Chapter 152: The Deaths of Illyrio Mopatis and Varys
Stepping across the intricately patterned Myrish rug, soft as new spring grass, Rhaegar and Magister Illyrio Mopatis entered a parlor with elegant windows overlooking orange trees and a marble pool.
"Chefs, guards, servants—even beautiful women—I provide the finest service for my young friend who has traveled so far."
"Are they slaves?" Rhaegar asked.
"According to the treaty imposed upon us by Braavos many years ago, Pentos abolished slavery. We have no slaves here; I merely ensure they obey you." Magister Illyrio Mopatis stroked his perfumed, forked beard. The greasy motion made Rhaegar slightly uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable was the system itself.
"Give the order—prepare a lavish feast for me and my young friend. Spare no expense," Illyrio instructed the two slightly older, stout cooks.
"Pentos cuisine may not be worthy of a true feast, but these two cooks have been specially trained. I hope they will satisfy my young friend." Magister Illyrio Mopatis had become even more obsequious, clearly going all out to curry favor with Rhaegar.
A Dragon King who possessed three dragons was already terrifying—let alone one who wielded magic. Such a figure's value in this world was immeasurable. Compared to him, what was a Khal? Once dragons spread their wings, even a powerful khalasar could be destroyed with ease. Ordinary dragons were already priceless—these magically nurtured dragons were far more frightening. If allowed to grow further, even challenging Braavos might not be impossible.
The main dishes soon arrived: crab and flat-shark soup, cold egg and lime soup, followed by honeyed quail, roasted lamb chops, red wine–soaked foie gras, buttered turnips, and suckling pig. Dish after dish, rich and colorful, gradually covered the luxurious marble dining table.
Rhaegar could not help but sigh inwardly—what a splendid feast.
"These dishes represent the treasures of land and sea—the delicacies of the world," Illyrio said as he invited Rhaegar to dine. Ivory plates and golden cutlery were already prepared.
Rhaegar sampled a few bites. The taste was indeed excellent. Compared with the royal chefs of the Red Keep, they were certainly not inferior. Especially the thick soup—it had a distinctly Pentoshi flavor.
"Are these dishes to your liking, my young friend?" Illyrio asked.
"They are excellent. I must thank my Magister friend," Rhaegar replied sincerely. Compared to this, the food in Tyrosh had practically been pig feed—their so-called specialty had merely been roasted sausages.
"That is good!" Illyrio laughed heartily. "If you wish to drink, my cellar holds the finest wines—Reach reds from Westeros, Dornish summerwine, Pentoshi amber wine, Myrish green mead, Arbor gold, and even wines from the distant East—from Qarth, Yi Ti, and Asshai by the Shadow. If you desire women, I can provide fifty untouched maidens. They would all be honored to serve a handsome prince with silver hair and purple eyes. And you need not worry about bastards—girls always favor beauty. They would willingly give themselves to you, though they grow tired of men like me."
"The wine I will accept. The women can wait," Rhaegar replied calmly. "The vastness of the Eastern Continent is truly enviable. Here, one may drink wine, eat meat, and dream amidst abundance."
"It is vast—but restless," Illyrio said, fiddling with his beard. "A poor Pentoshi like me lives in constant fear. When I wake, there is a dragon to one side, a Khal to the other, and the Titan of Braavos looming above. Every moment is uneasy."
"My fat friend worries too much. My dragons are docile. As for the Khal and the Titan, they have coexisted with Pentos for years," Rhaegar said, taking another bite of foie gras.
"I have heard otherwise," Illyrio replied with a cheerful smile. "Your three 'docile' dragons burned pirates and Lysene refugees in the Stepstones, and extorted warships from Tyrosh. My young friend, you may be young—but a dragon is still a dragon, born of blood and fire."
"You must be mistaken. My dragons are very gentle. They simply… breathe fire from time to time," Rhaegar replied lightly.
More dishes arrived: fig-stuffed heron, veal cutlets with almond milk, creamed herring, sugared onions, pungent cheeses, several plates of snails, sweetbread, and finally a roasted black swan.
Rhaegar fell silent for a moment. He disliked such large birds as main courses, but it seemed to be customary—only kings were served swan.
"My fat friend is too generous. I cannot eat another bite," Rhaegar said, looking at the overflowing table.
"My young friend is too modest. Judging by your build, you have eaten far more than enough," Illyrio laughed, stuffing a pickled quail into his mouth.
Those who consumed qi gained longevity; those who consumed meat grew strong. Since studying magic, Rhaegar found his appetite far exceeded that of ordinary men. But that was only natural—he cultivated both magic and martial skill, sustaining multiple systems within his body.
The two raised their goblets and toasted—each aware of the other's insincerity.
"Pay attention to these snails," Illyrio said, pointing. "Imported from Braavos. Their flavor is quite excellent."
"The snails are good," Rhaegar said, "but their masters are not so easily dealt with."
"That was true in the past," Illyrio replied, his eyes flickering. "But in you, I see a new possibility."
"You should not say such things. Braavos is a close ally and benefactor of my House," Rhaegar said.
"I can also lend you gold—interest-free. More generous than the Iron Bank. Can you truly tolerate the Titan's dominance?" Illyrio pressed. "Your ancestors were hardly friendly with Braavos. King Jaehaerys I once nearly went to war over three dragon eggs—but your House lacked dragons then."
"My fat friend, Braavos commands fleets and the Faceless Men. I do not intend to provoke them," Rhaegar replied.
"You disappoint me," Illyrio said. "You are no coward."
"One world cannot contain two great powers," he continued. "If you continue rising, conflict with Braavos will become inevitable. In truth—we share a common enemy."
"That is only one possible future," Rhaegar replied calmly.
"No—it is inevitable," Illyrio insisted. "Braavos will investigate the return of dragons. If they discover your ambitions, who knows how they will respond? The world is a web, and Pentos follows the current."
"Then let us speak of terms," Rhaegar said. "My price is high. I require gold, intelligence, runic knowledge, and information on the Blackfyres."
"Politics is trade, my prince," Illyrio smiled. "Pentos will offer you its friendship."
Both understood clearly—this was not friendship, but mutual exploitation.
"By the way," Rhaegar said casually, "do you know Illyrio and Varys?"
Illyrio paused, surprised.
"You know them? Two rising thieves—one from Myr, the other a beggar. Clever and dangerous. They deal in information, manipulate targets, and even use children as spies."
"They tried to steal something of mine," Rhaegar said.
"That is troublesome," Illyrio replied. "I could kill them for you—but many Magisters favor them."
"No matter," Rhaegar said. "With so many enemies, someone will kill them soon enough."
Illyrio chuckled.
"Indeed. I will arrange contact tonight."
That night, a scarred, overweight man timidly entered the courtyard through a hidden gate.
He had been smuggled inside a wine barrel by the Unsullied.
"Your name," Rhaegar asked from the shadows.
"Fat Miro, my lord!"
"What grievance do you have with Illyrio and Varys?"
"They ruined me!" Miro snarled. "Stole my business, killed my brother! I fought them twice and lost both times. That Myr rat is nothing—but Illyrio… he's strong!"
"Do you want revenge?" Rhaegar asked.
"Yes! If not for my injured hand, I would risk my life to kill them!"
"Then I grant you the chance."
Four Unsullied stepped forward.
"Do not disappoint me."
Miro followed them into the darkness.
Each Unsullied carried a dagger faintly glowing with a sinister black light—a cursed blade touched by the power of the Iron Throne.
Those who coveted the throne…
Dying by its power.
A fitting end.
A eunuch slain by eunuchs.
A perfect cycle.
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