The carriage passed through two iron gates carved with griffin crests and slowly entered Illyrio's Manor.
Unlike the squalor of the slums, the manor had smooth bluestone paths, lined with blooming roses still dewy from the morning. In the distance stood a three-story stone main building with stained-glass windows, through which sunlight cast colorful patterns on the ground. Several servants in white robes were kneeling on the lawn, trimming bushes; seeing the carriage approach, they all stopped their work and bowed their heads.
"Is this Illyrio's Manor?" Illyrio marveled inwardly—the original story only mentioned Illyrio's wealth, but never described the manor's luxury in detail. He secretly glanced at Daenerys beside him; she was gazing wide-eyed at the roses outside the window, a hint of longing in her eyes, clearly moved by the sight.
The carriage stopped in front of the main building, and a butler in a black suit hurried over to open the door: "Mr. Illyrion, Prince Viserys, Princess Daenerys, the manor is ready."
Illyrio was the first to alight, patting the silk robe over his belly: "Send the cinnamon to the kitchen, and prepare a guest room for this... Mr. Illyrion, right next to Daenerys's room." He specifically emphasized "next door," clearly intending for Illyrio to be close to Daenerys for observation.
Viserys snorted and walked directly into the main building, then turned back after two steps, staring at Illyrio: "Don't forget your letter; I want to see it this afternoon. If you can't produce it, you know the consequences."
"Rest assured, Your Highness, I won't disappoint you." Illyrio bowed in response, but his mind was racing—he had no letter at all and needed to find something to replace the "evidence" quickly.
Daenerys walked last. As she passed Illyrio, she whispered, "Don't worry, Viserys is just... he just wants to reclaim the iron throne too much." Her voice was soft, with a hint of apology, clearly sensing Illyrio's tension.
"I understand, Your Highness." Illyrio smiled, "Thank you."
The butler led Illyrio to the guest room, through a corridor carpeted in red, with many oil paintings of Pentos landscapes hanging on both sides. The guest room was small but tidy, containing a wooden bed, a desk, and a wardrobe with a mirror. The butler placed Illyrio's coat down and bowed: "Sir, if you need anything, you can pull the bell by the bed." He then exited, gently closing the door.
Illyrio immediately locked the door and rummaged through his coat pockets—besides the dragon-sigil necklace and the remaining half of black bread, there was nothing. He sat at the desk, hands propping his head, trying to recall his original mother's belongings: in his original memory, his mother had also left a linen shawl embroidered with a dragon sigil when she died, hidden under the bed board of their broken house in the slums.
"I must go back and get that shawl!" Illyrio stood up and walked to the window—outside was the manor's backyard, enclosed by a low stone wall covered in climbing vines, which looked easy to climb over. But just as he was about to open the window, he saw two armored guards patrolling below the wall, their eyes vigilantly scanning the surroundings.
It seemed that although Illyrio had accepted him, he didn't fully trust him. Illyrio had no choice but to abandon the idea of climbing the wall and sat back down at the desk. He remembered his original mother telling him that The Mad King, when young, liked to drink a hot wine brewed with honey and cinnamon, and also liked to add a slice of lemon to it—these details were known only to those close to the Targaryen family, and perhaps he could use this to persuade Viserys.
Just then, a soft knock came from outside the door.
"Mr. Illyrion, are you there?" It was Daenerys's voice.
Illyrio quickly got up to open the door. Daenerys stood at the entrance, holding a white ceramic cup from which steam rose: "I saw you didn't eat breakfast, so I asked the kitchen to make some hot porridge. Drink it while it's warm." Her eyes showed concern, no longer as timid as she had been in the market.
Illyrio took the cup, a warmth spreading through his heart—in this strange world, Daenerys was the first person to genuinely be kind to him. "Thank you, Your Highness, you are too thoughtful."
Daenerys lowered her head, twisting the hem of her skirt: "Actually... I wanted to ask you about my mother. Viserys rarely talks to me about her. Could you tell me about her?"
"Of course." Illyrio invited Daenerys in, closed the door, "Your mother was Rhaella Targaryen, a very gentle person. My mother said she loved to plant lavender in the garden, and every summer, the palace gardens would be full of lavender, its scent detectable from afar." He deliberately mentioned lavender to echo the bouquet he had given her earlier.
Daenerys's eyes lit up: "Really? I like lavender too; I always feel very peaceful when I smell its fragrance." She looked up at Illyrio, "Then... what about my father? Viserys says father was a great king, but I've heard others say he was The Mad King. Is that true?"
Illyrio's heart sank—Daenerys was already beginning to doubt the image of The Mad King. He couldn't directly deny The Mad King's atrocities, nor could he let Daenerys become disillusioned with her family, so he tactfully said: "Your father was indeed a good king when he was young; he cared for his people and rebuilt the port of King's Landing. But later, war made him paranoid, and he made some mistakes. However, this is not your fault, nor Viserys's fault; you don't need to bear responsibility for past events."
Daenerys was silent for a moment, then nodded gently: "I understand. Thank you, Illyrio." She stood up, "I should go now; Viserys will be angry if he can't find me."
Illyrio saw Daenerys to the door, watching her figure disappear down the corridor, and secretly made a resolution—he must protect this kind girl and not let her suffer so many hardships as she did in the original story.
After eating the hot porridge, Illyrio tidied his clothes and decided to go find Viserys. As he reached the corner of the corridor, he heard an argument coming from the living room.
"What did you say? Drogo wants me to wait three more days? I can't wait any longer!" It was Viserys's voice, full of rage, "I am the King of the Targaryen, why should a barbarian chieftain make me wait!"
"Viserys, don't be impulsive!" It was Illyrio's voice, "Drogo is the strongest Khal of the Dothraki; he has a hundred thousand cavalry, and only he can help you reclaim the iron throne. Be patient for three more days; once his Blood Riders have all arrived, we can discuss the marriage alliance."
Illyrio's heart tightened—the marriage alliance was already on the agenda! He hurried towards the living room. Just as he reached the doorway, he saw Viserys overturn a table, plates and cups crashing to the floor, shattering everywhere. A servant in a gray robe tried to step forward to clean up, but Viserys kicked him in the stomach, and the servant writhed on the ground in pain.
"Who told you to move!" Viserys roared, "These worthless things, do they deserve to be used by me?"
"Your Highness!" Illyrio quickly stepped forward, supporting Viserys's arm, "Don't be angry; it's not worth getting upset over a servant. If you want to vent, why not tell me about His Majesty The Mad King? My mother told me many heroic deeds of His Majesty, and I'd like to learn from you."
Viserys's anger indeed subsided somewhat, and he proudly lifted his chin: "You want to know? Very well, I'll tell you how my father defeated the rebels!" He pulled Illyrio to sit on the sofa and began to talk incessantly about The Mad King's "achievements," completely forgetting his earlier rage.
Illyrio listened, nodding in agreement from time to time, and seized the opportunity to mention: "My mother said His Majesty loved to drink honey-cinnamon hot wine with a slice of lemon, right? I've always wanted to try it, but unfortunately, I've never had the chance."
Viserys was stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter: "Exactly! Your mother truly is a Targaryen, to know even that! It seems you're not a liar; I misjudged you." He clapped Illyrio on the shoulder, "It's alright if you can't find that letter; from now on, you'll follow me, and I'll lead you to reclaim the iron throne!"
Illyrio breathed a sigh of relief—he had finally tricked Viserys! He quickly bowed in thanks: "Thank you for your trust, Your Highness; I will do my utmost to assist you!"
Just then, Illyrio walked over, smiling: "Alright, Viserys, don't just talk. Drogo's Blood Riders will arrive tomorrow, and we need to prepare for the marriage ceremony. Daenerys, you come here too; I'll tell you about Dothraki customs."
Daenerys emerged from the corridor, her face somewhat pale, clearly having heard the words "marriage alliance." Illyrio saw this and felt a pang of worry—in three days, Daenerys would marry Drogo. He had to find a way to prepare her, so she wouldn't be as helpless as in the original story.
Illyrio led Viserys and Daenerys towards the study. Illyrio followed behind, subtly observing the servants in the manor—a servant in a black robe stood at the staircase, his eyes occasionally glancing at them, looking very suspicious. Illyrio's heart tightened—could this servant be the person in the black cloak from the market? The Lannister spies had indeed infiltrated the manor.
He touched the dragon-sigil necklace beneath his collar; the cold metallic touch made him more alert. The undercurrents in the manor had already begun to stir; the marriage ceremony, the Dothraki threat, the Lannister spies, and Viserys's impatience, all formed an invisible net, tightly wrapping him and Daenerys.
But Illyrio did not shrink back. He knew this was just the first hurdle in his and Daenerys's destiny; once they overcame it, they would be one step closer to the iron throne. He looked at Daenerys's retreating back and silently said in his heart: Daenerys, just hold on a little longer; I will help you.