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CaveLeather
Viserys had given Daenerys the task of studying every ancient text on raising dragons, protecting them, and training them.
His wife understood the weight of that charge. She said nothing more and threw herself into the writings of Valyria's long-dead kings.
Dragons grew fast. Soon the Targaryens would have to begin taming and training them.
"I understand all that," Daenerys said, her earlier irritation vanishing. "I already told you—today's work is finished. I finished another scroll on dragon saddles and copied it out. There was also a very long one full of diagrams and notes… I translated that too and copied it cleanly. Missandei arrived at the perfect time."
"Missan… who?"
"The Naathi girl we got from the Ghiscari," Daenerys explained. "She helps me untangle the old dragonlords' flowery language like she was born and raised in Valyria. With her around my progress is so much faster. When we finally need them, we'll be able to build real dragon saddles—exactly like the ones the old triarchs used, maybe even better."
Viserys finally let himself relax.
The soft pillow, the warmth of the woman he loved, and the dim light in the room were exactly what he needed.
The day's tension slowly eased from his body, giving him a brief escape from its burdens.
"Imagine how wonderful it will be to fly," Daenerys murmured dreamily. "You and me soaring through the sky like the old king and his wise queen…"
"I don't want to be some old king," Viserys chuckled.
"Don't interrupt!" Daenerys kept her eyes half-closed. "In nearly two hundred years we'll be the first pair to take to the skies. Think of it—looking down from the clouds on old Volantis… its palaces, its towers, its domes, its temples. Then we keep flying, looking down over the whole city while the people below stare up in awe and cheer for us, for the rebirth of Valyria…"
"You're that eager to ride a dragon?" Viserys snorted. "If that's what you want, it's right here beside you."
The crude joke hid the same fierce hunger he felt for that dream.
Long ago, when he was still a bastard boy, he had been obsessed with the songs of dragonriders and mourned the extinction of those magnificent beasts.
In this life the longing remained. He would have loved to watch a Baratheon try to challenge Balerion, Vhagar, Vermithor, or Caraxes.
But his feelings for these three hard-won dragons ran deeper than simply seeing them as weapons.
Every time he looked at powerful Aeksion, graceful Rhaellys, and beautiful Sōnarys, a strange tenderness rose in his chest.
Only a Targaryen would look at dragons not merely as dangerous beasts, but as their own children.
Daenerys gave a soft laugh, then sighed dramatically on purpose.
"Oh, put away that sellsword sense of humor. It doesn't work on me." She leaned in and kissed him playfully. "Though I'm sure the famous whores of Lys find it very charming."
This time it was his turn to sigh.
"Should I swear it on the Seven-Pointed Star?" Viserys pulled her warm, familiar body closer. "I've told you three times now—I didn't touch a single woman in Lys. Sometimes I think I'm the biggest fool in the world. Even the unluckiest squire could have enjoyed the legendary courtesans while I lay alone in a cold bed."
Daenerys studied him the way she had the first time…
"All right, I believe you, I believe you…" she finally said, her gentle hand tracing teasing circles on his chest. "But honestly… those things are small. I want to talk about something serious."
"What serious thing?" Viserys barely held back another sigh. "Is it the war that worries you? Or are you trying to tell me…"
"No. Well, yes and no… it's about feelings, but it matters."
The bedroom fell silent for a moment.
Daenerys had been holding these words inside for a long time. She had decided to say them, and it wasn't on a whim.
"I want to talk to you about other… women."
Viserys started to speak, but she rushed on. "No, wait—don't interrupt. Let me finish, all right?"
"All right. I'm listening."
Viserys sighed. Of all the times and places, she had chosen the bed—when he was relaxed, calm, and least able to lie convincingly—to bring up women…
Daenerys drew a deep breath. "You know… while you were gone, while you were in Lys… I worried. I know exactly what kind of swamp that place is and what kind of women live there. Sometimes I tortured myself imagining you surrounded by three or even four courtesans, women even more skilled than Naera, even more beautiful. Can you imagine how that felt?"
"One day I couldn't stand scaring myself anymore, so I went to Aelinor. I was completely honest and told her everything. She's known your story from the beginning and knows far more than I do. In the end… she gave me some advice."
"Lady Aelinor is a wise woman. You made the right choice," Viserys said with a nod.
"She suggested I bring something up with you." Her voice trembled slightly.
"I'm listening."
"I don't want you sharing yourself with any powerful noblewomen, courtesans… or, one day, noble girls from Westeros." Daenerys gave a small smile and he smiled back. "I don't want to fight anyone for your love or your heart. But I understand we can't stay together forever. Sooner or later you'll march to war and I'll have to stay in Volantis. A month, two months, three months… maybe you could hold out that long…"
"What exactly are you trying to say?"
"Aelinor told me… even in Westeros, where the rules are stricter, many noblewomen… don't mind if their husbands take comfort with farm girls, serving girls, or common women while they're away on long campaigns. They know that's simply a man's nature. Fighting and arguing won't change it. And don't deny it… that same nature was passed down to you. I remember exactly how you were in the Disputed Lands… a different girl in your tent every night. Aelinor remembers it all too. She told me everything."
Daenerys slowly circled back to the point.
"Lady Aelinor said I have to face your past. I… I agree with her."
Viserys saved her the trouble of finishing the difficult words.
"All right. I understand."
Viserys thought of another subject he had carefully avoided since marrying Daenerys.
Since his wife had chosen to be so honest about this private matter, he decided to match her openness.
"What about Eleonora?"
Daenerys grew awkward and looked away.
On one hand she obviously didn't want to share her husband with anyone. On the other hand… it was Eleonora. A woman she cared for deeply—her protector, her teacher, her helper, a beautiful warrior…
"I… I can't answer you right now. We can talk about it another day." She wrapped her arms around him and whispered in his ear, "Stop thinking about it. You know what I mean, don't you? Do you understand?"
"I do. I promise I won't abuse your… understanding of a man's weaknesses." After their kiss ended he spoke softly. "And thank you for handling this like a grown woman."
"This is better," Daenerys said calmly. "Better than dodging each other later, guessing, fighting over women who don't matter. Some things need to be said clearly now so they don't cause trouble later. But I'm holding you to that promise… no abusing it!"
"I held out in Lys, the City of Pleasures that even the Dothraki talk about," Viserys said with relief. "Compared to that, the Disputed Lands or the Stepstones are nothing."
"Oh please." Daenerys nipped the tip of his nose the way she had as a girl. "Don't be modest! You brought plenty of women back from there in the old days."
"That was before. A very long time ago."
"A very long time ago," Daenerys laughed softly. "Long enough that the Disputed Lands are now full of dragonspawn."
Dragonspawn… bastards… his son, burned to ash in magical flames to bring his sister back.
Benerro's cold, emotionless voice. His hands. Viserys's own hands pushing his own flesh and blood toward death…
The pain must have shown on his face, because his sister noticed at once.
"Did I… say something wrong?" The playful teasing vanished from Daenerys's voice, replaced by real concern. "Don't go quiet on me!"
"Daenerys… you know," Viserys tried to avoid her eyes, "I've made a lot of mistakes in this life. I've made a lot of terrible decisions. If you could just… not remind me of them, I'd be grateful."
Viserys had never told Daenerys how he had completed the ritual for her.
He had never told her what price had been paid to wake the dragons.
She didn't need to know her life had been bought with her nephew's. It would only upset her and destroy the fragile peace they had finally built.
To protect that secret, Viserys had strictly forbidden his wife from seeing Benerro.
The gods only knew what that fanatic was thinking.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you… what happened?" Daenerys's natural curiosity finally won out over caution. "Was it some village headman's pretty daughter you promised to take away but left behind for her furious father? Or a warrior woman like Eleonora…"
"I don't want to talk about it, Daenerys. The past is the past. Let it stay buried." Viserys spoke as much to himself as to her. "There's no need to disturb old ghosts."
An awkward, uneasy silence filled the bedroom.
His lover was at a loss because of his sudden, confusing hardness. He was desperately trying to push away memories that refused to stay gone.
"We… we should sleep, Daenerys."
"I thought you'd want me." Daenerys licked his arm and blinked excitedly, grateful for the chance to change the mood. "The maesters said it wouldn't hurt anything. They said I'm perfectly healthy and that making love is good for the baby. What do you think?"
Viserys's gaze swept over the body of the woman he loved.
The gentle swell of her belly was already obvious. Her skin was pale, clean, and soft to the touch…
"You know…" Viserys pushed the unwanted shadows away and smiled as he drew his wife closer, settling her on top of him. "The day was long and tiring, but the night is long too. The whole night belongs to us."
"Yes… mmm…"
Daenerys answered softly, straddling her red dragon and sealing his lips with a burning kiss.
...
The man stood alone before the roaring sacred flame. No guards. No priests. No offerings. Only his thin, gaunt figure facing the dancing holy fire.
In the presence of that supreme light he felt nothing but humility.
"Giver of Life, have mercy on this cage of flesh and blood. Open the door to our future and allow the unworthy to glimpse what lies beyond the eternal veil."
This was the hundredth time he had repeated the prayer tonight.
The long night was black and terrible, and it seemed endless.
Benerro, High Priest of R'hllor, the one called the True Flame, had locked himself inside the secret altar. While his followers prayed for sunrise, he carried a burden no one else could bear.
"Lord, Protector, show us Your wisdom. Guide us through the dark forest of our enemies."
The hundred-and-first plea, still fervent.
The god was under no obligation to answer mortals. Help came only by His will and mercy.
Only young, foolish novice priests would arrogantly believe R'hllor must answer their prayers, trying to bind the will of the Most High or cage an omnipotent god. That was the most common folly.
All mortals could do was stare into the dancing flames and hope for divine mercy.
Even the legendary priests of ancient times had no fixed method to receive oracles.
After decades of service, Benerro understood that simple faith alone was not enough to speak with the god.
Only a lifetime of devotion, daily sacrifice, and unwavering persistence could earn His favor.
Faith without action was nothing but a market vendor's empty shout, worthless under any test.
He cleared his mind, refusing to think in this sacred place of those fools who mistook sparks for holy fire and shadows for divine visions.
All he needed to remember now was why he had come and why he dared ask the god for answers.
"Merciful Flame, guide the Flame Princess and the Prince of Blood. Reveal the servants of Your enemies who lie in wait along their path."
On the hundred-and-second prayer Benerro suddenly fell silent. His eyes slowly closed.
He knew the prayer had been heard.
The vision came.
An endless plain lay dead and barren. No grass, no life—only severed limbs and broken bodies scattered everywhere. The corpses were mutilated, blood pooling into marshes that drowned the entire land.
Under a dim sun countless tribal warriors had died here. Death had erased every difference between them.
A three-headed black dragon the size of a mountain crouched among the carnage, its six great eyes filled with hatred as it feasted on the slaughter.
The flames it breathed were not R'hllor's merciful holy fire but toxic fire that destroyed everything. It gnawed on corpses without hesitation, swallowing steel and bone alike.
Beside the dragon stood a young man, tall and broad, radiating a violent, unnatural light that held no warmth—only pain and death.
He stood proudly atop the mountain of corpses, violet eyes blazing with savage joy. The sword in his hand still dripped blood. He was lost in the ecstasy of slaughter and triumph, unaware of the darkness closing in.
Man and dragon were both monsters, lost in a false victory.
In the twilight a slender girl wrapped in faint golden light approached, trembling with every step like a humble slave. She carried a cup made from a human skull and offered it respectfully to the dragonlord.
The young man drank deeply. In an instant the mountain of corpses, the great dragon, the girl, and the plain were all swallowed by cold, dead darkness.
Benerro's eyes snapped open. He dropped to his knees before the brazier. The embers were nearly gone.
He knew this was a vision sent by R'hllor—a glimpse of fate revealed to His humble servant.
"Most lowly servant, I thank You, Giver of Life."
He spoke the vow in a low voice, drew the ritual dagger, and cut his right palm. Blood dripped into the dying embers. The flames went out completely.
It was a sign that the god had accepted the sacrifice and the oath. The deeper meaning of the vision still needed careful study. He must not interpret it rashly.
The wound slowly closed, leaving only warm steam.
Benerro rose with deep reverence and hurried toward the library.
The long night remained black and terrible, but his sacred mission had only just begun.