Karl Tanner, the Legend of Gin Alley, did not know how he ended up on a ship heading to an island that no one could see.

One moment, he was shanking a Septon, and the next, Gold Cloaks had caught onto him, throwing him to the Black Cells with a choice, Block or Black. Karl would have chosen the Black had it not for the goaler, who gave him another choice. Get to Dragonstone and kill the Targaryens.

He didn't ask questions, not when they gave him a pouch heavy with coin, a name, and a poison that could kill a horse. He liked that part.

The mists came in two days out from Blackwater Bay. The sailors grew quiet. They didn't say prayers, just drank like men already halfway to the Stranger. One jumped overboard, claiming that the sun turned green. Another slit his own throat yelling that the stars started moving in ways they shouldn't.

Nothing but a bunch of cunts that let the sea get to them.

Karl just laughed and kept sharpening his knife.

Another day. The winds went still. The sails hung like wet sheets. The island was not there one moment, and the next, it was there once more, appearing through the fog.

He didn't see no dragons. The dragons were all dead.

The boat ground against black rock slick with moss. The crew made no move to follow. Just dropped him off and rowed backward into the mist, not waiting for payment or goodbyes.

"Cunts," Karl muttered, stepping off and straightening himself, readying the knife some inbred cunts.

That was the last thought he had.

No scream. No thought.

Just nothing.

One moment, he was there.

The next, his head spun, his torso falling over without his head. Karl's head landed on the black sands, and he knew no more.

# Viserys

"Seven and ten," the ghost-like voice spoke as I lounged on my chair, a Grimoire propped up before me as I was already designing improvements on the Amalgamation of Physics and Magic that I had crafted.

Sipping on a rather delicate vintage of chilled weir-vine that I had grown a taste for, I watched the giant contraption of my construction complete its work, the unnatural light fading away.

The passive defenses of my island were pretty decent.

Powered by the consequence-less sex provided for coin, guided by the old magic of Valyria and some creative use of Thaumaturgy into a contract that allowed passage to those who would honor guest rights, those defenses were great at blocking anyone who was not loyal to me from entering so long as I did not allow it.

But passive defenses had a limit... like every protection, it could be subverted through luck or sufficient time to test its limits.

That is where the second layer of defenses came in... something more active in its capabilities.

It was... a Solar Cannon.

Something I could build with the near-unlimited supply of Dragonglass found in the island and an alchemical infusion of Phoenix Ash that formed crystals linked to the sunlight itself, drinking it and getting powered by it.

A bit of glass-making using Magic to guide it, and I had the right lenses for the job, creating a Magi-tech Death Beam 9000 to snipe ships and people alike.

Even if it looked a bit Steam-punk... or would it be Solar-punk? Debate for the Maesters, I am sure.

[img: data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7]

In the end, it was made for a single purpose.

So, what if I went a bit mad scientist and built a big fuck off death laser.

Siege my island now, you muggle cocksuckers.

I managed to build a control system, hooking it up to the skull of Meraxes that I found lying around in Dragonstone after enfleshing it in a layer of Weirwood.

It was the perfect too for the job.

A dragon attacked those that attacked it. It was a predator with no peer; it did not have the fight or flight instinct, or it was magically bred out to seek to only fight.

The skull held that echo, and its history made it ideal. The death echo of the Dornish Scorpion Bolt that had pierced its eye made it ideal for defensive enchantments.

The skull sustained a simple programming.

Any who came with malintent would be struck down.

The dragon skull laid the foundation, yes, but it was human skulls—taken from the few Unsullied casualties—formed the controls. They had died taking this land, and they would shield it even in death as lesser versions of what I'd done with Morrigan's held them in vigil.

The esthetics were a bit much, I had to admit, but if the price of securing my home was to go full Warhammer with all the skulls... well, necessities and all that.

I pushed down the urge to laugh like a madman, thunder echoing in the skies, as I waved my wand to engage the safety limitations, like not being able to aim upward... just in case it did not like dragons.

I did not want the dragons that I was planning to hatch to be turned into vapor the moment they took flight after all.

The Solar Cannon whirled around in wooden framing, a second beam vaporizing the small ship that brought the would-be assassin.

"One and twenty," the near mechanical voice spoke, sounding like sand sliding over glass after declaring that it had just vaporized four more people.

I lowered my custom-made dragonglass sunglasses once the light faded and the power crystal disengaged by moving out of alignment.

A sigh escaped my lips, fucking Baratheons forcing me to develop such weapons just to survive.

An order had some guard dispatched to recover the skull of the cutthroat so I could interrogate it a bit more.

Speak with Dead was a D&D game spell that allowed the caster to ask five questions to a dead person. My version was not as restrictive, but the process was slightly more complicated.

A wave of my wand had some Weirwood grow and merge with the bone in a process similar to how I had crafted my first wand.

Once the skull was merged and made leak-proof, I used my Valyrian Steel knife to carve Valyrian Glyphs of recollection, etching red lines into the inside of the skull before adding a Memory Potion.

As I stirred the contents of the skull with my wand, the threads of slivery memories slowly peeled away from the inside of the skull. The threads started to slowly weave together to take the shape of a man's head, a ghostly impression of the original head, an echo of the original mind suspended in the potion.

"What is your name?" I asked the ghostly image of the gaunt man.

"I am Karl Fooking Tanner, Legend of Gin Alley," the ghost introduced himself.

"Well, just my luck," I sighed and started working on the memories within the skull. I extracted the memories about the layout of King's Landing, the skills the idiot had with a knife, and... that was pretty much anything useful about the guy, to be honest.

"Who ordered the attack on Dragonstone?" I asked.

"Some goaler... he told us that we would be rewarded. It was either the Black, the Block, or this," the ghost said.

This was going to take a while.

# Queen

Her cubs played peacefully as Cersei watched, the Queen surveying her domain.

Joffrey, five-name days old, swung his wooden sword like a conqueror, striking at the shins of the maids with delighted shrieks when they flinched. "Slain!" he declared, puffing out his little chest.

Cersei curled her lip in a faint, disapproving smile at the foolish girl.

"Have that one washed once more," she ordered the crying girl. "You're useless standing there weeping over my dresses and soiling them."

The girl stumbled away, red-faced, and Cersei turned her gaze back to her children.

Myrcella, beautiful, golden, three-name days old, sat cross-legged by the window, arranging seashells into neat little rows, humming softly. Tommen, her precious youngest, barely a moon old, suckled contentedly at the wet nurse's breast.

They were safe.

For now.

Cersei sipped her wine, her fingers rigid around the cup, her eyes fixed on the chamber door. She should have felt calm here, with her children, but calm was for fools. Her mind twisted and turned, flinching at shadows, parsing every word spoken near her, weighing every silence.

She dismissed Jon Arryn's page, summoning her to the King's Solar like she was some peasant.

Jon Arryn.

His name slid through her thoughts like a knife beneath silk.

He watched. Always watched. She remembered the look in his eyes when Tommen was born—the cold flicker of suspicion, quickly buried but not forgotten. As if he were counting moons. As if he knew.

Did he know?

Her pulse jumped, sharp and sudden.

No. He was a man of honor and a fool besides. Why else would he have brought someone like Littlefinger—a man her spies claimed boasted of bedding both Tully sisters—to become Master of Coin when a Lannister would have done a far better job?

Yes, Arryn was nothing but a fool.

She would see what he wanted.

Cersei entered the room with the grace of a lioness to find Robert in his cups, yelling at Jon Arryn.

"Your Grace," Arryn said, voice flat, after the barest formality. He looked tired. Older than his years, his skin pale as parchment, mouth drawn with restraint beneath his high nose and hollow blue eyes.

"He's taunting us," Robert snapped. "Sitting in Dragonstone, doing who knows what. Soon, the Narrow Sea houses will flock to his banner; the moment he reaches out, they will be on their knees like a whore eager for cock." Robert growled, slamming a cup down. "Damn the Velaryons and damn the Narrow Sea. We'll make an example of them."

Cersei stepped lightly toward the table, letting Robert's cupbearer fill a cup of wine for her.

"It may be so, Robert, but that does not mean we can attack them without the Narrow Sea Houses turning their cloak," said Jon Arryn instead.

"Aye, I remember getting bored out of those lessons, but I am not a fool," said Robert, "well, you are awfully quiet Cersei, not comment on what your father, great Tywin Lannister, would do?"

"I do not think I need to say anything," responded Cersei, already aware of the troubles. "Your wisdom is clear, my love."

"Yet you will still say something, so go on, tell my Lord Hand he is being an honorable fool," responded Robert.

"Traitors need to be made an example of," she responded with a smile, "and once they are dead, who cares what their claim is. The truth will become what we say it is."

"Is that what I taught you, Robert? What of honor, what of vows?" asked Jon Arryn, raising his voice.

"They have gone to shit the moment that dragon cunt started using Magic," said Robert.

She laughed too sharply. "Is that what they're calling wildfire and mummer's tricks now, Lord Hand?"

But her gut clenched.

'Gold shall be their crowns, and gold their shrouds.'

The words dripped from memory, Maggy's voice thick with rot. Her eyes flicked, almost unwillingly, to her children. Joffrey, bold and willful. Myrcella, arranging shells. Tommen, peacefully asleep.

"I have already ordered the Maesters to scour their records for magics; they found records of Glass Candles doing similar things from old Valyria. At best, he found some book on illusions and parlor tricks," said Jon instead, "The last time Targaryens tried to hatch dragons, they all died to Wildfire in Summerhall."

"Would that they would all die to Wildfire like before," said Robert, drinking deeply from his cup.

"Then give him fire, love," Cersei purred. Internally, she wanted to skin the idiot and salt the wound.

"Let Valeryons burn and blame the Targaryens for it. If this so-called sorcerer likes to play with Wildfire, then we ought to make sure all see it," Cersei added, "I hear a wedding is taking place for Lord Velaryon. The Crown could send gifts, a few ships of Wildfire to rid us of both Driftmark and Velaryons, and a convenient Targaryen to blame."

Jon's face hardened. "You propose more dishonor, as though it would clean up on attacking your own bannerman?"

"Would you ask me to convince Robert not to rid us of some traitors, Lord Hand? I merely suggest a means to ensure both the deaths of traitors and let the blame fall on our enemies," she said sweetly.

He said nothing.

"Aye... that could work," said Robert, eyes glazed over. "We rid us of the first ones to turn traitor, and the rest will think it was the Mad King's whelp."

She rose then, walking slowly to the window, watching the sunlight gild Myrcella's hair. Joffrey was terrorizing a guard now, shrieking something about kings and heads.

"Let the realm fear the dragons again," Robert said with a chuckle. "Let them remember fire and madness. They will flock to me for protection, and there will be no keep for the dragonspawn to hide this time."

Jon sighed, sounding more tired than before, "You would ask me to dishonor myself?"

If Arryn refused, it would allow her father to take the position that should have been rightfully his to begin with.

"Hardly anything about the Sorcery is honorable, Jon, you know that as well as I," responded Robert.

"Is that your command, your grace?" asked Jon after a moment.

"It is," Robert responded.

Jon Arryn left after that with a stiff back and a face like stone, the chain of hands still around his neck. Off to his books, his shrew of a wife, and his festering honor.

Cersei stood still for a long while before choosing to leave herself.

When she moved again, it was with purpose.

She drained the cup that she was still clutching.

It was empty. It slipped from her fingers, clattering against the stone.

"Your Grace?" a servant asked, already stooping.

"Leave it," she said. Then, lower: "Fetch Ser Meryn. I have a task for him."

Letting this boy king play sorcerer on his fog-wrapped rock, as sailors claimed, was dangerous.

And to trust Arryn to succeed was a foolish notion.

Cersei had her own plans. She would ensure this pretender burned, and all she needed was the right man to throw a vial of Wildfire to the man.

After all, Wildfire had killed dragons before.

# The Wizard of Dragonstone

There were too many projects that I needed to address; chief among them was an upgrade to my own power... or rather, figuring out a method of safely using the power that I already had in my hands.

Despite the fact that the Solar Cannon I built could protect the island, it was not my most powerful weapon. It was merely a light cantrip used with superior alchemy and a decent bit of engineering.

My most powerful tool, in truth, was my Sun Fire, the Flame of Anor, to quote a grey wizard, but there were limitations that I needed to address before it could be safe to use without burning myself.

If I could harness it and contain the dangerous and unstable nuclear flame, I would have the ability to sustain spells of immense power without considering the cost.

The Red Priests could call it Life Fire, and I could call it Magical Energy, but in the end, all of it was energy from the sun that was metabolized by living beings.

I had the means to create it, and now, I needed a way to hold it without burning myself such that I could use it to power my more effective spells.

The radiation was still a major issue, even if Fusion produced clean energy. The heat and the flame needed to be contained properly, and sustaining layers of shields over others was not an easy or fast process.

The only metal that I knew to be able to contain the brunt of the Nuclear Flame without getting damaged was Valyrian steel, as I had proven with the power I fed into the ward anchor under Dragonstone.

It gave me an inspiration for something simpler.

A small chamber to contain the power, the fire. Something enclosed but also something that could be unleashed at will.

"The problem with Valyrian Steel is how it's made," I explained to Dany, who was listening with her full attention. She was the only other person I had shared the secrets of the magical steel that I had rediscovered. "The blood-iron binds the soul, but it is also the limiting factor. The amount of iron in a body makes a coin's worth of steel. I call them Soul Coins for their purpose."

I flicked a piece of iron coin. Dany caught it, inspecting it.

Exposing a nine-year-old to the secrets of such Dark Magic might sound irresponsible, but she needed to be aware of the cost of our legacy, and she was mature enough to get exposed to more memories than a normal child would.

"Valyrian Steel does not like to get forge-welded. Souls do not naturally merge. Drawing it out into wire or stretching it into a thin coating of a plate is possible, but merging them... that is a problem," I said.

I had extracted blood from cows, pigs, and even humans, though humans worked better for holding enchantments.

"I dislike the idea of souls being used as such," said Dany, "the dead should be left to rest."

"To understand how others work magic is important, Dany; it keeps you from sticking to a narrow point of view and ensures that you are armed against those who would employ these methods," I said, knowing that she was right. "To use the souls as penance of those who dared attack us is a fine line to walk, I agree. Yet, it is the decision and burden we bear without satisfaction. I am glad you dislike it. It makes you a kinder soul."

Dany did not speak and did not need to speak.

"Shall we continue?" I asked, getting a nod.

I drew Blackfyre, placing the sword between us.

I waited for her to ask the question that mattered the most.

"How could they make such a large blade then?" asked Dany, still holding the coin.

"I can think of only two ways," I said, "One is known to Qohoric Smiths, according to Marwyn, and involves sacrificing newly born children, using their malleable souls as the binding agent. It is not the prettiest method."

Dany made a face of disgust that I agreed. Most magic held something nasty deep within. "Or you kill something big enough to supply you with enough blood," I said, looking over the recipe one more time.

"What is big enough to have enough blood-iron for... a dragon?" Dany said, eyes wide.

"Hmm..." I responded, "Never let it be said that Valyrians are not inefficient."

"Is this the part where you will humbly brag that you have outdone our ancestors?" Dany deadpanned, getting a glare from me.

"I have, of course, found a workaround that involves Alchemy," I said, with a chuckle, adding a black liquid from a diamond vial.

"Basilisk Venom," said Dany, eyes twinkling.

"The souls are deconstructed," I explained slowly, letting the blood drip from the reservoir above, mixed with a potion to prevent clotting. "The blood dissolves within venom, leaving only the iron within, which settles into dust once neutralized, now containing the amalgamated single soul... and any other properties that are contained."

The setup for it was one that had taken a while to get right, but I had access to a lot more blood now; nearly a hundred would-be fortune seekers from Westeros arriving in small boats to kill the last Targaryen and become a lord. They had made it to the island, half of them getting petrified and stored in one of the deeper levels for later use while the other half were killed, a precise shot through the head quicker death than most deserved before they were drained of blood that now was arrayed in casks mixed with an anti-clotting potion made of leeches.

At least it made some aspects of my research much easier.

The base liquid in the golden cup was Basilisk Venom mixed with Ashes of Weirwood and Nightwood and ground Dragonstone and Dragonbone, which were the materials I had narrowed down for Valyrian Steel.

I had added crushed Bloodstone and Sunstone to the mix as well, along with a dash of Phoenix Ash that dissolved in the venom, unlike the tears.

Over the next week, fifty men's worth of blood went into the mix from a ship of Lysene slavers that came too close and had their sails and oars cut down. They had been preserved through Petrification after I had guided the ship to the beach.

Last came a mixture of Phoenix Tears and my own blood, neutralizing the venom and binding it to me at the same time.

In a flash, the black mixture distorted, becoming almost milky white before slowly precipitating fine dust of Crimson-colored steel.

It was not Valyrian Steel, but something much more fitting for my purposes... something much more refined to channel and contain Sunfire.

With the trick that bypassed the venom to bind the steel to me, I could shape the steel with my will alone, but converting the dust into a single ingot took more power.

I took the metal, heading deeper into the mountain as I left Dany behind.

I had to use the altar in the Ward Chamber beneath Dragonstone for it, unleashing torrents of Sun's Wrath.

Once I had a large enough block, I managed to slowly coax the steel into a spherical form.

Well,... two co-centric spheres with a single pin prick hole on them.

The idea was simple.

I would create the sunfire inside the sphere and use the metal to channel the magic, similar to how the Ward Anchor worked.

And if I needed something more, I could always control the hole of the inner sphere to align with the hole of the outer sphere and unleash the flames held within.

"That took a while," commented Dany, reading through a tome on spell structures that I had penned for her.

"Some things should not be rushed," I responded as I inspected the red metal orb. I cast my mind through time to be certain and smiled.

"Power of the sun, in the palm of my hand," I muttered, using the statement as the focus as I ignited the fire inside the contained chamber.

Energy flowed through the metal sphere, flames being contained as I held the orb in my right palm, the scales that took the place of my scar protecting me from potential burns.

The crimson sphere was enough to contain and transfer the power through the steel.

My soul drank hungrily from the source of power.

A tongue of flame appeared around the orb out of nothing, licking the nearly imperceivable scales of my right hand.

On a whim, I reached out and shared the energy with my sister. "Woah, that feels... nice."

"Like caffeine, a hint of coconuts and sunshine," I said with a grin. "I will have to find coconuts for you to taste."

"You shall not consume a power source bigger than your head," she said simply.

"Right," I said. Yes, I had taught my sister the Evil Overlord List... she was still young enough to count for the child advisor position, and it was the smart thing to do. "It is why the orb is the size of my fist. I think I can think of a way to use this new power source," I added.

"Holding a sphere to cast spells in war might not be the best idea, big brother," said Dany in a smug tone while inspecting it closely now that I knew it was safe.

"It is incomplete," I muttered, my hand clutching the orb. A simple flex of my will summoned one of the books, my Grimoire opening to a specific staff design from one of my dreams.

The weirwood staff with a core of dragon bone and nine rings along the length of the staff sectioned the staff into eight parts, each part holding three runes.

Staves provided more magical energy, but the precision required there to be runes carved along the wood itself to substitute for wand movements... limiting the spells to the meaning each carving held along with combinations.

"Can you pass me a blank," I said, catching the staff that Dany sent with a flick of her wand.

The blank staff itself was rather generic.

I had gotten five of them built, using a long piece of a Dragon wing bone from Illyrio's stash. Weirwood wrapped around it, forming a sheathe, treated in a Memory Potion to store any spells it was used to cast. The core itself was bound with thirteen different gems alchemically merged into a single crystal along the center of the staff.

These blanks were far higher quality than what I let the Red Priests now work for me. These were reserved for personal use, experiments, and research.

The magical wood awakened to my touch and will, slowly growing root-like branches that wrapped around and over the crimson sphere, clutching it with long, thick fingers while aligning it all so that the aperture within the sphere pointed along the axis of the staff upwards.

"There is more work to be done, but it will work as a Staff of Power for me," I said, instructing the finer points of wand and artifact lore to Dany during the process.

Nine rings of Valyrian Steel slipped along the shaft, each one meant to hold an enchantment and layer it over itself in an infinite loop through the rings.

Between the rings, I carved Runes along the staff.

Most of the staves I made were for specific uses, but a fully versatile staff was one that I had long dreamed of.

I could have chosen Valyrian Glyphs, chosen among three hundred and sixty or so Glyphs.

I could have chosen First Man Runes, the eighteen Eldritch Runes that I barely understood.

I went with something unorthodox, something that could not be subverted by other beings on this planet. The fiery fuck had given me enough of a fright to last me a lifetime already.

I went with something personal, something unique, something that had a meaning that only I knew of, memorized after a dare.

Elder Futhark... Twenty-Four Runes of the Nordic Pantheon.

It was utterly alien to this world, out of context. It was also pretty versatile in meaning in combinations and came with the fact that the meaning behind it would entirely depend on what I put into the carving.

With the power issue solved when it came to Life Force, I could create my own runes for greater control and authority. Not to mention that using runes that did not exist in this world would double the versatility and security as only I knew the full twenty-four runes and their meanings and as such only I could determine their meaning.

Meaning that I carved into the wood, weaving meaning into each one with each line carved into the essence of the wood with the Valyrian Steel.

Three between the gap of each ring.

Eight gaps in total.

Eight spell concepts that would come naturally from the staff, making specific castings much more efficient while giving me access to the full runic system.

The two of us worked on the staff for nine days, weaving rituals and spells into it, as I taught the runes to Daenerys, working together until it was ready.

I activated the orb once more, watching the Life Fire get absorbed along the core of the staff and expand outwards until the energy hit the first trio of runes.

Isa, Kenaz, and Wunjo activate the spell for the harmony of ice and fire, containing the fire while ensuring a balance within the staff.

Next came Algiz, Uruz, and Thrusaz, reinforcing and strengthening the staff to contain the power. Strength and defensive enchantments formed through the staff, and a mere thought was enough to raise a shield with the staff now.

More and more runic triads activated as the staff became more than what it was.

I watched the staff change, not physically but metaphysically, slowly becoming something more than its parts.

Before I could say anything else, I felt the Wards pinging at me.

"We have company, come on," I simply said as Dany straightened, falling lockstep behind me. A flick of my wrist sent Shadow Ravens to warn others.

"What is happening?" asked Jon Connington, a sword on his hip, as he walked to catch up.

"There is a ship that manage to pass the first layer of the Wards," I explained, letting the overlay of the image as I blinked to keep track of it. "The intent wards did not trigger, so they are not hostile, but it is better to be cautious. Everyone, armor up," I commanded, moving past them to put on my own armor.

The small fishing boat that approached was not what I expected.

Based on the dimensions, it could hold maybe twenty people at most, making me less afraid and more cautious.

Ten of my Black Knights stood at the vanguard, the pawns on the board. They were, ironically, the most disposable of my units. The long list of modifications I made, allowing each to reform at dawn, made them easier to spend than the lives of actual people.

Behind them, a thicker line of twenty Unsullied blocked the path, ready to pull back to the Gate manned by archers at a moment's notice.

From on top of the Gate, I observed the robed figures disembark from the fishing boat onto the small stone dock that I had raised a week before to make rowboats easier to access, rather than the option of just beaching them.

"Who are they?" asked Ser Richard next to me.

"Alchemists," I snarled, casually glancing at their minds. I did not like where this was going.

Ser Richard stiffened, "My father's pet pyromancers, not the cunt we faced in Braavos," I corrected as the knight relaxed.

"I am Wisdom Lucan of the Alchemists' Guild, here to request a meeting with the Lord of this Keep," the one in the head yelled out, eyes moving to and from the Black Knights.

"Third one on the right," I said to Ser Richard, after completing a casual glimpse into the minds of the Alchemists, "has a vial of Wildfire up his sleeve. He seems to be working alone. If it comes to it, I will throw one of the Black Knights to contain it."

I leaned against my new staff, a sliver of my mind pushing itself into one of the Black Knights behind the gates. Another flex layered the illusion of myself onto it before the gates opened, allowing my decoy to walk out.

"Good," said Ser Richard, next to my true self, watching the drone walk forward. "But a simpler solution would work as well," he added, nodding at Wat and the arrow he had notched.

"Right, Wat, do the thing," I said to the other man standing next to me. "His right sleeve, five inches above where his middle finger ends."

Wat the Eyes lifted his dragon bone bow, shooting a single arrow aimed at the target I gave.

The arrow flew, and it flew true, piercing the hand and the vial, green flames igniting the man alive, consuming first his sleeve and then the rest of him.

"Death to the False Dragon," I heard another one yell, his mind far too focused for me to catch the threat, and the Green Vial crashed into one of the Black Knights just after I was pulled back to my body by Richard kicking the staff under me.

"I hate Wildfire," Ser Richard and I muttered at once as I recovered, as I sent a mental order that had the other Knights move and dog-pile the would-be-assassin.

"Good call," I told my knight.

"Just doing my job," said Richard, enjoying it far too much. "Getting over-confident gets you dead," he repeated one of my sayings.

We looked at the second assassin, long since disabled.

Because nothing said disabled like a half-ton animated pile of magic sand slamming into you.

The rest of the Alchemists seemed surprised as they were now held at spearpoint by the Unsullied and their ten-foot spears.

Soon, they were all stripped and bound before me... or was it another Black Knight pretending to be me? Eh... semantics.

"We had nothing to do with this," the one in charge, Lucan as the one in charge, stammered, afraid for his life, "mercy, your grace."

"Had I been my father, what would you think I would do about your claims, Lucan Waters?" I asked a question echoing through their minds as I grasped the full name of the man before me.

The bastard of some tourney knight and a tavern wench, Lucan went pale, then turned a rather unique shade of green.

The remaining Alchemists did not fair as well, either, knowing that they were fucked.

"But I believe you," I said simply. "I have seen your mind, Alchemist, and know that there are old loyalties within. So speak, convince me to spare you."

Theatricality and deception were powerful tools if used well... especially for a Wizard.

At the cost of a Black Knight, which would reform the next day, I had gained leverage over the Alchemists, became the offended party, and shown myself to be merciful.

I was already in his mind, going through his decisions.

Lucan Waters, the man kneeling before me, was the most senior of the Alchemists that defected to me, an acolyte of nearly a decade.

"Speak, why have you come here," I said, face blank with the staff in my left hand, Will appearing in a flash of flame and landing on top of the crimson orb.

"We, I am innocent, your grace, I..." started Lucan.

"Are not responsible for the decisions of others," I said, "But why have you made this journey?"

A moment of silence stretched, a mix of awe and fear and relief flooding within the man.

"Even after our order brought down the Walls of Pyke for him, we knew that the Usurper would only tolerate us," said Lucan, his eyes focusing on my right hand, the one covered in golden scales that I had kept revealed for this meeting. "We had, of course, heard rumors of His Grace, his power, his fire... his titles. Wisdoms disagreed, too afraid to rise up, too set in their ways to leave."

"What made you come?" I asked.

"We were told to gather Wildfire for a task. We were not told why. Three ships worth," he said simply, "but rumors still made its way that the Dragon banner was raised over Dragonstone. We, the few of us, had heard rumors of Targaryen patronage and thought to make the journey. It was Tadd who had the idea; he was mighty rushed to get to Dragonstone."

"Which one is Tadd?" I asked as the Acolytes all pointed to the pile of ash to the side.

A check on the surviving would-be-assassin still moaning on the ground from broken bones confirmed Lucan's statement.

How peculiar.

The ones who wanted me dead had arranged for this group to come together, potentially hoping to remain hidden until they had the opportunity to strike. It was not the best plan, but I could see the desperation within their minds now that I knew what to look for.

I could not really blame the two. I had seen their thoughts... well, the one that survived at least.

Someone had taken their families and threatened them to come here and throw Wildfire at me. Given that it was the Gold Cloaks who had passed them their orders, the options on who was behind the attack were limited to either Baelish or Varys.

Hmm... I should take out the Spider when I get a chance. His existence is a threat more than anything.

I smirked as the tingling feeling from the Geas I got when I considered the option of Serra Blackfyre did not trigger, even if having a known stock of Targaryen Blood that doubled as Blood of the Enemy was useful. However partial the sacrifice would be.

Whoever it was that led to the Acolytes of the Alchemist Guild coming to Dragonstone deserved my thanks.

"They are not even Masters," said Richard next to my actual flesh.

"It matters not; I prefer those with experience but not the ones too set in their ways."

"You are planning to keep them, aren't you?" asked Ser Richard as we listened to their story.

"I need people who know how to make soap," I responded, getting a shake of my Shield's head. "Have some of the builders from the village set up a separate research area in one of the unoccupied lands," I said. Will flashed and landed on top of my staff, a rolled-up parchment held in his beak.

I took the scroll containing the protocols I came up with for safely conducting experiments with highly volatile substances.

"Once I get them bound to enough oaths, I need you to get the War Council," I said simply.

"How much Wildfire?" asked Jon Connington as I leaned back on my throne in the Chamber of the Painted Table, seven Black Knights standing around Lucan.

Because the surviving Alchemists revealed a much more dangerous plot against us.

"Three boats full, Lord Hand," said Lucan.

"What would Robert want with three boats full of Wildfire?" asked Jon, focused on the threat of the Wildfire.

It was one of the substances that I knew would work against me, a secret that I kept guarded even from my Council. Only Dany, Richard, and Lanna were fully aware of the fact that the Wildfire could and would burn the small piece of the soul one used when casting spells.

It made Wildfire a good enough counter to Magic, something that held me back from taking a walk through King's Landing and ending this war.

I had developed counters, as any proper Wizard should.

Will was immune to Wildfire as a Phoenix, of course. The Black Sand, the prime mix of Weirwood, Nightwood, and Phoenix ash added to the ground Obsidian that shaped my long-term conjurations like Black Knights and the Glass Ravens, were similarly not affected once you shattered the sand that was melted into glass. I had also kept a small stash of Phoenix Ash in case I was ever exposed, but it did not make the risk zero.

Granted, throwing a lump of Magic Sand at it was not really that much advanced than what the Alchemists' Guild that had come to join my ranks had figured out, but if it worked, it worked, you know.

"He means to burn ships... or a port," spoke out Wat the Brains.

"He cannot sail to Dragonstone. What use would such a thing have?" asked Wat the Eyes.

I watched the spears gather and move along the map, small dots of lights all along the map of Westeros, concentrated on major points of interest.

Dany was working on a color gradient to approximate their number by intensity and concentration, but for now, it gave me an overall view of Westeros.

My eyes were focused on the Lion spears positioned near the Goldroad, between the Westerlands and the Reach, along with a second group slowly growing near Goldentooth.

She had even updated the light projection to show animals that matched the banners for most of the cases.

And they say Divination is unreliable.

Around ten thousand spears, give or take a thousand, ready to crush any rebellion.

And three ships of Wildfire as the opening move.

I stood up, my hands going through the hand-sized table that represented Driftmark.

Pity, my bet was on Darry.

"The Hull? That is ridiculous," responded Connington, catching my hint. "That is not something Robert would do. It is dishonorable. Velaryons have bent the knee."

"Who said it was his plan?" I asked, turning to Lucan. "Who ordered the ships?"

"The Lord Hand had been the one to order it, your grace, I was there with Wisdom Hallyne when he sent his squire with the orders, but it bore his signature," responded Lucan.

Ah... there was the thread I missed.

I never accounted for the old Falcon because I did not know how he would operate. I took him for how he wished to be perceived, the Honorable Lord of Arryn, and missed the cunning old man who had been the Hand of the King and ruled in Robert's place for years.

Robert, I knew from the Glass Ravens sent to spy on the Red Keep, wanted the Velaryons made an example of.

Jon Arryn had other plans, it would seem... or it could be Varys or Baelish... those were also tricky players.

"Who would be the one blamed if boats of Wildfire burned down half of an island?" I asked innocently. 'Who would be blamed if war triggered because a Lady decided to spurn her betrothed and run off with a Prince?'

Jon fucking Arryn... the Honorable Arryn.

A man who had managed to rule a literal powder keg as Hand of the King for sixteen years.

It would seem I had an opponent that was not as rash as Robert or as blood-thirsty as Tywin.

"An honorable king of the Seven Kingdoms, or the Son of the man who executed people with Wildfire?" I asked, getting a flinch from everyone in the room.

"King Aerys was fond of Wildfire," said Lucan, like it helped.

I turned and glared at the Pyromancer, making him shrink back. I smiled at the poor man... well, boy, really, barely six and ten. "You are not wrong."

"He means to make it look like you attacked Velaryons," said Jon, "Make it look like you are a merciless madman, one who would not accept the fealty of those who had bent the knee to Robert. Destroy any hope of gaining a power base."

"Can your contraption take it out?" asked Dany, her eyebrows furrowing in the sort of focus that only a child could achieve. "It can sink ships, with ones filled with Wildfire... boom," she said, making a motion of explosion.

"The Solar Cannon? The range is not an issue... in theory," I admitted after a bit of mental calculations. "But the curvature of the planet becomes an issue after a while, though. Given the elevation of the castle and the height, around forty miles," I said. "What is the distance to Driftmark?"

"Closest point, five and twenty miles, five and forty to ruins of High Tide, Five and eighty miles to Castle Driftmark and the Hull," instantly responded Marwyn, his fingers clicking at multiple similar colored rings, likely ones for Geography.

"So, it won't reach Hull," said Jon with a huff. "Can you build another on Driftmark?"

That was a terrible idea.

"Building more is not feasible," I said politically, dismissing the option of building more and placing them on ships or some of the smaller islands where others might be able to take or subvert them.

Dragonstone was where we would dig in and entrench. Having such a weapon here made it less of a liability and less likely to fall into enemy hands, which is why I had made the decision to build it in the first place.

"It is just light, right? Not like your staff?" asked Dany, more knowledgeable than others, to which I nodded. The main crystal stored sunlight being focused over time before unleashing it. "Would mirrors help?"

I froze... that was... not mirrors, but prisms to divert the light through relay towers.

"I would need towers, not necessarily for humans but for the range, pylons effectively," I muttered, half-remembered information returning to my mind. "I can add towers. There are enough small islands along the Gullet to hold relay stations using mirrors. It would also work to act as lighthouses when not at war."

The mechanics of it would be tricky to get working, but not impossible. Raising relay towers that reflected and diverted the laser along the Gullet to be high enough would make blockade possible.

"Mayhaps," I said, my mind whirling.

"If you can build more, why not build enough to blockade the Gullet?" asked Marwyn before turning to see me grinning.

"Oh... I will have to build so many pylons," I said, grinning like a madman before clamping down on my manic glee.

I coughed, centering myself and returning to the aloof king's face. It was not effective against my Inner Circle, but needs must.

"That answers how and why," I said, "which leaves when as the question?"

"Could be any time," responded Jon.

"We can dispatch Glass Ravens," Dany suggests, "gives us two days of warning."

"Good idea," I said, with a nod. "Get the Skinchanger Squad to help you out, set up shifts watching the docks for any ships."

Marwyn coughed to draw our attention.

"I might have an idea of when they would do so, your grace. I have found a wedding invitation among the missives that were piled in Cressen's office," said Marwyn, pulling a message from his robe, "Between Lord Monford Velaryon and Cella Celtigar. It is in a sennight."

How... convenient.

"The timing is funny," observed Dany.

"Weddings are as much a chance to plot as it is to build alliances, just like Tourneys. A lot of lords are located in a single location," explained Jon to Dany in an even tone.

"They are scrambling to make sense of things, left alone without Stannis there; it has been more than a moon since Dragonstone was blocked from being seen, let alone reached," Richard spoke up. "These men are as much Lords as they are Sailors, and the winds are shifting. I was there while Rhaegar ruled as Prince of Dragonstone. It is not hard to know how they think."

All the Narrow Sea Lords, who were not trustworthy enough to be taken by Stannis, assembled overlooking a pyre ready to set.

That is when I would do it.

That is when this plot would make the most impact... most damage to our cause.

I really hated weddings in this world.

We have a plot to unravel and a wedding to save.

"This meeting is over," I said, my staff slapping into my hand from where it was leaning on my seat. "Jon, figure out backup plans. I am going to scout ahead and set up something in Driftmark. Wat, Wat, you two are with me. We have a wedding to save," I said, a mental nudge causing Will to appear in a flash of flame, his talons sinking into my shoulder as I vanished in a corona of flame.

I appeared in a flash in the woods of Driftmark.

The woods were thinner than I expected, low, salt-stained scrub and wind-warped trees, more skeletal than sheltering. Ideal for making clear glass a part of my mind supplied.

I gripped my staff, using the power to weave a Seeming over myself, a simple Notice-Me-Not Charm that sent a constant echo of 'Not my fucking business' out there as I got to work.

For the first step, I used the butt of my staff to form a rough circle, the runes on the staff glowing as I channeled the power.

Perthro for secrets and Algiz for defense and instinct.

Once the protection was done, a wave of the staff created a fire pit, and another summoned dried twigs.

I placed a black brick into the middle of the small fire, a tongue of flame igniting everything.

The brick was not an ordinary one. I had baked it out of ground Dragonglass and the ashes of Weirwood and Phoenix. It was much more affordable to integrate the Phoenix Ash into a single anchor brick for the Floo Network than to turn it into a powder after all.

"Driftwood Beachhead," I muttered, linking the same before throwing a pinch of black powder.

The flame flashed green and out walked Wat the Brains and Wat the Eyes.

Brains wore a full plate, a Black shield, and a bronze mace with a weirwood haft in his hands.

Eyes, on the other hand, wore mail, his dragonbone bow strung and at hand.

My scaled hand reached out and plucked the still-hot brick from the flame, using physical contact to leech the heat from it. Once the brick was safely stored, I turned around and started walking.

My two guards remained lockstep behind me, added to the seaming I had woven, and soon we were where we needed to be.

I overlooked the ruins of High Tide, the castle that was a testament to the fall of House Velaryon, the ruin that the ambitions of Corlys Velaryon had that reduced them to a minor house after the Dance.

The castle was built on a tidal island off of Driftmark, an island fortress at High Tide that gave it its name. Around the castle were the remains of Spice Town.

Both the keep and the city around it were destroyed during the Dance of Dragons, left to ruin after the Battle of the Gullet and the sacking of both the castle and town.

All that remained were the ruins, a monument of the Icarus that was the Seasnake.

That did not mean that it was useless, however.

The ruins themselves provided something unique, more than being a high vantage point that could overlook the entire island and the seas around it where a pylon can be raised to reflect the Solar Cannon.

The location had a history, a history that reeked of its destruction, kept untouched by the waters that formed the pseudo-isle.

I grasped that history, those echoes begging for salvation and safety, as I wove the magic through stone, the pieces of the castle's outer walls, the echo of the deaths, the cries for help for salvation against invaders infused into raw Obsidian with a wave of my staff, forming a spiraling tower to reflect the solar cannon at the seas surrounding the isle.

The top of the glass tower was a sphere, with the black color leaching to leave a pure crystal behind. It was not clear so much as semi-liquid, awaiting the instructions to change the focus. It was a prism meant to guide and reflect light as I saw fit.

A mental command caused a beam to come from the horizon before striking the top of the tower. The beam from the Solar Cannon reflected a point in the sea that hissed for a moment.

Yes, this would do.

I came to, my soul settling back into my skin from casting such a large-scale magic. The power from my staff worked to replenish my power, even as my soul settled back, slowly recovering from the strain of weaving the spell.

"Well, that took a while," said Wat the Brains, poking at the campfire he had made.

"How long?" I asked, realizing that my throat was parched.

"This is the second night," said Wat, passing me his bandolier containing every type of potion one would need in a fight. I took the ones that would boost my physical recovery, fix the aches, and allow me more rest. Once the potions made their way down, I slowly stretched from where I was standing. "Eyes is taking watch, and we have some stew if you are hungry."

"Good," I said, "we rest tonight, and tomorrow, let us see if we can make our way into the Keep."

"Please tell me we are not dressing up as bards, boss," said Wat, "I cannot carry a tune."

All I could do was smirk.

# Lord of the Rising Tides

The bells of Hull were clanging as an echo of the celebration.

Monford stood on the balcony of his father's..., his solar Monford corrected, the wind ruffling his dark green cloak, lined in seafoam silver. His betrothal feast was in three days, and the harbor below teemed with ships, guests, and merchants alike.

What was once the long-neglected docks had been rebuilt, if only partially. It had been hard, it had been costly, and Monford had to borrow heavily from the Iron Bank of Braavos to do so at rates that had been far too suspicious if Maester Perros were to be believed. It was Monford's pride and joy, proof that he did not need the Crown's favor as he brought his House to the prominence once achieved by the likes of Seasnake and Oakenfist.

The rebuilt docks now bustled.

Longships from Massey's Hook jostled beside the squat, square-prowed cogs from Wendwater and the Ironborn longships claimed by Duskendale during Balon's Rebellion.

It announced a rebirth of his House.

And with this wedding, the continuation of his legacy.

But beneath it all, there was something spoken in whispers.

Gold changed hands faster than tides. And in every tavern, men whispered of mists and vanished ships, of strange storms in Essos, and the whisperings of dragons.

"Two more galleys sighted off Crackclaw Point," said Ser Brynden Staunton, stepping beside Monford. The second son of Lord Symond had been an old friend of Monfords from the time when the two were squires to Lord Ardrian Celtigar. Monford had offered to make him a Master at Arms as a jest once, and the man had accepted without hesitation, unwilling to return to Rook Rest and his father.

Brynde, a year older than Monford, was already balding, with a long white scar from brow to jaw from an Ironborn axe from the Rebellion. "Came from Braavos. Claimed they saw a storm like no other off the coast of Pentos. Spoke of waves as high as towers and pillars of lightning that broke a fleet of ships."

"Off Pentos?" Monford asked, turning. Other sailors had whispered similar stories to him.

"Aye." agreed Brynden, slipping into the way sailors spoke with ease. "They say the sea spat green fire. Some of the sailors swear they saw a dragon. Others claim it the work of Krakens?"

Monford frowned. "And yet no word from the Royal Fleet. No word from Stannis."

Ser Brynden said nothing.

Stannis had not called the banners, not for the Narrow Sea Houses, keeping the fleet filled with men who only answered to him. That alone was telling what Stannis was sent to do... dragon hunting.

All had heard of the dragons, of course.

The exiled remnants of House Targaryen, with whispers of strange powers and magic.

Monford did not believe any of them. They did not matter for his designs.

House Targaryen was long gone, and House Velaryon was all that remained of Old Valyria. He would have to ensure that he could helm the ship.

"Nervous about the wedding, my lord?" Brynden asked, dragging him from his thoughts with the grace of an Aurochs, an easy smile forming on his face as he sipped from a chipped wine goblet. "The way you and Cella look at one another, it's a wonder if the feast does not end early in favor of the bedding."

Monford smiled, recalling the soft kisses and whispered promises.

The future he had promised himself to protect.

"There he is," said Brynden, "'tis your wedding, my lord. You ought not be so dire and plotting all the time."

"If you say so, Ser," said Monford, making his way to the feasting hall, putting away rumors of dragons and the feeling of the storm that was coming off.

Tides were turning, and his instincts warned him. For good or for bad, he could not tell, but the tides could wait another day.

The wedding was slow, the oaths made before gods and man. Once or twice, Monford thought he saw a pair of purple eyes upon him before it was gone.

"Lord Ardrian," Monford smiled, embracing his goodfather.

"Monford, you seem thoughtful," the man said jovially, his cloak embroidered with red rubies in the form of crabs glistening in the sunlight, similar to the cloak that he had peeled away from the shoulders of his Cella in favor of the silver seahorse on sea green.

"You have taught me to mind a ship in storms, old friends," responded Monford. "It requires care and thoughtfulness."

"Yet, you have become a remarkable Captain, and Lord besides," said Ardrian, proud, "I am sure you will make my Cella very happy."

Lord Ardrian embraced him once more before whispering, "Massey and Staunton are Stag's men; mind your words before them. Rest are hedging their bets," he added simply and walked off. 'Trust only Bryden' was left unsaid, not needed after all.

This was the game they played now.

A game where loyalties were hedged, and survival was all that mattered.

The wedding was swift.

The Septon said the words; Monford placed the sea green cloak in place of the cloak of ruby crabs upon the shoulders of his Cella.

The feast that followed bled into dusk, the vaulted hall of Castle Driftmark bustling with cheers and lords who drank as much as the sailors that they commanded. Arbor Gold and Dornish Red flowed like river. Their bellies were filled with roast fish, stuffed crabs, and plump lampreys swimming in spiced wine.

The air was thick with sea salt, honey, and the stink of wet wool. Somewhere, a Tyroshi bard plucked at a lute, singing a tune too soft to carry over the din.

His eyes found Cella, a soft smile on her face as the bride and groom danced in the hall. They spun around until the bedding was called, and the feast was over, at least for the Lord and the new Lady of the Tides.

The dawn awoke them both, not with the soft golden glow of the sun but the sharp green roar of something worse.

Monford rushed through, half-dressed as he overlooked the sea.

Off in the distance, in the sea at the horizon, there was fire, fire that looked like a mushroom that sprouted from the ground.

He felt the eyes on him again as he turned and saw him...

He was there, sitting upon a branch, looking the part of a king surveying his lands.

He had the features of Valyria on him, silver hair that caught the light and eyes glowing like Amethysts against flame. He was clad in clothes of red and black, and a sword hung on his hip.

He did not need to know the man's identity; that much was emblazoned on his cloak, a black cloak waving like a flag in the wind, bearing a crimson-colored three-headed dragon.

Viserys Targaryen.

The infamous Wizard.

It took Monford a moment to comprehend, but he understood what was wrong.

The branch that the Targaryen was sitting on was not attached to a tree, floating in the air in defiance of all the laws of gods and all the notions of man.

It was a statement.

It was a declaration.

House Targaryen had returned.

With fire and blood.

With magic and might.

[img: data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7]

AN:

Varys sends a knife after Viserys. It does not affect...

Viserys went full Odin/Mad Wizard, starting with Death Lasers and ending in Nuclear Shotgun. He is prepping for the White Walkers and killing Gods, while everyone is preparing for a Civil War.

Robert, Jon and Cersei come up with a good plan. Then Cersei goes rogue with her better plan to sabotage all, once more showing that her greatest enemy is herself.

Both Jon's are just suffering through their king's brand of crazy.

Lords of the Narrow Sea are being rescued from the Baratheons, by force if necessary.

Wiz can fly now.

What are your thoughts on longer chapters? Should I go for more updates that are shorter?

I am motivated by discussions, feedback, and criticism. If you wish to enable my coffee addiction, I made a ko-fi account here if you wish to support my work. I can only promise to spend the time drinking coffee writing my stories, and you get absolutely nothing else in return.