A strangled squeak spilled from Rhaenyra's lips as her orgasm rocked through her. She so desperately wanted to scream her lover's name, to let all know just who was making her feel such mind-melting pleasure, but even in the throes of ecstasy, she knew that she couldn't. She was on her hands and knees, though she had fallen forward as her pleasure overwhelmed her. Her sharp nails dug into the bedding as she clung to it desperately. Jon's cock was spearing into her dripping cunt again and again, making her see stars each time he drove deep. He always made her feel so deliciously full, and that time was no different; in fact, she felt fuller than she ever had in her life.
"You're taking them so well," Jon grinned as he pumped three of his long, thick fingers in and out of her incredibly tight arsehole. "You're so good for me."
"Only for...you," Rhaenyra gasped, panting for breath as she came down from her high. "That feels so good."
"You like feeling my fingers in your arse?" Jon grinned. "Whatever would the lords of the realm say if they knew how wanton their delight was?"
"They can go...to the hells," Rhaenyra laughed, feeling like she was floating. "I think I'm ready."
"Are you sure?" Jon asked warily, though she could hear the excitement that laced his voice."
"You proved I can stretch," Rhaenyra replied, pushing herself back up, "and I know you want to claim this last part of me. You've had my mouth, and you've had my cunt. I want you to take my ass."
"Gods," Jon groaned, feeling his turgid cock throb with need at her filthy words.
"My maidenhead should have been yours, Jon," Rhaenyra continued. "I'll always regret that it wasn't, but this one can be."
Jon cupped her cheek with his other hand and pulled her in for a passionate kiss. The sheer affection and adoration in her kiss and the way she looked at him took his breath away sometimes, and part of him still couldn't believe that he had the kind of relationship that he did with her. Her offering him this taboo pleasure at all would have been enough to thrill him, but knowing her reasoning made it even better.
"I'll go slowly, and if you want me to stop at any point, let me know," he murmured against her lips.
"Have you ever known me to avoid making my desires known?" Rhaenyra asked, making him snort.
"I guess not," Jon chuckled. "Such a spoiled princess."
"Naturally," Rhaenyra replied haughtily, almost managing to look serious.
She rested her head down on her hands and pushed her plump arse as far into the air as she could. Her winking arsehole still gaped a little from how his fingers had stretched it out, and he knew that it was well-oiled, but he poured a little more in just to be sure. He doubted that one could use too much oil for something like this, particularly with a cock his size. He pulled it from her clinging depths, earning a grunt from her, and paused. Looking down, he saw that his shaft was slick and creamy from her copious fluids, and he imagined that between how slick it was and how oiled her arsehole was, it should be enough. He wasn't sure though, and leaning on his theory that he couldn't overdo it, he poured oil into his hand and spread it over his entire length.
"Before I lose my nerve, please," Rhaenyra murmured impatiently.
"As my princess commands," Jon grinned, lining himself up with her tightest hole.
He pushed forward, and she grunted, sounding like she'd gritted her teeth.
"This isn't going to work at all if you tense up," Jon said.
"I know, I know," Rhaenyra huffed.
Taking a deep breath, she let it go slowly, trying to will her body to relax. She wanted this for multiple reasons, but that didn't mean that the prospect of taking Jon's huge cock inside a hole that didn't even lubricate itself wasn't still rather daunting. After a couple more deep breaths, she felt herself calm down a little and looked behind at him, nodding confidently. Jon pushed again, and as she felt the thick, bulbous head of his cock pop inside, it took her breath away.
"Ah, ah, ah," she panted, digging her fingers into the bedding as a stretch unlike any she'd ever known assaulted her senses.
"Oh, gods," Jon groaned, clenching his eyes shut at just how incredible her arse felt. "Are you okay?"
"You're so big!" Rhaenyra cried. "Hold there."
"Gladly," Jon replied through gritted teeth.
He had managed to push a couple inches of his cock inside her before he had to stop, and he could already tell that her arse was radically different from her cunt. The inner walls of her womanhood clung to him like a hot, wet, silk glove, stretching just enough for him to fit perfectly. Her arse was even tighter, but only around her puckered ring itself. Beyond that was nothing but a sweltering heat that he swore he might melt in. She felt like heaven, and in that moment he never wanted to leave.
"Fuck," Rhaenyra whimpered, trembling as she tried to will herself to relax again.
"Does it hurt?" Jon asked, concerned.
"A little," Rhaenyra admitted. "Mostly though, it feels strange. A good strange, for the most part. You feel so much bigger there than normal."
He could understand why; her arsehole was almost painfully tight around him, and knowing that the base of his cock was slighter thicker than the rest, he couldn't even imagine how she'd feel when he buried that last inch inside her. Slowly her trembling subsided, and he felt the tight ring of muscle strangling his cock relax just slightly.
"Give me a little more," Rhaenyra whispered, moaning loudly as he pushed another inch of his colossal cock inside her.
He started fucking her with slow, shallow thrusts, allowing the both of them to get used to the unfamiliar pleasure of anal. She whimpered and gasped throughout but didn't tell him to stop or slow further, nor did she tense up around him as she had at first. Bit by bit, he sank inside her molten depths, his eyes nearly crossing at how insanely good she felt. He genuinely hoped that she enjoyed this and swore to do all that he could to make her cum, because by the time he had just a couple inches left outside of her, he knew that he'd want her arse again.
"Maybe we're...gah...wrong about your parentage," Rhaenyra moaned. "Maybe Ned Stark just bred a giantess."
Jon snorted at that, saying, "I doubt it. Giants are more than ten feet tall, and the females have beards on par with the males."
"Wait, wait, wait, you saw giants?" Rhaenyra asked, turning her head to look at him.
"Did I not say so?" Jon asked. "There were but a handful of them left in my day. There are probably more now."
"Such wonders there are beyond the Wall," Rhaenyra mused.
"None hold a candle to this," Jon murmured, making her laugh.
"My ass is truly that great?" Rhaenyra asked, amused.
"It's fucking incredible," Jon groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "I love you so much."
"I love you TOO!" Rhaenyra screamed as he pushed the last two inches of his cock inside her. "Holy fuck!"
He shared the sentiment unquestioningly. With his hips pressed against her plump, round arse, and ever inch of his cock inside her tightest hole, he swore that he could spill right there and gritted his teeth as he held on.
"How does it feel?" he asked.
"Like you're in my stomach," Rhaenyra replied, her voice as shaky as her legs. "I prefer you in my cunt, but this feels better than I imagined. Fuck me, Jon. Fuck my tight little ass until you cum."
"Gods be good," Jon groaned, pulling most of his cock from her depths before plunging forward, making her squeak.
He set a steady, still relatively slow pace, wanting to make absolutely sure that she was comfortable before he sped up at all. He licked the salty sweat from her neck and reached under her to cup her swinging tits. They had been at this for hours before she asked him to try her arse and she was slick with sweat already. He didn't care in the slightest and happily inhaled her scent. Whether fresh from the bath and smelling of the scented oils and soaps she loved so much or drenched in sweat from hours of passionate lovemaking, he found her equally intoxicating.
"More!" Rhaenyra grunted, sounding less like the prim and proper princess she normally was than ever.
Jon grinned at her words and, still kneading her heavy breasts, picked up his pace a bit. Her legs were shaking badly and she moved to lay down. As she did so, the angle of his thrusts changed slightly, and as he drove deep, she screamed.
"Nyra?" he asked, going still.
"Gods, do that again," Rhaenyra moaned. "Don't stop."
Jon furrowed his brow in confusion and started fucking her again, trying to hit the exact spot that he just had. Her screams grew louder, and it took him a moment to realize what was happening. It seemed like he was hitting a spot deep within her cunt through her arse, and he wondered just how thin the membrane separating them truly was. His hands were trapped under, and it took him a moment to slip one of them out. As he did, he brought it down and snaked it under her hip, seeking her silver curls and the precious little nub hidden just below them.
"Gods, yes!" Rhaenyra sobbed as he found her clit. "That feels so fucking good. Don't stop, don't you dare stop!"
"Put my head on a spike, will you?" Jon chuckled.
"Yes!" Rhaenyra shrieked, though he had no idea if it was in response to him or not.
"Cum for me, Nyra," Jon groaned, feeling like he could any moment. "Let the entire island hear you scream as you cum around my cock."
"Oh gods, oh fuck, oh J…" Rhaenyra screamed.
Realizing what she was about to say at the last moment, she bit down on the pillow in front of her and squealed as she came hard. She squirted all over the bed, soaking it as she thrashed and convulsed in ecstasy. Her vision went white, and she felt for a moment as if she were floating, suspended in water as a maelstrom of pleasure beyond imagining lit her every nerve aflame. Jon cried out her name and fell forward, painting her insides white with his seed.
His weight on her and the heat of his body were the first things that she recognized when her senses returned to her, and between that and her soft bed, she felt more comfortable than she ever had in her life. Her body felt boneless and utterly relaxed, and mindless giggles spilled from her full lips as the image of her melting into a pile of utterly sated goo appeared in her mind.
"Wha?" Jon asked, pushing himself up on one arm.
"No!" Rhaenyra huffed, reaching around and pulling him back.
She inhaled his masculine scent, combined with the heavy aroma of sex that permeated the air, and swore that she wanted to lose herself in his embrace forever.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
"Go away!" Rhaenyra called out, nowhere near ready to deal with whoever that was.
"Erm...Princess?" Maester Gerardys called out. "You've received urgent news from the capital."
"Fuck," Jon grunted, pulling his softening cock from her arse and rolling over.
Rhaenyra hissed in annoyance and followed suit, wincing as she rolled onto her back and felt the muscles of her ass strain. Sitting down was not going to be fun that day.
"One moment, Maester Gerardys," she called out. getting out of bed and searching for her slip.
She got out of bed and immediately regretted it as her legs nearly buckled. Doing her best impression of a newborn fawn, she searched for her slip and found it quickly. She put it on and smiled at Jon as he handed her a cloak to wrap around herself. He slipped out of sight quietly as she answered the door.
"I didn't realize it was you," Rhaenyra yawned, covering her mouth with one hand as she held the other out for the letter. "Did you look at it?"
"You asked me not to look over anything from your father," the maester reminded her.
"Well, in future, if it's marked urgent, ignore that," Rhaenyra murmured as she opened the letter. "I just didn't want you reading my more personal corres…"
She trailed off, her eyes going wide as they glided over the very short, terse, and clearly angry letter.
"Damn it," she hissed.
"Princess?" Maester Gerardys asked.
"Find Harwin and La...bring him to my solar in half an hour," Rhaenyra commanded, catching herself at the last moment as she nearly admitted that her husband wasn't the one who had just finished fucking the life out of her.
"At once, Princess," Maester Gerardys nodded dutifully.
"And send my ladies here," Rhaenyra added before closing the door. "Fuck."
"What is it?" Jon asked, concerned.
"Father knows about Pentos," Rhaenyra replied, tossing him the letter.
Rhaenyra,
Come at once to the capital. I have heard the most dreadful rumors from Pentos and want a full explanation. Do not delay.
Your father.
"Shit," Jon groaned.
"I wanted to tell him myself, as gently as I could, once I had the full figures for our haul and the cost of the sept worked out," Rhaenyra muttered. "How did he even find out? Are some of my guards here his spies, or Alicent's?"
"Maybe Nevio wrote him," Jon murmured, and her eyes immediately widened. "He's the prince, and your father's the king. In hindsight, we should have told him not to."
"That...man!" Rhaenyra raged, unable to settle on a single insult as she saw red.
"Princess?" Carellen Strong asked. "You called for us?"
"One moment," Rhaenyra groaned. Turning to Jon, she said, "Go get cleaned up and meet me in my solar. Inform Laenor that I want him there too."
"I will," Jon promised. "We'll figure this out."
"I know, but it's still frustrating," Rhaenyra groaned.
Jon kissed her softly and departed, wondering what they were going to do if Viserys truly was as angry as he seemed.
"His grace was going to learn of this eventually," Maester Gerardys murmured, gently, earning a glare from his ornery princess.
She shifted her weight in her seat and regretted it immediately. She hoped that no one would notice how she winced when she sat down, but the way that Laenor's eyes widened was pretty unmistakable.
"Well, it just means that I'm going to have to tell him everything," Rhaenyra muttered. "Were you able to get a rough estimate of just what the sept will cost?"
"I would say around four million gold dragons," Maester Gerardys replied.
"Four million?!" Laenor exclaimed. "Are we building it out of bloody gold?"
"Marble, actually," Jon murmured, trying to keep the sardonic smile off of his face.
He had heard rumors in his time at the wall that the crown was seven million gold dragons in debt due to Robert Baratheon's overspending. The idea that the fat man managed to spend nearly two septs of baelor during his reign was so ridiculous it was comical.
"More than I had hoped," Rhaenyra muttered. "Ser Harwin, were you able to figure out roughly how much we managed to take from that Dothraki horde."
"We'll be able to cover about half of the cost," Ser Harwin replied, and Rhaenyra just blinked at him.
"What?" she asked. "I was there, Harwin; there's no way that the baggage train contained that much treasure."
"No, but the khal's manse did," Ser Harwin replied.
"I'm sorry, khal's manse?" Jon asked.
"Khal Pemmo was given a manse in Pentos, and when he extorted the magisters of their treasure, most of it was stored there," Ser Harwin replied. "I imagine that they would have been happy to let you think that the treasure the dothraki were carrying was all that Pemmo owned, but Prince Nevio said otherwise and declared that, as per your agreement, the khal's manse is yours."
"Two...million," Rhaenyra stuttered, unable to wrap her head around that.
"Obviously it's not all in coin," Ser Harwin continued, "but that was what the prince's man estimated all of the treasure would be roughly worth in our coinage."
"The figure isn't as insane as it sounds," Laenor piped up. "My father is the richest lord in Westeros specifically because of how much coin he made trading goods he came across in his adventures. That alone made him wealthier than the Tyrells, who own the most valuable farmland on the continent, and the Lannisters, who live in a giant mountain of gold. If Prince Nevio's deal with this khal really did beggar dozens of these merchant princes, each of whom is likely far wealthier than the average lord here, then that's entirely possible."
"His lordship is correct, Princess," Maester Gerardys concurred. "Given that this project will likely take at least thirty years to complete, if you can cover half of the likely cost up front, it will be simple to find the rest of it in the coming decades."
"It worked," Rhaenyra smiled. "It really worked."
"This should hopefully mollify the king a bit about you flying into battle," Laenor added. "The High Septon's going to be thrilled."
"That gives me an idea," Jon murmured.
"Oh?" Rhaenyra asked.
"No one outside this room knows that you received his grace's letter, right?" Jon asked.
"Correct," Maester Gerardys replied.
"Then your father has no way of knowing if you were truly home when it came," Jon grinned.
"I can't just ignore him," Rhaenyra said, wondering where he was going with this.
"No, but you could fly to Oldtown first," Jon replied. "Tell the High Septon of your plans and bring a letter from him, praising the idea, to King's Landing. With that in hand, the king's anger could easily relent, at least a little."
"That's not a bad idea per se," Laenor murmured.
"I will not lie to the king," Maester Gerardys said firmly. He relaxed a little as he added, "Luckily, he is unlikely to come here and ask me about this."
"Then we're in agreement," Rhaenyra smiled. "Ser Harwin, how goes the process of transferring the treasure to Dragonstone?"
"Slowly," Ser Harwin admitted. "It's going to take countless trips at this rate."
"Laenor, I want you to oversee the transfer going forward," Rhaenyra declared. "See if your father would be willing to lend us any of his ships."
"That shouldn't be difficult," Laenor nodded. "He's going to be quite impressed, by the way."
"What am I to do?" Ser Harwin asked.
"You're going to bring a handful of my guards and my ladies to King's Landing," Rhaenyra replied. "As I'm going to Oldtown first, we might actually arrive together."
Jon gave her a questioning look, and she shook her head. As much as she wanted him with her, it would be too great a risk in King's Landing, where the harpy and her minions might pick up on how they looked at each other. They wouldn't be able to be together under her father's roof anyway, and he had his Valyrian lessons with Maester Gerardys to do.
With that, the meeting was over, and she returned to her quarters to change into her riding leathers. She'd had just enough time to bathe and wouldn't have to worry about that, but she really wasn't looking forward to sitting in Syrax's saddle just then. Alas, she had no choice and would just have to hope that this worked.
"Please do tell your brother that I will be praying for his health to return to him," the High Septon smiled as he sat with Otto Hightower in his garden behind the Starry Sept, sipping at the rose tea he was so fond of.
"With your prayers, I know he will make a full recovery," Otto replied silkily.
Given that what was ailing his brother was overindulgence of drink, he could be very certain of that. Admitting to the High Septon that the Lord Hightower couldn't attend a meeting because he was retching his guts up and complaining of a pounding headache was out of the question, though, so a certain little lie was needed. He'd have cursed Hobert for his stupidity, but he knew the reason for his overindulgence well. It was the anniversary of his wife's death, and Otto could fully sympathize with his brother's plight on that count.
"Your family's contributions this year are most welcome, my lord," the High Septon continued. "The Hightowers have long been a pillar of the faith in Westeros."
"It is our sacred duty as the guardians of this most holy city," Otto smiled. "Every Hightower is taught from a young age that we are to be shields for the septon's and their works. It is tradition that Ormund will continue after Hobert is gone, and one that I have instilled in my own children as well. Gwayne and Alicent both do all that they can to further our interests there."
"Your daughter is a light on this world," the High Septon beamed. "We are so lucky to have such a queen."
"You are most kind, your holiness," Otto smiled. "If only everyone could be as capable of recognizing the work she does."
"It is a shame that…" the High Septon went to say, only for a terrible shriek to echo through the air and startle him.
Otto wasn't startled by the sound, having gotten very used to the noises dragons made during his many years in King's Landing, but it still made his blood run cold to hear one of them in Oldtown. Wondering for a moment if Daemon had finally snapped and decided to come end him, he looked to the sky, and his eyes widened as he realized just who was flying towards them.
"Syrax?!" he exclaimed silently. "What in the world is the princess doing here?"
The great yellow dragon landed almost daintily a moment later, and Rhaenyra slid down along her dull scales a moment later, smiling widely at the startled guards that looked warily at her.
"Good day, all," she said brightly. "Please, be at peace. Syrax fed before we left and is positively docile just now."
As if in agreement with her rider, the yellow dragon laid down in the grass under her, curling up and enjoying the warm summer sun. Her eyes, which shone almost the same color as it, remained trained on all of them, though, and Otto didn't doubt for a moment that if anyone made a move towards Rhaenyra that she didn't like, she wouldn't hesitate to tear them apart.
"Pr...Princess," the High Septon sputtered, barely managing to tear his eyes away from Syrax for a moment to look at her rider. "Welcome to the Starry Sept. If we had known you were coming, we would have arranged a proper welcome."
He almost managed to sound like he wasn't chastizing her. Rhaenyra didn't react at all, keeping her smile fixed firmly on her face as she strode towards them.
"There's no need for such pomp," she murmured. "I won't be staying long. Ser Otto, you're looking well."
"As are you, Princess," Otto replied stiffly, keeping himself from reacting to her subtle insult.
As his father's second son, he had little prospect of ever inheriting a lordship as a boy, and that prospect wilted to nothing when we nephews were born. Nonetheless, he had earned the title of Lord when he became the old king's hand. After his dismissal by Viserys, he lost the right to the title, but no one had dared call him anything else since he returned to Oldtown with his tail between his legs, no one but the infuriating little girl in front of him.
"What brings you by, Princess?" the High Septon asked. "Are you in need of guidance?"
"Not at the moment, your holiness," Rhaenyra replied. "I came to discuss a matter that I think will greatly interest you. I have decided that I wish to commission the construction of a great sept in the capital."
"What?" Otto asked. Whatever he had expected her to say, it wasn't that.
"When the Conqueror began the construction of King's Landing, he had a small sept built within a sunken ship in the Blackwater as a temporary measure," Rhaenyra began. "The High Septon at the time ordered a grand sept to be built atop Visenya's Hill, though the process was interrupted multiple times. When the Sept of Remembrance was built atop Rhaenys' Hill, it was stopped completely, and though it was started up again after Maegor's reign, I've always thought that what they built was rather...meager. King's Landing is the capital of our kingdoms, and it should be home to a sept at least as magnificent as this one."
"I've always believed so," the High Septon smiled. "Alas, the sept there was already half-finished when the Conciliators' reign began, and though he was a most pious man, he thought it more prudent to complete it rather than start again, or so the records from my predecessor of that era suggest."
"Jaehaerys I was an incredible king," Otto murmured, remembering how honored he had felt to stand in his presence the first time, "but he was a practical man as well."
"Practicality is a virtue," Rhaenyra murmured, "but a virtue in excess can become a vice. I have something far more ambitious in mind."
Reaching into a leather bag she had at her hip, the princess pulled out a scroll of parchment and handed it to the High Septon. As he unfurled the scroll and looked at what was written and drawn on it, he gasped, and as Otto looked over, he saw why. The proposed structure was beautiful; there was no other word for it. A sprawling plaza of white marble would be situated atop Visenya's Hill, at the center of which would stand a great, towering structure of the same material. It would feature seven marble and crystal towers and a great dome from which would hang a massive bell. The drawing provided alone was gorgeous, and if it were built, it would rival not just the Starry Sept but the castle of Highgarden in beauty. There was just one problem.
"Fool girl," Otto thought to himself, fighting to keep the amused smile off of his face as he saw the High Septon's light up in joy.
"M...my princess, this is…" the old man stammered.
"Beautiful," Otto finished for him, drawing both of their gazes, "utterly beautiful and sadly completely impractical."
"Are you certain?" the High Septon asked, sounding disappointed.
"I served as Hand of the King for the better part of two decades, your holiness," Otto replied. "Trust me when I say that this project would cost millions of gold dragons. Your enthusiasm is to be commended, Princess, but I'd avoid showing this to poor Lyman. I fear his heart might not handle it well."
Rhaenyra just smiled at him, looking completely unfazed, and said, "I'm aware of the cost. My maester estimates that it will cost roughly four million dragons, and while that is quite the sum, I have half of it already taken care of."
"Really?" the High Septon asked, brightening up immediately.
"How?" Otto couldn't help but ask incredulously.
"The city of Pentos required help with a Dothraki horde," Rhaenyra replied. "Syrax and I were able to crush them, and the Pentoshi magisters were very generous in their gratitude."
Otto's eyes widened at that, and he sat back in muted horror as Rhaenyra and the High Septon discussed the idea more. When the sept proposal was just the childish notion of an overeager girl, he considered it funny. As the realization that she could actually pull it off sunk in, though, he saw it for what it was. This sept, if built, would not only greatly boost the princess' popularity, it would also become the focal point of the faith within a generation.
It would be built in King's Landing, the capital of Westeros, which was itself far better situated than Oldtown to begin with, and would be even grander than the Starry Sept. Even if the High Septon before him and his immediate successor refused to move there, one of them would eventually, for it would provide too many potential benefits to avoid doing so. It would directly undermine Oldtown and, by extension, House Hightower, and there wouldn't be a single thing that they could do about it.
"Daemon, you son of a whore, this is just...not the kind of thing you'd come up," Otto thought to himself, realizing an unavoidable truth halfway through his mental ranting.
Daemon Targaryen was a shorter Maegor, a creature of brutal violence and base perversion. He was a cunt of the first order and destructive in the extreme, but he was not a politician by any stretch of the imagination. He'd never have come up with something this brilliant, a way to undermine Otto's family that none of them could even think of objecting to. This required a far keener, more capable mind, and as the former hand stared at Rhaenyra, he found himself wondering if she had come up with it or if she had some new advisor at her side. Nothing that he had seen in all his years living in the same castle as her suggested that she was capable of this, which made it even more unsettling.
"You are a credit to your house, dear girl," the High Septon beamed. "To be honest, I'm surprised that you came here directly. Why not call me to the capital where I could discuss this with both you and his grace?"
"My father doesn't yet know," Rhaenyra admitted. "I've been mulling over this idea for some time, and I didn't want to bring it to him only to find out that the faith wouldn't be as amenable to it as I imagined."
"So, she went into battle without informing Viserys and is terrified that he's going to be angry enough to strip her of her title," Otto deduced, his mind racing as he tried to think of ways that he could use this to advantage.
There was no way that reaching out to his old friend directly would be a good idea. That bridge was thoroughly burned, and though that fact still hurt him, he'd made peace with it. If he could write to Alicent, though, perhaps she could try to make use of this little gift. They'd have to be careful in their approach, lest they infuriate him further.
"Well, I will set out for King's Landing at once," the High Septon declared. "I want to see how quickly we can begin work on this great sept."
"About that, I…" Rhaenyra trailed off, looking like something had just occurred to her. "Tell me, your holiness, as a boy, did you ever dream of flying?"
"I dreamed of many impossible things as a boy," the High Septon chuckled. "That's actually part of why I sought so early to dedicate myself to the gods, knowing that in them all things were poss...wait, you're not offering…"
"I am headed to the Red Keep now," Rhaenyra replied. "Syrax is large and more than capable of comfortably taking multiple people on her back."
"That...er…" the High Septon stammered, his face going back and forth between looks of horror and excitement at the idea. Eventually, he settled on excitement, and Otto fought to keep a scowl off of his face.
"Damn it all," he raged in his mind. Syrax would reach the capital before any raven he could send, particularly since he'd need to take time to write his letter first.
"Pardon me, my lord, but it seems I'm taking an unexpected trip," the High Septon chuckled, still sounding rather nervous.
"Have a safe journey, your holiness, princess," Otto said smiling, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"Farewell, Ser," Rhaenyra replied, smiling just as falsely. "I'll give your best to Alicent."
Otto ground his teeth and nodded curtly before rising from his seat. The Hightower awaited, as did a cup of arbor gold. He would need to ponder this new development and figure out what his next move would be.
"Gods, what got into that girl?" Viserys muttered, not for the first time that day or even that hour. "I could strangle Daemon with my bare hands for leading her into battle."
Alicent sat in his solar, watching her husband rage, and hated the fact that she couldn't even enjoy Rhaenyra's stupidity in this instance. Viserys had been beside himself with rage and worry ever since he learned of her little skirmish with the Dothraki, and though she always enjoyed any misstep on the girl's part, seeing her husband so deeply rattled made her heart ache.
"It does seem rather out of character for her," she murmured. "Less so for Daemon."
"She could have died!" Viserys exclaimed, only to wince as Alicent flinched. "I'm sorry, dearest, but I just don't think I've ever been this angry with him before, and that's saying something."
"You've always forgiven him in the past," Alicent said. "In truth, I don't know why you've been so tolerant with him through the years. If Gwayne had done half of what he had, I'd have ordered him to the Wall myself."
Viserys laughed humorlessly at that. "I've always had trouble remaining angry at him."
"Why though?" Alicent asked. "Some of the things he's said and done…"
Viserys went to answer only to visibly hesitate, and Alicent swallowed thickly, hurt by his unwillingness to open up to her. He must have noticed because he sighed and buried his head in his hands.
"Daemon doesn't recall our mother," he said a moment later, his voice strained as though the very thought of Princess Alyssa still pained him all these years later. "He was barely past his third nameday when she died."
"No one should lose their mother so young," Alicent said softly. "I was already flowered when my mother passed, and I was devastated for moons. I cannot imagine what you went through losing her at what, seven?"
"Yes," Viserys replied sadly. "She was always so strong, so vibrant, but carrying our brother Aegon seemed to sap all of her strength. The birth was long and difficult, and she never fully recovered. I remember getting angry with her because she couldn't play with me like she used to."
"You were young, dear," Alicent murmured, getting out of her seat, walking around his desk, and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
Viserys took her hand and pressed his lips to it before continuing, saying, "She took a turn for the worse about two weeks before she passed, and Grandfather ordered her chambers to be guarded and visits to be kept to a minimum while she recovered, hoping that she would. One morning, as I walked past her door, I noticed that it was open. The guards had been called away by something, and Daemon had let himself in. As I came upon them, I saw him pulling on her arm, angrily trying to get her attention...attention that he would never get."
"Oh gods," Alicent gasped in horror as she realized what he meant.
Viserys clenched his eyes shut, letting the tears fall free, and reached for his cup of wine, downing it eagerly. Alicent grabbed the nearby pitcher and refilled both of their cups before setting it down.
"I don't think I realized what had happened, but I did know that something was terribly wrong and pulled Daemon away," Viserys continued, unable to do more than whisper by then. "He struggled and shouted at me, and the commotion alerted our father, who happened to be coming by to visit her. His screams as he realized the terrible truth will haunt me for the rest of my days."
Alicent took Viserys' hand again and wept silently.
"You ask why I've always forgiven Daemon no matter what he's said or what he's done, and the truth is that on some level I don't think I've ever stopped seeing him as that angry, confused little boy, tugging on his dead mother's arm," Viserys finished, "but this is too far. Endangering Rhaenyra like this, not to mention...everything else he's done to her this year...I swear if he steps foot in Westeros again, I'll…"
A familiar dragon's screech echoed through the air then, and Viserys turned to look through the window, seeing Syrax flying towards the dragonpit.
"Alright," he muttered, wiping his eyes and drinking more wine. "Let's see what she has to say for herself."
Alicent followed him towards the throneroom, her mind still reeling from what he'd told her. She had plenty of reason to hate Daemon Targaryen, and that hadn't changed, but for the first time in her life she found herself sympathizing with him, at least a little. It didn't change what a monster he was, though, and if this truly was the end of his relationship with Viserys, both he and the realm at large would be better off for it. Now she just had to find a way to subtly convince her husband that his daughter's recklessness was further proof that she was ill-suited to be his heir.
"I have to be subtle about it," she thought to herself. "I can't risk pushing him too far as Father did. Hopefully Rhaenyra herself will be of help here. The silly little fool will likely come in as arrogant as she always, angry that anyone would even consider questioning her decision. Running off with her uncle to a brothel of all things and disgracing herself wasn't enough, but if Viserys comes to fear that she'll get herself killed in the name of proving that she's worthy of being the Princess of Dragonstone, perhaps that will be enough for him to order her to Driftmark where she belongs."
With thoughts of Aegon being given his due flitting through her mind, Alicent smiled serenely and took her place next to the iron throne as Viserys ascended it. She feared, given his agitation, that he'd cut himself, but he managed to avoid it. A moment later, the doors to the throneroom were thrown open, and even before they were announced, Alicent noticed Rhaenyra's choice of companion, and her jaw dropped.
"What in the seven hells?" she wondered to herself.
"Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne, and his Holiness, the High Septon," the herald called out.
"Rhaenyra?" Viserys asked, just as confused as Alicent and the various courtiers present were. "Your holiness. We weren't aware that you had arrived, or were coming for that matter."
"I flew!" the High Septon exclaimed, sounding like his nerves were shot. He reddened slightly as he realized how loud that had been and turned to Rhaenyra, saying, "Thank you, Princess. I doubt my heart could take a second flight, but I am glad to have experienced such a joy."
"She flew the High Septon from Oldtown to King's Landing?" Alicent asked mentally, wondering if the pheasant she'd had for dinner had been off and this was a bizarre dream brought on my food poisoning.
"Father, I have exciting news to share with you," Rhaenyra smiled. "For some time now, I've been mulling over the idea of commissioning a grand sept on Visenya's Hill…"
"What?" Viserys asked, interrupting her.
"Your daughter is a saint, your grace," the High Septon gushed, and Alicent couldn't keep the squeak that spilled from her lips in.
"Oh, Alicent, Ser Otto sends his best," Rhaenyra smiled, and Alicent glared at her.
"The sept she's envisioned would be the most extraordinary in all the land," the High Septon continued. "You have the plans still, yes?"
"I do," Rhaenyra replied, reaching into her sachel and pulling out a couple scrolls. Handing them to her father, she said, "This is roughly what it will look like, and the other one has further notes from my maester on what it would entail."
"Oh my," Viserys breathed as he looked upon the detailed drawing of the proposal. He recalled himself a moment later, and his purple eyes hardened as he looked at her and said, "There is much that we must discuss, Rhaenyra."
"May I see those, your grace?" Lyman Beesbury asked, swallowing as Viserys glared at him. Nonetheless, he passed them over, and the old Master of Coin's eyes widened as he looked at them. "This is…"
"Magnificent, yes?" Rhaenyra interrupted him. "It will be costly, I know; there's an estimate on the second scroll, but I can cover half of it personally, and his holiness has a number of ideas on how to finance the rest of it."
"You think you can cover this?!" Lyman exclaimed. "How...oh, the dothraki."
"Your holiness, I imagine that your first flight was a very exciting experience," Viserys said, managing to sound like he wasn't ready to tear all of their heads off just then. "Would you like to freshen up a bit?"
"That would be nice, actually, your grace," the High Septon replied. "Thank you."
"Of course," Viserys muttered. "Ser Arryk, see his holiness to the nearest guest chambers and order the servants to set them up properly for him."
"Yes, your grace," Ser Arryk replied.
"Rhaenyra, I need a word with you in my solar," Viserys muttered through gritted teeth.
"Of course, Father," Rhaenyra replied, sounding resigned more than anything.
As Alicent watched the two of them leave, she was sure of two things. The first was that this probably wasn't going to go as she had been hoping all day, and the second was that she really needed to write to her father.
"Have you gone completely mad?!" Viserys shouted the second he closed the door behind them.
"No, no I haven't," Rhaenyra replied calmly. "What did you hear?"
"That you decided to, entirely without my permission, fly to Pentos, embroil yourself in their internal matters, and ride into battle against an entire dothraki horde," Viserys growled. "I ask again, have you taken complete leave of your senses?"
"I say again that I haven't," Rhaenyra replied. "I'm hardly the first Targaryen woman to ride into battle and…"
"You are not Visenya, and Syrax is not Vhagar," Viserys glared. "My father's dragon was older than Caraxes is now when the Conqueror and his sisters set out to take Westeros, and she was the youngest of them. Speaking of Caraxes, I can only assume that this madness was Daemon's idea. What was his part in this battle?"
"He didn't have one, and it wasn't his idea," Rhaenyra replied. "I've already had this conversation with him."
"What?" Viserys asked, taken aback.
"Daemon was just as angry at me as you are," Rhaenyra replied, "but as I explained to him, I was reasonably safe. My men and I set up an ambush for the khalasar. I chased them into a canyon with Syrax, and my archers slaughtered them. I would like the lords to think it was more impressive than that, but in truth it was hardly a battle."
"You went into battle, and you didn't even take Daemon with you?" Viserys asked, stunned. "Perhaps they were right; perhaps the burden of ruling really is too much for you."
"What?" Rhaenyra asked, aghast.
"How else can you explain doing something this foolish?" Viserys asked.
"I already explained to you that I minimized the danger to myself and my men," Rhaenyra hissed. "I won a battle, if you can even call it that, without a single casualty on my side, secured enough treasure to begin construction of a sept to rival that of Oldtown, and you're using that as proof that I'm unsuited to be queen after all?!"
"You could have died!" Viserys exclaimed.
"I could die in the birthing bed," Rhaenrya growled, too angry to react as Viserys flinched. "I could die of a sudden illness like Grandfather or of eating poorly cooked chicken. I saw an opportunity to do something extraordinary and took a minor risk in going for it. I won, in case that part escaped you, without a single scratch. You do realize that disinheriting me now would be yet another insult to the Velaryons, right?"
"To the hells with the Velaryons," Viserys hissed. "I gave Corlys what he wanted most, a guarantee of his blood on the throne, and how does he repay me? By wedding his daughter to Daemon! Don't think that I wasn't furious to learn that you attended without writing a word of it to me as well."
"If you didn't want Daemon to wed Laena, you should have done so yourself!" Rhaenyra shouted.
The two of them stood there, breathing heavily as they glared at each other. Rhaenyra looked down first and saw the pitcher of wine on his desk as well as a couple clean-looking cups on a table by the window and poured him some before pouring herself a cup of water.
"We're not going there, Rhaenyra," Viserys said with finality. "I wed for love and I won't apologize for that."
"That's something you denied me," Rhaenyra thought to herself bitterly, though she knew better, even in her angered state to say it. "Daemon looks happy, you know."
"What?" Viserys asked, furrowing his brow at her sudden change of subject.
"He seems happy," Rhaenyra repeated. "I've seen my uncle in many states over the years, but happy has never been one of them. He's three and thirty, for the love of the gods, and not getting any younger. He wants children and was wed for years to a woman who couldn't or wouldn't give him any. Can you really blame him for doing as you did and wedding a woman of his choice?"
"Chosen for purely noble reasons, I'm sure," Viserys scoffed.
"She's beautiful, Valyrian, rich beyond reason, and bound to Vhagar," Rhaenyra shrugged. "I'm sure each of those factors influenced his choice, but the simple fact is that he's happy with her, and I'm happy for them. I hope they have a beautiful little daughter I can wed my son to be to."
"Son to…" Viserys trailed off, staring down at her belly through her riding leathers. His whole demeanor changed in an instant as he asked, "Are you…"
"The early signs are there, though it will be weeks yet before we can be certain," Rhaenyra replied, placing a hand on her belly. "I didn't even suspect it when I fought the Dothraki, in case you're wondering, and wouldn't have done so if I did."
"Gods, my little girl," Viserys murmured, his eyes filling with tears. "Wherever did the years go? What was this business with the Dothraki really about?"
"It is as I told you," Rhaenyra sighed. "I saw an opportunity, and I leapt at it. This doesn't mean that I plan to go fight a war like Daemon did the Stepstones or anything, and I realize that it was more dangerous than I'd normally like, but I survived, and I think that the reward is going to be more than worthwhile. Did you actually look at the plans or were you too angry?"
"It does look incredible," Viserys admitted. "You really flew the High Septon here?"
"I wanted to make sure that he'd be interested," Rhaenyra replied. "The Starry Sept has been the largest and most splendrous of them since it was built, and I didn't know if he might object to another potentially outshining it. When he reacted well and spoke of coming here to speak with you about it, I offered to fly him, and he said yes."
"Only you," Viserys sighed, shaking his head.
"I still say the story of Ronnel Arryn is better," Rhaenyra chuckled, and he quickly did as well. "I'm sorry for shouting at you."
"Promise me that you'll never do anything like this again," Viserys said firmly. "I understand your reasons, and it sounds like you managed to keep yourself relatively safe, but there are never any guarantees in battle. You are the light of my life, my precious girl, and all that I have left of Aemma. I can't lose you."
"I promise, Father," Rhaenyra whispered, hugging him.
He wrapped his arms around her, and she enjoyed the warm embrace. The two of them hadn't had a moment this tender since well before the brothel incident, and she had missed the connection that they once had while it was strained.
"You flew all this way," Viserys murmured. "Do you have anyone coming?"
"Ser Harwin, a handful of my guards, and my ladies are on their way," Rhaenyra replied, "and they should be here soon."
"You got my letter and went to Oldtown first, didn't you?" Viserys asked, his eyes narrowing, and Rhaenyra winced.
"As I said, suggesting the sept only to learn that the High Septon wasn't interested would have been infuriating," she replied.
"Well, he seems very enthusiastic, so that's not a concern," Viserys chuckled. "We will need to present the idea to the small council."
"Of course," Rhaenyra replied. "I'm sure Lord Beesbury's already double-checking Maester Gerardys' calculations as we speak."
"This is a wonderful idea and I'm proud of you for dedicating yourself so to the betterment of the realm," Viserys replied. "I just don't want you fighting any more battles to cover the rest of the expense."
"Worry not, Father," Rhaenyra smiled. "I have no intention of pursuing any further battles."
Certainly not while she was with child, anyway. She knew that, unless they managed to completely weaken the Hightowers and her half-brothers in the coming years, that battle could easily still come to her, but that was quite some time away. If it did come to that, though, she'd be ready.
"We'll use translations as an exercise down the line when you're more familiar with High Valyrian," Maester Gerardys explained. "For now, I want you to focus on learning what the various accents signify from letters. Valyrian is a somewhat more complicated language than the common tongue of Westeros at first glance, but it's actually far more logical. High Valyrian doesn't have words that sound exactly the same as others with different spellings and uses, for instance."
"That does sound refreshingly simple," Jon murmured. "I'll finish with this today. Thank you, by the way."
"The princess commanded me to aid in your instruction, and so I obey," Maester Gerardys replied simply. "We'll continue tomorrow."
He left then, and Jon looked back down at the scrolls in front of him. Rhaenyra had wanted to teach him what each word translated to and hope, that just doing that and speaking Valyrian with him would eventually help him get it, but the maester had taken a very different approach. He went all the way back to the most basic aspects of the language, the letters themselves, and had him learn what sounds they represented. He had done that and was now learning what the odd little marks written above or below them did to signify a different but similar sound from them. It reminded him of some of his earliest lessons with Maester Luwin, and he wished that he had been taught High Valyrian then so he could be spared needing to learn it now.
"Nothing to be done now," he thought to himself. "I need to learn Valyrian for multiple reasons, but especially because of the scrolls."
More than anything, he wanted to learn and master the magic that went into creating Valyrian steel. He would need to learn smithing as well and knew that he'd need to lean on Rhaenyra to arrange that since he was far too old to be a normal apprentice, but he was more than willing to. Since he'd first seen Ice as a boy, he'd been fascinated by the magically enhanced metal. All the greatest swords in history were made of it, save for Dawn, and for a young boy there was nothing like an awesome sword to inflame the imagination.
His reasons were more mature now, for not only did he truly miss wielding Longclaw as he once had, but he feared that he'd need such a blade someday. Life was rarely kind or peaceful, and he was the lover of a woman with many enemies. He hoped to be able to undermine those enemies enough while the king lived to ensure that they left her be, but a man who relied only on hope was a fool. He'd feel a lot safer if he knew that he could protect her from atop Morghul, and if he were clad in a full suit of Valyrian steel platemail while he did it, with a sword of the same metal at his hip, while that would be even better.
That would require learning the language first though, and man, was learning a language from scratch more annoying than he remembered? He tried not to think about how, provided Rhaenyra was right about his parentage, if things had gone differently in his father's final battle, he'd have likely learned Valyrian first.
Shaking his head, he stared down at the scrolls again and continued studying. He had been at it for a while yet, but he was determined to memorize everything that Maester Gerardys wanted him to by the end of the day. As time wore on, though, he began to develop a headache and closed his eyes. Massaging his temple, he let his mind wander back to Morghul and his image of himself riding on the great beast's back. He had yet to see Vermithor for himself but figured that the black dragon had to be larger. If the vision he'd seen of a dragon being born and being chased by what looked like a young Vhagar truly was a memory, then Morghul had to be no more than a decade younger than she was.
With his eyes closed and his thoughts firmly focused on his dragon, he felt the sensation of his mind wandering, not in the normal sense but more profoundly, and when he opened them again, he was looking, not at his quarters as he had been before but at the familiar scene of Morghul's cave.
Happiness and a sense of reunion take hold of him, and he realizes that he's feeling the dragon's own emotions. They hadn't seen each other since before he and Rhaenyra left for Pentos, and it seemed like Morghul had missed him as well. He expressed his own joy at being reunited, and Morghul let out a low rumble.
It was becoming a little easier to differentiate himself in his own mind when he slipped into Morghul's like this. He didn't know if it was because the dragon was more intelligent than Ghost or because he was actively trying to forge the connection more, but it seemed like it was getting easier in general. Wanting to look around the island, he crawled out of the cave and beat his wings against the air to life himself into the sky. He let out a happy roar, thinking to himself about just how much deeper his dragon's voice was than Syrax's.
A higher-pitched shriek replied to his own, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small, brown dragon dive towards the ground, trying to take shelter in a cave. Overcome by a sudden desire to hunt what he assumed was Sheepsteeler, he had to clamp down on the desire hard, earning an irritated mental huff in response.
Dragons not food. Dragon's friends.
Dragon's betrayal, dragon's attack. Scary bronze and green dragon.
Dragon's confused, dragon's scared. Child dying.
Child...egg...food.
Egg not food either.
Morghul huffed again at the thought, and Jon sighed. How much damage had been done to this poor creature by the circumstances of his birth? It wasn't his fault that the babe whose crib he'd been placed in decided to put an egg fragment he'd kicked out as he hatched in his mouth and choked. Truth be told, putting an egg in the crib of a babe and not supervising them was actually kind of stupid.
The great black dragon didn't understand the finer points of that, but he could feel Jon's sympathy and appreciated it. Convinced not to try and hunt the much smaller dragon, and not particularly hungry just then anyway, Morghul flew on, continuing past the shore of the island. The feeling of soaring through the air was extraordinary, and Jon doubted that he'd ever truly get used to it. Perhaps that alone was proof of his Targaryen lineage, for no normal person could possibly enjoy it this much. Whether on the back of a dragon or in his mind, it was an incomparable pleasure.
So caught up was he in enjoying that particular pleasure that he didn't realize just how far he was flying or in what direction until he saw a sizable town in the distance to his right. Looking around, he saw the green valleys and tall mountains and realized that the town must be Gulltown.
"We flew to the Vale," he thought to himself, earning a feeling of confusion from Morghul.
Looking north, he realized that it had taken him remarkably little time to get from Dragonstone to the southern Vale, and he wondered how long it would take him to reach Winterfell. He longed to lay eyes on his old home again but knew that doing so in Morghul's body would be foolish. Shaking his head, he turned east and passed over the town. Shrieks and screams of terror rang out below him, amusing Morghul greatly.
"Do you see a rider?!" he barely managed to hear someone shout.
"I thought Balerion died!" another cried.
He passed over the town quickly and flew across the choppy waters of the Narrow Sea. From his vague recollection of maps he'd seen, he knew that the land of Andalos lay before him, and while neither Braavos nor Pentos were in his immediate path, he had no desire to go to Essos. He turned around and began flying south, fully intending to return to Dragonstone, when sudden frantic shouting drew his attention.
He looked down and saw a small ship, clearly a merchant vessel, being pursued by a much larger longship, which was rapidly gaining on it. The mast of the longship carried a large sail, which was colored crimson with the emblem of a white, skeletal hand woven into it. He couldn't recall which house that was specifically, but he knew at once that it was an ironborn ship, and an old sense of rage welled in him. Memories of what a colossal cunt Theon Greyjoy was flashed through his mind, as did the memory of learning what the man had done to Bran and Rickon. Morghul responded to his rage and dove down towards the offensive ship.
"They're gaining on...what the fuck?!" one of the men on the merchant ship screamed as he saw Morghul descending rapidly towards them.
Screams emerged from both ships, but Jon and Morghul ignored them both and focused completely on the ironborn vessel. Jon didn't recall the Valyrian word for dragon fire, but he didn't need it. Morghul eagerly opened his maw and loosed a jet of black flames with streaks of green down upon the longship. The fire carved through the center of the ship, turning the wood and the men caught in it to ash instantly, and the two remaining thirds of it began to sink at once. The men screamed in terror, immediately weighed down by the armor they insisted on wearing.
One man had been smart enough to jump away from the ship the moment he saw the dragon barreling towards him, and from the quality of his armor, Jon knew that he had to be the captain. Morghul understood that the man was valuable, and, just as he began to sink into the waves, he reached down and scooped him up into one of his taloned feet, crushing him as he did so.
Silence reigned across the sea as the last pirates sank below the depths, and the merchant and his crew looked up at their savior in a mixture of fear and awe. Jon, realizing what he'd just done, turned to look at the men of the other ship as Morghul's wings continued to flap just enough to keep him in the air. The dragon wondered about burning the other ship, but Jon sent a sense of pointlessness to him, and he replied with the mental equivalent of a shrug. He nodded at the men and flew off, his prize still clutched in his foot.
Jon opened his eyes and could only bring himself to say a single word.
"Fuck."
"You're positively glowing, Bethany," Harra gushed, giving the beautiful brunette a wide smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"That's just about the only good thing that can be said about me these days," Bethany grumbled. "I'm as big as a house."
"Part of the price of carrying children, alas," Harra murmured.
"A joy you'll know in time, I'm sure," Bethany chuckled at her old friend.
"It's a joy I'd already know if you hadn't taken Symon from me," Harra raged silently, making sure to keep her hatred off of her face. "If anyone will have me."
"Oh, hush," Bethany replied. "You're a great beauty, Harra, and such a dear, sweet friend. Any man would be lucky to have to have you."
"I'd have a man if you hadn't seduced him with those pretty eyes and those cow tits," Harra wanted to scream. "You knew how I felt about Symon, you traitorous bitch. You of all people knew, but Bethany gets what Bethany wants, and the rest of us can all go to the seven hells."
"My mum says that twins usually come early and aren't as big, so hopefully this will be over soon," Bethany winced as she tried to straighten up in her chair. "Thank you for having me over. Symon's busy with this suit of armor the princess commissioned, and I swear I've barely seen him in days."
"Anything for an old friend," Harra murmured, "and I'm sure that it will all be over soon. Now eat up; the little ones are going to need all the strength you can give them."
"This is lovely, by the way," Bethany sighed as she dug into the savory meat pie in front of her. "What did you put in it?"
"Oh, this and that," Harra smiled.
Soon all would be set right. Soon Symon would be hers, as he always should have been.
A/N: The figure for the sept is based upon the estimated cost of Saint Peter's Basilica. It apparently cost 46 million ducats, a coin which every source I found swore contained 3 grams of gold. Since everything's bigger in Westeros, often hilariously so, I decided that the gold dragons could be 1 ounce coins and then factored in that no government in history has ever failed to underestimate the cost of a project, bringing the estimate to 4 million.
