c14: Everyone Has Their Own Thoughts
Viserys, masking his impatience behind a thin smile, watched Illyrio closely, waiting for an answer.
At last, Illyrio followed his lead and said, "With all due respect, Your Majesty, your understanding of the political situation in the Seven Kingdoms strikes me as unusual. I have never heard such a version before, and I have no way of confirming its accuracy. You claim that the death of the King's Hand will surely throw the realm into chaos. Yet from what I have seen and heard, King Robert was a fierce warrior in his youth. Though troubling rumors circulate about his reign, I cannot truly gauge what kind of ruler he has become. Over the years, Robert's hold over the Seven Kingdoms has appeared relatively stable. And now, he remains in the prime of his life still vigorous by Westerosi standards. I find it difficult to believe that the death of Lord Jon Arryn alone could ignite such chaos."
Viserys looked faintly disappointed, but showed neither anger nor frustration. Calmly, he said, "Your doubts are understandable, Illyrio. I have little to offer at present no armies, no fleet, no treasury. I know well that words alone cannot secure your faith. But remember what you once said to me, in the courtyard of your manse: 'You are backing a dragon, not pledging blind loyalty.' Before I respond to your skepticism, I must ask you: after all I have shared, are you still willing to fund my sacred cause of restoration?"
Compared to Viserys's words, it was his manner that unsettled Illyrio the most during the conversation. The young Targaryen spoke as if he trusted Illyrio completely, confiding in him as if they were true allies. Yet it was clear he kept secrets close to his chest.
Such behavior suggested genuine confidence or at the very least, a cunning calculation. Even if Viserys was merely playing a part, it revealed a mind far sharper than the drunken fool whispered about in Westerosi taverns.
Illyrio hesitated, opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and then asked warily, "You mentioned before that you would make me your first Master of Coin… was that a true promise?"
"I am Viserys Targaryen, the Third of His Name," Viserys answered solemnly. "A king must be true to his word."
Illyrio's eyes narrowed as he chewed over the reply. "And all you ask is that I continue to offer shelter a safe place where you can wait for the Seven Kingdoms to unravel?"
Viserys nodded. "Yes. Nothing more for now. When the old Hand dies and he will you will see the truth of my words. And when the Seven Kingdoms are engulfed in turmoil, you will understand the true worth of having a dragon to support."
Illyrio's expression shifted rapidly: first skepticism, then avarice, then deep hesitation. "But... what if Lord Arryn dies and nothing changes in Westeros?"
"Yes," Viserys said again, his tone firm and unflinching. "The Seven Kingdoms will fall into chaos, Illyrio."
Illyrio studied him for a long moment, and then, unable to suppress his curiosity, asked cautiously, "Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty, but how can you be so certain? Do you have a plan already in motion?"
Viserys was mildly surprised that Illyrio, ever the cunning schemer, would pose such a direct question. Was it a sign that he had been lulled into a false sense of security—or that Viserys's confidence had genuinely shaken him?
Either way, Viserys knew he must maintain the illusion of control.
Instead of giving a straight answer, he asked with a sly glint, "Can you keep a secret, Lord Illyrio?"
Illyrio hesitated but nodded slowly. "Of course, Your Majesty."
"So can I," Viserys said with a small, mocking smile.
Illyrio was left speechless.
Inside, Viserys was quietly amused at his own audacity. Outwardly, he maintained an expression of effortless calm. He turned to glance down the road where the Dothraki riders, heavy with their "gifts," were vanishing into the distance, and said lightly, "My Lord Governor, the Khalasar has departed. Shall we return to the city?"
Illyrio, still stunned, replied stiffly, "As you command, Your Majesty."
---
On the journey back, Illyrio sat in his litter, his usual jovial facade replaced with a brooding silence. His plump fingers tapped absently against the armrest as he mulled over everything Viserys had said and more importantly, everything he had not said.
Viserys rode alongside, face unreadable beneath the fluttering banners bearing the Blackfyre emblem a bitter irony, given the history between the Blackfyre Pretenders and House Targaryen.
Neither spoke as the caravan made its slow progress toward Pentos. Each was locked in his own thoughts, analyzing the encounter from different angles.
For Illyrio, this secret conversation marked a profound shift. The original plan marrying Daenerys to Khal Drogo and using Dothraki horsemen to invade Westeros had collapsed spectacularly. The "Beggar King," whom Illyrio had once dismissed as a pitiful fool, had revealed unexpected depth and cunning.
Illyrio speculated furiously. Had Viserys made other alliances in secret? Were there hidden supporters across the Free Cities, or perhaps even in Westeros itself? Could he have the backing of discontented lords.Tyrells, Martells, even the remaining Blackfyre sympathizers?
But if Viserys did have support, why was he still wandering, still begging for hospitality with his silver-haired sister?
Was it truly patience or simple desperation disguised as confidence?
Illyrio gnawed at these questions like a dog worrying a bone.
By the time they neared the city gates of Pentos, Illyrio had quietly made up his mind: he needed to verify Viserys's claims himself. If chaos was coming to the Seven Kingdoms, he had to see it with his own eyes and to do that, he would have to travel to King's Landing.
The game had changed.
Viserys, with nothing but cryptic words and masterful bluffing, had forced Illyrio's hand. He had made himself a player on the board, even if no army, no gold, and no banners yet answered his call.
Two possibilities now loomed large:
First, that Illyrio would discover Viserys had real allies—forces biding their time, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. In that case, Illyrio and his partners would need to tread carefully, playing a delicate game of alliances and betrayals.
Second, that Viserys was a fool, bluffing wildly, hoping to delay his fate while grasping at whatever power he could steal. In that case, Illyrio could seize control of the boy-king and bend him into a puppet.
Either way, Viserys had altered the board. His true aim unknown even to Illyrio was not mere survival.
For the boy who once dreamed of wearing his father's crown had something else in mind: a power greater than any sword or army.
A dragon reborn.
But until that power revealed itself, Viserys would walk a knife's edge between being seen as a king—or as a pawn.
The chess player could easily lose patience and smash the chessboard over his own head in frustration.
But Viserys knew this was not a reckless gamble based on mere hope. He was convinced that Illyrio Mopatis and Varys the Spider, seasoned conspirators both, would inevitably attempt to "discover" the powerful backer he had hinted at. Although the hints he provided were intentionally vague, they were enough to spark reasonable guesses—after all, in Westeros, shadows and whispers often carried more weight than swords.
True conspirators, Viserys understood, never trusted one another completely. Between men like Illyrio and Varys, a genuine heart-to-heart was simply impossible.
And even if Illyrio, with all his spies scattered across Essos and Westeros, discovered that Viserys had no true backing, Viserys was prepared. He had layers of plausible deniability ready to explain away any accusations.
After all, Viserys was not the same beggar king wandering through the Free Cities. He was now a traveler from another world, his butterfly wings only beginning to stir the air. His source of information the story of the Seven Kingdoms—came directly from the world of the "original work," which he remembered vividly.
The "Three Heads of the Dragon" theory, for instance, had become his shield. Based partly on Daenerys' visions in the House of the Undying and partly on old Valyrian prophecies, Viserys adapted and exaggerated these ideas into a rhetoric that suited his needs perfectly. It was outrageous, speculative, and wildly inconsistent with the reality of the current timeline but it sounded just convincing enough to men like Illyrio, who were desperate to see patterns in the chaos.
He projected an attitude of blind, almost foolish faith. Some would dismiss him as a madman; others would suspect deeper, hidden designs.
In the end, it didn't matter which.
Viserys did not need them to believe in the perfect truth of his words. He only needed them to waver in doubt long enough for his plans to take root.
Still, he understood clearly: conspiracy alone was not enough. Words and whispers might start wars, but only dragons would win them.
He urgently needed Illyrio's cooperation to pry open the fat merchant's deep coffers and search for dragon bones or even dragon eggs, relics rumored to still exist in the Free Cities' black markets.
For without overwhelming power, no amount of cunning could save him.
---
It was already late afternoon by the time they returned to the estate of Illyrio Mopatis, a grand manse surrounded by gardens and marble fountains.
Viserys had previously told his sister Daenerys that he would be out on important business, and trusting him for once, she had taken lunch alone under the watchful eyes of Illyrio's servants.
Thus, at Illyrio's invitation, only Viserys dined in the lavish, perfumed halls, at a long table set with silver goblets and plates of roasted lamb and honeyed fruits.
Illyrio, chewing thoughtfully, could not restrain himself from broaching the subject once more. "Your Majesty," he said, voice oily but cautious, "I thought much about our conversation during the ride home. I find myself still... concerned."
Viserys nodded serenely. "I understand, Lord Illyrio."
"No, Your Majesty, you mistake me. My worry lies not in your words, but in your terms." Illyrio leaned closer, lowering his voice. "As you know, I am a merchant. Forgive me if my mind is ruled by balances and ledgers. But the conditions you offer me they are too generous."
Viserys responded smoothly, "Lord Governor, did you merely provide me with food and a roof over my head?"
He answered himself: "No. You have done more. You have sheltered the last dragon from the Snatcher's assassins. You have risked drawing the ire of Robert Baratheon's spies. Your plan to wed me to Khal Drogo's bloodriders, though... misguided," Viserys allowed a thin smile, "still proves your investment."
[If he truly trusted me, he would not need to repeat it so often,] Illyrio mused inwardly, recognizing the deliberate overemphasis.
But he kept up the charade, preparing his next test. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but such generosity is difficult to comprehend."
Viserys' smile sharpened. "Have you heard of House Tyrell, Lord Governor?"
Illyrio blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden change. "Of course. Lords of Highgarden. Wealthiest house after the Lannisters."
"And before them," Viserys pressed, "House Gardener ruled the Reach. But when Aegon the Conqueror came with Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar, it was not a Gardener who bent the knee—it was Harlan Tyrell, their steward. In gratitude, Aegon raised the Tyrells high."
Illyrio caught his meaning immediately. His thick fingers twitched around his goblet.
"I have nothing now," Viserys said calmly, "but those who aid me in my rise will not be forgotten."
For the first time, true unease flickered in Illyrio's eyes. Viserys Targaryen—the foolish, arrogant boy—had just spoken like a seasoned king.
Illyrio hesitated, then leaned in, as if confessing a secret. "Your Majesty, there is something you must know. I plan to travel to the Seven Kingdoms."
Viserys's eyes narrowed. "Oh?"
Illyrio, gauging his reaction carefully, added, "I mean to see with my own eyes what strength the Usurper still holds. To judge for myself if your words ring true."
"So that is your concern," Viserys said smoothly, relaxing. His face slipped into a mask of distant amusement. "Lord Governor, you still misunderstand the true value of my words."
"How so?"
Viserys chuckled softly, the sound dangerously close to madness. "The truth of 'three heads of the dragon' is less important than its effect."
Illyrio's brow furrowed.
"It is not prophecy that matters, but belief," Viserys said, letting the words hang heavy between them. "Think on it, Lord Governor. You may find clarity during your travels."
Illyrio leaned back, his mind racing. The more he considered it, the more he realized that Viserys' seemingly outlandish theory was a weapon: a rumor, a story, one that could sow discord throughout the Seven Kingdoms at the right moment—especially if it was whispered after the death of Jon Arryn, the old Hand of the King.
[Could they be planning to ignite civil war through chaos and rumor alone?]
[Are there other players hidden behind Viserys? Other conspiracies moving in the shadows?]
For the first time, Illyrio wondered if the "Beggar King" might yet prove dangerous.
Viserys, meanwhile, pressed his advantage. "If you worry that your investments will be wasted, Lord Governor," he said smoothly, "I do have a task for you."
Illyrio looked up sharply.
"You recall my interest in dragon bones and dragon eggs, yes?" Viserys's violet eyes gleamed with feverish light. "The death of Jon Arryn may soon bring the chaos I spoke of. But it would be better still if, when that day comes, the world sees the return of dragons."
"When I have fire and blood at my command," he whispered, "I will not need the games of mortal men."
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