Chapter 148: The Great Terrace
In the backyard of Magister Illyrio's manse, Daenerys enjoyed her leisure time after lunch. She sat half-reclined on a chaise longue, letting the sunlight bathe her.
This was one of her few remaining moments of peace. In a few days, she would marry Khal Drogo, and then accompany his khalasar to distant Vaes Dothrak to see the dosh khaleen (an organization governing Vaes Dothrak composed of all the widows of the deceased khals) and request a prophecy about war.
Vaes Dothrak was even farther than the easternmost Free City of Qohor, requiring a crossing of the Dothraki Sea. She had heard it was a grassland, but as for why it was called a sea, Daenerys didn't know; she only knew it would be a very long journey.
Then Drogo would give her brother an army, and he could return home, wouldn't he? He would reclaim the Seven Kingdoms, reclaim their father's Iron Throne.
But what about me? She couldn't help but ask herself.
Although she always forced herself not to think about this question, it would still surface in her mind again and again.
And what about me?
Viserys never mentioned it, and Illyrio remained silent.
But Daenerys knew what marrying Khal Drogo meant.
She would never go home again.
The home she had always heard Viserys talk about since she could remember, the home she had never seen, not even a single stone.
The black fortress on Dragonstone, built with the lost Valyrian stonework.
The Red Keep on the coast of King's Landing, and the terrifying dragon skulls beneath it.
The Seven Kingdoms and the people suffering under the rule of the usurper.
A husband she didn't know and an uncivilized people awaited her.
She had overheard the serving girls in Illyrio's manse talking about how the Dothraki Khal Drogo would share everything with his bloodriders except his horse, including his wife.
Daenerys couldn't understand—how could a horse be more important than a wife? She was simply afraid.
"I am of the blood of the dragon," Daenerys whispered to herself. "Dragons do not fear."
"I am of the blood of the dragon," she repeated.
Unfortunately, the fear wasn't dispelled.
Suddenly, she seemed to hear something—first footsteps, then the iron gate was pushed open.
"Ian!" Daenerys exclaimed in surprise upon seeing the newcomer, her voice filled with joy.
Ian, hearing the sound, also saw the Targaryen princess in the courtyard. She wore a long velvet gown with gold and silver thread trim, revealing her shoulders and collarbones. A sash of Myrish lace partially covered her chest, and the dress was perfectly fitted at the waist.
"Your Highness," Ian greeted her politely with a slight bow.
He had returned to Illyrio's manse after leaving Hazan that morning, intending to persuade Jorah to participate in Hazan's trials, but unexpectedly, he encountered Daenerys here.
"Have you seen Ser Jorah? I need to speak with him." Ian wasn't in a hurry to curry favor with Daenerys; after all, there was still plenty of time ahead.
"Yes," Daenerys nodded. "He was just here. He should be over there now." Daenerys pointed to a small door. "There's a great terrace behind that, from where you can see the whole city of Pentos."
"Thank you." Ian bowed and took his leave.
He had only taken a few steps when Daenerys hurried after him.
"My lord, do you really think my brother can lead you to reclaim the throne?"
Ian turned around in surprise; he truly hadn't expected this question to come from Daenerys at her age.
"Your Highness? You...?"
"I'm sorry, my lord," Daenerys seemed to realize she shouldn't have said such a thing, but after hesitating for a moment, she still spoke. After all, she had wanted to say these words at Drogo's banquet.
"I just want to warn you that Viserys is a very selfish, cold-blooded, and violent man. He might be smiling at you one moment and ordering your head chopped off the next. Be careful serving him."
After saying these treasonous words, Daenerys lifted the hem of her skirt and ran away quickly.
"Chop off my head? He's surrounded by my men; I'd be lucky if I didn't chop off his." However, for her to utter such a warning, she must have gone through considerable internal struggle.
Looks like the goodwill he'd cultivated earlier wasn't wasted.
Raising an eyebrow, Ian hummed a little tune as he walked through the courtyard and through the small, moss-covered door Dany had pointed out.
Behind the door was a path leading uphill, paved with flagstone steps, making the climb less steep than it appeared.
On either side of the path were lush trees—oak, pine, and beech interspersed with vibrant foliage, dense bushes beneath them, and wild strawberry vines climbing above.
Ian led Rol and Case up the hill, taking a full half hour to reach the top. This made Ian marvel at the sheer size of Illyrio's manse and be awestruck by its wealth and the power it represented.
Upon reaching the great terrace, Ian immediately spotted several servants from Illyrio's household and Jorah Mormont, who was sitting on a stone bench polishing his sword. He wasn't wearing armor, still only his dark green wool doublet embroidered with a black bear, clearly confident in the security of Illyrio's manse.
The moment Ian and his companions stepped onto the terrace, Jorah noticed their arrival, casting wary and suspicious glances at the uninvited guests.
"We meet again, my lord," Ian said, approaching Jorah.
"I am no lord. I haven't been since the moment I fled Bear Island," Jorah said coldly.
"What? His Grace hasn't restored your title?"
"His Grace, hahaha, a title, hahahaha!" Jorah laughed as if he'd heard the finest jest.
And indeed, in a sense, it was a jest.
Ian waited quietly until he finished laughing.
"All right, you bastard, what do you want?"
"My name is Ian Darryl, Count of Darry, Hand of the King to His Grace Viserys III. I believe you show me a lack of respect." Ian narrowed his eyes; Jorah's open contempt for Viserys was unexpected.
"Well," Jorah simply shrugged noncommittally, then offered an apology. "I apologize, my lord. I meant no offense. What brings you here?" His tone was mocking.
"You seem to be short of coin." Ian glanced at Jorah's soiled clothes.
Jorah's face turned ashen almost instantly.
Coin! Coin! Damn coin!
Because of his lack of coin, he had sold poachers, losing his lordship.
Because of his lack of coin, he had become a sellsword, and his wife had run off with another man.
Because of his lack of coin, this damned bastard dared to mock him to his face?! I'll make you pay!
"I can offer you a chance to earn coin," Ian said, pretending not to see Jorah's expression. "Prince Hazan of Pentos is offering one thousand gold dragons per man to fight for him in a tournament the day after tomorrow, and His Grace Viserys has already sided with Prince Hazan.
I'm just asking if you're interested in fighting in the name of House Targaryen?"
"One thousand gold dragons?" Jorah's murderous intent vanished instantly. "One thousand gold dragons could buy most of a hundred Unsullied in Astapor, and I only need to fight for that prince once?"
"The tournament has seven participants on each side, one-on-one combat. After each match, the winner can rest temporarily but must participate in subsequent matches until one side is completely eliminated." Ian paused after explaining. "If you're willing, come with me tonight for the trial matches, but you might not qualify."
"You'll see if I'm qualified. I'll come find you after supper; I need to make some preparations first." With that, Jorah quickly left the great terrace.
Ian walked to the edge of the terrace and looked down the hillside. He saw some square brick towers, a great red temple, and a priest's manor in the distance.
Further away, sunlight danced on the dark sea, and fishing boats passed through the harbor, their white sails fluttering in the wind.
(End of Chapter)
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