The Heat of Dorne

by Voivode

When Princess Arianne Martell learns from her father that she is to wed Prince Daemon Targaryen, the king's son by Lyanna Stark, she is furious. When she sees what a tall, handsome man he's turned into during his time fostering in the North, however, her fury quickly turns to lust and the pair are swept up in an all-consuming passion.

4. Chapter 4

The Moon Pool was the name given to the expansive area south of the Sealord's Palace and before the headquarters of the Iron Bank. A beautiful ornate fountain dominated the area, feeding water into the shallow pool around it. Small raised platforms were spread across the pool itself, and it was on these dry spots that Bravos stood to duel at night. As Daemon sat on a bench that morning, just an hour past dawn, there were still Bravos dueling.

"Waterdancing," he thought to himself. "I cannot imagine how much my fellow Westerosi would sneer at these men. The fools."

"I missed you this morrow, my love," he heard his wife say. He turned and saw her, draped in a rich red dress she had bought the previous day. The gown clung to her gorgeous figure like a glove and he had to will himself away from outright ogling her. This wasn't the time for that.

"I had an early start to my day," Daemon replied, noticing only then that she was flanked by Areo and her great-uncle. "Qarro Volentin was kind enough to agree to an early morning spar. I've never fought a Bravosi, and I figured as First Sword, he would be an ideal introduction."

"How was that?" she asked, sitting next to him.

"Instructive," he replied, looking back at the dueling Bravos. "Their way of fighting is fascinating. I was just thinking about how much the men back home would belittle it."

"Their movements are similar to how my uncle and Obara fight with their spears," Arianne noted. "Even Nymeria, with her daggers, has certain similarities."

"They focus on speed and precision over brute force," Daemon said. "I wonder if Ser Arthur has ever tested himself against one."

"That would be a sight," Lewyn piped up, "but to my knowledge, he has not."

"So you're watching these men fight to get a better idea of what you're going to be up against later?" Arianne asked.

"Something like that," Daemon replied. "As First Sword of Braavos, I would expect Qarro to be the best the city has to offer, but I would never limit myself to such a small sample."

"Have you fought any of them?" Areo asked.

"No," Daemon replied. "Fighting against each other, I can watch them in their element, with no uncertainty over fighting an unknown opponent, and if any of them are going to be in the tourney later, I don't want them to know how I fight."

"You think that you can learn enough just by watching them?" Arianne asked.

"There is a lot that you can learn from watching people fight," Lewyn said. "How they hold themselves, how they move, how they react to being attacked. It's part of why knights will have their squires spar with others while they watch. You can learn what they do well and what they need to work on."

"Knowing your opponent is half of every battle," Daemon piped up. "A lesson Ser Barristan worked hard to drill into my head."

"He got that quote from old Ser Gerald, the gods rest him," Lewyn piped up.

"Hightower right?" Areo asked, "the old Commander of the Kingsguard."

"Yes," Lewyn replied.

Daemon had to strain to keep the scowl off his face. He didn't mind having his wife's great-uncle around and acknowledged that part of his assignment was because of where Daemon went after his wedding, but he also knew that his father was furious with Ser Barristan over the Iron Islands incident. It's not as though it was the man's fault; he was sick with a fever and bedridden when Daemon left with the Mormont party to visit their home. The legendary knight did arrive on Bear Island quickly enough, to his credit. It just happened to be after Daemon and the others had left to wreak havoc on the pirates. He did miss his old mentor.

Arianne, likely noticing his mood, leaned in to whisper in his ear, "would you like me to relieve some tension before the fighting starts?"

"No," Daemon replied, denying her, for he realized, the first time since they met, "this tourney will only last one day, and I intend to save any tension relief until after it."

When she pouted, he added, "just think, love; you'll have to wait the day, but there will be one hell of a prize at the end of it."

She grinned at that and kissed him.

The arena that the tourney was being held in was huge; Daemon could think of no other word to describe it. He couldn't fathom how many thousands were seated just then, waiting for the day's entertainment to begin. It took him a moment to spot his wife among the throng of spectators. She was seated in the Sealord's box, a section with a fantastic view of the entire arena set apart from the rest. Next to her were Areo, Lewyn, and a couple of their other guards, as well as Qarro. The Sealord himself was nowhere to be seen, still recovering from his illness.

All around him, men in armor were scattered about, most of them examining the blunted blades they had been given for this first part of the tourney. Daemon had already examined his, a longsword not unlike what he was used to. As Qarro had explained that morning, the first section would be a large, chaotic melee where the participants would each use an identical tourney sword to even the odds a bit. From it, eight would emerge and continue on to the next part, where they would duel one on one, until two finalists met for the last duel of the day.

The swords were all the same, but the armor wasn't, and it was this that showed the key differences between his many opponents. He was wearing his black castle-forged steel platemail, with the sigil of his house on the breastplate. If that wasn't an obvious enough sign of who and what he was, the dragon wings on his helmet served as further proof.

Around him were men in various suits of armor, each denoting something about them. There were some in plate like himself, though the Bravosi generally preferred lighter armor than that. Some wore suits of chainmail, with the odd plate covering the truly vital areas. A couple poor sods were wearing boiled leather. He admired their tenacity but doubted that he would see either in the finals.

The most noteworthy figure was distinguished not by his armor, but by his sheer size. Standing head and shoulders over the men around him, this figure, whoever he was, was even taller than Daemon. He reminded him most of Hodor and had to be around seven feet tall. The man held his helmet in his hands as he peered around, showing off his heavily scarred face. If the proof that this man had been in many fights wasn't enough to show that he was nothing like the gentle giant of Winterfell, then his cruel expression would have been. There was a palpable malice in the man's eyes, and Daemon knew that he was likely to be trouble.

A trumpet sounded, and everyone's attention was drawn to the box where Arianne sat. A figure Daemon hadn't seen before stood and addressed the crowd.

"Welcome one and all," the man projected loud enough for all to hear. "As a representative of the Iron Bank, by whose funding this tournament was made possible, I am pleased to see so many eager faces in the stands and so many brave warriors in the arena. The rules of this first section are simple. The last eight of you standing at the end of the melee will advance to the duels. A man is eliminated when he has been either knocked down or otherwise incapacitated."

The man paused, letting the excitement of the crowd build at the thought of the combat they were to witness, before continuing, "you will, each of you, notice a band on your arm in one of eight colors. When the first trumpet sounds, the melee will begin, but you will not be permitted to fight against men wearing the same color band as yourself until the second trumpet, five minutes later. You are all fighting for ten thousand gold pieces and the illustrious Black Pearl."

Daemon noticed Bellegere herself stand up as she was mentioned, waving to the crowd. A host of distinctly male-sounding cheers erupted at that, though all that he could think of was how Arianne was likely going to spend the entire time flirting with the lovely courtesan. He chuckled at the thought.

"Fortune will smile on eight of you in this," the man droned on, "but I wish all of you luck. Begin!"

The trumpet sounded then, and Daemon set out cautiously towards another section. There was a red band on his arm, as there was on each of the men he had been standing with in the part of the arena he had been directed to. The color rule seemed to be to stop the melee from devolving into a series of smaller ones at the various starting points that they had set up. Forcing everyone to move out and engage opponents further out would help this turn into the sort of large spectacle that the organizers clearly wanted.

His experience in prior tourneys and especially on Bear Island taught him the importance of keeping away from the center in a melee. Hotheaded fools would flock to the thick of things from the start without a plan and get themselves removed in short order. It was better to keep to the edges to start with.

Soon enough, a man in chainmail came charging at him, a blue band around his arm. Daemon readied himself and quickly saw an over-telegraphed slash coming towards his head. He parried the blow with ease, sidestepping the man and striking his helmet with the pommel of his sword. As the man's ears no doubt rang in his head, Daemon didn't give him a chance to recover, bashing the man's shoulder with his heavy shield and tripping him over. The man fell flat on his back with a groan, and Daemon nearly put his blade to his throat when he remembered that he didn't need to get a formal surrender.

The Braavosi put extraordinary emphasis on footwork; it was why the Moon Pool was built the way that it was, to force the dueling Bravos to be very mindful where they stepped. Getting knocked down in a tourney in Westeros would often mean that you were out, but if you could get back up, you could continue fighting. To truly eliminate someone, you needed to either make sure that they couldn't get back up or force them to surrender. The rules of this tourney were clearly meant to not only emphasize the importance of keeping on your feet, but also to cut down on fatal injuries. Daemon doubted it would eliminate that entirely; men died in melees; it was just a fact.

"Targaryen!" a deep voice called from his right.

Daemon had already noticed the three men moving towards him and led them to a corner. It wasn't ideal, but facing multiple opponents at once never was, and it would make it less likely for him to be flanked.

"I am," he replied flatly.

"You don't belong here," another of the three said.

"Really?" he asked, sounding as serious as he could, "because the guards didn't seem to notice."

"This is a tournament for Bravos," the final one barked, "for true Braavosi warriors."

"Really?" he asked again, "because given that they let you in, I would have just as easily assumed it was a tourney for dogs."

None of the three were particularly well armored and none of them looked particularly confident in their stance as they prepared to attack. When one of them responded to his insult by charging without the others, Daemon smirked and met him head-on. He blocked the slash with his shield and thrust his blade down towards the fool's knee. It didn't pierce the chainmail, but if the pained scream was any indication, it hurt.

The other two charged blindly as their comrade fell, clutching his leg, but there was no coordination between them. Three men fighting together would have been a problem, but three idiots attempting to fight independently of one another was another matter. He ducked under a wide swing from the first fool and deflected the second fool's blade with his sword right into his friend's sword hand. The first fool swore as he dropped his sword and failed to notice the shield coming for his head. It clashed with his helmet hard enough to dent it, and the man fell flat.

Daemon sidestepped a blow from the last of his three opponents and parried the next. This one was clearly enraged and attacked blindly. Daemon parried blow after blow, circling around the fool as he went and leading him where he wanted him. Soon it was his foe whose back was to the corner Daemon had led them to in the first place, but more importantly, his back was to his fallen friends. Daemon sidestepped another swing from the man and thrust his blade towards his head, forcing him to block with his shield. With his sword to the side and his shield up, Daemon charged with his own shield and forced the man back a step, right into his unconscious friend. The final man tripped over his friend, falling back until his head landed on the first man's damaged knee. A scream from one and a confused-sounding groan from the other were Daemon's rewards as he finished them off.

"That was quite impressive," a voice said from behind him.

Daemon turned and saw a man in well-made-looking armor standing before him. The second trumpet sounded then, though he could barely hear it over the cacophony of steel clanging against steel that reverberated throughout the arena.

"Not really," he replied. "They were middling swordsmen at best, and they barely even attempted to work together."

"Still," the man insisted, "to best three opponents so easily, you are a man of some skill. I would test that skill."

"You're welcome to," Daemon said, readying himself for the fight. Everything about this man, from the armor he wore to the way he held himself, suggested that he was a far more experienced and skilled opponent than those he had dispatched thus far.

The pair circled each other for a moment, both waiting for the other to make the first move. Daemon moved first, thrusting towards his opponent, only to be parried with ease. His opponent returned with a slash of his own, which Daemon redirected just as effortlessly. The two continued to feel each other out, trading blows back and forth, none of which came close to hitting true.

The man was clearly an experienced Waterdancer, perhaps a shade less skilled than the one he had spared with that morning. Daemon was tempted to try matching him move for move just to see if he could, but this was hardly the time, and as other battles raged around them, even less the place. He kept to his typical fighting stance, a refinement of Ser Arthur Dayne's fundamentals shaped and improved by Ser Barristan and his other teachers through the years.

"You are truly impressive," his opponent said, taking a step back out of range. "I have fought five men thus far today, and you are the first to give me the slightest challenge."

"Thank you," Daemon replied, amused by his opponent's cheerfulness in combat. "Whom do I have the honor of impressing?"

"I am Allego Orbayn," the man replied as he pressed the attack.

Daemon stepped back, and Allego pursued. He parried slash after slash from his new opponent, as he was kept on the defensive for the first time since the tourney began. After parrying nearly a dozen blows, Daemon caught Allego's blade on his own and pushed, making the Bravo stumble. The nimble-footed man caught himself, however, and returned quickly to his fighting stance.

"I am Prince Daemon Targaryen," he said. The man had earned his name, at least.

"Are you really?" Allego asked in surprise. "I did not expect to find Westerosi in this tournament, much less a prince."

"I happened to be in Braavos, and I heard about the tourney," Daemon said with a shrug.

"What made you enter?" Allego asked.

"My wife wanted to bring the Black Pearl into our bed," Daemon replied. He didn't mind being honest in that instance. It wasn't like he cared what this random man from across the narrow sea thought of him or Arianne.

"Your wife sounds like quite a woman," Allego laughed.

"You have no idea," Daemon chuckled. "I have a hard time telling her no."

"If all men's wives made such requests of them, none of us would ever utter the word," Allego said.

Daemon dodged a high swing from his opponent and returned a thrust to the swordarm that Allego parried with ease. The two circled each other, trading blows again almost casually.

"I am also married to a woman I have a hard time resisting," Allego said as they fought. "We had a son seven months ago next week."

"Congratulations!" Daemon said as he blocked a blow with his shield. It was his first time using the thing against Allego.

"Thank you," Allego replied, "fortunately and unfortunately, she is also six months pregnant, and our midwife suspects it's twins."

Daemon brought his shield against Allego's and pushed him back as he stepped out of range.

"Three children in one year?" Daemon asked in bewilderment, "I don't know whether to be impressed or horrified."

"That makes two of us," Allego laughed.

Another man charged from their right, yelling as he went. Daemon redirected his slash with ease and thrust his shield into the man's shoulder.

"Will you fuck off?" he asked, annoyed at being interrupted. "We're fighting here."

Allego brought the flat of his blade to the back of the man's knees and forced him down with ease.

"As I was saying," he continued, "as lovely as Bellegere Otherys is, it is the money I'm after."

"Three newborn babes in one house," Daemon said, shaking his head, "I can see the need."

"Have you ever heard of such a thing?" Allego asked.

"Back home, we refer to two babes from different pregnancies sired by one father in one year as Dornish twins," Daemon said, "though usually only if they're born to two women."

Allego's laughter was cut off by the sudden interruption of two more fighters. Daemon and Allego took one each, making quick work of them both.

"Listen, Prince Daemon," Allego said, "you seem like a decent man, and more than that, an incredible swordsman. I would like to fight you without interruptions, so I have a proposition. Eight of us will move on to the duels, so there is no reason that the two of us cannot both be among them. Let's fight together and finish this properly, if not in the first or second rounds of the duels, then in the final round."

"You seem like a decent man as well," Daemon said, "but we have just met. You are asking me to trust a relative stranger."

"I swear on the lives of my children, my son Luco and my unborn twins, that I will not raise my sword to you until the melee is done if you will swear the same," Allego said, his voice solemn.

"I swear on the life of my wife I will not raise my sword to you until the melee is done if you hold to that," Daemon replied.

Allego set his sword down in the dirt for a moment and held out his sword arm. Daemon quickly did the same and grabbed the other man's arm to seal their pact. As the two picked up their blades again, they noticed that most of their competitors had already been eliminated, and the remaining ones were fighting towards the center. As he set off, Daemon noticed the big one he had identified as trouble when this all started wielding his sword more like a club. He brought it down on another fighter's helmet hard enough to leave a significant dent. The man fell to the ground in a heap, at the very least unconscious.

"That one would be quite the challenge," he thought to himself. "There's no guarantee that we'll meet in the duels if we both make it, so this might be my best chance."

As he and Allego made their way to the center of the arena, where the fighting was thickest, Daemon made sure to keep the large one in his sights, not that it was difficult. When the first opponent noticed their arrival and went to engage them, it wasn't much of a challenge. Allego parried the man's slash while Daemon struck low and swept his feet out from under him. The next two fell just as easily, no match for the pair of skilled swordsmen fighting together.

Daemon barely had time to duck under a blow to the head that came from his left. He turned and parried the man's followup thrust, attempting a counter-slash to the man's legs that he jumped over effortlessly. He became aware of the sounds of fighting behind him as Allego engaged his own opponent. His new opponent wore ornate armor and moved with the grace of an experienced waterdancer. Whoever he was, Daemon figured he was a noble and grinned at the opportunity to fight another capable competitor.

Daemon parried the man's probing attacks as he circled around him. The last thing he wanted was for the big man to end up behind him, lest he decide to interfere in the fight. He feinted a slash to the left and thrust low, only for his opponent to dance out of the way with ease.

"You're an agile cunt," he barked. "I'll give you that."

"And you actually know which end of your sword to hold," the man replied lightly, "a marked improvement over the last few I fought."

He let the man take the initiative for a moment, stepping back and keeping on the defensive to better gauge the man's technique. He was lithe and not terribly strong, but he was fucking fast and knew what he was doing. His fighting style was very calculated and careful, and he didn't waste a single movement as he fought.

He heard a scream coming from a ways in front of him and spared a second to glance at the man fighting the giant. His right leg was bent obscenely to the side, and Daemon noticed him fall in a heap. He returned his focus to his opponent and prepared to go on the offensive when a trumpet blasted and everyone went still. He looked to the side and saw that Allego had finished off his final opponent in the melee, and there were only six others standing besides himself and the other man. He took a measured breath and fought down the disappointment over not being able to engage the large one. There was still a chance that they would meet in the duels.

As the adrenaline left him, he felt the strain and mild fatigue throughout his body, but he could not claim to be terribly sore. Allego aside, no one else had managed to get even glancing blows on him in the entire melee. His final opponent likely would have if their fight had not been cut short, but most of the men he had fought against had been middling fighters at best. The duels would be more challenging, he was sure, because he knew at least three of the men who had made it to the next stage alongside him to be capable warriors.

"Congratulations, brave warriors," the man who had opened the tourney called out. "Through strength and skill at arms, you have shown yourselves to be the best of all who braved entering our tournament. We will ask that you go through the door beneath me, where you will be led to quarters that have been prepared for you to rest in. The duels will begin in one in one hour."

Daemon made his way towards the door the announcer had mentioned and was quickly caught up by Allego.

"The final eight," the man said jovially, "now the real challenge begins."

"I hope you know I'm not going to go easy on you should we meet," Daemon remarked.

"I would be insulted if you did," Allego replied.

"Did you two even fight that whole time?" a deep, gravelly voice asked.

Turning, Daemon saw that it was the large man who addressed them. He had his helmet off, and up close, he looked even worse than Daemon had thought. His face was such a mess of scars that the prince dared not fathom what the rest of him looked like. Daemon had his share of scars as well, the most notable being the one a wildling had given him when he nearly took his eye, but he had nothing on the giant. The tip of his nose had been split wide open at some point and haphazardly stitched together, and a truly ugly gash had been put in his left cheek. The worst, however, was the brand in the shape of a star on his forehead.

"I looked for you," Daemon said. "I wanted to see if you were as strong as you looked, but you were too busy finding easy battles to reach."

"If we had met, you wouldn't be here, dragon prince" the man growled.

"One of us wouldn't be," Daemon drawled. "Clearly you know me, so at least you have me at one disadvantage. Who are you anyway?"

"Cragho," the man replied, looking murderous. "I served with the Golden Company for a time. I know all about that sigil on your chest."

"How is that band of cowards anyway?" Daemon asked with a grin. "Do they still venerate that bitter cuckold?"

Cragho looked poised to strike, and Daemon readied himself for the brawl when one of the guards intervened.

"Hey!" the man shouted, "save it for the arena! The first one to try to attack someone is disqualified."

Cragho looked for a moment like he might actually attack the guard instead, but he just stalked off in his fury.

"That is a very dangerous man you just made an enemy of," Allego said, sounding not in the least bit disapproving.

"Friend of yours?" Daemon asked.

"Not at all," Allego said flatly, "but I know him by reputation. He was born here but was captured by filthy slavers at a young age. He earned his freedom in the fighting pits of Meereen and returned here after working as a mercenary. He's been fighting all his life."

Daemon let his eyes linger on a basin of water on a table in the hallway, in which he could see his reflection and said, "so have I."

"As have I," Allego said. "Anyway, I wish you luck in the duels."

"Same to you," Daemon replied warmly as the other man departed.

He let himself be led to the room he had been given and immediately took advantage of the pitcher of water that had been set out for him. He had just sat down when a knock came to the door. Opening it revealed Arianne, flanked by Areo and Lewyn, standing with a man he didn't recognize who was holding a roll of parchment.

"This is the room, Princess," the unknown man said, "and you are Prince Daemon Targaryen?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Right," the man said, "we're just verifying the names of the final eight. Wouldn't want to announce the wrong one. I'll leave you to your business."

The second the man left, Arianne jumped into his arms and kissed him deeply.

"Oh, my dragon!" she exclaimed, her eyes awash with excitement and lust, "you were wonderful!"

"The true challenge lies ahead," Daemon said.

"That man you seemed to befriend is talented, as is the one you were fighting when the final horn sounded," Lewyn piped up. "I would warn you though, my prince, be wary of the tall one. Most of the people in the arena were content to simply defeat their opponents and be done with it, but that one seemed to delight in harming those who crossed his path."

"That last one you were fighting is actually Qarro's nephew," Arianne said.

"Really?" Daemon asked.

"Dello's his name," she replied. "Qarro said he trained him himself."

"He was good," Daemon admitted. "I was just starting to enjoy the fight when the trumpet went off."

"That one you decided to fight alongside beat the ninth man standing," Arianne said. "Who is he anyway?"

"Allego Orbayn," Daemon replied. "Quite the swordsman and good company. We decided to fight together because men kept interrupting our fight."

"Well, you won't have to worry about that in the duels," Arianne said.

"Exactly," Daemon said.

"Well," Arianne said, "I will leave you to prepare. I'm looking forward to celebrating your victory, my love."

She kissed him again and left, her great-uncle and Areo in tow. Daemon sat back down and focused on his breathing. The melee had been fun, but what came next was going to be serious, and he needed to be focused.

Arianne sighed as she settled back down. Seeing Daemon fresh from fighting had excited her terribly, and being unable to do anything about it was frustrating.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" a lovely voice came from behind her. Arianne turned and grinned at the sudden appearance of Bellegere. The courtesan was again wearing a blue dress that complimented her eyes perfectly, but where the one she had been wearing when they first met could only have been called scandalous because of how tightly it hugged her gorgeous frame, this one was far more daring. From the plunging neckline, which showed off a great deal of her large, brown breasts, to the diamond-shaped hole displaying her navel, to the slit in the skirt almost reaching her hip, there wasn't a part of her not enhanced by the dress.

"Not at all," she replied, signaling to Areo to move over for the young beauty. "I had hoped to chat during the melee, but you were on the other side of the area.

"Tycho Nestoris insisted that I sit next to him at the start of the festivities," Bellegere replied, her voice thick with disdain.

"Is he the one who opened the melee?" Arianne asked.

"He is," Bellegere replied. "He's an influential representative of the Iron Bank."

"I was surprised to see that the tourney was being held by a bank," Arianne admitted. "Back home, such a thing would have been held by a wealthy lord and hosted on the grounds of their castle."

"Well, they do own this place," Bellegere replied.

"The arena?" Arianne asked.

"Braavos," Bellegere replied. "Perhaps not in truth, but they might as well."

Arianne leaned in and lowered her voice as she said, "you don't sound terribly fond of them. Why take part in their tourney?"

"It was the best option I had to deal with my mother's debts," Bellegere explained. "My mother died a few months ago…"

"I'm so sorry," Arianne cut her off.

"Thank you," Bellegere said with a pained smile. "My mother was older when she had me. She had difficulty having children all her life. I have only one sibling; a brother so much older than me that he's been mistaken for my father before. By the time I was old enough to take up my mother's mantle, she was well past being ready to relinquish it. We both thought that she would get to enjoy a good few years at least of rest, but she grew ill."

Bellegere paused for a moment, her eyes growing misty, and Arianne put an arm around her shoulders.

"She had been in this line of work too long," she continued after a minute, "and though the most famous courtesans of Braavos get to be far more selective with their clients than most whores, it can still be difficult work. She caught some wasting sickness not long before I took over and just barely lasted six months. It was then that I discovered just how fond she had been of gambling."

"She was in debt," Arianne surmised.

"A great deal of it, as it turned out," Bellegere sighed. "As her successor, I inherited the debt, and the best deal I could work out with the Iron Bank was to get most of it forgiven in exchange for being their prize in this year's tourney."

Arianne couldn't help but bristle at that. The idea of punishing a child for their parent's mistakes offended her Dornish sensibilities. She had wanted for nothing all her life, and if she was honest, she had a hard time wrapping her mind around the concept of debt, but the idea of making someone pay off their parent's debts bothered her.

"You said most," she pointed out.

"I'll be able to pay off the rest by selling some of the gifts my mother was given by her more generous lovers," Bellegere said, "though I may have found a better solution."

"Oh?" Arianne asked.

"I was given a gaudy and frankly hideous broach by a man I took to bed a few days ago," she explained. "The head of House Prestayn saw it and thought that his wife would love it, so I agreed to sell it. What he gave me won't pay off the rest of the debt, but I decided to make the first and last bet of my life and put it on that husband of yours."

"Really?" Arianne asked.

"Apparently the bankers don't think much of his odds of winning," Bellegere giggled. "Should he win, my winnings will cover the rest of the debt, and if not, I'll still be able to raise the money easily enough. I just liked the idea of paying them off with their own money."

"So is gambling a big part of their business?" Arianne asked.

"Generally speaking, no," Bellegere replied, "but when they throw spectacles like this, it's one of many ways that they profit off of them, probably second to the cost of admission, honestly."

"I wouldn't know," Arianne admitted. "The Sealord was kind enough to give myself and two of my guards his seats as an apology for having been unable to meet us so far. He's just getting over a sickness."

"Ah, I…" Bellegere went to say, only to be cut off by Tycho.

"Good men and good wives of Braavos and beyond," he projected loudly, "we come at last to the main event. Our eight finalists fought their way through opponent after opponent to make it this far. They displayed bravery, strength, and tremendous skill in dispatching all who crossed their paths, and now, they face their greatest challenge of the day. Four duels will be fought in this first round, the winners of which will face off in the next round on their way to the final duel. First up, we have a duel between two well-known Bravos, Dello Volentin and Syrio Dothare.

The two men entered the arena from doors on the opposite ends of it, both of them wearing ornate-looking armor and carrying lighter looking blades than they had been given for the melee. While everyone had been given a nearly identical weapon for the first part of the tourney, Arianne knew that they would be able to wield what they liked within reason for the duels. That Daemon would be wielding Nightsister was a comfort to her, as she knew that Valyrian steel often gave warriors an edge in battle.

She looked over and saw Qarro fixated on the match for obvious reasons. He had pointed out his nephew during the melee, and Arianne had thought that he looked rather skilled. He even matched Daemon for a while at the end. The two warriors approached one another cautiously, circling each other as they got close. The tension in the crowd built steadily as the two continued to move without attacking each other, both waiting for their opponent to make the first move. She honestly couldn't say who ended up striking first, but it mattered little as the fight began in earnest.

It was like poetry in motion, truly more of a dance than what she usually would have considered fighting. Even her uncle didn't move as gracefully as these men did, dodging and weaving around each other effortlessly. They parried only what they couldn't dodge out of the way of and blocked rarely. She had watched a few waterdancers duel in the Moon Pool with Daemon earlier that day, but none of them were as skilled as the pair on display in the arena.

"I've always enjoyed watching Bravos duel," Bellegere commented.

"I can see why it's called water dancing," Arianne said. "Though undoubtedly deadly, they do almost look like they're dancing rather than fighting."

"It takes a great deal of flexibility, dexterity, and agility to fight like that," Bellegere said quietly. "Unsurprisingly, I've always found them to be exciting lovers."

Arianne grinned at the other woman's boldness and was about to reply when the crowd gasped nearly in unison. She looked down and saw that Dello had disarmed his opponent and flung his sword off to the side. Rather than press his advantage, however, he motioned to the other man to go retrieve the blade.

"Showboating fool," she heard Qarro hiss in frustration, "just finish him."

A man sitting next to the First Sword chuckled at his apparent friend's annoyance.

As the duel picked up again, Arianne turned to Bellegere to continue their conversation. "Until I met Daemon, I couldn't have said for sure that being a great warrior is a sign that a man is a great lover, but he is easily the greatest I have ever known on both counts."

"Truly?" Bellegere asked, clearly intrigued.

Before Arianne could respond, she noticed that Dello had managed to get past his opponent's defenses and slash the man's thigh. As his opponent hobbled for a moment, he pressed the attack, first knocking his opponent's blade out of his hand again and then following that up with a vicious kick to the man's breastplate. With Dello the only one left on his feet, the trumpet sounded to declare the fight over.

"A fantastic fight!" Tycho exclaimed, "give a round of applause to the winner, Dello Volentin."

The crowd erupted in cheers, and Qarro jumped to his feet, shouting with joy and obvious pride. Arianne watched as Dello helped his opponent up, and the other man collected his sword and hobbled off. Once the arena was again empty, and the applause had died down, Tycho rose again to speak.

"Our next fight will be something quite different," he began. "the Bravo Arto Tykalys won the tournament last year."

Cheers rang up from the crowd as the apparently well-known fighter's name was mentioned.

"His opponent is someone new to this arena, indeed to the city of Braavos entirely," Tycho continued, "please welcome to the arena, coming to us from all the way across the Narrow Sea, Prince Daemon Targaryen!"

Arianne stood and cheered, but aside from her two guards and some polite cheers from Bellegere, she was alone in that. She grumbled as she sat back down.

"I did say the odds they put on your husband weren't good," Bellegere said. "He's being underestimated by virtually everyone here."

"Well, he'll show them," Arianne said confidently.

"He'll have to be good to beat Arto Tykalys," Bellegere commented. "I might not have been offered up as the prize last year, but I did attend the tournament. One of my mother's clients gifted her a seat in the arena for it, but she was sick that day and let me go in her place. He's an exceptional fighter."

"So is my Daemon," Arianne said, and leaning in, she added quietly, "and keep in mind as you watch that as great as he is on the battlefield, he is even better in bed."

Bellegere just grinned at her and turned to watch the duel.

The trumpet sounded, and Daemon and Arto approached each other cautiously. Arto swung first and Daemon deflected, but Arto seemed to be hoping for that as he swung again immediately and hit Daemon's leg. The blow glanced off his armor and Daemon showed no trouble hopping back. Arto swung again, and Daemon parried, this time in a way that set him up to swing at the man's shoulder. Daemon's attack hit, and he immediately had to duck under Arto's thrust at his head. As the other man stepped back, it was clear that he had been wounded.

"Is that Valyrian steel?" Qarro asked her.

"It is," she replied. "The sword's called Nightsister."

Daemon insisted that he was only calling it that as a joke, but she, for one, thought it was a fine name for the blade, especially given the moonstone pommel.

As she watched, it was clear that Daemon knew he had drawn blood and was not willing to give his opponent a moment to recover. Arto defended well, to his credit, but under the relentless assault, he was kept on the defensive almost entirely. Daemon seemed to miss a step, and Arto took advantage, swinging for Daemon's shoulder, only for Daemon to parry and immediately riposte, nearly stabbing through the man's chest. Arto dodged mostly, but clearly caught a glancing blow along his ribs.

Looking frustrated just from his stance, Arto swung downward towards Daemon's head. Daemon sidestepped the blow and brought his own blade up to catch Arto's when it happened. Nightsister cleaved straight through Arto's sword, perhaps three inches from the hilt. Daemon delivered a powerful shield-bash to knock Arto back and held his sword out under the man's chin. Arianne couldn't help but laugh as Arto's head turned right and back again as he looked at his broken sword and his opponent, almost as though he couldn't believe what had just happened. After a moment, he flipped the hilt over in his hand and held it out in surrender.

The crowd was silent, sitting in stunned disbelief. When Arianne shouted Daemon's name and started clapping, it seemed to break them out of their silence, and the arena erupted in cheers. They might not have known who he was or cared for the foreign competitor before, but an entertaining fight was an entertaining fight.

"How much better?" Bellegere asked, sounding impressed.

Arianne turned to the courtesan and grinned. "Let's just say that if the gods offered me life eternal in exchange for never having him again, I would stay mortal."

Before Bellegere could reply, Tycho stood up again. "A brilliant display of martial prowess. Let's hear a round of applause for Prince Daemon!"

The crowd erupted again, still riding high on the excitement of the fight.

"Our next fight will be between the Bravosi Waterdancer Allego Orbayn and the Tyroshi sellsword, Daario Naharis. Let's give a warm welcome to our brave fighters!"

The first man was the one Daemon had befriended, already wearing his full armor. His opponent was holding his helmet in his hands, and Arianne was immediately struck by how odd he looked. His long hair and beard were both dyed blue and unless she was mistaken, his mustache was a deep gold. She had seen a few Tyroshi before in Sunspear, and their practice of dying their hair odd colors wasn't entirely new to her, but it still looked odd. The man put on his helmet and drew a strange, curved sword from its scabbard.

"He's that good?" Bellegere asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"I was no maid when we first slept together," Arianne whispered, forgetting the coming fight for a moment, "but it wasn't until him that I knew what it truly meant to be fucked. It's like nothing I've ever experienced before."

"And you're willing to let him have me?" Bellegere asked.

"I like to watch him do what he's best at," Arianne replied with a grin. "Watching him fight is always fun, but watching him fuck is so much better."

Bellegere's pupils dilated despite the bright sun as she asked, "only watch?"

Arianne brought her hand to the slit in Bellegere's dress and felt the smooth skin of her thigh. "It would depend who he's fucking."

She trailed her hand up higher, her eyes never leaving Bellegere's, and when she finally reached the gorgeous woman's hip and discovered that she wasn't wearing small clothes, it took all of her willpower to stop herself from moaning. The fact that she could easily reach across under the skirt and feel Bellegere's no doubt wet cunt made her own boil. She felt her nipples harden almost painfully under her dress.

"I really hope he wins," Bellegere shuddered, "and not just because of the bet."

The men below started fighting then, and Arianne used the fight to distract herself from the woman next to her and to cool off. The first thing she noticed was that the Tyroshi was easily the most aggressive fighter in the duels yet, opening the fight with a blistering assault. Allego dodged and parried blow after blow, dancing around Daario as he went.

To someone less used to watching fights, it might have looked like he was badly on the defensive, but Arianne noticed that he did not look strained. There was an ease to his movements that suggested he was intentionally letting his opponent attack him so relentlessly. She assumed his goal was to let the other man tire himself out.

No sooner than she think that, then Allego finally got a couple attacks in himself, using a parried blow from Daario to open the other man up to his swing. Daario deftly dodged the blow and slashed low towards Allego's legs. When Allego parried the blow, Daario grabbed the dirk from his belt and attempted to stab him in the side, forcing him to block with his shield. Allego bashed his helmet into the other man's helmet and broke free.

Allego shouted something then, though Arianne couldn't make out what. Whatever it was, it seemed to enrage Daario, who charged at Allego. He feinted swinging high, and thrust straight at Allego's chest when he moved to block the feint. Allego barely hopped out of the way and bashed his shield into Daario's swordarm. The man cried out, dropping his sword, and as he moved to stab Allego with the dirk, Allego caught his arm and used his momentum to flip the other man onto his back.

The trumpet sounded the second Daario hit the ground, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Arianne joined in happily. It had been a fantastic fight. Daario jumped to his feet, visibly angry, and stared at Allego as the other man left for a moment before picking up his sword and stalking away.

"What a fight!" Tycho exclaimed as everyone quieted down. "For our final duel of this round, we have two native Braavosi. A sellsword of great renown, welcome to the arena, Cragho Draryne and his opponent, the Bravo Rubrum Tunicis.

The two men who entered the arena could not have been more different. The first one was enormous, the tall man Arianne had noticed before. He wielded a morningstar; she noticed and carried with him a large kite shield. His opponent, the man named Rubrum, was about a foot and a half shorter and carried a longsword and a buckler.

"I don't know whose bright idea it was to match up the tallest and shortest of the final eight," she complained quietly to Bellegere.

"I'm going to guess that I know who's winning this one," Bellegere replied.

"You must admit it will be hilarious if we are wrong," Arianne chuckled.

Rubrum might have seemed mismatched in this fight, but no one could accuse him of cowardice. He charged forward and opened the fight with a thrust to Cragho's stomach. Cragho sidestepped the thrust and bashed him in the head with his heavy shield. As Rubrum staggered back, clearly disoriented, Cragho swung his morningstar right into his head.

Screams rang throughout the arena as Rubrum's helmet caved in and he collapsed to the floor, dead. A puddle of blood spilled from the slits in the ruined helmet, soaking the earth beneath him. Cragho didn't even spare the dead man a second glance, walking off without a word as the trumpet finally sounded.

"I really hope that one doesn't win," Bellegere said, sounding scared.

Arianne, whose blood had gone cold the moment she watched that poor man die, could only look at her equally terrified-looking friend. For the first time since she had suggested that Daemon enter this tourney, she felt fear.

Daemon rolled his eyes at the unnecessary display of brutality. That one must have had some skill to be among the final eight, but he had clearly allowed Cragho's size intimidate him into that unwise display. A more cautious approach might have yielded some weaknesses that could be exploited and let him at least drag the fight out a bit. Killing him had been entirely needless, though.

"Erm," the announcer said as he searched for words. "So ends the first round of the duels. After a short ten-minute break, we will begin the penultimate round of the tournament."

"I suppose you'll be up first," Allego said.

"Mmm hmm," Daemon replied, "up against the First Sword's nephew over there."

He gestured towards Dello, who was standing and chatting with one of the officials.

"He's good," Allego commented, "but more of a showman than is wise. Play to that, and you should do fine."

"Be careful with your own opponent," Daemon said, watching as the joyless giant removed his helmet and poured a cup of water from a pitcher.

"I've fought larger men before," Allego said with a shrug, "and I haven't forgotten my desire to fight you uninterrupted."

"I guess we both have to win then," Daemon chuckled.

"Targaryen," one of the guards said, "Volentin, your fight starts in a few minutes, follow us to your starting points."

"Good luck," Allego said.

"Good luck to you," Daemon replied, following one of the men while Dello followed the other.

Daemon allowed his mind to wander as he was led to the door he'd emerge from when the announcement came. He knew that Allego was right about Dello Volentin; he had watched the same fight. The man could have ended his fight the moment he first disarmed Dothare, but he had allowed the other man to pick his sword back up. He was reminded of the old tale of Ser Arthur and the Smiling Knight, but where that was a tale of a valiant knight building on the reputation he had used to help track down the notorious brigand, Volentin had no reason to do what he did other than a desire to make his victory greater. That spoke of a certain arrogance, and arrogance was a useful thing to have in an opponent.

"Here we come to the penultimate round of the tournament," the announcer shouted. "The winners of the next two duels will meet in the final round to decide this year's champion. Please welcome back to the arena, Prince Daemon Targaryen of Westeros and our own native son, Dello Volentin!"

The crowd erupted in cheers as the doors were opened for Daemon. He strode in confidently and grinned when he realized that the afternoon son was almost directly behind him. He knew that if he could lead Dello slightly to the right in their initial exchange, he might have an advantage from that.

The second the trumpet sounded, Dello rushed him, slashing towards his swordarm. Daemon parried the blow and riposted with a thrust to Dello's torso that he dodged effortlessly.

"I spared with your uncle at dawn," Daemon said. "I can see his style in yours."

"He is the greatest swordsman in Braavos," Dello replied, admiration clear in his voice, "and I am his greatest student."

Dello followed that boast with a flurry of attacks that Daemon's reflexes were just barely good enough to counter. He quickly realized that not only was Dello quite possibly the fastest opponent he had met that day, he had also been holding back against Syrio Dothare. What Daemon couldn't dodge, he parried, and what he couldn't parry, he blocked, as he weathered the veritable storm of steel and aggression. Dello clearly meant to put him down quickly, and it took Daemon a moment to realize why he was being so reckless in his assault.

Nightsister.

The other man had seen what an advantage Valyrian steel had given Daemon in his first duel. Few men ever fought an opponent with one of the legendary blades, and Daemon had used Nightsister to break his last opponent's sword like it was nothing. Dello had clearly taken that lesson to heart. His assault was relentless but measured. There were no wide swings like the one Daemon had taken advantage of when fighting Arto; in fact, Dello left no openings at all. When a swing grazed his shoulder enough to damage the enamel of his right pauldron, Daemon knew he had to do something to take the momentum.

He caught Dello's next attack on his shield and forced the man back a step while he hopped back just out of reach and stepped aside. When Dello attacked again, Daemon sidestepped his next blow and led him right into the path of the sun. Dello failed to notice in his determined pursuit and stepped right into Daemon's trap. Momentarily blinded by the glare, his next thrust went wide, and Daemon took full advantage. He forced the other man's sword further away with his own and brought his shield into Dello's chest, pushing him back a step.

Daemon swung downward, and Dello, knowing that he couldn't hope to block the blade with his shield the way he was positioned, and unwilling to try using his blade, redirected the blow away barely and ended up positioned awkwardly. Taking advantage of his opponent's poor footing, he thrust towards the man's leg, slicing through his armor above his right knee. Dello swung wildly, hoping to buy himself a moment to readjust, but Daemon ducked under the blow and aimed a kick at the man's wounded leg. He struck true and sent Dello to the ground in a crumpled heap.

The trumpet sounded, and Daemon reveled in the energy of the crowd as they cheered. He was one fight away from victory and the prize that had lured him into the tournament in the first place. As he looked up and saw the distinct figures of Bellegere and his wife standing next to each other cheering, he felt his cock twitch. He could practically taste the gorgeous courtesan and almost hear Arianne egging him on to fuck the other woman so well that no other man would ever hope to please her.

He saw Dello struggling to his feet and moved to help him up.

"You were good," he admitted freely.

"Not good enough," Dello hissed, visibly favoring one leg over the other as he hobbled away, "but I will be someday."

Daemon watched the man leave for a moment before he joined him. He took off his helmet the moment he was beyond the arena door, wiping his sweaty hair off his brow. The pitcher of water and cups were still in the room he had been given, and he drank another cup as he felt his heartbeat slow. That had been a relatively challenging fight, and Daemon could finally say that he was enjoying himself.

"Up next," the announcer's voice rang out as Daemon reached the viewing port set up for the guards and other competitors, "we have a duel between two native Braavosi, the last we shall see today. Welcome back to the arena, Allego Orbayn and Cragho Draryne!"

Daemon knew that this match was going to be a spectacle. Cragho's last fight had been a poorly matched affair, and it thus hadn't lasted long. Allego was taller than the man Cragho had killed, just an inch or so shorter than Daemon himself, and so while the giant of a man still towered over him, it wasn't by nearly as much. The cheerful Bravo was also strong, quick, and quite skilled, so Daemon figured that he would have a shot in this duel.

Cragho was aggression and brutality personified, and he seemed to relish not just defeating but harming others. Allego's best bet was going to be to keep his distance and wear the larger man down, something that Daemon was sure the other man realized.

The trumpet had barely sounded when Cragho charged at Allego at full speed, swinging his morningstar and hurling it towards his opponent's chest. Allego dodged gracefully out of the way and swung his blade towards Cragho's helmet. Cragho dodged, but Allego's blade made slight contact between his helmet and pauldron. In an obvious rage, Cragho swung his morningstar at Allego's legs so hard that he would surely have broken something if it had struck. Allego jumped over the heavy iron ball and danced out of the way.

This set the tone for their duel at the start. Cragho was strong and faster than he had any right to be for his size, but Allego was a seasoned waterdancer and was incredibly quick on his feet. Daemon recalled what the man had said of his opponent before: how he had been captured by slavers in his youth and made to fight in pits. Had he grown up in Braavos, he might very well have been trained to fight as Allego did, but he had learned a very different style of fighting wherever he had been trained.

"Stand still!" he heard the giant bellow in frustration as he continued to try and land a solid blow on his opponent.

Allego tried to strike at Cragho only twice more as he continued to dance around him and only scored a single glancing blow for his efforts. His strategy was clearly to make the large man tire himself out, and Daemon himself would have suggested the same, but as the duel wore on, he realized with a sinking feeling that it wasn't working. For a solid few minutes, Allego dodged and weaved his way around his opponent, but looking from the outside, Daemon did not see Cragho grow visibly tired or even slow the tiniest bit. The larger man's stamina was impressive, and it made Allego's strategy very dangerous. For the Bravo to succeed, he had to be lucky on every swing of that ridiculous morningstar. For Cragho to succeed, he only needed to be lucky once.

A single mistake was sometimes all it took to lose a duel, and as Allego mistimed an attempted swing at his opponent's shoulder, he made one. Cragho dodged away from the blow and swung his morningstar around, wrapping the chain of it around the hilt of Allego's sword. He yanked the blade out of his opponent's grip with ease, displaying his immense strength, and then swung the morningstar again, right at Allego's chest.

The man fell to the ground with a scream when the heavy weapon made contact, and Daemon could only guess how many bones the blow had broken. He felt his heart hammering in his chest as Cragho moved to swing again at his fallen opponent, but the sound of the trumpet blaring gave him pause. He stared down at Allego for a moment, as though he were weighing the pros and cons of just committing blatant murder in front of the entire crowd. With a shake of his head, he stalked off, not sparing the man he had beaten another glance.

Daemon glared at his new opponent as he entered the viewing area, his helmet held under his shield arm.

"There's still time to back, out little prince," Cragho taunted, "unless of course, you want your bones turned to dust too."

Daemon looked and saw Allego being carried out of the arena. Depending on where that blow had struck, it was possible the man wouldn't make it another day.

"You had him disarmed," Daemon said murderously, "you could have ended it there."

"I could have," Cragho admitted, "but I didn't want to. I made my name in the fighting pits of Meereen. I never showed mercy to a single cunt I fought there or in any other pit, and I'm not about to start now."

"What an exciting duel!" the announcer exclaimed. "After one last short break, we will bring you our final duel of the day, a matchup that promises to be the most spectacular yet!"

"If no mercy or quarter is how we're going to do this, I'm alright with that," Daemon growled.

Cragho looked surprised for a moment before he burst out laughing. "I've killed more men than you've ever met, boy. What could a pampered prince know of bloodshed?"

"I was one and ten when I killed my first man," Daemon said calmly. "A couple brigands of sorts from far to the north of my home broke into the castle, hoping to abduct my uncle's wife. The first one had gotten himself killed by the guards, and as the other fled, he came across me. I was out where I wasn't supposed to be, and he saw me as an easy obstacle in his way. He gave me my first scar, barely missing my eye as well, and knocked me to the ground, thinking that he could keep going. That man didn't believe that I could be a threat to him and didn't see the dagger on my belt. He paid for both mistakes with his life, and when the guards finally found us, most of the blood on my face was not mine."

He paused for moment, idly running a finger along the white line that crossed through his right eyebrow and cheekbone, before continuing, "I've killed many men since then and am responsible for the deaths of thousands more. You ask what I could know bloodshed? Much and more."

Cragho looked surprised for only a moment before he sneered and said, "there are plenty of bards under the sun better at making up tales than you."

Daemon only smiled, saying, "when it sets tonight, you will not be there to see it."

Cragho looked ready to attack him when the guards came to lead them to their respective entrances. As the taller man was led away, Daemon noticed that there was a gash in the left side of the chainmail coif he was wearing. Allego hadn't cut deeply enough to count, but he had apparently managed to do some damage. The prince barely paid attention as he was led to his starting point this time, focused entirely on the fight ahead. Cragho's advantages were his sheer size and stamina, something that Daemon understood well, as those were generally advantages that he enjoyed.

Daemon was taller and broader than either of the opponents Cragho had brutalized so far, and while he might be able to weather a few more blows than either of them had, he knew that he couldn't hope to match Cragho in terms of strength. He couldn't drag the fight out as Allego had attempted to either, since he had no idea how long it would take tire the cunt out and didn't want to put himself in a position where a single mistake could get him killed. If he was going to beat Cragho, he had to end the fight quickly, which meant doing something he had thought Rubrum was foolish for attempting at all. He supposed you were only ever foolish if you failed, however.

"Here we are for our final duel of the day," the announcer called out. "It has been a long day of highs and lows, tremendous victories and bitter defeats, but there are only two competitors remaining, and only one of them can be named the champion of the tournament and walk away with its alluring prize. "Welcome to the arena for the final time today, Prince Daemon Targaryen and Cragho Draryne!"

"The final time indeed," he thought to himself.

Cragho stood tall, head and shoulders above the guard who had led him to his entrance. His towering figure was made all the more notable by the heavy platemail gleaming in the sun. As the trumpet sounded, the giant beckoned for Daemon to come to him, openly taunting him into making the first move. That suited Daemon just fine; he only planned to need one. He ran at Cragho at full speed, and the man took his stance, morningstar at his side, and shield raised. Cragho seemed to think that Daemon was fully enraged and about to make some frontal assault in his blind anger. If that was what he expected, he was in for the final surprise of his life.

Daemon swerved to the right as he ran, coming in on the taller man's shield side and hoping for an attack he could use. He knew that he would have to time this well if he was going to pull it off. Time almost seemed to slow as he neared his opponent, waiting for the shield bash he hoped was coming. The second Cragho tried it, Daemon jumped and stretched his right arm as far back as he could, keeping his elbow bent. He caught Cragho's heavy shield with his own, knowing that he would feel that in the morning as he always did after a joust, and waited until his was just level with the man's neck. With his helmet on, Daemon couldn't tell if, at the last second, Cragho realized the terrible mistake he had made, and it didn't matter; for the moment he had a clear shot, Daemon thrust Nightsister right into the man's neck.

Valyrian steel could cut through normal steel with ease, and even if Cragho's coif hadn't been damaged, Daemon likely still would have dealt the fatal blow. With the damage Allego had done, however, the giant of a man had no hope, and the prince felt a rush of satisfaction as he felt his blade sink right in. He landed on his feet and whipped around just in case his opponent managed to attempt one final attack as he died, but it turned out he didn't need to bother. Cragho dropped his morningstar immediately, and his right hand flew to his neck from where blood sprayed to the hammering beat of his heart. He fell, first to his knees and then flat on his face, as his life left him.

The crowd stood in stunned silence, as if no one could quite accept what they had just seen. It was a little anticlimactic, Daemon mused, but he had never been much of a showman. Eventually, he heard clapping begin in the central box and then spread across the arena as they all started to cheer. He walked off without a word and sought out the room Allego had been given.

As he reached the room, he saw a pretty, visibly pregnant woman with golden hair and warm brown eyes standing there. She held a young baby in her arms and had clearly been crying. Daemon looked beyond her and noticed Allego lying on the bed as a man he assumed to be a sort of maester stood over him. The man's eyes were open, and though he looked pained, he was alive at least.

"How's he doing?" he asked the woman, who was almost certainly his wife.

"A broken collerbone and at least one broken rib," she replied numbly. "I recognize you from the arena, but do you know my husband?"

"We just met," Daemon replied.

"Prince Daemon," Allego called out as he saw him, his voice strained. "I take it you won?"

He left out the obvious, 'because you wouldn't be standing here otherwise.'

"I did," Daemon replied.

"Congratulations," he said. "I can't imagine Cragho took that well."

"Well, he's dead, so he won't be complaining any time soon," Daemon replied sardonically.

"Ah," was all Allego said to that.

"Thank you," his wife said, clearly feeling more vicious than her husband.

"I want you to meet my lovely wife Sana and our son Luco," Allego said.

"Prince Daemon Targaryen," he said, introducing himself and gesturing to her swollen belly, added, "Congratulations."

"Thank you," she said flatly. "I have no idea what we're going to do now. The gods know how long it will take you to recover from this."

"Six to twelve weeks in my experience," the medicine man said, and turning to Allego added, "provided you rest up and don't do anything to worsen your injuries. If you'll excuse me, I have other duties I need to return to."

As he left, the announcer of the tournament entered, trailed by two men holding a large chest.

"Prince Daemon I am Tycho Nestoris," the man said, introducing himself. "We were going to hand you this in front of the crowd, but you walked off."

Daemon resisted the urge to chuckle at the man's irritation as he replied, "jugglers and singers play to crowds, I'm a warrior and a prince besides. I wanted to see how my friend here was doing."

"Better than the man who put him here," Tycho muttered. "Anyway, congratulations. Here are the ten thousand gold pieces as promised."

"Give it to him," Daemon said, gesturing to Allego.

"What!?" Sana shouted, waking the baby in her arms.

"I can't accept that!" Allego exclaimed, earning a glare from his wife as she tried to sooth their son.

"You can and you will," Daemon said finally. "I am a prince of House Targaryen, which means that I well and truly do not need the money. It is also poor manners to refuse a prince's offer. I meant it when I said I was in this for Bellegere."

Allego just stared gobsmacked at Daemon for a moment before laughing and then wincing and groaning. "Looks like I won't be laughing for a while. If you truly insist, then I suppose we could accept, but I could never hope to repay you."

"Just name one of the little ones Daemon or Daena, and I'll be happy," he said with a shrug. "I assume you have an account with the Iron Bank?"

When Allego nodded, he turned to Tycho and said, "then you know what to do."

"If it's what you want," Tycho replied, looking more bored than anything.

Sana took Daemon's hand and said, "thank you, truly. You have no idea what you've done for us."

"You're welcome," he said, smiling. "Now if you will all excuse me, I need to go find my wife. Take care."

As he left, he heard Sana ask, "but wait, didn't he say something about the Black Pearl?"

He chuckled as he returned to his room and was pleasantly surprised to find Areo and Lewyn outside.

"A fantastic showing," Lewyn said the moment he saw him.

"I must admit that I was worried, my prince," Areo added, "and I was not the only one."

As if on cue, Arianne emerged from his room and threw herself into his arms. "Oh, thank the gods, you're alright."

He hugged her trembling form tightly and saw Bellegere emerge from his room right behind his wife. He kissed Arianne deeply before setting her down.

"There was never anything to worry about," he said to comfort her. It was a lie, but a minor one.

The second he let go of Arianne, Bellegere hugged him tightly as well.

"Thank you," she whispered to him. He looked to Arianne, who mouthed the word 'later,' and shrugged, pressing the other woman's warm, wonderfully curvy body to his as much as he could through his armor.

"As nice as this is," he said as he let her go, "I need to get out of this armor and into a bath."

"I'm all yours when you're ready," Bellegere said seductively. "I do have one thing to take care of first, but where would you like me later?"

"Come by the Sealord's Palace," Daemon replied. "I'll let the guards know to expect you."

"I will," she said, smiling widely as she left.

Daemon turned to Arianne and cocked an eyebrow.

"The short answer is that she really didn't want to fuck the one you killed," Arianne said simply, "and the long answer will take a while. We can talk about it along the way. Can we go now, or do you need to collect your winnings?"

"I gave my winnings to Allego," Daemon replied, and at her surprised look, he continued, "I'll explain along the way."

"So long as you didn't give away your other winnings," Arianne said with a grin.

"You know me better than that," he chuckled.

It was a freshly bathed and feasted Daemon who reacted to the knock on their door. Arianne was practically vibrating with excitement as she hopped out of his lap to greet Bellegere as she was let in. Daemon chuckled at her obvious excitement, but he could hardly blame her; the Black Pearl was more stunning than the gem she was known as.

"Did you settle everything?" Arianne asked.

"I did," Bellegere replied, sounding utterly relieved. "I am officially without debts of any kind."

"They gave me odds that bad?" Daemon asked, equally amused and insulted.

"They knew nothing of you and couldn't tell much from the results of the melee, where most of the men you beat weren't very good," Bellegere explained. "It wasn't until your first duel that we all got a sense of what you were capable of, and by then I had made my bet. Weep not for the bank, though; they're thieving cunts at the best of times. The Princess explained it all to you?"

"She did," Daemon replied. "I'm sorry about your mother."

"Thank you," Bellegere said, "but I don't want to think about that right now. Do you have any idea how wet watching you fight made me?"

Bellegere walked up to him as she spoke, and he felt his cock harden rapidly under her lustful gaze.

"How wet are we talking?" he asked with a grin.

"Feel for yourself," she replied, taking his hand and bringing it to the slit in her dress. He reached under and discovered that, not only was she wearing no small clothes, but she was also truly soaking wet.

"It was all I could think about on my way here," she moaned as he fingered her, "that and what an incredible lover Arianne said you are."

"He is," Arianne said, already sounding breathless, "but he's not the only one you're here for."

His wife pulled the taller woman down and kissed her passionately. He knew that Arianne had been looking forward to this for a full day now, and as he watched her shove her tongue into Bellegere's mouth, he was reminded just how intensely attracted to her she had been from the start. While his wife kissed the woman they were going to fuck all night long, Daemon found the buttons on the back of her dress and started undoing them, kissing each new bit of smooth brown skin he uncovered. When he reached the last one, by her lower back, he pushed the dress over her shoulders and let Arianne take over with it. She pulled it off Bellegere's shoulders and immediately buried her face in the other woman's enormous breasts.

"Oh gods!" she hissed as Arianne started kneading the heavy, surprisingly perky mounds and sucking on her pebbled brown nipples.

Daemon pushed the dress down to her feet, uncovering what might have been the largest arse he had ever seen on an otherwise shapely woman. Even Tyene and the Summer Islander Falaya didn't compare, and Daemon couldn't help but smack a glorious cheek. Watching the flesh ripple and hearing her cry out made his cock strain in his breeches.

"I've never had a man who didn't want to do that," she giggled.

"Oh?" Arianne asked, and flipping her around, she added, "fuck. How about women?"

As his wife started spanking their new lover, Daemon captured her mouth in his, drowning out her moans with his kiss. His hands found her large tits, and he kneaded them eagerly, circling a wet nipple with his thumb.

"Lie down on your back," Arianne ordered, "and Daemon, come help me get undressed."

Bellegere complied eagerly, her flushed face a mask of desire. As she laid back, Daemon was able to take in all of her loveliness. Her full breasts had been what drew his eye most when they first met, but they were hardly her only beautiful feature. Her hips were wide, her arse unmatched in his experience, and her long legs were also beautiful, with her fleshy thighs and surprisingly dainty feet. Her most beautiful feature, beyond even her incredible body, had to be her eyes, though. The two pale blue orbs staring up at him in clear lust were some of the most gorgeous he had ever seen. Her heart-shaped face, full lips, and long dark brown hair, falling freely in ringlets, completed her stunning looks.

As he helped Arianne out of her dress, he noticed that Bellegere was so wet; the dark brown curls shielding her cunt had started to look damp, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in there and taste her fully. He suspected that he was going to be beaten to that, though, and the second Arianne was naked, she proved him right.

"Oh gods, yes," Bellegere moaned as Arianne started devouring her cunt.

Thinking not for the first time that he was the luckiest man who had ever lived, Daemon practically ripped his tunic off, tossing it to the ground and making short work of getting his breeches off as well. He was right next to Bellegere and Arianne when his cock finally sprung free and the gasp, he got in return made him grin.

Arianne looked up from between Bellegere's legs and paused for a moment, sitting up and grinning, her face glistening.

"Impressive, is he not?" Arianne asked.

"Impressive?" Bellegere asked, sounding stunned. "Every courtesan in Braavos has some special requirement for the men that they take as lovers. Some only take the greatest of warriors; others only take men who sing beautifully, as my mother did. Since I became the Black Pearl, I've only taken men large enough to interest me. Since my first time, I've only ever had eyes for the biggest, fattest cocks, and this is by far the longest and thickest one I've ever heard of, much less had. How in the world do you fit inside Arianne?"

"Let's show her my love," Arianne cooed. "Let's show her how you fit inside me while I continue to feast on her delicious cunt."

"If you're going to do that, I should get you nice and slick first," Bellegere said with a grin, "just to be safe."

Arianne giggled as she buried her face back between Bellegere's thighs, and he eagerly let the courtesan take his cock into her mouth. He groaned as she started swirling her tongue around her throbbing head. She was clearly a woman experienced not just in bed but specifically with men like him, as in no time at all, she swallowed him to the base and had her petite nose buried in his curls.

"Fucking hells, woman," he growled, eliciting giggles from her that felt amazing.

Bellegere alternated between just bobbing her head up and down on most of his length and taking the whole thing into her hot, tight throat. She wasn't what anyone could call neat in her efforts, drooling all over his cock and balls obscenely. Daemon could have just enjoyed having her suck his cock until she finished down her throat, but she had other ideas. She pulled back, letting his cock slip from her mouth with an audible pop, and grinned down at her work. His entire length was slick with her saliva.

"Delicious," she cooed, "that should...oh gods!...be safe for Arianne. By the gods, you're good at that!"

Arianne chuckled and paused her ministrations for a moment. "Thank you, and Daemon, you heard her; you're safe for me, so don't hold back at all."

Daemon laughed and walked behind his beautiful wife, bringing his hand down playfully on her gorgeous ass once it was in reach. He lined his cock up with her drooling cunt and pushed inside to the hilt in one powerful thrust.

"Fuck!" she cried.

"Oh gods," Bellegere moaned, "you really took him all!"

She sunk her fingers into Arianne's hair and held her eager mouth to her cunt, as she watched her new lovers start to fuck. There were many positions Daemon loved, but the one he was in just then was his favorite. Having his wife bent over so he could fuck her from behind while her face was buried between another woman's thighs was an experience like none other.

He dug his fingers into her plush hips and started fucking her with hard, deep thrusts. He heard her moan into Bellegere's cunt and his gaze was drawn to the courtesan's lidded eyes. When Arianne shoved two fingers into the other woman's cunt without pausing her oral worship, it made her cry out. He picked up the pace, fucking her harder and faster, angling his cock down to reach the spot that never failed to make her gush.

"Oh fuck," Arianne moaned as he hit the exact, deep spot he was looking for. Her palm facing up, Arianne started finger-fucking Bellegere harder. She knew her way around a woman well enough that he knew she had her fingers curled upward.

"Oh gods, just like that," Bellegere cried, "fuck, that feels divine!"

Both women were soaring towards their peaks, and the room echoed with their cries of rapture. As Daemon felt Arianne start to flutter around him, he was sure that she would break first, but when she wrapped her lips around Bellegere's swollen clit, it didn't take long for the other woman to start screaming and writhing. Her thighs clamped down hard on Arianne's head, and Daemon doubted she minded in the slightest.

"YES!" Arianne screamed as she was sent hurtling over the edge less than a minute later. Daemon didn't let up in the least, pounding her gushing cunt all through her orgasm and beyond.

"Daemon, stop and let me turn over," she said breathlessly. When he did, and she rolled onto her back, she added, "Belle, sit on my face while he fucks me."

"You're sure?" Bellegere asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I want you to envelope me," Arianne replied, nodding.

Daemon would be lying if he said he hadn't thought the same when he first saw her arse, and he couldn't help but groan as he saw Bellegere straddle his wife's face and lower her dripping, wet cunt down to her eager mouth. He sank back into Arianne and, looking to the side, noticed a blanket which he grabbed, rolled up and carefully slid under her lower back to change the angle he was fucking her in. He then moved her feet up to his shoulders and started fucking her hard again. Her cries were muffled by Bellegere as she ground her wet cunt over his wife's face.

"By the gods, I can actually see you inside her," Bellegere gasped, pointing at the bump under Arianne's skin that appeared every time he bottomed out inside her. "You're going to feel so fucking good inside me."

He reached across and pulled Bellegere in for a kiss. Their tongues dueled for dominance while they fucked Arianne together. He almost wished she could see it, but her view was completely obstructed by the other woman's arse.

As she pulled back to breathe, Bellegere looked at Arianne's feet by his head and grinned deviously. Before he could ask what she was thinking, she leaned over and took the big toe of Arianne's left foot into her mouth. He heard his wife squeak in obvious surprise under Bellegere and felt her cunt squeeze him tightly, making him groan. It wasn't something he had ever tried before, but if her reaction was any indication, Arianne liked it. Shrugging, he grabbed her right foot and started sucking on her toes. They had bathed before Bellegere got to their room, and Daemon didn't taste much of anything other than salty skin.

The sensation of having the toes of both her feet sucked on at once while he fucked her was too much for Arianne, and she shrieked into Bellegere's cunt as she came. He let go with a groan, filling her to the brim with his seed. Bellegere lowered herself as he pulled out and took his softening cock into her mouth. He gasped as she cleaned him, sensitive from his peak, and then groaned when she let go of his cock and buried her face between Arianne's thighs. He stood there and just watched the two women lick each other's cunts, Bellegere loudly slurping up his seed.

He had just finished, but he felt his cock harden again at the sight, and by the time Bellegere cried out and came a moment later, he was so hard it hurt. Arianne pushed her over onto her back and turned around to face Daemon as she sat up.

"She's all ready for you, my love," she said, "and I see you're ready for her too."

"What?" Bellegere asked as she turned around, and her jaw dropped when she saw his cock. "Already?"

"My Daemon has fucked me and three of my cousins until we passed out in an exhausted heap many times," Arianne crowed. "By the time he's done with you, you'll be begging me to take you back to Dorne with us as a pet."

Bellegere shuddered but shook her head. "The mantle of the Black Pearl has been passed down from mother to daughter for generations. I couldn't just leave that, no matter how incredible the sex is."

"Mmm hmm," Arianne replied, sounding entirely confident. She then slapped Daemon right on the arse and said, "show her how a dragon fucks, Daemon."

He just stared at her for a moment in shock before dragging her to him and kissing her deeply.

"You're going to end up over my knee if you keep this up," he growled.

"Don't threaten me with good fun," she replied, her eyes practically black with lust.

He licked Bellegere's juices off her chin and neck, making her shudder. and then turned to the woman herself, who was just staring at them, her face a picture of desire.

"I'm a courtesan, and even I can't believe you two are real," she chuckled.

"I've gotten used to it," Daemon said with a shrug.

"Please," Arianne snorted, "you were like this before we met. Half the women in the North probably dream of your cock at night."

"How do you want me?" Bellegere asked.

"In every position ever imagined," he replied, his voice low and rumbling, "but first, I want you on your back."

"I'm yours," she said, staring down at his cock. When he slapped it on her and she saw that it reached her navel, she shuddered. "It's so big!"

He sank two fingers into her, feeling her wet, hot tunnel. His fingers were fat, fitting for his unusually large hands, and she felt delightfully tight around them. When he inserted a third, she gasped at how he filled and stretched her.

"You're going to feel my cock long after I'm done with you," he whispered as he lined himself up with her. He pushed and felt resistance. Pushing harder, his head popped right inside her.

"Oh fuck!" she cried, "that's perfect!"

He pulled out and pushed back inside a couple times, reveling in the look in Bellegere's wide eyes.

"You're spreading me apart," she moaned, "it feels so good."

Arianne joined them on the bed and stuck a couple fingers in her mouth before bringing them to Bellegere's clit.

"You've barely taken any of him too," she cooed. "Sink in all the way, my love."

"Yes, do it," Bellegere said. "I want to feel all of you."

He grabbed her hips, pulled out slightly, and then pushed slowly and steadily inside her, spreading her open as he went. Bellegere's beautiful eyes went wide as saucers as he filled her more and more, and when he felt something inside her give way and take the final inches of his cock, she squeaked. Daemon was shocked; he had never found that part of a woman so easily.

"What in the world?" she mewled, her legs shaking slightly. "It feels like you're in my stomach. By the gods, you're like a horse."

He couldn't help it; the stunned look on her face was hilarious, and he laughed, making her moan and scrunch her eyes shut.

"Oh fuck," she cried, her hand moving to her navel, "I felt your laugh inside me."

She already looked overwhelmed, and he had just buried himself inside her.

"I'm going to destroy this woman," he thought to himself, grinning.

He grabbed her legs, wrapping them more tightly around himself, and started fucking her deeply at a slow pace.

"How does he feel?" Arianne asked, brushing the back of her hand over the other woman's cheek.

"Amazing," Bellegere sighed. "There's just so much."

"I can tell mine's the biggest cock you've ever had," he moaned. "You're so fucking tight."

"Your cock's incredible, fucking incredible," she babbled.

He started fucking her hard, hitting that spot deep inside her with every brutal thrust. Her enormous tits rolled back and forth across her chest until Arianne grabbed them and started kneading.

"I'm…" Bellegere gasped, "I'm already so...fuck...so close!"

She didn't sound like she could believe it, but he could. Her cunt was leaking a river down between the cheeks of her arse, and he could feel his balls getting wet as they slapped her. Arianne took one of her hard nipples in her mouth, teasing the nub with her teeth. When Daemon started circling Bellegere's clit with his calloused thumb, it was too much, and she let out a long, guttural scream that echoed through the room as she came undone.

Daemon fucked her through her peak, and Arianne backed off to watch the gorgeous display. Far from looking tired from her orgasm, when Bellegere opened her eyes, she looked full of energy.

"Let me ride you, my prince," she begged.

He hugged her to him and rolled them over. As Bellegere sat up, she placed her hands on his shoulders and immediately started riding him hard, rolling her hips expertly atop him.

"So good, so good, so good!" she cried, lost in pleasure.

Arianne hugged Bellegere from behind and started placing wet kisses along the slender column of her neck. Daemon reached up to grasp her swinging tits, squeezing the supple mounds and gently pinching her nipples. She rode him with wild abandon and started squeezing him each time she pulled up, milking him expertly. He groaned at that, being reminded of Obara's insane inner muscle control. She had started to teach the others how to do that, to his open joy, but the Black Pearl clearly needed no such lessons. As her cunt started fluttering around his cock and she screamed again, he wondered if she might have something else in common with the eldest Sand Snake.

Bellegere fell forward as her orgasm overwhelmed her, and Daemon sat up, hugging her to him and pounding her from underneath her.

"Yes!" she screamed, "fuck me!"

Daemon realized that it hadn't taken as long to make her reach her second peak as it had to get her to her first. He kissed her deeply as he fucked her, moaning at how he tasted Arianne on her tongue. She returned his passion eagerly, grinding her hips against his and matching his rhythm perfectly. When he broke the kiss to breathe, he buried his face in her sweat-slicked neck and started kissing there instead. She moaned when he found her pulse point and he stayed there, playing with the sensitive spot. After a few minutes of fucking her seated, he sank his teeth gently into her shoulder and was rewarded with an orgasmic scream.

"Gods!" she shrieked, cumming again.

Daemon chuckled and looked over at Arianne, who was openly fingering herself as she watched him. He had fucked a couple women like this before, who, after you made them cum once, could do it again and again with increasing ease. Obara was like that, but where his strongest lover was notoriously difficult to get to that first peak, Bellegere was anything but. She might have actually been the most responsive woman he had ever had.

"Wrap your legs around me tightly," he barked, and when she didn't reply, he slapped her arse hard.

"What?" she asked, sounding delirious.

"Wrap your legs around me tighter," he ordered.

She did as he said, and he stood up, holding her to him with one hand on her arse and one between her shoulders.

"Fuck," she whimpered.

He carried her to a desk near the bed and set her down on the edge. It was high enough for him to be able to comfortably fuck her for as long as he pleased.

"I can't believe you share a man this good in bed," she whimpered, looking at Arianne.

"She enjoyed watching me fuck women into mindless, drooling puddles of bliss almost as much as she enjoys being fucked by me," Daemon chuckled. "Isn't that right, love?"

"You know it is," Arianne sighed, pinching one of her nipples while she circled her clit.

He continued fucking Bellegere, determined to pound her as hard as he could until he finished. He had made her cum three times on his cock, and she was already showing signs of tiring. After her fourth, she stopped matching his pace quite as well as she had been. After her fifth, she stopped moving all together, just moaning and crying out with every deep, hard thrust.

"YOU'RE BREAKING MY CUNT!" she screamed as she came again.

Daemon didn't know how long he had been fucking her like that. If the strain in his muscles was any indication, it had been a while, and as he came with a roar, his relief was two-fold. His orgasm rocketed through his body as he painted her insides white. As it finally finished, he staggered back and fell into a nearby chair.

Arianne moved so quickly to take his place between Bellegere's shaking legs that she must have been standing behind him when he finished. Daemon just chuckled as he saw her drink deeply of his thick, white seed as she cleaned up the other woman. When he had caught his breath, he walked over to a table on the other side of the room and poured himself a cup of wine, drinking his fill.

Arianne had finished up by the time he turned back to look at them, and he grinned at the state of Bellegere. She was lying back against the wall, still panting hard. Her eyes were glassy and her entire body was soaked in sweat. As he walked back over to her, he could see even through the forest of dark curls that her cunt was gaping and swollen. Her eyes focused on him after a moment, and she let out a contented sounding sigh.

"That was incredible," she laughed. "No one has ever fucked me like that."

"Say, Bellegere," Arianne said, "did the terms of the deal specify how long the winner of the tourney would have you? I don't recall hearing them say a night or anything like that."

Bellegere grinned and replied, "I don't think they did, so technically, it could be the rest of your time in Braavos."

She got to her feet and almost immediately stumbled. Even with Arianne's help, she still fell into bed, her arse sticking up in the air. Daemon felt his cock harden at the sight. As he approached the bed, promising himself that he was going to fuck that arse at least once before he left, a selfish part of him hoped that Termo Bakayn might take a few more days to recover from his sickness.

Daemon sighed happily as he made his way to the room that he had been given to store the odd golden eggs. Termo Bakayn was apparently waiting for him, having finally recovered from his sickness. It had been four days since he and Arianne arrived in Braavos, and three since he had won their tourney. Had he been forced to wait that long to meet with someone he had been expecting to see almost immediately under normal circumstances, he would have been very annoyed, but his circumstances had been far from normal.

Fucking Bellegere Otherys together with Arianne was some of the most fun he had ever had. The gorgeous, adventurous, and oh-so-reactive woman had been their source of entertainment for the last three days. The three had done things together other than fuck, but most of their time had been spent in bed, with him and Arianne trying to see just how many times in a row they could make the hyperorgasmic woman scream.

She had asked multiple times, while recovering from the mind-melting pleasure he had coaxed out of her again and again, and not quite aware of her surroundings, how she was going to live without his cock. He honestly wouldn't be surprised if Arianne ended up convincing her to come back with them after all. She would be ending a whoring dynasty, which he realized was actually really weird as he thought about it, but she didn't seem to be able to get enough of him or his wife, and they certainly hadn't been able to get enough of her. She could always serve as Arianne's handmaiden or something, he supposed.

"Ah, you must be Prince Daemon," a slight, balding man with a fringe of graying hair said as he entered the room. "I'm so sorry about the delay in our meeting."

"Tis alright," Daemon said dismissively, "such things can't be helped, and I found ways to keep myself busy."

"Yes, I heard about the tournament," Termo said. "Congratulations."

"Yes, that too," he thought to himself, resisting the urge to snicker.

"It's potentially a very good thing that you decided to wait for me," the older man continued, "because if I'm right, you have some truly incredible finds here."

"What do you think they are?" Daemon asked.

"The Harpy's Eggs," Termo replied, audibly excited.

Before Daemon could ask what those were, a young serving boy came into the room, holding a long, thin metal pin.

"Would this work?" the boy asked.

"Yes, it just might," Termo replied, taking the pin. "That will be all."

"If the descriptions we have left of the eggs are accurate, and if these are indeed them," Termo began, as the boy left, "then, while they are impossible to open otherwise without damaging them, a small, thin dowel or pin inserted in the tiny hole on the side here should just…"

He was cut off by the sudden appearance of music in the room as the first egg split open. A distinct tune produced by something unlike any instrument he could remember hearing before echoed through the treasure room, and it took Daemon a moment to realize that it was coming from the egg.

"Marvelous," Termo breathed, "absolutely marvelous. These are the Harpy's Eggs, or at least this one is. Let me try the others."

Termo repeated the process, opening both of the other eggs and making them produce more music. Daemon quickly concluded that, whatever these things were, they clearly weren't meant to be used together, as the tunes didn't harmonize in the slightest. Termo closed them reverently, his hands almost shaking by that point.

"What you have here, young Prince, cannot be given a value," he said. "None of these have been seen since the Century of Blood. The idea of not one, but all three of them reappearing like this is extraordinary."

"What are they?" Daemon asked.

"Devices of some sort that produce music when opened," Termo replied. "I have no idea how they work as the only surviving descriptions we have of them come from after they were lost. After the Valyrian Freehold conquered the Old Empire of Ghis, the surviving slave cities ended up under Old Valyria's control. The vile masters of the largest slave cities adapted to their new situation and eventually formed connections with their conquerors. At some point before the Doom, they commissioned these devices from Valyrian artisans, one for each of the cities of Meereern, Yunkai, and Astapor."

"These were then lost after the Doom?" Daemon asked.

"No one really knows how," Termo replied, "just that during that chaotic period, they were each stolen. Wherever did you find them?"

"Among the many treasures hoarded by the lords of the Iron Islands," Daemon replied. "I ended up at odds with them some time ago."

"We heard about that," the Braavosi replied. "They were generally too cowardly to attack Braavosi vessels, at least after they were brought low by your ancestor, but the deaths of pirates are always cause for celebration."

He paused to look at the eggs again before saying, "those wretched cities would beggar themselves for these treasures, though most of what they deal in is as frowned upon in your lands as in Braavos. They would also go to great lengths to force them away from you if they ever heard that you had them. I will tell no one of what I've seen today; you have my word. I would just advise you to be careful who else you show them to."

"Thank you," Daemon replied. "What do you generally charge for your expertise?"

"You owe me nothing," Termo said dismissively. "To see artifacts from Valyria like this, things that everyone had assumed were destroyed or melted down, that is more than enough."

Daemon thanked the older man for his help and returned to his room, where he found Arianne sitting by the window reading a letter, while Bellegere still slept in their bed. The letter bore the sigil of House Stark.

"Daemon," she said as she saw him. "I wouldn't normally read a letter meant for you, but I assumed it was something urgent and grew worried. How did Lord Stark even know to contact you here?"

"I told him we were taking a trip to Braavos to stay at the Sealord's Palace in my last letter," he explained. "What did he write?"

"Apparently, while out executing a deserter from the Night Watch, Lord Stark and his family found a litter of direwolf pups," she replied. "There were six in total, as he described it, one for each of his children and his only nephew, if you're interested, of course."

"A direwolf?" he thought to himself. He wasn't sure how a creature of the North would handle life in Dorne, but at minimum he would happily visit Winterfell. He had long wanted to show Arianne the place where he grew up.

"How would you like to take a trip to the North?" he asked.

"I would love to," she replied, her eyes lighting up, "though we would need to buy warmer clothing, here in Braavos if possible, so I don't freeze in White Harbor."

"You know I'd keep you warm," he chuckled.

She grinned up at him and pressed her head to his chest, saying, "we'd have to spend a great deal of time in bed, warmed by furs and each other."

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I take it that's a yes?"

"Of course, my love," Arianne giggled. "I'll write to my father and let him know of our detour on the way home. By the way, what did Termo Bakayn say about the eggs? Did you know anything?"

"He knew a great deal," Daemon replied. "Those eggs might actually be cause for another trip in the future."

As he explained what he had just learned, Daemon's mind ran with the various possibilities that might end up coming from them traveling to Braavos.