Chapter 18

As the ship sailed towards Braavos, Jon and Rhea sat with Daenerys, ready to answer her questions. Daenerys, her curiosity piqued, turned to them, her eyes filled with uncertainty.

"Tell me," she began, "what happened? Why did you come to rescue me?"

Jon exchanged a glance with Rhea before speaking, his tone calm and earnest. "Daenerys, what you've been told about Robert's Rebellion and your father, Aerys, isn't entirely true," he started, choosing his words carefully. "Your brother, Viserys, has not been entirely forthcoming with you."

Rhea nodded in agreement. "The truth is, Robert's Rebellion was not as black and white as it seems. Your father, Aerys, was not the benevolent ruler he may have portrayed himself to be in Viserys' stories. And Robert Baratheon, the man who usurped the throne, may not be the villain he's been made out to be."

Jon began, his tone measured and earnest, recounting the events of the rebellion and the complexities surrounding the fall of House Targaryen. "Aerys's actions, driven by paranoia and madness, led to the downfall of our family," Jon explained, his voice tinged with sadness. "Robert's rebellion was not solely about justice; it was also fueled by personal grievances and political ambitions."

Rhea interjected, adding her perspective to the narrative. "The truth is often obscured by the stories we tell ourselves," she said, her voice soft but resolute. "But we're here to offer you the chance to see beyond those stories, to understand the reality of your family's history."

Daenerys listened intently, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. As Jon and Rhea unfolded the truth before her, she felt the foundations of her understanding shift, revealing a more nuanced and complicated reality than she had ever imagined.

"Thank you for telling me," Daenerys finally said, her voice quiet but determined. "I... I need time to process all of this. But I appreciate your honesty."

Jon and Rhea exchanged a knowing look, silently acknowledging the weight of their words and the impact they would have on Daenerys's journey ahead. As the ship sailed towards Braavos, they knew that they had set Daenerys on a path of discovery, one that would lead her to confront the truths of her past and forge a new destiny for herself.

—

Meanwhile, back in Pentos, Ilyrio Mopatis moved through the dimly lit corridors of his manse, his footsteps echoing softly off the stone walls. He approached a concealed door, glancing around to ensure he was not being followed, before slipping inside. The room beyond was shadowed, illuminated only by a few flickering candles. Seated at a table, cloaked in shadows, was Varys, the spymaster of King's Landing.

"Ilyrio," Varys greeted him with a nod, his expression unreadable. "What news do you bring?"

Ilyrio sat across from him, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "Daenerys has been taken," he said, his voice low and grave. "By a man claiming to be Daemon Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

Varys' eyes widened slightly, though he quickly regained his composure. "Daemon Targaryen? This is unexpected. What more do you know of this man?"

Ilyrio shook his head. "Not much. He appeared out of nowhere, accompanied by Rhaenys Targaryen and several skilled fighters. They took Daenerys in the dead of night and vanished without a trace."

Varys leaned back, his fingers steepled in thought. "Rhaenys Targaryen... I've known from the beginning that she was switched after the Tourney of Harrenhal. It was a well-guarded secret, one necessary to protect her from Robert's wrath. But this Daemon Targaryen... his claim is bold, to say the least. Have you any proof of his identity?"

"None," Ilyrio admitted. "But his confidence and the way he carried himself... he seemed to believe his own claim. And he had the support of Rhaenys. That cannot be easily dismissed."

Varys nodded slowly, his mind working through the implications. "This complicates matters. Daenerys was a crucial part of our plans. With her gone, Viserys will be even more volatile. We must tread carefully."

Ilyrio's face hardened. "Viserys is a fool, but he is still a Targaryen. We must find a way to keep him under control until we understand more about this Daemon."

"And what of Drogo?" Varys inquired. "His Khalasar will not be pleased to find their promised bride missing."

"Viserys plans to tell him that she was taken by traitors and that they will stop at nothing to return her," Ilyrio replied. "But Drogo is unlikely to be placated by mere words. We may have a Dothraki horde bearing down on Pentos soon."

Varys sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "I will inform our mutual friend in King's Landing. We must prepare for all eventualities. In the meantime, keep a close watch on Viserys and gather any information you can about this Daemon. We need to understand his motives and his capabilities."

Ilyrio nodded. "I will do what I can. But time is not on our side, Varys. We must act swiftly."

"Indeed," Varys agreed, rising from his seat. "The game of thrones has taken an unexpected turn. We must be ready for whatever comes next."

With that, the two men parted ways, each consumed by the gravity of the situation. The balance of power in Westeros was shifting, and the consequences of Daenerys' abduction would ripple through the realm, altering the course of history in ways yet unseen.

—

In the privacy of his small cabin on the ship, Jon sat on the edge of his bed, the gentle sway of the vessel a constant reminder of their journey. He took a deep breath, knowing it was time to connect with Hestia, his ever-present guide and the key to his new abilities.

"Hestia," Jon called out mentally, his thoughts focused on the AI that had been his companion since his transmigration into Jon Snow's body. "We need to talk."

A soft, melodic voice filled his mind. "I'm here, Jon. What's on your mind?"

Jon leaned back against the wall, his thoughts a swirling mix of plans, concerns, and revelations. "We're making progress. We've rescued Daenerys, and she's starting to understand the truth. But there's so much more to do, and I need to be prepared for whatever comes next."

Hestia's tone was reassuring. "You've done well so far. Your quick thinking and strategic decisions have put you in a strong position. But I sense there's something specific you want to discuss."

Jon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's about Viserys. I know he's unstable, and I can't afford to let him ruin our plans. But dealing with him is going to be tricky. I need to figure out the best way to handle him without endangering Daenerys or our mission."

Hestia was silent for a moment, considering his words. "Viserys is a volatile element, but he's also a part of Daenerys's past and her family. You'll need to balance your approach carefully. Use your knowledge of his weaknesses and his ambitions. He wants power, but he's also driven by fear and insecurity."

Jon nodded, absorbing her advice. "You're right. I'll need to be smart about this. And I'll need to keep gaining her trust while showing her that I'm the rightful heir."

Hestia's voice softened. "Remember, Jon, you have the advantage of foresight. Use it wisely. Continue to earn their trust and build your alliances. And don't forget to use the tools at your disposal."

Jon smiled faintly. "Speaking of tools, what's our status with the Gacha Points?"

"You've accumulated a significant number of points, Jon," Hestia replied, a note of pride in her voice. "You've been strategic and effective in your actions. I'd recommend considering your next use of points carefully. You may need them soon."

Jon leaned forward, feeling a surge of determination. "I'll be ready. We'll need every advantage we can get."

Hestia's tone was supportive. "You're on the right path, Jon. Stay focused, and remember that you're not alone. You have allies and resources.."

Jon closed his eyes, taking comfort in her words. "Thanks, Hestia. I'll do my best to live up to this new destiny."

As he opened his eyes and looked around his small cabin, Jon felt a renewed sense of purpose. The road ahead was fraught with challenges, but he was ready to face them, armed with the truth, his allies, and the unwavering support of Hestia.

—-

Rhea found Daenerys standing alone on the deck of the ship, gazing out at the horizon. The sea breeze played with her silver hair, and she seemed lost in thought. Rhea approached her quietly, coming to stand beside her.

"Daenerys," Rhea began softly, "can we talk?"

Daenerys turned to look at her, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension in her violet eyes. "Of course," she replied. "I have many questions, and I sense you do too."

Rhea nodded, taking a deep breath. "I know this is all overwhelming," she started. "Learning about our family's past, the truth behind the rebellion, it's a lot to take in. But I want you to know that you're not alone in this."

Daenerys nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It's hard to believe everything I've been told might not be the full truth. Viserys always painted a picture of our father as a great king who was wronged by those who sought power for themselves."

Rhea sighed. "I understand why he would do that. We all want to remember our loved ones in the best light, but the reality is often more complicated. Your father, Aerys, was not a benevolent ruler. His paranoia and cruelty led to our family's downfall. But that doesn't mean we can't honor the good parts of our heritage and strive to be better."

Daenerys looked down, her expression pained. "Viserys wanted to reclaim the Iron Throne at any cost. He was willing to marry me off to Khal Drogo, a man I don't even know, to build an army."

Rhea's eyes softened with sympathy. "Viserys's desperation for power clouded his judgment. He saw you as a means to an end, but you're so much more than that. You have the strength and wisdom to shape your own destiny, Dany."

Daenerys smiled faintly at the nickname. "It's strange to hear someone call me that. Viserys was always so formal, so insistent on titles and respect."

Rhea reached out, taking Daenerys's hand in hers. "You and I, we're family. We can support each other through this. We're stronger together."

Daenerys squeezed Rhea's hand, a spark of hope igniting in her eyes. "Thank you, Rhea. I want to learn more about our family, about what really happened. And I want to find my own path, not just follow the one Viserys laid out for me."

Rhea smiled, her heart warming at Daenerys's resolve. "We'll figure it out together. For now, let's focus on getting to Braavos safely. We'll have time to plan our next steps and discover the truth."

As they stood together, gazing out at the vast expanse of the sea, both women felt a sense of solidarity and purpose. Their journey was just beginning, but they were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, united by their shared heritage and determination to forge a new future for House Targaryen.

—

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Pentos, Magister Ilyrio Mopatis rode out to a secluded area where a group of imposing figures waited. Khal Drogo, the fearsome leader of the Dothraki, sat astride his massive stallion, flanked by his bloodriders. The air was thick with tension as Ilyrio approached, his heart pounding with apprehension.

Drogo's piercing eyes fixed on Ilyrio as he dismounted, his expression unreadable. Beside Drogo stood a man who would serve as the translator, a Dothraki rider who spoke the Common Tongue.

Ilyrio cleared his throat, trying to mask his nervousness. "Khal Drogo," he began, bowing his head in a gesture of respect. "I bring news regarding the princess, Daenerys Targaryen."

The translator relayed Ilyrio's words to Drogo in Dothraki. Drogo's eyes narrowed, and he barked a command, his voice low and menacing.

"The khal asks what news you bring of his betrothed," the translator said.

Ilyrio hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "The princess... she has been taken," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "By traitors who oppose her marriage to you."

Drogo's face darkened, his fury evident even before the translator finished speaking. He issued another sharp command, his tone laced with menace.

"The khal wants to know who has taken her and why you have not prevented it," the translator conveyed, his own fear apparent.

Ilyrio swallowed hard. "The ones responsible are skilled and resourceful," he said quickly. "They infiltrated the manse and took her before we could react. I assure you, Khal Drogo, I will do everything in my power to find her and bring her back to you."

Drogo listened as the translator relayed the message, his jaw clenching with barely contained rage. He spoke again, his voice a dangerous growl.

"The khal says that if the princess is not returned soon, he will raze Pentos to the ground," the translator said, his voice shaking.

Ilyrio felt a chill run down his spine. "Please, Khal Drogo, give me time," he pleaded. "I will find her and ensure she is brought back to you. I swear it."

Drogo's eyes bore into Ilyrio, and after a tense moment, he nodded curtly, issuing one final command.

"The khal gives you three days," the translator said. "If the princess is not returned by then, there will be no mercy for Pentos."

Ilyrio bowed deeply, his mind racing with the implications of Drogo's ultimatum. "Thank you, Khal Drogo," he said. "I will not fail you."

As he turned to leave, Ilyrio could feel the weight of Drogo's gaze on his back. The stakes had never been higher, and failure was not an option. With grim determination, he mounted his horse and rode back toward Pentos, his mind already formulating a plan to find Daenerys and prevent the looming catastrophe.

—

Jon awoke the next morning to an unexpected sensation. Groggily, he glanced down and saw Rhea's head bobbing between his legs, her dark hair cascading over his thighs. The sight was both startling and intensely pleasurable, and he felt a rush of heat course through his body as he processed what was happening.

"Rhea," he murmured, his voice still husky with sleep. He reached out to touch her shoulder gently, a mix of surprise and desire flickering in his eyes. She looked up at him with a mischievous glint, her lips curling into a playful smile before she continued her ministrations.

Jon's breath hitched, his body reacting instinctively to her intimate touch. He leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows, his muscles tensing as waves of pleasure washed over him. He couldn't suppress a low groan of pleasure that escaped his lips.

"Good morning," Rhea said playfully, momentarily pausing to speak. "I thought I'd wake you up in a special way today."

Jon chuckled softly, his hand sliding through her silky hair. "You certainly succeeded," he replied, his voice thick with arousal. The sensation of her warm mouth and the gentle movements of her tongue were overwhelming, sending jolts of pleasure through his entire being.

Rhea's eyes twinkled with satisfaction as she resumed her attentions, her movements slow and deliberate. Jon closed his eyes, surrendering to the exquisite sensation, each stroke and caress driving him closer to the edge. He could feel his heartbeat quicken, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as he lost himself in the moment.

The room seemed to fade away, the worries and challenges of their journey momentarily forgotten. All that mattered was the intimate connection they shared, the bond that had grown stronger with each passing day. As the pleasure built to a crescendo, Jon felt a surge of gratitude and affection for Rhea, her playful yet loving gesture a reminder of the passion and support they found in each other.

With a final, shuddering gasp, Jon reached the peak of his pleasure, his body tensing and then relaxing in the afterglow. Rhea looked up at him, her eyes filled with warmth and satisfaction, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

"Happy now?" she teased, crawling up to lay beside him, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest.

Jon wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "More than you can imagine," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

---

An hour later, Jon and Rhea joined the rest of their party on the deck of the ship. The morning sun cast a golden glow over the water, and a gentle breeze filled the sails, propelling them steadily towards Braavos. Daenerys was seated near the bow, listening intently to Ser Arthur Dayne, who was recounting tales of her mother, Queen Rhaella.

"...and she always had a way of calming even the most restless of hearts," Ser Arthur said, a fond smile on his face as he reminisced.

Daenerys looked up as Jon and Rhea approached, her eyes bright with curiosity. "Good morning," she greeted them, a hint of warmth in her voice.

"Good morning," Jon replied, returning her smile. "I see Ser Arthur is keeping you entertained."

"He has many stories," Daenerys said with a nod. "It's... comforting to hear about my mother."

Before Jon could respond, Oberyn Martell appeared, his presence commanding as always. He clapped a hand on Jon's shoulder, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Ah, Jon. It's time for our daily sparring session," he announced. "Are you ready?"

Jon nodded, his muscles already tingling with the anticipation of the workout. "Always," he replied with a grin. Oberyn had been training him in the art of spear fighting during their journey to Pentos, and Jon had picked it up remarkably fast, thanks to the Photographic Reflexes he had acquired from the Taskmaster.

As they made their way to a clear area of the deck, Jon couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. The training sessions with Oberyn had become one of the highlights of his days, a chance to hone his skills and bond with the formidable Dornish prince.

Oberyn handed Jon a practice spear and took up his own stance. "Remember, it's all about fluidity and precision," Oberyn instructed, his voice steady and authoritative. "Let your body move with the spear, become one with it."

Jon nodded, focusing on Oberyn's words. As they began their sparring session, the clashing of their spears echoed across the deck. Jon moved with a grace and agility that belied his initial unfamiliarity with the weapon, his reflexes sharp and his movements precise.

Oberyn's eyes gleamed with approval as he parried Jon's attacks and launched counterstrikes. "You're improving quickly," he remarked, a hint of pride in his voice. "Keep it up, and you'll be a force to be reckoned with."

Jon felt a surge of determination at Oberyn's words. He pushed himself harder, his body moving instinctively as he absorbed every lesson and technique. The world around them faded, leaving only the rhythmic dance of their sparring.

By the time they finished, both men were breathing heavily, their bodies glistening with sweat. Oberyn clapped Jon on the shoulder again, a satisfied grin on his face. "Well done, Jon," he said. "You're a natural."

Tyene, watching from the sidelines, couldn't resist making a joke. With a sly smile, she quipped, "I'm sure Rhea knows exactly how good Jon is with his spear." 

The comment elicited a few chuckles from the others, and Rhea rolled her eyes with a smirk, unbothered by the teasing. Jon, trying to suppress his own amusement, shook his head at Tyene's remark.

"Alright, alright," Oberyn said, still laughing. "Let's not embarrass the man too much. He's earned his rest."

The laughter gradually subsided, and the group began to disperse, each member heading to their respective tasks and routines. Jon wiped the sweat from his brow, his muscles still tingling from the intense training session with Oberyn. He glanced at Rhea, who was still smirking at Tyene's playful jab.

"She never misses a chance, does she?" Jon remarked, shaking his head with a smile.

Rhea walked over and leaned in close. "It's all in good fun," she said softly, her eyes twinkling. "And besides, they're just jealous."

"Jealous?" Jon raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Of course," Rhea replied with a teasing glint in her eye. "Jealous that I get to see just how good you really are with that spear of yours."

Jon laughed, feeling a warmth spread through him at her words. "Well, I suppose I'll have to keep proving myself then."

"That you will," Rhea said, her tone both playful and sincere.

As they turned to leave the training yard, Oberyn called after them. "Don't forget, Jon. There's more to learn tomorrow. And Rhea, try not to tire him out too much tonight."

Rhea shot back a quick retort, "No promises, uncle!" Her laughter echoed as she took Jon's hand, leading him away.

Jon squeezed her hand gently, feeling the bond between them strengthen with each passing day. They walked together through the corridors, the lingering scent of sweat and the cool breeze from the open windows a reminder of the day's efforts. As they reached their quarters, Jon felt a sense of contentment wash over him, knowing that despite the challenges and uncertainties ahead, he was not alone.

They entered their room, the door closing softly behind them. Jon turned to Rhea, his expression serious. "We need to be ready for what's coming, Rhea. Oberyn's training is just the beginning."

"I know," Rhea said, her eyes reflecting the same determination. "But we'll face it together, Jon. Whatever comes, we'll be ready."

Jon nodded, pulling her into a tight embrace. The weight of their responsibilities hung over them, but in that moment, with Rhea in his arms, he felt a surge of hope.

—

Meanwhile, back on a ship to Westeros, Varys sat in his cabin, the gentle sway of the ship doing little to ease his troubled mind. He replayed the conversation with Ilyrio in his mind, the details of their discussion about the recent abduction of Daenerys Targaryen by a man claiming to be Daemon Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, gnawing at him.

Varys sighed deeply, his mind racing with the implications of this unexpected development. As he pondered the situation, he couldn't help but think of his own carefully crafted plans, plans that hinged on the success of his own hidden agenda.

Varys was not merely a spymaster; he was a secret Blackfyre, descended from a line of Targaryen bastards who had been exiled and hunted for generations. His ultimate goal was not the restoration of House Targaryen, but the ascension of his own bloodline. Currently, he was passing off his nephew, Aegon Blackfyre, as the son of Rhaegar and Elia Martell. It was a calculated deception meant to win the loyalty and support of key allies, such as Jon Connington, and to manipulate the political landscape in favor of a Blackfyre resurgence.

He mulled over the details of the abduction and the mysterious figure of Daemon Targaryen. This new player could either be a formidable obstacle or a potential pawn, depending on how the situation was managed.

In the dim light of his cabin, Varys opened a hidden compartment in his desk, retrieving a small, ornate box. Inside lay a medallion bearing the sigil of House Blackfyre—a black dragon on a red field. He traced the emblem with his finger, his thoughts drifting to Aegon. The boy had been trained and groomed for this very purpose, to be the figurehead of a new Blackfyre Rebellion, masked as a Targaryen restoration.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter," Varys called, his voice steady.

One of his trusted agents stepped inside, bowing respectfully. "My lord, we are making good time. We should reach Westeros within the week."

"Very good," Varys replied, his demeanor calm and composed. "Ensure that all is in readiness for our arrival. There can be no room for error."

The agent nodded and departed, leaving Varys alone once more with his thoughts. He considered the delicate balance of power and the many pieces in play. The revelation of Daemon Targaryen's existence could either destabilize his plans or provide an unexpected advantage, depending on how he handled the situation.

He needed to be cautious. Jon Connington and the others believed in Aegon's supposed Targaryen heritage, and any deviation from that narrative could unravel everything. But if Daemon Targaryen posed a significant threat, he might have to reconsider his approach.

For now, Varys decided, it was best to continue with the current plan while gathering more information. He would instruct his agents to monitor Daemon and his movements closely. Knowledge was power, and Varys intended to wield it with precision.

As the ship sailed steadily toward Westeros, Varys steeled himself for the challenges ahead. The game of thrones was ever-changing, and he would need all his cunning and resources to navigate the coming storm. The fate of the realm—and the future of House Blackfyre—hung in the balance, and Varys was determined to see his plans come to fruition, no matter the cost.

---

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