VII
Viserys lifted his head as the door to his prison scuffed against the floor, revealing the bastard dragon.
He sneered and greeted Jon, “Bastard.”
Jon sighed as he set down Viserys’ supper. Putting his entire arm in a bowl of fire Hermione had conjured hadn’t convinced Viserys of Jon's heritage; no amount of words would either.
"I've brought supper," Jon said, pointing to the bowl of broth and the steaming bread. "Hermione's in the city, so Dany and I prepared tonight's meal if it tastes different than usual."
Viserys stood to examine the meal. Finding it wanting, he wrinkled his nose and looked at Jon in disdain. “Where’s your whore gone?”
His mind went empty save an angry red haze quickly. Jon took two large steps forward and pinned Viserys against the nearest wall. Viserys wheezed and laughing asked, “And where’s my treacherous cunt of a sister?”
Jon pushed his forearm into Viserys' throat, hoping to cut off any further expletives. Jon was a handful of inches shorter than Viserys, but his shoulders were broader, and his body toned from swinging a sword for hours at a time- he and Robb hadn't let their training falter on the Vystalie.
A smarter man would’ve shut his mouth; Viserys wasn't very bright.
He hacked out a rough chuckle even as Jon's sleeve pressed against his carotid uncomfortably. "Defensive of your whores, bastard, aren't you? We'll make a Targaryen of you, yet.”
Jon hissed, breathing heavily as he tried to control his reactions. “Watch your fucking mouth.” Jon pulled Viserys away from the wall for a moment just to slam him back against it roughly.
Hermione had been delivering Viserys’ meals for the sennight Dany and Viserys been on board, and Jon had thought nothing of it- she could undoubtedly protect herself. But hearing Viserys speak, he wondered how his Uncle had been treating her. The way she subtly avoided answering Teddy’s questions about their newest passenger was starting to make sense.
“I’m a dragon!” Viserys roared even as his voice cracked from the strain on his windpipe. "And you've put me in a cage." Struggling against Jon's hold, he screamed and thrashed violently. "I'm in prison because you want to be king, you bastard."
Jon let Viserys drop and stumbled back. “You think I want to be King?” he asked incredulously. “I just wanted to meet you. I wanted a family.”
“Liar,” Viserys seethed. “You want our claim. Dany's stupid enough to spread her legs for you, but I'm not as easy as my whore sister."
Jon made to respond, but Viserys started to scream incoherently again.
Jon shook his head in disappointment. "Hermione said you might be able to start leaving your room soon." They both glanced at the potion-filled bottles Viserys had been ordered to take three times a day.
"If she lets you out and you even look at Dany the wrong way," Jon began. He took another step towards Viserys and tried not to let a greedy slip of pleasure drip down his spine at how the other man cowered. "I'll push you overboard, and we'll see if dragons can swim."
“You would need my sister for some legitimacy,” Viserys acknowledged. "I understand why you want her safe."
Jon ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "I don't want your claim!" he spat. "I don't want to be fucking king." He turned to leave. He had no words that would convince his Uncle of the truth.
"I've been the bastard of Winterfell for nearly twenty years," Jon said, speaking to the door. "I wouldn't mind being nothing more than a bastard for the rest of my life." Viserys hummed as if considering Jon’s words. Desperately Jon continued, “All I wanted was to find my family and keep them safe.”
Viserys laughed mockingly, spat on the floor, and spread his arms wide from where he'd fallen to the ground. "Well then, welcome to the family, bastard! Here there be monsters."
Jon sighed and shut the door firmly behind him.
XXX
In hindsight, Hermione should have known she was walking into an ambush.
In her defense, it was early, the was sun barely shining across the waves, and she’d just taken a wonderfully warm shower- thank Merlin for the joys of magical plumbing. She was cozy and comfortable in her long-sleeved Gryffindor jersey and leggings, and she was by no means expecting to be betrayed by her godchild.
“Auntie Mione,” Teddy greeted her officiously when she entered the dining room and found the ship’s occupants waiting for her. “Please sit down.”
She took her seat hesitantly and sent a glare in Robb’s direction. She wasn’t sure how, but she had a nagging feeling that whatever was about to happen was his fault.
“Aunt Hermione, I agree with Robb about the dragons.”
Hermione wanted to throw Robb off the ship and see if Winterfell's heated pools had really taught the man how to swim.
“Teddy, darling, no! I know Uncle Harry told you about Norberta!” she exclaimed.
“Norberta?” Robb asked in confusion in between bites of his scone. Their odd group of six was seated around the large dining table of Hermione’s tent.
Teddy didn't relent despite his godmother's pleas. He had been given a critical mission, and he wouldn't falter at the first sign of resistance.
“Magic is different here,” Teddy responded. “It wouldn’t be the same.”
Robb and Viserys nodded simultaneously and then glared petulantly at each other, not wanting to agree, even on the matter of dragons.
Hermione turned to look at Jon desperately. When he avoided her gaze and slouched in his chair, her stomach dropped. Her only ally had forsaken her.
“You must hatch them,” Viserys demanded imperiously. “It is our Targaryen birthright.” He was wearing one of Jon's tunics, even though he was about half his nephew's size. Since he looked like a petulant child demanding a treat, Hermione didn’t feel too obliged to agree with him.
“Birthright,” Hermione spluttered indignantly.
Robb, having finished his scone, was free to slam his head against the table and beg, "Don't get her started on birthrights, please."
Teddy and Jon hummed in sheepish agreement.
(Even Jon, who seemed satisfied to sit with her by the fire and listen to her speak for hours about topics he barely understood, was a tiny bit tired of hearing about her distaste for landed titles and gentry)
Daenerys piped up, “I would hear her thoughts.” Their group turned to her in slight disbelief.
They’d left Lys a fortnight ago to sail South towards the Summer Isles.
(They couldn't head back to Westeros given the three Targaryens on their boat, but the boys were reluctant to sail further East against Dearil’s odd information. On the map of Planetos- as Hermione affectionately named the known world- they’d charted a safe route from Pentos to Lys- where they’d stopped to buy supplies- and then Southwest through the Sunset Sea.)
In this time, Daenerys had carefully avoided everyone on the Vystalie, except for Teddy. Despite being kindly- and firmly- invited to all their group meetings, she’d not spoken up without being prompted- even when they were discussing what they would do with Viserys.
"Gods," Robb muttered, but a sharp glare from Jon cut him off.
Hermione brightened immediately, glad to change the subject.
"Why are dragons your birthright?" she asked. Then quickly, she followed up by asking, "More importantly, why is the throne your family's birthright?"
Viserys reared up. The steady regimen of potions Hermione had placed him on- and Jon had forced down his throat for a fortnight- were undoing some of the damage wrought by his incestuous ancestry and unstable, traumatic childhood, but his arrogance was indomitable.
“Our ancestors were dragonriders and kings!” he exclaimed.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. Teddy mimicked her.
“So?” Teddy asked, anticipating his godmother's next question.
“So, we are to be dragonriders and kings as well," Viserys sneered at Teddy. Jon sighed and reached out to twist Viserys' ear. They'd established early on that Teddy was off-limits. Viserys yelped.
Hermione took over. “That doesn’t tell me why you deserve to be royalty,” she said reasonably. “Why would you be a good king?”
“Because it’s in our blood!” Viserys exclaimed.
Hermione met his gaze steadily, a bit disappointed but mostly resigned. People were the same no matter which world she was in, and she was tired of being reduced to her blood.
“Blood means nothing to the people under your rule. It tells me nothing of why you should be king.”
Daenerys spoke up again, “What would mean something, then?”
Hermione and Jon both tilted their heads in askance, not understanding her question, and Daenerys silently giggled at how easily the couple mimicked one another.
“Who would deserve to rule, I mean?” Daenerys clarified.
“It can hardly be the usurper; he’s run the Kingdom to the ground!” Viserys interrupted before Hermione could answer.
"Jon!" Robb added his two galleons. Viserys hissed at Robb, muttering under his breath about ‘idiot brothers’ and ‘northern whores.’
“And, what does this have to do with the dragon eggs?” Viserys asked irritable that he’d been unable to answer Hermione’s probing questions.
“It’s the same concept,” Hermione answered patiently. “Why should you have dragons, simply because your ancestors had dragons? Why should you rule, simply because your ancestors once ruled?”
The table sat in silence as their group contemplated her words.
Daenerys tucked her long hair behind her ears and straightened her spine. "Perhaps we don't deserve to have dragons," she admitted, glancing nervously at her brother. He was on the opposite side of the table from her, and Robb's solid presence beside her kept her from cowering. "But you were told a war was coming, no?”
Hermione wondered when Teddy had told Dany about Dearil.
Dany continued, “A war for millions of innocents. Wouldn't dragons help you save those lives?"
“I’m not planning to fight a war, Dany,” Hermione answered kindly.
“Aren’t you?” Dany responded, a bit sassy and more confidently than usual. Dany jerked her head to indicate the pile of books on magical warcraft that leaned against the living room’s coffee table.
"I'm not," Hermione replied firmly. "I'm trying to get Teddy and me home. I’ll help you as much as I can, but that’s not my priority.”
“You’ll just let those innocents die?” she asked incredulously.
Hermione sputtered indignantly. “I have to get us home!”
“What about those lives? Do you even care?”
"I have a son to care for!" Hermione shot back. "I can't leave him behind to fight another world's war!"
The table fell silent. A few tense moments passed as everyone glared at the table.
“They chose their riders. The dragons, I mean,” Viserys said, gently for once, stopping the quickly spiraling argument.
“It would give you legitimacy as well,” Daenerys said. “Dragons are undeniable.”
Robb chimed in, “Aye. They’d only choose worthy riders.”
“Like how Greywind and Ghost chose you?” Teddy asked.
“What?” Robb and Jon asked simultaneously.
The pups- now the size of large hunting dogs, or small ponies- lifted their heads in askance, mirroring their owners.
“Cause they’re your familiars, right?” Teddy clarified, cocking his head and letting his hair turn darker like Jon’s.
Jon furrowed his brow and leaned back in his seat. Robb looked baffled and tilted his head in Hermione’s direction.
Her eyes widened as the pieces clicked together.
“Familiars are magically bonded animals,” Hermione sighed. She slipped her wand out of her sleeve and waved it in two circles at the pups, murmuring a bonding spell under her breath. A light golden stream filtered through the air connecting Jon and Ghost. Another joined Robb and Greywind.
Hermione tsked at herself. “I can’t believe I missed that,” she murmured before patting Teddy lightly on the arm in approval. The little boy beamed.
Familiar bonds between magical creatures and wix were common on Earth. A bond between the old dragonriders of Valyria and their dragons would undoubtedly explain the confusing records she'd read.
“A familiar would only choose you if you were worthy. And if these dragons don’t have an intended bond mate, they won’t hatch no matter the magic I pour into them,” she said, slumping.
Accepting the inevitable, Hermione turned to Jon in askance. He was the man they were trying to push onto a throne and force into war. It was only fair he made the decision.
He crossed his arms over his chest and furrowed his brow.
“Can it be done safely?” he asked, glancing at Teddy and Daenerys in turn. Hermione’s stomach flipped at the gentle mien Jon’s face took on every time he glanced at her godson.
She hummed. “We could do it on the Summer Isles. There’re four leylines that cross near the Indigo Straits. That’d be the best place.”
“But would it be safe?” he pressed.
Hermione admitted, “I’m not very magically powerful as other Wix- like Harry. I’d probably need a second Wix as a boost.”
“I could help!” Teddy offered immediately.
Hermione and Jon cut him off with a sharp “No!” just as quickly.
"It could be Robb or Jon," Hermione continued. "If you have familiars, you have some magic as well."
“Really?” Robb asked. He raised his hand and twirled his index finger in three ovals as Hermione did when she sent her plates to the kitchen sink. Nothing happened.
Teddy giggled, and Hermione looked at Robb sternly. "With training, of course! And not the same as ours," she clarified, gesturing at herself and Teddy.
Robb's eyes widened, and his eyes sparkled with one thousand questions.
"Jon?" Hermione prompted before Robb speak.
Jon groaned and dropped his head to the table. “I suppose we’re hatching dragons, then,” came his muffled decision.
The table, sans Hermione and Jon, cheered.
XXX
“Papa,” Obara trilled, turning Oberyn’s attention away from the hookah he was smoking with a vermillion-haired man to his lithe, tanned daughter as she skipped over a jagged white stone wall and sauntered towards him.
“Obara, darling,” he replied, waving the merchant he had been smoking with away. Oberyn knew his daughter could take care of herself, but Tyrosh was no place for a free woman to be walking alone. He could admit to himself- but never aloud to his daughter for the safety of his bollocks- that he’d been worried since she’d left the safety of their ship that morning.
She plopped down beside him, graceless and ever-bold, and offered him a half-eaten orange. He accepted and bit into the citrus fruit. “This city smells like pig’s shit and wet cum-stained trousers,” Obara said, twitching her nose subconsciously in dismay.
Oberyn laughed at his daughter’s description. “Aye, but how do you know what those trousers smell like, daughter mine?”
Obara blushed, the apples of her cheeks turning pink under her golden skin. Haughtily, she ignored his question and instead asked, “Would you like to hear what I’ve found out or not?”
It was her impatience- the way Obara tapped her left foot repeatedly, a telltale sign of nerve that Doran had trained out of her by seven namedays- that spurred Oberyn to stop teasing and instead motion for her to continue.
“They’re not here,” she said. Before Oberyn can interrupt, she continued. “They haven’t been here either. There’s no sign of Lady or Lord Granger anywhere between Pentos and Lys.”
“Lys?” Oberyn asked.
Obara nodded in confirmation and reached into her loose silk jerkin. She handed a thin roll to Oberyn and watched as he unfolded and read the parchment.
His brow furrowed, and he repeated, "Lys?"
Obara rolled her eyes at him. "Aye, Lys, but that's not what's important," she said, pointing to the part of the scroll outlining what Lady Granger and a woman with suspiciously Targeryn white-blonde hair had purchased at a Lyseni marketplace.
Four bags of rice, two bags of oats, one bag of cornmeal, four bags of dried and canned meats, one-gallon vegetable oil, two bags of dried beans, one bag of dry milk, four gallons of fresh milk, one bag of sugar, four glasses of assorted jam…
“Four gallons of fresh milk?” he asked incredulously.
Obara shook her head at her father and asked in the same incredulous tone. "That's what you find interesting?"
"It'll spoil before they can finish even one gallon," he replied. "And they didn't purchase any freshwater!"
Obara sighed at her father's antics. "They'll have some way of preserving the milk, I'd assume."
Obery n's brows raised precariously high. "How?" he mused. Doran had mentioned a traveling merchant who claimed that there were ways to preserve milk for a fortnight and keep foods unspoiled for near a year in Yi-Ti. He and his brother had mused dreamily about the changes such preservatives could bring to a desert kingdom like Dorne before setting the thought aside as a fanciful dream.
Were their mysterious strangers from Yi-Ti rather than the Summer Isles as they’d heard?
Obara grunted in annoyance, pulling Oberyn from his thoughts. “Magic,” she stated.
“Don’t make fun,” Oberyn reprimanded his daughter.
Obara had the grace to look sheepish but continued. "No, Papa, that's what they're saying. Magic."
Oberyn reeled back and quickly crossed himself in the way of the Seven-Pointed Star. The Dornish never took to magic the way the North and Essos did. “Magic?” he hissed. “Witches and the like?”
She shrugged. “They’ve enough food for another fortnight or so,” she replied instead of answering, hoping to bring the conversation back to the topic at hand.
Oberyn nodded in agreement, pleased at his daughter’s analysis but still uncomfortable from the mention of magic.
She continued, “That is if it’s only the dragons and the Grangers aboard that ship.”
Oberyn mumbled something under his breath before pulling a map from his vest and unfurling it on the rock they were sitting upon. Obara scooted back, so there was more space for them to maneuver and helped pin the map down against the wind by slamming a dagger into a corner.
Stroking his chin, Oberyn pointed to the sallet emblem that represented Braavos. “A strangely clothed woman was seen with a child that shared her curls here.”
Obara nodded in agreement. “A merchant from Braavos says the little boy's hair changed colors in seconds.”
Oberyn grimaced. “That’s what they’re claiming is magic?” At her affirmative nod, he rolled his eyes and continued. “So there is at least one more passenger, a child.”
He looked at the map and measured a fortnight’s travel from Lys in all directions. As he moved South, he almost slapped himself for what they’d almost overlooked.
“The Summer Isles,” he said. “They’re going home.”
Obara’s brow furrowed as she reached out to measure the same distances with her index finger. A minute later, she leaned back and sighed in agreement. "Aye, the Summer Isles. Should've known."
They both sat in silence, staring down at the map, thinking of the long journey they'd be undertaking.
“Perhaps,” Obara started, looking up at her father beseechingly.
"Perhaps, we can leave on the morrow," he agreed, not needing to hear the rest of her thoughts.
“Aye, after all, our rooms are paid for the night.”
They both stood and put aside the scrolls and maps.
“Aye, it would be a waste to sleep on the ship instead of the brothel,” Obara said, soberly looking up at her father.
They looked at each other solemnly for a moment before laughing. Oberyn slung his arm around his eldest daughter's shoulder, and they began leisurely walking towards the pleasure house they'd secured rooms at.
Tomorrow they’d be off on an adventure for Doran and Dorne.
Tonight, however, they could do as they pleased.
XXX
If she had a fraction, a fragment, or even the barest drop of wolf’s blood in her, would she still have been sent off to King’s Landing as a consolation prize to the King, Sansa wondered as she embroidered a silk handkerchief for Princess Marcella and pretended to enjoy the Queen’s company in their carriage.
“Little dove,” Queen Cersei began, graciously beckoning Sansa to sit closer. Sansa swept her skirts under her thighs and tried not to grimace as the Queen grabbed her chin, Cersei’s long fingernails digging under her neck, and pulled her closer.
The carriage- and Queen Cersei- smelled heavily of red wine and something tangibly metallic, and Sansa found herself missing the cool, crisp smell of Winterfell.
“Little dove,” the Queen repeated herself. “Are you getting on well with the Prince?”
Sansa dropped her gaze and tried to force a blush to her cheeks. “Yes, your Grace. Prince Joffrey is so handsome.”
Cersei released her grip, and Sansa resisted the urge to soothe the nail bitten marks on her face.
"Yes, my son is quite handsome. He looks much like my brother," Cersei replied. Her gaze was distant now, and Sansa hoped that signaled the end of their short conversation. "He'll make a great King." Cersei turned to pull the curtain aside and stared out the window.
The Queen didn’t acknowledge Sansa again during that stretch of their journey, but her words rang false in Sansa’s mind.