POV: Jon Stark, Pentos,
I watched through the eyes of a hummingbird, it was one of my smallest creations, no larger than my thumb.
My new maids had intercepted a group of Illyrio's servants, group of maids and guards returning from the market.
The ambush was swift and extremely brutal.
My maids moved like predators, striking from behind making them unconscious.
Then came the transformation.
Each of my maids had a black circle on back of their hands.
They used blood of those servant, as they put a drop on that black circle, their bodies started transforming.
Bones shifted beneath skin, features melted and reformed, hair color altered, and height adjusted. Within moments, each of my maids looked exactly like one of the original servants.
They stripped bodies and took their clothes as well, completing the disguise.
Then they walked into Illyrio's manse as if they belonged there.
No one stopped or even questioned them. The guards at the gate saw familiar faces and waved them through.
I watched as my maids moved through the staff quarters with brutal efficiency. Cooks, scullery maids, wine servers. All of them were knocked out unconscious.
Within minutes, every servant in the manse was either dead or subdued.
After that they began preparing the meal. Pizza and lasagna. The dough was kneaded perfectly, the sauce was rich with herbs and spices, and the cheese melted to ideal consistency.
Everything was prepared with brutal efficiency.
A few maids left to serve dinner to Illyrio and Viserys. The rest remained in the kitchen, waiting.
….
Next day morning.
I saw few servants rolling barrels of wine into the courtyard where the Dothraki were gathering.
The wine was special, it has a powerful sedative.
The Dothraki drank that wine eagerly, filling their cups from the barrels, toasting their khal's marriage. Within minutes, they began to slump. Some fell where they sat. Others managed to stumble a few steps before collapsing.
I moved among them quickly, placing my hands on key targets.
Khal Drogo first. His brain was simple in structure, focused entirely on conquest, dominance and riding horse and whores.
I rewired the neural pathways governing loyalty and recognition.
His bloodriders next, all of them received the same treatment.
By the time I finished, the courtyard was full of napping Dothraki.
The ceremony began a few hours later, when all Dothraki wakeup.
The bride was presented. Tall, graceful, with silver gold hair and violet eyes. She wore the traditional Dothraki wedding attire, or what passed for it, thin silk that barely covered anything.
Khal Drogo looked at her with satisfaction, even if she wasn't the girl he was promised, His mind accepted what it saw.
I stood at the edge of the courtyard, watching.
Oberyn approached me with his daughters, he looked at the bride, then at me with a knowing smile.
"Will she be able to give him a child?" he asked.
I nodded.
Oberyn laughed, "You are evil, Jon Stark."
"Now, Where is Illyrio?" he asked.
….
POV: Illyrio Mopatis, about 16 hours ago.
Viserys believed he would sit on the Iron Throne. Believed that Drogo's khalasar would carry him to Westeros and restore House Targaryen to glory.
But he was wrong.
My son would be king. Daemon, my son currently disguised as that dead infant Aegon. The boy I had raised and groomed and prepared for this role since birth. The boy who carried my blood and Serra's blood, the son of a Blackfyre and a cheesemonger who would rule the Seven Kingdoms.
I had already sent word to Varys in King's Landing. Events were in motion. Robert would soon discover that his golden haired children were bastards born of incest, then the realm would tear itself apart.
And in the chaos, my son would arrive, supported by the Golden Company, claiming his birthright.
Viserys would be discarded. Perhaps killed in some convenient accident. It did not matter. He was a means to an end, nothing more.
I smiled to myself and reached for my wine.
The door opened. Servants entered, carrying trays of food.
I frowned. "It is too early for dinner."
One of the maids, a girl I had purchased years ago because she reminded me so much of Serra, approached with a covered dish. Her name was Mira. She had the same delicate features, the same silver gold hair, though her eyes were violet instead of Serra's blue.
"We prepared something special for you," she said softly.
The cover was lifted.
Rich and savory smell hit me immediately, layered with cheese. My mouth watered despite my protest about the time.
"We know our Master likes cheese," another maid said, setting down a second dish.
I stared at the food. Two dishes I had never seen before. One was flat and round, covered in melted cheese, tomato sauce, and herbs. The other was layered, cheese and meat sauce stacked in intricate patterns.
'"What are these?" I asked.
"Pizza and lasagna," Mira said. "They are popular in Braavos."
I took a bite of the pizza. The flavor exploded across my tongue. Rich, indulgent, and perfectly balanced.
I moved to the lasagna. If anything, it was even better. The cheese melted perfectly, the sauce rich and complex, and thing called the pasta cooked to ideal softness.
"More," I said, gesturing to the lasagna. "Bring me another portion."
Viserys was eating as well, his usual complaints about food forgotten.
Another maid entered. She looked exactly like Mira. Identical in every detail.
"Who is she?" I asked Mira, but Mira didn't even look at me.
"Bitch stop playing with them, you are delaying us all," that maid said sharply.
Before I could ask what she meant, Mira moved.
She grabbed a huge portion of lasagna with her bare hand and shoved it into my mouth, it filled my throat and blocked my airway!?
I tried to shout, to stop her but her hands clamped down on my mouth and nose, keeping them shut.
I could not breathe.
I thrashed, trying to push her away, but she was too strong!!?
Beside me, I heard a metallic clang. Viserys cried out once, then went silent.
Everything went black.
:
:
I opened my eyes, my head was still throbbed and my throat was burning.
I gasped for air, my lungs heaving, there was huge portion of lasagna on my lap, half chewed.
But the room…
My guards. All of them. Arranged in precise patterns across the floor, their limbs positioned at unnatural angles, their faces frozen in expressions of terror. It looked like art. Grotesque but horrifying art, but all of them were alive.
I tried to stand but my legs would not support me. I fell back into my chair.
Across the room, one of the maids knelt beside Viserys. He lay on the floor, unconscious, a wound on his head where he had been struck.
The maid took out dagger and collected a few drops of blood from the wound. She turned her hand over, revealing a black circle on the back of it. She let the blood fall onto the circle.
Her body began to change.
Her face shifted, bones moving beneath the skin. Her hair darkened and lengthened. Her frame grew taller, broader. Within moments, she looked exactly like Viserys Targaryen.
I stared, unable to process what I was seeing.
The maid, now wearing Viserys's face, turned and saw me watching. She smiled. Then she picked up the metal tray from the floor and walked toward me.
"No," I tried to say.
The tray struck my head. Pain exploded through my skull.
Darkness took me again.
:
:
I woke to sunlight.
Bright, harsh, morning light streaming through trees.
I was out in open, but don't know where…
I blinked, trying to focus.
Across me, Khal Drogo sat on a cushioned divan. Beside him sat a woman.
She had silver gold hair. Violet eyes. Delicate features.
Serra?
My wife. My dead wife, who had been gone for years?
But she was taller. Younger. Her face was similar but not quite the same.
Drogo's arm was around her shoulders. He looked drunk, his eyes glassy, his movements sluggish. The Dothraki warriors scattered around the room were in similar states, slumped against walls, wine cups spilled on the floor.
I tried to speak. My voice came out as a croak. "What…"
Viserys approached me with smile.
He held out a piece of cloth. Thin, almost transparent silk. A dress.
"Give this to your daughter," he said.
I stared at him. "I do not have a daughter."
"Look again," he said, gesturing toward Drogo and the woman beside him.
I looked. Really looked.
The woman's features. The shape of her face and the set of her eyes.
They were familiar?
My son. Daemon. The boy I had raised as Aegon Targaryen? Why she look like him?
But this was not my son, right?
This was a woman. A girl. With Daemon's face.
"No," I whispered.
He leaned close to my ear, and whispered in my own voice?!
"You have one now. Your son will be more useful this way. After all, Drogo has never been defeated in battle." He paused, letting the words sink in. "You should be honored to have such a good son in law like Drogo."
"Daemon?! What… What have you done to him? Wh-why faceless man are doing this to me? Whyyy?"
….
(A/N: I will upload extra chapters according to the power stones received, 400Ps = 1 extra.)