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Author's notes:
Many characters are original creations. Most basis is drawn from the novels, but some is drawn from the television adaptation. Some chapters cover only a few days, while others cover several weeks or even several months. The name that opens each chapter signifies the narrator. Some canon details were changed for the sake of this story, some insignificantly, others substantially. I occasionally revisit existing chapters, either to fix errors or to add enrichments I feel are needed. I give heartfelt thanks to anyone who follows the story. I also welcome and read reviews, so feel free to leave one.
The themes and ideas explored in this story (skip this if you want to go into the story blind): What if Daenerys was sold to another Westerosi in exile, one whose family is deeply connected to her own? What if instead of spending so long in Slaver's Bay, she spent time in one of the "Free Cities," with the goal of returning to Westeros looming large over her husband? There is another major difference that I will not mention here. Though Daenerys is not the only narrator or the only protagonist, she is the driving force behind the entire what-if story. I have tried to make the style similar to the novels to the best of my ability, while also imparting some of my own. I have also tried to create plausible events with only minor changes to canon details, if any. Canon characters will join where reasonable, but some will not appear for the simple reason of being incompatible.
To meet FanFictionDotNet's ban on adult content, this version of the story has had all scenes with sexual content removed. If any remain, it is because I made a mistake in editing. The unedited story can be read elsewhere, such as on Ao3.
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LUCAS
He and Daenerys sat in silence across from each other. The only sound either made was the rustling of the satin cushions they sat upon when they slightly shifted their bottoms or legs. They were being ferried in a palanquin on the shoulders of a half-dozen armored guards whose services Lucas had purchased only for the day. Palanquins and other litters were a typical choice of Volantis's wealthy residents to avoid the filth and stench of the streets.
Volantis was a hot and humid port city located on the largest mouth of the Rhoyne river where it met the Summer Sea. It was the most southeast of Essos's Free Cities, the furthest from Westeros. That title, 'Free City,' was accurate only in the sense that it was self-governed and that no distant tyrant ruled it. True freedom was scarce in Volantis. There were five slaves for every freeman in the city. Volantis may have had a surface that was rich, grand, and majestic, but its underbelly was as depraved and sadistic as anywhere else in the known world. Lucas held no love for the city. Though he had now lived in Volantis longer than he had anywhere else, it was not his true home, and it never would be.
Lucas sat with an air of calmness and confidence. His visage was masculine and handsome, with a strong nose and stronger jaw. His eyes were a pale blue. His wavy hair was brown in color and combed to perfection, and he was clean-shaven. He was tall and fit, no shorter than six feet. His skin was naturally fair in complexion, but it had a slightly golden hue to it, lightly kissed by the sun. His attire was lavish but simple, consisting of a cream-colored doublet, white, spotless trousers, and beige, polished boots. A magnificent longsword was fastened to his hip, sitting in a bejeweled scabbard, with a wide, sea green gemstone embedded into the center of its crossguard.
Across from him, Daenerys was strikingly fair and beautiful. Hers was a soft face, with a straight nose and full lips. Her eyes were as violet as amethysts, and they shone just as brilliantly under light. Her silver-blonde hair was long and brushed smooth. It cascaded down her shoulders, falling to the small of her back. Two locks of it were woven into seamless braids around her head, like crowns. Her eyebrows were the same silver color. Daenerys was reasonably slim and somewhat short in stature; she was no taller than five-foot-three, and could not have weighed much more than eight stone. Her pale complexion was noticeably fairer than Lucas's, almost milky in color. Her face was only lightly and tastefully painted, most notably with a pink gloss on her lips and a black shadow around her eyes. The sleeveless, plum-colored gown she wore was cinched at the waist. It hugged her body, showing off the form of her figure, displaying the narrowness of her tiny waist and the swell of her smallish but perky breasts. Her white sandals bared most of her soft, pedicured feet.
Both were meticulously groomed and smelled of sweet perfumes, and both were fresh-faced and unmistakably young. Lucas was a man of four-and-twenty. Daenerys was a maiden of fourteen.
As their palanquin left the clustered lower city and neared the bay, the thickness and humidity of the air thinned into brisker breezes courtesy of the sea. They had departed minutes earlier from a third party's manse wherein the gaudy magister Illyrio Mopatis had brokered the sale of Daenerys by her brother Viserys. Though he may have claimed otherwise, Lucas suspected that Viserys in truth had no interest in keeping his sister by his side. A princess could serve only one purpose to a ruthless, would-be king: wedding her off to the highest bidder. Knowing the allure of Daenerys's beauty and her status as the last maiden of a usurped dynasty, Viserys desired either a small army of sellswords or enough coin to hire one. Lucas gave him the latter. That had meant handing over damn near every treasure and heirloom he and his father had brought from Westeros years ago ... but even so ... it was worth it.
Daenerys held her hands together at her waist. She seemed timid and meek, but not fearful, not quite. She had seemed more frightened in the presence of her brother. Lucas wondered just how cruelly Viserys must've treated Daenerys for her to be more at ease with a stranger than with her own kin.
Viserys is in the past now, Lucas thought, quelling his revulsion. Daenerys is where she belongs.
Daenerys's gaze was cast out the glass window at their side. She watched the distant reflection of the golden sun as it hovered above the vast, blue sea. It was the middle of the evening. The sun would sink from the sky in less than a few hours.
Their palanquin tilted upwards as the guardsmen bearing it began ascending a tall hill. Lucas pinned his right arm against the wall, preventing himself from falling into Daenerys's lap. Daenerys looked to him when she noticed his movement. "Are we leaving Volantis?" she asked softly.
Lucas shook his head. "We're going to my manse on the south edge of the city, on Ivory Hill," he told her.
Daenerys looked to the window once more. They let the silence return.
Eventually, the palanquin leveled. Lucas let his right arm rest at his side. Daenerys looked back to him. "You said Orello is your name, my lord?" she asked.
Lucas shook his head again. "That's a false name I use here in Essos. Lucas Velaryon is my true name."
Daenerys gave him a curious look. "I see. Well ... my name is Daenerys. I don't know if Viserys ever bothered to tell you."
"I know your name. I knew it long before I met your brother. Daenerys Targaryen."
Lucas's voice hung on her name, breathing the words a little slower than the ones before it. As for Daenerys, she seemed to pay no mind to his. She did not recognize his house. It seemed Viserys did not teach her much history outside of her own family's. But it mattered not. It simply gave Lucas the chance to present his family to her. He would save that for later, for the more lavish environment that such a revelation truly deserved.
"Did Viserys tell you why I purchased you from him?" Lucas asked.
"He told me I'm to be your bride."
"Does that make you nervous? You can be honest."
Daenerys held on the question for a moment. "Yes," she admitted.
"There's no shame in that. But you've no reason to be." Lucas joined Daenerys in gazing upon the sun. "I've centuries of ancestors watching me today," he mused.
"Is this day important to your family?" Daenerys asked.
"No. But you are."
Daenerys turned her head towards him. She was visibly confused, her silver eyebrows lowered. "What do you mean?"
That moment, the palanquin was eased to the ground, and the single door on its side swung open. Tobas, Lucas's middle-aged steward with balding, salt-and-pepper hair and deep lines in his face, poked his head inside and looked to Lucas. "Welcome home, my lord," he said. When his head turned and his gaze found Daenerys, his eyes widened and bulged. "My lady."
A few minutes later, Lucas strode through the halls of his manse with Daenerys following close behind and his steward at the far rear. Daenerys's eyes wandered as they walked, her head turning from side to side as she took in the sight of the grand abode. Teal sashes adorned every pair of curtains, and the same coat of arms of a silver seahorse on a field of sea green adorned all the shields and tapestries hanging from the walls. They soon passed by a doorway to the kitchen, where billowing steam and mouth-watering smells emanated from within.
"It may not be the castle those of our blood and birth deserve, but it's the best we'll have for now," Lucas remarked.
"We deserve better than this?" Daenerys asked with disbelief.
Lucas smiled and chuckled. "Yes, we do. I suppose that seems a strange thought to you."
"Viserys always said we deserved better. This is what I imagined 'better' was."
Lucas's smile slipped away. "You'd be amazed by the homes the Usurper took from us," he grumbled, his mind souring with thoughts of the fat drunkard that now sat on the Iron Throne. "Driftmark is a bit dour, but Gods is High Tide grandiose. And your family's home? The Red Keep? There's nothing in the world like it."
Moments later, they arrived in a small dining hall. The long table squared in the room's center was lined with chairs, but the chair at the far north end was larger and more lavish than the others. It was the lord's seat. It and one of the chairs next to it had a knife and fork rolled in a fine, white fabric placed on the table before them.
Lucas turned his head towards Daenerys, who stood beside him in the doorway. "Are you hungry?" he asked.
Daenerys looked to him and nodded eagerly.
"Seat your lady, Tobas," Lucas commanded him.
Tobas hurried over to the chair adjacent to the lord's seat and pulled it a couple paces backwards. "Here, my lady." After Daenerys sat down, Tobas pushed her closer to the table. "Are you hot, my lady? I could fetch a fan and cool you."
Daenerys gave the steward a meek, clueless look. It was overtly clear that she was not yet accustomed to servants waiting on her.
"I think she's alright, Tobas, thank you," Lucas told him, rescuing Daenerys from her uncertainty.
Tobas nodded. "Of course, my lord." He swiftly placed Lucas in the lord's seat just as he had placed Daenerys. When he finished, he bowed away and backpedaled to his proper station in the northwest corner of the room.
"Tobas here has been with me all my life," Lucas said as he eyed the steward. "He and the others here were the few servants who followed my father and fled to Essos with us."
"An easy decision, my lord," Tobas said. He smiled at Daenerys when she looked at him over her shoulder. "The Usurper is no king of mine. And Volantis is a beautiful city. Wonderful to retire in."
"He's been like family to me. He and the other two here," Lucas said.
Daenerys turned back to Lucas. Confusion colored her gaze. "What did you mean when you said I'm important to your family?" she asked.
"Daenerys, I'm a Velaryon. House Velaryon has been bannermen to House Targaryen for centuries. My family aided yours in Aegon's Conquest, and we supported you during the forsaken rebellion that sent us all here. My father fought in that war beside your brother Rhaegar. I still have the letter he wrote me after the Usurper slayed Rhaegar at the Trident. When Rhaegar died, my father returned to the Capital. Your father Aerys commanded him to escort your mother Rhaella and Viserys to Driftmark. My home. He was to safeguard them till the war's end. When we heard word that the Usurper's forces were coming, we'd already heard how those monsters slaughtered Rhaegar's wife and her babes. My father and Ser Willem Darry decided that the best chance for your mother and brother surviving was to flee Westeros. I was a boy of only ten years, but I demanded to go with. I wouldn't take no for an answer. The day before they had decided, they had been warned by a letter with a gold lion seal: it said that if anyone safeguarded the last of your family, they'd never be welcomed into 'the king's peace.' My father burned that letter the same day. He didn't care, so I didn't care either."
Lucas's eyes floated into a vacant gaze as he recalled that night that was now so long past. It was a night he would never forget.
"I remember the last time I saw your mother," he went on. "She was heavy with you. She was worried, but resilient, for yours and Viserys's sake. She and Viserys boarded a different ship than my father and me. We loaded coin, treasures, and heirlooms into the cargo of our carrack. It was for all of us to survive on, but a terrible storm separated our ship from yours. I'd never seen a storm like that one, and still never have since. My father was certain you were all dead. We found scores of shipwrecks. We thought yours was among them. We would've searched for you if we'd known otherwise."
"My mother died birthing me," Daenerys told him.
"I feared as much. I'm sorry. Mine died when I was young too."
Daenerys's gaze fell to the floor. "I never knew her." Suddenly, her gaze flicked back up again. "But I knew Ser Willem," she said, nodding. "He took care of Viserys and me at the house with the red door in Braavos, when we were little."
"What happened to him?"
"He took sick when I was twelve. He died a month later."
Lucas nodded. Somehow, he was not surprised. "My father died the same way. You and I have interwoven fates, Daenerys. We were meant to wed. We're two sides of the same coin. 'One side blue as the ocean, the other red as blood. The dragon of the sea and the dragon of the sky.'" Those had been Lucas's father's words, after it was learned that Queen Rhaella carried a girl in her belly. His father had not been one to daydream, but he often did after that news. He was never going to rest till his son and heir had a Targaryen wife, as his own father had before him, and his father's father, and so on and so on. He can rest now, Lucas thought to himself.
Lucas's two maidservants Eleyna and Clare entered. Both women were middle-aged and had soft brown eyes and long brown hair. Clare was older than Eleyna, with more wrinkles on her face and more white in her hair. On each hand Clare carried a large plate of food, both with a single serving of smoked fish crisped with breadcrumbs, oatbread baked with bits of apple, a sliced, sharp white cheese, and a salad of sweetgrass, spinach, and chickpeas. In each of her hands Eleyna carried a glass jug, one filled with water, the other with a red wine. Eleyna took in the sight of Daenerys with awe. Clare was more composed, wearing a motherly smile from ear to ear.
"This is Eleyna," Lucas said, pointing to the younger of the two. "And this is Clare," he said, pointing to the older.
Clare placed the plates before them, first Lucas, then Daenerys. "Here, my lady," she said with warm affection.
Lucas all but knew that Clare had to intensely focus on being proper and resist the temptation to call Daenerys 'sweetheart' and kiss the top of her head. She had always been an affectionate woman. She had in many ways taken the place of Lucas's mother after her passing.
"Can I ... truly ... have all of this?" Daenerys asked, eyeing her food.
"Well of course, my lady," Clare said sweetly.
"'All of this?'" Lucas parroted her, confused. "Your plate isn't exactly overflowing."
Daenerys paused. "Viserys had only let me eat scraps," she said. "He said he didn't want me 'getting fat.'"
"Of course he did," Lucas grumbled beneath his breath. "Well, your food won't be rationed here. I think you're old enough to know how much you ought to eat."
Eleyna filled Lucas's cup with wine. She then approached Daenerys with wide, captivated eyes. "Water or wine, my lady?" she asked with a raspy voice, nearly without breath. Despite her middle age, Eleyna still revered Targaryens with the same wonder she no doubt held when she was a young girl being regaled with stories of Aegon's Conquering and the Dance of Dragons.
"The water's been boiled and then iced," Lucas noted.
"Water," Daenerys said, giving the maid a courteous nod and smile.
Eleyna's hands visibly shook as she poured water into Daenerys's glass. Daenerys cocked her head and looked to her. "Are you alright?" she asked.
"Yes, my lady," Eleyna hurriedly assured her. "Don't you worry about me. 'Just a little touched,' that's what I am. Lord Jacaerys always said so," she explained with an awkward grin. She was unaware that it was perhaps not a trait to be so forthright about. 'Touched' was the kinder word for her; 'lackwit' was what crueler men had called her.
"She's nervous," Lucas interjected on her behalf. "We've dreamt of reuniting you with us ever since we first heard rumors of you and Viserys being alive. Having you here is those dreams come true. Eleyna, Clare, and Tobas will all serve you now, just as they serve me. They'll do anything you ask. Brush your hair, file your nails, cook your meals, wash your clothes. Anything. You're their lady now."
Daenerys's throat shifted with a heavy gulp. "Thank you," she murmured, just above the edge of hearing.
"It's our pleasure, my lady," Clare told her.
"No thanks are needed," Lucas said. "Such is expected for those of our birth." He unrolled the fabric from around his knife and fork and took them in each hand. "Come now. Let's eat."
The sound of silver clinking on plates filled the room as Lucas and Daenerys began their supper. The maids departed through the doorway they'd entered from. Eleyna frantically whispered in Clare's ear as they left, while Clare simply nodded and let the younger maid voice her own thrill and excitement. They would return whenever Lucas had Tobas fetch them to retrieve their dirtied plates and utensils.
Despite her evident hunger, Daenerys picked at her plate like a proper lady, slicing her crisped fish into small cutlets before eating it.
"We both have the blood of Old Valyria in our veins, do you know that?" Lucas asked after drinking from his cup. He had been admiring the sight of Daenerys's Valyrian traits, the silver of her hair and the violet of her eyes. "Both of our families descend from that motherland. I'd have the same color of your hair and eyes, but I'm a half-blood. My mother was a Tarly."
"Does that displease you?" Daenerys asked.
Lucas shook his head. "There's no shame in marrying outside the blood. Your brother Rhaegar wedded a Martell. Still ... it's enchanting to see a Valyrian as pure as you." Many Volantene nobles had traits of the blood of Old Valyria, but Lucas cared not for them. They were a vile people of a vile city. But Daenerys was of his people, of his land. Her beauty was an untainted one.
They returned to eating. Eventually, Daenerys stopped and took on a puzzled expression, much like the look of a child that had been told something they did not fully understand. Lucas soon noticed. "What's on your mind?" he asked.
"The Usurper ... does he know we're here in Volantis? Won't he want both of us dead?"
"Perhaps," Lucas said with a shrug. "But his grubby fingers have little grasp on Essos," he spat. "And his master of whisperers, the Spider, isn't the ally he thinks he is. We aren't friendless in this world, Daenerys. I'm not the only one who knows that we were meant to wed. Our families have intermarried for hundreds of years, and we're going to keep that legacy alive." Lucas leaned forward in his seat and glared daggers at her. "And we belong in Westeros. We belong in the Red Keep," he blazed, his voice rising, swept up in the swirling tempest of his own resolve. "I am not yet sure when, and I am not yet sure how, but our families will rule Westeros again. The legacy of the dragon will not die in this city."
A little over an hour later, Lucas and Daenerys retired to his bedchamber. The chamber wasn't overly large, but it was grand. Its lavish furniture was lined with blue silk and draped with black furs, including his bed, which was a size fit for a king. His desk, dresser and shelves were carved from dark wood. A crate covered with a small blanket sat on his desk. Tall candles burned around the room, offering sweet scents now and a source of light for later. They were lit by Tobas, who had retreated from the room with a knowing smile when Lucas announced that he and Daenerys were retiring for the night.
On the wall across from his bed hung the largest tapestry in the manse. It depicted a vast fleet of ships, spearheaded by Corlys Velaryon's Sea Snake, engaging in a massive naval battle and wrestling for control of the Stepstones islands. The tapestry had previously hung in Driftmark's castle High Tide before Lucas's father had taken it.
Lucas unfastened his sheathed sword from his belt and hung it on its rack on the wall beside his bed. Daenerys stood facing the bedchamber's tall, sole window. It directly overlooked the Summer Sea, where the remaining third of the setting sun painted its golden light over the sparkling water. The sunlight glowed around Daenerys's silhouette.
"Beautiful," Lucas said.
Daenerys glanced over her shoulder. "Truly."
Lucas shook his head as he walked towards her. "Not that. You."
Daenerys's fair cheeks bloomed rosy red. She shyly whipped her head away and looked back to the window.
Lucas laughed. He now stood behind her. "Don't be embarrassed," he said. He reached towards her and put his hand on her upper arm. The moment his hand touched her flesh, Daenerys suddenly flinched, her entire body tightening as though she was struck by lightning. Lucas pulled his hand back, mortified.
No longer did he think her meekness to be merely typical of her youth. There were deep scars aching inside her. The manner of scars that did not show on flesh.
"Did Illyrio ever strike you?" Lucas asked.
Daenerys still faced the window. "No," she said.
The realization clicked in Lucas's mind. Illyrio did not seem the sort of man to beat a girl, especially not one he aimed to sell. He was not so foolish, nor so cruel. But another man was. The man who was more viper than dragon. "Viserys," Lucas thought aloud.
Daenerys said nothing.
Lucas sighed. "Face me," he commanded.
Daenerys slowly turned till her shoulders faced his. But though her body faced him, her gaze did not. It remained fallen to the floor.
"You will never be struck again, Daenerys," Lucas vowed. "You will be queen someday. Queens are not struck."
Daenerys looked up and met Lucas's eyes. At long last, a small smile curled around her lips. "You're not like him," she said.
"No. I'm not. I only spoke with your brother for a short time, but I could see what he was like. Tactless. Cruel. Weak. And his gall to sell you like a slave ... I would never serve him."
"He called himself 'the Dragon.' But he wasn't one, was he?"
Lucas grabbed and held of each of Daenerys's hands. She did not flinch. "There's only two true living dragons, Daenerys," he said, smiling with her. "You ... and I." With that, he leaned forward, tilted his head, and captured her lips with his. Daenerys shut her eyes. Lucas did the same.
Daenerys's lips were soft and warm with a hint of moisture, a delight to Lucas's senses. In unison, a single, long breath poured from each of their noses. He kissed his bride gently at first, but then playfully and passionately, lightly sucking and pulling at her lips. There was an audible smack each time their lips parted, only for Lucas to swiftly bring them together again. Daenerys returned his kiss and moved her lips in rhythm with his as best she could. It was clear she had no experience in romantic kissing, but Lucas did not mind. It did not hinder the desire swelling inside his chest.
Yearning for more, Lucas brought his tongue into their kiss, sweeping it over Daenerys's full lips before every smooch. When Daenerys felt that touch of his tongue, she returned that gesture too, as her own tongue shyly came out to greet his. Lucas's smoothly brushed over hers, feeling slickness and heat. Each touch was a thrill. Lucas's nerves were buzzing. Growing more and more desirous, Lucas locked his wide-open lips with Daenerys's and pushed his tongue into her mouth, so that he could feel more of those addictive sensations.
Eventually, Lucas broke their kiss. Their eyes met again. Daenerys was aglow, her violet eyes shining. Lucas gazed deeply into them as his mind swirled with thoughts.
Theirs would perhaps be a strange marriage. Lucas had been taught what all Westerosi boys were, that a wife was her husband's domain, and that he ought to lord over her. Yet if Daenerys would someday be his queen, then who would lord over who? Would they lord over each other? Were they to be equals? Lucas was not sure. If they were to figure it out along the way, bit by bit, then so be it. They certainly had plenty of time. And Lucas did know one place he was expected to lead the way. It was there, where they stood: the bedchamber.
Without words, Lucas raised Daenerys's arms and pulled her gown upwards, lifting it off her head and then casting it aside. He was shocked to discover that she wore nothing beneath it, but that shock was soon burned away by a blazing lust. His heart was hammering in his chest.
"Shouldn't we be wedded first?" Daenerys asked in a voice so innocent and pure.
"We will be, soon. On the morrow, if I can arrange it," Lucas told her. It won't be the wedding we deserve, though, he bemoaned. "And it'll only be a formality. After tonight, you and I will be one." If they could not have a grand wedding, they would at least have a grand bedding.
After Lucas gave Daenerys his seed, he grabbed a pillow from the top of the bed and wedged it beneath her arse, raising her lower half above her head. "What's the pillow for?" she asked softly.
"Keeping my seed inside you."
He left his bed and stood to his feet. He went to the window, swiped aside its curtains, and swung it open. The bedchamber's hot, thick air promptly poured outside, taking the smell of sweat and lust with it. The ocean's water was sparkling under the moonlight.
Lucas returned to Daenerys and lay beside her. He held her nearest hand and rested his other atop her stomach, just below her navel, above her womb. He did not dare to pull the furs over them. It was far too hot for that. And Lucas wanted to see her nakedness.
Lucas dreamt during the night.
A red star bled in the night sky. It dwarfed all others around it in brightness. A shadow suddenly passed beneath it, making the star flicker. Then a second shadow darted by, and then a third. The shadows plummeted towards the earth, growing in size till Lucas could make out their shapes in the darkness. They were dragons, colossal in size, with wings that could stretch across a castle. They roared and spouted gouts of fire. They did not slow their descent. They raced towards Lucas, but he could not move his feet. He could not save himself. And yet he felt no fear. Just as the dragons were about to crash atop him and break him beneath them, they spread their wings and drastically slowed their descent. Their feet broke their fall, sending a shockwave through the earth as their claws sank deep into the dirt in a triangle around Lucas.
Only then did Lucas glance down and realize that he was not alone. He carried Daenerys in his arms. She was sound asleep. Her belly was swollen with his child.
The dragons seemed to have paid Lucas no mind when they landed, but now their heads snaked towards him, one by one, till each glared at him with glowing gazes.
Lucas's eyes snapped open. He had dreamt of those three dragons many times before ... but they had never come so close, and they had never looked him in his eyes.
Bright sunlight bled from beneath the window's curtains. Lucas and Daenerys both lay facing it. His arms were wrapped around her waist, his hands clasped over hers at her stomach. His head was just behind hers, resting in a bed of her soft hair. He had taken the pillow from beneath her bottom just before they went to sleep. A small pool of his seed splotched the bed furs, but Lucas did not care. It was nothing the maids could not scrub clean.
Lucas yawned and brought Daenerys closer in his arms. He shut his eyes and rested for a little longer, but he knew full well that he could spend all day in bed if he allowed himself to. He released Daenerys from his arms and scooted to the other side of their bed. He stood to his feet and walked around, to the window. He pulled open the curtains and winced as he was steeped in sunlight.
Lucas stretched and yawned again. When he turned around, he saw Daenerys watching him from their bed, smiling warmly. "How long have you been awake?" he asked.
"A while."
"Why didn't you tell me you'd awoken? I would've let you free."
"I liked having your arms around me."
Lucas smiled and chuckled. He sat beside Daenerys on the edge of their bed, leaned over, and gave her an affectionate kiss. Daenerys exhaled a smooth breath from her nose onto his lips. When Lucas pulled away, he stayed beside her and rested his hand on her hip.
He sat there for some time in the peace and quiet. Longer than he realized. "Do you dream often?" he asked as his mind wandered.
"Yes," Daenerys said.
"Do you dream of dragons?"
"Yes," she said again.
Lucas nodded, unsurprised. "That's our blood. The blood of Old Valyria. I can't imagine how intense the dreams must be for you."
A knocking came from the door. Lucas and Daenerys looked towards it.
"My lord? My lady?" The voice was Tobas's. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, Tobas," Lucas called out. "We're simply resting."
"Very good, my lord. Shall I have Clare and Eleyna begin preparing breakfast?"
"That would be lovely, thank you." Lucas looked to Daenerys again and found her staring at him. "What?"
"They really respect you," she said.
"I give them reason to."
"Viserys fantasized of being like you," Daenerys mused. "He wanted so desperately to be this strong, confident king, respected by all around him ... but he could only play pretend. You ... it's true for you."
Lucas looked away, to the window. He shrugged off Daenerys's flattery. "My father raised me well," he said.
"I think he'd be proud of you."
Lucas looked back to Daenerys. "I know your mother would be proud of you."
Daenerys's smile widened. Lucas leaned over and kissed her again. When he pulled away, he spent a moment gazing into her eyes.
Lucas left her side and returned to the window. New merchant ships were docking in Volantis's ports. Lucas wondered how many of the sailors were Westerosi ... and then he wondered how many of them were loyal to the Usurper. As he thought of just how much work and hardship still lay before him, a sudden wave of tiredness washed over him.
Lucas glanced at Daenerys over his shoulder. She swung her feet over the edge of their bed and stretched her arms and legs. When her eyes found his, she noticed something was amiss. "What's wrong?" she asked.
Lucas looked out the window again. "There's still so much to be done ... and I'm not sure how we're going to do it."
"Do you mean ... Westeros?"
"Yes. Our fate isn't here, Daenerys. This isn't our home."
"That'll take war."
"It might."
"Viserys is going to try to take Westeros too."
Lucas almost laughed. "He doesn't matter," he said, discarding her warning. "Let him dash himself upon King's Landing's walls. He can purchase any army he wants, he'll still fail. Westeros was only ever conquered once, Daenerys, and it wasn't an army that broke it."
"What did?"
Lucas left the window. "I'll show you. Come here." He walked to the tapestry of the Sea Snake. Below the art was his bedchamber's hearth, where behind a wide door wrought from iron and glass a fire was always kept burning. Even when Volantis was so blisteringly hot that Lucas sweated inside his own home, he kept the hearth's fire alight, for hopes of the what the flames might birth. He sat down with his legs crossed. Daenerys did not trouble to cover her nakedness as she padded towards him on her bare feet, her perky breasts gently jostling. She got down on folded knees beside him.
Lucas pulled open the hearth's doors. The heat of the flames washed over him. Resting atop the firewood in the smoke and flickering flames was a blackened iron bowl filled with hot coals. Upon the coals, arranged in a row, were three large eggs with scales as hard as steel. Gleaming in the firelight, the eggs did not lack shine or color. The first from the left was blood-red with gold swirls and flecks, while the second was blue and green, and the third white and violet. All three were webbed with thin, motionless veins beneath their scales. To Lucas's continued dismay, they never became more than beautiful petrified rocks. All these years and the fire had still not awoken them.
"Dragon eggs. They were in a vault in High Tide," Lucas explained. "I will never sell them."
"How do you hatch them?" Daenerys asked softly as she stared into the fire. She captivated by them, almost enthralled. Lucas wondered if they were the first dragon eggs she had ever seen.
"I don't know," Lucas said with a somber shake of his head. No person had hatched a dragon in generations, but Lucas would not surrender his hope. It was said that it took fire and blood to birth them. They lay in fire, and Lucas had Old Valyria flowing through his veins, yet the eggs would not hatch. He had even cut his palm once to squeeze his blood upon them. It had done nothing.
Daenerys raised her arms and began reaching them into the fire, towards the eggs. She did it so slowly that Lucas was not sure what she was doing. For half a heartbeat he could only watch in shock. When his wits returned to him, he hastily snatched Daenerys's arms and pulled her hands from the fire. "Why did you do that?" he demanded, worried for whatever wound she had suffered. He turned her hands in his grasp and looked upon her palms. They're unburnt, he saw, astonished. As Daenerys viewed her hands, she seemed as confused as Lucas.
Feeling compelled to, Lucas fetched the shovel from the rack of iron hearth tools. Carefully, he lifted the burning-hot bowl of dragon eggs, pulled it out of the fire, and set it down on the floor. Daenerys reached for the eggs once more, and this time, Lucas did not stop her. One by one she took the eggs into her grasp. She rotated them gently within her small, pale hands as she gazed upon them. She was as enthralled by them had Lucas had been, once. But he had never been able to hold them straight from the coals like she was. Daenerys was gingerly running her fingers over the scales of the crimson egg when, suddenly, its red and gold colors came alive and vibrant. The stone veins swelled and rippled into life, lightly coursing with the beat of a creature's heart.
Daenerys turned and looked at Lucas. All Lucas could do was gape at the living egg in her grasp.