Capítulo 23: Here be Hatchlings
"Beautiful, aren't they?" Daenerys smiled sweetly as the ocean breeze rustled her silks. We were reclining on the balcony of her chambers, atop couches with plush cushions stuffed with goose down. She was garbed in a plum silk dress with a tiny dragon wrapped around her neck, having grown sleepy after gorging itself on crispy chunks of goat.
I eyed the creature's slender body expanding and deflating with every lazy breath. "They are. I said the same thing the first ten times you asked."
She blushed.
After stepping into the pyre, the loss of her hair had left Daenerys Targaryen bald and smooth as an egg. It would take a while to regrow, and Dany was very conscious of it. "I cannot help it. Look at them. They are dragons. Living, breathing dragons. After more than a hundred years, here they are." The black-scaled beast dug its claws into her neck. Dany winced where upon it wrapped its long serpentine tail around her arm. All the dragons were tiny things, no larger than a cat and much lighter. They were all frail bones and graceless limbs. It was only when they spread their delicate wings that their full size could truly be admired, and admired they were. Daenerys pried its claws from her shoulder. "Before they hatched, I imagined I was Queen Rhaenys or Visenya or any of the other Targaryens when dragons ruled. I spent my dreams soaring the skies and across oceans. Discovering unknown lands and visiting cities, looking down at everyone from above. That I would retake Westeros from the Usurper."
"And now we can." I grinned, leaning forward to pick a plump grape from the silver platter. The skin was tender and, upon biting into it, filled my mouth with sweetness. I stoked my own sleeping dragon, running a hand down its spiny back. The scales were warm and it was like having a hot water bottle atop my lap, if said bottle occasionally scratched or bit my knee in its sleep. Despite having planned for it, I couldn't believe there were dragons. Once I had two bearded dragons and they'd been cool, but these were different beasts entirely. The purple-and-black hatchling had taken to me immediately, spending most of its days on my shoulder and occasionally whipping me with the tip of its tail. It also sneezed smoke into my face which was annoying . . . but how could I complain? It was a dragon!
I must have had my thoughts plastered across my face because Dany snickered. While I had one on my lap, she had the rest surrounding her. Of those three, two retained their canon names: Rhaegal and Viserion. It didn't take long for their personalities to become known. Viserion was the smallest, lithe and pretty with gold-speckled scales, and the gentlest who loved being cuddled and purred like a cat whenever Dany did so. The green-and-bronze was Rhaegal who was the loudest and had on many occasions snapped at Daenerys' handmaidens, even biting Doreah when she saved him from falling off a table. He was the pragmatic one who had not met a challenge without first trying to manoeuvre around, distract or hamstring it. Such tactics worked on Viserion all the time when they played. Then there was the black-and-red, Daenerys favourite, who also just happened to be the largest and most dominant of the four, the one that wasted no time in becoming the alpha. Because Daenerys never had close relations with Khal Drogo and instead watched him burn to death, she had gone with a different name: Rhaellon, named after the queen who died birthing her.
"And now we can!" she repeated my words with enthusiasm. "They are so tiny though. I have no doubt they'll grow to be strong and fierce as the Conquerors own. They need to. They've been shedding recently. Haldon told me that's what snakes do when they grow. Do you think dragon scales can be used for armour when they're large enough?"
I never thought about that and took a moment to think. Currently the scales were soft, but they'll grow harder as the dragons aged. If the books were completely reliable, a dragon's scales could shrug off arrows fired from a bow and even bolts thrown from a scorpion. "Maybe they can. Is that what you want, Daenerys? Do you want to dress yourself in Rhaellon's skin? Are you secretly a Bolton?"
"It's not skin," she said before picking up a grape and throwing in my direction. It hit me square on the nose and she giggled. I tried hard to keep my face stoic, but the mask crumbled and I found myself joining in. "I do need armour," Daenerys continued, "both Aegon's wives wore mail during the Conquest. I believe Queen Rhaenyra as well. I don't remember correctly, but didn't Queen Visenya get injured?"
"By an archer in the Field of Fire. She took an arrow to the shoulder."
Dany nodded. "I will need to wait. None of them are large enough to fly, nor can they protect us. As they are babes, we need to protect them."
I looked down at the dragon I'd named Azantys after much thought. I was never good at naming things – my previous thoughts were Toothless and Smaugon – but this name seemed fitting for it was Valyrian for warrior. Hopefully it would be meaningful later for this warrior was a tiny thing. Azantys was slender, not much larger than Viserion and had eyes like black pools. He would stare at you which would have been creepy if he wasn't adorable. There were only baby dragons, but all of them were big eaters, easily consuming several times their own weight every day. Not a single meal occurred without the four of them battling over every piece, growing larger and fiercer.
"And we'll do so. A single arrow, a slash from a sword, and even a stone thrown will kill them. Though most wouldn't be stupid enough for that. There are only four dragons in the whole world so should someone steal only the one, they'll gain something that's beyond price. Every man who steals eyes upon them will want them for themselves."
"I disagree. There will always be those willing to kill them for no other reason than to call themselves dragonslayer. I will not let them. They are ours. These three are mine and that one would be as well if he didn't like you. They were born of my brother and faith. If he hadn't died, I'm sure they wouldn't be here now. Power always comes from a cost; Haldon says, and that's a steep cost if it is so. No man will take them from me whilst I live."
That's fine. Those's who'd steal them would kill you first. "I'm sure you would fight like a mother hen to protect them."
She gave me a pointed look and I couldn't help but snicker. "A mother protects her children and I'm their mother. The dragons are our houses' symbols and the dragons hatching at this time, when we need them, mean something. The servants call me the Unburnt. Daenerys the Unburnt, the Mother of Dragons."
The red priests will no doubt call you Azor Ahai Reborn as well. "The first of many titles, me thinks. Though I urge caution so all this power doesn't get to your head. You are no dragonrider yet."
Dany bobbed her head up and down, her attempt to look queenly broke when Viserion rubbed against her tummy and made her giggle. "How long do you think we'll have to wait?"
"Two years I would expect, maybe three. They are tiny now but will grow and quick. We'll need to keep them well fed. It's fortunate Pentos is rich in livestock. Azantys has quite the taste for beef so I fear Pentoshi cows may become a thing of the past once we finally invade."
"Then we should invade soon, Egg. Me not getting burnt, the dragons, they are a sign. I just know it. Septa Lemore says the Seven are looking down upon us and provided me their blessing. One of the servants claimed R'hllor has chosen me for how else can I walk into the pyre and only lose the hair atop my head?"
A few reasons. Lyra's magic for one. I looked down at my bandaged hand and grimaced. It still hurt and I'd been too stubborn to consume milk of the poppy. If a few burns on my hand was the price for these creatures, I would pay said price and call it a bargain.
Daenerys Targaryen licked her lips and reclined backwards, letting Viserion climb atop her belly and curl up. "Your father desires us wed as soon as possible."
I wasn't surprised. It was the dragons that had changed his plans in the books from Daenerys being an expendable pawn to becoming one of the most important pieces. That was why he had sent Ser Barristan to bring her back to Pentos, no doubt to marry her to Young Griff. There was no Daenerys in Qarth or Slaver's Bay so those cities were still flooded with slaves. For now. "Father's most eager. Mayhaps we should have two ceremonies."
"Should you fail the first one?"
"That to. A smaller ceremony should be held before the Golden Company as a sign of unity and to tie up our alliance, then another in Westeros when, or should, we win the Iron Throne. The latter should be performed by the High Septon before all the smallfolk and lords. A wedding such as that would bring forth more legitimacy and prestige to our persons. Same with your crowning."
Dany nodded in agreement. "An interesting suggestion, Egg. I can't help but feel a little nervous about it though."
"I trust I'm not that bad looking."
She blushed. "N-no, I mean yes, I mean . . . You are most beautiful."
"I thank you for the compliment, I strive to be such a thing." I smiled lazily and Dany rolled her eyes in a way that told me she regretted saying those words. "Though in truth, I would rather be a good husband and partner in both court and private."
She smiled. "In all honesty, I am still surprised you put aside your own claim. I saw how reluctant some of the officers were to bow and that was only when most already did. Most would want to marry me to become king where they to rule in my stead. I would count myself lucky if they allowed me any authority of my own."
You would be voiceless if Illyrio got his way. I had seen the way he looked at her and had called me into his office to unleash his anger at myself for being, quote, "a foolish lust filled boy," which was hypocritical for he claimed to love Serra Blackfyre and diminished his own standing because of it, though I had no doubt he was full of lies and it was because she was a scion of House Targaryen that he married her. "You are the rightful heir and carry more legitimacy than I in the eyes of the lords." I'd doubts Daenerys and I were going to see eye to eye on every issue and our disagreements might cause ripples that eventually grow into rifts. I was hopeful, maybe naively, that I could avoid that.
She smiled shyly, scratching Rhaellon on the neck. "If there is any boon you desire, I would do all in my power to see it happen."
I bowed my head in thanks. "If you were offering, I do think you need your own Queensguard. Not only for your protection, but to add further legitimacy to your claim. Might I suggest a name?"
"Who is it? Who do you want to serve as my sworn shield?"
"Duck." Daenerys looked at me sceptically so I explained. "Duck is my friend. We travelled Essos together and he taught me arms most of my life. While he may not be the most well-bred, nor even the greatest of knights, he is trustworthy and able and will die for you. That is what you need in a guardsman. When Visenya formed the Kingsguard, they had members from all over. Ser Humfrey the Mummer was lowborn, but he was strong and quick and devoted to his king. That is what you need. Ser Jaime Lannister is among the best swordsmen and a lord's son, but you know what happened." It would also help to have one of my own watching you.
Daenerys thanked me for the suggestion and asked Irri to fetch Duck. The ginger knight entered and went to one knee. "Ser Rolly Duckfield," Daenerys began. The dragons hissed as she shifted. "Please rise. I have just been speaking with Aegon who has suggested I form a Queensguard and one of the names he recommended happened to be yours." Rolly looked dumbfounded but Daenerys continued. "I was told you are a stalwart man. Is this true?"
"I like to believe myself as such," Duck admitted cautiously.
"Aegon suggested you be named the first member and told me stories of knights from humble origins. I am aware you are only a blacksmiths son, but one with aspirations of knighthood. To serve your queen is the highest honour and only seven knights are permitted to wear the white cloak. Would you desire that, ser? Would you desire to take the white and serve your queen?"
Duck swallowed and looked down, not quite meeting her gaze. "I thank you for the honour, Your Grace, but I'm afraid I must decline the offer. I am unworthy."
"Hogwash," I said. "This is an honour. You are my friend and worthier than many who've worn the white. I can think of no one else for such a position."
"I thank you for the consideration, the both of you, but . . . in the Kingsguard, one is unable to take a wife and family. There is one . . ."
Instead of being offended, Daenerys only smiled. "And I wager you have your eyes on someone. Is that true?"
Duck scratched the back of his head and I couldn't help but notice a watching Doreah blush. "It seems one of my knights has been taken with one of your ladies. Is this true, Rolly?"
"It is true, Master Aegon," Doreah curtsied, "Your Grace. We have been—"
"May I ask for your blessing," Duck interjected, suddenly sounding braver for a moment. "To take Doreah to wife."
Daenerys thought for a moment, but it was clear it was only for show. "Provided you treat my dearest Doreah gently and are faithful, I see no reason to deny such a request. As faithful service to the both of you, I will provide you a stout keep near King's Landing and take you into my own household."
"I-I, thank you, Your Grace." Doreah looked close to tears and hugged Duckfield.
I smiled. I was glad Duck found someone and was quite surprised but, at the same time, I didn't like surprises, especially if they conflicted with what I had planned. None the matter. This is minor. The Queensguard will only be a ceremonial body at the end of the day.
After Duck took his leave to return to the sparring yard, Daenerys hugged Doreah tight, congratulated and kissed the handmaiden on the cheek. "Is that why you were looking at fertility charms?"
Doreah blushed a deep red and when she was about to respond, there was a knock on the door. I asked for Irri to pause her chess game against Larra to open it. Thanking the girl, Dalabhar walked in with a tightness one could expect if they were constipated. He entered, closed the door behind him and gave a salute, not even glancing at the dragons who arose at the noise. I gave him a nod in greeting before calling to him, "How is Lyra?"
Dalabhar had been assigned to her protection as she laid abed, sleeping off whatever the hell happened that turned her into half a skeleton. She didn't die, thankfully, but she'd been in a short-lived coma with Haldon feeding her milk and honey so she wouldn't waste away. Only recently had Lyra woken up, but she hadn't done much other than sleep. "She is doing well. Better than last night and much more than the night before. She requested I ask Her Grace a question."
"What is that, adjutant?" Daenerys was curious before pecking Doreah on the cheek and returning to her seat.
His expression was pained. "When you stepped into the pyre and birthed those four dragons, was it a chilling experience for you?"
Sounds like something Lyra would ask. Good to know that almost dying hadn't stripped her of her wit.
"I honestly didn't feel a thing. It was warm but I didn't burn, not like Aegon. It was queer but—I wasn't thinking about anything. It was like a dream and fuzzy, like I wasn't truly there." She looked confused, biting her lip then turned to me with a look of concern. "How is your hand?"
"Stiff. Better than it was. Haldon cleaned the wounds and added soothing medicine to the skin." I forced a smile and jested, "I got burnt on your behalf it seems. I don't think the fires liked me all that much. But you, Dalabhar, I doubted you came as a messenger to Lyra's questions. Why are you here?"
"I have come to inform the both of you of recent events from the Sunset Kingdoms."
"And what news may that be, adjutant?"
Of late, there had been much. Lord Eddard became Hand and Westeros had been slowly mobilising thanks to our operations within the Disputed Lands and Stepstones. Varys was doing his best to hinder their operations and spread of information but he was facing an uphill battle which now had Lord Stannis enlarging the royal fleet, augmenting it with fifty large dromonds at a sizeable cost to the crumbling royal treasury propped up only thanks to generous loans from the Iron Bank and Lord Tywin. No doubt Littlefinger was doing what Littlefinger did best and exploiting the situation by ensuring the loans had incredibly high interest rates for the purpose of crippling the Westerosi economy later down the line. Despite Varys' attempts in Westeros, the lords were using the Golden Company threat as an opportunity to build up their military strength for the increasingly inevitable clusterfuck against each other. Lord Tywin had been hiring sellswords, called his banners and raising fresh levies to "come to the realms defence when needed." Such actions had caused a chain reaction among his neighbours. Ser Edmure had followed Tywin's example, as had the Tyrells. While they hadn't fully mobilised for war, them performing it much earlier was worrisome. I doubted Lord Eddard would be overseeing this and doing nothing himself.
"War." The Summer Islander's voice was grave. "Recent events have concluded with Robert Baratheon's death and the recent crowning of Prince Joffrey. Lord Eddard Stark attempted to usurp the title of regent with a palace coup but was foiled. Add that to recent skirmishes between the Tully's and Lannisters, and the North has risen up in arms."
It begins. I nodded, rubbing little Azantys under the chin. "I expected as much. We've been slowly weakening the foundations beneath the Usurper's feet so one of these days it was bound to collapse. Are those three the only ones fighting?"
"I'd expect the lords Baratheon to become involved soon enough. Lord Stannis has been building up his forces on Dragonstone. He's taken in a Shadowbinder from Asshai, been hiring sellsails and mercenaries. Some of whom have fought against us in the Disputed Lands, though I can't say for certain due to limited information. The Spider's spies on Dragonstone always end up vanishing so we have no eyes there."
Vanishing? That was unsettling. One of our most important tools was Varys' spy network. Without that we were blind, and Stannis was among the most dangerous contenders. Robb was an exceptional military commander, but it was Stannis who survived longest in the War of the Five Kings and was a battle-hardened commander who could inspire great loyalty in his men. The fact he'd been preparing for a possible invasion from across the Narrow Sea would make him stronger than he was in canon. He's got more ships, more men and no doubt better prepared for the outbreak of war. And without spies, we can't tell how much.
Dany sat up. "Dead? Are you sure he is dead?" Rhaellon hissed, pale smoke rose before her face like a veil. She waved it away. "Can you be certain?"
"I do not believe the Spider would have any cause to lie," my officer said, before muttering, "unless he has decided to switch sides."
"The Usurper killed my brothers. Robert Baratheon hired Ser Jorah Mormont as a hired knife to get in close and murder Viserys. He would have killed me too if he had the chance. What was the manner of the Usurper's death?"
"He'd been torn by a boar whilst hunting in the Kingswood. I've been told much news is unreliable, so I'm only going by the Spider's words. Sailors from King's Landing and its surrounding towns claim the queen betrayed him. Others say Lord Stark planned to make himself regent by launching his coup and threatening the boy king and dowager queen with death if they dared refuse. No doubt plenty more will soon come this way, even more outlandish than the last. All that can be certain is that Robert Baratheon is dead, the realm's unstable and conflicts are flaring up like forest fires within in the heart of summer."
"I have never seen the Usurper's face," Dany said softly. "Yet not does a day pass without me thinking about him and all he has done. How can I not with the Usurper being the shadow looming over my life since I came forth amidst blood and storm and salt in a world where I no longer had a place? With Baratheon dead, it feels as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. If he's half the warrior people claim, the campaign should go easier without him. You have my thanks for bringing the news, Dalabhar, from the depths of my heart."
"I wouldn't be too confident, Your Grace," I interjected. "The boy king sits the Iron Throne and he's not like to step aside."
"A bastard of incest," Dalabhar said. "Varys reports he is the bastard son of Cersei and Jaime Lannister. They cuckolded the late king and gave him a pair of horns. Apparently stag antlers were not enough for Robert and his wife was all the willing to provide. Nonetheless, the Lannisters have been ruling the royal court, fighting the Baratheon brothers even before the king's death. With Stannis on Dragonstone and Renly having fled to Highgarden, their influence should be undisputed."
"She cuckolded the Usurper?" Dany made a face as if she was unsure what to make of it. I partially wagered she was both shocked and somewhat delighted with Robert's line being non-existent. "Is there any proof?"
"Our spies report that was what Lord Eddard Stark was trying to find out," I informed her. "We'll have to see if it's true, of course, but I do think all of Cersei's children are illegitimate."
"We cannot be certain of that," the Summer Islander disagreed. "It could just be a ploy."
"Of course they are illegitimate," Dany shot back. "The Baratheons are false, only climbing the Iron Throne on the blood and bones of my kin. If the usurper's dogs fight amongst themselves, that'll mean there are less traitors for us to fight and they'll be all the weaker. I only wonder how Viserys would have felt should he have known our vengeance was so close to hand."
"He would in no doubt be thankful for the news," Dalabhar mused. "With his death, Westeros is bereft of its rightful king, but in his place is a young queen who has birthed dragons from the flames."
"The war will no doubt engulf the entire continent," I added. "Because of the nature of marriage alliances, lords will be drawn into the fighting and that will further weaken all the contenders for when we finally invade."
"We should contact houses sympathetic to our cause so, once we land, they can join their strength to ours," Daenerys decided.
Dalabhar shook his head. "I had put forth the notion to Blackheart that we contact none to minimise risk to our operations. Should word get loose that we are going to invade, the noble houses might put aside their differences and, with our strategy relying on shock and rapid dominance, it would work best if Westeros was unknowing. The less people know, the less likely someone will talk."
Laying beside Dany, Rhaegal stirred, opening his mouth to reveal two lines of black needle-sharp teeth. It stared at Dalabhar with eyes of molten bronze before growling. Dany stroked his neck to settle him. Adjutant wasn't disturbed in the slightest. He gave a short-lived glance at the dragon like it was a tiny dog. Seriously, what would it take to unsettle this man?
"I understand," she said, her voice was polite but carried a strength I had come to expect of her. "But we need allies in Westeros. We cannot win on our own against all those who will fight on behalf of the usurpers. I want you to put forth my idea. Speak to Ser Myles Toyne about it. Is my Lord Connington returning?"
"He is not, Your Grace. Ser Jon Connington is in the Disputed Lands, overseeing the men with the captain-general here."
"He is my regent; must I remind you?"
"Regent and officer of the Golden Company. As of now, the latter is more important than the former."
That didn't please her. "You are dismissed. Pray, close the door on your way out." The man bowed his head and took his leave. Daenerys Targaryen signed. "I am queen, but I don't feel like it. Half the people here treat me as a little girl and the other half fear me."
Why would a superstitious people fear a little girl walking into a burning pyre that melted armour and hatch dragons without a single mark upon her fair skin? "You are no queen yet, not officially. You have not been crowned in a ceremony."
"Viserys died and you proclaimed me queen."
"That was no official crowning. Even than, you can carry the title of Queen of the Seven Kingdoms but that won't mean anything until you sit the Iron Throne itself. Until then, you are merely a pretender, no different than the Blackfyres except you have more dragons than they did."
She bit her lip. "Viserys sold our mother's crown and people called him a beggar. It has been returned so men will call me queen. Yet even with the crown, with the army that has been sworn to me, I am a beggar still. The most powerful and splendid beggar in all the world, but a beggar all the same. I dislike it, Egg, as my brother must have. All the years of running from city to city, pleading for help from archons and princes and magisters, buying food with flattery and promises with no way to pay. He must have known they mocked him, and no wonder he turned so angry and bitter. It would do the same to me if I let it . . . and become no more than one of your ancestors, fighting for a throne that's getting further away."
"But unlike my ancestors, you have dragons. That'll make all the difference." And other things that are less obvious.
"Small ones," she smiled forcibly. "They are children, just as I was only a few months ago. I am no longer a child, Egg." Getting to her feet, the dragons took flight. Rhaellon skittered across the floor, wingtips scrabbling across the marble and up a table. Azantys' awoke, rising his head to stare down at them, watching with a straightened back as if about to pounce atop of Rhaegal and Viserion who were now play fighting. "I am only a young girl and unused to the ways of war, but I will tell you this, this changes everything. Had Westeros stood united, we would have failed like so many invaders. But divided, this is our chance. Should we strike now, while they are fighting and pawing at each other, they won't see us coming. There never was a better time to invade."
"We wait," I told her sternly. "We need further supplies. We need more horses and our stocks of wildfire have yet to be replenished. We should wait for the lords of Westeros to bleed each other dry. Even with all our strength, we will face a tough campaign. Westerosi is not going to fall into our hands once we land."
"I know that." She climbed over her scrabbling dragons, took my hands in hers and looked down at me with violet eyes. Her full, bow-shaped lips curled into a smile. "I am no frightened girl. Nor am I a fool. I have birthed dragons, burnt a khal and am queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The blood of the dragon. My brothers may have died, Viserys to his foolishness and the Usurper's knives, and Rhaegar to his hammer, but I'll do what they failed to do. Regardless of whether the son is his or not, we will defeat him."
"The dragons are tiny and pose no threat."
"The Trident proved that dragons can be killed, but so can dragonslayers. We're going to prove that. The both of us. You have built up the Golden Company into something else, but now's the time to strike. Let Westeros know the dragons have returned."
Here might be our first ripple.
...
Upon leaving Dany's apartments, Dalabhar escorted me down the beautifully decorated corridors of Illyrio's manse where I found Vaquo, likewise, heading for Lyra's chambers. He was awkwardly clutching a cluster of yellow flowers in his sweaty hands and looked to be complimenting the odds of walking into a tiger's den armoured in strips of bacon.
"Got yourself a lady love, Vac?" I asked with a half-smile. If that was true, I'd be surprised. Vaquo didn't do much outside of work. He was very diligent but never social. I would even go so far as to consider him asexual.
The plump Volantene turned to me. While our time outside the manse had thinned his features, it was only a momentary thing. Vaquo loved his food and Magister Illyrio indulged his guests on the finest. Now he stood with a round face covered with pale spots, icy blue eyes and white hair which was a messy tangle. He never cared much for presentation, but it seemed this time he put on some minor effort: a doublet of black velvet with intricate patterns of cloth-of-gold, a studded leather belt and a chain of black iron tight around his throat. "I do not understand."
"I believe Aegon was making a jest, Master Vaquo," my adjutant said. "Though I for one am surprised. Did you find them in Illyrio's garden or outside the walls? I never thought you would leave the manse."
"Inside," he admitted awkwardly. "I found them in the garden, the one that has the statue with a likeness to Aegon. They were near the trees. So many flowers of so many different colours. Lilacs and yellows, blue and red, deep violet and clear white. After what happened to Lyra, I knew she should be given something."
"That's considerate," I smiled at him. I should have gotten her some flowers, come to think of it.
"Are you trying to buy the witch's love?" Dalabhar asked, his deadpan tone betrayed by the slightest of half-smiles. "I would caution you about that. When I was a boy, we were told stories of witches using glamours and potions to make themselves beautiful and steal the hearts of young men who'd fallen for their charms. They steal your soul and use it for dark magic."
"No, it's not that," the Volantene said, taken aback. "I only wish her to get well. When my sister got sick with the flux, mother told me to visit Trianna's bedside and said it was most improper to not go without providing a gift to make her feel better. She never said what, but I knew she liked dresses, especially those with delicate yellow flowers, the kind made of Myrish lace that look like the ones here."
"Let's just hope Lyra likes them as much as your sister did then."
"Oh, she hated them and didn't want me in her chambers. Trianna instead asked the guards to take me out. Mother thought it was something I said."
"Did you say anything?"
"Not to my recollection." Shaking my head, I turned and led the way. As we walked, Vaquo piped up once more, sounding much more interested in this engagement. "Remember when I asked for permission to build a giant flamethrower so the dromonds could spray wildfire?"
"I remember being very reluctant."
"I can happily say I have crafted the first one. It is much larger in scale than the flamethrowers used by the pyromarines in battle and should be feared across the Narrow Sea."
"You sound confident," Dalabhar commented with scepticism.
"I made them," Vaquo declared, not sounding at all humble. "I've even drawn what it looks like on a ship. On the prow will be the nozzle, covered in bronze and mounted on a swivel so you can turn it around. It's more versatile, and crafted in the likeness of a dragon with its mouth open. Its aspect should be terrifying and the wildfire will be directed against the enemy vessels through a series of tubes coming from a brazier that heats the wildfire which is pushed outwards by a hand pump that can be used by either one man or two."
"Aren't you worried the brazier may ignite the wildfire?"
Vaquo shook his head in a manner like that was a ludicrous question. "No. The tank is sealed. I can show you the design later. It's to help keep the substance thin like water and ensures it doesn't become too thick. It goes up the pipe and out through the nozzle, igniting on the exposed flame in the mouth. The range should reach sixty feet."
"Sounds like it'll blow up," Dalabhar muttered. "We in the Summer Isles don't use wildfire as you do in Essos, nor do we ram our opponents craft. We have swan ships designed by the much vaulted Xanda Qo, and the best are built on the Isle of Koj. They don't have rams, though they do have large figurines on the bow. Instead, each ship is protected by a squadron of red archers wielding goldenheart bows. No sane pirates dare attack them. When I was younger, more so than Aegon, I was trained by my father as one. I sailed the Summer Isles, practising on the decks and had more than once fought corsairs, duelling arrows before forcing them to withdraw."
"Not your first kill, though?" I asked.
"My first kill was a Blackcoat Jaguar with nothing but a sharpened stone when I was twelve. Where I was born, you are not a true man until you have shed blood. My people are considered much more warlike then those of the other islands. That is because if corsairs and slavers come, we're among the first they stumble across. It is a rite of passage and before the uniting of the isles, my people were among the most feared in battle."
"And why was that?"
"As we have restrictions on who can marry, my people were so feared because we had hordes of young men who were not allowed to lay with a woman until they had first killed a man. It was among the best motivation one can get. We still follow the traditions now, though we no longer fight amongst our neighbours as we used to . . . well, except for when I was exiled."
"You told me that story." And it was a long one.
"I hope it didn't bore you."
"On the contrary," I smirked at him. "You should write it down. It can be an adventure story and mayhaps I produce it on the printing press. The adventures of Dalabhar the Exiled Prince."
"I don't understand," Vaquo began only for me to interrupt.
"Maybe if you cared to ask him, or why he was so competent at near everything."
There was a reason Myles had given me Dalabhar as an subordinate officer and after a few weeks of him doing my job for me, I had asked why he was so learned, to which he told me his life story as people in this world tend to do. Dalabhar had been born in Tamarinu, the easternmost peninsula of Jhala otherwise known as the Golden Head, and firstborn son of Prince Dabaku Ebaharo. He had travelled around the Summer Isles, trading with the other islands and even going as far as Volantis before coming back to discover a rival from his youth had fabricated a claim to some valuable land which included a very profitable trading port and shipyard that Dalabhar had expanded on behalf of his father. "A scheming little toad he was," my adjutant had said, "after beating him as a child, he was always looking for vengeance and was determined to get it." But the wars of the Summer Isles were like tourneys and highly ritualised, with two opposing teams meeting at a chosen field consecrated in advance by priests where only the warriors were harmed. But Dalabhar was Tywinesque and instead of doing that – and foolishly I might add – had instead summoned some of his most trusted companions and killed the rival and his men with goldenheart bows that were forbidden. Old Prince Dabaku Ebaharo was not amused in the slightest and swiftly exiled his son, stripping him of his betrothed, future throne and family name. "I didn't have to abandon the family name," Dalabhar had explained as we drank in the tent that night. "I had come to regret my decision which had been done in the foolishness of youth. Hot blooded I was, and vengeful. I dishonoured my family by continuing to bear the name Ebaharo so I become only Dalabhar." And thus, Dalabhar was exiled to Essos where he found work with the free companies fighting in the Disputed Lands, first with the Stormbreakers then the Company of the Cat. After an ambush on the Rhoyne, Dalabhar was captured by the Volantenes, put in chains and soon in the fighting pits of Astapor, as well as having a side gig of serving as his master's bookkeeper. Suffice to say, he survived and brought his own freedom, no doubt aided by some creative accounting and skimming some of the coin off the top.
Outside Lyra's door, both Damon and Qarro stood guard. They saluted but, knowing them, I couldn't tell whether they were being sarcastic. "Haven't got the dragon, I see," Damon said with his characteristic lazy smile.
"He's sleeping. Besides, I don't think the precious Lady Lyra would desire to meet them. Doubt she's a fan."
Qarro snickered. "I still can't believe you hatched dragons, or the girl did. Who's such a fool to walk into a burning pyre?"
"I still can't believe he's a Blackfyre," Damon muttered. "I pray you don't remember when I punched out your babe's teeth during training when you're finally sitting the Iron Throne as king over us all."
"I didn't but now you've reminded me," I put a finger to my chin and hummed. "How to punish all those who've struck me . . . How about the Wall?"
"I would rather die than have my cock freeze off in that wasteland," the bastard declared.
"It might make keeping your oaths a little easier."
"Only you can put as much value in your cock as you do to your life," Dalabhar commented.
"Of course," the young man said. "Without a cock you have no life. Without a cock, how can you enjoy natures pleasures like a woman moaning beneath you, or pissing up a tree? So Aegon, have you finally fucked the dragon queen? Showed her your Blackfyre? Slid your sword in her sheath?"
"Why in the gods name have I got guard duty with you?" Qarro wondered aloud. "Young Griff, why do you torture me?"
I rolled my eyes. "Because I trust you to do your duty. And Damon, no, I have not. We're not married."
"I wouldn't wait to fuck her. She's petite, yes, and bald, but comely still. Anyone in their right mind would be trying to make her scream."
I wasn't amused. "Daenerys is your queen. You will shut your mouth and treat her with respect else I'll cut your tongue out." My tone surprised even me and that was enough for Damon to shut his yap. He apologised and opened the door.
"I heard you on the other side. Glad to know you took your time," Lyra acknowledged us in bed as we entered. Her face was gaunt but she looked better, though that wasn't saying much. This was the first time I had seen her since the funeral. Turning to Vaquo, her lips curled into an amused smile. "Am I correct in assuming you're trying to woo me, Volantene? If so, I'm flattered."
Vaquo fidgeted awkwardly. "These were a gift—"
"Are you trying to court me?" Lyra asked, raising an eyebrow. "I never thought I would catch the eye of one of the Old Blood of Volantis. I thought you could never lay with those outside your bloodline."
"That is inaccurate. We are encouraged to keep the line pure, but many times we marry another Old Blood or a prominent member of the lower nobility. Some are even born of bedslaves should they carry Valyrian features. Though they are looked upon with distrust, they still carry the blood of Old Valyria."
"Well, I thank you for coming and the gift, though the little history of Volatene marriage customs was unwarranted," Lyra said with the sincerest smile I had ever seen on her. "They are lovely, and the gesture was sweet. It is nice to see someone had gotten me something – Aegon."
"Dalabhar didn't get you anything either," I shot back.
"He gifts me with his presence. What's all I need from him." She winked.
"Now I feel dirty," the Summer Islander commented wryly to which Lyra chuckled.
Fidgeting, Vaquo glanced around awkwardly at everywhere but Lyra. "I should be taking my leave. No doubt you have much to talk about." He didn't salute nor bow his head, only turn and stop before the door. "Where do I put these?" I offered a hand and he gifted me the plants. Vaquo immediately left. If we weren't used to him doing this, it would have been considered rude.
"I miss him already," Lyra sighed when the door closed behind Vaquo, and Dalabhar joined the guardsmen outside. "And you didn't get me anything. Some friend you are, not even offering flowers to show you care." She pouted.
I put Vaquo's to the side. "I brought you my mind and my wits. That's all you need."
"I'm so fortunate," she snorted and let the silence linger for a moment before sitting up, relaxing her shoulders and shouting, "What the Mother Rhoyne is wrong with you?"
"What? What are you talking about?" I came in to give her thanks for all she had done and never expected her to suddenly yell. No doubt Haldon will call this woman hysterical.
"What I'm talking about? I'm talking about you bending the knee to your inferior. Is that what you want? To kiss this child's feet as they stomp all over you?"
I frowned. It didn't take a genius to know who she was referring to. They'd never seen eye to eye and that coldness had no doubt gotten worse after Daenerys walked into the flames. No one expected that; not even me.
"I vow to serve you, to die for you if needs be," she mocked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's sweet, Egg. Very sweet. I'm sure that if I was one of your Westerosi maidens, I would have collapsed from lack of breath. How very chivalrous of you."
"She is the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I was only paying her the courtesies she was owed."
"You owe her nothing. Daenerys Targaryen is a powerless girl whose supporters can be silenced with a word. Her title is nothing but empty air and even the dragons won't do her any good. You could easily take them for yourself. I would even go as far as to say she's useless at this point. You don't even need a claim with dragons. Westeros would bend the knee to you and you alone. You can proclaim yourself the Bloodstone Emperor and reform the Great Empire of the Dawn and they'll have to bend the knee else they burn. You don't need her to drape a maiden cloak over your shoulders, or are you so inexperienced with women that you immediately kneel between her legs as soon as she gives you a little kiss and flutters her eyelashes?"
I bristled and my words came out as a low growl, "You know what, I like to think I have thick skin. I like to imagine insults run off my back like water off a duck, but you are seriously trying my patience. You have been trying my patience for a while by being most insufferable and grating human being on the planet. If I wasn't so thankful for what you've done, and if you weren't abed, I would throw you out the manse and let you walk back to the shitheap you lived in when we first met."
"You can't do that. You need me."
"I needed you. I don't need you now. As you just said, I have dragons. I have wildfire and people with the knowledge to build more of it. You were useful than, but now?" I chuckled darkly and walked around the room, inspecting the vials on the shelves lining the walls. They made an impressive display, hundreds of pots both great and small, of clay and glass, full of liquids and dry herbs, each container neatly labelled with Lyra's precise hand. I noted sweetsleep and nightshade, milk of the poppy, powdered nightcap, demon's dance, wolfsbane to more exotic toxins like basilisk and manticore venom, blindeye and widow's blood to even ones like the strangler and tears of Lys. I turned around and Lyra was staring daggers. If looks could kill . . .
"You wouldn't dare."
"Wouldn't I?" I cocked my head to the side. "You know, Lyra, you're not half as important as you like to think you are. You have skills, yes, but they are not essential. Not anymore. You are a pretentious woman with delusions of grandeur. If you decide to leave, I'd let you go and you'll get no tears from me. Westeros will look on me better because of it, no doubt." I paused to let her respond, and the silence was deafening. "I do not consider myself unforgiving and I learnt a lot so I looked past your various faults. But if you are going to continue alongside me, you will have to improve your attitude so you don't alienate anyone enough for them to stab you - and myself - in the back because you can't keep that damned tongue to yourself."
She muttered a curse in her own language. "Mayhaps I should just leave. It's clear you don't want me."
"I don't want you pissing off the Westerosi nobility, what's what I don't want, and I know you won't leave. What have you got to gain? We both know ours is a partnership built of convenience and while I do enjoy our conversations, your barbed tongue will turn into a serious problem I'll need to deal with. But if you are going to leave, tell me now."
She glared for a moment before relenting with gritted teeth. "I have no desire to return, not yet at least. I will remain at your side, Blackfyre, so if I must smile and act your lovely lady, I'll do so even if it'll kill me on the inside. Yet that doesn't change the fact she's unprepared for queenship. You desire her to rule, yet she has no experience and—"
"I understand that problem and have made preparations. Her inexperience won't be a problem because, at the end of the day, I'm going be in control."
Lyra scoffed. "How are you going to do that?"
"The very empathetic Daenerys suffers from chronic hero syndrome. She sees injustice and her first action will be to try and fix it, even if it goes against her own self-interests. It'll be quite easy to take advantage of. Other than that, we've got a few years before she holds authority in her own right. During that time, I plan to educate her. She is being taught by Haldon and Lemore and I've faith in her."
"You are deluded," Lyra snarled, distaste dripping from her voice. "Westeros will hold no love for a scheming leech. What has she achieved compared to us? If not for me, the dragons would not have hatched. If not for you, the Triarchy would still be a bunch of bickering city states. It was you who did that. You achieved more than what most politicians achieved in multiple generations and you're still a beardless boy, even if your mind is older than your face. You have proven yourself more capable than she could ever be. Yet you bend your knee to her."
"I would advise you to be careful with your words if you still desire to speak." And the dragons hatched because of Daenerys. Not you. The annoying thing was what Lyra wasn't the only one with those doubts. Despite bending the knee, some had done so more reluctantly than others. Myles was one of them and had grown worried with Daenerys proving herself more of a dragon than myself. I turned back around, found what I was looking for and sneaked it up my sleeve. You won't be missing that.
I was about to leave when she hissed, "You are not leaving until I get my answer, Blackfyre. You see this?" I turned to see her pointing at her face where her eyes had sunken in deep, where her skin stretched taut against her cheekbones. Lyra had a sickly, half-dead appearance. "I don't know why your little queen stepped into the pyre or how she managed to suck the very life from my body, so answer me this if you have any respect for me, and don't try to steal. I am bedridden, not blind."
I sighed, pulled out a chair and took a seat. Might as well. I owe her that much."Why do you care who rules Westeros? I know you have no desire to remain there."
"I don't. But you're not the only one with grand ambitions. You know what I want when all this is done? I want to return to my shitheap, as you so eloquently described it. It is only that way because of what your ancestors did to mine. The Rhoyne was once beautiful and rich and powerful, with cities of canals and fountains, elaborate temples and palaces. My desire is to return my people to greatness after all the humiliations they've suffered from the Rhoynish wars and Garlan the Great to Princess Nymeria and her ten thousand ships. What I desire is a return to the days of when the Rhoyne was a place worthy of existing and not left to the river's mercy. I want a single princedom instead of bickering states, one powerful enough to turn back any invasion so such humiliations can never happen again."
Irredentism. "And how does Daenerys not fit into your Greater Rhoynish State?" No doubt ruled by yourself. "Is it because you fear she'll refuse?"
Lyra looked away. "You and her may have lost both your homes, but so have I. My people have lost so much more. Our customs, religion and traditions have nearly been destroyed. Dorne is no more than a bastard cousin for they've assimilated in large part with the Andals who lived there first. Our lands have been given to slavers and turtles and you can still see the ruins of what once was. I'm sure you can understand. But her? Once she sits the Iron Throne, why should she concern herself with Essos? Oh, she may reward me, but that'll be a pittance and not enough. I have a desire to learn all that I can, that is true, but what use is learning if you don't use it? I want to use the knowledge I've learnt for my people. For their prosperity and greater good."
You just want someone more indebted to you than a girl with no reason to go against the might of Volantis and Qohor and whatever peoples living there now. There was a pregnant pause before I softly said, "I do think we can come to an arrangement. After Westeros is taken, I do have certain plans for Essos that can come to fruition easier if we have an ally who happened to be situated on a very prominent river . . ."
She saw where I was going and smiled, before it flickered. "Will you though? What is saying she'll agree with what you want, let alone me?"
"How much power does Daenerys hold truly? Myles and Illyrio are loyal to me despite their vocal criticisms of late, and the Golden Company's allegiance to Daenerys derives from myself." If Dany and I did come to odds, I was in a perfect position to stage a coup. I had founded the modern Golden Company with the help of Myles Toyne, led men into battle and crafted a devastating military machine that had been successful in Essos and about to be tested in the fields of Westeros. Daenerys was utterly at my mercy.
"That is what I do not understand. Why do you want her to be queen? If you have all these plans, why her?"
"The answer, Lyra, is simple. I don't want the throne. I don't desire to sit a mountain of twisted iron blades nor try and keep the good graces of scheming nobles. If you don't remember, my parents are both Essosi. One's a trader and the other's a slave who was forced to work in the brothels of Lys. Both of whom are too lowborn for the Westerosi lords and worked in trades considered unacceptable."
"Many great men began with little more than nothing."
"I'm sure that wasn't in a system as deeply entrenched as Westeros. You want to know what happened in the Riverlands when some adventurer of low birth made himself king? His dynasty spent its existence just fighting to survive. The last Teague king was called the Saddle-sore for he spent his entire reign ending rebellions and hanging hostages. If I proclaim myself king, imagine something like that, but on a much grander scale." Not counting assassination attempts. The fact I have dragons would ensure they'll rather use cloak and dagger despite the many taboos.
"Then kill all the lords then. Storm their castles and put their families to the sword. When the dragons grow large enough, turn their castles into molten slag as a warning to the others. Rise up people loyal to yourself and they'll be forced to take your side as all their power and authority will derive from you."
"The latter is what I'm doing with Daenerys. What you had suggested is simplistic and bound to fail. Maegor the Cruel was the closest to attempting such a thing and even he stayed his hand. The smallfolk fought a war against his tyranny while the lords sharpened their knives for the opportunity to slice his throat. He burnt down castles, set forests alight to flush out bandits and had the most formidable dragon in existence and he failed. Daenerys is needed because she carries legitimacy. She comes from a recently disposed line of kings. The Blackfyres were never kings and their influence has long since eroded. Would you join a group that lost all the wars they fought? No, you won't. To achieve what I truly desire for Westeros and later the Free Cities, I need Daenerys to sit the Iron Throne. A pleasant face to calm the lords while I work in the shadows, slowly changing the very structure of government. House Blackfyre will come to an end. Not through swords, but through marriage. A more fitting end for such a story, I like to believe."
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