» 10/1/2020 - ivar x targaryen oc «
In the great City of Pentos, inside of the Magister's extravagant mansion, there was a young princess. Her hair, silver and silky, tumbling down her slim back in loose strands and untangled braids. She barely re...
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The rest of the morning was spent in nerve-wracking silence. Visenya walked with her brother and sister in company of the Magister through the water gardens as he spoke dreamily of Daenerys' wedding to the Khal and what to expect from the Dothraki traditions when it came to marriage. Throughout this, he meaningly elaborated on the respect that will be created between Viserys and Drogo if all went well.
Visenya made sure not to slouch in the presence of her twin brother as they were made to walk exposed to the searing light of the blasted Essosi sun. Viserys would most likely beat her to the ground if she had ruined such a special occasion. She must not slouch, especially not today. Even if the draining sun wanted to make her fall over and die.
They slowed to a stop at the gates out the front of the Magister's mansion and the great, heavy doors were opened by four male servants. Outside of the gates, the air was heavy with the scent of spices and sweet lemon and cinnamon coming from the nearby markets. Visenya's nose twitched in irritation.
Together, the Targaryen siblings were escorted to the stairs above a crowd of horse lords below.
"Viserys of the House Targaryen, the Third of his Name," Magister Illyrio announced in a high, sweet voice, lifting his arms. "King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. And his sisters, Visenya Targaryen, the Princess of Dragonstone, and Daenerys Stormborn. And I, their honourable host, Illyrio Mopatis, Magister of the Free City of Pentos."
They stepped forward into a pillared courtyard overgrown with pale ivy. Moonlight painted the leaves in shades of bone and silver as the guests drifted among them. Many were Dothraki horse lords, big men with red-brown skin, their drooping mustachios bound in metal rings, their black hair oiled and braided and hung with bells. Yet, amongst them moved bravos and sellswords from Pentos and Myr and Tyrosh, a red priest even fatter than Illyrio, hairy men from the Port of Ibben, and lords from the Summer Isles with skin as black as ebony.
Visenya looked at them all with wonder, but then deep dread embraced her when she realised that she and Daenerys were the only women here. She grasped her sister's hand and Daenerys clenched hers back.
The Magister stepped back to the Targaryens and whispered to them in a quieter tone. "Those three at the front are Khal Drogo's bloodriders," he said beside Visenya's ear, though he was speaking more so to Viserys and Daenerys. "By the pillar is Khal Moro, with his son Rhogoro. The man with the green beard is brother to the Archon of Tyrosh, and the man behind him is Ser Jorah Mormont."
The last name had caught Visenya's attention. "A knight?" she asked, intrigued.
"No less," The Magister smiled through his greying beard. "Anointed with the seven oils by the High Septon himself."
