Connington finally came around, agreeing with Illyrio’s plan to wed Daenerys to Drogo in exchange for his support.
For him, this was a difficult decision, even causing him to have a dream where the Dothraki burned, killed, and looted, running amok in the Riverlands and the Crownlands, leaving countless commoners displaced.
But after waking from the dream, Connington realized that what he found even more unacceptable was letting the Usurper sit upon the Iron Throne and laugh wildly at will.
‘Forgive me, Rhaegar.’
These were the words Connington said to himself after making his decision.
Learning that he had finally changed his mind, Illyrio was naturally very happy, and at the same time, he informed him about Aegon soon leading troops to suppress bandits.
It was just that the two sides had a minor disagreement.
Connington wanted to take Young Griff along to take this opportunity to witness a real battlefield, but Illyrio thought it was too dangerous and simply refused.
“Lord Illyrio, I don’t understand, why are you opposed to me and the prince going together to suppress the bandits!?”
“What a great opportunity this is!”
“How strong could bandits possibly be?”
“Are we really going to make the prince draw blood for the first time only during the War of Restoration?”
According to the knightly culture of Westeros, boys become pages at seven or eight, and squires at twelve or thirteen to follow their knights onto the battlefield.
Young Griff was already turning sixteen, yet he had never seen blood; this was absurd.
“To take a step back, Cyrus is your son, and you have helped us so much, consider this as our token of gratitude.”
Connington’s reasoning was thorough; Young Griff could just use this bandit suppression opportunity to practice his skills, and his own leadership abilities weren’t bad either, allowing him to assist Illyrio’s son.
Yet despite it being a win-win situation, he adamantly refused.
The main reason he wouldn’t relent was still the fear that if Connington and Aegon were not under his nose, some unexpected matters might arise.
After all, Connington had seen Aegon’s mother, what if?
What if some of Aegon’s habits or actions carried over from birth caused him to discover any clues, what then?
Illyrio thought for a moment and brushed it off, saying, “Lord Connington, I can feel your good intentions, but your mission is to protect the prince and let him ascend the Iron Throne.
This is war after all, and I’m just afraid of what ifs.”
Seeing Illyrio speak thus, Connington shook his head and said, “Don’t you know my resume?
It’s merely a bandit suppression mission.”
After all, sending someone like Connington to suppress bandits was no different from using a butcher’s cleaver to slaughter a chicken.
Yet Illyrio could never quite make up his mind.
Aside from worrying that Connington and Aegon wouldn’t be by his side and that the two might produce some communication outside the plan, there was also the worry about Young Griff’s safety.
He knew that in the future Young Griff would command thousands of troops, but as a prince, at that time there would certainly be countless elite soldiers and fierce generals protecting him by his side.
Bandits were relatively weak, but the soldiers dispatched couldn’t be much stronger either; what if an unexpected disaster struck?
In Illyrio’s view, as a king, one didn’t necessarily have to fight wars personally.
Right at this moment, a man and a woman walked into the room.
The man had a scholarly aura about him, while the woman was dressed like a septa.
They were Halfmaester Haldon and Septa Lemore.
“This is our joint decision, Lord Illyrio.”
Together with Connington, the three of them were respectively responsible for Young Griff’s learning, etiquette, and martial arts.
Even though Illyrio desperately wanted to say ‘Young Griff’ is my son, and what I say goes.
But he also realized he had no right to change the three people’s decision.
Continuing to refuse would only make them suspicious.
“Fine, but among my bodyguards there are still a few good hands, I’ll let Belwas take them along to be responsible for protecting the prince’s safety.”
Illyrio seemed to finally compromise.
At this moment, Lemore, with soft eyebrows and eyes and wearing a septa’s hood, spoke up: “Lord Illyrio, we will convey your sentiments to the prince.”
But Illyrio was still somewhat uneasy; right now, the biggest risk seemed to come from this nominal son of his own.
“Lord Connington, if Aegon’s army could be commanded by you, I think there should be no problem with the prince’s safety,” Illyrio proposed.
“But I believe Cyrus will not hand over the command, and those soldiers were all trained by him single-handedly,” Connington said.
In fact, there was one more thing he didn’t say, which was that judging from past performance, Aegon was unlikely to listen to Illyrio’s suggestions.
Illyrio also realized this point, pacing back and forth in the room, trying hard to think of a countermeasure, his fat body even stirring up a current of air in the room.
Suddenly, as if having made up his mind, he spoke: “Perhaps you could find an opportunity to strip him of his military command?”
Connington thought for a moment and said, “I will give Cyrus appropriate advice, but stripping him of his command…
after all, he is the true commander.”
“Very well, then the prince’s safety rests entirely on you.”
The fat merchant, as if compromising, could only place all his hopes on Connington, and then prepared to leave. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
Who would have thought that just as he walked out the door, he remembered something and turned around to ask:
“Have you prepared armor for the prince?”
“Prepared.” Connington nodded, “Rest assured.”
“If you need better ones, I can send someone to purchase them.”
“With me by his side, you can rest easy.”
…
After various assurances and comforts, the three of them finally managed to send Illyrio off.
At this time, Septa Lemore placed her finger on her chin and spoke: “This Lord Illyrio really cares quite a lot about the prince.”
“He wants to become the master of coin of the Iron Throne,” Halfmaester Haldon said.
“But is a master of coin really more important than his own flesh and blood?
He seems to care more about the prince than his own biological son,” Septa Lemore said, looking at the two men.
Hearing her say this, Connington and Haldon only then realized that Illyrio’s reaction seemed somewhat abnormal.
“Perhaps he wants even more,” Haldon said with certainty.
“A master of coin cannot satisfy this merchant’s appetite; he might want a castle, or even to become a lord of a domain!”
Haldon’s mouth twitched into an arc of seeing through everything, looking extremely confident in his own deduction.
“Merchants, after all, aren’t they just aiming for huge profits with minimal investment?”
Haldon’s conclusion—Illyrio was acting, wanting to make everyone think he cared deeply about the prince, thereby gaining more chips when ‘Aegon’ rewarded those who rendered meritorious service.
However, Connington spoke up, interrupting their guesses.
“No matter what he actually wants, he is our only reliable friend in Pentos.
It was he who carefully raised the prince for several years, and it was he who delivered the prince to me.
Before helping the prince restore his kingdom, these matters are of no importance.”
…
In the room downstairs, Illyrio pressed his ear against a horn-shaped decoration, hearing the conversation of the three people crystal clear.