Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, the Game of Throne or the Star Wars books, TV series or games. They belong to their creators, publishers and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale or rent.

Chapter 5 Part 5

=Sith=

290 AC

Astapor

Azmes zo Lizha was one of the youngest Great Masters in Astapor. He ascended to the position earlier in the year after his oldest uncle died without producing a son. Azmes' father had died years ago from a burst belly, leaving the young Ghiscari noble under the care of his oldest uncle as the family's heir. That meant years of intense training so he could be ready to take over as a Great Master when his ailing uncle finally passed away.

At six and ten, Azmes became one of the most powerful and influential men in Astapor. For months, he did his best to safeguard his family's position, power, and wealth. He had a legacy to uphold and family members to care for, including twin cousins who were a bit older than him. Arranging the girl's marriage was one of the tasks Azmes had been busy with for months now. On one hand, he needed the alliances his cousins could seal to guarantee the family's position for at least a generation. On the other hand, such a marriage meant that his prospective allies would have all the incentives in the world to see him dead and try to claim all of House Lizha's assets as their own.

Among the young members of the nobility, Azmes had only one friend he could trust – Kraghes mo Grazan of the Uquqs. Because of Kraghes, the young Good Master knew even his close associates were contemplating a usurpation through marriage. Azmes was considering taking the not-so-radical step of marrying his cousins to avoid meddling in Lizha's affairs. Thankfully, the girls were both sweet and more than pretty enough that anyone sane would be glad to take them as wives. Marrying his cousins would be no great burden, Azmes knew.

Then, the unthinkable happened, and Astrapor fell in a single night, taken by their own Unsullied! The sheer audacity left Azmes speechless! This was the kind of gumption and brass balls Astapor's nobles lost long ago!

During the following few days, the young man was terrified out of his mind for the rest of his family. He was thanking all the gods that he could think of that it was Unsullied who had taken the city. They couldn't rape and didn't butcher for the hell of it! Azmes was also terribly happy that his mother and aunts were considered too kind and meek for their own good for treating their slaves with kindness. The reason for that was simple – even confined to the Plaza of Pride, they could overhear rumors about what happened to certain great noble families who mistreated their slaves. What the Nakloz's butcher Cleon allegedly did to the family's women and children didn't bear repeating.

The more Azmes saw of Viserys Targaryen, the more impressed he was! He crushed all opposition, bringing to life the legends of old about Valyrian Dragonlords and sorcerers to life! The man was also smart enough to show mercy to those who could be of use instead of proving himself a mere butcher, unlike many of the stories about the terrible yet glorious monsters who ruled over Old Valyria. And to think that Viserys didn't even have a dragon to his name!

Azmes spent most of a day watching the Targaryen work his way through fellow Good Masters until it was his turn. He saw him bring back a dying man, for Grazdan zo Aliq didn't have permission to die! That was such a glorious display of power, which left Azmes speechless.

By the time he got to speak with Viserys Targaryen, Azmes knew one thing for sure in this new world they all inhabited. He wanted to be like the warlord who took Astapor without breaking a sweat. History was being written before his eyes, and Azmes wanted his name carved into its annals right beside that of Viserys Targaryen!

When the time came, Azmes zo Lizha offered the warlord a proper Ghiscari salute and his unconditional support.

Two purple eyes stared into the Good Master's very soul. They burned with dragon fire, turning the color of molten metal, judging Azmes' worth. The youth did his best to remain unflinching, paying that Viserys found him worthy.

"I will speak with you tomorrow evening. You and your family are free to return to your home under an appropriate Unsullied escort. Do not give me a reason to doubt your support," Viserys decreed, and that was that.

Azmes was possibly the only Good Master to happily leave the Plaza of Pride. He held his head high and assured his family that a bright future awaited them.

When early the next day, the news came that Viserys 'requested' Azmes two cousins as Ladies in Waiting for his sister, the Good Master was elated. He didn't view this request as giving up hostages, and potentially his future wives at that. Instead, he saw it as a great honor that could ensure their family's future would be even brighter than he believed possible.

=Sith=

When Viserys and Dany gathered to break their fast early in the morning, they found the best possible surprise waiting for them. Ser Lonmouth was awake and seemingly in full control of his mind, the Majordomo informed them. The man in question hobbled in sight, aided by a servant. A set of clean clothes and a bath had done wonders for Ser Lonmouth—he no longer looked like a death warmed over.

"Your Grace! Princess!" the knight stumbled to one knee with a wince and bowed his head. "Words alone can't describe how glad I am that you are alive and fine!"

In the Force, the man simply glowed with conviction. He meant every word he uttered, taking Viserys aback. The Sith didn't believe any loyalists were left worth the title, yet here they were.

"I will serve you until my dying breath if you'll have me!" Lonmouth babbled, and at least at that moment, he absolutely meant it in such a way it had Dany staring in shock at the man. Viserys himself was taken aback, unsure how, in the Seven Corellian Hells, he was supposed to feel.

That was the kind of dedication anyone sane would kill for, and it just fell in the Targaryens' lap. Throwing it away would be pure madness.

"We are honored to have you, Ser Lonmouth," Viserys allowed, and Dany nodded rapidly, watching the knight with rapt attention.

"I offer my service to you, your Grace, Viserys Targaryen, and to you, my Princess, Daenerys Targaryen," Lonmouth's voice rang with truth. He raised his head to look them in the eyes. Lonmouth's face betrayed that he had a borderline religious experience. "I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. I pledge my life to house Targaryen anew!"

Viserys held Lonmouth's gaze for a long moment while his mind spun, trying to drag forth the traditional response needed to seal the vow of fealty. There was part of him that simply refused to believe this was happening despite all the evidence to the contrary. The reason for that was simple. Until this moment, Viserys was utterly convinced that William Darry was the last Targaryen loyalist worth the lofty title.

"And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New," Viserys spoke as if chanting a magic spell. He squeezed Dany's shoulder, and as she glanced up at him, he nodded at his little sister.

"And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New," Dany repeated in a trance.

"Raise, Ser Lonmouth. Welcome back," Viserys offered.

=Sith=

And so, Ser Richard Lonmouth rose, once more a sworn knight of House Targaryen. He was the first Westerosi to swear their fealty to the Targaryens since the usurpation of their throne. He would be far from the last.

While others already agreed to work with Viserys Targaryen, Ser Lonmouth was the first to formally swear himself to his cause. It was such a small thing – a single long lost, believed to be dead man, swearing himself to what should have been a lost cause. Yet, it was a beginning.

from Throne of Blood: The Early History of the Second Valyrian Freehold, by Maester Marwyn the Mage

=Sith=

Chapter 5 Part 6

=Sith=

290 AC

Astapor

Having a reliable sword at their backs beyond the Unsullied was a relief, even if it would take Lonmouth sometime before he could be useful in combat. The important thing in that regard was that the knight was out of danger, and as long as he avoided doing something stupid, he should make a full recovery. Getting him into a healing trance every night to speed up his recovery should also help.

Viserys was still struggling with the revelation about true loyalists being more than a fable after Ser Darry died. He knew intellectually that the situation was unlikely to be as black and white as he believed. However, until now, there wasn't a single piece of evidence to contradict his conclusion. Hells, even in the Sith Empire, when everything went downhill during the war with the Republic, the military was full of loyalists who upheld their oaths to the bitter end, and often enough, it wasn't because of what crazy Sith might do to them otherwise.

They got to the terrace, which was turning into their preferred eating spot in the pyramid. Just like last night, a cool breeze washed over the area, keeping the air fresh and pleasant.

"How did you end up here, Ser?" Viserys inquired.

Lonmouth sat down and grimaced as he tried to make himself comfortable.

"I was under orders from your brother, Prince Rhaegar, Your Grace. I am sad to say I failed to follow his final orders."

Through the Force, Viserys sensed precisely how wretchedly the man felt about that. It wasn't pleasant to experience, even with the Dark Side lurking around, making everything 'better.'

"Shortly before the Battle at the Trident, Prince Rhaegar dispatched me to bring midwives to Dorne, to his second wife, Princess Lyanna."

Dany hissed at that, and Viserys was anything but happy. He remembered telling his sister for years that the Stark bitch had ruined their family. To think that Rhaegar went on to marry her….

"What about goodsister Elia? Our niece and nephew?!" Viserys demanded. Was Rhaegar as mad as Aerys at the end? In that regard, it was only his time as a Sith, not his memories of living in this world, that clinched it. His sire had been crazier than most Sith drowning under the influence of the Dark Side.

Lonmouth blanched and shook his head. "It wasn't like that! Rhaegar took a second wife! He didn't abandon Princess Elia! Sadly, she was a frail woman, and giving birth to Prince Aegon nearly killed her. The Maesters and Midwives Prince Rhaegar brought to treat her agreed! Princess Elia couldn't bear another child!"

Viserys stared impassively at that blurted-out response. "To be painfully blunt, my brother had a dynastic marriage, an heir, and a spare. I remember how those two were around each other. They might not have been madly in love like in the stories Bards love to tell, but they were more than fond of each other! I will have the truth of the Usurpation and behind our exile!"

Lonmouth nodded firmly. "Your Grace, you must understand something about your brother. He was the finest man I knew, and I will carry that conviction to my grave. However, he was obsessed with prophecy. One prophecy in particular. About a prince that was promised. A dragon with three heads," a forlorn sigh escaped the knight's lips. "Rhaegar believed that Aegon was the Prince from the prophecy, that he would need Rhaenys and Visenya of his own to protect the realm from a coming darkness. That was why he eventually ran away with Lyanna Stark. He needed a Visenya. He believed he had to fulfill the pact of Ice and Fire and ensure that the dragon would have three heads. I am sorry to say that your brother didn't share all the details with me. It's been years now, Your Grace, and I don't quite remember everything he told me or I overhead."

"I dream of dragons," Dany admitted. "Ever since we sailed past Valyria, I dream of reclaiming our wings. Visy promised we will," She looked at her brother.

Of course, it was fucking prophecies. Viserys really should have seen that coming. There were always prophecies mucking things up.

"Daenys the Dreamer. If not for her prophetic dreams, neither of us would be here today. The two of us wouldn't exist for sure, and the same is almost certain about you, goof Ser," Viserys allowed. "When I awoke in the desert months ago, with slavers about to overrun us, I had memories not my own. Magic awoke in us. I know about prophesies, Ser. They can be about more or less natural events like the Doom of Valyria with the Fourteen erupting. The only thing you could do about those is to avoid being caught in their wake. Others are all about what people do or don't do. Dreaming of something, seeing something, will either ensure the prophecy comes true or guarantee it won't. The trick is you won't know until it has been resolved, and perhaps not even then," Viserys explained based on his experience with Force Visions and prophecies. "The act of a prophecy being made or experiencing a Dragon Dream changes how a person would act. It changes how anyone who hears about it would act. The direct consequence is a chain of events that either ensures the prophecy is fulfilled or derails it, creating a different path."

"Then my Prince…" Lonmouth trailed off, struggling with a storm of unresolved emotions.

"He either ensured that the prophecy would never come through or that it would happen. The thing is, prophecies are never as clear as people believe them to be. Attempting to force an outcome…," Viserys chuckled, recalling his actions as a Sith. "It can be precisely what's needed for a prophecy to be fulfilled. Or not. There might be three heads of the dragon. They don't have to be my brother's children. You are sitting at a table with two young Targaryens whose blood sings with awakened magic. Either of us having a child can complete that part of the prophecy. Or perhaps we will one day hatch three dragons. Or both."

"Or Lyanna Stark gave Prince Rhaegar the daughter he sought," Lonmouth pointed out, bringing Viserys' mind to a screeching halt.

He hadn't considered that option. His memories from either life didn't help in that regard.

"Was she with child?" Viserys demanded.

"That was why Prince Rhaegar dispatched me to Dorne before the battle. If it wasn't for those damned Ironborn…" Lonmouth shook his head in regret and spite at the reavers.

"Those bastards will need to go," Viserys agreed. "We might have a nephew or niece in Westeros."

"My knowledge on the matter is way out of date, Your Grace," Lonmouth reminded them.

"We haven't heard about another child murdered by the Usurper…" Viserys trailed off. "Eddard Stark. He would have gone for his sister, believed her stolen, wouldn't he? Why did everyone believe Rhaegar took the Stark girl if they ran together?!" he demanded.

"I know for a fact that they send letters, Your Grace. I brought them to Maesters in Dorne and Dragonstone to dispatch first to King's Landing, then Riverrun and Winterfell. We never found out what happened. Your father might have received the letter meant for him, which might partly explain his rage when Brandon Stark arrived at the capital, demanding your brother's head. That was treason. Unfortunately, King Aerys wasn't a well man. What followed ignited the Rebellion," Lonmouth elaborated. His shoulders slumped, and he radiated glumness. "It wasn't supposed to be like that, Your Grace. Harrendal was meant to be the turning point. Prince Rhaegar intended to gather support to remove your father as unfit to rule. The Kind wasn't supposed to attend the Tourney. However, we believe the Master of Whisperers found out and informed the King. Aerys' presence derailed Prince Rhaegar's plans. Further, your father took Ser Jamie Lannister as a part of the Kingsguard then and there, making the boy a glorified hostage and tying up Tywin Lannister's hands, or so everyone thought."

"I was there when Rhaegar crowned the wolf girl Queen of Love and Beauty, spurning our good sister and niece," Viserys could clearly remember the shock he experienced then and there.

"Why would he do that!?" Dany exclaimed.

"Do you remember the Knight of the Laughing Tree?" Lonmouth asked.

"The Mystery Knight? Father was furious and demanded their head," Viserys recalled.

"Prince Rhaegar found them. It was Lyanna Stark. I don't know precisely what happened when they met and right after, but he won the joust the following day, and the rest is history," the knight filled in more blanks about their past.

"We might never know, Little Dragon," Viserys finally answered Dany's question. "You don't fall in love at first sight or after meeting someone once or twice. Infatuation and lust? Sure. Respect? Certainly. Love? That takes time and knowing who a person is. My brother was buttering up the girl to make her run with him, wasn't he, Ser? How old was she, fourteen, fifteen?"

"To be fair, Your Grace, you are about that age as well," Lonmouth pointed out.

"I have memories stuck in my head that aren't mine, giving me perspective and ensuring I am more mature than I have any right to be. You can almost certainly thank our distant Valyrian ancestors for creating this contingency; otherwise, we would be dead in the desert near Pentos or much worse."

"I am sorry I wasn't there, Your Grace. You shouldn't have been left without adequate protection!" Lonmouth burned with righteous anger on the Targaryen's behalf, which wasn't something Viserys had experienced since awakening.

Dany's connection with the Force had progressed to the point she couldn't miss it when paying attention, and she was most certainly doing so. Viserys felt a pang of unwelcome jealousy at how his sister looked at Lonmouth, much less the warm and fuzzy feelings bubbling in her because the knight simply cared.

"Later, I will want all the details you can recall about our brother and father, the prophecies Rhaegar was obsessed with, and the Usurper's Rebellion. However, we have more pressing things to discuss," Viserys changed the topic. "We should discuss our present situation before going back down memory lane."

"I live to serve, Your Grace!" Lonmouth declared with utter conviction.

"We need to build a proper army to back up the Unsullied. Part of it will be militia with basic training meant to fight from the city walls or reinforced positions within the city. Astapor's city guard will be a notch above them, which we must rebuild. Then, we will need regular infantry formations and specialized support units. Cavalry. Logisticians. In a nutshell, I want to create a professional military, like few exist in the world, then turn it into the finest fighting force in Westeros or Essos long before we head home."

"You aren't talking about recreating the Ghiscari Legions, much less men-at-arms or knights…" Lonmouth inhaled sharply in shock. "Prince Rhaegar was always more of a scholar and poet than a warrior. One couldn't spend much time around him without picking up things. He was fascinated by the military of Old Valyria and sometimes lamented that it could never be reproduced in Westeros. The Lords wouldn't stand for it, and the Crown was never wealthy enough to support such a force or had a need for it!" the knight frowned. "But most we've left about it are stories and incomplete accounts."

Viserys tapped his temple. "Memories not my own, Ser Lonmouth. I believe I have a better idea of what the Freehold's military was and how it came to be than anyone since the Doom."

That wasn't entirely true, obviously. However, everything Viserys read on the topic while Ser Darry was still alive gave him a framework to work with. He could read between the lines, and his memories as a Sith were enough to fill in the most critical blanks.

Their ancestors didn't always rely on dragons to win their wars. Oh, the dragons were invaluable. However, it took the ancient Valyrians a very long time to forge the connections with the creatures that made them proper Dragonlords. It took them even longer to become masters of sorcery and forge the greatest civilization this world had ever seen.

For thousands of years, the Valyrian military fought against all comers, losing more often than not, and only dragons allowed them to survive. However, the key point was that they adapted. The Valyrians took to heart all the lessons their enemies taught them and created a professional military that kept evolving… Their dragons made sure that Valyria survived so the Dragonlords could learn from their mistakes.

By the time the Ghiscari Wars ended, Valyria had the finest military in the world, backed by hundreds of dragons, sorcerers, and a massive economy.

Arguably, there were only two professional military forces in this day and age against which Viserys could compare his future army. The Iron Legions of New Ghis, and the Golden Company. As good as the Unsullied were, they were mere heavy infantry, not a proper military with all it entailed. Viserys strived to do better, and he had a legacy to uphold – both as one of the last scions of Old Valyria and a Sith.

"Do we have a nephew or a niece in Westeros, Visy?" Dany inquired. She looked up at her brother with a look so full of longing that it cut deeper than the sharpest Valyrian steel blade.

"I don't know. We'll have to figure it out, given the opportunity. However, that's not something we should discuss where people might overhear. If our brother has a living child, revealing their existence can see them murdered by the Usurper."

"I'll tell no one!" Dany vowed.

Prophecies, Starks, and eventual Ice Zombie invasion, Viserys mussed. He wasn't going to get as much time as he wanted to prepare to invade Westeros, was he?