Game of Thrones: Oath of Iron and Fire-Chapter 61: Gendry’s Chambers by the Sea

Gendry's chambers stood by the sea in Pentos, with seven tall towers rising from the ground. The towering brick walls were covered in pale ivy. The Pentoshi were always eager to bestow gifts upon powerful guests, almost like "tribute." They believed it was cheaper to send gold and presents than to wage war.

The courtyard used to be a gift for the Khal, but this time it was for the newly risen mercenary king of Myr. Since it was the fat man paying, Gendry didn't refuse.

Inside the hall, the air was filled with the fragrant scents of fire pepper, cinnamon, and sweet lemon. Gendry, Jorah, and several of his Unsullied guards were escorted into the reception hall, where the colored glass depicted scenes of the fall of Valyria. Outside the hall, there were many soldiers from the Wolfpack and the Free Army.

"These cheese-mongers have nothing but money!" Jorah grumbled resentfully. Gendry understood his bitterness. Jorah's wife had run off with a rich Lysene merchant, and he had a strong dislike for the merchants of the Free Cities.

"The exiled Targaryen princess, though we've never met, must be a breathtaking beauty," Jorah complimented.

"Speaking of which, maybe you should change your clothes. The ladies might like you more!" Gendry whispered. Jorah was in his early forties, with thinning hair but still a sturdy build. He preferred wool and leather over silk and cotton, wearing a dark green cloak embroidered with a standing black bear.

"I've always been this way, Commander. Can't a good woman see past material things and appearances?" Jorah replied.

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Gendry was speechless. Some people just can't be taught. An older, balding man with a Northman's straightforwardness wasn't exactly a ladies' man.

The oil in the black lanterns on all four walls burned steadily. Under the archway carved with two stone leaves, a eunuch loudly announced their arrival in a high, sweet voice: "The sole ruler of the Narrow Sea, the Stepstones, the Disputed Lands, and Myr, the commander of the Wolfpack and the Free Army, Lord Gendry of the Warhammer."

After the eunuch's announcement, all the noise died down. The guests turned to see a tall, agile warrior. Gendry wasn't carrying a warhammer but a one-of-a-kind Valyrian steel arakh.

"All kinds of looks!" Gendry thought to himself. The crowd included Pentoshi and Tyroshi assassins and mercenaries, a red priest even fatter than Illyrio, some hairy men from Ibben, and several lords from the Summer Isles with skin as dark as ebony.

Gendry glanced over them. Pentos truly was a commercial hub. There were also several Dothraki khals in the courtyard. Illyrio hadn't invited the most powerful Khal Drogo, but some others. They were all tall, with reddish-brown skin, long beards braided with metal rings, and shiny black hair tied into countless braids with bells hanging from them.

The red priest was curious, the Tyroshi were fearful and resentful. Myr and the Stepstones were too close to Tyrosh, and the Tyroshi faced the greatest threat. The Dothraki, on the other hand, were a mix of combative and curious.

"There is only one flame in this world, the fire of R'hllor!" No one wanted to chat with Gendry, but the fat red priest approached and struck up a conversation.

"We're here to see the princess. What are you blabbering about?" Gendry gestured, and Jorah gave the red priest a rude look. The red priest then slunk away. These R'hllor-following red priests were all fanatics, and Gendry had no interest in chatting with them.

Not much time had passed when dozens of strong men carried a palanquin and brought Illyrio and the Targaryen siblings into the courtyard. Two servants walked ahead, carrying ornate oil lamps with pale blue glass shades.

When the curtains were lifted, the main guests finally made their entrance. A Free Army soldier helped Daenerys out of the palanquin, along with her brother Viserys, who was holding a borrowed sword. The fat Illyrio also got out of the palanquin with the help of a few men.

"Viserys III Targaryen," the head eunuch announced in his high, sweet voice, "King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. His sister, Princess Daenerys Targaryen of Dragonstone, 'Stormborn.' And his patron, Magister Illyrio Mopatis of the Free City of Pentos."

The three of them walked past the eunuch into the courtyard, with its columns and pale ivy climbing everywhere, the leaf shadows turned into silver bones by the moonlight.

Daenerys stepped into the courtyard nervously. She knew today was a transaction, and her brother and Magister Illyrio were selling her off to a mercenary king. She was the only woman present.

"Over by the pillar is Khal Moro and his son, Lago. The one with the green beard is the brother of the Archon of Tyrosh," Illyrio introduced them.

"And more importantly, little princess," Illyrio said to Daenerys, "that's the mercenary king. Mercenaries can have many titles. He's the Warhammer, or you can call him the ruler and commander!" Behind the mercenary king were his guards, including Ser Jorah Mormont, "a knight exiled from Westeros!" Besides Ser Jorah, there were the Unsullied in their black leather armor.

Daenerys was intrigued by Ser Jorah. He was a knight from her homeland of Westeros. But she was even more interested in the mercenary king, timidly eyeing the man her brother hoped to ally with, the one who would ask for her hand in marriage before the feast was over.

The stories she'd heard were true. The mercenary king was tall but moved with incredible agility and grace, a lithe figure that could rival a leopard in a menagerie. His short, dark hair was like the night, and his eyes were as blue as the sea, strong and resilient eyes. Unfortunately, his face was hidden behind a crude iron mask, making it impossible to see his full features. But Daenerys thought he couldn't be too old, because there seemed to be some hidden warmth in those eyes, the kind that belonged to a young man.

"I'll state our business," Illyrio said. "I'll bring him over."

"Truly the most beautiful woman in the world," Gendry was also looking at Daenerys. She was petite and stunningly beautiful, with silver-gold hair and violet eyes. She was the last Targaryen, the descendant of the true dragon.

Gendry waited for Illyrio to approach. The fat man waddled over, extending his plump fingers adorned with gems. The alliance between the fat man and Varys must have known his background, but the fat man didn't know that Gendry was aware of the bigger picture—and that was his advantage. "Your Excellency, the ruler, please come with me. I'm more than happy to help make this a success!"

"I'll be grateful," Gendry said, looking at Illyrio. The fat man's smile was so sweet, probably still thinking that pairing Robert's bastard with the last Targaryen was some cruel joke. But Gendry was also grateful to Illyrio—Daenerys was a kind of destiny.

Gendry walked toward Daenerys. He was dressed in black velvet, embroidered with the white wolfpack emblem. His hair was as dark as the night, and his eyes were as charming as the sea. He didn't wear a crown—honor was his companion.

Daenerys couldn't help but wonder about the face beneath Gendry's rough iron mask. Was it handsome or coarse, scarred or pockmarked? Why wear a mask at all?