Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen
Chapter 98: Everyone, Would You Like a Valyrian Steel Sword?

Chapter 98: Everyone, Would You Like a Valyrian Steel Sword?

"How much for the golden eagle?" Viserys asked.

"I'm sorry, Master, this one is part of our performance. I've raised it since it was a chick..." The man speaking was a Dothraki, and though his Valyrian was surprisingly fluent, it was clear he had been living in Tyrosh for some time.

"Ten gold dragons," Viserys offered.

"Master, it's not about the money," the Dothraki replied, his face showing signs of discomfort.

"Fifteen gold dragons."

"Master, this golden eagle..." The Dothraki hesitated, visibly torn.

"Thirty gold dragons."

The Dothraki sighed, finally relenting. "Please treat it well."

In the end, Viserys also purchased a horned owl from the Dothraki for Dany. Viserys had told her that owls could see in the dark, and Dany was eager to experience that sensation for herself.

After the transaction, Viserys struck up a conversation with the Dothraki man. "Why didn’t you return to the Grass Sea to sell your talents?"

"My khalasar was originally near the Red Waste," the Dothraki explained. "But as the Red Waste expanded, we were forced to move. Eventually, we crossed paths with a Khal named Bharbo, who absorbed our khalasar. I managed to escape..."

"Bharbo? Isn’t he the father of Khal Drogo?" Viserys inquired.

"Yes, exactly. In fact, the khalasar now belongs to Khal Drogo."

The name 'Drogo' immediately caught Dany's attention. Illyrio had once suggested marrying her to Drogo, and though Viserys had promised not to use her as a bargaining chip, hearing the name still unsettled her.

Meanwhile, Viserys’s thoughts turned to Drogo’s motivation for a "western expedition." He knew from the original story that Drogo announced his plans to move west after Daenerys became pregnant, claiming it was because he now had a "right" to the Iron Throne through his marriage. But that reasoning had always seemed weak to Viserys.

The Dothraki Sea was separated from Westeros by the Free Cities and the Narrow Sea, and Westeros could easily muster an army of 100,000 or 200,000 men. Even with a claim to the throne, such a decision would require careful consideration. Viserys suspected there must have been more pressing reasons behind Drogo’s desire for conquest.

Now, Viserys believed he had found it: the Red Waste. Its expansion was straining resources and escalating conflicts within the Dothraki. This, he realized, was the real reason behind Drogo’s western ambitions—a need to secure new resources and territory to alleviate the growing pressures at home.

However, Dany would not marry Drogo now, which meant the Horselord had no immediate reason to declare war on Westeros.

Instead, his gaze would likely turn to the Free Cities. If Viserys were to seize territory in the Free Cities in the future, a clash with Drogo would be inevitable.

But these were concerns for another time, Viserys decided, shelving the thoughts for now. Without an army, such considerations were premature. For the time being, he pushed the matter aside and continued exploring Tyrosh.

Afterwards, Viserys and his entourage continued to explore the city together. Wherever they went, Regis couldn’t resist showing off the freshly stitched scar on his neck.

"Yep, a two-foot-long curved knife got me!" he would boast, stretching his neck for emphasis. "It was this long, went in right here, and came out the back."

Before anyone could even ask, Regis was already explaining the details, which left the others feeling a bit embarrassed by his enthusiasm.

Their wandering eventually led them to an open-air stall specializing in hair dyeing. The stall owner had set up several beds where people could lie or sit while dye was poured onto their heads. Viserys had expected the dye to smell unpleasant, but to his surprise, it carried a faint fragrance. None of them had seen hair dyeing done before, so they stopped to watch, intrigued.

Regis, ever eager for attention, began displaying his neck scar again, trying to impress the customers getting their hair dyed.

Finally, Dick, unable to stand it any longer, said, "Regis, how about getting your hair dyed? I'll pay for it."

Realizing he was being teased, Regis sheepishly shrank his neck and touched his bald head, causing Jorah and the others to burst into laughter.

For the next two days, Viserys focused on dealing with the spoils of their recent battle, working closely with Meris and the others. As mercenaries, they had little use for so many ships, so the group discussed selling them. Recognizing Viserys's significant role in the battle, Meris suggested that he should handle one of the ships himself.

Instead, Viserys decided to keep the ship for the time being and asked Meris to use the proceeds to purchase a new batch of weapons. He knew that to secure loyalty, he needed to provide for his men first. Replacing old equipment and improving food supplies all required money—money that wouldn’t come for free. By paying for their equipment, Viserys would gain more influence over the distribution of future spoils.

'If you eat my food and use my weapons, you’ll fight for me when the time comes', he thought. However, while weapons were relatively easy to acquire, armor was a different matter entirely. The cost of armor was in a different league altogether.

With this in mind, Viserys had written to Illyrio two days earlier, requesting that he replace some armor. The old man hadn’t been asked for a favor in a while, and now was the time for him to contribute.

Three days passed quickly, and soon the group boarded a ship bound for the Windblown’s camp on the mainland. This marked the official beginning of Viserys’s mercenary career.

The Windblown’s camp was home to about 4,000 men. Blue canvas tents stretched as far as the eye could see, covering two adjacent hills, and large and small blue-and-white striped flags fluttered in the breeze.

"This is our camp," Meris explained to Viserys. "The captain likes to call it the canvas castle. It only takes an hour for us to break it down and move out."

After spending the past few days with her, Viserys had come to realize that Meris held the Tattered Prince in high regard—almost with the adoration of a daughter toward her father. As they entered the camp, Viserys noticed the meticulous arrangement, a testament to the experience of a veteran who had seen many battles.

When they approached the gates, the guards on the towers signaled to those below. The gates swung open, and a group of guards swiftly removed the barricades, allowing them to enter. Inside, the Tattered Prince called for the sergeants to gather for a meeting. As a new member, Viserys was expected to attend.

"Dany, let’s go," Meris said, gesturing to the girl. As an interrogator, Meris didn’t usually participate in combat meetings, so she offered to teach Dany something new at the camp.

After bidding Dany farewell, Viserys and Dick entered the main tent. It was sparsely furnished, with only a few stools and a large map that covered an entire wall like a door.

Soon, a red-bearded mercenary in his forties entered the tent. He greeted Dick with a playful jab.

"Hey, Dick! How was your honeymoon?"

"It was fine, but you’ll have to wait a bit longer for your little brother," Dick shot back.

"Go to hell!" the man laughed, then turned to Viserys. "I’d like you to meet Viserys Targaryen, champion of Braavos in swordsmanship, our newest recruit."

"Viserys, this is 'Beans' Baqq, the Sergeant Major of the Fourth Battalion."

"Baqq," Viserys said, standing to greet him.

"So, you’re the one they call the Beggar King?" Baqq asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, that’s me."

"Ha! Do you know what we call the old captain? The Tattered Prince. You two must get along well."

Baqq was a sociable man, and soon the two were chatting easily. Before long, the sergeants from the various battalions began to arrive. Viserys noted that they were a diverse group, with skin tones ranging from black and brown to white and olive. Among them, two sergeants—a black man and a white man—walked in close together.

According to Dick, both men were named Gerrold. To distinguish between them, the fair-skinned one was called Redback Gerrold due to a large red birthmark on his back, while the dark-skinned one was known as Black Gerrold. As was customary among mercenaries, almost everyone cast a quick glance around the room upon entering. Viserys's silver hair, purple eyes, and fine armor naturally drew their attention. But there was another reason he stood out—he was far too young.

Suspicion lingered in the air as the mercenaries eyed him. They all knew that their captain would never allow someone so young to command. Just as one of them tried to approach Viserys, the Tattered Prince entered the camp with two of his most trusted mercenary leaders.

One of them was a towering figure, standing over 1.9 meters tall, his face marred by scars. At his waist hung a Dothraki arakh, the blade clearly forged from Valyrian steel, adorned with a pattern that resembled blood splatters. The other man was about fifty, with a weathered face and a gray beard.

"The one with the scars is Caggo, and the one with the white beard is Denzo. They're the captain’s most trusted men," Dick whispered to Viserys. It was obvious that these two served distinct roles—Caggo as a formidable enforcer, and Denzo as a seasoned advisor.

As soon as the Tattered Prince took his seat, the tent fell silent. He surveyed the room, and everyone straightened up.

"I have three matters to address," the old commander began. "First, I’ve renewed our contract with Tyrosh. Our enemy will remain the same for the time being."

Viserys raised an eyebrow, noticing how the captain’s voice carried a commanding authority. Some of the men nodded thoughtfully, but most remained impassive.

At that moment, a short, stocky mercenary with a spider web tattoo stood up and asked, "Commander, is the Company of the Cat still serving Lys?"

"That’s right," the Tattered Prince replied.

"I request to continue serving at Shield Lake, even as an ordinary soldier!"

"We'll discuss that later," the commander said firmly.

The mercenary, who was none other than Webber, the sergeant major of the 7th Battalion, sat down reluctantly. He looked like he wanted to say more, but when Caggo, seated to the right of the Tattered Prince, shot him a warning glance, Webber held his tongue.

"Second," the captain continued, "we need a garrison at Shield Lake. Who’s willing to go?"

"I’ll do it!" Beans Baqq, sitting next to Viserys, stood up without hesitation.

The captain nodded. Baqq’s battalion was mostly archers, making them well-suited for the task. Webber, however, seemed restless, clearly disappointed at not being chosen.

"Third," the Tattered Prince said, pointing in Viserys’s direction, "Viserys Targaryen."

Viserys stood and faced the room. The eyes of all the sergeants turned toward him, scrutinizing his youthful appearance. They had already noticed him earlier, but now, seeing him up close, their doubts resurfaced. He was so young that even as a support soldier, they would replace his presence unsettling.

"You will take over as sergeant major of the Seventh Battalion and be responsible for its rebuilding," the captain declared.

"Yes!" Viserys responded, but before he could sit down, Webber voiced his objection.

"Commander, how old is he? If he’s made sergeant major of the Seventh Battalion, we might as well disband it now!"

Webber’s challenge was direct, and this time Caggo didn’t try to silence him with a glare. Convincing the men to follow such a young leader would indeed be difficult. None of the sergeants present had become leaders without spending at least seven to ten years as sellswords, and they were all in their thirties or forties before earning their ranks.

"This is my decision," the Tattered Prince stated firmly. "If he fails to rebuild the Seventh Battalion within three months, it will be disbanded. Additionally, Viserys is the champion of the Swordsmanship Tournament in Braavos."

The captain’s words eased much of the tension in the room. While it was still uncertain whether Viserys could lead, at least he was a proven fighter. Winning the Braavosi championship suggested he had some skill, which reassured many.

Yet, Viserys could still feel a critical gaze upon him—Caggo’s. Their eyes met, and Viserys sensed a mutual desire for combat.

"If any of you want to test my skills or compare your abilities with mine, I’m always ready," Viserys said with a sly grin, making a slightly risqué joke that suited the rough company. The remark worked, as a few mercenaries chuckled, and others seemed more open to accepting him.

"Count me in," one of them said.

"Me too!" added another.

Soon, three or four men expressed their desire to challenge him, including Webber. Surprisingly, though, Caggo, despite his fierce appearance, didn’t step forward but continued to watch quietly.

"All right, no problem. I’ll be waiting for you at the 7th Battalion," Viserys said confidently. "But in my opinion, a duel is pointless without a wager to make it interesting."

With that, he unsheathed his sword and held it up for everyone to see. The mercenaries, seasoned veterans, immediately recognized the blade as a genuine Valyrian steel sword.

"Gentlemen, this Valyrian steel sword was my prize in the Braavosi Swordsmanship Tournament. Defeat me, and it’s yours!" Viserys’s offer sent a ripple of excitement through the room.

The mercenaries were taken aback by the boldness of his wager. This young man was playing a high-stakes game right from the start, and the challenge left many of them eager to test their mettle against him.