In the Free City of Pentos, within the luxurious manse of Magister Illyrio Mopatis.
The brilliant sunlight flowed like liquid gold, and a few thin, white clouds drifted lazily across the sky with the wind.
The future Mother of Dragons, Daenerys Targaryen, knelt in a corner of her bedchamber, her delicate arms weakly wrapped around her body.
Upon their arrival in Pentos, Magister Illyrio Mopatis had gifted her a sheer, pale blue gown.
Beautifully crafted, elegant, and cool to wear, it was a gift Daenerys had cherished deeply.
Now, however, her favorite gown lay in torn shreds around her, ripped to pieces in a fit of rage by her only living relative, her elder brother Viserys Targaryen.
Daenerys’s thick silver hair fell in wild, soft curls, framing her face in disheveled beauty.
Her violet eyes glistened with tears, clouded by a deep, aching sorrow.
With skin as white as milk and a petite, breathtakingly beautiful frame, Daenerys looked like an elf of myth.
Her handmaiden, rubbing a stomach that still throbbed with pain, pushed herself up with great effort.
With a look of pity, she picked up a blanket and wrapped it around Daenerys.
Daenerys turned her sorrowful gaze to meet the maid’s eyes.
“Are you alright?
I’m so sorry, I was afraid…
I didn’t dare to protect you, yet you were hurt trying to protect me.” The handmaiden shook her head, offering a comforting smile.
“I am fine, Your Grace.
Let me help you up.” Viserys Targaryen, Daenerys’s older brother, was the second son of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen II and Queen Rhaella Targaryen.
He styled himself Viserys Targaryen, the Third of His Name.
After the War of the Usurper, the surviving Targaryens fled Westeros.
Viserys, dragging his young sister along, declared himself the rightful King of Westeros.
They visited the various Free Cities, seeking allies and patrons while fleeing assassins.
Along the way, they suffered cold shoulders and mockery.
Viserys was even forced to sell their mother’s crown to survive, earning himself the humiliating moniker of the “Beggar King.” After selling his mother’s crown, Viserys’s temper grew increasingly volatile and unstable.
Daenerys desperately missed the boy from her childhood—the brother who had told her stories of the Seven Kingdoms, the Viserys who had painted beautiful pictures of the life they would lead once they reclaimed the Iron Throne.
She clung to the faint, desperate hope that the brother hidden in her memories might one day return to her.
*** The day after receiving the Queen’s commission, Green Crabb wore his bright silver plate armor, complete with a blue cloak embroidered with his house crest—a rare formal appearance for him.
Mundon Waters stood guard beside him, clad in chainmail and a breastplate, carrying a large round shield on his back and a warhammer at his waist.
At the gates of the Red Keep, the Gold Cloaks on duty merely glanced at Green’s commission, asked a few basic questions, and waved them through.
Green and Mundon entered the Red Keep without a hitch.
There was no body search, nor were they asked to hand their weapons over to the guards.
*Lord Green Crabb* silently noted that King Robert’s Red Keep was severely lacking in security awareness.
Mundon’s eyes, which generally lacked any spark of intellect, were currently wide with curiosity, constantly scanning their surroundings.
Green was in no hurry.
He walked slowly in the direction the Gold Cloaks had pointed out.
*** Before long, a blond man in silver armor and a white cloak quietly stepped into Green’s line of sight.
The man was tall, handsome, and possessed brilliant green eyes.
Green guessed this was Jaime Lannister.
The moment Jaime appeared, Green felt a fleeting trace of murderous intent, though it vanished almost instantly.
Having grown up in a treacherous environment, combined with the enhanced physical senses he gained after his transmigration, Green was highly sensitive to such shifts.
He pondered the reason behind Jaime’s fleeting hostility, and after a moment of thought, his expression turned highly eccentric.
He could only come up with one plausible answer.
*Jealousy?
Does he think I’m some handsome young boytoy?
A queen’s paramour imported from afar?* *Is this the legendary power of a love-addled brain?
I rely on raw capability to earn my keep, there’s absolutely no need for this!* Though his mind whirled, Green kept his face perfectly composed.
He walked forward naturally, placing a hand over his chest in a respectful salute.
“Good day, Ser Knight.” Jaime leaned casually on his longsword, his emerald eyes scanning Green’s refined, youthful face.
His voice carried an unmistakable arrogance.
“I am Jaime of the Kingsguard.
Little wildling, are you Lord Green Crabb?” Green’s expression remained calm.
“I am indeed, Ser Jaime.” Jaime’s brow arched slightly.
Tyrion’s assessment had been spot on; the boy possessed a remarkably mature temperament.
Any other young lord who had just inherited his house would have shown at least a flicker of annoyance at being called a “little wildling.” Though Jaime found Green irritating, he had no interest in continuing to make things difficult.
“Follow me, little lord,” he said flatly.
Green thanked him, gave Mundon a quick look, and set off.
The simple-minded Mundon Waters did not understand what Green’s glance meant, but he knew it wasn’t the right time to ask.
Mundon scratched his head, his hand drifting toward the warhammer at his belt.
*Is he telling me to smash the head of that arrogant bastard in front of us?* Sensing Mundon’s subtle movement, Green tilted his head and whispered, “Just follow.” *Ah, so I was overthinking it!* Mundon Waters grunted in understanding, falling into step behind Green while continuing to gaze around curiously.
Green naturally quickened his pace until he was walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Jaime.
“Ser Jaime, if I may ask, what exactly does a Queen’s Steward do?” *Are we that close?* Jaime cast a sideways glance at him.
“Didn’t you bother asking Tyrion?” *Could Jaime be jealous of Tyrion?
A terrifying case of brotherly overprotectiveness?* Green found yet another potential reason for Jaime’s initial hostility.
Green sighed.
“I thought I was the one avoiding Lord Tyrion, only to realize yesterday that he was avoiding me as well.
It seems we both walked away wounded, and now we share a mutual dread of one another.” Recalling Tyrion’s haggard state from the previous day, Jaime couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Tyrion told me yesterday that he intends to never touch wine again in this lifetime.” Green laughed along.
“On the third day of my acquaintance with Lord Tyrion, I heard him say those exact words.
It lasted for less than half a day.” “With Lord Tyrion’s intellect and eloquence, he will always find an excellent reason you simply cannot refuse.” Green’s words were filled with genuine praise for Tyrion, which instantly put Jaime in a much better mood.
Looking at Green, Jaime noted that the young man’s face was gentle and pleasant, making it difficult to harbor any ill will toward him.
However, just as Jaime was beginning to enjoy the conversation, he seemed to remember something, and his expression instantly iced over again.
*Tsk, what a tsundere.* Green, possessing the “broader perspective,” chose not to take Jaime’s mood swings to heart.
There would be plenty of time for that later.