ACT IV: The Reign of Viserys I and the Seeds of Discord (112 AC – 129 AC)
Chapter 24: The Return to King’s Landing (112 AC)
The city of King’s Landing enjoyed a long and serene peace on that sunny morning.
The common folk in the alleys of Flea Bottom went about their miserable routines, merchants shouted their wares at the King’s Gate, and the nobles strolled through the courtyards of the Red Keep under the illusion that the realm’s stability would last forever.
Until the atmospheric pressure above the capital shifted abruptly.
A massive, terrifying roar, deep enough to make the glass in the castle windows vibrate, sliced through the clouds.
Immediately after, two other roars, higher-pitched and more graceful, answered from high in the skies.
Up above, the summer blue sky ignited in a ghostly, opaque green hue as the heat of arcane flames ripped through the haze.
Out from the dense smoke, the colossal shadow of The Cannibal emerged like a forgotten nightmare.
The beast of black scales and centuries-old scars made a brutal low pass over the city, casting a near-nighttime darkness over the streets.
Peasants fell to their knees, septons dropped their rosaries into the mud, and guards on the battlements gripped their spears with trembling hands, terrified to see up close the true embodiment of Valyrian death—a beast that most of those young men had never witnessed in their lives.
Behind the great black colossus, two trails cut through the air: one gleaming like polished silver and another of a pale, soft shade.
Silverwing and the Pale Queen spiraled gracefully down toward the Dragonpit.
The Cannibal, however, continued to make imposing circles above the capital, making the air crackle with the beat of his gigantic wings.
From high above, looking down at the tangle of cobblestones, reeking alleys, and clay roofs, I could only realize how much King’s Landing remained strictly the same.
A overcrowded, stifling trench; Maegor and Jaehaerys built and renovated this place, but the essence of the people and the stench of dung would never leave these streets.
I directed The Cannibal toward the pit.
The beast descended like a meteor and landed in the open arena with a colossal thud that shook the earth, kicking up a cloud of dust and loose stones.
Awaiting my arrival, exactly according to the message I had sent days prior specifying the precise hour of my landing, was the entire royal retinue.
Descending along the macabre wing of The Cannibal—who, after snorting a gust of scalding smoke, took to the skies again toward his old lair in the depths of the Kingswood—I walked with firm steps through the dust.
My appearance bore no resemblance to the rigid discipline of southern knights.
I wore my traditional blood-red velvet cloak with gold lining, draped loosely and licentiously over my shoulders, leaving my chest entirely bare.
The ritualistic bloodmagic scars carved into my muscular torso gleamed in the sunlight, while my long, pure silver hair flowed down to my waist.
Barefoot on the warm stones of the arena, I was the living vision of a Sorcerer of Vaelarys at the height of his power.
Beside me, Silverwing and the Pale Queen landed with elegance.
My two beloved companions, Princess Daenerys and Princess Viserra, unbuckled the leather straps of their saddles with practiced movements.
I waited patiently for them both to dismount.
Taking Viserra’s delicate hand, keeping Daenerys at my other side, I walked toward the group.
The reception was grand.
In the center stood King Viserys I, appearing infinitely older and more tired than his years should indicate, accompanied by his wife, Queen Aemma Arryn, whose heavy gowns could barely disguise her advanced and painful pregnancy.
Beside them, Prince Daemon and Princess Gael stood; and a little further back, surrounded by guards, young Princess Rhaenyra stared at the scene with wide eyes.
Joining the retinue was the rigid, stern figure of Otto Hightower, accompanied by the members of the Small Council and Princess Maegelle.
“Viserys, boy…” I began, flashing a crooked smile as I approached.
“…How have you been during all this time of my absence?”
The king took two steps forward, trying to disguise the exhaustion in his voice:
“Lord Vaelarys!
I am doing well…
even more so now that my legitimate heir will be born shortly!”
I let out a short, mocking laugh.
“Well…
I didn’t know you possessed the ability to see the future like I do, Viserys.”
Young Princess Rhaenyra took an involuntary step forward, opening her mouth to question my statement.
“Yes, I can see the future, Princess,” I replied immediately, interrupting the girl before she could even formulate the full sentence.
Rhaenyra blinked, surprised and fascinated that I had answered her question before the sound even left her throat.
I shifted my gaze from the young girl and began analyzing Queen Aemma Arryn.
The woman was in a deplorable state.
Her skin had a sickly, greyish hue, cold sweat dripped down her forehead, and her breathing came out ragged and heavy.
The pregnancy was consuming the last energy reserves of her body.
“I see this heir is being extremely problematic already, isn’t that right, Queen Aemma?” I commented, stepping closer with two calm strides.
Before Viserys or the guards could react, I reached out and gently touched the queen’s forehead with the tip of my fingers.
Channeling a subtle, focused pulse of bloodmagic, I injected a fraction of my own vitality into the worn channels of her body. This story is hosted at g.com.
The effect was instantaneous.
A healthy, rosy color returned to Aemma’s face in seconds, her breathing calmed, and her shoulders relaxed.
The queen opened her eyes firmly, adjusting her posture and raising her head as she hadn’t done in months.
“T-Thank you…
Lord Vaelarys,” whispered Aemma, visibly shocked by the immediate relief that had taken over her body.
Viserys broke into a radiant and extremely excited smile, taking his wife’s hand.
“Extraordinary!
Simply extraordinary!
Thank you so much, my old friend!”
The motive behind that royal invitation and warm reception was crystal clear to me: Viserys was desperate to bring me back to the council, seeking the security that my magical presence and political weight guaranteed to his faltering crown.
I stepped away from the queen and walked toward Daemon and Gael.
I greeted my long-time friend with a firm arm clasp.
Daemon and Gael looked happy and in perfect harmony, displaying a rare complicity among the nobility’s couples—even without having produced children yet.
Postponing the arrival of heirs had been direct advice I gave them years ago to preserve Gael’s health and youth until she was fully mature, and seeing Aemma’s physical struggle only confirmed the accuracy of my guidance.
Looking around as we walked in procession toward the Red Keep’s carriages, I couldn’t help but reflect on how eleven years can alter the board of Westeros.
There were very few old faces at court.
The old lords from Jaehaerys’s time had died or retired to their fiefs, giving way to a new generation of ambitious, mediocre nobles who knew nothing about the true power of blood and magic.
Later, as night fell, my private quarters in the Sorcerer’s Tower turned into a scenario that only the secret history of House Vaelarys could witness.
The room’s silence was broken only by the soft crackle of candles and the muffled sighs echoing in the warm air.
I found myself in a truly unique and licentious situation: four princesses of the Targaryen bloodline gathered in the same private chamber.
The five of us were entirely naked.
Reclined on the wide daybed covered in ice-fox pelts, I had Viserra and Daenerys settled by my side, while Princess Gael and Princess Maegelle remained on their knees on the stone floor between my legs, dedicating their attention to my erect shaft.
“And what is the reason for all this devotion now, Gael my dear?” I asked with a smirk, running my fingers through Jaehaerys’s youngest daughter’s silver hair.
Gael raised her violet eyes to me, without interrupting the rhythmic movement of her wet lips around my shaft.
“If Daemon can have his fun in Flea Bottom with his White Worm…” she said in a husky tone, pausing for a second “…I also have every right to have a supreme Sorcerer as my secret lover.”
I gave a casual shrug, stroking her smooth back.
“If you two understand each other that way in your marriage, who am I to question it…”
I shifted my gaze to Maegelle.
The dedicated septa worked with a mastery and devotion that in no way resembled the modesty of the Faith’s temples.
“And how has the Faith of the Seven been, my dear Maegelle?” I teased softly.
Maegelle raised her head, her messy hair falling over her bare shoulders, and let out a bitter sigh:
“More corrupt than ever, Arthos…
The new High Septon is a greedy worm in human form.
And the Faith has grown so arrogant that the real reason for my presence in King’s Landing is that I was practically expelled from Oldtown for refusing to close my eyes to their thievery.”
I made a face of mock sympathy.
“What a deep sadness to hear such an account, my dear…” I commented.
“But tell me something: if this new High Septon were to die suddenly of natural causes, how would you imagine his end to be?”
Maegelle narrowed her violet eyes at me, sensing the dangerous tone in my voice:
“Probably…
dying quietly in his own bed, suffocated while sleeping by one of the many innocent children he forces to keep him company at night.”
I smirked.
Even without actively wishing harm upon the fool, Maegelle would have her wish granted very soon by me.
“Right…
Enough of political talk,” I declared, standing up from the daybed.
The four princesses moved toward the large canopy bed.
The sight before my eyes was a true masterpiece of Valyrian flesh and blood.
Most of Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s daughters inherited an astounding physical structure, with curves and buttocks that would make any noblewoman in the world envious—only Saera stood out more for her bust size, whereas in terms of hips and firmness, no Targaryen princess lacked anything.
I approached the bed and decided to start with my beloved Daenerys.
Laying her on her back against the pillows, I aligned my body with hers and, without asking permission or beating around the bush, pushed my shaft entirely inside her warm depths. Enjoying the story? Read on at NovelPing.
Daenerys let out a loud, sharp groan that echoed off the stone walls of the chamber, digging her nails into my back.
With my free right hand—while my left held Daenerys’s slim waist firmly—I began to caress Viserra’s sex, preparing my wife for her turn.
Maegelle and Gael watched the scene on their knees on the bed, touching their own bodies as they observed my sensual battle.
After long minutes getting lost inside Daenerys’s tight and welcoming core, I felt the climax approaching and released all my warm seed deep inside her womb with brute force.
I withdrew slowly, leaving the princess panting with pleasure on the sheets.
Viserra didn’t wait a single second.
My beloved wife pulled me by the neck, lying on her back and spreading her legs.
Viserra loved the traditional position, mainly because it allowed her to lock her firm thighs around my waist to feel every deep thrust.
I kneeled between her legs and took her body with controlled violence.
As I fucked her without mercy, I pulled her face and began kissing her hard, feeling her nails scratch my skin.
Viserra was infinitely more sensitive than Daenerys; in a matter of minutes, her flesh contracted overwhelmingly, and the princess reached an intense orgasm, screaming against my lips until I filled her interior with my seed.
Without giving my immortal body any rest, I turned my attention to Maegelle.
I pulled the septa to the center of the bed, laying her face down.
With a firm tug on her silver hair, I made the woman raise her head and stare into my grey eyes in the side mirror while I possessed her wildly and primitively from behind.
With every deep thrust, Maegelle let out desperate groans, completely forgetting vows, septs, or Andal gods.
The woman reached climax repeatedly under my domain, until I dumped my load inside her, filling her with the same intensity I had with the others.
Finally, I faced young Gael, who awaited her turn in the corner of the bed in a rather peculiar posture.
I let out a low laugh seeing the scene.
“What an absurd position is that, Gael my dear?”
Gael remained lying on her back, but held her legs bent beside her head, entirely exposing her wet, panting sex.
“I am a mistress, Arthos…” she said, her voice heavy with lust.
“…And a real mistress needs to do in bed everything that the legitimate wife doesn’t have the courage to do.”
Viserra, who had just begun to recover from her overwhelming orgasm, raised her head from the pillows and grumbled:
“And who said I don’t have the courage to do that, you spoiled girl?”
Laughing at the rivalry between the sisters, I approached Gael.
Instead of keeping her in that position, I pulled her arms back and locked her shoulders in a devastating Full Nelson, raising her torso off the bed while I began to thrust deep into her tight pussy.
Despite Gael having the most fragile and delicate physical appearance among Alysanne’s daughters, the girl was indisputably the most masochistic and insatiable in intimacy.
At every violent thrust that seemed to touch the bottom of her being, Gael let out sharp screams of pure ecstasy.
Her body shook in uncontrollable spasms as she reached multiple consecutive orgasms, until I filled her womb with my mystical seed.
I laid Gael’s exhausted body on the bed and walked back toward Daenerys to restart that unforgettable night’s cycle.
Gael, her breathing completely ragged and sweat glistening on her pale skin, whispered looking at the ceiling:
“Next time…
I’m going to demand that Daemon fucks the White Worm right in front of me in that exact position…
A mistress needs to be fucked like that…”
After spending the entire night rotating my vigor among the four Targaryen princesses, the following morning emerged bringing the first preparations for the capital’s grand event: the Heir’s Tournament.
Due to the pulse of bloodmagic I had applied to her forehead the day before, Queen Aemma Arryn woke up renewed and well.
The woman had managed to leave her quarters and walk through the courtyards of the Red Keep, although her healthy appearance was merely a temporary facade sustained by my magic.
Unlike her mother Daella or her aunt Alyssa—whose bodies failed in childbirth due to the loss of the arcane link—Aemma was in that deplorable state out of pure biological exhaustion.
Suffering from multiple spontaneous miscarriages, interrupted pregnancies, and consecutive traumatic births since she was thirteen years old, the woman’s organism was biologically shattered.
I walked beside Aemma through the courtyards leading to the castle exit.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the queen stopped her steps and looked into my eyes:
“I would like to thank you again for yesterday, Lord Vaelarys…
Your intervention allowed me to have a full night’s sleep without pain for the first time in many moons.”
“Do not concern yourself with that, my Queen,” I replied in a calm tone, keeping my hands crossed behind my red cloak.
“My duty to the royal bloodline has always been above the futilities of the court.”
I observed Aemma’s distant and melancholy gaze.
There was a silent terror and a deep resignation in that woman’s soul; deep down, she knew perfectly well that this pregnancy would be the last of her life, whether she was destined to survive or die in the childbed.
Exiting the gates of the Red Keep, I accompanied the royal retinue toward the immense tournament field erected outside the city walls.
The birth of Viserys’s heir was about to happen—and I knew that the outcome of that day would reorganize the board of Westeros in an irreversible and chaotic way.