A Prince of House Targaryen Chapter 76 (Leaving Harrenhal) (Patreon)

What are you doing?

Did you forget what you came here to do?

What House Targaryen did to your family? To your father? Brandon? Robert? Lyanna?

Don't forget that you made this Decision...

Gasping for air, Ned lifted his heavy eyelids, revealing pitch-black surroundings that engulfed him in a suffocating void. Desperately, he scanned his surroundings, but the absence of light rendered his efforts futile. As his fingers groped in the darkness, he winced at the cold sensation of the tight cuffs digging into his wrists, an uncomfortable reminder of his entrapment. The stench of decay and filth filled the air.

Ned let his body sink down, seeking solace against the icy touch of the wall. His feeble attempts to find comfort were in vain as his legs sprawled out awkwardly, partially numb from the pressure against his feet. Staying in the cell had taken a toll on him, leaving his lips parched, and his throat dry as if every drop of moisture had been sapped away. A persistent itch began to torment his hands, but it was his wrists that suffered the most, bearing the heavy burden of the chains. The sensation of constriction intensified, causing him to feel that his hands would fall off from the weight.

Ned couldn't tell if his eyes were closed or open; darkness surrounded him. Nonetheless, his sluggishness was evident as his head slowly leaned to the right, indicating his weariness. The longing for sleep and the allure of dreaming about his beloved family began to occupy his thoughts, offering a temporary respite. However, just as the exhaustion began to dissipate, the atmosphere suddenly shifted when the faint sound of echoing footsteps reverberated through his dim cell, sending an unexpected surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Despite the pain coursing through his body, Ned determinedly relied on the solid wall to aid his efforts in getting back on his feet, using his elbows, both acting as additional pillars of support, as he gradually rose from the ground. An uncomfortable sensation trickled down his spine as his back was battered and ached.

He couldn't help but notice a chilling sensation enveloping him. It was as if the frigid air seeped through his skin, penetrating the depths of his weary bones. He became aware of a peculiar dampness encircling his wrists and feet.

The discomfort lingered, intensifying into an irritating itchiness that seemed to grow with each passing moment.

As he stood up on his legs, his legs trembling, finding it difficult to support his own weight, sleepless nights and horrible food had made him weak, but Ned mustered the strength to keep himself from falling down. Whoever was on the other side wouldn't see him lying on the ground like a rat.

Hearing the unmistakable metallic sound of the door opening, resonating through the dark cell, the rusted door let out a loud and grating noise as it creaked open. Ned expected his family to be on the other side of the door; the thought brought him joy, but the one waiting for him wasn't who he expected.

"Jon!" Ned said the name without thinking. If mentioning his old name brought him any discomfort, Jon did a good job hiding it. Ned wondered what was going through his head. Why is he here? Ned wanted to ask but held his tongue. Jon continued to be quiet as he walked into the dark cell, his grey eyes looking at Ned.

Is it pity? Ned asked himself, trying to understand what Jon was thinking, but all his thoughts disappeared when Jon's hand dug deep into his pocket and pulled out... a key. Ned had to squint his eyes to see what it was that Jon was holding in his hand.

But seeing the key that Jon was holding, Ned realized that his time to go to the Wall had finally arrived; Ned had thought that he would feel hesitation at the thought of going to the Wall, but after sleeping in the dark cell, Ned felt relived, at the very least he would have an opportunity to see his family again before leaving. He won't have to sleep in a dark cell again.

"The time has come, hasn't it?"

"No, Lord Stark. I talked with Father, and you will spend the night with your family one more time, but tomorrow, at first light, you will leave for the Wall." Jon told him as he took hold of Ned's chains around his wrists, putting the key inside the keyhole. With a click, the chains fell from his wrists, clattering on the ground.

Ned felt relief. His hands no longer felt as heavy; they almost felt weightless, but hearing Jon's words, he felt a pang of guilt in his heart, not the first time and not the last. Ned wondered if he would ever stop feeling guilty for the decision he made that day.

"Why?" Ned's voice was raspy and meek. As he spoke, Ned's parched throat seemed to strain. Though his words fell on deaf ears, the pained expression on Jon's face mirrored Ned's understanding that his nephew had not heard him.

"Why?" Ned repeated this time, his voice echoing in the dark cell. The darkness felt like it was consuming them.

"I don't understand what you mean, Lord Stark?" Jon asked instead as he handed the key to Lord Stark, who crouched down and unlocked the chains around his legs. The sudden weight loss made him feel weightless, but Ned looked back at his nephew with gratitude and confusion.

"You know what I mean, Jon. Why do this for me after everything?" Ned demanded right at Jon's face, but his face showed little reaction; Ned wasn't sure what his nephew was thinking, but the way he looked at him was almost full of pity and suppressed anger.

"Don't fool yourself, Lord Stark. I'm not doing it for you, but I want you to have the opportunity for one last talk with your family before leaving." Jon told him almost emotionlessly before telling him to follow him out of the dark cell before they started walking upstairs; silence fell upon them, and nothing could be heard but the sound of footsteps as they walked upstairs.

Reaching a metallic door at the end, the vigilant guards, their heavy boots clanging against the floor. With a synchronized motion, they swiftly turned the handles and swung the door open.

As Ned stepped outside, his senses were immediately overwhelmed by the warmth and brightness that enveloped his entire being. The radiant rays of the setting sun danced upon his face, temporarily blinding him. Squinting his eyes and instinctively shielding his face with his hands, Ned struggled to adjust to the piercing intensity. Gradually, the initial discomfort eased, but a sharp, lingering sensation lingered behind his closed eyelids, making his eyes burn.

Ned walked further into the sunlit surroundings. With a deep breath, he opened his eyes. His vision remained suspended in a haze, distorting his surroundings and forcing everything to appear fuzzy and indistinct.

As time passed, Ned's eyes gradually adjusted to the sudden change and reacquainted themselves with the outside world. The blurriness that had initially plagued his vision dissipated, allowing the scenery to regain its sharpness and clarity slowly.

Ned still felt pain in his eyes, but he ignored it as he followed Jon from behind. Soon, they were joined by Arthur Dayne, who looked at him with wariness, his hand grasping the handle of his sword as a warning to Ned not to do anything reckless or stupid.

Ned was too tired and didn't have any weapons. He felt weak, and even walking was taking a toll on him as he followed Jon, but he couldn't help but feel overjoyed; what Jon was doing for him was far more than he deserved.

"Jon, thank you," Ned said sincerely as they arrived before the Stark's tent. The guards stepped away, bowing respectfully to him. Jon didn't answer right away before turning to face him.

"Talk with Robb, Lord Stark. Soon, I will return to the North and bring all the Free Folk south of the Wall. You talk with your son and make him see reason; perhaps your words can help him, but if he tries to rebel against my family, then I will bathe Winterfell in flames until every stone has melted," Jon warned him, his voice suddenly threatening and firm. As Ned heard these words, a chill ran down his spine, sending shivers through his entire body. It was in that chilling tone that Ned realized his nephew wasn't making an empty threat. The conviction in Jon's voice was undeniable, and it brought a deep sense of unease to Ned's core.

Just as the weight of Jon's words sank in, a dragon's deafening roar echoed in the distance, its mighty presence felt even from afar. The birds perched atop the trees took flight in a panicked frenzy. Ned watched the guards nearby, their once-composed faces turning pale and their bodies trembling with fear.

"Allow the Wildlings south of the Wall! Jon, you know the Northern Houses would never approve of it. You know how they are. Do you think they will follow the King's Law and the North has a long history with them, a history of blood and wars." Ned asked skeptically. Through the centuries, the Wildlings had tried many times to go South of the Wall. Still, the armies of House Stark always managed to crush whatever army they had gathered. Even the Thirteenth Commander of the Night's Watch rebellion, the man who called himself a King, had also been crushed like the others. The tales spoke that he had married a Female White Walker whose beauty was said to be mesmerizing.

"Lord Stark. They might call themselves Free Folk, and they might value their Freedom, but I'm sure they value their Lives far more. Me and Val will be there to make sure they obey the rules; those that prefer to disobey, I will burn them with my dragon." Aemon spoke firmly, his voice sounding deeper and more powerful; Ned looked at him, and for a moment, he couldn't recognize Jon.

The Nephew he remembered wasn't like this. For a moment, Ned felt he was looking at a different person. Someone who had no problems killing people, someone who sounded like a powerful man.

"How? The Wildling might value their lives, but what's stopping them from breaking the rules after the safe passage through the Wall?" Ned questioned further; the thought of bringing hundred thousands of wildlings south of the Wall didn't sit well at the moment; all of them would need feeding and all the other basic stuff needed for survival, and they needed to make sure they didn't go out and do something to break the King's Law.

"Do you know who their King is, Lord Stark?"

"Mance Rayder, a former member of the Night's Watch," Ned answered, not sure where Jon was going with this.

"Val is Mance's sister-in-law," Jon informed him; Ned had a look of realization on his face.

"You think the Wildlings will follow you because you married Val?" Ned asked, sounding more optimistic about Jon's proposition.

"Alliance through marriage was done between the wildlings before Lord Stark, and I'm still the leader of The Thenn Clan. They are one of the most powerful clans beyond the Wall; they follow me, but if either the wildlings or the Night's Watch break the rules, then I will make sure to make an example." Jon said grimly. His last words made Ned swallow hard. His body shivered, and the dragon in the distance roared once again.

"Example?"

"Aye, an Example." Jon reaffirmed, his grey eyes suddenly appearing much darker. Ned had a feeling that he wouldn't like this 'example.' He just hoped that it would never come to it.

"I will talk with them, Jon, but I promise you nothing. They won't welcome the Wildlings with open arms, and after what happens with me, my banners will be even less reluctant to allow them South of the Wall, especially since you are the one that wants them South of the Wall." Ned informed him he himself didn't like the thought of letting the Wildlings south of the wall; they obeyed no laws, and who could make sure that they followed the rules and decided not to attack any of the castles, but Ned figured that Jon had lived amongst them for four years, and now possessed a Dragon. Dragons were power, and perhaps he could force them into submission.

"I know that, Lord Stark. I'm not expecting any promises; the Dead are coming, and we can't waste time. Bringing them south of the Wall means fewer soldiers for the Army of the Dead." Jon said sincerely. Ned almost opened his mouth to say he was wrong, but Ned couldn't see why Jon would lie about something like this. He knew there was a chance that Jon had seen something that wasn't there, but Ned knew his nephew wasn't a madman.

"I will try, Jon," Ned promised. Jon looked satisfied with his answer and turned around on his heels before walking away, followed closely by Arthur. Ned wondered where Ghost was, but as he turned to look at the tent, he moved the tent's flap upwards and walked inside.

Once he walked inside, he was greeted by the sight of his family. Almost all of them, Ned remembered, but as all of them turned their heads towards him, all their concerned expressions gave way to sheer joy, casting away any traces of worry or sorrow. Amidst the cacophony of emotions, it was Arya who lunged towards him, enveloping him in a tight embrace that nearly lifted him off his feet. Surprised yet filled with unabated love, Ned stumbled backward, trying to maintain his balance, landing softly on the ground with Arya snuggled closely against him. In that tender moment, their arms latched onto each other, his strong hands tenderly cradling the back of her head while his lips instinctively brushed against the top of her head, comforting her as she unleashed the weight of her emotions through heartfelt sobs against his chest.

"Father!!" "Ned!" Everyone else screamed in joy; Ned soon found himself being hugged by Bran, Rickon, and Sansa; he kissed all of them on the foreheads. Robb and Catelyn walked over to him; Robb had a wide smile on his face.

"I missed all of you," Ned said in a raspy voice, his heart swelling with overwhelming love and longing. As he embraced his children tightly, their tears soaked his shoulders and chest. In that fleeting instance, Ned wished he could freeze time, cherishing this heartfelt connection with his beloved family forever.

Reluctantly, he mustered the strength to rise from the embrace. Walking towards his eldest son, Ned enveloped Robb in a warm hug.

Turning towards his beaming wife, Catelyn, Ned leaned in and pressed a loving kiss on her lips. Gazing into her face, a sense of contentment washed over him. Her smile was filled with genuine happiness.

"Father, did The King pardon you?" Arya asked right away, her voice energetic and a constant smile on her face; Ned hated himself that his next words would kill her smile.

"I'm afraid not; Jon took permission from the king. I can spend the night here, but tomorrow, at first light, I will leave for The Wall." Ned informed them with a reluctant voice. His words cut through the hearts of his family; their smile died down, and the cheerful atmosphere disappeared, but Ned didn't want this evening to be spent with them sulking about something they couldn't change.

"Ned, you don't have to listen to them; the Riverrun and the North will protect you." "No." Ned shut down Catelyn right away, his voice strong and sounding like a lord once again.

"I'm not hiding, I'm not risking everyone, and I don't want any of you to risk your lives for my own sake. I made mistakes, and the time has come for me to pay the debt." Ned further added, looking at his children, they all seemed like they disagreed with him, especially Robb, who shook his head in denial. The smile had disappeared, and instead, he frowned deeply.

Ned saw it, and he decided to have a serious talk with his son later. He couldn't leave for the Wall when Robb's heart was full of anger and vengeance; Ned remembered the threat, Jon's words to him, promising him to burn Winterfell, reducing it into rubble. Ned didn't want Robb to risk all of it for nothing.

Eventually, Ned gathered all of them so they could share one last dinner together, but as Ned asked about them, he was quickly told what happened to Shaggydog.

"I'm really sorry, Rickon," Ned apologized. As he looked into Rickon's eyes, stained red from countless tears, and noticed the swollen state of his cheeks, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. Rickon sat on the chair, his small frame curled inwards, his legs drawn close to his chest as he tightly clung onto his knees for comfort.

"Have they found who did it?" Ned asked, turning to face Robb, who shook his head, already confirming what he already knew. Ned wondered why anyone would harm a Direwolf for no apparent reason, but most importantly, why was Shaggydog's blood all over the Weirwood Tree? Robb had explained to him that the entire face carved into the tree had turned red from the blood.

Ned wondered why anyone would go through the trouble of doing that, but Ned suddenly remembered the many tales old Nan had told him when he had been young; one of her tales had been blood sacrifices on the Weirwood Tree by the Kings of Winter of the Past. Brandon did love her stories; Ned remembered old Nan used to tell them that House Stark sacrificed people to the Weirwood Tree. The old Nan said that's how they were able to hold the power as rulers of the North for eight millennia.

Despite eating together, the mood around the table wasn't a joyful one. Even Arya was mostly quiet and instead was playing with the food on her plate, using her fork to stab the piece of cooked meat on her plate. Sansa was giving her food to Lady, who was hiding under the table; Bran was just quiet and doing what Arya was doing; Rickon looked almost lost. He looked on the verge of tears. Catelyn had scorn on her face, and Robb seemed like he wanted to beat someone. Eventually, Ned cleared his throat, grabbing their attention.

"Everyone, I know it is difficult for all of you, but I want you all to understand that this is my own doing. I don't want any of you to blame Jon. I was the one who stole him, and I'm paying the debt. I want all of you to understand that." Ned spoke loudly for everyone around the table to hear him. He looked at the faces of everyone, all of them having different reactions.

Robb scoffed, shaking his head in denial, while Catelyn's face turned redder with rage.

"Father, why can't Jon tell the King to pardon you? He's a prince now." Arya asked with a tiny voice, sounding defeated, something Ned didn't like hearing from his daughter.

"The King wanted my head, Arya. Jon convinced him that I should keep my head." Ned answered. His words didn't seem to please Arya, who hugged Nymeria, who was near her.

"What now? Should we just let you rot in The Wall," Robb queried, his tone laden with a tinge of sarcasm. He forcefully struck the table with his clenched fist, causing the plates to slide precariously along its surface. In the chaos, one of the delicate glasses lost its balance, plummeting to the ground, where it shattered into countless fragments, creating a sharp and resonating sound.

"Robb!" Ned suddenly shouted his name; silence fell over everyone as Ned glared at his boy. Robb suddenly shrunk on his chair, looking like a young boy once again. "I won't allow you two to be in Each other's throats. You will do nothing against Jon. This anger you have towards him. Ends Now. Are we clear?" Ned demanded, looking straight at his son, who avoided his gaze, his mouth opened and closing but not saying anything.

"Are we clear?" Ned shouted again, frustration evident in his voice as he raised his voice to a much higher pitch than before, hoping for a definitive response. He desperately sought confirmation from his son, who sat before him with a slight reluctance, avoiding direct eye contact with his father.

As the silence lingered, Robb finally muttered in a somewhat unenthusiastic tone, conveying his hesitancy, "Yes," reflecting his compliance with his father's demands. However, his lack of enthusiasm was palpable in his response. Ned frowned before reminding himself that he needed to have a meeting with his banners.

This will be fun, Ned thought.

"Listen, my Family. I know it is difficult for all of you to accept it, but this is how life is. When I was a young boy, I knew that sooner or later I would leave my home, Brandon would inherit Winterfell, Lyanna would marry a lord, and me and Benjen would marry a Northern Lady. I knew one day I would no longer be with my siblings, but despite what happened in the Rebellion, despite all the loss. I found happiness once again. I want all of you to find happiness and live long and happy lives."

Aemon Targaryen

"Marry you? Jon, you already stole me, or maybe you want to steal me again; you know I won't mind." Val reminded him almost sarcastically, her voice laced with a teasing undertone, while she lay on his plush bed, her body completely exposed. The blanket, barely reaching below her full, tempting breasts, offered a tantalizing glimpse of her exquisite form. The flawless, cream-colored skin that adorned her every curve was on full display, mesmerizing him completely. As his desire for her intensified, her intoxicating scent and irresistible allure fueled a fiery wave of lust within him.

Val, keenly aware of the effect she had on him, wore a triumphant smirk on her face, her eyes gleaming mischievously. With an alluring curl of her finger, she motioned for him to join her.

They had just laid with one another, but neither Aemon nor Val could get enough of one another; Aemon growled as he walked up to her completely naked, a sound that made Val shudder from pleasure. She loved the sound he made, and as Aemon positioned himself next to Val on the soft bed, his broad hand tenderly brushing aside a strand of her luscious blonde hair that cascaded down her neck like honey. Leaning in closer, his lips pressed against her skin, tracing a path of delicate kisses along the curve of her shoulder, eliciting a soft and pleasurable moan escaping from Val's parted lips.

With her eyes half-lidded, Val leaned her head slightly to the right, granting him more access to the sensitive area of her neck. Sensually, Aemon's hands began to explore further, venturing downward and firmly grasping her voluptuous and shapely breasts, which seemed to have grown even more exquisite. His skilled fingers found her already responsive pink nipple, gently pinching and teasing it, provoking another delightful moan from Val as the pleasure intensified.

"I need to marry you again before the old gods?" Aemon reluctantly told her between kisses on her neck. He gradually moved in an upward motion, tracing a line of soft kisses until he reached her delicate jawline. In response to his affectionate gestures, Val couldn't help but let out another pleasurable moan, clearly indicating the immense enjoyment she was experiencing. The way his large hands caressed and expertly massaged her breasts ignited a fiery desire within her, driving her to the brink of ecstasy. Despite being consumed by the overwhelming sensations, she managed to maintain enough composure to form coherent words and express herself with clarity.

In a state of breathlessness, Val managed to utter the single-word question, "Why?". As she felt the warmth of Aemon's lips planting a kiss just below her ear, her senses heightened. Aemon skillfully stimulated her right breast with his dexterous right hand, eliciting waves of pleasure throughout her body. Meanwhile, his left hand slowly and sensually glided downwards.

"Our child. I want him to be a Trueborn." Aemon answered right at her ear with a heavy voice. With a delicate touch, Aemon's hand caressed Val's belly. Val reciprocated by gently placing her hand on top of his, their fingers intimately intertwining in a gesture of unity and shared anticipation.

"Our child will be healthy, born out of love. Why should you care what some southern call him?" Val asked him, looking at his face over her shoulder before leaning her upper body backward until her back was resting against Aemon's chest, his skin touching her, his smell engulfing her.

"It matters to me, Val," Aemon said with a higher voice before he spoke in a hushed voice. "I promised myself that I would never have bastards. I don't want any of my children to be looked down on by anyone. I don't want them ever to feel how I felt." Aemon added. His words made Val turn herself fully around to face him, her blue eyes looking back at his grey eyes; Aemon could feel her breath against his cheek, her long beautiful legs draped around his back, her bare cunt rubbing against his manhood, causing him to breathe heavily with desire.

"Would you still love this child even if he was a bastard?" Val asked, touching her belly.

"Yes," Aemon answered right away without a second thought, his hand reaching up, touching her cheek, slowly cupping her face, her eyes looking back at his. "I would have loved our child no matter what. I want a better future for them."

Val smiled sweetly, her eyes sparkling with affection as she leaned forward, embracing Aemon tightly with her whole body. Snuggling against him, she could feel the warmth radiating from his strong frame, their bodies fitting together perfectly. Her nose pressed gently against his shoulder, inhaling his intoxicating scent, a delicious mix of musk and masculinity that sent shivers down her spine.

As she took a deep breath, her senses filled with his unique flavor, a combination of his natural scent and the electric anticipation between them. The taste of him on her tongue intensified her desire, fueling a growing hunger. Her slender, elegant fingers traced delicate patterns on his bare chest, their touch both gentle and deliberate as they explored the contours of his defined muscles.

A subtle pinch to his nipple earned a low growl from Aemon, which only made Val giggle mischievously. Reluctantly letting go of his nipple, her hand slid down his chest, her fingertips lingering deliciously against his heated skin before venturing lower. With a confident grip, her fingers found what she desired, gripping his hard cock that made her mouth water.

Aemon had told Val everything about his childhood throughout the four years he lived with the wildlings. He spent time with many people there, and after killing the former leader of the Thenn Clan, everyone started respecting him and treating him more like one of their own. This has resulted in many people wanting to know him better, seeking his company, including Tormund. After all, the Free Folk respected a warrior. Tormund had been very eager to tell him about the tales of how he fucked a bear, but Ygritte had told him that it was all bullshit.

Many women had tried to get into his bed as early as two years ago, but Ghost would scare off anyone who approached his tent. Except for Val, Aemon had felt comfortable enough that he had shared everything with Val.

Val did not understand why anyone would treat a child like that. In the true north, children who could survive were cherished by everyone. They were the future, after all, yet the way Aemon described how bastards were treated in the South disgusted her. Only patty people would blame a child for their existence. No one could be seen as guilty for simply living. That was the gift that life was.

Val had told him how, in the True North, no one cared whether he was a bastard or not; he could live there with them and not have to think about being a bastard ever again, and the thought of living there had been comforting for Aemon. During the four years living there, no one ever called him a bastard, no one mocked him, and many people were his friends. He had forgotten about even being a bastard, and the night he had laid with Val, he had felt liberated in a way. He no longer wanted to deny himself of who he was. Amongst Free Folk, he wasn't a bastard, so he had laid with Val and had made love to her, feeling pleasure and love and spreading his seed in her womb.

But now, in the South, he wanted his children with Val to live with him, and he wanted them to be Trueborn. He would never allow anyone to ever look down on them as if they were less than them.

"Jon, is this really that important to you?" Val asked, lifting her head upwards so she could look at his eyes. She knew how important this was to him.

"Yes," Aemon answered, his deep voice resonating with a mix of certainty and warmth. As he spoke, Val leaned closer. Her lustrous locks gracefully cascaded and veiled a small portion of her delicate features, adding a touch of allure to her already enchanting presence.

Drawing closer to him, Val's lips grazed ever so gently against the sensitive skin of Aemon's neck, their warm touch sending electrifying sensations coursing through his body. With an almost imperceptible parting of her lips, a tiny invitation, she tenderly kissed his skin, leaving a trail of lingering affection in her wake.

"You're a silly man, Jon. I will follow you to the end of the world." Val said playfully before kissing him on the lips. '

Aemon found himself in front of the Weirwood Trees in Harrenhal. The only ones present for his wedding were his family. He knew Val would have never wanted a large feast despite being present in so many. Val never saw herself as a Southern Lady; Aemon doubted she would ever see herself as one.

Aemon was wearing his best attire. His brother, sister, father, aunt Daenerys, and Queen Elia were present. Aemon had thought that he would need to explain how a couple married in front of a Weirwood Tree, but surprisingly, Val knew the tradition, saying that Mance Rayder had told them everything he knew of the South, including their traditions for Weddings.

With a radiant smile gracing his face, Aemon stood eagerly anticipating Val's arrival. She was being led by Rhaella, valiantly defying her protests against wearing a dress for the occasion. However, Val eventually relented, surrendering control to Rhaenys, who carefully selected a captivating white gown for her. Adorned in this ethereal garment, Val appeared even more enchanting, captivating all who beheld her. Her locks were expertly brushed, cascading in mesmerizing waves, while an intoxicating fragrance surrounded her, engulfing Aemon as she drew nearer. The entirety of Aemon's attention was devoted to the resplendency of Val's beauty.

"Who comes before the old gods this night?" Rhaegar, his words barely above a whisper, even though the sound waves seemed to bounce off the stillness of the night, filling the air around him.

"Val of the Free Folk comes here to be wed. She comes for the blessing of the old gods. Who comes to claim her?" Rhaella asked.

"Aemon of House Targaryen, who gives her?" he said, looking solely at Val, who looked back at him with love.

"Queen Rhaella Targaryen," Rhaella said as she and Val walked the final few feet and joined them.

"Lady Val, do you take this man?" Rhaegar asked.

"I take this man."

"Aemon Targaryen, do you take this woman?"

"I take this woman," Aemon said, feeling a surge of affection as he took her hand into his firm grasp. He led her gracefully towards the weirwood tree, its ancient and weathered bark standing as a silent witness to their union.

"The old gods have seen your union. Aemon and Val are one and together." Rhaegar said with a melancholy smile, remembering his own wedding with Lyanna many years ago. Elia put her arm around his as they watched Aemon.

Aemon knelt down on the cold, damp ground, with Val gracefully following suit and bowing her head in reverence. He offered a prayer to the old gods, seeking their blessings and guidance. In his fervent plea, Aemon beseeched for the happiness of his beloved wife. In the same breath, he implored the old gods to keep her safe, surrounding her with a shield of protection that would guard her from any harm or danger.

As he finished his reverent prayer, Aemon's unwavering gaze met Val's sparkling eyes, reflecting the warmth and affection that resided within his heart. In that profound moment, he discerned a gentle smile gracing her lips. Aemon stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and tenderly pressed his lips against hers in a soft, lingering kiss.

Savoring the sensation of her warm embrace, Aemon held his wife lovingly in his arms, cherishing the feeling of her beating heart against his chest.

Later

After the wedding, Aemon and Val could finally escape to the intimate sanctuary of their bedchambers. As they entered the cozy room adorned with the soft glow of candlelight, Aemon gently closed the door behind them. His eyes fixed upon Val, who was standing with graceful poise in the middle of the chamber, her eyes shining with excitement and anticipation.

Aemon felt an urge to tear Val's dress apart. However, he managed to control his impulses and instead took measured steps across the chamber, the sound of his footsteps a mere whisper against the luxuriously carpeted floor.

Val seemed slightly impatient as Aemon approached her, her eyes gleaming with affection and longing. Before he could reach her, she reached out and gently cupped his cheeks, her touch sending shivers down Aemon's spine. With tenderness and intimacy, she planted a sweet and lingering kiss upon his lips.

Val passionately forced her tongue into his mouth. As his skilled hands were occupied with ridding her dress, she couldn't help but shiver in excitement. With a delicate yet determined touch, he gradually slipped the dress down her body, revealing her flawless contours. The moment her dress pooled at her feet, his hands instinctively explored every inch of her waist, tracing the curves and contours of her body with a tantalizingly light touch. Finally, their journey led to her ample breasts, where his fingertips grazed the soft, supple flesh, causing her to gasp with pleasure and anticipation.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered softly, his voice tinged with admiration and desire. As his hand delicately traced the contours of her body, his touch evoked a delightful shiver that ran through her. With each caress, he reveled in the immense pleasure he was able to ignite within her, relishing in his ability to provoke such intense sensations with just the gentlest touch of his fingertips. Aemon lifted her chin with a tender but confident gesture, gently cradling it in his hand. He wanted nothing more than to meet her gaze, to lock his eyes with hers.

Aemon couldn't resist the urge to savor the taste of her lips once again. With no hesitation, he deepened the kiss by delving his tongue into the depths of her mouth, intertwining it with hers. As their tongues danced in a harmonious rhythm, his grip tightened on her hair, bringing them closer. Lost in the exploration of each other's oral desires, their enticing union evoked an unrestrained moan from her lips, further fueling their shared moment of bliss.

When Aemon gently withdrew, causing her to lower herself into a crouched position, her head aligned perfectly with his waist. With an undeniable spark of mischief in her eyes, she grinned up at him, taking in the sight of his bright smile. Her lips, now slightly swollen from their passionate encounter, framed her face with an alluring appeal.

As she glanced down, her eyes locked onto his engorged member, eliciting a surge of longing within her. The sight caused her mouth to water in anticipation. Unable to resist the temptation, she extended her tongue and bestowed a teasing lick upon the sensitive head of his cock. The subtle yet tantalizing touch caused a pleasurable shiver to ripple through him, making his member instinctively twitch in response.

"Open up, love."

Val gingerly parted her lips as Aemon, driven by desire, gently guided his throbbing cock inside her mouth, enveloping himself in the immediate warmth that engulfed him. With deliberate and tantalizing slowness, he skillfully maneuvered his member, granting her tongue ample opportunities to extravagantly lavish attention on the sensitive head. While Aemon's wife embodied her characteristic impatience, she was unable to resist the temptation to draw him in deeper, her hands firmly gripping his firm buttocks and urging him to bury himself further within the depths of her embrace.

"You want more, love?" he whispered, his voice dripping with desire and anticipation.

She looked up at him, her sultry gaze intensified by the sheer pleasure she was giving him with her mouth. Her lips, sensually wrapped around his hardened cock, glistened with the increasing saliva as she nodded in affirmation.

"You want me to fuck your pretty little mouth, Val? You want to swallow my cock?"

Val, incapable of forming words while her mouth was so delightfully occupied, emitted a moan that resonated with undeniable lust. The vibrations caused by her pleasure-filled moan sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine.

The room was filled with a symphony of their shared pleasure, a harmonious blend of animalistic sounds, and the intoxicating aroma of their pure desire. Every movement he made, every subtle shift of his hips, elicited a primal response from her.

Aemon savored a moment of anticipation, inhaling deeply. With careful precision, he gently guided his arousal, pressing it against the softness of her throat, all the while conscious of her consent and comfort. Gradually withdrawing, he allowed only the tender tip of his shaft to rest against her lips, ensuring a pleasurable teasing sensation that left her wanting more. Aemon gradually increased the intensity of his movements, steadily building a rhythm that drove his manhood deeper into her mouth, capturing her moans of delight.

His erect member was enveloped in a glistening layer of saliva. As the sensation of warmth and wetness heightened, beads of the same saliva dribbled down from the corner of Val's mouth. With each deep thrust, Val emitted a slight choking sound.

"Fuck, you look so fucking beautiful like this, Val," he said, feeling on the cusp of his orgasm. "I'm going to pull out and come all over your pretty face. Would you like that?"

As Val kept her mouth open, she whimpered slightly, her submissive desire evident. Aemon, driven by his lust, continued to thrust a few more times into her mouth, relishing the control he exerted over her. Sensing his impending release, he finally withdrew, allowing Val to catch her breath for a brief moment. But her eyes never left him, fixated on his every move as he teasingly stroked his engorged cock a few more times. The tension in the room was palpable as Val's heart raced with excitement until Aemon couldn't hold back any longer, and he spilled his hot essence over her eagerly waiting face.

"Val, fuck!"

Her tongue darted out eagerly, like a darting serpent, desperately trying to catch every droplet as he unleashed his passion onto her exquisite face. Val's nimble fingers delicately swept across her skin, gathering and savoring the glistening semen. With graceful finesse, she employed her skilled tongue to relish the rich, creamy taste, relishing in its velvety texture and decadent sweetness. Each and every luscious drop was a testament to their mutual pleasure.

Aemon's sudden and unexpected action of lifting her off the ground without any prior indication almost elicited a delighted squeal from Val. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he playfully threw her over his strong shoulder, causing her heart to skip a beat with a mixture of excitement and anticipation. As they moved towards the bed, he couldn't resist giving her several playful swats on her ass.

As Aemon gently tossed her down onto the bed, she felt a surge of thrilling vulnerability, tinged with a sense of trust and submission. She hastily scrambled towards the center of the bed.

Closing the distance between them, Aemon slowly and deliberately crawled up the bed towards her as he neared the junction of her thighs, their gazes locked, brimming with love.

He smirked. "I love you, Val."

Val moaned with pleasure as he eagerly dived into her cunt, skillfully alternating between gentle licks and tantalizing nips on her sensitive clit. Feeling her desire intensify, he expertly inserted two fingers into her wet and inviting vaginal opening, providing an additional source of pleasure. Val clamped her thighs around his head, inviting him deeper into her intimate experience. The overwhelming sensations and her unabashed enjoyment caused Val to moan louder, relishing in the way his talented tongue effortlessly explored every inch of her most intimate folds, further heightening her pleasure.

Aemon skillfully brought his tantalizing movements to a brief pause, temporarily withdrawing his mouth from hers. He prolonged the anticipation, his fingers continuing their gentle exploration, skillfully teasing her with precision. Within this delicate dance, his thumb, fully attuned to her desires, located her most sensitive spot, delicately strumming the tightly bundled nerves that awaited its touch.

"More, Jon. More, please!" Overwhelmed by waves of pleasure, she couldn't contain herself any longer, a cry escaping her lips as her hips involuntarily lifted from the bed.

As his lips pressed against her sensitive clit, his skilled tongue traced tantalizing patterns on her most intimate parts, heightening her pleasure with each flick and stroke. Meanwhile, his fingers expertly explored the inner depths of her warm, velvety canal, locating the delicate and responsive area on the front wall of her vagina. The gentle caresses sent waves of ecstasy coursing through her body, building up an intense and overwhelming sensation that brought her to the brink of cumming.

In a matter of moments, she couldn't help but call out his name. Sensing her climax, he withdrew his fingers from her soaked depths, attuned to her needs. Without hesitation, he replaced them with his eager tongue, eagerly diving in to savor the intoxicating taste of her juices. His skilled oral ministrations continued, skillfully lapping up every droplet of her essence, prolonging her pleasure and pushing her to new heights of euphoria.

"Mmmm," Aemon hummed against her cunt, and Val cried out again.

He moved his tongue back to flick at her clit, knowing she had another orgasm in her before he sheathed himself inside her.

"Fuck!" She moaned as his teeth grazed her swollen bud, and he licked her through her second orgasm of the night.

Aemon, with a trail of affectionate kisses, traced his way up her body, starting from her lower regions and smoothly ascending towards her belly, which formed the voluptuous valley between her generously endowed breasts. Continuing his path of intimacy, he planted tender kisses along this enticing path, indulging in the softness of her flesh until he reached the delicate curve of her throat. Finally, their lips reunited.

"Fuck me, Jon," Val panted.

She didn't need to repeat it. Aemon positioned himself in perfect alignment with her dripping core. He penetrated her, plunging deep into her core until there was no space left between them. The overwhelming pleasure elicited simultaneous groans of ecstasy, echoing throughout the room as they both reveled in the sensation of him reaching the depths of her being.

Each stroke of his hardness sent electric waves of pleasure coursing through her, making her inner walls tighten around him. He couldn't help but express his pleasure through deep grunts, his every movement a testament to his need and satisfaction. Pulling out slowly, he then thrust back in with a force that awakened all her senses, causing her to gasp in delight. The rhythm continued. "So tight."

Val whimpered in pleasure as she instinctively clutched Aemon even tighter, her legs entwining around his waist in an attempt to draw him closer. The intensity of their connection grew stronger as Aemon increased the speed of his strokes, his movements becoming more fervent and passionate. Val's breath hitched as Aemon leaned down, their lips locking in a fiery kiss that sent electric waves of ecstasy coursing through her body.

Sensing Val's rising anticipation, Aemon skillfully maneuvered their intertwined bodies, spinning them around effortlessly without breaking their intimate connection. As Val found herself now seated atop Aemon, the sensations intensified.

"Help me fill that sweet cunt of yours, love."

As Val started slowly, savoring every moment, she gradually picked up the pace, her body becoming more and more synchronized with the rhythmic movements of Aemon. Aemon's hands explored every inch of Val's body, his fingers tenderly plucking at her nipples while his thumb sensually strummed her clit, heightening her pleasure.

"Jon, oh please, Jon!" With each gasp that escaped her lips, Val desperately called out Jon's name, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the experience. Riding him harder, she pushed herself to the limits. Every thrust felt deeper, their bodies moving in perfect harmony.

With one more deliberate flick to her sensitive and throbbing clit, Val felt a surge of electricity shoot through her body, intensifying the already overwhelming pleasure. The ecstasy grew so powerful that it caused her to lose her carefully maintained rhythm momentarily, her body convulsing uncontrollably as her orgasm consumed her entire being.

Sensing Val's sudden vulnerability, Aemon instinctively reacted, urgently gripping her hips, his desire fueling his next move. With a primal force, he thrust upwards, his hardened member plunging into her wetness. Inevitably, as his arousal reached its peak, Aemon released his hot, pulsating seed, flooding Val's depths.

"Val," he groaned, his hands still tight on her hips as he tried to push further into her.

After his cock spurted its last drop, he sunk further into the pillows attempting to catch his breath as Val lay bonelessly on top of him. Her rapid, shallow breaths were warm on his neck as she panted. After several moments passed, Aemon wrapped his arms around her and turned the side, his cock falling out of her at the movement. They both groaned at the loss.

He pulled Val into his arms. He moved away a strand of her hair so it lay atop the pillow instead of in his face and pressed a kiss against the back of her neck.

"Goodnight. I love you."

"I love you, too, Jon."

Irri

' "Stand near me," Daemon whispered in a hushed tone, his voice barely audible amidst the surrounding darkness. Irri nodded without hesitation as she obediently positioned herself just a step behind him. Despite her petite frame, his towering height made her feel both physically small and secure. Her eyes briefly wandered towards his hand, which effortlessly grasped the hilt of his second short sword, concealed by the folds of his dark cloak.

"Why didn't you take the Red Lady with you? I'm sure she wouldn't mind being near you," Irri said, and couldn't keep the annoyance out of her voice; Daemon let out a weary sigh as they kept walking at a steady pace.

"The Dothraki hate anything to do with sorcery, that includes the Red Priestess. They would have butchered her the moment they set their eyes on her." Daemon answered with a tone that made it clear he was annoyed by Irri's constant complaints about the Red Priestess.

Three years now, it has been three years since the Red Priestess had arrived in Daemon's home. He had been gone for months, and Irri had been too happy to see him again; he wanted to see how much he had grown. He had returned a fully grown man, handsome and strong, but he had brought the Red Lady.

The Red Lady wore only red. Irri couldn't remember her ever wearing something else, her voice as sweet as honey and melodic, but Irri had seen the way she eyed Daemon, how often she would whisper him words, words she didn't know, and Daemon would sometimes be alone with her in her bedchamber, Irri didn't know what they discussed, he never told her. Their chambers would always be dead silent, but Irri didn't trust her. She didn't believe she had his goodwill at heart.

Irri knew Daemon didn't fancy her. He never looked at any girls with love as he used to look at Jenny. The scar on his mouth were still there. He had stretched his own mouth wide enough that it made his skin stretch until it bled and tore. Irri could sometimes hear Daemon's scream in her dreams.

Irri knew Daemon would refuse to speak of anything regarding the Red Lady. Her hands accidentally brushed against the handle of the knife he had gifted her, strapped around her waist. Irri wasn't much of a fighter, but sometimes she felt alone and would often find herself talking to the blade as if it was Daemon.

"Daemon, how can we sneak inside a camp full of Dothraki?" Irri asked as they walked through a field that led them out of Pentos. Khal Drogo had brought his entire army to Pentos, Illyrio Mopatis had promised him a wife for him to wed, and Khal Drogo with his three bloodriders would ride to Pentos tomorrow at first light, but no wife was awaiting him, the only thing waiting for him would be Daemon's blade.

Since he would visit tomorrow, Daemon had planned with Irri to sneak into the Dothraki camp to get a glimpse of this Khal Drogo, who was said to be the strongest Khal, and give him a small gift. Irri knew the thought of a fight excited Daemon. His abilities with his massive blade were legendary, fighting amongst the Golden Company for four years, killing hundreds in his fights, and earning himself quite a reputation. His blade could cut through bodies like a knife through a cake. The blade was big enough to cut through almost everything. The blade was large enough that it frightened Irri. Thankfully, Daemon wasn't carrying it right now.

Due to his large party, finding where they were wasn't difficult at all. Their expansive campsite had been strategically set just outside the city of Pentos, nestled amidst the breathtaking beauty of lush, emerald-green fields. What was once an idyllic landscape had been transformed into a mesmerizing sea of tents numbering in the thousands. However, amidst this vast expanse of canvas abodes, one tent stood out as a majestic beacon – Khal's tent, which dwarfed all others in sheer magnitude. From the vantage point where Irri and Daemon stood, the Khal's tent radiated a commanding presence, proudly situated at the very heart of this sprawling encampment, leaving no doubt as to the dominance and grandeur of its owner.

"Dothraki follow strength, and they have the numbers and the gold. Khal Drogo has hundreds of slaves. They say he is so wealthy that even his slaves wear gold. But despite their strength, they are still simple-minded people. They wear no armor and have no siege weapons. In Westeros, they would be butchered like sheep. Their only use is in the open field, where they can overwhelm the enemy and emerge victorious. As for sneaking inside, we just need to walk. We have the right clothes." Daemon answered with a grunt of discomfort. He had gotten rid of his clothes and had bought Dothraki clothes for himself and her.

Irri felt good in her new clothes, boiled animal skin with a few straps that covered her thighs and breasts. With each step they took towards the camp, Irri couldn't help but steal glances at Daemon, who appeared to tower over her like a colossal figure. Although his size may have intimidated her, Irri's body involuntarily reacted to his presence: her fingers twitched with anticipation, and she felt an uncontrollable urge to moisten her lips. The sight of his muscles flexing with every movement, his broad chest commanding attention, coupled with his delectable aura, overwhelmed her senses, making her fingers practically itch with an eagerness to explore and caress his captivating physique. Irri couldn't deny the awakening of her womanhood as a deep, primal need coursed through her veins.

As they cautiously made their way closer to the camp, the distinct noises emanating from within caught her attention immediately. It was a sound she had become familiar with - the unmistakable signs of passionate intimacy between a man and a woman. She recalled hearing tales of the Dothraki engaging in such acts openly, without a shred of modesty. However, as they ventured further into the heart of the camp, she was taken aback by the sheer symphony of pleasure that enveloped her senses. Moans of ecstasy echoed throughout. Daemon wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder, drawing her closer to him for solace and reassurance. Her head reached up to the level of his waist.

Irri noticed the looks Daemon was getting from the other Dothraki. His height made him stick out amongst the crowd, but Daemon ignored the glances, the looks of challenge from the man, and lust from some of the women. He ignored all of them. A bottle tightened around his waist as they walked deeper into the camp.

Soon enough, Irri and Daemon briskly walked into the center of the bustling camp, a sprawling and expansive clearing. The Khal's magnificent tent, towering to an impressive height of ten feet, commanded immediate attention as it stood prominently at the heart of the encampment. Adjacent to the grand tent, a lively bonfire crackled and danced radiantly.

Surrounding the flickering flames were Khal Drogo himself, adorned in his regal attire, alongside his loyal bloodriders. They stood in a tight-knit circle, engrossed in their conversations and the accompanying flickers of the firelight. Amidst this scene, Irro's observant gaze caught sight of a young woman, animatedly bouncing in the lap of one of the bloodriders. Her euphoric cries of pleasure reverberated throughout the camp, echoing vividly within the open air. As she passionately moved, her bare breasts swayed gracefully with each rhythmic thrust. Despite this eye-catching display, it appeared that those around the tent paid minimal attention to her, except for the man who was thoroughly enjoying her company.

Irri looked up at Daemon's face, his face unreadable. He looked more like a stone with a face as he continued his advance, walking up to the four Dothrakis. His presence grabbed their attention right away. They stood up with one of the Dothrakis stepping forward. The girl quickly ran away.

Like every other Dothraki Irri had seen, Drogo had copper-colored skin, black hair, and black eyes. He is tall and muscular but as muscular as Daemon. He has a long, drooping mustache and a long braid hung with tiny bells that hang down to his thighs, symbolizing his status among the Dothraki as an undefeated warlord. Irri looked at the warrior. The man was built to fight, but unlike Daemon, whose face was handsome, Drogo had rough features. Irri didn't like the way he looked at them, and despite Daemon being eight feet tall, Drogo didn't appear to be afraid of Daemon. If anything, he appeared amused.

"Fini brought yeri gwe, stranger? (What brought you here, stranger?)" Khal Drogo demanded, his voice deep and rough.

Daemon's voice changed to one of a playful and sincere smile on his face, which made his handsome features even more apparent. "Anha saw jinak lovely party, anha ayyey admired lekh dothraki, ma kash anha saw jinak gache. (I saw this lovely party. I always admired Dothraki, and when I saw this place.)" Daemon spoke, spreading his arms wide, without any weapons in his hands, something that put the four Dothraki at ease.

"Anha sekke wanted to see alikh ki jinak gache, ma anha wanted to see the Khal ki jinak lajasar. (I really wanted to see more of this place, and I wanted to see the Khal of this army.)" Daemon spoke with a bright smile. The Dothraki chuckled amongst one another.

"Jinak mahrazh is dis. (This man is a fool.)" Khal Drogo said with a chuckle of amusement, something that was shared by his bloodriders, looking less tense than he was a moment ago, before looking at Daemon once again with a smile of pride.

"Anha'm Khal Drogo. (I'm Khal Drogo.)" The man introduced himself as he puffed out his chest in front of Daemon, who had a pleased and surprised look on his face, looking like a kid who got a sword for their nameday.

"Ohh, Lucky anna. (Ohh, Lucky Me.)" Daemon said with a bright, innocent smile before pulling out the bottle he had strapped to his waist.

"Fini's she rekke? (What's in there?)" One of the bloodriders asked carefully, his hand brushing against the handle of his arakh, a clear warning in his eyes, but Daemon maintained an innocent look on his face.

"Sewafikh ha Pentos, took anna ha a ovah rich mahrazh fin couldn't akka fuck mae whores properly. (Wine from Pentos, took it from a fat rich man who couldn't even fuck his whores properly.)" Daemon answered playfully. His words earned amused chuckles from the four Dothraki, especially Drogo, who looked intrigued by the bottle.

"The mahrazh has gold? (The man has gold?)"

"A krazaaj ki gold, anna akka had a zheana khalakki ma mae, vosma anha was alikh interested ma jinak. Sometimes a davra drink is san better than a chiorikem's cunt she tih cock. (A mountain of gold, he even had a beautiful princess with him, but I was more interested in this. Sometimes a good drink is much better than a woman's cunt on my cock,)" Daemon answered with a chuckle. His words earned chuckles from the Dothraki near him.

"Yeri fight? (You fight?)"

"Anha hash, vosma kash anha got jinak tall, ei sword became akka naqis. (I do, but when I got this tall, every sword became too small.)" Daemon answered with a smile. The Dothrakis once again looked amused by him.

"Fin is anna? (Who is she?)"

"Tih bed warmer, (My bed warmer,)" Daemon answered without hesitation, his arms around her slim waist; she could feel his large hand keeping her close to him. Daemon once again smiled innocently.

"Would yeri ven a drink? Anha think rekke's vosi better than to share a drink hatif a vezhven vilajero. (Would you like a drink? I think there's nothing better than to share a drink before a great battle.)" Daemon suggested, smiling innocently, almost sounding like a little boy who couldn't hurt a fly. The Dothrakis shared a look with one another before Drogo looked at Daemon with a frown.

"Yeri drink atte (You drink first.)" He ordered, pointing at the bottle. Daemon once again smiled innocently and simply bit the cork of the bottle. With a bit of strength, he pulled it out before spitting it out. Irri felt her heart beating faster as he put the tip of the bottle to his lips. She almost grabbed the bottle to stop him, but Daemom's hand grabbed her wrist before she could move, as if he already knew what she wanted to do.

Daemon drank the red wine thirstily. His lips pressed against the rim of the glass, causing a careless overflow of the ruby liquid to escape and cascade down the edges of his mouth, leaving a trail of glistening droplets in its wake. The wine traversed the contours of his chin, tracing a brief path beneath his finely groomed beard before descending onto the earth below, forming a small puddle at his feet. Irri watched as the four Dothrakis shared drinks with one another. Soon, Daemon started a conversation with them as if they were old friends, discussing battles and their favorite weapons, and the Dothrakis discussed the many villages they had raided.

Daemon not once showed disgust or any sign of uncomfortableness; instead, he told them about his life as a warrior of the Golden Company. The name intrigued Khal Drogo, who took another sip from the glass he was using to drink the wine.

"Hoshor jerakasar. Mori are vo lajak, mori hide themselves behind plates ki armour. (Golden Company. They are not warriors. They hide themselves behind plates of armour.)" Drogo spat out.

"Ishish, vosma mori fight oma athrokhar she their eyes. (Maybe, but they fight without fear in their eyes.)" Daemon commented. As he took another sip from the wine, Irri could see a glimpse of Daemon's ruby glittering red.

"Finne did yeri get ki scar? (Where did you get that scar?)" Drogo suddenly asked pointing at Daemon's mouth. Irri shifted uncomfortably as Daemon touched the corners of his mouth. His skin had healed, but the scar left it looked like his skin had torn apart, and it had. The skin around the corner of his mouth showed the meat underneath.

"A mahrazh tried to cut tih gomma (A man tried to cut my mouth.)" Daemon answered hastily, and for the first time, he let out a growl, his eyes glittering with rage.

"Anha'm afraid, anna ma tih bed warmer needs to get busy, ma kisha ven to hash anna hezhah away. (I'm afraid, me and my bed warmer need to get busy, and we like to do it far away.)" Daemon excused himself, his arms once again around her waist. She saw the Dothraki looking pleased and even chuckling as Daemon dragged her away.

It didn't take long until they walked out of the camp. Once they did, Daemon pulled away from her, his eyes showing discomfort and shame.

"I'm sorry for calling you a-" "Daemon, I agreed with this plan. No need to trouble that little head of yours," Irri answered sweetly with a hint of teasing. Her hand reached out to grasp his, but he jerked back, moving his hand away from hers, a look of guilt on his face. She watched as he cursed under his breath, but she couldn't hear him.

"Tomorrow, it's the big day. Pray for me, Irri." Daemon said with a smile, and for the first time today, Irri saw a genuine wide smile on his face.

"How would you know I prayed for you if you die?"

"I will," Daemon answered.

"I don't like you enough to pray for you." Irri said teasingly.

"Oh no," Daemon said sarcastically before placing a hand on his heart. "My feelings! I thought we were friends, Irri?" Daemon teased, Irri couldn't help but giggle with a blush on her cheeks, looking away from him.

Now

Irri watched as Daemon stood in the front of the house, Lord Illyrio standing beside his son in the courtyard of their home, the Red Lady stood alongside Daemon, a bit too close for Irri's liking, the Spear Guards were ready, standing all around the house.

Irri, basking in the sun's warmth, relished the gentle caress it bestowed upon her skin. With her gaze directed skyward, she observed a pair of vibrant birds, their melodic chirping resonating in her ears. Lost in the soothing melody, she softly hummed along, her eyes gradually drooping shut as she surrendered to the enchanting harmony. However, the tranquility was abruptly shattered as the thundering hooves of approaching horses reverberated through the air, drowning out the delicate song and jolting Irri back to reality.

Irri opened her eyes, her hands clutching together as if praying. "Daemon." She called out; Daemon looked at her.

"Be careful," Irri added, her voice cracking; Daemon looked touched by her concern.

"I have too much to live for. I won't die here." Daemon told her as the horses stopped in front of their gate. The one in the front of the gate was Khal Drogo. On top of his horse, his skin had turned pale, his eyes had turned a dark shade of red, and his lips had turned a dark shade of purple.

Daemon grinned in triumph as he started approaching, the tip of his massive sword dragging across the ground as he walked. Drogo glared at Daemon furiously, as did the other bloodriders, but just like Drogo, they seemed even paler.

"Yeri? Fini, did yeri hash? (You? What did you do?)" Khal Drogo demanded, his voice sounding weaker, as he looked in no condition to fight, his entire body sweating heavily.

Daemon didn't answer. Instead, he pulled down the top of his shirt to reveal a red gold choker containing a ruby that fits tightly around his neck, his grin widening maliciously. "Yeri lekh dothraki follow athhajar, jil? Anha will personally bring yeri heads to the lajasar awaiting yeri, including yeri horses. (You Dothraki follow strength, right? I will personally bring your heads to the army awaiting you, including your horses.)"

Aemon Targaryen

The following day after his wedding to Val, his father informed him that he would need to have a meeting with The High Priest of the Seven soon after arriving in King's Landing when asked why.

His father told him that he would marry Rhaenys under the Seven as all the other Targaryens have done since arriving in Westeros, and he would need to talk with the High Priest since Rhaenys would become his second wife.

Aemon didn't understand why he needed the permission of an old man to marry Rhaenys. If he had anything against it, Aemon was certain that Aegarax would easily change his mind.

Yesterday, before the wedding, Rhaegar had made the decision to send Joffrey Tully to the Wall for his crimes against the Royal Family, but the young boy had barely reacted. He looked frightened. But that didn't stop there; Rhaegar also punished House Tully with a fine of one million gold dragons for what Joffrey had done.

As the first rays of the morning sun illuminated the vast expanse of the main courtyard of Harrenhal, a sense of anticipation and excitement hung in the air as a large gathering of over twenty soldiers from House Targaryen, including the royal family members prepared to return to King's Landing.

In the early hours, a diligent squire was bustling about, preparing a horse for Prince Aemon. With unwavering focus, he meticulously polished the saddle to a shine, ensuring every crevice was spick and span, and every strap was firmly in place.

Meanwhile, a group of dedicated servants were bent over, scrubbing and brushing the prince's boots, determined to get them spotless and gleaming. As the squire finished his task and stepped back to admire his handiwork, Prince Aemon emerged from his chamber, fully dressed and ready to set out on his hunt. He donned his freshly cleaned boots and made his way through the snow, carefully treading through the one-foot-deep powder until he arrived at his waiting horse. His father was already atop his own dark horse, waiting patiently for his son to join him.

With a practiced ease, Aemon approached his own mount, a sturdy pony he had trained himself, and prepared to mount it. He placed his left foot in the stirrup, testing its strength before pushing himself upwards with a burst of energy. His hand reached for the saddle pommel, which he grabbed tightly as he swung his right leg over the horse's back. Aemon settled himself into the saddle and looked out at the sprawling countryside.

Despite her complaints, Val was convinced by Rhaenys that she would be inside the Wheelhouse instead of riding a horse with Aemon.

Aemon had thought of perhaps saying something to the Starks before leaving, but he remembered what happened yesterday. He knew they would never see him the same way. He didn't want to see Arya cry again. He just hoped that his promise to Robb and Lord Stark wouldn't need to be fulfilled.

Before they left, Robb had sworn himself to the King, but the angry looks he sent towards Aemon was something he didn't try to hide. Even Grey Wind had growled at Aemon from afar, but Ghost had been nearby to snarl back, almost telling him to keep his distance.

Aemon spurred his horse forward, eager to be by his father's side as they waited for the massive double gates of Harrenhal to open.

Aemon watched as Aegarax, Cannibal, and Morning stirred up from their sleep. Surprisingly, Aemon saw that Morning had slept right next to Aegarax, their heads touching something that was seen only with Silverwing and Vermithor, but Cannibal was keeping his distance from the other two dragons.

As they drew closer, a soldier's voice rang out, shouting for the gates to be opened. Aemon could see the guards in the tower above, their hands gripping the massive wheel that would set the gates in motion, creaking and groaning as they began to turn. The gates themselves were a sight to behold, fashioned from ironwood and metal, as they slowly began to part, revealing the path ahead.

The piercing sound of metal grinding against metal echoed through the land.

As they made their way down the winding path leading out of the castle, Aemon couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation building up within him. He wondered what he would find in King's Landing.

The three Dragons quickly followed behind, but unknown to them, two other dragons were following them from afar.

The Sea

Despite the unforgiving downpour, the Silencer effortlessly plowed through another tumultuous wave. Cloaked in an eerie silence that matched the darkness of the night, the ship steered onward through the tempestuous seas, steadily closing in on a distant island. The relentless rain continued to drench everything in its path, and in the distance, a brewing storm ominously loomed, casting an even more eerie atmosphere upon the already treacherous night.

Euron grinned, his blue eye glinting as they approached Craw Isle, the Castle of House Celtigar. "It all will be mine." Euron grinned as the moonless night hid the Ship, and the heavy rain made it even more difficult for anyone to spot the ship.

"Bring out the Horn!" As Euron shouted amidst the echoes of grunts emanating from his crew, his voice carried a commanding tone. The little boy displayed unwavering obedience, swiftly carrying out Euron's directive. Within moments, the horn was presented on the main deck, accompanied by the presence of five burly men who had embarked on the exhausting task of retrieving it. The moment the horn was unfurled, a bone-chilling symphony erupted from its depths, akin to the pained wails of tormented souls engulfed in eternal anguish.

"Bring the Priestess here!" Euron ordered with a wide grin that only stretched more as ten Red Priestess were forced into the main deck. They struggled, but they couldn't talk. How can someone talk without a tongue? Euron asked himself with a wide grin. The little boy brought a knife to Euron, who eagerly accepted the knife.

One of the Priestess's eyes fell on the Horn. Her eyes widened with fear, struggling even more against the chains around her wrists, soon followed by the other nine priestesses, two of whom were trying to crawl away from the horn.

"My precious." The Red Priestess heard Euron as he approached her with a wide smile, his hand cupping her cheek almost like a lover.

"Open your mouth," Euron commanded sternly, firmly grabbing her jaw with his hand and exerting pressure to open it wide. As soon as he achieved his desired outcome, he placed the mouth of the horn against her parted lips. She inhaled, and the horn unleashed a deafening roar that resonated through the air, akin to the anguished screams of a countless horde of suffering souls. The cacophony intensified, originating from deep within the horn itself, but even that overwhelming chorus paled in comparison to the extraordinary reaction of the Red Priestess. With her body writhing uncontrollably, she tumbled to the ground, entirely consumed by the immense pain coursing through her.

Everyone watched as the red ruby nestled delicately against her throat, emanating an intense red gleam, illuminating the previously darkened night sky until, suddenly, a cacophony of shattered fragments erupted as the ruby burst asunder. Simultaneously, the Red Priestess, her countenance contorted in anguish, opened her mouth wide in a desperate attempt to alleviate the excruciating pain that coursed through her being. Her throat emitted harrowing chokes and pitiful groans, reverberating hauntingly throughout the ship's deck. Her complexion rapidly transformed, resembling the purest snow as her features pale and ashen. Wisps of smoke ominously billowed forth from her mouth, nose, and ears.

Euron inhaled deeply, relishing the pungent scent wafting from the charred remnants of her internal organs. The intensity of the burning had reduced her once vital components to nothing but crispy fragments. As he stared at the nine remaining Red Priestesses sprawled on the floor, Euron's malicious delight manifested in him lasciviously licking his eerie, blue lips.

"We are not done yet." Euron as he pulled the knife before grabbing the wrist of another Red Priestess.

Note: From the last Chapter, many of you wanted me to write the story 'A Hungry Dragon' after completing A Dragon Kissed by Sun. I would like to know what you think the pairing should be for A Hungry Dragon.

Every Like is appreciated. I hope you all enjoyed this Chapter and have a Good Day.