"Speech"

'Thoughts and Telepathy'

"~Sspoilerss~"

To most historians, the period known as Interregnum of the Targaryen Dynasty began on the day of the murder of Aerys the Betrayed and lasted until the One Day Conquest of Pentos.

While most historical sources that have survived from the time of the Interregnum give King Aerys the Second the title of Mad King, confession records, trial proceedings and further evidence uncovered upon the end of the period would argue otherwise, revealing the string of betrayals and plots against the regnant Targaryen Dynasty that can be traced all the way back to the Tragedy of Summerhall.

The Interregnum would last exactly seven years, and is considered an auspicious sign, declaring the time spent in exile to be a Pilgrimage for the sake of the Seven by the followers of the Faith. These seven years, apart from a minor rebellion in the Iron Islands, would be considered a period of peace despite the waste and mismanagement of the corrupt Steward Robert the Whoremonger and Lord Jon Arryn the Cunning.

Officially, the period of Interregnum would come to an end on the day Viserys the Wandbearer, then simply known as Viserys the Wizard, set foot upon the City State of Pentos with a force of two hundred. Among his companions, were notable figures of his courts, including Princess Daenerys Stormborn, and the Kingsguard, Ser Richard Lonmouth the White, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and twins Ser Wat the Allseeing and Ser Wat the Allknowing.

The One Day invasion would be attributed to the strange and often exaggerated powers of King Viserys the Third, as rumors of his single-handed victory against anything from an army of men to even fighting a demon. Even though the Blessed Powers granted by the Seven Who are One to the Wisest of Kings are a matter of record, it is more likely that the Pentoshi were unwilling to put up a fight against the man who had such influence over the City State of Braavos, then known to have control over the City of Pentos following the war the two sides fought a hundred years prior.

While the time that the Exiled King and Princess spent in the City of Braavos prior to their arrival on Pentos is one shrouded in myth and mystery, the banner of the Three-Headed Dragon raised into the sky on the day the Court of the Dragon Reborn landed on Pentos would be considered by most historians, along with the King's own personal journals, to be the start of the reign of the self-proclaimed Sorcerer King Viserys Targaryen. Even to this day, the date is celebrated as a holiday by many cults, and gained popularity as the Day of Rebirth that marks the start of each New Year. --- Excerpt from "The Flight of the Dragon, a Realistic Look into the Second Exile of House Targaryen" by Archmaester Gilbay.

I swear Gilbay, all you write is bullshit and should be treated as such... except for Steward Robert being a Whoremongering Wastrel, that totally happened, signed the Wizard. --- A hand-written message that appears on every copy of "The Flight of the Dragon, a Realistic Look into the Second Exile of House Targaryen" by Archmaester Gilbay on every page of the book upon publication. The identity of the signatory is unknown, and there is no need to investigate its nature as per the Royal Decree.

# Wizard

"Azor Ahai awaits you," Melisandre of Asshai called up to the ship from the Docks of Pentos.

"So, Melony, what made you conclude that Azor Ahai had decided to show himself?" I asked, sauntering down the gangplank as though I owned the place, "Was it his big sword... I bet it was his big sword."

I did not need to look through the eyes of the birds around us to know that I got at least a dozen eye rolls from the passengers of the ship I had just disembarked from.

Looking into the red eyes of Melisandre of Asshai, I was relatively surprised to learn that the Red Woman was an... idiot.

While Melisandre had what passed off as mental shields, they were lackluster... rigid in a way that implied indoctrination without comprehension. In practice, the mental shields of the Red Priestess were the opposite of Dany. My eight-name-day-old sister had a more thorough Occlumency even if her strength was limited due to inexperience, mostly because I refused to pull a Snape and repeatedly bashed into her mental shields until they became strong enough.

I suppose that was the difference between Wizards and Warlocks, one understood what they were doing, the other fed babies to the fires to get what they had.

I was easily able to slip through the large gaps, a combination of Melisandre's lack of understanding of her abilities, my excessive need to master the Mind Arts, and the massive power move I pulled by using her True Name.

Melony of Lot Seven... my words called without so many words, calling on the True Name of Melisandre of Asshai.

Names, after all, had power, specifically True Names, as I should know. I could barely use mine without setting something on fire by accident or turning my hair into a lightbulb nowadays... a flaw in the multitude of rituals that I had gone through.

Being versed in magic, I could lace my tongue with the magical energy as I spoke, sending a wave that a non-magical would not be able to. It was not as fancy as 'FUS-RO-DAH'ing someone off a cliff with my words, but I was learning.

There was also the possibility that whatever magic that Melisandre used to gain visions was not really constructive to Occlumency or any variant... or possibly I was just that much higher in the pecking order that was wizardry.

The next thing I noticed was that Will had disappeared... which was sort of the norm with the Phoenix. A combination of his internal magic, combined with the memories I had on spells to make someone unnoticeable, meshed well with the fact that, as a Phoenix, he was pretty much independent.

The freaking drama queen was probably waiting for me to make a suitably dramatic reveal before making an appearance. I'm pretty sure he got that from me, as his personality was a strange mesh of Ser Willem, Dany, and I from how the ritual had turned out.

'Revelio,' I thought as I took a whiff, smelling the sea air and the shoddy craftsmanship of the carved dragon bone that seemed a moment away from splitting off from the wooden casing it was housed in. Using the Revealing Charm to notice hidden things was good for most things, but I was determined to push it until I could use it with all my senses and without speaking the words.

The glint from the strange gem that glowed like a ruby but was not a ruby made me wary. I could feel something off about that thing that made me want to strike at it with the coldest ice spell I could produce. That thing had a funky aura in the Unseen.

Compared to Melisandre, the two priests by her side were almost negligible. Similarly built staves that did not fully fit their wielders, which probably could channel more power than the first wand I had given the full-length dragon bone fitted within the quarterstaves, topped with regular dragonglass was not comparable to the wand I had at my hand.

Still, I could see the way they seemed to be wary of me.

'These are more competent looking than the bumbling ones from Braavos,' I noted, projecting my thoughts to the skull attached to my belt through a net.

'The Red Priests in Braavos are the least troubling ones... they learned to keep themselves low. They are also the ones lacking in any form of talent... as the others did not live too long in our city,' responded Morrigan through the mental link, waking up at the power that I released through my fingertips, 'Why do you think they did not hassle you so much? Unfortunately, it was a result of a policy that the Faceless Men were in the middle of ensuring in Pentos before...'

'Before I burned their faces off, yes, I remember,' I responded Morrigan, my right fist tightening around my wand. The magical burns had healed and the skin had gained small silvery scales after the Phoenix Hatching ritual, but the phantom pain I had felt from the backlash was hard to forget, cautioning me against using my strongest spell.

Tired of posturing, I finished up activating the countermeasures to protect the Ship by adding a confusion field that swapped left and right to ensure that anyone attacking my ship would find themselves aboard the unfortunate ship docked on the other side of the wooden platform, a Lysene Trader which was in the process of unloading bolts of silk.

"This is a terrible idea," stated Ser Richard, walking next to me, clutching the Weirwood Spear with the broken half of Lamentation as its tip. I would have agreed if not for the fact that my Legilimency seemed to be able to read our greeters with relative ease.

"Hmm... maybe... formation six... and potion up," I responded in turn as my left hand landed on Dany's shoulder, who was walking along with me. Discretely checking that her Valyrian Steel necklace was on, I traced a glyph of shielding on Dany's neck, not as an enchantment, but as an assignment of the task she would have. Feeling my sister nod as subtly as she could.

"Can your men handle any attack?" I asked Syrio, while subtly weaving a confusion field around Ser Richard to prevent people from noticing the stony look of the man's flesh. The Eduras Potion that was made from Wolf Fur and Ashwinder Eggs was not really safe for consumption since a normal person would end up with patches of stone-like skin similar to Greyscale, but the Manticore Venom running through his veins made Ser Richard an exception, as for him, the potion would run its course in an hour or so.

"The Magisters will send someone to meet us. They will not be happy with any action taken by only a single one of them, but Syrio Forrel can keep some grubby merchants busy, that much you need not worry, Wizard," said the now Former-First Sword of Braavos.

I turned around and commanded, "Still, Belle, Moonshadow, stay on the ship in case. Sajo, take the helm. I will give you a signal to indicate how this turns out," I said, pointing at the Red Priests.

I trusted Belle to handle any political issue, with the aid of Syrio's political influence as the representative of Braavos. My paramour's skills laid in more soft power than I had a feeling would not be of much use against Mophatis as I had a feeling any talk we have would be short.

In comparison, while the Priestess of the Moon was trained in politics, now armed with a staff of her own, could raise the tides to flood the entire docks should worst come to worse. That was the best option, rather than risk the Revenge sticking around out in the sea without me when Euron was likely out there.

The Unsullied surrounded us as we walked, the three primary casters taking the center, surrounded by a few Men at Arms that Ser Willem and later Ser Richard could train, with Morna covering the rear with her raiders.

From a medieval tactical standpoint, Formation Six was a blunder. The offense made up the rear, the sides were covered by the guards with no real experience, and Casters concentrated at the center when they should have been spread out with a potential path to retreat.

It also conveniently ensured that no one was looking in the direction of the Basilisks wrapped around Lanna's shoulders, located right behind me, at the true epicenter of the formation, in the event that everyone had to face outside when we were surrounded, just like we were right now.

"~Help Daeneryss with the projectiless, await an opening,~" a hiss left my mouth in a language only Lanna understood. Pulling on the soul of Tywin the Basilisk, I let my words echo through the serpent's own magic. Everyone else... they just heard hissing.

The mechanics of Parseltongue were built around the same mechanics as Skinchanging, like every other bit of magic. A novice skinchanger could sometimes have an effect that I dubbed spiritual back-wash, to choose the best of words, as the animal souls poured themselves back into the human... taking control over the more basic actions.

The symptoms were volatile and almost wild behavior, severe mood swings, and making animal noises without meaning to. I took the last effect and weaponized it.

With magical animals, the effect was far more potent. In the books, Arya had been howling while warging into Nymeria, similar to how the younger Stark Children could.

Combined with that one vision that Jon had as a Ghost where he talked with Bran through the Weirwoods, it made sense that the animals had a language of their own that they could use among themselves.

This led to the conclusion that the sounds made by the skinchanger formed a language of its own that they channeled, Parseltongue, for this instance, with a snake. Forming a passive skinchanging effect as a result of acting as a plain, impossible-to-decipher language.

With access to a basilisk and a general understanding of the hows, I could have some private conversation with Lanna, who had the perfect means to take care of other magic users should they attack.

Once I had given her the command, my mind reached out, slipping through the minds of the Unsullied next.

If Melisandre was an open book, the Unsullied had the mental resistance of wet tissue paper, that came with a built-in search engine for Legilimency.

I had some understanding of the training that the Unsullied went through, and the pure torture they endured seemed to have formed a rough approximation of Occlumency... only inverted it to prevent their mind from forming any individual thought.

This was the first time I interacted with the infamous slave soldiers, and their mental conditioning seemed to have made them almost too rigid, blocking them from even acknowledging that they had their own thoughts. It was stripping them off of their very selves... almost like an Anti-Occlumency.

Once I projected my thoughts, I could feel something else as well, a form of connection to something... a bit of a mental push and my vision shifted to see the world through a dozen pair of eyes, and I stumbled, only to be caught by Ser RIchard as my presence slammed back into my own flesh.

"Sea legs," I excused, while my sword sword gave me a concerned look, but I gave him a nod, feeling the confusion from the priests.

That... was going to prove troublesome.

The Unsullied were a result of a very sloppy Ritual Magic... that somehow gave them a rudimentary skinchanging ability... or rather a version of it that connected each of the slave soldiers to the other. Whatever method the Valyrians had developed to create these soldiers was... nauseating was the first word that came to mind.

Combined with their training, I could see how it would work to make them a cohesive unit, but it threw away all my plans since the Unsullied were far too easy to subvert, as their mind could not even pick up a Notice-me-not.

"Imperio," I muttered beneath a cough, using the one Unforgivable and amping up the power by pulling on all the past instances when I muttered those words, using Greensight to tap into the memories through my wand. The result was an empowered and stabilized spell that became a mental assault that, like a virus, spread from one Unsullied to the next, through the unique bond that they shared.

While this surprise weakness worked to my advantage now, it threw away the thought of taking over the Unsullied in a method similar to how Daenerys from the books had done. If their mind was so open to being influenced by me and they were connected in such a way, they would be far too open for it to be influenced by another and far too easily subverted.

Then again, a part of me wanted to ensure that they were freed and deprogrammed if I could.

With the understanding of how the Unsullied from the TV Show could be handled with such ease by, say... a paraplegic-Greenseer who could possess humans, and simply be sent off to an island known for killing any outsiders by the next day.

All I had to do was slip through the facade of obedience, and their minds leaped at the thoughts I pushed up, bringing up a clutter of associations through the most basic application of Legilimency, and commands that I had bound to them granted me over the army around us, along with access to all their memories to pull from to gain some perspective on the situation.

Melisandre had done... what I can only refer to as 'a Melisandre' and, upon seeing a man holding a flaming sword and visions of Pentos, somehow unraveled the entire Blackfyre conspiracy and decided that it was obviously the Blackfyre brat was the promised savior... and that I would be helping in this endevour, willingly, or as a sacrifice.

Apparently, it was decided that I should help my 'nephew' reclaim the Throne that was his by right... since I refused to play by the script that Illyrio and potentially Varys had come up with and started making too much noise and gaining far too much power for them to be comfortable with, Illyrio had accepted the Red Woman's suggestions, even when the Unsullied had a specific order to kill her along with me.

I placed my hand on the skull on my belt, sending a command to Morrigan to take over some of the ravens and provide recon, the protections on the skull hiding it from being seen through a dozen different illusions.

"It is Melisandre, my lord," corrected Melony of Lot Seven, feeling more discomfort than she showed as it seemed to have taken some time for to recover from her shock.

"Huh?" I asked, my focus returning to the present.

"My name, it is Melisandre of Asshai, my lord," responded Melony of Lot Seven, the former Temple Prostitute that was turned into a Priestess and trained as a Shadowbinder said.

"Right... Maleficient," I countered, "and the proper way to refer to one of my position is, my prince, since we are being pedantic," I added, hiding the smirk behind a cough. I did not know what to expect from the Red Priests in terms of Mind Arts, but I did not need to reach further than the surface level, feeling her spike of panic at my use of her actual name.

A subtle compulsion blocked her from bringing up R'hllor and trying to convert me, as I was not in the mood to listen to an entire sermon by the pyromaniacs.

I had heard enough of those from the ones in Braavos before they got the message after I made sure one of them spent thinking himself to be a newt for a few moons before getting better.

'Half a dozen archers, as many slingers are manning the Manse. Are you really going to walk into a death trap? I think we should just kill the hag,' whispered Morrigan, materializing into her body next to me... or at least projecting her form in my mind.

While she could project herself into a physical form through the shadow that was bound to her skull, I was still wary of the Shadowbinder I was walking next to and potential danger this idiot could do.

'Not before I get answers... and make sure they do not smash the dragon eggs,' I countered. 'Also, I wanted to rip her mind open like a melon and learn new tricks,' I tacked on.

'Believe me, what she can do, you can do better... just torch the undead bitch before she does something more stupid, give her the gift she has avoided,' Morrigan responded.

'Picking up my own manners, I see. Any tricks that a shield spell cannot counter?' I countered instead, pulling back to my own body.

'No... none are arm with dragonglass, though I am not able to sense if they have Valyrian Steel, I can tell that the arrows are all tipped in iron or bronze. I will take care of the ranged fighters, yet you will owe me one, however, Viserys Targaryen,' said Morrigan, vanishing from my vision. Having what was effectively an invisible spiritual amalgamation of the quintessential Assassin in this world as my own Servant had it's own advantages, even at the cost of favors owed.

"You ought to not mock the High Priestess," one of the fodder in red spoke, making me regret not going for the nuclear option.

"Oh... did something happen to Bennero or Kinvara?" I asked, gasping in faux worry. "I would think there are more qualified priests than Matilda over here."

Those words were enough for the two priests who came with Melisandre to reveal their knowledge to me as I caught glimpses of heated discussions that implied the formation of factions within the Religion of the Red God.

"You are well informed of our Order, my prince" responded Melony, taken aback. "And it is Melisandre, my prince."

"Eh... I make it my business to keep track of morons who confuse accidental magic with divine providence," I countered, feeling the priests get annoyed as we walked, both sides tense.

Was I purposefully egging them on to attack, obviously, but that last one was probably far too obvious, as they just stopped talking to me.

Whatever their plan was, I wanted to know more about and the more annoyed they got, the easier it was to pick up bits and pieces from their minds as they patiently reminded themselves why I should not be attacked now.

The Manse that belonged to Illyrio Mophatis was effectively a castle. With thick stone walls manned by the Unsullied.

I could probably walk through the city and raize the entire stronghold that the Manse truly was... well, if I pulled on my more destructive spells at least... but the problem was not the power, and I had to hold back in showing off until I could ensure they could not do something to damage the eggs. At the moment, all they had were rumors that were far too unbelievable but a single mistake, and I could see Illyrio being a petty bitch.

As I got close to the threshold, I could feel the pressure upon my soul, as if weights were bound to the strands of my self that I would normally call upon to enact magic.

It was not so much the threshold itself, the concept of a home that I was facing, but rather the ownership of the land combined with the exotic artifacts that had been saturating the air with Magical Energy.

Illyrio Mophatis dealt in Dragon Bones and housed the Dragon Eggs that were my first priority. The presence of items saturated in magic seemed to have given a distinct tint of magic into the air, almost similar to the Dragon Well I had created in Braavos that made it easier for me to cast spells.

"Viserys Targaryen, we were not expecting you, but it is an honor to host you," spoke the fat man standing atop the stairs leading to the entrance of the Manse before the gates of the Manse. The streets were empty, and I could not see or feel the presence of anyone outside the Mase.

"Now, a feast was not what I was expecting, nor the welcoming committee... but I have to admit, Melty here has done a wonderful job," I stated, my eyes roving a large number of Unsullied peppered along the hired archers and slingers that I was warned about.

Pity... I had hoped that I could get rid of the Golden Company along with the whole mess, but it would seem that they were not here.

Melisandre made to raise an objection, only to find her voice had left her with a silencing charm I silently cast, subtle enough not to be noticed by anyone. Being a good little zealot, she attributed it to the will of R'hllor.

"Give us a moment, we shall ensure that it is the best a royal like you would deserve in short notice," countered Illyrio, as my mind focused on the mind of a young child in the building before me.

My mind went through dozens of plans before deciding to use a bit of Divination. to check the best one. Occlumency to decide on a path, followed by throwing my mind into the future.

While I was technically a Greenseer, projecting my mind through time was one of those skills that required a lot of practice.

When it came to post-cognition, I was passable at best. For me, it worked in speeding up my casting time, pulling on the pre-cast spells bound to the memory of my wand. While it would have been useful to unravel the full plan once I was able to enter the Manse, I had another means.

The area of divination I excelled however was in pre-cognition, ability to connect with the future and get... feelings of danger. It guided me and revealed not only new spells but new knowledge as I experimented... or plotted, really. It was still limited to decisions that had been made, but against predictable enemies, it was handy.

"Be done with the mummer's farce, Mopatis," I said, interrupting the still-talking Magister that I had tuned out. "I know you have my nephew in the Manse," I said. "I take his safety to be paramount, and I would like to see him."

I could feel the confused look that Dany was giving me, as she had been in my presence as I ranted about the potential Young Griff plot and how many different ways it was definitely, probably, not little Aegon... and how many different was that I was going to definitely, probably curse someone as a result of the plot... no... specifically Varys for the trouble he was causing me.

The plan of Illyrio was solid, if I was anyone else... if I did not suspect.

In a version of the Dance that George had read before publishing, Illyrio had gifted Young Griff a sword... a sword that he insisted was important. Most theorized that the sword was instead Blackfyre and actually revealed the identity of the boy as a Blackfyre.

Illyrio made a bet that by convincing the Red Priests, I would also be convinced and drop my guard down. After all, I was known for my interest in the Higher Mysteries, with a lot of rumors, an image cultivated during my time in Braavos.

Melisandre showing me a few illusions would solidify my acceptance, and in exchange, I would be part of any King's Blood that the Red Priests may require, potentially recreate Aerion Brightflame or another Summerhall as a result of my foolishness... or a convenient source of King's Blood for Melisandre to use. I could see that his plan for Dany was relatively straightforward and would be a way to unite the claims.

And if I resisted, the Unsullied were there for a reason.

I mean... I am a pretty understanding guy, but that these fuckers plotting to take my sister... that I took personally, now, I was going to make it last.

"Prince Viserys, may I ask how you know that your nephew is Azor Ahai Reborn?" asked Melisandre, taking a step forward.

"I have my sources," I stated cryptically. Being all-knowing and cryptic was part of the difference between a regular Spellcaster and a Wizard, after all. "Thought that was just a deduction. Not surprising that a leech like you stuck herself to the closest person with Targaryen blood."

Melisandre's eyes smoldered, as her anger rose, only for Illyrio raise his hands, "Peace, peace, why don't we walk inside, I am sure your men could use some rest and I will have baths prepared for you and the princess."

'Rest that does not end and a bath of blood, more likely,' I thought, taking a few steps forward before raising my wand. I noticed that only Melisandre noticed the focus, eyes widening.

The ground smoked and stone bubbled, melting into lava, before an upward flick of my wand raised it to the form of a long-backed chair right in the middle of the courtyard, a clockwise twist rapidly cooled the chair, leaving behind a pitch black throne, which I immediately sat on, crossing my legs. It lacked the magical properties of natural obsidian, but it was still a handy trick that I was trying to get to the level of being able to raise castles. The chair was the most I could do before it started getting crumbly though.

"Zīrtys perzys," I heard one of the three stooges in red whisper, shocked at my display of magic.

'That is right, two-bit warlocks, behold in the presence of my Lavabending,' I mentally laughed at them, letting the emotions I was detecting through passive Legilimency provide a balm to my soul and I now understood why Dumbledore was fond of this specific power move.

I met Illyrio's eyes, and smiled, "I think we will wait while the boy shows himself."

That seemed to have shocked everyone, as I was pretty sure whatever display of magic that they might have seen before or expected was not it. With Illyrio before me, and a basic sense of every living mind in the Manse, I did not need to pretend.

The outside was also where the archers were... which was probably why Illyrio decided to agree, realizing that I would not be split from the group that came with me.

The Cheesemonger gave a nod, probably thinking that I could probably use the same trick to, say, turn a Manse into molten slag on top of them. After the signal, a group just walked out, led by a familiar Westerosi.

The red hair and beard, the way he walked like he owned the place, and the relatively familiar face gave him away. The Hand of the King that my father exiled was not someone I had known for long but I had seen him when I was forced to bear cups for Aerys, the memories of those times having long since become part of my identity.

"Jon Connington," I said, looking at the red-headed man who came with a six... maybe seven-year-old kid. "Heard you had drowned in a ditch."

"It was a ploy to ensure that the Usurper did not find me, so I may continue serving our rightful king," responded the former Hand of the King that my father had exiled for failing to hunt down and kill Robert. "The Son of your elder brother, Prince Rhaegar."

He was laying it a bit thick, but I did not really blame the man.

The Battle of the Bells that Jon had lost was a weird fight full of chaos, and the potential alternative of setting the entire town on fire would not have really helped House Targaryen in terms of their fucked up PR problem... not to mention all the lives involved. I was more vexed at how Robert managed to sire a Bastard while hiding in a whorehouse and the fact that Jon Connington was such an idiot to fall for this obvious con of passing off some yellow-haired boy as the child of Rhaeger.

"And now, here we are," I said, "I suppose, this is Aegon, he looks like an Aegon" I said, looking at the child being held tight by the septa behind him. I got up, the throne of black stone cracking and turning to fine dust with a mutter of "Finestre" and a flex of my will.

Jon Connington's shoulders relaxed as if the crumbling throne meant I had given up my throne.

While I cared not for a throne, he could not be more wrong.

At the end of the day, it was never about the rightful claim at all, was it?

The identity of the child did not really matter so much as his existence did.

In the end, it was all about power someone might have over me... any illusion of authority that I would be expected to bow down to... because the thought that this boy was actually my brother's child was far scarier than any Blackfyre Plot.

Then again, would it really have mattered? Would it have mattered if this boy was my brother's son?

I thought of the possibility of someone else having any form of power over me because of some stupid law of succession that meant everyone was subservient to the lord of their family. I thought of how no one did anything while Aerys forced himself on Rhaella.

I imagined the scenario of Aegon, succeeding Rhaegar, or even Rhaegar himself, declaring that Dany would be married off to some old man, that I would be married off to someone I had not even met for the sake of petty politics of these petty mortals. That someone with illusion of power would take away from the freedom that me and people I cared about had.

I did not really need to imagine when I knew what would eventually happen, the history repeating itself.

A deep dive into the histories of Valyria would reveal an interesting cultural tidbit that Westerosi liked to ignore. Just as a Dragon could be male and female, the gender roles of Valyrian Freehold were much more... equal, especially when it came down to Dragonlords. A woman or a man on a dragon did not really matter if you rode the largest beast with the hottest flame. Sure, there was the whole incest thing to keep things likes claims and succession stable, but that was mostly a method of preserving magic within bloodlines and the spiritual connection to the older dragons that previously had riders.

The gender equality among the Dragonlords also reflected on their view of ownership, specifically that Aegon the Conqueror never held the title of Archon, while his elder sister Visenya did, whose authority Aegon wed to in order to get the power of Dragonstone behind himself as he made to conquer lands that he would truly call his own.

Because Maesters never wrote about who truly owned Dragonstone, as I had to trace down half a dozen treatises from the final years of Valyria that were signed by the elder sister of the Dragonrider family that governed the Three Daughters.

That mattered because, by all rights of succession, Dragonstone belonged to Visenya and Maegor after her, through her. While I had to give it to Maegor for being the closest approximation of Henry the Eighth with a flying nuke, it was Aenys who stripped Dragonstone off his brother, a brother who had a stronger claim to the ancient stronghold of Valyria than the authority of some iron chair could boast.

I did not approve of Maegor's actions, but I understood his reasonings, being forced to bow down to the authority of a lesser man, a lesser line. Just as I understood the hate, Daemon the Rogue had for his wife Rhea Royce after he was forced to marry her by his grandmother... using the authority of the crown.

For a moment, I glimpsed at a future, a vision showing Daenerys being forced to marry some unfaced man, looking sullen and being forced with a metaphorical blade pointed at her back, and I knew the answer.

It did not really matter who wore the crown: Aegon the Conqueror atop Balerion or Jaeherys and his sons on their dragons, or some brat raised by a rat faced fuck and a ginger cunt. It did not matter if the person had some blood-tie to me or if I had been reborn as a peasant.

It would still end up with me holding a raised wand and a curse on my lips.

For what was a king to a god?

I would never allow another to determine my fate, and I would never allow anyone to command the fates of my loved ones.

A decision had loomed over me, and I took the plunge.

They were not the only ones stalling in the end, as I had been working to figure out the programming that the Unsullied were put to and introduce some of mine into their minds, subtly twisting them to my means.

"Well," asked Illyrio, expecting me to decide.

"You have not brought enough men," I said with a soft smile as I accepted what I was going to do.

"How unfortunate," responded Illyrio to the confusion of Jon Connington, who was unaware of what was going to happen. "Unsullied," the owner commanded in High Valyrian

"Execute Order Sixty Six," the words left my mouth in High Valyrian, triggering the commands that my Imperius had added to the minds of the Unsullied. The words did not need to be heard, as the mental echo I sent would be enough to get the job done.

Like the obedient soldiers that they were beaten into becoming the Unsullied turned and attacked as one, either violently stabbing the mercenaries around them with their spears, or holding spears to the necks of those with potential value.

It was not all of the Unsullied however, as my control was limited when spread so widely, and I did not have the time to consolidate my will on all of the Unsullied one by one.

Those who were younger, thinner, and did not have the time to forget the grueling training they went through were the ones that I had subverted, while those who had been older had recovered enough willpower to question the orders, but the two-thirds that I had subverted would be enough to win.

It was fortunate that Illyrio had beefed up his guards after hearing rumors of my influence and power in Braavos.

A click of my left hand sent a pulse through my Ring of Shielding that bound one of the two remaining raven shadows that I kept on me, creating an expanding shield of smoke and crystalized air that pushed everyone I considered a threat out of the center of the formation of my people.

After that, all hell broke loose.

Next to react, being familiar with the order after watching the movies in the Pensieve was my little sister.

"Protego Totalum," yelled out Dany, taking over the control of the shield I cast and transforming it into a dome like shield around us to counter anything from the outside. Unlike the solid air that took on the strength of the diamond, this one was stronger however, woven with a shadow that gave it more weight.

"Arresto Momentum," added Lanna, further amplifying the intent behind the shield and changing it to protect specifically against projectiles, as any arrow or stone to strike the semi-transparent dome lost their momentum before dropping to the floor.

While not exactly a petrification spell, the spell Lanna had used was similar in intent that Lanna had a distinct advantage, with her Basilisk Horn wand and Basilisk Familiar who acted as a power source for her spells.

The dome fluctuated upon the transfer of energy as it ate the momentum of all the projectiles, though enough of them hit it at all the different angles for the overall energy to cancel out and stabilize.

I would have gone with an 'Impedimenta', to follow through with a counter banishment for the floating projectiles, but I was still proud of both of them for working together, given how I usually had them work together against me.

After the shield came to be, Melisandre and the Priests reacted as one, unleashing red flames from their staves aimed at various points within my group... which I took personally.

"Expelliarmus Trio," I roared in response, awaiting how the three would react. Had they gone for Shadowbinding, I would have countered with a shield of shadows to match and counter, but the spellfire they conjured needed me to meet it with the crimson spellfire branching out into three prongs as it exited out of my wand.

I know, I know... Expelliarmus... really?

Well, first of all, that is the only spell that I can actually send to three different targets at once, so yes, beggars meet choosers.

Multi-Casting was one of those skills that I was still working on, now that my new wand could actually sustain multiple spells as a result of the multiple raven souls bound to its core through Blood Magic. The Disarming Charm was one of the easier spells to multiply in quantity due to it's straightforward nature.

With the Red Priests taking my priority, I did not really have a choice in spells as the spellfire from me intercepted all three fires from the Red Priests, forming three seperate solid beams of spellfire that connected their foci with my own.

The spellfire from the two fodder shifted in direction, away from their target which had been my people, physically yanking the staves and forcing the two priests to face me, as the spellfire converged to a straight line.

Melisandre's was easier, as I had simply intercepted the spell she sent my way.

There was also a specific advantage of the Disarming Charm.

Sure, if you were a noob, you could remove a wand, or a knife, or even a sword out of the hands of the wielder.

But that was the basic use of it.

In actuality, the Disarming Charm thrived when you added Metamagic to it; Metamagic, in terms of D&D, was the act of raw manipulation of a magical spell to behave in a slightly different way.

If you were into that sort of thing, you could disarm a person in a more literal sense, ripping their arm off or simply modifying the spell to vaporize the weapon, even if that specific trick used by Grindelwald in the movies required me to chain the disarming charm with another spell.

In my case, the spell was shifted into doing something much more conservative... it simply disarmed a spell of intent and power, empowered by my own personal Sorcery, containing the magical impression of my own self, rebirth from the Phoenix Feather, in my wand, and entropy, from the Basilisk I hatched, the unique stain of Ritual Magic within my soul combining to negate any other spell effect.

My logic was simple: with Magic, you had to mean it. By removing the intent and power behind a spell, I could cause it to fall apart, replicating the properties of Valyrian Steel.

In other words, Counterspell was truly the most useful spell in a Wizard's Spellbook.

The collision of the spells released what could best be described as a shit-ton of Magical Energy that, a year ago, would be impossible. The energy was without purpose, untamed, Wild, as I pit my will to unravel the will of the three priests.

Then I felt it... the eyes upon me.

It was something large and powerful that seemed to be looking through me, into my very soul.

As the air took on the smell of ozone from the unleashed Magical Energy, I saw something take form behind the three Red Priests, and I saw a pair of red glowing eyes in the Unseen, raising itself from the elongated shadows of the red priests.

It was a being of flame and shadow, red burning eyes framed with a crown of horns, a hunched body like that of a devil with giant wings of smoke, both there and not there, like a mirage or an illusion but... still present.

That... escalated rather quickly.

I may have made a slight miscalculation by countering the spells of the three Priests' head-on. Unfortunately, I still sucked at ice spells to counter fire, so here we were.

Having no time to think it through, I braced myself, ready to pull everything I had and hopefully contain the explosion in a single direction instead of erasing Pentos off the map, along with us.

"That would probably make this much worse," I heard the voice of Morrigan speak as time seemed to have slowed down. I felt my awareness left my body, the world around me frozen in an instant.

"Calm down, Wizard," spoke Morrigan, appearing next to me as I noticed that my left hand was resting on top of the magical skull. I looked around, seeing everything had simply frozen.

"How?" I muttered, realizing that the very time itself had stopped.

"This is a more advanced skill of the Greenseers, to stretch out the present longer than it is, at least mentally. We are in what can be called the Green Dream, it is... a part of the Unseen that allows Greenseers to watch events of the past," explained Morrigan before rather unhelpfully adding "we appear to have a problem."

"No shit... Is that what I think it is?" I could only ask as I stared at the image of the Balrog taking form, fear crawling itself into my heart as I had no time to understand how Morrigan had stopped time for us.

"Names have power, Wizard; need I remind you?" interrupted Morrigan, taking her full form next to me. "It is made of thought and memory and belief, not a god unless you make it. Please do not give it power over you by thinking it to be one," responded Morrigan, looking like she was frustrated at my consideration. "It is no more than what I am, Wizard, or what that bird of yours is... weaker even without a physical vessel."

"Is that what it is trying to do?" I asked, "Gain a body?"

"It appears to be," observed Morrigan. "Without a physical vessel, it is hard for souls to interact with the world... which was why my influence has increased since you placed me into that skull of yours. It is not complete, however. Assume it to be a soul of its own, just not a real one... more of a facsimile that would crystalize if it is fed one."

"Got it, don't let someone die to fire... how do we kill it?" I nodded in understanding that a God of Fire had claim over souls given to fire. Whatever I was facing was pure Wild Magic, empowering a manifestation of belief. Whatever would come out of this was closer to a daemon than any true deity.

The form of the Balrog made more sense if it was something that the God of Fire could see within my mind through all the Occlumency I was using.

"It has never lived to be able to die, yet it is using your power to form itself," Morrigan observed. "It is a being of pure Magic... or belief," countered Morrigan instead, making me realize that I had majorly fucked up.

This was the cost I had felt, the cost of Magic, a world where the line between belief and reality was thinner. This was my roosters coming home to roost.

"You may think this as a consequence of your actions, Wizard," responded Morrigan, interrupting my thoughts. "Or you may take it as an opportunity to learn and weaken a potential enemy. Though if you wish to do the first, do it after this enemy is defeated."

"Enemy?" I asked, momentarily taken aback. "I thought this thing would be an ally, given how it would fight the Cold Ones."

"Too much black or too much white, neither is suitable for life, just as Eternal Winter will leave all things frozen, Eternal Summer would not be beneficial for life to thrive as a draught would still leave fields barren." Morrigan said, "The Red God would have everything be consumed by fire, and without life, there can be no more death."

I nodded, having long since accepted the way whatever passed for Morrigan's mind work. "Did you allow this to happen?" I asked instead, just to be certain. The power I had over the skull was enough that I could force her to be truthful.

"No... I have not, nor would I try. This is dangerous even now. Risking everything this early is not beneficial for the future. This was not something I had foreseen. The witch had copied your power; mayhaps she was influenced to force this confrontation. Had you struck when I have told you to, none of it would have happened, or it would still have happened," countered Morrigan, making me realize that I was way too arrogant with my actions when I should have been disillusioned, behind a dozen obscuration charms and simply took the stealthy approach.

"How do we kill this thing?" I countered, knowing that anything less would just prolong this fight.

"Valar Morgulis," responded Morrigan, making me roll my eyes.

"This is not exactly a human," I responded in turn.

"And these, Wizard, are strange times. One might even say that Death has long died," said Morrigan with a grin as a shiver ran down my spine.

Never been a fan of Lovecraftian Horror... it got far too Dark for my liking.

Then, it dawned on me that I may have made a pact with something far more dangerous than I had previously thought.

I suppose I always suspected, in one way or another, the way I could so easily tap into the concepts related to Death without major consequence.

Had I known yet refused to acknowledge what I had done?

In all honesty, Warlock pacts still sucked, even if I could appreciate the ironic parallel between Melony and I.

What was it Olena said... no way to get the cream back into the udder.

"That does not tell me how to kill a being that is immortal," I responded, focusing on one problem at a time.

"It is not without physical form yet, and as such, can be changed in essence," responded Morrigan, as I felt the mark on my right arm flare with a sharp pain.

Souls could not self-actualize without a vessel, which is why I had hatched Will to capture the concept of Rebirth and the Sun Fire.

I had shifted the soul of Ser Willem into the form by adding those ideas into the Ritual, and it had only stabilized after the Phoenix hatched.

Right... 'It is a conjuration,' I thought, as insight filled me as I understood that this was similar to the ritual that created the Phoenix. 'Without a physical vessel, it cannot interact with the world, but also its essence can be changed by a strong will... or a strong idea,' I thought.

I knew that my thoughts were read by the being before me, because the next moment, I could see the large wings of the apparition descended upon me, like large claws of shadow-smoke poised to strike at me.

'This was not R'hllor, but an idea of R'hllor as the three Red Priests saw it, in the form of a Balrog in the way I perceived a being of Fire and Shadow,' I reminded myself, gaining control over the being with those thoughts alone.

It was thought and memory that made up this being. The thoughts of zealots and the memories of a Wizard too smart for his own good.

Just as my own thoughts and memories shaped Will into the form of a Phoenix, so was the Wild Magic taking form from the stray thoughts of the people around us.

That meant it could be unraveled, not without a significant enough power, but its form changed before the ritual was completed.

All I needed was a sufficiently good conceptual leverage to make an idea killable.

"You already have the power, Master," said Morrigan as the time resumed its natural flow upon the pressure that the being before me had placed upon feeling my intent through the bond it had forced on me.

The bony wings made of shadow that the Balrog had aimed at me were met with shadow-bound ravens, as Morrigan vanished from next to me.

The ravens however had more substance than the god, these were more than mere smoke and shadow that I had stored in Morrigan's skull after sacrificing a few dozen ravens.

The birds glistened like they were made of glass and I knew that Morrigan had used the dust on the ground, from the obsidian I transmuted, to give her familiars more substance, their presence was denser, stronger, more substantial as far as conjurations of Shadowbinding went.

I focused back onto my problem, the words of Morrigan, calling me her Master, unbound something within me, a power, a pact, pinged within my very soul as something rose from within me that I did not know exist until that moment.

I felt the Mark of the Hallows on my right arm flare with heat, the mark etched into my soul by the actions of an arrogant boy who faced Death and lived to see another sunrise.

Power flowed through my arm, through the wand in my hand, as I understood what Morrigan meant by changing the nature of the being before me, and I understood how I could change it.

The power that flowed was not of Magical Nature or physical in any way. It was a concept, an idea of its own that was a constant in the Universe, for only an idea can strike another idea.

'Valar Morghulis,' the Faceless Men believed.

All men must die... but it was not limited to just men, was it?

It was a simple idea I pulled on instead... and idea of Mortality, even if a mortal god was a strange thought.

After all, these were strange times.

"Avada Kedavra," I whispered. The words came with my need to ensure the spell was stable, that I would not end up killing myself with it. The incantation came out as a hiss that seemed to echo through reality itself, etching the words into the memories of the world.

I watched as the crimson that bathed the surrounding shifted color, the spell that had bound my wand to the other three foci was expelled all at once, the crimson spell ripping of the scepter and the staves from the grasps of my opponents and launching them away.

Following the crimson fire, a jet of green soared out of my wand, not aimed at the three priests but sailing through the air to collide with the hazy mirage of the god that was taking a more defined shape moment by moment.

The Deadly Curse did nothing to the god, though I felt the spell impose death upon the being before me... not killing it, but etching a new rule into the presence that was being formed, a promise, that it could be killed.

I felt the Red God pull back from my mind, it's hunger and greed replaced by something different... fear of unknown.

The next moment, a Thrill of the Firebird came from nowhere, a Cry of War echoing through the air, before a golden fire flashed above the red priests.

In an instant, the talons of the red bird that appeared sank themselves into the still hazy form of the god before Will the Phoenix erupted into golden flames, his Phoenix fire consuming the red fires and vanishing the shadows that made up the form of R'hllor.

I felt the burning heat that was the presence of the Red God vanish, the Manse filled with a second sun that vanished in a cloud of ash. A small mass fell from where the bird had been, dispersed in a cloud of ash as I felt the oppressive presence of what passed for divine vanish.

On instinct, my left hand rose to summon the falling mass, forming a small bubble of solidified air around it to pull what I knew to be a Phoenix fledgling that remained of my familiar.

Memories from the small chick filled me in, giving context to what he had done. I understood how Will had used his burning day on the now-mortal Red God, consuming the lesser flame that paled against the eternity that a Pheonix had. While both beings were made of flame, Will's rebirth allowed the golden fire to consume the red fire of R'hllor, ending the physical presence of the god before it could be formed.

'Wait... Did my phoenix just rip a metaphysical chunk out of a god?' I asked myself before placing Will's new body into the inner pocket of the robe I wore after confirming that it was still just Will in there.

With the presence of the Red God gone, I could feel the shift in Morrigan's presence as the obsidian ravens flew past the shield that Dany and Lanna were still holding, heading to the ranged fighters that had been lining the battlements, safe from the spears of the subverted Unsullied. Where the ravens passed, their glass wings carving through flesh and bone and taking a red tint.

I looked at the three disarmed idiots who almost possibly ended the world in their stupidity. I was ready to repeat the last spell I had used, knowing that if used on a mortal, the Killing Curse would end them on the spot and no amount of Skinchanging would save them.

Even if the moment I thought it I gained the understanding that using the Killing Curse against a mortal would come with consequences, I did not really care about it at the moment, as I had passed that point of anger where I was just calm... far too calm.

Before I could speak the words however, a spell slammed into Melisandre, Lanna's petrification spell from the shiver it sent down the back of my neck at the entropy it carried, lesser than the green spellfire I had conjured to counter the conjuration, but still deadly if powered properly.

The Red Priestess froze, her hands snapping around her body as she fell backward, still alive.

With the archers dead, it freed Lanna to aid, as Dany alone could keep up the shield against any stray attacks; Lanna, having a far violent disposition despite Dany's fieriness, had taken the opportunity to attack, while something green and black, leaped in front of one of the priests.

Tywin the Basilisk gave a hiss as he met the eyes of the man, petrifying him and the two of the Unsullied who had the misfortune of being in the line of sight. He then jumped the distance to the other priests and bit into the ankle of the last priest.

The priests that was bitten by the Basilisk cried out, as everyone slowly watched the man's flesh melt into a pile of acidic goo.

I heard the fighting end, weapons being thrown around as the tortured man gave a long cry of pain before becoming silent forever.

I checked that Dany was fine, if a bit tired, with her hair clinging to her face from sweat. I caught her as she stumbled, the strain of shielding everyone taking a toll. Once I was sure she was fine, I turned around to see the rest of my people.

Ser Richard now had a rapier stuck through his wooden arm, and I could see more than a few gashes on his hauberk and clothes, though there was no blood thanks to his skin being turned into stone. His other hand was clutching the spear of Weirwood with its Valyrian Steel tip pointing to the neck of the fallen Jon Connington, who was holding his broken nose and a few nasty-looking cuts. On the other side was Illyrio Mophatis, one shoulder lower than the other and a bleeding hand, my sworn-sword having taken the two on his own.

I nodded at Morna leaning against her Weirwood Staff, blocking the way up the Manse with five of her men. The boy and the Septa that came with him were held close, though I could see the warning in her eyes about harming children.

The Wildling Chieftain was scary with her foresight and ability to use the more subtle spells, like the Notice-Me-Not. She must have foreseen that Illyrio might retreat and snuck around them while I was talking. The fact that it even worked on me was... concerning, but that meant more Occlumency practice for my end.

Before I could turn to take care of the prisoners, I needed to take care of something first.

I reached beneath my clothes and took off my Amulet of Protection and Valyrian Steel ring, releasing my own powers to sense the world around me.

I reached out with my soul expanding to the walls surrounding the lands owned by Illyrio Mophatis. I felt the shock from still alive Melisandre, which I ignored for the sake of grasping the untamed Magical Energy that still lingered after the destruction of the Red God.

Where my presence reached, I could feel others retreat, almost fleeing from my presence, yet remaining at the edges of my attention.

"Fucking voyeurs," I muttered, as I focused on the task at hand.

Unlike possessing another physical vessel to cast magic, I was taking over the raw Magical Energy directly, guiding it into my self, giving it what it needed, a purpose.

At that moment, I gained more insight into Wild Magic and how it worked than before, and I made a note never to match spells with Counterspell for too long again unless I had to.

"Incendio," I muttered, bringing forth a ball of fire that was mine own, feeding the Magical Energy into the flames. No need for the amount of Magical Energy being used to be let loose to run wild and conjure a physical manifestation of a god or something.

The red orb of flame hovered in the air, as a twist of my wand instead transformed the flame into a new shape with the words "Draconifors".

The fire grew two wings, a pair of legs, and a long tail first before unfurling. Instead of a single head, the dragon I had turned the fire into had three, ending around thirty feet tall as it consumed the magic in the air, before giving off a roar of challenge, sending a wave of heat across the entire courtyard.

Yes, yes, bad idea Viserys, have you not learned a moment before... but the fire was me, and I was the fire, I could feel that it was without any other presence, and it made to end the rest of the fighting when the literal manifestation of my House Sigil imposed itself into reality... even if it was effectively a construct of fire that required half my attention to remain around.

"Come and see," I muttered, finding the quote strangely fitting, as I felt all the presences watching us retreat and disappear at once, accept for three, though their presence was far too subtle for me to gain any insight into the one doing the watching.

Then again, what was a god to a nonbeliever?

I then turned to the more mundane problems, placing the amulet back around my neck.

"Oh... you guys thought that all those stories of Viserys the Wizard were mere rumors, is that it?" I asked out into the open, enjoying the fact that I could finally stretch my wings and flex my power. The candles on the table rose over a foot in length as I spoke my own name, and I felt a pulse of energy from the fire construct behind me at my words.

I would say I had cast an impressive image: smoldering robes, outstretched hands, with my wand pointed to the side, a good enough approximation of King Ghidorah in Red standing behind me, and a dozen ravens made of obsidian and shadow perching on the battlements that were now manned only by corpses.

Some believe that gods made men, and the Killing Curse made all equal. - A common phrase attributed to Viserys the Wizard.

AN: I had to split this into two chapters again since 20k was a bit too much per chapter and thematically splitting the supernatural from natural made sense, but the next one will be following once I am done cleaning it up, since I did not want to spend more time on this one and make you wait.

Wiz flexes his magic, then a wild god appears. Luckily, Death is cosplaying as Wiz's cheerleader and gave him a magic gun.

Melisandre is schooled in magic, though her approach is more brute-force so, it was not really something that was a skill issue. Wiz had superior knowledge despite being younger by a few centuries and he had a better focus, along with a solid backup that was versatile and talented. Melisandre had two other Priests that were effectively her, but lesser.

I was not going to include Balrog/R'hllor before realizing that that amount of magic stripped of purpose would be the perfect grounds for something to poke his head, and something needed to poke it's head because this is the first time Wiz got out of the comfort of Braavos. Remember kids, Wild Magic is all fun and games until it summons a Balor on top of you. Blame JustAReader! for inspiring me to write about gods with his awesome omake.

As always, I appreciate the feedback.