Lys, fairest of the Free Cities, without rival.
Set upon the Summer Sea, the island city basked beneath a gentle sky. Cool sea winds drifted through white marble streets, carrying the scent of salt and blossoms alike. The sun shone generously but never cruelly, and the soil, dark and rich, rewarded every careful hand that tilled it.
Palms swayed above courtyards and terraces, while orchards heavy with fruit stretched beyond the city walls. In the surrounding waters, the sea gleamed turquoise and green, alive with darting shoals of fish that fed both Lys and its pleasures.
In ancient days, before the Doom darkened the world, Lys had served as a favored summer refuge of the Valyrian dragonlords. Dragons once slept upon its cliffs and hills, their shadows falling across the same harbors now filled with pleasure barges.
After Valyria fell, chaos reigned. In that brief, bloody interregnum, even slaves found the courage to rise. Some dragonlords who lingered in Lys were slain, and with them, their dragons. The city never forgot that price, nor the awe inspired by dragonblood.
Within the manse of Governor Bambarro, a banquet hall glowed with lamplight and polished stone. Silk hangings in pastel hues lined the walls, and the long table was laden with roasted meats, sugared fruits, and delicate wines cooled in silver basins.
Prince Viserys sat among the governor's household, his posture straight, his pale hands folded neatly before him. Though still young, he had learned the value of composure. When Governor Bambarro gestured for the servants to withdraw and the doors closed softly behind them, Viserys felt a flicker of unease stir in his chest.
"Governor Bambarro," he said, lifting his chin politely, "may I ask why you summoned me this evening?"
The governor's lips twitched, his excitement barely contained. He did not answer at once, instead pouring himself a cup of wine with a hand that trembled despite his effort at calm.
Viserys had been treated lavishly in Lys. Bambarro had paid Admiral Sharako of the Lysene fleet a fortune in gold, along with promises whispered behind closed doors, to secure custody of the prince.
To the governor, Viserys was no mere hostage, but a treasure worth guarding. The boy dined with Bambarro's wife and children, a courtesy extended only because of his blood and name.
The Free Cities still revered the ancient lineage of Valyria. By the old reckoning, they had once been little more than slave markets under the dragonlords' shadow. Even now, the blood of the dragon commanded respect.
Viserys bore that blood plainly. He was the image of his elder brother Aegon, only smaller and slighter. His silver-gold hair fell straight to his shoulders, and his eyes were a clear Valyrian violet. He lacked Aegon's height and raw strength, and his features, though striking, did not carry the same intimidating beauty. Yet Viserys was quick-witted and warm, with an easy smile and a gift for words. Many had once said he was the more charming of the two princes, brighter and more open of heart.
Both brothers had once stood far from the Iron Throne. Crowns were never meant for them. Fate, however, had proven cruel.
"Your mother and your brother have achieved a great victory, Prince Viserys," Governor Bambarro said at last, leaning forward, his eyes alight. "The matter is decided. Prince Aegon has bonded with a dragon. A great one. The largest upon Dragonstone, by all accounts. The Cannibal."
Viserys stiffened, his fingers tightening against the table's edge.
"They have defeated Lord Borros and the Stormlands host," the governor continued, his voice rising with each word. "King's Landing has changed its banners. The red dragon on black flies once more."
"The Cannibal?" Viserys breathed, the name escaping him before he could stop it.
He was no naïve child. He understood power, and lies, and the weight of fear. Even so, the thought of his brother claiming such a savage beast sent a chill through him. The Cannibal was no docile mount, but a wild terror of legend.
"My brother," Viserys said, rising halfway from his seat, his composure finally cracking. "He was not harmed, was he, my lord?"
Dragonbonding was peril enough with tame beasts, let alone a full-grown wild dragon. During the Red Sowing, many had died screaming, burned by their own ambition. Viserys had never imagined Aegon would walk such a path, nor survive it.
"Prince Aegon lives," Bambarro replied quickly, lifting a hand in reassurance. "Unscathed."
Viserys let out a breath he had not realized he was holding, sinking back into his chair. Relief softened his features, though his eyes still shone with worry and pride entwined.
"You are a good child, Viserys," the governor went on more gently. "Clever and sincere. None of my own sons compare. And your brother…" He shook his head in wonder. "He is something else entirely. The Dragon King, as they already name him."
Viserys lowered his gaze, his lips pressing into a faint, conflicted smile. Greatness might awe the world, but to him, Aegon was still his brother.
"One day, you will return to King's Landing," Governor Bambarro said, his tone sharpening with intent. "When you do, remember the kindness I have shown you here."
Viserys met his eyes and inclined his head solemnly.
"I will never forget your generosity, my lord," he said, and meant every word.
Bambarro's satisfaction was plain. A slow smile crept across his face as he studied the boy before him. Young, yes, but already sharp enough to know when words mattered.
In truth, the governor had kept his end of the bargain. Though Viserys's freedom was carefully curtailed, he was not treated as a common hostage. He was given a suite of his own within the manse and provided with the finest tutors Lys could offer. He learned tongues both ancient and modern, studied histories and sums, music and letters. Even a master-at-arms had been hired for him, a concession that spoke to both Bambarro's caution and his ambition.
It was there, in the practice yard, that Viserys proved most remarkable. Like his brother, he possessed a strong, well-balanced frame and an instinctive feel for the sword. The blade came easily to him, as if it were an extension of his will.
But the peace did not last.
"Bambarro, pay your debts!"
"Bambarro, pay what you owe!"
"Step down, Bambarro!"
"Settle our accounts!"
The shouts erupted beyond the manse walls, harsh voices rising in a ragged chorus. Viserys turned his head at the sound, his brows knitting. Bambarro's face darkened at once.
"Drive them off," the governor snapped, pushing back from the table. His chair scraped loudly against the floor. "Filthy vultures. They smell coin, nothing more."
His steward bowed hastily and hurried out. The noise outside grew louder for a moment, then dulled as guards intervened, though the anger lingered in the air like smoke.
Since the defeat at the Battle of the Gullet, the Triarchy had shattered. The so-called Three Daughters had turned upon one another, their alliance rotting from within. Lys had bled coin and men in wars between sisters, and Bambarro had been left holding the weight of those losses. Loans unpaid. Promises broken. His authority now rested on fragile ground.
If the debts were not settled, it would not be courts that came for him next, but knives.
"That Lysandro," Bambarro muttered, pacing the length of the chamber. His hands clenched and unclenched as though grasping for something just out of reach. "Always eager to bare his teeth."
The humiliation burned. A governor of Lys, brought low by failure and coin. If he fell, he would not simply lose his office. Lys was not so gentle. These matters had been carefully hidden, yet someone had spoken. Bambarro did not doubt who stood to gain.
Lysene politics spared no one. Lysandro pressed him relentlessly, and Bambarro, once a commander of armies, now found himself trapped beneath mounting debts and whispered doubts.
For the first time, fear crept close to his heart. Not for himself alone, but for his wife, his children, the legacy he had built.
"I must keep fighting," he said under his breath, as though saying it aloud might make it true. "A man who cannot hire sellswords is no man of wealth at all."
War, then. More war. Like a gambler who had lost all restraint, Bambarro saw only one path left: wager everything that remained.
The people of Lys were beginning to doubt him. Rumors spread faster than truth, and in Lys, weakness was an invitation. Strength had to be shown, loudly and often. He would raise banners again, hire more blades, march once more into conflict. If victory returned, perhaps fortune would follow.
He stopped before Viserys, studying him with new intensity.
"When you return to King's Landing," Bambarro asked quietly, "how will you repay me?"
Viserys met his gaze without flinching. "Gold and jewels equal to my weight," he said after a moment. "A prince is worth that much."
Bambarro barked a short laugh, though there was little humor in it. "That will not save me," he said, shaking his head. "I need more than coin."
"And what does my lord governor desire?" Viserys asked, his tone cool and measured. Lysenes are never satisfied, he thought.
"A promise," Bambarro replied. "Your brother must swear not to move against me. Better still, that he will aid me."
What he wanted, plainly, was the backing of a dragon. Of the Dragon King.
Viserys folded his hands before him. "I cannot speak for my brother," he said carefully. "When we fled, we were hunted and powerless. He is no longer that man. But if you permit me to return to King's Landing, I will urge him to remember your kindness."
No oath. No certainty. Only a door left ajar.
Bambarro studied him, then laughed softly. "Clever," he said. "You know precisely what I want. The Dragon King's favor. The power that won the Dance itself."
He waved a hand, as if dismissing the matter for now. "You will remain here. Your brother is known for his deep affections. When he learns that his only brother rests in my care, he will come swiftly to terms."
Viserys inclined his head and withdrew, his manner neither defiant nor submissive.
For now, Bambarro had no intention of letting him go. He would wait, watch the currents of war and politics alike, and release the news when it best suited him. Though the Blacks had prevailed, peace remained a distant dream.
Sea winds swept over Lys, gliding across the waves and over the Stepstones beyond.
Seabirds wheeled through the open sky.
Far away, in another land, a dragon cut through the clouds.
At last, Aegon spoke, sharing what he had learned with Rhaenys.
"Viserys," she said, disbelief flooding her voice. "He lives?"
The Battle of the Gullet had been savage beyond words. No body had ever been found, yet all had assumed the worst.
"I dreamed it," Aegon replied. "A dragon dream. He is in Lys."
His jaw set with quiet resolve. "When the war is truly done, I will bring him home."
And with that vow, the path toward Viserys was set.
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