4.

They did not return to Illyrio's manse.

Khal Drogo owned an estate within Pentos, but chose to join his khalasar camped outside the city walls. It was given over to Daenerys Targaryen and her brother until the wedding.

"It's tomorrow?" Jon asked in disbelief. It made him wonder how long Illyrio had watched him.

Mormont ignored him until they reached the entrance. He turned to Jon with a frown. "Viserys is mad," he told him. The bluntness in his words surprised Jon. "You must agree with everything he says. He will insult you because of who your father is, but you will ignore it. Your purpose is to protect Daenerys. Understood?"

Jon nodded and followed Mormont inside, regretting his decisions. He should have taken a ship to Dorne instead of the Free Cities. Ghost nudged his leg, sensing his apprehension. He ruffled the fur between Ghost's ears.

Khal Drogo's estate was large, but not as extravagant as the Magister's. It seemed to only house only the essentials. That made sense considering the Dothraki spent more time outside than within the city walls.

Mormont was leading Jon to his bedchambers when they were stopped by a gaunt, silver-haired man going the opposite way. He jumped at the sight of Ghost.

"Who let this beast inside?" demanded the man.

"Me," Jon answered blandly. "I let him in, Your Grace," he added, after Mormont shot him a look.

"This is Jon Snow, the squire Illyrio was telling you about," Mormont explained. He turned to Jon. "This is Viserys of the House Targaryen, the Third of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

"An honor to finally meet you," Jon said, the lie falling off his tongue awkwardly. After a moment's hesitation, he bowed.

"Illyrio says you wield your uncle's sword," Viserys said, almost accusingly. "Unsheathe it so I know he does not speak falsely."

Reaching over his shoulder, Jon slowly unsheathed Dawn. It was heavy, and pulling it out of its scabbard too quickly risked cutting through his clothes as Jon learned months ago. Once he put on a few inches and muscles, Jon would wear the greatsword over his hip and draw out the blade faster than before.

Sunlight gleamed against the steel. Staring at the blade always awed Jon into silence. It was still difficult to believe that Ser Arthur Dayne was truly his uncle, and he had gifted Jon with his famed sword.

Viserys's lilac eyes were glazed when Jon looked away from his sword. He knew my uncle, realized Jon. There was no question that Viserys grew up surrounded by the Kingsguard. Jon refrained from questioning him about it. Mormont warned him of Viserys's madness for a reason.

"Your Grace?" Jon prompted, when the silence lingered.

He blinked. His face shifted into a scowl. "I hope for your sake you know how to wield Dawn," Viserys replied, then shouldered his way past them.

Ghost bared his teeth in a silent growl, but Jon touched his neck to keep him still. Once Ghost relaxed, Mormont led Jon to his bedchambers and left him alone. Jon flopped back on the featherbed. He laughed when Ghost leapt up and joined him, but the laugh quickly faded into a groan from the impact of the wolf settling heavily on his face. Jon rolled the wolf off him and wiped white fur off his face. As he laid on a featherbed softer than his own back in Winterfell, Jon could only think about tomorrow.

Mormont's account of the Dothroki was making Jon lose is nerve. He feared his sudden arrival would cause problems with them. If not him, then Ghost. The direwolf had yet to stop growing. He wasn't at is full height yet, but he still struck fear amongst the Pentoshi. Did the Dothraki fear such animals? Jon hoped not. He wasn't looking forward to battling seasoned horselords over his wolf.


The wedding took place in a field beyond the walls of Pentos, for the Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man's life must be done beneath the open sky.

The ceremony began at dawn and continued until dusk, an endless day of drinking and feasting and fighting. Men and women alike wore painted vests over bare chests and horsehair leggings cinched by bronze medallion belts, and warriors greased their long braids with fat from rendering pigs.

They gorged themselves on horseflesh roasted with honey and peppers, drank themselves blind on fermented mare's milk and Illyrio's fine wines, and spat jests at each other across the fires, their voices harsh and alien. They eyed his direwolf warily, but Illyrio somehow convinced them that Ghost would not harm them unless Jon commanded it.

Jon sat with four warriors tasked to protect their khal's new khaleesi. He was the youngest among them, the closest to his age was named Jhogo who was the friendliest. None spoke the Common Tongue, so Jon couldn't talk to them. It didn't matter. Jon was amused with the eating contest between Rakharo and Quaro.

Mormont sat above him, with Viserys and Illyrio seated beside him. Theirs was a place of high honor, just below the khal's own bloodriders. The bride and her new husband were above them, sending the food they refused to everyone else.

Daenerys Targaryen was, without a doubt, breathtakingly beautiful.

Never in his life had Jon had seen a sight so lovely. Her hair was a waterfall of silver spilling over her back and shoulders, gleaming like molten silver in the sunlight. Her eyes were immense and bursting with violet. She was unlike anyone Jon had ever seen. The only thing marring her beauty was the painful smile she wore on her face. Her false smile poorly concealed how frightened she truly was.

The sun was only a quarter up the sky when Jon saw the first of many die. Drums were beating as some women danced for the khal. Jon nursed her cup of summerwine, dazed as he watched. The warriors were watching too. One of them finally stepped into the circle, grabbed a dancer by the arm, pushed her to the ground, and mounted her right there.

Jon turned away, his face burning. He knew of coupling, he had seen a stallion mount a mare before, but he still found it uncomfortable to watch. Jon could only keep drinking to ignore the sounds of fucking and death.

When at last the sun was low in the sky, Khal Drogo clapped his hands together. The drums and the shouting and the feasting came to a sudden halt. Drogo stood and pulled Daenerys to her feet, looking absolutely tiny and fearful next to him.

Viserys gifted her with three new handmaidens. Jon knew they had cost him nothing thanks to Mormont informing him that Illyrio provided the girls. Irri and Jhiqui were copper-skinned Dothraki with black hair and almond shaped eyes, while Doreah a fair-skinned, blue-eyed Lysene girl.

"These are no common servants, sweet sister," Viserys said as they were brought forward one by one. "Illyrio and I selected them personally. Irri will teach you riding, Jhiqui the Dothraki tongue, and Doreah will instruct you in the womanly arts of love." He smiled thinly. "She's very good, Illyrio and I can both swear to it."

Jon could taste his revulsion.

Mormont apologized for his gift, sounding kinder than Jon ever heard him. "It is a small thing, my princess, but all a poor exile could afford," he said as he laid a small stack of old books before her. She gave the first genuine smile Jon had seen.

Wordlessly, Jon opened the velvet box and presented his gift to Daenerys. She took the necklace out of its box and examined it. When she unclasped it, Jon took it from her and stood behind her, clasping it around her neck. Her skin was warm against his fingertips. When he walked back in front of her, there was a flummoxed expression on her face.

Magister Illyrio murmured a command, and four burly slaves hurried forward, bearing between them a cedar chest bound in bronze. Jon watched Daenerys open the chest, curious. He widened his eyes when she lifted an egg for everyone to see. The huge egg she held with two hands was covered in tiny scales, and as she turned it between her fingers, it shimmered like polished metal in the light of the setting sun. Illyrio explained to Daenerys that they dragon eggs from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai.

The khal's bloodriders offered her the three weapons traditional of Dothraki: a great leather whip with a silver handle, a magnificent arakh chased in gold, and a double-curved dragonbone bow the same height as Jon himself. Daenerys said something in Dothraki, her voice soft and unsure.

More gifts were given and Jon continued drinking his summerwine, refilling twice by the time Khal Drogo brought forward his own gift. He led a horse to Daenerys, a young filly, spirited and splendid. She was grey as winter, with a mane like silver smoke. Arya would love a filly like that, Jon thought. His heart grew heavy at the thought of his sister.

The young bride was lifted by the waist and placed on the filly. Jon could see her whispering something, appearing nervous, but then the filly started to trot forward before sprinting. Much to Jon's shock, Daenerys made her horse leap the flames of the firepit. When she neared, her delighted smile only magnified her beauty.

The last sliver of sun vanished behind the high walls of Pentos to the west just then. Jon watched as Daenerys and Khal Drogo rode off somewhere, presumably to do the bedding part of the wedding.

One of Daenerys's new handmaidens, Doreah, approached him. "What kind of beast is that?" she asked, gesturing to Ghost.

"A direwolf," he answered, sitting up straighter. She looked older than him, with honey blonde hair framing her face. "His name is Ghost. The direwolf is the sigil of my father's House."

"House," she repeated, thoughtful. "You're from Westeros."

"I am," Jon said, nodding. He glanced around and noticed that he was mostly alone where he sat. "Did you want to sit?"

When he offered her a seat, he didn't expect her to sit on his lap. Doreah rested her elbow on his shoulder as she tilted her upper body to face him. She was pretty, and the sight, smell, and feel of her was overwhelming. If his father saw him—

Jon was no longer in Winterfell. He could have pretty girls on his lap if he wanted. He made no move to push her off and put his arm around her waist. Doreah smiled at that and asked more questions that Jon answered until his words began to slur and her breasts pressed against his chest. She leaned close and kissed the edge of his jaw. She murmured such carnal suggestions that Jon was certain his face was Tully red. That was when he gently pushed her off his lap and stumbled over to where Mormont stood.

It was the fear of drunkenly fighting men over Doreah that made Jon reject her offers, but if he was being truthful, he was too much of a green boy to bed such a pretty girl. Remembering that both Illyrio and Viserys bedded her sobered Jon a little.

"Enjoying the festivities, Snow?" Mormont asked.

"The most exciting wedding I've attended," Jon admitted. It was the only wedding he attended. "Is it always this…?"

"Wild?" Mormont grinned, and Jon realized the man was drunker than him. "It'll only get more exciting after this."

Jon wasn't sure if he was ready for that.