Weiss

During the attack by the Ironborn on Lannisport during the Greyjoy Rebellion, the docks had ravaged and burned along with the rest of the Lannister fleet. It had been devastating, with much of the cost coming out of Father's pocket, as Lord Tywin and the other Westerlords viewed the sack and resulting damages as a result of his negligence. A rather unfair judgement, considering that should have been Lord Tywin's duty as the Shield of Lannisport and Lord of the Westerlands. Still, the Old Lion's judgement was law, and no one would ever dare go against him, less they wish to end up like the Tarbecks and Reynes.

In the end, while Lannisport temporarily suffered economic hardship as the docks underwent the nescessary repairs, Weiss took advantage of such an opportunity. The docks as they were before the Sack were mismanaged, messy and inefficient. As horrible as the damage was, as well as the unfortunate loss of life, the Ironborn had actually done her family a favor. With the docks badly damaged and in need of repair, Weiss planted several suggestions to her Father to simply rebuild them from the ground up, better and stronger than before. Cobblestone replaced dirt, huge blocks of stone replaced wood, and with additional funds from shipwrights, who were promised contracts to build new ships for a reborn Lannister Fleet, the docks became a symbol of Weiss' new Lannisport.

History would remember Father as the one who rebuilt the docks, after all, Weiss had been a child during the long reconstruction, and no Westerosi would ever admit that this was the brainchild of an actual child. All Weiss had to do was plant ideas, thoughts and sketches wherever and whenever Father was listening. It didn't hurt that her goals dovetailed with some proposals in the past from his steward, as well as making logical sense. Areas of the dock were set aside for ships from the other kingdoms or Essos, a shrewd move should a disease turn into a pandemic and try to spread through trade.

And out in the bay stood a new lighthouse, rising over a hundred feet in the air, Weiss was sure it looked like a child compared to that of Oldtown, but then again, almost anything would be. A beacon stood atop its flat surface, piles of oiled wood waiting for nightfall to be lit with a torch. At the base of the lighthouse stood a modest house for the lighthouse keeper and his family, next to it stood a small longhouse that housed a small garrison from the City Watch. Tied up at the small dock was a pair of longboats, which would allow them to stall another raid. They wouldn't fend off an entire Ironborn raid, but they were meant to last just long enough for the rest of the fleet to rally, and for the City Watch to prepare their defenses.

Weiss couldn't help but smirk as her eyes scanned the docks, observing the changes she'd made. Another Sack would not come in her lifetime, if ever, as long as her ideas were still implemented by her descendants.

"It doesn't smell as horrid as it did all those years ago, my Lady." Alis commented from her usual place, at Weiss' side. Ser Cedric, Pod and a half dozen of Ser Bonnifer's Holy Hundred men-at-arms followed behind them, their chaperones for today's excursion.

"I'm glad." Weiss smiled, grabbing hold of the slightly taller girl's arm. The fishing boats had been relegated to the far end of the docks, and given a sizable portion of the dockspace to conduct their business in. At least it moved the smell away from the rich traders and such, while also freeing up valuable dock space for larger vessels.

The air still smelled of salt, and the noise would never be diminished as sailors unloaded their ships, or as individuals bartered to gain passage to some other port. Every pier was labeled and purpose-built, ensuring that goods flowed in and out with efficiency. All the money invested would soon find its way back into her coffers, but so far, the new changes have done well. At the very least, it had sped up trading, as traders now knew exactly where a ship would dock, and could be waiting for them.

The newly and painstakingly rebuilt Lannister Fleet had also born the fruit of her labors and purse, rising from the handful of surviving galleys, to over a hundred dromonds now sat anchored in the bay. Their berths were well away from the commerce section of the docks, in their own purpose built section, complete with the necessary supporting facilities. While it wasn't as good as Braavos's famous Arsenal, it wasn't to be scoffed at either. The officers and crews were relatively unbloodied, outside some small scale skirmishes from foolish pirates. No Ironborn though. Their raids on the Westerlands had become scarce after the rebellion, but the fleet did well enough that merchants were no longer afraid to do business with her family. Such filthy pirates would think twice before thinking about attempting another sack.

"Let us see what the merchants from Essos bring for our perusal." Weiss pulled her friend towards the piers set aside for such foreign merchants. Alysanne would be arriving soon, having sent a raven a few days past that she would be coming to Lannisport for a visit. The Lefford girl had to return home after spending a week in the port city, something about a family issue. Weiss would need to find the perfect gift, for her, Alis and Rosamund of course. She so enjoyed spoiling her sister with Father's money, and her own from the tourneys winnings.

"As you say, Lady Weiss." Alis said with the smallest of smiles as they ventured deeper into the pier, admiring dromonds, galleys, cogs, and swan ships as they passed.

Weiss couldn't help but smirk. Now that she had returned, more changes would come to Lannisport even faster now that she had proven herself on the melee grounds over a month and a half ago. Now that the Seven Kingdoms knew of her power, it was going to be easier to get what she wanted. She had such plans for Lannisport, plans that could turn it into a Westerosi version of Braavos.

Hopefully.

Daenerys

Khal Drogo was said to be a powerful and cruel man, even by Dothraki standards. It was also said that he commanded the largest khalasar in the Dothraki sea, which was why the Magisters and rich men of Pentos gifted the Khal a manse on the outskirts of the great Free City. The manse itself sat beside the Bay of Pentos, with nine towers and tall brick walls that were overgrown with pale ivy. Outside the gatehouse stood a score of men armed with spears and spiked helms upon their bald heads.

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of incense, roasted meat, and the faint tang of salt from the nearby bay. Daenerys Targaryen stepped into the courtyard, her movements tentative, as if she were walking on a blade's edge. Her brother, Viserys, walked ahead of her, his head held high, his eyes gleaming with barely concealed hunger. He wore a black doublet, in the style of the Westerosi with a red, three-headed dragon sewn over his heart.

Dany wore the clothing gifted to her by Magister Illyrio, their most recent host, a kind man who had allowed Viserys and herself into his home. Dany was clad in a silk gown in the shade of deep plum, a pair of gilded sandals, a tiara that sat upon her wimple that hid her hair, a set of matching golden bracelets decorated with red garnets, and to top it off, a heavy golden torc that was decorated with ancient Valyrian symbols. It made her feel like a princess, yet at the same time, Daenerys felt like one of the pretty birds caged within the Magister's manse.

"The Khal shall be blinded by your beauty, Princess." Illyrio said, walking lightly for a man his size. He was easily the fattest man Daenerys had ever seen, with pig eyes sunk into his head and fat cheeks that jiggled as he spoke. His yellow beard was forked, and did little to hide his thick neck and chins that wiggled whenever he moved. He smelled of heavy perfume and oil that nearly made her nose itch. Yet, he was jovial and welcoming to her and her brother, never a dull word, and regaling them with stories of his youthful adventures.

Daenerys gave the kind man a smile, but said nothing in return. The Magister and her brother brought her here for a reason, to marry her off to the great Khal currently living. Should he agree to the terms set by Viserys and the Magister, she would find herself wed to this monster in the flesh.

Her lilac eyes scanned the courtyard, where servants scurried to and fro, carrying platters of food and amphorae of wine as they walked around. The Dothraki warriors lounged in the shadows, their dark eyes watching her with curiosity, or was it disdain? She couldn't tell, their expressions were as blank as the walls of the manse. The famed warriors weren't the only ones in attendance here. It seemed as if other local notables had shown up to pay their respects, or even negotiate a deal with the infamous Khal.

Across the courtyard, several servant women fawned over a man in flamboyant clothing, bright green and blue, with a purple and yellow three-pronged beard. He wore a queer hat that seemed to ruffle in the slight breeze. Several feet away from him was a hairy man drinking from a chalice all alone, with the occasional refill from a passing servant. His clothing was the simplest of the feasting guest, a dark green tunic decorated with a bear and trousers of molted silk. His features were alien enough it took her a minute to place them as coming from Westeros, not the usual Essoian features she was used to seeing. The Westerosi man stared at Daenerys, his eyes deep set and nearly hidden by his bushy beard.

She looked away, making sure to take small, ladylike steps as she followed behind her brother and Illyrio. A red figure sat away from the rest of the guests, and the farthest from the Khal who lazed upon a couch like a tiger. The red figure's shape was completely hidden by its flowing robes, and their face was concealed with a decorated mask. The golden mask was decorated with flames and gems, with a neutral smile carved onto the metal, and the opening for its eyes revealed nothing lurking behind them. The other guests and Dothraki alike avoided gazing in their direction, out of fear or superstition. An orange haired attendant dressed in similar red robes gave her a sly smirk, as he held a tray full of fresh fruits in his hands. Were they the Red Priest of R'hllor? She had never seen one so close, only in passing and from a distance from their time in Braavos and the Free Cities.

Daenerys shivered, though the air was warm. The masked figure's presence seemed to command attention without effort, despite their rather small stature. For a brief moment, she felt the weight of the figure's hidden gaze upon her, as though they saw more than just the plum silk and golden finery. A whisper of unease curled in her stomach, but she quickly averted her eyes, focusing instead on her brother's confident stride. Behind her, she could feel the figure's eyes affixed on her still, and she quickened her pace.

They approached the Khal at long last. Like the rest of the Dothraki warriors, his skin was like copper, with eyes the color of onyx. Even laying on his side, on a couch in the room, he looked tall and muscular. His mustache was long and decorated with gold and bronze rings, and his hair was braided with bells of gold and silver. The braid was so long, that it looked like it would fall down to his knees, yet it was kept curled up on the couch next to him. His face looked cruel and hard, the very image of a Dothraki Khal, yet there was a rough charm to it, she supposed.

Daenerys kept her eyes downcast as they stopped a few paces from Khal Drogo. The surrounding air seemed to vibrate with a quiet intensity as he sat upright to carefully examine them. Dany pretended to not notice some of the Dothraki around her were paying far more attention to her and her party now, likely to keep their Khal safe. He was more intimidating up close than she had imagined, and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Her brother, oblivious to her unease, stepped forward with the grandiosity of a man who thought himself a king.

"Great Khal Drogo." Viserys began, his voice dripping with false charm and politeness as he spoke. "I bring you a gift worthy of your might and glory. My sister, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the blood of the dragon."

Magister Illyrio had been the one who prepared such lines for her brother to recite, and he's practiced them in front of a mirror for hours on end, getting just the right tone, in her mind. Drogo's dark eyes flicked from Viserys to Daenerys. He said nothing, his face unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze as he studied her. His attention made her feel exposed, as though he could see every thought and fear that churned within her. She dared a glance at him and immediately regretted it.

Illyrio stepped forward, his voice smooth and diplomatic. "The princess is young and fair, a true beauty of Valyrian descent. Her marriage to you, great Khal, will unite the strength of the Dothraki with the blood of the dragon."

Drogo leaned back on his couch, his expression still inscrutable. He murmured something in the Dothraki tongue, his voice a low rumble, rough and harsh. His warriors seemed to grow agitated as he spoke, reaching for their weapons. One of his guards, a scarred man with fierce eyes, translated for Illyrio and her brother.

"The Khal says you have taken him for a fool." He said harshly, his tone guttural as he snarled. He pointed at Daenerys' wimple with a scowl. "How dare you try to pass off this eunuch as a bride!"

Viserys seemed to instantly be filled with the Rage of the Dragon, and was about to yell a retort that would likely ruin any chance of her marriage, when Illyrio calmed him with the raise of a hand. Several warriors moved in closer, moving their arakhs with an ease that showed years of practice with the weapons. It seemed Illyrio would need to speak fast, to avoid any bloodshed this night.

"Great Khal, I assure you that our Princess is genuine." Illyrio began, in a tone that was far more conciliatory than his first words. "The Usurper across the poisoned water wishes to end her life. Hiding the color of her hair allowed us to travel here safely."

A lie, Viserys was always disgusted with the shade of her hair. He always wished it looked more like his, yet she was proud of it, and it was one of the few areas she would dare disagree with him about. The fat Magister turned towards her, a reassured smile upon his crooked and yellowed teeth. "May I, my Princess?"

Daenerys hesitated for the briefest of seconds, and nodded, seeking to avoid any bloodshed this night. With that, Illyrio gently removed the tiara from its spot on her wimple, and a serving lady approached, removing it and untangling her hair as it draped down her back and over her shoulder. Gold, the color of the sun, a color that once kissed the hair of Princess Eleana Targaryen. Ser Willem Darry had told her so, and he would never have lied to her.

She looked up, towards the Khal who continued to stare at her and her golden-blonde hair. Daenerys couldn't see a single trace of emotion on his face as his gaze drifted down towards her body, yet she could tell he was intrigued. He said something else in their tongue. His warriors relaxed and returned to their women.

"The Khal is pleased." The Translator said, his eyes as hard as the Khal's. "He will take her for his bride."

Daenerys wanted to scream, to run, to do anything but stand there and be paraded like a prize horse. She had no choice. Her life had never been her own, not since the day she was born, living on the run from the Usurper and his dogs. If this was the price she had to pay to secure her brother's throne, then so be it. It could be far worse.

The Khal rose from his couch, towering over everyone in the courtyard, and walked towards her, his movements reminding that of the panther in their host's menagerie. Daenerys held her breath as he slowly reached out, and touched a lock of her golden hair, letting it slip through his fingers. His expression never changed, as Daenerys stared back, attempting to steel her features. She was of the Dragon as well, she would not show fear. Not to him.

Then he turned away, speaking to his bloodriders in what must be the Dothraki tongue. Yet something else she would need to learn, if only to converse with her husband in his mother tongue. The conversation was brief, and when it was over, Drogo strode away without another glance at her. The gathered Dothraki and guests began to murmur among themselves, and Illyrio clapped his hands together with a satisfied grin.

"It is done, my King. The Khal has accepted your sister as his bride to be. The wedding shall take place in three days." Illyrio all but giggled at the prospect. "The Khal says he shall pledge ten thousand riders to your cause."

Viserys nodded, his expression triumphant at the prospect of his dreams finally coming true. "Good. Soon, the Iron Throne will be mine."

Daenerys stood still, the weight of her future pressing down on her shoulders. She glanced once more at the red figure in the corner of the courtyard, who remained perfectly still, their golden mask gleaming in the fading sunlight. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw them incline their head, as if in acknowledgment. Dany turned away from the sight, overcome with emotions as what had just happened finally registered to her.

In three days, she would be a woman married.

A/N

And now its time for the next arc!