( ACT III; the dawn of the dragon. )
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chapter eight: devotion and oaths.

A long day was on the horizon for Vaegon and his house as they awaited the presentation of the fighters that would compete in the pits during the events to unfold in the coming days, upon his selection.

It was an early rise, the king and queens dressed, readied, and traveling to the event site all before the sun had begun its slow crawl into the Essosi sky. The journey through the city to the district that contained the pits had been long, a wheelhouse carrying Raina, Daenerys, and Hizdahr. Vaegon rode ahead of them on horseback with a substantial Unsullied guard to discourage any attacks from the Sons of the Harpy.

The king was anxious about bringing either of them along. Yet, Hizdahr had been adamant that a full-force showing of the king's house, no matter how few numbered, would be wise. Vaegon had been suspicious, considering that the Mereneese noble may be setting the possibility of an attack on purpose, but his anxiety had become manageable once he ensured they had a retinue of well over four dozen Unsullied to guard them along the way.

The Second Sons and the remaining Unsullied guarded the pyramid and patrolled the streets, per usual. Grey Worm still recovered within the safety of its depths, closely monitored by Missandei.

Raina and Daenerys had vehemently objected to Vaegon riding in the open, fearful of another attack by the Sons of the Harpy. Their arguments over a well-placed arrow had been countered with him adorning a solid breastplate of polished steel and brandishing his spear, promising them anyone who might harm him would be swiftly dealt with. The dozens of Unsullied would see to that. The two women had still been unhappy by choice, but they relented.

The heat was particularly unbearable as they awaited fighters to be presented to them. Even after removing his breastplate, sitting under the shade, and the constant fanning from servants, the king felt as if he were melting. The sun hadn't even reached its zenith for the day, further turning him disgruntled in anticipation of the grueling hours to come. Hours he would have preferred doing anything else other than being where he was.

"I assure you, Your Grace," Hizdahr said from where he sat at Daenerys' side as her defacto prince-consort. "Choosing to be present for the selection of the fighters for the Great Pit of Daznak was a very wise move. I understand it is beneath you to be here in your eyes, but rulers of the city often visit to show good faith for the event."

Vaegon sighed heavily, grabbing a chalice of water from a plate held by a servant. He took a swig, sneering at its lukewarm consistency.

"I hope it fulfills its purpose," Vaegon replied bluntly. "My presence should surely not betray my displeasure for this spectacle." He glanced to Raina at his side as his conversation with Hizdahr was cut short, his northern wife appearing to be struggling in the heat just as much as he despite her wearing a loosely fitting summer gown of gossamer and linen. He waved a hailing hand, gesturing for the servant to fan faster for her. He would not have her overheat while they waited for the spectacle to come. "I know you are still not accustomed to the heat that consumes this continent. I'm sure you miss your summer snows."

"I do miss them," she sighed heavily. "But I will face the discomfort nonetheless. This will please the nobles and provide morale for the fighters," Raina tried to appear supportive of what Hizdahr had to say despite disliking the event as much as Vaegon. She wiped away a sheen of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, strands of her dark hair sticking to her face.

"Surely they will be here soon," Daenerys muttered from where she sat at Hizdahr's side. She remained a healthy distance away from him as if to prevent any form of touch between them. Vaegon smirked as he thought about it, pleased to see her loyalties were apparent in even the most subtle signs. He'd yet come up with a plan to rid the noble of his wife, but he knew more pressing matters were at hand.

"They will, I assure you," Daenerys's mock husband said after her. She seemingly ignored his words, violet eyes squinting against the ambient sunlight around them.

"I lament having to bring you at all," Vaegon told Raina, frowning as he looked at her. "You shouldn't be out here in your condition."

"If it will help our cause in proving our unified strength, I will do as I must," Raina replied. As if to prove it, she straightened herself in her seat.

They waited what seemed like an eternity for anything worthwhile to happen. The heat was almost unbearable, the king going as far as to pour half a chalice of walk into his doublet to stifle discomfort. Eventually, a rough-looking man befitting for the dangerous life on the roads stepped out into the open area before them. He wanders close enough to the dais where they sat that he might be heard. Unsullied guards stood before him, their spears and shields never wavering from their resting positions.

"Greetings, Your Grace," the man greeted. His voice was heavy with accent, much like everyone Vaegon encountered as early as he could remember. "My queen. I am Yezzan. It pleases me to present the selection of fighters for the Great Pit of Daznak. I do hope they will meet your expectations. Many are well versed with spears, as I hear you are."

Vaegon straightened in his chair. Flattery would not ease his distaste or current discomfort. "That I am. Show me your fighters. Let us commence."

Short and straight to the point. He didn't want to be there any longer than he had to.

Two fighters made their way out, clad in crude armor and brandishing dull blades. They positioned themselves to be ready for combat as Yezzan made his exit, leaving the fighters in the small arena where they waited for their signal.

Soon enough, the fighters fell into a swift exchange of blows and swipes. Vaegon found himself truly analyzing their movements, gauging his preferred method of approach were he the one in the pit instead. Anything to distract him from the gruesome heat. Only when one of the fighters was disemboweled did he realize how engaged he'd been and a momentary feeling of shame washed over him. He didn't realize anyone would die that day. Or that the blades had in fact not been as dull as he'd suspected.

The victor was obvious this time, but the angry scolding of Yezzan to the winner told Vaegon enough that they weren't meant to kill each other. That was a relief, at least.

Another pair of fighters was sent out. Vaegon chose the victor as their skills were displayed. It was almost monotonous after half a dozen or so times, the king periodically making sure Raina was still fairing well despite the heat. He hated that he'd needed her there, but too many curious eyes were present for her not to be. Gossip was a universal language among all nobility. Another reason he could only show worry toward Raina and not Daenerys as well.

Another group enters the area, Vaegon more or less disinterested at that point in the selection. He wiped away sweat from his brow, feeling it almost instantly replaced with a new sheen.

A helmeted figure stumbled into the ring with the new pair, Yezzan howling in anger behind him. The fighters then turn to the new opponent at the order of their master. Vaegon's interests were peaked, mostly out of confusion and a necessity for a distraction from the heat that was still berating them.

The group descended on the lone figure, whom Vaegon immediately recognized as a skilled fighter. He avoided all advances made on him, deflecting blows and parrying with skill Vaegon did not recognize as a style originating from Essos. The fighter's movements were calculated and to the point, with no sign of frivolous, dance-like movements. This fighting style was very much Westerosi, Vaegon realized.

The lone fighter fended on the group, eventually coming to a point where it seemed as if he might be overtaken. In a last-ditch effort, he slashed an opponent at the soft area behind the knee before whirling around and kicking another in the chest, sending him flying back. The fighter stood alone now, Yezzan and his associates lingering near the edge of the arena, visibly angered. Vaegon was impressed he'd been able to defend himself without killing any of his opponents.

The fighter began making his way toward the dais, the Unsullied immediately snapping into a defense stance. The man dropped his sword, pulling away the helm that had been hiding his identity. Vaegon hadn't noticed he was at the edge of his seat until he rose to his feet in disbelief.

"Your Grace," Ser Jorah Mormont uttered, breathlessly. He dropped to one knee with no regard to the Unsullied spears aimed at him.

A small figure ran out from somewhere nearby, Vaegon realizing it was a dwarf amidst his confusion and building anger. The king's words were caught in his throat, his body rigid. Only the immediate rising of Raina at his side broke his wide-eyed gaze.

"Tyrion?" Raina uttered.

Vaegon's expression twisted into a scowl. Many emotions filled him then, but anger and resentment were the first to take root. "Take him away," the king ordered the Unsullied in Valyrian. He wouldn't entertain the traitor he'd banished with the threat of dragon fire.

"I have brought you a gift, Your Grace," Jorah stated quickly, gesturing to the dwarf nearby. "Tyrion of House Lannister."

♜

DAENERYS watched Vaegon pace in the common room of the pyramids' royal apartments, the queen quiet as she waited for what would soon unfold. That of which she wasn't entirely sure, but based on her lord husband's body language, she assumed this would be a difficult discussion.

"Why shouldn't I kill you?" Vaegon asked Tyrion, his pacing slowing to a menacing crawl but never stopping. "The Lannisters are an enemy to my house. Was it not your brother that slayed our father on his throne as a member of the King's Guard?"

There was also mingling bad blood in what Tywin Lannister had done during the sacking of King's Landing as the Rebellion began to wane to an end, just before Daenerys's birth. Vaegon had told her growing up how he'd played alongside their niece Rhaenys as children, the two of similar ages. He'd also told her of what Gregor Clegane had been allowed to do to the little princess, her mother, Elia Martell, and the poor infant, Aegon. Daenerys could not blame Vaegon for his zealous rage for all who had wronged their house, especially the Lannisters.

"Indeed, our houses have not held the best history," Tyrion conceded. "But I am not my brother, nor my father. If anything, I am an enemy to my own house. I killed my mother in the birthing bed, and I killed my father in a moment of vulnerability."

"I am not sure killing one's own family is a befitting reputation for someone within my service," Vaegon chastised. "The wrongs committed by your family cannot be undone. I'm sure the ghosts of the Red Keep can speak enough," he muttered with a sneer.

Daenerys truthfully could not hold the same anger her brother did. He had been the one to know their mother, father, and eldest brother. She had not, not even in the slightest. Essos had been everything she'd known, truthfully more her homeland than Westeros. Her family's lost Kingdoms but a dream conjured up by Vaegon's stories and words from books.

"I am sure Raina Snow could vouch for my character," Tyrion said in defense of himself, gesturing to the dark-haired queen where she sat on a cushioned chair. Behind her, Jorah stood a few paces away, Unsullied guarding him at arm's length.

"Queen Raina," Vaegon corrected Tyrion as he stopped pacing. He crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. "Was a Stark before I took her to wife. You will refer to her as such that befits her station."

The dwarf had been incredibly confused to find Raina among Daenerys and Vaegon once things had settled upon return to the pyramid, with a swelling belly no less. A conversation for a different time, when Tyrion's life wasn't hanging in the balance of Vaegon's grace.

Tyrion's expression twisted into confusion as he looked at Raina. "Much has happened since the last time I saw you, it appears." He sighed before scrubbing at his face with his hands and looking back to Vaegon. "I knew Her Grace when she served as a handmaiden to my niece, Princess Malkyn. During her time in King's Landing, she faced many trials and tribulations and it appears she became a resilient woman for it."

Daenerys glances at Raina, whose dark eyes are adverted to the floor. As if she was preparing to recall everything she'd been through with the Lannisters in her mind.

"I made efforts to thwart those abuses as much as I could," Daenerys noted Tyrion's expression seemed to almost turn defeated. Full of regret. "Alas, there was only so much power I held, but her perseverance and strength have served her well. She is now a queen to a Targaryen king. Carrying his heir, from what I would assume." Tyrion looked to the floor, shoulders slumping in defeat. "I can only wonder if my service to you is worth anything."

"My love, I must call upon you to vouch for this man in the ways you see fit," Vaegon murmured gently to Raina. He'd likely realized how much she'd had closed in on herself after the reflection on her abuse.

Raina sighed, pursing her lips before she spoke. "Lord Tyrion speaks the truth. He did as much as he could to divert abuse from my path and was honorable in his actions. He may be a Lannister, but he is the one worth giving a chance."

Vaegon didn't move for a moment but eventually nodded. "Tell me, Lord Tyrion, why it is that you have crossed the Narrow Sea beseech me?"

"I heard rumors from Varys, The Spider," Tyrion gestured to Vaegon. "That you, the lost prince of ash, with your sister—," he gestured to Raina. "And Her Grace, Queen Raina, have managed to acquire a barbarian horde, an effective army, conquer three cities, break the slave trade, and hatch three dragons. That a king who has done as such might be worth living for when I have lost everything I had until now."

Daenerys was impressed. He was not wrong; much had happened and much had been conquered between the three of them. A tale she hoped would sway the masses upon their arrival to the shores of Westeros.

"Even with three large dragons, as I have heard," Tyrion went on. "And an army, I must say, respectfully, Your Grace, that you do not have the political experience or practical knowledge to effectively rule Westeros as you stand now."

Daenerys' gaze flitted to Vaegon expecting anger, but she found calmness instead. As if he understood the wisdom in what Tyrion had to say.

"Yes, our dragons," Vaegon sighed. "They our greatest feat and greatest asset, I'd like to think. But you are right. Without the proper counsel from an individual that has more experience than, my queens and I would arrive to Westeros with three dragons, an army, and no direction. That of which dragons do not fair well without."

"You are both... Queens?" Tyrion asked in confusion while looking between Daenerys and Raina.

"We are the three heads of the dragon," Daenerys said, speaking up for the first time. "He has taken us both to wife, just as our ancestor Aegon the Conqueror did with his sisters. Each of us with a dragon bond."

Tyrion's mouth fell open in disbelief. "By the Seven," he breathed.

"I will spare you," Vaegon finally relented. Tyrion's shoulders sagged with relief. "Only at the grace of Queen Raina and your reasonable offer to provide counsel."

As if he'd entirely moved on from matters with Tyrion, Vaegon's trains his violet gaze on Jorah.

"As for Ser Jorah Mormont," Vaegon muttered, eyes trained on the northern man where he stood, defeated. "I want him out of my city."

Daenerys frowned, looking between the two of them. "Vaegon, perhaps it is best to rest on it and decide on the morrow. It has been a long day."

"We cannot simply forget why he was banished in the first place," Vaegon replied. "He sought for both of our demises, a wolf among sheep."

"Your Grace, I wish to prove my loyalty to you," Jorah pleaded his case.

"What king would I be if I did not keep my word?" Vaegon growled. "I promised I would kill you if you ever returned."

"He is clearly devoted," Tyrion pointed out, but a quick glare from Vaegon was enough to silence him.

"Just as a king should keep true to his oaths," Raina murmured, meeting gazes with Vaegon. "He should not kill those devoted to him."

Clenching his jaw, Vaegon didn't move. The room was silent, the tension among those gathered hanging on his decision. Once he rose a hand and muttered a string of words to the Unsullied, Jorah was removed from the room.

Note:
Just so everyone is aware, Raina's story prior to arriving to Astapor as an emissary for Robb will eventually be inserted chronologically into this entire story. As well with Malkyn (my lannister oc) so that all of this will make more sense. I know things are bit confusing, but please bear with me! thanks for reading :)