"Faith is blind… and also dangerous" Daenerys mused silently on the day of her coronation, standing on a pedestal, bathed in sunlight.
Hundreds of thousands bowed before her, their foreheads touching the earth in an act of absolute surrender. Their eyes, when they dared to raise them, shone with a mixture of devotion and awe, as if they were looking upon a goddess herself.
And in that instant, Daenerys understood the weight of what it meant to be worshipped.
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Illyrio Mopatis walked through the imposing gates of his mansion with his usual air of grandeur, strutting with every step. His silk robes billowed with the movement, impregnated with the scent of expensive perfumes. Behind him, a line of slaves followed silently, obediently carrying his belongings.
Among them, a small chest of dark wood, reinforced with gold filigree. But his true treasure was not the chest, but what rested within: three petrified dragon eggs.
A merchant of spices and precious stones, Illyrio had amassed a fortune that allowed him all kinds of luxuries. But his true weakness was another, a capricious and excessive hobby: the collection of rarities. Exotic creatures brought from distant lands, relics of ancient civilizations, and most precious of all... dragon bones.
Now, with those three eggs in his possession, his collection reached a new peak. She could admire them all she wanted, marvel at their mystery, and fantasize about the impossible: the idea that perhaps, one day, those lifeless shells would come to life again.
Of course, she would never allow others to share the pleasure of admiring her new acquisition. Those eggs were hers and hers alone. She would not display them as a mere curiosity for the entertainment of others.
With a gesture, she ordered her slaves to take the chest to her room, where they would remain sheltered, away from prying eyes. She was in no hurry; she could allow herself to contemplate them in the privacy of her personal sanctuary, enjoying their beauty alone.
But unfortunately, the eggs would not be in her hands for long.
Her plans, meticulously laid out in complicity with her old friend, the Spider, demanded sacrifices. And that sacrifice would come in the form of a wedding gift… a gift valuable enough to seal an alliance.
When the Targaryens had reclaimed the Iron Throne, he had been promised the position of Master of Coin as a reward for his loyalty. A position he would gladly accept, relishing the power and influence that came with it.
Visenya II Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, had accepted his proposal to marry Khal Drogo in exchange for an army of ten thousand warriors. A reasonable price, considering the magnitude of his ambition: the reconquest of Westeros.
Illyrio frowned as he recalled that outcome. He deeply disliked the idea of Visenya, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, giving herself over to a Dothraki barbarian, an uncivilized man who led the largest khalasar in the Dothraki Sea, with forty thousand warriors under his command.
That had not been his original intention.
His plan had been much more logical. Little Daenerys, barely 11 years old, was the one who would marry Drogo. It was her destiny. It was the purpose for which she had been raised: to be a bargaining chip, a useful pawn on the chessboard of politics.
But Visenya, in her stupid obstinacy, ruined it all.
To protect her younger sister's happiness, she sacrificed her own and gave herself in her place. A decision as noble as it was stupid.
Illyrio sighed in annoyance, leaning back on his divan as he poured himself a glass of wine.
If only he had accepted her original proposal...
Perhaps he himself would have found a way to enjoy her body before giving her to the Khal.
"All this will have been in vain if Khal Drogo rejects her..." Illyrio murmured, in a deep voice, as he took a sip from his glass of wine, the red liquid sliding smoothly down his throat.
The thought troubled him. It would be difficult, almost impossible, to contact the Khal. The task would certainly be arduous, especially considering the inhuman brutality of the Dothraki.
It would take time, but it didn't matter. Somehow, he would get his proposal to the ears of others. It didn't matter how far away the Khal was or how dangerous the journey. Even if he had to write his offer in the desert sand, using the corpses of slaves, he would do it.
...
After bidding farewell to Shapira, Daenerys walked briskly through the halls of the mansion, deep in thought. The shadows of the torches flickered on the walls, casting her silhouette as the echo of her footsteps resonated in the lonely hallway.
Since Shapira's birth, just under a year ago, she had begun to carefully plan for this moment. The moment when she would defy her destiny.
She would take Magister Illyrio's petrified dragon eggs. She would destroy the destiny others had woven for her. She would break the chains that bound her to a marriage with a man she had not chosen and whose will would prevail over her own.
What Daenerys did not know, what she did not even suspect, was that her sister Visenya had already changed that destiny for her.
That, in an act of sacrifice, she had chosen to give herself away... so that Daenerys could be free.
Entering her chamber, Daenerys paused for a moment. The air was filled with the scent of incense.
Visenya watched her with a slight frown on the bed. She was lying down, a book in her hands.
Noticing her presence, she carefully closed the book and looked up.
"I was waiting for you, Dany. It's late."
"I was just taking a walk in the gardens, sister," I replied calmly as I approached her.
My eyes fell on the book on the bed. Visenya had always been an avid reader, especially when it came to the exploits of our ancestors. But what she was truly passionate about were treatises of war, the military tactics used by generals and conquerors.
Visenya was born to be a warrior. Just like her namesake, Visenya Targaryen, the fierce wife and sister of Aegon the Conqueror.
As much as we both longed for the past, I knew Visenya missed Ser Willem Darry the most.
The old knight had been our protector when the world turned against us. The Red Keep's weapons master was once an honorable and loyal man. He protected us after our family's fall, when Queen Rhaella Targaryen died on Dragonstone giving birth to me, after the fall of the Targaryen dynasty.
It was he who taught us to defend ourselves, even me, despite my young age. But his time with us was short. Illness took him too soon. I was too young to remember clearly... but Visenya did not.
Raised under the tutelage of a fair knight like Ser Willem, Visenya learned what a knight's honor was.
And that was what made her different. Thanks to this, Visenya understood the true value of family: not just as simple blood ties, but as an unbreakable bond that must be protected at all costs.
"You smell bad... of smoke and brimstone... Have you really been in the gardens?"
Visenya raised an eyebrow in distrust, bringing two fingers to her nose in an exaggerated gesture, as if the smell were unbearable. Her tone was mocking, but her gaze sparkled with a hint of curiosity.
With a false expression of offense, Daenerys put a hand on her chest, feigning indignation at hearing her older sister say she smelled bad.
"Don't you dare do that."
Visenya, noticing her mischievous expression, pointed a finger at her in a warning tone. Her gaze was serious, but Daenerys could see the glint of amusement hidden in it.
Completely ignoring the warning, Daenerys jumped onto the bed, throwing herself on top of her sister. With a victorious smile, she rubbed her right shoulder, where the smell of smoke and sulfur from Saphira still lingered, directly into Visenya's face.
"Ugh! "Dany!" Visenya protested, pulling away with a grimace of disgust.
But revenge was not long in coming.
"You, little one, are going to pay for this."
Before Daenerys could react, Visenya held her tightly and, with a swift movement, flipped her onto the mattress. A malicious laugh spread across her face before she launched into the attack, her fingers seeking precisely the most sensitive spots on her sides.
"W-wait, Vys! It was just a joke! We don't have to be wild… AH! No, no, not there!"
Her plea was drowned out by uncontrollable laughter as Visenya subjected her to a merciless tickling session, enjoying every second of her victory.
When Daenerys' torment finally ended, to her relief, she looked at Visenya with a frown.
"You've gone too far…" she reproached, still catching her breath.
Visenya, unfazed, simply shrugged.
"You should bathe before you go to bed."
"Tomorrow. It's late and I don't want to disturb the servants," Daenerys replied as she made her way to her bed, waving her hand reluctantly.
Since they were little, they had always been together, never apart. So, upon arriving at Illyrio Mopatis's mansion, they decided to share the same room, as they always had.
Visenya looked at her with slight confusion, resting her head on one hand.
"Dany, they are slaves, not servants. It doesn't matter if you disturb them, they were bought to obey."
Daenerys pressed her lips together, not answering. Instead, she slipped under the sheets, ignoring her sister's comment.
Before closing her eyes, she made one last request.
"Will you teach me how to shoot a bow? I want to learn…"
The request took Visenya by surprise, as she was about to blow out the candles in the room. In the darkness, she let out an amused chuckle before blowing on the flame, plunging them into darkness.
She didn't respond immediately, causing Daenerys to let out a sigh of annoyance. Still, she knew her sister well. That mischievous chuckle was more than enough to know the answer.
With a satisfied smile, she closed her eyes.