Terno was so excited that when he shot to his feet, the stool beneath him flew backward with a loud clatter.
"We can make that little king go find Prince's Spear!"
The commotion was impossible to ignore. For once, the others couldn't pretend he wasn't there.
Gafas leaned back in his chair, a trace of disdain on his face. "What a brilliant idea. How come I've never heard of Westerosi taking orders from defeated men?"
Terno flushed immediately at the jab, though his olive-toned Rhoynar skin made it less obvious.
"I—I mean we can tell him the significance of Prince's Spear. He wants to conquer Gohor, doesn't he? He won't refuse. Right, High Elder?"
Lothan studied Terno's eager expression, his entire demeanor sinking into thought.
The other elders noticed that their High Elder was considering the proposal seriously, and they all fell silent at once.
A long line of brick kilns stretched for several miles, belching out black smoke. Brickmakers worked feverishly, stripped down to light clothing because of the intense heat.
The future city required an enormous amount of brick and stone—both for public works and for ordinary houses.
At that moment, Viserys couldn't help but miss Dragonstone's Stone Drum Tower and Round Hall—bright, spacious, and perfect for both audiences and councils.
If Valyrian building techniques hadn't been lost, he would have constructed a Valyrian-style castle right here in Gohor.
Instead, he had to make do with tents. Even Terno's manor was grander than the king's quarters.
Inside one of those tents, Lothan had come to visit once more.
"You're saying that whoever possesses Prince's Spear can make all the Rhoynar submit?"
Viserys looked at him with amusement. The idea was so absurd it almost felt like an insult.
This old man didn't strike him as someone who treated others like fools—certainly not an Illyrio-type buffoon.
Thousands of Rhoynar had already submitted to him; if such a thing were true, he would have known.
"Your Majesty, I understand your skepticism," Lothan said sincerely. "Prince's Spear was lost when the Rhoynar resisted the Valyrian invasion. It is the pride of our people.
If you find it yourself, you'll conquer Gohor much faster. I will personally lead the Rhoynar to swear fealty to you.
And not just Gohor—the Rhoynar remnants along the Rhoyne River will also pledge themselves to you."
Lothan explained the relic's history in earnest.
"Then why didn't you find it yourself?" Oberyn asked.
"I tried. Seven times I journeyed to Nasar, and all four of my sons died there," Lothan answered plainly.
His story matched what Viserys had learned from Vhagarion's memories. Lothan truly wanted to find Prince's Spear.
"We still can't trust this so-called relic of yours," Oswell interjected. "Even if it is real, it's not worth risking our king's life."
To Viserys's men, the campaign was already a sure victory—a matter of sooner or later.
The Kingsguard had once waited for Rhaegar to be the wise king they dreamed of, but he had squandered his life away.
Now they served Viserys, who carried both Aegon the Conqueror's ambition and Jaehaerys the Wise's vision.
They wouldn't allow their "dream king" to risk his life needlessly.
Oswell and Arthur knew that if they let Viserys travel to a dangerous place like Nasar, Gerold and Willem—who guarded Rhaella on Dragonstone—would flay them alive.
And the same would hold true if the situation were reversed.
"Of course it's worth it," Lothan said, turning back to Viserys. "We've received a shipment of weapons and armor. Now we have two choices: go to war with you or starve at home. Which do you think we'll choose?"
His quiet words were a naked threat.
Hands instinctively went to sword hilts. With one word from Viserys, the old man would join his four sons in death.
"Killing me won't help," Lothan continued calmly. "The other elders are even more eager for war."
"You can have as many weapons as you like, and you still won't be our match," Arthur stepped forward. But Viserys raised his hand to stop him.
"Was it Freygo who gave you the weapons?" Viserys asked.
Lothan narrowed his eyes. "Yes."
"Then you're coming with me."
"Your Majesty!" Oswell and Arthur spoke in unison, alarmed.
The others looked at Viserys with the same worried expressions.
"But if I go," Lothan said reasonably, "who does Prince's Spear belong to when we find it—you or me? And Freygo has his men in the council. If I leave, they might start a war in my absence."
Viserys couldn't refute his logic.
"I can send my granddaughters with you," Lothan said, gesturing toward Jona and Jorel behind him. It was a clear sign of good faith.
"Two girls in exchange for our king? Absolutely not!" the Old Crab barked the moment he heard it.
His instinct and experience told him this was a nine-in-ten disaster waiting to happen.
Jona and Jorel frowned at being called "little girls," but they understood what was at stake. If Viserys agreed to go to Nasar, their people would have hope.
Arthur, Oswell, and the Old Crab all opposed the idea.
The reward was tempting: if Viserys retrieved Prince's Spear, he would gain not only Gohor but also the allegiance of the Rhoynar along the Rhoyne.
But compared to the risk, it was not worth it. Viserys could conquer Gohor within two or three years through sheer ability alone.
Not everyone opposed him, though. Oberyn was eager.
The prince loved chaos. He'd heard tales of Nasar during his mercenary days in Essos but never had the chance to go.
If Viserys agreed, he'd be the first to sign up.
Oberyn had an unshakable confidence in his own survival.
In his mind, even if everyone—including Viserys—died in Nasar, he'd make it out alive.
And if Viserys fell, little Aegon would ascend, and with Prince's Spear in his hand, Oberyn could conquer Gohor and command the "Greenwater Orphans" back home.
The thought made him impatient for Viserys to give the order.
All eyes turned to their king, waiting for his decision.
________________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor