Chapter 427: Return to the Pce of Sorrow


    Margaery''s invitation, which was clearly an extension of Viserys’smand, immediately eased any lingering concerns the Roths might have had. Both Margaery and the Roths were perceptive individuals, and without explicitly acknowledging it, they had defused a potential long-standing tension. The meeting ended on a note of mutual understanding and relief.


    A few dayster, after the Roths had departed, Viserys returned to King’s Landing with Daenerys and their dragon. Shortly after, Malora arrived, apanied by the warlocks chosen from the High Tower.


    “Your Grace, we can now deploy 313 warlocks skilled in casting binding spells,” Malora reported formally. “This is nearly the entirety of the High Tower’s magical resources.”


    For the impending expedition to Valyria, Viserys had effectively emptied the High Tower of its most capable mages. Yet, he was determined not to leave behind the formidable Shadowbinder, Melisandre, whose abilities were critical.


    Despite this impressive assembly, Viserys was not fully reassured. He vividly recalled Euron Greyjoy’s harrowing ounts of encountering Firewyrms in Valyria, along with countless other monstrous creatures. Then there were the sea monsters in the Smoking Sea, and the enigmatic entity that had stolen a fragment of Euron’s soul—a threat that likely still lingered.


    In a quiet moment, Viserys leaned closer to Daenerys and whispered, “I want to go to the Pce of Sorrow.”


    The Pce of Sorrow, located within the ruins of Chroyane, held significant importance for Viserys. It was where he had previously defeated a Horselord’s army and executed its leader. More recently, it had be the site where he sessfullybined blood magic and water magic. Now, he hoped to revisit Chroyane to explore the ruins of Valyria with the enigmatic Shrouded Lady, Valsha, who had once aided him.


    The more allies he could rally for the perilous journey, the better. Unfortunately, Viserys had been unable to contact Quaithe, the shadowy figure who had previously shown interest in Daenerys. Despite this, he wouldn’t have objected to taking her along if she could be found.


    Daenerys did not respond directly to his n. Instead, she gazed into his eyes, took his hand, and ced it gently on her noticeably rounded belly.


    “Our second child,” she said softly, “have you chosen a name yet?”


    She knew there was no convincing Viserys to abandon his quest. Her only hope was that this reminder of what awaited him at home would encourage him to exercise greater caution.


    Through her blood magic, Daenerys had already discerned the child’s gender—a boy. She silently hoped the child would be born by the time Viserys returned.


    “What do you think of Rhaegar?” Viserys asked, offering the name of their fallen brother.


    Daenerys nodded. The name mattered little to herpared to the safety of her only remaining sibling. All she wanted was for Viserys to return alive.


    The journey from King’s Landing to Chroyane would typically take a little over a day by dragon. However, Viserys nned to fly at a more measured pace due to poor visibility, estimating a two-day trip to Chroyane. Factoring in the return journey, he anticipated being away for no more than seven days. Even if the fleet set sail during his absence, he was confident he could catch up before they reached their destination.


    After minimal preparations, Viserys set off alone, leaving King’s Landing astride his dragon. He carried no entourage, trusting in his mount’s strength and his own resolve.


    Crossing the Narrow Sea, Viserys noticed the skies above Essos were slightly clearer than those over Westeros. The brightening sky allowed him to reach Chroyane a few hours ahead of schedule.


    Peering down at the ruins, which were perpetually cloaked in a dense gray mist, Viserys guided his dragon directly toward the Pce of Sorrow.


    It was in this pce, years earlier, that Viserys had struck a desperate bargain with Valsha to ensure his victory over the Horselord. In exchange for her assistance, he had agreed to remain with her for a thousand years. Despite his newfound mastery over the fusion of blood and water magic, he had yet to find a way to sever Valsha’s binding “contract.”


    “What happens a hundred years from now, we''ll cross that bridge when wee to it.”


    Viserys took a deep breath and rode his dragon to the ruined square of the Pce of Sorrow. The view was unchanged from when he had arrived seven years ago. The crumbling pce looked as if it would remain in this decayed state for centuries. Stone pirs in the square were covered in cracks and moss, while the ground remained littered with the corpses of those consumed entirely by grayscale.


    When Viserys urged the yellow dragon to fly toward the central hall, the creature halted halfway.


    “Fly, Wealthbringer! What''s wrong with you? Why are you sozy?” Viserys scolded, though inwardly he acknowledged his ownziness in wanting to avoid extra steps. He felt hypocritical, yet he noticed something unusual: the yellow dragon wasn’t simply reluctant—he seemed deeply afraid.


    It was as if the hall ahead harbored something monstrous, air of demons or a dragon’s predator. Wealthbringer’s wings hung half-spread, his thick ws scraping nervously at the stone floor, leaving deep gouges. His long, powerful tail pressed tightly against the ground, and his head twisted restlessly, his bronze eyes turning toward Viserys with a pleading expression, filled with worry.


    The dragon’s demeanor was almost childlike, begging its master to leave and return home.


    Viserys sighed. He understood he would have to go to the Pce of Sorrow on his own. He recalled that several half-dead dragons remained inside, about the same size as Wealthbringer.


    Sliding off the dragon’s back, he addressed him gently. “If you’re scared, go wait for me outside.”


    At this, Wealthbringer spread his wings as if ready to flee but hesitated. Shaking his head, he crouched on the ground, refusing to leave despite his fear.


    “Good boy,” Viserys murmured, stroking his dragon’s head with gratitude, the memory of finding the egg in a pirate’s haul shing briefly in his mind. Wealthbringer responded by nudging his chest with his massive head, a gesture of loyalty and affection.


    Afterforting the dragon, Viserys turned his focus to the central hall of the Pce of Sorrow. He recalled that only Valsha, a few half-dead dragons, and some equally half-dead Valyrians resided within. No one else should have been present at this time.


    <em>Then why is Wealthbringer so frightened?</em> he wondered. The only exnation that came to mind was Valsha, the Shrouded Lady.


    Steeling himself, Viserys walked toward the hall. His boots echoed against the cracked stone steps with a rhythmic tter. As he entered the dim interior, the sound grew louder, reverberating off the walls.


    ss chandeliers illuminated the hall, casting light on every detail. Intricate reliefs and patterns adorned the walls, and behind the throne, several dragons continued to spew grey mist into the air. But the throne itself was empty.


    <em>Where is Valsha?</em>


    Viserys had assumed the dragons were fearful of her presence. If she wasn’t here, then someone—or something—far more powerful might have taken over. A cold dread crept over him, and he began to turn away.


    But before he could leave, a figure materialized silently behind him—a face wrapped in brownish-grey strips, like a mummy. The eyes, grey-green and unsettling, rolled unnaturally in their sockets.


    It was her. If it wasn’t Valsha, who else could it be?


    “Our agreement was to wait until you were a hundred years old before returning, and now you can’t wait?” Valsha’s tone dripped with mockery.


    Viserys, startled by her sudden and silent appearance, quicklyposed himself. “Princess Valsha,” he began, “I was actually nning to go to the Doom Ruins.”