Plans for Restoration [Please Keep Reading]

In the courtyard of the House with the Red Door, after training had ended, the group still had some spare time to chat.

What Ser Roland Lake said about the way of knighthood still sounded rather strange to the Braavosi.

"Your knightly dance, all that hacking and slashing, favors bigger men," Syrio commented.

"Most of the time, that is true, Syrio," Roland said. "Someone too frail cannot even bear the weight of armor. Those top knights are built like bulls. Of course, even such warriors have their limits..."

"That makes sense," Viserys remarked. "A taller man has longer arms and is stronger, so naturally he is more threatening."

From the perspective of human biomechanics, the knights of Westeros were nearly all muscle-bound, and those who were broad, tall, and tightly muscled held an especially great advantage.

"Robert Baratheon, Barristan, The Mountain, The Hound, the Kingslayer, the Red Viper, the Greatjon, Victarion..." Viserys silently recited the names of those knights with relatively high attributes.

All of them were renowned for being tall and agile. The Mountain, in particular, was practically a heavy tank.

"Viserys has excellent physical Talent. He can achieve balance in several areas," Moro said as he looked at Viserys.

"It is indeed very good. But Your Grace, if you wish to defeat the Usurper and his hounds, exceptional skill alone will not be enough. You must become the strongest," Ser Roland said after considering it for a moment.

Robert had only just put down the Ironborn Rebellion. He had not yet grown as fat as he would later become, and was still a first-rate giant of a man.

Not to mention that beneath the Iron Throne stood quite a few first-rate and superlative masters.

"Become the strongest." Viserys brushed back his naturally silver-white hair.

Other than studying diligently, his method was to desperately pour points into himself and see where the limits of his attributes lay.

"Your Grace, I was fortunate enough to take part in the Battle of the Trident. Though Prince Rhaegar was a highly skilled warrior, he still died beneath Robert's crushing hammer blow. On the battlefield, even the slightest difference can prove fatal. Once the commander collapses, the entire army collapses with him," Ser Roland said after some thought, casting Viserys a furtive glance.

"The Warrior, one of the Seven, is fickle in his favor and will not always bless one man. A great knight may win one difficult duel, yet lose an easy contest. A small hollow in the grass, unclean water drunk at supper—either might mean defeat. Yet a sudden shift in the wind may grant victory, or the call of a beloved."

Roland Lake recalled that blood-red battlefield. The black-armored prince had fallen into the river after being struck, the rubies upon his breast scattering like shattered stars and setting soldiers from both sides scrambling for them.

The death knell had rung for the royalists, for those royalist knights who had fought alongside Rhaegar Targaryen that day.

The dragon banner had fallen to the ground, replaced by the crowned stag banner on a field of gold.

"My brother was a fine warrior, but the Usurper was stronger than him," Viserys said. A loss was a loss; there was no need to make excuses.

No matter how outrageous Rhaegar and Aerys's actions had been before then, had he won the Battle of the Trident, he would still have been House Targaryen's true dragon.

But he had lost. Rhaegar's strength and combat experience had been inferior to Robert's, and a longsword was also the weaker weapon.

His strength still was not enough. Viserys's thinking was very simple: keep pouring resources into his attributes.

Strength had to be high, and his eye had to be sharp.

To be honest, Viserys did not bear much malice toward that brute Robert. After all, the Mad King and Rhaegar had both been rather absurd.

But this was a cruel struggle for power. For that ugly iron chair, one side had to die.

Ser Roland looked at Viserys. Though this was also the view of someone who had lived through it, it was still inappropriate for a subordinate to speak so bluntly.

But seeing how open-minded Viserys was, Ser Roland let out a sigh of relief.

Frankness and magnanimity were among a monarch's virtues.

Even the royalists had to admit that Robert, in his youth, had fought like a king.

Whether it was Aerys's violent temperament or Rhaegar's brooding nature, neither had truly been normal.

Compared to those two, Viserys now seemed perfectly normal.

"Few people truly understood Prince Rhaegar. I only saw him at tournaments and heard him play a silver-stringed harp," Ser Roland said. "After all, I was merely the cousin of a second- or third-rate lord, with no right of inheritance. My status was lowly."

Syrio frowned. "In Braavos, we too had heard of that melancholy prince."

"The Tragedy at Summerhall haunted him," Ser Roland said. "The prince's squires may have known more. Prince Rhaegar's first squire was Myles Mooton, followed by Richard Lonmouth. He later knighted both men himself, and they became his lifelong companions. Besides them, the crown prince had many close friends at the time, including the young Griffin and Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning."

"They are all in the past," Viserys said. "I heard they were a band of proud young nobles gathered around my brother, led by Griffin and the Sword of the Morning. Other than them, my brother rarely placed that kind of trust in anyone else, not even Ser Barristan Selmy at the time."

"That is so, Your Grace." Ser Roland nodded. "Those who shine too brightly seldom fit into the ordinary world, and Prince Rhaegar was not like Robert, a coarse young man who loved drinking and chasing women."

Viserys found it difficult to say who had been right or wrong. It was simply a difference in lifestyles and habits. Yet a sociable, sunny rogue like Robert had been destined to clash with a brooding, socially withdrawn Rhaegar.

"Though most of Rhaegar's followers are dead, when your royal banner appears, the families of those dead men will still fight for you with fervor," Roland said carefully.

"Let us hope so," Viserys said.

Viserys also needed companions and claws, but for now, he seemed not to have found an opportunity.

After a while, Syrio and Moro left separately, leaving only Viserys and Roland in the courtyard.

"We need more men as well, especially knightly companions for Your Grace," Ser Roland said. "Restoring the realm requires the support of force, just as Prince Rhaegar once had Myles, Richard, Griffin, and the Sword of the Morning at his side."

"Syrio and Moro are Braavosi. They are skilled, but they are not our knights," Viserys said.

Roland looked at Viserys with great admiration. Though still young, Viserys already understood the workings of power.

"Then has Your Grace considered mercenaries?" Ser Roland continued.

"No. Mercenaries—even Braavosi sailors in the harbor—are utterly unreliable. At most, they can serve as auxiliary soldiers. I need simple peasant soldiers or miners, and such men will not be found in Braavos."

"Then it can only be an outpost beyond here," Ser Roland said quietly.

"In Braavos, we have little room to maneuver. Sooner or later, a fish must enter the sea."

Viserys would not be able to return any time soon. He now had the beginnings of a plan.

Viserys had already secured part of the funding, and his real combat ability was improving by leaps and bounds.

Viserys would wait until he had finished investing in dragonbone, then set the funds in motion.

The next step would be to leverage the Sealord of Braavos and establish an outpost along Andas or the Rhoyne.

Using that offshore outpost as the base, he would then stir up the remaining royalists and wait for the dragon eggs and the Red Comet.

Even if the outpost had to face raids from bandits or the Dothraki, greater risk meant greater reward. It was an inevitable choice.

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