An Emperor's Song
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own anything that is seen as property by the Game of Thrones, A Song of Ice and Fire & Percy Jackson & the Olympians franchises.
Warning: This story showcases violent themes, inappropriate sexual acts, foul language, etc. that is not suitable for most audiences, especially young adults and children. Please read at your own discretion or not at all.
Chapter 24. Pen or Sword
299 AC
Arc 1: Clash of Kings
oOo
With Perseus…
Taking a few more practice swings, Perseus felt the now familiar weight of Blackfyre in his hand, the balance wasn't perfect, but it was still excellent, the Valyrian metal thrumming with an almost smoldering hum of anticipation.
The early morning sun cast long shadows across the courtyard, glinting off his dark red armor.
Viserys stood across the courtyard, with his eyes closed, an unusual calm settled over him but he knew that was only a prerequisite for more.
And just like flipping a switch, violet eyes opened to reveal that the arrogant, boastful man his uncle was had been replaced by someone else entirely, someone primitive and fierce. Whatever Vhagar's blessing was, it changed the prince in ways beyond mere strength.
Perseus narrowed his eyes, assessing his opponent. This duel had come about—not for glory or vengeance, but as a test. He needed to understand the strength of the blessing Viserys had been granted by the ancient dragon goddess, Vhagar. And he also needed to see if the madness that came with it could eventually be mastered.
From the corner of his vision, he could see Daenerys and Margaery watching from the sidelines. Daenerys wore a look of quiet resolve, her gaze flicking between the two men. Margaery, meanwhile, looked a bit worried. But he knew they both understood: this was necessary. Viserys needed to know his own strength, and Perseus needed to gauge just how dangerous that strength might be.
Perseus took a steadying breath and nodded at Viserys. There was no need to announce anything.
Viserys unsheathed his sword, a wickedly sharp Valyrian blade that gleamed as though infused with firelight. He didn't shift into a fighting stance, his body simply coiled, his gaze wild. And then, like a dragon, he struck with ferocious power.
Their swords clashed, the force of the impact ringing through Perseus's arms. The strength behind the blow genuinely made him grit his teeth, forcing him into using more strength to push back, but Viserys just pressed forward with surprising speed.
It seemed the blessing hadn't just granted him strength; it had sharpened his movements, enhanced his reflexes. Each blow came harder and faster than the last, and for the first time since he'd been reincarnated Perseus found himself giving ground, step by step.
"Impressive," He grunted, blocking another strike. But Viserys's only response was a fierce glint in his eye, one that told him words were unnecessary. He was here to prove something—perhaps to Perseus, perhaps to himself.
They continued trading blows, the clash of steel ringing across the courtyard. Viserys's power was raw, unrefined, but devastating in its intensity. Perseus felt his muscles strain as he deflected another strike, barely keeping his footing. He needed to be careful. One wrong move, and Viserys's strength could overwhelm his current level.
If he had to put a gauge on just how strong his uncle had grown, he'd put him just under an average demigod. Which was a very impressive achievement seeing as how even an average son/daughter of a non-combatant goddess like Demeter was stronger than Olympic level athletes.
His evaluation deepened as with every clash, Perseus slowly adjusted his strength. He began to not just read the rhythm of Viserys's attacks, noting the slight shift in his stance before each strike, the faint flicker of his gaze telegraphing his intentions, but also began matching the strength behind the blows.
This had been the case since the beginning of the match, but Perseus's confidence grew stronger as he anticipated Viserys's next swing, sidestepping with a swift counter that nearly disarmed him.
Viserys snarled, regaining his footing and coming at him again, this time with a renewed fury. They were locked in a dance of blades, one simply testing the other, the other using all he had to search for an opening.
Perseus had fought many different beings, but there was always something different about facing someone blessed by a god. It was as if he were wrestling with the very divinity of the dragon goddess herself.
But he quickly found that after he compared the divinity of the dragon goddess to that of a major god, the former was severely—wanting. Perhaps due to the fact that as far as he knew Vhagar had little to no worshippers. So she was essentially on the same level as a minor deity.
An opportunity that most would've missed presented itself to Perseus. Viserys had overextended, his blade sweeping wide. And he swiftly seized the moment, stepping in close and twisting his sword, knocking Viserys's weapon from his grip. Before Viserys could react, Perseus sweeped his legs from underneath him and put the tip of his blade at his throat.
Viserys froze, his breath coming in harsh gasps, his eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and ever-present respect.
"I still have the advantage," Perseus said, his voice steady despite the exhaustion of his opponent. He offered Viserys a hand, and after a tense moment, Viserys accepted it, pulling himself up.
Daenerys and Margaery approached, their expressions a mixture of relief and admiration. Daenerys met Perseus's gaze, a small smile tugging at her lips, and he knew she was proud of him, not just for winning but in understanding the need to control his own strength.
"You fought well, Viserys," Perseus said, sincerity in his voice. "Vhagar's blessing is a serious game changer. If you use it wisely and master it, then you'll be able to beat anyone." It didn't need to be said that his words didn't apply to very rare exceptions like him.
Viserys looked at him, a fire still in his eyes, but now tempered with respect. He nodded slowly. "I will."
"You did amazing, my love." Margaery said adoringly to her partner, their lips briefly finding each other.
Daenerys's smile widened at the display of love, eyes moving to him as she slipped her hand into his to which he gave a soft squeeze of reassurance. It seemed that their years of being isolated and mistrustful in others were slowly beginning to fade.
"Enough to warrant a celebration?" The cocky Viserys they all knew and loved was back in full effect.
Margaery rolled her eyes dramatically. "You're intent on putting a babe in me." Though by the way she hastily guided him away, Viserys wasn't the only one excited at the prospect of letting off some steam.
"I swear those two are like rabbits." An exasperated Daenerys shook her head.
"Don't be so quick to judge. Once we get married, I might just tie you to our bed." His shit eating grin appeared in full effect.
She punched him hard in the arm. "Flamebrain!" A deep blush dominated Daenerys's face.
He chuckled at her embarrassment before adopting a more serious attitude. "Viserys has definitely gotten stronger though. I actually had to take him seriously."
"Are you saying you've never tried against him before?" Daenerys's eyes widened at that revelation.
"Don't get me wrong, he's a talented swordsman. But he was always just too weak for me to ever get serious." Despite not having even half of his original strength, he still hadn't met his physical equal. The Mountain had been the closest so far but he was now certain that if he pushed himself to go further, he would've overwhelmed the giant of a man without any extreme effort.
Daenerys stared at him for a moment before she sighed. "You don't know how insane that sounds, Perseus. I'm pretty sure Viserys is one of the best sword fighters in the Seven Kingdoms and you're making it seem like he's third-rate." When she said it like that it did sound crazy. But she didn't know what he knew. There was an entirely different caliber of warrior that could single handedly conquer the entire Known World if they wanted to.
As the two left the courtyard, Perseus couldn't shake the feeling that today had marked a shift in his perspective on the world as his uncle surely wasn't the only person to be blessed by a god. And that wasn't even taking into account the fact that the major gods of this world could technically have children in the same way R'hllor parented him.
A mortal, however blessed they may be, was still a mortal at the end of the day. But a mortal who was half divine, a demigod, was another matter entirely. Even the weakest of them could slay mythical beasts and monsters of legend. It made Perseus wonder how he would fare against a demigod of this world.
oOo
At King's Landing, with Tyrion…
His lord father's arrival had not been as grand as it had once been. There was no victory march, no fanfare. The old lion had limped into the Red Keep with his head held high but Tyrion could see past the facade. His father's face was worn, his eyes hooded with exhaustion.
Before, Tyrion had seen him stride into meetings unscathed even after battle, but today Tywin's armor was dulled, scratched, and his shoulders seemed weighed down by something heavier than steel.
As the doors to the Hand's chamber closed, Tywin spared him only a curt nod. Unsurprisingly, he took his seat behind Tyrion's desk and placed a gloved hand on the scarred wood. "They have pushed us out of the west. More and more Targaryen banners are appearing around the kingdoms." He narrowed his gaze at Tyrion. "We need options."
Tyrion took a moment to adjust himself in his seat, gauging how far he could stretch his father's patience. "What if I told you, dear father, that I've concocted a plot to ensure that King Joffrey's defeat brings us closer to victory?"
Tywin's gaze didn't shift. His hand clenched tighter on the table's edge. "Go on." That alone was enough to tell him that they were in desperate times.
Tyrion leaned in, lowering his voice. "We let Joffrey lose to Perseus. In a public duel, with all eyes on the two 'kings.' It will take little to ensure the boy makes a misstep. Ser Barristan hasn't been withholding his doubts about the boy's progress in sword fighting." He paused, his lips curving into a wry smile. "The Targaryens will see it as a grand show of power. A humiliation ritual that will change the world's view of our house. But only for a moment. Let them underestimate the house of lions and think us neutered—while we subtly gain ground by protecting our necks through marriage."
Tywin's eyes glittered. "Myrcella." His father quickly surmised.
"Yes, sweet Myrcella. Betrothed to Perseus. It's a small price for a much greater gain, though my sister won't see it as such. They'll think Joffrey's public defeat will weaken our influence. And they're correct." Tyrion let a moment hang. "But we will have a foothold in the heart of their power that will enable us to eventually make a comeback."
The silence stretched as Tywin considered the proposal, a thousand calculations flickering across his face. At last, he inclined his head, a slight, almost reluctant nod.
"I see you've considered the consequences of this thoroughly." Tywin's voice softened to a blade's edge. "But let me make this clear, Tyrion: if this scheme is to bear fruit then it will have to do so without you as Hand."
Tyrion stiffened, hiding his shock behind a sharp smile. "Then, who, if I may ask, would you trust with that mantle?"
Tywin's eyes darkened with a familiar coldness. "I trust myself."
For the first time since his arrival, Tyrion felt the weight of the old lion's looming shadow as it re-asserted its dominance.
"I will make sure that Cersei and her boy play their part. You will see to it that Myrcella plays hers," At his look of confusion, his father emphasized. "Getting them in a binding contract is the easy part. The hardest part will be making the Targaryen actually care for Myrcella. Their connection needs to be so intricately tuned that it appears genuine. Only then can we begin to make moves without the Targaryen's looking too deeply into them."
Tyrion shifted in his seat again, though this time out of uncertainty. "I'm not much of a matchmaker, father."
Tywin's dead, cold gaze was uncompromising. "Find a way." There was a clear dismissal that came with that blunt statement.
As Tyrion left his former office, his mind racing, he couldn't help but sigh in weariness as he realized the amount of work he had essentially made for himself in the coming weeks.
oOo
At the main fort of the Targaryen's forward base, with Perseus…
The light from the fire cast shadows that danced along the tent walls. Perseus was busy reading through a report from Lysono on the situation with the petty lord, Petyr Baelish, who apparently fled to the Eyrie, when Melisandre suddenly entered his tent.
Her red robes billowed, the faint smell of smoke and myrrh filling the air as she drew near. Perseus glanced at the ruby that pulsed at her throat like a heartbeat. Even to someone of his caliber, her presence held an unsettling edge.
"My divine prince, I apologize if I have disturbed you." Melisandre prostrated in front of his desk, her voice soft with servitude.
He barely withheld from rolling his eyes. Ever since his first meeting with the red priestess, she somehow managed to make the exact connection between him and R'hllor; that he was her god's son. And so now, on top of nearly worshiping the ground he walked on, she referred to him with all types of grand titles like Flame-Born, Ember of R'hllor, the Bright Prince, etc. If this was what Stannis had to endure then no wonder the man had an ego the size of the Underworld.
"What is it, Melisandre? And please stop getting down on the floor every time you see me." Perseus figured he failed in trying to hide his exasperation but he tried nonetheless.
Melisandre stood up and instead fixed her worshiping gaze on him, which just made him even more uncomfortable. "R'hllor has granted me visions of what lies beyond the coming battles. In the future, there is darkness that will sweep across the world like a plague, and only those chosen by the Lord of Light can stem the tide. And as the rightful heir to the eternal flame, you will be needed to lead these chosen."
'Great, more prophecies.'
Perseus blinked at the voice that he had come to just ignore on most occasions though it was starting to become more and more prevalent.
Quickly brushing that matter aside, he focused back on the priestess who eagerly awaited his reply. "And who are these—chosen supposed to be?"
"I haven't been shown all of them, but I've been led to two so far. Arya Stark, she will be the fierce and relentless dagger that pursues the darkness, and Edric Dayne, he will be the courageous and unyielding sword of the light. You will need to nurture them, guide them firmly to the light, if they are to become champions." Her eyes were unblinking, fixated on him with an almost unbearable intensity. "They are not ready yet, but in time, they could be mighty weapons against the darkness to come."
Perseus nodded slowly, considering her words. He had already been planning on singling out a few individuals to personally mentor after he ascended to the Iron Throne in order to one day create an efficient system that wouldn't need too much oversight from him. After all, the whole point of his conquest of Westeros was so that he could live life without restraints with his family and he couldn't exactly do that if he was busy all the time. Also, he absolutely was against the idea of him being cooped up in a musty office all day. So this was just further justification for his decision.
"I'll definitely start looking into this myself. I would go see R'hllor and ask for more details but for some reason she's been avoiding me." He mused to himself, not yet noticing the look of shock and awe that appeared on the red priestess's face.
"Y-you can go to R'hllor directly?" Melisandre asked, her skin paler than usual.
Perseus blinked before he realized that his revelation would be quite shocking to most followers of the Red God. "Yeah. Though I haven't heard from her since the last time I saw her." He grumbled that last part.
Meanwhile, Melisandre looked on the verge of an existential crisis. "H-her?" She managed to stammer.
Oh, right. R'hllor's followers didn't know that she was actually a woman and not a man. Though technically she could be either as that was a basic option for any divine being.
Finding it too troublesome to explain in a short time, Perseus waved her off. "If I had a sure way to communicate with her then I'd have her explain everything, but until then you'll just have to trust my word." His words seemed to ease Melisandre's mind a bit.
"…I may be of use then," Melisandre told him. "I learned many things from my time in the red temple. Getting direct guidance from the Lord of Light was one of them."
That definitely piqued Perseus's interest. "What do you need?" The question made the priestess think for a moment.
"A life sacrifice made in the name of R'hllor creates a conduit that can be used for many things. If we use a suitable sacrifice, then a commune with R'hllor should be possible."
The idea was more than tantalizing—an opportunity to bridge the divide between him and R'hllor by himself was something that would prove invaluable to him in case he ever needed some divine wisdom. Which he very much did at the moment.
"What kind of life do you need?" Perseus asks.
"As this is a request for a direct audience with the Lord of Light, I believe that the life of a man should suffice. If it turns out to not be enough, we can explore more…extreme measures." The way the red priestess said her words made him doubt his willingness to explore those extreme measures she was referring to.
He simply nodded and stood to his feet. If there's one thing they had in abundance it was prisoners. It wouldn't be much to take one of the worst types, an ally murderer or a rapist, and use them.
"Get everything ready. We'll do it sometime tonight." Only receiving a deep bow in response, he left the priestess to her own devices and made his way toward the command tent.
As he entered the tent, a dozen eyes turned toward him, allies from across the realms gathered under one canvas. He met the gaze of each: Viserys, impatient as always; Lysono Maar, his calculating gaze watching with an amused glint; Willas Tyrell, calm and steady; Ser Harry Strickland of the Golden Company, looking skittish as he juggled a gold coin between his fingers; Oberyn Martell, a flash of venom in his eyes; Varys, quietly observing with his inscrutable smile; one of the newest additions sent as a representative of the Iron Islands, Asha Greyjoy, standing tall like a defiant mast; and Robb Stark, his jaw set and gaze focused.
There were others in attendance, various highborn lords and or commanders, but they weren't of any particular interest to him at the moment.
In each, Perseus noted small glints of pride, distrust, or ambition—a web of hidden rivalries and unspoken tensions.
"Thank you all for coming," he began, stepping forward with a composed smile. "It seems the current rulers of the Seven Kingdoms remain…stubborn. They only delay their downfall. But while the talks about my potential duel with King Joffrey are still ongoing, we shouldn't waste valuable time that can be used to discuss reliable plans for a siege of King's Landing."
The group exchanged glances. Willas leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him. "Since we control all three major roads that lead to the capital as well as the seas, we can cut them off from both land and sea. Without any supply lines, they'll be forced out of the Red Keep by the starving small folk long before they can think of some miracle."
Oberyn's smile was sharp. "You give them too much credit, Willas. There's no need to go those lengths. Dornish spears should take the lead in piercing the Lannister defenses. Their walls can't withstand the desert's fury, let alone all of us."
Lysono added with a chilling tone, "Or perhaps a more subtle approach. Assassinations, infiltration, sabotage, poisons. We could make their collapse happen without ever drawing a sword."
Perseus quietly observed as everyone gave their own suggestions, fully understanding the implications of each but his true focus was elsewhere.
He knew that to secure the loyalty of these men, he needed to stoke the fires of competition, but never let them flare into rebellion. As each advisor shared their ideas, Perseus could instinctively feel the meaning behind the glances that passed between them—some veiled, others open.
"One approach does not exclude another," he finally interjected. "Everyone's strength will be required for this. So I expect you all to cooperate, we do not have the luxury of division." The council gave their murmurs of agreement.
Robb Stark spoke up for the first time since the meeting was adjourned. "Then our safest option would be to go with Lord Willas's proposal. We cut off all entry and departure from the city and slowly starve the people. Within a few weeks, we could even offer supplies and food in exchange for any highborn hostages the royal family may have."
It was easy to see that the young lord of the North was only agreeing with Willas's idea because of the likelihood that his sister, Sansa, would be one of the hostages who would be freed in a potential exchange for food or medicine, but his agreement was all Perseus needed to press forward.
"That sounds like a reasonable plan. Let's go with that." His gaze roamed through the room as he searched for any sign of objection, however unlikely it was as not only would that be a criticism of his judgment but also the judgments of two current and future lord paramounts, something no one with a brain would go against.
"Then we should continue by figuring out the best ways to use our combined resources efficiently." Willas looked at him for permission to take the meeting into that direction and he gave it to the heir with a nod.
As Perseus leaned back in his chair, he could sense the edges of rivalries still lingering. He quietly resolved to wield those ambitions carefully, to secure each of their loyalties in the shadow of the other. For now, he would allow them to believe they all had his favor, each an important piece in their own right—until the day he had to show the ones who stepped out that his favor was only truly held by his family and that the only position on the board that was absolute was his own.
oOo
A week later, with Sansa..
Sansa found herself adrift in a strange world where structures of glass, light and metal blended beautifully together on smooth, stone paved roads to create a surreal landscape that filled her with awe and wonder.
She eventually came upon a young man with dark, wild hair and piercing green eyes standing on the edge of the sea, waves crashing violently against the sand in front of him but they only seemed to caress him.
He was armed only with a sword that looked to be made of majestic bronze and wore a determined gaze as he faced an unseen threat.
Lightning crackled in the sky, lighting up his face—a face fierce, strong, and untamable. She didn't know his name, but there was something undeniably heroic about him.
His powerful presence was similar to the man who rode on the dragon, but it was like comparing the unpredictable currents of the sea to the fierce warmth of the sun.
Then she saw it: a great, gleaming bolt of lightning, flew into his hand, bright enough to blind her. He held it with ease, lifting it high as if he commanded the storm itself. Sansa's heart skipped a beat. Who was this hero, defying the wrath of the heavens by his lonesome?
Suddenly, she woke, blinking against the faint morning light filtering through her bedchamber. She lay still for a moment, the dream clinging to her mind.
It all felt so real. The dark-haired boy with green eyes… he seemed like everything she'd ever imagined a hero would be. Brave and noble, the very image of a knight in shining armor, though she remembered that his attire had been of a much different design.
But for the first time in a long while, she felt a glimmer of hope, a belief that true heroes could exist, even if only in her dreams.
She rose slowly, letting the remnants of the vision linger a moment longer before reality reclaimed her. Today was not the day for fairy tales. Today, she would attend a council between the factions—an alliance of the houses: Tyrell, Martell, Greyjoy and her own house, the Starks, all of whom were now sworn to the Targaryens who faced off against the Baratheon-Lannister forces.
The news of her brother's victory over Tywin Lannister had been outstanding for her, though not so much for her captors. And apparently that victory had come about due to the actions of the Targaryens who saved her brother and the North from absolute defeat in return for an alliance. She then cried tears of joy when she heard that Arya was still alive and safe, her sister now with Robb.
If all things went accordingly, she would get to see Robb later at the parlay. It would probably take all of her willpower not to try and immediately run to him.
In the first place it had come as a surprise to her when she was informed of her needed presence at the meeting. Though she quickly realized that her being only a few feet away from her brother and his allies was only a subtle power play to make it clear to the Targaryen's that they still had cards to play.
As she readied herself, pulling her auburn hair back and donning a gown of Tully blue, Sansa found herself thinking of the dream again. Her heart began to ache with longing, imagining what it would be like to stand beside a hero like that. Not the false gallantry she'd learned to see through but a hero who actually fought for loyalty and justice.
With one last glance in the mirror, she left her chamber, her head held high. Hopefully there would be a time where she could meet such a man.
oOo
With Perseus…
Today was the day that he finally came face to face with his fated enemies. Until now, the royal family had only been the shadowy figures that made their lives a living nightmare in Essos. They had been out of their reach in more ways than just the sea that separated them. But now, Perseus had accumulated enough power and prestige to look them in the eyes and give them the choice of either an honorable death or a mass culling.
The sun hung low as Perseus approached the parlay point, which was in between their forward base and the capital. He was accompanied by some of his allies and a specific number of guards that would be allowed to escort them.
The atmosphere was tense, the air heavy with anticipation. Ahead of him stood King Joffrey, flanked by members of his small council and, of course, Cersei Lannister—her eyes narrowed with poorly concealed disdain. The very earth felt charged, as if the clash to come was already simmering beneath their feet.
As Perseus approached, he recognized a few people: Tywin Lannister, who stared at him with cold eyes and Tyrion Lannister, the imp of House Lannister who was infamous for his whoring and wine tasting.
Amidst his observation of the opposing side, he felt a pair of eyes lingering on him. He turned to the source and immediately recognized the auburn haired, blue eyed girl to be Sansa Stark. Her gaze was cautious yet curious, holding a glimmer of something that felt almost like recognition, which was strange since they never met before.
The beautiful young lady looked out of place among the Lannisters and their gaudy display. Perseus made a mental note to remember as many details of her face as possible. After the incident with Daenerys and the Mountain, his shadow traveling had advanced to the point that he could travel to the general location of anyone he was familiar with. The ability would definitely serve him well in the future.
He offered her the faintest of nods, barely perceptible, and saw her eyes widen slightly before she quickly averted her gaze.
Thankfully he had chosen to not bring Robb Stark with him as he would've likely been already charging over to his sister.
As Perseus took a seat at the bland wooden table, the only other to partake being King Joffrey, a contract was shakily presented by a royal servant, a roll of parchment carefully inked with what was most likely terms of combat and other things.
He handed the piece of parchment over to Willas who keenly began scanning through it.
For whatever reason, that brought a mocking sneer onto Joffrey's face. "Did your parents forget to teach you how to read, Targaryen? Oh wait. They died." Laughed the young king who looked more like a pathetic school bully than a king to him.
Members of Perseus's side bristled at the insult, especially his uncle, Oberyn, but he somewhat calmed him with a warning glance before looking back at the boy king.
"You seem pretty happy for someone whose funeral is coming up quite soon." Perseus replied with a smile that only widened when the rival king's brow dipped into a furious scowl.
If the Baratheon's wanted to play a petty game with him then he'd be more than happy to oblige. Little did they know, Perseus was the undisputed king of pettiness.
The imp, Tyrion, quickly cleared his throat before anything more could be said. "Let's focus on the matter at hand, shall we?" He advised.
King Joffrey didn't seem too keen on letting the matter pass but after a look from his mother, he settled for crossing his arms in visible frustration.
It seemed that the rumors of Joffrey being a momma's boy were true which was hilarious. The supposed highest authority in the Seven Kingdoms was still latched onto the teats of his mother.
After Willas finished reading through the agreement, he placed it on the table, "Most of it is agreeable but I've found one glaring issue. The matter of succession is not fully resolved." His advisor said calmly.
Lord Tyrion spoke again. "Whoever wins the bout will be the rightful claimant to the Iron Throne."
"But this doesn't take into account the other children of Robert Baratheon. When Joffrey loses, they would still be rightful claimants." Willas points out, uncaring of the venomous looks he received at the spoken assurance that Joffrey would indeed lose their duel.
Before his son could muster a reply, the Old Lion spoke. "If Joffrey…loses—Tommen and Myrcella will formally give renunciations of their claim to the throne. All things needed to make that official would be the agreement of the current ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, the majority vote of a Small Council and the High Septon of the Faith." Tywin Lannister spoke with a methodical coldness that exemplified his veteran status in negotiations.
Willas thought over the Lannister's words for a long moment before looking at him. "That covers everything, your grace." He told him.
Perseus nodded. "Then have the new agreement drawn up. If both parties agree then we'll sign today." He said, wanting to get this over with already. The more he looked at the opposing faction, the less he wanted to do things the right way.
After the new agreement was made and the final date was agreed upon, to be held at the end of the year, which was only a month away. Both parties readied themselves to sign.
Perseus was quick to write his signature, also stamping the seal of his house. He had battled far greater foes than a child tyrant drunk on his nonexistent power, so naturally there was no reason for any hesitation.
After he finished, he sat back in his chair and impassively looked at Joffrey Baratheon. The boy-king glared down at the piece of parchment that was quite literally his death warrant. A tension filled the air as everyone looked to see what the young king would do.
They all knew the stakes at hand. Either he and Joffrey would duel for the Iron Throne, or a siege backed by the combined powers of four kingdoms would ravage the capital of Westeros until all that remained of the city walls was rubble.
"What will it be, 'King' Joffrey?" Perseus mockingly clasped his fingers over the table. "pen or sword. Either way, this war ends with your death."
His blunt words made the Baratheon regime bristle with anger. But his gaze remained firmly on the boy who was only a year younger than Daenerys.
During his brief fostering with the Roman wolf goddess, Lupa, and her pack, Perseus had learned how to smell the aura that people naturally exuded. It was a skill that had multiple uses. He could either use it in order to separate the fake from the real, the prey from the predator, or he could use it to track people down by following their unique scent.
And needless to say, Joffrey Baratheon may very well have been bathed in shit with how bad the smell of his fear was.
The boy king didn't want to sign the contract. He was sure he didn't even wish to fight against him. Not personally at least. This was confirmed when Joffrey hesitantly looked back at Tywin, his grandfather, and was met with a stony, expectant gaze. He was simply a puppet, one forced to follow the lead of the ones who pulled his strings. It would be sad, if the little shit wasn't a psychopath.
Picking up the pen, Joffrey wrote his signature and stamped it with his royal seal, his hand visibly shaking throughout the process.
It felt almost surreal, as if something so decisive shouldn't come down to pen strokes. "You stupid bastard. You literally just agreed to attend your own funeral!" He couldn't help but laugh.
"Bastard!" Spittle flew from Joffrey's mouth as his face returned to a nasty sneer that only made Perseus laugh harder.
The boy's retainers quickly began ushering the raging king away before he could do or say any more stupid things.
"You shouldn't be so overly confident, son of Rhaegar. Your father was overly confident when he rode to the Trident. Robert caved his chest in with a war hammer." Came Cersei Lannister's first spoken words and he could see how she had gotten her reputation for being quite vicious with her attitude. A lioness was still a lion after all.
Perseus's eyes slid over to the older woman. Despite her age, she could still be considered a beauty on par with the likes of Arianne, Margaery or his Daenerys. But that was strictly in regards to outward appearances. The inside was what mattered most. And seeing as how the rumors about her seemed to be true, she may very well be one of the most hideous women he'd ever met.
Cold, unblinking eyes pinned the lioness down. "I'll make sure to keep that in mind when I separate your son's head from his body."
Perseus didn't bother to see or hear the woman's response. He stood up and walked away, his people following behind him, leaving the air filled with promises of blood.
The stage had been set. Now all that needed to be done next was making sure the right people were there to witness the performance. And if all went according to plan, then it would be quite the spectacle.
oOo
Sometime later, with Tyrion…
Their first meeting with the Targaryens had been—intense, to say the very least.
Tyrion hadn't known what exactly to expect of the young man who quickly rose to troubling levels of power with only a sellsword company at his command. But his thoughts when he first saw the current patriarch of House Targaryen was that his nephew had no chance in all the hell's of killing him.
Perhaps it was just the way the young man carried himself, but his casual and abundant confidence was something that couldn't be falsely derived from anything but an absolute assurance in oneself.
His suspicions only increased as he witnessed how easily the soon-to-be king swiftly directed the talks into the direction that he wanted it to go.
An involuntary chill ran down his spine when he remembered the parting words of the rightful king. He had never witnessed anyone speak to his sister in such a dismissive manner. And more, the certainty that came with those words had been enough to make Cersei swallow whatever words she had planned to respond with, a feat truly worthy of merit.
If it wasn't already apparent, today it became crystal clear that Perseus Targaryen was every bit of the conqueror he was said to be.
Turning a corner, Tyrion reached Myrcella and Tommen's chambers, he pushed open the door and found them seated by the hearth, his niece with a book resting in her lap and his nephew fiddling idly with a carved wooden lion.
"Myrcella, Tommen," Tyrion greeted with a genuine smile, closing the door behind him. "Can this uncle of yours borrow just a moment of your precious time?"
Both children looked up with a mixture of surprise and warmth. Tyrion's visits weren't rare but they weren't plentiful either, and they had come to cherish each one. Myrcella, with her composed poise, gave him a smile, while Tommen, ever eager, shot up from his seat.
"Uncle Tyrion! Did you see the dragons?" Tommen asked, his voice filled with the innocent excitement that only a boy who still saw the world through the lens of tales and songs could muster.
Tyrion chuckled and took a seat near them, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, Tommen. I did indeed see a dragon." He glanced at Myrcella. Her expression was warm, but there was a quiet intensity in her eyes that reminded him of her mother. "I think you'll both be hearing a great deal about him in the weeks to come."
"What's he like?" Tommen pressed, wide-eyed.
Tyrion considered his words carefully. "Well, he's a man but he's young—only eight years older than you, Myrcella. And yet, he carries quite the presence."
Myrcella studied him quietly, her face giving little away. "Is he as dangerous as they say?" she asked softly, her gaze unwavering. Her question carried a maturity well beyond her years, which was barely ten name days, a wisdom that reminded Tyrion why he felt such a kinship with her. In her storm gray eyes, a rare color derived from gods knew where, he saw the same desire for understanding, even when it came with a cost.
"In some ways, perhaps more so," Tyrion replied. "He's…imposing but controlled. I've seldom seen anyone, especially one so young, conduct themselves with such absolute assurance. It's as though he's already ruled for years, though he's yet to sit on the throne." He pretended not to notice that his niece's eyes narrowed at the 'yet'.
Tommen looked puzzled, but Myrcella was unfazed. She nodded thoughtfully, the wheels of her extraordinary mind clearly turning. Tyrion hesitated, glancing at her, wondering if he should continue. But his father's order echoed in his mind. They had to be prepared. Myrcella, most of all.
He leaned forward slightly. "Myrcella… there's something else you should know. It's possible—no, it's almost certain—that you'll be bound to Perseus in marriage one day."
Her eyes flickered, but she didn't flinch. She was silent for a moment, absorbing this revelation. Then, to Tyrion's surprise, she straightened, shoulders squaring as though she were assuming the phantom weight of a crown. "I suspected as much, Uncle. I know what Joffrey's defeat will mean for us." She looked down, exhaling softly. "If it's what must be done, I'll do it. House Lannister always pays its debts, and this… this is one I'll bear gladly, if it means keeping our family safe."
Tyrion felt a pang of sadness mixed with admiration. She was still just a small girl, yet here she was, willing to shoulder burdens few would have understood at her age.
He reached out, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "You're truly wise beyond your years, Myrcella. But don't ever feel as if you do not have another choice. If you ever find yourself facing something you cannot endure, remember above all else you have an uncle who cares for you, who will be there, even if it means facing the wrath of a dragon."
Myrcella managed a small smile. "I know, Uncle. And I thank you."
Tyrion gave a nod, but in his heart, he knew there were limits to the security he could provide her. "Rest well, you two. There are long days ahead of us all." With a final look between the children, he made his exit.
Whatever lay ahead, it would be a path fraught with uncertainties and dangers he could only hope they would all survive. But seeing his wise, sweet niece, poised and resolved, gave him a spark of hope that at least one of them would thrive when the Red Keep turned into a dragon's den.
oOo
Later that night with Perseus…
Back at the forward base, Perseus walked alongside Varys and Lysono, weaving through the fire-lit camp toward the secluded tent where the Kingslayer was being held.
As they entered, Jaime Lannister looked up, his expression a blend of wariness and defiance, though his usual confidence seemed dulled, his golden armor of pride worn thin.
Perseus fixed him with a steady gaze, letting the silence stretch before speaking. "Ser Jaime Lannister. Kingslayer. I can almost see the thinness of the thread fate has woven for you." He tsked while Varys and Lysono watched with keen interest. "You have a choice to make: either wait for the end to come… or seize control of your destiny."
"You didn't seem like the type to speak in riddles, Perseus. Though perhaps you're more Rhaegar's son than Elia's," Jaime's eyes narrowed, flicking between the three of them. "Let me guess, this proposal will involve me betraying my family in return for my freedom."
Perseus shook his head, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Oh no. This proposal will ensure that your entire bloodline isn't wiped from history." His deadly serious statement sent chills through the air.
"You have a chance to ensure the survival of House Lannister. But it will require you to believe in something greater than loyalty to a dying house. You'd have to look at the bigger picture—to the fate of the realm itself."
"The matter of the realm doesn't concern me," Jaime replied tersely, though there was a flicker of curiosity beneath his defiance.
Lysono stepped forward, his cat-like eyes glittering with unspoken intent. "You swore a solemn vow to protect the realm."
Jaime's gaze hardened. "I also killed the king I swore to protect. Vows don't mean very much to me."
Varys interjected with a smile. "Oh, but I think they do, Ser Jaime. After all, the reason you murdered King Aerys was to save all those innocent lives in King's Landing."
That revelation seemed to hit Ser Jaime directly in the chest. His face turned paler than a ghost as he stared at them in shocked silence.
After a while, the Kingslayer finally regained his composure, though his voice was now as quiet as a wisp of wind. "How much do you know?" He asked them.
"Everything," Perseus replied softly.
He knew about the obsession with wildfire that his grandfather had and he knew about the hidden caches of the highly flammable liquid that the Mad King placed in key parts of the capital. Hell, he even knew where they were specifically located.
How he had come across this information was simple, Varys had told him of his suspicions and Lysono had confirmed it. Having two spymasters in his service was working quite well for him. Not only just because of the influx of new information but because both made sure that their information was completely accurate lest the other reveal contradictory information that would immediately bring the former's potential incompetence to his attention.
"So?," Ser Jaime said, slipping back on his mask of indifference.
"Play along with my plan and I won't turn the entire capital into ash." Unlike the knight, Perseus didn't have to pretend to not care. He had given up the broad morals that once led him a long time ago. The only thing that mattered to him now was the well-being of his family.
Interestingly enough, his revelation not only shocked Ser Jaime but also Lord Varys whose gaze now flickered to him. Lysono remained indifferent.
"You would kill countless innocents just to further your plans?" Jaime stared at him with a mixture of anger and horror.
"Of course," Perseus snorted. "We are not the same, Ser Jaime. You'd kill your loved ones in order to save the lives of strangers. I would have let them all burn before I ever put a blade in my family's backs."
"But it doesn't have to come to that. Follow my plan, I'll get rid of the wildfire myself and you'll once again be the silent hero of the realm." This would be his final offer.
Jaime sat back, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders. The pride and bitterness in his eyes softened, just a flicker, as he stared at the three of them.
"Fine," he said finally, his voice low. "I'll listen. But if you're lying, I'll kill you myself."
Perseus grew a smile, though his eyes remained steady and determined. "I'd expect nothing less, Kingslayer. Welcome aboard."
He left Lysono and Varys behind with the knight to begin going over the needed steps that would be taken to fulfill his plan.
An odd sense of shame enveloped him as he ventured toward the part of the base where the other prisoners were being kept.
Regardless of whether or not he would have had to carry out his threat, doing things this way felt almost fracturing to his soul no matter how many times he pretended that it didn't bother him.
Before, he rationalized that it wasn't evil to desire the best for his family. If some people just so happened to be in the way of that then those people would be destroyed as a matter of course. It wasn't even something he felt pressured to think about. But genocide against people who hadn't done anything to warrant death was a different matter entirely.
Pushing his troubled thoughts aside, Perseus focused back on the present. He was a Targaryen. And that meant that he was, to a certain degree, expected to live by the words of his house, fire and blood.
So in this treacherous world where evil flourished, the only show of mercy that Perseus could afford giving to his opposition was the choice in whether or not they would willingly cooperate with him or be forced to cooperate.
A/N: Getting very close to the end of the first arc. A couple chapters at most. A lot of people seemed concerned about Viserys's strength in comparison to Perseus, I hope I satisfied those concerns. Thank you to everyone who reviews. It really does make me want to write more and get chapters out consistently. Until next time!
