298 AC - In the Flatlands:
In the southwest of Essos, the Flatlands form a fertile expanse of fields and plains within southern Andalos. Flanked by the Rhoyne River to the east, the Velvet Hills to the north, and the Golden Fields to the southeast, the region is a vital agricultural hub for the nearby Free City of Pentos. A Valyrian road, connecting Pentos to Ghoyan Drohe, cuts through the heart of this flat and fertile land.
Bound to the land, the Flatlands are home to tillers and toilers who work the soil. However, the wealthier magisters and nobles of Pentos also maintain estates there, enjoying the fruits of their landholdings. Illyrio Mopatis, a prominent Pentoshi figure, possesses numerous orchards, farms, and even mines within the Flatlands, though he rarely visits them.
The open terrain presents an irresistible temptation to the nomadic Dothraki who can easily traverse it. To ward off potential raids and looting, the Pentoshi magisters, like their counterparts in other Free Cities, pay substantial tributes to the Dothraki, ensuring the safety of their estates and villages within this vital agricultural region.
The cool morning breeze tugged at his cloak, and Anakin took a deep breath, steeling himself for the journey ahead. Before he departed Pentos, he completed one more task: sending a raven to the Red Priestess.
Kinvara, the Red Priestess, had earned his trust through her unwavering guidance and prophetic visions. Her counsel had led him to his family, and her predictions about the army that would join him on his voyage had been astoundingly precise.
His message centered on his plan to lead his newly acquired army from Volantis to Astapor, with a stop in Meereen to reinforce his army.
He sealed the message with wax and handed it to the raven-keeper, watching as the sleek black bird took flight, disappearing into the growing light. With the message sent, he turned his attention to his preparations.
The journey to Volantis was arduous but uneventful. The vast expanse of the Flatlands stretched out before them, a seemingly endless sea of sand and dirt. The army, bolstered by the fierce Dothraki warriors, moved as one.
Over the month-long journey the only obstacle that loomed over them was the scarcity of provisions. He had never led a large force on such a journey before, and the logistics of feeding them all were proving difficult.
The southern sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the undulating plains as Anakin's company continued their march. Dust swirled around the hooves of their horses, and the heat of the day pressed heavily upon them.
Riding near the front of the column, Anakin observed the strained silence between Daenerys and Viserys. Daenerys, her silver-gold hair gleaming in the sunlight, kept a measured distance from her brother, her face a mask of quiet determination. Viserys, on the other hand, seemed perpetually agitated, his eyes darting about as if searching for a threat that only he could see.
Anakin found himself beside Daenerys more often than not, their shared memories and common interest creating an unspoken bond.
Today, however, his curiosity led him to engage in conversation with Ser Jorah Mormont, who rode beside Viserys. Anakin's eagerness to learn more about Westeros and his ancestors drove him to ask questions, his mind hungry for knowledge of the land he had never seen.
Ser Jorah glanced at Viserys, who scowled and turned his head away, clearly disinterested in sharing tales of the past. The knight sighed and nodded, beginning the familiar recounting of Rhaegar Targaryen and Robert's Rebellion. Anakin listened with rapt attention, though he found the stories to be ones he had heard many times before - tales of tragedy, of his grandfather's fall at the hands of the Lannisters, and the bloody war that had torn his family apart.
What caught him by surprise was Ser Jorah's detailed account of the Targaryen supporters in the southern regions of Westeros. "Your mother, Elia Martell, was from Dorne," Ser Jorah explained. "I wouldn't be surprised if the Targaryens still have loyalists there."
Anakin's heart quickened at the mention of his mother. Elia Martell was a subject shrouded in mystery, a part of his past that even Ser Willem, the knight who had raised him, had avoided discussing. "Dorne," Anakin mused aloud, the name rolling off his tongue as if tasting it for the first time.
His conversation with Ser Jorah had been enlightening in some ways but deeply unsatisfying in others. While the knight had shared much about Westeros and the general history of the great families, he had little personal insight into his parents.
Daenerys, her expression serene yet resolute, rode beside him, while Viserys, perpetually brooding, kept to the company of Ser Jorah. Anakin could feel the palpable tension between the siblings, a simmering discord that seemed ready to boil over at any moment.
As their horses plodded along the dusty road, his thoughts turned inward. The tales of his father's actions during Robert's Rebellion were well known - how Rhaegar's supposed kidnapping of Lyanna Stark had ignited the war that ultimately led to the fall of the Targaryen dynasty. Yet, these stories always left him with a sense of unease. Rhaegar was often depicted as a noble, albeit tragic figure, markedly different from the mad and violent King Aerys.
Anakin stole a glance at Viserys, whose constant griping and haughty demeanor did little to endear him to the man. The comparison between Viserys and Rhaegar in his mind was stark.
He had heard the rumors and whispers - the tales of Rhaegar's passion, his love for music and books, his melancholy nature. But rumors could only reveal so much. Anakin longed to know the truth of the man who had fathered him, to understand his motivations and the events that had led to the catastrophic rebellion.
Suddenly, Ser Jorah remarks, "I have to admit, I'm surprised you managed to convince the Dothraki to release all their slaves." He couldn't help but notice the Targaryen's aversion to slavery, despite being the owner of a renowned slave army.
In response, Anakin explains his reasoning, stating, "I don't take chances anymore. You either acclimate by choice or you will be made to," he adds, "I used to give people a chance. They have a tendency of doubling down instead."
Jorah was curious about Anakin's methods of conquest and asked, "I take it that's a lesson learned from your time in Meereen?" He wanted to know if this Targaryen had a cruel and authoritarian nature, like those before him.
Anakin confides in him, revealing, "Yes, I gave them a chance and they murdered innocent children in response. So I took their choice."
Although there was a hint of remorse in his voice, Ser Jorah couldn't help but continue broaching the subject of slavery. He expressed his curiosity about the Unsullied, wondering how Anakin managed to obtain a force of enslaved soldiers, considering his stance against slavery.
Anakin clarified, "They're not slaves. When I freed them in Astapor I only intended for them not to be used against me. I gave them a choice and they chose to follow me." Jorah was intrigued on how he had convinced an entire army of slaves to fight for him willingly, but before he could ask more, Anakin asked, "You mentioned my mother has a family. Do they know I exist? Do they care?"
It was clear to Ser Jorah that family meant a great deal to Anakin, evident from his efforts to reunite with the remaining Targaryens and his curiosity about his mother's family.
Ser Jorah remarked, "I imagine most Lords in the Seven Kingdoms know of the Targaryen King ruling in Meereen. Though I doubt many are brave enough to openly declare support for you, even your family. King Robert has a particular disdain for your house."
Anakin inquired, "Is King Robert a… bad king?"
Ignoring Jorah's response, an enraged Viserys interjected, strongly voicing his opinion on the current ruler of Westeros. "The Usurper, Robert Baratheon and his band of traitors owed their very existence to the Targaryens. And they repay our benevolence with treachery. There are some who dare to claim the Baratheons and their allies had reason to rebel. Whether it was true or not it doesn't matter, the dragon answers to no one," Viserys passionately proclaimed.
Anakin noticed the madness in his uncle's eyes when he spoke of the Usurper and began to wonder if he was truly insane or simply a man broken by his circumstances. 'I imagine being branded 'Beggar King' hasn't done his ego any good,' Anakin thought to himself, shifting his gaze beyond Ser Jorah to meet Daenerys' intense stare.
As he turns to his usually quiet aunt, riding next to him, he poses the question, "What about you, does the dragon answer to no one?"
After briefly glancing at Viserys, Daenerys directs her attention back to Anakin and honestly responds, "It belonged to our family. Every part of it. It's your right."
Daenerys was not often asked for her thoughts, but Anakin was different. Unlike most, he sought her opinions and valued her insights, a trait that had always set him apart. Since they were children, his curiosity and his desire to connect on a deeper level had been both endearing and, at times, overwhelming. He had a way of asking more questions than necessary, driven by a thirst for understanding that was rarely satisfied.
Anakin nodded, taking her words to heart. He found solace in her honesty, a refreshing contrast to the political maneuvering and secrecy that often surrounded him.
Unlike Viserys, who was consumed by a burning desire to reclaim Westeros at any cost, Anakin sought a different path. He saw no purpose in invading Westeros for personal revenge. Though he wouldn't say it aloud, he has come to think of Essos as his home, more than the land of his birth.
His initial use of force to liberate the slaves of Slaver's Bay had exposed him to the insidious lure of the dark side, but over time, he had largely suppressed it. Their recent traversal of the unforgiving Dothraki Sea, however, had rekindled the dark side's allure. The harsh landscape and relentless journey had tested his resolve.
Yet, upon reuniting with his family, he felt a glimmer of hope in the light. Despite their flaws and growing conflicts, Anakin wished no harm upon his relatives. He even felt a reluctant sense of protection towards Viserys, despite the countless ways his uncle had tested his patience.
With Daenerys, it was different. He easily accepted her, understanding her need to prove herself beyond being a mere political pawn for her brother. He knew he must exercise patience with her. For the sake of his family, Anakin was willing to do more than even he currently realized.
The rest of their journey through the Flatlands followed a similar pattern. Viserys and Daenerys continually tested each other's boundaries, their sibling rivalry simmering beneath the surface. Meanwhile, Anakin took every opportunity to absorb knowledge about Westeros and its great houses from Ser Jorah. The knight's tales fascinated him, providing a deeper understanding of the land he had never seen.
Each evening, as they set up camp and the stars began to dot the night sky, Anakin would find a quiet moment to reflect. The firelight would dance across his features, casting flickering shadows as he pondered his path.
He felt the pull of both light and dark, the eternal struggle within him. But with his family by his side, he found the strength to resist the darkness, to hold onto the light that had been kindled by their reunion.
298 AC - In Volon Therys:
Volon Therys is a thriving town situated on the western bank of the Rhoyne River in Essos.
Its sturdy walls, made of gleaming white stone, provide a secure barrier against any potential threats. With its bustling streets and population, this town is comparable in size to major cities such as Lannisport or Gulltown in Westeros. However, it pales in comparison to the nearby Free City of Volantis.
While it is officially under the rule of the Triarchs of Volantis, Volon Therys maintains a strong devotion to the worship of The Lord of Light.
Across the river lies the ruins of Sar Mell, an ancient Rhoynar city, and to the north is Valysar. To the south, the grand city of Volantis can be found along the Rhoyne River. The river itself is a vital source of wealth for Volon Therys, carrying valuable resources such as timber from Qohor.
At the outskirts of the town stands the magnificent Marble Towers - six grand structures made of intricately carved marble. Each tower presents a significant moment in the history of Volon Therys.
The Founders' Tower showcases the city's inception by the Valyrian Freehold. The Turtle Tower recounts the story of the First Turtle War, which resulted in the town being submerged. The Spice Tower is adorned with carvings that depict the Second Spice War and the defeat of the Rhoynar by the Valyrian Dragonlords. The Tiger's Tower serves as a reminder of the Volantene expansion led by the Tiger Triarchs, which eventually led to Volon Therys becoming a subordinate settlement of the Free City. The Horselord's Tower serves a dual purpose - it not only acts as a lookout for approaching Khalasars, but also functions as a warehouse to store tribute for them. Finally, the newest tower, known as The Blank Tower, remains untouched.
The group's first stop in Volon Therys turned out to be their only truly eventful encounter. Despite its grand size, rivaling that of Westerosi cities, the town was surprisingly modest. Its inhabitants greeted the approaching army with unexpected hospitality.
When Anakin observed the numerous fiery statues and the humble places of worship dedicated to the Lord of Light scattered outside the town he quickly deduced the reason for their warm reception. The entire town, much like Volantis, revolved around the worship of this fiery deity.
The followers of this god referred to him by several names - the Red God, R'hllor, the Heart of Fire, and the God of Flame and Shadow. This deity is widely worshiped across the continent of Essos and is often described as a 'fire god', with its clergy being referred to as 'fire priests' due to their focus on fire and light in their worship.
The faith of the Lord of Light was the dominant religion in several Free Cities, including but not limited to Braavos, Myr, Lys, and Volantis, and even extended to Asshai in the distant east. However, it was virtually unheard of in Westeros.
The ruling class of Volon Therys, composed primarily of nobles, operated under the firm command of red priests and priestesses who held a significant presence within the community. Their influence was evident in every aspect of town life, from the markets to the modest town square dominated by a grand statue of R'hllor, the Lord of Light.
Recognizing the strategic importance of maintaining order, Anakin instructed Grey-Worm to assume control of the Dothraki and Unsullied forces and to establish a camp just outside the town.
Accompanied by a small contingent of soldiers, he ventured into the heart of the town with Ser Jorah, Viserys, and Daenerys. The streets were narrow and winding, lined with stone buildings that bore the marks of age and devotion.
Anakin's senses were keenly alert as they walked, he had considered leaving Viserys behind at the camp, but the young man's arrogance and the volatile temperament of the Dothraki made that a risk he was unwilling to take. The Dothraki's respect for strength and disdain for weakness could lead to conflict, and Anakin was keen to avoid any unnecessary bloodshed.
That afternoon, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky painted in hues of gold and crimson, their small group was approached by a figure cloaked in a robe of deep, rich crimson. Anakin couldn't help but take note of the woman's unique appearance.
Her exotic features, though unfamiliar, held a captivating allure. High cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes that seemed to hold untold stories, and full lips hinted at a world away. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back, framing a face that was both dramatic and captivating. An air of edgy sophistication clung to her, enhancing her slender, statuesque figure. At 5 foot 7, she possessed an elegant grace that set her apart from the crowd. (Rila Fukushima)
A red priestess stood waiting to greet them, her presence serene, an embodiment of the faith she served. Her robe seemed to absorb the dwindling light around her, creating an almost ethereal aura. Flanking her were a handful of guards, their armor and weapons visibly worn and mismatched, a testament to the town's modest means.
The priestess led them through narrow, winding streets, where the buildings leaned in close as if whispering ancient secrets. The air was thick with the scents of the town – smoke, spices, and the faint aroma of cooked meat – creating a tapestry of life that pulsed with quiet energy. The townsfolk watched them pass with curious eyes, but none dared to approach, their reverence and fear palpable in the evening air.
Their destination soon loomed before them: a cathedral dedicated to the Lord of Light. The exterior was adorned with intricate carvings, each telling a story of faith and fire, casting shadows that danced like flickering flames in the fading light. The cathedral's large doors were open, inviting, yet formidable, a gateway to a sanctuary where the light of R'hllor reigned supreme.
As they approached the entrance, the red priestess turned to them, her gaze settling on Anakin with a mix of respect and curiosity. "The High Priestess awaits you inside," she intoned, her voice echoing softly through the stone courtyard. Anakin, Ser Jorah, Viserys, and Daenerys followed her into the cathedral, leaving the guards to stand vigil outside.
Upon arrival, the group stepped through the heavy wooden doors into the dim interior. The air inside was cool and thick with the scent of incense, the faint light of candles casting a glow upon the wooden walls.
Anakin's eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he was pleasantly surprised to see Kinvara standing at the far end of the hall. Her presence was a beacon of familiarity and reassurance. The red priestess who had guided them here bowed respectfully to Kinvara before quietly exiting, leaving them alone in the sacred space.
As the group came closer Kinvara continued her routine, lighting candles. Anakin approached her with a sense of hesitancy, his companions trailing behind him. Kinvara possessed a disconcerting ability to penetrate the depths of his mind, her every word prompting a profound introspection.
Turning to meet him, she greeted him with a graceful bow and a sly smile, her eyes alight with a knowing glimmer. "Your Grace," she said, her voice a soft melody that echoed in the dimly lit room.
Anakin responded with a formal nod. "My Lady," he replied, the words feeling oddly formal on his tongue. The two shared a quiet exchange, his discomfort palpable in the heavy silence that hung between them. His gaze flickered nervously to his companions, acutely aware of Viserys' curious stare.
Before anyone could speak, Kinvara broke the tension with a casual remark. "By the looks of things, I take it your voyage was successful," she said, fixing her gaze on the Targaryen siblings.
Anakin offered a small smile, relieved to have a topic of conversation to distract from the awkwardness of their reunion. "Well… they're not quite what I remember, but you have my gratitude," he replied earnestly. "I am in your debt, My Lady."
With those words, Anakin stepped forward and embraced Kinvara, surprising the Red Priestess with his display of affection. She returned the embrace tentatively, her mind whirring with questions. She hadn't expected him to show such affection, and she couldn't help but wonder if his kins presence had influenced his behavior.
As she led them up the winding staircase, the group found themselves led into a spacious dining hall. The room was illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight, which reflected off the polished surfaces of the grand table set in the center. Kinvara extended a warm invitation to join her for dinner, her eyes sparkling with a mix of eagerness and hospitality.
Anakin took his seat at the head of the table, a position that seemed both natural and commanding. To his right sat Kinvara, her crimson robes contrasting with the dark wood of the chair, and next to her, Ser Jorah, ever the stalwart guardian. To Anakin's left, Daenerys settled gracefully, with Viserys beside her, his eyes darting around the room.
The aroma of the meal Kinvara had prepared wafted through the air, tantalizing their senses. The centerpiece was a succulent duck, its skin perfectly crisp and golden, accompanied by a selection of rich, savory side dishes. Goblets of sweet vintage red wine were poured. As they began to eat, the atmosphere at the table grew more relaxed.
Amidst the chatter, Kinvara leaned in towards Anakin, her expression growing serious. "There is something important you should know," she began, her voice barely above a whisper yet carrying a weight that commanded attention. "While a significant portion of Volantis' residents and armed forces are devoted followers of our faith, they can only get the main city gates open. The Triarchs behind The Black Walls will be a different matter entirely."
Anakin pondered this revelation. The limitations of their strategic advantage was immediately clear to him.
"We will find a way," he said thoughtfully, his mind racing with possibilities. "What's important is minimizing civilian casualties. Avoid another repeat of Meereen."
The memory of that dark time hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the cost of war. Innocent lives had been lost, and Anakin had been forced to seize control. But with the knowledge Kinvara had shared, there was hope for a different outcome this time.
As the dinner continued, Anakin, Kinvara, and Ser Jorah leaned in close, their voices low and intense as they discussed their plan to take the city of Volantis. The conversation was charged with the weight of strategy and potential consequences, every word a step towards a precarious goal.
Meanwhile, Viserys, ever the agitator, saw an opportunity to stir the pot. Leaning towards his sister, he whispered slyly in her ear, "Do you wager he's fucked the priestess? I bet he has. Just look at the zeal in her eyes."
Daenerys's eyes flashed with anger. Her voice was sharp as she retorted, "Shut up. This is all your fault. We should've just gone to Meereen like I said in the beginning. Now we're in the middle of a war."
In the private aftermath of her rebuke, Viserys turned to face her fully, his expression a mix of irritation and condescension. "What do you want, an apology? We're both here, aren't we? And now we're closer to home than we've ever been."
Daenerys remained wary, her eyes narrowing as she studied her brother. His recent restraint from insults felt fragile, a facade that could crumble at any moment. She knew too well the volatile temper that lay beneath his surface, a temper that had shown itself time and again in their journey. Without Anakin's steadying presence, she had no doubt Viserys would revert to his vulgar ways.
Determined to focus on more productive matters, Daenerys tuned out her brother's crude dinner conversation and fixed her attention on the discussion at the head of the table. Though she lacked any formal military experience, she understood the crucial importance of the Dothraki army, an asset they had gained through her 'marriage' to Khal Drogo. The warriors' strength and ferocity were unmatched, and their loyalty, once earned, could be a decisive factor in the battles to come.
After finishing their meal, the Red Priestess gracefully rose from her seat, her crimson robes flowing as she moved.
She accompanied Anakin and his companions back to their encampment outside the town's walls, her presence a beacon of guidance and assurance in the deepening twilight. The air was cool and crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of the sea and the promise of a peaceful night.
As they reached the settlement, Anakin, now feeling a sense of completion, turned to Kinvara. "My men and the Khalasar need provisions. You think you can do that," he requested, his voice firm but respectful.
Kinvara nodded, her eyes reflecting the flickering light of the campfires that dotted the encampment. "It will be done," she replied, her voice imbued with the authority of her faith. She gestured to a group of acolytes who had followed her to the camp. They dispersed quickly, intent on fulfilling her commands.
Soon, wagons laden with food and barrels of wine began arriving, a testament to the efficiency and influence of the High Priestess.
The night came alive with the sounds of celebration. The Dothraki, in their uninhibited manner, indulged in the feast laid out before them. Roasted meats, fresh bread, and an abundance of fruits and vegetables adorned long wooden tables. Barrels of rich, heady wine were tapped, and cups were filled and refilled as the night wore on. Laughter and music filled the air, the Dothraki celebrating with a fervor that seemed boundless. They danced around the fires, their movements wild and free, a testament to their untamed spirit. The sounds of drums and stringed instruments mingled with the joyous shouts and the rhythmic stamping of feet.
Anakin watched the scene unfold from a slight distance, a sense of satisfaction and relief washing over him. The hardships of their journey seemed to fade into the background, replaced by this moment of respite.
He glanced at Kinvara, who stood beside him, her expression serene and pleased. "Thank you," he said simply, his words carrying a depth of gratitude.
Kinvara smiled, a soft, enigmatic curve of her lips. "It is my duty… and my pleasure, Your Grace," she replied.
Elsewhere, in the soft glow of her tent, Daenerys Targaryen sought solace from the day's events. The flickering candlelight cast a warm, gentle glow over the canvas walls, creating an atmosphere of tranquility and introspection. Her loyal handmaiden, Doreah, was at her side, aiding her in an evening bath. The warm water lapped gently at her skin, easing the tension from her muscles and washing away the dust of travel.
As Doreah delicately washed her hands, Daenerys' eyes were drawn to the three dragon eggs carefully arranged nearby. The eggs, nestled among the flickering candles, seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly luminescence, their scales catching the light in a way that made them appear almost alive.
"Have you ever seen a dragon?" Daenerys asked, her voice soft.
Doreah, concentrating on her task, responded without missing a beat. "No princess. A trader from Qarth told me that dragons come from the moon. He told me the moon was an egg, that once there were two moons in the sky. But one wandered too close to the sun and it cracked from the heat. Out of it poured a thousand-thousand dragons and they drank the sun's fire," the handmaiden recounts with a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.
"Why did the trader from Garth tell you these stories?" Daenerys continues to question.
"Men like to talk when they're happy. Before your brother bought me for you, it was my job to make men happy," Doreah reveals her past as a prostitute and how men would often share wild tales with her.
"How old were you?" The Princess inquires.
"I was nine when my mother sold me to the pleasure house," she confesses, leaving Daenerys shocked and horrified. "I did not touch a man for three years, my lady. First you must learn," she explains.
This leads Daenerys to seek her handmaiden's guidance, asking, "Can you teach me? How to make a man happy."
"What man do you seek to please princess?" Doreah inquires, slyly attempting to uncover the object of Daenerys' desire. Blushing, Daenerys quickly splashes water on her face, prompting Doreah to tease and prod at her lady's thoughts.
As Daenerys emerged from her bath, the steam rising in wisps around her, Doreah was already at hand with a nightgown. The fabric was light and delicate, caressing her skin as it fell into place. The handmaiden moved with practiced grace, smoothing the gown and ensuring her mistress's comfort, then turning her attention to preparing the bed, fluffing the pillows and arranging the sheets.
Midway through their routine, the tent's entrance rustled, and a familiar figure appeared. Kinvara stood there, her crimson robes blending with the dim glow of the tent's interior, her head slightly bowed in a gesture of humility. "Princess, may I enter?" she asked, her voice soft but carrying the unmistakable authority of her position.
Daenerys turned towards the entrance, her expression one of gracious acceptance. "Of course. Please, come in."
Doreah stepped back, sensing the change in atmosphere. She gathered her things, ready to leave the tent. "Goodnight princess," she said, offering a small bow before slipping out into the night.
"Goodnight Doreah," Daenerys replied. She watched her handmaiden leave, then turned her attention fully to Kinvara. The Red Priestess stepped further into the tent, the flickering candlelight casting intricate shadows on her face.
Kinvara took a moment to absorb the peaceful ambiance of the tent, her eyes briefly lingering on the dragon eggs before meeting Daenerys's gaze. "I hope I am not intruding," she began, her tone respectful.
The Targaryen shook her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Not at all, My Lady. What brings you here?"
Kinvara moved closer, her presence serene yet compelling. "The same thing that brings me everywhere I go. The Lord of Light. I wanted to ask you something."
Daenerys listened intently, her curiosity piqued. She hasn't known the Red Priestess for long, but her nephews' faith in her and the hospitality displayed made Daenerys view Kinvara as a figure of power authority. "Please, sit," she offered, gesturing to a nearby cushion.
The two settle on the cushioned bench by the bed, falling into a brief silence before Kinvara speaks up. "What troubles you, princess?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" Daenerys is puzzled by the question.
"Your desires are as pure as the flame of R'hllor, princess. You want to go home. And you're willing to do anything to achieve that, aren't you?" Kinvara speaks with a suggestive tone, as if revealing Daenerys' most private thoughts. She denies any hidden intentions, but Kinvara insists that she sees through her. "There is no need to hide anything from me, my lady. The Lord of Light works through you, Daenerys. Your actions are guided by a higher power, a divine purpose," the Priestess hints at her understanding.
"And what is it you think I'm hiding from you?" she questions her doubtfully.
This is the first sorceress of sorts that Daenerys has ever encountered. Despite never witnessing it for herself, she had always believed in the mysteries of magic and sorcery.
"No, not from me. From your nephew. It will work. If you want your nephew to reclaim the Iron Throne for you, seducing him is… one way to go about it," Kinvara states bluntly, causing Daenerys to flush with embarrassment.
Despite her reaction, the Priestess continues, "Though I suppose the Queen may pose a… roadblock."
She took a moment to process all of Kinvara's words. From the minute she first set eyes on Anakin after so many years apart, the Targaryen princess couldn't deny her instant attraction to him. His army and title of king only added to his appeal, making it easy for her to fall for him.
The news of Anakin's marriage to a Meereenese woman, and her elevation to queen, struck Daenerys with a jarring realization. This distant land, this corner of the world, had become her nephew's home.
She had always assumed she would be the one to wed Anakin; it was common for members of their family to marry into each other to preserve the purity of their dragon blood, a notion Viserys had drilled into her. Now, she couldn't help but ponder the implications of this turn of events and what exactly is going through her nephew's mind at this moment.
Despite growing up with him as her best friend, she had never forgotten about him. However, as they journeyed through the Flatlands, Daenerys couldn't help but notice how much he had changed.
Anakin, a man of fervent passion, possessed a potent blend of bravery, compassion, and ambition, often chafing against the limitations of moral codes. His deep attachments to Daenerys, Ser Willem, and even Viserys exposed a vulnerability that Daenerys believed had been ruthlessly exploited during their separation.
She knew that the death of Ser Willem had ignited a seed of fear within him, and consumed by grief and guilt, Anakin's demeanor shifted to a volatile mix of smart-assed anger. That day marked the beginning of his fear of loss. In Braavos, she had carefully positioned herself as his confidante, subtly leveraging his trust to plant the seed of conquering Westeros. Her captivating tales of dragons and their house's rich history provided a potent distraction from his anxieties, becoming intoxicating to Anakin. As his fear began to simmer, a potent anger emerged in its place.
From what he has revealed to her in their voyage across the Flatlands, Daenerys suspected that Anakin's insecurities and fears had been preyed upon during his time in Slaver's Bay.
This made her hesitant to bring up the topic of Westeros with him, only briefly mentioning it when they first left Pentos. She could see the weight of his past actions in his eyes, a shadow that seemed to follow him even in moments of peace.
Despite everything, Daenerys felt a deep connection to him, a bond forged in their shared blood. She understood that Anakin's path had diverged from the one she had always imagined for them, but she couldn't shake the feeling that their destinies were still intertwined.
Curiosity and a hint of jealousy gnawed at Daenerys. "Who is this Queen?" she asked, her voice betraying her inner turmoil.
Sensing her unease, Kinvara offered a reassuring smile and elaborated on Qezza's connection to Anakin.
"Qezza is a noble lady," she began, her tone gentle yet informative. "She played a pivotal role in Anakin's efforts to stabilize Meereen. Her dedication was invaluable when she helped him navigate the complex political landscape of the city."
Daenerys listened intently, her mind swirling with questions and emotions. Kinvara continued, "Qezza's loyalty earned her your nephew's complete trust. She stood by him through it all. Her commitment to his cause was absolute, and in his absence, she has proven herself quite capable of ruling."
The words painted a vivid picture of an honorable woman. This Qezza had become an integral part of Anakin's life, a partner in his conquests and governance. Daenerys had always imagined herself in that role, standing beside Anakin as they reclaimed their family's legacy.
Kinvara's eyes softened as she observed the mix of emotions on Daenerys's face. "It is natural to feel conflicted, princess," she said gently. "But it shouldn't change what needs to be done."
With the Red Priestess's words echoing in her mind, Daenerys stood with a newfound determination and declared, "I wouldn't make him do anything he doesn't want to."
A slight frown appeared on Kinvara's face, betraying her concern. "And that is the crux of the issue. You see your nephew must be in Westeros, ready for the impending Great War. And if he doesn't want to… it is only you who can make that possible," she disclosed.
Daenerys, genuinely intrigued, asked, "What are you saying?"
The High Priestess responded not with words, but with a pointed glance towards Daenerys' dragon eggs and a suggestive smirk on her face, leaving Daenerys to ponder her mysterious intentions.
The following day, to ensure their plans would run smoothly, Kinvara departed for Volantis days before Anakin and his army were set to leave for the city.
During the span of those few days, Daenerys became much more outgoing with her nephew than she had been during their entire voyage through the Flatlands. It was clear that something the Red Priestess had told her had boosted her confidence.
As they spent more time together, she discovered that beneath his stern exterior and nonchalant demeanor Anakin was still the same person he always was.
Their time together became increasingly precious, often filled with moments of genuine connection. He even attempted to instruct her in sword fighting, much as he was doing with Viserys. However, he quickly realized that her true prowess lay in her mind. Daenerys was an exceptionally perceptive young woman, her mind sharp and quick to grasp the intricacies of strategy and politics.
Despite being separated for years, Daenerys had become fluent in the Valyrian tongue, a skill she had initially learned from Anakin. Over time, she had also acquired knowledge in a few other languages, impressing him with her linguistic abilities. Their shared language and history provided a bridge, allowing them to reconnect once again.
As they sparred, talked, and planned, Daenerys felt her admiration for him grow. The more she learned about his experiences, the more she understood the reasons behind his often guarded nature.
One afternoon, as they took a break from their training, Anakin handed Daenerys a waterskin, and they sat together on a grassy knoll overlooking the camp. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden light over the landscape. Daenerys took a sip of water and looked at Anakin, her expression thoughtful.
"You've changed," she said softly.
Anakin sighed, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Could say the same about you… and Viserys."
Daenerys rolled her eyes at the mention of her brother. "I suppose. Though neither of us are married rulers."
A small smile touched his lips as he looked at her. "Let me guess… Kinvara told you."
"Among other things," Daenerys teased. "What's she like? Qezza, was it?"
Taking a moment, he explained the complexities of his political marriage to Qezza, highlighting her crucial role in governing.
Daenerys' question, "Do you love her?" pierced the air, leaving Anakin stunned. He could only stare back, unable to formulate a response.
While he acknowledged his wife's affection, their lives since the wedding night had comprised little more than shared sleeping quarters and courtly appearances. The romance, if it could even be called that, was entirely one-sided. Anakin, trapped in a strange mix of familial affection and awkwardness, found himself unable to reciprocate the passion he sensed from his wife. She still felt like an elder sister, the feeling a constant source of tension between them.
In a familiar ritual from their childhood, Anakin vented his emotions to Daenerys. While he yearned for her empathy, hidden beneath her facade of listening, the Targaryen princess was consumed by the strategic implications that his words held for her grander ambition.
Later that night, Anakin and Daenerys settled down next to each other in the Spice Tower's library. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment, a comforting yet stimulating aroma that filled the space.
Anakin, flipping through a weathered tome, remarked casually, "You would like Missandei."
Daenerys looked up from her book, curiosity piqued but also tinged with a hint of irritation. "Who's Missandei?" she inquired.
"She's an advisor, a translator. A very intelligent woman," Anakin disclosed, his admiration evident. "She's been helping Qezza run Meereen in my absence."
Daenerys felt a twinge in her heart, a pang of disapproval at her nephew's enthusiastic praise for another woman. "You must trust her a lot," she said, trying to keep her tone neutral but unable to mask the envy that laced her words.
Anakin perceived a silent judgment in her voice and leaned in closer, his presence comforting yet commanding. "I do. She's smart, strong, compassionate," he jokes before pausing and noticing how Daenerys deliberately avoided his gaze, burying herself in the book before her, her fingers gripping the edges of the pages a little too tightly.
Reaching out, Anakin gently stroked her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. The intimate gesture elicited a response, and her eyes finally met his, a mixture of vulnerability and longing reflected in their depths.
"Though nowhere near as beautiful," he added softly, his eyes locking onto hers with sincerity.
Daenerys felt a warmth spread through her at his words. The library around them seemed to fade, leaving just the two of them in a bubble.
This declaration causes Daenerys's face to flush with embarrassment. Anakin, however, maintains his gaze, his hand trailing slowly down her face, shoulder, and back. Daenerys felt this instance charged with an intensity she had not expected.
She wondered if her actions had provoked this response. She had been gradually testing his reactions, speaking seductively and dressing provocatively in Dothraki garments, to which he had eagerly responded. Her mind raced, pondering whether she could truly seduce him so effortlessly. Kinvara's words echoed in her thoughts, hinting at the power she held over him.
In a moment of vulnerability, they nearly leaned in to share a kiss, but just as their lips were about to meet, Anakin hesitated, abruptly backing away.
A flicker of memory brought his wife to mind, though the title still felt awkward on his tongue. Anakin stubbornly continued to refer to her as 'Qezza and Queen of Meereen,' rather than as his wife or queen, a formal distance that Daenerys couldn't help but notice, a subtle reminder of their unconventional union.
His eyes flickered to the book she had been engrossed in. "The Second Spice War," he commented, his voice slightly strained. "Didn't know you were interested in ancient battles."
Daenerys took a steadying breath, her pulse still racing. "I'm not, not really," she admitted, her voice softer now. "Though this war is said to have had dragons."
Anakin nodded, the intense moment passing but not forgotten. They resumed their positions, the atmosphere still charged with unspoken desires.
"What'd you learn?" he inquires, as Daenerys eagerly goes into detail:
"The war began a thousand years ago when three dragonlords from the Valyrian Freehold joined Volantis in destroying the Rhoynish port Sarhoy on the Summer Sea. The Rhoynar responded by uniting under Prince Garin of Chroyane, the wonder of the Rhoyne who temporarily made Valyria tremble. Garin led a Rhoynish army of 250,000, which conquered Selhorys, Valysar, and Volon Therys, where they defeated three dragons with Rhoynish water wizards. The alarmed Volantenes sought help from Valyria itself, and the dragonlords responded by sending 300 dragons. The Valyrians crushed Garin's army with their dragons, then destroyed Sar Mell and Chroyane. According to legend, the captive Garin called down a curse upon the Valyrians at Chroyane which resulted in the Sorrows."
Daenerys brought her tale to an end and turned to Anakin, who appeared deep in contemplation. Contrary to appearances, he was simply absorbed in listening to her, mesmerized by the cadence of her words.
The candlelight cast a warm glow over Daenerys' features, illuminating her delicate yet fierce visage. His eyes lingered on her, tracing the lines of her face, the curve of her lips as she spoke. He felt the familiar pull of the force, the whisper of their shared history and the promise of a future that beckoned with both peril and possibility. But he knew better than to trust it blindly.
Anakin couldn't bring himself to acknowledge that he was enamored with her, despite sensing a mutual attraction through the force. He understood how easily the force could deceive, and he was satisfied with simply reestablishing their friendship.
Their separation had been long and painful, filled with battles and sacrifices that had shaped them into who they were now. Anakin had learned to guard his heart, to bury his emotions beneath layers of duty and resolve. And Daenerys, she retreated into herself, consumed by a sense of hopelessness.
A part of him admired his aunt and her unwavering determination to reclaim her birthright. She was no longer the girl he had known, yet in many ways she still was. The spark of their childhood bond remained, a flickering ember that refused to be extinguished.
Anakin cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled between them. "Your story it's… captivating, Dany. You have a way with words."
She smiled, a genuine, warm expression that lit up her eyes. "Thank you. That means a lot coming from you."
He shifted slightly, the weight of his unspoken feelings pressing down on him. "I've missed this," he admitted softly. "I know I haven't said it, but I do. Talking with you, these moments, they're… peaceful."
Daenerys' gaze softened, her own emotions mirrored in her eyes. "Yes, they are."
For a moment, the world outside the library ceased to exist. The responsibilities, the impending battles, the uncertainty of their futures - all of it faded away, leaving just the two of them in a cocoon of shared nostalgia.
"How long will you be gone?" Daenerys inquired with a trace of concern in her voice.
Ever since learning of their upcoming battle in Volantis, she has been preoccupied with thoughts of the worst case scenario.
"All goes well, it should be over by the end of the day. Volantis is only a day's way. I'll send for you when it's all over," said Anakin.
"Is 'he' still going with you?" Daenerys inquired, making a reference to her nephew's intention to bring Viserys along with him to war.
In moments when he was not with her, Anakin spent his time with Viserys and Ser Jorah. Their efforts to train his uncle in sword combat proved to be futile, much to Anakin's disappointment and vexation. Despite his best intentions, Viserys' movements were awkward and uncoordinated, his frustration palpable with each failed attempt.
Anakin's patience wore thin, but he was determined to find a way to reach his uncle. He had devised an idea to bring Viserys to the battlefield, hoping that the realities of war might humble him and potentially quench his thirst for vengeance. He believed that witnessing the true nature of combat might temper Viserys's burning desire for retribution and instill a sense of perspective as it had for him.
Leaving Viserys behind was a tempting option, one that Anakin considered more than once. His arrogance and entitlement grated on Anakin, who found it increasingly difficult to tolerate his incessant complaints and delusions of grandeur. Yet, he understood the deeper wounds that drove his uncle.
Viserys had suffered profoundly from the War of the Usurper, carrying the heaviest burden of their lost family. The memories of their fallen kin, especially his father, haunted Viserys, fueling his rage and shaping his every thought and action.
Anakin, despite his frustration, felt a pang of sympathy for his uncle. He saw beyond the bluster and bravado to the broken boy beneath. Viserys was a relic of their shared past, a living reminder of the Targaryen legacy they both sought to reclaim. He knew that abandoning him would be a betrayal not just of what remains of their house, but of their history and heritage.
During their training sessions, Anakin tried to temper his impatience with understanding. He offered direct guidance, hoping to kindle some spark of potential in Viserys. Ser Jorah, ever the seasoned warrior, provided practical advice and demonstrated techniques with unwavering patience. Yet, the progress remained minimal, and Anakin's hopes dimmed with each passing day.
Despite the setbacks, he remained resolute. He would not abandon his uncle to his bitterness and despair. The battlefield, with all its brutal lessons, might be the crucible that forged a stronger, wiser man from the ashes of his pain. Anakin was willing to take that chance, to risk his uncle's life if it meant offering him a path to redemption.
"Yes, 'he' will," Anakin replied flatly. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before gently clasping hers. "No matter what happens, we'll find each other. We seem to be good at that."
As they sat there, hand in hand, Anakin felt a sense of peace settle over him. The force may have been a fickle guide, but in this moment, it led him to the one truth he could hold onto.
The next morning, just before their departure to Volantis, Viserys proudly declared to his sister that he would triumphantly return, much to her annoyance. His bravado was met with a roll of her eyes, a gesture she made no effort to conceal.
For her safety, Daenerys would remain in Volon Therys along with her handmaidens, the non-combatant Dothraki, and twelve Unsullied guards. Anakin was reassured by the thought of her being well-protected.
Walking over to him, who was finalizing preparations for their departure, Daenerys brought him into a warm embrace. The scent of her hair, the softness of her touch, it all felt so familiar and comforting. Anakin found himself holding on a moment longer than he intended.
"Guess it's time. Feels like just yesterday we were setting out," he stated.
"I'll be counting the days until I see you again," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. The sincerity in her words caused her nephew to fall silent, unsure of how to reply.
Ser Jorah suddenly arrives on his trusty steed, and the Princess acknowledges his loyalty. "Thank you for standing by our side, Ser Jorah," she tells the knight, who nods in appreciation.
However, Viserys interrupts, riding in from atop his horse. While crossing his arms, he questions, "What about me? Am I not worthy of your farewell?"
"Goodbye, Viserys," she replies bluntly.
Once Anakin mounted his loyal white horse, they departed, and the rhythmic clatter of hooves faded into the distance.
She cast a final look at her brother, who scornfully grinned at her and then rudely flipped her off. His arrogance and pettiness were infuriating, yet Daenerys couldn't shake the feeling that, against all odds, Viserys would miraculously survive this entire ordeal.
Anakin, leading the way, felt a heavy weight settle on his shoulders. He glanced back at the shrinking figure of his aunt, her form standing resolute. The memories of their shared childhood flashed before him: Viserys' overbearing protection of Daenerys, the way he had shielded her from the harsh realities of their exile, and the moments of rare tenderness hidden beneath his harsh exterior.
He hoped they could mend their strained bond, repairing the fractured relationship. He recalled the times Viserys had stood between his sister and the world's cruelties, his fierce protectiveness a testament to his love for her, however twisted it had become over the years.
As they rode further from Volon Therys, Anakin's mind drifted to Qezza in Meereen. Pondering her well-being, memories of his family's reunion stirred within him. The warmth of love and attachment they shared had reignited his yearning for his wife.
As if guided by an unseen force, he found himself contemplating Qezza's absence amidst the solitude of his travels, almost as if the Force was trying to tell him something about her.
298 AC - In Sar Mell:
During the Rhoynish Wars, the once-beautiful city of Sar Mell, renowned for its delicate flowers, engaged in fierce battles with its neighboring colony of Volon Therys, a settlement established by the Valyrian Freehold. But as the conflicts raged on, Sar Mell suffered great harm, being burned down in the First Turtle War and later demolished in the Second Spice War, leading to the enslavement of its inhabitants by the powerful empire of Valyria.
Anakin's army moved steadily towards the Rhoyne River, their destination the ancient ruins of Sar Mell on the northern banks of Volantis. The anticipation of the upcoming battle hung heavy in the air, each soldier acutely aware of the stakes.
When they finally arrived at the ruined city, they swiftly set up a base, the skeletal remains of the ancient structures providing both shelter and a stark reminder of the passage of time.
Anakin wasted no time. He ordered a small force to scout ahead, ensuring they would not be taken by surprise. Meanwhile, he called upon his army, rallying them and instilling in them the courage and determination needed for the impending conflict.
The Dothraki and Unsullied stood before him, their eyes fixed on their leader, as his king's robe billowed in the wind, a symbol of his commanding presence.
Standing on an elevated podium, Anakin was slightly awe-struck by the sheer number of men following him into battle. This was nearly double what any army he has ever seen or led and he finds himself silent.
He finally clears his mind before delivering a resounding speech that echoed through the ruins of Sar Mell. His voice, strong and unwavering, carried over the heads of his assembled troops.
"A month from now, I will be on my throne. Imagine where you will be, and it will be so. Hold formation! Follow your commanders! If you find yourself alone, riding in green fields with the sun on your face, do not be troubled. For you are already dead! Remember that what we do in life echoes in eternity."
His speech, both eliciting laughter and inspiration in the Dothraki men, spoke of honor, of duty, and of the legacy they were about to forge together. His words ignited a fire within their hearts, urging his men to summon every ounce of courage and strength they possessed.
With thunderous roars, the Unsullied demonstrated their unbreakable loyalty to their chosen leader, their disciplined ranks a testament to their unwavering resolve. The Dothraki, fierce and untamed, unleashed their battle cries, eager for the thrill of conquest and the promise of glory. The ruined city of Sar Mell reverberated with the sounds of their collective fervor.
Viserys, distracted and restless, scarcely noticed the electric atmosphere around him. On the other hand, Ser Jorah, standing nearby, was impressed by Anakin's ability to inspire and lead. 'He certainly knows how to rile up a crowd,' the knight thought to himself.
Fueled by their fearless leader's words, the troops were ready to face whatever lay ahead. The army charged forward, a tide of determination and strength, ready to claim their destiny under Anakin Targaryen.
The ruins of Sar Mell stood witness to their resolve, the ancient city now a staging ground for the battle that would shape the future of his empire.