Chapter 104: Illyrio's Mansion (Part 1)
Ian passed through a series of gates: the main gate with its outer guardroom, the mansion's red-painted wooden door, and a garden gate shrouded in light green ivy. At last, he joined a crowd of other merchants invited to the banquet and was ushered into the mansion's gardens.
Outside each door stood a pair of guards in spiked bronze helmets. Their bodies were plump and round, their faces as smooth as a baby's bottom. Compared to the hardened Unsullied he had seen upon his arrival in Pentos, Ian doubted these eunuchs, obviously pampered for many years in Illyrio's service, retained even the most basic of fighting skills.
He and Daeron were led by a maid to a seat beneath a cherry tree. The moment Ian sat, his entire backside was enveloped in thick velvet. The sensation was surprisingly hot.
He found himself constantly, involuntarily, shifting his weight, trying to find a position that would allow the unfortunate chair to dissipate some heat. Fortunately, the seat was wide enough to easily accommodate two men of his size. It made him wonder what sort of man such a chair had been designed for.
Soon, he had his answer.
The host of the banquet, Magister Illyrio Mopatis, entered the garden from another path and made his way to the head table.
He was a man with a forked yellow beard, so fat his robes were large enough to serve as a tourney tent. He wore silks from the lands of Yi, and through their sheer fabric, Ian could see a belly of wobbling white fat and a pair of heavy breasts that sagged like two bags of grease, dusted with coarse yellow hair.
At the sight of him, all the guests rose and raised their glasses in greeting. Ian was no exception, mirroring the action.
Illyrio, putting on no airs, raised his own glass in response. As he waved his hand, a cascade of dancing jewels caught Ian's eye. Agate, amethyst, emerald, ruby, jet, jasper, cat's eye, tourmaline, tiger's eye, and sapphire were strung into several bracelets and worn on his thick wrists. But rather than making him appear more noble, the gems only lent him the air of a man with new and unaccustomed wealth.
Illyrio began to speak, his topic for the evening being the distribution of certain goods in Pentos. From his words, it was not difficult to discern that he and his Chamber of Commerce held a near-monopoly on the city's spice trade. In addition, he commanded a huge share in the markets for gems, dragon bones, cheese, and amber wine.
Listening to the Magister's talk, Ian felt a flicker of temptation. Based on the funds he possessed, he could easily participate and make a fortune. But in the end, he merely listened in silence, for 'Ian Rivers' was a man with no money.
The image Ian hoped to project was carefully crafted: capable but not powerful, ambitious but with a narrow focus—he only wanted to reclaim Darry. He was to be a man who despised the Baratheons and placed his only hope in a Targaryen restoration. In short, a typical speculator.
He wanted Illyrio to see him as useful, controllable, and perhaps even someone who might be persuaded to switch his allegiance to the more promising "Aegon VI" and serve in that restoration. To achieve this, Ian had to maintain his performance at all times.
Fortunately, the host did not leave his guests to wait idly for the business discussions to conclude. As soon as Illyrio finished his opening remarks, maids began to serve wine and food.
First came the wines, presented in a dazzling array of silver cups: sweet reds from the Reach, summerwine from Dorne, amber Pentoshi brews, and green nectar from Myr. There was golden wine from the Arbor, and countless other vintages from Meereen, Qarth, Asshai by the Shadow, and even the distant lands of the east.
Then came the dishes. A steaming soup of crab and some unknown fish arrived first, followed by a chilled soup made from strange fruits and ice. Next were honey-roasted quail, carrots in cream, crispy suckling pig, and racks of lamb. There was wine-soaked foie gras, egrets stuffed with figs, and veal patties swimming in almond milk. Herring cooked in butter, unfamiliar vegetables glazed with sugar, and pungent blue cheese were laid out beside plates of snails, a platter of some unidentifiable meat, and a magnificent black swan, served with its feathers still on.
The feast completely upended Ian's understanding of the world's cuisine. He had made a basic judgment of this world's culinary arts from the 'best' dishes served in a few Westerosi taverns, but it was clear now that the people of Westeros were amateurs when it came to food.
The merchants were engaged in a "friendly" exchange over their respective interests, their faces flushed red as they nearly came to blows in their 'academic' discussion.
Ian and Daeron, meanwhile, enjoyed the food on their plates in silence, speaking not a word, appearing utterly out of place with the world around them.
This, in turn, attracted Illyrio's attention. After dismissing the two merchants at his side, he took the initiative and walked toward Daeron, his great robes swaying with the movement of his body.
"Daeron? I cannot believe you are still alive." There was a hint of surprise in Illyrio's tone. The king's retaking of Gulltown had been a major event; as a Magister of trade and a dealer in information, Illyrio had of course received the news immediately.
"Your Excellency," Daeron said respectfully. "Since you already know what happened to the Grafson family, you must also know why we have come."
According to his former temperament, Daeron would likely have begun questioning Illyrio the moment he saw him. But his recent experiences, along with Ian's counsel, had calmed him considerably.
"Yes, I have heard of it. The Grafsons… and the Darrys," Illyrio said, his eyes falling on the shield-shaped sigil of a black plowman on Ian's chest.
Ian was not wearing armor, but rather the fine clothes he had purchased at the tailor's shop the day before. He had specifically asked the tailor to embroider the Darry crest upon it.
"You are from House Darry? I heard both of Lord Darry's bastard sons died in your rebellion." Illyrio looked Ian up and down. "So, who are you?"
"He is Ian Rivers, another of Lord Raymun's sons," Daeron introduced quickly. Ian had told him beforehand that as the trueborn son of Lord Grafson, his own status was higher than Ian's bastard name. Therefore, it was proper for Daeron to lead the conversation when meeting the Magister.
Though he didn't understand why Ian, who had become his de facto leader, was suddenly so humble, Daeron was content with the arrangement.
Of course, Daeron could not have known that Ian's only purpose in orchestrating this was to have him speak those exact words, ensuring that Illyrio would have no reason to doubt the identity of 'Ian Rivers.'
---
$5 Tier – Early Access!
Read 30 chapters ahead of public platforms like RoyalRoad and Scribble Hub — with plans to increase to 40 chapters ahead once I reach 10 members!
Chapters are posted as soon as they're completed, so you'll always stay ahead of the curve.
Support the story and unlock early access:
Patreon is linked in My Profile or About.
Please select your membership carefully, as I have multiple novels ongoing. If you're on Apple, consider subscribing through your browser instead — it will be cheaper for you, and I won't have to wait 2 months for payments. Thank you!