Chapter 147: The Fleet Sets Sail
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The morning sun painted the Blackwater Rush in shades of gold and crimson, transforming the harbor into something that belonged in a painter's fever dream.
The Iron Fleet stretched before us like a forest of masts and sails, their black banners snapping in the salt wind. Royal and Lannister ships flew the three-headed dragon alongside Greyjoy krakens, a sight that would have been impossible mere months ago.
Power is making the impossible inevitable.
I stood on the stone pier with Arianne at my right and Ros at my left, watching the organized chaos of departure preparations. Sailors hauled supplies, captains barked orders, and the air thrummed with anticipation thick enough to taste. The people of King's Landing had gathered along the waterfront, drawn by the spectacle of the largest fleet assembled since Aegon's Conquest.
After all, this was a conquest grander than his.
Arianne pressed closer to my side, her bronze skin gleaming in the morning light. Her traveling gown of deep orange silk clung to every curve, cut low enough to display the valley between her breasts while still maintaining the pretense of propriety. When she moved, the fabric whispered against her thighs in ways that made concentration difficult.
"Look at them," she murmured, her voice carrying that musical Dornish accent that always made my blood quicken. "Your people watch like children seeing their first dragon. They know they're witnessing history."
"History is written by the victorious," I replied, watching Yara stride across the deck of the Black Wind like she owned the very sea itself. "Today, we begin writing a new chapter."
Ros shifted beside me, her movement drawing my attention to the way her dark dress hugged her generous curves. She'd chosen the garment carefully, modest enough for her role as spymaster, yet cut to remind everyone that she'd once commanded men's desires for a living. Her auburn hair caught the sunlight as she leaned closer.
"Your Grace," her voice dropped to the intimate tone she used for sensitive intelligence. "Before the fleet departs, there are matters requiring your attention."
The spider weaves her web even as we prepare for war.
"Speak freely. What shadows have you uncovered?"
Her green eyes darkened with the weight of secrets. "Our suspicions regarding Braavos have been confirmed. Three separate sources place both Littlefinger and Tywin Lannister within the city's walls. They've purchased protection from the Iron Bank and, more troubling still, they've made contact with the Faceless Men."
I kept my expression neutral, having guessed most of it already. Arianne's hand found my arm, her fingers tightening in silent support.
"How certain are you?"
"Certain enough to stake my life on it." Ros's voice carried the confidence of someone who'd built her reputation on reading people's deepest truths. "A Tyroshi merchant captain reported seeing a man matching Tywin's description boarding a Braavosi galley at Pentos. Two days later, ravens began flying between King's Landing and a counting house known to serve the Iron Bank's more... discrete clients."
The lion and the mockingbird, hiding behind the world's most dangerous assassins. Clever. Cowardly, but clever.
"There's more," Ros continued, her voice dropping further. "I've identified one of Littlefinger's remaining assets in the capital. A whore from his old establishment, goes by the name Chataya. She's been feeding information to Braavos through a network of seemingly innocent merchants."
I turned to study her face, noting the way her lips curved slightly when she spoke of conquest. "Have you approached her?"
"I tried. She refuses to turn." Ros's smile held predatory satisfaction. "Claims her loyalty to Lord Baelish runs deeper than gold or fear."
"Loyalty built on sentiment rather than pragmatism. How quaint." I let my gaze drift back to the fleet. "It's fine. I'll visit her myself later. She'll bend."
Everyone bends eventually. It's simply a matter of finding the right pressure point.
Arianne's laugh was silk over steel. "The Dragon King's personal attention? How fortunate for her. I'm sure she'll find your arguments... compelling."
I shook my head, and before I could respond, Yara's voice boomed across the water. "All hands, prepare to make way! The tide waits for no queen, and neither do I!"
She stood on the Black Wind's quarterdeck like a figure carved from legend, her dark leathers molded to her athletic frame. The sea breeze whipped her black hair around her face as she surveyed her captains with the confidence of someone born to command. When she spotted me watching, her grin was sharp enough to cut glass.
The Ironborn follow strength. She radiates it like heat from a forge.
I made my way down the pier toward her ship, Arianne and Ros flanking me like beautiful sentinels. The crowd parted before us, their whispers following in our wake. Sailors stopped their work to bow, and I caught more than one looking at my companions with expressions of naked desire.
"Your Grace!" Yara called out as I approached the gangplank. "Come to see your fleet off properly?"
"Among other things." I boarded the Black Wind, noting how the crew snapped to attention. These weren't the disciplined soldiers of the mainland; these were reavers, raiders, men who'd chosen to follow Yara because she promised them gold and glory. "Are your captains ready?"
"Ready and eager." She gestured toward the other ships where men worked with purposeful efficiency. "Eighty-seven vessels, the finest the Iron Islands have ever assembled. We'll take Myr's harbor before they know we've left Westeros."
I pulled her aside, away from listening ears. This close, I could smell the salt and leather scent of her, see the predatory gleam in those grey eyes. When I placed my hand on her hip, she leaned into the touch with unconscious hunger.
"Remember," I said quietly, "Myr first, but carefully. Test their defenses, gauge their response. If they have sellswords worth recruiting, make the offer. If not..."
"Burn what won't bend, claim what will." Her voice carried anticipation like a blade's edge. "You've taught me well, my king." That sounded a little sarcastic.
"And remember what I told you about the dragons." I let my fingers trace the curve of her waist through the leather. "Viserion and I will join you once certain matters here are settled. Until then, you are my fist across the Narrow Sea."
She shivered at the contact, grinning. "Your fist will strike true."
Power shared is power multiplied. She's using mine well.
The horn blast that signaled departure echoed across the harbor like a war cry. Yara stepped back, her expression shifting from intimate to commanding in a heartbeat. "Cast off all lines! Unfurl the sails! The Iron Fleet sails for glory!"
I disembarked as her ship began to move, watching from the pier as the massive fleet came alive. Sails bloomed like deadly flowers, and the water churned white as dozens of vessels began their journey east. The crowd's cheers rose like thunder, and I felt the weight of their expectations settle on my shoulders like a crown.
Arianne moved to stand beside me, her breast pressing against my arm as she watched the ships disappear into the morning haze. "I feel lucky to witness this... They'll sing songs of this day," she said softly. "The day the Dragon King's gaze turned east."
"Songs are for bards and fools." I turned away from the water, my mind already moving to the next challenge. "Victory is for kings."
Ros fell into step beside us as we walked back toward the Red Keep. "Your Grace, about that other matter..."
"The poison?" I glanced at her, noting how her hips swayed with each step. "Yes. Bring me what you can acquire. If I'm to face the Faceless Men, I need every advantage."
Her expression grew troubled. "Your Grace, surely there are safer ways to—"
"Safety is an illusion, my dear spider." I smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "The only certainty is preparation."
The game grows difficult even for the Dragonking when death wears a thousand faces.
****
Three days later, I learned that sentiment dies harder than its adherents.
Chataya had been everything Ros promised—beautiful, defiant, and utterly convinced of Littlefinger's inevitable victory. She'd lasted perhaps an hour under my personal attention before revealing that Varys had indeed joined our enemies in Braavos. The Spider, the Lion, and the Mockingbird, all cowering behind the Titan's shadow.
A holy trinity of cowardice.
Now, in the privacy of my chambers, I faced a different kind of enemy entirely.
"This is madness," Ros whispered, her hands trembling as she measured out another drop of the Tears of Lys into a goblet of wine. "Your Grace, please reconsider. There has to be another way."
I watched her work from my position on the bed, noting how her dark dress had ridden up slightly to reveal the curve of her thighs. Even in distress, she was magnificent, all soft curves and hidden steel, like a blade wrapped in silk. All a waste she was born a whore.
"The Faceless Men have killed dragons before," I said, accepting the goblet from her shaking hands. "During the Doom of Valyria, some say they were the ones who brought down the Freehold itself. I will not die because I was too proud to prepare."
The first sip burned like liquid fire down my throat. Within moments, my vision blurred and sweat beaded on my forehead. The poison was carefully measured, enough to trigger my body's defenses, not enough to kill. Probably.
Kinvara or even the three Sand Girls would have been a better choice than Ros, but I didn't trust them. Well, I trusted Kinvara not to kill me, but I didn't want her to know too many of my secrets. Ros, on the other hand? She knew enough about poison, and I could trust her with a knife to my throat.
"Your Grace..." Ros moved to sit beside me on the bed, her cool hands finding my fevered brow. "This is torture. Let me find another way, please."
"There is no other way." The words came out harsher than intended as another wave of nausea struck. "The assassin at Casterly Rock moved like death itself. Next time, they might not rely on blade and poison alone."
Her fingers combed through my hair with gentle strokes that contrasted sharply with the fire in my veins. This close, I could smell her perfume, roses and something unique that made my head spin for reasons that had nothing to do with poison.
"You're burning up," she murmured, pressing closer. "Let me help."
I buried my face against her chest, feeling the soft warmth of her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress. Her heartbeat was rapid against my cheek, and when she wrapped her arms around me, I felt some of the pain recede.
"Is this what love looks like?" she asked softly, her voice breaking slightly. "Watching someone you care about suffer and being powerless to stop it."
Love. Such a dangerous word.
"Not powerless," I managed between ragged breaths. "You're here. That's everything." I lied.
Her laugh was wet with unshed tears. "Sweet words from a king who's slowly poisoning himself. Only you would make this romantic."
The hallucinations began an hour later, starting with shadows that moved wrong, whispers in languages I didn't recognize, and the sensation of being watched by unseen eyes. Through it all, Ros held me, her presence the only anchor in a world gone mad.
"Tell me a story," I gasped during a particularly violent bout of tremors. "Anything. I need to hear your voice."
She was quiet for a moment, her fingers still stroking my hair. "Once upon a time, there was a whore who thought she understood power. She sold her body and called it strength, manipulated men and called it wisdom." Her voice grew soft, almost dreamy. "Then she met a dragon who showed her what real power looked like. Not the crude dominance of coin and flesh, but something transcendent. Something worth dying for."
"Did they live happily ever after?"
"I don't know yet." Her lips pressed against my temple in a kiss that tasted of salt and sorrow. "The story's still being written."
She's a good writer. Maybe I'll see her as a world-renowned author three hundred years later, when she roams the world with my shared immortality. Or maybe she was not a good writer? The dragon part in her story might have made it better. Indeed, every fairy tale needs a dragon.
It took me a moment to realize such thoughts were foreign to the current me, reflecting the person I had been in that modern world, which seemed like a strange dream by now.
Day after day, we repeated the ritual. Wolfsbane one morning, causing convulsions that left me weak as a newborn. Sweetsleep another evening, bringing dreams so vivid I couldn't distinguish them from reality. Each time, Ros measured the doses with the precision of a maester and the reluctance of a lover.
"You're changing," she observed on the fourth day, studying my face with professional interest. "Your pupils don't dilate as much. Your breathing stays steadier."
"The body adapts." I flexed my fingers, noting how the tremors had lessened. "It's learning to recognize the threats and counter them."
"And if it doesn't adapt fast enough?"
"Then you'll have the honor of burying a king who died as he lived—on his own terms."
Her slap came without warning, sharp enough to snap my head to the side. "Don't you dare joke about that! Do you have any idea what it would do to me if—"
I caught her wrist before she could strike again, pulling her down until her face was inches from mine. "If what?"
"If I lost you." The words came out barely above a whisper. "If all of this was for nothing and you died anyway. What would be the point of any of it?"
The spider shows her web.
"The point," I said, drawing her closer until I could feel her breath on my lips, "is that I refuse to die on anyone's terms but my own. The Faceless Men think they're death incarnate? Let them come. They'll find a dragon who's learned to breathe poison instead of fire."
On the seventh day, as I downed a mixture that should have left me writhing in agony but instead produced only mild discomfort, the familiar blue text appeared before my eyes.
[Skill Unlocked: Poison Resistance - Rank E]
[Your body has adapted to recognize and neutralize common toxins. Higher ranks will provide immunity to more exotic substances.]
The System rewards those who dare.
"It's done," I announced, setting down the empty goblet with steady hands. "The training is complete."
Ros stared at me in amazement. "You're not even sweating."
"Dragons don't sweat. We smolder." I pulled her into my arms, savoring the way she melted against me. "Now, my dear spider, it's time to prepare for war. The Faceless Men think they know death?"
I smiled, and for the first time in days, it reached my eyes.
"They're about to meet someone who's made friends with it."
[Image Here]
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