Chapter 17: The Scars of Command and the Serpent's Coil
The flickering oil lamps in the Nexus cast long, dancing shadows, painting the faces of Viserys's inner circle in stark relief. The air was thick with unspoken tensions, the residue of the Pentos operation clinging to them like the cloying scent of stale incense and fear. Kipp, recently returned and bearing the gaunt look of one who has stared too long into the abyss, sat with a newfound, unsettling stillness. Shadowfoot's bandaged arm was a visible testament to the risks they had faced, her usually flinty eyes holding a new depth of weariness, though her loyalty to Viserys seemed, if anything, more fiercely protective. Even Joss Hood and Morrec, men inured to hardship, carried themselves with a graver mien. Viserys, a boy of twelve on the cusp of his thirteenth nameday, felt the weight of these changes acutely. These were the scars of command, not just on their flesh, but on their spirits, and mirrored within his own rapidly maturing, yet eternally old, soul.
The debrief of the Pentos incident was conducted with Viserys's characteristic cold precision, yet Alistair Finch's understanding of human psychology compelled him to a subtle shift in approach. He couldn't afford for fear to curdle into resentment, or for awe to become paralyzing terror. He needed his Hidden Hand to be sharp, responsive, and above all, functional.
"Kipp," Viserys began, his voice calm but resonant in the quiet of the warehouse, "your courage and resourcefulness under extreme duress were exemplary. You secured vital intelligence and survived a compromised situation. You have earned more than just your pay." He slid a small, heavy purse across the map table – a significant bonus, far exceeding Kipp's usual stipend. "Shadowfoot, your bravery in creating the diversion was instrumental. Your wounds will be tended with the best care Braavos can offer, and your value to our… enterprise… is immeasurable." He gestured to Ledger (Brynn), who nodded, understanding the unspoken command to ensure Shadowfoot received whatever she needed.
He didn't dwell on the collateral damage, the lives lost in the Pentos fire. To do so would be to invite debate or dissent where only obedience was required. But he did acknowledge the risks they had all undertaken, framing it not as a reckless gamble, but as a necessary, calculated strike against a powerful adversary. "Magister Illyrio Mopatis is a serpent," Viserys continued, his violet eyes sweeping over them. "His coils reach further than many suspect. The events in Pentos have undoubtedly drawn his attention. He will investigate. He will seek retribution. Our security, therefore, must be absolute."
This became his immediate priority. He tasked Archivist (Corvin) with creating new layers of legend and misdirection around their Braavosi operations, particularly the fictitious "Tyroshi patron" who supposedly owned the Nyx. He had Ledger establish even more convoluted channels for financial transactions, making their true source and destination nearly impossible to trace. Shadowfoot, once recovered, was assigned to counter-surveillance, her Sparrows tasked with watching for any new, unfamiliar eyes in their usual haunts, any sign of Illyrio's agents reaching into Braavos.
Intelligence from Ferrego Antaryon, whose own Pentoshi contacts were now deeply spooked by the chaos and Illyrio's subsequent city-wide investigation, confirmed Viserys's fears. Illyrio was not attributing the fire and the "Myrish claim" to simple happenstance or bumbling assassins. He suspected a more sophisticated, hidden player, and his considerable resources were being mobilized to uncover this new gnat that dared to sting him. The Serpent's coil was indeed tightening, and Viserys knew that Illyrio, with his vast wealth and connections to Varys, was an enemy of a different magnitude than any he had faced before.
The near-telepathic "focusing" he had attempted during the Pentos crisis remained a tantalizing enigma. In the solitude of the Titan underworks, or late at night in the Nexus when the city slept, Viserys experimented with this nascent ability. He would try to "reach out" with his mind, to sense the Nyx at sea, to feel Kipp's presence when he had been in Pentos, or even to try and influence the fall of a die in a game of chance he played against himself. The results were frustratingly inconsistent. Sometimes he would feel a faint flicker, a vague sense of connection or prescience that was too ephemeral to grasp. Other times, there was nothing but the silent hum of his own enhanced biology. Alistair Finch, the rational academic, was skeptical, dismissing it as wishful thinking or the over-stimulation of a unique physiology. Yet, the Targaryen blood in Viserys's veins, the whispers of dragon dreams and forgotten Valyrian sorceries, urged him to persist. If he could hone this ability, it would be another invaluable weapon in his arsenal, a truly hidden power. He began to keep a secret journal, not of events, but of these mental experiments, noting conditions, sensations, and any perceived successes or failures, applying a scientific rigor to this most unscientific of endeavors.
Daenerys, ever perceptive, noticed the subtle shift in Viserys's demeanor after the Pentos affair – his increased preoccupation, the new lines of tension around his eyes that even his youth couldn't entirely erase. She saw Shadowfoot's bandages, Kipp's haunted gaze upon his return.
"Vizzy," she asked one afternoon, as they sat in the small, overgrown garden behind their red-doored house, a rare moment of quiet sunshine gracing Braavos. She was meticulously weaving a crown of wildflowers. "Are your 'whispers and shadows' fighting a war I cannot see?"
Viserys looked at his sister. She was growing so quickly, her silver-gold hair now reaching her waist, her violet eyes holding a wisdom that belied her ten years. He could no longer shield her with childish platitudes. "Yes, Dany," he said softly. "There is always a war, for people like us. A war to survive, a war to reclaim what was lost, a war against those who would see us destroyed. Sometimes the battles are fought with secrets instead of swords, but they are no less dangerous."
"Are you winning?" she asked, her gaze direct.
He managed a faint smile. "We are still standing. We are growing stronger. That, for now, is a victory." He then took the wildflower crown from her and gently placed it on her head. "And one day, you will wear a true crown, little queen, in a land where our name is not a whisper, but a roar." He saw the fierce hope ignite in her eyes, and knew that his efforts, his sacrifices, were not just for a throne, but for her, for the future of their line.
The serpent's coil, however, was not limited to distant Pentos. House Prestayn, under the aged and increasingly paranoid Malarys, remained a festering irritation in Braavos. Whether emboldened by what they perceived as general Essosi instability, or simply tired of their own declining fortunes, they made a more direct, if clumsy, move. One of Narbo the Lysene's smaller cargo barges, carrying goods Viserys had arranged for him to trade along the coast, was "accidentally" rammed and sunk by a much larger Prestayn vessel in the crowded lagoon. Narbo was ruined, again, and terrified, convinced the Prestayns were targeting him due to his association with Joss Hood's "Tyroshi patron."
Viserys saw this not just as an attack on a minor asset, but as a test, a deliberate provocation from Malarys Prestayn. To ignore it would signal weakness. To retaliate with overt force was still too risky. He decided it was time to employ the leverage Archivist had painstakingly gathered – the evidence of Prestayn's systematic tax evasion through Lysene and Tyroshi shell companies.
His plan was a delicate piece of social and financial engineering, designed to use the Iron Bank as an unwitting instrument of his justice. He knew that the Bank, while primarily concerned with its own profits and the stability of Braavosi commerce, had a vested interest in ensuring that prominent families did not flagrantly defraud the city or undermine its financial integrity, as such actions could ultimately impact the Bank's own investments and the overall economic climate. He also knew, from Archivist's research, of a particular Keyholder, a man named Denyo Karys, renowned for his puritanical adherence to Braavosi law and his visceral dislike of Essosi (particularly Lysene) financial subterfuge when it impacted Braavosi interests.
Archivist prepared a meticulously documented, anonymous dossier detailing the Prestayns' offshore schemes, complete with forged (but utterly convincing) correspondence and transaction records that highlighted the scale of their tax evasion and the direct loss to Braavos's coffers. Shadowfoot, using her exceptional stealth, was tasked with delivering this dossier not to Denyo Karys directly (which might arouse suspicion), but to his most trusted, and notoriously gossipy, chief clerk, ensuring it would be "discovered" in a way that suggested it came from a concerned, patriotic, but fearful whistleblower.
The fallout was precisely as Viserys anticipated, and perhaps even more satisfying. Keyholder Denyo Karys, upon reviewing the dossier, was reportedly incandescent with rage. He launched an immediate, unannounced audit of House Prestayn's finances, bypassing the usually more pliable city magistrates. The Iron Bank's auditors, a notoriously ruthless and efficient breed, descended upon the Prestayn manse like a flock of carrion crows. Within a fortnight, Malarys Prestayn found his family's assets frozen, their creditworthiness destroyed, and a mountain of retrospective taxes and fines levied against them that would cripple their house for a generation. Malarys himself, his reputation shattered, suffered a debilitating stroke. House Prestayn, as a significant player in Braavosi commerce, was effectively neutered.
Viserys watched these events unfold from the shadows, a cold sense of satisfaction warming him. He had struck a significant blow against a local enemy, using their own corruption and the rigid integrity of a powerful institution against them. No blood had been shed by his hand, no direct link could be traced back to him, yet his message had been delivered with devastating clarity.
The success of this operation, however, further underscored the need for discipline and resilience within his own Hidden Hand. The Pentos affair had shown their vulnerabilities. Viserys implemented a new, harsher training regimen in the Nexus. Archivist developed complex ciphers and counter-intelligence drills. Ledger created scenarios involving financial deception and forensic accounting. Shadowfoot, her arm now healed though still bearing a network of pale scars, trained her Sparrows (and occasionally Joss and Morrec, much to their grumbling discomfort) in evasion, escape, and resisting simulated interrogations, using techniques Alistair Finch had gleaned from historical accounts of spycraft and prisoner endurance. Viserys himself would sometimes participate, his speed, strength, and unnerving ability to anticipate their moves serving as a formidable benchmark. He was forging them into a more resilient, more professional clandestine unit.
With the Prestayn threat diminished and Illyrio's immediate attention hopefully focused on his own compromised security in Pentos, Viserys deemed it time for the Nyx to undertake a new, more ambitious mission. He needed to look beyond the familiar trading routes of the western Free Cities. His gaze turned east, towards the Jade Sea, towards Qarth and the lands beyond, but also south, towards the volatile Basilisk Isles. His objective was twofold: to gather firsthand intelligence on these more distant, dangerous regions, and to find new, untapped markets for high-value, low-volume goods that would further swell his coffers.
He dispatched the Nyx under Captain Valerion Qo, her hold laden with a carefully selected cargo of finely crafted Braavosi steel weapons (of a type favored by certain sellsword companies), intricate Myrish glassware, and a small quantity of powerful medicinal herbs whose sources Viserys kept a closely guarded secret. Their ostensible destination was the Summer Isles, a common enough trading voyage. Their true mission, however, was far more perilous: a discreet reconnaissance of the northern fringes of the Basilisk Isles, a mapping of pirate anchorages, an assessment of their strength and routines, and then, if conditions permitted, a swift, opportunistic trade foray into one of the less tyrannical port cities of Slaver's Bay, perhaps Meereen or Yunkai, under a carefully constructed false flag.
This was a voyage into the serpent's maw itself, and Viserys knew the risks were enormous. But Alistair Finch, the military strategist, understood that knowing your enemy's disposition was paramount, and that sometimes, the greatest rewards lay in the most dangerous waters. He provided Valerion with extensively detailed charts (some based on ancient, half-forgotten Valyrian records Alistair recalled), protocols for avoiding Dothraki sea-raiders (who sometimes ventured south), and a list of potential contacts in the slave cities – individuals known for their discretion or their desperation.
As the Nyx sailed eastward, news of a different kind of upheaval reached Braavos from across the Narrow Sea. Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands, had declared himself King and launched a massive rebellion against Robert Baratheon, his ironborn reavers burning Lannisport and raiding the western coasts. Braavos, a city that thrived on maritime trade, buzzed with the news. Most merchants lamented the disruption to Westerosi commerce. Viserys, however, saw it differently.
Alistair Finch knew the Greyjoy Rebellion was doomed to fail; Robert Baratheon, with Stannis commanding the Royal Fleet and the combined power of the mainland Lords behind him, would crush it decisively. But it was a significant distraction for the Usurper. It would drain his coffers, test his alliances, and, for a time, divert his attention – and that of his spies like Varys – from other, more distant threats, like two Targaryen exiles in Braavos. It might also create new opportunities – disgruntled Westerosi, perhaps, or a weakening of Robert's grip that could be exploited in the long term. Viserys had Archivist begin compiling every scrap of information available on the Iron Islands, their naval strength, their traditions, and the character of Balon Greyjoy and his sons. Even a failed rebellion could provide valuable lessons, and perhaps, future leverage.
Viserys stood on the windswept rooftop of his warehouse, gazing out over the grey, choppy waters of the lagoon, the distant shriek of gulls carrying on the winter wind. The scars of command were real, he knew. The decision regarding Roro, the collateral damage in Pentos, the constant vigilance against enemies seen and unseen – these things chipped away at something within him, hardening him, isolating him. Yet, with each challenge met, with each successful gambit, his power grew, his Hidden Hand became more adept, his vision for the future clearer. The Serpent's Coil – whether it was Illyrio, the Iron Bank, or the intricate politics of Essos and Westeros – was vast and deadly, but he was learning to navigate its treacherous whorls, even to use its momentum to his advantage. He was no longer just a survivor; he was a player, an artificer, shaping the board itself. And though the price of allegiance was steep, both for those who served him and for himself, he was willing to pay it. For Daenerys. For their name. For the Iron Throne.