"This Lothan… he truly isn't an ordinary man."
Viserys watched as Lothan departed the city walls with wagons loaded high with grain, a sigh escaping his lips.
Since arriving on Essos, he had always been the one taking advantage of others. This was the first time someone had managed to fleece him instead.
Still, Lothan had left behind his two granddaughters and half of his trusted men to aid Viserys in the search for the Prince's Spear. In that sense, the grain he offered was a fair price.
Yet, as he watched cart after cart roll out of the granary, the old crab couldn't help but feel a pang of heartache.
"Your Grace," he muttered, "if—just if—you fail to find the Prince's Spear, wouldn't all that grain be as good as a gift to them?"
"We will find it," Viserys said with quiet certainty.
"You've seen it in a dream, then?"
Viserys didn't bother to explain. The old Crab's talents lay entirely in trade—explaining such things to him would only be a waste of effort.
Even if this journey to Nasar ended with a false Prince's Spear, the elder would still accept it. It was clear he had no desire for war. He only needed a reason to unite the Rhoynar under the Targaryen banner.
And Lothan's personal credit could serve as a guarantee for Viserys's word.
Of course, once he swore allegiance to the Targaryens, Lothan would also gain greater autonomy in return. At any time, should he wish, he could revoke that allegiance.
Viserys would have to continue offering benefits in exchange for loyalty—just as the Targaryens had long done with House Martell.
At least until Lothan's death, this balance would hold. Before he died, the old man might even pass the truth of it on to his granddaughters.
Unless, of course, Viserys managed to marry that Jona girl. Without such a union, his rule would always bear a hidden weakness.
On the other hand, if Viserys could find the true Prince's Spear, then he would no longer need Lothan's backing at all.
From that moment, the Rhoynar along the upper Rhoyne would become his loyal subjects in name and deed.
With the genuine spear in hand, he could even rally more of the scattered Rhoynar remnants to his side—expanding his strength swiftly in the days to come.
And truth be told, the chance of finding the real spear wasn't small.
Lothan had handed over all his records and experience from past expeditions.
Moreover, Viserys had absorbed the essence of a water-sorcerer, granting him stronger perception and deeper mastery of water magic than Lothan himself.
There was every chance this journey would not end in failure.
Three days later, Viserys set out with twenty of his royal guards, three hundred elite soldiers, and several dozen of Lothan's trusted men—a force of nearly four hundred.
Arthur and Oberyn accompanied him. Their destination: the ruins of Nasar.
Since the site lay far inland, Viserys's great fleet was of no use. Not a single warship could reach those waters.
In the end, it was Lothan who prepared the vessels—thirteen in total, all low-drafted riverboats barely three meters high, far smaller than ocean-going ships.
Before departure, Lothan met Viserys for a final briefing. He wanted to personally impart his experience exploring Nasar.
"Your Grace," he warned solemnly, "if you ever encounter the Prince's Roar, you must turn back at once—otherwise, your entire force could be wiped out."
Both his eldest and second sons had perished to the Prince's Roar.
"I've run into it twice," Lothan said gravely. "The second time, we turned the moment we heard it—and still, more than half our men never made it home."
Viserys's expression faltered; the danger sounded greater than he'd imagined.
But what Lothan said next stirred a hint of excitement in him.
"Later, I learned that the Prince's Roar isn't a creature at all, but a remnant surge of water magic—like a violent gust of wind. You can't hide from it. But if one were a true water-sorcerer, he might sense it in advance and warn his men to flee."
"Well, isn't that convenient? I am a water-sorcerer," Viserys thought to himself.
He remembered that the might of water-sorcerers went far beyond that. Prince Gaelyn of Chayorn had slain three Valyrian dragons with their aid.
He didn't bother to tell Lothan of his own powers—the man wouldn't have believed him anyway. Instead, he kept listening as the old explorer shared his wisdom.
"There's one more thing," Lothan continued. "If you encounter the Old Man of the River, you must avoid him at all costs.
He bears the blessing of the Mother Rhoyne. He will not harm travelers passing through, but he will attack anyone who dares venture deep into Nasar."
"What kind of blessing?" Viserys asked. He knew of the Old Man of the River—a massive turtle said to be a lesser god under the Mother Rhoyne herself, guardian of the river's creatures.
But the notion that he had received a blessing surprised him.
"There's a legend," Lothan explained. "The Mother Rhoyne grants blessings to her children. Some become stronger, some wiser. I don't know which gift the Old Man received—but it's certain he has one."
"So that's what a divine blessing is," Viserys mused.
He suddenly realized that this so-called "blessing" wasn't so different from his own Essence Transfer.
There were many tales of blessings in Westeros too.
For instance, "Blue-Hand Garth" was said to bless his followers—making women more beautiful and men stronger, so that his people thrived across the Reach.
The Stark family's "wolf spirits," or skinchanging, likely came from the greenseers' gift.
Melisandre's prophecies and fire-magic, Thoros of Myr's resurrection powers—those too, it seemed, stemmed from devotion to their god, the Lord of Light.
It all felt strangely familiar to Viserys.
In his case, only those who were truly loyal to him could receive his Essence Transfer.
It made him feel almost like a counterfeit god.
Thinking of his mother Rhaella and Lyanna's strange childbirths, Viserys felt renewed confidence to face the unseen powers of this world.
He was now certain those hidden forces were real—and not all were friendly to him.
If that was so, then he would need allies among them.
He turned to Lothan and said, "Elder Lothan, if I return with the Prince's Spear, then you must move your council into the city. In return, I will see to it that the Rhoyne is worshiped alongside the Seven."
Lothan didn't hesitate. He could tell that this young king before him had ambitions far beyond ordinary men.
Hundreds of thousands of Rhoynar still lived along the Rhoyne, and Viserys would need his help to win them.
"One more thing," Viserys added calmly. "Whether or not I return with the spear, I will kill Terno. If I can't, I won't leave."
He spoke of murder as casually as cleaning a room.
Lothan accepted without protest.
After all, this journey to Nasar was, for both sides, an act of submission—a bow from each party to the other, neither wanting to kneel too low.
If Viserys failed, killing the loudest dissenter would give both factions space to recover.
If he succeeded, he would have to kill Terno anyway—once you've swallowed something, you don't spit it back out.
Most importantly, Viserys's decision to personally travel to Nasar was already a great concession.
It spared Lothan from having to choose between him and Freygo.
So, even if only out of gratitude, Lothan owed it to him to help remove Terno.
And besides—after losing most of his people, that man was worth little more than the trouble he caused.
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