Maegister Illyrio was no fool. He (with the help from his dearest friend, Lord Varys) had built up his home and his riches through sheer intelligence and cunning. He had also been asked many times as to why he took in the Targaryen children, when there was so much danger in taking them in. To all he said the same thing (in some form or another): "Can a man not care for and help the children of a dearest friend?" Yet he knew that the boy, Viserys Targaryen, self-claimed The Last Dragon, would never be king. Despite the talks of possibly marrying Danaerys to the Dothraki horselord, Illyrio knew that Viserys would never be able to command an army, let alone the entire Seven Kingdoms. But Illyrio knew that there was one Targaryen who could rule, and he knew exactly which piece he had to place…
"M'lady? Maegister Illyrio sends for you." The brown-haired slave girl peered around the heavy wooden door to locate her mistress.
"Thank you, Ilana, I shall be there shortly," the Lady's soft voice replied from her bed. Stretching lazily, she let out a sigh. And she had been having such a marvelous dream about riches, a dark haired man with a pointed beard, and a crown of golden thorns.
The Lady rolled out of bed and pulled a thin shift over her head. In Pentos it was hot, so there was no need for heavy undergarments, or even corsets. Grabbing her favorite dress, a silver-threaded beauty, she slipped it on and walked down the long hallway to Maegister Illyrio's chambers.
Upon finding him, sitting at his breakfast table, on the balcony overlooking all of Pentos, she announced her arrival by swearing loudly. Maegister Illyrio barely glanced up.
"Ilana, get the Lady something to break her fast on," Illyrio said sweetly. "And my Lady, you know you cannot speak to other highborns like that. It doesn't bode well for you. Especially in Westeros."
"Westeros, Illyrio?" the Lady asked him, then turned to Ilana and requested, "boiled eggs and the spiciest Dornish peppers you can find, please."
Maegister Illyrio leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. He placed his hands against his massive belly, twiddling his thumbs together, making his rings glint madly.
"I'm afraid so, my pet," he sighed. "Lord Varys has found the perfect place for you to be in Westeros. He has also found a match for you as well." The Lady sipped her summerwine and said nothing.
"As a matter of fact," Illyrio continued, "he is also a member of the King's own council. He is a shrewd, cunning man, the perfect businessman. He also knows how to play the game of thrones extremely well. Plus, he is not hard on the eyes for a man of his age, or so I have heard."
The Lady raised an eyebrow. "And just who is this man you speak of so keenly about?"
"His name is Petyr Baelish…"