Paradosi
patreon
A Song of Blackjack and Hookers (chapter 32)
🕑 Added 2025-07-27 21:57:43 +0000 UTCDavos
Black Betha had been one of the first to return to Dragonstone, the storm having scattered the royal fleet across the narrow sea. Fury had returned next, his lord and two of his sons returned to him with it, though he only dared to feel relief after he caught sight of Lady Marya’s sails the day after, and a lightly battered Wraith in the night.
King Robert’s Hammer had not been as fortunate, and there were still more than a few that they hadn’t found or hadn’t found their way back.
Then they had heard the news, that the lords had chosen Renly for a king and that all those true to King Robert were to make for King’s Landing to pledge their fealty.
Davos was the furthest thing from a high lord, but even to him it seemed a mad folly that the younger brother should succeed over the elder. All his sons knew that Dale would rule the small keep Stannis had given to him after he was gone. For it to be otherwise would have seen them bicker over who it should be instead, forgetting they were brothers first.
He would have expected Stannis to be furious for Renly’s treachery, as well as for making hostages of Lady Selyse and Shireen, but instead his lord only coldly commanded him aboard Fury, and soon they sailed for King’s Landing.
It was Renly that met them at the docks, the parts that weren’t blackened or crumbled into the river. “Brother! Allow me to welcome you back to King’s Landing!”
Stannis stared down at him with eyes like a winter storm. “I do not see a crown. Had you lost it already?”
His brother only seemed to smile. “There is a pageantry to these things, Stannis. Not that I would expect you to understand.”
He looked over the would-be king and the procession of knights and lords at his back, chief of all Ser Loras Tyrell who glowered at Stannis not unlike a boy denied his supper.
Davos caught his own son shifting from one foot to the other nervously, though he still put on a brave face for a boy of one-and-ten. He still well remembered how proud he felt when Devan was named Stannis’s own squire.
“There is still time to give up this folly, Renly. Tell the lords who followed you in it whatever you like, but they will pay homage to their rightful king. I will afford you all rights and privileges as befits your station.”
Renly seemed to find some jest in his lord’s words. “How generous of you, brother! Yet those lords who have pledged themselves to me hail from the Wall to the Red Mountains. What lords have pledged to you but the stewards of salt-stained rocks?”
Stannis’s jaw tightened. “Your usurper’s kingdom is a thing of motley. They will abandon you at the first defeat.”
“They called our brother a usurper also. Even now I do believe the son comes before his uncle,” Renly glibly remarked. “Will you take his brothers’ heads before placing a crown upon Prince Lann’s brow?”
“There was precedent for the attaintment of Aerys the Second’s line as with Aerion Brightflame.”
Renly gave a dull look for it. “I did not come here to argue the histories with you, brother. Instead I will return your generous terms. Acknowledge me as your king and you will retain all rights and privileges as befits the Lord of Dragonstone and master of ships.” The sun caught on the embroidery of his cape as he threw it back with a smile almost pleasant. “I would think your wife and daughter wish you returned to them.”
His lord only returned a grim smile at the naked threat. “Did you think I was not already forewarned of your treachery, Renly? We shall see how long your kingdom of flowers and motley lasts with the narrow sea closed to you.”
The smile had slipped from Renly’s lips like water as Fury weighed anchor and broke off from the docks.
Stannis met his eyes after. “You will proceed as planned, Ser Davos.” He saw the worry in the stern lines but held his tongue.
His son followed after Stannis below deck, but such was a squire’s duty.
They only sailed out as far as needed to sell their departure. Then under the cover of dark he returned, rowing to King’s Landing as he had a thousand times, if many years past. Any smuggler worth his salt could do no less.
Flea Bottom was also just as he remembered it. Which was to say it stank of piss and worse.
He still remembered his way through the streets to where his lord wanted him to be. A familiar heat soon enveloped him at the touch of a hand to his and a whisper in his ear. “Light for us the way, Ser Davos.”
It was not the red woman that he saw, but a younger man with a queer smile. With him were two others that huddled closely, a mousy woman and a boy with perhaps as many years as Devan.
He nodded after a moment. It was not his place to question despite his suspicions.
As he was rowing them back to where Fury waited for them, he watched as the trickery fell away to reveal the red woman, a ruby burning brightly as it was plucked from her silks. Two smaller rubies did she pluck as well, revealing Lady Selyse and a frightened Shireen.
“Loose thoughts can tempt disaster as much as loose lips, Ser Davos.” Her red eyes seared into his own with the words.
He gave a weary sigh as he kept rowing.
“Will Patches be alright?” the princess squeaked out. “He will be all alone.”
Lady Selyse did not seem much inclined to humor her, so he tried. “None would harm a fool, princess. Likely he will be in good company with Moon Boy.”
“Moon Boy doesn’t like Patches,” she whispered sadly. He did not know what to say to that.
Stannis met his wife and daughter dutifully. “We return to Dragonstone.”
The red woman lingered, and so did he, speaking before she could. “The Lady Greyjoy’s ship will soon have reached the Stepstones. If we wish Salladhor Saan to waylay them, we needs get the word to him now.”
“There would be no greater folly,” the red woman swiftly followed, prompting a frown from him. What game was she playing at now?
“I had thought you would be pleased, my lady. Had you not named him an enemy of your red god?”
“The Lord of Light has revealed to me that he must reach Volantis. To bar his way now will not serve Your Grace.” Her eyes had turned to his lord as she said it.
“I do not yet bear a crown,” Stannis curtly replied.
“You have borne the only crown that ever mattered since you came into this world. You are R’hllor’s champion, and your brother can no more stand against you than a thing of threadbare cloth can stand the flames.”
He remained quiet as Stannis looked upon her doubtfully. “And how many swords will your god provide me? How many lances?”
“How many swords and lances would you have required to breach the Red Keep on this day?” The woman just as red drew an uncomfortable glance from his lord as she neared. “You have put your trust in the Lord of Light today. You need only continue to let him light the way for you.”
Davos could see the uncertainty bleeding through those stern lines as much as he could see the worry earlier. The sight spurred some words from him. “I recall that you had need of a strong pair of hands still to see it done, my lady.”
Her eyes turned upon him again, the heat from her turning the night to day. “We are all instruments of the god, Ser Davos. Some only prove themselves more stubborn to wield.”
“Then what does your god suggest?” Stannis cut in sharply.
“R’hllor has deigned to show me much this past moon,” she husked in her deep, melodic voice. “It was Solomon’s hand that had spirited away the lion queen. In the flames I saw her heart, grasping and reaching and yellow.”
“You contradict yourself, Lady Melisandre,” Stannis interrupted. “You say Solomon is in league with all my enemies with one hand and defend him with the other.”
“It was not said in defense of him,” she insisted. “It would be folly not because he must reach Volantis, but because I have already seen that he will. I suspect Salladhor Saan would turn his cloak if you commanded it.”
Davos could not say there was no truth to her words. Saan shared a few queer words with him about Solomon when they had last spoken, and recently he had complained to him of the Braavosi.
“Then you suggest I am to wait as all the pieces continue to be arranged against me?”
“I only suggest that we not act blindly, my king. R’hllor has deigned to show me more, a clutch of dragons attended to by snakes and spears.”
It made him think of Dorne, and his lord gave a weary sigh for it.
“My treacherous brother on the Iron Throne, a queen just as treacherous in the west and now what remains of Aerys the Second’s tainted line in the south. No doubt the Greyjoys will not wait long to vex me also. All as a whoremonger, a perfumed eunuch and a mummer’s sorcerer play their games and the realm burns.”
Davos was glad that no crown would ever grace his lowly head. It seemed far more trouble than it was worth to him.
“The Enemy would see all the realms of men destroyed. He sends you these distractions to weaken your resolve.”
Stannis sent her a miserable look before he retreated below as well.
“I am not your enemy, Ser Davos.” Her eyes like two red coals stared into his soul again.
“I have seen enough of your god to be wary, my lady,” he returned. “Fire shares with us its warmth, aye, but it also scorches and burns.”
“Will you also spurn water for it might drown you?”
What words he could have said hesitated to leave his lips, and the day already weighed heavily on his eyes. “Sleep well, my lady.”
Davos had said it as a courtesy, for he had never seen her head so much as grace a pillow.
His own slumber took him swiftly.
Arianne
It had been half a year’s time since she last placed her eyes upon Solomon the Magnificent. Where before he had the bearings of an Andal lord, he now smothered himself in a yellow that seemed almost alive to her.
His dark hair also stretched across his shoulders and back now, wild and untamed, and his skin pale as milk.
Though it was how he moved that had changed the most to her eyes. Where before each step was graceful, now he seemed to move like a mummer’s puppet, pulled by strings she could not see.
Had he always looked like this and he only pretended otherwise?
He greeted her betrothed first, then her father and uncle. Finally, he reached her, his lips softly touching the back of her hand. “Princess,” he husked, his voice still cream and honey.
This close she felt as if there was something slimy moving across her skin, her hairs on edge. Then his eyes rose to meet hers, not like she remembered but an uncanny green that pierced through her soul.
Her cousins all looked at him in their own way, some like a monster was walking among them and others like a mystery to be figured out. Obara and Nym looked at him much like a beetle whose wings they’d like to pluck.
Daenerys Targaryen meanwhile stared at him with a queer intensity.
“I imagine you have all heard the news,” Solomon said as he returned to the center of Sunspear’s throne room.
“We had wondered if you had,” her father returned as he lightly leaned on his cane. “Perhaps a folly where you are concerned.”
“The Usurper is dead,” Viserys next spoke, the satisfaction still bleeding through him. “Though it is not his son that now sits his stolen throne.”
“More the Kingslayer’s son than his own,” Nym mocked. “I wonder if the lion bitch thought it funny to give a stag horns.”
“Is it true?” Prince Oberyn asked, more subdued than his daughters.
“It is,” Solomon answered. “Not that Tywin will ever admit it to himself. Renly had also made an enemy in Stannis when he thought to take the throne himself.”
Her betrothed exchanged a glance with her uncle and father from his throne. “While my heart yearns to reveal its true heirs still live,” he started softly, “I think it wiser to wait until a more opportune moment.”
Solomon inclined his head. “It will not be too long now until a red comet heralds the dawn of a new Age of Heroes, Your Grace. Let it also herald your return.”
Viserys seemed to like the sound of those words, though it was Obara who spoke next. “A red comet you promise. Dragons you promise. Are all sorcerers so generous?”
Arianne heard her uncle give a sigh, though Solomon only smiled at her words.
“I’m afraid not. Only me.” Obara scowled at the jest as he continued. “Three dragons eggs do we possess.” His too-green eyes turned upon Viserys, who stared back more nervously. “You have seen in your dreams Balerion the Black Dread reborn. Your sister has dreamed of a dragon also, one born of the union between Silverwing and Vermithor.”
The Targaryen princess’s lips parted slightly, though not from a lie.
“That leaves a third, Your Grace,” Solomon finished quietly, his meaning clear.
“The histories have not been kind to those who tried to claim a dragon without Targaryen blood,” her father commented.
“A dragon is a symbol of royalty,” she dared to speak herself. “Unless you intend to wed Princess Daenerys, it would be an… uncomfortable arrangement.”
The princess herself reddened at her words. It was Viserys who spoke first, however.
“I see no reason she cannot. You have been true to me.”
Arianne spared a glance at her betrothed, a queer earnestness to him not unlike the way her brothers looked to their father sometimes.
“I would not wish such a decision be imposed on her,” he softly rejected or delayed. “A dragon is only another form of sorcery, Your Grace.”
“I do not think we are in any position to refuse you,” her uncle interjected in a drawl. “What remains of Summerhall presents a rather poignant reminder of the dangers.”
Viserys had turned to stare at the would-be bride, not content to let the issue lie. “Would you speak against the match, sister?”
His sister wilted under all the attention, though she soon marshalled herself. “I would not.”
Trys glowered at the sorcerer for it, who seemed to give a shrug of his shoulders like it couldn’t be helped. “In any case I think it best to wait until I have returned from Volantis.”
Most men would have crawled through a nest of pineshrubs naked to wed themselves to royalty, but the one before her took to the matter irreverently, like a stroll through the Water Gardens.
It stirred a certain part of her to life even if he was not as handsome as she remembered.
Viserys she saw had a small pout to his thin lips, and his sister simply demurred with a blush at the proceedings.
“Volantis?” her uncle asked curiously.
“You are welcome to join Maegon Lessaryon and myself, Prince Oberyn. Unless you fear the Lady Meraena would not respond too kindly to your presence?”
Her eyes stole a glance at the Volantene nobleman at his back, and not for the first time. He was as beautiful as a sculpture carved from moonlight, his silver hair arranged perfectly.
Her uncle soon chuckled at the thought. “I do not rightly know. It has been many a year.” He turned to Nym. “What do you think, daughter?”
Her cousin had seemed uncertain for all of a heartbeat, a rare thing to behold on her at all. “She named you a rogue and a scoundrel the few times she had written me.”
“Then she spoke truly.” Prince Oberyn toyed with his dark locks a moment. “I have been feeling restless of late, and there has been some queer news from Myr. With any luck we might find ourselves amidst a war.”
Her father sent him a weary look that went ignored.
“Sunspear is of course open to you,” he spoke after. “That is if you are not departing immediately?” His cane tapped lightly against the stones as he neared the sorcerer.
“It would be good to rest a few days.”
“Then I should like to speak on the morrow,” her father mentioned.
Viserys stood from his throne at the words. “I would not wait until the morrow.”
Solomon gave a gracious bow. “I am at your service, Your Grace.”
“My sister would have a few words to say as well, I am certain.”
A hint of something like annoyance crossed the sorcerer for it, though her betrothed had missed it. Instead he waited for his sister to approach.
Finally, he turned to her and took her hand. “If you would be my wife and queen, I would have no secrets between us.”
Arianne did not take long to accept, though the truth of his words was not near as exciting as what she momentarily imagined. No debauchery. Not even the hint of a dalliance!
After the stories she heard of Targaryens and sorcerers both, it was an unhappy disappointment.
Instead her betrothed listened intently as Solomon recanted some of the happenings in King’s Landing. Then he lost himself in the mirror the sorcerer plucked from all the yellow.
She had almost pouted at it all when those uncanny green eyes found her again. Something slithered against her skull and suddenly she was elsewhere. A field of flowers?
The next moment she found herself being taken like a beast, her nails gouging out flowers and dirt as she heaved and cried like a woman possessed. The sorcerer filled her so completely, so perfectly, that she quickly fell under the sway of whatever spell he had placed on her.
“Is this what you wanted?” he husked in her ear, her hair held tightly in his hands like the reins of a horse.
Arianne did not answer so much as heave and groan and scream as he had his wicked way with her. How long it all went on she could not say, her sense of time fraying at the edges.
Then just as suddenly it stopped, and she was back under Sunspear’s walls as if nothing happened. Yet her head felt hot and her insides squirmed.
He sent her a haunting look also, a knowing smile on his lips. Her thighs pressed together as she struggled to stand.
Her eyes found the questioning violet of the Targaryen princess. What words she could have said hesitated to pass her lips, that maddening heat still sticking to her every thought like the honey trickling down her thighs.
Instead she fled as quickly as her skirts allowed.
