On the balcony of the Dragon Tower, high within the White Keep atop Viserys Hill, the King entertained his guest.
The Dragon Tower was the royal residence, and its sturdy construction was more than capable of supporting the weight of Magister Illyrio, who resembled nothing so much as a bloated manatee.
A dazzling array of delicacies was spread across the long wooden table. There were local Andal specialties: fresh fish from the Upper Rhoyne, roasted river crabs, passenger pigeons, turtledoves, pheasants, skewers of Andal beef and mutton, honey-glazed roast chicken, and wild boar ribs.
To this, Illyrio had added his own provisions. Being a true glutton, his caravan included a mule cart dedicated solely to his personal larder. There were spiced sausages, jellied eels, cured hams, boiled eggs, and roasted larks stuffed with garlic and onions. It was no wonder he had ballooned into such a porcine figure.
"I never expected to find such a delightful Magister in distant Pentos, willing to offer aid in my hour of need," Viserys said, raising his goblet and signaling Illyrio to begin.
"I am an old man, Your Grace. I have grown weary of this hypocritical world," Illyrio boasted, reaching for a lark. "Before I die, I wish to do a few truly noble deeds. To help a young, handsome prince reclaim his birthright... is that not a beautiful thing? Of course," he added, "if you were to grant me a small reward in the future, that would be even better."
"When I return to King's Landing, you shall be my Master of Coin," Viserys declared, writing a blank check without hesitation. "How does that gift sound, my fat friend?"
"There could be no greater glory than to serve Your Grace," Illyrio said, feigning tears of gratitude. "For a merchant such as myself, that would be the pinnacle of nobility."
"The dragon is generous, and the dragon never forgets, my good friend." Viserys smiled elegantly. Beside the blubbering Magister, he looked like a god descended to earth.
The two began to eat. Viserys, despite his lean frame, had a healthy appetite and ate with gusto, matching the fat man bite for bite.
"I, too, was once destitute in my youth. I was a bravo in soiled silks, living by the sword. But now, when I look in a mirror, I want to weep," Illyrio lamented between mouthfuls.
"Time is a cruel razor," Viserys commented. "In truth, my happiest days were when I was a prince in the Red Keep. Carefree. Not like now, where even in my dreams I am haunted by that damned cold chair."
"To time, which spares no one."
"To the King's glorious return."
Their goblets clinked. Drinking the weak Andal cider, it seemed as though their friendship was as sweet as honey.
The only difference was that Illyrio believed Viserys had taken the bait, while Viserys was simply a better liar—a prodigy in the game of deceit.
"Magister Illyrio, you have traveled far and wide and have friends everywhere. Could you enlighten me on the current state of the world?" Viserys asked.
"The known world... the known world looks much the same as always, Your Grace," Illyrio began, wiping grease from his chin. "There are storms at sea—mostly in autumn, less so in summer. Pirates still infest the Stepstones, preying on honest men. As for the Three Daughters, ever since they fell apart, the sisters have been bickering constantly. Relations between Lys and Tyrosh have been very poor of late, and quiet Myr is the ally they both court."
"I heard Your Grace had some... friction with Tyrosh?" Illyrio probed.
"The Tyroshi like to hunt, but they forgot to inform the master of the land," Viserys huffed.
"The Archon of Tyrosh has a pig's head, but he will sober up. Attacking Andalos would cost him a fortune in gold and men. If he failed, his unpaid sellswords would tear him to pieces."
The wars between the Three Daughters were mostly low-intensity conflicts; no one was crazy enough to escalate into total war.
"But the biggest trouble, of course, comes from those restless thieves—friends that Pentos cannot refuse. The unruly Dothraki Khals. They visit us often. And the Rhoyne is plagued by bandits, cockroaches fighting for scraps. The most troublesome are the Stone Men, the half-dead."
"Concentrate your forces and annihilate one tribe, and you'll find the Dothraki become hesitant to cross the Rhoyne," Viserys suggested.
"Is it not cheaper to buy the enemy off with food and gifts?"
"As far as I know, the Dothraki are difficult friends to keep. The more you give, the more they demand," Viserys countered.
"Forgive me for speaking freely, Your Grace," Illyrio said. "Sellswords love only gold. The Battle of Qohor proved they are no match for Dothraki screamers."
"The Unsullied won that battle. The sellswords fled," Viserys corrected.
"Unsullied are expensive, and the waiting list is long. Generally, we must rely on sellswords," Illyrio explained. "Why spend gold on disloyal swords when you can spend it on gifts for the enemy?"
Viserys understood the twisted logic of the Pentoshi merchant. The idea of paying tribute wasn't wrong, but greed is a bottomless pit. The more you pay, the more often they come.
If the Dothraki ever united under a single Great Khal again, they would sweep everything before them. Khal Drogo had possessed that potential in another life, before infection took him.
Surrounded by fine wine and food, Illyrio dismissed the Dothraki threat. For years, appeasement had worked. Pentos made its money from the sea; they didn't care about the Dothraki expanding on land.
"The largest khalasar currently belongs to Khal Bharbo. He is dying. His son, Drogo, will become the new Khal. The boy is fortunate, and a fierce warrior," Illyrio noted.
It was rare for a Khal's son to inherit; the Dothraki followed strength, not blood. Usually, the Ko's would fight for control, and the young khalakka would be killed to prevent future rivalry.
"Drogo," Viserys repeated the name.
"He is a rival you must watch closely, Your Grace. Once the new Khal rises, he will launch wars to establish his authority," Illyrio emphasized. "The Dothraki destroy any town they see. They view cities as scars upon the earth mother. They wish to return the world to grass."
"You are right, Magister. I may see Dothraki hooves long before I see the Usurper's banners."
"If you need my help, I will do my utmost," Illyrio offered.
"I need armor and weapons from Pentos. And Myrish crossbows," Viserys demanded.
"I will provide you with the channels," Illyrio promised. "But I believe there is a faster path for you."
"What do you mean?"
"Pentos is full of sellswords and assassins you could hire. But their combat ability is lacking. In my opinion, you should hire Unsullied."
"Unsullied are men, too, and they are too expensive. My Andal warriors will be no less fierce than the horselords," Viserys insisted.
He had little interest in Pentoshi sellswords—men without courage or loyalty.
Illyrio was subtly trying to drive a wedge between Viserys and Braavos. Braavos forbade slavery; piling a mass of slave-soldiers like the Unsullied on their doorstep would agitate the Braavosi.
Pentos had long resented the peace forced upon them by Braavos. They secretly maintained slavery because they weren't strong enough to fight the Titan openly. Seeing the rise of Andalos, many Magisters were getting ideas about a new alliance.
But the Unsullied were too far away, and Viserys didn't want to pay. More importantly, to counter the widespread fear of the Dothraki in Essos, he needed to crush the horselords head-on to forge a truly fearless army.
"Actually, aside from direct confrontation, I have another idea. It is somewhat delicate... but it could turn spears into jade and silk between you and the Khal."
"Go on." Viserys stared at him.
"You travel with your niece, Rhaenys, the daughter of Prince Rhaegar and the Dornish princess. Her blood is noble. I hear she has black hair and eyes, olive skin... exquisite beauty. Khal Drogo is unwed. She possesses the ancient blood of Old Valyria... and her lineage is illustrious. Granddaughter of the old King, niece of the new. There is no way she wouldn't attract Drogo's... affection.
"If the Princess is too Dornish for his tastes... your sister Daenerys is said to have the true look of Valyria. Silver-gold hair, violet eyes... She is young, yes, but with a middleman to mediate, a blood alliance could be formed. Tens of thousands of screamers would fight for you..." Illyrio watched Viserys carefully for a reaction.
"Magister Illyrio, do you know what 'family' means?" Viserys asked quietly.
Illyrio looked blank.
"Family are the people you do not abandon. I hear the savages have strange tastes. They lay with boys, horses, sheep..." Viserys looked at Illyrio, his eyes cold with warning, like a dragon fixating on prey.
Cold sweat poured down Illyrio's back. He felt as though a blade were already at his throat.
As a former bravo, he recognized the killing intent instantly. Viserys was a killer, far more dangerous than he had imagined.
"Yes, yes, of course. I should not have spoken so freely before the dragon..." Illyrio regretted his words immediately. He wiped the sweat from his brow. "You are a King. A King is magnanimous. If I have offended you, I apologize."
"Find me armor, weapons, and crossbows. And a fleet of smugglers, my fat friend." Viserys held his gaze. "The horselords eat men when they are hungry. Andals eat men when they are hungry, too."
"As you command, Your Grace," Illyrio said, breathing a sigh of relief.
He could provide resources. As long as he was useful, he was safe.
But Illyrio now understood that Viserys would eventually be a great enemy. The man was dangerous, bloodthirsty, and impossible to control.
Furthermore, the mystery of "Aegon's" background needed the endorsement of a true Targaryen. The best path would be to eventually eliminate Viserys and marry Daenerys or Rhaenys to Aegon.
But that was a long-term plan. For now, Viserys needed to remain the target to keep the heat off them. So, Illyrio would continue to support his cause.
" aside from friends in the Free Cities, I also have friends in King's Landing. I can pass you intelligence from the capital," Illyrio offered.
"That would be excellent," Viserys said, pouring Illyrio another cup of wine.
Illyrio's spy network was his and Varys's greatest asset. He kept it hidden, revealing it to very few.
Viserys knew he needed his own intelligence network.
Illyrio decided to withhold the most sensitive secrets from Varys for now. What Viserys learned would depend on what they needed him to do.
"To loyalty and friendship!" Illyrio toasted.
"To the most loyal of friends!" Viserys replied.
The glass goblets clinked together, ringing out like a hymn to brotherhood.
But on the stage of power, there is no true loyalty, and precious little friendship.
"I have true friendship, Your Grace. But not with you," Illyrio thought smugly.
Even a self-made man like Viserys was just a young boy in the end, easily beguiled by pretty words like loyalty and friendship.