Today, Pentos is bathed in fair weather. The sky is clear and blue, dotted with drifting white clouds, while the sea below shimrs with gentle waves.
It is a day that lifts the spirit.
On a hillside by the sea stands a magnificent mansion overlooking the entire harbor of Pentos.
The estate is surrounded by twelve-foot-high brick walls, topped with iron spikes.
There are three gates. The main gate serves as the primary entrance.
Another leads to a hidden ivy-covered garden.
The last, at the rear, opens to kennels, from which the sound of barking dogs carries.
Within the garden, at the center of a marble pool, stands a statue of a naked boy—handso and elegant, carved from painted marble, with shoulder-length golden hair.
He grips a dagger, posed in a fighting stance, surrounded by six cherry trees.
And within this mansion, Unsullied stand guard.
They wear spiked helms and fitted tunics, ard with short swords, shields, and spears. They stand unmoving, silent, their gazes empty and calm as they watch all before them.
...
At this mont, a woman—short in stature but full-bodied and beautiful, with olive skin, large dark eyes, and glossy black curls—entered a study beside the garden, led by a blonde girl.
Unlike the noble status of the dark-haired beauty, the blonde girl had been trained in Lys and sold here to serve as a plaything for kings.
She was nothing more than an object.
Thus, after leading the woman inside, she silently bowed her head and withdrew.
...
Inside Illyrio's study, Arianne Martell—the eldest daughter of Prince Doran Martell and his wife llario, heir to Sunspear and all Dorne—surveyed the room before fixing her gaze on the plump, golden-haired man writing at his desk.
"Magister Illyrio, such a fine day. I imagine you must have good news to share, if you've invited here."
Arianne smiled lightly and walked over to a sofa before him. Without waiting for an invitation, she sat down on her own.
Calm. At ease. As though she were the mistress of the place.
As she spoke, her eyes briefly flicked toward a slender, well-proportioned young man standing nearby.
He did not look at her. He stood with his head slightly lowered, as though he were rely one of Illyrio's subordinates.
Arianne's gaze lingered only for a mont before returning to Illyrio Mopatis—the true power behind Pentos, a man of imnse wealth.
Hearing her teasing tone, Illyrio set down his quill and looked up, a perfectly asured smile spreading across his face.
"Princess Arianne's instincts are sharp. Perhaps I should count myself fortunate I lack the standing to marry you—otherwise I would not dare so much as steal a taste of another woman, hahaha…"
The jest made Arianne's eyes brighten.
It had been half a year since she received Varys's letter—since she learned that shocking truth.
After hearing everything from her father, including past plans when Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister still lived, and what Varys had written, Arianne took up her family's mission.
Together with her brother, Quentyn Martell, she secretly crossed the Narrow Sea.
Her destination: Pentos.
Her brother's: the distant Vaes Dothrak.
She had not heard from him in over a month.
Since arriving, Illyrio had told her only to wait.
Three or four months had passed. Her patience was nearly gone.
But today—he had summoned her.
Sothing had changed.
"The man you had waiting for… we can et him now, can we not?"
Arianne leaned forward slightly, unable to conceal the tension in her voice.
Illyrio only smiled.
He set aside his quill, blew gently on the ink to dry it, then rose and poured two cups of red wine from a nearby table.
"We have been waiting," he said, "and preparing."
"You are right, Princess Arianne. From today onward—the ti has co."
His smile grew broader as he handed her a cup, his fingers heavy with jeweled rings.
Arianne accepted it, though her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced at the wine.
They clinked cups, as though celebrating sothing.
Yet just before drinking, Arianne paused.
"Truth be told," she said, "though I can feel the joy of it, I am curious—what exactly have we been waiting for all this ti?"
Illyrio took a sip, then smiled mysteriously.
He handed his cup to the man beside him and walked to the desk.
Arianne's gaze followed—fixing on the large, ornate box that had caught her eye earlier.
Illyrio patted it.
"A gift," he said. "A treasure so valuable that a single one could be traded for at least five warships."
"I spent seven or eight years searching for it… and countless fortunes. And this ti, the sa—over three hundred lives lost because of it."
He ran his hand across the box, eyes gleaming, a cruel smile at his lips, though his tone remained light.
Arianne frowned slightly, curiosity sharpening.
Three hundred lives… for a single object?
"What is it?" she asked.
Illyrio turned.
"This… is a gift I prepared for you."
"For us?" Arianne caught the word imdiately.
Illyrio did not answer.
He simply clapped his hands.
"Allow to introduce—" he said loudly, gesturing toward the young man.
"This is the second child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell—their only son, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, the future king of the Seven Kingdoms—Prince Aegon Targaryen!"
His voice rose with each word.
The young man finally lifted his head.
He stepped forward, set aside the wine, and reached to his jaw.
Before Arianne's widening eyes, he peeled away a mask—then removed a blue wig.
Revealed beneath was a handso face, deep blue eyes tinged with violet in the sunlight—and long, silver hair falling to his shoulders.
Targaryen silver.
Pale violet eyes.
Striking features.
Arianne rose to her feet, unable to remain seated.
"He… you're saying… he is Aegon? Rhaegar Targaryen's son? Aegon Targaryen?!"
Her voice trembled.
The young man stepped forward, smiling with confidence.
"Yes, Princess Arianne Martell. I am the son of Rhaegar—and your aunt's child. Aegon Targaryen."
Arianne's breathing quickened. Her cheeks flushed.
His Westerosi was flawless—no trace of the strange accents common in the Free Cities.
Seeing her shaken, Illyrio stepped in at just the right mont.
"Perhaps you would prefer a quieter place?"
"Princess Arianne, Prince Aegon—from this mont, this estate is yours."
He bowed slightly, took the dried letter from his desk, and withdrew.
So things are better left to privacy.
Outside, Illyrio looked down at the letter in his hand.
To Varys—
[Dear Varys,
Aegon Targaryen has arrived safely and in secret. He has returned to the place where he was raised.
As for the dragon eggs, one has been successfully taken from Daenerys. I will pass it to Aegon.
With my witness, Arianne Martell will wed him, sealing an alliance. The dragon egg will be my gift.
Of course, that is not the only gift. I have prepared sothing else for him.
Once the dragon hatches, I will give it to him.
I have also found warlocks—perhaps they can ensure the egg hatches, just as with the bastard you now serve.
But there is danger.
The leak after stealing the egg was part of our design—but the war to co must be prepared for.
Khal Drogo is marching west. He will soon reach Qohor.
Before that, we may need to act.
And in the flas of war, we will achieve what we seek.
Without this, Aegon has no chance. We cannot face Kal-El with our current strength—you and I both know this.
And perhaps the blood of princes—or a king—will help the dragon hatch.
So the flas of war must burn across the Free Cities.
Only then can Aegon rise swiftly.]
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