c3: Don't Worry, I Understand
The merchant ship did not dock at the grand harbor of Pentos, where merchant galleys and Braavosi ships bustled amid a cacophony of voices and foreign banners. Instead, it veered farther along the coast, skimming past a crescent-shaped beach and gliding beyond a massive lighthouse its flame flickering faintly under the morning sun. Eventually, the ship entered a smaller, secluded harbor tucked beneath a hillside villa district.
Suddenly, a series of elegant mansions came into view, their sloped roofs glazed in rich green and deep red tiles. The villas looked eastward, angled toward the rising sun, their terraces layered like steps on the slope. At the crest stood a colossal red temple, unmistakably the local chapter of the Lord of Light's faith, its braziers already lit for morning prayers.
Illyrio summoned Viserys and Daenerys from below deck. They disembarked and boarded a waiting skiff, rowed by Illyrio's household men strong, silent types clad in dull livery. With quiet splashes, the boat slid into a hidden waterway, disappearing beneath an arched aqueduct cloaked in ivy. They soon arrived at a dark mooring beneath one of the villas.
Viserys remained silent throughout, casting quick, assessing glances in every direction.
Illyrio seemed pleased with himself. He believed the hidden approach would impress Viserys, a gesture of discretion and security elements vital to royal pretenders.
After mooring, Illyrio led them through a narrow, winding corridor carved behind the stone supports of the villa. A wooden door creaked open, revealing a private corner of his garden.
The courtyard was compact but refined. A stone path wound through flowering bushes and ivy-draped trellises, flanked by orange trees and dark pines. On one side, the sea glimmered through ironwork gates; on the other, a stately brick manor rose three stories tall, its high walls capped with black iron spikes.
By Pentoshi standards, it was a luxurious private estate.
"Welcome to my humble home, Your Majesty Viserys, Your Highness Daenerys," Illyrio said with solemn courtesy, bowing low.
Viserys returned the nod with stiff dignity. "It's a fine place, Governor Illyrio. Tell me when does the banquet begin?"
"Banquet?" Illyrio blinked, his expression briefly confused, as though Viserys had mistaken the context. But he quickly recovered, offering a smile. "Ah. Of course, Your Majesty. Right this way."
He led them into the estate. Inside, Illyrio summoned attendants maiden servants in sheer silks, and two pale eunuchs in gold-trimmed tunics to escort the Targaryens to their rooms and offer refreshment.
"Yes, please wash and refresh yourselves," Illyrio instructed. "It's customary to bathe after a sea journey in Pentos. You'll feel much better, I promise."
"Wash?" Viserys echoed, tilting his head. "Is that some local tradition before banqueting?"
Illyrio hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly. Something had shifted in Viserys since they reached shore. His tone had taken on the air of someone who misunderstood his station or perhaps was pretending not to.
It dawned on him then: Viserys believed this was a formal reception.
Not a secret arrival.
Not a cautious regrouping in exile.
He believed he was an honored king being feted at court.
Illyrio cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, if I may… is it possible you've misunderstood the nature of this gathering?"
Viserys straightened his back, assuming the posture of royalty. "Governor Illyrio, you need not worry. So long as your guests don't mock me as the 'Beggar King,' I shall ensure your hospitality is respected." He turned to Daenerys and added confidently, "Dany is well-mannered. She won't disrupt the noble ladies. She's quite docile at banquets."
Daenerys blinked in confusion, clearly unsure what was happening but too timid to speak up.
Viserys's air was one of an experienced courtier preparing to engage in diplomacy utterly misplaced in this setting.
Illyrio pressed his lips together. There was no use arguing while Viserys was in this mood.
Before he could speak again, Viserys turned to the eunuch with theatrical grace. "Show me to the bath, good man." Then to Dany: "Go with the maid. Make yourself presentable."
Illyrio tried one last time. "Your Majesty…"
Viserys cut him off with a placating wave and a smile that barely masked his delusions. "No need, Governor Illyrio. Truly. Don't worry I understand."
Understand what?
Illyrio stood there for a moment, genuinely stunned.
The whole scene bordered on farce.
The eunuch and the maid hesitated, awaiting Illyrio's signal before making a move. Viserys stood calm, wearing a strained smile, the expression of someone who believed he was in complete control. Daenerys, silent and withdrawn, kept her gaze fixed on the polished tiles beneath her feet, her thoughts unreadable.
"What about what we discussed earlier?" Illyrio asked, startled, his voice touched with disbelief.
Viserys kept that same irritatingly knowing look on his face, nodding with solemn authority. "Of course, I understand, Lord Magister. After the banquet, I'll act as though nothing occurred. I give you my word on the honor of House Targaryen."
Illyrio's eyes narrowed. Something in his calculating mind flickered perhaps amusement, perhaps caution but he said nothing more. With a curt wave of his hand, he finally ordered the eunuch and maid to proceed with their duties.
Viserys had no idea what Illyrio truly thought, but that didn't matter. What mattered was this: if Illyrio still wanted to use him, the new Viserys, then he'd have to reassess every assumption from his prior dealings with the old one.
The way forward, at this point, required renegotiation.
Viserys's strategy was plain. Despite his limited acting ability and fragile ego, he needed to send a message however indirect to Illyrio:
[Ah, so before this, it was all theatre, wasn't it? I was just the centerpiece at your little nobleman's masquerade, the prince-in-exile wheeled out to add a touch of drama to your banquets. But now you say you're serious about restoring my throne? My apologies I thought we were all jesting, my friend.]
However Illyrio responded so long as he didn't upend the board completely Viserys could claw back some semblance of influence.
If Illyrio took offense at this performance, if he felt mocked and reached for the blade instead of diplomacy, well...
Then the so-called "Beggar King" could only draw his own sword and say, "It may be rusted, but it's still steel."
Even so, such violence was unlikely. Pentos, for all its intrigue, held to ancient customs: to kill a guest under one's roof especially at a banquet was a scandal even the Braavosi wouldn't stomach.
And if the situation didn't deteriorate, if each side continued the charade, open conflict remained a distant threat. Not every host was a Walder Frey, after all.
In truth, Viserys was also entertaining a different plan.
He would continue to play the fool, bide his time, and attempt to extract something truly valuable from Illyrio dragon bones, perhaps. Not for alchemy, not for trade, but to investigate whether he could unlock the so-called mission buried in his soul: the mysterious "collect the dragon souls" directive. If he could awaken the dormant power of King Guliok, the magical elemental being whose essence now fused with his own, then the real game could begin.
But the odds weren't promising. Even Daenerys beloved by fire, unburnt by flame, and bound to dragons by destiny hadn't yet awakened any such power. If the Mother of Dragons hadn't stirred the dragon souls yet, what hope was there in mere bones?
Even the belief that he carried the essence of King Guliok was more theory than fact. His body, after all, felt unchanged since the dimensional crossing. No scales, no wings. No magic coursing through his veins. He was, in every measurable way, just another Targaryen of dwindling blood and fading name.
The being who etched the mission into his mind had been cryptic, offering no guidance only tasks and silence. He was left to forge the path alone.
In the Hyrule world, his last stop before this realm, the goal had been clear: obtain the remains of King Guliok. But becoming Guliok? That had been pure improvisation.
His first plan was crude. He ate it.
Eating magical monster flesh especially raw was agony. King Guliok's organs, once slain, had crystallized into elemental materials: liver, wings, horns. Each piece reeked of magic, bitter and dense. Chewing them had felt like biting lightning. But with each painful swallow, his form had begun to twist scales, horns, wings of elemental power. He had become Guliok in both body and spirit.
For a time, he had known true power.
But that moment was stolen. A tear in reality yanked him away and dropped him into the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, where magic slumbered and dragons were long dead.
Here, he was flesh and blood once more. The power of Guliok, though buried, remained. But how to awaken it?
He believed the answer lay with Daenerys.
Daenerys Stormborn The Unburnt. The Mother of Dragons. Dreamer of Dragons. A Targaryen unlike any in centuries. Her connection to the draconic essence of Valyria ran deep, though it had yet to manifest. But Viserys remembered the red comet, remembered how its coming in the original timeline marked the rise of fire and magic. When that star scorched the sky, Daenerys would awaken.
She was a living key. And he would stay close.
In the original tale, it was Illyrio and Viserys who conspired to wed Daenerys to Khal Drogo in exchange for an army Dothraki strength for Westerosi conquest. But now, with his merged memories, Viserys knew that the true architect of that scheme had been Illyrio.
The old Viserys had been clueless. He barely knew what a khalasar was. He imagined selling his sister to some merchant prince or minor Free City noble perhaps even to a Westerosi turncloak. But the name Drogo had meant nothing to him.
Which meant Illyrio had planted the idea.
But this Viserys had no intention of selling Daenerys. Nor would he serve as a puppet for Illyrio and whatever spider lurked behind his silks.
He would play along, confuse the plan, and stall for time.
That was why he wore the smile. That was why he played the fool.
That was why he said, "I understand."
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