After the meeting with the Sealord, Vlad did not depart from Braavos immediately , much to the dismay of the nobles. Instead, he made his way calmly to the Iron Bank. It was a good time to check in on his own offspring within the institution... and ensure that his takeover was sailing smoothly.
Belkaro received him without fanfare, following the usual protocol of the Iron Bank. The institution was not prone to pampering the egos of nobles. Why should they? They were, practically, the most powerful entity in Braavos. But Vlad couldn't have cared less. Protocol was something one learned to despise over time, and he much preferred being spoken to like a tavern boy rather than a king.
Belkaro was adapting to immortality surprisingly well. He had served Vlad for years and had risen quickly through the bank's ranks. He was only a couple of years away from becoming one of its directors. And when that happened, Vlad would control half the money flowing across both continents.
One detail he particularly appreciated was that Belkaro had finally secured a real dragon egg, after years of searching. Why had it taken so long? Well, truthfully, authentic dragon eggs were extremely rare. Most of those circulating on the market came from the time of the Dance of the Dragons: relics lost amid conflicts, plunder, or tragedy.
He was sure Daenerys would appreciate a younger, small and scaly child.
After the meeting, Vlad had left Braavos on Drakul's back, but had actually sent him flying alone to search for his mother's ship, as he could feel where it was.
He, on the other hand, slipped back into Braavos under cover of night, moving easily through the city's long alleys, searching for the address Belkaro had provided.
Vlad had requested a safehouse with a basement; he wanted to test his method of long-distance travel using fire as a medium. It was experimental magic, not particularly dangerous, but certainly eye-catching, so he preferred privacy.
When he found the house, he entered quickly and alerted his offspring gathered in King's Landing to find a discreet spot and light a fire, then pour their own blood into it, acting as a beacon.
Vlad didn't need long incantations or prayers to any god. He simply focused on the power of pyromancy flowing through his body and visualized the effect he wished to achieve. His body ignited in flames, as if his very flesh fused with them; his eyes blazed as if he were a demon, his hair merged with the fire, waving like a wildfire, and just as the flames threatened to consume the basement completely... he vanished.
[Northern Coast of Lys]
The Red Lady sailed peacefully along the northern coast of Lys. The enormous merchant ship, practically brand new, had clean, polished wood with smooth finishes. It was one of Vlad's most recent vessels, and although it appeared to be transporting fabrics and spices, its true cargo could not have been more precious to him.
Daenerys was in one of the cabins, wearing an elegant Dornish silk dress that clung softly to her figure. The most curious thing was her posture: she was sitting cross-legged in a meditative position, one hand extended forward. Her brow was furrowed, her jaw slightly clenched, as if solving an especially complex math problem.
In the center of her palm floated a small sphere of fire, no larger than a marble. It danced with a timid orange light, flickering weakly as Daenerys tried to keep it stable. Sometimes it spun slowly, other times it trembled and extinguished completely. She sighed each time that happened, but didn't give up. Since Vlad had turned her, her affinity with magic had intensified. She was more sensitive to power, felt it running over her skin like a warm whisper. And yet, she couldn't quite master it.
—It's better than yesterday —Misandei commented with a kind smile, not looking up from the thick book in her hands.
It was the same volume Vlad had given her before setting sail: a compendium on the principles of pyromancy, filled with personal notes in the margins. Some passages were poetic, others completely cryptic. Some even seemed written in another language. Misandei had decided to read it with her, helping interpret the more abstract parts.
—Better isn't good enough —Daenerys murmured, closing her fingers to extinguish the sphere with a soft hiss—. If I'm going to face enemies who master magic, I need more than a playful spark in my palm.
Misandei closed the book carefully, looking at her calmly.
—Taming a dragon isn't as easy as casting a spell. Vlad told you this would take time.
—And time is the one thing I don't have —she replied, though her voice sounded somewhat bitter.
The journey had been long, more than a week sailing along the coasts of the Narrow Sea instead of flying over them. But there was a reason for it.
The meeting with Prince Doran had been arranged in secret, so she couldn't appear riding Balerion over the skies of Sunspear; if she did, the news would reach King's Landing before the day was over. Too much spectacle ruined diplomacy. That's why the black dragon had flown alone to a deserted island in the Stepstones. He would wait there until she finished her meeting with the Lord of Sunspear. After that, the return would be swift: a flight of a few hours to Meereen, where the war preparations were nearly complete.
Daenerys rose gracefully, stretching her legs and walking to the cabin's window. The sea was calm. Voyages from Essos to Sunspear were usually smooth, very scenic.
—When I arrive, we'll see if the Martell's still consider me family… —she said quietly, almost to herself—. Though I doubt it. Doran is intelligent, and he won't trust easily.
Misandei stepped forward, gently placing a cloak over her shoulders.
—And the princess? Arianne, she's the heir, isn't she? Wouldn't it be easier to win her over?
The queen rolled her eyes with a slight huff.
—If it were Vlad, maybe. Reports say she's impatient, impulsive, and quite lustful. I think that's why Doran still hasn't announced whether she'll inherit or not when he dies.
Daenerys kept her gaze on the horizon for a few more seconds. The sea was calm, too calm for her liking. She had spent much of the trip without any trouble, which once would have been a relief. But now, it only gave her more time to think.
—I hope my stay in Sunspear isn't too problematic, —she said casually, turning to Misandei—. It'd be nice if, just this once, everything went according to plan.
Misandei gave her a small smile, saying nothing. Both of them knew that almost never happened.
She passed her hand over the table and reopened the book, carefully flipping through it until reaching a section she had marked earlier.
—Let's try again, —she said finally, extending her hand forward once more—. This time I want to hold it for more than a minute.
Misandei sat beside her again, ready to correct, read, or simply observe in silence. The fire sphere reappeared in Daenerys' palm, lively and stubborn like its owner.
—Try not to burn anything... —Misandei said playfully—. Again.
Daenerys let out a small laugh, not taking her eyes off the sphere.
—Relax… it only happened a couple of times.
And with that, the cabin filled with the soft orange glow of the flame, while the Red Lady continued its course toward the distant south.