These are gifts from Pentos to fill the treasury. As for the artisans, incorporate them into the Andalos Artisan Guild. Let the Chief Artisan, Hota of Tyrosh [a blacksmith adventurer and runaway slave who followed Viserys from Braavos], arrange housing and workshops for them."
"At once, Your Grace."
A city must have an artisan district, like the Street of Steel in King's Landing.
"And my Fruit Master... his toys are dangerous. Arrange a quiet, isolated corner for him," Viserys reminded them specifically about Valentine and his wildfire.
In Viserys Fort, Viserys relied on the Council of Elders for advice, while the Artisan Guild organized hundreds of craftsmen and apprentices to build the nation.
The people of Andalos were gathering at Viserys Fort like a clenched fist, preparing for the coming war.
Major decisions, however, remained with the King and his inner circle: the Red Viper Oberyn Martell, Count Donnel Stone, Roland Crakehall, Syrio Forel, and his squires Aggo, Hugo, Garin, and the runaway slave Jalaka.
Viserys planned to organize his army into four groups: Andals, Rhoynar, runaway slaves, and the knights of Crackclaw Point who would rally to him.
"What are those?" The Council Elders stared in shock at the tarred heads on the spears.
"The heads of a Khal and his bloodriders," Viserys explained casually. "Khal Jhiqui tried to ambush me outside Pentos. Unfortunately for him, he failed."
The Andals and Rhoynar were stunned. A true Dothraki Khal?
That he died at Viserys's hand only proved the King's prowess far exceeded that of the horselord.
Even if it was a minor Khal, this victory was a massive morale boost for the fledgling kingdom on the eve of war. Coupled with the recovery of the Rhoynar relics, it was a sign of divine favor.
Only Viserys could achieve such feats and make Andalos and the Rhoyne great again.
"Long live King Viserys!"
"Gods bless the King!"
The gates of the White Keep opened slowly, like a welcoming hymn.
Viserys greeted his subjects and garrison, then retired to the King's Tower for a hot bath—the greatest luxury of all.
After removing his silver armor, he dressed in a tunic embroidered with the red dragon and a belt with a dragon-head buckle. He looked every inch the dashing young prince.
The softness acquired during his flight to Braavos had been replaced by lean muscle, forged through training, stat-boosting, and combat.
Viserys wasn't bulky, but perfectly defined. Like the Rogue Prince of old, he was a splendid, handsome, and dangerous warrior.
His body was tall, proportionate, and rippling with power—a vessel fit for a god, tempered by fire and steel.
Only those close to him knew the terrifying strength hidden within that frame.
Viserys possessed explosive power rivaling any muscle-bound giant. Even Aggo, the local strongman, couldn't shake him. This immense internal strength made him a walking Mountain in disguise.
"Viserys, are these the sacred relics of Garin the Grey?" Rhaenys barged into his room, leading little Daenerys by the hand.
Rhaenys and Daenerys wore the traditional Targaryen colors: black dresses with ruby necklaces.
In private, Rhaenys didn't call him uncle, though she was careful to respect his royal dignity in public.
Inside the room, the magnificent silver set was displayed on a stand—the spear, shield, helm, and armor beloved by the Rhoynar, relics of a holy hero.
The silver spear was beautiful, rivaling the finest Valyrian steel. In ancient times, Rhoynar civilization had been glorious.
The silver armor was equally breathtaking, thousands of scales interlocking like fish skin, shimmering in the sunlight.
"Not bad," Viserys noted. "Also, a lady should knock before entering a King's chambers."
"I will, King Viserys!" Rhaenys pouted, emphasizing the title. "But the King used to tell us stories and tuck us in."
"Sharp tongue." Viserys smiled and ruffled her hair.
House Targaryen. They were the last dragons.
Viserys knew there were three "dragons" in the North—the Maester, the Wolf-Dragon, and the Crow-Dragon—but distance and secrecy had severed any familial bond.
He cared only for the girls who shared his glory: Daenerys and Rhaenys.
Though Rhaenys was technically Daenerys's niece, she was older than the silver-haired little aunt and took on a caretaker role, tucking Daenerys in and telling her stories, just like Viserys.
"Rhaenys, don't forget, we are your elders. Viserys is your uncle, and I am your aunt..." Daenerys mumbled, holding Rhaenys's hand.
Though she was the youngest and doted on by Viserys and Rhaenys, Daenerys was a precocious and intelligent child.
"Wow, dragon eggs!" Daenerys spotted the fossilized eggs in the cedar chest. Their beauty captivated her, like the finest toys.
The power of the True Dragon. It was the dragons that had made the Valyrians gods. Without them, the Targaryens lost their divine aura.
Dragons. Wake the dragons.
"Are these the gifts you got in Pentos?" Rhaenys asked.
"Yes," Viserys nodded. "They are fossils, but they are real dragon eggs. Precious treasures. You must guard them well."
"One for each of us," Viserys distributed them.
The black egg for Viserys, the green for Rhaenys, and the cream-and-gold for Daenerys.
Viserys looked at the girls. Hatching eggs from stone required magic and blood—a task too arduous for now. Better to let the girls keep them safe.
Genealogically, Viserys and Daenerys had purer dragon blood, while Rhaenys, with her dark eyes, olive skin, and black hair, took after her Martell mother.
Viserys planned to undertake the true dragon quest in Valyria.
"I can't wait to see my dragon," Rhaenys said.
Daenerys stared at her egg, feeling a strange attraction.
"Rhaenys, I need a favor from you," Viserys said.
"You're not going off to war again, are you?" Rhaenys asked unhappily.
"This is the path I have chosen," Viserys told her. "Slaughter, deception, and climbing. For vengeance, for glory."
Born of dragon blood, one must live like a Dragonlord. In the game of power, only the fiercest and most cunning beasts survive.
"I will fight with you," Rhaenys said.
"You have your mission. Take care of Daenerys. And guard these eggs."
---
Leaving the King's Tower, Viserys went to the secret distillery.
House Greenvine had been exterminated, their stills and tools confiscated.
But the Greenvines had lacked vision, content to make cheap, sour Andal wine.
Viserys had spent a fortune on new copper stills and obtained the secret recipe for Tyroshi pear brandy. He intended to make his grape brandy an instant hit.
The sealed room was filled with a rich aroma.
Viserys looked at the equipment with satisfaction. Andalos had basic brewing techniques; this was an upgrade.
The Red Viper waited expectantly. For some reason, he trusted Viserys's judgment.
Perhaps the young man had simply created too many miracles.
Distilling the fermented grape wine would create a wondrous spirit.
Viserys watched the amber liquid slowly drip from the spout.
"Impressive," Oberyn remarked.
Viserys offered Oberyn a taste of the raw spirit.
"A bit harsh, but worlds better than the horse piss Andalos used to make," the Red Viper commented. He was a connoisseur.
"About 40 proof should do. This will surpass Tyroshi pear brandy," Viserys said confidently.
With enough purity and strength, brandy could be followed by whiskey and golden rum.
Viserys, benefiting from his modern knowledge, was a first-rate brewer.
"We have a few more steps," Viserys said. "We can't age it for years right now, so we'll use old oak barrels to infuse flavor. Also, using local peat from the bogs for the fire adds a special touch."
Oberyn listened, fascinated. It seemed this might actually work.
"Trust me," Viserys said mysteriously.
Copper stills, oak barrels, peat fire... this brandy would conquer the world.
Now, all it needed was a story.
"We'll call it Swan Brandy. Legend has it that after the hero Hugor slew the swan maiden, the Father granted him this wine, a taste he never forgot. Since then, Andalos has made Swan Brandy," Viserys declared.
Good wine needs good marketing.
The Red Viper gave a thumbs up. If Viserys's wine succeeded, Andalos would have a river of gold.
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