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7: The Merchant Prince, Viserys V
🕑 Added 2024-04-26 08:00:38 +0000 UTCViserys
The Narrow Sea
The cabin swayed gently, its wooden walls creaking with the rhythm of the waves. The room was small, filled with the musty scent of salt and wood, a stark contrast to the spacious quarters he had grown accustomed to at Dragonstone. The ship he was on now was not the one which had taken him, Rhaenys, and Rhaella to Dragonstone; that ship was sailing to Volantis. This was an ordinary vessel, one that wouldn't draw attention if it were to pull up to a harbor.
They were now on their way to the Braavosi coastlands, to the Targaryen estate. He was pretty sure the estate had once been some kind of sex mansion, considering it was Aegon IV who had bought and used it.
Viserys sat at a small, fixed table that had seen better days. Across from him sat Maester Gerald, who adjusted his robes uncomfortably; he was not used to being on ships, something he had been very vocal about. Parchments and books were scattered around them; he was in the middle of a Valyrian lesson from the Maester, something at which he believed he was becoming very proficient.
Gerald's voice broke through his reverie, pulling his attention back to the lesson at hand. "Focus, please, Your Grace. Read the sentence again."
He cleared his throat and read aloud from the parchment, "I have ten apples."
"No, Your Grace. It's past tense. 'I had ten apples,'" Gerald corrected him gently, a hint of exasperation in his voice.
‘Okay, maybe I'm not as good as I thought,’ he thought, squinting his eyes and trying to read it again.
"Why can't we do this on the deck?" he asked, at least there he could get some fresh air.
Gerald sighed. "Why are you so distracted today? This is unlike you."
"I slept late, Maester. I was reading that book on Braavos you gave me," he explained, rubbing his eyes wearily. "And please, don’t call me 'Your Grace.' I've told you it's just Viserys now."
After their departure from Dragonstone, he had asked everyone to drop the formalities and royal titles when referring to him, Rhaenys, and Dany. He had also asked to remove all Targaryen heraldry and symbols from the ship. He reasoned that they needed to stay as covert as possible. The ship's crew, even loyal men like Alton and Willem, had reluctantly complied with his orders to drop the royal titles. Alton, Willem, and others in his service, who were from noble houses, even decided to hide their house heraldries, vowing to only don them upon their return.
All this talk of return was weighing on him; he had no plan to return, no plan to become king, but his companions believed that he would. They harbored hopes of a triumphant return under his leadership. He tried not to think of it now; he wasn't even sure if they were going to make it to the estate—they could get shipwrecked and die for all he knew.
"I’m sorry, Your Gra— I mean, Viserys," Gerald said, correcting himself. "You should not be up that late; you should try to sleep earlier. A growing boy needs his rest."
"And if you don't get enough rest, how will you keep up with your studies?" Gerald continued.
"Yes, yes, Maester," he responded with a half-hearted chuckle. They continued the lesson until Gerald was satisfied for the day.
As the Maester was putting the books away, Viserys called out to him. “Gerald,”
“Yes, Your... Viserys?” Gerald answered, correcting himself again.
“I wanted to ask you about the coinage in Braavos.”
"Ask away, Vi... Viserys," Gerald replied, the unfamiliarity of addressing him by his name alone still evident in his voice.
He pulled three iron coins from his pocket, each distinct in design. He laid them on the table between them. The first was square-shaped, intricately carved with the image of a man holding a sword aloft. The second, a round coin, bore the inscription of a creature that was half-man, half-fish. The third, smaller and also round, featured an engraving of a ship.
"Ah, yes, Braavosi ducats," Gerald said, his eyes lighting up with recognition as he picked up the coins to examine them more closely. He took the square-shaped one and gave it a slight flip before holding it steady in his palm.
"This," he began, holding the coin up for Viserys to see, "is the highest value coin in Braavos. It's commonly referred to as the Titan, after the colossal statue that guards the city. As you can see, it is inscribed with it as well. It has approximately the same value as a Westerosi dragon, though currently, it's likely worth more due to the ongoing war."
"This coin is favored by the wealthy, so it's not something you'd commonly see among ordinary folk. To the wealthy of the city, this is simply 'the ducat,'" Gerald chuckled. "Look at the craftsmanship—each one takes significant time to mint," he said, pointing to the intricate designs on the coin.
“What of the others?” Viserys asked. It seemed Gerald had decided to give him a lesson on Braavosi coinage.
Setting the Titan aside, Gerald then picked up the two round coins. He first presented the larger of the two. "This is known as a 'Merling,'" he explained, pointing to the half-man, half-fish creature engraved on it. "The name, as you can guess, comes from this mythical sea creature depicted here. It's a moderately valued coin, used for transactions that are above basic needs but aren't considered luxuries."
“So, like the silver coins used in Westeros?” Viserys asked the maester.
Gerald nodded. “Exactly.”
Next, he held up the smaller coin, with a ship inscribed on it. "And this," he continued, "is called a 'Mark.' I can’t quite remember why they call it that—something to do with the ship, I believe," he paused for a while, trying to recall the specific reason.
“Bah, I forgot; I will tell you when I remember. Now, getting to the matter at hand, this one is the smallest denomination and is most commonly used. It’s perfect for daily market purchases like food, ale, and minor services. You’ll find this one to be the most prevalent in everyday transactions,” he said, placing the coins down on the table.
Gerald sighed, almost wistfully. "I wish Westeros had coinage like this; ours is needlessly complicated," he remarked.
He was right. Westeros did have a complicated system; there were like eight types of coins... Why hadn't the Targaryens tried to reform it?
"But iron doesn't have the same value as gold or silver," Viserys began, holding up one of the iron coins, his brow furrowed in thought.
Gerald interrupted him with a knowing smile, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. "Ah, but the value of these iron coins doesn't lie in the metal itself. It's about who backs them—the Iron Bank of Braavos. I doubt you would understand, but I shall tell you all the same."
He picked up the square coin again, turning it over in his hand. "The Iron Bank is one of the most formidable financial institutions in the known world, known for its vast wealth and unrivaled influence."
"If the Iron Bank backs these coins, promising to honor them with a certain value, that backing ensures that, regardless of the intrinsic value of the iron, the coins are as valuable as any gold or silver in terms of trade."
"Moreover, these coins are specially minted and are more difficult to produce than Westerosi coins. The Braavosi have specific methods and markings that make these coins nearly impossible to counterfeit effectively," he continued.
Gerald's expression changed; it was as if he remembered something. "Though, there was an attempt during the great Braavosi counterfeiting crisis back in 183, during the fifth Braavosi-Pentos war."
"So, it’s the Iron Bank..."
"Yes," Gerald affirmed. "Their credibility and trustworthiness ensure that the coins maintain stable value, making them a strong currency even beyond Braavos’s borders."
'Trust and reputation are as valuable as gold,' he thought.
“How many marks are in one Titan?” he asked.
"One Titan is worth twenty Merlings. And one Merling, in turn, equals fifty Marks," Gerald began.
“Oh, so if one Titan is worth twenty Merlings and one Merling is worth fifty Marks, then fifty times twenty means a Titan is worth a thousand Marks,” Viserys said, interrupting Gerald.
Gerald's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Well, that's quite accurate, Viserys. I haven't even begun to teach you arithmetic yet. Where did you learn such calculations?"
'Where did I learn these? This is basic math; what does he think I am, just a kid?... Wait, I am a kid,' he thought. He quickly thought of an explanation for Gerald's question.
"Grand Maester Pycelle taught me," he said quickly.
"Truly?" Gerald's interest was piqued. "You seem to have a strong grasp of more complex calculations as well."
“Aha, like I said... well... The Grand Maester used to say I... um... had a knack for numbers," he said, expanding his lie.
Gerald shook his head, almost in disbelief. "Such a shame. You could have been an exceptional scholar at the Citadel."
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.
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After Gerald left his cabin, Viserys decided to go to the deck. He spent most of his time there with Alton, Willem, and Rhaenys. Daenerys didn't do much other than eat and sleep. He never had siblings before, so it was a new experience for him. As he walked past Rhaenys's cabin, he heard the unmistakable sound of crying echoing through the door. He walked back and opened the door to find Rhaenys in the midst of a tearful tantrum. Her young maid was at her side, attempting to soothe her, but to little avail.
Rhaenys was inconsolable, crying out for Elia and Rhaella while holding onto a stuffed dragon toy that Rhaella had given her.
Rhaella had spent a great deal of time with Rhaenys back at Dragonstone, and her absence was clearly felt by the young girl. Noticing him at the entrance, the maid bowed respectfully and quickly explained, "Your Grace, the princess... she's been very upset, asking for the queen."
Rhaenys turned her tear-stained face towards him and pleaded, "Vis, Vis, want Mama. Where Muna? She was here, on the boat before. Where did she go?"
'Muna?... Who was that... oh, that was what she called Rhaella,' he thought. He motioned for the maid to leave them alone for a moment, and once they were by themselves, he moved closer to Rhaenys. "You know, you shouldn't trouble the servants, especially Sharra," he said softly.
But Rhaenys persisted, her small voice fraught with longing and confusion. "I want to see Mama and Muna...and Aegon too."
He sighed, a weight settling in his chest. He led Rhaenys to her bed and sat down beside her, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Do you remember when I read to you about the wonders of the world?" he asked gently, thinking back to a few days ago when he read to her Lomas Longstrider’s writings.
She nodded, her sobs subsiding slightly.
"Well… We are going on an adventure to see those wonders," he continued. "We are going to travel the world, and once we have seen all the wonders, we can return and tell your mother and grandmother all about it," he said, mustering up a cheerful tone.
"But that's too long," Rhaenys protested weakly. "I miss them."
Viserys felt his heart ache. "You are a big girl now," he told her. "Your mother and grandmother would be very happy when we return and tell them all about the places we visited and all the new things we will have learned. And they would want you to be brave and happy while you're on this adventure."
"Will we tell them all about it when we get back?" she asked, her voice still trembling slightly.
"Yes, every single detail," Viserys promised, offering her a reassuring smile. "We’ll make drawings and write stories so we won’t forget anything."
She nodded slowly, then hugged her stuffed dragon closer, a gift from her grandmother. "I can be brave," she said.
Rhaenys was quiet for a moment, then murmured, "I miss Aegon, and Papa, and Mama."
"Me too, kid," Viserys whispered back.
‘Not Rhaegar... Fuck Rhaegar…’ he thought.
“Now, don’t give Sharra much trouble. We can watch the sunset together later,” he said, getting off the bed.
He called Sharra back into the room, who looked relieved that Rhaenys had calmed down. "Thank you, Your Grace," but she paused at his look, remembering his instructions to drop the royal titles. "Thank you... my lord," she corrected.
"Eh… that's fine, I guess," he replied before exiting the room.
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Viserys walked across the deck of the ship, feeling the chill of the sea breeze brush against his skin. He leaned over the railing, gazing out at the open waters that stretched endlessly before him, his mind buzzing with plans for his future in Essos.
The two fleets were always on his mind. Their loyalty was not guaranteed, despite his precautions. He had instructed them to initiate contact by year’s end, hoping they would have secured a foothold in their respective regions by then. The compass gave them an edge—a significant advantage—but he knew all too well that such secrets were temporary. Information, especially something as valuable as this, would eventually spread, but for now, they had an edge over others.
His thoughts turned to potential business ventures that he could begin as the fleets secured their positions. The idea of introducing modern innovations to this world was tempting.He had already introduced the compass so keeping with the naval theme he thought of introducing new methods for preserving food for long journeys. Canning was an intriguing option, yet the technological limitations of this world made it impractical.
He pulled out his to-do list again, smoothing it against the wooden railing to secure it against the gentle sea breeze. His finger traced the lines; he paused at each entry, considering its possibilities.
First on the list was the printing press. It was a big one; it could alter the very fabric of society, much like it did back on Earth. It would take decades, but change would come.
He could also make paper—parchment was expensive and the paper that existed here was completely useless. He could make more durable, affordable paper to go along with the printing press.
Affordable printed materials, from books to news pamphlets, would be everywhere in a few years.
Maybe he was overestimating.
Alcohol was next on the list. Brewing alcohol was a hobby of his, something he inherited from his father. He could set up a distillery and make some high-quality alcohol. He could export these spirits to Westeros, maybe send some to Robert as well. The man would appreciate a fine drink.
Next, he had written down, start a chain of restaurants but had crossed it off. He had written that down as a joke. He chuckled to himself as he thought of really doing it.
‘Why not?’ he thought with a smile. Maybe he could introduce pizza to this world.
Shaking his head, he arrived at the final item on the list: textiles. This was something he was familiar with. His grandfather had been in the textile business, and he had picked up a thing or two. He could introduce some early modern innovations in the textile industry to make mass-produced, affordable, high-quality clothing. He would have a huge market in a rich city like Braavos and maybe even in Westeros.
"Careful," he heard Alton's voice say from behind him.
He smiled at Alton's concern. "Fear not, Al. I'm not planning on testing the waters just yet," he joked lightly as he put the parchment back in his pockets.
"When will we arrive at Braavos?" he asked Alton, his gaze still fixed on the horizon.
"Tomorrow," Alton replied, surprising him. He had been told it would take at least a week, and it had only been four days.
"The compass?" he asked, turning to face Alton.
"Yes," Alton answered with a smile. "The captain can't stop praising how it shaved days off our journey."
Viserys sighed, a resigned smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "So much for keeping it a secret," he murmured, half to himself.
"Perhaps a word with the captain might reinforce the need for discretion?" Alton suggested.
He shook his head slightly. "No need for threats, Al. Just remind him of the importance of discretion. But it doesn't matter much now," he added with a slight shrug. "People will find out sooner or later. The secret of the compass can't be contained forever."
“I heard the captain mention that we won't reach the city itself. Where is this estate?” Alton inquired.
He leaned against the rail. "It's along the Braavosi coastlands," he explained. "Braavos is half a day's journey by sea from there. We will have to sail up one of the tributaries of the Sour River to reach the estate.”
Alton furrowed his brow. "Why was such a property not known to the royal family until now?"
Viserys sighed lightly. "It used to belong to a branch of House Otherys," he began.
"Otherys?" Alton repeated, surprised.
"Yes, that Otherys—Bellegere Otherys. It was given to one of Bellegere’s children and after the last owner left it back to House Targaryen after he passed;."
"It was lost, tucked away in records and overshadowed by more pressing matters. Apparently, it was not in good condition when the men sent by Lord Lucerys found it.”
"I hope it’s livable now," he added with a faint smile.
“Lord Lucerys did promise your grac...” Alton paused as he almost used the royal address.
“Don't worry, Al. You will get used to it,” he said, hearing the man slip up. It was funny seeing Al, Willem, and others correcting themselves after his ban on all things royal.
“Wait till you see what I do with my hair,” he said with a grin.
