Blood Ancestor

GOT: Molten Crown [ch 56]

Added 2025-06-28 18:08:05 +0000 UTC

[Chapter 56: King Meets King]

The moment Arthur and the First Sword locked eyes, both men were already eager for a duel.

Given the task Viserys had just assigned him, Arthur responded with enthusiasm.

“Rest assured, Your Grace—I will defeat him,” he said confidently, gripping the hilt of his sword.

It was the kind of confidence only someone who had never truly lost could possess.

His defeat by Rhaegar in the tournament had been planned. Since the age of fifteen, Arthur Dayne hadn’t lost a single real contest of strength.

After what felt like a long wait, a voice finally rang out from beyond the chamber.

“Sealord Freygo Antaryon has arrived!”

At the arrival of their host, both Viserys and Arthur composed themselves.

Freygo was an experienced negotiator and understood the role of stamina in such engagements.

He knew Arthur Dayne was a legendary knight in Westeros. If Arthur were his opponent, Freygo would be at a disadvantage physically. So he had deliberately delayed his entrance.

Fortunately, Viserys had expected this tactic. Both he and Arthur had concealed some dried meat in their garments, so they were still in decent condition.

Freygo entered through the main hall, accompanied by Quairo Valentyn and a translator. On the eastern continent, Valyrian was spoken far more commonly than the Common Tongue.

But the first thing to catch his eye wasn’t Arthur—it was a silver-haired youth.

The boy stepped forward and addressed him in fluent Valyrian:

“Your Majesty Freygo, Braavos truly lives up to its name as the greatest of the Free Cities. Ever since I saw the Titan, I haven’t been able to look away. And now, seeing this magnificent palace, I must say—your people are truly remarkable.”

Viserys’s opening words caught the Sealord slightly off guard. But a moment later, drawing on his intelligence briefings, Freygo quickly recognized who stood before him.

He narrowed his eyes slightly and replied with a trace of sarcasm.

“For a supposed heir of the Dragonlords, skulking around in disguise seems rather laughable, doesn’t it?”

He sat down as he spoke.

Viserys showed no offense, responding coolly.

“House Targaryen is dangerously thin-blooded these days. Not just men who can fight—even those who can merely stand are few.

By the blessing of my ancestors, I won two battles and have managed to keep the crown on my head. When the fate of the family rests on a single person, one must be cautious.”

Freygo, hearing Viserys speak with such clarity and poise, shed his earlier contempt. He now regarded the young king as a worthy adversary.

The two exchanged words fluidly, while Arthur, who only spoke the Common Tongue, couldn’t follow a thing. Not that it mattered—he and Quairo Valentyn didn’t need words.

They studied each other, and from the look in their eyes, both knew what the other was thinking: a duel.

But without the command from their respective monarchs, they would have to wait.

“You must be here to discuss the matter of relocation,” Freygo said. “What are your thoughts on the territory Braavos has offered House Targaryen?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Viserys replied. “To be frank, perhaps relocating east isn’t the only path.”

“Oh? It seems House Targaryen has found a better option?”

“Not necessarily. It’s just that I lack the talents of my elder brother. I may not be capable of establishing a foothold on Essos.

Perhaps it would be wiser to remain centered on Dragonstone, surviving off the Narrow Sea until our family can produce another conqueror—like Aegon or my brother Rhaegar.”

His words carried both humility and warning.

When he spoke of “surviving off the Narrow Sea,” it was clear what he meant—piracy.

It was a direct threat to Braavos and its trade routes.

While the Braavosi navy was superior to Dragonstone’s, distance played a crucial role. A distant naval campaign could easily turn costly and fruitless.

And Viserys, basking in the momentum of two recent victories, might just be bold enough to try.

Realizing this, Freygo quickly changed his tone.

“I urge you to reconsider. Without land to rally around, how can you unite hearts and minds? It will only make reclaiming the Iron Throne more difficult.”

“What can I do? Building a new homeland on foreign soil requires endless coin and manpower. I once heard a saying: ‘Even the finest cook can’t bake bread without flour.’ What can I possibly do?”

“There’s always the Iron Bank. You could borrow from them. If you need an intermediary, I’d be happy to assist.”

“But the Iron Bank is far too greedy. Right now, House Targaryen’s most valuable asset is its fleet—and their offer is unacceptable.”

That’s when Freygo had a sudden realization.

Viserys still intended to relocate east—but he was dissatisfied with the Iron Bank’s offer.

Freygo had arranged for the Bank to buy Dragonstone’s ships as a way to profit on both ends, but it seemed Viserys had seen right through it.

If they couldn’t make a double profit, then perhaps it was best to abandon the small in favor of the large. Raise the price, and buy goodwill.

“In that case,” Freygo said, “how about this: I offer to buy fifty warships on behalf of Braavos, at around five thousand gold dragons apiece, depending on their condition.”

Viserys smiled inwardly. Diplomatic value was still value, after all. But five thousand per ship still didn’t satisfy him.

“Five thousand is a decent offer,” he said, “but in the early stages of settling new land, I’ll need much more—grain, iron, armor, tools…

It sounds like a lot, but it still won’t be enough. I’m willing to sell you thirty ships at that price. The rest… I’ll send someone to the Disputed Lands.”

At the mention of the Disputed Lands, a subtle change flickered across Freygo’s face.

But it didn’t escape those violet eyes.

So, Braavos did plan to act as a second-hand dealer.

Freygo was surprised, but after thinking it over, he realized there weren’t many buyers who could absorb an entire fleet from Dragonstone.

Even through process of elimination, it wouldn’t be hard to guess.

“But the Kingdom of the Three Daughters hasn’t shown any signs of war,” Freygo said. “Maintaining those ships will cost you dearly.”

He was clearly rattled.

Viserys knew he had guessed correctly.

“Has Your Majesty ever heard of the term ‘arms race’?” he asked.

“Arms race?” Freygo raised a brow. He quickly understood the meaning, though he wasn’t sure what Viserys intended.

“I could start by selling at low prices—or even just leasing—to one of the parties. Then gradually raise the price. I imagine they’d be quite eager.”

Freygo now understood: the idea of profiting from reselling warships was dead.