Game Of Thrones: The Dragon Targaryen

King Viserys Targaryen, Third of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. It had one hell of a ring to it.

Viserys slipped out from between the two camp followers he'd taken to his bed a week earlier, both of Lyseni blood with light blonde hair and purple eyes. One's hair was a shade too dark and the other's shorn too short, and their eyes were much more indigo than violet. But if Viserys didn't look at their faces too much and he repeatedly told his mind they were, he could just convince himself they were what his heart d.e.s.i.r.ed above all else.

It was like having two Daenerys' at the same time. Viserys would trade both fakes for the real one in a heartbeat, but he'd take what he could get for now.

Both—Viserys was fairly certain their names were Sylara and Lilas, though he didn't truly give much of a damn—grumbled and twisted slightly in the massive bed but neither one woke. Viserys yawned as he stretched, joints popping, and then set to dressing in the expensive silk and cloth of gold, a golden three headed dragon stitched across the c.h.e.s.t of his doublet. He strapped his sword to his side and then, with great care, placed the crown of gold, emeralds and rubies atop his head, relishing its weight and the feeling of power it flooded into his veins. Straightening his spine, he flung aside the tents flap and stepped out into the harsh sunshine.

They were camped somewhere along the western Essosi coastline, north of the Free City of Myr and south of Pentos. Viserys had grumbled when he'd first arrived at the staging area, even in his wretched exile used to at least some level of comfort, but the commanders of the Golden Company had convinced him of their reasoning. Viserys knew as well as anyone that The Spider had little birds everywhere; they sang just as loud in the east as they did in the west. While it was unlikely Viserys' new affiliation with the Golden Company would stay a secret from Varys for long, any amount of delay in its revelation would be to their advantage. Camping in this middle of nowhere, away from the thousands of prying eyes in the Free Cities, would only help in that endeavor.

Alester Strong instantly appeared at his side. Eight and ten, the squire was thick of neck and arm, short but savagely powerful. He wasn't the quickest of mind to be sure, but despite his relative youth he was an experienced killer who doubled as Viserys squire and bodyguard. Viserys had yet to select his own Kingsguard—as much as he hated his brother, the Prince of Summerhall had learned from the Dragon of Duskendale to choose those closest to him carefully—but he felt protected enough with Alester for now. Besides, they were in the middle of ten thousand warriors all serving him.

Alester's father, Duncan Strong, was one of the Company's serjeants, his arms covered in gold rings signifying over twenty years of service. While the mercenary father and son were of Westerosi heritage, Viserys doubted they were truly descended from the long-extinct House Strong of the Riverlands, former Lords of Harrenhal. A man of the Golden Company could call himself whatever he wished, and there was another serjeant with no blood relation to Duncan, a brute of a man named Denys, who styled himself a Strong as well. It didn't truly matter though; when he took the Iron Throne from his cursed nephew and executed the traitorous lords who served him, he would give Duncan and Denys Harrenhal and its subsequent lands back, though how they would split it between them wasn't his concern.

That was his deal with the Golden Company. Ten thousand men, bloodied killers all, would help him take the Kingdoms of his father. In return, he would grant the conquered lands to the men of the Golden Company. Many were actual exiles who yearned for their ancestral seats; Laswell Peake and his brother's, Captain-General Harry Strickland, Franklyn Flowers the Bastard of Cider Hall, supposedly Duncan and Denys Strong. Others—Will Cole, John Mudd, Maylo Jayn—didn't even pretend to have a claim, some like Jayn not even of Westerosi blood. They too would be granted lordsh.i.p.s, however, assuming the positions that Viserys would empty. Theirs would be right of conquest instead of right of blood.

This was the world Viserys intended to build, Daenerys at his side.

News had arrived during the night, something major judging by the flurry of activities the camp had undergone. Viserys was rather vexed that nothing had been said to him, their King, but he would withhold his disp.l.e.a.s.u.r.e for the time being. The council they had called this morning was sure to fill in the blanks for him, and in the process he would get a further idea of who was truly in command for now. Viserys wasn't a fool; he knew the only reason these men had first agreed to follow him was their hopes of returning home or becoming rich, not because they found him to be their true King—as such, thy would only follow his commands to a point. It was true that Viserys wasn't the true King—he wasn't even very high in the succession anymore, thanks to Alysanne Lefford and her 'talent' at getting pregnant and birthing boys. He needed to bid his time, see where the true power of the Company lay, and then go about taking it for himself.

Viserys hated Aelor, but his brother had taught him well.

The council was already underway even as Viserys entered, only a few of the veteran mercenaries bothering to rise and bow to Viserys before the King took his place at the head of the table. It was a lack of respect they would all pay dearly for, though not quite yet. 'Homeless' Harry Strickland, portly and the exact opposite of what one would expect a mercenary to look like, was talking. While he still hadn't figured out the true power structure behind the Golden Company, Viserys was nearly certain that it didn't lie with Harry Strickland, no matter the man's position as Captain-General. The great-grandson of a former Lord of the Reach was somewhat craven, a belief given credence by the words the man was saying right now.

"We do not have the numbers. Even with the elephants we are hopelessly outmatched."

Jon Lothston—another man under the guise of a supposedly extinct bloodline—viciously countered. One of the serjeants, Viserys had noticed the red-haired sellsword was the biggest of Strickland's rivals, constantly infuriated by the Captain-General's cowardice. "Their strongest fighters are moving north as we speak, leaving their heartland undefended. Now is the time to strike!"

Duncan Strong seemed to be the normal voice of reason of the council, and he continued that role now. "They still have many times again as many men as we do in the south, even with the allies we have in place. There is only so much havoc we could wreak."

Lothston whirled. "Scattered men, easy for the picking. We can turn Aelor Targaryen's own tactic against him—pick the enemy off piecemeal, before they can unite. It nearly ended Robert Baratheon's Rebellion before it truly began, if you recall." Lothston eyed Strickland once more. "We cannot sit here in Essos like cowards and let this opportunity pass."

"Peace, Lothston," barked the rough voice of Maylo Jayn, his accent that of the far east. The lean man turned to face Viserys, bowing ever so slightly. "The King needs to be brought up to date."

That is precisely why you will receive a high lordship, my friend. The Westerlands should do. Viserys eyed them all coolly, a tactic he had seen his brother use to great effect. "The meeting should not have begun without me, Master Jayn. But I am willing to overlook it this time in light of what I gather to be good news to our cause." None of the hardened mercenaries apart from Strickland looked chagrined, but Viserys knew he had yet to win their respect—or their fear. It would all come in due time.

Lysono Maar, spymaster of the company, filled the King in. The Lyseni, with his lilac eyes and his pierced ears decorated with amethysts and pearls, looked more like a woman than a man. But he had a vast array of contacts and spies nearly everywhere including Westeros, the population of which seemed to be twenty-five percent spies in Viserys' mind. His network was not as vast as Varys' of course, but enough to keep the Company very well informed. "Your nephew and brother are leading a force of men to the Wall, to deal with an apparent wildling threat. Half of the power of the North will join them there."

Lothston spoke again, voice excited at the prospect of finally beginning the invasion this company was founded to undertake. "King's Landing is relatively undefended, with only a few household guardsmen to defend her. We can strike now and take it, capturing many of your kinsmen to hold as leverage as well as freeing the future Queen."

Viserys instantly liked Lothston a thousand times more than before when he referred to Daenerys as the future Queen, but it didn't stop his skepticism. "Between Dragonstone and King's Landing, my cursed nephew has one of the strongest fleets in the known world. All the war elephants and experienced infantrymen in the world will do no good if we cannot land."

Strickland apparently agreed. "My point exactly."

Maar however wasn't finished, shooting the King a smirk that made Viserys want to smash his feminine face in. "Our friends in Westeros have plans to remove that threat, at least long enough for our own sh.i.p.s to make landfall."

The Prince of Summerhall waited for a clarification the spymaster did not give. "Explain." Viserys demanded as calmly as he could.

Jayn obliged. "Your nephew has taken the levies of Duskendale as well as most of his personal retinue north with him, meaning the most experienced and disciplined fighters for the Iron Throne will be a world away from us when we land. Most important of all, however, is that your brother is with them. He is the glue that holds your nephew's kingship together, and with him too far to harm them…well, there are several powerful figures in Westeros who have no love for the Dragon of Duskendale."

Maar took the rhetoric. "Your brother ruled ably, and most of Westeros will remain loyal it is true. But there is no small number of Lords who have not forgotten or forgiven the atrocities he has committed. They question rather he is truly sane." Viserys missed the glance several members of the council shared at that, too focused on the task at hand as Lysono continued. "We have been in contact with these lords since the day we learned Aegon exiled you, Your Grace. We have support to overthrow the Dragon of Duskendale."

"My nephew is King, not my uncle."

Duncan Strong smiled. "There are many who would contest that point, Your Grace. When these men hear Aegon the Sixth, they truly think Aelor the First."

Maar nodded. "With the Dragon of Duskendale too far to be an immediate threat, we can strike hard and fast with the lords who ally with us, destroying the armies in the south one at a time while Aegon and Aelor fight unwashed barbarians in the far north."

Viserys' heart was pounding at the possibility. Though he would never admit it to any of these men, he was terrified of his older brother, and had spent all of his life trying to avoid Aelor's retribution. But with said brother so far away, unable to strike back at Viserys, he could feasibly take all he wanted in one fell swoop. If he captured Alysanne and the children, he would have a bargaining chip keeping his brother at bay.

But all of that depended on the Golden Company landing and successfully taking King's Landing. And that depended on a lack of a Royal Navy in their way, which these mercenaries still hadn't explained how they were going to accomplish. Viserys leaned back in his chair at the head of the table. "This tells me nothing of how we won't have a Navy in our way."

Black Balaq, the white-haired, soot-skinned commander of the Golden Company archers, spoke for the first time, voice deep and resonant. "Your brother destroyed Tywin Lannister without the Royal Navy because he had a substitute force. We shall destroy him in turn with that same one."

Viserys' eyes opened wide in revelation. "The Ironborn?"

There was a chorus of nods, though Jayn was the one to speak. "Yes, Your Grace. Their numbers were barely touched during the last war, and Balon Greyjoy is nothing like his father Quellon. He has chafed under the rule of your brother, but he has had no opportunity to rise in rebellion. Until now. He intends to start raiding the western coast, pillaging castles and their armies and driving the Iron Throne to react. The Redwyne Fleet cannot handle the might of the Iron Fleet by itself, so the Regent of the Crown—Tyrion Lannister, a less-than-respected dwarf as luck would have it—will order much of the Royal Navy to assist them."

Viserys c.o.c.ked a brow. "They will also muster their army, which defeats our purpose of attacking them piecemeal."

Balaq bowed his head in difference. "A wise point, Your Grace. But the Golden Company will strike before these armies grow too strong, and with the Crown split between two enemies they will be overmatched and destroyed."

Viserys ran the merits and intricacies of the plan through his head. He wasn't a gifted tactician like Aelor or Aegon, but he had learned much during the lessons he had so detested as a boy. The plan relied on massive amounts of ifs and hopes, but the potential could not be denied. This might be his only true chance to take both what was his by birthright—Dany—but also what he had thirsted after since he was a teen.

Viserys' heart pounded ever harder as his hopes soared. This is my opportunity. This is where I will make my name.

There was only one catch.

"What does Balon Greyjoy want in return?"

This time Viserys didn't miss the looks shared by the council, and he knew at once that he wouldn't like whatever it was Balon Greyjoy was demanding. Lothston was the one to break the news to him. "He wants independence for the Iron Islands."

Viserys jumped to his feet, slamming a fist on the table. None of the mercenaries flinched, infuriating Viserys the more; when he'd seen Aelor do the same action, half of the lords nearly pissed themselves. "Absolutely not. I am the King of seven kingdoms, not six."

Jayn spoke in a soothing tone Viserys sound annoying, though he tried to hold that anger in check this time. "Your Grace, we agree that his demands are atrocious. But once he helps you capture your Throne, nothing says we have to let him keep that independence."

Harry Strickland may have been Captain-General, but he had been deemed nearly nonexistent to this point. It truly shows that he is not where the power lies. "We are the Golden Company; we cannot go back on our word!" His voice was appalled, as if Jayn had spoken blasphemy.

"We will not go back on our word as the Golden Company," Maar said, voice slightly annoyed. "But once we have taken King Viserys' thrown the Golden Company will be no more. Westeros nobility have no qualms with betraying one another; if that is what we are to be, we should not either. The Iron Islands will have no chance to stand against the other Kingdoms once they are united solidly under King Viserys' rule."

Strickland opened his mouth to protest again, but no words came forth. Viserys' mind raced, weighing the options. This was his chance. This is where he could finally take his heart's d.e.s.i.r.e.

Viserys rose, trying for all the world to look kingly. "We will not get a better opportunity. Let us go to war, gentlemen."

For the first time since Viserys had come in contact with the Golden Company, each man bowed.