GoT and House of The Dragon: The Last Valyrian Dragonlord.

The Orange Coast.

The vast lands of the Orange Coast still belonged to Volantis. Though the city had suffered defeat during the wars of the Bleeding Years, Volantis remained powerful, holding dominion over its vast territories.

It was here, nestled along the coast, that the Silverblood Garrison Estate stood—one of the largest holdings of House Varezys. Cleorius Varezys had once been generous, using the estate's bountiful harvests to sustain six thousand battle-hardened warriors of the Silverblood Legion.

Of course, the estate was not the sole source of their funding. But it was the most important. The soldiers' families lived here as well, housed in homes built by the Varezys family, receiving wages and stipends like free citizens.

This was what made the Silverblood Legion so formidable.

In the heart of the estate, within a sun-drenched courtyard, a group of young men trained under the sharp commands of a high-pitched voice. Their instructor was not just any soldier—he was a eunuch warrior.

House Varezys had more than just the Silverblood Legion. They also owned a considerable number of Unsullied, the legendary eunuch warriors of Slaver's Bay, bred and trained in New Ghis. These soldiers were the most disciplined, the most obedient, and the most feared infantrymen in the known world.

But things had changed under Cleorius's reforms.

No longer slaves, the Unsullied of House Varezys had cast off their chains and reclaimed their identities. Some even rose to positions of command within the Silverblood Legion, acting as officers and masters-at-arms.

Like the man now standing in the courtyard.

Dressed in silver-plated armor and wearing a spiked helm, Silver Scorpion stood at the edge of the training yard, leaning on a six-foot iron spear. His expression was unreadable as he watched the young warriors sweat beneath the midday sun, drilling with wooden spears.

Leading the group was a boy about the same age as Lozar Varezys—his resemblance was striking. The only differences lay in his shorter, more cropped silver hair and his piercing violet-blue eyes.

Taller and broader than his twin, Valar Varezys was stronger, his bare chest already layered with lean muscle.

With a sharp thrust, Valar drove his iron-tipped spear straight through a practice dummy, withdrawing it just as swiftly. He took the silk cloth handed to him by a dark-haired youth beside him and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Hoffa, any news from home?" he asked.

The black-haired boy, Hoffa, had a pair of striking golden eyes. He and his younger brother, Adams, were from the faraway land of Westeros. Pirates from Lys had captured them during a raid, and it was Lozar's warships that had rescued them.

In truth, that had been a bloody time. Lozar had seized thousands of captives from the pirate fleets of Lys—some he returned to their homelands, others remained with House Varezys.

Hoffa, Adams, Sebastian Pyrebrand, and Amos Featherstone were among those who stayed.

Hoffa finished wiping the sweat from his arms before replying. "The Lord has returned home," he said simply. "Amos, Sebastian, and Argo have already arrived at the estate. They're meeting with the commanders to begin regrouping the Silverblood Legion."

Valar's grip on his spear tightened. "Regrouping?" His heart pounded as he recalled his brother's words before he had been sent to oversee the estate. "So my brother has finally made his decision… He's really going to Valyria?"

Hoffa nodded.

"Adams has already left with Lord Aslan Rondel, leading 1,200 Silverblood soldiers to secure our ports and shipyards. The next group, led by Sebastian and Lord Gonzal Pyrebrand, will be our main force—3,000 Silverblood soldiers and 1,500 Unsullied."

"And us?" Valar asked.

"We're the third wave."

"What?" Valar scowled. "I thought we'd be in the first wave!"

Hoffa shook his head. "Our task is different. We're the final group—the elite forces. More importantly, we need to keep the city's eyes off what's really happening."

Valar frowned. "I don't follow."

"You're the Lord's twin brother," Hoffa explained. "As long as you remain here, neither the Tigers nor the Elephants will suspect what the Lord is truly planning."

Understanding dawned on Valar's face. He still didn't care much for politics, but at least he knew his job: stay put and don't ruin Lozar's plans.

"Fine," he grumbled. "Hoffa, let's spar with the lances."

Hoffa glanced toward Silver Scorpion.

The eunuch warrior nodded, signaling a stablehand to fetch their horses.

The courtyard was vast, large enough to accommodate mounted charges.

Young squires strapped armor onto Valar and Hoffa, fitting them with lances.

"You have to admit," Silver Scorpion mused, watching them mount their steeds, "the armored knights of the Andals are truly formidable."

"If a thousand Andal knights charged with their lances," he continued, "only heavily armored Unsullied in overwhelming numbers could stop them."

The horses surged forward.

CRACK!

Lances shattered.

Valar steadied his horse, catching a fresh lance mid-gallop. Hoffa wobbled, barely keeping his seat, but he, too, grabbed a new lance from a squire.

The second pass.

Hoffa's lance struck true, slamming into Valar's chest.

His lance splintered—but Valar barely flinched.

The third pass.

Valar's strike found Hoffa's chest, nearly unhorsing him.

He wobbled precariously but, by sheer willpower, managed to stay on his horse.

"Not bad," Valar said, rolling his shoulders. He hefted his new lance with ease—twelve feet of solid oak felt like a child's toy in his grip.

The fourth pass.

Both lances found their targets.

Both shattered.

Only one rider remained in the saddle.

Valar smirked as he circled Hoffa, who was sprawled on the ground.

After two loops, he slid from his horse and extended a hand. With a single pull, he hauled Hoffa to his feet.

"I hear this is a popular sport where you're from," Valar said.

Hoffa spat dirt from his mouth. "Yeah."

Then, with a scowl, he added, "Where I grew up, our 'knightly lord' used to bleed the village dry just to fund his tournaments. He loved gambling, but he lost more than he won—his horse, his armor, everything. He always came back demanding more gold from us. Then, when the Lyseni pirates came, he made us fight while he ran."

Valar clenched his fists. "I've heard this before, but every time I do, I want to gut that bastard myself."

Hoffa gave him a tired smile. "That's why we're all grateful to the Lord and the old master. We don't have to starve. We don't have to worry about pirates or raiders. We don't have to wonder where our next meal is coming from."

Valar suddenly grinned. "Hoffa, if you went back home now, would you still fear that 'knightly lord' of yours?"

Hoffa laughed.

"Fear? I could take ten of him now. On horseback? I'd ride straight through any knight of House Baratheon."

"Baratheon?" Valar raised an eyebrow.

Hoffa nodded. "Yeah. They're the lords of my lord's lord's lord's lord—some great Westerosi house. They live in a huge castle, with a tower taller than the mountains. Their knights carry banners with a crowned stag."

Valar tried to recall if he had ever heard of them.

Then he gave up.

"Well," he said, clapping Hoffa on the back, "I believe you. You'll be breaking Baratheon knights in half one day."

Hoffa scratched his head, a little embarrassed.

Just then, a man in Silverblood armor sprinted into the courtyard.

Looking around, he hurried toward Valar and gave a crisp salute.

"Message for you, my lord."

Valar blinked. "Me? From Black Walls?"

Silver Scorpion studied the messenger with narrowed eyes.

Then, suddenly, he barked, "Who are you? Stay back from the young lord!"