Kapitel 18: Interlude: Two Exiled Dragons
Viserys stood alone on the balcony, staring across the Bay of Pentos towards Westeros and King's Landing, the Iron Throne, his home.
All his life, King Viserys Targaryen, the Third of his Name, had been on the run; all beginning with that horrid night on Dragonstone. They had to flee and he could still remember it vividly in his dreams: the rain gushing down and flooding the streets, the pitch darkness and the black waters kicked up by heavy winds and smashing into the hull of the galley, the angry shouts of the garrison behind them and the cursing of sailors.
His mother's words, "Protect her, Viserys. Protect your sister . . ."
He had nightmares of that night and many times Viserys woke up soaking with sweat. His mother, Queen Rhaella Targaryen, had been weak when Daenerys was born. His mother who'd been the image of Targaryen beauty had become haggard with hollow cheeks, skin hanging from her bones and boasting a sickly pale tone. Viserys had wept and screamed and tried to remain, but instead of being at her side, he'd been dragged out the birthing chambers as the maester rushed around in panic.
It was shortly later, after the storm destroyed the royal fleet, that they needed to flee Dragonstone when the traitorous garrison tried to sell him and Dany to the Usurper. They were smuggled from the royal nursery by Ser Willem Darry to Braavos so they could later return to Westeros with fire and blood. But that wasn't to be. Their protector got the cough and after five years of declining health, the two royals were thrown out. House Targaryen, once so proud and powerful, was than forced to live on the charity of others. Viserys was the blood of the dragon, a descendent of Aegon the Conqueror. A king. He wasn't born to beg nor plea. He had the blood of Old Valyria inside him. He just needed an army . . .
And he now had one. Eight years he had been travelling around the Free Cities. They went from Braavos to Myr, Tyrosh and Qohor, Volantis and then Lys. They never stayed in one place for long. Neither he nor Daenerys could afford to when the Usurper had knives searching for them. As long as I live, he can never sit the throne easily, not when there are those who will rise up for me. He couldn't help but have doubts, however. If House Targaryen was loved and held support, surely the lords of Westeros would have helped him? Helped his sister when they were struggling for food after selling what little they had?
They hadn't always been poor, even after being exiled and kicked out the Braavosi house. They managed to retrieve some of their treasures taken from Dragonstone – his mother's crown being the most valuable. At first, the magisters and archons and merchant princes were pleased to have welcomed the last Targaryens into their homes and sit at their tables. A few times Viserys tried to set up a royal court for exiles like himself to unite House Targaryen with their supporters, but only a handful came and those that did left shortly thereafter for they were little more than rats after easy pickings. As time went on and the Usurper's hold on the Iron Throne grew stronger and more secure, the Essosi grew increasingly vocal in their refusal to hear his pleads and began closing their doors. With no more help, Viserys had been forced to sell what they had. It was mother's crown that had been the last to go. It had been his most treasured procession, the last keepsake of Queen Rhaella they had. It was a delicate silver crown crusted with amethysts that were the same shade as her eyes. She had kind eyes. Viserys had loathed to part with it. It was only when his stomach was empty and Dany was crying on the street, begging for food that he grudgingly parted with it. The trader, the cheat he was, knew how desperate they were and took advantage, paying them only a pittance. Viserys had been forced to accept though and cursed the man every night since.
Now Viserys Targaryen was closer to the Iron Throne and hoped the days of begging and living on the charity of strangers had ended. Under the roof of Magister Illyrio Mopatis of Pentos, he had been clothed and fed and treated like the king he was. He had servants to tend to his every need and even comely wrenches to warm his bed - things he never enjoyed before. He knew the magister was going to help him, Illyrio proclaimed as much, but not in the way he expected.
Not with the Blackfyres.
Viserys felt fire rise in his belly at the thought. On numerous occasions he had asked sellswords to join his banner. The Long Lances, the Second Sons, the Company of the Roses and the Windblown. But the Golden Company had been the one he'd chosen first. How could he not? They were the most renowned free company in the world and full of hardened killers – exiles like himself. At the time, it was thought the Blackfyres were long dead. Selling much of what he had and loaning money from some petty bankers, Viserys had organised a feast for the commanders of the Golden Company. They drank from treasured silverware on the finest of wines and foods, all organised in the hope of swaying them to his cause of retaking Westeros. Oh, they ate his food and drank his wine and demanded even more, but when Viserys had asked their commander, a certain Myles Toyne, they laughed at him. In front of potential allies, the captain-general called him a false dragon and a worthless child.
He could still remember their laughter, the insults they'd thrown his way and even the serving girls joined in. He wanted to kill them but said and did nothing. Having had their fill, the Golden Company left with full bellies. When the hall was empty, Viserys destroyed whatever he could get his hands on. He threw plates against the wall, he cursed and he screamed. He didn't know Daenerys had been hiding under the table, balling her eyes out.
Now they had declared for him, calling him His Grace, Viserys the Third of his Name, the true Lord of the Seven kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. They called me king.
They promised him the Iron Throne and Westeros, Robert Baratheon's head on a spike and many other things. They also asked for many things in return. They asked for lordships and honours, positions in court and coin. So much coin that Viserys had doubts whether he could pay it back. He'd do it though. If there was a chance of returning House Targaryen to the Iron Throne and home, he had the duty to do it. Even still, Viserys couldn't trust the army in his service. He couldn't. Not when a single Blackfyre still drew breath.
Especially that one . . .
Viserys wasn't a fool. He had seen the way the boy had been looking at his sister. Oh, he acted courteous and noble, but Viserys knew he was anything but. His fears were realised when Illyrio put forth the offer of marriage. He didn't want Daenerys to be married to a Blackfyre and be soiled by a traitor's seed, but he was in no position to refuse either, not when Viserys was surrounded and being watched by the Summer Islander that followed the black dragon everywhere like a second shadow. They might profess loyalty, but they weren't loyal to him. They served the black dragonspawn.
But what choice did he have? The Golden Company may act the loyal servant and say their word is as good as gold, but Viserys clearly remembered how they laughed at him, taunted him and called him worthless. They were, however, the only army that was offering to help press House Targaryen's claim. Viserys couldn't afford to refuse them. They were the only chance for him to return home with his sister at his side. But could they win him the throne? The Golden Company had doubled its number from the last Viserys saw them and could rival the Iron Isles when it came to manpower, they were also battle-hardened killers who had destroyed some khal and routed his barbaric horde in open battle.
They wouldn't be his only army, King Viserys knew. There were many in Westeros who would join his banner. The Dornish were angry at the Usurper for the death of Elia's children. Many houses had lost land and power during the rebellion and would desire to see it returned. Viserys was more than happy to fulfil their desires. Darry and Mooton, Hightower and Tyrell and Tarly would desire him back. From what Magister Illyrio said, Lady Margaery Tyrell was a young maiden, flowered and comely, a daughter of the Reach who could call forth a hundred thousand men. If a rose wasn't a high enough lady for him, Illyrio pointed that Princess Arianne Martell was also unmarried and the heiress of Dorne. She was a bit too old for him, Viserys thought, she was twenty-and-one.
He was the same age as her, but Viserys remembered father telling him that younger wives were better, that they properly listened to their husbands and were more fertile. As much as His Grace knew he should be marrying inside the family to keep the blood of the dragon pure, Viserys was prepared to make sacrifices to get his throne. He knew that needed to happen since the beginning. Not only to remove Robert Baratheon but, sooner or later, he would need his own independent power base made of his own men and knights and loyal lords to fight the Golden Company and remove Aegon Blackfyre before the pretender removed him. Viserys had no doubt the Golden Company would kill him to put their little black dragon on the Iron Throne.
If allying with his ancestral enemies was needed to launch the invasion, Viserys would take it. He would smile and act the thankful king, but he would be cautious and careful. As soon as the black dragon made his move for control, Viserys would be ready for him.
...
Daenerys Targaryen had never put much thought into who she would marry.
Before this point, she had always imagined she would marry her older brother to keep the Targaryen traditions alive and the bloodlines pure just as their parents had done, and their parents before them. Or she would be married off to a powerful Westerosi lord to ensure support for Viserys when he finally invaded and took back the Iron Throne.
Not once did Dany ever imagine she would marry a black dragon.
Targaryen and Blackfyre, a marriage to unite the branches. To turn bitter enemies into allies in their darkest hour.
"A worthy story, don't you think?" Aegon had asked her when it was all decided. "Us two, the last scions of our houses and united against common enemies. That's not the best part, you know. You're a Daenerys, the name of the Targaryen princess Daemon Blackfyre loved from afar, the princess who helped bridge the divide between Dorne and the Iron Throne in a union that brought peace from where there had been war."
And open the realm for civil war, she could have replied. Daenerys Targaryen supposed it did make a fanciful tale, just like those stories she enjoyed reading. She couldn't trust him, however. Aegon had a face one could easily trust, and the most striking eyes Dany couldn't help but drown in. But that was when he was Griff Mopatis and not Aegon Blackfyre.
"You do look beautiful, princess," Septa Lemore told her as she got her gown ready and Illyrio's servants filled the tub with steaming hot water. Dany loved her bath hot. It made her feel clean. "You see the satin? Come straight from Yi Ti, much nicer than what comes west of Qarth." The septa stared at the dress for a moment. It was indeed a beautiful thing and crafted by the finest seamstresses in the Free Cities. Dany's smallclothes were all silk and the gown was ivory samite, decorated with Myrish lace and tiny dragon scales made of silvery satin. Her shoulders were exposed but touching the floor were long translucent sleeves.
It was a woman's grown, no doubt about that. Daenerys was a woman flowered, and no longer a little girl for her brother to shelter. She had bled and could now be married. I am a dragon and dragons know no fear. Even still, such a thing scared her.
"She does, doesn't she," said the young sixteen-year-old blonde named Larra who served as one of her personal handmaidens. "A true princess of House Targaryen. What do you think, Princess Daenerys?"
"It is beautiful," Dany replied, not really paying attention. She had only put it on once to ensure the dress fit and it did so perfectly. Dany herself was petite and delicately built. Viserys said she was as flat as a boy and not womanly at all.
"You should have a few gems as well," Doreah declared. "Amethyst. Finely cut ones to match your eyes. Yes, it'll look perfect. Just the sight will make him love you."
Love me . . . That was a nice thought. But would a dress be enough? Daenerys wanted a husband to love her as a husband was meant to love their wife. But she wasn't a foolish young girl and knew such things weren't certain to happen. Marriages were always political. Dany wondered whether Aegon would remain loyal or whether he'd stray. He was of bastard blood, after all. He may come to love me . . .
"I wouldn't have minded Targaryen colours," Lemore commented. "Red and black is striking, but a silver princess will do just as well, maybe better. When you first put it on, you looked like the Maiden herself. Sweet and innocent and oh so beautiful. Maybe more so."
Dany blushed. "Septa!"
The Dornishwoman grinned slyly. "I speak about only what my eyes saw."
Daenerys averted her gaze. Doreah pulled a rough cotton tunic over Dany's head and helped her into the steaming bath which had been scented with rich fragrant oils. The water was hot indeed, but Dany didn't flinch nor cry out. Instead she relaxed and felt at peace. Viserys told her dragons lived for the heat, that the fires inside them were hotter than the hottest of water. Ours is the house of the dragon and fire is in our blood.
"I disagree, lady septa," Larra rattled on as Lemore washed her long silver-gold hair and gently combed out the snags with the gentleness of a loving mother. "She may be a Targaryen, but it fits her. More so than black and red. Close your eyes, princess, and lift your feet so I can remove the callus. When this is done, you won't look like you've ever been on the run. You'll look a proper Targaryen. You'll have gold and jewels of all sorts. Amethysts to fit your eyes, silver your hair, is how a princess is supposed to look."
A princess. Daenerys had never known what that felt like. Ever since she was little, she had been on the run from city to city with Viserys pulling at her arm. Maybe they spent near a year in one place, a few months in another, but they always needed to run from the knives of the Usurper. Closing her eyes, Dany imagined the way it must have been. The flight to Dragonstone and the moonlight shimmering on the ship's black sails. The Crown Prince valiantly battling the Usurper in the bloody waters on the Trident, fighting for the realm and family and his love. The sack of King's Landing by the Usurper's dogs where Princess Elia Martell of Dorne pleaded for mercy as Rhaegar's son and heir was ripped from her breasts and murdered before her eyes. Little Rhaenys who was found hiding under her father's bed and stabbed half a hundred times by the Lannisters. Then there was father who was opened by the Kingslayer's golden sword. The anointed king murdered by his own kingsguard.
Had there ever been a darker day?
It was Magister Illyrio who invited them inside his manse, where they ate his food and were pampered by his servants. Dany was only thirteen, but old enough to know such gifts were rarely without a price. She had wondered before and asked Viserys, who said that Magister Illyrio was supporting their claim. But now they knew the truth, and Dany couldn't help but be worried. The young man, this Aegon, was their enemy. Viserys told her so. He told her stories of the Blackfyre pretenders who attacked Westeros, trying to destroy House Targaryen and steal the Iron Throne. They were monsters. Villains. There was Daemon the Black Dragon who poisoned the hearts of many loyal lords with his false words. At his defeat, his family fled across the Narrow Sea and declared the true king a bastard born of wicked adultery. Then there was Maelys Blackfyre, who many thought was the last of the pretenders, a wicked monster of a man with two heads and a kinslayer of two. Illyrio Mopatis wasn't just a magister who had helped them, but he was the father of the Blackfyre she let herself get close to and come to like.
Dany felt like a fool.
It was her fault she let him get near with his kind words and pleasant smile. Despite everything and Viserys' warnings, Daenerys couldn't find it in herself to hate him. She even kept the portrait he did of her hidden inside her chambers. She tried but was unable to rid herself of it. Aegon didn't seem the one to want power. He had bent the knee to Viserys and treated her kindly. Surely that meant something. Even still, there was a voice in the back of her head telling her otherwise, that he would betray them like the Usurper and his ilk.
While conflicted on Aegon Blackfyre, she knew not to trust the magister. Illyrio Mopatis was a dealer in spices, gemstones, dragonbone and other, less savoury goods. He had friends all throughout the Free Cities, Westeros and even as far as Vaes Dothrak and the Jade Sea. It was said that no price was too great for him to sell a friend with a smile on his face. Daenerys listened to the talk in the streets but knew better than to question her brother, for his anger was a terrible thing when roused.
Dany opened her eyes and turned towards the balcony, the curtains wide-open and letting her look out directly into the bay where the waters looked so gentle. The square bricks of Pentos rose from the city and trading ships sailed in and out the narrow gap that was the only way to the Narrow Sea. Daenerys liked ships, loved sailing and watching the waves collide against the painted hulls. Once, when she was little, Dany wanted to be a sailor, but Viserys had twisted her arm and said she was a princess, nor a filthy sailor's wrench. For a moment, Dany forgot about the manse and her title. Instead she imagined herself in filthy rags, barefoot and breathless as she played in the dirt with the other children.
She wanted home.
Across the Narrow Sea was what her brother called home. The Sunset Kingdoms of Westeros. A land of castles and gentle sloping hills, flowered meadows and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose high as mountains and touched the sky. Where armoured knights rode into battle beneath the banners of their lords. She was told of great feasts and the Iron Throne itself, where the king sat as he presided over his sworn bannermen. The king, who should be a Targaryen with silver hair was instead a usurper with hair as black as his heart. The man who had slain her gallant brother Rhaegar and sent assassins across the Narrow Sea to murder children. People said Robert Baratheon was as strong as a bull and utterly fearless in battle, a man who loved nothing more than fighting. Under his evil banner was his horde of fallen knights and ambitious lords who had dishonoured their sworn vows to their king: the ruthless Lord Stannis who was loathed by smallfolk and noble alike, the cold-eyed Eddard Stark with his frozen heart from the savage north, the Lannister father and son, so rich and powerful and treacherous, and oath breakers of the worst sort. There were others as well, lords like Tully and Arryn, who proclaimed themselves loyal but had knifed House Targaryen in the back.
How could her brother hope to defeat such men? Little more than a month ago, they had nothing. No army, no supporters and only the clothes on their backs. Now they had the Golden Company, but they were questionable to say the least. It was reportedly a large army, but still meagre against the men and knights the lords of Westeros could call upon. Illyrio offered them support in coin but how could he compete against the wealth of Casterly Rock? How could the navies of the Triarchy dare challenge the Royal and Arbor Fleets in the sea? Three-hundred years ago, Aegon the Conqueror had dragons and took Westeros with fire and blood. Neither she nor Viserys had that.
Daenerys Targaryen didn't want to attack Westeros to return to a home she had never known. It would be foolish. Still, her brother had sworn a vow and lived to take back what was rightfully his. "Our people, our land, our home," Viserys told her every night. "We are the blood of the dragon and Westeros is ours by rights. Taken from us by treachery but ours still. One does not steal from a dragon. The dragon remembers. It always remembers. When we return, they'll burn."
Dany didn't want that. All she wanted was the house with the red door, the lemon tree growing outside her window, and the childhood she had never known.
When she was clean, they helped Dany out the water. Irri and Jhiqui towed her dry, Larra brushed her hair until it shone like molten silver and Doreah anointed her with rich perfumes from Lys. After all was done, they dressed her in garbs of deep plum silk Magister Illyrio had sent her. When they were sliding gilded sandals onto her feet, there was a knock on the door.
"Come in," she said, somewhat cautious.
Walking through the beautifully carved door, Illyrio entered, grinning from ear to ear.
"Master," Larra said, curtsying. "We did as you requested. Does she look . . ."
"A princess," Illyrio declared. He walked inside the room with surprising delicacy for such a massive man. Beneath loose garments of silk jiggled rolls of fat. Gemstones glittered on every finger and the magister had oiled his forked yellow beard until it shone like real gold. In no way would have Daenerys believed he was the father of Aegon Blackfyre. They looked so different. One slim and beautiful and looked every inch a hero, the other large and disgusting with oily skin and a rank smell coming off him. Magister Illyrio bowed his head, showing a thin line of crooked yellow teeth where his son's own were straight and white. "She is a vision, wouldn't you agree? A true vision. How a Targaryen should look."
Alongside him were two others. The short one was the captain-general who Daenerys remembered sitting at the table in silence while his officers laughed at herself and Viserys. His hair was thin and black while his face was homely like that of a thug with a large hook nose, a crooked jaw and two massive ears. He was gaunt from a lifetime of selling his sword and was clean-shaven with not so much a hair on his chin. Standing next to him was someone Dany at first believed was a woman, until he laughed. He had pale lilac eyes like her brother and long white-gold hair. His lips were too full to be those of a man and his ears dripped with precious pearls and purple stones. Such features would have made a woman beautiful, but on a man, it was too queer and off-putting. While the Lyseni's smile was cutting, his face was unreadable.
"She looks like a girl dressed up," said the androgynous man who was a member of the Golden Company. "Like a doll. Clearly you spared no expense, magister. Nothing but the best for yourself and son."
"Any right-minded man would be enraptured," declared Ser Myles Toyne. "She is slightly skinny, but that is to be expected. She is a child who has been on the streets. Regardless, she is a beauty. That much must be said. The blood of Old Valyria, no doubt." He smiled at her.
Daenerys didn't return it. She found herself trembling.
Myles Blackheart looked her up and down with pale-green eyes. A bushy eyebrow raised. "You are a Targaryen. Stand up. Don't slouch. Straighten your back, yes, like that. You need to look like the blood of the dragon. The daughter of a king and the sister of the newest one. You need to look your very best. No longer will you be running from place to place and hiding from the Usurper's knives, nor will you return to the streets."
"Uh . . . th-thank you, m-my lord," Dany said meekly.
"I am no lord, princess. Only a humble servant," he bowed his head. "Your mother would surely be proud if she was here now."
"You knew my mother?" What a foolish thing to say. Her mother wouldn't have known him.
"I'm afraid not, but I'm sure she would be," Myles Toyne said with a warm smile. "You and your brother are not the only royalty I've had the fortune to meet. Me and my kin had a chance encounter with a Princess of Dorne who would have been queen should things have happened as they should."
"Dornish Princess?" Then her mind put it together. "Princess Elia Martell?"
"Indeed. Her retinue was attacked by the Kingswood Brotherhood. A fine bunch of outlaws and a colourful collection of rebels. Fear not, for none were hurt. Princess Elia was merely taken. My own blood led the group. Ser Simon Toyne who met swords with the famous Ser Barristan Selmy and fell. Before that, he disguised himself as a mystery knight and entered the tourney at Storm's End, unhorsed by your own brother Rhaegar. It was these daring feats that made him known throughout the realm. He did love being recognised and that caused him to become a reckless knight, and a dead one."
Daenerys heard only a little about the Kingswood Brotherhood. Her brother told her everything she knew, but he was young and hadn't been a victim of their raids. "Can you tell me about them? The others and what did they do to the princess?"
Myles Toyne chuckled and glanced at his man. The Lyseni bowed his head and left, shortly followed by Magister Illyrio and all his servants. The knight took a seat on a stool and crackled his knuckles. "There is much to say about them. Though I was merely a squire back then."
"Tell me all," Dany pleaded. She wanted to know more about them.
He chuckled. "There were a few. Wenda the White Fawn who was young and fair and branded highborn prisoners on the rear. Oswyn Longneck the Thrice-Hanged, the tallest man you'd ever see, and as the name said, the man that couldn't be hanged. Fletcher Dick with his longbow and Big Belly Ben with his hammer. Ulmer the Archer who put an arrow through the hand of the captain of the White Cloaks and then there was the Smiling Knight himself."
"I heard about him," said Dany, remembering the story she'd been told. "Viserys said he was mad, but deadly with a sword. He doesn't have a true name."
"He's a character, that man," the captain-general of the Golden Company said with a light bob of the head. "He was a man who had married his sword and his true love was battle. Both a cruel man and an honourable knight. Chivalrous to maidens and ladies and refused to lay a hand on either, but mad once his sword was unsheathed. He sought out battle for battle's sake and had never known fear. He even killed Ser Victor Tyrell, the cousin of Lord Mace after capturing Jeyne Swann."
"He died, didn't he?"
"Almost all of them died. Except a few. I'm one of them. Oh, we were popular back then. We stole from the lords, ransomed them and shared the coin with the smallfolk. Simon always said we needed their support and we had it for a long time. We gave to charity, to the septs and those in need. Many hated their lords and we helped poachers who had starving mouths back in their hovels. But it wasn't enough. When Ser Arthur Dayne approached your father, laws were put forth to aid the smallfolk, if just for a time. Princess Elia had been captured and that was a step too far, you see. We were found by the kingsguard and fought a battle the singers continue to tell. The Smiling Knight duelled Ser Jaime Lannister and then Ser Arthur Dayne, needing to replace his sword midway through when Dawn cut through his. It was an honourable bout, but a fierce one. The Smiling Knight fell, as did his head. By then, most of us were dead. The Fawn fled while Ser Simon was killed by Ser Barristan Selmy. I managed to run and hide, where I was ferried to Essos. I don't know what happened to the others."
Daenerys nodded and studied the man. He wore dark, sober colours and plate dented from use. He was a knight, but not the way Dany imagined a knight to look. The stories told her of knights in bright shining armour, atop beautiful stallions where they would rescue maidens from monsters and bandits. This man had been a bandit and looked a dark knight – the villains of the stories. This man had been an outlaw against her father, had kidnapped her brother's wife and was serving a Blackfyre under her brother. Is there any darker fellowship?
"Thank you for the story, ser," she said politely.
"Few ask to hear it," he said with a warm smile. He was an ugly man, but when he smiled the roughness of his face seemed to vanish. "You must think I'm a fool. That we're fools."
"Sorry?"
"You and the lad. I don't know about recently, but the magister was aware you sneaked out at night to be alone. Can't blame you. Pentos is a beauty with the coloured lanterns and the dancing fireflies."
She blushed despite herself. "I mean, I . . ."
"A girl sneaking out with a handsome young man. There is nothing to explain. You'll do well beside him and are fortunate. More so than many girls. You two are of similar age, Aegon has all his teeth and is a wise young man despite his . . . queer habits." Myles Toyne stood up from his stool. "I understand your fear. It is to be expected. But you are safe here, Princess Daenerys Stormborn. Remember that. No need to worry. We are allies, not enemies."
She didn't say anything. Myles smiled once more, bowed his head and took his leave. Daenerys stood there watching the door.
Later that night, both Daenerys and Viserys were summoned to another manse. The streets were pitch-black when they set out in Illyrio's elaborately carved palanquin. An escort of Unsullied followed and two servants went ahead to light the way, carrying ornate oil lanterns with panes of pale-orange glass, while half a dozen strong men hoisted the poles to their shoulders. It was stuffy behind the thick curtains. Dany wore the beautiful ivory dress so she might look her best. Viserys, too, looked like royalty. As he sat beside her, Viserys wore high riding boots polished to a high sheen, black slashed breeches lined with crimson, and on his chest was the flaming three-headed dragon of House Targaryen made of tiny rubies and red satin. Around his neck was a chain of black iron and hanging from his shoulders was a crimson cloak. Illyrio rode with them as well. Daenerys could smell the stench of pallid flesh through his heavy perfumes.
"Are you sure Pentos and the others will support us?" Viserys asked, sounding almost childish as his fingers toyed with the hilt of the gilded longsword that had been returned to him. "What makes you think they'll agree?"
The magister chuckled. "They'll listen to your words and heed them, Your Grace. The Golden Company commands the cities of Myr, Tyrosh and Lys, not to forget the Disputed Lands. They are in the Company's pockets and listen to what the captain-general says. No force can beat the Golden Company in the field. The Dothraki learned that."
Viserys snickered. "What was it – forty-thousand screamers fall against twenty-thousand? Just shows how useless the Dothraki are. They are meant to be good at killing, but apparently not. Who was it again who led them?"
"That would be Khal Drogo," Magister Illyrio said, twisting the pong of his beard. "The fiercest warrior in the world outwitted by a boy of fifteen namedays. Makes you wonder whether adults are truly wiser. But then again, the Dothraki are a race that lacks in intelligence."
"Agreed, magister," Viserys laughed. "Good thing they hadn't formed my army. I would dread to imagine what would have happened should that be the case. But of the three sisters . . ."
"You are in a powerful position, Your Grace," Illyrio promised him. "None of those cities have much in the way of martial traditions, tis true, but they will offer men and supplies and ships."
"I don't need much," her brother said dismissively. "I have the Company and can surely buy myself some more sellswords. Maybe some Unsullied. Then I will sweep the Seven Kingdoms. The realm will rise for its rightful king. Tyrell, Redwyne, Darry, Greyjoy, they have no more love for the usurper than I do. The Dornishmen burn to avenge Princess Elia and her children. The smallfolk will also stand with us. They'll kill the lords who sided against us, and cry for the return of their rightful king." He turned to Illyrio, anxious. "They do, don't they?"
"They are your people, Your Grace, and they love you well," Magister Illyrio said amiably. "In holdfasts all across the realm, both great and small, men lift secret toasts to your health while women sew dragon banners and hide them for the day of your return from across the water." He gave a shrug. "Or that is what my agents tell me, and I have a few across the Narrow Sea."
Dany had no agents. She had no way of knowing what anyone in Westeros was thinking, nor could she. But she mistrusted Illyrio's honeyed words. She mistrusted everything about Illyrio. Her brother was nodding eagerly, however. "I shall kill Robert Baratheon myself," he proclaimed, though he had never killed anyone. "As he slew my brother Rhaegar, I will slay him. Lannister too, for what the Kingslayer did to father."
"That would be most fitting," Illyrio said, and Dany saw the smallest hint of a smile playing around his full lips, though her brother didn't notice. "They say that Robert Baratheon greatly enjoyed the privileges of his station. He feasts and whores and has grown fat because of it. Unfit and unwell. A tragic ending for such a reputed warrior."
"A shame. I would have loved to fight him at his prime. But this will make it easy, I suppose. It would be fitting for a dragon is the only creature that deserves to sit the Iron Throne." When Illyrio agreed, her brother pulled back the curtains and stared off into the starlit sky. She knew he was off in his dreams, fighting the Battle of the Trident against the Usurper.
Eventually they reached their destination. It was a massive manse, though one that couldn't compare to Illyrio's own. It had nine square towers that sat beside the waters of the bay. The high brick walls were covered with ivy and had once belonged to Khal Drogo before his capture. After which, Illyrio had brought it for himself and was now serving to host their future allies.
The palanquin stopped outside the gate. The curtains were pulled back roughly by sellswords of the Golden Company in oiled black plate and mail. Magister Illyrio said who they were and why they came. The guardsman waved them through the iron gates, but not before seizing Viserys' sword.
Shooting a glance at her brother, Dany saw a feverish look his eyes. He had been insulted by many in Essos when he asked for their aid. He would be meeting them again and despite trying to look strong, Viserys looked as afraid as she felt. "How many are there?"
"Many and more," Illyrio's words were like honey. "Many important men will be at the feast tonight. Magisters and archons, merchant princes like myself and even captains of other free companies. A few Westerosi as well. The Golden Company and my son will be here, for they are the backbone of your campaign. There are many guards inside, Your Grace. We must protect our guests, yourself chief amongst them. No doubt the Usurper would pay well for you and your sister's head."
Viserys huffed. "Oh yes. He has tried, Illyrio, I promise you that. His hired knives followed us everywhere for I am the last true dragon. As long as I breathe, he cannot sleep easily. No, he will not."
The palanquin was lowered and they stepped out with the help of servants. Inside the manse, the air was heavy with the scent of spices, sweet lemon and cinnamon. It was warm and stuffy, a contrast to the cold air outside. They were escorted across the entry hall, where a mosaic of coloured glass depicted the Doom of Valyria. Oil burned in black iron lanterns all along the hall and, beneath an arch of twining stone leaves, a eunuch sang of their coming. "Viserys of House Targaryen, the Third of his Name," he called in a high, sweet voice. "King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. His sister, Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone. His honourable host, Illyrio Mopatis, Magister of the Free City of Pentos."
They moved past the eunuch into a pillared courtyard overgrown with ivy. Moonlight painted the leaves in shadows of bone and silver as guests drifted among them. Many were sellswords in silk and mail, torcs around their arms and necks to show their time in the Golden Company. Others were powerful individuals from the Free Cities: pale Lyseni, olive Myrmen and colourful Tyroshi with dyed hair and bright clothes. There was a red priest even fatter than Illyrio, bravos with puffy sleeves and an assortment of others – hairy men from Ibben, lords of the Summer Isles with skin black as ebony and cloaks of bright feathers. There were dark-skinned Dornishmen and broad Westerosi knights. Some looked rich, others poor, but everyone was distinct. Dany was thankful she wasn't the only woman there. There were plenty. Some were powerful in their own right; others were just the consorts of powerful men. There was a beautiful woman with golden-hair and laughing blue eyes holding the arm of a Magister of Lys, and conversing with a man wearing a surcoat of two dancing griffins. In the corner of the hall, was an older man, pasty forty and balding, dressed in wool and leather with a tunic of a black bear standing on its hind legs. He stared at her with poorly disguised lust. Dany made a reminder to stay away from him.
"There," Illyrio pointed to a man with a green beard talking to Myles Blackheart, "is the brother of the Archon of Tyrosh. No doubt the captain-general is warming him up to you, Your Grace. I would suggest you talk to them before the feast is done."
"I plan to, Illyrio. I am no fool." Without missing a beat, Viserys headed off to mingle with the crowds, leaving Daenerys alone. Dany turned around to see that Magister Illyrio had gone as well, proceeding towards a cluster of men in fine silk as a comely young girl served them drinks.
"I see you are alone, princess," came a voice. Daenerys jumped out her skin and turned in surprise. Aegon wore handsome black silk and woollens with no sign of a black dragon on his person. His face though, perhaps it was the Targaryen blood, but he reminded her of Viserys. A younger one with an easier smile and haunting eyes, long eyelashes and lips near as full as her own. He was prettier than her brother, beautiful even. The Blackfyre was a lithe youth, with smooth skin tanned dark from the sun and silver hair streaked with gold but stained blue from dye. "You do look very beautiful this night," he smiled, taking her hand gently and kissing the back of it like a knight from the stories. "It's good to see you have made it. I was afraid you'd be left at the manse."
With a gesture, he ordered a serving girl forward and took a cup of wine for himself and her.
"My kingly brother thought it would be wise to accompany him, Lord Aegon," she said, giving him the title of lord as a courtesy. "I am to be your betrothed and it would be considered most improper for me not to appear before your loyal followers."
He chuckled, eyes sparkling. "There is no need to act so formal around me, Princess Daenerys. I know it is expected, but we are to be married. I would rather we talk openly without hiding behind a wall of courtesies. We should freely speak our minds."
Aegon was smiling, though his face was more guarded than their previous times together. Dany almost felt sorry for exposing him, but she couldn't. Aegon had been lying to her about who he was. He was a Blackfyre. How could she not tell her brother they were being hosted by them? "I suppose you are right," she relented.
"I'm glad," he replied, looking somewhat relieved. "To speak truly, I do find all these pleasantries and formalities very exhausting."
Dany could relate. She had been with Viserys whenever he tried to get allies for Westeros. She had been paraded on many occasions and needed to learn the cultural practices of whatever cities they visited. Viserys would punish her if she failed. "I feel the very same, my lord."
"I am no lord, princess. Please don't call me such. Just call me by my name."
"If that is your wish, Aegon." She pressed her lips to the rim of the cup and took a sip of the wine. It was Arbor Gold, a fine sweet vintage. She had wine before, but never as fine nor sweet as this.
"You do seem . . . nervous. Mayhaps it's just the nerves, which I understand. There are many people here." Shooting Daenerys a dazzling smile, he presented her his hand. "As my betrothed, may my lady care to honour me this dance?" The way he said that, his accent and the playful smirk, nearly made Daenerys giggle, though her heartbeat increased as well. She accepted the offered hand. Dany wanted to dance, to join in with the festivities, to forget herself and whatever worries she had.
Taking his lead to the centre of the hall, Aegon pulled her close. His skin was impossibly warm and she could feel it through his clothes. Maybe he is a dragon after all. Dany avoided looking at him, instead focusing on those who danced around them. Daenerys had rarely danced before and compared to everyone else, she felt stilted. Thankfully their movement was slow and Aegon took the lead. She was surprised to note he was a competent dancer. Viserys was an awful one who lacked grace.
"You are a good dancer," she said shyly.
"You really think so? Thank you." He grinned and Dany felt her cheeks heat up. "Though to be honest, I was nervous asking you. This is my first-time dancing with a princess. I was scared I would make a fool of myself and, by extension, yourself." Aegon let out a silvery laugh that made Daenerys' heart flutter.
"Where did you learn, my lord?"
"My lord? I thought I told you not to call me that. You may call me Aegon. Or Griff, or even Egg if you prefer. Just as I hope I can call you Daenerys." His breath was hot against her cheek and smelled of lemon cakes and vanilla.
"Of course, Egg." She giggled softly at the word. It was so sweet and silly she couldn't help but laugh. "May I ask where you learned?"
"Septa Lemore," he said without skipping a beat. "She taught me much, but I was clumsy as an elephant dancing on its hind legs. It was Syrio Forel who actually got me where I am now. He beat me every time I missed a step in my Bravo lessons. I needed to be perfect to avoid another strike and by the end I was little more than a collection of bruises."
"A bravo taught you to dance?"
"Water dance, though the skills can be translated to other things."
Aegon Blackfyre smiled warmly. His eyes were hauntingly dark and conveyed a sense of gentleness. Would it truly be so bad to marry him?
"Well, what if I teach you some time? Just you and me alone as I teach you the waltz?"
"The waltz?"
"The name of a dance. Granted, I may not be the best, undoubtedly unworthy of a princess, but we can learn together. That may be fun, or frustrating."
Dany laughed. "I wouldn't mind that . . ." but then she saw her brother looking at her. Viserys was smiling but it never quite reached his eyes. She swallowed. "I-I'm enjoying this, b-but . . ."
"But nothing. If you're enjoying this, there's no reason to stop. Here."
His arms tightened around her as the song changed to something slower, gentle, soothing. Giddy, Dany let the music take over and lost herself in the steps; the sound of flutes and pipes, the silver harp and the slow beat of the drum. She forgot about Aegon being a Blackfyre, her brother and the dancers around them. It felt like they were the only two in the hall. Aegon leaned in close. On his bottom lip, Daenerys noticed some sugar that caught the light. For whatever reason, Dany couldn't quite look away.
"Daenerys, there is something I want to tell you. Something few others know about."
Dany felt her heart beat faster and looked up, directly into his eyes. Before she could open her mouth and ask what it was, there was a sharp clap and the music stopped abruptly.
Everyone turned around to see Magister Illyrio grinning from ear to ear and showing the world his crooked yellow teeth. "I trust my treasured guests have enjoyed the night so far," he called in a loud, clear voice. "Soon we'll see the main event, but first, I would like to congratulate my son who is now betrothed to Princess Daenerys of House Targaryen and will soon take her to wife." That caused some excited sounds from the guests and more than a few rabid jests about riding the dragon. "This is a grand achievement for my house, if I'm allowed to be most humble. Once I had been a simple beggar living on the street and surviving with barely a few coppers to feed myself, but now I have a son soon to marry royalty." He laughed softly, clearly proud of himself. "As a mark of celebration for such a betrothal, I will provide my newly made good-son and daughter a treasured gift from the lands of Asshai."
At his command, Magister Illyrio of Pentos ordered four burly men to enter the room, bearing between them a massive chest of finely carved cedar wood bound in heavy bronze. Taking her arm, Aegon led Daenerys forward and Viserys followed. One of the slaves opened the lid. Inside were fine velvet blankets and damasks. Nice looking ones that would certainly be pricey but Viserys rolled his eyes in disappointment and asked whether this was a kingly gift. Grinning, Illyrio threw off the blankets to reveal four large eggs, nestled in the soft cloth.
She gasped.
They were the four most beautiful things she had ever seen. Each one was completely different from the others, patterned in colours so vivid that Dany half expected them to be jewels made of glass or delicate enamel. They were large enough to need both hands to hold them. Not asking for permission, Daenerys stepped forward and lifted one up delicately for closer inspection. The surface of the shell was covered with tiny scales that shimmered like polished jewels. One egg was deep green, covered with flecks of burnished bronze. Another was pale cream streaked with gold, while another was black as midnight yet swirled with scarlet. The last one was what Aegon was staring at intensely, like he could hatch it with merely his eyes. That was darkest of the four, black yet alive with dark purple ripples that were so shadowy it took a moment to realise the colour. That one clearly had taken Aegon's interest and he took it gently in his hands, peering closely.
"Cold," was all he said.
"Dragon eggs . . . you have dragon eggs?" Viserys asked, still staring. "Four dragon eggs?" He didn't pick one up, instead gently ran his fingers against the white and gold one.
"The pride of House Targaryen and the Valyrians," Illyrio nodded with pride in his voice. "It seemed a worthy gift, for ones such as yourselves."
"Where did you get them," Dany asked, her voice hushed and full of wonder.
"From the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai," Illyrio said, and then Dany remembered he had said that already and felt foolish. "It takes ships a year to get there and another to come back. Dragon eggs can be brought there from ages past. Three seemed fitting to give House Targaryen, but due the distance, I made sure to buy more." He chuckled. "I thought to give them to you, as a sign of friendship, a bride price and a tool to buy yourselves a greater army."
"It is a magnificent gift, father," Aegon declared, voice breaking suddenly. He blushed.
Viserys still had his hand on the egg and was grinning. Then he laughed. "Dragon eggs . . . the pride of my ancestors. We can use these for an army. Ships."
"We have an army," Dany said, unsure what Viserys meant.
"We can buy ourselves an army, sweet sister," her brother said softly, still staring at the egg and brushing the tiny scales covering it. "Men, ships. We can get Westeros."
"You can, Your Grace," Illyrio told him, narrow pig eyes turning to each of the eggs in turn before ending at the two in the chest. "One dragon egg can buy a squadron of galleys. Two can buy an army, and three can ensure one remains wealthy till the end of their days. Four though . . . well . . ."
"Will be enough," Viserys declared. "We'll use these, Illyrio. I will promise you that. Ships and men and the Golden Company's loyalty." He turned to Aegon, a flicker going across his face. "They could be sold or used to sway powerful houses. House Targaryen gave trusted lords dragon eggs as rewards."
"Like Aegon the Unworthy," her betrothed said without hesitation. "Didn't he give a dragon egg to a lord so he could bed both his two daughters?" Then his eyes flickered to her and looked away, abashed. Dany didn't understand why. She was a maiden, but no innocent. She knew what men did with women.
Viserys made a face. "I am no Unworthy."
"I never said you were, Your Grace," the black dragon said with a smile that could be conceived as sarcastic. "Though I do wonder if it would be possible to hatch them. Maybe show them to Lyra. Tis a shame she's not here."
"She can hatch them?" Dany asked, perking up. "Really?"
"It's theoretically possible," Aegon shrugged.
What does he mean? Does that mean it is?
"Many times our ancestors had tried, and many times they failed," Viserys said, while his tone was suspicious, there was a look in his eye that meant he lived to see the idea of having four living dragons.
"And this would be her moment to say they're not her," Aegon muttered beneath his breath. "I suppose we can try to hatch them. What's the worst that could go wrong other than burning alive?"
Illyrio laughed once again and the guests pressed closer for a better look. After some time talking amongst themselves, they returned the eggs to the crate that was carried out the room. With the eggs away from her, Dany felt something was missing, like there was a hole where a part of her used to be. "Now the gifts are out the way, once more for the main event!" Everyone turned back to face Magister Illyrio. "Meet the Great Khal himself. Khal Drogo!"
The door opened and a man was dragged out. He was covered in bandages and scars and was missing half an arm. His limbs were bound with golden chains and two sellswords pushed him forward with the poles of their spears. The man was tall, standing a taller than even the tallest man in the room, but he shuffled awkwardly. He was younger than she had thought, no older than thirty. His skin was the colour of polished copper and he had a thick mustachio. His head, however, was bald as an egg.
The guests laughed and taunted. Dany turned to Aegon Blackfyre who looked at the man with a cold smirk. The rumours said it had been Aegon himself who urged the Golden Company to go out against the Dothraki in the open field. They said he was a reckless youth, both great and mad, that used foreign princesses for his pleasure, set a river on fire and had his mage perform dark magic. She didn't know what was true, but Dany knew he beat the greatest warrior on the Dothraki Sea with an army of sellswords, something thought impossible.
"This him?" she asked, her eyes not unable to leave the man who had once been khal.
"The one and only," the black dragon declared. "When the Dothraki lose a battle, they need to shave off their braids in disgrace so the world will know their shame."
"Must have been long."
"Down to his ankles, they claim, though not that far in truth. Before that fateful day he had never lost a battle. They called him Aegon the Dragonlord come again."
Daenerys turned to the prisoner whose face was burnt and bruised. He was staring at her with eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Even as bound as he was, he frightened her, yet . . . she couldn't help but feel something. Pity perhaps? "What's to happen to him?"
"He's a trophy and perhaps he'll serve a greater purpose in due time, but until then, let's enjoy this night."
Dany nodded. "B-before he came in . . . what were you going to tell me?"
The Blackfyre, still looking at Khal Drogo, twitched. He turned to her, perplexed. "It was nothing, my lady. Nothing at all."
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein