The army was at the gate.

I scoffed at the idea that I had become such a danger to Robert that he sent an army after me... and did not deign to show up himself. I was not sure if I ought to be insulted or not.

I found myself to be mostly disappointed.

Predictably, the Sellsword Company that the Pentoshi Magisters hired to man the walls turned in an instant as the gates were opened, and an army of men marched through the streets to the Manse that I was currently occupying.

It might have something to do with the illusion of my man along the same walls disappearing.

I was alone, of course; I was not foolish enough to drag people I care for into this pissing match when all I wanted was to be left alone.

Also, it meant that I could fool myself into thinking that the Collateral Damage would be acceptable.

To be honest, Robert was not even in the top ten of my worries, even if I was probably his highest priority. That made him a useful tool for my enemies, Varys being chief among them.

I could divert that attention to another target, probably. I knew enough to set him against half of Westeros, but Starks were useful as a way to soften the beaches should the White Walkers invade and Dorne was useless if they got invaded by the combined forces of Westeros.

The only other alternative was to reveal the Lannister incest, but even Tywin could not win against the rest of the Realm put together, and the end result would be a more solidified Baratheon Rule. No, I needed Lannisters where they were, making the most damage through their pride alone.

If you want something done right, do it yourself and all that.

The twenty-sided die rolled out of my palm, carrying my question. The roll landed on twenty, forcing me to suppress the laughter.

That was the third time I rolled a twenty this morning... for the same question.

An army of men entered my throne room led by the Company of the Cat, the traitorous scum led by a large man named Bloodbeard.

I clicked my tongue in disgust, tapping at the scroll beneath my hand with a finger and activating the blood connection to their brains.

The mercenaries fell over, dead, with naught but a small application of force into their brain through a more refined version of what I had used to kill off the Faceless Men, empowered by the Contract that I had them sign in blood.

In hindsight, I could have done so much worse to them than letting them through and giving them a fast, clean death, but I needed their lives for the next steps, or rather, I needed their deaths, and I was not cruel as to lengthen their suffering.

Flames rolled out of the tip of the wand in my hand, burning the contract and pulling the souls into the flame in the Unseen. Rolling the flames into my right palm, my right hand to close around it. The scaled skin was immune to flames lesser than the original flames that burned it off, pulling on the souls of the damned to amplify the effect as I whispered the incantation that would fit.

"~Strun Bah Qo~" the words came out of my mouth in a hiss.

With a snap of my fingers, between my thumb and forefinger, I held a compressed ball of fire glowing an eerie golden hue before I flicked it out through the window, causing it to explode in the air.

Using a judicious application of Mind Arts to suppress the fact that I had taken a move out of one Sasuke Uchiha, I leaned back and waited for the rest, now that Step One was complete.

It did not take long for the first motley bunch of fools to arrive after the Company of the Cat, all of them Westerosi. All of them entered into my trap by wading their way through the pile of dead bodies.

I could feel their fear from seeing all the dead men before me, no injury upon them being visible.

"I would not do that if I were you," I spoke out atop the throne I was sitting, my wand at hand, while the other slowly stored away the Portent Die into the pommel of my sword, and a large red bird perched over my shoulder gazing at the room silently.

It cut a decent image, at least.

They are an odd group of wanna-be heroes of legend. First through the unguarded walls, first to enter the center of the Manse I was staying in.

On the other side, a lone Sorcerer King mantled in Black Plate and Mail and Blood Red Silk Cape. My hands were bare for now, revealing blackened nails that rapped against the black stone of the Throne.

'When your team mascot is a dragon and your color scheme is shared by Dracula, you have to embrace the edge,' I mentally repeated.

The nails on my left hand were a new addition, more of a necessity and a precaution. An infusion of Dragon Bone and Moonstone, along with a slow methodical flesh-craft, binding small bits of the material into my own nails so they don't rub off. The process had darkened their color to pitch black in exchange for minor Telekinetic Tricks without needing a wand.

It was limited, I had to admit to a Forceful application of a push, similar to a punch, but it was among the two dozen backup plans of mine.

I did not need much more for now, as what I had meant I could summon my wand to my hand to do more.

The modification, while not even technically permanent, was worth the investment. Since I could let the nails grow and cut the infused parts, or if it had turned out to be dangerous, simply pull them out and let new nails grow back out. The last one was a bit more of an extreme measure, surely, but permanent access to low-level Force Push worked rather well with my other skills.

Back to the motley bunch of morons before me...

Despite my warning, one of the idiots decided to take a step forward.

His body crumbled to dust, falling onto the floor along with the clinking of armor.

"Told you," I muttered, looking at the shimmering form of my defense, the culmination of my Wardcraft.

I did love the vicious little Shielding Charm, and "Protego Horribilis," as I called it, was the best I could do for now. The Shield Charm started off basic but branched out rather fast; the branch that was designed for the enemies was one of those.

The more complex versions were all a form of Contract Magic, ironically.

It was a simple contract. Passing the border meant accepting that they would not act to dominate or destroy the castor. The cost, in turn, was determined by the incantation.

While Protego Inimicum blocked an enemy from crossing a border or petrified them, its elder, more vicious brothers were less restrained, and the Protego Horriblis was the efficient and effective workhorse that was seen in every other sibling with the Middle Child Syndrome.

Granted, I would have preferred a Protego Diabolica in this situation, but I have discovered that Magic was about building things up, and that spell was still very much a work in progress. I would probably need a dedicated item for it as well, but I had what I needed for now.

The line on the sand, as it was, made for some interesting enchantment work that I was quite proud of combined with a simple Contract. In passing the line, the person acknowledges that they would not act to harm the caster, binding their very essence to the effect.

A Jinx, by all my definitions, is the protection made for a simple spell, powering itself further by the souls of those who breached the contract, the souls turning on their flesh.

If they all dogpiled it, maybe it would break, but for now, the first death had been effective in stopping the greedy morons that called themselves knights, at least.

Some of the knights started throwing obscenities, only for one to insult my mother and get squished into a pile of blood with a muttered "Descendo," that fucked up the gravity around him.

"Anyone else wish to insult my family? None? Good. I think we should wait for whoever is in charge... what do you lot think?" I asked upon my throne.

The Knights nodded dumbly as I made a note of their sigils and kept them in mind.

Like I said, I was waiting for Robert.

Instead, I got his bargain bin version.

And a lot more disappointment.

Swans of House Swanns stood with turtles of Estermont and fawns of Cafferen. There were others, the hanged man of Trant, the black lion of Grandison, and Death's Head Moths of Horpe.

They were mostly Stormlanders, I noticed, with a few Westerlander houses sprinkled in. A Marbrand, another that I recognized as a Lefford. A few Lannets or whatever.

No Narrow Sea houses despite it being Stannis leading the charge.

And no Vale Knights either.

How peculiar.

I would have thought Robert would not use his Marcher Lords on the off chance that the Dornish might counterattack, but given that he was not present, I could see how he would think he could easily counter such a response.

"Took a while to call all the banners, eh?" I asked, again noting the lack of Crownlander houses among the mix.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" roared Stannis Baratheon. "WHY HAVEN'T YOU TAKEN HIM IN CHAINS?"

Do not get me wrong, I respected the hell out of Stannis the Mannis. He, like the protective enchantment I had made, could be considered the poster boy of Middle Child Syndrome. Duty obsessed and gets shafted at every turn. His resilience and bullheadedness were simply without a peer.

In another life, I might have even considered him a worthy friend.

"Ser Stannis," I greeted, "I know we narrowly missed meeting nine years past. I would say it is an honor, but that would be a lie."

"It is Lord Stannis, Sorcerer," someone with too much balls and not enough brains called out. The onion sigil implied Davos Seaworth, a good man, loyal, unfortunately, to the wrong person in this case.

"Newtifors," I said, pointing my wand at the Onion Knight.

In the Unseen, I used a bit of Magic to push his soul out of his body and placed the soul of the newt that was tucked away in one of my pouches in its place.

Immediately, his eyes rolled around his head, and he started looking around in confusion.

"What did you do to him?" asked Stannis, seeing the man start crawling around.

"Turned him into a newt; it is a favored spell of mine," I responded with a shrug, "He should get better in a few days. Now, Ser Stannis, what is the meaning of this invasion upon my house?"

Granted, invasion was not really the word for it. Pentos did not field any defenses apart from the sellswords who turned, and I simply let Stannis walk into my domain.

With the Baratheon Fleet parked just where I wanted them.

The sky rumbled as Stannis spoke, coincidence or not, I was on schedule, "Viserys Targaryen, you are a pretender to the Throne. In the name of Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, I, Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone and Master of Ships, command you to surrender, or be cut down where you stand."

"Let's see," I said, leaning back, crossing my legs, and holding up my fingers to count. "My father named me his heir, and Robert is the Lord of Stormlands, who rebelled to Usurp his rightful liege not because he was a huge cuck. And, you are at best a Steward, Ser, even if you were given Dragonstone by your brother," I responded with a shit-eating grin. "As I do not recognize any honor bestowed upon you by your brother to be legitimate, and certainly not to domains pass down to me by the command of my father."

Given the way Stannis remained stone-faced, I seemed to be getting to him.

I liked Stannis. I would let him live.

I wanted to see what his mind would conclude as I used the very logic that he so liked to use.

"Also, I don't want to," I added, just to be petulant.

Stannis, predictably, ground his teeth.

"Shut up, traitor," someone said, holding up his sword and pointing at me.

"Treason implies submission, you uneducated moron," I responded to the one who spoke, turning to Stannis, who looked to be split between wanting to agree and continuing to grind his teeth in impotence.

He chose to do the latter.

"Have you come to surrender and beg for my mercy, cousin," I asked, showing the dead mercenaries, "for know that I shall allow you to take the black, allow your daughter to keep her rights to Storm's End, and spare anyone else who kneel this day. I am not cruel, and you broke no oaths to me like those treacherous cats."

Stannis released a huff through his nose before speaking out. Ironically, I would be indirectly acknowledging the only thing he wished for and did not get from Robert, even if it would be his daughter who got to keep Storm's End. "The Sellswords were oathbreakers; their lives were of no consequence. I was told to capture you and your sister by my brother, and I will do my duty."

'I will not fail again,' the words echoed from his mind.

Well, that was a waste of time.

Stannis managed to take a single step, blade in hand.

It was honestly hilarious, the first few knights who had witnessed the initial idiot get burned to death, tackling Mannis, trying to prevent him from getting killed, and having to explain to Robert why his brother was now a pile of dust.

No one really held back one of the knights that came in with Stannis, though. The man had a livery that would be described as vairy orange and blue, upon a black canton, a golden stag beneath an orange bend sinister... so some Bolling Knight.

Predictably, Ser Bolling died.

And not cleanly either.

I felt the drop in power of the enchantment before it turned back on. It would hold until next Dawn, not that it would matter in a bit. Even if recycling the souls, it was hard to maintain a permanent enchantment when people threw themselves at it and corroded its very purpose.

Thankfully, my opponent did not know about it.

"It is not often that I meet someone unafraid to die, Ser, yet your task is one of futility. Did that one have a name?" I asked as Stannis froze with wide eyes, "I feel like he needs his name recorded in some book or something... met the Wizard, tried to kill him, died, like all the others."

"Ser Herbert Bolling," responded Stannis, standing straight.

Oh, this was interesting... a calm Baratheon.

Well, calm was a bit of an overstatement. I could smell the fear of the man. Yet, Stannis deserved the title of Mannis and simply stood there, back ramrod straight, blade at hand. I could feel his mind turning trying to find ways around an unfamiliar problem.

"Hmm, so Ser Stannis, what now?" I asked, my eyes scanning the knights surrounding him. There were many sigils to identify. "Would you parley with your enemy?"

I used the small moment of pause to strike, slipping deeper through the mind of my enemy.

Stannis was bullheaded, but his mind was not that hard to observe passively than any other stubborn man, even if it made it harder to make him think certain things, limiting deeper Legilimency without being noticed.

I did not need to look too deeply, only enough to find out the movements and plans of Robert, only to be disappointed that the plan was entirely defined by taking Pentos and capturing my family.

Robert did not want to be seen as weak, nor did he wish to chance failure or treachery. Both of those would be the case if he conducted offensive war, or so Jon Arryn had argued. Should Robert or Jon leave Westeros, they feared that there would be other uprisings.

'Huh, it appears that the Greyjoy Rebellion was not as clean as I thought it had been,' I thought to myself pulling back from the mind of the man I was forced to call my enemy.

Not to mention that the crown was essentially bankrupt and could not afford to fight a war with full mobilization of the kingdoms. I pulled back from the memory of the meeting of the small council and how Jon Arryn worked to convince Robert to send a smaller force made of trusted bannerman, led by Stannis using the Royal Fleet, just enough to take Pentos with the promise of help and payment from some of the Pentoshi.

I was expecting a bigger army, but I got what I really needed from the Baratheons while I was in Pentos.

As for personal vengeance, that could be arranged at another time.

How unfortunate for them, they played into my hand.

I could just burn them all alive, even if they probably had brothers, sons, and fathers who would swear eternal vengeance... or worse, mothers, sisters, wives, and daughters who would stop at nothing to ensure my end. Nothing worse than women scorned and all that.

It would be so easy. Yet, it would make me no different than the likes of Maegor, would it?

Not that I cared about what history thought about me, so long as I was the one who wrote it.

If I killed them all, chances were high that I would have rebellions in my hands at every turn should I conquer Westeros.

"You are surrounded, witch," spoke a knight in armor with a lion paw for a sigil. "Yield and you may retain what honor remains as you join the Night's Watch."

I met the man's eyes, finding that he was from Lannisport, part of a group of knights sent to King's Landing. As I saw his memories of King's Landing, I recoiled in disgust. He was there during the sack... memories of atrocities that made me recoil from his mind not so subtly.

The knight doubled over, clutching his head.

"I resent that," I said voice cold as ice, sending a cutting curse to the man who spoke with a swipe of my wand, unmanning him on the spot. "Especially from a rapist. I am a Wizard for I am of the Wise though I will tolerate being called a Sorcerer by you unread animals, but a Witch, do I look remotely like a female to you?"

Another spell staunched his bleeding.

Granted, it also caused him to spontaneously combust, so there was that.

I took a deep breath to center myself.

I was specifically going for an image here; no need to overdo it.

Even if a part of me felt vindication at what small amount of justice I could extract.

Someone smart seems to have cranked up a crossbow because the shield around me flared, causing the bolt to fall on the floor with a flash of light.

The new amulet around my neck heated up. Basilisk Eye doing its job to unmake the motion of objects that would hit me.

I banished the bolt back to the sender's eye socket in turn.

"How about this," I asked, as the fire behind me rose into the form of a Gigantic Serpent of Fire... not specifically Fiendfyre, but against these lot, just as deadly.

Basilisk Soul graft for the win.

The Brave Knights of Westeros all looked upon the Firewyrm I conjured and took a step back, some of the smarter ones actually turning and running off.

Only for the doors to slam in front of them.

"As I said, I am not without mercy," I spoke, using the words that Stannis would have used against his younger brother a few hours before murdering him with magic. "I shall let you live for now."

I heard the rumble of the skies at that moment, coming closer than before, just as I had calculated.

My hand reached to my belt, to a specific pouch to double check it's presence.

Time for a hasty exit.

Will gave a thrill from where he was perched, taking wing and flying around the flaming serpent as though flames dancing within a heart.

A bit later than I anticipated, to be honest, but perfect timing required practice. "Alas, I have duties to do, Kings to kill, Castles to raze, Maidens to kidnap, you know... Dragon things. To be frank, I am not in the mood to burn people alive this day, so I shall let you live. So why don't we say, I chose to spare you a lot as proof that I am not my father, and you lot can claim that you made me run in fear with my tail between my legs despite the fact that I am not the one with soiled pants. Next time we meet, I promise I will personality introduce you all to Fire and Blood, that is, of course, if you can actually survive to get out. Until then, well, I shall have Queen Rhaella's Revenge."

The wyrm of fire behind me wrapped itself around me at my last moments.

The Phoenix circling overhead dove down into the pyre.

The fire flashed green and dispersed, leaving neither the Throne nor the Wizard behind.

And the sky broke and gods grieved.

Saltpeter, Charcoal, Sulfur... the base materials for Black Powder and Wildfire, representing Destruction.

Phoenix Ash, representing Rebirth.

Weirwood ash is used as the anchor for connecting two specific hearths by using the connection of a Heart Tree.

Those were the materials required for the crafting of a potent enough Powder to act in the same way as what would be called a Floo Powder, fire-based instant transportation utilizing Pyromancy.

Five Materials, with Five Representing the transformation and motion through the Five Elements and Arithmancy.

Gunpowder, the same materials that made the basis of Wildfire, to destroy, Phoenix Ash to recreate.

Pyromancy to translocate from one fire to another in that moment between total bodily destruction and reconstruction.

The weirwood ash was taken from the hearth that I appeared in, designating the endpoint and focusing the transportation into a single destination.

Because relying purely on unfocused Pyromancy to determine your endpoint would probably end up with you in multiple pieces or in one of the random places. Let us just say I was not willing to experiment on that.

When said places included Valyria as well, due to the higher concentration of Magic that even my gaze could not penetrate, you better not make a chance.

For now, the exit point did not matter, but that was because only two Floo Exit existed, and the only one active at the moment was a custom structure integrated into Queen Rhealla's Revenge.

Combined with a bit of Thaumaturgy of reenacting my initial escape from the hands of Baratheons, I felt the spell's longer-term effect slot into my soul, leaving the impression that would allow me to use it without such a complex set of spells again while simultaneously granting Will the ability to use his flames to teleport.

A bolt of lightning slammed into the fire pit built into the center of the Elder Sign on my ship's deck.

And in a flash, the flames transformed into my form, with Will on my shoulder.

It was lucky that Robert would only trust Stannis to do this job because anyone else and I was not confident about this trick, and burning through an entire army along with a city was at the very end of my list of things I wanted to do.

I stepped out of the dedicated fire pit, the flames remaking my flesh as it was before my soul settled back into my flesh, only for me to trip and fall onto the deck of Queen Rhaella's Revenge.

"Are you alright, your grace?" asked Richard from where he was standing, his flesh hand clutching the pommel of his sword.

"Fine," I murmured, slapping myself, "got my soul misaligned with my flesh for a bit... it happens sometimes."

One of the hounds that belonged to Rolf the Warg snorted, even if Rolf himself looked stoic.

"You are late," commented Dany from where she sat, sweat covering her brow from holding into the Magical Circle around her. "How did it go?"

"Stannis was there; Robert was not," I explained, gathering my self and starting to take off my cloak, followed by the plate underneath, leaving only silk undershirt as I sat in front of Dany, slowly checking the ritual she was holding on to. "And don't complain; you asked to help."

"My hand was right, it appears that Robert was persuaded to not take the bait. We are still going to proceed as planned," I spoke out while most of me was going through the ritual through the path that Dany had burned with her will, Sorcery, and a dozen Black Candles.

I smiled as the hair at the back of my head rose from the static electricity, the air rumbling with the gathering of the Storm Clouds.

Storm Kings, Durrandons were called, to be re-minted as Baratheons.

I could play with storms too, unfortunately for Stannis.

Euron, despite being an amoral monster of the highest order, was still quite talented in manners of Higher Mysteries, I had to admit. It was one of those reasons I chose not to hunt him and put him down like a rabid monster. While it may be arrogant of me to assume I could win against him, letting him do his thing and swoop in to steal his research into Magic was far more efficient for me in the long term... that and I needed a patsy to blame should Oldtown spontaneously go up in flames.

In this case, it was Euron who inspired me with the whole Storm trick he pulled.

There was a poetic irony in that.

The storm that brought Dany to the world and sank the Royal Fleet of House Targaryen reenacted upon the Baratheons ten-fold.

And I could leverage quite a bit more narrative leverage to hit a Royal Navy using a Storm as I made my escape from a place that I claimed my own, powering it through the Wards that I had collapsed at my exit.

Physics worked as it should; small amounts of Sun Fire I could shunt into the air above Pentos, taking the form of storm clouds as Magic roiled and awaited, lacking in sacrifice. The waters churned as I dedicated hundreds yet still living to Storm and Wind.

Without constant control over the storm, such an action would be quite dangerous. However, that is where Dany came in to supplement my Sorcery with her own.

Lightning descended from the sky, a portend of destruction.

"You did a good job, Stormborn," I said, ruffling Dany's hair. She smiled smugly at me, even as I could see her hair was matted by sweat and sea water.

The Thaumaturgy that Dany could leverage through a Storm was more powerful than what I could pull off, or at least that was in theory, while I would reenact the events that have led to our exile to further empower the spell by binding more weight into it. It meant that this step could kickstart while I was busy with the enemy.

All so it can end up with... this.

A bolt of lightning fell from the sky, then another, and then another.

Each bolt hit a ship, breaking or causing them to catch on fire. I could feel and hear the sheer panic of the crews as the wooden ships they stayed on were broken and carried away with winds crashing into each other or the bay where Pentos was located.

I lifted my wand up and created a dome around the Revenge out of ionized air as one of the bolts bounced off it, grounding in the sea.

Soon, the sea was filled with an unnatural electrical storm that hit each and every ship.

Once...

Twice...

Thrice...

To call the storm unnatural was to call a dragon dangerous.

It got the point across, but it did not hold the required weight of hundreds of different spells cast over a month being unleashed all at once.

The Royal Fleet was, in the kindest terms, fucked.

"Was the fleet your goal, your grace?" asked Jon Connington, walking up next to me, watching the thunder and lightning dance across the sky and, for once, looking as awed as he was scared.

I did not blame him. Even I could admit that I was terrifying when given the time to do what I did best.

The fire teleportation was the main goal, obviously. Will could, in theory, pull it off, but taking other people with him was a bit tricky. By using the connection between his birth, Dany, and me, I managed to ensure it happened.

The other goals were good to have but not essential.

"It was one of the goals," I admitted, "I had hoped that they would bring the Redwyne Fleet as well, but from what I could glimpse at from Stannis' mind, Jon Arryn convinced Robert not to send everyone at once, and chosen a mainly Stormlander Contingent for their loyalty and readiness. A few Lannister Man were there as well, but none that would be deemed significant. Robert seems to think that this is a trap of some sort."

"And he was right," said Jon, knowing Stormlands better than me. "I agree, this is the doing of Jon Arryn. Robert would have jumped at the chance for a fight. No Vale Knights either, he is being cautious."

"It was indeed Arryn was the one to convince Robert not to make the journey, though his reasonings were far more simple, I reckon. Probably afraid that he would not return," I joked. To be honest, I had hoped that the chance would be enough for Robert to run off and become a sellsword like he once told Ned Stark, but this worked for me just as well.

"Also, I am now certain that their treasury is broke now... so they could not afford to feed and arm a large army. They borrowed a million dragons for this venture alone from the Lannisters," I said.

"You need a quarter of that amount for the man sent," Jon said, surprised.

"Yeah, their new Master of Coin is rather useful for our goals," I nodded, making a note to rob Baelish blind.

"What if they decide to give chase with the surviving ships of theirs?" asked Marywn, half-distracted, his eyes tracing over and memorizing every detail of the spell in progress.

"You know all the traps we prepared, how you complained that it would end up trapping someone in as much as it would keep people out?" I asked, in turn, getting a nod from the Maester, who got to watch me work the spells in exchange for help in filling some of the gaps in my knowledge. "By the time they get out, we will be long gone and hopeful settled into our new place."

"And if they choose to sack Pentos and recover the gold of the Magisters?" asked my Hand, "They will be richer than before the fight."

"With which gold would they do that, exactly, my lord?" I asked, taking out a golden coin and holding it up as the rain slowly washed away the illusion over it, revealing a wooden coin instead. "The one beneath our boards? I had a few weeks to think it all through, you know."

It was not hard to replace the treasures of Magisters with something more artificial after all.

"Oh, I like your way of thinking, lad," Marwyn started cackling like a lunatic.

"I still say you should have killed them. I fear that your mercy has left us exposed," said Jon, "A destroyed fleet can be rebuilt. The Lannisters are still rich, and Pentos is still a rich city; golds and jewelry are worth something, but it is the grain that truly matters for man, and silk and lace and other luxuries are just as valuable to the right buyer." asked Jon, clearly not convinced.

"And Stannis would have to be the one to sack the city, officially at least. What is it that bothers you, Lord Hand?" I asked, admitting that Jon knew more about wars.

"You had Stannis, right there, at your hands," spoke Jon, and I understood him. He was taken back to the Bells, where a fight could be ended.

"I did," I admitted, "and he knew that as well, as I immolated one of his men and addled the mind of another. I could have done the same to any one of them or all of them. Yet, I do not intend to follow the path of Maegor, my lord, but the threat of something is just as effective as the use of it. More so in the case of Magic. As for them following us, they will be distracted with... blah... I almost called him an associate; well, they will be distracted by a distraction I managed to get on time. Regardless, I trust that Stannis will be able to handle it, even if it will take some time." I said. "Alas, I am sure they will get the message."

"What message?" Dany asked, confused.

"That if they wish to come after us, they ought to do the smart thing," I said with a grin, "Let someone else have a go first."

My people looked at me with understanding.

"Tough luck; they are not really smart or have the needed self-preservation for such things." I said, barely a whisper, before roaring out, "Deploy the wings," as the sails on the sides unfurled even within the storm.

The Queen Rhealla's Revenge sailed unseen and unbothered.

# Alynn The Trapbreaker

Alynn Storm, now called Alynn the Trapbreaker for his newly discovered talents, used the long handle of the pike to activate the trap before him, sighing in relief as the trap took to the rat attached to the end of the piece of wood.

The rat slowly rotted away, but better the rat than Alynn.

Alynn was not the first man to disable the traps of the Dragonspawn. He was also not the twentieth man to work whatever devilish trap the Dragonspawn had put up between them and the ships.

He was, luckily, the last one needed... if the gods were good.

They had lost two hundred men to the traps on their way out of the Targaryen Manse before Ser Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight, suggested poking where a man ought to walk with a stick.

That was, of course, the Onion Knight regained his wits the day after the Targaryen cunt burst himself into Wildfire and hopefully died.

"How do we go around it?" asked said Smuggler turned Knight.

"On the roof," pointed Alynn to the strange runes painted above them, using the steel tip of the pike to slowly scratch it away, praying to the Smith and hoping that it was not one of them false runes.

Alynn had been a lad during the Siege of Storm's End, but he had survived. Now, trapped within the Manse, he felt like those days, forced to starve and stretch the rations that they had come with.

A black raven watched Alynn work, following them along and slashing at any man who thought to catch the bloody thing with razor-sharp wings.

It was as much a show that the Targaryen cunt was taunting them as it was how utterly powerless they truly were. If the bloody thing wanted, it could kill, just as it had done to the Trant knight, flowing like water through his visor and reducing everything within to blood.

Alynn gulped, having seen what some of the other traps could do.

Some traps were simple, leaving man frozen stiff until the next dawn.

Others were deadly, as Alynn had seen with Ser Donnel Swann, who got crushed by a giant hand made of a black clawed hand of stone.

It was still better than poor Kennet.

Kennet got struck by lightning through the window when he tried to break through the wall to get out.

Same lightning that was beating upon the Royal Fleet like Alynn's Old Man used to beat on his kids.

Their losses reached up to a hundred in the fortnight they were stuck within a glorified building of stone, the rations they had the food rotting within a day to the ground itself deeming them their enemy.

Half of them had lost their minds and tried to make a run for it.

They did not live long after that.

Alynn was no stranger to starvation. They had started cooking the rats that seemed to spawn out of nowhere, until the Rats started to eat some of the man in turn.

The King claimed Viserys Targaryen was a Sorcerer.

The King was right, though Alynn did not care about whichever demon from the Seven Hells the Targaryen learned his magic.

The King could also go fuck himself, the fat useless cunt.

Not that Alynn would ever speak of it out loud.

Alynn had seen the man give some speech, red-faced and a cup in hand, even if there were rumors that he had lost a stone in three moons.

He had not even bothered to come himself and got smote like Kennet or exploded like Jerrel. Alynn liked Jerrel; he made the best stew, not the watery shit his wife used to make or the one he got to eat now that their rations were set on by rot and rats alike.

It had been mostly Stormlanders who were sent to deal with the Dragonspawn in Pentos, led by Lord Stannis Baratheon. Leal man, loyal man, King's Men.

The King had ordered them to attack Pentos to take it, chosen for their loyalty by Lord Stannis and Lord Hand.

The King himself was the Lord of Stormlands before he was king, so Alynn answered when called upon, even if he had given the lands to his younger brother Renly, the boy was not even a knight yet, and Alynn preferred Lord Stannis, not that he would speak it aloud.

So it was the Stormlanders who had to live through this shit now. Was this what loyalty brought? A slow and painful death... or getting struck by lightning.

Alynn had not been a godly man; he had far too much like for wine and woman to be a Septon, yet here and now, Alynn prayed to the Seven, even if some whispered that the Seven were the ones who protected the Targaryen.

"It is silent," said Alynn finally, looking at the threshold and the now cleared air.

"Seven Hells, fucking finally," spoke Ser Willis, a Hedgeknight who stood behind Alynn with a sheathed sword.

Alynn was not a fool, knowing that the sword was meant for him if he chose to refuse the given order. Luckily, the Seven had given him a talent for these things, and he was able to survive breaking through the traps that the Sorcerous Dragons left behind.

"My lord, thank the gods, you are alive," Ser Cedrik Storm, the Bastard of Bronzegate, followed along from the docks.

"What happened here?" asked Lord Stannis following along when they were certain the traps were done with, gritting his teeth at seeing the disorganized man. Even Alynn could say that they were disorganized.

"The storm, it came all of a sudden. It... it destroyed the ships," gasped Ser Cedrik Storm, walking beside one of the Magisters of Pentos that opened the gates for them.

The fat man, rumored to be the good-father of the first Magister that the Wizard had burned, gave a bow. The fat man was dressed in silks and covered in gems and rings to show of his wealth and Alynn hoped he would get some coin for what he did. Lord Stannis had promised him Knighthood after all.

One of the rings glittered with something before Alynn dismissed it, thinking of the land he would own instead.

"Prince Stannis, it gives me much joy to see that you have survived. I have told you that we ought to have burned the entire Manse down," spoke the Magister, having been supportive of the cowardly way. In hindsight, it would probably have worked.

The Wizard himself had burned alright. Alynn had not seen it, but people called the boy the next Brightflame.

A part of Alynn knew that the Wizard was not dead, that fire would not kill such a monster. Targaryens were said to be unburnt, that they were closer to gods than man.

Alynn gulped down from the water skin that was passed, one of the first to quench his thirst.

Ten days with not much water had not been good for the man trapped in the Manse, especially when the ones outside seemed incapable of entering from the excuses that the Bastard of Bronzegate was making.

"How many ships are left?" asked Lord Stannis, as he took long gulps once he was sure all man got their fill of it.

"Two, my lord," said the Bastard of Bronzegate.

"Two? Which ones?" asked the Onion Knight, asking the question that everyone wanted to know.

"Lady Lyanna and Black Betha," responded the knight, "But there is another matter you ought to know, my lord."

"What is it?" gritted Stannis Baratheon, "Has the Sorcerer decided to unleash dragons upon us as well?"

"No, my lord, it is the Dothraki," responded Ser Cedrik. "The Pentoshi had a few men in their employ who knew the language. Some warlord named Khal Drogo demands tribute from Pentos for killing one of his bloodrides and two dozen of his men, some time past, along with stealing their horses. He claims that the Westerosi left their burnt bones to taunt him, nailed to crosses on the Velvet Hills. His messenger said that he will enslave or kill every Westerosi that is in Pentos."

A sharp crack of a tooth breaking was heard, causing Alynn to flinch and making him want to cry.

Alynn blamed the Wizard for this.

But the Wizard was scary as fuck.

Alynn instead blamed Robert for this.

Did he have to sit on that iron chair? He bet it was mighty uncomfortable.

Alynn did not want to fight the Dothraki, and the Others could fight the bloody Wizard for all he cared.

Alynn wanted to go home, hug his wife, and have a bowl of her watery stew.

# The Wizard

The Mists rolled across the black sands that made up one of many beaches of the island.

To the people living on the island, nothing was out of the ordinary, apart from the rolling of the unnaturally thick fog coming from the sea.

Magic and water interacted rather strangely. Any living Water could wash away any lesser magics. The flow of the water had a habit of disrupting away any soul that may linger within it.

With rain, that was rather simple in washing off enchantments that were not anchored beyond the surface.

With rivers and such, the effect was straightforward, and some Rhoynish practices that I had recovered in Braavos actually made use of the rapid flow.

With seas, the effect was more potent, with the exception of whatever the fuck Moonsingers could do.

Carrying a Mist over the surface of the Sea was one of those things.

None saw the large Braavosi Ship of White and Black hull, with rolling smoke for sails and the head of a Dragon for a prow, eyes alive with a flame and mouth rolling with smoke.

All it took was to bind the larger dragon skull that I now owned to become the new figurehead, enfleshed with Magical Wood and now capable of acting as a flame-thrower.

From the top of the prow, a figure of shadows rose, and from atop the dragon's head, he descended as rolling shadows wrapped around the figures with fiery wings of starlight.

"Son cruelly banished, despair of the daughter, return great avenger with wings from the water," I whispered to myself as I set foot upon the familiar sands of the island that had been once my domain, unfurling the enchantment that ensured that I landed smoothly.

I turned to Will who let go of my shoulder and landed on the pauldron shaped like a dragon head that I was working on. "Yeah, it's still a shitty poem. Even if it fits for once."

Will gave a thrill that sounded like he did not really care.

I took out a pouch of coins attached to my belt and threw it into the ground, spilling blackened iron coins to the ground.

A pinch of Phoenix Ash flew in the air, a single grain falling onto each coin.

The coins burned with an inner flame before the black sands beneath my feet started to flow around them, giving them a body.

Closing my eyes and pulling on my strength, I opened my mouth to speak.

"ARISE!" I ordered as four score shadows started rising around me.

Stone Men, Black as sin. Animated Statues with Souls that were bound to their own cycle of rebirth at each dawn. Broken men, remade and taught only to serve, given new purpose to serve once more.

The dead Unsullied that once belonged to Illyrio, the ones that I was unable to spare, their bodies and souls left to me after the confrontation.

An army formed around me, my Vanguard, my Black Guard.

It was my seventeenth birthday.

It had been nine years since I left this shore.

I was home.

The Black Stone of Dragonstone loomed over me.

Appear strong where weak, appear weak where strong – a quote attributed by Viserys Targaryen, Third of His Name, to Elemental Principles of War, by Fol-Fing, the General Who Fought a Thousand Battles and Lost None from Yi-Ti

AN: Alright, this one was a bit of a bitch to write and I am still not sure about it. The next chapter is just as long and already written for most of the way.

That last bit was a reference to Purple Days, if anyone did not catch it. I recommend it as a fic to read, even if you don't like Lannisters much.

Anyway, as always, I am purely motivated by likes and discussions, and kudos to the few people who managed to figure out parts of the plan that Vis had.