[Hiatus, READ LAST CHAPTER] Game of Thrones: Ghost of the Uchiha

< Illyrio POV >

Watching Daemon leave, my eyes became pensive. I started to reflect on our conversation and remember his demeanour during it.

I had chosen "Daemon" for him, a deliberate homage to the word Devil. It seemed fitting for a boy with blood-red eyes. 

I have been observing Daemon closely for some time now, and while I initially deemed him harmless, today's situation made me waver. 

The way Yellow Bug explained how he could fight like he did today felt unreal. I felt like I was listening to a transcribed fairy tale.

A four-year-old can contend with a grown adult and even counterattack. His potential as a fighter will be unparalleled.

The most unsettling thing is that it did happen... there were many witnesses, and the evidence left on the scene could be checked and confirmed. 

I believed it, at least. I do not doubt this inadvertently had to do with his warlock magic, even if he can't control it now.

However, this was not the end of my wavering. 

The biggest thing that struck my nerve was his idea of learning about this world. This is great for anyone who wants to do something big.

Learning about the world can expand your horizons, but it is unsuitable for a tool I want to cultivate. 

I wouldn't let him have full access to the library's entire knowledge. I would restrict what he knew to teach him how I wanted.

'Maybe he will learn about not biting the hand that feeds you.' my eyes grow cold and calculative. 

My eyes began to wander, and I thought of when I asked him about having a brother and a sister.

Although technically they are cousins, the outside world won't know that. I have used the saying, "To fool others, you must fool yourself," quite often.

Daemon's initial reaction to having siblings seems disinterested, but they are cousins. "I hope Daemon can become a sharp sword so his older cousin can reclaim the throne," I whispered.

I picked up the letter sitting on my desk and reopened it for a third time, skimming the letter I had received from Varys. 

Varys's letter was simple with the riddles he likes to do; my mind painted a grim picture, a heartbreaking tale of a mother smuggling her children across the Narrow Sea to escape certain death. 

According to his spies, a nine-year-old boy and a four-year-old girl were still at large. Smuggled into Essos, they were now being hunted, their identities and location a mystery.

But only for a short time. 

Vary and I are actively searching for them. If they were who Varys believed them to be, they could prove useful in the more grand game.

Because of this, Daemon will be discarded, but not entirely, as he is still of use as a backup, although I would no longer place my time and energy on him.

I will still have someone monitor what he reads from the library, but I need to channel my efforts to look for the Targaryen siblings first and foremost. 

Standing up, with my hands behind my back, I look out the open window and see Daemon walking away towards the training grounds.

He seemed to notice and look up at me, then turned his vision back to the front and kept walking.

'In fact, this has been my intention for a while. Daemon's uncanny awareness of where I placed my sentries was like a paper window. It would tear me apart with one push, but we both tactfully never mentioned it.' Shaking my head, I sat back in my chair and drank more wine.

I could see the distrust he had in me today. 

My actions towards him were to protect myself against an uncontrollable magic outbreak. My isolation also affected the servants' minds, and they did the same.

Luckily, the Unsullied only followed orders and didn't, or I guess Daemon would have died today. 

Even if he is discarded, he still has his due part to play.

During these past four years, I have looked into more information from the House of the Undying in Qarth. I also casually mentioned Daemon and my description of his eyes. They are interested in Daemon. 

Initially, I wanted them to avoid getting involved as they might take this tool I had envisioned being wielded by myself, but now... I will watch him. Once the new children have been brought, I will test Daemon's attitude again. 

If he disappoints my expectations, I will send word to the warlocks of the Undying to take him away in some better exchange offerings.

My eyes gradually got colder. I do not make a business-losing deal. I could tell that child distrusted me.

When I asked him about his eyes, how he looked at me with those black eyes felt extremely uncomfortable but familiar, as it was when prey met a predator.

I never considered his eyes changing.

I wonder if it was a defect originally or something he could control. Were his strange eyes fleeting, or had they been altered permanently?

I couldn't be sure. 

From a four-year standpoint and my psychological tactics, if he could still lie to me, then I would never be able to trust anyone and would live in constant paranoia.

However, I've also learned never to take things at face value, so I will temporarily believe he doesn't understand.

This is because only a few days ago, he was still struggling to learn the language. Still, now it appeared he had awakened some fragment of his Targaryen bloodline, something rarely seen even in my studies of their ancient texts, like an inheritance.

This could also change his eyes. 

At this point, I realized that all my previous thoughts may have been wrong. Daemon is slowly becoming something I cannot control, and scheming and brains will sometimes mean little in the match of supreme power. 

If the inheritances are faithful to the stories I have read, I might have already lost the chance of killing him without being counter-killed.

The more I continued to have these thoughts, the more desperate I felt. 

'Do I need to contact the warlocks now?.'

*****************

< Madara POV>

After looking back at Illyrio from the window, I couldn't help but think of our conversation.

Besides the flaw of my ability to speak fluently compared to a child my age four, it went well.

I got what I needed, and that's what matters.

It feels strange needing the approval of others for things I want to do, but I can't do anything now, not until I get older and stronger.

My thoughts wandered to the topic of siblings he mentioned. I will not play house with these brats. We cannot bond. My friends would be those who are strong and can fight with or against me.

As for the name 'Daemon'. It didn't linger in my mind for longer than I cared it to be.

It felt distant, almost meaningless. It needed to have the weight and authority of a name like 'Madara.' Dismissing this notion, I focused on what truly mattered...my growth.

Returning to the training grounds, I sought out the jagged stones I had thrown earlier. Each one was collected as I moved toward where I'd been practicing.

The trees here bore evidence of my persistence. Their bark was scraped and dented, and faint chips were scattered at their bases.

The marks here were a testament to the hours I had spent refining myself in this foreign world, even if it was something miscellaneous like throwing rocks.

But I had other goals besides stone-throwing today. Once the rocks had been collected, I moved to the open space, which I maintained as my own, and began the workout.

I was running, jumping, doing pushups, and doing any exercise I could recall from memory for a basic beginning of Taijutsu. Each movement was deliberate, designed to push the limits of this young body.

Endurance, flexibility, and control were my priorities.

I needed to understand the nuances of this vessel to shape it into a weapon.

Fatigue crept in slowly, but it came relentlessly and undeniably. My muscles protested, my breaths grew shallow, and my pace faltered.

Still, I pressed on until I reached the edge of what I could endure. I understood the balance of hard work and recovery all too well.

Overexertion could lead to torn muscles and injuries, and this chakra-less body could not recover quickly. Every effort had to be measured, and every improvement earned through careful practice would benefit me most.

As I sat beneath one of the battered trees, catching my breath, I allowed myself a rare moment of meditation.

This world was harsh, demanding, and foreign. But that only made my purpose more evident.

If this body were to be my tool, my weapon, I would forge it through discipline and persistence. It wasn't the same as the power I once wielded, but it would be used to surpass my heyday.

Rest would come soon. After that, the training would resume. This was only the beginning.

When I returned to my room, hours had passed.

Sitting on the small desk was a key and a folded note.

"The library is only accessible during certain hours."

'Hmph.' A faint smirk tugged at my lips.

Illyrio attempted to limit my time in the library and control how much I could learn. But he didn't understand the true strength of my Sharingan.

I only needed a single day to copy everything in that library. Every book, every page, will be etched perfectly into my memory. From there, I could revisit those memories at leisure, slowly unravelling the knowledge until I fully understood it.

And the best part? Once I'd done that, I could pretend to lose interest in the library altogether.

Let him think he'd succeeded in stifling me. That illusion would give me more freedom to focus on my physical training without suspicion.

For a brief moment, another thought flickered in my mind. 'I could leave now.'

With my single tomoe Sharingan, I was already strong enough to survive alone.

A life as a bandit or a mercenary would be easy to carve out. Even in this young body, my skills would be enough to handle any threats, given I have a weapon.

However, this thought quickly faded.

If I got overrun by many people, I could only escape in defeat, which is not what I want. Knowing myself, I would rather die fighting than running if I ever encountered this situation.

Shaking my head in annoyance, I soon turned to realization.

Why would I want to give up this perfect shelter? It protects me when I'm at my weakest; it will be my most incredible mercy not to kill Illyrio afterwards for wanting to use me. So there was no need to throw that away just yet.

I made my way toward the library, navigating the dark hallways with faint candlelights that allowed me to see only a few meters before me. Two of those black leather-covered soldiers were seen guarding the library doors. I knew they weren't here to preserve such knowledge.

But I didn't care. Their presence meant nothing to me. I walked past them without hesitation, unfazed, put the key in the lock, and, with a twisting motion, pushed open the heavy wooden doors to enter the dark library.

Inside, the shadows deepened, the faintest slivers of moonlight slipping through narrow, high windows.

Activating my Sharingan, the darkness dissolved into clarity, the faint outlines of bookshelves and furniture appearing as my gaze passed.

I approached the nearest shelf, scanning its contents until my eyes caught on a title.

"Tales of Ser Duncan the Tall."

No. I was looking for something else. My hunch was working.

I repeated this process, pulling book after book from the shelves, scanning their titles with growing focus:

"Histories and Houses of Westeros."

"World of Pentos."

"R'hollar the God of Light."

"What is Dead May Never Die."

"No One."

Many of these books carried an inexplicable, almost mystical allure, as though whispering promises of secrets I had yet to uncover. My eyes couldnt be taken off of them, and I saw a very feint energy substance shimmering on the lettors of some.

I am taking those books and stacking them in a growing pile. The rest of the library could wait.

I had gathered enough and sat down, flipping through them individually.

My Sharingan absorbed their contents effortlessly, each page imprinting itself perfectly in my memory. The cycle repeated, book after book, my mind racing as it took in the knowledge.

Before long, a sharp, throbbing pain began to settle in my skull... A headache.

My young body was nearing its limit. I gritted my teeth in frustration.

'This cursed body.' I knew I couldn't push further.

For now, I'd copied all the books that had drawn me in, their contents awaiting later reflection and digestion. The rest could be read at my leisure.

The heavy library door creaked open just as I closed the final book.

The two guards from earlier stepped inside, their eyes scanning the room before settling on me.

Without a word, they gestured toward the door.

I didn't bother arguing. Leaving the books where they were, I rose and walked out, passing the guards with the same indifference I'd shown earlier.

As I turned into the corridor, I caught the faintest presence lingering behind a corner up ahead. A shadow shifted ever so slightly.

'Illyrio.'

A faint smile appeared on my lips as I continued walking, never looking back.

He was watching, of course.

He is always watching.

Let him.

I was biding my time.