Well, it took some time to get the chapter done but I assure you that it would be worth it. This chapter took a lot out of me, it's my longest chapter by far about 10000 words! This chapter has been beta'd by Plagued Ambition.

Chapter - 7

"Are you sure this is it?" Veekeris asked frowning, from atop a building. Qyburn sat beside him in a crouch, cursing the dampness of his cloak. Even Braavos wasn't left unscathed by the Storm of the Century. Thunder was roaring, and wet winds were strong enough to make his cloak bellow like a banner. Thankfully, it had stopped raining but only the Seven knew how long it was going to stay this way. Considering the weather, not long…

"Of course," Qyburn grumbled, his tone condescending. "It's what I do, I experiment and I know things." His whisperers ensured it. After all, he had a reputation to maintain as a learned man that was his only weapon.

Veekeris' lips thinned, his eyes roamed the modest estate beneath him, receiving the full bird's-eye view from where he was standing. There were about twenty trained soldiers along with few sell-swords guarding the red-doored building from all sides possible but considering the way they were patrolling and pacing around they seemed relaxed. Probably because they think they've escaped the clutches of Usurper but they haven't escaped mine yet!

"This will be difficult maybe we should come back later." Qyburn suggested, Veekeris didn't miss the silent pleading in his tone. Was the old man afraid? He never showed such reluctance when he risked everything by talking to me at the ship. I could've easily killed him definitely easier than the riff-raffs down there. So what changed? He couldn't help but wonder.

"No, this is the perfect moment to infiltrate the mansion." Veekeris replied, shaking his head.

"Perfect moment!" Qyburn guffawed, raising his walking stick threateningly. "It's dark as death tonight but even I see the number of men down there are too many and too much for a single man to handle. I am a man of knowledge not a warrior. You will have to take arms against those men by yourself; don't expect any such help from me."

"As entertaining as the thought of you swinging a sword is," Veekeris replied, rolling his eyes as a small smile graced his face. "I am more than enough for the guys down there. I just want you to follow me, and it just so happens that we are in luck, no one will be able to see us in the cover of dark."

Qyburn's brows scrunched in abject frustration at the young man's sheer nonchalance and overconfidence, "Neither can we! And need I remind you ah-gain that you will be fighting all of them singlehandedly."

"You have seen me bring a storm," Veekeris replied, reprimanding. "Do you really think that those idiots stand a chance against someone of my caliber?"

"Arrogance will be your first step to the grave." Qyburn's wisdom cut like a surgical knife. Unkind and Apathetic.

"It's not arrogance if you can back it up." Veekeris replied, leaping from the building as minor cracks appeared onto the stone tiles of the roof he was standing only a scant few moments ago.

Qyburn struggled to work his jaw for a minute; not quite believing what the boy had just done. He rushed towards the lad with as much strength as his old bones could muster. He was dreading to see a body crushed beyond recognition. Instead, he saw the vague silhouette of a young man rushing towards the building housing the once great dragons.

By the Old and New Gods! Qyburn cursed at the stupidity and total lack of self-preservation on the boy's part.

He should've known something sinister was afoot the instant the boy started asking about the ancient Valyrian Freeholds and Targaryen's. He should've know the boy wasn't a common traveler like him. He carried himself like a soldier on a mission. By the Old and New Gods, he should've known!

Maybe, it was his own excitement that blinded him but before he knew - A simple conversation of ancient legends turned towards the monumental happenings of recent past. He tried to lie, he tried to protect him instead all he got in return was a knife to his throat and a promise of making his life a living hell if he didn't start speaking the truth.

Qyburn shivered at the memory, he had never seen eyes so cold and dead to the world. It felt as if he was staring into the eyes of one of his own dissected corpses. For the boy's general innocuous disposition, there was a darkness which rattled Qyburn to his core.

He gave another gruff look towards the compound scrunching his eyebrows, "I am not jumping to my death."

And like a sensible person, he took the stairs.

"Take your position you fools!" Ser Willem Darry cried, "Don't just laze around when Usurper's hands can easily reach our throats!"

Gods! He hated sellswords, and he hated himself for being reduced to this. He was once the master-at-arms in the Red Keep now he was dealing with the sorts who worked only for the gold. It made him clench his teeth but he had had a duty to the true rulers of seven kingdoms and he would be damned thrice if he forsook it like the rest of the great families of Westeros had.

I will do my duty until the day my very bones turn to dust… Ser Darry thought, knowing there wasn't much life left in him anymore. His back was already hunched, and his skin now had the consistency of old leather. He had maybe a few years in him before he would meet the Stranger. So, he prayed hoping that the 'Mother' would have mercy on Queen Rhaella's soul.

Because if she didn't survive, and if he were to lose his life then he didn't trust any of these soldiers or sellswords to take care of Prince Viserys or the coming babe. He cringed visibly when another blood-curdling scream tore from the birthing chambers.

Ser Darry released a pained sigh when he peered at the sellswords who were still laughing, drinking, and whoring with nary a concern or worry; blowing through their coins like no tomorrow. All this war and strife seemed like a dream to him, the kind which happened ages ago. Yet no matter how much he wished that wasn't reality. He won't be suddenly waking up, and realize that he was in the Red Keep and had duties to tend for Prince Rhaegar and his Queen. He won't open his eyes and realize that the people closest to him weren't dead anymore.

No matter what he did, this new hell was his reality.

Ser Darry snarled, opening his mouth for a tongue-lashing which the sellswords would never forget. However, it died in his throat when all the candles in the hall died like they were never lit.

A cool gust of wind passed and utter darkness engulfed them.

The old knight gulped, barely holding back a shiver. He drew the sword out from his sheath and gave it a quick spin. His eyes dilated trying to see through the inky darkness. This wasn't an accident. There was no way this was an act of nature… It might have just been his already unsurmountable paranoia—thanks to the recent events—but it had kept him alive for this long. He won't be discarding them anytime soon.

Plates fell with a clang, men fought and tried to scream for a mere moment before all were silenced abruptly. Ser Darry's fear mounted, he frantically looked around. Silence took over the hall like a hanging guillotine just waiting to roll of few heads. "Show yourself you cravens!" Darry cried, waving his sword around like a maniac in thin air. "Show yourself and face me like a warrior instead of cloaking yourself in the shadows!"

Ser Willem strutted around almost tumbling on his feet, his weariness from the last few months catching up to him. His eyes grew wide and his shoulders shook. Whoever these people were they knew how to conduct their business. He couldn't hear a single noise, neither their steps nor their breath. It's like their feet didn't touch the same creaky wooden floor he walked on, it was like they didn't breathe the same air as he did.

"Come out, damn you!" He wailed.

The night sky of Bravos lit up, a ravenous thunder roared through the great city and the very heavens screamed in agony. Ser Willem Derry watched in horrified fascination as the sight he craved so much returned for a single instant only for it to make way to darkness once again.

He wished it hadn't. Once alive dining hall was riddled with unmoving bodies. Nothing moved, even the women weren't spared. It was like they were hit by an… army. Fear like he had never known gripped him. He didn't fear losing his life, having already lived a long and fulfilling one but what he feared was failing his solemn duty to Queen Rhaella, and to her family. He didn't want to be amongst the countless who had already betrayed their duty and their vows.

Did he underestimate Robert? Did Robert truly hate his own distant kin so much that he would send hired swords to do the deed which he couldn't do himself?

"Come out, you no-good cunts!" Ser Derry swung his sword harder than before. "Come out and kill me! 'cause there's not a way in hell you're getting to Lady Rhaella without passing through me!"

Another deafening thunder lit up the cloudy night sky.

Ser Derry's breath hitched, it seemed as if time itself stood still. Extending mere seconds to ages. There stood his assailant in a cloak as dark as the night. Even in this blinding darkness his face was clear to the old knight.

Derry wondered how can a man who looked so beautiful could inspire such fear and violence. If it could even be called that. Violence was when men lost control of their tempers and were reduced to nothing more than animals, slaves to their baser instincts. However, those azure blue eyes of his weren't lost or wild by any means. They had a sanity to them which would rattle even a veteran warrior to his core.

Those shinning blue eyes were the last things Derry saw before the figure pounced on him like a panther. His speed and power, too unreal to be human.

Forgive me… My Queen….

The shrill cry of an infant rang through the small confines of the room like a beating bell.

Jon Connington palmed his head in dismay, feeling his old age weigh him down more than ever. His once fiery-red hair had turned white and his sword-skills which had won him many a tourney in his yester-years as the infamous – Griffin's Hand, had dulled beyond measure. Needless to say, he was no longer the man he once was. His age had caught up to him like the grip of a Stranger. That fact became clearer than ever when he was handed a sound defeat by Robert Baratheon in the – Battle of Bells.

Thunder roared like a voracious beast, and another shrill cry echoed through the room.

Jon slowly embraced the silver-haired babe to his chest, relieving him from his wooden crib. He rocked the babe, humming a mindless tune. Considering, how the babe's cry rose in pitch, it didn't seem to comfort the infant. And he knew he was to blame for it, he was a knight not a wet-nurse. Unfortunately, all the available ladies were tending to Queen Rhaella and her upcoming babe.

And by her screams, it wasn't going well.

"Calm down my prince," Jon spoke softly, "You are to be a king. A king doesn't have the luxury to moan or cry. He must stand steadfast, and strong so that his vassals can follow him with confidence even in death. A mere thunder shouldn't frighten you so."

The baby cried harder, and Jon released a tortured sigh. He should've known that wouldn't work. After all, the future king was nothing more than a child dependent on his mother's teats. However, despite the infant's present inadequacies he couldn't help but stare at the child longingly.

This silver-haired little dragon was his Rhaegar's child, his only son. And he was Jon's only hope. Redemption was still within his sights. He had failed to save Rhaegar at Redfort. He wasn't present at the battle but that wouldn't stop it from haunting him for the rest of his life yet despite all his failures there was redemption. These old bones still had strength in them to guide little Aegon to the king he's supposed to be just like his father. He had made so many mistakes in this war and had failed so many times from the battle at the bells to allowing King's Landing to turn into an inferno while he was still the King's Hand. However, he won't fail in protecting and guiding Aegon – The First of his name, The True King.

Even after months, he wondered whether Rhaegar would've still been alive and living amongst them if he hadn't so spectacularly failed in killing the damned barbarian (Robert Baratheon), that was the source of his greatest guilt. On that day, only if his sword had dug deeper, then the Dragons would've still reigned supreme and unchallenged. If only…

But now, here they were without a penny in their hands, and their mighty navy reduced to smithereens – thanks to the thrice-damned storm. Yet despite his lamentations there was hope, as long as Aegon lived there was hope.

Another thunder roared through the sky. Aegon squirmed in Jon's hands forcing him to put the young boy back into his crib, "There you go, my prince. Nothing to be afraid of, just the same ol' thunder."

The lights went off.

"Damn," Jon cursed. "The oils must have run out."

But then Jon heard the muffled noises followed by grave silence. Something's not right, he thought in trepidation. Slowly, unsheathing his sword from his hip. The hall was boisterous moment ago. But now not a pip?

The babe let out a pained gurgle.

"Quiet, my prince!" Jon spoke, his voice faint but the urgency was clear. However, such importance was lost on Aegon who continued to wail no matter the reason.

Jon's hand moved quietly to the nearby firewood, and in a quick snap he lit back the lantern and stood in front of the door with his sword raised. Waiting to slice the first person who would dare to breach prince's chamber. He would not fail! He could not fail! Jon's eyes hardened. He will protect Aegon, no matter what! Come what may come! Aegon was the last thing he had left of his beloved Rhaegar, and he would not fail him again. If he did then he wouldn't be able to look at his Rhaegar's eyes.

Minutes passed.

The tension was palpable. Jon was sweating like a pig. The silence was so damning that he could hear his own heart beat frantically.

Then it dawned on him, it was silent. Why wasn't Aegon crying anymore!? The little boy had been nothing but a crying runt all day! Did someone kill him when his eyes were turned? He didn't dare turn back. Did he already fail Rhaegar? He didn't think he had it in him to see the lifeless eyes of Aegon. But then he heard the sweetest sound in the world – a beautiful innocent giggle of a child.

Courage filled his veins. He turned back swiftly and saw a man standing right in front of the crib, smiling gently at Aegon. He wore the common robes of a westerosi peasant but he looked too good to be in them. At first glance, he seemed like a pricey Lyseian pleasure-slave but by his posture and attitude; he could only be a warrior. There wasn't a single opening in his stance, Jon felt himself sweat as his grip on the hilt tightened. His sword never felt heavier in his hands.

The blonde man directed a nonchalant look at him almost yawning in boredom, Jon gulped. Even though the man didn't radiate any aggressiveness there was this silent intimidation which put him on edge.

"Get away from the prince." Jon spoke, taking a single step forward.

Aegon giggled and extended his hands to the intruder in clear delight, begging and clapping for the man's attention which the boy had yet to do in his presence.

Jon's face darkened.

Envy.

Jon felt envy, he would never forget this twisted, dark, and empty feeling coursing through his veins. When was the last time he had felt like this…? He didn't have to think long; Elia Martell, the name rang in his mind like a bell. The woman who had taken the most precious thing from him… the woman who took Rhaegar while all he could do was watch helplessly. The woman who couldn't even meet Rhaegar's needs, as far as Jon knew she might as well have killed him.

"Who are you?" Jon snarled. "State your business intruder, or find your life forfeit!"

Veekeris didn't spare the man a glance instead he picked the still giggling Aegon up with a gentleness which belied his very nature. One look at the babe and Veekeris knew beyond any doubt that this was Elia's child. The babe might not have her tan or her lush dark hair but the eyes and cheekbones were all her.

"I've finally found you…" Veekeris muttered, rocking the babe. His relief was self-evident.

"Answer me! You no-good craven." Jon cried, desperate.

Veekeris frowned, holding Aegon tightly. "You've taken something which doesn't belong to you. I've come to reclaim him."

"Prince Aegon was entrusted to me by his father!"

"You mean by Lord Varys!" Veekeris scornfully replied, "Who went beyond, what his station allowed him. He had no right to give this child away to anyone."

"What gives you the right to take him then!?" Jon took another step, his sword gleamed in the lantern's light. Sharper than ever. "You who have broken into our sanctum like a no-good assassin. A man who lurks in the shadows like a wraith. You of all, have no place raising a child. Cease this foolishness at once! Put the babe back in his crib and I shall let you leave without a mark on your shoulders…" He finished clenching his jaw.

Aegon squirmed, only for Veekeris to rub his back gently until the boy settled.

"You're right I don't have any right to raise him…"

Jon smirked victoriously.

"but even you must agree that a child belongs with his mother." Veekeris finished.

Jon stiffened for a moment blinking his eyes in confusion before his face twisted in red hot rage and contempt. That woman again! He screamed, Again she tries to take something precious from me!

Qyburn's hand fidgeted as he neared the manor. It was all the cold in the air, the storm of the century might have passed but it still had left its after-effects. Roaring thunder, wind cold enough to freeze once balls were only a few of them. Not to mention even the tarred roads of Braavos were left damp and muddy in the storm's wake. He could feel the thick mud digging into his boots soles.

Qyburn's teeth chattered when another cold wind passed. He wondered when his life had taken such a laughable turn that he of all would dare to antagonize the Royal family. Fallen they might be now, but the blood of Old Valyria still flowed through them. And the worst still, he didn't know what the foolish boy really wanted to achieve by doing all this. Was he sent here to kill the last of the dragons? Qyburn thought. That seemed like the most logical conclusion, as long as the Queen and her children were alive Robert Baratheon would only ever be a Usurper. That must grate a prideful man like him.

But then again who could even hope to control a monster like a Veekeris. He was like the very storm, someone who couldn't be caged or tamed by any manner. A being of pure unadulterated power that's what Veekeris was. As far as Qyburn knew about the human anatomy and he knew quite a bit – there wasn't a single way he could think of which would make Veekeris seem human by any standards. It was like trying to compare a dragon to a common house lizard. Preposterous in its extreme!

The boy was unique, one of a kind.

Maybe that was the very same reason that he of all decided to follow Veekeris no matter the madness. After all a specimen like him needed to be studied and researched. He couldn't wait to uncover all of his secrets. Since, the day he met Veekeris on the ship, the boy had lit a fire in him like no other. For the first time in his life, he had questions which he didn't know answers of.

The feeling of unknown was exhilarating. It was a novelty which only few maesters could claim to have experienced. The only way he could compare his joy was that of a mother who had just given birth to her first child. Pure hope and giddiness. Such strong emotion have always eluded him.

Qyburn trotted into the place, heaving through the red door expecting to see Veekeris either killed or subdued by two dozen sellswords. It was anything but that…

Qyburn chuckled, and then he threw his head back and laughed harder, "Amazing My Lord! You truly are amazing!" His voice echoed through the lifeless halls.

A pained groan broke Qyburn from his descent to lunacy, he turned towards a man who laid on the floor clutching his abdomen, while his raw throat whispered a single phrase incessantly, "Is it this man's turn to receive the gift?" Qyburn looked at the man surprised, he had though that all the men in the hall were dead.

Qyburn scurried towards the single man alive, and kicked him in the ribs with a might spin; rendering the poor man unconscious. Curiosity filled him, as he stared at the other lifeless bodies sprawled around the dining hall like dead fishes. Were they not dead? He mused. Qyburn loitered towards one of the other body and placed two of his fingers on the side of the man's bruised neck.

BUMP!

Qyburns's eyes widened, he had heard it! It was faint but it was there. And he had no doubt it was the same for the rest of them. Such skill… Qyburn wondered in awe. Somehow Veekeris had brought all his assailant to a near death state just by few taps on their body. Even he who was the most skilled in the arts of healing struggled to achieve such feat.

What secrets do you hide, My Lord? Qyburn smiled wide, walking through the silence of thehall, when a shrill scream tore through it like a hot knife through butter. As a healer, it didn't take him long to realize what was happening. A woman was giving birth and something hadwent horribly wrong. He rushed towards the tortured soul, as fast as his old bones allowed him too. Hoping he wasn't too late already, even after the things he had done by the end of the day he was still a healer.

"Elia Martell," Jon hissed scornfully. "Did that dornish whore sent you here?"

Veekeris' eyes turned hard, and for an instant something very dangerous passed through them. "This child belongs with his mother," he said. "He needs care and guidance which you have no means to provide for. Are you not a knight loyal to the Targaryens? So, why would you keep Rhaegar's wife from their only son?" he asked heatedly.

"That is no mere child you hold boy!" Jon thundered, "That's the child who'll be the King of the Seven Kingdoms, the blood of true dragons flows through his veins. Greatness and glory has already been written in his destiny and only I'm allowed to guide him to it! Only me!" he finished.

Veekeris frowned, realizing that this was more than just about a custody of little Aegon. He could feel envy, anger, hate, love and above all regret rolling off from the man in waves. There was no point in arguing with an unreasonable man, it would be a waste of both of their time. Because no matter what happened between them there wasn't a way in hell he was leaving Elia's child with this person.

Aegon continued to tug at Veekeris' hair, giggling every now and then. Unaware of the strained circumstances.

"I'm afraid all I see is a child who's been away from his mother for far too long." Veekeris finally replied.

Something dark passed through Jon Connington, holding him in a tight grip. He scrunched his eyes. "I won't let that weak woman have Rhaegar's only son. She never deserved him nor does she deserve to raise Aegon now. Their marriage was a sham; a sin committed in the eyes of seven because Aerys—The Mad King—was enough of a lunatic to insult Tywin Lannister by disparaging his daughter. There was no love between them. It wasn't even a marriage. No wonder, Rhaegar left that weak barren woman the day he did. If it was me I would've kil–"

"Shut up." Veekeris whispered, his voice falling flat.

For a while, Jon wondered why he was struggling so hard to breath. He tried to ignore it, but the feeling persisted. The hairs on his arms stirred; his skin prickled as if it itched on the inside. The boy's word while soft had an edge to them.

Jon finally gazed at him… and he wished he hadn't. Whatever this boy was, he wasn't human.

"W-what are you, you monster!?" Jon stammered, all his anger and rage drained from him as fear took hold, like a dear old friend. He stepped back, but that didn't seem to do a thing.

Veekeris' eyes had turned into burning red slits as thick dark angry whisker marks appeared on his previously unmarked cheeks. He glared at Jon with as much loathing as he could muster.

Jon could only cower in trepidation as dark red miasma leaked out of the boy in continuous stream. Something washed over him like a specter. A fear so primal that he wanted to shove his own sword through his throat so he could end this terrible nightmare. He gazed into the boy's predatory eyes and all he saw was death. His sight grew black only to be replaced by the visions of his own body being mutilated in a hundred different ways.

Jon gagged barely holding back his bile. This was worse but what he saw next would forever haunt him, even in his next life. A humongous beast of nigh indescribable power made its presence known behind the boy like a phantom. Its tails, all nine of them swinging hypnotically, its teeth barred—sharper than any blade, and its eyes radiated murder beyond human comprehension.

Jon involuntary stepped back, until his back hit the cold wall with a thump. He screamed but no voice came out of his throat.

"You know nothing about her nor her strength," Veekeris' slit-like eyes narrowed. "If you ever talk about her ever again, I will find you no matter where you hide, and then end you. I promise… I won't waste any more words on someone who can't recognize strength when it's right in front of them. You sir are no knight."

Veekeris breathed deeply before he gave a last scornful look to the man cowering in a corner. He shook his head and felt his power recede back taking all his animalistic features along with it. Strength, what did this man knew anything about it!? Sure, Elia couldn't lift a sword, nor could she kill anyone with her bare hands but that hardly made her weak.

One look at Elia and Veekeris knew what she had been through, and how powerful she was for it. Veekeris of all people knew how easily loneliness could crush a person. And Elia was subjected to that nightmare since the very day she married Rhaegar and started her new life in King's Landing. She was lonely and helpless even in a sea of people. Continuously fearing for her life and her station thanks to an absent husband.

Even in such conditions, Elia managed to faithfully do her duty as a wife, and a mother. She even had the tenacity to manipulate him into rescuing Aegon; that fact wasn't lost on him. He knew she cared for him but she was willing to give all that up for her children. If that wasn't strength then he didn't know what the word meant.

Veekeris often had nightmares, they have been a part and parcel of his life since the day he woke up on the ship. Every now and then he would see bits and pieces of some raging battle, the images tended to be too blurry to make anything out of. But sometimes he would've have dreams of him as a young child just standing alone as people surrounded him in a circle, their eyes filled with fear and hate, talking amongst themselves while they kept him at a distance. Those dreams often woke him up with a start, gasping for breath. And Elia had gone through something in a similar vein… and that didn't sit well with him.

Elia was a lot of things; manipulative, sensual, cruel, vain but weak wasn't one of them.

Jon Connington let out shuddering breath when he felt the oppressive aura recede back to whence it came. He fell on his knees like a lifeless puppet. Tears pooled down on the hard floor as his chest heaved. He couldn't believe that he was reduced to this before he had ever truly drawn his sword.

Wood creaked ominously under the monster's steps as he made its way out with one thing which could redeem him of his sins and his failures.

"Don't you dare walk away from me!?" Jon stood up only to fall again on his knees. "Don't you dare…? Who are you, huh? Who the fuck are you? I want to know the name of the man who destroyed me… I deserve that much…please." He begged.

"You deserve nothing." Veekeris answered without a hint of pity.

Jon sobbed; throat-filled cries of a man who had lost everything bounced through the chamber like a tragic symphony before it was filled with lifeless cackles and ravings as the man lost himself to his grief.

"This is bad!" Septa Miriam cried, "Her Grace is bleeding too much! If we don't stop it soon both her and her child will perish to birthing."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" Rhaella released a blood curdling scream heavenward, almost falling from her birthing table. Blood pooled between her legs, and her face went utter pale like that of a specter. She shuddered from time to time, her violet eyes going veiny red in tears. Her breath came in incessant gasps and her throat went bone dry like the hot deserts of Dorne.

"Please stay still, My Grace" Septa held her back from her shoulder, other ladies helped in the endeavor. "Push, my lady. Push." The septa muttered, feeling her Queen going cold under her hands. She was dying… Septa Miriam realized. Soon, the birthing fever would kick in and it would make Rhaella's body hotter than a furnace.

Septa looked around; all the ladies standing grimaced, the fact was not lost on them. It had been hours and yet there was no sign of the babe, not even its head was visible. Some had even started praying, hoping for a miracle. That was all which could save Rhaella and her babe from death now. Septa Miriam continued to comfort the Queen but it was to no vail she was already lost to her deliriousness.

The door clicked, and Qyburn trotted in directing one single look at the tortured visage of the dowager Queen. His eyes hardened as everyone looked startled by the intruder. "Get more towels, and some hot water." Said Qyburn.

"Who're you?" Septa Miriam asked dryly. "Are you a maes–"

"Now!" Qyburn screamed waving his stick around, "Don't just gawk at me! Bring hot towels, water, and while you're at it some tongs too. Don't make me say it again!"

The ladies scampered, with nary a care for their gown or their perfect hair. But Septa Miriam stood her ground. "Are you a maestar?" She asked again, glaring pointedly at the man who had invaded her birthing chambers.

"Is it really that important now?" Qyburn replied shaking his head in a grandfatherly manner. "I am simply someone who's much more suitable to handle something like this."

Septa opened her mouth to argue but she was silenced by Rhaella's tortured moaning. "W-Will she live?" finally asked Miriam.

Qyburn peered at the pooled blood and burning red face of Queen. He could only shake his head, "She's lost too much blood and she's already suffering from a birthing fever. I'm afraid she has no hope but I can still save the child. You're lucky I'm here if I wasn't then even the child would've perished with her mother."

Septa Miriam's face twisted in dismay. She should've known this man couldn't save Rhaella but at least the child would live that was some consolation. At this point, she would take anything.

"If it's anything I will at least ease her pain as she passes from this word to thenext." Qyburn replied, sympathizing as well as he could. Septa Miriam could only nod her head absentmindedly as she massaged Rhaella's forehead with a soaked towel. As sad it was, losingwoman to birthing was a common occurrence in the world they lived in. People had learned to accept that fact a long time ago, especially women.

Hours.

Even with Qyburn's experience it took him literal hours to deliver the baby girl. Every time he thought that he had seen everything there was to see in the art of healing, something would pop up and fuck him over, right in his arse. The little baby girl he had just birthed was akin to a tumor, as much as he would be condemned by the gods for thinking in this particular vein, there wasn't a single doubt in his mind that this little girl had killed her mother. Daenerys – that's what Queen named her – literally tore through her mother's womb covered in blood like the monsters from a gleeman's tale.

It was a miracle that the Queen was still alive and breathing but only God's knew for how long. The woman had somehow soldiered on through the entire nightmare... Most probably for her child, thought Qyburn. The love a mother had for her child was truly incredible. Even after the entire ordeal the little child put her through, Rhaella was still able to gaze at that little monster with such love that it almost made Qyburn sick. He could only wonder how a victim could look at her murderer with such fondness. That's a mystery which he might never solve.

"You can come in now." Qyburn said, peering towards the thick teak door.

That's what all it took for Veekeris to stroll inside, Aegon still playfully gurgling in his arms, and doing things which babes did. Drooling, clapping and gazing rapidly at anything which caught their interest.

Veekeris gazed at Queen Rhaella and couldn't help but frown at her state. Once regal woman was reduced into a hideous ghost. Her beautiful skin looked dead and had a black tinge to it like one would find on a corpse, her once lustrous silver hair looked like weak threads just ready to fall off. This woman was at death's door and she was fully aware of it! Yet her violet eyes still shined with life, and had a fierceness to them which would make a lesser man cower in his boots.

Even while reduced to her current state… Queen Rhaella was still a dragon.

"My baby…" she whispered, holding Daenerys close to her chest. The babe's face scrunched in discomfort before it let out a howling cry. "Hush Daenerys, did I wake you up?" Rhaella held the babe closer, "Forgive this mother of yours for being so clumsy."

For a second, Veekeris pictured a woman with blood-red hair doing the same to a whiskered blonde child. For a minute, Veekeris felt as if someone had stabbed him with a hot poker right through his heart. The sheer breadth of loss and pain which passed through him was unbearable enough to stop him to his tracks.

"If you've anything to say to her be quick," Qyburn said, "She isn't long for this world, she's already fading. She has at best a day before her organs start failing one after another." He raised one of his eyebrow when Veekeris didn't reply, "I tried giving her the milk of poppy but she refused. She'd rather go kickin' and screamin'." He trotted off from the room in brisk steps, grumbling. And left the two alone.

Rhaella massaged the belly of her child lovingly until the babe stopped crying. Veekeris didn't interrupt her but finally he shook his head, "Lady Rhaella," he said. "I'm Veekeris and I would like some of your time."

Such an innocuous request, thought Veekeris. One easily fulfilled by a man who had plenty of it. But for a woman on death's door who'd rather spend her last moments with her only daughter, he might as well have been asking for something priceless. The female dragon didn't spare Veekeris a glance, neither did he force her instead he relieved Aegon from his hands and gently placed him in the vacant crib, and simply sat on a chair beside the woman.

None spoke for few precious minutes. Veekeris stared at Rhaella while she continued to gaze at her lovely child with a primal longing.

"Veekeris why're you here?" She finally asked, her voice prickly as a castle forged sword. "Shouldn't you be with Elia?"

"You know me?" Veekeris asked, surprised.

"No," replied Rhaella. "I know of you. You're the man who saved my daughter-in-law, if the rumors are to be believed. You're not as mysterious as you would like to think. One such as you should be more careful especially when men like Tywin Lannister have taken an interest in you. There're whisperers everywhere, in every nook and cranny one can imagine." A savage grin crossed her face, "He has been searching for a blonde young man of certain stature for quite some time. Let's just say, he wasn't least bit pleased when you managed to almost kill his dog and spirit away his political hostage right under his nose."

Veekeris smiled, even in death the woman was as fierce as a dragon. He couldn't help but be amazed by her tenacity. "What will you do now?" he asked.

"What can I do now?" she replied with dry wit. "Everything's out of my reach. Even as I speak I feel my eyes getting heavy."

Rhaella tried to keep her back straight but Veekeris quickly pushed her back into the bed gently, "Please don't stress yourself, my lady." He said, his voice dripping with concern.

"You know I've seen it in my dreams," Rhaella wheezed. "This is not the end for us. It's not the end for us dragons. We will rise again! My little Daenerys will ride atop her beautiful dragons and take back what was once ours, raining down Fire and Blood on our enemies. I've seen it, as clear as the day. I-I just wish t-that I would've been there to see all of it. I just wish…"

Veekeris stiffened, thinking that the woman had finally lost herself to deliriousness but then he stared at her eyes. They still had sanity to them that somehow made her little rant almost seem like a disturbing prophecy. "No." Veekeris replied, his eyes cold as glaciers. "As long as I'm alive no dragon will ever sit on the ugly throne. Never."

Rhaella backed away, surprised by the vitriol in his tone. But she didn't relent for long, "It's fated to happen. No one can stop it, not even the gods. What right do you have to stop destiny?"

"What right did Targaryens have to conquer the seven kingdoms?" Veekeris asked, sarcasm apparent in his tone. "As I recall it was the power of you dragons which allowed you to conquer the kingdoms. It was power which gave you the right, and it just so happens I have plenty of it."

"You have power? Surely, you must jest." Rhaella's lips quirked in utter amusement. "Last I recall you've no land, no men, no influence yet you claim to be powerful? Can you stop an army of the greatest soldiers single handedly? Can you defeat a dragon just with a body made of flesh? Can you!?" she asked, her tone syrupy.

"Yes."

Rhaella could only balk at the surety behind that single word. There was no hesitation or self-doubt in his posture just pure weight, capable of moving the entire world. She didn't know whether it was bravery or stupidity which gave him such self-confidence. Surely, saving a single woman from rape shouldn't boost anyone's ego that much, than again men are so simple!

"Your family has already caused so much pain to the people I care about, no matter your intentions all you seem to be capable of is causing untold suffering for everyone around you. Every trouble which Ashara and Elia had been through can be put right on your family's feet. That's why, as long as there's life in me, I will ensure that none of your children ever get close to the Iron Throne let alone claim it." Veekeris' back was straight as a rod.

"And you think Robert Baratheon will be any better! You think that man will keep those two safe! You think he cares!" Rhaella screamed in outrage but it died in her throat, coughing blood.

"Maybe he won't," Veekeris agreed, directing a concerned glance towards the woman. "But I know for sure that dragons are not the answer to any of Westeros's problems. Everywhere I've been there's suffering and strife. You nobles had your little spat but the ones who suffered the most were the common-folks. While your war continued, farms were burnt, women were raped and entire villages were put down to the last children.

"No matter where I look the source of every trouble leads back to the Iron Throne, and the people who've ruled the Seven Kingdoms for the last three centuries." Veekeris finished, shaking his head.

"Tch. Mere sheep's have no right to judge a dragon." Fire danced in Rhaella's eyes.

Veekeris gave a humorless chuckle, "It's no wonder you ended up here. All alone and helpless."

For a few seconds none spoke, Rhaella's face scrunched as if she had eaten something sour.

"What do you even hope to achieve by doing all this?" Rhaella finally asked softly, tiredness seeping into her voice. "That is if you even manage to survive an army all by your lonesome. Tell me, what motivates you so?" she demanded.

"Peace." Veekeris answered simply. "Peace and happiness for the people I love and care for. That's all I've ever wanted, and for that if I've to burn the Iron Throne to mere ashes then I will. I will seize that happiness in my hands and never let it go."

Rhaella looked stunned, before she laughed hard holding her belly, and ignoring her fragile health altogether. "How could you possibly be so naïve!?" she wheezed, "Oh- Gods! I at least know now that I won't be dying unhappy because I've jester here with me." Her voice turned hard in the drop of a hat, "Listen well boy!" She hissed, "Life is not a song, you're nothing but a peasant know your place or you will be crushed under your ideals like a mere bug! You don't know the burdens of ruling, you don't know what it means to be a king, a ruler!"

"I know exactly what it means to be a king." Veekeris snapped, his anger shining through. "A king is someone who can accept all the hate in the world instead of love, he's someone who can accept disgrace in place of honor, and despite everything still manage to smile as bright as the sun, until the day he dies.

"That's what being a king means!" Veekeris clenched his jaw. "It's you who don't understand what it means to be a ruler, a king! The moment you wear the crown you become a beacon, an ideal which men are supposed to follow. Common folk and nobles alike look up to you. Not a single person in your family understood the grave responsibility. That's why you couldn't hold your kingdoms. It's amazing that you managed this long…"

Rhaella eyed Veekeris for the very first time, her gaze raking every inch of his being. Trying to discern every last thing about the man in front of him, like a hawk. He was a fine specimen, she decided after a minute of scrutiny. He had everything which would make him desirable in the eyes of many a noble women. Almost dreamy, in a sense. But it was those unflinching eyes and broad shoulders which captivated her so much. Those eyes were so expressive, one look at them she could say that this man while naïve in his thinking, was far from an idiot. Those eyes were forged steel, they would not bow to her ridicule or cynicism. They'd stand strong like his shoulder... strong enough to bear the weight of the world yet not bend an inch.

Rhaella's jaw struggled to work as realization dawned on her, while this man was no Targaryen or a noble for that matter but he was very much a king, not a Targaryen one but still a king. A king straight from the ballads written in a play. She would've laughed at the ridiculousness of it but she didn't dare to. She didn't know why but she believed this man in front of him despite her cynical nature.

"I'll be relieving you of Aegon," Veekeris replied breaking the impromptu silence, "I promised Elia to bring her child back to Dorne… I was wondering whether you would want the same for your children."

Rhaella blinked, then she laughed. A genuine laugh, almost like a melody broke from her quirked lips and her eyes lit up in mirth, "You don't know me yet you care for my children, you threaten me and offer salvation at the same time. You're nothing but a mere peasant in standing however you carry yourself like a king… I can see why Elia is so fond of you…"

Veekeris didn't bother to dignify that with an answer. "Well,"

"I would suggest you to leave Aegon here with Connington but even I see the folly in it." Rhaella sighed biting her lips. "I'm afraid that you'll have to leave my children here. My husband made too many enemies under his rule for my children to be safe in Westeros. They will always be in constant danger, fearing knives from the shadows."

Veekeris gave her a small but respectful bow, and made his way out with Aegon when–

"You're a good man Veekeris." Rhaella replied wistfully, stopping him in his tracks. "But it's always men like you who're killed first in this little game of ours. Be careful. Be very careful. I don't agree with anything you've said but I think if there's anyone who has a snowball's chance in achieving such ludicrous goals then it's you." She hesitated for a moment, "You seem like a fool, someone who'll never stop chasing his dreams no matter how many times he falls or how many times he's ridiculed. If anything, I respect your tenacity… I suggest you travel every nook and cranny of Westeros for the start, it will teach you the kind of place Westeros is. Remember, if you must burn the throne to ashes you must claim it first. That's my last advice to you."

"I will, my lady." Veekeris breathed, slowly letting the door click behind him, "and you're wrong I am no man." I'm so much more than that.

Rhaella smiled staring into nothingness, holding her daughter close as if she would disappear any moment. That's how she spent her last moments, amongst both her children, telling stories and jests until she no longer could. She passed away into thequite night like a wind. Free and Unchained. She no longer had duties as a wife, a sister, or a mother. She closed her eyes for the last time as a gentle smile graced her lips. The first smile she ever had since the day she married Aerys Targaryen…

Three Days Later

The storm of the century had finally subsided after ravaging the Narrow Sea like a ravenous beast, managing to even flood some of the parts of Braavos. Even an entire infamous merchant fleet was not shown any mercy by the tides. But the truly fascinating thing was even after the disastrous storm the entire port was back into its old hustle-bustle just after a mere three days.

Qyburn couldn't help but be amazed by Braavosi's business acumen, even a storm wasn't enough to stop them from their trade or from earning more coins. He could only wonder what a Pentoshi merchant would be capable off. After all, they were notoriously shrewd when it came to their trade, be it spices or slaves they knew how to turn a profit.

Qyburn crept towards the top of a ship, his walking stick hitting repeatedly on the wooden deck in a rhythm. His eyes darted randomly in every direction until it reached the person he sought. A strapping young blonde man who seemed busy showering attention on the young child in his lap. By the way Veekeris was playing and cooing along with Aegon, Qyburn couldn't help but wonder whether this was the same man who had taken down an entire platoon of soldiers just a few days back.

"My Lord," Qyburn gave a respectful bow, "I have talked with the captain of the ship, and he said we will be sailing in a few hours."

"Hmm... I see, it seems you'll be accompanying us on this journey."

"I shall follow wherever my lord's journey takes him and beyond." Qyburn's eyes twinkled, and a small smile graced his lips.

"You can come out now."

"W-What? My lord" Qyburn asked, perplexed.

"You've been following us for quite some time now." Veekeris continued ignoring Qyburn.

"No one has been following us, my lord." Qyburn replied. "Maybe it's the weather playing tricks–"

"A man has noticed my presence." A soft voice spoke, stopping Qyburn to his tracks. He quickly turned back only to see an unassuming man with dark skin wearing a common black and white robe. Qyburn raised an eyebrow at the man's getup. He looked like a priest.

"Can this man ask since when you've noticed his presence?" the man addressed with a smile. Qyburn backed away behind Veekeris, he had never seen such a fake smile. It was faker then the one he had seen on wooden puppets.

"You've been tailing us since we went to Braavosi markets." Veekeris said gently patting Aegon who had started to squirm under his grip. "The only question remains is why?"

The unassuming man opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by Qyburn, "– Stranger, have you forgotten common courtesies!? You ask all these questions but you still haven't deigned us with your name!"

"This man has no name." he replied with a crooked smile.

"Well, then that makes two of us." Veekeris finally stood up on his feet, Aegon had started to pull on his golden mane but he ignored it in the favor of the man standing in front of him, "But you can call me Veekeris."

"Than you shall call this man Jaqen H'ghar." The man gave a small theatrical bow.

"Who're you?" Qyburn cried, this man was scaring him. Even with all his smile there as just something wrong about him. He made his skin prickle like thousand insects were biting him. "My lord, stay away from him!"

"Enough, Qyburn."

Qyburn gritted his teeth, while Veekeris' voice might have been soft the warning in them was clear. "You were there with the other sellswords weren't you?" asked Veekeris, "The one who was still conscious after I hit him. Even though it was only barely. Why was someone of your caliber there at the feast in the first place?"

"You still recognize me?" Jaqen asked. "Even after I wear a different visage." His curiosity was apparent.

"I recognize you clear as day, just because you changed your face doesn't mean you can hide from me. In fact, it makes it easier. You stick out like a sore thumb." Veekeris looked bemused. "I will ask again what were you doing there with other sellswords?"

"This man was there to deliver the gift of the one true god." Jaqen replied with a lop-sided smile. "The god with many faces."

Qyburn's features paled into pasty white as raw fear gripped his being the moment he heard the man speak. Many faced God, This man could only be a Faceless Man, a peerless assassin capable of killing any targets given to him by his one god. Qyburn whimpered. The only one who was conscious, the statement ringed in ear like an echo. The only sellsword that was conscious that night was kicked back to the land of unconsciousness by him. He had kicked a Faceless man in his fucking face. To say he was shitting bricks would be an understatement.

"So are you here to deliver your gift?" Veekeris asked, amused at the notion, realizing what the epithet meant. After all, he was a killer too.

Qyburn wanted to hit him over the head for his brashness. There were some people who you just didn't anger. He watched with bated trepidation as Jaqen gave both of them a blatant once-over. He thought there would be a fight to the death especially by the way they were staring at each other. Instead, Jaqen H'ghar threw a coin at Veekeris which he caught from the air almost yawning.

"Valar Morghulis." Said Jaqen.

Veekeris looked at the man in abject confusion, staring at the coin with the inscription of a man wearing a hood.

"Valar Dohaeris." It was Qyburn who replied, choking on his breath. Not believing what the man had just offered.

Jaqen H'ghar gave a small nod of acknowledgement at Qyburn before walking the other way. The ex-maester fell on his knees like puppet with its strings cut. Aegon giggled.

"Just what in the hell happened?" Veekeris asked, still confused as ever. Qyburn released a tortured sigh. What fresh hell is this? Thought Qyburn.

Asshai, Essos.

A fire burned majestically inside a dark chamber; writhing, screaming as if it were alive. The entire chamber room looked decidedly ominous especially when the light from the fire bounced from one surface to another making it look as if a reaper had descended on to the mortal plane.

Crimson eyes stared into the ritualistic fire with nary a flinch. Her ruby red lips chanted hypnotic verses, sounding sinister with every new syllable. The fire changed its color from black to blue to blood-red only to stay that way. The woman shuddered, a drawn out moan escaping her lips, "My Lord. My God, show me the truth!" She threw her head back heavenward, her silky red robe pooled down her legs like a waterfall leaving her bare to the world.

Dark whisperers in a language unknown and incomprehensible to human ears started to fill the room in an echoic hiss. Pure pleasure filled the woman's eyes, like she was on the throes of an earth-shattering orgasm. Her sinful body swayed enticingly, forcing the whispers to speak louder until the chant was loud enough to make the myrish glass window panels shatter into thousand different shards.

The red-jeweled necklace the woman was wearing shined like the sun.

Finally, the woman turned towards the fire again, her long red tresses falling onto her breast covering what little modesty she had left. But she didn't seem to care one bit of her state. Instead, she just stared into the fire. For the first time in ages she saw, for a moment the Light Lord have given her untold clarity.

A man with weaved golden hair stood with his back straight, bathed in ethereal blue flames. A raging storm surrounded him like a protective layer. His sapphire eyes shined in untold power as the ship which he stood on picked up unnatural pace. Soaring through the seas like the very kraken.

Melisandre could only watch with utter disbelief as the man's power washed over her, "Azor Ahai… I have finally found you." She said biting her lower-lips hard enough to draw blood before she licked it off salaciously.

Read and Review! I hope you guys liked it! Tell me your thoughts and what you think of the story. All kind of criticisms are welcome even inflammatory one, it gives me insight on my writing and story-telling! So don't forget to review! I will try to bring longer chapters from now on!

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