Faced with representatives from the Free Cities, Viserys answered none of them. Instead, he hosted a grand banquet and invited them all.
The hall chosen for the feast was the castle's newly enlarged great hall, its walls hung with freshly woven Targaryen three-headed dragon banners.
About fifty guests had been invited. Besides the envoys from the Free Cities, several merchants who had been first to swear fealty to the Empire were present, along with a handful of high ministers from its inner council.
Duke Arthur had come expressly from Free Bay to attend; at this moment he stood speaking in low voices with Duke Willem. Count Jon and Count Alliser were posted at the doorway, their eyes flicking over the Free City delegates as though trying to read every hidden motive behind each face.
The city envoys had likewise sorted themselves into clearly separate camps.
The envoys from Braavos, Norvos, and other "engagement" cities clustered together. Having arrived several days early, they were already well acquainted. Their dress was plain—mostly dark robes—and they spoke in hushed tones, glancing toward the entrance as they waited for the guest of honor.
Delegates from Volantis, Tyrosh, and other "hardline" cities were far more flamboyant. The Tiger Party envoy from Volantis, Hashman Vaharis, son of General Vaharis, wore a gold-trimmed purple tokar, a golden tiger crest pinned to his chest proclaiming his family's honor.
He was loudly conversing with a Tyroshi wool-merchant, Gregor Bevis, their laughter loud enough for half the hall to hear.
"My father says any power needs allies," Hashman declared, swirling the golden wine of Lys in his cup. "Rebuild Valyria with a few dragons alone? Nonsense. Without our fleets, without our trade, his empire won't last a year."
Gregor Bevis was a lean middle-aged man whose eyes were forever narrowed, as though calculating. "All the same, Lord Hashman, those dragons are real. I saw the black one on the quay—gods, when it passed overhead I nearly fell to my knees."
"Dragons?" Hashman sneered. "Those so-called wyrms are merely big fire-breathing lizards—frightening to look at, but a trained archer could bring one down. True terror was Valyria's sorcery, but sorcery is long dead. What has today's Targaryen got? An army of newly freed slaves? Dothraki savages? Nothing but—"
His words cut off as the great doors opened and Viserys Targaryen entered.
He wore an elegant, simple black-and-red coat; his silver hair was fastened back, violet eyes deep in the torchlight.
"My lords," he said, taking his place at the high table, "thank you for coming so far. Tonight we speak no politics—only enjoy good food and wine. Let us drink first to Valyria's rebirth."
The envoy from Lys was first to lift his cup. "To Valyria reborn, and to King Viserys," he said carefully, but his meaning was clear.
The other "engagement" envoys followed suit.
Hashman raised his cup a heartbeat late, his gaze lingering on the Unsullied guards, expression sour.
Halfway through the feast the mood grew lively, guests surrendering to revelry.
Yet politics never truly leaves such gatherings.
Illyrio seized a moment to approach Viserys. The corpulent merchant, all smiles, wore an embroidered robe and eight gem-set rings on ten plump fingers.
"Your Grace," he murmured, smile unwavering, "it is a great honor to guest in your castle. Pentos watches the Targaryen revival with keen interest; should you require aught, my city stands ready. Varys also sends his warmest regards—he has long admired Your Grace."
"Convey my thanks to Varys. Men of wit can always find common ground."
A glint flashed in Illyrio's eyes; the reply was subtle—neither acceptance nor refusal, leaving every option open.
Across the hall, envoys from Lorath and Norvos conferred.
"So Pentos has chosen," the Norvoshi elder whispered. "What says Braavos?"
"Braavos still waits," the Lorathi replied, eyes narrowing, "but Lys declared itself tonight—they'll not oppose Viserys. The question is what Volantis will do."
Just then a commotion rose from the far side of the hall.
Hashman was on his feet.
His face was flushed; he had clearly drunk too much. He shoved aside the attendant trying to steady him and strode to the center of the hall, facing Viserys.
"Dragon King." His voice rang through the hall, drowning the music. "Some questions have been set aside far too long. Since you say we won't speak of state affairs tonight, at least give us a firm date—when will you answer the demands of our cities? Or do you intend to keep stalling with such excuses?"
The hall fell silent; every eye fixed on Heshman.
Arthur and Count Alliser stepped forward, as if to seize him, but Viserys lifted a hand, signaling them to wait.
"Lord Heshman," Viserys said calmly, "I had planned to discuss matters formally with you all tomorrow, after the feast. But since you are so impatient—"
"Impatient?" Heshman cut in, voice dripping scorn. "No, Dragon King, not impatient—worried. In one short year you overturned the order of Slavers Bay and founded the so-called New Valyrian Empire. You have dragons, armies, and now you're building a navy. Tell us, then—how great is your ambition? Where do you intend to strike next? Volantis? Tyrosh? All of us?"
Gasps rippled through the hall. Even the other hard-liners paled; Heshman's words were so direct they bordered on open provocation. They were still in Valyria and did not want to be trapped here by his rashness.
Viserys's expression did not change, yet his eyes grew colder.
"Are you questioning me? In what capacity? As the son of a Tiger Party general of Volantis? Or as the mouthpiece of Magistrates who hide behind curtains and dare not show their faces?"
Heshman's face reddened. "I am the duly appointed envoy of Volantis. I speak for Val—"
"You speak for no one. Volantis has three Magistrates. You were sent only because those truly in power refuse to risk themselves, so they dispatch a disposable youth to test my limits. They would rejoice if you died."
"You—" Heshman exploded, snatching the dagger at his belt.
Before he could react, Viserys plucked the blade from his hand.
Then snapped his leg with a kick. Unsullied rushed in and pinned Heshman down.
Held upright, Heshman sweated from the pain; the wine had left him entirely. He looked around: the Braavosi envoy was expressionless; Illyrio stared into his cup; even the hard-line envoys from Tyrosh and Myr averted their gaze.
No one would step forward for him. He began to regret his impulse.
"Take him away and lock him up." The Unsullied dragged Heshman from the hall without ceremony.
"Forgive the interruption." Viserys returned to the dais, tone light, as though nothing had happened. "Let us continue. Tonight I shall give you all an answer in advance."
His gaze swept every face.
"To the Free Cities I say this: the gates of the New Valyrian Empire stand open to every honest merchant; our harbors welcome all friendly visitors. We are willing to be friends with anyone—so long as they obey our laws and respect our people."
The atmosphere eased slightly; envoys of the conciliation faction quietly exhaled.
But Viserys had not finished.
"However," his voice turned icy, "to those who seek to block the Empire's revival, who secretly fund my enemies or openly provoke the Dragon King, my answer is simple: ruin."
"Now—does anyone else have a question?"
No one spoke.
The Braavosi envoy raised his cup first. "To His Majesty's wisdom and magnanimity."
The rest followed suit, afraid to lag behind.
The feast resumed, yet the mood had shifted; no one dared mention politics again.
Near the end, a page hurried in and whispered to Duke Arthur. Arthur at once approached Viserys.
"Urgent word from Free Bay, Your Majesty. Kevan Lannister has arrived; he presents his card, saying he speaks for Lord Tywin on urgent business."
"Very well. I shall go to Meereen to see him."
"My lords, a small matter requires my attention," he told the guests. "Enjoy the wine and fare; do not mind me."
With that he left the hall under Unsullied escort.
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