Thirteen years. Thirteen years away from Westeros, from his reign, from his throne. Thirteen years of begging, of dressing poorly, of sharing what little food he found with sister. He had sold their mother's crown in exchange of some coins. The last tangible thing anchoring him to his past. No, not his past. His future. He had to go back to Westeros, claim the Iron Throne and re-establish the Targaryen dynasty as the only rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. But to do so, he needed a fleet of ships. An army. Allies in the West continent. Well, he couldn't think of all of it at once. An army will be enough for now. That is why he sold his sister to Khal Drogo: he had know his khaalasar at his orders. Well, kind of. At Daenerys's orders. But his sister belonged to him, so what was the difference? Now the fleet of ships. But where to find it? Could he have the dotraki to build them? Did they even know how to build ships? He didn't know. But he had to have one, and soon.

That was when he met her. A beauty of Essos, pale like the moon itself but sharp just as much as the sword of the soldiers standing guard at her palace. He had noticed her standing out her balcony one night, gazing at the starry night like a little girl, but she couldn't be much younger than him. He stood there, gazing at her from behind the gates of her house. She was dressed richly, colorful lines reflecting the dim light of the night. He thought if she ever suffered from hunger. Is she ever felt cold. If she ever had to sold everything she had just to live another day. He knew the answer. But that didn't persuade him from keeping looking at her. Then, her eyes found his. Twenty meters of distance between them, in the dark night. But he didn't think how she did it. He just focused on her eyes that seemed to scrutinize the deepest corners of his soul.