Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8319958.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Graphic_Depictions_Of
      Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV), A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin, A
      Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_&_Related_Fandoms
  Relationship:
      Irri/Daenerys_Targaryen, Aegon_VI_Targaryen/Daenerys_Targaryen, Jon_Snow/
      Daenerys_Targaryen, Jon_Snow/Aegon_VI_Targaryen/Daenerys_Targaryen, Jon
      Snow/Aegon_VI_Targaryen, Daenerys_Targaryen/Irri/Jon_Snow/Aegon_VI
      Targaryen, Jon_Snow/Arya_Stark/Daenerys_Targaryen, Jon_Snow/Arya_Stark,
      Jon_snow/arya_stark/daenerys_targaryen/irri, Daenerys_Targaryen/Moon_Boy
      for_All_I_Know, Daario_Naharis/Daenerys_Targaryen
  Character:
      Daenerys_Targaryen, Tyrion_Lannister, Jon_Snow, Aegon_VI_Targaryen, Irri_
      (ASoIaF), Davos_Seaworth, Petyr_Baelish, Gendry, Arianne_Martell, Jon
      Connington, Samwell_Tarly, Bronn_(ASoIaF), Grey_Worm, Tormund_Giantsbane,
      Arya_Stark, Daario_Naharis, Stannis_Baratheon_(mentioned)
  Additional Tags:
      BDSM, Femdom, Sadism, Masochism, Dubious_Consent, Dominatrix, Secret
      Relationship, Adultery, Graphic_Description, Bisexual_Female_Character,
      Canon_Bisexual_Character, Sexual_Violence, Sexual_Slavery, Rape/Non-con
      Elements, Guilt, Incest, Master/Servant, Femslash, Lesbian_Sex, Porn_With
      Plot, Domme_Dany, Canon_Continuation, Slight_Canon_Divergence, Dom/sub,
      ASoIaF_Kink_Meme, Power_Play, Anal_Fingering, Anal_Play, Rope_Bondage,
      Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Face_Slapping, Skull_Fucking, Threesome_-_F/
      F/M, Cunnilingus, Foot_Fetish, smoking_fetish, Human_Ashtray, Cuckolding,
      Bisexual_Male_Character, first_bisexual_experience, first_fanfic,
      Polyamory, Hate_Sex, Forced_Intoxication, Prostate_Massage, Prostate
      Milking, Pegging, awkward_jon, Forced_Orgasms, Strap-Ons, Original
      Character_Death(s), Anal_Sex, Submissive_Male_Character, Dominant_Female
      Character, Submission, Service_Submission, Submissive_Female_Character,
      Obsessive_Compulsive_Disorder, Dany_has_mild_OCD_and_is_left_handed_and
      beats_people_for_fun, Healthy_Femdom, Alternate_Universe_-_BDSM, S&M, D/
      s, Jonerys, Cock_&_Ball_Torture, Sperm_competition-look_it_up, Breeding,
      male_chastity, Cock_Cages, Aegon_VI_has_a_severe_undiagnosed_peanut
      allergy
  Series:
      Part 1 of Breaker_of_Chains
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-10-19 Completed: 2017-04-02 Chapters: 12/12 Words: 111751
****** Breaker of Chains ******
by DanyKinkFic
Summary
     Story centers around Daenerys discovering, relishing, and grappling
     with a sexually dominant streak that at times crosses into sadism,
     with a political intrigue plot as well.
***** Daenerys I *****
Chapter Summary
     "I know that she spent her childhood in exile, impoverished, living
     on dreams and schemes, running from one city to the next, always
     fearful, never safe, friendless but for a brother who was by all
     accounts half-mad … a brother who sold her maidenhood to the Dothraki
     for the promise of an army. I know that somewhere out upon the grass
     her dragons hatched, and so did she. I know she is proud. How not?
     What else was left her but pride? I know she is strong. How not? The
     Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have
     perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai, and
     Meereen are proof enough of that. She has crossed the grasslands and
     the red waste, survived assassins and conspiracies and fell
     sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, trod the
     cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet."
     --Tyrion, A Dance With Dragons
Dany coiled the whip in her hand and took the washcloth from the handmaiden’s
mouth, watching as she gasped and fought hopelessly against the chains. So
beautiful, Dany thought, as she paced around to face the girl, inspecting her
work as she went. She loved how Irri's body twisted and writhed like a fish
caught in a net; how she tried in vain to free herself from the chains that
held her arms above her head from the ceiling in Dany's bedchamber. The poor
thing had no idea how long it would be until the washcloth would go back in,
how many more screams it would muffle that night, or what the Mother of Dragons
would do to her in the mean time.
“How many was that?” Dany asked, in the same tone she would use to ask what was
for breakfast.  
“Twenty, Khaleesi. May I please have more?” Irri knew the routine, and had
learned long ago not to miss a beat.
"Do you mock me, cunt?" Dany dug a thumbnail into her nipple, hard, and watched
Irri suck her breath through her teeth as her face contorted. Come on, come on,
come on. Just a little more. Serve yourKhaleesi. Suffer for her. Dany knew just
when to stop, or so she'd told herself. I’m not my brother. I’m not. I give
this slut what she needs, but no more. Viserys didn’t know when to stop. He
didn’t care. I do. She's mine. She eased up her grip, preferring not to dwell
on whether the things she told herself were true. Irri let out a grunt of
relief.
Dany grabbed her under the jaw and pressed her forehead against Irri's. "Or is
that as high as you can count?” She gave Irri’s nipple a one last tug and
backhanded her across the face. Irri would have been able to hold in the tears
had Her Grace deigned to remove her rings. “Or maybe you're just stupid and
insolent both.” Dany slapped her again, from the other direction, and again
with a backhand so hard that the gems in the rings would have broken her
cheekbone had they landed an inch higher. This time, she was numb to the
sting. 
Irri was a bright girl who always did as she was bid without a hint of
insolence, and they both knew it. Were Dany's blood not running so hot tonight,
she would have nothing but praise for her sweet handmaiden. She knows I don’t
mean it. She must know that by now. Dany scared herself in moments like this,
but moments like this had grown more frequent since she took the Iron Throne.
“I’m sorry, Khaleesi. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Irri blubbered out between sobs. 
“It was one and twenty." I think. 
"Thank you Khaleesi, may I please have more?" 
"You may.” I'm going to hurt her again. The thought made her wet, but filled
her with guilt. But I cannot ask this of anyone else. Irri is blood of my
blood.  Aegon would not understand this.
As a husband, Aegon gave her no cause to complain. He was kind, dutiful, and
not without skill as a lover, though he was no Drogo or Daario. But the gods
saw fit to bind them together, so she played her part as best she could. Since
when is Tyrion Lannister a god? Her marriage to Aegon was an act of governance;
an arrangement Tyrion had brokered at Storm’s End with her Unsullied at the
gates and Aegon's Golden Company waiting inside. She had wanted to burn the
castle, and was mounting Drogon to do just that when Tyrion stopped her.
“Why bring dragons if not to use them?” She argued, her deep purple eyes wroth
with no pretense otherwise. 
“Your Grace, if we’re to be sacking cities in Westeros we need Westerosi men,
and the Golden Company is the finest batch you’re like to get. Aegon will be
useful for winning lords and smallfolk to your side as well. One silver-haired
conqueror is a ghost from the dark days of the past. A relic to be thrown back
into the sea. Two silver-haired conquerors are a dynasty, coming to sweep their
Realm clean of all the rats and vagrants. Make common cause with him. If he’s
your Mummer’s Dragon, he at least comes from a very good mummer.”
“I was warned not to trust him, and I don’t. I want his head.” 
“Then take it, after you’ve used the hair and eyes to claim your
birthright.” Dany often chafed at Tyrion's pragmatism, but it had saved
her more than once. The man has a vexing habit of being right. 
She would have preferred to marry her nephew Jon, but her Lord Hand had
counseled against that, too. It seemed all but certain after Second War for
Dawn, when the two of them together were all that had prevented death itself
from consuming the Realms of Men. But Tyrion warned her that Jon’s claim was
just as strong as hers, and his feats in the war just as great. "Only a fool,"
said Tyrion, "would invite a threat like Jon into her bedchamber."  
Tyrion said nothing of what to do if she were invited to his, however, so as
her army sat at Castle Black resupplying for the long march south, Dany and her
nephew spent a fortnight acquainting themselves in the traditional Targaryen
fashion. Dany rather enjoyed Jon, and may well have grown to love him if she’d
had more time. The boy devoured my cunt like he’d been living on acorn paste
for months, which he had been. Other places, too. Meanwhile, their respective
Hands worked day and night on the pact that would bring peace to the Realm for
the first time since the War of the Five Kings. There would be no such
devouring of anything between those two.
Dany liked Davos Seaworth, and would have taken him into her service if
he weren't sworn to Jon. He was a kindly man; like Ser Barristan, but gruffer,
and Ser Jorah, but less beaten down by a life of regrets. If I kissed him on
the cheek, he would not wring his hands about vows and protocol, nor forget
himself and stare slack-jawed at my teats like they just asked him for three
coppers and a groat.  
But the Onion Lord learned statecraft from Stannis Baratheon, and if the tales
were true, Stannis Baratheon would not have cared much for a friendly kiss on
the cheek from the silver-haired Queen he had sailed to Dragonstone to murder
in the crib. And like his former liege, Davos gave not a mummer’s fart
about the subtle dance of diplomacy and compromise. 
Tyrion began the negotiations with an entirely reasonable offer: Jon would bend
the knee in exchange for near total rule over the North, five thousand of the
Queen’s finest men under his sole command to keep the peace, no taxes until the
rebuilding effort was complete, and four million gold dragons from the Crown,
with no obligation to repay. He spoke to Davos like the high lord he was, and
spoke to him of laws and precedents, of the subtleties of what men really mean
when they speak of "owning" property. He showed the Onion Lord the same
courtesies he would for a Tyrell, or a Martell, or a Baelish. But Davos at his
core was none of those. He was still the roughspun peasant from Flea Bottom who
put his duty to feed his family above some noble’s proclamation of what the law
ought to be. Dany liked that. The charm was lost on Tyrion.
“I don’t know what half of the shite you just said is supposed to mean,” Davos
replied to Tyrion's first offer, “but the boy is King in the North, and he’ll
stay that way." 
Tyrion countered with generous tariff concessions. 
"That’s why the gods make smugglers. We’ve already got our tariff
concessions.” The lion may be a fearsome beast, but the onion had planted its
roots in the ground and would move for no one.
"He wants the North for himself, so let him have it,” Tyrion finally advised
her, from his bed, his head aching after a final, failed attempt to ply Lord
Davos with strongwine. “King in the North, Warden of the North, it means
naught. Every man, woman, and child north of the Neck will worship him no
matter what you do, so let him rule from Winterfell and style himself the
Emperor of Yi Ti if he pleases. If you bring him to King’s Landing, he will
only start to covet the Iron Throne while the North breaks apart in his
absence. He will still need coin and men and food from the south to rebuild, so
he is still yours no matter what the pact says.”
And so it was done. Now, here she stood, her dynasty in the hands of a man who
may well be an impostor, her own blood claiming a piece of her birthright for
his own, her days spent making up for her years spent in exile by watching her
Lord Hand strike bargains like a master armorer struck an anvil. For a man who
had once fled this city in a crate with a bounty on his head, Tyrion took to
the Handship like the others had merely been warming his chair. He knew the
history of nearly every House; who hated whom; each lord’s true motivations;
who would respond most favorably to which kinds of flattery. And what he didn’t
know, he would sniff out like a hound. Dany tried to absorb it all, and she was
learning quickly, but without Tyrion, she worried she would be nearly as lost
as when she first held court in the Great Pyramid of Meereen.
The thought made her chest tighten. "Power resides where men believe it
resides," Tyrion told her once, "and the Realm believes it resides in a large,
prickly chair." When she sat that chair she felt paralyzed, helpless, always at
the mercy of others and what they wanted from her. Power should reside where I
say it does. She was angry now.
Dany lifted Irri’s chin up and met her gaze. Dany spoke softly. Raising her
voice was not necessary. Irri was well-terrified by now. "Do you want to
learn how to count, or do you want to be the feeble-minded slut you were when
Illyrio dumped you at my feet like nightsoil in a gutter?“ Dany loved this girl
like the sister she never had, and would go through all seven hells for her if
she needed, but when her blood ran hot she was consumed by a need to hurt,
debase, and control that could not be stopped. Her life is too comfortable. I’m
showing her what she is.
"Please teach me, Khaleesi. Please. Please. I want to learn. Please." She’s
running out of words. It will be over soon. More oft than not, Irri forgot all
her words by the end, save "please."
"Good,” Dany said calmly. “You need this.”
Irri nodded and muttered something that started as fervent agreement but melted
into a sob. Dany had planned to simply start back to whipping her, but
something stopped her. She stepped back, sat herself on the bed, and touched
between her legs, struck by the sight of this precious, broken girl. She had
seen men suffer like this before; in her dungeons, in the Plaza of Punishment
in Astapor, but never by her own hands. She cared not a fig for the slavers and
criminals and traitors, but seeing it happen to slaves and innocents had
utterly disgusted her and started her on the mission that would define her
life, that the singers now called the Great Liberation. But this was different.
It was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. I’ve sentenced men
to death for doing this to strangers, yet I do it to a girl with as pure a
heart as I have ever known, who has served me since I was a child, and I touch
myself as she cries. A wet spot had grown on the sheet, and her cunt was almost
pulsing as she slid two fingers as deep as they would go, got up again,
squeezed Irri’s jaw open, and put them in her mouth. 
“Suck.”  The girl pressed her lips around Dany’s fingers and closed her eyes.
Dany could see her mind going blank. She slumped as much as the chains would
let her and suckled like a babe at her mother's teat. Some nights, that was
enough. Tonight was no such night. Half-hearted. Dany pushed her fingers deeper
and pressed down on the girl’s tongue until her eyes widened and she started to
gag. “Not good enough.” She spat in her face. “Get it right or I’ll keep you
here until you piss yourself.”
It would not have been the first time. Dany was fond of forcing all manner of
liquids down Irri's sweet, helpless throat and torturing her until there was a
good healthy puddle to lick up. Tonight it was an empty threat, though. Lord
Tyrion had business with her. Real business. Business for the Queen, not the
demon she had let out to play. Irri knew that too, but Dany studied the girl’s
face for any hint of fear that Dany would simply leave her bound and gagged
while she and Tyrion ignored her and discussed matters of state. I want you
always wondering what I’m capable of, sweetling. Irri finally got it right and
sucked like the good slut she tried so hard to be. Dany removed her fingers,
took the washcloth, and wiped some of the wetness off of her thighs so the
taste would fill the girl’s mouth for the rest of the beating.
The skin on Irri’s back was bright red, and the whip would break it soon. It
had become a ritual that when the blood started trickling down, Dany would lick
it straight from the wound, kiss her on the mouth, dispense with the
smallclothes and grind her cunt against Irri's thigh like a feral dog until she
was finished. If she was feeling generous, she would let Irri do the same, as
long as she licked up every bit of her savage mongrel filth afterward. Once the
girl was bleeding, Dany was no longer so enraptured by the game they played. In
her mind she would see Viserys with his golden crown, and her father’s lifeless
body on the floor of the Throne Room. A crippling shame would wash over her if
only for half a heartbeat. The father will judge me justly for this, just like
my father and brother and my whole wretched family.
This time was no different. Once Dany was sated, she removed the chains,
grabbed the sweet Dothraki girl before she could collapse onto the floor, and
helped her to a chair by the brazier. As Irri wiped the tears from her eyes,
Dany brought her a flagon of wine and a clean rag to wipe off the blood, as if
she had suddenly become the handmaiden. Dany never apologized for nights like
this, but her face showed more than a hint of guilt. 
“Are you hurt?” She asked, sitting down across from her.
"Not badly, Khaleesi.”
“You should dress yourself, Lord Tyrion will be here soon." Dany wondered if
Irri found this part as uncomfortable as she did. Neither of them had ever
truly known how to manage the return to normalcy. Dany took great pains to
treat the girl as kindly as she could, and Irri never forgot her courtesies,
but it always felt false. She fears me. She thinks less of me. She has so much
she wants to say but she fears to say it.But she couldn’t ask the girl to
speak. To apologize or explain or ask her feelings on the matter was to force
herself to look inside her own heart, and she was terrified of what she would
find. If I look back, I am lost.
Irri and Dany had crossed the world, fought battles, sacked cities, celebrated,
and grieved, together. They shared fear, hope, anger and elation, and nothing
could break that bond. When Dany’s blood did not run so hot, they took an odd
comfort in that. Dany was still only half dressed when the knock at the door
came, but she bid Tyrion enter. She was anxious to speak to him. He insisted
this could not wait until tomorrow.
The Lord of Casterly Rock strode past the guard and into the chamber just a
moment too late to catch a glimpse of Dany’s breasts. He made no attempt to
apologize, but merely shook away the flash of lust on his face and kept his
gaze on Dany’s eyes. He knows he will never fuck me. He always had, and if he
ever lamented that, Dany was sure he had long since made peace with it. Once
she decided to let him keep his head, they became fast friends. She confided
much and more in him, but not everything.
Tyrion knew better than to question why Dany and Irri were both sweaty and red
in the face, or why Irri was sliding a whip under the Queen’s bed, or why there
were manacles dangling from the ceiling. If he’s spent half the time in
brothels as they say, he knows why. She knew there were eyes everywhere in the
Red Keep, but Dany felt comfortable around her Hand. Tyrion had not forgotten
the last time he left this city, or the events leading up to it. He knew what
it was like to suffer the judgment of others for what he did in his own
bedchamber, and though he never said it outright, he made clear that he would
not inflict that on Dany. The only others who knew were Irri and the most loyal
Unsullied she allowed to guard her bedchamber. The gargoyles would tell my
secrets before they would.  
“Wine?”
“Your Grace knows me well.” He bowed politely and sat.  
Dany glanced at Irri, who was standing on a chest and reaching to unhook the
manacles from the ceiling. Too late to hide it, silly girl.“Do that later,
sweetling. Lord Tyrion is thirsty.” She stole a glance at Tyrion, who had
thought it best to stare silently into oblivion like the Unsullied outside her
door. She looked away, joining Tyrion in the mummer’s farce of pretending not
to see.
Irri stepped down and smiled. “At once, Khaleesi,” and she set to filling their
cups. Dany smiled back, but was uncomfortable meeting her eyes. She turned back
to Tyrion, and was no more comfortable meeting his, but their gazes collided
nonetheless. For half a heartbeat she cracked a dry smile before bringing it
under control, and Tyrion restrained one himself. They both knew what was
happening.
“What news?” She asked, as Irri handed them both a Dornish red.
He sighed. “Troubling word from the east.”
Is there any other kind of word from the east? Dany’s face told Tyrion to get
on with it.
He continued. "It appears the Iron Bank has agreed to finance Pentoshi slave
raids on Skagos, Hardhome, and the Summer Isles in exchange for a share of the
profits, and the Sealord of Braavos has agreed to turn a blind eye. As yet
there is no trade in Braavos itself, but slave ships sail unmolested into
Ragman’s Harbor to resupply for the journey to Lys, Myr, Tyrosh, and
Volantis.” 
Dany set her cup down, and clenched a fist. They sat in silence as she composed
herself. "Skagos,” she said, with an icy calm. “What does the King in the North
say to this?”
“The King in the North says ‘more grain please, I can barely feed my people.’”
Dany loved Tyrion’s wit, but could have done without it just then.
“How. How?!" Dany slammed her cup onto her side table, speaking in the same
voice she used when she first announced to the Unsullied that she was their
owner. It was a voice not meant to be answered back to, and Tyrion was not fool
enough to try.
She tried again. "How did this happen? Did I not make my position clear enough
when I burned half of Essos?”
“We are in the Iron Bank's debt, Your Grace. Deeply.” 
"We’re in Petyr Baelish’s debt as well, but I don’t see him sailing about on a
ship full of child whores, do you?”
"I haven't seen it, no, Your Grace." Tyrion saw the look on Dany's face and
regretted the quip. When Dany was wroth, she would raise an eyebrow and smile a
bit, as if she was amused that he thought he could get away with whatever he
just did. He was no stranger to her anger, but he knew that it would pass, and
that the Queen was not her father. But it was late, and he was growing
frustrated with her. “Would you like me to write the Iron Bank a strongly
worded letter and threaten to stop paying? They would pluck up the first
shoeless, flea-ridden child with black hair and blue eyes they see on the
street, proclaim to the world that he’s Robert’s bastard, and send him here to
deliver their reply with fifty thousand men at his back." He grows too
familiar, like Ser Jorah and the rest of them.
“Enough. Lady Greyjoy shall close Blackwater Bay to all ships from Braavos.
Have her men board all other ships and inspect the hold before they enter the
harbor. If a ship is carrying even a single slave, we shall free them, behead
the captain, geld the crew root and stem, and take whatever else is in the
hold. Greyjoy's men will sail it back to wherever it came from, with nothing
but a crew of eunuchs and a hold full of broken collars, flying the three-
headed dragon with the captain’s head on the prow.” She had not been this wroth
since she sailed from Essos. "Ready the Royal Fleet. The biggest galleys with
the fiercest men. Ironborn. Mean ones. We shall do the same on the open water
from the Stepstones to the Skaagosi coast. When Drogon returns from his hunt I
will–” 
“Burn the Free Cities to the ground? And destroy all that trade with Westeros?
Forfeit a million dragons in Tariff revenue for each turn of the moon? I’m
sorry Your Grace, but at the moment, we are powerless to do anything about
this." 
“You choose your battles wisely, my lord. Of all the commands of mine you could
question, you’re choosing to defy me on slavery?” Men are so eager to serve and
obey, until they’d rather not, she thought. Until they think they know what’s
best, and then they talk to me as if I’m still a maid of three and ten. "I will
not sit by and allow this to happen so long as I draw breath. Do not speak to
me about being powerless. Power resides—“ 
"In a vault in Braavos that pays the army that keeps the Queen’s Peace, and
drains the Realm of half its gold in return."
"I thought it was a chair."
"That chair may be ripped out of the floor and carted off to the bank vault if
we're not careful." He has the right of it, the little shit. She glanced at her
serving girl, standing politely in the corner, smiling a dutiful but vacant
smile. Dany hated when Tyrion outwitted her in front of Irri. It made her skin
crawl and her whole body tense. As if the girl was waiting to put a sword in
her back at the first sign of weakness, like Ser Jaime did to her father.
She took a sip of wine and collected her thoughts.
"If they want to choose a new King, we shall choose a new Sealord.” Tyrion was
not expecting that. He had not thought of it. She liked that. “Braavos is
flooded with freedmen seeking work and fleeing their former masters. This
cannot sit well with them. Find a rival to the Sealord, promise him our
backing, and raise him an army of freedmen and Braavosi smallfolk. Grey Worm
will come with you to choose officers and train them properly. Leave within a
fortnight.” Tyrion looked he had more wisdom to impart. “One more condescension
from you and we’ll compromise. You can write that letter you so helpfully
suggested, and I’ll send it to them on a ship with your head on the prow.” 
She did not mean it, and they both knew that. Singers spoke in rhymes, septons
spoke in prayers, but Tyrion Lannister spoke almost exclusively in threats and
japes, and he judged people on how well they could give back what he gave them.
At first, she feared he would sell her to the highest bidder at the first hint
of weakness, but by now, the insolence had become a game, and one she was
growing to love. Tonight, though, it was clear the Mother of Dragons was near
her wit’s end. 
“As my Queen commands." That’s the smartest thing you’ve said since you walked
in the room. Tyrion bowed and left.
Dany turned her head to Irri, standing politely in the corner. They exchanged a
sad look, almost mournful. If Dany could only be remembered by one of her
titles, it would be as the Breaker of Chains. Kings of Westeros come and go,
and as much as she cherished her dragons, they were a gift from the gods and a
means to her destiny, not the fruit of a labor she chose to undertake. She had
left a trail of corpses on her journey back to the Iron Throne, and without the
Great Liberation, those men will have died for naught but her own
vanity. I will not have it said that I sent thousands of men to their deaths
for a nicer chair and no other good for the world.
“I have no more need of you tonight. You have my leave to go,” she told the
girl. She tried to say it as kindly as she could, but she was exhausted and
drained of emotion.
“As you say, Khaleesi.”
Dany mustered a smile as Irri left. “Sweet dreams!” She added, right as the
door closed. If Irri heard it, she made no reply. The guilt washed back over
her for a heartbeat.
She remembered the first time Irri offered her body in service, on that
terrible cog that Illyrio had sent to fetch her back to Pentos. Her dragons
were babes and would eat from her hand. She had barely escaped Qarth with her
life. She was still numb inside from Drogo’s death. Irri’s skill with her
mouth had reawakened Dany’s desire, and for that she would always be grateful,
but somewhere between Qarth and King’s Landing, something changed.
Dany had always craved a bit of power over her lovers, ever since she pushed
Drogo the fearsome Khal on his back and made him say her name as she rode him.
Maybe this was bred into her. Maybe her mind had created this when she was
young, to save her from the cruel and arbitrary anger of Viserys. And his forty
thousand men, and their horses. She still preferred men who could overpower
her, as Drogo could, and then Daario, but she insisted on being overpowered on
her own terms and hers alone.
The more power she gained as a ruler, the more she lost as a woman. Each city
she sacked needed to be rebuilt. Each man who bent the knee brought his own
sorry tale about how his neighbor was grazing sheep on his land, or got his
daughter with child. By the time she came into her Kingdom, the gaggle of men
following her with their own demands and agendas was larger than
the khalasar she had led across the Red Waste. It was all dressed as humble
supplication, of course, but she had learned long ago in Meereen that should
she refuse too many of them too often, soon or late she’d face rebellion. Yet
by appeasing one man she angered another, and would have to make up for it the
next time his neighbor’s daughter was eating his grass or getting his sheep
with child, or whatever they were going on about. 
The loneliness of her bed was the worst, though. She had amassed an army of a
hundred thousand men, and it seemed like every last one of them was beautiful,
but she could not risk the scorn and scandal that would come with summoning any
of them of them to her chambers. As she journeyed west, she relied more on
the Dothraki girl to tend to her needs. The change started simply enough. If
her day had been taxing, she would take the girl’s hair into her fists and pull
just a little bit harder. I am tense, and the girl is here to relieve me, she
would tell herself. It’s a testament to her skill.
But soon that was not enough for Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, the Mother of
Dragons. One night as her ship sailed west from Volantis, she asked the girl if
she would like her Queen to make love to her the way she did to Drogo. Irri was
confused at first. “Khaleesi, I don’t–”
“On your back, sweetling.”
She mounted the girl’s face and rode it the same way as she did Drogo’s cock
the first night she tamed him. Hard but deliberate. Sweetly, in her own way,
but never yielding her position or allowing even the thought of
resistance. Irri struggled a bit at first, but relented when it became clear
that Dany would allow her a few gasps of breath when she needed them.
Like all Targaryens, when Dany was born the gods flipped a coin to decide if
she would be a great ruler or a mad one. To the rest of the world, her coin
seemed to have landed on the side of greatness. But on that bed, in that ship,
on that night, the coin seem to flip again on its own, like a mummer’s trick. I
have fooled even the gods. 
A madness consumed her that night. She could not say where it came from, but
she could not deny its power. She needed something, someone, that was hers and
hers alone. Power that no one else could tell her how to wield; a conquest
without compromise; an indulgence of the vice she had made it her life’s work
to eradicate. The people she had freed made no matter in that moment. All the
wars she fought and all those to come made no matter. Her birthright made no
matter. All she wanted was to conquer, subjugate, and bend this girl to the
darkest urges of her will. She needed it. She needed to feel what it was like
to become every bit the tyrant that her father was, if only for the night; to
rule with an iron hand over a kingdom of one. My father was ready to raze a
city of innocents to hold on to this power. Surely it must feel good to hold.
I’m a good person, I’ve worked so hard, come so far, and done so much good. I
deserve a taste.
Dany felt Irri grab her hips reflexively, tugging and urging her to go harder,
faster. Any fear or confusion the girl had felt before had melted into lust and
eagerness. Dany knew this, and understood it was a good thing, but still she
liked it not. She presumes too much. They all presume too much. This ends now,
before she grows accustomed to it, she thought, as the sensation of the girl
sucking on her clit overwhelmed her and her panting grew more feverish. I put
my cunt where I want. Her face is mine to rape. Dany grabbed the girl’s wrists,
pinned them above her head, and tugged a fistful of her hair, forcing Irri’s
widened eyes straight into Dany’s stare. “You do not touch my body without my
leave. Viserys did that and he died screaming. Do you want to be like Viserys?
Do you?” What in the seven hells am I saying? 
The girl’s eyes widened even more as she shook her head frantically and
muttered a “no, Khaleesi!” into Dany’s cunt. Dany searched for something to
bind the girl’s hands where they were, but the best she could do was to throw a
pillow on top of them. “Move your hands again and I’ll cut them off myself and
toss them right over the side of this ship.” That was all it took. The girl
obeyed, as tears began to fill her eyes. That alone was enough to make her cunt
pulse. I want to see more of those. I want to see how much this slut can take.
I want to strip her of everything she is, and rebuild her as my own creature. I
want her terrified of me. I want her in love with me. I want to hear naught
from her cunt-licking mouth but pleas for more of whatever I think she
deserves.
Treating the girl like this, speaking to her like this, breaking her will and
claiming her as chattel made Dany feel liberated, possibly for the first time
in her life. The rush from the power burst forth like Rhaegal and Viserion the
day they escaped the catacombs of the Great Pyramid. She felt like she was
soaring. She felt hungry, powerful, and furious with herself that she had held
this back for so much of her life.
Only weeks earlier she had ridden her Silver right through the gates of the
most important city in the slave trade of Essos, its streets lined by the
hundreds and thousands of freedmen who had risen up in revolt when they heard
she was coming. Thousands were on their knees; some in terror, some in awe,
some in gratitude, some in hope, and some because they had no other notion what
to do. With Volantis came an enormous fleet, a well-organized legion of former
slave soldiers, supremacy on the river Rhoyne, and gold enough that Tyrion told
her he felt ashamed to have ever called himself rich. But this was more
thrilling, more satisfying, than all of that.
When Dany decided that Irri’s face and mouth had done their duty in service of
her royal person, she slid down, licked the wetness from her servant’s face,
and kissed Irri passionately on the mouth. She had never done this before. Not
like this. Irri was not as surprised this time. She kissed back, hoping to
provoke Dany even more; to wake the dragon and let it consume them both. After
the kiss came a slap to the face, and a twist of the nipple, and it would never
be the same.  
Her mind turned back to the matters at hand. It seems broken chains can grow
back and multiply. If it was not enough to break them, she would pull each one
up by the root, melt them down, and give the Sealord and his Pentoshi
cheesemongers a crown of molten iron, like Drogo gave Viserys with gold. 
The manacles were still swaying back and forth ever so slightly when they
caught the corner of her eye. The gods' jape was not lost on her. That one
shall stay, she vowed to the gods, defiant. I claim it for mine own.
***** Irri I *****
Chapter Summary
     "Mother of dragons, Daenerys thought. Mother of monsters. What have I
     unleashed upon the world? A queen I am, but my throne is made of
     burned bones, and it rests on quicksand. Without dragons, how could
     she hope to hold Meereen, much less win back Westeros? I am the blood
     of the dragon, she thought. If they are monsters, so am I."
     --A Dance with Dragons, Daenerys II
It was an overcast morning on the Blackwater, as Irri spotted Tyrion amble
stiffly up the steps to join her, Grey Worm, and the Queen on the aftcastle of
the galleas Prince Rhaegar. The clouds were low and dark, foretelling rain, but
the horizon went on for miles and they could see the Spice Town Harbor and the
castle of High Tide on coast of Driftmark in the distance.
They had departed King’s Landing a fortnight ago. The Queen was to disembark at
Dragonstone, and Tyrion and Grey Worm would continue to Braavos. Though they
still had at least one more day of sailing, this morning they were anchored,
with the sails furled.
Dany had called for Irri’s body the night before, but was gentle with her,
laying back while Irri serviced her, stroking her hair, and only moving as much
as her royal body demanded when the pleasure overtook her.
Irri was never quite sure what to make of nights like that. Was she rewarding
me? Taking pity on me? Does my pain not please her enough?Some days Irri would
search desperately for any hint that she had earned a place in her Khaleesi‘s
good graces. Other days she would spend in terror of her wrath, and others she
would spend all her waking hours with a soaked cunt, lusting for the next time
she would be ravaged, debased, humiliated, subjugated, and stripped of
everything that made her human.
It had not always been like that. She had hated it at first. But after a time,
Irri found that in spite of all of the cruelty, others simply could not please
her like Daenerys. And after more time, she realized that Dany’s love was so
beautiful not in spite of her cruelty but because of it. She had always
preferred men who could be rough with her, but no matter how sore she felt in
how many places the next morning, she was still unfulfilled.
Men fuck with their cocks, but the Queen fucks with her mind,Irri
realized.Sherapeswith her mind. Dany had willed dragons from stones, peoples to
their knees, ships to the bottom of the sea, her dynasty back to its lands, and
death itself back to the icy wasteland where it belonged. It was a small thing
for her to will Irri to become a wanton slut for her.Were she a man, she could
raise aKhalasarof her own bastards by now. The thought made Irri’s heart race.
She looked at Dany, wearing a surcoat and doublet in the colors of her House,
black breeches, and boots. She looked fearsome; sex and violence personified.
Unprompted, Irri felt a familiar sensation building in her cunt until Tyrion
opened his mouth and quashed it in the way only Tyrion could.
“Your Grace. I noticed my piss didn’t fly much beyond my shoe this morning. Why
have we stopped?” Tyrion asked. It was a very good question, to which Daenerys
just smiled. I’ve seen that smile before, Irri realized. It was the same smile
she had given Kraznys mo Nakloz in Astapor, just before she melted his face and
took his army.
Prince Rhaegar was surrounded by an escort of longships and some of the finest
war galleys in the Royal Fleet, forming a wide circle to protect the Queen. But
to their immediate right was Triarch’s Lament, a galley her navy had
commandeered from the Volantene fleet at the Battle of Meereen after its slaves
had revolted. Its deck had been outfitted with a catapult for bombarding
hardened defenses along the shore, which required some of the oars to be
removed, slowing it down and putting it out of place among the rest of the
ships.
The Hand of the Queen was to enter Braavos under the guise of a diplomatic
mission, to treat with the Sealord for more favorable terms of trade, to
placate the Iron Bank with a partial payment on the Crown’s debt, and to entice
more merchants to visit the Seven Kingdoms. The mission would take weeks if not
months to complete. Dany had gambled that Tyrion’s reputation would precede
him, and that no one would find it out of place if he spent his nights in
taverns and brothels.
Riding from Winterfell at Jon’s command was Arya Stark, who would sail from
White Harbor and join them in Braavos, entering as an unremarkable crewman of a
trading galley. Once inside the city, Arya was to pose as a whore , meet Tyrion
at a brothel, and secretly introduce him to Yorko Antaryon, the son of the
former Sealord and a fierce opponent of slavery. Yorko’s family had become
sorely missed after Tormo Fraegar took over as Sealord, and Tormo’s tacit
approval of slavery had only added to the calls for an Antaryon restoration.
Being no stranger to restorations, Dany was more than happy to assist, so long
as Yorko did not betray the cause.
Normally, the Blackwater was teeming with ships. But today, they and their
escort were the only ones on the sea. Asha Greyjoy’s blockade had sealed off
the Bay, and all ships bound for King’s Landing were being escorted to Sharp
Point or Duskendale. Before they departed, Dany had ordered all of the
smallfolk, even soldiers, to leave Driftmark. “The soldiers can garrison at
Dragonstone for the nonce. The fisherfolk can go where they like. Give every
man gold enough for everything he owns, and half again,” she had commanded her
Small Council before adjourning the meeting, leaving no time to debate or
question her purpose. Not even Asha knew why the Queen had ordered the
blockade. All of it was a secret between Dany and Grey Worm.
Dany looked at Grey Worm, and he gave her a nod. Dany closed her eyes and took
a deep breath, as if she was lost in thought. A moment later came a friendly,
playful, unmistakable screech. Irri was not their mother, but had spent enough
time around the dragons that she could sense their mood.
Rhaegal announced his arrival from behind, sweeping low over the deck of their
ship. Under his belly was a large barrel that could easily have fit five men
inside, all standing. It had been fitted with two metal loops that the dragon
could grip with his talons.
“Gods be good,” said Tyrion, as Rhaegal passed overhead, banked right, flapped
his wings laboriously, and dragged his heavy barrel upward toward the cloud
ceiling. “Is that--must I witness this?”
“Yes. Don’t look away. I’ll know if you do,” the Queen replied, as Rhaegal
disappeared into the clouds. Aboard Triarch’s Lament, two Unsullied loaded a
sheep into the catapult, its legs bound together, bleating desperately.
“Khaleesi?“ Irri knew better than to question Dany in moments like this, but at
least wanted to know what she forbidden to question her about.
Dany understood, took her hand, and pointed forward into the distance, like a
mother with a child at her first mummer’s show. “Watch the coast, sweetling.” A
heartbeat later, from out of the cloud appeared little more than a speck,
falling silently, lazily, toward the ground. Dany squeezed her hand, hard. The
barrel? She did not know what else it could be.
Irri had seen more than her share of terrible sights at Dany’s side, but this
was far worse than even the bloodiest massacre. The speck disappeared into the
buildings of Spice Town, and suddenly the world was gone in a blinding flash.
When she opened her eyes, Spice Town Harbor was consumed by a green blaze. She
watched as the towers of High Tide, formerly the seat of the great House
Velaryon, turned to dust, like an ant hill a child had kicked over. Dany
gripped her hand harder and caressed Irri’s palm with her thumb, like she often
did when she wanted to remind her of their love without catching anyone’s eye.
Just as Irri noticed the surreal silence around her, a wave appeared on the
horizon, hurtling toward them faster than any wave she had ever seen. They all
ducked and shielded themselves, but there was nothing to dodge; just a
crushing, deafening, crackling sound, like thunder from inside the cloud, that
rocked the ship so violently that Irri feared it would break apart. Dany pulled
her close for a moment as the wave passed, but it was over almost instantly,
and just like that, it was if nothing had happened. Before anyone could
recover, Irri felt a hard bite on her earlobe, and her eyes were trapped in the
most wicked gaze Daenerys Stormborn had ever given her.
A moment after they had gotten back to their feet and shaken themselves off,
one of the Unsullied on the Triarch’s Lamentbarked an order, and the catapult
let fly. The sheep’s bleating was sickening, but soon it was well out of
earshot. As it reached it apex, Rhaegal came diving from the clouds, let out a
short burst of orange flame, caught the sheep in his mouth, and swallowed it
like a man might swallow a grape. He let out another friendly screech—proud of
himself and hoping he had pleased his mother. Dany smiled up at the sky as he
passed overhead, beaming ear to ear, and just that quickly, Rhaegal flapped his
wings again and disappeared back into the clouds behind the ship.
The Great Other himself could not have pulled the smile from Dany’s face. “Oh,
yes. This will do.” Dany walked over to Grey Worm and kissed him on both
cheeks. Even the eunuch had to smile.
Irri finally understood what she had just seen. Wildfire. She had heard tales
of it before, but never witnessed its fury first-hand. It had been a source of
dread as their fleet approached King’s Landing for the invasion, and Tyrion was
convinced that his sister would use it before the city fell. Fortunately, Lady
Arya managed to slit Cersei Lannister’s throat before she had the chance. That
left the defense of the city in the hands of Ser Jaime, who promptly raised a
peace banner over the Red Keep, met Dany at the Mud Gate, and bent the knee.
After the war and before the smallfolk returned to the city, Dany had all the
wildfire in King’s Landing shipped off to Dragonstone to be stored deep under
the castle. “I will have no accidents,” Dany explained at the time, but Irri
wondered if it was chance that the Queen was guarding against, or herself. The
dragons went to Dragonstone as well, as Dany refused to chain them up in a pit
and insisted they be given the freedom to roam. Dragonstone was garrisoned by
Unsullied who could ensure they were cared for, and the war had cured them of
their more rambunctious tendencies.
“This one is pleased to have served Your Grace.” Grey Worm had never mastered
the Common Tongue, but that was one of the few sentences he could string
together almost fluently.
“He can do this through clouds? Fog? He knows where he is, even if he can’t see
the ground?”
“He can be trained to fly a distance and course from Dragonstone. You must ride
him to the cities on a clear day. Stay high enough that you can’t be seen. Make
circles above the city, and return. He will not forget it.”
She will unleash hell on me tonight. Irri had learned by now that Dany’s blood
ran hot when she felt powerless and confined in her role as Queen. When she
cannot bend the Realm to her will, she will settle for her handmaiden. But the
only thing worse than when Dany felt powerless was when she felt the opposite.
She turned to Tyrion. “Now you know the fate of Braavos if you fail. Do not
fail.”
“--Yes. No. I won’t, Your Grace.” The dwarf was still as speechless and
horrified.
The captain finally made his way on deck, an unassuming Volantene freedman who
had been a navigator and keeper of a ship’s logs during his time as a slave.
Some handler or another had decided that his education made him a more
appropriate master for a ship carrying the Queen than the usual Ironborn
brutes. Dany had been disappointed when she boarded the ship and saw him. She
liked brutes of all kinds. She liked catching them off guard, making them
uncomfortable, making them blush, making them forget everything but her when
she was in their presence. Irri dared not fathom the twisted things going
through Dany’s minds when a hulk of muscle thrice again her size knelt at her
feet like a trained puppy, but she knew they were there.
Still, this captain was courteous, a good conversation, fiercely loyal to the
woman who had freed him from bondage, and ran a tight ship that made made
superb time. He was in as much awe and terror as everyone else, so Dany did him
the mercy of keeping things brief.
“Raise anchor and make haste for Dragonstone. A Queen’s children must know the
world beyond their castle, and I mean to start with the Free Cities.”
“Aye, Your Grace,” and with that, the orders were given and the ship was back
underway.
Dany gave the others leave to go, but bid Irri stay with her on the aftcastle
and enjoy the air. “In Braavos, there are shrines and statues of gods from all
over the world,” she told Irri when they were gone, after a moment of silence.
“Like Vaes Dothrak,” she said, “but in Braavos it’s so all men feel welcome in
the city, not to boast of their conquests. If I must destroy the city, I shall
build shrines like that in King’s Landing. Tyrion will say we don’t have the
space for endless shrines, but Tyrion can go bugger a cat.”
Irri was often lost when Dany spoke of matters of state. She had learned much
and more over the years as she watched Dany conquer and rule, but conquering
and ruling were like riding a horse; a man could not truly learn by simply
watching. But so her Queen would not think her stupid, Irri tried to cobble
together a response. “Maybe you can build one shrine for all of them,
Khaleesi.”
Dany smiled, and caressed her hand on the railing. “Maybe. They say in Braavos
that every man must bow to the god of death. ‘The many-faced god,’ they call
him. Maybe I can build a shrine to him. The elderly and the sick can go to
receive the gift of a painless death, and free themselves from their
suffering.”
She IS the many-faced god, Irri could not help but think, but her gifts are
seldom painless. Every living thing under the sun owed its very existence to
the fact that Daenerys Targaryen has not yet bothered to destroy it. If anyone
on this ship ever denied that, she just made liars and fools of them all. The
thought filled her with lust. Irri was raised to worship the Great Stallion,
but never found joy in it. Why worship a stallion I cannot see, when I can give
my body to fire made flesh? She stands before me now, and I have felt her
power. She is not just a story. That afternoon she felt that power again, and
again, and again, until she fell asleep sore and covered in sweat.
It was the middle of the night when Irri felt herself being shaken awake. She
rolled onto her back, opened her eyes, and saw Dany wearing a rough-spun hooded
cloak, and holding another.
“Put this on,” she commanded, not unkindly. Irri sat up, confused and
disoriented, but as was her nature now, her body began to obey the Queen’s will
before her mind even comprehended it. Dany’s cloak was made for a man nearly
twice again her size, as most were, and the cowl concealed all of her hair and
most of her face. “I want some fresh air.” Dany marched up the steps, with her
Unsullied guard at her side and Irri trudging behind; a Summer Islander who had
been assigned the name Blue Dog on the day he was liberated, and, like Grey
Worm, had chosen to keep it.
It seemed the only fresh air above deck that met the Queen’s approval was in a
corner near the aftcastle among some rope and crates. She grabbed a cord of
rope and passed it to her handmaiden. “Hold this.”
Irri’s heart skipped a beat as she coiled the rope around her shoulder. She has
but one use for rope,she knew.
An oarsman emerged from the crew’s sleeping quarters to piss off the side of
the rail. Oarsmen were easy to spot; they were lean, and their bodies were all
muscle and sinew. This one was tall, bald, and mean-looking. Ironborn, most
like.
Blue Dog looked to Dany, who nodded in response. “Yes, that one.” Irri was
taken aback. She prefers a cock tonight.She was disappointed, almost angry that
Dany had not told her sooner, and worried for half a heartbeat that her body
was no longer pleasing. But she knew in her mind that no one person’s body was
enough for a woman like Daenerys. She’ll have me again tomorrow. She loves me.
I should be happy for her.
The eunuch strode deliberately toward the oarsman, grabbed him from behind, and
covered his mouth. He was about to fight back when Blue Dog turned him toward
Dany, who marched up to him and stopped just in front of him. He was a beast of
a man, and Dany’s eyes were on a level with his nipples. She craned her neck
upward as she removed her hood. Suddenly his body went stiff, and he stopped
fighting back.
Her voice was quiet but forceful. “At my command, he will open your belly and
dump your entrails into the sea, so I will only say this once. When he lets you
go, you will speak no louder than I’m speaking now. Are we clear?”
The oarsman gave her a terrified nod. A wave of jealousy swept over Irri. I
thought only I gave her looks like that.She wanted to throw herself at Dany’
feet and plead for another beating, but knew she couldn’t.
“Release him.” Blue Dog obeyed, and the oarsman gasped for breath. The poor man
was at a loss for words. He would have counted himself lucky to even seethe
Queen on this journey, much less speak to her. It took him a moment to make
sense of things, but after a heartbeat he remembered himself and knelt.
“Not now.” Dany motioned impatiently for him to rise and follow her. “Come.”
She started toward the stairs, and he rose and followed her, with Blue Dog at
his heels to keep him from having second thoughts.
As they walked back toward his cabin, she asked him, “Have you ever fucked a
Queen before?”
His jaw slacked. Of course he hasn’t fucked a Queen before.
Dany smiled at him, sweetly, coyly. “Why that look? If the tales of Cersei
Lannister are true, it’s an entirely fair question.” She took his hand, like a
whore leading her patron to a private room.
Blue Dog opened the door to Dany’s cabin and remained inside after it shut.
Dany did not normally like an audience, but neither did she like being
unguarded around a total stranger who could snap her spine over his knee. The
Queen sat at the foot of her bed and smiled, wearing the same doublet, breeches
and boots as she had been wearing that day. Her ass bounced a bit when it hit
the mattress, and her feet barely touched the ground. She looked almost
childlike. Irri found it endearing.
“Come here.” She waved him over. “Now you can kneel.” Her tone was not that of
Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, but rather of Dany, the woman who
wanted to see this man kneel and admire his muscles. The oarsman dropped to one
knee. “Both knees,” she corrected him. For lack of other options, he sat on his
heels and looked back toward Blue Dog, convinced he was about to lose his head.
“He will not trouble you,” she reassured him, as she extended her right foot
toward him and pressed her boot lightly and playfully against his chest. “Take
these off.”
“Aye, Your Grace,” he managed to get out as he set to frantically unlacing her
boots, as if he were trying to beat an hour glass. Dany chuckled as he
struggled with it. Once he’d gotten it off, she pointed to her bare foot.
“Kiss it.” Bewildered, he kissed the top of her foot like he would have kissed
a lady's hand.
“No, no.” She rolled her ankle around in his hands and pressed her sole into
his face. The playfulness was gone from her voice. “Like you mean it.” He held
it, pushed his face into it and planted a hard, long kiss, almost pulling away
when he inhaled, as if he were surprised that it smelled of old leather and
sweat.
“Better.” She withdrew, and had him start on the other foot. The oarsman got
the kissing part right that time, and she was satisfied. Dany liked the feeling
of an eager, grateful mouth on her feet, and could have drawn that out much
longer. She has something else in mind.
Effortlessly and as if he were not even there, Dany disrobed completely, sat
back down in front of the oarsman, gave him just enough time to see her cunt,
and crossed her legs. This man could easily have overpowered her and taken her
right there, but Dany showed no hint of fear.
“Look at my eyes,” she commanded, not the least bit surprised that he had been
looking elsewhere. The man’s mouth opened a bit. He had heard that the Dragon
Queen had purple eyes, but more like than not, he thought it was just a tale.
Now they were staring down at him, and he wondered what else he’d heard was
true.
Dany dragged her foot up from the man’s belly button, flexed her toes right
around his nipples, dragged them lightly over his lips, and put her sole back
in his face.
“Of course you can kiss it again, how sweet of you,” she told him with a
mocking, playful smile. The man kissed the sole of her foot like it was his
child he’d thought was dead, and inhaled deeply, knowing exactly what it was
going to smell like and savoring all of it. Blue Dog was still in the room, but
he no longer mattered. This man is hers.
Dany withdrew again and leaned forward, no longer as playful. “Before we go any
further, you will answer my questions, no more, no less. Can you read or
write?”
“No, Your Grace.” Dany nodded.
“You’re Ironborn?”
“Aye, Your Grace.”
“You fought in the War?”
“Aye, I did.”
“Were you Asha’s or the Crow’s Eye’s?”
He hesitated for a moment. “--the Crow’s Eye’s, Your Grace.” He felt the need
to explain. “But I never--I was just--”
“You were just doing as you were bid.” She leaned forward, caressed his cheek
and smiled down into his ever more dumbstruck eyes. “I understand completely,
and bear you no ill will. I simply wish to learn about you. Tell me, when you
were with the Crow’s Eye, did you raid up the Mander?”
“I did, Your Grace. But--”
She kicked the crotch of his pants lightly; not enough to hurt him, but enough
to show that she could. “No more, and no less. Don’t make me say it again.” He
nodded.
“Did you sack towns and holdfasts?”
“Aye, Your Grace.” He wanted to say more, but stopped himself.
“Pillaged? Plundered?”
“Aye, Your Grace.”
“Raped?” The oarsman looked just as fearful as when the Unsullied grabbed him.
His face was bright red. Please, for your own sake, just admit it,Irri told him
with her eyes, yet he remained silent. Dany looked at him like he was a serving
girl who had taken too long with her wine.
“--Yes. I--yes, Your Grace.”
“Good.” Irri spied Dany’s hips rock subtly against the mattress when he said
that. She wants to know what that was like.“Villagers?”
He nodded, as if not speaking any more would save him from whatever fate she
had already decided.
“Tavern wenches? Farmers’ daughters?”
He kept nodding and looked like he was about to cry.
“Any high born?” She cocked her head with an almost detached curiosity.
“Lord Redwyne’s niece, Your Grace.”
Dany briefly weighed whether that was high enough for her. Irri could not guess
the answer, but it seemed to make no matter.
“Dothraki handmaidens?” Irri’s stomach twisted as Dany smiled over at her.
No, no, please, please, please, no.The malice in her smile was thicker than the
morning. Irri would gladly take the worst of what Dany had to give her, but
could not bear the idea of surrendering to a man she just met. There would be
no feelings between them, only regret. Even if he were gentle, he would disgust
her, and Dany was not like to let him be gentle. Please, Khaleesi , all I’ve
ever wanted was to serve you, but please, not this. Irri was a child of seven
when her khalasarwas enslaved by Drogo’s. She never told Dany what happened
after. I thought it went without saying. Does she not know? Had she not thought
of it? Does she not care?The last thought made her nauseous.
“No, Your Grace.” The oarsman looked at Irri. His face apologized in advance.
He’s been a rapist since he became a man, and this is too much even for him.
Dany snapped her fingers and the oarsman’s eyes went right back to hers
reflexively, as if he’d been doing it all his life. “You’ve spent quite some
time on ships. What about men?”
He hesitated, but Dany’s eyes persuaded him to think better of it. “--Once,
Your Grace.”
Dany smiled and turned to Irri. “Once,” she repeated mockingly, one finger in
the air for emphasis. “Stand up, turn around, and put your hands against the
wall. Blue Dog, give me your dirk.” The oarsman looked at her, ready to start
begging for his life.
“I told you, if I wanted you dead, you’d be dead,” Dany reminded him, pointing
toward the wall. And so he bent to his Queen’s will, moving almost gracefully,
like she was leading him in a dance. Is it always this way with her?  Dany
stood up, took the dirk from Blue Dog, slid two fingers under the oarsman’s
breeches, yanked them toward her, and sliced straight down the crack of his
ass. When they hit the floor, she poked his left cheek lightly with the point
of the dirk.
“Firm.” She grabbed it and felt it. “Very nice. Hold still. Irri, sweetling,
come here.”
The man’s knees were starting to quiver as Irri stepped forward, and without
warning, Dany slid her middle finger down the girl’s throat, clasping the jaw
between her ring and index fingers. Needing no further instruction, Irri began
to suck. She caught a glimpse of the oarsman’s cock, which had begun to stir
itself, and felt her mouth start to water as she closed her eyes. How does she
make me think I want this?Just as her imagination began to meld the two, Dany
removed her finger and slid it wordlessly into the man’s ass. He immediately
clenched his cheeks as hard as he could and instinctively pulled away from her,
toward the wall. He gasped and pulled away, but had nowhere to go. With her
other hand, Dany pressed the dirk into the small of his back.
“If you don’t like my finger, you certainly won’t like the other choices.
Pretend I’m Euron, and do as you’re bid.” As he let out a moan of resignation
and grudging pleasure, she turned to Irri. “Touch it.” He’s livestock to
her.She touched the man’s ass, almost petting it, as if to reassure him that
she knows whatever he does to her will not be his fault. “Firm, isn’t it?”
“It is, Khaleesi.” Her voice was shaking. Am I to join her in this? Do I have
that malice in my heart?
Dany peered around to his cock, which was rising fast and almost fully hard.
She looked at Irri, then back at the cock, then back at Irri, smiling wryly.
“Once!” She japed in a mocking whisper, wiggling her finger around inside the
man. “Just once!” The man said nothing.
Dany removed her finger. “Get me a washcloth, sweetling. And you--” She
realized she had never asked the man his name, but quickly decided that it made
no matter. “I’ve been on this ship for a fortnight,” she told him as she was
wiping her finger clean with the washcloth, “I love my husband, but he’s been
away in the Riverlands for so long. I’m a only a young girl and need a man to
comfort me.”
The oarsman was clearly enticed, but still wary.
Before he went above deck to have his piss, the oarsman was more like than not
the kind of man who would boast in his cups about all he’d do if he ever had a
chance to fuck the Dragon Queen. In Irri’s experience, oarsmen speak of oars,
Dany’s cunt, and little else. And more like than not, most of his boasts
involved defiling her her; bringing her down to the level of a common whore.
Now, when faced with the actual chance, he was not so sure he wanted to. Irri
was no longer sure she wanted this, either.
I could run away right now. Hide somewhere. Wander the docks at Dragonstone and
hide on a ship from Ibben or the Summer Isles. She would never find me
there.Irri would do no such thing, of course. Blue Dog would murder her before
she got within arm’s reach of the door. Yet even if I had a chance, would I
really do it? Or would I stay? Why is my heart racing? Why are my knees weak?
Why is my cunt wet? Why does she know my own body better than I do?
“But before we begin,” Dany interjected, “you’ll show me what you can do with
this one.” She stood and turned to Irri. “Hands behind your back.”
Irri obeyed, taking a deep, nervous breath as she felt the rope coiling around
her wrists. Dany was loving about it; sweet, not rushed. Irri’s entire body was
telling her to fight. But if the Queen was at all worried about it, she gave
away no sign.
It seemed like an eternity before she had been bound up to her elbows. Dany
slid her hands around Irri’s waist and felt her wetness; teasing her with her
fingers, nibbling her earlobe, and breathing softly on her neck. A sense of
pleasure washed over her. Maybe I want this now.It was a disturbing thought.
She feared the oarsman, she was repulsed by him, and she pitied him. But more
than anything, she wanted to turn herself into a mindless doll for this man to
ravage until the Queen was satisfied. She knew that would not happen until she
suffered great pain inside and out, but to her disgust, she wanted it.
“When was the last time my sweet whore had a cock in her?” Dany asked. Irri’s
mind went blank.
“I don’t know, Khaleesi. Two moon’s turns, I think.”
“Two turns? I don’t remember hearing about that.” Irri had a chance encounter
with one of Dany’s household guards. Aegon was around, and Dany had given her
leave for a fortnight. She kept me away to protect herself from her own
desires. I’m the wildfire. She’s the flame that ignites it.
“No, Khaleesi!I didn’t think it mattered to you.”
“You didn’t think it mattered?“ Dany gave her hair a tug. Irri’s neck snapped
back and her eyes widened. She still has the dirk. My neck is exposed. She
could--she would never. I should not think those things.“Who are you to presume
to know what matters?”
She felt a blade pressed against her skin. Please don’t slit my throat. Please
don’t slit my throat.“I’m sorry, Khaleesi,I’m no one. I’m your whore. Your
bedslave.”
“Must I remind you who owns this cunt?”
Irri was speechless. All she could muster was a soft moan.
“I asked you a question, slut.”
“You own it, Khaleesi. I’m stupid. I’m insolent. Punish me. Please, Khaleesi.
Please punish your slut.”
Dany bent her over the side of bed with her arms behind her back, and kicked
her knees apart. The oarsman moved toward her and put his hands around her
waist.
“Did I say you could touch her?” The oarsman was startled. Dany grabbed his
cock, squeezed and twisted, causing the oarsman’s knees to buckle and hit the
side of the bed. His hands flew into the air like she had pointed a sword at
his chest.
“I’m sorry!” He winced and pulled away.
“Don’t forget yourself. I’ll tell you when it’s time to forget yourself.” She
crawled onto the bed, sat in front of Irri and wrapped her thighs around her
head. At least she lets me taste her.She used to consider that a duty; not an
unpleasant one, but simply part of her her service. But over time, as Dany
pushed her deeper into her thrall, it had become an honor. “Go,” she said to
the oarsman. “Show me what you do to filthy whores like this one.”
“No!” Irri yelled, resisting for a moment, but the oarsman grabbed her by the
rope and pulled her back toward him, like he would grab a lamb to slaughter it.
Dany found that funny. The man slid his cock into her, filling her. Dany grew
wet and began to grind her cunt against Irri’s face, killing any hope of mercy.
The man did not waste his time being gentle. He thrusted his hips against her,
each impact making her flesh ripple from her ass up to her shoulder blades. She
felt the Queen grab her hair in one fist and pull her face into her crotch,
tightening her thighs and grinding in rhythm with the man’s fucking. She
enjoyed watching Irri struggle. Should I struggle or give in? Which would
please her more?
“Use that slut. Ruin her. Split her in half,” she told him, panting. Irri
started to sob as her mind went back to the Dothraki sea; to the crowd of men
standing over her as she kicked and clawed the grass and did whatever she could
to get away. They were all around her, stroking their cocks, spitting on her,
saying horrible things to her that no child ought to hear, laughing at her
futile attempts to get away. They defiled her in every way possible, leaving
her bleeding and unable to walk or ride or sit down properly for days. Yet this
was worse. Those men had defeated her khalasarin battle. It was brutal, but
such was the way of her people. This time, it all came from the mind of a woman
who professed to love her, who laughed with her, kissed her, nuzzled her in her
sleep, comforted her when her brother died in the Red Waste, and swore a solemn
vow to protect her from anyone who would do her harm. That woman had abandoned
her for this strange man.
“You told me you pay the Iron Price. You told me you’re a reaver.”
The man was not much for talking at the moment. “Aye,” he said between breaths.
“Then fuck her like one!“
Irri felt a blinding sting as the man smacked her ass. She winced, sucked her
breath through her teeth, and looked up at Dany’s eyes. Those immaculate purple
eyes were looking up at the oarsman and paid her no mind. The only
acknowledgment Dany granted Irri was to grind her cunt on her face, mindlessly,
in anticipation of this man’s cock. Irri felt jealous again. She cares more
about him than me. She’s using me to make her night with him more pleasurable.
I’m a toy. For half a heartbeat, that hurt more than the man being commanded to
hurt her. But then she came to her senses. She wants me to be her toy. I want
it too. She felt like she was sinking into a pool of blissful helplessness.
Irri was struck by the hint of submission in Dany’s eyes as she looked up at
him. Her eyes were telling this man that bothof them were his sluts for the
night. In that moment Irri realized just how much her entire understanding of
the world was based on the notion that Daenerys Targaryen surrendered to no
man. Anywhere. Ever. Yet here she was, preparing to surrender herself, so eager
to play at being the conquered for once.
She sensed that Dany’s body was starting to get close to the height of its
pleasure when the Queen released her hair, pulled away, and rolled onto her
stomach next to her.
“Now. Come on. Fuck me. Like those peasants you raped. Fuck me!“ She shouted,
looking back over her shoulder and presenting her cunt to him like a bitch in
heat.
Irri felt the man pull out of her. I will be sore tomorrow, she thought, once
he was out. She closed her eyes to catch her breath, but felt a hand smack the
side of her head. She opened her eyes just in time to watch Dany’s eyes widen,
then shut tight, then reopen, rolled back in her head. “Pay attention, cunt.
Watch me get fucked like a whore, just like you.”
Something about it disturbed her. She had never seen Dany completely at the
mercy of another person, much less a lowborn man. But this man could have her
however he wanted in this moment, and it seemed that Dany could not be happier.
Dany’s eyes rolled back in her head and she gasped in pleasure as the man
entered her.
“Harder! Hit me!” Irri heard the sound of a hand hitting Dany’s ass, but Dany
barely reacted. “Hitme, you pile of shit, hit me!“ Irri looked back at the
oarsman. He thinks she’ll be wroth if he hits her too hard. “Are you afraid of
hurting me? Do you think I don’t wantit to hurt?” The oarsman slapped her ass
again, harder, but still holding back.
“Blue Dog!” She shouted over her shoulder. The eunuch had been in a resting
position, with his feet apart and his arm extended to his side, his spear at an
angle. At Dany’s command, he snapped to attention. “Drive your spear through
his back if he slows down. I’ll tell him when he’s done.” Blue Dog tapped the
butt of his spear on the floor and took one step forward from against the wall.
That sufficed. Irri heard a louder slap, as Dany screamed in pain and bucked
her hips back against him. “Oh, yes, that’s it. Come on, fuck this wet little
cunt you laugh about in your cups.”
Irri’s eyes were about to close from exhaustion. She was fighting to keep them
open for fear of displeasing her Queen, but when she thought she was about to
lose that battle, Dany’s head snapped backward. The oarsman’s large, calloused,
dirty, sweat-caked fist had a clump of Dany’s hair in it; the hair that marked
her as the blood of Old Valyria; the blood of Aegon the Conqueror; the
harbinger of magic back into the world. The hair that burnt in Drogo’s pyre
while the rest of her remained untouched; that grew back and became the stuff
of songs, mummer’s plays, and children’s stories. The hair that every whore in
every brothel from Lannisport to Qarth tried to imitate. The hair that brought
all lords in Westeros to their knees when they laid eyes upon it. Those most
famous locks were now in the hands of a man whose life revolved around pulling
a piece of wood to the beat of a drum. He no longer fears her.
Dany shouted, moaned, grunted. She sounded every bit the helpless bedslave that
the Titan’s Bastard and the Sons of the Harpy had tried to make her. Whores
trained themselves to make the sounds that Dany was making, but this was no
trick to make the man feel she was worth the coin. He spent no coin. Her eyes
widened and a twisted smile came to her face. “Fuck. Fuck. Yes. Yes. Take me.
Rape me like some slut from the Arbor. Harder. Fuck!“
She’s there. Irri could read it on her face. Dany threw her body back onto the
man’s cock with all her weight, forcing it as deeply into her as she could,
grabbing the sheets to hold herself in place. With each backward thrust the
screams grew more intense until her whole body shuddered, her eyes rolled back
in her head, and she finally relaxed her whole body and became the quivering,
broken beast that Irri had had become for her so long ago.
But the oarsman was not done, and past his fear of treating the Queen as
anything more than a broodmare. The rhythm of flesh on flesh got faster and
faster as the oarsman’s grunts turned into moans. He’s almost there too. It
suddenly dawned on Irri that this man may plant his seed in her.
But Dany had other notions. Suddenly, she kicked back at him and knocked him
off of his rhythm and out of her cunt. “No. You’re done.” That caught the
oarsman by surprise. He had forgotten that the Queen could strip a man of his
rights just as quickly as she could grant them. Dany flipped onto her back. He
started toward her to pull her knees apart, but thought better of it when Dany
pushed herself up to her knees on the bed and stared him down as she had once
stared down Drogon in Daznak’s pit.
“Move one more step and Blue Dog will skewer you like a lamb.” He was mid-step
when she said that, and almost tripped trying to stop himself.
Dany rolled Irri over and picked her up. Before she knew what was happening,
the back of Irri’s head was resting against Dany’s chest, and Dany was forcing
her jaw open.  Irri was too spent to resist. “Spill your seed in here,” she
commanded, pointing to Irri’s mouth. “That’s what she’s for.” Those words were
a punch to the gut.
The man looked down at her sadly. Does he pity me, or does he still want her
cunt?Irri reckoned it was the latter. It was all she could do to hope he would
not simply close his eyes and fuck her mouth like was fucking the Queen. She
looked back up into his eyes, trying to remind him she was a human being and
hoping that meant something to him. At their mercy, and hoping for scraps of
their pity. It made her sick, but something about it was freeing. It’s simpler
when there’s naught to do but obey.
All hope of mercy evaporated at Dany’s command. “Don’t go easy on this one.
Treat her just like you were treating me.” Dany shoved her mouth onto the man’s
cock and held it there. “Fuck her all the way down her pretty little throat, I
command it.”
And he obeyed. Irri coughed, gasped, gagged, and cried. It was all she could do
not to vomit. She kicked wildly at first, but Dany sat on her legs, reducing
her to thrashing back and forth. His cock tasted like filth and sweat and
Dany’s sublime cunt.
Suddenly there was warm breath near her ear. “Keep fighting and I swear it to
your made-up horse god, I’ll let every man on this ship do it for a copper,”
Dany warned softly, calmly, almost soothingly. She bit her earlobe, grinding it
between her teeth, and an instant later kissed her on her tear-soaked cheek.
Irri could feel Dany’s cunt grinding against her ass. If she’d had a cock, it
would be inside her. She loves how my tears taste. I’ve pleased her. At least
that gave her comfort.
Dany handed a clump of Irri’s hair to the oarsman. “Here, do what you will with
her. Finish.”
The man became merciless as he came closer to the point of no return. Think of
anything but this. Irri finally managed to tell herself. At that moment, Dany
slid back, pried her knees apart, and put two fingers inside her. And suddenly
everything else was gone. Dany had a way with her hands that could make Irri
melt into a puddle at the slightest touch. She knew all of the spots inside and
out; how to stroke her fingers and roll her thumb. Irri did not want to feel
such pleasure in this moment, though. If I’m not careful I’ll start to confuse
the two. But she knew that was the point, and had no choice but to succumb. She
felt herself clenching and pulsing against Dany’s fingers, and her fingers
reacted like she were playing a harp. As the man spilled his warm seed down her
throat, Irri felt herself clench up and drench Dany’s fingers. Her screams were
ecstasy and discomfort, revulsion and craving, all mixed into one emotion that
she only felt when she was in abject submission to her Khaleesi’s will.
Irri and the oarsman collapsed next to each other on the bed; Irri on her
stomach, the oarsman on his back. Dany removed herself from Irri, retrieved the
dirk from the corner of the mattress, and began to cut her free from the rope.
Once Irri’s arms were free, Dany unstraddled her.
“Fetch me that washcloth,” she commanded, as soon as Irri was free.
Irri’s arms were stiff, her legs were weak, and her cunt was sore, but she
obeyed, while Dany sat atop her new toy and kissed him passionately. Irri
waited a moment until she was finished before handing her the washcloth.
“Thank you, sweetling,” she smiled. As she was using the washcloth to clean the
dirk, she looked over to Blue Dog, who immediately snapped to attention. She
motioned at the oarsman with her eyes. “Hold his mouth open.”
The oarsman had not yet realized what was happening when the Unsullied grabbed
his jaw and locked it. He began flailing with all his strength, but it was
futile as Dany had pinned his shoulders down with her knees.
“You’re not to tell anyone what happened here tonight,” she explained, leaning
over him as she heated the knife over a candle next to the bed. “Understood?”
He nodded in terror.
“Good.” She reached into his mouth and grabbed his tongue. “Remember,
sweetling? Just pretend I’m Euron and do as you’re bid.”
The shriek the oarsman let out as Dany sliced into his tongue with the hot
knife was one of the worst sounds Irri had ever heard. Worse than the sheep
that morning, as it catapulted to its fiery death. It’s just like Astapor. She
knew exactly what she was doing from the start.In truth, it would have been a
mercy to simply feed him to the dragons. With a dragon, it would have been over
in a few heartbeats. This one will have to live with tonight until he no longer
lives.
The Queen of Westeros cut all the way through his tongue in one stroke. When
she was done, she held it up, admired it with an almost triumphant look on her
face, and casually tossed it at Irri. “Burn this.”
Irri threw her hands up and screamed in revulsion as the tongue bounced off her
chest and hit the floor like a dead fish. Dany chuckled at that. Disgusted,
Irri picked it up with two fingers and dropped it as quickly as she could into
the brazier. It twisted, curled, and cracked as it burned, and reeked of the
all-too-familiar stench of burning flesh. When she looked back, Dany had
stuffed the washcloth into the oarsman’s mouth. It was starting to turn red
with blood. It was the same washcloth Dany had used to clean her finger after
it had been in the man’s ass. All she wanted was to wretch, and only the gods
knew how she stopped herself.
The oarsman had broken out into a cold sweat, and his breathing was growing
shallow, his screams weaker.
“Hush, sweetling,” Dany told him calmly. “Go to sleep. You must rest, that’s
all. This was all a dream. It will be better in the morning. There we are,
that’s it,” she stroked his cheek and smiled down at him as he began to pass
out from the pain. “Go to sleep.”
Once he had gone limp, Dany dismounted and turned to Blue Dog. “Deal with this.
Tether him to the foot of the bed. If he wakes up, beat him until he goes back
under, but don’t kill him.” ‘Don’t kill him.’ Does she mean that as a mercy?
“This one is pleased to obey, Your Grace.” He took the oarsman by the arm and
dragged him off the bed, did as he was commanded, and stood back in the corner
in his resting stance. Irri was paralyzed with fear, saying nothing and
remaining completely still. The tales say a dragon won’t notice you if you
don’t move.But the dragon was gone, and the woman could see her.
“I should not have done that,” Dany confessed, collapsing onto the bed.
This must be a trick. She must not be done. “It is your birthright, Khaleesi.
He is yours to command, as am I. It is known.” The safe answer.
“No. We both know that’s not true.” Irri was out of ideas. “Come here.”
Irri hesitated and stared at the dirk, still in Dany’s hand. A pained look came
across the Queen’s face as she realized what was happening.
“Here.” She held the dirk between two fingers, like Irri had held the oarsman’s
tongue, and tossed it into the opposite corner of the room. “Do what you like
with it.” Her purple eyes pleaded with Irri to trust in her sincerity.
Irri was accustomed to ignoring the voice in her mind that screamed at her not
to do something, if the Queen had commanded she do it. If she wanted to kill
me, she could do it without a knife. She could kill me with a pillow, like she
did with Drogo.The thought disturbed her. She had forgotten about that. She’s
always had it in her to kill with her own hands.
Irri laid down next to her, and Dany pulled her close and kissed her on the
mouth. It was a soft kiss that grew more passionate, but stayed slow the whole
time. She noticed something amiss about Dany’s lower lip. It was quivering.
When she went to run her fingers through Dany’s hair, her hand brushed against
a tear that had begun to stream down her face. When she broke the kiss, Dany
tried to compose herself, kissed Irri one more time, rolled over, and closed
her eyes.
At a loss for what to do, Irri blew out the candle and put her arm around the
Queen, kissed her softly on her neck, and tried to sleep herself. The whole
night had twisted her mind into knots. I should flee. I should kill her. I
should tell someone what I saw.But she knew she would never do that. It would
only mean her own death, if not by Blue Dog, then by the Queen’s Justice, for
treason and slander. Instead, she did her duty, edged closer, and comforted the
woman who had just made a strange man rape her as an amusement.
Neither of them slept well, but at first light came a loud knock at the door.
Dany rolled over, away from the sound and away from the rest of the world. Irri
got up and staggered over to open it and find Grey Worm fully dressed.
“We are nearing Dragonstone. We shall dock within the hour.” he reported,
noticing the unconscious man slumped at the foot of her bed, but not reacting.
He wouldn’t react if he walked in on Daenerys eating lemon cakes with Sansa
Stark and the Night’s King, as long as she seemed content with it. “The captain
bids Her Grace come and see.”
Irri turned around. “Khaleesi?“
Dany rolled back over, groaned, stretched, and sat up, bleary-eyed. “I will
come as soon as I’m ready,” she muttered, her speech slurred. “Sweetling, fetch
my clothes. Grey Worm, come in.” She pointed to the oarsman as he entered. “I
will explain that when we get on deck. Help Blue Dog carry him up.”
When she had made herself presentable, Dany shook herself off, took a deep
breath, straightened her posture, and assumed her regal persona. She did her
best to appear well-rested as she climbed the stairs, with Irri and the rest of
them trailing behind her.
A drizzle had begun to fall. The captain was standing on the deck near the
rail. Dany came on deck just as he gave the order to retract the oars and
prepare to throw the ropes to the soldiers standing on the dock. The ship was
so busy that no one took notice of her, and the captain was startled when he
turned around to see her standing right in front of him.
He knelt. “Dragonstone, Your Grace.”
Dany motioned to Blue Dog and Grey Worm, who carried the Oarsman over and
dumped him unceremoniously between the captain and the Queen. The captain
looked up at her, shocked. She gave him a steely glare.
“This one was drunk. He got past my guard, said crude and vile things to me,
and tried to force his tongue down my throat. I had no choice but to defend my
honor.” Dany used her command voice, never unlocking her eyes from the
captain’s.
“My—my deepest apologies, Your Grace,” he pleaded, his face white with fear.
“He is new to the Prince Rhaegar.” he lied, “I will be sure to punish him
severely. My men know better than this.” They know better than to accept an
invitation to Daenerys Stormborn’s bedchamber?
Dany motioned for the captain to rise and took his hand. “This is not your
fault, friend. Men sometimes mistake me for any other woman,” she smiled. “My
journey was a pleasure and I shall look forward to sailing with you again.”
The captain bowed. “Your Grace does me a great honor.”
“See that your men bring my things quickly. Irri will help them pack my chests.
Send for Tyrion. We have business to discuss with Lady Asha before he sails for
Braavos. My compliments again.” With that, Dany stepped over the oarsman like a
puddle of nightsoil, bid her two Unsullied to follow her, and strode down the
plank.
***** Daenerys II *****
Chapter Summary
     "I will ask more of you than any Khal has ever asked of his Khalsar."
     --Daenerys, Game of Thrones Season 6, Episode 6
Dany could feel Aegon's cock grinding against her ass as he lay next to
her. Seven hells, finally. Aegon was still half asleep, and his morning
erection was acting on its own accord. More like than not, he did not even
realize it. Dany was barely more conscious than he was, but her body had ached
to be fucked since he got off his horse the day before. Aegon's body, however,
had simply ached. "It's been a long ride, my dear. On the morrow," he had told
her when she tried to mount him the night before. Well, it's the morrow, she
reasoned, as she rolled over, slid down, and ran her tongue up the length of
his shaft. 
Aegon had been away in the Riverlands, visiting lords, handing out food to the
smallfolk, and learning how the Crown could be of best use to the rebuilding
effort. Tyrion had recommended that the King journey to Maidenpool, up to the
Twins, and back by way of Riverrun and Harrenhal. "It's important that they
know you care about their plight," the Hand explained. 
The Riverlands had been troubled since Ned Stark sent a party to hunt down
Gregor Clegane, but by the end of the War it was an utter wasteland. Hardly a
building still stood, and even those made of stone were reduced to rubble and
burnt-out shells. The earth was scorched, fertile land was scarce, and whole
towns sat empty.
Dany could not have agreed more with Tyrion's idea. She knew the Realm needed
to see the Targaryens doing more than burning castles and sending hordes of
Dothraki screaming through their fields. But most importantly, she supported
anything that would get him far away from King's Landing and give her time with
her precious fuck toy. She missed Irri already.
She teased the head of Aegon's cock with her tongue, looking up at him to see
if he had woken up. He kept his eyes closed, but swung his hand lazily to the
side of her head and ran his fingers through her hair, gripping it and pulling
her head onto him. Good, she thought, and took him into her mouth.
Aegon's hips began to roll more deliberately, and Dany knew she had his
attention. Sucking her husband's had become rote to her. After sucking slowly
until he was near the back of her throat, she opened her mouth, ran her flat
tongue over the underside of his shaft, just below where it met the head,
pressed her upper lip against the top of his head, sucked, and then let her lip
and tongue slide off of him before taking him in her mouth again. She knew
exactly what he liked, and how he would respond. One more of those, and he'll
be ready to fuck me.
Dany felt about Aegon's cock the way she imagined Drogon felt about a tethered
sheep; not as satisfying as one she had hunted and conquered herself, but
enough to sate the craving, and undeniably convenient. As she closed her eyes
and sucked, her body still half yearning for sleep, Dany's mind wandered again
to whether this man would ever be enough for her. Maybe as she got older, her
lust would temper. But is he even my nephew? Is he Illyrio's bastard? Some
purple-eyed babe he bought from a desperate mother for the spare gold in his
pocket? 
She would never know for sure, more like than not, and at this point it made no
matter. Still, she pondered what she would need before she could put him to the
question. It would almost certainly yield an honest answer, and the man could
use a good, sharp questioning. Aegon was not an utterly weak man, but he was a
breakable man. All men were, but when this one broke, he would completely
shatter. She could sense it. She wanted to see it happen. She wanted to do it
herself. She wanted him to suffer. The thought of suffering men got her cunt
wet. And if he meant to fuck her, she needed something to make it ready for
him.
Still not entirely awake, Aegon tapped gently on her arm; his signal for her to
get on her back. She complied, hungrily. The last time she'd been fucked was
the oarsman on the way to Dragonstone. She needed a cock inside of her, and his
would do.
Somewhere in the process of rolling on top of her, Aegon woke up. He looked
down into her eyes, lovingly, lustily, but as always, slightly intimidated. He
was the King, but she had the dragons, so she ruled the Realm. It did not sit
well with him, but there was naught he could do, and he contented himself with
being a figurehead, though he took great pains to never acknowledge what he
was. As he positioned his cock outside of her and pushed himself in, a sense of
relief washed over her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him
deeper. 
"Good morning," he smiled, in an attempt at wit.
Fool. "Fuck me, sweet nephew. Hard. I need your cock, I've missed it." It was
true enough, she supposed. 
As she gripped his back, her mind fixated on the word "nephew." She ignored her
doubt about his parentage and imagined that she knew for certain that he was
Rhaegar's. Then she imagined he was Rhaegar. Then she moaned, scratched down
his back, and looked up into his eyes.
"Fuck me. Please, please, fuck me. Harder. Fuck, that's good." She had never
seen Rhaegar's face; all she knew was that the singers called it beautiful.
Beautiful men were everywhere, and she could have whomever she chose. It was
the notion of fucking her brother that aroused her so. The Lannister twins
fucked in this very bed, more like than not. They lost the Realm for it. Cersei
died for it. They're mocked by mummers from Dorne to the Wall. But I could fuck
my brother on the steps of Baelor and they'd build a shrine on the spot. That
made her wetter. He's my nephew and they all bent the knee for us. No High
Septons, no Small Councils, no Masters of Laws can thwart my will. I am the
Dragon and I do as I please. She knew it wasn't true, not as much as she'd like
it to be. But she needed to feel that way, if just for a moment. Power resides
where I say it does, and I say it resides with ME. Aegon was not known for his
endurance, and this morning was no exception. She was so lost in thought about
fucking Rhaegar in front of all of King's Landing that she'd almost missed it. 
But it made no matter. If Aegon was good for anything, it was cleaning up his
own mess. He leaned down, kissed her slowly, passionately, and then slid down
between her thighs. She ran her fingers through his hair as he went to work,
still thinking of Rhaegar, of Jon, of Irri, and of the oarsman. The oarsman
took her over the edge. She had never left a wound on a lover that would stay
with him forever. I need fresh meat, was the last thought that went through her
mind as she screamed and pulled her husband's head into her for the final
thrusts.
"Come here," she said softly, once it had passed. "Kiss me." And he did. And he
tasted his lips, and his seed, and herself.
The afterglow would not last long, however, as there was a Small Council
meeting to attend. Aegon had insisted on joining, even though he normally
skipped them to hunt or hawk or play cyvasse with Jon Connington. But he was
the King, and there was naught she could do to stop him, so they dressed
together and made their way to the Small Council chambers.
Dany could sense the grim mood as soon as she walked in the room. Oh, what
now? Dany and Aegon stood at opposite heads of the table. To her immediate left
was Lord Varys,still Master of Whisperers, "and Bolted to the Floor," Tyrion
had named him once. To her right was the Grand Maester, Samwell Tarly, whom
Dany adored, in part because the poor man was quite clearly terrified of her.
Today, however, he looked just as solemn as the rest of them. Dany smiled at
him and got the flash of fear she loved so much. Good boy. Next to Sam was
Arianne Martell, her Mistress of Laws, and soaker of cunts; and across from her
was Gendry Baratheon, Commander of the Goldcloaks, and deputy soaker of
cunts. Missandei, Irri, some Goldcloaks, and her Queensguard lined the walls on
either side.
Dany appointed Arianne and Gendry to the Small Council in an effort to improve
the administration of justice. And to keep Dorne and the Stormlands happy, she
conceded to herself, but mostly for justice. 
Before the dessert had been cleared away at her coronation feast, Dany had
decreed that henceforth, the Realm would be governed by Dornish law, which
allowed women and bastards to inherit and forbade men from beating their wives.
There was no consultation with Tyrion or anyone else, no gaming out which
lordlings would get their smallclothes bunched up over losing a spot in their
line of succession, and no moralizing about how women need discipline from an
absurd old man with a crystal hat that looked like a cock made of spun sugar on
his head. She appointed Arianne the morning after, and it was done. Dany knew
she could not rule Westeros solely by decree like she'd tried and failed to in
Meereen, but she was adamant that she would not be Queen of a land that
considered her a lesser person than half her subjects. "Anyone with an
objection is welcome to come and tell me to my face," she told Tyrion when he
warned her. No one came.
Gendry was a legitimized bastard and had spent most of his life as an
apprentice in King's Landing. The lords of the Stormlands had clamored for a
restoration of the Baratheon line, and despite her unease legitimizing the
Usurper's bastard, she did so anyway. In retrospect, it was a wise decision.
Jon Connington was nominally the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, but the
Conningtons, and her dear husband, were less likely to make mischief when there
was a Baratheon for the lesser lords to flock to. 
Dany also felt it was important that the man in charge of keeping the city safe
be someone who understood its people and could treat them with respect, and who
knew the city's underbelly just as well as the base of Aegon's High Hill. She
had learned in Meereen that a column of stone-faced foreign eunuchs patrolling
the streets made the people feel conquered and occupied, and led to resentment.
When it was their own men, they felt protected and cared for. And he gives me
something to gaze upon. At least I can thank the Usurper for that much.
Ruining all of this was Petyr Baelish, Lord Paramount of the Vale, swooping in
just as she was about to sit, and dropping himself right between Varys and
Gendry like a bird shitting in the soup at an outdoor feast. 
Varys could read Dany's face and interjected before it grew ugly. "There is a
grievous and urgent matter before us, Your Grace. Lord Baelish believes he may
be able to help."
"Very well." Dany locked eyes with him as she sat, glaring a warning at him. I
can have Drogon here by evenfall. He'll help you until you're black and
crispy. Littlefinger had managed, against all odds, to escape execution at
Jon's hands, Lady Sansa's, and Dany's. He had redeemed himself in the eyes of
many, however, with his scheme to facilitate the lending of coin between lords
and hasten the rebuilding effort.
Littlefinger had proposed to the lesser lords in the Vale that should one of
them lend coin to another, he would pay the lender the full amount of the
principal, plus four fifths of the agreed-upon interest, if the borrower failed
to pay it back. If the loan was repaid in full, the lender would give
Littlefinger one fifth of the interest he received. The lenders accepted the
smaller profit if it meant Littlefinger bore the risk of loss. When the loans
were repaid, Littlefinger made a handsome profit, and used it to back similar
arrangements elsewhere. The more the lords lent amongst themselves, the more
rebuilding could take place without the help of the Crown's own coffers. The
less strain on the coffers, the more easily the Crown could repay its loan from
the Iron Bank. 
Littlefinger became so confident in the scheme's success that he had begun to
guarantee loans with coin he did not actually have, on the mere expectation
that he will have earned it by the time it would be necessary to pay. Dany
misliked that. It defied reason. 
"How can you pledge coin you don't have? What if so many lords default at the
same time that you can't pay on all your promises?" She asked him once. He so
helpfully explained that she should not concern herself with whether his scheme
would succeed, because he had been Master of Coin when she was still a child,
and that women are better at spending money than making it. She would have had
his tongue on the spot, but Tyrion intervened and she settled for dismissing
him from the meeting at spearpoint. 
Littlefinger had further persuaded the Council, and Tyrion, that the fact that
his grandfather was a Braavosi merchant made him the only man in Westeros who
could treat with the Iron Bank. Dany was convinced he was playing her false and
conspiring with the Bank for his own profit, so she had decreed that Samwell
would send and receive all of his messages, by raven or otherwise, whenever he
was in King's Landing. She was at the end of her rope with the man, and he knew
it. Yet now here he stands.
The rest of the Council sat once Dany and Aegon were seated. "What is this
grievous and urgent matter before us, Lord Varys?"
Without speaking, Varys picked up a purple velvet pouch from under his seat,
placed it in his lap, and dumped its contents on the table. "Gifts, Your
Grace," he explained sadly, "from the First Sword of Braavos."
Dany's heart sank. On the table were a Hand of the Queen pin, and an Unsullied
helm. Gods be good, already? Who warned them? She closed her eyes and sighed,
not daring to look at Littlefinger because she needed some proof this was his
doing before she could kill him with her bare hands.
"Are they dead?"
"No, Your Grace. There is a letter in Lord Tyrion's hand." He retrieved it from
one of the many pockets up his sleeve. "It attests that he, Grey Worm and Lady
Arya are safe and well cared-for. But he says that the Braavosi intend to keep
them until you and King Jon sign a treaty promising not to interfere with their
internal affairs or commerce in slaves."
Lovely. She turned to Sam. "Get a raven to Winterfell."
"At once, Your Grace." Sam rose and left hastily.
"Irri," the girl stepped forward. Get under this table and worship my fucking
cunt like your life depends on it. "The Dothraki are known to roll sourleaves
together, light them and breathe in the smoke. Do you remember those?"
"Of course, Khaleesi."
"I suspect I will need some of those before this is over. Go down to whatever
winesinks the Dothraki screamers frequent. Get as many as you can find."
"At once, Khaleesi." Dany watched her pretty little ass bounce out the door,
wanting nothing more than to grow a cock and fuck it bloody.
Burn it down. Bugger it all. Bugger Tyrion and Grey Worm and Arya, bugger the
Iron Bank, bugger every preening little shit at this table, bugger the First
Sword of the green cloud of dust that used to be Braavos, and bugger his
hideous velvet pouch in particular. I will summon Drogon this instant. He will
be here by evenfall, and Braavos will be gone by dawn. What is so hard for them
to grasp? If you sell slaves, your city burns. It's that simple.
But she could not say that. She knew she must dance the dance first. "What are
our options, my lords?" You all know what I want to do. Please give me
something else.
Silence hung over the room. Dany's look grew more impatient, making everyone
more fearful of speaking. Finally, her gaze turned to Littlefinger.
"What say you, Master of Braavos?" Her voice was dripping with contempt.
Petyr Baelish knew the entire room hated him, most of all the Queen, yet he was
just as smug as on the day they gave him Harrenhal.
"I would suggest we treat with them, Your Grace." Of course you would. He was
repulsive enough when he sat silent, but his voice, and the way he condescended
her, made her skin crawl. "I would wager that the Iron Bank could remedy this
unfortunate situation if we made another payment on the principal of our loan,
and agreed to a slightly higher interest rate on the balance." 
Does he take me for a fool? "Lord Gendry, do you have two coppers, by chance?"
"I believe so, Your Grace." Gendry was good-natured and simply wanted to do his
duty. He would be so beautiful on his knees at my feet.
"Good. Take those two coppers and sail to Braavos. Leave one at the door of the
Iron Bank, then come back here and hand the other to Littlefinger. It's simpler
that way." She heard Varys suck his breath in through his teeth, and a chuckle
from Arianne. Her eyes dared Lord Baelish to deny it, but he sank back in his
chair and kept his mouth shut. I've learned to play your game; now you're
learning to play mine.
She looked around the room once more. "None of the sharpest minds in Westeros
have a real plan?" You do realize what will happen if no one suggests
otherwise, don't you? You must!
Aegon chimed in. "Before you decide, you should appoint an acting Hand, Your
Grace." That caught her off guard. "It will help you come up with a plan. Like
Tyrion would do. There is no need to act this instant. Take a few days. Play it
all out in your head before you act. You're a woman of strong principles, my
love. But sometimes you would benefit from some wise counsel." 
It was not the worst idea, but she misliked how he said it.
"And who would you suggest as acting Hand?"
"Perhaps I should, at least for the nonce." 
The silence hanging over the room grew thicker and more tense. YOU? Dany could
not muster any words that she could say in front of others, and was stifling a
laugh regardless.
"Any doubt about the unity of our House would be a sign of weakness," he
continued. Did he just call me weak? Someone must have put him up to this, Dany
was sure of it. It was a master stroke. She could not put him back in his
place, lest she prove his point. 
Her mind moved the imaginary cyvasse pieces all over the board. I could put him
in the dungeons this instant, but I'd be named a tyrant. I could charge him
with the rescue mission instead, but he's an utter fool and would get them
killed for naught. Her only choice in front of the Council was to agree to it
and plan her next move later.
"I think that would be wise." She was as pleasant as she could be, but the
words tasted like bile in her mouth, and she had to hide the surprise,
uneasiness, and resignation in her voice. "Aegon of the House Targaryen, I name
you acting Hand in Lord Tyrion's absence." 
Dany made all the right noises for the rest of the meeting, but the Dragon
stirred as soon as she and Aegon were out of earshot of the rest of them, on
their way back to their chambers, flanked by the Queensguard.
"Care to explain what that was about, my dear husband?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you take me for a fool? You said precisely what those who would have my
head on a spike say. That I'm mad. That I can't be trusted to make decisions.
That it's only a matter of time before I burn the world down."
"Had I held my tongue, Drogon would be on his way here, and a raven on its way
to Dragonstone with orders to ready the wildfire. Might be you would stop the
slave trade, but you would kill thousands, including two of your closest
advisors and friends, and your closest ally's own beloved cousin. To someone
who does not live inside your own mind, is what they say so absurd?" They both
knew the answer, but Dany did not want to admit it. "You're a Targaryen. The
gods flipped their coin. Yours is still spinning on the table."
"And your coin? I have yet to see it, truth be told." 
Aegon leaned in closer. "You just did."
So this is the way of it, she thought, as they reached the door to their
chambers. Very well. "I saw a smug, grasping man whose only contributions to
the War were to surrender his army and fuck me. The only coin I've ever seen
from you has come from Illyrio's pocket."
"Oh, right, Father, you mean!" He mocked.
"Mayhaps we'll ask the Realm what they think." 
"Go ahead, proclaim me your 'Mummer's Dragon.' No mummer's dragon ever burnt a
city of innocents to the ground."
That hurt. "I'm sleeping in the Hand's chambers tonight."
"By all means, please do, my love. All I ask is that you go easy on your
handmaiden tonight. She's only a savage. It's not her fault." He smiled and
shut the door, and Dany went white.
Dany spent that evening in the Hand's chamber, reading by the brazier just as
voraciously as Tyrion Lannister ever had, and trying her best to escape the
fear that Aegon's remark had put into her. What does he know? Who told him? How
can I stop him? What would I do if he told? She had told no one, of course, but
the fear consumed her more than the threat of war.
She had commanded Samwell to bring her any books he could find that discuss any
previous attempt to take Braavos by land. And he did. None of them had
succeeded. She hated it, but she knew Littlefinger was right, and that she must
at least attempt to treat with them, doubtful as she was that it would
succeed. I'm a woman. No one surrenders to me until they're staring into the
dragon's mouth.
As she finished her fourth tale of a foreign fleet breaking itself on the rocks
under the Titan, she could no longer resist the need to make water. She had
been trying avoid the privy in the Hand's chamber. All she could picture was
Tywin Lannister's stinking corpse with Tyrion's crossbow bolt in it. She saw
herself in Tywin's place, alone, facing some murderer that her mind's eye could
not quite identify. A shadowy, amorphous figure with no face. Aegon? Tyrion?
Have I betrayed him? Become the Mad Queen? Cersei with Silver Hair? Is it
Illyrio? Did he truly mean to help me all along? Was I wrong that he wanted to
sell me? Should I have given him a lordship, and not fed him to the dragons,
looted his manse and taken his ships? Or Jon? For putting Lady Arya in harm's
way because I'm a stubborn cunt who can't just leave it be? As she finished,
there was a meek knock on the door, and she called for them to enter. The dim
light from brazier revealed Irri's face, but it was the only light in the room
save for a small candle, and its shadow was cast all over her.
She seemed blissfully ignorant that anyone had threatened to expose them. In
her hands was a small box of sourleaf rolls. She could not see Dany in the
threshold of the privy. "Khaleesi?" 
Dany wanted to hold her; to kiss her; to flay her alive; to mount her head on a
spike; to fuck her; to run away with her and never speak of any of this again;
to beat her bloody and mark her face with her cunt. She had no proof that Irri
had told anyone, but who else could it be?
"Sit, sweetling," she smiled, emerging into the center of the room and pointing
to a seat by the brazier, opposite where she had been reading. I cannot do this
tonight.
Irri sat, and placed the box on a small table next to her. 
The Queen took a sourleaf roll from the box, put it to her lips, and lit it
with the candle. The smoke filled her lungs and spread through her, making her
head feel as if it were floating. She sat, closed her eyes, leaned back, and
savored the fleeting weakness it made her feel.
"Today was a hard day, was it not?"
"It was, Khaleesi. May I pleasure your royal body to melt it all away?" Dany
had taught the girl to phrase such questions as a request for permission; not
an offer to fulfill an obligation. She needed to learn that the pain and
torment Dany gave her was a high privilege. Dany relished that, as she put the
sourleaf back to her lips. She could grind her cunt on the girl's face all she
wanted, but when it was over, soon or late Irri would wash it off, and it would
be as if it never happened. But the damage she did on the inside would stay
with her forever. 
In the market in the newly-freed Volantis, they saw a merchant who made
sculptures by beating copper, and twisting it into different shapes. In some
ways, Dany envied him. He spends his days pounding away at it, twisting it
until it's exactly how he wants it. He had no other care or burden in the
world. No armies, no enemies, no alliances, no Small Council. It must have been
so peaceful for him. To think of naught but how to beat and twist and bend that
raw sheet of copper until it was precisely as he pleased. Dany was not so
fortunate. She could beat the copper skin of her sweet slut, but she could only
twist her mind, and so she savored every reminder of the perfect, obedient
whore she had sculpted her into. 
When her mind was not so clouded by lust, she knew that no matter how Irri
phrased the question, this was not a privilege on her part. She may have grown
to love it, but the privilege was Daenerys Stormborn's, the Mother of Dragons,
to hurt this poor girl and know that naught would come of it. Is that the truth
of it, though?
"Perhaps," Dany finally responded, after a long silence. She looked at Irri's
eyes. There was an eagerness that pleased her, but an uneasiness as well.
"Thank you, Khaleesi. How else may I be of service?"
Confess that you told our secret so that I may have your head and be done with
it. "Get me some wine."
The girl rose to search for a flagon, as Dany watched her move. She loved every
curve of that body, and could watch it all day. It was small and vulnerable,
and made her want to do so many wicked things. She was leering, maliciously,
the way so many men had leered at her; Khals, slavers, sellswords and sailors
who didn't know better. But they were all dead, and most died screaming. Could
she do the same to me? The thought unnerved her. She could not conceive of how
she would, but neither could her father conceive that Jaime Lannister would
drive a sword through his back, nor could Lord Tywin conceive that his own son
would murder him, right where I was just having a piss. Suddenly, Dany was
fearful. It can't be her. The walls have eyes. They're here now. They must be.
The girl came back with her wine and set it in her hands. Dany took a sip.
"Kneel," she commanded, sweetly. The girl dropped to her knees, looking up at
her with nothing but love and devotion in her dark brown, almond-shaped eyes.
It reminded Dany of the way her dragons looked at her when they were babes.
Their entire world revolved around her; her mood, her whims, her choice to feed
them, or not, or make them work for it. She couldn't have done it. Dany smiled
down, rested her feet on the girl's knees and dug her toes into the soft, warm
flesh of her thighs. If she did, could I truly give her up? Dany had planned to
finish one last chapter on an attempt by the Lyseni to enter Braavos under a
peace banner and attack from within, but she knew she'd had enough for the
evening. Her sourleaf was almost finished. "Put your tongue out."
Irri presented her tongue. Dany took the sourleaf and pressed the smoldering
end onto the girl's tongue, pinching it with her other hand so she couldn't
snap her slutty little mouth shut like the insolent cunt she was. The tears
welling in her eyes were moistening Dany's cunt as she pressed and ground the
sourleaf into her tongue. Stop when they start to roll down her face, but not
before. 
It happened too soon for Dany's liking, but she thought it best to show mercy
until the girl had had a chance to learn. "We shall work on that." She slapped
her weak little face. "That's for being so quick to tears."
"Thank you, Khaleesi. Please teach me what it means to suffer." 
Dany put her foot to Irri's mouth and she went to work, needing no further
instruction. It tickled a little, but there was something immensely satisfying
to watch this girl kiss the soles of her feet. She'd had her feet kissed
before, by mobs of freed slaves to show their gratitude, and while there was
gratitude in Irri's eyes tonight, this was different. She wasn't merely adoring
her Khaleesi, as a good slut should; she was debasing herself for her
amusement. These were not light, sweet kisses. They were hungry. They were
desperate. With them came long, deep breaths through her nose; loving rubs that
relaxed Dany's entire body, and a tongue blissfully licking the dirt from
between each of her toes. She sucks them like she sucks a cock, Dany thought.
And if there's one thing a wanton savage whore does well, it's suck a cock.
Dany sipped her wine, touched her cunt, observed this girl in abject worship of
her, and pondered. I must know, she told herself. I'd be a fool to pretend that
Aegon didn't say what he did. She was right, of course, but this felt too
good. Later. If he already knows, one more time won't hurt. The sensations in
her feet when Irri did this for her were more arousing than she would have
thought before the first time she felt them, but her cunt was still the center
of this girl's world; it was her purpose; her god; and Dany was growing wetter
and wanted more and more to remind her of it.
"That's enough, sweetling."
Irri looked up. Dany looked down at her and spread her legs ever so slightly.
She no longer needed words for most of her commands. The girl smiled, like a
child eyeing a sweet in her hand, and slowly moved her head toward Dany's wet,
coated thighs.
"Slowly for now. I'm tired. I need to feel worshipped." Soon or late, she would
become much rougher, but for now, Dany simply craned her neck back, arched her
back, and ran her fingers through Irri's hair as she did her job. She began to
moan softly, but her pleasure was muted by a disturbing thought. Am I taking my
pleasure from a traitor? Is she doing this so I will come to depend on her? She
decided to broach the subject ever so lightly.
"Sweetling?" She pushed Irri's head into her crotch so she knew not to stop
just yet. "Has anyone ever asked you how I treat my servants?" 
Irri looked up into Dany's eyes and shrugged. My gods, those eyes.
"Speak, slut. I don't know what that means."
Irri took her mouth off Dany's cunt just enough so it wouldn't muffle her
words. "Now and again, Khaleesi," she explained, still teasing Dany's clit with
her tongue between words. "New girls, mostly." She picked up where she started,
while Dany pondered if she had seen any new girls around the Red Keep lately.
None came to mind, but that meant little. Handmaidens were abundant at court.
There was always a new one coming or going, and Dany had stopped trying to
remember each face.
"What do you tell them?"
A flash of concern crossed Irri's face. "That you are kind; you treat me well.
That you're open-handed, and you care for my happiness." Dany was not entirely
satisfied with that; surely Irri knew what she wanted to hear, and she
regretted asking a question with such an obvious right answer. But her cunt was
more dissatisfied with the interruption than her mind was. She pulled the
girl's head back to her crotch, rolled her hips into her face, and set her back
to work.
As her pleasure became more intense, so did her urge to give this slut the pain
she deserved. And so did the nagging feeling that the more she let her lap away
at her cunt like nothing had happened, the bigger the fool she was making
herself. She abruptly yanked the girl's hair back and glared down at her.
"That's all you tell them?" Irri looked up at her, confused, like she had
forgotten what Dany was referring to. Dany smacked her across the face with her
palm, and again with her backhand. "Answer me. You don't tell them what a
depraved whore I've made you?"
Irri's eyes widened. "No, Khaleesi, of course not!"
Don't 'of course' me, slut. I don't know what you do when you're off wherever
whores go. She slapped her again. "You're certain?"
Irri's voice began to shake and she looked as if she was about to cry. It
wasn't the slap to her face. She could take much worse than that before she
cried. Is this fear of being punished for something she didn't do? Or does she
have something to confess? "I would never, Khaleesi, I swear it!"
Dany had had enough. She kicked the girl back onto her elbows, straddled her
and pinned her down by the neck. If he wanted me to go easy on her, he should
have held his tongue. "Don't lie to me, cunt!" She squeezed her slut's throat
harder, watching her struggle to breathe. I know, I could kill you right now.
They'd find your corpse with the juice of my cunt all over it. "It's your head
if you lie to me. Do you forget who I am?! Do you?!!"
Irri frantically shook her head no. Her face was turning purple, her eyes
bulging as she reached for Dany's arm. Dany grabbed her hand, twisted her
wrist, and when she recoiled, reached back smacked her cunt. She let out a
beautifully pathetic, terrified squeal. 
I am not some foreign Queen. She is not some eastern curiosity to show off at
court. I am the one true Khaleesi of all her people. I murdered the Khals who
challenged me. I stood in a blaze, watched their eyes melt from their faces,
and emerged unburnt before all of Vaes Dothrak. She forgets herself. Dany
positioned herself and began to grind her cunt against Irri, switching to her
native Dothraki, to remind her who she was. "I will have you raped to death by
every horse in my stables," she promised, grinding, raping her, body and mind.
"They'll rip your asshole open wide enough so I can reach into it and feed you
your own shit while you bleed out." With each thrust of her hips she broke the
girl a little more. "You're not good enough for the headsman's block. You're
not good enough for dragon fire. You're not good enough for the stake. You're
not good enough for the flaying knife. If you must die, you will die as you
were meant to live; as human fodder for the Dragon inside me to consume."
Dany felt something warm and wet between her legs; Irri had pissed herself from
fear. She laughed at that, and felt herself growing closer to the height of her
pleasure. Consumed with rage and lust, Dany pressed both her thumbs into the
girl's throat, grinding furiously against her, as hard as she had ever ridden a
man's cock. She will draw her last breath soon if I don't stop. I must stop. If
I murder her, they'll believe whatever Aegon says. But the feeling was too
good. I must stop. This is too much. I love her. I would be lost without
her. All the feelings melted together into one blinding cloud in her mind. Rage
and lust, fear, guilt, a desperate desire not to lose one of the only people
who had served her without question and without serving her own interests
first. Don't become your father, don't become your father, don't become your
father. You're better than that. You're not Viserys. Viserys was no true
dragon. You are your House's legacy. Don't let it die like this. That was the
only thought that could stop her.
Dany released her grip and cupped the girl's face as she gasped for breath. She
wanted to convey love, and an unspoken apology, but her face was beyond her
control as she came close to the edge. She leaned in to kiss her precious slut,
to thank her for being so brave, and reassure her that she was safe, and would
always be safe. But as their lips touched, Dany felt a sudden, sharp, blinding
pain and tasted blood in her mouth as Irri's teeth dug into her tongue. She
recoiled out of reflex, but before she could recover, she felt a sting on the
left side of her face and felt herself roll onto her back. 
"STOP! STOP! NO MORE! PLEASE! STOP!" Irri shouted as Dany looked up at her,
stunned. Is this truly happening? The tip of her tongue was numb, and she felt
warm blood in the back of her throat. She tried to spit it in Irri's face, but
it only landed weakly on her own stomach. She's won.
"No!" Dany put her hands up, defeated. 
Irri was still bombarding her. "Will you stop, Khaleesi?! Will you stop?!"
Dany nodded. "Yes! Yes! I'll stop." She tried to calm her voice as a gesture of
sincerity. It was shaking. Nobody had struck Daenerys Stormborn since Viserys,
and Viserys died screaming. But this girl cared not in the least. She knows I
love her more than I ever loved that monster. Please, let that be true.
Irri released her and she rolled onto her side, coughing and gasping.
"Why, Khaleesi?! What have I ever done to you?!" She truly doesn't know.
"He knows about us," Dany told her, dragging herself up off her back and
supporting herself on her elbows.
Irri's face grew concerned again. "Who knows?"
"Aegon."
"What does he know?" She was still on her knees, but towered over Dany, no
longer in submission to her.
"I don't know. But he knows something. We quarreled."
"And you think I betrayed you?"
"I don't know who else it would be. Do you?"
"I would never do that, Khaleesi, I swear it!"
"Why should I believe you?"
"You answered your own question a moment ago."
Dany had no answer to that. The girl had the right of it. I should have let
them kill me in the fighting pit. I should have let Euron do what he would with
me.
"And if it were not that, it would be a headsman. For treasonous slander.
Please don't deny it." She couldn't. "You may still think I'm playing you
false. But please, for the love you say you bear me, if you mean to kill me,
just slit my throat and be done with it. I have served you so faithfully and
asked so little. Please, do me this one mercy." They were both wiping away
tears. "If you mean to do it, do it."
Dany could not do it. I would be cutting out a part of myself.
"You know I would never do that. Right?" Right?!
"You did not come this far to be undone by your serving girl," she continued.
"You may love me, but you love your birthright more. There are many like me;
there is only one Iron Throne."
"There are none like you."
"Then why do you do these things to me?"
Blood of the Dragon. Rage. Emptiness. Numbness. Because I can. Because it's all
I know how to do. Because a Queen can never show weakness. Ever. Lest some man
decide he's more fit to rule. Because to rid the world of monsters I had to
become one. You choose. "Because it makes me happy like nothing else. It makes
me fall so deeply in love with you all over again each time I see you suffer.
But I cherish you for letting me. No one else would do this for me." She
paused. "I thought you knew."
"You've never said that before. How am I to know?"
"Do you want me to dismiss you? Do you want me to put you up in some manse,
with servants of your own? You can live out your days in peace and want for
nothing." She had earned it many times over.
"You are my Khaleesi. I pledged my life to you, and you've done me a great
honor by keeping me at your side all this time. And you've changed me. I want
this now. I want the pain. I want to suffer for you. I want you to break me and
build me up, and break me all over again. All I ask is to know that if I'm to
give my life for you, it will be at the hands of a foe, not your own. If you
cannot grant me that, then yes, I would beg your leave to be dismissed from
your service. But I would be a girl without purpose. Wandering. Empty. And I do
not want that. I want you, Daenerys. I want all the love and all the pain you
have to give me."
"You have my word."
"I need more than that. You've said so many sweet words to me before, and just
now you almost drained the life from me. I need to trust you."
No man had ever mistrusted Daenerys before. Some should have, but they peddled
in treachery and deserved a taste of it themselves. To those she had no quarrel
with, Dany prided herself as a woman of her word. "How can I convince you to
trust me?" Her voice was breaking; her eyes pleading, begging.
Irri stood. "I don't know," she replied frankly. Still weak and sore, Dany
lifted an arm up toward her, unable to pick up her own weight. Irri extended
her forearm downward for Dany to grasp, and pulled her up. She could barely
stand. Irri held her arm, put a hand on her shoulder, and guided her to the
bed.
Now the most powerful, loved, hated, and feared woman in the world was curled
up in the fetal position, shaking, blubbering, and sobbing into her pillow
while her handmaiden, whom she almost murdered, lit a roll of sourleaf for
herself and stroked her pure, silver hair. 
"I held you as you cried yourself to sleep the night you let that strange
oarsman rape me. Do you remember?"
Dany was in no state to answer with words, so she mustered the strength to nod
just enough for Irri to notice and respond.
"I cannot bring myself to do that again tonight. But I want to. I love you. I
cannot bear to see you in pain, even when you need to feel it." 
Dany did not know what to do with that. She inched closer.
There was a knock at the door. Dany faced away from the bed, but did her best
to compose herself so whoever it was could not see her shaking. She felt Irri
get up to answer.
"The Khaleesi is asleep," she told the visitor. "She had taken ill earlier."
"Oh...well, would she like me to bring her something?" Maester Samwell asked.
No! Dany wanted naught to do with anyone but the filthy little slut who was her
only source of strength and whom she'd almost extinguished for no good reason.
"No. She bid me not to disturb her. She needs rest, is all."
"Ah. Well, there's been a raven from Winterfell. The King in the North rides
for White Harbor. He means to sail as soon as he can, with every ship he can
spare."
Dany's ears stood up.
"He received a gift from Braavos as well, it would seem."
Her heart raced. She had not seen Jon since Castle Black, when he spent a
fortnight making her cunt ache. He means to go to war. She would worry about
the war when she had grown back to more than just a hollowed out shell of a
woman. Yet she could feel herself stirring.
"I will tell her," Irri replied, and shut the door.
When she returned to the bed, Dany looked up at her.
"Did you hear, Khaleesi?"
"Yes. Fetch Samwell before he gets too far. I will need dreamwine. I can't
think about it now. I must regain my taste for it."
"For war?"
Dany stared forward blankly. "For fresh meat."
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
***** Jon I *****
Chapter Summary
     "Fortunately, the suitor is already on his knees."--Daenerys, Game of
     Thrones Season 5, Episode 5
Jon hurried to the threshold of the Small Council chamber and grabbed
Missandei's arm before she could start. "Forgive me, my lady, but can we forego
the titles?" He was in no mood.
Missandei looked at Dany, who was already standing at the table next to Aegon.
Dany nodded understandingly and waved him in. Jon entered, followed by Lord
Davos, and Tormund, his Master of War.
The whole day had been superfluous fanfare. Dany and Aegon sent an honor guard
to escort him from his ship when he arrived in King's Landing, and greeted him
in the outer bailey of the Red Keep with half their court on hand as if neither
had ever met him before. But he needed the Iron Throne's men to get Arya back,
and the promise of their backing if it came to open war, so he had to endure
it.
Save for Sam, Dany's was the only face Jon was glad to see. The last time he
laid eyes on her was at Castle Black. Her scent was still on his cock when she
rode south; her taste still on his tongue. The whole fortnight prior had been a
blur of fucking, biting, sucking, smacking, pulling, choking, and screaming.
They were like wolf pups playing; snapping at each other, each trying to pin
the other down until one of them got too excited, then breaking off for ten
minutes and starting again. Sam must be giving Aegon some kind of tea. I don't
know how he could do that every day.
Now, after he'd barely had a chance to bathe and change his clothes, Aegon was
insisting on more pointless ceremony. "Your Excellency," the King began. "I
present to you, the--"
"The Small Council. I know them well. Thank you, Your Grace." Jon bowed
politely to curb his desire to punch this man right in his pretty, smug face.
He had known most of the Small Council for longer than Aegon, and had met the
other two attendees, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater and Jon Connington, barely an
hour earlier. He'd heard things about Bronn, most of which were confirmed when
he acknowledged himself with a smile and wave while everyone else went to one
knee. Jon immediately preferred Bronn to the rest.
Dany sat, the rest followed, and Jon started talking before any of these fools
could get a word out. "Braavos depends on an aqueduct for fresh water. We can
land a small force well south of the city and avoid their defenses. Take the
aqueduct and they're at our mercy. Demand they release Arya and the rest, and
as soon as their ship passes into open water, everyone goes home." So get your
fucking men and let's go, he wanted to shout. He could not bear the thought of
Arya in a cell for another moment.
Aegon smiled unctuously. "No one understands your desire to get your cousin
back more than I do, Your Excellency." Stop calling me that. "But we think it
best to treat with them first." 
'We'? Jon looked around the table. No one else appeared to think much of
anything. "With all due respect, Your Grace, what would we trade for their
return? If we had the coin to repay the Iron Bank's loan, we'd have done it
already. And we have nothing else they want, except the promise not to smash
their slave trade." He looked at Dany when he said that, hoping she would back
him up, but she ignored him. Jon grew more concerned with every word Aegon
said, and every word Dany did not. 
"Your Excellency," Lord Connington turned to Jon. Stop it! "If we send too
large a force, we forfeit surprise. Too small, and they'll send a larger one
and throw us back into the sea." 
That's the way of war, you dusty old cunt.
"A thousand men," Davos interjected. "If we take strong defensive positions,
they'd have to work to get us out. And if we pack our men tight, it's few
enough ships that no one will take note."
"And where will we get these thousand men?" Connington's tone was patronizing.
"We already brought half of 'em with us. They're on your docks, filling up your
brothels and pot shops as we speak. Round up some Goldcloaks and we can sail on
the evening tide."
"We received no word of this," Varys replied, concerned.
"Good, then we're right about the surprise."
Aegon was visibly frustrated. "If they throw us back into the sea, as Lord
Connington suggests, they'd still have our hostages. More like than not, they'd
capture our officers, take our ships, and make us look like fools to the rest
of the Free Cities."
"They won't. Not after Driftmark." Davos declared. He loosed that arrow too
early.
Jon looked to Daenerys. Say something! But she sat stone-faced, so it fell to
him. "If the tales are true, the Queen has a terrible new weapon at her
disposal. The first wind our scouts get of Braavosi soldiers, we--" he paused.
He had expected Daenerys to be pounding the table, demanding war by now. "--
they would send a raven to Dragonstone, and if it please Her Grace, she could--
"
"Fly low over the city as a threat," Dany finally interjected. "Would that it
were that simple, but I'm afraid it won't work. Varys says they are counting on
that, and have built trebuchets all around the harbor. It would be too risky." 
Dany was Jon's best shot at a quick, favorable resolution, and now it seemed he
would need to do it the hard way. "My Kingdom can't afford a ransom. Yours
can't either, unless you pay them in their own coin."
"My sweet nephew," Dany replied, as if she had a spear at her back, "it's only
fair that we treat with them first. After these terrible wars, we must return
to the unspoken protocols of statecraft. Should we attack without treating with
them first, we risk breaking the fragile peace we've built with the Free
Cities."
Jon could not stop the shock that flashed across his face. This was not the
Daenerys Stormborn he knew. That one had no use for keeping a fragile peace.
She made certain it was iron-clad from the start, or she decimated it. That was
Aegon speaking, he suspected.
"You're welcome to try it yourself, but we cannot agree to this until our other
options have failed," the King declared.
Jon made one last, desperate attempt. "If we go to them under a peace banner,
what's to stop them from taking the envoys hostage as well?" 
"They won't." Aegon seemed quite certain of that.
Jon sighed, defeated. "Very well, I suppose it's settled then. Tormund will
represent the North, and speak on my behalf."
"I'd love to go, thanks for asking," Tormund joked, to the group. Aegon raised
an eyebrow and shot Varys a look. Jon shot one at the Wildling. Not funny.
Aegon nodded. "Very well. Ser Bronn, Lady Arianne, and Lord Gendry will speak
for the Queen and myself." All Dany's and Tyrion's, he could not help but note.
It was not lost on Dany, either. She'd played the good wife thus far, but her
face could no longer mask her fury.
"Done. We will feast tonight in honor of our esteemed guests. Meanwhile, I
promised Lord Connington that I'd destroy him in a round of cyvasse." Aegon's
smiling gaze lingered on the old lord. 
Oh, so that's what they call it now?
With that, the meeting adjourned. Aegon and Lord Connington exited first, as
Tormund remained at the table to consult with his southern counterparts. Jon's
gaze met Dany's and they circled the table to hug each other warmly.
"We'll speak later." She pre-empted him. Good, then I'm not imagining it. "For
now, let me just enjoy laying eyes on you again. It's been far too long." 
This was the part of the trip he feared the most. He detested King's Landing
intrigue, but could manage it well enough, and this war would be a small, silly
thing compared to the others. But Daenerys was a different sort of beast.
He wanted her, of course, but she belonged to another man now. The passion they
shared at Castle Black came spontaneously. Their blood was hot and they were
rejoicing in simply being alive. But this time was different. There was
business to be done, eyes watching them, plots and counterplots, and rumors
true and false.
I could fuck her, get caught, lose my head, and start a war. I could try to
fuck her and she might refuse me and think me a lecher. I could fuck her and
not be as good as last time, or not as good as Aegon. I could refuse her in the
name of my stupid fucking honor, and lose any chance of having her again. I
could fuck her and fall in love with her but she might love me not. Or I could
fuck her and we could fall in love with each other. That last one was the most
dangerous, he knew. Or I could just fuck her and go home with fond memories and
leave it be. Why must I always think so much?
But in this moment, he had no time to think, and no choice but to smile and
make pleasantries.
"I could not agree more. It's so good to see you." Do I have naught else to
say? He paused, letting the silence hang in the air between them. I can't tell
her how I want to paint the inside of her cunt white. Not here. So I suppose I
don't. 
"How have you been?" She took his hands in hers, and he bit his lip to ignore
his cock. "How have you not wed yet?"
Did she mean something by that? No. Stop thinking. Answer the question. "I
don't really know," he shrugged, stupidly, before thinking of a better answer.
"I want to marry for love, not dowries. I can't do that until I can be a truly
devoted husband, and for the nonce I'm simply too busy." She'll like that.
Dany smiled warmly. "You'll be the finest husband, I'm certain. I envy and
admire you for waiting like that." There was a hint of wistfulness on her face.
Good, she liked it. "You're too kind." He felt silly addressing her so
stiffly. When can I finally be alone with her?
Dany caught Ser Bronn as he was leaving and waved him over, trying not to draw
attention to herself. "What do you think of this plan?" She asked him, clearly
knowing the answer.
"Needs more throat cutting and key stealing, if you ask me." Good man.
Dany nodded. "Excellent. Add some at your discretion."
Bronn made some motion approximating a bow. Before he turned and left, he eyed
Jon up and down, twice for good measure, and smiled at the Queen. "I could see
it." He told her, and saw himself out.
Dany turned back to Jon and batted a hand dismissively in Bronn's direction. "I
know you don't want to go to this feast. I'll make certain we don't stay a
minute longer than needed. There's much to catch up on."
Am I the only man alive who doesn't know what that means? "I would be very
grateful."
Something flashed in her purple eyes when she heard that. "I would expect
nothing less." Dany kissed him on the cheek and left. The feeling of her lips
on his skin even for that brief moment gave him a head rush.
The feast was a tedious affair. Jon sat on the dais in a place of honor to the
Queen's right. Daenerys, as expected, was a goddess in the flesh. She had
braided her hair and changed into an evening dress in the colors of her House.
The black and red suited her. She looked beautiful in nearly anything she wore,
but tonight she reminded the world, and him, precisely who she was and why she
sat at the center of the dais.
Jon understood why there were so many guests queued up to meet him. He was one
of their two saviors, and the one sitting to his left was now in charge of
collecting their taxes, so all they wanted with her was to lodge complaints
about their neighbors' nightsoil and the price of beets. Jon lost count of the
times a man already in his cups leaned in and whispered that he should fuck the
Queen while he was here. No, I shouldn't, but that won't stop me from trying.
The only one who seemed to enjoy this was Aegon. He was a sack of cunts on a
good day, but tonight he outdid himself. The King told stories of Jon's valor,
though he'd never seen it himself. He boasted of his own, though no one at all
had seen it, ever. He spewed platitudes about how the Braavosi will learn what
Westeros does to its enemies, though he had just decided to do nothing.
After the fourth or fifth course, the Queen's handmaiden came by to refill
their wine. Dany motioned for her to come closer and whispered in her ear.
"Mix in some dreamwine for my husband. He need not know." Thank the gods. Under
different circumstances he might have objected to her methods, but now he would
settle for anything to get his ass out of that chair.
Her response was terse for a girl who was usually all smiles and courtesies.
"Yes, Khaleesi."
"Is that alright?" The Queen asked, her own voice tense. Odd... Daenerys was
not one to ask her servants if they approved of her commands. The girl merely
nodded, not even looking at her, and left. 
A fleeting, pained look crossed Dany's face. "Once he goes to bed, we'll walk
the battlements together. There are pressing matters to discuss."
Jon nodded, still unsure whether those matters involved statecraft, love, or
both. He merely hoped that he wouldn't bugger up the whole continent by the end
of it.
Mercifully, the dreamwine worked its magic, and the King was soon enough
yawning and struggling to keep his eyes open. Once he left, Dany summoned two
of her Queensguard and commanded that they escort her and Jon out through
separate doors, and bring them both to the battlements near the Maidenvault.
Their walk was silent for a few moments, as Dany looked around to be certain
they were alone.
"Aegon has caused me some difficulty, I fear," she finally admitted. "And for
the nonce there's little I can do. I confess I did not see it coming."
"What happened?"
Dany hesitated. "Matters of the heart."
They kept walking, slowly. Jon was unsure what to say, or what to do with his
hands. 
"Does he want you to simply accept it?" He asked, assuming they both knew what
the other meant.
"Accept what?"
"You know. Connington."
"What about him?"
"Oh--I'm sorry, I shouldn't--"
"No, no. Tell me what you meant," she commanded.
Congratulations, you just buggered up the whole continent. "Have you ever
actually seen them play cyvasse? You know him better than I, but he seems to
lack the patience for a game like that. And I'm sure you've heard tales of
Connington and my father..."
It suddenly hit her. "Oh, gods. You think--"
"I'm almost certain."
"How are you almost certain?"
"I was in the Night's Watch, I know when two men are fucking each other."
"...That little shit! Of course!" She grabbed his arm, seemingly more wroth at
herself for not noticing sooner, than at the betrayal itself. 
"I'm sorry, I thought you knew." He made an awkward move to hug her, but
stopped halfway through.
"No, but sweet Mother's mercy, how could I have missed it!"
"I'm truly sorry, I can only imagine how painful--"
"Oh, no, I like this."
What game is she playing, and why must everyone here always be playing one? He
decided not to ask.
Another long silence followed. Jon was even more uncertain what to do with his
hands. Put them behind your back. It's casual, but kingly.
They stopped as they neared the Hand's chambers. "Do you ever feel like the
gods have made us the center of some cruel jape?" Dany asked him, staring into
the distance.
"You believe in the gods?"
"No. In fact, that's part of the jape."
What is she going on about? "If they don't exist, how can they make japes?"
She sighed. "I mean have you ever felt like you've finally gotten everything
you wanted, and now that you have it, you wished you didn't?"
"What do you mean?"
"I've been fighting for this Throne since I was a child. I have it now, but
every time I try to use the power it gives me, someone tells me I can't. I
can't levy taxes or I'm a tyrant. I can't spend less coin or I'm neglecting the
Realm. I'm weak if abide slavery in the Free Cities, but I'm mad if I threaten
war to stop it. I can't say that I don't believe in the gods because I'd face
revolt by all manner of fanatics. I can't be too pious or the maesters will
call me a fanatic. And on, and on, and on."
"I never wanted to rule. I ruled because I had to," Jon replied.
"Yes. But Ramsay Bolton been dead for how long, now? And look where you are.
Ruling. That's your half of the jape. You want to be in King's Landing tonight
like you want to get buggered with a rusty spike."
Jon paused. Truth now. "King's Landing mocks Eddard Stark as an honorable fool,
but his line ruled the North for 8,000 years."
Dany nodded, conceding the point but still staring into oblivion.
"Yours ruled for 300. Your father lost the Realm because he deserved to. You
had to come back with dragons. You had to save the Realm. You had to prove
you're not mad like him. You still have to prove that every day, after all
you've done."
She shot him a warning to tread carefully, but he continued.
"The Starks have ruled for so long because we give our people a reason to want
it." He continued. "We don't rule through fear, or try to blind their
imaginations to a world without us. We listen to them. We dispense justice as
fairly as we can. We give them food, lend them coin, and drive robbers from
their lands. We bend without breaking. They say we're too stiff, and not
treacherous enough. But no one ever questions whether the Starks care about
their subjects."
Dany's silence bothered him, so he continued, foolishly. "Cersei Lannister did
all she did because deep down, she truly thought she would make a better ruler
than Robert. She may have even been right. But she never gave anyone a reason
to believe it. All she showed the Realm was treachery and feuds. Maybe if she
had--"
Dany turned to him, the torchlight reflecting in her eyes. "Are you saying I'm
Cersei fucking Lannister? I have given my life to putting this Realm back
together after years of senseless wars that your beloved Cersei Lannister
started! Do not presume--"
The damage is done, just tell her what she needs to hear. "I presume nothing,
Daenerys. I'm simply telling you what I see. You love your people, but they
don't see that. They see you changing all manner of ancient laws, and they know
why you'd want to, but they don't know why they should want it too. They don't
see why your will for them is better than anyone else's, or their own. And they
must, if you're to keep ruling them. You should know that at least as well as I
do."
Dany was frustrated, clearly. "Men followed me unflinchingly through far worse
times than these."
"You're right. But they did because you gave them a reason to. You gave them
courage when they were afraid. You fed them and cared for their sick.
Personally. At your own peril, when your men warned against it. You made your
people feel safe in serving you, because they knew you would do what's best for
them, not just yourself. If you want to rule like a true Queen, become the
child wandering the desert with nothing again." 
Jon could tell she was holding back tears. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to--"
"No, no. It's hard to hear, but you have the right of it. I worked so hard
to not become this kind of Queen, but all I do now is bicker with my Council
and plot intrigue. I've failed my people."
"We all fail them somehow. There is too much to do, not enough time, not enough
coin, and too many men like Aegon. You're a better ruler than most, and at your
best, you show a greatness that comes along once in a thousand years. But you
must always be at your best, and you must show it to your whole Realm, from
high lords to street beggars." 
Dany turned, hugged him, and rested her head on his chest. Jon hugged back,
loosely, unsure what was appropriate. Another long silence followed.
"Have you ever been truly in love with a woman?" She asked, breaking the hug
and looking up into his eyes. The change of subject was welcome.
"Only once, but yes, I have." Would have been twice, but you left Castle Black
too soon.
Dany hesitated. "I've loved a woman." 
Feign surprise. 
"Truly?" You're shit at feigning surprise.
Dany nodded. "Aegon knows about her. That's why he's being so bold."
"Who? Asha Greyjoy?" He had seen the way she and Asha would look at each other,
just as lustily as she had ever looked at him, and Jon wagered they'd spent far
too much time on ships together to contain themselves. 
"No." Dany mimed pouring wine into a cup and handing it to Jon. 
"The handmaiden?" He did not have to feign his surprise this time. Jon had a
secret fondness for Dothraki women, though he'd never had the chance to act on
it. He must have been blushing like a maid. He could tell by her smile that she
was proud of herself, and the effect it had on him. Unlace my breeches and
you'll be even prouder.
"How long has that been going on?" Were you fucking her when you were with
me, he meant to say.
"Long enough," she smiled coyly. So yes, then. Jon felt a pang of jealousy, but
the images in his mind made up for it. ""We declared our love for each other.
Promised to die for each other if need be. We fucked every chance we got. But
it was more. I conquered her. I ruled her. When no one else would heed my will,
that one did. Always."
Jon had long known that Daenerys was fond of mixing a bit of fighting into her
fucking, and she fought to win. "Like with me?"
"No, this was different. You fought back. I let you. I wanted you to. Half the
time I let you win. This one was at my mercy and mine alone. She became a
slave, or near enough." Dany paused. "I freed thousands, I'm allowed to have
one, am I not?" She meant that to sound like a jape, but there was an
uncertainty in her voice. Jon had no answer.
"I would hurt her," she continued. "Whip her. Learn what terrible things I
could say to make her cry, and say them on a whim. Tie her down and do what I
would with her. Make her pour wine for guests with the scent of my cunt still
on her face. She loved it. She would beg for it. I loved her too. More than
anything else in the world, save Drogo and my children. I'd trained her to
crave the pain."
This is Daenerys Stormborn, were you expecting something simple? Speak, or
she'll think you're daft. "Hm," was the best he could muster.
"But I demanded too much. I pushed her too far. I couldn't control myself. Now
she fears me. She feels I've betrayed her. She does her duties but no more, and
she's cold when she's alone with me."
"I'll warm you up," he told her, foolishly thinking now was a good time to
start his seduction. It sounded good in his mind, but came out like he was
still half a boy, utterly hopeless and tripping over himself.
Dany failed to contain her smile, which grew into outright laughter. I've lost
the battle before it started. He felt like he was charging into another of
Ramsay's traps, but it was her cunt he was after now, not Rickon.
"I've always wondered why you haven't drowned in cunt juice yet, sweet nephew,"
she told him, still fighting laughter. "But I'd forgotten you ran off to the
Wall the moment your balls dropped." And now, the arrows.
The look on his face must have been truly pained, as her smile quickly
disappeared. "I'm sorry, that was truly rude of me. I did not mean to hurt your
pride." She sat down against the wall, taking care not to ruin her dress, and
patted the ground next to her. "Sit." 
He sat cross legged beside her, still wounded. "I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have
said that. You're a married woman."
"Married to some boywhore dressed up like my brother, it seems," she answered,
with a hint of indifference. 
"Boil your cyvasse pieces." 
Dany chuckled politely, but not as hard as he'd expected. "And the girl I love
won't speak to me unless she absolutely must." 
Jon had gotten farther with the truth than charm, so he went back to it. "I
must admit, she sounds justified."
"She is. Completely. But this is a part of me. I need it as much as I need to
be fucked like any other woman, and strange as it sounds, I did it for love.
She was mine. She could never doubt that. If I didn't love her, I wouldn't have
wanted to possess her so completely."
"You say that, but how could she have known?"
"She couldn't. I didn't 'give her a reason.' You have the right of it, Snow."
Jon felt oddly comforted that she used his bastard name. She meant it not as an
insult, and he knew it. She was his aunt, his friend, his old lover, and one of
the only people in the world who could begin to understand him. "I just want
her to kneel and smile and beg me to beat her again."
Well, go on, help her win back her cunt-licking whipping-girl handmaiden. "Then
show her again why she should."
She paused, looked into his eyes for what felt like an hour, and took his hand
between hers. "I did not mean to laugh at you, truly. Everything about you
speaks for itself. There is no finer man than you. Anywhere. A woman would be
blind not to see it. You don't need to charm me with words." She paused. "Which
is good, because you're terrible at it." Her smirk turned into a warm smile.
This time, Jon could not help but blush and laugh as well. Suddenly he felt the
urge to open up. "The woman I loved was a Wildling. I'd taken her captive and
kept threatening to execute her, but she just laughed at me and told me to get
my breeches off."
"If you were any other man in the world, I'd say you were utterly full of shit.
But with you, I believe it." She paused, and smiled to herself. "Irri was a
wedding gift. One night I was diddling my cunt too loudly and it woke her up,
so she finished me with her tongue and went back to sleep." She paused and
smiled at the face Jon was making. "How could I not have been smitten?"
Jon laughed. "If you were any other woman in the world..."
"You would have kissed me by now."
That sign was clear enough, even for Jon. He leaned in and for the first time
in far too long, their lips touched. Then their tongues. He took her face in
his hands and savored the taste. There was a hint of red wine on her breath,
but otherwise it was just as he remembered. She wore a fragrant oil, but under
that was her unmistakeable scent. He inhaled it as she hiked up her dress and
straddled him, and he moved to kiss her neck. Sucking, licking, biting, until
he got that desperate, hungry, greedy little moan he was looking for. He could
feel the heat of her cunt through his breeches as she began to grind it against
his cock.
He ran his hands down her back, feeling the curves of her body through her
dress. She can't be a mortal woman, he thought, as he reached down to feel her
ass, that seemed like it was made for his hands. He squeezed her cheeks and
smacked one. Her back arched, she grabbed his shoulders, and her whole body
bucked against him as she let out a muffled gasp.
"Why did I think I could see you and not have your cock in me?" She whispered,
her breath quickening.
Just keep your mouth shut give it to her. He moved to rip her bodice straight
down the front, but she smacked his hands away.
"Not here, sweet nephew. Come." She grabbed his hand and led him toward the
entrance to the Tower of the Hand.
"No one enters No one." she told the Unsullied outside, in a hushed voice.
Once inside, Dany led Jon by the hand toward the bedchamber, reaching back and
squeezing his cock through his breeches with her other hand. "Give me this
fucking cock, I need it I need it I need it. My cunt's been soaked for it all
day. I wanted to crawl under the Small Council table and suck it while Aegon
was talking, fucking give it to me!" And he did. He took her in every way she
demanded, and she was a famously demanding woman. He told her that her husband
was false, that he was the rightful heir to her throne, and that he'd take it
from her and send her right back to the dosh khaleen unless she gave up all
three of her slutty little fuckholes. She fought every step of the way, as he
knew she would. Biting, scratching, kicking, slapping him across the face,
refusing to hold still. He knew he'd have to take her by force, but she moaned
in elation when he prevailed and claimed what was rightfully his. Her screams
to fuck her harder came in the Tyroshi accent she learned to speak with but had
long since shed, and then in the High Valyrian that was her mother
tongue. Valar dohaeris, even you. Spread your cheeks, cunt.
When it was over, she laid her head on his chest, circled a finger around his
nipple, and playfully bit just below it. She had never looked happier or more
gorgeous. 
"We should have wed," Jon mused. He sensed she agreed, but had always feared
saying it out loud.
"I know," she replied, barely taking her attention off of his nipple. "Tyrion
said soon or late you'd covet the Throne. That would mean war, he said."
"Do you believe that?"
"Should I?" 
Her Grace the Queen Daenerys Targaryen's eyes stopped his dead in their tracks,
but the notion was so absurd, he had to smile. "What did you say earlier? That
I'd rather get buggered with an iron spike than govern?"
Dany smiled back. "I have rather warped notions of who might want to be
buggered with what." She gave his nipple a quick flick with her index finger.
"I assure you, I would not fancy a spike."
"A pity," she replied vacantly.
"They say I rule a free realm, but all the coin and food and soldiers come from
you. I can't govern without you anyway. So why keep up the mummer's farce?"
Dany sat up ever so slightly and stroked Jon's hair. "Do it, then. Bend the
knee." She wasn't forceful about it, but he could tell it was only half a jape.
"What about Aegon?"
"I'll set him aside."
"He'll reveal your secret..."
"Then I beat the girl because she was insolent, which is well within my rights.
Everything else is a treasonous lie from a false King caught with an old man's
cock in his mouth. I just need to catch him."
He had to admit the idea was enticing. "And the Free Folk? I swore a vow to
them that I would never make them kneel, to me or anyone."
"What, precisely, do the Free Folk even do?" 
"Fuck each other and brag about it, mostly." It was not far from the truth.
She laughed. "I think I can leave them be. But it's far too early. I am in no
hurry to get you down on one knee." There was a malice in her grin, but a
longing as well. She studied his eyes, searching for something. "One knee gets
me some land and more mouths to feed. I want you on both knees. That gets
me you, and that's what I truly want."
Jon's cock twitched as she squeezed his balls and ran a hand down his inner
thigh to his knee, then back up. He felt like a tavern wench wading through a
crowd of drunken sailors. But he was no wench, and Dany was one small, sober
woman. And is the wench supposed to like it?
"I don't know if I can do that," he told her, though he was not surprised she
asked.
She started to slowly stroke his cock, determined to ignore his protestations.
"Why not?"
"I've never done it before." That's not enough for her.
"No one has, until they have." She brushed her thumb against the head of his
cock, and suddenly her words were all that filled his mind. There were no other
sounds, no other images, not even her face or her body; just the sound of her
voice and an amorphous cloud that seemed to envelop him when he closed his
eyes, and cleanse his mind of every thought but those she allowed.
He leaned his head back and sunk into the pillow. She poured some oil into her
hand and began to pump, her fingers gliding over the head of his cock as she
observed exactly what made him the weakest.
"It's easy, I promise," she went on. It echoed in his head. 'Easy.' You're
safe. Let her guide you. 'Promise.' Trust her. She will do you no harm. They
were her words in his voice. She had made his mind her thrall, but instead of
being fearful, he felt a strange serenity. "See? It's nice," she stroked his
hair with one hand and his cock with the other. Her soft, warm fingers brushed
against his temple, making him sleepy; making him want to nuzzle against her
and give up everything for her.
The cloud dispersed just long enough for Jon to blurt out two requests. "No
ropes. Mercy when I ask for it." 
Dany looked almost perplexed. "And if I refuse?"
He summoned what was left of his melting strength. "Then you're your father.
You'll lose me like he lost Westeros."
The malicious grin on Dany's face vanished. No one's told her that before.
They've all feared her. But Jon was not afraid. He'd faced worse, and she knew
it. He could not be dismissed as some insolent lowborn servant. She knew that,
too. And if she needs to sate this part of herself so badly, then she needs him
as much as she could ever make him need her.
"Very well." She was not as wroth about that as he feared. He had girded
himself for an unceremonious dismissal back to his own chambers, but instead
she gave him a look that bordered on admiration. "But you need to trust me. And
you can't trust me from my words alone. You must let me do as I would with
you." 
She paused, and took a deep breath. "Let's not be stupid. We will be in love by
the time you go home. I need to do this if you're to love me truly. You need to
know what I am. But I'm ashamed of it. I fear you'll think me a monster at the
end."
Something about that frustrated him. I want this, he admitted. Or I'd have
taken her hand off my cock already. "I know there's a monster in you. I'd be a
fool to miss it. Have you forgotten who you are? Maybe I can't love this
monster. But if I can't love you unless you show it to me, then show it to me!"
He reached over and gently touched her clit. Jon was no expert on women, but he
knew one sure way to get this one's attention. All it took was a few seconds of
slow teasing.
"Keep doing that and there will be no going back," she warned, the lust seeping
back into her voice.
She's easier than she thinks. "I know. Why do you think I'm doing it?" He
watched her face and body, teasing her more intensely as she reacted to his
touch. "Show me this monster. Unleash it on me. If you can't control it, I
will. You know I can." She breathed heavier at that. "I thought you were the
last true Dragon," he mocked. "Was that a lie? Is that the blood of Old Valyria
in your veins, or is it milk? Have you become a slave to your husband? To the
Iron Bank? To every petty lord in this Realm?"
Finally, he felt the sting on his cheek. Mmmmm.
"Such a brave fool you are," Dany whispered into his ear, biting his earlobe
ever so slightly. She stroked his hair and his cheek, to bring him back into
the tranquil, vulnerable state of mind where he'd just been. It only took a few
strokes; a few seconds of him feeling the warmth of her palm against his face.
"That's it. Right back where you were. You like it there, don't you?" 
Jon moaned softly in docile agreement. 
"Good. Kneel for me. Bastard." 
They both knew he was no bastard. But when she said the word, it tore all the
thoughts from his mind save his memories of Robb reminding him why Winterfell
would never be his, and of Ramsay Bolton's taunts. If it were anyone else, he'd
be bloodying their face in an instant, but for her, he simply rolled out of bed
and slid to his knees.
Dany eyed him as she walked over and stood leaning against the top of the
mattress in front of him. She seemed to rather enjoy the sight. When she
reached him, she took his hair in her fist. It didn't hurt, but he knew it
could if she wanted it to. She jerked his head up so their eyes met. When she'd
bound his gaze to hers, she looked down at her cunt just long enough for his
eyes to follow, and return to looking straight up. 
"Finish me," she commanded.
Jon was happy to oblige, but suddenly remembered what he'd spilled into her
cunt only minutes earlier. "But I just--"
She tightened her grip on his hair but made no other move. "I remember. I was
there," a hint of playful mockery filled her voice. "It's the idea you fear,
nothing more. Good boys clean up after themselves. And you want to be good for
me, don't you?" Jon simply nodded, and she leaned against the side of the bed,
spread her legs, and pulled his head gently toward her. "You won't disappoint
me so soon, all over some silly fear of yours, will you?" He shook his head.
"I've swallowed a bit of it myself and I'm still here," she assured him.
"You'll be fine. Trust me."
Jon had always prided himself as skilled with his tongue, and he would not have
it said that he balked at her first true command, so he went to work. He'd seen
her react to a good cunt-licking before, but this was beyond anything he'd
witnessed. He felt her shudder, and her breathless moan sounded as much of
surprise as pleasure. It's the idea she finds so pleasing. The same one I
feared.
As predicted, the taste was not what he was accustomed to. It still tasted like
her, but there was something saltier, muskier. Good boys clean up after
themselves, she reminded him from inside his head.
He felt something thick slide down the tip of his tongue and dissolve into the
rest of his salivating mouth. At first he didn't know what it was, then it hit
him. I'm being good. He wouldn't want to season his breakfast with it, but it
was not as terrible as he'd imagined. It was the idea that I feared, he
realized. She was right. If he tasted seed and wasn't utterly repulsed, that
would mean--something?--but he could no longer say what, or why he should care.
It had been a few minutes since he'd been inside her, and some of it had begun
to leak out. When he realized, he took his mouth off her cunt just long enough
to lick and nibble at her inner thighs, and look up at her to see her
reaction. Was that good? You'd have me clean up all of it, yes? All he wanted
in the moment was a sign of approval. He craved it just as much as he'd craved
the feeling of his cock inside her as they kissed on the battlements. When he
saw it in her eyes, he smiled and put his mouth right back onto her cunt, where
it belonged.
By the time she was ready to finish, she was sitting all the way on the bed,
her legs wrapped around his shoulders. She had his head locked between them; no
escape, and just barely room enough to breathe. Her grip on his hair had
tightened and grown painful, but the pain sustained him. The more it hurts, the
more she likes it. As she reached the point of no return, her panting and
grinding grew frantic, like she were having a shaking spell. Her cunt was
pulsing, spasming, and he had to suck her clit and chase after it so he could
keep his tongue at the perfect angle. When she peaked, she filled his mouth
like she never had before, and at the very end, she pulled him away just in
time to launch a few drops right onto his face. It hit him like the first
raindrops of a thunderstorm. They were small, but there was a weight to them; a
force. He didn't realize Dany could do that, or any woman for that matter.
"Mmmm, mine!" She declared.
"Yours. All yours," he concurred, gazing up at her. How could he deny it? He'd
been marked.
Dany took a moment to come down and collect herself. Jon relaxed as well,
sitting back on his heels. She stood, keeping a hand on his shoulder as she
regained the strength in her legs.
As she rose, Jon found himself in awe. He didn't believe such a thing could
truly exist. He'd seen her naked body before, but from that angle, it was more
beautiful than he had words for. She was a woman, to be certain. Her soft skin
and curves left no doubt. But the muscles in her legs and arms were hard as
marble. Her breasts demanded to be gazed upon, like they knew as well as she
did the power they gave her over anyone she chose to bear them to. This was the
body that had spent a night in a raging fire and emerged untouched with three
dragons on its shoulders where two mortals left only charred bones. Had he not
already been on his knees, he would not have had the strength to do anything
but fall to them. He feared what she could do with a body like that. He
understood why men were so fearful that power would corrupt her and unleash her
father's madness if it truly lay dormant within her. The entire world would be
at her mercy and hers alone.
She leaned down, held his face in her hands, and kissed him, gently, but with a
force that wiped away any notion that she was done. She seemed to savor the
taste on his lips; the mix of herself and him. When she broke off the kiss, she
held his face and gazed into his eyes, wordlessly. She must have sensed when
he'd gotten comfortable, because the instant he did, he felt the sting of
another slap to the face.
"Mine!" She reiterated. It was all he could do to nod in blissful agreement.
That made her smile. "Whose?"
"Yours." It was no longer a question.
She slapped him again. "Do not forget it." 
No one had ever slapped Jon before her. He'd been punched, though; kicked,
slashed at, stabbed right through the gut. Everyone assumed that was what it
took to break him; to quash his will to fight back. Might be that was true for
anyone else, but Daenerys needed no such effort. She knows she's broken me; now
she's toying with me. His eyes went right back to hers each time, as if they
were tethered to her. If I look away, I'll displease her. He could not bear the
thought.
From under the bed she retrieved a leather whip, the kind used to punish a
whipping boy for a lordling's insolence. Enough to bring a man to tears, but
not to scar him for life. She smiled, reading what must have been the obvious
expression on his face. "Mercy when you ask for it, I know. I said you'd like
the last game, did I lie?"
He shook his head and quickly realized he'd forgotten to speak. "No. Your
Grace." He hadn't meant to call her that, but her presence itself compelled it.
Her eyes brightened as she raised an eyebrow. "Not yet, sweetling," she told
him, playfully touching the tip of his nose with her index finger. It was slick
with sweat and the juice of her cunt. "We must wed first, and that will take
time."
What amazed him most was that she could have had his Kingdom right then, but
seemed not to care. She wants me more than the crown, he realized. It
overwhelmed him. It made no sense. She's playing a different game than the
rest.
Jon felt an all-consuming urge to put his nose to the ground and kiss her feet,
and did exactly that. Dany laughed and hopped back up on the mattress, still
holding the whip. "Such a sweet boy, don't be shy!" He wasn't. Her feet were
small and soft and perfect. They had her scent on them, to be certain, mixed
with the leather from the inside of her boots and the sweat they'd absorbed
from all the times she'd worn them. Jon didn't care. There was a hint of some
kind of scented oil as well. Her handmaiden must have rubbed it onto her, he
thought. What I would give to be her handmaiden...
She flexed her toes and tickled his face with them, taking pleasure in rubbing
her soles against his stubble. "Tickles," she muttered down at him, before
putting one toe to his lips. "Suck." 
Jon obeyed and gave her that eager, searching look again. She signaled her
approval. "That filth you're licking is a gift. I'll have your utter devotion
and obedience. Nothing less." Jon nodded up at her, hoping she would recognize
just how deeply she had conquered him. Her face gave nothing away, but Jon
would wager that this one knew when she had won. 
She slid a foot under his chin and lifted his head from the ground. "Up." Jon
rose to his knees, not even thinking to stand without her leave. As he lifted
himself, she motioned with her hand for him to keep rising. "All the way.
Stand, quickly." 
Jon did as he was bid. His back and knees ached more than he thought they
would, but he cared less than naught. It felt strange standing in front of her.
Dany was short, even for a woman, and he had forgotten he could easily knock
her right to the ground if he wanted to. But he didn't want to. He just wanted
to stand there so she could take satisfaction in knowing that all of his brute
male strength was hers to command and powerless to challenge her. She did not
look dissatisfied, but he could tell that she knew there were stronger men who
would give themselves to her all the same. But they're not Kings like I am.
They fought at her back, not by her side.
Dany grabbed his pulsing cock to focus him. "I will show you mercy the moment
you ask, but you must promise me you will not ask until you truly need it. I do
not choose weak men for this. Prove to me that I chose well with you. Can you
do that?" She twisted his cock at the end.
Jon did not remember saying yes, but before he knew it, Dany was steering him
by the cock to face the far wall, like a tiller in a boat. 
She pointed. "Hands on the wall." As it seemed his nature, he complied. Dany
followed him, kicked his legs apart, smacked his ass and dug in her nails as
she made her way back.
Jon had never considered himself a weak man, though he lacked the sheer size
and muscle of men like Tormund. But in that moment, when he put himself
entirely at her mercy and the first lash hit his back, he felt as if he could
lift mountains. Each one was a test. A chance to show her how much he could
take; how far he could push himself. A dare to refuse the next one and diminish
himself in the perfect, terrifying violet eyes of this woman he could no longer
deny he loved.
"More!" He found himself demanding.
"Oh you want more?" Dany mocked, pleasantly surprised.
"Yes! Please!" He grunted out between gasps. "More!"
The Queen was happy to grant his wish. For half a heartbeat, he regretted it.
The crack was louder, and the sting sharper and more numbing. He felt his knees
pleading with him to just let them buckle already; the word "mercy" building in
his mouth. No. Dig deeper. And he did, summoning a strength he didn't know he
had. He let out another laboring grunt to force the weakness out of him.
Suddenly he felt a presence between his legs. A growing, pulsing weight, more
insistent with each lash. Without thinking, he reached down to touch it. At
first it was because he couldn't believe it was happening from this, but like
the man he was, once he touched it he forgot himself and moved to stroke it. He
got in two slow pumps before he felt his hand fling itself back. Dany's face
filled his field of view. 
He lost focus for half a heartbeat when her palm hit his face, but her gaze
paralyzed him when he recovered. I've displeased her. He trembled.
"Did I say you could do that?" There was no room for japes or explanations,
protestations of ignorance, or pleas for permission.
"No," he pushed out between deep breaths. Don't stop or I'll realize how weak I
am. "Won't happen again." Remember that.
"It better not. This is why bastards like you get tied up." she pinched his
nipple and kissed him quickly on the lips, looked him up and down, ran a hand
softly over his back, and nodded into his eyes. He nodded back. Yes, I'm okay.
I want more. I love you. With that, she slapped his ass playfully and moved
back behind him.
That's all you are. A bastard. A by-blow. The rest is just papers and
ceremonies in some castle in the desert. But Winterfell is yours anyway, and
the rest of the North with it. Show her why you're worthy of it. SHOW HER!
Any playfulness from Dany stopped as soon as the leather hit his skin
again. The others were for her pleasure. This was a punishment. 
"What lesson did we learn?" By her tone, she could have been speaking before an
army on the verge of battle. 
"Don't touch my cock!" He finally felt a tear. Not yet. You're no child. Show
her. 
Another one. "Who's cock is it?!"
"Yours, Your Grace!" He didn't know why he kept calling her by her title and
not her name. It just felt right.
"Whose?!" And another.
"Yours!"
And yet another. "Speak, you mongrel bitch!"
"Yours!" It took all his strength just to speak from his diaphragm. His throat
was growing hoarse. He had not realized how much he'd screamed.
And one more. "My cock! Don't touch what's mine!"
Three more lashes, maybe four, and he felt his knees starting to quiver. No.
Not yet. Please, not yet. But after one more, his body had taken all it could.
He buckled, leaned sideways against the wall, and slid down to the floor.
"Mercy!" He thought he said. Or maybe he'd imagined it. Regardless, to his
relief, she stopped and came to him.
"Are you hurt?" He heard her voice but couldn't see her and was too exhausted
to look. All he felt was the back of his head meeting her chest, and her arms
sliding around him.
"Yes. But not badly."
"This is the hard part for me," she explained as she sat herself against the
wall, and he laid his head in her lap. "Part of me wants more. To make you cry.
To see you bleed."
"Please don't," He implored, exhausted and breathless.
"I won't. Not now. It's passing." She held his cock and started to stroke
again. It was as throbbing and hard as when they'd started.
"Good."
"Am I a monster?" She asked, after a moment of silent stroking.
"Yes."
She pumped faster. "Can you love me still?"
"Yes." He closed his eyes as she kissed the top of his head.
Her stroking grew faster. She means to finish. "Will you bend the knee?" 
He knew what she meant. "Yes."
"Even though I'm a tyrant?"
His cock was pulsing; his body tensing up as he craned his neck back and met
her gaze. "Yes. I need your tyranny."
"Good answer." With surrender came the sweet release. So sweet, in fact, that
most of it landed high on his chest, and several drops hit him in the face.
Dany scooped up one of the larger drops with her index finger and teased his
lips with it. "Long may I reign?"
"Long may you reign." He opened his mouth, closed his eyes, and sucked.
***** Irri II *****
Chapter Summary
     "Is it so far from madness to wisdom?"
     --Daenerys, A Game of Thrones, Daenerys X
The Queen entered the Throne Room dressed for war: a tunic, light ringmail, and
a breastplate, leather riding boots, wool breeches with a pair of leather
gloves tucked into them, and an arakh at her right hip. It was positioned so
she could grab it with her left hand, as she preferred. Everything was black,
save for the rubies inlaid in the shape of the three-headed dragon on the
breastplate. The Valyrian steel blade of her arakh was black as well, but
glimmered red when the light hit it from certain angles as it bounced off her
hip. The crown she chose was not the usual one she wore to court, but rather a
replica of the crown worn by Aegon the Conqueror, in case anyone had forgotten
who she was. 
The whole outfit was designed to give anything but comfort, yet Irri
nonetheless found some in the arakh. It had been years since they left the
Dothraki Sea, and more like than not, neither of them would ever go back. But
the Dothraki Sea is where Dany had become who she was, and Irri liked knowing
that she hadn't forgotten it.
They could hear Drogon outside, roasting himself a tethered goat in the bailey
of the Red Keep. Dany had summoned the beast a fortnight ago, When Aegon
announced plans for what he called a "hunt" with his ever-present companion
Lord Connington. Dany misliked everything about it, and worried that he meant
to have her killed while he was far enough away to deny involvement. Drogon was
a reminder to the whole city of what happens to those who cross her. So far,
none had crossed her.
In truth, Dany was armoring herself for three battles. The first was against
the Braavosi envoys waiting against the back wall. That morning, Sam brought
word that they'd arrived, most like bearing another "gift" from the Sealord.
Dany was terrified it might be a corpse, or at least a head. If she's right,
then the Sealord has signed the death warrant for himself and his entire city. 
Even if this "gift" were not what she feared, Dany knew that if she was to
treat with these men, she must make them uneasy in her presence. She had found
over time that men like the Sealord only send their best diplomats to treat
with her. Most of them have been to other courts and seen other highborn women.
Her usual demeanor--authoritative, but decidedly feminine--would not faze him.
But armor on a woman had a way of knocking men off balance.
The second battle would only be necessary if the first yielded a corpse, and it
would only be a battle insofar as thousands would die and a city would burn.
Dany had commanded that none were to join her to meet the envoys save for her
guards, servants, Sam, and Jon, both of whom stood against the side wall,
drawing no attention to themselves. If her fears were correct, there would be
no Small Council meeting, no debates, no lectures about madness. She would rise
from her Throne, march straight out to the bailey, mount Drogon, and ride. She
would reach Dragonstone in hours, pick up her wildfire, and Braavos would be
gone by the morrow. 
Her forebear melted his enemies' swords and made a chair out of them, Irri
thought, as she and Dany reached the top of the steps. She will melt theirs
into the ground as they sit in their sheaths. The thought struck a sense of awe
into her. I know you want to beat me senseless, she thought as their eyes met
briefly. She wondered if Dany could hear her. I want it too. I fear you, still.
But we both know I like that, and we both know I still love you.
And that was the third battle. Irri always grew wet when she contemplated the
ease with which Dany could destroy anything in her way; to wipe away cities
like crumbs from a table. Dany knew it, and she knew the armor magnified it.
The Queen had made no overt attempt to seduce her since the evening she choked
Irri within an inch of her life, but she didn't need to. Everything about her--
her beauty, the way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she smile, all of it-
-made the girl weak in her knees and soaked between the thighs, and soon or
late, Irri's love and lust would overcome her fear. It's only a matter of
time, she knew. Everything this woman wills is only a matter of time.
Dany turned to Irri as soon as she sat, refusing to acknowledge the envoys.
"Give me an apple," she commanded, staring straight ahead, planting her elbow
on the arm of the Throne, and putting her hand up. The apple was on a fruit
plate that had been placed on a small table next to the Throne, easily within
Dany's reach by design. But this was not about the apple. Daenerys the Queen
has run out of patience. They must treat with Daenerys the Conqueror.
The Queen ate slowly, eyeing the envoys disdainfully the whole time. Studying
them. They were both hooded, and stood with their heads down to hide their
faces. Each had an Unsullied guard behind them, and between them was a wooden
crate. Dany sat silently with her legs spread and an elbow on each knee as she
ate. Like a man, Irri observed. When she finished, she tossed the core clear
across the room, hitting one of the envoys in the chest. He did not lift his
head.
"Bring them here," she ordered the Unsullied, leaning back and crossing her
legs into a slightly more regal pose. The eunuchs gave the men a shove, and
they lifted the crate and carried it forward. When they reached the steps to
the Throne, they looked up. Dany cocked her head, curiously. "Show me their
faces."
A smile filled the Queen's face and tears welled in her eyes as Bronn and
Tormund removed their hoods and looked up at her, quite pleased with
themselves. As she rose and descended the steps, Bronn's guard removed his
helm. Grey Worm seemed relieved to be through with the jape. Dany slowed her
approach as the crate rocked. She looked at it, then up at Bronn. "You
did not."
"Let him out? Of course not. Not as funny that way," Bronn smirked, as Grey
Worm pried the crate open with the blade of his spear.
The Hand dumped himself unceremoniously at her feet, covered in his own shit,
and looked up from the floor to the Queen's face above him. Such a beautiful
view. 
"WINE!" He barked, to no one in particular.
Dany looked back at Irri and smiled, and she ran to fetch a skin. It was the
first time since that terrible evening that they'd smiled at each other because
they were truly happy.
She returned with the wine, and Tyrion drank like it was water. "You could have
let me out of there days ago!" He shouted to Bronn, and to anyone else who
would listen, as he finally rose to his feet.
"Could've sold you to a pot shop too." Bronn mussed Tyrion's shit-encrusted
hair and slapped him on his shit-encrusted back. "Lucky for you, you're too
gamy."
"How did you manage this?" Dany asked Bronn, breaking away from a tight hug
with Grey Worm and composing herself.
"Throat-cutting and key-stealing, mostly. How much more do you want to know?"
"Bugger it, I don't care." She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.
"You shall be rewarded handsomely."
Dany was also too elated to care that Tyrion was covered in filth. As soon as
he pulled the skin of wine from his lips, she picked him up and embraced him
until he regurgitated most of his wine over her shoulder and onto the floor
behind her. "That's disgusting. You're disgusting." she told him, sweetly,
hugging him tighter.
"Where's Arya?" Jon demanded, emerging from his corner as she set Tyrion down.
Tyrion spotted him and raised an eyebrow at Dany, who only glared back, daring
him to say something. He looked over at Irri. Oh yes, my lord. In your
bedchamber, too. It is known.
"We couldn't find her," Tormund admitted, with a rare hint of contrition in his
voice.
"They separated her after a fortnight. We've had no word of her since," Tyrion
explained. The room grew quiet and tense, awaiting Dany's next command. She
turned and summoned Sam from the back corner. 
"Have Varys send his birds after any hint of Arya. Draw up a letter for the
Sealord. 'All of Westeros stands together. Return Lady Arya and end your slave
trade, or we shall retrieve her ourselves and end it for you. Your treachery
has rendered our debt null and void. Come to collect and you shall find the
Iron Bank in ruins upon your return, along with the rest of your city. It shall
grieve me deeply to destroy a great city that began as a refuge for escaped
slaves, but in betraying your forebears you have sealed your own fate.' Leave
space for Jon to sign as well."
Sam nodded and ran to his chambers to write down the Queen's words before he
forgot them. Dany turned back to Tyrion. "Bathe, my lord. Sleep. On the morrow
you'll help me deal with that," she declared, pointing in Jon's general
direction. "And have your riding clothes ready. I mean to catch my husband
getting buggered in the woods."
Tyrion smiled a wry but genuine smile. "I missed you too, Your Grace."
When they arrived back at her chambers, Dany had Irri pour some wine for her
and the King. They sat across from each other near the brazier while Irri stood
a respectful distance away near the table.
"We'll get her back, surely," She told him. "They know if she dies, they die."
"I know, I just miss her dearly and can't help but fear for her."
"Trust me, obey me, and you'll have naught to fear." 
Irri missed having naught to fear. Jon nodded, stealing another glance at the
sight of Dany in her armor. He and I are of one mind.
"We still have my husband to deal with," she reminded him, noticing his gaze.
Jon searched for words that hid his clear pessimism. "Tyrion can manage it."
"If it were up to him, he'd put you in a crate and ship you back to White
Harbor."
"If it would stop another war, then as much as it would grieve me, I'd do it."
Dany rose and moved toward him. "No." The thought wounded her. She took his
face in her hands and kissed him sweetly on the mouth, then sat sideways in his
lap, shifting the arakh blade to avoid slicing through his legs. Jon grunted as
he recovered from the surprise at how much weight the armor added to her body.
Her feet dangled off the arm of the chair. 
Irri felt her face redden. She won't stop me if I knelt right now and begged to
lick the soles of her boots. She was salivating. They're right there. She
misses me, it's plain. She won't hurt me like that again, Irri tried her
hardest to convince herself. She loves this man. She could not risk losing us
both. But the girl stood still. That's too bold. Once he leaves.
"You're going nowhere until I set Aegon aside." Dany had a way of blending
reassurance and commands. "When that's done, we will travel north together,
I'll visit Lady Sansa, and whoever else you choose, to seek their blessing
before we wed. They fought a war to escape the Iron Throne. They deserve to
know I will not be a tyrant."
"Lyanna Mormont. She's the tough one," he grunted, still uncomfortable from
Dany's weight. "Half the rest won't care. The other half will make a grand show
of refusing to kneel, but they'll come around once you get enough mead in
them."
Dany laughed at his discomfort and stroked his cheek. "And if I hate mead?
Because I do? Because it's vile?" She asked playfully.
"Then it's war," he smiled.
"Is that so?" She put her forehead to his, kissed him, and smiled wickedly. "I
would crush you, sweet nephew."
Jon shifted in his chair. "You're already crushing me," he winced.
She smiled, stood, and beckoned to Irri. "Help me out of this, sweetling," she
commanded, and turned around so Irri could reach the buckles on her back that
held it on. 
Irri stepped forward, removed Dany's breastplate, and put it away in a far
corner. When she returned, she found the Queen facing her, still clad in her
mail. Dany was still trying not to actively seduce her, but when their eyes
nonetheless locked, Irri stopped in her tracks. The woman could halt a
charging khalasar with the right gaze.
Her next thought was sudden and unexpected. Just let your body lead you. Let
her eyes lead you. With that, she glided forward, dropped to her knees and
looked up. Dany's eyes never broke away. She led me.
"May I, Khaleesi?" Irri asked, gesturing at her boots. A handmaiden 'shall,'
but a slut 'may.' She did not expect to find herself kneeling so suddenly, but
she could no longer contain herself. She could not remember the last time she
saw Dany so elegantly terrifying as today. She felt Jon's eyes on her,
observing. He kept silent, but seemed to rather enjoy the sight. Dany said
nothing either. Her face was cautiously predatory.
The Queen moved half a step closer, resting her hand on her arakh. Irri watched
her brush her thumb against the hilt, and could feel it on her clit. Her
breathing was shallow, and she was growing wet.
"Is that your wish, sweetling? Was that a flash of lust and nothing more? Or
are you truly ready to give yourself to me again?"Before Irri could form a
response, Dany put two fingers under her chin and lifted it so their eyes met.
"Think before you speak." 
Irri pretended to think, then nodded. "I want it, Khaleesi." 
"Even though I hurt you? And failed you?"
All she could do was keep nodding. 
Jon leaned forward in his chair. "She won't fail you again, my lady," he
declared. Both she and Dany looked over at him, but his eyes were fixed on the
Queen, besting her at the staring game for once. "She laments what she did
grievously. She wears a mask around you, but in truth she's been inconsolable
since I arrived."
Irri looked at him, surprised and confused. Does he not love her? Does he not
want her for himself? That's what men did, after all; claim women for
themselves.
Jon looked at Irri and paused, signaling he may have been presumptuous. "Only
you can decide this. But it would make her very happy to have you again." He
stopped again. "I hardly know you, my lady. But I mean you no harm. If you
can't, then so be it. But I love this woman, I know what pleases her, and I
know what a beautiful thing it is to give her what she wants." He's right.
There is nothing more beautiful. "I think you know that as well." 
All of this overwhelmed her. She craved this, but she was still afraid. "She is
not invincible," Jon continued. What makes you so certain? "She will not hurt
you with me here." The King in the North seemed like a man of his word, and he
was too important in too many ways for Dany to simply cut his tongue out and
leave him for some guard to clean up.
Irri kept silent. This is the woman who commanded a stranger to rape you, and
nearly killed you with her own hands, a voice in her mind urged.
Dany looked over to Jon. "Rise." There was an eagerness; a lust in his eyes as
he did. Suddenly, the King's presence was not as comforting to her. I can't.
Not with another man. Not after the oarsman.
"Please, Khaleesi, don't make me--"
Dany shook her head. "No, no, sweetling. Not like that. He's a sweet boy, and
will not harm you, truly." Dany had done things to Irri that disgusted and
terrified her. She'd justified tricking men into awful, torturous suffering on
the grounds that she never promised she wouldn't. But for all the horrible
things she'd done, when she did make a promise, she kept it.
The Queen took her arakh off her belt. Irri remained where she was, paralyzed
with fear. "Watch, my dear." Irri feared the Queen would prove that Jon would
not harm her by taking his head before he had the chance. 
Instead, she ordered him to kneel next to Irri. When his knees hit the floor,
she rested the flat of the blade under his chin, the edge not quite touching
his throat. Jon took a deep breath but otherwise stayed motionless.
"It's not the blade he fears," she explained. "He likes the blade. He wants it.
He fears what would happen if he balked and pulled away." Irri caught Jon
biting his lip. "He knows it would displease me. Perhaps I would beat him for
it, perhaps I wouldn't. But my disappointment alone is punishment enough. Isn't
it, my love?" She asked him.
"Yes, Your Grace," he replied dutifully.
Irri could never follow all of the Westerosi rules for who addressed whom with
what titles and when, but she knew that a King did not call a foreign Queen by
that title unless he meant to make himself her subject.
"That's all I want you to fear, sweetling." Dany said soothingly, looking back
at her and leaving Jon motionless on his knees. The King merely stared straight
ahead like a well-trained guard.
And with that, she succumbed. Something about Jon was different. She'd put
blades to Irri's throat before, but it was always the blade she feared. Or so I
thought? In moments like that, the Dany she knew would never have promised she
was safe. That Dany wanted her to feel the opposite. It always worked, and it
soaked her cunt like nothing else. But it also left her feeling hurt at the
end, and Jon looked anything but hurt.
"Now, my precious slut, is this what you want?" 
Irri did not remember answering. She may have said yes, or nodded, or knelt
there gaping. But the next thing she knew, Dany's warm, soft lips were on hers,
their tongues intertwined, a soft moan escaping from both of them. She felt a
warmth, a stirring, move through her body. It started in her chest and flowed
through her veins to her arms, legs, face, hands, and feet. She felt herself
growing weak, and her Khaleesi growing stronger. She felt herself wanting to
grow weaker; to give Dany every ounce of her strength, to do as she pleased
with it.
Dany stepped back and admired the sight of Irri back down on her knees, where
she'd spent so much time before. Where she'd never felt a greater sense of
purpose. Where she'd worshipped this living goddess with her suffering. Irri
wanted to latch herself onto Dany's leg and never let go, but she knew better
than to move without leave.
"You would unlace my boots next," Dany confirmed.
"Please, Khaleesi."
The Queen thought about that for a moment. "No," she ordained. The word hit
Irri like an arrow through the chest, but Dany's smile only grew. She pointed
to Jon. "Show him how to do it."
Irri froze. She did not know what to say.
Dany seemed to have anticipated that. "Don't think. Just show him. Like he's a
new handmaiden." She looked back at Jon. "That's what I mean to make him. He
wants it." Her voice was thick with a dark sense of excitement. Jon blushed
like a maid.
"You mean I should--"
"You should stop asking questions and obey," she reminded her, sweetly. "Have
you forgotten?" 
No, I could never forget. "No, Khaleesi. Please forgive my insolence."
"Show me why you deserve my forgiveness, then," she challenged her, taking a
step backward and sinking back into her chair. "Come. Both of you." She waved
them forward.
Irri and Jon both crawled closer to their Queen. Their eyes locked, amazed and
comforted that they both knew exactly how she wanted them to approach.
Dany turned those mystifying purple eyes of hers to Jon. "You've unlaced a pair
of boots before, have you not?" 
"Yes, Your Grace." 
He's a man grown, of course he has. Yet Jon answered it with an entranced
reverence that dare not betray an opinion on the question.
"Do it, then. My serving girl will correct you when you bugger it up. Which you
will. Because I know you."
Jon nodded. "Thank you, Your Grace."
He began with the knot, which Irri had tied that morning in a fashion common
among Dothraki riders, but not in Westeros. Jon was clearly puzzled by it.
Dany looked at Irri and smiled knowingly, taking pleasure at the small jape
they shared. Irri moved to intervene, but Dany shook her head and addressed her
in Dothraki. "Not yet. Let him struggle," she smirked. Jon gave both of them a
confused look, but knew better than to ask questions. Irri smiled back at Dany,
who stroked her hair, sweetly. Irri gave her hand a quick kiss as it brushed by
the side of her face. Even Dany had to blush.
Dany gave Irri a mockingly impressed smile as Jon finally untied the knot, but
it disappeared when he shoved a finger down between the laces and began to yank
them apart. She switched back to the Common Tongue "Is that how I like it,
girl?"
The question made Jon stop and look up at Dany, and then at Irri, then back at
Dany, bewildered. He thought he might be the girl. That made something stir in
her.
"No, Khaleesi," Irri replied.
"Go on, then. Correct him."
Irri reached over and gently lifted Jon's hands off of her Khaleesi's boots. He
complied, eager for the guidance.
"No, no. Correct him. Give him a good slap. That's how my pets learn, you know
that better than anyone."
Jon turned to Irri, almost presenting his cheek for her. He wants me to, she
realized. She wants to see if I have it in me. Irri wasn't sure she did. She
didn't know what kind of monster it would unleash.
But Irri didn't have time to think. Dany was looking at her, expectantly. 
The slap Irri gave the King was gentle. A sad thing, truly. Any weaker and it
would have been more of a caress. But something about the way Jon reacted was
oddly exciting. By instinct, she braced herself to be slapped back, but Jon
simply recoiled. She caught a flash of pleasure cross his face before he
blushed and smiled shyly. He is beautiful when he blushes.
"Thank you," he murmured. 
Dany had long ago trained her to respond to pain with gratitude, but it felt
strange to be the one being thanked. Jon was highborn; as high as it got. And a
man. Serving girls did not hit men. They did not hit nobles. She had hit Dany
before, but only in defense of her own life. If she had done that to the
wrong Khal, it would have meant a more painful death, or rape by every man in
the khalasar. She would never have earned back her honor. But she sensed that
with Jon, all she would do was leave him wanting more.
She looked up at Dany, who seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. More
men should thank us for hurting them, she realized. 'They should, for so many
reasons,' Dany's eyes replied. 
Outwardly, the Queen was unimpressed. "Oh, I know you can hit harder than that,
sweetling. Go on. Hit him again."
Irri gave him a harder slap. Still hesitant, but more confident than the first
time. How much can I hurt him before it's no longer a game?
"He's a man. He'll do as he pleases unless you forbid it." She's right. "He'll
never follow you until he knows his insolence has consequences." Dany chided
her. 
The third was a true slap. Not the hardest she could have given, but hard
enough that Jon grimaced. She was coming to understand why Dany took such
pleasure in seeing how far she could push someone.
"Better. Now show him how I like it."
Even when they were not playing, the Queen tended to grow anxious if certain
things were not done in a particular, precise way. Keeping her shoes and boots
immaculate was one of them.
Irri made eye contact with Jon, then took a single end of the lace and pulled
it out through the first eyelet. She continued with the same end, taking care
not to tug too hard. "The Khaleesi must not feel you pulling back and forth,"
she explained to Jon. As she got farther down, she held the lace carefully so
it would not flail about when she pulled it. 
"You must take care with it. It's not yours to toss about. It's hers." Teaching
someone else how to please the Queen gave her a sense of accomplishment. When
the lace was all the way out, she wrapped it carefully around her hand and tied
it so it would stay neat and compact. She removed Dany's boot and put the lace
inside.
Dany smiled down at her. "Such a good girl. Let him do the next one, but first,
take his cock out."
Must I? She must have given Dany a look. "Trust me, sweetling. It's not going
inside you unless you want it. It's for his suffering, not yours. It clouds his
thoughts. A man has not truly learned a lesson until he can remember it while
his cock is hard."
"As you say, Khaleesi." She reached for his breeches, still not convinced she
wanted to. 
Dany sensed it. "Take your bastard cock out for the serving girl," she
commanded Jon, firmly.
"As you command, Your Grace." Jon tried to comply, but his cock was too hard
for him to simply slide his pants off, and it became a struggle.
Dany giggled as Jon pushed himself off his heels, and after various gyrations,
finally managed to get it out and sit back down.
That belongs to her, Irri reminded herself.
Dany handed her a small bottle of olive oil from the small table next to her.
"Stroke him a bit. Wipe his mind."
Irri did as she was bid. 
"Brush your thumb over the head. It turns him into a damned fool."
She was right. Jon arched his back and let out a moan that sounded like it
could have been a word, had he still had the wits to form one. It occurred to
Irri that the only times she had held a man's cock before was to position him
to enter her. She had never touched it for its own sake, or taken the time to
think about how it felt. 
All she felt was power. The power it gave Jon by the mere fact that he was born
with it. The power he must feel when he presses it into a soft wet cunt, when
he thrusts it mercilessly into a woman as the madness builds inside both of
them, and when he plants his seed and claims her. 
And in that moment, she thought of the power it gave her. She knew she'd made
him weak. That he would give much and more to keep her from stopping. That now
he'd want it every time he saw her, and would make a fool of himself to get
it. The Khaleesi knows this. She does not pretend otherwise. She saw now just
how much power Dany derived from it when she wanted to. It gave her a rush. I
could have that, too.
She wanted to tease him more, to suck it until she could feel him about to
burst, and stop at the last moment. To rub it against her cunt but never let
him inside. To stroke him until he finished but dig her nails into it as he
did, and deny him most of his pleasure. It would teach him that whether he
takes pleasure in spilling seed is not for him to decide. That made her wet. He
must earn that.
She thought back to her youth, in the khalasar. No Dothraki man would abide
this, she was certain. They would simply rape me. I can only do this with this
man because rape is not in his nature. 
But then it hit her. No. Rape is in every man's nature. But so is this. Men
choose. They are taught. If Daenerys could tame Drogo, any man can be
broken. The thought excited her. If a man could be trained like a pet, she
wanted one. This one. Or at least to play with him.
She was mindlessly stroking, lost in thought. Dany cleared her throat, glaring
down impatiently.
"Forgive me, Khaleesi," she begged. 
Dany grabbed her hair and trapped her with that gaze again. "That's two things
you'd have me forgive you for." She spat in her face. "Earn it."
She'd forgotten how it felt to be treated so harshly. The disgust and anger
washed over her, but melted into bliss when she remembered who had done it to
her. She almost moaned, but knew Daenerys was in no mood to watch her
handmaiden wallow about in what a filthy spit-covered slut she was. There was
another boot to unlace, and a boy--a King, but now truly, a boy--to teach. 
"Let him play with the knot again," Dany instructed. "Let's see if he can be
any quicker about it this time." He was, but Dany still enjoyed watching him
confound himself over it. Jon did his best removing the laces, but ultimately
failed again, as the Queen knew was inevitable.
This time, correcting him came easier, and unprompted. "No," Irri told Jon,
firmly. Her stare made his eyes widen. She liked that.
He expects a slap, she wagered. I should not give him what he expects. Instead,
she twisted his cock and dug her nails into the underside of his shaft. Jon's
whole body seemed to twist with it. He fell to one side, propping himself up on
one elbow. The scream was higher in pitch than Jon's normal voice. He sounds
like a girl. She wondered if it would please the Queen to teach him a young
lady's courtesies.
That got Dany's attention. "My little slut is learning rather quickly, isn't
she?" Dany reached down and stroked her cheek. "Because she's had an excellent
teacher, isn't that so?"
Irri nuzzled against Dany's hand and arm, savoring the feeling of their skin
touching. It had been far too long. She looked up, smiling so widely that her
cheekbones started to hurt. "Yes, Khaleesi." 
"Keep stroking, don't let him lose it. I love watching him suffer with his cock
hard." The Queen began to unlace her breeches so she could touch her cunt while
taking in the sight. "Is it not beautiful, sweetling?"
"It is, Khaleesi." She was not saying that merely because it was the answer
Dany wanted. There was something immensely satisfying about robbing a man of
every advantage the laws of gods and men gave him. Some deeply powerful
statement in a man accepting pain to please her, even though he could easily
push her away.
Dany spoke to her in Dothraki again. "Give it a little kiss, dear. Cocks are
such delicate little things. They take after their owners in that way. They
must be coddled, stroked, paid constant attention, or they collapse and shrink
down to nothing. Especially bastard cocks like this one. Watch his face when I
say the word," she smiled, before switching back to the Common Tongue,
"bastard."
Irri saw Jon cringe, which only made her want to learn what other things she
could say to hurt him like that. Her fear giving way to an almost desperate
lust, she planted a soft kiss on Jon's cock, gave it a lick, then teased his
head a bit. But as soon as she took it into her mouth, she felt her head being
lifted up by the hair, and the sting of Dany's hand on her cheek.
"Enough. Did I say you could do that?"
"No, Khaleesi." I have forgotten myself. I acted without her leave. She should
punish me for being such an insolent cunt. She missed having thoughts like
that. 
"Don't give the boy too much too soon. He has a fondness for Dothraki women,
he's like to spill his seed before he knows what's happening." She leaned down
right into her face. "And that's my toy you're playing with. My seed. It goes
where I say it does." She kissed her, biting her lower lip and dragging it
through her teeth as she pulled away. "Now get this fucking boot off, it's been
far too long."
"Yes, Khaleesi." 
Irri felt a wetness between her legs and found her hips grinding against
nothing in particular. It felt good to be put in her place again, but her lust
was still tinged with mischief. She grinned at Jon the way Dany would grin at
her. There are two of us now, bastard. Irri didn't even know who her father
was, but that made no matter. This boy had grown up believing himself a
bastard, and he suffered for it. And Irri increasingly found herself wondering
if she might enjoy poking those wounds as Dany did.
The boot came off soon enough. Dany stood. Both of her pets rose at the same
time, but Dany put a hand on Irri's shoulder and pressed her back down.
"Not you. You finish the breeches. And be quick about it." Dany was growing
more aroused and less patient. She took the mail off herself and dropped it
unceremoniously on the floor. Irri looked up at her and pulled her breeches off
just slowly enough to light a spark of impatience in her eyes. You're not the
only one who can tease, Khaleesi.
Dany sensed what the girl was doing, dropped her pants to her ankles, stepped
out of them, and shoved Irri's face into her crotch by the back of the head.
"Filthy bitch. Worship it."
Irri salivated, grateful to the Queen for refusing to abide her insolence, and
began lapping like a well-lathered horse at a trough. Parched. Almost angry.
Bewildered at how she went this long without it.
Dany leaned forward. Irri knew that meant to get on her back. Dany fell
seamlessly to her knees on top of her servant's face and began to ride it,
slowly, but forcefully. Yes, please, please, please, claim me again. I'm yours.
From the corner of her eye, Irri spotted Dany wave Jon over. He came, threw off
his own breeches, and stood directly in front of Dany. She saw Dany grab his
cock and pull it toward her mouth. Irri looked up as Jon took the Queen's hair,
holding her head in place as he slid his cock deeper into her throat. She had
never seen any woman, anywhere, swallow a cock so deeply without a hint of a
gag. Dany moaned softly from the pleasure Irri was giving her, which only led
Jon to moan himself. Irri wanted to touch her cunt, but couldn't reach it
around Dany's legs, so it was all she could do to simply writhe around
desperately. 
I want it, she thought, watching Jon's cock glide in and out of the Queen's
mouth; glistening; dripping. I want it in me. It's mine. That was a dangerous
thought, but it grew from a seed that Dany had planted herself. 
Dany pushed her weight down on Irri's face, cutting off her air and forcing her
to readjust her head. Irri kept her tongue focused on Dany's clit the whole
time, like a good little cunt wench, and looked up to make sure there was no
sign on Dany's face that she had missed a beat. But Dany was unreadable. Her
eyes were closed; her lips sealed around Jon's cock; every part of her devoted
to pleasing this man who was to be her King. Lucky bitch. That was dangerous
too.
Jon was getting closer; it was plain. Before he got too close, Dany pushed him
away, stood up, and put a hand on his chest. Irri's tongue reached into the air
for a heartbeat, as if to pull it back down onto her face.
Dany pushed Jon toward the bed. "On your back." She looked down at Irri and
slapped her face with the sole of her foot. "You. Up." Irri rose, her mind
cloudy. Jon was on the bed, his cock twitching. "You want that boy, don't you,
slut?"
Irri could not deny it. She nodded.
"I knew you would. I know what you are. Mount him."
Gladly. Irri hurried to the bed and straddled the bastard. She had never been
on top with a man before. Men had always simply pumped her full of seed and
nothing more. None had ever thought to lay back and let her take her pleasure.
At best they would have thought it a distraction, and at worst, dangerous, to
be quashed before she grew to like it. 
She took Jon's cock in her hand and pumped it a few more times, smiling
wickedly. I could do this until he goes mad, she thought. But today, her Queen
had worked her up into too much of a frenzy. She needed a cock inside her. This
one. Daenerys's toy. The one she's not to play with unless commanded.
"Go on, do it," Dany bid her, gazing lovingly into her slut's eyes as she
climbed onto Jon's face. "He knows to keep still, just do what you would with
him." 
'Do what you would with him.' Irri had only faint notions of what she "would
do" with a man. She'd never thought she'd have the chance. The question had
always been what he would do to her. But it became much clearer as she slid
down onto his cock. It took a moment to acclimate herself, but her body learned
quickly enough. As she grew more confident, something inside her told her ever
more insistently not to let this boy move an inch without her leave.
Dany's face was temptingly close, but Irri was too consumed with pleasure to
lean over for a kiss, andstill hesitant to leave the exact position she had
found most pleasurable. Instead, Dany rose ever so slightly and slid her feet
under Jon's head so he could still reach her cunt with his tongue. Dany came to
hear, leaning over and kissing her softly on the mouth, teasing with her
tongue. They both put their hands on the other's face at the same time. Irri
could feel each of Dany's fingers caressing her cheeks as they kissed. Every
move they made. The warmth, the softness, the love Dany bore her. She could
feel the tension melting from her body and flowing out through her cunt.
Slowly, but maddeningly, the Queen began to pull away as she grew closer to her
peak. The last time Dany had been this aroused in Irri's presence, she'd almost
choked the life from her. Yet there was no bloodlust in her eyes this time. Her
look was steely and piercing, but behind it was a yearning that Dany was still
afraid to acknowledge.
Irri was getting closer herself. Only then did it occur to her that this spark
while a man--a King, for that matter--lay beneath them, motionless, save for
his tongue and the pulsing in his cock. The only thing strange about it was how
little Irri felt it strange. It seemed silly to think he would be anywhere
else. It would feel stranger if he were only pleasuring one of them, or if he
were treating them roughly without Daenerys commanding it. 
Dany took her pleasure the way she normally did. Loudly. Roughly. With an utter
disregard for Jon's comfort and a primal need to mark him as her property. When
he'd been duly marked, she climbed off of him and knelt behind him near the
head of the bed. She leaned down and briefly kissed him on the mouth before
moving to his face, licking up the juices of her own cunt, and biting lightly
just below his cheekbone. It caught Jon by surprise. He gasped and twitched,
and Irri felt his cock throb like it was ready to burst. 
"Don't do it. Don't you fucking do it," she whispered into his ear, holding a
clump of his hair in one hand and wrapping the other one around his throat.
"She's mine, just like you are. You're to please her until she's done. Defy me
and see how much I'll make you suffer. She's my precious girl. You're
the bitch she mounts when she's earned it."
Irri could barely contain herself. Pain will help him. The thought came as
naturally to her as the urge to scratch an itch. She reached down and pinched
Jon's nipples. He let out a scream. 
Dany bit her lip; surprised, proud, and eager to push them both. "Yes! Such a
good girl, now twist."
Irri did, and watched Jon suck his breath through his teeth, grit them, biting
his tongue, trying anything he could to cope with the pain. It felt almost as
if she were observing herself from the outside as her cunt started to pulse and
spasm. She was serving her Queen and making a man suffer at the same time. She
felt safe, owned, cherished, but powerful. Has this always been in me?
"Yes!" Dany exclaimed wickedly, tightening her grip in both hands as Jon
convulsed. Irri could not say if the Queen was merely taking pleasure in Jon's
pain, or if she'd been inside her mind and was answering her question.
Sometimes with Dany it was hard to tell. She hoped it was both.
Irri felt herself nearing the edge. She leaned forward, grabbed Jon's shoulders
and looked him dead in his eyes. She could not have said what her face looked
like; she was too engulfed in her own pleasure. But whatever it was, it struck
a fear into Jon that Irri thought only Daenerys knew how to strike in anyone.
She felt the muscles in her cunt pulling at Jon's cock, like deep down she were
trying to rip it off and consume it, to teach him a lesson. Dany quickly
released Jon and moved behind her, though to Irri it was all just a blur.
Without warning, heartbeat before she reached the point of no return, Irri felt
the cheeks of her ass spread, and the Queen's middle finger slide into it. Her
muscles clenched around it instinctively, drawing it in further. When she
reached her peak, her panting became a loud, sustained scream that made Jon
cringe as she slammed her weight down on him and Dany pushed her finger in
deeper with each thrust. Dany knew exactly where Irri's weak spots were, and
the extra pressure made her even more sensitive to every twitch and throb of
Jon's cock. The scream turned to a grunt, and for a moment Irri blacked out.
There was no sound, no light, nothing but the sensation of being filled, and
for the first time in her life, having two people devoted entirely to her
pleasure.
Almost.
"Get off," Dany commanded, as soon as Irri began to come down. Irri's cunt was
reluctant to abandon its position, but her mind knew better than to disobey.
She was sore and her hips were more tired then she realized. She rolled off of
Jon and lay next to him, basking in the afterglow.
But the Queen was not done. "Pay attention." 
Irri sat up against the headboard, watching as Dany slowly stroked Jon's cock,
then let it go. "He's about to burst. Look at him. He'll need a moment."
Irri looked. She's right, plainly. She looked up into Jon's eyes and kissed
him. He kissed back and she felt herself stirring again. The Queen chooses her
toys well.
"Where should I let him finish?" Irri was surprised that Dany would seek her
opinion on such matters. She blushed and smiled, as if she was a maid and Dany
was a knight asking to wear her favor. "Did he please you well?"
"Very much so, Khaleesi. Did you not hear me?"
Dany smiled. "Half the castle heard you, sweetling. But that was not him
pleasuring you. That was him holding still while you pleased yourself."
Irri had never been down this line of thought before, but followed Dany
eagerly. Dany took Jon's cock in her hand once more. "Did he suffer enough? Did
he forget himself? Did his cock ever grow soft? If he did well, I'll let him
finish in my cunt."
Irri paused for a moment. "Must we let him finish, Khaleesi?" He may not obey
if I treat him too kindly. She was still uncertain where these thoughts were
coming from, but welcomed them all the same.
A pure and unmistakably evil smile grew on Dany's face as she let out a
surprised but very satisfied laugh. "Oh, yes, my slut asks such insightful
questions!" I love being her slut, but has this changed things? "Have you ever
denied a man his pleasure before?"
"No, Khaleesi," she replied, hoping for a lesson.
"They grow stubborn. Insolent. Outright rude sometimes, truth be told."
"Your Grace...please...." Jon managed to inject.
"Shut your bastard mouth while my sweetling and I are speaking," Dany told him,
just playfully enough to dilute the hostility. She turned back to Irri. "See?
Can you manage that?"
"I don't know, Khaleesi." She looked over at Jon again.
Dany thought for a moment. "Not yet, most like. But that's why I'm here." The
evil smile spread to Irri as well, mixed with genuine love and
gratitude. Please don't hurt me again, Khaleesi. I don't want to stop this.
"Don't let any insolence go unpunished, do you understand?"
"Yes, Khaleesi."
"Good. I shall guide you." Please, always be here to guide me. "You may still
finish him yourself, if you like. Or not. The choice is yours. Do what you
would with him." 'Do what you would,' she repeated to herself. But Irri had
made her decision, and would not be swayed. Her eyes narrowed as she turned to
Jon. "Put your breeches back on." Jon's cock was tapping against his stomach.
He looked at both of them, hoping for a hint of mercy, but found none.
The next morning, Dany summoned the Hand to her chambers. He entered dressed
for a ride, though Dany was still in the linens she'd slept in.
"Your Grace, may I ask why you were wearing armor yesterday?" Tyrion asked once
the pleasantries were over. 
"I thought I was to receive your head without the rest of you. I meant to ride
for Dragonstone as soon as I saw it, and rain Wildfire on Braavos as soon as
night fell."
Tyrion sighed. 
"You're not dead, so it makes no matter," she continued. "But much has happened
since you've been gone, and it's become a rather urgent matter."
Tyrion was no fool, and took her meaning. "As long as they've washed all of
this matter out of my sheets, is it truly my business?"
"Yes. I mean to marry him."
"Your Grace, I must advise that this--"
"You advised me at Castle Black. It was wise counsel, and you meant the best
for me and the Realm. But I was unhappy. I still am. Aegon is a fool. An
arrogant fool. He means to push me aside and govern the Realm himself. He's a
creature of Littlefinger, or the Braavosi, or both."
"And his justification for this?"
Dany merely gave him a look. "The same as always. That I'm mad, and I can't be
trusted not to burn half the world down when I get my moon's blood." She
paused. "And that I'm a deviant who has been carrying on some obscene affair
with my handmaiden."
"And that's true, but irrelevant."
Dany was unsure how to answer. Tyrion looked at Irri, sympathetically,
knowingly, but searching her face for clues as to how she felt about it. Irri
had never been certain how to conduct herself around men like Tyrion. He was
highborn, but treated her kindly. He clearly had Daenerys's trust, but Irri
never knew if that meant he should have hers as well. Eventually he gave up and
broke off his gaze.
"Your Grace, may I speak frankly?"
Dany nodded.
"I've seen the manacles hanging from the ceiling. Do you normally bring thieves
and rapers into your bedchamber for safekeeping?" 
You would be surprised, my lord.
Tyrion went on. "The only other places I've seen manacles like that are
dungeons and brothels. Expensive ones. I'd be a fool not to know what that was.
Hiding this love is like hiding Drogon in your privy chamber." He took a sip of
wine. "But stopping yourself is as easy as stopping Drogon from shitting where
he pleases. You're a Targaryen. It's in your blood."
"Madness, you mean," Dany replied, annoyed at how often she's reminded of it.
"Brilliance, Your Grace. Some brilliant men can do sums in their head in an
instant where others would need to work it out on paper. Some can make
beautiful music before they can talk. You, on the other hand...well, you beat
your lovers bloody."
"So Ramsay Bolton was a prodigy? Theon Greyjoy his work of art?"
"Ramsay was mad, of course. The difference is his motives. He broke Theon down
and rebuilt him weaker than he was to begin with. He took fingers and toes and
the poor man's cock merely because it pleased him. That's madness."
Dany looked away for a moment. She dares not mention the oarsman. "But when I
do it, it makes me brilliant," she finally repeated, skeptically.
"That you aren't dead yet despite everything that's happened to you from the
day you were born makes you brilliant. You do this because you're brilliant.
You broke the world down and rebuilt it to better suit your liking. Because you
don't simply accept the world as it is. You see what it can be, what
it should be. You see its weaknesses and cannot help yourself but to use them
for your advantage. And you've done the same with this girl. You do it because
it's not enough to play with her cunt and go to sleep. You need to give her a
place, and a purpose. To make her better than what she was when you found
her." At her best, yes.
Tyrion looked at Irri. She nodded in response.
"I thought we trusted each other enough not to speak in trite flatteries, Lord
Tyrion."
"This is not flattery, Your Grace. I've had many an idle conversation with many
a whore in my life. I know who the smart ones are, and I know what they like.
If whores had their own Citadel, I'd wager you could be Archmaester." 
If he were anyone else, his tongue would already be in the brazier. Yet Dany
merely chuckled. "That's very kind of you, my lord, but the High Septon may be
of a different mind."
"Of course, Your Grace. If Aegon reveals this, it may well be your head, and
mine, and hers. But I assume you suspect he's got his own secrets, hence our
jaunt in the Kingswood?" 
Dany nodded. "Mhm."
"Connington?"
"Who else?"
Tyrion laughed. "Many and more, I'd wager, but the old man will do. You mean to
set the King aside, discredit anything he says about your handmaiden, and use
the opportunity to marry the King in the North?"
"Precisely."
"And you do not fear he will covet the Iron Throne?"
"He would much rather serve than rule." 
Tyrion smiled, holding in the jape on his tongue. 
Dany shot him a quick glare. Irri held back a smile. "He governs the North
because he has to, and he hates it," the Queen explained. "I do not fear his
ambition."
Tyrion thought for a moment. "If you did, would you care?"
"Not a fig."
"You love him."
"I do." She means it.
Tyrion paused and thought. "Very well. Then there's no sense--"
There was a knock, and the guard announced the Grand Maester.
"Send him in," Dany ordered.
Sam entered, pale-faced. "A raven, Your Grace." He handed her the parchment,
unsealed but rolled up, his hand shaking. "In Lady Arya's hand."
Dany snatched it from him. Her face dropped. "I am alive and well, in the
Eyrie," she read aloud. "Your treachery has voided the Iron Bank's obligation
to remain neutral in your Realm's affairs. The Sealord has chosen to back the
claim to the Throne of Lord Petyr Baelish...my betrothed..." Her own hands were
shaking now. She looked up at Tyrion, then continued. "...and will commit
whatever resources necessary to defend his rightful rule over Westeros, unless
you pay your debt in full, and sign a treaty not to meddle in the affairs of
the Free Cities."
She sat back in her chair and bit her lip, staring into space, fighting back
tears. "Get Jon," she commanded Sam. "Now!" Sam ran faster than Irri knew a man
that fat could move.
Dany handed the letter to Tyrion, who inspected the mockingbird seal, and
seemed satisfied that it was genuine. Dany grabbed his cup of wine and hurled
it onto the floor, before he could take a sip build his courage and buy time to
form a response. Irri flinched. Last night was so good, Khaleesi. Please don't
do this.
Dany's voice was so loud it made Irri and the Hand both grimace. "By what right
does that child-fucking SNAKE Petyr Baelish think he--" 
Tyrion took what may have been his last opportunity to inject some reason.
"Lord Baelish didn't become Lord Baelish by only doing what he has a right to
do," he interrupted her.
Before Dany could respond, Jon burst in, trailed by Sam. "Where's the note?!"
Tyrion handed it to him, cautiously, gauging him.
Jon read it just enough to make sure it was Arya's hand. 
"She'll switch his balls with his eyes before they consummate it," Sam tried to
reassure him.
Jon paid Sam no mind. He looked at Dany, and they nodded to each other. "My
lady," he turned to Irri, "fetch the Queen's armor."
***** Daenerys III *****
Chapter Summary
     "Our fathers were evil men, all of us here. They left the world worse
     than they found it. We're not going to do that."
     --Daenerys, Game of Thrones Season 6 Episode 10
"Find any wild boar up there?" Bronn asked as he pulled Lord Connington’s mouth
from Aegon's ass and slammed him onto the floor of the cabin. "Pheasants?
Grouse?"

Dany stood near the door, armored, watching as her Queensguard pulled Aegon off
the bed by his ankles.

The Mummer’s Dragon struggled as they tied his hands behind his back. “What
kind of twisted cunt are you?!" He cried.
The kind that gets wet from this.

"Shall this one cut his tongue out, Your Grace?" One of her Queensguard asked
as he pulled Aegon to his feet.

"No, he'll need it later. Gag him, though. The Kingswood should be my refuge
from the sound of shrieking whores." He looks good like that, though, she
noticed, as he fidgeted naked and helpless.
She turned to Tyrion as he, Jon, and Sam entered, stepping over the wooden
battering ram the Unsullied had used to break the door down. "You were right,
my lord." 
They would not have been there had Tyrion not once again shaken Dany out of her
rage, moments before she was to mount Drogon and reduce Braavos to dust.

"There should be witnesses,” he told her. “Men from the other Free Cities who
can tell the slavers what they saw." She liked that. 
"And even if you raze Braavos this instant, you still have to contend with
Littlefinger and Aegon. Braavos will still be there in a fortnight for you to
do with as you please. But play this game foolishly enough, and King’s Landing
may not."
Before Jon, that would have vexed her, and her slut would have suffered for it.
But things had been different since he arrived. ‘If you want to rule like a
true Queen, become the child wandering the desert with nothing again.’ The
words stuck with her. In the desert, there had been no Realm, no army, no lords
or Small Councils fighting for land or coin or power. Just her bloodriders,
handmaidens, Ser Jorah, and the weakest of Drogo’s former khalasar. No one had
foretold greatness for her. Her only concern was finding food and water to get
through the next day of wandering. 
She was one of the youngest among them.  A foreigner and a girl, in a culture
that looked down on both. But when her children hatched and they saw who she
was, it compelled their unfailing loyalty. There was nothing to rule, but
suddenly there were people to lead. So she led them, because she had no choice.
Questioning or straying from her meant death; not by her hand, but by the
elements of nature.
The love that grew between her and Jon was the same. She listened to him when
he told her she was going too far, but he only failed to bend when bending
itself meant breaking. Short of that, he pushed, and pushed, and pushed to give
more of himself to her. To dive deeper into her thrall. Because he needed to.
He’d seen what was at the core of her being, and like her followers in the Red
Waste, he went to his knees. There was nowhere else to go. And leaving her
service would mean a slow, agonizing starvation of his soul.
He gave her every ounce of himself that he could, but he was not afraid of her.
She could do Jon no true harm, not merely because she would face war and be
named a kinslayer, but because she loved him too much. He was such a beautiful
man in so many ways, and no matter what the law said, she was already his
Queen, and he deserved her best. She would give it to him, and as she learned
from him, she would give it to her people. ‘Give them a reason to want it.’ The
Starks were not as foolish as the singers said. 
Consumed by that love, and determined to give it the place in her life it
deserved, they rode for the Kingswood in search of Aegon and proof of her
suspicions. It had only been a few days until they found Aegon’s horse tethered
outside a forester's cabin. Her men surrounded it, broke down the door, and it
was done.
"Question the old man separately," she ordered Bronn, as she approached her
husband and watched the anger on his face turn to fear.
Aegon slumped against the wall with his legs open. Dany put the sole of her
boot straight down onto his shrunken cock. She took her time watching him grit
his teeth to hold back the scream. 
"Should I go easy on you too, or can you take more pain than a handmaiden?" He
can't. "Maybe Lord Grandfather can lick your wounds when I'm done with you."

Gleefully, she drew her arm up for a backhand, but Jon broke her out of the
trance. "Daenerys!" Seven hells. But she knew he was right. “Leave him be!”
Jon had been surly of late, as men tend to get after being brought to the edge
and denied their pleasure repeatedly. It had earned him a beating or two, but
it made her cunt tingle every time he growled something so harsh and gruff and
utterly out of line. That only meant more beatings.

Dany lowered her arm, but pressed her foot down just a bit harder, as a
consolation. "Grand Maester," she began, never breaking her gaze at Aegon. "If
called to testify in a trial before the Crown, could you attest to what you
just saw?"

"I could, Your Grace."

"What did you see?" Her tone was loud and deliberate. This was a formality, of
course. Everyone knew what he saw, even before he saw it. But of all of the men
accompanying her, Sam made the most credible witness.

"I saw your royal husband and Lord Connington performing a deviant and
abominable act." His answer sounded rehearsed, because it was.
"Are you sworn to my service, Grand Maester?"
‘No, Your Grace, but I'm terrified of you.’ That was plain, and she loved it.
"No, Your Grace. I serve only the Realm."

"Very good. The Realm thanks you. See that our marriage is properly annulled."
Dany gave Aegon's cock one last press, spat in his face, and commanded her
Queensguard to remove him from her presence. She turned to Tyrion. “If they did
find any game, up his ass or otherwise, have it roasted for the men. They’ve
earned it."
To her surprise, the old man and his whore had actually caught a large boar
that morning, so Her Grace decided to feast with the fifty household guardsmen
and fifty Northmen in their tents outside the cabin. She sat amongst them,
drank their ale, shared her own wine, and asked about their lives. How was
morale? Are the streets of Flea Bottom safe? Can a man find decent work? Are
the whores happy? 
The men guarded their tongues around her at first, but once they were in their
cups, she managed to pry out some filthy jokes and stories of their finest
conquests. Half of them were dubious, and she mocked the ones that were the
most obviously full of shit, to roars of laughter from the rest of the men.
Dany was more comfortable among soldiers than she’d ever been in the Throne
Room. She needed to be a Khaleesiagain for a night, and soon she would need the
respect of every Northman she could find.
When she retired to the cabin, Dany had Aegon brought before her, unbound. She
stood leaning against the foot of the bed as two Unsullied wordlessly tossed
him through the threshold, kicked him to the floor, and left. Jon stood upright
beside her, like a guard. Stone-faced, silent, and motionless.
Unlike the eunuchs, Jon felt pain, and fear, and doubt. He laughed, mourned,
and raged when he didn’t get his way. He had desires other than what Dany
wanted of him in that instant. But he had made the choice to put those feelings
second to her will, trusting that through his suffering, she would make him
happier than he could ever make himself. He could be anywhere right now. He
could have any woman he wanted. But he was standing beside her, guarding her,
waiting her next command almost impatiently, so he could show her yet again how
eager he was to please and obey her. The Unsullied had their uses, but Dany
found much greater satisfaction from Jon’s service than a trained follower
she’d stolen from halfway across the world.
The King put his hand Longclaw, but made no other move. There was no need. The
Mummer’s Dragon stood, shivering, covering his cock and balls with his hands.
"Who told you?" Daenerys Stormborn began.

"Baelish.” Why am I not surprised? There was a stubborn defiance in his tone.
"And you were fool enough to think he just admired you so much that he’d push
me aside for you as a name day present?" Dany did not wait for a response. "He
has Arya Stark with him at the Eyrie. He means to marry her, gain a claim on
the North, and have the Braavosi take all of Westeros for him. All he needs of
you is to divide the Realm and keep me from defending what’s mine. Has anyone
ever gained from standing between me and what’s mine?”
She let him sit with that for a moment and let the shame sink in. "Connington
makes no matter to me, you know," she continued. "You and I bore no great love
for each other, but have I ever shown you any ill will? I would have wanted you
to be happy. Our marriage was a mummer's farce for the Realm. Why put on
another for ourselves?"

"I am the rightful--" Does he truly believe that? Still?
"You're my brother's get just as much as Jon is Ned Stark's, but we’ve known
that for years, haven’t we? My children care for you like they care for the
prisoners who shovel their shit. You have neither the brilliance nor the
madness that runs in my blood. You're ordinary.” She said it with an icy
contempt. “You’re a decoration. A pretty thing for the court to look at while
your betters ruled."
“I--”
"Silent, obedient, and gracious to guests," she cut him off again. "And had you
played your part, I’d have let you drizzle the old man’s seed on your porridge
if you wanted. But you needed more. You had to prove you could best me. But
you’re too stupid. Too weak. Too vain. All you did was let stronger men trick
you into becoming their puppet."

The words flowed from Dany's mouth effortlessly. She had wanted to say them for
a long time. As she listened to them, she felt herself stirring. This is when
it gets dangerous, she knew. She could say things like this to Jon, because she
loved him, and he knew it. It was a game they played. But with this one, she
meant what she said.

Aegon fumbled for words that would wound her. "Do you truly believe that what
you have with your handmaiden is love? You torture the poor girl."

"Do not presume to know what I do with Irri, or how she feels about it."

"My deepest apologies, Your Grace," Aegon mocked. "Mayhaps we’ll ask her at
this trial you’re so eager for. Mayhaps we should ask the King in the North as
well. Surely Lady Mormont would love to know what the man she trusted with her
people’s sovereignty gets up to when he journeys south."

Jon stepped forward and backhanded him across the face, knocking him to the
floor. "It looks like that, but when I get hit, I stay up." Jon stepped back,
as Aegon struggled to push himself up to his elbows.
Prickly tonight. Dany looked over and smiled at her new King. I should deny him
more often. She felt that lovely tingle again, but turned back to the task at
hand. "If you mean to use what I do in my bedchamber against me, why can’t I do
the same to you? Because I'm a woman?"

"Because you're a madwoman,” he sneered. “You’re not happy unless you're
hurting someone."
"I’m not happy unless I'm burning down and remaking everything I touch.
Sometimes I have to hurt people. Break them. Bend them to my will. Teach them
to obey, and submit. If you were truly the blood of the Dragon, you would know
it’s for their own good. Ask the Triarchs in the Bay of Dragons who rule
alongside their former masters if this madness of mine is not what's best for
the world. Ask my sweet handmaiden you're so concerned about. Ask the true King
who stands before you."
Aegon was still struggling to get back onto his knees. 
"Get a chair," she told Jon. “This depresses me.” Jon went to the small table
near the brazier, and pushed a chair to the center of the room with a solemn,
dutiful aplomb that only a nephew and ward of Eddard Stark could push a chair.
This boy is precious. “Bind him.”
Jon picked up a cord of rope from the floor and stepped toward the royal
boywhore, pointing to the chair. “Don’t make this difficult.”
Her cunt was hoping he’d make it extremely difficult, but lamentably, Aegon was
not so foolish. "I'm not opposed to letting you live,” she told him, distracted
by the twisted beauty of Jon binding him to the arms and legs of the chair.
“But you have to punish me, don’t you? Beat me and play with your cunt and tell
me how bad I am?” 
Dany rolled her eyes. You’re not bad, you just don’t know yourself as well as I
know you. “No. Here’s how this will go. Please me tonight, renounce your
titles, and we'll forego the trial. You'll stay at court, with accommodations
befitting what you've fooled everyone into believing to be your station.”
“There will be rumors.”
She laughed, and glanced at Jon. “Rumors.” She turned her gaze back to the
bound, naked man sitting before her. “There have been rumors about me since the
night I mounted Drogo in front of his whole khalasar. Every potshop in the city
has me fucking a different man. Jon, of course. And his wolf. Tyrion, Sam, Asha
Greyjoy with Theon’s cock dipped in gold, every Dothraki I’ve ever come across,
and their horses. Do you know the rumor they spread about you? They say you’re
Daario Naharis in disguise.”
“If I’m so false, mayhaps I am.”
“You disguised your cock as three inches shorter?”
Aegon bristled. Jon’s face grew into an amused grin that made Dany want nothing
more than to know what hid behind it. Some of his thoughts still escaped her,
but soon or late she would see all of them before he did.
“You can stop this any time you wish, and receive as fair a trial as you
otherwise would," Dany went on, as she began stripping Jon’s clothes off as
casually as a washerwoman would take them off the line. "I will recuse myself,
and you may raise any defense you wish. You can even call my sweetling to
testify, and she will tell the truth. Though I must caution you, everyone will
know by then.” She said it so casually. “The crown on her head will make it
plain.”
The grin on Jon’s face vanished. For half a heartbeat she thought he might push
her away. “We’ll talk later, sweetling,” she whispered to him, unlacing his
breeches and leaning in for a kiss. Jon took the bait. Their lips touched
briefly. “You will still be my husband, and my King. I'm not setting you aside.
I promise.” She looked straight in his eyes, so he knew she meant it. 
By then, she had his cock in her hand, growing at the exact pace she set when
she glided her fingers up the shaft toward the head. Her heart beat faster. She
had never seen a harder cock on a man, and she’d seen her share. Are you wroth
with me, little man? She smiled down at it and squeezed. Show me how wroth you
are.
Dany turned around to see Aegon looking exactly where she expected, and doing a
piss-poor job of hiding it.

"How long has it been, my love?" She asked Jon as she removed her own clothes,
as if neither of them were there. Her body spoke for itself. She had no need to
tantalize.
Jon understood the question. "Five days? A week? I can’t remember." He
shrugged.

Too familiar. She turned around and smacked him. "Do you forget yourself,
bastard?"

"Your Grace! Five days, maybe a week, Your Grace. Please forgive my insolence."
She smacked him again, for good measure, and for fun. "Never forget your
courtesies in front of such honored guests as King Aegon the Throat-Cunt."

"Yes, Your Grace. It won't happen again."
“See that it doesn’t.” She grabbed a pillow and moved it to the foot of the
mattress. “Lay there, on your back.” Dany could not wait until an out-of-place
pillow might also mean she wanted him on his stomach, but he wasn’t ready for
that yet. Soon enough, though.
While Jon laid down, Dany got behind Aegon, leaned against his chair with all
her weight, and pushed him right up to the edge of the bed with a malicious
giddiness that only a trueborn daughter of Aerys II Targaryen could push a man
tied to a chair.
“I came to Westeros to restore order,” the Queen told both of them, as she
straddled Jon at the legs and ran her hands through the hair on his chest, “and
that’s what I mean to do.”
“Please, Your Grace,” Jon sighed.
“We’ve done much good,” Her Grace continued as she licked her palm and slowly
stroked Jon’s cock, “but Tyrion buggered up this part, and it’s long past time
to fix it.” 
Once Jon was ready, she positioned his cock and slid onto it, letting out a
soft moan as it entered her. It felt thicker than usual. Primed and impatient.
Every last drop. Straight into my cunt. I need it. GIVE IT TO ME!But she kept
the pace agonizingly slow for the both of them.
”There’s a very clear order to my world.” She looked down at Jon and circled
her fingers around his nipples, pulling herself up and thrusting her weight
down hard, still keeping the slow pace. “You, are a bastard. A byblow. Your
blood is tainted. You’re my brother’s rape whelp...” Her voice and her eyes
showed a biting contempt, but she knew Jon could see it for the lust and
ecstasy it truly was. The grinding of her hips became more purposeful as she
continued. “...An accident, that he got on some Northern cunt because she
teased him from the stands at a tourney. No one teases a true Dragon. She made
him want it, so he took it.” 
None of this was true, of course, but it was the story about Rhaegar that Jon
had grown up with, the one that pained him the most when he learned his place
in it, and the one he struggled most to discard from the deepest recesses of
his mind. “Your mother has no one to blame for you but herself. The best thing
you ever did as a son...the only thing you ever did as a son..was kill her when
she wretched you from her frozen cunt and spare her the misery of knowing you
exist.”
Jon’s eyes flashed, but Dany’s cunt was too warm, too tight, and too wet; her
mastery of his body and mind too complete for him to truly grow wroth. All he
could do was smack her ass with both hands, and tug at her cheeks. 
Her hand was on his throat before he could enjoy the feeling of her flesh in
his grip. “Do not touch me with your bastard hands until I command it.” Jon
took his hands off and held them up. She could feel his cock start to pulse
more quickly, so she slowed down her thrusting. “You’ll get what you need so
desperately,” she assured him as her eyes consumed his. “But I must talk to the
boywhore first.”
Dany immediately lifted her gaze to Aegon, who had grown properly terrified at
what he’d witnessed. She had never shown him this part of her before, and
regretted not doing it sooner.
“You’re even less than that, aren’t you? You come from some cheesemonger and a
Lyseni whore whose dream in life was to grow rich fucking cheesemongers.” She
leaned closer to him. “Do you know how I grew rich, my dear? I sacked cities. I
walked right through their gates, tore out their nobles, root and stem, and
took their gold. I brought whole peoples to their knees while you were living
on them, letting old men fuck that cunt on your face you call a mouth until it
was too used up to pay for.”
Aegon was wordless. He knew it would be foolish to say anything back, though he
was unsure what would happen.
“You’re worse than a bastard. You’re baseborn. Foreign. You don’t even belong
on my continent. You’re lucky you weren’t crushed at the start, just like your
mother on the night you were conceived.”
Dany spotted tears forming in his eyes and wanted to lick them off of his face.
It made her unwittingly buck her hips faster. She grabbed a fistful of Jon’s
hair, but kept her gaze on Aegon. “This one here is at least half a Dragon.
This one’s people chose him as their King.”
Aegon must have found some courage somewhere. “Why are you saying these things,
Daenerys?”
That's the last time you'll ever call me by my given name. “To show you where
you fit in the world as I mean to order it. You may have never loved me, but
you loved my cunt, didn’t you?”
The Mummer’s Dragon held his tongue.
“Yes, then. If you didn't, you're fool enough to think it would wound me to
hear that. But you're also too weak to lie without your eyes betraying you.”
His eyes betrayed that she was right. She straightened her back and lifted
herself just high enough to take Jon’s cock out of her. Jon groaned in a
frustration that he should have known by now to restrain. Dany slapped him, but
said nothing. He knows what he did. She never looked away from Aegon.
“Watch this,” she commanded, shaking Jon’s cock back and forth to draw his eye
to it, then sliding back down onto it. “You will never feel this again.” Her
cunt grew wetter just from saying the words. Dany enjoyed having more than one
mount to choose from, but Aegon was unremarkable, and the power she felt from
knowing he was still in her thrall despite being denied what used to be his
right was more pleasurable than anything Aegon had ever done to her with his
cock.
“This one gets my cunt now. Perhaps others as well in time, but never you. I
need this man’s cock. Do you hear me? I tolerated yours. Even enjoyed it
sometimes. But this one I need.” Her body began to move on its own, slipping
away from the grip of her mind. “He does things to me that your weak little
mind can’t even imagine. Things every girl should feel before she calls herself
a woman, but that you’ve never taken even me close to.”
Aegon was going pale. “Don’t do this, I can’t do--”
“Bugger what you can’t do. There’s so much you can’t do.” She dismounted just
in time to stop the pleasure from overtaking her. “Up,” she commanded her true
King.
Jon sat up as Daenerys got down onto her stomach and presented her ass and cunt
to him. She propped herself up on her elbows so she could watch Aegon’s face
contort itself in such beautiful pain. Jon needed no instruction. He’d been
waiting for this moment for days.
Her moan as he entered her cunt sounded like agony, but he wasn’t hurting her.
He was consuming her. Giving back what she’d given him all week. Fuck me, fuck
me, fuck me. Teach me never to do that again. I won’t learn, but fucking teach
me!d
It was so good that she dropped her head, closed her eyes, and forgot Aegon was
there. Only when she threw her whole body back against Jon’s cock did she look
up and remember him. She almost decided to ignore him completely, until she
felt Jon grip her hair and pull her head back so she locked eyes with him
again. He likes this just as much as I do.
“This. This is something you can’t do,” she growled, through clenched teeth.
Jon slapped her right ass cheek so hard it threw off the rhythm of her
breathing. Yes, put on a show for him, bastard. “That’s something you can’t
do.” 
Jon wasted no time building his pace. He put the hand that wasn’t gripping her
hair onto the small of her back and pulled her onto him, grunting, growling,
seething. He fucked her hard, recklessly, with an utter disregard for anything
but making certain her cunt remembered who owned it.
Dany mocked a lunge at her husband, and bit the air in front of his face, just
to feel her cunt pulse when he flinched. “You know what you can do, boywhore?
You can clean up the mess he makes inside me when he's done. He’ll get it all
over himself, too. You'll like that part. I might let him have my ass later, so
you can tend to that as well. And you can sleep on the floor tonight, in
chains, and wash these bedsheets on the morrow.”
Her breathing grew faster, her cunt was hungry, and it seemed Jon may soon
leave her with no choice in the matter, but she needed to get the words out.
“You can draw our bath water, lay out our clothes, serve us wine.” She was
panting, struggling to keep the moans from overtaking her words. “Tonight,
tomorrow, and for as long as we desire it. Me, Jon, and our serving girl. If
she’s suffered so much, you’llbe the serving girl. You can do those things, can
you not? Or would you rather be exposed?”
The terror on Aegon’s face had less to do with her than with his own thoughts.
Of course he likes this. It seemed so plain to her that he would, and she
wondered why she never simply showed him. Why must men be so ashamed of what
they like?
“Yes. I can do it,” he finally replied. Dany smacked him, testing what he’d
learned. “Your Grace! Yes, Your Grace. I can.”
He’s quick to learn when you teach him what he truly needs to know. The grin on
her face was the same look Drogon gave when a sheep tried to run from him but
could only stand frozen and shit itself. Aegon’s face was the same look the
sheep would give. “Don’t be a craven, boy. Give in to this.” The Tyroshi accent
of her childhood began to creep back into her voice, and her breathing grew
shallower, more rapid. “I know you want to taste the cock that stole my cunt
from you forever.” She circled her left index finger around his lips. “I know
you want to suck it.” She pushed her finger between his lips, past his teeth,
and felt his tongue wrap around it. 
No man had done it before like he did. “The cheesemonger breeds the finest
whores, doesn’t he? Yes. Yes--” She gasped, suddenly. Her thoughts and body
were no longer her own. Jon had claimed them for himself. The last thing she
could do was grip her husband’s face with her thumb and index finger so he
could keep sucking. “Yes, yes, yes, give me your fucking cock, bastard, gimme
gimme gimme, YES!”
The only sensation left was the ecstasy of his seed bursting into her. Her cunt
drank in everything she’d built inside of him over the past week. She felt it
coating her. Her cunt pulsed and throbbed, like she meant to pull his cock
right off his body and keep it for herself. Every last drop of it. I want it. I
need it. Put a baby in me. Please, gods, let him put his baby in me! Mages and
prophets could fuck themselves. This man deserved a child, and she would give
him one if it killed her.
As soon as Jon released his grip, Dany sprung forward, grabbed Aegon’s face
with both hands, and kissed him more passionately than she’d ever done as his
wife. She actually wanted him. Not as she’d just had Jon, but in the way she
saw fit for him. He’s in his place. He knows the order. Aegon kissed back,
hungrily, twisting against the ropes. Dany threw an arm behind her back and
waved at Jon to come and stand behind Aegon’s chair.
While Jon moved where he’d been told, Dany got on her back, put her ankles on
Aegon’s shoulders, and kicked him in the face a few times. It was more playful
than angry. Her anger had washed out of her and was drying itself on Jon’s
cock. She felt liberated. She no longer had to feign love or desire for him.
She could take her pleasure from him in the way she alone preferred.
Jon positioned himself behind Aegon, and Dany squirmed as close to the edge of
the bed as she could get. She bit her lower lip, nodding at Jon when she was
ready.
Dany leaned back as Jon grabbed Aegon’s hair and used his Eddard Stark chair-
pushing magic to tip his head right between her still-dripping thighs. The boy
went straight to work. Normally she would have wanted him to start slower and
build up to it, but her blood ran too hot to correct him. All she could do was
grab the back of his head and push her hips into him.
The Queen sometimes doubted whether she could trust her intuition, but if there
was one thing she could always tell for certain, it was whether the person
licking her cunt was doing it out of desire, fear, or duty. It was often a
mixed bag, especially if said person was tied to furniture or held in place by
a fistful of hair. But this was pure, unrestrained desire. Most of the
lovemaking she’d done with Aegon had been good, but rote. He made sure she had
her pleasure, which she appreciated, but he made no great effort to see how far
he could push her. It was a diversion for him, not a passion. But tonight,
Aegon worshipped her cunt like he was atoning for all the ways he’d wronged her
from the day they met, and honored for even having the chance.
“Lick it out,” she heard Jon say, while her eyes were closed. They snapped
open. He was leaning down into the boy’s ear. “Pompous cunt, lick it.”
That alone almost sent her over the edge. Oh, you two will be fast friends. “Do
it! Your King commands it!” She reiterated, looking up into Jon’s eyes. Yes,
let it out. Let ALL of it out. He’s yours next, my love. “Miss a drop and
you’ll sleep right there, just like that,” she hissed at Aegon. “I’ll have a
eunuch stand here all night and hold you up by your hair, I swear it.”
Jon grabbed her right foot as it hung in the air over Aegon’s shoulders,
planted an adoring kiss on the sole, and took each of her toes into his mouth
individually, sliding his tongue between the as he went, as the soft skin of
her soles brushed against the stubble on his chin. It made her shudder, and the
pleasure came over her like a summer storm. First a tiny drop, then another,
then it drenched her. The screams she let out sent two Queensguard bursting
through the already half-broken door, but they withdrew as soon as they saw
what was happening. No one paid them the slightest bit of attention. Power
suits me, was the last thing she remembered thinking before she came down on
the other side of her peak.
Her limbs felt heavy and her cunt sore as her mind caught up to her body. But
there was work to be done. “On the bed, sweetling,” she ordered Jon, who still
had that dour look on his face she loved so much. Good, he’s not done. “Lay
down.”
Jon hesitated. “Your Grace, do you mean to have him--”
“Yes,” she answered as she rose.
Jon laid down facing the proper way. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
“Are you certain you can’t?” She retrieved a dirk and began to slice at Aegon’s
ropes. The boywhore can. He’s ready to leap out of his chair.
“...No, Your Grace. I just--”
“Hush.” She crawled into bed next to him and knelt near his cock. It was no
longer fully hard, but it had another round left, she could tell. Aegon needed
no instructions, just permission from Dany’s eyes. He situated himself between
the King’s legs, but she put a finger up. Not yet, serving girl.
The look he gave her almost made her blush. She had seen lust in Aegon’s eyes
before, but this was different entirely, though she couldn’t describe how. Had
she seen this side of him before, she might have grown to love him. Look at
what you deprived me of, Lord Tyrion. I could have had this for years. Gods,
look how HAPPY he is. She was happier, though. I set the order in this world,
she resolved.No one else. No one.
“Why are men such cravens about this?” She stroked Jon’s cheek, put a hand over
his eyes, and guided Aegon’s head down toward Jon’s cock with the other. "His
mouth is warm and wet and soft just like mine, or Irri's, or your Wildling's,"
she explained. "He’s a new pet for you, like you’re mine, that’s all.”
Aegon was growing impatient and fidgety. Your King learned to wait. You can,
too. She turned back to Jon. “What matter does it make that he's a man? Is
there some dark magic to it? Will the Others come back? Will my dragons forsake
you? Will Ghost turn on you and rip your throat out? The next time you walk by
a weirwood tree, do you think the ghost of Eddard Stark will clout you on the
ear, all because some bedslave from Pentos got some spittle on your cock?"

Jon sighed. "No, Your Grace,” he had no choice but to admit.
“Of course not. Boywhore,” she commanded, again turning to Aegon, “lick.
Slowly.” Dany took her hand off of Jon’s eyes. They were closed, but not
tightly. She stroked his hair and watched Aegon’s tongue slide up the shaft of
Jon’s cock. She mocked a gasp. “Look at that! Your cock’s getting hard!” And
the harder your cock, the deeper inside you I get.
Jon groaned softly. Dany sensed he meant to acknowledge she was right. I told
you. She stroked Aegon’s hair as well. “He’s just afraid of it, darling. Suck
the head. He’ll be too weak for fear. He’s your better and he always will be,
and if he gets even a whiff of insolence from you, he’ll put you right back in
your place.” While I watch, with a dripping cunt. “And if he doesn’t, I will.
But he’s easy, you’ll see.”
Jon gripped the sheets in a sad attempt to stop his back from arching and his
hands from reaching for Aegon’s head. Dany laughed sweetly. “Why are boys so
delicate, Jon Snow? How many battles have you fought? A hundred? Against men
who were already dead?” She moved her hand to his throat, and pressed. His eyes
opened right into hers, and froze. “And you can’t lay here and get your cock
sucked because Tormund Fucking Giantsbane might mock you if you told him who
sucked it?” She smacked him. “He’s fucked animals! This one at least walks on
two legs.”
She was met with silence. Aegon had found too many things to do with his tongue
while she was soothing her precious, fragile pet. “Would you like a
distraction? Would that make you less afraid?”
Jon nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.” 
Dany straddled his face, stroked his hair and looked down into his eyes. “The
only thing you should fear is displeasing me, sweetling.” She tightened her
grip on his hair. “Remember that. Boywhore!” She shouted, without looking back.
“Finish him, while I set his world back to order.”
Before they rode for King's Landing the next morning, Dany summoned Tyrion and
Sam. Bronn joined, because Bronn always knew where the free wine was. Dany and
Jon had the Unsullied take the new serving girl away before they arrived. It
was best not to give Tyrion too many things to opine on at once.
"What next?" she asked as they sat. Tyrion poured himself some wine, as Bronn
lifted his cup expectantly.

"The annulment, of course, and a trial,” Sam began as Tyrion poured for his
sellsword. 
“A quick one. Do not let them mount a true defense.” Tyrion jumped in. “Heads,
spikes, walls; Braavos, dragons, dust; then ride for Winterfell and kiss every
Northern ass you can find. Grey Worm should prepare to starve Littlefinger out
of the Eyrie, as well. Say what you will about the man, he’s persistent."
“No need.” The Dragon Queen’s tone was certain. She toyed with her crown on the
table, spinning it between her fingers. “The first day of each new moon’s turn,
half the petty lords in the Vale send chests of gold to the other half.
Henceforth, until they hear otherwise, the mountain clansmen are to ambush and
pillage every baggage train they can find. We will arm and armor them. They can
keep it all, to do with as they please. Get word to your savage friend, Shagga
Son of Shagga--”
Bronn took a bite of an apple. “Dolf,” he interjected, with his mouth full.
“Shagga Son of Dolf.” He paused to swallow. “You’re thinking of Timett Son of
Timett. But bugger them, can I be in charge of this? You said I’d be rewarded
handsomely for getting our favorite drunk back, but all I’ve gotten so far is a
look at your husband’s lacquered up shit pipe.”
Dany suppressed a disgusted smile. “No. That drunk once told me that power
resides in a bank vault in Braavos. So does your coin. You’ll have it as soon
as I blow the door off and take it. I’ve never cheated you before, and I won’t
now. I have wars to fight.” She turned back to Tyrion. “Make this happen.”
“At once, Your Grace. And that’s a fine start, but--”
“When I return from Braavos, we will lose some battles and sue for peace. I'll
wed Jon, he will renounce his claim to the North, and Littlefinger will wed
Arya and renounce his claim to the rest.” He’ll love the next bit. “The pact
will be sealed at the Twins, where we will murder him at his own wedding.” Yes,
I know. Dany smiled wryly.
Tyrion laughed, incredulous. “Why, Father, I love what you’ve done with your
hair!”
“Thank you, it’s in the fashion of wherever whores go,” she deadpanned, in the
tone she imagined Lord Tywin would speak. 
Tyrion was annoyed that he found that funny. “I can’t say it’s never worked
before, Your Grace, but do you truly think Littlefinger is fool enough to trust
an invitation to wed at the Twins, of all places? And the North remembers Robb
Stark vividly. This will not win you any friends there.”
“I'll manage. Be patient.” She put one finger up to cut off his next volley.
“Lastly, I want the finest jewelers in King’s Landing at a private audience
once Braavos is done. I need two new crowns.”
Tyrion sighed, exasperated. I make this poor man’s life so difficult. She
smiled to herself. “Your Grace...the second crown. It’s for--”
Dany cut him off again. “It is known.”
Tyrion swallowed whatever he’d first planned to say, followed by the rest of
his wine. “And how do you plan on doing this?”
“By standing before some people, saying some words, and putting a dragon cloak
around her. What would you suggest?”
Tyrion stayed silent.
“Sam, find me something in the law to justify it. If you found a right to
unlimited buggery in the Night’s Watch vows, you can do this.”
“As you say, Your Grace.”
Tyrion jumped in again. “The High Septon will never--”
“What High Septon?” Dany quipped.
Bronn laughed aloud. Tyion’s face was stone, but his eyes begged her not to do
whatever it was she planned.
“And who, are you, the proud lord said,” Bronn sang, “that I must bow so low?” 
Dany rose from her chair and put her palms on the table, her eyes demanding
Bronn turn his to meet her. “You know who I am.” His mocking grin vanished.
Dany donned her crown and exited, leaving no more room for words.
When she returned to King’s Landing, Goldcloaks raided the docs and rounded up
one merchant from each of the Free Cities. Jon, with the three fastest ships in
the Royal Fleet and a seasoned Ironborn crew, sailed on the evening tide for
the Braavosi coast. Their holds were empty, save for the captive merchants.
Rather than place him in the cells, Dany had Aegon confined to the Maidenvault.
It was important to put on a grand show of being merciful while he awaited his
fate, and to give herself time to move the other cyvassepieces into place. It
also simply amused her. 
Irri was eager to make up for the time they’d been apart. It was passionate, to
be certain, but Dany had done enough conquest with Aegon, so it was sweeter and
gentler than it might have been.
“Would you like a boy to serve us wine on nights like this?” Dany asked in
Dothraki, while the girl lay on her chest. Irri knew the Common Tongue well,
but she was always so shy and deferential when she spoke it, as if she only
felt comfortable speaking it like a servant. That had its uses, but Dany wanted
her true thoughts now.
“Jon? I'd love it, but I'd want his cock in me after the first sip.”
“Well, yes, but not just now. I mean always. Like you do for me. And when he's
not serving wine he's washing the linens, drawing our baths…”
“If Jon is King, he won’t have time to wash anyone’s linens.”
“When Jon is King, my slut husband will need something to occupy his time.”
Irri looked at her like she’d gone mad. “I love you dearly, Khaleesi, but
sometimes your cunt dreams up these fantastical ideas and clouds your mind with
them.”
I’m no ordinary woman. My cunt’s dreams come true. “He’ll do it.”
“Will you force him at the point of an arakh? If that’s so, I refuse to be a
part of it.” She was angry, and hurt that Dany would suggest such a thing to
her after what she’d been through.
“No, no, sweetling,” she stroked the girl’s cheek reassuringly. “There will be
no arakh. He’s already agreed to it. It pleases him. I’ve seen it with mine own
eyes.”
“He’s pompous, Khaleesi. Willful.”
“At times, yes. But we shall teach him humility.”
“Does Jon know of this?” Irri’s eyes narrowed. 
“Oh, he knows.” Dany smiled mischievously. The girl’s narrowed eyes went from
skepticism to jealousy. “I didn’t mean to keep him from you, sweetling. I
didn’t want to put you in danger on that trip. You will have your share of him,
I promise it.”
“Why is he in the Maidenvault, then? Why isn’t he here now?”
“First, the marriage must be annulled. Second, I must marry Jon. Third, I must
make a new crown. And fourth, I must marry you,” she smiled, “and place it on
your sweet little head.”
Irri paused, struggling to grasp what she’d heard. “Khaleesi, do you misspeak?”
Dany answered in the Common Tongue. “No. I will marry Jon to keep the Realm
happy, and as soon as it’s done, I mean to take you to wife as well, and crown
you Queen Consort. That is, of course, if you would have me as your wife.”
Irri sat up.
"I'll give you Summerhall,” Dany declared, as if it were some trifle. “You and
Jon will both be mine. You'll reign by my side, and help me rule if you wish.
Believe me, sweetling, it’s a beautiful thing to see you on your knees,
wringing out my smallclothes. But you mean so much more than that to me.”
“Forgive me, Khaleesi, but have you lost your wits?”
Dany simply laughed. “You could sit on my Small Council. You can help the
Dothraki become one with my people. Speak for them, help nobles and smallfolk
alike come to respect them.”
“But I haven’t the faintest notion of how to do any of that!”
“You've been watching me all your life, my dear. Do you think I had the
faintest notion of what to do when Drogo fell ill? You can learn, just as I
did. Or, you can spend your days gossiping with Jhiqui and Missandei, if that’s
your preference. I don't care. But hidingthis is what drove me to the madness
that almost cost me your love forever. I’m through with it.”
“How is this even possible, Khaleesi?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? My forebears did it. Aegon the Conqueror came to this land
with two wives. After all I’ve done, I can’t have a wife and a husband?”
Irri was still stunned. “...A crown.”
“A crown, all your own.” Dany’s hand grazed her sweet slut’s cheek. “Why do I
sit in that fancy chair if other people can still tell me whom I’m allowed to
love? Power is not tying you up and beating you. That’s playing at power. I
love it, but if it means hiding you from the world like some dark shame, it’s
no longer enough. Power is standing before every high lord in the Realm, every
man who claims to speak for the gods, arm in arm with you and Jon, and daring
them all to challenge us. It’s declaring through that act alone, without
apology, that the order of the world is now such that a man whose gods forbid
him from being happy in love should find different gods.” 
“You are my god, Khaleesi. You have been since your dragons hatched.”
Dany nodded knowingly. “You came to me a slave. I mean for you to die a slave.”
She put her finger in the girl’s mouth and watched her close her eyes and suck.
With her other hand, she reached down and found her sweet, wet cunt. “My slave.
But in my world, the Queen’s slave is a Queen in her own right, and she will be
treated as such.”
Irri opened her eyes, and they locked with hers for a moment. Dany slid her
finger out of her mouth. Before either of them could say anything, their lips
were pressed against each other. Irri slid up, rolled on top of Dany, and
shuddered as Dany smacked her ass with both hands and gripped her cheeks
tightly. Irri moaned and began to grind her cunt against Dany’s, looking down
into her eyes with a determination that Dany had only witnessed in her when she
was steeling herself through torment.
“Come here,” Dany beckoned, sliding down and pulling her royal slut’s cunt up
to her face. “Be the Queen tonight.”
For the next week, Dany and Irri confined themselves to their own Maidenvault,
of sorts. But that was over soon enough, when Grey Worm brought word during one
of her afternoon teas. “The ships await Your Grace off Braavos.”
“Thank you. Send a raven to Dragonstone. Command that they ready their largest
barrel. Now.”
“This one is pleased to obey, Your Grace.” Irri needed no instruction, and
immediately set to preparing the Queen’s armor.
With the best of intentions, Grey Worm assembled every company of freedmen in
the city in the outer bailey of the Red Keep. Slaves who had been with her
since Astapor, Unsullied, pit fighters, Dothraki she’d freed after uniting them
all into one people, Volantene sailors, Euron Greyjoy’s “thralls,” and
“household servants” from Pentos. Dany’s speech was one of the best she’d ever
given, but while the men roared for her to show Braavos what happens to slavers
in Daenerys Targaryen’s world, Daenerys Targaryen herself took little comfort.
‘Three fires you must light,’the Undying told her, yet she’d long ago lost
count of how many wasted fields and charred corpses bore her mark. When is this
finished?
She wondered if this was even worth it, or whether the millions of people she’d
freed would fall right back into their shackles the moment she drew her last
breath. I must not think about it, she insisted, for fear of going mad if she
did. Instead, she mounted Drogon, closed her eyes, and flew.
It was near the hour of the wolf as Dany approached Braavos, flying just under
the clouds so she could spot the lights of the city. She finally found them,
behind a thick veil of fog. She pressed her heels into Drogon's side and pulled
back on his reins. The beast labored to climb, grunting and puffing smoke from
his nostrils as the ground disappeared beneath them. She could feel the cold
moisture of the cloud on her face, and tiny ice crystals forming on her
eyelashes.

Breaking through the clouds never ceased to amaze Dany. The world was flat and
silent, the moonlight reflecting off the cloud tops. She was tempted to turn
back; to drop the wildfire into the sea and never speak of it again. To find
some way to live up here and escape the swamp of mankind that she had saved but
could not control.

But she couldn't do that, she knew. Before her mind could keep debating itself,
Dany felt Drogon lurch upward and roar in relief. It is done. Her child began
to soar in a lazy circle. For what seemed an eternity, nothing happened. The
world was just as quiet as it had been a moment ago. Did we miss? Did they not
fill the barrel? Or is there naught to see? No one had seen a city burn from
above the clouds, so she wasn't certain what to look for.
Suddenly, one part of the clouds was brighter, greener than the others. It
flickered for a moment, like lightning in a storm, then grew. The green spread
out into a wider circle and the center grew white. Still silent, she noticed,
before a deafening crack knocked Drogon off balance. He shook and struggled,
and for a moment Dany was certain she would fall to her death. But he
recovered, and Dany watched as the green circle stopped its outward sprawl.
From the white mass in the center came a plume of dust, colored like mud in the
moonlight. It started as a straight column but spread into a circle of its own.

It occurred to her that this ugly plume, spoiling her otherwise perfect night
sky, used to be a city. Palaces, hovels, brothels, markets, harbors, and
shrines. The bank that thought it could take what was hers. The army it was
massing to take it. The manses and merchant houses where men plotted against
her. 
The dust is human beings as well. That was less satisfying. Some of them needed
to die, but did their wives and children? Some of them were men who abhorred
slavery just as much as she did, and some were foreign traders, mummers,
whores, priests, and smallfolk who had naught to do with any of this. Some of
them were even slaves themselves, most like praying for the Dragon Queen to
rescue them. I rescued them from a life of suffering. She had to tell herself
something.
How many did the Others kill? Millions, at least. But after all the wars she’d
fought, she still might have killed more. How many Wildlings over eight
thousand years? That must have put their tally above hers, surely. But how many
would I kill if I had eight thousand years to do it?

Before long, the plume stopped rising and the smoke dispersed and blended into
the rest of the sky, tinging the clouds brown. She could still see flashes of
green below, but they were growing duller. I must see. She leaned forward, and
Drogon swept his wings back into a dive.

When the surface finally appeared through the fog, even Drogon stopped in his
tracks, flapping himself into a startled hover while he puzzled at what he saw.
If Dany could fly on her own, she would have done the same. Boulders were
scattered where the city once stood, like a child had dropped a handful of
pebbles. Only a few piles looked like they might have once been buildings.
The most grotesque sight was the Titan. It still stood, but the heat from the
blast had melted it into a deformed mass. The lump on top that used to be its
head still glowed a faint orange, and the whole thing bent forward and leaned
to one side on a partially melted leg. She could hear the screams of men still
trapped inside.
Dany urged Drogon in the direction of the Sealord's palace. It had fared better
than most; at least part of a wall still stood, though its menagerie and glass
gardens were still ablaze. The house with the red door. It was gone forever.
The house with the red door put me on the streets, alone with Viserys, as soon
as we ran out of coin.She turned away and did not look back, though the view
before her was clouded with tears.

She put down near where she estimated the Iron Bank once stood. As she
dismounted, she drew her arakh, but was met only with eerie quiet. There are
not even corpses. The waves of the lagoon lapped against the rubble, and fires
raged in the distance, but those were the only sounds. Braavos had been a
canyon of buildings, but tonight, it looked like the rocky swamp it was when
men first discovered it. She wondered if this is what caused the Doom of
Valyria--some woman, incapable of leaving things be.
The vault is still there. That was the important part. It sat in a hole in the
ground, with steps leading down to it. The door was still intact, but the
hinges were loose, and it could be removed easily enough. ‘Power resides…,’ she
heard Lord Tyrion say. And now it’s mine alone. But she was too exhausted to
relish it. All she wanted was to sleep.
She sat against a rock, exhausted, her guilt and terror melting into a
numbness, which itself melted into something else. Relief, it finally came to
her. There will be no war with Braavos. No siege of King's Landing. No war
galleys pouring out of the Arsenal and into Blackwater Bay. No tens of
thousands of men at Littlefinger’s back. She leaned her head back and exhaled.
For the first time since she watched Viserys die, Dany felt a looseness in her
shoulders.
Her peace was interrupted by the sound of oars, and gruff voices barking
orders. Two longships beached themselves on either side of her, Ironmen leaping
from their decks and forming up, awaiting their captains. Queens can’t slouch
on the ground or they look weak, she assumed. She rose, though she made no
effort to be quick about it. Queens can’t rise too quickly or it looks like
they fear looking weak. It bothered her that these thoughts still came to her.
After the soldiers came the captive traders from the other Free Cities,
shackled, dragged toward her by a handful of soldiers carrying torches. Dany
could see in the light that a few had pissed themselves. One of them still was,
after Drogon made eye contact with him. When they reached her, one of the
Ironborn kicked his captive in the back of the knee and planted him at her
feet. "Kneel for the fucking Queen!" The rest followed suit, most crying, all
purged of defiance.
Dany closed her eyes. How many times must I give these speeches before the
world learns? She paused, mustering the strength to address them as Daenerys
Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, and not Dany, the madwoman who needed a nap.
"Tell your masters what you saw,” she began, in High Valyrian. “Tell them to
strike the shackles off every slave or their cities shall meet the same fate. I
promise it.” She spied Jon making his way toward her with her ships’ captains.
Please tell me I’m still a good person, her eyes pleaded, but his did not yet
know what to say. 
“Launch ships against me and I’ll turn them to driftwood on the open sea,” she
resumed. “Dredge up some claimant to the Iron Throne and he will die screaming,
as will you and everyone you've ever loved. Your flesh will melt away, your
entrails will burn, and your bones will turn to dust and scatter in the wind.
You will be gone and forgotten in a heartbeat, but I will endure long, long
after. Do you understand?"
They pledged obedience in their native tongues, all garbled together.
"Get them back in the boats, open the vault, and take the gold," she ordered
the captains. As they turned, she grabbed Jon's arm. "You, stay."
For a moment, they stood in silence. “Tell me I’m not my father,” she commanded
in a whisper, once the captains were out of earshot.
“You take after him in some ways, that’s plain.” They walked, looking for
somewhere they could be alone. “But all he cared about was clinging to power.
You have no need to cling, Daenerys. Your burden is to use it wisely.”
“Was this wise, or am I a monster?” They stopped behind something that used to
be a wall.
Jon gave it some thought. “It depends. The monster in you has brought the world
to its knees, as it's wont to do, but that’s the easy part. If the old order of
things did not suit you, men will look to the Queen in you for the new one.
They know what not to do, that's clear enough, now what would you have them do
instead? You must think, truly, and answer them.”
“Will this monster always be inside me?”
“Aye. But I fell in love with it, and I don’t regret it. Make the world feel
the same.”
Dany looked around to be certain the men were gone. “Kneel.”
Jon dropped to his knees, more slowly than usual, and with narrow, steely eyes.
“Can I hit you? Will you still allow me?”
“Yes, but know that it tells me more about you than I think you realize. I know
when you’re wroth with me, or with yourself, or something else. I know when
it’s playful, or loving, or when you feel sad or afraid. And how you feel right
now tells me who you truly are.”
It had never occurred to Dany that such a thing was possible. I don't know how
I feel.She thought about how a decent woman would slap the man she loves in the
face. Just get on with it. He’ll know if you try too hard. She cocked her hand
back and slapped him, hoping it told him the right things.
Jon winced, recovered, and looked up at her. He was silent for a moment, his
eyes giving nothing away.
Please, sweetling, let that be enough for you. “Please?” The wall between her
and his true thoughts was too much to bear. Wordlessly, Jon bent toward the
ground, and gave a soft kiss to the top of each of her boots.
Dany sighed in relief. “Rise.” Her voice was shaking.
Jon rose, took her face in his hands, kissed her, and held her in a long,
tight, silent embrace. On another night, that may have earned him a beating for
touching her without permission. But he had permission, and he knew it. The
words made no matter. He still thought she was worth kneeling to. The rest--all
of it--meant nothing without that.
***** Jon II *****
Chapter Summary
     "As the sun was coming up, she used her mouth to make him hard again,
     as Doreah had taught her long ago, then rode him so wildly that his
     wound began to bleed again, and for one sweet heartbeat she could not
     tell whether he was inside of her, or her inside of him."
     --A Dance With Dragons, Daenerys VII
“Are the men ready?” Jon asked Davos as the Hand joined him at the head of the
column. Jon wondered if this was how Roose Bolton had felt, as he marched his
Northmen up the Green Fork toward the Twins.
“Not in the least, but it seems that's how your bride likes them,” Davos
replied. Jon laughed nervously.
This whole plan was a fool’s errand, as he saw it. In truth, he didn’t fully
understand what the plan even was. No one did. All he knew was that he doubted
they could rescue Arya and make it out alive without violating guest right in
the castle that had been the scene of its most heinous violation in living
memory.
The scheme, as Dany told it, was to purposely lose a series of battles to
Littlefinger and create the appearance that she had no choice but to surrender
the Twins and sue for peace. At the Twins, Dany would negotiate a treaty under
which she and Jon would wed, Jon would name Arya his heir, and renounce all his
claims and titles. That would make Littlefinger the new King in the North,
holding the Vale, and all the land from the Twins to the Wall. In return,
Littlefinger would marry Arya and renounce his claim to the rest of Westeros.
They would void the treaty by inciting a revolt among Littlefinger’s bannermen
in the middle of his wedding. She would not command them to turn on him, but
merely use the promise of a large sum of gold fresh from the ruins of Braavos
in exchange for Littlefinger’s head as the spark for the kindling. Ideally,
some lordling would do it on his own accord, but at minimum, Dany hoped that at
some point during the ensuing argument over what to do, someone would show
steel. Guest right would no longer apply, everything would go to shit, and they
would somehow kill Littlefinger and get themselves and Arya to safety.
Jon’s only problem with her plan was that it was a shit plan, and everyone who
had heard it agreed. Daenerys had an undeniable talent for persuading people to
forsake everything they held dear on a moment’s notice for her, but Jon feared
that this pushed the limit of even her abilities. She’s not from here. She
doesn’t understand how important guest right is here, he worried. These men
were not slaves chained up on a ship. They were nobles from the Vale, who
prided themselves on holding fast to ancient customs despite even the strongest
temptations to break them. If anything went even slightly awry, they would have
no choice but to murder Littlefinger under his own roof, and vile as he may be,
Dany's treachery would destroy her chances of winning the North’s fealty.
Dany was utterly deaf to that argument. She could be talked out of bad ideas
for good reasons, but the smartest decision Dany ever made in her life was to
walk into a raging fire and plant her ass on the ground for the night, and her
second smartest was cheating Astapor out of an army. Risk and treachery were
seldom good enough reasons for her.
Maybe she’ll light everything on fire and stand there with her teats out again.
He’d never witnessed it firsthand, but he’d heard good things. She only did it
as a last resort, she explained to him once, but he suspected that her other
options would run out quickly.
Whether the “spark” would light or not, Tyrion had done an admirable job with
the kindling. His mountain clansmen were wreaking havoc on every wayn that
passed through the Vale. Gold was being sucked off the mountain roads and
disappearing into caves and narrow passes impenetrable by any armored column.
The clansmen suffered their own losses, of course, but there were too many of
them, in too many places, at too many hours of the day, with too much well-made
steel for the Knights of the Vale to mount a true defense.
Lords who had lent money to each other were not being repaid, and Littlefinger
was increasingly hard-pressed to fulfill the guarantees he’d made. His
bannermen had not let this go unnoticed and were tiring of partial payments,
promises, and excuses.
Trust and obey , the voice inside him reminded. Serve her, worship her, and she
will keep you safe. Of late, it was hard to tell whose voice it was, and
whether it spoke out of happenstance or when she meant it to. Regardless, it
was of her doing, so he listened.
Suddenly, the voice moved from inside his mind to outside his left ear, as Dany
trotted up beside him. “You seem anxious, my love.”
“I always get this way,” he lied. Dany looked unconvinced but indifferent.
“Out of the way.” She shooed him off to his right, as Irri came up behind them.
Jon and Irri rode next to each other, and Dany rode in front of both. Irri
looked at Jon fearfully. Even she thinks this is madness.
But if Irri was riding to her death, she at least looked beautiful doing it.
Dany had made a point of bedecking her in the finest everything, to flaunt her
in Baelish’s face and remind him of his failure to use their love to divide the
Realm. Irri wore a gold breastplate inlaid with onyx to match her eyes, in the
shape of the two rearing stallions of the Horse Gate at Vaes Dothrak. Her
riding pants were made of the finest leather--so fine that it was almost silly
to ride in them--as were her boots, which she had not even donned until she was
already on the horse, to avoid muddying them.
Jon knew that because he was the one who slid them onto her feet, at Dany’s
command. When he finished the second one, he gave it a soft kiss just below the
brim, looked up at her, and caressed her leg. Below the knee--always below the
knee unless I beg her leave, he remembered thinking. She smiled down at him,
said something in Dothraki he did not understand save for the word for
“bastard,” tugged his hair just to see him wince, then playfully smacked his
head and rode off. It left him blushing and grinning like a maid. For a girl
who had been content to spend her life as a cupbearer, Irri was fast growing
into the Queen that Dany meant to make her.
He felt his breeches tightening, so he looked back at Davos, who had fallen
back respectfully when Daenerys arrived, and waved him forward.
“Do you have a plan if, gods forbid…?” He asked his Hand quietly. Do you have a
plan other than walking into a castle and getting murdered, he meant.
“Aye, but you won’t like it until it’s done.”
Makes no matter now. “Do as you see fit, and I’ll be sure to scold you about it
later.”
Jon stayed silent for the rest of the ride, and barely spoke as they entered
the great hall, where the talks were to take place. And where Robb was stabbed
in the gut, he could not help but remember. With him were Dany, Irri, Tyrion,
Davos, and Sam. The Lord of the Vale entered with Arya, Cortnay Penrose, and an
absurd number of guards.
Dany had never met Arya in person before, and seemed underwhelmed, though she
had more sense than to say anything. Naturally, Littlefinger sat Arya directly
across the table from Jon. He’s doing this to toy with your mind , he reminded
himself, urgently. Think of Rickon. It stopped him from flipping the table on
its side and driving Longclaw straight through Baelish’s chest, but it couldn’t
stop him from opening his mouth.
“Has he touched you?” Jon growled at Arya. I love you, Dany, but if this
frustrates you, stop bringing me to these pissing contests.
“No.” Arya shook her head, but kept her eyes on Jon, letting him probe all he
wanted. “He’s treated me well.” As hard as he tried, he found no hint of a lie.
“I’m glad,” he grumbled. Fine, then, get on with the pissing.
“Do you fear me, Lord Baelish?” Dany led off, looking around at his guardsmen.
“After what’s happened on the battlefield, you’ve given me little cause to
fear, I fear.” He smirked, so proud of himself. “I simply don’t trust you.”
Tyrion had been drunk for hours and was well full of piss. “Of course you trust
her, my lord. She’s been telling you since she got off the boat from Meereen
that all she wants from life is to murder you with her dainty little hands, and
you clearly think she could. Please kindly dispense with the mummer’s act about
who trusts whom. We’re bored of it.”
“Your Hand has quite a mouth,” Littlefinger addressed Dany.
“Would that your hand had Sansa Stark’s mouth,” Tyrion shot back.
“He'd never leave the Eyrie,” Dany grinned at Littlefinger derisively.
“I don't take other men's leavings,” Baelish countered.
“The way some tell it, the leavings wouldn't take you.” Dany was serenely calm,
refusing to let Littlefinger see her angry.
“That must be quite a story. I’ve heard some fascinating tales about you as
well.” His eyes went across the table to every man in her party, but lingered
on Jon last.
Jon leaned in. “Guard your--”
“Enough!” Davos pounded the table, rescuing Jon from himself. “Are we here to
bicker or to seal a peace?!” That shamed the room full of nobles into silence.
Jon lost track of how many hours it took, but the peace they finally agreed
upon was almost precisely what Dany wanted. It was an exceedingly good deal for
Littlefinger, and Davos and Tyrion did a fine job convincing him that they were
loath to give it to him. Perhaps she does know what she’s doing.
The wedding ceremonies were set for the next day, at the midpoint of the bridge
across the Green Fork. To guard against surprises, Littlefinger demanded that
each couple to be wed come alone, save for two guardsmen. Their respective
armies would stand at either end of the bridge, ensuring that any attempt at
treachery would assure mutual bloodshed. Dany gladly agreed.
When all was said and done, Jon, Dany, Arya, and Littlefinger all signed. Dany
and Jon’s contingent rose from the table, quite pleased with their defeat.
“My lord,” Davos pleaded with Littlefinger as he was about to leave, “I know it
would please Jon very much if he could have a word with Arya alone. They were
raised as brother and sister, and love each other dearly. Please, as a gesture
of good faith, give them that courtesy.”
Littlefinger was no fool. “Anything he would say, he can say in front of all of
us, my lord.”
“I thank you, my lord.” Davos cautiously moved to the other side of the table,
put his arm gently around Arya’s waist, and escorted her over to Jon. They
hugged tightly. Jon kissed her on the forehead, and mussed her hair one last
time. He held her shoulders, keeping a respectful distance to show he meant no
surprises. Littlefinger watched him like a hawk regardless.
“Whatever happens, you can always come to me. I will give my life for you if
need be.” Tears were filling his eyes. “Be a good wife. It pains me to say
that, but do it. You and Sansa are the last of Lord Eddard’s children, and you
must carry on his memory. Do what he would do.”
Arya sniffled, nodded, hugged Jon again, and went with Littlefinger.
Dany’s party spent the evening in the castle at the southern bank of the river,
while Littlefinger confined himself to the northern end. There were guards
everywhere, though. More than enough to slaughter all of them. For what seemed
like all night, they sat around the table, nervously awaiting the return of the
scout Dany had sent to sow tension among Littlefinger’s bannermen.
“Your scout’s back. Some of him, anyway,” Bronn announced as he entered Dany’s
chambers and placed the head on her table. Despite the quip, even the sellsword
looked utterly beaten. She and Tyrion grimaced. Jon was too numb to move. What
did I tell you, Daenerys?! What now?!“Lovely note from Nestor Royce, too,”
Bronn continued. “He’ll keep quiet about the treachery so you’ll still have
guest right, but scratch your ass the wrong way and he’ll go straight to
Littlefinger.”
“How generous,” Dany sighed.
“I’ll kill him myself on the morrow, and deal with my bannermen later.” Jon
declared.
“Your Grace, please--” Tyrion pleaded.
Is that all he knows how to say? “Enough! We tried her shit plan, now we’ll try
my shit plan.”
That’s a beating, Jon realized as soon as he said it. But Dany stayed silent,
barely even looking in his direction. Jon knew that Dany had two kinds of
silences in cases like this. One was when she was so supremely confident in her
plan that she felt it would be wrong to deprive her men of the opportunity to
witness its brilliance unspoiled, and the other was when she was genuinely
afraid and didn’t want to admit it. This was the latter.
“New shit plan,” Dany finally announced, eyeing Jon angrily. “We’ll fabricate
some commotion between the Dothraki and the Northmen in the middle of the
ceremony. While they’re distracted, we’ll grab Arya and run toward our side of
the bridge. The Northmen will flee to Littlefinger’s side, and some Valeman
will loose an arrow in fear. That will forfeit guest right, and Bronn and
Tormund can dispatch with Littlefinger.”
Aye, still shit. Jon was about to say as much, but Tyrion got to it first.
“Your Grace, you can’t--that’s—“
“Stupid.” Bronn finished.
The anger flashed in Daenerys Stormborn’s eyes and boomed in her voice like
lightning and thunder. “Do any of you have a better idea?!” She pounded the
table and pointed at Jon. “Your plan violates the guest right you’ve been
lecturing me about since we left. And the rest of you have sat here like mutes,
save for Bronn, who I should make a mute for what he said, and Tyrion, who yet
again counseled me so helpfully on what not to do.” The room fell silent. “You
all have until dawn to suggest something better. Elsewise, we do it my way or
you can leave my service.”
And that was that.
There were no beatings that night, but there was no lovemaking, either. Dany
was in no mood. When their men were gone, she commanded Jon and Irri to get in
bed, and snuffed out each candle in the bedchamber herself, holding her palm
over each flame long enough to make them both wince at the pain she didn’t
feel.
Jon would have found the next day’s mummer’s farce of a wedding between Arya
Stark and Petyr Baelish, officiated by Daenerys Targaryen, much more amusing
were actually a farce.
“In the light of the Seven, and by the laws of gods and men, I, Daenerys
Stormborn of the House Targaryen…”
This can’t be happening, Jon insisted to himself, as Dany rattled off her
titles. Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen spoke for the Seven like Jon
spoke for the Stone Cow of Faros, but all the septons in the Riverlands were
dead, drunk, or in hiding with Lancel Lannister and the last vestiges of the
Sparrows, making Dany the closest thing to a holy man within a fortnight’s ride
of the Twins. Jon stood next to Arya, scowling. Bronn and Tormund stood behind
him, opposite Littlefinger and his own guards.
“…declare Lord Petyr of the House Baelish,” Dany went on, speaking slowly to
drag things out as long as she could, “Lord Paramount of the Vale and the
Trident, and Lady Arya of the House Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard and sister
of Lady Sansa of Winterfell, to be one heart, one flesh, one soul, now and
forever…”
Jon’s stomach twisted into a knot. This “some commotion” Dany insisted upon
never came to pass, and she could only speak so slowly before it was obvious
she was waiting for something to happen.
“…and cursed be he who comes between them,” she concluded, glumly. And as far
as the gods were concerned, it was done.
Lord Baelish had barely finished fastening his cloak around Arya when a dagger
dropped from her sleeve into her hand.
“For Lord Eddard!” Arya shouted, and thrust it straight into the center of his
windpipe.
That will serve. The blood gushed and spattered from Littlefinger’s wound as he
tried futilely to cover it with his hands, collapsing onto his knees.
Bronn let out a “Pff.”
“That was good,” Tormund concurred.
Littlefinger’s guards moved to pull Arya away from him, but she wrenched her
arm back and got the one closest to her right in the gap between his
breastplate and breeches. Dany had the wherewithal to trip the other one,
knocking him off balance for long enough to allow Bronn and Tormund to
overpower them both.
Arya straddled Littlefinger and resumed where she left off. “And Lady Catelyn!”
This may go on a bit. “And King Robb! And Lady Sansa!” It was a dull knife, and
she stirred it around inside Baelish’s throat like a child playing with a stick
in the dirt. “And Bran! And Rickon! And Lady Lysa! And the Eyrie! And
Winterfell!”
With that, Arya stuck the knife in his belly button and dragged it up until she
hit bone, ripping his stomach open like a sack of flour. That unnerved even
Jon. He grabbed her and pulled her away, slapping an intestine out of her hand
as she kicked and scratched. “He’s dead. He’s dead.” Jon kissed her on the
cheek and stroked her hair to calm her down. “He’s dead. It’s done.”
No one was ready for any of this. The Northmen all drew their swords. “For
Winterfell!” Shouted some fool from the back of the Northern ranks, trying to
ignite a charge. Brilliant.
Jon was still holding Arya tightly. She was far from done. He dragged her along
as he turned and stepped toward his army, his hand away from his sword, but
ready to draw it if necessary. “Stand down!” He ordered.
Davos kicked his horse forward a few steps and turned it sideways to block the
column. He shouted something that Jon could not hear, but it seemed to blunt
their momentum. A line of Unsullied formed a shield wall across the width of
the bridge, between Davos and the rest of the men. Thank the gods.
Jon turned and saw Dany slide her arakh through what was left of Littlefinger’s
neck and remove the head. As soon as it was off, she ran to the middle of the
road, held it up with her right hand, and tossed her arakh to the ground with
her left. She stood, turning around slowly with both hands away from her body,
so both armies could see she was unarmed.
She walked slowly but deliberately toward the Valemen. “Lord Nestor! Dip your
banners!”
Royce put a hand out to stop his men from dipping anything. He unsheathed his
sword, and the men at the front of his column followed suit. She can’t die this
way. I won’t allow it. But Dany kept walking.
Arya broke away and ran toward Dany, dropping her dagger along the way. “No!
This was my doing!” She sprinted ahead of Dany. “They knew nothing of this, I
swear it! On my aunt Lady Lysa’s honor, I swear it!” Royce and his men sheathed
their swords cautiously. He dismounted, motioned for his men to stay still, and
walked toward them with his hand still on his sword hilt.
Jon strode briskly toward the three of them, his own hand on Longclaw. Those
women were the only two people in the world who would love him no matter whose
cunt he dropped out of, or who’d put him there in the first place. Kill either,
and I WILL die avenging them. There would be no one left to stop him. His eyes
must have gotten his message across to Lord Royce, who again took his hand off
his sword and nodded grudgingly.
Royce looked down, towering over Dany. “Treachery like this may serve in
Astapor, but here, we--”
Arya knew what he meant to say. “I did this. I told you. And I wasn’t his
guest. I was his wife. He cloaked me.”
“Then that makes you a kinslayer, my lady.”
“Aye, and what do you mean to do about it?” Royce had no answer. I missed Arya.
“There’s gold on my side of the bridge,” Dany reminded him, Baelish’s head
still dripping blood at her feet, “and there’s steel. You can have one. Tell
your men to run across this bridge and die avenging Petyr Baelish, of all
people, or dip your banners, bend the knee to your rightful Queen, and tell
them you got their coin back. Which do you choose, my lord?”
Nestor was no fool, but he had to save face. “I need to confer with my
bannermen.”
Dany rolled her eyes. “Quickly, then.”
Royce turned back toward his men, as Davos approached from behind.
“Was that what I’m to scold you about later?” Jon asked.
“Aye, Your Grace.”
Dany turned to him. “You gave her the dagger?” Her tone was almost accusatory.
Davos nodded. “I did, when she hugged His Grace.”
“Clever of you,” she grudgingly admitted, plainly angry with herself.
“No, Your Grace,” Davos replied. “Your plan was clever, but it went to shit.
Sometimes you’ve got to stick a knife in ‘em and be done with it.”
Dany kept silent, eyes forward. She knows he’s right, though.
After pretending to debate, Royce made a show extracting assurances from Dany
that they would be fully pardoned for their treason, which she would have done
anyway. When they had her word, Royce and his bannermen one by one laid their
swords at her feet. Once it was done, Dany turned back toward her own men, and
realized that she was still holding Baelish’s head. She savored one last look
at it, then tossed it lazily into the river, not even bothering to watch it
fall.
“Feast tonight?” Bronn asked.
“No,” Dany replied coldly. Soon or late, her patience with him will run
out.“Dinner. Us and Arya. No fanfare.” Jon knew it was because her pride was
wounded, but he was grateful that he would not have to suffer through a
prolonged, elaborate feast in Walder Frey’s hall.
Instead, Jon found himself suffering through a quiet, tense supper in Walder
Frey’s hall. This is not going well, he thought to himself. Love her or hate
her, it was near impossible to be in the presence of Daenerys Targaryen and not
feel a sense of awe. Arya Stark of Winterfell, however, was decidedly
unimpressed.
Dany wore an olive green dress, not overly formal but fit for dinner with a
highborn woman she’d only met for the first time a few hours ago. Arya wore
what looked like the same clothes she’d been wearing while she traipsed around
the Riverlands for a year. Dany kept her regal bearing, while at best, Arya
maintained a stiff, shallow courtesy to avoid embarrassing Jon. But once she
got a cup and a half of wine in her, she may as well have been splitting a
stolen wheel of cheese with a stableboy.
“So what were you doing while Jon was learning to fight the Others?” Arya asked
Dany.
“I was in Meereen. Conquering, ruling, freeing slaves.”
“Were there Others in Meereen?” Please don’t do this.
Dany paused. “No,” she admitted.
“That wasn't very helpful, then, was it? Were you learning to ride your
dragons?”
“I never really learned, it just happened one day.”
Arya needled Dany like the singers said Oberyn Martell fought the Mountain. She
was quick, precise, relentless, poison-tipped, and impossible to strike back
at.
“Arya, she’s your Queen. Remember your courtesies,” Jon admonished her.
Arya eyed her up and down, skeptically. “Not yet.”
“I heard you wanted to be a Faceless Man.” Dany shot back, after another
awkward silence. “I assume you failed?”
Mead, mead, mead, mead, mead. Jon poured some for himself and his bride, but
mainly for himself.
“Dany. Drink this. Please.” He slid her cup toward her. That was too obvious,
now she knows you think she's being a cunt. Dany had taught Jon many things,
one of which was to never tell her when she was being a cunt.
Dany made a face, and a deep, disgusted sigh. “I suppose if I'm to win the
North over, I should build a tolerance for it.”
“Hey.” Arya dropped an elbow on the table and pointed right at Dany with her
fork, taking her aback. “If the drink in the North isn't good enough for you,
you can bugger off right back the way you came.”
The rest of the table sat in stunned silence. Dany stayed remarkably calm. The
only thing more terrifying to Jon than a raging Dany was a quiet Dany.  Please,
Daenerys. You can’t ask the North to accept you if you make an enemy of Arya
Stark. I can vouch for you for now, but if a Stark daughter turns against you,
then I’m a traitor marrying a tyrant.
“So how did you become a dragon rider?” Arya continued, quite proud of herself
that Dany had no reply to her threat. She knew the story, Jon was certain of
it. She was doing this to extract certain admissions, not to truly learn
anything.
“I was in a pit, surrounded by men who were about to murder me. My guards were
overwhelmed. Drogon came from nowhere and landed in the pit,” her tone was
growing more serious, more threatening. “It was chaos. Men were fleeing,
burning, being torn apart. He roared at me. Right in my face. Tried to stare me
down. He challenged me. ‘Mount me or die, mother.’ So I mounted him, and I
rode, and he was mine.” By the end, Dany’s grin was outright predatory.
“For fuck’s sake,” Bronn groaned under his breath, turning to Tyrion. “You told
me the Starks were the normal ones.”
Jon choked on his food once he caught the sellsword’s meaning, and gulped down
the rest of his mead.
“Were those men trying to murder you because you buggered up their whole part
of the world and did a shit job fixing it?” Arya asked smugly.
Dany again had no response, but couldn’t afford to look away to think of one.
Arya sensed an opening and struck.
“So you just failed your way back to the Iron Throne, didn’t you?”
Jon glared at Arya. You do know how it ended for Oberyn, right?
The smile on Dany’s face was the one she gave men who truly deserved to die
screaming. Without lifting her hand off the table, she pointed toward the door.
“Go,” she commanded, barely audible. She didn’t mean everyone, but everyone
knew who she meant.
“Oh, come—Your Grace…” Bronn never called her that. He never called anyone
anything. “Please, indulge your humble servants, I beg you. How much to watch?
I’ll pay for the bear fucker, too,” he offered, pointing at a beaming, wide-
eyed Tormund. That was wildly inappropriate, but Bronn had finally gotten his
handsome reward, and Jon could not fault him for how he chose to spend it.
“Go!”
As soon as the rest left, Dany leapt from her chair, kicked it backward onto
the floor and crawled across the table toward Arya. The wolf child was ready,
on her feet herself.
“Cunt,” Dany hissed, grabbing a fistful of Arya’s shirt and yanking it toward
her. Their lips locked, their hands grabbed each other’s hair, Arya leapt up
and pinned Dany down at her shoulders, and the battle was joined.
It was more combat than lovemaking, but it wasn’t hate that drove them so much
as the lust for a challenge. Arya was half a child, and a rude one at that,
whose only talent of note was sticking people with the pointy end at opportune
times. Dany was a grandiose whore who sat around eating figs and getting her
toenails painted while her monsters and eunuchs did the hard work for her. As a
matter of principle, neither could let the other win.
Arya tore open the top of Dany’s dress like she’d torn open Petyr Baelish’s
stomach. The silk was more expensive than everything she’d ever worn put
together. She grabbed Dany’s breasts and squeezed, hard, pushing them together
and digging her nails into them. Dany gasped, hinting at pleasure.
That would not serve. She wrapped her arms around Arya to hold her in place,
and drove a knee straight into her cunt, seizing on the surprise and rolling
back on top. Before Arya could recover, Dany backhanded her across the face,
the crack of flesh on flesh drowning out everything in the room even after it
had passed.
Jon looked at Irri from the corner of his eye. She was rapt, slack-jawed, a
hand between her thighs, moving on its own accord. Good, I’m not alone, then.
“Do you know who I am, or must I teach you?!” The Queen demanded, with a hand
pressed firmly on Arya’s throat.
Arya pulled her head down by a braid of silver hair and growled into her ear.
“You’re another blonde cunt who can’t fight as good as she thinks.” She spat
right in Dany’s face, hitting her in her left eye and forcing her to flinch.
When her eyes opened, they raged like Jon had never seen them rage before. Jon
almost soiled his breeches from that alone.
Dany shot Irri a look. “It’s in the chest, get it!” Irri sprinted from the room
as Dany spat back and hit Arya on the bridge of her nose.
Jon’s mind was focused exclusively on watching every second of this, and
getting his cock out of his pants. He'd worry about what “it” meant later.
Dany managed to roll herself back on top, undo Arya’s belt, and force a hand
down her breeches, working on pushing her smallclothes aside. She found room to
slide two fingers into Arya’s cunt, and watched as Arya’s body shuddered.
“Look how wet you get for this blonde cunt,” she taunted, drawing her fingers
back out, bending them ever so slightly along the way, beckoning her to keep
trying to fight and feel herself lose.
A heartbeat before she would have succumbed to the pleasure, Arya reached up
what was left of Dany's dress and smirked when she found no smallclothes to
push aside. “Is that because horses don't have fingers?” She whispered in
Dany’s ear as the Queen gasped and moaned.
Dany spied Jon out of the corner of her eye, and in an instant, Arya became a
mere distraction. She put one hand over Arya’s mouth and pinched her nose with
the other. Arya's eyes widened in fear as she grabbed Dany's arms and tried to
push her hands away, but Dany remained utterly calm.
“Hush,” she said, her tone almost conversational. “I won't harm you. I mean
it.”
Arya gradually released her grip on Dany's arms, and Dany responded in kind,
allowing her to breathe.
“Look at Jon,” Dany urged. They both turned their heads and looked at him as he
slowly, mindlessly stroked his cock. Jon felt like two shadowcats had stumbled
upon him pissing in the woods. “He wants your cunt, and you want him to take
it,” Dany told her, almost petting her. Arya bit her lip, her eyes wide again.
It was like Dany had pulled his entrails out through his mind. She knows. She
just KNOWS. How?! Jon had lusted after Arya since the night he discovered how
good it felt to play with his cock, but he always thought he'd done a good job
hiding it. He made some tentative, awkward advances, but he was overwhelmed by
his fear of what would happen if she refused him and told Ned. He was still
half a boy, and she was years away from her flowering, which made him feel even
worse. Once he’d left for the Wall, and learned she was presumed dead, he moved
on, and considered it a passing phase. He never mentioned it to anyone, even
Dany, yet she knew it anyway.
Jon wasn’t bound to anything, but he still felt paralyzed. I can’t. She’s my
sister . He would  always see her that way, no matter the truth. I can imagine
it, though. It’s no crime to imagine it. His eyes fell upon hers, and they both
began to imagine.
Dany put a hand around Arya’s throat and smacked her to regain her attention.
“Shall we give him what he wants?” Arya looked up, stunned, reconsidering her
assessment of the Queen.
“Should we?” Arya asked meekly, slowly losing her grip on her own will.
“You want to, don’t you?”
“Uh huh.” It was more a moan than an answer.
“Not yet. He’s halfway to spilling his seed already.”
I’m halfway to begging your leave to spill it. Please know I’m not so
presumptuous. Please, Your Grace. I’m a good boy.
“You must make him work for it,” Dany explained as she climbed off the table,
took Arya by the hand, and helped her to her feet.. “Boys must be taught to
earn it.” They kissed again, the Queen fondling his little sister’s cunt with
one hand and sliding the belt off of her with the other.
“The world lies to them. They think they’re entitled to us,” she went on,
breaking the kiss and folding the belt in her hand. “He knows better with me,
but men are slow creatures.” Dany straddled Jon, grabbed his cock, and pressed
the head against her clit, grinding back and forth but not letting him inside.
“You’re a stupid one, aren’t you, bastard?” She asked, smiling down and
caressing his cheek.
Jon spied Arya leaning against the table and playing with her cunt, her pants
sliding down to around her knees as she began to kick her shoes off. Show your
little sister how much you’ve learned . The urge to please her, and impress
her, overtook everything else. That’s a good thing. Proof you’re learning your
place.
He nodded into Dany’s eyes. “Yes, Your Grace. So stupid,” he answered in
blissful awe.
Dany laughed. “That’s right.” She dismounted him and pulled him up by his hair.
“Bend over.” She commanded, tossing him in the general direction of the table.
Jon did as he was bid. “Palms on the table.” Jon’s palms hit the table without
a heartbeat’s delay. He looked over at Arya, still playing with her cunt. Come
here , he thought. Have my tongue. Teach me how you like it.
From behind him, Dany reached for Arya’s hand, and she rose and passed out of
Jon’s field of view, toward the Queen. Jon heard Dany snap the belt in her
hands.
“Are you going to be a little shit to your sister?” Her Grace asked.
The next thing Jon felt was a numbing sting on his left ass cheek. The belt was
more painful than her hand; not quite as painful as the whip, but somehow even
more effective. They were both right behind him. They wouldn’t need to stop and
walk toward him to correct his insolence. There was no escaping them. Even when
he would inevitably retreat into his own mind, they’d follow him there, too.
“Or will you remember what you are?” The next lash came to his right cheek, as
he felt the left one grow warm where the belt had struck him.
“I’ll remember, Your Grace!” He answered, wincing from the pain.
Dany hit him again on the left side. “Good.” After a brief pause, she hopped up
onto the table and sat so his head was between her thighs. The belt was no
longer in her hand. “Hit him!” She commanded, looking back at his little
sister.
It still stung, but not as much as when the Queen had done it. Jon was eager
for it to hurt more, remorseful that the world had taught even women like Arya
Stark to be so gentle and tentative when showing a man where he belonged.
“Harder!” Dany was having none of it.
Arya let out a grunt of exertion. The next one made tears well in his eyes. He
sucked his breath in through his teeth, and curled his hands into fists.
Dany slapped Jon on the knuckles. “Palms!” Jon immediately corrected himself,
despite his body’s urge to distract from the pain. “Again!” Arya needed no more
coaxing. Jon could feel his skin beginning to swell. Please break skin, sweet
sister.
The royal cunt was agonizingly close. He could smell it, and feel its heat as
Dany leaned back and began to pleasure herself, but it was just out of his
tongue’s reach.
Dany chuckled to herself, and grabbed Jon’s hair in her fist. “Look at this,”
she told Arya. Jon had started to squirm toward her cunt, proving her point.
“He thinks he can just lick it as he pleases. Should we let him be so
presumptuous?”
“No!” Arya responded, angrily and lustily.
“Then fucking teach him!”
Arya Stark was never afraid to let her anger out, even when she was a child,
but back then, she had her parents and Septa Mordane and Maester Luwin to
contend with. But they were all dead now, and Arya had years of needlework and
ugly dresses and curtsies to avenge, all imposed on her by some man thousands
of years ago who decided that’s what girls should do. All Jon wanted was to
suffer for what that man did, and show Arya how much a man could please her
when he knew his place.
And suffer he did. The pain was blinding. The effort to keep his palms flat
became almost too much for him to bear. Don’t be insolent, don’t be insolent,
don’t be insolent . That was all he could tell himself. Somewhere in the midst
of this, he’d been commanded to count the lashes and thank his little sister
for each one. At twenty-five, he began to cry, and could no longer get the
words out. “Twenty-six” came out as a whimper. No, no, no. He would not let his
body’s weakness displease them.
Dany just laughed and tugged his hair. “What was that, bastard? Come again?”
She taunted.
“Let’s make him start over,” Arya suggested excitedly. Jon didn’t know if he
could do that again.
Jon heard the door open. His view was blocked by Dany’s thigh and the tears in
his eyes, but he could sense Dany turn her head and smile. She sighed, almost
purring.
“Later,” Dany decided.
“Later,” Arya agreed, her voice trailing off.
Jon exhaled in relief, and felt Arya’s soft hand caress his stinging cheeks. It
hurt a bit, as his skin was so sensitive, but it reassured him.
“Here, Khaleesi,” Irri said as she bounded up to the table. Jon saw Dany take
something in her hand and move it between her thighs. A lump of dread formed in
his throat.
Jon could not say what it was made of or where Dany had procured it, but it was
shaped just like a hard, respectably-endowed cock, covered in fine leather and
attached to a harness designed to fit around a woman’s hips.
No no no no, please, no.
“No no no no, please, no. Please, Your Grace. I can't. I can't.” He knew
exactly what she meant to do with it. He could feel his body clench up, bracing
itself as she edged back on the table to put it on.
“You can't what, bastard?” She grinned.
“Please don't make me say it, Your Grace.” He never thought he would have to
beg his way out of something like this.
“Everyone else in the room can do it, are you saying you're the weakest among
us?”
Jon didn't know how to answer that. He couldn’t think of any reason why he
wouldn’t be.
Dany rested her feet on Jon’s back. “It's alright, we knew that already,” she
assured him, lovingly tapping his nose with her finger. “A Queen is sworn to
protect the weak, and I suppose that includes that little cunt you've got back
there as well.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” His body relaxed ever so slightly.
“But so is a King. I've given you a weak man of your own to protect, and I
won't have you demanding things of him that you're not prepared to do
yourself.”
Jon was still uncertain how much he would ever demand of Aegon on his own
accord, but he did have to admit he felt himself stir when he thought back to
the night in the cabin. And of course she knows that, even though we’ve never
discussed it.
“Do you take my meaning, slut?”
If he hadn't before, the word “slut” removed all doubt.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Make me your fucking slut. That thought caught him off
guard.
“Good.” Dany fixed the harness around her waist. Her eyes lit up and her smile
grew wide across her face. “Suck my cock.”
Jon did his best imitation of what women had done to him, though he hadn't the
slightest notion whether he was good. It was strange--frustrating, in truth--
knowing that Dany couldn't feel every move of his tongue, or the pressure of
his lips around her cock. He had always taken pride in how her body reacted to
his tongue, and how adept he had become at subtle responses to even her
slightest movements. This felt false. More for his debasement than any true
sensation on her part.
“You had a boywhore for a steward at Castle Black, didn’t you?” Dany reminded
him.
Jon looked up and nodded.
“Did you ever get jealous?”
Satin lived better than you ever did at Winterfell,that increasingly powerful
voice inside him countered. And it wasn't wrong.
His eyes widened at the realization, betraying that his response was not an
immediate, visceral “no.” Instead he froze. Just keep sucking.
“He was! Look at him! He was!” Dany looked at the other two women, running her
fingers through his hair. Jon turned red, and heard giggles from Irri and his
sister.
Satin was as good a man as any, he told himself. Jon had always respected him
for having the courage to tell the truth about who he was, unlike so many of
his other Black Brothers. He looked up into his Queen’s eyes, still sucking.
‘Precisely. So why are you so craven about it?’She asked with her gaze.
“Part of you has always wanted a bit of cock in your mouth,” she told him,
pressing on the back of his head. “All the way down your bastard throat.” I am
no craven. Put it all the way down, he thought, as he felt it slide in deeper.
“I’ve always known it.” That sent a shiver down his spine.
He gradually felt himself wanting to be like Satin, but better. Satin worked
for some whoremonger in Oldtown. He worked for the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
He hadto be better. Daenerys Targaryen had no need of coin, but for some
reason, all he wanted was to earn it for her. As much as he could get, from
whatever strange men happened to wander in the room and pay for it.
Would you like that, Your Grace? Would you like me to kneel before you and
empty a sack of gold at your feet? His cock grew hard at the mere thought of
it. She would laugh, he told himself. Even my best would be a pittance to her.
I flatter myself thinking anyone would pay for my filthy slut mouth. But maybe
with practice he could earn a few coppers. Tease the head with your tongue.
She’ll like that.
She did, and licked her lips to show it. “Irri, sweetling, he’s being so well-
behaved tonight. Reward him.”
“Yes, Khaleesi,” she said happily as she got under the table and took Jon’s
cock into her mouth.
“And you,” Dany beckoned Arya back to the table, slowly reclining onto her
back. “I’m not done with you yet.” Wordlessly, Arya climbed up, straddled
Dany's face, and rode. Jon could not help but to look up at the Queen’s chin
under his sister’s ass. I've wanted that since before I knew what it was.
At first, Irri’s mouth was too warm, her tongue too good at what it was doing,
that he had to work to stay on his task. Arya’s gasps and moans and writhing
didn’t help. But as he sucked, just a little bit deeper each time, Jon began to
realize that for Dany, this was not about humiliating him as an end in itself.
Nor was it about pretending to feel something her body couldn't feel.
Like so many things Dany did, it was about power. Even the Mother of Dragons
could not escape the fact that being born with a cunt limited her. She had a
crown, and an army, and hordes of men who worshipped her as a god and owed
their lives to her. But she still lacked a cock, and even without the
privileges men enjoyed by virtue of merely having one, a cock was a symbol of
conquest in itself.
It suited Dany to have an extension of her body designed to subjugate another
person, and put them at her mercy. Send wonderful and terrible sensations
throughout their body, and demand that they put her desires before their own.
She could make it hurt if she wanted to. She could paralyze them with their own
pleasure and then make it hurt even more. Its mere presence was an invasion. It
demanded to be worshipped or fought against, but it would not be ignored.
That’s the essence of Her Grace’s entire life , Jon realized. She didn’t need
to feel anything; she took more than enough pleasure in seeing and hearing and
understanding what Jon was doing at her command.
Jon heard Arya’s moans grow louder, and felt the table shake. His sister was
not bashful about taking her pleasure from the Queen’s face and mouth, and from
the way Dany’s hips were grinding, she seemed more than willing to give it. I
want her, I want her, I want her. He couldn’t help but look up. He prayed to
all the gods he’d ever known that Dany would let him do that soon.
Dany sat up once Arya came down from her peak and rolled off of her. She kicked
a heel against Jon’s back, after relishing one more look at him, sucking just
as desperately as when he’d started, despite her not paying him the slightest
attention in some time.
“Enough.” She declared. “You have a long way to go before you’re ready for a
pillow house, but you have a talent for it.” She trapped his eyes in hers. “A
natural talent.” She pointed behind him. “Get back in your fucking chair.”
Irri had worked Jon to where there was nearly no turning back, but he sighed
deeply and pulled out. Irri knew better than to chase it. Jon pushed himself up
off the table and stumbled back toward the chair.
“Wolf slut. Please my sweetling,” Dany commanded as she rose from the table,
grabbed a flagon of wine, and carried it with her toward Jon. “Sweetling. Don’t
let the wolf slut be an insolent cunt to you.”
Dany’s body filled Jon’s view as she straddled and mounted him. As excited as
he would have been to watch Irri and his sister struggle with each other, Dany
wiped his mind clean of any thoughts of his own. Her eyes, her breasts, her
stomach, her hips, the way she walked, the look on her face, the way her hair
bounced--all of it; everything about her--overwhelmed him, as it always did.
She put her free arm on his shoulder and around his neck, mounted his cock, and
kissed him deeply. I’m home. He put his hands around her waist and let his
hands explore. There was no method to it. Whenever his fingers found a new
curve or muscle that he hadn’t noticed before, he felt it with his palm,
caressing it, committing it to memory. And when he was done, he moved on to the
next spot his fingers had discovered. Everything about her is a command for me
to follow, he thought, as the bliss of her cunt taking him in took over.
Her Grace broke the kiss and brought the flagon to his lips. “Drink.”
Jon nodded compliantly and took a sip.
She tipped it forward. “More.” She bounced on his cock harder.
Jon took a bigger gulp, then another, until he’d had enough. He looked up at
her, his mouth still open, wine dripping down his chin.
“You’ll need to relax for the next part,” she told him, setting the flagon down
on the floor. “I can’t have you fighting me. Do you hear me, boy?”
He nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.” I was a fool to think I could escape it.
“I’ll be gentle, but resisting me only makes it worse for you.”
Resisting you has never made anything better for anyone. “Thank you, Your
Grace.”
“Thank me when I’m done with that slutty ass of yours.” She reached back for
the flagon and had him take another gulp. Jon could feel it warming the inside
of his body. “We’ll start once you’ve drunk the whole thing.”
He drank as fast as he could. Dany took her pleasure as he was drinking, but
forbade him his own. By the time he rose from the chair, he was drunker than he
realized. Dany laughed and tossed him back over the table.
As soon as Jon regained his bearings, he felt a strange pressure between his
cheeks as Dany’s wet finger teased the outside of his ass. He couldn't say if
he was more terrified of the pain he was waiting for, or the pleasure he felt
in the moment. But he was drunk enough that it was easier to simply give
himself to her and see what happened.
For all his life, Jon had ignored that part of his body unless he was shitting,
and he liked it that way. Using it for anything else was at best a cause for
mockery and at worst an abomination punishable by death; at least that’s what
he’d been told. But something about even the light touch of Her Grace’s finger
made his whole body tingle.
“Hush,” she whispered, comforting him. I can stay. She won’t hurt me. He let
her finger inside him ever so slightly when she pushed. He gasped, and his eyes
rolled back in his head, as if his mind was erasing itself and starting anew.
The deeper she got, the more comfortable he became, the more he relaxed, the
deeper he let her in without resisting. I must show my gratitude. He knew it
was no small thing for Daenerys to let him experience this. He knew she meant
for it to please him as much as it did her, and he knew that the pleasure would
free him from the bonds of whatever held him back from giving himself to her
completely.
The movement of her finger was slight, but impossible not to notice. She curved
it just enough that he felt it press against something inside him that he
didn’t even know he had. Some muscle, some spot, some nerve, some other part of
himself that in all his years he had never known, but that Dany mastered in
seconds with a stroke of her finger. Jon felt a strange warmth spreading inside
him. His face went flush. His knees buckled. Suddenly he wanted it deeper.
“Mmm,” he heard Dany moan under her breath as she removed her finger, as she
commanded Irri to put her cock back on for her, and Arya to get on the table in
front of Jon.
“Let your brother have that cunt.” Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,
thank you.
Arya wasted no time pulling Jon’s slutty face right into her crotch. They had
both wanted this for so long that as soon as they knew they no longer had to
hide it, they unleashed their years of longing and denial.
Jon was in the throes of relishing how utterly wrong it was, when he felt the
pressure back between his cheeks. This time it was thicker than a finger.
That's wrong too. So wrong. Unnatural. Abominable...Fucking put it inside me.He
took a deep breath and relaxed his body as a sign that he was ready to be
fucked.
Something about the way Dany placed her hand on the small of his back made him
feel like a wanton, debauched whore. For a moment he forgot about his sister’s
cunt. All he could feel was the thickness of Dany's cock, filling him,
conquering and occupying him. Don't forget. It will displease them both. You're
their whore, you can't displease them.
With the Queen’s cock clearly back on, Irri climbed onto the table and
straddled Arya's face. As Dany pushed her cock in deeper, Jon let out a moan of
the most blissful agony he'd ever felt onto his sister’s clit. The sensation
made Arya moan onto Irri’s clit, which made her press her cunt down hard on
Arya's face and moan herself, like a wave that swept through the three of them.
Dany gripped Jon's waist harder and pulled him closer to her. He could sense
how intoxicated she was with her new power and the way she'd wielded it, so he
took the liberty of reaching up and pinching his sister’s nipples in time for
Dany's next thrust, which made the wave consume them that much more completely.
“Fuck. Yes. Do that! Harder! Hurt the bitch!” Dany grunted through clenched
teeth. Yes, hurt the bitch! Arya was long overdue to be put in line.
Dany kept her promise to be gentle, and Jon was grateful for it, but he already
yearned for the day he could take all the pain she wanted to give. Break my
will. Take me like a bitch in heat.
Jon felt Dany's cock shift back to the same hidden spot where her finger had
been. After a few strokes, his whole body seemed to melt, like it wasn’t even
there any more. He was a being, but not a man. He screamed and grunted as his
sister dragged her cunt up and down over his face, forcing him to chase her
clit with his tongue. Suddenly, he felt a twitch in his cock. A pulse.
Something was moving through it.
Am I--? That couldn’t be. Dany hadn’t touched his cock since she rode him. No
one had. But he couldn’t think of anything else it could be. His ass clenched
around Dany’s cock, trying to hold back from whatever was happening. But it was
quickly becoming futile. He moaned in spite of himself, and pushed his face
closer against Arya’s cunt. The sensation in his cock overwhelmed his conscious
urges and he screamed and gasped as his seed spilled onto the floor under the
table. His gyrations finally took Arya over the edge, and she pulled him toward
her and coated his face with the juice of her spasming cunt.
It was the first time in his life he’d done that without anyone paying his cock
any attention, even for a heartbeat. I don’t need her to pay attention to it.
If I don’t need it, I’m not entitled to it. She can give me all I need without
even looking at it.
Dany slowed down and gradually pulled out while Jon caught his breath and Arya
hurried to finish Irri.
The Queen sighed playfully. “Look what you’ve done!”
Jon was too dazed to respond.
Dany leaned forward and gently, lovingly kissed him on the neck before nibbling
on his ear. “What do good boys do?” She whispered sweetly.
“Good boys clean up, Your Grace.” The words came reflexively.
“So smart, for a bastard.” Dany stood back and let Jon’s own weight carry him
off the table and onto the floor. He felt proud for needing no further
instruction, and began to lap his seed off the floor like a dog at a puddle.
Dany met Arya at the table and the two kissed. The passion between them made
plain that their struggle for power was far from over, but they were both too
enraptured to continue it just yet.
As he was finishing with the last bit of his mess, Jon heard them fiddling with
the straps of the harness. “You’ve always wanted to fuck him,” he heard Dany
tell his sister. “So fuck him.”
Jon backed up from under the table, propped himself up by his elbows, and
positioned his ass in the air. Yes, fuck him.
Breakfast the next morning verged on the bizarre. The men who did not have the
pleasure of joining them last night eyed each of them as they entered, but no
one spoke.
Jon winced as he sat, and shifted his weight uncomfortably. Next to him, Sam
bit his cheek and went back to his bacon. Tyrion closed his eyes and pinched
the bridge of his nose. Davos feigned ignorance. Across from him, Tormund and
Bronn each raised an eyebrow.
Bronn suppressed a smirk, looked down at his food, and cleared his throat.
“Long ride to Winterfell,” he muttered, to no one in particular.
“Aye." Tormund's tone was gravely serious. "And hard." Bronn slapped the table
and coughed violently into his fist.
Fuck all of you. Maybe it was all in his mind. Still, fuck all of you.
Dany observed silently, but her glare stifled any further commentary.
Arya finally spoke up. “Who holds the Twins now?” It was a good question. No
one had thought that far ahead.
“I suppose you do. You’re the wife of the last lord, and neither of you had
children,” Jon reasoned. Arya smiled.
“Well,” Sam interjected. “The marriage wasn’t consummated.” Stop it, just stop
it. Sam caught Jon’s look. “But then again, Viserys II dealt with something
similar, and he held a Great Council, and they ruled that--”
Jon pinched Sam’s lips together. “Sam. You’re a far more learned man than I
could ever hope to be, and I love you like a brother. But I’m the King, or near
enough, and I’m giving her the bloody castle and its lands and incomes and all
the other shite I’m supposed to say with it. That’s the part where your mouth
shuts, yes?” Sam looked to Dany, who nodded affirmatively. Jon released his
lips.
“As you say, Your Grace. I’ll prepare the ravens before we leave.”
“Do that, and pretend we said the other shite.” They smiled warmly at each
other.
The room fell silent again, but Bronn and Tormund still eyed him with their
half-restrained grins, fletching arrows to loose when the Queen was elsewhere.
Say something, or this will be a fortnight of buggery jokes. He turned to Dany
on his left. “Well, the hardest bit’s over. Now all you have to do is drink
mead.” He elbowed her and smiled like a fool. The jape landed like a corpse on
the table, damning him to the buggery jokes, but Dany played along anyway,
clutching her throat with one hand and playfully pretending to gag.
Arya dropped her fork on the table and pointed right at Dany. “I was serious
last night. If you mean to go up there and shit all over how we live, you’d
best take your silver hair and your fine silks and your no smallclothes back to
King’s Landing. You’re too clever by half, and we’re too proud to bend the knee
to that ilk.” Her eyes never wavered.
Jon had never seen anyone speak to Daenerys like that, and he’d never seen that
kind of fear in her eyes. He was mortified, but part of him brimmed with pride.
“...It was only a jape, my lady,” Dany muttered sheepishly. “My apologies.”
Arya gave Dany another once-over for good measure. The Queen’s eyes retreated
back to her plate, where she resumed her meal, duly chastened.
***** Daenerys IV *****
Chapter Summary
     "A khaleesi must have a khal," said Irri, as she filled the queen's
     cup once again. "This is known."
     --A Dance with Dragons, Daenerys III
Dany rode into Winterfell abreast with Jon, dressed as plainly as a Queen could
dress, in a breastplate of boiled leather branded with the three-headed dragon,
a modest crown styled after that worn by the Good Queen Alysanne, and simple
riding clothes. Her face was serious, her best mix of humility and a refusal to
be intimidated, two masks she would have to wear indefinitely, until Jon’s
bannermen blessed their union.
Normally, the first mask would be harder for her than the second, but Dany had
been on edge this entire trip, even more so after the rider came with word that
Volantis was massing its strength and meant to sail west. Drogon could not
reach Volantis without resting, and without a foothold in the south of Essos,
rest meant being alone and unguarded, open to attack from even a modest enemy
force. I should have sent men to garrison the Stepstones before I razed
Braavos, she berated herself. Now my threats ring empty. The way she played the
game, that could mean death. Tyrion returned to King’s Landing immediately to
rule in her stead, and she had no choice but to trust he would prepare the city
for siege as well as he had when his sister held it.
Dany could not afford to make enemies in the North, yet out of everywhere she’d
ever been, the North seemed the least concerned about making an enemy of her.
Save for an army of the dead, no one could conquer them from the outside, and
they knew it. And despite Jon having freed them from just such an army with
Dany’s indispensable help, they still saw no reason why they should allow their
King to bend the knee to some half-mad southron whore.
When they reached the center of the courtyard, Jon dismounted and approached
the welcoming party first, with Dany far enough behind to give them time to
kneel for Jon and rise again, avoiding any ambiguity as to whom they were
kneeling for. Dany joined Jon as he broke his hug with Sansa. As expected, the
Lady of Winterfell was all courtesies. This is a challenge, Dany knew. If I
seem ungracious, Sansa can do with me as she pleases.
Dany admired Sansa, and hoped this trip would not sour their warm if not overly
close friendship. Her sense was that Sansa would be happy if Jon was happy, and
that the Northerners who misliked her would make themselves well known. But if
there were any vipers in Winterfell’s grass, it would be Sansa. Dany held her
own, with a warm, grateful salutation, and a tasteful, carefully crafted jape
about how King’s Landing was far too hot. It’s hot there, but cold here, don’t
you see?! Ha ha ha ha ha! I fucked your sister, she informed Lady Stark with a
look from her bright, smiling violet eyes.
Once the pleasantries were over, Jon, Dany, and the Northern lords assembled in
the great hall for the discussion that Dany feared would be less pleasant. She
spied Irri, off to the side with the other servants, where Dany had relegated
her to avoid drawing attention. I'm sorry, sweetling. Soon. I promise.
Three Queensguard lined the side wall, their right arms extended so their
spears stood at an angle, and their helms under their left arms. It was the
best the Unsullied could do to protect the Queen without looking like slave
soldiers of a foreign occupier, but to Lyanna Mormont and her allies in the
room, they could have been in dresses handing out lemon cakes, and they would
still be precisely that.
“She just means to grab more power for herself,” the Lady of Bear Island
shouted from her table in the center of the hall, interrupting Jon’s
conciliatory introduction at the first mention of Daenerys. And it begins.
“I knew you would say that, my lady,” Jon responded, “and I’ll address it. But
let me--”
“That’s all she knows how to do,” Lyanna cut him off. “Just like her father,
and all those inbred tyrants before him.”
Bargaining with the lords of the North, especially as their liege, was a game.
They would speak harshly at times, to see how Jon reacted. Any hint of fear, or
any presumption that because he’d won their respect once meant he’d have it
this time, would doom him. But he could not simply have her tongue out. He must
let this child berate him for a few minutes before putting her in her place.
Forbidding a bannerman from questioning him was every bit a sign of weakness as
cowering.
“She’s not her forebears, my lady. Should I hang Ser Jorah’s shame around your
neck as well? Let me finish.” His tone was firm, but not yet angry.
“No, Your Grace. You let me finish, before her eunuchs and savages slaughter us
under Lady Stark’s roof.” Dany felt her stomach twist. Lyanna Mormont could
call her a whore and a tyrant all she liked, but to accuse her of even thinking
of violating guest right was damning.
Shouts of agreement rang from different corners of the room. I must address
this now, she knew, or I may as well go home. Dany rose and turned to her
Queensguard.
“Wait outside,” she commanded, loudly enough to quiet the room, “but leave your
spears here. Lady Mormont’s guards can hold them until we’re done.” She
unbuckled her sword belt and placed it on the table, her ceremonial Valyrian
steel arakh, with which she possessed only rudimentary skill, still in its
sheath. “This, too.”
As her eunuchs filed out, Dany moved in front of the dais so everyone could see
that she was not one to hide behind symbols of power.There is no greater sign
of strength than to make oneself vulnerable. Irri and Jon had taught her that,
and that filled her with an odd sort of pride.
“My lords,” she continued, once the Queensguard were gone and the weapons
collected, “I know you have no great love for my House, or the Iron Throne, and
I know that a few days of feasting will not change that. This may be Lady
Stark’s castle, but when I passed Moat Cailin I became a guest of all of you.
Any of you who mistrust me, place your sword across your knees like you would
for any guest you mistrusted. I will do you no harm for it, no matter what
happens here today. It’s your right, and your custom, and I will not ask you to
abandon that, or exempt me from it.”
About two in three took her offer.
“My forebears may have neglected you, or worse. Many honorable Northmen have
traveled south, only to die in the pit of vipers that King’s Landing can
sometimes be.”
Dany’s highborn King’s Landing accent made every word sound arrogant and
imperious, whether she wanted it to or not; even more so when she projected her
voice to a group. It won her no friends here.
“Some of them died at my father’s hands, and many of you may fear that I am
little more than my father reborn.”
“Aye,” someone replied, loud enough to be heard but not seen, setting off more
muttering in agreement.
Dany did not begrudge them that. “This is not my first time in the North. I
came here under more dire circumstances, but I left when they passed. I swore a
vow to leave the North sovereign, and I kept it. I gave you coin and food and
men to put your Kingdom back together, but not so I could come here today and
claim you owe me a debt. I did it because you're as much a part of the Realms
of Men as anywhere else. A vast, beautiful, proud, and ancient part. A part
that gave us many great men, including the man I love. I burned my way from the
Neck to the Wall and beyond. Helping set your land to right is not a favor, but
a duty. You are not in my debt, my lords. I am in yours.”
Everyone loves a nice tongue up their ass. Lady Mormont’s eyes narrowed as she
surveyed the room.
“There are men across the sea who mean to divide us. To keep us separate and
weak. They mean to raid your shores, rape your daughters, steal your food, and
destroy all you've worked so hard to rebuild. To make your children into
bedslaves and ditch diggers halfway across the world. To cut down your heart
trees and make them into trinkets to line their halls. To sate their greed with
the fruits of your toil. I’ve known them. I’ve escaped them. And I’ve crushed
them. They hope that you and I will bicker. That we will let pride and ancient
grudges keep us from stopping them. Should we fall for their trap? Should we
submit to our children’s enslavement as a fair price for the privilege of
clinging to the past?”
Another round of muttering washed through the room, ever so slightly more
favorable this time.
“They say the North can defend itself, and they’re right. I could not swoop in
here on a dragon and conquer you, even if I wanted to. But while your land as a
whole can defend itself, a fishing village cannot. A ship on the open sea
cannot. Molestown cannot. The Gift cannot. The weirwoods cannot. The memory of
our forebears cannot. Our children cannot!” She reached back and pounded the
table.
Her accent became less a curse with every word. I’m good at this.
“We can stay divided and spend the rest of our years fighting off pirates and
slavers and pretenders from the East, telling ourselves the lie that we don’t
share common cause. That we don’t depend on each other to survive and prosper.
That not joining our strength makes us stronger and not weaker.”
“Or, we can unite under one banner. The last banner in the world that they
fear.” She pointed to the dragon sigil on her chest. “When the Dragon banner
first came to Westeros, it was meant to scare the Realm into submission. But in
the last three hundred years, so much has happened. Rebellions, alliances,
betrayals beyond count. The Others. Lyanna Stark and my brother. Jon, your
King, happened!”
There were scattered applause. Don't stop, let it build.
“And my love for him happened. And now, the Dragon is as much his as mine. It’s
as much yours as ours. Use it, my lords! Use its power. Let it fly on your
ships and above your men beside the direwolf, the merman, the bear, the mailed
fist, the sunburst, and the giant in broken chains. Let it defend you. Let your
King defend you with all the strength he can gather!”
Fists pounded on tables, agreeable muttering became sporadic shouts, and a few
swords went back in their sheaths.
“This one sings a lovely song, my lords,” Lyanna Mormont stood and countered,
struggling to regain her foothold. “But when the mummer’s farce is over, she’s
still a half-mad tyrant. And she’s like to go madder, like her father, and so
many of her forebears. Let’s not pretend we haven’t heard the rumors. They must
be true, just look at her. And if we bend the knee to her, we bring that filth
into our land with her.“
Lady Mormont kept her eyes on the dais, but Dany spotted the look on Irri’s
face, icy enough to freeze the little girl’s balls right off. That filth is
sitting right there, my lady. And next time, she’ll sit at the dais.Dany held
her tongue, reluctantly.
“Enough!” Jon bellowed. “Lady Mormont. Sit. Now.” His eyes followed her down
until her ass was firmly in her chair. Dany noticed Sansa’s head turn toward
him, measuring, though her face was the same mask of aloof grace it had been
since the courtyard.
“I don’t know every rumor all of you have heard,” Jon went on. “I’m certain
some are outlandish and false, but some may be true as well. I will not demean
my crown, or hers, by speaking to each one. I will say, however, that I did
only two things that matter when I rode south. I got Lady Arya back with almost
no bloodshed, as I promised, and I fell in love with Queen Daenerys. Every one
of you knows me well. If you think I would love a woman who fucks horses and
bathes in children’s blood, then go on believing that. There’s naught I can say
to you.”
“Say that if you love this woman so much, you’ll give Sansa your crown, marry
as you please, and leave us out of it,” Mormont answered, to no reaction from
Sansa. Seems that Sansa can speak with someone else’s lips. She should join a
mummer’s troupe, and leave me out of it.
“Because that still leaves us divided!” Jon shot back. “If Daenerys were truly
the tyrant you fear she is, she would have stayed at Castle Black after the
war. She would have had her soldiers turn on us when they came to our aid. She
would have had me bend the knee in King’s Landing without seeking your blessing
first. She’s here because I asked her to come, and because if she’s to rule
you, she wants to rule you justly. You can sit here and waste Lady Sansa’s meat
and mead, and your time and mine, gawking at us, guessing at what goes where
like we’re a puzzle box, or you can judge the both of us by what we’ve done to
give you and your people the most peaceful and prosperous lives we can give.”
The bannermen stayed quiet. They would rather work the puzzle box, Dany
wagered.
Dany sent a squire to retrieve a parchment and quill from the castle’s maester.
“I do not expect you to bend the knee merely because your King and I have by
chance fallen in love. But for the sake of that love, I would beg you, please,
stay with me in this hall until we can agree on terms. Words are wind, but they
do not scatter so easily when they’re put to paper. I will write them in mine
own hand, and bind myself and all my heirs and successors to my word.” What
heirs? “Please, do this for your own people. For the strength you'll need in
the wars to come.”
For their fealty, Dany promised that there would always be at least one
Northerner on the Small Council. No taxes would be levied on the North without
the blessing of that Council member and the Lord of Winterfell. No Northern
soldiers would be sent into battle without a Northern commander. The Crown
would do everything in its power to ensure that a Stark was always in
Winterfell, even go to war against pretenders, and if the Stark line ever died
out, the Northern lords alone would choose a successor.
That won over many, and outright bribes won the rest. The Crown would purchase
timber from a cartel of Forresters, Glovers, and Cerwyns before anyone else. A
new road would be built between Winterfell and Deepwood Motte. The Kingsroad
would be widened and flattened all the way to the Wall, as would the road from
Winterfell to White Harbor. Moat Cailin would be permitted to levy a toll on
all travelers who pass it from the south. The Crown would keep one-tenth, and
the rest would be allocated at Winterfell’s discretion.
By dusk, only Lady Mormont and a handful of minor lordlings still opposed her.
But their arguments grew tired and tiresome, and their cohorts chafed at them
for standing in the way of their windfalls. Eventually the she-bear had no
choice but to break.
“If you must do this, do it in the godswood,” she told Jon, looking past Dany
as if she weren’t even there. “Let the old gods bless this, not some Septon.”
It's all mine. “Done,” Dany and Jon said, in unintended unison. Tyrion would be
proud.
Success made Dany’s blood run hot, and she wasted no time taking her pleasure
when they returned to their chambers in the First Keep to rest.
“You two are on this continent at my sufferance,” she reminded her sluts, as
they squirmed in their chains, “just like everyone else, now,” in case they
hadn't paid attention earlier. Their wrists were suspended above their heads in
manacles; the chains attached to hooks on the ceiling, installed to hold a
large chandelier.
They were about three feet apart from each other; Jon’s chains high enough to
force him to stand, with his feet just barely touching the floor. Irri’s chain
was longer, and only became taut when she was on her knees, which she was. She
could have stood, and the slack would give her at least some range of motion,
but she knew better.
They nodded in fervent affirmation. She lashed Jon across the back, then Irri.
“Then why don't you fuckingact like it?!” The washcloth gags allowed no denials
or explanations, only muffled, plaintive apologies. That was the point.
I need this. It’s been far too long. For a fortnight, at least, she had to
settle for furtive rutting in a tent as they made camp along the Kingsroad each
night. She had been irritable since the Twins, and the news from Volantis made
it even worse.
It had been even longer since she’d beaten them for its own sake. Bringing Jon
and Aegon into her service, teaching them their respective purposes, and
helping Irri feel safe again without forgetting herself had been taxing. There
were so many rules to teach and enforce; so many limits to push; so much
restraint to show; so much coddling and reassurance.
But her two loves had grown accustomed to each other, and she could sense a
budding love between them. That made her smile. It provided some much-needed
assurance that she could tame herself, and sate the monster inside her without
forfeiting the two most precious people in her life. They needed her rules, and
she was glad to set them, but sometimes she needed a world where her rules gave
way to her whims; where she could take pleasure in their suffering with no
lessons or explanations.
“You!” Her whip hit Jon on the small of his back, just to the right of his
spine. “You call yourself a King, but I had to save you from some daft little
girl,” she taunted, admiring the curves of the muscles in his back as he
writhed.
Her focus moved to Irri, as did the business end of her whip. “And this one!”
The serving girl squealed as it hit her between her shoulder blades. Yes.
Squeal. I will never tire of that. “Could you have done any better?” She shook
her head. Not enough. Dany hit her again. Her head shook more violently, and
her cries vaguely resembled a “no, Khaleesi!Never!” An improvement, but she
still needed further breaking.
Dany placed the whip neatly on the bed. No one would care if she left it on the
floor, but she often felt a compulsion to keep everything orderly and in its
place, or the mere knowledge that it was strewn about somewhere would drive her
mad.
Also on the bed was her cock and harness, which she promptly put in its place
around her hips. Would that I could wear this on the Throne, she thought, as
she often did when her cunt was wet, or slap it down on the table at Small
Council meetings, and settle their bickering with a talent pageant.She stood
between her whores, approaching them from behind, slapping Jon’s ass and
grabbing a fistful of Irri’s hair. “Both of you would be dead but for me. You
owe me everything you are, and I mean to collect on that debt.”
Irri turned her head and gave Dany the saddest eyes she could muster, which
only made Dany want to make her sadder. As she stepped forward and turned
around to face her, she caught Jon’s eyes on her cock. I could strap a basilisk
between my legs and he’d want it in his mouth. The thought was immensely
satisfying. She knew part of him still feared what that meant. All it means is
that you care less what it is and more who it’s attached to. She wished he
could see the simple beauty in that. Teach him, then! Still, his uneasiness
made her cunt stir.
“Do you fear this, bastard?” His eyes tried and failed to deny it. “I would, if
I were you.” She grabbed his semi-aroused cock, pulled it down hard and
quickly, then released it and slapped it with the back of her hand. “It could
replace you in an instant.” Her smile was so evil, her cunt throbbed just
imagining what it looked like. “For every instant between now and your last
breath, see that you give me a reason why it shouldn’t.”
The Queen turned back to Irri. “Rise.” Just as the girl was getting onto her
feet, Dany grabbed her ankles, pulled them up, and dropped them back down in
one motion. Irri hung there by her arms, swinging, only her heels touching the
ground, fighting to stand on her own. Struggle to resist, struggle to obey,
makes no matter, I just want to see you struggle.
“Impressive,” Dany said once Irri was finally on her feet, as she spat into her
palm and rubbed it on her cock. “But, like you, inconsequential.”
The Queen grabbed her slut’s legs just above the knee, and pulled upward. They
instinctively wrapped around Dany’s waist to break a fall, and Dany forced
herself into Irri’s soaked cunt. Irri’s back arched and her eyes opened wide,
showing Dany her fear and shock and craving all at once. Dany could feel the
girl’s heels digging into her back, pulling her in further. She grabbed Irri’s
waist and slammed her body down onto the cock that felt more and more like a
part of her body.
Any hint on Irri’s face that she wasn’t enjoying it melted away. I was born for
this. Dany bit the little cunt’s neck as hard as she could, her ears pricking
up at the sound of her tortured gasping.
She released her neck and promptly backhanded her. “I’m going to put a bastard
in you,” she proclaimed, staring her down at her little rape toy, their
foreheads touching. “Pray it turns out better than that one.” She spat in her
face. “And better than you.” Dany could do no such thing, of course, but she
wanted to see her sweetling lust at the notion. It was almost a good thing she
couldn’t truly feel anything in her cock. The pleasure would cloud her mind,
and she needed her mind to focus on hurting this girl.
And she did. Daenerys made certain to leave brazen bite marks on both sides of
the girl’s neck, and handprints on both sides of her face. The North will be
mine in hours. Bugger it. She pinched and pulled and twisted her nipples;
squeezed and smacked and dug her nails into her breasts. She choked her; spat
in her face; pulled her hair. All while this wanton slut pulled herself onto
Dany’s cock with all her weight. Nothing had touched Dany’s cunt all night, but
she knew that even the slightest brush of her clit with her fingers would send
her over the edge.
When her need to make this girl scream became overpowering, Daenerys picked her
up, threw her thighs over shoulders, and devoured her filthy slave cunt,
sucking her clit mercilessly, eyes always open, pulling her closer when her
shudders grew too strong, until her thighs were clenched so tightly around
Dany's head that they muffled every sound.
Except the screams. All the talk of crowns and ruling and servants of her own
had gone to Irri’s head, of late. She had begun to presume things. To forget
herself. To see herself as Dany's equal. All of that went away when she reached
her peak. Even through the gag, the screams confessed that she realized her
error. Terror and shame and contrition permeated each one. She was no more than
a slave of Daenerys Stormborn. A sack of flesh that Her Grace did with as she
pleased, and rightly so, because Dany knew how to put it to far better use than
she ever would. This cunt is mine. YOU are mine. Irri was beginning to find the
pleasure unbearable. Her cunt spasmed and throbbed and her clit pulsed, but
every time it felt like it might slip away, Dany sucked harder and massaged it
with her tongue to keep it precisely where she wanted it. Crown or none, you
came to me a slave, and a slave you shall always be. How does it feel to know
that I’ll break every shackle in the world except yours, my love?
Irri's body finally gave in, and collapsed into dead weight. Dany slowly went
down to one knee to let her down gently. Once she was stable, Dany unchained
her and removed the gag. She leaned down to kiss her, but Irri began to rise on
her own accord.
Has she learned nothing?! “No!” Dany smacked her and pushed her back down. She
took her cock off and moved to Jon, reaching up, ungagging him, and sliding it
down his throat. “Clean this, bastard.”
Irri had crawled the few steps over and planted soft, grateful kisses on Dany's
feet as she gave her bastard his purpose. Such a sweet girl. She decided to
allow it. Jon, however, was being a little shit; gagging on the cock and
wiggling his mouth away from it. Unacceptable.
“That’s your best?” She smacked his ass and pushed it down deeper. “Suck it,
don’t just drool on it! Not even the drunkest sailor would pay a groat for
that. Do you think I'll keep you around if I don’t profit from the cunt on your
face?!”
She looked down at Irri at her feet. “Suck his cock so he stops fidgeting like
a feeble-minded child trying to read.” Irri obeyed, eagerly, as Dany removed
her cock from the bastard’s mouth and cleaned it with the washcloth that had
been his gag. She walked back to the bed and set it back down, adjusting it a
few times before she finally let it alone to take the whip again in her left
hand. It’s worse than usual, she noticed, still not entirely satisfied with the
way it sat on the mattress. She shook it off.
“Focus on the pain. The pleasure is only to distract you,” she told Jon as she
lashed him once again across his back. “Her mouth on your cock does nothing for
me. If it did, I would never let her stop.” She gave him another lash, closing
her eyes and taking in the noise he made; a desperate, confused groan as his
body tried to work out how he was supposed to feel in the moment.
“Like you’re suffering. That’s what you’re supposed to feel,” she answered his
question for him, lashing him again. And again, this time crossing her left arm
across her chest and swinging it down so the whip hit him on the other side of
his back.
“All you want is to please me, isn’t it?” She hit him from the other direction;
the whip landing on his left side. His ass cheeks clenched. She hoped that
forced his cock further down Irri’s throat when she wasn’t prepared.
Jon grunted. “Yes, Your Grace!” Dany smiled. His breathing had been heavy for
some time, but deep. After a few more lashes, and a heap more invective, it
grew shallower and quicker. He’s nearly done. She coiled the whip in her hand
and strode quickly toward Irri. Her slut’s eyes pleaded with her not to take
her mouth off his cock. I know, sweetling, but we can’t always have what we
want. She grabbed the girl’s hair, pulled her off, and tossed her to the floor,
saying nothing to her, but turning immediately to Jon.
He looked down at her, pleading with his eyes as well. Needy little shits
today, aren’t you? She ran her left index finger up the underside of his shaft,
clenched it, brushed the head with her thumb, and dug her nails into it, hard.
“No.” She bent it downward until she felt it starting to go soft, smacked it
with her backhand again, and twisted his balls. “You can have your little
shaking spell when I have your Kingdom.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” he replied, catching his breath.
She twisted his nipple and watched his face as he squirmed. “For ten million
acres of frostbitten dirt, I’d say you cheated me.”
As much as she relished them, beatings were tiring for all involved, and the
Mother of Dragons deemed it nap time before she and Jon had to present
themselves in public again. The evening would begin with a signing ceremony in
which she, Jon, and Sansa would all put their names to the treaty that Dany had
worked out. Some of the Northern lords still mistrusted her, and wanted to bind
her to her promises before the North became hers. When it was done, they would
wed in the godswood, and promptly feast in celebration. It would not serve to
have her yawning through such a momentous night.
An hour or so later, a refreshed Jon gave Dany his most succinct primer on the
relevant Northern customs, while his bride sat near the brazier, enjoying her
slave girl’s mouth, eager for the release as she’d woken up cranky. “Northern
weddings are over and done with quickly,” he explained as he dressed. Dany saw
his eyes on the back of Irri’s head her soft, perfect thighs wrapped around it.
She gets it first, bastard. Not you. Wait your turn. Watch. Envy. Torture
yourself.
Her Grace never commanded it in so many words, but when the three of them were
dressing for something, they had developed a habit in which Jon would strip
Dany, and Irri would pleasure her while Jon dressed himself first. When he was
finished, he would dress Dany, strip Irri, pleasure her, and dress her again
while Dany whispered truly vile things in his ear throughout. Sometimes she
would forbid Jon from wiping his face before they left. This pleased Dany
greatly, and she quickly grew accustomed to it. It was a natural manifestation
of the order of things as she willed it. There was a beauty to it, made even
greater by how it came about organically, with no instruction, or bargaining,
or planning.
“All you need is to stand there,” he continued, as Dany writhed and moaned,
occasionally nodding to show she was, in fact, listening. “They’ll say ‘do you
take this man,’ you say ‘I take this man,’ then we kneel by a tree and pretend
to pray for half a minute, and it’s done.”
“Who will ask me if I take you?” Dany panted.
“Sansa, most like.”
Dany purred, held Irri’s head in place, and ground the royal cunt on her face
like she was humping a pillow. Sansa’s sad attempt at seizing power from the
rift with Lady Mormont, if that’s what it truly was, had failed, and Dany was
eager to remind her of it.
Jon’s eyes went icy. “Dany. Please.” His tone was firm. “You can’t fuck her
too. You just can’t.”
Dany stopped grinding. “Yes, I can,” She insisted, almost childishly.
“Not if you want me!” His fury seemed to come from nowhere, stopping her cold.
“Would you fuck my entire family, Daenerys? Would you run around the yard
buggering ravens hoping one of them is Bran?! I can’t abide it.” His tone was
final, to the extent any refusal of Daenerys’ will could be final.
“You can’t abide it?!” Dany asked, extricating herself from her chair and
walking toward Jon. It was all going so well. Now this?!
“I can’t. Not with Sansa.”
Dany moved to slap him, but he grabbed her wrist while it was still well away
from his face, squeezed her forearm, and pushed it back. Her instinct was to
thrust a knee into his crotch, but she was too stunned to act on it.
“No,” Jon reiterated, even more forcefully. “She doesn’t want this. Don’t
presume to know her secrets! She wants to marry a man like Loras Tyrell and
think about the Hound while she fucks him. Let her have that! She’s aware that
lovemaking can hurt. Too aware. If she wants that, she’ll seek you out. You
leave sore asses everywhere you go like your children leave sheep bones, it’s
no secret you’d give it to her.”
He released her wrist but put his finger right in her face. “If you try to
seduce Sansa, you can’t have me. And if my bannermen ask why the wedding’s off,
I’ll tell the truth.”
Rage flashed in Dany’s eyes. “You--”
“I will go too, Khaleesi.” Irri stood, as Jon shot her a grateful look. No,
please. “You convince yourself that everyone would enjoy what you do to them,
but that's a lie. And you have no right to use them anyway and pretend they do.
We love you for how much you demand of both of us, but you’ve pushed us hard
enough of late.”
Dany felt like she’d been punched in the gut. I thought I’d gotten better. I
truly did. “Very well,” she conceded, salvaging her dignity. “I’ll stay away
from her. But do not presume to speak to me like that again.” Presuming to
speak to me like that is the only way I’ll listen to what I don’t want to hear,
she admitted, silently.
Jon must have thought the same, giving her only an annoyed look in response. He
retrieved the simple white dress that Sansa had lent them and kept his eyes on
her face, not yet ready to trouble himself with the beauty of her naked body.
“Get this on, we’ll be late,” was all he said as he tossed it to her.
The spat ruined what should have been a momentous ceremony, though they both
put on their best face, standing before Jon’s bannermen, each promising to
uphold their treaty in letter and spirit, thanking Lady Sansa and the North
profusely for their hospitality and the blessing of their love. Sansa spoke of
Jon as a child, and their liberation of Winterfell, and their fight against the
Others. She told of the first time she met Dany, beautifully reciting a rather
tired list of things the world already knew about her greatness.
Once everyone had signed, Jon went to one knee and laid Longclaw at Dany’s
feet. She could not help but smile when he rose as King Consort of Westeros and
Warden of the North, but even that seemed anticlimactic.
Dany’s demeanor the rest of the evening was pleasant, but stiff and distant.
Her back was tense when she knelt before the heart tree in submission to the
gods at the end of the ceremony; her submission grudging at best. The she-bear
cornered me into this. This is a lie. The old gods should be thanking ME, for
taking their insolent bitch of a son. But through it all, she kept her promise,
keeping her conversation with Lady Sansa to safe courtesies. Part of her hoped
Jon would regret forbidding it, but if he did, he gave her no sign. The more
sensible part knew he had the right of it.
She was still out of sorts when they returned to her chambers. Irri drew her a
bath, but Dany had to dismiss her afterward, lest her presence so late start
yet more rumors. When Irri left, the Queen sat near the brazier with Jon on his
knees between her legs, shaving her cunt as she’d taught him. Her chin was
propped up on one hand, admiring his work but lost in her own mind. When he
finished, Jon kissed her softly on her mound. It was sweet, but he still seemed
disquieted. I’m the most powerful woman the world has ever seen, now. I’m no
longer ‘Aegon the Conqueror with Teats.’ He’s Daenerys Stormborn with Nothing.
Yet here I am, stewing like a petulant cunt. And he’s the most powerful man,
afraid to speak his mind.
“Rise.” She pointed toward the chair immediately across from her in front of
the brazier. “Sit.”
He sat, looking at her with that pouty face that made her want to swallow his
cock whole. I know, you shaved it and now you want it. It pains you. Patience,
boy.
She took his hands in hers. “I’m sorry, my love.”
Jon said nothing in response, but it was plain that he took her meaning and
appreciated it.
“You’re my husband, we should be fucking wildly right now. But you were right
about Sansa, and I was an utter cunt about it all evening.”
Jon seemed to simply want to move on. “Just don’t tell me to stop you from
going too far, then grow wroth when I do.”
“I’ll do better. I owe it to you. Thank you, my love. And please, if I need to
be stopped again, stop me. Don't let me be a shit about it.”
Jon nodded, looking relieved that the quarrel was almost over. “I love you,
Daenerys.”
“Even when I’m a cunt?” Tentative humor crept back into her voice.
Her husband smiled wryly. “You’re always a cunt. Your head would be on a spike
somewhere if you weren’t.”
That was oddly sweet. “Let’s go back to the godswood. Alone. Now,” she said,
after a pause. “We should do it again, properly.”
“I claimed you and you took me, that’s as proper as it gets,” Jon replied.
“But what were you thinking about when you knelt before the tree?”
“How long I had to stay there before we could get on with the feast,” he
admitted, smiling.
Dany nodded, knowingly, smiling herself. “Of course. You're a man. If there’s a
steak or a cunt waiting, you forget everything else. I feel half mad saying
this, but if your forebears can truly speak through the weirwood tree, I would
seek their blessing.”
Jon looked at her like she’d lost her wits. “Do you want to see Lord Eddard
clout me on the ear?”
Dany smiled. “Yes, but that’s an entirely separate matter.” Her smile
dissipated. “I mean it, Jon. Even if it’s all a mummer’s trick, it would please
me more than you know. You’re my fourth husband, but the first whose forebears
were worth honoring.”
Jon laughed to himself. “I’m picturing you as Eddard’s daughter-by-law.” He
paused, his grin growing stupider and more irresistible by the second. “And
Catelyn. Catelyn would have despised you. Gods, that would’ve made me so, so
happy.”
Suddenly she was concerned. “Would Eddard have despised me too?”
“Truly? I’m not certain he would have known what to make of you. You’re a
strange one,” he smirked. “Bugger it, let’s go ask him.”
The King and Queen snuck down in roughspun cloaks, to avoid being noticed. The
godswood was eerily silent, and warmer than outside, but Dany still felt a
chill down her spine. Why did I insist on this foolishness? She knew why, but
didn't want to admit the answer, just as she didn't want to admit the simmering
terror in her stomach. Would they have me abdicate? Renounce my claim to the
North?She pondered how to phrase the offer; whether to lead with something less
generous and let them counter; what Tyrion would do were he here.
That's it, I've gone mad. The gods don't exist, she reminded herself. I am
Daenerys Stormborn, I marry as I please. I don't have to haggle with a tree for
him. Were Viserys here, with his endless list of things the Dragon doesn’t do,
haggling with trees would certainly be on there. Then why did she need to do
this so badly? Why did this godswood scare her so?
“So quiet,” she whispered to Jon. It was all she could do to stop herself from
running back to her chambers, screaming like a child.
“That's how it always is. That's the point,” Jon told her. Right. That
reassured her, but only slightly. I've been good to him. He's a man grown. He
went into this of his own will. I love him so dearly, don't you see that? She
beseeched whomever she was supposed to beseech. Please say you do.
They reached the weirwood tree, only to find its expression vexingly blank.
There were worse possibilities, she supposed, but it gave her no comfort. She
reminded herself that she was the blood of the Dragon, and so forth, and so on,
but that was no better.
“I’m scared,” she finally admitted.
Jon seemed to know why, but held his tongue. “Let’s sit. Over there,” he
pointed to a moss-covered stone, “where my father used to clean his sword.” He
wasn’t your father. My brother was your father. But this was not the place to
correct him. It hurt her that he still thought of himself as a Stark, but
something about his refusal to apologize for it, and the way he would sometimes
slip like that, made her love him even more.
“What do we do now?” She felt foolish asking.
“We sit here. If they wish to make their presence known, they will.”
The branches of the weirwood were packed with more ravens than Dany had ever
seen in one place. One landed in front of them and quorked. Did that bird just
call me a whore? It looked at Jon, then Dany, then Jon again, and again back to
Dany, before flying away silently.
Jon took her hand. “You’re pale as a ghost, Dany. Breathe.”
Dany breathed deeply and closed her eyes to calm herself.
“No one truly speaks to anyone here, you know. The tree only sweeps the clutter
from your mind. If what’s left disturbs you, that’s between you and yourself,
not some Stark who died a thousand years ago.”
Dany nodded silently.
“Does something disturb you?”
“No,” she lied.That was downright sad. Just ask him. She paused. “Have I stolen
your Kingdom?”
“No,” Jon replied, sounding almost annoyed. “I gave it to you willingly. I
fought with mine own bannermen to do it. You could have taken it long ago, in
one of those moments of weakness you’re so fond of causing me,” he smiled, “but
I wanted their blessing and you insisted I have it.”
He put his other hand over hers, and she put her other hand on top of his.
“Have I enslaved your people?” She felt like she was on trial and had called
him as a witness in her defense, as the tree and the ravens sat in judgment.
Jon could not hold back his laugh. “You’ve had them for three hours and no
one’s been shackled up yet,” he responded, plainly dangling the bait.
That put a shy smile on her face. Slut. “You love me?” She looked into his
eyes.
“Of course I do.” If he lied, he hid it well, and he was not the type to hide
lies well.
“You love what I’ve made of you?”
“All you’ve made me is a better man, Your Grace. I had always felt out of place
wherever I went, until you put me on my knees. Sometimes I almost cry for how
long it took me to find my home.”
That almost made Dany cry herself. Say it louder, so they can hear. “That was
one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever said to me. Sometimes I need
you to say these things to me.”
Jon smiled at her. “It's true.” He put his arm around her waist and pulled her
closer. She stroked his cheek with one hand. I said say it louder, bastard! She
felt the color return to her face.
“Marry me,” she demanded abruptly, growing less fearful that a second ceremony
would get her eyes pecked out. “Now.”
Jon seemed to enjoy the notion, but he was hung up on the formalities. “Should
we find someone to give you away? Tormund?”
“I’m no one’s to give away,” Dany reminded him. “Certainly not his. And neither
are you. We shall do this the way we’ve done it since the night we first fell
in love. You give yourself away, and I claim you. Anything else would be
another lie to please everyone but ourselves.”
Jon blushed. Gods, he is beautiful. She kissed him. One raven of the hundred on
the tree quorked. I don’t know what that means, and I don’t care. She pulled
his face closer and felt his hands in her hair; his tongue teasing hers. She
heard the fluttering of wings and the squawks of a small group of the birds
quarreling.
She rose, took Jon’s hand, and pointed. “Kneel by the tree, my love.”
Jon knelt, as he’d done a few hours ago. Dany stood in front of him and lifted
her cloak, revealing a simple shirt and woolen breeches. “I stay here. I kneel
to no gods, or men, or ghosts. They all owe everything they have to me.”
Jon’s face was a mix of offense and lust. He lusts because I know what I am,
and I’m not afraid of it. I lust for him for the same reason. She lamented how
rare it was for women like her, and men like him, to admit what they were.
Dany began to unlace her breeches. “Say the words. Offer yourself to me.” She
stroked his hair gently, but kept her hand on his head so she alone could
decide how close to her cunt he’d get.
Jon grabbed Dany’s breeches as soon as they were loose enough to pull down.
“Jon, of the House--” Dany’s eyes caught his as he looked up, challenging him.
“Snow…” good answer, “...comes here to be wed. He comes to seek the blessings
of the gods. Who claims him?”
“Daenerys of House Targaryen. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros,” and all
manner of other shit I have no patience for just now. “I claim him.” She guided
his face closer to her cunt. “Who gives him?”
“No one gives me. I give myself. Freely and completely. I need you. Will you
take me?”
“I take you.” His mouth went straight to her cunt, starving and parched. She
put one leg on his shoulder, and felt behind her back for a comfortable spot on
the bark of the tree. Jon sensed it, somehow. He reached up and slid his hands
between her back and the tree bark, cushioning her. That’s right, make me
comfortable while I rape your face. She lifted her other leg, wrapped her
thighs tightly around Jon’s head, and grabbed his hair--not to hurt him, or
focus his mind, but simply to feel it between her fingers.
It dawned on her that Jon was nearly at eye level with the face of the heart
tree he’d prayed to as a boy; his view blocked only by her cunt grinding on his
face. This is what you prayed for, isn’t it? That gave her an odd sense of
satisfaction, beyond the mere thought of how it must twist his mind. She’d been
the answer to the prayers of so many before, but those were just happenstance.
All slaves prayed for freedom from shackles, but Dany liberated them not grant
each unique wish, but to reorder the world to her liking. Kings seldom prayed
for the reverse, but she found one who did. And because he had been so pure and
utterly devoted to her, she decided to answer him. Suddenly the notion that
there were gods in the godswood seemed less silly. I am one.
Her screams tore through the silence. Ravens fluttered on the branches above,
but gave her no trouble. Dany could tell it would not take long to reach her
peak. Quarrel or none, she’d been craving release since the beatings she’d
given, and tree gods or none, she would have it. She could feel her thighs
growing wet, as her juices mixed with Jon’s spit and oozed into his eager mouth
and back out again. The feeling of her wetness grinding itself into his
stubble; her body in the air; his hands on her back; his tongue on her clit,
all began to overwhelm her. Her cunt started to pulse, and her eyes rolled back
in her head. Your land is mine, your people are mine, your body is mine, your
soul is mine, all of it’s MINE! Bugger the tree, pray to your FUCKING goddess!
She would have said it, but she was too overtaken with pleasure, so it all
melted down into a long, primal, ear-piercing moan at the top of her lungs as
she thrust her body against him like she could somehow leave an imprint of her
cunt on his face..
When she relaxed her thighs, Jon stood and guided her gently down the tree
trunk until she could wrap her legs around his waist. For a man whose eyes
would have reached Drogo’s shoulders at best, Jon was surprisingly strong and
deft with her, bringing her down swiftly but surely, never causing her to fear
he would drop her. Dany took pride in the fact that she needed no one man to
make her feel safe; that the hundred thousand sworn to her service would
suffice. Yet she had to admit that for all the ways she’d debased him, broken
him, and stripped him of what he thought was his manhood, the way he could make
her feel like a child bouncing on her father’s knee filled a void inside her
that an army of millions could not fill.
But that safety was fleeting. Jon teased her clit with the head of his cock,
making her gasp and reach down to slide it into her. But before she could, he
slapped her arm away and put his hand on her throat. “No.”
Her eyes widened. Right. I denied him. He’s wroth with me. That made her blush,
then grin lasciviously.
He set her down and flipped her so her palms were against the trunk of the
heart tree, kicked her legs apart, and held her in place with a forearm across
her shoulders. The seconds he spent teasing her clit from behind with the
fingers of his other hand, then the head of his cock again, felt like an
eternity. But she dare not move. How long can you make me fear you like this,
bastard? She wagered not long, but when he entered her cunt and grabbed her
hair to press the side of her head against the tree, she wondered if she had
underestimated him.
“I know what you’re doing here,” he growled into her ear as his hips slapped
against her ass. “You mean to defile this place, to make your mark on it.” Dany
truly had not thought of that, but the idea filled her with such a thick, dark
lust that she realized that whether she remembered thinking it or not, he was
right.
“Don’t you?” He asked. Then she felt the sting of his hand on her ass. “Don’t
you!” He hit her again.
“Yes!” She gasped. Her body spoke the truth, paying her mind no regard. “Yes!”
That just made him fuck her harder. Faster. “So be it. This land is yours to
mark now,” he reminded her, knowing it would tickle her greedy little cunt,
“but until I’m done with you, your cunt is mine, and I can leave a mark just as
well as you.”
Fuck, yes, rape me, sweet nephew. RAPE ME! Her screams sounded less like those
of a woman and more like a girl. There was a twist of fear and helplessness to
them, a vulnerability that she hadn’t felt since she was little more than a
cunt for Drogo to dump his seed into at night. She felt Jon’s teeth tear at her
neck and suck, lapping up the sweat on her skin with his tongue. She yelped,
then gritted her teeth to suppress it, grunted with all her strength, but
failed to hold in the pain once her body decided on its own to start slamming
itself down and back against his cock.
The shriek she let out was finally enough to set the ravens to quorking again,
and a handful fluttered to the ground. One looked up at her. Menacing, she
thought, her mind flickering in and out of coherence every time his cock
pounded into her. No. You're imagining it. A sudden terror came over her that
it would fly up and peck at her nipple as her breasts bounced back and forth
with each thrust of his cock.
Suddenly, all she wanted was to feel that pain. “Do it!” She growled, before
her mind came back. I’m commanding a bird to bite my nipple, he’s fucking the
wits out of me. She needed this every bit as badly as she needed to beat him
earlier.
Jon grabbed her right breast, squeezed, and pinched her nipple. Whether it was
pure happenstance, or the bird told him to do it, or it was some trick all the
Stark boys learned to scare maidens when they fucked in the woods, it made no
matter. “Yes! Yes! Do it! Rape me, bastard! Breed me!” He slapped her left ass
cheek with his other hand before putting it back around her waist. She grunted
through the sting. “Hurt me! Fucking hurt me, I command it!” And being the good
slave he was, he obeyed.
For years, Dany had assumed that trying to have a child was futile, and until
she met Jon, her mind had stopped considering the possibility that her
lovemaking would ever lead to it. But now, when she sensed him getting close to
taking his pleasure, part of her silently called out to some unknown power,
pleading with it to let his seed quicken inside her. Some god, some bloodmage,
some sorcerer, somewhere, must hear her. Please, please, please, let this be
the one. Maybe the old gods would dispel whatever foul magic Mirri Maaz Duur
had cursed her with. Maybe if she showed them she could be a good wife for him,
a good whore, whatever they wanted of her, they would bless her with his child.
“Plant your bastard seed in me, right here!” She spat, between shallow, rapid
breaths. “On Ned Stark’s sacred tree! He lied to you for years, take your
revenge!” That did me no favors with the tree. She looked up at the ravens.
“Watch him make a whore of me! Watch him rape his auntie pregnant!” Nor
that. But when she was this deep in the throes of pleasure, her mouth did what
it would.
Jon grabbed her hair again, forcing her eyes to stay on the ravens. They looked
at her, curiously. Her mouth gaped open and her eyes widened as the madness
consumed him, and she felt his pent up seed take over her cunt like his pent up
rage had taken over the rest of her. She screamed as he thrust himself as
deeply as he could, holding it there, so every last drop would stay inside.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, ALL OF IT!
When he finally released her, both of them could barely support their own
weight. Dany used her palms against the tree to slow herself down onto her
knees, Jon following behind her, kissing her neck, and her cheek, and behind
her ear, more sweetly than violently.
Dany found herself looking up at the face of the heart tree, with the ravens
looking down at her from the corner of her eyes. She was kneeling, like she had
at the mummer’s farce of a wedding. A child, please...please!She implored it
one last time as she caught her breath. She wished she had thought to ask
earlier. Its face gave no hints, but deep in her bones, she could tell it knew
something.
***** Irri III *****
Chapter Summary
     "They can live in my new world or they can die in their old one."
     --Daenerys, Game of Thrones Season 4 Episode 7.
“And when she farts in her sleep and wakes herself up!” Irri exclaimed, through
tears of laughter.
Jon guffawed. “Hush, bastard!” He mocked a half-conscious Daenerys. “This was
your doing!”
Irri slapped her leg and cackled, her gut starting to hurt. In all the years
she’d been in Dany’s service, Jon was the only other person she could share
these things with. No one else knew the Dragon Queen like this, save for some
dead men and one or two others halfway across the world. In private, Dany was
both odder and more ordinary than the rest of the world saw, and it felt good
to know that Irri was not the only one to notice it. She was more grateful
every day to her Khaleesi for finding this man, and for sharing him with her.
And she was just as grateful to him for being the kind, beautiful, utterly
unpretentious man that he was.
Tyrion, Bronn, Gendry, Tormund, and Grey Worm entered the Small Council
chamber, stifling their laughter.
“Care to share with the group, Your Grace?” The Hand asked as he took his seat.
The words “Your Grace” made her spine straighten, as Irri reminded herself that
he could have been addressing her just as much as Jon. It was still
disconcerting to be called that, and not “wench,” or worse, or merely to have
an empty cup waved silently in her direction. Maybe after the coronation.
The morning after she wed Jon in the Winterfell godswood, Dany vowed to Irri
that they would wed as quickly as possible thereafter, both to assuage her
guilt about not including her in their secret ceremony to begin with, and to
deny the rest of the Realm an opportunity to debate whether to allow it. They
made haste back to King’s Landing a few days later, departing in the middle of
the night on the fastest horses they could find. They made straight for White
Harbor with only Dany’s bloodriders to protect them, and sailed on the fastest
longship for Dragonstone. Dany disembarked and conferred with Lady Greyjoy on
the Royal Fleet’s war preparations, and rode back to the capital on Drogon’s
back, so he could defend the city when the time came, and keep the peace during
what they all suspected would be a tense interim.
While they were alone for the last leg of the journey by ship, Irri and Jon
grew closer. They told each other about their youths, and when they first fell
in love with their Queen. And for the first time, they made love without Dany
there to direct them. They didn’t tell her about it, but nor did they make an
effort to hide it. She would have to be a fool not to notice their greater
affection for each other, and she was no fool. She never raised the issue, and
smiled sweetly, almost proudly, every time they kissed in front of her. They
took that to mean they had her blessing.
From Dragonstone, Dany commanded by raven that Tyrion prepare a small tourney
in King’s Landing, meant to approximate a Dothraki wedding as closely as
possible without offending Westerosi sensibilities. They married at dawn on the
last day, after a brief ceremony in which Aegon finally renounced all titles
and claims, and spent the rest of it watching the melee, receiving Irri’s bride
gifts, and making love under the stars.
The consorts both took Dany's last name. Whether he liked it or not, it had
always been Jon’s true name anyway, and Irri had never had a last name at all.
But between them, it was an acknowledgment of the well known truth of who owned
whom. All she needed now was to place the crowns on their heads for all the
Realm to see.
“We wouldn’t get the joke,” Bronn answered Tyrion. “Serving girls think
everything’s funny.” He looked straight at Jon when he said it, smirking like a
little shit. The King was no longer amused; nor was she. He speaks like I’m not
even here. Before, that was simply the way of things. Now, it infuriated her.
“And that’s what she’s making you into, isn’t she, boy?” Tormund smirked. Bronn
chuckled.
Before Jon could begin his response, Grey Worm rose and snapped to attention as
“she” entered. The rest of them followed Grey Worm’s lead. Tyrion put his hands
on the table and slid forward, barely pretending anymore that he would make it
to his feet in time.
Dany motioned for them to sit, and took her own seat at the head of the table.
She gave them all a curious raised eyebrow, sensing that they had been joking,
but uncertain who was the butt. She decided not to ask.
She turned right to Tyrion. “The wildfire?” Pay attention, you must know these
things now, Irri reminded herself.
“The pyromancers are making as much as they can, Your Grace,” Tyrion replied.
“It will do heavy damage, but they’ve got thrice the ships Stannis had, and
Stannis came dangerously close to taking the city. Even with the dragons and
the wildfire, we should assume they will land a very large force.”
“Rhaegal and Viserion will drop it on their ships from above, while Drogon
burns whoever they land on the beach,” Grey Worm added.
Dany nodded. “Very good.”
Jon and Grey Worm were the only men she trusted to prepare her children for
war. They sensed Jon’s blood and bonded with him almost instantly, and they
knew the high regard their mother had for the eunuch. They knew Irri as well,
and that Dany loved her, so they had always been friendly. But their favorite
was Tyrion, who was widely suspected to smuggle entire wagons of bacon to them.
Irri sensed there was a lesson in governing there.
“Lord Willas has been most generous with the food supply,” Tyrion continued,
“though he bleats about it, as one would expect. You should make a point of
receiving him privately when he's here for the coronations.”
Dany sighed. “He’ll have plenty of time to bleat when he's chained to the hold
of a Volantene cog, but very well.”
Bronn leaned over to Tormund. “Find His Grace a nice Volantene cog. He might
enjoy a good bleat.”
Tormund giggled. The rest kept silent, as their duties required a tongue.
Dany’s eyes shot Bronn a look before turning back to her Hand. “And the
coronations?”
“The High Septon is as wroth as it gets,” Tyrion cautioned.
“Good.” She smiled.
Dany’s two weddings--one to her nephew, one to a woman, and neither in the
light of the Seven--had offended the High Septon grievously.
“He stops short of calling for open rebellion, as he’s recently purchased a new
Crystal Crown and needs his head to enjoy it,” Tyrion explained, “but he takes
every chance he gets to make thinly-veiled condemnations of your blasphemies.”
“But I love my blasphemies,” she flashed a wry grin.
“As do we all, Your Grace.” Tyrion smiled at Irri. “I know you plan to be rid
of him soon, but I suggest you do it before his words reach too many ears,”
Tyrion warned, pausing. “And I assume you’ve thought of this, but if your plan
involves some spectacular fire at the Sept of Baelor, some may compare you to
my sister. I don’t mean to question you, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention
it.”
Dany rolled her eyes. “I’m aware, my lord.” She turned to Irri. “Sweetling,
tell him your plan.” Irri looked at her nervously, but Dany’s eyes gave her an
impatient encouragement. “He’s yours to command, so command him.”
Irri began tentatively, despite earlier assurances that this was as good a plan
as she or anyone else could conceive. “This man preaches virtue, but he
frequents brothels in secret.” She explained, in her soft, sweet, accented
voice.
“Like I frequent my wine cup, Your Grace,” Tyrion confirmed, guiding her like a
child learning to ride a pony. ‘Your Grace’ is me. It still felt strange.
“Littlefinger had a brothel,” she went on. “Now he’s dead. Raid his brothel and
take the ledgers. Learn this man's perversions, and what he spends on them.
Tell him to leave the city or we’ll make them known. And when he leaves, we
will turn the sept into a shrine where anyone can worship any god they wish.”
There is only one god, and she’s sitting next to you.
Dany beamed proudly and kissed her on the temple. Irri blushed as Dany ran a
hand up her thigh under the table.
Tyrion smiled, genuinely impressed. “At once, Your Grace. We should do this
before the smallfolk start fleeing the siege.”
Dany smiled. “Were you planning to hold court today, Lord Tyrion?”
“One of your more tedious cases, yes, Your Grace.”
“Perfect. We’ll do it today.” Dany rose. “Lord Gendry, have the Goldcloaks
retrieve the ledgers, then pull the High Septon out of whatever boywhore he’s
rutting and bring him to court. The rest of you, plan my war while I deal with
this fool. Sweetling, come with me.” Irri rose to follow her Queen.
Dany and Irri strode toward the door, but Dany stopped when they reached her
Queensguard at the threshold. “Cells for the two who mocked the King,” she
commanded them, pointing toward Bronn and Tormund. “Let them have a good bleat.
They might enjoy one.”
It took both guards and Gendry to subdue the Wildling, but Grey Worm had the
sellsword’s own dagger at his throat in an instant. Bronn shot Tyrion a shocked
look as he was being gagged, which Tyrion passed to Dany on his friend’s
behalf.
“And another for the Hand, if he’d care to join,” she added.
“The Hand does not care to join, Your Grace.” Tyrion’s eyes found Dany’s and
signaled his acquiescence.
Dany and Irri entered the Throne Room through the side door, silent and
unnoticed. The petitioners milled about, chattering. Dany seemed greatly
pleased that no one saw her. She held Irri’s hands, kissed her, then bit her
lower lip and tugged, with a sublime malice in her eyes, before trotting up the
steps to her Throne.
“Shall I fetch the girl to do the titles?!” Dany shouted, almost playfully, as
she neared the top. Chattering stopped abruptly. Elbows nudged arms, heads
turned, and eyes widened. “Or do you know who I am?”
The room knelt as Dany’s divine ass hit the Throne. “Rise.” She crossed her
legs and paused for them. Irri sat near the base of the steps. “I'm afraid Lord
Tyrion is ill this morning, so I must rule in his stead.” Her eyes dared the
room to laugh. “Shall we begin?”
Two petty lords stepped forward, one demanding recompense from the other for
damming a river that flooded his copper mine.
Dany took her time with them, starting with pointless minutiae about the mine,
then letting the questions grow more and more abstract until they were debating
high-minded notions about the essence of justice itself. She asked how he
defined trespassing, and whether an accidental flood should count. She asked
whether anyone could have foreseen the flood, and whether that should matter.
She asked how he could truly know how much coin he lost if he didn’t know how
much copper was left in the mine, or what its value would have been by the time
he managed to sell it.
She said the words “why,” and “but did you not just say,” so many times that
Irri lost count, and when his argument collapsed under its own weight she
smiled, took a fig from her fruit plate, and subjected the second lord to the
same torture. Only a twisted mind would enjoy this. Yet something intrigued her
about it.
As the second lord blathered on, Dany spotted the High Septon enter through the
back, in his best robes and Crystal Crown. Through the side door came Tyrion,
flanked by three Goldcloaks, each holding massive stacks of books. He nodded,
to signal he’d found what he needed. Suddenly, Dany realized she was out of
figs.
“I’ll pay for it out of the Crown’s coffers,” she cut off the lord. “You may
go, both of you.” Dany waved them away, politely but impatiently, and called
forth the High Septon. Old and plump, like they all are.
“Your High Holiness, how many men do you have at the Sept of Baelor?”
“Fifty, Your Grace.”
Dany nodded. “Lord Tyrion, have the stables prepare horses and wagons for fifty
men and their possessions,” she commanded. “But not too many possessions.
They've taken a vow of modesty.”
“I take it my men and I are going somewhere?” The High Septon asked
impatiently.
“You are, my lord.” She smiled.
“And where is that?”
“Wherever you wish, so long as you leave by dawn. I'm taking your sept.”
The High Septon seemed angered but not surprised. “You would breach a sacred
vow your forebears made.”
“My forebears are all dead, and so is their Realm. The world has changed, my
lord. I've brought people with me who worship gods beyond count. I will finish
rebuilding the sept as a place where they can pray to their gods freely. Tree
gods, drowned gods, horse gods,” she paused and grinned, “me.”
The High Septon scoffed. “You. Of course. That's what this has always been
about for you, hasn't it? Do some firemage tricks and declare yourself a
goddess?” She needs no declarations, only witnesses. “I hate to disappoint Your
Grace, but the common people will never pray to a foreign whore.”
Dany paused for a moment and laughed at the man who just signed his own death
warrant. “Someone told me once that the common people pray for rain, healthy
children, and a summer that never ends,” Dany replied. “I can’t promise that,
but I’ve given them freedom from shackles and a spring that would not have come
at all but for me, my husband, and my children. You’ve given them the privilege
of buying you a hat that looks like a shiny glass cock. If you were the common
people, who would you pray to?” One day, all the world will pray to her.
“And if I refuse, you’ll burn my sept down. Like Cersei Lannister. You know so
little about the Realm you claim to rule,”
Dany smiled. “If I burn anything, I promise you I won’t be sipping wine on a
balcony when I do it,” she threatened, softly, reminding him who she was. “But
I won’t need to. I’m only a young girl, and as you said, I know so little about
the Realm. So I sent for some books, from Lord Baelish’s brothel.” She turned
to Tyrion. “My lord Hand.”
“Your Grace.”
“Teach me something.”
“The High Septon once paid for a woman to dress as a red priestess, shit in a
bowl, and spoonfeed it to him while some oarsmen from the Summer Isles took
turns with his ass,” he proclaimed.
Dany grinned wickedly and mockingly fanned herself. “I feel more educated
already.”
“The part about the swaddling clothes will earn you a maester’s chain,” Tyrion
quipped.
“Young girls are terrible at sums, as well. How much of the smallfolk’s coin
has he spent on this?”
“Forty thousand gold dragons since he first donned the Crystal Crown, Your
Grace.”
She raised an eyebrow at the High Septon and smiled triumphantly.
Tyrion turned to him. “The Crone, in her wisdom, has commanded you to welcome
those who keep other gods, because doing otherwise would cause needless
bloodshed. She has further commanded you to not just renounce but abolish your
title, leave the decadence of King’s Landing, and minister to the poor. The
Queen was loath to see you go, but admires your devotion to the Realm, and you
thank her for her promise to rebuild the sept as a place where all can worship
peacefully. Leave by dawn, and we’ll burn these books. Refuse, and we’ll invite
the whole city to read them.”
The dragon banner hung over the entrance to the sept the next day, and a date
for the coronation was set.
Irri barely slept the night before the ceremony. She woke to a blurry, silver-
haired figure gently poking at her shoulder. Please, not today, Khaleesi. Jon
can pleasure you, he snored all night. But as her vision came into focus, she
realized it was the other silver-haired figure, not the one she should concern
herself with. He is a terrible handmaiden. She swatted at him and rolled over.
That felt good, she thought, as she faded back out of consciousness. She opened
her eyes again, to find him carefully setting a tray of fruit across her lap.
Much better.
Today, Dany was to grant her the titles Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms,
Princess of Summerhall, and Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. In truth, there
was not much left in the Great Grass Sea to rule over, and the few Dothraki
left were well beyond the Throne’s influence. Still, it weighed on her. I am
not Irri, the girl who pours wine anymore. I am Irri of the House Targaryen,
the First of My Name. One day, Daenerys may permit her to give Jon a child,
with the blood of the Dragon, and the name to accompany it. The weight isn’t
fear, she realized. It’s duty.
“Dress me,” she commanded Aegon, as she finished her fruit plate and rose from
the bed. Her voice brooked no argument. I must maintain a regal bearing, she
knew, especially in front of men like him. So she did, and he dressed her, and
they left.
She stepped out onto the steps of the roofless, half-rebuilt sept, dressed in
white linen embroidered with gold. At the top of the steps were two chairs
where she and Jon would sit as they were crowned. Irri was convinced she would
get an arrow between the eyes as soon as she came into view of the crowd, but
the dragons circling above, and the guards swarming the plaza like flies on a
corpse, must have deterred her assassin. Her reception was warmer than
expected--only one or two shouts of “whore!” or “savage!”
Jon entered next, to wild cheers that seemed to go forever. They all owe him
their lives, she knew. Yet Jon barely acknowledged them beyond a nod and an
irresistible half smile. If the crowd were all women, they’d be ankle-deep in
cunt juice. But he wasn’t theirs. He’s mine...Dany’s first, she reminded
herself, but mine, too. She looked over at him. Mine.
Lining the side of the stage were all manner of nobles from every corner of the
Realm. The two consorts sat, and Dany entered and stood in front of them, to
the loudest cheers of all. Dragons overhead will do that for her. She let them
cheer for a moment, before gesturing for them to quiet down. “I am truly
honored that so many of you have come to celebrate this occasion with me!” She
shouted, “But before we begin, I must address an urgent matter of state.”
Two guards dragged Tormund Giantsbane onto the stage shackled and gagged, and
pushed him to his knees in front of Jon, facing the crowd. Davos Seaworth
entered behind them with a wooden block, set it down in front of the Wildling,
and took to his place among the nobles. Tormund’s face was hard, resigned to
his fate but clinging to his dignity.
As Irri realized what was happening, two more guards dragged Bronn before Irri.
Behind him came a stew pot hanging over a brazier, which Dany’s bloodrider
Jhogo promptly lit, before dumping a large sack of gold coins into the pot.
Bronn stared straight ahead, fear bleeding through his usual flippant smirk.
Dany looked back and nodded, to confirm what it meant. She’d have ME do this?!
I can’t… But Irri had thought that before, and been wrong.
“Some have suggested that my love for my consorts is an affront to the gods,”
Dany began, in the voice she used when she wanted to fill a crowd with
bloodlust. “Or that their love for me makes them weak. Some have even mocked
them. And me.” Irri looked over at Jon, trying to hide the terror on her face.
But Jon’s face was as hard as Tormund’s.
“But this man, and this woman, have a strength within them just as great as the
fiercest warrior here,” Dany continued. You could have told me about this. You
could have prepared me. Though she knew by now that Dany didn't do things that
way. I don’t know if I have the strength you’re promising them.
“Some of you may question their fitness to rule,” she went on. “So before the
crowns touch their heads, they shall dispel those doubts for good and all.”
Irri took a slow, deep breath. She believes I’m fit to rule. It was an odd way
of showing it; a way only Daenerys Targaryen would conceive, but that only
strengthened the sudden resolve that had built up in Irri’s gut. If Dany
thought her ready, who was she to question her? No one.
Dany pointed at both prisoners. “These men have mocked and slandered my love.
That is treason, just as much as taking up arms against me.” The crowd was
silent with fear.
“Kill the traitors!” Some voice in the crowd shouted. Others gradually took up
his call.
“And today,” she continued, “they will face justice. Not at my hand, but at the
hands of those they mocked.” A hesitant cheer went out.
Dany motioned for Jon and Irri to rise and step forward. You can’t tremble. You
can’t hesitate. Jon seemed to move so gracefully. Irri closed her eyes just
long enough to breathe and collect her thoughts.
“I will help you pour, Khaleesi,” Jhogo whispered as she reached the stew pot.
This is my first act as a Khaleesi. I cannot fail in this.
Dany turned to the King. “Lord Eddard Stark died on these very steps at the
command of a false King. Swing the sword yourself, in honor of your uncle, as a
true King should.”
A tear ran down Jon’s cheek as he nodded at his Queen. He said some words that
Irri assumed his uncle would have said. Longclaw went seamlessly from its
sheath to above his head to the wood of the block, digging itself in as the
Wildling’s head rolled forward and bounced to the edge of the step. Blood shot
from his neck as Dany grabbed his head and held it up for the cheering crowd,
before handing it to her Queensguard. They’re not cheering for justice, Irri
realized. They’re cheering for blood.
Dany turned to Irri, trapping her eyes before she could let the fear force her
to look away. “Irri, my love, you have all the strength within you of any Great
Khal, and in a moment, you will make that plain to the world. Do to this man as
my sun and stars did to my brother.” I will not let your words ring false,
Khaleesi.
Irri looked at Jhogo, and grabbed one pot handle as he took the other. Jhogo’s
strength did most of the work, but Irri’s hand was steady and sure as the gold
trickled off the edge.
She kept her eyes on the lip of the pot, preferring not to dwell on the gold
eating through the sellsword’s scalp and skull, but it was impossible to miss.
She heard a sizzle, a squeal, and shrieks from the crowd that turned into
raucous cheering. They would just as soon cheer for me to die like this. Some
noblewoman fainted, but Irri could not bother to look. She is weak. I can’t
concern myself with the weak until this is done. She assumed it was done when
the agonized screaming stopped. Jhogo looked over and confirmed, and they set
the pot down.
Her face was every bit as stony as Jon’s had been as she scanned the crowd.
Fear. Good. She took no satisfaction from that, but she was a Queen now, and
she needed men to fear her. You're either the butcher or the meat, she
remembered Dany telling her once.
“Let it be known to all the Realm that my consorts did this with their own
hands,” Dany proclaimed as the sellsword’s corpse twitched at Irri’s feet.
“They are royalty in their own right! They are my heirs! They shall receive the
same courtesy and deference as me, or they will mete out justice as they see
fit!” From above, Drogon let out a brief roar and a flame for emphasis.
“Anyone who objects may step forward now and make their case.” No one moved.
While Dany said some customary words, Irri felt the presence behind her of the
woman who would place the crown on her head, one of the few dosh khaleenwho
knew from the start that Dany’s true place was not among them. The crown was
gold with copper tips and a thin band of almond-shaped onyx stones lining the
base, to match her eyes. Larger stones in the front were cut in the shape of
the rearing stallions of Vaes Dothrak’s Horse Gate, with the three-headed
dragon in rubies between them.
Behind Jon stood the Lady of Winterfell herself, effectively renouncing any
claim to his titles. Dany had sent her a beautifully worded invitation
reiterating her deep admiration and gratitude for her hospitality. But it was
Tyrion who secured her attendance, promising Lyanna Mormont that the Crown
would build a shipyard on Bear Island in exchange for her promise to insist
that Sansa accept. Bears love bacon as much as dragons, Irri learned from that.
Jon’s crown was simple, almost austere, like the rest of him. It was modeled on
his cousin Robb’s, wrought in bronze, with iron spikes, and runes of the First
Men along the base. In every second gap between spikes was a large ruby, styled
after the Conqueror’s crown, to represent the other half of Jon’s blood and the
place he would hold in history.
Irri had always been told that crowns were heavy, and she found it to be true,
but she surprised herself with how well she reacted when it finally settled on
her head. There was no flinching, no startled crooking of her neck, no urge to
adjust it. She couldn't say it felt natural, but it was less terrifying than
she expected.
It was over that quickly. “Long may they reign!” Dany boomed, her tone a mix of
pride, elation, and one last threat to anyone who would challenge her. The
nobles echoed, and the smallfolk erupted in cheers. Irri felt exactly the same
as she did a few seconds ago. Of course you do, she reminded herself. Why would
you think otherwise?
Next came what seemed like an eternity of being knelt to, kissed on the hand,
and begged for things that no lord would have the gall to beg of Dany. To
Tyrion’s credit, he prepared her well. He told her who would ask for what,
which requests to grant and which to prevaricate on, and what to say if her
mind went blank. He helped her practice pretending to be a thousand different
lords, kneeling before her, saying what they were like to say, then turning
around and kneeling again as someone else.
She suspected the absurdity was intentional. These men scared her. They had
been nobles all their lives, and their forebears for thousands of years before
them. She was born of a long-forgotten rape in the dirt somewhere, and had been
their Queen for half an hour. But as they knelt, their eyes looking up and
taking her measure, all she saw were drunk dwarves with silly voices. She was
glad when it ended, but confident that she started fewer wars than she could
have.
The feast in the hall of the Red Keep was the best part, as Dany had demanded
that it feature a dish from each of the Seven Kingdoms. That meant Dornish
food, which actually tasted like something, which Irri found maddeningly rare
in Westeros. She ate enough of everything else to be polite, saving room to be
outright shameless about the spiced lamb and dragon peppers.
Lady Stark looked at her sideways as she grabbed a serving man’s spoon and
dumped half his peppers onto her plate. The look she gave back would have made
Drogon flinch. It’s my coronation, and if you look at me like that again, I
will eat every fucking pepper in this room.
She gaped, dumbstruck, like a babe torn from her mother’s teat when they took
her plate away and replaced it with some bland pie from the Riverlands. Dany
watched the whole spectacle and smiled adoringly. That made her cunt tingle.
She planned it that way, I’d wager my crown on it.That made her own cunt
tingle, which helped her through the pie. The pie, however, did her in for the
evening.
“Teach him how to pour like a proper serving girl,” Dany had instructed her
consorts as they broke their fast the next morning, before she left to receive
Lord Willas in private. But pouring wine was simple, and Aegon was already
quite proficient. Instead, Irri took it upon herself to give Jon another lesson
in how to let a man suck his cock, and who decides when and how he takes his
pleasure.
“Slowly, boy,” she warned the former King, sweetly, kneeling next to him near
the breakfast table as she guided his head onto the true King’s cock. Jon’s
hands reflexively reached for his silver hair, but Irri swatted them away.
“Don’t let him tell you fast to go. Keep him powerless.” She grinned up at Jon.
Aegon nodded eagerly. If he wanted to, Jon could fuck this boy’s mouth and
spill his seed down his throat in an instant, and more like than not, Aegon
would love it. But Irri wouldn’t, and that was all that mattered now.
Of late, she had grown obsessed with the rush of power she got from denying a
man his pleasure--Jon, Aegon, the countless Dothraki she would flirt with in
the halls of the Red Keep with no intention of taking them to bed. For so long
she had been taught to give most anyone anything they wanted without complaint,
even her body. Now, save for Dany, no one so much as looked at her without her
invitation, which she could grant or rescind as she alone saw fit.
But before long, she heard the door open. Dany entered and stood over her pile
of human chattel, grinning widely and lovingly. She likes what I’ve done with
them, Irri sensed. It pleases her. That made her blush as she smiled back up at
her Queen.
Dany turned her gaze to Jon. Her grin twisted in amusement at his gaped jaw,
which she fixed for him with a finger under his chin. She pulled Aegon up by
his hair and slapped Jon across the face. “Don’t wear it out, sweet nephew,”
she admonished him, not unkindly. She pulled Aegon up to his feet and smacked
his ass to propel him in the general direction of the bed. “Sweetling, tie his
wrists behind his back. Jon, fetch me my cock.”
Jon rose, lifted his breeches from around his ankles, and lumbered toward the
drawer where she kept it, his cock valiantly refusing to be confined. Irri
grabbed a rope from the same drawer, then tied the false Dragon’s wrists behind
his back as casually as she would saddle a horse.
Dany bent him over the foot of the bed. Jon dangled Dany’s cock by the harness
by his finger with one hand, and held his breeches halfway up his thigh with
the other hand, unsure what to do with either. Dany laughed, kissed him, and
played with his cock.
“Hold still while I get the sculptors, my love. This will be your statue,” she
smiled at him as she slid his belt off, folded it in two and pulled the ends
apart, grinning eagerly at the SNAP.
She looked toward Irri and pointed at the bed. “On your stomach, sweetling. Jon
will have your cunt while I beat this boywhore with a real man’s belt and teach
him how it feels to be properly fucked.”
Her wetness already coating her thighs, Irri hopped on the bed and positioned
her cunt for Jon to mount her. She faced Aegon, as she knew her Khaleesi would
want. They were both on their elbows, close enough to kiss if they wanted to.
Your lips will never touch mine, her eyes reminded him, chasing his downward
and away from her.
“Strip me,” the Queen commanded Jon, lifting her arms above her head while she
kicked her boots off. He pulled off her tunic and unlaced her breeches while
she peeled a sock off of her foot and shoved it in his face, startling him.
“Oh, you love it, bastard,” she teased.
“I do, Your Grace,” he smiled and blushed.
“This one loves it too,” she declared as she struck Aegon’s ass with Jon’s
belt, giving him no warning.
Aegon cried out in pain and cursed under his breath.
“Oh, would you rather Jon do it?” She handed Jon the belt. “Hit him!” Jon
struck him as strong and sure as he'd executed Tormund at his coronation.
Aegon yelped, as Irri saw his eyes start to water. She still had no desire to
kiss him, but she could see the appeal of licking the tears from his face.
“No, then?” She took the belt back and pressed her sock against Jon’s nose once
more, harder this time. “Go, fuck her like the Queen she is.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” he said as he climbed onto the bed. That's right,
bastard, be grateful to have my cunt.
“Watch them!” She commanded Aegon, hitting him again. “Did you ever fuck me
like that when you were my husband?”
“No, Your Grace,” he answered after a cry of pain, accepting his failure. Good,
she thought, as Jon’s cock pounded into her. One less man lying to himself
about what he is.
She looked at Irri. “A Queen fucks who she wants to fuck. If you want the
boywhore, he’s yours. Have you ever wanted this man in your bed?”
“No, Khaleesi.” Irri panted, her voice growing contemptuous. They both know the
answer, but she wants him to hear it aloud. “Never.”
“Even when you were a serving girl?” The crack of the belt on Aegon’s ass hurt
her ears. “Even when it was an honor to be raped by a King?”
She felt with her mind what she imagined Jon felt with his cock--a raw power to
pierce and destroy this man, and an all-consuming urge to do just that. “He was
no King, Khaleesi,” she spat, like she was expelling a foul spirit that had
been inside her far too long. “He was a whore.” She gritted her teeth and
savored the fear in Aegon’s eyes. She taught me how to make a man afraid. “I
don’t fuck whores...” She growled and spat in his face. He flinched, then
blushed and rolled his eyes back in ecstasy.
That unleashed something in Jon. He pulled her back onto his cock, hard, and
she lost her grip on the sheets. Her head dropped as she tried to claw back to
where she was, but Jon was fucking her too well.
“So true, my love,” Dany replied, pleased. Irri raised her head, trained like a
beast to block out everything else at the sound of her voice, thrilled and
humbled to have pleased her. Dany began to coat her cock in oil, stroking it
like it was a part of her. “I’ll leave you to enjoy the King,” Dany smiled as
she spread Aegon’s cheeks and took him.
Irri could hear Aegon’s moans, and his pain made her cunt squeeze tighter
around Jon’s cock. He pulled out of her and flipped her onto her back so he
could look into her eyes. He wants me for himself when he finishes. It was
dangerous to covet Dany’s property, but Irri was engulfed with lust at the
notion that he had defied the Mother of Dragons in this subtle way for her, but
part of her worried how far this would go. If anyone can defy her and live,
it’s Jon and I.
She put one hand on his throat and pulled his head down toward her. I will
suffer for this, she knew, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Don’t look at her.
You’re mine now,” she whispered into his ear, biting his earlobe as she
released her grip on his neck.
She immediately regretted it, but not enough to stop her from slapping his ass
and pulling him deeper into her. Please let me give you a son, please! Break my
will and make me your broodmare. She will never have a child. You NEED one, and
only with me. That was even worse, but Jon was past his tipping point now, and
they were fucking too madly to dwell on it. His sweat dripped from his brow
onto hers as he reached his peak and filled her with his seed. Yes, fill me,
it’s not hers, it’s MINE, bastard! As he finished, he looked over at Dany,
satisfied that she was otherwise occupied with Aegon, and ever so softly
whispered the words they had both been thinking but hadn’t dared say.
“I love you, too,” Irri mouthed silently as he withdrew, collapsed down next to
her, and began to softly kiss her.
Dany withdrew from Aegon and removed her cock, stepped to the side of the bed,
and regarded her consorts with an enigmatic half a smirk. She knows. We were
louder than we thought, or it’s some power of hers, but she knows! Irri’s heart
beat uncomfortably fast, but Her Grace only smiled lovingly. That means nothing
with her.
Dany kissed her on the forehead and grabbed Aegon by the hair, because it was
hers to grab. “Be a good handmaiden and clean up your King’s mess.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” he replied, and positioned himself accordingly.
Irri laid still while Aegon’s soft, clean shaven face nestle itself between her
thighs. She ran her fingers through his silver hair and pulled him toward her,
feeling Jon’s seed already oozing out of her cunt, not wanting her whore to
miss a drop. She looked over and met Jon’s eyes briefly, until Dany mounted his
face.
Aegon went about his duties methodically. Slowly. Almost too slowly for her
freshly fucked cunt, but she had come to love that about him. He found spots on
her that even Dany hadn't found, and remembered them for next time. Jon always
brought her to her peak, but genuinely did his best to ensure he'd gotten every
drop of seed, not because he was greedy for it, but because that's what he'd
been commanded.
When he was King, Aegon grudgingly accepted that he would always be the man
Daenerys Stormborn happened to find it in her best interest to marry. But it
chafed at him, and he made little effort to hide it. Oddly, though, he seemed
much happier once she’d disabused him of the notion that he would ever rule so
much as an ant hill so long as she drew breath. It was not his failure to be
her equal that chafed him; it was that he had to try in the first place.
He was like clay; shapeless on his own, but malleable. He liked men, everyone
knew, but Irri wondered whether that was simply because a man happened to bed
him first. If he preferred them, he’s fooled my cunt. Sometimes he would spend
hours with his head between her legs; his mouth and tongue prodding her,
reacting to her body, giving her what she needed to take her pleasure on her
own terms.
Irri admired her brown skin wrapped around Aegon’s pale face and platinum hair.
Her muscles bulged a bit when she tightened her grip. She came to Dany
ostensibly to teach her how to ride, and still made a point of riding as much
as she could. But it was only when Dany raised her from a handmaiden to a Queen
that she found time to ride for its own sake. It made her thighs firm and
strong, and men like Aegon felt more like prey.
The tighter she closed her legs, the more enraptured he became. The more she
demanded of him, the more eager, passionate, and deeper in awe of her he grew.
When she first met Aegon, she worried he would steal Daenerys from her, while
she poured their wine and washed the sheets they fucked on. For all she knew,
Dany would fall in love with him and dismiss her. Or let him rape her if he
commanded it, to keep the peace in the marriage that held her Realm together.
The best Irri hoped was that he would leave Dany alone often enough that they
could nurture their love in secret. That they could tell enough lies and hide
well enough to keep their heads.
Now, he poured the wine. He washed the sheets. And Dany reminded him daily that
it would never again be how it was. He was at the mercy of their whims, and
their satisfaction with him. His place in the world, not hers, was to live with
the constant shame and fear that came with being expandable.
Daenerys made this world for me as much as for herself, Irri realized. Another
gift. For all the lustful talk about how her pleasure was all that mattered,
and for all her excesses, and her moods that swept up the whole world with
them, Dany had put her name and her crown and her life at risk to give her a
gift that no one else in the world could give her. In that moment, as she felt
the pleasure building inside of her, Irri could not imagine anyone loving
anyone more deeply than she loved her Khaleesi.
Guilt about her greed for Jon washed over her, but the pleasure washed it away
just as quickly. She screamed and bucked her hips wildly as she took her
pleasure from the King-turned-boywhore’s tongue and mouth and face, tightening
her legs until his soft grunts of pleasure turned into panicked, muffled cries
for mercy, drowned in the juices of her cunt.
When she was done, she pressed her feet against his shoulders and pushed him
away from her. He did not resist, or climb on top of her to take his own
pleasure, but merely slid back, gently took one foot in his hand and kissed her
lovingly on the sole, then the other, like a man--an equal--would have kissed
her on the brow after he fucked her.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” he said, humbly, sincerely. She pushed her foot into
his face because that was more generous than he deserved, and he showed his
gratitude appropriately.
Dany looked down at her, rocking her hips and dragging her cunt over Jon’s
mouth. “Did he fuck you well, sweetling?” She asked, smiling, the pleasure
clearly building inside her.
“So well, Khaleesi.”
“Good.” She smiled and paused. “I trust you demand nothing less of him when
you’re alone.” She pinched Irri’s face between her thumb and forefinger. “You
didn’t think I couldn’t tell, did you?”
Irri’s eyes widened and fled from Dany’s. “No, Khaleesi,” she said timidly,
fearfully.
“But you should have told me regardless. You know that.”
Shame flooded Irri’s face. She nodded.
Dany slapped her. “You’re a Queen now. This is no longer a game. This is the
game. Run off with some foreign bastard King before, and it’s gossip. Destroy
the marriages I turned the Realm upside down to make possible, and it’s war.”
It suddenly hit her, harder than it ever had before.
She slapped her again. “We have a massive fleet coming for us.” And again,
thrusting her hips, riding Jon’s face harder and harder. She seemed to take
pleasure in the scolding. “And all manner of fanatics who will still try to
tear us apart.” Once again, harder. “Would you prove them right?” No, no, no,
Khaleesi. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. She winced at the next one. “Would you make
me seem a fool?!”
“No, Khaleesi!”
Dany grabbed Jon by the hair and clenched it in her fist. She closed her eyes
and threw her head back, taking her pleasure from him, screaming, grinding her
cunt hard on his face; a warning that he had just as much to answer for. As she
finished, she eyed Irri with a disdainful lust, growling softly as she caught
her breath.
“Do you want to make yourself the savage whore who destroyed the union that
saved the Realm?!” She asked as she dismounted Jon and retrieved a bar with
shackles on either end from under the bed.
“No! No, Khaleesi, please, I’m so sorry! Please!”
Dany looked at Aegon, pointing across the room. “Kneel in the far corner. This
doesn’t concern you.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” He climbed off the bed and scurried off.
She slapped Jon across the face. “Get up.”
Jon rose hurriedly, feeling the need to explain himself. “I’m sorry, Your
Grace. I thought--”
“You thought. That never turns out well for you, does it, bastard?” He looked
at her, ashamed. She handed him the bar. “Bind her ankles.”
Irri squirmed as Jon hesitated. She drew her ankle away reflexively.
Dany would have none of it. Not today. “If you love her, give her what she
needs. Bind them!”
Jon snatched her ankle before it got away. Irri gasped and whimpered as the
metal cuff closed around her.
“Good, now the other.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Jon climbed onto the mattress, holding the bar as Irri
fought to keep her free ankle away from him. Why am I fighting this? The answer
came to her. Because I love to. It would hurt that much more if she tried to
fight it first. And she needed it to hurt. Please, Khaleesi, set me to right.
Dany grabbed her wrists and bound them with the rope she’d used on Aegon, and
held them down above her head.
Irri writhed and kicked, sliding her free ankle under her ass, thrashing her
other leg wildly, making Jon struggle to keep his grip on the bar. She felt
Dany’s knees lock her head between them. “No, no, please!” She cried, but her
mind thought otherwise. Make him hurt me, Khaleesi. Teach us! Purge us of our
insolence!
Jon managed to pry wrangle her second ankle into the cuff, grunting in
frustration as it locked in place. He looked at her, almost sadly. She suddenly
realized just how terrifying it was to not be able to close her legs. My cunt
is her property, she reminded herself. Closing my legs is a privilege.
“Hush, slut.” Dany slid a finger into her mouth. Like a babe, she closed her
eyes and sucked. Not to please her Queen, or to imagine a cock, but because
suddenly, it was all she knew how to do. So peaceful, was the last thought she
remembered as her body went limp.
It suddenly felt pitch black, even though she knew it was mid-day. She felt
herself become nothing more than a body--a small, beautiful body for Daenerys
Stormborn to reign over. Every thought born of her own mind simply melted away,
into a puddle on the sheets.
“Much better,” she heard Dany say. Much better, her mind repeated, not daring
to form a thought beyond what Her Grace allowed.
Irri could not say how long Dany held it there, but she felt like she’d lost a
part of herself when it came out. Her lips and tongue reached into the air for
it, weakly.
“Switch with me, bastard. Keep her wrists still and hold the bar. Keep her legs
in the air for me,” Dany commanded.
“Yes, Your Grace.” They switched.
A lump formed in her throat as Dany snapped the belt and moved between Irri’s
legs. She dreaded what would happen, but knew she needed it. Ruin my cunt,
Khaleesi, please. It’s yours and no one else’s. See how wet it grows when you
hurt it; when I suffer for you. Tears welled in her eyes before anything even
happened. All I hope for with all my being is that it will please you to
torture my savage slave cunt.
Jon knelt where Dany had been, pinning her hands above her head with his knees
and holding the bar.
“Open your eyes, cunt. Look at me.” The belt hit her cunt before she could read
the look in Dany’s eyes. Irri screamed and sucked her breath through her teeth.
The sting felt like a venomous bite. Her cunt was sore and sensitive already,
from and a warm, pained tingling spread through it. She closed her eyes again,
flinching, and immediately felt ashamed of herself for it. I’m sorry, Khaleesi,
that was out of weakness, I’m so sorry.
“Hit her.” Before she knew what Her Grace meant, Jon’s hand hit the side of her
face. Not his hardest, but hard enough to hurt, and to satisfy the Queen. He
will not be merciful. He fears her as much as I do. The slap served its
purpose, and Dany’s violet eyes locked hers firmly in their place.
The belt hit her cunt again. “I saidlook at me!”
“I’m sorry, Khaleesi,” her voice quivered. Please, make me sob.
Dany’s eyes narrowed. “Yesterday, you wore your crown and had a feast.” She
belted her cunt again. Irri squealed. “But ruling is more than that. You should
know that by now, or are you truly that stupid?!” Her thighs quivered as the
belt hit her again. She felt her legs growing weak.
Jon pulled the bar back toward her head. She looked up at him, ‘What else can I
do?’ His eyes asked her. Nothing, my love. Thank you for this.
“I know, Khaleesi!” She pleaded. “I do! I’m sorry, Khaleesi!” This was the
harshest Dany had been since she nearly killed her, but Irri felt a strange
certainty that she was safe. Jon would protect her, but it wasn’t even that.
She’s hurting me for my sake, not hers.
“This is what being a Queen is like.” The first few lashes came from Dany’s
forearm, and her wrist. This time, she put her shoulder into it. “The whole
world wants to see your cunt,” she hit her again, just as hard, “and tell you
what to do with it.”
“Please, Khaleesi! Show me! I love you! I love you! Teach your insolent whore!”
Dany smiled. “Stroke her hair,” she commanded Jon. “She knows what she is.
Reward her.”
Jon brushed his fingers against her temple and through her hair. It soothed
her, giving her strength to suffer through the pain she knew was coming.
Dany must have seen it in her eyes, because for all the strength she gained,
Her Grace gave her that much more pain to match it. The next lash was brutal.
“I have no quarrel with you two being in love,” she explained casually, as Irri
fought futilely to free her arms so she could reach down and cover her cunt.
Her body wanted nothing else, but her Khaleesi ’s will was more powerful than
anything she could muster. “I want you in love.” Another lash. “I love both of
you deeply.” And another. “I want to share that with you.” And another. “It’s
too blissful to keep to myself.” The pain of the next lash, and the
overwhelming beauty of what Daenerys just said, finally gave Irri the answer to
her prayer. She broke down sobbing.
Irri noticed the pace of Dany’s belting had broken. Mercy? She wasn’t certain
she was ready for mercy yet, or deserving. Through the blur of the tears, she
saw her Khaleesikneeling just where she was; her belt in one hand, and the
other between her thighs.
“You are so beautiful when you sob,” Dany said, as sincere and lovingly as
anything she had ever told her. I love when my pain makes her touch herself.
Irri wanted to finish her with her mouth, but she hadn’t earned that yet. “Sob
some more for me, slut.” Dany hit her again. Her back arched and she screamed
and shook so hard that Jon had to grip the bar with both hands to keep his
hold.
“Sob for how much you love our husband!” Another lash. “And sob for how much he
loves you.” Her cunt was starting to pulse from the pain. “Sob for our love! We
are one House now!” She screamed, as the gravity hit her for the first time,
just as the belt hit her again. “And one House has one head!”
Irri nodded, desperately hoping Dany saw she was learning, profoundly grateful
for the lesson.
“Who do you suppose that is?!” Dany asked. “The one battering your cunt for
your insolence, or the one holding you there in silence?!”
Somewhere in Irri’s mind, she knew the proper response in the Common Tongue was
“the former,” but she’d been beaten far too hard to form the words. Instead,
all she did was wail.
Dany stood up on the mattress and pulled Irri’s bar up with her. “Stand,
bastard, I’m not done.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” If he’d ever thought of resisting her, that was long gone.
Dany took a step back, to make each stroke more forceful. Jon positioned the
bar so each blow his Queen struck would be the most painful.
The questions came twice as fast; each with a lash. “Who owns your cunt?!”
“You do, Khaleesi!” Those words needed no thought.
“Who else?!”
“No one, Khaleesi! Only you!”
“Who owns the rest of you?!”
“You, Khaleesi! ONLY you!”
“Who owns the King?! Do you?!”
“No, Khaleesi!I own nothing! Everything I will ever have is yours!”
“Who owns him?! Who owns his cock?!”
“You, Khaleesi!” It finally became too much. “Please, please, only you,
Khaleesi! No more! Please!’
Dany took a deep breath and tossed the belt aside. “Drop her,” she commanded
Jon. Irri’s legs fell to the mattress, her breath fast and heavy as her tears
slowly. She wanted to curl into the fetal position and finish her sob, but the
bar precluded it. Dany snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor by the foot
of the bed. “Stand.” That was all Jon needed.
She laid down next to Irri and smiled into her eyes, stroking her face and hair
like they’d just made love. Kissing her, softly, slowly, sweetly. “Hush,
sweetling. It’s alright. You pleased me greatly.” Dany slid her finger into her
mouth once again. “Suck.”
The pain stopped feeling like pain, and she felt like she was floating.
“You learned everything I meant to teach you. You’re a strong little slut. A
brave one. I’ve never been prouder.”
Irri simply nodded. Her body relaxed again. The bar still held her ankles
apart, but she would rather it stay there than leave the blissful peace that
her total surrender to Daenerys Stormborn had created.
“Never.” Dany kissed her again, running a hand between her breasts and down her
stomach. “Are you sore, sweetling?”
Irri nodded firmly, her tears drying up.
“My poor slut,” she whispered. “But you know I had to teach you, yes? That’s
what it means to be a Queen. You suffer through every minute, but you would die
before you give it up. We still have enemies. We must stay together, and keep
no secrets. We must be strong. And if nothing else, you learned how strong you
can be.”
She nodded a third time, ready to cry again, from pure awe at what this woman
meant to her.
Dany removed her finger and rotated the bar. The rest of Irri’s body followed
suit, and she rolled onto her stomach. She opened her eyes and saw Jon’s hard
cock in front of her. He was stroking it, slowly, patiently.
“A reward, for being so good today, sweetling.”
Irri could feel her mouth water, her energy and her will returning. “Thank you,
Khaleesi.”
“Suck our husband’s cock.”
Still too drained to do much else, but eager nonetheless, she took Jon’s cock
into her mouth and felt his hands on the back of her head. She moaned onto it
softly, and he responded with one of his own.
Irri felt Dany set her crown on her head, then settle back behind her and plant
sweet, soft kisses on her ass. “So strong,” she whispered. “So brave. So broken
and beautiful.” The kisses became more intense. “Crown or none, always my
whore.” Dany spread her cheeks apart and stroked between them with the tip of
her tongue. Irri’s eyes rolled back as the pleasure spread through her body.
It made her come alive again, and she sucked harder, her tongue rolling around
Jon’s cock on its own volition, lingering where he liked it best, all while
keeping her crown right where it was. She could feel Jon’s eyes looking down at
her, so she looked back up.
“I love you,” he told her, too loudly for Dany to miss.
“Anha athzhilar yeri akka,” she said after a short gasp of pleasure. Wrong
tongue.“I love you, too.”
Dany said nothing, only licking faster to affirm her approval. Irri reached
back with one hand and guided Dany’s head closer to her, arching her back and
moaning louder onto Jon’s cock. He pulled her head closer to him in turn, and
began to thrust his hips.
Suddenly, all Irri wanted was to be fucked in her stinging, aching cunt while
Jon spilled his seed down her throat. Take me through the pain until it becomes
ecstasy, Khaleesi. As only you can do.
Dany’s fingers went straight to her clit, gently teasing it. It stung at first,
but Dany coated them in Irri’s wetness, and suddenly it felt as if the Queen’s
fingers and tongue were conspiring with each other to conquer her yet again.
She reads my thoughts. She must. She is a goddess, answering my prayer. Irri
had no other explanation. Surrender, a voice told her.
Her hips began to grind. Shameless, wanton, greedy. Dany responded, sliding two
fingers into her. I am every bit the slut she says I am. Irri hoped that never
changed. She slammed her whole body back, like they were a hard, thrusting
cock.
The Queen found that amusing, her licking interrupted by a noticeable chuckle.
“Boywhore! Clean my cock and bring it to me!” She shouted, before returning to
her slut’s reward. She stroked her fingers inside Irri’s cunt. They’d loved
each other so long that Dany could turn Irri’s entire body into a mere
extension of her fingers. Her heart raced, and she sucked faster, as Jon had
begun to demand. I need it down my throat. NOW.
Dany withdrew her fingers and inched back as she affixed her cock, but only for
as long as it took to position it outside Irri’s soaked cunt and mount her.
As with most things, Daenerys Stormborn was merciless. But for the fact that
most of them were twice her size and thrice her weight, she could easily have
passed for a Khal by how she fucked. She is a Khal. The onlyKhal.
Irri felt Jon’s fist suddenly clench her hair and hold her still as he fucked
her mouth like a second cunt. She felt and tasted his seed pouring down her
throat, swallowing eagerly. This time, she felt no guilt about her greed.
When they finished, all three collapsed in a pile on the bed. Irri’s crown
still sat on her head, crookedly, as Dany had playfully refused to let her take
it off. Her eyes met Aegon’s in the far corner to which he’d returned. Smiling,
with the Queen of Westeros half asleep on her chest, she waved her wine cup
silently in his direction. He rose, hurried over, and poured, as she used to
do. When it was full, she waved him away. Dany always promised to put me in my
place, she remembered. She finally kept her word.
***** Daenerys V *****
Chapter Summary
     I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons,
     mother of dragons, don’t you see? Don’t you SEE? With a belch of
     flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into the sky, the pyre
     collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany stepped forward
     into the firestorm, calling to her children.
     --A Game of Thrones, Daenerys X
There are too many, Dany thought as she stood on the walls of the Red Keep,
facing the bay. Her dragons had burned as many Volantene warships as they
could, but they’d been at it for nearly a day and a half, and would succumb to
exhaustion in a matter of hours. And it seemed for every ship they burnt, ten
more appeared on the horizon.
There was nothing she could do--her fleet scattered everywhere from White
Harbor to Pyke, after the Volantenes feinted toward nearly every important city
in Westeros, and the ships left to defend Blackwater Bay were easily
overwhelmed.The city is lost. Shame, disbelief, and dread filled her.
She vowed silently to die fighting, and started toward the bailey to rally her
men for what was like to be their last stand. Tyrion rounded the corner in his
armor, holding a Myrish eye, as close to running as Tyrion ever got.
“You should see this, Your Grace,” he handed it to her and pointed toward the
bay.
For the first time in her life, Harpy sails were a welcome sight. Dany watched
as they rammed headlong into the Volantenes’ rear guard, breaching the line and
pouring into the bay. She was elated, of course, but that faded all too
quickly. She hated having to be rescued. Especially by him. There was so much
left unfinished between them, and she knew he would not have come this far
unless he meant to finish it.
The morning the bells stopped ringing, Dany and her consorts received the
savior of her city, as protocol dictated, though Tyrion advised they do it in
the Small Council chamber to take his measure, before letting him make a public
spectacle.
"His Excellency, the Magister of the Bay of Dragons," Missandei announced as
the Magister stood behind her, shamelessly ogling her ass. Daario Naharis
strode into the room like he owned it, and bowed deeply. Dany bit her cheek to
restrain a lecherous smile. On either side of her, Jon and Irri seemed to need
to such help.
Time and wealth had treated Daario well. He looked nearly the same, but dressed
far better. His face had lost the boyish recklessness she’d found so appealing
when they first met, replaced with a rare wisdom that only a true ruler could
ever gain.You little cunt-soaking shit, she thought, shifting in her chair. It
was like he knew how her taste in men had changed, and molded himself
accordingly.
When she left Meereen, she commanded him to keep the peace until the city held
its own elections, but in retrospect she should have known that Daario would
handily win any election in which he counted the votes. Yet to everyone’s
surprise, the man had proven an excellent ruler. The region had never been more
peaceful, prosperous, or free. The common people loved him, the former masters
respected him, the economy was booming, and the wealth and opportunity had
spread to rich and poor alike.
“Welcome to the Seven Kingdoms, Magister,” Jon began, as cordially as Jon got.
He’d rather have had the man gelded,Dany knew. “We’ve heard much about you.”
Daario smiled crookedly. “All vicious lies, I assure you, Your Grace.”
Jon ignored the jape, but kept his courtesies. “We owe you a great debt.”
“You owe me nothing, Your Grace. I owe everything I have to your Queen. This
was the least I could do to repay her.”
“You owe everything you have to your own people, who chose you as their leader,
or so I’m told,” Dany meant that as a scolding, but it sounded dangerously
close to flirtation. “Pay your debt to them, first.”
“Wise words, my Queen. All I beg is that you accept one more token.” I’m not
your Queen, and don’t beg me for things. You don’t know what that does to
me.But that wasn’t his fault. She herself had barely understood that part of
her when she left Meereen.
Daario brought forth two servants with a chest and had them place it on the
table, opening it to reveal three tarred heads resting on a dirty Volantene
flag. Jon was nonplussed, but Irri was there the last time he’d brought her
severed heads, and understood the implication. She looked at Dany and rolled
her eyes, but Dany was less dismissive. Irri took her meaning and nodded in an
amused if slightly annoyed acquiescence.
“And who are these?” Dany asked, outwardly unimpressed. My tastes in boxed
heads have grown rather expensive.
“The triarchs of Volantis, Your Grace. The flag came from atop the Black Walls.
The city is yours.”
“Ours,” Jon interrupted. “And that's very nice, but Volantis is thousands of
leagues away, and we lack the men, coin, and time to govern it.”
“And men do not come this far just to give gifts,” Irri added. “They do it
because they want something. What do you want?” She asked bluntly. Irri was
growing into a skeptical and calculating Queen, and in public, her demeanor
could be nearly unreadable.
Daario smirked. “To make Daenerys Targaryen the Empress of the known world.”
Dany knew better than to trust offers like that, but the notion stirred her
cunt nonetheless.
“The other Free Cities are ripe for the taking,” he explained. “They no longer
have the Braavosi or the Volantenes to protect them. Take them, and I’ll bend
the knee.” He turned to Dany. “Every inch of land from Vaes Dothrak to the
Lonely Light will be yours.” Mine.
For the sake of her marriages, she needed a better response than to vault over
the table and mount his face. “Men have made such promises before, and most of
them have died screaming. You know that. Why make such an offer?”
“Money, Your Grace. It’s that simple.” You can’t pump money out of my cunt, she
looked at him sideways. But you’re welcome to try. “You’re not one to sit here,
knowing there’s a part of the world you haven’t yet conquered.” He’s right, she
conceded. “Soon or late, you’ll want the rest. War is bad for trade, and trade
has made me quite rich. A world built on trade is one where anyone can succeed
through his own efforts, and not his blood, or by turning men into chattel.
That’s precisely what you’ve wanted since the day I met you, but it won’t
happen if we’re rivals. So why stand in your way? Let’s strike while our
enemies are weak, join our Kingdoms, and spend our lives building that world
instead of squabbling over it.” But I love a good, hard squabble. 
“Magister.” Tyrion interjected. “I hate to stand in the way of a man’s cock,
especially when I stand at eye level with it. But you know this is precisely
why I advised Her Grace to leave you in Meereen. The North only bent the knee
so the heir to the Iron Throne would have Stark blood. If she conceives a child
while you’re here, the mere possibility that it doesn’t would all but guarantee
a long, bloody war.”
Dany had new reason to doubt that was truly a problem, though she dare not say
it aloud. Jon was blissfully ignorant of it, but he was a man, and not attuned
to it. As a woman who spent a great deal of time with her face in Dany’s cunt
every month, Irri knew, but Dany swore her to secrecy. “It could be my nerves
from the battle,” Dany had cautioned, “or another false start.”
“I know, my Lord Hand,” Daario replied, “You have my word that if the Queen and
her consorts command it, I will leave tomorrow on the morning tide. On my
honor, I swear I will not put a bastard in her.” He means he wants my ass, to
which she was amenable.
Dany could not appear to be idly pondering how many soldiers Daario would need
to provide before he could fuck her up the ass, though she was doing precisely
that. “I appreciate your kindness, Magister, and I will always remember our
time together fondly. But that's all it is. A memory. I won’t ask my people to
shed blood in a foreign land, no matter how just the cause.” Most of the time,
that would have not been an utter lie, but this man made her lust to bring a
few more cities to their knees.
“Her Grace has spoken,” Jon declared. “And I accept your offer. You will sail
on the morning tide. I don't know what you've heard about me, but I will not
have men doubt if I’m my child’s father.”
Daario looked at Dany. I can't overrule him. Not here. “Very well,” he
conceded. “I shall ask no more of you.” His voice was tinged with that subtle
petulance he got when he didn't get his way.
Dany and Jon returned to their bedchamber alone. Dany had given Qezza Galare,
the former hostage from Meereen, to Irri as a handmaiden. She was a sweet girl,
and as part of a vow to always treat her servants kindly, Irri had promised to
teach her how to ride. That was the most adorable thing Dany ever heard, and
she gave them leave to practice whenever they wished.
“Thank you, Dany,” Jon said as they entered the bedchamber, truly grateful.
Dany just smiled at him, sweetly. “For what?” She stripped to her smallclothes
and sat near the brazier.
“You know precisely what.” He sat across from her. “That could have gone much
differently, but it didn’t.”
A glint of tentative mischief crept into Dany’s eyes.
The gratitude disappeared from Jon’s face. “What.”
Dany shrugged and bit her lip, blushing a bit.
Jon groaned. “No. No, no, no. No.” Yes, yes, yes, and you know it.
“He’ll be gone on the morrow, my love.” She promised, her voice masking a
sudden desperation.
“You don’t have to fuck everyone you meet. You do know that, don’t you? We’ve
discussed this.”
“I resent that, bastard. I have no plans whatsoever to fuck Varys or Grey
Worm.” She regretted the jape as soon as she said it. This pains him more than
I thought.
Jon glared at her, unamused. “I’m serious. Am I not enough for you?”
Dany sighed, bracing herself. Since you asked…”No.”
Jon looked like he’d been stabbed in the gut. 
“And neither is Irri,” she went on, “or Aegon, or Daario. If Drogo strolled
through that door right now, he wouldn’t be enough, either.”
“Then why are you with us?!” Jon demanded. “If we’re just toys to you, why
marry us? Why set Aegon aside? Why have the Realm bend the knee to a Dothraki
handmaiden? Never mind the risk to your own head, you’ve put her in danger!” He
truly loves her. She adored his instinct to protect her sweetling, and suddenly
felt terribly guilty. I won’t hurt her again, I promise.
“Because I need you!” I thought you knew that. “Like I need air and water. But
I can’t live on that alone.”
“What else do you need, then?” He was in no mood for flattery.
“Freedom. To do as I please. To take what I want. I’ve grown accustomed to
that, if you hadn’t noticed, and I won’t give it up. I won't stop wanting to
fuck other men just because I’m married, no matter how happily. I don’t need
all of them, but if I want one badly enough, I need to know I can have him.” 
“And what about me?”
“You gave up your freedom the night you came to King’s Landing, and you know
it.” He still forgets himself sometimes. “But you still have Irri. And Aegon.
And you can always beg my leave to be with others.” Notice I said ‘beg.’
“I don’t want any others.” This one might actually believe it. Stark boys were
precious like that.
“Not now, perhaps. But if you returned to the North without me, are you truly
certain you wouldn’t lust for a night with some Wildling?”
 Jon paused, unable to refute her.
“I never loved Daario,” Dany explained. “I thought I did, once, but I was half
a girl. He’s charming, but he’s a fool. You saw it yourself. He’s skilled with
his cock, nothing more.”
“Promise me you're not doing this just to hurt me,” Jon implored her. “Toy with
me all you want, but don’t crush me. And it would crush me if this man started
to mean something to you.”
Something about that made Dany stir--not the thought of crushing him, but the
sincerity in his voice. “I know, my love. And I don’t want to hurt you in that
way. Truly.”
“How do I know that?” 
“I’ll leave his bedchamber as soon as I’m done. And if he’s not gone by the
morrow like he promised, you can take his head yourself. Or his balls, or
both.” That seemed to help, at least somewhat.
“I’m not Aegon, Dany. I don’t want to hear about how I’m a lesser man than he
is.”
“You’re not a lesser man, my love. Quite the opposite.” His face was still all
pain and squeamishness, but she spotted a tightness in his breeches. I knew
it.Her heart beat faster, and her cunt tingled. “If I wanted him so badly, I’d
have sent for him when I took the Iron Throne. He would have been a suitable
consort by then. But I don’t want him like that. Only you.”
Dany’s eyes went down to his crotch, shamelessly admiring what Jon could no
longer hide. His face went flush as she looked back up. She rose and dropped to
her knees between legs, rested her elbows on his thighs and began to unlace his
breeches. Her eyes met his again. They begged him to indulge her, dared him to
refuse, and invited him to forget everything in the world but what he was about
to feel.
Jon stroked her hair slowly and softly, his face conceding that he was warming
to the idea as she took his cock out and began to kiss it. “Only me,” he
repeated.
“Only you.” Dany took him into her mouth, slowly but deep, to remind him of
what she alone could do to him. She flashed her purple eyes again as she
reached the base and slid her lips back up. This time, however, she meant to
extract a confession. “You like talking about this,” she told him softly, her
lips still brushing against the head of his cock. “Don’t you, bastard?” 
He still refused to say it, but the deep, tortured breath he took was all the
proof she needed.
“Your mind hates it, but you crave it anyway,” she guessed, correctly, as she
stroked his cock and teased the head with her thumb.
He finally gave her something approaching a “Yes.” She dug a nail in, where the
head met the shaft. “Yes, Your Grace.” Better.
Dany smiled and let him enjoy her mouth again, then stopped. “I know you better
than you know yourself, sweet nephew.” She reminded him. “Don’t ever forget
that.”
Jon nodded obediently as she resumed, no longer teasing, shutting out
everything but him, unleashing the wanton slut that still dwelled inside her
and always would. He ran his fingers through her hair and pulled her head onto
his cock. That’s it. More. Lose yourself.
When he started to, she took her mouth off of him and let his cock stand where
it was; stiff, pulsing, helpless. “Do you know why that is?”
He sighed, irritated that he had to remember how to speak. You are so fun to
irritate.“Why, Your Grace?” He asked, breathlessly.
“Because,” Dany kissed up his shaft but pulled away just below the head.
“You’re a man. It’s part of who you are.” She pressed her lips around the head
and dragged them off slowly.
“What?”
“You’ll see, sweet nephew.” Dany grinned, until she felt his hand pressing
against the back of her head impatiently. She swatted it away. “No,” she
commanded. “Who owns it?”
“You do, Your Grace.”
Her eyes narrowed until she saw the fear she wanted. “Don’t forget yourself.
You’ll get what you want, when I see fit to give it.” He nodded apologetically,
and she resumed pleasuring him for a moment, as reassurance.
“Jealousy makes men into animals. You’ll want to best him. You’ll want to make
me forget him,” she suddenly found her hand between her legs, eager to unleash
the animal in her King. “You’ll fuck me twice as hard. Crave me twice as badly.
Need my love more than ever.” Like a good boy, he kept his hands on his knees,
well clear of her head. She rested the head of his cock on her lips, laced her
fingers with his, and looked up again. “And I’ll give it to you.”
“Just don’t make me watch,” he blurted out before she could take him back in.
His words were slurred, but his tone was firm.
I suppose that was always too much to ask. “Very well, but that will cost you.”
Jon regretted it instantly, she could tell. “Cost me, Your Grace?”
Dany smacked his cock, put her fingertips on the head, and dug her nails into
it. He grimaced as it softened, and squirmed as she stuffed it back into his
breeches and laced them back up.
Jon looked at her like he were a child and she’d stolen his sweet. Dany looked
back, like she would enjoy that sort of thing.
She stood, straddled him, kissed him softly and stroked his cheek, smiling. “No
release until I'm done with him. Irri will watch you while I'm gone, and rule
you in my stead.” 
That night, after giving Irri her orders, Dany left for Daario’s chambers
alone, nearly skipping down the hall, her steps lighter without the guards and
flatterers surrounding her.
“I’ll have you killed if you tell anyone, and if I don’t, your master will,”
Dany warned the Meereenese guard outside Daario’s bedchamber, in High Valyrian.
Her hair was a disaster and she was barefoot, wearing only her bedclothes. Her
tone was not unkindly, but the guard knew who she was, and that she did not
make idle threats. He nodded silently, opened the door for her, and stood
aside.
Daario saw her and sat up in bed, naked.
“Magister,” she greeted him with a casual smile.
Daario responded with a perplexed, almost suspicious look. “How did you get
past the guard?” He asked.
“Ruling bored me so I trained to be a Faceless Man.” When he said nothing back,
she studied his face to see if he truly believed it, biting her lip until she
couldn't contain the laughter. “I threatened to kill him, you dolt!”
“And your husband threatened to kill me,” Daario reminded her.
“Only if you don’t leave on the morrow,” Dany corrected him. “He said nothing
about the meantime.” She threw off her nightclothes and straddled him.
“And if I plant a bastard in you?”
“Plant it where it won’t grow.” Men are fools. She grabbed his cock,
uninterested in his permission. “How many women have had this since I left?”
She stroked, feeling it pulse in her hand. “A hundred? A thousand?”
He couldn’t resist bragging. “I lost count.”
“Eleven, then?” Dany smiled, and guided him into her thoroughly wet cunt. Gods,
I’ve missed this.
She leaned down, and their lips and tongues reacquainted themselves, locking
and wrestling as their mouths began to water. So much had happened since they’d
last seen each other, but something about him turned her right back into the
stuttering, stammering child she’d been when he first took her.
“I did love you, you know,” he whispered as he broke the kiss and moved to her
neck. He remembered the precise spot that made her the weakest. It made her
gasp. Everyone else had to search for it, but he simply knew.
Dany conquered men in her bed like she conquered everything else--with
surprise, terror, and overwhelming force. She gave only nominal credence to the
notion that knowledge of the terrain could win battles. But the way Daario knew
her body better than she did, even after all this time, made her wonder if
she'd been wrong.
He was lean, graceful, smooth, and precise. Like a dancer. Every thrust was the
perfect speed, depth, and angle for that one moment. Every stroke of his tongue
was perfectly placed. He used his strength, but never made a show of it,
because he didn't need to. He caught her off guard time and again, shocking her
at how easily he could make her his own.
“Did you love me?” He asked.
“No,” she answered breathlessly, clinging to her wits as he slowly peeled them
away from her. That will drive him mad, she knew, and that was the point. “But
I want to. Make me love you. Make me give up everything.” He could do no such
thing, even at his best. I can be such a twisted cunt sometimes. But sometimes
the only way a man would fuck her like a twisted cunt was if she acted like
one.
“Should I?” Daario’s breath was growing heavy. His hands moved behind her hips
and gripped her cheeks. She could feel each finger dig into her flesh and tug
them apart. When he smacked them and gripped them again, harder, the wave of
sensation flowed up her back, forcing it to arch. “You want that, don’t you?”
Maybe. “Not yet. Work for it, you pretty whore of a man.” She thrust her weight
down on him.
Daario sat up and threw her aside like she weighed nothing. “Bugger that, maybe
I’ll just steal you.” He grinned. Yes. Please. In that moment, she would much
rather have been his concubine than anyone’s Empress. Lock me in your cabin.
Fuck me like a cheap bedslave all the way back to Meereen. 
“What if I fight you?” She taunted him, kicking and squirming as he tried to
mount her.
Daario only laughed and flipped her onto her stomach. “You won’t, if you know
what’s good for you.”
Dany tried to claw her way off the mattress, but Daario grabbed her. She kept
fighting, and was about to thrust a heel into his balls when she felt him pull
her up and slide his tongue between her cheeks. Her legs trembled and her heel
froze where it was. Her hands struggled to grip the sheets. The world went dark
as her eyes closed themselves. The side of her head hit the mattress, and she
heard herself gasp and moan, quivering and helpless.
She’d forgotten how good at that he was. Her slaves would do it on command, but
they clearly preferred her cunt. Daario seemed to take pleasure in how easily
it came to him, and how quickly it gave him such power over her.
The man was maddeningly patient. He devoured her, pressed the tip of his tongue
against her, his head rolling from side to side like a wolf tearing the throat
from its still-living prey. He slid two fingers into her drenched cunt, and
stroked her from the inside as he teased her clit with his thumb. The noise she
made sounded almost like sobbing.
“Beg for it!” He barked, taking his mouth off of her for just long enough to
say the words.
Her own mind betrayed her. He told you to beg. Fucking beg, like the bitch you
are! “Please! Please!”
Daario thrust his fingers hard and deep. “Please, what?!”
“Fuck me!” She felt him withdraw, and smack her ass like an insolent child.
That was commanding, not begging, she realized. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m
sorry. “Please fuck me!” She blurted it out quickly, before he could correct
her. Please let me be your little fuck toy. I can be good, see?
He hit her again, on the other cheek. She squealed. “That’s begging?!”
“Please, please, please fuck me!” Dany backed herself toward him greedily,
desperately, hoping to simply fall onto his cock. “I need your cock in me, I
need it! Please fuck me, please fuck me, please please please, I’m your
slave!” 
He liked that, and threw her down onto the mattress. She heard him spit into
his hand. “Everywhere you’ve ever gone, they’ve called you a foreign whore,” he
told her, as she felt him filling her. Yes, yes, THANK YOU. “And they’re
right.” Yes, my lord.
She would have said that, but she couldn’t stop herself from moaning. She
nodded, hoping he’d see her confession.
Mindlessly, Dany reached back to rub her clit. Daario grabbed her wrist and
pulled it behind her back. “See? Look at you.” Don't touch without his
leave.Every word, every thrust of his cock only served to break her further.
In truth, Dany needed a good breaking. As much she loved the power she had over
Jon and Irri, ruling them was like ruling everything else. Everything she ever
did as a Queen made her want to slip into a hot bath at the end of the day, to
close her eyes, shut out her thoughts and surrender to the sensations engulfing
her body. What Daario gave her was less soothing, less peaceful, but cleansed
her mind all the same.
Daario took over what her hand had started, but rougher, more deliberate, less
concerned with her pace and more with his own. He does that better than I do.
She panted, and screamed as his other hand gripped her waist. Teach me my
place.
In that moment, Dany’s place was right there, with her muscles clenched tightly
around his cock, pulling him in deeper. Her clit throbbed, and she threw her
weight back against him, over and over, harder and harder, until all she could
do was bite the sheets and scream into the mattress. Her legs shook and gave
out, and as she came down, she felt the warmth of his seed filling her. She
sighed a long, sated, relieved sigh.
“Well, I didn't put a bastard in you,” Daario told Dany as she lay on his
chest. “You’re certain your husband won’t take my head regardless?”
“I'm certain,” Dany sat up, planted a few short kisses on his neck, and once
more on his mouth. “Though I must take my leave soon.”
“You took quite a risk to fuck a man you’ll never see again. I must be rather
good.” He smirked his cocksure smirk, knowing full well how good he was.
“Who says I’ll never see you?” She smiled coyly.
Daario raised an eyebrow. “Do you plan to nearly lose your Realm again?" 
Dany bit his earlobe playfully. “No, I mean to grow it. All the way to
Meereen.” She climbed out of bed, stood beside it, and stretched, feeling him
leaking out of her.
Daario sat up and edged to the side of the mattress. “Everyone else despised
that idea.” He looked up at her as all the humor and submission melted from her
face, as if by dragonfire.
“Don’t concern yourself with them. They’ll bend,” she looked at the floor, then
back up at the upjumped sellsword, and cocked her head to one side. “Much like
you should be doing.”
Daario gave her a confused look. 
She pointed to the floor in front of her feet. “You didn't think you'd fuck me
for free, did you? I am a whore, after all. You said so yourself.” And you
offered precisely this in exchange. “Now shall we do this here, or atop the
rubble I’ll make of your Great Pyramid?”
“You are a twisted cunt, and I’ve missed you dearly.” He smiled, sank to one
knee, and said the words. Good boy.
Dany returned to her bedchamber quietly. Irri slept peacefully on one side of
the bed; an angel, as always. Jon was on his back on the other side, plainly
struggling to sleep. He took a pillow from the center of the mattress--Dany’s
pillow--and rolled over, pressing it onto his head. Bitch, she laughed to
herself.
Irri opened her eyes and smiled as Dany crawled between them. “Was it good,
Khaleesi?” she asked in Dothraki, still half asleep.
Dany kissed her forehead. “So good, sweetling.”
She reclaimed her pillow from Jon, who protested with a plaintive grunt.
“Hush.” She took his cock in her hand, and felt it harden from the mere touch.
“Eyes closed, nephew,” she whispered lovingly. Jon began to stir. Dany released
her grip on his cock and slid a finger into his mouth. “Eyes closed, if you
know what’s good for you.” Her tone was just as soothing, but the warning was
unmistakable. Jon sucked peacefully, and after a moment or two, began to snore.
Keeping with custom, the three of them escorted their guest to the docks the
next morning. Daario avoided eye contact with Jon as much as possible, still
assuming the night before was a secret. Jon did the same, but Dany spotted him
stealing the occasional jealous, furious glare. You have no idea how wet that
makes me. Jon had the most beautiful, cunt-drenching sulk of any man, living or
dead.
His goodbye was diplomatic, cordial, and mercifully free of snide comments. As
they rode back to the Red Keep, Dany took it upon herself to recount the prior
evening for Jon. She described everything in great detail, save for precisely
where Daario spilled his seed. Let him think what he will. That would only make
it better for her. Jon fidgeted the whole way, like he had a ferret in his
breeches. I should also tell him we own a third of Essos now. But that could
wait.
“Shall I tie him down, Khaleesi?” Irri asked when they returned to their
bedchamber.
“No.” Dany stood a few feet from the foot of the bed, and pointed to the
nearest bedpost. “Tether him by the ankle. Give him enough rope to move to
where I’m standing, but no more.”
Irri smiled crookedly. “At once, Khaleesi.” She did as commanded.
The rope gave Jon just enough freedom of movement to almost matter. If Dany
felt generous, she could stand close enough to let him struggle to kiss the
ground before her feet, but she had no cause for such generosity.
Dany handed Irri a bottle of ointment that Sam had given her to ease her aching
muscles. It worked wonders, but stung like all seven hells on more sensitive
parts of the body. “Rub this on his hands, then keep yourself busy. You’ll have
your turn, but I want him to myself first.”
Irri nodded, knowing better than to pout.
“You can touch your cock all you want,” she explained to Jon, as Irri coated
his hands, “though I would caution against it.” The Queen smiled at him from
just beyond his reach, pausing to regard his face. “You’re wroth with me,
aren’t you?”
“A wee bit, aye!” The insolence was an eminently fair price for the chance to
see him puzzle at what to do with his hands.
“Why?” She asked him.
“I did not need to hear all about what you did with some other man!”
Dany stepped forward, close enough to feel his breath on her, and to give him
some slack. He puffed his chest out, like he were posturing for some tussle in
the yard at Castle Black, but he stepped back when he felt her glare. Dany
laughed to herself. I could hurt you far worse than some half-wit rapist.
She eyed him up and down and touched his cock. It had grown hard on its own.
“You hated every minute of it, I see.”
“I’m not Aegon,” he told her yet again. “I don’t want to hear about how some
other man is better than me.”
Dany put a hand under his chin and guided his eyes to hers. “Then you weren’t
listening, sweet nephew. I said nothing of the sort.”
“You said he made you want to give up your crown and run away with him.”
“And did I say you couldn’t have done the same?”
Jon struggled to understand where this was going. Silly boy.
“Daario fucked me until I thought something stupid. Men who can do that are
nine a penny. You're worth far more. You put my desires before your own. Even
when it drives you mad with pain and envy. And you love it.”
His cock twitched.
“You fear me,” Dany went on. “Not because of my dragons, or the madness in my
blood, but because you'd never forgive yourself for displeasing me. Your fear
makes you love me, and your love makes you fear me, and that makes you love me
even more. Do you know how beautiful that is? To not have to choose between
your fear and your love? Nothing any man can do with his body will ever please
me like that.”
“Are you saying that to console me?” He was still suspicious. “Because I don't
need your pity.”
“I don't pity you. I cherish you.” She spread her feet apart and slid two
fingers into her cunt. They came out dripping, and went straight into Jon’s
mouth. “Look at what you do to me. Most men would see that and grab me, fuck me
like I don't matter, and go on with their day. You could do that now, even with
the tether.”
She kissed him, teased his cock between the lips of her cunt, and stepped back
beyond his reach. “But you won’t. You'll stay, and wait, and obey, because I'm
all that matters. You tether yourself. Whenever I take my pleasure with someone
else, I remember that. You sustain me. You’re my lifeblood.”
It hit Dany, hard, that as desperately as Jon needed to know he was her good
boy, she needed to know he wanted to be.
His look softened. “Then why did you tell me about Daario?”
“To purge your silly mind of everything but the burning need to outdo him.” She
squeezed his cock, lightly at first, then harder. “Have I succeeded?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, like a fool. 
“Of course not.” She stepped forward and slapped him. “You don’t bother to
think about how you feel. You just feel it.”
“You’re provoking me,” Jon growled, as if to disprove her.
“Very good, bastard!” Dany flashed him an amused smile, slapped him again, and
stepped backward. He moved forward until he ran out of slack. She laughed.
“I can do anything any other man can do,” he insisted. Most men can move more
than a few feet beyond a bedpost.
Dany raised an eyebrow, slapped him again, and stepped back out of his range.
“Can you?” She moved to her left, her eyes dragging him with her.
“You know I can fuck you until you forget your name. Until you can’t walk, or
speak, or remember where you are.”
Another slap. His cheek was turning red, and she could see the shape of her
hand on it. Mmm.
“Maybe,” she teased, as she kept turning him toward the side of the bed.
“I can fuck you until you turn right back into the slut beggar that Drogo never
bothered to pay for.”
That may have been the harshest thing he’d ever said to her, which lit a fire
in her eyes. I will relish this. 
Dany grabbed his balls. “Are we at a Small Council meeting?” She squeezed until
he grimaced, then pulled him closer and hit him again. “Because you’re running
your mouth like it.”
She twisted his nipples and spat in his face. “Shall we fetch Sam?” She
backhanded him. “To read the minutes from the last time I beat your weak
bastard ass all over this room?”
Dany hopped onto the bed and leaned against the headboard. Jon followed, his
tether affording him enough slack to grab her if he wanted to. And he wanted
to; that was plain. But he won’t, she predicted, correctly.
“Did I mention he bent the knee?”
Jon looked at her, puzzled.
“You know,” she extended one leg, flexed her toes, and planted them softly
under his nose. “When a man kneels at my feet,” she explained, bringing her leg
back down, “and submits to my rule.”
Jon followed, inhaled, and softly kissed her sole. He’s drunk on it, she
realized, as he closed his eyes and purred softly. It had always escaped her
why men like Jon adored that part of her so much, and why it made them so weak
and subservient. But the sensation was oddly arousing, and the act itself a
gesture of pure submission, which only made it better. 
Dany felt the back of her head hit the wall. She slid downward, quivering,
until her ass hit the mattress. She watched, toying with her cunt as Jon
ingratiated himself to the dirt beneath her feet. That’s all you’d be without
me, and you know it, bastard. Prostrate yourself. Kiss it. 
He did, until her arousal was obvious. Jon looked up, begging her leave. With
her nod of approval, he pushed her legs apart, planting soft kisses from her
ankles to her calves and slowly up her inner thighs. That's right, I always
come first. Always.
Her cunt had been ready for some time, and Jon’s tongue gave her what she
needed, slowly at first, speeding up as her moans and grinding and hair pulling
commanded; no more, and no less. 
Dany sensed a different sort of hunger in him. He wasn't doing this out of
love, or lust, or even his duty to please her. He's cleaning me out. She
smiled. He thinks he’s purging me of Daario. There was nothing to purge, and
Jon’s mind didn’t understand what his tongue was doing, but that made no
matter. He wants my womb to himself.
Seeing a man this devoted to her cunt would normally have made her stronger,
harsher, greedier for power and the thrill of wielding it. But her head only
sank deeper into the pillow, and her moans slipped farther beyond her control.
Her legs shook until her heels fell to rest on his back; her body suddenly too
heavy to squeeze and pull and grind like she was accustomed to. All she could
do was stroke his hair and gasp.
“More,” she gasped and panted. “More!” It sounded like pleading, but in the
moment, it was as close to a command as she could muster.
He knelt upright on the bed, pulled her up by her hips so they stayed on his
shoulders, and bent ever so slightly so his face buried itself in her crotch.
Dany was not expecting that. She still wanted to grab his hair and rape his
face, but she couldn’t reach him. She clenched the sheets, but he still dragged
her where he pleased, and she could do nothing to stop him. He consumed her,
pulling her further up, staring down at her widening eyes as she realized she’d
put herself at his mercy. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She despised powerlessness without
deciding to feel it. But her cunt had started to spasm, and she squirmed from
side to side, hoping to at least make him chase her.
Jon was in no mood to make this a game. His hands gripped her waist and refused
to let her go. He growled softly again as he sucked and massaged her clit,
sensing what made her weaker and brought her closer to losing herself
completely.
Dany could feel her pleasure fast approaching a boil. No. He can't grow
presumptuous. She crossed her legs behind his upper back, flexed the muscles in
her abdomen and pulled her cuntslave’s body back down where it belonged.
With his hair within reach, she grabbed it to remind him who she was. “When you
kneel in my presence, your head stays on the fucking floor until I say
otherwise, do you hear me?” She twisted his hair in her fists. “Half-breed
bitch, do you hear me?!” 
Jon nodded and grunted a plea for forgiveness, which Dany was too enraptured to
deny. She sensed her face twisting and contorting itself; her body tensing, her
back arching, her legs struggling to keep the strength to lock his head between
them.
“Yes, yes, yes, I own you,I FUCKING OWN YOU!” She owned nearly half the world--
maybe more now, she hadn’t bothered to check--but in the moment she couldn't
bring herself to care about any possessions but the one with its face between
her legs.
When it was done, Dany caught her breath and watched Jon tend to his aching
jaw. That made her smile. For the first time, she noticed the sensation on her
legs and waist, where his hands had been. The ointment. That made her smile
even more. He’s most like forgotten about it. That made her outright wet again,
and she wanted to see him touch his cock and suffer, Not if he’s about to fuck
me with it. That made her a bit sad, but it was the truth, so she sat up and
grabbed it.
“Fuck me,” she commanded. “Now, sweet nephew, I need it, fuck me.”
Jon edged toward her until he ran out of slack, a few inches separating him
from his prize. Dany giggled. I love being a twisted cunt. She slid closer,
opened her legs, and guided him in. His cock pushed its way into her, filling
her almost effortlessly. Her hands found his back, her nails digged themselves
in, and her hips led him further inside.
Jon was never reckless or blind to what pleased her, but there was a new sense
of purpose and deliberation to how he fucked her; an urgency that brooked no
distraction or compromise. He leaned down and kissed her, and put a hand on her
neck to hold her face where it was, refusing to break away. He pushed his cock
deeper into her with each roll of his hips, and took his time pulling himself
back, almost angrily. His cock is finishing what his tongue started.
“Don’t stop,” Dany begged in a whisper, when the kiss finally broke. “Finish
it.” She smacked his ass and pulled him in deeper to urge him on, uncertain if
he knew what she meant by “it,” and whether it mattered.
Jon growled the low, tormented, implacable growl he made when he felt
challenged. He knows. Whatever pain he’d felt over the past day funneled itself
into a half-mad ruthlessness that only a man who shared her blood could summon.
Yes. That. More. Like my brother’s whelp. Dany could tell that he meant to
reclaim her; to purge her cunt of any trace of another man and plant his seed
where his alone belonged.
She locked eyes with him and caressed his cheek. “Make me forget him.” She was
almost begging. “Claim me. Make me all yours. Breed me like a bitch.”
This is your job, bastard. It’s why you were brought back from the dead. It had
to be. If any man alive could do it, it was him and no one else. 
He moaned softly, pushed her legs back and tossed them onto his shoulders. The
change made her gasp and reach to pull him in deeper. His pace sped up, but he
remained just as methodical; he was clearly enjoying it, but his face was as
determined as she’d ever seen it. He cares more about his purpose than his
pleasure, Dany realized. This is what I’ve been training him for.She hadn’t
even thought of it that way before.
She slapped him. “Do it, you little shit, put a fucking baby in me!” She lost
herself in his eyes, her strength returning as Jon’s began to overwhelm her. “I
need it, I need it, I need it!” 
Jon put a hand on her throat and the other over her mouth. “Then shut your
mouth and keep your slut legs open!” 
Shocked and soaking, Dany shut her mouth and kept her slut legs open, moaning
into Jon’s palm, losing herself in the bliss of surrendering her right to
breathe as she pleased. That served for a moment, but to keep him from growing
too bold again, she bit his finger, stared him down, and growled. He knows his
purpose.She felt genuinely certain of it. Her conquest of this man was
complete; her power absolute. Her chest pumped and her body twisted as she
began to struggle for air. Mmm.
Jon sensed it and released his hands. No longer afraid of going too far, he let
the madness consume him, and pounded away at her cunt like he would beat an
unruly dog. He grabbed a fistful of hair and glared down, blinding her to
everything but his eyes. The scream that came with his last thrust sounded
almost like agony. He left himself as deep inside her as he could get, and for
half a heartbeat she thought he’d hurt himself.
Then it burst. His cock moved on its own; its pulse just as strong in her cunt
as her own heart in her breathless chest. One burst, then another. Then
another. Then another. Then another. Then another. Dany struggled to remember
the last time she felt this much come out of a man at one time.
“Give it to me! Fill my fucking cunt!” 
“It’s mine!” He shouted through gritted teeth, pumping a few more times for
good measure.
“All yours. All yours!” Her cunt drank him in; its muscles squeezing against
his cock, refusing to let go. The warmth from each burst coursed through her
entire body.
She exhaled deeply, thoroughly satisfied, as he finally relaxed. Jon let
himself breathe as well, and pulled his body back slightly. No. Not yet. “Leave
it in.”
He obeyed, but for a moment he looked embarrassed, almost blushing. She
chuckled to herself, still catching her breath. “I know what happens next,” she
smiled, nodding reassuringly. “I’ve seen it soft, too, you know.” Why must
every man try to trick me into thinking his cock is special? But she was too
deeply in love at the moment to hold his manhood against him.
Jon cracked a slightly embarrassed smile. I love when he turns back into half a
boy. It made her want to do terrible things to toughen him up. “I love being
inside you,” he said.
You’d fucking better love it. “I love it too. Don’t pull out. Just let it
shrink. It’s alright, my love.”
He kissed her on the mouth, and their tongues wrapped themselves in each other
like the rest of them. His cock grew softer until it simply retracted itself
from her body, and he looked down, begging her leave to lay next to her. His
patience, his devotion, his obedience--it all made her want to fuck him again
that instant. But she knew she would have to wait, so she nodded and let him
dismount.
Dany rolled over, threw her leg over his, and rested her head on his chest. His
heart was still racing and his breath still fast. “I love you more than life
itself, you do know that, yes?” She’d tormented the poor boy for a day now, and
in moments like these, she always felt the need to make certain.
“I know. I love you every bit as much. I will serve and worship you until the
day I die.” She closed her eyes, fearing she’d sob like a mad woman if she
looked at him.
“I told you, jealousy makes men into animals,” Dany said, once she composed
herself. “You wanted your baby in me. Yours, and no one else's. You wanted all
of his seed out of me. That's why you ravaged my cunt like you did. You were
pulling him out of me. With your tongue, and your cock. Cleaning me. It’s in
your nature.”
Jon was skeptical. “It’s in my nature to dig other men’s seed out of your
cunt?”
Dany smiled and nodded. “Why do you think your cock is shaped the way it is?”
At a loss, he raised an eyebrow. “Who told you this?”
“Tyrion. He knows things.”
“Why were you talking to Tyrion about cock shapes?”
Dany laughed and kissed him. “It was a long boat ride.” They gazed at each
other shamelessly, until Dany's smile gradually faded.
Jon noticed, and grew concerned. “Are you alright?” 
Dany exhaled. “You should know something.” She sat up. “I’m not certain why
yet, so we shouldn’t presume anything, but I’m a bit late.”
He looked confused, until he worked out what “late” meant. Then his eyes bulged
and his face restrained some concoction of joy, hope, and terror. She felt
guilty for not telling him earlier, but his mind would have twisted into knots
if she had, and she couldn’t abide a knotted-up slut during a siege.
“Wait.” Jon panicked, all knotted-up. “Shouldn’t you do something now?
Drink...juice? Keep your feet warm?” He threw a blanket over her feet, just to
be safe. “I don’t know, something. Sam will know. Sam!!” He barked at the door.
Sam was halfway across the castle.
Dany had no choice but to cackle. “Calm yourself, my love. If it doesn’t come
in a few days, I’ll have Sam examine me. Then I’ll drink so much juice I’ll
turn into a pomegranate.” She paused. “But don't trouble yourself with that.
I’m not done with you.”
She kissed him on the forehead, rolled out of bed, and turned to Irri, who was
casually picking her way through a bowl of olives and taking in the spectacle.
“Sweetling, get the chains.”
Irri smiled. “Of course, Khaleesi.”
When the manacles were ready, Jon stood near the bed and put his wrists up like
the good boy he was, but Dany had her sweetling lock only one of them. With his
one arm hanging in the air, Dany stood on her toes, kissed Jon sweetly on the
mouth, and reached for his free hand. Jon moved to lace his fingers with hers,
but before he had the chance, she cupped his hand firmly on his balls, broke
the kiss and pulled away,
The Dragon Queen smiled, a giddy malevolence lighting her eyes. “Seven hells, I
forgot.” She wiped his palm all over the head and shaft of his cock. “The
ointment.” She tossed his wrist behind his back. Irri caught it. “Gag him,
too.”
Dany grabbed the olives, sat back on the bed, opened her legs, and summoned
Irri to put her sweet, slutty head between them. She blew Jon a kiss as the
ointment set in and he began to writhe.
“All you can do is suffer through it, you know,” she said as she stroked Irri’s
hair. “It seeps into you. You can’t wash it off.” She popped an olive into her
mouth, pulled out the pit, and playfully threw it at him, hitting him in the
chest.
“It’s a good thing, though,” she continued, pausing for a soft moan. “You’re
long overdue for some suffering, aren’t you?”
Jon nodded the correct answer.
“I’d beat you, but I’m too tired.” Dany pressed Irri’s head against her cunt
and took another olive. “You fucked me too hard.” She flung the pit at him,
almost angrily. “He fucked me too hard.” She studied his reaction. It still
pains him. Good.
Irri found a spot that made Dany lose herself and roll her eyes back in her
head. “Right there, slut,” she whispered. She opened them to see Jon flailing
and kicking like he was being hanged, screaming into the gag. Tears welled in
his eyes, but she noticed him stealing a glance or two at Irri. He wants to
know what she’s doing. 
Dany threw a whole olive at Jon’s face. It hit him on the cheekbone, and a drop
of brine spattered into his eye. He closed it and tugged at his chains, shaking
his head and trying to rub it, to no avail. Gods, that is perfect. “Work that
out for yourself, bastard!” She threw her legs around Irri’s neck to block his
view. All that pain, and he still thinks of pleasing me first. She grabbed
Irri’s hair tighter.
“Eyes on me,” Dany commanded, between shorter, shallower breaths. He met her
gaze with his good eye, and struggled to open the other. Struggle harder.
“Watch me closely. This--” A groan of pleasure interrupted her thought. “This
is how I look when a slut does its job.” She threw another olive at him,
because she could. “This is how I looked last night while another man fucked
me.”
Jon may not have even heard her. He was smart enough to be terrified of
averting his eyes; even the one he could barely open. But his face was pure
agony. No anger, no lust, no craving to please her. Only pain and fear.
Dany threw Irri onto her back so her head was at the foot of the bed, and
mounted her face before training her gaze back on Jon. “The only thing that
matters in your bastard life is putting that look on my face.” She clenched her
teeth. “Do you understand?!”
Jon nodded like he had a knife at his throat. He may as well have. She lifted
the head of his cock and dragged the nail of her pinky finger slowly down from
the head to between his balls. It would have been unpleasant any day, but the
ointment made the pain a hundred times worse. Jon’s face was red, and he bit
down on the gag like she were sawing his leg off. Not crying, though. Pity.
To rectify the matter, she dragged her nail back up to the head, letting it
come to rest outside his cock’s eye. Jon’s eyes widened in as much terror as
Dany had ever seen in him, and she’d seen him fight a horde of dead men. She
looked up, consumed with a base need to hurt and control and subjugate this man
whose heir she hoped she was carrying.
Dany noticed that she was riding Irri’s face as mercilessly as she’d ever
ridden a man’s cock. That’s why you were born, slut. She gave the girl just
enough respite for a few deep breaths, and resumed as if it had never happened.
On instinct, Jon tried with all his strength to pull away from her, but her
grip on his cock was too strong. “Do you want me to slip?! Do you think that
will hurt less than what I’m about to do to you?”
Dany felt Jon fighting his own body, forcing it to relax. When he held still
for a moment, she teased her fingernail across the hole; not hard enough to cut
him, or even scratch, but more than enough to hurt him so badly that his mind
shed everything that made him human.
His screams for mercy were constant, and the sensation from the ointment made
them nearly as dreadful to hear as a man being burned alive. That felt as good
as the mouth on her cunt, and she had to close her eyes to purge the thoughts
of her father. This is too good to stop for my fucking conscience.
“Your cock is mine, your ass is mine, and every inch of the rest of you is
mine,” Aerys II’s daughter told Ned Stark’s ward. “Your mind and your soul are
mine. This savage little cuntslave underneath me is mine.” She gave him another
drag of her fingernail. “This castle is mine.” And another. “This Realm is
mine.” And another. “This whole world is mine because I fucking want it.” And
another, and another, and another.
She dug it in, then twisted her finger to align her nail with the hole and
pushed it in and turned it like a key in a door. It only penetrated him a
hair's width, but that was more than enough. “I will take it, because I can,"
she continued, shouting over his wails. "And you’ll fight under my command. I’m
the mother of your fucking child, and you’ll die for me if you must. Won’t
you?!” She scratched the underside of his cock like a cat with a mouse. “WON’T
YOU!!”
Jon only sobbed and convulsed, but she saw the answer in his eyes.
“That’s right. Because there is nothing more important than being an obedient,
servile little WHORE for your living goddess!” The word “whore” was her tipping
point. Dany kept her wits about her long enough to allow Irri another deep
breath, then pressed her cunt down and screamed at the top of her lungs,
coating the girl’s face faster than she could lick it up. 
Dany threw herself back toward the pillows and let Irri sit up and breathe.
“Did I hurt you, sweetling?” She managed to shoot Jon a filthy grin. You, I
know about already.
Irri coughed, took a few deep breaths, and smiled. Her face looked like someone
had thrown a bucket of water in it. “Yes, Khaleesi, but well within your
right.” That was the best answer I’ve ever heard, Dany thought, but she studied
Irri’s face to make certain it was true.
Her severity surprised even herself. I must be with child.She hoped she was, or
she might have to face what else could have driven her to that.
Irri slid up and nuzzled Dany’s chest in a way that made her want to stitch the
girl’s head in place so she could never leave. They cuddled and fed each other
olives, watching Jon’s anguished screams die down into exhausted, distressed
panting. Dany looked out the window. Gods be damned, it’s almost noon.
“Here, sweetling,” Dany rolled over and pulled her whip and cock from the
drawer next to their bed. “Do with him as you please, but don't fuck him until
he stops crying.” She smiled and gave her slut a long, slow, kiss, then dressed
herself and left for the Small Council chamber, slapping Jon playfully on the
ass as she went.
Dany entered the chamber hurriedly, underdressed and embarrassed at how late
she was. The room rose. “Sit. My apologies.”
She sat opposite Davos, between Tyrion and Sam. Next to Tyrion was some child
she'd never seen before. Dany looked at him quizzically. He looked back like he
would rather jump out the window than address her. 
“Did you adopt some orphan boy?” She asked Tyrion, jokingly. “If so, you should
apologize in advance.”
“Your Grace, this is Ser Podrick Payne. He was my squire when I was Hand to
King Joffrey, he saved my life on the Blackwater, and he's my new Bronn.”
Her Grace immediately lost interest in making this boy feel comfortable. “Your
‘new Bronn,’” she repeated. “Have you told him what happened to your old
Bronn?”
“Of course,” Tyrion replied. “This one does everything Bronn did, but he pisses
himself the mere notion of your existence. You will get along famously.”
Dany smiled, but remained unconvinced. “And what, precisely, did Bronn do?”
“He found me whores…”
You're Tyrion Lannister. You can't find your own whores?Her stare asked for
her.
“...And he distracted me from hating myself,” the Hand confessed.
Then what do the whores do?She regarded the boy again, and admitted that he had
a certain charm.
“Very well, then.” She turned to Podrick. “We can forego the courtesies.
Welcome.” She gave him the warmest, most benevolent smile she could give.
Still, the boy was petrified. Has Tyrion gone mad, and started carrying around
a gargoyle to recommend whores for him?
“Thank you, Your Grace,” he eked out. Thank the gods. 
“We were discussing the Royal Fleet,” Tyrion explained.
“How bad is it?” Dany assumed they'd suffered great losses.
“Not as bad as we feared,” Davos explained. “When the Volantenes scattered us,
they saved us from being smashed in one big battle.”
As he rattled off how many ships were in which ports, Dany motioned for Sam to
hand her a parchment and quill, which he did. 
'As of last night, everything from the Rhoyne to New Ghis is mine,’ Dany wrote,
before looking up at Davos. “I apologize, my lord. I’m listening, go on.”
Davos continued.
‘In accordance with your wise counsel, he finished in my ass.' She took her
time with the signature, smiling to herself as she made it as absurdly ornate
as she could, before sliding it over to Tyrion.
The Hand read the note, coughed, finished his cup of wine, then poured and
finished a second.
“We should keep it simple,” Davos concluded. “Let them stay where they are, and
send them back to their regular patrols once they've repaired.”
That would have been excellent advice yesterday.“Send half the fleet to the
Stepstones, with sufficient men to garrison and hold them. The remainder will
sail for King’s Landing as soon as they're seaworthy.”
“Your Grace--” Davos cautioned, with all the best intentions.
She cut him off. “Every shipyard in Westeros shall work day and night until we
have twice the strength as before the war.” The room shifted uncomfortably in
their chairs, as men tended to do when she made such pronouncements. Very well.
“Thrice.”
“Your Grace, you shouldn't put too many ships in one port and leave the rest
undefended. You have a whole continent to think about.”
All this time, and they still don't know who I am. “I've thought about it quite
a bit, my lord.” She smirked one of her half-mad, fiery, bloody smirks. “And
I'd like a second.”
***** Jon III *****
Chapter Summary
     "We should start back."
     --Gared, A Game of Thrones, Prologue
Jon woke to warm, soft flesh sliding against the sides of his face. He licked
his lips to prepare himself, and squeezed in a yawn before Dany lowered herself
onto his mouth.
Summer was nearly upon them. The night was hot and full of sweating, and her
cunt smelled and tasted unmistakably like a cunt. More strongly so than he
would have preferred for so early in the morning, but Jon had sworn a vow to
service Her Grace’s royal person as she required it, and it would take far more
than some musk for him to break that oath.
Dany's gasps were soft, and Jon took care not to excite her too quickly or
fiercely. Irri was asleep on the far end of the bed, precious and tranquil as
always, but the girl could be as mean as Gregor Clegane with a bee up his ass
if roused too early.
The war starts today,Jon remembered, as his tongue and Dany’s clit found their
rhythm. He would have preferred it not be today, or at all, for that matter.
But Pentos sat just across the Narrow Sea, lightly defended and full of slaves,
and telling Daenerys not to conquer it was like telling the tide not to rise.
“Wake up, slut,” Dany whispered as they both grew more awake and she began to
roll her hips more deliberately. Jon had learned not to interrupt his cunt
worship for a mere salutation, so all he did was look up lovingly at her.
Her thighs concealed his face so she wouldn’t be able to tell, but he was
blushing. I’ll always be your slut. Jon had never truly been a slut, of course.
Before Dany there had only been Ygritte, and he had no desire to fuck a horde
of women indiscriminately.
But that wasn't how she meant it. It was a term of endearment, a testament to
how she'd bent him so completely to her will. She demanded so much of him. She
taught him so much about himself. She pushed him far beyond where he was
comfortable, and when it was over, she gave him back the comfort she’d taken
away, and gifted him with more love than he knew any person could give another.
She showed him how many things he could find the strength to do if he put
everything else aside and worried only about her pleasure. Only hers. Each time
he surrendered to her, she freed his mind of one more lie that others had told
him about who he was.
Most men would simply never understand. They saw women as prey, to be subdued
and conquered. Jon understood the instinct well enough, and he knew that women
like a bit of persistence, but he was never one to see a woman and resolve to
have her at any cost. He’d always found too much persistence distasteful, and
preferred women who wanted him as much as he wanted them, and who weren’t
afraid to show it.
Ygritte was like that. If anything, he had been her prey. Ygritte had never
fucked him in spite of her better judgment. She fucked him because it was plain
to her that he was worth fucking. He didn’t have to say all the trite nonsense
that so many men say to a woman they want to bed, and that so few truly mean.
When she took him, it was because she wanted him for who he was.
He would always remember Ygritte fondly, but Daenerys was like none other. She
wanted him, that was plain to anyone, but not for the crown, or the name, or
even for the cock that may be the only one left in the world that could put an
heir in her. She wanted the version of him that only she could make. She saw it
inside him before he even knew to look for it, and she never doubted it, even
when he insisted it wasn’t there.
Dany grabbed his hair, forcing his eyes to hers. Nine tenths of her power is in
her eyes. She put a finger over her lips to keep him quiet, and slid down his
body. “Who owns this cock?” She whispered as she took it in her hand and
lowered herself onto it.
‘Only you, Your Grace.’ His eyes said the words for him. Any other thought was
treason, and they both knew Jon was no traitor.
Her voice shook as she whispered, restraining a moan. “And the rest of you.”
She stroked her fingers from his temple, down his cheek, and teased around his
lips. “Forever.”
“Forever, Your Grace.” Jon vowed, struggling to keep his voice to a whisper as
Dany rocked her hips. The daily reminders never grew tiresome. He would rather
be her chattel than anyone else’s King. The trappings of kingship made men grow
arrogant, and blind to the needs of their people. The best Kings were those who
were comfortable on their knees for something greater than themselves. Valar
dohaeris. But Daenerys is not a man.
Her Grace was panting in spite of herself, and Jon sensed her getting close.
“Mine," she growled under her breath, her purple eyes igniting in the light of
the moon, making Jon so lustful and so weak. She slapped him lightly on the
cheek to refocus his eyes, and smiled down at him. “Bastard.”
The word still stung, but Dany made him love the sting. As a child, no one
bothered telling Jon what he was; only what he wasn’t. The Starks raised him in
Winterfell, but insisted he could never be a Stark. Alliser Thorne threw him
amongst the baseborn, but insisted he could never truly understand them. The
Wildlings called him half a Crow, and the Crows called him half a Wildling. The
only thing anyone had ever called him consistently was “Ned Stark’s bastard.”
Too lowborn to make something of himself, and too honorable to try. How
convenient for them.
Even when he learned the truth, he knew he'd always be a bastard in his own
eyes. His true name could not change his past, any more than it could not
change the color of his hair.
Dany plainly thought his blood was important, but begged him not to let it
change him. “Your people love you as a King because you rule like a bastard,”
she'd explained once. “Like you had to earn it. Like you could lose it at any
moment. It keeps you humble. And I love nothing more than when a beloved King
humbles himself at my feet.”
I'm Her Grace’s bastard. She was the first to claim him as a kinsman by choice,
not obligation. Eddard Stark had given him much and more, but it all came from
a duty to his mother. To him I was a burden, but to her I’m a treasure. Dany
thrust her weight down on him, snapping his attention back to her alone, as if
she could sense his thoughts wandering. He thanked her silently. Uncle Ned had
no business looming over him in his bedchamber.
A few more thrusts and Jon felt himself starting to pulse. Dany’s grin twisted
as the pleasure built up and it became plain he was ready to burst. Just as he
reached the edge but before he went over, the Queen hopped off and rolled onto
her back between Jon and Irri. I love you more than anything in the world, but
also, I fucking hate you.
Dany spread her legs and set to finishing herself with her hand. Out of desire
and training, Jon moved toward her to offer his tongue. Dany swatted him away.
With nothing better to do, he moved to finish himself. That only got him
another swat at his hand. Out of ideas, Jon watched as Dany bit her lip and
worked her clit with her fingers like no fingers could tease any clit unless
they were attached to the same wanton slut of a woman. He envied how gracefully
she went about it, hoping against hope he'd be able some day to match her.
You're always expendable, he reminded himself. She doesn't need your help. Not
with diddling herself, at least.
As she peaked, Dany thrust her hips and tensed her entire body, reaching over
and grabbing his nipple, pinching and twisting, because hurting him always made
it that much better for her. She screamed, muffling it by biting her lip, then
relaxed, breathed deep, and rolled onto his chest.
Jon put his hand around her shoulder. “So, later, I take it?”
Dany grinned wickedly and bit just below his nipple in response. Jon smiled, as
he'd seen this mummer’s show before. When she’s a cunt in the morning, she’s a
debauched whore at night. This day would not go fast enough. “I love you,” he
told her, softly, so as not to wake Irri.
Dany mouthed it back and kissed him softly where she'd just bitten him.
Jon paused. “So do you think--” He didn’t have to finish the question. He'd
been asking it one way or another every day for a moon’s turn.
“I still don’t know,” Dany answered.
“Should you really be starting a war if you are? Is that good for the baby?”
“Are you saying I can’t manage a war if I’m with child?” Dany shot back, her
eyes making the right answer plain.
“I’m saying the child may not manage it.”
Dany propped up her head on her elbow, and paused. “You think this war is
folly, don’t you?” She wasn’t angry, but Jon sensed this was his last chance to
tell the truth.
He took a breath to collect his thoughts. “I know how important this is to you.
If the slave trade still exists, you’re going to smash it, and I would be a
fool and a bad husband to try and stop you,” he began. “But if you’re asking me
if we should drape every city from here to Qarth in dragon banners, then yes,
that's folly.”
Dany nodded, knowing he said it out of love, and loving him back for saying it,
but still unmoved.
“The land you mean to take is the size of all of Westeros. How easy was
Westeros to rebuild? To make peace and keep it? We may die before we’re done.
We’d be in debt forever if we hadn’t turned our biggest creditor to ashes and
stolen their gold. We don’t know the politics in the Free Cities like we do
here. And that’s if we win, which is no certainty. The supply lines
alone...we’ll have to--”
“Is this about Daario?” Dany cut him off.
Do you think me that petty? Also, fuck Daario. Also, please tie me to a chair
and make me watch you fuck Daario. “No, but he doesn’t help matters. Everything
about that man makes me want to punch him in his smug fucking face.”
Dany laughed. “Well, think of this war as a race across the world to punch
Daario Naharis in his smug fucking face.” She grinned. “I give you leave, as
long as I can watch.”
Jon smiled for a heartbeat, but it quickly vanished. “As much as I'm certain
that would please us both, I can’t bring myself to send thousands of men to
their deaths for it.”
She stroked his cheek. “We can’t walk into the war council divided, my love.”
She knew that no matter what happened in their bedchamber, when it came to
matters of state, Jon had no qualms speaking his mind. “We must resolve this.”
Jon always marveled at how seamlessly his Queen could change from tyrant to
lover to politician. He looked in her eyes. “I can speak in favor of taking
Pentos. It’s close, and weak. We’ll talk about the rest later.” She’s a damn
good politician.
“And if they want to talk about the rest today?”
“Then I’ll change the subject.” This is as good as you’ll get, my love. Dany
knew that, and seemed satisfied.
They both turned suddenly, as a disoriented slap landed on Dany's ass.
“Ssshhhhhhhhh!! Stop that right now! I command it!” Irri was only half awake,
and slurring her words. Dany and Jon couldn't help but smile. She grabbed Jon’s
pillow from under him, called him the Dothraki phrase for a cat-fucking pile of
shit and piss and horse semen, and slammed the pillow down over her head.
Jon cursed and Dany cackled, as his head hit the wall behind him. Irri groaned,
knowing she wouldn't go back to sleep. She threw the pillow back at him and
staggered toward the privy, making all manner of obscene gestures behind her as
she went.
The Small Council table was packed that morning: Tyrion, Davos, Grey Worm,
Varys, Gendry, Lady Arianne, Lady Asha, and Missandei, whom Irri had named her
Hand. Dany wore her armor and Conqueror’s crown, lest anyone misjudge her
feelings on the matter of war. Irri wore her finest riding leathers, which made
the same point on a Dothraki Khaleesi.
“I know some of you are still unconvinced,” Dany admitted as she sat. Most, in
truth. “And I will not have it said that I silenced dissent among my advisors.
You are all welcome to make your case. I can't say I'm inclined to agree, but
I'll give you a chance to persuade me.”
Jon scanned the room. Irri, Grey Worm, Missandei, and Lady Greyjoy looked
unwaveringly confident in Dany. The Easterners would march through all seven
hells for the chance to kill one more slaver, and the Ironborn had all been
spoiling for a chance to redeem themselves after the Volantenes humiliated
them. The rest merely shifted uncomfortably and looked to someone else.
“Well? Go on, speak! No harm will come to you.”
Tyrion sighed, and assumed the burden himself. “With all due respect, Your
Grace, I know this war will go on, and I will do everything I can to help you
win it. But as your Hand, I must say one last time that I fear this is folly.”
Dany looked at him, calm but annoyed. “We’re in no position to fight other
men’s wars for them. All of your Lords Paramount have complained about this,
because their bannermen have complained to them. And if the slavers burn the
land outside the city as the Yunkish did, it will be near impossible to
maintain a supply line.” It was precisely what Jon had said.
Dany was ready for that. “We can manage, my lord. We will take take Pentos, and
once we vanquish the slavers, the supply lines to the rest of the cities will
maintain themselves.” Jon shot a look at Davos. Shall we ask Lord Stannis of
Winterfell about that?
“Once we vanquish the slavers, the city chooses rulers who aren't incompetent
or corrupt, and the fields are fertile again,” Tyrion corrected her. “That
could take years, at best.”
“I’m a patient woman,” Dany protested impatiently. Jon’s incredulous side-eye
did not go unnoticed by the others. “I did it in Meereen, and I'll do it
again.” But you hated every moment you spent in Meereen.
“Lord Tyrion is right,” Jon put in. “It will take years to bring these cities
to heel.” The Queen glared, but Jon matched it. Let me finish, Your Patience.
“But we need not plan for all of these cities in one meeting. We’re here to
discuss Pentos, and none doubt they’re ripe for the taking. They have no army,
a tiny fleet, and no cause to do anything but surrender lest they meet the same
fate as Braavos. Let’s take it, hold it, and decide what to do next once we’ve
actually seen the land.” He looked at Dany, who nodded her relieved approval.
Tyrion seemed disappointed, and looked to Irri to confirm his suspicion that
the royal triad would not be dissuaded. “Khaleesi?”
Irri straightened her spine and folded her soft, dainty hands on the table. “I
know you were auctioned once,” she told the Hand, emphasizing the word 'once,'
derisively, “but those of us from the East are the only ones in this room who
truly understand what it means to be bred and sold like livestock. Her Grace’s
opinion on the war is clear, as is my Hand’s. The Unsullied have given us no
opinion, because they were tortured so badly as children that they're still not
certain they're allowed to have one. If I were Queen then, we would never have
abandoned these cities when we sailed west.”
That may have been the first time since her marriage to Hizdahr zo Loraq that
anyone accused Dany of being too merciful to slavers. The room raised their
eyebrows in unison, except Dany, who gazed lovingly and nodded for her to go
on.
“Freeing slaves is never folly, my lord,” the Khaleesi continued, her crown
glistening under the light of the chandelier. “And in my presence, there is no
way to suggest such a thing with ‘all due respect.’” Her words dripped with a
slimy contempt. “You would be wise to remember that, and guard your tongue in
the future.”
Your first burnt Lannister. Jon nodded and flashed her a proud, loving smirk.
Welcome to the family.
“My apologies, Khaleesi. That was harsh and unbecoming of me,” said Tyrion,
plainly regretting his words.
Irri smiled sweetly. “It’s forgiven, my lord.”
She was still a shy, sweet girl most of the time, but on some things she could
be every bit as iron-willed as Dany. She was still learning, though. Freeing
slaves may not be folly, but going to war with no way to feed your army is the
height of it, Jon could not help but note. But he and Dany had learned their
share of lessons as well in the beginning, and the more he watched Irri, the
more he envied and admired her ability to learn so quickly. He admired her so
greatly, in fact, that he had to adjust his breeches.
Dany was beaming with pride, like a mother who had just taught her child how to
walk. “Would anyone care to rebut the Khaleesi?” She scanned the table. No one
cared to rebut the Khaleesi.“I thought not.” Dany turned to Lady Greyjoy. “Are
we ready?”
“More than ready, Your Grace. We can sail on the evening tide.” Nearly all of
the Iron Fleet sat in the harbor, and they would make up the bulk of the
invasion force. “My men have been pissing wildfire for weeks.” This whole war
could be over lemon cakes, for all they care, Jon wagered. They just want to
smash into things. Though perhaps that’s for the best.
The plan was simple enough. The Iron Fleet would blockade the Bay of Pentos and
demand surrender. If the Pentoshi refused to bend the knee, Dany would arrive
on dragonback to raze some towns along the coast and remind them of the price
of defiance. Only if they still refused would they land soldiers to besiege the
city, and only if the siege went poorly would Dany make good on her threat to
destroy it.
“I’ve heard reports from the winesinks, Your Grace,” Varys cautioned Dany.
“Some of your officers have noted your conspicuous absence from the front
lines. They say that if freeing this city were so important, you’d be leading
the fleet.”
“I’ve led more than my share of fleets,” Dany reminded the eunuch, plainly
insulted and annoyed. Aye, but have you led a fleet of late? “If these men
can’t storm a beach on their own, put their heads on spikes so they can stay
here with me.”
Varys nodded at the Queen.
That’s not enough. Jon spoke up. “You should at least go down to the docks and
speak to the men before they sail, my love. You can kill the officers who said
those things, but that won’t stop the rest from thinking them.”
Varys grimaced. What, will the cobblestone ruin your slippers? Despite having
proven surprisingly loyal to his wife, Jon still saw Varys as the embodiment of
everything wrong with King’s Landing. The eunuch knew it, too. “My King,” he
addressed Jon cautiously, choosing each word like a crone picking out fruit at
a market. “The city is overrun with soldiers. The crowds will be massive, and
the docks are chaos.”
Jon turned back to Dany. “Aye, and if you can’t be bothered to leave the Red
Keep because the docks are too crowded, what does that say to the men you’re
sending to run through a storm of arrows for you?”
“His Grace is right. They need to see you,” Tyrion concurred. “We shouldn’t
assume that all of them back you as fervently as you're accustomed. No
Targaryen has ever claimed Pentos as his birthright.” Oh, did you not get the
raven? The whole world is her birthright, now, ever since that fool came to
town with some heads in a box and buggered her.
Dany nodded at Jon. “You’re right, my love. We should go.”

The rest of the meeting was filled with the more tedious parts of war planning,
and Jon felt his mind drifting. Dany had denied him his pleasure after letting
him into her cunt, which was near as cruel as anything she could inflict with a
whip. ‘Later,’ she said. He meant to hold her to it.

The royal triad returned to their bedchamber when the meeting was over, and Jon
was barely through the threshold when he began to undress himself. It is
‘later,’ after all. But something stopped him in his tracks. That was selfish.
Dany’s eyes agreed with his assessment. She raised an eyebrow. “And what, pray
tell, do you think you’re doing?” She wasn’t angry, but brandished an almost
gleeful smile at having caught him in a moment of weakness.
He blushed. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I wasn’t thinking. Please forgive me.”
Dany turned toward him and lifted his shirt over his head. “No, my love, you
were thinking.” She ran her hands down his chest, teasing his nipples with her
thumbs. “That’s your problem. You think too much. That never ends well for you,
does it?” She began to unlace his breeches, her voice softening. “Forsake your
own thoughts for mine. It will free you.”
When she kissed his cheek, it was as if the war and the council meeting were
but a dream. I’m sorry, I should know that by now. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
She yanked his breeches down to his ankles. “Get out of those, and kneel.” Her
tone was kindly, as if she were already certain he’d make up for it. Irri sat
on the bed cross-legged, like a child about to watch a puppet show.
Jon obeyed her command, knelt, and looked up at his Queen, still in her armor.
He wanted to clutch her legs and never let go, or kiss her boots out of
gratitude for her very existence, or spill his seed on the floor and lick it
up, because he knew that amused her. But he was there because he'd acted
without thinking, and doing any of that without her leave would only prove him
the insolent little shit she’d taught him not to be.
“Shall we punish you?” Dany asked, petting him. He should have known better,
but Her Grace was patient with him. He acted out of his innate weakness, and as
a man, that was to be expected. It was always hard for him to make the switch
from King to slave, and sometimes he forgot what it meant when a door closed
behind them and the world went away.
“Please, Your Grace.” Did you think I’d refuse you?
“Very well,” Dany kissed him softly on the forehead. “But first, a gift for my
sweet pet.” From under the bed, Dany retrieved a box and placed it in Jon’s
hands. “Open it.”
Inside was a small steel cage of an odd size and shape, the purpose of which
escaped him for a moment. He looked up at her, bemused, until it hit him.
Dany tweaked his nose playfully. I must have made the pouty face again. “Why
would I let your cock out whilst I punish you for presuming I’d let your cock
out?” She asked him, still more amused than wroth. You are a twisted one, my
love. Her fingers ran down his cheek, melting away all the protestations in his
mind about how his precious cock would wither up and die if she locked it in a
cage. Please twist me, too. Bind me to you, and never let me go.
For as long as he’d known the joy of playing with his cock, Jon had secretly
wished he could curb the temptation to play with it so damned often. But his
cock was his weakness, and like most men, soon or late he always succumbed to
the urge. Thank you, Your Grace. He knew she meant this to show him he was
stronger than most men.
Dany smirked. “Rise.”
Jon rose to his feet, puzzling with the cage. “How do I--”
She took the cage from him, grinning ear to ear. “You stand still while I do
it,” she giggled.
Blushing, Jon handed the cage to Dany and let her affix it to him. Her hands on
his cock made him stir, which made the cage feel that much more constricting
once he was locked inside. It throbbed and pulsed until it filled the cage,
aching a dull, mind-clouding ache when it had nowhere left to go. Don’t touch
it. Show her she’s caged your mind as well.
“Snug?” She asked, still bursting with a warped excitement.
“Yes, Your Grace.” He paused. “I love you.” They both knew that, but when their
blood was this hot and their minds this debauched, it went unspoken. Yet there
was an unexpected romance to the moment that compelled him to say it aloud.
“As do I, sweet nephew.” She looked over his shoulder and motioned for her
sweetling.
Irri seemed to know precisely what came next, and dragged over a chair and a
cord of rope. So this is what they talk about when they get their toenails
painted. Dany pressed lightly on Jon’s chest, and he sat compliantly as Irri
tied his ankles to the legs of the chair.
“Hands on your knees,” Dany commanded. Jon gripped his kneecaps until his
knuckles turned white. Do you see me, Your Grace? Is that good enough?
Once he was good and bound, Jon watched as Irri helped Dany out of her armor,
transforming her from conqueror to Queen to woman to goddess. His mind scrolled
through what seemed like every time he’d seen her naked; from above her, behind
her, on his back, and on his knees. Every way her body could writhe and rock
and bend. The awe and fear and blind lust it could strike in him all at once. I
will never, ever tire of it. The more he thought, the more painful the
throbbing became. Use the pain. It’s a gift. Let it remind you how lucky you
are. That was the point, of course.
Irri stripped as well, stuffed Jon’s mouth with the wanton sliver of black silk
she called smallclothes, and joined Dany on the bed. Since her coronation, Irri
spent her free time riding, swimming, even dabbling in water dancing. She’d
always been beautiful, but the exercise had defined her muscles just as much as
a soldier’s, though they were still distinctly feminine.
She reminded him almost of a copper-skinned Ygritte. But the Wildling’s body
had been shaped by a life of endless walking and fighting and eating off the
land, leaving her muscles tense and wiry, and her frame almost too skinny.
Irri’s body was nourished but not overfed; amply worked but not exhausted. It’s
the body of a woman who can afford to sit on her ass all day, but chooses not
to, Jon realized.
“Watch and suffer, bastard. Lust for what you can’t have,” Dany commanded,
looking dead in his eyes as she yanked Irri closer to her, her voice suddenly
devoid of the sweet playfulness that had filled it just moments earlier. “Close
your eyes and I’ll fuck you bloody, I swear it.” The Dothraki whore bit her
neck and teased her with a finger between her lower lips. Dany gasped, and Jon
could sense her cunt flooding. “I fucking swear it.” She was fighting to keep
her violet eyes narrow, but Irri was too good with her hands.
“Yes, Your Grace,” he mumbled through Irri’s smallclothes. Jon’s terror at the
prospect of a merciless raping was unnervingly brief. Part of him craved the
pain, helplessness, and utter loss of his dignity that came with it, but he
knew better than to provoke her.
The talk of war had roused the tyrant in her, and Daenerys was in no mood to
let some upjumped serving wench toy with her cunt as she pleased. She pushed
Irri onto her back and slid on top of her, grinding against her thigh. Irri
seemed to anticipate that and looked up at her, almost daring her to do her
worst.
Dany brought her left hand all the way behind her head and smacked her
worthless slut with all her might, her shoulder muscles flexing on the
downswing. You wanted her worst... Irri yelped and instinctively brought her
hand to her cheek, but Dany caught it and pinned her arm above her head. With
her other hand, she slid two fingers into Irri’s cunt, making no effort to be
gentle. “Do you think I want anything else but to rape you?!” She roared.
Irri struggled, but knew she’d already lost. “No, Khaleesi!” The sweet girl
shouted, her voice already starting to quiver. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m
sorry!”
Dany rolled her thumb over Irri’s clit and stroked her fingers back and forth.
“You’re sorry.” Irri moaned in spite of herself and arched her back. Dany spat
in her face. “Look at you,” she sneered. “Your own body betrays what a lying
cunt you are. You love this. You need this.”
Of course she needs it. The world needs it. Suddenly, all those reservations
about the war seemed like utter nonsense. Of course she’ll win. She always
wins. Nothing in this world can stop her from taking what’s hers, and we’re all
hers to take. The world is her birthright. He chided himself for mocking the
notion earlier. Stop thinking, bastard. Play your part in her destiny.
Irri had no choice but to admit the truth of Dany’s words. “Yes, Khaleesi! Use
your savage whore, please, I beg you! Hurt me! Make me cry! Show me what I am!”
She liked that. Dany didn’t say it, but Jon knew his Queen, and nothing made
her cunt wetter than a desperate plea for the insatiable beast inside her. He
felt the dull ache in his cock again as it pressed against the metal. She knew
this would happen. The harder I get, the more it will hurt. The thought itself
made him harder, and proved itself correct. Dany was a master at turning his
instincts into a weakness, and his weakness into the source of ever-worsening
agony. Just as her father did to Brandon Stark. He wondered if she meant it
that way, or if it simply ran in her blood.
Dany pressed down on Irri’s neck and thrust her fingers into the girl’s cunt
with all her strength, leaving them there and pressing deeper. “You know
precisely what you are,” she growled. “You’re the horse-fucking rape toy who
doesn’t so much as breathe without my leave.” She squeezed her rape toy’s
throat to emphasize the point. This is only a drop of the Dragon’s blood inside
her. “You will rule this world by my side, but in here you will never be more
than this.” And if she’s wise, she won’t want to be.
Irri reached for Dany’s arm as she squeezed her neck tighter, but Dany simply
pressed harder into her sweetling’s cunt and curled her fingers. She smirked,
pressed her slut’s head deeper against the pillow with her eyes alone, and
rutted against her thigh like a feral dog taking a bitch.
“You know better than to resist me.” Dany’s voice was low and thick. “I’ll let
you breathe when you deserve it. And who decides when you deserve it?”
Irri’s eyes widened and met Dany’s, drowned in pure and perfect submission. Her
Grace had denied her the privilege of words and gestures to answer the
question, but there was no need. The eyes say it all.
“And you’ll let me do it. That’s why you’re my sweetling. That’s why I crowned
you.” The evil in Dany’s gaze softened, satisfied that she’d trampled the
girl’s will into dust. She kept her hand on Irri’s throat, but loosened her
grip, letting the girl gasp for air as her fingers set to slow, loving strokes
inside her sweet slut’s cunt. “That’s why I’d die for you.” Dany removed her
fingers and slid them toward Irri’s lips. “Open.”
Irri opened her mouth before Jon even knew what she said. I must learn to be
that good. “Suck,” Her Grace commanded as her fingers went into the girl’s
mouth. “Taste your own filth. Taste what my madness does to you.”
Irri whimpered, closed her eyes, and collapsed into a mindless mass of flesh.
Jon’s own mouth began to water, and he lamented that her other hand was out of
reach.
A royal finger down the throat meant one of two things. When she was in a
playful, teasing mood, it meant she wanted it sucked like a cheap whore would
suck a man’s cock. She loved that, especially with Jon, because she knew it
made him agonize over whether he’d enjoy the real thing, and what, if anything
that meant.
‘You would, and it only means what you allow it to,’ she'd taught him. But he’d
been told for so long by so many people that it determined the very existence
of his manhood, and he couldn’t help but twist himself into knots over it. I
love when you rape my mind,he wanted to tell her, because that was how it felt.
But he was gagged, and Dany would have raped more than his mind for speaking
out of turn, so he guarded his tongue like a good boy.
But Dany was well past teasing. In these moments, her fingers were a command
for Irri to close her eyes and forget everything she’d learned from the moment
she left her mother’s womb. To become utterly blank and shapeless. To know
nothing but the thoughts and sensations that Dany saw fit to allow her. Her
Grace was entranced with her own power, and Jon could not take his eyes away.
It was as if she had changed from a woman on a bed to a presence that filled
the entire room; the castle; the world. As if her perfect, silver-haired body
were merely a tool she used to command her slaves, her armies, the sun and the
stars and the tides, all to bend and break and reshape themselves at her
pleasure, like hot steel in a forge. She is fire made flesh.
Jon had once heard that just before a man freezes to death, he feels a warm,
peaceful feeling, beckoning him to stop fighting, and promising to keep him
safe when he finally closes his eyes. That was how he felt when Daenerys took
him that way. There was no need to think about how to feed an occupied Pentos,
or what Lyanna Mormont thought of sending men to die on some foreign shore in
the name of Dany’s notions of justice. There was only the sound of the words
she spoke, and the nebulous feelings they brought forth inside him as his mind
escaped the memory that at some point he'd known how to speak a language.
Jon closed his eyes and tried to slip into that state himself, but it was
futile without Dany’s touch. He gave up after what seemed like an instant, and
fell violently back into reality with a sting across his face, a tug on his
hair, and a gag pulled from his mouth. “Are you truly that stupid?!” Dany’s
eyes trapped his as soon as they opened, and would not let go. Her voice filled
his mind and rightly drowned out all else. “What did I say?”
Shit, shit, shit. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace, I swear, I just--”
She pinched both nipples and twisted. “Fuck what you swear. Answer my question.
What did I say?!”
“Don’t close my eyes!” Jon gritted his teeth and turned his face away
instinctively.
Am I truly that stupid? Dany grabbed him by the chin and pulled him back. “And
what did you do?” Her stare was cold, cruel, and terrifying.
“I closed my eyes, Your Grace. I’m sorry. I envied Irri and imagined myself in
her place. I put myself before you. I failed you." 'Don't just confess your
deeds,' she'd taught him. Confess your thoughts. They're every bit as
sinful. Please, please make me a better man.” He knew that meant pain, but from
Daenerys, pain was a gift. It cleansed him, and after what he'd just done, he
knew he needed cleansing.
Dany grabbed Jon’s chair from behind and lowered it onto the floor, putting Jon
onto his back. She stood over him with his head between her feet, letting him
take in her perfect legs and the wet, hungry cunt between them. He felt the
metal weighing down his cock, and realized how utterly irrelevant it truly was.
Some force pulled his eyes back to hers. How does she do that?
“I was close to taking my pleasure, you know.” She raised an eyebrow and let
him whimper in shame and contrition, then spat down onto his face and dragged
her foot back and forth to rub it in. “So was my whore. But somehow, neither of
us have had it yet,” she explained with a calm, icy fury. “She’s all alone on
the bed, and I’m here standing over some disrespectful little shit. Do you
think either of us are happy about that, bastard?”
“No, Your Grace. I’m sorry.” His voice was tremulous.
Dany knelt and positioned his head between her knees, facing his helpless,
useless cock. “Finish me.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Jon closed his eyes, squeezed her cheeks, and lost
himself in obedience.
“Come here, slut,” he heard his Queen beckon. He felt the girl’s presence
between the legs of the chair as Dany leaned forward and grabbed Jon’s caged
cock in her fist. Her Grace tugged on the cage and the pestilent flesh inside
it, “This, sweetling, is why you’re standing here, and not in my arms on the
bed.”
“A vile thing, Khaleesi.”
The words didn’t hurt, as he’d made his peace with the truth of them. Jon knew
these women loved him more than anything and took great pleasure from his body,
but Dany had taught him that all men felt an undeserved pride in their cocks.
They all think theirs is magic and can please a woman like none other, and
they’re all wrong. ‘It pleases YOU,’ she told him once, whilst squeezing and
twisting it with a pair of iron pincers. ‘And you let it trick you into
thinking you’re more than you are.’ Jon had never been one to brag about his
lovemaking, but he knew it was true. ‘No man can be good with his cock until he
forsakes it for the woman’s pleasure.’ His Queen’s words echoed in his mind, as
they often did.
“Vile indeed,” Dany told her sweetling. Without warning she leaned forward, and
bit down on the cage, hard enough that she could easily have torn into the
flesh if not for the metal. Jon nearly pissed himself. He instinctively gasped
and tried to squirm away, but there was nowhere to go. The cage protects you,
he told himself, as soon as it passed. She wouldn’t have done that otherwise.
She was teaching him fear, and reminding him of who she was and what she could
do with the power he’d granted her, but she would always keep him safe. You
will never understand how lucky you are, he thought, as he felt her cunt pulse
from the terror she’d so effortlessly struck into his core.
“Vile, and crippling,” she continued. “It weakens him. It distracts him from
more important things.” So true, Your Grace.“He should have learned that when
his cousin Robb had his throat cut open, but it seems he's more dim-witted than
we thought." That one cut him deep. It ripped open an old wound, but even worse
was its truth. I will never truly learn, will I? One more reason to be grateful
for the iron hand that ruled him.
"Remind him what happens when he puts himself before us.” Dany commanded as
she dragged her nails up and down Jon’s thighs and reached back for a fistful
of his hair.
That made him throb again, just as he felt Irri forcefully smack the cage. The
weight of the steel made it flop to one side and roll back helplessly.
Foolishly, he tried to flex it, as if that would impress them.
Her cunt, you dolt! Jon began to stroke his tongue against Dany's clit, because
it was far more important than his pain. Her hips rocked and she purred softly,
as if to reward him for remembering his place.
“More,” Dany commanded.
Jon wasn’t certain if that command was meant for him or Irri. Makes no matter.
Stop thinking. Give her more. He grabbed her soft, perfect cheeks again and
squeezed, pressing himself closer against her, his nose burying itself near her
ass. Dany gasped softly and moaned, just as Irri smacked his cock back to the
other side. This time he barely paid it any mind. Better. Like that, she said,
her voice already inside his mind.
“More, slut! Are you a Queen or a weak little handmaiden?! FUCKING hurt him!”
He felt the pressure of Irri’s heel on his balls, softly at first, then harder,
and harder, and harder, until he groaned in pain.
“Yes, yes, yes, more! Crush them!” Dany demanded, her voice thick and drunk
with lust. The harder Irri pressed, the more fervently Jon devoured Dany’s cunt
to take his mind off the pain, and the two slaves found themselves competing
for who could worship her more fervently. Just as she intended. Just as it
should be.
“Stop squirming, bastard! I thought those are what made you a man, was that a
lie?!” Dany berated him, feeding off of anything she sensed made him question
his manhood.
Irri waited until Jon made a noise that sounded like a child about to start
wailing, then eased up ever so slightly and held her foot where it was. Jon
worried his balls would burst out of their sack and go flying across the room.
They won’t. Stop thinking. Trust her.
The closer Dany got to her peak, the more violently she ground her cunt against
his face. Irri pressed down so hard that it numbed his cock, as if he’d never
even had one. Dany’s body and soul consumed him. Her taste, her scent, the
force of her cunt over his mouth, her thighs and mound dragging themselves back
and forth over his stubble, her hands on his chest, her fingers teasing his
nipples, threatening them with a cruel, merciless pinch, because who would stop
her?
Jon let her wetness flow into his mouth. He wished he could fill a cup with it,
and drink it like wine. Stop it. Stop thinking. That was your desire, not hers.
But he couldn’t ignore it, so he resolved that if he could not save himself
from selfishness, he would use it to her benefit. He growled and pulled her
toward him, taking her by surprise and jerking her whole body back. He lapped
away furiously, desperately. That made her scream, and sent her cunt pulsing
and her hips thrusting wildly.
Irri pressed her foot down harder, feeding off the building passion. “Take
what’s yours, Khaleesi,” she urged, her voice every bit as full of malice as
he’d ever heard Dany’s, “while I crush him for your pleasure.”
Dany screamed again, louder, more dragon than woman. She took Irri’s
suggestion, marking his face like an animal marks its property; forbidding him
to all others; daring them to challenge her rule over him. Over us all. Her
thighs locked his head as she slammed all her weight down on him, cutting off
his breath as she reached her peak. You can breathe later. This is more
important. The thought reassured him. It meant he’d remembered his lesson. She
leaned forward as she came down, releasing him, granting him back the privilege
of breathing her air. Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Irri removed her foot. Dany rose and stretched, her feet still on either side
of Jon’s head as if he weren’t even there. Desperate for a sign of approval,
Jon ran his hands lovingly over her calves.
She looked down and let out a satisfied sigh, smiling warmly and bright-eyed.
She knelt beside him and kissed him softly, lovingly, like a bride would kiss
her husband after saying her words. He could feel her fingers in his hair, the
warmth and softness relaxing his whole body. But she broke the kiss before it
could grow into anything more.
“When you closed your eyes, you were thinking with your cock,” she told him, in
the same tone she used when she sentenced a criminal.
Jon nodded.
“Does anything good happen when you think with your cock?”
He shook his head. The image of Robb flickered before him again.
“Your cock is a weakness, not a strength. Don’t let it fool you. Do we
understand each other?”
Jon nodded again. “Yes, Your Grace. Thank you. I love you.”
Dany smiled, kissed him again, and tugged his earlobe. “I love you too, sweet
nephew.” She rose again.
Irri teased her own clit, and looked wantonly down at Jon. “May I, Khaleesi?”
She asked, almost impatiently.
Dany looked at her pensively, then down at Jon, then out the window at the sun.
“No, sweetling,” she finally answered, firmly but with a hint of guilt. “If the
ships are to sail on the evening tide, we should dress. You'll have yours when
we get back, I promise you.”
Irri nodded, annoyed, but not fool enough to say anything. “Thank you,
Khaleesi.”
The Queen looked down at Jon again. “Help me with him.” The women set Jon’s
chair upright and cut the ropes around his ankles, but he knew better than to
stand without Her Grace’s leave.
“This one, though…” she smirked briefly at Jon and eyed the steel mass between
his legs again. “Should I let him out?”
Irri pretended to think, but her face gave her away.
“No, best not,” Dany smiled. “I’d rather he wear it under his breeches, so I
can watch him squirm while I rally the men.” She stroked his hair, kissed the
top of his head and held it against her breast. “He has such a beautiful
squirm, doesn’t he?” Jon heard her, but paid no mind. He would gladly suffer
far worse to keep his head right where it was.
Irri smiled back. “Maddening, Khaleesi.”
Dany slid a finger into Jon’s mouth. “When we get back, yes?”
Jon nodded as he sucked, already forgetting the word "yes."
They dressed and rode for the docks, in their armor. Dany led the column, with
Jon and Irri abreast behind her. Jon fidgeted in the saddle, struggling to find
a comfortable way to sit with the cage. Irri spent most of the ride looking at
him and grinning like a fool. It’s a short ride, stop being such a delicate
little shit, he told himself.
When they reached the Muddy Way, they found that Varys had been right about the
chaos. No one had been told to expect them, and their whole retinue,
Queensguard and all, may as well have been any other soldiers pressing their
way through the mass. Dothraki, Freedmen, Ironborn, and Westerosi mainlanders
all fought with each other for one last stick of grilled meat from the market;
one last ale; one last round of dice; one last whore.
Dany stopped her horse at the entrance to Fishmonger’s Square, and shouted in
the Common Tongue, then Dothraki, then High Valyrian. No one paid her any mind.
She hates that, Jon knew. Dany had never let mockery under her skin, and part
of her seemed to take great pleasure in being hated by the right people. Being
ignored, on the other hand, enraged her. She twisted her body back to Davos,
Grey Worm, Lady Asha, and her Bloodriders. “This is absurd. Form them up.”
Davos blew his war horn, which finally got the crowd’s attention. Her generals
broke away from the retinue, barking and pointing and shoving through the crowd
on their horses, scattering the men every which way, like roaches.
Dany turned to Jon. “Perhaps we should start back," she suggested. "It will
take them hours to board, and half of them will miss the evening tide anyway.
Let them launch as many ships as they can, and we’ll come back on the morrow
and rally whoever’s left.”
It was a sensible notion, but she was sending them to war to liberate people
they’ve never met from an injustice they’ve never felt themselves. She must
tell them why they should. He knew how dangerous it was to neglect that--he
could still feel the wounds in his stomach. “If you only speak to half the men,
you only dissuade half the deserters.”
The Queen nodded. “You’re right. We’ll stay, then.”
The roaches formed up into columns of men more quickly than Jon expected. They
were the most tightly-packed columns he’d ever seen, but columns nonetheless.
The triad and their escort kicked their horses forward and squeezed through
what passed for an aisle in the center of the formation. The Queensguard
hastily assembled a line of crates under the Mud Gate to serve as a makeshift
stage. The triad ascended by way of a small ladder.
Dany stood in the center, and began. “Tonight you sail east, to make the Free
Cities truly free. And make no mistake, I will join you when you reach Pentos,
and I will join you if it comes to battle, and so will the dragons. I will
never abandon you in your peril, and for as long as my children and I draw
breath, I will never let you die in vain. You have my solemn word.” Jon heard a
handful of cheers; a mix of unfailing loyalty from some, and a vow from others
to hold her to her promise.
“Many of you were with me in Essos when I sacked these cities and moved on. I'd
wager most of you were glad to leave.” She had to acknowledge that, and let
them mutter.
“But the Volantenes nearly defeated us,” she reminded them, “and now the world
thinks us weak. They think we can't fight our own battles. That we need others
to rescue us. So I ask you, does the Kraken need rescue from anyone?”
An angry but sparse “No!” flared up from the crowd. No, only from themselves.
“Should the greatest reavers the world has ever known be afraid of some fat,
boy-fucking cheesemongers?!”
“No!!” Jon could sense the rage building.
“Should we let them sit in their manses, eating sweetmeats and mocking us
behind our backs?!”
This time was more of a scream than a word. Swords flew from sheaths and thrust
into the air. The Ironborn were ready to dive into the water and swim to Pentos
if need be. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
She turned toward the Dothraki. “Should we let them mock the khalasars they’ve
feared for centuries?!”
Not to be outdone by some drunken milk men, the Dothraki followed suit with
their arakhs and screamed, even more frenzied.
“Should we relinquish the Great Grass Sea to some purple-haired Cart Kings?!”
Slow down, my love. Remember, we’re only taking Pentos for now. But he knew
Dany would never be content with “only taking Pentos,” and only then did he
realize how effortlessly she’d gotten him to pretend otherwise that morning.
Jon wondered how many Dothraki knew what the word “relinquish” meant, as they
roared and ululated. One of them loosed a fire arrow over the city wall.
Because we do have an endless supply of those, after all.
Now it was the Freedmen’s turn. “Should we let them think we’ve forgotten what
it’s like to be bought and sold?!”
As expected, they were already good and lathered.
“I was bought and sold in Pentos, and I will neverforget it! Should we let them
hide across the sea and think they’ve escaped us, or should we bring them
justice?!”
The Freedmen were the loudest of them all, clamoring violently to quench their
never-ending thirst for justice that they would never truly satisfy.
"What did you say?!"
"JUSTICE!!" Somehow, the pirates and nomadic horsemen had forgotten about the
plunder and now cared only about justice. "JUSTICE!!"
She pointed behind her. “Then get on these fucking ships and bring it to them!”
Half of them screamed and charged forward before remembering there was an order
to it.
“Take their manses! Free their slaves! Knock their boywhores’ cocks from their
mouths and ram your spears down their fork-bearded gullets!” Jon looked forward
to the song they'd make of that one.
“Fight with me!! Take what’s ours!! DROWN them in fire and blood!!” With that,
Dany gave the crowd a final sweeping wave, beaming, her face flush with
excitement, every bit as intoxicated with herself as she’d been at the peak of
her pleasure earlier. There was no sense in either of her consorts saying
anything. What could they say that would match that? This is what she was born
to do.The world had known that for years, but it was easy to forget how good
her best truly was.
She lept off the crate as the officers did their best to form their men back
up. Her bloodriders met them behind the stage with their horses.
“We’ll go back on foot,” Dany informed them. “We should walk among the common
people, not sit above them and leave a trail of shit in their streets.” She
turned to her husband and wife. “Walk with me, my loves.” Dany took their hands
and led them between the columns toward the back of Fishmonger’s Square, to
greet the swelling crowd of smallfolk gathered behind the soldiers, lining the
street back to the Red Keep.
Davos hurried up to Jon as Dany and Irri basked in the adoration of their
people. “Your Grace. May I trouble you for a moment?”
Jon broke off from Dany and stepped a few feet away from the crowd. He waved
his wives on, and smiled at his Hand. “You wouldn’t be doing your job if you
weren’t troubling me.”
“Word from White Harbor is that there are only half the men there should be.
Lady Sansa suspects her bannermen are holding back.” I suspect she’s right. Why
would they not? This wasn’t the North’s fight, and it was precisely the kind of
adventure that Lady Mormont and her supporters had warned that Dany would drag
them into.
“Tell her I mean to go up there once we've got Pentos,” Jon replied. “I haven’t
been back since I was crowned, and they need to see that I haven’t forgotten
them. I’ll meet privately with each one. And we should talk to Daenerys about
it before she gets...” You know how she gets.
“Aye, Your Grace.” Davos took his meaning.
The Queens had built up a lead of about fifty feet. Jon did his best to
acknowledge the crowd without stopping for everyone who wanted to shout in his
ear about which fishermen were charging too much for cockles. But before he
could catch up, one particularly insistent whore managed to grab his arm and
launch into a cockle-related tirade regardless.
Cockles were a sore subject in this part of the city, and whenever Jon found
himself in the middle of this sort of argument, he pined for another army of
dead men. “Cockles make the blood run hot, Your Grace,” the whore prattled on,
as if this were just after the White Walkers on his list of problems to
solve. “So I lose business without ‘em.”
“Mhm.” Jon noticed Dany out of the corner of his eye, talking to some
fisherman, most like about how the whores won’t pay a fair price for his
cockles. The Queen looked rapt, as if the war she just started were a trifle
compared to this quarrel over shellfish. I don’t know how she does it.
“It’s like I’m paying him to get bent over and fucked,” the whore continued.
Dany had commanded her guards to step back, so as not to intimidate the
commoner. Jon’s eyes narrowed. Soon or late, that’s bound to--
Suddenly, Irri pushed Daenerys to one side. "Khaleesi!" She shrieked. There was
a terrible fear in her voice that Jon knew would haunt him for the rest of his
life, even before he understood what was happening. The whole crowd turned
their eyes, screamed, and pushed in every direction. As far as Jon cared, the
whore ceased to exist, and he sprinted toward his Queens.
The man who broke through the crowd was too big and too angry to let anyone
hold him back. He swatted Irri to the ground and bowled past her. Dany's eyes
flashed a terror that Jon had always assumed she was simply incapable of
feeling. She barely had time to let out a shriek of her own before the the man
grabbed her hair with one hand and swept his scythe through her royal neck with
the other.
We'll fix it later, was all Jon’s mind allowed him to think, as he watched the
blood spurting out of what used to be Daenerys Targaryen's neck. The body that
made her such a sublime lover and formidable woman collapsed onto the stone.
Before he realized it, Longclaw was out. Every sword and spear and arakh in the
Queen’s service was out. Unsullied seemed to appear from the ether to block the
crowd with a wall of shields. Jon’s vision turned red and narrowed to the man
with the scythe, but before he could get close enough to pay him back in kind,
a horde of Unsullied knocked the man to the ground. He barely got a glimpse of
the man’s face, purple from the weight of a dozen men pinning him down, before
Davos spotted him.
“The King!” Davos shouted toward a cluster of Goldcloaks, pointing at Jon.
“Guard the bloody King, you shits!!”
The men rushed him. He turned and drew Longclaw back, ready to cut them down,
but thought the better of it at the last instant and dropped his sword, letting
them tackle him. Guard her, not me, was the last thing he thought before the
impact knocked him out cold.
“Blood of my blood…” he awoke, stunned, slumped across Jhogo’s lap on a horse.
The Dothraki was holding him in place by his belt. “...Castle…” he couldn’t be
bothered to follow the sentence. “...Now!”
Jon looked back. Everything was silent, and agonizingly slow. Dany's eyes met
his one last time, staring up vacantly as her head settled in the gutter. There
was no love or lust or longing in them this time. No rage, no joy, nothing but
the faint remnants of the fear that was the last thing she’d felt. He could
sense he was bleeding, but could not say why or from where.
Jhogo cracked his whip and shouted a stream of Dothraki curses to part the
Unsullied and the panicked crowd, kicking his horse into the fastest gallop it
could give him on a city street. Jon wanted to do something, but his only duty
to the Realm in that moment was to make it back to the Red Keep alive. All he
could do was look back as the Unsullied re-formed their shield wall around
Dany’s body and cut her off from him forever.
The next thing he saw were the grim faces of Sam and Davos staring down at him
in his bedchamber. “Jon…” was all the Grand Maester could say.
He turned his head to the side and spotted his cock cage, cut open and sitting
on his bedside table. Both men pretended not to see it, though one of them had
plainly taken a saw to it. Dany will be furious. Something felt amiss. Jon
tried to retrace his thoughts. There’s a war. We will take Pentos soon. The
North mislikes it. The whores pay too much for cockles.
Then he heard the bells. No, no, no, no, no. She didn't. That's for someone
else.
“Tyrion’s sealed all the gates,” Davos blurted out. What gates? Jon still
refused to live in a world where this could happen. “You hurt your ankle and
busted the back of your head, but you’ll recover.” He hadn't noticed his
body hurting until the Hand mentioned it. “The Khaleesi is safe. She’s in the
Tower of the Hand. We don’t want the two of you in the same place, in case
there are more than one.”
The thought of losing both of his loves in one day finally broke the spell of
denial. He looked at Sam, his eyes filling with tears.
Sam shook his head and clasped Jon’s hand. “I’m sorry, Jon.” He looked like he
meant to say something, but thought better of it when his eyes met Jon's, and
instead simply looked away and exhaled. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t--”
Jon stared at him, finding himself too weak to ask what he wanted to. “Speak.”
Sam turned back to him and hesitated. “She was with child.”
The grey fog that tinged everything in his field of view grew darker. He must
have started sobbing, or tried to move, or something.
“No, no, no. Not now. Rest.” Davos held him down. Sam grabbed a flagon from the
side table and forced it between his lips. Dreamwine. He closed his eyes, and
let it drown him.
***** Irri IV *****
Chapter Summary
     "This Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a
     rescuer."
     --Tyrion, A Dance With Dragons, Tyrion VI
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“You’ll be late, Khaleesi,” Qezza warned.
By law, Irri was Her Grace now, but she couldn’t be bothered to correct the
girl. She would rather stay in bed counting cracks in the ceiling while Jon lay
next to her, wallowing in the fog of his dreamwine. The King would recover, Sam
promised, but he needed bed rest until he could stand without pain. At least
they’ve let us back in the same room. Irri had no doubt Jon was in agony, but
she had begun to worry that he simply preferred to cloud his mind with
dreamwine and hide from the world. One misery at a time.
“Dress me, then,” she commanded her handmaiden. Her tone was flat, almost
angry, though it wasn’t the girl’s fault. Irri felt so many things so strongly
that she couldn’t begin to sort it all out. She simply let it crush her, like a
slab of granite pressing down on her chest, from the moment she woke up and
remembered watching Daenerys Targaryen’s headless body fall to the ground and
cover her in a fountain of blood. She remembered the man, and the crowd, and
the scythe. She remembered crawling desperately toward her slain Khaleesi to
stop the bleeding from the stump of her neck, as if that would help. She
remembered clinging to the body as the guards tore her away, shrieking,
commanding them to let her die as well.
But Daenerys had nearly murdered her, and worse. Was this not justice? Should
she not be thanking the gods? Celebrating?
Irri cursed herself for those thoughts. For all her flaws, Daenerys loved her
more deeply than she had ever thought possible. She raised her from a slave to
a Queen. She brought Jon into her life, and nurtured their love for each other.
She rescued millions from the most terrible fates imaginable. You’re naught but
a selfish whore, she berated herself. You swore to let her use you as she
pleased, yet you condemn her for doing precisely that? Your life was hers to
take that night, yet you begrudge her your thanks for sparing you? Everything
she did to you was her right as your Queen! You deserved so much worse!
But that felt wrong, too. No one should treat anyone like that, birth or vows
or lust aside. Dany would have said the same, when she wasn’t utterly consumed
by her madness. It wasn’t her, it was the madness. She couldn’t help herself.
And that madness is what purged the world of far worse. Irri wondered why she
needed so badly to make excuses for her. This is what a captive says when he’s
gone mad himself.
In truth, she felt much like a captive. Without Daenerys, and with Jon still
recovering, Irri was utterly lost. Her life had collapsed, and she hadn’t the
slightest notion how to rebuild it. Jon. It should start with him. I must give
him an heir. Two, at least. Or I’ll be remembered as the barren slut who let
the blood of the Dragon vanish from the world. But she was in no mood to let
any man plant his seed in her. She wanted to hide from everyone and sleep until
she could wake up to Dany’s soft kisses on her cheek, even if that meant she
would not wake up.
What bothered her most was how little the Dragon Queen’s death accomplished. It
freed no slaves, vanquished no armies, and saved no innocents. One minute she
was speaking to one of her beloved subjects, then she screamed, then her head
left her neck. No rubies scattered in a river; no epic battle raged around her.
In the end, she was a lifeless pile of flesh hitting a shit-covered street like
a side of beef that had fallen from a cart. Her death was no more noble than
the dozens of drunk fools who died like that on the streets of King’s Landing
every year, squabbling over some tavern wench.
Irri ruled the Seven Kingdoms in name, but for all it mattered, she may as well
have let Tyrion wear her crown. To stop the Realm from plunging into chaos,
he’d put soldiers on nearly every corner in King’s Landing to enforce a strict
sundown curfew with on-the-spot beheadings. Any lordling who had ever shown the
faintest hint of ambition had soldiers camped within view of his walls, with
the promise of thousands more if they made any move to disturb the peace.
Dany’s dragons circled the city, landing on rooftops and screaming, roaring,
launching flames into the air. It helped keep order, though no one knew if or
when their restlessness would turn to rage that their mother was gone. It was a
terrifying and expensive way to keep the peace, which Irri supposed should
trouble her as a Queen, but she was simply too numb to care.
She snapped out of her own head to find herself somehow clothed, with Qezza and
Missandei ushering her toward the Throne Room like a walking corpse. The trial.
Oh, gods, please, not the trial. But her last god died three days ago.
Irri presided over this farce from the Iron Throne, playing at being a Queen,
certain that some band of rebel lords would burst in at any moment and
slaughter her for defiling Dany’s chair with her baseborn brown ass. Half of
her wished they’d be quicker about it. Sitting on either side of her were
Tyrion and Davos, listening as Lady Martell questioned the captain of the Lord
Harlaw in the witness box. Irri did her best not to look, but she could not
escape the unrelenting, icy gaze of the nameless accused, chained and heavily
guarded at the base of the steps.
There had been so many witnesses that the man was plainly guilty, but Tyrion
insisted that Daenerys would have wanted to give him a fair trial. Irri could
not bring herself to tell him why he shouldn’t be so certain. So here she sat,
well after the questions turned from whether this man had cut down the Mother
of Dragons, to why he did it, and who put him up to it. Irri desperately hoped
they'd never find out.
The captain was as Ironborn as they got. Grizzled, gruff, and stupid. But the
accused had been an oarsman on his ship, and though the captain knew next to
nothing, that was more than anyone else.
“You’re saying he kept entirely to himself? He had no friends?” Lady Arianne
asked, annoyed. Every witness had told the same story in the three days since
Daenerys was murdered, and it was starting to wear on the Dornishwoman.
“Hard to make friends when you’re missing a tongue, m’lady,” the captain
replied. That was the point.
“And how did he lose his tongue?” Arianne asked, plainly frustrated. He doesn’t
know, m’lady.
“I don’t know, m’lady,” the captain replied. “He came to me like that. I
reckoned it was the Crow’s Eye’s doing. Never thought much of it.”
“And he'd caused no trouble before?”
“No, m’lady. Kept to himself, did his job, never bothered nobody.”
Tyrion shot a look at Davos. The Onion Lord simply shrugged.
“So you can’t think of any reason why he would do this? Anyone who could have
persuaded him?”
“I’m sorry, m’lady, I just--”
“It’s alright,” Davos cut him off. “Thank you, captain. You’re free to go.”
I could pull Tyrion aside and end this now. But that was easy to say and much
harder to do. She did not doubt Tyrion’s loyalty to the Realm, but the man
loved wine and whores too much to be trusted with a secret that could erase
Daenerys’s greatness from her people's memory, and raise the question of
whether anyone who would marry such a vile woman was fit to rule.
But it wasn’t fear of losing a crown she never sought that made it so hard. The
shame was far more crippling than anything. Shame at what Dany had done, and at
herself for marrying her anyway. You’re just as bad as she was. Shame that her
love for the Queen and for the trappings of power kept her silent for so long.
And you’re a spoiled cunt, at that. Shame for not warning Jon before he
succumbed to that same love. She could have maimed him just as easily, and you
did nothing.
And shame that she let it all happen to begin with.
She’d told herself many times that was absurd, though it did little and less to
help. The woman who professed to love her had put a spear to this man’s back
and made him rape her for an evening’s entertainment. How was that her fault?
But if I was to simply lay there and take it, is that all I'm good for? Maybe
it was. No, she insisted. Dany in her better moments had taught her better than
that. But maybe she was wrong.
Missandei approached and bent down to her ear. “Next is the captain of the
Prince Rhaegar, Your Grace,” she announced. No, no, no. If it came out who had
removed the man’s tongue, the question would turn to what Irri knew, and why
she hadn't spoken up sooner. That could mean my head. “He was the--”
Irri had no choice but to put a stop to it. “Enough!” She declared, loudly and
with an uncharacteristic firmness. “I can't bear any more of this! The moon of
my life is dead, and long before her time.” Her voice began to quiver as she
pointed. “This man murdered her, because he’s mad, and that's what madmen do.
That’s the end of it. I cannot sit here and recall the worst day of my life
over and over again. There is no conspiracy.” She looked straight at the Prince
Rhaegar’s captain. “Anyone who suggests otherwise will be named a traitor and
executed for sowing discord in the Realm.” She paused, exhaled, and turned to
the two Hands beside her. “Do you have any doubt this man is guilty?”
“No, Your Grace,” they responded in startled unison. Good. Irri prayed that
would be the end of it. It wasn’t untrue, after all; he had almost certainly
acted alone. Does it matter what drove him to his madness?
For the first time since the trial began, she looked the oarsman in the eye.
“Then I, Irri of the House Targaryen, the First of my Name, Khaleesi of the
Great Grass Sea, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and Protector of the
Realm, find you guilty of high treason and the murder of my wife, Her Grace
Queen Daenerys, the Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, and do hereby
sentence you to die.” Irri exhaled again and her heart began to race, her sigh
tinged with fear as the oarsman continued to stare her down. She addressed the
Queensguard standing behind him as a nauseous, dizzy feeling overtook her.
“Confine him to an oubliette. He will be burned alive tomorrow on Her Grace’s
funeral pyre.”
Irri stormed out of the room without waiting for the Queensguard to acknowledge
her. She sprinted back to her bedchamber, staggered past a sleeping Jon into
the privy, then fell to her knees, and vomited. Her crown having fallen into
the privy, and her body too weak to retrieve it, she curled up on the floor,
sobbing and heaving. I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this.
She held her stomach, as it refused to unclench itself. Qezza found her
writhing and wailing, and screamed for the guards, thinking the Queen had been
stabbed. Is this the last bit of cruelty Daenerys meant to inflict on me? To
leave me to rule a land I have no business ruling? To force me to carry her
secret for the rest of my life? To have me execute one man and threaten another
with the same, all to clean up her mess? To forever dread the day that captain
decides to sell his story to pay some gambling debt?
She found herself being yanked up to her feet by two Unsullied, and set down in
a chair by the brazier. One guard unsheathed a dagger. Is she having my tongue,
too? ‘She’ couldn’t, of course. ‘She’ was dead.
The guard cut down the front of her dress, to let her breathe and to stop the
cold sweat she’d broken into. Missandei appeared from nowhere and tossed her a
linen nightshirt, a grave expression on her face. Samwell Tarly entered as
well, feeling her face and counting her heartbeats as Qezza wiped the vomit
from around her mouth.
Behind Sam’s ample frame, Irri spotted a pair of stubby legs push themselves up
into the chair opposite hers. I'm not even dead yet, and the crows are already
circling.
“I'm grieving, Samwell. That's all,” she lied. She waved him away, composing
herself as much as one could whilst wiping snot-laced vomit onto the back of
one’s hand. “Let me speak with Lord Tyrion, but don’t leave. Missandei, you
stay as well.”
Sam and Missandei bowed and sat next to each other at the table. Qezza handed
her a new handkerchief, as Irri did her best to cobble together some semblance
of a regal bearing.
“Ah, snot-vomit,” the Hand started, while the nightshirt still covered her face
but not her tits. Quite the regal bearing. “The most enchanting mixture of
bodily fluids.”
Irri knew he only meant to lift her spirits, but she was in no mood for japes.
She sighed. “What would you have of me?”
“What would you have of me, Your Grace?” He countered. “I’m a Hand without a
Queen, and I sense you could use a bit of help.” Missandei eyed him, affronted.
“You grieve for Daenerys more than I could imagine, I’m certain. But half the
high lords think us weak, and high lords are not a sympathetic lot. You put on
a brave face at court, but it’s plain you still feel lost and scared.”
“Of course she’s lost and scared,” Missandei countered from the table. “Were
you not lost and scared when your father first left you here to rule? And you
came from a great House. Not a year ago, Her Grace was pouring wine and
emptying chamber pots. Now she rules a strange Realm in the midst of great
turmoil. Do not belittle her for being afraid.” Can we at least burn her body
before we tear her Realm apart?
Tyrion turned to Irri, offering himself for a dressing down, but she
spared him.
“He’s not belittling me. He speaks the truth,” she warned Missandei. “And we
can’t feud like this, you know that.” The Easterners always had a tense
relationship with Tyrion. They respected him and knew he meant well, but he'd
been born too wealthy and from too great a House to stop himself from sounding
like an arrogant shit some times, and too smart to know what he didn't know.
Irri looked over to Jon, still sleeping, blind and deaf to the world. Tyrion
followed suit, then looked back to her. An uncomfortably long silence fell over
the room. Irri could sense he was choosing his words carefully, and it made her
curious what he’d come up with.
“You're right to trust Jon, Your Grace,” he finally continued. “He's beloved
from Dorne to the Wall. He's a fine ruler, and an even finer man. But he's also
just a man. And only fools think noble men always die noble deaths. You know
that all too well, now. He could fall off a horse, or take ill with some
wasting sickness, or lose his own head to some madman. He could--”
“Please don't say these things.” Irri simply could not bear it. “I can't spend
my life fearing for my husband.”
“No. You can't. But the only way to free yourself from that fear is to know you
can rule in your own right. You should learn from Jon. And in the beginning,
you should defer to him on matters of war, and the North, and things you know
nothing about.”
She rolled her eyes. “So, everything, then.”
“No, no, that’s not true,” Tyrion tried to reassure her, though it took him a
moment to come up with something. “You know more about horses,” he managed to
pull from his ass. “Jon just rides them until they die, then he gets another. I
don’t think he even knows where they come from.”
Irri cracked a sad, exhausted smile.
“And food. You know far more about food. The man wouldn't know flavor if it got
him with child.”
She grudgingly let the smile linger.
Tyrion smiled back. “And anything that requires talking to a woman.”
The smile turned into a soft laugh. Damn you, I was enjoying the misery.
Tyrion’s face grew more serious. “But one thing you can't learn from anyone is
how to show the Realm your strength. And you must know how to do that. Every
lord in Westeros with a maiden daughter wants you dead. And if Jon were to die
without an heir, every lord in Westeros with an unwed son will want you to
spread your legs for him. Only two things will stop them from burning this
country down: love of Jon, and failing that, fear of you.”
Was Bronn not enough? “When Daenerys crowned me, she--”
“That was about her, not you. Respectfully, Your Grace, all you did was tip a
pot over.”
Missandei got restless again. Irri put a hand up to silence her, and kept
listening.
“Daenerys put on one of her mummer’s shows,” he went on, “complete with
dragons, and surprise murders, and grand proclamations that this ancient custom
or that one was no longer of use to her. We all loved her for those, but
they’re over now.”
Irri felt herself choke up again. It sounded so final, and Tyrion was so blunt
about it. But it’s true.
“The Realm knows Jon. They don’t know you. They don’t know what you’ll do
without Daenerys to protect you. When you speak at her funeral, they will be
taking your measure. You must speak well, and show them you deserve to be
there.”
I’d prefer another surprise murder. As a child, she’d had it beaten into her to
speak softly and deferentially; even more so when she spoke the Common Tongue.
She had gotten better at speaking with authority, but she’d always had Daenerys
there to encourage her. The oarsman’s trial was the first time she did it
alone, and that ended in snot-vomit. With every word Tyrion said, the hole
inside her grew. She sighed.
“I know,” said Tyrion, as if he could read her thoughts. “I’ll help you with
it.”
“And Missandei will help you. If I’m to speak, I must speak with my own voice,
and she knows it best.” If left to Tyrion alone, she would sound like a short
brown girl pretending to be Tywin Lannister, when what she needed was to sound
like Tywin Lannister pretending to be a short brown girl.
Before either of them could respond, Irri spotted Jon stirring in bed.
These fools can wait. “Leave me,” she stood and waved in their general
direction, not bothering to look away from her King.
Tyrion, Missandei, and Sam all stood. Irri pointed at the Grand Maester. “Not
you.”
Sam remained standing while the others took their leave. Irri regarded him. Her
look seemed to catch him by surprise. Jon’s eyes stayed closed, but his body
grew ever more restless.
“He ate some cheese yesterday, Your Grace,” Sam announced, sheepishly.
‘He ate some cheese.’ That’s meant to comfort me? Irri barely acknowledged him,
and pulled a chair up to the side of the bed.
“He’s resting, Your Grace.” Sam moved toward her. “I wouldn’t--”
“Sit.” Irri’s eyes locked with his and dragged his plump ass back down to his
seat. She turned to Jon, kissed his forehead and stroked his hair. How long do
you think you can do this? Do you think the Realm sleeps when you do?
“What time is it?” Jon asked once he opened his eyes.
“Late, my love. You missed the trial.”
Jon rolled his eyes. “Bugger.” Bugger your ‘bugger.’ We both know you meant to
sleep through it.
Irri wasted no time with coddling him. “Jon, you must get out of bed. I need
you. I can’t do this alone.”
“And I need you.” At least you know that much.
She turned back to Sam. “Water.” Sam found a flagon, poured a cup, and handed
it to her.
Irri turned back to Jon. “Sit up, my love.” She tugged at him.
He grimaced, annoyed that someone had the gall to ask him to do something.
“Stop. Sit up.” She handed him the cup as soon as he was upright. “Drink. It
will cleanse you.” Jon did as he was bid, too exhausted to argue. Irri lifted
the flagon of dreamwine on his bedside table. “You don't need any of this, do
you?”
Jon shrugged, looking to Sam, hoping he would say something.
“You don’t,” she answered for him, “but you let Sam give it to you anyway.” She
turned and shot daggers at Sam. Neither he nor Jon spoke a word.
Irri picked Jon’s chamber pot from under the bed, and emptied the flagon into
it. “No more. You cannot do that to me.” Jon paused and exhaled. She put he
flagon down firmly and turned to Sam, who looked ashamed. You should be. She
handed him the chamber pot. “Empty this.”
“But Your Grace--”
“Empty it. Now. Toss it out the window, or drink it.” Sam nodded and moved
toward the window. Irri turned back to Jon. “No more dreamwine. Do you hear
me?!”
“Yes, I hear you!” He was grumpy, like a child. We’ll fix your tone later, boy.
The thought surprised her. I’m not ready for that, she assumed, for no
particular reason.
Irri turned back to Sam. “You’re his friend, and a maester. You of all people
should know better.” She tossed the empty flagon of dreamwine at his feet. “One
more drop without my leave, and I’ll name you a traitor for poisoning the King.
Understood?”
Sam looked like he was about to say something, but thought the better of it.
“Y--Yes, Your Grace. Please, forgive me.”
Only because I’m too tired not to. “Go."
Sam bowed and left. Irri turned back to Jon. “And when will His Grace deign to
say more than four words to his grieving wife?”
His Grace’s eyes showed the same agony that had gripped him since he first woke
the night of the murder. Don’t you see that in me as well?
“I would die without you,” Irri pleaded. “I don’t mean ‘I love you so much that
I would die of a broken heart if you left me.’ I mean if you can no longer
rule, men will storm this castle and kill me. Do you understand that? I needyou
to be fit to rule. I need to learn from you.”
“I know. I’m sorry, truly. I won’t leave you to do this alone,” Jon promised.
“You deserve the man I was three days ago, and I haven’t been that man. That's
my fault. This has been harder than I thought.”
Yes, naps are so hard. But he at least apologized, so she gave him credit for
that much and kissed his forehead again. “You’ve faced things much worse than
grief before, and you’ve beaten them.”
“That’s true. But I still miss her,” Jon said softly. “I miss her love.”
Irri took his meaning. She expected to agree without question, but the words
didn’t come out.
Jon sensed the hesitation. “Is something wrong?” I don’t know, is it?
“No.” She gazed at him, silently, until something finally did come out. “Before
you met her, did you ever want someone to love you like that?”
“Yes,” Jon said after some thought. “I didn’t know it, but yes. So many things
make so much more sense to me, now.”
“I never wanted it,” Irri found herself blurting out. “I loved it because I
loved her. But I’ve known true surrender in my life, and I never want to know
it again.” She’d always told herself that, but understood it merely as a sign
of how deeply she loved her Queen. But her Queen was gone. Never mind what that
says about Daenerys, she told herself. What does it say about you? Suddenly, a
few things made more sense to her as well. She felt as if something inside her
was finally at peace.
“I would never ask you to do that for me, you know,” Jon told her.
“Oh, I know.” Irri had never worried that Jon would suddenly want to chain her
to the ceiling and beat her, but her tone carried a certainty she hadn’t
anticipated. She realized her mouth had started to water.
Jon blushed, and smiled for the first time in three days. It’s too soon to
remember how beautiful you are. She poured him another cup of water, slowly
finding it more important that this man be fully awake.
“You know I never wanted this bloody crown,” he reminded her as he took a sip.
“I hate this game. You can't be a person. You have to convince everyone of the
lie that you're more than that. With Dany, if I was scared, or angry, or hurt,
she took me as I was. I could admit to not knowing everything, I could pity
myself, and doubt myself. And she just helped me through it.”
Irri tipped the cup back. “Drink faster.”
Another fleeting but unmistakably sly smile darted across his face as he
finished his cup and poured himself another. “For all the cruel things she did,
she never once failed me.” Lucky you. He must have sensed Irri’s resentment. “I
know she was not always as good to you,” he backtracked. “But you made her into
the woman I fell in love with. I owe so much to you.”
His words touched her, but she was still uncertain what to do next.
Jon took a breath. “I need that, my love.”
Now it’s all laid bare. Not that she was surprised. She enjoyed the games Dany
let her play with him, but they were never more than games. This is no game,
though. She could tell by the look in his eyes.
“Are you asking that of me?”
“I suppose you’d be the one to ask,” he smiled his stupid, infuriatingly
gorgeous half-smile, “but I can’t bring myself to ask it." You just
did. "You’ve played the games, but I don't know if that's--you’re not--” He
stopped suddenly. She was right, this boy does think too much.
“I’m not Daenerys, and I never will be.” Irri finished for him.
Jon paused, searching for a way out of a hole he hadn't even dug. “I’m sorry, I
should not have said it like that.”
“Yes, you should have.” She stopped him. “I’m not her, and I will never pretend
to be. If you want Dany again, there are a thousand whores in this city with
silver wigs. I am myself, and I will only ever be myself.”
“I know, and I love you for that. But Dany--”
“Was half mad. We must not hide from that. Her madness freed millions and saved
this world, but she made many, many mistakes.” He doesn’t know all of them, she
had to remind herself, but don’t trouble him with that.
Irri reached under the covers to find him naked. She grabbed his cock and felt
it in her hand. It was soft, from grief and dreamwine. “She treated you so well
because she feared you. She feared what would happen to the Realm if she pushed
you too far.”
Jon nodded.
Irri had seen him with Dany enough to know the sort of words and the tone of
voice he wanted to hear, and if it would bring her King back, she’d play the
part. She caught his eyes, and squeezed his manhood tightly. “I don’t fear
you.”
That surprised him. She felt him stir, which made her stir as well. Suddenly
her heart sped up. I do need this.
“I don’t have the beasts inside me that she had,” she told him as she began to
stroke. Where is this coming from? It was coming more easily than it ever had
with Dany, and all she wanted was more. More. “I will push you as hard as she
ever did,” she declared, uncertain how she’d do it, but not doubting herself in
the least. His cock grew quickly and hardened in her hand. She tugged it toward
her and held it there. “But I will always pull you back when it’s time.” She
stopped stroking and let the desperation build in him. “And when you learn to
trust me in that,” she explained, still not stroking, but teasing the head of
his cock with her thumb, “then, bastard, you will learn helplessness.”
Jon closed his eyes, slowly allowing himself to succumb. Yes, do that. Stop
thinking, like she taught you. It’s my hand that matters, not this silly thing
it’s holding.
“Daenerys named both of us as her heirs,” Irri reminded him, as she began to
stroke again. “Everything that was hers must belong to one of us now. And you
don’t belong to yourself, do you?”
“No…”
“No, not a man like you. You are mine to rule, now. Mine alone.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
That's someone else, not me.She smacked him. “Her Grace is dead,” she reminded
him, and herself. “You will not address me by a dead woman's title.” The word
“dead” stuck in her mind. She wanted to beat it down to nothing, like the sweet
boy before her.
“I’m sorry, Khaleesi.”
He learns quickly. That made her wet. She thanked Dany silently for leaving her
such a smart, docile boy. “Better. Do not make the same mistake twice.”
“I won’t, Khaleesi.”
She handed him the flagon of water, still half full. “Drink.” Jon drank slowly,
so as not to spill. “Drink.” He closed his eyes and gulped. “Better.”
Irri watched for a moment, to make certain he was drinking quickly enough, and
without spilling. “If you ever decide you don’t want this, say the word and
I’ll stop. But I love you, and I think I may need this as much as you do.
Please do this for me.”
“You know you didn't have to ask, Khaleesi.”
“Of course not.” Irri smiled as she stood, snapped her fingers, and pointed to
the spot on the floor beneath the manacles that still dangled from the ceiling
just as Dany had left them. Ever the good boy, Jon rose and sat at the side of
the bed, his feet barely touching the ground. He looked up at Irri, uncertain
if his ankle could support his weight.
Irri grabbed a pillow and tossed it on the floor where he was to kneel. “I’ll
help you.” She reached under his arms.
“I should piss first. That was a lot of water.” He looked at her gingerly,
uncertain how to properly broach the subject.
I will teach you, my love. She found his chamber pot and let him piss to his
heart’s content. When he was done, she helped him stand and walk, and held him
patiently as he slid down to his knees and positioned his injured foot on the
pillow, looking up at her when he knew he was comfortable.
She took Dany’s whip from its drawer, neatly and precisely coiled, just as Her
Grace had always insisted upon leaving it. A pang of grief and guilt and fear
washed over her. She would want you to do this. She would be wroth with you if
you didn’t. Silly girl.
“You’ve knelt here before,” she said, once she’d returned, “but as you said,
with me it was a game. Her game, because we were hers to play with. But we are
not hers now, and this is no game. I love you too much for that. Pledge me your
service.” She extended the hand that held the whip. “Kiss.”
He obeyed. Jon had never kissed her insincerely, and Irri suspected she had
this Eddard fellow to thank for that. But there was a solemnity to the way his
lips lingered on her skin that she'd never felt from anyone before. They
pressed firmly, but there was no lust, no hunger to move on to the parts of her
she knew he wanted more. I told him to pledge, so he's pledging. She could grow
accustomed to that.
Irri flipped her hand and opened it, her palm facing the ceiling, holding the
handle of the whip in place with her soft, tiny thumb. “Kiss the whip that
lashes you.”
A wanton look flashed in Jon’s eyes, betraying the lust for a merciless beating
that he’d so far only hinted at. She was right, you are a little slut, aren’t
you? Irri smiled down, promising ample wantonness shortly.
She closed her fist and pointed to the floor with her other hand. Jon knew what
that meant. He put his palms on the floor, lowered his nose, and softly kissed
the tops of her feet. Irri had always wondered what it was about a man’s kisses
on her feet that ignited such lust in her. Was her body simply built that way?
Or was it the meaning of the gesture? Both, she decided, at least for herself.
Jon’s muscles were still quite firm despite his three days abed, and the sight
of his back and biceps flexing to hold his weight in place made her understand
why Daenerys took such pleasure in seeing men in that position. A man’s body
was built for strength. To lift, to throw, to run, to fight. And to murder, and
rape, and throw others in chains. Even with his twisted ankle, Jon could still
easily subdue her if he truly wanted to. But he didn’t. What he truly wanted--
all he truly wanted--was to put that strength at her disposal. To toil for her,
to humble himself, to suffer for her pleasure, to do her bidding. Would that
every man in the world could fit in this room. With that, the nightshirt was
gone.
Irri flexed her toes under his chin, lifting his eyes to hers. I said pledge
yourself, and I have yet to hear the words.
“I’m yours to command, Khaleesi.” Jon knew how to read a woman’s eyes. “Yours
alone. I will rule with you. I will protect you from anyone who would do you
harm. I will serve and obey you until the end of my days. I will forsake my own
pleasure for yours, and should I fail, I will suffer as you see fit.”
“And you will love me.” Or the rest means nothing.
“I will always love you.”
She extended her hand again, this time gripping the King’s forearm to help him
off his knees. Jon looked at the manacles nervously.
“I won’t hurt you. Not your ankle. Do you trust me?”
Jon nodded, and complied eagerly as she affixed the manacles and suspended him
just as Dany used to do, so his feet just barely touched the ground.
Irri paced slowly around him and admired his body again. Had she not known he’d
been abed and miserable for three days, she would have guessed he’d just gotten
back from training in the yard. Every muscle was sculpted perfectly; lean but
powerful. And gods be good, that ass. She wanted to throw a coin at it to see
if it would bounce right back into her hand.
“First, sweet boy,” Irri began as she took her position behind him, “we must
address how you speak to me.” She uncoiled the whip, and cracked it against the
floor. “I asked you a question earlier, and you spoke me harshly, like I’m some
bothersome serving girl.” She lashed him firmly. “Do you remember?”
“I do, Khaleesi. I’m sorry.” I promised I’d fix your tone, didn't I?
She gave him another lash, this time with her backhand. “I forbade you
dreamwine because you were poisoning yourself with it. I can't bear to lose you
too.” Her rage at the notion that he'd do such a thing made her lash him again,
harder than she planned. That scared her. It should. She took a breath and
collected herself, then continued.
“You have many reasons to be angry with the world,” she continued. “But you
will nevertake out your anger at others on me.”
“Yes, Khaleesi.” He winced as the whip stung his back once more, not quite as
hard this time. “I'm sorry, Khaleesi.” She paused, measuring his reaction. He
can take it. Good.
“I promise the same,” she resumed. “You don't deserve to suffer for the sins of
others.” She lashed him again, harder this time, but more carefully measured.
“Only your own.”
Jon growled softly, as he did when his arousal overpowered him. Irri took that
as a good sign.
“It will be ten for the insolence earlier.” That sounds reasonable, she
supposed. “Next time it will be twenty. More than that, when we’ve finished
grieving.” Jon nodded and grunted as she gave him another lash. “Count!”
He counted off and thanked her for each lash. Each “thank you, Khaleesi” was
more fervent than the last. He was basking in it. She could see the boulder of
misery on his back break apart each time the whip struck him; his burden
lighter and his posture stronger with every lash. Daenerys had it backwards.
This is for him more than me. But that didn’t stop her from relishing it.
I’m no longer borrowing him. He’s mine, to mold as I like. With every ounce of
the burden she took away came a new rule. He would no longer dress like a
beggar when he was alone with her. He would eat fruit and fish two nights for
every one night he ate steak. He would train at swords six days each week,
whether he needed to or not. He would drop to his knees the moment they were
alone together, and pleasure her unless commanded not to. He could piss all he
pleased, but would ask first if he knew she meant to have his body soon. She
alone would decide when and where and how he’d spill his seed, but she would
allow it at least once every week. For now.
She made him recite the whole list each time she added a new rule, so he would
not forget. When he made his first mistake, she gave him the choice of another
lash or a night without release. He chose the lash, and made no further
mistakes.
Irri could see why Dany lusted so much for the thrill of hurting someone. It
was power in its purest form; conquest and subjugation, undiluted by the
demands of millions of others and the constraints of custom and politics. But
Dany was a conqueror. It was in her blood. Irri was never like that, but she
could still sense that she would never go back to what she was.
For her, the beauty of this kind of power was the simplicity it brought. With
Jon, she would never again have to dance around what she wanted, or fear asking
too much, or accept his refusal to even try to fix his shortcomings as the
price of love. She would never have to trick him into being a better man; only
to give him the command and help him summon the strength to obey her.
She unchained him when it was over, letting him hold her to steady himself,
softly stroking his back. He needs this part as much as he needed the rest.
“Are you hurt, my love?”
“Yes. Thank you, Khaleesi,” he replied as he caught his breath, limping with
her toward the bed. “Truly.”
“You needed it, didn’t you?”
“I needed to feel something that wasn’t grief. You made me feel like a man
again.”
That was agonizingly beautiful. “You are a man. Some say you’re the finest man
to ever live.” She looked up. “So fuck me and prove it.”
Neither of them could be bothered with mouths or fingers. Jon pushed Irri back
onto the bed, and guided his cock into her. They kissed like they were about to
devour each other. Irri dug her nails into Jon’s back and dragged them
downward. The pain as they tore across the welts on his skin only sent him
deeper into madness.
She hadn’t meant to hurt him, and for half a heartbeat thought about loosening
her grip. But she couldn’t. She needed to feel someone inside her, to remember
she was alive as well. They did their best to fuck it all away. They fucked for
Daenerys. Because of her. In spite of her. They fucked to please her, to
celebrate her, and to forget her. They fucked to console each other, to use
each other to console themselves, and to gird each other for the life they were
about to face with no one else to rely upon. They fucked as husband and wife,
mistress and slave, Queen and King. Every one of his thrusts sent Irri’s eyes
back in her head, and her thoughts all melted into a blur.
She suddenly realized she was crying. Jon had a tear on his cheek as well, but
Irri was an utter mess. The sight of her made him hesitate. Don’t stop. The
only way you can hurt me is if you fucking stop. She thumped her heels against
his back to make that clear, and saw any qualms about ravaging a sobbing woman
vanish from his mind. Jon was clearly struggling to shut out the pain in his
back and ankle, but the part of her that cared was lost in the cacophony of
moans and grunts and heavy breath. The tears began to blind her, and soon it
was all she could do to close her eyes and feel him; his lips on hers, and the
taste of lust and hunger and grief.
Jon growled again, louder and closer to her ear. Daenerys was not the last
Dragon, that reminded her. Sometimes she forgot about Jon. He would never hurt
her, she was almost certain, but her cunt soaked itself from the terror of
knowing he could. I must be careful with him.
The next thought overwhelmed her. He IS the last Dragon now, and he knows it.
And Daenerys was with child when she died. Suddenly she felt terrible for being
so impatient with him. Irri had suffered her share of loss, but never a child.
She wondered if Jon had even brought himself to think of that, but decided it
wasn’t her place to ask. I must give him what Dany couldn’t. Giving him that
meant giving him her womb, so she offered it to him, and he took it.
Afterward, they lay together for what must have been hours. At first, Jon
seemed afraid to speak, but Irri refused to allow that. She asked again if he
was hurt. If he was satisfied. If she had pushed him too hard, or not hard
enough. She told him not to blame himself for what happened their Queen; for
urging her to go to the docks, and letting her stray from his protection. That
he must not think such things, for his own sake, and hers, and the Realm’s. She
told him how badly she needed his love, and his counsel, and his beautiful,
incomparable strength. That he was the finest King and the finest man the Realm
had ever known. That he’d made the world a better place, and her a better
person, and that he wasn’t done.
They cried, and comforted each other. They thanked the Mother of Dragons for
bringing them together. For showing them what they were, and how they loved,
and that their love was as strong and pure and right as anyone else’s. They
thanked her for changing them in the ways they needed changing, and for showing
them what they could be when they were at their best. They thanked her for
enslaving them to her, and for using their enslavement to set them on the path
to a greater freedom, from the prison of other men’s lies about what they were
and what they should be. They promised her the child she’d so desperately
wanted. They professed their devotion to each other, and to Dany’s memory, and
vowed to finish the work she’d begun, on themselves, and the world.
Missandei and Tyrion came that evening to find Jon dressed and out of bed,
eating a proper meal. No one said it, but they knew then that the Realm would
hold. The three of them worked on her speech all night until they could barely
keep their eyes open, and again in the morning. Irri practiced, and practiced,
and practiced, until she could speak the words without thinking. And then it
was time to do what they all dreaded, but what Irri knew must be done.
As they left, Irri pulled Missandei into a corner, away from everyone, Jon
included. “The Prince Rhaegar will be set upon by pirates,” she whispered.
Missandei looked at her, confused. “I don’t understand, Your Grace.”
“The captain will die defending it.” Irri’s eyes grew steely, daring her Hand
to ask why.
Missandei was smarter than that. “As you say.” That was the last she ever meant
to speak of it.
A light rain began to fall as she stood with Jon at a smoke-stained pulpit in
the roofless, half-rebuilt shrine that used to be the Sept of Baelor. Next to
them lay Daenerys Targaryen on her pyre, her red and black tunic fixed tightly
around her neck to hide the stitching that held her head in place. She looks
almost as she should. Tied to a stake behind her was the oarsman, stone-faced
and staring daggers at Irri every chance he got, unrelenting in his silent,
motionless hate. This time, she denied him the satisfaction of averting her
eyes.
The high lords sat in a half-circle around the body. Behind them were Freedmen,
Bloodriders, and others who had been with her since she was still half a child.
Some stood vacantly, like walking corpses, lost and shattered. Some cried. Irri
wished she could be one of them. Courtiers and lesser nobles spilled out onto
the steps and into the plaza, where thousands of smallfolk had gathered to
watch the smoke. How many will rejoice when they see it? She wondered. How many
because they think me weak enough to topple in a fortnight?
Dragons circled overhead, distraught. Irri was grateful that they kept the
peace, but dreaded what they would do when they saw their mother burn.
Goldcloaks, Unsullied, and Queensguard were everywhere, to prevent chaos from
breaking out when people realized Daenerys was truly gone.
Jon looked up at the darkening clouds in the afternoon sky. “We should get on
with it, before the pyre gets too wet.” Irri nodded, saving her words for the
speech.
Jon stepped forward and addressed the nobles, leaning on a cane, grimacing when
he put too much weight on his ankle. Some of the lords murmured. He let them,
because he knew his words would shame them into silence. The King spoke freely,
sincerely, and with no plan, but it made no matter. Only Jon could tell the
stories he did. Nearly all who had witnessed it with him were dead. Hordes of
dead men bathed in fire, blazing swords, prophets and weirwood trees and secret
promises from Eddard Stark. It made Irri feel small. I knew how to spice her
wine and lick her cunt, surely that counts for something, no?
With the lords duly shamed, Jon stepped back. All eyes turned to Irri, filling
her with a sudden and unexpected terror. She bit the inside of her cheek to
sweep it all out of her mind and stepped up to the railing. She made the
mistake of looking at Tyrion in the front row, desperate to find some
reassurance in his eyes. ‘Don’t bugger this up, or we’re all dead,’ was all he
had for her.
The railing was high, and she worried she looked half a child compared to Jon.
Too late now. Go. “Daenerys Targaryen is gone, and we shall never see her like
again,” she began, her voice maddeningly soft and sweet. “It is known.”
She included the Dothraki phrase at Missandei’s suggestion, to show the nobles
that she was not ashamed of who she was. Her Hand also had her make a point of
pronouncing Dany’s name in proper High Valyrian, “Die-nay-rees,” not “Duh-neh-
riss,” as they called her in the Common Tongue. “These men will claim to be cut
from the same cloth as her, but she was never their creature,” her Hand advised
her. “She came into her greatness in the East. You witnessed that yourself.
They didn’t. Do not let them forget.”
The silence hung uncomfortably long, as if she had revealed her Dothrakiness
for the first time. “It is also known that there are men here who question why
I, of all people, stand before you.” Again, why lie? “Men who want my crown,
and the rest of my head with it.” She was uncertain who she meant, but certain
she spied at least one of them in the crowd.
“I stand here because the Mother of Dragons willed it. Because I loved her.
Before the dragons, before the conquests, and before the War for Dawn, when she
was still her brother’s to trade like a horse. I cared for her when she nearly
died in the birthing bed, and I comforted her when she woke to learn her child
had never lived.” None of you grasping little shits can say that. “I’ve
suffered with her. I’ve suffered for her. I’ve suffered because of her. And
now, I suffer without her. I am here because I stood up against the Dragon
inside her, and unlike so many, I lived, and she loved me for it.”
She paused. “All of us are here because Her Grace chose this for us. Because
she allowed it. Because she commanded it. Because she fought an army of the
dead to make it so. Because our choice was to ride or march or sail with her
and risk death, or to stay where we were and ensure it. Because she led us
across deserts and seas and a frozen hell. Because she wanted to better this
world, and because she demanded we better ourselves.”
“We will never repay our debt to her, but she would not want us to. She would
say she did the least she could do with the gifts she'd been given. We will
never capture her greatness in a speech, or a song, or a statue, and we should
not try. Rather, she would have us turn our eyes to what's to come.”
“There is still a Realm to set to right. There are still chains to break, and
injustice to wipe away. There are ancient feuds to put to rest, and wars to win
for good and all.” Yes, those wars. She wasn't the only one to know what it's
like to be sold. “There are still pretenders and pirates and traitors to
vanquish; not only for my sake or your King’s, but for your own.”
“I may speak softly, in the accent of a strange people. I may be brown of skin
and short of height, and I may be known to all of you as the handmaiden she
fucked to pass the time on a ship.” There, I said it. “But she met all of you.
She knew who amongst you are strong, or gallant, or from an ancient line. She
could have married any of you, but she didn’t.”
“She chose me. She crowned me, and proclaimed me her heir and consort in front
of all of you. I am the one her eunuchs follow now. I am the one her dragons
protect.” I hope. “I am Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, and I am Queen of
these Seven Kingdoms. And if you worshipped her like you told her when she was
alive; if you meant it when you swore yourselves to her service, then I am your
final act of service to her.” She sensed the crowd grow tense, but spotted
Tyrion and Missandei nod at her to keep going.
“You have a choice, my lords. It’s the same choice you faced when Daenerys
first came here to take what was hers. You can fight her will for you, and for
this world, or you can submit--not because you feared her, but because you
trusted her. Because you trusted she would use the power you gave her to make
your lives better, and because she kept her word.”
“I will not ask you to trust me so much until I’ve shown you why you should.
And I know I must do much and more to show you. But until then, my lords, keep
trusting her. Trust that she would not put a fool or a whore or a tyrant on the
Throne she worked so hard to win. And even if you mistrust her wisdom in
crowning me, trust the one thing no one can deny about Daenerys Stormborn: that
those who would thwart her shall die screaming. I pray I will never have to
prove that to you, and I would beg you all pray with me. But I promise you, my
lords, I will carry on that legacy if I must. Magic gave her the dragons, but
there was no magic to how she took and kept what was hers. In Daenerys, you
have lost a woman whom some of you loved and others hated, but who none of you
denied was your rightful Queen. Now, you shall have another.”
The nobles shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Good. She looked at Tyrion and
Missandei. ‘You’ve done well,’ she smiled at them. They seemed to agree. She
stepped from the pulpit and was promptly joined by two Queensguard as she
approached the body and knelt next to it. Jon joined her but remained standing,
to avoid the spectacle of being helped down and back up.
“You should not have done what you did to that man, but you know that now.”
Irri whispered her farewell in Dothraki, because this was none of anyone’s
concern, not even Jon’s. “And I forgive you for what you did to me. You rescued
me from so much, and I hope that by the end I'd rescued you from the worst of
your demons, whatever they were." She paused. "There are slaves in the Night
Lands, too, Khaleesi. Free them, so there will be none but Jon and me when we
join you.” She stroked the dead Queen’s silver hair and kissed her on the
forehead, then stood, stepped back, and regarded her one last time.
“Burn her,” she told the guards, almost coldly. It caught everyone off guard,
including Jon. But her only other choice was to sob like a madwoman and be
dragged away, and she no longer had that luxury.
The guards looked at Jon, who nonetheless nodded his assent, and lit the
torches. Irri could not bear to stay and watch her burn. She will burn,
though, something told her in her gut. She stood for a moment, until the
oarsman began to twist violently but helplessly against the stake. Why am I
standing here? This is done, now.
The rain picked up, as if it had been waiting for the fire to catch. Before the
flames could engulf her wife’s body, Irri stepped around the pyre and strode
slowly, deliberately toward the door, through the center of the crowd as they
went to one knee before her. She couldn’t be certain if it came from respect
for Jon, or if her speech was that good, but it made no matter. Keep doing
that. There will be no more speeches to remind you.
She reached the steps and surveyed the mass of smallfolk in the plaza as she
descended. They were surprised to see her, as the smoke had barely started to
rise. Nonetheless, she decided to walk back to the Red Keep, silently, and
alone save for her guards. When the Goldcloaks realized it, they flooded the
street to keep the smallfolk well away from her. That made Irri sad, though she
was no fool and understood the need. But walking back through the streets was a
gesture of courage that she desperately needed to show, and she could not wait
until someone counseled her to show it.
The crowd eyed her silently and uncertainly as she passed. None dared to move
or shout, lest they draw the ire of the Goldcloaks. Irri kept her eyes directly
in front of her, making no effort to acknowledge them, preferring to simply
keep moving. I am not afraid to walk among you, but whether any of us like it
or not, I am no longer one of you. 
Jon crept up behind her, doing his best to walk quickly. No further. She put a
hand out for half a heartbeat, barely noticeable to anyone but him. He took her
meaning and obeyed.
She needed him a step behind. He was a Targaryen. The kind with the blood of
Valyria in his veins, and the seed of Valyria in his balls. And as much as she
trusted him to never betray her, that still made him dangerous. If he walked
abreast with her, they would always see him as the true King, and her as merely
his dead wife’s handmaiden. Fair or not, she needed to be a step ahead to be
called an equal, and the Realm would forever need reminding that they were, in
fact, equals. And he will need reminding that in all of those other, far more
beautiful ways, we are most certainly not.
The Queen was basking in the silence, grateful for a few minutes alone with her
thoughts, when part of her suddenly wanted nothing but to run back and kneel by
the fire until the last ember burned out, though she knew the sight of Dany’s
body burning would crush and horrify her.
‘If you look back, you are lost,’a voice told her, clear as day. ‘March on,
sweetling. Heal. Rule.’
Irri knew only one thing to say to that. ‘Yes, Khaleesi.’ She obeyed without
question, and trained her eyes up Aegon’s High Hill.
Chapter End Notes
     EPILOGUE: The Dangling Plotline
     “You should try this delicious new kind of nut from Essos, my lord,”
     the handmaiden told Aegon. “It’s called a peanut.”
     “That sounds great, I’ve always been an adventurous eater. Surely
     nothing can go wrong from eating this pea-nut you speak of.” He
     popped the nut into his mouth. I CAN’T BREATHE!!
     “Oh, snap!” Shouted the handmaiden as Aegon’s face swelled up and he
     started choking. She ran out of the room. Get help, bitch!
     But if help ever came, Aegon never knew it, because he went into
     anaphylactic shock and died shortly thereafter. No one cared, though,
     as Jon, Dany, and Irri were having tons of super hot threesomes by
     then.
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