A/N: We're skipping over the feast, but that was always the plan.

Farwynd & Fire

By Spectre4hire

5: The Next Day

After her sixteenth nameday, Princess Rhaena declared herself a woman grown, "free to fly where I will."

Daenerys' eyes swept to the next page to see a beautiful illustration of Rhaena's dragon, Dreamfyre. Slender, and graceful, her scales were pale blue with silver markings. The depiction of Dreamfyre on the page was captured with her blue wings extended, and her mouth open, bellowing a great roar.

She sighed, after she lingered on the page for another few seconds. Daenerys didn't have a scrap of her ancestors' boldness. She could never imagine telling her brother that she would do what she chose. She had already passed ten and six, and even the added years hadn't made her any bolder.

A tightness in her neck made her lean back in her seat. A ripple of discomfort went up her back, her body had grown stiff being in the same seat for so many hours. The candle by her desk had shrunk considerably from when she had first lit it after retiring to her chambers after the feast.

The feast had gone well into the night, but she was too eager to open her new book to put it off until the next day. She had lit her candle and promised only to read the first couple pages, but her excitement had carried her well into the night. A pinkish hue crept over the sky, its faint rays of early light slipping into her room signaling to her just how late she had stayed up.

Daenerys yawned; a rush of drowsiness fell over her. She still had some hours left before she was expected to rise. She went over to her bed and was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

"What did you call it?"

Daenerys had learned about the Seven Kingdoms through songs and stories, but listening to Dagon, she realized she knew very little about his home. The ironborn seemed so strange and different from the powerful lords in the tomes, the brave knights in her songs, or the handsome heroes in her stories. Though, she thought, He's just as handsome as them.

Dagon had come to call on her after luncheon the next day. He brought with him a second chest of gold. So pleased and distracted by all his new wealth, Viserys waved them off at Illyrio's suggestion that she and her suitor stroll his gardens. They had a chaperone, a bored, unsullied who stood at the end of their path, barely watching them.

The gardens behind the manse were extensive, and there was no sign of the pavilion that the Magister had erected the previous evening. She and Dagon had taken a seat by a bench near a small pool, after strolling the gardens for the past hour.

"The iron price," he answered, unbothered by having to repeat himself. "It's the acquiring of possessions from our fallen enemies."

The night before he spoke of the cities of Westeros, which were but names to her, but they felt different in his voice. In his words, she felt like he had pulled her onto the streets of Oldtown where the massive Hightower reigned or sailed into the docks of White Harbor with its welcoming whitewashed walls. Viserys' tales were tinged with bitterness and sorrow. They had felt broken and scarred, but Dagon had breathed new life into old names and places.

Today, he spoke more about his home. These stories were all new to her. These were lands that her brother had never bothered to discuss. The Lonely Light, he had said, a poetic name for a grim land. He talked of his first trips at sea, the ships he served on, the men he crewed with, and she could not help but smile along. This was not a smile I had to fake. She loved the sea, their sailors and their songs. And all the freedom it promised.

Daenerys could not remember the last time she had enjoyed herself this much. He makes for better company than my brother. With Viserys, she walked tentatively, spoke softly, and did everything carefully, not wanting to stir the dragon, not wanting to feel his ire. With Dagon, she silently compared her suitor to her brother, he already feels more a friend than a stranger.

She stopped that thought from spreading, knowing she couldn't sup on such foolishness. Daenerys had met many nobles who were kind to her, who spoiled her, who made her laugh, and within a fortnight, they'd toss her and her brother from their home and onto the streets without a second thought or look. He wants my hand, she reminded herself, not me.

"And you practice this?" She asked, redirecting her thoughts back to their conversation after a few beats of silence had passed between them.

"Within reason," Dagon said, "I'll not steal another man's breeches."

Daenerys giggled at the ridiculousness of it. Her cheeks grew a bit warmer when she thought of the man before her in nothing but his breeches. She cleared her throat, looking away, feeling a bit flustered by that naughty, but enticing thought. This is a farce, sister, her brother's warning was a harsh whisper that played inside her head. And only a farce. Do not forget that.

Mulling over this iron price , Daenerys could not help but more thoroughly examine what he was wearing. His trousers were a drabby brown and his tunic was orange, but what really drew her eyes was the cloak he was wearing. It was a magnificent cape made entirely of brightly colored feathers, orange, red, yellow, blue, purple. Wrapped around him, it made him look like some large brooding bird of prey. "What about with what you're wearing?" She asked, "Gold or iron?"

He noticed she was looking at his cloak. He ran his finger through some of the bright orange feathers. "Iron," He answered, "I took this off a raiders' ship. It was part of his cargo." He dropped his hand, "These boots," pointing to the ones he was wearing. "Made from the scales of a shadow-wing wyvern."

"Gold?" she guessed.

Dagon shook his head. "Iron. Fortunately for me, they fit. I took the boots; my friend took the rest of him. She thought it a fair deal."

"She took the rest of this sailor's outfit and weapons?" Daenerys asked, trying to make sense of these strange customs.

Dagon hesitated. "Yes, it was something like that," he answered, "she's one of my oldest friends," he paused, appearing to be considering something, "Would you like to meet her?"

"Yes," she wondered what this friend would look like. This woman dressed in man's clothes . She nearly giggled at how scandalous it could be.

He smiled, "I'll see if we can arrange a meeting between you two." He then tapped his jeweled belt. He had worn it the night before. "Gold or iron?" He asked, continuing their little game.

"Iron," she guessed, thinking she understood now. Her confidence was boosted at his confirming nod.

"I took it off a rival," He said, "We were suitors of the same Lyseni courtesan."

"Oh?" She tried to keep her tone and expression light. While denying the small, cold sinking feeling that somehow persisted inside her chest at this new information. Daenerys could practically hear her brother's scorn if he were to discover such a reaction from her. Smitten already, sister?

"Yes, a decent man until he got drunk," Dagon's eyes were dark in the afternoon sun. "Her problem was that he became drunk more and more often as his businesses floundered and she asked for a favor," He didn't need to say what the favor was, "I granted it, I took his belt before I took his life." His finger tapped the studded diamond on the belt.

"She must have been pleased," Daenerys said, and very beautiful. Courtesans were famous throughout the Free Cities for their beauty and their power, their wit and their wealth. Regardless of a man's stature, singer or craftsman, noble or merchant, they'd all go delirious with desire for their favor, and apparently even kill in their name. Some songs do sing truly.

"She was, but that was a long time ago."

He'll smile for you, tell you he's a good man, mayhaps, he'll even believe it, her brother's voice pressed hard against her thoughts, but he'll say anything just so he can fuck you, Viserys' voice coiled around her heart. And once he fucks you, he'll forget you, but not me, my sweet sister, A lilt of concern touched his voice, but it could not conceal the malicious pleasure that swam in his tone. I've always looked out for you, as your brother and your king.

Daenerys looked away, needing a reprieve. Her eyes fell on their chaperone. The bored and fat unsullied, whose eyes seemed to wander as did his hands, scratching himself before letting out a yawn.

"Fierce warriors, the unsullied," Dagon said softly.

She kept her attention on their plump chaperone. Daenerys heard of the unsullied prowess as warriors, but it was hard to respect such stories given what she'd seen of Magister Illyrio's unsullied. "Have you seen them on your travels?"

"I have," he answered, "I even acquired some on my return voyage from Qarth."

"You have them?" That made her glance in his direction, unsure if it was his reveal or how mild he was about owning slaves that caused her belly to clench. She felt her first pangs of disappointment towards him. Traveling with my brother, I saw those who were worse than us, thinking about the slaves in Volantis or in Lys. We may not have a home, she'd think, but we're still free.

"Yes, they're reliable guards, which are needed in my travels," Dagon didn't sense her distaste for his admission. "They crew a few of my ships, but I still put trusted captains over them."

"So, they don't flee?" She asked before she could stop herself, slipping off the bench and away from him.

"No, because they're still not great sailors," Dagon stood as well, finally realizing her dislike for it. "You don't approve," It wasn't a question, but his tone had an inflection to it that she couldn't quite discern.

"I do not," She never would've spoken so openly against her brother, would never dare show such fire in fear of waking the dragon. Her eyes were half closed, bracing herself for a strike that she was sure was about to come. Dagon was sure to grab her, to punish her, to hurt her, that's what Viserys did to her for just bothering him when he was in a foul mood. And here I've done much worse.

How soon will our chaperone notice our argument? She idly wondered; how fast will it take them to get to us? How many blows will Dagon land on me before their chaperone intervenes? Or would he? She thought dully, Daenerys' body tensed. Her belly coiled tightly, aching. She was expecting pain and then hopefully hurried footsteps, but there was nothing. It stretched out before her, between them, this silence and nothing.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes, squinting to see Dagon hadn't moved from where he was standing. He had raised no angry fist against her. In those few seconds where she had prepared herself to be punished. He had merely stood there, sensing her discomfort, but not fully grasping the root for it. "I should return to my ship," He finally said to fill the awkward silence that had fallen over them. "I'll escort you back."

"Thank you," Daenerys didn't reach to take his arm as she had done when they had started their stroll in the gardens, leaving them to hang at her side. It does not matter if you like him. Viserys would tell her. Play the part, and nothing more. Do not disappoint me, sister.

"I'm sorry for my words," her brother's silent threats coaxed an apology from her lips that she did not mean. Feeling a fist close around her heart, it was not hard to believe it belonged to Viserys.

"They are my thralls," he explained. "It's what my people know. We are taught that as ironborn, certain labors are beneath us. And it is our right bestowed to us by the Drowned God to acquire these thralls," he shrugged, "It's part of the Old Way."

"As you say," Daenerys said blandly, looking straight ahead. The manse doors drew closer with every step. She and her suitor walked with a wide space between them. Their unsullied chaperone was behind them, ignorant or indifferent to them.

"You have a soft heart, princess, but the Iron Islands is a hard place filled with hard people," Dagon had stopped walking, he reached for something in his cloak pocket, pulling out a bundle of cloth as bright as his orange tunic. "This is my gift for you today. Last night, I gave you one in tribute to your family's history. Today, I offer you this, a token of my family's past."

"Thank you," she murmured, in the heat of their disagreement, she had forgotten all about receiving another gift from him. Seven gifts, he had said, to honor the Seven, your gods, princess, not mine.

His smile was strained, before he dipped his head. "I trust your chaperone can escort you the rest of the way. I must be going." He gave a short bow and left.

He had not waited for her to open it, to see how she would respond to it. Her eyes remained on his retreating form until he was out of sight. Daenerys then returned her attention to the bundle in her hands.

This was no book. Its long, curved shape atop her palm revealed as much. She carefully unfurled the orange cloth that covered it, seeing it was emblazoned by a standard she had not seen before. Stitched onto the orange fabric was a black longship atop a black sea, outlined against the setting sun, a dark red.

House Farwynd of the Lonely Light, her free finger traced the black ship, thinking of the little girl who crossed the narrow sea half a hundred times. The vast horizons that were just as bright as the setting sun blazoned on this cloth. Watching the crew work the sails, listening to their laughter, their songs, their stories and seeing how happy they all were on their ships. It was enchanting, how it made her yearn for a life on the seas, the freedom it would bring her. The happiness…

"Has he left already?" Viserys was walking towards her. His voice ripped her from her reflections. She fought the grimace that wanted to surface, remembering her brother's wrath when she spoke of her wish of being sailors.

"Yes," Daenerys realized she was still holding her suitor's gift. Distracted first by his standard than her thoughts, she hadn't actually looked at it. The gift lay bare in her hand, it was a repurposed walrus tusk with fine carvings etched into it. She saw a walrus resting on a rock, beside it a pillar jutted upwards out of the carved sea. Lonely Light, she guessed, a crude depiction of his family's castle. She noticed smaller animals too including seals and seagulls were engraved into it. She curled her fingers around it, surprised by how smooth it felt against her skin. A relic, she was holding a piece of his family's history, a very old piece.

"What's that?" Viserys jabbed a finger at the tusk in her hand, having moved closer to finally see it. "That's your gift?" His eyes crinkled with savage glee.

She protectively closed her hand around it. The only act of defiance she could summon herself to commit against him. "Brother," she dipped her head, slipping away from him, wanting to shy out of sight from him.

"Daenerys," He used her name like a chain to drag her back to him. "You are not growing fond of your suitor, are you?"

"No, brother," Daenerys answered quickly, a chill slithered up her spine at dreading if Viserys was not convinced by her answer. But it's not a lie, she protested, but the words felt hollow in her throat. His face lurked around the edges of her heart.

Viserys pinned her with a hard stare. His face pinched in his silent scrutiny. "Good," he finally said, "The ironborn are sea-addled savages," he dismissed contemptuously. "He thinks a few pieces of gold would let him wed a dragon. Mayhaps, he should serve as my court's fool instead of my master of ships." He laughed, a scornful, irritating sound.

"That said, do not ruin this sister, seven days of gold can buy me many swords and ships," he looked her over, with a smile that made her belly clench, "just imagine what price your maidenhead will fetch me."

A/N:

The opening line in this story comes directly from "Fire and Blood," by George R. R. Martin. I take no credit for it. This is his world/sandbox and I'm just having fun.

I hope this is doing an adequate job of laying a little groundwork for these two.

Until next time,

-Spectre4hire