Chapter 16: The Heads of the Dragon
Outside the canvas walls, the men were celebrating.
The Battle of the Burning River had been a great victory. Khal Drogo, reputed to be undefeated and the most formidable khal in living memory, was now in chains. The men who formed the Golden Company, from the captain-general to the lowliest camp follower had congratulated me for the wildfire scheme, some going so far as to stop me as I walked past for a slap on the back or to offer a swig of wine. With the defeat of their leader and loss of many of his kos, the Dothraki started fighting amongst themselves for the position of khal and whatever treasures they could get their hands on. That only blinded them to us when we swept upon their camp with armoured elephants.
The fighting had been fierce and the aftermath even worse. Drunk from our victory against the Dothraki in the field, and even more once we reached the heart of the khalasar, the men let loose their frustrations and anger. When I dismounted from my mare, the encampment was afire with black plumes of oily smoke roiling and tumbling from accident and purpose. The ground was a carpet of the dead and dying while the women and children of Khal Drogo's khalasar walked with sullen pride for even in defeat the Dothraki were proud, even as they were herded by mercenaries who were generous in their beatings. At one point, I saw a Dothraki girl not much younger than myself be raped by a Westerosi knight from behind like a dog. Around him, some sergeants were laughing, drunk with wine and blood. I could still remember the heartrending sound, the long sobbing wail that went on and on afterwards. I had turned to the knight and ordered him to stop. The man didn't take it kindly and told me, "The bitch deserves it. These creatures are barbaric savages. Monsters. This is an eye for an eye this is." The men echoed his words and the knight never stopped pounding into her. I wrenched him off with a fist, sending the man to the ground. The Westerosi cursed and pulled out a knife but Duck knocked him out with the pommel of his sword. I only watched as the girl scampered away. I might have ended that one, but I'd been too late and no doubt there were others like her throughout the camp who didn't have someone to stop it.
In the end, we looted the Dothraki's prized processions. Commander Kojo rewarded himself with a magnificent arakh chased in gold, Black Balaq took a double-curved dragonborn bow that could shoot further than his one made of goldenheart. There was silk and precious gems, well-bred horses and spices from the east. Then there were all the slaves. Khal Drogo didn't just bring warriors, oh no. As khalasars were cities on the move, they included women, children and thousands upon thousands of slaves to be bought and sold. Many of the slaves were absorbed into the Company for plenty were captured warriors and artisans. Others, however, would be worthless for anything other than the short term of selling them into slavery. Just the idea caused arguments among the officers. Some thought they should be sold, others believed they should be released. I stood with the latter and was furious to realise many Westerosi were not averse to selling slaves provided the coin lined their own pockets. Despite my urging, the greater number were pro-enslavement and as the Golden Company was semi-democratic, the captain-general agreed with the majority to send them to Magister Illyrio who the slaves were already promised to.
I was most furious and that was one of the reasons I hadn't joined in with the celebrations.
Another reason was that I was having trouble making peace with Khal Drogo riding south. He was meant to go to Pentos and marry Daenerys, then unwilling sacrifice himself to hatch me some dragons. The khal was still alive, though horribly burned after being caught in a blast of wildfire and needed his arm amputated from one of many wounds he received. Lyra and Haldon had worked hard to keep him alive so he could be interrogated and paraded. They'd succeeded and despite being knocked out on milk of the poppy, he was breathing and stable. From the little we got from his fazed state, it seemed Gorys was correct. Both Braavos and Volantis had put aside their mutual hatred for nothing unites two bickering enemies like a new up-and-coming power. From the iron square coins of Braavos and the skull-and-crown honours of Volantis, it was clear they had divided the cost to hire Khal Drogo in the hopes of sapping our strength. That plan had not only failed, but Blackheart decided to write a letter to both and thank them for the coin which he promised to put to good use. As a reward for their service, the chests had been split among the men, providing a much-needed morale boast. For Drogo himself, it was a horrible fate to be sure, but seeing as he'd rape Dany until she thought about taking her own life and threatened to enslave the smallfolk of Westeros, I wasn't feeling particular sympathetic nor was I when he was chained up to be taunted by sellswords who pelted him with rotten food, mud and shit.
"I don't understand why you're so disheartened," Blackheart said as he sharpened his dirk on a whetstone. "This victory was won in large part thanks to you. A decisive victory where we devastated the Dothraki horde. Killed more than half their force and barely lost a thousand of our own." He stared; pale-green eyes unknowing. "You done good, lad. This is a well-deserved victory. You should be smiling, with wine in your belly and perhaps a girl or two in your bed. Those two Dothraki princesses are comely enough."
Irri and Jhiqui he was referring to. The daughters of rival khals Drogo had killed. Comely and knowing the common tongue, the two who would have been Dany's handmaidens had been pushed into my tent by a drunken Franklyn Flowers. I didn't bed them, though I did take them into my service so they'd be except from being sold to my father who would no doubt sell them to the brothels.
"I could be," I allowed. I don't desire to stick my prick in an unwilling woman, captain-general. "But we've duties to do and I desire to finish those before anything else, while we still have the luxury."
"Just so. But you should enjoy yourself. You're only a lad who's got the future to do his duties. You should enjoy yourself. Truly, I never expected such a decisive battle against the khal. He was one of the best tactical minds the Dothraki have to offer. It was like the Warrior himself was looking upon us that day."
The worst part was that it really was true. Khal Drogo was one of the greatest tactical minds the Dothraki had ever known. It just happened the bar was set so low it was practically embedded into the ground. I should be happy for crushing a numerically imposing enemy, but I couldn't. I didn't know why I was so annoyed. Maybe it was because the plan I had mapped out for the last two years had just evaporated before me, or because I just liked the idea of riding atop a fire-breathing dragon. That would have been sweet.
Either this or lose the army, I reminded myself.
"It was impressive," Dalabhar said, not looking from the messages he was writing to the governments of our client states. "Khal Drogo was unbeatable on the field before we fought against him. Such infamy would cause most armies to surrender before they even meet in battle. I'll grant you, Dothraki lack the military doctrines to fight against combined arms that had the advantage of tactics, technology, unit quality and preparation."
"You really know how to downplay our victory," Duck commented wryly. He stood by the entrance in a green surcoat with a badge of a duck sewn onto his breast. "You could just say they threw themselves against the finest army in both Essos and Westeros."
Blackheart lifted his drink to that, barking out a laugh. "And bled badly for that. With their leader captured and injured, they flee like a beaten dog who got the shoe. They won't be a burden to us. It'll be a warning to every other ambitious khal and the cities who hire them."
"They were meant to aid us, you know," I said, chewing the inside of my cheek. "My father had plans in place."
Myles turned to me. "These very Dothraki?"
I replied with a nod. While Myles knew the Dothraki would have been used, he didn't know which ones. Illyrio loved keeping people in the dark. "Khal Drogo was meant to marry Daenerys Targaryen."
"Giving Viserys an army through his good-brother. Then I'm guessing the Triachy gives them ships and they sail to Westeros. Damaging the Seven Kingdoms just enough for us to come in and take him down."
That was the plan when I was still seen as Targaryen rather than Blackfyre. Kill my evil usurper of an uncle and the warlord of his army for dare thinking about taking my throne. A nice little fairy-tale the smallfolk would have to pay for. Or that was the plan when I was still paraded as perfect Prince Aegon Targaryen. I didn't know how Illyrio planned to twist it with me being the black dragon. Maybe make the Targaryens look as bad as possible before the Blackfyre liberator strides in. What would happen to Daenerys then? Would I marry her or Lady Margaery? Would Dany be murdered or be sent to the silent sisters?
"Like I said before, it was a foolish idea," Blackheart declared. "The Dothraki don't sail. They never have. They refuse to go near water their horses don't drink. You can always trust magisters to know nothing about the ways of war."
"I know," I agreed, my voice growing stronger. "My father thought he was a master strategist for coming up with it. Fool. Us fighting them proved how useless the Dothraki would be against a proper foe. Even if Westeros stood divided, it'll only delay their defeat and whoever wins against the khal would have greater support. That's if it doesn't just unite the warring factions against a common enemy. The Starks and Lannisters may hate each other but they'll hate the Dothraki more."
"Starks and Lannisters?" Ser Myles asked, confused. "Why would they fight? The civil war will be between Lord Stannis and Renly against the Lannisters. They hate each other, Illyrio tells me. They're fighting in the royal court for influence and, at some point, the cauldron will be fit to burst. The Starks have nothing to do with it."
"I'm mistaken then," I lied. I said too much.
"What about the girl?" Rolly thankfully asked. "After she is married off?"
I shrugged. "Bred like an animal. Should she survive . . . I don't know. Maybe a marriage between myself and her. Unite the houses, unite the claims or . . . you know, disposed of and leaving me a girl from a powerful house. I doubt my father's pride would let me marry someone who's not a maiden."
"You are the true dragon," Myles said behind the rim of his cup. "Few nobles would respect a queen who's been soiled by a barbarian. Especially if she's had a child by him. They'll mock you for having a Dothraki's leavings."
Oh yes, I almost forgot how backwards the Westerosi were when it came to virginity, honour and many other things as well. I sighed, rubbing my eyes. "So, what now then, ser?"
"If what your saying is true, we need to restrategise. Your father may help finance our operations, but he doesn't lead us. We should come up with our own plans. Let the people who fight plan this war."
"He's got Varys," I pointed out. "We need the Spider in King's Landing. We need the realm divided. Even if we've lost less than a thousand men, many have been injured and we've lost all our wildfire and ammunition for the archers."
"The Spider will be important," Myles conceded. "Your father as well, but I wouldn't trust him to order us from now on. Not without full knowledge of things. I want no other surprises."
"What about this union, captain-general . . . the same one the Moderates and Ser Connington suggested?" wondered Ser Duck. "With the khal in our procession, he's useless to the plan."
"The uniting the bloodlines plot?"
Rolly nodded.
Myles clicked his tongue. "More than a few have suggested such a marriage. Blackfyre and Targaryen, two branches of the same tree. Black or red, a dragon is still a dragon. There are problems with such a union, however. Should the Targaryens hold any power, I would be more supportive of the idea. But the fact that they're penniless and need to beg support from archons and merchant princes makes me cautious. They have no support nor received any from sympathetic houses in Westeros. It makes me fear the lack of support they'll receive should we commit ourselves. Marrying a Westerosi house will give us men, coin and supplies."
And without dragons, it makes it all the more unlikely. Maybe I should end my plans with the Targs and conquer Westeros the traditional way. There were a few possible candidates for queen as well. Maybe a Martell? Queen Arianne Nymeros Blackfyre had a ring to it and I really liked her. It helped that I was very sympathetic to the Dornish cause.
"You could satisfy the Moderates and Reds by marrying her," Dalabhar commented. "Use her family name until you have no more need, then remove the girl and get yourself a wife from a more powerful family. Wise to do so after the conquest."
Duck looked aghast. "Connington desires a Targaryen on the throne. He is a loyalist and besides, killing a child?"
The Summer Islander simply shrugged. "If the child's got no usefulness to the kingdom, she needs to be replaced with someone who has. Morality has no place in the hall of kings."
Jon's a Rhaegar loyalist, not a Targaryen loyalist. Though he may have turned into one to shield himself from what happened. If he can't get Rhaegar's son, he may get Rhaegar's brother or sister on the throne instead. Either that or revenge. He would surely want to kill Robert and this is his chance to do so. "All well and good," I said, bitterly, "Though I do wonder what allies Daenerys could possibly give us should such a marriage indeed happen. The houses of Westeros are fickle but many are craven and would refuse to step out of line with their overlords. Oh, we could throw some titles and coin at a few and turn them to us but they'll be the exception and not the norm. Darry and Mooton come to mind for those likely to support the red dragons."
"Dorne?" Rolly asked.
"The Dornish . . . they might think about it should we throw gifts of gold and titles at them. But they have no love for Targaryens who are not of Princess Elia's blood and even less love for Blackfyres. Viserys could be used to tie a marriage to the Dornish Princess Arianne . . . but Dorne won't be enough. Prince Doran . . . he's cautious. A little too much for my taste and that's saying something."
"Anyone else?"
"Stark, Tully and Arryn won't even think of siding with us. Baratheon and Lannister sit the Iron Throne so we're against them. I wouldn't trust the Ironborn as far as I can throw them but they might want vengeance and could be useful tools. Tyrells? They want a daughter to plant some seeds, preferably on the throne. Lord Mace is ambitious to a fault so I would be cautious when dealing with him." I grunted and slipped down in my chair, a scowl marring my face. It would be so much easier if I was Elia's son.
"What now, commander?" Dalabhar asked as he put his quill down and flexed his hands that were surprising massive for how graceful his handwriting was. "We need to move before disease erupts in our camp. All the corpses won't bode well and soon we may face outbreaks among our ranks. We also need to recover to full strength. While we haven't taken much in the way of casualties, we've lost a great number of supplies. Stocking should be a priority."
Blackheart Toyne nodded. "We march to Myr as soon as possible. We'll even take Drogo with us." He grinned darkly. "Show the Free Cities what happens when they go against the Golden Company. Should be a good warning to all those that want to remove their shackles."
"Good idea," I stated.
"And you, Aegon, will return to Pentos."
That caught me by surprise. "Me?"
"Yes you. Is there any other Aegon in this tent? Regardless of what's happened, the Targaryens would be useful to have in our procession, even if it's just to keep them from getting their hands on their own army. Viserys, I'm not sure, but the girl will surely have some worth. You'll go and we'll plan our next course of action against Westeros. I need to personally talk to Magister Illyrio as well. It would be shameful should our efforts be for nought."
"You met with them, didn't you?" the Summer Islander asked, leaning forward. "You refused them."
"They had nothing to give," Myles explained. "The boy demanded we bend the knee to serve him like we were his lordly bannermen." Myles spat on the carpet. "Have you ever been led by a boy? I didn't think so. They fail to make good kings, let alone commanders." He glanced to me. "No offence."
"None taken." I pinched the bridge of my nose, letting out a grunt. I could conquer Westeros without dragons, I was sure, but it would be much harder. It wasn't only that they could fly and breathe fire, but they were symbolic and could be used to rally supporters and change the minds of those undecided. Sighing, I asked, "When do we set off?"
...
"Returning to Pentos, are we?" Lyra asked, looking happier than I'd seen her in a while.
I replied with a nod, laying the saddle on the back of the black horse named Shadowmare the Third. "Illyrio Mopatis has hosted some important guests I mean to visit. You know, after ruining his plan."
"A stupid plan," she said, looking at her fingernails and clipping the corners with her teeth. "I can't believe you went along with it. You're a little too cunning for such a foolish idea."
"It was a moronic idea," I grunted, rolling my head back. "Dothraki horde in Westeros? All they would do is pillage the countryside until they get withered away and crushed. That's if they're wise enough to not throw themselves at the stone walls of a castle. You know what happened when they fought against men in armour?"
"I saw first-hand. I was standing right next to you for the lesser part of the battle and afterwards I treated the injured, including Khal Drogo." Lyra chuckled, a dangerous glint flaring in her dark eyes. "A khal is the equivalent of a king. They say there is power in kingsblood. Once he gets well enough, I mean to experiment to see if it's true."
I ran a hand through my wavy blue hair. It grew too fast and draped before my eyes. Not only do Targaryens not suffer from looking like Charles II of Spain, but their hair grew inhumanly fast. Lyra enjoyed mocking me for it. Sighing, I finished with, "Use leeches. Just don't waste it."
"Nor do I plan to. You claim to need Drogo and I know Blackheart desires to parade him through the Free Cities to show his superiority. I won't kill him. Kings are not all that common."
You'll be mistaken when we land in Westeros. We won't be able to throw a pebble without hitting royalty. "Have you learned much with what I've given you? I've seen you . . . performing on many corpses and tending to the men." What she did reminded me of all those doctors who trailed after armies and swarmed the aftermath of battlefields to get their hands on injured and dead to cut up and explore. Even Haldon indulged himself a little. The two had grown closer thanks to their recent activities.
"I learned much," she grinned. "Just need to write it down, though I have to see if your theories have any weight to them. You don't offer much proof, Young Griff."
The germ theory has no proof? I rolled by eyes. She was a firm believer of the miasma theory and I tried to tell her bad smells were a side-effect and not the cause. But like many back in the day, Lyra was too stubborn by half. "What about magic? Learn any more?"
"Little since taking the field, I'm afraid. We already know magic is a fiddly thing and a sword without a hilt. But something is needed to bring it forth. Blood and souls are the most common and can be used to anchor magic to someone or something. Some locations provide natural anchors for such a power, such as the Rhoyne or Asshai. Magic is stronger in those locations for some queer reason."
"What about individuals? You said there is power in kingsblood. You know why?"
"I don't. But I've found the more powerful the individual or how influential they are, the more power they carry inside them. It makes me think it does have something to do with belief. The idea of kingship itself is arbitrary. Anyone can be king; even a humble butcher if they declare themselves as such. I need further research on the matter. It should provide some interesting possibilities."
"Power resides were people think it resides," I quoted Varys. "Perhaps that is why." It would make sense. Khal Drogo was burn't in the pyre and helped hatch the dragons. He'd been a khal who commanded a horde made up of a hundred-thousand Dothraki and was feared throughout the world. We now had him in custody. Is he enough to hatch dragons?
I knew then what I needed to do.
"You may have a point. Magic has different rules and many of which are unknown to us. The gods gave humans the power of magic but said power always comes with a price. They want things for nothing of value is ever given freely. Blood magic is the most powerful expression of that but is most frowned upon."
"My expertise isn't magic so that's why I delegated everything related to you. Regardless, we are returning to the manse so you can continue your studies there, and please don't provide too much information. I still desire to sleep easy."
"Prefer that to field experiments," Lyra grinned. "I haven't used that equipment you bought me since leaving. I will relax first. Oh, and thank you for sending me almost to my death."
"I aim to please. When Blackheart is done with him, Khal Drogo is coming to us. I won't let your most prized test subject have a chance to flee. He also owns property in Pentos that I want."
"Thief as well as murderer," Lyra clicked her tongue.
"I want his money to help finance further ambitions. His war chests helped but his manse and everything in it will be more than sufficient for myself . . . and Illyrio. He is to be executed at some point anyway, so it makes no matter."
"But not until I have a little fun with him." She tapped my shoulder almost with affection. "I have a fun few months planned."
Those words made me shudder. I didn't know what female Qyburn planned and I didn't want to know. There were many things worse than death. "The less I know, the better. Know where Vaquo is?"
She shrugged. "Don't know. I've been busy with the Halfmaester, but the last I saw him, Vaquo was doing last minute improvements on his field artillery."
I should have known. Since the battle, he'd been working every waking moment, shouting at the engineers beneath him and staying up late to improve his designs. I thanked her and found the Volantene in his tent, bent over a pile of awkwardly drawn designs of catapults and ballistae. Since the battle, his drawing and writing skills had declined no thanks to him having no sleep. Beside him on the floor were plates of uneaten food gone to spoil.
I frowned at both the sight and the smell. "Food is meant to be eaten, not ignored," I said. The still plump Volantene didn't look away. He could get so deep in concentration that I doubted even an earthquake would force him out of his trance. I put my hand on his shoulder, squeezed, and that seemed to wake him.
"Ugh? Oh, I was just working on how to improve the reloading speed of the repeating scorpions. As well as improving a problem of jamming which I encountered during the battle. The men complained of jamming. I've been working on that problem," the Volantene engineer said with a yawn.
"Good morning, Vaquo. How are you doing? I'm doing great myself. Thanks for asking."
The round-faced, fair-haired man turned to me, pale eyes flickering for a moment as he processed my snide remark. Then his eyes narrowed. "I would have thought that fighting would soil your mood."
The opposite really. I feel quite alive in the heat of battle. "I'm being sarcastic, Vac," I rolled my eyes. Sometimes talking to him was like talking to a brick wall. It didn't help that Vaquo was bad at everything that didn't have anything to do with technology and poor people skills. Standing beside him made me look like a social butterfly by comparison.
"Is that even necessary?"
"It is one of my most pressing duties," I informed him, pulling out a stool and taking a seat. "Eng—the common tongue is my second language, the Valyrian dialect my third."
"The Valyrian dialects are multiple different languages," he informed me.
I gave a brisk gesture, pulled out a bota bag and sucked the tip. It was only water flavoured with lemon but was cool and refreshing. "Does it matter?"
"If you want to be specific."
I rolled my eyes.
"So, what is your first language?"
"That's not important," I grunted, already bored of this conversation. At least Lyra can give as good as she gets . . . "I've got good news for you, Vaquo. We're returning to Pentos."
"Thank the gods. I hate it here. Flies and walking and riding, oh, and death." He pouted his thick lips, looking very much like a petulant child if it was in the body of a man in his mid-twenties. "When are we going?"
"Soon. We're going to take a ship from Myr to Pentos." My friend frowned. He didn't like ships, did Vaquo Volnyros. "After this battle . . . plans have changed." We had Khal Drogo in chains and I had aspirations to hatch the dragons still. The words 'Fire and Blood' seemed to be instructions but I believed more was needed. Either way, Illyrio would have the eggs and I did ask him to get as many as possible.
"They always change," the fair-haired man said bitterly. "The plans change every time the moon turns. At least the Westerosi stay static." His face became a sneer. "The maesters have power and that's one of the reasons their technology has been consistently at least a couple decades behind Essos. Since we worked together, that gap has only increased."
Thanks to me, you mean. I didn't say that though. I wouldn't be able to achieve near as much without Haldon and Vaquo. I knew how it worked and the concept, but not how to make it. "Unless we conquer the Seven Kingdoms and destroy the maesters' stranglehold of Westeros and all its institutions . . ." Those words were mentioned in passing and the Volantene looked at me with questioning eyes. Before he could ask, I clapped my hands together and said, "Up and ready, soldier. It's a long ride through the Disputed Lands and a long journey by sea. I suggest you pack and eat something. You're looking rather thin nowadays."
"Joy," Vaquo sarcastically replied.
...
When Illyrio's residence appeared on the horizon, I was happier than perhaps I should have been. The manse was the closest thing to an actual home I had outside of a tent. Besides things like flushing toilets, it was far nicer than my residence in the UK which had walls and a ceiling so thin they might as well be paper. This was a palace and my father was a merchant prince who loved to pamper me. It would be a lie to say I didn't enjoy it. Fortunately, I had been careful to not get overindulgent. Otherwise I'm sure I would become an equivalent or worse than Aegon the Unworthy.
There's still time for that. Power does reveal who we truly are.
I shuddered at the thought of becoming like him and, in the corner of my eyes, saw Dalabhar glance at me. He followed like a shadow, enough that I sometimes forgot he was behind me unless he spoke. "We're finally here. What do you think of my abode?"
He looked down at me quizzingly. "Abode?"
"Home, residence, dwelling."
"I cannot say I'm familiar with that language," he conceded. "Looks typical for standard Pentoshi architecture. Brick walls and square towers. Though I believe it should be further strengthened. Though it's a palace, defences should be a primary concern, especially for one as powerful as the magister."
I rolled my eyes. Trust Dalabhar to see a splendid palace belonging to one of the richest men in the world, with vast gardens and scenic views and only be concerned about its defensive layout. "I doubt my father cares much about that sort of thing. The high walls and Unsullied are enough for him. Should protect against intrusion and the occasional riot."
The Summer Islander huffed. "There can be further improvements. You're a Blackfyre, Westerosi will be after you."
I glanced at him with a look telling him to shut his mouth. It hadn't taken long for my adjutant to become aware of my heritage. Being a foreigner who didn't concern himself with the politics of the Seven Kings, he cared little for it. I also didn't expect him to run to King Robert for what did he have to gain besides coin? I paid him handsomely, though Dalabhar didn't seem interested in money. His tent and processions were modest nor was he the kind to waste it on prostitutes and other vices. It made me wonder where his money went. Maybe invests in a low risk investment scheme so he can live on the profits. Actually, that wouldn't surprise me. He was a quiet man, but dangerously smart. In fact, many of the people who surrounded me were dangerously smart . . . if somewhat limited in their scope of skills. They seemed to be the minority, which made them look even smarter considering Essos was filled with bumbling incompetents. Nine out of every ten are idiots. It's the tenth that you must watch out for.
Just like the first time I entered the manse, we were greeted by one of Illyrio's slave girls who led us inside and chattered away of what was going on. My retinue took their leave to their own chambers. They had a long ride and plenty to unpack.
"So . . . the Targaryens," I spoke as I walked through one of the marble courtyards lined with beautiful plants, painted statues and water features that must have cost a fortune, though one Illyrio was more than capable of affording. "May I ask where they are? My father as well."
The willowy girl turned to me, her cheeks a slight blush and had a little smile on her lips. She was beautiful but seeing as she was a household slave in Essos, that seemed a prerequisite. Despite myself, I felt a warmth in my cheeks. "Magister Illyrio is in the garden . . . the main one, master. Viserys—I mean, His Grace, King Viserys the Third of his Name, is in the city proper trying to hire sellswords though I fear few are willing to listen to His Graces words. The sister, the Princess Daenerys Targaryen, should be in the library. The princess can usually be found there."
"Thank you for that." I smiled warmly at her. It was always good to be nice to the servants even if they were truly slaves. Should Illyrio die and his entire inheritance falls to me, the first thing I planned would be freeing them from bondage and offer a salary. It wasn't unknown in Essos for people to sell themselves or their families into slavery for a roof over their heads and regular meals so I doubted they would refuse the offer.
Smiling once more at her, I bowed my head respectfully and headed to the garden. I was feeling nervous about meeting them, especially Daenerys for some odd reason. I felt my stomach knot up at the thought. Would she be her book or show counterpart? Seeing as Jon Connington and others existed, I expected the former. I had always wondered what a meeting between Young Griff and Daenerys would be like. Hopefully this meeting would turn out better than what's predicted for the books. Where my eyes melt her rather than those dragons of hers melting me. At least she didn't have dragons this time around . . . yet.
Regardless of what happened with the Targaryens, I was unsure how to bring this up to Magister Illyrio. Would I just walk over to my father, surprise him with my presence than proclaim I screwed up his plan? Wouldn't be the first time I did that. Had he already received the message of the defeat and capture of Khal Drogo? For all the effort he's put into that, I doubted a few words could pacify him, even if they came from my mouth.
Father was basking in the sun, reclining in a massive couch with silken cushions stuffed with goose down. The chair groaned beneath his weight as he gobbled pasty treats from a gilded platter. His face was puffy, and jewels danced as he moved his hands: emerald, onyx and opal, tiger's eye and tourmaline, rubies and amethysts and sapphire, jade, diamond and pearl. A household could live a lifetime on just one of the rings on his thumbs. Yes, he can afford himself more than three dragon eggs. Just the wealth he displayed on his person further cemented my beliefs in constructing an Eastern Trading Company for Westeros. There was so much more wealth in trading precious spices than harvesting staple crops. Entire empires economies had been made just being positioned on the silk road.
Illyrio turned to me, his pig eyes dark. "Come and take a seat. We have something we need to talk about."
No hello or how have you been? The magister didn't sound happy, so he most likely received the news. Chewing the inside of my cheek, I awkwardly took a seat opposite him on a padded bench. "Father, I—"
"You listen to me. I heard what happened. I heard you and the Golden Company fought Khal Drogo. Is this true?" His words were not a question, but a statement and not a happy one at that.
I'm glad you care about my well-being, dearest father of mine, seeing as you've always planned on me being the puppet to your ambitions even before I was a sperm. "We beat him," I stated. A most one-sided engagement because one side was using tactics and the other wasn't. "And in my defence . . . he attacked us. We were merely defending ourselves."
The Cheesemonger's cheeks went ruddy crimson and his words came out as a growl like he was trying to suppress his rage but failing miserably. This wasn't a side of Illyrio I had seen before. It was surreal, but this was properly the real Illyrio Mopatis. The man the slaves feared, the magister who wouldn't hesitate betraying those he supposedly cared about if it brought the tiniest advancement for himself. The man who would think of nothing of bathing entire continents in blood to prop up his own ego.
That is what I truly am for you, isn't it? Something for you to brag about. He was the Aegon the Unworthy of my story. Beneath his jovial exterior of smiles and honeyed words and apparent helpfulness was an exploitative monster whose cynicism and coldness masterminded the whole plot. A scheming narcissist who was dismissive of anyone he perceived as beneath his social and intellectual standing. To him, everyone was merely property. Even his wife, Serra, the person he claimed of love was simply an object, something to warm his bed and birth a son. I'm just an extension of yourself aren't I, father?
"You knew what we had planned, Aegon. You threw it all away! Do you know how much coin and time I spent getting Khal Drogo here!"
I met his rage stoically as I could. "He came after us, being paid by rivals to our operations in Essos. You need to remember that even pawns have minds of their own and can be swayed from the stated goals. I didn't desire such an outcome, but it seems your plans with the Dothraki would have failed seeing what happened."
"What happened? Tell me, boy, did you—"
"Let me finish speaking. Your plans failed. Khal Drogo attacked us for he didn't seem aware that he was meant to work alongside the Golden Company and not crush them. Or he did and just didn't care. We are not the only players in the world and others have their own desires." That made me wonder what was going to happen with the Triachy with that plan having failed. I doubted the other Essosi powers would stop at only one failure. They'll try again and again until they crash and burn themselves.
"You should have told me. I would have sorted it out," Illyrio growled at me, like it was my fault which, actually, was correct.
"I could have but . . ." I paused for a moment, looking of the statue of Illyrio that looked shockingly like myself besides the few minor differences. "Perhaps it was for the best."
"The best?" Illyrio was aghast.
"The best," I repeated. "We beat Khal Drogo in the open field. No doubt Blackheart informed you how we did it. If we can achieve that with our small army, what would Westeros have done? It should be known that the Dothraki would have failed in Westeros. Oh, they might have sown destruction by pillaging and disrupting the land, but they are no true threat to the lords at the end of the day. They can't storm castles nor beat a knight." They don't even wear armour for crying out loud! "And thank you for being concerned about my health. I could have died."
Illyrio Mopatis forced himself to his feet, those thick arms of his shaking underneath silk crimson robes. At some point, the loosely knotted belt holding it had gone undone and I could see a huge white belly and a pair of heavy breasts that sagged like sacks of suet covered with coarse yellow hair. A most ugly sight. Made one wonder how the statue could have turned into the man before me.
"We had a plan. We discussed this. You should know the Dothraki weren't meant to win. Only to disrupt the Seven Kingdoms. Leaving them open to you."
"Plans change," I said defiantly, refusing to buckle. "They would have been useless and not worthy of the ships it would have taken to transport them across the Narrow Sea. At least our plans can change to something better."
"Something better?" Illyrio was furious, but thankfully he wasn't shouting any more. His voice had an edge to it, however.
"Something better," I repeated. "Plans change and this may be for the best . . ."
"For the best?" Illyrio threw his massive arms up and those long sleeves almost smacked me in the face. "My – our – plans are ruined, and you say it's for the best? Do you even hear yourself, boy? The Dothraki—"
"The Dothraki would have died, we have proven that. Oh, it might not have been one battle, you know, it might have been two or several, but they would never have succeeded in our goals. There are other ways we can take the Seven Kingdoms and they don't involve throwing a Dothraki horde at them." I paused and met Illyrio's eyes staring back at me. "Perhaps I should announce my identity."
Illyrio paled. "You . . . not yet. Not now. What foolish notion has entered your head?" He looked me up and down like I was not the same boy.
I smirked at him, seeing all that rage leave and be replaced by fear thanks to a few simple words. "I propose a Blackfyre and Targaryen alliance. A union between former enemies. My army, your coin, their claim. It might be enough to cast Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister down." We only invade after the civil war has achieved the right amount of destruction, I could have added.
Illyrio's mouth was agar. "You think to ally with your family's enemies?"
"Indeed."
The Pentoshi Magister ran a hand across his sweaty face. "Might be for you were raised as one, but this is nothing short of foolishness. They're the enemy and what would they give you? They have no army, no supporters. The fact the Targaryen pretender is called the Beggar King is example enough of that. Has Myles Toyne told you of this fools plan?"
"Indeed. He has his worries but desired to talk to you about it, magister."
"Then I suggest you remain outside this discussion. You're only a boy."
"A boy?" I stood up and met his stare with my own. A fire was burning intensely inside my chest and my words came out as a growl, "Is that what you said the other times I put my voice forward? You told me I'm the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms. That I have the blood of kings in my veins. Well then, father. Let me be a king. Allow me to make my own decisions and freely speak my mind. I say the Targaryens could make useful allies."
"Allies? After what their family did to yours?" Illyrio's face went even more crimson and looked fit to explode. "Do you know your histories? Your kin were killed, repeatedly, in cold blood. Outright murdered! Aenys Blackfyre, murdered under guest rights. Haegon murdered after surrendering."
"Indeed. But we can't afford to be picky. Just as they can't."
"These words you speak are thoughtless. I doubt they – Viserys – would agree to it. He's prideful and an utter fool."
I wasn't interested in the Begger King. I was only interested in the girl. Through my plans were in ruins, I did hope there were some way to scavenge them. I had a mage and a man with kingsblood. Hopefully Lyra had the capabilities to hatch the eggs and then we could have dragons. "They'll agree. He wants an army and is desperate. He was so desperate he would have agreed to marry his little sister to a stranger from the Dothraki Sea, turning her into little more than a whore for the promise of a circlet of gold to be placed atop his head. No doubt I would be a preferable replacement for such an arrangement. An alliance sealed with marriage."
"The girl? A young princess with nothing to give and little more than a beggar? What more does she have to give you than others? There are many young ladies in Westeros. Maidens as pretty as summer, with lands and armies and coin to offer to the cause. You can have better. Maidens of the Reach . . . landed and powerful. She's pretty, I'll grant you, but what does this Daenerys Targaryen give you?"
"A claim."
"You have a claim."
"A weak one, father. A very weak one. The lords and ladies of Westeros will see me little more than a peasant given an army. You, no offence, are an upstart merchant in their eyes, a man who grew rich from the not-so-respected profession of selling cheese. The Westerosi lords look down upon merchants with quite the passion. My mother, oh, she had the dragon blood in her veins but was a bedslave. Such parentage would ensure the Westerosi ride against me. But . . . should I marry a princess with one of the strongest claims to the Iron Throne, well . . ." I shrugged, "I shouldn't need to tell you."
"You and Daenerys?" He laughed, rolls of fat rolling, and that anger faded surprisingly quick. "You . . . planned that from the start, didn't you? Marry the girl you believed your aunt?"
She isn't my aunt. She's a distant cousin. I smirked, "Both House Targaryen and Blackfyre have married relatives. Aunts and sisters and nieces included." Besides, nephew to aunt and uncle and niece was common enough in medieval Europe and I never grew up with Daenerys so my mind wouldn't have imprinted that we were related.
"I have my doubts for such a marriage. While I do find humour in a Targaryen marrying a Blackfyre; starting with a Daenerys, ending with a Daenerys. But would this girl be enough? She's a shy and fearful little thing. Soft and malleable." His face hardened. "Not strong by any means. Perhaps for the best. Women have their place. But what of Viserys?"
Daenerys not strong? Oh, father, you miscalculate. She's quite cunning and capable when you come down to it. More so than her idiot of a brother, anyhow. "He matters not to me. Do as you will. Through I would think it wise to retain a hold on Viserys for now. An exiled Targaryen prince would always have uses."
Illyrio nodded, still looking annoyed. "Just so. We best plan for the future. But you will not reveal yourself as a Blackfyre. Not yet. Not until I say so. Understand?" Those words weren't a question.
"Your will be done."
...
As Larra said, it was in the library where I discovered the Mother of Dragons.
Daenerys Targaryen sat in a shadowed alcove, in a comfy chair of velvet and plush cushions, knees pressed to her chest while she read a small book. I could recognise it from when I decided to ransack my father's library in the quest of knowledge. A fairy-tale book of a dragon kidnapping a princess and locking her in a tower to be rescued by some knight. A standard tale. Does she see the dragon as hero or villain? I wasn't surprised by her choice. The younger Daenerys was like Sansa in a lot of ways – naïve with idealistic views of the world – almost like they were foils to each other.
"Princess," I greeted warmly, performing a bow just how Septa Lemore had taught me.
The Targaryen almost jumped out her seat in surprise. She turned to stare. Clearly, Daenerys hadn't noticed my presence. I put on my most charming smile and entered cautiously like how one would approach a fawn. The plush Myrish carpet on the floor was soft and muffled my footsteps.
"Hello?" Her words were like a squeak.
I tried to suppress a laugh at the sound. So, this is Daenerys Targaryen? She wasn't how I expected her to look. While it would be more than a little creepy to say she was beautiful, because she was a thirteen-year-old girl, it would be wrong to say she wasn't cute. Very, very cute. Pinch her cheeks adorable. The girl before me wasn't Queen Daenerys Targaryen the First of her Name, the Mother of Dragons, the Breaker of Chains, the Scourge of Slaver's Bay and the Bearer of a Thousand Titles. No, the girl before me was Daenerys the Tiny.
I felt an ounce of regret for not helping her sooner. While I'd been scheming, I forgot about the person beneath the character. Dany was only a little girl, barely even a teen, yet forced to endure going from city to city under the care of Viserys. I performed as needed. I wouldn't – couldn't – regret my actions, nor could I change the past. I could help her now though. I would give her the advantages I'd been blessed with: education, companions and safety. Yes, that would be for the best. If I still felt frustration about what happened with Khal Drogo, it had vanished.
"Hello," I replied, grinning boyishly. Her large eyes flickered. While mine were the kind that changed depending on the light, hers was a gentle violet. They were also stunningly beautiful. "May I introduce myself; my name is Griff Mopatis, son of Magister Illyrio Mopatis of the Free City of Pentos." As Illyrio recommended, I wouldn't tell her my Blackfyre origins. I smiled to put her at ease for the girl looked somewhat nervous. "May I say it's good to finally meet you after hearing so much, Princess Daenerys."
"You know me?"
More than you know, my dear. Wow, that sounded creepy in my head. I was sure Daenerys would think the same if she knew I'd been reading her thoughts from a book. "I've heard of you, princess. May I add my condolences to what has happened to you and your family. None of House Targaryen deserved such a fate to have befallen them." Well . . . Aerys and Rhaegar did, but none of the others.
"I . . . I thank you for your kind words, Master Griff."
"Please, princess, just call me Griff." Once more, I grinned a boyish smile and I saw colour rise to her cheeks. Damn this smile . . .
"Griff . . ." her voice trailed off before she returned the expression. It was cute. "I'm happy to meet you. I-I thank you for your words. This manse as well . . . it is beautiful. Me and my brother have been hosted by many merchant princes and archons, but few could rival this. Viserys and I are thankful for your father's generosity."
"I thank you for the kind words and I'm sure my father would be most delighted. How long have you been here, Princess Daenerys?"
"A . . . a couple of fortnights." She swallowed. "N-not that long.
"What a shame. I wouldn't have minded showing you around the manse, but seeing as you've already found the library, you know where the most important room is."
She giggled. "Many areas are left unexplored still."
For good reason. "Then I would love to show you around sometime, princess. There are many beautiful areas of the manse I'm sure you'll find to your liking. There are multiple gardens and courtyards and secret groves, oh, and the sunset is beautiful if you look out at the bay."
"I've seen a Pentoshi sunset on the bay. It is truly beautiful," she sighed. "My brother . . . my brother may not like you talking to me. You may want to leave."
"Prince Viserys, correct?"
"King Viserys," she corrected. "He's the true king of the Seven Kingdoms. He gets mad when you don't use his proper title. You wouldn't want to wake the dragon."
Wake the snake more like. "King, Your Grace, alright, got it. I'll try not to answer incorrectly. Though I'll only take my leave if you desire it. Otherwise I can stay and show you some of my favourite books. There are many good ones. I especially recommend Maester Yandels Fire and Blood which I've found to be most insightful, though I would take the histories with a pinch of salt. My father's collection is quite expansive though rarely does he actually read any of them. He's more a collector than a reader."
Daenerys nodded; violet eyes somewhat fixed on my blue-hair even though she seemed too polite to ask about it. It shouldn't be that out the ordinary. Many people in Essos dyed their hair. Tyrosh was everyone's first thought, but many in Pentos did so as well.
"I-I'm fine, Mast—Griff. Pray forgive me, but I must decline the offer . . . though I thank you for your kind words and generosity."
"Of course, princess. Should you ever be of need of anything, you can call for me and I'll come running. I'm at your service." I bowed my head and took her hand to plant a gentle kiss on the back of it. "Farewell, princess. The best of luck for your future endeavours, and those of your brother."
As I walked away, I thought, perhaps it was for the best my plan had failed.
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