"Getting dressed," I responded, briefly wondering how a three-year-old could sound so bossy. I winced putting on a clean shirt over the bandages that Ser Willem helped bind before going to sleep.

"You are hurt!" she exclaimed making me snort. If it hadn't already, any questions I would have had regarding Magic in this world would have been quashed after a five-minute conversation with my sister. In the books I had read, she was a thirteen-year-old, capable of speaking multiple languages and enacting her interpretation of Alexander the Conqueror in Slaver's Bay after hatching three dragons. Three-year-old Dany may have been bossy given how Ser Willem or the servants treated but she was observant and way too smart for her age.

"A lesson, dear sister, a strong armor does not make the person wearing it indestructible, only harder to kill," I said with a soft smile.

"I will heal, and it will be forgotten. Nothing for you to worry about." I hastily added, to make sure she would not worry, only to be proven how naive such a wish was with her next question.

"What happened?" asked Dany, her head doing a tilt that I knew she picked up from watching me. I made a mental note to not spend too much in the minds of animals, as I knew to be the source of where I got that reaction.

"A Bad Man tried to stab me, but failed," I explained, knowing that she would keep asking unless I told her something. If I had to be honest, lying to her was not something I was comfortable with and she would need to face the fact that people may want us dead. There was nothing wrong with returning the favor to those who tried to see us dead at the least.

"He failed and won't be able to do it again, so you do not have to worry about it, sweet sister," I explained, seeing Dany frown at that.

Finding a deflection the wisest course of action, I spoke "Now, I am starving, so come along and we can break our fast. What should we eat?"

"Pancakes!" exclaimed Dany, once more making me question the decisions of my past. Introducing some food from my old life was just a way to make this life more bearable and it made my sister happy. Normal food from Braavos was rather dull in flavor and given how spices were not as common and the variety in food that George described in the books was for those lords who did not have to budget in their exile, I had to improvise in areas other than Magic as well.

I slowly made it down the stairs of the House we were staying, wincing as I did not have any painkillers and the numbness I had from last night had long since faded, leaving only pain behind.

Growing or fixing bones was beyond me for now, not that I would be willing to experiment on myself. `And the only spell I could think of may or may not have a chance of vanishing my bones instead.` I mused as we entered the Dining Room, where Ser Willem was sitting, nursing what looked to be ale.

"Ser Willem, good morning," I spoke, throwing away any stuffy tradition regarding greetings. This man was closer to a father than my biological one... granted, a rock was a better father than Aerys the Mad, but I digress.

"Prince Viserys, Princess." greeted Ser Willem, frowning as he saw the way I looked, knowing that I consciously broke protocol that he had been trying to teach me for the last three years.

"The First Sword dropped by to ask questions." said Ser Willem still frowning "Something about an altercation in the streets last night."

"Any trouble?" I asked as I took a bite of the bacon.

"None." said Ser Willem "He was however curious how someone from Qarth made it to Braavos and who may have paid for them."

"Did he have any guesses?" I asked, curious as to what someone more knowledgeable about most powers in the world would think.

"He talked of some Spice Guild of Qarth if the target was a merchant, so I asked him of any group of Hedge-Wizards from there, he mentioned Warlocks of Qarth" he stated his eyes looking at my belt, that had still had my wand attached to the sheath I had made for it.

"Guild of Spicers may not be it, but Warlocks... that is an interesting theory." I deflected, mentally beating myself as I had ignored where Sorrowful Men came from. "I suppose it is possible that they are interested. I should see what precautions we can take. They should not be able to do much while we are in Braavos however." I explained. The presence of the Faceless Men would probably discourage the Warlocks from taking action... given that both cities had their own Cults of Assassins.

"Good." said Ser Willem, throwing me a small bag "No work in the yard today, let your rib recover."

"If you say so," I said, opening the pouch and taking a sniff. "What is this?"

"Willow bark." he said "chew on it and the swelling and throbbing should lessen. Don't look too surprised, my prince, I am a knight and I have cracked or broken my fair share of ribs in Tourneys."

"Broke more in other men, I would bet," I said with a smile. I was not sure what sort of a pain-killer I could take that did not lead to my mind weakening but the medieval equivalent of aspirin was not one that I would consider.

"You have no idea..." began the old knight, as he started talking about the Tourneys, which got Dany's attention given how she had stopped stuffing her face with her pancakes.

Once the food was eaten and Dany went out to play, I turned to the knight.

"The Warlocks?" I asked, curious as to what he was considering.

"What do you know of them?" asked Ser Willem, leaning back.

"Rhaegar had books from the time of Unlikely," I explained, trying to make my knowledge more palatable than the actual source of it. "And Pycelle once told me that they supposedly prevented Valyria from taking over Qarth. He also said, their power waned as Magic left the world after Dragons died."

"But we know that magic did not die with dragons." countered Ser Willem looking at me with a knowing look.

"That has been what the Maesters want everyone to believe," I stated. I was still not sure of the real core reasoning for the Maester's obsession with denying magic. As I still did not know the real reason for how the Maester's behaved, I could only theorize. If they worked to uncover knowledge, they were too traditionalist to achieve progress. If they wished to protect people, they were leaving humanity vulnerable to Magical sources, denying the threat of Others and all other actions they took. "Possibly because they do not have the ability to control magic and magic users." I mused, before forcing myself to go through that rabbit hole again. I had no solid proof that Maesters were acting against my family other than speculation, so making plans for their demise was useless for now.

"What do you think we should do?" asked Ser Willem, feeling like a parent who was asking a child what their thoughts were.

"I never met him, but mother talked of Maester Aemon Targaryen who once wrote to her, saying to arm ourselves with knowledge." I stated before continuing "We do not know enough to act. If it is Tywin, we do not have a way to pay him back. If it is the Warlocks, their reasons are unknown to us. Attacking blindly is to open ourselves to a counterattack."

I could not personally attack Tywin, he had too many men and I was not going to blindly charge into Westerlands without an army and possibly a fully-grown dragon. While I could send an Assassin after him, paying for one was not really in my current budget. I thought of sending a Thrall that I skin-changed and getting the job done myself but that would not be feasible either. My skinchanging was strong, enough to possess humans when they were not aware of it and it left me without control of my body. Weakening my flesh in a months-long coma and risking death was not worth the effort, considering that such an action would mean months of journeying overseas to get a shot at one of the most protected people in existence.

"Good... you are learning," said Ser Willem with a proud smile, as he seemed to have liked my cautious nature. "What would you have me do, your grace?"

"I dislike being called king." I countered "I am a Prince of Blood, not even Robert could deny it. I shall be a king when I sit upon a Throne."

"And wear a golden crown?" countered Ser Willem with a smirk.

`Crown for a king.` the heavy accented voice called out, causing me to grit my teeth, as I pushed my mind out of the memories of a possible future.

"Not of gold... but a crown all the same." I countered, still adamant about it. I would not seek a Golden Crown if I could help it. Silver would do, just as well as Bronze and Iron or even better Valyrian Steel, though tracking the Conqueror's Crown would take a while still.

"The question still remains." deflected Ser Willem, probably seeing the pain in my face at the words. The Master at Arms probably considered the talk of a crown too painful for me after my mother's death. Memories of Rhaella that remained from old Viserys were too painful for me to properly process still. The fact that she had crowned me with her own silver crown was a reminder of what I was left with. I could understand how the old knight came to that conclusion.

I took a breath, thinking of what I would need to do. We needed answers but looking for them may prove troublesome. My right hand rested on my ribs, where the knife had struck, a direct path to my heart from the back. An idea started to form within my mind.

"What have you done to the body?" I asked, my eyes focused once more.

The servants dropped a large barrel by the entrance of my Workshop.

It was more like a section of the basement of the House we stayed in. It was not used due to the small number of people who actually lived in the House with the Red Door. Whereas Ser Willem preferred large men to act as servants, to discourage anyone from trying to attack us, I knew the true nature of such people. We would find ourselves in the streets once the Old Man died if those servants had their way.

Knowing the future and what may happen was tricky to manage. For example, I had foreseen the assassination attempt in the flames and I was not certain if trying to prevent it would lead to something worse. All the stories I heard of Prophecies told me that such an act was unwise and would lead to greater disasters.

So I prepared, using my knowledge and study of magic. Making fabric stronger than it ought to be was a tricky project. I knew it was possible, as there were such spells from other works of fiction and this world had at least one story about some Ironborn with possibly magic tattoos with the nickname of Steelskin. The more obvious example from another Magic System that I could recall was Reinforcement from Nasuverse... a way to fill the gaps between atoms with magical energy to increase the strength of materials.

The main challenge had been to make it a sustained Enchantment... which my current spells could not reach the level off. Now, I had an ingredient that may ensure that the enchantment would last longer.

I took out my wand and reached out through the door of the basement, feeling what I was looking for.

I had modified the room to have a bar to block the door. Using my magic to place it, locking the room from the inside in a way that would not allow anyone from snooping in. It was a simple mechanism but it worked and all I needed to do was levitate the wooden bar.

The approach to Levitation was similar in principle to my Cutting Curse and Shield Spells, creating solid air to have some form of physical impact on the world. Sure, I would not try it on myself for now, but the method was just too useful for me to not work out. In theory, it was not even out of context for this world, though it was much more subtle than the displays of Mental Magic.

I had the opportunity to see what an Aeromancer actually did, as the man wearing the attire of monks put on shows near the Isle of Gods. They were rare this side of Essos from what I was able to learn from whispers, and I only knew of Asshai-by-the-Shadow to have Aeromancers. Granted, most assumed that what they were doing was simply moving in a way that was controlled by how the wind flowed, instead of their movements controlling the wind but to those who have felt Magic, they were taking control of the winds as they moved, making it into a show for money. The two monks seemed to be in a state of trance during the process, effectively becoming Airbenders in practice and have abilities to control the weather in a different way than a Stormsinger or dozen other groups of practitioners of magic.

The warm air started blowing from the tip of the wand, moving through the gap through the door to the back, solidifying as it came in contact with the wooden bar blocking the door.

"Wingardium Leviosa." I whispered with a smirk, as the warm air held together by magic lifted the wooden block out of the way. For all I knew, the words did not matter, so long as they provided me with a concept to focus on. I could have thrown an `Alohomora` instead, though that was still a work in progress as using the wand and solidified air to pick a lock was tricky and required too much finesse for me at the moment.

The entire incantation trick had two benefits as far as I could tell. It was both a form of the mental equivalent of a muscle memory and self-hypnosis to speed up my spell-casting as well as being a simple show of smoke and mirrors to prevent someone I did not want from learning magic from what I was doing.

In a pinch, my magic may respond faster if I used the same incantation throughout my life, a few seconds that I could gain from what amounted to muscle memory may prove the difference between life and death.

Granted, the actual reason I used incantations was that I could and it made me feel like I was in an equally dangerous but more civilized work of fiction work instead of this one, but I also had to consider the consequence of what would happen when my powers became more commonly known. If people thought I needed to speak some words of power when I would be taken prisoner for some reason, they would gag me and leave me be if they were stupid and drug me to the gills if they were truly smart. Given the average intelligence of Westerosi nobility, most would go with the first approach and give me the opportunity to mount an escape. Granted, I was much more likely to be killed on the spot but, even Robert would want to make it a public spectacle if he got his hands on me... giving me the time to escape and annoy him as a result.

The sound of a clacking of wood on stone led to a full grin, as I unlocked the door with the key and went inside.

The Workshop was rather barren for all I cared. There was a chest in one corner and a desk in the other. Small cages were on the desk, containing rats for me to experiment with. A few barrens of water in case of a fire and a sandbag that was hanging over the rafters in case of wildfire.

A flick of my wand had the fire from the lamp in my hand jump through the candle wicks in the room, before returning to the lamp itself. A simple trick that involved reaching out to the fire and bringing it under control. While my wand could not make any fire from scratch, it still acted as a bridge for me to control any flames, though the candle trick was one of the few things I could do for now.

Another flick of my wand had the barrel containing the body roll into the room, ending in one of the empty corners as I dropped the tunic I wore the day before onto the desk and headed towards the chest. Opening it and removing the false bottom under the junk within it. There sat a dark leather bound journal that I had to order from a bookbinder, my Grimoire in all but name.

It contained information written in a language foreign to this world, as I did not want to write it in English, which was basically the equivalent of Westerosi Common in this world. The book contained records of every use of Magic or speculated instances of someone using Magic in as much detail as I could recall as well as numerous theories and experiments that I was yet to conduct.

The page I opened had a simple title, "Shadowbinding", before giving a sigh and re-reading it for the thousandth time just to make sure.

AN: A bit plot development and some old/new method of Magic in the form of Aeromancy. George has nothing on Aeromancers and the wiki only says that they control air. Given that Melisandre could control the winds somehow, it made sense to have them do some sort of subtle Airbending from Avatar. The lack of Martial Arts based Magic Sects not developing, especially in the Eastern regions like Yi-Ti that were inspired by a combination of Asian Countries, made no sense if West had the concept of Knighthood and Chivalry, so this is my head-canon about Aeromancers until George says otherwise.