The humid air of Pentos seemed to thicken with anticipation as the hours crawled by. Maegor spent the time much as he had in Braavos, observing, absorbing, and subtly testing the limits of his Valyrian Insight. He learned the patterns of the city guard, the favored haunts of the sellsword companies, and the undercurrents of power that flowed beneath the gilded surfaces. Ryker and Gor kept a watchful perimeter, their presence deterring casual curiosity, while Maegor himself maintained his unassuming merchant persona, his silver hair once more hidden beneath layers of dye. Balerion, though restless, remained obediently concealed, a growing heat in the secret pouch against his chest.
It was late in the evening when Lyra returned. Her movements were as fluid and silent as ever, but her eyes held a spark of urgency. "My lord," she whispered, handing Maegor a rolled parchment, tied with a silken cord and sealed with a distinctive wax stamp – a plump, smiling face. "From Magister Illyrio. A direct reply."
Maegor broke the seal with a deliberate motion. The script was elegant, flowing, but the words carried a subtle edge.
To the Discerning A.M.,
Your message intrigued me. It is indeed rare to find such understated confidence, particularly in these tumultuous times. Pentos is a city of opportunities, but also of keen eyes and sharper tongues. One does not speak of 'sensitive arrangements' without possessing an intimate knowledge of such. Your discreet approach is noted.
My manse is open to those of unique talents. I invite you to sup with me tomorrow evening, an hour before dusk. Come alone, save for two of your most trusted companions. We shall speak of these 'unique solutions' you propose.
Do not be late. And bring no… unnecessary curiosities.
Magister Illyrio Mopatis.
Maegor reread the last line, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips. "Unnecessary curiosities." Illyrio was sharp. He hadn't seen Balerion, of course, but he sensed a hidden depth, a significant secret. The invitation, while seemingly cordial, was a test. He was to bring two men – a strategic choice meant to limit any perceived threat while allowing for a show of strength.
"He wants to gauge our measure," Maegor explained to his assembled companions, his voice calm. "He respects subtlety, but not weakness. We will go, and we will be prepared."
Just as they finished discussing Illyrio's invitation, Kaeto returned, slipping into the room as quietly as Lyra had. His face was grim, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple despite the evening chill.
"My lord," Kaeto began, without preamble, "I have confirmed the worst. The Dothraki. They are already here. Not the full Khalasar, but Khal Drogo himself, with his bloodriders and a formidable khalasar guard. They arrived two days ago. The marriage is set for tomorrow, at sunset."
Maegor's eyes narrowed. "Tomorrow? So soon? Lyra, his message implies an evening meal tomorrow, before sunset. He means for me to meet him hours before Daenerys is officially married."
"He means to show you what he's offering, my lord," Kaeto clarified, his voice taut. "He means to demonstrate his power and his hold over the Targaryen children. The wedding will be a grand affair. Thousands of Dothraki will arrive by then. If you try to extract them after the ceremony, it will be a bloodbath. He's giving you a small window."
"And what of Daenerys and Viserys?" Maegor pressed. "Their status? Their mood?"
"Viserys is… as you would expect," Kaeto sighed, a hint of weariness in his voice. "Obsessed with his crown, arrogant, impatient. He believes Drogo will give him his army to conquer Westeros. He treats Daenerys little better than a chattel, a pawn in his game. He boasts endlessly of his lineage, but behaves like a fool."
"And Daenerys?" Maegor's voice was softer, but no less intense.
"She is quiet, my lord," Lyra interjected, her keen eyes seeming to see beyond the surface. "Frightened, from what I could gather from the servants. Resigned. She has little choice in anything. She speaks of dragons, sometimes, but she truly believes she is alone."
Maegor clenched his fist. His cousins. One a fool lost in delusions, the other a terrified child about to be sacrificed. The ancient Maegor within him recoiled at the weakness, even as the part of him raised by Aemon felt a pang of protectiveness. This was unacceptable.
"Illyrio is trying to force my hand," Maegor deduced, his mind racing. "He wants to see what I offer before the marriage, to see if I am a better investment than Drogo. He wants to know if there's another player in his game. And if I fail to impress him, or arrive too late, his Dothraki alliance will proceed."
"There is also something else," Kaeto added, his voice lowering further. "Whispers of a third Targaryen claimant. Not Daenerys or Viserys. A boy, supposedly Rhaegar's son, Aegon, who was smuggled out. Illyrio is said to be involved in that plot as well, though it's cloaked in even greater secrecy."
Maegor paused, his mind reeling. Aegon. So, the rumors were true. A supposed son of Rhaegar. Another claimant, another piece on the board. This complicated matters, but also highlighted Illyrio's multi-faceted schemes. He wasn't just backing Viserys; he was playing a far larger game. This would make their negotiation even more delicate.
"Good work, both of you," Maegor finally said, a plan beginning to coalesce in his mind. "We are walking into a viper's nest, true, but we are also walking into an opportunity. Illyrio Mopatis has brought the dragons to me."
He looked at Ryker and Gor. "You two will accompany me. Stay alert, watchful. You are my visible strength. Kaeto, Lyra, you will remain discreet. Prepare for immediate departure after the meeting. Have our gear ready. We must be able to leave Pentos at a moment's notice, with or without Magister Illyrio's blessing."
The hour before dusk the next day would be pivotal. Maegor would face a fat, smiling Magister, a desperate cousin, and a terrified maiden. He would carry the weight of his family's future, the whisper of his dragon, and the cold, ruthless counsel of a king long dead. This was not merely about acquiring two kin; it was about laying claim to a legacy