LYS

ESSOS - LYS 286 AC

The winds of the Summer Sea were fickle. Some days they blew warm, glorious air over the island, teasing its forests with the scents of all the world. They brought gentle rain, foreign seeds and clouds that hung along the curve of the water, catching the sunset in streaks of fire that may as well have been a dragon tail. All was peace and beauty beyond any song the poets of the West might utter. Then came the cooler waters, rushing out of the Narrow Sea to collide in a violent storm. Winds raged. Waves reared up and crashed against one another, building wrath. The first gentle shore to meet them were the beaches of Lys.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Lightening flashed in the distance, catching the underside of the storm. Over and over until Varys had a guess of its shape. He inhaled of the wet air wantonly, letting it soak into his lungs. Varys didn't fear the storms. They brought, how did his friend put it? Possibility. Only chaos could re-arrange the world. The whispers were growing and soon they would start to fall.

Rain hit the iron tables on the balcony outside. Varys had many beautiful homes scattered through the world but this was the gem in the crown. An ancient castle converted into apartments and his, the grandest of them all perched on the top, fronting the storm.

His companion sighed and started closing the heavy shutters as rain flew in. They were closed so infrequently that Illyrio Mopatis had to untangle a wild rose from the one nearest the wall. It's severed flower head smashed to the floor and shed petals all around.

Varys made a habit never to drink but there was plenty of wine set out on the table, which Illyrio made good use of.

"You will grow fat, my friend," Varys cautioned, pacing over the floor. He was silent – a spider, lurking furtherest from the candles.

Illyrio laughed warmly. His sell-sword days were past but his broad shoulders could still swing a blade and the wide belt round his waist gave him a slim if not impressive shadow. "And you – dry. Wine? No – of course not. You've nothing to waste your money on, Varys. More's the pity." He poured freely. Drank deep. "How is it you come to be here? I thought that Baratheon king of yours kept your leash lashed to the throne?"

"I am gathering information. There are rumours that the East shelter the last Targaryen heirs..."

They held the silence for a moment – then both laughed. Varys picked at the grapes while Illyrio hunted out more wine. "Ain't that the truth... Well, are you going to sell them to me now or shall I drink some more so you can offer me a less-agreeable price?"

"I cannot sell what I do not own." The first storm wind howled. Petals limped over the stone.

Illyrio paused. There were two goblets on the table. One was his and the other –

Varys stepped to the door, shifting the bolt. "My friend, I brought you here to meet the seller." He pushed pulled the door open to reveal an older man with two small children in tow. Their silver hair and iridescent eyes were unmistakable. Targaryens. The last dragons. "Willem Darry."

"Interesting," was the first word from Illyrio's lips. He drank of the wine again and poured for both goblets. "It's funny," he said, picking up both cups, "Ser Willem and I go way back. He fought me twice and the third, we fought together instead and found we liked that better. Willem was a handsome devil in his youth."

The youngest of the Targaryen children, a girl no more than four, scampered from the Darry's side and played at the window. Kneeling, she scooped up the flower in her pale hands and watched its remaining petals tremble. A tiny spider hid deep in its heart. It shied away from her. The boy stepped further behind Darry, hiding.

"Oh yes, I was very sad to hear he'd met his end in a Dornish brothel but surprised to find him here, now at your door rather well – save the grey beard and tasteless woollen cloth. Tell me – why is it that Northerners insist on wearing such things in the beautiful Southern lands?"

"A miraculous resurrection," Willem Darry reached for the offered wine and lifted his glass.

They could not speak the name for the sake of the two children but Ser Willem Darry took off his black glove and flashed a signet ring. A bear growled back and Illyrio nodded. A ser it was, all the same. Ser Jeor Mormont no less. "To your health, good ser," Illyrio drank to the Mormont king.


Hours passed and the storm threw every fury of the sea at Varys' house as though the Storm God himself took offence at their plans. Any minute now drowned men would pull themselves from the waves and scale the walls...

The Targaryen girl, Daenerys, slept by the fire on a silk pillow. Her brother was set on Jeor Mormont's lap, gazing curiously at the parchment map laid over the table. It was a huge sprawl of a thing with worlds the young boy had never seen in his books.

"Valyria!" Viserys pointed to the land as it had been before the Doom.

Jeor took his hand gently and held it away from the map. It was a precious thing, more valuable than all the Lannister gold. "Quiet..." he hushed the child kindly. Viserys sat back and made himself comfortable against the bear. He was good as father to the two children and they loved him.

"We cannot sail directly to Braavos," Mormont explained. "King Robert has his Lannister spies inspect every ship that makes port. They're looking for the children. Every ship – except yours."

Illyrio smiled. "Well, it would be awkward for them to uncover their own smuggling ring," he replied innocently. "The Baratheons aren't fans of Lannisters making more gold."

Varys loomed over the two men, hand sliding into his silk sleeves. "You, my friend, have a ship in port readying to leave for Braavos," he said.

"And you," Illyrio replied, looking at the Mormont, "have two priceless goods requiring safe passage."


Several days later the only trace of the storm were lemons littered over the lawns. Illyrio's merchant vessel was visible through the swaying, ancient trees. The park was on a hill, rolling down toward the water which held steady as glass. Gulls drifted on its surface, lazing in the sun.

Daenerys and Viserys played with the lemons, tumbling together while Varys and Mormont planned their future.

"I cannot stay with them forever," Mormont said, in that stern gruff manner. "Will they be safe with this man?"

"Illyrio wants what we all want," Varys replied. He knew the golden rule, never come between a bear and his cubs.

"What is that – remind me what a spider wants from this world?" His kind eyes still wanted to trust but knew they couldn't. Trust was a rubbished word.

"Peace," Varys whispered, placing his hand on Mormont's arm to halt him. "When the time comes for you to hold peace in the north, at the edge of the frozen world and I in the seat of the throne, that man and his ships will hide those children until they're grown. You have my word. In the meantime, you will be a very wealthy man."

"Give the money to the children," Jeor replied.

Then the bear stepped away and returned to the children, sitting on the grass with them while they played. He looked younger, watching the sea. Jeor thought of his own child – how he'd tumble through the snow with the wolf cubs and crawl towards him with a smile. All he saw was his wife's dead eyes and his heart started to crumble.

Bears were anomalies.

No one grows rich when the world is on fire. Like squirrels, they'd started to bury their wealth – saving it for the long night. Dusk was on them and the snows were coming.