( ACT II; the age of the dragon. )
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chapter 8: an unexpected arrival.

A fortuitous situation seemingly fell into Vaegon's lap when he was otherwise cornered with little options. Upon the discovery of the 'powerful friends' that Yunkai had at their disposal, the king took the heed to his advisors and had a message sent to the small army known as the Second Sons.

The meeting with the captains of the sellsword army came fairly soon after Vaegon's message was dispatched, with their arrival coming just shy of the setting sun that evening. Within the receiving tent that Vaegon had grown weary of after man introductions to potential allies and enemies, servants laid out an assortment of wines and confectionaries for the captains on small tables flanked by chairs that faced the platform.

Vaegon had dressed himself in a simple tunic of crimson, his hair brushed back and covered in a paste to keep it in place. To further add to his grand display, Rhaellor and Haelyx perched dutifully at the top of his makeshift throne, where the king waited for the mercenaries to arrive so that they might discuss an alliance. He began to contemplate just how quickly receiving people would make him weary once he was governing an entire realm. It seemed as if he was always in the receiving tent to present a front that was often exhausting for him.

Daenerys, at his side, hadn't spoken a word to him that day after their conversation the night before. She'd simply entered the tent quietly, garbed in a dress of emerald, her hair falling over her chest and her eyes lined with kohl. Vaegon had opted to pay no mind to her while they sat side by side despite the lingering tension that was eating him alive on the inside.

The Second Sons began to file into the tent guarded by Unsullied, their gazes wandering as they looked around. Vaegon made sure to make special note of each of the men that took a seat before him, one's gaze seeming to linger at his side for a little longer than normal.

"We thank you for accepting our invitation," Vaegon spoke up, looking to the man sat before him. "It is a pleasure to have you."

One of them sellsword stood, stepping closer to the platform. The man standing before the king was rugged, with a bushy red beard and pale green eyes. A grin seemed to be permanently fixed to his lips, causing Vaegon to already feel weary.

Bowing slightly, he said, "I am Mero, 'the Titan's Bastard'. And this is Prendahl na Ghezn and his lieutenant, Daario Naaharis."

Vaegon bows his head in acknowledgement to the other men as Mero turns to take a seat, where he picks up a cup of wine Missandei had just finished pouring. The Braavosi sellsword pulled Missandei into his lap, running his hands along her hip and thigh.

"I have been informed of your contract with Yunkai," Vaegon stated, trying not to focus on the fact the sellsword was violating Daenerys' companion. "And that makes things tricky for me as I continue on with my campaign. So I wish to offer you one with me. Help me liberate the cities of Slaver's Bay and once I have taken the throne of Westeros, you will compensated and more for your efforts and loyalty to me."

Mero and Prendahl perked at the mention of a new contract, but when both of the sellswords grinned, Vaegon knew the situation was going to be toucher than he expected.

"Well, Your Grace, our contract has us receiving our payment now," Prendahl told Vaegon. "If we were to accept your preposition, our payment would only come once you secure this throne, if you do. A distant prospect."

Vaegon hated that he understood what the sellswords were saying. Vaegon could promise riches all he wanted, but until he had sat on the iron throne, his promises were empty.

"Do you see these dragons behind me?" the king gestured behind him to Haelyx and Rhaellor, who had merely emitted small chirps since the arrival of the Second Sons commanders. Rhaellor lowered his head to Vaegon, who scratched under the dragons chin like a cat. "A fortnight ago we had no army. A year ago we had no dragons."

"Maybe so," Mero shrugged as Missandei managed to pull away. "But they're the size of sheep now. A simple arrow to the neck to easily save anyone the trouble."

"You would threaten our children?" Daenerys uttered, speaking for the first time. "We are offering you a fortuitous alliance."

"Take those clothes off and come sit on my lap," Mero smirked, hungry eyes now focused on Daenerys. "Perhaps then I'll give your brother the Second Sons."

Already steaming with rage, Vaegon forced himself to grow rigid. He clamped his hand on the arm of the chair to steady himself, fighting back his anger. If the lieutenant spoke up with something heinous to say, he'd almost be tempted to cut them down in that very tent and save himself the effort of peacefully gaining the Second Sons.

"You remind me of a whore I bedded in Lys," the Braavosi sellsword grinned as he pulled Missandei closer to him, now groping her.

At Vaegon's side, Grey Worm was rigid. The commander spoke lowly in Valyrian to him, suggesting he cut the mans tongue from his mouth.

"You have two days to make your decision," Vaegon uttered lowly as he heart pounded.

"Of course," Prendahl stated.

The commanders stood, Mero taking the cask of wine that had been provided to them. Almost mockingly, they bow to Vaegon, before turning and exiting the tent. Fortunately, a quick interaction.

Catching the lieutenant stealing a glance to Daenerys, Vaegon stood. They were gone within moments.

"If it comes to it," Vaegon stated to Grey Worm at his side. "Kill them first."

♜

AS evening began to settle over the Targaryen camp, Vaegon worked diligently with a knife as he sliced meat for his dragons in his personal tent. Rhaellor perched himself on the edge of the table Vaegon sat at, while Haelyx lied curled in a ball on the carpet on the floor. As his hand worked the blade to slice the meat into fine portions, his violet eyes peered through his brow at his opalescent dragon. A smirk played at his lips as he watched the beasts crimson eyes never leave the plate that he was laboring over.

It bothered Vaegon to split the dragons apart, Drokar staying with Daenerys while Haelyx and Rhaellor stayed with Vaegon . It had been that way since they had been off and on with their desires for each other, which led to the king's current position where he felt torn for deciding to let her go. He didn't like acknowledging how strained and almost toxic their relationship had become since they Magister Illyrio's villa over a year ago. Part of him contemplated how disgusted the lords of Westeros would be if he took Dany and another wife...

He thought on the interaction earlier that day with the Second Sons, about how enraged he'd grown over the way they'd spoken to Daenerys. His neck and ears grew hot anytime he recalled the conversation and how horribly pissed it had made him.

Setting down the knife and picking up one of the finely sliced pieces of meat, Vaegon tossed the piece toward his dragon. Rhaellor caught the morsel with ease, downing it whole within a few quick chomps. Haelyx's attention was drawn to him, the other dragon perking his head toward the table.

Vaegon chuckled to himself as he watched just before his attention was drawn toward the movement of the flaps of his tent. Jorah stepped inside from the darkness of night.

"My apologies, Your Grace, I know you were settling for the evening," The knight exclaimed.

"No worries," the king told him, turning in his chair to face the elder man. "Is something amiss?"

Jorah pursed his lips before saying, "I wouldn't say amiss, Your Grace. Fortuitous, perhaps."

Vaegon perked at the news of something positive for once. He was often berated with information that left him sour or stressed. He wanted to hear something good.

"Very well," he said as he rose to his feet. Rhaellor leapt to the ground with a few quick swooshes of his wings to join Haelyx on the carpet. "Lead the way."

Jorah led him through the camp, Unsullied acknowledging his presence as he passed through the quiet village of tents. They soon arrived to the tent that had served as the designated receiving area where the platform and makeshift thrones resided, where they'd been earlier that day to negotiate with the mercenaries. Jorah entered first with Vaegon close behind.

Almost instantly, Vaegon was frozen in his tracks in the middle of the tent. A woman turned to face him, a tall Northman standing with her where they'd been speaking with Selmy. The two peeled away from the knight and stepped forward to the king, dipping their heads respectfully to him.

"Your Grace," the woman curtsied respectfully, her voice silky and smooth. Her hair was of the darkest brown, or perhaps black, and was neatly fashioned into a style Vaegon assumed was northern given her companions appearance. "It is an honor to receive an audience from you."

Vaegon looked to Selmy, who began introductions. "Your Grace, this is Raina Stark, daughter of Ned Stark. And her guard, Alvick Thornson. They come on behalf of King Robb Stark of Winterfell."

"It is very nice to see you again, Ser," she smiled to the elder man.

"Indeed, I am pleased you were able to get escape King's Landing," Selmy replied.

"You know each other?" Vaegon asked Selmy with a cocked brow. He'd heard bits of information about the qualms going on in Westeros, but hadn't taken the time to investigate more on the matter than the idle gossip.

"Indeed we do," the knight told him.

"He made an effort to protect me when he could," Raina told Vaegon. "During my stay in the capital."

Vaegon noticed her eyes darken at the mention of King's Landing and the troubles she must have endured, making him curious. He crosses his arms as he looks down at the Lady Stark. "Forgive me, but the last time I versed myself in the great houses, I don't recall the Starks having a daughter with your name," Vaegon stated. "And I've made an effort to be knowledgeable about my home and its people."

Part of Vaegon thought her to be a spy. She very well might have been a Stark, but there was no telling who in Westeros was growing weary of his growing reputation as they made their trek through Slaver's Bay, and what havoc they believed he would unleash once he crossed the Narrow Sea. Yet, she had come directly to him all the way from Westeros. A spy typically never made themselves known, either, for obvious reasons.

Raina's brown eyes adverted to the ground for a moment, before she straitened her spine and looked back to him. "I was born a bastard, Your Grace. My brother King Robb legitimized me so that I may serve as his envoy. He didn't deem sending a bastard to negotiate on his behalf would pleasing to you."

A smirk pulled at his lips. "I appreciate the sentiment, but if he was concerned about me being as mad or hateful as my father, there's nothing to worry about."

"We made our long journey from Westeros in seek of aid from you, Your Grace," Raina explained. "My king brother wishes for your assistance on the war front against the Lannisters. The continent is in shambles as we speak, with too many lords claiming their right for the throne following the death of Robert Baratheon." A fact Vaegon had been aware of. She paused and pursed her lips, her eyes seeming to darken. "We have made our best efforts on our own, but are facing troubling times. In exchange for your help, he vows to support you in claiming the iron throne. He only asks that the north be given its independence."

Vaegon scoffed half heartedly. "That's a bold request coming from someone who is requesting my help."

"I know, Your Grace. I tried to explain that to him, but he knows the north will likely retaliate in a time of war if they know they aren't fighting for true freedom," she sighed.

"Let alone a Targaryen, I presume you mean to say," he uttered, rigid as a stone.

Her pale cheeks flushed with color. Frustration began to wash over him the longer he stood there.

Vaegon crossed his arms and pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought. He knew the girl was only here on the orders of another, at no fault of her own. Merely a messenger here to seek aid in a time of war. "Even if I wanted to help and I was ready to take the throne, I have unfinished work here." He looked to Jorah with a slight glare. "I thought this was supposed to be a 'fortuitous' meeting."

"His Grace has made a vow to free those in chains in the cities of Slaver's Bay before journeying for Westeros," Selmy explained to the Lady Stark for Vaegon. "We will soon be pursuing Yunkai."

Raina appeared very concerned. "Your Grace, if you are refusing to journey to Westeros, then I have traveled half way a crossed the world for nothing," she stated sternly, her dark eyes never leaving his. "For merely a minutes long conversations."

"And I apologize for that," Vaegon replied, not relenting. "But, as I said, I have unfinished work here. For your efforts, you are welcome to stay among our care as an honored guest for as long as you wish, but I cannot offer my support in war. Not now."

Appearing utterly enraged yet coolly collected at the same time, the Lady Stark dipped her head. "Your Grace."

Without another word, she made her way out of the tent with her guard in tow. Selmy began to follow, saying, "I'll see to it she is cared for, Your Grace."

Soon enough, it is only Jorah and Vaegon once again.

"Perhaps we could look at this in a positive light," Jorah said as they both looked out of the tent and into the night. "You were sought after for aid by the north. Their grievances must not be so deep as for them to come to you for help."

"Maybe so," Vaegon muttered while running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

"If I may be so direct, Your Grace, she is a noble lady that would suffice as a wife for you once you have taken the throne," Jorah said. "A strong alliance with the north would have you in a advantageous position upon taking the throne."

Vaegon looked to the knight, eyes narrowed. "She's just arrived to us and I have denied her the request that brought her a crossed the Narrow Sea," he muttered. "Proposing a marriage would be a mockery."

"Of course it would for now, but it is something worth considering, Your Grace," Jorah told him. "Daenerys is incapable of bearing you a child. The Stark woman may not have the Valyrian blood you would desire, but she could give you heirs. Just think on it."

NEWS of a newcomer had brewed a considerable amount of chatter between Daenerys and Missandei as the princess bathed in a steaming bath in her tent. Just before her bath had been drawn, they'd been informed by the guarding Unsullied that her brother had received an unexpected visitor that evening. A noble woman, she was told. A Stark.

"As far as I was aware, the Stark's have a particularly strong reason for hating us," Daenerys said to Missandei as she ran her hand through the steaming bath water. "Given our father burned two of them before he was slain... They must be desperate if they're asking us for help."

Missandei wanders over to begin washing Daenerys's soaked hair with a cleansing paste. "I must say, the formalities of your country are quite strange to me, Your Grace," the Naathi woman said as she worked on her silver hair. "In Essos, the notion of hierarchy typically comes in the form of slaves and masters."

"I find it strange myself. But that has how it has always been," Daenerys agreed. "And the is exactly why Vaegon is freeing the cities of Slaver's Bay."

"Will His Grace take this woman as his wife?" Missandei asked.

Daenerys was without words for a moment as she just stared into the bath water. She hadn't considered the possibility. Another woman could become Vaegon's queen, one that could produce heirs... it was not impossible for such a scenario to arise.

In an effort to not take out her anger on Missandei for not knowing what she asked, she took a deep breath before saying, "Perhaps. Part of me wishes that I hadn't told him to move on, but... it is what is best. He'll need heirs once we've reached Westeros and become established."

"Why is this matter of heirs and marriage not taken care of once the throne is recovered?" Missandei asked. "Is the liberation of Slaver's Bay not more impertinent?"

Daenerys had considered that herself. "Unfortunately, that is not how it works," she told her friend softly.  "Succession is everything, unfortunately."

An Unsullied suddenly enters the tent unannounced, a burlap sack clasped in his hand. The two women are startled, as no Unsullied would enter their tent unannounced.

Suddenly, the soldier grabs Missandei, pressing a knife to her throat. "Don't scream," he advised lowly. Pulling away the helmet, Daenerys is stunned to see the sellsword lieutenant, Daario Naharis.

"Unhand her!" Daenerys growled from where the sat in the tub, ready to lunge if she must even though she was entirely naked.

Daario lowers the knife, stepping away from Missandei. "I was instructed to assassinate you and your brother by my superiors," he explained. He reached into the bag, supplying two bloodied, severed heads. Daenerys immediately recognized Mero and Prendahl beneath the grotesqueness. "But we had conflicting philosophical views of your beauty."

Intrigued, Daenerys rises from her bath, not bothering to cover herself with a garment.

"And will you swear fealty to our cause?" She asked, the slightest of smirks gracing her lips. She had to admit to herself that the sellsword was rather handsome. Vaegon didn't cross her mind as she looked down at the man.

He takes a knee, dipping his head in a courtly fashion. "I swear my sword, my men, and my heart to you," he declared. He looked up to her in adoration. "My princess."