– King's Landing –
The Sept of Baelor was slowly crowded by people as guests entered one after the other. The number of guests should indicate how much importance they were giving to the wedding of Tywin Lannister's second son. However, just from their attires, a knowledgeable person could tell that this was just like any other day to them.
Although their clothes were still luxurious, made of fine silks and embroidered with beautiful threads and jewels, they wore the clothes that they used every other day. These were the clothes they would use to go to court and to stride along the royal gardens and the streets of the capital.
For the common people, it might have meant nothing, but those of noble status knew to tailor a new attire every time there was a special occasion. Repeating clothes or wearing everyday ones meant that they either had no money to afford anything new or that they simply did not care for the "special" occasion.
But it wasn't just the guests doing that. They would not have dared to if those above them hadn't done the same.
This wedding was but a formality that held no meaning other than making a show. If Tywin could have had them marry just by signing a piece of paper, he wouldn't have even bothered with the formalities and the subsequent banquet.
Michael looked around at the crowd of people who could care less about being there. This didn't feel like a wedding at all. His brother and Sansa deserved better.
"I know the wedding arrangements were done last minute, but this is quite depressing."
Michael didn't need to turn around to know who it was. He didn't know the exact reason why, since the Tyrells' arrival, Stefan Tyrell would approach him from time to time to annoy him. It was like he was trying to get on his bad side while Margaery appeared to be making every effort to make Cersei hate her.
Michael kept his posture with his hands in front of him, not turning back to Stefan, "No need to worry. Your sister's wedding will be much more spectacular than this little affair. Your family is paying for half of it, so you should know."
"You sound upset. I assure you that whatever Lord Tywin was told which led to this rash wedding held no bearing. At least not yet. We did consider it, but we planned to wait until after Margaery wedded Joffrey. We had yet to make any moves."
"That is great to know." Michael scoffed, shaking his head as he finally turned to face the other. There was only an inch of difference between their heights, so their eyes were practically on the same level. "I'm sure Sansa would have been very happy with Ser Loras. Her dreamy knight who enjoys the company of other knights."
"Better than Joffrey, no?"
"Do not act like you were doing it to help her. And rather than worrying about Sansa, you should worry about your sister. I'm not sure why she keeps angering Cersei, but my sister, she's a tad murderous. I suggest Lady Margaery stops bothering her. Otherwise, not even my father will be able to save her. But if Cersei doesn't get to her, Joffrey might."
Stefan clenched his jaw, "Are you threatening us?"
"Not at all. It's just a reminder. Joffrey does not care about politics or about the good of the realm. He doesn't care about the benefits House Tyrell brings to the table. He only cares about what he wants. Lady Margaery is able to entertain him for now. I admit she is very talented. That is quite the achievement what she has managed with my nephew. But how long can that last? Joffrey bores very easily. Lady Margaery seems like a kind person, despite all the manipulation tactics, so I would hate to see what she could become in Joffrey's hands in the future."
"Lord Michael does not need to concern yourself with my family's matters. If your nephew touches my sister, I'll kill him myself. So, make sure he doesn't." Stefan gave Michael a curt nod and they went their separate ways.
When talking with Michael, Stefan had seen Margaery and Cersei striding down a staircase, holding each other's arms. They seemed harmonious and at the same time, they didn't. Just like Michael, Stefan also wished to know why Margaery was pulling so much hatred to herself from Cersei.
Stefan might not have liked a single word of what Michael said, but he knew it was the truth. It was one of the reasons he was so against this marriage. Unfortunately, his words were completely ignored and now he could only stand in the background and do his best to protect his siblings inside this lion's den.
Stefan headed toward Margaery, who had been left alone. She unconsciously reached out with her left hand to her right arm which Cersei had held before. Others hadn't been able to tell but Margaery's arm ached a little due to the strength Cersei used to hold it.
That polite and bright smile she always wore had disappeared and her lips were turned downward. Whatever Cersei had told her had definitely not been pleasant.
Once Margaery saw Stefan, she took in a deep breath and smiled as usual, as if nothing had happened, "Brother-"
"What did you tell her?" Stefan understood his sister all too well and he didn't think that Cersei, as distasteful as she could be, had been the only person to say something unpleasant.
"It was nothing much. We were just having a conversation."
"I do not understand. Why do you constantly keep getting on her nerves?"
Margaery kept smiling at those who passed by them as if she was having a normal and simple conversation with her brother. "Despite how it may look to others, I am trying to become friends with her. She is the mother of the person I am to marry and I did hope we could have a good relationship. But she doesn't want it. I'm the one putting in the effort and she's the one who is being unreasonably mean."
Stefan still wasn't too sure about it, "She's a vindictive and petty person. You're putting yourself at risk here."
"I know what I'm doing. She can make as many threats as she wishes. If she touches me, she will have to deal with Lord Tywin himself. Cersei might be many things but she's not that stupid. And something else, brother. Before you scold me, remember that you're doing exactly the same thing."
Meanwhile, Michael watched the Tyrell pair from afar as they whispered to one another while keeping polite smiles on their faces. He had to admit that, unlike many of the other members of House Tyrell, this pair of twins were sure adept at hiding their emotions.
As Michael pondered, he suddenly heard many murmurs from around him. He couldn't hear what they were saying but no matter how people lowered their voices, when that many were whispering at the same time, it became obvious that they were doing it.
Maybe those people noticed how blatant their actions had become as their murmuring soon disappeared. They moved out of the way, silently lowering their heads.
Michael turned around, his lips curling as he saw the crowd part for his mother. She might have been a fish, but to the people here, she was also a lion. And a terrifying one at that.
Diana passed through unimpeded. Her back was straight and her chin was held high. She never once glanced at the people around her or made polite talk, striding forward as if they didn't exist. Her ivory dress flowed down her body, the skirt reaching the floor.
This war had some nobles wonder if Diana would remain Tywin's wife for long or if she would have a little "accident" at some point. Her short disappearance made the rumors grow only wilder. With Tywin's reputation, no one would put anything past him.
Diana might have returned but there were still those who thought that Tywin had imprisoned her somewhere and had only allowed her to come out for the wedding and to dispel the rumors.
Neither Diana nor Tywin cared about what the sheep at court thought. They never explained much. Diana just went toward her son, ignoring the crowd.
Michael smiled as his mother reached his side, "You look radiant, Mother."
"Don't I always?"
"When exactly did you find the time to prepare a new dress for Tyrion's wedding?" Michael couldn't say he knew every outfit that was inside his mother's wardrobe, but he was quite sure he hadn't seen anything like this one before. "You only arrived shortly and this wedding was decided right before you returned."
Diana didn't plan on hiding it, "You noticed it's new? I told the tailors to finish it in time or they would be out of a job. They did splendid work in the short time they had. I was very impressed. They did marvelous work."
Michael wasn't sure how to respond to that, "You must be the only person here who bothered and you were the one with the least time."
"And now they can all admire me in their ugly, old clothes. I do wonder why you didn't get anything better. It is your brother's wedding. Maybe even his last wedding."
Michael winced, "How to say it, I sort of forgot and when I remembered I needed new clothes, it was a tad late. I could only put the nicest thing I found."
"You boys are terrible with this sort of thing. Even Tyrion didn't get anything new done." Diana brushed Michael's shoulders as if to push away dust. As she did, she stepped closer to him, her eyes turning sharper. "I saw you talking with Lord Stefan before. He didn't seem too happy when he left."
Michael didn't move his gaze away from Diana's, only his sweating hands revealed how he felt inside. "I didn't say much. He just didn't appreciate my honesty."
"Your honesty or your little remarks?" Diana sent him a pointed look, "Why is it that it's so hard for you siblings to get along with the Tyrells?"
"Maybe lions and roses are just not compatible."
The guests crowded to each side of the Sept of Balor, leaving a single aisle in between them that formed a line from the entrance to the stairway on the opposite side where the altar was. From the view of the High Septon who stood at the altar, the members of House Lannister and what remained of the Small Council were to the right, and to the left, where the bride's family was traditionally placed, were the members of House Tyrell.
Tyrion moved through the crowd first, wearing bright, red clothes. He moved to the altar where a small stool had been placed, waiting for when Tyrion had to place his House's cloak on his new bride.
In front of him was the High Septon, an older man with a head full of white and sideburns on each side of his face. He had only held his position for around a year, having gained it after the former High Septon was torn to pieces by the starving mob during the riot last year. Despite the brief time, the new High Septon couldn't look any more arrogant already.
Before Tyrion had to stare at his annoying face for much longer, the large doors at the entrance were opened by two septas and Sansa strode inside. The girl who would soon become 15 was wearing a woman's dress, not a little girl's.
Her arms were fully exposed and the upper part of the dress curved around her underdeveloped body. The dress was fully ivory and gold with only some red and blue details in the embroidery. In front of her chest was an X with lions all over it as if choking her. There were lions all over her dress, with the largest being behind her neck.
At the very least, the Lannisters had been "kind" enough to ask for direwolves and fishes to be added to the dress, symbolizing both her Houses. Though, the only place they could be found was in the back of her waists and they were entwined with branches from all sides, making them hard to see. There was even a wolf that was being pushed down by a lion as if showing the dominance of the Lannisters.
On her neck was a chain with the golden lion that Joffrey had given Sansa when he had promised, with the gentlest voice she had ever heard from him, that he would never disrespect her or be cruel to her again. The day he had told her she would be his queen.
Now, her entire world had changed from what it was then. She had trusted him and believed his every word, eating them like sugary candy. The current her only wished she had been able to push him down that platform on the day when he showed her her father's head.
The skirt of her dress brushed against the floor which each step she took. Sansa stopped at the top of the staircase, taking a deep breath as she stared at the countless people before her eyes, one of them being the man who would soon become her husband.
Her nerves were already up the roof when she saw Joffrey coming her way. He was wearing ivory just like her, with the only exception being a blue sash that went around his chest, his crown of stag horns standing straight on top of his head.
Sansa only thought he meant to say something to bother her as usual, but Joffrey simply stopped beside her and said nothing. She was getting a bad feeling about this. "What are you doing?"
Joffrey turned to her, speaking with all the seriousness in the world, "Your father's gone. As the father of the realm, it is my duty to give you away to your husband."
His cheeks didn't even flush as he said that despite him being the reason her father was gone. Luckily, Sansa had already expected anything he said to her would be hurtful, so her face remained still.
Joffrey offered Sansa his arm. Letting out a sigh, Sansa looped her hand into his arm, but she kept her fingers from touching him and they hovered in the air. Joffrey didn't seem to mind her clear distaste and walked forward, Sansa following his steps.
The septas closed the door, shutting out all the light from outside, and closing the only exit from this place. The four Kingsguards who had followed Joffrey until then, stopped at the top of the staircase, remaining by the door with their hands lying on top of their swords.
Joffrey guided Sansa down the stairs and then through the aisle left between the guests and finally up the second flight of stairs to reach the altar.
It was only when she saw Margaery at the end that Sansa managed to force a smile. But that smile disappeared right after as she held her skirt with her left hand to go up to the altar.
Tyrion held the cloak he had to put on Sansa, one of the attendants having given it to him as soon as they saw Sansa coming in. Tyrion looked just as nervous as Sansa, more so as Joffrey passed by him with that smug face of his.
Maybe he should have expected it but as soon as Joffrey left Sansa, he crouched down to grab the stool Tyrion would use to reach Sansa's height and took it with him as he joined the rest of his family.
The clank of the stool being placed on the floor was particularly loud in the dead silent hall which was already designed in a way that sound would echo easily.
As much as some wished to, this wasn't exactly the time to scold the King of the Seven Kingdoms, so they could only bite their tongues for the time being.
The High Septon either didn't notice or didn't care about Tyrion's conundrum. He just began the ceremony as if nothing had happened. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."
Tyrion had to wonder if the High Septon hated him or something. He wished he could put the cloak on Sansa's shoulders but as it should have been pretty obvious from the get-go, he couldn't reach the 14-year-old's shoulders.
Tyrion didn't say anything, however. He held the red and ivory cloak with red lions sewn on it and tried to cloak Sansa who had turned her back to him. Not that it worked very well.
Joffrey was the first to snicker and then followed others in the crowd. They thought they were being discreet, forgetting that in the silent room, not even a pin dropping would go unnoticed. A single one of Tywin's glares was enough for the people to shut their mouths, being more terrified of him than they were amused by the situation.
Tyrion had rarely felt such embarrassment. He had also changed from the man who was able to tell Jon Snow to never forget what he was, to wear it like armor, so that it could never be used to hurt him.
He was hurting. Those snickers were piercing and Joffrey's stupid prank was piercing. His father's disregard for his accomplishments was even more piercing.
Despite how he felt, Tyrion patted Sansa's arm and stuttered, his voice as low as possible, "Uh... Could you...?"
Sansa was luckily able to understand his unfinished words and kneeled on the floor, the skirt forming a circle around her. Tyrion was finally able to place the cloak on her and fixed it up before the girl could stand. "Thank you."
Sansa didn't respond and moved to stand beside him, both facing the High Septon who never moved from his place, showing no intention of helping.
The High Septon glanced at the two carelessly before turning to where the Lannisters were, "Your Grace, Your Grace, my lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sights of Gods and men to witness the union of men and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."
– Dragonstone –
Gendry wasn't sure where he would be taken when those guards brought him away at the orders of the red woman. He thought they would take him to a small, cramped room where the servants rested or maybe even to a cell. He thought of many possibilities, but none of them included him being taken to a room used by the nobility.
The walls weren't the nicest, appearing as if the room was inside a cave, however, that was the aesthetic of Dragonstone and most of the walls in this place were like this. It was definitely better than actually living in a cave or inside a dilapidated place where the walls had holes and were practically crumbling on themselves.
From the ceiling hung a large chandelier, the wax of the candles dripping down its circular, metal body. All over the room were candles of all sizes and forms.
The canopy bed was gigantic. The bedposts were carved by hand and the red bed sheets were soft to the touch. There was a table to the side filled with delicacies and wine, fresh fruit like he had never seen before, and meat that came from something other than rats. The smell alone whetted his appetite and made him swallow his saliva.
If it wasn't for that last thread of caution that remained due to everything he had experienced, Gendry would have already devoured everything on the table.
Gendry could only force himself to look away from the table and distract himself with the metalwork around the room. When Melisandre entered his room at night, the boy was standing by the unlit brazier, inspecting all the details on it.
Unlike how Gendry had seen Melisandre before, wearing a thick coat that revealed only her face and hands, her hair tied into a braid, the woman now stood before him with a low V cut that allowed the imagination to run wild as part of her breasts were visible. Her red hair was let down and it curled over her figure.
Melisandre held a small chest as she went across the room and glanced at the brazier Gendry was paying such attention to, "Have you ever seen one like it?"
"I've never seen anything like any of this. Not in my life."
"It's shocking, isn't it? The first time you encounter real wealth?" Melisandre placed the chest on the nightstand, then grabbed a wood lighting stick. She placed it above a candle and walked toward Gendry, placing the flame inside the brazier. "When I was your age, I lived on a bowl of stew a day. And stew is a kind word for it."
Gendry felt more comfortable the more he learned about her. It made it easier for him to identify with her. He didn't know how to face this supposed uncle of his and if he had to deal with a religious fanatic, he wouldn't know what to do either. The more Melisandre spoke about her harsh past, the easier it became for him to feel that she was just like him. "In Flea Bottom we called them 'bowls of brown.' We'd pretend that the meat in them was chicken. We knew it wasn't chicken."
Melisandre smiled at the youth as he stuttered over his last words. She didn't say anything, only blowing the small flame on the wood lighting stick as the fire on the brazier expanded inside of it.
Not saying a word, Melisandre walked toward the table and poured red wine inside a goblet that was mostly made of glass. Through the transparent material, Gendry could see the stirring, crimson liquid.
"Here, taste this."
Gendry hesitated, not moving an inch as his eyes stared fixedly at the cup and the woman. He might not have directly said it, but his actions were enough for Melisandre to understand.
The woman frowned pitifully, looking at him with fake sadness, "You think I'm trying to poison you?"
Gendry still said nothing, so Melisandre softly snorted. Actions could speak louder than words, so Melisandre didn't bother to explain and took a large gulp of the same wine she had offered Gendry, her throat moving as she swallowed it.
Melisandre offered him the goblet once again with a smile still on her face. Gendry returned it, feeling like such a paranoid idiot. He thought that if she wanted to kill him, she could have done it at any point since their arrival at Dragonstone or even before that when they were in the woods or in the sea. There would also be no need to prepare a bath for him, new clothes, and such a magnificent chamber with food and wine.
Letting his guard down completely, Gendry stepped closer to Melisandre and accepted the wine. They shared no words. Melisandre only gave him the goblet and Gendry took it, taking a sip.
As he swallowed it, Gendry could not help but let out a sigh as his tastebuds practically began dancing inside his mouth. Anything he had drank before was but sewer water in comparison with this wine. Gendry didn't even know how to describe the amazing taste. "That's good. That's really good."
"Where do you think it's from?"
"I couldn't even guess."
"Doesn't matter, does it? It's the real thing or it's not. You only need a tongue to tell the difference." Melisandre turned to the table, nodding to the youth when she saw his frozen and awkward appearance, "Go on, have some more."
Melisandre grabbed a grape and turned around, finding that Gendry had lowered the wine glass and hadn't dared take another sip. "Ah, you still don't trust it. You think this is all a mistake and that you'll have to pay somehow for every bite you take."
"That thought had crossed my mind, yeah."
Melisandre ate the grape before approaching Gendry. She stroked his cheek, moving her hand to his chin where a beard had slightly grown. From there, her hand went down to his chest then to his hand, taking the goblet from him. "There are no mistakes. Not for us."
"I'm a mistake. I'm only here because my father grabbed my mother instead of the girl next to her in the tavern."
Melisandre took a sip of the wine before placing the goblet on the table. She wanted to roll her eyes, but she quickly turned back to face Gendry, acting as if his words had made her angry. "Your father chose your mother because the Lord of Light willed it. He willed it so you could be here, right now, with a power inside you you can't even begin to understand." Melisandre whispered close to his mouth. If she moved a single inch closer, their lips would have touched. Ignoring Gendry's confused face, Melisandre held his collar and began untying his top. "And He brought me here to draw it from you and birth it into the world. We're both a part of His plan. He wants this for us. No, He demands this of us."
Melisandre finished untying the clothes and then pushed them off Gendry's shoulders, leaving his upper body bare. The years of working as a blacksmith and the harsh time he had spent after leaving King's Landing had allowed him to tone his muscles.
Melisandre ran her hands down his arms and torso, feeling the hot and shivering skin under her touch. Her lips kissed his face, brushing against his ear as she whispered those words to him.
Gendry knew he had been taken to Dragonstone because he was Robert Baratheon's bastard child. Since Joffrey had ordered every single one of Robert's bastards to be killed, if the rumors were true, that the Queen's children were not King Robert's, that would make Gendry the only child and son left behind by the former king.
He didn't think Stannis would name him his heir or anything like it but what Melisandre was saying was even more confusing. If he understood correctly, she wanted to have a child with him. A Baratheon child.
As bewildered as Gendry was, he didn't move and allowed Melisandre to continue her actions, "I don't understand. This... This doesn't seem very religious."
"According to whom? The Silent Sisters? With their stern looks, muzzled mouths, and dried-up cunts? What have their gods done for you? Hmm? When you pray to them, what's their answer? A god is real or he's not. You only need eyes to see." Melisandre untied her red robe and let it drop to the floor, revealing her naked, white skin.
Gendry had forgotten all his questions as his mind drew a blank, his eyes locking downward.
Melisandre brushed his hair raven back, "Death is coming for everyone and everything. A darkness that will swallow the dawn. And we can stop it, you and I."
Melisandre held Gendry's hand and pulled him toward the bed. She pushed him down softly and moved his legs up. Gendry was like a doll, just letting Melisandre move him as she pleased.
Her movements were a tad mechanical as she reached for his pants, untying them before pulling them down until his stick was visible. Melisandre sat on top of him and leaned down, brushing her lips against his.
"Let me show you what you have inside you. Come fight death with me."
The two only kissed for a second and that was it. Without any form of preparation, Melisandre held his half-hard member and pressed it against her front. With practically no effort, she pushed the whole length inside her and began moving her hips up and down.
Gasps echoed inside the room as the two moved. Gendry finally came out of his frozen state, pressing his hands against her waists. When that wasn't enough, he raised them toward Melisandre's breasts and squeezed them together.
He was surely having the time of his life. As for Melisandre, her fake gasps became more obvious as she looked to the side in disinterest. Seeing that the prey was hooked, she held Gendry's hands and slowly brought them above his head. She reached into the headboard and pulled out a rope made of leather, tightening his hands with it.
"What are you doing?" Gendry felt the tightness around his wrists, but he had yet to come out of his reverie.
Melisandre gave him a kiss to calm him down. Gendry had no idea of the incoming danger. He obliviously went after her lips when Melisandre moved away from the kiss.
"You have to trust me." Melisandre gave him a quick peck on the mouth and continued to kiss down his neck and chest as Gendry closed his eyes, trying to relax.
At least that was the case until he felt his feet, which were still covered with his leather boots, being tied together to the bottom of the bed. Gendry finally noticed that there was something very wrong here, but it was too late. His arms were tied up and so were his legs. There was no way for him to escape no matter how much he struggled.
No matter what good feelings Gendry had formed for the woman, it wasn't to the point where he was comfortable with this. His instincts which he had suppressed came back shouting.
Melisandre didn't try to explain anything to him. She went around the bed and toward the nightstand where the chest she had brought with her was.
Inside the chest was a pair of tweezers. Grabbing the tweezers with her right while holding the chest with her left, Melisandre went closer to the tied-up Gendry.
The tip of the tweezers fell into the inside of the chest, coming out with a worming, black leech.
Gendry's eyes snapped wide open, his struggles increasing. "What-? Get it away. Get it off me."
Melisandre placed the first leech beside Gendry's right nipple and went to grab the second. Her voice was still as calm and conceited as before. "Don't fight, don't fight. They won't take much."
She really thought of herself as being "holier than thou." As if she could do with others as she pleased and it was all right because she had her god.
"Why are you doing this?" And why give him such a sense of security before doing this? He would have preferred it if he had been chained in a dungeon from the get-go.
Melisandre placed the second leech on the youth's stomach and looked down at Gendry as if he were a fool who couldn't understand something so simple, "I told you there's power in the blood of kings. And you have so much blood."
Maybe so but he didn't think that she literally meant to take out his blood and use it. He thought she meant more in the metaphorical sense.
Gendry couldn't really think so much about everything at the moment. Not when Melisandre had grabbed the third leech and brought it closer to the opening of his pants, right above his member. "No. No, no, no, no! Not there. Not there!"
Melisandre didn't care about his pleas and dropped the last leech just as the wooden door opened. Melisandre placed the chest down on the nightstand and went toward her clothes.
She wasn't particularly shy, so she didn't hurry. With all the calm in the world, she continued speaking as she placed her red robes back on, her red eyes directed at the incoming guests. "You can blame Ser Davos and Princess Shaera. They didn't believe in the power of king's blood. They wanted a demonstration."
Otherwise, she would have just killed the boy before he could react and completed her ritual without any need for Gendry to know or be the wiser.
Stannis came in first, his gaze on the woman as she dressed herself. She didn't seem happy about the whole thing and Stannis didn't know what he himself felt, entering the room and seeing something like this.
Davos was behind him and so was Shaera. She really wished she hadn't been brought here. She didn't want to see her cousin who looked so much like her uncle be tortured like this, more so while being half naked and his precious bits being out in the air.
Shaera was someone who really enjoyed sex and at this moment, she sort of felt like it had been ruined for her.
"Please." Gendry's calls brought the others away from their thoughts. He didn't know whether the others were part of it or not as he hadn't heard a word of what Melisandre said last. He could only hope for someone to help him. "Please, Your Grace. My lord!"
Gendry got no response from them, however.
Melisandre finished dressing and grabbed a round bowl from the table. She took the tweezers she had placed on top of the chest and returned to Gendry's side. She removed the first two leeches, then glanced at Gendry before taking the third which was sucking the blood on the youth's member.
"Agh! Ah!" Despite not reacting much when the first two were removed, that third one was too painful. As soon as it was gone, Gendry felt out of breath.
Melisandre lowered her gaze as she went toward the brazier she had lit earlier. As she stopped beside it, she looked at Stannis who immediately went to her side, knowing what he had to do next.
Davos and Shaera looked at the two, not knowing what would happen after this. They didn't believe in the God of Light, but they had seen its power. They just didn't like the methods that this god used and what it turned its worshipers into.
Stannis grimaced as he grabbed each of the leeches, throwing them into the flames as he said a different name. "The usurper Robb Stark. The usurper Balon Greyjoy. The usurper Joffrey Baratheon."
Stannis moved back each time as the flames intensified after he threw in each leech. It was the opposite of Melisandre who was able to stand still with the flames reflecting inside her red eyes.
The leeches burst due to the fire, the blood they had just swallowed pouring out from them. As Stannis and Melisandre stepped back, turning away from the brazier, they didn't notice how one of the leeches began to squirm again as if still alive. The flames moved away from it, avoiding it and the blood that poured from it. As for which leech it was, it was impossible to tell.
– King's Landing –
Joffrey had removed his crown before joining the banquet. He sat with the rest of the members of House Lannister, except for Tyrion who was at the main table alongside Sansa. To his right sat Cersei and to his left was Tywin, followed by Diana and Michael.
Opposite to them was the table of the Tyrells with Margaery on one end, followed by Stefan, Loras, and Lady Olenna. Their patriarch, Lord Mace Tyrell, had yet to arrive at King's Landing.
The number of people at this wedding who were miserable was not small, beginning with the lucky bride and groom. Sansa was already not happy with the whole ordeal and Tyrion's constant drinking was not making things better. Tyrion was someone who was used to drinking in large amounts and yet he was so drunk that his face had turned completely red and he couldn't stop foolishly smiling.
Sansa couldn't swallow the food before her. She attempted to at the beginning, but she only ended up playing with her fork, not taking a single bite.
She imagined her wedding so many times as a little girl. She imagined a southern wedding with southern lords and ladies and a southern banquet and southern music and a lavish southern dress. In a way, all of that had come true. Just not the way she wanted it. And definitely not with the husband she wanted.
But she wasn't the only one in a gloomy mood.
Loras felt like his ears were about to fall off as his grandmother chattered nonstop to his left. "So, their son will be your nephew." Lady Olenna looked at Sansa and Tyrion then returned her gaze to her eldest grandson. "After you're wed to Cersei, of course. And you will be the King's stepfather and brother-in-law. When you marry the King..." Lady Olenna then turned her head a little to Margaery, still being somewhat confused. "...Joffrey's mother will become his sister-in-law and your son will be Loras' nephew? Grandson? I'm not sure. But your brother will become your father-in-law. That much is beyond dispute."
Loras couldn't stand it anymore and pushed his chair out before storming off into the dancing and chattering crowd. He couldn't take a second more of this.
Lady Olenna didn't seem to mind, slightly smiling at her two remaining grandchildren.
"You're enjoying making fun of him too much, Grandmother." Stefan shook his head with a grin of his own. It was impossible to mistake his words for a reproach.
"Ah, please. I'm livening things up. He can't escape this marriage, so he might as well grow used to it. I will not be the only one making jokes then."
"It will all be very confusing, that's for sure. Margaery's friend will soon be her aunt." Stefan laid back on his chair, turning toward his sister.
Margaery's mood wasn't the best tonight, but she still tried to play along, "Calling her like that will definitely feel strange for both of us. But after all this is over, both Loras and I will be married. You'll be the only one left."
"I think I'll be fine for a couple more years, thank you." As a second son, he at least had that advantage. Loras was the heir and Stefan was the backup. He could do with his life as he wished as long as he didn't put himself in danger. It also meant he could be happily single for a while longer.
"So many weddings in such a short amount of time. I sure hope they do not plan to let Loras's wedding be this shabby." Lady Olenna huffed as she looked around the place.
"It's hard to say. Lord Tywin should not allow it but then again, Her Grace will want nothing grand."
Lady Olenna chuckled at her grandson, "Nothing grand? She wants nothing at all. That's what she gets for spreading baseless gossip in her father's ear. She tried to destroy our alliance, but she only destroyed herself."
"She hates us. For whatever reason."
"No, she hates me." interjected Margaery. Cersei was able to fake politeness well enough with the rest of the Tyrells. It was only with Margaery that she would show a tougher side. "All of you just joined her hate list because me, I'm afraid."
Stefan couldn't help but laugh. He found it amusing, and at the same time, something reminded him that he should not. "She won't stop, you know? Coming here was a grave mistake. You marrying that little monster is the gravest of all."
"Hush." Margaery straightened her back, leaning her face closer to her brother, "What if you were heard? Do not say things like that whatever you please."
"He's dangerous, Sister. Very dangerous."
Margaery kept her voice low, "I will handle him. This is what I want, Stefan. I want to be Queen and I will become the Queen by whatever means necessary. He is part of those means. He's the only one who can give me the title I want."
"Is being Queen more important than your life?" Stefan saw that Margaery was about to continue arguing so he motioned behind her, "Look. Your intended has forgotten all about you to go torture your friend. The one you said you wanted to protect."
Margaery followed Stefan's eyes and saw Joffrey leaving his table. He headed directly toward Sansa, hanging close to her as he waited for her to finish talking to others and be alone.
Joffrey was a sadistic psycho. No amount of manipulation would be able to erase what he was. If Margaery didn't know how to play him a little and had House Tyrell behind her, she would have long ended up like Sansa. Or maybe even worse since Sansa's Stark blood made it so that Tywin would protect her until she bore a Lannister child.
On the opposite table reserved for House Lannister, Diana left her seat and went to the one beside Cersei after Joffrey left. Tywin was gone as well, having headed for the drunk Tyrion to likely reprimand him a little, and Michael had joined the crowd.
The whole conversation between the King and his mother had been a tad amusing. As much as Cersei hated Margaery, when she saw Joffrey attempting to go after Sansa, she still tried to stop him and asked him to go to his bride-to-be, to Margaery, instead.
"I never thought I would see the day when you would want Joffrey to go to Lady Margaery. And to protect Sansa out of all things. Do you feel sorry for her now?"
Cersei ground her teeth, tapping the fingers of her left hand against the table while the right held a glass full of wine. "Maybe a little. Though, it should be you who should concern yourself with your niece. She is your sister's daughter. Oh, my mistake. From now on, she will be your daughter as well. Having to bed Tyrion tonight will be horrible for her."
"Not necessarily. Your brother's an experienced man. If he's as talented as your father, they should be just fine." Diana didn't feel uncomfortable as Cersei had hoped. She did know how to make Cersei's stomach churn using a less amount of words, however.
Cersei clenched a fist, her expression growing worse. "Really, now? Can't say I expected that from him. I thought he would be... rougher."
"Oh, he is. In a fun way." Diana had to laugh a little at Cersei's reaction and her horrible attempt to act unperturbed, "No need to react so badly. We're just talking. It's nothing in comparison to fucking your own brother."
"That is a lie and you know it."
"That is the truth and you know it better than anyone else." Diana wasn't trying to be overheard by others, so she only spoke loud enough for Cersei to hear.
Cersei snapped up, standing from her chair, "It's that what you came to me for? To insult me and virtue? If that is all, I'll take my leave, Stepmother."
"Oh, please, don't be so dramatic." Diana kept her head facing forward, not turning back to Cersei who was already behind Diana as she tried to leave. "Sit down. We have something important to discuss."
"Important? If it was so important, then why bring up all this nonsense." As much as she glowered, Cersei still stopped, remaining behind Diana with no intention of returning to her seat.
Diana didn't leave Cersei hanging for long and tilted her head back to be able to see Cersei, "If you leave the Tyrells alone, I might be able to help you with your little problem."
Cersei paused, her glass hanging just a finger away from her lips, "And what problem would that be?"
"Your wedding."
Sansa finished talking with Varys and stepped away from the crowd. Behind the table where she had been sitting with Tyrion was a higher platform with stairs on each side. Sansa went with Shae up those stairs to a quieter area that was in there, past white curtains that hung from each side.
It seemed like a nice place for her to take a breath. There was a balcony in there from where she could see the sea and sky and smell the breeze. It was much better than being in this place, that's for sure.
Shae moved the curtain away for Sansa to step in. Just as she was about to follow her, the king arrived so Shae had no choice but to move to the side.
Joffrey was practically sticking to Sansa. His breath fell against her face and he placed his hand on her lower back. "Congratulations, my lady."
"Oh, thank you, Your Grace." Sansa tried to move away from him, to at least put some distance between them.
Unfortunately, Joffrey was like glue and couldn't be easily removed. He stayed right beside her, even making a whole circle, just so that he could continue annoying her. "Well, you've done it. You've married a Lannister. Soon you'll have a Lannister baby. It's a dream come true for you, isn't it? What a glorious day."
"Yes, Your Grace." Sansa answered mechanically. She couldn't manage to smile, however. No matter how much she tried, she just couldn't.
Not that Joffrey cared. What he wanted to see was her frightened and desperate look. "I suppose it doesn't really matter which Lannister puts the baby into you. Maybe I'll pay you a visit tonight after my uncle passes out. How'd you like that?"
Sansa didn't answer, moving her gaze from the floor to him.
Joffrey had no idea how, little by little, he awakened a darkness within this apparently tamed and ladylike wolf. To him, this was all just a game for his enjoyment that would never result in him being bitten back.
Receiving no response from her, Joffrey showed a little sadness and then a lot of joy, "You wouldn't? That's all right. Ser Meryn and Ser Boros will hold you down."
Sending her a smirk, Joffrey headed toward the stone balcony that overlooked the tables and guests. He clapped his hands to gain their attention and loudly announced. "Time for the bedding ceremony!"
The crowd cheered, half enthusiastic and half uncaring. And even more low-spirited than the crowd was Tyrion. "There will be no bedding ceremony."
"Where's your respect for tradition, Uncle?" Joffrey pulled Sansa's wrist and brought her down the stairs and into the lower floor where the people were, "Come, everyone! Pick her up and carry her to her wedding bed. Get rid of her gown. She won't be needing it any longer. Ladies, attend to my uncle. He's not heavy."
Sansa crossed her arms above her stomach as a form of protection. She felt utterly uncomfortable. More so as the crowd looked at her and Tyrion and showed those strange smiles that felt as if they were mocking her.
Tyrion placed his wine down, repeating for the second time, "There will be no bedding ceremony."
"There will be if I command it." Joffrey didn't take Tyrion seriously. He continued to grin at the crowd, waiting for them to do as he ordered.
But as he heard the sound of a knife stabbing the table behind him, Joffrey lost his smile. Tyrion glared at the boy, his fist turning white as he gripped the knife. "Then you'll be fucking your own bride with a wooden cock."
The crowd was already gathered around since the bedding ceremony had been announced, so there wasn't a single person who hadn't heard it. The room grew silent like a grave, making the sound of Tywin taking a step closer particularly loud. Not that anyone was paying attention to that.
Joffrey could feel his blood boiling, his glare growing darker, "What did you say? What... did you... say?!"
"I believe we can dispense with the bedding, Your Grace. I'm sure Tyrion did not mean to threaten the King." Tywin was quick to speak to calm down the air.
Luckily, Tyrion seemed to wake up because of it. He released the knife and laughed, showing an expression that made his drunkenness quite apparent. "A bad joke, Your Grace. Made out of envy of your own royal manhood. Mine is so small. My poor wife won't even know I'm there."
Joffrey huffed and puffed, not wanting to let this go at all just because of a couple of words. Tywin knew that so he went on. "Your uncle is clearly quite drunk, Your Grace."
"I am. Guilty. But..." Tyrion took another sip of his wine and stumbled out of his chair. He could barely stand on his own two feet, so he wobbled when he walked around the table. "...but it is my wedding night. My tiny drunk cock and I have a job to do." Tyrion nearly fell, hitting another table along his way. "Come, wife."
Tyrion motioned for Sansa and the girl walked around Joffrey, glancing at him warily as she followed behind Tyrion with her arms still wrapped around herself.
Joffrey didn't try to stop them or say anything else. He heaved and he was clearly still angry, but he let it go. The rest of the crowd was just as silent and only Tyrion's ramblings could be heard inside the hall.
"I vomited on a girl once in the middle of the act. Not proud of it. But I think honesty is important between a man and wife, don't you agree? Come, I'll tell you all about it. Put you in the mood."
Varys watched the backs of the disappearing newlywed couple, worry still apparent within his eyes despite Michael's repeated reassurances. "Is my lord fully confident?"
Varys had spoken just as Michael stopped beside him. The younger man followed Varys's gaze to where his stumbling brother and his cousin were. "I am. Either way, we should receive word from her soon. In the meantime, we must take care of the things at court."
"Did you meet the young Celtigar boy?" Varys kept his voice as low as possible to avoid them being overheard. They stood in a dark corner with walls on each side. Even if someone approached them, they would be able to see that person long before they reached their side.
"I did. Just as your little birds said, he's quite talented but not overly ambitious. If his relatives' fighting hadn't involved his young sister and widowed mother, he might not have even considered fighting for the position of lord. But unlike the rest of those relatives, he has no support or resources. My father does not care for their family conflicts as long as House Celtigar does not involve itself with the war. Their little gifts are proof enough that they wish to side with him, so Father's not worried. He won't help any of them and he won't notice if we help one of them either. I'll ask Lord Monford Velaryon to lend a hand covertly. The rest of the Celtigars will barely be able to defend themselves."
"It's a pity. House Celtigar is an ancient House with ties to Old Valyria and their wealth has remained with them through all the changes of the realm. For years, Celtigars were Masters of Coin and Lord Treasurers, capable of turning stone into gold. Lord Adrian was already destroying his House and the current infighting is only bringing it down more. If any of those people are victorious, House Celtigar will not last for much longer."
Michael trailed his eyes over the crowd. There were several members of House Celtigar at the wedding. They had seen this as a good chance to get close to Tywin and the Lannisters.
They were all acting happy and merry, enjoying the feast. None of them asked for their former lord's, Lord Adrian's, remains. None of them thought of seeking revenge and justice. They only cared about obtaining more benefits and winning the position of lord.
Since their support was so divided, Lord Adrian's brothers were unable to steadily seat in the top position so they could only continue to fight openly and secretly.
Those people had no idea that Tywin didn't care whether they lived or died. Whoever won would be obedient to him and if they all died, Tywin could justifiably take all the wealth and lands owned by the Celtigars in the name of the King. Either way, he lost nothing.
But Michael couldn't bring forth any sympathy for these people. Not while knowing all the underhanded tricks they had played. Some even had blood on their hands.
At the very least, their actions had allowed Michael to meet a hidden treasure. "Just in case, keep an eye on him. People change, after all. Just because he makes for a good ally now does not mean he won't change his mind later on."
"Of course, my lord. That should do for the Noble Houses in the Crownlands. Lord Leyton is taking care of the Reach and Lord Ron of the Stormlands. Next should be..." Varys moved his sight to the side of Michael's face, "...the Westerlands."
"Yes... We cannot forget such a large region. The further we divide it, the better."
– Yunkai –
"Nineteen? You cannot possibly know 19 languages at your age." Rhaenys sat on a long couch, staring at Missandei in complete and utter disbelief.
It wasn't just her. Daenerys sat with Rhaenys, braiding her niece's silver curls. Her hands had long paused as she stared at Missandei with the same expression of shock as Rhaenys. "Are you trying to pull a prank on us here?"
Missandei snorted as she tried to hold in her laugh. "I swear I'm not, Your Grace, Your Highness."
"How can anyone speak 19 languages?" Daenerys only knew three, including the Common Tongue, and that was after practicing for a long time and continuous reinforcement to not forget any of them.
Missandei didn't see the problem with it, "From what I heard, it only took Your Highness a year to learn Dothraki reasonably well."
"Yes, well, it was either learn Dothraki or grunt at my husband and hope..." Daenerys finally processed what Missandei was trying to say, "What do you mean, 'reasonably well'?"
Missandei paused, "Dothraki is difficult for the mouth to master. So guttural and harsh."
Daenerys finished the braid before turning to Missandei, speaking in Dothraki to prove her point, "Drogo said I spoke Dothraki like one born to it. It gave him great pride."
Missandei pressed her lips together, hesitating before correcting Daenerys, "Athjahakar."
"Athjahaka." Well, that was clearly wrong.
"Ath-ja-hakar."
"Athjahakar." Daenerys finally managed to pronounce it correctly, and despite what she said earlier, she looked at Missandei for approval.
As beautiful as this teaching moment was, Rhaenys still looked at the two in complete loss, "This is great for you girls, but I do not speak Dothraki. Not a word of it."
"Missandei can teach us. Apparently, I'm a bit out of practice." Part of the reason was that she was spending less and less time with her khalasar. Daenerys needed to fix that.
"It shouldn't be difficult to teach. You both speak High Valyrian very well. The Gods could not devise a more perfect tongue. It is the only proper language for poetry."
"That was at least something our ancestors did right." Although Rhaenys spoke about them on various occasions, it was because she knew what it meant to these masters of Ghiscari descent, and she just enjoyed messing with them so much. To be honest, there were many things about her ancestors' history that she didn't like.
Daenerys continued braiding Rhaenys's hair using the style of the Dothraki while at the same time keeping their own Valyrian ancestry. "Speaking about teaching, Rhae, could you show me how to use a sword? Or at least how to shoot an arrow?"
Rhaenys couldn't turn around until Daenerys was done with her hair, so she could only reply while looking forward. "That's quite sudden. Why the interest?"
"I just..." Daenerys lowered her head, "...do not like standing at the back, well protected, while you march at the front. I want to at least be able to do something."
Rhaenys grew silent. As Daenerys waited for her response, wondering if she would be rejected for her naive idea, Rhaenys finally spoke. "If that's what you want, I'll practice with you. As many times as you need."
Daenerys lifted her head, a smile breaking out, "Thank you. I hope I don't do it too badly."
Missandei contained her curiosity to avoid interrupting the two. It was only when she saw them stop speaking for a while that she couldn't hold it anymore and asked. "How did Your Grace learn to fight?"
Rhaenys lowered her eyelids and stared at her hands that were lying on top of her lap, "The one who taught me was Ser Rodrik, the Master-at-Arms in Winterfell, back in Westeros. He's unfortunately gone now. He had never taught a girl before. His lord asked him to, so he was meant to do it whether he liked it or not. But he actually took it seriously. He never made things worse for me or tried to find ways for me to give up. When others told me to, he was the first to tell me that it was my choice, no matter what anyone else said. I was the one putting in the work, not them. It was my life I would be protecting with that sword and my life was more important than what they thought. There was this little girl there, Arya, she was utterly jealous that I could train and she could not. I was glad when her father finally allowed her to learn. Though, it was with another teacher."
Daenerys finished her work as she listened to Rhaenys, "Was Ser Rodrik the person who gave you your sword?"
"No... It was Lord Eddard. Eddard Stark. He showed me the sword one day and said he would only give it to me when I was strong enough to hold it, when he knew I could use it, and I would use it right."
Daenerys knew who Rhaenys was speaking about before she said Eddard Stark's full name. Saying it was mostly for Missandei's sake.
However, Missandei was not too familiar with the Noble Houses in Westeros and could only garner that this lord was the owner of the previously mentioned Winterfell, and as such should have been Ser Rodrik's lord as well.
What Missandei clearly did know was the material of the sword Rhaenys was speaking of. The workmanship on it was just too perfect with the combination of the silver metal and the red stones that made nearly unnoticeable dragons around it. Unless one drew close enough and searched carefully, they would not be able to see the detailed work. While the dragons were hidden, there were wolves that were clearer, as if protecting the dragons from view.
The other unique part about it was the rare material it was made of. It was impossible to mistake the unique ripple pattern and unusual dusky color of Valyrian steel. "The blade is made of Valyrian steel, right?"
"Yes, that's correct. Lord Eddard's sword Ice was made of it as well. They used his own sword when they cut off his head. It's unfortunate I could not bring it with me when I escaped. That little bastard, Joffrey, had put it away in his room. If I took it, I was afraid my people in the Red Keep would have been discovered. I have no idea where it is now. I've never asked. Didn't dare to, really."
"We'll get it back. Along with everything else the Lannisters took from us." Having finished her work, Daenerys stood from the couch. As she did, something came to mind. "The blade is made of Valyrian steel. Where did Lord Stark manage to discover such a weapon? As far as I've heard, despite there still being thousands of weapons made of Valyrian steel in the world, people do not part with them easily. With the method for forging Valyrian steel gone, the only way to make a weapon like yours is by melting others."
The workmanship in Rhaenys's sword was very specific. The dragons were hiding while wolves protected them. It was Lord Eddard's way of saying that he, and the Starks, would protect Rhaenys always.
It was also a way to remind her that, even if she was currently someone with no power or titles, even if she was currently at the mercy of others and couldn't show her wings and fire, she was still a dragon. She would always be a dragon. She just had to wait for the right time.
It was because of all these messages and details that it was easy to notice Lord Eddard had specifically commissioned this sword for Rhaenys.
Daenerys wasn't trying to question Lord Eddard. She was really just curious about it. It was a fact that Valyrian steel was rare. It was also a fact that, of the around 200 that existed in Westeros, no lord would sell it to anyone. Even Tywin Lannister had done his fair share of looking to no avail. The Targaryens themselves, despite coming from Valyria where Valyrian steel came from, only had two swords made, which were both lost.
Although the Targaryens had a little more Valyrian steel at hand, it wasn't enough to reforge a new blade, so they were left using normal swords for the last couple of generations.
Ice was the heirloom of House Stark and the only Valyrian steel sword they had. Not even Robb, Lord Eddard's heir, had a Valyrian steel sword. So how could he manage to get one for Rhaenys? Not to mention going through the trouble of finding someone who actually knew how to reforge it while taking the risk of that person telling someone that the Lord of Winterfell had made a weapon with dragons on it.
But this was something that Rhaenys could not answer. She herself had no idea. "I asked Lord Eddard the same. He never told me. He said he would one day, but..."
...He died. And with his death, all the secrets only he knew went to the grave with him.
Missandei saw that these topics had upset Rhaenys, so she went toward the table on the side and poured a cup of water. As she did, someone entered the tent.
"Your Grace, someone from the Second Sons is requesting an audience."
Rhaenys sat straight, looking at Ser Barristan who had come in to bring the message with Ser Jorah following behind. "It's so late into the night. Who is it that came?"
"The man by the name of Daario Naharis. The lieutenant."
"Alone?"
"Not exactly, Your Grace."
Rhaenys rose a brow, not asking any further. Sometimes it was nice to be surprised. "Let him in. And call my uncle."
Ser Barristan nodded and went to do so, Ser Jorah being the only one to stay with the three women. With Ser Barristan gone, Daenerys took a step back, preparing to leave, "I should leave, then."
"Not this time. I have a feeling there won't be a need for you to hide." Or rather, it was more like a premonition.
Rhaenys didn't move to the tent where she had previously met the Second Sons' captains. She remained inside this gathering area in her own personal tent. Ser Barristan went to find Gabriel, not before letting the guards in the entrance invite Daario Naharis into the tent.
Daario Naharis strode in with his hands in front of his lap and a small grin on his face. But as he went in, surprise reflected in his eyes. "There are two of you."
"There's only one. Of each of us. This is my aunt, Princess Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen."
"Your aunt is quite the beauty." Daario Naharis nodded at Daenerys, greeting her for the first time. "My apologies for coming so unexpectedly in the middle of the night."
"You're being quite polite. Vastly different from how your captains acted earlier today. Why the sudden change?" Rhaenys looked him over, searching for any trace of an answer.
Daario Naharis wasn't one to play around with words. It was both troublesome and a waste of time in his opinion. "We had... a slight disagreement, my captains and I."
"About what?"
"About whether I should sneak into your tent tonight and assassinate you."
Rhaenys wasn't surprised. The Second Sons had horses, but they had fewer men, men who weren't trained in formation and didn't know how to attack as a cavalry.
Their bad reputation already proved the bad leadership of the Titan's Bastard. No matter how badly the captains thought of the little girl in charge of the Unsullied, her army was still larger, more unified, and better trained. There were also older knights to lead in the vanguard. Even if she were to know nothing about the battlefield, there would be people to help her.
Rather than risking death by fighting head on, it was much safer to simply cut off the head of the snake and watch as the rest of its body wriggled on its own.
"Seems like an easy enough choice. So why the disagreement?"
Daario Naharis's smile deepened as he looked into Rhaenys's calm eyes. She asked questions she knew the answer to just to see how the other party would answer.
He had noticed that as early as when they first met. His captains saw her as an ignorant girl who could say as she pleased, not knowing how to show restraint and diplomacy despite supposedly wanting to be Queen of Westeros one day.
But she didn't seem like someone who was trying to make friends. When Daario Naharis met her, he felt like she wasn't as simple as his captains thought. The more he heard her speak, the more he felt like she didn't care whether the Second Sons accepted her conditions. Whether they wanted to or not, she would get what she wanted.
He didn't think that it came from arrogance. It could be mistaken for it, which is why she could play others with it, make them feel like she didn't know better and thought too highly of herself. It wasn't easy for Daario Naharis to notice that it was all with a purpose.
Despite all his thoughts, Daario Naharis was a simple man. Mero and Prendahl na Ghezn were terrible leaders and the Second Sons had long since wanted to leave them.
His brothers were exhausted of such a life. Most of them were second sons, or even third and fourth sons, having no right to inherit anything. No matter what they did, their eldest brother would be gifted the family fortune and titles on a silver platter while they would get nothing. Not even a small piece of land or a little bit of silver.
The most they could do was to become a knight or a soldier or a merchant. That is if they wanted a job. They could also choose to laze around all day and stay at home. If the family was rich enough, they could stay for a lifetime as rich nobles. Or they could also be thrown on the streets or used as a bargaining chip for some alliance. Although they were men, the ladies of the noble families had to marry somebody.
Many people chose one of those paths, but there were also those who wished to find glory and make a name for themselves.
Daario Naharis had been a slave, so he didn't understand all those intricacies that he had never experienced himself. But once he regained freedom, he wanted to remain as a free bird who could do with his life as he wished.
Once he made this decision, he knew he might not be as free as a sellsword, but this was what his brothers needed. This way they could obtain the glory and dignity they wanted. They could obtain a home of their own.
But he wouldn't say all of that. He had no desire to paint himself as such a righteous and good friend. He was fine keeping his image of a free-spirited man. "I simply had no desire to take your life. Not in such a dishonorable way at least." Daario Naharis saw the way Rhaenys smiled and continued. "Moreover, I had a feeling that if I were to sneak into your tent, I might not make it out alive. So, after some consideration, I thought it to be more appropriate to come this way. A little safer, too."
Rhaenys didn't rush to respond. She knew the implication of him coming here and admitting everything to her, but she still wanted to understand the other party a little better. "Your captains must be furious with you, then."
"Why don't you ask them yourself?" Daario Naharis stepped to the side and clapped his hands.
Immediately after, four members of the Seconds Sons walked in, two working together to hold each of the captains. Both Mero and Prendahl na Ghezn were tied and gagged with untreated wounds from having just fought with blades and fists.
Both men were thrown on the floor, having none of the dignity and arrogance left from earlier. There was only anger in their eyes. Anger that was directed at Daario Naharis, the other sellswords, and Rhaenys.
Rhaenys now understood why Ser Barristan had said that he wasn't exactly alone. Not only was Daario Naharis not alone, he even brought her gifts. "I do appreciate the gift, and I hold no care for these two, but I am also not fond of traitors."
"I expected as much. I'm not that knowledgeable about the rest of the world, but I've heard of what happened to your family." Daario Naharis moved to stand beside Mero, his eyes directed at Rhaenys with no ripples within them. "The Second Sons are sellswords, that is true, but we're also brothers. Brothers who help and support one another. For years now, our captains had betrayed that brotherhood. They enjoyed a lavish life while leaving the rest of us to die from our wounds and sickness, sometimes even from hunger. It was them who betrayed us first. Unfortunately, our contract held us from leaving. We never thought of killing them and only planned to wait until our contracts were over to leave and go to other companies. But then you came. Rather than letting them continue oppressing us and then running away, my brothers have chosen a new leader and wish to be rid of the old ones. We should have done this a long time ago."
Rhaenys stood up from the long couch and took a couple of steps closer to Daario Naharis, "I take it that the new leader is you."
"Aye."
"So now the Second Sons obey you as their sole captain? And you, you're here. You even brought me gifts. Is this a show of surrender? Or do you want something else?"
Daario Naharis let out a chuckle, "I've never been one to want for much. I'm happy enough as long as I can fight and live as I please. But my brothers search for glory and fame, they search to make a name for themselves. To be remembered. To prove that they're more than just... second sons. And they want a home. Something tells me that you have a plan and when you complete that plan, you might be able to provide all of that for them. Whether it is here or in Westeros. That is all we ask."
Rhaenys trailed her eyes over the four sellswords who had come in with Daario Naharis. They were all robust and tall men, their clothes a combination of animal skin and different pieces of armor that had been put together. It was very similar to the captains except for the lack of gold and jewelry.
They didn't deny any of Daario Naharis's words. When Rhaenys looked at them, their eyes remained firm in silent agreement. When they had left their homes and families, it hadn't been to live like this.
"You do know I am going against the whole of Slaver's Bay. And after I am done here, I will be sailing to the Seven Kingdoms to fight against one of the most ruthless and richest families there are. You may be killed or imprisoned and tortured. You may starve or sleep under the rain and in the mud. You may grow sick and die."
"You really hold nothing back, do you?" But Daario Naharis considered that to be a good thing. It wasn't the best policy to tell one's soldiers that they would go through a rainbow road directly to victory without spending any effort. That would just make them grow disappointed in their leaders once they experienced their first ounce of hardship. "There's nothing easy about war. But they've made their choice. And so have I."
Rhaenys looked at him, then down at Mero. She moved to stand in front of the Titan's Bastard. This man full of arrogance who had been able to look down at her due to the advantage of his height was now forced on his knees before her. "What a nice view, isn't it?"
"I thought you might want to deal with them yourself."
"Then, you're quite the mind reader, Daario Naharis. They shall make for a gorgeous present for the Wise Masters of Yunkai, wouldn't you say?" Rhaenys clutched Mero's chin, forcing his head higher. With his mouth gagged, only muffled sounds could come out and nothing he said could be understood. "We had a short and unmemorable time together. Enjoy the Seven Hells."
Rhaenys heard the entrance to the tent opening and released Mero, glancing toward the entrance where Ser Barristan was standing with Gabriel.
Rhaenys didn't say anything to them, only sending them that glance, to which Gabriel nodded. He remained against the cloth of the tent, not making a sound.
"I have a gift for you as well. Since we're friends now, I cannot exactly allow your men to die. Uncle." Rhaenys stretched her hand forward and waited for Gabriel to place a vial on it. "I suggest you pour this on water and give it to each of your Second Sons. It's a slow acting poison, so it won't do any harm until later in the morning. Still, you better take the antidote soon. The sooner the better."
Daario Naharis widened his eyes momentarily before his lips curled up in realization. "Now I see why you were not worried about angering us. Where did you put the poison? On the wine you gave us?"
"Of course not. That was a gift. I would never use a gift to murder my guests, that would be improper. I had my uncle poison every other wine barrel in your camp. The only clean ones were those I gave you. Which I assume were the only ones no one drunk from."
"And you would be correct." Daario Naharis wasn't angry about the discovery. The captains planned to assassinate Rhaenys in the dark of the night while Rhaenys planned to poison them all. Those were just ways to deal with the enemy without sacrificing their own soldiers. He took the vial and weighed it in his hand as he watched the liquid inside move from side to side. "Well played. I'll make sure we all drink it."
"Still sure you want to stay? That you want to fight for me?"
Daario Naharis knew that words were sometimes not enough and he would still need to prove himself. If he was to be so easily trusted, he would only think he had misjudged Rhaenys.
Not saying any superfluous words, Daario Naharis placed the vial with the antidote inside a pouch on his belt and kneeled on the carpeted ground. He removed his Dothraki arakh from his belt. That was his preferred weapon, and he was now presenting it to Rhaenys with both hands. "The Second Sons are yours, and so is Daario Naharis. My sword is yours, my life is yours. Anything you ask me for... is yours."
The four men with him didn't hesitate either. They could feel whatever they wished about the whole poisoning thing inside their hearts. They could see it as they wished as well. No matter what it was they thought, however, they clearly understood that if they hadn't changed sides, come the morning, they would drop dead like flies. They wouldn't even know what it was that killed them.
So, whether they were a bit angry about it or glad that they had decided to come and change sides, they all followed Daario Naharis to kneel.
From hereafter, the Second Sons would be sellswords no more. Just like the Golden Company had originally been an army that fought for House Blackfyre, who they thought were the rightful rulers of Westeros, the Second Sons would now become an army behind House Targaryen, and only House Targaryen.