Game Of Thrones: A Modern Soul’s Journey in Westeros (ASOIF)

"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."

'Does looking at me bring back memories?' I did see some similarities in the face. Mostly the jawline, the high-cheekbones and the straight nose. 

Granted, the marble looked more idealised so I wasn't certain. My lips were fuller than the statue who had fairly thin lips in a way Magister Illyrio didn't have, which kind of proved my point. 

I turned to Illyrio staring proudly at the marble figure, like he was looking back at the good days of his youth. 

There was a look in his eyes, those narrow eyes that didn't quite reveal his eye colour. "I assume you've heard what happened to me?"

"I received a raven from Haldon," he said, slumping his thick shoulders and sighed. He didn't look or sound happy. 

"Nothing to worry about, lad. You're here, you can still learn. You've got years before you're even ready. You'll remember what you lost, and if not, well, you'll learn once more."

"This here is nothing more than a minor bump. Yes, minor and nothing to worry about. I'm sure the Red God himself watches over you."

'Oh, someone's watching me.' "You say. It was a startling experience to wake up and be called Young Griff, and then Aegon, the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms." I chuckled darkly. 

"A prince without a crown, with only a court made up of a soiled Septa, a maester with half a chain, a blacksmith apprentice to serve as my master-at-arms and an exiled lord." 'The standard court for an exiled prince.'

'A five person band for a fantasy hero. I supposed that was what Aegon was, truly. A fantasy written by George and inserted into the story. A deconstruction in the making.'

"What you need to learn and take the throne."

"Perhaps. Though I do wonder one thing. Am I really him?"

That seemed to startle the magister. Illyrio turned to me from the statue. His mouth slacked. He did smell foul underneath all the heavy perfume he wore. In a few ways that could be symbolic. 

'He puts on the appearance of a jovial man who's always willing to help, when in fact he's a Machiavellian schemer. An evil Wyman Manderly, you could say.'

"What did you say?"

I turned to him, straightening my twelve year old body to as high as it could go, trying my best to look strong. 

But despite myself, the man did have a strong gaze that made me feel powerless. 

"Am I really him? Aegon Targaryen, son of Elia Martell and Prince Rhaegar. Tell me, magister. Tell me whether I'm truly who everyone says I am." I wondered if Young Griff ever doubted his own legitimacy. 

The kid most likely had been told his whole life. Why would he have reason to object?

"You are Aegon—"

"Aegon who? Aegon Targaryen, Blackfyre, Mopatis? Or am I just a boy with silver-hair and purple eyes? Jon Connington told me."

"Told me that he got me from you and Varys the Spymaster. That I was five when I was taken away by him, to be taught by him, to learn from him."

"That is correct. You were five when he took you."

"Answer the question. I'm not sure about the boy that left with him, but I'm not that boy. I may have forgotten, but my eyes have opened and they're clearer than before. So tell me, Illyrio Mopatis. Tell me who I really am."

The magister looked at me for a moment, then laughed a loud laugh. His belly and breasts rolled and he threw his head back. 

"Oh, you dragons. You are always so dramatic. Dragon's blood, might as well call it performer's blood." He laughed some more and slapped me hard enough on the shoulder to see me reeling. 

"Aegon, you are no imposter nor commoner. You are a dragon. A true dragon."

"No. Don't divert this." This was exactly what he was doing. "A dragon you say. What kind though? A mummer's dragon or a true dragon?" 

'Black dragon or a red dragon. A dragon is still a dragon.'

It didn't matter to me whether I was a Blackfyre of a Targaryen, though it would certainly matter to Jon and others. "Answer me now."

Then Illyrio's face tightened in anger. "You are a child. You won't understand, nor am I obligated to tell you."

"So I'm false, aren't I. Otherwise you'll tell me." I chuckled and shook my head. 'Expected as much.'

"So tell me now, magister, or Lord Connington will ask you himself. He wouldn't like being deceived. Tell me and I can convince him not to be violent."

It was more of a bluff. I would expect Jon Connington to get enraged. 

It would certainly happen after losing his honour after being labelled a thief and being manipulated with raising a child who was claimed as his best friend's son, who may instead be the Targaryen's greatest enemy. 

If he didn't kill Illyrio on the spot, I'd be surprised. A part of me even wanted to see if it would happen.

The man stared at me for a moment where I knew he saw the anger. Illyrio glanced around the garden where only his Unsullied and servants were on duty and working, then he slumped his broad shoulders. 

"You ruin all this planning, boy. You ruin it all. You are a Blackfyre on your mother's side. Serra Blackfyre, the daughter of Daemon Blackfyre."

I looked at him dead in the eyes. It was clear he was expecting me to make a scene. 

He expected I'd shout platitudes like "How could you betray me?" If anything, I expected him to say, "Aegon, I am your father."

Between all the reactions I could have made, I just let out a matter-of-factly, "Oh." I really didn't feel anything from the revelation. Absolutely nothing. It surprised me actually.

"Just oh?"

I shrugged.