From the moment their meeting began, Freygo felt as though he was being led by the nose by Viserys.
Since the two had met, Viserys had already caught him off guard three times.
And now, this made the fourth.
"You're saying you intend to build your power in Gohor?" Freygo asked in astonishment, staring at Viserys.
His eyes were filled with confusion, surprise, disdain—and a glimmer of delight.
First of all, anyone with sense could see that Gohor was a land of chaos: Andals, Rhoynar, bandits, river raiders, and Dothraki.
What few knew, however, was that Gohor and the Rhoyne Valley were also the next battleground between Braavos and Pentos.
Though Pentos had technically won their last skirmish with Braavos, in terms of real power, they had been the ones dominated.
Their victory had only bought them better negotiating terms. One such term was a restriction on the size of Pentos's army, enforced by Braavos.
Naturally, the governors of Pentos were unwilling to submit so easily. As a result, the two sides had begun a series of proxy wars in Gohor.
Had Gohor—or the Rhoyne, more broadly—not been such a mess, it would've been obvious to all that Freygo hoped House Targaryen could serve as his hound, carving out a power base in Gohor on Braavos's behalf.
He wanted to pit wolf against tiger, then reap the rewards.
Freygo's disdain was for what he saw as Viserys's arrogance.
And his delight, for that same reason.
Still, his cautious nature urged him to double-check. Viserys had proven himself too clever thus far—this choice didn't fit.
"Yes," Viserys answered smoothly. "The Rhoynar once built a great city there. I believe House Targaryen can too."
Freygo was speechless.
Something didn't add up. Very little added up.
If Viserys hadn't already demonstrated such surprising clarity, Freygo might have believed him.
But now, he simply couldn't take the young king for a fool.
"Do you truly believe that?" Freygo asked.
"I know you're worried about the bandits, raiders, and Dothraki," Viserys said, gesturing toward the man beside him, "but I have the loyalty of the Kingsguard. This is Ser Arthur Dayne of Starfall—known as the Sword of the Morning. He is the greatest swordsman in all of Westeros."
Does he really think one man's strength can solve all of Gohor's problems?
Freygo felt as though his mind was full of question marks.
"You don't believe me?" Viserys offered brightly. "Then let my Sword of the Morning face your First Sword. You'll see for yourself."
To make Freygo believe in his supposed recklessness, Viserys was more than happy to arrange a duel.
Freygo understood then: if Viserys was handing him the hilt of the blade, it would be foolish not to take it.
He beckoned Quairo over. The First Sword leaned in to listen as Freygo whispered:
"Quairo, I want you to lose to that Westerosi."
Quairo was bewildered and clearly reluctant.
But he could not disobey the Sealord and silently accepted.
Arthur, unaware of what had been said—since the conversation had taken place entirely in Valyrian—only noticed that Viserys had pointed at him.
And now, hearing that he was to fight the First Sword, he was thrilled.
They left the hall and entered the courtyard in front of the palace.
Arthur drew his greatsword without hesitation. Quairo followed suit.
The two began circling, eyes locked, looking for an opening.
Meanwhile, seated beside Freygo, Viserys began boasting about Arthur's heroic feats.
"During the Battle of the Gullet, Arthur led thirty swift-sailed ships in a flanking maneuver—it was like a hammer smashing through wood.
At Storm's End, he held the Usurper's forces at the gate while we burned their fleet before their eyes…"
Viserys's animated gestures made it clear to Freygo: the young king didn't appear to be hiding any secret weapon.
When he brought House Targaryen's remnants to Gohor, he would likely be crushed within a year—maybe even six months.
Even this Sword of the Morning…
Freygo glanced toward the dueling pair. Arthur and Quairo were locked in a graceful, tense dance.
What a waste, he thought. Such a fine swordsman, doomed to die in Gohor.
Viserys, while praising Arthur, never took his eyes off the battle.
Braavosi swordsmen were often called "Water Dancers" for their fluid style and elegant movements.
If Arthur's greatsword was a storm of steel, Quairo's footwork was like wind and water—graceful and elusive.
One of Arthur's mighty blows struck the stone floor, sending sparks flying and leaving a deep crack.
The greatsword he wielded was the ancestral blade of House Dayne, forged from a fallen star.
The duel continued. Dozens of exchanges later, sweat glistened on both men's foreheads.
Neither had yet revealed their full strength.
Finally, following Freygo's orders, Quairo offered an opening. Arthur saw it and took it in a flash, bringing his sword to Quairo's neck.
Victory was his.
But Arthur could feel it—something was off. That hadn't been Quairo's true strength.
"Well done! Truly worthy of the title Sword of the Morning," Freygo declared with feigned admiration.
Whether the two swordsmen agreed or not, the duel was over—in the eyes of the two kings, the result was clear.
Freygo ordered his servants to present Arthur with a set of Braavosi plate armor.
Adorned with gold and gemstones, it looked magnificent.
At this point, Freygo was almost certain Viserys truly meant to rely on martial strength to subdue the chaos of Gohor.
And if by some miracle Viserys succeeded?
Nonsense. Freygo believed that even if he drained ten or twenty years of Braavos's future to pacify Gohor, he still wouldn't manage it.
Targaryen, in the end, was a defeated house. What power could they possibly wield?
Freygo himself had spent years infiltrating the Rhoynar factions of Gohor and had barely made progress.
The Rhoynar "Council of Elders" had resisted him at every turn—he had only managed to win over one sympathetic voice.
It would take far more than swords to build a true power base.
Even if Viserys managed to restore order, it would take decades—maybe a century—to gather a population and grow an economy.
And during all that time, he'd rely heavily on Braavos.
In the end, both sides got what they wanted from the negotiation.
Viserys secured a favorable price for part of his fleet. Freygo believed he'd found a sharp blade to advance Braavos's interests in Gohor.
In this supposed "win-win," the meeting ended on a pleasant note.
As they parted, Freygo asked:
"When does Your Grace plan to depart for Gohor and begin your settlement?"
________________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor