The gardens of the Dragon Palace had always been Elia's pride.
Ever since the dragons claimed them as their own, however, they had become a complete wreck.
Scorched branches and leaves lay everywhere, crumbling into charcoal beneath the slightest touch.
The flowerbeds looked as though a hurricane had torn through them.
Although years of careful work had been nearly ruined, Elia understood.
The dragons were still too young.
Aside from the Dragon Palace, there was nowhere truly safe for them.
As Elia stood watching the three dragons bask in the sun with her son at her side, she suddenly noticed a company of Royal Guards moving in to secure the gardens.
"What happened?" she asked one of her handmaids.
The maid hurried off to inquire and soon returned.
"Your Grace, His Majesty is receiving envoys from the Free Cities here."
Elia glanced at the three dragons lounging nearby and immediately understood.
This was one of Viserys's favorite diplomatic methods.
Dragonfire diplomacy.
...
Not far away, Viserys sat upon a broad chair, facing the envoys from Braavos, Volantis, and Norvos.
His eyes settled first upon the Braavosi representative.
"Lord Tormo, we've met before. You've come here with quite an impressive display. What exactly do you want?"
Tormo's expression stiffened.
When House Targaryen had first arrived in Gohor, Freygo had realized the situation was slipping beyond Braavos's control.
He had dispatched fifty thousand soldiers under Tormo's command to crush the reborn city before it could truly rise.
Instead, Viserys had turned the campaign into a trap.
All fifty thousand men had been lost.
Braavos had later spent an enormous fortune ransoming back forty thousand prisoners in batches.
To this day, Tormo refused to accept that defeat.
Had Quairo not offered such disastrous advice, he was convinced he would have smashed through Viserys's three defensive walls.
Then came the campaign against Khal Drogo.
If he had only found the resolve to join forces with Volantis and strike the Targaryen army from both sides, Viserys would never have reached this point.
He would never have returned from death.
He would never have awakened dragons.
This time, Tormo had sworn to himself that he would personally lead the army that stormed this very palace.
Seeing Viserys challenge him first, he straightened in his seat and met the young king's gaze.
"Your Grace, I have come to negotiate."
"If you are willing to lead House Targaryen back to Westeros and abandon Gohor, Braavos will once again become your faithful friend."
To the Braavosi, war was always the worst possible solution.
The entire world had united against House Targaryen. By all appearances, Viserys's fate was already sealed.
Even so, no one underestimated his military strength.
Everything he possessed had been won through victory after victory on the battlefield.
Khal Drogo had once been called undefeated.
Yet the truly undefeated commander sat before them now.
If war broke out, the Rhoyne itself would likely run red with blood.
If Viserys agreed to withdraw from Essos... If the Free Cities could return to their own affairs without further bloodshed...
Then Freygo had little interest in fighting.
The Lord of Light's power was formidable, but Braavos had no desire to wage war merely to expand R'hllor's divine authority.
"So you want me to abandon this city?" Viserys asked with a cold smile.
"And what exactly do I gain in return?"
The proposal was obviously impossible.
Even if both sides negotiated detailed guarantees—
For example, allowing Viserys to reclaim Westeros before surrendering Gohor—He would still have no reason to trust them.
What if they stabbed him in the back while he fought Robert?
No ruler would entrust the survival of his dynasty to another nation's promises.
"You preserve your family's future," Tormo answered.
Viserys burst into laughter.
"You?" His voice dripped with contempt. "You think you can guarantee that?"
The mockery left all three envoys visibly uncomfortable.
The Volantene representative, Alios, finally spoke.
"Your Grace, it isn't only us."
"The entire world stands against you. Including your greatest enemy... Robert."
His tone remained calm, though the threat beneath it was unmistakable.
Viserys already knew that R'hllor had granted them near-instant communication.
He had no intention of showing weakness.
Especially now that he sensed the alliance before him was far from unbreakable.
"Robert?" Viserys snorted.
"Robert is a useless fool."
He gestured toward Clinton beside him.
"This is the Hand who served my father, King Aerys.
He serves me now as well.
He once beat Robert so thoroughly that the man ended up hiding in a whore's bed.
Do you really think I'm supposed to fear someone who crawled out of a prostitute's sheets?"
The royal printing house had spared no effort in blackening Robert's reputation.
His scandals had been exaggerated, embellished, and spread throughout every Free City.
Even Erios, all the way in Volantis, knew the story by heart.
By this point, the negotiations had reached a deadlock.
"Your Grace," the envoy from Norvos finally said, "is there truly no possibility of cooperation between us?"
The man wore crimson robes.
One look was enough to identify him as a priest of the Lord of Light.
Perhaps he had not always been one.
But after his High Priest had been drawn into R'hllor's divine realm, he had become one beyond all doubt.
R'hllor had spent ten thousand years preparing for this moment.
A cunning rabbit always dug more than one burrow. There was nothing surprising about a god creating additional contingencies.
"There is."
Viserys answered without hesitation.
All three envoys straightened at once.
"You can defeat Robert for me."
"In exchange, I'll trade you the lands of Westeros."
The three men exchanged helpless glances.
It was an impossible proposal.
If they committed their armies to conquering Westeros on Viserys's behalf, what would stop him from attacking the Free Cities instead?
"Your Grace," Tormo said, "surely you understand the danger you face."
"I assume you haven't forgotten what happened on Mother's Mountain."
The greatest ambition of Tormo's life had always been defeating Viserys.
Now that it was obvious the king had no genuine interest in compromise, there was no longer any reason to hide behind polite words.
Viserys merely gave a dismissive snort.
"Nothing more than a clown who enjoys meddling in other people's destinies."
"So you do know," the Norvosi envoy observed.
"A coward who doesn't even dare show his face," Viserys replied without mercy.
In truth, both sides had become trapped in an endless chain of suspicion.
Viserys feared that while he fought Robert, the Free Cities would stab him in the back.
The Free Cities feared that if they truly helped him reclaim the Iron Throne, he would simply refuse to honor his promises afterward.
And once Robert had been eliminated...
What if Viserys turned around and set his sights on conquering the Free Cities themselves?
The dragons had returned.
House Targaryen had never been stronger.
Faced with that reality, how could they possibly feel secure?
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