The Heat of Dorne Chapter 11 (Patreon)

“My prince,” Grey Worm said.

“Report,” Daemon commanded softly.

“The sappers say that everything is ready,” Grey Worm said. “They just await the order.”

“Excellent,” Daemon said with a grin. “Stand by to bring them my order.”

“Yes, my prince,” Grey Worm said.

Daemon gave the signal to his men to command the company charged with escorting a battering ram towards the first of Pentos’ gates to begin moving, and he watched their slow progress through his Myrish Eye.

It had taken ages to put together the siege of Pentos, having to wait for multiple different components of his army to first get word of what he was doing and then get into position, but, moons on, they had managed it.  Between his fleet, which had moved to blockade the Bay of Pentos, and his army, which surrounded the Free City completely, no one was getting in or out of the place without his say.  He was supposed to leave it at that and await the armies of the Seven Kingdom, but Pentos had called out to its allies as well, and Daemon was impatient at the best of times.

“So it begins,” the Tattered Prince said.

“Indeed,” Daemon said, offering him the Eye.

The older man peered out at the gatehouse that their men were slowly approaching.

“The defenders are starting to crowd onto the gatehouse,” he said. “It won’t be long before they start loosing arrows on your men.”

“The mobile shields should be more than up to the task of countering their archers,” Daemon said, referring to the heavy wooden constructs that were being wheeled out around the battering ram.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” the Tattered Prince said. “Our men around the other gates report that things are almost in position there as well.”

“Good,” Daemon said. “I must say, I’m looking forward to seeing this plan of yours in action.”

“It should work,” the Tattered Prince said confidently. “I’ve used wildfire a time or two before, and it’s always been effective.”

Daemon recalled his first meeting with the Prince’s source of wildfire.

“So, I help you take Pentos in the name of the Iron Throne, and you give me permanent command of the city, which will henceforth be a vassal of the Seven Kingdoms, in exchange?” the Tattered Prince asked.

“There will be a few more conditions than that,” Daemon said, settling into his seat in the private room the Prince had arranged for them to discuss terms in. “The magister class is to be cleansed without exception.”

“An easy thing to agree to,” the Tattered Prince said venomously.

“One among their number is responsible for earning them my enmity,” Daemon continued. “His manse and all of his other possessions are to be mine when this is done.”

“As you wish,” the Tattered Prince said.

“Slavery is to be abolished entirely,” Daemon said.

“That…” the Tattered Prince went to say.

“Is unnegotiable,” Daemon interrupted him. “Technically speaking, I’m aware that Pentos doesn’t have slaves.  I am also aware that they get around that stipulation placed upon them by Braavos by simply not calling their slaves slaves.  As a vassal of the Iron Throne, it must follow at least the most important laws of Westeros.”

“I was going to say that that will be made a lot easier by the elimination of the magisters,” the Tattered Prince said. “They do own the vast majority of the ‘not slaves,’ after all.”

“Perfect,” Daemon said, holding out his arm. “Then we have an accord?”

“We do,” the Tattered Prince replied, grasping his forearm. “The Windblown are yours for as long as your campaign against Pentos takes, Prince Daemon.”

“Good,” Daemon said, satisfied. “Now, my initial plan thus far is to blockade and surround the city until my father can call his banners and join me, but as someone far more familiar with the city than I, I wonder if you don’t have some insights that might make a faster resolution possible.”

“I do, as it happens,” the Tattered Prince said. “Pentos is far from the most heavily defended of the Free Cities, and it does have its weaknesses.  I also have a few assets that I think you will find quite helpful.”

“Oh?” Daemon asked, intrigued.

Turning to the door, he called out, “Lucifer!  Send in Malliard!”

“Stage is all yours, firebug,” Daemon barely heard Lucifer say sardonically.

The next moment, the door opened, and in walked a robed man with dark, sunken eyes and long, straggly gray hair.

“My prince,” the man said, his voice reed thin.

“Prince Daemon, meet Malliard, formerly of your Alchemist’s Guild,” the Tattered Prince said.

“You’re a pyromancer?” Daemon asked.

“I am, prince,” Malliard replied. “After the death of his Grace, your father saw fit to remove a great many of the alchemists from the guild.  I left for Essos, seeking a new beginning, and eventually found employment with Prince M...the Prince here.”

Daemon cocked an eyebrow at the near-slip, keeping an eye on the Tattered Prince, who tensed for a moment before schooling his features again.  The man in front of him was clearly bitter, and while he didn’t blame his father for being unusually harsh with the Alchemists, given what they had nearly helped his mad grandfather do, he could understand why this Malliard would remain irritated with him.

“Is my presence here going to be a problem?” Daemon asked.

“Not at all, Prince Daemon,” Malliard replied before the Tattered Prince could. “I don’t believe in holding people responsible for the actions of others.”

“And Malliard is loyal,” the Prince said, glaring at the alchemist. “I suspect that wildfire is going to be very useful in helping us take Pentos.”

“Alright,” Daemon said as the batter ram and company reached the halfway point to the gate.  The archers had already started loosing arrows at them, though it didn’t appear that they managed to hit anyone just yet. “They’re close enough to give the order.  Grey Worm, run and tell them to light it up.”

“Yes, my prince,” Grey Worm said dutifully.

“I still can’t believe how many of those poor cunts you managed to draw into your service,” the Tattered Prince commented. “As I said before, Pentos is largely guarded by their like, though theirs are likely fatter than yours.”

“Why?” Daemon asked.

“Eunuchs put on weight more easily than men to begin with,” the Prince explained, “but for the Unsullied in particular, since food is the one vice they still derive enjoyment from…”

“They tend to indulge if allowed?” Daemon asked.

“Yes,” the Tattered Prince replied. “If you ever tire of warring in Essos, you’ll find that your own Unsullied are likely to follow suit.”

“I’ll be returning to Westeros once this business with Pentos is done,” Daemon said.

“Oh yes, your child,” the Tattered Prince said, smiling. “Do you think they’ve been born yet?”

“No,” Daemon said with certainty.

He had kept Ghost and Brynden with him because he knew they would be helpful against the city, but he had sent Maegor along with Arianne, partly because he knew that he wouldn’t need a tiny white lemur in his quest to finish off the Blackfyres.  He had also wanted a way to keep an eye on his wife during her pregnancy.  He had spent more time curled up between her ever-growing breasts, staring down at her round belly, than he would care to admit.

BOOOM

A thunderous explosion echoed across the land as the gatehouse was engulfed in green fire and torn apart.  The men on top of the gatehouse were destroyed by fire, and rocks and stones were propelled in all directions.  Daemon looked through his Myrish Eye and saw, to his surprise and relief, that none of the rocks hit his men with the batter ram.

“We cut it fucking close with a couple rocks down there, but the engineers’ calculations were accurate,” Daemon said.

“We didn’t lose anyone?” the Tattered Prince asked.

“No,” Daemon said, smiling. “Our men are on their way back to camp.”

“How the fuck are we supposed to get through that?” Maris asked. “Even without the fire, it’s a giant pile of rubble.”

“We aren’t,” the Tattered Prince replied.

“You can see that far?” Daemon asked.

“My eyes are sharp,” Maris replied in that dead voice of hers. “So that was just meant to kill some of the cunts on the wall, then?”

“And frighten the ones at the next gate into fucking off if they see a battering ram approaching,” the Tattered Prince replied. “The Pentoshi aren’t wasting their Unsullied manning the walls, but if their own men become too scared of catching fire, they won’t have a choice, and then we’ll have an opportunity to take out their best troops.”

“Even if they can force their men to stay up there to their doom as we take out a few more gatehouses, we’ll still widdle their forces down,” Daemon said. “We’ll be using the trebochet our engineers are nearly done with to punch through the gate we want to enter through.”

“The mangonels on the north side are decoys,” the Tattered Prince added, “though we’ll still use them to batter the walls as needed.”

Maris let out a lifeless-sounding laugh. “You two came up with this together?”

“We did,” the Tattered Prince replied.

“You two really are alike,” the battered blonde said.

“Go find out if the sappers lost anyone in the tunnel,” the Prince ordered.

Maris left with a nod.

“Whatever happened to that one?” Daemon asked.

“That is not my tale to tell,” the Prince replied, “but I will say that most men wouldn’t have survived what she did.”

Daemon wasn’t sure that she actually did survive her ordeal, whatever it entailed.

“We were discussing your impending fatherhood before the explosion,” the Tattered Prince continued. “I daresay you’ll enjoy it.  I certainly did.”

“Speaking of Ael, I’ll send a runner to find out if he’s ready to send a battering ram at the gatehouse he’s watching,” Daemon said.

“Yes, his is probably the best one to hit next,” the Prince said in agreement.

Looking back at the burning heap of rock and body parts that had once been a part of Pentos’ walls, Daemon saw that the green fires still burned and knew that they would for quite a while yet.  Though he was an absolute lunatic, Daemon could at least understand at least part of why his grandfather had so enjoyed wildfire.

*****

Daemon beheaded a soldier attempting to rush him and pulled back to his honor guard as he shielded himself from an arrow that he barely noticed an archer nock.

“Upper left,” Daemon called out in common.  One of his Unsullied spotted the archer on a nearby balcony and hurled a spear through the man’s thigh as he attempted to pull back.

Progress through the open city was slow, though the defenders ranks were starting to grow thin.  Their forces had actually managed to enter through two gates and were sweeping across the city while companies of men stayed behind to make sure that no one fitting the descriptions of Illyrio and Aegon escaped.  Some of his naval forces had docked and were attacking from the harborfront, while the remaining gates had been reduced to impassible, burning rubber.  All in all, the Pentoshi were beaten, and all that remained was finding their leaders and informing them of that with swords.

Daemon’s task remained simple: find Illyrio’s manse, which he had managed to find with Brynden ahead of time, just going by the man’s description, and kill both the man and his son.  The rest of their forces were more than up to the task of pacifying the city, while the Tattered Prince had taken on the task of clearing out the Prince’s palace.

Daemon blocked the spear of a rather fat-looking soldier in the armor of the unsullied and held him in place while one of his own ran the eunuch through.  Another approached and was swiftly beheaded.  He noticed one of his soldiers pick up a fallen guard’s spear to replace his own and nodded at him.  A scream took his attention, as an approaching soldier was knocked down and had his throat torn out by Ghost.  Dressed in his black chainmail armor, courtesy of Babko Jatt, the gigantic, red-eyed wolf looked genuinely terrifying and had killed more than a few men since they entered the city.

They continued on, making slow progress through the city.  The sound of battle surrounded them, and he spotted a some unarmed civilians cowering within an inn as they passed.  He had impressed upon the men the need to be civil in their handling of the unarmed in the city, and he hoped that they actually did as ordered, but he knew well what beasts men could become when their blood was hot and they were in the thick of fighting.  At least he could guarantee that his Unsullied would follow their orders to the letter.

“Over here, my prince,” Red Rat said. “This gatehouse looks just like you described.”

Sure enough, it was the main one of the three gatehouses within the tall brick walls that sectioned off Illyrio’s property.  They were twelve feet tall and caped with iron spikes.  Scaling them would be difficult, and getting a battering ram through the narrow, winding streets of the city would have been an enormous pain.  To get around this, he equipped his men with pickaxes before they entered the city.

“Hit this section next to the gate,” Daemon commanded. “The area’s open from this point.”

He watched his men get to work and sat down.  The men who weren’t getting to work tearing down the walls surrounded him immediately, knowing full well what he was going to do.  Brynden was resting on a tree within Illyrio’s property, close to the man’s chambers.

“They’re at the gates, master,” an Unsullied said.

“Damn it all,” Illyrio swore. “Aegon, promise me that you’ll flee.  The Unsullied will hold them off for as long as they can.  Slip away during the chaos and try to lose them in the crowd.”

“Father, we both know that won’t work,” Aegon said. “These are Westerosi forces at our gates, led by a Targaryen prince.  They’re after me.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Illyrio argued.

“He came straight here,” Aegon said. “Why do that unless he’s come to kill me?”

“That is why you need to run!” Illyrio cried, desperation plain in his voice.

“No,” Aegon said. “There will be no getting out of this city, and if he fails to find me here, the Targaryen and his forces will comb through all of Pentos looking for me.  Here at least, I have the advantage of terrain I know well.”

Illyrio just let out a shuddering breath, looking close to despair.

“We just need to kill the prince and the men he brought with him,” Aegon said. “He wants to kill me himself, clearly.  I can use that weakness against him.  Without him, his men may well focus on giving the city to the Tattered Prince.  Without him, we might be able to escape.”

“Have you forgotten who that prince is?” Illyrio asked icily.

“We don’t have much of a chance, but we do have a chance,” Aegon said. “I would duel this distant cousin of mine.  At the very least, maybe I can take one of them with me.”

Daemon returned to himself and willed Brynden to stay where he was.  The Blackfyre had balls; he had to give him that.  The fact that he wanted to fight boded well.  Aegon wasn’t wrong that Daemon would have torn Pentos apart looking for him if he had to, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to.  The almost rhythmic bashing sounds of pickaxes hitting bricks drew his attention, and he saw that his men had a ways to go yet.  Standing up, he ordered them to let the next shift begin and watched them tear through the wall.  There was no sense in tiring out any of them when they could share the load.

*****

“They’ve concentrated their forces within the manse,” Daemon said as he led his men through the collapsed section of the wall. “Stay on your guard, but we really shouldn’t expect trouble until we reach the main building.”

As they continued on, Daemon noticed how lovely the grounds were.  That marble statue of a young nude man would be going, but otherwise, Daemon would be happy to keep everything he had seen so far in his new manse.  When they reached the heavy doors, Daemon expected to have to hack his way through them, but they were open.

“Please, come in,” Aegon called out to them.

“That’s the politest invitation I’ve ever received to enter a trap,” Daemon called back, amused.

“Tis no trap,” Aegon said, “though I see your point.  Give me your word thatwe’ll speak before we begin this unpleasantness, and we’ll come out in peace.”

Curious, Daemon weighed his options.  They could be walking into a line of crossbowmen for all he knew, so if Aegon wanted to come out and talk, it might be advantageous to let him.

“Very well,” Daemon said. “We’ll back away fifteen paces and let you step out.  I give you my word as a prince that you won’t die until you’ve said your piece.”

“The last time a man of your line gave a man mine his word, it didn’t end well,” Aegon pointed out.

“I’m not Bloodraven,” Daemon said, “and I don’t need to resort to such things to kill you.”

“Can’t say you aren’t confident,” Aegon said as he exited the manse.

He was dressed in his armor, black castle-forged steel plate, with a dragon-themed helmet much like Daemon’s own.  He was a few inches shorter than Daemon, but he looked powerfully built and appeared like a warrior.

“I’ve been successful up to this point,” Daemon said as Aegon was joined by his Unsullied guards.

“That you have,” Aegon said. “The Dothraki, the Golden Company, and now Pentos.”

“Why did you want to talk?” Daemon asked. “If it was to try to reason with me, I’m afraid we are several generations too late for that.”

“Oh, I know,” Aegon said. “I just wanted to try to limit the bloodshed.  Why don’t we end this here and now, just the two of us, both promising that our Unsullied will back away if we lose?”

“Those Unsullied aren’t yours,” Daemon said, “and they will follow your father’s orders until they die.”

Aegon just sighed. “I would still fight you unaided, just the two of us.  Whatever happens afterward, we leave that up to the gods.”

“I’m willing,” Daemon said. “How about next to that pool there, by the marble statue?  Our Unsullied will stay a sufficient distance away that they could move against each other if the other side tried to interfere.”

“That works for me,” Aegon said, walking over to the pool and drawing his sword.

“Is that Blackfyre?” Daemon asked incredulously. “I thought you lot lost it decades ago.”

“Father managed to track it down,” Aegon explained. “It’s fitting for what might be the final clash between our houses that it be used.  If it isn’t to be the last clash, it will take another Targaryen life.”

“I don’t think that Blackfyre’s ever actually been used to kill a Targaryen,” Daemon said. “Of its wielders, the only ones who ever killed Targaryens used dragons to do so, unless I’m forgetting something.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Aegon said. “Perhaps you’ll be the first.”

With that, he turned around and swung the blade at Daemon’s head, Daemon ducked under the blow and riposted with a slash at Aegon’s leg as he threw away his shield.  Aegon jumped over the blow and took a step back.

Daemon knew that his shield would do him no good against Valyrian steel, which would go through it like butter, and as his opponent had no shield himself, it might well make him the slower of the two.  Their difference in reach was balanced out by the length of their respective swords, and as they circled each other on the grounds of the manse, both knew this match would come down to skill alone.

Aegon lashed out first, thrusting his blade towards Daemon’s middle.  Daemon parried the blow aside and brought his blade down towards his foe’s head, feeling the clash reverberate through his arms as Aegon caught it.  They both stepped back and started circling around each other.

“What was the plan, anyway?” Daemon asked. “Your father has spent years building a fortune in Essos and clearly planned to place you on the Iron Throne.”

“My father has many allies, Targaryen,” Aegon said. “Once you’re dead and we’ve escaped, we will have our path to King’s Landing cleared for us.”

“If you’re referring to your eunuch uncle, I’m afraid he’s already dead,” Daemon said.

“What?” Aegon asked, fear creeping into his voice.

“Your father isn’t the only one with agents he could send abroad,” Daemon said.

“Damn you!” Aegon snarled, slashing towards Daemon’s middle.

Daemon moved to parry the blow and had to jump aside as it turned out to be a feint.  Aegon managed to just barely catch his left arm, Blackfyre slicing through his armor like it was nothing.  He winced at the wound and stepped back, redirecting Aegon’s next move wide.  The Blackfyre knew he had drawn blood and sought to press his advantage, raining a flurry of blows on Daemon.

Daemon parried what he could and dodged what he couldn’t, leading Aegon around in a circle as he tried to find an opening he could use.  His opponent was quick, and his fighting style showed obvious influence from Braavosi waterdancing, though he relied more on brute strength than the average Bravo.  When Aegon stepped poorly while attempting to thrust his blade towards him, Daemon saw what he needed.  Parrying the blow away, he slammed his gauntleted fist into the side of Aegon’s helmeted head.  A loud crack of metal on metal echoed through the courtyard, and Aegon staggered back.

Daemon feinted an upward slash and then sliced through his armor on the side of his thigh when he sidestepped the blow.  Aegon grunted and parried his next few blows, though his movements were slower than they had been.  Using the full might of his strength, Daemon slashed again and again, letting his opponent catch the blows on his blade and wear down his arm.  All it took was one poorly parried blow, and it was done as Daemon wretched the blade from Aegon’s hand.  Before his opponent could do anything, Daemon slammed his shoulder into him, knocking him on his back next to the pool.

“So ends an unworthy mistake,” Daemon said, readying the killing blow, when he saw a flash of light.

Looking over Aegon’s head, he realized that the light came from the pool, a reflection in it showing the sun glinting off of the helmet of a man standing on the roof behind him.  A man who was pointing a crossbow right at him.

“Shit!” Daemon hissed to himself, diving to the side as the man fired his bolt.

“Augh!” Aegon gargled as the bolt lodged itself in his throat.

Pandemonium broke out all around him as the two groups of Unsullied realized that the truce was over and started fighting.  Daemon hurried to his feet, grabbing Blackfyre as he did.  He sheathed his family’s ancestral blade and picked up his shield just in time for two Unsullied to reach him.  Bashing aside the spear of the first one, he took the eunuch’s head and engaged the second.  This one thrust his spear at Daemon’s heart, and he sidestepped the blow, bringing Nightsister down along the shaft and removing its blade.  Before his opponent could draw another weapon, Daemon disembowled him and used the momentary respite to reach out to Brynden.

The crossbowman on the rooftop had frozen in terror when he realized what he had done and started scrambling as Daemon glared up at him.  He was not an Unsullied and had the self-preservation instincts to try to flee from his colossal fuck-up.  He would be spared his master’s wrath for killing the man’s son, but not that of Brynden, whose massive talons made short work of his throat.

Daemon returned his attention to the battle, which was beginning to wind down.  True to the Tattered Prince’s word, the Unsullied guarding the manse were out of shape and slower than his own, who, outnumbering them to begin with, were having little difficulty dispatching them.

“Find Mopatis!” Daemon barked as he joined his men at the door. “Dead or alive, I want the man taken.”

“He’s there, my prince,” Red Rat called out, pointing just inside the door to the manse.

Sure enough, an enormously fat man with yellow hair was lying dead on the floor as Ghost finished tearing out his throat.

“Good boy,” Daemon said.

*****

They made their way slowly through the opulent manor, but it ultimately turned out that almost all of their guards had died in the courtyard with their master and Aegon.  Daemon had his honor guard split into groups and sweep through the manor, taking one group with himself and picking an area at random.

“Ari and the others are going to love this place,” Daemon commented to himself as he passed an ornate bathing room.

It would make a nice retreat of sorts.  A place like the Water Gardens where he and his family could travel to when there was nothing terribly pressing going on back home.  His siblings could make use of it as well.  He made a note to offer it to Aegon and his brides to be for after their wedding, provided things had quieted down in Pentos by then.  It was a while later, as he was finishing up clearing out the area that he had taken on, that Daemon was approached by one of his Unsullied.

“My prince,” the eunuch said.

“Blue Flea, what is it?” Daemon asked.

“We have finished our sweep of the manse,” Blue Flea replied. “Aside from unarmed slaves, there is no one left alive here.”

“Good,” Daemon said, relaxing a touch. “Did any of you report passing through what appeared to be a treasure room?”

“White Fly and his group did,” Blue Flea replied.

“Have someone from that group lead me to it,” Daemon said.

Daemon was escorted to the apparent treasure room and snorted at the first thing that he found.

“That man really liked himself,” Daemon commented as he beheld a massive painting of a tall blonde youth who resembled the statue outside.  He had begun to suspect that both were of the magister himself, a theory bolstered by the fact that a similar painting of Aegon Blackfire was on the wall next to it.

“There are other paintings like this in the manse,” White Fly said.

“Those will be removed,” Daemon said, shaking his head.

“Got it,” Red Rat announced as he unlocked the door he had been trying to find the key for.  He tried opening the door, only for it to refuse to budge.

“Hold on, Red Rat,” Daemon said. “I’ve seen this sort of door before.  There’s a second lock hidden behind a false panel of wood...here!”

Daemon removed the panel, which had looked so seamlessly like it was just part of the door, and unveiled the second lock.

“Hopefully the key to this one is also on that ring,” Daemon said.

“I will try them all if I need to,” Red Rat said, as he started again from the first key on the ring that they had retrieved from Illyrio’s body.

As Red Rat returned to his task, Daemon took a look around the room again.  There were a number of ornate-looking treasures on display throughout the room, from tiaras covered in precious jewels to marble busts of various figures to intricate maps and jeweled daggers.

“It’s done,” Red Rat announced as he opened the door.

Light streamed in from the windows and reached through into the smaller room where Illyrio presumably kept his most precious treasures.  Daemon entered the room, and his jaw dropped at what he found.  There was a large empty pedestal where he figured Blackfire had been kept, and on either side of it were two more pedestals.  One contained three dragon eggs: one black and red, one green and bronze, and one cream and gold.  The final pedestal contained what would have been the most surprising thing, even if Blackfire had been in the room when he found it.

“It can’t be,” Daemon murmured to himself as he picked up the crown. “It has to be a replica.  This does look like real Valyrian steel, though.”

Daemon looked over the crown in his hands from every angle he could, admiring the smoky, patterned steel and the large, square-cut rubies.

“How in the world did that corpulent cunt find this?” he asked himself. “When did the Dornish lose it?  Questions for later.”

“Is that the Conqueror’s crown?” a voice came from behind him.

Daemon turned and saw the Tattered Prince standing behind him, looking just as shocked as he was.

“Or a remarkable recreation,” Daemon replied. “Mopatis managed to track down Blackfire as well, so it’s possible.  I take it the Prince’s Palace has been taken?”

“Most of the city has,” the Tattered Prince replied. “We’re still mopping up a few last pockets of resistance, but the magisters and their soldiers have mostly been dealt with.”

“Good,” Daemon said.

“He had three dragon eggs too,” the Prince said, noticing the eggs. “I wonder if those are the eggs that Rhaena’s lover stole during the reign of the Old King.  It would fit this man’s apparent pattern of retreiving lost Targaryen treasures.”

“It’s possible,” Daemon said, putting the crown back where he found it. “I’ve known for a while now that you were Westerosi, but I have to ask, who are you?”

“A long-forgotten relation,” the Prince chuckled. “I am Prince Maegor Targaryen.”

“Aerion’s son?” Daemon asked.  No one else in their family had been mad enough to use that name after the infamous king’s short reign.

“Alas,” Maegor sighed.

Daemon rubbed his eyebrows and winced.  That complicated things a touch.  Conquering Pentos and handing it over to some random man with ties to the city was different from handing the thing to a bloody Targaryen.  His father wasn’t going to be pleased by that.”

“And Ael?” Daemon asked.

“Aelyx Targaryen,” Maegor replied. “I figured the Targaryen name would give things away and didn’t want our relation to complicate matters.”

“You get that it will, right?” Daemon asked.

“Not as much as you might think,” Maegor said smoothly.

“The other cities aren’t going to be pleased that Westeros reduced one to a vassal of the Iron Throne,” Daemon said. “They’ll be even less pleased when they learn that a Targaryen will be assuming direct control of it.”

“The cities will be too busy fighting each other over the land you’ve made available to them through taking out the Dothraki to join up against the Iron Throne,” Maegor argued. “By the time the dust settles here, I’ll have secured my fiefdom well enough that it will have become normal to them.”

“We can only hope,” Daemon said.

“You know, I expected you to be a bit more shocked,” Maegor commented. “I’ve outlived my cousin Jaehaerys and his son both at this point.  I’m probably the oldest living member of our family.”

“You’re not, actually,” Daemon said. “Your uncle Aemon still lives.”

“Ae...the maester?” Maegor asked in shock. “How?”

“I imagine he wonders that himself at this point,” Daemon snorted. “He almost certainly passed his hundredth nameday while I’ve been in Essos.  You should write him, just to see what he says in reply.”

“I can’t imagine he’d be that fond of me,” Maegor said. “No one remembers my father fondly.  There was so little for me in Westeros that I sailed across the narrow sea as soon as I could.”

“He’s not one to blame people for the deeds of others,” Daemon said. “Speaking of, I assume that  Malliard knows who you are?”

“He’s one of the few,” Maegor said. “He figured out early on that I was a Targaryen; he said that I looked too much like Aerys not to be.”

“About your Dothraki’s sword,” Daemon said after a moment, “I was going to have my blacksmith turn it into a proper blade once he found a forge in this city that he could make use of.  Our family doesn’t need any more Valyrian steel blades, though, especially with Blackfyre returned to us, so I’ll have him send it to you before he sets sail.  You may call it what you like, other than Blackfyre.”

Maegor laughed at that. “Perhaps I’ll call it Brightflame.  The name will probably suit the sword more than it ever did my mad cunt of a father.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Daemon said, sensing that he’d appreciate the joke he had in mind. “If the stories are to be believed, in the end, he was a very bright flame.”

The laughter that followed proved him right.

*****

Aegon turned the ring on his finger as the Silence came closer and closer to shore.  It was an old habit he developed as a child when he was nervous, and he was certainly nervous.  The past few moons had been complete chaos around the Red Keep.  It all started when Varys informed the Small Council that his brother had taken those slave soldiers he had freed and brought into his service and gone off to wipe out the Golden Company.

His father had been naturally upset and worried and had scrambled to assemble an army he could send to reinforce Daemon and bring him home.  When the Kingsguards, whom he sent with that army, returned alone with tales of conspiracy and Blackfyre plots, Aegon thought for a moment that he was going to send both to the wall for failing him.  An investigation proved them correct, however, and thus his father found something new to be furious at: Varys.

He had been in the process of calling his banners and assembling a far larger army to bring to the field when an eagle of all things flew into the throne room of the Red Keep and dropped a letter written by Daemon at the bottom step of the Iron Throne.  Apparently he had won, slain the last Blackfyre, and conquered Pentos.  Now he was on his way back, and their father had sent Aegon to greet him and escort him to the Red Keep personally.

“Targaryen colors aside, the armor those men are wearing looks very little like what I’m used to,” Aegon commented as the Silence came close enough for him to make out the figures on it.

“They’re wearing the traditional armor of the Unsullied, presumably,” Ser Arthur said. “I don’t know if the red and black are traditional, though.”

As the ship docked, six of these Unsullied walked onto the pier and moved immediately to stand perpendicular to Aegon, each pair facing each other with their spears held at their sides.  None of them even acknowledged him, something that was jarring to the crown prince of the realm.  It really forced him to realize that not only were these soldiers not from Westeros, they were loyal to his brother alone.  Once all six were in their positions, Daemon himself emerged, and Aegon found himself looking his brother up and down.

The man was massive, there was no other word for it.  He wasn’t as large as, say, Gregor Clegane, but he was comparable to the mountain’s brother Sandor and Lord Yohn Royce, two of the largest men he had ever met besides the infamous giant.  In his black armor, he was an even more imposing figure, and the few scars on his face belayed his nature as a warrior just as much as the way he moved.

“Gods above, he’s big,”Aegon thought to himself, blushing slightly. “No wonder Arianne and the others all seem obsessed.”

“Brother,” Daemon said warmly as he approached. “I must say that I didn’t expect Father to send you.”

“The Lord Hand has been very vocal in his displeasure over your adventures,” Aegon explained. “Our father thought that sending him might not be the best idea.”

“So he decided to send the Prince of Dragonstone instead,” Daemon said, and the easy acknowledgment of his title put Aegon at ease.

Noticing one of the unsullied carrying a wooden box, Aegon asked, “what’s in there?”

“A gift for Father,” Daemon replied, his tone making it clear that he wouldn’t be elaborating.

“Well, we should move quickly then,” Aegon said, turning towards the keep.  The guards he had brought with him walked ahead and beside him, while Daemon’s guards walked wordlessly to keep him well surrounded.

“How fares the eunuch?” Daemon asked after a moment.

“Rotting in the black cells,” Aegon replied.

“I half expected Father to have him killed by now,” Daemon remarked.

“Part of him wanted to do it himself,” Aegon said, “but given how many suffered for Varys’ schemes, he’s decided to wait until all the lords of the land are here to hold the trial.  Since they’ll all be here for my upcoming wedding, it just makes sense.”

“I’ve always said that a wedding without a public execution was a dull affair,” Daemon joked.

Aegon laughed. “Yours was anything but dull, Daemon.  You and Ari spent the entire time looking like you were going to tear each other’s clothes off right there in the Sept of Baelor.  Rhaenys thought it was hilarious.”

“She’s brought that side of me out since the day we met,” Daemon said fondly.

“I’m surprised she wasn’t the first thing you asked about,” Aegon commented.

“I know she’s doing well,” Daemon said.

“I couldn’t help but notice that isn’t a longsword at your hip, my prince,” Ser Arthur commented.

“No, it isn’t,” Daemon said. “I hardly needed Nightsister for this.”

Before Aegon or Arthur could ask anything else, the crowd finally noticed them and started calling out to them.

“Prince Daemon, Prince Daemon!” the people shouted again.

“You nearly caused a riot,” Aegon said as they picked up their pace. “That man you sent with golden trinkets to hand out to people would have been mobbed if not for his horse.”

“I just wanted to share my good fortune with the people of the city,” Daemon said, smiling and waving to the crowd.

“And make it impossible for Father to punish you for any of the chaos you caused without sparking a riot,” Aegon said.

Daemon said nothing.

*****

You could have heard a pin drop in the throne room as Daemon entered, and everyone present turned to look at him.

“Prince Aegon, the Prince of Dragonstone, and his brother, Prince Daemon, pirate-slayer and horselord’s bane, the scourge of the Great Grass Sea,” the herald called out.

Daemon smirked at the titles he had sent ahead for the herald, mostly for his own amusement, and gazed around the room.  There were various noble courtiers around who had a mixture of irritation and respect on their faces.  He spotted the very pregnant Arianne before long, who was beaming at him alongside her equally happy-looking sand snakes,, Bellegere, and Missandei.  He gave them a warm smile as he made his way towards the throne before settling his attention on the man sitting on it.  His father had the same look on his face that he had when they met up again after so many years when the man came north to retrieve him a couple years ago.  It was a look that said that he didn’t know whether he was more proud of or furious with the person he was looking at.

“Father,” Daemon said, unsheathing the sword at his hip and placing its tip against the floor as he knelt.

“My son,” the king said, “returned at long last from your...is that...Blackfyre?”

“It is indeed,” Daemon said smoothly, looking up at him and holding out the blade against his open palms. “The sword of kings returned at long last to the rightful one.”

Rhaegar descended from the throne and took the sword, looking down at it as though he couldn’t fathom what he was seeing.

“Rise,” he said after a moment.  As Daemon did, he pulled him in for a hug. This sign of royal harmony drew cheers from the crowd. “We will discuss this at length.”

Daemon just nodded at the whispered words as he stepped back. “I have a couple more gifts, Father.”

“Oh?” Rhaegar asked, handing Blackfyre to a stunned-looking Aegon.

“Yes,” Daemon said, looking at the box his Unsullied had brought in. “Grey Worm, open the box.”

“Yes, my prince,” Grey Worm said, setting it down and prying it open.

Daemon reached inside and pulled out the perfectly clean skull inside.  The entire room went silent again as he turned to his father, whose eyes widened as he beheld what Daemon had in his hands.

“The skull of the last Blackfyre,” Daemon said, “wearing the crown of Aegon the Dragon.”

“Bloody showman,” he barely heard his father mutter as the man pulled the crown off of the skull. “By the gods, this is real Valyrian steel!”

“It’s either the crown or a perfect replica,” Daemon said. “The magister was far too dead to question by the time I happened upon it, so I have no idea where he got it from.  None of his former slaves knew either.”

“A mystery we’ll settle in time,” Rhaegar said, nodding to Ser Arthur.

“Petitions are over for the day,” the Commander of the Kingsguard called out. “His Grace will hear more of you tomorrow.”

“We’re meeting in the Small Council chamber at once,” Rhaegar said.  Turning to Aegon, he added, “you’re both coming with me.”

“Of course, Father,” Daemon and Aegon said in unison.

The two princes followed their father and the Kingsguards, who joined them.  Spotting one in particular, Daemon commented, “Ser Barristan.  It’s good to see you.”

“The feeling is mutual, my prince,” Ser Barristan replied dryly.

As they approached the door, they heard the sound of men arguing inside.

“I’m just saying that dismembering men en masse in the streets is not the sort of thing that we can allow the Gold Cloaks to do in perpetuity,” Tyrion Lannister, the Master of Coin, said.

“It was one large spectacle meant to make a point,” Lord Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Laws, argued. “We have every lord in the realm coming for the royal wedding; that’s the whole reason that we increased the City Watch’s budget and reformed the personnel to begin with.  Yes, quite a few people were mutilated last night for various crimes, but I trust Commander Rolland to have been prudent in handing out summery judgments.”

“This sort of thing did work in the time of Viserys I,” Lord Paxter Redwyne, the Master of Ships, said. “The Rogue Prince is described as having used periodic displays of brutality to quell crime.  It won’t last forever, but the display should convince all but the most thick-skulled criminals to lay off for a while.”

“See to it that there are no further displays like this for the time being, Lord Stannis,” Lord Jon Connington, the Hand of the King, said. “If there is a noticeable decrease in crime, violent crime in particular, then we will consider using another such display just before the various lords start to arrive.”

The three royals had been listening in on the conversation, and Rhaegar chose that moment to open the door and enter.

“A sound judgment, Lord Hand,” he said.

“Thank you, your grace,” Connington said, rising to his feet rapidly.

The other members did the same, save for Maester Aemon, who just smiled in their general direction.  There was one among them that Daemon didn’t recognize.  He was short and squat with large, hairy hands.  His neck was thick, his jaw strong, and his dark eyes stared up at him from underneath thick, bushy eyebrows.

“I’ve met everybody else here, but I’m afraid I do not recall you,” he said.

“Maester Marwyn, my prince,” the man said.

“Marwyn here came to assist me in my duties,” Aemon said, “though he has of late taken on the additional role of interim Master of Whispers.”

“Let’s get down to business,” Rhaegar said, taking his seat at the head of the table and placing a small orb in a groove in it.

“I meant to give you this earlier,” Aegon said, handing Daemon a similar orb and taking his own seat.

Daemon placed the orb inside the groove by an empty seat and waited for his father to begin.  It was actually Connington who spoke.

“You are to account for your actions in Essos,” the man said, glaring at him.

Daemon had had limited interactions with his father’s hand over the years, but he had never failed to come away believing that the man didn’t care for him.  In truth, he didn’t seem to care for most people other than his father, whom he was almost fanatically loyal to.  The man wasn’t an Unwin Peake or Otto Hightower, but he was a cunt nonetheless.

“I did send a report,” Daemon said.

“And we’ve read it thoroughly,” Rhaegar said, “so you can skip over your trips to Braavos and Slaver’s Bay.  Begin with the greening of Dorne.”

Daemon launched into an account of his magical misstep and continued on to his time in the town he had ordered built and his battles with the Dothraki.  He kept an eye on the reactions that his tale earned him.  Of the group, Aegon and Stannis seemed the most impressed, though the latter was so difficult to read that he couldn’t be quite sure.  His father and Aemon looked more concerned than anything, while Tyrion and Marwyn looked intrigued.  Connington and Paxter were the only ones who looked like they disapproved.

“I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating,” Rhaegar said. “Word of what happened in Dorne is not to leave the small council chamber on pain of death.  Am I clear?”

Everyone in the room agreed without hesitation.

“I would see this scroll on water magic if possible,” Marwyn said.

“If my goodfather didn’t destroy it, that might be arranged,” Daemon said.

“Such things are best not played with,” Paxter said bitingly.

“I agree,” Daemon said. “Things went further than I could have anticipated.”

“What’s done is done,” Aemon said, “and I understand that Dorne already has a larger population than it did before.”

“Yes,” Daemon said, “my squire managed to get all of the Dothraki women across the Narrow Sea.”

“Doran has apparently just managed to get them sorted,” Rhaegar commented. “The only thing that shocked him more than the women were the horse statues.”

“I had thought he’d like them,” Daemon said.

“Oh, they’re apparently magnificent,” Rhaegar said, “but finding a way to get them positioned outside the palace was apparently a nightmare.”

“So you had just finished butchering tens of thousands of men, and you decided to sack their city?” Connington asked.

“I do hate to leave a job unfinished,” Daemon replied coolly. “It was at Vaes Dothrak that the Golden Company came after us.”

“And once you had dealt with them, you learned the truth about Varys?” Rhaegar asked.

“Yes,” Daemon said. “I’ve brought the scrolls with me.  Once we’ve had a chance to go over them, I imagine that the Citadel would appreciate them.”

“Most definitely,” Aemon said.

“So from there, I contracted the Windblown, having learned that their commander had a personal history with Pentos, and gathered my forces to besiege the city,” Daemon said. “Once all was said and done, the city had fallen, the last Blackfyre lay dead, and the Iron Throne had a new vassal.”

“I’ve gone over the terms of the agreement that you worked out, without any authority to do so,” Connington said bitingly. “The tribute seems minor.”

“It’s geared to the city’s annual revenue,” Daemon said. “With the Dothraki gone, they will be able to invest more in developing their territory, and so their revenue will increase.  With it, so will their tribute.”

“The new Prince of Pentos, this Tattered Prince, who is he?” Rhaegar asked. “Ser Barristan and Prince Lewyn told us that he was a man who was nearly made the prince of the city but had to flee from it.  Neither knew his name, and it isn’t mentioned in your report either.”

“I have the formal agreement on my ship,” Daemon said. “I’ll retrieve it later for your formal approval.  As for who he is, it turns out that he’s our distant cousin, Prince Maegor.”

“What?!” Connington exclaimed while Rhaegar put his head in his hands. “Do you have any idea how much harder that ill make it to sell this to the other cities?”

“He would be Aerion’s boy then?” Aemon asked.

“The very same,” Daemon said. “I didn’t even know that he was still alive, much less leading a sellsword company in Essos.  I found out his name after we had taken the city.”

“Jon has a point, Daemon,” Rhaegar said. “This makes it look like we conquered the city to spread our own influence rather than to counter an active plot against the throne.”

“Perhaps it would be better to forget the vassalage altogether,” Connington said. “It would leave Pentos in this Prince Maegor’s hands, but make it easier to wash our hands of the entire sordid affair.”

“I strongly disagree,” Daemon said. “The lands that Pentos is going to be developing in the absence of the Dothraki are those of the former kingdom of Andalos.  Having those under the Iron Throne, even if they weren’t fully part of our territory, would greatly appease the Andals.  The cities are unlikely to do much in response to this, anyway.  None of them would move against us alone, and they’re all going to be too busy fighting each other for land just now to unite.”

“The Prince might be right about that,” Marwyn interjected. “We’ve received reports that Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh are on the verge of outright war, tensions between Norvos and Qohor have worsened rapidly, Volantis is moving northward into the old ruins of the Rhoynar kingdoms, and Braavos has conquered Lorath.”

“Why in the world would Braavos want to conquer Lorath?” Daemon asked.

“I believe that I can answer that,” Aemon said. “Lorath commands a small fishing village far to the east of their island in the former kingdom of Sarnor.  Taking Lorath will open that village to Braavosi conquest, and if they intend to colonize Sarnor…”

“That would let them bypass the pissing contest with the other cities and potentially enrich themselves far beyond the rest of them combined,” Daemon said, remembering the old map he had seen once that mentioned Sarnor.

He had passed through its ruins on the way to Vae Dothrak, and the lands were eminently useful, though largely abandoned, thanks to the Dothraki.  If Braavos rebuilt the old cities along the multiple rivers of that area and populated them with their own people, the resources that they could end up getting out of it would be immense.

“It does sound like the other Free Cities are going to have their hands full for the foreseeable future,” Rhaegar said, mulling over his options.

“Oh, it’s better than that,” Daemon said. “Braavos was the only city I was honestly worried about, since their land is right next to the lands of Pentos.  If they’ve already decided to focus on the ruined kingdom of Sarnor, then we have very little to fear.  If properly developed, Pentos could become wealthier than the Stormlands, Riverlands, and Vale combined, and if we’ve helped that development, the revenue it could draw in for the Crown could be immense.”

“Alright,” Rhaegar said. “Bring the formal agreement to me, and I’ll go over it.  Be aware, however, that you have gotten exceptionally lucky through this entire affair.  If anything had gone wrong, it would have ended in disaster, and if you hadn’t discovered the conspiracy that you did, I would still be livid beyond measure that you decided to go to war with an entire people without my approval.  You, Arianne, and everyone else who accompanied you to Hugorton are forbidden to leave Westeros without explicit approval from me going forward.  Am I clear?”

“Yes,” Daemon said happily.  With a child on the way, he had little desire to undertake more foreign adventures anyway.

“Alright then, you’re dismissed,” Rhaegar said. “I imagine that you want to check on your wife, close as she is to giving birth.”

“You have no idea, Father,” Daemon said, grabbing his orb from the table.

He knew that Arianne had been summoned to court not long after she returned to Dorne and the mess with Varys and his agents had been dealt with.  She had stayed in the chambers that he had taken for himself after he returned from the North, with their lovers around her as the pregnancy progressed.  The second Daemon entered the room, he found himself swarmed by happy women.

“Daemon!” Tyene yelled, jumping into his arms.

He held her tightly as she kissed him, returning her passion eagerly.  He hadn’t been with a woman in moons, longer than he had gone without since the first time he got his cock wet.  He had been at sea for a while and wanted to bathe, but if they wanted him as he was, he was not going to say no.

“Tyene,” Arianne called out, and Tyene backed away from him immediately.

“Sorry, I got carried away,” Tyene said.

“I missed you,” Daemon said, “all of you.”

“We missed you too,” Nymeria said, smiling widely up at him.

“I was so relieved to hear that it was all over,” Missandei said.

“I don’t think you have any new scars, Bellegere commented, brushing her hand over his face.

“My arm was cut pretty deeply,” Daemon said.

“Sounds like you had fun,” Obara said.

“Girls, would you mind helping him out of his armor and giving us a moment alone?” Arianne asked tiredly from the bed.

“Of course,” Tyene said, getting to work immediately.

Daemon looked over at his resting wife, Maegor curled up on her chest, and smiled.  Once he was out of his armor, he threw on a simple doublet they had waiting for him and sat down next to Arianne as the others left, taking Maegor with them.

“How are you feeling?” Daemon asked.

“Tired,” Arianne said. “It seems I’m tired all the time these days.”

“You’re getting close,” Daemon assured her.

“You could tell that, huh?” Arianne asked irritably.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Daemon said.

“It’s true all the same,” Arianne sulked. “I’m enormous.”

“You’re beautiful,” Daemon said, brushing her hair aside with his fingers.

“You haven’t seen me naked in months,” Arianne said. “I’m hideous.”

“You’re wrong on both counts,” Daemon said.

“Both…” Arianne trailed off, and she looked down where Maegor had been lying before Tyene picked him up. “Is that why Maegor has been so obsessed with my tits?”

“I think he just has good taste, but to answer the question you didn’t ask, yes, I’ve watched you through his eyes,” Daemon said. “I managed to luck into choosing a moment when you were bathing a couple times, so I can say without a shadow of a doubt that you are still as beautiful as you were the day I married you.”

“Flatterer,” Arianne said, though her ear-to-ear grin couldn’t be hidden.

“Gods, I’ve wanted to see these in person for moons,” Daemon said, bringing the sleeves of her dress down around her shoulders.

“Daemon, we can’t fuck,” Arianne said. “I was planning to watch you take the others specifically because of that.”

“I know we can’t fuck, but we can do other things,” Daemon said, freeing her massive milk-filled breasts and cupping them in his hands.

“Oh gods!” Arianne cried as he latched his lips onto one of her leaking nipples and drank deeply.  Her hands found his scalp, and she held him to her chest as she squirmed in pleasure. “Oh fuck, why didn’t I think of getting the others to drink from me?  That feels so good, Daemon.  You can’t imagine how much heavier they feel right now.”

“I think I can,” Daemon chuckled, switching to the other breast and drinking from it as well.  Her milk was thin, but it tasted pleasant enough.  The main appeal was worshiping her tits, though.

“Mmm,” Arianne cooed. “Daemon, feel my belly.  He’s been kicking wildly lately.”

“He?” Daemon asked, placing a hand as gently as he could on her belly.

“I think so,” Arianne said, taking his hand and pressing it more firmly against her.

Sure enough, he felt a little bump against his hand and smiled.

“My son,” Daemon whispered, feeling a joy he had never known. “Gods, I love you, Ari.”

“I love you too,” Arianne said, her eyes filling with tears.

“Let me show you how much,” Daemon said, kissing her belly through her dress and moving downward.

“Dae...Daemon!” Arianne gasped as he spread her thighs and stuck his head under her dress.

“No small clothes?” Daemon asked teasingly.

“It’s not like anyone could see much through my belly even if I was naked,” Arianne grumbled.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Daemon said. “I see a very wet-looking cunt just here.”

“That’s be...gods...because having you drink from me was wonderful,” Arianne moaned as he started lapping at her wet folds.

Daemon groaned at the familiar taste and sunk his fingers into her fleshy thighs as he started really devouring her.  It had been so long, and he had missed this so much that he swore he enjoyed it as much as she did starting out.  Of course, her enjoyment soon eclipsed her own.

“Holy fuck, Daemon!” Arianne laughed as her legs started shaking. “That’s so...ugh...so good.”

“You’re so wet, Ari,” Daemon said. “Have they been neglecting you?”

“I haven’t felt like enjoying myself in a while,” Arianne admitted. “You just have a way of...fuck!”

Arianne cried out as he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked gently on the sensitive nub.  He pushed two fingers inside her and started gently brushing against that spot just inside her cunt that he knew could make her wild.  He knew that he had to be careful, given her condition, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t make her crest.

“Oh gods, just like that,” Arianne moaned, her whole body starting to quiver as her pleasure mounted. “Fuck, I missed your tongue.”

Daemon chuckled and continued what he was doing.  He knew very well what she enjoyed most and was focused on just pushing her over the edge.  They could enjoy themselves more later, but Arianne was feeling down; he hadn’t seen her cum in ages, and he figured that he could fix both of those problems easily enough.  Curling his fingers more, he started really pumping them in and out of her cunt, the wet squelching sound filling the air as he flicked his tongue rapidly over her clit.

“More, more, more,” Arianne cried as that familiar pressure started building inside her. “Oh gods, I’m so close, I’m so...Daemon!”

She screamed at the top of her lungs as she came, and Daemon found himself utterly drenched as she squirted all over his face.  It was the wettest orgasm he had ever caused or even heard of.  He started coughing as he accidentally inhaled some of the fluids that filled his mouth.

“Fucking...hells,” Daemon coughed, trying to wipe the fluids out of his eyes. “Have you not cum since we last saw each other?”

“Daemon,” Arianne panted, sounding oddly scared.

“Fuck, it’s in my nose,” Daemon complained, trying to blow the fluids out one nostril at a time.

“Daemon,” Arianne panted again.

“There, I think I can see again, mostly,” Daemon said, blinking as his blurry vision started to clear.

“Daemon!” Arianne shouted.

“What?” Daemon asked, looking over at her.  Seeing that she looked terrified, he grew concerned and asked, “what's wrong?”

“The babe,” Arianne said.

“What about the babe?” Daemon asked. “Do you feel any pai…”

He trailed off as he came to the same conclusion that she already had about why that orgasm was so particularly wet.

“Oh,” Daemon said, shock starting to set in. “That was...I mean, it was your...and that means that you…”

“Maester!” Arianne barked. “Midwives!”

“Right,” Daemon said, snapping out of it. “Right, I’ll go get them.”

He had a child on the way.  Now, if only he could swallow his heart back down into place, he might be able to do something about that.