"Princess," Ser Harwin said in greeting as Syrax landed on the other side of the canyon.
"How bad is it?" Rhaenyra asked, wincing as she surveyed the mass of corpses lying before her.
"There were quite a lot of them, and they became very tightly packed in there by the end," Harwin replied. "I've ordered the men to start pulling them out, but it's going to take a while. It turns out that the Dothraki like to wear medallions of bronze, silver, and gold. I've ordered some of the men to strip the corpses of valuables, though what exactly we're going to do with them all, I have no idea."
"If you strip them of valuables and pile them high, far from the grass, Syrax could burn them," Jon suggested. "If we think we can transport the men safely, we could fly a few dozen of them to the other side as well. We shouldn't leave the caravan unguarded at any rate."
"Every living thing left there fled in terror, and I doubt any would be foolish enough to risk coming back so soon," Rhaenyra replied.
"Plenty of men are fools, particularly when motivated by greed," Jon argued.
"Transporting the men will be entirely without risk," Ser Harwin interjected. "They're all eunuchs."
"What?" Rhaenyra asked, sounding incredulous.
"The Pentoshi, and it would seem most Essosi outside of Braavos, use what they call Unsullied," Ser Harwin replied. "They're eunuch soldiers trained from the time they're children for war. Most are trained in the use of spears, according to the ones I spoke to, but these ones were made to learn the bow as well."
"They're all slaves, aren't they?" Rhaenyra, looking at the eunuchs in horror.
"Yes, Princess," Ser Harwin replied. "I got the sense that I really didn't want to know what went into their training."
"Fuck," she hissed under her breath. "Promise me that you'll not breathe a word of this to anyone, Harwin. No one can no that I won this battle with bloody slaves."
"You didn't know," Ser Harwin said, "and you were simply aiding an ally's army. It's not as though you purchased them or anything."
"Such facts would matter little to Alicent or her father," Rhaenyra replied. "Promise me you'll speak of this to no one."
"You have my word," Ser Harwin promised. "I'll take it to my grave."
"As will I," Jon murmured, looking over as the corpse of a particularly impressive-looking man was pulled out of the canyon.
"I'd be able to tell this was the khal even if he wasn't wearing more gold than the rest of them," Rhaenyra muttered as she looked upon the corpse. "Maester Gerardys said that they only cut their braids when they are defeated in battle, and the most powerful khals often have braids that reach their mid-back at least."
"You'd think that would be a hazard in battle," Jon commented.
"Particularly since they didn't wear armor," Ser Harwin agreed.
Rhaenyra looked down into the lifeless eyes of the man who had led his army to Pentos. He was a ludicrous figure, she decided quickly. A warrior, clearly, with a well-muscled body, he would have surely been a most dangerous foe to cross, and yet his look was so terribly alien to her. The leather vest he wore and leggings made of what looked like horsehair would have done him little good against a blade or mace. Beyond that, the bells in his braid and rings he'd bound his drooping mustachios in looked ridiculous.
"I like your plan to burn them," she said softly, looking away from her fallen foe.
The sound of excited chatter emerged from the canyon then, and both Jon and Ser Harwin stepped in front of her automatically, their hands on the hilts of their swords. When she saw them relax, she poked her head around Jon and saw one of the slave soldiers emerging carrying a black bow. It looked like no type of wood she'd ever seen, and she was about to ask what it was when the eunuch drew close enough for her to get a better look and she gasped.
"Dragon bone!" she exclaimed, taking the bow from him and looking more closely.
"Truly?" Ser Harwin asked. "That would be one of the finest bows in the world if so."
"Aye, I've read of them," Jon said. "They're said to outrange bows made from almost any sort of wood, save for one I can't recall the name of. It comes from the Summer Isles."
"Goldenheart," Rhaenyra smiled, not looking up from the bow for a moment. "If they have weapons like this, I want them searched carefully."
"We can add any weapons they have to the piles of valuables we'll be transporting alongside the treasure on the other end of the canyon," Jon suggested. "We can use their wagons to pull all of it once we can get the horses through here."
"Ser Harwin, inform the men that I'll be flying some of them over to begin work on the other side as well as to guard the treasure," Rhaenyra instructed. "Once that's done, things should move a little more quickly."
"I will," Ser Harwin nodded, going off to speak to some of the soldiers who could understand him.
"I am not pleased that Nevio failed to inform me of just what these men are," Rhaenyra scowled. "I can only imagine what that wretched hag would say if she learned of this."
"Harwin and I are the only ones who know for now," Jon soothed. "You know that you can trust us and soon enough, this entire adventure will be a distant memory."
"I'll be happy for that," Rhaenyra sighed. "My uncle warned me what they were like, but I never imagined that the Essosi would be quite this bad. I don't even want to know what goes into making a eunuch child soldier."
"I suspect that none of us do," Jon muttered. As he looked down at the Khal's body, a thought occurred to him; with a grin, he said, "If you want to subtly make your feelings about the magisters clear without insulting them outright, I do have an idea."
"Oh?" Rhaenyra asked.
"It will depend entirely on how willing you are to handle this one's head," Jon replied, unsure of how well she'd respond to the idea.
Rhaenyra just gestured for him to continue.
The two of them worked with the archers and Ser Harwin for hours, clearing away the corpses and piling them up for burning. Syrax was more than happy to help them with that and stole more than a few bites of the dead men, much to Rhaenyra's chagrin. The sheer number of weapons and valuables taken from the bodies made their already substantial haul all the more impressive, and once everything was carefully loaded onto the wagons and their horses tied to them, Rhaenyra and Jon left, confident that Ser Harwin would manage to lead the Unsullied back to Pentos without incident.
They made a point of checking for any potential problems as they flew back, but, to their relief, it didn't appear that there were any potential threats in the area, at least not ones that might bother taking on an armed band as large as theirs. They reached Pentos in short order, and as they landed in Prince Nevio's lands, they came across a potential problem.
"Damn it," Rhaenyra grumbled as she spotted Caraxes and Vhagar. "I had hoped that they'd still be gone when we arrived."
"We were gone for days," Jon pointed out, "and your uncle does seem to be the restless sort."
"Well, I was going to have to deal with him learning about this eventually," Rhaenyra sighed, "and perhaps this is the best way. Let Daemon see for himself that I'm not the little girl who used to follow him around like a lost puppy anymore."
"The orchards were every bit as beautiful as you described," Laena gushed as she and Daemon sat in Prince Nevio's hall, attending yet another feast.
This one was smaller but still featured a number of wealthy magisters, among them Reggio Brytarys.
"You are most kind, Lady Laena," Reggio smiled.
"Seriously, you could charge for people to come look at them," Laena continued, playing on the ego of the young man in front of her.
The Brytaryses were one family that her father had told her about, making it very clear that they were a group worth maintaining good ties with. The newest head of the family was vain and self-important, and she'd made great use of flattery over the past couple days.
"Now that is an idea," Reggio remarked, snapping his fingers and looking delighted. "You did well wedding this one, my prince."
"You don't need to tell me that," Daemon replied, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at the insipid twit.
"Speaking of insipid twits," he thought to himself as his goodbrother arrived.
He was alone and made a beeline for him and Laena, though as he saw the look on Daemon's face, he faltered. Daemon gestured towards the seat next to him, and he obeyed without a word.
"Where is your wife?" Daemon asked quietly.
"I don't know," Laenor replied, shrugging. "She and Syrax have been gone for days."
"And that didn't concern you?" Daemon asked testily.
"She left me a note saying that she was going exploring and would be back in a while," Laenor replied. "Syrax is a relatively large dragon and surely fierce. I imagine she's well."
"I don't give a fuck what you imagine," Daemon whispered, his face thunderous. "Just because your marriage is a farce doesn't mean that you shouldn't at least pretend to give the faintest hint of a…"
"Dothraki?!" a man raged as he stormed into the room, followed closely by a score of equally rich-looking men. "Why am I just now finding out that those horsefucking cunts are returning our way?"
"M...magister Narratys," Prince Nevio stuttered, paling instantly at the arrival of the other man.
"Dothraki on the way and Rhaenyra nowhere to be seen," Daemon thought to himself, his hand inching towards Dark Sister almost of its own accord.
He'd realized that Nevio was neck deep in shit at first glance but hadn't even considered asking what was going on. He knew that it was better not to get attached to Pentoshi princes, given how rarely their heads remained attached to their shoulders for very long, and he figured that it was a crop issue or rumblings of conflict with Braavos. He doubted that it would come to a head quickly, given how unconcerned the other magisters seemed, and figured that he and Laena would be on their way to Volantis by the time anything went wrong, with Rhaenyra and Laenor set to return to Dragonstone.
Now, he found himself wishing that he'd bothered to ask questions, for while he didn't fear the strange horse-worshiping nomads that he'd read about in his youth, he really didn't like the idea of his niece being out exploring while a band of them were approaching. Syrax was large for her age, but still young and unblooded, and the Dothraki were so very known for archery.
"We damn near beggared ourselves on your suggestion because you assured us that it would send the Khalasar away," Grolio Brenyls growled.
"Do we have any idea why they're returning?" Ordello Denylos asked.
"We gave them too much, as I explicitly told you back then," Tynal Korpylos snarled. "We showed weakness, and now the Dothraki are coming back to exploit that. This is all your fault!"
"Well, maybe if there was a single pair of balls between you feckless cunts, you could have found a better solution," Daemon thought to himself snarkily.
"N...now, most esteemed, magisters, I assure you that the situation is well in hand," Nevio stammered. "Khal Pemmo will demand no more of us. You have my word."
"I'd like to know just how you have this situation in hand myself, Nevio," Daemon drawled, "considering that my niece, the heir to the iron throne, appears to be out exploring just now."
Nevio's eyes widened at the mention of Rhaenyra, brimming with fear, and Daemon felt his heart lurch in his chest.
"No," he thought to himself, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "Tell me you weren't so stupid."
"Where is Rhaenyra?" Daemon growled.
"Pri...Prince Daemon," Nevio stammered, going deathly pale as he leaned back in his seat.
"Where is my niece?!" Daemon shouted.
"Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen," the herald called out so loudly that it cut over the crowd who had gathered in the dining hall, "the realm's delight, heir to the throne of the Seven Kingdoms, and horselord's bane."
The room fell deathly silent as, all at once, they turned to see the diminutive woman wandering in just then, dressed in her riding leathers. Short she might have been, standing around three inches past five feet, but the confidence written on her face and so clear in her gait made her appear taller. Swinging from her right hand was a long braid of oily black hair, from which dangled a copper-skinned severed heard. Daemon barely heard Laena and Laenor gasp in unison over the thundering of his heart in his ears as she approached the table and tossed the head towards them.
As it landed on the floor, she said clearly, "Your Dothraki problem has been solved."
"That...that's the khal," Reggio choked out. "How?"
"With dragons, all things are possible," Rhaenyra replied, managing not to sound quite as smug as she looked. "I will explain in greater detail later, but for now I must wash the remnants of the battle and of my flights from my skin. Good day."
She turned and walked away then, leaving the stunned dinner party gawking after her in silence. As soon as she was out of sight, that silence was broken by jubilant cries of relief.
"Thank the gods for that little miracle," one of the magisters laughed.
"Did she kill them all or threaten to burn them if they didn't give her their khal's head?" another asked.
"What did you promise her?" Reggio asked, turning to Nevio, who looked like he'd just had the weight of the entire world lifted from his weary shoulders.
"We'll find out from the princess how exactly she pulled this off later," the prince replied, "and as for your question, Magister Reggio, nothing that we hadn't already given away."
"Ah, so she takes the fortune we gave the khalasar," Reggio murmured. "I daresay we underestimated you."
"Yes, well, part of succeeding in life is learning to recognize opportunities as they come and seizing…" he trailed off as he noticed Daemon still glaring murderously at him. "Prince Daemon, I wanted to involve you, of course, but the princess was insistent about wanting to handle things alone, and I…"
"You and I will discuss this at length later," Daemon ground out, standing up. "For now, I must congratulate my niece on her victory."
He stalked off without another word, and not a single person in his way failed to get out of his way quickly as he did.
"I didn't know she had that in her," Laenor murmured.
"Perhaps that little wife of yours truly will succeed where Mother failed," Laena chuckled, her eyes trailing after her husband for as long as she could see him.
"Thank the gods," Rhaenyra sighed as she felt the water of the bath she'd just had drawn for her.
"You're certain that it's not too hot for you, Princess?" the slave girl who had drawn it asked.
"Not at all," Rhaenyra sighed, breathing in the lavender oil and swearing that she could physically feel the tension leave her muscles. "That will be all."
"As you will," the girl replied, nodding and leaving her alone.
She was about to undress, greatly looking forward to scrubbing the grime of the past couple days from her skin, when she was rather rudely interrupted.
"Have you gone mad?" Daemon snarled, making her shriek.
"Daemon!?" she exclaimed.
"Are you honestly surprised?" he asked.
"I expected you to wait a little longer," Rhaenyra replied. "Can we continue this once I'm bathed? The water's just hot enough."
"Not until you tell me what the fuck you were thinking," Daemon replied.
"I was thinking that I really want to pay for my sept and that the sheer amount of gold and other treasure the Pentoshi seemed to have given to this Khalasar sounded really enticing," Rhaenyra replied.
"You could have died," Daemon hissed.
"As you could have in the Stepstones," Rhaenyra retorted. "As I could in the birthing bed when the time comes. The risk wasn't that great, and I was well protected, but I was willing to risk myself for the same reason that you were when you spent all those years hunting pirates in the Stepstones instead of living more safely here."
"And why do you imagine that I risked myself by warring in the Stepstones?" Daemon asked, curiosity breaking through his anger for a moment.
"Because you enjoy battle, for one thing, but mostly because you wanted recognition," Rhaenyra sighed. "You've always believed that Father doesn't appreciate you, and you wanted a chance to prove to him that you were more than you believed he saw you as. Do you really think that I can't relate to that at all?"
"The only way Viserys could think more highly of you would be if he worshiped you as an actual goddess," Daemon scoffed.
"But he's the only one," Rhaenyra sighed. "Every single lord sees me as lesser because I lack a cock, even the ones who support my claim. They support me because they love my father and see their oaths as sacred. Can you say that you would have rushed in here like this, asking if I'd lost my mind for going into battle if I were your nephew rather than your niece?"
"Given your age and complete lack of experience, yes," Daemon snarled. "Why did you not come to me?"
"Because then it would have been your victory," Rhaenyra replied. "Would you feel as proud of your accomplishments in the Stepstones if my father had sent an entire army to help you after the war stalled? If the Crabfeeder had died by the blade of another? I'm going to return home an immensely wealthy woman, able to boast that I've actually won a true pitched battle, as far as anyone needs to know, anyway."
"Oh?" Daemon asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Truth be told, I just chased the khalasar into a canyon that I had archers posted on either side of," Rhaenyra replied, confident that she could trust him not to fuck her over with that information.
"Ah," Daemon replied, relaxing a little. "You realize that Viserys' reaction is going to make mine look tame, yes?"
"I'll deal with him when I need to," Rhaenyra sighed, well aware that her uncle was correct.
"When I made you promise not to sign anything without me, I thought the worst thing you might end up with was debt," Daemon grumbled. "Was this little endeavor worthwhile, at least?"
"Gods yes," Rhaenyra laughed lightly. When her uncle cocked an eyebrow, she paused. She had decided to keep the scrolls a secret between her and Jon for the time being, knowing that Harwin couldn't read Valyrian and doubting that the Unsullied, seemingly soulless creatures that they appeared to be, would care to look at them at all. She was used to trusting Daemon, though, and it took her a moment to fight down the impulse to tell him about her exciting find. "The magisters weren't exaggerating about the fortune they handed over to the khalasar. I'm confident that I'll be able to cover at least most of the cost of the sept with it. Once it's under construction and starting to look magnificent, finding pious lords willing to chip in will be easy enough, and so long as I start it and cover most of the cost, it will still be my project."
"It might not even be finished in your lifetime," Daemon muttered, "so you'll get all the credit that you'll be around to care about."
"Precisely," Rhaenyra grinned. "This will help me neutralize an advantage that Alicent has over me, and word of how I attained the funds for it might very well help neutralize Aegon's basic advantage."
That was asking for too much, she was sure, but it didn't hurt to hope.
"Well, I'm just glad that I'll be in Volantis when Viserys hears about this," Daemon muttered. "I might still be able to hear him scream, but at least he won't be able to blame me in person. What in the hells is that?"
"What? Oh, the bow?" Rhaenyra asked, picking up the dragonbone bow she'd taken for herself. "The dothraki had a few of these. It's made of actual dragonbone."
"I can see that," Daemon grinned as he looked over the weapon. "I tried to convince your father to have some of Balerion's bones made into bows like these, but he was too distraught to hear of it, and Jaehaerys turned me down flat. I wouldn't have expected him to be at all sentimental about the black dread, given Maegor and all…"
"Not mention poor Aerea," Rhaenyra shuddered, recalling the disturbing tale of the unfortunate princess.
"Right," Daemon muttered. "Rhaenyra, just promise me that the next time you want to go into battle, you'll come to me. You've proven that you can kill thousands as well as any man, but there's no need to take unnecessary risks. And wear fucking armor next time."
"I know," Rhaenyra groaned, rolling her eyes. "You're not the only one to point that out. I'll have a suit of armor made for me when I get back to Dragonstone. As for turning to you in future, I will. I really did just want to prove myself."
"That I can understand," Daemon admitted. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go make a grown man squirm like a naughty child, well aware that he's about to be beaten."
"Have fun," Rhaenyra grinned, still annoyed at Nevio for not informing her about the Unsullied.
As soon as her uncle left the room, she closed the door and sighed. Feeling the water, she scowled when she realized that it had cooled somewhat, but it was still warm enough for most people and she really wanted to bathe. Breathing in the lavender oil in the water, she could feel the tension leaving her muscles already and quickly stripped out of her riding leathers.
"Easy does it," Jon mumbled under his breath, well aware that Syrax couldn't hear him, not that she'd have understood him if she did.
The yellow dragon descended slowly, and once the large crate tied to her belly was in reach, Jon and the other set about cutting the ropes. Working quickly, as Syrax wasn't subtle in expressing her displeasure, they soon freed it, and the large box fell with a heavy thud. As Syrax landed next to it, Jon looked it over and noticed that it managed to stay intact.
"I still can't believe that you insisted on this," Jon grumbled as Rhaenyra dismounted her dragon and stroked the scales on her neck soothingly.
"I wasn't going to risk the most valuable thing I've ever seen being lost by a shipwreck," Rhaenyra replied under her breath.
It wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation since she decided that she wanted to transport the scrolls back to Dragonstone personally. The chests containing the scrolls weren't terribly heavy, as their contents added little weight compared to that added by gold and jewels, and so she inquired about having a single large crate built that could hold them all be tied to Syrax. It took the better part of a day, and the yellow dragon was downright ornery as the large crate was tied tightly to her saddle, needing to sit up and hold still as the ropes were tied around her, but they managed it.
He'd been sent ahead with Laenor, who had already turned in for a nap, and he'd been terrified through the entire trip and afterward that the ropes were going to give way and the scrolls, which had the potential to be vitally important to their family in so many ways, were going to fall into the sea.
"Princess," Maester Gerardys said warmly. "We'd not have known you were coming at all if not for Lord Laenor's arrival about an hour ago."
"He was going to arrive before me either way," Rhaenyra murmured, her eyes locked on the crate, "and I figured it was best that he inform you before I did."
"As instructed, I'll have this crate brought to the door to your chambers," Maester Gerardys smiled softly, gesturing for a handful of servants he'd brought to get on that. "Is it something that you'll require my assistance with?"
"Something you want him to know about, he means," Jon thought to himself.
"No," Rhaenyra replied simply. "Is there anything that I need to get done today?"
"Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow, Princess," Maester Gerardys replied.
"Meet me in a moment," Rhaenyra said softly enough that only Jon heard her.
She went to her chambers, and Jon followed a moment later, seeing servants leaving the area as he did so. He pretended to go towards the kitchens until the last of them had passed him and then doubled back towards Rhaenyra's chambers. He came across her soon enough and snorted as he saw her struggling to open the large box.
"You knew I was going to be here momentarily," he murmured.
"I thought I could do it," Rhaenrya huffed, handing him the pickaxe she had been using to try and pry it open with.
It wouldn't have been his first choice of implement, and he didn't know if it was her idea or some servants, but he figured he could make it work well enough, and soon enough, the crate was open, allowing the scrolls to spill out onto the floor.
"Easier than filling it was," Rhaenyra murmured as she started picking them up.
The crate had been built for them, but they had filled it themselves, not wanting anyone else to know just what it was they were transporting. Rhaenyra had been tempted to inform Maester Gerardys about the scrolls as well, but had ultimately decided against it. While she trusted the man generally and knew from Jon that he would remain loyal to her against the Hightowers, the scrolls were a source of knowledge otherwise lost to the world, and she knew that the temptation to share word of the finding with the Citadel would be great.
Working quickly, Rhaenyra and Jon transported the scrolls into her chambers, piling them on top of her bed, and once the crate was empty, he carried it away, handing it to the first servants he came across and telling them to take it apart, and the wood to the firewood supplies.
"Any idea what that was about?" he heard a servant ask as he tried to return to Rhaenyra.
"The princess wanted us to check on the throneroom for some reason," another one replied. "No idea why, but I rarely ask questions, and I'd suggest you do the same."
Jon let himself into his own chambers, as there were other people around by the time he got there, and quickly used the hidden passage to access Rhaenyra's. As he joined the princess, he found her fiddling around with various stones on the wall.
"Looking for another hidden passage?" he asked.
Without turning around, Rhaenyra replied, saying, "Of a sort. These were Visenya's chambers once, the ones she'd chosen as a girl and maintained throughout her long life. I picked them because of that, both because I've always adored the warrior queen, and because I hoped to find her library."
"Visenya's library?" Jon asked.
"Visenya was said to practice magic, as you said back in Essos," Rhaenyra replied. "There have long been rumors that she used spells of some kind to help her create Maegor and that both she and Taena of the Tower used all manner of sorcery to bring the cruel king back from the edge of death after his Trial of Seven. My great-grandfather hated her almost as much as he hated his uncle, and rumor has it that when he took the throne, he ordered for her chambers to be searched and any scrolls or books they found to be destroyed."
"Jaehaerys was willing to destroy possibly the last traces of Old Valyria's magical arts?" Jon asked. "Why not use it instead?"
"For one thing, he fully embraced the Faith of the Seven, and they abhor magic," Rhaenyra replied. "Beyond that, though, for as much as he was a good king, the Conciliator could be utterly intractable when he made up his mind about things, and that was truer about Maegor and Visenya than anything else."
"So how does this relate to you choosing these chambers?" Jon asked.
"I read Queen Alysanne's diary, and according to her, they found nothing," Rhaenyra replied. "I figured that Visenya stashed her most important possessions away in some hidden passage, and eventually I found not just the one connecting it to your chambers, but one linking to a completely separate room. I can't recall which stone I have to pull th…"
She trailed off as one of the stones gave way and a section of the wall pushed out, jutting towards them. Jon grabbed the hidden door and pulled it outward, revealing a very large, very dark room. Rhaenyra grabbed a torch and lit it in her fireplace before handing it to him. As he led them inside, he found a sizable empty room.
"I was so excited when I found this place," Rhaenyra sighed. "Sadly, if this is something that Visenya once used for storage, she emptied it out before she died."
"Whatever she had, it's unlikely to compare to this collection," Jon murmured, looking back at the mass of scrolls piled on and around her large bed.
"Let's get them in here for now, and once the chests they were held in arrive, we'll bring them in and tidy things a bit," Rhaenyra said.
"Have you gone through many more of them?" Jon asked as they got started.
"I've looked through a few," Rhaenyra replied. "They're all in Valyrian, but some of them are so complicated and strange you'd swear they weren't. There are so many, though, that I know it will take me ages to get through them all. It would be helpful if I had someone else who could take half of them."
"I know," Jon replied, intentionally not reacting to her subtle chastisement. "I'll focus more on learning the language. I couldn't possibly have more reasons to at this point."
"The one I was going through just before we sealed them up," Rhaenyra replied. "From what I read, it seemed to be an introductory text to an entire branch of Valyrian magic. I wrapped it in a leather vest we found among the Dothraki's things."
"Ah, found it," Jon piped up as he found the leather.
He set that scroll aside, and the pair of them worked quickly to put the rest away. Once the entire collection was safely stored in the hidden room, Jon closed the door, and Rhaenyra pushed the stone back into place, locking it. He looked down at the princess and couldn't help but smile widely.
"What?" she asked, sounding amused by the look on his face.
"Just you," Jon murmured, ghosting his fingers along her scalp and through her hair, working gently so as to avoid messing up the braid.
"Thank you," Rhaenyra whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck and looking up into his eyes. "Without you, I'd have never gone to Pentos, and so much would have been lost."
"With the two of us working together, we're going to make sure that more isn't lost," Jon murmured.
"Lie with me as I read," Rhaenyra murmured. "I'll translate for you."
"I get to hold you in my arms and learn more Valyrian magic?" Jon asked. "I mean, if I have to..."
"Yes, you do," Rhaenyra giggled. "Your princess commands it."
"As you command," Jon chuckled.
The two of them climbed into bed, stripping down until she was wearing nothing but her small clothes, and he nothing but his breeches. She snuggled up against his muscular bare chest as she held the scroll out and read by the daylight streaming in through the small windows while he cupped her breasts.
"Of all the paths available to the initiate of the High Valyrian Arts, none are as versatile as the Path of Flesh," Rhaenyra began. "The Path of Fire might be flashier, and the Path of Stone more widely used, but a true master of the Path of Flesh is the closest thing in existence to a god. What could be more divine than the ability to shape the very lifeforms around us to suit our needs and reflect our design? It is difficult, of course, far more difficult to master than the other paths, but nothing is more powerful."
"They couldn't really do that...right?" Jon asked, more than a little disturbed.
"I have no idea," Rhaenyra replied. "The only things aspects of Valyrian magic we really know much about are the black stone that they could apparently shape by will, presumably this Path of Stone that the author mentioned, the glass candles, which could apparently let one see throughout the world, Valyrian Steel, and dragons. Septon Barth speculated that the Valyrian sorcerers made the dragons what they were, though."
Continuing on, she read, "In the hands of a novice, the magic of flesh is almost useless, and few initiates ever manage to affect even the most minute changes in their charges at first. Through diligent practice and unrelenting determination, however, fleshshapers can learn to manipulate flesh, muscle, and even bone as easily as a slave can manipulate clay. In the flesh pits of Gogossos, masters of the Path of Flesh create new chimeras from the prisoners held there all the time for the service of the Freehold. The pitiful creatures who serve us tell each other that the sorcerers of Gogossos mate animals to slave women and force them to birth half-human creatures, as if such a thing were physically possible. The truth is so much more impressive."
"Fucking hells," Jon grumbled.
"I didn't think it was going to be entirely pleasant, but I'll admit this is darker than I imagined," Rhaenyra winced. "The Ghiscari remaining on Gogossos call the chimeras szlachta, the word for demon in their wretched, guttural tongue, because they are low of wit and insist on clinging to their puerile religion. These lesser beings will forever be weighed down by such rot, which serves our purposes just fine. Let them waste their time and energy on fearing gods while we strive to become them."
She set the scroll down for a moment and shuddered, saying, "It goes on from there to describe some basic exercises one can do to start getting a feel for fleshshaping."
"You're not really thinking about learning this sort of thing, right?" Jon asked.
"I'm not going to reshape men into monsters, if that's what you're asking," Rhaenyra replied, "but the idea of being able to manipulate the body like that is really interesting. Could I make men stronger? Could I make myself taller? Hells, could I make hair stop growing from my legs?"
"We have no idea how dangerous this could be," Jon cautioned. "I wouldn't suggest trying it out on yourself."
"Of course," Rhaenyra replied. "It's just interesting, disturbing, but interesting."
"It's not like you need to improve yourself in any way," Jon murmured in her ear. "You're perfection itself."
"Flatterer," Rhaenyra chuckled, cupping his face and kissing him softly. "We'll see how perfect I am when I grow fat with child."
"It will make your breasts larger and your arse even rounder, so if anything, it will only add to your beauty," Jon replied, making her smile. "Even if you don't lose the weight you gain from pregnancy, I will crave and adore you all the same."
"What makes you say that?" Rhaenyra asked, tensing as she detected something odd in his tone.
"Um...well...just…" Jon stammered.
"Is that something that happens to me?" Rhaenyra demanded, sitting up and glaring at him. "Do I become some fat cow?"
"The singers claimed all the way to the Dance that you were beautiful," Jon replied.
"Oh, that is just my luck!" Rhaenyra exclaimed, tossing the scroll onto her side table and standing up in a huff. "Perfect Alicent looks as thin and slender as she did on her bloody wedding day after bearing three little sprogs, and I will grow fat?!"
"Rhaenyra, I don't think it's so much that you grow fat, as that pregnancy just enhances your natural figure," Jon said, trying to sooth her as he got out of bed.
Rhaenyra glared murderously at him, her face reddening as she growled, "My natural figure? Are you saying I'm already fat?!"
"No!" Jon exclaimed, trying to take her hand only for her to wrench it away.
"Well, if I'm so hideous, I won't burden you with my presence any longer today," Rhaenyra huffed. "Sleep in your own chambers tonight."
Growling in frustration, Jon grabbed Rhaenyra, spun her around, and kissed her hard. She gasped, melting into his touch for a moment, before recalling her anger. She pulled away and went to slap him, hissing when he caught her hand and pulled her in tightly against him.
"You're the most beautiful woman in the world, my love," he whispered in her ear. "The most stunning creature I've laid eyes on across two whole eras of time. My cock strains against the fabric of my breeches even now, desperate for your body."
Rhaenyra kissed him hungrily, moaning into his mouth as his tongue plundered hers. She fumbled with his belt, laughing triumphantly when it came undone. She tore it away almost violently, and his breeches fell to the floor, allowing his large, thick cock to spring freely into the air.
"Am I forgiven?" Jon whispered against her lips.
"Make me scream your name, and I'll consider it," Rhaenyra replied, falling back into her bed and spreading her legs wide.
Jon tugged her small clothes down, groaning as he felt the fabric peel away from her already slick folds, and tossed them aside.
"As if anyone in their right mind could consider you hideous," he scoffed as he started kissing her thick thighs. "I would take the head of any who dared speak such falsehood."
"My adoring warrior," Rhaenyra cooed, gasping when his lips neared her pink cunt. "It's a moot point anyway. Even with you being as virile as you are and me being as fertile as you claim, it will probably take us a little while to make a babe. I last bled…"
She trailed off, and Jon didn't notice, continuing to pepper her soft, pale, flawless skin with warm, wet kisses. He avoided her dewy nether lips for the time being, wanting to draw this out until she was shaking with need, threatening to have him killed if he didn't lick her that instant. She was a demanding, very vocal creature when her passions were raised, and he adored pushing her like that. That's why, after not hearing a word from her through a couple minutes of teasing, he looked up and was startled by the sight. She was lying there, seemingly frozen in time, her mouth hanging open and her skin pale.
"Nyra?!" Jon asked, instantly concerned. Cupping her cheek, he asked, "Rhaenyra, what's wrong?"
"With child," she breathed, still looking frozen by shock.
"What?" Jon asked.
"I think I'm with child," Rhaenyra replied, finally looking at him, her purple eyes wide.
"Wha...what?" Jon asked breathlessly, his face breaking into a wide grin.
"I haven't bled in well over a moon," Rhaenyra replied, "and it would explain the way I've vomited in the mornings over the past few days. I thought it was something I ate before we left Dragonstone and that my already-weary stomach just didn't react well to the Pentoshi fare."
"You're having a babe," Jon smiled, feeling his heart pound in his chest as excitement overwhelmed him. "Our babe."
"Jon," Rhaenyra whimpered, her eyes filling with tears as joy the likes of which she'd never known filled her.
He kissed her deeply, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly as the two of them locked together in a passionate embrace. Jon ground his aching, hard cock against her cunt, drawing breathy moans from her as they continued to kiss. Reaching down, she grabbed his cock and positioned it at her dripping entrance, begging him silently to fill her. He gave her what he wanted in a single thrust, and she broke the kiss to cry out in pleasure.
"I'm a father," Jon gasped, barely able to wrap his head around the concept.
He knew he'd never be able to acknowledge them as his, and that would be painful, he was sure, but all he knew in that moment was that goddess beneath him had given him something that he'd never allowed himself to want, and he was happier than he'd ever been in his life for it.
"Gods, you must have done it those first few nights if I'm already sick from it," Rhaenyra laughed, recalling the patterns that Alicent's pregnancies followed. Raking the backs of her nails along his scalp, she grinned up at him and cooed, "You're like a prize stud, my love, my own personal breeding bull."
Jon nearly made a comment about cows, but held his tongue, wary of possibly upsetting her again. In truth, her being with child explained her strange little bout of ill-temper there. She was generally calmer than that, and he was glad that their excursion to Essos and clash with the Dothraki happened while she was still in the early weeks of her pregnancy, if she was indeed with child.
"You'll need to speak to Maester Gerardys," he said. "We need confirma…"
He trailed off with a groan as she squeezed her inner muscles around his rock-hard cock.
"Gerardys isn't the man I want with me right now," Rhaenyra grinned, running her fingers along his back. "We'll have time for everything else later. Right now, I feel like my heart is going to burst with happiness, and I want you to fuck me until I forget my own name."
"Forget something so beautiful?" Jon teased. "That would be tragic."
Before Rhaenyra could reply to that, he pulled most of his cock from her sweltering depths and plunged back in hard, making her cry out. She snaked her hands around his head and pulled him down for a searing hot kiss as the two of them started rocking against each other. She wrapped her legs around him, desperately pulling him into her with every thrust. She swore each time they fucked that she could feel him in her stomach, and that feeling seemed to be even more pronounced now as she soared towards her peak.
"Love you so much," Jon whispered in her ear, making her heart sing.
"I love you too!" Rhaenyra gasped, raking her nails down his back as she felt him brush against a spot inside her that made her see stars.
Jon grinned down at her and changed the position to let him reach that deep spot more easily. He moved her legs up until her ankles were resting on his shoulders and peered down into her eyes as he started fucking her again.
"Gods, just like that," Rhaenyra moaned. "I swear you split me in two every time."
"You take me so well, Nyra," Jon murmured softly. "I swear your cunt was made for me."
"It was!" Rhaenyra cried. "It's all yours. I'm all yours!"
He picked up his pace, pounding her into the bed while looking into her eyes, loving the lust, adoration, and love he saw written plainly in those beautiful purple orbs. Her moans grew louder as he fucked her harder, and her large, full breasts began to jiggle and roll across her chest, drawing his eye.
"Just think," Rhaenyra cooed. "Soon enough, my breasts will grow and fill with milk."
"Gods," Jon groaned as he imagined her with even larger breasts. One of the full mounds slapped against her chin, and a thought occurred to him. "Can you suck on your own nipples?"
"Pro...oh fuck...probably," Rhaenyra moaned. Grabbing her breasts, she brought one of them to her face and wrapped her lips around the taut pink nub. "Oh fuck, why have I never tried this?"
Jon felt his cock throb at both the sight and the feeling of her cunt fluttering around him as she swirled her tongue around one of her sensitive nipples.
"It's nice but doesn't feel as good as when you do it," Rhaenyra concluded, and he moved in to kiss her.
She returned the kiss eagerly and cried out when he broke it soon after to nibble on the nipple she'd been licking.
"I'm so close," she whimpered. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"
"Couldn't if I wanted to," Jon grunted, maintaining the hard, fast pace he'd built up to.
The sound of his hips slapping against her arse filled the room, as did her pleasured cries and screams. He made her feel so wonderfully full that even just taking him inside her was enough to make her gasp most nights. The feeling of him stretching her was so intense, and she swore that she could feel every prominent vein in his turgid shaft as he speared into her sopping wet cunt again and again. As she drew closer to her peak, his every rough thrust made her shiver, and her back arched off the bed, her body going taut as a bowstring.
"J…" she went to scream his name as she came, and he quickly placed his hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.
She writhed and convulsed under him as pure ecstasy thundered through her entire body in waves. Her cunt gushed around him, the liquid splashing against his balls as her eyes rolled back into her head. She didn't know if it was because she was with child or not, and in that moment, she barely knew what those words meant, but her orgasm seemed to be so much more intense than normal.
Jon kept fucking her throughout it, not relenting in the slightest as she thrashed beneath him, wanting to draw out her pleasure for as long as possible. He felt his balls tighten but forced himself to hold back, nowhere near ready to finish inside her just yet. When it finally passed, she collapsed on her back, a sweat-soaked, glassy-eyed wreck, panting for breath like she'd just finished running away from a rampaging bear.
"S...so...good," she panted, giggling hysterically.
Those giggles turned to sobs, and she started crying, making Jon go still.
"Rhaenyra?" he asked, concerned.
"Mfine," Rhaenyra hiccuped. As he pulled his cock from her cunt, she whimpered, "No!"
"Hey, I'm here," Jon soothed, rolling her onto her side and wrapping an arm around her as he stroked her hair. "Do you need the maester?"
"No," Rhaenyra panted, snuggling against him. "Hold...me."
Jon did as she said, holding her tight and running his fingers through her long silver-gold hair. Her braid had come undone as they fucked, and he took the time to carefully smooth it all out as her sobbing slowly ended.
"Are you alright?" he asked once she quieted.
"Yes," Rhaenyra sighed, turning her head to look up at him. She smiled serenely at him and said, "I'm perfect."
"No argument here," Jon chuckled, relaxing as he realized that he hadn't hurt her as he initially feared. "What was that?"
"You made me cum so hard I cried," Rhaenyra replied, snorting as she wiped her eyes. "It was probably the babe too."
"Our son," Jon smiled, placing his hand over her flat belly.
"Son?" Rhaenyra asked.
"Well, you seem predisposed to having boys," Jon replied. "Between Harwin and Daemon, you would have had five of them."
"A son will likely be better this time around anyway," Rhaenyra sighed. "Some of the lords who are a little skittish about the idea of having a woman on the throne but aren't outright in the Hightowers' camp will feel better if my own heir is a boy."
"Are there many like that?" Jon asked.
"I imagine," Rhaenyra replied. "The Hightowers' greatest weakness in our little conflict is how high they've risen. Otto, that scheming cunt, is a second son of a powerful but not paramount family who ascended to the post of Hand and held the position for many years. He wed his daughter to the king and spread his influence far throughout the kingdoms."
"Sounds like Tywin Lannister from my time," Jon murmured. "He served as Hand for a very long time and wed his daughter to Robert Baratheon. The difference is that Tywin was widely feared, where I never got the sense from the histories that Otto is."
"He isn't," Rhaenyra replied. "With dragons in the sky, no mere man is all that frightening. He is clever, but his meteoric rise to prominence did irritate many, and though he's fallen from grace, that hasn't really changed."
"Envy can do that," Jon murmured, "and that is something we can use to our advantage."
"Precisely," Rhaenyra grinned, "and...are you hard again already?"
"I didn't finish," Jon replied, earning a look of surprise from her. "I wanted to keep fucking you, but then you started crying and…"
"That won't do at all," Rhaenyra huffed, struggling to move onto her hands and knees with shaky legs. "Fuck me, Jon."
"You're shaking like a newborn fawn," Jon chuckled. "We can wait another minute."
"Such a wonderful man," Rhaenyra sighed, letting herself flat onto her belly. Turning her head to look at him, she asked, "You'll really still find me beautiful even if I grow fat?"
Jon's heart lurched at how small her voice sounded, and he wondered how such a hypnotizingly beautiful woman could be insecure at all.
Folding one of her legs inward, he replied, "From your silver-gold hair to your precious little toes, my love."
He pressed his lips against her big toe, and she giggled at him.
"Fuck me, Jon," Rhaenyra murmured. "Just like this, lying flat on the bed. The gods know how long it'll be before I can't lie like this at all anymore."
She spread her legs wide and reached behind to splay the lips of her still-gaping cunt wide, grinning at the way his eyes darkened with lust as she did so. He was on her in an instant and buried to the hilt inside her perfect cunt not long after that.
"Yes!" Rhaenyra cried, grabbing the bedding in front of her as she felt him fill her completely.
Jon worked his way up to a hard, fast pace quickly, as she was sopping wet and already stretched enough to take him from their earlier round. She arched her back and wrapped an arm around her, cupping one of her heavy breasts and kneading the sensitive mound.
"Gods, I could have you a dozen times a day for the rest of my life and not get enough," Jon whispered in her ear.
"We should try that," Rhaenyra laughed. "Someday when we've nothing to do, we should try and see if we can fuck a dozen times."
"You'd walk as bowlegged as the Dothraki if we did that," Jon chuckled, making her laugh.
"Fuck!" Rhaenyra cried as he brushed heavily against a spot inside her that made her legs shake. "Gods, I love your fucking cock!"
Jon kissed along the slender column of her neck, slowly trailing towards her pulse point, which he lingered on, making her gasp. He pinched her nipple softly and trailed back up to her ear, sucking the lobe. Rhaenyra's knuckles turned white from how hard she was gripping the bedding as she raced towards another peak so quickly that it shocked her. Recalling how he'd reacted when she playfully did it earlier, she started squeezing around Jon's cock each time he pulled out of her, earning a deep groan of pleasure from him.
"Fucking hells, Nyra," he moaned. "If you keep that up, I'm going to spill."
"Do it," Rhaenyra replied. "I'm already close, and I want to feel you fill me up."
He picked up his pace, pounding her into the bed as her pleasured cries grew louder and louder. His hips were smacking her plump, round arse hard enough that the clapping sounds echoed through the room alongside her screams. The cheeks were jiggling and rippling with each blow, and Jon watched the sight as eagerly as he always did. He'd said what he did earlier in part to make her feel better, but as he thought about it, he didn't think there was a single part of her body that he didn't find beautiful in its way. He couldn't speak for the realm, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was his delight.
"More, more, more!" Rhaenyra screamed, her whole body going taut as the tension inside her grew rapidly. "I love you, I love that...fuck!"
Jon grunted as he felt himself getting close. From the way she was fluttering around his length, he knew that she was too and that he just had to hold on a little longer, but the way she was squeezing around him was incredible, and he feared that he might not be able to last. Snaking his hand under her, he found the hard little nub of her clit and stroked it gently, grinning as she screamed in delight.
"Don't stop, don't stop, don't...YES!" Rhaenyra screamed as she came, her vision going white as pleasure thundered through her.
Jon let go with a roar, filling her to the brim with his seed. The two of them writhed together, completely consumed by the ecstasy. Not wanting to smother her, Jon managed to roll them onto their sides and held her tightly, not wanting the slightest hint of space between their bodies. As their orgasms subsided, they panted for breath, clinging to each other.
"Never...getting...enough of you," Jon panted, making her laugh.
"Same," Rhaenyra replied, smiling widely as she felt his arm tighten around her.
As she lay there, catching her breath and luxuriating in the intimacy of being held by the man she loved, her gaze landed on the scroll she'd tossed aside earlier, and it made her pause. Jon claimed that he would love her and desire her even if she grew fat, and while she didn't disbelieve that per se, it didn't make the prospect any more pleasant to her.
The magic that the scroll had spoken of seemed to have horrifying potential, but she couldn't help but consider some of the less horrifying applications it could have. From satisfying her vanity to helping heal people, there seemed to be real potential in this fleshshaping, and while she agreed that testing out unknown magic on herself, especially if she was with a child, was a terrible idea, that didn't make the idea of using it in general any less tempting.
"It's something I'll have to think of later," she thought to herself as she rolled over and rested her head on Jon's chest.
Viserys sighed happily as he looked upon his model of the Targaryen estate in Old Valyria. He'd based it on a drawing he found in a journal written by Aenar Targaryen, who wanted to capture the home that he knew he'd never see again for posterity. The architecture was fascinating, similar in many ways to the keep in Dragonstone, and yet more open and welcoming-looking. He'd been fascinated by the sketch from the moment he found it years ago and had decided to try and recreate it as a model. It was a simple hobby; something that he dedicated what time he could to when the demands of his position and his family didn't require his immediate attention.
"This, at least, I can make orderly," the king sighed to himself, looking out the window of his solar.
It pointed north-east, giving him a splendorous view of the bay, but it wasn't the water that he looked towards, but an island he couldn't quite see from so far away. His precious Rhaenyra, his firstborn and the last reminder he had of his beloved Aemma, had been away from home for moons now, and he liked the distance not.
He sat down at his desk and let his mind wander to simpler times. The weeks following Aemma's death had been torturous. He'd never forgive himself for pushing her as he had, obsessed with the idea of needing a son. Alicent had been a lifeline for him then, his savior from the mire of pain and guilt he was enveloped in. He loved her for that; truly, he did, and for a time, he'd thought that Rhaenyra loved her too.
He appreciated the difficulty of the position that his young wife had found herself in then, a girl of six and ten dealing with a grieving, heartbroken girl of seven, but it seemed like they had found some connection together at first. That connection was greatly strained by the birth of his firstborn son and had grown only worse in the years since. Now, his darling girl could barely stand to be in the same room as his wife, and it vexed him greatly.
"There must be some way to mend things," Viserys thought to himself. "For the love of the gods, we're family. If Rhaenys and I can end up on speaking terms again after all these years, surely Rhaenyra and Alicent can return to the way they were."
Of course, fixing things with Rhaenys had only been made possible by wedding Rhaenyra to her son, something that had been far from easy and required him to outright threaten his daughter into going along with. She was clearly still angry at him for that, as he hadn't heard from her in weeks and had barely heard from her at all in the moon before that.
Looking back at his model, he shook his head and said, "I think I finally understand you, Grandfather. Kingship is its own burden, but it pales next to managing one's family. If only either thing were as simple as constructing a model."
A knock came then, and he turned in surprise.
"The Grand Maester, Your Grace," Ser Arryk announced.
"Send Mellos in," Viserys called out, smiling as his old friend wandered in, though that smile quickly faded when he saw the look on the man's face. "Oh gods, what now?"
"You...received a letter, Your Grace," Grand Maester Mellos replied, holding the opened letter in his hand.
He had long since told his old friend that he trusted him to go through his copious correspondence unless it was from a handful of specific people.
"I don't recognize that seal," Viserys murmured as he looked at the letter in Mellos' hand. "Which kingdom is it from?"
"None of them, Your Grace," Grand Maester Mellos replied. "This came all the way from Essos."
"Oh, what did Daemon do now, wed the Empress of Leng as well?" Viserys snarked, feeling his pulse spike at the mere thought of his troublesome brother.
The news that he'd wed Laena Velaryon had come in days earlier, and to say that the Small Council reacted poorly would be putting it lightly. Viserys himself was furious at his brother for wedding without his permission, and at Lord Corlys for agreeing to it. He'd thought that wedding Laenor to Rhaenyra would be enough to satisfy the old man's ambitions, given that his future grandchild would sit on the iron throne. The fact that Rhaenyra apparently attended said wedding and didn't see fit to inform him only darkened his mood further.
"It's not about your brother, Your Grace," his old friend replied. "This letter comes from Prince Nevio of Pentos, penned by his very hand, it would seem."
"Pentos?" Viserys asked. "That's where Daemon and his bride were said to be going. If this isn't about him, what is about?"
"Um," Grand Maester Mellos replied, "it might be best if you read it yourself. Let's just say that if you weren't seated, I would have suggested it."
"Give it here," Viserys grumbled, taking the letter from his maester's hand. "If you're hyping up something completely innocuous, I'm going to be displeased, old friend."
He started reading the letter, and his eyes grew progressively wider as he went.
To King Viserys Targaryen,
I am writing this letter to thank you most profusely. You might not have personally come to my city's aid, but you produced the one who did, and for that alone, you deserve my gratitude. Your daughter, Princess Rhaenyra, came to my city with her husband, accompanying Prince Daemon and his new bride. At first glance, I knew that she was special and instantly understood why you had chosen to elevate her as your heir above your sons, but I had no idea just how special she would turn out to be.
My city was under threat from a massive horde of Dothraki, one we had already paid tribute to. I did not mention this to her, but she managed to divine that there was great tension in my palace and inquired as to why. After much needling, I confessed what was troubling me so, and she instantly told me that she could solve my problem. I expressed my doubts, and she said that she'd need only a thousand archers and her dragon to defeat the mighty khalasar. Without taking a scratch, she managed it and delivered the head of the great khal to me like some warrior queen.
Truly, your kingdoms are in good hands with your wise leadership and such a capable heiress. At any rate, know that the Sunset Kingdoms will have a friend in Pentos for quite some time to come, and we shall never forget who came to our aid in our hour of need. If you ever require our assistance, don't hesitate to write.
Your faithful friend,
Prince Nevio Haratis.
Viserys set the letter down with shaking hands and glared at the Mellos, who swallowed thickly.
"Summon my daughter to court at once," he said, his voice icy, "and inform me if Daemon is spotted anywhere on this side of the Narrow Sea."
"At once, Your Grace," Grand Maester Mellos replied quickly before departing.
As Viserys dropped the letter on the floor and looked back at his model, he was sure of two thing, the first was that he and Rhaenyra were going to have a very long conversation in the near future, and the second was that this was surely, somehow, all Daemon's fault.
