A/N: It's Farwynd Friday!

I'm sorry if the last chapter was disappointing to you all. I hope to only be in Pentos for another chapter or two before they set sail.

I just wanted to thank those who were kind enough to take the time to review the previous chapter: Danielbrito2415, hellfire45, Szymano, Tohka123, sleepypanda710, & guest. It can be difficult to write at times so getting such kind and encouraging feedback from you all meant alot. I really appreciated it.

Farwynd & Fire

By Spectre4hire

20: Pentos II

The Princess looked different this morning.

It had been the third morning since her wedding night. The first morning, Daenerys had been glowing, giddy, and grinning. Doreah was even more impressed by the princess's mood because that had been after that strange ironborn ritual that the princess had been put through. That first morning, she listened and was pleased to hear that her lessons with Daenerys had helped. Quite well, she had thought, given what she had been told. But there's still more to teach, so Doreah also spoke in places where she thought she could offer further advice.

Doreah had been surprised to learn the effort and ways Lord Dagon would attend his wife. She has more experience than me now. Her clients in Lys never bothered themselves with making sure she was satisfied. What were my needs to theirs? They paid for their pleasure not hers. It made her think well of the princess's husband in that regard.

Yesterday, the princess was still happy, but there was something behind her purple eyes. Most would be unable to see, but Doreah did. She had been taught too, but she didn't pry. It would be unwelcomed, she knew, and unsuccessful.

"I thought the point was to get you with child, Princess," Doreah had teased. It had been bold, and one she never would've made as Illyrio's slave, but she wanted to banish that distant look in her eyes that didn't suit the princess. It worked. The Princess had laughed, so she was quick to add. "I'm certain that way will bring you no child," Doreah had winked at Daenerys' reflection who met it with a proud smile. The princess was lucky indeed.

The first two days acting as her handmaiden, Doreah thought went smoothly. She had accepted the princess's request to call her Daenerys, after having to reject it before. Before, I had been the Magister's slave. A time where she could've been undone with a single mistake. The games the servants played against each other were just as vicious as the ones their masters played. Now, she was a thrall. It was still a collar, but it had a longer leash. I'm still not free, she wouldn't let a different word try to fool her.

It was true she had yet to be woken in the middle of the night, dragged by his guards to his room on a lusty whim, and expected to perform flawlessly regardless of how tired she was or how she felt. Did you ask a chair its mood before you sat on it? To be pushed to her knees, having to smile and moan while the pain dug at her skin. To be mounted, and to pretend you wanted it, to be treated as a walking cunt with a pair of lips for sucking, not talking. To have your hair pulled or yanked like the reins of a horse, or to have it cut because he didn't like how it looked.

No, thralldom wasn't freedom, but it brought her closer. That she did see, but she knew it wouldn't be easy. But it was real. It existed, and she wanted it.

This the third morning, she was struck by the princess's stillness. "Princess," Doreah announced herself, and curtsied when Daenerys turned her way.

"I'm already dressed." She was wearing a lovely lavender gown.

She wasn't sure if that was a dismissal. Doreah planned to take it as such. "Very well," she bowed her head, and just as she turned, the princess blurted out. "I think he's with another."

"Princess?" Doreah feigned confusion. Careful, she reminded herself. She was the princess' handmaiden, but she knew who the real power in this manse was. It's not the wife. She didn't turn to face her until she was certain her face was neutral. A trick she had perfected in Lys, and one she's been tested on many times throughout the years.

Why would they ever want to see how you really feel? She'd not forget how callousing her former master's words had been nor the cold laugh that followed. Doreah hadn't been ten and three then, and even now she was always careful. Especially now, she thought since for the first time there was that allure of freedom. She'd chase it till the ends of the world, and back. Which is what I have to do to earn it, remembering the spymaster's words and her duties to acquire it.

"I think he's with another," She repeated herself instead of pretending it hadn't been said. For some strange reason the princess had looked to the windows of her room and to her balcony before she had spoken.

Doreah was impressed by the princess's composure. She didn't have her training, but she supposed living with someone like her brother would've brought its own harsh lessons.

"He doesn't have salt wives, but I think he may be seeing one of his thralls when he's finished with me." Her voice was brittle with despair.

Lord Dagon had acquired some very pretty thralls throughout his years of raiding and reaving. Doreah shared a room with one of them, Neela, was the girl's name. They were of similar age. She came by way of Yunkai, and had been taught the way of the seven sighs. She was dusky skinned with delicate features and bright brown eyes. Doreah knew she'd be highly sought after had Neela been enslaved in Lys instead of Pentos.

She had been here the same number of nights as the princess, but amongst the thralls, she hadn't heard of any such warnings. Doreah remembered the stories some of the magister's servants told her when she first arrived at his manse. Endure, smile, be happy. They had warned her, and they offered her no comfort. She was grateful for that. Comfort was a false thing when you wore a collar like a pet.

Doreah hesitated, unsure what to say. She and the princess were strangers here. The thralls were utterly Lord Dagon's creatures. They bore a devotion to him that she found unsettling at times. She knew as soon as she tried to ask after Lord Dagon no matter how discreetly she had been, she'd be brought to the spymaster within the hour.

She moved to the princess, who seemed lost in her own stupor. "I know wives and husbands often don't share their chambers," the princess confessed. "It's what I saw when my brother and I would be guests to various nobles and wealthy merchants in the Free Cities." Her purple eyes glistened when they finally turned to her. "You said as much, yourself, but I didn't listen, because I thought this was different. He was different."

"Have you spoken with him?" Doreah asked quietly as a whisper.

She shook her head.

Doreah didn't fault her for that. She understood. A husband may have been a different title, but in much of the world, it meant the same thing- master. Just as a wife was another name for thrall. Some women were lucky, most were not. Doreah had thought the princess was one of the luckier ones, but mayhaps, she had erred in her judgment of him. Those silver pieces she had been given. Had they been scales meant to cover her eyes to who he truly was?

"He's made me strong," She said softly, "More than I've ever felt possible," she gave a wet chuckle, "But the thought of even mentioning it to him has my belly twisting and turning."

Doreah reached out to take her hands in hers. "Dany," she had never called her that before, counting on that to surprise the princess which it did, giving her such a sweet smile that Doreah's heart ached for her. "Tell me everything."

She did.

Lord Ramsay would like to see you.

That's what Doreah had been told. The armed thralls had come to her room shortly after her own return from her visit with the princess. He knows, she feared, but she allowed none of it to be seen. Inwardly, she felt the cold touch of worry and its spread throughout her chest.

It had been phrased as a request, but it was a summons. The armed men were proof of it. For a few short days, freedom dangled before her, but it seemed, in the end, the only freedom she'd feel would come with death. She prayed it was a quick relief, but she hadn't forgotten the flaying knife, he had shown her. The memory sent a shiver up her back.

The spymaster was waiting outside his chambers. That wasn't promising.

"Leave us," and they did.

The door was opened, and she turned down the corridor the guards were walking down and then down the other.

"You're not quick enough for that," His voice shouldn't have been that soft, that quiet. He seemed to be able to peel back her hair, her flesh, her skull, to see her thoughts, and they amused him.

"For what?" She turned to him, smiling, tilting her head, and shifting her stance in a way that drew the eye to her breasts.

Ramsay didn't fall for it. He chuckled. He placed one hand on her back and guided her into his room. She accepted his touch without protest, without reaction. Pretending as if it wasn't there. Doreah was used to such pretending. Hands that weren't on her breasts, cocks that weren't in her cunt or arse. She blinked away such reminders to see his room was just as sparse as it had been when she was first taken there.

He dropped his hand and moved his way around his desk. "Thank you for seeing me." She didn't have a choice, but such reminders were never welcomed. "Have you given my offer any more thought?"

Offer? For nearly a heartbeat, dismay found its way to her face, before she reeled it back. Doreah had thought she had been brought because he heard what she and the princess had discussed. But he hadn't. The relief came to her like a warm fire on a cold day. "Yes," she lied, she had given it some, but not recently. She needed the time to fix her footing, from her previous slip.

"I need an answer."

"M'lord-," she began, before he cut her off without thought.

"Ramsay." He corrected her.

A means to endear himself to her, but it was poor bait. "Ramsay," she repeated his name, smiling as if it gave her pleasure to be given such a reward.

He smiled, making her think for a heartbeat he fell for it, but it was the hardness in his pale eyes that showed he hadn't. She felt her stomach drop, and then he was speaking. "You're very good," he chuckled again, "Marvelous," he clapped his hands, acting as if she was a mummer and had just finished putting on a show for him. "That's why I need you for this."

"For?"

"I offered you a chance to earn some extra coin," he said, indulging her with a smile. "And if you're interested, I need you," He picked something out of his pocket, "Tonight."

She understood, extending her hand to where he was waiting for her. When she opened her hand, she watched a gold coin fall onto her palm. Her fingers shook before they squeezed around it. She was half expecting to feel air, not the cold metal, pressing against her skin. It was real. "This is gold," she murmured, bringing it closer, even nibbling it around the edges, like she had seen them do in Lys. I don't even know why they did it, she realized only after she bit it. The metallic taste made her cringe and nearly gag. "What do you want me to do?" She couldn't look at him. The gold had her in its sway.

"To serve me," he answered simply.

"And the gold is mine?" She had served worse men for far less. Doreah hadn't been paid a scrap for her service with the magister. Not gold, not silver, not even copper, or whatever else they used to make their coinage.

"Yes." He said, "And you'll get another if you leave me satisfied."

"I can do that," She was determined to keep this and get that second piece of gold. She knew he had said he hadn't wanted that from her in their first meeting, but he had clearly changed his mind. And she was glad he had. Doreah went to the straps of her dress, pulling them down. Most of her breasts were exposed before he stopped her.

"No," he had been looking down, and when he looked up at what she was doing. His hand went up. "It's not that."

She frowned. Goose pimples began blooming on her breasts from the cool air. "What do you mean?" She saw he was interested, beneath those colorless eyes, it was there, but he held it in check. She didn't understand his denial. How else could Doreah serve him? What else was there for me to do?

Ramsay moved forward, she tried to hide the way her body clenched, but the way she was exposed, he saw it. He took the straps from her hands and put them back over her shoulders to cover her breasts. "I want you to spy for me."

"Spy?" She was now thoroughly confused.

"Yes," He stepped back from her. "It will take you outside this manse."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Yes."

The fact he hadn't tried to lie made her warmup to him and the idea a little more. She was so used to the lies. It won't hurt, they had said, after that hoary man had bought the rights to her maidenhead.

"There will be some precautions in place," he said, "but I can't promise you there won't be any danger."

That gold coin weighed heavily on her mind.

"I need you to work at a tavern for the evening," he told her, "You'll be a barmaid, and I need you to watch, and to listen. The one I'm after will be there, and I believe he works against my captain and the princess, but I need to be certain." His eyes were on her, "I need you."

Doreah had the right to refuse him. He had told her that at their first meeting. And he had told her again today. But she couldn't deny this intrigued her. She had served drinks a few times at the pillow house. She had been expected to work even when she wasn't working the upstairs, and if one of the customers wanted to fuck her downstairs out in the open. Who was she to protest, once he tossed the matron the coin.

"What does he look like?" She finally asked. "This man you're after."

They walked under the bright glitter of moonlight.

Dagon held his wife's hand as they made their way down to the beach. He could see Sharkey waiting for them, standing in the tide. The front of his robes was already wet. He was accompanied by a few of his drowned men. They wore the same mottled robes, salt encrusted, and sea stained. Two were kneeling in the waves praying. A third was filling up their waterskins.

In the sky, and in a blink, he could see them all if he chose to. He kept Sam close while Mary was away. Through her eyes he saw what was coming, and who was leading them. It was more than just seeing. It was observing and listening. It was preparing, he then thought of her in the murky depths, and smiled. She was very hungry. He could feel it, in his mind's eye, through her door, he saw through the darkness, could reach out and feel things in ways he couldn't put to words. Senses that went beyond what they comprehended, he had them, and he used them.

She was strong and smart, stubborn and powerful, but they found a way to work together. Drifting, he was directing her to where she'd be able to thrive, to feast. Through several sets of eyes, pieces moved, through the sea and sky. It was an intricate game that often left him drained because of how much effort and attention it took from him. Such distances and in such different places, but it worked, because they listened to him, they trusted him. They became we. Mastering their bonds had made him the master of the seas. And it was not something he was about to surrender.

Let no man look up at the sky with hope, he saw the king's brother with such precision he could be standing in front of him and his wife. Let his last days be cursed by we-

"Dagon?"

He was off Fury, closing the crystal door behind him in an instant. "Yes?" He turned to see his wife was looking up at him. He nodded, answering the unasked question: Were you gone?

His wife was beautifully dressed in black. The cuts and slits of the skirt showed off her pale legs. She was why they were out at this hour. This had been her idea. It was what she wanted; he'd not forget the conviction in her gaze when he told her what it entailed. She wasn't frightened. He thought proudly, because she believes.

Dagon doubted his potential brides would have cared half as much for the ironborn as Dany did. It was true she was to be their lady, but he knew she'd want to learn even if she was to never be the Lady of the Iron Islands. She would want to because of him. Because it was home, and important to me.

He saw she didn't get his attention for comfort for what lay ahead. Her countenance showed she was ready. That determined gleam never left her violet eyes. It only made them and her beauty all the more striking. A brave woman is a beautiful woman, an oft quoted ironborn verse. He thought himself fortunate that his wife was both. It was better to be made of iron instead of porcelain. One priest had said, when speaking of the wives ironborn should seek. Baubles will break and ornaments will lose their luster, only the strong will endure. She had gotten his attention because they were nearing the beach where the priest and his men awaited. Even as the distance closed, his mind wandered back to the night before.

"Why so late?" she had asked when he had declared the hour for it.

"Because, the sea and the moon are connected," he had answered, "Bonded," he had said, "Skalds sing that the first war between the Drowned God and the Storm God was over the Moon-Pale Maiden."

She had liked that answer. He had gone to sleep with her in his arms, telling her more stories and songs of them. The memory of that night dredged up the sourness of what came before. It had been her misunderstanding, and his mistake. Dagon wanted no breaches in their marriage, even the smallest one could sink a ship if it wasn't addressed.

The hour was late, but their evening had been well spent. Dagon had hoped that after she had washed herself, that she'd go to bed. Giving him a chance to leave for the night, to find sleep in different chambers without fear of waking or hurting her if the drift dreams came. He'd then return to their chambers before she woke with her none the wiser.

It was not to be.

When he was done relieving himself in the chamberpot, Dagon came back to the rest of their chambers to see his wife wasn't asleep. She was sitting at the edge of their bed, looking at her dragon eggs in the fire.

"I'm sorry," she said to him, but she didn't turn to face him.

"Sorry?"

"Yes," she answered, "for upsetting you."

Now, he was very confused. "You've not upset me, Dany."

"Then why do you sneak off at night once I'm asleep?" The slight wobble in her tone was as surprising as the words themselves.

Dagon stayed the immediate reaction that came to him. To deny, to lie, to threaten, all of them bubbling within, stroked by the old anger, the indignation of how she spoke to him. A wife is to obey her husband, not question him.

In truth, he had hoped she hadn't noticed. Then I wouldn't have to tell her. He left, because it was easier. Just as it would be easier at this moment, to silence her. She was his to command, and if he wished for her silence then she was bound to give it. If he wished for her not to be sullen about it, again, she was bound to obey him.

I want a wife not a slave. A weak wife can bring down even the strongest of marriages. And in this marriage, he planned to build a future greater than any Farwynd or even ironborn before him. "I didn't think you noticed," he said flatly.

"I did," She replied, still she didn't turn to him. "Can you at least tell me her name?" She asked, "So I won't be made a complete fool of."

"Her name?" Dagon frowned, before realizing, she knew he left, but not the reason. "There's no other woman, Dany. I don't leave our chambers for that purpose." That was what got her to turn. And seeing her face, he realized the mercy had been in not seeing her. "I leave to sleep, so as to not to bother you," he saw her brows furrowed in confusion, "So as not to hurt you."

"Hurt me?"

He nodded. "They're called drift dreams. It's when my mind can't rest, so it wanders into theirs." He watched his words sink in, shifting her expression. He expected fear, or disgust. For her eyes to widen or her lips to curl, but they didn't.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, "Does it happen often?"

"It can," He was still waiting for something to flicker over her features to show how she truly felt about this truth, but her face remained calm. And when her eyes showed something, it wasn't what it was supposed to be. "There's no predictability for it."

"Then why are you bearing this burden alone?" The more they talked, the more self-assured she became.

Nonplussed, Dagon hesitated, finding her answers and her reactions not at all what he predicted. He knew she had handled his truth of skinchanging well, but this was different. This was worse. And yet, the gleam in her look held him. "Because" he said, "It can hurt you," thinking these are the words that will deliver the deathblow, "I can hurt you."

She looked him over without a touch of worry. "We share a bed," Her tone brooked no argument. "I can handle any problems or pain that arise."

And he believed her.

Dagon followed his wife into the waters. In a few steps, the cold water had reached above his knees, while she didn't stop until it was above her waist. She showed no sign of the water being too cold. Two of Sharkey's drowned men were trying to hide their own shivering in shallower water, but she stood unbothered by the chill in either the air or bay.

Blood of the dragon, indeed, he watched proudly of how she handled herself especially for something as important as this.

"Daenerys," Sharkey greeted her, "We came from the sea, and to the sea we must return," As he spoke, he moved so he could stand beside her. "Are you ready to accept His blessing?"

"I am."

The drowned men murmured to themselves. Their own prayers and blessings.

"Are you ready for death?"

"I am."

And then the priest pushed her head beneath the waves.

It was time for Daenerys to drown.

A/N: I hope the angst wasn't too contrived. I just wanted to show a small bump on the road for them. Despite their good chemistry, they're still going through the motions, learning and living with each other. They didn't even know each other two weeks ago, and this chapter was addressing where they're still emotionally vulnerable. A minor issue that is easily cleared up with communication bc I don't like to drag those things out.

Nothing says healthy relationship goals more than drowning your spouse. There seems to be different versions of 'drowning' in the series. I thought her answering 'yes' to accepting death said more b/c it implies the famous ironborn saying it without actually saying it. I also didn't want to sound repetitive bc they say the 'what is dead' spiel after a drowning. That was my reasoning/thought process.

Thanks to those who've continued to read and support this story. Your reviews mean a lot. The Pentos chapters hopefully aren't too boring, just trying to lay some groundwork before we hopping across 'Planetos'

Until next time,

-Spectre4hire