A/N: I'm back, thanks for your patience. Review Responses are in my forums as normal. Also, just a humble request. Please don't attack other reviewers. As long as a review doesn't dive into personal attacks, threats or insults, it's all good. My stories don't click with everyone, and I'm okay with that. Just be patient with everyone, please.
And now, on with the show (apologies to fans of Wildbow's Ward).
Chapter Eleven: First Daughter
Taylor dreamed about New Zealand sometimes. With Force Meditation she'd managed to control most of her nightmares about that last, terrifying Endbringer battle with the Slaughterhouse Nine. Or of Yuki's sacrifice to save them all.
But for some reason, New Zealand still occasionally found its way into her mind. Christchurch
was such a beautiful city before the war. Nestled next to an ancient volcano in Pegasus Bay, it seemed like a violation of nature that so much horrid violence could be visited in such a place. As if Lucifer had managed to strike into heaven itself in his rage.
The First Marine Expeditionary Force didn't land in the city itself. Instead, they beached southwest of Lake Ellesmere amidst entrenched CUI defenses. Missile and destroyer barrages only softened the CUI defensive line.
Which is where Taylor and her Parahuman Expeditionary Force came in. The Chinese parahuman forces, the Yangbang, were spread thinly across the Pacific theatre, but New Zealand was a priority for them. Which meant Taylor and her squad faced fifty of the mind-washed, enslaved parahumans.
Taylor came with a hundred of her own, including two powerful flying brutes, Glory Girl and Mujaji. Those that were not fliers of their own came in Taylor's own assault jumpsuits, equipped with repulsor coils and jump-jets. One hundred parahumans dropped from the sky and 1,600 marines bulldozed in from the sea.
They went up against 7,000 CUI soldiers in heavily fortified bunkers and fifty superbly trained, soulless parahuman warriors.
What she remembered most about her first day of World War Three was how very surprised 20-year-old Victoria Dallon looked when the fusillade of bullets and parahuman lightning strikes overwhelmed her shields and tore her arm and left leg off twenty-feet above the ground. She didn't look like it hurt her, only that she was shocked that something could hurt her.
Mujaji's screams of horror woke Taylor every time in a cold sweat.
Vicky was the first of almost seven hundred casualties that day between Taylor's parahumans and marines. They won against overwhelming odds and secured the beachhead for the rest of the International Coalition Forces assigned to liberate New Zealand. But it was a Pyrrhic victory at best-the first of many to come until the world finally convinced Eidolon to unleash his Endbringers.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
The pirate stared at the stumps of his arms in surprise a second before Taylor's lightsaber removed his head. Behind her, Unsullied were using their spears and shields with brutal effectiveness against unarmored pirates bearing cudgels and broad, Lyseni sabers.
"Board, board! Take the ship!" Taylor's voice rang in the air, carried by the Force as well as practice. The Unsullied threw down boarding planks just as they'd been practicing. Taylor jumped the distance, landing in the middle of four pirates who took a moment to comprehend how she crossed the twelve-foot span from the deck of her ship to the middle of theirs. That moment was all she needed to kill them.
Her idea of having the Saduleon break off from the rest of the fleet as they cleared Old Valyria did not sit well with Groleo. But having the ship packed to capacity with Unsullied made him a little more confident.
After they netted their first pirate vessel two days before making the Southpoint harbor at the tip of the broken land, the captain realized that he didn't need the Unsullied. His queen alone could clear a pirate ship. Lightsabers made the whole exercise terribly unfair.
Just like the first ship Taylor took, the pirates started throwing down their weapons when they saw her telekinetically blast the captain so hard his chest collapsed, blood gushed from his lips, and his body went somersaulting through the air into the Summer Sea.
When they had the surviving crew secured, she turned to her lead Unsullied. "Gray Worm, take a squad below and search the vessel," Taylor said in the Valyrian patois the Unsullied spoke.
"As you say!" He took ten men and led them below. The surviving sailors numbered twenty men. That was actually better than the first vessel that only had five survivors. She had to pull from Groleo's crew to have enough experienced sailors to crew the ship. Even then, Unsullied were having to make up the difference.
These men appeared to be a typical blend of ethnicities common to the pirates of the Summer Sea and the oceans around the Basilisk Isles. It sometimes amazed her how very cosmopolitan the world was, given how primitive it was. Just in this crew she saw a pair of Westerosi, a few Qartheen, one YiTish man, a monster of a Summer Island whose entire face was covered in fierce tattoos, and the rest an even blend of pale-haired Lyseni, Myrish and Tyroshi.
Grey Worm, one of Rhezhal's under officers and, in the man's own words, a future officer, returned to the deck. "Gold, jewels and ten captives," he said. "A rich prize."
Behind him, the Unsullied brought up eight surprisingly healthy-looking men in manacles and two slim, silver-haired women with tear-drops tattooed on their cheeks. Rather than manacles, they were clad in clean silken gowns.
Sex slaves. If Taylor understood how the market went, they were probably trained in Lys and then sold to Volantis where they updated their tattoos. The men looked Westerosi. And unlike most slaves, they looked mad. The largest of them had the stance of a fighting man and seethed with rage. She was sure it had nothing to do with the broken chains and whips tattooed across the entirety of the right side of his face. Even without the tattoos, he'd not have been a handsome man, not with his bulbous nose and jug-shaped ears set low on his head. The only thing going for him was a head full of black hair and a body made to fight.
She stepped right up to him, inches from his face. He seemed startled that she looked him in the eye. "Who are you?' she asked bluntly.
"I'm a fuckin' slave," he said, nearly spitting in her face.
"You won't be if you tell me who you are."
The man looked from her to the Unsullied. "You in charge of these cockless fuckers? A woman?"
Right. Taylor stepped back from the manacled slaves. At the aft of the ship, her Unsullied guarded the surviving crew. Time for a demonstration.
She didn't actually have to stretch out her hand; she had mastery enough of the Force not to need gestures. It was, however, dramatic. She didn't want to kill, she wanted to awe. The angry, tattooed slave grasped at his throat as he rose up high enough into the air that he pulled the chains of the others.
"I am Rhaenys Targaryen." The lie came easily to her now. "The Reborn. Sorceress of Asshai and Dragonlord. Rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Welcome to the Targaryen navy."
She let the tattooed slave drop to the ground. When she turned her golden eyes to the front of the ship the captured crew didn't hesitate to kneel. She fully planned to break the crew up, switching men between her ships. But in the meantime, she now had a Lyseni galleas to add to her fleet.
She turned back to the tattooed slave. "Now that I've introduced myself," she said with a wry smile. "Who are you?"
"Wilis Toyne," the man said. "My father was Myles Toyne of House Toyne, former Captain-General of the Golden Company. And you're as much Targaryen as I am. I knew Prince Aegon-my Pa and I were there when the boy and Ser Jon Connington took fever and died. He was Valyrian through and through. You? I don't know who the fuck you are."
"I'm the difference between you being a free man, and you being a slave," Taylor said. "Seems pretty simple, doesn't it?"
She looked at the rest of the men-Westerosi or Free Cities men, all of them. "Any other sons of Westerosi houses I should know of? Since I'm going to be conquering the kingdom, I might see fit to return lands."
"He's the only fucker with a name," one of the other men said. "For what good it did 'em."
She looked back at Toyne. "I'm heading to Volantis, and from there the Disputed Lands. After that? Westeros. I aim to take back my father's throne. I'm looking for good men to join me. Right now? The pay is your freedom, food and supplies. But when I'm on the throne? A copper star for each day served. Paid retroactively."
"My father paid his men in the Golden Company a stag a day on campaign," Toyne said.
"Your father isn't here, Wilis Toyne, so that doesn't appear to be one of your options. You're a free man, I don't hold with slavery. If you wish, when we reach Volantis you're free to leave. You appear to be familiar with the city."
His untattooed cheek reddened. "Looks like I'm your man, then."
"Good. And you others?"
"If'n I'm to fight to the death, might as well get paid for it," the man next to Toyne declared.
"Then welcome to the Targaryen navy, gentlemen. Let's get everything settled, we still have a long way to go to Volantis."
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
The good news was that the massive, sprawling city of Volantis didn't immediately try to sink them. In the harbor, every one of Taylor's ships, even the three pirate vessels they took en route, had three Volantine dromunds facing them with scorpions and small ship-born catapults equipped with pots of pitch ready to be lit. But so far the Triarchs of the city had agreed to host her for a talk on the disposition of her men. They allowed the Saduleon to sail to a berth. And she'd been on the ship, waiting, for the two hours since as she and her companions prepared for a very important meeting.
"Is this really necessary?"
"Unfortunately, your Grace, it is," Ser Jorah said.
Taylor stood on the top of the plank of the Saduleon in possibly the most revealing costume she'd worn outside of Oahu, Hawaii. It was an allowance to the climate of Volantis that the natives had turned into their own unique fashion.
She wore a loose skirt of linen draped in strings of gold and pearls that hung down to mid-thigh. Leather sandals laced their way up her calves to her knees, leaving a great amount of her legs bare. Of course, her stomach was bare as well. The blouse, if it could be called such, clung tightly around her chest in wrap, and over that a jewel-encrusted vest. Quaithe had painted dragon wings and a dragon's head around her exposed navel in black and red.
She still wore her gold headpiece, as well as clips on the sides of her ears for more gold and precious gems. She didn't bother asking how they got all of it, not since she learned that Ser Barristan had issued letters of marque to a group of pirates who were even now praying on ships trying to reach Slaver's Bay and returning with freed slaves who were willing to fight for her.
Despite the revealing clothing, Taylor still wore her weapons belt, even if she went without her shield and spear. She'd be damned if she intended to go into a potentially hostile city without her lightsabers.
Ser Jorah Mormont was to be her guide that day, having spent almost a year in the city after his wife left him for a rich Lysene Merchant. He wore a light linen kilt woven in a fascinating, almost plaid-like pattern of red, black and gold thread that hung to his knees, and a loose silken blouse and vest.
Quaithe had elected to come as well, and like Taylor had dressed for the crushingly hot, humid climate of the city with revealing, almost transparent culottes that showed a skimpy silken loincloth underneath, and a golden top similar to Taylor's, but without the jewels on her vest. Instead of a mask, she'd painted polygons on her cheeks, a flame on her forehead, and four polygons around her own navel.
The only amusement of the morning had been watching Jorah not look at her. He was not looking at her with all his willpower.
"So we're not going to be seeing paintings and statutes of people having sex everywhere, are we?" Taylor asked.
Got him! She didn't bother hiding her smirk when Mormont glanced at the scandalously clad Quaithe. "No, your grace," he said, blushing brightly. "The Volantines are Valyrian by heritage and are not as…"
"Licentious," Quaithe finished for him. "However, it is held as almost law that a high born's feet should not touch the ground, if they're station is high enough. Hence the need. The Triarchs will not give you any respect if you approach them on foot like a commoner."
Ahead of them, flanked by two rows of her Unsullied, came the reason why Taylor and Quaithe had not disembarked their ship yet. The elephant moved ponderously through the crowd with a palanquin on it's back that was secured by a series of straps around the poor animal's body. Its ears were a strange shape-not huge like an African elephant, nor small like an Indian elephant. Rather, their ears hung almost like loose flaps that they used as whips to fan away insects. Its skin was a brighter shade of gray than Taylor would have thought, but the creature was easily as large as the biggest elephants she'd ever seen, with tusks that would have been huge, had they not been cut off and cuffed in gold plate.
"How are we even supposed to get up there without my using power?"
The answer came with the elephant's attendants. Two burley men in loincloths with slave tattoos on their cheeks ran around the animal with a ladder-like contraption. The slaves unfolded it to reveal a skeletal, rickety set of stairs that ran right to the edge of the stone quay by their ship.
"When in Rome," Taylor muttered. She walked up the stairs, confirming they were just as rickety as they looked. Qaith followed. Finally, as Quaith was half-way up, Missandei joined them. Her own clothing was more modest of fabric, if not of cut. Like Taylor, she wore a short skirt and high sandals, with her midriff bare and her chest modestly covered in a leather top. She had no tattoos or painting, and was panting as she arrived.
"I beg forgiveness, Aeksiae," she said as she settled on one of the pillows in the veiled palanquin.
"It's alright, I knew you were having a hard time getting something you could wear," Taylor said easily. She watched as Mormont fell in below with her twenty Unsullied guards around the elephant. Finally, after two hours of waiting for their arrangements, they made their way into the city.
Volantis was one of the largest cities in the world, and still claimed a position as one of the richest still. The density of people filling the ancient, narrow streets made Taylor believe it. There was no counterpart Taylor could think of on Earth, except possibly Byzantium-era Rome. Past its prime, but still important. It had a mixture of numbingly ancient stone architecture with newly fashioned wooden huts between. And everywhere, she saw people.
The density of the foot traffic was astonishing, and explained the heavy scent that hung in the humid air. The only reason they were able to move was the two lines of soldiers and the elephant that pushed people out of the way. None complained-from the marks on their cheeks Taylor suspected most were slaves.
Volantis was not a Slaver City per se, and yet from what Mormont told her there were five slaves for every free citizen in the city. For a city that proclaimed itself Free, the denizens seemed anything but.
But she needed food for her men, and a place for them to disembark, and that meant either a difficult if not impossible war, or groveling.
After a few minutes of watching the crushing press of people, and smelling the stench of unwashed bodies, rotted food and the miasma of raw sewer that hung in the air, she turned her attention to Missandai.
The young woman stared down at the press or people with a blank expression. As if sensing eyes on her, she looked to Taylor and smiled weakly. "There are many people, Aeksiae. I did not know there were so many."
When they finally reached the domicile of the Triarchs, Taylor at first thought they were approaching a natural cliff. As they grew closer, though, she realized they were approaching a massive wall, easily two hundred feet tall. This was the Black Wall that Ser Jorah spoke of, then, and she had to admit it was well named. Made with what looked like fused black concrete, the structure had a parapet every fifty feet up, allowing soldiers to look down at the city with archers, slingers and pots of pitch if necessary.
She would not want to breach it with anything less than a gunship and a set of Howitzers. With medieval tactics and weapons, the cost in lives and material would be astronomical. The elephant and its escorts came to a halt as Ser Jorah stepped forward and spoke to the guards at the gate. The men wore lamellar leather armor with their arms and legs bare. Their spear tips were steel, though, and their shields looked sturdy enough. After a few words, the caravan continued forward, though Taylor noted that half her Unsullied remained behind in a little square just outside the wall. They stood in parade formation, not moving a muscle.
The tunnel they passed through was wide enough and high enough to allow three elephants to walk shoulder-to shoulder, and there was still several feet of head clearance over the palanquin. Which was good, considering it took almost five minutes to emerge into the first courtyard beyond.
What she saw were gold-domed palaces, narrowly crowded together and rising several stories as far as she could see. The walls continued to stretch into the distance, embracing the original Valyrian colony founded thousands of years before. Taylor realized she was looking at structures as old as the Pyramids on earth, yet maintained and lived in still.
Despite the tightly spaced manses within the wall, the boulevard remained wide enough for their elephant to pass easily. Even within this inner sanctum of Old Volantis, the high born were carried about on palanquins borne on the shoulders of slaves, or in rickshaws. Only slaves or hired lowborn walked on the streets. Even if they wore fine garments of silk, suede and brocade, the tattoos on their faces marked the slave's place in society.
The street ended in a palace larger and more magnificent than any other, with three golden domes rising almost as tall as the black walls themselves. This, then, was the Palace of the Triarchs.
It should not have surprised Taylor that instead of dismounting the elephant on a ladder, their attendants instead brought the elephant to the second level of the palace, and a balcony that extended out almost like a landing dock.
An old man with silver-white hair and striking violet eyes stood waiting for them, flanked by two Volantine slave soldiers. Unlike his guards, he had no tattoos on his face, and his clothing consisted of a robe of a simple cut yet woven through with silk of various shades that formed pictures of scrolls.
The man bowed from the waist as Taylor stepped from the palanquin. "Queen Rhaenys, Master of Dragons, I greet you. I am Ghael Vhassar, Chamberlain and uncle to Triarch Nyessos Vhassar. It is my honor to escort you to the Triarchy."
The man spoke a dialect of Valyrian that sounded almost like French compared Latin-a more lyrical, polished version of the root language. She understood it well enough, especially as she was cheating by drifting through the man's surface thoughts.
"Ghael Vhassar, well met," Taylor said in the exact same dialect. Behind the chamberlain, she saw Ser Jorah arrive with only two Unsullied. "I am pleased that the Triarchs of Volantis will meet with me. Though it was many years ago, I have been told I visited this great city as a child. I'm happy to see it's splendors once again as an adult."
With Jorah, Quaithe and Missandei behind her, and her two Unsullied guards on either side, they proceeded into the palace.
It still astonished her that even after thousands of years, the people of Essos had not developed portraiture. Instead, the halls were filled with breath-taking statues (many with their heads lopped off for some reason), tapestries, frescoes and murals. The floor tiles were artfully arranged to depict forests and dragons and warriors engaging in epic conflicts, some of which went on for hundreds of feet through the floors of the vast halls.
Everywhere she looked she saw gold or silver. Glass windows ran along the very top of the palace's colonnaded ceiling, shining into intricately assembled crystal vases that sent sunlight shimmering down.
Finally, they reached the Triarchy.
Taylor was expecting to see a throne room. Instead, she came into what looked like a compact, rectangular auditorium. Three thrones sat in a triangular orientation facing a center point. On each of the chairs was a golden statue of an animal-one tiger and two elephants. And rising up around the open atrium where the thrones sat were galleries set every floor for five floors, each filled with seats for citizens to watch. Several hundred people occupied the seats as she entered. The space echoed with stomping, which Taylor hoped was the Volantine equivalent of applause.
The triarchy was elected, Ser Jorah told her. More importantly, they were all up for reelection. That meant the three men watching her enter had to perform for their constituents as much as Taylor had to perform for them.
And the performance started now. With a mild, telepathic nudge, she had Missandei step forward and belt out at the top of her voice a greeting that the people of Volantis would remember. "Now comes before you Rhaenys Targaryen! Dragon lord! Rightful queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Azor Ahai Reborn!"
And there it is. Taylor wasn't sure about using the title, but Quaith insisted. If nothing else, it got a response. The galleries exploded in excited whispers and even a few louder cries of dismay. The Red Temples of R'hllor were popular among the slaves, which meant they were a problem for the slave owners.
Words were not enough, though. Taylor removed one of the lightsabers, lifted it over her head like a torch, and lit it. The distinctive snap-hiss silenced the room. But even that was not enough. Stepping toward, Taylor centered herself in the Force, becoming one with it, and slowly levitated herself off the mosaic floor.
Stunned silence was followed by excited whispers, followed by roaring astonishment as Taylor levitated up between the galleries with her lightsaber aglow in its white stun setting, ensuring that every free voting citizen of Volantis could see her.
She was coming to them as a beggar; she needed to make sure none of them realized that. It was, as she described to Ser Barristan before she sent him on his own mission, her "Distract them with awesome" technique.
She reached a mid-point of the galleries and remained there for several long seconds before letting herself drop abruptly. The roar turned to screams of alarm, only to then erupt in more stomping and cries when she landed gently before the three standing, astonished Triarchs.
Only then did she deactivate her lightsaber.
"Thank you for seeing me," she said with a regal nod. "We have much to discuss."
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
The oldest of the Triarchs was named Malaquo Maegyr. He was a perfect example of the lifetime politician, having served as a triarch longer than Taylor had been alive. He came from an ancient, rich family, but it was his time as Triarch that had made him one of the richest men in the city.
From her skimming of his surface thoughts, she knew her very presence bothered him on a fundamental level. Surprisingly, he had no problem with her gender. Women citizens in Volantis not only could vote, but even hold office. No, he was bothered by her claim to be Azor Ahai. Just like the Christians of Pagan Rome, the faith of R'hllor was a growing slave religion. Unlike Christianity, R'hllor did not teach forgiveness. The Lord of Light taught that bad things were better dealt with using fire and righteous dismembering. And bad things included whatever a priest of R'hllor said was bad.
Of the two other triarchs, Ser Barristan told her before he left on his own mission that Nyessos Vhassar was a wholly owned sycophant of Mopatis Illaryio, the merchant who previously aided Daenerys and her brother Viserys. Like Mopatis, the merchant prince Triarch was interested in hedging his bets against having a Seven Kingdom's monarch in his debt.
The deciding vote, then, came down to Doniphos Paenymion. A slim man of forty years with the silver hair and pale blue eyes marking his Valyrian ancestry, Doniphos had said almost nothing when they retreated to the Triarch's private chambers. They likely realized that any meaningful discussion was impossible in a crowded chamber after Taylor's display.
Now, settled in separate chambers in surprisingly comfortable plush chairs with a bitingly dry white wine mixed liberally with blood orange juice, and a tray of diced, spiced meats, cheeses and delicious little crackers, they were able to actually talk.
And that talk turned around her claim of being the Prince Who Was Promised.
"Already word is spreading," Maegyr said. Slim, ancient and balding, the old man reminded Taylor of Mr. Burns from the Simpsons, even down to the liver spots on his bald pate. "The priests and priestesses call on slaves to support you. It is disruptive."
Taylor nodded. "I regret any disruption, Triarch. But I am Azor Ahai, and my mere presence cannot help but cause such. I would think you pleased, then, that I wish to depart as soon as possible. As much as I wish to see more of your magnificent city, it is not my goal."
"Your goal of course is the Iron Throne," Paenymion said. Those pale blue eyes stared intently at her. "What will you tear down to achieve it? I received word from one of my ship's captains that Astapor fell into civil unrest just days after you left with your Unsullied. Ancient Ghiscari families are killing each other in the street, seeking to claim your dragon eggs."
Taylor hated lying, but did so anyway, assuming a curious expression. "I did not know that. It's unfortunate, though. It took a great deal of magic to prepare those eggs for their owner. If they are not held by the right person at the appointed time, the magic will fade and the eggs will calcify into stone, like mine were when the merchant Mopatis first presented them to my aunt, Daenerys."
"Where is Daenerys?" Paenymion asked. "I had the honor of hosting her brother and she when they were children."
Taylor looked to Ser Jorah, who like Quaithe and Messandei stood behind her chair, just as the Triarchs had a chamberlain each behind theirs.
"Triarch, if I may? I am Ser Jorah Mormont, and I was with the Khaleesi when we arrived in Qarth. Through duplicity and treachery, the Warlocks of Qarth stole the Dragons and conspired to betray her. She and her followers were executed. I was made to watch, as her most trusted, until Her Grace rescued me."
Vhassar, the plumpest of the three, leaned forward. "How terrible! Tell me, your grace, how did you recover the dragons?"
Taylor smiled grimly. "By overpowering the Warlock's magic with my own and fighting through several hundred men. As you might imagine, Qarth is not well pleased with me."
She sipped her wine and considered the three of them. "I need food and two days to cycle my men ashore for their health. And then, by your leave, we go. I understand, Triarch Maegyr, that you have had difficulty with some slave uprisings. Your prisons bulge with slaves to be put to death. Let me take them with me. You will be seen to be merciful, and I relieve you of a problem. And in return?" She leaned forward, examining each man closely. "In return, any captain bearing your marque will pay no duties at a Westeros port, and will pay no taxes on the sales of their silk, for a period of ten years after I take the throne. Any other foreign merchants will. That will allow you to undercut the Lysene silk traders and secure your primacy in the silk trade with Westeros."
Maegyr looked unconvinced. The two others, from the "elephant" party of their two-party system, looked intrigued. And well they should. From Ser Jorah's briefing, the two parties came down to Nobility (Tigers) and Merchants (Elephants). Taylor would never win over Maegyr. He was a nobleman concerned with staying in power and preserving the status quo. The merchants were concerned with money. And she only needed two votes.
Two hours later, Taylor joined the Triarchs in the public galleria, where the three took turns announcing the friendship of Volantis with Queen Rhaenys Targaryen, the Reborn.
She had her ships; she had her food and a plot of land to cycle through her men for hygiene purposes, and she had another five thousand former slaves who'd revolted against their owners.
All in all, it was a fairly good day, even if she had to conduct business in what amounted to a bikini.