The air in Braavos was still thick with the last vestiges of night when Maegor's command echoed across the Sea Serpent. There would be no lingering, no further reconnaissance. The news of Daenerys's impending marriage to Khal Drogo had infused their mission with a desperate urgency. Maegor wanted to be there before that ship sailed, before his cousin was irrevocably bound to a Dothraki savage, before the opportunity to seize a Khalasar for his own ends slipped through his fingers.
"Raise the sails! Hard to port!" Captain Jorah bellowed, his voice hoarse but efficient. He understood the urgency, though not the full depth of it. The wind, though fickle, seemed to favor their haste, filling the Sea Serpent's sails and pushing them through the labyrinthine canals with a surprising speed for an old cog.
Maegor stood at the bow, the salt spray whipping his now permanently silver hair – he'd abandoned the dye entirely for this critical leg of the journey. Balerion, though hidden below deck, stirred with a restless energy that mirrored his master's. The journey to Pentos was not merely a crossing; it was a race against time.
The voyage was a blur of sunrises and sunsets, the days long and tense. Maegor drilled his small company relentlessly. Ryker and Gor honed their combat skills, their movements sharp and brutal. Lyra practiced with her bow, her arrows finding invisible targets in the rolling waves. Kael and Torr kept the ship's discipline tight, their vigilance unwavering.
Kaeto, however, was Maegor's shadow. They spent hours in the small cabin, poring over maps of Pentos, discussing potential approaches to Illyrio Mopatis. Kaeto, with his intimate knowledge of Essosi customs and the intricate web of loyalties and rivalries among the Magisters, painted a vivid picture of the challenges ahead.
"Illyrio Mopatis is a cautious man, my lord," Kaeto explained, tracing a finger across the map to a sprawling complex marked as Illyrio's manse. "He plays all sides. He wouldn't host the last Targaryens without a significant purpose. He'll want a return on his investment. Simply demanding them won't work."
"No," Maegor agreed, the ghost of Maegor the Cruel's cunning flickering in his thoughts. "Demands are for those with overwhelming force. We are few. We must be subtle, yet undeniable. We need to offer him something he cannot refuse, or present a threat he cannot ignore, all while maintaining our position."
His Draconic Persuasion (Tier 2) was a growing power within him. He found he could subtly shift the mood of a conversation, instill a quiet awe, or even a prickle of unease, in those he spoke to, simply by the inflection of his voice or the intensity of his gaze. This would be crucial with a man like Illyrio.
The thought of Khal Drogo lingered in Maegor's mind. He knew the Dothraki were fierce warriors, but undisciplined in pitched battles against organized forces. Still, a Khalasar was a horde, a destructive force. Open conflict was to be avoided at all costs, especially with their limited numbers. The Event Unlock: Dothraki Blood Ceremony from his System quest suggested a path towards alliance, but it would be a dangerous dance.
They pushed the Sea Serpent harder than she was perhaps meant to be pushed. Jorah, sensing the urgency of his silver-haired passenger, drove his crew to their limits. The days blurred into an exhausting routine of sailing and planning. Balerion, growing with astonishing speed, began to vocalize more often, a low, guttural purr when Maegor cradled him, a sharp chirp when he sensed an opportunity for a hidden flight across the waves. His scales took on a deeper, more iridescent black, and his tiny claws and teeth grew sharper.
Finally, on a cloudless morning, the familiar twin peaks of the Pentosian hills appeared on the horizon. The sprawling city, with its distinctive terraced houses and a forest of merchant ships, gradually materialized before them. Relief washed over the crew, but Maegor felt only a renewed surge of tension. The true test lay ahead.
"Prepare to enter the harbor!" Jorah's command echoed.
Maegor gathered his men on deck, his face resolute. "Remember our guise. We are sellswords, fresh from Westeros, seeking a new patron. We have heard of Magister Illyrio Mopatis's generosity and wisdom. We offer our blades, our loyalty, and our… unique skills." He let his gaze linger on Ryker and Gor, then on Lyra's bow, and finally on Kaeto. "Be alert. Trust no one outside our company. This city, like all of Essos, is a viper's nest."
As the Sea Serpent slowly maneuvered towards a less crowded dock, Maegor felt the cold weight of the Serpent's Sting beneath his cloak. He was ready.
Upon docking, Maegor chose to act with a measured boldness. He would not send a mere message; he would make an appearance. Leaving Kael and Torr with Jorah and the Sea Serpent – with strict instructions regarding Balerion – Maegor led Kaeto, Ryker, Gor, and Lyra ashore. He had decided on a direct, yet understated, approach. He was not a desperate supplicant, but a potential asset, a man of quiet power.
"We will not hide," Maegor stated, as they walked through the bustling streets of Pentos, the humid air heavy with the scent of spices and sweat. "We will find an inn of good repute, establish ourselves, and then I shall send a message to Magister Illyrio. A message that promises capability and discretion, without revealing our full hand."
They found a clean, if unremarkable, inn near the city's central market. Once settled, Maegor dispatched Lyra. "Find the most reliable messenger service in the city. Then, deliver this message to Magister Illyrio."
Maegor penned the note himself, his hand flowing across the parchment with a calm authority:
To the Esteemed Magister Illyrio Mopatis,
A company of skilled blades and discreet minds has arrived from Westeros, having heard of your renowned wisdom and influence. We seek a patron worthy of our talents, one with grand ambitions and challenges that require unique solutions.
We believe our services, particularly in matters requiring quiet strength and unwavering loyalty, may be of significant interest to you, especially concerning certain… sensitive arrangements recently made within your manse.
We await your invitation.
Respectfully,A. M.
Lyra departed with the message, a ghost in the crowd. Maegor then turned to Kaeto. "While we wait for Illyrio's response, I want you to make contact with your usual sources. Find out everything you can about Illyrio's current holdings, his associates, his weaknesses. And confirm the exact status of Daenerys's marriage. When is the ship to sail?"
Kaeto nodded, a grim determination on his face. "As you command, my lord. The network here is strong, but discreet. It will take time, but I will get you answers."
Maegor knew the risks. Walking into Illyrio's web was like stepping into a spider's lair. But Maegor was no ordinary fly. He was a dragon, and the other Maegor whispered of conquest and a legacy that would burn bright. He would not allow his kin to be bartered like chattel. He would reclaim them, by negotiation or by fire.