I hovered over Castle Driftmark, using the staff to telekinetically levitate myself. The moonstone in the core and the extra power meant that the staff was good enough to handle my weight.
It was not the most effective way to fly properly, but floating was relatively easy.
Maybe I could add a footrest to make balancing easier, and vector thrusting by having the staff branch out at the end to direct the forces more efficiently when moving.
'Note to self, build a broomstick,' I mentally called out.
Only Monford could perceive me, the eyes of the rest of them slipping along where I was.
It was a message... specifically meant for a Valeryon... and maybe a test to see how smart the man himself was.
A message that was rather simple... purposely chosen to have the most impact.
It was the story of a different time.
Times when the dragons flew in the skies of the Narrow Sea, Lords of the Sky, and House Velaryon ruled the seas, before the Dance, before the dragons died. It was from a time when House Velaryon was richer and more powerful, and it was a promise to those times.
It was the carrot to the stick that was the explosion off in the distance. A more overt one than the staff I sat upon, a promise of a threat that could be turned on them if need be.
"Congratulations on your nuptials, Lord Velaryon. Robert has thought to send you three ships as wedding gifts," I said, my voice carried with the wind. "Filled with Wildfire, of course, so I thought I would ensure that it did not burn something important. It was a chore, keeping the winds still enough to delay the ships from arriving until after the bedding."
I was, after all, a gracious overlord.
Monford Velaryon worked his jaw, his eyes switching between the green fires that now covered the sea on the horizon and me.
The staff slowly descended until I was able to land on the ground.
"Huh?" Velaryon responded elegantly.
"Please don't tell me you forgot the boy who hit you in the head with a wooden sword ten years ago for 'daring to harm the dragon,' because you refused to lose to me on purpose, despite what Lord Lucerys told you," I said with a smile, "shall we talk in your solar?" I asked with a smile, as though I did not just burn the seas like some angry god.
"Yes, your grace," said Monford automatically, following after me.
---
I sat in the solar, lounging on the chair as easy as a king sitting on a throne. Wat and Wat stood behind me, looking menacing.
My staff stood to my side, standing straight unaided and acting as a perch for Will, who was in the process of tearing off strips from a raven he caught and cooked with his fire.
A raven that contained the missive from Velaryon's Maester to King's Landing about the explosion. The Maester was in the dungeons now, and the message was replaced with something that Robert would expect. A simple confirmation of what they expected, that the Hull had burned in the Wildfire.
I wanted to see what he planned next. He would blame me, of course, and raise an army to face me in the field.
When the banners were raised and men saw the Valeryons next to me, they would ask questions... ones that Robert would not be able to answer.
I did not really have a full plan, but making my enemies guess and be the fool was a good starting point.
In the meantime, I had already placed Black Knights within the room, hidden in the shadows and waiting for my command to manifest.
"What is it, Monford? I would have thought you would be with Cella," said Lord Ardrian Celtigar, before he noticed my presence. "I saw the green fire at sea, what was it?"
"By the gods.. Rhaegar?" asked Lord Ardrian for a moment.
I chose to stand up. I did not need to, but remaining seated when a man decided to attack was a worse position than if you were standing.
Compared to the Lord of Claw Isle, I was tall.
Seven and ten, and already six feet five inches tall. My face looked like Rhaegar's, as most Targaryens could pass off as near identical from the magic genes, but I was more than half a head taller than my older brother already, slightly skinnier in build, despite the ritual enchanted strength I had. It was hard to balance research and ruling, with working out and maintaining muscle mass was a full-time job on its own.
Lord Ardrian dropped to his knees, "Prince Viserys? I mean... King Viserys, your grace, I..."
"Prince or Archon are fine for now, Lord Ardrian," I responded instead, getting up and approaching the man. "I do not hold the Iron Throne, yet I do hold the titles of Dragonstone."
Ardrian Celtigar was a loyalist.
One of the few that remained.
He had also bent the knee to Robert... if only to survive, but he had worked rather thoroughly in establishing and preserving some remnants of the loyalist cause.
It was not loyalty that had driven him, though, his mind unravelling his ambitions.
He was an opportunist, more mercantile than other lords, and rather ostentatious in his show of wealth.
He was also a realist, one that understood how unlikely it would be for Narrow Sea Lords to gain the favor of Robert and did not waste his time kissing ass.
It had helped with the fact that he held the second largest fleet among the Narrow Sea lords after the Baratheon Fleet for nearly a decade now, not to mention the subtle support from the Iron Bank that the Narrow Sea houses have been getting through my influence.
"Robert," spat Monford through ground teeth, "sent fireships, filled with Wildfire to burn the Hull... in my wedding."
"That is... preposterous," he said first, before turning to look at me.
"And if Wildfire burned your ships, who would you blame, the son of the Mad King or the man who fought against him?" I asked, not in the mood for word plays.
Ardrian froze for a moment.
"And how do we know it is not the case?" asked the Lord to my face, showing spine for once.
I had to remind myself these people were butchers in their own right... not comparable to me, but still.
Points for the guts, I suppose. He was testing me.
I held my hand, a ball of flame forming above my palm, hot enough to be felt. Into the flame, I pushed visions of fires I had lit, pushing them into the minds of those who looked at it.
Lord Ardrian paled.
"A dragon is a beast of flame, my lord," I sang, "and mine burns hotter than others."
I needed to get the response to Tywin's theme song after all, and what better way to do so than subvert it for my needs. Make it more thematic, that there was always a bigger fish.
"If what you say is true, bent knees mean nothing to that Usurper," said Ardrian, a cold fear running through him. "He could order our butcher at his leisure."
"Let it not be said that the Lord of Dragonstone does not protect those who are sworn to him... even if they had to bend knees to survive," I said simply.
Lord Ardrian looked at me with eyes that shone with desperation, a man who wanted to believe... like a man stuck at sea looking at fresh water.
"How many ships do you have?" asked Lord Ardrian. "We have heard whispers of alliances with the Sealord, and if you have brought the might of the arsenal, we would have a chance against the Usurper."
"One," I said simply, suppressing the hint of a smile. The Revenge was no mere warship in the end, but it was still a single ship... one that I needed to send to other ports soon.
"One..." said Ardrian, paling.
"See that ship... it is one of yours, is it not?" I asked, turning and looking over the port. The ship I pointed had red crabs stitched on the black sails.
"I am familiar, your grace," said Ardrian, talking slowly and patiently.
"See the crow's nest," I said, as Ardrian looked confused. "I don't want to," I simply said.
A glint of light, and the entire crow's nest was vaporized by the Solar Cannon, leaving only ash to fall down to the deck.
"Make no mistake, my lord, no ship will sail the Gulf anymore unless I will it," I said, with a smile.
Ardrian gulped.
"Shall we get to work?" I asked, far too cheery for a man who just threatened to burn every ship to ever sailed this island.
"People will flock to you when they learn the truth," said Monford, his eyes gaining a calculated gleam. A moment before, I was of no importance, now... I showed them that I had the power to back my claim.
"Will they?" I asked, deciding to cut through the ambitions.
"They will see reason, your grace," responded Monford, his mind getting confused.
"And if they don't?" I asked simply. Just because I said I was the King did not make it so. People could still refuse to follow or believe.
"You would need proof," said Lord Ardrian, "something irrefutable. The word of the Pyromancers, the higher the better."
I suppressed the wince.
I had wanted to have Will grab Hallyn, just kidnap the Head of the Alchemist Guild, but Hallyn had burst into fire after he arrived at our camp, a vial of Wildfire on his person burning him alive as Will squawked and barely flew away before the Wildfire consumed the Pyromancer.
I really hated Wildfire.
I plucked my portent die from the jaws of the dragon that was my sword's pommel and held it.
I knew what was needed, even if I disliked the method. Yet to be certain, I cleared my mind of doubt and bias, rolling the twenty-sided die and landing on a seven.
I sighed, yet the two lords looked at the dice and made the same connection.
"A trial," responded Ardrian under his breath. "A trial of the seven."
"I am going to need six good men," I said simply. Because in Westeros, there was only one way to make people accept the truth... by hitting them in the head with it using a sharp blade.
---
I watched from the corner, a simple line drawn by my staff in the sand that the sea wind had dragged into the feasting hall, anchoring the disillusionment charm upon me, while all the lords now stood, waiting for an explanation on what had happened.
The people were whispering and talking, but not saying anything of any note.
Among the people in the hall, one drew my attention, like a moth to a flame.
I was proud of my Foresight, and somehow they screamed at me to look at the man, to See.
I opened my eyes, both physical and metaphysical, all three of them staring at the man who drew my attention.
My Sight was something I disliked using since it got upgraded.
Focusing Magical Energy through my eyes to see through magic was something I had learned from Yna, the One Eyed Whore of the Happy Port and her style of Divination.
The fragment of the Ritual of Sunfire involved the starlight being stuck within my eyes. When the Sight was off, it gave a weird glint to my eyes that got people's attention. When mixed with my Sight however, it granted me the ability to see through falsehoods and illusions, an echo of the very act that burned away the false faces of the Faceless Men.
Where there was an elderly knight with a tabard of white bands on purple, my Sight showed a knight, a glowing sword in hand, and standing between a girl of silver hair and a mass of shadowy tentacles that exuded malice.
Spoiler: A True Knight
Using my Sight drew his attention before I was able to shut it down. That nagging feeling of being watched, enough for him to see through the invisibility field I had cast.
As our eyes met, the remnant of the Sight reflected back on me as well, allowing him to see me as I truly was.
I caught a glimpse of it, a man sitting on a throne of black stone, a white staff topped with a star in hand, and a large white dragon curled behind me, sleeping.
As the Sight faded, I caught what the knight saw in truth: a young man with silver hair and black robes, holding the same staff but diminished. Above him, the seven stars upon the white field of House Sunglass stood, as he brought his finger to his lips in a shushing motion.
I snapped back to my mind, glad to have my chosen location come with an unexpected benefit. It was subtle, but it helped me make an impression on one Ser Bonifer Hasty.
I turned my attention to the crowd that had grown far more restless.
While I was messing with the knight that had once been in love with my mother, the argument had gotten a bit more heated.
"You dare accuse your liege of such dishonor, Velaryon?" asked someone, a Staunton by the look of the two black wings, "on what grounds?"
Well... maybe a bit too much.
He was not the lord, but likely one of the two sons, Simon and Brynden. Given his fervor and anti-Velaryon tendency, the oldest, Simon.
"Who else could have done so?" asked Monford, as we had agreed.
'Say it,' I projected, my small nudge breaking through Simon's inhibition.
"The Targaryens," Ser Simon Staunton accused, causing the entire hall to hush. "We know the dragon banner flies over Dragonstone. We have all heard the rumors, the son of the Mad King holds the island."
The whispers echoed.
The dragons held Dragonstone.
There was something about truths that people did not speak, or ones when spoken, could not be unspoken.
They all whispered it... they all knew it... yet here it was, the first time someone spoke it out loud to all of them.
"As Targaryens should," I caught someone say beneath their breath.
I made a note of the man who said it, a knight with the mark of a brown bear paw on white.
'Interesting,' I said, guessing the man to be a Brune of some sort. Cracklaw Men were loyal for many a reason, but this one got my interest.
Viserys in the original timeline was a fool for believing there were people who were waiting for his return, when the truth was more complex and hinged on how much power one held.
The entire hall was filled with lords shouting at each other.
"ENOUGH!" Lord Ardrian called eventually.
It was drowned out by the shouting, each acting less like Nobility and mere brutes.
Daggers were unsheathed, as swords were left out upon receiving Guest Rights for the Wedding.
Fucking children... that was what they were. These were the people I had to deal with now.
A part of me considered fucking back off to Essos to be honest, maybe the Eldritch Horrors I knew were lurking in the shadows would be easier to manage.
I chose to intervene.
"Expelliarmus Totalum," I whispered, as I slammed my staff into the ground, the echo rolling through ground and bone alike.
I let the sound carry the spell instead of spellfire, the vibrations carrying with each drawn steel blade and causing each weapon to vibrate until the holder dropped them, or their hands numbed enough that they dropped it without meaning to.
Another flick sent all the blades out from one of the doors, as I pulled the staff, using Thaumaturgy to move the weapons.
The hall fell into a stunned, absolute silence.
Every lord, knight, and servant stared at the corner where I now stood, the disillusionment charm having melted away like morning mist. The last of the disarmed daggers clattered to a stop in a pile by the door before the door itself was shut with a bang.
"To draw steel under guest right is punishable by death," I simply said, "Or have the Lords whose line helped Conquer the Seven Kingdoms forgotten such triviality under the rule of the Stag?"
"Viserys Targaryen," the whispers came next.
The small bit of magic was enough to get them to shut up and listen at least. While most people were religious in this world, Magic was something that was regarded with as much fear as awe.
But with Nobility, magic meant something else... Power.
It was deeply ingrained in them. Most lords of Westeros claimed descent from the Sorcerers of one shape or form. Brandon the Builder, Garth Greenhand, Lann the Clever, Elenei of the Sea, and hundreds of others.
Targaryens were just the latest in a long line of Sorcerer Kings to conquer them. Their magic was mostly disguised as dragons, but it was still magic.
My simple act was enough to get their attention, be it their fear, greed, or caution. There was a certain elegance to being able to disarm an entire room with a single move.
I stepped forward into the light of the hearth, my staff held loosely in one hand, ready to draw upon the magic already woven through it at a moment's notice.
"Glad you lot know who I am, my lords and ladies," I said, "I am sure there are those of you old enough to have met me, those of you who know only a boy sheltered from the world..." I simply said. "If it was not obvious, I have returned. Dragonstone is mine."
"So what?" someone said, too brash. "Do you expect us to bow and scrape and make you king?"
"We have made oaths to King Robert," someone else said.
"Oaths made at sword point," another spat... seven stars on a white field... Sunglass. "What did Robert do for us but tax us into ruin while he feasted?"
"I have not come to threaten you," I said simply. "I was a child when I was forced into exile lest I be butchered like my niece and nephew. I have not come to beg, and I do not have need to be called King to do my duty."
"Duty?" asked Lord Guncer Sunglass, "What does a green boy like you know of duty?"
"More than Robert ever would," I responded, "More than any Lannister brat that would come after, or the bitter younger brother that they put in charge of you, waiting at the chance to crush you the moment you recalled your old loyalties. Aegon was crowned as the Shield of his People, and that is what I offer you," I said simply.
The man held their breath, waiting... well, most were waiting willingly. The rest were rather easy to keep quiet with some mental pressure and a bit of enchantment.
"A shield against the man you call king who sends fire to a vassal's wedding feast, afraid that they would side with older loyalties, that they would be brave enough to stand against a king who does not care about them, and hold true to oaths made before the Seven Kingdoms were made one."
My eyes found Monford Velaryon, then swept the room. "Let there be no doubt. The ships filled with Wildfire that burned in your bay tonight were sent by Robert Baratheon. He sought to burn House Velaryon from their ancient seat and lay the blame at my feet, turning the Narrow Sea against itself."
The silence shattered.
"Lies!" The voice belonged to Ser Justin Massey, a knight whose square jaw and righteous fury marked him as utterly devoted. He had been Robert's squire, and his loyalty was personal. "King Robert is a good man and a just king! He would never commit such an atrocity! This is a Targaryen trick, the word of a madman's son!"
Lord Ardrian Celtigar, ever the pragmatist, raised a hand. "An accusation of this gravity, Prince Viserys… it requires proof. You accuse the King of the Seven Kingdoms of treason against his own people."
I met his gaze, my mind flashing to the charred remains of my original plan. The Head Pyromancer was a pile of ash, his testimony silenced by the very substance I sought to expose. The path of evidence was closed to me.
"My proof is the fire you saw on the horizon and the word of the man who stopped it," I stated flatly.
"Your word?" Ser Simon Staunton scoffed, stepping forward. His face was a mask of contempt. "The word of a dragonspawn, raised by savages in Essos? We have a king, one who bled to overthrow your father's tyranny. Why should anyone here trade his peace for more madness of your kin?"
The hall was divided into shouting factions.
The Velaryons and Sunglasses countered the insults, while Massey, Staunton, and their supporters roared back, defending the honor of the Crown. It was an impasse—my word against the King's. And in Westeros, without irrefutable proof, the King's word was law. I needed to shift the grounds of the debate from a court of opinion to one of divine judgment. Ser Simon, in his rage, was about to give me the opening I needed.
"Your father burned men alive!" Simon bellowed, his voice raw with hatred. "And for all we know, you learned your tricks at his knee before you fled with his whore of a queen!"
The shouting stopped, the breath of man misting the air as my wrath slipped from me.
The air turned frigid as my eyes focused on the ma