Dragon Hunters

[Wheatley]

One and two women. Fluent in trader's tongue and three more languages. All with a forgettable face and a complexity that would allow them to blend in in most cities. TJon Raplin, the Master of Whispers had been tasked to find Aemon Targaryen and neutralize Serra. A heavy task. An important task. If he succeeded, he would fall into great favor with the king.

"We're looking for a pure-blood Valyrian so he should be easy to identify. Arys, you will start with the taverns, see if he took the road. Joanna and Marie shall go to the docks and find out if he took a ship. If you pick up a trace, send a message to my office and follow it."

His underlings nodded and left his office. Business had been great lately. With his new power, Jon was becoming the chief merchant in King's Landing, unrivaled. Dealing with the Magisters of Lys should be a lot easier now.

[Wheatley]

Jon arrived in Lys a cold gray morning, sailing a prominent vessel. It had been expensive, but lately he had enough to spare. It was important to display his wealth here. Already eyes were turning to see this new peacock that would join the other birds that strutted around acting like they were the sun. But he needed to look respectable to the Magisters. The Ellahtarins. Richer than most families in Lys. Bitter rivals of the Malladoris. Who were the protectors of Aegon, son of Aerion. And Serra. Serra Malladoris. His target. She was surely influential with the city. Perhaps loved. But he was here to serve the king and all men must die.

[Wheatley]

A Meeting with Magisters

Gollyrio Ellahtarin, owner of nine pleasure houses, nine thousand slaves and wealth to compete with house Reyne, however not Lannister. The head of a powerful clan, with offices in Pentos, Astapor, Planky Town and even Qarth. The man had allegedly inherited his wealth from his father, a former slave who was freed by his mistress. The rumor was that Gollyrio's father had murdered her husband and then seduced the wife. Or perhaps in the different order. Others said that she forced him to kill her husband. However, Gollyrio's father outlasted his mistress and then took over her business. For the next twenty years his trade empire expanded quickly and the man climbed highly in the Lyseni hierarchy. He married the thirteen year old daughter of a Tyroshi merchant prince and had sixteen children. All dead now except for one. The ruthless old man who Raplin would plead to now. It had taken a month to even get an audience with him. Apparently, Westerosi merchants were looked down upon in the Free Cities and the Summerset kingdoms held little influence. By now, the Malladoris' must know that Jon was in the city. And they probably knew his task.

[Oznerol]

Daario Malladoris was attending some petitioners as magister of the City in his Audience Hall, sit at a golden throne, carved with dragons. He was a son of Valyria, from one of the most ancient Lyseni lineages. Nineteen children had he fathered, ten were still alive, from his three wives, two Volantene highborn Ladies and a third, daughter of the Goat Prince of Qohor. Of those, Serra was his most beloved daughter, and Aegon, his grandson was a joy for the old Magister.

He was respected, admired and feared. Nine an six times he has been elected to rule the city; Daario had fighted with Dothrakis, Pentoshi, Volantene, even Summer Islanders. The Magister was incredibly wealthy, he had trade agents all around Essos; he even controlled one of the Qarth's Thirteen, who was his ears and eyes in the Empress of Cities; Meeren's Harpies send him presents in his birthday and Astapor's slavelords one freshly trained Unsullied. He was undoubtly one of the three most powerful men in Lys, if not the greatest of them all.

He was now old, but imposing, his beard, like molten gold and silver woven together was carefully trimmed, his hair falls loose to his shoulders. He wears a purple damascene tunic, with Myrish silk, from his belt hangs his sword, with gold and ivory pommel. He wears a heavy seal ring in his right hand. Cunning gaze, purple, and menacing, framed by fierce eyebrows.

Two Unsullied, from his personal guard (that numbered five hundred, and properly trained, not that fat slugs they sometimes turn into in hedonist places like Yunkai or other Lyseni palaces), escorted one of his personal attendants, who whispered in his princely ear.

Daario's eyes narrow, angered. He knew his daughter's bravado would be dangerous, but he expected she would have at least succeed and gained honorific title. Westerosi had no place in Lys, and he suspected they even tried to kill his seed. He sights and closes his fist. He waves his hand and dismisses every petitioner, then speaks:

"Send twenty Unsullied, and thirty guardsmen to bring that scum here. Notify his presence to the Guard of the City, I want him in front of my throne before sunset. Alive, of course. Do not wear my sigil, or banners, small groups of men, each with enough manpower to capture him, but to not arise suspicion. Go"

The attendant bows, but before he is able to leave Daario speaks again:

"And tell Illyrio he must go to Pentos inmediately"

"Why, you most noble Lord and scion of Valyria?"

"Black Dragons..."