Chapter Text
Behold, the first chapter of the revamped ARC 6! Buckle up!
295 AC:
Four moons after our arrival at the Cheesemonger's manse - Alternatively known as the single worst day in Illyrio Mopatis's very existence - Dragons thundered over the plains of Pentos.
Cool air whistled past my ears as Solarion shot through the cloud coverage above the Free City, a laugh bubbling up my throat as we shot over and overtook Jaelmarys beneath us, Dany's barely audible indignant cry lost in the winds as my golden dragon bellowed his victory.
Lagging somewhere behind, Jadefyre matched his roar with another of his own, though there was no real heat behind it. Being claimed by a rider - or rather, claiming a rider for himself - had done wonders for his temperament.
Now if only his rider wasn't quite so problematic through no fault of his own...
I shook my head. That was a thought for later.
I let another smile tug at my lips as I seized the protruding bars of Solarion's very first and hilariously extravagant saddle and urged him to dive. He did so at once, though naturally, he did it with a twist!
I whooped in glee as my stomach dropped from the sudden plunge, hair blown back as we hurtled down. Solarion proceeded to pull his wings in and spin in a falling spiral he'd have never dared attempt before we had a saddle to keep me anchored.
It was like learning to fly from scratch, it was so different.
Sheer exhilaration burned in my veins as he finally pulled up in a sudden heart-stopping burst, wings damn near skimming the ground before he began to pull in for a landing, and I found myself laughing wildly all over again.
There was nothing akin to riding a dragon. No feeling in the world could hope to compare.
A distance away, Jaelmarys landed with a thunderous rumble, a displeased croon echoing up his throat. He enjoyed being upstaged about as much as his rider did.
By the time Daenerys unclasped her chains and slid down his wings, Solarion was falling into a well-deserved nap
"How do you always win?!" She cried in aggravation stomping forward with her arms crossed. I stepped back, just in case - my dear aunt received the same training the rest of us had been put through for years, and these days she had a devil of a left hook.
"Solarion is competitive." I shrugged. "And very subtle when he wants to be."
"Solarion is bright gold. Bright Gold!" She sizzled in disbelief. "How in the maiden's tit* do is that subtle?!"
"Language. That right there's blasphemy - you'll give the septons and septa's conniptions."
She was undeterred "How?"
By flying high up enough that you couldn't tell his glow apart from the light of the sun without the risk of burning your eyes out, but I didn't tell her that. Viserys had already figured out my trick, and Griff cared more about savoring his flights than overtaking any of us, which only left her to try and find a way to beat my Golden King's natural advantage.
I smirked to myself.
Good luck with that.
Realizing that I wouldn't be budging, her face set in determination.
"Let's go again."
"Winning isn't the point," I told her, but the glare I got in response told me I did a terrible job at hiding my victorious satisfaction. "We are supposed to be testing the new saddles."
Pyat Pree had finally arrived for a fresh report on his efforts, and he'd delivered five saddles as a gift, designed and woven together by the finest, most exclusive guilds of Qarth with the utmost care and most costly materials. The leather alone was worth a small fortune, to say nothing of the Qohori-style metal works and the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen proudly emblazoned the neck braces of all five.
A bit redundant, but it was still a hell of a statement.
The seats themselves were elevated because mounting a dragon unprepared was a pain once they grew large enough. Their backs grew too broad with age - it would have been like trying to mount a flat floor. Pyat had arrived considerably before that, but I appreciated the foresight in the raised seats and the new view that let me see well over Solarion's crowning horns regardless.
"The saddles are fine and you know it."
"I suppose I do." I agreed, before frowning at something behind her. "What's that."
She blinked and turned around.
The moment her eyes were off me, I whirled on the spot
"Back to the manse! Loser skips lunch!" I yelled over my shoulder. "Solarion, get up! Dose after I win you damn cat!"
"Cheater!" She yelled, but she was howling through her laughter as she bolted back to Jaelmarys, and that was a joy of its own special kind.
If ever I wanted proof that I was doing the right thing, it was listening to the girl who would have stepped into the mold of a Khalessi and a Queen against a world determined to grind her into nothing laugh so freely.
Yes, I thought as I just barely chained myself down before Solarion erupted upwards, Today was a good day.
…
With Pyat finally present in person and Daenarys dragging off Griff for a sparring session with Oswell, I called for a council meeting
And wasn't it a trip in and of itself that I could do that now, I thought to myself as my advisors took their seats in the opulent room set aside explicitly for this purpose for the foreseeable future, acknowledging the fact that I had a legitimate, if as of yet undefined small council.
Arther, Jaime and Barristan sat to my left, as tradition dictated. To my right, Viserys lounged in his seat. Beside him was Marwyn, nose buried in a yellowed tome bigger than his head, and from him and rounding us up to a total of seven was Pyat Pree, poised and expectant as ever.
Three leal, nigh-legendary kingsguard, an uncle and heir, and two tried, tested and proven - if wildly different and not entirely trusted - practitioners of magic.
To say nothing of the dragons.
And to think that this began with me as little more than a babbling, witless toddler and a single knight.
... Granted, Arthur was the absolute gold standard of steadfast loyalty and sheer, terrifying martial competence to say the very least, but the point still stood.
Time to make sure it was all worth it
"Now that we're all gathered," I began as I straightened my posture fractionally "I, Gaemon Targaryen, he of many dramatic titles that will not be repeated for all of our sakes, do call this meeting to order."
Viserys chuckled drily. "Kingly eloquence at its finest. Well done, nephew, the nobles will adore you."
In response, I kicked him under the table and stifled a grin at his muffled curse and dirty look, before turning back and addressing the rest of the gathering. "Well then. It's been a year since we all last met like this." I leaned forward and laced my hands together as I dove straight for the root of the matter "How go the preparations for Westeros?"
Pyat mirrored my position and leaned forward immediately, and I was not for the first time forced to admit that as much as I still harbored a dislike for the man - having me and my aunt kidnapped, clapped in irons and offered up to a cabal of demented, millennia-old lich lords left me just the slightest bit sour and ticked off - the former servant of the Undying damn punctual with his work.
"The development of our forces continues at an admirable rate, your grace. We have a growing army over eight thousand strong, and the beginnings of a battle-tested fleet to transport them, their arms and provisions across the narrow sea."
"Eight thousand?" Barristan cut in, frowning lightly "A fleet is a priceless boon, but the men... Eight thousand is not an... inconsequential sum, warlock, but against the armies of the Lords Paramount arrayed against us, it is not nearly enough."
Pyat bore the chastisem*nt with little concern "True enough, ser, but for so long as we follow the king's intended will we are possessed of the esteemed luxury of time. Several moons yet, at the very least. I have used the opportunity to ensure that our ranks are filled with men of tried, trained and tested quality in as much as I can."
He leaned back in his chair.
"I am certain a man of your vaunted experience can attest that one good soldier is worth more than ten peasants pressed into war by their overlords and offered little to no training in arms to speak off? Ill-trained and ill-suited men who'll break rank and flee for greener pastures at the first mishap?"
"Perhaps. There is wisdom in what you say." Barristan gamely conceded the point with a tilt of his head, and Pyat smiled lightly.
"My thanks, ser. In any case, I am pleased to report that I've gathered eight thousand men this year. In a year more, I'll have amassed more than twice that, or close enough to it for the difference to be of no consequence." Pyat gave me a low nod. "I've even taken the liberty of instructing my warlocks to recruit men of Westerosi origin from assorted sell-sword companies and the like."
I blinked at the familiar name "Truly?"
"Indeed. My understanding is that the people of your kingdom, highborn and low alike are most... unwelcoming of foreigners on their shores - an army composed in bulk of them, while necessary for your conquest, may sow other difficulties should you endeavor to endear yourself to the people."
Given that we were deposed royalty returning on dragon back to take back the throne Robert Baratheon inherited from Aerys, I suspected we'd have enough difficulties projecting the right image that one more would hardly make a difference, but there was no need to bring that up unnecessarily.
"It can't hurt," I told him "Thank you, Pyat. This is a remarkable success"
"I live to serve, your grace."
"On the matter of more men," Oswell spoke up, drawing our collective attention to him. "Have we considered the use of sellsword companies outright? The value of a loyal, leal army speaks for itself, but we have gold and ships aplenty do we not? Might we not purchase a contract or three, and use them to soften our enemies for us? The Golden Company alone-"
I was already shaking my head. "Absolutely not."
"No good could come of it." Viserys agreed
That was an option I was keeping open, but we were nowhere near the point where I could dedicate any considerable attention to it. Marwyn had already confirmed that Varys and Illyrio had both communicated with Harry Strickland, the Captain General of the Golden Company.
Illyrio had been dealt with, currently a prisoner in his own home even, but I didn't know what the hell Varys was up to and the possibility of the Golden Company selling us out to him, and by extension to Robert Baratheon at the exact wrong instance was one I was entirely unwilling to consider, let alone chance.
"More forces aren't a necessity as it stands." Arthur finally voiced his thoughts, sounding pensive. "The conqueror began his conquest with a little less than three thousand men at arms, nearly half of them not his own, and by the time he reached the Riverlands his host had nearly grown ten times in number. We are to begin with nigh on six times that, and even should we fall short of that..."
He looked at me meaningfully, but he didn't have to. I already knew what he was on about.
"The dragons will make up the difference."
If there was ever going to be any doubt on that front, Viserys had singlehandedly when he'd attacked Qarth. The poor fools had spent something approaching six years building siege weapons and fortifying battlements across the entire city, and Rhaelys had still burned and sundered near all of them before the night was done.
It had even earned him the first epithet of any of our dragons, born from the flashes the people had caught of him as he swooped overhead and the light of the flames reflected off his scales - the Crimson Serpent.
Viserys was still unbearably smug about it.
"'Make up the difference', he says." Marwyn snorted, gracing us with his attention at last. "I wasn't aware they taught Kingsguard to understate. I thought you lot came as literal and boorish as a plank of weirwood."
"We make do." Arthur said dryly, well used to Marwyn's... Marwyness,and the old man only snorted again.
"So you do."
He made to return to his reading, and I quickly called for him before I had to start fighting for his attention.
"Marwyn, how goes the search of Aurane Waters?"
"Eh?" He paused, thankfully, before a self-assured. "Ah yes, I did intend to inform you - I have succeeded your grace."
Yes
"You've made contact?"
"Something of the sort - I've had a few of the warlocks that dusty (He gestured to an impassive Pyat) assigned to my service deliver a message. Nothing too revealing, but it'll get your many-times distant cousin to sail to Qarth. Discreetly."
I frowned "Qarth?"
"Aye. Once he's there, they'll point him towards us and he'll either sail here or join a trader's caravan instead, to throw off the trail of anyone who's attempting to follow him to us." He blinked at our startled expressions. "What? Secrecy is still the goal, isn't it? Most of our enemies think we've made Qarth into our personal stronghold, and it's for the best that he doesn't unwittingly lead them to us."
"Well thought." Barristan complimented him.
"Aye, it was. though it did take effort - he does not even know who he is to be meeting, and let me tell you, your grace, that took effort to arrange."
Jaime raised a brow. "All this, and he's not aware he's to meet a king."
"He'll pick up on it sooner or later. From everything I've heard and learned of the lad, he's as sharp as Valyrian Steel and as dodged and determined as a whor* after your coin purse." Marwyn smirked at me, "Quite unlike Lannister here, the useless lout."
Jaime rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "Piss of, greybeard."
"All in good time - at my age, I have a schedule." Marwyn all but cackled at the disgusted look that one earned him. "Regardless, the boy will be here soon. Though I must ask, upon his arrival, will he be meeting King Gaemon Targaryen, or-"
He turned a gimlet eye on Viserys.
"Will he be meeting King Viserys in your hidden stead?"
Right. That.
The incident at Qarth - and 'incident' was a ridiculous oversimplification - hadn't just let the cat out of the bag - it catapulted the damn thing over the horizon and made sure everyone who was anyone in this world knew it or would know someone enough assuming they lived under a rock and somehow hadn't heard yet.
The various powers that be that had a stake in my plans for the throne had no doubt already heard of the return of the dragons, and while I'd hoped the sheer rage might give Robert Baratheon a coronary and nip that particular problem in the bud, but no such luck.
Not entirely, anyway, for there was one boon to the circ*mstances - The world didn't know that I even existed, and that it was a son of Rhaegar who was now the rightful Targaryen claimant to the throne.
Ned Stark remained my ally in secrecy even now.
As far as anyone was concerned, Viserys Targaryen had succeeded where Aegon the Unlikely and almost half a dozen others before or after him had failed miserably and brought dragons back into the world.
But the time for us to set the facts straight was drawing nearer, and I had very little idea of how to go about doing it the right way - whatever that would be.
For a moment, me and Viserys shared a long look look.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," I said in the end, and Viserys made a similar noise of agreement. "I'll need the rest of you to take his measure long before I allow an outsider an audience with any Targaryen, at all, let alone wither of us."
The fact that there were only three was just semantics.
"Wise. It will be done, your grace." Pyat agreed, and everyone followed suit.
"Well then." I smiled and leaned back in my chair. "Everything seems to be in order."
And that was a relief, of the best kind. This last year had been hectic and turbulent and just dangerous, what with our anonymity getting blown to all the seven hells and back among other... less pleasant revelations. There was
"If that is all then, I think we can end this-"
"Your grace." Barristan cut me off, which was its surprise. He never cut me off when I spoke, some remnant habit of his time as a Kingsgaurd for three rulers before me. "Before we dismiss this council, there is one pressing matter that I would be remiss not to raise."
There was a weight to his voice that was not present before. I found myself sitting upright again, vaguely aware of the sharpening interest in the room.
Arthur in particular looked half-suspicious and half-wary, as though aware of something I wasn't.
"What is it, ser Barristan?"
"It is the matter of your succession, your grace."
...
I frowned in confusion "Pardon?
The rest of the room reacted rather differently, features shifting in a realization that I was not privy to and couldn't guess at quite yet. Arthur had closed his eyes with a sigh and Viserys in particular had momentarily gone rigid with abrupt apprehension, before relaxing in a way that was far too at ease to be natural.
"Soon, we will set out to war," Barristan looked resolute as he spoke, as though discussing something he disliked but refused to pass off to someone else. "And in war, men are felled like blades of grass on an open field. Even Kings are not protected from this, be they dragonlords or not."
"I am...aware of the risk and realities of war, ser Barristan," I said slowly, still trying to figure out what it was he was leading up to. "All of you have ensured I knew as much."
It's not as if I hadn't considered and accepted the significant chance of my dying before this was all over and done with - It was a bitter pill to swallow, and yes, I rather suspected I'd make it to the Long Night before that, but I wasn't naive enough to believe that nothing could go horribly, horribly wrong well before that.
I couldn't afford to be.
"What is your point?" I gave up trying to guess and asked outright, to which Barristan seemed to stop and steel himself.
"You are now five and ten your grace, as is the Princess Daenerys, and Prince Viserys is years your elder at two and twenty. With respect, your grace, it is time to begin taking action to ensure the future of House Targaryen should the worst come to pass."
Future-?
... oh
Oh, balls.
"Heirs, your grace. Heirs of your own blood." Barristan said with finality, and he finally said it to my face. "It is time to speak of marriage."
My good mood took a significant dive from there.
...
Later that night:
"I thought I'd find you here."
I turned and smiled weakly as Viserys walked up beside me, joining me on the verandah attached to Illyrio Mopatis's personal solar.
Throughout our stay in Pentos, I'd taken the room for myself, both because I initially intended to scour it for whatever interesting trinkets and secrets I could find and because the man himself had little use for it in his current state.
I frowned.
I was going to have to do something about that soon, wasn't I?
Viserys hummed as he leaned in next to me.
"What troubles you, nephew?"
I grunted, drawing a pointed side eye from him.
"You know full well what troubles me, Viserys. Don't play the fool. It doesn't suit me."
Not in this life, at least.
The council had finally brought up the prospect of marriage.
Our return to Westeros approached, and with it came a veritable legion of unavoidable challenges. And somehow, getting hitched was currently my biggest concern.
What did it say about the life I lived when the iron-clad certainty of a continent-spanning war was more comforting?
War, I could handle.
I'd been preparing nearly all my life. I knew more about courtly politics, the layers of nobility and the royal codes of conduct than some masters could claim to. I trained with the blade since I was six, so much so that even Barristan declared me Rhaegar's marked superior when he was my age.
I familiarised myself with the necessity of sowing fire and blood across the land so thoroughly that the idea of all the burning corpses and ashes I'd be leaving behind to bring Westeros to heel barely made me flinch.
And yet, marriage remained an entirely different beast.
I'd managed to sit through the first suggestions.
Arianne Martell. Margaery Tyrell. Sansa Stark.
I'd managed to quickly stall my way out of the first (Another Dornish wedding would have the Reachmen and the few Stormlords we could scrounge up in revolt, regardless of how disastrously the last one ended) and the second (Mace Tyrell sat on his fat arse and wasted fifty-thousand men seeking a useless castle while my Father had his chest crushed on the trident. I'll not reward ill-disguised cowardice with a royal match) and I'd outright laughed myself sick at the last one. (Have you met Catelyn Stark? I'd sooner take an Other to wife than have her for a good mother)
I knew that I'd only stalled on those fronts - Sansa was a definitive no, for a King who was half northern couldn't take a northern girl to wife without losing a disgusting amount of political capital, but the other two still came with powerful advantages.
Arianne could give me a placated Dorne, and Maergary the reach and all its grains - to say nothing of the hundred thousand men it could field.
The matter would be revisited inevitably, but I was happy to take a temporary win.
But then Arthur had gotten sick of everybody pointedly dragging their feet on the last, arguably most important candidate and said it outright.
And here we were.
"I feel like I should take some measure of offense on my sister's behalf." Viserys mused contemplatively. "Is Daenerys truly so unworthy of you, Gaemon?"
I glared at him half-heartedly.
"You know that's not the problem."
"Do I?" He raised a brow. "Is it something more base, then? Do you think you'll fancy another more? Is Dany not beautiful enough, perhaps?"
I opened my mouth to argue, but then I caught sight of the twitch to his lips and scowled.
"That's a trick question and I'm not answering it."
"I almost had you, too." He chuckled softly, before his expression cleared somewhat. "In all truth, I'll admit that I don't understand why you are so reluctant on this prospect. Though I have no wish to marry my own sister, thank all the gods, I would rather have a bride I can choose on her own merits, of my own free will. But I can't."
I grimaced.
Viserys had it worse than me. As King, I at least had a choice out of the noble ladies of the realm. If he was truly so adamant about making the best possible - and as far as I could tell, he was - then he'd have to settle for my second choice simply by default.
He caught the look on my face before I could wipe it.
"Do not mourn for me, nephew. I may lose my freedom, but I will regain our ancestral birthright and the security of our legacy, for us and our descendants both. Tis a fair exchange." He motioned to me. "You vowed to give whatever it took to do the same. Unless your convictions have changed, and truly I doubt they have, you'll need a queen. Daenerys - a princess twice over, the daughter of a king and aunt to another, a fierce dragon rider, well-learned and well-armed by the book and blade and possessed of a kind heart tempered with a spine of steel. Rhaenys and Visenya come again and forged into one. There is no one better."
"Viserys," I gave him a long, measured look. "I mean this in the nicest way possible... but at present, you sound like a merchant auctioning off your best wares."
At that, he finally winced, a conflicted expression decorating his brow.
"It's not like that." He sighed and leaned back, before excusing himself and marching back into the solar proper. A few moments later he returned, hefting two goblets of rich myrenese wine. "Take it."
He waited until I took a generous pull of my own before drinking to fortify himself.
"Before you came into our lives, I'd always known that I and Daenarys would not wed well. We needed to make alliances, and weddings born on such. pretexts are often considered a rousing success if only one spouse is miserable. Now, however... I want the best for you." He said when the silence stretched too long "You, and Dany... you are all I have left. The three of us are on this path as one, for to choose anything else is to court death. Be it at our enemy's hands, or in the Long Night to come. Is it truly so terrible that I want you united, when I know for certain that neither of you will ever act to harm or hurt the other?"
In response to that, I didn't know what to say. All my excuses had perfectly valid counters.
Dany was young, but so was I.
Dany was my aunt, but not even the faith of the seven looked down upon such a union, rare though they may be.
There were other ways to prevent the spread of dragons, but as of yet that remained a bald-faced lie.
Inbreeding was bad, but clearly there was some magical nonsense going on in our Valyrian blood that tempered it somehow.
I still feel ever so slightly wrong about the notion, though that was a lingering phantom sensation that would soon slip away entirely, a remnant from an outdated, soon-to-be-forgotten life that could have no more bearing on me now with all that was to come.
When my own excuses abandoned me, I had to sigh bitterly and take another gulp of wine.
It looked like I'd finally gone native.
"Dany shouldn't have to wed me out of duty," I said at last, though we both knew it was a weak answer. "As naive as it sounds, she should at least be given a chance to wed out of love."
"And do you not love her yourself?"
"Not like that."
"I do not expect you to be Florian and Jonquil come again. A marriage of love and trust, if not lust-" We both winced in distaste. "-Is far more than most in our position could ever hope for. That will have to do.
I looked down. "We should not have to settle for the bare minimum. Any of us."
Weren't all the sacrifices we made and were on track to make enough?
"'Should not'?" Viserys smirked humorlessly. "My father should not have been a monster. Rhaegar should not have been a fool. My mother should not died as she did. What should and should not be is irrelevant. We only have what is -and we can only play the hand we've been dealt."
"Then we were all dealt a real sh*t hand," I muttered morosely, and he tipped his head in agreement.
"That, I will not argue."
...
"Let us speak no more of this for now. The matter has waited years - It can wait a few days longer." I set my jaw as I spoke. "And it will only be settled after we bring Daenarys onto the council and have her take her rightful place among us. She is our equal in all of this."
Viserys didn't argue. If anything he looked pleased.
"Fair enough. Come, let's spar in the yard. It'll take your mind off... all of it."
I shook my head.
He grinned, much more lighthearted now - or pretending well enough that I didn't make the effort to point out the deception.
"Scared of another thrashing?"
"Hardly, you prancing peaco*ck."
At six and ten, I was finally strong enough to truly fight with a sword in hand and have it mean something. I was tall, quick on my feet, and every skill I'd had was drilled into me by the Kingsguard - I could probably challenge lesser seasoned knights in armed combat now and come out ready and swinging.
Yet, Viserys still managed to thrash me about half the time, being that much taller and stronger, though not for long
"I'm exhausted, and I'm nursing a headache." I yawned and downed the rest of my wine, before moving to set the goblet somewhere unassuming. While I was technically of age, Arthur and Barristan still had opinions on wine regardless of how little I drank.
Viserys frowned as he followed after me "Is something the matter?"
I waved him off. "No. I just dosed off a while back, and had some bad dreams."
He didn't relax. "Dreams?"
Wha- Ah.
I shook my head. "Not those dreams. I don't even remember them, only that they woke me up. It's likely only the strain of the day."
And in that second, that exact second, the door to my solar slammed open hard enough to bounce back against the wall.
Viserys cursed and leaped in front of me while I all but upturned the desk in my haste to grab a dagger... only to come face to face with Marwyn, a manic light in his eyes as he dragged in a hopelessly confused Griff behind him.
"Marwyn." I began cautiously. "Griff. It's the middle of the night. Whatever is the matter?"
"Sorry, Gaemon." The boy who was becoming my friend (while unaware of the sheer magnitude of a risk he was to my everything) looked troubled, and paused to shoot Marwyn a rather reproachful look. "I just woke up and went to get something to drink, then-"
"Never bloody mind that!" Marywn trampled over his words like an aurochs over grass. "Tell him what you told me."
"I-"
"Tell him-!"
"Marwyn!" I snapped. Griff looked ready to bolt, and I didn't blame him. Marwyn was hardly controlled on the best of days, but this was a step too far. "Use your words and breathe."
The old man huffed impatiently
"I was in my chambers, consulting my glass candle. The blasted thing's been lighting up at odd intervals with little cause - not unexpected with the resurgence of magic across the lands, but an annoyance to be certain." His voice abruptly grew in pitch as a mad smile tugged at his lips. "But today was different. I caught sight of things I couldn't explain, things I'd only ever imagined, and just now I saw something I never even dreamed of witnessing with mine own eyes. I came to see you at once, only I found this one on the way."
He pointed to Griff, who looked indignant at being singled out.
"I was only getting a drink!"
"But why!" Marywn looked about ready to leap forward and shake him by the shoulders. "Tell him what you told me! Why you were up at this hour - tell him!"
Griff opened his mouth, before closing it again. Suddenly, he looked rather apprehensive.
And I... had a bad feeling about that.
"Griff?" He turned to look at me, dark blue eyes flickering with something I decided I didn't like on the spot. "What is Marywn on about?"
...
"Gaemon...I" He rubbed the back of his head nervously, and a look of apprehension "I'm sorry. I just had the strangest dream."
...
Slowly, I turned to Viserys.
He stared back at me, face blank, and eyes burning with urgency.
What the hells was it now?
I turned back to Griff, face just as blank.
"Go on. Tell me everything."
...
As always, leave your comments and Ideas and if you don't like it, please be courteous
