Game of Thrones: Reign of the Dragonking

Chapter 4: A Laughable Plan—Or Is it?

Author Note: It's Sunday, and we need some boosting since the story is so new. Because of that, I'll set a Powerstone goal. I'll post Chapter 5 if we cross 100 power stones in the upcoming hour. I'll go through the promise even if we're very close to the goal but don't manage to cross it. So vote and push us high on the rankings!

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The mansion was a sprawling fortress of luxury, hidden deep within the Black Walls of Volantis. The Black Walls—ancient, dark stone fused by Valyrian fire—rose high above the city, separating the Old Blood from the masses below. 

Only the oldest, most powerful families, those whose blood traces back to the ancient and powerful Valyrian Freehold, were permitted to live within its protective confines. Outside, Volantis sprawled in chaos and commerce, but inside these walls, order and supremacy reigned.

I followed her up winding marble staircases through halls lined with tapestries depicting fire and light until we arrived at a grand structure that dwarfed the rest of the mansions around it. Of course, the Church of Light is rich, I thought as we climbed, staring up at her swaying hips, hidden by robes flowing around her like rivers of blood. 

We were at the Red Temple. The heart of R'hllor's influence in Volantis, its crimson spires rose high above the Black Walls, casting a shadow over the district as if declaring that the Lord of Light's reach extended over all. It was no surprise that the temple was opulent.

"Here," after a bit of walking through a hallway, we stopped before a door. She pushed it open and nudged me with a chin. "I'll be right back."

"Very suspicious," I said, but it was too late. She smiled and turned on her hill while I walked inside. The room was luxurious. Rich, crimson tapestries adorned the walls, embroidered with swirling flames and intricate symbols of R'hllor. 

A grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, a golden frame glinting in the candlelight that filled the space with a warm, almost hypnotic glow. Plush cushions and velvet drapes covered low, ornate couches scattered around, and a table inlaid with red gemstones gleamed in the center of the room, holding bowls of exotic fruits and wine. 

Indeed, the Red God's faithful enjoyed power and wealth, and as the High Priestess, she stood at the center of it. No wonder she acted so confident as if she was untouchable. I could use her. She had the potential to bring me much.

I looked at the large, high window facing the city. I walked toward it and glanced outside, catching a glimpse of the city spilling out below the walls, all the way to the Summer Sea. The fresh salt air swept in, filling my lungs as I watched the ocean that I'd have to cross soon. It was strange and refreshing… to be this high up, looking out over the world as if it were mine for the taking. 

I wouldn't lie. I felt a little greedy.

Soon, the door creaked open behind me, and I turned. She entered, a silver tray in her hands piled high with gleaming fruits. With her usual calm, she crossed the room and presented the tray to me as if it were some kind of peace offering. "Here."

I looked down at the fruit, then up at her, meeting her gaze with a flat expression.

She let out a soft laugh, setting the tray down on a nearby table and picking up a slice of apple. She bit into it, eyes still locked on mine, savoring each bite. "You really think I will poison you?" she said, her voice laced with amusement. "Hard to believe you still don't trust me, Prince."

I kept my expression cold. "We haven't done anything to establish trust yet, Priestess."

Her lips curved into a teasing smile. She stepped closer, pressing her body into mine until her chest was flush against me, her hand trailing up to rest on my shoulder. "Mhm. Would you like to, then?" Her voice was low and sultry, her gaze laced with a dark glint of seduction. "Do something to establish trust, I mean…"

I clenched my jaw, staying still. The temptation was there, Viserys' lust wanting to surface, but I could hold it in. "I didn't expect a Red Priestess to act like a bed slave," I said, my tone sharp.

She laughed, tilting her head back, her breath warm against my skin. "I find it amusing how free you are with your words, even when they're directed at a High Priestess." Her fingers traced a line along my jaw. "If a true believer heard you say that, they might die from the shock alone. Perhaps after gutting you with a knife."

"Well, I'm not a believer," I shot back, my gaze never wavering. And then I couldn't hold back any longer—my hand slid around her waist, pulling her close as she gasped softly, her eyes widening. "And if I recall right, you called me your 'king,' didn't you? You should be fine with whatever I call you, bed slave or whatnot."

For a moment, her expression was unreadable, her eyes searching mine as if looking for something deeper, something hidden. But then she smiled, her voice soft as silk. "Ah yes. Of course," she said, "You're really different from what the rumors say."

I released her, turning away to look out at the city again, needing a moment to pull myself back from the edge. 

I could feel her gaze on me, but I ignored it, focusing instead on the sprawling view beyond the walls. "I need a ship," I said, breaking the silence. "I have to return to Westeros."

"If you're worried about the Dothraki finding you, rest assured." Her voice was calm and reassuring as if she already had everything planned. "They won't hear a word of your presence here. They'll never know where you are."

I gave a skeptical snort, glancing over my shoulder. "I'm aware of you red priestess' powers, but still, you can't guarantee that. But fine. If you can help me keep my presence hidden for a few days, that'll do." I turned fully to face her, locking eyes with her again. "I need your help to accomplish something in the next few days. After that, I'll leave for Westeros. Do you understand?"

She stared at me, her gaze unwavering, before a slow smile spread across her face. "What is it, my king?"

I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I called up the System, muttering Inventory in my mind. A faint hologram appeared in the corner of my vision, a grid of small boxes filling the screen, only one of which was occupied. I slipped a hand into the bag hanging from my side, pretending to reach for something there, and grasped the object in the inventory with my mind. 

A moment later, the dragon egg appeared in my hand, its surface gleaming with red and black hues.

Her eyes widened slightly, surprise flashing across her face as I held the egg up between us.

"A life for a life," I said, watching her reaction carefully. "I, the last drop of dragon blood on this earth, intend to awaken the real dragons, to bring them back for the first time in a hundred and half years. And your blood magic will help me do it. You understand?"

For a heartbeat, she was silent, her gaze fixed on the dragon egg as though it were a relic of her god himself. Her lips parted, and a faint shiver ran through her. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face, one that grew into a wide, fervent grin.

She looked up at me, her eyes shining with reverence. "...Azor Ahai."

The thrill of manipulation tingled through me. Let her think I was the hero of prophecy. Let her think I was a god's chosen. I'd use her power, her belief, her devotion to achieve my ends. And if she ended up benefiting from that too? Well, you're welcome.

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Kinvara had been a high priestess for more than a lifetime, long enough to watch faith bend and break men while she remained untouched. 

The Lord of Light had shown her visions, and she'd seen miracles burn to life in her hands. The faith of this religion held no mysteries from her, only truth, and she knew power. Real power. Naturally, only the one True God was truly powerful, but some men showed similar greatness as well. 

True power left marks in a person's soul, the kind that no robe, no pretense could mask. It made them appear strong, brave, and uncaring of death.

She had met kings, commanders, and men with blood who claimed to match the dragons in their intensity, and she'd seen through them all. Some spoke the truth, but many wore masks of strength and held nothing of substance underneath. They were just men too afraid to face the emptiness inside. And according to the rumors she heard, according to what the flames had shown her, Viserys Targaryen was no different—a shadow of his bloodline, clinging to something he could barely comprehend.

So she expected a coward. She expected weakness cloaked in arrogance when she decided to meet him. But when she did meet him at the inn? It was a different story.

There had been something opposite in his eyes, the sharp edge to his words, that mind that didn't waver in the face of threats, daring to wield a knife, not out of stupidity, but braveness against her. Perhaps he had once been that weak prince that the rumors spoke of, but he wasn't anymore. The incident of overcoming his death and his fate must have changed him.

She'd seen that change before, usually forged across years of hard battle, but he had earned it overnight. A cautious, dangerous man. It was something she'd been trained to recognize, a potential. Kinvara hoped her experienced senses weren't wrong.

Because Melisandre, that bitch, had apparently found the Warrior of Light. And Kinvara wasn't going to let that wench overshine her another time. She was hoping Viserys was the true warrior, and if he wasn't, she'd shape him to be. Then, the two of them will receive the blessing of the one True God together…

The whole week, a smirk stayed in her thoughts as she searched and prepared for what he'd demanded. 

Awakening dragon eggs? She nearly laughed when he first proposed it, her instinct was to dismiss him, but she held back. Do you think the Targaryens wouldn't have done it before, if it were possible? Contrary to people's belief, the Targaryens were mad enough to try anything, such as blood magic, and… indeed, they had already done so many times in the last three hundred years.

And yet, the dragons had not returned.

If his entire family failed for three hundred years, how could he succeed?

Kindara was curious to see. So she didn't question him, nor did she voice her doubt. The flicker of something real in his eyes kept her silent. So, then… Let's see the worth behind your words. For he was a mystery worth her time, for now.

…..

They were riding together now, their horses pushing forward through deadened lands twisted by smoke and darkness. The air grew thicker the nearer they came to the City of Mantarys, the edge of the Valyrian Freehold in the distance, a decayed remnant of what had once been the heart of the empire. 

The land bore history—the mark of corruption, a stain that seemed to stretch forever.

"How are you holding up, Prince?" Kinvara asked, breaking the silence that had been settling between them for too long. She kept her gaze forward, but she could feel him beside her, hear the hooves of his horse before he even spoke.

"The stench is bothersome," he muttered, hand briefly at his nose. "But I'm managing." He patted his horse—a white beast, elegant and striking. She looked at the horse briefly.

He'd named it "Dany White," of all things, a strange choice given his sister's nickname was Dany. Was this his idea of humiliating the Khaleesi? Or was this his way of showing affection? Kinvara couldn't tell.

"The stench is the least of our worries here, near Mantarys," she replied, looking out at the twisted horizon ahead as if the city itself were bending and shifting in the shadows.

He only raised an eyebrow, casting her a look of skepticism. "What could possibly be worse?"

She almost laughed. "Mantarys is no ordinary city, Prince," she replied smoothly. "It lies to the southeast of Volantis, at the very edge of the Smoking Sea. The Doom of Valyria left its deepest scars here. The land around it has been poisoned by old sorceries, dark magic lingering long after Valyria fell."

He glanced over, half amused. "Speaking of magic. I'm curious since people always said Targaryens had it in their blood. Are there other forms to it other than blood magic? Maybe I can learn them."

Sometimes—she'd realized this the past week they'd been traveling—she couldn't be sure if he was truly curious about something or just asking her to seem stupid. Regardless, she answered in her usual tone.

"To be fair, the claim of magic in Targaryen blood remains to be proven," she replied, though she knew it used to be true back in the day. "But the people of Mantarys are… different. They are deformations. Monsters, some would say. Some say they bear the mark of the Doom in their very flesh."

He snorted. "Sounds like a nursery tale."

Again. He seemed to be lying. Her unmatched experience in human nature told her that he was lying. That he indeed believed her. But why was he lying then? Sometimes, he showed her less than what he was for some reason.

"Perhaps," she said, shrugging. "But Mantarys has a sinister reputation across the land. It's known that horrific deformities are common among its people—mutations, twisted limbs, strange growths. It could be the lingering effects of the Doom, or perhaps just the result of old sorcery gone wrong." She shot him a glance. "Either way, travelers avoid Mantarys whenever they can. That's why we're doing the same, despite the high number of witches we can find there."

"Good thing I'm not one to be frightened by ghost stories. Besides," he added, his smirk widening, "I've got R'hllor's favorite priestess by my side. Shouldn't that count for something? I think they'll be scared by you."

She laughed at the comment, the faintest smile on her lips as her eyes drifted to the road ahead. At least he's growing more relaxed around me. "I think they'll be more scared of you instead. You're building muscles from those exercises you've been doing all the time that you're not riding the horse," she said.

"I hope so," he replied, his gaze focused ahead. "That is…" Just a short distance away, she could see the faint outline of a village, barely discernible through the haze. 

"That's the place I told you about," she said. Smoke curled from the tops of low buildings, filling the air with the acrid scent of charred wood and dust.

They slowed as they approached, drawing the attention of villagers who peered at them with wary eyes. Huts rose, and kids hid behind them. Everyone's gazes lingered on Kinvara's red robes, and one by one, they murmured among themselves, some bowing, others nodding with reverence. 

The awe in their expressions was expected. That was the influence she wielded in Essos.

Kinvara dismounted, letting her gaze sweep over the gathered faces, seeking the one she had come for. "Yarra Vesh Duul," she called, and there a woman stood just at the edge of the crowd, her face marked by age and hardship. The woman blinked, looking around to make sure it was her name that was called. Her clothes were ragged, the lines of fatigue etched deeply into her features.

"M-me, m'lady?" The Maegi asked, and Kinvara nodded.

"Yes, you. Come, Prince," She turned to Viserys and murmured, who too dismounted from his horse. He approached the woman, who eyed the two of them with a mix of awe and fear.

A moment later the old woman dipped her head low, hands clasped tightly together as she stepped forward, her body trembling as she came before Kinvara. Her hair was a mess of tangles streaked with gray, and her hands were rough, calloused from years of hard labor. 

"...She'll do," Viserys said, his eyes examining her. Kinvara wondered what someone who knew nothing of Blood Magic could see. Regardless, the decision was not hers to make. 

Her gaze softened just enough to appear kind as she spoke. "The great Lord of Light has chosen you," Kinvara intoned. "The Lord has a purpose for you—a deed that will bring you closer to his eternal flame." Her words were flowery, but her tone did not present it as an offer. It left no room for refusal. "Say your goodbyes and prepare to leave with us."

The woman's gaze darted to the side, her eyes meeting those of her children, a few grandchildren standing timidly behind them. She swallowed and hesitated. 

Kinvara understands her hesitation, the ache of someone bound by earthly ties. It is a look she has seen countless times before. Go ahead, look all you want, she sighed, thinking with detached patience. But when the gods call, no mortal bonds can keep you.

She knew the woman would come. Despite her fear, despite the hollow in her eyes as she met her children's gaze one last time, the call of faith would be stronger. It always was.

And, indeed. Without a word of protest, she gathered her things and joined them, as Kinvara knew she would.

The materials for the Dragon Awakening Ritual were ready.

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Author Note [EDIT]: Oops, overestimated the current follower count. It's doing really well in QQ, so I thought it was doing great here in WN too. Anyways, since 1h seems impossible so far, we'll hold off it. Just vote for now, more chapters will keep dropping!!