Chapter 27: Curious Minds

Raising her spyglass once more, Rhaella gazed from the top of the Wall. A magnificent structure that had taken her breath away as she first caught glimpse of it astride Jaimexes' back. A glorious sight, a work of magic and human grit, of which she stood on as the Good Queen Alysanne - her childhood hero - had stood atop it centuries ago.

But as the howling winds bracketed her coat-clad body with bitter cold, eyes fruitlessly scanning the Haunted Forest beyond, there was no majesty in her. No appreciation… just a great fear. The worst fear of all.

The fear of knowing that one had nothing that could be done while those that one loved were stranded and suffering. "Rhaenys… you are out there and I am here… and yet I can do nothing."

Hot tears - soon rendered cold as they met the air - welling in her eyes, Rhaella soon felt an impossibly warm and large object suddenly nudge her side. Spyglass down she looked over, meeting the eye of Jaimexes. The dragon whined, nudging her again. Rhaella sobbed and hugged her snout. 'Muna… do not cry,' begged the beast she loved.

Sobbing lightly again, Rhaella rested her cheek on the warm scales. "I cannot help it, my sweet. Not while she is out there."

'I would take you over the entire land if I could, muna. Nymerion too… she yearns for her muna's return.'

"Then why won't you? Why won't you help me save her?"

The dragon seemed ashamed, her growl low and filled with sorrow. Head lowering till it was level with Rhaella's pelvis. 'I cannot explain it well, muna… there is an evil north of this Wall. Something… demonic. I cannot subject myself to it, for it calls me to die. Tells me I will die and become a slave.'

Rhaella blinked. "A voice, you hear a voice?"

'No… a feeling only. Like a promise, but innate. Nymerion felt it too. I'm sorry if I cannot explain more - I feel like I failed you.' Sensing her dragon's immense pain, Rhaella simply hugged her tighter. Allowing her warmth to calm her just as her presence calmed Jaimexes.

BWAAARM! BWAAARM! BWAAARM!

Rhaella slowly pulled back, glancing down at the tree line while black-clad riders emerged out. "One blast, the patrol has returned." She kissed Jaimexes' snout. "I must go down. Please go to the sea and find something to eat." The dragon hooted and shot into the air, diving down the south side of the Wall before evening out and soaring towards Eastwatch.

Sighing, she made her way towards the elevator, running into Jaime as he waited for her. "You find anything?" he asked, only for Rhaella to hug him tightly.

"Nothing," she murmured. "And Jaimexes still won't budge. Both she and Nymerion simply refuse to go north of the Wall."

"Whatever it was out there that scared Silverwing is still out there." Jaime kissed her brow. "By the gods, that likely explains the wildling incursions if there is something."

She hissed. "Taking Rhaenys hostage has killed any sympathy I have for those cunts. If I could I would burn them all." Fire and blood blazed in her gaze, and Jaime always knew better than to argue with her. "Let us go… see what the patrol found."

The massive elevator took a considerable time to lower from the height upon which the Wall crested, and by the time the winches fell silent and the wooden box slammed against the bottom, the patrol was already dismounting while grooms took the horses away. Ned Stark was obvious among those that greeted them, while the patrol itself provided a mix of Black Brothers and northern light cavalry scouts - Rhaella noticed Ser Torrhen Karstark among them, looking dejected.

Rhae… I hope you have some plan for this lad, given he's in love with you. Rhaegar wouldn't consent to a Karstark marrying his eldest daughter, so if Rhae seduced him that would… only provide headaches to Ned with one of his main bannermen. "Ser Torrhen, have you found anything?" she called out as the Northmen among them bowed to her. Respect for a Targaryen Princess - and Queen - since the good Queen. Amazing what marrying Lyanna would do.

Torrhen ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. "Nothing!" he kicked at some clumped snow, cursing under his breath. "The wildlings have pulled back from the valley… at least their noncombatants."

"We don't have the stealth or numbers to try and flank them," Roose Bolton added. "And the dragons… will they fly?" Rhaella shook her head, causing the bloodless man to click his tongue. "Then I'm afraid that she's screwed."

"Don't you dare say that!" hissed Torrhen.

"Lord Bolton, I find your dismissive attitude towards a Princess of the blood to be very disturbing," Rhaella narrowed her eyes.

The Lord of the Dreadfort shook his head. "I've fought wildlings before, and their demands are always too steep. What they'll demand in exchange for a Targaryen Princess is too high for we northmen to stomach."

"Aye," Lord Umber stated. "Ned, I love ya', but I will not allow those fucks to come south of the wall even if it was Crown Prince Baelon in their clutches."

"Well, we have to do something?!" demanded Torrhen.

Rhaella, watching this descend into a bickering match, finally met Ned Stark's gaze. "Lord Stark, perhaps I could treat with this Mance Rayder."

"No, I will not risk you," Jaime insisted.

Ned nodded. "It is too risky, my Queen."

Waving them off, Rhaella was unperturbed. "I will do what I must, for her." Jaimexes wouldn't be coming with her, but perhaps there was a way…

Outside the wind howled.

Having spent many moons north of the Neck at this point, Rhaenys was used to it, but the intensity of the blizzard only further reminded her of where she was. Of her situation, only put aside as she slept and let her dreams take over.

The cell was sheltered from the wind but still significantly colder than ideal. Her firewood was rationed out since the wildlings provided her so little - if not for her dragonblood, she'd likely have fallen ill. Thank Tessarion for small favors. Every moment she would repeat her prayer, and repeat her mantra. That she would survive, and her family would reign fire and blood upon those that so imprisoned her.

Her forced duties not being mandated for a while, she didn't expect the intruders into the cell until the Lord of Bones lifted her up by her hair and slammed his fist into her side. "Fuck!" she cried, the blow nearly cracking one of her ribs.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" The cold voice of Lady Val - or Princess Val, perhaps, titles so informal once past the Wall - had the same consistency as the blizzard outside. Her icy-blonde hair formed a severe series of braids, hood over her head and war paint decorating her face. Truly an intimidating sight even for a dragon, though being defenseless and without her dragon were quite relevant. "My goodbrother is content with just keeping you as a hostage, but I want some answers."

"Fuck you," Rhaenys replied, only to get slapped, hard.

Val nursed her palm. "See, this is something you will regret later on when you're without limbs, so I'd much rather make this easy on the both of us." She cracked her knuckles. "Scouts report that more than one dragon were spotted near Castle Black - an orange one the color of sunset and one the color of the sun."

Grandmother… Perhaps her newfound hope registered in her eyes, for Val then nodded to another warrior. Rhaenys drew a body blow on her stomach, making her hiss in pain. "I'm going to kill you all!"

"Don't flatter yourself," Val replied with a sneer. "Now, tell me, who rides the sun dragon?"

"Your sister after I fisted her," was Rhaenys' response, to which a club was brought down on her elbow. She very nearly blacked out.

"Let me start again…" Val reached over and grabbed Rhaenys' chin. "Tell me the size of your forces in Castle Black. Where are they camped?" Rhaenys spat at Val, leading to another series of blows… which continued for a long time until…

"What the fuck?!" Ygritte burst in to the cell, Tormund hot on her heels. "Val, you bitch, how dare you harm the hostage?!"

"Getting information from her," she replied, nursing cracked knuckles. "I'm starting to think she knows nothing. Just a throwaway, since the southerners only care about sons."

"You… know fucking nothing of me…"

A laugh at Rhaenys' expense. "I know you're my bitch right now."

"No, she's a hostage of Mance's and last time I checked, you don't have the right parts to be Mance." Tormund motioned to Ygritte, who cut Rhaenys down. "Do that again and I'll have Mance toss you into the snows, where the wights can get you." What words next transpired between them weren't heard, Ygritte and Rhaenys already hobbling away.

"Take it easy, now," Ygritte murmured to her as they arrived at her own hut, the wild brogue far harsher to the ear than even Rhaenys' most northern of kin for once a soft tone. Caring even. "Ye' don't want to jostle till the bruises settle."

Much as Rhaenys wished to remain defiant, the aching pain that radiated out from all over her body simply left her unable to not comply. Letting Ygritte slowly guide her to a bed of furs in the redhead's personal hut. "You… you speak from… experience," she replied with not a little humor. Best to remain in high spirits, lest suicide look like a reasonable option.

She would not give them the satisfaction of ending her life, nor harm her family so.

Snorting, Ygritte knelt beside her. Stuffing snow into bags made of tanned hides. "Try huntin' mammoth. One of those blundering lummoxes goes after ya', this is the easiest you'd have it." The first bag went to Rhae's forehead, making her wince from the sudden coldness on her skin… eventually though, it felt soothing. "Bet ye would rather heat for these wounds."

"Not much ice in King's Landing, wildling," Rhaenys replied.

"Ooof, 'wildling.' Think we've been through enough to call me 'Ygritte,' Princess."

Another pack going to her swollen elbow, Rhaenys narrowed her eyes at the wildling. "You keep me prisoner yet expect me to treat you as one would a friend?"

Ygritte shrugged. "Well, not like there's anyone treatin' you here better than me."

A… fair point. "Alright, but stop mocking me constantly as 'Princess.'"

"Fine, fine. Princess then." Same word, but the tone was more natural - the same way friends in King's Landing would refer to her.

"Alright… Ygritte." Truthfully, the name was strange and savage but rolled off the tongue. Rhaenys felt it apt for this wildling girl, quite unpretentious.

As for Ygritte herself, a smile covered her face as she prepared another snow pack. "Sounds weird, my name on your accent. Don't meet many southerners up here among the Frostfangs, but whatever yours is… I hadn't heard it."

She chuckled in spite of herself, then groaned from the pain in her stomach. "Fuck… she got me good down there." Suddenly Ygritte was hiking up the furs covering her midriff. "Whoa, what are you doing?"

"Princess, I'm tryin' to reduce the swelling here." The third snowpack went on the bare skin of her stomach, the normally tanned tone marred by a large purple blotch. "What were ya' thinking?"

From her grin, it was clear Ygritte knew exactly what Rhae was thinking. "Just… when others hike up my tunics there's other motives involved."

"Oh, so you're maidenhead is not there? I'm shocked."

"Shut it."

Ygritte only laughed. "Sides… it looks good. You, that is."

Her cheeks colored, and it wasn't a bruise. "Dornish and Valyrian."

"Hmmm?"

"My accent… partly Dornish but mostly Valyrian. A lot of my… companions say that such accent is quite alluring."

"Well, they're not wrong." Turning, Ygritte began tending the fire as it started to die. Throwing on brush and tried chips of… Rhaenys didn't even want to know. "Sorry, bout what happened. Val was always cold but since her sister married Mance she's grown into a right cunt. Thinking herself the Queen Beyond the Wall rather than the goodsister to the King."

"I've known people like that - doesn't bother me." Rhaenys didn't want to talk about Val, but it was the topic at hand. "Think she comes back?"

Ygritte scowled. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

The flap to the hut pushed open and suddenly appeared Tormund Giantsbane. "Is she alive?"

"Stubbornly so," Ygritte replied. "She'd make a great Free Folk - can take a beating like a champ."

"Would take more than some angry cunt to kill me," Rhaenys hissed, still aching.

Tormund nodded. "Mance is livid, and so is Val… I wouldn't go out of the tent if I were you."

"So why are you here?"

"Thought to show somethin that would help the Princess." Whistling, a blur of fur shot into the hut.

Rhaenys' eyes widened and her expression brightened immediately. "Nysar! Come here, girl!" Her leg healed, she raced to Rhae's side. Slobbering all over her face as she licked Rhaenys, nevertheless seemingly cognizant of the nature of her injuries. "Thank you."

Feeling her wolf snuggle by her side like a long sausage, she barely heard Ygritte's words. "We're not all savage demons." She heard it nonetheless.

"I'm sorry… what are you asking of me?"

Taking in the rather jittery form of her bonded friend, Dany nodded. "Yes, and we're willing to pay whatever she requests."

Lip tucked betwixt her teeth, Missandei appeared uncomfortable. "I do not understand why you would… oh, I'm sorry. I mean no disrespect…"

Shaking her head, Dany reached out to hug Missy. Not deterred by how the slave girl stiffened and didn't do anything to reciprocate. "I consider you a friend, and you need not worry about offending me."

But Missandei wouldn't respond. "I… I shall tell Mistress Caelia your request. It will be up to her to allow it." Removing herself from Dany's embrace, she smoothed out her dress and motioned for them to follow - acting a proper hostess as was what she was being trained for.

Wincing, Dany noticed Sansa come up next to her and the two girls followed Missandei. "She's not going to open up as easily as someone like Baelgora or Althor," Sansa told her in the Old Tongue. Something Lyanna had taught Dany, Aegon, Rhaenys, and Baelon when they were much younger.

It made for a useful language to speak, given Missy didn't know it. "She's such a wonderful girl, and smart too. She could be at the top of the social ladder back home."

"But she's a slave, whether we like it or not," Sansa sighed. "We could buy her."

"Aron can't justify the purchase with how lowly we all are supposedly… we could steal her, but that could cause an incident if we're found out to be royalty." Dany felt like shit. "I hate this… if I could I'd fly Syrax here and free all the slaves."

"I'd join you."

Hurrying down the stairs, the three of them made their way past the busy tavern that evening and through the dividing curtains marking off the actual brothel from the rest of the complex. It was like night and day from the rest. Rowdy though it was and filled with the overflow of randy couples, the tavern held a modicum of respectability. The brothel itself reeked of perfume and the pungent aroma of rancid sex. Dany coughed, already feeling dirty being among the half-naked whores of both sexes.

"Hi there," grinned a woman with naught but stringy smallclothes and a sheer gown that revealed everything - her pale figure and silver hair could've passed for one of Dany's relatives, if not for the green eyes. "New meat, Missy?"

Dany felt Sansa grab her hand surreptitiously.

"No, Gaera, paying customers," Missy replied, only for the whore to laugh.

An older but no less attractive woman was speaking to another in a tight but less revealing dress before she turned. "Ah, Missandei." It was then that she noticed Dany and Sansa. "Are these the two girls who've requested more of your time than I usually see?" Her eyes were hard and… soulless?

This was clearly someone who cared of nothing but earning a good living for herself.

"Yes, Mistress Caelia," she curtseyed in great subservience, which made Dany want to scream bloody murder. Sansa's grip tightened, steadying her. "They wish to make a purchase."

The senior whore behind Caelia seemed surprised, while Caelia herself didn't bat an eye. "What is it you wish to purchase, young ladies?" No compunction of selling whores to two and ten nameday old girls. "We have a wide selection. For a gold dragon each I can even offer you Missandei as long as her maidenhead remains intact." In front of them, still supplicant, Missandei began to shake from fear.

Sansa, thankfully, took over as Dany wasn't going to be able to speak in a respectful tone. Her friend, however, had learned lessons from Cersei Lannister. "Lady Caelia, I am Lady Alayne Snow, and we don't wish to participate in any… activities. Rather we would like to watch."

Her perfectly manicured brow rose. "Ah, the voyeur experience… for ladies' educational purposes I assume?" She clapped her hands. "Of course… your families wouldn't wish for you to risk your maidenheads learning about sexual pleasure. We get this all the time, and for those that treat my Missy decently I will offer both of you a view for one silver stag."

Reaching into the pouch of her dress and pulling out the coin, Daenerys had a feeling that it was a steal. The coin bearing her kepa's profile soon disappeared into the head whore's pocket. "I'll show you your way, ladies," she said, swarthy skin rather well fragrenced. "Missy, beat it."

Nodding, Missy smiled softly at them. "Good luck. I hope my ladies obtain what you seek."

"Missy!" she scurried off at the command, making Dany scowl again before they both disappeared into the depths of the brothel. "Alright ladies, we actually do many of these so there's a standard procedure." Her common tongue was accented but fluent.

"Will there be someone there to protect us if a patron gets… handsy?" Dany asked, fingering the dagger hidden in the folds of her dress."

"Paying voyeurs aren't allowed in the chambers… we have special ports for you to watch unannounced." A chuckle. "Sometimes the Mistress likes to do so as well… only with the most muscular men and the slimmest of girls. Mistress Caelia likes her bedmates like works of art." Somehow that made her seem even worse to Dany. "Which would you like, then?"

Dany fidgeted, suddenly starting to get cold feet. "Um… the normal stuff. A man and a woman… doing the usual coupling."

The head whore laughed. "You are inexperienced. This better be some boy you're trying to seduce." Oh, it is. With Baelon already being scoped out by ladies, they needed to be prepared to fight for him - Daenerys was sure she'd be ready after this night. "Alright, I think we have many to choose from…"

"And one with another girl as well." The words were almost a squeak - Dany thought she misheard, and then stared back at Sansa. What? Her best friend was blushing like mad. "Please." It was even more a squeak.

Their hostess wasn't fazed. "I have just the one. Come on." Through the hallways they walked, the sounds of pleasure wafting from every chamber around them. Gigglish feminine moans and gruff male grunting. It made Dany uncomfortable… then picturing Jon making those masculine noises made a warmth pool in her belly… which only added to the discomfort. Jon and I don't belong in this dump. She'd heard her brother and his wives, her muna and Ser Jaime. They froliced lovingly in their own bedchambers and treated each other to loving kisses and touches. Unlike her younger brother, fucking a servant girl in a broom closet without care for her needs. Dany hadn't understood it at the time, but now she did and it disgusted her.

"Here. This one will do." Motioning to a barely noticeable eye-slit in the wall, there was position enough for two people to watch the others inside. "Don't make any noise, but they can't see you. Special curtain." She tapped Dany's back. "Enjoy, but you only paid for one."

Alone with Sansa, they gazed awkwardly at each other. Sansa shrugged. "Your idea, so let's get it over with, then."

Dany nodded. "Hopefully we'll find some clue here in how to keep those whores off our man." The thought put a bold face on her, and steadied Sansa. Weaving each other's fingers together, they leaned down, eyes even with the vision slit.

The chambers were gaudily decorated, with plenty of soft cushions embroidered with gold and red colored silk joined with gauzy curtains breezing all over the bed. As perfect a whorehouse as could be expected. A rather thin man in expensive robes was being worked over by two whores, one the Valyrian girl that had made the lewd comment to them earlier and… a redhead. Dany snorted. Quite the coincidence. The man spoke in a language neither were familiar with, but it wasn't hard to divulge the intent.

Soon he was naked, and the redhead pushed him on the bed. With a throaty giggle - quite fake to the female ear but a genuine attraction not necessary here, she climbed up the man. Moaning as he latched onto her tits.

Beside her Dany heard Sansa groan, shifting her legs. No doubt thinking of Baelon doing that to her…

Her eyes widened when the whore straddled the man's head. "What in seven hells is that?" she whispered to Sansa.

"I… I don't… know…" But Sansa simply stared, entranced at it. The whore rolled her hips, framed almost perfectly by the gauzy curtains. She reached up with one hand to hold her hair back while the other groped at her own breast… soon joined by the man's as the slurping sounds of his tongue on her was audible to them. Dany flickered her gaze to Sansa, seeing her mirroring the girl with her free hand, massaging her budding breast underneath her dress.

Turning back, Dany witnessed the silver-haired Lysene climb onto the bed. She crawled like a cat to between the man's legs and took his cock in her fingers. A squeeze… a pump, the man groaning into the redhead's cunt. Squeeze and pump. She filed that for later. Then Dany was surprised as the woman took the cock in her mouth, sucking. "You can do that?" she murmured.

For nearly a minute she watched it unfold, both confusing and interesting to her. Jon is probably much bigger than him. The thought made her salivate… Aye, I like doing that.

Only Baelon.

Suddenly the man grunted and bucked his hips, the Lysene sucking hard before drawing back, grinning. He pushed the redhead off and barked something to the both of them, sitting up on the bed. "What's… he doing…?" Sansa sounded a little breathless.

"I don't…" Suddenly Dany's voice was taken away from her as the ladies attacked each other. Lips fusing and hands roaming. Fingers diving at the join of each other's legs, moans swallowed in the other's mouths.

"Gods," Sansa choked out, trembling slightly. Her grip tightening on Dany. "Sooo…" Her words trailed off.

But Dany didn't even notice, her eyes too riveted on the scene before her. The whores collapsed on the bed, still kissing and still fingering each other's cunts with abandon while the patron watched, pumping his cock. Men clearly liked this, and Jon was likely no exception, but for once that night Jon was not on Dany's mind.

Red and silver hair. A tight grip on her hand. Two women… Of course, with Lya and Lia as her goodsisters she was aware, but this scene of pure passion right before her? Slowly Dany's finger drifted to the same place the whores had theirs, feeling a tingling she couldn't resist to alleviate. An image formed in her mind, one unbidden but eerily similar to what she was seeing. I… I can't believe…

And beside her, Sansa did the same.

Egg wished he had his Valyrian steel sword.

Gods, it felt amazing to walk down the halls of Sunspear or through the streets of the town adjacent to it at the bottom of the hill overlooking the harbor, Fyrefist strapped to his hip and watching the looks of awe, envy, and lust directed his way. While nothing dampened his love for his valonqar, the years of Baelon being praised and him being thought a sickly afterthought made him quiet and bitter. Now was the time to reap the whirlwind.

Prince Aegon Targaryen was the healthiest he'd ever been, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms, and the proud owner of a Valyrian steel bastard blade. Never did he feel more alive, and he wished to use it.

"Up!" Charged at by his cousin, Aegon gave ground. His footsteps firm and coordinated. Quentyn's first swings were dodged without need for a parry but the third brought his sword hand up, blocking the blow with ease. Aye, the use of Fyrefist would've been more satisfying, but as annoying as his cousin was the potential for actual injury wasn't something Egg wanted.

Quentyn, sweat covering his forehead like a sheen, gritted his teeth and pressed on. Racing at Egg, slamming him with his shoulder, the second-born of Doran Martell achieved an opening and tried to take it. He angled his blunted sword and thrust.

But Egg countered, jinking down and to his right. The blade clattered against his shoulder and he winced. Not a fatal blow, however, which gave Egg the chance to ram a fist into Quentyn's gut. His cousin groaned in pain.

Allowing Egg to wheel about and thrust his sword back… right above his chest.

"Stop!" Watching with a keen gaze, Oberyn slowly clapped his hands. "Marvelous, Egg, marvelous. A nasty gash on the shoulder or upper arm is worth a killing blow and you recovered quickly. A glorious fighter you will be to carry on the traditions of all three of your houses."

Egg, grinning madly internally, only bowed. "Your praise means the world, uncle."

"'You're praise means the world, uncle,'" muttered Quentyn, rubbing his stomach and mocking him. Egg rolled his eyes. What a prick.

"Enough, nephew," Oberyn barked. "You have improved greatly since you started, and your effort to use a sudden move of your body to set your enemy off balance can save you in battle and obtain you victory… but do not think it the end all. Be ready to exploit it at the drop of a hat." He gestured to Aegon. "A wily opponent will be able to counter."

"How many opponents will be more skilled than I am, uncle? Most enemies are line rabble." True, but arrogant.

"Most will be, aye, but as a Prince of Dorne many knights and Lords will seek to challenge you if you're in battle, and those in a tourney melee will be well-trained. Never underestimate anyone you risk your life or your honor fighting… that goes for you too, Aegon."

"Yes, uncle," they both replied, behind Oberyn the servants already coming back with several drinks… including a familiar face that made Aegon smile.

"Alright then, you've done your duties for the day. Go, have fun and stay out of trouble… or just get in a little trouble," Oberyn said, the latter part in hushed tones to Egg only, with a wink to punctuate. Egg laughed merrily.

With the departure of their uncle, he turned to Quentyn. "Want to grab a drink… something to eat, cousin?"

Quentyn glared at him. "After the stunt you pulled, your Grace, find your own companion." With a huff he left.

Aegon shook his head, scowling as a voice spoke behind him. "None of us like him." Egg turned to see Maron Sand, a water gourd in his hand. "He's always rude to us."

"So it's not just me, then?" Egg took the gourd and drained most of it… saving the rest to splash on his face to cool off. Sucking in some steadying breaths, he noticed Maron staring intently at him and… felt good about it. "Honestly, he's such a cunt."

"The house servants that have been around a while say it's cause he took Lady Mellario leaving horribly. Unlike Princess Arianne, he was close to his mother - who was a bitch as well if you don't mind me saying."

"Hey, your words are safe with me. As long as it's not treason or rape you can speak freely." They shared a laugh at that. "So, I have some time to kill before I have to be back for supper."

Maron arched a brow. "Your lady friend not here for a roll in the grass?"

Egg sighed. "Sadly know, she and the others of Ari's ladies are traveling with her to Planky Town for the next few days. I mean, I could try to find some companionship but that would take time."

A slow smile spread on Maron's face. "Not at all. If you wouldn't mind, I have something that would be perfect for us this afternoon." It was Egg's turn to raise his brow, but ended up trusting his new friend of such a low station. What could it hurt, and he could bring Fyrefist to protect him… not to mention little Smoke, bumping his snout on Egg's trouser leg.

"No Smoke, stay here." The direwolf whined but laid out in the sun anyway.

'Shall I come?'

Egg chuckled as he walked beside Maron. "Sorry, Tess. Can't fit you anywhere… just fly above if I need you."

'Of course, kepa. Ride tomorrow morning?'

"Of course." Smiling, he noticed Maron staring at him as if he went mad. "Just my dragon."

"You… can talk to one of those beasts?"

"All the time." The look now given was either awe or as one would at a mad person. Likely both in the same.

It was in a dark and imposing house that they finally stopped at, cloaks over their heads for purposes of secrecy - best that the Prince not be seen here. Maron knocked at its door and they were promptly greeted by the owner, a skinny and small man richly clad in fine garments. "Come in then, Maron. It is good to see you." He had dyed blonde hair and hugged Egg's friend. "You brought a companion, then?" One gold tooth glistened in his mouth as he smiled.

"There's no one else in the foyer, is there?" Maron asked.

"None at all, why the secrecy?" Sensing where this was going, Egg lowered his hood and opened his cloak, revealing his majesty in all its glory. The man blinked, then gasped. "Your Grace." He bent the knee. "Welcome to my humble house of pleasure. I am at your service in any capacity."

So a brothel then? Egg somehow expected that, and was feeling peckish enough to try it. "My friend wishes to help me unwind and unwind himself at the same time." Two gold dragons made their way onto the table. "This is for me and him for the next two hours."

The man's tongue trailed over his teeth, quite taken by the gold. "Of course, of course. I am more than happy to accommodate… would you like your usual, Maron?" He pounded a few times at a wooden door across from the entrance.

"Yes," replied Maron, rolling his shoulders. Out of the door at that time walked a… pale sculpture of a young man, no hair but a mop of natural golden locks gracing his head. He smiled at Maron before the latter pulled him into a kiss. A rather deep one, hungry for each other as Egg… couldn't look away. Feeling his body twitch. Seven hells… "Aye, Stev, let's have our fun on my friend's expense." 'Stev' gave Egg an appreciative stare not unlike the ones Ari's ladies gave him before Maron led him out. Well…

"So, my Prince, what would you like?" the owner grinned.

Egg blinked but recovered. "The most beautiful young lady here."

Clapping his hands, he laughed. "That would be Marra. Half of the Summer Isles, dark skin but the finest facial features. You will love her."

Something hit him last minute. "And a young man, too." The owner raised a brow at him. "I'd… like to watch."

A shrug - he'd likely heard far crazier requests. "Follow me, my prince, if it pleases you." Egg nodded and followed through the door.

The place had more than one floor, common in King's Landing but not so much in Dorne for residential buildings. Heading to the stairs Aegon noticed many things he expected. Whores staring at them while he passed, some licking their lips while others recognized a Targaryen Prince and at the very least curtseyed. Oft while licking their lips. The prospect of bedding a Prince was very welcome a development - Egg was sure they'd even pay him for the privilege.

"And here we are." The chambers were large and luxuriously furnished. A big bed took most of the space, and there were several rugs and pillows scattered on the floors. Immediately Egg went to take a seat on one of the luxurious cushioned chairs, tapping the arm. "Do you wish for some refreshments, your Grace?"

He nodded. "Some juice please, freshly squeezed."

"Your companions for the evening will bring them, I promise." Hw bowed and scurried out, leaving Aegon alone.

He didn't look it, but second thoughts made Egg quite nervous inside. "What am I doing?" At the last minute he had ordered a male whore to join him alongside the most beautiful woman he was rather eager to work the day's stresses on. He'd barely started his sexual life, and did he want to add the same sort of couplings he knew his uncle Oberyn gladly partook in?

No, of course not.

Well… perhaps…

He couldn't deny that Maron Sand… stirred things in him much as Arianne's ladies did. Not as strong as Asha's gorgeous, fierce body did in him but it was there nonetheless. "I must explore this… slowly at first."

Aegon would find out if he truly did wish to enjoy the male body as he did the female. If he took after his Martell side as well as his Targaryen - even though the Targaryens had such individuals in their history too.

A knock on the door was suddenly heard. "Enter," Aegon called out. A man and a woman entered, dressed in nothing but a robe to cover their nudity. He was Dornish through and through, and very muscular. She was indeed dark-skinned with kinky hair tied back, but quite petite with a button nose. She beautiful and he… handsome?

Egg found him pleasing. He was unsure if the man himself preferred men or both? Regardless, he'd do what he'd be told. "Your Grace, we are both honored," the woman said, handing him a pitcher of juice.

Pouring himself a glass, Aegon drank it with a pleased sigh. "Your name?"

"Marra… this is Qhorin."

"Right then, take off your robes." He tried to hide his nerves. At once the pair took off their robes, leaving them bare before their Prince. Truly, the woman was a vision. Everything petite except for the breasts, supple yet not too large. He would enjoy her but as for the man… Egg found his eyes locked on his cock. It was a large one, Qhorin well-endowed indeed. Not a bit of fat on them. "Kiss and touch, but no fucking."

Marra and Qhorin embraced, putting on a good show for the Prince. Lips locked, soon moved to the bed, all the while kissing and caressing each other as if they were loving it. Qhorin's cock grew erect… the sight matching Marra's breasts in sending blood down to Egg's member. He shifted in his seat to try and get comfortable, eyes wide and mouth ever so slightly agape.

Much as he had when Asha slipped into his bath all those moons ago.

Her hands wrapping around Qhorin's cock, she stroked him, making him grow even harder. He moaned in response, hand moving to her cunt. He inserted a finger inside of her, and then another. Her sounds of pleasure filled the room.

"Enough!" he shouted, voice quivering and sweat starting to pool under his arms and in his crotch… among his completely erect cock. For a couple in the throes of passion, they obeyed well. "I'm going to fuck your cunt so hard," he growled at Marra, who smiled sultrily. "But first I want you to suck me… while Qhorin fuck's your arse."

"Your Grace?"

"Do either of you have a problem with that?"

"No, your Grace," they jointly replied.

"Good… you will fuck her arse from behind while she services me, but… have you fucked men, Qhorin?" Aegon asked, his heart pounding.

The man nodded. "Aye, your Grace. Many times, both ways."

Biting his lip, Aegon nodded back. "Fuck her ass the way you would a man's, but if you hurt her I will have your cock severed with my sword." Qhorin only smiled slightly.

Minutes later, Egg couldn't even remember his own name. Lost with her lips working at him, tongue slobbering over his cock… his eyes were not on Marra. Instead they were on Qhorin, watching how he grunted and cursed through Marra's arse. Leaving her cunt untouched for him, but Egg had no thought of that now.

At that moment, he had the answer to his question.

Daella thought no one noticed how she often left the manse.

Standing by her brazier, staring into the glowing coals as if a red priest conjuring the false god they worshiped - no god, simply a man whom long ago had obtained the love of a goddess - Sarra Blackfyre only chuckled at her daughter's naivete. The one who inherited her own intelligence, but not her cunning. That had come from her father, Daemon, a strong man with the most skilled of arms in swordsplay but without guile. That is why cousin Maelys was able to kill you, kepa. Just having flowered at the time, Sarra had been raised after by her mentor, brought into the way she was, a woman worthy to carry on the family title.

But she had taken after cousin Maelys. Not the impotent rage, but the powerful cunning. A slow smirk crossed her face, thinking of the last look of her mentor as the life left her eyes.

Oh, had that been satisfying.

Shunning the coals of the brazier, as Sarra walked to the vat suspended from the ground through massive chains hanging from the ceiling, her thoughts turned back to Daella. Her siblings… love them that she did, they were not the same to Sarra as the child she hand sacrificed for and earned the favor of the Dark One. Aenar… the ferocity of Bittersteel returned, but with that strength came the bitterness. Gaemon, more like her kepa, a gentle soul. Aelora an adventurer and Aelyx hanging on his twin's every word and action.

But Daella was the future, Daella the one who would purge the name of its association with the doltish mother of Aemma Arryn, instead placing it among the glory of Visenya, Rhaenys the Queen who Never Was, Alyssa, and Daena the Defiant. The muna of their entire line. She was the one who would sit upon the Iron Throne at the end of it all, Sarra was sure of it.

Connington would have a fit at Daella leaving for some brothel. Her half-uncle would have a fit. Aenar would likely scream for days about it… yet Sarra saw no issue with it. Daella was smart, and her willfulness showed her spirit as a royal.

But why did she truly go? Was it simply for sexual release? Sarra herself had both male and female lovers for that reason, but why would Daella hide it? That was what Sarra hoped to see, and it brought her to the vat of red liquid.

Her slaves of Naathi or Ghiscari or Dothraki blood always had great fear of her private domains, which was why Sarra utilized those rare women of Mossovy or Asshai beyond the Bone Mountains. They were pale, beautiful in a haunting way. Their faith had given them a glorious hate of the common morality of the religions west of their lands, to which Sarra used to her gain. "All is ready, your Grace," one spoke, her Common Tongue as flawless as her Valyrian. Skin pale, eyes slanted, her name was useless to Sarra.

She served her well. That was all that mattered. "Is this one fresh?" she asked, looking into the vat of red liquid.

"Was drained only hours ago. Heated to slow drying."

"Good, good." Sarra drew a bronze knife, cutting open her finger and letting some drops of blood fall into the vat. Her strength of spirituality had grown so significantly that she needed not even chant… the fire of Valyria commanded simply by blood and mind.

Through the vat an image formed. Created by the ripples in the surface - vague, but nevertheless clear at the same time. Daella, conversing with a man. Dark of hair, but Valyrian of eye… a large dog by his side. No, a wolf, a pup.

A direwolf.

Sarra's lips curled into a rather vile, proud smile. Daella, you are truly the best of us.