ARC IV: THE SECOND DANCE OF DRAGONS
Chapter 61: The Arrival of the Legitimate Queen & The Meeting of Two Worlds
POV: Daenerys Targaryen (305 AC)
Cutting through the dark, turbulent waters of the Narrow Sea, I sail toward my destination at the head of the colossal fleet I conquered in the East. From high on the deck of my flagship, I watch the waves crash against the heavy wooden prow. The blood of my House was driven from these lands in the past—humiliated, hunted, and exiled to the Free Cities of Essos. Today, however, fate turns its wheel: I return not as a frightened refugee, but as a sovereign conqueror, accompanied by one hundred thousand Dothraki warriors, ten thousand loyal Unsullied, and two dragons roaring in the skies.
I feel the cold, salty sea breeze lift the folds of my dark riding attire, sending my silver hair fluttering in the air. Lost in my thoughts, I hear a velvety, melodious voice rise from right behind me:
— You aren't imagining yourself on a glorious, epic voyage to Westeros again, are you, Dany?
I feel my cheeks burn with instant embarrassment. I turn slowly to face the woman of supernatural beauty walking toward me.
— I don't know what you're talking about, aunt... — I murmur, averting my eyes for a second before hesitating: — Or would it be better to call you grandmother?
Shiera Seastar approaches with graceful steps. Her light, elegant clothes seem to ignore the chilling sea wind, and her heterochromatic eyes—one deep blue, one shimmering emerald-green—gaze at me with pure amusement. She raises one of her delicate hands, running her fingers with extreme tenderness along my cheek, and leans in to press a gentle kiss to my forehead.
— If you call me grandmother again, girl, I swear I'll throw you from the top of this ship straight to the sharks, — she says with a mischievous, teasing smile.
I let out a short laugh and reply in the same tone:
— And whom would you serve that possessed my beauty, hm?
Shiera rests her hands on her hips and tilts her head:
— Why, there are many Targaryens scattered across the world these days... Perhaps I'd find a better sovereign.
— And prettier than me? — I ask, raising an eyebrow.
— That one I see reflected in the mirror every single day, my dear, — Shiera winks charmingly. She then gestures toward the royal quarters: — Now get into your cabin. We're approaching the Stormlands, and that place didn't earn its name by mere coincidence.
I follow Shiera across the deck as she gently holds my arm:
— Don't worry, aunt. I am Daenerys Stormborn... A simple storm doesn't scare me.
Shiera merely shakes her head, letting out a soft laugh at my youthful petulance. We enter my private suite on the ship, where Missandei is already waiting with warm blankets and fragrant tea. Over the following hours, while the waters outside toss the vessel violently, Shiera keeps us company. She spends the night telling us fascinating stories about the Seven Kingdoms from her ancestral era—about the intrigues of King's Landing, the forgotten magics of Valyria, and how the continent changed after her departure.
When sleep finally claims its toll, I fall deeply asleep in the grand canopy bed, wrapped around Shiera's soft waist, feeling the safety and affection she has always provided me since becoming my chief mentor.
The arrival at the island of Dragonstone is both a solemn and deeply emotional moment for me. The ancient defenses of my House's ancestral fortress did not have many men stationed, and the few holding guard surrendered instantly the moment Drogon's massive shadow blotted out the skies.
I disembark onto the stone pier and walk slowly through the citadel's narrow streets. The simple folk of the island stare at me with a mixture of curiosity and solemn dread. My Unsullied clear the path ahead in a flawless formation of spears and shields, but I ask Grey Worm to keep the guard a few paces back. I wanted this initial moment of stepping onto my ancestors' soil to be something intimate and contemplative.
Crossing the large outer stone courtyard leading to the fortress gates, I see the Unsullied move ahead to check the corridors. I linger behind for a few moments, admiring the draconic architecture of the walls.
Suddenly, nearly making me jump out of my skin in sheer fright, I see a terrifying figure standing right in the center of the courtyard, materialized out of thin air.
It is a colossal black suit of armor, covered in sharp spikes along the pauldrons, breastplate, and vambraces. Atop its head, an iron helm shaped like a pointed crown completely conceals any human feature behind a dark visor.
I swallow hard. I feel fear freeze my spine, but I try to maintain a queen's erect posture, asking in a firm voice:
— W-Who are you?
The voice that answers resonates from within the helm in a deep, metallic, sepulchral tone, echoing across the courtyard like death's own thunder:
— I am Death, Daenerys...
I take an involuntary step backward, staring at that black iron structure. I look desperately around and up at the sky, searching for Grey Worm, the Unsullied, or Drogon's shadow, but inexplicably I see no one nearby. The courtyard seems completely isolated from the rest of the world.
— A-Are you here to kill me? — I ask, my voice trembling slightly.
The iron figure shakes its head slowly:
— Not your death... But Death literal. I am he who comes to claim lost souls.
— What do you mean?! — I shout, trying to ward off the dread consuming my chest.
— Generally, I do not appear in visible form to the people, — the booming voice continues. — But some people die and refuse to accept their end... So I come to fetch them in person.
My hands begin to shake. A glacial chill runs up my legs:
— You... Are you saying that I'm dead?!
— Yes,— the armor takes a slow step in my direction. — During yesterday's storm in the Narrow Sea, your ship capsized. You were sleeping in your cabin, passed out from the impact of the waters, and drowned in the ocean.
— That's a lie! That's nonsense! — I yell, my voice visibly shaking as an absurd, unnatural cold settles over my body.
— Is it?— the figure points an iron finger toward the pier behind me. — Did you not notice the way the islanders stared at you when you arrived? The curiosity of those trying to glimpse who was inside the coffin? Or how easily the guards let their queen walk completely alone through territory that, until recently, was entirely hostile?
I back away in frantic steps, absolute panic seizing my mind. It made a terrible, terrifying kind of sense.
The armor tilts its crowned helm toward me:
— Such is Life, girl... Life is unfair, cold, and cruel. You brought dragons back into the world, lost everything, conquered empires in the East... Only to be swept away by the cold waves of the sea in the end. Now, your dragons will find their true destined riders in Westeros, and your purpose in this world is complete.
I retreat backward in total panic, stepping blindly until my back bumps firmly against someone's body. I turn my face in terror and see Shiera Seastar's heterochromatic eyes gazing at me with affection.
— A-Aunt?! — I ask, my voice cracking, near tears: — Did you die too?!
Shiera lets out a deep sigh, wraps her arms around my shoulders, and looks over my head:
— Stop scaring the girl, Arawyn!
— Huh...? — I blink, completely bewildered.
In the very next second, the sound of loud, genuine, boisterous laughter echoes across the courtyard. To my utter shock, the black spiked armor begins to disassemble itself in midair, dissolving into pure magic to reveal the man who was inside it.
He wears thick dark linen robes, a bear-pelt cloak, and runic marks carved into the skin of his face and arms. His dark hair falls to his shoulder blades, framing a sharp, youthful face—which at the moment is completely contorted in a fit of laughter, looking like a villain from a children's story mocking me to my face.
— Hahahahaha! But you should have seen her face, Shiera! — the man wheezes, pointing at me while wiping a tear from the corner of his eye: — Look at her now! She's puffing out her cheeks in pure rage! Hahahahaha!
I stand frozen in the middle of the courtyard, cheeks puffed out and red with absolute indignation. I glare at the fellow who is laughing so hard he begins coughing and choking on his own saliva. To my misfortune, he doesn't choke to death on the spot.
After recovering from his fit of laughter, the man clears his throat, recomposes his posture, and looks at me with a side smirk:
— Right, right... Welcome to Westeros, Daenerys Stormborn. And welcome to your commanders as well. We need to have a serious talk.
In the hours that follow, I am officially received by the castellan of Dragonstone, formalizing my domain and claim over my House's ancestral fortress.
However, the anger from that stupid prank still burned in my chest. Only after Shiera insisted endlessly and patiently convinced me do I agree to go to the royal quarters for a private conversation with that childish Emperor.
Walking alongside Shiera through the stone corridors, I grumble under my breath:
— I didn't find anything funny about that idiocy...
Shiera lets out a smothered laugh beside me:
— Oh, Dany... Admit it, your face was ridiculously cute at that moment!
I glare at my mentor with indignant eyes:
— Whose side are you on anyway, mine or his?!
Shiera gently pinches my cheek and lets out a wanton laugh:
— Yours, of course! Except tonight... When he's going to take that massive dick of his and fuck me all night long.
My eyes widen, shocked by Shiera's casual vulgarity:
— You didn't let me sleep with Daario Naharis because he was a 'stupid mercenary' in your book... And now you're going to sleep with this Emperor of the North?!
Shiera looks at me and winks:
— Do you want to come with me?
— What?! — I feel my face burn with embarrassment.
— I'm asking you to join me tonight, that's all, — Shiera replies smoothly.
I recall the conversations I had with her during the voyage about my future:
— And what about my next husband? You said I would find true love in the future... Was it this idiot Emperor?
— Actually no, — Shiera answers with genuine honesty. — But you can be absolutely certain of one thing: that future love of yours isn't wasting a single opportunity to fuck around at this very moment.
She pauses and adjusts my collar:
— And let's be honest, Dany: I saved you from that ugly mercenary in Essos and even from that madness your horny mind was cooking up about wanting to lie with that old bear Jorah Mormont...
— Don't talk about Jorah like that! — I protest.
— Alright, fair enough, — Shiera concedes with a wave. — He really did die with honor in the end. When I return to North and tell his old father, he'll rejoice along with the family. But let me be frank, it wasn't just out of honor that you were thinking of giving your pretty little pussy to that old bear, was it?
I stand speechless, my face burning. I look at her and whisper:
— And... And should I give it to the Emperor?
Shiera stops in the corridor, holds her hands an absurd distance apart to demonstrate the size of something, and stares at me with a sly grin.
— What is that? — I ask, frowning.
— The size of his cock, — Shiera answers bluntly.
— It's impossible for him to have all that! — I exclaim. — Is he half horse or something?!
Shiera merely laughs at my reaction and grabs my hand:
— You'll see tonight, my dear... I'll teach you very well how it's done.
Ever since my Drogo died, I haven't laid with any man. Using my own fingers was no longer enough to relieve the tension in my body. I had genuinely liked Daario, but Shiera had strictly forbidden it, saying a Queen of Valyrian blood does not lie with a common mercenary. Deep down, Daario wasn't even that ugly, but if I said that aloud, Shiera promised she'd ground me.
We enter the Chamber of the Painted Table. I find Emperor Arawyn Stark sitting comfortably in one of the oak chairs. Seeing us enter, he gestures amicably for us to sit around the table and raises a dark glass bottle, pouring two goblets of wine.
— This is an extremely rare wine in the North, Queen of Meereen, — Arawyn says, pointing to the bottle covered in an ancient layer of dust. — Specifically, I unearthed it personally deep within the tomb of Brandon the Builder. It has roughly eight thousand years of aging... A bit more than that, actually, but let's round it down.
I stare at the goblet suspiciously:
— And how is something eight thousand years old still fit to drink?
Arawyn gives a side smile:
— Why, the older the wine, the higher the quality... Provided it has been stored with sorcery and success.
I watch Shiera take her goblet without hesitation and drink a generous gulp, letting out a sigh of pure delight. Judging by her expression, the wine was spectacular. I didn't want to drink anything offered by that man, purely out of spite because of the courtyard prank.
Shiera notices my behavior, leans in, and whispers in my ear:
— Just drink, Dany... Don't throw a tantrum.
— I'm not throwing a tantrum... — I murmur back, crossing my arms.
— And don't pout either, — Shiera adds with a amused smile.
I give in and take a sip of the wine. In an instant, the velvety, full-bodied, flawlessly preserved drink explodes in rich flavors across my palate. It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the finest wine I had ever tasted in my life.
Arawyn leans back in his chair and adopts a more serious posture:
— Right, now let's talk business. But first, let me wait for the rest of your advisors to arrive.
I nod in agreement and take another sip of the extraordinary wine. Missandei is a wonderful friend and loyal advisor, but she is still very young for certain geopolitical decisions. Grey Worm, after everything he endured to become Commander of the Unsullied, is a formidable warrior, but not the best suited for non-military counsel. Even so, I make a point of having both present.
A few minutes later, Missandei and Grey Worm enter the room and position themselves at my side.
Arawyn gives a slight nod. In a cold, mystical shimmer, a crown of crystal-clear, radiant ice manifests atop his head, bearing a large, glowing red gem in its center.
— With your arrival in Westeros, Mother of Dragons, the final piece has finally joined the board, — Arawyn begins, his voice echoing with sovereign authority. — Recently, shortly before your landing on this island, the rebel boy of the Golden Company fought against the coalition of the Empire and the Southern Crown at the gates of King's Landing.
I adjust myself in my seat and ask:
— And what was the outcome of that battle?
— Casualties were minimal on our side, — Arawyn answers calmly. — However, I was unable to kill the lad... And I wouldn't kill a dragon over a stupid war.
My heart tightens as I hear mention of one of my children:
— And how is my son Viserion?
Arawyn lets out a short, understanding laugh:
— Injured, but alive.
I am visibly unsettled by the news, but I have the maturity to understand that in a clash against a mounted dragon on the battlefield, expecting them not to hurt him would be utter foolishness.
Arawyn continues:
— I managed to tear off his rider's entire arm with my hammer. The boy is likely passed out from shock and blood loss right now. If the gods were generous, he'd die of an infection in the coming days, but don't count on it... If something can go wrong in politics, it surely will.
— And for what reason did the Emperor of the North come personally to greet me? — I ask, staring at him intently.
— I call these battles in the South 'stupid' for a simple reason: because the true war is happening in the North, — Arawyn rests his elbows on the table. — Cold and Death are marching from the Far North upon us all. As my House's ancestral motto says: *Winter is coming*... And with it, the threat of extinction for all living beings. That is why your dragons and your military force will be absolutely necessary.
— You want me as your ally? — I question.
— Yes, — Arawyn answers directly. — After all, I don't want you to have to fight your own family.
I keep that information close to my heart. It's true: I still have to meet my Targaryen relatives living in the North.
— And what about the Iron Throne? — I ask.
Arawyn lets out a disdainful sigh:
— Honestly? I don't know what you all see in that ugly, uncomfortable throne... But let's leave that political debate for after we win the Long Night, shall we?
I quickly reflect on the mysterious visions I had in the House of the Undying in Qarth, and I know in the depths of my soul that he is speaking the plain truth.
Arawyn continues:
— I came ahead to greet you, but Aegon and Rhaenys are already on their way to this island. Soon you will be able to meet and speak in person with your nephew and niece.
I feel a genuine wave of excitement in my chest. I won't lie: the thought of meeting my family moves me deeply.
— The last time an Aegon Targaryen came to my domain, a dragon was stolen from me, — I remark softly, recalling the past.
Arawyn gives a slight smile and replies:
— And this time will be different. Your nephew Aegon is destined to claim one of your other dragons—he will ride Rhaegal when the time comes. We will need every true dragonrider we can get for the war to come.
— And what about Aemon? — I ask. — Will he not come to Dragonstone?
— Aemon will come with me to another place right now, also to fulfill his destiny, — Arawyn answers.
Of all my relatives, Aemon is the one I am most curious about. After all, in my visions in the House of the Undying, I saw the figure of a beautiful white wolf—which I now know from Shiera to be Aemon's sigil and companion. Furthermore, he wields Lightbringer, the legendary sword of Azor Ahai, something that in theory should belong to me.
— And where is this place you are going? — I inquire.
— To the island of Skagos, — Arawyn answers dryly.
After the formal conclusion of the strategic meeting, I stand up to leave the room with Missandei and Grey Worm. However, before I can take three steps, Shiera grabs my hand firmly and pulls me back.
I look at her, my face flushing instantly as I realize her intention:
— Seriously, aunt...? Do I really have to do this right now?
Shiera gives a mischievous smile and simply says:
— Come.
She leads me at a slow pace until we stop right in front of Emperor Arawyn, who remains seated in his chair. I feel embarrassment completely overpower me as I stand there paralyzed.
Shiera looks at Arawyn and asks tantalizingly:
— Arawyn... What do you think of her, hum?
Arawyn rests his head against the back of the chair and gives a side smile:
— Are we going to beat around the bush with these things now?
— It really isn't necessary, — Shiera answers in the same tone.
Without hesitating, Shiera kneels on the stone floor before him and tugs my hand, making me kneel beside her. Arawyn no longer wore the ice crown upon his head. Looking at him from this lower angle makes me swallow hard. And, well... deep down, I had been longing for a man's presence to relieve the tension in my body for a long time, even if I was just expecting a quickie.
Arawyn lets out a low laugh and says:
— It's not going to be just a quickie, Daenerys...
Shiera undoes the Emperor's leather belt with impressive skill and pulls down the fabric of his trousers. Next, she delicately holds the back of my neck and brings my face toward his groin.
Arawyn's shaft rises impressively, slapping my cheek like a gentle tap of warm flesh.
Shiera hadn't lied in the slightest about its length... But the sheer thickness of that member left me utterly dumbfounded.
— A-Aunt... This isn't going to fit inside me at all! — I ask in genuine panic.
— Don't worry, my dear... We'll manage, — Shiera winks at me.
Together with Shiera, I begin working on the Emperor's groin. Shiera guides my movements with patience. Since Drogo was a rough, direct man, I possessed almost no experience in oral sex. I watch Shiera lick and suck the pink head of his shaft with voracity and mastery, while I dedicate myself to caressing and licking the base and body of the shaft.
Shortly after, we trade positions. I take the upper portion of the shaft while Shiera takes both of his large testicles into her mouth, sucking them greedily. Arawyn's pink head fills almost the entire diameter of my mouth; it's unbelievable how large he is.
I feel Arawyn's large, warm hand rest gently atop my silver hair. He gathers a lock of my short strands and begins guiding the rhythm of my head smoothly. I manage to take in only a little past halfway before feeling my throat lock up.
After many minutes of an intense routine that left my jaw completely numb, Arawyn lets out a deep groan and, without any prior warning, shoots an absurd amount of warm semen straight into the back of my mouth and throat.
The flow is so intense and sudden that I choke slightly, forcing some of the white liquid back out through my nose. I retreat, coughing slowly, while Shiera takes my place in the exact same second, wrapping her lips around the tip of his member and sucking up every last drop as if it were the finest delicacy.
I see Shiera begin stripping off her clothes right there in the room, but Arawyn intervenes in a husky voice:
— Let me take you to a bedroom now...
Arawyn stands up and walks through the fortress corridors with us. Shiera makes me wrap my arms around one side of his waist the entire way while she wraps around the other, both of us completely yielding.
Midway down the hall, as we round a corner, we run straight into Missandei. Seeing the scene—me walking wrapped around the Emperor, with traces of his seed still staining my face and clothes—my advisor's eyes widen in absolute shock, and she dashes off down the corridor, bright red with pure embarrassment.
Fortunately, only Missandei sees us during the entire walk to the royal quarters—something that was actually extremely strange considering the size of the fortress, but for which I mentally give thanks.
Entering the spacious bedroom, Shiera deftly removes my clothes, leaving me completely naked. She sheds her own garments, and the two of us lay down on the soft sheets of the large bed.
Emperor Arawyn sheds his clothes and positions himself over my body. His erect member reached nearly to the region of my stomach. I won't lie: I was torn between genuine dread and overwhelming lust.
Arawyn positions the head of his shaft at my entrance and begins pushing slowly, opening me up completely. Mind you: Drogo was certainly not a small man... But this here was a true monstrosity of nature.
After thrusting about halfway in, Arawyn pauses for a few moments, realizing he has reached the bottom of my uterus. He gives my body time to adjust to the total fullness and then begins a slow, rhythmic motion of pulling out and pushing back in.
Little by little, the initial pain turns into the most intense, overwhelming sensation I have ever experienced. The pace becomes fast and fierce. It was exactly what my body needed after so long a drought: a real fuck.
After about twenty minutes in pure paradise, reaching climax twice in a row with loud moans, I feel Arawyn drive in all the way and release a massive load of semen directly into my womb.
Without breaking rhythm, he withdraws from me and does the exact same to Shiera right beside me while I try to catch my breath. And so the night continues: Arawyn alternates between me and Shiera repeatedly, maintaining superhuman stamina throughout the entire night.
The next day, I wake up with the sun already high, cutting through the bedroom curtains.
Shiera is sitting near the window wearing only a light robe, reading a book and sipping a liqueur. She notices I've opened my eyes and asks with a radiant smile:
— How did you wake up this morning, Dany?
I try to move in bed, but let out a low groan:
— Without feeling any movement in my legs whatsoever... I think that man was trying to kill me yesterday!
Shiera lets out a delighted laugh:
— Why, it would be the most pleasurable death in all known lands!
— Yes... — I agree, letting out a sigh and giving a crooked smile: — Next time, I think I'll call Missandei to help split the load.
Shiera gets up from her chair, approaches the bed, and gently touches my knee. In an instant, I feel a wave of mystical warmth surge through my body, and full sensitivity returns to my legs.
She winks at me and says:
— Now get ready, Queen... We have a big family reunion to attend today.