Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Chapter 390: The Dragonlord’s Poisoned Apple

Viserys did not tell Mace or the Red Viper how he had taken Casterly Rock. After all, tunneling his way in would be beneath his dignity as an emperor.

He received the two men in House Lannister's so-called “shrine to heroes,” the Hall of the Heroes.

Hundreds of suits of finely crafted armor were on display, each worn by Lannister ancestors. The damaged areas had been repaired with gold, as though the Lannisters' spilled blood had turned to melted gold. Candlelight from above illuminated the hall, creating a solemn and majestic scene—this was the heritage of an ancient House. Compared to this, Dragonstone was nothing more than a long, narrow corridor, shabby by contrast.

If House Targaryen were not counted as part of Valyrian history, it would be younger than most of the Houses in Westeros. Here, in the Lannister hall, the armor was displayed at the center, facing the door—not on mere stands, but mounted upon carvings of the armor's original owners. As one walked in, it felt as though every armored warrior was watching, weapons in hand. The path through was narrow, and their sharp, gleaming weapons were set so close that one might be cut if not careful. To avoid this gauntlet, a visitor would have to take the passageway along the walls on either side.

In the front row, the oldest armor bore the name “Lann” carved into its chest. It was the armor of the so-called “Lann the Clever,” the man who had once, as legend told, bedded all the women of House Casterly and seized Casterly Rock.

Viserys hadn’t bothered to have any of the armor moved, forcing Mace and the Red Viper to edge through the gaps to reach him. The two men were well aware of Viserys's determination to wipe out the Lannisters, a knowledge that made them feel a little like the fox who knows the rabbit's fate will soon be its own. They still had no idea how Viserys had managed to capture Casterly Rock, but for now, the occasion called for congratulations.

Just as the Red Viper opened his mouth to speak, Viserys addressed him first.

“Oberyn, do you remember our agreement? Robert's head is mine, and Tywin’s is yours. I will execute Robert at Ruby Ford, and Tywin is yours.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” replied the Red Viper, bowing low.

“I don't think Tywin's old arms and legs will trip you up,” Viserys teased.

The Red Viper laughed in agreement, but a thick wall had already formed between them.

Viserys glanced at Oberyn, then spoke again.

"I like this place. I plan to make Casterly Rock a royal palace. Lord Mace, I hear there are many highly skilled craftsmen in Highgarden. I’ll leave this task to you."

"Yes, Your Grace." Even Mace, usually slow-witted, could see that the Lannisters' downfall was certain. Speaking out of turn now would only bring him trouble.

The Lannisters—a House that had stood since the Age of Heroes—might even be older than Targaryen bloodlines or Valyria itself. The capture of Casterly Rock meant victory in the War of the Restoration. Viserys’s next task was to kill Robert and Tywin and then establish a new order in the Seven Kingdoms, preparing for the Long Night to come.

Leaving troops to garrison Casterly Rock, Viserys ordered Mace and the others to rally forces around the Green Fork. He had learned that Robert had traveled to the Isle of Faces to seek the Green Men. Deciding it was worth investigating, he mounted his dragon and took flight, knowing the Isle's ancient ties to the Children of the Forest and the Greenseers. Given everything that had happened with Aerys, he couldn’t ignore these people—especially if he might glean more about the White Walkers.

By mid-morning, Viserys arrived over the Gods Eye on his dragon. A small red island came into view: the Isle of Faces, with its forest of Weirwoods. As his dragon landed on the reddish-brown carpet of fallen Weirwood leaves, it flapped its wings, visibly uneasy. Viserys felt a similar tension, a strange echo of the sensation he’d experienced when he first met Brynden, the Greenseer, after his battle with Euron.

"Viserys."

Suddenly, a voice called his name. It sounded ancient and distant, not entirely human, as if it came from within the trees themselves. A rustling filled the air, and Viserys saw the face of a man emerge from a Weirwood.

"Bloodraven, don’t play games with me. I’ve come to ask you a question," he said, approaching the Weirwood.

"Viserys, I knew you would come," the voice replied.

"I heard Robert was here too. What did you tell him?" Viserys asked.

"He came seeking guidance."

"So you do remember you’re Targaryen blood, not just here to meddle," Viserys remarked.

Bloodraven’s voice came from the Weirwood.

"I’ll ask you a few questions. If your aim is to save the world, then answer truthfully."

A rustling swept through the trees as if the Weirwood agreed. Viserys took a deep breath and began.

"When you kept whispering 'Burn them all' in Aerys’s ear, were you warning him that this was how to deal with the White Walkers?"

"Yes," Bloodraven replied.

"Are you connected to Jeyne of Oldstones?"

"She is my avatar."

Viserys’s eyes narrowed. Something felt off. "Did you cause the Tragedy at Summerhall?"

"Yes," Brynden answered without hesitation.

"Why?" Viserys’s voice held a sharp edge, and the thought of destroying the Old Gods crossed his mind.

"To create a savior."

"Create? Isn’t the savior meant to be the reincarnation of Azor Ahai?" Viserys felt he was on the verge of understanding something important, but it remained just out of reach. "Then what is the connection between your supposed heir and the savior?"

Silence fell over the grove as Bloodraven offered no answer, and a deep stillness settled between them.

“It seems this concerns your core interests, so I’ll ask again—why the Targaryens?”

“A trade.”

“A trade?!” Viserys echoed, startled, as a thought struck him. Perhaps Aenar, in his so-called 'exile,' was seeking something—maybe the hope of restoring his House to greatness or pursuing some forbidden magic. At that time, the Greenseer must have been looking to contact Valyria’s Dragonlords. By some chance, Aenar discovered the Greenseer’s trail, and the two began their dealings. If they struck a bargain, Viserys thought, perhaps Aenar gained the ability known as Dragon Dreams.

Tentatively, he asked, “Dragon Dreams were part of this deal, weren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“I see… So your plan was to lure Aenar to Dragonstone, where his descendants would flourish, and even Aegon’s conquest was a part of this design. The condition you imposed was that the Targaryens would survive as the only Dragonlord family—so long as they accepted your manipulation. Perhaps you even possess a special ability to see the fates of each Targaryen, like a farmer observing seedlings in a field.” Viserys’s voice grew sharper. “If they meet your designs, you nurture them; if not, you cull them. The Dance of the Dragons, the Blackfyre Rebellion—those were simply you pruning unwanted branches. And the Tragedy at Summerhall… that was your final choice, wasn’t it?”

A long, mournful sigh passed through the forest like the rustling of leaves in a wind.

When the Greenseer offered no answer, Viserys pressed on. “Admit it, Bloodraven! And if that’s true, why didn’t you tell me when we first met? We could have—” He caught himself, realizing his mistake before he finished the word cooperate. My soul isn’t Viserys the Second’s, so perhaps Bloodraven cannot fully see my fate, he thought.

“Viserys,” the Greenseer said, “I only have one chance, so I don’t take risks. Do you understand?”

Well, Viserys thought, this Greenseer has access to the whole game board but is overly cautious. Aloud, he asked, “So what’s your choice? Do you want to cooperate with me?”

If I have the Greenseer on my side, he thought privately, then I could practically see the entire map of Westeros, perhaps even know what the Night King is scheming while I lie in bed.

“I cannot predict what the Night King plans,” Bloodraven said, as if reading his thoughts. “I cannot even use my powers to observe him.”

“Then tell me what you can do,” Viserys replied.

“I can buy you time, with everything I have,” Bloodraven’s voice was weak, tinged with resignation.

Viserys considered, then asked, “If you lack an heir, will you perish?”

Perhaps Euron, or even Bran, is merely a part of this Greenseer—a part that, as it ages, must be renewed. According to legend, only one in every hundred thousand Children of the Forest could be a Greenseer. Maybe the First Men’s covenant with the Children of the Forest wasn’t so simple, he thought. Some of the First Men had the blood for skinchanging, making them suitable to merge with the Children.

“If Bran is necessary,” he murmured to himself, “then I may need to send him directly to the Bloodraven.”

Bloodraven’s voice cut through his musings. “As long as the Targaryens live, I have a chance to revive my purpose. But know this—once we defeat the Night King, the contract between me and the Targaryens will end. I’ll never interfere with your House’s fate again.”

“How long can you fight for me?” Viserys asked.

“Seven years,” came the reply, firm but weary.