Game Of Thrones : Merchant of Two Worlds

Viserys Targaryen refused to listen to any explanations. All he wanted was an army—a force strong enough to help him reclaim Westeros and retake the Iron Throne that he believed rightfully belonged to his family.

"Are we just going to sit here, doing nothing?" Viserys snapped at Calyros Myrren, his voice rising in anger. "Do you expect me to wait while the usurper dies on the Iron Throne, only for his sons and daughters to replace him? Am I supposed to wait forever?" His violet eyes burned with frustration as he glared at the Pentoshi merchant.

Though Viserys knew Calyros Myrren wasn't entirely to blame, his anger boiled over, and he directed all of it at the man who had been his host and benefactor. Calyros Myrren, however, remained calm and unaffected, merely observing the outburst with mild disdain.

Inwardly, Calyros Myrren's opinion of Viserys dropped further. He began to wonder if his old friend Varys had made a mistake in choosing Viserys as a potential tool to restore House Targaryen.

"Don't worry, Your Grace,"Calyros Myrren said smoothly. He gestured for the servants to leave the room, ensuring their privacy before continuing. "While the forces of Pentos may not be strong enough, there are other powerful allies across Essos who could aid you."

Viserys' anger softened slightly, replaced by curiosity. "A powerful ally?" he asked eagerly, stepping closer. "Who? Where? How can I win their support?"

Illyrio's smile widened. "The Dothraki," he said. "Their mightiest leader, Khal Drogo, commands fifty thousand mounted warriors. His khalasar is the largest and strongest in the entire Dothraki Sea. If you secure his loyalty, he could lead his warriors across the Narrow Sea and help you take back your throne."

Viserys' eyes gleamed with hope. "Then arrange a meeting with this Khal Drogo," he said, his voice rising with excitement. "Whatever he wants—gold, women, anything—I'll give it to him if he agrees to help me reclaim the Iron Throne!"

Calyros Myrren raised a hand to temper Viserys' enthusiasm. "Khal Drogo is not a man easily swayed by ordinary offers. Wealth and common women will not impress him. You need something more valuable, something that will create a bond between your houses." His tone was deliberate, almost pointed.

Viserys frowned, momentarily confused, before realization dawned on him. His expression darkened. "You mean Daenerys," he said, his voice hesitant.

Calyros Myrren nodded. "A marriage alliance, Your Grace. If you offer your sister's hand to Khal Drogo, he will become your brother-in-law. His warriors will fight for you, and your dream of reclaiming the throne will become a reality."

Viserys hesitated, his pride warring with practicality. Daenerys was the last remaining princess of House Targaryen, the blood of the dragon. The thought of marrying her to a so-called barbarian leader made his stomach churn. But as he weighed the potential gains—tens of thousands of fierce warriors at his command—his resolve hardened.

"Very well," Viserys said, his voice firm. "Tell Khal Drogo that I, Viserys Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne and King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, will give him his sister's hand in marriage. In return, he must lend me his army to reclaim Westeros."

Illyrio inclined his head. "As you wish, Your Grace. I will make the necessary arrangements."

Satisfied, Viserys' mind raced with anticipation. He could already picture himself riding at the head of a vast army, marching to reclaim his birthright.

Meanwhile, Daenerys Targaryen wandered through the halls of Calyros Myrren's mansion, her silver hair glinting in the sunlight. she was a vision of ethereal beauty, with her soft silver hair, luminous violet eyes, and delicate features hinting at the stunning woman she would one day become.

When Viserys returned that day, Daenerys greeted him with a hopeful smile, eager for his attention. But he barely acknowledged her, too consumed by his grand plans. He waved her off, instructing her to look at the gifts Calyros Myrren had sent for them.

Daenerys' smile faltered. She missed the days when her brother was kinder, more attentive. But since their exile, Viserys had grown colder, more volatile. When he wasn't ignoring her, he often berated or struck her in his fits of frustration, leaving her too afraid to speak up.

Reluctantly, she turned to the gifts Calyros Myrren had provided. Among them were strange items said to come from a distant empire in the East: a gel pen, sheets of smooth white paper, and a bar of fragrant soap. The servant who presented them explained their uses before leaving her alone.

Daenerys picked up the gel pen, marveling at its design. She tested it on the white paper, her delicate hand gliding effortlessly across the surface. The pen required no dipping, and the ink flowed smoothly, far superior to the cumbersome quills she had used before.

Next, she examined the soap. Its scent was rich and floral, unlike anything she had encountered. Intrigued, she decided to try it immediately. With the help of a maid, she drew a bath and stepped into the warm water.

As she rubbed the soap over her pale skin, it lathered easily, washing away the dirt and sweat. The fragrance lingered on her, soothing and refreshing. When she stepped out of the bath, her skin felt clean and soft, and she couldn't help but smile.

"Viserys should try this," she thought. "He would like it."

While Daenerys enjoyed the small comforts provided by Calyros Myrren, Viserys remained fixated on his grand ambitions. His dreams of returning to Westeros consumed him, leaving little room for anything else. But for Daenerys, moments like these—writing with a gel pen, bathing with fragrant soap—were small escapes from the harsh reality of their lives.

Yet even these brief moments of peace couldn't shake the growing sense of unease within her. Deep down, she wondered what her brother's plans would mean for her future—and whether she would have any say in it at all.

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