Gods Among Us | Game of Thrones

4

Outside Pentos 297 AC.

Jon Snow (Aerion Dayne)

"You cannot intervene with the marriage," his father had warned him. "There is too much that comes from this. What I have seen your sister accomplish after she receives those eggs." Jon had been furious at first, but then he had found the loophole in his father's command—perhaps R'hllor had realised that, too, for he'd told Jon to be careful with fickle things like prophecy. It seemed to him that that lesson was one his father had been trying to teach for years now.

Sadly for the Heart of Fire, Jon was also part Stark. And Starks were famous for looking for trouble.

Zephyr Targaryen married Khal Drogo with terror and barbaric splendour in a field beyond the walls of Pentos, for the Dothraki believed all things of importance in a man's life must be done beneath the open sky. Jon knew that Khalaka couldn't give a giant's hairy arse about those that worshipped him. It had been thousands of years since the god they called the Great Stallion had done anything for the mortals, or even for the other gods themselves.

Drogo had called his khalasar to attend him, forty thousand Dothraki warriors and uncounted numbers of women and children and slaves. Outside the city walls, they camped with their vast herds, raising palaces of woven grass, eating everything in sight, and making the good folk of Pentos more anxious with every passing day.

"The magisters had doubled the size of the city guards," Illyrio had told them over platters of honey duck and peppers one night at the manse that had been Khal Drogo's. The khal had joined his khalasar, his estate given over to Zephyr and her household until the wedding. He stole glances at Viserys' broken thumb, at the way the lizard glared at Dany and Jon with all the hatred in the world, but questioned it not.

"Best we get Princess Zephyr wedded quickly before they hand half the wealth of Pentos away to sellswords, bravos, and other, less tasteful creatures," Ser Jorah Mormont had said. The traitor had been given a choice—either Jon tore his head from his shoulders and presented it before Lord Eddard Stark, or he swore his services to Zephyr Targaryen for good and true. It was not a choice the exile could refuse.

Illyrio laughed lightly through his forked beard, but Viserys didn't so much as smile. "He can have her tomorrow, if he likes," the Beggar King said. He glanced over at Zephyr, and she lowered her eyes. "So long as he pays the price."

Illyrio waved a languid hand, rings glittering on his fat fingers. "I have told you, all is settled. Trust me. The khal made you a promise of a crown. And you shall have it."

"Yes, but when?"

"When the khal chooses," Illyrio said. "He will have the girl first, and father they are wed, he must take his procession across the plains and present her to the dosh khaleen at Vaes Dothrak. After that, perhaps. If the omens favour war."

Jon exchanged a glance with his smirking niece and huffed his amusement. Balerion did not favour any wars in any lands at the moment—not yet, but soon. He could feel his brother stirring, itching for entertainment. His sister hadn't been any better when he last spoke to them. By the knitting of Daenerys' brows, she must have seen there would be a mortal war sometime somewhere on his expression.

Viserys seethed with impatience. "I piss on Dothraki omens. The Usurper sits on my father's throne. How long must I wait?"

Illyrio shrugged massively. "You have waited most of your life, great king. What is another few months, a few years?"

Jorah Mormont nodded his agreement. "I counsel you to be patient, Your Grace. The Dothraki are true to their words, but they do things in their own time. A lesser man may beg a favour from the khal, but must never presume to berate him."