CHAPTER 5

c5: Dragon Bone

"Lord Illyrio, do you happen to keep any dragonbone artifacts in your manse? May I see them?"

Even after the meal, Viserys hadn't forgotten what truly preoccupied his thoughts. His hunger for anything related to dragons had never waned. He made no effort to conceal this interest on the contrary, he welcomed the idea that others might try to use it against him. A weakness exposed could become a tool. Let them try to bribe the dragon.

Besides, it would be laughable if a scion of House Targaryen showed no interest in dragons at all.

Every ambition had to begin somewhere. If he didn't voice his desire, how would Illyrio know how best to tempt him? Only by revealing his wants could he invite others to wonder whether they should fulfill them and at what price.

They called him the Beggar King. And why not? He had nothing. He might as well take what he could, when he could, however he could.

Illyrio remembered that same question on the deck of the merchant ship Magister. Viserys had asked about dragonbone items, even about dragon eggs gently, almost reverently.

It was something Varys's reports had overlooked. Illyrio made a mental note of it. The boy's fixation on dragon relics wasn't passing whimsy it was obsession.

Still, since the question had been asked again, Illyrio could hardly deny the request. It also conveniently diverted the conversation away from Dothraki matters. Viserys had shown resistance earlier, and pushing too hard would only give the impression that Illyrio was desperate. No, better to play the calm and generous patron. A good broker didn't force the deal he let it come to him.

Was it doubt? Pride? Or fear? Illyrio still couldn't discern the source of Viserys's resistance.

But for now, he smiled. "If it pleases Your Grace, of course. I would be honored."

He reached for a silver bell beside his plate and gave it two light shakes. "Butler!"

Almost instantly, a pale-faced man with a clean-shaven chin entered the dining chamber, bowing deeply. Illyrio whispered a few words to him. The man nodded and disappeared.

Moments later, he returned, accompanied by two servants. They bore several velvet-lined trays laden with ornate boxes. Another attendant brought in a side table, setting it carefully beside Illyrio for the presentation.

"Your Grace, come. Allow me to share with you a few treasures of my humble collection."

Illyrio's pride was palpable as he gestured toward the display.

Viserys approached eagerly, the weight of royal dignity discarded for a flicker of genuine fascination.

Daenerys glanced up from her seat, uncertain. Viserys gave no signal, no acknowledgment, so she remained frozen, staring blankly at the sugared lemons and candied dates before her.

Illyrio opened the first box with ceremony. "This," he declared, "is the toe-bone of a dragon. Inlaid with Braavosi sapphires, crafted by a guild artisan whose work once adorned the Sealord's own court."

Dragonbone deep black, veined with an almost oily sheen was unlike any other material. Rich in iron, yet lighter than it should be. Hollow like a bird's bones, but stronger than steel. It had the luster of obsidian and the utility of Valyrian steel. Prized across Essos, dragonbone was used not only in trinkets and ornaments but also in weapons—bows, spears, even rare-bladed daggers. Few knew how to work it properly anymore. Fewer still possessed it.

Illyrio had no swords, no bows, nothing of true martial value. His collection was less a tribute to Valyria and more a display of ostentatious wealth. He was a merchant first and a collector second his taste leaned toward the gaudy: golden lions with ruby eyes, daggers with mother-of-pearl hilts, rings crusted with emeralds. Each of his fingers bore a gemstone large enough to buy a cottage in the Reach.

Still, Viserys did not hide his interest. He reached out to touch the artifacts, reverent in his hunger. Every piece brought a flicker of hope. Every time he laid his hands on one, he held his breath expecting... something.

But there was nothing.

Perhaps it was the way the craftsmen had treated the bones lacquered, etched, polished, mounted in gold. Perhaps it was his own failing. Or perhaps there truly was no dragon soul bound to these relics. Nothing stirred within the bone. No warmth. No whisper. No fire.

And so, touch after touch, hope faded.

Viserys said nothing, but his mind reeled with plans. If he couldn't sense the magic, then he would study the material. Maybe there was another way something deeper. If he could trick Illyrio into parting with a single piece, just one, he could study it without supervision. There might still be secrets to uncover.

He masked his growing frustration with feigned admiration.

Illyrio, pleased by Viserys's enthusiasm, continued opening boxes more fragments of dragons long dead, each turned into necklaces, goblets, or ornamental boxes. None were weapons. None were tools of conquest.

Viserys kept up his charade. For now.

But the next moment, another dragonbone artifact was brought forth for display. It was a pendant, fashioned from a jagged sliver of broken bone. The fractured edge had been delicately inlaid with gemstones sapphires, perhaps, or water opals and the craftsmanship was remarkable. As Viserys reached out and let his fingers brush the polished surface, he felt the faintest flicker at the edge of his consciousness as though the edge of his soul had been grazed by a feather. It was not pain, nor pleasure, but a strange, ghostly resonance.

"How exquisite," he murmured, quickly withdrawing his hand. He allowed Illyrio to place it back among the other items before they moved on.

Illyrio displayed a total of nine dragonbone artifacts. Only two of them stirred anything in Viserys. He lacked the skills of a maester or a Valyrian scholar; he could not say whether the crafts were clever forgeries, or if certain bones held more essence than others perhaps only some retained fragments of the beast's soul.

"Your Grace, has anything caught your eye?" Illyrio asked with a half-smile. "It's said the royal vaults beneath the Red Keep hold several full skeletons of the Targaryen dragons. One can only imagine the grandeur."

[Trying to provoke my hunger for King's Landing?]

Viserys didn't respond at once. Instead, as if no one else were present, he reached out and picked up the pendant that had stirred him. He traced the etched pattern lovingly, a rare seriousness overtaking his face.

"King's Landing," he said at last, voice dark, "I will return there, and take back everything that is mine everything that was stolen from House Targaryen."

It cost nothing to show ambition and even less to feign greed. In the right hands, those traits could become currency. Viserys knew that posturing was sometimes more effective than truth.

Illyrio, watching closely, interpreted Viserys's dramatics not as mere hunger for wealth, but as a calculated test. He wants to see what I'm willing to give. The Magister decided to play along.

"If Your Grace finds the pendant pleasing, consider it yours," Illyrio said graciously.

"Truly?" Viserys asked, though his hand was already withdrawing it as if it belonged to him. "You are most generous, Magister Illyrio."

Illyrio's smile never faltered. "I'm honored to please Your Grace."

And so the banquet concluded with both sides satisfied in their own ways.

Illyrio, though mildly concerned that Viserys's behavior differed from Varys's reports, still had both Targaryen siblings under his roof. Though the Dothraki alliance had not yet been secured, time was on his side. He could afford to wait.

Viserys, meanwhile, was consumed by the pendant. That strange whisper of connection haunted him. He longed to be alone with it to study it, hold it, listen to it.

But for now, he was still a beggar king under another man's roof. He would play his role.

He asked Illyrio to have a maid arrange rooms for him and Daenerys.

Under the maid's guidance, they were led through the manse to the guest quarters.

The first room was Viserys's: a spacious suite overlooking the Narrow Sea, directly above Illyrio's garden. It featured a private bath and a porcelain chamber pot. Viserys barely glanced at it before nodding, already focused on the next matter.

The next room was Daenerys's, adjoining his own, with only a single wall between them. But when they reached the door, the maid blocked him gently.

"This is the lady's chamber, honored guest," she said with professional calm.

Viserys narrowed his violet eyes, tone suddenly cold. "Is that your idea or your master's? Do you think I don't recognize my sister's room?"

Behind him, Daenerys flinched. There it was again—the sharp edge of his cruelty. Some things never changed.

He ignored the maid's mild protest, turned to Daenerys and barked, "What are you waiting for? Come."

Without waiting, he pulled her inside and shut the door behind them.

Viserys had no intention of harming her. But he couldn't allow her to appear clever, or worse, independent. That was the threat.

That was the danger.

She was smart. Too smart.

He had imitated the cruel arrogance of his past self to disarm suspicion, but Daenerys, more than anyone, might see through it.

Keeping up the act, he turned to the window and barked, "Daenerys, come here!"

Years of fear had trained her. She obeyed slowly, heart pounding.

But this time, he didn't strike her, or scream. He merely hissed in a sharp, venomous voice: "If you want to protect a secret, don't act like you have a secret to protect. Do you understand?"

Startled, Daenerys said nothing. His tone was menacing, but his eyes flicked—briefly—toward the door.

He didn't wait for a reply. With a sweep of his cloak, he left the room.

The maid was still outside. Viserys shot a scathing glare back toward Daenerys as he returned to his chamber.

Whatever game he was playing, it was layered.

Once alone, Viserys took no precautions. He set the pendant on the desk and began examining it in the open. He made no effort to hide it, trusting that the boldness of display would deflect suspicion more effectively than secrecy.

After all, hidden treasures invite thieves.

Visible ones invite complacency.

Across the courtyard, Illyrio sat in his study, eyes closed, deep in thought. Viserys had resisted the proposal of a Dothraki alliance—unexpected, but perhaps calculated. Let the boy stew. Let him believe I've lost interest. Then he'll come running back with fire in his heart.

Varys's reports had painted Viserys as eager to please, desperate for noble approval. In Pentos, in Lys, even in Tyrosh, he'd humbled himself before lords for coin or compliments.

But the maid's return disrupted Illyrio's musings. She told him what she had overheard between the Targaryens.

"He said, 'If you want to protect a secret, don't act like you have a secret to protect.'"

Illyrio's eyes opened. "He said that?"

"Yes, Magister."

"What else?"

"Nothing, Magister. That was all."

"Keep an eye on them," Illyrio said coldly. "If anything unusual happens, I want to know immediately."

"Yes, Magister."

What secret? Illyrio wondered.

Varys's intelligence had been thorough—or so he thought. The siblings had been under watch since Myr. What could they possibly be hiding?

Or was this "secret" a mere bluff? A misdirection?

Still, Illyrio frowned. For the first time, he wasn't certain Viserys was the simple fool he'd believed him to be.

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