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"We have a problem," whispered Bellonara, sitting down next to me in the theater, with Dany by my other side, trying to look like she was not listening instead of watching the play on display from the loge.

"Is it the Dornish who just arrived in the city?" I asked as I checked on the ship that had docked with a nifty bit of Divination... some bird or another provided me the eyes to see the yellow sails and the giant orange sun emblazoned on the main sail that was hard to miss.

"Ferrogo did not let me know they were coming," said Bellonara, her eyes focusing on the play as Bellegere takes the stage, the show's star, as she was playing an Expy of Helen of Troy. The playwright, Izembaro, was decent in his job... and the outline I gave him was solid... the dialogue could have improved. I had to change a few things up to make it parallel the story of Lyanna and Rhaegar, though, just to mess with Robert... apart from the child bit.

It was properly re-framed to be the story of Maris the Maid, for whose hand the first recorded tourney was arranged, won by a giant of a man Argoth Stone-Skin with a war hammer, only for Maris to run off with Uthor of the High Tower. I had changed the plot to have Argoth kill Uthor, leading to Maris throwing herself off the tower to hammer in the Star-Crossed Lovers thing. I was not the Bard, but I managed to cobble a decent play, even one in iambic pentameter of all things, with the help of Izembaro.

"She seems to be drawing all the eyes," I noted as I felt the spiritual pressure to watch Bellegere perform. Her spiritual presence had been solidifying after the ritual, and I could feel her intentionally pushing out her 'fuck me' aura, which was a bit too much for those with weaker minds.

"For better and for worse," noted Bellonara, agreeing with me and drawing my attention to one of the audiences who was pushing through the crowd in a daze without regard before freezing and falling after moving passed a line on the ground.

The Proximity Ward with Petrification Charm I placed seemed to be working as expected, as the shadow bound to my wand was currently assigned to keep that specific enchantment up for the duration of the play while allowing me to cast other spells.

There was a hush as Bellegere ignored the magic to continue with her lines. I could imagine her rolling her eyes at that particular trick. "It is troubling that my influence over the Sealord is waning. I would have to bed him soon once more at least... the few of the girls I have are keeping him busy, but he is catching on that I am more your mistress than hus," said Bellonara continuing to press on.

I noticed that three among the crowd had started moving, their minds open for me to see their intent.

An inhuman growl was the response to that, making Bellonara whimper and scoot back while Dany snorted. I could smell the arousal from the former-Black Pearl, though. I clamped down on my mind to focus, ignoring one of the few additions I took on from the original Viserys... my possessiveness was closer to a dragon's than humans. "Putting me on a hard position, Black Pearl," I growled, making Bellonara gulp.

"I have retired, as you would say, your grace, Bellegere is the Black Pearl now," said Bellonara coyly... though retirement meant taking over the management of the spy network that I burrowed inspiration from Littlefinger of all people... with Bellonara slowly purchasing brothels in Braavos and ready to expand to other free cities. It was lucrative, and I was planning on using it as a spy network, so it worked for both of us.

"Regardless, there are whispers that Ferrego may be replaced soon while you are sent away, and the next Sealord might use the chance to gain control over the little dragon. The advisor he killed was not the only one to have the idea of using the young one to control you," whispered Bellonara, gasping as the fires around us dimmed... only the ones around Bellegere stood, her innate Sorcery countering my Accidental Magic, as they were closer to her.

Well, so much for allies, I suppose... though I could not fault the Sealord for trying to gain some control over me given that I had effectively thrown the entire Braavosi politics into chaos, and Ferrego needed something to ensure my support, even if I could blame him for being an ambitious cunt with limited foresight when it comes to messing with a dragon.

"And you are telling this to me now... because?" I asked once I was calm enough to talk; Bellonara simply stared at me for trying to play dumb.

"I will think of something," I said, thinking of how I could control someone from a distance, making to get up. "Now, if you would excuse me, I have an assassin trying to make his way to our booth, hired by... huh... it appears Tywin has joined the strange lot that wants me dead... will wonders never cease... I will take care of the two morons planning to ambush me and challenge me to a duel as well. I find myself in need of stress relief," I said, taking out a few slivers of Weirwood, Nightwood, a small chip of obsidian, and dragon bone from my pouches.

I gave a nod to Ser Richard to leave him behind to protect Dany... or prevent her from burning down the place. You could never be sure with the little Firestarter these days.

I held up my latest wand, Magical Rowan, cultivated with both Weirwood ash and Ground Dragon Bone to make it better at channeling magic and more resistant to heat. I had added half the ashes of my original wand to it in the form of a potion made from my own blood to ensure the attunement of the wood to my soul.

The core was Basilisk Horn, similar to the core of the wand of Salazar Slytherin. Unlike the Toad Basilisk with its fake eye, the King of Snakes had its magic imbued through its bones, making the Horn one of the better sources of spellfire. Ironically, the spell-fire took on the shape of light on its own, unlike the proper fire that the dragon bone and dragonglass combination provided.

I had combined the core with the potion of Dragonglass, Moonstone, and Sunstone, as per my latest discoveries... while the wand itself took on a serpent-like form over time, with eyes made of Black Diamonds. It was less feeling, and I found the Arithmancy more appropriate, as three types of stone within the core were more stable than four types of stone, especially when the three represented Earth, Moon, and the Sun.

The result was a wand that worked, even if it did not seem to make it easy for me to cast spells like the pseudo-Phoenix Feather wand... it lacked the shortcomings as well.

Ten minutes later, I came back up. I had disarmed and petrified the two Bravos before sending them on a moonlit journey on some random gondola that was making its way through the canals. They had been sufficiently cowed, while the would-be assassin had a less pleasant fate.

A brand new coin rolled between my fingers... this one had a dark and smoky texture, steel made from the blood of the assassin, combined with Weirwood and Nightwood, with trace amounts of Dragonbone and Dragonglass to make it Dragonsteel.

The coin in my hand was not the exact replica of Valyrian Steel, unfortunately. The actual recipe of Valyrian Steel was lost, and even Morrigan had suspicions and nothing else. I had narrowed down the blood-iron to be sourced from either shit ton of human sacrifices or a single large dragon that produced enough iron to make up a weapon, while the anti-magic abilities and rippled pattern was surely connected to the combination of Weirwood and Nightwood.

Knowing what I knew, my efforts were focused on creating Dragonsteel, a more common term, with Valyrian Steel being a specific formula as far as I could gather. I had a feeling that the blood from a human was not enough, as there were theories that Nissa Nissa was, in fact, a dragon, making Valyrian Steel actually made of dragon blood instead of human blood. The amounts involved would work... and a dragon soul seemed more magical than a few hundred humans.... but I could have been wrong.

Being short on dragons, I pulled on the concept of 'Dragon' from Dragonbone and Dragonglass instead to imbue the steel to create with the required properties, experimenting by creating soul-coins that trapped the soul of my would-be killer, reflecting on how I had grown desensitized to the deaths of those who wanted to kill me in turn. It left a bitter taste in my mouth, even if I knew that it was the only path I could have. In this world of death and misery, you were either the butcher or the meat.

I flipped the latest soul-coin in my hand... before the coin landed on its edge on the small table by my chair... a drop of blood gleamed on the coin as I noticed the cut on my palm from when I squeezed it too hard, not noticing.

I tapped my palm with my wand, calling on the healing flames I created when burning the strongest healing potion I could make with the Mandrakes. The wood of the wand remembered the first time it happened, and it was enough to cast the soft green flames, stopping the healing... though I noticed a thin scar form... right, Magic Steel created wounds that were hard to heal even at the best of times.

I tapped my own forehead as well, after that, removing the experience of death I had to live through to forge the coin as it slowly dissolved in the air. Burning alive was unpleasant, even if it was the body of another doing the burning, but Mind Arts tended to help with any trauma that was purely mental, at least before it took time to get a hold of you and I was able to keep them locked tight in a box until I figured out how to remove them a few months ago.

As I looked upon the dark metal and the blood upon it, I looked back at the rings on my finger... I just had the perfect idea to solve multiple issues of mine.

---

The House with the Red Door had become a vanity project of mine, a statement of my prowess in Warding. The protections I placed and took down over and over again, as the entire House had slowly developed into a small fortress as a result. To the outside, it looked like any other Palace that acted as its own fortress in the many isles that dotted Braavos... except for the Red Door, of course.

First were the wooden shingles carved with different runes and glyphs, creating a field of magical disturbance that made any use of Divination or other tricks extremely hard within the borders through the Moonstones buried in each corner, while the frame the made up the structure was a single web of Magical Wood as hard as steel and thrumming with the souls that made up it's 'curse' as some called it. There were enough protective spells to hold back Dragon fire for a few minutes, and above all else, it was littered with compulsions to keep the less pleasant sort from finding it in the first place, their eyes moving passed the house as if it was the most boring thing in the world.

The Palace of Ghosts, most men in Braavos muttered... a rather fitting name to the building that none with ill-will could find, thanks to a few whiskers from Missy the Kneazle. Those who knew that I lived in it when I was in Braavos called it Wizard's Keep instead.

The stone of the building was nothing significant, though if someone tried to take a hammer to the walls, they would find a thin layer of spellfire stopping such an act, absorbing the energy to strengthen itself. 'Protego Totalum' covered the entire building in the form of a dome, making it impossible for man to scale the walls completely or fall from the sky. It was tricky, but I managed to add the enchantment such that the climbers would slip and fall in the last leg of the climb, but the broken legs of the would-be Witch Hunters, Glory-hogs, and Assassins made all the effort I put into learning how to Ward worth it, as did their souls feeding the protections of my home.

All the Wards needed to draw power, however. Souls were useful so long as they held energy, and only living creatures seemed to be able to draw that mystical pool that was Unseen in the air back into their souls. I had anchored the protections to the Lemon Tree in one corner of the yard as the only tree inside the property. Its branches were reaching out to a specific window that I knew led to Dany's room... long before any magic I tried or any I thought Dany, one of those points proving that Dany was a natural when it came to magic.

The Lemon Tree itself had changed since I started experimenting on it with Fleshcraft... or was it Woodcraft... Druidcraft... right, Druidcraft, that was the correct word. Names had weird effects, and the Lemon Tree was partially merged with the remains of the single Silver Lime tree that had been growing so close to the Dragon Well, being exposed to strange Magical Energies as a result. I needed a bridge of sorts in the form of a branch from a Lime Tree, and the transformation of the tree was incapable of producing lemons, but the protection was worth the effort. I did not really understand the way names and identities worked, but they could be used as a bridge, which I had still not properly experimented with yet. The Magical Silver Lime combined with the Lemon Tree allowed the tree to hold and pull more Magical Energy than normally possible so as to power the additional Wards that were more energy expensive.

"Reach out," I explained as I stood next to Dany. "Feel the tree... it is harder than doing so with Weirwood, but the connection will be far more profound and stronger to develop."

Dany nodded, closing her eyes as she pushed. The stage that allowed one to jump from Weirwood to normal wood was hard but necessary. The results created bonds that were far more personal and harder to subvert. A few times in our spars, I had managed to interfere with Dany's spells altogether by simply reaching out to the Weirwood and blocking her... a feat that would be harder to achieve with a more personalized wand wood.

Greenseers were an evolution of Skinchanger, where the skin was the trees themselves. It was a tricky bit of magic to develop, but I had figured out a way based on what I recalled from Bran's Chapters. A skinchanger needed to grow in strength enough to be able to take over the minds of a human... without a wand, that is. The next step was to possess a Weirwood, as the Weirwood itself was made from the strange fleshcrafting of wood and bones of the dead

Once the soul became attuned to the Weirwood, the Greenseer could use any tree to look into the strange method of Memory that the trees had, making the Greenseer capable of seeing into the Past and most likely futures if they were strong enough and even significant enough.

In theory, the approach of Greensight would mean the inability to change the past that was being observed, as it was just a memory. That being said, Bran had somehow managed to possess Hodor in the past, pulling a Bootstrap Paradox by weakening his mind until Bran's younger self gained the ability to skinchange the poor boy, creating a self sustaining time-loop. It was unfortunately a skill that was still beyond me, mostly because the shortcut of consuming Weirwood paste was something I did my best to avoid. I had no intention of growing a tree through myself like Bloodraven.

Regardless of the potential, I would have to take things as they came, and one of the steps I needed to take was to ensure that Dany had a bespoke wand. I looked at the white raven perched on the branches of the tree, a sign of things yet to come... though the last pieces were not there yet, preventing me from going off to places other than Braavos.

One of the higher branches, the same one that was coincidentally the closest to the window of Dany's room, bent down as my sister grasped the branch, turning to look at me with wonder.

"Reach out, and ask nicely now. The branch has to be willingly given by the tree, lest the wand refuse you," I stated, knowing that breaking the branch never worked for a wand. It was some distinct lore about the Elder Wood and breaking a branch cursing you, but a wand wood that willingly came to you tended to work for you better than the alternative. I had almost gotten brained by a flying piece of dragon bone one too many times not to make that specific mistake again.

"I did it," said Dany holding a branch of the Lemon and Lime tree. 'Sour truths and futures,' I commented mentally, 'but ones that will nurture and protect.'

"Great job," I voiced, ask I patted her head, checking that her soul took on the added soul-stuff I added. Being related so closely, thanks to incest, made Blood Magic I cast compatible with my sister, allowing me to simply share a bit of my soul-stuff with her to slowly increase her power. "Ask Nessa to help you cultivate the branch into a tree, keep it close, and once we have a core, we can work on making your own bespoke wand beyond your training one."

Dany ran off, leaving me to ponder the nature of things... as a Wizard wont to do.

I was interrupted by the opening of the Red Door and giggling as two people walked in.

Belle was giggling, pulling on a girl slightly shorter than her. Given that she was still dressed in the silks of Maris the Maid, I felt the dragon within stir from her mere presence.

"My lord," said Belle, giving me a curtsy as the girl next to her followed suit. I did not need to read her mind to know what she was thinking and why she dragged another girl to my home. "May I introduce my newest friend," she said,

"I am called the Poetress, your grace," said the girl with pale skin and dark hair, her warm brown eyes that watched Belle approach me, biting her full lips. "I have seen Belle's play and could not resist meeting the one who wrote it."

"Izembro wrote it," I countered.

"My lord, Izembro is good, but he is not that good, and a play mocking the Westerosi King, he does not read that much history," said the Poetress, batting her eyelashes.

"I like her," I said, turning to Belle. It was hard to find someone who understood the subtleties of literature in this world. Belle, on the other hand, was trying her best to grind against me, her breath smelling of wine she must have been drinking after the play. I could feel the goosebumps on her skin; the dress she wore was not good at keeping her warm, it would seem, nor good at hiding her arousal as her nipples pushed against my chest.

"I thought your grace deserved a reward for protecting a maids honor; I have a good feeling about her," whispered Bellegere, teeth grazing my earlobe. "She was most interested in the collection of books you kept in your chambers... I could not say no to such a beauty," said Belle louder, pulling me along into the house and almost throwing me into my own room.

"They say you have read ten thousand books," said the Poetress, whose thoughts were rather divided between books and other activities. "That you are wise beyond your years."

"I don't keep count, to be honest, though I am certain that wise is the most flattering thing anyone has called me," I said, smirking at the idea... I was lucky if I could find a thousand books in Braavos. While small book shops existed as extensions of other businesses, with scribe shops working to make copies of books on commission, mostly being run or working for a temple or another.

I had thought of getting the Printing Press working on the side were... but Printing Press would take decades to pick up and only cause more people to grow disillusioned with the nobility. Given that my position in the nobility was supposed to be on the very top... it was rather self-sabotaging to give people the ability to read and think for themselves... and I was in Braavos, and I did not feel like accelerating their Renaissance.

"The Targaryen King... I have read about your family," said the Poetress making me raise an eyebrow. "The Lives of the Four Kings was fascinating, though it was a bit of a dry read."

"I believe the summary is Daeron fought, Baelor prayed, as Aegon fucked, and all of it was left for Daeron the Good to clean up after," I said, recalling that the book barely mentioned my favorite King, Viserys the First... even if he was a shitty father.

Poetress giggled at that, "There is a copy that I found... of the Lives of the Four Kings... the original by Kaeth's hand," she said, getting my attention.

"And why have I not heard of such a rare book existing then?" I asked curious, as the rule of Dearon the Good was strangely limited in policies other than pro-Dorne.

"The Sealord at the time was a Prestayn, and the book was a gift to him from King Aerys the First," said the Poetress, and I could feel the connection there.

"Prestayn, huh... I will see if I can borrow it for a while. You must have another name; Poetress is what you are, I am sure, but you were not born with such a name," I said, approaching the girl and pulling her close to me. The Poetress seemed to not be bothered though

"It is the only name I have left, your grace," said the girl breathily. "My family was rather insistent on me dropping my birth name, lest they give it to the House of Black and White."

"House of Black and White is no more," I boasted, making the Poetress shiver.

"They are not the only ones who may take the coin to deal death," countered Poetress, "Though the protection of one such as you... it would go a long way in ensuring my own protection,"

"And what exactly is it that you wish of me?" I asked instead, knowing that everyone wanted something.

"I watched the play tonight and saw how everyone's eyes were on the Black Pearl... I want that; I want to be desired like that," she said, making me smirk at the vanity of it. I raised an eyebrow and looked at Belle.

"Better others than me; I am satisfied with the lover I have," said Belle with a shrug sipping on her wine.

"I am going to need a drop of blood," I said, taking out a scroll from the stacks I had made. These were less magical and did not have as much of a light show... which worked better for me as they were easier to make than the original versions of the Affinity Scrolls.

"Poetry, fitting, I suppose," I said, my eyes glowing as I glimpsed at the scroll in the Unseen and watched the flow of Magical Energy move toward different glyphs on the page. My comment made Belle snigger... while I schooled my features. 'Rituals,' I mentally added, looking at the second brightest rune. Runes were not a perfect representation of concepts, not as defined, as they were ideas... and I had not noticed that Rituals and Poetry might be so inline... sort of explained some of the more complex aspects of Rituals I knew that I found to be 'poetic.'

"What is it you desire, Poetress," I said, pulling her closer to me. There was physical desire between us, certainly, but her affinity was one that I desired most.

"Protection and Power sound nice... they say that you can kill armies with a wave of your hand," moaned the Poetress as I cupped her ass before guiding us to the bed.

The Ritual Circle was carved on the floor, hidden beneath the rug under the bed we landed on.

Belle watched from the couch, knowing that she would only join after the Poetress went through the ritual at least once.

---

"You have exhausted the poor girl, my lord." purred Belle as we lay in bed, the Poetress passed out on my other side. A wave of my hand and a few runes traced in the air with the fire from the obsidian ring cleaned us up... at least superficially.

"Hmm... yeah," I confirmed, reaching out to her mind and finding her asleep. My left hand rose, flames forming a simple glyph of 'sleep' that my finger traced into the air. The flame dulled, heat becoming less as the spell sank into the body of the Poetress just in case. "What are you planning?" I asked.

"She is a cousin to the Prestayn who holds ambitions for becoming the Sealord; I was thinking of convincing her to spy for us by giving her my place as Maris," explained Belle, as I glared at her, both of us knowing that that was not what I asked.

"What makes you think I am planning anything else, my lord?" asked Belle, making me growl. "You are preparing to leave; I want to come with you," she answered as fast as she could. She probably observed some of the more long-term moves I was making.

I was borrowing heavily from the Iron Bank, putting future investments that would only pan out in the long run, trade expeditions that I had placed coin in knowing that they would succeed. The return from the investment was more than double what I borrowed, but it would be years before the expeditions returned and the money was ready for use.

"What do you want in life?" I asked, laying in bed with Bellegere, "Tell me you never thought to be a Queen?"

"All girls wish to be the queen, my love, yet I am not a fool to covet the position of another who would never lose your favor," said Belle, "nor am I a suicidal as to awaken the wrath of the dragon. What has brought this on, lover, is this your way of trying to get rid of me, because I warn you that it will not work?" she asked.

"Here I thought the famous Black Pearl belonged to Braavos," I teased, getting a slap on my chest.

"I am the descendent of Aegon the Fourth and Pirate Queen Bellegere of the Black Pearl; I go where I want, I fuck who I want... if it is your luck that your side is where I want to be, and you are whom I want to fuck," countered Belle, making me chuckle.

"Are you to tell me that without my power, you would still want me?" I asked, making Belle look away. "I thought as much." I commented before declaring, "I am not giving you a wand... if it is power you seek."

"I don't care about a stick, apart from this one," she said with a grin as her hands wrapped around me. "Is it so hard to accept that I want to be with you... that you have ruined me for other men... you infuriating nerd," responded Bellegere, getting up from the bed.

I snorted, "Picking up some of my vocabulary there... lover," I said, flipping us over.

"You make up too many words... it is hard to track of... but I manage," said Belle. "For you, my dragon," she added in the Tongue of the Summer Islanders.

"Then, I ask again, what do you want from me... what is it that you desire, that you think will come from me?" I asked.

"One day, all I ask is a pearl of my own," said Belle making me stop. "One that would be the consort for a king. That is all I ask is a daughter to stand by the side of her brother, to love him and be loved by him in turn."

"Not to be the mother of a king?" I asked as I knew most people

"I shall raise your son as my own when the time comes, lover; I will share your bed with others you desire, but I will not be the one to give birth to him; that position belongs to another."

"And who exactly does that position belong to?" I asked, confused and most definitely not using Occlumency to not think about it.

Belle chuckled. "For a man so wise, you are truly clueless," she said, making me scoff as I felt her hand grasp. "While I will give you a child when you sit upon a throne, I think we can practice."

"That seems acceptable," I noted, knowing that incest, while applicable for Valyrians, also had to be tempered with some additional diversity. The Dragonlords of Valyria fixed that issue of biological diversity through Polygamy, along with introducing new bloodlines into the mix while maintaining the existing ones. Half-Sibling incest was less destructive than full-on incest, though it was lost in the translation and cultural differences.

"Before that, though..." I said, snapping my fingers and having one of the chests open. "If you are coming along, you are going to need something,"

I presented her with my gift... a lute made of Weirwood. I had taken inspiration from Rhaegar's harp, the dragon bone with silver strings, I had to admit, and it sort of got out of hand after that. The bridge, the nut, and the pegs were made of dragon bone, while the pickguard of Mother of Pearl gleamed in the light of the candles. The wires were Dragon Steel, ones that I personally made to ensure that it would hold magic.

I had played a few tunes, enough to know that the lute held magic that the player could direct, but I had never been interested in music in my old life, and what I had inherited from Viserys' training had long since atrophied as even singing brought the pain of loss, reminding me of the times with Rhaella, and few times Rhaegar sang to us... peaceful times... innocent times.

"I thought you said you were not going to give me a wand," said Belle in wonder, feeling the magic from each tone.

"I am not, not that I think you would be good at that specific method of magic... but this... I think this is far more your style," I commented, knowing that Belle was more of a Bard build than a Sorcerer or a Wizard. Her songs carried a power of their own, and she was relatively talented with most musical instruments.

"You planned this, have you not?" asked Belle, placing the lute back in the chest. "That you planned to bring me with you all this time?"

"A dragon does not share," I said with a grin.

Belle turned toward me, walking back toward me, her hips moving in a hypnotic pattern; my gaze moved up to her breasts and her mouth, agreeing with the fools who lost themselves in the beauty before me. She bit her lip, her eyes gleaming with arousal.

Once she was over me, I flipped us both around, guiding my cock into her, causing Bellegere to gasp.

"You know that is not how you make a child, right, lover?" teased Belle as I pushed into her puckered hole. Fleshcrafting made the process as pleasurable as possible for Belle as she moaned.

"You do not seem to mind that much," I grunted as I hilted myself in her.

"No, I do not... all of me belong to you, your grace, so make use of me as you will," declared Belle, her mouth finding mine.

---

I liked taking walks in Braavos... though it was not exactly good for the population count of the city.

Take this night, a few weeks of waiting for the Dornish to come knocking or try to make some contact, and nothing.

From my first observation, the Dornishmen were… going to become trouble.

I had snuck in to meet Prince Oberyn when he did not seem that inclined to make contact, only negotiating trade deals with the Sealord and debts with the Iron Bank while spending his nights in one brothel or another... he was not hard to track; given how Varys' mice already had an eye on him, before suddenly deciding to go watch some other brothel.

Now, he was in a high-end Brothel that Bellonara owned... after finding the Courtesans of Braavos unwilling to be seen with him. Something about offending me or something like that.

Three bolts of spellfire leaped from my wand, hitting the three in the bed together in the throes of passion. Two were knocked out... third leaped for his knife.

I had to give it to Oberyn Martell... he was quick... and immune to magic. I snarled as a flick of my wand had one of the chairs fly and crash into his head, knocking him out as the wood crushed to his head.

I dropped the disillusionment on me as another flick of my wand bound all three in ropes I brought for the occasion.

"Is it me, or does everyone have a counter for Magic, your grace?" asked Richard as I wove wards around the room, anchored to a blood candle. It would not last long, but it was the easiest way I knew. I briefly considered if the steel itself could be used before filing it away for later experiments.

"Hmm... moths to a flame, I seem to attract the lot," I muttered, knowing that it was the case. Magic tended to attract those who were in tune with it... unless you actively avoided it. My fingers brushed against my Amulet before I gathered myself. The Moonlit World hid itself, but there was a lot more to this world than even what I knew.

"As you say," muttered Ser Richard behind me, taking off the latest iteration of my Invisibility Cloak, this one actually using an illusion of the background from where ever you looked, combined with a powerful suggestion to ignore anything abnormal.

"Revelio," I muttered, releasing a light imbued with the soul-stuff stored in the wand, the same one that allowed for it to sustain a single enchantment, like the disillusionment charm that I used on myself.

The light bent around a specific location; as I looked at the 'light sink' as it were, the point where the magical light seemed to be bending around something or another.

"Of course, the motherfucker has forged at least one chain of Valyrian Steel," I noted, lifting up the chain that mostly consisted of silver for Healing, a few iron for War, and a few others, mostly ones that he would have already learned with a proper lord's education. The single smoky steel, however, stood out amongst them.

"Finite," I muttered, guiding the basilisk soul within the wand to form a shield between the superficial blood attunement anyone with a basic understanding of forging Valyrian Steel could make. I had a feeling that Aemon had been the one to suggest Longclaw be given to Jon for a similar reason, as the same fire that burned his hand burned the steel as well.

With a bit of push of my will, I was able to unravel the attunement between the blood and Valyrian Steel, as I threw a small healing spell, followed by a stunner to knock out the bound and gagged Prince of Dorne, already drooling on the carpet. "You do not seem to be against this idea of mine," I said to my sword.

"I am a Stormlander, your grace," countered Ser Richard making me snort. "You will not hear me complain if you choose to knock around a few Dornish, and Prince Oberyn once threatened me, so seeing him being as he is now, it does not feel unjust," he added, as he had not made any comments about knocking out the guards in a similar manner. "Though, Ser Willem might have words if he found out about our stroll..."

"I am sure he will, but I sense... a plot against us," I muttered. It was easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission, and Red Viper of Dorne was a loose cannon in the best of times; the bastard of Uller did not help the case either.

"And Dorne is hot," countered Ser Richard, passing me the bag that contained what I needed, which included a round bowl the size of my hand, made from a white metal that gleamed in the light, with glyphs and gems embedded in the outside.

I nodded, tapping the Moonstones attached to the surface of the small bowl with my wand, leaving it to hover in the air.

The Pensieve was a rather fascinating bit of Magic Item from the World of Harry Potter, one that I had been tirelessly working to recreate since the first time I cast a spell with my wand. There were many reasons, a Well of Memories to share with Dany, a method for me to recollect my own memories and make it easier for me to recall meta-knowledge, a method to relax as I watched a few of the old favorite movies from my past life... the potential was endless, just as making one was the trickiest bit of Magic I came across to date.

The prime material, as with anything related to Memory, was Weirwood, while the bowl itself required a way for me to hold the memories without making the container absorb the potions.

The main problem with Memories was... they were not infallible. They changed and decayed over time, and the few prototypes I had generated images that were fuzzy.

I had started with a simple Weirwood bowl, eventually moving on to test a special clay mixed with Weirwood Ash, only for said Pensieves to be sub-par and 'leak' memories when I left them be.

No, what I needed was something that would be less likely to change, something that would remain the test of time, something made of metal. The process of creating the metal was the same one that I used for creating the Dragonsteel Coins, with the only difference being that the metal of the Pensieve contained Weirwood as the only wood, creating pale white steel that held the enchantments regarding memory rather well. The runes and gems, on the other hand, held the rest of the spells, balance, hovering... the works.

The Pensieve I made had a specific method of Divination, creating a Protean charm on the Memory that was linked to the Earth itself, using the Memory to scry the event in the past through the very memories of the world and fill in the gaps that the memory had. It was stabilized and streamlined Greensight, with a search function that I could use, even if it required a fragment of the memory.

The round shape was a necessity for the custom Magic Circle I had personally etched upon the inner and outer surfaces in runes and glyphs made from Blood-Metal mixed with Nightwood, which absorbed and emitted the magic in a single form. The Magic Circle held the enchantments of preservation and divination on the inside and balance, protection, and hovering on the outside to prevent it from spilling through the careful application of a shield charm.

The metal itself was not indestructible, however, and tended to be good at absorbing magical energy... one of the reasons it made for a good Pensieve as the memories remained vivid after a while, unlike the alternative methods I came up with.

The small bowl was made from the Weir-Steel, stretched thin, though it still was relatively small, a hand in diameter at most, with rolled edges to prevent it from cutting flesh. The metal itself was crude, with too many bumps, mostly because I lacked much experience in shaping it still, and the entire thing had to be forged by hand due to the way Magic seemed to interact with Dragonsteel. I could form the Dragonsteel into small coin-sized ingots, but shaping it with magic was impossible once the metal cooled down.

I took out a vial of Memory Potion; this one was made in such a way that it would kill me if I ever drank it, even with a Bezoar, due to the interaction between Nightshade, Wormwood, and Weirwood. The intensity of the poison, however, only worked if consumed, though the liquid had a strange ability to put a person into a trance on skin contact... after a few adjustments at least.

I guided the bowl to Oberyn Martell's head, slowly pulling on the memories of the Dornish Prince and all the secrets that came with it.

You might argue that what I was doing was dishonorable, that the Dornish as my allies deserved some basic decency... if I had heard a hide or hair from them since now.

I had my own theories, of course; maybe Doran assumed I would end up dead with the rumors of my obsession with magic, or maybe he wanted to distance himself from me, knowing that the Faith would stand against me at the best of times... but you know the saying about making assumptions.

The problem was, Dornish made me more paranoid than ever. There were a lot of half-hearted attempts in the whole Rebellion, and while Tyrells were chief among them with their choice of feasting while laying siege to an empty castle, the Dornish were not without blame, sending men only after Aerys had threatened Elia and turned her into a hostage... and even then, only half-heartedly. I could agree with their reluctance after what Rhaegar did, but their lack of foresight when it came to the potential fates of Elia and her children should Robert win made me irritated.

Along the way, I tapped a few select memories, whispering "Geminio" that had them be recreated within the material of the Memory Potion as long strands of memory. I took his training in healing, his training with a spear and lance, his experience in fighting, and anything else I found worthwhile. It was a trick that required a living head, unfortunately, so I could not do the same with Morrigan and gain the experienced and tricks of the Faceless Men without having my talking skull lose said memories. It had something to do with the brain holding a physical copy of the memories that made them easier to replicate, but I did not really care, as I had only done it a few times, once to a blacksmith and once to a jeweler.

The Legilimency allowed me to slowly wiggle out the right memories linked to House Targaryen and the plots they had. Oberyn, ironically, was my biggest supporter, wanting to declare for me after the news of the Sack of Kingslanding and the butchery of Elia and her children reached his ears, while Doran did nothing.

I dismissed the morality of my actions, mostly because Targaryens were really bad at playing the game and only succeeded when they flipped the board and made up new rules... so I was doing just the same. While I trusted Ser Willem's judgment, prepared Wizards are ones you do not mess with.

Getting the memories I wanted, modifying the last twenty minutes before he passed out into memories of debauchery built around suggestions, compulsions, and older memories of similar deeds, I mentally considered how idiot a Manipulative Dumbledore in the stories I read would have to be to fail at this whole cloak and dagger stuff.

The memory potion, now filled with the memories I chose to duplicate, went into a glass jar as I moved the bodies into their right position. A quick muttering of "Reparo" to fix everything broken, and I was ready to leave before stopping and turning to Ellaria Sand. Wasn't she an Uller or something like that?

The ball of shadow leaped from the Valyrian Steel chain link when I was done taking the memories of the Dornish Bastard regarding Hellholt as well, the shadow-soul returning to my wand as I walked out the door, light wrapping itself around me, with Ser Richard behind me with his cloak pulled up.

---

Sun Tzu once said, 'Know yourself and your enemy, and you will win all your battles,' and nothing allows you to know your enemy than their own memories and thoughts taken from their head.

"Evening," I said from the corner of the room, my Occlumency at full force so I do not turn the Dornishman into a smear on the wall or a pile of charred bones. I was mentally repeating my mantra of 'do not go full-Aerys, never go full-Aerys,' while sipping on my tea.

The reason Doran refused contact was two-fold, and I knew that now, and they did not know that I knew that.

One was what I had assumed, with Doran being uncertain if I could survive or not with me dabbling in Magic, as well as potentially proving trouble with the Faith. He was aware enough that while Dorne suffered little from the uprisings of the Faith, the rest of the Kingdoms south of the Neck were less secular.

The other was the reason for my current strain on self-restraint.

Varys had played his hand in desperation, potentially upon hearing that I was dabbling in magic... magic that made Bloodraven look like a mere conjurer of cheap tricks before he was hooked up to the Weirwood Net and got unlimited access to history.

The result of his play was a betrothal between Arianne and the Aegon he hid away. It was a desperate attempt to deny me Dorne, causing the delay from happening.

It also meant that I had to operate under the assumption that Dorne was an enemy but also with the façade that they were my allies.

"Viserys Targaryen... you are a hard man to find," Oberyn Martell said with a smirk as he sat back in comfort on the couch in front of me. 'Do not blast the Dornish Prince in the face; the couch was expensive and a pain in the ass to get it made just right,' I mentally tacked on.

The idiot had been followed by four spies, two of the Iron Bank and one of which was Sealords, as he and his paramour were trying to sneak into the House with the Red Door. The last one belonged to Varys, a former slave without a tongue, 'and now without a head.'

"Not really, though you have been avoiding me," I said instead. "Has Doran finally gotten bored waiting for the oranges to rot and decided to eat one?"

"My brother was not so keen on the idea of an alliance," countered Oberyn, his black eyes focusing from one point to another. "A Targaryen, dabbling in Magic... I had to take a measure of the rumors since Maesters seem to think you are either a charlatan, taken in by Hedge Wizards, or Maegor the Cruel Reborn."

"Funny, I thought the actions of Maegor ensured the stability of Jaehaerys' reign and broke the back of the Faith Militant. It was Aenys who dabbled in Sorcery. So, what have you found?" I asked, sipping on mead that some of the Free Folk seemed to be so fond of.

"The rumors seem to be true," said Oberyn, his body tense, " I find a distinct lack of Faceless Men to take on contracts these days..."

House of Black and White still stood, mostly because it was an organized religion. A bit of support here and there, a bit of use of Memory Charms to create a Priest of Death without access to the knowledge and rites that made the Faceless Men so dangerous from Morrigan's own, and I had a puppet religion that was now only limited to religious services and assisted suicides.

Morrigan disappeared every now and then, bringing the gift to people who probably deserved it through the shadow-bound body I gave her access to. With access to the Orb of Divination within her skull, she did not need to continue the work of a hired Assassin to take out those deserving. The last one was some charlatan in Volantis claiming to be able to raise the dead as thralls.

"Maybe they are just hiding or busy with other contracts?" I asked, before focusing on the other thread, "Does my reputation reach all the way to the Grey Rats then?"

"Only those with ears to listen. Archmaester Marwyn is of the opinion that should they send a Maester, he would not survive a meeting with the Butcher of Death," said Oberyn, making me smirk on the inside.

"Ridiculous, I would love to pick their brains," I countered, having taken the memories of the Citadel from the man before me... on the off chance that I found myself in Oldtown and working to repossess their library for myself in reparations for... let's see, treason, sedition, assassination, and conspiracy.

I was not sure how much the Maester Conspiracy held true, but while not every Maester was guilty, not every Maester was innocent either. The future of one Maester Cressen, as he attempted to poison Melisandre, was a good indicator that 'independent actors' that made up a majority of Maesters pointed to a distinct culture set for the preservation of the Greater Good and the Destruction of Magic. I found dogmas insufferable and fanatics unpleasant, so I was going to have to put an end to that specific culture.

"Well then, Prince Viserys," started Oberyn, no doubt making to say something smart.

"King," Interrupted Ser Willem, "Have care with your words; you are in the presence of King Viserys the Third, Rightful King of the Andals, the First Men, and the Rhoynar," he declared, holding himself straight despite the pain I knew he was in. He was desperate to be in this meeting, to make sure that he could act as a shield for me against the Westerosi politics. I... I appreciated that, even if I would have preferred that he rested more.

"In retrospect," I replied calmly, placing my hand on the shoulder of my sword shield, "the Andals wanted my family dead since Aenys, the First Men, have chosen to unanimously rebel against my father after he barbequed their lord, and the Rhoynar are…"

"Eagerly awaiting your return," Oberyn interrupted.

"Only care about me so long as they can get revenge against the blood of innocents that were spilled... without spilling their own blood like proper people with self-dignity," I countered, deciding to channel Lyanna Mormont and Ollenna Tyrell and Sparta kick subtlety off the cliff.

"Dignity?" asked the clearly Dornish Woman who was watching the exchange. "House Targaryen owes Dorne a debt of blood."

"And you must be Lady Ellaria Sand. I have heard of your beauty, and now I see the viciousness that would attract a man like the infamous Red Viper of Dorne," I greeted the woman. "Do not presume to tell me of debts owed, Uller," I snapped back,

"Aegon and Rhaenys were the Blood of the Dragon, just as Elia was; any debt Dorne is entitled to, House Targaryen is owed to twice over," I said before taking a deep breath and calming myself. 'Yes, assume that I do not know of this Aegon to be alive, even if I need to figure out a way to distinguish if he was a Blackfyre or not,' In a soft tone, I simply stated, "Why don't you enjoy the sun, my lady? It is rare in these parts of the world to have such a nice day... and three can keep a secret only if the two are dead."

Ellaria's eyes flashed with anger before making to leave the room, but Oberyn placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled... it had too many teeth in it. "You have a sharp tongue, Viserys. I like that. You remind me of your brother... he, too, had a way with words... though he was more soft-spoken."

"Well, I am not my brother," I said in turn, mentally revising when Rhaegar would threaten Dorne...

"Clearly not..." said Oberyn, "My brother Prince Doran has sent me to negotiate this alliance... Rhaegar would not be so callous as to insult the only allies he had left."

"Says the man who gave the Heir of Hightower the nickname of Breakwind and got exiled for killing a bannerman. And I remember my brother running off with another when your sister proved too unhealthy to bear more children."

"You, my prince, are well informed," said Oberyn laughing, though it did not reach his eyes, "Alas... like you, I am not my brother. Doran was always the one who was cautious and prudent. He does not act rashly or impulsively. He waits for the right moment to strike, and he has been waiting for you."

"When he is done waiting for me, he will wait for the winter, then the summer... he will wait and wait, and wait some more..." I countered, causing Oberyn to sigh, though his reaction was more of a mental one.

"Then allow me to put your thoughts at ease, your grace. May I present the proposal my brother has for House Targaryen," asked Oberyn, presenting a parchment.

Sir Richard held it, making sure to not hold it with anything but his wooden arm, hidden beneath the gloves and long sleeves of his doublet. Poisoned letters were a thing, and I did not trust the Red Viper as far as I could throw him... without magic... mostly because I could launch him halfway back to Dorne with magic.

"A betrothal, signed by a second son. An agreement that is not enforceable, one that can easily be declared the overreaching rebellion of a second son and disavowed by the Prince of Dorne." Ser Richard countered, repeating a snippet of the long list of complaints I aired to my sword.

"Even if I did not know your plans to have my Sworn Shield sign in my stead, such a contract would not be binding unless Doran wanted it to be, which implies that I would already be in a position of winning. Your brother knows how to hedge his bets and not put his own neck on the line," I countered. "Tell me, Oberyn, why should others fight for someone who will not fight for their own blood?"

"Dorne awaits for you to claim your birthright, your grace. The betrothal ensures that my niece Arianne will be your Queen while your sister marries his eldest son, Prince Quentyn," he said. "It honors the promise of your father when he had Elia wed Rhaegar, and it makes up for his crimes. It ensures that fifteen thousand spears to your cause, man that you lack."

'Do not vaporize the Dornish Prince... the repairs would be costly,' I mentally chanted as I read through the so-called pact.

I liked how neither he nor the contract actually mentioned the name of the king in the whole thing, referring to the 'Rightful Heir of House Targaryen.' The agreement said that the king would marry Arianne while also asking me to marry Dany to the would-be Dragon Thief.

Even Doran was hedging his bets, playing Varys against me and seeing who would act first. I could see Doran's hand at this, ensuring that his daughter would be Queen either way while also gaining leverage against me through Dany.

I considered my options. The infamous Dornish Plot Armor was something of a dilemma. They had defended themselves against Dragons, Armies, and even Occupation. They had been instrumental in the Blackfyre Rebellions, mostly because their inclusion into the Seven Kingdoms was the cause of most of the support for the Blackfyres.

Nothing prevented me from drawing a line on the sand and letting everything within burn to death, for the sand to melt and turn to glass... but I needed a reason... an excuse.

I hemmed and hawed as was proper.

I did not have any intention of marrying Arianne Martell… mostly because I did not need to, nor did I have any intention of letting some brat raised by the Spider hold any form of power over me. It did not matter if he was Rhaegar's son, a Blackfyre, or some random bastard from Lys. Once the crown sat upon his head, I could expect to be shafted by the 'Rightful King' as was the Westerosi tradition. If he was true, he was welcome to Westeros and all the problems that entailed; if he was false, his fate would be fire and blood.

Similarly, the Arianne in the books was… a spoiled and reckless princess who plotted to crown a small girl without consulting anyone else. She was so similar to a young Cersei that I was certain any marriage with her would be one that would be miserable, not to mention that she was also promiscuous and unfaithful, sleeping with half of Dorne and beyond as far as I knew. I was not going to marry someone whose fidelity I could no ensure, whose virginity I could not use to empower myself, or whose children I would have to test just to be certain that they were mine… and Margaery Tyrell came with seventy thousand more spears than the Dornish... who would already be honor-bound to support me.

That was the problem, wasn't it? They knew that their support would have to be given if I landed with an army if I had a shot at winning. There were certain things a Lord could not let be. An opportunity to avenge their family, the loss of their seat of power... those were weaknesses that they could not let be without people questioning them. Doran would have a rebellion in his hand if he did not raise his army to support me; a lord not seeking justice for his family was not worth any salt, a sign that they were too weak. The Prince of Dorne was overreaching... his Westerosi greed showing through as he grasped for more and more at the cost of what was best.

All of those did not even include the part about marrying Dany off to the Dragon-Thief. Quentyn Martell was not getting a second chance from me; his actions of trying to ride one of Daenerys' dragons in the books were not only ill-thought, but the consequences would lead to war no matter what.

Horse thieves were executed in this world, and Dragon Thieves in Old Valyria had a worse fate. Once the dragon was put down by the Dragonlord families, the rider was raised from death and executed fourteen times in a row, once for each Dragon God of Valyria, each time resurrected. The remains of the body after the fourteenth resurrection were for the family who owned the dragon to do as they will, though one account that Morrigan knew included a blood curse that boiled the blood of those related to the Dragon Thief.

I sighed, clearing my mind of all distractions and pushing down my emotions for what I had to do, knowing that there was no other way to get Dorne without tipping my hand and, above all else, there was no other way of not letting Varys realize that I was onto him.

"I do not need Dorne to claim what it mines, and you..." I countered, giving the man a glare, the pressure I exerted rooting him on his seat. I could feel his fear, even through the protection of the small link of Valyrian Steel, "You do not need a betrothal to seek revenge from the Usurper or the Lion. I will consider your proposal and give you an answer at a later date. Prince Doran is married to Lady Mellario of Norvos," I stated simply.

I acted like I just had the idea as I said, "I propose a meeting between the parties of concern… say a coincidental meeting when Lady Mellario visits a family with her eldest daughter and son in two years' time when I have an army at my back?" I did not mention the fact that they would essentially become hostages in all but name should Dorne try anything.

Oberyn chuckled. "You are clever, your grace. You know how to play the Game, but so does my brother. I know when a man made up his mind, so I shall agree, though the betrothal to Arianne to ensure she becomes the Queen will have to be signed today," he said, pointing at the parchment.

I once again had to remind myself why ashing a Prince of Dorne was a stupid idea; he would be good fodder against Clagane. I then had to convince myself why I should not just create my own kingdom in Stepstones while the Others butchered all of Westeros.

I held the parchment before flames engulfed it.

I had once heard someone say that politics was telling someone to go fuck themselves and having them thank you for it... or something like that. It was probably Churchill, it sounded like something Churchill would have said.

I had done exactly that, telling Doran to go fuck himself and nothing could be done about it. Aegon, whether Blackfyre or real had his days numbered, and I had a plan to deal with him discretely once I figured out the Marauder's Map project of mine to be sure of his identity.

"Two years' time, Norvos... or we will see how much fire it takes for Sands of Dorne to melt, given it has not been bent or broken before," I said, looking Oberyn in the eyes, seeing the anger he held back at the implied threat. It was a sweet feeling that rage.

It was then that Ferrego decided to enter the room, the Sealord of Braavos dropping by for another meeting with me and coincidentally to act as a witness to any potential improved agreement that did not include any betrothals. Second point was moot though, unless Oberyn was not going to swallow his pride. The dark ring of Valyrian Steel gleaming on the Sealord's ring finger was the only indicator of his true allegiance, as it matched with the one on Bellonara's finger, hanging off the Sealord's arm.