Chapter Text
“All of them?” Prince Qoren asked in horror as the courtiers around him all looked equally stunned.
A moment later, a half dozen wails of heartbroken noblewomen rang out, one or two of them falling to their knees as the terrible reality that their husbands were never returning sank in.
“Yes, my prince,” Gyles Yronwood replied, trying desperately not to shake as he stood before his prince.
Just seven and ten, the only son of Edna Yronwood, who had until a couple years ago been her brother Olyvar’s heir, had thought that going off to fight the Targaryen’s forces alongside the Triarchy had been a fantastic idea. His mother had disagreed and was going to be insufferable about it when he got home, but he couldn’t think about that just then. He was too focused on the prince he was only a little younger than, a prince whose face went from ashen to crimson in seconds as rage took him.
“What do you mean all of them?!” Qoren demanded, slamming his fist on the armrest of his throne. “How is that possible? The fleet we assembled was…”
“Our numbers didn’t matter,” Ser Gyles muttered, shaking his head and trying not to picture the monstrosity they had fought. “That dragon…”
“That dragon is tiny compared to the one our people slew when they came for us,” Qoren hissed. “Prince Daemon…”
“I don’t mean the red one, my prince,” Ser Gyles said. “I didn’t even see that one. Balerion…”
“Balerion is dead,” Qoren muttered. “Our people have seen the skull.”
“Then it was a different gigantic black dragon,” Ser Gyles muttered. “That thing...I will see its eyes in my nightmares for the rest of my life. Giant, glowing, angry emeralds; its flames were black and green and engulfed whole galleys in a single pass. We all loosed our scorpion bolts at it, hoping to hit its eyes or else the rider on its back, but it was for naught. The bulk of the Triarchy’s entire fleet was with us, and I don’t think anyone else got out.”
“How did you escape?” Richard Manwoody, one of Qoren’s primary advisers, asked pointedly.
“I...I don’t know,” Ser Gyles replied. “After I saw the Princess Nymeria’s Grace fall, I ordered the men to focus on the dragon’s rider. Its back was to us, and we couldn’t hit its eyes, so it seemed like the best option we had, but the way that it flew made it impossible to hit anything other than its scales. By the time we’d used up our last bolt, most of the fleet around us was aflame, and it seemed to be turning to focus on the ships in our area, so I ordered them to flee. I thought for sure that we’d be pursued, but it stayed focused on the greater fleet.”
Qoren closed his eyes and clenched his fist as rage bloomed within him. “Clear the hall.”
His voice was quiet and muted and yet filled with barely restrained anger, and his guards set about obeying him immediately. The various courtiers were cleared out quickly enough, leaving the prince with no one but his guards, advisors, and the young knight before him.
“Is there any chance that my uncle could have survived?” he asked, his dark eyes focusing on the man, who tried not to tremble under his glare.
“Not unless the gods themselves came down to the world and spirited him off themselves, my prince,” Ser Gyles replied. “I saw the flames engulf his galley myself. Flames are all I see when I close my eyes now.”
“Ahh!” Qoren shouted, hurling the goblet in his hand against the wall so hard it was dented by the impact.
His uncle had been his father’s closest friend, the one with whom he had plotted out all his moves throughout his lengthy reign of Prince of Dorne. He’d known the man all his life, learned more from him than anyone save for his father, and to learn that he was gone, that he’d been taken from him barely a year after his father died was unthinkable. He was so angry he could barely breathe, pain and rage twisting away inside his chest, and he had to force himself to calm down.
“A prince has two faces at least, my son,” his father had said more than once. “The one you show the world must be ever calm, ever reassuring, for your people must always believe that you are in control, that you have a plan, especially when you do not. Your true face you should show only to those you trust absolutely.”
He’d failed at that and swallowed thickly as he imagined what his father would have told him if he were still there.
“How is this even possible?” he asked, turning to Richard, who shifted uncomfortably. “All of our sources were adamant that not only was Prince Daemon terribly injured, but also none of the other Targaryens cared at all about the Stepstones.”
“The prince’s injuries might well have been a ruse as both you and your uncle posited, but this wasn’t Daemon,” Richard murmured. “This dragon, you said it was black?”
“Black and...huge,” Ser Gyles replied. “I’ve never seen anything so large in my life; I could have ridden into its mouth atop my horse with ease.”
“Balerion died before I was born,” Qoren scowled, “and he’s the only black dragon we’ve ever known of. They could have hatched another one that color, I’ll grant you, but it wouldn’t be as large as you claim.”
“I read the old report one of my ancestors wrote about the dragons the Targaryens tried to conquer us with before I left, my prince,” Ser Gyles said. “The description of Balerion, how his wingspan was so great that he could engulf whole villages in shadow as he passed overhead, I had thought it exaggeration, but this monster had to be close to that size. I saw his eyes through my Myrish lens and I swear it was like looking into the eyes of a man, not a beast. The intelligence in those green orbs was…”
“You said that before, that they were green,” Richard interrupted. “Balerion’s eyes were said to be red; I remember that.”
“We know it’s not him, but I just don’t understand how the Targaryens could have hidden a dragon this size from the world up until now, or why they would have,” Qoren muttered. “It has to be ancient; they live for far too fucking long and never stop growing from what I’ve read.”
“Honestly, it raises another question beyond that,” Richard sighed. “Who’s its rider? All of the known Targaryens are accounted for, and of them, only the king’s second son is dragonless.”
“He’s also a small child, so we know it wasn’t him,” Qoren said. “Did you get a glimpse of him while you were looking out at the beast?”
“It was hard to see him at all, since his armor, his saddle, and the damn dragon were all black,” Ser Gyles admitted. “It was a man grown, though, I’m sure.”
“I might have some insight there, my prince,” came a soft, high voice that under any other circumstances, Qoren would have been more than pleased to hear.
He turned and glared at the woman it belonged to, so furious just then that not even the sight of her sizable breasts straining against the purple silk of her gown did anything for him. Elia Dayne, younger sister of Lord Uthor Dayne, and his informal mistress of whispers stood patiently by the guards holding the side entrance to his great hall, looking almost as uncaring and aloof as she usually did, though one glance at her violet eyes was enough to tell him that she was just as rattled as he was. That made him feel a little better, but only a little, and as he gestured for his guards to let her in, he glared at her more heatedly than he ever had before.
“You have nerve coming here so soon,” Qoren hissed, and her gait faltered slightly as a flash of shock and pain crossed her face.
“I’m so sorry about your uncle,” Elia sighed. “Prince Moran was…”
“Alive a moon ago,” Qoren muttered. “How did we not know there was another dragonrider out there? Your spies…”
“Had had difficulty getting into Dragonstone, as I explained,” Elia said softly. “I’ve never heard of brothels locked down as tightly as those ones are. In King’s Landing, I’ve infiltrated every single one of note with at least one loyal girl, but there…”
“You had mentioned that the proprietors were less than interested in the girls you’d tried to send,” Richard sighed.
“There are only a couple, so it’s possible that their owners are just unusually wary of new talent, but it’s also possible that the princess herself ordered them to be cautious,” Elia murmured. “I did highlight that as a potential point of concern in my last report.”
“You thought it possible that Prince Daemon wasn’t as wounded as the reports said,” Qoren nodded, sighing to himself as he wished he’d taken that more seriously. “He wasn’t the problem here, though; it was this unknown rider.”
“And I think I might have some insight into who he might be,” Elia murmured. “I received a letter around dawn from my contact in the city. He says that one of the whores in my employ was told that Prince Daemon has a bastard son, one who rides a dragon.”
“Ride a...what?” Qoren breathed. “There’s no way that’s possible.”
“It does seem highly unlikely,” Richard murmured. “We know all too well how the northern kingdoms view bastardy and have since long before they fell under Valyrian rule. The idea of them allowing one to ride any dragon, much less the sort of beast we…”
“How old is he?” Ser Gyles asked, looking at Elia.
“Around the same age as our prince from what I’ve heard,” she replied.
“What little I could make out of the monster’s rider did make me think he was a man grown,” the young knight said. “What is his name?”
“Jon,” Elia replied. “Prince Daemon apparently only learned of his existence very recently. He’s been serving Princess Rhaenyra as a household knight for some time now, though.”
“Did you see a red dragon at all?” Qoren asked, his mind racing.
“I only saw the black one, my prince,” Ser Gyles replied, and for the first time that morning, a small smile graced the prince’s face.
“Leave us,” Qoren commanded, and the knight nodded before happily leaving the throne room.
“What are you thinking?” Richard asked.
“As far as we know, Daemon might well be as injured as they say,” Qoren murmured, standing up and pacing back and forth as he scratched at his clean-shaven chin. “This bastard son of his might have taken it upon himself to move against us.”
“Wanting to serve his father,” Richard nodded. “What of it, though?”
“Elia, what do we know of Viserys?” Qoren asked.
“He’s amiable, charming, and generous,” Elia replied.
“You’ve said more than once that he’s weak,” Qoren murmured. “That he isn’t at all like his grandfather was.”
“His greatest weakness, from what I’ve uncovered, is his desire to be liked,” Elia replied. “His first instinct seems always to be doing whatever is likely to give him the fewest problems, lest he anger his vassals in some way that might disrupt the peace he so enjoys.”
“He’s also quarreled with his brother for most of his life,” Qoren murmured. “What if we can use that?”
“How so, my prince?” Richard asked.
“He can’t be pleased that a bastard is riding a dragon, especially one that large,” Qoren replied. “If we’re right about that, it might be something that we can use. Elia, confirm whether or not this Jon Waters is the dragonrider, and if so, find out how widespread that knowledge is. If the other lords see him as a threat, as a potential problem, and his actions lead to greater conflict with us, that could create a wedge in the Targaryen family we could exploit.”
“It’s Jon Snow, actually, and how extensive a conflict are you planning, if I may ask?” Elia asked. “Knowing that will affect how I lean on my contacts.”
“My father and uncle always believed that the Targaryens would never stop looking to Dorne unless they were forced,” Qoren replied, staring down as his chest clenched painfully at the thought of them. “I know we can’t defeat them all, but if we could drive a wedge into that family of inbred monsters, we could do a great deal of damage.”
“It won’t take us nearly as long to call our banners as it took Prince Morion,” Richard assured him. “Your father and uncle worked extensively to ensure that, but I can’t rightly say that I think it’s a good idea just now.”
“Leave that to me, my friend,” Qoren said. “I need more information, and I’m relying on you to get it for me, Elia.”
“Of course, my prince,” the older woman replied, giving him a sultry smile that made his cock twitch in his breeches. “I’ve never failed you before.”
“Never refused me either,” Qoren thought to himself as he watched her turn and leave, her shapely ass drawing his eyes as it had since he first grew old enough to feel arousal.
“I must point out that she did fail to breech Dragonstone,” Richard sighed once the dark-haired beauty was out of earshot. “If this was a trap from the start, we could have known it beforehand if she had.”
“We don’t yet know if it was or not,” Qoren said. “Either way, I need to check on Clarisse and Aliandra.”
With that, he turned and left, making his way to the nursery. His wife was there, and he felt his eyes water at the sight of her.
“My love?” Clarisse asked, rising to her feet with some difficulty, owing to her growing belly. “What’s wrong?”
“My uncle’s dead,” Qoren whispered, his throat growing tight as he finally let himself feel what he’d wanted to since the news broke.
His wife embraced him immediately, and he wept into her hair. The former heiress to Blackmont said nothing, just holding him and letting him get it out. He honestly couldn’t say how long they stayed like that, in each other’s arms, but all he knew was that by the time he had finally calmed down, he felt simultaneously better and worse. Sitting down, he smiled as she picked up their babe, who had woken as her father wept, and placed her in his arms.
“My darling girl,” Qoren whispered. “How I wish we could have brought you into a better world.”
The little girl just smiled up at him, blissfully unaware of everything, and he sighed, ghosting his fingers over the soft black hair already growing from her scalp.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Clarisse asked.
“I don’t know enough to speak yet,” Qoren sighed. “There’s a new dragon in the sky, possibly commanded by the bastard son of Prince Daemon, and we have no fucking knowledge of either of them.”
She looked stunned at that before sighing and leaning her head on his shoulder.
“You’re already making plans, aren’t you?” Clarisse asked.
“So far my plans aren’t much more fleshed out than simply avenging my uncle, but that will change as I learn more,” Qoren replied. “I’ll take this Jon Snow’s head myself if I can, but either way, I will ensure that Uncle Moran didn’t die for nothing.”
“I guess Elia’s going to be busy for the next little while then,” Clarisse sighed.
“Technically, for the moment, she’s just going to be sending out coded letters and waiting until she receives her replies,” Qoren murmured, eyeing her curiously. “Why?”
Clarisse smiled at that and ran her fingers through his hair, saying, “You need something to get your mind off of what happened, and she’s always been so very good at distracting you. Sadly, I’m a little too fat to be all that distracting just now.”
“Please, if I didn’t fear about our babe, I’d have you this very moment,” Qoren replied hungrily, and his wife’s breath hitched. He hadn’t known when he wed her that she’d be not just willing to let him keep bedding his mistress but eager to have her with him, and that had been a most welcome surprise. “She feels the same, you know. Both she and I have wanted you since we first laid eyes on you.”
“Something you both went to great lengths to make clear as you courted me,” Clarisse whispered, her eyes darkening with desire as she stared into his. “Did your mother truly never learn that you were fucking her closest friend?”
“As far as I know, she remained unaware to the end,” Qoren murmured, looking out the window and sighing. “Things are going to become difficult for a while, I fear.”
“I didn’t wed you thinking our life together would be dull, my love,” Clarisse said softly. “Just promise me it won’t involve Aliandra or her brother.”
“I’d die before I let harm come to either of them, or to you,” Qoren whispered, resting a palm on his wife’s swollen belly and smiling in surprise when he felt a foot bump against him. “Already a little warrior, this one.”
“Just like his father,” Clarisse sighed, kissing him hungrily as he continued to hold their eldest.
“Whatever it takes, I will make them pay, Uncle,” Qoren thought to himself as he returned the kiss, “for your death and every other indignity they’ve put us through.”
He put those thoughts out of his mind as his wife pulled back, knowing that there’d be little point in making any sort of formal plans until he had more information. One thing he knew for absolute certain, though, was that the Targaryens had not heard the last of him.
*****
“I think that actually was their entire fleet,” Daemon murmured a week later as he took another bite of the apple in his hand. “It’s kind of remarkable, actually.”
“They know winter is coming, and they genuinely thought you were severely injured,” Corlys said. “Getting in quickly so they could crush the force we left behind and fortify this position after everything froze wasn’t the worst idea in the world, to be honest.”
“It would have also been a lot more formidable a force if you had been forced to come here alone,” Rhaenys added.
Daemon grumbled at that but said nothing, being unable to refute the point. As far as he was concerned, he and Caraxes could fell any foe that rose up against him, but he had to admit that it was very nice having other dragons around. He and his father had never ridden into battle together, and Balerion died before Viserys could ride him further than the loop around King’s Landing they’d taken, so neither of them were ever options. He and Rhaenys only returned to speaking terms very recently, so that had never been an option before, and the only other dragon riders he knew were Rhaenyra and Laena, neither of whom had ever seen true battle, as far as he was concerned.
“I was never truly alone, but I’m further from that now than I ever have been before, and while I’ll never admit it aloud, I do appreciate that,” he thought to himself. He was about to say something when a sharp, draconic cry from the west drew all their attention, and he jumped to his feet.
“Syrax?” Jon asked, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand as he took in the sight of her.
“We sent her word of how well the battle went,” Daemon muttered. “I swear she can be as irritating as her father at times.”
“It’s possible our messenger didn’t make it,” Jon murmured, watching Syrax land not far from them and immediately moving towards Morghul, who stirred and stared at her curiously.
“Princess,” Corlys called out as he, Daemon, and Rhaenys went to greet her. “Welcome to the Stepstones.”
“They’re every bit as charming as I imagined,” Rhaenyra replied sarcastically as she slid down along Syrax’ wing and landed with well-practiced ease.
“We were likely going to return within a few days,” Daemon muttered. “The Triarchy seems to be stunned by how poorly things went for them, and we’ve heard nothing from them since. You didn’t need to come all this way.”
“I didn’t come to check on you, I assure you,” Rhaenyra replied. “Father has learned about what happened here and wants a word with you both. His...exceedingly long letter made it clear that he’d sent someone here, but I knew I’d reach you sooner.”
“He wants to see us so soon?” Jon asked. “Larys Strong must have learned what happened to the Dornish.”
“He is quite insistent,” Rhaenyra replied. “I figured the three of us could fly over to the capital together. I’ve left Maester Gerardys in charge at Dragonstone and left care of the nursery to Laena, who wanted me to say that she found your account of the battle to be most impressive.”
Daemon grinned at that and rested a palm on the pommel of Dark Sister, saying, “It was quite impressive, wasn’t it, though much of the credit belongs to Jon here. He and Morghul burned the bulk of their fleet on their own.”
“Something Father is going to have already learned about, I’m sure,” Rhaenyra replied.
“Did the king mention Rhaenys or me at all?” Corlys asked.
“I don’t know if he even knows you two are here,” Rhaenyra replied.
“Then we’ll stay for a little while longer to make sure nothing goes wrong,” Rhaenys murmured.
“I’m sure he’ll find some ridiculous reason to take umbrage with what we did, but as things stand now, it appears that we ended an invasion the Triarchy had been planning for moons in a day,” Daemon muttered. “Viserys can take his complaints and shove them up his…”
“Let’s just go,” Rhaenyra sighed, and Daemon shook his head before going off towards Caraxes. “Are you two certain that you’re safe here?”
“No one can ever be entirely certain of their safety, but we’re surrounded by our men, half my fleet is here, and we haven’t seen any sign of movement from our enemies in days,” Corlys replied.
“I flew as close as I dared to Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys the other day while the sky was clear and I could move about with the sun behind me, and there didn’t appear to be terribly many ships around any of them,” Rhaenys added. “I truly think they sent everything they had for one big push and didn’t expect to meet anywhere near the resistance that they did.”
“Surely there must be some warships left,” Corlys murmured. “You and Daemon said that some managed to escape you.”
“The only ones I saw were clearly in need of repairs,” Rhaenys replied. “I imagine that they sent the rest further out to avoid making targets of them, but I didn’t see where they went. Neither of us believe that terribly many got away from us anyway.”
“Rhaenyra, let’s get going!” Daemon called out from the Caraxes’ saddle, and she turned to see that Jon had mounted Morghul as well.
“Take care, both of you,” Rhaenyra smiled before returning to Syrax, who looked to be just as eager to get away from the Stepstones as she was.
When her uncle had told her stories of the battles he fought here after returning to King’s Landing, he’d made it sound like a region that was rugged and exciting, where danger lay behind every rock and in every cave. What she saw instead was dreary, dull, and almost lifeless, and she honestly couldn’t fathom how he spent as much time in the area as he had. As Syrax soared into the air at her command, following after Morghul and Caraxes, who were already well on their way, she breathed a sigh of relief, even as her heart raced in anticipation of what was to come.
*****
“Would it kill him to deign to tell me anything ever?” Viserys hissed as he sat in the small council room. “Moons of careful work tossed away like the contents of a chamber pot because Daemon couldn’t be bothered to show the slightest bit of restraint or check with me before doing anything.”
“The prince...has gotten very used to...acting on his own authority,” Lyonel nodded.
“What authority does he even have?” Jasper muttered. “He’s not a member of this council, and even the crown that Lord Corlys gave him for those irritating little islands he gave away to you, Your Grace. He had no right…”
“He’s never had the right to do half of what he does,” Alicent murmured. “You really think that you had made headway with the Dornish, my love?”
“I…” Viserys went to reply when the door was opened and Ser Arryk stuck his head in. “Prince Daemon is here to see you, your Grace, alongside Jon Snow and Princess Rhaenyra.”
“Rhaenyra?” Viserys asked, standing up at once and trying not to groan when his lower back protested. Sitting back down and reaching for his wine, he muttered, “Fucking hells, just send them in.”
“You wished to see us, brother?” Daemon drawled as he swaggered in, and Viserys glowered at him.
“What in the world did you do?” he demanded.
“You will have to be more specific, Viserys,” Daemon replied. “I…”
“For the love of the gods, Daemon, let’s not play this game right now,” Rhaenyra muttered. “We’re here about the Stepstones, and we all know it.”
“Not that it isn’t always a joy to see you, Rhaenyra, but why are you here?” Viserys asked. “You assured me in your letter that you had nothing to do with this catastrophe.”
“You didn’t lie to your father, I trust,” Alicent tittered, and Rhaenyra rolled her eyes.
“I wasn’t aware you had been named to the Small Council, Alicent,” she replied. “What, pray tell, have you been named? Mistress of Flower Arrangements? Mistress of Gowns?”
“Nyra,” Viserys said warningly as his wife glared venomously at her.
“I flew out after I replied to you because I knew I’d arrive sooner than your messenger,” Rhaenyra replied.
“How exactly is what we’ve done a catastrophe, Viserys?” Daemon scoffed as he sat down.
“For one thing, Prince Daemon, you flew off into battle without informing His Grace,” Jasper replied. “Lord Tyland...Tyland…”
“Hmm? Oh, please forgive me, my lords, your Grace,” Tyland asked, staring at his fellow council member in confusion for a moment. His mind had drifted the moment he saw Rhaenyra, dressed as she was in her red riding leathers, and he hadn’t heard a word anyone had said. “I swear they’ve gotten bigger.”
“Lord Tyland was not warned in advance that the Velaryon fleet had left Driftmark, and that is just the sort of thing we need to be concerned about, given how vital it is to the defense of Blackwater Bay,” Jasper said, “and that isn’t even counting the problem of the Dornish.”
“The problem of the Dornish has been solved,” Daemon replied. “You’ll find them far less disagreeable as ashes than they were in life.”
“How many Dornish vessels did you burn?” Viserys asked, hoping that there was some way to salvage this.
“Oh, I didn’t burn any Dornish ships,” Daemon replied. “The Triarchy’s fleet had been split into two parts, and the part Rhaenys and I handled was full of Lysene and Tyroshi ships.”
“Rhaenys was...we’ll get to that in a moment,” Viserys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking to Jon. “How many Dornish ships did you burn?”
“I didn’t exactly count them, Your Grace, but I know that few if any escaped, so you don’t need to worry about that,” Jon replied, holding firm as Viserys’ eyes flashed dangerously.
“Lord Jasper, Lord Tyland, Lord Lyman, and Lord Larys, I’ve kept you longer than I meant to, and you may go,” Viserys said, sounding like he was barely managing to keep his voice calm.
“As you wish, Your Grace,” Lyman nodded as the other three left as quickly as they could without looking silly.
Viserys poured himself another cup of wine and drank as half his council left, waiting until the door closed behind them all to shout, “Are you two completely mad?!”
“I know you’re not all that familiar with war, brother, but the point of it is actually to kill your enemies,” Daemon snarked, earning a glare from him.
“I have been working for years to establish some lasting peace with Dorne,” Viserys hissed. “For the past several moons, Prince Qoren and I have been communicating through emissaries for that very purpose, and in one day you two destroyed any hope we had of making it happen.”
“You do realize that as the boy was drowning you in flattery, he was sending his ships to bolster our enemies’ numbers, right?” Daemon asked archly.
“That was...the prince’s uncle’s doing,” Lyonel replied. “He’s far more of a hardliner...than his nephew...and very influential in their court.”
“Oh come now, you’re smarter than that, Lyonel,” Daemon muttered. “You can’t trust a Dornishman as far as Mushroom could throw one; you know that. I could have seen something this stupid out of her father, but you’ve always struck me as more intelligent than that.”
“Hey!” Alicent exclaimed, her face contorting in fury at the sudden jab at her father. “Just because the only solution to a problem you’ve ever understood is killing doesn’t mean that everyone else…”
“I’m sorry, am I actually expected to sit here and be lectured about war by a woman who’s never done more than slap a servant in her life?” Daemon asked.
“Father, it does seem rather likely that you were being misled by the Martells,” Rhaenyra murmured. “According to Jon, there were quite a lot of Dornish ships there.”
“Even if this was the act of a...if you’ll forgive the term, rogue prince, acting alone, the simple fact is that Dornish sailors struck against your lands, Your Grace,” Jon said softly. “Surely some response was needed there.”
“I don’t disagree there, but to wipe them out entirely?” Viserys sighed. “Did you even attempt to show the men aboard the Martell ships any quarter?”
“They were loosing scorpion bolts in my direction, so I didn’t really get the chance,” Jon replied, trying as hard as he could to keep his voice neutral in the face of the ludicrous question.
“If Prince Moran could have been taken alive, he’d have made an invaluable hostage,” Viserys muttered. “This will only infuriate Prince Qoren and drive Dorne even closer to the Triarchy and ensure that, for another generation, there will be no hope of meaningful talks with Sunspear. If you had thought to come to me, Daemon, we could have worked together on this. Instead, you faked an injury, told me nothing, worried me, and then went off on your own, destroying moons worth of diplomatic work! And don’t think I don’t know you were in on that ridiculous scheme too, Rhaenyra.”
“We’re sorry that we worried you, but we didn’t want to risk the Dornish finding out that they were being deceived,” Rhaenyra replied.
“And who here do you believe to be a traitor?” Cole asked. “Clearly someone in our ranks is working for the Dornish in your mind?”
“It’s not a matter of willing treason, Cole,” Jon muttered, earning a glare from the knight. “If you don’t think that the Dornish would stoop to using whores as spies or that men are more than capable of saying more than they should in the company of one, you’re a fool.”
“You seem to know much and more of such things,” Cole sneered.
“Enough,” Viserys muttered. “There will be consequences for this, for all of us.”
“Oh, what are they even going to do?” Daemon scoffed. “The last time the Dornish tried to attack us, all that made it to our shores was charred body parts, and if they tried it again, it would end the same way.”
“Has it not occurred to you how vital Dorne is to the Triarchy?” Viserys scowled. “They might have only supplied military aid a couple times during this long conflict, but the trade the two polities do is significant. Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys cannot trade with us or with Pentos or with Volantis, given the lasting animosity between them. They can trade with Qohor and Norvos, but that requires traveling through lands infested with the Dothraki. They can also trade with Braavos, the Summer Isles, and a dozen other places Corlys ventured to, but those all are all far away. Dorne is right there, and you are fooling yourself if you think their contribution to their economy isn’t significant. I sought to lure them away from the Triarchy and to thereby further damage an economy this war has already weakened, and now, all hope of that is lost. Even if the Dornish don’t raid the Stormlands or the Reach in response, we will lose out on a genuine opportunity here to end our conflict with those wretched cities because none of you could be bothered to inform your king that you were going to war!”
All three of them blinked at him in surprise at that.
“I actually am capable of understanding the basics of conflict, Daemon,” Viserys muttered, choosing not to point out that that had been Tyland’s idea. “I will admit that, when Corlys first brought the problem of the Stepstones to me years ago, I didn’t give it the consideration that I should have. I should have been more involved and done more than simply offer you aid once it proved to be so challenging.”
“We managed just fine,” Daemon muttered, “as we did this time around too. I still say the Dornish were trying to play you for a fool or else hide their involvement in this with insincere diplomacy.
“We’ll never know,” Viserys sighed. “It’s a moot point now, of course, as I imagine all communication with the Martells will be cut off going forward. This will not happen again, and to that end, I’ve decided to change how the Stepstones are controlled.”
“What?” Rhaenyra asked as Daemon and Jon looked at him curiously.
“Matthis Flowers will be taking over as Lord of Bloodstone,” Viserys announced.
“Who the fuck is Matthis Flowers?” Daemon asked.
“Lord Desmond Redwyne’s natural son,” Alicent replied with a slight smile on her face.
“At Alicent’s suggestion, I’ve decided to look to the Redwynes for aid in managing this mess,” Viserys explained. “The Redwyne fleet is significant, and I’ll be more than capable of working out some manner of compensation for their assistance here.”
“Corlys has been more than capable of keeping an eye on the Kingdom of the Three Whores,” Daemon argued.
“And neither he nor you has bothered to send me so much as a letter about it in all this time,” Viserys scowled. “Until such time as peace is reached with the Triarchy, I’m going to be needing someone there who I know will keep me abreast of things. Young Matthis is apparently quite the capable seafarer and as he has no lands or family of his own to concern himself with, he’ll be quite able to give the Stepstones his full attention.”
“You would give a bastard you’ve never met command of one of our most vital waterways?” Daemon growled.
“We’re only in this mess because a bastard left his mark on those waterways!” Viserys spat before softening and looking at Jon. “I actually don’t blame you for this, Jon, as you were simply fighting a battle you’d been led into. You, Daemon, or you, Rhaenyra, should have told me about this moons ago.”
“Father…” Rhaenyra went to say.
“Honestly, it will be for the best,” Alicent chimed in. “You’ve both been so busy of late, with the young babes back home. Letting the Redwynes handle things going forward will give you time to focus on what truly matters.”
“As for him being given command of the place, he won’t be,” Viserys replied before Daemon or Rhaenyra could snap at Alicent. “The boy will act as my representative in Bloodstone, a position for which he will be well rewarded, and the tolls being charged will continue to go where they have been. I was going to sail out to Driftmark to inform Corlys of this in person, but seeing as he also failed to inform me of anything, I’ll write a letter later today.”
Daemon just glowered at Viserys, feeling more irritated with his brother than he had in years.
“This honestly is my failing for not taking the matter of the Stepstones seriously more quickly,” Viserys murmured. “You gave me that crown years ago, and I’ve barely thought about it since.”
“You said your attempts to reach out to the Martells were about the Stepstones,” Rhaenyra couldn’t help but point out.
“I was inspired by your work over the last year,” Viserys replied, looking to Alicent as she tried and failed to hide a yawn. “Are you alright?”
“Just a little tired, Viserys,” Alicent replied. “I think I’ll go check on the nursery.”
“Ser Criston, go with her,” Viserys smiled. “I’ll be by later.”
“Was there anything else?” Daemon asked through gritted teeth as the pair of them left.
“Yes,” Viserys replied. “I want your word, all of you, that you won’t interfere in the Stepstones again without informing me first.”
“You’ve taken on the responsibility for yourself,” Daemon muttered. “I do look forward to seeing you try to fly on your own.”
“That’s uncalled for,” Viserys sighed, recalling Balerion and swallowing thickly. “I do appreciate what you did in ridding us of the pirates the Triarchy allowed to rein freely over the Stepstones, but I can’t have wars being waged on my territory without my consultation, Daemon. Surely that isn’t an unreasonable demand on my part.”
“It isn’t, Your Grace, and I do apologize for any headache I might have given you, but none of us thought that handling the Triarchy’s fleet here would be any more bothersome than going out to clear away a bandit camp in the kingswood,” Jon replied, and he chuckled.
“A rather large bandit camp that,” Viserys smiled before looking at Rhaenyra and cocking an eyebrow.
“I promise I won’t make any moves against the Stepstones without consulting you,” the princess said, and he sighed, nodding in satisfaction.
“Splendid,” Viserys replied. “Now, with that bit of unpleasantness taken care of, you three are more than welcome to stay the night. The cooks are going to be making lamprey pies and…”
“I need to check on Laena and the twins,” Daemon muttered, standing up and stalking out of the room.
“I’d love to, but I really should get back to my own twins,” Rhaenyra sighed, standing up, and he joined her, wincing as he did so. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, dear,” Viserys replied as he hugged her. “I just stumbled on some stairs the other day, and my lower back has been protesting ever since.”
“I see,” Rhaenyra replied, peering inside him and quickly finding the problem.
It seemed like he’d irritated a muscle near his lower spine, the swelling of which was pressing on everything else in the area, making everything worse. Reaching out, she willed it to relax, slowly reducing the swelling, and smiled when Viserys let out a surprised grunt and stood up straight.
“That...how odd!” he chuckled. “I swear it just went away.”
“Holding the position you were just in must have made the area relax,” Rhaenyra smiled.
“Or you’re just my good luck charm,” Viserys beamed. “Thank the gods, I can stop drinking those awful concoctions Grand Maester Mellos has been giving me.”
“Concoctions?” Rhaenyra asked.
“Hot water that the powder of two dried roots has been mixed into,” Viserys replied with a shudder. “I know one of them is ginger and the other is such a bright yellow that it stains anything it comes in contact with. I’ve despised them but figured it was worth it to alleviate the pain, though it turned out all I needed was to see you. I really am glad you came by, even if it was under less than ideal circumstances.”
“I’ll visit more often when the twins are older,” Rhaenyra promised.
“Unless you have other little ones,” Viserys said, keeping his tone as light as he could, and he still ended up wincing when she narrowed her eyes at him.
“My mourning period isn’t over yet, and the last thing either of us needs after that tense conversation is to get into another argument,” Rhaenyra replied. “Plus, we’re not alone.”
“I imagine Dae...Father has left without us, so I am going to need a ride back,” Jon murmured.
“The report Alicent heard said that Morghul was spotted above the city,” Viserys said. “I was actually going to ask about that, though I forgot.”
“I didn’t have him land in the Dragon Pit, as I figured it would be best to wait a little longer to try that,” Jon replied. “He landed just outside the Dragon Gate, and I made my way to the pit from there. He’s returned to Dragonstone.”
“Good, good,” Viserys nodded. “I truly hope this doesn’t result in another war with the Dornish.
“If anything, I would think that having your entire fleet wiped out by a single dragon would be cause to avoid a war,” Rhaenyra snarked.
“Grief can make us do remarkably stupid things, Rhaenyra,” Viserys replied. “I know we have little to fear from them, but the small folk living in the border regions will still suffer if they attack in force, and they are my people too. I also know that half the lords of the realm would demand that we invade Dorne in response, and that would be a long, protracted mess that I really want to avoid.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know,” Rhaenyra said and he smiled.
“I briefly considered betrothing you to Prince Qoren once,” Viserys replied. “I thought it would help mend things between us and that it might very well lead to them joining us peacefully down the line, but it never panned out. He’s wed now, anyway, so the point is moot.”
“Well, I am but a raven away,” Rhaenyra replied. “Goodbye, Father.”
“Good day, Your Grace,” Jon nodded as she let the king go and joined him.
*****
“I swear sometimes I could throttle him with my bare hands,” Daemon thought to himself a little while later as he swung Dark Sister through the air, running through every practice drill he’d ever been taught as he tried to calm himself in the training yard of Dragonstone.
“How long has he been at that?” Rhaenyra asked as she and Jon joined Laena, who was watching with some trepidation.
“Since he got back,” she replied. Leaning in, she whispered, “I offered to help him calm down, and he turned me down.”
“Oh, that must be serious,” Rhaenyra replied so seriously that Laena giggled.
“Laena, I...oh,” Daemon said as he turned and saw them. “How long have you been back?”
“We just arrived,” Jon replied. “Nyra wanted to write a letter to Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys first.”
“I’ve sent it along, and we’ll hopefully hear back from them soon,” Rhaenyra replied.
“At every turn he insults me,” Daemon growled.
“Daemon, we knew he was going to be furious,” Rhaenyra replied. “Half the reason I didn’t go with you was because we wanted to mitigate just how angry he was going to end up.”
“We didn’t know he was going to hand the kingdom I built to the fucking Redwynes, though!” Daemon hissed.
“What?” Laena asked.
“He’s putting Lord Desmond’s bastard son in command of Bloodstone until we manage to achieve some sort of peace deal with the Triarchy,” Rhaenyra replied. “It turns out he had been trying to make diplomatic inroads with the Martells for moons…”
“And then you killed the prince’s uncle,” Laena nodded.
“He’s a fucking idiot if he thinks the Dornish weren’t playing him,” Daemon hissed.
“Recollect yourself,” Rhaenyra muttered, gesturing subtly around her. “His reasons were rather sound, admittedly, though I agree that the Dornish were surely not communicating with us in good faith.”
“Good faith,” Daemon scoffed. “They loathe us for what the Freehold did to their ancestors and have been walking around with the confidence of Maegor astride Balerion for generations because they got a lucky hit on Meraxes. War is coming; we can be sure of that.”
“Yes, we can, and we’ll be ready for it,” Rhaenyra replied. “My father isn’t wrong about what separating Dorne and the Triarchy would mean for the latter, by the way.”
“It would mean immense harm for their economy, which already has to be struggling,” Jon murmured.
“If Dorne cut them off, it would be a heavy blow, but the average Dornishman would sooner eat his own cock than help us in any way,” Daemon muttered. “For anything like that to be possible, something would have to shift dramatically.”
“We’ll work on that,” Rhaenyra replied, and her uncle leaned in.
“You were rather light on the details of this next part of your plan before,” he whispered.
“You’ll enjoy it, Uncle,” Rhaenyra replied. “Trust me.”
“I’m not involved in it,” Daemon realized, shrugging as he did so. “Well, I look forward to seeing what you come up with next. Laena, I think I could use a little help finding our chambers. I’ve been away so long I fear I might have forgotten where they are.”
“Darling, I know you’re getting older, but I hope your mind isn’t going already,” Laena teased, and he chuckled.
“Don’t think I won’t swat that lovely ass of yours just because we’re in public,” he whispered in her ear, and the Valyrian beauty grinned.
“I think we can go,” Rhaenyra whispered to Jon, who nodded and followed her inside. “I gave Ser Harwin the rest of the day off before I flew to the Stepstones, so I will need you to act as my sworn shield today.”
“Happily,” Jon murmured, and she smiled at him.
“So, did you leave out anything important from the battle?” Rhaenyra asked.
“It went about as we expected, save for the fact that it was the only one,” Jon replied. “They sent everything they had at us, and not nearly enough managed to escape for them to regroup in any meaningful way. Morghul is even more terrifying than I thought.”
“He is very, very large,” Rhaenyra chuckled. “I love my Syrax, and I wouldn’t trade my bond with her for anything, but I have wondered before what it would be like to have bonded with one of the larger, older dragons.”
“You were already the dearest of friends before any of them became available, though,” Jon said, and she chuckled.
“Oh, we were,” Rhaenyra sighed. “Her egg didn’t hatch in my crib, but she hatched around the same time as I was born. To hear my father tell it, the first time he took me to the dragonpit to see them, this tiny yellow dragon bolted right towards me. The dragonkeepers had just finished feeding her and were so distracted by our sudden appearance that they didn’t notice the little drake coming my way until it was too late.”
“Your father must have been furious,” Jon chuckled.
“Oh, I’m sure, but I was delighted,” Rhaenyra replied. “I demanded then and there that she be brought back with us and threw a terrible fit when he said no. Fearing that I was going to infuriate the other dragons, he gave in, figuring that she could be returned to the pit the next day. We became inseparable, and she stayed with us for a little while; she’s always been so well behaved for a dragon.”
“What’s the funniest story you have from her stay?” Jon asked as they reached her chambers.
“I’ll tell you on the morrow,” Rhaenyra replied, giving him a pointed look. “I’ve had a long day, and I’m going to turn in. You may as well.”
“I’ll see you on the morrow, princess,” Jon smiled, watching her close the door.
Paying her guards little mind, he entered his own chambers and joined her in hers a moment later, smiling as he saw her undoing her braid.
“Here, I can do that for you,” he murmured.
“I have only the faintest memory of this left, but I once tried to dress Syrax in one of my mother’s gowns,” Rhaenyra said, and he snorted.
“What?” Jon asked.
“I had found a secret passageway that led to her chambers, and once, while she was out, I snuck Syrax in and tried to find her a dress to wear,” Rhaenyra replied. “The guards heard the commotion, and one of them poked their head inside quietly without either of us noticing. He had a great sense of humor and asked the other one to keep watch while he went to fetch Mother, though as I think about it, he also might have not wanted to risk tangling with a dragon and figured getting another Targaryen would be a good idea. By the time they arrived, I had draped her in a gown and a veil and was looking for jewels to go with it.”
“What did she say?” Jon asked.
“I don’t remember specifically, but Father has told the story before, and she was apparently quite amused, despite the fact that I actually ruined the gown,” Rhaenyra chuckled, looking down as she remembered her mother. “It was a light blue thing, which I’m sure clashed terribly with her scales, but I knew nothing of fashion then.”
“Poor Syrax,” Jon snickered, and she laughed.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Rhaenyra breathed, standing up and hugging him tightly.
“It all worked out,” Jon whispered, “though it turns out that there were a couple unfortunate complications.”
“My own doing apparently,” Rhaenyra muttered. “I’ve inspired my father to be more proactive as a ruler, and I wish I could enjoy that right now.”
“It’s not as though this should change much,” Jon said. “Qoren is still going to be furious that I killed his uncle, and, being young and apparently hot-blooded, he should attack in force.”
“Giving you the opportunity to be our savior,” Rhaenyra purred, snaking her arms around his neck and staring up into his eyes. “Prince Jon’s War, they’ll call this once you’re a legitimized prince.”
“I do worry about how angry Daemon seems,” Jon murmured. “The king giving control of the Stepstones to the Redwynes is something we didn’t see coming.”
“If all goes as we hope it will, it won’t count for much, and in truth, it’s not all that shocking,” Rhaenyra replied. “It further drives a wedge between Father and Daemon, humiliates him, and gives a lord from the Reach with heavy connections to the Hightowers control over an important waterway. It’s absolutely something I could have seen Otto talk my father into while he was angry with Daemon. What’s troubling about it is knowing that the idea came from Alicent.”
“Her brother is still around, and I’m sure she’s in regular communication with her father, so it might not have been her idea,” Jon murmured, knowing she’d hate thinking her rival was capable of anything, and she smiled.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Rhaenyra sighed. “We’ll deal with this development later. For now, our focus has to be on Dorne.”
“For now, my focus couldn’t be further from Dorne,” Jon rumbled, his eyes dipping down to her cleavage, and she grinned.
“I suppose we’re not under attack this very moment,” Rhaenyra whispered, turning around and pressing her body back against him. Reaching up behind her, she pricked his scalp with her nails and purred, “I haven’t rewarded you yet for your magnificent performance against the Triarchy.”
“Morghul did most of the work,” Jon chuckled, and she laughed, turning around and staring up into his eyes.
“Perhaps, but you deserve some of the credit at least,” Rhaenyra whispered. “Take off your clothes.”
“As my princess commands,” Jon rumbled, making her whimper as her insides clenched needily.
“Your princess does command it,” Rhaenyra breathed, sitting down and watching as he started removing his riding leathers.
Similarly dressed, she didn’t need as much help getting out of them as she did when she was in one of her gowns, and so she started undressing as well, her eyes never leaving Jon. Over a year spent apprenticing under a blacksmith had made his already incredible form even better. His shoulders had grown even broader, his arms had grown thicker, and even his neck had become stronger. His abdomen, still flat and firm, had started to gain greater definition, and she was honestly tempted to see if she could enhance that all because she found she adored the look.
“I could have helped you with that,” Jon grinned as he saw her sitting there, naked from the waist up.
“I know,” Rhaenyra purred, “but I much prefer to watch you undress yourself. By the gods, you’re perfect.”
“So are you,” Jon said tenderly, crossing the floor until he was right in front of her. “I could use a little help with my belt; it’s stuck.”
“How terrible,” Rhaenyra teased, reaching out and grabbing it. “I should have it burned for denying me all that it would.”
She knew he was lying, that he wanted her to remove it herself so that she’d be right by his heavy cock when it sprung free from his breeches, and so she decided to go a step further and sank to her knees. His eyes went wide and he went to say something when she pulled his belt away quickly, allowing his breeches to fall and his cock to slap her in the face.
“Nyra, I…” Jon went to say, but she just giggled and wrapped a hand around the base of his shaft.
“If you think I didn’t know that would happen, then I’m afraid your opinion of my mind has slipped terribly,” Rhaenyra pouted before pressing his cock against her cheek. “Gods, I love your cock, Jon.”
“Fucking hells,” Jon gasped, staring down at her in shock and awe as she rubbed her face against his shaft.
“You’re so long and thick,” Rhaenyra purred, pressing her pouty lips against a spot on the underside of it that she knew was most sensitive and grinning when he gasped. “I love every thick, veiny, cunt-breaking inch of you.”
“Gods,” Jon moaned, his knees nearly buckling when she licked along the underside of him slowly, her lust-darkened eyes never leaving him for a moment.
“Once we’re wed, we’re going to spend a week in my chambers and we’re going to fuck until you physically cannot harden anymore,” Rhaenyra purred. “I long to feel you inside my cunt again, stretching me open as only you ever could, and pounding into me until I can barely think straight.”
“Rhaenyra!” Jon gasped.
“Sit down on the bed,” Rhaenyra commanded, and he did so immediately, wondering just what she had in mind. “As much as I am far, far fonder of having you fuck my ass than I ever would have imagined, sitting down was becoming rather uncomfortable before you left, and I’d like to take a few more days off before we return to that.”
“Of course,” Jon nodded. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Oh, you didn’t hurt me in any way that I objected to,” Rhaenyra grinned. “I did say I was going to reward you, though, and you know I’m a woman of my word.”
“What are...oh, gods,” Jon groaned as Rhaenyra lifted her large, heavy breasts and wrapped them around his cock.
“Something new I figured we could try out,” the princess smiled, choosing not to say that it was something she’d overheard a pair of guards discuss having a whore do a couple days ago. “What do you think?”
In all honesty, while the feeling of having her warm, soft breasts enveloping him was nice, he’d have been lying if he said that the visual of it all wasn’t even better. The Princess of Dragonstone was on her knees before him, stroking his cock with her breasts, and damn if that didn’t make him feel like a king.
“It’s so good,” Jon sighed, resting a hand on her head, and she beamed at him, utterly pleased that he was enjoying her surprise. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” Rhaenyra sighed. “I’m going to make you spill so much seed down my throat tonight, I might need to hold off on breaking my fast tomorrow until high noon.”
“Gods, I’m a lucky man,” Jon groaned, his legs twitching when she leaned in and wrapped her lips around the bulbous head of his cock.
His fingers snaked into her long, silver-gold locks as she started bobbing her head up and down, and soon a string of deep moans and groans was spilling from his lips. Her adoring eyes stayed locked onto his, full of such love and lust that it made his heart sing, and he sighed happily when she started stroking him with her warm, heavy breasts. It took a little practice to get used to doing that and sucking his cock at the same time, but she quickly figured it out, and all Jon could do was sit there and bask in the pleasure of her touch.
After a little while she gave up on using her breasts and decided to swallow him deep into her throat instead. He gasped and groaned, needing to force himself to remain quiet, and she grinned, pulling back and working absolute magic with her tongue.
“I’m getting close,” Jon warned her, his voice delightfully strained, and she giggled, sending pleasurable reverberations down along his shaft.
Taking him to the root again, she stared right into his eyes and started massaging the sensitive head of his cock with the muscles of her throat, begging him without words to give her what she wanted. With a strangled groan of her name, he let go, spilling rope after thick rope of his seed, and she shuddered in pleasure at the look on his face, swallowing every drop with almost reverent adoration.
“That was...gods, Nyra,” Jon panted, sounding more like a man who’d just finished a duel to the death than one who’d gotten his cock sucked, and she grinned impishly at him.
“I take it you enjoyed that,” Rhaenyra purred, standing up and going to pour herself a cup of wine to wash his seed down with.
“Finish undressing and sit on my face,” Jon all but commanded her, and she looked over at him with a smile.
“Tonight is about rewarding you, my love,” Rhaenyra pointed out.
“The taste of your sweet cunt is a reward in itself,” Jon replied huskily, standing up and staring down at her. “You either plant that gorgeous arse of yours on my face or you’re going over my knee, you little temptress.”
Rhaenyra let out a shuddering breath, feeling suddenly weak in the knees, and set her cup down.
“Daring to command the Princess of Dragonstone,” she breathed. “I could have you in chains.”
“Maybe another night,” Jon grinned, and she giggled.
“You’re definitely starting to sound like a prince, Jon,” Rhaenyra purred as she finished undressing.
Jon licked his lips at the sight of her, wanting nothing more than to worship every inch of her perfect body with his lips and tongue, and sat back down on the bed before lying back and beckoning her over with a crooked finger.
“Now I just need to become one,” he thought to himself, hoping that the second half of their scheme was going to work out as they’d planned. As Rhaenyra crawled into bed and moved to straddle his face, he put such thoughts out of his mind, knowing that there was little point in dwelling on them just then and having far more pleasant things to focus on just then.