Chapter 170: Rhapsody of Pentos (4)
Ian vaguely recalled a detail from the old histories: on the eve of Daenerys's wedding, Viserys had tried to sneak into her bed to steal her virginity, only to be thwarted by guards Illyrio had posted outside her door.
He had long forgotten such a minor point. But now, as he stood in the hall, he heard the distinct sounds of insults and crying seeping from her chambers.
He didn't wait. He put his shoulder to the door and burst inside.
The scene that met his eyes was one of brutal pettiness. Daenerys was cornered, curled into a small ball as Viserys rained punches and kicks upon her, his voice a venomous hiss.
"You bitch! You dare to strike me?" Viserys was incandescent with rage. Fresh scratches marred his face, and a lump was already swelling on his head. "Today, you will learn the consequence of waking the sleeping dragon!"
Ian understood at once. The timeline had shifted. With Illyrio summoned to the Parliament Palace, Viserys had found his opportunity to sneak into his sister's room. But the Beggar King's physique was so wretched that Daenerys, in her desperate resistance, had actually managed to injure him. His wounded pride had turned to fury.
"You're awake." Viserys raised his fist again, only to feel it caught in a grip like an iron pincer. He turned his head, spitting with anger, and found himself staring into Ian's face—a mask of chilling indifference.
"Ian? You've come just in time," Viserys said, completely missing the cold contempt in Ian's eyes. He ordered, with his usual arrogance, "Help me hold this little bitch down. I—"
Ian's gaze shifted to Daenerys. She was looking back at him, her violet eyes wide with a desperate mixture of fear and hope.
"Not now, Your Majesty." Ian suppressed the murderous urge boiling in his gut. For the sake of the grander plan, he would allow this pathetic creature to live for another two hours.
"Please, come out with me first," Ian said. Ignoring Viserys's sputtering resistance, he clamped down on the man's arm and forcefully dragged him out of Daenerys's dormitory.
"You had better have an explanation, Ian!" Viserys shrieked, struggling against his grip. "Do you mean to disobey me as well?"
"This is the manse of Magister Illyrio," Ian said, his voice a low growl. "What you are doing will undoubtedly anger him."
"I am his king! He dares—"
"Of course he dares, Your Majesty," Ian said, shattering Viserys's self-deception. "Illyrio has always been unscrupulous. Your behavior will make him angry, and an angry Illyrio will not obey you. I may be sworn to you, but what good is that? We have fewer than ten swords. He has more than a thousand. We are no match for him."
Ian paused, letting the reality sink in before continuing. "So… if you wish to continue, you must simply find another place."
"Another place?" The rage on Viserys's face began to recede, replaced by cunning. "Are you willing to help me?"
"I serve you, Your Majesty. Your will is my mission." Ian led Viserys toward the edge of the stairs. "Cooperate with me, and you will soon have everything you desire."
"How?"
"There is a woman in a red robe downstairs. She will tell you what to do. I will go and convince your sister."
"Good. I trust you, Ian," Viserys said, nodding as he started down the steps. "I will reward you handsomely for this."
*You can offer your rewards to the Stranger when you meet him,* Ian thought.
After watching Viserys disappear below, Ian quickly returned to Daenerys's room.
She was still huddled in the corner, her face buried between her knees, a curtain of silver-gold hair hiding her from the world. On the exposed shoulder of her silk nightgown, a large, dark bruise was already forming.
Hearing his footsteps, she flinched.
"Your Highness," Ian said softly, approaching her. "Are you alright?"
"Ian?" She recognized his voice and slowly raised her head, revealing eyes red and swollen from crying. Then, as if remembering her station, she quickly corrected herself. "My lord."
"Don't worry about such things, my little princess." Ian felt a strange mix of pity and exasperation. Only exiled royalty would cling so fiercely to etiquette in a moment like this.
"Where is Viserys?" Dany whispered, peeking out from behind Ian as if expecting her brother to reappear at any moment. "He didn't come back?"
"No. I've convinced him to leave."
"He won't give up," Daenerys said, shaking her head. "He always says he must have what he wants."
"He won't hurt you again," Ian promised. "I swear it."
"Because I am to marry Khal Drogo? Because Drogo will protect me?" she asked, her voice small.
"Because *I* will protect you." Ian found he couldn't repeat the words he had told her last time, not before his ambitions had grown so vast.
"What can you do?"
"I will stop Viserys." *Once and for all,* he added silently.
"How is that possible? He is your king," Daenerys said in disbelief.
"A king who strikes his own sister cannot become a wise king. As Hand of the King, it is my duty to correct him." Ian saw a sudden opportunity—a chance to plant a seed in her mind, the idea that a good monarch must heed the counsel of their advisors.
"But Viserys is different!" Daenerys grew anxious. "He won't listen to any advice. If you disobey him, the wrath of the sleeping dragon will wake, and he will order you killed!"
Ian vaguely remembered her expressing this same fear before. His feigned subservience had clearly worked too well; the girl naively believed Viserys held the power of life and death over him.
"Do not worry," he said gently. "I know my duty." He then extended his right hand to her. "Something has happened outside. We cannot stay here any longer. Please, come with me."
"With Viserys?" A flicker of terror crossed her face, and the small hand that had started to reach for his suddenly retracted.
"Yes, but I promise—"
"No!" she cried, her voice breaking. "No, I don't want to see him again." She tried to shrink back, but the corner held her fast.
Ian searched for the right words, but he was a master of masks and manipulation, not comfort. Consoling a frightened girl was far beyond his expertise.
So he simply stopped talking. Closing the distance between them, he gently pulled the trembling girl into his arms, holding her close.
As he had hoped, Daenerys instantly fell silent, her body rigid with surprise.
"Do you believe me?" Ian repeated, his voice low and steady against her hair. "I promise you, Viserys will never have the chance to hurt you again."
A moment passed, and then he felt a slight nod against his chest and heard a sound so faint it was barely a breath.
"Yes."
***
"Quiet! Everyone, quiet!" Magister Illyrio stood, tapping the grand table before him.
He was one of the most powerful men in Pentos, and his influence was absolute. At his command, the chaotic noise of the council chamber faded until a heavy silence fell, all eyes fixed upon him.
"Members of the council," Illyrio began, clearing his throat once the room was completely still. "Magister Gullero Tetrus's speech was… wonderful. Passionate and sincere. But his speech deviated from the theme of today's meeting."
A ripple of confusion went through the assembly.
Wasn't today's parliament convened specifically to mediate the dispute between the Prince and Magister Tetrus over the insults his family had suffered? How could that not be the theme?
No one was more bewildered than Prince Trigg Moharis himself. He had come expecting a public showdown with Tetrus. What game was Illyrio playing?
Fortunately, the magister did not keep them in suspense.
"You are confused, and I can understand why. After all, someone usurped the opportunity to speak at the very beginning of our council," Illyrio continued, a faint smile on his lips. He turned his gaze to the prince's dais. "Your Highness, it is time to tell them the truth."
As Prince Trigg stared back, utterly perplexed, one of his three ceremonial officers stepped forward from behind the throne. In his hands, he held a silver whip—the symbol of law—and raised it high for all to see.
A sudden, sharp understanding dawned on many of the magisters in the chamber. Today's meeting was not for mediation.
It was a tradition of the Grand Council of Pentos. To announce matters of great import, the Prince's ceremonial officer would present a symbol. The golden scale represented matters of trade, tax, and the sea. The steel sword symbolized a declaration of war or a treaty of peace.
The silver whip, however, symbolized only one thing.
Today's theme was judgment.
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