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Chapter 10 Part 5
=Sith=
291 AC
Astapor
The Faith was right. Slavery was an abomination, and those partaking in it were cursed. Gerion Lannister learned that truth the hard way in the last few weeks.
It wasn't supposed to be like this! He was meant to return to Lannisport in triumph, bringing back long-lost treasures, ways to protect against damned Targaryen Sorcerers, and if the Gods were good, Brightroar too! Instead, half his crew deserted in Volantis. In a bout of insanity, Gerion replaced them with slaves before sailing into the Smoking Sea.
The Gods had the last laugh. One fine morning, an Ironborn flotilla emerged from clouds of rolling smoke. By then, the morale of Gerion's crew was at rock bottom. They couldn't even offer a proper chase to the murderous bastards before two ships came alongside and boarded them.
The Ironborn were far crazier than usual. Gerion lost his tongue, with no one caring about a ransom, for his captors had gone completely insane and were consorting with demons now. The Lannister's only saving grace was that he didn't end as lunch for the monsters packed into the hold.
For weeks, Gerion had to suffer indignity after indignity, along with the other slaves. His hands blistered and bled from the constant rowing they did all day, every day. Only a bucket of seawater served as a bath and a way to somewhat clean the filth covering the rowers, for no one allowed them to move from where they were chained. Euron gleefully taunted the Lannister with tales of the Burning of Lannisport and what he would do to the Rock when he returned triumphantly to Westeros.
Gerion was sure he was done for when those things awoke after what felt like an endless night of rowing.
Instead, the Ironborn and their demons raced into battle, leaving the Silence's chained rowers to stew and wait for their fate. It wasn't until the mist dissipated that Gerion realized where they were. Euron had obviously failed and was likely dead, yet that was a cold comfort for the Lannister.
When dawn broke, he saw Astpor's red walls and countless Targaryen banners dancing on the breeze. There would be no rescue here; there would be more indignities if anyone figured out who Gerion was. Tywin's brother, for once, considered it a boon that everyone left on the Silence lost their tongues long ago. Most of the thralls chained to the oars couldn't possibly write, so he had a tiny chance of maintaining obscurity.
Gerion felt relief and a hint of hope, something he had left behind soon after Euron gleefully cut off his tongue when a small boarding party cursory examined the ship, likely searching for more demons, before leaving without paying him any attention. A few hours later, more locals came on board, bringing food and water, though they didn't deign to release anyone.
Cool, fresh water! That was the best thing Gerion had drank in ages! The food was basic but filling, a real feast after the shirt rations Euron fed his thralls.
The respite didn't last. Shortly before sunset, a group of Unsullied boarded the Silence, followed by a white cloak. A glance was enough to reveal the man as a Westerosi if one tanned by the long time spent in Essos. He looked vaguely familiar as well, which was not a good thing. Gerion lowered his head and prayed.
The newcomers spoke in High Valyrian, a language the Lannister wasn't fluent in. He didn't notice when someone else came on board and examined the rowers. However, Gerion could feel gazes on him. He thought that the charade was up and raised his head in resignation.
There was no immediate recognition like Gerion feared. He no longer looked like a lion, he guessed. Instead of his face, people were staring at his clothes. Gerion looked at his outfit – it was dirty and soiled, looking like shit. It was also clearly of a much better make and more expensive than the rags everyone else wore.
Gerion looked back at the boarders, and his eyes went to a tall, lean, silver-haired young man. So that was Viserys Targaryen. He looked much like Aerys did before he went mad, though there were clear signs of Queen Rhaella.
The Targaryen made a sharp gesture and ordered something in High Valyrian. His Unsullied jumped to obey, and four of them headed his way.
=Sith=
Early in the evening after the attack, Viserys finally found the time to inspect the only boon he had gotten from the attack – the captured Ironborn ships floating innocently in the harbor. Unless his people saw something of particular interest, he had no reason to board all galleys. The distinct black-sailed vessel of the enemy leader was another beast. Even all the way to Astapor, Euron Greyjoy had been infamous… and he had visited Essos enough to sell slaves that the Silence was recognizable.
That was how Viserys figured out who led the attack. Ser Lonmouth had never met the bastard before, so he didn't recognize him. However, once word came of the Silence at the docks, Ser Richard recalled that the man leading the attack on the pyramid missed an eye. That clinched it – Euron Greyjoy was now feeding the fishes in the bay after Viserys launched him there with Sith Lighting. It was a better and more merciful fate than the bastard deserved. Nevertheless, that revelation prompted the Sith to see if there was something of use or that needed to be properly disposed of on board the Silence.
"I thought slavery was a taboo in Westeros," the Prince nodded at the slaves chained at the galley's oars.
"Those are Ironborn thralls. They tend not to raid in Westeros, and in exchange, the Crown and Lords didn't care what they did to foreigners," Ser Lonmouth explained. "Slavery and taking Westerosi as thralls or salt wives is illegal and punishable by death… and we heard of the Greyjoy Rebellion, so they would have broken those laws as well."
Viserys pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed. If Essos had its shit together and was less of an insane hellhole that made Sith and Hutts look reasonable due to how they generally treated their slaves, the Seven Kingdoms would have found themselves in a war a long time ago because of the Ironborn. Most people tended to dislike being raided for slaves; imagine that!
"As if I needed yet another reason to exterminate the bastards," Viserys grumbled. He looked over the wretches chained to benches as rowers and shook his head. Most slaves on bloody Dromund Kaas were better treated than this, as a matter of course.
A closer look revealed that many of the 'thralls' were indeed not from Westeros—their skin tone betrayed an origin from all over Essos and as far as Naath. However, a few were definitely Westerosi, and most of them were in far better shape than the others. A handful of them wore clothes that, while dirty, were far richer than most people could afford.
"Don't a few of them look different than the others?" Viserys pointed out. Ser Lonmouth followed his gaze and agreed.
"Get them treated but held under guard just in case the crazy bastards did something to them. Keep the few Westerosi aside and have them brought to me after they've been examined by a healer and cleaned up," the Prince decided.
It was curious that the Westerosi didn't feel relieved at the prospect of a rescue. If anything, there was apprehension and fear, which made them even more interesting.
Viserys went for the captain's cabin and left his men to do as instructed.
Euron had a small library containing books in various languages. Viserys browsed a few books and discovered that he couldn't read some of them. Others claimed to have knowledge about magic. If those were the real deal, they could come in useful. They might even explain how Euron Greyjoy summoned the mist and where he found all those monsters.
There was some treasure, too, which might pay for part of the repairs needed after the attack but had no consequences otherwise. Viserys found various good maps containing secure resupply and repair spots for the Ironborn when they went to carry on distant raids. That was going to be useful. Viserys took those to share with Kaleb and made a note to have them replicated for his fleet.
And that was it. Marwyn might be happy to review the books and report if there is anything useful.
=Sith=
The following day, Viserys felt much better. He was well enough to drain two more Ironborn prisoners until they resembled centuries-old mummies and use their life force to speed up Dany's healing. His sister was still sleeping in a healing trance and would remain that way until the evening. Viserys panned to get her out of it for a bit so she could get cleaned up, use the privy, and eat something light before going under again.
When he left Dany's rooms, Maester Marwyn was waiting for him, and the Westerosi thralls were also on the way.
"I've dissected one of the creatures and will need to confirm my feedings," the crazy scientist reported. "They are most fascinating! That black blood off their clothes very fast, sealing up wounds and preventing them from bleeding out unless they've suffered catastrophic damage. Like someone gutting them and spilling out their entrails."
"That explains some things," Ser Richard agreed.
"Losing an arm cripples them, but they won't rapidly bleed out and can still fight," Marwyn nodded at the Royal Guard.
"I saw that too. It made the monster much easier to kill, but it should have passed out already," Ser Lonmouth confirmed.
"Unlike snakes and such, their venom sacks aren't in the mouth but beside the lungs. They have tubes in their necks like a second trachea, which they use to suck the venom and spit it."
"Can it be safely extracted and stored?" Viserys wondered.
Marwyn looked thoughtful at that idea. "I am not sure. I had to be extremely careful while finding the venom sacks and working around them. At this time, I believe that attempting to extract them, much less the venom they contain, is too dangerous. We might test it on an open corpse with a spear…" the Maester thought allow.
"Do so if you can manage it safely," Viserys ordered.
Wildfire was too dangerous to substitute for stones in catapults or fire grenades deployed with slings. The damn thing would ignite if exposed to strong sunlight or shaken too much, like throwing. While Viserys intended to figure out gunpowder and other basic explosives, doing so would take time, and mass-producing them would be challenging, to say the least. However, having access to basic siege artillery and grenades could be a massive game-changer. Basic firearms would be nice. However, his current sorry excuse for the industry couldn't make a few serviceable crossbow prototypes, much less something more complicated in that regard.
You could never have enough firepower, and Viserys' military was grossly underfunded in all regards that mattered.
The arrival of the Westerosi thralls interrupted Marwyn's report. The Maester looked critically at the gathered men and narrowed his eyes at the blond fellow with the richest if still dirty, clothes.
"As I live and breathe! That's Gerion Lannister!"
"You don't say," Viserys looked contemplatively at the man. His eyes slowly transformed into two pools of hellish fire, and he smiled malevolently at the Lannister. "Tywin Lannister's brother?"
"That's him," Marwyn confirmed.
Viserys glanced at Ser Richard, who shrugged. "I've seen him perhaps once from a distance. I can't tell if that's him, another Lannister, or just some poor blond bastard, Your Grace."
"That explains why he was so unsettled at the ship," Viserys smile grew more sinister yet. "There will be no salvation here for the likes of him."
=Sith=
Chapter 10 Part 6
=Sith=
291 AC
Astapor
"What do you intend to do with the Lannisters, my Prince?" Sir Richard asked. His eye narrowed at Gerion while his fingers twitched, eager to wrap around the Lannister's neck. Lonmouth's righteous anger was pure and delicious, nothing like the Dark Side-fuelled rage burning within Viserys' heart.
"There are so many options," the Sith happily pointed out. His eyes bored into Gerions, and he let his restraint slip a bit. The prisoner recoiled when Viserys' mind slammed into his own, clawing for purchase.
Unlike the Ironborn prisoners, Gerion's personality was still intact if ravaged from weeks of captivity at Euron's tender mercies. There was enough will left there for the Lannister to put up a fight.
"What does Tywin Lannister value most?" Viserys demanded and pushed just hard enough to get to that singular answer.
Gerion tried not to think about his brother while shaking and panicking when he felt an alien, cold presence invade his thoughts. Despite his efforts, connections formed, and Viserys followed them, glimpsing flashes of conversations, thoughts, and impressions. The Sith could feel his mental touch becoming too much and retreated before he could permanently damage the Lannister.
"Legacy," Viserys uttered while everyone looked warily between him and Gerion. "Make sure he is fed and watered. Keep him alive at all costs, and do not allow him to kill himself," he ordered the Unsullied.
"Was that magic, Your Grace?" Marwyn was the first to recover.
"Indeed," Viserys chilling smile did nothing to dissuade the Maester from asking further questions.
"These prisoners have no tongues, and besides, we didn't hear him speak," Marwyn reasonably pointed out.
"I didn't need him to speak. With the right skills and power, it is possible to tear secrets from people's minds. It's just that, if you aren't careful, or they're particularly strong-willed, the process can destroy their mind and most secrets they hold dear," Viserys explained. "Tywin Lannister is obsessed with his legacy after his father brought House Lannister to the edge of ruin, turning it into a laughingstock."
"The Rains of Castermere," Marwyn noted. "He was making an example and restoring honor, not just punishing rebelling vassals."
"The Lannister's name. Their wretched House's future. It's blood on the Iron Throne. Tywin fucking Lannister's legacy," Viserys stated. "To answer your question, Ser Richard, I will ruin them. The Lannister name will be a cautionary tale as to why you don't fuck with House Targaryen. Tywin Lannister's family will die. I will extinguish his blood like he tried to do to us. His only legacy will be wrack and ruin."
"That's more than fitting for such a traitor," Lonmouth's voice vibrated with vicious satisfaction at the prospect of destroying the Lannisters. "And the rest of the traitors?"
A pair of glowing dragon eyes looked at the Lord Commander.
"Baratheons. Tullys. Arryns and Starks. They all contributed to the fall of my House. Some of them profited mightily from their treachery," Viserys hissed. He fought his raging fury for a few moments before reining it in. "We all know that my father went mad. It matters not if Maester Marwyn's theories are right or not. Rising against Aerys is understandable. Not bending to my brother Rhaegar after he ran away with Lyanna Stark and mishandled it due to his obsession with a prophecy is also understandable, especially as far as the Stark and Baratheons are concerned. Things would be different if they had merely removed my father from power and kept my brother from ascending the Iron Throne in favor of a regency for Aegon, Rhaenys, or even me. Such actions wouldn't have been a betrayal against House Targaryen, merely the price for slights and idiocy when Aerys and Rhaegar lacked the power to get away with it."
"Tywin Lannister could have been running the Seven Kingdoms as a regent, a Hand, or both," Marwyn allowed. "He could have seized King's Landing, deposed Aerys, and proclaimed a regency with the backing of the Reach, Dorne, and the Narrow Sea Houses."
"Pride, greed, and treachery," Viserys listed. "I'll see him choke on his Legacy before I allow him to die. Which leads us to the other rebels. They crowned the Usurper as King right after the Trident when my niece and nephew were still alive. My mother, Dany, and I were also alive at Dragonstone," Viserys' tone sent shivers down the spines of everyone who heard him speak. "That kind of treason is not something I can allow to prosper, much less reward. There will be no restoration, Ser Richard, but a Second Conquest. By the time I'm done, the Lannisters, Baratheons, Tullys, and Arryns will be gone. The Starks might live if Lyanna had a child they protected well enough. Then we have the Tyrells. Their inaction greatly contributed to the fall of my House. They can't be trusted. Targaryens raised them from mere Stewards. A Targaryen will put them in their place, even if it means breaking them once and for all."
Lonmouth stared at his Prince awhile before shaking his head and laughing. "You don't think small, Your Grace. We will face extreme opposition if we go for such a plan."
"Vengeance and necessity align," Viserys pointed out. "One of my predecessors' mistakes was allowing too much power to their vassals. Since we lost our Dragons, my House has been in a perilous state. By the time I'm done carving up the lands of treacherous Lords, the Crownlands will be the most powerful realm within Westeros, run by loyal men and women sworn directly to the Crown."
"Doing something like that would require extreme bloodshed," Marwyn warned.
"The Second Conquest will be precisely as bloody as needed to achieve my goals, Maester. You could say that the bloodshed will be a feature, not a drawback. Those who betrayed my family and their most loyal vassals have no place in the world I am building for my family," Viserys explained.
"The realm and its people will suffer greatly," Marwyn noted. "I am merely pointing out the consequences of your actions, my Prince. I am here to advise you after all."
"House Targaryen forged the realm, Maester. We will reforge it to better serve our purposes and protect our interests. Its people will suffer as much as they have to. I am no benevolent hero sent by the gods to make things better for Lords and smallfolk alike. I am the Seven Kingdom's bloody reckoning for daring to attempt our destruction."
"I think that some of your ancestors will wholeheartedly approve, my Prince. However, be aware that you will be remembered as a tyrant," Marwyn warned.
"That depends on who gets to write the histories, doesn't it?" Viserys relaxed with those words. His draconic eyes cooled down, turning back purple.
"That it does," Marwyn happily agreed.
"Things might have been different if there were more true loyalists like Ser Darry and Ser Richard here," Viserys nodded at his Lord Commander. "Benevolence didn't save us, Maester. It wasn't benevolence that forged the Iron Thron throne and gave us Westeros. It was raw power and magic. Fire-made flesh, embodied in dragons. Dragon Dreams and blood magic. More recently, ancient magic became our salvation. It is might, magical and military alike, that will allow us to restore House Targaryen and destroy our enemies."
"Might make right?" Sir Richard asked. His form tingled with grim satisfaction and curiosity.
"Without sufficient power, it matters not if you are right or not. My good sister lacked the power to protect herself and her children. My young niece and nephew were innocent. They were too young to be anything else, yet that didn't protect them, for they lacked power," Viserys sighed. "When we ran in the desert fleeing slavers, we lacked power. That state of weakness would have been our death or worse. It was only through might that we survived. Power allowed us to triumph over all challenges to date," the Prince smiled bitterly. "Most so-called loyalists taught us that lesson, Ser Richard. When loyalty matters not, all we have left is might."