The words of Vargo Hoat, the leader of the Brave Companions, stunned everyone present. They had another name that wasn't so flattering: the "Bloody Mummers."
Originating from the continent of Essos, they were notorious. Most of their members were criminals and exiles from various regions. They earned their nickname due to their brutal actions and eccentric attire.
However, the current leader, a tall and lean Qohorik with a goatee and a lisp, proposed a daring idea that made all the criminals present exchange glances.
"You want to target the leader of the human legions?"
An older maester with a hunched back and gray hair narrowed his eyes. He was very cautious. He found Vargo Hoat's idea too audacious. Rumor had it that Viserys had once matched the White Walker leader in strength, though none of them had seen it.
Yet, in the group, the sadistic Septon Utt and the "Mad Clown" Shagwell were eager to try.
They were by nature fearless and reckless, skilled at drawing blood from their enemies. Especially the scenario described by Vargo Hoat excited them to the core.
How audacious was it to kidnap a king? How much ransom could they demand?
Seeing the excitement on the faces of his comrades, the maester who initially wanted to object silenced himself. Associating with madmen and devils was a choice he had to make. Others perceived him as one of them, but he believed he had his wits about him.
Still, despite the bold idea of kidnapping a king, they had to confront an undeniable problem: a terrifying dragon that stood between them and their target.
They had to wait for the dragon to leave Viserys's side before making their move. Otherwise, their small group would be nothing more than a late-night snack for the dragon.
The Bloody Mummers hid in the woods outside of the Twins, waiting for an opportunity to strike at Viserys.
They expected a long wait, but it seemed the gods favored them.
The dragon, massive enough to eclipse the sun, roared deeply. Soon after, under the bright moonlight, it took to the sky, presumably hunting.
In the ruined Twins, only Viserys and the captured villagers remained.
Inside, the handsome silver-haired young man set up a campfire in a clean spot.
The warmth of the fire pushed away the darkness. He could go without food for long periods, but Balerion couldn't. The dragon needed a significant amount of food daily.
Now that they weren't in King's Landing, Balerion had to find his own food. So, Viserys let him roam.
He then untied the villagers confined in the horse pens, cutting their ropes one by one and setting them free.
Many of these villagers were maimed, covered in scars, and on the brink of death. There were women, too, who were either wives or daughters of the villagers.
But war was a game for the nobles. For the commoners, it was a catastrophe. Under its weight, they were easily crushed.
As Viserys cut their bonds, a young girl with chains on her wrists and ankles looked on in awe. She had never seen such a sharp sword.
When he approached her, the slender, long-legged girl extended her hands.
"Thank you," her voice was hoarser than most girls her age.
Her hands bore calluses, like those of someone who wielded a knife for years. It contrasted starkly with her smiling face.
Viserys glanced at her, especially the calluses, and without hesitation, his blade, "Twilight," cut through her chains.
The silver-haired youth then severed the shackles on her feet, setting her completely free.
The girl, who appeared to be around the same age as Viserys, was full of youth and vitality. Her face was smudged, possibly a disguise, and her body bore the stains of battle.
She stretched her limbs, retrieved her curved blade and dagger from a nearby kitchen, and then turned to the silver-haired youth, still freeing others.
"Are you Viserys?" "The King of the Seven Kingdoms?"
Unlike the others, who knelt in gratitude, this girl wearing tattered gray-black armor stained with blood stood by Viserys and inquired.
Her words made the other villagers, who were picking up gold coins, shiver in awe.
Although they had suspected it after seeing the dragon, the title "king" seemed as distant to them as the Bloody Mummers.
Viserys didn't answer. He cut the last villager's ropes, and the man, trembling, knelt in gratitude.
"Thank you, Your Grace."
Then, like the others, he scrambled to collect the scattered gold dragons. Some had melted under Balerion's fire and solidified onto the ground, but they didn't mind. They scraped them off and pocketed them.
"Take some coins and leave quickly. Otherwise, you won't be able to escape later," Viserys advised, watching their greed.
"Understood, Your Grace."
His sudden command startled the villagers. Although some were still greedy, wishing to find more treasures left by the bandits, they didn't dare linger.
It was a royal command, after all.
Viserys stood by the fire, holding his blood-red sword. His silvery-gold hair reflected the light. He had the stature and face of a ruler, an undeniable regal aura after reigning for over a decade.
Suppressing their greed, the villagers thanked Viserys once more and left.