Fire And Blood

The End Of The Beginning

Rhaenys XVII

Two more days. In the end, exactly two weeks.

That was how long it had taken them to cross the Smoking Sea. Even thinking those words was beyond queer, beyond belief and yet, it was the truth. They were, at long last, free from the clutches of Old Valyria.

Just along the horizon, the shattered peninsula of the once greatest and most powerful people in the known world was close to reaching its end. Two large towers with twisted pointed spires stood atop a pair of low-lying cliffs. They must have once served as beacons for passing ships, Rhaenys mused, for in between the cliffs laid a passage that likely widened into the open waters of the Gulf of Grief. Everyone on deck – those who had survived, those who remained – was moving toward the bow. The excitement was palpable, the eagerness to finally leave this place behind them was present more than ever.

"Finally," Dany whispered hoarsely next to her.

"We made it, lads!" Asher shouted loud enough for her to flinch and a moment later he grunted in pain. "Oi, what was that for, you fucking wench?"

"We've also women in our ranks, fool!" Beskha retorted. "But you are right, we made it through Valyria! We survived the Smoking Sea!"

"The first to ever do so!" someone else cried out.

Ragged cheers erupted all across the deck. A sailor began ringing the ship's bell enthusiastically, reflecting the mood. Beside the Balerion, the survivors of the Bold Maid could be heard celebrating as well.

"The sacrifices of the lost are honoured," Ser Barristan added solemnly. "Every dead man and woman gave their lives for this very moment."

Aegon nodded. "We shall honour them properly in Astapor, once we have reached the harbour," he promised, gripping the wooden railing with one hand. His left was wrapped in bandages from elbow to fingers, having sustained a large bruise that spread across his forearm. "A feast shall be held for our dead."

Rhaenys agreed wholeheartedly. She knew she could defend herself. She knew she could kill a man if need be and had done so in Qohor. She could slit a throat with her daggers, still a man's heart with her poisons within mere seconds but what had transpired here, on this very deck…she was relieved to have only heard of it.

A slaughter.

No. Not just a slaughter. Several slaughters, multiple times. Their survival was a miracle – a miracle far more meaningful, far more impactful and far more unbelievable than what they had gone through in Qohor. Here, they had survived what none had done so before them; or, mayhap not none but very few. She'd likely be able to count the survivors of the Smoking Sea on one hand.

Pregnancy left her stomach churning at the faint scent of blood despite the deck having been scrubbed repeatedly. They were still finding stray organs, arms, legs and heads strewn about, which had been overlooked before.

At the very least, they had not been mad enough to step foot inland. The men and women of the Silver Mermaid and the Drunken Wench had been foolish enough to do so and had paid for it with their lives. The price went higher for Aegon, Dany and her, however, considering the coin and equipment which was now lost forever to the remains of the Valyrian Freehold.

Remains, she thought, shaking her head as she took a deep, deep breath and tried not to stare at the corpse of the three-headed beast – chimaera her uncle had excitedly called it, thought to be a mere myth among the scholars of the Citadel – still left amid the deck of the ship. Strangely enough, its remains were not rotting and rather than eagerly ravage it as they did with the other dead creatures, the dragons steered clear away from the chimaera's body. They hissed and snapped at it from a distance but dared come no closer. Rhaenys wondered if they had been spooked by the fact that the chimaera had been able to successfully challenge and repel them.