AN: Obligatory thanks!
Jon IX
Even though quite some time had passed since watching Dany leave for the Red Temple with no one but Ser Jorah, it still did not sit all that well with Jon. However, they would have to do things by themselves at some point. They, of course, functioned best when working together. It was a new and exciting experience for him, without a doubt, but becoming too dependent on each other's presence would not help them in the long run.
So, he saw this as a first step for them to take their individual paths, even when together. What was it Dany had said? 'The dragon has three heads?' That may be the case, but each head was still an individual entity and they had to learn that.
"Well, little brother," Rhaenys said, letting herself fall onto the bed, "it has been a while since it had been just us for more than a few short minutes." She rolled to her side and stretched an arm out, inviting him to join her. "Come here."
He did so eagerly and she quickly latched herself against him and rested her head on his chest. Wrapping his arm around her, Jon pulled Rhaenys tighter into his side. Sometimes it still felt like a marvel that this was the same woman who had warred with herself over hating or not hating him; love had not even been an option then.
"Who is your favourite cousin?" Rhaenys suddenly asked him.
Jon glanced down at her with a raised brow, her amber eyes locked on his face as she was sporting a small, innocent smile. "I don't have favourites."
She snorted at him. "Ridiculous. There's always those you are closer to. You can love them all, but not all of them will be your closest confidants or friends even."
"I don't feel closer to you than to Dany or closer to Dany than to you. I genuinely care for each of you equally."
Rhaenys thought for a moment. "But that is what I am saying. Perhaps my wording was wrong, however," she admitted. "Maybe you do not have 'favourites' as such. However, I know for a fact that you are emotionally more invested in Dany than you are in me."
He looked at her with shock and felt himself start to sweat. "Th-that's…"
Rhaenys just chuckled and climbed on top of him, straddled his hips, cupped both his cheeks and pressed a soft, tender and loving kiss on his lips. She smiled at him once she withdrew. "It's fine, Aegon. I'm not mad and you are not hurting my feelings. I feel the same way about Dany." She shrugged. "Our dear aunt makes it easy to confide in her, to share our fears and woes...she makes it easy to love her. I genuinely do love her. Do you?"
He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. Rhaenys smirked with a raised brow, folded her hands flat on his chest and rested her chin on them while he ran his hands up and down her sides.
Did he love Dany? Did he truly love her the way a man loves a woman? Jon had lusted for her for a long time. There was no shame in admitting that anymore. He remembered his nervous blushing when he had sat down next to her the very first time they had met. Even then, he knew that she was a beautiful, beautiful young woman. She had only added to that impression by proving herself to be a wonderful person as well. She had accepted him with open arms, she took hold of the reins in their small family when no one else would, she would lend them an ear during times of trouble. Dany was not without her flaws, however, but even her bouts of volatile moments, even her – albeit rare – explosive moments of anger only added to her charm.
"Your heart is racing, brother," Rhaenys teased him.
Jon chuckled and squeezed her thighs, his hands long since slipped under her dress. "Aye. She is...difficult not to love."
"That she is," Rhaenys replied with a small sigh, "but I cannot say I feel the same for you." She kissed him again, soundly and loudly, the lips smacking noisily against each other. "Oh, I do love you. You have actually made me love you, little brother, but not the way Dany did. You are my little brother and my friend and my husband and I will protect you –" He chuckled, earning himself a mock glare. "– until my dying breath...but between all of that, I still feel that our marriage is one of convenience and duty – and sometimes passion – rather than that of romance."
"Aye, that is the truth. But –"
"But we are getting there, at our own pace," Rhaenys said with a smile. "I am pleased with where we are. It is leagues better than where we used to be, is it not?"
He laughed. "So much better."
"And as long as you lust for me and are as eager to satisfy me as you are to satisfy Dany, there will be no issues in our relationship."
"Love will come," Jon agreed with a nod and a smile.
"It will. As we grow, our relationship grows. And even if we never love each other the way a man loves a woman, I am still content with what we have."
"You are?"
Rhaenys nodded. "Mhm. I respect you. You have earned it. And I know you respect me and value my opinion on things. That is important to me. I know you do not mind me being your big sister –" "I love that you are my big sister." "– and t-that makes – that makes me glad," she finished with giggles and flushed cheeks. "Thank you, you idiot."
He just grinned at her. She made him happy, as did Dany, and both did so in their own, special ways.
"You do not mind us being siblings and married, do you?" she asked him, her voice suddenly small. "You do not mind us sharing a bed and speaking of children?"
Jon chuckled and cleared his throat. "I...do not think of it any longer, if I am being honest," he admitted with a shrug. "The whole Targaryen aspect of this...having two wives, one my aunt and the other my sister...it is inconsequential to me. I have not been raised to think like a Targaryen."
"But? You sound like there is a 'but' coming."
He smiled at her. "But I cannot bring myself to care about our blood relation anymore. I think I have even said so once before. You are my sister and I love that you are and I love that we are getting closer every day, but you and Dany, you are my wives and I love Dany as such and I will love you as such."
She raised a brow at him with a teasing grin. "Oh, you will, will you?"
"You make it hard not to," he admitted, capturing her lips as she leaned her head up for a kiss.
"Good," she whispered once she broke the kiss. "As I said before...we could be like this for the rest of our lives...just a pair of wedded Targaryen siblings who care for each other and respect each other...and I would be content."
"We've come a long way," Jon mused, thinking back to the rocky beginnings of their relationship.
"A very long way." She looked at him, her amber eyes fixated on his. "It feels odd to think how terribly I have wanted to hate you then and now I wish for you to get me pregnant." His face flushed as he felt his immediate reaction rising below Rhaenys, poking her nethers through the thin fabric of her dress and his trousers. Her teasing grin and wiggling of her bottom was no help in that matter. "Look at that! My naughty little brother gets excited when his big sister is talking about him putting babies in her belly!"
He half-laughed and half-groaned, his hands moving from Rhaenys's thighs to cover his face. "That was just wrong in so many manners, I don't even know where to begin!"
Rhaenys raised a brow, placed the palm of her hands on his chest and pushed herself up to sit astride his lap. "Well, he doesn't appear to think that it was wrong in any manner," she said while grinding her hips again, creating delicious friction.
Before things could get any more heated, however, there was a loud commotion coming from outside that interrupted and distracted them. They glanced at each other before Rhaenys climbed off of him, ran her fingers through her hair and smoothed out her dress to make herself more presentable.
They left the room together and walked down the hallway to the entrance hall, Prince Oberyn joining them halfway and looking just as curious as they did.
Once they reached the entrance hall and caught sight of what was going on, Jon's mouth fell open in shock as he felt himself pale immediately.
Ser Jorah had been brought in by an Unsullied city guard, one arm just barely hanging over the eunuch's shoulder. His tunic was bloodstained and discarded. He was sporting several cuts and stab wounds, but nothing that appeared to be fatal at first glance. There were just so many wounds, however; it was a wonder Ser Jorah had not yet bled to death.
Looking away from their wounded knight laid down on the floor and Ser Barristan and Prince Oberyn, who were tending to his wounds, he glanced around frantically, his worries growing bigger and bigger with every moment he did not see her.
"Where's Dany?" he finally asked, dread evident in his voice.
"She was not brought here with him, Your Grace," Ser Barristan said grimly. "The Unsullied just arrived with him here and that is making me suspicious enough as is."
He breathed heavily through his nose, one hand clenching and unclenching in stress while the other was clutched in a tight grip by his sister.
"Whoever attacked Ser Jorah has Dany," he ground out, stating the obvious to reinforce the urgency of the situation for everyone present. "We have to look for her. Now." Retracting his hand from Rhaenys's grip, he stalked towards the Unsullied city guard, a furious glare on his face. "Why did you bring Ser Jorah here? What happened to the young woman with him?"
"This one was ordered to bring the man to this manse," the eunuch replied monotonously.
"By whom? Magister Tychor?" Rhaenys asked, her suspicions bleeding through.
"No. By another."
"Where is Tychor anyway?" Oberyn asked curiously, his hands bloodstained from wrapping linen around the wounds.
"He said he had business to attend to," Rhaenys answered. "Mighty convenient, if you ask me."
Jon stepped away from the Unsullied and leaned with his back against a wall, pinching his nose with his fingers and attempting to steady his frantic breathing. He needed to think, he needed a moment to collect his thoughts.
Ser Jorah was wounded, unconscious and bleeding profusely, obviously taken by surprise if the stab wounds on his back were anything to go by. And even worse than that was that Dany was now missing. His aunt, his wife, his love was missing. His Queen. Ser Jorah and she had gone to visit the Red Temple. Had they even reached it? Had they even made it there?
"Aegon!"
He was startled out of his thoughts when Rhaenys shook him gently with her hands on his shoulders.
"We need to do something."
Jon nodded. "Aye. I was thinking...we need to know…" He turned to face the city guard. "You! Unsullied! Do you know if this man came from the Red Temple or if he was on his way there?"
"This one took the man from a wine stand."
"They were attacked at a wine stand?" Rhaenys glanced at him with unbridled fury in her eyes.
"If another magister told this guard to carry Ser Jorah here, could this have been a conspiracy against us between the magisters?" Jon wondered with a frown. "Malen Sanyr," he said suddenly, recalling the peculiar man from the banquet several months ago. "He's the merchant prince who gifted me the Valyrian steel sword. We need to go see him. Prince Oberyn, prepare yourself, please," he ordered, then looked at his sister. "I want you to remain here."
Before he could move down the hall to their chambers and retrieve his sword, Rhaenys grabbed his arm almost violently and forcefully turned him around to face her again. "If this is your idea of a jest, then I am not amused in the slightest, little brother. I will come with you."
"No," he said with a hard voice.
Rhaenys's face contorted into a furious grimace as she shoves against his chest. "I hope you are not thinking what I think you are thinking. I will geld you with my own hands if you do." She held his angry gaze with her burning, amber eyes; anger pushing against anger, fear feeding fear, fire fuelling fire. "Just because I am a woman –"
"Don't be ridiculous, Rhaenys! You know that has nothing to do with this!" He rubbed his hands over his face and exhaled forcefully. "I don't want to risk losing you. If Dany...if…"
She pulled his hands from his face and stared at him with pure determination. "I will come with you and we will find Dany. Together. We are always stronger together."
Jon squeezed his eyes shut for several long heartbeats, silently praying to the Old Gods, before opening them to meet his sister's unflinching gaze. "...aye," Jon finally conceded, nodding with great reluctance. He knew she was too stubborn and proud to listen to him in this instance and he could not begrudge her of that. Dany was her love just as much as Dany was his love. She was their aunt and the centre of their relationship. It was what it was and Rhaenys was as fierce and strong a woman as they came, but worry was lodged firmly into his heart still. "Prepare yourself then. Your poisons, daggers. Maybe take a spear as well."
Rhaenys nodded once and rushed to their room. Jon glanced at Ser Barristan, still busy cleaning Ser Jorah's countless stab wounds to the best of his ability. "I trust you and Belwas with the lives of our dragons and the lives of Feraya and Minela, Ser."
"And I shall protect them all with my life," Ser Barristan replied firmly and with solemn determination. "Go and bring back our Queen Daenerys, my King."
"I will."
They were walking with utmost haste through Qohor's rich streets, past guards, dallying nobles and manses. The Unsullied who had brought Ser Jorah to them had pointed them in the direction of the merchant prince's manse and now they were searching for a manse with a pathway of red marble stones and two date palms framing a white and wooden entrance door.
Just for a moment, Jon's mind wandered, wondering if a weirwood tree had been cut down just for the entrance door to Malen Sanyr's manse.
While it still took them far too long for his taste, they had eventually found the merchant prince's home soon enough. There were two Unsullied guards, but these were, unlike the city guards, obscenely obese, fat bellies stretching their leather armour visibly, pushing the material to its limits. When they neared the entrance, the guards erected their shields and readied their spears, weapons Rhaenys had opted to go without, whereas Prince Oberyn had taken his spear with him.
"I demand to speak with Magister Malen if he is available. It is urgent," Jon expressed firmly with a calmness he certainly did not feel. Prince Oberyn was glancing at him with an approving nod.
"The Magister does not take uninvited guests," one of the guards said in that monotonous tone.
"Go in there and tell him that King Jon Aegon Targaryen is waiting outside of his manse!" Jon shouted angrily, what little patience he had left quickly running out as he was despairing at every minute they were losing.
"The Magister does not take uninvited guests," the other guard insisted, repeating and confirming what the first eunuch soldier had said a moment earlier.
The sudden sound of a thrown blade whistled through the air before it thumped loudly against the Unsullied's wooden shield. The eunuchs reacted immediately at Rhaenys's attack, marching towards them, their round shields held in front of them, barely even covering their hulking frames. The eunuchs were holding their spears with clear aggression.
Jon drew his sword, prepared to cut his way into the manse if he had to, but the door swung open almost violently, stopping the Unsullied in their tracks. "What is the meaning of this?!" the merchant prince demanded.
Relieved, Jon relaxed his stance, though his sword still remained in his hands. "Malen Sanyr. Tell your eunuchs to stand down. We have to talk."
The merchant prince eyed them warily, his torso naked and trousers put on haphazardly. His slick hair was long and cascading down onto his broad shoulders and his beard was not full anymore, but pointy at the chin while the rest was shaven clean.
"Get back to your posts," he ordered the Unsullied, who lowered their shields at once and returned to guard the entrance door as they did before. They appeared as if they had never even intended to attack them. "Come in, then, your Grace," he said with a frown and obvious annoyance.
Jon, after sheathing his sword, followed the merchant prince at once, taking the lead in front of Rhaenys and Prince Oberyn. When they reached the guards, Rhaenys stopped for a moment to remove her knife from the shield it got stuck in.
Once past the obese Unsullied, the inside of Malen Sanyr's house did not differ much from what he had experienced so far: slaves left and right, obscenely decorated and the scent of sweet spices filling the air. What was peculiar, however, was that all the slaves were young women, seductively dressed and very healthy and clean looking. Some even appeared to be pregnant.
"As you see," Malen began with a lazy drawl as he led them through the hall into a side room, "all my slaves are healthy and well treated. They might be stupid, but I don't need smart slaves." He gave them a lecherous grin. "Empty heads, big tits and spread legs are what I desire and they give that readily. In return, I don't mutilate them like my barbarian brethren are wont to do. I resent such morbidity and cannot stomach the sight of blood."
Jon, smothering the frantic urge to decapitate him then and there, held up a placating hand. He, Rhaenys and Prince Oberyn sat down on lush, comfortable pillows by a low table, following their host, before he spoke up.
"We are not here to judge you or speak with you about your slaves. We just wish to know if you are aware of anything the magisters might have plotted against us."
His brows rose high as the merchant prince voiced his surprise. "I apologize. I fear I must have misunderstood. The others were foolish enough to do what now?"
Jon slammed his fist down hard on the table. "Damn it!" He breathed in deeply, a desperate attempt to rein his anger and desperation in before glaring at Malen. "You know nothing? Nothing at all, no rumours, no whispers – just...nothing?"
"What makes you even think that the magisters and merchant princes have anything to do with this, your Grace?" Malen lowered his voice in a thinly veiled threat. "These are dangerous accusations to make and we do not take those lightly."
"And I do not make them lightly, but a city guard brought one of our knights, almost dead, to Tychor's manse. Ser Jorah was accompanying my Queen to the Red Temple." Jon narrowed his eyes and almost growled. "Someone attacked them, abducted Daenerys and, for whatever reason, a magister ordered the guard to carry Ser Jorah here. These are the Unsullied's words."
Malen stroked his beard in thought. "If – if – it was really a magister, then I can only think of two reasons why they would send an Unsullied with your half-dead knight back to the manse: a warning, or one of them wishes to be shown mercy once this becomes too much for them to handle. Which means, they lack confidence in this whole endeavour."
A slave entered the room with a tray carrying a large flagon and four cups. She placed them on the table and began filling the cups. Once she was finished, Malen slapped her behind hard, making her breath visibly hitch. She giggled nervously when her owner fondled her bum before sending her away with another slap. The slave hastily made her exit.
Malen grinned at them with a wink, then raised his cup. "Share a cup of Qohor's finest spiced wine with me. I'll call for my Soothsayer and we'll see what she can see." His expression then turned serious. "But I expect something in return."
Prince Oberyn gave a short, humourless laugh. "Of course you do. What is it you want, then? Gold? More slaves?"
Malen waved the suggestions away. "Better. Much better. You see, Ahrila, the Soothsayer in my service, had foreseen what is going to happen to this city on the day of the Red Comet." He leaned forward, looking Jon and Rhaenys straight in the eyes. "She saw Qohor burning and streets littered with broken chains. She saw dead magisters and the statue of Black Goat fallen and destroyed." He held up a finger. "I shall not stop you. I cannot handle violence and blood. I will help you find your Queen and I shall hope she returns to you safe and sound. In return, I want to rule Qohor. Leave me out of your violence, do what you think you must, allow me to take this city and we shall have a good and fruitful partnership in the future."
"We will not allow slaves," Rhaenys threw in coldly.
Malen shrugged carelessly. "I don't care. They are convenient, but I don't need them. I can pay them a coin or two as servants. If I want to get my cock wet I can always find a whore."
Jon eyed him suspiciously. "You accept this quite readily."
"If you had no dragons, I would have you executed, then and there. Slaves make life comfortable and easy and I rather things remain as they are, but Ahrila saw what she saw. One way or another, this city will burn and I would rather profit from it than burn with it."
Prince Oberyn chuckled. "Pragmatic."
Malen grinned. "Quite."
"Very well. Call this Soothsayer of yours then. Every minute we have spent here is a minute we could have spent searching for Dany," Jon said impatiently.
"Indeed. You!" Malen called out towards the hallway, where a slave was readily waiting on her slightly spread knees, the piece of fabric covering her groin area ridden up to reveal her smooth sex. "Go and get Ahrila. She has work to do."
The slave got to her feet and immediately walked further down the hall, disappearing from sight.
"That one is dumb as a rock but has the sweetest cunt you can imagine. One of my favourites to feast on," Malen said with a barking laugh.
Jon just glowered into his cup, praying for Dany's safety and wishing for that Soothsayer to arrive quickly.
His nervousness was feeding off of Rhaenys's and Rhaenys's off his. It was thick in the air and the only calm they had was Oberyn.
He looked down at his wine, still untouched. Glancing at Rhaenys and Prince Oberyn, both their cups remained untouched as well. It drew out a low chuckle. Dany had been attacked at a wine stand. Of course, they would be reluctant to drink.
A sigh of relief escaped him when the slave returned with a blindfolded woman. The woman had ratty, brown hair and wore dirty, grey garbs, her feet bare. She carried a small, patched-up bag with her.
She sat down by the table across from them after inclining her head in greetings.
"It is good to meet you, your Graces." Her voice was so very soft and barely audible. She cocked her head and furrowed her brows. "Though the Mother of Dragons is not with you. Troubling."
"Can you find her?" Jon asked impatiently. "She was abducted."
"It has begun, then," the Soothsayer, Ahrila, gasped and whispered excitedly.
"It is safe to assume so," Malen said seriously. "Now tell the King and his Queen where the other is. I promised them after all and I do intend to keep my promises."
"Of course, of course."
The woman eagerly removed a pouch from her waist and emptied it, bones of many shapes clattering onto the table. She then rummaged in her bag and retrieved a small, stone bowl, cleaned it with a sleeve of her garbs and then began to fill it with the bones, one fistful followed by another to add the rest.
Ahrila took a breath and held the bowl with both hands. She then began muttering under her breath, moving it away from her, then to her chest, then to her left and back to her chest before moving it to her right and back to her chest. Then she repeated the jerky movements, faster. She repeated it once, twice, thrice before she turned the bowl upside down, allowing the bones to fall onto the table.
It was then that Jon bore witness to magic once more. The pile of bones, instead of remaining still once they landed on the table, kept moving, arranging and rearranging themselves. The table didn't move and Ahrila didn't touch them. No, the Soothsayer's blindfolded gaze was aimed straight ahead and Jon's brows furrowed when growing red spots appeared where the eyes would be behind the fabric. Her breath grew heavy and her mouth was agape. She kept gasping and groaning and her agony was so very obvious.
Then the bones stopped moving and Ahrila was catching her breath, shivering, pale and sweaty.
"So? Did you see anything useful?" Rhaenys pressed, in as dire a need for answers as he was.
Malen held up a hand, asking for a bit more patience while a slave came with a fresh and clean piece of cloth. Ahrila removed her old blindfold slowly, making him wince and Rhaenys audibly gasp upon revealing two bloody, empty eye sockets.
"H-how...how are you moving so easily, when –" Rhaenys gestured uncertainly with her hand at the empty eye sockets, asking the question that had immediately popped into his mind.
"A Soothsayer sacrifices her eyes to see clearer than ever," Ahrila intoned without answering anything. After she had placed the blindfold over her eyes again, she turned her head in their direction. "The Mother of Dragons is held in a storehouse owned by merchant prince Nakaquo Irninar. He is a sorcerer."
"And he owns most of Qohor's establishments," Malen added with distaste. "A nasty piece of work and the most influential of us."
"The Mother of Dragons had been poisoned but they have given her an antidote. I have seen it. And I have seen dragon eggs." Ahrila thoughtfully cocked her head to the side. "They want dragons but they cannot hatch them themselves."
"They are mad," Jon growled with anger. "Where is this storehouse?"
"Go to the plaza and walk past the Black Goat and further ahead of the Red Temple. Follow that street and at some point, you will reach a crossing. Take the right. Follow it," Malen explained. "And be calm. If they indeed want your Queen to hatch dragons, then they need her alive. And I need you alive and victorious to get what I want." He then gave them a predatory grin. "Just make sure to remove all of my competition."
"Those involved in this conspiracy will die anyway. If it is every magister and merchant prince then every magister and merchant prince of Qohor will die." Jon looked at Prince Oberyn and Rhaenys. "Let us leave and find this storehouse."
"About time," Rhaenys muttered and stood up, following him, as did Prince Oberyn.
Jon inclined his head at them. "We thank you for your time and help, Malen Sanyr and Ahrila. I will not forget the aid you've provided us."
"Thank me by gifting me power over Qohor," he replied with a grin. "Now off you go."
They sped through the city streets, the noble district long since behind them. Life went on as it usually did, but Jon knew – he just knew – that after today, everything in Qohor would change. Would it be their first conquered city? He did not know, but it would be in the hands of a whoremonger, a dirty, lecherous man who had no qualms about moving from slave to slave, laying with them and leaving them pregnant. Jon wondered what he was doing with the children because he had heard no child's cry or laughter in the manse and Malen's home was of the smaller sort compared to what he had seen of his colleagues.
For now, however, his focus was only on finding Dany. Nothing else mattered.
Once more they had reached the plaza, wading through the mass of noisy people passing by, past the statue of the Black Goat and its small crowd of kneeling worshippers.
"Further down that road," Prince Oberyn announced. "Past that Red Temple."
Jon nodded, his pace hastening, even more, his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword. Soon, they left the plaza behind them and drew closer to the Red Temple. Jon glanced at the buildings around them, his brows furrowing upon seeing a darker red hue splattered on the wall. He shook his head.
"Wait." He pointed at the wall, indicating what he had noticed. "Is this blood? Dany wanted to visit this Temple."
"Let's take a look then," Prince Oberyn said with a dark expression. He walked towards the building, ran a thumb over the suspicious spot, placed it under his nose and exhaled heavily. "Blood. Fresh." He tried to pull open the door, but was unable to. "And the door is locked."
"It doesn't have to be Dany's," Rhaenys immediately argued, though by the anxiety she was failing to hide in her voice, it felt more as if she was trying to convince herself. "They were attacked at a wine stand. The Unsullied said so."
"They lie if you tell them to lie." Prince Oberyn nodded at the entrance to the temple. "Let us break the door, go inside and see –"
Heavy marching footsteps from behind them drew their attention and they turned around to find several black-cloaked men approaching them with a small host of twenty, maybe thirty Unsullied. Any men, women and children lagging out in the streets immediately scurried away and disappeared inside of their homes as dread filled Jon's stomach.
Within seconds they were surrounded.
"Take them, but do not cut them," one of the cloaked men ordered.
Jon glared at the one who spoke with clenched teeth, feeling oddly fearless at the hopeless situation they found themselves in. "Cut down as many as you can," he told Rhaenys and Prince Oberyn.
Rhaenys threw her knife without a moment's hesitation and so suddenly that not even the Unsullied could react. The knife managed to cut one of the cloaked men on his cheek, though it did not lodge into his face. Still, the surprised yelp of pain was satisfying. Rhaenys then drew a pair of daggers, readying herself for the upcoming battle.
This prompted the Unsullied into attacking, though they did not use their spears. They only thrust their shields forward to block their attacks, but Jon was able to destroy one of the wooden shields with repeated heavy blows from his Valyrian steel sword and with it the arm of the eunuch soldier. He blocked all the shield bashing he could, but space became more and more cramped as the Unsullied advanced further and further towards them, enclosing them against the doors of the red temple.
And, finally, there was a thrust he did not see coming, the thick boss of the shield bashing him on the head, rattling his world and filling his vision with stars. Another hit, and he slumped against the wall of the temple, his grip on his sword slackening. He heard Rhaenys scream but that was followed by the heavy thud of someone falling.
Before darkness claimed him, he was sure that he had heard the dragons scream.