Game of Thrones: Oath of Iron and Fire-Chapter 60: I’ll avenge my father

At the mansion of Magister Illyrio in Pentos.

Daenerys didn't trust Illyrio, nor his sweet words. But in recent years, he was the only one who had sheltered them, allowing them a brief respite.

Her brother Viserys lifted the robe and showed it to Daenerys. "It's beautiful. Feel it, go on, don't be shy. Look at the fabric."

Daenerys touched it, and the material was as soft as water, flowing through her fingers. She had never worn anything so soft. Suddenly, she felt afraid and quickly pulled her hand back. "Is this really for me?"

"It's a gift from Magister Illyrio," Viserys said with a smile. He was in a good mood tonight. "The color of the robe perfectly complements your violet eyes. You'll also wear gold jewelry and all sorts of precious gems. From now on, you must look like a princess."

A princess? Daenerys had no idea what a real princess looked like. Since she could remember, her life had been one exile after another.

"Why is he so kind to us?" "What gifts does he want from us?" Daenerys asked. For the past six months, they had relied on the fat magister for food and shelter, growing accustomed to the pampered life under his servants' care.

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Daenerys was thirteen this year, but years of wandering had taught her that such comforts did not come for free, especially in a Free City like Pentos.

"Illyrio is no fool! If the true dragon ever ascends to the throne, he won't forget those who helped him in his time of need!" Viserys replied confidently. He was a thin young man, with restless hands and a fanatical gleam in his pale purple eyes.

"Illyrio will send slaves to bathe you. From today on, you must start to present yourself properly, like a princess! Illyrio will soon introduce us to some distinguished guests: one is a Dothraki Khal with thousands of horses and roaring warriors, and the other is a rising mercenary king who has taken control of Myr and the Disputed Lands," Viserys said, looking at his sister.

Viserys examined her closely. "You still slouch like an old woman. Stand up straight and show some pride. You're not a refugee; you're going to be a queen."

Daenerys understood what her brother meant. She was going to be sold off like her mother's crown!

Viserys had always taught her that they had the blood of kings in their veins, the golden blood of the ancient Valyrians, the proud blood of the true dragons. The Targaryen tradition was to marry brother to sister to keep the bloodline pure. Now, Viserys was planning to sell her off to some foreign barbarian or a bearded mercenary king.

"You will not embarrass me, or you will suffer," Viserys emphasized.

"No!" Daenerys replied, feeling the anger of the sleeping dragon within, though her brother could only resort to hitting her.

"Good! My good sister!" Viserys then left triumphantly. "Histories will be written about me, and my reign will begin soon!"

Viserys turned and walked towards the cool hallway, leaving Daenerys feeling restless. He was going to talk with his patron, Illyrio.

"Who exactly are you planning to marry her off to?" Viserys asked impatiently.

"Patience is a virtue," Magister Illyrio said as he emerged from the corridor. Though he was bloated and fat, he moved with an unexpectedly light and graceful step. His layers of fat jiggled under his loose, fiery red silk robes with every movement. Each of his fingers sparkled with gems, and his yellow forked beard was oiled to a shine like real gold.

"The Khal has fifty thousand roaring warriors, all battle-hardened! And the mercenary king, though he has fewer men, still commands an army of thirty thousand, not to mention the endless supply of slave soldiers. Moreover, he controls the fleets of Myr and the Stepstones. It's quite a dilemma!" Illyrio sighed.

"Dilemma! Do you take me for a fool?" Viserys's pale purple eyes flashed with anger.

"The mercenary king has a fleet that can take me back to my homeland. At least he's somewhat civilized. As for those horse riders, I've heard they hate cities and are afraid of the sea. These barbarians have strange tastes... they mess around with little boys, horses, and sheep..."

Magister Illyrio bowed his head slightly. "I took you for a king. A king has no common worries. If I have offended you, I apologize. The choice is yours, as befits the will of the true dragon."

"But does this mercenary king really have the strength you say he does? This isn't a child's game!"

"According to my spies, the Wolfpack's commander controls Myr, the Disputed Lands, and the Stepstones, and is now forcing Tyrosh to surrender. The Wolf King's elite Wolfpack legion has ten thousand men, and he also has twenty thousand strong freed slaves, plus a huge fleet! Without such a powerful force, the Wolfpack couldn't have swept through Myr and the Disputed Lands!"

"For my great cause, I must make sacrifices," Viserys muttered to himself, the lamplight casting on his haggard face.

"The Myrish are no pushovers either; the Three Daughters used to be our family's enemies! Many true dragons have died at their hands. If the Wolf King can beat the Myrish, he must have some strength," Viserys comforted himself.

"I'll arrange it next. Daenerys will be introduced to the king at my ball!" Illyrio promised.

"But she's so young, and so thin. Are you sure the mercenary king will like her?" The Beggar King's face was haggard and stiff, and he had never seriously learned swordsmanship. He was always fleeing in a panic.

"A king may take as many women as he wishes, but which woman can compare to the blood of the gods? Princess Daenerys with her silver-gold hair and violet eyes... She has the ancient Valyrian bloodline. Undoubtedly, undoubtedly... Moreover, she is of noble birth, the daughter of the old king and the sister of the new king. There's no way the Wolf King won't be attracted to her!" Illyrio was very confident.

"Ten thousand men. With just ten thousand Wolfpack soldiers or slave boys, I can sweep through the Seven Kingdoms. Then the lords and noble houses will surely rise to serve me, their true king. The Tyrells, Redwynes, Darrys, Greyjoys—they all hate the 'usurper' as much as I do. The Dornish in the south have long been eager for revenge for Princess Elia and her children. Not to mention the common folk—they will roar with righteous fury and fight for their king." He looked at Illyrio nervously, "They have always felt this way, haven't they?"

"They are your subjects, and they love you dearly," Magister Illyrio replied with a pleasant smile.

"In every village and farmhouse across the realm, men secretly raise their cups in your honor, and women secretly sew the banners of the true dragon, waiting for the day you lead your army across the sea." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "That's what my men tell me."

Viserys nodded eagerly in agreement. "I will kill the usurper with my own hands," he vowed, without considering that he had never killed anyone before.

"Just like he killed my brother. And I won't spare that Lannister 'Kingslayer' either. I'll avenge my father."