The sun blazed overhead in a cloudless sky, casting its golden light upon the waters below.
The calm, deep blue expanse of the Narrow Sea glittered with countless scales of white light, as though some enormous creature slumbered just beneath the surface.
The captain's mood matched the fair weather perfectly.
Since departing from King's Landing's harbor, the Pentoshi trading vessel Harvest had enjoyed two days of uncommonly smooth sailing.
"These winds and currents favor us greatly," the captain announced with evident pleasure. "We might return to glorious Pentos within four days—a full two days earlier than is customary! Praise be to the Merling King for his generosity!"
From Alyn's perspective, the captain carried at least twice the girth appropriate for his profession, his considerable belly straining against the fine fabrics of his clothing.
The Iron Throne's official envoy inclined his head politely. "May the Mother protect our journey, and may my mission conclude as favorably as our voyage has begun."
Alyn Lantell maintained his silence.
Ostensibly, he had been dispatched by Prince Joffrey to supervise the envoy's acquisition of the dragon eggs. But in truth...
Alyn shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
The captain's cabin at the stern of the vessel displayed surprising opulence, with thick Myrish carpets underfoot and colored glass adorning the windows. The seating arrangements, however, left much to be desired.
Both the ship and its master, Magister Illyrio Mopatis, shared impressive proportions. The leather chairs custom-crafted for the magister's ample frame were, consequently, rather unusual. Alyn found himself believing that a single chair might have comfortably accommodated all three men currently occupying the cabin.
The captain's expression betrayed thinly veiled skepticism. "I confess I had never heard mention of these dragon eggs you seek before this voyage. The magister must hold them in extraordinary esteem."
The envoy's smile remained carefully measured.
"Indeed. Pentos and King's Landing maintain the closest of trading relationships. I trust that Magister Illyrio possesses sufficient wisdom to recognize the value of the Iron Throne's goodwill."
"And, naturally, its golden dragons."
Even the captain could discern the subtle blend of threat and enticement within those carefully chosen words. His breathing grew perceptibly heavier, though he offered no further comment.
Alyn paid little heed to this exchange.
The Red Keep overflowed daily with similar verbal skirmishes—thinly veiled mockery, poisonous insinuations wrapped in courtesies—and he had long since grown accustomed to such tedious sparring.
He concentrated instead on the task Prince Joffrey had entrusted to him.
His primary duty, of course, involved securing the dragon eggs. Yet beyond this obvious mission lay another objective of far greater significance and secrecy.
"Stormborn" Daenerys Targaryen and "The Beggar King" Viserys Targaryen—for more than a decade, Alyn had never envisioned that these legendary names would have any connection to his modest existence.
Now, however, these fabled figures had become his targets, and his unwavering loyalty belonged to his princely master.
Whenever this realization surfaced in his consciousness, Alyn experienced a peculiar numbness radiating outward from his heart. Will future bards mention my name in their songs? Will I be remembered as a treacherous villain, or as a loyal retainer who endured humiliation to shoulder a heavy burden?
What he could never have anticipated, however, was Prince Joffrey's extraordinary words and demeanor during their secret meeting.
Alyn believed he had thoroughly deciphered the prince's temperament through years of careful observation. By scrupulously avoiding any action that might provoke Joffrey's capricious nature, he had risen to prominence among the thousands of servants attending the Red Keep.
Yet four days past, on the afternoon following the prince's name day tourney, Alyn had glimpsed an entirely different aspect of his young master within the Red Keep's godswood.
"Find some pretext to remain in Pentos after the transaction is complete," the prince had instructed. "Gain entry to the magister's manse and cultivate the trust of 'The Beggar King' and his sister. Ideally, you will escort them back to King's Landing, but should this prove impossible..." His voice had dropped to a whisper. "Kill them."
Alyn had momentarily wondered whether he might be hallucinating.
What manner of instructions are these? he had thought in astonishment. Not to torment some hapless servant or courtier, not to indulge in some peculiar game, but to assassinate the last scions of the dragon? How could the prince possibly know of their whereabouts?
The prince's eyes had remained unnervingly calm, yet somehow more frightening for their lack of emotion. "What say you? Do you find this task distasteful?"
Alyn had responded reflexively, "As you command, Your Highness. Your loyal servant stands ready to serve at your pleasure."
The great vessel lurched violently, jarring Alyn from his recollections.
He observed silently as the captain and envoy continued their cheerful conversation, oblivious to the darker currents of his thoughts.
Alyn realized with sudden clarity that he had never truly perceived the prince's authentic nature. The person he had known before represented merely a carefully constructed facade.
This is a promising development, Alyn mused, the corners of his mouth curling upward involuntarily.
Though born the son of a minor merchant, raised amidst the twisting alleys and stinking gutters of Lannisport, fortune had granted him glimpses of a wider world than most of his station might expect.
Wealthy merchants and local strongmen who adorned themselves with gold and silver, strutting through the streets with unearned pride, revealed themselves as nothing more than contemptible maggots when confronted by the Lannister lions of Casterly Rock.
"The Rains of Castamere"—what a hauntingly beautiful yet utterly terrifying song, speaking to the raw power of his liege lords.
From the moment he had first heard those notes, Alyn had sworn to follow the lion's path throughout his life—to witness vistas normally denied to those of his station, to grind former superiors beneath his heel, to perhaps one day inspire his own ballad.
He had already achieved a portion of these ambitions.
Even if he could claim only the smallest fraction of Prince Joffrey's reflected glory, he had ascended to heights no Lantell had previously reached.
He resided within Maegor's Holdfast inside the Red Keep itself, regularly observed Ser Jaime Lannister—widely acclaimed as the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms—pass by in gleaming armor, and occasionally exchanged words with the king and queen, not to mention countless lords and ladies of noble houses.
Now fate had granted him an ambitious master and the opportunity to inscribe his name in the annals of history through his own deeds.
"Alyn the Loyal and Clever," "The End of the Dragon Dynasty," "Lantell the Dragonslayer"—surely bards would compose songs celebrating his exploits, ensuring his name would echo throughout the Seven Kingdoms long after his mortal form had returned to dust.
I must not squander this opportunity!
The Harvest pitched violently, causing Alyn—making his first sea voyage—to experience a wave of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him.
Sailors on the deck above emitted terrified shouts that penetrated even the thick wooden planking.
"Look there! A storm approaches!"
"Your Majesty, Merling King! Do not abandon your faithful servants..."
The captain rushed from the cabin immediately, returning moments later with his clothing visibly dampened.
"Too sudden, too sudden—how can this be?" he muttered, his expression betraying profound disbelief. "There came no warning whatsoever. The storm materialized from clear skies. Such a thing defies nature's laws!"
The Iron Throne's envoy likewise displayed mounting panic. What had begun as a routine diplomatic mission now threatened to claim his life beneath the merciless waves of the Narrow Sea.
Alyn's features contorted with the most pronounced distress of all three men.
The light of glory stands directly before me—how cruel that I should perish anonymously among the fish!
The frantic sailors eventually secured the sails and lashed down all cargo before crowding into the cramped quarters below deck. This confined space, normally considered uncomfortable and undesirable, now offered them the strongest illusion of security.
The captain ushered Alyn and the envoy back into his cabin, having first cleared away any unsecured objects that might become lethal projectiles during the tempest. He firmly barred the heavy wooden door behind them, placing greater faith in the sturdy construction of his private quarters than in the ship's general compartments.
Humans struggled valiantly against the elements, yet their efforts seemed pitifully inadequate when measured against the boundless fury of an angry sea.
Enormous waves formed at the storm's epicenter, advancing with implacable determination. The breath of death grew palpable, enveloping the vessel in its cold embrace.
The Harvest, for all its sturdy construction, possessed no more resistance against this onslaught than peasant levies facing a charge of heavy cavalry.
Many crew members abandoned all hope of survival.
"By all the gods, it appears this day shall be my last."
"We are lost, truly lost..."
"Indeed, all men must die, and all men must serve—this is the immutable truth! Now comes our turn to serve the Many-Faced God..."
Alyn clutched desperately at a massive wooden table bolted securely to the ship's structure.
He recited silently in his heart the verses of "The Rains of Castamere," drawing strength and resolve from its martial cadence.
I serve the lions of Lannister. I am marked for greatness. Destiny itself stands as my ally!
The sea's surface churned with increasing violence.
Undulating walls of water tossed the vessel about as casually as a child might play with a carved wooden toy, forcing its human occupants to confront the absolute limits of their physical endurance.
Alyn convulsed repeatedly, vomiting without restraint.
First came partially digested food, then bitter streams of bile, followed by painful dry heaves producing only threads of saliva.
The cacophony grew steadily louder—a primal howl that required no education to comprehend. Every living creature instinctively recognized the approaching hand of disaster.
Then, abruptly, the world fell silent. Men shouted in terror, their mouths forming desperate words, yet no sound penetrated the unnatural quiet.
It seemed as though the very gods had adopted the seawater as their physical form, using it to kick the helpless ship like a leather ball.
Alyn tumbled weakly across the cabin, his vision filled with twisted, spinning images. The Harvest appeared to complete several full rotations through the air, defying all natural laws.
His body alternately pressed against ceiling and floor, while viscous, foul-smelling mixtures of seawater, blood, and vomit saturated his clothing.
As consciousness began to desert him, Prince Joffrey's final instructions echoed persistently through his fading mind.
"Not only does the Red Keep teem with spies, but the magister himself harbors hostility toward the Iron Throne. You must guard your true purpose with utmost vigilance."
"You have several months to accomplish this task, but you must act before Daenerys and the Dothraki horselord are joined in marriage."
His wavering vision gradually acquired patches of crimson light and shadow. The mingled scents of saltwater and blood filled his nostrils, though he could no longer distinguish whether the blood belonged to him or to others.
"Attempt to locate the exiled knight, Ser Jorah Mormont. Inform him that I shall grant him full pardon should he lend his assistance to your endeavor."
"Take two hundred gold dragons with you—they may prove useful in securing cooperation."
Alyn perceived dimly that the ship had begun to break apart around him.
"Your methods matter not—I require only results."
"Succeed in this mission, and my generosity shall know no bounds. I may elevate you to ministerial rank within the royal court!"
Holy Mother, show mercy upon your servant. Warrior, grant me courage and strength in this dark hour. Crone, illuminate the path before me with your lantern's light.
Stranger, I beg you—not today, not today...