Leroya

"In the name of the Father," Piato prayed hoarsely.

"May he judge me harshly" Leroya interrupted playfully.

The effect was immediate. Piato's hand struck her bare buttocks with the sound of a whip. Leroya gave a high-pitched squeal.

She was straddling the Grand Maester as he lay on his back, riding him like a horse. Both her hands were on her head, allowing her to flex the muscles in her arms, as Piato loved to see. She thrust her hips back and forth, moaning at how hard his cock was inside her. The force of her efforts caused her heavy, sagging breasts to swing like pendulums, slapping together and against her chest. The gentle rocking of the ship beneath them only added to their antics.

"In the name of the Mother," Piato gasped, seizing one of them and pinching her long black nipple hard enough to make her moan aloud.

"I hope she's watching too," Leroya teased breathlessly, "with three fingers in her sweet wet cunt." She stuck out her tongue as she laughed, only to cry out again as another disciplinary slap landed on her rear. "Nay," she spoke again, "she won't be bothering. She knows I've no use for her."

That last quip was no mere jest. From an early age, Leroya had realised that her body behaved differently from most of the women in her life. Ever since she'd first flowered, her menses had been infrequent and irregular. As a girl, her weight had changed a great deal, until she kept it in check with exercise, a change in her eating habits, and a rigorous life at sea. Even now, though, stretch marks abounded across her body. She'd also grown little hairs all across her back, breasts, and even a few small patches along her jawline. One of the other results was her inability to become pregnant. Despite all her efforts, and those of her many male lovers, her womb had never quickened at all in her lifetime.

Many women might have considered such infertility to be a tragedy or even a curse. For Leroya, it was a blessing and a promise of freedom. True, it had taken her quite some time to grow accustomed to this strange condition, especially as a child. The mockery of other children had been extremely difficult to bear, but she had learned to take pride in her body.

"In the name of the Maid," Piato called out in a strained voice.

Leroya was eager to see if she could make him lose control before the prayer was completed. "You want to know how long it's been since I was a maid?" She cried out again - half in pain and half in pleasure - when he struck her buttocks again and again, harder than before, with both his hands.

"You wicked woman," he admonished. "Oh gods, you great naughty minx!"

"Which god were you on? Or have you forgotten already?" Leroya taunted, leaning down so that her breasts were on his face. One of her long nipples slipped into his mouth, causing him to bite down hard.

Leroya cried out again as she moved faster and harder. As he sucked her nipple, she began fervently chanting in the Summer Tongue. In the midst of the pleasure coursing through her body, she wondered which of them would climax first.

Before she finished her own prayer, the Grand Maester gave a strangled cry as his seed spurted inside her. The sudden sensation was the last push she needed. Her chanting rose in pitch and volume as she reached her own height of ecstasy.

Leroya waited for his manhood to shrink inside of her before dismounting. Slowly, she slumped beside Piato on the bed, even as they both sought to control their breathing.

"Do you think the Stranger watched us fuck too?" she asked in that falsely innocent tone. "Is that why we call this the little death?"

"Oh gods!" Grand Maester Piato had one hand on his forehead and the other over his heart. "Gods, send me a rod to put you in your place."

Leroya laughed as she embraced the older man whilst he buried his face in her bosom once more. "Would you renounce the gods to worship these titties instead?" She shook her shoulders playfully, squealing again as she felt his teeth find her other nipple. His fingers drifted down to her cunt, pushing their way past the loose folds of dark skin which were still sticky with his seed. They began thrusting inside her whilst he bit her nipple until she cried out once again.

They lay there for some time after that, before he finally rolled onto his back. "I should have sailed to the Summer Isles a long time ago."

That alone might have been enough for Leroya. So much for your holy vows, she thought cheekily. Mayhaps I really could seduce the High Septon next. That he was so much older than her, sworn to supposed celibacy, only inflamed her desire to do it again, so long as it pleased them both.

"Who was your first?"

Leroya put her thoughts aside as she focused upon Piato again. "He was a cabin boy on one of Papa's ships."

The Grand Maester looked at her thoughtfully. "Do you still remember his name?"

"Alaric," Leroya replied. "He was a boy from Pentos. We were both twelve, or near enough."

"Whose idea was it?"

"Mine. I'd already seen my parents doing it, and I'd seen others do it. I knew how to touch myself, I know how boys touched themselves, but I wanted to see what it was like to be touched by someone else."

"And?"

Leroya sighed. "It was disappointing. He said he knew what to do, but all he did was finish inside me. And then he had the gall to be offended when I told him I was displeased."

"A proud, stupid boy," Piato lamented, but there was a gleam growing in his eyes. "Is that why you prefer wise old men now?"

Leroya laughed at that. "I have no preference for young or old," she reassured the Grand Maester, even as she reached down and playfully gripped his limp cock in her hand. "I have no preference for men over women either, for that matter. But I suppose there is a novelty to one such as you. Quite a few novelties," she added playfully.

"I could say the same of you," Piato countered, even as he brought his hand back up to her face. Leroya grinned as she leaned her face towards his fingers and licked them with her long tongue. A shuddering sigh left Piato's mouth as he gazed at her. "Would that I could take you again."

Leroya glanced at the small, half-empty vial of blue liquid where it lay beside them on the bed. "Is it unwise to have more?"

"We must wait a while longer," Piato affirmed sadly. "It seems I am yours to torment." He looked down to where her hand cheekily continued to revive his member.

After another hearty chuckle, Leroya released him and, with her other hand, reached for the plate of food which she'd put on the nightstand beside her bed. She picked up a cluster of green grapes by the stem and bit into three of them. After she'd swallowed her mouthful, she gave Piato a curious glance. "Perhaps I'll torment you with questions in kind. Who was your first woman?"

"She was a prostitute who called herself Jyll," Piato replied. "I never learned her age, but she was older than I. It was the night after I forged my first link. Black iron, at seventeen," he added with a nostalgic smile.

Black iron for ravenry, Leroya recalled. She wondered if that had been his specialty as an archmaester in the Citadel.

"Anyway," he continued, "there was a brothel on the fringes of the undercity. It was about as impure of a place as I've ever ventured, but that meant I was less likely to run into someone else from the Citadel."

"Less likely? More likely, in my experience." Leroya jeered.

Piato gave a sad smile in response. "I suppose we earn that mockery, we men of the Faith. It is expected that we be strong in our devotion to the gods. But the truth is that most of us are too weak to live as we ought. And that night, my soul was utterly corrupted."

Leroya gave him a toothy grin in response. "Maybe it's the Citadel which corrupted you? Maybe you were set free that night? And you were set free tonight once more?"

The Grand Maester gave her a level look. "Remind me which of us is here for their salvation."

"Perhaps you're the one who needs a reminder," Leroya's tongue played with another grape on the cluster before her teeth closed around it. Piato groaned as he watched.

"Tell me," Leroya spoke again, "who were you before you gave yourself to the gods?"

Piato seemed ready to speak, only for his face to fall. "This was a terrible mistake."

"Was it?" Leroya pointedly moved away from Piato and sat upright as she continued to eat grapes. She had little patience for this feigned attempt at penitence.

Piato had a stricken look on his face. "Forgive me, my dear. I only mean that I've put you in terrible danger. You ought to flee."

Leroya laughed at that. "Are your gods going to punish me? Will your septons swarm me like a flock of angry sparrows?" Let them bloody well try.

"It is Lord Bloodraven you should fear," Piato clarified. He too sat up and put a conciliatory hand on Leroya's knee. "He knows of my sins with other women. One of his representatives made that quite clear when he secured my silence."

"Silence regarding what?" Leroya cocked her head.

Piato was silent, running a hand through his steel-grey beard. Finally, he met her eyes again. "Your father tells you a great deal, but what has he told you of House Blackfyre?"

Dropping the remaining grapes back on the plate, Leroya leaned forward. "He told me enough. What are they to you?"

Piato spoke more quietly than ever. "When King Aegon was still a prince, he was sent to Braavos on a diplomatic mission."

Leroya gave a start. She knew full well of that diplomatic mission. Her great-grandmother had been Bellegere Otherys, a renowned smuggler and pirate. She was one of the foremost mistresses in Aegon's much-storied life, eventually becoming a courtesan in Braavos known as the Black Pearl. Leroya's cousin continued the tradition, the fourth woman to bear the Black Pearl title.

When she said as much to the Grand Maester, Piato was amazed.

"I should have realised it myself," he admitted. "Your great-grandfather would gladly have seduced every pretty septa in the Seven Kingdoms if he could get away with it."

"And what of you?" Leroya asked. "What does that have to do with you?"

"My father was a prominent Keyholder," Piato explained. "He was a man who knew how to make men like him. Aegon liked him well enough to invite him back to Westeros. As I understand it, he was appointed Master of Coin when Aegon was crowned king. But whilst he was in the capital, he had his way with a maid who served Princess Naerys."

It was not difficult to guess Piato's meaning. "I thought you had a Braavosi name," Leroya remarked. "Were you named for your father, then?"

"Aye," the Grand Maester affirmed. "That was about all I ever got from him, too."

Leroya felt pity for the old man. "What became of you, then?"

"My father tired of Westeros when I was too young to remember him. King Aegon kept me at court to serve as a whipping boy to his son, Daemon."

"Daemon Blackfyre?" Leroya's back straightened.

"The very same," Piato replied with a smile. "There was a very short time when I was one of his closest friends. He was younger than me - three years, maybe - but he was one of the finest boys I ever knew. I was only ever whipped once, and he wept almost as much as I did whilst it happened. He ensured that I was never whipped again after that, and he kept his word."

What an irony, Leroya marvelled, that such a tender-hearted boy would go on to tear the Seven Kingdoms apart with the greatest war since the Dance of the Dragons.

"When my mother died," Piato went on, "her parting wish was that I give myself to the Faith. I thought that I might serve Daemon as his maester, somehow, but of course…" he shook his head. "The King who never was," he lamented.

"You still think he should have been king?" Leroya asked curiously.

The Grand Maester's kindly visage gave way to a grim look. "After twenty years in this castle as Grand Maester? I have no doubt about it. If you only knew half of what's whispered about Bloodraven and Shiera Seastar…" he shook his head, as if the rumours were too vile for him to speak aloud. "The worst of it is that whomever the council chooses, it will be to Bloodraven's advantage. He has full sway over this council."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you really think, my dear, that any claimant will come forward without Bloodraven's approval?" Piato reached for the plate and grabbed a morsel of cooked salmon. "We received a letter from Daemon's own son, Aenys. He asked for permission to present himself peacefully before the Great Council. Bloodraven made it clear that he would not be welcome."

"A pox on him," Leroya remarked. She had heard all about the first Blackfyre Rebellion from Papa, including how Bloodraven had confessed his role in starting the rebellion as well as finishing it.

"Have a care," Piato urged. "He is immune to ill wishes. He is too dangerous for anyone to trifle with, even you." This talk of Bloodraven seemed to agitate him even further, for he suddenly got up from Leroya's bed and reached for his clothing. "I must go. I do not wish to put you in any danger from that monster."

Was I not in danger enough already? I am Titus Dondarrion's daughter! "I do not need your protection," Leroya insisted, but not unkindly. "I learned how to defend myself a long time ago. And besides," she added as she picked up the half-full vial. "I believe you still have a bit more life in you."

Piato hesitated, but not for long. With a soft sigh, he took the proffered vial and drank it empty. "Gods forgive me," he murmured.

Leroya giggled once more as she helped him sit back down on the bed. She herself was on all fours as she leaned her face down into his lap and kissed the tip of his cock. Then, with a low moan, her full lips pushed past the tip and dragged across his shaft. Eventually, his manhood hardened in her mouth. His hand began slapping her buttocks with renewed vigour as he prayed aloud again. Once again - much to Leroya's amusement - he did not get through the entire prayer.

"*"* "* "*"*" *"*" *"*" *"*" *"*" *"*" *"*" *"*" *"*" *" *" * "* " *" *" *"* "* "* "* " *" *" *" *"*" *"* "*

After he slipped away, swathed in the robes of a common begging brother, Leroya fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. Rocked by the gentle waves, she did not stir until a loud knocking roused her rudely from rest.

"Roya! Wake up!"

Leroya groaned as her hand clutched her spinning head. She groaned louder when she realised who was calling her. "Miru, please…"

The door opened, and her older sister strode into the chamber, stood over her, and folded her arms.

"Who was it?"

"Does it matter?" Leroya chuckled as she slowly sat up in bed.

She and her sisters had always been comfortable around each other. As girls, Miru had helped her younger sisters bathe on the Summer Isles, where nudity was a regular occurrence. Even when they'd become young women, Leroya and all her sisters would go to the bathhouses of Braavos together and spend hours in each other's company.

Nor was this the first time that Miru had walked in on such an aftermath as this. Her concern over it was laughable.

"It doesn't," Miru answered, "I was curious. Just as I'm curious that you hesitate to tell me the answer."

Leroya laughed at that. She could always appreciate cleverness, even when it was used against her. "What are you really here about, sister?"

"It's Matthias," Miru explained. "He was at Lucamore's Loft today. He spent twenty gold dragons and owed another twenty."

Leroya shook her head. "Expensive tastes."

"You would know," Miru remarked.

Leroya frowned. "What does that mean?"

"You sent him there, did you not?"

"I did not send him there," Leroya retorted, standing up to look down at Miru instead of upward. "He asked me for reliable places, I gave him three or four places. I said the Loft is costly!"

"Clearly it didn't work." Miru sighed. "He is not doing well, Roya."

"You don't need to tell me that," Leroya remarked. "I see it too. Why do you think I suggested those places?"

"That isn't helping him!"

She seemed taken aback by the frustration in her own voice, but Leroya was not surprised by that outburst.

"Oh ho," she declared, even as she folded her arms beneath her breasts. Her nipples were still sore from Piato's teeth. "We're having this discussion again, are we?"

Miru sighed. "Roya, that is unfair. I am not saying your methods are wrong!"

"My methods?" Leroya tossed her head so that her braid went off her shoulder. "Is that what you call them? Well, I learned them at the same temple that you went to."

"Aye," Miru agreed tersely. "I do not disparage them! And I do not need to tell you of all the good it did me! You were not the only one who grew up different!"

"True, true," Leroya conceded hastily. She was embarrassed, and she resented it.

Miru, meanwhile, spoke again. "I will never disparage love, or answering grief with it. You know what I mean to say, do you not?"

"Perhaps I don't," Leroya suggested warily.

"What works for you, sister," Miru urged, "is not working for Matthias. Just as our pleasures vary, so too must our treatment. Did the temple elders not teach you that?"

"Of course they did," Leroya answered impatiently. "So, what does he need, then?"

"I don't know," Miru admitted. "That's why I'm here. I want your help."

Leroya felt foolish again. "I will think on it," she muttered.

"Thank you." Miru nodded her head. "I am sorry for disturbing you. But I'm going to take him to wait for Lord Redfort today, and I wanted to speak to you alone."

"Of course," Leroya answered irritably. "Go on, then."

Miru tilted her head curiously. "You will not eat?"

"I had a late meal," Leroya gestured to the empty plate beside her bed.

Miru frowned. She looked as though she wanted to say something, but her lips did not move.

"Say it," Leroya challenged her.

"I have nothing to say," Miru murmured.

"No?"

"Even if I did," Miru retorted, "would you listen to me?"

"Try me," Leroya ventured.

"If there was ever a time and place in your life to be cautious," Miru told her, "I urge you to consider it to be here and now."

Leroya wanted to roll her eyes, but she did not want to prolong this discussion. "I've escaped a slave ship, Miru. I've slain corsairs and pirates, I've speared a leviathan!"

Miru sighed. Leroya recognised it well; it was the same noise she always made when she was yielding out of weariness. "Your courage is not in question, Roya. You're the bravest woman I'll ever know." With that, she turned and walked back out of the cabin.

Leroya felt strange. It was a victory, but it did not make her feel victorious. On the contrary, she felt as she had as a girl when Miru had reacted that way to her antics. How is she always so adept at making me feel this way? I'm twenty-five bloody years old!

After she adjusted the curtains, she went back to sleep. By the time she awoke again, the afternoon had settled in. Stretching, Leroya dressed warmly before going up on her ship's deck.

Although the winter was milder than it had been at Gulltown, it was still much too cold to go for a swim in the bay. Leroya often bathed in salt water, especially when she was on a voyage, for it worked wonders on her skin.

Instead, she sat in a chair on the deck of Black Bolt, wrapped in warm furs which smothered the smell of her unwashed body, silently pondering her conversation with Miru.

Leroya misliked arguing with Miru; she had always been a kind sister, as far back as Leroya could recall. Miru had doted on her, had helped her learn how to swim, had taught her everything she knew, who had encouraged her when she had been called cruel names by other children.

At the same time, Leroya thought that Miru could never see her younger siblings as men and women. She did it far less with Leroya, due to her achievements and exploits being far beyond anything Miru could understand. Belakka had also shaken off Miru's mothering when she'd embraced her role as a courtesan, and Miru had accepted it gracefully. Chatali had simply become a mother herself, and so Miru became a doting aunt to her nieces and nephew. Baalun was another matter, of course. He was still half a boy, after all, but he was of Leroya's temperament, so she had given up in that regard.

Matthias was the exception. She had always been especially fond of Matthias, or so it seemed to Leroya. She understood the reason, of course; Papa had named him for the brother that Miru had lost in that vile attack. Still, Leroya reckoned that Matthias was being stifled. Miru was trying to help him, but Leroya was not sure if her methods were working.

What could he require instead? Leroya had told Miru she would think on this matter, and so she did, even as the waves continued to gently rock the ship back and forth. Two of her crew had taken out instruments and begun to play a tune from the Summer Isles. Lwandle was singing alongside the music; his voice seemed to warm the air itself.

Eventually, Leroya's mind wandered back to Piato, and what she had discussed with him. His closeness to Daemon Blackfyre was certainly a surprise, and she was eager to learn more about it when next he paid her a visit.

Despite her father's efforts to emphasise the senseless brutality of that era, the Blackfyre Rebellion fascinated her. She'd heard several stories from Ollo of Lannisport as well, and he had never hesitated to praise Daemon Blackfyre.

Papa was far more reticent about the man, though he did not condemn Daemon either. She'd been fourteen, sweaty and sore from an intense training session, when she'd asked him what Daemon had been like.

"He was the finest warrior of his age," he'd told her. "Mayhaps any age, if we're keeping score. I never crossed lances with him, but I sat with him at supper. He also stood with me during my vigil for Ser Garrison Dalt."

Leroya had heard plenty enough about the Dalts by that point in her life. "He knew Ser Garrison?"

"Nay," Papa had answered. "But it was part of his nature to behave thus, even with strangers. Men loved or hated him, but none could deny that his demeanour was kingly. Or at least, that is how he could present himself. But whether it was genuine or an act, I can count on one hand how many men I've known who were better at it than him."

Leroya had cocked her head as she'd considered his words. Uncle Ollo had said similar things about Daemon, but where his voice had been reverent and impassioned, Papa's was matter-of-fact. "Do you think he was worthy of the Iron Throne?"

Her father had sighed. "Even if he were, I would never have fought for him. His closest allies were treacherous men. I have no doubt that they loved him, but they knew how to manipulate him too. Besides, Daeron was a good king, and Baelor would have been even better."

Leroya had still worn swaddling clothes when Prince Baelor Targaryen had died. She knew that Papa had sailed back to Westeros to pay his respects to Princess Jena and her sons. Leroya had been too young for such a journey, and Bellaria was pregnant with her sister Chatali, so they had remained behind. All the same, she had heard plenty of stories about Baelor from Papa and her older siblings.

The King who never was. Papa had said that about Baelor, whilst Ollo and Piato had bequeathed that honour to the Black Dragon.

It's too late for either of them, Leroya mused as she thought of Breakspear and Blackfyre alike. It's not too late for Aenys.

She had already heard how swiftly Princess Vaella had been rejected. It was almost pitiful how easily Bloodraven and the others had dismissed that sweet little girl, not that Leroya thought Vaella showed any promise as a ruler.

Bloodraven was content to dismiss her. He welcomed it. But he will not even answer Aenys' request. If the Blackfyre cause was so weak that three rebellions couldn't bring them to power, why should Bloodraven fear Aenys? Would it not be better to let him fail as Vaella had?

That was the rub; it might as well have been a game of cyvasse. Leroya was fond of the game, and she had spent years honing her mind to understand and recognise strategy. Such a way of thinking had saved her life too many times to count.

The only reasons that Bloodraven would have to keep Aenys away is that he is treacherous, and will break his word of peace, or else it is because Aenys had a chance of winning the council over.

If it was the latter, Leroya surmised, then surely that was exactly what needed to be done. For the first time, she wished that she'd thoroughly studied the rules of the council.

The idea struck her so suddenly that she arose and stared at nothing whilst her mind raced, putting together a plausible plan to present the others. After that was done, and after a quick glance at the sun's position, she hastened from the dock and paid a wheelhouse to take her to the Red Keep.

It was a longer wait than she'd anticipated; she tried to spend it in the library, reading through as many texts on the Blackfyres that she could find. There was little point to that, for they had clearly been written by men who loathed House Blackfyre, and looked down on them as mere usurpers.

At the very least, it helped pass the time as she waited for the council to adjourn. The evening meal depended on that adjournment, so when she judged the hour was near, she went back to the rookery.

Sure enough, Piato was there, serving the ravens with their own evening meal. The Grand Maester started when he noticed her.

"What are you-" he began, but she did not let him finish his sentence.

"I have a letter to send," she declared, holding up a carefully folded piece of parchment. When the Blackfyre accounts had proved too insufferable, Leroya had figured out how to best communicate her plan with Piato so that it remained a secret. The library's keepers had provided her what she needed during the long wait.

The Grand Maester went quiet as he took the parchment from her. She was tempted to wink or smile as reassurance, but Miru's words still echoed in her head.

"I see," Piato muttered formally as he put the parchment in his robes. "Very well, my lady. To whom is it addressed?"

"Send it to the Starry Sept," Leroya answered earnestly. "Address it to Septa Jyll."

A muscle in Piato's face gave a twitch, but his voice was calm as he gave a respectful nod. "Of course, my lady."

Leroya smiled as she returned the nod before leaving the rookery. She was feeling hungry, but she was already looking forward to when the Grand Maester snuck back down to the Black Bolt after supper. She had a great deal to discuss with him before she could be sure that her plan might be carried out.