Chapter 21:
He didn't say he wanted a dragon, but she'd long learned to not ignore potential implications. He could have meant any number of things, but no one moved to King's Landing to be "around the dragons", without that meaning something more. When it came to the dragons it was for what they could give people. Whether that was directly or otherwise.
Everyone wants a dragon.
In the end, even Elissa had stolen eggs to further her dream. That was the nature of temptation and power. Even the best of people could be driven by the easy seeming answer to all of their problems that lay just beyond their reach. There were those who thought in the immediate, as with Elissa. A momentary theft, an immediate benefit. A dragon egg might fetch them the gold for a small army, the support of their family, or a trade for a rise to power in some far off land.
Then there were those far more dangerous, more forward thinking. The kinds of people that couldn't be counted on to just be looking at what was in front of them. They planned and plotted. The worst were those like the Lannisters, who hid their desire in the immediate to cover longer, deeper plans.
House Lannister had wanted their blood to be royal again ever since their crown had been pried from their fingers. They had not given it up willingly to her grandfather, and it was not so long ago now that the family had forgotten what it tasted like to have absolute authority. Lyman himself was the first Lannister to rise without a crown. He would have loved to have her waste her time with any one of his children, and he most preferred his bastard son because the possibility of a grandchild with Targaryen blood that the family might not want would have suited him well. It might also have been that his bastard was the one who had something to prove and went above and beyond. That wasn't to say Lyman wouldn't have given any of his legitimate sons to the cause as well, but his bastard was the least he could potentially pay to receive the most, and if there was one thing consistent about lords, it was that they were always looking to give up the least to receive the most.
With Lyman, he would have sought to use her to use her dragon, but that was only the surface. The far more important thing to him was the restoration of the Lannister identity as royals, with little that mattered to him so much. If he had gotten his way, a Lannister grandchild could ride a dragon one day, and that would open up the possibility of effective rebellion or integration into the royal family, depending upon the dragon they rode. As it was, it was House Velaryon that House Targaryen looked to first, when it was considering fresh blood. He'd have liked that changed, too.
House Lannister with the ability to ride a dragon might have a good chance if it came to rebellion.
At least, that had been the case before Aerea claimed Balerion.
The man sitting in front of her hadn't hesitated to admit his interest in the dragons at all, which would have led her to believe the risk where he was concerned was of the former variety more than the latter, except that a nagging sense of unease had pervaded her ever since she sat down. He was witty and friendly, and it might have been her history causing it, but she couldn't shake the sense of danger.
It's wrong.
More proof of either Essosi ignorance, or the far more likely case, that in their attempt to hastily put together this sham of an attempt at claiming legitimacy in a far land, they'd not realized that certain behaviors became ingrained in people who were used to being attended the proper way. Small things differentiated even minor nobility from greater nobility, and maybe if she were more giving, she'd have written it off as that.
She wasn't.
He didn't behave like someone used to having people around to do things for him, and his gratitude for his companion trying to cover his blunder was all too clear to her eyes. Ignoring even his more obvious one.
Still, she couldn't shake a feeling.
Something is off here, but what is it?
She'd met brazen people acting above their station confidently. Lyman's bastard was a perfect example of that. When she compared them side by side in her mind, she might have even been inclined, given some minor similarities, to lean that way.
That's not it.
She didn't have an answer. So, she tried to put it out of her mind, best as she could.
She wasn't disappointed he had come for the dragons. If anything, his honesty, as insulting as it might have been, made it easier for her. Neither of them would have to act presumptuous or deflect.
Rhaena placed aside the wooden cup that she'd been given to drink from.
"My sister entertains this notion of your nobility, that you carry the blood of Valyria, because it is entertaining." She said, somewhere between a reprimand and a warning. It wouldn't do for him to think he could rely upon such a thing and develop other ambitions. "Not because she believes it, or is extending trust toward you. Because it is entertaining, and because you can prove useful. You are one of a great many who have come here with that hope, but I will save you pain and embarrassment now, Prince Ysmir."
The blond-bearded man sitting far too at ease across from her at the little wooden table in his hastily constructed tent turned his head just barely, without removing his pale eyes from her. It was a wordless prompt for her to continue, which annoyed her more than it should have, given he was still wearing his helm.
She was sitting in his poor excuse for a tent and had even taken a bite of his bread unchecked, and she was almost certain he wasn't treating everything with the appropriate gratitude for her social generosity.
Wordplay aside.
Despite offering her bread and wine, and her accepting it, he'd made no effort to remove his horned helm which covered the majority of his face and left her mostly to speculate on the rest of his features. She could see the lower part of his jawline, the curve of a strong chin, and the blond of his short beard. His hair was long enough that she could see it coming down the back of his neck from beneath the helm's lip at the rear, the flaxen color of pale wheat and gold.
"You will never have one of our dragons." She continued, pronouncing each word slowly and pointedly. She would not be misunderstood, and neither would she give a second warning. "You can claim victory over every single tournament for the next fifty years, make up stories and outlandish claims the entire time, and even if by some measure, you should be well liked by House Targaryen the entire time, your reward will never be that you may claim so much as an egg."
That seemed to finally evoke a reaction from the silence that had fallen over him.
"That is not why I am here."
The self-purported prince had a unique way of speaking. His accent was Volantene in origin, if she wasn't mistaken, but that wasn't what distinguished him. Ysmir spoke with a unique inflection, like he tasted every word, lingered in some way upon the sounds as he made them. Consonants became that tiny bit more sharp, vowel transitions smooth. He had the kind of voice that would have gone over well as a mummer or minstrel.
Perhaps, a priest or septon.
"Why are you here, then?" She asked. "You have made it clear your intent to be around our dragons, and I do not dismiss statements like that lightly. I should be inclined more than ever to see you escorted back to the harbor to find passage back east, regardless of the conclusion of the tourney."
Ysmir looked away from her face finally, eyes drifting down to the table between them.
"I've said something which appears to have upset you." He said slowly, tapping a few fingers of his right hand, where it rested at the edge of the table against the wood. "I have no intent to… claim, nor harm your dragons. I just wanted to see them with my own eyes. Hear them."
"If you are seeing them anywhere but from a safe distance, it will be one of the last things you ever see." She replied, unmoved by the claim. "That's with our permission, and I'm hardly inclined given I don't know the nature of your desire. In fact, I am driven to take your desire for some unknown intent."
At least I found out before I offered him any serious assurances.
That had been her goal when she departed the stands to find where his tent was.
Ysmir was capable obviously, and if it was true that he didn't want to return to the east, then someone with great skill could be used in a number of positions. Whether that was offering to be someone's shield, or taking a position of some manner within the court. Alysanne was already making use of him, and he'd proven good enough to kill very experienced martial lords in one on one combat, less armored. He was clearly willing to work when it was time to work.
If he had proven particularly capable and loyal, he might have even potentially been offered the Queensguard, depending on the next couple months. She wouldn't have been inclined yet, but time would have let her get a better measure of him. It wasn't abnormal for second or thirdborn lords of skill to seek a white cloak, and as it was, House Targaryen had quite a few to give out.
If he was a fraud as many suspected, then it would have been a gracious rise, much as it had been for Samgood and Pate. The kind that might have killed any murmurings regarding the legitimacy of his prior claims. If by some chance, he were truly some variety of heir to a governing blood that had existed since the Doom in the Lands of Long Summer or Valyria, then it still would have been a position of esteem and authority that made use of his skill. He would have known prestige and glory again, with his name written and his story carried on in generations to come.
In silence, he watched her from across the table. His posture wasn't threatening, and his fingers curled loosely at the edge of his own cup, lifting it to sip in the silence that fell.
His lack of reaction caused annoyance to bubble up within her.
Rhaena leaned forward, gathering her feet beneath her to rise. The conversation had turned for her and gone from a moment of curiosity and a desire to get a measure and reinforce loyalty in the man that had served her sister's goals, to a reminder of the constant efforts of everyone to get their fingers on her family's true inheritance anyways.
I should have left the moment he didn't remove his helm in acknowledgment of my presence in the tent.
"Sorzo." Ysmir said abruptly, as she straightened up.
She narrowed her eyes at him, glancing at the goldcloaks on guard cautiously. The one nearest her took a protective step forward at the glance, tightening his grip on his weapon. The one that had remained mostly at the entrance so far turned, hand lowering along his side.
Ysmir lifted his left hand gently toward her, and then directed it toward the guard, fingers splayed in a gesture probably supposed to imply peace.
"Yes, my prince." Sorzo said, moving immediately to his seeming liege's side and inclining his head to the blond man still sitting.
"Your knife." Ysmir said, turning his hand away from her and holding it out to his comrade.
Without delay, Sorzo reached down and drew a small, slightly-curved knife from a decorative sheath at the side of his hip. It was easy to miss next to the sheathed form of a long, visibly curved sword. He presented it immediately to the blond foreigner on open palms, whereupon Ysmir closed his fingers around it and looked at her.
The guard at her side took a half step forward and slightly in front of her.
"I have been told there's magic in your blood and I only needed to see you once with my own eyes to be certain it's true." He said, meeting her gaze. "Coryanne also mentioned to me once that dragons are so hot that at night they steam, and that despite this, a Targaryen can ride them all the same."
Nothing he said was wrong, but she wasn't sure where he was going with his words.
"The Doctrine of Exceptionalism, my baby brother and the Queen's work, is spoken and recorded in many places of King's Landing. It will tell you much about our blood, but we do not often talk about the dragons in that way." Rhaena said, carefully, looking from him to the knife and back. "However… you are correct. No one else could survive them for long like we do, even if they were to be carried."
She wracked her mind for the name he spoke, briefly confused on who that would be and why they would know much of the dragons, but it was obvious.
That's right. The lady that Alysanne likes. She would have been on Dragonstone and seen Silverwing and Vermithor.
It wasn't a secret by any means that the dragons were very hot to the touch, even through the protective layer of heavy scales, but it wasn't exactly common knowledge or much spoken about either. Usually it was them flying and breathing fire that got the most attention.
Ysmir turned over the edge of the borrowed knife and pressed it into the tip of his small finger. Then, he drew the blade away in one smooth motion.
She tilted her head in confusion, even as he curled his pinky finger inward among the others in a fist. He flipped the knife brusquely in his other hand with a practiced motion, closing his fingers around the flat of the blade and returning it to his companion who was watching him with about as much uncertainty as she was.
Ysmir held out his left hand, clenched into a fist tight enough that his arm shook, pinching that little finger that he'd drawn the knife along within. Then he relaxed it without uncurling his fingers.
A droplet of dark blood beaded up along the meat of the bottom of his palm.
It dangled just a moment there, and then the next droplet of blood came and both fell upon the wood of the table.
It immediately began to hiss faintly, and a tiny, ephemeral wisp in suggestion of smoke rose up before it lay there on the table's surface.
"I have traveled far to meet House Targaryen. You, who have magic in your blood." Ysmir said, looking at her with his clenched fist held out. "I suspect this looks familiar to you. Is this what happens when your dragons bleed?"
Another droplet fell, and as it did, scored a new spot on the table with a faint hiss that died down immediately.
It is.
She didn't speak it aloud. She didn't know what confirmation like that could mean. All the same, the answer within her mind wormed its way deeper, and she pressed a hand aside, nudging the goldcloak that had stepped in front of her out of the way slowly.
What is… that…
"A trick." She said, forcing confidence she didn't feel in the face of something she'd never even known was a possibility.
It has to be some kind of trick…
"You've been suggested a mummer plenty, and they're capable of many tricks. You want to fool a Queen with mummer's magic? Did Coryanne tell you that dragonblood boils?" She continued.
"I have claimed to have the blood of the dragon," Ysmir said, turning his hand flat and gently uncurling his fingers. "I meant it, Queen Rhaena."
What could cause a man's blood to act like that?
Magic.
Other than magic…
As her heart began to beat faster, she forced herself to exhale in outward calm.
There will be an explanation.
She resolved to ask the alchemists what trick one might use to make something look like blood and burn. What manner of sleight of hand someone could commit. The sense of direction calmed her. Gave her focus on the conversation, against what her eyes were seeing.
"This proves nothing." She replied, shaking her head and warily watching his hands. "Just because I cannot see how you did the trick does not mean it is not a mummer's trick all the same. Perhaps, some manner of alchemy. Is it really even your blood?"
A minor thing. Meaningless.
Ysmir chuckled abruptly, and her confusion and suspicion turned back toward indignation.
Who do you believe you are to take amusement with me?
"Sorzo, please present your knife to Queen Rhaena." He said.
She glanced at the dark-haired man who stepped around the table with caution, head inclined deferentially to her. He had his fingers clasped about the blade of the knife, held out at length to present the hilt toward her and keep its point and edge facing himself. For the turn of events, the goldcloak in the corner of her eye was looking at her every bit uncertainly as she felt.
She doubted he'd ever seen something like that, because she had only seen it in rare cases of a dragon's injury.
As Sorzo continued to hold the knife out, she looked between him and his lord sitting at the table nearby.
"Go on." Ysmir encouraged, with a lift of his chin. "Take it."
Keeping narrowed eyes on him, she reached out and took the knife from the Essosi swordsman.
"I suppose I understand your caution." Ysmir continued, smiling slightly. "Why don't you make the cut yourself?"
She blinked at him.
Make the cut…?
Rhaena looked from him to the knife in her hand and back.
Is it really a trick, if he wants me to cut him myself?
He probably doubted she'd follow through. If he was obscuring something which could pour fluid, or had prepared his skin or something, or the table, then perhaps it would fail.
I just need to do what he doesn't plan for.
"Guardsman," She said, glancing aside to the goldcloak standing nearby still. "Take this and-"
"Not him." Ysmir interrupted her.
Brief, overwhelming surprise halted her in the middle of her sentence, that someone, much less of such a questionable station, had dared to cut her off.
A fire she'd not felt in weeks in her chest came to life instantly.
I should have him thrown into the dungeons and beaten for a day or two, useful or not.
To have the gall to not only interrupt her, but try to interfere in her orders for one of her subjects. Left unchecked, such behavior would only foster and grow into further disrespect of the disparity of their places in the social order. It would only cause problems without correction.
She returned her eyes to the blond man, where he sat at the table still in armor and helm.
He must have seen the fire in her eyes, because Ysmir sighed and inclined his head slightly, spreading his fingers again in some empathetic suggestion of apology.
"It is your choice of course, Queen Rhaena, to do whatever you want within the lands you rule." He said, looking from her to the guardsman and back. "You may have that guard cut me, but it would be by force. I did not offer it to him. With or without your acknowledgment, I am the Dragon of the North, and I have told you that I am a prince. I will not let just anyone cut me. I have offered that to you willingly."
The Dragon of the North.
She'd seen his title writ, but paid it little mind. She'd seen similar boasting, but people rarely kept it. Anyone who named themselves after the Dragon risked offending House Targaryen, but most importantly, would inevitably be overshadowed by them at all turns. It was arrogance, but she could suppose that if there was any possibility he was truly descended of Valyria, she could see why the title might appeal.
As far as it mattered to anyone else, The Dragon was Aegon the Conqueror, though most sitting Kings and now Queen of House Targaryen might have claimed to be the dragon. Every member of the house could be called upon as a dragon, at times. Similar to the way the Lannisters often were called the lions.
Interesting.
It was the first time he actually acted like he might truly hold the blood he claimed.
Ysmir made it sound like he felt the guard beneath him, and despite her initial irritation, considering his words further did offer good reason for him to do so. Given the guardsman was drawn from the smallfolk of King's Landing, and Ysmir himself claimed to be a prince in spite of all doubt, she would give him the benefit of the doubt because it was finally something sensible.
It makes sense.
Even a minor noble wounded by smallfolk would take great offense. Beatings, violence, potentially even execution was not abnormal unless there was something else to curb the noble's behavior. Unbidden, her mind went back to the Poor Fellows when they had come across her on only her horse.
"Throw dirt on me then, I pray you."
"You could have done something to your hand." She pointed out, stalling briefly as she studied his expression. "Prepared something."
The longer she waited, the more she doubted it was any trick. It started to settle into her what had felt so off about their interaction. What had grated upon her a little bit.
Ysmir was confident.
Not just in his use with a sword, or his ability to joust. He treated her with the deference her position required in her land, but he acted in some small way like they were similar.
Maybe he really was a noble of some kind.
As soon as the possibility grew in her head, she couldn't ignore it either. She wouldn't. Even if she didn't care for him, he was a resource, and where his blood mattered to him, it was something she understood. It was the basis of much of the Seven Kingdoms' recurring authority and oaths. It could be used.
Ysmir lifted his hand wordlessly.
"Then you choose where." He said, calm.
I've lost control of this.
Everything about the interaction had spiraled from the strange moment where he'd gone and cut himself, and revealed something about his blood that she'd never seen before. It had put her off-guard. She was doubting. If not herself, doubting every angle she'd considered in approaching the tent.
Far more importantly, she hesitated.
Hesitation was weakness in front of someone she didn't care to show it to.
So she stepped forward, lifting the knife in her hand. Just to be sure, she checked the edge with the edge of her finger.
As if I'd be afraid to do it myself.
As soon as the thought formed she was resolved. Returning to the edge of the table where he'd challenged her with a lifted palm, she pulled her attention from his eyes to his hand.
Does he think I won't?
The almost invisible line of a cut in the pad of his small finger was still there, and she could see the thin smear of where his blood had welled up and been brushed away. It had already stopped bleeding.
"First you convince me that I'd be doing you a favor by taking your wine." She said to him, holding the knife. "Now you suggest I cut you to prove something. Yet, I cannot tell… what?"
Everything about this tent has been strange.
It was a cheap tent, filled with exceptionally valuable Myrish goods. Comfort was barebones, despite wealth in excess in material. She'd seen plenty of silk and lace, some bundled, some as nearly finished clothing folded neatly in wooden boxes. A thick crate sat open in the back with a number of wooden grate-organized bottles that suggested far more of what he'd offered her. A velvet bottomed, lacquered box was open on top of another spot of crates, and within it gleamed a number of trinkets and jewelry, exposed to open air. Nearer the entrance, an expensive Myrish spyglass with engravings in brass and gold sat atop a pile of others with only slightly plainer designs.
It might have begged a history of mercantile choices, but merchants as successful as the wealth within the tent would have already had a tent of their own of better make. Not something bought in King's Landing near the docks. They would have reused something lavish, with appropriate decorations, as necessary. Merchants of the kind of coin sitting around her would have spent more on bedding, and relied more upon help. Even the most minor lord would find the conditions, for all of the wealth sitting presently, destitute.
"Something tells me you're used to doubting what people say." Ysmir said, drawing her attention back to him, and away from the oddities. He was holding his hand aloft for her. "If you do it yourself, you will know I'm not pulling some trick. At least, it would remove ways in which I could be. I can't shake the feeling that every word I've spoken has been a source of doubt for you. I've come, because I want to be around the dragons, and you suspect it means I want to take one, I think. You would look at my history and ask of my homeland, from whom specifically I have descended, but I have given you nothing, which rightfully only makes you doubt more. So all I can do is this. Give you proof; is not my blood that of the dragon?"
He looked from her to the knife.
"Cut for yourself, and see no deception."
Rhaena looked between Ysmir and his outstretched arm and exposed palm.
Fine.
The subtle curiosity was burning in her already, enough to calm the undercurrent of insult and indignation that had been building ever since he brought up the dragons. Enough to ignore the fact she felt like she was missing something important.
What has become of my day?
She'd expected to have already been on her way, having given him a simple offer of work if he continued to remain in the good graces of the throne, once the tournament was over. Whether he achieved some miraculous victory or not. Alysanne fancying a story was less important to her than making use of a potential resource that they could very easily clean their hands of.
Still.
Neither was he wrong that she couldn't help but doubt him, if not necessarily for the reason he suspected.
What should this even mean?
She reached for his hand, curling fingers brusquely over his and forcing the turn of his wrist up that little bit more. That's when she noticed a second irregularity.
He's warm.
Not something so banal as the touch of a person. She'd touched plenty of people before, in moments of calm, anger, and passion all. She'd felt the variation, and held more than hands in her palms and fingers to not blush like some maiden at contact or find it remarkable.
He's burning up.
He should have been sweating. Feverish in the extreme. For her to feel such a strong difference in their temperatures, she would have believed him lucky to even be alive given how hot something had to be to truly feel unusually warm to her, and yet he looked comfortable and at ease. She'd watched him on the field for a few hours, even, time and again knocking down healthy men.
"Are you ill?" She asked, warily.
He surely must be.
If he was, she was in danger.
"No." He said, shaking his head slowly. "This is just how I am."
She fought to keep her expression neutral, tempted to withdraw entirely from the tent and not risk it regardless of what he said.
"You've always been this way?" She asked.
"Since I came into the world." He said, with a slight smile.
Another peculiarity?
It could have been a lie.
Rhaena frowned at him, pulling her gaze from his teeth back to his hand. Before he could say anything or she could change her mind, she pressed the knife into the top of his palm and drew it downward just below the callouses at the base of his fingers. As soon as it came away, she glanced at his face.
Ysmir watched her impassively, and after a second she glanced down at her work, only to find there wasn't any blood. She could see the faint line of the knife's passage, but it was just that, faint. She'd split a layer of skin, but not so deep as to cause any quantifiable amount of blood to well up.
That should have cut him, surely.
She frowned to hide the faintest welling of embarrassment.
"You'll need a little more pressure than that." He said, voice light. "Lean into it."
She gave him a glare that eased only slightly when she saw his face, watching her seriously. So instead of saying anything else, she brought the knife in again and pressed, holding hard. The knife broke skin as she watched intently.
Then she dragged it downward. Strangely, there was more resistance than she would have guessed, but she didn't have much experience with cutting people with knives, either. Ysmir didn't react outwardly to what she was sure was painful for how hard she was pressing the knife. Beneath its edge, his hand barely moved.
When the knife came away, the first drops of blood welled up deep and dark red, spilling down his palm where she turned it over. Before her eyes, as it had a moment ago, when it touched the wood of the table, it briefly hissed and bubbled in a way she'd only ever seen in one place before.
How?
She watched another drop bead up and fall, and land next to the other hissing. Doubt began to recede for curiosity again.
Magic.
Some kind of magic.
At least assuming there isn't some trick to this.
The thought came again, but she couldn't put her faith in it.
"I'm not-" He began to say.
She extended the knife again, pointing it at his face.
Ysmir's pale eyes looked from her to the knife and back.
"Turn your cheek." She demanded, slowly.
She expected to see something. Maybe some of the things she'd felt since arriving. Doubt. Indignation. Concern. Fear.
The edge of Ysmir's lip curved up, and behind the protective molding of iron that covered the upper half of his face and then some, his pale blue eyes crinkled just barely at the edges.
He didn't move immediately, so she lifted the knife, pressing it pointedly up close to his mouth. The tip clinked faintly on the edge of the metal where it ended just above his jaw and began to round below his nose for his exposed lips. That expression of his didn't change, but she held his gaze.
I could kill you. I could kill you and walk out of here, and none would even make a matter of it.
Ysmir turned his cheek slowly, tilting his brow away from her in a way that lifted the lower lip of his face covering and exposed more of his neck and jaw.
She seized him by his helm, curling the fingers of her left hand around the curve of dragonbone to get a good hold on his head. If he was so intent on wearing the damned thing in her presence, she'd use them for grip.
With his cheek turned and her positioning closer she looked at his jaw. The short length of his blond beard was even across its spread, covering him mostly up with little to show it being well-maintained. It was a little longer than Jaehaerys's had been, the last time she'd ever seen him alive.
She pulled the horn slightly more upward, and Ysmir didn't fight the way it tilted him that tiny bit further to give the knife clearance.
The reminder of Jaehaerys annoyed her.
Turning its blade sideways, she raked it down flatwise along the skin of his lower cheek, shaving away three fingers width of his unmaintained beard just for the offence of having done so. It created a significant gap in the stretch of hair between his chin and the rear of his jaw on that side, and left the entirety ruined for its lopsided nature.
Act above yourself, will you?
Pleased with herself, she turned the knife vertical upon the newly exposed skin and pressed its edge in. She watched his jaw fix in place as it broke skin, and drawing it down and away met his eyes as the first bit of blood welled up.
Are you so confident now?
The droplet of blood fell from his jaw, and landed on the breastplate that covered his chest.
It began to hiss faintly.
Her confidence began to drain away and unthinkingly, she reached out, as the second bead of blood slowly welled up and dropped.
It was an act of impulse.
It landed in her open palm.
Hot.
For just a moment, it was hot enough to feel like when she held her hand over an open flame. The red seeping into the lines of her palm looked to hiss as it had every other time, shedding its heat rapidly, and then it was over as fast as it began. The heat faded, dissipated down to a tingle, and then just the faintest bit of warmth that disappeared in the few seconds that followed.
Ysmir's head turned, and she watched as his eyes went to her hand.
A very strange smile grew upon his lips at the sight of his own blood in her palm.
Before she thought overly long on it, she turned her palm, and wiped its remnants off on his shoulder. Stepping back, she tossed the knife onto the table, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
Ysmir snorted in response to her actions, but she ignored him, as the options for what she was looking at had been narrowed, and his story was changing in front of her from something completely outlandish to something that might have, in some small way, had weight.
Does he even know our blood doesn't do that?
Rhaena turned, stepping toward the entrance as she wracked her mind, trying to recall any mention or writing of Targaryens or other Valyrians Dragonlords with literal dragon's blood. She couldn't, but she found herself wondering if maybe, somehow, that had been a thing that had been lost over the many years.
Could the original claim of the blood of the dragon have been that our blood actually burned as a dragon's did?
In the corner of her eye she noticed Ysmir reach out and gather a bit of cloth, pressing it to his cheek where she'd cut. He turned his head, and was watching her go.
He made no effort to rise, though.
It annoyed her, again.
Don't react.
If she hadn't seen what she just saw, she might have. Her patience wasn't limitless. By most accounts, it wasn't even generous. She was unbalanced though, and needed to ask some questions to the right parties before she could let her attitude get the best of her.
Mostly.
"When a queen departs, you should rise in acknowledgement." She snapped at him.
Ysmir exhaled through his nose and then leaned forward, pushing to his feet. As she'd bidden, he rose to his full height with a momentary adjustment of his armor. The goldcloak that stood in the tent's exit stepped out and aside to make way for her departure. The other made his way over from where he'd been posted near her chair at the table, attentive.
"Thank you for your company, Queen Rhaena." He said, holding the cloth to his cheek still, even as he dipped his head very slightly.
Very slightly.
She fought to keep from narrowing her eyes more at him, and instead mirrored the motion with the tiniest nod, turning to go.
Except, she stopped.
"The bottle." She said, turning her gaze back to him. "I would be remiss to decline a gift."
It would also be an easy way to make clear to her sister that she was keeping an eye on whatever she was up to. She wasn't going to admit that to him though, obviously.
"Of course." Ysmir said. "Give her an extra with a better bottle so that there's no rush, Sorzo."
The Prince turned to motion to his man, who was already moving. The Essosi swordsman headed over to the crate she'd seen, retrieving a bottle with its neck wrapped and a cork in its mouth. She watched as he pulled a second out after it, by its neck.
Sorzo brought both to her and presented them with a much deeper dip of his head, offering them out to her side by side on wrist and palm. The bottles were earthen clay or some similar ceramic, natural in color but painted in matching marks with the distinctive prow of a Myrish boat and sail for the bottle's origin. Alongside were another few marks that she was fairly sure were the original maker's marks, but she paid them little mind.
She reached out and tucked the bottle that was unopened in her arm, and then took the other, laying it overtop.
When she returned her eyes to him, Ysmir hadn't moved from his position where he stood, watching her from the tableside.
"I speak plainly when I tell you that your hospitality is unique, milord." She said, lingering in eye contact for a moment longer. Then, she turned to go. "Good day."
"Good day, Queen Rhaena." He said, from behind her.
Rhaena stepped out through the opening of the tent, and motioned to the guards outside to join her.
As she crossed the muddy grass around his tent, she regretted not having brought her own horse. She'd ridden down by carriage with Alysanne, and the walk back would be annoying. Where more people and more horses passed, things were even worse and she had to choose her steps carefully.
Merging back onto the main lane and continuing her journey, which was only marginally better and arguably worse at its center where the most heavy traffic had been, she worked to keep her expression at ease. Ahead of her, one of the guards worked steadily to keep the flow of people split for her travel.
She made for the Red Keep, intent to send a few messages and ask some questions.
If it's not misdirection, perhaps it was something alchemical or magical that Basil could speak on.
It was probably a trick, but if it wasn't, it was magic. If he could be believed, it was magic in his blood. What he didn't realize was that for all his intent to claim it was a sign that he was the blood of the dragon, she'd never heard any examples of something like that happening with a Targaryen, and neither could she recall any mention of Valyria itself having such.
More importantly, even if it wasn't a trick, even if it was supposed to mean something, it didn't matter.
It didn't change anything.
For now.
"What… what was that?" Sorzo asked, once the tent had settled with the Targaryen's departure.
I glanced at him.
"That… was Queen Rhaena, apparently." I told him.
Two queens. Same family. Very interesting, without the distinction of High Queen, but I suppose only one wears a crown. Former queen, so always a queen?
I wouldn't know without asking, and there were better people to probably ask than to waste her time with it.
"Not that." Sorzo said, moving over to the flap and pulling it down. "I meant with your blood. What was that?"
"Tie the flap off." I told him, motioning. "Cover it up completely for a moment, for me."
"Why?" He asked.
He obeyed as he did, and stretching the material to each side, wrapped the loops around the hooks supplied to do so. It was intended to help keep the tent warm, but in my case, I didn't want to risk anyone looking inside through a crack or something.
I answered him by lifting my right hand. Light flared, coalescing into brilliant white pulsating in my open palm. It instantly brightened the interior of the lowly-lit tent some. It was a pinprick of magic beaded up and torn from myself and the environment both, and unlike how it had been back in Skyrim, where I could have kept that light ambient in my palm all day with a little concentration, I could already feel the drain.
Sorzo's jaw dropped.
I spread my fingers, and the light brightened a little further, a rush of a breeze displaced as the energy was released and allowed to expand beyond containment by my will. The drain grew massively. The sting at my jaw faded away first, and the light guttered briefly, but I forced it enough that the cut at my palm sealed itself. I tried to keep it up to completely seal the mark on my finger as well, but it just faded with a whisper of rushing air before it finished the work.
Still so costly.
I exhaled, reaching up to rub at my cheek, feeling the distinctive, big bald patch she'd shaved away in my unattended facial hair. I hadn't been growing it out with any intent or anything, but that was just rude.
I hoped my smile wasn't abnormal.
The beard was pretty short anyways, and it was mostly a product of our time traveling and my attention being occupied by all of the curiosities of Essos, Myr, and now, the Seven Kingdoms and King's Landing. I hadn't cared to keep it maintained as much.
"What was that?" Sorzo repeated, watching me owlishly.
"Magic." I told him, distractedly. "Minor healing. Very, very minor. Almost useless now, unfortunately."
It occurred to me that for all of my destructive use of my voice, and the few times he might have noticed me drawing a flickering flame into my palm to light the fire at camp, I'd never needed to heal myself in front of him. It was the first time he'd seen me display any form of restoration magic.
"Useless?" He asked, visibly confused as he stepped over and looked at the lower edge of my cheek, where the helm ended. "The cut is gone."
I suppose useless is relative. Useless for the kind of wounds I used to take.
"I said almost." I pointed out. "While it once might have suited me as an easy way to manage my wounds, even if it took me a couple hours to manage life threatening ones, it is exhausting in its demand now."
"Here in the west?" He asked, tilting his head.
"No." I said, shaking my head. "Just… it is just the way it is now unless something unforeseen changes it."
Sorzo was looking at me oddly, expression pinched.
"What?" I asked him.
"Your face, my prince." He said, clearing his throat and trying, I suddenly realized, not to laugh and keep something stern in his bearing. "She has… ah, ruined your beard."
"I noticed." I said, giving him a bit of side eye for the tone, but smirking. "She's a mean one, isn't she?"
"I would suppose she did it to spite you." Sorzo said, moving over to draw the third chair to the table, finally. He lowered to sit into it. "Perhaps because you refused to remove your helm in her presence. It was very disrespectful to a royal in their own lands, my prince."
It wasn't until he even said it that I realized I hadn't. The framing and weight of a helm was so familiar that I needed to actively think about it for it to really come back to my senses. I reached up and clasped my fingers around the base of the horns and lifted it up and away.
Fuck. Stupid.
"I forgot." I told him, turning to retake my own seat and placing the helm on the table.
I wasn't convinced the helm would have spared me her ire or bristly nature; one look at Rhaena Targaryen told me that she was quick to anger, and fierce besides. I wasn't thinking when I met her, or at least, I wasn't focused on the decorum. I'd nearly forgotten to have her offered a chair.
"Good catch on the chair." I told him. "I owe you."
Sorzo gave me a long, confused look for my reply, ignorant to my internal musings, but said nothing to that.
"I need to find that razor again." I told him, glancing around. "I don't know where everything is with you two constantly moving things around."
"I'll get it for you after we eat." Sorzo confirmed. "Did you see or speak with Coryanne while you were gone?"
"No, I just went to drop off the horse and come back." I told him. "She never said anything to you during the breaks between rounds?"
Not every match had been mine, and he'd gone off to get a drink and look around a couple times in the interim, while I waited with the horse.
"She was sitting and speaking with a man and a woman last I saw. The man had a strange hat on. I feel like I've seen it somewhere before but can't recall where." Sorzo said. "At where the nobles sit. I wasn't sure I was allowed to be over there, so I didn't bother going nearer."
Idly, I lifted the cloth I'd used to press to my cheek. Where it had gone against the cut she'd made -- a little deep for anything friendly and casual -- it had a little blackened line. I folded it over, and placed it aside.
"It's probably fine." I said, watching as Sorzo began to cut away sections of the meat he'd purchased for us to enjoy. "I imagine her father's death will give her a bit of time to breathe."
Sorzo snorted faintly in response, but I saw him smile as he moved a big slice of the meat onto my Myrish plate.
While I wouldn't have said the people in the joust I'd been a part of so far were great, some had hit me a couple times and that added up. I wasn't shaken, and I could have done it all day I suspect at the rate we'd been going, but I had worked up an appetite. A good meal would go a long way to making me feel like it hadn't already been a long day.
"The melee is going to be very different from the joust." Sorzo said, after cutting us both some of the fresh bread and placing the rest back in the middle within reach. "Are you more concerned about it?"
"I think it will be far more dangerous." I admitted to him. "Right now, my strength is in being an unknown, but I won't have that forever. In the beginning, the other teams will all fight each other as the greater threat."
"They will think they can deal with you last, unless you just manage to be in front of them." Sorzo agreed, with a little nod. "They may think it's strange you went alone. I don't imagine there are even rules about that, because it seems so unlikely for a single person to even bother to pay the cost and risk being overwhelmed by sheer numbers."
"The Queen suggested I must do it alone." I reminded him in between bites. "If she meant for me to do the singles as you are, then alone is meaningless. I can only assume she meant the actual challenge."
"I heard your reasoning to Coryanne." Sorzo replied. "I won't doubt you. Just want to make sure you know what you're up against."
"You should be worrying about yourself." I pointed out. "Your first handful of rounds begin tomorrow afternoon, don't they?"
"I have to live up to your standard." Sorzo said, sounding very serious. "I will not fail."
I gave him a glance, a little uncertain at his tone, but smiled encouragingly.
"You're good with the sword. If your opponent's larger, just do not let it go to the ground." I said, calmly. "Stay on your feet, stay moving, and immobilize your opponent. Your curved sword is good for following through on cuts. Your real trouble will come with someone heavily armored."
"The hedgeh-knights." He confirmed, adding an unnecessary syllable.
"Hedge-knights." I corrected, absently. "Yes. If you are against them, seek for any weak points in their armor. With your strength, your best case is to get them to fall, and rattle their head. Stomp their heads repeatedly. Don't worry about the armor, you're just going to bounce their heads around inside as much as you can."
Sorzo grunted faintly, but he was smiling as he ate, and so was I.
It was a peaceful meal, and as it passed, he told me about things he'd seen for sale in the surrounding tents of the tournament ground, leaving me to realize that as much as I'd only just begun to explore King's Landing, I hadn't yet bothered to wander about the other lanes and see what other travelers were offering for sale or trade. I resolved to do that at some point in the near future before the tournaments were over. King's Landing would still be there when they were done. Merchants would likely come and go.
An hour or so later, Coryanne returned to the tent.
She stepped inside through the flap with something wrapped in cloth in her arms. She wasn't even wearing the same dress she'd worn early in the day when she'd stormed off from me in the tournament grounds. She'd gone for something more expensive, which made some sense if she had left us to go sit among nobles and gamble.
"Is that dress one of the ones we're supposed to be selling?" I wondered absently, glancing at Sorzo.
He nodded to me, confidently.
"I have found at least two people interested in it!" Coryanne said proudly.
"Well, it certainly gives you plenty of room to breast. I mean breathe." I said, considering the lacing that crept from the neck and then stopped, to leave a distinctive cutaway that was just all upper breast.
Sorzo and Coryanne both laughed.
"Did you set out to sell something and then buy things instead?" Sorzo asked her, drawing her attention to him.
"Oh, no." She said, with a blink and a glance down, shaking her head quickly. "I met with a Tyroshi magister and his wife, who I got on rather well with, and wagered a sizable amount of coin on the Prince's success in the joust to. Even though he was very rude."
"The magister?" Sorzo asked.
"The prince." Coryanne said, lifting her chin.
"Was I?" I wondered, amused.
"Yes." She said, confidently. "Regardless, they invited me- What happened to your face?"
She stopped dead in the middle of talking to ask, and I resisted the urge to sigh.
I failed.
Sorzo must have felt some way about it as well, because he grinned at me in response.
"I'll get the razor." He told me, turning. Over his shoulder as he went, he threw a verbal arrow at Coryanne. "Queen Rhaena Targaryen visited the tent while you were gone."
Coryanne's eyes widened and she stepped quickly toward me, arms tightening around her unknown goods. She cautiously looked me over, and then glanced around like the tent would tell her the story of our meeting.
"What happened?" She asked, looking between us alarmed. "What did you do? Why would she come here?"
I don't know why you're looking at me like that. I've been well-behaved.
"On the surface? Acting as Hand of the Queen, I believe. It wasn't a very long meeting." I told her, shaking my head. "She seemed to be mostly interested in getting my measure, but she came under the guise of relaying the throne's affirmation of the accepted duel and its consequences in the eyes of the gods. I think we got along well."
"Got along well?" Coryanne asked, seeming less certain. "She is not well known for getting along with people, Ysmir."
"She's sharp-tongued and unrepentant." I confirmed. "Reminds me of… home I suppose. I think I gave her more to think about than she gave me grief doing this."
I motioned to my cheek.
"She did that?" Coryanne asked, alarmed. "Why?"
"It has been a question in a number of peoples' hearts whether or not I am a fraud. A charlatan." I pointed out to her, drawing a slow nod from the blonde-dyed noblewoman. "I gave Rhaena a reason to believe that I am not."
"...How?" Coryanne asked.
"I showed her the obvious effect of my nature here." I told her, glancing down at her arms. "My turn. What's in the cloth?"
Coryanne glanced down and blinked. "Some coin, some perfume, and something for my hair."
"Oh." I said, interest waning. "Soap?"
"Among other things." She confirmed. "I took it in partial trade, and also because it made me fast friends with them. What do you mean by that? What obvious effect?"
"The heat." I told her.
Coryanne looked at me in confusion.
"I showed her the heat that you saw in the Sea's Secrets." I explained. "You remember the table?"
"Wh-What?" Coryanne looked somewhere between alarmed, horrified, confused, interested, and then intrigued. "Right here? In front of- I presume she had guards, and.. I mean, Sorzo…?"
Coryanne's eyes were rapidly darting about and returning to me, like she might see the evidence burned on some point around the tent.
What is…?
It took me a moment, studying Coryanne's expression to realize where her mind had gone.
"Fu- Coryanne." I said, hands falling to my stomach as I threw my head back and laughed. "No- No. You-"
I shook my head slowly at her and reached up to rub at my eyes.
"My blood, I used my blood, Coryanne." I said, making no effort to suppress my mirth. I ignored the mental imagery I had of the direction her perspective of things had gone. "What you saw, is also the case with my blood."
"Oh." She said, blinking at me and straightening a little from where she'd begun to lean forward like she was intent to hear more. "You… showed her your blood and it was hot like… that?"
"Yes." I confirmed, with a slow nod. "I have suspected the possibility ever since your mention of their steaming, that dragon's blood is the same, but I was not able to be certain. Her reaction confirmed it to me at least in the case of their dragons."
"Targaryen's don't bleed or have what you have though, Ysmir. Trust me. I would know." Coryanne immediately shifted her attention to the interaction, and out of her fantasies. She glanced around, and saw the cloth left on the table with the black line from my cheek. "Is that from your blood?"
I nodded.
"I have seen bloodied sheets from a Targaryen." Coryanne told me, glancing from it to me again. "I've touched Targaryens before. It's not the same. She will know that, and now she knows you're magical."
Hmmm.
"I was never really trying to hide that." I reminded her, crossing my arms slowly. "I have made my claim. I am the blood of the dragon. Now she has proof."
"She could take your 'proof' to mean any number of things, even though dragon's blood is fiery hot." Coryanne said, worrying. "You don't understand. Queen Rhaena is… she's not like Queen Alysanne, Ysmir. She's everything you need to be worried about with a Targaryen."
Where he was rattling around in a crate in the back, Sorzo suddenly straightened with a sound of confirmation, and lifted aloft the flat length of metal leading to a short, wide blade.
"Oh I think he knows." Sorzo said, lifting the razor pointedly. "He cut his finger. She cut his face."
Coryanne blinked, and glanced at my beard. "Where- She cut your face? Where?"
"He made the cut disappear." Sorzo said, returning to offer me the razor.
I reached out and took it.
"I believe she was concerned that I was hiding a way to fake the burning blood." I pointed out. "Alchemy or something, maybe a mummer's trick. She was very convinced I'm a great fighter and a liar as well when she entered, but by the time she left, less so on the latter part."
"She cut you though." Coryanne pointed out. "You don't understand, Ysmir, she is… bitter and well known for cruelty. Half the lords and ladies think this has all been her plot to take power. Another half of those think that she's behind every bad thing that happens in King's Landing. A lot of lords and ladies think she's ill luck and a bad omen wherever she's involved. She's… I mean, her previous husband was so tortured, he killed all of her friends and threw himself off a tower to get away from her."
Sounds complicated.
I nodded my head slowly to Coryanne at that. It did sound like a dangerous situation to get involved in, but I wasn't inclined from what I'd seen of the woman that had entered our tent to make an idle judgment. I could also understand in that case what would drive a person to be brutal enough that someone would sooner kill themselves than let them get to them.
"If someone killed you both, they would find the ground less punishing than I am." I pointed out to her, gently.
Coryanne hesitated at that, tilting her head.
"It's… well, yes, I understand what you're saying, but it's more about what they say happened before." Coryanne said, waving a hand. "My point is don't be… fooled."
"Coryanne." I said, gently, chuffing. "Trust me, nothing about how she was speaking with me or interacting with me was an attempt to fool me. I think that queen might be the most direct person I've spoken with since arriving here. Those with more fragile egos would have been hurt, no doubt, but I am anything but fragile."
"Yes, and the first thing she did apparently was cut you and try to embarrass you by ruining the beard you were growing out." Coryanne said, cautiously. "She is known for this. If you were a woman, I would be less worried for you, but alas, she is well known for suffering little from men. So if you would please listen to me on this at least. She emasculated Lord Farman's brother so badly he did all of that and then killed himself."
"I'm more inclined to believe she cut it because it was in her way. And I don't know who that is." I pointed out. "Is he important?"
"That's the former husband." Coryanne supplied. "The third."
"Three?" I said, impressed despite myself. That really was a lot of outliving husbands. Maybe Coryanne was onto something, a little bit. "I thought he killed himself because he killed her friends?"
"It's all related." Coryanne said, waving a hand and shaking her head dismissively.
"Wait, I thought you hadn't been back here for years?" I asked, confused. "How do you know all of this?"
"Unlike you two," Coryanne said motioning between Sorzo and I, "I got myself invested in the gossip, some of which has been centered around you with what happened yesterday. I felt it was good to get ahead of the rumors and find out what's happened since I was last in King's Landing. Who's doing what and where."
"Would any of the soap you acquired be good for my face?" I asked her, disinterested in all of that.
It proved her point, but that didn't matter if her point didn't matter.
Coryanne wrapped her arms tighter around her package. "No, this is mine. It's the first very valuable thing that I've gotten for myself in a long time, with my own gold. Even if I got it gambling."
"Fair enough." I said, turning. That was a good argument. "I'm going to shave the rest of this off before the melee."
"You should." She said.
I halted and gave her a look over my shoulder.
She shrunk a little, clearing her throat.
"I mean naturally, that you have a strong jaw and chin, my prince." She continued, smoothly. "You should show good qualities that you have."
I snorted, and turned to head to the back of the tent to find that bucket that I could use for water.
Explains the dress.
Her tits really did look fantastic in that dress.
"Lord Stark, please, sit, sit. Surely you would enjoy our company today?" Alysanne offered, with quick motions of her hands, lowering into her own chair.
Rhaena eased into her chair on her left with a creak of leather, strangely silent and distant to the ongoings.
Apparently she'd gone directly up to her office since returning to the keep after the morning jousts, and not come out except to send a letter back and forth. According to the servants, she had sent a pair of letters out into King's Landing, and then requested a meal. Barth had stopped by to see her, but she hadn't had time to ask the septon about what her sister had asked of him.
She wanted to ask what was on her mind, but they had more important things at hand.