Ned raised the matter of the Wildlings moving south.
The King, just as Ned feared, couldn't care less.
When the topic of "threats" arose, the King's face suddenly grew grave, though not for the reasons Ned expected. He looked at Ned solemnly.
"Ah, the dragonspawn. Those two Targaryen whelps have found a foothold across the Narrow Sea in Pentos."
"They are just children. What of it? Will they fly back on dragonback?" Ned reverted to his dismissive stance, trying to downplay the danger.
"Gods, women, children, and the elderly are never threats in your eyes, are they?" The King gasped for breath, clearly exhausted from the ride. "Varys sent a raven. Who knows if those two whelps, backed by some ambitious schemers, are already dreaming of 'going home'?"
"They must die, Ned."
The words sat ill with the Lord of Winterfell. He retorted, "You allowed even Ser Barristan to serve in your Kingsguard, yet two children..."
The King cut him off sharply.
"Those two Targaryen remnants will soon enough couple and breed more incestuous madness. If we don't end it now, they will multiply. Sooner or later, they'll cross the Narrow Sea, pat you on the head, and tell you that you were terribly, naively wrong, Lord Stark!"
"Then we throw them back into the sea! Their father and brother were no match for us. Unless they birth a dragon, what is there to fear?" The Warden of the North was as stubborn as the frozen stones of his homeland.
"Seven Hells! I'm done arguing this with you. When I return, I will command Varys as your King to send assassins. We will end this scourge once and for all!"
Robert could see the feasting hall in the distance. He wanted pleasure now, not headaches. He used his royal authority to end a dispute he found utterly pointless.
---
Outside the walls of Pentos.
Brown Ben Plumm, a former member of the Second Sons, nursed a swollen face. He walked behind a massive brute of a man, cursing silently in his heart.
Damn this strong eunuch!
Ever since Ben had fled the battlefield with a few battered survivors, his luck had been rotten. They had wandered aimlessly until, one dark night, they were rounded up by a slaver party.
It was in the slave pens that Brown Ben met the giant.
The man called himself Strong Belwas. He certainly earned the name. His arms were as thick as tree trunks, his chest broad as a shield. Among the slaves, no one dared question his strength.
He claimed he had fought in the fighting pits of Meereen, where he earned his nickname. He boasted that he had never lost a single fight.
Looking at the web of scars across the man's chest and massive belly, Brown Ben believed him—mostly. Belwas claimed he allowed each opponent to cut him once before they died, just to give them a chance. He insisted that in a real fight to the death, no enemy could ever touch him unless he let them.
Just as they were about to be sold off to Qohor, Belwas exploded into violence in the dead of night. He strangled the largest guard with his own chains and rallied the slaves to revolt.
After a night of bloody butchery, the only ones left standing on that hill were Belwas, Brown Ben, and Ben's four cronies. The rest—slaves and slavers alike—were carrion.
With nowhere else to go, the group drifted toward Pentos. When Belwas heard that a descendant of House Targaryen had taken the city, he excitedly dragged Brown Ben along to pledge allegiance.
---
"Enter. His Grace will see you."
Brown Ben was startled out of his thoughts by a white-cloaked knight who appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
They were led into a grand estate. The white cloak referred to it as "His Grace's temporary palace."
Belwas, simple-minded as he was, asked why it was temporary.
The knight replied calmly, "His Grace will retake King's Landing. The Red Keep is his true home."
Brown Ben smirked inwardly. Dream on.
Belwas finally got his wish and met the King.
To Brown Ben, the man looked frail. I could take him in three moves, the mercenary thought.
Of course, that was assuming the lethal white-cloaked knights surrounding him—and that bald, dangerous-looking one standing closest—didn't intervene.
Strong Belwas was a legendary fighter in the original stories, loyal to a fault. Brown Ben Plumm was a sellsword, a second-rate fighter at best, but useful enough as a throw-in.
Viserys, however, had to suppress a laugh when he saw them. He knew exactly why they were here.
He naturally wouldn't refuse capable fighters arriving at his doorstep. On the spot, Viserys granted Belwas a title for a military unit that didn't exist yet: The Pentos Legion.
Strong Belwas was named Commander. Brown Ben Plumm was named Vice-Commander. The Legion was authorized for fifteen hundred men. They were to handle the recruitment themselves, though Viserys would keep a tight grip on the coin and logistics.
Belwas was overwhelmed with gratitude, thanking the King profusely. Brown Ben was equally surprised; after calculating the pay and benefits in his head, he realized it was a good gig. He immediately slapped on a sycophantic smile and pledged his undying loyalty.
After waving them off to make preparations, Viserys made his way to his sister Daenerys's chambers.
As expected, she was staring at the three dragon eggs resting in the brazier.
Her handmaiden, Doreah, was attending to her.
Doreah had been part of a "gift" from a wealthy merchant—redeemed from a pleasure house along with several other beauties and presented to Viserys.
The merchant had praised her skills in bed, but Viserys was a fanatic about cleanliness. Furthermore, he vaguely remembered from the original story that she was the handmaiden Illyrio had given to Daenerys—and that she eventually betrayed her.
So, he sent her to serve Daenerys, keeping her at arm's length.
"Viserys? You're just in time. You know, I swear I just saw one of the eggs shimmer in the coals! Doreah saw it too!"
Seeing her brother, Daenerys showed no fear. She was like the little girl she used to be around him, relaxed and happy, rather than a rigid princess.
Doreah curtsied to Viserys, then, head bowed, followed Ser Jorah out of the room, leaving the King and his sister some privacy.
The time is not yet right.
Viserys smiled and approached, looking at the egg Daenerys was pointing to.
If Ser Willem could see you now, he would be relieved.
No matter how many times it happened, whenever her brother showed her this kindness, Daenerys thought of their old protector. She was content with the brother she had now. As for the "Waking Dragon" of the past... she would rather he die than ever wake again.
Viserys's attention, however, wasn't on Daenerys, but on the three eggs.
When magic returns, the eggs will hatch. But do I need the blood of a Khal? Do I need to stand in the fire myself? Is the blood magic of a Maegi a necessary catalyst?
Although the System Shop sold mature dragon eggs, Viserys couldn't afford them. For now, he had to pin his hopes on these three fossilized eggs hatching as they did in the original timeline.
I'll have to kill a Horse Lord and a Witch to test it out. If they don't hatch, I haven't lost anything.