CHAPTER 4

c4: You Are Right, But...

"Brother."

Upon arriving at the bathing chambers within Illyrio's opulent manse, Daenerys noticed the servants preparing to separate them. Unable to contain her unease, she softly called out to Viserys.

Viserys turned, his expression inquisitive. "What's wrong, Daenerys?"

Daenerys hesitated, her shoulders tensing as she lowered her gaze, remaining silent.

At this juncture, the "Mother of Dragons" was still a timid girl, deeply reliant on her brother, despite his frequent cruelty. In the original narrative, her transformation into a confident woman began only after her marriage to Khal Drogo, orchestrated by Illyrio in exchange for a Dothraki army to reclaim the Iron Throne .

Viserys sensed her apprehension but recognized that the current circumstances left little room for fraternal comfort. He needed Daenerys to appear meek and compliant.

Given her striking beauty, Daenerys's vulnerability served as a protective guise. Even Illyrio, a man of considerable experience and influence, had once contemplated taking her for himself, only to dismiss the idea due to her timidity .

"Don't embarrass me, Daenerys," Viserys admonished coldly. "Are you afraid of a bath? Follow the maid."

Subdued, Daenerys obeyed, departing with the maid to a separate chamber.

Viserys, unbothered, indulged in the luxurious bath provided by Illyrio, even accepting the fine silk garments offered by the servants.

After their ablutions, the eunuchs and maids escorted the siblings to the dining hall. Daenerys, now adorned in elegant attire, appeared even more radiant. Viserys maintained a detached demeanor, ensuring she remained demure and reserved.

Though merely thirteen, Daenerys's maturity was evident. In their world, a girl's first menstruation marked her as a woman. Viserys was wary of Illyrio's potential intentions and sought to keep his sister's allure understated.

Illyrio, now dressed in casual finery, awaited them at the head of the table.

Viserys initiated the Braavosi guest greeting: "Thank you for your hospitality, Magister Illyrio. Your generosity and courtesy are commendable."

Illyrio responded with a gracious smile. "Your Majesty, such praise is unnecessary. It is my duty."

Viserys hesitated briefly. "I wonder, when will the banquet commence? My sister and I are eager."

Daenerys, puzzled, recalled that Viserys and Illyrio previously addressed each other as monarch and minister. His adoption of Free Cities' noble customs seemed out of place.

Illyrio's expression turned serious. "In truth, there is no banquet, Your Majesty. Even if there were, it would be a welcome feast for you and Queen Daenerys. I believed our discussions in Lys were clear. Were our words before the gods mere falsehoods?"

Viserys feigned shock. "Of course not," he replied, then paused. "Wait, did you say there's no banquet?"

Daenerys glanced up, noting her brother's exaggerated surprise.

Illyrio pressed, "Your Majesty, I require an explanation."

Viserys appeared flustered, muttering, "Oh, Seven Gods!" He seemed at a loss for words.

Illyrio scrutinized him. "Did you have reservations about our prior agreements or new considerations? As a businessman, I value transparency."

Viserys, still feigning astonishment, asked, "Governor Illyrio, are you truly committed to supporting me?"

Illyrio corrected him, "Your Majesty, we discussed backing your claim under the gods' witness."

"Apologies," Viserys said quickly. "You are the most insightful businessman I've encountered. May I inquire about the extent of your support?"

Illyrio remained silent, his gaze shifting to Daenerys, who sat quietly.

Viserys, sensing the implication, dismissed it. "Please, disregard her, Governor Illyrio."

Illyrio challenged, "Do you believe monetary support alone will restore your kingdom?"

Viserys pondered briefly. "Well, couldn't it?"

Illyrio, momentarily taken aback, responded, "In my view, funds are insufficient. You require an army."

Viserys's eyes lit up. "Indeed, an army. Do you have one to offer?"

There was excitement on his face, but in his heart, Viserys felt the thrill quickly ebb away. The answer had come too easily. Although Illyrio's tone held a flourish of diplomacy, it lacked the layers of manipulation Viserys had prepared to dissect. It was too straightforward—disappointingly so. He had come equipped with rhetorical weapons and nowhere to use them.

"I do not have an army," Illyrio admitted with theatrical flair, "but I know where one can be found. Tell me, Your Grace, have you heard of the Dothraki?"

Pentos, constrained by its peace pact with Braavos, was forbidden from maintaining more than twenty warships or raising a standing force beyond its city guard. The city could not hire sellswords or contract free companies for extended terms. Thus, despite the towering walls surrounding it, Pentos remained one of the most militarily fragile of the Free Cities. In response, its rulers had long cultivated a deferential stance toward the Dothraki horselords. Over the years, Pentoshi magisters had sent silver, spices, and lavish gifts across the Bone Mountains to curry favor with successive khals, ensuring the nomadic khalasars roamed well east of the Rhoyne the natural border of Pentos.

In effect, it was annual tribute masquerading as diplomacy gold for peace.

Now, Magister Illyrio Mopatis, one of the richest men in the city and a known broker of shadowy alliances, seemed intent on brokering yet another this time between a deposed dragon prince and a bloodthirsty warlord of the eastern steppes.

"I've heard a little," Viserys replied cautiously.

Illyrio's smile widened. "Then you must know they are fierce beyond compare. Ten thousand screamers can cut through any Westerosi force. With their strength, Your Grace could cross the Narrow Sea and reclaim the Iron Throne from the Usurper."

Viserys arched a brow. "And these... savages are eager to support my cause?"

"It is not support," Illyrio corrected smoothly. "It is a transaction. A borrowing. And I know a number of powerful khals. If Your Grace is willing, you may find yourself commanding a khalasar of tens of thousands. Think of it—horsemen who fight like lightning, living only for battle."

He spoke with the passion of a merchant spinning a grand bargain, a tempting mirage lined with gold and blood.

But instead of taking the bait, Viserys cocked his head and asked, almost idly, "Lord Illyrio, with all respect how well do you know Westeros?"

Illyrio blinked. "Pardon?"

Viserys leaned forward, his voice quiet but firm. "Beyond knowing the continent's name and the fact that Robert Baratheon sits the Iron Throne... do you know anything of the land's politics? Its people?"

At first, Illyrio thought the young dragon was mocking him. But Viserys's expression betrayed no irony, only seriousness.

Illyrio opened his mouth to steer the conversation back to his proposal. "Well, I "

Viserys interrupted, unrelenting. "Even if I borrow the Dothraki, Governor, and that's a generous if—how would I ferry their horses across the Narrow Sea? What port would take them?"

Illyrio hesitated. The question was far ahead of their current negotiation.

Viserys pressed further. "And say I do land them say I win battles and seize cities. But the Westerosi will not bow to eastern horsemen. If the Dothraki take a town and butcher its people, what then? How do I rule over ashes and corpses?"

Illyrio pursed his lips. This was becoming wearisome.

Viserys was still going. "And if, Seven forbid, I do take the throne what happens to them? Do I become their hostage in the Red Keep?"

Illyrio raised a hand, attempting to calm the flood. "Your Grace, you worry over distant shadows. First we must secure the troops."

"No, no," Viserys shook his head firmly. "These are not shadows. These are very real, very dangerous problems. Restoring the Targaryen dynasty is not as simple as riding a horde into Westeros. I think of these things every night—how to return home, how to take back what is mine. These questions are not just theoretical."

[Co-author's note: Do you really, Viserys?]

Illyrio could find no immediate rebuttal.

"Grrr~"

Just then, Viserys's stomach growled. The interruption embarrassed him, and he straightened with a sheepish smile. "Forgive me, Lord Illyrio. I seem to have grown too impassioned."

Illyrio seized the opportunity to pivot. "Not at all, Your Grace. The fault is mine. Come let us eat first."

Viserys nodded curtly. "As you wish, Lord Governor."

Though he remained outwardly composed, Illyrio knew he had failed to win the prince's favor today. Viserys had raised his defenses with all the force of a paranoid ruler. He was not debating; he was deflecting. No matter what Illyrio offered, Viserys would find a reason to refuse.

He had come prepared with a library of refusals:

"When discussing plans, point out specific flaws."

"Yes, but what if…"

"You make a good point, but…"

"This strategy could work, but it needs refining."

"Have you considered the consequences of…?"

And so on.

Until Illyrio discovered what truly moved Viserys, the prince could always retreat behind those veils.

To Illyrio's credit, he recognized the pattern. He dodged the verbal traps and refused to let the discussion spiral into endless hypotheticals.

With negotiations stalled, the meal became a performance. Viserys lavished praise upon the dishes, chuckling at Illyrio's jokes and feasting as though he hadn't eaten in days. He consumed enough for three men.

The strangest presence at the table, however, was Daenerys. She said not a word, but she felt everything. This Viserys charming, glib, dismissive was not the same brother who snapped at her in private and clung to his fantasies with trembling hands.

Once, Viserys would have sold everything he owned for a chance at such an alliance.

Now, he devoured roast duck and honeyed grapes as if they could fill the hole where his purpose used to be.

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