Far away on the other side of the Narrow Sea, in Pentos, the sleeping dragon Viserys and Daenerys—together with Galeton's attendant, Lyon Storm, and the rest of their party—were warmly received by Illyrio.
Beside the Red Temple, grander and more magnificent than a pyramid, stood Illyrio's residence. Inside its great hall, nearly six meters high, a lavish banquet was underway.
At the feast, Viserys and Illyrio chatted merrily, while Daenerys and Lyon sat there bored, idly poking at the fragrant meat on their plates with knives and forks.
"Princess Daenerys, my beautiful and noble lady," Illyrio said with a smile, his right-hand fingers brushing over the warm, smooth surface of the gemstone on his left hand, revealing a mouthful of large yellow teeth. "I wonder what you think of your wedding a year from now?"
Though he was addressing Daenerys, his gaze inexplicably drifted toward Lyon, who never let go of the greatsword in his hand.
"Khal Drogo is the greatest khal on the grasslands, commanding a hundred thousand roaring warriors. He can easily help the prince reclaim the Iron Throne. Your marriage to him would be for the glory of House Targaryen!"
As soon as these words were spoken, the noisy banquet hall fell silent.
Guests throughout the hall cast looks of expectation or severity toward Daenerys. The musicians quietly withdrew their instruments, and the singers cleared their throats, not daring to make a sound.
"I will never marry a barbarian!"
Twelve-year-old Daenerys mustered her courage and flatly refused, ignoring everyone present.
"You are my brother—my only family! Yet you treat me like some commodity you can trade away at will!"
She shot an angry glare at Viserys, whose expression had turned icy, then stood up and walked out on her own. Her voice, filled with despair, accused him bitterly:
"Perhaps Ser Duncan was right—you are not worthy of the name Targaryen!"
Behind her, Lyon—who looked like a bear—raised his thick brows and shot a contemptuous glare at the sleeping dragon, whose face was flushed with shame and rage, before following closely after her.
Unlike in the original story, after the death of the last loyal Targaryen retainer, Ser Willem Darry, Galeton had found the siblings in Braavos in time.
Daenerys had not spent her formative years in exile. She was no longer as timid and withdrawn as she was in the original tale, nor was she so utterly dependent on Viserys.
On the contrary, under Ser Duncan's careful guidance, the young Daenerys radiated confidence and courage from the inside out.
What Galeton valued was naturally the future Mother of Dragons, not Viserys with his "golden crown."
The orders given to the two knights, Duncan and Lyon, were extremely clear: ignore Viserys. For Daenerys's sake, just make sure he didn't starve to death.
If he dared to verbally provoke or physically attack his sister or the two knights, they were to break one of his legs on the spot.
Lyon was incomparably loyal to Galeton and never dared to slack off in carrying out his commands. From that day on, he became the sleeping dragon's nightmare!
Over four years of companionship, old Ser Duncan had seen through Viserys's cruel and violent nature. He would only step in to stop things when Lyon went too far.
In fact, though both had silver hair and purple eyes, Daenerys—now just a bit taller than Viserys—already looked far more kingly.
"Clang! Clatter!"
Only after Lyon had left the banquet hall did Viserys dare to vent his fury, flipping the table in rage. Glass goblets and silver plates collided with crisp, ringing sounds. Fine fruit wine splashed over the greasy roasted meat, sizzling as it fell.
"Damn it! That bastard deserves the seven hells!"
"Illyrio, my Master of Coin, I want you to immediately mobilize warriors and kill that bear-dog!"
Seated at the head of the table, Illyrio rubbed his nose and gave an awkward smile, offering no reply. Deep in his eyes was a profound loathing for this so-called "Beggar King," "Crippled Prince," and "Sleeping Dragon."
Others might not know who that burly man was, but Illyrio—who colluded with Varys—knew very well.
That man was an attendant of the current Evenstar of Tarth.
And a very close attendant at that!
At such a sensitive moment, Illyrio was certain that if anything were to happen to Lyon in Pentos, the Pentoshi magisters would unite without hesitation, bind him up, and hand him over to the people of Tarth to atone.
"Damn it! I am the true dragon, the heir to the Iron Throne,
the future ruler and protector of the Seven Kingdoms! The people of the Seven Kingdoms are all craning their necks, waiting for me to drive out the usurper and return to the Iron Throne!"
"Everyone must obey my commands! Those who refuse shall suffer the cruelest punishment! Illyrio, I strongly demand that you kill that bear and take my sister back!"
"As long as Daenerys is married off to that barbarian, we'll have an army! Then we'll go to the Seven Kingdoms, rally the loyalists, overthrow the usurper, and reclaim the Iron Throne!"
"My Master of Coin, if you kill that dog-bear for your future king, I'll make you my Hand! I'll grant you the Stormlands—and even Tarth Island, with its endless gold!"
Seeing the sleeping dragon grow more and more outrageous, more and more frenzied, Illyrio suppressed the killing intent rising in his heart and shot a meaningful look at Viserys's beautiful and alluring handmaiden, Doreah.
"My noble and handsome prince," she said softly, stepping in with a knowing smile, "today is your welcome banquet. Don't let such trivial matters spoil your mood."
Understanding at once, the handmaiden flashed a bewitching smile. She took a jug of wine from a nearby table, drank a mouthful, then sat down on the sleeping dragon's lap, lips rosy and full, shyly offering them up.
"Mmm~"
"Hahahaha~!"
How could Viserys, who had always been indulged, withstand such tactics? He tightly embraced the soft, seductive beauty in his arms. With fragrance filling his embrace, he lowered his head and greedily sucked the wine from her lips.
"Hahaha! Play the music! Keep dancing! Drink!"
All his anger seemed to be drained away by Doreah in his arms. When he lifted his head again, his face was flushed with unnatural pleasure.
"That's right, play the music! Prince, as long as you give the word, Princess Daenerys will have no power to resist! Hahaha~!"
Illyrio laughed along heartily, a trace of deep regret flashing in his eyes.
His ally Varys would never allow him to secretly keep Daenerys for himself. Otherwise, he truly would have loved to swap her out and hide her away.
After all, within his manse alone, the delicate beauties who stirred desire could form an entire orchestra. Finding a girl of similar looks to fool those barbarians would be easy enough.
Perhaps he could give Daenerys those three useless eggs!
The thought flashed through Illyrio's mind. Everyone dreamed of hatching dragons. He had gone to great lengths to obtain three dragon eggs of House Targaryen from the former Sea Lord's family.
Yet he had tried every method imaginable and still could not hatch them. All the fire mages and priests he summoned told him clearly that the eggs had lost all vitality and had become fossils.
Unless a miracle occurred, those three dragon eggs were nothing more than three valuable stones.
Recently, envoys from Braavos had requested to inspect the eggs. Once it was confirmed that they were the former Sea Lord's lost property, the Pentoshi trade magisters would bind him up and send him to their "overlord," Braavos, to face judgment.
If he gave the three useless eggs to Daenerys as a wedding gift, all problems would be neatly resolved.
The people of Braavos would not lightly offend Khal Drogo by entering his khalasar to verify the origin of the eggs. They would only make things difficult for Illyrio in other ways, as punishment.
On the other side, after Daenerys left the banquet hall, she quickly calmed down.
In this unfamiliar environment, the still-young Daenerys walked along the long corridor, unease welling up in her heart. Only when she saw Lyon—twice her height—guarding closely behind her did she feel a bit more at ease.
"Ser Lyon, I was wrong!"
Little Dany's face twisted with pain and sorrow. She covered her face with her small hands, tears pooling in her purple eyes and slipping through her fingers to trail down her tender skin.
Her clear voice was filled with regret. In truth, she deeply regretted, even now, that she had refused the old man's kindness back in Braavos.
"I should have listened to Ser Duncan. I shouldn't have come to Pentos."
Lyon scratched his head honestly, not knowing how to comfort the little girl.
He had tried to warn her before as well, but the young girl—who had never truly suffered under the sleeping dragon's hand—valued family too much and had been deceived by Viserys's honeyed words into coming to Pentos.
"I've seen Viserys's true face now. But I don't want to marry a horselord. I don't want to go to the grasslands! The rumors say those people are savage and inhuman, living by plunder. Wherever their hooves pass, there are shattered bodies and rivers of blood!"
Daenerys wept like pear blossoms in the rain, making her all the more pitiful. With eyes full of hope, she pleaded:
"Ser Lyon… could you take me away from here?"
...
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(End Chapter)