NOVEL NEXT Chapter 15: Chapter 15: Past!
The girl – who called herself Serala – escorted me through the spacious halls. If I was impressed on the outside, it couldn't compare to the interior.
There were inner courtyards and gardens, with marble bathing pools, fountains and mazes, columns green with ivy and vivid mosaics.
She opened the door to my apartments. I didn't have a single room, but a collection of them with servants to tend to my every need.
In my private chambers were pale-brown marble floors, thick carpets from Myr that were among the softest things I've felt since entering Planetos, draws and chests, a balcony overlooking the bay and walls draped with colourful silk hangings that shimmered with every breath of air from outside.
There were frescos and mosaic tiles of animals and attractive men and women coupling that put the Pompeii brothel scenes to shame.
"You are too generous," I said, turning to the pretty blonde. "Thank you." Remembering my courtesies from Lemore, I bowed my head politely.
She curtsied. "This one just showed you the way," she said with a melodious accent. "This is thanks to the generosity of Magister Illyrio Mopatis of Pentos."
"Then I should thank him, most certainly. But thank you as well for showing me all this." I smiled warmly. "If you may, sometime later, please show me around the grounds. While I'm sure I've been here before, the mind gets cloudy and I may need some help to jog my memory."
"O-of course, Aegon—Young Griff, I mean . . . apologise. I'll be most honoured to, Your Grace."
"You make me sound like a crowd." Her face went red with embarrassment. At first opportunity, she took her leave and closed the door behind her.
'Apparently, I may have a past history with her.' I made a face, knowing it couldn't be anything sexual . . . God I hoped not.
George did write some disgusting things with underage children after all. I looked around the room, amazed at the sight.
Compared to the Shy Maid, the shack, or the small room I had in London, this room looked fit for a king.
'A king I could possibly be.' Atop the dais was a large bed with translucent curtains and a goose-down mattress so soft I sank right into it. The sheets were silk, and layered atop them was a carpet of pillows.
There, staring up at the ceiling, I pondered Illyrio's motives.
I must had been thinking for a while for when Septa Lemore entered, the candles had dimmed.
"Like your room?" she asked, smiling that brought forth the fairness of her features. She looked at me inquisitively and tilted her head. "Deep in thought are you, Aegon?"
"I sure am." I said, moving to the side and letting her take a seat beside me. Doing so made me feel like a child.
Even more so when she pressed a hand into my wavy blue hair, stroking it lovingly. I didn't push her hand away, I just let her do it.
"I'm just wondering, why would Illyrio do this for us . . . for me?"
"He has his reasons," she said softly.
"And what may they be?"
The lady Septa turned away, grimacing. Like Griff, she didn't seem a fan of Illyrio Mopatis all that much.
Haldon and Rolly didn't seem to really care. "He's a Pentoshi merchant prince. I think enough is said."
"Money and influence," I muttered, looking down at my fidgeting legs. But why would he want money when he was richer than most of Westeros?
What influence couldn't he get with the coin? He had enough of it and flaunted it out repeatedly throughout the novels.
He brought the Golden Company and bribed a Triach of Volantis for crying out loud. The man wasn't lacking for coins.
"I need to meet with him and see for myself."
.…
The sky had darkened when I stood in the vast garden, staring up at the painted statue, when Magister Illyrio returned to his manse.
It was a beautiful sculpture like those of ancient Greece and Rome. It was painted, like they originally were, and masterfully crafted to reflect the ideal male form.
The figure stood in the middle of a shallow pool surrounded by six cherry trees forming a circle.
The figure itself was of a boy, looking like an older version of myself, poised to duel with a bravo's blade in hand. It was real steel and shone in the sun.
The boy was lithe and graceful, sixteen, with straight blond hair that brushed the marble shoulders.
Illyrio when he was younger. It had to be. There was no other reason I could think of. 'Should I have been older, it could have been my body it was based on.' Though my hair had a curl to it and my body was less built. If this was a projection of my future looks, it was making me vainer just looking at it.
"Beautiful work, isn't it," came a voice behind me. I turned around to see who could only be my benefactor.
"Masterful work. Created by the reputed Pytho Malanon when I was just older than yourself. Yes, unlike now, I was a handsome young man, a reputed bravo and swordsman."
I looked over at Illyrio. He was worse when I could have ever expected. It was one thing to be told by words from a page, but another thing to experience it first-hand.
He was horribly obese, with fat ruddy cheeks, narrow pig eyes, a fat white belly covered with coarse yellow hair and heavy breasts that put many women to shame.
His teeth were crooked and yellow and there was an oiled forked beard that shone like gold.
If one wasn't aware of Illyrio's past life, they would never assume the statue was him. "I heard you were poor, my lord, when this was taken."
"Aye, I was. Master Pytho paid me to model for him. A young warrior with that form caught his attention. He's a lover of beauty, that man."
"Boys and girls, but young men especially. When I got my fortune, I tracked him down and brought this off of him. Yes, a bit of myself. Brings back memories every time I see it."