Pentos.
At the harbor, Dick had co to see Gawen off.
The night before, with the cooperation of Magister Illyrio, Gawen's n had stirred up no small commotion in Pentos.
Gawen reached out, patting Dick on the arm, and said warmly,
"Dick, I'm leaving matters here in your hands."
Dick gave a slight nod.
"Lord Gawen, I will never bring sha to House Crabb."
Then, glancing around, he lowered his voice.
"I can feel many eyes on us from the shadows."
In that mont, Dick looked very much like an inexperienced thief fresh from the countryside.
Gawen smiled faintly.
"Dick, wherever you go, rember to take enough guards."
The words caught Dick off guard — was his lord worried for his safety?
He felt a surge of gratitude and excitent, raising his voice.
"Lord Gawen, I will not disappoint you."
Gawen nodded slightly.
"Rember the words of our house — United We Stand."
"I'll rember!"
Gawen patted him once more, then turned and stepped aboard the rmaid.
At Rick Snow's booming commands, the sailors bustled into action, and the rmaid slowly pulled away from Pentos Harbor.
Standing at the stern, Gawen gazed silently toward the Magister's grand manse.
Beside him, Mondon Waters stood in a coarse robe, a warhamr hanging from his belt.
Gawen turned his head, glancing at him.
"What is it?"
Mondon's rolls of fat visibly trembled.
He had the instincts of a beast — instincts that had led him to find the "Beast King" Gawen in the first place.
Though Gawen rarely took the field himself, Mondon could sense the danger that lurked within him.
He knew well that, if Gawen so wished, he could cut down his foes — himself included — as easily as slicing cheese.
Yet Gawen was always gentle, and even warr toward his own n; that was sothing Mondon, with his natural intuition, felt deeply.
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have been startled by such a simple question.
But this ti, he was guilty.
Scratching his head sheepishly, he said,
"I… Pentoshi roast has a unique flavor. I was just thinking about when Anguy might be back."
Gawen: "…"
Nightfall – Illyrio's Mansion
After nearly a month in Gawen's company, Daenerys Targaryen felt she had suddenly grown up.
The ti had been short, but she had begun to see clearly many things that once baffled her.
Perhaps she had always been a queen in the making — she had only needed the right mont.
Sitting upright in her chair, she watched Illyrio approach at a asured pace, her expression tinged with a faint, knowing smile.
Illyrio sensed that sothing in her was different today.
His face remained calm, but inwardly he grew cautious.
When he ca close, he greeted her first.
"Good evening, Your Highness."
Daenerys gave a slight nod.
"Magister Illyrio, has Lord Gawen departed? Please, be seated."
"Thank you, Princess. You may rest easy — today is an excellent day to sail."
At that mont, her new attendants, Borona and Osanna, entered with wine and goblets.
Both had once been centurions of the Thorn Legion. Though they now bore new titles, they seed to have adapted well.
They set the goblets before Daenerys and Illyrio, then filled them with wine.
"This is Sumrwine, a gift from Lord Gawen. They say it cos from Dorne in Westeros. Sweet on the tongue — I fell in love with it from the first sip."
She took a taste, then added,
"Magister, I'm sure a man of your refinent has tasted it before… but I grew up wandering from place to place with Viserys. This is my first ti."
Illyrio smiled humbly.
"Sumrwine is made from honeyplums, cherries, and black oak, giving it a rich, fruity fragrance. Any who taste it cannot help but praise its beauty.
It's beloved across Westeros — from beyond the Wall in the far North, to Dorne in the South, and of course in King's Landing, it is the most cherished drink at noble feasts."
Daenerys listened with a pleasant smile.
"You are indeed well-versed in such things."
"When King Viserys reclaims the Iron Throne, all of Westeros will return to House Targaryen. Every treasure of the realm will be yours to enjoy."
Her lips curved slightly.
"And my brother?"
"These past days, His Grace has been occupied with securing ships to cross the Narrow Sea. He is diligent, but misses you dearly. He returned only just now — wait a little, and you will see him."
"How very fortunate…" she said lightly.
"It seems, Princess, that you have good news to share with the King. It will surely please him."
"I do. But first — Magister, ten thousand soldiers are not enough to take back the Iron Throne."
Illyrio's smile froze.
"When His Grace's forces land in Westeros, the great houses will rise to join him, rallying to their true king. The people will roar for justice, sweeping across the Seven Kingdoms."
Daenerys shook her head.
"Ten thousand is still not enough. The barbarian husband you have chosen for — how many n does he command?"
Without waiting for his answer, she continued,
"His na is Drogo, yes? Khal Drogo — leader of the mightiest khalasar on the Dothraki Sea. I've heard he has more than forty thousand screars under his banner."
"That is so," Illyrio said smoothly. "That Westerosi lord gathered much information for you. I've just made contact with Khal Drogo. Soon, I will et him in person to discuss your marriage."
She had changed — enough to make him feel she was becoming a stranger.
Perhaps he and Varys should never have allowed her to et Gawen Crabb.
"I have lived in constant fear — fear of waking the sleeping dragon in my brother, and fear of being cast aside. Yet in this ti, I have found peace, and through Lord Gawen I have learned much.
I kept wondering: you are the Magister of Pentos — how could you not know that ten thousand n cannot take the Iron Throne?
And then, as I watched him walk away… I understood. Partings are painful — but what if it were death instead?"
She took another sip of Sumrwine.
"Will the barbarian chieftain fall in love with his silver-haired bride? Perhaps it doesn't matter.
At the right mont, the so-called usurper will kill . Better still if the barbarian chieftain sees it happen before his eyes — it will ignite his wrath, and the fires of vengeance will consu him."
Illyrio's heart skipped a beat.
She had guessed his plan. How?
So this is the blood of the dragon… He felt a flicker of danger.
Her smile was radiant as she looked toward Osanna.
"Pour more wine."
Then, turning to Illyrio,
"Magister, I have always been grateful that you sheltered my brother and , but…"
She took the goblet, now full.
"I am the daughter of Aerys II, the sister of Viserys III, Princess of Dragonstone, the Stormborn, Daenerys—"
And with that, she flung the wine full into his face.
Even wary of her change in deanor, he had never imagined the timid girl would throw wine at him.
In his youth he had been an assassin, but twenty years of luxury had dulled him — and she was close enough that he took the blow full on.
Borona and Osanna gasped, quickly offering him towels.
Illyrio wiped the wine from his face, his chest rising and falling.
"Daenerys, this is an insult—"
"You dare toy with the true dragon. You have awoken my fury — and there is only one fate for you: death."
"You—"
The chill at his throat was followed by a pain in his chest.
Borona's dagger slit his throat; Osanna's plunged into his heart.
It was swift and clean. He clutched at his neck, stood for a heartbeat more, then collapsed to the floor.
Daenerys forced herself to watch, though her body trembled.
Illyrio lay in a pool of blood, eyes wide, unseeing.
She had done it. At last, she had done it.
Her body swayed, and she caught hold of the chair to keep from falling.
Borona stepped in to help her sit.
"Borona, Osanna… thank you."
"We are your guards, Princess. We live to serve," Borona said, and Osanna nodded firmly.
"Illyrio was still a Magister. We must leave tonight. Osanna, stay with Borona — go at once to the Crabb Trading Company and have Dick prepare a ship."
Osanna bowed and left.
"Borona, move him inside, and gather plenty of kindling."
At that mont, Viserys's angry voice carried in.
"Who was that woman just now? Was she a new servant from Illyrio? Why did she not bow to ?"
Once, such anger would have frightened her.
Now, she felt no fear — and even, seeing his silver hair trembling with rage, she almost wanted to laugh.
"She is not Illyrio's servant. She is a guard sent to by Lord Gawen — a true warrior."
"A guard? A warrior? I don't quite follow, my sweet sister, are you—"
Blood… that looked like Illyrio's.
Viserys's eyes went wide. He stumbled back in horror, nearly tripping before one of his followers caught him.
Daenerys's gaze shifted to a stranger in the courtyard.
He was past forty, clad in wool and leather, with a dark green surcoat embroidered with a black bear rampant. His hair was thinning, but his fra was still strong.
When Viserys regained his footing, he pushed the man aside and smoothed his hair.
"My Iron Throne… my Iron Throne…"
The man felt her eyes on him and looked back.
He seed taken aback at her face.
"Stranger, tell who you are," she said, giving Borona a subtle signal.
"Good evening, Princess. I am Jorah Mormont, from the North of Westeros — a knight exiled by the usurper on the Iron Throne. His Grace Viserys has invited here as his guest."
"And why were you exiled, Ser Jorah?"
"I sold a few poachers I had captured to slavers, violating Westeros's ban on the slave trade."
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