The Son of Ice and Fire: Lost in Time pt.10

Maekar watched as the buxom servant poured him wine, his eyes wandering over her form. She had long, black hair that cascaded down her back in loose curls, framing a beautiful face with high cheekbones, full lips, and striking dark eyes. Her large breasts were accentuated by her low-cut dress, their fullness drawing his gaze. Her ample ass was highlighted by the tight fit of her skirt.

He wondered if she was a bastard of some lord; she was a rare beauty. If he were back in Dragon’s Bay, she would be warming his bed for a while. He was used to having a new woman every night since coming to this world, especially after his conquest of Slaver's Bay. The variety and novelty had become part of his routine, a perk of his position. However, his new relationship with Laena had put a stop to all that.

His gaze turned to Laena, who was sitting next to him, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

He smirked. His stay in King’s Landing so far had been interesting. King Viserys had been a gracious host, a man who was very easy to flatter and please with grand gestures and words, especially since Maekar was a fellow Valyrian monarch—a pure Valyrian dragonrider. Everyone was amazed by his story of magic and time travel; some, he knew, believed it wholeheartedly, while others thought him a charlatan but wisely kept their opinions to themselves.

His gaze returned to the maid, lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Thank you,” he said smoothly, his tone carrying an undercurrent of charm.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Erin, milord,” the servant answered.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” Maekar said.

The servant blushed at his words, only to be startled by Laena pointedly clearing her throat. “Are you always this generous with your smiles, husband-to-be?” she asked, her voice sweet but edged with warning.

Maekar turned to her, an amused glint in his eyes. “Jealous, my love?” he teased.

Laena huffed softly, though a hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “I don’t like to share, Maekar,” she said, her tone filled with possessiveness.

Maekar tilted his head, studying her. “Share? No, no—nothing like that.” His voice dropped slightly. “You are to be a dragonlord’s wife. We can have whatever we desire—do whatever we wish. We can take anything together,” he said, his eyes falling on the servant who stood away from them.

“Together,” she repeated, her voice thoughtful.

Maekar’s lips quirked into a grin. “It was common for Dragonlords to take many wives in Valyria,” he said casually, running his fingers through her hair. “Though only one could hold the place of honor as the primary wife.”

He leaned closer to her, kissing her lightly on the ear as he whispered, “Imagine how much… fun we could have… together.”

Laena’s gaze flickered to the buxom servant, Erin, who stood with a red face, having heard their conversation. Laena bit her lip, a flicker of curiosity breaking through her guarded expression.

“But…” Laena began.

“It is sad that you have embraced the Westerosi way of life,” Maekar said. “You are not Westerosi. You are Valyrian. Our blood runs hotter, stronger. We are above their narrow-minded notions of propriety. Why confine ourselves to their rules when we are destined to rule them?” He took her hand in his own. “You are fire, Laena. Fire does not bow—it takes, it consumes.”

Laena’s lips pressed into a thoughtful line as she glanced at Erin once more. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—a spark of curiosity, a glimmer of temptation. She caught herself and turned back to Maekar, her expression guarded but not dismissive.

As she was about to speak, he spotted Narro Nohz, one of his legates, approaching. Narro had led a cohort of legionaries from his legion here—Maekar was an emperor, after all; he could not appear as anything less.

“It seems my duties call to me, my love. I will see you tonight,” Maekar said, kissing her hands. He walked toward Narro and, as he did, he couldn’t help but notice Laena’s eyes on Erin.

‘The seed has been planted,’ he thought as he stopped near his trusted legate, who bowed to him.

“Great One,” the former Dothraki said with respect and admiration.

“Legate Narro, come. We can talk in the beautiful gardens of this keep,” Maekar said, leading the legate to the gardens.

Maekar and Legate Narro walked through the gardens of Maegor’s Holdfast in the Red Keep. The lush greenery was alive with the scents of blooming flowers and the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze. They found a quiet corner, away from the prying eyes of courtiers and guards.

Narro was a former Dothraki Khal turned loyal commander to Maekar. Once betrayed and sold into slavery by his own bloodriders, Narro had been saved by Maekar and had sworn himself to him, vowing revenge against those who had wronged him.

What had surprised Maekar most was the potent hatred Narro harbored for his own people. That hatred had become a weapon, one Maekar had wielded skillfully in his conquest of the Dothraki Sea. Narro’s knowledge and tactical insight had been invaluable in destroying most of the khalasars that had roamed the plains unchecked for two centuries.

Now, Narro commanded the Vth Legion, the force tasked with defending the newly renamed Dothraki Sea—the Elysian Fields—helping settlers establish themselves and ensuring peace across the vast expanse.

“I have reports from Magister Militum Torgo, Great One,” Narro began, his voice steady and respectful.

Maekar nodded, his expression sharpening with interest. The title of Magister Militum was one he had devised for the second-in-command of the armies of his empire. Torgo Nhazal, a Ghiscari and a brilliant military mind, had earned it through his role in helping Maekar conquer his vast domain in such a short amount of time.

“Go on,” Maekar said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Narro continued. “The conquest of Tolos has been successful and achieved without bloodshed. The city’s leaders surrendered without resistance.”

A smile spread across Maekar’s face. It was exactly what he had hoped for.

“And Volantis?” Maekar asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. “I assume they’re not pleased.”

Narro shook his head, a faint smirk crossing his lips. “They are terrified, Great One. They send empty threats.”

At that, Maekar broke out into laughter, a deep, rich sound that echoed through the quiet garden.

"Good, good,” Maekar said, his lips curling into a sly smile. “Let them stew for a while. Send word to Torgo to test their defenses—send some raids into Volantis’ tributaries, Matarys and the surrounding cities, and blockade Elyria.”

Narro inclined his head, his expression stoic. “As you command, Great One.”

Maekar’s eyes narrowed slightly as a thought crossed his mind. “Speaking of that part of Essos,” he said, his tone more measured, “any word from our expedition to the ruins of Old Valyria?”

“I have received word from Scholar Egon. They believe they can pass through the Smoking Sea with the new advanced ships that have metal shielding. However, the ships won’t be seaworthy for another year.”

Maekar nodded thoughtfully, his hand brushing against the hilt of his sword. “That’s good. Tell them to wait for my return and not move ahead any further until then.”

“As you will, Great One,” Narro said with a bow.

The former Dothraki khal then briefed Maekar on other important matters. Thanks to the fanatical loyalty of his army, domestic concerns were few and far between. Soldiers and common folk alike revered him, seeing him as the harbinger of a new era.

Once Narro finished his report, Maekar dismissed him. He turned his gaze back to the garden, exhaling slowly. The lush greenery and vibrant blooms were unlike anything he remembered from his time. As he walked among the flowers, he wondered which king had ruined them in the future. He shook his head slightly; in his time, the gardens had been so bland compared to these.

His thoughts soon turned to the future. His conquest of Essos was no longer a question of if, but when. He had a dragon whose size and strength dwarfed even the legendary Balerion the Black Dread. Behind him stood a growing army, their fanatical loyalty rooted in the fact that he was the great liberator who had freed them from slavery.

Even now, his spies whispered of slaves in the Free Cities quietly expecting his arrival, dreaming of the day he would bring their freedom. His enemies—slave-holding oligarchs of Essos—trembled at the thought of him: an ancient Dragonlord risen from the ashes of Valyria, set to dismantle everything they knew.

But his ambitions stretched far beyond Essos.

His gaze drifted toward the towering walls of the Red Keep—a place that had once been his home, a place he had once ruled from, a place he had lost due to treachery and the icy doom from beyond the Wall. He planned to take it back as well, though not through fire and blood like he planned to use in Essos. No, his plan to conquer the Seven Kingdoms rested on patience, calculation, and a single person:

Rhaenyra.

The tales of her beauty had not been exaggerated. She was, indeed, the Realm’s Delight. In his eyes, she was even more beautiful than Daenerys. She was the key to his dream of an empire that spanned from the icy Wall to the Jade Gates.

Suddenly, he came to a stop. His thoughts scattered as he spotted the woman herself. She was seated on a marble bench surrounded by blooming roses, the bright colors of the flowers complementing her silver-gold hair. Her posture was graceful, her gaze distant, as if lost in thought.

Ser Criston Cole, her sworn protector, spotted Maekar first. His pleasant expression shifted into one of visible disdain—though it was only a flicker before he resumed his neutral demeanor.

‘What a creep,’ Maekar thought as he recalled the tales whispered about Rhaenyra and Criston in the histories of this period. He wondered if they were true. The man had known her since she was six years old, a fact that made those tales all the more unsettling.

He strode confidently toward the princess, and as he did, she noticed him and rose to greet him, her smile warm and inviting.

“Dragonlord,” she said with a slight bow of her head, her voice soft yet firm.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” he greeted, inclining his head slightly in return. “I hope I am not intruding.”

Her smile widened, her purple eyes bright with interest. “Not at all, my lord. I was simply enjoying the day.”

Maekar allowed himself a small smile. “The gardens here are certainly beautiful. They seem even more so with the Realm’s Delight gracing them.”

Rhaenyra’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment, though she masked it well. “You are too kind, my lord. Perhaps you would care to join me?” She gestured toward the bench she had just risen from.

“Why don’t we walk?” Maekar suggested, gesturing toward the winding paths of the garden. “I’ve been wanting to see the famed gardens of the Red Keep in their entirety.”

Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly, a faint smile gracing her lips. “I would be honored to show you, my lord.”

They began to stroll through the gardens, Maekar keeping his pace steady, matching hers. He had only spoken with the princess at the feasts and other events organized by Viserys, and even then, their conversations had been brief. It had often seemed like she was avoiding him—one time, he had even caught her glaring at Laena.

“Your father is a remarkable man,” Maekar said, breaking the silence. “To name you his heir is quite admirable.”

Rhaenyra’s expression shifted slightly, her smile fading into something more guarded. “Not many agreed with his decision,” she said quietly. “They still don’t, especially after my brother was born.”

Maekar nodded, his tone measured. “In Valyria, the eldest was heir, whether boy or girl. It is good that your father broke away from Andal customs.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened slightly, her expression tinged with amazement. “Truly? I did not know that.”

Maekar smiled, pleased by her curiosity. “It is the truth. The blood of the dragon did not discriminate when it came to these matters.”

“Tell me, Lord Maekar,” she began, “about Valyria. What was it truly like?”

Maekar’s expression turned thoughtful, his mind already weaving the intricate web of stories he had crafted about the Freehold. “It was magnificent,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of reverence. “But by the time of the Doom, it was already in decline. The cities were grand, the dragons powerful, but decadence and internal strife had eroded its strength.”

He paused, his gaze shifting to the horizon as if looking back through centuries. “If the Doom had not come, a civil war would have torn it apart—a conflict so devastating it would have shattered Valyria as surely as the Fourteen Flames erupting.”

Rhaenyra hesitated, her steps slowing as she glanced at Maekar. “Do you plan to rebuild it?” she asked softly.

Maekar turned his gaze to her, his eyes thoughtful. “Yes,” he said after a moment, his voice steady. “But not as it was. A new Valyria—stronger and wiser, one that learns from the past and does not repeat its mistakes.”

Her brow furrowed, her lips pressing together as she considered his words. “A new Valyria…” she murmured, almost to herself.

Maekar added, “I was surprised to hear that your ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, chose to conquer the Sunset Kingdoms.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Why does that surprise you?” she asked.

“There was a prophecy in Valyria,” he said, his voice taking on a quieter tone, “one that foretold its end. It spoke of ‘lions gold’ that would be its doom.  Some believed it referred to the great gold mines of the Lannisters—that their wealth would somehow bring about Valyria’s downfall. Because of that, any conquest of Westeros was seen as… ill-advised.”

Rhaenyra stopped mid-step, her eyes widening. “I didn’t know that,” she said, a note of awe in her voice. “I had always wondered why, even at its strongest, Valyria never turned its gaze west. Aegon was able to conquer the Seven Kingdoms with only three dragons.”

They continued their walk, and as they strolled through the vibrant gardens, Maekar regaled her with more tales of old Valyria.

Rhaenyra listened intently, her eyes sparkling with fascination. “It must have been incredible,” she said, her voice tinged with longing. “To see such wonders…”

Maekar chuckled softly. He found amusement in weaving his embellished tales, watching the awe and curiosity on her face. But he also reminded himself to keep track of his lies, ensuring his stories would never contradict one another. The journal he kept—a record of every fabricated detail he invented—was proving to be one of his most valuable tools.

Seeing her interest and now more comfortable in each other’s presence, Maekar decided to take a chance.

“I find your company refreshing, Princess,” Maekar said with a warm smile. “You have a good sense of humor.”

Rhaenyra looked at him, her expression softening. “You must be the only one—since Ser Criston—to enjoy it.”

Maekar’s gaze flicked to Criston, who stood at a respectful distance. The knight’s face betrayed a flicker of annoyance at her words, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. ‘Time to annoy him more,’ Maekar thought with an inward chuckle as he turned back to Rhaenyra.

“New friendships,” he began smoothly, “are forged best over shared meals. Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner this evening?”

Rhaenyra hesitated, her lips parting as though she were about to respond, but no words came. For a moment, she seemed caught off guard.

Finally, she asked, “Will Lady.. Laena.. be.. joining us?”

Maekar tilted his head slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Would you like her to?” he asked, his tone light but curious.

“No,” she said quickly, the word spilling out before she could stop it. Rhaenyra’s eyes widened slightly at her own response, and she quickly shook her head, her cheeks flushing faintly. “No, I mean… she is your betrothed,” she added, her voice trailing off as she tried to recover her composure.

Maekar chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “We can dine alone, Rhaenyra,” he said. “I find private conversations far more enjoyable. There is less distraction, and one can speak more… freely.”

Before Rhaenyra could reply, Criston stepped forward, his expression stern. “This is not appropriate,” he said sharply. “She is a maiden, and such an invitation—”

Rhaenyra turned to him, her tone firm. “There is nothing wrong with a meal, Ser Criston. I will bring my handmaidens… and you as well.”

Criston hesitated, his mouth opening as if to argue further, but Rhaenyra’s sharp gaze silenced him. She turned back to Maekar, her expression softening once more. “I apologize for Ser Criston,” she said politely. “I will join you for dinner this evening.”

Maekar inclined his head with a smile, his voice smooth as silk. “Until then, Princess.” He stepped back and turned to leave.

As he passed Criston, their eyes met, and Maekar allowed a sly wink to escape. He saw Criston’s jaw tighten further, his annoyance evident.

‘I am going to enjoy killing him sometime in the future,’ he thought as he made his way out of the gardens.

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