Chapter 10: Dreamfyre

"Ha!" Sargasso Saan laughed, a deep belly laugh over his ample gut. "Those dragons dare fuck with me? Me?!" More laughs, his armor jostling and clinking as he guffawed. Dressed for batt;e in the best Dornish plate, it was styled in pure finery. Jewels affixed to the steel and blade, while his tunic and trousers were of the most expensive silks. "They'll never be able to take my keep."

"Of course, sire," replied his… Westerosi would call him a castillan, as he gazed out with a spyglass. The fortification was situated in a cove in the disputed lands overlooking the Straits of Lys, some of the most trafficked shipping lanes on earth. Cliffs and rocky crags made it a perfect natural barrier, further fortified by captured Volentine slave ships filled with laborers. Spiked palisades and thick walls of rock funnelled any attacker into a choke point track… the only approach by land.

Wealthier than most monarchs with the loot of a dozen nations in his vaults, Sargasso intended for this to be the capital of his new Empire in the Stepstones and the Disputed Lands, and not even the Targaryens of Westeros would dislodge him. "They could never capture this place! The highest walls and the best archers and siege engines defend my riches!" The Targaryen forces had captured some island forts and outposts in the Stepstones, but now that they landed on the Essosi mainland he could crush them… or so he liked to boast.

Saan hadn't become the pirate king of these parts through modesty.

"I wonder how many old King Aegon would send?" The great conqueror of the Sunset Kingdoms of Westeros, he was old and decrepit with his Queen. "He's too old to face me, and one son is a prissy weakling while the other rots in the frozen wastelands!'

"Your Grace, Prince Maegor does lead our enemies."

A raised eyebrow. "Does he ride a dragon?"

"No, your Grace."

"Ha!" How deranged was King Aegon? "Regardless, with all the siege engines we have they'll need at least ten dragons! No… fifty dragons!" He smacked his breastplate. "They'll need an army of dragons!"

Irritated by his King's bombast, the castilian hoped to return to a warm bed and a young slave girl when he saw movement. "Enemy approaching!"

Saan blinked. "Targaryens?"

"I think so."

"How many, ten thousand?"

"No."

"Five thousand?"

"Much less, your Grace."

"Three thousand, two… for fucking sake, just tell me!"

"One rider, your Grace."

He thought he didn't hear correctly. "What?!" Grabbing the spyglass, the pirate king looked out at the dirt track and saw what his bannerman had seen. A single rider, the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen emblazoned on his breastplate. Clutching a longsword in his hands, atop his head was a helm of reared dragon wings and ambling beside him was a massive beast the size of a small horse - black as night. "Is that Prince…"

An ear-splitting roar boomed over the landscape, as from the jagged rocks of the cove swooped a dragon colored the purest Valyrian shade of violet. Riding atop it was a sleek, feminine form, waves of silver tresses whipping behind her she wore the sigil of House Stark across her cuirass, but this warrior was pure Targaryen.

"Your Grace!" Where there had been one rider, now there were hundreds of banners ranging from the seahorse of House Velaryon, the red, blue, and green lines of House Strong, to the merman of House Manderly. As the mighty Dragon Prince leveled his sword straight at the pirate fortress, a series of hornblows announced the charge.

Saan could care less. "Kill the dragon! Bring down the beast!" If the Dornish could kill Queen Rhaenys on a lucky shot, his well-trained siege engineers could.

Ballistae and scorpions rolling into place, the winded winches released their payloads with loud thwacks. But Princess Rhaenys Stark of Winterfell was ready for them. Hanging on tightly to Arrax's saddle, the dragon dove under the bolts and boulders, hugging the sea's surface under their sights.

"Archers!" Saan started to sweat from fear, his earlier boasting forgotten. "Loose! Loose!" But it was too late. Roaring, Arrax thundered up with a beat of his wings, unleashing a torrent of dragonfire upon the first set of battlements. Saan collapsed behind the parapet, but most of the archers weren't as lucky. Immolated by Rhaenys' dragon, who proceeded to blast the various palisades apart, clearing the way for the charging cavalry.

"Come on, brother!" she screamed, gesturing with her arm for good measure. "You're clear! Forward!" An arrow shot past her head, so close she could feel the shockwave. Arrax, soves! " Beating his wings, the violet dragon surged into the air. Letting out a breath, Rhaenys rested a hand on her belly. Gods, little pup… That was too close, unconscionably close.

Never could she afford to do that again.

Her handiwork spoke for itself. Maegor's steed was the first to leap over the smoldering remains of the first wall, Syndor right after in a black blur. Spinning his sword, the Prince looked as a Valyrian demon to the backwards and superstitious pirates. Two men fell victim quite early, Maegor slicing across their chests and shoulders. A spearman tried to charge, but the direwolf took him down - teeth slicing through his neck.

The Castilian looked around, gripping his sword in fear. Saan was nowhere to be seen, and the men were falling back as more and more horsemen poured through the gaping maw in their defenses. Anytime now the dragon could return and he contemplated surrender.

"No Mercy!" bellowed the Targaryen Prince. He had been knocked off his horse, but felled a scrawny man with a punch to the temple. "Kill them all!"

No… no hope… He had to escape…

He suddenly lurched, a sword stabbing into his gut and a fist to the chest. "Where is Saan?!" Brandon Stark bellowed, holding a dagger to the castilian's neck. "Where is that pig?!"

Disemboweling a frizzy-bearded pirate, Maegor allowed more of Aethan Velaryon's men to stream past him, pikes and swords leveled. "Bran!" he bellowed, removing his helm to wipe the sweat that matted his hair. Fuck, it's hot. "Hurry the fuck up!"

"Brother," Bran shot back. "He's not here."

"What?"

"He's not here!" He watched Maegor walk over to him. "Fled out a second entrance through a series of caves in the rock."

Maegor scowled darkly. "This one told you?"

"Yeah, he's supposedly the second in command…"

With one swing of his sword, Maegor beheaded the hapless prisoner. "No mercy! Fire and blood!" He bellowed.

"FIRE AND BLOOD!"

Upon bearing witness to her beautiful face and sparkling eyes, Aegon sighed in happiness. "Rhae." After three moons of an empty bed, of surreal dreams where Rhaenys was an ethereal presence that he could never reach, she was real and standing before him. "I missed you…"

In hindsight, Aegon should have noticed the scowl on his late wife's face, the tense shoulders and crossed arms. His senses were dulling in his old age - or perhaps it was his marital troubles. Thus, he only realized something amiss when Rhaenys landed a right hook on his jaw, staggering him.

"You fucking asshole!" Rhaenys snarled, punching him again. "How could you! Our own sister!"

"Rhae…" Egg could never hit her, merely using his arms to shield his head. She merely started to punch his sides, agony stabbing through him. "Please, let me explain…"

Her anger couldn't be tempered. "I trusted you! I thought you would protect our children and our sister!" Face red with rage, it was evident that even the flirty, musical Queen held the dragon's temper. "How could you do this? Allow our family to destroy itself?!" Mind clouded with fury, her foot shot out towards his crotch…

Only for Aegon to catch it mid-kick. "I know you're angry with me," he hissed. "But don't do that."

She glowered. "You deserve it," Rhaenys hissed back. Gods, not even when he attacked Harrenhal so recklessly was she this enraged at him. "Why did you do it? Why did you betray our wife so?!" Every day she saw the both of them crawl into bed alone - watching them in their sorrow. Visenya even fell to tears many of those nights, and it broke her heart.

Letting go of her leg, Aegon sighed. Almost trembling as the pain of the last three moons thundered back into his mind. "It's complicated, Rhae." Her gaze did not lose its sternness. "I couldn't fight our own son." His voice cracked, vulnerable in the face of his beloved.

Rhaenys' expression softened, regarding her brother-husband. He was obviously ripped apart inside over this. "It's not entirely your fault, Egg." That bitch her boy married had the most blame in this regard - much as she did give Aenys happiness, there could have been many maidens to do that. Familial unity came first, which was why she greatly approved of Brandon Stark for their daughter. "Come here." Regardless of her anger, Rhae melted into his embrace just as he did into hers.

"Thank you." Egg kissed her brow, which led to a kiss to her cheek, and then their lips met in a sensual, comforting kiss. "There was no choice, I couldn't go against our son's own wishes. She was his daughter, regardless of who persuaded him it was his choice.

"I know… I know." Motioning to a boulder in the middle of the grassy knoll, they took a seat beside each other - her head in the crook of his neck and his resting against her head. "But Visenya trusted you, and you did betray her. She had a reason to wish for Rhaena to marry our son."

"There is no doubt about that." Egg prayed every day that Ceryse Hightower could bring Maegor happiness, given his weakness. "She's my rock, Rhae. I couldn't do any of this without her…"

"And she couldn't do any of her duties without you. I've never seen her as vulnerable as when she is with you. For Visenya, that is greatly refreshing." Looking up, she kissed him sweetly. "You need to make this right."

His expression was worn. "All of my ravens have been returned unopened. She wishes not to talk to me."

Rhaenys sighed. "She does."

"She doesn't show it."

A snort. "When have you ever known her to open up without urging?" She had him there. "Go to her."

"What?"

"Do I have to draw you a map? Hop on Balerion and fly to Dragonstone and do not let her force you off the island." Catching his hesitation, feeling their connection start to fade, Rhaenys grabbed him by the straps of his cuirass. "What are you, Egg?"

Blinking, it took a moment for him to understand. "I am a dragon."

"Only another dragon can understand another dragon." She cupped his cheek, smiling gently. "Be her dragon, Egg." Before it all faded away, they kissed desperately. Prayers both on their lips that the Targaryens wouldn't ever be alone again.

"If you'll excuse me, my wife needs another goblet." Leading Ceryse Targaryen away from the chattering highborns of Volantis, Maegor's polite smile morphed into a scowl. "Gods, I wanted to gut the lot of them."

Ceryse giggled, half for show and half legitimate mirth. "I have no doubt you could, husband." All around them, the great hall of the Triarch's Palace was filled with at least three hundred guests. Food was scarfed down, wine and rum were guzzled by the casketfull, and any sort of conversation was engaged in when persons weren't mesmerized by beast shows or the fire jugglers. "The Triarchs seek to impress us, so keep up your best behavior."

"I make no promises," he scowled back. Ceryse merely chuckled, clutching his arm tightly. She hated it too, but did get a pleasure from showing off her strapping husband.

"Ah, there they are!" Turning her head, Ceryse could see a handsome man in gold-trimmed Volentene robes waving them to come over. "Catoyn Maegyr, the Chief Triarch of Volantis…" she whispered to Maegor as they walked over to him. "First Tiger to rule the city since the Century of Blood."

"He'll be a joy then," Maegor snorted.

"Be polite, husband," she whispered back, though she agreed completely. He was in a conversation with her goodsister and goodbrother, so at least they'd have backup in dealing with his nonsense - a beautiful woman of Valyrian features also was part of the group, someone Ceryse didn't recognize on sight.

Catoyn sized up her husband with a jovial laugh and a clasp of the shoulders. "Prince Maegor, you and your sister are heroes for ridding the disputed lands of Sargasso Saan's corpulent frame."

Maegor smiled politely. "We haven't caught him yet, and the Stepstones prove to be a nuisance to even our best ships. Regrettable, but we'll find him."

"My brother and I have a little wager going on about that," Rhaenys smirked, cuffing Maegor on the shoulder.

"Oh?" Catoyn seemed quite interested, while the Valyrian woman put a quite impressive facade of paying attention. Few would notice it, but Ceryse had been in enough feasts of Reach lords to know how to spot the insincere. "I feel there's a good story here."

"There most certainly is. See, whomever actually captures Saan will get to kill him… Maegor with his blade or I with dragonfire. Since Arrax is mine and my dear older brother is still riderless," both she and Brandon shared a chuckle at Maegor's expense. "I believe I am favored."

The triarch laughed. "No doubt you are, Princess."

Glancing down at Ceryse, Maegor looked as if he were going to kill himself from a combination of boredom and irritation. A thought piqued her interest. "Forgive me, triarch," she spoke up, "But given Princess Rhaenys' condition, there will be one moon at least where my husband will be the sole hunter for the so-called 'King' Saan." All eyes fell on Rhaenys' extensively pregnant stomach - swelled with the future heir to House Stark.

Shrugging, Rhaenys had to concede the round of words to her goodsister. "I cannot fault her logic. Better make the best of your reprieve, brother."

"I will."

"So, Princess." It was the woman that spoke up now. "How far along are you?"

"Six moons," Rhaenys replied. "A son, or so my husband says."

Brandon wrapped an arm around his wife, kissing her cheek. "The heart tree is never wrong, love. While I understand an Andal not contemplating magic, someone of the dragon's blood should." He looked at the woman. "Do you agree, Triarch Vhassar?"

Vhassar… Trianna Vhassar, the standard-bearer of the Elephants, Volantis' peace faction. Now Ceryse could place the face. "There is much people do not know about the world, Lord Stark. Often such turns to hostility… or lustful greed." Her eyes darted for a split second to Catoyn - only Ceryse saw it happen. "But such agonizing thoughts should be tempered with the good things in life. I heard that Crown Prince Aenys has a new child?"

Rhaenys lit up. "Yes, my new nephew, Prince Jaehaerys."

"Another dragonrider in the world, resurrecting the greatness of Valyria." Catoyn raised his goblet. "A toast to Prince Jaeherys." Ceryse and Maegor were only too happy to join.

Door shut behind them, Ceryse allowed herself to slump. "Thank the Seven above it's over." Groaning, she kicked off the wood and leather footwear that bothered her so. "Now my feet can breathe."

She could hear her husband's chuckle from behind her. "One would think a daughter of the Hightower would enjoy such feasts and dances? After all, the Reach is oft the butt of every jape for their gaudiness."

Ceryse rolled her eyes. "Most may enjoy such things, but not I. Instead, I find them tiresome." She shook off her silk wrap, letting it fall to the floor and expose her bare shoulders. "Paraded about by my father and uncle, forced to greet every brutish knight deep in their cups?" Cersei shuddered for effect.

Two arms wrapped around her waist, accentuated nicely in the tight, airy style of Volantis. "You seemed to enjoy tonight, from what I observed."

"Mayhaps…" A purr left her lips as his hands ghosted over her covered breasts. "Mayhaps it was who accompanied me that improved my mood." Dour, strong, and quite ruthless when need be, Ceryse was shocked to find that Prince Maegor Targaryen had a softer side. A tiny reservoir of light-hearted japes and passionate words and gestures that could make any lady weak in the knees. He does not have any lady… only I, lucky lucky me.

"And why is that?" he asked, kissing her neck.

Unable to contain her smile, or her lust, Ceryse turned in his arms and kissed her husband. Looping her hands around his neck and then weaving her fingers in his silver hair. Gods, how she loved his hair. Perfectly contrasting with her features, beautiful but not of the near-godly beauty of her husband. My dragon prince . They broke apart for air, and she smirked. "I think you know the answer, Prince Maegor." The kiss greedily resumed.

Tongue dancing with his, she felt him pushing her towards their opulent bed - only the best befitting one with the actual blood of the dragon. Unbuttoning the clasps of his doublet with deft skill, soon she could pull it off his torso. It forced their kiss to break, but by the Seven his chest was gorgeous. Thickly muscled, it had to have been sculpted by the warrior himself. "Husband, please."

With one move, he ripped her dress off, shoving her to the bed. Ceryse yelped, only to moan as Maegor climbed atop her and took a nipple in his mouth… Her hands tugged on his breeches. "Persistent, aren't we?"

"I want you now," she replied, clearly stoking the flames of desire ever hotter inside Maegor as he growled. Raising his hips to let Ceryse slide the breeches off and leave him as naked as her, then pouncing. Pinning her hands above her head and crashing their lips together, Maegor's length poking at her hip."Oh, Maegor," she moaned, soaking for him.

"My Princess." Pinning her one-handed, he brushed her chestnut hair aside to suckle on her neck. "Do you want me?"

"Yes! Gods yes! Please…" She moaned loudly as Maegor wasted no time in pushing inside her. Yes… this is what I need… Having her husband inside her again, claiming her for House Targaryen. Just the thought made her cunt clench around his cock.

"Fuck, Cherry," Maegor mumbled his pet name for her as their lips melded again, kissing desperately. He rocked inside her quickly but lovingly, feeling her tight walls constrict around him. She was so wet, so desirous.

The sensations made Ceryse see constellations of stars. "Oh, oh, oh." She wouldn't last long. Of this it was obvious. She kept her hands in his hair, keeping their mouths connected. Her walls spasmed. Oh gods…

Her climax triggered his, Ceryse feeling his seed empty into her. They kissed through their high, riding out their pleasure wrapped together. Letting out a groan, Maegor rolled them over.

"I love you," she panted into his ear, lost in the aftershocks of their pleasure.

And Ceryse heard his soft words, almost inaudible - only she could hear them. "And I, you."

Her heart soared, clinging to him tightly, pressing kisses to his neck and chest. "I pray your seed quickens inside me… for a son with your hair and eyes." She dreamed of it, of a handsome Valyrian Prince of her own womb.

Gods be good… grant me such a gift…

Gripping the spines tightly, Visenya braced herself for the jolt that would come as Vhagar swept down towards the Dragonstone cliffs overlooking the beach. The two of them were experts at this by now and it showed as Vhagar beat her wings, the bronze dragon coming in for a graceful landing. But Visenya wasn't as young as she used to be, and each jostle was felt far more than when she and her siblings brought Westeros under their control. Wincing, she nevertheless managed to climb down Vhagar's shoulders to the ground.

Boots stepping onto the grass, she was soon greeted by the dragon's snout - green eyes soulful and expecting touches. "And we always said Meraxes was a cuddle whore," Visenya chuckled, unable to deny her loyal mount a snout rub. Enjoying how she purred at the simple touch from a being hundreds of times smaller - Vhagar had to be as big as Balerion was in her youth. "We're both getting too old for this."

The dragon growled, pulling back with her green eyes staring down sardonically. Speak for yourself, muna.

Visenya sighed. "Fine, you're in the prime of your life and I'm getting too old." With that, Vhagar leaned back down, resting her head upon the ground with a twinkle in her eyes. "Cheeky fuck, you are, girl."

And yet you still ride me. The two of them simply rested there, Vhagar with her wings folded and neck extended on the ground while Visenya leaned upon her head, still rubbing the hot scales. Muna… can you go back to kepa?

Head jerking to look Vhagar in the eye, a scowl curled on her lips. "I'd rather fly to Mossovy than speak to that… that… craven bastard again."

Her words seemed to bring sorrow to her dragon. I know you miss him, and you hurt without him by your side. To an outside observer, it seemed as if the dragon was growling softly. But through the bond of dragon and dragonrider, Visenya heard it loud and clear. Was what he did that grievous to you?

Biting her lip, Visenya looked away. "Not to me… to our son."

The hatchling seemed happy last I felt.

"He is young, inexperienced in these things. I see problems he cannot, as does Egg… he should've stood with me…" Fists clenching, she wrenched away. "Goodnight, Vhagar." Visenya stormed off to the castle, a foul moon clouding over her… itself hiding a deep sadness.

Vhagar whined, able to feel such sadness off her rider. Goodnight, muna.

Dark Sister clipped to her belt, the servants bowed but avoided eye contact with their Queen. They had grown up with her in most cases, loved her as only those absolutely loyal to the Conqueors could… but they knew to keep a wide berth when she was in such a mood. If not for their sake, then for hers.

Visenya wouldn't wish to be bothered when her mind roiled with anger and pain. Only one person alive could truly calm her… gods be with the King and Queen, they would pray, hoping for a miracle.

Storming in her room, Visenya let her shoulders relax. Hands going to her hair to rip the ties that bound them into her riding braid. She had let go of her pique at Vhagar long ago, but the wall needed to be kept until the safety of her chambers. Our chambers… No one needed to see the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms cry herself to sleep every night. To curl on the bed and curse the cold sheets for yet another lonely evening. Hair loose, she began to loosen the wool and leather coat she rode in.

"You were gone much longer than expected."

Tensing, Visenya spun around and had Dark Sister halfway out its scabbard before she recognized the voice. "You." A voice she hadn't heard in three moons… and realized that even in her still simmering ire that she missed as deeply as a starving man would bread.

Seated on a stool in the darkest corner of the room, Aegon sighed and let the trinket he had been fiddling with fall to the tabletop. "I knew you loved to fly at twilight… so you could see the sun set." He rose, eyes trained on her beautiful face - drinking in the sight after time interminable. "I preferred the day, Rhaenys preferred the night, but dawn and dusk were your times."

She crossed her arms. "I suppose that means you timed your arrival for when I was gone."

He nodded. "Landed Balerion on the Dragonmont so you wouldn't see him."

"There was no need. I still like him."

"Vis…"

Unable to control herself, Visenya reached out to slap him - getting him across the cheek… right on the scar from their spar long ago. "Don't call me that, as if I'm expected to moon over you and leap into your arms." Gods, did she want to, but her anger began to surface as if it were fresh. "Not after what you did."

Cheek still stinging from the slap, Aegon's eyes narrowed. "I know you're angry…"

Visenya slapped him again, trembling with rage. "Anger doesn't begin to describe what I feel, you… you… you…" Close to screaming, her palm shot out again…

Only for Aegon to grab it mid-slap, squeezing the wrist hard. "Do not do that," he growled, violet eyes dark with anger… and something else.

The Dragon Queen wasn't one to back down. "Let go of me," she hissed. Her other hand moved to sock him in the jaw, but he grabbed it as well. "Unhand me, you wretch!"

All of a sudden, Aegon had her pinned to the wall - not gentle at all. "No." For a moment, Visenya felt a current of fear course through her. His eyes were almost black, face red with his own anger. Would he strike her? Was he going to…

Such thoughts ended when Aegon crashed his lips against hers. Not a normal kiss… not even one of the greatest passion. This was savage, akin to Balerion unleashing his dragonflame upon Black Harren. Tongue invading, plundering with a wild abandon.

Visenya, initially tense, was unable to resist it. She moaned filthily, but her anger still boiled. A knee crashed into his thigh, forcing him back. "How dare you!" she screamed. A fist hooked into his side… but it was like taking on one of the famed Ironborn berserkers, plied with intoxicating substances that made them ignorant of all pain. Aegon grabbed her and tossed her on the bed none too gently. Before she could scramble up, he had her pinned. Arms, legs… and hips. "Get off!"

"NO!" he roared, stunning her momentarily. Visenya had heard such a tone in battle… in every scream of rage and pain as he set Dorne alight, but never to her. "You are my Queen!" Hair frizzled, eyes wild, he sucked hard on her neck, undoubtedly leaving marks to join the bruises her wrists and hips likely had. "MY QUEEN!" Aegon bit her shoulder, hands practically flaying her blouse and trousers apart. "MINE!"

The anger burned brightly in Visenya… but so did the lust. Gods, the lust… Her fingers grabbed his head, nearly tearing out clumps of it to get his mouth on hers again. This time she was ready, meeting his savagery with her own, Harrenhal turning into the Field of Fire where they equally immolated their enemies. She tore out the tie of his trousers, waiting till Egg kicked them away before ripping off his shirt. His cock was already like steel.

"You are never to leave!" Aegon, feeling her fingers dig hard into his back and drawing blood, flipped her. Earning a yelp of surprise. "NEVER AGAIN, DO YOU UNDERSTAND!" Three moons of torture, of the worst sort of lonliness poured out, but he stilled just as his tip poked at her entrance. Visenya was sopping, but if she wished not to…

He waits for me… After all they endured, after this anger from both of them, Egg still waited for her consent. Visenya gave her answer, reaching back and yanking on the back of his neck - nails digging into the meaty flesh as they resumed a savage kiss.

Permission granted.

Aegon felt her scream into his mouth, the King not waiting for anything before he started to set a bruising pace. All other sounds were drowned out by her cries, his grunts, their skin slapping together like a rapid clap. One hand like a vice on her hip, leaving a dark red splotch for a bruise, Aegon grabbed onto her breasts with the other. He squeezed and mauled them as they bounced and shook in tempo with his rough thrusts into her body.

"My Queen!" he yelled again, pinching her nipple tightly. "You're my fucking Queen!"

"Fuck you!" she snarled, unwilling to be the first that broke. Visenya was half-determined to not give him the satisfaction, while the other half was close to her eyes rolling back from the sheer pleasure of it all. It had been so long… and even then it was likely the best coupling she had ever had since their wedding night. "I'm not yours to fuck at will!"

Responding, Aegon pressed her head down, hand pinning the back of her neck. "Say it! Say you're my Queen!" he commanded, speeding up the snap of his hips against her. Forcing her to rock forward into the mattress every time he hit home.

"No!" she screamed back, though the new angle made her cunt spasm, clenching tighter.

"Say it!"

"No!"

There was no stopping him. "SAY IT!"

"Aahhhhh!" It was too much. Too good… "FUCK, I'M YOUR QUEEN!" There was no denying it. Aegon was here, pounding Visenya so deliciously, a perfect fit for her tight cunt. Her body truly had been made to be fucked by him. "I'M FALLING, BROTHER!" she screamed.

"Shatter, sister! Shatter!" The command was the last Egg could snarl out before his vision went white and he fell over the precipice.

Visenya screamed as his cock drove her to a climax the likes of which any woman would be lucky to experience once. She screamed, she thrashed, she clawed at whatever patch of skin she could find on him - all to ground the absolute ecstasy she felt. Visenya milked his cock, drawing his seed like she was dying of thirst. She was… for him.

Just as all the anger, all the tension and energy erupted, suddenly it just went away. They collapsed bonelessly, a tangled mass of sweat, flesh, and their own juices. Groaning, Egg forced himself to grant her room to turn and shimmy till they could stare into each other's eyes. The rage was gone, leaving something empty. "Am I…" Egg coughed, moving to roll off.

A gentle grip of his arms stilled him. "No, stay…" She liked his weight on her, at least for a little while longer. "Egg…"

"Vis…"

And suddenly, all distance was broken. Visenya launched herself into Egg's embrace, clutching him desperately as he fell to their sides - holding her equally as greedily, as if she'd disappear if he even let one inch seperate them. Tears fell without restraint, any patch of skin in reach peppered with hot kisses. "I love you…"

"I love you too…"

"Don't ever leave…"

"Never… you have me…"

Three moons of unrequited love, of forced distance, it simply melted until it soaked them. Two dragons putting aside their feud the way only dragons could do. Fire and blood… fury and love…

Almost two hours later, they were cuddled up together. Three more bouts - a record not held since before Maegor - had left them sore, bruised, and exhausted… but completely sated and content. "I missed my pillow," Visenya purred, her hair fanned out like a halo over his muscular chest.

"I missed my brazier," Egg quipped in return, the two of them sharing a laugh. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." They had talked in between their passion, pouring out everything that should have been said long ago. Hearing out the opinions of politics and worries about ruling both of them held. "I love you, Egg… I can't live without you."

"You are stronger than anyone I know," was his reply. "Gods… we've both endured the worst sorts of things."

She nodded, kissing his chest. "I know why you did what you did, Egg. We couldn't force this upon our own son, but I worry for Maegor. We've strayed too far from our heritage. Embraced too much of Westeros in the pursuit of peace. The bloodshed ended, but I fear we've crippled ourselves to get it."

He sighed. "I'll admit I haven't indulged in our culture as much as I should… gods, our grandchildren don't even speak High Valyrian."

"Something we must change, if we are to survive." Out of nowhere, she yawned, the exhaustion taking hold of her.

Egg noticed it. "Sleep my love. We have the rest of our lives to plan this."

"Just hold me."

"Always."

"And he gave it to you? Just like that?"

Rhaena preened, enjoying the jealousy in her friend's voice. "Aye. It's all mine."

Sighing dreamily, Samantha Stokeworth clasped her hands together. "A gift from Prince Maegor… oh, how handsome he is."

The more level-headed Larissa Velaryon rolled her eyes, but agreed with the sentiment. "Remember Sammy, what a diamond or a sapphire necklace is to us, a dragon egg is to Targaryens like the Princess here… she was given something priceless."

Samantha practically swooned. "You, lucky, lucky girl." She clasped Rhaena's shoulders and practically squealed with glee. "Rhaena, you've lived what a maiden's dreams are made of."

"Com'on, Sammy. You're embarrassing me…" The departure of Osmund Strong and Aethan Velaryon to fight the Lysene pirates with her uncle had left the Small Council too few in number - not to mention her grandmother's abrupt departure, which left Rhaena melancholic every time she thought about it. Lord Alyn Stokeworth arrived to fill in the gap as her father's friend, bringing along with him his daughter Samantha. As dramatic and… girlish as she was, Rhaena enjoyed her company and the two bonded quickly. "But yes, I lived the dream." All three of them squealed girlishly.

Climbing on the bed, Larissa looked at the egg resting in the hearth. "So… how do you hatch one of those things?"

"Well, girls," someone new said from the doorway. "Sometimes they hatch in the cradle, sometimes they need fire… and sometimes, according to the darkest of Valyrian blood magic, they need fire and a blood sacrifice."

While such would render most girls squeamish, Rhaena cared not for it meant… "Grandmother!" There, standing in her doorway was Queen Visenya Targaryen, resplendent in a black-red dress of leather and lace that hugged her curves while still showing off an air of battle prowess.

She opened her arms. "Come here, sweetling." Rhaena needed no coaxing, and soon the two dragons embraced. Visenya kissed the crown of her head. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, grandmother." All seemed right in Rhaena's world… at least until her uncle returned, then it would be perfect.

Both Larissa and Samantha fell on their knees. "Your Grace."

Visenya smirked. "Rise. Now girls, why don't you go play in the gardens - I need to speak to Rhaena."

While they eyed her with worry at what this could be about, neither girl could disobey the Queen's direct order. "See ya," Larissa said.

"Goodbye, Rhaena," added Samantha, and both were off.

Soon after, the two were seated on the bed. "So does this mean you and grandfather are happy again?"

Sighing, Visenya looked at her granddaughter. "So you know about that?"

"Egg and I heard muna and kepa talk about it… and grandfather's been so sad."

Her heart clenched at the thought of how lonely and hurt her Egg had been, but the past was the past. "Yes, sweetling. Your grandfather and I are happy again." Visenya ruffled Rhaena's hair. "You used to be so quiet… but now it's as if you have a glow about you."

"All uncle Maegor's doing!" Rhaena exclaimed, drawing a curious look from her grandmother. "He gave me a dragon egg!"

Sure enough, there was the egg. One of Vhagar's last clutch from seven years back. Arrax was hatched from it, while two still remained. Of course you'd give her an egg, my son. Sometimes Maegor was too much like her or Rhaenys for his own good. "He must've seen something strong in you to entrust you with such responsibility."

"Balerion said I am a dragon, so I should act like one."

"Balerion said that?" She'd have to probe this… but first thing's first. "Rhaena… I know your kepa and muna have been engaging you with studies of etiquette and academics, but you are not an ordinary young lady… you are a Princess of House Targaryen and potentially a future dragonrider."

She looked at the egg before looking back at Visenya. "I thought uncle Maegor would teach me how to be a dragon, but he went away." The thought brought her a twinge of pain.

As wonderful that would be… "You need a woman teaching you, and with your aunt as Lady Stark, there's only one female dragonrider left to teach you." The implication was obvious.

Squealing, Rhaena leaped into her grandmother's arms - squeezing her tightly. "Thank you, grandmother. Thank you… thank you… thank you!" She sounded excited… more than excited actually, but even a daughter of House Targaryen knew the honor of meriting the infamous Dragon Queen as their teacher.

Chuckling softly, Visenya hugged her granddaughter back… gods, she was so like Rhaenys it was uncanny - even making her a bit misty-eyed. Same excitement, same passion. She herself had always a more detached determination when not driven by fury, but Rhae… she jumped into everything with a laugh and a glint in her eye. As if the task before her was the most joyous thing in the world. Long shy and reclusive, now her Rhaena had emerged from her shell.

All thanks to her son. Visenya beamed with pride in him…

A sudden noise caught her attention. "Rhaena, wait." Her grandaughter's simpers of glee were masking the sound. "Shhh… listen." It was a sound she hadn't heard in years, but one any Targaryen would be remiss to forget.

Furrowing her brows, Rhaena looked up at her grandmother in confusion until she heard it too. A cracking sound, as if a pick being slammed into stone by a mason. It was soft at first, but grew louder - joined by the sputtering of the fire. Her eyes widened in understanding. "The egg!" Instantly, she was running to the hearth, heart beating out of her chest with anticipation.

It took a moment before Visenya put two and two together, her eyes widening as well. "Really? Now?" It was surprising, though not unwelcome at all as she walked towards the hearth and knelt next to her granddaughter. "I'll be damned…"

The egg, in the midst of the flames, had three large cracks spiraling out of one particular point near the crown. With each passing second, the cracks grew and new ones formed along the scales.

With a pop of the flames, a large fleck broke off… allowing one to peer inside the egg itself. "She's here!" Rhaena said, covering her mouth with her hands to contain the joy she was feeling.

"She?"

"I just know, grandmother."

Visenya nodded. It had been the same with Rhaenys and Meraxes - somehow, she just knew that her dragon would be a girl. Turning her attention back to the hearth, the egg was starting to splinter apart. Almost… And out of the now ruined shell burst a tiny creature. No bigger than a cat, she scrambled atop the burning logs, shaking her head as if to acclimate to the light.

Mesmerized, Rhaena's arms slowly moved towards the creature - amongst the flames. In a daze herself, Visenya didn't notice the act until Rhaena had plunged her palms into the fire itself. "No! Rhaena…" But nothing happened, out came the hatchling, her granddaughter unscathed. She is unburnt…

Standing, Rhaena looked down on her dragon hatchling in awe. "Gods… you're even prettier than in my dream. Chirping, as if instinctively knowing that this was her future rider, the dragon climbed with her wingclaws up Rhaena's body. Hauling herself - with a bit of difficulty - atop Rhaena's head. Giggling, the Princess felt like breaking out into dance. "Grandmother, my dragon is here!"

"That she is." Pride swelled inside Visenya's heart. "Do you have a name for her?"

Rhaena gasped. "I get to name her?"

"Of course. You hatched her and are her first bond. Per the laws of the dragonrider, her name is yours to pick."

It didn't take long for Rhaena to choose - first seen in her dreams, born amongst the fire, it was obvious. "Dreamfyre." The pale blue dragon, Dreamfyre, was now crawling back down to Rhaena's chest. She clung to her dress, claws allowing her to hang close to her rider's heart. "I love you already, Dreamfyre."

Dreamfyre cooed, nuzzling Rhaena's neck.

"Who is this person?"

Archsepton Hugor Flowers looked upon Archmaester Goodwyn, Seneschal of the Citadel, with a raised eyebrow. "Someone quite special I found in the most unexpected places."

"He's a blacksmith's bastard." The Archmaester was much like Hugor, young in his position and committed to clearing out the rot of the ancient institution responsible for all the knowledge of the Realm. However, even he had his prejudices.

"Aren't I a bastard?"

The man's wafer-thin moustache riggled as Goodwyn frowned. "That's different, your bloodline is the most august and trueborn on your father's side. There was no earthly reason the Starry Sept wouldn't accept you into the conclave, let alone into the Order. For those of… baser birth, we must be more selective."

Another policy that needs to change if we are to survive. Dragons that dazzle them over a Faith that shuns them and preaches they are evil, sinful monsters? Hugor knew which side he would choose. "Barth meets your standards, and more."

"He is but eleven namedays."

"He is smarter than half the Archmaesters in the Citadel. This is a certainty for me."

Sighing, Goodwyn leaned forward, wringing his hands together. "Regardless of this discussion, the fact of the matter is that Barth is currently part of the seminary…"

"Where he is excelling beyond all other pedagoges," Hugor interrupted.

"Where he is excelling, yes… but that places him under your tutelage, not ours."

Hugor leaned forward as well. "I intend to personally ordain him as a septon even at his youthful age, but his intelligence will prove more use to me - Barth needs a proper education that the seminary cannot provide and only studies with the best the Citadel can offer will provide such for me."

A snort from the Archmaester. "And why should I grant you this favor?"

While Hugor toyed with blackmailing several important Archmaesters, he chose to place such information into reserve for another time - for more… critical favors he would need. This time… "As the confessor for many of those in import, I have access to whispers of those seeking to depose you to claim control of the Citadel."

Goodwyn's eyes widened. Most learned men are horrible at the game. "Tell me."

"No… not until Barth begins his studies."

Grunting, Goodwyn nevertheless nodded. "He can start on the morrow… I'll begin his teaching myself."

Hugor smiled, rising and clasping the man's hands. "May the Seven bless you, Archmaester. You have made the right decision."

"Let us hope, Archsepton. Let us hope."

As Goodwyn made his exit, Ser Damon Morrigan of the Warrior's Sons appeared at the door. "Your Eminence… the High Septon requires your presence in his chambers."

Brow raising, Hugor had a sinking feeling in his gut… but hid it well. Ser Damon was the captain of the Holy Guard, a section of the Warrior's Sons that protected the High Septon himself. The knight angled for the position of Grand-Captain as the Ser Tomas Crakehall was getting on in years, but even his political power in Oldtown was limited. A matter that Hugor filed away for future use. "What does he require?"

"I only bring word of his request… and to ensure compliance. Come with me, Archsepton."

Sighing, he did as bidded, walking down the narrow hallways of the High Septon's palace. The large building was dwarfed by the immense structures of the Citadel, Hightower, and Starry Sept, but such was relative - it dwarfed most mid-sized castles, but was largely falling apart from wear and tear. Gods, he wished to renovate it… as he did most of the Faith's holdings in the Realm, but Hugor as of yet didn't have the power. Soon.

Ser Damon opened the door of the High Septon's chambers, though instead of standing guard outside he followed Hugor in.

The Archsepton knew why the moment he caught the image of High Septon Gerold. His jovial face was contorted in anger, an image that was completely unsuited to him… it didn't make it any less terrifying. "I granted you the greatest of honors, Hugor," he began, voice even but with a tinge of anger. "Sponsored you to rise far above your station, practically designating you as my successor. By the Seven above… I always considered you my son."

Hugor kept calm. "You honor me with such trust and affection, your Holiness."

Only for Gerold to throw a cup at him. "Then why did Damon find correspondence between yourself and Wyl of Wyl!"

He raised his brow. "Such sounds as a pernicious conspiracy to frame me by the enemies of yourself…"

"I recognized your scrawl, Hugor!" Gerold rose, shaking. "Plotting raids in the marches! Coordinating insurrection against their Graces? I've tolerated much of your initiatives but this… treason is beyond the pale!" He took a seat on his bed, laying down. "Ser Damon will ensure you are taken to King's Landing so you may meet the King's Justice. You do not deserve a trial of the Faith. Get him out of my sight!" But Ser Damon didn't move, or budge. "I gave you an order!"

Whether coordinated or independent of each other, both began to approach the High Septon. "Gerold," began Hugor. "You have given me great gifts and I thank you for your kindness to a simple bastard orphan… but your kind are obsolete."

"What is this?!"

"You think a man that has committed treason is above murder?" Suddenly, Ser Damon grabbed the High Septon's waist and legs - Hugor grabbed a pillow and shoved it against Gerold's face, watching him thrash about. "The age of the appeasers and apostates has come to an end, Gerold." The thrashing grew weaker and weaker as time flew past, air slowly being cut off from the struggling High Septon. "No longer will we be disunited… no longer will we be subjects of demons upon the earth…" All movement ceased. "Soon begins the day where we become what we were destined to be."

Both darting back, eyes fell upon the unseeing ones of High Septon Gerold Hightower. His mouth open, but limbs slack. Not a breath passed his lips.

Breathing deeply, Hugor clenched the pillow tightly. His vision grew murky, weighed down by the surreal realization that the High Septon was dead. That he killed the High Septon with his own hands… and that he felt nothing of it. "Ser Damon," he breathed calmly.

"Yes, your Eminence?"

"Check if he's dead."

Armor clinking as he stepped towards the bed, Ser Damon reached down to check Gerold Hightower's pulse. "He's dead, your Eminence."

Letting out a deep, purging sigh from within his lungs, Hugor shook his head as he approached the lifeless corpse of someone so full of life. "It is a tragedy, Ser Morrigan." Gently, Hugor eased the pillow underneath the High Septon's head. "He was so filled with merriment and life, that the bodily stresses of such a life caught up to him. Such is why we exercise and eat sparingly."

"Of course, but I do not think His Holiness held any regrets of how he lived."

Hugor closed the eyes of the Seven's ambassador to the earthly realm, allowing him peace in death… a death that he himself had caused. "I know for certain that he regretted nothing, which makes this all the more tragic, to die in one's sleep of the heart malady." And so the official truth was born. "Call the other guards and maesters. Inform them that we found High Septon Gerold dead after arriving to meet with him for daily prayers."

Ser Damon clicked his heels and bowed. "At once, your Eminence."

As the door closed, Hugor took one last look at the corpse - of the man that treated him as a son for the longest of times. For the life of him, Hugor's mind only went to one thought. And now I owe that zealous idiot Morrigan everything.

Without another word, he sat in the High Septon's plush armchair - working on his expression of grief for when Ser Damon returned with the maesters.