Viserys looked at the letter from the Greenvine family on the parchment. The green vine leaves on it seemed to come alive. Vines usually lived on soil and water, but now, these vines seemed to crave blood.
"If the Greenvine family openly denounced me and mobilized all their troops to attack, I might forgive them even if they lost. But now, this false show of submission... The Greenvine family is too dangerous..." Viserys put away the letter, his expectations set.
In the world of power, beasts lurked everywhere. Supreme power could not be shared.
Viserys had a pretty good idea of what kind of people the Greenvine family were.
Like the Freys, they profited from resource monopolies. The Freys relied on tolls; the Greenvines relied on selling Andalos sour wine.
They likely coveted the title of King of the Andals for themselves—envying, jealous of, and resentful towards Viserys, rather than fawning over him like loyal dogs.
For such a profit-driven family to bow and scrape in a letter meant they were plotting something big.
Viserys sensed the malice of a deep conspiracy. Especially considering the suspicion that the Greenvine family had guided the Tyroshi, they were even less trustworthy.
Viserys put away the letter. He would reply with an enthusiastic one of his own.
Then, he would wait for the Greenvine family to take the bait. In this game of thrones, let's see who laughs last.
Viserys then looked at the letter from the Rock family, masters of ironworking. Their letter was much cruder, practically written in the tone of a toxic gamer.
"I, Artys Rock of the Rock family, demand that you, the exiled dragonspawn Viserys Targaryen, get out of our Andal lands, get out of the Velvet Hills. The lands of Andalos belong to us Andals, not outsiders. If you want to conquer, come fight me to the death in the name of the Warrior first." Viserys was amused by the blunt words.
A rude and direct family. Viserys noted the name Artys Rock.
Although the Rock family was openly hostile, they weren't the critical issue. The key lay in the Greenvine family's movements.
"Tell me about the structure of the Greenvine family," Viserys asked Bishop Ebony.
"The patriarch is 'Fat Grape' Amman Greenvine, a fat and greedy old man. People say the Greenvines are the richest Andal family today. As for his children, he has given them important roles. The eldest son is his heir, managing the family's trade routes. The second son commands the family guard and is an excellent warrior. The third son is the family steward. His youngest son seems to be a family septon," Bishop Ebony said.
Viserys listened. A standard family conglomerate.
"But the Greenvine family's reputation isn't great," Bishop Ebony added. "They haggle like merchants from Pentos and Tyrosh and maintain good relations with traders from the Free Cities, unlike pure-blooded Andals."
Viserys maintained considerable hostility toward the Greenvine family. Now that the opponent had played their hand first, it was a good thing.
The Greenvine family didn't lack money; their soldiers would be relatively well-equipped.
But if the Greenvine family really plotted against Viserys, how would they execute it?
A flash of inspiration struck Viserys, and he deduced a likely answer: mercenaries.
Profiting from wine sales meant the Greenvines wouldn't lack connections with Free Cities merchants or channels to hire mercenaries.
Moreover, if the Greenvine family acted, they would worry about their own strength being insufficient. They would likely spend money to hire mercenaries from outside Andalos, and Tyrosh and Pentos had no shortage of sellswords.
"I will agree to the Greenvine family's request," Viserys decided. "The Greenvine family will bring me plenty of wine and supplies. As a courtesy, it seems I should indeed receive them by the Rhoyne."
"That is too dangerous, Your Grace," Bishop Ebony exclaimed. "If Amman truly harbors ill will, meeting them is extremely risky for you."
"It is not I who should fear wine merchants, but they who should fear me." Viserys had made up his mind.
"If I am to sign a covenant with Amman, I only need Argos with me. As for the rest of you, I have other arrangements," Viserys said mysteriously.
If the Greenvine family planned to move against him, they would walk right into his trap. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
"As you command, Your Grace. But this is too dangerous. I beg to be your guard," Ser Roland pleaded.
"I have a more important task for you," Viserys told Ser Roland.
The Greenvine family's trump card would be their household reserve or mercenaries. To counter this, Viserys also planned a reserve force.
Viserys had already selected a unit of longbowmen, placing them under Hugo's command. And the cavalry, under Ser Roland's management, was beginning to show results.
On the road through the Velvet Hills, the portly "Fat Grape" Amman Greenvine rode leisurely in a carriage bearing the grape vine sigil.
It was a convoy escorted by two hundred cavalrymen. Dozens of wagons carried Andalos sour wine, along with sacks of barley and wheat, displaying the Greenvine family's unique wealth.
Amman's hair and beard were oiled, and he looked like a bloated whale weighing down the carriage.
In his youth, he had been a strong Andal warrior, but indulgence in wine and women had turned him into a sickly, exercise-averse fat man.
"The rise or fall of the Greenvine family depends on this," Amman Greenvine stroked the gem rings on his fingers—every finger adorned with one, making him look like the most lavish merchant magister.
"Is your plan too dangerous, Father?" Amman's eldest son, Jack Greenvine, asked with some concern. "The Targaryen orphan is only fifteen, but he has proven his ability on the battlefield, and many support him."
Like many heirs under the wing of a strict father, the middle-aged Jack Greenvine was a mediocre man with little aptitude for scheming.
"What do you know? The greater the risk, the greater the reward. A teenager doesn't understand conspiracy. At his age, wisdom and strategy take a backseat to romance and arrogance. That's why my letter was so sweet, and the young man took the bait..." Amman said smugly. "I know of his bravery, naturally, but I am fully prepared."
"Will he really come?" Jack asked.
"He will come. Our insider says so."
Inside the carriage sat another man with rust-colored hair, a hooked nose, and a muscular build that radiated danger.
"I am ready to personally kidnap the Dragon's spawn for Lord Amman," the rust-haired man said in a raspy voice.
"Good. Control of the scene is yours." Amman nodded. This was a Meereenese pit fighter he had hired at a high price, extremely dangerous, intended for a surprise attack.
As a backup, his second son commanded a hired mercenary company that would support them.
As long as the boy named Viserys came out of Viserys Fort to meet them by the Rhoyne, this dangerous but highly profitable venture would succeed.
Whether it was Viserys or the two Targaryen girls, they could be sold for a good price.
More importantly, the fearful Andals would have no one left to rely on but the Greenvine family.
"Father, I still don't understand," Jack shook his head. "We are already rich. Why get involved in this mess? Whether we side with the Tyroshi or King Viserys, we would be valued. There is no need for such risk."
"What do you understand?" Amman scolded. "The thought of that brat, an outsider, daring to call himself King of the Andals fills me with rage. Why not our family, the divine and wealthy Greenvines? Besides, he offended people he shouldn't have. The Tyroshi are very unhappy with his recent actions, which is why we could hire a mercenary company at half price."
"But our reputation?"
"Reputation? Hmph, that is a game for winners..."
"My lord, the welcoming party has arrived." The guard's voice came from outside the window. Amman's relaxed nerves instantly tightened. The critical moment was here.
"How many enemies?" Amman asked.
"Only seventy or eighty cavalry, my lord," the guard whispered.
"My plan has succeeded," Amman said with confidence.
By the west bank of the Upper Rhoyne, a cavalry unit waited quietly for the arrival of the Greenvine family's supplies.
Viserys took a deep breath. He could already see the Greenvine wagon train.
Viserys rolled his wrists. Underneath his black velvet tunic, he wore a shirt of silver scale mail.
For such a potentially fatal ceremony, it seemed armor was a necessity.
Viserys observed from his horse. The stage was set; now it was time for the performance.