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"Lord Viserys," the man said, armored and respectful, his face bright with the excitement of an upcoming campaign. "I'm glad you could find the time to inspect us."
"How's the training coming along?" Viserys asked in a steady voice.
"The Second Legion was fully geared up and ready an hour ago," Vamar Natarys answered at once.
Before diving into the treacherous waters of politics, this man had served as one of Volantis's infantry commanders. "My soldiers are itching for a real fight."
"Show no mercy to anyone," Viserys said seriously. "These recruits have cost us a great deal of effort and coin. I won't tolerate a single bit of waste."
"Understood, my lord," the other man replied crisply.
Viserys gave a satisfied nod and spurred his horse toward the completed field fortifications.
Even before he got close, he could see clear progress in the camp.
The earthworks stood higher, the sentries held themselves straight and disciplined, and the wooden stakes were planted tighter and more evenly.
"Viserys! I was starting to think you wouldn't show," a familiar voice called from atop the works.
Torrhen Snow, the Northerner, had never taken to the soft life inside Volantis's walls. After the war he and his old comrades had signed up for the new legions without hesitation.
"Everything ready?"
"Of course, Your Grace! Just send them at us. We'll show them what Volantis can do!"
"Make sure they remember—the outcome of this fight depends on what happens here today."
The Northerner's confidence was impressive.
Viserys had seen Torrhen fight with his own eyes and knew the man meant every word.
But that same confidence also reminded him of one of the hardest problems in rebuilding the army: finding capable, trustworthy officers.
The recent disaster had already proven Volantis desperately needed sharp commanders who could stay calm and give clear orders in the heat of battle.
Once Weymond was captured, the army had been left leaderless and easy prey for the Golden Company.
The trouble was, there simply weren't enough good officers to go around right now.
As the Century of Blood drew to a close, the Elephant Party had gone to great lengths to eliminate every possible threat to their power.
They had destroyed what remained of the Freehold's military system, disbanded the legions, and abolished the centurions. To protect their own narrow interests they had turned instead to a messy mix of sellswords of wildly varying quality.
No wonder their rule had stayed rock-solid—until the Dothraki invasion threw everything into chaos.
Viserys and his advisors had already done everything they could under the circumstances.
They had no choice but to promote men like Snow, former sellswords, into key positions and spend long hours drilling the Volantene soldiers in tactics, strategy, and the old texts.
In time Viserys planned to create a proper military academy to train a new generation of centurions.
For now… they would have to make do with the men they had.
The moment Viserys and his escort took their places, the signal for the first attack rang out… and the mock battle began.
The First Legion advanced in tight, disciplined formation, refusing to break into scattered groups. They tried again and again to break through, learning with every attempt how important it was to keep their lines intact.
The Second Legion answered with fierce, steady defense, holding the camp and using every advantage they had been taught. Not an inch was given.
Only on the Third Legion's third charge did Vamar's men finally break the camp's outer line.
The horns sounded and the exercise paused.
While the soldiers rested and caught their breath, the officers listened carefully to Viserys's sharp corrections.
Then the two sides switched roles. Yesterday's craftsmen and farmers now launched the attack against the camp.
They showed surprising eagerness, and more importantly, their ability to fight in formation had improved dramatically.
The Second Legion did not break or flee. Instead they used their numbers and the skills they had learned to keep the pressure on.
Different combinations and different conditions were drilled for a long time, testing everyone's endurance and toughness.
Viserys was pleased with the overall results. While it wasn't a miraculous overnight transformation, the progress from month to month was plain to see.
Yet the doubts in the back of his mind never fully faded.
Performance on the training field could never equal real battlefield strength.
Even the old Freehold had taken decades to perfect its military system… and he needed results in mere months.
There were other problems too.
The Third Legion was only halfway to its planned strength. The Fourth Legion existed only on paper. Equipment remained a constant headache.
What worried Viserys most was the severe shortage of reliable, skilled senior officers—men he could trust to command independently and win battles on their own.
Still, most of these problems could be fixed.
He only needed the gods to give him enough time.
Gold he could raise himself. The loyalty of the people he could build step by step.
Everything was finally moving in the right direction, and Viserys was certain this road would lead them all to the victory they craved.
After the sun sank behind Volantis's walls, the horns finally sounded the order to stand down.
But the future legionaries did not return to the city to rest.
Dinner and shelter would be found in the field camp they had built themselves. Hardship forged a warrior's will.
Even the famous Golden Company never lingered long inside city walls, and for good reason.
By rights he should have spent the night with his men.
He should have shown them he was willing to share their hardships, that the three Triarchs were not distant and untouchable.
But right now he needed rest.
A few hours of peace to recover his strength.
The road ahead had only just begun. He could not afford to collapse halfway.
"Back to the palace," Viserys ordered his guards. The entire ride home passed in the silence expected of them.
The evening streets stretched the journey into a full hour.
Once he reached the residence he changed quickly and headed straight for Daenerys's chambers.
She had told him that morning she would be waiting in the bedroom.
And she was.
Daenerys lay on the pillows in a thin silk shift, eyes half-closed in contentment.
Two skilled pairs of hands worked gently on her slender legs, drawing soft sighs of pleasure from her.
Doreah and Naera sat beside the bed, dressed in sheer Myrish gowns, working in respectful silence to ease their lady's daily fatigue.
Viserys paused in the doorway for a moment, quietly enjoying the intimate scene.
"Leave us," he said at last. "You're both free for the night."
No second command was needed.
Doreah and Naera rose at once, bowed silently, and slipped out the door.
They might go to dinner, or to bed, or find comfort in each other.
He didn't care.
"Viserys," Daenerys murmured, almost a whisper. "Why did you send them away? They were giving me the most wonderful massage…"
"Because I want some time alone with you," Viserys said softly as he stepped closer. "Just you and me."
"Come lie down…" Daenerys urged with gentle concern. "Tell me about your day. I was hoping you'd make it back for lunch."
Viserys quickly stripped off his clothes and stretched out beside her.
"There was no time. I was going over accounts with Menyx the whole way and barely had a chance to eat. It took so long that—"
"Talk however you like," Daenerys laughed softly and opened her eyes. "I'm not asking for a full work report!"
The news of Daenerys's pregnancy had hit Viserys like a thunderbolt—shock and joy all at once.
He thought of the children from his previous life: fierce Aegon, sweet Aemon, lively Daemon… but he would never let Daenerys Targaryen's child suffer the same fate as the sons and daughters he had fathered with Lysara.
His child would sit the throne that rightfully belonged to them, not die in endless failed attempts to claim it.
As if sealing that vow, he carefully placed his hand on the gentle swell of her belly.
Inside her grew their heir… or heiress. The gods would decide.
The mistakes he had once feared had not happened. Now even a blind man could see that his sister was unmistakably with child.
"Everything finished?" Viserys asked quietly near her ear.
"Everything's done!" Daenerys smiled, then made an exaggerated pout. "After all, someone didn't give me any real duties. I had to go find the treasurer myself and insist on helping…"
"Your duty to the dynasty is already more than important enough," Viserys said with firm tenderness, making it clear he would not budge. "There's no need for you or our child to take any risks. Besides, what you're doing isn't small, Dany. The letters you've written to the neutral cities and their rulers, archons, and governors have helped us stop the enemy alliance from growing. The outcome of this war may very well depend on our dragons!"
He understood her hunger to be useful, to take action, to shape events.
But he also could not stop worrying about her health and peace of mind—especially now.
Brotherly care and a husband's love wove together as Viserys did everything in his power to keep Daenerys safe inside the palace, surrounded by the best care.
Still, she needed work worthy of the wife of a Triarch and the future queen.
They had quickly found an elegant solution… two of them, actually.
Daenerys wrote letters from her own chambers to the rulers of the surrounding kingdoms who had not yet chosen sides.
She exchanged correspondence with the lords of the Ghiscari cities, the merchants of Pentos, and the priests of Norvos and Qohor… doing everything she could to keep them neutral if they could not be brought fully into Volantis's camp.
What made Viserys especially proud was that he rarely needed to change a single word in her letters. They were beautifully phrased, thoughtful, and offered exactly the right promises.
Her work freed him to focus completely on governing the city, rebuilding the army, and planning the wars to come.