And now we're back to the beginning of A Game of Thrones.

Enjoy!

NESRIN

She watched the silver-haired brother and sister walk through the gardens, their hair glowing like the hottest core of a fire under the sun's glare. They passed the many fruit trees lining the stone path, each blooming with lemons, nectarines, and pears, their sweet scents twining together like the arms of the brother and sister as they wandered the grounds of the manse.

"You're brooding again."

Nesrin turned from the balcony ledge and found the Magister staring at her. He chewed thoughtfully on pomegranate seeds, parchment and quill before him, but his sharp eyes were on her.

"I do not brood." She scowled at him. "I think."

"And plot. And scheme." He raised thick grey eyebrows. "And at this moment, you are either plotting to kill the brother and sister, or scheming to get them away from here as fast as the winds can carry them."

Her fingers tightened on the sun-warmed stone of the ledge, so white against her tanned hands. "I am thinking how foolish you are for still keeping them here. It's been almost a year, Illyrio. They cannot stay."

The Magister placed more seeds on his tongue and said nothing. She clenched her teeth. She had known Illyrio Mopatis for nearly a decade now, and she had never once questioned his decisions – up until now.

"They have a bounty on their heads, Illyrio. They are the last Targaryens. Robert Baratheon has wanted them dead for years. What do you think will happen to you if word reaches the King of Westeros that you've been harboring the very threats to his throne and crown?"

Illyrio frowned at her. "It seems you do think. Too much, in fact."

She glared. "I am only telling you what you already know. You're a smart man, Illyrio Mopatis – but I don't want you to lose your head for it should King Robert discover that the Targaryens are here. They must leave."

Illyrio did not reply. He chewed his pomegranate seeds thoughtfully, gazing out over the gardens where the silver-haired siblings had come to rest beneath the shade of a lemon tree. Nesrin followed his gaze.

"The brother is a boar," she said, sniffing disdainfully. "He treats the servants roughly, and berates them over the slightest mistakes. He is quick to anger, irrational, and volatile." She shot him a look. "Hardly material for a king."

Illyrio ignored her glance. "And the girl?"

The young Targaryen girl fanned herself in the shade. She twisted her silver hair over her shoulder, letting it drape across her light silks like a sash. She seemed content, for once; but perhaps it was because her brother was not speaking, words too much effort in the afternoon heat. Nesrin snorted.

"Meek," she said. "Little. The world will rip her apart before it's done with her."

Illyrio only hummed. "Any word on the Dothraki?"

She narrowed her eyes at his turn in conversation, but held her tongue. "The Unsullied scouts report that Khal Drogo and his khalasar are a three days' ride from the gates. I've ordered the servants and guards to begin bringing their gifts to the manse – a dozen horses, two wagons of clothes, and a trunk of fresh-forged arakhs from the smiths of Pentos."

"Good. That should be sufficient, even if the khal rejects my gift to him."

"What do you mean?"

Illyrio nodded to the Targaryen girl. "I've arranged for Khal Drogo to wed the girl should he choose her. He wants an exotic bride, and Viserys Targaryen wants an army to reclaim his father's lost throne. I thought it an apt trade."

Nestrin stared at the Magister. "And when were you planning on telling me this?" She stalked to his table and placed her hands on it, looming over him threateningly. He ate more pomegranate seeds, unfazed. "Is this what you and that Beggar King have been conspiring all these months? Securing him an alliance with the Dothraki to invade Westeros?" She made a noise of disgust. "I thought you were cleverer than this."

"Mind your tongue, Wraith." Though Illyrio's voice remained amicable, his eyes flashed warningly. "You give me counsel because I ask you to; but do not forget your place. I can chain you again just as easily as I freed you."

"The Targaryens lost their throne," she said, ignoring him. "Robert Baratheon is King now, and his sons after him will be King. Why do you feel the need to dabble in affairs that aren't yours, on an entirely separate continent?" She shook her head. "Who sits on the Iron Throne doesn't concern us. A Targaryen restoration is all fine and well if it happens, but it's not smart for us to get involved."

"Viserys needs financial support for his army and a fleet to get across the Narrow Sea," he said. "I've agreed to be his benefactor."

"But why?" she insisted. "Why help him at all? You've allowed him to live here for a year, and you really think he can be a better king than the one who sits on the throne now?"

"Kings are powerful men," he said. He pushed aside his plate of pomegranate seeds. A servant came immediately to take it away. "They also repay favors for those who help them." He fixed her with a significant look. "And a young, impressionable king is much easier to control than one who uses the Iron Throne to scratch his useless hide."

"Yet a wild, impulsive, and unpredictable king can make for a worse enemy than one who does not care at all," she retorted.

"That remains to be seen." He leaned back in his seat. The breeze ruffled the braided forks of his grey beard and the fine red silks he wore. He stroked his braids. "In any case, Viserys Targaryen cannot take the Seven Kingdoms with a Dothraki horde alone. The Lords of Westeros are too powerful, too organized. They would crush the rebellion before it could even begin, especially with King Robert leading them."

Nesrin looked back to the gardens. The brother and sister had left the shade of the lemon tree to seek refuge inside the manse, where it was a tad cooler. The flowering trees seemed duller now that the gleam of their silver hair was gone. "I assume you have some grand scheme in mind to ensure that doesn't happen, then?"

He chuckled. "You know me too well, Wraith. But you are correct. A friend of mine in Westeros has been helping me plan accordingly. The foundations have been laid; the board is set. Hopefully, by the time Daenerys Targaryen weds Khal Drogo and Viserys has his army and fleet, Westeros will be in chaos. All we have to do now is move the pieces into place."

"I wasn't aware that you had any friends; much less ones in Westeros." She raised an eyebrow. "And what is my role in all of this?"

Illyrio tapped his fingers together. "You see, that was my problem. You were the final piece that I could not place. My friend and I argued about it for months – how you would play your part. Originally, I had hoped to gift you to Viserys Targaryen." He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to retort. "Your knowledge and skills would have made you an invaluable asset to an invading king. But I decided on another path for you."

She swallowed back her derision. "What would you have me do, then?"

"The great Houses of Westeros are about to go to war. Soon, the entire continent will be embroiled in the conflict."

She crossed her arms. "And my part to play?"

He nodded to the blade at her hip. "Make sure that no one is left standing at the end of it."

Nesrin stalked through the halls of the manse, seething.

Night had fallen, but Illyrio's household was alive with scurrying servants and patrolling guards, everyone rushing to prepare for the Dothraki's arrival in three days' time. The servants and guards alike gave her a wide berth as she passed, her sand-colored cloak billowing behind her. The Magister's household knew enough about her to not get in her way, but her frustration must have been palpable if they all fled from the room when she entered.

The fight with Illyrio had been short and brutal.

"You're sending me to King's Landing like some glorified sellsword?" she hissed. "I'm your best spymaster – your most trusted adviser. How dare you ship me off to that shithole of a continent to help your Beggar King take the Iron Throne?"

"You will do as you're bid, or I'll find someone else who can," he said. He didn't move from his seat, but his face was turning red beneath his beard. "Do not mistake yourself as special, Wraith; there are a thousand little girls like you in the world who can do exactly what you do. The only difference between you and them was a small mercy of fate." His eyes glittered out at her. "But I trust no one else to this task but you. You are my eyes and ears. The Wraith. She Who Walks Unseen."

She scoffed and faced the gardens. "You're asking me to play at war from the shadows, invisible."

"Yes." His voice was amiable again, but unyielding. "But you won't be alone. My friend across the sea will show you how the game is played and what you must do in order to keep your head."

"And if I refuse to go?"

"Do you really care to know?"

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can." When she turned back to him, he shrugged. "Perhaps one day you will understand, when you have power of your own."

"I have no use for power."

"Is that why you betrayed the Lord of Light?"

If there hadn't been two Unsullied guards standing near the doors, she would have hurled her dagger at his heart. Instead, she swallowed her fury and asked, "When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow." He dabbed at his lips with a handkerchief before standing. "I booked you safe passage on a ship, captained by a man I trust."

She snorted. "You don't trust anyone. Not even me."

He gave her a long, lingering look, before saying, "The ship leaves at dawn. If you're not on it, then I fear it will be the last time we ever see each other."

A warning, not a farewell. She knew Illyrio Mopatis well enough to understand that if she betrayed him and did not go to Westeros, then he would send sellswords and assassins to hunt her to the ends of the world.

"Very well." She nodded. "Shall I be meeting your friend upon my arrival?"

"Indeed." He smiled at her, soft and treacherous. "His name is Varys. He's the King's Master of Whisperers."

And that had been the end of it. She'd left to begin packing for her journey across the Narrow Sea, and Illyrio had parted ways with her to sup with the Targaryen siblings. Not for the last time, she cursed the silver-haired brother and sister for using their family name to gain Illyrio's favor and suck him into such a foolish and dangerous game. They were the golden apples, shiny and poisonous, and he had plucked them without hesitation.

The air had turned cool and sweet with the sun's setting. The fine curtains blocking the grounds from the inside of the manse fluttered with the breeze, sky blue and jade green. She paused before one of the archways and inhaled deeply, smelling the fruits and flowers of the gardens and the slight salt tang from the Narrow Sea to the west. She would miss this place, she realized. The manse had been her home since she was fourteen, alone and scared in a world that was not meant for lonely, frightened girls.

"You're not a servant, are you?"

Nesrin turned at the sound of the soft voice. The Targaryen sister had entered the corridor behind her, presumably to retire to her rooms at the opposite side of the manse. She was still dressed for dinner: light pink silks and golden jewelry that made her cheeks and lips even rosier. For such a young girl – sixteen, perhaps – she was already beautiful. Nesrin thought that if Khal Drogo desired an exotic wife, then Daenerys Targaryen would be perfect for him with her silver hair and lilac eyes, if her beauty wasn't enough to convince him on its own.

Daenerys Targaryen watched her with those lilac eyes. Nesrin shrugged. "No, I'm not."

The girl tilted her head. "I thought not. You don't dress like one. And you certainly don't carry yourself like one." Nesrin raised a cool eyebrow, and the girl flushed slightly. "I've seen you. Ever since my brother and I came here – since Illyrio so kindly took us in." She gestured to Nesrin. "You were always there with him. Not beside him, but in the shadows. Watching. Protecting."

"As is my duty." Nesrin turned back to the archway, hoping the girl would leave her alone, but she came to stand beside her.

"My brother and the Magister plan to marry me to the leader of the Dothraki," she said. "Khal Drogo." She peeked up at Nesrin. She was so small – at least half a head shorter than her. "I understand why I have to do it. I'm a Targaryen. It's expected of me, if my brother and I ever want to go home." She sighed. "But sometimes I look at you in the shadows and wish that was me instead."

Nesrin said nothing; not knowing what to say. She'd never spoken to Daenerys Targaryen before now, and her mood was still too foul for her to want to hold conversation, anyway.

She glanced sidelong at the girl. Moonlight streamed in through the curtains, turning her hair white. Nesrin imagined that it would be the color of snow if she ever saw it with her own eyes.

"Be grateful for your family name," she finally said. "It's unfortunate what happened to your House because of it, but it was there to catch you, even after everything had been taken from you." She turned and stared hard at Daenerys Targaryen. She stared back with wide eyes, but did not look away. "Others are not as fortunate as you have been. They have everything taken from them and no way of getting it back. But your brother – and you – have that opportunity. Don't waste it. And what you take, always try to give something in return. Kingdoms must have balance to thrive. If your control is too tight, or too loose, then you will have chaos. Find that balance."

She turned away from the archway and the moon. Daenerys Targaryen watched her, lilac eyes bright but solemn.

Nesrin paused. "For what it's worth, Daenerys Targaryen, I hope that you get your home back."

And then she was gone.

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