The Vanquisher (A Targaryen SI)

[void_petrichor]

Archon Alleander Trieas 259AC

I make my way to the slaves quarters, not the one for the house hands or the guards but rather a room one would not find amiss to be the home of a middling merchant. I entered and saw the reason for my daily trip painting with his purple eyes squinted in focus. Keeping his wrist still the nine nameday old child moved the blue ink across the page adding shadows to the half complete portrait of vineyards. Vallar curses when he applies too much ink blotting the page and choosing that moment to make my presence known I run my bony fingers through his hair as if to affectionately pet him.

I shivered in pleasure as he vividly tensed beneath my touch before making sure to keep still knowing better than to move without my permission. I continued to pet him for some time in silence until I grabbed the strands of black amongst his otherwise silver-gold hair and twisted them hard causing tears to pool in his eyes.

"The painting is just like you, almost perfect but with dirty imperfections front and center. What were your Targaryen ancestors thinking when they ruined their blood purity by lying with Andals and First Men?"

The boy ever so queer for his age forced down his tears simply choosing to look up and smile at me. He had always discomforted me since the day he had been brought under my care as a swaddling babe by the drunkard Maegor Targaryen in return for a pouch of gold, but what could one expect from the grandson of the mad Aerion.

Growing annoyed at his reaction I thrust his head forward hitting the still wet painting causing the ink to blot his hair. Still the child just smiled at me as if pleased with what I had done, my only satisfaction being that the smile certainly looked more strained.

"Your father idiotically thought he was selling you to me as a goodson, to marry 'the blood of the dragon' into my line. If he wasn't dead I wonder what his face would be if he found out that you were being groomed to serve as a courtesan."

The boy kept quiet before realizing this question was directed towards him and wasn't one of my usual musings.

"He would thank you for your generosity Archon, for serving you is one of life's greatest pleasures."

It would usually please me to see a slave as docile and broken as this but when they didn't put up a fight in the beginning it was quite boring. His valyrian looks certainly played into my disgust as well as seeing the features of a dragonlord twist into one of subservient servitude was a stark reminder that the blood that flowed through his veins and mine were much the same.

'If our blood was the same he wouldn't have been fated to be a slave,' I thought and with that thought shook aways the ludacris ones from earlier. Staring at the boy's small frame I recalled that it had been quite some time since he had been beat. Even busy with my duties as an Archon I did not want to delegate the education of Vallar as would be the norm for other slaves, for why give some else such pleasure. It was certainly time consuming and difficult and I could only now appreciate my head of the slaves who had always remarked at how tricky it was to raise prostitutes, "not enough beatings and they get uppity but too much and they lose their value as a product as no one wants damage goods".

"Bring me the whip," I ordered pointing to what lay in the corner of every room in my manse, a silver handled sturdy whip always ready for me to use at my pleasure.

Purple eyes widening, the boy stood and moved resignedly towards the corner of the room grabbing the whip, walking back and handing it to me. Not being beaten as often as a field slave or a gladiator the boy never knew when to expect a beating, the anticipation serving just as good as a torture as the beating itself.

"Kneel and face the wall boy," I commanded, the child moving quickly, removing his shirt and baring his back towards me.

Lifting the whip I threw it over my shoulder before bringing it down hard in a curved arc across the boy's back opening old scars and making new ones. Flicking my wrist I did it in the opposite direction continuing in such a manner for quite some time before being interrupted by one of my servants.

"Archon, the Band of Nine have set sail from the Disputed Lands and they surely mean to land in Tyrosh, Lys, or the Stepstones," my elderly attendant in charge of information concisely belted out.

Sighing I threw the whip, it now being soaked with blood and stuck with bits of flesh, onto the ground. Staring at the trembling back of the child I angled my head to admire my work scoffing when I realized I had missed a spot on his back. Realizing that more important business beckoned me I put an end to my fun.

"Pour some alcohol over your back and see to it that the healer bandages your wounds after you clean the whip and return it back to its place," I then turned to my attendant. "As for you, call an emergency meeting of the magisters. If those upjumped bastards want to take a bite of the magnificent city of Tyrosh they shall taste our steel."

Leaving the room with my silk robe trailing behind me I passed my gardens, an installation I had put in place myself, admiring the naked humans standing in their raised cages. Inspired by the menagerie of animals that the Sea Lord of Braavos had, I in turn had collected humans from almost every free city and kingdom in the world to decorate my garden. Seeing the red haired free folk from beyond the wall of Westeros and the pale skinned peasant from Yi-Ti my mood brightened until I looked upon the empty cage of Braavos. The council of magisters had unanimously voted not to provoke Braavos into a war over completing my garden no matter how much I bribed, threatened, or cajoled them.

'Weak cowards the lot of them,' I thought growing frustrated that I would have to spend the following days in meetings with them to prepare for the chance the Band of Nine decided to attack Tyrosh.

– – – – – Captain-General Maelys Blackfyre 259AC

Spotted Tom laughed as one of his men fell screaming from a ladder after being doused with boiling water. He laughed even harder when his body fell with such force that he seemed to have killed the man he landed on. I scowled then turned to look at Nine Eyes who queer as ever was seemingly staring into the air. If not for their skill at arms and army sizes I would never have grouped myself with people as mad as those who made up the Band of Nine.

The sacrifice to my psyche seemed to have been worth it with Tyrosh soon to fall. Old Mother and Samarro Saan's combined fleet smashed the war fleet of Tyrosh at dawn, burning or capturing most of their ships. They had also succeeded in capturing the strong fortifications of the Bleeding Tower, something that was now used as our command center, after ferrying part of the Golden Company to serve as support.

Our men now controlled the docks with our ladders and ramps focused on breaching the lower walls present there. We seemed to be making great headway with footholds being established one after the other no small part thanks to the mad Lord of Battle Liomond Lashare who led the charge and the Ebon Prince Xhobar Qhoqua whose goldenheart bow wielding archers far outranged their opponents.

I shook my head at their stupidity, all it took was one arrow or stone fired by a slave to hit them and then they would be dead. This was no pitched battle and so they would find no glory if they did die. Using my far-eye I saw that the majority of the enemies had moved towards the dock just like we had planned. I raised and blew my horn, the signal causing a detachment of my men, bearing rams and guiding our war elephants, to charge towards the main gate of Tyrosh piercing through the now lightly defended gates.

With the cheers of my men and the moans and fearful gasps of the Tyroshis the Golden Company entered the city starting the mens long awaited sack, no matter how much Silvertounge Alequo Adarys begged that we spare the city.

Combining the fleets of the Old Mother and Samarro Saan, the wealth of Alequo Adarys, and the battle hardened men of Derrick Fossoway, Nine Eyes, Spotted Tom, Liomond Lashare, and Xhobar Qhoqua, made it so that one of the strongest free cities in the world had fallen quickly. It came to no surprise that we had conquered Tyrosh in less than a week for had not the Golden Company taken Qohor by itself.

I soon entered the city myself seeing Liomond Lashare and Alequo Adarys men trying to start water bucket brigades to stop the fires even as the cruel Derrick Fossoway and Spotted Tom added to them. Craving a strong wine after rationing for the siege, me and my escorts made our way to the center of Tyrosh, the Archons palace dominating the landscape as we neared.

I saw Nine Eyes torturing the elected military leader of Tyrosh while smearing him in weird green ointments and muttering words in Ghiscari. I quickly moved away from him and entered the large manse of the Archon going deep inside to find some quality wine.

While we had agreed that Tyrosh would be Alequos just as the Seven Kingdoms would be mine we also had stipulated that all war booty must be split nine ways, ensuring an even share and making sure someone doesn't rise to be too powerful, fracturing the alliance. The stingy Alequo who surely count the wine I would take as a part of my share so I endeavored to enjoy it well.

As me and my men sat in one of the central courtyards getting drunk off wine one of the men I had sent to bring us women to enjoy returned not with some comley prostitute but a little boy.

"Do you think I would allow pillow biting in my presence Bredon," Ser Roland Duckfield spat out.
Offended, Brendon pushed the boy towards us and said "Miss me with your insidious and false inquiries. I brought the boy because he bears a resemblance to our captain-general. I found the little gremlin straddling the Archon's dead body, repeatedly stabbing it with a knife in one hand while whipping it with the other.

Grabbing the boy's wrist I pulled him close to me before clasping his chin and lifting his face so that I could get a better look. Staring into his anger filled purple eyes and examining his face the child did indeed bear not just valyrian features but more specifically Blackfyre ones like Brendon said.

"He could just as likely be a Targaryen dragonseed my King," Ser Duckfield added.

I nodded acknowledging the validity of his claim, not taking my eyes off the boys as his face flashed with fear. 'Interesting,' I thought. Deciding the only way to get to the truth of the matter I asked the boy himself.

"How old are you boy and who is your mother and father?"

Releasing his face from my grasp he answered quickly, "My king, I'm nine name days old and the man who called himself my master said that my father was a black dragon. As for my mother, I assume that she was some random prostitute."

His words surprised me for multiple reasons, the first of which being that his frame gave more credence to him being aged two and ten rather than nine. He had also properly addressed me and was apparently claiming to be a Blackfyre. My half drunk mind ran wild as I tried to piece my thoughts together.

"Around a decade ago when we were in Tyrosh, did Daemon sleep with any prostitutes like we did," I voiced my question to the men to which they all shook their heads no. It looked like this little gremlin might have been mine or at least some distant Blackfyre kin. His looks matched and his strong build was more along the lines of a Blackfyre than a Targaryen. With his young age not making him a threat I discarded the idea of killing him and hefted him up into the air as I stood.

"From now on your name is Blackfyre and you shall serve as my page given that you're too young to be a squire. Do you understand?"

The boy nodded quickly which was worrying as I didn't want some docile slave but rather a fiery warrior for my kin. 'If they beat submission into him I bet I can beat it out of him as well,' I thought.

"State your full name unless you mean for me to continue to call you boy."

"My name is Vallar Blackfyre, my king," the boy declared strongly, which was quite comical from his position in the air. Setting him down I told him to fetch us more wine to which he quickly ran and returned with it, though with a sizable pouch tucked under his tunic that neither of us commented on.

The night passed with drunken revelry with my men japing with the quite clever nine year old boy as the conquered city burned around us.

– – – – –Red Scab 259AC

I stood absolutely still at the front of the century of Unsullied as a boy trailed by two Golden Company men made his way towards us. Less than a week had passed since the sack of Tyrosh and it seemed that the conquerors did not want to rest easy on their laurels and were already packing up to leave. My master, a middling magister, had died during the sack falling prey to a Summer Islanders arrow resulting in all his slaves being given back to the slave market by the order of the new Prince of Tyrosh Alequo.

I could only hope that my next master would allow us the only vice left for us, food, with my last one being a strict disciplinarian who would train us hard hoping to have our skills rub off on his guards so that he could sell them for a profit.

I focused on the valyrian looking boy as he dismissed his guard assurances that he would be better off saving his money and not buying Unsullied.

"Brendon, it's my coin to spend and given that you're not my father why don't you shut up," the boy said.

The other guard laughed at the man called Brendons expense, elbowing him as the man shook his head and looked upwards. The boy turned to the merchant in charge of this section of the slave market bringing him over by shaking his pouch of coins.

"How may I help you my noble master," the slimy fat merchant greeted the boy.

"I mean to buy this century of Unsullied. What is their price?" the unusually shaven silver-gold haired child asked to which the merchant quoted a number that felt a bit high.

"These Unsullied are not fresh from Astapor and are quite aged. Do you seriously mean to rob a member of the Golden Company?" the boy said, patting the small war hammer found on his hip.

The merchant immediately started to sweat, exclaiming a thousand apologies, more in his fear of the men behind the boy than the boy himself, before lowering the price and completing the sale.

As we marched behind the boy and his two guards we found ourselves in one of the larger palaces adjacent to the Archons. The boy dismissed his two guards by tossing a few coins at them and raising his finger to his mouth, a motion that the guards smiled and nodded at before leaving. Now turning to face us the boy introduced himself.

"My name is Vallar Blackfyre and I have bought you," he started practically spitting out the word 'bought'.

"As of this moment I free all one hundred of you. You are free to leave and do whatever you want. I will gladly take in those of you who wish to stay and will pay you, though it would be a poor pay given that I lack much coin."

The usually unmoving formation of Unsullied began to stir as they processed our masters, Vallar my mind corrected, words. The men turned to me as I was their century commander and gathering my courage and burying my rising hope I asked the question that was surely on all our minds.

"Master, is this a jape or are we really free to leave?"

Vallar smiled, running a hand through his very short hair saying, "It is exactly like I have told you, you are now free men. Free men who can choose to serve me or do whatever they want."

One of the Unsullied, Grey Water, broke formation and moved one step at a time towards the door glancing all the while at Vallar who simply nodded at him. When he touched the exit of the courtyard he simply froze before returning and kneeling to Vallar.

"I hope you will have me as a free man, father," he said to which I and everyone quickly followed after him, echoing the word 'father' and whole heartily meaning it. Only a few Unsullied ran outside with even fewer not returning after doing so.

"Good, for those of you who stayed, my first task for you is one that must be done in absolute secrecy."

"Red Scab is your name right," he said looking at me to which I nodded, "If he does not wish to change his name Red Scab will lead a group of around twelve Unsullied to retrieve something from a castle called Summerhall in Westeros. You shall be aided by a guide, who is a recently freed Stormlander, and a chartered ship."

Comfortable at being given orders I said "What do you want us to retrieve, father," finishing the sentence with the first word that popped into my head now with master no longer being appropriate.

'Why seven precious dragon eggs," Vallar said smiling.
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Conversation makes the author very happy.

 

[NightshadeQ8]

I am intrigued!