Delightful Duty Chapter 2 (Patreon)

“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods!” Rhaenyra cried, clawing at the bedding in front of her as Jon fucked her like an animal.

The sounds of meaty slaps filled the room as his hips impacted her round, fleshy arse again and again, making the pale cheeks jiggle and ripple each time. His thick fingers dug into her hips so hard that she knew that he’d leave bruises, but in that moment, she couldn’t care less, not when he felt so impossibly good inside her.

“Fucking hells, I could have you forever,” Jon grunted, unable to believe that she already wanted more from him, but more than happy to give it to her.

They’d spent hours the previous night unleashing their passions on one another, indulging the all-consuming lust that they shared, and yet his gorgeous princess clearly hadn’t had enough, choosing to wake him by impaling herself on his cock.

“You can have me...nightly...if it keeps feeling like this!” Rhaenyra gasped, her eyes clenched shut as she felt herself race towards her peak.

He had always thought it strange that Rhaenyra had had three sons in nearly as many years, especially when, owing to their coloring, they gave her enemies in court ever more weapons to use against her. Now he did, though, because, having had her, he couldn’t fathom spending one night outside her bed if he was willing to have him. Reaching under her left arm, he cupped one of her large breasts and pulled her up until her back was pressed against his chest, his hips not slowing for a moment as he continued to fuck her.

“Oh fuck!” Rhaenyra cried as the new position let his cock brush against something that felt bloody marvelous. Reaching behind her with her right hand, she sunk her fingers into his sweat-dampened brown locks and moaned, “Right there, right there, I’m going to cum again!”

Jon growled, holding her arm in place as he licked the salty sweat from her neck and reached down through the forest of silver curls atop her sex to stroke her throbbing clit.

“Cum for me, princess,” he whispered in her ear. “Be a good girl and cum.”

He had no idea what possessed him to say the words as he fucked her so hard that her breasts slapped against her chest with each thrust, but the effect was immediate. Rhaenyra screamed, her whole body going taut as she came hard. Writhing in ecstasy, she fell forward, and he went with her as her spasming cunt milked his cock. With a roar of her name, he spilled inside her, loosing what had to be the last seed he still had deep inside her tight tunnel.

“By the...gods!” Rhaenyra gasped as she came down from her high, resting her cheek on the sodden bedding and trying to catch her breath.

“Took the words...right out of...my mouth,” Jon panted, inhaling the scent of her sweat and their sex. Somehow, despite how many times he must have finished inside her in the last twelve hours, he felt his softening cock twitch at the aroma.

“Oh, rabbits!?” Laenor called out, and Rhaenyra shrieked, her eyes darting to the hidden door, which had been opened just the tiniest amount.

“Go away!” she hissed.

“Nyra, dear, I was happy to go along with this charade last night, and you clearly enjoyed yourself, but I have things to do today, and I can’t do them while the whole castle is hearing you get fucked,” Laenor sighed, sounding irritated.

“You...you heard us?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice shrinking as her face turned a bright red.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Driftmark heard you,” Laenor snorted. “Father might actually think he has cause to be proud of me for once.”

Jon winced at the mostly masked pain in his voice at that comment.

“As your husband, I can’t be seen publicly while you’re clearly having fun in bed, and I need to get to going, so please, either finish up or learn to bite a pillow like the rest of us,” Laenor finished before closing the door.

Jon pulled out of Rhaenyra’s gaping, very pink cunt and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling as the two of them laid there in awkward silence.

“I…” Jon went to say.

“No,” Rhaenyra cut him off, not meeting his gaze as she got out of bed on shaky legs. “Clearly, we’re done for now.”

She took a couple steps forward, and her knees buckled. With speed that surprised them both, Jon rushed to her side, wrapping his arms around her and holding her upright. Rhaenyra melted into his embrace immediately, looking up at him with deep purple eyes that darkened slightly as she met his own.

“I think your legs are still a touch numb,” he murmured, brushing her damp hair out of her face.

“Your fault,” Rhaenyra muttered, burying her face in the crook of his neck and looking embarrassed.

“I’m sor…” Jon went to say, but she kissed him before he could finish, and he returned it eagerly, feeling his spent member twitch as his hands trailed down and he cupped her plump arse.

“Don’t apologize for last night,” Rhaenyra whispered, looking up at him with such raw affection that he felt his heart skip a beat. “It was wonderful; everything I could have wanted in my first time. I just wish it was.”

Jon felt a rage well inside him at the thought of Criston Cole touching her, and he shook his head, surprised by his own possessiveness.

“I don’t imagine that breaking your maidenhead with a cock as large as mine would have been particularly pleasant,” he murmured, unsure of what else to say.

“Perhaps,” Rhaenyra sighed. “It’s not as though I’m not rather sore as it is. I’m going to take a long, very hot bath, and then I have to listen to petitions for a while. Sitting on my throne will be unpleasant, I’m afraid.”

“Maybe we could get you a cushion,” Jon suggested.

“Apparently everyone on the bloody island heard us last night,” Rhaenyra said dryly, flushing slightly again. “I don’t think that I need to give them any further reasons to imagine what I spent it doing.”

“Fair enough,” Jon chuckled softly, unable to shake the feeling of pride at having given her such pleasure. “It’s a pity we can’t bathe together.”

“I think we’ve tempted fate enough for one day,” Rhaenyra murmured. “Just tell the servants to prepare a bath for you, and they’ll obey.”

“Right, I forgot to ask yesterday: what role did you imagine for me here?” Jon asked.

“I briefly considered making you the castellan of Dragonstone,” Rhaenyra replied, and Jon’s eyes widened at that. “You were Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, so clearly you have some experience with administration. I ultimately decided against it as, when I leave the island, I want to bring you with me, and bringing my castellan along would be deeply strange. I thought of a few other things before deciding that a formal role within Dragonstone wouldn’t work as well as simply having you become one of Laenor’s friends.”

“I’m sorry?” Jon asked, confused.

“Laenor keeps a number of young knights around here as friends and companions,” Rhaenyra replied. “Having one more wouldn’t be terribly unusual, and no one would question you going out of your way to befriend your apparent rescuer.”

“People might begin to suspect that Laenor and I are...very close,” Jon commented.

“Which would make them less likely to think that you’re warming my bed,” Rhaenyra grinned. “Does that idea bother you?”

Truth be told, it didn’t. Jon was still getting used to the idea that he was living among people that Maester Luwin had taught him about as a boy and who had been dead for over a century when he was born. He didn’t really care what any of them thought of him, with one notable exception.”

“No,” Jon replied. “The less reason we give the greens to suspect us, the better.”

“Excellent,” Rhaenyra smiled. “Come see me a couple hours before sunset. We can dine in private tonight. I have a few more questions about the future.”

“Of course,” Jon said, taking her hand and pressing his lips against her knuckles.

She gasped almost inaudibly and looked up at him with lidded eyes and parted lips, which he was struck by a sudden desire to kiss again. He squashed the desire and took a step back, making sure that she was able to stand on her own again. Rhaenyra gave him one last smile and turned to leave his chambers. Her legs didn’t buckle this time, but she limped rather pronouncedly, and Jon couldn’t help but think that seeing her walk would be more than enough for anyone to know what she’d been up to the previous night. Shaking his head, he stretched and set about starting his day.

*****

“Maester Gerardys, do you have a moment to spare?” Jon asked, finding the man alone in the castle’s library.

“I do,” Maester Gerardys replied. “I understand that the young lord has decided to take you into his service.”

“He has been most kind,” Jon replied, “as has the princess.”

“Princess Rhaenyra truly is as delightful as they say,” Maester Gerardys replied. “It has been a pleasure to serve under her since she arrived.”

“Actually, what I wanted to speak to you about concerns her,” Jon said, looking around to make sure that they were still alone. “Before I begin, though, which links did you earn in the citadel?”

Gerardys cocked an eyebrow at that, saying, “Not many among the smallfolk know what our chains signify.”

“I had a friend back in White Harbor who wanted to become a maester,” Jon lied, thinking of Sam. “He went out of his way to learn all that he could about the citadel and its practices.”

“Did he ever make it there?” Maester Gerardys asked.

“No,” Jon replied, looking down. “He…”

“Ah,” the maester said. “I’m sorry.”

It was an easy enough thing to pretend, for though he had no reason to think that Sam died on his journey to Oldtown, he wouldn’t be born for quite some time to come.

“To answer your question, I have twelve links in my chain,” Maester Gerardys replied, “and while the subject I am most knowledgeable about is medicine, I mastered many in my time there.”

“What about construction?” Jon asked. “Architecture and the like.”

“Pewter,” Maester Gerardys replied, fingering one of the gray links in his chain. “It was a subject that I showed some aptitude for.”

“Excellent,” Jon replied. “So my question is, if you had a near-limitless budget, and were told by the king to select one great construction project meant to better the realm, what would you choose?”

“To ask why,” Maester Gerardys replied, looking intrigued.

“Princess Rhaenyra is the Princess of Dragonstone, the heir to the throne, despite the fact that she has two brothers,” Jon replied. “His grace has made it very clear that his position on this will not change, but there are lords throughout the realm who disagree and I think it would be wise for her to put some effort into improving their estimation of her.”

“You think some of them might flock to her brother’s cause?” Maester Gerardys asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“I think it can’t hurt any prince or princess of Dragonstone to be well-liked by their future lords,” Jon replied carefully. “I owe Lord Laenor my life, and I can think of no better way to repay him than to try and help further secure his wife’s standing, given that his son or daughter will one day inherit the throne.”

Maester Gerardys stroked his beard and peered at Jon with great interest.

“I’m not the first maester you’ve ever spoken to, am I?” he asked.

“I grew up in a keep,” Jon replied, “and learned from a maester alongside the trueborn children of its lord. I have no family left and no one to fight for, but the princess and her husband…”

“Have given you a sense of purpose,” Maester Gerardys said, cutting him off. “Follow me.”

He rose from her seat and hurried along out of the room and through the halls of Dragonstone. Jon followed, wondering where exactly he was being taken, though as the maester opened the door to the Chamber of the Painted Table, he smiled, realizing what he had in mind. The room was empty, and Maester Gerardys wasted no time before lighting the braziers to give them a better view of the famous table.

“When I first laid eyes on this remarkable piece of furniture, I was astounded,” he commented. “There are maps in the citadel that are less detailed and accurate than this piece of wood. I’m fairly sure that I know which map was used as the reference for it, a creation of one of the most gifted cartographers of his day. That’s neither here nor there, though.”

“Aye,” Jon said, looking down at the table. “You have ideas?”

“Many,” Maester Gerardys replied. “Improving the state of the capital can go a long way towards improving the reputation of a prince or princess. The princess’ uncle, Prince Daemon, is...not the sort of man who wins friends and allies easily. He can inspire loyalty, but he makes enemies far more easily. Despite this, for his work with the City Watch, he is beloved by the people there, even all these years after leaving the organization he reshaped.”

“So something big and impossible to ignore,” Jon mused. Pointing to Visenya’s Hill, he asked, “What about a grand Sept here, something even more splendorous than the Starry Sept?”

“There is already a sept on Visenya’s Hill, though it is nothing like what you’re suggesting,” Maester Gerardys said, sounding surprised.

Jon may not have cared much for the Faith of the Seven, having grown up in the North and having had Lady Catelyn and Septa Mordane as his earliest influences connected to it, but he had to admit that the Sept of Rhaenyra did have a nice ring to it.

“I’m thinking of a vast, seven-sided structure of white marble,” Jon suggested, struggling to recall what he’d heard of the sept that Baelor had commissioned.

As a boy, Jon had dismissed the septon-king as a fool, lamenting how much less awesome he had been than his older brother. He wished that he had paid more attention to the lessons about him now.

“That...would go a long way toward endearing the princess to the people, highborn and lowborn alike,” Maester Gerardys said, sounding distinctly impressed. “I was thinking about an improved sewer system.”

“Right, doesn’t the capital smell terrible?” Jon asked. “I’ve never been, but I heard more than one sailor comment about how much better White Harbor smelled.”

“King’s Landing is a city that grew much faster than it should have,” the maester replied. “I thought that improvements made to its basic infrastructure could be useful for the princess, but that would pale next to your idea of a great sept.”

“Perhaps she could do both,” Jon mused. “I was thinking about suggesting that she speak to Lord Corlys about funding whichever idea you thought was best, given the immensity of his fortune.”

“I suspect that even the Sea Snake would be hard-pressed to pay for what we’ve envisioned already, much less the other idea that I was going to suggest,” Maester Gerardys said.

“Oh?” Jon asked.

“I’ve always been fascinated by just how close the Mander and the Blackwater Rush are,” the maester said, pointing to the two rivers on the painted table. “It would require some alterations to the Mander first, but if a canal were built linking the two, it could have an extraordinary impact on the capital.”

“Something that could allow people to sail right from Highgarden to King’s Landing?” Jon asked.

“It takes roughly three weeks for goods in the Reach to reach the capital by land,” Maester Gerardys said. “I would estimate that with the canal in place, those same goods could reach King’s Landing in one.”

“That would be extraordinary,” Jon murmured, his mind racing at the possibilities.

“It would enrich the Tyrells, but it would do so at the expense of the Hightowers,” Jon thought to himself. “No trader would willingly choose to venture to the smaller city over the capital itself if such a journey were made easy.”

Sailing from the sunset coast to King’s Landing now meant traveling around the continent, passing by Dorne. In his day, this wasn’t too bad, though having to pass through the Stepstones was likely unpleasant, but Dorne was still a separate and often hostile power in this period. This canal would weaken Oldtown if finished, and that alone made it worthwhile.

“How expensive would this end up being?” Jon asked.

“Enough that it would very likely bankrupt Lord Corlys,” Maester Geradys admitted, “though given how immensely useful it would be to both the Tyrells and King’s Landing, convincing Lord Matthos and his Grace to shoulder some of the costs would likely not be difficult.”

“It would certainly help improve the food supply in the capital,” Jon mused.

“Indeed,” the maester agreed. “I have a few other ideas, but honestly, I don’t think that any of them would be as helpful as what we’ve already discussed. Shall I bring this discussion up with the princess?”

“I wouldn’t yet,” Jon replied. “I’ll ask my rescuer if he thinks that his father would agree to this first, and if so, then we can mention it to her.”

“That’s fair,” Maester Gerardys said. “I have other duties that I must see to, so I’ll leave you to speak with him.”

“Thank you for your help,” Jon smiled.

“I serve at the princess’ pleasure,” Maester Gerardys said simply.

He left then, and Jon looked back down at the painted table. Out of all the ideas, the sept seemed like the best one, since her perceived piety was one of Alicent’s greatest weapons against Rhaenyra. The other ideas had plenty of merit, however, and if they could somehow find a way to pay for all of them, that would be ideal. How such a thing could be done, though, he had no idea.

“Jon?” Laenor asked as he walked in several minutes later.

“Good day,” Jon said. “I was just admiring the table.”

“Maester Gerardys passed me on his way to his chambers and mentioned that you had discussed something with him that he thought might be of interest to me,” Laenor said. “He said that you’d likely be by later, but I can talk now.”

“Right,” Jon said. “First off, I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Think nothing of it,” Laenor chuckled, joining him. “That was quite an impressive performance you two put on.”

Jon flushed and looked back at the table.

Changing the subject, he asked, “How easy do you think it would be to convince your father to fund a major construction project?”

“Not very,” Laenor replied. “My father is possibly the most brilliant seafarer to ever live, and when it comes to things that he sees value in, like ships and port towns, he often spares no expense, but when it comes to anything else…”

“What about canals?” Jon asked.

“You weren’t jesting about this being a major project that you had in mind,” Laenor breathed, his violet eyes going wide. “Where?”

“Here,” Jon said, pointing to the land between the Mander and the Blackwater Rush. “Maester Gerardys believes that a canal connecting these two rivers would be possible and immensely useful, helping the Reach get its goods to the capital in a third of the time it takes now.”

“Why would we do that?” Laenor asked. “I understand that would be helpful for the Tyrells and a boon to the capital, but why would we care to undertake such a project?”

“Because Rhaenyra could use the boost in her reputation that spearheading such a project could give her,” Jon replied, “and because this would fuck over Oldtown.”

“Ah,” Laenor said. “This is about your apparent visions of the future.”

“She told you?” Jon asked.

“She told me that you think you’ve seen the future or are from the future,” Laenor replied.

“Whatever you think of the things I’ve claimed to know, you must have heard enough from your parents to know that Otto Hightower is a grasping cunt,” Jon reasoned. “He wants his blood on the throne, and while he wouldn’t rebel against the king, who remains quite popular, especially while Prince Aegon is just a boy, he and the other lords who think that boy has the rightful claim to throne, will rise up before his grace goes cold. It’s just like how Maegor didn’t try to seize power until after his brother died.”

“How would they even manage it?” Laenor scoffed. “The Hightowers have one dragon on their side, a young and tiny thing at that.”

“Princess Helaena will claim Dreamfyre soon,” Jon replied, “and the queen will have another son, named Daeron, in whose crib will hatch a blue dragon called Tessarion. The worst of them, however, will be Prince Aemond.”

“Does he claim Vermithor?” Laenor asked, still sounding unconvinced. “Because Vhagar would be more than a match for him.”

“He claims Vhagar,” Jon replied solemnly, “after your sister dies in childbirth.”

“No,” Laenor said, taking a step back.

“I’ve already convinced Rhaenyra to try and convince her to spend the latter months of her pregnancies here, since Gerardys is a much better maester than your man in Driftmark, but…” Jon went to say.

“That can’t...you must be…” Laenor blubbered, sounding horrified.

“Look, even if I’m mad, even if I’m lying to you for some bizarre reason, everything that I’ve told you just now is possible,” Jon said. “The Greens and their allies could easily rebel against Rhaenyra, and that would put your family in the middle of a devastating war if they had even one of the more dangerous dragons on their side by then. The best thing we can do is try to undermine them while the king still lives.”

Laenor sighed and said, “Your canal could make allies of the Tyrells, which would split the loyalty of the Reach, not to mention financially impact Oldtown.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about that,” Jon murmured. “The other ideas I spoke with Maester Gerardys about were constructing a massive sept on Visenya’s Hill and improving the capital’s sewer system to try and help the smell, among other things.”

“My father’s not religious enough to fund your sept and he would laugh in my face if I suggested investing in the capital,” Laenor replied. Lowering his voice, he said, “Let Viserys fund such things himself. He never fails to find money for tourneys and feasts. You know, if you’d ever met him, you’d realize that is a very good impression.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it for now,” Jon smiled.

“Rhaenyra believes you, for what it’s worth,” Laenor said, “and this is her castle, so we’ll be taking you seriously for now at least.”

“If Princess Helaena claims Dreamfyre, as I said, would that be enough?” Jon asked. “She hasn’t had a rider since Queen Rhaena, and I doubt most people, aside from the dragon handlers, even know her name at this point. There’s no way that I could predict such a thing without having some knowledge of what’s going to come to pass.”

“If you’re wrong, I will try to convince Rhaenyra that you’ve been lying to her,” Laenor warned him.

“In that case, I hope Syrax finds me tasty,” Jon said confidently.

“Out of morbid curiosity, how do I die?” Laenor asked.

“I…” Jon paused. “How in the hells, does he die?”

He knew that Laenor died the same year as his sister and that Daemon married Rhaenyra in the aftermath of his death, but how exactly he died, he had no idea. Recalling how Addam Velaryon died, he decided to go with that.

“You and Seasmoke die fighting Tessarion and Vermithor,” Jon replied. “Both dragons also die in what ends up being a three-way fight by the end.”

Leanor swallowed thickly and said, “I see.”

“The gods wouldn’t have sent me back here just to observe the chaos and madness in person,” Jon reasoned. “Things don’t have to happen exactly as they did. We can make sure that they don’t.”

“Should you be telling the truth, I dearly hope that’s the case,” Laenor murmured. “Give me a couple days to think about how best to approach my father with this. Needless to say, you won’t be part of that meeting.”

“Of course,” Jon said, agreeing quickly. “We have plenty of time, so there’s no need to rush things just yet.”

Laenor just looked pensive at that.

*****

“It was just so bloody stupid!” Rhaenyra groaned as she picked up one of the honey cakes from the tray before her. “The man comes before me to complain that his neighbor’s son impregnated his daughter. The boy admits it and is well aware of the fact that he’s going to have to wed her, and they still ended up fighting in the middle of my hall.”

“Did the man think that the boy wouldn’t marry her?,” Jon asked, finishing up the last of his lamb and settling in the comfortable chair inside the room she’d given him.

“I don’t think he thought of much at all beyond the fact that he’d hang if he killed the boy,” Rhaenyra scowled. “It was a complete waste of my time and delayed the other petitions for several minutes while my guards pulled them apart.”

“And here I thought you liked watching men fight,” Jon chuckled.

“I like tourneys,” Rhaenyra replied. “Watching men fight is far more fun when they actually know what they’re doing.”

“Perhaps I’ll enter one some day,” Jon said, his voice low and rumbling as he looked over at her with smoldering eyes. “I’d love to crown you the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

“No, none of that!” Rhaenyra exclaimed as she shuddered. “I’m still sore from last night and this morning, and the last thing I need is that deep, rumbling voice of yours tempting me into pushing myself any further.”

“You have my word; no matter what, I will not fuck you again until you’ve recovered,” Jon grinned.

“So, what did you do today?” Rhaenyra asked.

“I spent some time in the training yard,” Jon replied. “It’s taken some effort to get myself used to fighting again, but my body’s starting to move as I remember again.”

“That is such an odd consequence of what you went through,” Rhaenyra commented.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Jon thought to himself, recalling how much taller and broader he’d grown after his death.

“Everything about what I went through is odd,” Jon replied. “After that, I spoke to Maester Gerardys and Laenor about something that I think might be helpful to you regarding the Hightowers.”

“Oh?” Rhaenyra asked. “I wasn’t aware that you two were working with either of them.”

“Laenor told me that you had spoken to him about me,” Jon said. “He doesn’t really believe me just yet.”

“It is pretty difficult to believe,” Rhaenyra commented. “Had I not seen you appear before me as you did, I wouldn’t have been so quick to accept it. What’s this idea of yours?”

“A construction project that I think would help you in a couple of ways,” Jon replied. “We would need your good father’s help, so until Laenor thinks of a way to convince him, I’d rather not waste your time just yet.”

“Surely you can give me something,” Rhaenyra pouted, and Jon leaned forward a touch, wanting nothing more than to capture her lips with his own and taste the honey and wine on them.

“One thing that I think could be helpful would be for you to try to befriend Helaena,” Jon said.

“Why?” Rhaenyra asked, surprised.

“Out of all your half-siblings, she’s the only one who I think you could potentially make an ally of,” Jon replied.

“Turning one of them to my side would be a boon,” Rhaenyra murmured, thinking it over.

“Getting closer to her would also simultaneously please your father and bother Alicent as well,” Jon replied. “She’ll soon claim Dreamfyre, and teaching her how to ride a dragon as your uncle taught you could be a fun way to worm your way into her heart and annoy your brother, who has has yet to mount his dragon, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Being beaten to that by his younger sister would infuriate the moody little creature,” Rhaenyra laughed.

Jon smiled as he realized that she’d come to like the idea. Helaena Targaryen was one figure in the Dance whom just about all historians and sources from the time ended up sympathetic to. Anything that could be done to spare her the terrible fate she suffered would be well worth it.

“If we could wed her to someone loyal to Rhaenyra, that could be very helpful,” he thought to himself as he stared out the window. There were a few options he could think of and one which would be hilarious if he could pull it off.

“Tell me of the Targaryens of your era,” Rhaenyra said suddenly, startling Jon out of his musings.

Jon winced, well aware of the fact that he should have gone over this already with her.

“When I was growing up, the king was a man named Robert Baratheon,” he said after a moment, deciding that there was no good way to ease into this particular conversation.

“What?” Rhaenyra asked, confused.

“The Targaryens were plagued by a great deal of misfortune in the many decades after the civil war between you and Aegon,” Jon explained. “By the last few years before I was born, there were only a few left in the capital; King Aerys II, his wife Queen Rhaella, their children, Prince Rhaegar and Prince Viserys, and Prince Rhaegar’s children, Prince Aegon, and Princess Rhaenys.”

“Only six?” Rhaenyra asked, looking deeply concerned.

“Maester Aemon lived at the wall, where he had chosen to go so that his younger brother could reign freely,” Jon explained, “but almost everyone had forgotten him by then. Aerys’ reign started well by all accounts, but he slowly descended into madness over the course of it. Prince Rhaegar was seen by many to be the great hope of the family, but after a vast tourney was held at Harrenhal, wherein he met my aunt, Lyanna, he went to the North, and abducted her.”

“Abducted?” Rhaenyra asked, aghast.

“He and a few knights of the kingsguard seized her and fled south,” Jon replied. “When word reached Winterfell, my uncle Brandon went to the capital and demanded to fight Rhaegar. The king had him imprisoned and summoned my grandfather to the answer for his son’s actions. He then had them both killed and demanded the heads of my father and Robert Baratheon, who had been betrothed to Lyanna.”

“Instead, they rebelled,” Rhaenyra guessed, turning pale as a sheet.

“They had done nothing to warrant arrest, much less execution,” Jon said heatedly. “They rallied a number of allies and took the fight to the Targaryens. Robert ultimately slew Rhaegar at the Battle of the Trident, and Aerys was slain by a member of his Kingsguard, Jaime Lannister.”

“And the others?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Lord Tywin Lannister, Ser Jaime’s father, sacked the city, and his men butchered Rhaegar’s wife and children,” Jon said grimly, “while Prince Viserys and the newborn Princess Daenerys fled to Essos. The queen died giving birth to her not long before they departed, if I’m not mistaken.”

“And so a Baratheon took the throne from butchered children,” Rhaenyra snarled. “How old were they?”

“Prince Aegon was around a year old, while Princess Rhaenys was only three,” Jon replied. “I overheard my father speak of it only once, and all those years later, he was still furious that Robert didn’t have their killers executed for their crimes.”

“The usurper clearly approved,” Rhaenyra spat, downing the rest of her wine. “What of your aunt?”

“She died,” Jon replied. “My father went to find where she was being held, at a tower in Dorne…”

“In Dorne?” Rhaenyra asked, confused.

“Right, I haven’t mentioned yet; Dorne is eventually brought under the command of the iron throne,” Jon replied. “Your grandson conquers it in one of the greatest military campaigns of all time, then promptly loses it after being slain in a cowardly ambush, and then his nephew marries a Martell and brings them into the fold peacefully. They sided with the Targaryens against Robert, as Rhaegar was married to a Martell woman.”

Rhaenyra just signaled for him to go on.

“My father reached the tower she was being held in, still guarded by knights of the Kingsguard, slew them, and reached her, but she died of a fever,” Jon concluded.

“Why are you so willing to help me?” Rhaenyra asked. “Given everything that will transpire between our families…”

“If we don’t have dragons when the Others wake, none of us will live,” Jon replied, “and it’s possible that without the loss of the dragons, things will happen so differently that Aerys, if he even becomes king, won’t go mad. I know he was abducted and held prisoner in Duskendale at one point, and that might have caused his mind to fail. That doesn’t change anything with Rhaegar, but again, none of us survive if the dragons don’t. This also happened before my time. My father returned to Winterfell with my aunt’s body and me.”

“Wait…” Rhaenyra trailed off, looking like something had just occurred to her. “Your father returned with your aunt’s remains and with you?”

“Yes,” Jon replied. “I was born during the rebellion.”

“Hmm, what do you know of this Baratheon king?” Rhaenyra asked. “Was he as boorish a lout as the one of my generation?”

“I actually saw him once,” Jon replied, wondering where this sudden interest came from. “He was the fattest man I’d ever seen, until I reached the Wall, anyway, and according to my brother Robb, he spent the entire feast getting drunk and fondling the servant girls in front of his wife, so boorish might be putting it mildly.”

“Not the sort of man a woman would want as her husband, then,” Rhaenyra mused, turning one of the rings on her finger.

“I imagine not,” Jon commented. “Is your Baratheon really that bad? I don’t recall his name.”

“Borros,” Rhaenyra said, as though she found the name foul. “I met him once at a feast my father held. The man spent the entire evening getting progressively more drunk, and when I went to greet him, he barely looked up from my tits for a moment.”

“They are rather mesmerizing,” Jon murmured, looking down at her cleavage in her ruby-studded black dress for a moment, “but one should at least try to have some self-control.”

Rhaenyra smiled for a moment before asking, “Is it possible that Rhaegar didn’t actually abduct Lyanna?”

“Rhaenyra, I know he was a Targaryen, but…” Jon went to argue.

“Would you want to marry that lecherous drunk if you were a woman?” Rhaenyra asked.

“I...well no, but Rhaegar was married!” Jon argued.

Rhaenyra just gave him a pointed look and gestured at her tits.

“That’s different,” Jon muttered. “Laenor has no interest in women, but Rhaegar had children with his wife. If her whole objection to Robert was that he was a lech, why would she be willing to take up with a married man?”

“Logic and passion don’t always line up,” Rhaenyra replied. “Think about this: a man trapped in a marriage going poorly meets a gorgeous girl betrothed to a man she wants nothing to do with. They’re both beautiful, and they’re instantly taken with each other. Perhaps they enjoy a night of passion at that tourney you mentioned, and then they go their separate ways afterwards. The girl discovers she’s with child, and writes to her prince, asking him what in the seven hells are they going to do.”

“Oh gods,” Jon groaned. “He was already wed and she’d have been ruined.”

“They panic and run off together to try and think about what to do about the babe, and then her brother goes down to King’s Landing and gets killed by the lunatic king,” Rhaenyra continued. “By then, disaster has struck, and there’s no way to fix it. How many members of the Kingsguard were in Dorne when your father went after her?”

“Three,” Jon replied.

“Three of the best knights of their age weren’t with their prince when he died in battle?” Rhaenyra asked rhetorically. “Having them guard a woman he’d abducted doesn't make sense. He could have hired mercenaries for a task like that, but guarding his unborn child…”

“Would be a task for the Kingsguard,” Jon groaned. “Gods, what must my father have found when he finally reached her?”

“His sister dying on her birthing bed, I suspect,” Rhaenyra replied softly, reaching across the table to place her hand on his. “I think he also found you.”

“What?!” Jon exclaimed, recoiling as if struck.

“It would explain your connection to Morghul,” Rhaenyra said, “and…”

“No!” Jon exclaimed, standing up and taking a step back. “No, that’s not possible.”

“I’m sorry, love, but I think it is,” Rhaenyra said. “It doesn’t make any sense why he never told anyone who your mother was.”

“He didn’t like to think of her,” Jon explained. “The...there were rumors that she was Ashara Dayne, that they’d met at the tourney and wanted to wed, but after his brother was killed and he was forced to wed the man’s betrothed to secure the loyalty of the Tullys, they were forced apart. She died.”

“Why not tell you when you were going to the Wall?” Rhaenyra asked. “If your mother was some great lost love of his, why not tell you when then?”

“I...I don’t know,” Jon replied, his voice barely a whisper.

“The only reason I can think of would be that he didn’t dare speak the words aloud in all the years after the rebellion, for fear that if he did, word would reach a man who had already sanctioned the death of two children far younger than you,” Rhaenyra said. “Your siblings.”

“I had siblings!” Jon snarled, “I had five of them, my brothers and sisters, and…”

He trailed off, feeling like he couldn’t breathe as his lover’s words made ever more terrible sense. Without realizing what he was doing, he returned to his chair and sat down, staring blankly in front of him. Rhaenyra went to him and climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms around him. Instinctively, he returned the hug, inhaling the lovely lavender scent of her hair and clinging to her like a piece of driftwood floating in the sea of chaos that had overtaken his mind. She raked her nails through his scalp, and he moaned softly at how good that felt.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Jon asked after a few minutes of silence.

“I can’t say for certain,” Rhaenyra replied. “As much as I’d love to play your role for a change, I don’t have all the answers.”

“I wish I had all the answers,” Jon scoffed.

“It does explain a number of things that don’t make sense otherwise, though,” Rhaenyra said. “We already established that you had to have some Targaryen blood in your veins, given your ability to bond with a dragon, and while your uncle could have bedded some silver-haired bastard…”

“Eddard Stark siring a bastard never made sense at all,” Jon muttered. “He was the most honorable man I ever met, and all my life, I lived as the one and only blot on his spotless reputation. If you’re right, he didn’t sire a bastard; he just lied to me my entire life.”

“If I’m right, he saved your life,” Rhaenyra argued, “both that day in Dorne and every single day after until the day you died. I doubt his lady life was pleased by your presence in Winterfell.”

“That would be putting it mildly,” Jon snorted.

“And yet he worsened his relationship with her and sacrificed that spotless reputation just to keep you safe, because he loved you,” Rhaenyra said, and Jon buried his face in the crook of her neck so she wouldn’t see the tears forming in his eyes.

He didn’t know how long they stayed there like that, just holding each other in silence, with their breathing and the crackling of the hearth the only sounds in the room, but he did know that by the time he sat back and relaxed, he did feel a little better.

“Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys fled to Essos, as I said,” Jon murmured.

“We can stop here for today,” Rhaenyra insisted.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Jon said. “We’re close to the end of the story, or what I know of it anyway. The two of them lived there for years, presumably moving about for fear of being captured and brought to Robert. Eventually, for reasons I can’t fathom, Viserys sold Daenerys to a Dothraki horse lord.”

“What?!” Rhaenyra exclaimed. “I’ve heard that name before, but...”

“I don’t know much about them, to be honest,” Jon replied. “This part of the story I got from Maester Aemon. The Dothraki are horse-worshiping nomads who razed much of Essos to the ground after the Doom. Viserys sought to get an army of them and sold his sister in exchange for that.”

“A princess of the house of the dragon sold like cattle to some horse-worshiping warlord?” Rhaenyra asked, sounding incensed. “That’s outrageous!”

“Well, it didn’t work out terribly well for him,” Jon continued. “Viserys eventually ran afoul of his good brother and was promptly killed. Her husband then died, and in the aftermath of his death, she managed to hatch dragons from three eggs she possessed. For the first time in over a century and a half, dragons flew through the sky again.”

“You called me Queen Daenerys when you first saw me,” Rhaenyra said. “Did she reconquer Westeros?”

“I figured that she was likely to return, but she hadn’t yet,” Jon replied. “She conquered the region of Slaver’s Bay, east of Volantis, and called herself queen of its largest city.”

“I hope she didn’t resort to slavery,” Rhaenyra said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“No, Maester Aemon said that she worked to end the practice,” Jon replied.

“Hmm, so that was the fate of the House Targaryen,” Rhaenyra sighed morosely. “I can’t allow it all to end like that.”

“We’re working to change things,” Jon said, kissing her gently.

“This war between Aegon’s supporters and mine is the moment where it all starts to go wrong, correct?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Aye,” Jon replied. There were other bad moments in her family’s history, such as the entire reign of Aegon IV and its aftermath, but nothing truly compared to the Dance until Robert’s Rebellion.

“Then we know what we need to do,” Rhaenyra said resolutely, and Jon smiled at her.

“We will,” Jon said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You’re already taking such good care of my family’s affairs,” Rhaenyra cooed, giving him a heated look. “It makes me want to take care of you.”

“We really shouldn’t,” Jon said reluctantly as he felt his cock harden in his breeches under her lusty gaze. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’ll likely be alright by tomorrow,” Rhaenyra murmured, “but just because my cunt needs a rest, doesn’t mean that I can’t take care of you in other ways.”

Jon felt his mouth go dry, and his cock grew painfully hard in an instant as she spoke. He had heard Theon mention a number of sexual acts over the years, speaking to Robb about all the things he paid the whores of Winterfell to let him do to them, but one of them seemed so deeply wrong, that Jon hadn’t even given it much thought.

Letting his hands slide down along Rhaenyra’s back to her round arse, he cupped her cheeks and, with wide eyes, he asked, “You mean…”

“No!” Rhaenyra squeaked, turning a bright red. “That...I...with you? I’d die!”

“Oh,” Jon muttered, turning just as red as her in embarrassment. “What did you mean?”

“I meant my mouth,” Rhaenyra whispered, still sounding mortified. “I only know about...that at all because I made the mistake of asking my uncle how Laenor and Joffrey Lonmouth would...well…”

“I’m surprised he didn’t just make a mouth joke,” Jon said before he could stop himself.

“He did that as well,” Rhaenyra muttered. “I can’t fathom taking anything...there, much less something as large as you.”

“Forget I even brought it up, please,” Jon sighed.

“I’m surprised you even know of such things, given that you’ve never had a whore and had only one woman before me,” Rhaenyra commented. “At least in my case, I have a notorious rogue for an uncle.”

“The Greyjoys rebelled against Robert a few years into his reign, lost hilariously, and the Lord Greyjoy’s only surviving son was sent to Winterfell as a hostage. We didn’t get along, but he and my brother...cousin Robb were friends for a time, and he was, um, eminently fond of whores.”

Rhaenyra snorted at that and climbed out of his lap.

“Stand up,” she commanded, and he did so without hesitation.

She undid his belt and let his breeches fall to the floor. As she gazed down at his cock, her eyes darkened dramatically, and she wrapped her small hand around his length firmly, making him hiss.

“Sit down,” Rhaenyra commanded, and she smirked as he did so. “By the gods, you’re large.”

“Surprised I fit inside you, honestly,” Jon chuckled.

“I’m not,” Rhaenyra said imperiously. “You were fashioned for me after all. My perfect man, perfect lover, also my descendant, funny enough.”

“Oh fuck, I hadn’t thought about that,” Jon groaned, watching with wide eyes as she descended to her knees in front of him. “Even by Valyrian standards, our relationship would be odd if you’re right about who my parents were.”

“The dragonlords of old had few lines that they weren’t willing to cross in the interest of preserving their bloodlines, and it isn’t as though we aren’t fucking in part to have silver-haired, purple-eyed babes,” Rhaenyra replied. “Technically speaking, we are more generations removed than my own parents were, and many more generations removed than my grandparents were.”

That was all well and good, but for Jon, who had grown up in Winterfell and among people who weren’t Valyrians, the idea of bedding his ancestor was mildly concerning. Those concerns vanished in an instant, however, as she wrapped her full lips around the bulbous head of his shaft.

“Oh fuck!” he groaned, snaking his fingers through her silver-gold locks.

Rhaenyra looked up at him, amusement clear in her purple eyes, and moved her long braid away from where it was draped over her shoulder to rest along her spine. She seemed uncertain about what to do, and he doubted that she had done this before, though he had never experienced it before, so he couldn’t exactly help. All he knew was that her warm, wet mouth felt nearly as divine as her cunt, and when she teased his glans with her tongue, he cried out her name.

“Mmm,” she moaned, taking a little more of his heavy cock inside her mouth.

“I can’t believe I have a bloody princess on her knees for me,” Jon gasped.

Rhaenyra let his cock slip from her lips and said, “Before we met, I might have found the idea demeaning, but you’re so wonderfully expressive, and seeing the pleasure on your face is ever so much fun.”

She took him back between her lips and started bobbing her head up and down, taking more and more of his cock as she went. Jon held onto her head and shut his eyes, moaning aloud at how simply incredible that felt. As she sped up, he felt her teeth come dangerously close to grazing his cock, and then on her next pass, he yelped as she did.

“Teeth!” he cried, and her eyes went wide.

“Oh gods, I’m sorry!” Rhaenyra exclaimed.

“It’s alright,” Jon panted, feeling his cock just to make sure.

“I was enjoying that more than I ever expected to and moved more quickly than I should have,” Rhaenyra said sheepishly. “You’re so thick that keeping my mouth that wide is a challenge.”

“Do you want to stop?” Jon asked, desperately hoping that the answer was no, despite the unpleasant feeling of her teeth on his cock.

“No, I’ll just need to move more slowly,” Rhaenyra said, bringing his cock back to her lips and giving the head a wet kiss.

Jon grabbed the armrests of his chair and sighed, saying, “I finally get...oh fuck, that feels good...why so many men were obsessed with getting their cocks sucked.”

Rhaenyra looked up at him, her brows furrowing in confusion, before shooting up towards her hairline as though she’d just figured something out. The next time she pulled up along his shaft, she caved in her cheeks around him, sucking enthusiastically, and Jon moaned loudly. He gripped the armrests harder, his knuckles turning white as she continued to move slowly and methodically up and down along his cock.

“Oh fuck, just like that,” Jon groaned, his eyes trained on hers.

There was almost no purple left in her eyes as her pupils had gone wide with desire, and he desperately wished that he pin her the bed and fuck her within an inch of her sanity for this. His strangled groans grew louder, and his legs began to shake as he soared towards his peak. As he felt it come close, he tried to warn her, but only a low groan emitted from his lips as he spilled, cumming hard.

“Ugh!” Rhaenyra choked as the first long rope of seed hit her throat.

Looking down at her black dress in a panic, she pulled back until only the head of his cock was in her mouth and refused to breathe as the last of his spend filled it. Swallowing all that she could as she tried not to let any spill from her lips, she let his softening length go the moment it was all gone.

“Did I get any...ahk!” she coughed. “Did I get any on my dress?”

“Wha?” Jon asked, still dazed. “Um, no, no, I don’t see any.”

“Thank the gods,” Rhaenyra sighed, grabbing her cup and filling it with more wine, which she promptly drank down. “Warn me next time.”

“Next time?” Jon asked, feeling his cock twitch despite how hard he’d just cum. “Right, sorry. It just felt incredible.”

Rhaenyra laughed lightly at him, feeling much of the irritation that had welled within her dissipate once she was sure that he hadn’t gotten any of his seed on her dress. Pleasuring Jon turned out to be something she really shouldn’t do while clothed.

“Help me out of my dress,” Rhaenyra said, standing up.

“I will never say no to that command,” Jon grinned, making her laugh. As he revealed more and more of her silky, smooth skin, he sighed and said, “By the gods, you’re perfect.”

“As are you,” Rhaenyra purred, turning around.

As Jon laid her dress down carefully over the back of one of the chairs, she finished undressing, and when he turned around, his breath hitched at the sight. Not only was she the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on, but as he gazed at her pale, thick thighs, he saw the unmistakable shine of wetness leaking from her sex.

“You’re wet,” he said, feeling his cock spring back to life in an instant as he realized that sucking his cock had done that to her.

“Can you blame me?” Rhaenyra purred, looking him up and down. “Alas, I still don’t think I’m up to further fun just now.”

“You’re not up to me fucking you, but there are other ways we could have fun,” Jon rumbled.

“You...you would do that even if you knew that you weren’t going to bed me?” Rhaenyra asked, her eyes going wide as he wrapped his arms around her.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight if I don’t feast on your dripping cunt,” Jon whispered in her ear.

She kissed him deeply, and he walked her to the bed, fully intent on making her scream at least twice before wrapping his arms around her and falling asleep.

*****

“Master, the men might make more progress today if they are given more water,” Toro said as diplomatically as possible as they all baked under the hot sun.

“Are they plants?” Methero Vhassar spat, his cold purple eyes staring at the excavation before him. “Bah, make it so. The last thing I need is to return home in need of new slaves for the dig.”

“Yes, Master,” Toro said, his face breaking into a smile that made the green tiger stripes tattooed on his face look even more ridiculous.

Toro had been a slave soldier who served under Methero once. Possessing the sort of mind one rarely finds in his type, he had been wasted in his role to begin with, and when he survived the loss of his arm during the Battle of the Borderlands, rather than casting him aside, Methero brought him into his service in a different capacity. He watched as the man gave his orders and distributed water to the workers, who paused only long enough to drink before getting back to their grueling work. They all knew better than to show laziness under his watchful eye.

“There, that should help a good bit,” Toro said as he returned. “There definitely seems to be a structure under the ground this time.”

“We’re closer than we’ve ever been,” Methero murmured. “It’s here, I can taste it.”

“This one tastes only dust, sadly,” Toro said, quickly averting his gaze when Methero glared at him.

Taking a swig from his wineskin, Methero muttered, “Ayrmion Mataeryon, you mad old cunt, I will find your library or die trying.”

“Library?” Toro asked, sounding deeply surprised. He looked worried almost immediately as he realized that he’d spoken out of turn. “This one apologizes profusely, Master.”

“Is the fact that I seek a library so shocking?” Methero asked, deciding to let his slight go unpunished.

“This one thought that you sought treasures of gold is all,” Toro replied.

“What I seek is far greater than gold,” Methero said darkly. “Ayrmion Mataeryon was a dragonlord from the days of the Valyrian Freehold. He rode a great dragon the color of emeralds and laid waste to all that opposed him. He was an avid reader who, seeking to preserve the knowledge that he had accumulated, had his slaves build a great underground library somewhere between Pentos and Myr to store all his scrolls within. He then had it buried and killed everyone who knew of its location.”

“Why?” Toro asked incredulously.

“Because he was utterly mad,” Methero groaned. “The only surviving account of the man’s life is a scroll in my family’s library, and it details a man who ended up making so many enemies towards the end of his life that he was stabbed nearly a hundred times by, apparently, just about as many hands.”

“So all of the locations that you’ve had us dig up over the last few years…” Toro went to ask.

“Were possible locations of the buried library, yes,” Methero cut him off. “You’re lucky I’m feeling talkative.”

“If this one could be indulged in one last question, master, why would the library be greater than gold?” Toro asked.

Methero laughed and said, “Gods, I envy you sometimes. To be a slave must be so freeing in a way, lacking a will and high concerns. I might not have lost an arm in that wretched battle, but I lost so much more. The great commander of the Volentene army brought low by three minor cities. It shouldn’t have gone that way, not even close, but in the end, I lost, lost my army and my honor. Look at them now, brought low by a descendant of cowards who fled from the greatest civilization ever known because he rides a dragon.”

Methero looked out at the excavation and growled.

“Had I ridden into battle on the back of one of those beasts, I would have burned them all to ash and the cunts commanding them from the comfort of their manses too,” he spat. “Dragons might be beyond me, but power? Power is in my grasp. That is what Mataeryon’s library could give me, knowledge and power not seen since the doom. Let those elephant cunts scorn me then, when I have made myself like a god!”

Toro looked up at his master in shock and awe. No one who met Methero Vhassar would claim that he was a kind man, but he was loyal to those who served him well, and the former soldier did not want to think of where he would be or what kind of work he’d be doing had his master not found a new purpose for him all those years ago. If power was what he sought, then Toro would help him find it.

*****

Rhaenyra stood in silence as her servants helped her into her riding leathers. She had been far too busy the day before to see her little lady and take to the skies, but there was no way that she wasn’t going to see Syrax today. Jon had already been out of bed when she woke, and she knew that he was going to spend much of the morning in the training yard, where he was increasingly found. Thinking of Jon made her cheeks flush, and she bit her lower lip gently.

“All done, princess,” one of her servants said, nodding her head demurely.

“Excellent,” Rhaenyra smiled, looking down and admiring how her riding leathers clung to her curvaceous form. “That will be all.”

“As you will, Princess,” the other servant said as the two departed.

“Princess,” Ser Harwin said as he spotted her. “I saw Syrax flying overhead not long ago. She likely isn’t far.”

“Syrax will come to me as she always does, Ser Harwin,” Rhaenyra laughed softly. “First though, I would speak with Maester Gerardys. Do you know if he’s in his chambers?”

“I’m not sure, Princess,” Ser Harwin replied, his brow furrowing immediately. “I hope you are well.”

“Perfectly so, as far as I know,” Rhaenyra replied. “I just had a question that he would be uniquely suited to answering.”

Without another word, she made her way through the halls of Dragonstone towards Sea Dragon Tower. She had come to deeply love her family’s ancestral castle in the time since she moved there. It was so much quieter than the Red Keep, lacking the endless supply of courtiers and people wanting something from her father and his hand. It also lacked Alicent and her lickspittles, which was a benefit in itself. The weather wasn’t the best, but considering how much better it smelled than the capital, that was hardly much of an issue.

“Ah, Princess,” Maester Gerardys said as she entered his chambers under the rookery. “How may I assist you today?”

“Wait here, Ser Harwin,” Rhaenyra instructed, closing the door behind her. Turning to Maester Gerardys, she said, “I was hoping that you would tell me all that you know about the Dothraki.”