DAENERYS
Volantis, the oldest and most majestic of Essos' nine Free Cities, sat astride one of the four wide mouths of the river Rhoyne. The Valyrian spires and palaces in the east stretched into the wide blue sky, with the Black Wall surrounding them, keeping those without the Old Blood from seeing the true majesty of Volantis, and, across the Long Bridge, the seedy, cruel, criminal city spanned as far as the eye could see.
It was the largest city that Dany had ever seen, dwarfing Vaes Dothrak, Astapor and Yunkai all at once. It spread out for miles and miles, as far as her eyes could see, seeming to never end. The sun was just rising, but the city was bustling with activity, as though it had never slept. Already, Dany could hear merchants selling their wares, red priests lighting their flames and chanting their prayers…
And slaves clanking in their chains.
All around her, the newly freed Unsullied were wary. Volantis may not have bordered Slaver's Bay, but all had heard the rumours of the city; that there were five slaves for every freeman. Such news could not be good for the Unsullied, nor would the Breaker of Chains be particularly welcome within those walls.
But, Dany's future, and the destiny of the Seven Kingdoms, lay somewhere in the sprawling city, and Dany intended to find that destiny. Last night, she had sent Ser Jorah ashore with her bloodriders, to search the city for this mysterious 'Aegon', whoever he may be. Anchored a league outside the port, Dany was beginning to get nervous.
What if this is a trap, she asked herself, what if my brave bear has fallen to the cruel machinations of my enemies?
She grimaced, trying to shove those thoughts aside; a queen could not question herself, could not second guess every decision that she made. A queen must make a decision, and stick with it, she decided, and hoped to the gods that it was the right thing to do.
She stood at the helm of her ship – formerly The Harpy's Crown, since renamed to Queen Daenerys' Flame – with Grey Worm, Missandei and Arstan Whitebeard standing with her. Daario Naharis, the blue-haired sellsword captain was with his troops aboard the Prince Rhaegar, and Strong Belwas had taken command of the Dragonstone. Even with her trusted advisors so close, Dany still felt alone. Her dragons were mostly allowed free roam, though they flew further and further every day.
I need to learn control, she realised, more than ever, I need to bind them to my will.
Ser Jorah returned in the middle of the morning, aboard the same small rowing boat. He was alone, which did little to assuage Dany's fears, but he seemed unmolested. He came aboard, and knelt before her, the sun shining on his armour.
"My Queen," he honoured her, "I was met by the boy calling himself Aegon, as well as the commanders of the Golden Company."
"You have my thanks, ser," Dany replied, "Will we have an audience?"
Ser Jorah looked uncomfortable, "Aye, khaleesi, but I cannot recommend that we accept it. This boy, whoever he may be, is not your nephew. Why would he have been hidden for so long, and why would he ally himself with the Golden Company?"
Dany hesitated, knowing the truth in his words. If this boy truly was Rhaegar's son, why had he remained a secret so long? Who had been hiding him, and why had Dany not heard of him before? Ser Jorah's warning of the Golden Company also sent a chill down her spine. A sellsword company notorious for its hatred of House Targaryen, yet was now supporting that very line?
What is that old maxim? A sellsword never changes his livery.
That bodes ill.
Dany bit her lip, and made her decision, "This 'boy', Ser Jorah, is Aegon of the House Targaryen, my brother's rightful heir. If we are to parley with him, we must treat him with the respect he deserves. And I will treat with him, because we must work together if we are to make the Seven Kingdoms bend their knees to us."
Ser Jorah looked as though he would argue, but another look from Dany silenced him. They made their way towards one of the harbours on the rowing boat, with Grey Worm and Arstan in attendance. The Rhoyne's mouth felt like a sea, so wide it was, and Dany felt the power in the river coursing through her, almost like a supernatural instinct. She was vaguely aware of her dragons swooping far above, and closed her eyes, calling to Drogon.
The black dragon, his wings near twelve feet in diameter, glided down to fly beside them, and Dany felt his presence at the edge of her mind. He was nearly large enough for her to ride. Perhaps she would, by the time they got to Westeros. She smiled to think on looking down at her new kingdom from the skies, a view only a privileged few among even the Targaryens had seen. A tendril of jealousy twisted through her stomach when Dany realised for the first time that she'd have to share that view, with Aegon. She chastised herself, but that didn't stop the twisting in her stomach as they approached Volantis' Long Bridge.
Ser Jorah led her to a large tavern, right at the centre of the bridge. The door was adorned with gold leaf, and the insides were painted with friezes depicting dragonriders laying waste to ancient cities, flames of black and gold and red and green flickering from their mounts' gaping maws. The tavern seemed almost empty, save for a wealthy-looking innkeep. He had a serpent's smile, and his hair was long and twisted into three plaits.
"The Mother of Dragons," he addressed her in Bastard Valyrian, one of the dialects of the Free Cities, "You are expected above."
Dany thanked him, before ascending the stairs. She had little idea what this Aegon would look like, who he would be, what kind of people he had brought into his army. She'd heard tales of the Golden Company from Viserys, and later from Ser Jorah and Arstan Whitebeard. They didn't sound like the most savoury of companions.
And I walk with Dothraki bloodriders and eunuch soldiers in my company.
I am not one to criticize.
The room above was grandly decorated, with a thick Myrish carpet beneath Dany's sandals, richly dark paint on the walls and strange framed pictures adorning the walls, portraits, Dany thought they were called. A strange eastern custom rarely transferred to Westeros, Dany nevertheless thought them very beautiful.
In the centre of the room, around a wide, round, mahogany table, sat the man who claimed to be her nephew. Aegon's hair shone bright as the sun in the warm light of the tavern, his features so perfectly sculpted, he looked almost impossible. His eyes were a shade lighter than hers, iridescent and flickering with a hundred different emotions. He wore a black doublet slashed with red, and black trousers and heavy boots. At his side was a sword with a glimmering ruby in its hilt, and Dany felt a strange longing for that blade.
At Aegon's side were two men, whom she presumed were the captains of his sellsword company. One, round-bellied and sweaty-faced, did not much look like a conqueror. Dany could smell fear on him, and wondered how Aegon intended to take Westeros with such a man at his side. At Aegon's right hand stood another, tall, strong-backed, with thinning hair that may once have ben copper. His eyes were dark blue, cold, hard as steel. When they flickered to Aegon, Dany saw in him the same devotion she saw in Ser Jorah.
Aegon rose when he saw her, a queer smile spreading across his face. It was not quite joy, nor was it a sour, cruel smile and Dany could not quite understand it. He stepped forward, but his greetings were overshadowed by the tall man's shocked cry.
"Ser Barristan?"
Dany frowned, and looked around the room. No one leapt forward, and there was no "Barristan" among their number. She narrowed her eyes.
"I know no Ser Barristan, my lord," she said coolly, "And I'm sure your… liege has told you about speaking out of turn to a queen?"
The man opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced when Aegon held up a hand. Daenerys' nephew spoke with a voice like sweetest music, humour dancing in his eyes.
"I am sure Lord Connington meant no offence, sweet aunt," he informed her, before turning to the man, "Speak, my lord Hand, if you would. Who do you call out for?"
Lord Connington raised a hand, and pointed towards Arstan Whitebeard, "That man there, Your Grace, is Ser Barristan Selmy, one of the greatest knights the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen."
Dany laughed, "You must be mistaken, my lord," she explained, "This is Arstan Whitebeard, the squire of a trusted friend."
"There is no mistake," Arstan said in a strange, powerful voice. He moved forward, seeming to grow in size and in power as he did so, "I am indeed as he charges me. I am Barristan, knight of House Selmy, of your father's Kingsguard, of your grandfather's Kingsguard and – to my shame – Lord Commander of the Usurper's Kingsguard for fourteen years." he knelt, drawing his sword, and laying it between Dany and Aegon, "I beg your forgiveness, Your Graces, for my failure to protect your family. For my… my defection to the side of your greatest foe. I failed House Targaryen once. I will not fail it again. I will not fail you again."
"The Usurper's Kingsguard?" Lord Connington spat. He addressed Aegon, "Your Grace, do not pardon such a man. Were he as devoted a servant as he claims to be, he would not have turned his white cloak at the Trident. He would have died for you and your father, if he were as loyal as he says."
"All this talk of loyal men," Ser Jorah rumbled, "I almost forgot that I was standing in a room with Jon Connington."
The older lord drew himself up, hand on his scabbard. Beside Dany, Ser Jorah and Grey Worm tensed, ready to fight as soon as necessary. This was escalating far too quickly. It wasn't supposed to escalate at all.
"Stop it!" Dany and Aegon commanded at the same time.
Reluctantly, the men moved their hands away from their steel. Dany glared at Ser Jorah, mentally chastising him. A vein throbbed in his muscular neck, and he did not meet her gaze. For his part, Aegon had to lay a hand on Lord Connington's shoulder to prevent the man putting up his blade. He whispered a few words in the man's ear, and Connington stepped away. Aegon pulled a chair out from the table, and spread his arms wide.
"Please, aunt," he smiled, "Sit. I hope no offence was caused."
"None was," Dany accepted the apology, "And I hope the same."
Aegon waved the apology away, and sat back at the end of the table. Dany noted that he took the top seat for himself, facing the door, whilst she would have to crane her neck if anyone entered. A cheap ploy, to be sure, but she let it slide. Men did like to play their little games. It would do no good for her to rise to bait that obvious.
"It has come to our attention," Aegon announced, "that the Seven Kingdoms, whilst not unified politically, are in the strongest position they have been in since before your father was toppled. If we seek to take Westeros, we must factor this into our plans."
"I am open to your suggestions," Dany informed him, "I must admit that my brother did little to educate me in the politics of our homeland."
Aegon smiled, "Fear not, aunt. Westeros will be ours, soon or late. You have your dragons, I have the Golden Company, and together we have a claim stronger than Stannis Baratheon's will ever be."
Dany did not respond to that immediately. Suddenly, her palms were sweaty, and her heart was thudding in her throat. She licked her lips with anticipation, and shared a sideways glance with Ser Jorah. His eyes were face was unreadable, implacable as stone, but his eyes betrayed him. As usual, he was worried for her, and, if she did not ask this question, she could not be certain that he would not either. That might open a whole other bag of direwolves, something Dany could definitely do without.
It will have to be asked, one day, Dany decided, better now than when he is safe atop my father's throne.
"You say our claim," she spoke cautiously, but she sensed the men in the room tensing, already close to blows for the second time that day. Dany grimaced, but bulled on through, ignoring Aegon's closed fist, "Yet you have offered no proof of your own legitimacy. Pardon me, nephew," she added when Lord Connington took a step forward, "but you must understand that I may find it somewhat suspicious that it is only now, after all these years, that you have revealed yourself."
"You dare?" Connington growled, fist curled, face red with rage, "You dare speak to your king in such a tone?"
"Mind your tongue, Connington," Jorah's voice was equally fierce, "Or we'll have to remove it."
"Enough!" a whispery voice from the shadows halted both men. Ser Jorah paled, and his hand began to tremble. Connington scowled, and spat out a command.
"Go back to your weaving, Spider."
A low chuckle came from the other end of the room, and a man emerged from the shadows. Dany could not be sure if he'd been there before, and a horrible memory of the Undying in Qarth swam up in her mind. He was bald as an egg, with shadowy eyes of a dozen colours, then blue, now green, eyes that searched Dany's very soul. They were eyes that were accustomed to knowing what they were seeing, Dany could tell, and they watched her with a curiosity that unnerved her. She swallowed, and tried speaking again.
"I mean no offence, Aegon," she told him earnestly, "And I am willing to believe that you are my brother's son. All I ask is proof to found this belief on. I have my dragons, and the word of an older brother and of the Magister of Pentos. What have you?"
Aegon's face had darkened at hearing her words, and, at first, she thought he meant to strike her, or else command Lord Connington – and whoever else may be lurking in the shadows – to cut her and her loyal guardians down. He balled his fists, but a sharp look from the bald man served to chasten him. Instead, the last son of Valyria stood, left hand resting on the jewelled pommel of his sword.
"I suppose it is no great surprise that you do not believe me," Aegon admitted, "After all, you have no good cause to. In your position, I would be just as incredulous. However, I believe I have an artefact that may persuade you of my honest and genuine claim."
"The object you mentioned in your letter?"
"The very same," he smiled at her, and it seemed just as genuine as his words, "It was lost many years ago – no-one is quite sure when – and its very nature and history has caused infighting in our family for generations. However, with it, the Seven Kingdoms will be assured of m– of our –legitimacy."
Dany realised her stomach was twisting with strange anxiety. Her eyes locked with Aegon's, the pure lilac pushing against the soft indigo. He seemed to be enjoying the power his obscurity was giving him, and Dany found herself having to admit this defeat.
Just this one, mind.
"What is this 'artefact' of which you speak, my lord?" she asked through gritted teeth.
Aegon smiled once more, and drew his sword from its scabbard. The hand-and-a-half sword almost sang as it tasted the air, a note so pure and high, Dany felt it in her bones. The smoky steel cast glimmering shadows across the room, and, beside her, Barristan Selmy took in a sharp breath. The shimmering light of the sword danced across Aegon's face, making him look half a ghoul, and he uttered a single word.
"Blackfyre."