A/N: I'm humbled by all the great feedback you've given this story. I never expected it to blow up like it did. I mean it's a crazy AU, it stars an OC from a very minor house, and it features an OC/ very popular canon character pairing which aren't always well received.

Warning: This chapter will contain brief depictions and mentions of sexual slavery.

Farwynd & Fire

By Spectre4hire

8: The Invitation

He rolled off of her with a grunt.

King Viserys did very little while he stayed at her magister's house.

He eats, he drinks, he fucks, he rants, she listed them off. And now he counts his gold. Her back still hurt from when he insisted, they fuck on the gold coins, spreading it out all over his bed. It was not the oddest request she had been given, but it still made for an uncomfortable tryst. He rutted on top of her, while the coins jingled and chimed, digging into her back, and the backs of her arms, neck, and legs. She could not wince. She could not grimace. She merely slipped away, retreating from the now, reciting sweet compliments and letting out the occasional moan while waiting until it was over.

"You may go."

She took his dismissal in silence. Doreah slipped out of the king's bed. She cleaned herself and then dressed. "Thank you, Your Grace," she curtsied despite him not looking at her. He didn't answer her, but she hadn't expected him to.

"Doreah."

"Princess," she quickly bowed her head to hide her surprise. "Forgive me," she prayed her magister didn't hear about this.

Daenerys dismissed the apology with a smile not grasping how dangerous Doreah's dereliction was. They never do. The ignorance of the powerful. She had seen slaves punished for lesser transgressions. It was that cold fear that had her quickly raise her head, glancing around the corridor. She did not feel those cold fingers release their grip around her heart until she realized it was only her and the princess.

"Is there something you need, Princess?" She must always be ready to serve. Sleep, eat, rest, bathe, anything could be stopped and delayed if she was called upon by her magister. And before him her masters in Lys.

"Would you like to come in?" The princess offered with a friendly smile.

There were no requests, only orders.

"You honor me, Princess," she ignored the ache in her stomach. Her needs came after her magister and his guests. Her magister had given her instructions on how to interact with the princess, on how to speak to her, and even what to say.

The afternoon sun was radiant, offering its warm glow through the princess' open windows. Her room was spacious and magnificent, fit for a princess. Doreah thought of her own room, and the three others she shared it with. It was far smaller.

Doreah stood on the myrish carpet and waited. She watched the princess move around the furniture, oblivious to Doreah's stillness. Despite being a princess, Daenerys reminded her of many of the bed slaves in the pillow houses. And it was not merely because of her beauty. It was most noticeable when she was around her brother: The detached voice, the refusal to meet her brother's eye, the bowed head, the forced smiles.

"Doreah?"

She straightened up. "Yes, Princess?"

"Please join me," she spoke to her gently, as if the words were some sort of kind balm.

But orders were orders. It did not matter if it was given as a rough command or spoken as sweet as honey. The lash still stung if you disobeyed.

The princess was sitting at her table. An ornate Myrish mirror framed by golden borders. Doreah noticed a large open book, but she could not see the words. Even if I was closer, I could not read them. She saw an ivory figurine resting in front of the mirror. Her eyes then landed on the plate of food, and she wished she had not seen it. It was still covered with grapes and cheeses and bread, more food than Doreah's eaten in the past couple days.

He wants you to stay slim. Oola had told her about the reasons for her new rations. She too had once been a bed slave for the magister, until she grew older and rounder. That was when the magister had moved her to the kitchens.

"He didn't come today."

She knew the princess was referring to her suitor. Doreah was just thankful for the distraction, taking her eyes off the plate of food. This was the second straight day he had not visited. Her magister wasn't worried so neither should the princess, but she saw the warring emotions that flickered across her face from the princess' reflection in the mirror.

"Thankfully, Viserys didn't notice," she continued, "Because his gold came."

"And your gift," Doreah supplied, needing to cheer up her magister's guest.

The princess shook her head. "There was no gift." She slouched in her seat, a touch of regret colored her tone, but there was also something else.

Longing. Doreah realized that and more. She is smitten with her suitor. She could not read books, but she could read people. She needed to be able to read them in order to not only do her job, but to do it well. She'd have to seek out her magister to inform him of this after she was dismissed here. He had suspected as much, since his orders were based on it. But he'll still be pleased. She knew she couldn't fail him.

"May I brush your hair, Princess?" Doreah ignored the growing ache in her belly, needing something else to focus on.

She seemed startled by the request. She hesitated, before nodding.

"Thank you, Princess," Doreah took the gilded brush from where it was resting, too close to the plate. The princess' pale silvery-gold hair was beautiful, but Doreah had seen dozens of whores with such color, boys and girls. In Lys, it did not draw the same attention as it did elsewhere.

"Daenerys," she said, "You may call me Daenerys, when it's just us two."

Doreah hesitated. Such slips could get her in trouble if they were overheard by others. "That would be improper, Princess."

Daenerys sighed; shoulders slumped. "Very well," a gloom had fallen over her face like a veil.

She wondered if she had erred at refusing the princess. I had to. The princess will not be here forever. She was free to leave, she would leave, but not Doreah. She could not be so brazen. She could not afford to. Still, she knew she needed to redirect the princess' attention, onto a topic her magister wanted to be discussed. He wants to know everything.

"Your suitor," Doreah started, "He gave you a gift yesterday?" She did not miss the slight perk of the princess at the question.

"He did," her tone warmed too. She then opened one of the drawers of her desk, to pull it out.

It was a sheathed dagger. Doreah knew of some whores who would conceal them under their pillows in their rooms, in case their customers were too rough, but she had never been one of them.

"It's valyrian steel," Daenerys withdrew it slowly. The blade shimmered in the sunlight. "It came with a note," she said, "This blade doesn't have the glories or the history of your Blackfyre or Dark Sister, but I thought it a precious gift to give to you, Princess. It's to keep you safe, but also to remind you of what is lost. The past can't be changed. It can only be accepted. May you carry this dagger when you retake what your family has lost."

Doreah saw that there was no note on the table that the princess could be reading off of. She had recited it from memory. She saw the princess was looking at nothing in particular, but she was smiling. Doreah knew that look and knew who she was thinking of. She did not say the words aloud, despite how obvious they were. The magister will be pleased.

"I upset him."

She stayed quiet, finishing the princess' hair. It fell down her back like a silvery waterfall. It wasn't just words Doreah needed to remember, but the princess' expression, her posture. She may not be able to read words on a page, but she could read what the princess was thinking, and feeling, understanding her troubles even if she didn't voice them all just by how the princess sat or looked. All the subtle tells, and Doreah put them all to memory so she could take it back to her magister.

"If my brother finds out," she shivered.

"He has not noticed, princess." Doreah tried to calm her worries, but the princess didn't appear to have heard her.

"I always thought I'd marry Viserys."

He's said your name in bed together more than once.

"He sees this as nothing more than a farce, that's why I can't let myself hope," she confessed, searching for Doreah's eyes in the mirror. "My brother is the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms. Lord Dagon would not risk angering a king over me."

"And what did you tell the princess?"

"What you told me to."

Her magister rewarded her with a smile.

She reacted to it as if it was better than gold. Even after he turned his back to her, she kept her posture the same, as well as her own smile. Doreah had told her magister everything, not just her time with the princess, but with the king. Her magister had enjoyed that retelling. His face had flushed and his eyes gleamed while she spoke of the king fucking her.

"Very good," he spoke to her in the same tone one would address their favorite dog, and she hated herself for liking it, longing for it. "And the princess reacted well?"

"She did, magister," Doreah answered, "Just as you predicted."

"Good," the magister mumbled, with a distant look. "Good, very good," he repeated, but he seemed to be speaking to himself. "The princess has been invited to Lord Dagon's manse. Her brother doesn't know," he said, "And he must not know."

"I understand, magister," she bowed her head, understanding what was expected of her for the remainder of the evening. "Shall I go to him now?"

"No," he pointed a fat finger down. "Not yet."

She approached him, and when she was close enough, she got on her knees in front of him. Sometimes he whispered a name when she serviced him. It was never mine. Doreah went away inside her head, because it was time to serve .

"Where is the captain?" Lonnel asked the first person he saw when he entered the captain's large manse, which happened to be the captain's spymaster.

"He's in the dungeons."

"Good," he replied while he inwardly winced. Despite his discomfort at having to go down there, he knew his orders were to return to the captain as soon as he came back. "Were you visiting the captain?" That was his last hope.

"No."

That was disappointing, but not surprising. The captain's manse was used to men and women coming and going many times without seeing or even speaking to him.

"I was here on a different matter," Ramsay revealed, "Going through my reports on a dissident priest."

There were several priests of the Drowned God among Dagon's fleet, but only one name came to him. This one was the newest to join them, having arrived with a Harlaw only a few weeks ago. He said the name aloud, Ramsay confirmed it with a nod.

"He's a creature of the Greyjoys," Ramsay went on, "Either Balon's or Damphair's, but it doesn't matter." His pale eyes glittered in the candlelight. "We're beyond their reach."

He had heard the priest tried to instill the virtues of the Greyjoys, reminding the men of their duty to the kraken. Fealty to the Lord Balon is loyalty to the Drowned God. These words did not receive a particularly warm welcome. Pride or foolishness only made him sloppier in his follow up attempts. Ramsay let the priest be this long on purpose, Lonnie suspected, dangling the priest on the line to see if any came forward. None had.

"Is that enough to condemn a man?"

Ramsay's smile was sharp and cold. "It is when it's against my captain."

"What is to become of him?" In his mind's eye he saw that terrible fin rising out of the sea.

"He will meet with our captain."

"Our captain is blessed," Lonnie said, meaning the words. "The Drowned God's will will be done."

Ramsay nodded, pleased. "Always."

The air was moldy while a cold chill seemed to hover in the dungeon's corridor. Dozens of torches flickered against the gloom of dark rock walls and ceiling. The dungeons were rarely used, but the captain still had them decorated like the rest of his manse. Though few guests would ever get to see these mosaics. They were of past Farwynds, who had come before his captain. Included with them were that of their companions, most had only one, but some had more.

He tried to keep his attention straight ahead, but he still noticed some of their faces, still felt their stares on him as he passed. One Lady Farwynd had white hair and dark eyes. Flanking her portrait were eels, one on each side. Lean, and green with sharp teeth, their mean mismatched eyes stared almost hungrily back at him. Beneath her portrait rested her third and final companion, a large black octopus, its tendrils lazily stretched out just above her name.

The companions were why his captain was down here, but he didn't call them that. They're my heralds, he had told Lonnie once, my heralds of woe. And this was where he went to seek some of them out, in darkness and solitude.

Most rooms within the dungeons lay empty. Those that were used were for storage, foodstuff, supplies, excess cargo from his trips, even a few relics and treasure were put down there. Still the thralls that served his captain and lived in his manse did not tread down here unless they were ordered. And then they came quickly, refusing to linger long.

The fires in the sconces suddenly guttered as if some great exhale passed through the corridor. Lonnie's stomach lurched, a cold needle of dread worming inside him. He felt some relief in finally seeing the door at the end of the corridor. His footfalls echoed off the stone walls with his shadow fleeing past the former Farwynds.

Before reaching the door, he passed the final Farwynd, his captain. Surrounding his portrait were the captain's six heralds which was more than any previous Farwynd. His menagerie was more frightening than any of his ancestors. This collection that had made him the Master of the Seas. The captain had other murals depicting him and his heralds. But none could truly capture their magnificence, their menace, he had seen them many times, and some still humbled him.

He turned his attention back to the door in front of him, he paused to gather himself before he knocked. Even though he was expecting the voice, he could still feel icy fingers wrap around his heart when the eerie voice gave its one-word command. Lonnie's fingers were shaking when they pushed the door open. The first thing that greeted him was the unnatural scent that filled the air. His stomach twisted, and his face scrunched.

The walls were decorated with turtle shells, walrus tusks, ray stingers, narwhal horns, swordfish bills, starfish, and skulls some he recognized: birds, seals, sea lions, sharks, lizard-lions. Others he could not name, like the one so large that it rested on the floor, its yawning mouth filled with jagged teeth. Beside the great, mysterious skull was what looked to be a spear carved from driftwood, but its sides were strangely embedded with sharp edges that glinted in the torch light. It tapered towards the bottom, a decorative row of pearls were ingrained in the wood while its end was made to resemble a clam. Flanking the doorway were great pale leviathan bones that formed an arch over the door. Lonnie knew they could be bigger, much bigger than what those bones showed. I've seen them. Him.

The captain had yet to stir from where he sat. His back was turned to Lonnie, his head bowed. The two lit torches in the room hissed and sputtered as if insulted by his arrival. The remaining torches in the room were unlit, which made Lonnie realize where his captain truly was. He was in a different place, a different body.

Many would consider him an abomination. Lonnie had heard the whispers, the disparaging remarks of their people. His captain's gifts were not looked on kindly by the greenlanders. Even fellow ironborn thought the Farwynds were strange. In the histories, skinchangers were hunted and hated. That was why his gifts were never openly acknowledged save to a select few. It was why he came down here when he needed to reach out to them. Or why he'd lock himself away in his special room aboard his flagship when they were out at sea. There would be rumors and gossip, but those were easy for the men to dismiss. Most chose to ignore the signs, to ignore the truth, because they preferred the gold of their triumphs over the guilt of their Faith.

One greenlander had the gall to insult his captain, after he had been accepted into the fleet, after making gold off his captain. That hadn't stopped him from calling his captain an abomination. Lonnie had punched him for that, a small pity since he had been a good lay, but his loyalty to his captain ran far deeper than passing trysts.

Movement pulled Lonnie from his memories to see his captain rise from where he was sitting. A tense silence filled the room like smoke. He braced himself for what he was about to see, but the sight still unsettled him: The captain's milky white stare sent a chill slithering up his spine. He immediately bowed his head after their eyes met. "Captain."

"The deep is calling," The captain's voice was a haunting echo, as if it had traveled hundreds of leagues to reach them from the great depths. "We're waiting," His hands were clasped in front of him.

"Captain," Lonnie said carefully, knowing his captain was never fully himself in these trances. It was why he kept himself in the dungeons. "I've returned as requested."

Dagon's head tilted. "That voice," his own slowly changed, "Lonnie?"

"Yes, captain," he answered, "The princess will be here soon."

That was what got him to turn away. His body shuddered. He dispelled a great breath, and then another noise escaped his throat, sounding like a wet gasp. "The light," he hissed, "The crushing darkness," he murmured, raising a hand to shield himself from the dim glow of the torches.

He understood enough to know his captain could see well enough with them when he ventured into what he called the black, but his eyes were sensitive to the light when he returned. "I'll extinguish them, captain," Lonnie suggested, silently chiding himself for not doing it when he arrived. He was already moving to the nearest one, but he stopped when he saw his captain's raised hand.

"No need," he dismissed. "It's passed." His milky white stare was gone too. "I was with them far longer than I intended." The captain moved over to a side table where a goblet waited for him, already filled. He slurped noisily as he drank, letting out a satisfied sigh when he finished.

"Is it really that dark, Captain?" Lonnie had heard some tales of his captain's trances with those that dwelled in the darkness, but not much. He tried to conjure a world where darkness reigned all day and all night, where light could never tread. But all I see is blackness.

"It is," he confirmed, "But it's beautiful. The creatures that thrive there." He said with a distant smile, lost in thought. "They do not like it when I'm here," he said mildly, "they're restless."

"Just like you, Captain," Lonnie knew which heralds his captain spoke of, and knew his captain preferred the seas to the ports. It's the sea we belong to. The salt of the sea was in the blood of every ironborn. He too could not wait until they left Pentos behind them.

"Aye." The captain chuckled. "They'll reunite with us when we're back on open waters." He then stretched, shifting his body. "Come, let us leave," he gestured for him to follow him out. "The princess should be arriving soon, and I'd be a poor host if I was not there to greet her."

A/N: So originally the first half of this chapter was supposed to be from Dany's POV, but I kept spinning my wheels. So, on a lark, I just started randomly writing it through Doreah's eyes and to my surprise it came together pretty quickly. What exactly did she tell Dany? Well, I wrote out several scenarios, but I couldn't decide so I settled on none of the above. Yay, for lazy shortcuts, and for kicking the can down the road.

Dany being given a dagger doesn't mean she's going to be a warrior. It just felt like a practical gift to give someone who'll be spending a life at sea. She's still in the early stages of her journey/development. Since this is AU, she'll be venturing down a different path than canon, it likely won't be as "cool/awesome" as Breaker of Chains and Queen of Mereen who sacks cities, but I like to think it's interesting. Pirate princess, perhaps? I wanted to do something different while still trying to stay true to parts of her 'character' just as I tried to do with Sansa in my OBAS stories and with Cersei in ADR.

I'll be sprinkling in my own interpretations of skinchanging and adding a few liberties. Such as skinchanging under water being a very different experience since it's basically a whole different world.

This was a filler chapter with two outsider POVS, but the next few chapters will feature more Dany and Dagon interactions.

Thanks to those who took the time to leave encouraging and kind reviews. Those mean a lot to me. So if you liked the chapter or this story, it would be awesome to hear from you.

Until next time,

-Spectre4hire