The Reveal

As I laid in bed reading some books of Westerosi history, I reflected on my meeting with the Targaryens.

Daenerys was certainly something, and not the woman she would later become. She wasn't the dragon queen who survived the Great Grass Sea, manipulated the so-called Kind Masters of Astapor and launched a slave liberation against the most incompetent villains ever put to literature. Instead, Dany was sweet and kind and shy, with a love of history and songs and fanciful stories. I enjoyed talking to her and it would be wrong to say I wasn't fanboying a bit.

Viserys though . . .

I put the thick book to the side, blew out the candle and laid down, staring at the ceiling in near perfect darkness. Viserys was interesting to say the least. While I did introduce myself, it was clear he didn't care for my presence. Polite once he discovered I was his host's son, but it was the cold distant formality one performed for politeness sake. In the initial meeting, we exchanged only a few words before I made a hasty retreat so he wouldn't raise questions. Later that day, we came face-to-face during one of Illyrio Mopatis' famous feasts. Viserys thought he was a king and certainly ate like one, going on and on about how his host would be justly rewarded for his deeds to House Targaryen once he got his throne. He made declarations and promises and all throughout, Magister Illyrio nodded along, acting the perfect Targaryen loyalist.

We ate seven courses for that was the holy number of the Seven and a way for Illyrio to show off his wealth if Viserys hadn't caught on already that the magister was stupidly rich. We began with thick frothy soup with a side dish of oatbread baked with bits of date, apple and orange. Then dozens of dishes were served with servants running back and forth: singing squid and lacquered duck, goat and roasted ham drenched in sickeningly sweet honey, even giant fish stuffed with prunes and peppers and lesser animals. There were grains as well, for while meat showed wealth, it didn't create a meal. There were fruits and cheeses, nuts and salad serving as carpets for grander cuisine. Each plate had been generously gifted with exotic spices of saffron, cinnamon, cloves and pepper and all other costly spices brought in from Illyrio's trading ships recently come in from the straits of Qarth. It hadn't only been food that made it memorable for entertainers were brought in as well. Singers from Braavos and Lys, a poet who told a story about two lovers from ancient Valyria before the Doom struck. Dany had cried and Viserys mentioned offhandedly that they'll sing about him one day. While this happened, wine flowed in an endless stream – rich sweet vintages from the Arbor, dreamwine from Qarth sweetened with sugar of lead – which I didn't drink – and an assortment of strange spices.

Between mouthfuls, Viserys spoke about how he was going to retake Westeros, kill Robert Baratheon himself and put the usurper's head on a spike where he would restore the Seven Kingdoms to the golden age it had been under the enlightened rule of his father. With the conviction Viserys said it, he truly believed King Aerys was a good man. I almost felt bad for him in his naivety. Sitting beside her brother, Daenerys rarely spoke unless spoken to and would always give a cautious glance to Viserys before opening her mouth.

A side of me had been all too willing to reveal myself to Viserys if just to see how he would flip out. That would have been hilarious, if somewhat self-destructive. It was easy to say he hadn't earned my sympathies with his actions. Regardless of my views on him, the Beggar King was still an important piece on the board from a political standpoint. He was the last male Targaryen - not counting Maester Aemon - and could command a decent deal of influence should I play my cards right. But what could I do with him exactly? Viserys was no military genius or statesman and nothing good would come of him taking the throne. The books and my recent first-hand experience of him threatening to slap a slave girl for almost spilling his drink had proven he would be a foolish gamble should I play the Tywin for his Aerys. He had the name, he had the looks, he had the title, but had nothing else going for him. He stood high and mighty, with an ego the size of a mountain and an entitlement just as big despite being an impoverished royal in exile.

I don't need him; I need his blood.

But surely, I didn't need him dead. Mayhaps just cut his palm or something like that. He didn't need to die. All Viserys had done was act like a dick and that wasn't worthy of death. I also didn't desire to upset Dany by killing her brother. He was the only kin she had and cared for him despite their dysfunctional relationship.

We did have the eggs in our procession. Illyrio had the three he planned to gift Daenerys for her wedding with Khal Drogo but another, a fourth, for myself. We have four dragon eggs and three people with Targaryen blood. The reaction was both happiness and caution. Giving Viserys Targaryen a dragon egg would be like giving a shark a submachine gun and the equivalent of shooting myself in the foot half a dozen times. I didn't need Viserys for the long term, but I was unsure how to rid myself of him after fulfilling whatever uses he had. Hunting accident? Or should I declare myself his servant and let the Targaryen loyalists' rebel only for Vis to die in the heat of battle where I declare myself his heir through proxy? Magister Illyrio would certainly have his own ideas and they would conflict with my own.

Whatever happens, the future should prove interesting.

Next morning, I decided to remove the blue dye from my hair. Standing before a basin filled with warm water, I pulled out a vial filled with cloudy liquid that produced a smell like boiled eggs. Nose flaring, the substance was poured in the basin where it quickly turned the water cloudy. Taking a breath, I stuck my head inside and scrubbed until blue ran down my face.

After washing with fresh water, I stared into the polished silver mirror. Gone was the blue dye and my hair was once again its natural silver-blond. With the War of the Four Kings coming closer and closer, I would need to reveal myself. I didn't need blue hair for that. Staring at the face before me, I tensed. "You can do this. You're not the same timid boy anymore. You fought Dothraki and sellswords, reformed the Golden Company into the ultimate fighting force and will soon hatch dragons. There is nothing Westeros can throw at you that comes even close." I paused. Haldon's right. I do sound cocky.

After dressing in black linen garbs, I went for breakfast where servants were piling plates on the table for everyone excluding both Targaryens and father. Illyrio Mopatis must have decided for a private breakfast which he regularly did with guests from out of Pentos. Sitting down and placing a napkin on my lap, the serving girls presented me with pastries, crisp-fried bacon and garlic sausages, soft-boiled eggs, fruits, cheeses and bread steaming from the oven.

"I forget how much I miss this," Ser Rolly Duckfield declared, a wide grin on his face before digging right in and making sounds for everyone else to enjoy.

Disgusted, Lyra pushed her plate back. "There goes my appetite."

I snorted as Duck looked up at her, crumbs in his beard and grease running down his face. Haldon rolled his eyes and Septa Lemore covered her mouth to hold back a light laugh. "You should eat. We've a busy day."

"You have a busy day," she grinned slyly at me. "What was meeting your kin like?"

"Daenerys is sweet. I like her. Viserys though . . . I'm unsure."

"I'm sure you are," Haldon told me in a flat tone of disbelief as he wiped his mouth with a cloth. "Your distant cousins. Your house's rivals, as it happens."

"It would be fun to break the news, Aegon," Lyra declared in a sing-song voice. "Mayhaps you'll have a final duel to end the rivalry of two ancient enemies. Is King Viserys an accomplished swordsman? I'd hate you watch you die; I was just beginning to like you."

"The lad will make short work of him," Duck declared. "Prince Viserys is a weedy-pinched-faced ass. My squire is the second coming of Aegon the Dragon."

I almost had the grace to blush. "He's not really my enemy. We're on the same boat, them and I."

"The Beggar King though," Haldon mused, pausing. "I hear bad news of him. Word spread easily on how he acted when they refused his demands."

"Demands?"

"Initially, Prince Viserys didn't lack people willing to host him. Some magisters even offered to host him permanently. There is much prestige in hosting a royal court and the last Targaryens. Should Viserys gain the Iron Throne, he would surely reward the persons who helped him during his time of need. But the Beggar King never had a court, nor allies and he left the sheltered walls of their estates. Sometimes for fear of assassins, other times when they refused to buy him sellswords and fleets for Westeros."

"Like the Golden Company?"

"Like the Golden Company," Haldon confirmed. "Unlike your ancestors, the Targaryens never had a court in exile. Anyone sympathetic are either trying to survive on their own in Essos, joined Connington or have remained in Westeros after having bent the knee."

"So, when do you plan on marrying her?" Lyra asked abruptly.

I almost choked on my sausage and the Rhoynish mage offered a playful little smile. Pounding my chest, I looked up and eloquently replied with, "What?"

Duck laughed. "Marry her, lad. You'll be happy. She's a pretty little thing destined to be a great beauty one day. A pleasure to bed."

Haldon shook his head while Septa Lemore scolded him, "You have a filthy mind, Duck."

Lyra snickered. "A very dirty one. Tis a shame that's the cleanest part about him. The Targaryens though, your plan is obvious, my sweet prince. Kill the brother, marry the little sister. Maybe frame his death on the Baratheons. Make yourself king and unite two rival houses. You're not half as clever nor subtle as you like to think you are."

I gave her a sharp look. "Not the plan." Not entirely. Lyra didn't look convinced. "Though I'll freely admit to being unsure about our future. Our original plans failed and—"

"Few plans succeed," Septa Lemore told me in a voice of motherly wisdom. "You'd be a fool to think otherwise. Arrogance is a most dangerous sin, mayhaps the very worst, and those afflicted will suffer for it, as the seven-pointed-star tells us. Many great and wicked men have fallen victim to it."

"Praise the Seven," I said with a playful smile, "Wise fellows and I should heed their counsel." I had once been a christian, having been raised in a family of them and a firm believer in my youth. Those days had long gone but here, I would need to feign piety. I'll work on that for Westeros. Get the Faith of the Seven behind me and act the pious king. The smallfolk would love that for sure.

"You should, but first we will need to wait," Haldon told me. "There is nothing wise about rushing and we are in a good position. Our hold on the Triachy is secure and none of the other cities would be willing to act against us for some time. King Robert Baratheon may curse the existence of the alliance, but he is in no position to attack us for the Westerosi fleets can't rival the naval capabilities Essosi city states can call upon. Should he land, Westerosi logistics will be stretched to the breaking point. Such a conflict against professional soldiers with levies make victory for King Robert Baratheon functionally impossible."

"But would they actually attack?" I asked before biting into an apple. The sleeping giant was a perfect term to describe Westeros. It was a whole continent united under a single authority with near limitless manpower and expansive fortifications. Ridiculously powerful when it was finally got moving under a single leader, but slow to wake and prone to ignore the outside world to battle amongst itself.

"Robert Baratheon is a warrior king, even as fat as he is now, but he would be a fool to attack us. In the War of the Ninepenny Kings, many lords were content to allow the Nine to launch their invasion first and it required much stirring from King Jaehaerys the Second to get each of the kingdoms to send men to the Stepstones. Even then, it was closely contested and Maelys only had Tyrosh as a puppet, instead of all three daughters. It is just as well. The Golden Company needs to recover and the Seven Kingdoms are still strong. House Baratheon rules and its hold remains secure. Lord Stannis Baratheon protects the Narrow Sea with the royal fleet and Lord Renly controls the Stormlands. Lord Tywin rules the Westerlands, Lord Jon Arryn the Vale, Hoster Tully the Riverlands and Eddard Stark the North. That is at least five of the kingdoms standing shoulder to shoulder against an invasion. According to my estimates, combined, they should number forty-and-two-hundred-thousand men."

"By the Seven," Duck loudly cursed to Septa Lemore's frustration.

"That is if they use all their manpower, which they're not like to do. For the other kingdoms, the Dornish have no pieces in the game and shouldn't care if we win or lose. The Reach? You are like to find allies there. The hold of the Tyrells is secure and their bannermen have proven themselves in recent history to be united which is a most rare anomaly in such a divided province."

"Then there are the Ironborn," Dalabhar said, having already finished his meal and handing the plate to a slave to take away. "They should have no love for King Robert Baratheon. The Lord Paramount had his sons die in the Greyjoy Rebellion, so he'll hold no love for his overlord. But I would question their military strength. I have seen them fight first-hand, and doubt they'll be effective in fighting long-term wars. They are plunderers and their entire doctrine emphases lightening quick raids along the shoreline. Perhaps as a distraction, but I wouldn't trust them to hold off for long. The Iron Isles is well defended with rough seas and limited areas for naval landings. They have castles and their ships are designed to work in the currents. They still lost."

"Never considered them that useful anyway," I said, finishing my fruit.

Haldon continued. "Darry lost much of its strength in the rebellion. Their lands distributed to the neighbours they once ruled. Should be loyal to the Targaryens, but don't have much in the way of strength. Other houses are Mooton and some minor lords. But they're weak. Your strength will be the Reach. I would urge you to side with them. Don't try your hand at this scheme with Daenerys. Aim to align yourself with the Tyrells. Their territory is rich and fertile with enough supplies to feed your entire army. As I said about the Reach being united, they should give you eighty to a hundred-thousand men. A third of which are heavy cavalry. Margaery is unmarried, a maiden and reputed to be very pretty."

Most of George's characters are pretty, I mused, though that wasn't on my list of priorities. I would marry Lollys Stokeworth if it gave me a decisive edge. Close your eyes and think of England, was the saying. While I wasn't a fan of arranged marriages, I had to have one for my plans. I may not be happy, but personal happiness didn't matter at the end of the day.

Running a hand through by hair, I sighed. "A pretty little virgin doesn't give me a throne. Soldiers will. Armies will. Allies will."

"The Tyrells will give you that and more," Haldon urged. "Against all the enemies you face, you need the Tyrells. They're the best chance you have to take the Iron Throne. You need coin and fodder more than just legitimacy. Robert had a claim, a stronger claim than you, yes, but it was weaker than the Targaryens and he sits well enough. It was his hammer that truly won him the Seven Kingdoms."

"Why not marry two?" Duck asked, wiping his mouth after gulping down a cup of fine wine like it was cheap bear. "Marry two like Aegon the Conqueror did with his sister wives. Or go further and marry three."

"Are you a foolish Duck?" Haldon asked him. "The Conqueror married before his invasion of Westeros and he had dragons. Three of them. What does the lad have and even then, do you know how dangerous polygamy is?"

"It is," Vaquo said abruptly and I turned to the moon-faced Volantene. "I may try to avoid politics like the grey plague, but I know the danger from my own experience. Your own kin become as trusted as your most bitter enemies. Your life becomes full of rivalries as mothers try to rise their children higher in the line of succession. Inside the Black Walls, one can't survive for long unless they build an immunity to poisons."

"He is correct," Lyra supported. "Remember, Aegon, when you asked me to poison you to build up resistance? Vaquo accidentally drank some and it barely affected him."

"Only got a light stomach pain. Mother weened me on poison."

"She's been poisoning you?" Haldon stared at me with surprise, the same expression as everyone else at the table.

"Would explain why you got sick those few times," Dalabhar muttered wryly.

I only nodded, not caring for that conversation. I did ask Lyra to leave traces amounts in my food and drink. Nothing like being crazy prepared against assassination attempts. "Vaquo is right, Duck. Such an idea will lead to civil war and did when Aegon the Conqueror performed it. His descendants fought over the throne and the realm bled. I won't make the same mistake when I sit my throne."

"Your throne?" Lyra asked politely. "You have the ambition of a true dragon."

Did I say my throne? "For what I plan for Westeros, you need some level of ambition and a high degree of authority will make it all the easier to perform it."

"You know, Egg, that is mayhaps the one thing that allows Prince Viserys to sleep at night."

I gave her a questioning look.

"Let me think on his history. From what I could get from Connington and others, Viserys had been sheltered by the Mad King, away from his mother and everyone else. Leading to him being a spoiled little thing which is understandable when you are the king's favourite son. Then, unexpectedly, you're exiled to a strange foreign land, losing all your kin besides a new-born baby sister who is a result of a complication that killed the mother. After, what, five years? You have been thrown out the only home you know with only the clothes on your back and caring for a child who's a decade younger—"

"Eight years," Haldon corrected.

"Eight years," Lyra conceded. "They go from place to place, feeding on charity and are replied to with mocking, for I don't think Beggar King is a charitable title. Then here you are, the perfect prince who'd been lovingly grown from a bean. Protected, sheltered and taught by a chainless maester who left the Citadel, a lovely septa and an exiled lord who treated you as his own son. Oh, and a mighty duck to teach you at arms. You have what the Targaryens lacked, given freely what needed to fight for. A pampered boy who's blind to think they would just stand to the side as you demand things from them. From him especially."

I frowned. "Nice little monologue, but what are you saying?"

"You speak like they are just going to do what you want. The plan with the Dothraki failed for Khal Drogo did as he wanted and had a will of his own. What is to say the Targaryens find out and flee, fearing your whale of a father will poison them at his own table? But should they find out, oh, the anger will be very real especially with what happened with the Golden Company. Viserys' pride would surely turn to rage and all he's got is his pride."

"Thank you, Lyra," Haldon muttered with false warmth. "Not a day goes by without your most valuable insight."

"He deserves it," she grinned. "In truth, I care little for the politics of the Seven Kingdoms or whatever you have planned for them. I don't know the Targaryens, they are strangers to me. But I am kind enough to give you this advice, young prince: earn your way into their good graces. You don't know what could happen."

The room was silent, and it was Septa Lemore who broke the stillness. "She is right, it pains me to say. Prince Viserys has had a most tragic life. I don't envy him, even less his sister. They are poor children and young Daenerys is a lonely one. You know I've supported you, despite my disagreements with what you do and who you associate with." She gave a not-so-subtle glance at Lyra who was sipping from her cup. "You know I will always stand beside you and give counsel whenever you require it. You're a better man than you act and one that can do better for them."

"Nice words, but the world is not a song," Dalabhar said in his monotone voice. "What is needed and what should be are different things."

"But that doesn't mean you shouldn't work on having the world as it should be. The world is bad enough without adding to it. Aegon, I know you have it in you to improve. Those machines, I know, have helped Illyrio and can help Westeros. It'll be harder, I'll admit, but it's a goal you should strive for. In deeds and not solely results."

I stared at the handsome Dornishwoman for a moment, then looked down at my food where a fly had decided to land. I pushed the plate away, suddenly not hungry. "I want to, Lady Septa. But sometimes we don't the luxury."

"No excuses. I know you have changed after losing your memories and despite everything you've accomplished, I want him back."

"Him?"

"I meant the way you were. The young boy who smiled and spent his days swimming in the Rhoyne. The boy who loved hearing stories about Princess Nymeria and had dreams of being a true knight like Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, Ser Serwyn of the Mirror Shield and Ser Galladon of Morne. The boy who would play with the children in whatever town we crossed, despite Old Griff's threats of punishment. I know it won't happen and I'm a fool to want it, but I miss what had been. The Seven Kingdoms need another Aegon the Unlikely, another Jaehaerys. A Baelor Breakspear. Not another Tywin Lannister."

There was a harsh silence in the room. I licked my lips, not that it helped much for how parched my mouth became in that short moment. "I never desired to be Tywin Lannister. I don't desire to be a monster."

"I never said you were a monster, Aegon. I would never imagine you were anything of the sort." She looked at my sympathetically. "But sometimes I fear you're walking the same path. Please be careful. I know you're a bright and courteous young man, well-read and capable of much mercy. Let the world know it."

...

After sparring against Ser Duck, I found Dany and Lemore in the garden, sitting at a stone bench near a secluded alcove. The princess was smiling and giggling from the septa's jest. Daenerys' long blonde hair had been brushed until it shone, and was dressed in a white linen tunic but had removed her sandals so her exposed feet were brushing the grass. The looks she shared with the septa made her look unnervingly innocent but there was a playfulness as well. "Lady septa, princess," I called out to them before performing a bow.

Daenerys simply smiled, Lemore chuckled. "Finish your sparring have you, Young Griff? Hopefully you have cleaned yourself up. You're a growing boy and I do abhor the smell of sweat."

"I did so, lady septa. I bathed and scrubbed until my skin was raw. Then I took a sniff and did it some more."

"Your hair . . . it is silver," Dany observed.

"Like yours. Guilty as charged," I chuckled as I ran a hand through the waves that had more gold in them than her pale silver. "My mother was from Lys. I inherited my hair and eyes from her. Everything else I got from my father." When she opened her mouth, I quickly added, "When he was a young man, of course. He was a bravo, a sellsword like myself."

"Yourself? Y-you're a sellsword?"

"I joined a sellsword company to learn to fight. The Golden Company in fact."

She turned away. "Oh."

"Daenerys? Are you alright, sweet child?" Lemore asked, putting a hand on the little princess.

"I didn't mean to offend. It wasn't my intention," I blurted out.

"I'm sure it wasn't," she told my feet. "I was just surprised. I wouldn't think you were a sellsword . . . I wouldn't think that would be what Magister Illyrio would wish of you."

"My father offered me a choice of that or follow his example and maybe captain a ship. The sea doesn't always agree with me, but swinging a sword does. So I made my choice." A few times I had thought of abandoning Westeros and just focus on Essos, spending my time on commerce and industry. It didn't matter now. I had gone too far to look back. "May I ask what you two lovely girls are doing?"

Lemore chuckled. "Girl? Please, Griff. People may call me lovely but I have not been called a girl for many a decade." She shook her head with a playful grin. "We have just been talking. Though the matter is of little importance to you. Simply how the princess has been going around Essos." Her eyes turned sympathetically to a Daenerys who was looking at the grass and fiddling with her fingers. "You are safe now. No one is going to hurt you."

The assassins, I remembered. Did Robert send assassins, or did Jon Arryn convince his king to not send them? Even if the Iron Throne didn't hire anyone, there was bound to be some opportunistic sellsword wanting to earn quick coin and perhaps a lordship from a thankful king across the pond. "You are safe here. The manse is surrounded by high walls and patrolled by Unsullied who are the best guards in the world." That was a lie, but a white lie and that wouldn't hurt. She still looked concerned so without thinking, I said, "If that is not enough, I could, uh, promise to protect you myself, Princess Daenerys." I couldn't bite my tongue fast enough. She looked up, confused. Dig myself deeper why don't I? "A princess needs guards, and they're always knights. I am not a kingsguard nor even knight, I confess, but I am being trained by a knightly Duck who has made me his own squire. Regardless, I offer myself as your sworn shield. Be your knight in everything but name . . . if you agree, of course."

Daenerys stared, then burst into a soft giggle. "That is sweet of you. I may take you up on your offer, Master Griff. I, Princess Daenerys of House Targaryen, most humbly accept your offer should you serve faithfully and obey without question."

I bowed, trying hard not to laugh. I was surely the first person who offered to serve as her bodyguard. In truth, it was more to comfort her and, as I looked into her eyes, I believed that Daenerys knew that to. I went to my knees and made the promise; only at the end did I notice the intrigued look Septa Lemore gave me. Taking a seat opposite them in the lush grass, I listened to them talk about the mysteries of the Seven and the duties expected of a Targaryen princess. About midway through, I went to grab some paper and charcoal. When I returned, I took a seat before them and began to sketch.

"What are you doing?" Dany asked.

"Just a little drawing," I said with a little smile. "Unless you don't want me to. I thought it would be nice, is all. It's a nice day, the sun is out, and the birds are singing in the trees. You look at peace. I wanted to capture this moment. If you don't desire me to, I can stop."

"No . . . you can continue if you wish," she smiled shyly. "This is the first time someone's ever thought . . . Do I . . ."

"Just hold still until I do the outlines." Daenerys did so, with me mostly focusing on the face. She had soft, delicate features with a dainty little nose and large eyes framed with thick lashes. She was sure to grow up into a great beauty. Hell, she was already showing signs of it, and would become more so in time. Soon, the outlines were done and I began the shading and details. All the while we talked of Westeros, Pentos, my exploits and where Dany had travelled. She told us how she loves sailing, the smell of the sea, her dreams of being a sailor and exploring the world. I only smiled a sad little smile and let her speak. When done, I grinned and blew off the dust before flipping the parchment to show her.

Dany's eyes grew wide. "You drew that . . . it is beautiful. May I?" I offered the paper and she examined it, delighted. "It's wonderful. This is the first time anyone has drawn me."

"You have a face for it," I smiled shyly.

Septa Lemore chuckled. "He is talented. Better than the one you did of me, I'll say. Mayhaps another?"

"If that is what you desire, Lady Septa. With a princess' patronage, I know what to do should I fail serving the Golden Company. Young Griff the Artisan. Though I confess, that doesn't have the same ring to it." I forced a laugh, remembering a similar conversation. "I'm glad you like it, Daenerys. I believe it fits your likeness well enough. You may keep it if that is your desire. A little gift."

She beamed. "Thank you, Master Griff. This means a lot to me." She held it close to her and I swear her cheeks turned rosy. "I'll keep it close always."

...

It was the next night when I pulled off the silk sheets and rose from bed. My toes wigged in the plushness of the Myrish carpet before I put on a pair of muffled sandals. I had agreed to do something tonight and, to be frank, I was looking forward to it.

Sneaking through the empty corridors, illuminated only by a candle, I made my way to the guest wing both Targaryens had been given. Reaching her door, I knocked in a rhythm of three rapid beats so Daenerys knew it was me. I glanced down the hall, towards Viserys' room. He slept next to his sister's chamber and each night he had been spoiled by Illyrio's servants, especially the comely slave girls like Larra and Doreah who'd recently been brought from Lys. Illyrio did pamper Viserys, calling him "Your Grace," providing him with handsome silk clothes with Targaryen livery, a well-crafted sword and servants to tend to his every need, not to mention wrapping the princeling around his fat fingers. All manipulation, it was clear to see. A shame poor Viserys couldn't. Illyrio confirmed all Viserys' beliefs and nursed his ego. Such an action would be intoxicating to the exiled prince, no doubt. He'd been denied treatment for years and now had the richest men in Pentos giving him all he craved. It was also making him completely reliant. I didn't know my father's plan, but Viserys wasn't the end goal.

The door opened and Daenerys stood there in her white night dress and slippers. "Princess," I whispered, bowing my head and trying hard not to smile.

In the darkness were the bodies of the Dothraki in the oversized bed, having just stirred from their slumber. The smaller Irri gawked, rubbing her eyes while her thick black mane was tangled from sleep. With their permission, I gave them the opportunity to serve Daenerys as her personal handmaidens. Both girls accepted and Dany had been surprised before agreeing. They got along well, which was good. Daenerys needed some friends around her age and both Dothraki girls needed someone to treat them kindly. I just had to ensure her older brother wouldn't mistreat them.

She stood up straight, "You offered to show me the stars . . ." Then looked towards Viserys' room, her awkwardness returning. "What if he—"

"He won't," I promised. Not after he's been whoring . . .

I offered the Targaryen my arm and escorted her outside to one of the gardens. We laid down and stared up at the night skies above. There were no clouds and the stars were out. Thousands of burning stars in the form of flickering lights, some bright, some dim, but all beautiful. The air was chilly, but that was part of the appeal for me. I liked the cold. It helped me relax. As we stared up at the sky, the only sound was the rustling of the trees and our own breathing.

"There must be hundreds of them," Dany sighed. "They're so tiny."

I chuckled, crossing my arms behind him head. "There are untold billions. There are more stars in the sky than grains of sand in the world."

Daenerys turned to me, pursing her pouty lips. "You are lying."

"I'm not," I grinned. "Space is a vast place. There are stars and planets, shooting stars and comets. There are untold numbers of them. Each one of those stars is around the size of the sun, maybe larger, maybe smaller, but all massive. Some of them are not even visible to the naked eye. Space is amazing." It was sad to think that most of this world had no understanding of space and what laid within it.

"You are being silly," though Dany didn't sound convinced of her own words and paused. "When I was little, when we were still in Braavos, I remember having a teacher. He was old and grey, with hair he combed over to hide a bald spot. After . . . after he left, I was taught by Viserys. I was never graced with a septa nor a maester of the Citadel." She looked back at the night sky and shivered from a cold gust of wind. "I heard him say stars are the souls of the dead looking down at us. I do wish that was true. I want my parents and brother watching over me, protecting me . . ."

I felt a tug of sympathy. It made me remember my own family and friends from earth. I had made peace with never seeing them again, but it still hurt to think about. "Either that or they're just balls of fire." I chuckled and Daenerys gave me a pointed look. "I never said he was wrong. I'm sorry, Princess Daenerys . . . pray forgive me." I bit my lip lightly, thinking about my next words. "I understand what it's like to lose someone."

Daenerys rolled over to look at me. She was barely an arm's length away. "I never met them." Her voice was so gentle I strained to hear.

Just the look of her face made me want to hug her, hold her tight and whisper sweet promises into her ear. "Maybe my mother is up there to. I lost her as well. She died of greyscale. I was but a babe when she died. She wasn't born in Westeros, but her ancestors came from there. My father still has a locket of her in his room. Sorry to say, I'm not close to my father, though I'll admit to being closer to the teachers who cared for me like how parents care for their children." While her voice was full of sadness for the family she had never known, I spoke about mine matter-of-factly. My own tone surprised me more than I would care to admit.

Daenerys rolled over to her side, purple eyes full of sympathy. "Griff . . . I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

We just laid there, staring up at the night sky in silence. It was relaxing and I was thankful. I swear that if my hair wasn't silver, it would have already began to grey. "Dany—Daenerys. I mean . . . Princess Daenerys Targ—"

She giggled. "You make me sound like a crowd. We're friends. You can call me that."

Friends . . . I was lying to her though. Did friends, true friends, lie? I took a shaky breath. "Friends," I agreed. Soon, I'll tell her the truth. "Dany, if you could make a wish, any wish, what would it be?"

"A wish? Anything? There is so much. A comfy bed and a warm hearth. My family never to have been exiled by the usurper. My brother and mother and father, nephew and niece alive and happy. I want a house with a red door." The last wish was spoken softer than the others.

"A house with the red door?" I knew what she was referring to. The residence of her youth, the place where Ser Darry protected them. She wants a home, she wants to be loved by family.

"My home . . . or the closest thing to one. Before we came here . . . before we were forced to travel around, we lived there, in Braavos. I remember the wooden beams adorned with animals, the kitchens smelling of sweet cakes and the lemon tree growing outside my window. Ser Willem Darry protected us. We had servants and I felt . . . it felt normal. I was happy there, but we were kicked out when he died and the servants stole everything we had. Then we . . . then we . . ." Her voice broke.

"You're safe now," I said, feeling a need to comfort her. Despite everything, I just couldn't see her as anything other than a scared little girl. That'll be the death of me, I wager. "We'll protect you, the both of you. I'll make sure of it. The usurper's assassins won't find you, nor can they get to you. If that's not enough, well, I did promise to protect you myself." I forced a chuckle to break the tense mood. "I said I would, and who wouldn't want to protect a princess?"

She giggled after a moment and the tension was forgotten. "Thank you for your words. In truth though . . . I don't feel like a princess."

"Few would in your situation," I agreed, wondering if somewhere in the night sky was earth. Was I in a different planet or a different universe? Questions with answers I would never know. As I believed there was an innumerable number of infinite parallel universes, each one different from my own, I wagered there was one where I had been transferred into the body of Aegon the Trueborn, where he survived infancy and was having an foursome with his aunt, his sister Rhaenys and a female version of Aegon Blackfyre. Fuck that kid and fuck the being that sent me to this world instead of that one.

Once more, Daenerys broke the silence. "My brother wants us to stay here. Normally we don't stay long, b-but . . . he thinks it's for the best." Her plump lips smiled, shy and sweet. "I would miss losing a friend . . . and the others."

"Others?" I chuckled. She did meet Vaquo and Lyra and Dalabhar. Both mage and engineer didn't care she was a Targaryen. Lyra disliked them from the start and made a point to avoid both. Vaquo, as expected, didn't really care and mentioned in passing that they're no true dragonlords. Dalabhar was courteous in his cold formal way but that was it. Daenerys didn't really have any relations with those three. She was closer to Duck, Haldon and Septa Lemore who taught and laughed with her. "I would miss you to, Dany. I would miss being without a friend . . . would you keep the secret of a friend?"

She rolled over where her silvery hair sprawled out on the ground. She ran her hand through it, tucking the strands behind her ears. "It depends on the secret," the princess' voice was quiet.

I might as well tell her sooner rather than later. Nothing good came from deceiving the Mother of Dragons. Taking a deep breath, I said, "I won't lie to you. I hope you're aware that I care about you, Daenerys, more than I would have thought. I've been lying to you since we met."

"Lying?" She sat up. The warmth of her voice had vanished and she looked much more distant. Guarded. "You lied to me? What is the lie? Tell me truthfully. I demand it."

She demands it, like a queen. "My name for starters. My name's not Griffin, nor Griff. Not officially anyway. I was called it once upon a time, a nickname to hide my true identity. Nor am I a Mopatis. He is my father though. It is my mother I get my last name from. My house name. I am not Griff Mopatis . . ." I paused because for some reason that just felt right. "My name is Aegon. Aegon Blackfyre."

"Aegon? Blackfyre?" Her face darkened and voice grew louder. "My house's enemy? Pretenders?"

"You could say so," I accepted, sitting up. Daenerys stood, looking down at me. Even if I didn't know she hatched dragons, sacked cities and all other stuff, there was something intimidating despite her size. "I am the last one. My mother was the daughter of the last Daemon Blackfyre, unknown and had been a sex slave. She didn't deserve such a fate. We're here now, Dany—"

"No. Don't call me that," she scowled and took a step back. "You're a Blackfyre . . ."

"I am," I agreed. "And I can't change that. Neither can you change the fact you were born a Targaryen."

Her face flickered before softening after a moment. "No. I suppose not." She slacked her shoulders. "I . . . I'm sorry . . . for the outburst. It was unbecoming of me."

"Don't apologise. It is me who should. I should have told you sooner." I stood up and put a hand on her shoulder. Daenerys shuddered and I immediately let go, apologising. "It's alright. I'm not my ancestors, if that's what you fear. I have no ambition to sit the Iron Throne. That is your brother's right." That was a lie, but I needed to tell her what she wanted to hear.

Her eyes flickered and she looked into my eyes. Purple on purple. "So . . . Aegon." Her voice broke and she took a sip of breath. "I . . . I thank you for the honesty. Thank you for telling me the truth."

The air around us was tense and I looked towards the manse. "Perhaps we should return inside, princess. We don't want your brother to find out, now do we?" I offered her my arm, but she refused. It was clear Dany was shaken and unsure on what to make of it. Our two families had been fighting for generations. Daenerys had probably been raised on horror stories of the Blackfyre pretenders, and I was one. Instead of pushing, I bowed my head politely. "While I would gladly escort you, I trust you can see yourself to your chambers. It has been nice talking to you, Princess Daenerys Targaryen."

I turned on the balls of my feet and walked away. She didn't say anything back.

...

The very next morning, Viserys glared at me from across the room.

The Mad King's son had the classical Valyrian features: pale skin like that of an albino, silver-blond hair and lilac eyes that were paler than his sister's. He stood taller than myself, with a gaunt face and hard lines from a life of surviving in a foreign land. The expression towards me was nothing short of malicious. Viserys was well dressed though, garbed in a woollen half-cloak tied around his neck with a black iron chain and a black silken doublet embroidered with a three-headed scarlet dragon crusted with tiny rubies. He wore gilded boots patterned with intricate details and on his bronze studded belt was a borrowed sword meant to make him look kinglier.

Daenerys had snitched on me.

"A Blackfyre?" The Targaryen pretender glared at Illyrio. "You brought me into your home, let me eat your food and sleep in your beds. Me and my sister, in the same house as a Blackfyre! My family's enemies! They had slain our blood. Tried to steal—"

"Just as yours had slain mine." I had no weapon on my person. In the room, the only people armed were Viserys and the Unsullied household guards waiting for steel to finally expose itself. Flanking me stood Lyra and Dalabhar in a simple green tunic and sandals. The Summer Islander didn't look equipped for a fight, but I knew he was as fast as he looked strong and the man looked inhumanly strong. "Blood has been shed both sides." My eyes turned to Daenerys who stood behind her older brother and refused to meet my gaze.

"Both sides have killed each other," Septa Lemore said, trying hard to act the sensible one in this minefield. "I know there is a bloody history between your two sides . . . but you're one family—"

"We're not family," Viserys growled. "We never were. Oh, we may have shared blood once upon a time. But you are no true dragons, now are you? Only impostors."

I disagreed. The Blackfyres married family members to keep the blood strong. A few married outside but most married their cousins and siblings. That made the Blackfyres just as inbred as the Targaryens, if not more so. When it comes to blood purity, I may actually win. It wasn't a competition I desired to win, but never mind. "I don't claim to be a Targaryen. And I am no impostor, for it seems I'm a little too honest for my own good. Isn't that right, Dany?"

"Blackfyre, Targaryen, what's the difference?" Illyrio asked, throwing his arms high in the air. "Scales of red, scales of black, a dragon is still a dragon."

"What's the difference?" Viserys spat those words, hand tight around the leather cased handle. "All the difference! They fought my family, sought to kill my ancestors! Daemon the Pretender tried to steal the Iron Throne from his rightful king! His house tried to invade the Seven Kingdoms and steal what belongs to House Targaryen!"

"I didn't and that's what's important," I said calmly, though the urge to stab Viserys with his own sword was increasing by the second. "Our families might have been enemies but we're on the same boat now. We're both exiles in Essos. It is the stags who sit the Iron Throne. They are the true enemy for both our houses. They were the ones who exiled you, who killed your brother, his wife and their children. It was Ser Jaime Lannister who stabbed your father in the back on the steps of the Iron Throne. The ones you should be angry with are the Houses Baratheon and Lannister. Not I."

Viserys eyes flickered for a moment so I pushed forward.

"They have the strength of the Seven Kingdoms at their disposal. Hundreds of thousands of men. Men-at-arms, smallfolk levies and knights of both great renown and dark infamy. What have you got, Your Grace? I stand with the Golden Company. Twenty thousand strong and the finest military in the east. We hold sway with Lys, Myr and Tyrosh and even hold influence over the Free City of Pentos. We have swayed their leaders and their navies will sail under our banner. What do you have besides that borrowed sword and the clothes on your back?"

"The rightful claim," Dany proclaimed, before withdrawing into her shell once more. "The lords of Westeros will support us."

"Princess Daenerys, must I inform you that one doesn't lose a claim, it only weakens every generation." But what does a claim truly matter to force of arms? "While we stand here and bicker, the usurper's hold is getting stronger and any invasion either of us launches will have a harder time. While some may disagree, I would rather stand second in the Seven Kingdoms than first in a village."

Viserys didn't like the sound of that. "What you are is a fool. I am no fool, Aegon." He spat the name out. "How dare you take that name. You steal the name of my ancestor. The name of—"

"Aegon is my ancestors name to."

"A fate you don't deserve," the Beggar King growled, acid dripping from his voice. "My nephew had that very name. He would have been a king had he not died. Yet you take it and live. It should have been you in his place."

There was a deathly silence. A glance at Illyrio told me all I needed to know. "Perhaps I should have," I said softly. "It would have been easier, but that is not the fate the gods have handed to us. None of us choose to be born and only a few choose when they die. But we're here now, standing in this room in a manse in Pentos. This is perhaps the only choice that truly matters, Your Grace. I have sure as hell made mine."

The Beggar King's brows creased. "You seek to manipulate me. I am no fool."

Lyra chuckled. "I'd disagree."

"Shut your whore mouth! No one speaks that way to the dragon! I should kill you right now!"

The humorous look vanished and Lyra's entire face darkened in a way I had never seen before. "Not before I end you, Viserys Targaryen. I will slit your throat with your own shadow if you step out of line. By the grace of the Mother Rhoyne, I really want to end your line right here."

Viserys' rage flared. He drew his sword from its casing and pointed it at her. "The dragon will not be made a fool of!"

That was a mistake. Within an eye-blink, Dalabhar pressed forward. Before the Targaryen could react, the sword was wrenched from his grip and the Summer Islander lifted Viserys up by the neck with a single arm. It was an impressive achievement; Viserys was a tall dude. The exiled prince's face turned white. He shouted and begged and struggled to rip himself free. Nails clawed the arm holding him, flaying flesh and leaving savage bloody marks. Dalabhar didn't react.

"You made a mistake when you exposed your blade, Prince Viserys. I trust you won't be this foolish in the future." He didn't scream, nor did he shout. Dalabhar didn't even raise his voice. But he was angry, if not more so than Viserys. That made it more terrifying.

Casually, the Summer Islander threw the princeling across the room as easily as a child might throw a doll. Viserys Targaryen was sprawled out on the marble, his little sister rushing over to him. When he looked up, Viserys' face was naked fear. Dalabhar stepped back to his previous position, borrowed sword in hand.

The Unsullied stepped forward, spears at the ready. Illyrio's face was covered with droplets of sweat, Haldon cursed under his breath and Septa Lemore prayed to the Seven. Viserys was shaking and his anxious sister had tears running down her cheeks. Once I had pitied Viserys, despite him being an ass, for he had a bad life. But now I only felt anger. Take a deep breath. In and out. "I hold no hatred for either of you. If we wanted you dead, you would be. But you're alive and safe under this roof. You were given guest rights in the Westerosi custom. One you were dangerously close to breaking. Is there something you wish to say, father?"

Magister Illyrio nodded, recollecting his composure in a shockingly short space of time "My son is correct. We are not your enemies. We don't plan to be unless you make us, yet you seem to be forcing our hand. Divided, House Targaryen and Blackfyre are weak. Together we are strong. King Viserys, you are the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms, but you lack the necessary army. Allow us to serve you as your most humble servants. Forgive Master Dalabhar, like the humble and merciful king you are, and we can look past this. In return, we offer twenty thousand men willing to serve and return House Targaryen to its rightful throne."

To his credit, Viserys looked to consider this, until he grimaced. "And what do you want for this most generous offer? Gold, titles?" He glanced at me. "Made a Targaryen?"

"I am a Blackfyre. My great grandfather had been legitimised but created his own house. By the laws of legitimisation, I am by all rights a Targaryen. I, however, don't desire to carry the name, nor do I desire coin and titles. What I do want, and I speak on behalf of the Golden Company both old and new, I want my ancestor's home. Like yourselves, we are exiles. I would think that'll make us sympathise with each others plights."

"And the hand of the princess," Illyrio was quick to interject. "We'll reunite the branches of the houses Targaryen and Blackfyre, mend what has been broken. You have a sister, and I have a son. That should put aside the bad blood between both houses and bring peace where there has only been war."

Viserys looked to be debating it, then sighed. "Do I have a choice?"

No you don't.

Viserys stood up and straightened his clothes. He looked ready to decline, then looked down at Dany. "Sweet sister, do dry your tears. You're a dragon and dragons do not cry." Dany nodded and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. There was concern in his eyes but then Viserys turned to me, his face grew cold. "I'll accept your offer, Blackfyre. Bend the knee and declare me your rightful king. Swear an oath of fealty." Viserys almost smirked and I felt like spitting in his face.

Fighting back a grimace, I did as he bid and swore an oath to some gods I didn't believe in. When I finally rose back to my feet, I was his servant, as were the Golden Company and all its tributary states.