POV: Aemon Targaryen
I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. Then it hit me—a headache like nothing I've ever felt before. I immediately clutched my head. It felt like my brain was falling from the inside, right onto my eyeballs.
Then a voice whispered in my ear:
A moon to your life has been added.
Couldn't make sense of it. Might've just been an illusion. Or my brain melting.
Then the door to the chamber opened. I looked up and saw Ser Steffon walking in with hurried steps.
"My prince, you had us worried sick. When we found you strapped to your dragon, where the ships were anchored, you'd already fainted. I saw you battle the wyrm. Your ancestors would be proud," he said, with a hint of reverence and respect.
But I wasn't interested in hearing any of that.
"Water," I asked.
He immediately handed me the waterskin. I took violent gulps, then shut my eyes and tried to remember what happened before I passed out. I let the silence stretch for a few minutes. I appreciated Ser Steffon's patience—he didn't interrupt.
Then I asked the important question.
"Did you get the eggs?"
"Yes, my prince. All the chests containing dragons have been secured."
"How many chests were there again?" I asked. My brain was still scrambled.
"Two chests, my prince. Each had four eggs."
"Alright… did we lose anyone on the way back?"
"Yes. One man dead, two injured."
"Where are we? Where's our ship?"
"We've been sailing for two days. If we're heading the right way and the wind holds, we'll reach Volantis in a day."
"Good. Make sure the men keep their mouths shut. The ones we left behind will definitely try to find out where we went. I want the treasure kept with the Unsullied. Send them to Dragonstone. I'll write to my friend there to expect them—with the treasure and the dragon eggs. The rest of us stay here, do some normal business, and leave after a few days."
He gave me a bow and left.
I closed my eyes again. I needed to remember everything, because the next part of the plan was important. Why did I come all this way?
It wasn't for gold. Or Valyrian steel. That stuff's flashy, sure, but not that important in the grand scheme of things—especially now that I've got my company up and running.
Why did I risk my life?
The books.
I needed to complete the Way of Assassins body technique. I needed more research material on blood magic to improve it. But I didn't have the mental fortitude to deal with that right now. I needed a belly full of food and a Bangkok street massage.
A day later, after reaching Volantis…
I had a hearty meal. I'd already sent the letter to my friends in Forgehold. Now it was time to handle some business here—maybe look into the local magisters.
As promised, I gave freedom to all the slaves we brought. Told them they'd have a home on Dragonstone if they didn't have one—or they could return to wherever they came from if they did. I knew I was taking a risk. But if I don't keep my word, the people loyal to me lose respect. And a man without respect… is Diddy.
News of a dragonrider in the city spread fast. I was soon invited by the Triarchs of Volantis—the three leaders who run everything here. As I moved through the city, I saw headless statues everywhere.
From what I've heard, Volantis has two main political factions, and its three triarchs are elected from them every few years. What's strange is that every free citizen—man or woman—can vote. Even stranger? Women can be elected as leaders.
That's unheard of in Westeros.
In Westeros, patriarchy is law, custom, and religion. Women are expected to obey their fathers, brothers, and husbands. Even highborn ladies are rarely granted real power, and when they are, it's seen as exceptional—sometimes even dangerous. Male control over women is the norm. But here in Volantis, despite all its flaws... women can rule. They can lead.
And yet—they have slavery.
That's what makes this place feel so strange. On Earth, no major historical civilization had slavery without also having patriarchy. The two systems usually went hand in hand—patriarchy enforced male dominance, and slavery enforced the domination of one group over another. These systems weren't just parallel—they reinforced each other.
But Volantis breaks that pattern. A city where women vote, lead, and hold office... while others are chained in the streets and sold like livestock. It's contradictory. Illogical.
Or maybe it's a different kind of logic altogether. One I haven't fully grasped yet.
As I entered the Black Wall, I couldn't help but wonder what Old Valyria must've looked like.
Eventually, I was led into a palace. Black stone outside—but inside, it was marbles, paintings, and tapestries everywhere.
A man walked up to us wearing ridiculous clothes. But this wasn't the time to judge fashion.
"Crown Prince of Westeros," he said in Low Valyrian, "on behalf of all three Triarchs, I welcome you to our city. You honor us with your presence. It has been ages since a dragonrider last came to Volantis. All the Triarchs are eager to meet you."
"The feeling is mutual," I replied, also in Low Valyrian. "Take me to them."
I was led into a chamber. As soon as I entered, the smell of incense hit me. The room was beautiful—huge chandelier, gold in the tile joints. But mostly empty. Only ten people were present, plus guards. All ten of them looked like me. Valyrian.
One of them smiled. "I am Magister Laemion Vharaqos. Welcome to Volantis, Crown Prince Aemon. These are my fellow magisters, and the Triarchs."
I looked at everyone, then at the Triarchs. Two old men, and a younger one. All of them expressionless.
"Well, thank you for having me. It's nice to see the cities my ancestors built," I said.
"The honor is ours. We've heard of your endeavors. The world is eager to know the boy who started AemTech. It's growing fast, and for all the right reasons," said one of the old men. "And where are my manners—my name is Maro Velyssar of the Elephant Party."
"And I am Tregar Pahlor, also of the Elephants. This is Aelarys Morrentho, same party," said the other old man.
The young man smiled. "You've grown a lot since I last saw you."
Wait, what?
That's surprising—I don't remember meeting any of these big shots.
"Well… I don't quite remember meeting you," I said.
"I was one of the thirteen candidates who made a claim during the Great Council. I'm the son of Saera Targaryen. That makes me your uncle. Not that I'd claim that—no offense," he said with a giggle.
Oookay. Weird. His mother hates Jaehaerys' whole bloodline.
As if sensing my discomfort, he added, "There's no animosity between us. Not that I was ever close to her."
"Ha. Well, small world. Didn't expect to find a relative all the way out here."
"In that case," said Laemion, "we're all kin. All of us here descend from families of Old Valyria."
"I get that, sure," I replied. "But calling everyone related feels like a stretch."
"You might not know much about the Old Blood of Volantis," said Tregar. "May I ask—do you know anything about our origin?"
"Other than what I just said? Not really."
"We were here before the Doom of Valyria. Most of us are descended from branch families and bastards of dragonlords. And we've kept our bloodlines pure ever since. I can say this confidently—when it comes to the purity of dragon blood, we're not any lower than yours."
My mind was somewhere else. Spinning.
What if this is the answer to the inbreeding problem of my house?
But this wasn't the time to zone out.
It's time to cook.
I put on my post-nut clarity face.
"Well, that's something I didn't know. I'm actually baffled that no one taught me this. To think our culture and history are still alive and united—in this part of the world."
My sudden shift made everyone exchange looks.
"Well," said one of the men at the table, "we've had a long history of conflict with House Targaryen. Your ancestor Aegon helped Myr and Tyrosh break free by burning our fleet."
"Yes. Instead of allies, we've been enemies for no reason," said a woman.
Well, well, well.
Aegon did that to stop y'all from becoming a regional hegemon. Aegon gave them the stick. Now it's time for me to give you the carrot.
"I can't undo the past, but I'm hopeful for the future. And I've got just the means to make that happen."
They liked where this was going. But the Triarchs weren't easy to fool.
"What do you mean? What can you offer—and what do you want in return?" asked Aelarys.
"You already know about my company. And it hasn't signed any exclusive deals with the Free Cities yet. Imagine getting all my products at just a 20% margin—or even cheaper, if your ships pick them up yourselves. I don't need to explain the resources available in Westeros. And you know I'm going to be king."
They looked at each other.
"That's quite an offer," said Maro. "But why? What do you want in return? Why give us the exclusive deal?"
"I could go on about how I need an ally in the Free Cities. But the real reason is the growing power of Braavos—and the sudden unity forming between Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys."
"And what exactly would we have to offer?" asked Aelarys. "Even if your reasons are sound… and even if you do become king… can you even make a deal with us?"
"What do you mean? Why wouldn't I be able to?"
"Because you're the Crown Prince of Westeros. And in Westeros, slavery is frowned upon. How can you form any long-term relationship with us? That's why your father's only ever dealt with Braavos. He stays away from us."
…This is going to be harder than I thought.
These people are actually using their brains.
"Okay. If I can get a missive from my father confirming we're ready to build good relations—then we can move ahead with our deal, right?" I said, flipping over another card.
Tregar leaned forward. "Alright. We can consider cooperation—if you keep your end of the promise. But what do you want in return?"
"I want your alliance," I replied calmly. "If any Free City—or coalition of them—ever attacks Westeros, I want your fleets to support us. And I want them at a good discount both for personal use and war."
Maro frowned. "We can accept your terms… but a 20% margin below market? That's not much. We want 40%."
I smiled faintly. "Once you have an exclusive contract, there won't be a market price in Essos. Only a regional one in Westeros. Over here, what you decide to sell it for becomes the market price. And my condition—that you support us only if the Free Cities attack—is already in your best interest. Because if they do attack, and you don't support us, the price of imports from Westeros will skyrocket for you. So what I'm offering is, frankly, a one-sided deal."
That shut them up.
Because it was a one-sided deal. They just hadn't figured out the catch yet. They didn't know that within a few years, the Triarchy would attack the Stepstones—and if they took my deal, they'd be dragged into that war too.
To them, the offer sounded too good to be true.
I let the silence stretch.
Then, finally, they nodded. "We accept your demand—provided you fulfill your end of the deal first. And from this moment, you are a state guest of Volantis. Should you ever buy property, acquire a slave, or start a business here, the Triarchate will back you."
I grinned. "To our future cooperation. And who knows—maybe, a few generations from now, the Queen of Westeros could come from one of the Old Blood houses of Volantis."
That lit a spark behind their eyes. My final bait had landed.
After the meeting, I stayed in Volantis a few more days. I was showered with gifts—and girls. But I ignored it all.
I had bigger plans.
Now, it's time to bring my game back to home ground.