Chapter 12: The Dowry

[This chapter was originally called "The Spider." In reality, most of the Pentos arc was basically me using chapters from a fanfic titled "Game of Thrones: The Proud" as a template. When I started the story, I didn't plan on publishing it, so I didn't care where the words came from as long as they expressed my idea. Now that I've progressed, I feel the need to rewrite the scenes to make them absolutely my own. But don't worry, the plot won't change much, as it still follows the series pretty closely. Thank you all for your readings and understanding about this.]

Today, like any other day, Vlad found himself walking through Illyrio's garden, wondering how things would end. It had already been a month since the Magister had told him that his contact with the eggs would arrive in fifteen days, but they still hadn't shown up. By this point, the novelty of being in Pentos had already worn off.

A servant approached with a message.

—My lord, Magister Illyrio has called for you.

—Lead the way—he said calmly.

The smell of the room where the Magister was thick. The incense filled the air with sweet spices and heavy oils. Vlad guessed that for anyone else it would be pleasant; for him, it was barely a nuisance. He walked forward with steady steps, wearing tight leather pants and a white silk shirt he had personally bought at the markets. Although he was a Dothraki Khal, he didn't intend to dress like one. It could cause tensions among his people, but when all the men present fear you, they rarely dare to question you.

Moreover, he respected several of their customs. He wouldn't cut his hair unless he was defeated. He didn't wear armor in combat. Perhaps this selective appreciation of traditions kept the mouths shut that murmured about his hygiene and overly polished appearance.

His cold, golden eyes landed on the Magister, seated as usual with a diplomatic smile, wrapped in costly fabrics and artificial elegance.

—Great Khal—greeted Illyrio, with a bow and a soft, measured voice.

—Speak, Magister. You've kept me waiting too long. Get to the point—Vlad replied, sharply, more polite than a common Dothraki, yes, but with no patience for unnecessary theatrics.

Illyrio seemed more nervous than usual. He searched for the right words to say carefully.

—There have been... complications, Great Khal. I'm afraid the eggs are no longer available for sale.

Vlad didn't respond. He looked at him in silence, his eyes fixed like daggers. Though the revelation took him by surprise, he immediately knew it was a stratagem. A clumsy move, too. And dangerous.

—I think you've misunderstood me—Vlad said calmly, taking a glass of wine from the table—. When we met, I made it clear that I am not a Dothraki like the others. You don't have to speak to me with so much respect... nor with such caution. And I suppose that's why you misunderstood me.

Illyrio turned pale immediately, caught between sweat and fear.

—Great Khal, I...

He didn't get to finish. Vlad stood up, and with a single leap, he placed himself on the table. Before the Magister could react, he lifted him into the air as if he weighed no more than a wet tunic. Illyrio's huge body squirmed in his hands, unable to do anything.

—Do you think that because I have manners, I am an easy target? Do you really think I conquered a khalasar of thirty thousand men by letting little men like you disrespect me? Do you think I will allow you to play with my time? Do you think I'm stupid?

Illyrio was livid, his lips turning purple. He could barely breathe, and the fear had him on the edge of passing out. He wasn't used to fearing for his life.

—G-great... Khal...—he stammered, his voice strangled.

Vlad let him go abruptly, dropping him hard onto the chair, which creaked under his weight. Then, as if nothing had happened, he returned to his seat and sat down with the same cold elegance he had arrived with.

—Now explain it to me, Magister. And pray that your explanation satisfies me. Because if it doesn't... I might burn your mansion to the ground. Not before leaving you impaled at its doors.

Illyrio gasped, one trembling hand on his chest and the other gripping the edge of the chair. He took a moment to catch his breath before speaking, avoiding looking directly at Vlad.

—I admit that I have dishonored our agreement, Great Khal—he finally managed to say, his voice broken—. But it hasn't been for pleasure, the eggs were... delivered as part of a dowry.

Vlad didn't respond immediately. He took a sip of wine and let it sit on his tongue for a few seconds before swallowing. His eyes remained fixed on the Magister, with no apparent anger.

—Dowry?—he asked softly, as if the word seemed foreign to him.

—Yes... for a young princess—Illyrio added, regaining some of his composure, though his voice still wavered—. Daenerys Targaryen.

Vlad didn't move a muscle. He simply placed the glass on the table.

—I don't recognize that name—he lied in a neutral tone—. Should I?

—She is the younger sister of King Viserys, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. —Illyrio spoke with more confidence—. I have sworn to serve the ancient House Targaryen. I have always acted in their interests, and it was King Viserys who ordered the eggs to be given as part of his sister's dowry... in order to seal an alliance that will allow him to reclaim what was taken from him.

—And what does this have to do with me, Illyrio?—Vlad asked without changing his tone—. Or do you expect me to replace the suitor of this princess?

Illyrio shook his head, though the nervous smile that appeared on his lips betrayed him.

—No, Great Khal. The princess... has not yet been delivered. And Viserys is looking for a powerful ally. Someone capable of providing him with an army. In exchange... he will offer his sister's hand.

A heavy silence fell over the room. Vlad crossed one leg over the other and leaned slightly in his chair, as if evaluating whether it was worth keeping the Magister alive.

—So you expect me to marry this princess?—he asked, with a hint of mockery in his voice.

—Great Khal, it's actually a very advantageous deal. You would get three dragon eggs and a princess, and all you would have to do is help the young king in his conquest. Imagine the prestige of being the first Khal to conquer lands in Westeros—Illyrio argued, in a more measured tone, trying to sound reasonable.

Vlad barely gave him a glance before standing up again, causing a visible shiver in the Magister.

—I will return in two weeks, Illyrio. Then I will meet this princess. If her appearance satisfies me, I will accept your deal. If not, prepare for the consequences of having played with my time.

Silence fell once again like a weight. Illyrio nodded, swallowing nervously.

—I'll make the arrangements.

Without saying another word, Vlad left the mansion and went in search of his blood riders and the men he had brought with him. He had no doubt that he would end up marrying Daenerys; it was one of the easiest ways to access the throne. That she was probably one of the most beautiful women in the world was just the cherry on top.

(In this universe, Daenerys is sixteen, which makes her participation not disturbing, since Vlad is technically only 18.)