"You're not joking, are you?" Viserys asked, his surprise evident.
Hoyt responded with a sly smile, explaining his reasoning. "I'm already 58 years old, and let's be honest, my best days are behind me. It's uncertain if I can even have a child at this age. And even if I did, I have no solid foundation to ensure they would reach adulthood in a few years..."
There was a touch of melancholy in the old captain's voice. His implication was clear: he would take on the role of prince for now, but when the time came, he would pass it on to Viserys, who would then pass it on to his own heir. This meant that, from this point forward, the Prince of Pentos would no longer be chosen from among the forty noble families but from the bloodlines of just two people.
Hoyt also revealed the practical reason behind his decision. "If you fail to restore your kingdom, ruling Pentos would be more than enough. And if you succeed, you won't be able to stay here forever. Pentos would benefit from having a solid alliance."
"When did you become so straightforward?" Viserys chuckled.
Hoyt grinned but didn't reply directly. Instead, he added, "By the way, I'll only recognize your bloodline and Dany's. I won't acknowledge the child of just any woman."
Viserys smiled, agreeing to Hoyt's proposal and conditions. The old captain was indeed a veteran, and his considerations were thorough. His stipulations were partly out of affection for Dany and partly to ensure Viserys remained firmly bound to Pentos.
Viserys had gone from being a king without land or subjects to wielding significant influence over three Free Cities—Pentos, Tyrosh, and Lys. What he lacked now was a unifying cause to bring these cities together. The Triarchy had once united the three cities of the Disputed Lands against Volantis, but without external pressure, the powerful families of the Free Cities wouldn't easily relinquish their power.
Moreover, convincing the three Free Cities to attack Westeros wouldn't be in their interest. Viserys had witnessed the Braavosi lords building a 'Nine Tower Manse' for Drogo and remembered a problem he had recognized when he first arrived in Tyrosh a year ago: the looming threat of a Dothraki invasion.
Viserys needed more than just the Free Cities. He needed vast, fertile lands to support his ambitions, and he couldn't allow the Dothraki to ravage the lands west of the Rhoyne. Drogo, the Horselord, wouldn't stand by as Pentos, once meek, suddenly joined a powerful alliance and slipped from his grasp. A war between Viserys and the Dothraki seemed inevitable within the next year or two, but Viserys saw this as an opportunity to promote the idea of a 'federation.'
The nomads relied heavily on the vast grasslands, and Viserys believed their combat effectiveness was not insurmountable. If he could kill Drogo, he could establish the Federation and consolidate power along the eastern coast of the Narrow Sea. By then, the Red Comet would have appeared, and he would use the blood of the Horselords to herald the rebirth of the dragons.
When Illyrio saw Viserys, Connington, and the Red Viper walk in together, he blinked, thinking he was seeing things.
"Father, Prince, Prince Viserys," Little Aegon greeted them as he tended to Illyrio at his bedside. Seeing Connington, his face lit up with joy.
Illyrio said, "Prince Viserys, Prince Oberyn, Con... Griff."
Viserys exchanged a brief glance with Connington before walking over to Little Aegon. "Come with me. I have something to tell you."
Little Aegon looked confused but remained polite. He turned to Illyrio and said, "Uncle, I'll be going now."
Illyrio's neck felt stiff, as if rusted, and he nodded with difficulty. He wanted to ask Connington what was happening, but Connington only stared at him coldly, his eyes sharp as swords, making Illyrio's heart tremble. A sense of foreboding gripped him, and even the headband he wore seemed to quiver slightly.
Illyrio first looked at Viserys, who returned his gaze with a blank expression. Then he glanced at the Red Viper, who stood behind Viserys with a devilish smile, as if he were watching an amusing spectacle, ready to reveal his fangs at any moment. At one point, Illyrio even imagined their pupils had turned vertical, like those of serpents—one ready to spit fire, the other venom.
"Princes," Illyrio began, forcing himself to remain calm, "shouldn't you be in Tyrosh?"
"I missed you," Viserys replied with a mocking smile. "So I came to see you."
"Pffft—" The Red Viper couldn't contain his laughter.
Illyrio's smile froze as he realized they were toying with him. Anger flared within him. "You... you already know?"
"Know what?" Viserys asked, feigning ignorance.
"Know that I've been playing you and your sister like chess pieces!" Illyrio's eyes gleamed with a flicker of his old pride, a reminder of the ruthless killer he had once been before years of luxury dulled his edge.
"Playing with me?" Viserys's voice was sharp. "You're about to be outplayed."
"The fire that day..." Illyrio's mind raced, piecing it together. "But you—"
"Don't bother," Viserys cut him off. "It's all irrelevant now. Tell me how you're connected to the Spider, and I'll make your death quick."
Illyrio's eyes widened. "Can you at least tell me when you found out about us?"
"What good will that do you now?" Viserys replied coolly. "Cooperate, and I might let Aegon live."
Viserys's words struck Illyrio with terror. He couldn't fathom how Viserys had uncovered this secret. Only he and Varys were supposed to know. Could Varys have betrayed him? But if that were the case, Viserys wouldn't need to ask for Varys's contact information.
Realizing he had been exposed, Illyrio glanced at the Red Viper. He had even urged him to kill Viserys. Now, in the Red Viper's eyes, he must have looked like a fool.
"Promise me to let me see my child one last time," Illyrio pleaded.
"He's Connington's child now. If you want him to live, keep your mouth shut."
"I promise, I won't say a word," Illyrio responded, the resignation in his voice palpable. Years of careful planning, more than a decade of scheming, had all crumbled to nothing. He took a deep breath, as if preparing to divulge his conspiracy with Varys.
"Were you involved in the gradual change in my father's mind?" Viserys asked, his tone sharp.
"I don't know," Illyrio replied, shaking his head. "I don't think so. Varys mentioned it in his letters to me—he was as surprised by the change in Your Grace as anyone."
Viserys felt a chill at Illyrio's words. He had always suspected that his father's decline was linked to Varys. The idea that the Targaryens carried a genetic predisposition for madness was something he outright rejected. After all, during the Valyrian era, the Targaryens had ruled for thousands of years without such problems. How could so many issues arise in just a few hundred years in Westeros?
With Varys seemingly ruled out, Viserys began to wonder if the Three-Eyed Raven was behind it all.
"Can I see the child now?" Illyrio asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Viserys didn't bother giving him instructions on what to say—Illyrio should know better. Meanwhile, young Aegon, who had just learned his "true identity," was struggling with the revelation. He could never have imagined that the uncle he loved was the very person who had destroyed his "family."
"He used you as leverage to force your own father to serve him," Viserys said gently, trying to comfort the boy. "But now that we've destroyed House Berent, he has no one left. You can finally live with your father again."
This was the lie they had carefully prepared in advance. The "truth" was that Illyrio had taken Aegon's mother, Serra, from Connington, and blackmailed him into serving by threatening to expose Serra's and Aegon's true identities.
Aegon, smart beyond his years, turned to the Red Viper for confirmation. "Yes, Ser Connington was indeed Hand of the King," the Red Viper said, eager to support the narrative, with just a hint of truth in his words.
Aegon remained silent for a long moment, absorbing the weight of the revelation. Then, with sudden resolve, he drew his sword and knelt before Viserys. "Prince Viserys, thank you for saving me and my father. I will do whatever it takes, even if it means giving my life, to help you ascend to the Iron Throne!"
Viserys smiled, extending a hand to help him up. "First, learn from your father. When you become a true warrior, then you can serve me."
Though only ten years old, Aegon was already over 1.6 meters tall. He looked up at Viserys with deep admiration, his eyes reflecting the awe he felt for the man who had become one of his idols.
Viserys glanced at Connington, and the understanding passed between them silently. From that moment on, there would be no more Young Griff, no more Little Aegon—only a little Connington.
With the matter of Little Connington settled, Viserys turned his attention to Illyrio, who confirmed what Viserys had long suspected: he and Varys had indeed intercepted the Targaryen wealth at the Iron Bank—a staggering 700,000 gold dragons!
No mere killer could have amassed such a fortune in just over a decade. The revelation of this vast wealth only fueled Viserys's anger. He remembered the miserable life he and Dany had led, scraping by in exile. But then his eyes drifted to the three dragon eggs, their presence slowly calming his fury.
Three dragon eggs.