Chapter 136: Viserys
The feast ended late at night.
The courtyard, now empty, and the twinkling stars above created an asymmetrical echo, making Drogo's palace seem even more desolate.
Drogo had already left Pentos and returned to his khalasar. Ten days later, his wedding would be held on the plains outside Pentos.
Ian and his companions would stay at Drogo's palace tonight and return to Illyrio's manse tomorrow.
Ian stood in the courtyard, waiting for Illyrio and his group to emerge from the great hall.
Moonlight bathed the ivy in a silvery glow.
Drogo's slaves were cleaning up the mess left by the feast. Ian noticed that these slaves all wore bronze collars; clearly, Pentos's 'freedom' hadn't extended to Khal Drogo's palace.
But thinking about it, it made sense. The Braavosi had no reason to remind a Khal Drogo with forty thousand screamers to abide by their agreement with Pentos.
Even Ambassador Oranto himself turned a blind eye when he came to the feast.
"Drogo didn't like her? Why didn't he take her with him?" Viserys, drunk, followed Illyrio into the courtyard. "She's too young, will Drogo like her?"
He'd asked this question at least ten times already, and Ian could tell he was uneasy.
But Illyrio was tired of answering and simply remained silent.
Daenerys, as always, followed behind them with her head down, afraid to speak. She knew her brother was angry; he might be blaming her for being too undeveloped to please Khal Drogo, or he might be blaming her for something else.
In short, it was all her fault, but what could she do? She was not even fourteen years old.
Daenerys was afraid—afraid of incurring Viserys's wrath, and afraid of the giant whom everyone seemed to fear, who would soon become her husband.
Seeing that Illyrio was silent, Viserys also felt a surge of anger.
He couldn't bring himself to lash out at Illyrio, so his gaze swept over Ian not far away. Perhaps because he couldn't blame Ian for the whole affair, Viserys's gaze lingered on Ian for only a moment before shifting to his disappointing sister.
Daenerys's silver-gold hair cascaded over her bare shoulders, and her long purple gown, matching her violet eyes, appeared particularly thin in the moonlight.
"You worthless creature! Why are you so useless? Why couldn't you have Khal Drogo take you today?"
Despite Illyrio's repeated explanations to Viserys that according to Dothraki custom, the wedding had to be held on the plains, and his not taking Daenerys didn't mean he didn't like her, Viserys wouldn't listen. He was uneasy; he would remain uneasy until he truly possessed those screamers.
Viserys stepped forward, his breath, thick with the stench of wine, brushing against her face.
Daenerys seemed to sense something, her fingers clenching into her palms, her legs awkwardly crossing beneath her skirt.
"Your Grace, I believe you need not worry," Ian's voice rang out from behind Viserys, temporarily halting his raised fist.
"Khal Drogo covets Her Highness's noble dragon blood; that's the most important thing to him," Ian continued. "Before even meeting Her Highness, Khal Drogo led his entire khalasar across half the continent of Essos to Pentos. He led one hundred thousand people for over half a year; there's no way he came here to toy with you. He's determined to have Her Highness."
"Even if Your Highness lacks certain... charms to Drogo, Drogo wouldn't break his promise for that reason," Ian said, then suddenly realized that this sounded like a mockery of Daenerys's youth, so he added, "Besides, Your Highness is so stunningly beautiful, there's no reason for Khal Drogo not to be moved."
"So, I was just overthinking it?" Viserys was immediately convinced by Ian.
Illyrio had indeed explained a lot, about Dothraki traditions and all sorts of other things, but Viserys hadn't listened to a word.
In contrast, Ian's straightforward explanation moved Viserys—Drogo had led one hundred thousand people for half a year to get here, would he care about such superficial matters?
"Without a doubt, Your Grace."
Upon hearing this, a slight smile finally spread across Viserys's anxious face.
Daenerys stared blankly at Ian. She had seen her brother angry far too many times—whether it was her, the handmaids, or Magister Illyrio—never had anyone so easily quelled Viserys's rage, even making him smile.
"Ser Ian is practically a wizard! This is the second time he's saved me from his wrath," Daenerys thought.
Noticing Daenerys's gaze, Ian met her eyes. Daenerys simply quickly mouthed a single word in a voice only she could hear, then shyly turned her head away.
Ian recognized her lip movements; she had just said 'thank you.'
Just a little girl, Ian thought to himself.
Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons.
Ian clearly remembered the woman's future titles—the Stormborn who liberated Slaver's Bay, and even razed King's Landing in the show—and now she was just a timid and insecure little girl.
"What are you looking at?" Viserys noticed Ian's gaze and asked, puzzled.
"The future Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea," Ian said. "Your Grace, your sister will soon bring you tens of thousands of Dothraki warriors and the Iron Throne. Please do not blame her. The dragon will vent his wrath on usurpers and kingslayers, burning them to ashes, and will not be angered by such trivial matters."
"There are too many people in Westeros waiting for your return. You don't need to get upset over such trifles," Ian added.
"Is that so? I still have loyal followers in Westeros?" Viserys asked knowingly, having heard many stories about it from Illyrio and believing them wholeheartedly.
He wanted Ian to repeat them to intimidate his disobedient sister and arrogant Illyrio.
"Some? No, that's not accurate. In fact, Westeros awaits your return, Your Grace," Ian simply repeated Illyrio's words. "In the farms and villages throughout the land, men secretly raise their cups in tribute to you, women secretly sew dragon banners, and the lords await your return with your army. When you do, everyone will rise up and follow our true king."
"Who? Who will be my most loyal supporters?" Viserys asked eagerly.
'Nobody,' Ian thought to himself.
"The Martell family was wronged by the usurper. Princess Elia was murdered, and Prince Oberyn Martell, 'the Red Viper,' has never given up on avenging his sister. Lord Myles Mooton, whose brother was slain by the usurper during the Battle of the Bells at Stoney Sept, also yearns for revenge." Ian thought for a moment and named two of the more prominent examples.
(End of Chapter)
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