Despite not thinking he'd be able to enter the land of dreams, Harry slept like a baby, both physically and mentally drained from his transmigration, and he still felt that fatigue when he awoke from light streaming in through the cracked window. He slipped out from underneath the covers, swinging his legs over the side of his bed to sit and relish the cold air raising goosebumps on his skin, though he also wished he had his wand with him to counteract the cold. Without his wand, he felt like a part of him was missing, like missing a foot or a hand.
Harry gazed out at the room again, his eyes soon landing on the two boys sleeping in bed.
"Brothers… I have brothers," Harry tried to rationalize the thought, but it still didn't feel real. Everything felt like a hyperrealistic dream. "I guess it just needs time to set in." He walked to his death, and he rose once more. Indeed, he was the Boy Who Lived. An epitaph he hated, but one that seemed to hold more truth than he'd wish.
As if sensing Harry's eyes on them, both boys started stirring at the same time, sitting up and sliding out of bed only a few minutes later. None talked, preferring to rub their eyes and walk over to a big pot in the corner of the room, where they did their business.
Pissing and shitting in a pot wasn't fun, but it was better than sleeping in a cupboard. Harry held back a grimace and walked to the chamber pot, doing his business. When he turned around, he found Jon and Robb staring at him with expectant looks.
"What?"
"Do you remember yet?" They voiced in unison.
Harry shook his head. "Jon. Robb. I doubt I'll remember. We can wish and hope, but for now, the cards are dealt.
Those words were meant for himself just as much as the boys. Wishing for a world that no longer exists would only lead to depression and heartache.
Jon's head dropped, and a despondent look took over his expectant one while Robb studied him with a curious gaze.
"That sounds like something Father would say. Are you the same, Harry?" Robb questioned.
Harry winced. "The Harry you knew is gone. I don't know. It's hard to answer when I don't know who I used to be."
Jon's head snapped up, a fierce gleam in his eyes. "I don't care! If you're different or the same, you're still my brother! My twin!" Jon nearly shouted.
Silence fell in the room, only broken by the soft whistling of the morning wind.
"Jon's right. Brothers," Robb said with a genuine smile and an extended hand.
Harry reached out and took Robb's hand, warmth rising in his stomach to counter the cold weather. "Brothers," Harry repeated softly, barely louder than a whisper.
"Enough talk of feelings! Let's go find Father so we can spar in the yard," Robb said, turning and leading his brothers from the room and into a spacious hallway made of the same dark stone as the room. "Let's play the King who Knelt and the Conquerors!"
"Who are they?" Harry replied absentmindedly, focusing on his surroundings more than the conversation.
"This is going to take some getting used to," Robb muttered before putting on a brave face.
"Aegon, his sisters, and their dragons-"
"Dragons!?" Harry interrupted, now much more focused on the conversation than the surroundings.
"Yeah!" Robb exclaimed, matching Harry's sudden spike in energy. "Huge winged creatures that breathe fire with scales harder than steel! They conquered some kingdoms, bathing the armies of the Reach and the Westerlands in flames before coming North with the largest army ever seen! Torrhen Stark saw the massive armies and heard of the burning of Harrenhall, and instead of choosing war, he knelt, bringing the North under the reign of Targaryen Kings. You and Jon can be Aegon and one wife, and I'll be Torrhen!"
Harry just nodded, taking in the information, his mind whirling.
"Dragons! I knew there was some magic in this world once the God showed me the Night King… But dragons!? And the Kingdoms…" Harry thought.
"I need to go to the library after we speak to Father," Harry realized.
"The library? Why?" Jon questioned, giving Harry a look like he was some sort of alien.
"I don't know what the Reach is, nor the Westerlands, nor dragons or Aegon beyond what you've told me," Harry replied with an amused smile. "Learning those things seem more important than playing in the yard, after all."
"You always liked reading, but never enough to skip out on spending time with us," Jon replied sullenly.
Harry's smile turned brittle. "It will only be a temporary thing, Jon. Before you know it, everything will be the same… Well, mostly the same," Harry trailed off.
Jon only nodded, still despondent. Harry and Robb met eyes, and Robb shrugged before giving Harry a mischievous smile.
"Jon broods. You'll get used to it," Robb said matter-of-factly.
Jon's head snapped up. "I do not brood!" Jon retorted hotly.
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't!"
"Yes, you do."
"Hmpph… I don't brood," Jon said before brooding once more.
"See!" Robb pointed. "You're doing it now! You look just like Father when he broods!"
Jon glared at Robb before it softened, and a slight grin snuck through. Robb laughed heartily, slapping his hand on the curly boy's shoulders.
"So Jon broods, says he doesn't, but when he's told he broods like Father, he likes it?" Harry thought, grinning at his twin.
Silence fell between the group of three as they traversed up a staircase. Harry glanced out the window at the gently rolling hills layered with tall trees and the grounds covered by snow with splashes of green showing through.
"Is spring coming?" Harry wondered aloud.
Jon chuckled while Robb erupted with laughter as they reached the pinnacle of the staircase, turning down a hallway.
"Jon, what are House Stark's words?" Robb questioned with that same mischievous smile.
"Winter is coming," Robb and Jon chorused.
Harry was at a loss.
"So it's not spring?"
"No, brother! It's summer snow!" Robb laughed.
Robb was a kind boy with a heart of gold, Harry realized. Prone to smiles and jokes rather than Jon's sullenness.
"Hmmm," Harry hummed as they arrived at the end of the hallway, stopping in front of the last door on the right.
Robb pounded his fist against the door, "Father! Me, Jon and Harry are here!"
The sound of shuffling paper was heard through the door, followed by a gruff "Enter."
Robb pushed in the door, and they entered.
The room they came into held the same dark grey walls as the entirety of the castle. A pack of direwolves etched into the stone floor danced, chasing each other's tails but never catching one another.
A large black desk sat in the middle of the room; sitting upon it were papers neatly placed in piles. The black color of the desk was prevalent with most furniture in the room, like the large bookcase sitting on either side of a large window overlooking the castle grounds or the large, ornate chair with direwolves carved onto it where Lord Stark sat.
Lord Stark's cold, hard eyes softened as they roamed across the three boys standing in line with each other, settling on Harry longer than his brothers.
"Rob, Harry, Jon. I was just about to head to your room, but you beat me to it," Ned greeted all three before focusing on Harry. "Have any memories returned, Harry?"
"No father, and it's like I told Robb and Jon. We can hope they return, but until they do, or if they don't, I must move forward all the same."
Lord Stark leaned forward during Harry's explanation and leaned back once finished with a speculative look. "Your words show wisdom. Tell me, how do you plan to move forward?"
"Go to the library first. I know nothing," Harry shrugged.
"Very well, let's go break our fast, and then Maester Luwin can escort you there," Lord Stark said, standing up and leading the boys from the solar.
Robb and Jon looked annoyed that they'd have to eat before they sparred, but Harry saw the sense of it. Breakfast was the most important meal of the deal.
/~/
Fifteen minutes later, Harry found himself in a sparsely occupied Great Hall lined with banners of a snarling grey direwolf.
A raised dais was at the front of the hall, and that was where the majority of Harry's family sat. Lord Stark and Lady Catelyn-who was sending him thinly disguised glares- sat in the middle of the table, a young boy, around two or three with features similar to Robb, sitting in the Lady's arms. Robb sat on Lord Stark's right, while a red-headed girl a few years younger than Robb sat on Lady Stark's left. A girl younger than the redhead sat next to the redhead in question, though she looked similar to Jon and Lord Stark.
The raised dais tapered down like a stairway, and on the second level of the dais, lower tables were occupied by men and women Harry had never seen before besides the Maester, so he didn't spend too much time looking over them.
The ground floor of the hall contained the most numerous of tables, each one stretching the length of the hall with benches to match, laid out in a fashion not dissimilar to Hogwarts. The lowest table was where Harry and Jon sat, breaking their fast with hearty soup filled with onions and meat. The taste wasn't anything spectacular, but the heartiness of the meal reminded Harry of home.
Ignoring the longing and nostalgia best he could, Harry snuck a glance at Jon, who wore a look of longing as he stared at the high table.
"You wish to be up there?" Harry questioned, though it sounded like a statement.
"...Yes. I hate being a bastard."
"Why?" Harry was genuinely confused.
Jon spared him a glance before looking at the main table once more, "Our father, Lord Stark, is an honorable man. The most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms. You and I are the only stains on his honor… and we are looked down on for it. Lady Stark despises us. She thinks that one day we might steal Robb's birthright as the Heir to Winterfell."
"It's not our fault we were born bastards, so let Father deal with the stain on his honor." Harry shrugged.
"What do you mean?" Jon's full attention was back on Harry.
"It was father's choice to sire us. Any sin of his in that act is not ours… and don't worry about Lady Stark. I don't pretend to know much, but whether she despises us or not, the rest of our family seems to love us. We are lucky to have that. Many don't even have a family. Don't let a word and other misconceptions take that away."
Jon turned his attention to the onion soup, his head bowed down and framed by his curly hair. After a few minutes of silent eating, Jon responded, "You're right. We are lucky to have family that loves us… but I still hate being a bastard."
"Know this. Even if you're a bastard, I'll be there for you. Us bastards will stick together." Harry extended an olive branch. Last night, he wasn't sure if he could trust his brothers, but with each moment spent in their company, worries lessened, though hard times proved character more than smooth sailing.
Jon cracked a slight grin. "I'll be there for you too, Harry."
"Of course you will, Jon. Who are the children at the high table?" Harry segued.
"Our other brother, Bran, and our sisters, Sansa and Arya. Sansa is the redhead, and Arya is the one that looks like us."
"How do you feel about them?"
"Arya's a wild wolf," Jon said, and at the high table, Arya slipped down from her chair and sneaked underneath the table, backing up those words. "She follows Robb, you, and me around, always wanting to play like the boys," the fondness in his voice was unmistakable. "Sansa is more like Lady Stark, wanting to be a perfect lady," like with Arya, Jon's words were spot on. The redheaded girl sat with her back straight, trying to display poise that wasn't there. She looked like a child playing adult, more than anything. "Bran's little, so we don't see him that much, but he loves to be read stories. Especially about knights. Or scary ones," Jon added as an afterthought.
"Maybe I'll find a book in the library that I could read to him," Harry mused aloud.
"I'm sure he'd like that," Jon said, finished with his bowl of stew. Jon caught Robb's eye, and Robb stood up, walking down to where they were sitting, ignoring his mother's words as she called out to him.
"You ready to spar?" Robb asked Jon once he reached the table.
"I am," Jon replied, standing up.
"I'll see you two later. I'm off to find the library," Harry replied, walking to the lower table where Luwin, the man who examined him the night prior, sat.
"Maester Luwin," Harry said respectfully, "I was wondering if you would show me where the library is."
"Yes, yes. I'd be glad too," The maester responded, standing up and leading Harry out of the hall.
/~/
Winterfell's library was large. Very large. Rows and rows of bookcases nailed to the stone floor in a room around a quarter of the size of Hogwarts Great Hall. A musty smell pervaded the area; some books were rotten, others pristine, while the majority were well-used.
In the middle of the room was an open space with wooden tables used for reading, while each of the four corners held tables, though smaller and meant for one or two people to sit at. Many windows were set in the walls of the library, allowing natural light to filter in so he didn't have to read by candlelight.
"Are the books organized in any way, Maester Luwin?" Harry questioned.
"I'm afraid not, young Harry," seeing Harry's grimace, Maester Luwin added on, "What books are you looking for? I know where the most used books are."
"Books on the history of Westeros as a whole, each kingdom, and Aegon's conquest. As well as books on greensight or anything in common."
"You're in luck. I know where most of these books are. You'll find that the information on the other kingdoms might be lacking and quite generalized. We are in the North, and they prefer to remain isolated. Because of this, comings and goings in the other Kingdoms simply weren't all that important, and the library still reflects that today."
"I understand, Maester Luwin. I'll gladly take any information I can get."
The Maester started to walk up and down the aisles, grabbing books as he went until he had a stack reaching his nose, which he had to support with both hands and an arched back. Harry noticed the Maester's strain and offered to carry some of them, and the Maester took two or three large tomes and handed them to Harry.
"I wish to sit at a table in the corner, Maester," Harry said while leading them to a table. Once they reached the table, Luwin dropped the books down. They boomed as they hit the tabletop, causing it to creak.
"Need anything else, Harry?" Maester Alison questioned.
Harry thought for a moment before replying, "Yes, some paper and something to write with would be nice."
"I'll take my leave and have a servant send you some."
"Thank you, Maester Luwin," Harry said to the Maesters back, flipping through the books until he opened the thick one labeled: Aegon's Conquest.
/~/
For thirty minutes, Harry had read Aegon's conquest, which was prefaced by the Doom of Valyria- the destruction of the greatest city ever seen. It happened instantly, compared to the five thousand years it remained the prevalent power.
Daenys the Dreamer saw visions of the cataclysm to come, and the Targaryens moved to Dragonstone, where they remained for a few years before beginning their Conquest.
Aegon, who Robb had mentioned before, rode the most enormous dragon ever seen. Balerion the Black Dread. They were sketches of the beast in the book, and a single tooth was the size of a fully grown man.
Harry sat back in his chair, utterly floored. When he'd heard dragons, he'd thought of something like the Horntail, not a dragon ten times bigger.
Around that time, a comely servant, twice Harry's age, came by and dropped off ink, a quill, and pages of parchment, leaving with a smile that left Harry blushing.
House Targaryen's words, Fire and Blood, sounded like ritualistic magic. Dark magic, steeped in sacrifice and death.
Harry would usually be disgusted by the thought of it, and he still was, but knowing that death came for all, in more forms than just ice-blue eyes, left him open to avenues he usually wouldn't entertain. He supposed the God was correct.
"Too had only Targaryens have been known to ride dragons, though my knowledge of magic could help," Harry mused before continuing to read the book.
/-/
The sun was nearing its peak in the sky before Harry left the library, finding a servant to help carry the books to his room.
He retraced his steps to the Great Hall, eating a hearty meal of roasted rabbit and buttered toast.
Midway through his meal, Jon entered the Great Hall and saddled into the seat next to him, smelling of sweat.
"Jon, how was sparring?"
"It was good! I was Aemon the Dragonknight, and Robb was Theon the Hungry Wolf!"
"Good to hear you enjoyed yourself," Harry chuckled, put at ease by the childish enthusiasm. "Where's Robb?"
"He's in lessons with Maester Luwin. Learning sigils or something like that," Jon groused. "I don't see why we can't sit in…."
"Why do we need to sit in on the lessons to learn?" Harry questioned.
Jon huffed but didn't respond to the logic. Harry understood. Sometimes one needed to vent rather than receive hard facts.
Harry finished his meal but made no move to stand. Jon was shoveling food into his mouth like Ron often would. In other words, messily.
"You can eat slower, ya know?"
"I'm hungry," Jon said through a mouthful of food.
Harry chuckled, and soon the plate of food was gone.
"So… what do you want to do?" Harry questioned.
Jon tilted his head to the side, considering the question. "Let's visit the Godswood! I want to pray to the Old Gods for your memory to return…" Jon trailed off.
"I'd be happy too. What are the Old Gods?" Reading a book to find the information would work, but the first-hand experience was nice. The fact that it saved Harry time was also appreciated.
"Gods of nature that live in the Weirwood trees. Lord Stark says he can hear them whisper… but I've never heard them."
"Sounds interesting. Are you ready?"
Jon gave him a smile, "Let's go."
/-/
Harry knew he was in a different world and a different time, but only when entering the Godswood for the first time did it set in how primal the world truly was.
Tall trees reached into the sky, blocking the sun from reaching the ground beneath; thick shrubs and undergrowth permeated the bottom of the trunks.
And then there was the Weirwood, the biggest tree in the woods, with white bark, branches, and blood-red leaves. A face was carved into the Weirwood, with red sap leaking from its eyes. Tears of blood.
"Har-"
The tree oozed magic. Not like the warm magic of Hogwarts that felt like home. No. It was the complete opposite.
If Harry had to choose one word to describe the heart tree, it'd be nature.
"Harr-"
Cold and warm. Death and life. A pack of wolves circling a fawn, and hunters circling wolves with bows and arrows. Growth, from a young, defenseless babe, to a young pup, to a powerful adult, then finally, an old decrepit being waiting for death. Destruction, a parasite leeching onto prey, sucking lifeforce and disease, eating healthy cells to sustain their own lives.
And within the chaos of nature, where there was no pattern except survival of the fittest, Harry swore he caught sight of a raven with three eyes looking into his soul.
"Harry!" Jon exclaimed.
Harry shook and turned to his brother in surprise.
"Are you alright?! I called your name but you wouldn't answer! Did something happen!?" Jon worriedly rambled, looking scared, like his world was falling from under him.
"Just how important am I to Jon?" Harry wondered. He looked at the Weirwood once more, then back to his brother. "I'm fine." Jon still looked uncertain. "Really. I'm ok. I was… shocked. The Weirwood is massive!"
"Yeah. It is," Jon said, still looking unsure despite constant reassurance.
Harry decided to drop it, and he moved forward to the Weirwood, going around the small, steaming hot spring to sit by the large rocks in front of the crying face as the thin layer of snow made crunching sounds underfoot.
Once they sat, words were not traded between, instead basking in the silence, only broken by chirping birds and whistling wind.
Harry touched the thick bark of the Weirwood, running his fingers over the dried sap, entrenching himself in the magic that seemed to describe this world so well. A portion of Ollivanders words fit the feeling well, "Great. Terrible, yet great."
"Could this magic be weaponized? This world is brutal, and equally brutal magic would do well…."
An answer to that question required more study, and he didn't even know where to start.
"A wand? Even though I know nothing about how to craft one… or what I would use as a material. I'd be better off making gunpowder. It's just as likely to blow up in my face."
The tree branches cracked above him, and Harry looked up just in time for an arm-length piece of Weirwood to hit him in the face.
"OW!" Harry cried out as the answer to his question hit him in the face.
"Are you alright!? Jon questioned.
"I'm fine. I was surprised more than anything," Harry dabbed his forehead, and his hand came away speckled with blood. He picked up the branch of Weirwood with that same hand, and before his eyes, it grew. Not much, an inch or two, but it grew all the same.
"Magic?" Harry whispered, eyes wide as saucers.
"Harry…" Jon whispered, just as shocked as Harry.
"You must keep this a secret!" Harry ordered.
"Why?!"
"Swear it."
Jon studied him. "Alright. I swear I won't tell anyone unless you tell me I can."
"I doubt it will be a secret forever, but until then, thank you."
In an inch, in a mile.
"...I wasn't entirely truthful when I said I didn't remember anything," Harry started, picking each word carefully.
"What do you mean?! You lied?" Jon sounded hurt and surprised, like he expected Harry to be incapable of fudging the truth.
"I wasn't sure how to tell you… It sounded impossible! I dreamt of White Walkers coming back. I also dreamt of magic… and how to do it…."
"Magic is dangerous, Harry…." Jon said, sounding worried, afraid, and excited all at once. "And White Walkers? They've been gone for thousands of years!" Jon scoffed.
"I know what I saw, Jon. It sounds fanciful, and that's why I didn't tell anyone."
"By the Old Gods, Harry…" Jon sounded like he understood, at least.
"War is coming, Jon. We're young, but we need any weapon we can get. To protect our family. Or they will die. Father, Robb, Arya… The world," Harry whispered.
Jon suddenly plopped down next to Harry. He put his back against the Weirwood and took deep breaths. "I don't even know what to say… You believe what you're saying, don't you?"
"I do."
"I'm not saying I believe you, but that's only because it's hard to believe…Still, I'll trust you."
"Thank you, Jon. Though I don't know where to start. Magic is foreign, and I don't know how to attempt to start to wield it."
"Wielding magic is like wielding a sword without a hilt. It hurts the user as much as the target. They say old Starks sacrificed their enemies, stringing up their guts on the Weirwood."
"How do you know this?" Harry questioned, though one word stuck out to Harry. Sacrifice: What drew him and the god together.
"Old Nan tells tales."
"I suppose I'll meet her soon enough," Harry said tiredly. The lack of knowledge, and the truth of what was to come, was starting to wear on him.
Harry reached up and wiped more blood from his face onto the Weirwood Branch, watching it grow and focusing on the feeling that came with it and the magic in the Weirwood.
Magic was all about intent, as well as words.
He focused on the destruction the Weirwood carried, trying to place that intent into the branch.
Just so, the white tip molded and funneled into a conical point. One made to pierce. To pop the blood bags, otherwise called humans, letting the fluids burst and run in rivulets.
"You can do magic… control the Weirwoods…." Jon stated breathlessly.
"I can barely control a single branch, but maybe one day."
"Incredible."
/~/
On the road from Pentos where Dothraki hordes or legions of sell swords could fall upon Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen, they walked, for they had no other choice.
Staying in one place meant death from steel knives hiding in the shadows, while moving was a chance for life, despite the danger.
"Viserys… oh Viserys…" the voice in the back of the Last Dragon's head mocked. Mocked, mocked, mocked. Everyone seemed to mock him. The Golden Company mocked him. The Sealord mocked him. The magisters of Pentos, Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen mocked him… No man, woman, or child in the world didn't mock the 'Beggar King.'
They thought him unaware of the whispers, and perhaps he was, but they'd say it to his face. Him! The rightful King!
And now a voice in the back of his head was doing the same?! He'd had enough. The sleeping dragon slowly stirred, fire building in his chest.
"What? Will you wake the dragon? Yell at your little sister for your faults? How scary! You don't expect the world to just… bow down to you? Do you? Are you so stupid?" The voice sounded silky yet slippery. The manifestation of a snake.
The fire burned hotter, and he was about to explode.
"Don't worry, my dear Viserys. You won't be mocked for much longer… you only need to find eggs. Dragon eggs. And even if you don't, I'll still lead you to greatness. Daenys the Dreamer had visions, and you hear voices. Who knows? Perhaps when you sit upon the Iron Throne, they will call you Viserys of the Voice… All you need to do is listen," the voice whispered sweet nothings into his skull, throwing rocks upon the glowing embers.
That did sound nice, Viserys conceded, and his rage cooled. Being regarded in history on a par with Daenys the Dreamer sent shivers down the rightful king's spine.
"How?! How do I take back my birthright?!" Viserys mentally demanded.
"Patience… patience… What sounds better? Being King of the Seven Kingdoms? Or being King of Essos and the Seven Kingdoms?"
The voice did not wait for a reply.
"If you want to become King of the World, you must first become King of One, King of Two, and King of Three. Each loyal person who swears to you causes your kingdom to grow larger… Go to Pentos, and find Illyrio. The cheesemonger who didn't mock you yet didn't offer help. You shall make your first strides… but keep the dragon sleeping, for being enraged does nothing. When you feel the dragon rise, stay your flames, for the fires that burn the hottest are upon piles of timber, where embers spread."
"Why Illyrio? He turned us away! Offered no help!" The dragon was beginning to wake once more despite the voice's words.
"Peace… peace, Viserys. Illyrio turned you away, but he didn't mock you. Why?"
"Why does it matter?"
"If he had no use for you, he would have mocked you… burnt all bridges. To me, it seems he has future plans and, thus, won't hurt you. You will use that to further your own gains, turning the board over and laying your own pieces down. The first step to King of All is Pentos and Illyrio."
"Daenerys, we're going back to Pentos," Viserys suddenly demanded. His dear sister was only 7 years old, yet beautiful, and would only become more vibrant the more she bloomed.
"Why!? We just escaped! Assassins will kill us!" Daenerys yelped fearfully.
"I'm tired of being called the Beggar King. Tired of receiving no respect… If no one respects us, we shall make them," Viserys said darkly.
"How? No one will help us… We've already been kicked from manse to manse…."
"That, my dear sister, is for me to worry about. You simply need to come along. Your big brother will protect you."
Viserys' words didn't put Daenerys at ease, but she didn't dare say anything. She did not want to wake the dragon.
They turned around and headed towards the town they'd just run from, to death or destiny.
/-/
One week later, the brother-sister pair arrived outside the manse of Illryio Mopatis under thick cloaks, with the hoods raised, covering their Valyrian features. The manse had twenty-foot tall stone walls and an iron gate with a small circular battlement on either side.
"Who goes there!" A dark-skinned man on the battlements ordered, clad in leather armor, and holding a bow.
"What now?" Viserys thought impatiently.
"First, you must take a deep breath. Rushing will lead to death, while taking your time will bring great fortune. What you must do is get inside. Lie if you have to, but make it believable," the smooth voice responded.
"I said, who goes there! State your business!" The guard ordered again.
"My name is Viserys Targaryen! With me is my sister, Daenerys. Before, your Magister denied entry. I have come again with new terms," Viserys stated.
"Black Horse! Tell Magister Illyrio Viserys Targaryen is here to speak!" The guard shouted over his shoulder.
"Can we not wait inside? It's not like you can't kick us out if the Magister denies us, and assassins have been after us before," Viserys reasoned.
The guard weighed Viserys' words before nodding.
"Raise the gate!"
A few moments later, creaking metal rang out as the gate was slowly raised. Viserys and Daenerys strode underneath the U-shaped wall and into the courtyard of the manse.
It looked exactly the same as the last time they'd been in. The central courtyard was lined with colorful flowers and green hedges, where beautiful female servants in revealing clothes trimmed and watered them. In the middle of the yard was a golden statue of Illyrio raising a sword. He must have been a hundred pounds lighter, at the least. On the outer edges of the courtyard, guards holding spears remained at attention, their unfeeling eyes following the Targaryens.
Beyond the courtyard was the manse proper. It was three stories high and made of tan stone, with a balcony on the third floor.
Illyrio Mopatis walked out of that same balcony, looking down on them like he was king. He was a fat man with three chins and a belly big enough to sleep on. In contrast to his body, the clothes he wore were fabulous. White robes lined with gold and gaudy jewelry, large rubies, and black sapphires draped around his neck.
"What now?!" Viserys mentally demanded.
"Repeat every word I say. Trust me, Viserys, and we will do great things," the smooth voice responded.
"Your grace, how good to see you again. Green Grass! Escort the King and his sister up to see me!"
"Yes, Magister," Green Grass said robotically, stepping up to them. "Follow."
Green Grass, another dark-skinned guard clad in leather armor, escorted them to Illyrio. The inside of the manse was a gaudy display of wealth. Gold furniture, paintings framed in gold, gold dishware, and golden railings along the staircases. Many beautiful women of all ages strode the manse, nude, save for collars of gold. Soon, they reached the third-floor balcony, where the display of wealth was no less gaudy but much more practical. A plush chair made of the finest material felt like sinking into a cloud as Viserys pulled Daenaerys down next to him and kicked his feet on the ornate table of white wood. Across from the two sat the fat Magister.
"Your Grace, Princess Daenerys, I'm surprised to see you again. What brings you here?"
"You can drop the titles, Illyrio. If I were your King, you wouldn't have turned us away, no?"
"Wh-... Very well, Viserys, Daenerys, and I, like I told you before. You are my King, but the Usurper on the throne has Lannister Gold and many assassins."
"Even with these tall walls…." Viserys mocked, and it felt good to be the one doing the mocking.
"Yes… Assassins are tricky. Masquerading as servants and acting when and where we least expect."
"Hmmm," Viserys hummed. "Green Grass and Black Horse. Those men are Unsullied?"
"Pentos is a free state, and Unsullied are slave soldiers. These men are not slaves, but they work on bond." Illyrio responded.
"Call me Viserys, Illryrio, I shan't repeat it… How many of these Unsullied do you have defending the manse?"
"May I ask why you want to know?"
"My mother, Queen Rhaella, took many jewels from the Red Keep before we fled to Dragonstone and many jewels from there before we fled to Essos. I've spirited them away until I knew I needed them. Since we've been summarily rejected by every person of power who could help us, I've decided it's time to help ourselves and dip into the treasury."
"What do you mean by that? Let us speak plainly, Viserys, so I may help you to the best of my ability."
"So now you want to help? Interesting… Very well. I have enough wealth spirited away to buy a manse, and I'm gauging the price on how many Unsullied I can purchase. Thus, how many men defend the manse?"
"I see…" Illryrio said, leaning back and putting a meaty paw beneath his three chins. He was silent for ten to fifteen seconds, much longer than needed.
"We are not learning how to sail by the stars, Illyrio; surely it doesn't take much thought."
Illyrio nodded. "I have a standing guard of 200 Unsullied. Not enough to stop a large invasion, by any means, but more than enough to deal with most plebeian threats."
"And the cost of the Unsullied?"
"Depending on the size of the jewels, 10 gems this size," Illyrio grabbed the jewels hanging from his necklace, "would be enough to buy one hundred."
"I see… Would you mind giving me a demonstration of the Unsullied's martial prowess? I've heard many tales, but seeing is believing."
"What sort of demonstration?"
"A fight to the death."
"I suppose I can do that," Illyrio contented before turning to the guard standing by the door, ordering him to bring two of the newest recruits down to the courtyard.
"So how does one order the Unsullied? Surely they could rebel if they chose to?" Viserys questioned, leaning back into the comfortable chair and throwing one leg over the other while he waited.
"That would be true, but Unsullied are trained from birth. The epitome of a warrior. Humanity? There exists no such thing in Unsullied. They're forced to sit in the cold waters on the beach for three days and nights. They are made to fight to the death if any form of friendship is seen. To become ready for sale, each must kill a baby and give the mother a single silver coin. They don't rebel because they don't know how," Illyrio said.
Viserys hummed, quite pleased at that information. Two hundred completely loyal men would be a beautiful start to his kingdom. "So they simply listen to whoever buys them? What ensures loyalty? I'd rather not be stabbed in the back because the King of the Seven Kingdoms offers a pile of gold."
"Whoever holds the whip commands the Unsullied. The whip is ingrained in the Unsullied. Going against who owns the whip is like trying to keep in shit for a week-"
"Impossible," Viserys finished.
"Exactly; now it looks like the show has begun," Illyrio said with a wave of his hand. He clapped, and three servants ran to him, helping him rise from the chair. Daenerys and Viserys rose, and all three went to the balcony.
Two nameless Unsullied stood in the courtyard saluting Illyrio with one hand and holding a spear and shield.
Illyrio nodded, and they shifted the spear into the other hand and stood across from each other.
"Begin!"
The Unsullied circled each other, each probing for weakness that wasn't there. One struck with a spear and it was deflected by the shield, and the other struck like a snake, piercing into the meaty flesh of the thigh.
Though wounded, the Unsullied didn't scream, cry, or show pain. If it wasn't for the slight limp, one wouldn't even know he was wounded.
The unwounded Unsullied darted forward and back in and out of striking range, while the wounded simply made do, though that didn't last long. His other thigh was speared, and soon after, the tip of the spear entered his eye and left his skull.
The winner of the bout turned to the balcony and stomped his spear against the ground, raising a hand to salute Illyrio. "What is your name!" Illyrio boomed.
"Muddy Water!"
"Muddy Water, you fought well. Back to your post!"
The salute was dropped, and Muddy Water turned away without sparing a look for the comrade he'd butchered.
"A good showing by Muddy Water. The other… not so much."
"Unsullied fight the best as a group. In single combat, they are dangerous, but holding a shield wall… deadly."
"I must have some!" Viserys declared.
"If you don't mind me asking, what jewels and treasures will you use to buy a manse?"
"… A single Dragon egg for the manse, and a sword of Valyrian Steel for a thousand Unsullied."
"But-" Daenerys interjected, only to be cut off by Viserys' glare.
Illyrio sucked in a deep breath. "A Dragon egg! Valyrian Steel?! What sword is it!" He demanded.
"I don't see why I'd tell you that," Viserys chuckled. "It's one of the last bargaining chips I have, so I'd rather it be hidden until purchase; I'm sure you understand."
"… I would make a deal for both, provided you indeed have them," Illyrio said.
"A deal? What sort of deal? And I assure you, I have them, if not on my body."
"My manse, and the unsullied stationed within for the Valyrian Sword. I know the history of Dragonlords better than most, and it must be Dark Sister. How did you find it!"
"Daemon the Rogue Prince was the last wielder, and he lost the sword above the Gods Eye after shoving it through Aemonds' skull. Rhaeger, my brother, had many visions, and before his death, he rode to the Gods Eye, where he found Dark Sister, sending it back to King's Landing. Soon after, he died, and Kings Landing fell, but my mother took Dark Sister with her," Viserys said, weaving an elaborate thread.
"Incredible…" Illyrio whispered, enthralled.
"Just so. I would be open to negotiating, but I would need more than simply the manse and two hundred soldiers for Dark Sister. I know the worth of the weapon, Illyrio. The manse and five hundred soldiers, or gold enough to buy the three hundred not here."
"If you take the manse, as is, there is more than enough gold to purchase an extra three hundred Unsullied."
"Hmmm… I agree. Dark Sister is hidden in a hazardous area, and I would ask to take 100 men with me for protection from Dothraki and assassins and forward payment."
Illyrio leaned back, a hand coming up to his chin as he thought the proposal over.
"I believe I can do that…."
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An hour later, a hundred Unsullied were gathered in the courtyard, Daenerys, Viserys, and Illyrio standing at the front.
"How long until you return?"
"Two weeks. Three to four at the most. Though I must ask… how will I know you won't betray me? With you holding the whip, these Unsullied are nothing more than a loan."
"You'll have to trust me, Your Grace."
"I'm afraid I can't do that. Trust is worth less than the dirt under my feet."
"It seems we are at an impasse, then," Illyrio said, sounding genuinely sorry.
"Not so; a whip can be split in two, can it not?"
Illyrio winced but couldn't dispute the logic, "Yes, it can." He clapped, and a servant ran off.
Silence filled the air, and ten minutes later, the servant ran back, a whip in hand, and handed it to Illyrio, who took a dagger and started sawing. Five minutes later, sweating and breathing deep, the whip was split in two. Illyrio handed one end to Viserys.
It felt rough and worn in Viserys hand, with tiny threads of cloth tickling his hand.
Viserys turned to the Unsullied. "Kneel!" They did so. "Stand!" They did so. "Squat!" They did so. "Stand!" They did so.
"Kill Illyrio!"
"WHAT! YOU CA-"
One spear ran through his big belly, another through his chin, and a final spear through his skull while servants' screams rang out in the courtyard.
"Bring the other half of the whip," Viserys commanded. The Unsullied did so.
Viserys held both whips, a beautiful feeling rising in his chest.
"UNSULLIED!" Viserys shouted. "VISERYS TARGARYEN IS YOUR MASTER! I HOLD THE WHIP! NOW SLAY EVERY. SINGLE. SERVANT."
The Unsullied did so, and a cacophony of screams and blood filled the courtyard, sounding like music to Viserys ears.
"See? All you had to do was listen…" the voice said, sounding pleased. "Viserys of the Voice…Spilling flames onto piles of timber...Yes. Oh yes."
Viserys never saw Dany, frozen, eyes wide and filled with horror.
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