Dragon Born

01. baby's breath

King's Landing, Crownlands - Westeros

King Robert Baratheon, first of his name. Of the Andals and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Protector of the Realm. Some called him "Usurper", others called him the "Stag King". To those who knew him well, he was nothing more than a drunken brute with a passion for whores and his meads. The King of course had other passions, namely hunting, but those who knew his wrath would argue that he had an unsettling love for one thing and one thing only - vengeance. 

One would think that his vengeance had been met upon the slaying of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen of Dragonstone during the Battle at the Trident in the Riverlands, after the son of the Mad King Aerys II fell in battle. Soon would the Mad King himself at the hands of Ser Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock, and Elia Martell with her children to the hands of The Mountain. But that wasn't enough for him. He wanted all of the lot dead for the sake of the realm, so the news he had received by raven that morning nearly drove him mad. 

The son and daughters of The Mad King are alive, under the protection of a Pentoshi Magister. There has been talk of wedding off the middle one, Daenerys, to a leader who goes by The Great Khal. The young one, Nymaeria, has not been named a suitor. No doubt to soon happen, I am sure of that. 

After seventeen years, he had hoped the children he had driven from Westeros perished in Dragonstone like their mother. But, dreams often don't come true, as the man had learned. He'd known that all to well. 

"Daenerys and Nymaeria Targaryen still live, Ned. The former is to be wed to a Dothraki savage. The whore will no doubt spread her legs for him soon enough. We must act." The man's anger boomed from his belly as he slammed his fist into the table beneath him. "The young one is bound to meet a similar fate, so the sooner we act, it shall be for the better." The Warden of the North, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, looked to his friend with a stern look in his eyes. "They are but children, Your Grace. Little girls, like my Sansa and Arya, like your Myrcella." He shook his his head, "I cannot stand by you on this decision, Your Grace."

"I am your King, Ned. I do as I please, with or without your approval. It shall happen, of your will or not." He growled, pointing a finger toward the door of the Small Council room. "Be gone then, if you are too honorable to do what must be done! Go on!" Ned hug his head, and turned from his friend. "You will rue the day you chose to enact reaped vengeance, your grace. Your anger will be your downfall, dearest friend." Lord Stark left the room, returning to his chambers.

Robert shifted his head to view his remaining council, the Master of Whispers, the Master of Coin, and the Grand Maester. "What you suppose I do about our predicament, Varys? What of your Little Birds?" The portly man raised his gaze to his king, "Daenerys is to be wed a week from now, and according to my source, Viserys has discussed his plans to wed Nymaeria the following day." The Coin Master shuddered at the mention of such a depraved thing, "Targaryen's and their queer customs. Weren't their parents themselves siblings? And their parents?" Varys sighed, "Lord Baelish, allow me to continue." the man of the Vale nodded, and the Lysene continued his plot. "We take the young one, before Viserys can begin to bear heirs, for a throne he believes he can lay claim to." 

"We are to kidnap a child? From her family?" Grand Maester Pycelle let out a throaty cackle, "For the sake of the Gods, Lord Baelish, it's Targaryen scum! It must be squashed." Robert slammed his hand down on the table once more, "Silence! When can we take the girl, Varys? How soon?"

"Within the fortnight."

Pentos, The Free Cities - Essos

7 Days Later

The water was as hot as fire could burn against her pale skin, its heat swallowing her up and loosening the tightness in her aching body. The sweet fragrance of the oils her Pentoshi handmaiden had bathed her in wafted about her bedchamber, lulling her into a peaceful state of mind. Her baths were her only means of peace in the manse of her host, where she was left away from the prying, perverted eyes of her brother.