The Prince that Was Promised (Kris/Chanyeol) 1/?
the prince that was promised [dance of the dragons] | krisyeol | pg-13-possible nc-17 later on | 6777 words (so far) | game of thrones au | tightly based on a song of ice and fire series, chanyeol of house arryn is sent to pentos
tw: mentions of rape, violence, gore, sexual themes, gender bias (this is based of game of thrones it's gonna be gritty, this might honestly be the safest chapter?)
nothing here belongs to me. a song of ice and fire belongs to satan in the flesh aka george r r martin and exo belongs to sm. free the slaves dany. I tried to put a spin on the story to avoid spoilers but just in case heavy asoiaf spoilers
notes explaining a song of ice and fire will be down below. *A Map of Westeros is your Friend
✿The sea was far too rough for Chanyeol’s first voyage. The Merry Volanqar rocked back and forth, causing him to lurch onto the deck, threatening to empty his stomach. You can’t vomit, he thought. You are a man grown, men do not vomit.
As he thought this, a hulking Meereenese sailor, twelve stone of rippling muscle and a drooping golden mustachio, doubled over and retched his morning breakfast of fish stew and onions, right by the mast. The sight alone made Chanyeol race to the edge and lean so far he nearly fell overboard to feed the fish. At least he made it to the railing.
Chanyeol had never seen the sea, even when his father, the current Hand of the King to His Grace of House Baratheon, moved to King’s Landing with his mother and his little brother. He was told the sea was a marvelous beauty, an endless expanse of blue and green; a mix of colors you’d only find on noble ladies’ dresses. It was wider than the Trident and deadlier too. Chanyeol ached to take a ship from the royal harbors to the faraway cities of Volantis and Braavos, places he’s only read about in books. He wanted to see the never-ending blue road that took him anywhere and everywhere. So far, the wind ripped at the sails, and the water was choppy and sprayed cold droplets in Chanyeol’s face. The sea was not Chanyeol’s favorite thing, he admitted.
But it’s taking me to Pentos, he thought. Lord Father has never been to Pentos, much less across the Narrow Sea. Why his father, the noble Hyunjin Arryn, told his eldest son that he was to cease being Lord Protector of the Vale and head to Pentos to attend to Magister Illyrio, and that his younger brother, Chinho, will be assuming the title of Lord Protector, Chanyeol would never know. He asked why he was leaving to such a strange and faraway place- he didn’t shame House Arryn, no? Chinho is eight, he’s too young to govern the Eyrie. He can barely swing a sword. The thought flashed through Chanyeol’s mind, but the manner in which his father instructed him to seek Illyrio told Chanyeol that he must obey with little question. His father’s letter seemed… concerning? Anything that concerned Lord Hyunjin Arryn was cause for alarm.
The voyage from Saltpans to Pentos would take a month, if the wind held. Chanyeol spent that time teaching himself as much Valyrian and its dialects as he could. He could pass for Bastard Valyrian, if he could, but he assumed the Magister spoke High Valyrian, something Chanyeol knew one word out of ten. Maester Colemon at the Eyrie taught him and Chinho High Valyrian, but the lessons never stuck. Chanyeol spent the evenings drinking watered down Arbor gold (something he heard that was supposed to be better than all the summer wines but tasted like spiced piss) with sailors from Yunkai, Braavos, and Westeros, picking up curses used from Dorne to Asshai, and vomiting Arbor Gold and stale bread on the boots of a tavern musician. Everyone vomited at least once on the ship every night. During the day he would watch some sailors fight with scimitars or their fists. Chanyeol’s skill with the blade almost matched the superb accuracy he had with a bow and arrow, but even he would admit he could never stand a chance with these sailors, no matter how strong he truly was.
Twenty-nine days passed and the sea had been calm and the wind pleasant. The vomiting has ceased on deck, and only below deck when they have drunk far too much wine. Chanyeol was tired of listening to the same stories from sailors about which whore they each fucked in some pleasure house in the bowels of Myr. He walked to the bow of the Merry Valonqar, looking out towards the tiny shapes in the distance.
“Is that a city?” He asked the nearest deck hand, who a runaway slave from Meereen, knew only Ghiscari and didn’t understand the Common Tongue. When Chanyeol pointed out to the land ahead, the deck hand shrugged, splaying his palms out in a fashion Chanyeol never understood. Three days later it proved to be Pentos itself, as the ship captain had promised Chanyeol. Even in the distance Chanyeol could see how beautiful and ancient the city looked. Expanses of trees foreign to him, all bearing fruit, shaded the bustling ports and bazaars. Chanyeol had half a mind to jump out the ship and swim to shore, but he held himself. A city! He thought. Brand new and not filled with piss-drunk sailors covered in vomit! He had almost forgotten what land looked like.
It felt like hours, but it was only minutes when the Merry Valonqar docked and the sailors began unloading goods and their belongings, which were mostly wine and the clothes on their back. Chanyeol was only permitted a trunk; either he’ll be heading back to Westeros soon or he’ll be granted new clothing once in Pentos, he would find out. When he learned all that he was to learn about his mission, maybe Chanyeol’s father would send a letter, asking for him to resume as Lord Protector of the Vale.
Chanyeol stumbled off the ship with his trunk, suddenly hit with the weight of where he was. Thousands of miles away from home, barred by the sea, and a limited knowledge of High Valyrian, nothing in Chanyeol’s life had ever prepared him to feel so small.
“Where are you headed?” The Common Tongue, which Chanyeol sparsely heard on his voyage, was heavily accented and came from the ship. The old ship captain, with his extravagant Tyroshi fashion had a crooked and rotted smile, but it was genuine and had character; Chanyeol always liked it for some reason.
“To Magister Illyrio?” The answer raised the ship captain’s gnarled eyebrows.
“Illyrio? You must truly be the son of a lord. A little lord like yourself, eh?”
“I’m not a little lord.” Chanyeol usually towered over many people in Westeros, and struggled to fit in his tiny cabin on the ship here.
“Of course. Luckily for you, Illyrio’s litter has arrived.” The captain pointed towards the entrance of the harbor.
The litter the captain mentioned was ornately made, gemstones embedded in glossy strong teak wood, with silver bolts, and carried by four strong men that Chanyeol hoped were not slaves. The litter made its way to the port, and stopped meters before Chanyeol. The litter descended slowly, until it rested on the ground. After a moment, an incredibly fat man with a golden beard oiled into three points like a trident and dyed a garish shade of yellow stepped out. The man was absolutely huge, how the four men could carry such a weight Chanyeol failed to fathom. He was dressed in a loose gold robe with heavily jeweled rings on each of his fat fingers. His jowls jiggled every time he took a step towards Chanyeol, but he walked as if he were a water dancer, his feet light on the ground and had a playful ring in his step. Men and women of all social statuses at the port bowed at the man’s presence, including the ship captain. Chanyeol hastily bowed his head until the man was two feet from him.
“Lord Chanyeol of House Arryn, I presume,” the fat man’s voice boomed with authority in flawless Common Tongue. This man had to be Illyrio.
“That I am, your….” What were the formal titles used in the Free Cities?
“Just call me Illyrio. Your lord father explained so much about you.” Chanyeol shakes his loose russet curls from his face, feeling his ears turn pink. “You’ve journeyed long and hard in such harsh conditions, I gather. Worry not, as one of the Magisters of Pentos, I, Illyrio Mopatis, will give you the comforts you’ve grown so dear back in Westeros.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Chanyeol straightened up and made a move to get his trunk, but one of the carriers of the litter quickly picked up his trunk and carried it into the litter, hurrying back to his position at the back of the litter.
“Did they carry you all the way from your house, my lord?” Chanyeol couldn’t help but ask.
Illyrio’s laughter rang out in a booming shout and guided Chanyeol into the litter. “No, I have horses, they’re just not permitted on the docks.” He turned and flipped a coin onto the ground that had the ship captain scrambling for the piece of silver. “It’s worth more than he makes in a month,” Illyrio explained when Chanyeol begun to ask.
The litter was basically a moving bed that could fit three of Illyrio comfortably. Expensive silks that even Chanyeol’s lady mother could never have dreamed of owning and ornately embroidered cushions surrounded the plush bedding. Chanyeol had never felt anything so comfortable in his life.
“I apologize for the lack of refreshments,” Illyrio commented as he poured a cup of wine from a gold flagon- where in the Seven did he get that? Chanyeol wondered- and handed it to Chanyeol. Chanyeol took a small sip. It was cool and sweet, and it took all of Chanyeol’s willpower not to swallow it in one gulp. A million times better than the piss Arbor gold he was given on the ship. “But it won’t be long until we reach my manse. A feast will be given in your honor.”
“My lord, how did you know my father?” Chanyeol asked.
“We have a mutual friend, a Lyseni eunuch by the name of Sehun. He serves as the Master of Whispers on the Small Council with your lord father. Sehun drew up an agreement between Lord Arryn and I that should the need arise I’d look after one of his sons. A debt to be repaid.”
“A need? Is something going to happen?” Why does he need looking after? He was two weeks shy of his sixteenth name day. He was a man grown. He watched over the Eyrie while his father was away with no incident. What was this man trying to tell him?
“You will return to Westeros one day, but a changed man for the better. Lord Arryn deemed it fit that the time is nigh you come.”
So many questions rattled through Chanyeol’s mind. Was House Arryn in danger? What is this Illyrio and why did his father send his eldest son across the Narrow Sea? What was the debt that needed to be repaid?
The only thing he could ask: “Are those slaves?” He blurted as the litter jostled and the wine in Chanyeol’s cup sloshed all over his best shirt.
Illyrio knew where this was headed. “It’s not like I have them whipped or gelded,” He explained, then added “servants, they are. Most of them runaway Astaporian or Meereenese, I give them food and lodging and they repay me with their loyal servitude.” And before Chanyeol could reply the litter was attached to a horse-drawn cart, and the litter took off once more. Illyrio began testing Chanyeol in High Valyrian (something Chanyeol hoped the Magister would wait until a few weeks have passed). After twenty minutes, Chanyeol got five questions right out of forty, and he felt so mortified that if the Doom of Valyria swallowed him that very minute, he would graciously accept it.
Illyrio wasn’t condescending. “Your accent is very good, Lord Chanyeol,” he complimented. “I understand the difficulties of learning a new tongue. I was like you when I learned the Common Tongue, but no worries. You will have plenty of time to master it, among other things.” Illyrio patiently taught Chanyeol the mistakes he made and Chanyeol made a note to never forget them.
The litter passed magnificent buildings and shantytowns, stores and brothels, until the houses grew farther apart and the blooming trees guided a path to a high iron gate.
“Ah, the orange trees are blooming splendidly,” Illyrio commented, breathing deep. His giant chest heaved. “Have you ever had an orange Chanyeol?”
“No my lord.”
“You’ll love them. Along with persimmons, blood oranges, and I am expecting a shipment of apples from the groves of Crakehall. My cooks make an excellent tart. You will be well fed.” Chanyeol hoped so, but looking at the myriad of jowls and the rolling fat from Illyrio’s robes, he hoped not so much.
Magister Illyrio’s manse was breathtaking. The Eyrie was bigger, Chanyeol guessed, but he had never seen anything so exquisite and beautifully built as this. Fountains of youthful naked boys performing questionable acts of sport spouted crystal water from stone fingertips. The entrance to the manse was carved out of solid marble and polished oak. The carriage stopped and the slaves helped Chanyeol out of the litter first, and spent several moments helping Illyrio haul himself out the litter, the carriage groaning at the sudden shift in weight.
Illyrio’s light-hearted step out-paced Chanyeol and bounded up the marble steps. A female servant was already prepared to open the great iron doors. Chanyeol didn’t forget to bow. Following the Magister, Chanyeol was overcome with the lush extravagance of the great halls and rooms that he barely registered Illyrio explaining the place.
“What precisely do you do, my lord?” Chanyeol interrupted. “Is a Magister the ruler of the city?”
Illyrio laughed. “Nonsense! I am mere member of the Magistrate. I deal in spices, cheeses, dragonbone, silks, secrets. Now, Quathi will show you to your quarters upstairs. Dinner will be served at dusk. I’m sure the long voyage has made you tired.” Chanyeol thought that a little rest would suffice.
“What will I be doing here?” Chanyeol asked as his trunk was hauled away to one of the many staircases.
“Learning proper High Valyrian, for instance. Exploring Pentos, learning about trade, shadowing under high officials in the Free Cities.”
“But why me?” But Illyrio already headed away, lightly dancing on the balls of his feet. Aforementioned shy young servant stood at the foot of the stairs. Quathi was a wiry-thin boy of thirteen with gray eyes and unruly curls that made Chanyeol’s hair look tame. Without a word, he guided Chanyeol down the well-lit corridors of the manse. One thing that differed greatly from the castles in Westeros to the manses in the Free Cities is the lighting. Everything seemed so grim and plain in Westeros compared to here. His room was the last one, with a balcony overlooking the fountain. The room, like the house that held it, was massive, far more massive than his back at home. The bed could fit Illyrio thrice over, and Chanyeol bet the mattress was stuffed with goose down. Chanyeol turned around to see if Quathi was still there, and he was, hands folded together and ready to do anything Chanyeol desired.
Chanyeol’s eyes softened. “Thank you.” He said in his best High Valyrian. Quathi stiffened and hurried out of the room, leaving Chanyeol confused. I didn’t curse him, no?
・
For the first three days Chanyeol roamed aimlessly around Pentos with Illyrio’s servants ready to attend to him, picking up the chatter of High Valyrian, Ghiscari, and Braavosi. Sometimes he heard the Common Tongue and he tried to look for the source, but the sea of hair dyed into outrageous colors and fabrics failed him to pick out any Westerosi. Maybe he just imagined it.
Illyrio had him take lessons of High Valyrian that lasted from early morning to midday, followed by a lavish meal of wild mushrooms sautéed in butter and roasted spicy dog, a delicacy from Meereen, all washed down with iced wine, and the lessons of Dothraki followed until dusk where Illyrio’s servants prepare a nine-course meal that Chanyeol could never get past course three, no matter how hard he tried.
Two weeks have passed; Chanyeol’s High Valyrian was still at an intermediate level. Constantly he asked if his mother or father have sent a letter asking about him. Illyrio would shake his large head, fat jowls jiggling, and stroke one of the points of his beard. “No word yet,” he would say. “Your father is very busy as Hand of the King, I’m sure. What’s the phrase- “The King shits, and the Hand wipes?”-I’m sure your lord father is busy governing the realm.” Illyrio would glide away, mentioning a shipment of dragonbone he sent to Evenfall Hall. The lessons would exhaust Chanyeol, and after stuffing as much rich morsels into his mouth and struggling off to bed, he would be far too tired to write a letter to his parents. Does my mother miss me? He thought as his eyes closed, hoping the night was long.
Nearly two months into his stay Illyrio mentioned something startling as they sat down to break their fast on a feast of lamb, Dornish peppers, and sweetcake. “An important personage is returning on the morrow,” He announced with his mouth full of sweetcake. “He went to Volantis on an errand, and I haven’t heard a word from him until this morning.” Despite the manner in which Illyrio conveyed this information, Chanyeol could see that this person made Illyrio apprehensive. Was the person dangerous or was he someone near and dear to Illyrio? A family member?
“Are you married, my lord?” The time Chanyeol spent with Illyrio and talked with him he never knew.
Illyrio shrugged his shoulders. “Alas, my lady wife died of the flux a long time ago. I never took another wife.”
“I’m sorry, my lord. I just thought, the person you mentioned…”
“Is a man. By the gods, Lord Arryn, haven’t you been listening?”
“Apologies my lord. Who is it?”
“Oh, I’ll explain all in due time.” Another thing he keeps from me. Chanyeol would rush through his lessons and skip dinner, even when his stomach gurgled in reproach. He took a sheaf of parchment and a quill and almost started writing in Valyrian, but caught himself and began
Father
How is mother? Is she still with you in King’s Landing? Is Chinho being counseled by Ser Vardis Egen? I know how much he looks up to the knight.
I am still unsure why you had me come to Pentos? How do you know this Illyrio Mopatis? He is generous, and far wealthier than His Grace himself, but what am I to do here? Is it something that I did wrong? Is House Arryn in danger?
If it please you, you and mother would be happy to know I am learning High Valyrian once more. I’m unsure why it is so important in Westeros, but I can converse with the people of Pentos, to an extent. Pentos is beautiful, father.
I miss you. I hope you’ll send word for me to return home.
-ChanyeolLetting the ink dry, Chanyeol put the quill down and quickly sent for wax and seal. On the morrow he’ll see if Illyrio could send it for him. Quathi came to Chanyeol’s room, a tray of aromatic food in his hands. Chanyeol learned that he wasn’t supposed to give the servants eye contact, and when Quathi set the tray down on his desk, he gave the boy a nod of approval, unsure if Quathi ever saw it. Chanyeol ate as quickly as he could, testing himself in Dothraki and pleased that he knew most of the words. Fatigue overcame him and he fell into bed with his spoon still in his hand, sleeping a dreamless sleep.
・
Out of the seven days in the week, four of them were filled with language lessons. Of the remaining three were free for him to roam Pentos, practice his marksmanship or his sword arm, or pray in his room. The Free Cities were a mix of religions, and Chanyeol has met many who worship the Seven, but he could never find a sept, nor were there any godswood in Pentos. He would sit in the manse’s garden, praying amongst the flowers and the sound of water flowing. It wasn’t the godswood, but it would do. Praying to the old gods made him feel whole, the one thread that kept him a Westerosi.
He finished praying and headed to the pavilion near the fountains when he saw a flash of blue from the window inside the manse. Curious, Chanyeol entered inside and headed to the main hall, where Illyrio was sitting, fat sprawling out of his scarlet robes, sipping iced wine. Illyrio didn’t seem to notice Chanyeol’s presence, as he was preoccupied with a tall blue haired man whose face was barred from view. They were speaking in rapid High Valyrian, Chanyeol catching a few words here and there.
“You’ve returned,” Illyrio rumbled, pleased and bit drunk, if Chanyeol could guess.
The blue haired man’s voice was deeper than Illyrio’s. “The journey took me to Qohor after a tip from a sellsword told me that the man would be there, but no such luck.”
“You never found him?”
“The man died from a tavern fight, skull caved in three years ago. He’s rotting in a mass grave in Qohor.”
“A shame, but I know you were in dire need of money. Do not blame yourself for selling it. When you go back, you’ll get a new one.” There was a consoling tone to his voice, and the blue haired man’s shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. The man turned and Chanyeol gets to see his face. While in the Free Cities, Chanyeol got to see a myriad of people with dyed hair of every color. It was absolutely comical that he felt it disrupted the natural beauty of their appearance, and it was something he wasn’t fond of, but this man’s face was so handsome that the blue hair and matching thick eyebrows enhanced the regal nature of his features. The thick blue eyebrows were neat and were set nicely above his black eyes. He was clean shaven and looked like he could never grow a beard in the first place. There was something ethereal and other worldly about the man that displaced Chanyeol, but also looked very familiar. The man raised his eyebrows at Chanyeol, confused as to why he was there.
Illyrio noticed Chanyeol’s presence. He labored in standing up from his chair, but when he did he skipped lightly to the two young men. “Ah, Chanyeol!” He said. “My personage has returned! And in a more brilliant shade of blue.” Chanyeol swore the blue haired man’s face twisted into a scowl at the words, even if he wasn’t sure if the man understood the Common Tongue. “This is another boy I’m looking after. A man with a fluid gift for High Valyrian.” He switched to High Valyrian and turned back to the blue man. “This is Lord Chanyeol, of House Arryn, son of Hyunjin Arryn, the Hand of the King, and Ascendant Lord Protector of the Vale, and Lady Lysa Tully, daughter to Lord Hoster Tully.”
The blue haired man’s eyes flicked up and down Chanyeol’s figure. The man was dressed plainly, dirt spattered across his boots, cloth pants and cotton shirt, but Chanyeol felt like a mere simpleton standing by him. He was taller than Chanyeol, a rarity especially in this region.
Chanyeol bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He greeted in his nicest Valyrian. Was the man a lord? He sure didn’t dress like one. The man grunted in response, and said something about “washing up” to Illyrio and headed up the stairs. Once the man was gone Chanyeol looked at Illyrio stroking his beard.
“Who was that my lord?”
“I will tell you in good time, my little lord.”
・
A month after the return of the blue haired man, Chanyeol still never learned his name. Illyrio and the High Valyrian tutor would occasionally call him Zaldrīzes, a word Chanyeol later translated as Dragon. The man had such a gift for High Valyrian; so fluid and poetic, that it made the tutor sound like a drunken tavern wench trying to sing. He was also well versed in the dialects of Volantis, Ghiscari, but never showed any interest in speaking the Common Tongue. In fact, Chanyeol was convinced Zaldrīzes couldn’t speak or understand the Common Tongue. The blue haired man never bothered to acknowledge Chanyeol’s presence, even when they sat next to each other in the halls or practiced their sword arm in the gardens.
“My lord,” Chanyeol started to say to him once in his best High Valyrian. “If I have ever slighted you, by the old gods and the new, I beg-“ The blue haired man just cuts him off in rapid High Valyrian that Chanyeol couldn’t comprehend, but from the tone of his voice, he assumed it wasn’t pleasant. Chanyeol learned to never speak to the man, despite all his wanting to.The months stretched and Chanyeol almost forgot that it’s been six months since he arrived in Pentos, and still heard no word from his family. Seven letters he had written, all he sent with a private raven. Unsure if Illyrio was secretly withholding all the ravens, or they were being shot down by enemy couriers, or the ravens couldn’t handle the flight from the Narrow Sea, Chanyeol had finally given up on contacting the Eyrie. He trusted that if his family were dead, Illyrio would tell him.“Where are your parents my lord?” Chanyeol caught himself asking the man while leaving their arithmetics lesson.
“My parents are dead.” The man said in curt High Valyrian. Chanyeol didn’t remind him that he asked the question in the Common Tongue.
・
Over a simple eight course meal outside on the veranda, Illyrio lounged lazily in his chair as he cracked the shell of a stone crab in his fist. He told Chanyeol and the blue haired man about his appearances with the Prince of Pentos, and the barrels of foods he received in shipment today. Chanyeol swallowed the questions about his letters reaching his family with a spoonful of wild vegetable soup from Norvos.
“Lord Arryn,” Illyrio started. “What do you know about the House Targaryen?” Where did that question come from? The blue haired man, who had been silent the whole meal, noticeably tensed and set his fork down.
Chanyeol cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. “The noble House Targaryen ruled the Seven Kingdoms for over three hundred years,” he began. “They were the only House to ever control and ride dragons. They believed in keeping their bloodline pure, so it was common for a brother to marry their sister.”
“What do you know about the sack of King’s Landing, and the overthrowing of King Aerys II?”
“The Mad King?” Chanyeol blurted. The blue haired man chewed on his bread so hard Chanyeol swore he could hear his teeth grinding. “I don’t know much, my lord. I was born after His Grace of House Baratheon became King after Aerys. My father and Lord Stark of Winterfell helped The Baratheons sack the city with the Lannisters. All my maester ever explained about the Mad King was that he was insane, paranoid, and enjoyed watching anyone and everyone burn alive.” The blue haired man’s black eyes shone in the lamplight, and Chanyeol thought he saw a flash of violet in the eyes, but accounted that to the amount of wine he drank.
Illyrio nodded. “I’m sure he told you about the killing of the Targaryen children. Prince Rhaegar, his wife Elia of House Martell, their children, and the little prince.” He added. Chanyeol nodded.
“Aye, the little prince was only two when he was killed. I never understood it. My lord father thought what the Baratheons ordered was too extreme. I mean, the King was mad, but his family was victim just as much as the Seven Kingdoms were. The Baratheons called the killing of the children war, but Lord Stark and my father called it murder.”
“Do you agree with them?”
“I do. I believe the Targaryens could still be trusted.” There was something sad about the way the man poked at his food that Chanyeol wanted to ask what was wrong, but he refrained. “Why do you ask about my opinion about the Targaryens, my lord?”
“I am curious about many things, Lord Arryn.” Illyrio slurped at his soup and asked for the fifth course, ignoring how Chanyeol barely finished course two.
The evening meal continued for another hour before the man excused himself to go to his quarters. He stalked off, his plate of goat and figs untouched. Chanyeol struggled through course four as Illyrio continued to talk about the matters of Pentos and trade relations to Lys.
“My lord,” Chanyeol interrupted. “The blue haired man, who is he really? I’ve lived in this manse for months without knowing his name or where he comes from.”
“Oh, I promised you I would tell you who he is, later perhaps. He is a mere lad from an ancient noble family, nothing more.
“But speaking of him, I need your help on a matter dealing with him.” Chanyeol leaned closer, braving the stench of Illyrio’s flesh underneath his heavy perfumes.
“The khalasar of Dothraki leader Khal Bharqo is coming on the eve of the Summer Moon. The Khal is an unmatched fighter, with a khalasar of forty thousand horse lords under his command. He’s outlived his three wives, all failing to give him sons or daughters. Unfortunately his health has deteriorated as of late, and will not live to see the Winter come. But, the khalasar will live on his name.”
“What does this have to do with the blue haired man?”
“Khal Bharqo has young sister, a maiden of seven-and-ten, flowered and pure. We both came to an agreement that if the young Irizhea marries the blue haired lord, Khal Bharqo will die knowing his khalasar will be led by nobility.”
“Aren’t the Dothraki savages?”
“Not if you fail to understand their culture. They’re nomads, and all of them are seasoned fighters. Khal Bharqo has heard about the blue lord and as an ambitious Khal he wants Irizhea and the khalasar to reave and rape and destroy places the Dothraki has never set foot before.”
“And where do I come in, my lord?”
“Your skill in the Dothraki language is very extensive, Lord Arryn. I want you to be the ward of the blue lord, translating for him, teaching him Dothraki, and looking out for him.”
“With all due respect, Lord Mopatis, I am a Lord of the Eyrie, not some ward or servant to someone I do not know.” Chanyeol was a little offended. Just who does Illyrio think he was?
“It is something beyond your control, Lord Arryn. This is what your father sent you here for.” The mention of his father calmed Chanyeol down. “Who knows? The blue lord could send you back to Westeros with full accolades. He plans to go there, for sure.”
“What business does he have in Westeros?”
“That you’ll have to ask him, but in the meantime, we’ll need to prepare for the arrival of the khalasar and a Dothraki wedding. I have never fed forty thousand people at once before, but I suppose there is a first time is for everything.” Illyrio heaves himself up, and announces he’s going to make water and turn in for the night. When he left, Chanyeol finally left the table and headed to his room, and nearly bumped into the servants. He learned about the Dothraki when he was a child, about how the men would rape village women and take them and their children as slaves, how they drink the blood of their horses; their barbaric rituals. Chanyeol liked to keep an open mind, but the prospect of treating with a culture he only read in stories unsettled him. Don’t they kill men just for looking at them weird? I’m no match for a Dothraki screamer. He stumbled into bed, not bothering to shed out of his finery. His dreams were filled with grass seas, horses, and dragons arcing through the sky, spewing fire.
・
The eve of the Summer Moon came faster than Chanyeol anticipated. The days in Pentos stretched long, the heat sweltering and unbearable. Chanyeol’s comfortable lifestyle made him unable to practice out in the heat like he used to, something he found that made him weak. He was sure the Dothraki would spot that and kill him for his softness, and Chanyeol forwent eating and practiced his sword arm and marksmanship more than usual. He saw less of the blue haired lord; Illyrio explained he was getting ready to be inspected by the Khal and his Blood Riders. The language and arithmetics lessons stopped; Illyrio had Chanyeol memorize Dothraki customs and train in treating with the khalasar. He learned to be open and courteous, to wear his sword to show his capable status as a warrior, and even horseback riding, something he hasn’t done since his trip to Saltpans. The thought of the blue lord marrying into the Dothraki tribe still puzzled Chanyeol, as there was nothing to gain from this move except for violence, bloodshed, and death. Still, Illyrio insisted the blue lord was filled with worth and power beyond Chanyeol’s capability of imagining, and Chanyeol swallowed his apprehension, and by the end of the month he mastered the ways of the Dothraki.
The morning of Khal Bharqo’s arrival had Chanyeol out of bed and into the scalding water in the baths, furiously scrubbed from head to toe by the servants. He was anointed with scented oils and the servant girls tried to tackle the mess of curls on his head, but it was more a fruitless toil; his hair simply refused to keep straight. Am I the one getting married today? Chanyeol thought bitterly as they tugged on his hair so hard he was sure to be bald after the end of the washing. The servants dried him thoroughly and laid out his best finery: a black velvet doublet with his house sigil of the falcon over a white moon, with dark grey breeches and fine boots made of soft supple leather. A feast of apple tarts, hens stuffed with oats and wild rice, and a variety of fish from the shores of Essos was laid out in the kitchens for Chanyeol and the blue haired lord to break their fast, but the lord was not there when Chanyeol arrived. He nibbled here and there, swallowing everything down with water, and heading out to go polish his sword. The Khal wouldn’t arrive until before midday, but the Dothraki weren’t known for their punctuality. Chanyeol had to wait by the gates of the manse, even if it the Khal never arrived until evening.
Illyrio approached Chanyeol just as Chanyeol’s knees were starting to ache and his feet started to sweat in his boots. He shook his curls out of his face for the hundredth time, nose curling when he smelled the stench of Illyrio’s sagging flesh through the scented oils.
Illyrio stroked his golden beard. “Dothraki aren’t known for their punctuality, I’m afraid,” he cut through the silence. “But I assure you it won’t be long.” Chanyeol didn’t have a reply; he merely nodded.
“But it is such a beautiful day for a Dothraki wedding! The birds are chirping, not a cloud in the sky, the trees bearing fruit-“ He stopped and he stood at attention. “Do you hear that?” He said.
Chanyeol listened closely; a slight rumble in the distance could be heard. It was getting nearer, and he hoped it was the khalasar.
“Horse hooves!” Illyrio chirped. “Well we didn’t wait too long, didn’t we?”
“Where’s the blue lord?” If the groom wasn’t out to greet the Khal and his future bride, the Khal would take it as a slight, and Chanyeol hoped that if the Khal were to kill him, it would be quick and seamless.
Illyrio waved at the question. “Getting ready. He’ll be out shortly.”
The horses came into view and Chanyeol counted five of them. They were magnificent and fearsome looking beasts, galloping gracefully towards the gate. Chanyeol felt a jolt of jealousy; he’d never been able to ride so smoothly like that. Two black horses flanked the sides of a horse of a deep red. When they came to the gate and approached Illyrio and Chanyeol, Chanyeol could get a perfect look at the Khal. He was surrounded by two of his Blood Riders, two equally strong and ferocious looking men with matching long braids that reached their shoulder, but Khal Bharqo was a hulking warrior, shirtless with blue war paint across his strong chest. His braid descended down to his thigh, and his beard frazzled with grey. Coal black eyes were steely and unflinching, even when Chanyeol could see the horrendous red spots flushing all over the Khal’s body. He nearly forgot the Khal was ailing.
Remembering his courtesies, he bowed graciously and opened out his arms in welcome. “My great Khal!” He said in perfect Dothraki. “We are honored you have arrived in Pentos. I am humbled to be in your powerful presence.” Silence. Did I say something wrong? The Khal didn’t look offended or like he wanted to lop Chanyeol’s head off, but Chanyeol was never the best at reading people.
“Are you the Prince that Was Promised?” Said one of Khal Bharqo’s Blood Riders asked, while the other one spat at the ground. He must mean the blue lord.
“I am not the one with the honor of marrying Irizhea,” Chanyeol replied. “The lord who is preparing himself for the Khal’s sister.”
The Blood Rider chuckled. “A man who primps and perfumes is no true man,” he said to Bharqo. “If he wanted to prepare himself for Irizhea, he would’ve killed his little lord with no hesitation.” So much for them liking me, Chanyeol thought.
Khal Bharqo shrugged, something Chanyeol was sure was very unlike a Khal. He muttered something to his Blood Riders, who reared their horses back and allowed the other two horses to show their riders. The first one was a small woman who looked to be four-and-twenty, plainly dressed in leathers and goat skins and not bad to look upon the eyes, but the woman next to her was clearly a dazzling beauty. “My lady Irizhea,” Chanyeol breathed, bowing once more. Irizhea had the same strength in her eyes like her elder brother, but her soft face dimmed the harshness. Her long black hair billowed past her shoulders, her skin unblemished. Chanyeol hoped the gods would forgive him for looking, but he noted Irizhea great hips and breasts, perfect for bearing children, should they consummate the marriage. They are going to consummate, no? Irizhea was so beautiful Chanyeol believed the blue lord, despite his handsome face, was no match for her radiance. “Your beauty silences the greatest storms, and humbles us to our knees.” He read in a book that the Dothraki women took that as a compliment, and he meant it.
The lady Irizhea’s laughter bubbled out like the sweetest music, and Chanyeol held back a sigh. “You honor me, my lord.” She made the harshest Dothraki sound like sweet High Valyrian. “Are you not the one who will wed me?”
“Afraid not, my lady,” Illyrio said, surprising Chanyeol with his fluent Dothraki. “I’m sure the noble House Arryn would be suitable for a sweetling as yourself, but the lord you’ll be wed to is-“ Illyrio chanced to look at the entrance to the manse, his tone changed. “Speak of that! Your husband-to-be has arrived!” He gestured to the doors.
Chanyeol looked to the blue haired lord, but was astonished to see the blue haired lord was no longer blue haired. He finally washed the blue dye out, and despite the slight tinges of blue still in his hair and eyebrows, his true hair was a shining pale spun gold. He was dressed in a black silk doublet, buttoned loose with fine black breeches and boots. A silver rapier hung on his belt, and Chanyeol noted the sigil of a crimson three-headed dragon embroidered on his breast. The lord looked up, and his eyes weren’t black, but a bright violet.
“By the Seven,” Chanyeol breathed. Could it be?
“My lords and ladies,” Illyrio announced. “May I present to you Yifan Targaryen of Dragonstone, the First of His Name. Son of Aerys II and Rhaella. The true King of the Andals, The Rhoynar, and The First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and the true Protector of the Realm.”
-King's Landing is one of the largest ports in Westeros and is by the sea
-it hasn't been explained what a Magister is; either they are actual city officials or just the wealthiest people in the city. But there is a Prince in Pentos, he's just never mentioned. I mention often how Illyrio is drinking iced wine. Unless you live in the far North ice can't be made in the Free Cities or in most of Westeros. you have to be filthy rich or a king to get ice. that's how wealthy Illyrio is
-I meant to make Minseok Illyrio but I love Illyrio so darn much I just want to keep him
-Minseok is a Stark he's the wolf in my heart you feel me
-I made Chanyeol House Arryn because their sigil is a bird. Chanyeol's form is the phoenix
-Kris is House Targaryen for the most obvious reason: it's a dragon
-Kris is not modeled after Viserys, but more or less Daenerys, Aegon VI, and Aemon. I sympathize with Viserys, but I hate him what an ass
-There are 9-19 different dialects of Valyrian. noble lords and ladies learn High Valyrian. Every Targaryen has had a High Valyrian name
-George R R Martin is Satan in the flesh because every character you love in his stories end up dying or horribly humiliated or disfigured
-Game of Thrones is nothing but pain
-WHY IS THIS NOT DOUBLE SPACED YOU PIECE OF SHIT
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chapter two
tw: mentions of rape, violence, gore, sexual themes, gender bias (this is based of game of thrones it's gonna be gritty, this might honestly be the safest chapter?)
nothing here belongs to me. a song of ice and fire belongs to satan in the flesh aka george r r martin and exo belongs to sm. free the slaves dany. I tried to put a spin on the story to avoid spoilers but just in case heavy asoiaf spoilers
notes explaining a song of ice and fire will be down below. *A Map of Westeros is your Friend
✿The sea was far too rough for Chanyeol’s first voyage. The Merry Volanqar rocked back and forth, causing him to lurch onto the deck, threatening to empty his stomach. You can’t vomit, he thought. You are a man grown, men do not vomit.
As he thought this, a hulking Meereenese sailor, twelve stone of rippling muscle and a drooping golden mustachio, doubled over and retched his morning breakfast of fish stew and onions, right by the mast. The sight alone made Chanyeol race to the edge and lean so far he nearly fell overboard to feed the fish. At least he made it to the railing.
Chanyeol had never seen the sea, even when his father, the current Hand of the King to His Grace of House Baratheon, moved to King’s Landing with his mother and his little brother. He was told the sea was a marvelous beauty, an endless expanse of blue and green; a mix of colors you’d only find on noble ladies’ dresses. It was wider than the Trident and deadlier too. Chanyeol ached to take a ship from the royal harbors to the faraway cities of Volantis and Braavos, places he’s only read about in books. He wanted to see the never-ending blue road that took him anywhere and everywhere. So far, the wind ripped at the sails, and the water was choppy and sprayed cold droplets in Chanyeol’s face. The sea was not Chanyeol’s favorite thing, he admitted.
But it’s taking me to Pentos, he thought. Lord Father has never been to Pentos, much less across the Narrow Sea. Why his father, the noble Hyunjin Arryn, told his eldest son that he was to cease being Lord Protector of the Vale and head to Pentos to attend to Magister Illyrio, and that his younger brother, Chinho, will be assuming the title of Lord Protector, Chanyeol would never know. He asked why he was leaving to such a strange and faraway place- he didn’t shame House Arryn, no? Chinho is eight, he’s too young to govern the Eyrie. He can barely swing a sword. The thought flashed through Chanyeol’s mind, but the manner in which his father instructed him to seek Illyrio told Chanyeol that he must obey with little question. His father’s letter seemed… concerning? Anything that concerned Lord Hyunjin Arryn was cause for alarm.
The voyage from Saltpans to Pentos would take a month, if the wind held. Chanyeol spent that time teaching himself as much Valyrian and its dialects as he could. He could pass for Bastard Valyrian, if he could, but he assumed the Magister spoke High Valyrian, something Chanyeol knew one word out of ten. Maester Colemon at the Eyrie taught him and Chinho High Valyrian, but the lessons never stuck. Chanyeol spent the evenings drinking watered down Arbor gold (something he heard that was supposed to be better than all the summer wines but tasted like spiced piss) with sailors from Yunkai, Braavos, and Westeros, picking up curses used from Dorne to Asshai, and vomiting Arbor Gold and stale bread on the boots of a tavern musician. Everyone vomited at least once on the ship every night. During the day he would watch some sailors fight with scimitars or their fists. Chanyeol’s skill with the blade almost matched the superb accuracy he had with a bow and arrow, but even he would admit he could never stand a chance with these sailors, no matter how strong he truly was.
Twenty-nine days passed and the sea had been calm and the wind pleasant. The vomiting has ceased on deck, and only below deck when they have drunk far too much wine. Chanyeol was tired of listening to the same stories from sailors about which whore they each fucked in some pleasure house in the bowels of Myr. He walked to the bow of the Merry Valonqar, looking out towards the tiny shapes in the distance.
“Is that a city?” He asked the nearest deck hand, who a runaway slave from Meereen, knew only Ghiscari and didn’t understand the Common Tongue. When Chanyeol pointed out to the land ahead, the deck hand shrugged, splaying his palms out in a fashion Chanyeol never understood. Three days later it proved to be Pentos itself, as the ship captain had promised Chanyeol. Even in the distance Chanyeol could see how beautiful and ancient the city looked. Expanses of trees foreign to him, all bearing fruit, shaded the bustling ports and bazaars. Chanyeol had half a mind to jump out the ship and swim to shore, but he held himself. A city! He thought. Brand new and not filled with piss-drunk sailors covered in vomit! He had almost forgotten what land looked like.
It felt like hours, but it was only minutes when the Merry Valonqar docked and the sailors began unloading goods and their belongings, which were mostly wine and the clothes on their back. Chanyeol was only permitted a trunk; either he’ll be heading back to Westeros soon or he’ll be granted new clothing once in Pentos, he would find out. When he learned all that he was to learn about his mission, maybe Chanyeol’s father would send a letter, asking for him to resume as Lord Protector of the Vale.
Chanyeol stumbled off the ship with his trunk, suddenly hit with the weight of where he was. Thousands of miles away from home, barred by the sea, and a limited knowledge of High Valyrian, nothing in Chanyeol’s life had ever prepared him to feel so small.
“Where are you headed?” The Common Tongue, which Chanyeol sparsely heard on his voyage, was heavily accented and came from the ship. The old ship captain, with his extravagant Tyroshi fashion had a crooked and rotted smile, but it was genuine and had character; Chanyeol always liked it for some reason.
“To Magister Illyrio?” The answer raised the ship captain’s gnarled eyebrows.
“Illyrio? You must truly be the son of a lord. A little lord like yourself, eh?”
“I’m not a little lord.” Chanyeol usually towered over many people in Westeros, and struggled to fit in his tiny cabin on the ship here.
“Of course. Luckily for you, Illyrio’s litter has arrived.” The captain pointed towards the entrance of the harbor.
The litter the captain mentioned was ornately made, gemstones embedded in glossy strong teak wood, with silver bolts, and carried by four strong men that Chanyeol hoped were not slaves. The litter made its way to the port, and stopped meters before Chanyeol. The litter descended slowly, until it rested on the ground. After a moment, an incredibly fat man with a golden beard oiled into three points like a trident and dyed a garish shade of yellow stepped out. The man was absolutely huge, how the four men could carry such a weight Chanyeol failed to fathom. He was dressed in a loose gold robe with heavily jeweled rings on each of his fat fingers. His jowls jiggled every time he took a step towards Chanyeol, but he walked as if he were a water dancer, his feet light on the ground and had a playful ring in his step. Men and women of all social statuses at the port bowed at the man’s presence, including the ship captain. Chanyeol hastily bowed his head until the man was two feet from him.
“Lord Chanyeol of House Arryn, I presume,” the fat man’s voice boomed with authority in flawless Common Tongue. This man had to be Illyrio.
“That I am, your….” What were the formal titles used in the Free Cities?
“Just call me Illyrio. Your lord father explained so much about you.” Chanyeol shakes his loose russet curls from his face, feeling his ears turn pink. “You’ve journeyed long and hard in such harsh conditions, I gather. Worry not, as one of the Magisters of Pentos, I, Illyrio Mopatis, will give you the comforts you’ve grown so dear back in Westeros.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Chanyeol straightened up and made a move to get his trunk, but one of the carriers of the litter quickly picked up his trunk and carried it into the litter, hurrying back to his position at the back of the litter.
“Did they carry you all the way from your house, my lord?” Chanyeol couldn’t help but ask.
Illyrio’s laughter rang out in a booming shout and guided Chanyeol into the litter. “No, I have horses, they’re just not permitted on the docks.” He turned and flipped a coin onto the ground that had the ship captain scrambling for the piece of silver. “It’s worth more than he makes in a month,” Illyrio explained when Chanyeol begun to ask.
The litter was basically a moving bed that could fit three of Illyrio comfortably. Expensive silks that even Chanyeol’s lady mother could never have dreamed of owning and ornately embroidered cushions surrounded the plush bedding. Chanyeol had never felt anything so comfortable in his life.
“I apologize for the lack of refreshments,” Illyrio commented as he poured a cup of wine from a gold flagon- where in the Seven did he get that? Chanyeol wondered- and handed it to Chanyeol. Chanyeol took a small sip. It was cool and sweet, and it took all of Chanyeol’s willpower not to swallow it in one gulp. A million times better than the piss Arbor gold he was given on the ship. “But it won’t be long until we reach my manse. A feast will be given in your honor.”
“My lord, how did you know my father?” Chanyeol asked.
“We have a mutual friend, a Lyseni eunuch by the name of Sehun. He serves as the Master of Whispers on the Small Council with your lord father. Sehun drew up an agreement between Lord Arryn and I that should the need arise I’d look after one of his sons. A debt to be repaid.”
“A need? Is something going to happen?” Why does he need looking after? He was two weeks shy of his sixteenth name day. He was a man grown. He watched over the Eyrie while his father was away with no incident. What was this man trying to tell him?
“You will return to Westeros one day, but a changed man for the better. Lord Arryn deemed it fit that the time is nigh you come.”
So many questions rattled through Chanyeol’s mind. Was House Arryn in danger? What is this Illyrio and why did his father send his eldest son across the Narrow Sea? What was the debt that needed to be repaid?
The only thing he could ask: “Are those slaves?” He blurted as the litter jostled and the wine in Chanyeol’s cup sloshed all over his best shirt.
Illyrio knew where this was headed. “It’s not like I have them whipped or gelded,” He explained, then added “servants, they are. Most of them runaway Astaporian or Meereenese, I give them food and lodging and they repay me with their loyal servitude.” And before Chanyeol could reply the litter was attached to a horse-drawn cart, and the litter took off once more. Illyrio began testing Chanyeol in High Valyrian (something Chanyeol hoped the Magister would wait until a few weeks have passed). After twenty minutes, Chanyeol got five questions right out of forty, and he felt so mortified that if the Doom of Valyria swallowed him that very minute, he would graciously accept it.
Illyrio wasn’t condescending. “Your accent is very good, Lord Chanyeol,” he complimented. “I understand the difficulties of learning a new tongue. I was like you when I learned the Common Tongue, but no worries. You will have plenty of time to master it, among other things.” Illyrio patiently taught Chanyeol the mistakes he made and Chanyeol made a note to never forget them.
The litter passed magnificent buildings and shantytowns, stores and brothels, until the houses grew farther apart and the blooming trees guided a path to a high iron gate.
“Ah, the orange trees are blooming splendidly,” Illyrio commented, breathing deep. His giant chest heaved. “Have you ever had an orange Chanyeol?”
“No my lord.”
“You’ll love them. Along with persimmons, blood oranges, and I am expecting a shipment of apples from the groves of Crakehall. My cooks make an excellent tart. You will be well fed.” Chanyeol hoped so, but looking at the myriad of jowls and the rolling fat from Illyrio’s robes, he hoped not so much.
Magister Illyrio’s manse was breathtaking. The Eyrie was bigger, Chanyeol guessed, but he had never seen anything so exquisite and beautifully built as this. Fountains of youthful naked boys performing questionable acts of sport spouted crystal water from stone fingertips. The entrance to the manse was carved out of solid marble and polished oak. The carriage stopped and the slaves helped Chanyeol out of the litter first, and spent several moments helping Illyrio haul himself out the litter, the carriage groaning at the sudden shift in weight.
Illyrio’s light-hearted step out-paced Chanyeol and bounded up the marble steps. A female servant was already prepared to open the great iron doors. Chanyeol didn’t forget to bow. Following the Magister, Chanyeol was overcome with the lush extravagance of the great halls and rooms that he barely registered Illyrio explaining the place.
“What precisely do you do, my lord?” Chanyeol interrupted. “Is a Magister the ruler of the city?”
Illyrio laughed. “Nonsense! I am mere member of the Magistrate. I deal in spices, cheeses, dragonbone, silks, secrets. Now, Quathi will show you to your quarters upstairs. Dinner will be served at dusk. I’m sure the long voyage has made you tired.” Chanyeol thought that a little rest would suffice.
“What will I be doing here?” Chanyeol asked as his trunk was hauled away to one of the many staircases.
“Learning proper High Valyrian, for instance. Exploring Pentos, learning about trade, shadowing under high officials in the Free Cities.”
“But why me?” But Illyrio already headed away, lightly dancing on the balls of his feet. Aforementioned shy young servant stood at the foot of the stairs. Quathi was a wiry-thin boy of thirteen with gray eyes and unruly curls that made Chanyeol’s hair look tame. Without a word, he guided Chanyeol down the well-lit corridors of the manse. One thing that differed greatly from the castles in Westeros to the manses in the Free Cities is the lighting. Everything seemed so grim and plain in Westeros compared to here. His room was the last one, with a balcony overlooking the fountain. The room, like the house that held it, was massive, far more massive than his back at home. The bed could fit Illyrio thrice over, and Chanyeol bet the mattress was stuffed with goose down. Chanyeol turned around to see if Quathi was still there, and he was, hands folded together and ready to do anything Chanyeol desired.
Chanyeol’s eyes softened. “Thank you.” He said in his best High Valyrian. Quathi stiffened and hurried out of the room, leaving Chanyeol confused. I didn’t curse him, no?
・
For the first three days Chanyeol roamed aimlessly around Pentos with Illyrio’s servants ready to attend to him, picking up the chatter of High Valyrian, Ghiscari, and Braavosi. Sometimes he heard the Common Tongue and he tried to look for the source, but the sea of hair dyed into outrageous colors and fabrics failed him to pick out any Westerosi. Maybe he just imagined it.
Illyrio had him take lessons of High Valyrian that lasted from early morning to midday, followed by a lavish meal of wild mushrooms sautéed in butter and roasted spicy dog, a delicacy from Meereen, all washed down with iced wine, and the lessons of Dothraki followed until dusk where Illyrio’s servants prepare a nine-course meal that Chanyeol could never get past course three, no matter how hard he tried.
Two weeks have passed; Chanyeol’s High Valyrian was still at an intermediate level. Constantly he asked if his mother or father have sent a letter asking about him. Illyrio would shake his large head, fat jowls jiggling, and stroke one of the points of his beard. “No word yet,” he would say. “Your father is very busy as Hand of the King, I’m sure. What’s the phrase- “The King shits, and the Hand wipes?”-I’m sure your lord father is busy governing the realm.” Illyrio would glide away, mentioning a shipment of dragonbone he sent to Evenfall Hall. The lessons would exhaust Chanyeol, and after stuffing as much rich morsels into his mouth and struggling off to bed, he would be far too tired to write a letter to his parents. Does my mother miss me? He thought as his eyes closed, hoping the night was long.
Nearly two months into his stay Illyrio mentioned something startling as they sat down to break their fast on a feast of lamb, Dornish peppers, and sweetcake. “An important personage is returning on the morrow,” He announced with his mouth full of sweetcake. “He went to Volantis on an errand, and I haven’t heard a word from him until this morning.” Despite the manner in which Illyrio conveyed this information, Chanyeol could see that this person made Illyrio apprehensive. Was the person dangerous or was he someone near and dear to Illyrio? A family member?
“Are you married, my lord?” The time Chanyeol spent with Illyrio and talked with him he never knew.
Illyrio shrugged his shoulders. “Alas, my lady wife died of the flux a long time ago. I never took another wife.”
“I’m sorry, my lord. I just thought, the person you mentioned…”
“Is a man. By the gods, Lord Arryn, haven’t you been listening?”
“Apologies my lord. Who is it?”
“Oh, I’ll explain all in due time.” Another thing he keeps from me. Chanyeol would rush through his lessons and skip dinner, even when his stomach gurgled in reproach. He took a sheaf of parchment and a quill and almost started writing in Valyrian, but caught himself and began
Father
How is mother? Is she still with you in King’s Landing? Is Chinho being counseled by Ser Vardis Egen? I know how much he looks up to the knight.
I am still unsure why you had me come to Pentos? How do you know this Illyrio Mopatis? He is generous, and far wealthier than His Grace himself, but what am I to do here? Is it something that I did wrong? Is House Arryn in danger?
If it please you, you and mother would be happy to know I am learning High Valyrian once more. I’m unsure why it is so important in Westeros, but I can converse with the people of Pentos, to an extent. Pentos is beautiful, father.
I miss you. I hope you’ll send word for me to return home.
-ChanyeolLetting the ink dry, Chanyeol put the quill down and quickly sent for wax and seal. On the morrow he’ll see if Illyrio could send it for him. Quathi came to Chanyeol’s room, a tray of aromatic food in his hands. Chanyeol learned that he wasn’t supposed to give the servants eye contact, and when Quathi set the tray down on his desk, he gave the boy a nod of approval, unsure if Quathi ever saw it. Chanyeol ate as quickly as he could, testing himself in Dothraki and pleased that he knew most of the words. Fatigue overcame him and he fell into bed with his spoon still in his hand, sleeping a dreamless sleep.
・
Out of the seven days in the week, four of them were filled with language lessons. Of the remaining three were free for him to roam Pentos, practice his marksmanship or his sword arm, or pray in his room. The Free Cities were a mix of religions, and Chanyeol has met many who worship the Seven, but he could never find a sept, nor were there any godswood in Pentos. He would sit in the manse’s garden, praying amongst the flowers and the sound of water flowing. It wasn’t the godswood, but it would do. Praying to the old gods made him feel whole, the one thread that kept him a Westerosi.
He finished praying and headed to the pavilion near the fountains when he saw a flash of blue from the window inside the manse. Curious, Chanyeol entered inside and headed to the main hall, where Illyrio was sitting, fat sprawling out of his scarlet robes, sipping iced wine. Illyrio didn’t seem to notice Chanyeol’s presence, as he was preoccupied with a tall blue haired man whose face was barred from view. They were speaking in rapid High Valyrian, Chanyeol catching a few words here and there.
“You’ve returned,” Illyrio rumbled, pleased and bit drunk, if Chanyeol could guess.
The blue haired man’s voice was deeper than Illyrio’s. “The journey took me to Qohor after a tip from a sellsword told me that the man would be there, but no such luck.”
“You never found him?”
“The man died from a tavern fight, skull caved in three years ago. He’s rotting in a mass grave in Qohor.”
“A shame, but I know you were in dire need of money. Do not blame yourself for selling it. When you go back, you’ll get a new one.” There was a consoling tone to his voice, and the blue haired man’s shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. The man turned and Chanyeol gets to see his face. While in the Free Cities, Chanyeol got to see a myriad of people with dyed hair of every color. It was absolutely comical that he felt it disrupted the natural beauty of their appearance, and it was something he wasn’t fond of, but this man’s face was so handsome that the blue hair and matching thick eyebrows enhanced the regal nature of his features. The thick blue eyebrows were neat and were set nicely above his black eyes. He was clean shaven and looked like he could never grow a beard in the first place. There was something ethereal and other worldly about the man that displaced Chanyeol, but also looked very familiar. The man raised his eyebrows at Chanyeol, confused as to why he was there.
Illyrio noticed Chanyeol’s presence. He labored in standing up from his chair, but when he did he skipped lightly to the two young men. “Ah, Chanyeol!” He said. “My personage has returned! And in a more brilliant shade of blue.” Chanyeol swore the blue haired man’s face twisted into a scowl at the words, even if he wasn’t sure if the man understood the Common Tongue. “This is another boy I’m looking after. A man with a fluid gift for High Valyrian.” He switched to High Valyrian and turned back to the blue man. “This is Lord Chanyeol, of House Arryn, son of Hyunjin Arryn, the Hand of the King, and Ascendant Lord Protector of the Vale, and Lady Lysa Tully, daughter to Lord Hoster Tully.”
The blue haired man’s eyes flicked up and down Chanyeol’s figure. The man was dressed plainly, dirt spattered across his boots, cloth pants and cotton shirt, but Chanyeol felt like a mere simpleton standing by him. He was taller than Chanyeol, a rarity especially in this region.
Chanyeol bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He greeted in his nicest Valyrian. Was the man a lord? He sure didn’t dress like one. The man grunted in response, and said something about “washing up” to Illyrio and headed up the stairs. Once the man was gone Chanyeol looked at Illyrio stroking his beard.
“Who was that my lord?”
“I will tell you in good time, my little lord.”
・
A month after the return of the blue haired man, Chanyeol still never learned his name. Illyrio and the High Valyrian tutor would occasionally call him Zaldrīzes, a word Chanyeol later translated as Dragon. The man had such a gift for High Valyrian; so fluid and poetic, that it made the tutor sound like a drunken tavern wench trying to sing. He was also well versed in the dialects of Volantis, Ghiscari, but never showed any interest in speaking the Common Tongue. In fact, Chanyeol was convinced Zaldrīzes couldn’t speak or understand the Common Tongue. The blue haired man never bothered to acknowledge Chanyeol’s presence, even when they sat next to each other in the halls or practiced their sword arm in the gardens.
“My lord,” Chanyeol started to say to him once in his best High Valyrian. “If I have ever slighted you, by the old gods and the new, I beg-“ The blue haired man just cuts him off in rapid High Valyrian that Chanyeol couldn’t comprehend, but from the tone of his voice, he assumed it wasn’t pleasant. Chanyeol learned to never speak to the man, despite all his wanting to.The months stretched and Chanyeol almost forgot that it’s been six months since he arrived in Pentos, and still heard no word from his family. Seven letters he had written, all he sent with a private raven. Unsure if Illyrio was secretly withholding all the ravens, or they were being shot down by enemy couriers, or the ravens couldn’t handle the flight from the Narrow Sea, Chanyeol had finally given up on contacting the Eyrie. He trusted that if his family were dead, Illyrio would tell him.“Where are your parents my lord?” Chanyeol caught himself asking the man while leaving their arithmetics lesson.
“My parents are dead.” The man said in curt High Valyrian. Chanyeol didn’t remind him that he asked the question in the Common Tongue.
・
Over a simple eight course meal outside on the veranda, Illyrio lounged lazily in his chair as he cracked the shell of a stone crab in his fist. He told Chanyeol and the blue haired man about his appearances with the Prince of Pentos, and the barrels of foods he received in shipment today. Chanyeol swallowed the questions about his letters reaching his family with a spoonful of wild vegetable soup from Norvos.
“Lord Arryn,” Illyrio started. “What do you know about the House Targaryen?” Where did that question come from? The blue haired man, who had been silent the whole meal, noticeably tensed and set his fork down.
Chanyeol cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. “The noble House Targaryen ruled the Seven Kingdoms for over three hundred years,” he began. “They were the only House to ever control and ride dragons. They believed in keeping their bloodline pure, so it was common for a brother to marry their sister.”
“What do you know about the sack of King’s Landing, and the overthrowing of King Aerys II?”
“The Mad King?” Chanyeol blurted. The blue haired man chewed on his bread so hard Chanyeol swore he could hear his teeth grinding. “I don’t know much, my lord. I was born after His Grace of House Baratheon became King after Aerys. My father and Lord Stark of Winterfell helped The Baratheons sack the city with the Lannisters. All my maester ever explained about the Mad King was that he was insane, paranoid, and enjoyed watching anyone and everyone burn alive.” The blue haired man’s black eyes shone in the lamplight, and Chanyeol thought he saw a flash of violet in the eyes, but accounted that to the amount of wine he drank.
Illyrio nodded. “I’m sure he told you about the killing of the Targaryen children. Prince Rhaegar, his wife Elia of House Martell, their children, and the little prince.” He added. Chanyeol nodded.
“Aye, the little prince was only two when he was killed. I never understood it. My lord father thought what the Baratheons ordered was too extreme. I mean, the King was mad, but his family was victim just as much as the Seven Kingdoms were. The Baratheons called the killing of the children war, but Lord Stark and my father called it murder.”
“Do you agree with them?”
“I do. I believe the Targaryens could still be trusted.” There was something sad about the way the man poked at his food that Chanyeol wanted to ask what was wrong, but he refrained. “Why do you ask about my opinion about the Targaryens, my lord?”
“I am curious about many things, Lord Arryn.” Illyrio slurped at his soup and asked for the fifth course, ignoring how Chanyeol barely finished course two.
The evening meal continued for another hour before the man excused himself to go to his quarters. He stalked off, his plate of goat and figs untouched. Chanyeol struggled through course four as Illyrio continued to talk about the matters of Pentos and trade relations to Lys.
“My lord,” Chanyeol interrupted. “The blue haired man, who is he really? I’ve lived in this manse for months without knowing his name or where he comes from.”
“Oh, I promised you I would tell you who he is, later perhaps. He is a mere lad from an ancient noble family, nothing more.
“But speaking of him, I need your help on a matter dealing with him.” Chanyeol leaned closer, braving the stench of Illyrio’s flesh underneath his heavy perfumes.
“The khalasar of Dothraki leader Khal Bharqo is coming on the eve of the Summer Moon. The Khal is an unmatched fighter, with a khalasar of forty thousand horse lords under his command. He’s outlived his three wives, all failing to give him sons or daughters. Unfortunately his health has deteriorated as of late, and will not live to see the Winter come. But, the khalasar will live on his name.”
“What does this have to do with the blue haired man?”
“Khal Bharqo has young sister, a maiden of seven-and-ten, flowered and pure. We both came to an agreement that if the young Irizhea marries the blue haired lord, Khal Bharqo will die knowing his khalasar will be led by nobility.”
“Aren’t the Dothraki savages?”
“Not if you fail to understand their culture. They’re nomads, and all of them are seasoned fighters. Khal Bharqo has heard about the blue lord and as an ambitious Khal he wants Irizhea and the khalasar to reave and rape and destroy places the Dothraki has never set foot before.”
“And where do I come in, my lord?”
“Your skill in the Dothraki language is very extensive, Lord Arryn. I want you to be the ward of the blue lord, translating for him, teaching him Dothraki, and looking out for him.”
“With all due respect, Lord Mopatis, I am a Lord of the Eyrie, not some ward or servant to someone I do not know.” Chanyeol was a little offended. Just who does Illyrio think he was?
“It is something beyond your control, Lord Arryn. This is what your father sent you here for.” The mention of his father calmed Chanyeol down. “Who knows? The blue lord could send you back to Westeros with full accolades. He plans to go there, for sure.”
“What business does he have in Westeros?”
“That you’ll have to ask him, but in the meantime, we’ll need to prepare for the arrival of the khalasar and a Dothraki wedding. I have never fed forty thousand people at once before, but I suppose there is a first time is for everything.” Illyrio heaves himself up, and announces he’s going to make water and turn in for the night. When he left, Chanyeol finally left the table and headed to his room, and nearly bumped into the servants. He learned about the Dothraki when he was a child, about how the men would rape village women and take them and their children as slaves, how they drink the blood of their horses; their barbaric rituals. Chanyeol liked to keep an open mind, but the prospect of treating with a culture he only read in stories unsettled him. Don’t they kill men just for looking at them weird? I’m no match for a Dothraki screamer. He stumbled into bed, not bothering to shed out of his finery. His dreams were filled with grass seas, horses, and dragons arcing through the sky, spewing fire.
・
The eve of the Summer Moon came faster than Chanyeol anticipated. The days in Pentos stretched long, the heat sweltering and unbearable. Chanyeol’s comfortable lifestyle made him unable to practice out in the heat like he used to, something he found that made him weak. He was sure the Dothraki would spot that and kill him for his softness, and Chanyeol forwent eating and practiced his sword arm and marksmanship more than usual. He saw less of the blue haired lord; Illyrio explained he was getting ready to be inspected by the Khal and his Blood Riders. The language and arithmetics lessons stopped; Illyrio had Chanyeol memorize Dothraki customs and train in treating with the khalasar. He learned to be open and courteous, to wear his sword to show his capable status as a warrior, and even horseback riding, something he hasn’t done since his trip to Saltpans. The thought of the blue lord marrying into the Dothraki tribe still puzzled Chanyeol, as there was nothing to gain from this move except for violence, bloodshed, and death. Still, Illyrio insisted the blue lord was filled with worth and power beyond Chanyeol’s capability of imagining, and Chanyeol swallowed his apprehension, and by the end of the month he mastered the ways of the Dothraki.
The morning of Khal Bharqo’s arrival had Chanyeol out of bed and into the scalding water in the baths, furiously scrubbed from head to toe by the servants. He was anointed with scented oils and the servant girls tried to tackle the mess of curls on his head, but it was more a fruitless toil; his hair simply refused to keep straight. Am I the one getting married today? Chanyeol thought bitterly as they tugged on his hair so hard he was sure to be bald after the end of the washing. The servants dried him thoroughly and laid out his best finery: a black velvet doublet with his house sigil of the falcon over a white moon, with dark grey breeches and fine boots made of soft supple leather. A feast of apple tarts, hens stuffed with oats and wild rice, and a variety of fish from the shores of Essos was laid out in the kitchens for Chanyeol and the blue haired lord to break their fast, but the lord was not there when Chanyeol arrived. He nibbled here and there, swallowing everything down with water, and heading out to go polish his sword. The Khal wouldn’t arrive until before midday, but the Dothraki weren’t known for their punctuality. Chanyeol had to wait by the gates of the manse, even if it the Khal never arrived until evening.
Illyrio approached Chanyeol just as Chanyeol’s knees were starting to ache and his feet started to sweat in his boots. He shook his curls out of his face for the hundredth time, nose curling when he smelled the stench of Illyrio’s sagging flesh through the scented oils.
Illyrio stroked his golden beard. “Dothraki aren’t known for their punctuality, I’m afraid,” he cut through the silence. “But I assure you it won’t be long.” Chanyeol didn’t have a reply; he merely nodded.
“But it is such a beautiful day for a Dothraki wedding! The birds are chirping, not a cloud in the sky, the trees bearing fruit-“ He stopped and he stood at attention. “Do you hear that?” He said.
Chanyeol listened closely; a slight rumble in the distance could be heard. It was getting nearer, and he hoped it was the khalasar.
“Horse hooves!” Illyrio chirped. “Well we didn’t wait too long, didn’t we?”
“Where’s the blue lord?” If the groom wasn’t out to greet the Khal and his future bride, the Khal would take it as a slight, and Chanyeol hoped that if the Khal were to kill him, it would be quick and seamless.
Illyrio waved at the question. “Getting ready. He’ll be out shortly.”
The horses came into view and Chanyeol counted five of them. They were magnificent and fearsome looking beasts, galloping gracefully towards the gate. Chanyeol felt a jolt of jealousy; he’d never been able to ride so smoothly like that. Two black horses flanked the sides of a horse of a deep red. When they came to the gate and approached Illyrio and Chanyeol, Chanyeol could get a perfect look at the Khal. He was surrounded by two of his Blood Riders, two equally strong and ferocious looking men with matching long braids that reached their shoulder, but Khal Bharqo was a hulking warrior, shirtless with blue war paint across his strong chest. His braid descended down to his thigh, and his beard frazzled with grey. Coal black eyes were steely and unflinching, even when Chanyeol could see the horrendous red spots flushing all over the Khal’s body. He nearly forgot the Khal was ailing.
Remembering his courtesies, he bowed graciously and opened out his arms in welcome. “My great Khal!” He said in perfect Dothraki. “We are honored you have arrived in Pentos. I am humbled to be in your powerful presence.” Silence. Did I say something wrong? The Khal didn’t look offended or like he wanted to lop Chanyeol’s head off, but Chanyeol was never the best at reading people.
“Are you the Prince that Was Promised?” Said one of Khal Bharqo’s Blood Riders asked, while the other one spat at the ground. He must mean the blue lord.
“I am not the one with the honor of marrying Irizhea,” Chanyeol replied. “The lord who is preparing himself for the Khal’s sister.”
The Blood Rider chuckled. “A man who primps and perfumes is no true man,” he said to Bharqo. “If he wanted to prepare himself for Irizhea, he would’ve killed his little lord with no hesitation.” So much for them liking me, Chanyeol thought.
Khal Bharqo shrugged, something Chanyeol was sure was very unlike a Khal. He muttered something to his Blood Riders, who reared their horses back and allowed the other two horses to show their riders. The first one was a small woman who looked to be four-and-twenty, plainly dressed in leathers and goat skins and not bad to look upon the eyes, but the woman next to her was clearly a dazzling beauty. “My lady Irizhea,” Chanyeol breathed, bowing once more. Irizhea had the same strength in her eyes like her elder brother, but her soft face dimmed the harshness. Her long black hair billowed past her shoulders, her skin unblemished. Chanyeol hoped the gods would forgive him for looking, but he noted Irizhea great hips and breasts, perfect for bearing children, should they consummate the marriage. They are going to consummate, no? Irizhea was so beautiful Chanyeol believed the blue lord, despite his handsome face, was no match for her radiance. “Your beauty silences the greatest storms, and humbles us to our knees.” He read in a book that the Dothraki women took that as a compliment, and he meant it.
The lady Irizhea’s laughter bubbled out like the sweetest music, and Chanyeol held back a sigh. “You honor me, my lord.” She made the harshest Dothraki sound like sweet High Valyrian. “Are you not the one who will wed me?”
“Afraid not, my lady,” Illyrio said, surprising Chanyeol with his fluent Dothraki. “I’m sure the noble House Arryn would be suitable for a sweetling as yourself, but the lord you’ll be wed to is-“ Illyrio chanced to look at the entrance to the manse, his tone changed. “Speak of that! Your husband-to-be has arrived!” He gestured to the doors.
Chanyeol looked to the blue haired lord, but was astonished to see the blue haired lord was no longer blue haired. He finally washed the blue dye out, and despite the slight tinges of blue still in his hair and eyebrows, his true hair was a shining pale spun gold. He was dressed in a black silk doublet, buttoned loose with fine black breeches and boots. A silver rapier hung on his belt, and Chanyeol noted the sigil of a crimson three-headed dragon embroidered on his breast. The lord looked up, and his eyes weren’t black, but a bright violet.
“By the Seven,” Chanyeol breathed. Could it be?
“My lords and ladies,” Illyrio announced. “May I present to you Yifan Targaryen of Dragonstone, the First of His Name. Son of Aerys II and Rhaella. The true King of the Andals, The Rhoynar, and The First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and the true Protector of the Realm.”
-King's Landing is one of the largest ports in Westeros and is by the sea
-it hasn't been explained what a Magister is; either they are actual city officials or just the wealthiest people in the city. But there is a Prince in Pentos, he's just never mentioned. I mention often how Illyrio is drinking iced wine. Unless you live in the far North ice can't be made in the Free Cities or in most of Westeros. you have to be filthy rich or a king to get ice. that's how wealthy Illyrio is
-I meant to make Minseok Illyrio but I love Illyrio so darn much I just want to keep him
-Minseok is a Stark he's the wolf in my heart you feel me
-I made Chanyeol House Arryn because their sigil is a bird. Chanyeol's form is the phoenix
-Kris is House Targaryen for the most obvious reason: it's a dragon
-Kris is not modeled after Viserys, but more or less Daenerys, Aegon VI, and Aemon. I sympathize with Viserys, but I hate him what an ass
-There are 9-19 different dialects of Valyrian. noble lords and ladies learn High Valyrian. Every Targaryen has had a High Valyrian name
-George R R Martin is Satan in the flesh because every character you love in his stories end up dying or horribly humiliated or disfigured
-Game of Thrones is nothing but pain
-WHY IS THIS NOT DOUBLE SPACED YOU PIECE OF SHIT
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chapter two