A/N: I continue to be humbled by the amount of interest shown in this out there Crack/AU idea. And I'm also grateful to all those who took the time to leave kind and supportive reviews of the last chapter. Thanks to your feedback, I'll plan for some Dagon povs for future chapters, but for now we're back with Daenerys.

Farwynd & Fire

By Spectre4hire

3: The Introduction

The day went by slowly for Daenerys Targaryen.

She could hear the men outside preparing for the feast from her open windows. Illyrio had decided to have it out in his gardens even after his servants were well underway in their decorations and preparations to have it in his hall. A mere inconvenience that didn't bother the Magister, since he had put no effort into their previous labor. Nor did any of his servants protest this abrupt change. They went quietly and dutifully into their new tasks to ensure their Magister would be pleased for tonight's feast.

Glancing out her window, she saw tall, thin torches being spiked into the ground while braziers were being carried out to be placed along the stone pathways. It took several servants and guards to pitch the large canvas cloth that was being erected as a pavilion. From here, she could see it was richly embroidered with beautiful colors, but not much else. Its sides hung like soft curtains while other screens had been pulled back to let in the afternoon sun and breeze.

Unperturbed by all the noise and bustling servants, the magister's peacocks patrolled the grounds, preening and flickering their feathers searching for food while fat and listless unsullied guards watched on. She eventually looked away, wanting to distract herself from the small knot of worry forming in her belly. Daenerys had been unable to learn anything more about their guest. My suitor.

The Magister was too busy overseeing his businesses while her brother was too busy seeing to his own interests. It is a farce, his voice was hard and cold against her, a harsh whisper in her mind. Fretting over this suitor? She could hear him scoffing at her worries. Play your part, sister, he'd warn her, but not too well, he didn't need to finish voicing the threat. It was clear as water to her: or the dragon will be angry.

She half turned to the doorway, expecting her brother to be there, glaring at her.A brief look over her shoulder showed there was no sign of Viserys. It was a small relief, but one she relished.

"Princess?" A servant appeared in the doorway, dipping her head low before her eyes could meet Daenerys'. "Your bath is ready."

"Thank you," Daenerys said, but the servant was already gone.

Undressed, the water was hot and soothing to her skin, sinking into the tub with a gentle sigh. The earlier worries of her suitor and brother stripped away as easily as her discarded clothes. Birdsongs trilled in from the window, a harmonious strand that seemed to weave above her head. She closed her eyes, hearing the bathwater sway and splash in the tub. Her mind drifted to the calming waves of the sea and even after the Magister's servants arrived to clean her and help get her ready for the evening, Daenerys Targaryen was thinking of the waiting sea.

The skies were dark, and the stars hung in the air like glittering chains when Daenerys walked out into the gardens. The servants who had cleaned and perfumed her, braided her hair, helped her into her dress were gone, melting away, going back to their places like the scoured pots after supper.

This was not the first beautiful dress Illyrio had given her, but it was the first to be so bold in its coloring. It was a wisp of fabric and jewels, red laces and black silk. The thin material clung to her, backless and bejeweled. She felt the fresh bloom of goose pimples across her back and arms, where the air touched her skin. The shining rubies and black diamonds stitched into the fabric seemed as bright to her as the stars above her head. It was more beautiful than the dresses she remembered the nobles of wealthy Volantis wore or of the wives of the rich merchants in either Lys or Braavos. It was the dress of a Targaryen Queen.

"Princess," Illyrio saw her first. His piggish eyes didn't roam over her body the way she feared they might. He walked to greet her on nimble feet. "You should be hosting your brother's royal court," he beamed down at her.

"It is-" she began, but Illyrio saw her intentions and thwarted them with a teasing smile and a wag of one fat finger.

"It is a gift, princess," he then made a shushing sound before letting out a slight chuckle, "And it is yours."

"Thank you," she replied, surprisingly touched by his tone that seemed more sincere than anything he had ever said to her brother. Nor did she miss the fond look in his small eyes before he turned away, wiping a large hand across his sweaty brow.

"What do you think, Your Grace?".

Viserys stood rigid, but still looked regal in black. Their family's three headed red dragon emblazoned on his tunic with a silver dragon pendant to fasten his black cloak. He was handsome despite his pinched look, but his face darkened when he saw her. Something flickered in his eyes that made her chest tighten. His busy fingers were tapping impatiently at the hilt of his borrowed sword. "You don't dress in such extravagance, Magister, when you're off to feed your pigs."

His tone hit her like the crack of a whip. She knew Viserys at first was amused about this farce, but it had clearly soured as he watched all the preparations being made. Turning envious that this second son sailor was not only getting such extravagance, but that Viserys was a mere spectator to it when he should have been the center of it, as the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms.

"I'll remember that, Your Grace," Illyrio said, after a chuckle, "The next time I send my servants to the pigpens." The Magister smoothly played over Viserys' outburst like it was some clever joke. He then placed a gentle hand on her bare shoulder, guiding her away, "Your brother, our king has a way with words, princess." He would drop his hand as soon as they walked by her brother.

"Speaking of pigs," he said lightly, directing Daenerys' attention to the main course of their evening meal. It was a spit roasted pig with a large apple stuffed in its mouth. Below it on a variety of silver plates and bowls were fruits, and cheeses, soups, and greens with the pig presiding over it all like their esteemed king.

Am I no different from this? She thought idly, after eying the cooked creature. While she was being prepared and perfumed by a handful of servants. This pig was being just as prepared in the kitchens by the cooks, seasoned and dressed, glazed and cooked. It was gagged by an apple in its mouth, but Daenerys felt her own gag, invisible but just as real. The shadow of her brother's expectations for her which kept her just as quiet as this stuffed pig. I'm just being served on a different sort of platter.

"Lord Dagon," Illyrio's voice drew her eyes forward to see someone approaching them. The path was lined with torches, but the faint glow of the firelight and the distance made it difficult for her to take in all his features. She noticed there were others milling behind the lone figure who was speaking with the Magister.

"Remember sister," Viserys' hand had wrapped around her arm like a snake. His soft voice made her heart pound hard inside her chest. "This is a performance," he warned her, "Play your part," His fingers squeezed around her skin so tight, she winced, "but remember I need a princess not a whore." She heard him shift beside her. His voice brushing against her ear, "You still have value to me. Do not squander it."

"I understand," She said softly, feeling a sliver of pain squirm in her belly.

"Good," He dropped his bruising grip from her arm, but not before turning her, so she'd have to look at him. He was smiling, but she was not fooled by it.

This smile was a gate, with one bad word from her, one mistake. The dragon would come out and then the pain would follow.

"Your Grace," Illyrio turned back in their direction, oblivious to their conversation.

Viserys' expression smoothed over his dark features to project himself to be in a good mood, who was pleased to be attending this feast for their guest. Daenerys cautiously followed after her brother, seeing that the Magister and his guest had stopped by a lit brazier. Her first impression of her suitor was that he was tall and lean but standing beside the magister would give many that impression. Before she could see his face, he bowed his head to them.

"Allow me to present, Dagon Farwynd, the second son of Gylbert Farwynd, Lord of House Farwynd of the Lonely Light," Illyrio said, "Lord Dagon, this is Viserys Targaryen, the Third of His Name, the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms."

Daenerys was ignored, expected to watch the two interact silently, waiting to be introduced, but she took this reprieve to look over her suitor. He was richly and impressively dressed. His pants were black silk. His belt was embedded with jewels that wrapped around his waist like a glimmering snake. His tunic was a splash of orange and red that made her think of sunsets. It was worn loosely revealing glimpses of a muscled chest. Along his broad shoulders, his tunic was decorated with something large and triangular shaped. It took her a second to realize they were shark teeth, stitched into a pattern of black and white. They were almost too large for her to believe.

Her eyes trailed upwards to see her suitor's face remained in the shadows. Frustrated, she still dutifully and quietly listened to her brother lie about how pleased he was to meet a leal servant to his crown, and honored he was to be here. The lies fell easily from her brother's tongue, surprising her, but she could not see her suitor's reaction to them until her brother said, "And this is my sister, Princess Daenerys Targaryen," he offered her a hand, brotherly and polite which she daintily took, stepping closer to finally see his face.

Younger, she thought, taking him in. He was younger than she had imagined. Thinking him far older after hearing of his exploits, but he looked to be near her brother's age. His face was hard and lean. And handsome, the observation slithered inside her, a coil of warmth following in its wake. His hair was black as a raven's wing with shining blue eyes that made her think of the calming seas on a sunny day.

"Princess," he took her offered hand and placed a gentle kiss across her knuckles. "It's an honor to meet you." He slowly looked up, but in the brazier light, his eyes now looked dark green. "Yours is a beauty, Princess, that men go their whole lives trying and failing to find."

"Thank you," His fingers were rough against her skin, but more gentler than her brother's soft hands. She was expected to recite stale pleasantries, but something in his gaze emboldened her. "Is it true that you've never lost a ship?"

He chuckled, unbothered by her curiosity. "The Magister is too generous with his praise," he spared a look at said Magister, "I've lost a ship or two in my years at sea, but I have experienced far more fortunes than failures. The Drowned God has blessed me. " He spoke the last words with a quiet reverence. His dark eyes seemed to burn at its mention. "Your Grace, as a show of gratitude for allowing me this audience, this chance to voice my desire of a betrothal between myself and your sister, the Princess Daenerys," Dagon snapped his fingers, and one of the men from his retinue stepped forward, carrying something.

Viserys hungrily watched the servant come forward with an air of impatience until he saw the gift. It was a small chest, but before he could let his disappointment show, it opened to reveal it was filled with gold.

"Not that I believe a chest of gold can equal your beauty or your worth, Princess," Dagon glanced back at her. Her brother's attention was consumed by all the glimmering gold. She nodded to him, unsure if his kind words were sincere or for show. He seemed pleased with her response, but it was her brother who spoke next.

"It is accepted," Viserys closed the chest with some reluctance to finally address him again. She didn't think her brother had so much gold to his name since he was still a prince living in Westeros. "I reward loyalty, Lord Dagon," he said, "and mayhaps, I'll make you my master of ships when I take back my throne," he paused, turning to her, "But my sister's hand," He began his act, pretending to be a considerate brother, protective of her interest instead of seeking only his own.

"Your Grace?" Dagon politely interrupted. He missed the flicker of annoyance that graced her brother's features since he was still looking at her. An ugly look that made her think of past hurts.

Viserys played the polite king when he turned back to their guest. He nodded, permitting him to continue.

"I wish to present my betrothal differently. The number seven is considered holy to you, is it not?" He asked, turning from her to her brother, "I wish to present the princess seven days of gifts to prove my worth."

Seven? She blinked, surprised. Her brother looked surprised too, but not pleasantly. His was angry at the thought of her getting such treasures while he was ignored.

As if expecting her brother's response, Dagon smoothly continued. "With the intention, Your Grace, that you'd be just as rewarded."

"Seven days of this?" Viserys' couldn't mask his interest, still cradling the chest of gold close to his person.

"Yes, Your Grace," Dagon answered, "I know my family is not a great house and I have no land or title to inherit so allow these seven days of gifts to show that I'm a respectful suitor for your sister, and a helpful ally for your rightful throne."

"I'll allow it," Viserys' eyes were gleaming at the thought of all that gold being given to him.

"Perhaps, Your Grace, you'd like to take the gold back to your chambers while we escort your sister to the table for the feast," Illyrio suggested.

"Yes, yes," Viserys didn't offer the magister a single piece of his newly given gold despite all that Illyrio had done for them. Her brother didn't spare any of them another look, hastily retreating to no doubt hide his new riches from them somewhere in his rooms.

Do not waste your gold on my brother, she wanted to say, wanted to warn him. This is a farce. But she kept quiet the fear of the dragon stilled her tongue.

"Princess," Dagon said softly, she turned to see she was suddenly alone with him. Illyrio was walking ahead of them. "I should warn you that I do not have such treasures to give to you," he said, "but I hope you like your gifts."

Another one of his men came forward. He was holding something too, but it was not a chest full of gold. It was a book.

It was like no book that Daenerys Targaryen had ever seen before. Tentatively taking it into her hands. It's beautiful, she thought before even reading the words on its cover. She silently admired the intricate artwork and the inlaid of gold that made it sparkle just as bright as Viserys' treasure.

Fire and Blood it read, the letters bold and vivid.

"It's an illuminated manuscript, Princess," Dagon said softly, sounding unsure given her long silence. "It's the history of your family, written by Archmaester Gyldayn."

She ran her fingers over the cover. Daenerys Targaryen had never received such a gift before. Her throat swelled. "Thank you," She thought the words a poor return at being given such a tremendous gift, "I love it." Smiling, when she looked up to see him.

"Good," he nodded, and then returned her smile.

She looked from her gift to her suitor. "Do you think you could tell me about-?" Daenerys had nearly said home , but something stopped her, "Of the Seven Kingdoms?"

"Princess," he offered her his arm, "I'd be honored."

A/N:

Dagon's eyes changing color isn't some unique OC trait that I made up to make him stand out. It's actually mentioned and is how the members of House Farwynd of Lonely Light are described in the books. They have 'color changing' eyes.

I love how Martin leans into the fantasy aesthetic for his books, with all the colors and unique ornamental clothes and armors. It definitely follows the rule of cool over being practical. So I'm leaning into it too. So basically expect more Shark/ironborn swag in later chapters. As well as how he got some of them. I mean he's ironborn after all. I already have his armor written up.

Any Easter eggs/references in this chapter:

-Fire and Blood is an actual history book in the ASOIAF world written by Maester Gyldayn, who serves as George R. R. Martin's voice/avatar

Until next time,

-Spectre4hire