On the walls of Pentos, Illyrio, who had kept his eyes fixed on the hillside the whole while, saw what was happening there too.
The dragon had a master.
And this dragonrider hadn’t attacked anyone unprovoked.
That, at least, was good news.
After thinking it over a moment, he decided to send an envoy first, to learn why this dragonrider had come to Pentos.
Illyrio summoned one of his officials.
He was a somewhat portly, middle-aged man, dressed in the loose robes common to Pentos, his short beard neatly trimmed.
“Go to the hill.”
The official followed his gaze, and his face at once showed a flicker of fear.
“My lord, there’s a dragon there.”
“I know.”
Illyrio turned the gemmed ring on his finger idly, and said, narrowing his eyes:
“Tell him we mean no harm. We only want to know why he’s come to Pentos.”
“Ask him if there’s anything we can do to help.”
The official nodded quickly.
Illyrio added one more instruction.
“Don’t get close to him. And whatever you do, don’t provoke the dragon or its rider.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Watching him go, Illyrio turned his gaze once more to the distant hill.
A dragon gone from the world for a hundred years had appeared before it once more, and it had a dragonrider besides.
The whole matter was simply too staggering.
It would have to be handled with the greatest care.
Before long, the envoy reached the foot of the hill.
He didn’t dare go any closer, and could only stand off at a distance, calling out loudly:
“My lord, I am an envoy sent by the Magister of Pentos.”
“The Magister, hearing of your arrival, has sent me to offer his greetings.”
“If there is anything you need in Pentos, we will do everything in our power to help.”
Jon, who had been talking with Daenerys, heard the voice and turned to look at the envoy below.
“Come up.”
Only then did the envoy let out a breath, and made his way carefully up the hill.
Once close, he glanced, without quite meaning to, at Frostflame where she lay.
Meeting those cold, slitted violet eyes, cold sweat quickly beaded on his forehead.
Jon reached out and stroked Frostflame’s head, and once she’d settled again, turned to the envoy.
“I’ve received word that some of my family still survive.”
“I’ve come here only to find them. I have no intention of making trouble for Pentos.”
Hearing the dragonrider’s purpose, the envoy relaxed at once, without meaning to.
“If there’s anything you need from Pentos, please, do not hesitate to ask.”
“I must report this to the Magister at once. Forgive my haste.”
With that, he bowed to Jon, and without wanting to linger a moment longer, hurried off down the hill.
Before long, the official returned to Pentos and reported everything that had happened on the hill to Illyrio, in full.
On learning the dragon would not attack Pentos, the city’s most powerful magister let out a breath of his own.
He called for his steward and gave a few instructions.
Before long, a train of servants and handmaids had made their way from the city to the hill, bringing tents, chairs, and a great store of food and water.
He hoped this honored dragonrider would come into Pentos to rest, where countless fine foods and wines already awaited him.
Jon accepted the invitation, saying he had some matters to see to today, and meant to enter the city the following day.
He accepted everything they had brought.
As for the handmaids, he declined their service politely.
In a city entirely unfamiliar to him, he wasn’t about to let his guard down simply because of a few kindnesses.
After consulting Jon, the envoy chose a stretch of fairly level ground, and the camp began to take shape.
The servants carried everything with great care, and no one dared speak the whole while, afraid of disturbing the great dragon lying nearby.
Frostflame kept her eyes on them the entire time.
Before long, a spacious camp stood finished.
“Give my regards to Magister Illyrio. I’ve received his kindness. There are some matters I still need to see to now…”
Jon stopped there, and said no more.
The envoy understood at once, and nodded quickly, forcing a smile onto his face.
“I’ll see your words delivered, my lord.”
“I look forward to meeting you in the city tomorrow. I won’t trouble you further.”
With that, he bowed, and led his attendants away from the camp.
Only the Targaryen siblings and Jorah Mormont remained in the camp.
“Come, Dany. There’s a great deal I want to say to you.”
With that, Jon led Daenerys into the camp.
Just at the tent’s entrance, he turned and looked back once at Viserys and Jorah.
“I need to speak with Dany alone about some things. Will you stay here, or go back to Pentos?”
The two of them exchanged a glance.
Seeing that Jon seemed set on this, neither dared to stay.
“We’ll go back to Pentos.”
Viserys stole one more glance at Frostflame, then left together with Jorah, whose face was still clouded with worry.
“Dany, sit for a while. Don’t eat any of this yet.”
Daenerys nodded at this without a word, and sat obediently in a chair, her eyes never leaving Jon.
For Jon, who had lived his whole life in a land of wind and snow, Pentos’s hot, humid air sat poorly with him.
He unfastened his heavy black cloak and leather gloves, set them aside, and sat down across from Daenerys.
Beneath his black hair, his deep grey eyes, calm and unfathomable, rested quietly on the girl before him.
“Dany, out there, I’m going by Aegon Targaryen now.”
“I know.”
Daenerys said softly, her slender fingers resting on the hem of her dress.
“You told me that already, in the dream.”
The corner of Jon’s mouth lifted slightly, then he let the smile fade.
“Tell me what you’ve seen with your own eyes here in Pentos, these past months. Illyrio, especially.”
Daenerys thought it over for a moment, a considering look entering her violet eyes.
“He’s been good to us… at least on the surface.”
she said slowly.
“The food, the clothes, the place we live — all of it comes from him. Even everything the wedding needs, he’s the one arranging it.”
“But you still don’t trust him?”
Daenerys shook her head, and said, hesitating a little:
“I don’t know… it’s only that I keep feeling he’s too good to us.”
“He rarely talks to me. Most of the time he’s off with Viserys, the two of them talking privately. What they talk about most is Westeros, the Iron Throne… and Khal Drogo.”
Jon nodded slightly, and went on listening.
“That’s what they say openly, but I think… what he really wants isn’t as simple as just helping Viserys reclaim the kingdom.”
“I can’t quite say.”
Daenerys’s brow furrowed slightly.
“Sometimes I feel like the way Illyrio looks at Viserys isn’t the way you’d look at a future king…”
She paused.
“It’s more like the way you’d look at a tool.”
Jon nodded to himself, hearing this.
Illyrio’s help to them had never been as simple as it seemed, from the very start.
“And Viserys?”
At the name, Daenerys’s eyes dimmed.
“He’s grown more and more frightening.”
“Every day he talks of nothing but going back to Westeros, thinking everyone owes him their obedience as a matter of course, because dragon king’s blood runs in his veins…”
Daenerys lowered her head, her voice growing quieter still.
“He even thinks marrying me off to Drogo is only a sacrifice I owe, just as naturally.”
Jon’s brow drew tight, his grey eyes going utterly cold.
“Has he hurt you?”
Daenerys shook her head, her hands curling tight together.
“I understand.”
Jon pressed no further.
From what Daenerys had told him, he had already confirmed two things, more or less.
Illyrio had some other scheme in mind.
And Viserys was drawing closer, by the day, to losing all control.
Daenerys lifted her head, her violet eyes fixed on him, and asked, worried:
“You came here alone. Won’t your family worry about you?”
Jon looked at her, and the cold in his eyes quietly faded.
“I left a letter. I told them what I could.”
He paused, then said quietly, “Besides, I’m not alone.”
As he said it, Jon looked out past the tent.
“There’s Frostflame too.”
Daenerys followed his gaze.
The great dragon lay quietly in the night, her white scales catching the moonlight in a faint sheen.
“Frostflame…”
Daenerys said the name softly, a touch of longing entering her eyes.
She had finally seen, in the flesh, the great dragon from her dreams.
“When is the wedding?”
Jon brought the conversation back to the matter at hand.
The smile slowly faded from Daenerys’s face, and her color turned somewhat pale.
“In seven days.”
She said, low-voiced, “Illyrio says Khal Drogo can’t wait any longer. It’s being moved up.”
Daenerys looked at Jon, her voice touched with sorrow.
“Jon… I don’t want to marry him.”
“Then you won’t.”
Jon’s answer came clean and without the slightest hesitation.