Chapter 34: The Serpent's Return
Chapter 34: The Serpent's Return
296 AC, Month of the Winter Rose
The voyage to Pentos was a period of intense, focused work. The Narrow Sea, often a place of violent storms and pirate-haunted dread, was for Alaric a private, mobile extension of his study. His flagship, The Serpent's Kiss, was a vessel of war, but its great cabin had been transformed into a command centre where the fates of markets and the plans for a shadow-war were laid out with chilling precision.
He spent his days with Nervo, poring over manifests and market analyses. The public face of their grand tour was commerce, and Alaric ensured the mask was flawless. They drafted new charters for Blackwood Mercantile, outlining aggressive expansion strategies into the markets of Myr and Tyrosh. They reviewed intelligence reports from their existing agents, identifying key merchant guilds to either partner with or dismantle, and powerful Magisters whose greed could be leveraged.
"The price of Myrish lace is artificially inflated due to the weavers' guild's monopoly," Alaric noted, his finger tracing a line on a trade ledger. "When we are in Myr, we will not deal with the guild. We will identify their most ambitious and dissatisfied master weavers. We will offer them capital to start their own independent workshops, backed by our financing and using our ships for distribution. We will break the guild's monopoly by funding an insurgency from within. The resulting price drop will bankrupt the old guard and make our new partners, and by extension us, rich."
Nervo nodded, taking meticulous notes. He was no longer surprised by his lord's predatory business tactics. He saw it simply as a more efficient, if more ruthless, form of commerce. "And our own profits, my lord?"
"We will take a thirty percent stake in each new workshop we fund," Alaric replied without looking up. "And exclusive transport rights for their product for a period of ten years. We are not just creating partners, Nervo; we are creating tributaries."
His evenings were spent with Ser Damon Flowers. On the rolling deck of the flagship, under a canopy of stars, they would plan security protocols. Essos was not Westeros. There were no overarching kings or laws, only a chaotic patchwork of city-states ruled by wealth, poison, and private armies.
"The Magisters of Pentos will smile to your face and hire a Faceless Man to kill you before you've finished your wine," Ser Damon warned, his scarred face grim in the moonlight. "We'll need guards on our guards. Every cup of wine, every plate of food will have to be tested."
"You will handle the physical threats, Ser Damon," Alaric said. "I will handle the political ones. Our best defence is to make ourselves too valuable to assassinate. We will offer them opportunities for profit so immense that my continued existence becomes essential to their own wealth. Greed is a more reliable shield than any armour."
But when the ship was quiet and his human assets were asleep, Alaric would descend to his private, sound-proofed cabin to consult with his true partner.
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Their arrival in Pentos was a calculated display of power. The Onyx Fleet did not slip into the harbour. The three black warships, sleek and menacing, sailed past the city's sea walls in perfect formation, their silver serpent banners snapping in the wind, before taking up a dominant anchorage in the outer harbour. The message was clear: a power had arrived.
Alaric came ashore as a foreign dignitary. His fifty Onyx Legionaries, clad in their flawless black plate, formed a silent, intimidating corridor from the docks. The port officials and city guard, accustomed to dealing with boisterous merchants and swaggering sellswords, were cowed into silence by the sheer, disciplined presence of his force.
He did not take a room at an inn or lease a modest house. He sent Nervo, armed with a letter of credit that could buy half the city, to lease the Villa Vaelan, a grand marble manor on the city's highest hill, known for its sprawling gardens and commanding views of the harbour. He was establishing a court in exile, the seat of a foreign power.
His first meeting was with his old partner, Magister Presto. The years had been kind to the portly Magister. The businesses Alaric had sold him had made him one of the wealthiest men in the city. He greeted Alaric not in his own manse, but came to the Villa Vaelan, a sign of the shift in their dynamic.
"Lord Alaric!" Presto boomed, his forked beard, now dyed a triumphant shade of gold, quivering. He was sweating, despite the coolness of the villa's marble halls. "Welcome back to Pentos! Your new… station… is the talk of the city! A Lord Paramount!"
"It is good to see you thriving, Magister," Alaric said, gesturing for him to sit. They were in a sun-drenched loggia overlooking the sea. The table between them was laden with chilled wine and exotic fruits.
"I thrive thanks to your wisdom, my lord!" Presto said with a fawning smile. "The Pentos Sea Lines are the envy of every merchant in the city!"
"A venture that is about to become far more profitable," Alaric said, getting to the point. He outlined his public plan: the expansion of Blackwood Mercantile, the forging of new trade alliances, the establishment of Pentos as the main hub for his Essosi operations. He offered Presto a chance to be his primary local partner, to have a stake in this new, far grander enterprise.
Presto, his eyes wide with avarice, could barely contain his glee. "An honour, my lord! A great honour! Whatever you need—access to the council, introductions, the services of my own network—it is yours!"
Alaric had his key local ally back under his thumb, bound by the promise of even greater riches.
With his public life established, the secret work began. Under the guise of scholarly curiosity, he used Presto's introductions to gain access to the private libraries of the city's oldest families. He spent his days examining ancient scrolls and dusty tomes, his maester's chain signifying his right to be there. While his hosts saw a young Westerosi lord with a strange academic bent, Alaric and Prometheus were digitally devouring centuries of knowledge, hunting for any mention of Valyria, dragons, or blood magic.
The hunt for artifacts was conducted through layers of cutouts. His agents, now managed from the new headquarters of Blackwood Mercantile, put out the word in the city's underworld: their mysterious master was buying. He sought "pre-Doom Valyrian curiosities," a category broad enough to mask his true intent.
Weeks turned into months. His business empire flourished. His reputation as a powerful and influential foreign lord grew. His family life, too, was managed from afar. He received regular letters from Lynesse. Their son Tyber was learning to ride. Their daughter Cassia was showing a startling aptitude for languages. The reports were satisfactory. His dynasty was secure and developing as planned. He sent back lavish gifts—bolts of exquisite silk for Lynesse's gowns, a jewelled pony for Tyber—payments made to ensure the continued smooth functioning of his domestic assets.
The first significant breakthrough in his true quest came from an unexpected source. One of his agents, a former pit-fighter from Meereen, reported a rumour picked up in a tavern. It was a story told by a drunken sailor about a disgraced Targaryen princeling who had fled to Volantis a century ago, taking with him one of the last "stone eggs" from before the Doom. The family had fallen into obscurity, a forgotten cadet branch of the great dynasty, but the sailor swore the egg was still in their possession.
<> Alaric mused that night in his study, staring at the map of Essos. <
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He began his preparations for the next leg of his journey. He would leave a skeleton staff and half his legionaries to manage his Pentoshi operations under Ser Damon's watchful eye. He, Nervo, and the other half of the cohort would travel south.
He stood on the balcony of the Villa Vaelan, looking down at the sprawling, chaotic, vibrant city of Pentos. He had returned not as a boy building a secret, but as a lord building an open empire. He had successfully re-established his power base, turning his old allies into new vassals and setting his commercial enterprises on a course for unprecedented growth. The public mask was more secure and impressive than ever.
But his eyes were on the southern horizon. Towards the ancient, dark city of Volantis. Towards the whispers of a lost dragon egg and the promise of forgotten lore. The mundane world of commerce and politics was a game he had mastered. But the thirst for the power that lay beneath it, the power of blood and magic, was a hunger that could never be fully sated. The serpent had secured its first nest in Essos. Now, it was time to follow the trail deeper into the shadows, where the real treasures lay hidden.