Arkon's Manor, Qohor

Viserys sat upon the wind sill and gazed listlessly at the free city of Qohor. Darkness had long surrendered to the light, yet he could still see the thick grey clouds that were cast over the sky. The sky was tainted; no longer an abyss of black, nor did it appear blue. Instead it looked a metallic grey.

The grey shaded sky reminded Viserys of the raging summer storm that saw the end of the Targaryen dynasty. Today was the day his dear mother passed away all those years ago and he found it odd that the colouring of the sky above was identical to the one where he spent his last day on Dragonstone. Viserys wondered if the God's were sending an omen or mocking him.

But today was not meant to be a somber day. It was his precious, little sister's name day.

Viserys tucked the wooden box covered in satin under his arm and strode down the passageway. When he reached her bed chamber, he found himself enveloped in the darkness of the room. Not a single candle was lit.

Quietly, Viserys sat beside her and stared adoringly at the small, lithe figure that cacooned itself in mounds of silks.

"Dany," he whispered. "It's your name day!"

The girl's eyes lazily rolled open, glazed over with the remnants of a dream.

"What..." she muttered, blinking warily at him.

"I have your gift," he said slowly, his deep purple eyes meeting her lilac ones.

There was a delicious moment where Dany's face washed blank with confusion, like her brain cogs couldn't turn fast enough to take in the information her brother said. Every muscle of her body just froze before a grin crept onto her face, it soon stretched from one side to the other showing every single tooth.

"A present!" she said giddily, stretching her limbs.

"Don't get too excited," he laughed, retrieving the hidden gift.

Dany gasped and ran her hands over the smooth, lace covering.

"Can I open it?" Dany asked excitedly.

He nodded and observed as she delicately opened the box, peeking curiously through her long eyelashes.

Dany's jaw dropped as she retrieved a necklace crafted in freshwater pearl.

"It's so shiny!" she giggled, gazing admirably at the necklace before wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Thank you," Dany whispered in his ear.

He laughed and kissed her on both cheeks, "There will be more presents to come, my little dragon."

"Are you sure it wasn't too much money?"

"Nonsense," he said, waving her sentence away as if it was a bothersome fly. "Today is your sixth birthday and it was about time you were given something better than straw dolls."

She giggled and pecked a kiss on both his cheeks.

'When had she become so grown up?' he wondered.

Month's living in splendour changed his sister's once tanned, dirty skin to lighter than ivory with a rose coloured tint to her cheeks. Her round lilac eyes that were lively, warm, and sparkled with bliss when she smiled.

Viserys reached over and stroked her head, admiring the hair that had grown back, its soft curls that fell just past her dimpled chin.

"Let's get you dressed," he exclaimed, clapping his hands to get the chambermaids attention who immediately rushed to Dany's wardrobe.

"Lord Arkon has prepared a celebratory feast for us and we mustn't keep him waiting."

"Why does he give us so much?" she asked. "What does he want from us?" For months they had lived in the merchant lord's house, eating his food, pampered by his servants. Dany knew that such gifts seldom come without their price.

"Lord Arkon is no fool. I will one day make a strong ally and besides, I plan to repay his kindness in the near future by a tenfold."

Dany said nothing but accepted that as the truth. As he was about to leave, Dany grasped the hem of the shirt and begged her brother to stay.

"Can't you stay for a bit and play? You never play with me anymore."

"Don't be silly," he said, "It's time for you to get dressed." Her brother gave her a quick farewell kiss before departing from the chamber.

"Your brother loves you very dearly," said the brown-haired handmaiden called Maya, approaching with a basin filled with water, "He is a very kind man."

"And a very handsome one too," swooned Taia, another handmaiden who happened to be Malan's twin. Despite the two girls sharing similar features of elongated dark eyes and brown hair, the twins behaviour and personalties were far from similar.

Maya shot her sister Taia a disapproving glare and shook her head, "Keep your childish thoughts to yourself, Taia."

"Do you two also have a brother?" Dany asked, curious.

"Aye, although they're simple-minded, horny twats who speak of nothing but travelling down south to bed Lyseni whores," Taia sighed, mockingly portraying a saddened expression.

"Taia!" the sister gasped, swatting a towel across her head.

"Do not speak such foul language in the presence of a Lady! With your tongue, you will find yourself on the street and working on your back."

"Alright, alright! No need to get fussy." The two set about doing their work, chatting endlessly.

"Arylos is supposed to be helping us tend to Dany but she wanders around the halls as if she's the Lady of this manse!" Taia complained to her sister.

Malam quickly peered behind her to make sure their mistress was not listening. Dany feigned disinterest as they gossiped.

"That harlot prances around the manse in fine silks and jewels while we dress, sew, clean and prepare everything for the little Lady!" Malan frowned.

"It's so unfair!" Taia exclaimed, "How does one go from a pleasure slave, a high born ladies handmaiden and finally, a concubine dripping in gold?"

"Last I heard, she's been warming the bed of the dragon prince." Malan regretted her words the second they came out. The twin eyed Dany's turned back guiltily.

When they left after washing and dressing Dany, she pondered over the twins conversation.

She did not understand why Malan's tone of voice was of disapproval when she spoke of Arylos warming her brothers bed. Although nights in Qohor were warm, it was understandable to think her brother wanted a warm bed to sleep on.

Sighing, she played listlessly with the pearled necklace before clipping it around her neck. Honestly, sometimes adult conversations were so difficult to understand.

...

Karl Jenns stepped inside the manse where the air was heavy with the scent of spices, pinchfire and sweet lemon and cinnamon.

An unsullied guard, garbed in a plain, quilted tunic with a short sword attached to his hip led the sellsword inside the decorated manse. Karl knew instantly that this guard wasn't a true unsullied.

He did not possess the stoic figure of a castrated man, stripped of all empathy and self-worth. He had seen the unsullied fight once during his time with the Black Sails and their battle prowess astounded even his own formidable captain.

"Lord Illyrio," the fake unsullied said, interrupting Karl's thoughts, "The sellsword has arrived."

"Ah, yes, yes! I've been expecting you. Come sit, ser." A fat man waved him over from across a vast table.

Karl sat onto the chair. It was much too big for him, a cushioned throne intended to accommodate the magister's massive buttocks, with thick sturdy legs to bear the owner of the manse's weight.

"I am no ser," Karl told him, "Knight's are ser's and I am no knight."

The magister laughed, "Indeed you are not, but that can be arranged."

The sellsword widened his eyes in surprise.

"I have no wish to be a knight."

"Then you shan't be one," Illyrio said simply, popping a buttered pepper into his mouth.

"Who do you want me to kill?" he bluntly asked, his annoyance growing. He preferred his employers to get straight to the point instead of playing with words, a bearing most wealthy man had.

"If I wanted someone dead, I would hire an assassin and not a sellsword. Luckily, for the both of us, I have no desire for your skills in murder." The magister said, biting into the meaty chunk of a pigs leg, the grease travelling down his golden, braided beard.

Karl's face reddened, his fury evident on his tanned face,

"I have not come here to parley words. If you don't need my services, I will find another who does." He made a move to stand but the merchant waved to Karl to sit back down.

The fat man dabbed grease from his lips, "I can assure you that I have not picked up a random sellsword from the street to simply dine with."

Karl chose not to answer, so the pensive fat man continued to speak, "As you very well know, my dealings as a merchant has made me a wealthy and powerful magister. Anything you want, you shall have."

He sat back down and leaned comfortably against the chair with a delighted smile plastered on his face.

"Anything you say?"

"I am a merchant of many trades. Nothing is beyond my hands."

Karl scoffed, "I don't want trading goods but gold."

"Of course, of course!" Illyrio said delightfully, clapping his chubby, ham-like hands. Two servants entered the dining room carrying a vast chest filled with gold, silver and bronze coins.

"Gold shall be yours and if it pleases you, a pretty slave girl to accompany you for the night." The magister said cheerfully, throwing him a ludicrous wink.

The sellsword's stiffened, "Pentos outlaws slavery."

Illyrio laughed, spit flying.

"The law abhors it but it still remains a common practice. The servants are collared and branded like slaves although they are free by law."

"I'm not interested," he said gruffly. He had once been a slave, a whipping boy for a wealthy Lyseni family and could still recall the sound of the whistling whip before it struck flesh. His flesh.

His experiences led him to abhor slavery and Karl had always defied being even a slight part in slavery profits. Illyrio misunderstood his reservations for something else.

"Ahh, a boy then?"

Karl shifted uncomfortably, disgusted at such a thought. Abruptly he changed the conversations topic.

"What is it you want? For me to steal for you?"

"No, I need something a bit off your common duties."

Karl stared at him for a moment before asking, "What is it?"

For the first time throughout the whole meeting, Illyrio's face went deadly serious, he wiped his hands on a white napkin and dismissed all his servants and guards from the area. After they had all departed, he faced Karl Jenns with a locked gaze.

"During your time with the Black Sails, a intriguing young man with a hidden past boarded the ship. A man named Jon Loop."

Eyes wide, face set like stone, mouth a grim line. The shock registered plainly on Karl's face.

"Ah, so you remember him quite well." The fat magister said, easily reading his emotions.

"How could I forget him?" Karl muttered.

How can one forget that fiery passionate look in those eery purple eyes and the shocking confession from his lips.

'You won't be able to handle the truth, Karl.' The impostor told him, his face melancholy and somber.

"He lied to us… to all of us."

"You mean he lied of his identity," Illyrio suggested.

Karl sat still, grim and silent.

"What did he tell you?" The magister prodded, his fingers twiddling with excitement and a sinister gleam twinkling in his small, pig-like eyes.

"He said…" the sellsword trailed off, his head thrumming like a thousand drums.

"And if told you my father was Aerys, second of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, would you believe me?"

Karl shuddered at the memory.

"He claimed his father to be the Mad King from the Seven Kingdoms. An absurd claim… surely, you don't believe it to be true."

"I'm at loss when it comes to the matter of it being true. Although I must confess, it make's a curious tale."

"And how does this concern me?" Karl snapped, "We were practically strangers."

Illyrio grinned, a ridiculous expression on his pudgy face. "It concerns you a great deal, my friend."

They were not friends, far from it but Karl did not voice his thoughts. From the look of his grand manor, he was more than a merchant from Pentos. He was a wealthy man and there was nothing more a sellsword loved than money.

"How?"

Illyrio inclined his head. "Are you aware that you're the first man whose set eyes upon the Targaryen prince after years of hiding?"

"It could be an impostor."

"Maybe or maybe not." Illyrio said. "But answer this, do you truly believe it to be an pretender?"

Karl shifted uncomfortably, the image of those hypnotic deep violet eyes, head held high and dyed dark hair that ill-suited his highborn features.

"A little girl accompanied him... she had the whitest hair hair but it was the eyes... their eyes. I've never seen anything like it."

The merchant waggled his fat fingers with a satisfactory smile.

"You've just proved your curious tale. That child must've been the little princess. Did you see her often?"

"Hardly." Karl said, growing pensive. "She was often below deck with a slave girl. The two were very close, despite only knowing each other for a short period."

Illyrio pondered his words, stroking his greasy beard in thought. "That slave girl must possess useful information. Where is she?"

Karl became somber. "Dead. Slaughtered alongside the rest on the ship."

"A pity." He said remorsefully.

'Liar.' Karl thought, 'you hardly care at all.'

"But what is it you need of me? I don't know where they are."

"Unfortunately not but for the time being, seeking the two would not be necessary. All I need of you is to be by my side."

"By your side?" he questioned, muddled at his meaning.

"To be my eyes when the search for the last Targaryen's begins. Your memory of them is the only asset I require."

"Essos is too large to find anyone and they can be hiding in any city." Karl pointed out.

"Don't ponder too much over that." He poured for them from a flagon of blackberry wine so sweet that it drew more flies than honey.

"After all, a dragon must leave its lair at one point." The fat man prophesied, an ominous smirk glowing with sweet knowing.

...

The celebratory banquet was rambunctious, loud, jolly and it all gave Dany a massive headache. She would steal glances at her brother, shy of the praises the guests were showering upon her.

"What a beautiful child!"

"Such lovely, silver hair. A pity it's so short."

"Her eyes are like amethyst gems."

"Oh, what pretty little thing you are." Said an older woman, pinching Dany's cheeks.

A dark-skinned women with braided hair woven in peacock feathers turned to Arkon Noyakjor, their benefactor and exclaimed, "You're Lysenei relations are very beautiful. Who would've known an urchin like yourself possessed such gorgeous relatives."

The both laughed and for a moment, Dany was free of their scrutinizing stares. She grumpily sulked in her chair, pouting and seeking her brother in the crowd of colourfully dressed Qohorik nobility and wealthy merchants. She caught sight of her brother, leaning closely to Arylos and whispering intimately into her ear. Arylos giggled loudly, a wide grin on her lovely face.

She stared at the two, transfixed at what she was seeing. Her brother never behaved with anyone like that before and it intrigued her, only for a moment before she grew upset. Dany felt abandoned by her brother who showered all his love and attention on Arylos where once it was only reserved for her.

Viserys indeliberately made eye contact with Dany, grinning at his sister's brooding self. He murmured something to Arylos and she appeared crestfallen as Viserys walked away.

Judging from his sister discontented look, Viserys asked, "What is wrong Dany? Are you not enjoying yourself?"

"No." She grumbled, sulking in the cushioned chair.

"Do you not like your presents?"

"No." Dany fiddled with one of her gifts, a filigree scent bottle, its stopper studded with sapphires.

"Then whats the matter?" He asked, visibly vexed.

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me, Dany."

"I don't want any of this," she burst out, "I just want to go home, Viserys."

Viserys smiled at her tiny outburst, "This is your home now."

"No, it's not," she whispered, tears threatening to leak forth.

Why couldn't he understand that all she wanted was his love and affection that she now lacked? She was his only sister and yet he was spending all his time with others. Even on her name day. She missed those days of exploring muddy ponds to search for tadpoles or venturing into the orchards to steal apples. Ever since they've moved to Qohor, he had been occupied with important matters and spared little time for Dany.

He stared at Dany, his dark, arched eyebrows knitting together questioningly. "Are you talking about Braavos?"

She hiccuped, tears flowing like a dam down her rosy cheeks. Viserys frowned slightly before heaving her into his arms and departing from the feasting hall.

He carried her to the outdoors in the garden, setting her down on a marble bench and kneeling to her level.

"I don't understand what has gotten into you... Aren't you happy in Qohor?"

Dany remained silent, eyes downcast to her chest and pouting.

"Do you not like our host, Arkon?"

"No, it's not that," she whined, "But why does he tell everyone we're his distant cousins? We're not related and I don't like it!"

"Would you rather he go around telling all of Qohor he has the last Targaryen's in his manse and leading assassins to our bed chambers?"

"No." Dany sulked, kicking her feet restlessly.

"Then tell me what's the matter. I can't keep on guessing forever."

She bit her lip and stubbornly refused to utter a word, ignoring him as payback for ignoring her. Viserys stared at her for a few moments before loudly sighing.

"Don't make this anymore difficult than it is, Dany. If something I've done has displeased you, please understand that I'm sorry."

Dany finally met his gaze, "Why don't you play with me anymore? You're always away and I'm always alone."

He looked taken back by her question and his shock quickly turned to guilt.

"Is this why you've been so upset?"

She nodded, clumsily wiping tears from her eyes.

The icy guilt was evident in her brother's stiff stance, he cleared his throat and Dany could see in his dark indigo eyes that he was haunted with regrets.

"Dany... My sweet little dragon. I didn't realize how much pain my absence caused you."

He squeezed her hands gently, his eyes were filled with a sorrow that seemed so genuine, so endless: as big as the sea. Viserys pulled her into an embrace and Dany responded back, gripping the back of his tunic.

"In the morrow, we'll visit the market square and anything that fetches your eye, you shall have. Does that please you?"

Dany sniffled, "I don't want anything. I just want to be with you."

"Of course," Viserys reassured. "It'll be just you and I, exactly like the old days in Braavos."

"Alright... but you must spend the whole day with me and only me!"

"Deal." They both playfully shook hands.

...

The cloudless sky and pale, wan sun shown bright down upon Qohor. Mellario escaped Norvos in time of the festival. She couldn't bare to be in the city where the three bells of Norvos were ringing and bears were dancing in Norvosi's grand festival. The celebration was a riot of colour, everyone a bustling of energy and excitement. But for Mellario, the orange banners waving from the masts of the festivities reminded her too much of Dorne. And of Doran Martell, once her husband and now nothing but a memory of the past. She had met the Dornish prince and heir on the streets during the brightest and most extravagant festival Norvos had ever seen.

Mellario was dressed in a shimmery gown, complimenting her complexion and dark, smooth hair. Doran was but a traveller in disguise but her beauty struck him like the spear to the sun, as he himself put it. Despite their love and commitment to each other, her husband was a Dornish prince and she, a noble from Norvos. Half of their marriage was a clash of culture, customs and values.

Doran countlessly chose duty over his own wife and children. It began when he sent their eldest son to be fostered in Yronwood, a dreary castle in the north of Dorne after the accidental death of Lord Edgar Yronwood during a duel with her husbands wayward brother, Oberyn. She protested heavily against this decision to send Quentyn away.

"Why must my son be shouldered with the burden of your brother's actions?" She cried out, gripping her hair so hard that Doran feared she would tear her own scalp.

"I like it not more than you do," he told her, "but there is a blood debt, and Quentyn is the only coin Lord Ormond will accept."

"Coin?" she screamed. "He is your son. What sort of father uses his own flesh and blood to pay his debts?"

"The princely sort," Doran Martell had answered.

From henceforth, they fought on a regular basis until finally, it all broke apart from the strain of their marriage. The final straw that broke the camels back was the decision to send their daughter, Princss Arianne, to Tyrosh to serve as the Archon's cup bearer. Although Doran relented to her protests, Mellario had enough of his cruel foreign ways and returned to Norvos, but even her home brought back memories of him. She needed to get away and Qohor, the closest city to Norvos, was the perfect getaway.

"Does my Lady wish for a cup of Nasha?" her bald-headed slave asked, dragging Mellario from her thoughts.

She waved her away, barely acknowledging the bowing slave girl. Mellario turned her attention to her new lover, a Norvosshi noble dressed in purple and blue. His moustache was dyed a deep violet and Mellario thought it suited his dark eyes well.

"This is your first time in Qohor, is it not, Doro?"

"Indeed, my love. It's not yet been a day and I find the populace as abonomiable and disgusting as their black demon goat."

"We haven't even properly seen the city. Perhaps you'll change your mind." She teased.

Doro scoffed, "Baby sacrifices at the city squares alter? What a pleasant sight that must be."

"Oh, don't be so daft!" she laughed, playfully smacking him, "It's not a holy day and besides, children sacrifices are only made during the most dire times."

"Well, lets pray the Dothraki don't decide to come for a visit to this fine city." Doro exclaimed sarcastically.

She playfully rolled her eyes, giggling like a young girl. A handsome man and far from the eyes of disapproving Dornish lords and ladies is exactly what she needed. It was like a breath of fresh air. Mellario was free of her gilded cage. In the free cities, she was no longer consort and wife of the Dornish Prince. Here she was just Mellario, a noble lady from Norvos.

"Come," she said, reaching her hands towards him, "I am dying to see the famed Qohorik wooden carvings I hear so much about."

He grasped her hand, giving it a small kiss before lifting her up to her feet.

"My lady's wish is my command." Doro said haughtily.

They boarded a decorated litter and departed from their red-bricked manor. Mellario shut the litter's purple velvet drapes as her lover, Doro amused her with his idle chatter and tales. The soft clops of horses prodding on the soil ground was soon replaced with loud, boasting voice of trades folk as they reached the market square. Mellario pulled the curtain back an inch to peer outside, gazing upon the hagglers, merchants, buyers, and the rest of the crowd. Unlike, Norvos, there was no sound of music or magnificent displays of grandeur and vibrant colours. Qohorik folk dressed simply and very little sported extravagant hair-styles, preferring braided hair rounded in a top knot.

The large crowds were like a whole different living entity, moving along the streets like a river. It was quite a scene to behold. They stopped near a large stall filled with exquisite wooden carvings of nymphs, mermaids, griffins, dragons and other wondrous sorts of beasts.

"Lady Mellario is outside," said their slave, "Will you come show the lady the works you're selling?"

With the aristocratic bearing Mellario displayed, including the large litter and numerous slaves that accompanied them, the shopkeepers had no choice but to come out and very obsequiously bow and scrape.

Doro and Mellario wandered around the stall aimlessly as the seller jabbered on. Bored, Mellario feigned interest before her eyes began to wonder. She watched as dancers pranced and flopped to cheering crowds; darkly-dressed worshippers of the black goat parading through the streets; and little children laying daisies down upon the statue of a shaggy black goat the size of an bison.

It was then she caught sight of silver-white locks and a finely chiseled face. If he had not turned his face, Mellario would have forgotten the boy but the deep violet eyes he bore marked him different amongst the crowd.

She was swiftly reminded of a royal wedding, years ago. Mellario could still recall the gasps throughout the large horde of Westerosi nobles as they turned, like a tide-pool wave, to catch a glimpse of the magnificent crown prince and his new, plain Dornish wife. Despite the grandeur of the wedding, all Mellario could think of were those beautiful eyes. Those beautiful, Targaryen eyes.

'Could it be?' She thought, frightened. 'Rhaegar? No. Not Rhaegar."

"Viserys?" she said, uncertainly.

Suddenly, the young man turned, intense purple eyes piercing into hers.

.

.

.