"Zaldrizes," Jon said.
"Close, but no," Rhaenyra murmured, not looking up from the scroll she was reading. "Valyrian Rs are almost all rolled. It's zaldrizes."
"Zaldrizes," Jon repeated.
"A little more, love," Rhaenyra whispered patiently.
"Zaldrizes," Jon said again, and she smiled, looking up from the scroll.
"That's it," Rhaenyra beamed. "The zaldrizies listen to commands in Valyrian. They are intelligent enough to understand from your tone roughly what you mean in other tongues, but they will understand Valyrian words on a level that no animal can."
"Ghost always understood me well enough," Jon murmured, swallowing thickly at the memory of his old companion.
"A well-trained dog can come to memorize commands and how they're supposed to react to them, but I doubt any of them come to truly understand the meaning behind the word," Rhaenyra replied. "Dragons can be frighteningly intelligent, and even Morghul, who grew up away from other dragons and Valyrians to train him, will still understand the language innately. Of course, I have no idea how your particular gifts impacted your old direwolf, or indeed how it will affect your relationship with the ancient dragon."
"We can communicate in a way while I'm in his mind, but only in basic concepts," Jon muttered, "and as the Ironborn incident proved, we can push each other into actions that we might not want if we let ourselves get caught up in our emotions. Being able to actually speak to him would be helpful."
"You'll get there," Rhaenyra assured him. "Maester Gerardys has already complimented your progress. With my help as well, we'll make a proper Valyrian out of you yet."
"With a true dragon on my side, how could I fail?" Jon asked, taking her hand and pressing his lips against her knuckles. "What's that one about?"
"Oh, just a history of the early years of the Freehold," Rhaenyra lied smoothly. "How goes your training with your blade?"
"It hasn't taken me long to get used to Valyrian steel again," Jon replied happily, picking up the blade and attaching the scabbard to his belt. "I wielded Longclaw for a while, and this one is nearly the same size and weight."
"Have you thought of a name yet?" Rhaenyra asked.
"I'm tempted to just go with Redclaw," Jon replied. "A sort of tribute to the Mormonts' blade."
"Perhaps you'll get to see it again when Father throws his tourney," Rhaenyra murmured.
"Doubtful," Jon chuckled. "While no one knows that he's doing it to raise funds for your sept, the Northmen rarely participate in southern tourneys."
"Alas," Rhaenyra sighed. "Anyway, try to join me for luncheon."
"If I can," Jon nodded, kissing her softly. "Laenor should be back today."
"Right, right," Rhaenyra muttered, reddening again as she recalled forgetting to let her husband know that she was with child. "I'll see you later."
"See you then," Jon smiled. "I love you."
"I love you too," Rhaenyra replied, blinking the tears out of her eyes and scowling at her own emotions.
She knew it was just part of being with child, but the last thing she needed was emotional instability just as she was getting back into the swing of running her island. She watched Jon go and waited until the door was shut to pick up her scroll. She didn't like lying to him, but he was immensely wary of the fleshcrafting magic that she found so interesting, and she didn't want to argue with him. Opening it back up, she picked up where she'd left off.
There lurk within each of us hidden defects that can cause terrible harm. These defects either manifest in our early years or remain hidden throughout our lives, but we know that they are there because they can manifest in our children. Even the dullest slave will be able to tell you that wedding brother to sister can result in weak, debilitated offspring, and they would be correct, but what they won't know is that it is because of these hidden defects. When two people who possess the same hidden defect have children, they take the risk that said defects will manifest in their children.
Why, I would expect any sufficiently intelligent reader to ask, would we Valyrians then insist on wedding siblings and cousins together, then? Because we long ago transcended such limitations. The flesh mages of ages past ensured that the great bloodlines were cleansed of all hidden defects, perfecting our forms and ensuring that, no matter how many generations of sibling unions pass, there will be no ill-formed children, at least not due to the hidden defects.
This was an arduous undertaking, which took centuries to complete, and it did come at a cost, though hardly a steep one. We cannot wed our children to lesser peoples, not that we'd want to in the first place, because to do so would mean to taint our perfected bloodlines and introduce new hidden defects into them.
"What?" Rhaenyra asked, furrowing her brow in confusion.
She'd always been told that the Targaryens did as they did to ensure that their connections to their dragons would remain strong. In truth, though, she had started to wonder how true that really was. In the other timeline, her children with Ser Harwin all managed to ride dragons, as did Alicent's children, and from what Jon had told her of the dragon seeds debacle, it turned out that there were many who could mount them. Beyond that, though, her last descendant, Daenerys Targaryen, managed to hatch three dragons from eggs and claim one as a mount, despite how many generations of outside marriages there were in her bloodline.
"If this explanation for why we wed brother to sister is correct, it explains a lot," she thought to herself, "and also raises rather terrifying questions."
Her own mother had been half Arryn, and in the other timeline her surviving children were from her uncle's seed. If her mother hadn't given her any of these hidden defects, though, one of her descendant's non-Valyrian spouses surely would have. Was that why Aerys, the last king of her line to sit upon the Iron Throne had gone mad?
"If that is the case, then I have far more pressing reasons to learn this magic than my own vanity," she thought to herself, still wanting it to ensure that she'd regain her current figure after she gave birth.
Aerys Targaryen's madness had ended her family's dynasty and nearly ended it entirely. If she could cleanse her bloodline again and make sure that future generations after her would know how to if they were forced to bring outside blood into their line, it might be possible to prevent the madness that took him from ever manifesting at all. It was certainly something to think about, but the hour was growing late, and she had petitions to listen to.
Getting out of bed, she opened the hidden room where she kept the Valyrian library safely stored and returned the scroll to its chest. It had given her much to think about but nothing that she could really do much with just yet. She had to bathe, get dressed, and have something to eat, possibly in the order, and then her throne awaited.
"So you cannot definitively say that it was Alyn's dog who killed your sheep?" Rhaenyra asked the angry man, who looked like he was set to murder his equally red-faced neighbor.
"Course he bloody can't...er, beggin yer pardon, Princess," Alyn replied. "Twas probably that Sheepsteeler it was."
"That dragon makes off with sheep and roasts them, you dumb, lying cunt!" Dennet exclaimed. "It's in his fucking name!"
"Name me a liar again!" Alyn yelled. "I fucking dare you!"
"Enough!" Rhaenyra hissed, signaling to her guard Arlan, who banged his warhammer on the ground threateningly. "You brought the animal here; rest his body on the ground before you. Maester Gerardys will examine him."
"I'll take a look, Princess," the maester nodded before she even asked, approaching the man, who set his ram down on the ground.
"What fer?" Alyn asked, the faintest hint of nervousness creeping into his voice.
"Maester Gerardys is a very learned man," Rhaenyra replied, resting her chin on her steepled fingers as she sensed weakness. "It will be child's play for him to determine what sort of animal caused the fatal wounds."
"I…" Alyn stammered.
"Not so confident in yer mutt, are you?" Dennet asked.
"He came home with a dead rabbit in his yap last night," Alyn insisted. "Why would he have needed that if he'd had mutton? Bruce has been minding my sheep for years; he has, and he's never hurt none of them."
"The bite wounds are consistent with a canine, Princess," Maester Gerardys murmured, "but we do have wild dogs on this island. This was ram one you planned to butcher for meat?"
"No, Maester," Dennet replied. "He was one of my best breeders. Balls like...er, never mind."
"We cannot definitely say that this Bruce was the one who killed the ram," Rhaenyra murmured, "but you do admit that he came home last night with a bloody snout, yes?"
"And a rabbit," Alyn insisted.
"I assume you have at least a few rams in your flock, yes?" Rhaenyra asked.
"Princess, please," Alyn begged. "If I thought it were Bruce's doing, I'd pay my debt; I'm an honest man, but it weren't him."
"I'm not suggesting that you give Dennet one of your sheep in payment," Rhaenyra said, raising her hand, "but if you were to lend him the...services of your most impressive breeding ram, I think that would serve as some restitution, no?"
"I...I suppose," Dennet muttered.
"I guess Wilfred could sow his oats in your meadow fer a bit," Alyn grumbled.
"Splendid, then we have an accord," Rhaenyra smiled, "and I'll happily buy the ram's horns once they're harvested; they are most impressive."
"You're most generous, Princess," Dennet smiled, picking up his dead sheep.
Rhaenyra nodded, waving them on, and was about to call up the next petitioner when a sudden ruckus by the doors to her throne room caught her attention.
"Halt!" she heard one of her guards snarl. "What is the meaning of this?"
"This bitch tried to murder my wife and children!" an enraged man shouted.
"Symon, that's not true!" a woman whined.
"Symon?" Rhaenyra thought to herself.
That was the name of the blacksmith she commissioned her suit of armor from, and she realized that the man sounded like the smith as well.
"Escort them in!" she commanded, standing up.
The doors were opened, and the guards parted the short remaining line of people aside to let the burly blacksmith practically carry the woman he had in his grasp to her. It was Symon the smith, and behind him waddled his very, very pregnant wife, her face almost deathly pale, as though she'd just had a terrible fright.
"What is going on?" Rhaenyra asked, looking down at the woman he hurled at her feet.
She had thin, straight brown hair and dull eyes around the same color. She was, on the whole, unremarkable and plain, and her bloodshot eyes suggested that she'd been crying or attempting to in whatever altercation had happened.
"This woman tried to murder my wife, Bethany, Princess," Symon snarled. "She is carrying our twins."
A host of angry mutters sounded through the hall at this.
"Harra, why?" Bethany asked, her blue eyes welling up with tears.
"It isn't true!" Harra insisted. "Something must have just been off in that pie."
"Pie?" Maester Gerardys asked.
"This," Symon replied, digging into his pocket and pulling out a small meat pie. "She tried to give it to Beth while I was out, and our dog took one whiff of it and knocked it on the ground. I've never known that dumb mutt to turn his nose up at anything, much less react like that."
"Yarrow," Maester Gerardys gasped after smelling the pie. Turning to Harra, he glared and snarled, "You tried to feed yarrow to a woman in her condition!?"
"It must be a mistake!" Harra cried, standing up. "I grabbed the same herbs from my garden that I use all the time, but maybe something else started growing there."
"Wait a minute...is that why I suffered stomach pains the night after we last ate together?" Bethany asked, her eyes widening in fear and shock. "I thought it was cramping, or that the babes might be coming. I was terrified until I knew there was no blood. Have you tried to kill me twice now?!"
"I…I didn't..." Harra stammered, looking genuinely terrified for the first time since she got there.
"I would strongly suggest that you be honest with me," Rhaenyra said coldly, her hand resting on her stomach. The idea of someone trying to kill a babe in the womb was so infuriating to her that she had half a mind to call Syrax in for this. "Did you try to poison this woman? Keep in mind that lying to me would only add to your crimes."
"I swear by all the gods, I didn't!" Harra insisted.
"I think I know what happened," Maester Gerardys spat. "Yarrow is a herb that can be safely ingested in small doses but can be fatal in large ones. Even small doses are dangerous for women carrying children, though, and if you did eat something laced with it, dear girl, you are more fortunate than you can imagine."
"She...she tried to kill my children?" Bethany croaked, her eyes filling with tears. "I'll kill her!"
"Peace, Beth," Symon hissed, wrapping an arm around her chest to restrain her without touching her stomach as she lunged at the other woman. "Think of the babes."
"You were my friend!" Bethany screamed before taking a deep breath and trying to calm herself.
"Some friend!" Harra hissed. "You took Symon from me!"
"I was never yours, you mad cunt," Symon said incredulously, "and that wouldn't have changed without Bethany in my life."
"What?" Harra croaked, "But Symon…"
"Take her to the dungeon," Rhaenyra muttered, shaking her head. "I'll decide what to do with her later."
"No!" Harra screamed, lunging at Symon only to be caught and restrained by Arlan. "No, Symon!"
She was dragged off, and Symon pulled a shaking, weeping Bethany into his arms.
"Maester, will the babes be alright?" Symon asked.
"I strongly suspect so," Maester Gerardys replied. "Yarrow is an incredibly bitter herb and she must have used only the smallest amount of it the first time, wanting to hide the taste. How many days ago was this?"
"Four," Bethany replied.
"So, she realized that it didn't work and overcompensated in her second attempt," Maester Gerardys surmised, shaking his head. "I'd say you owe that dog."
"He'll dine well tonight," Symon laughed, sounding utterly relieved. "Sorry for causing such a disturbance, Princess."
"Normally, I'd be quite cross, but in this case, you can be forgiven," Rhaenyra smiled. "I'm just glad nothing tragic happened."
"Thank the gods," Symon breathed.
"I would prescribe rest for the next day or so," Maester Gerardys said, looking at Bethany. "Such stresses are not good for women in your condition, especially so far along."
"Right, of course," Bethany murmured. "What is to happen to that bi...Harra, Princess?"
"Let her rot in her cell for a day," Rhaenyra spat. "I will determine her fate then."
"Thank you, Princess," Bethany nodded.
Symon repeated her words and escorted her out. Rhaenyra sat back down on her throne, resisting the urge to slump in it, and called the next petitioner forward.
"Gods, she's a beauty," Ser Harwin sighed as he parried Jon's latest slash. "You really found that blade among the Dothraki's things?"
"It was a surprise to me too," Jon replied, sidestepping Harwin's thrust and bashing his shield against the man's shoulder, making him grunt and step back.
He swung wide, forcing Jon to dodge, and put a little distance between them. Fully armored as they were, they could spar with their actual weapons relatively safely. There were always risks involved in such things, of course, but to get himself used to wielding a Valyrian steel blade again, he needed actual practice against a living opponent, and he was unlikely to find any he could just kill any time soon. The two of them circled each other in the training yard, ignoring the small crowd that had gathered to watch. They were the two tallest and strongest men on the island, and their frequent spars over the past weeks had impressed more than a few people.
"I'm surprised his lordship didn't take it for house Velaryon," Ser Harwin commented.
"He still might someday," Jon lied, "but for now, the princess said that, so long as I remained in her service, I could wield the blade in her name."
"That shows a great deal of trust," Ser Harwin chuckled. "If you escaped the island with that blade and sold it to some rich prick in Braavos, you could likely spend the rest of your life bedding a new woman every night in your new manse."
"I'll pass," Jon chuckled, feinting towards his opponent's head and slashing low, towards his legs.
Ser Harwin recognized the feint for what it was and was ready for the follow-up, carefully redirecting the blow to the side. He had been careful not to try to catch Redclaw on his own blade yet, well aware of the fact that Valyrian steel could cut clean through even castle-forged normal steel.
"I suppose it wouldn't be a long life, huh?" Ser Harwin chuckled.
"You're not wrong," Jon replied in kind.
The appeal of bedding entire scores of women had also never held less appeal to him. He'd never been the sort to try in the first place, and given the choice between spending his nights with Rhaenyra in his arms and fucking every attractive woman in Braavos, he'd choose his princess without hesitation.
"Lord Laenor's returned!" one of the men announced, and Jon sheathed his sword.
"You figure the men will need our help?" Ser Harwin asked, sheathing his own blade.
"Probably not, but we're a bit of a distraction," Jon replied, "and depending on how many ships Lord Corlys lent his son, this place might be about to become very busy."
"You don't know the half of it," Ser Harwin muttered. "House Strong is far from destitute, but I've never seen such wealth in one place before as I saw in that manse."
"That's something I hadn't considered, actually," Jon murmured. "The manse is hers now, which means that House Targaryen owns land in Pentos."
"Tis true," Ser Harwin nodded. "She could sell it to some magister to help fund the sept more or keep it as a retreat of sorts. Owning a home on the other side of the narrow sea is something I'd think foolish, personally, but with her dragon, she can reach it in hours."
"I'd barely given any thought to the manse," Jon thought to himself, not wanting to give voice to that particular notion. "It's something that could be useful to us, though whether we'd be better off selling it or keeping it I cannot say. Something to bring up with Rhaenyra at any rate. If she decides to keep it, though, that would likely mean more journeys to Pentos."
"How was Pentos?" Rhaenyra asked Laenor as he sat down in front of her in her solar.
A small tray of food was there between them, with roast pheasants, fresh bread, and figs arrayed for their enjoyment.
"Interesting," Laenor replied, tearing off a pheasant leg. "The manse you've been given is gorgeous, by the way; please never sell it. It was, however, being maintained by slaves that were also given to you."
"What!?" Rhaenyra exclaimed.
"I freed them and brought them into our honest service," Laenor added, holding up his hands. "The gods know we can afford it."
"I...oh for the love of…" Rhaenyra groaned, burying her face.
"In hindsight, we really should have realized that 'everything belonging to Khal Pemmo would include some slaves." Laenor muttered.
"The actual terms were that I would get everything that the khal had been given on his latest trip to the city," Rhaenyra huffed. "I find myself annoyed by the prince's generosity."
"He asked after you," Laenor smirked. "I think you have quite the admirer."
"I'm taken," Rhaenyra said flatly, earning a laugh from her husband.
"Nevio isn't nearly as dashing as you know who, is he?" Laenor grinned.
"Um, about that," Rhaenyra said. "I should have told you before you left, but I'm with child."
"Really?" Laenor replied, his eyebrows shooting towards his hairline. "Congratulations are in order. Don't fret about not telling me; the morning I left was rather frantic. How did things go with his grace, anyway?"
"He was furious, but I spoke to him and settled things," Rhaenyra sighed. "The sept project has been given his approval. Both the High Septon and the council were quite happy with it. Did your father mention the canal project?"
"He did," Laenor replied. "Mother's contact in the citadel found no fault with Gerardys' work, and Mother impressed upon him how useful this could be for undermining the Hightowers. The gods know that she has no love for them."
Rhaenyra nodded, knowing how Ser Otto's brother attended the Great Council of 101 and sided with her father.
"He is in favor then?" Rhaenyra asked.
"If we can get Matthos Tyrell to agree to match him in funding and hand over a third of the profits gained from the canal for at least thirty years, then yes," Laenor replied.
"That won't be without its challenges," Rhaenyra murmured, tapping her fingers on the table before her. "Lord Matthos is purportedly short-sighted, and this will not be cheap. Added to that, I will need to convince the small council to pay for a third of it after I have already talked them into the great sept idea. I suppose I could broach the subject with Lord Matthos during the tourney."
"Tourney?" Laenor asked.
"My father's idea," Rhaenyra replied. "He's going to throw a grand tourney and announce the sept plans to the lords who come."
"Looking for donations," Laenor correctly guessed.
"Indeed," Rhaenyra replied. "Lord Matthos will undoubtedly donate generously, which could make him less likely to go along with the canal, but if I can play upon his ego and need to aggrandize himself, that might still work. I will also be noticeably with child by then, which should make it easier to get my father to agree."
Laenor snorted at that and was about to reply when a knock came to the door.
"Jon Snow, Princess," Ser Erryk announced.
"Send him in," Rhaenyra commanded, and she smiled widely as she spotted him.
"Careful now, Nyra," Laenor murmured. "Even if I didn't know the truth of things, I could easily guess from a reaction like that."
"I hardly need to guard myself around you," Rhaenyra said primly. "Please come in."
"Welcome back, Laenor," Jon nodded. "I hope Pentos was pleasant."
"It was," Laenor replied. "I missed Seasmoke, but sailing there and back was lovely and not without its perks."
She had noticed that Ser Qarl went with him.
"How many journeys do you think it will take to bring everything here?" Jon asked, sitting down with them and tearing off some of the bread.
"A fair few," Laenor sighed. "Father has lent us the use of a dozen of his largest ships, not counting the Sea Snake, of course, which is quite helpful, but there is just so much to move."
"Such a tragedy," Rhaenyra said drolly.
"Oh, I'm aware having too much treasure is a hilarious problem to have, but it means that the next few weeks are going to be rather busy for me," Laenor replied. "It also means that I will likely not be here when my mother inevitably visits to congratulate us."
"I...suppose there's no getting around that," Rhaenyra grumbled.
"I have to tell them, so no," Laenor replied. "Father will invite us to High Tide once I've finished with my Pentoshi adventures and be content with that, but Mother will definitely fly here the moment she hears that you're with child. To tell you the truth, I think she's lonely with both Laena and I gone at the moment. She certainly didn't plan to wed her off so soon after I left, but your uncle…"
"Did Daemon things," Rhaenyra chuckled.
"Indeed," Laenor laughed. "I wonder what they're doing now."
"Probably terrifying the locals," Rhaenyra smiled.
"I wonder if they'll run into Princess Saera or any of her children," Laenor chuckled.
"You don't think she could still be alive, do you?" Jon asked, remembering the tale of Jaehaerys' most difficult daughter.
"Vaegon's still alive, last I heard," Rhaenyra replied. "A dreary old man by all accounts. I think he visited once when I was a girl."
"He is," Laenor murmured. "That's what made me think of Saera in the first place. Mother wrote to him to inquire about the canal idea, asking for his discretion in the matter."
"I suppose he is someone we can generally trust," Rhaenyra commented.
"That was her thinking as well," Laenor nodded. "With the citadel being in Oldtown and the Hightowers having such influence with it, we did need to be discreet in this matter."
"They're too bloody powerful," Jon muttered. "The center of the faith, the training ground of maesters, and one of the largest trading ports on the continent, all under their control. It's a wonder that they didn't rule the Reach instead of the Gardeners before the Conquerer came."
"The other lords were always very aware of how unduly powerful they could be and held them in check," Rhaenyra explained. "The Reach might not be as bad as the Riverlands, but it is not the most unified of the kingdoms."
"That would be the Westerlands, I imagine," Laenor remarked.
"No, the North," Jon argued. "In my day, the respect that the other lords had for House Stark was nigh unassailable, and it was only after the Boltons betrayed and crushed us, after we had already been greatly weakened, that they splintered at all. As long as there is a lord in Winterfell whose name is Stark, they will move as one."
"Have you considered visiting?" Laenor asked.
"I both do and don't want to," Jon replied. "On the one hand, I want to see it again more than almost anything, but to lay eyes on those halls and know that none of my family are there or will be for centuries…"
"I really can't imagine being so...removed from my life," Laenor sighed, looking at him sympathetically.
"By the time I was removed from my life, I had already lost almost everyone already," Jon said. "Being here and having found another life as I have is...like having a second chance."
"One we'll make the most of," Rhaenyra said softly, taking his hand and smiling.
"Well, I'll leave you two to it," Laenor murmured, grabbing a couple figs.
He let himself out through the hidden door in her solar, and Rhaenyra turned to Jon the moment they were alone, visibly hesitating.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
"I have an idea, one which I think will help with a few of our problems, but I don't think you're going to like it," Rhaenyra replied.
"What is it?" Jon asked.
"I've been reading more about the Path of Flesh..." Rhaenyra went to say.
"Nyra…" Jon muttered.
"I know it sounds dangerous, and I wouldn't dream of using it myself or anyone I care about without having some clue of what I'm doing," Rhaenyra cut him off, "but I think it might be not just useful to us but essential."
"What do you mean?" Jon asked.
"The scroll I was reading this morning wasn't about the history of the Freehold, or it sort of was, but it was far more focused than that," Rhaenyra replied. "The person who wrote it was knowledgeable about fleshcrafting and it was about its various uses. One of them was about perfecting bloodlines."
"I know the Valyrians of old always held themselves to be the pinnacle of beauty and sophistication," Jon replied. "Having met one, I can agree with at least half of that."
"You think Laenor's that pretty?" Rhaenyra asked, earning a scowl that made her laugh. "He wrote that we all have these hidden defects in us that generally don't manifest physically but which can if normal people commit incest and have children through those unions."
"Okay," Jon murmured, furrowing his brow in confusion.
"The Valyrian flesh sorcerers worked over generations to remove these defects from the families of the Dragonlords and succeeded," Rhaenyra replied. "They could safely wed brother to sister without fear of producing malformed children, but it came at a price. If they brought someone in from outside the families for a generation and then went back to wedding siblings together, they ran the risk of having those hidden defects manifest again…"
"Because they had introduced new ones to their blood," Jon realized aloud.
"I don't know what forms these can take," Rhaenyra replied. "I hadn't finished reading everything on the scroll, but I wonder if Aerys' madness was a consequence of that."
"Aerys was captured and held prisoner during his reign," Jon explained. "The rescue story is actually really interesting, and the knight who managed it was one of the greatest of my era, but I think his madness really started to manifest after that. It doesn't excuse what a cunt he became, but…"
"Jon, Jaehaerys and Alysanne were held prisoner by the mother of the man who murdered their brothers," Rhaenyra argued, "and they were just children at the time. Maybe he did suffer indignities during that ordeal, but if the two of them could suffer such losses at such a young age and being held prisoner here by Visenya afterward and go on to rule well, it isn't that much of an excuse. Clearly he was weak of mind, and I think it might have been because of what that scroll described."
"Maybe the solution is to stop wedding brother to sister then," Jon suggested.
"Truth be told, I think we should do so more exclusively," Rhaenyra disagreed. "The dragons are a great and terrible power, and from what you told me of how my eldest son's dragon seed idea went, the idea of sharing them with anyone sounds like a terrible one. Having a bunch of powerless bastards out there able to claim one of them is one thing, since it's highly unlikely that any would ever try, but imagine a world where all of the great families have someone in their ranks who could claim Vermithor or even Vhagar. Keeping our bloodlines pure might not be needed to command dragons, but keeping our exclusive connection to them is vital."
"So what's your idea?" Jon asked. "I hope it isn't just using this strange magic anyway, despite how risky I think it sounds."
"I will need to practice it before I ever attempt to use it on anyone in our family," Rhaenyra replied, "and it just so happens that I have the ideal test subject."
"Rhaenyra?" Jon asked, sounding concerned.
"Someone tried to murder the wife of the blacksmith I have making my armor today," Rhaenyra replied. "She had apparently tried before and got caught this time. Thankfully, she failed."
"A woman?" Jon asked, surprised.
"A friend of her would be victim," Rhaenyra replied. "She was envious of her for marrying the man that she did and sought to kill her and her unborn children with poison."
"Gods be good," Jon muttered. "If not for her sex, I'd say ship her to the wall at once."
"Well, that's just it," Rhaenyra said. "Given the severity of her crimes, a severe punishment is needed. She failed, but she was still willing to murder a woman fat with child, her own friend, out of petty envy. I'm tempted to just have her hanged, and if she'd succeeded, I would, but given that she failed, I wonder if I can't make use of her instead."
"You want to practice the magic on her," Jon murmured.
"Saving our family means preventing the war and keeping the dragons alive, but if they all descend into madness, won't that condemn Westeros to something even more terrible?" Rhaenyra asked. "Imagine Aerys riding Morghul."
"That...would be horrifying," Jon conceded.
"This woman, Harra, is despicable, and given what she was willing to do, I cannot let her roam freely on my island," Rhaenyra reasoned. "My options are to hang her or keep her prisoner, and through her, perhaps master a magical art form that can save our family long term. I could have hidden this from you, done it in secret, and then used everything I just told you as justification after the fact, but we are in this together, and I won't do it if you insist that I shouldn't."
Jon sat back in his chair and stared out the small window next to him. Everything in him said that this was wrong every moral instilled in him by Ned Stark told him that experimenting on people like what Rhaenyra had just suggested was simply wrong and that he should say no. She did raise a good point, though.
His desire to save the dragons was, at first, motivated by a desire for them to be available as weapons when the Others rose in the far north centuries from then. That meant preventing the Dance of Dragons and ensuring a smooth transition of power from Viserys to Rhaenyra. The Dance was clearly the moment where everything started to go wrong for the Valyrian dynasty, and preventing it should have changed things for the better, but he had to ask: what if it didn't?
If Aerys still became king and still went mad, or if another one did, and they had dragons, every settlement in the continent could be burned to ash. If a figure like Aegon IV rose and did all that he did, it could all go terribly from that point instead. The idea of Bloodraven and Bittersteel having dragons was frankly more horrifying than the Dance itself.
"There are no guarantees in any of this," Jon thought to himself. "All I can do is try to position this family as best as I can in my lifetime, warn them of the coming danger, and hope that there's still a strong, dragon-riding family ruling the Seven Kingdoms when everything goes to the hells north of the Wall. Preventing Aerys or another like him from going mad, though, would help with that, and this Harra woman sounds utterly wretched."
He hated the idea, and he hated how easily he could justify it even more, but the fate of every living thing in Westeros and beyond was still very much at stake. If the price they had to pay for saving everyone was subjecting one detestable person to what he imagined wouldn't be particularly pleasant experiments, he didn't know if he could justify saying no.
"Thank you for coming to me with this," Jon said after a couple silent minutes.
"You deferred to me entirely on the matter of the sword," Rhaenyra smiled. "I am the Princess of Dragonstone, and these are my lands, but though you are not my husband, I do value your knowledge and greatly respect your opinion."
Jon smiled at her, though it quickly disappeared as he said, "I don't like this, but if this magic can prevent our descendants from ending up like the mad king, I can't argue against it."
Rhaenyra nodded, the tension visibly leaving her at his words. "I'm glad. Given who her victims would have been in this case, I think I'll tell Symon the blacksmith that I deemed her crimes so vile that simply hanging her would be too good or something along those lines. I want him to be well pleased with me when I bring up what I want from him next."
"Oh?" Jon asked.
"You've said before that you'll need to gain some proficiency with smithing before you can attempt to master the Path of Steel," Rhaenyra replied. "You're too old to be an apprentice blacksmith, and this will be an unusual request. I could just order him to teach you, of course, but I would much prefer that he be willing."
"My days are about to become quite busy," Jon murmured, chuckling to himself.
"I'm confident that you'll manage, my love," Rhaenyra smiled. "You're taking reasonably well to Valyrian already."
"True," Jon nodded. "Between that, learning from this smith, and training for the tourney, though, I'm going to be exhausted by dusk in the coming months."
"I'll happily rub your tired muscles, Jon," Rhaenyra grinned. "You don't need to compete in the tourney if you don't think you can, though."
"I want to," Jon insisted. "Word of my presence here is going to spread eventually, especially with Otto Hightower undoubtedly investigating you at the moment, and while my purported connection to Laenor will suffice as a justification, I'd rather your father think that I'm a skilled man-at-arms, serving here in that capacity. Alicent will likely raise the issue if Otto learns enough to ask her to."
"I hate that we have to think and act like this," Rhaenyra grumbled.
"If I had thought more like this, I might not have been stabbed a dozen times," Jon scowled. "It seems second nature to you. You figured out a way to use a random incident brought before you to advance two separate agendas in mere hours today."
"I've discovered that I have some talent for manipulation," Rhaenyra murmured, downing the rest of her cup of water. "It's not a skill I had to use much when I was younger. Between my station, my beauty, and my father's affection, I could have nearly anything I wanted with ease. Had you not come into my life, I'd have likely gone on thinking that that would always be the case. The ambitions of the Hightowers are plainly clear, and yet I never would have imagined them betraying my father as they would have the moment he died."
"I did wonder why you seemed to be taken by such surprise," Jon admitted. "The histories made them seem like openly scheming cunts from the start, not that they were particularly kind to your faction either."
"I never imagined a world where my father's word wasn't law," Rhaenyra scowled. "No matter. I will weaken them where I may, strengthen myself where I can, and ensure that by the time my father passes from this world, my position will be so unassailable that none would dare defy his will."
"I'll help you with that until my last breath," Jon smiled, and Rhaenyra returned the look.
"Let's hope that isn't for several decades now," she murmured. "Do you have further lessons with Maester Gerardys this afternoon?"
"Aye," Jon muttered, "and I should probably get going."
"I'll see you tonight," Rhaenyra smiled softly, rising from her seat.
She kissed him and watched him leave, letting go of a breath she didn't know she was holding as the hidden door closed behind him. She'd been more than a little concerned about how he was going to react to her plan and was pleased that he saw the sense of it. Her own feelings on the matter were complicated, and this would be on par with her relationship with Jon in terms of things that she needed to keep utterly secret, but the potential rewards were too great to ignore.
"If half the things I've read about regarding fleshcrafting magic are possible, it could be exactly what I need to make certain that Otto, Alicent, and the others can't threaten me or my children," she thought to herself, placing a hand on her still flat belly.
Ever since she'd realized that she was quite likely with child, something almost certain at that point, she'd felt such an overwhelming protectiveness and love for the tiny life just starting to form within her. It was part of why she'd felt so murderously angry earlier when Harra's crimes were laid out, and it was the main reason that she was so willing to do something that she'd have normally found detestable.
"They murdered three of my children in the other timeline," she thought to herself, feeling that rage come back instantly. "Jon couldn't even remember two of their names. Lost to time and me both, all because of Otto's unceasing ambition and Alicent's cuntishness."
She would genuinely attempt to befriend and draw close her half-siblings for the purpose of preventing the war to come, and she hoped that that and her efforts to safeguard Laena would be enough, but where the child growing inside her and his or her future siblings were concerned, she would leave nothing to chance.
Hours later, Rhaenyra walked through the dark halls of Dragonstone's modest dungeon. The castle was sizable compared to others, but there was no chance that a great population would ever live on the small island, and so little thought was given to keeping prisoners. It was rare for any dungeon to hold people for long, as their cells generally served as temporary holding spaces for people set to be punished. Actually using them as a punishment in itself was exceedingly rare, but she knew that she could spare a single cell for her purposes here. She was accompanied by Ser Harwin and knew that a pair of guards awaited her by Harra's cell.
"A novel punishment," her sworn shield murmured.
"I've never sentenced someone for attempting to murder both a woman and her unborn children before," Rhaenyra replied. "I don't think I ever saw my father or his hands pass sentence down for such a crime either."
"A rare wickedness for certain," Ser Harwin nodded. "I do recall your uncle passing summary judgment on a man who murdered a woman with child once. He'd also...committed other crimes to her, and the Lord Commander gelded him with Dark Sister, ordering us to let him bleed out in the aftermath."
"Fitting," Rhaenyra scowled.
"I saw the worst of the worst in my time with the gold cloaks," Ser Harwin muttered, "and I wasn't there at the start of Prince Daemon's reformation. The things that older ones spoke of dealing with before he put the fear of the gods back in those soulless cunts, I would not wish to repeat to you."
"I was just a girl back then," Rhaenyra sighed. "I had no notion of how bad the city had become. It is much improved now, yes?"
"It's like night and day," Ser Harwin replied. "There are still too many men crammed into one place, and the gold cloaks still have their share of wickedness to deal with nightly, but it's nowhere near as bad as it was."
Rhaenyra nodded at that and felt a little relieved. She still knew that what she had in mind was wrong, and she was going to have to be careful to ensure that none of her guards watched her work in the coming moons, but like her uncle, she would deliver brutal punishment to wrongdoers to send a message to others not to invite the same fates upon them. For one thing, she knew that Harra's would-be victims were pleased.
"Princess?!" Symon exclaimed, his eyes going wide with fear. "I...the deadline I gave you isn't for another…"
"I'm not here about the armor," Rhaenyra cut him off, twisting one of the rings on her right index finger as Ser Harwin stood in silent, intimidating vigil, his hands resting on the pommel of his sword.
Symon was a large man in terms of build, something that she was sure was true of all smiths, but he was half a foot shorter than her sworn shield and not a trained warrior to her knowledge. She had no particular reason to fear him but knew well enough that it never hurt to have a terrifying-looking guard at her side.
"I wanted to see how your wife was doing," Rhaenyra smiled.
"R...really?" Symon asked. "Thank you for your concern, Princess. Beth is resting now and seems to be alright, but the babes are taxing enough. We hardly needed any further stress."
"Luckily, said stress is rotting in my dungeon just now," Rhaenyra smiled.
"I hope she bloody suffers," Symon growled, his fist clenching around his hammer. "If I may ask, have you decided what to do to her?"
"I have," Rhaenyra nodded. "Her crime, what she attempted to do, is reprehensible. I am with child as well just now, and the very idea of anyone trying to…"
"Congratulations, Princess," Symon smiled before looking wary at having interrupted her.
"Really?" Ser Harwin asked. "Congratulations, Princess."
"Thank you both," Rhaenyra smiled. "I have decided that simply hanging her would be insufficient for what she did, and yet there is very little precedent for delivering more brutal executions to women. As such, I've decided to just leave her to rot in her cell. She'll be fed and watered, but that's it, and she will live out her days never again seeing the sun or anyone outside of the dungeon."
"I'd say that appropriate," Symon hissed. "Thank you, both for making that witch suffer and for being kind and thoughtful enough to check on us. They say his grace is just as good and generous as the good queen was, and surely you are as well."
"You are most kind," Rhaenyra smiled. "I did come to check on your wife, but there is something else I wish to discuss with you."
"Are you looking for a weapon as well?" Symon asked. "Given your size and stature, I'd recommend something long to help keep your foes at bay. A spear or perhaps a halberd…"
"No, actually," Rhaenyra replied. "The only weapon I need is Syrax, and the armor I commissioned was in case I ever have to ride her into battle again. There is a man in my employment who does not wish to become a smith but would learn the skills all the same."
"A man?" Symon asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Indeed," Rhaenyra replied. "I know apprentices are generally far younger than him, as he is a man grown, but I would have him learn from you anyway."
"It will be odd, I'll admit, but I am down an apprentice just now," Symon murmured. "One of the boys I had slipped on beer outside the local pub and cracked his head. Poor sod."
"I'm so sorry," Rhaenyra winced.
"Thank you, Princess," Symon nodded. Under normal circumstances, there was no way that he'd have agreed to teach his secrets to a man grown, at least not without a substantial payment, but given who this particular request had come from, and how generally grateful he was feeling just then, he knew that there was only possible answer he could give. "Alright. I'll teach this man from the castle. I hope he's a hard worker."
"He's dedicated," Rhaenyra smiled. "I'll send him your way. Good day, and give my warm regards to Bethany when she wakes."
"Happily," Symon smiled. "The gods bless you, Princess."
"She is bound as ordered, Princess," one of the guards nodded as she approached.
"Princess Rhaenyra, please!" Harra begged, looking frantic from the small chair she'd been tied to by ropes. "I'm not guilty, I swear."
"We found a significant supply of yarrow in your home," Rhaenyra muttered, rolling her eyes. "It was far more than you could have 'accidentally' harvested, plus it is far too distinct by taste and smell to be easily mistaken. None of your neighbors described you as a lackwit, so I am forced to conclude that you are a liar and were nearly a murderer. Lying to me will only make this worse."
"Fine," Harra spat, her visage shifting almost immediately. The sheer hatred in the woman's dark eyes shocked Rhaenyra. "I wanted that traitorous bitch dead."
"For wedding Symon?" Rhaenyra asked.
"She knew how I cared for him!" Harra hissed. "She knew, and she seduced him anyway. She was half with child already when they had the septon bind them. Perfect Bethany always gets whatever she wants. All she has to do is bat her pretty blue eyes, not that anyone ever seems to look up from her tits. How her back hasn't given out having to carry those things, I don't know."
"So out of envy and desire for a man who plainly didn't desire you, you attempted to murder a woman and her unborn twins?" Rhaenyra asked, glaring at the other woman. "They're Symon's children, you realize?"
"Are they?" Harra asked, glaring balefully at her.
The miserable woman reminded her in a way of Alicent, not that her father's wife was quite this vicious. The comparison did Harra no favors and made the next part simpler.
"For your crimes you are sentenced as follows: you will be confined to this cell for the rest of your natural life," Rhaenyra pronounced. "You will not know freedom again for all your days, and when you die, you will be burned and disposed of."
"You're just like her!" Harra growled. "Another pretty, spoiled thing that men all drool over. How many of them have you allowed between your legs? AHH!"
"You will not speak to the princess so!" one of the guards exclaimed, backhanding the bound woman.
"That's enough," Rhaenyra commanded. "I will not have her beaten for her bile, but for lying for me as she did twice today, I will have her tongue."
"What?!" Harra screamed. "No!"
Rhaenyra watched impassively as one of the guards began heating up a knife with his torch while the other held the struggling prisoner in place and grabbed the heavy tongs from his pocket. Once it was sufficiently hot, the two of them worked efficiently to cut out Harra's tongue. The princess couldn't help but wince at the bloodcurdling scream that she let out at that, thrashing about in her chair, but took a steadying breath. If she was going to use the unrepentant criminal before her for the purposes she had in mind, she couldn't have her speaking of sorcery and the like. It wasn't a punishment that she'd had inflicted on anyone before, but it was necessary in this case.
"She'll live, yes?" she asked when Harra seemed to pass out.
"She should," Ser Harwin replied. "The hot knife makes sure that the person having their tongue removed doesn't bleed to death, but it should also prevent infection."
"Good," Rhaenyra nodded. "Leave us."
"What?" Ser Harwin asked as the guards left without question.
"She's unconscious and bound by ropes," Rhaenyra replied. "I will be quite safe, and I would stay and ponder this sort of evil for a while longer."
"I'll not be far, Princess," Ser Harwin murmured, turning to leave.
Rhaenyra watched him leave and sighed before turning back to the unconscious prisoner. The damp dungeon wasn't a place that she would like to spend much time, but she'd have little choice in the matter for the foreseeable future. She took a few long, slow breaths, forcing herself to ignore the smell, and tried to do as one of the scrolls she'd read through had described and empty her mind.
One of the keys to wielding magic of any kind was relaxing one's mind and allowing your senses to quiet enough to let you feel the currents of energy all around and within us, or so more than one scroll had claimed. It was something that she had practiced when she had the odd moment alone repeatedly over the past few days, and she'd had limited success, but she had experienced moments where she thought she felt something like what the old Valyrian sorcerers had described. Placing her hand on Harra's head, she did her best to quiet her mind and try to feel the other woman's body in its entirety.
One of the scrolls had claimed that true masters of the art of fleshcrafting could diagnose ailments in others with a simple touch, being able to feel the flow of the blood through people's veins and, in their mind's eye, map out every single bit of their bodies. It didn't mean that they could fix said ailments, as the medical applications of the Path of Flesh seemed to be surprisingly limited, at least from what she'd found so far, but it could be helpful nonetheless.
She stood there for several minutes, trying to get a sense of Harra's form in her mind. The sorcerer had warned her that novices of the art often fell prey to letting their imagination do the work for them, and she really didn't know if she'd be able to tell if she was seeing something real or imagined, should she actually see anything, but she tried to put that out of her mind as well. All she could do was follow the instructions given to her and hope for the best.
She was under no illusion that learning this long-lost magic would be simple or quick, but she dearly hoped that she'd manage it eventually. The potential benefits were immense, and if she managed to master it, there was no telling just how much it could help her growing family in the coming years. The girl she was a few short moons ago would never have imagined doing anything like this, but that foolish girl would have gotten everyone she loved killed or broken beyond repair. The story of her life that Jon knew would not be her future, no matter what she had to do to prevent it. As things stood, at the very least, she had the perfect test subject in her custody.
Jon grunted as he sat down on his bed at the end of the day, rolling his sore shoulder. It had been a while since he had practiced jousting at all, and while he had shown some talent for it when he was a boy, his skills had waned a little as he languished at the Wall. Racing the heavy charger he'd mounted as still targets wasn't a perfect replication of an actual joust, but it had helped him improve his aim a fair bit. Breaking lances against an armored target didn't hurt as much as actually getting hit, but it was still something that he'd need time to get used to doing.
"I was hoping to find you here," Rhaenyra murmured as she walked in through the hidden door linking their chambers, her eyes lighting up as she spotted his bare torso.
"How'd it go?" Jon asked, feeling his heart flutter as he took in the sight of her.
"I made virtually no progress, though I expected that," Rhaenyra replied. "Harra's secure, though, and I will be visiting frequently to continue trying."
"You will be safe, I hope," Jon frowned.
"The guards will make sure that she is bound in place before I enter her cell," Rhaenyra assured him. "I'm sure she'd willingly tear my throat out with her teeth at this point if she could."
"So long as you're not in danger," Jon murmured, taking her hand and bringing her knuckles to his lips.
"What were you doing when I arrived?" Rhaenyra asked, trailing her fingers down along his bare bicep. "I must say, I wish you could dress like this all the time."
"You just want to be able to gawk at me as you please," Jon grumbled, almost managing to sound serious.
"Yes," Rhaenyra replied shamelessly, and he snorted. "Gods, you're beautiful."
"I don't think men are beautiful, Nyra," Jon chuckled.
"Just you," Rhaenyra sighed, ghosting her hands over his thick, muscular arms and broad shoulders.
"You have me at a significant disadvantage just now," Jon grinned, looking down at the deep purple gown she was wearing.
"Is that true?" Rhaenyra asked.
"Yes, it...ugh," Jon grunted when he went to brush her braid away from her neck only to feel his shoulder snag.
"Something wrong?" Rhaenyra asked, furrowing her brow in mild concern.
"Just using muscles I haven't in a little while," Jon replied. "I was practicing for the joust."
"Ah," Rhaenyra nodded in understanding. "Did you find a horse you like?"
"I did," Jon replied. "A young black charger. He's apparently an ornery cunt with most people, but he seemed to like me well enough. I've named him Zoklio."
"The Valyrian word for direwolf?" Rhaenyra asked, sounding amused.
"I thought it funny," Jon murmured.
"Help me out of my dress, and I'll help with your shoulder," Rhaenyra said, turning around.
"It's fine, really," Jon chuckled, helping undo a few of the laces holding the gown together. "I'll be back to normal by dawn, not that I'd say no to a distraction just now."
"Oh, I'll happily distract you, Jon," Rhaenyra giggled, "but I do have something else in mind."
He finished helping her undress and groaned as her gown pooled at her feet. Her small clothes soon joined it, and he wondered, for far from the first time, how he had become so lucky. She turned around then, and he cupped her heavy breasts, smiling as she let out a breathy little sigh of pleasure.
"None of that now," Rhaenyra chided him. "Sit still."
He furrowed his brow in confusion but did as she asked, staying still as she crawled onto the bed and moved behind him. Her small hands came to rest on his weary shoulder, and she started kneading the muscles lightly.
"Oh," Jon smiled. "That's nice."
"I don't really know what I'm doing, but one of the scrolls I read detailed how to help relax taut muscles," Rhaenyra explained. "Unsurprisingly, mastering flesh magic requires one to develop a significant understanding of the human body. There are diagrams and descriptions of many different parts in some of the ones I've gotten through."
"How many of them have you read?" Jon asked. "You can do that a little harder, by the way."
"About a dozen or so," Rhaenyra replied, increasing the pressure.
"Ah," Jon sighed. "That's better."
"The library is one of our greatest assets," Rhaenyra murmured. "There's a reason I haven't spoken a word of it to anyone else."
"Do you think you might ever share it with anyone?" Jon asked.
"I considered telling my uncle, but, in truth, that might not be a good idea," Rhaenyra replied. "At least not until we know more of what all it contains."
"We'll have to tell our children, of course," Jon said.
"Yes," Rhaenyra replied, smiling as she did whenever she thought of having children with him. "I might tell Daemon and the Velaryons down the line, but it is such an asset, and I'm so fearful of word of it spreading…"
"As long as we alone know of it, we know the risk of that is virtually non-existent," Jon interrupted her.
"Right," Rhaenyra nodded, backing away from him. "How does that feel?"
"Better," Jon replied. In truth, it was barely changed, but he had enjoyed what she did and knew that she'd like feeling like she truly helped him. "Thank you."
"It will be better once I've gotten a better grasp of what I'm supposed to be dealing with," Rhaenyra murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.
She pressed her large breasts against his back, and he felt his cock, which had swelled rapidly the moment her gown fell from her shoulders, throb in his breeches.
"It seems you have me at a disadvantage now," Rhaenyra giggled.
"Well, we can't have that," Jon grinned, turning around and kissing her softly. "Whatever can I do to fix this?"
"Take off your clothes," Rhaenyra commanded, lying back on the bed and folding her hands behind her head.
Utterly bare to his hungry gaze, she nonetheless managed to exude absolute confidence as she ordered him to undress, and by the gods, it made him hard. His belt was off in an instant, and he groaned aloud in relief as his breeches fell and his cock managed to spring freely into the air. Rhaenyra was on him immediately, wrapping her hand around his length and giving his bulbous head a wet kiss.
"I need to taste you," Jon gasped, as desperate for her as he always was.
"As I want to taste you," Rhaenyra smiled, though her face quickly fell.
"What is it?" Jon asked.
"There's a way for us to...taste each other," Rhaenyra replied. "It's something that I got from...one of the scrolls."
"Sorry?" Jon asked.
"Let's just say that one or two of them we're never allowing our children to see," Rhaenyra muttered, blushing prettily. "The way it works is that you lie on your back and I...lower myself onto your mouth."
Jon's eyes widened at that, and the image made his mouth water. Her arse was incredible, something that his eyes never failed to find when it was in view, and the idea of her sitting on his face made his cock twitch.
"I then lower myself down and take your cock in my mouth," Rhaenyra finished, but he barely heard her, swiftly lying down on the bed. Rhaenyra laughed at his eagerness and asked, "I take it you like the idea?"
"More than you can imagine," Jon replied, his eyes dark with lust as he gazed at her.
"Just let me know if I do anything wrong," Rhaenyra muttered. "I don't exactly want to suffocate you."
"It would be the best way I've ever died," Jon quipped. When she didn't laugh, he quickly added, "I am just jesting, Rhaenyra. I'll hold you steady and tell you if anything is uncomfortable."
"Thank you," Rhaenyra huffed, rolling her eyes as she crawled towards him.
She hooked a leg over his face, very nearly kneeing him in the process, and he grabbed her hips to help steady her. Crawling backward, she let him guide her and stopped when he said to. His fingers pressed into her pale skin, and he pulled her down until her fleshy folds were right on his waiting mouth.
"Oh!" Rhaenyra cried as she felt his tongue start to dance against her cunt. "Oh, fuck."
"I agree wholeheartedly," Jon said, pushing her up just long enough to get the words out before bringing her back down.
He loved feasting on her cunt in general, but being able to do that while having her plump, round arse in his face was heavenly. He lapped at her heated flesh eagerly, exploring every familiar fold with his long, dexterous tongue, occasionally brushing against her throbbing clit as he slowly teased her.
Rhaenyra moaned and whimpered as he devoured her. He had been so good at that the first time he did it to her, but the significant experience he had gotten since then had made him even better. Secure in the knowledge that she hadn't hurt him and that he had her firmly enough in hand that there was little risk, she lowered herself down, lying across his muscular torso, and picked up his cock. The long, thick, veiny length was so hard the head had turned purple, and there was a dewy little drop of his fluid pooled at the tip of it that she happily licked off, giggling when she felt him shiver under her.
"We're...holy fuck...doing this often going forward," Jon groaned as she wrapped her lips around his shaft and started bobbing her head up and down, taking more and more of him into her hot little mouth each time.
"Mmhmm," Rhaenyra hummed around his cock, more than happy to make this a regular part of their bed play already.
She caved in her cheeks, sucking on his throbbing length in a way that she knew he adored, and sped up her movements. She took him deep, swallowing his length into her tight throat, and giggled around him when she heard him gasp. Her dripping cunt was smearing its wetness over his face, getting it in his beard, and he was more than happy with that. He had fallen asleep more than once with the scent of her sex on his face. She was riding his face by then, grinding herself on him, and he had to hold her steady to wrap his lips around her taut little clit.
"Gmm!" Rhaenyra cried as he sucked on the sensitive nub.
One downside of this position was that she couldn't tease the underside of his cock with her tongue quite as easily, and so she pulled back until only a few inches of him were still between her lips and started swirling it around his glans. He moaned into her cunt and she laughed, stroking him quickly as she did her best to drive him mad with her tongue.
Jon brushed her clit with the tip of his tongue, and she clenched her eyes shut, seeing lights go off behind her eyes. She was close, very close, and wanted to make him cum as well, though just as she was about to swallow his entire length again, he pushed her up.
"Stop, stop," Jon begged, and she let him go with an audible pop.
"What?" Rhaenyra asked.
"I want to finish inside your cunt," Jon replied. "Ride my face until you scream, and then I'm burying every inch inside you."
"Gods, Jon," Rhaenyra whimpered, sitting up. "Ah, yes!"
No longer distracted at all by his own pleasure, he was about to focus entirely on hers, and she quickly found herself racing towards her orgasm. She ground herself on his talented mouth, moaning, whimpering, and crying out in joy as he drove her wild. When she felt him start sucking on her clit again, she almost screamed.
"Oh gods, oh gods, oh...gah!" Rhaenyra shrieked as she came, bracing herself on his flat stomach.
Pleasure thundered through her in waves, making her convulse and writhe atop him. He held her steady, not wanting her to accidentally break his nose, and helped her carefully roll off of him as it finished, lying on her side.
"Did that scroll have anything else interesting in it?" Jon asked.
"Don't...know," Rhaenyra panted, grinning widely and rolling onto her back. "I only read...the one section."
"Well, if any of them were worth exploring," Jon chuckled, brushing a few loose hairs out of her face.
Her braid had come partly undone as she rode his face, and he undid it the rest of the way with practiced ease. Rhaenyra sat up to make that easier, and he smiled at her when he was done, taking in the sight of her with her long silver-gold hair, spread around her beautiful face, falling to the middle of her back.
"You do this often," Rhaenyra murmured softly, twirling her hair around one of her fingers. "Are you trying to tell me something?"
"Not at all," Jon grinned. "Whether you have your hair done up in a regal braid or loose all about you like a mane, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on.
He had intended to take her on her back, but she pushed him back gently, and he went, eager to see what she had in mind. Grabbing his cock, she raised it and quickly lined herself up before sinking down in one smooth motion. She gasped as he filled her completely, just as overwhelmed by the feeling as she always was.
"Gods, you're perfect," Jon groaned, and she laughed.
"I was about to say the same thing," Rhaenyra whispered, kissing him.
She rolled her hips, pulling up along his shaft until a few inches had escaped her clinging depths, and then lowered herself back down. Setting a slow, gentle pace, she kissed him softly. He brushed his tongue against her lips, seeking entrance, and she parted them instantly. Their kiss was like the pace they set as they rocked against each other as one, soft and tender, and she sighed in bliss at the simple pleasure.
"I swear I feel every bulging vein of your cock," Rhaenyra whimpered. "You feel so good, Jon."
"So do you," Jon smiled, brushing her hair behind her ear and cupping her cheek, "like hot, wet silk, hugging every inch of me."
She giggled and kissed him again, moaning into his mouth when he palmed one of her heavy breasts and began kneading it. He rolled her onto her back and buried his face in the crook of her neck, kissing, licking, and nuzzling as he went.
"Oh gods!" Rhaenyra whimpered, wrapping her legs around his waist.
Jon sped up slightly, fucking her with long, deep strokes as he continued to kiss her neck. His teeth captured her earlobe gently, and he nibbled on it, making her gasp. He changed the angle of his thrusts slightly and grinned as she moaned in delight. The head of his cock brushed against a spot deep inside her that never failed to make her quiver, and she snaked her fingers through his long, brown hair, grasping his head. He placed a hand over hers and rested his forehead against hers, feeling closer to her than he'd ever felt to anyone.
"Go harder, but just like this," Rhaenyra whispered. "Keep your eyes on mine."
He gazed into her beautiful purple orbs and swore he felt his heart skip a beat at the sheer love and affection he saw in them. He knew those feelings were mirrored in his own, and he kissed her again, picking up his pace a little.
"Oh, gods!" Rhaenyra cried as he hit that spot again, feeling the tension in her core increase dramatically. "Right there!"
"So perfect," Jon grunted, caressing her cheek softly as he massaged one of her full breasts. "So bloody perfect. I love you, Rhaenyra."
"I love you," Rhaenyra gasped. "Oh, gods, Jon."
"Cum for me, Nyra," Jon whispered, reaching down to stroke her clit. "Cum, my love."
"JO...mmm!" Rhaenyra moaned as she came, and he captured her lips with his own, muffling the sound of his name.
He felt her spasm around his length, milking him sinfully, and let go, filling her with rope after thick rope of his seed. The two of them clung to each other as they rode out the waves of pleasure together, neither wanting a single bit of space between their joined bodies. He heard her sniffle and pulled back, growing alarmed when he saw tears in her eyes.
"Nyr…" Jon went to ask only for her to press a finger to his lips.
"Just hold me," Rhaenyra whispered, too emotional to get more sound out than that.
Rolling them onto their sides, he wrapped his arms around her, running his fingers through her hair as she clung to him tightly. No words were needed as the two of them lay there in each other's arms, enjoying the blissful silence and intimacy of the moment.