In a secluded garden, a young boy with blue hair, barely into his teens, practiced with a short sword. The blade, still unpolished, flashed in the sunlight as he struck at a new dummy target. Nearby, a pile of broken, worn-out dummies testified to the intensity of his training. This was no ordinary practice; it was the relentless pursuit of martial skill by a slave determined to master his craft.
The boy's eyes were striking and ever-changing in color. They bore a hint of purple, but his blue hair gave them a bluish tint. When sunlight caught them just right, there was even a faint glimmer of green. His long eyelashes and soft facial features gave him an almost androgynous beauty—if dressed differently, he could easily be mistaken for a girl. Yet, there was a steely resolve in his gaze that left no doubt he would grow into a handsome and formidable young man.
This was Illyrio's bastard son, Aegon.
Illyrio stood at the edge of the garden, his gaze drifting past the flowers to rest on the boy. Aegon was the child he had fathered with Serra, the woman he had loved deeply. Illyrio had long known that Serra carried the blood of the Blackfyres in her veins. When she died of plague years ago, Illyrio, in his grief, had her hand severed and preserved, carrying it with him always. Whether out of love for Serra or to fulfill his own ambitions, Illyrio had forged a secret alliance with Varys. Their goal was nothing less than placing Aegon on the Iron Throne of King's Landing.
The plan was bold and ruthless. Dany was to marry the Horselord, and the Dothraki would be incited to march west, acting as a battering ram against the city. Behind them, Illyrio would follow with his bastard son, ready to seize power amid the chaos. King's Landing had to be thrown into disarray—order was of no use to a man like Illyrio, who thrived in the shadows. As Littlefinger had once said, chaos is a ladder.
But there was a complication. Illyrio knew he had to convince Viserys to agree to Dany's marriage to Drogo. However, he was beginning to realize that Viserys was slipping out of his control. In less than a year as a sellsword, Viserys had achieved two significant victories. Who knew how powerful he might become after taking control of the Windblown? Illyrio had heard rumors of Viserys' growing influence within the company—there was even talk of him becoming its next leader. If that happened, Viserys would attract even more followers, and Illyrio would have to pay a steep price to keep him in check.
Illyrio was already contemplating more drastic measures, including hiring the Faceless Men to eliminate Viserys. At least that way, he could still have Dany.
Suddenly, Aegon noticed Illyrio's presence and called out cheerfully, "Uncle Illyrio!"
Illyrio's face broke into a smile, and his chubby hand twisted his slightly oily yellow beard, revealing a few yellowed teeth—evidence of his love for cheese. "You've been practicing well, Young Griff."
At this time, Illyrio had not yet revealed Aegon's "true identity" to him. The boy still believed he was merely the son of Jon Connington. Aegon liked his fat uncle with the golden beard. Illyrio was always kind and attentive to him, sometimes almost too much so. The daily lessons were rigorous—etiquette, swordsmanship, mathematics, history... But Aegon was intelligent, and with the encouragement and careful instruction of those around him, he was making remarkable progress.
"How about you, Young Griff? Do you want to spar with him?" Illyrio asked, gesturing toward the burly man beside him.
The man was Belwas, a hulking figure with olive skin, dressed in a short tunic, his body crisscrossed with hideous scars. His bald head and clean-shaven face added to his imposing presence. Illyrio had purchased him from Slaver's Bay, where Belwas had served as a eunuch gladiator. Now, he was Illyrio's bodyguard.
Aegon glanced up at the massive warrior, noting the stark contrast between them. Though Aegon was taller than most boys his age, he was also slender. Standing next to Belwas, he felt like a small sapling beside a towering tree. Yet, after a moment of consideration, he accepted the challenge.
"Very well, I hope Lord Belwas will teach me," Aegon said with impeccable etiquette, a trait that had endeared him to all the servants in Illyrio's household.
Belwas grinned, a smile he intended to be friendly but which, due to his scars, only made him look more menacing. Aegon felt a flicker of fear but quickly steadied himself.
"Be careful," Illyrio whispered to Belwas.
"Don't worry, my lord," Belwas replied. He then drew a scimitar from his belt and lunged at Aegon with the speed and ferocity of an eagle swooping down on its prey.
What followed could hardly be called a sparring match. Belwas was vastly superior in both strength and skill, and he was clearly holding back, turning the encounter into more of a demonstration than a true fight. Aegon struggled to keep up, but after several dozen moves, Belwas deliberately made a significant mistake. Seizing the opportunity, Aegon pressed the tip of his sword against Belwas's chest.
Realizing he had won, Aegon's face lit up with excitement. He looked around and saw the servants nodding in approval, their expressions filled with admiration.
Just as the garden was filled with a sense of triumph, a servant in a dark blue shirt hurried over and whispered something to Illyrio.
"Huh?" The servant quickly held his breath, trying to avoid Illyrio's unpleasant breath.
"What is it, Uncle Illyrio?" Aegon asked.
"Nothing to worry about, just an unexpected guest. I'll go greet him," Illyrio replied with a dismissive wave.
"Okay, Uncle. Take care," Aegon said, watching him leave.
...
"Oberyn, when we meet Illyrio, try to stay calm. He's keeping a close eye on the boy, so it's unlikely we'll see 'Little Aegon' right away," Viserys cautioned.
"Don't worry, I know what to do," Oberyn replied.
"And remember, don't reveal who you are."
"Got it, got it."
From the moment Viserys first met the Red Viper, he had pegged him as a playful and carefree person. But as they neared Pentos, Oberyn's demeanor began to change—he grew visibly more anxious, pacing back and forth on the deck. At times, he would cast furtive glances at Viserys, as if weighing some unspoken thought.
When Viserys invited him to play cards Oberyn refused. On other nights, he would knock on Viserys's door, eager to reminisce about old times, especially about his adventures traveling the Seven Kingdoms with Elia. He spoke fondly of how they would mock the suitors who tried to win his sister's favor. In his eyes, Elia was the most gentle and beautiful girl in the world, far too good for any of them.
Oberyn often grumbled about Rhaegar to Viserys but would always apologize afterward. Viserys had grown used to this behavior, which he had come to recognize as Oberyn's peculiar form of "sisterly devotion." But it was precisely because of Oberyn's unpredictable behavior that Viserys found himself reminding the Red Viper more frequently to stay composed as they approached Pentos.
When they finally disembarked, Oberyn, impatient with the slow opening of the cabin door, opted to slide down a rope instead.
...
Viserys, relying on his memory, soon located Illyrio in a private room of a high-end inn.
"Lord Illyrio, it's been a long time. How have you been?" Viserys greeted him warmly.
Though Illyrio wasn't sure why Viserys had come, he responded with a smile, while his sharp eyes discreetly assessed Viserys' entourage. He recognized some, like Regis, and could tell others, such as Conwyra, were of high status. But the Red Viper and Feles were unfamiliar to him.
Despite Oberyn's efforts to disguise himself, Illyrio's keen instincts sensed that this man was far from ordinary.
"And this lord is...?" Illyrio inquired, his curiosity piqued.