The Three Houses of Westeros: Chapter 2 (Patreon)

Chapter 2:

Illyrio

“Your Grace, I am imploring you to at least consider the offer,”

“I shall not. So long as I am King of Westeros, no sister of mine shall be wed to a savage horse-fucker. Is that clear, cheesemonger?”

Illyrio took a slow, deep breath through his nostrils, reaching into the deep well of patience within. It wasn’t entirely hard, he simply had to imagine Lysithea in Daenarys’ place.. “I understand, my king, truly; the Dothraki are uncivilized brutes so fierce they make even the free cities such as our fair Pentos tread lightly. But if I may be permitted my liege…?”

Viserys’ jaw was clenched, the muscles bulging, his fingers gripping the goblet in his hands tight enough he might just snap its slender neck. He didn’t verbally give permission, but he didn’t dismiss Illyrio just yet, which he took as permission.

The Cheesemonger nodded. “You need an army, and a strong one at that. For though the Usurper has grown fat and complacent, his heir is neither, and my spies tell me the False Prince travels the land in search of your supporters, killing every last one he can find, for his hatred of the Targaryen Dynasty is as strong as his father’s,”

Viserys closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Blood-thirsty mongrels,” Viserys snarled, the proud anger on his face giving way to a hateful grimace he didn’t even bother trying to hide.

Yes yes. Be afraid of the Baratheons you insipid fool.

Honestly; he was lucky Viserys was so arrogant and prideful. Even a modicum of insight would unravel the lie fairly quickly. As the heir to a dynasty barely upon its second decade, the young prince had far more important matters to focus on than personally hunting down the remnants of the old regime; if any were even left by now.

In truth by all accounts, Dimitri Baratheon was a studious, dutiful heir who traveled the kingdom to integrate himself with his peers and help secure his family’s allegiances. The smallfolk adored him, and he was oft compared with a young prince Rhaegar or Aegon the Unlikely, which might pose issues for plans of his down the line, but one problem at a time.

For now, he had to deal with the brat in front of him.

Illyrio sighed heavily as he placed a hand upon his chest and adopted a remorseful expression, “I am afraid so, Your Grace. I shudder to think of what that monster would do to your dear younger sisters if he got his hands on them,”

At that, the Beggar King sneered, his face becoming a pallor even lighter than his silver-spun hair. Wordlessly, he collapsed into the chaise behind him, and weakly waved one of the slaves to refill his goblet of wine, which he downed in one long gulp.

And now for the final push.

“I will not lie to you, Your Grace, the Dothraki that I have been negotiating with on your behalf, Khal Drogo, is as savage and monstrous as they come. But he is also said to be one of the fiercest warriors among his people, with a Khalasar forty-thousand strong and a braid that has never been cut. His strength and armies would be a great boon for our cause, My King,” Illyrio closed the distance between them and clapped his hand on the boy’s shoulder in an approximation of paternal support, before taking his wine glass and refilling it for him.

“I know this is a difficult decision, my boy, but in making it you are carrying out the responsibilities as head of your house. The Dothraki may be savage, but in wedding Princess Daenerys Khal Drogo will see her and young Edelgard as kin, and you a brother-at-arms. Your sisters shall be safe, and you shall ride with an army that even the Usurper is said to fear,” And most importantly, you and yours shall be out of my hair for good!

Viserys sipped at his wine, first nodding slowly, then more firmly as he considered the idea more seriously.

So much for those convictions of not three minutes ago.

The boy stood back up, pacing the expanse of the foyer, the light of the early morning sun catching in his hair, his haughty demeanor returning.

“How soon can you send messengers?” He asked. “If I were to accept?”

“Immediately, my King.” He answered. In truth he’d had the messages prepared long in advance. Viserys was easy to manipulate, really. His decision was practically a foregone conclusion.

Still, the boy seemed to hesitate a moment longer before he finally spoke- he must actually care for his sister if he was thinking this much on the decision. “Fine.” He said at last. “I want them back by nightfall. Your King commands it!”

Illyrio bowed his head in acquiescence, lowering his eyes to hide the equal parts irritation and triumph that warred within. “Of course your grace.”  He turned to leave, but as he did so the solar doors opened and Edelgard Targaryen strode forward into the room.

Immediately Illyrio had to suppress a curse.

This one was not like her brother.

He entered behind her, ever the pale shadow. The ghost of the white knight that was a living, breathing legend of martial power.

The girl’s face was unreadable; a smooth, implaccable mask that neither of her older siblings had ever managed to achieve.

“Princess.” He greeted, smiling in a way that was not returned. She merely offered him a nod; polite, courteous, but only just so. Her glare told him that she’d gotten wind of what they were discussing.

Edelgard Targaryen was not pleased.

Lysithea

Lysithea Mopatis knew her father well enough to know that he’d be cross with her if he found her here.

He’d warned her away from their guests, but he did that with all their guests. Daughters were to stay in their rooms, especially when he would bring her everything and anything she asked for. Books, scrolls, when there were no guests he even brought her things to do outside. A beautiful Pegasus she loved to ride whenever she could, tutors from Ashai and Volantis. Performers from Yi-Ti, water dancers from Bravos.

But only when they had no guests.

But she was sick of hiding in her rooms whenever they appeared. She was sick of being stuffed away to be unheard and unseen. At the very least she wanted to see these people she had to hide away from.

And so, she enacted her plan, waiting until breakfast had been delivered by one of the servants, thanking them as she’d taught herself to do before sneakily slipping a folded piece of paper between the door and its lock before it closed.

And a few minutes later, she plucked the paper free, and the door along with it.

And she set off.

She wasn’t stupid. Her father probably had good reason to want to keep her secret. She’d read enough books to know that a wealthy man’s daughter was a target of kidnapping and other evil motivations. So she’d dressed herself as commonly as possible. No fine silks. No jewelry. At most the guests would assume her a favored servant if they saw her.

Still she didn’t know one thing.

Where exactly the guests were.

She didn’t quite want to go exploring the manse, because if she ran into her father, her little rebellion/exploration would be cut short. If she ran into any of the servants who knew her father’s orders then, same result.

So she had to think.

It was just past mid day. Her father enjoyed walking guests and visitors through the gardens, enjoying the lounge or the dining areas for food.

The Library maybe?

Would at least one of the guests enjoy reading like she did perhaps?

Well… she was about to find out.

Mind made up, she nodded to herself, turning and walking away towards her favorite place in the manse.

Making her way over, she caught the eye of a handful of the more menial servants and guards, they recognized her; surprised at her unusual appearance no doubt but she held up a single finger, pressing it to her lips, asking for silence.

Some looked uneasy, others smiled  as if they were collaborating with her, either way they let her pass by without much of a word.

Making her way to the library, she found the gilded doors half opened, which was unusual. This fact however, allowed her to see that there was indeed someone within. Sitting in one of the chairs, her back to the door, Lysithea could see the young woman had a head of beautiful silver hair, much like her own.

She’d never met someone else with silver hair. At times Father had brought dancers from Lys and Yi-Ti, they had silver hair, but she’d been heartbroken to find out one day that it had been dyed as such.

Her mother, according to father, had silver hair like hers, its where she inherited it. But she’d never met her mother outside of the frescoes and paintings her father commissioned. She was a ghost within a frame to her, it was not the same.

Standing at the doorway for a moment, she felt suddenly insecure in her own skin. Her clothes, meant to allow her to blend with the servants now felt drab and too unassuming. Her hair, similarly, while clean and well maintained was not made pretty today.

But still, it might be one of the only times, if not the only time to meet someone, perhaps, like her in some small way.

So, gathering her courage she sucked down a breath, stiffened her spine and walked in.

Pushing the door open, the creaking of the hinges alerted the young woman that she had a visitor, perking up in her seat, she turned and Lysithea found amethyst eyes finding her red ones.

“Oh, hello.” The guest said, smiling timidly. She couldn’t have been much older than Lysithea herself. Maybe three? Four years at most?

“Who’re you?” She blurted out, and then blushed realizing her rudeness.

The young woman too, seemed caught off guard by her bluntness, looking slightly startled. “O-oh. I thought all of Illirio’s servants knew? I am Daenaerys Targaryen, or house Targaryen.”

Lysithea blinked. “The deposed ruling house of Westeros?”

The now identified, Daenaerys, nodded, somewhat haltingly, looking at Lysithea as one would perhaps an unknown animal that might bite.

Still, the answer, for Lysithea at least, offered some much needed context.

If her father was housing and aiding the deposed family, then his reasons for wanting her uninvolved became exceedingly clear. If his gamble paid off then, of course their family would be richly rewarded.

But if it did not and they were discovered… well… then that meant that persecution and retribution from the ruling Baratheons would very well follow.

Keeping her utterly ignorant of all of them was a way to insulate her from the potential repercussions should it ever come to light.

Yes, she understood her father very well right now, though she detested his coddling of her.

She was fourteen. An adult! She could handle this.

So, mind made up, Lysithea set her shoulders and looked at the book nestled in Daenaerys’ lap, recognizing it as one of the old Valyrian poetry texts.

“Have you read Tholyra’s  volume?” She demanded.

Daenaerys blinked, confused. “I… don’t know what that is?”

She scoffed. “You can’t read Saesark’s collection without first understanding the fundamentals of the Valyrians’ entire ethos of poetry!” She declared, marching off to go gather the necessary tomes.

Honestly. Targaryen’s were descended from Valyria, they should know these basic necessities!

—

Viserys

Viserys, for as long as he could remember envied his youngest sister, though he loathed to admit it.

She was always so… so much better. So much more than he and Dany were. She learned and grasped things so much faster than either he or Dany seemed to. The subject mattered not; basic arithmetic and High Valyrian both came to her as easy as breathing.

Then, of course, there was the Death Knight. Jeritza Velaryon.

By all rights his first loyalty should have been to Viserys, as his king and liege. And yet when he bent the knee and swore fealty it was to her! A mere child who barely came up to his hip, and a girl no less!

And now…

His little sister came into the room wearing a gauzy, diaphanous red dress in thePentoshi style that their host had gifted her when they had first arrived, the kind of garment that fluttered uselessly around its wearer.

But as Edelgard strode up to their host and exchanged pleasantries–and how dare she acknowledge him first, before her own brother, he who was her betrothed and King–she might well have been wearing the robes of the Sealord of Braavos. She was regal. Regal in a way he knew, deep down, that he could never hope to achieve.

It wasn’t simply how she looked–it was in the way she moved and how she acted; how she made others act around her.

Wherever she went, Edelgard moved as though she owned the very ground her feet stood upon. She commanded attention whenever she spoke, no matter how softly. She had a tendency to utter things as if they were commands that others had no choice but to obey.

And worst of all, she didn’t even realize it. As though this was expected. Demanded of this world, what it owed her and it would deliver on that debt.

There was a part of him that would probably always hate her for that.

His worthless advisor finally scurried off to do his damned job, leaving just the two of them and that damned sworn sword of hers.

Well, and the slaves, he supposed, though clearly not for long as the Death Knight silently ordered them out before closing the doors and standing in front of them.

“Brother,” She greeted cooly, bobbing a slight curtsy. “I hoped to speak with you, if you had a moment?” Though perfectly courteous, the steel in his sister’s voice, coupled with her knight’s actions, made it clear this was not a request.

Unfortunately, he had an idea of what this “request” would concern. Or rather who.

“Of course, Edie. You know I always have time for my dear sisters. Regrettably,” He spread his hands out in front of himself placatingly, “I have some urgent matters to take care of until this evening,” He moved towards the doors, but Velaryon didn’t budge and simply ignored him. Viserys turned his attention back to Edelgard, intending to demand that she order her dog to let him pass, only to find her looking at him with an expression of rapidly thinning patience.

“What’s this I hear,” she began, voice carefully neutral, “About a plan to sell Dany to the Dothraki? Don’t tell me there’s truth to this ridiculous rumor, Brother,”

He felt as though Edelgard was looking down at him, as if he were a chastised child, which should have been impossible when he stood a head taller. It reminded him of Mother, of the few precious memories he had left of her, and that made the guilt of his decision threaten to bubble up again. He quashed it down again.

Kings were decisive; they gave commands, and everyone else followed them.

“It’s already done,” he said, sneering viciously as he saw his sister’s calm demeanor give way to true, genuine shock for the first time in years.

“She isn’t ready!” Edelgard said plaintively. “You can’t go through with this!”

“She is six and ten, a maiden grown. That’s more than ready. If she’s not, it’s because you’ve coddled her too much. None of which changes the fact that she is the eldest daughter of House Targaryen, and we need armies,”

His sister’s lips thinned and her expression became hard for a moment, before she inhaled deeply and forced it back into something neutral.

“Very well then,” She said, in that commanding tone he hated so much, “Tell me everything,”

She sat down, gesturing for him to do so as well, and he did, deciding to ignore Edelgard’s blatant disregard for his authority. He could let it slide just this once, he supposed.

It didn’t matter; she finally understood that he was in charge, and that he was doing what was best for their family.

Daenerys

In spite of herself, Dany couldn’t help but smile. “You remind me of my sister.” She commented to her new acquaintance.

Lysithea, someone that Daenaerys doubted was just some simple servant, was… demanding. An intense energy moved about her; as though she was certain that if things did not meet her exacting specifications the whole world would fall apart.

So yes, she very much reminded Daenerys of Edelgard.

At her declaration, the ‘servant girl’ tensed quietly, her eyes squinting as she focused more intently on the book she’d been showing Daenaerys.

“I never had sisters… or brothers.” The girl admitted softly. “What’s it like?”

The question was curious… almost timid, Dany would say.

But still she couldn’t answer, not really. So she just shrugged. “Good I suppose?” She laughed a bit. “I… I’ve never known what it's like to not have siblings. Viserys is always my big brother and Edel has always been my little sister. I would find it just as odd I think having no siblings.”

Lysithea wrinkled her nose at the unsatisfactory answer, but it didn’t seem as though she knew what exactly irritated her about it beyond its vague, non committal nature.

Both of them heard the doors open.

Danny turned, looking for who had arrived and found that the old proverb, speak of the devil and they shall appear applied right now.

Edelgard marched into the room, stern faced and imperious, Jeritza behind her. “Dany I-”

She stopped.

Daenaerys had seen her sister have many reactions, many emotions through their lives, of course. Joy, anger, sadness, determination. That last one had seemingly become her default in these last few years.

But it’d been very rare to see her sister gobsmacked.

Edelgard stood between the doorway and the reading space, with her mouth agog, and her eyes fixed on Lysithea sitting beside her.

Lysithea for her part as well, stared at Edelgard with wide eyes, as though she couldn’t quite believe the sight.

Dany blinked, confused, looking between the two of them. “Is something wrong?” She asked, almost wary of the question.

Her voice seemed to break whatever spell had gripped the two of them, with Edelgard snapping her gaze away from Lysithea and towards Dany, as though remembering why she was here.

“I um… No. I just came because I needed to speak with you. I just wasn’t expecting you to have guests.”

“I um…” Lysithea stood, wiping some imaginary dust from her skirt. “I… I should return to my ro- ahh tasks. Yes.” She glanced around, as if unsure what to do with herself before she placed the book down, offered a hasty, clumsy curtsy before all but running out of the room.

Edelgard watched her go, following her movements with astonished eyes.

Dany was very, very confused.

Still…

“Did… did you need something little sister?”

Again, her voice broke her sister out of whatever she was thinking, shaking her head “I… yes.” Edelgard cleared her throat and almost immediately seemed to become herself again as she spoke in a calm, serious voice. “There have been some… developments.” Her tone was cautious, looking at Danny straight in the eye.

Most would assume that her sister was stone faced and cold, but Dany could see it, read it.

In the lines of her face, in the set of her lips.

Whatever this news was… it was not pleasant.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “It’s alright.” She wasn’t sure which one of them she was trying to convince. “Just… tell me what’s happened.”

A muscle in Edelgard’s jaw jumped, and Jeritza, ever her faithful shadow, marched to the door, blocking it off.

“What do you know of the Dothraki, Dany?”

—

Jeritza

The conversation was not pleasant.

It never could be.

He watched the two young women. Lady Edelgard was determined. Firm and resolute. Regardless of what her sister said, or how much she might cry, Jeritza knew enough to understand that his Lady was not here to negotiate. She was not here to coddle. She was here to inform, to offer comfort and encouragement if welcomed.

But the decision had been made.

Daenerys was frightened. He could see that. She was trying to be brave. He could see that too.

She wished to support her family, to do her ‘small’ part, in winning back what they held as their inheritance. Their birthright.

He could see that neither of them liked it.

But the decision had been made.

The lady Daenaerys was the first to withdraw, begging leave to return to her room to think, rest… and grieve.

The Lady Edelgard allowed her to go.

Then, remaining within the confines of the library, it was just the two of them.

“Am I doing the right thing?” Edelgard finally asked.

He did not answer.

“The decision has been made.” He said. For it was true. The offer extended, could not be reneged.

Even if it could be, their options were limited.

“We need the army.” She hissed.”Coin from Bravos, information from spies. It can only go so far without sword arms to add strength to intent. Dany is the only offer we can make. If Viserys was a woman we’d offer him instead, if I were older maybe I…”

She clenched her teeth, setting her jaw firmly. Jeritza was unsure if that were true. He knew of her dreams, of the sketches born from them, traced by loving hands. Sometimes there were men there, but more often than not it was a woman. A woman with blue hair and blue eyes that even stirred something in the cages of his own memory.

He knew her and yet, did not. Just as he knew the servant girl that had been speaking with Daenarys and yet- did not.

Edelgard would ponder these things, these memories.

He would not.

The answer would come, or it was not important.

He had one duty. To protect the Lady Edelgard and her family.

And that duty did not require the need to slay her dreams.

Edelgard held her silence, thinking for a long long time as she sat in the reading area, her hand reaching and leafing through the tome the servant had put down.

After a moment, he recognized the shift in her expression. The resolve.

And the intent.

She did not need to voice her order before he knew what she would need.

Or rather… who.

The Death Knight would walk once more.

—

Jorah Mormont

Jorah let the cold night air kiss his cheek. It was still far too warm, far too alien from the home he missed and loved in the North.

Still… if he proved worthy at his task… he would return. He would march into the north not as a hero. His honor was forfeit. Likely his name as well. He would be fortunate to be recognized as a Mormont by his family at all.

But he would be home.

The offer had been extended by the spider. Watch them. Inform on them. And if needs be… kill them.

It was a simple task… and he had done worse things.

The Mad King was not a reign that should be repeated, and his spawn would likely prove no better than he was.

It was a simple, trite justification he knew. But it was a justification all the same.

The Spider said that his contact, Illirio Mopatis would introduce them in barely a week’s time. A bodyguard, for the young lady that would be marrying a Khal. A bride for a barbarian army.

A fools bargain really. The riders would never cross the narrow sea. Not for anything. At best, she would be Khalessi, and would want for nothing the savages could provide, so long as she pleased the Khal and kept his bed warm.

Her siblings would continue to beg for alms, swearing to retake their ancestral home with little more than hopes, dreams and false promises.

Perhaps Dorne wished the Targaryen’s to return, perhaps the Tyrells, but even he knew that beyond those two houses, none would rise for them. The Lannisters had their royal line, the Baratheon’s too. Arynn’s were tied to the throne as were the Starks.

More than that, Prince Dimitri was much beloved by the people, and the nobility. A rare thing.

None would rise for dragons in Westeros.

A small solace perhaps, that it was unlikely he’d ever be called to kill children.

He breathed, and his breath fogged in the night air…

It was… it was cold.

He shivered, a first in all his time south of the neck and something, some instinct told him something was wrong.

He wasn’t armored, but he was armed.

He drew his blade, eyes panning this way and that way through the suddenly empty streets of Bravos, searching.

“Who is there?” He demanded.

He heard something, the crunch of an armored boot on gravel and cobbled stone as he whirled around to find the source.

Death stared back at him.

Its face black, its eyes red. Jorah knew then that what he beheld was the very visage of death itself.

The Monster breathed. “I.”

Its hand rose, a blade, black as obsidian in its grip.. “Have come.”

It pointed the blade directly at him. “For you.”

(X)(X)(X)

This one was a bit shorter than I'd like admittedly, but its just establishing the Targaryen characters and where they are/how they're different on their side of the proverbial pond. There will be more butterflies flapping their wings soon enough that will give us all more room to breathe and work with.

(And yes, Jorah is dead. I'm sorry Jorah fans. I don't see Edelgard taking chances with a guy who's history is as checkered as his.