[156] A Dragon’s Due

Chapter 156: A Dragon's Due

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As much as I wanted to fly to Braavos immediately, there was some work left to do here in King’s Landing to ensure protection. After all, the assassin that hurt Margaery was still around.

The morning light painted the royal bedchamber in shades of gold and crimson, finding me already awake between two sleeping forms. Margaery's rose-scented hair spilled across my chest while Sansa pressed against my side, her auburn locks catching the sun like burnished copper.

Sansa stirred first, those Tully blue eyes blinking open with the clarity of someone who'd learned to wake instantly. A survival skill from darker days.

"Good morning," she whispered, careful not to wake Margaery.

My hand traced lazy patterns along her spine, feeling the warmth of her skin. "How do you feel?"

"Different." She flexed her fingers, studying them like they belonged to someone else. "Yesterday, when that blade cut me... I felt the poison burn for just a moment before everything went numb. Then warmth, like summer spreading through my veins, and the wound just... closed."

"My gift to you." I pulled her closer, inhaling the clean scent of her hair. "No blade will ever truly harm you again. No poison will find purchase in your blood."

She shivered at my words, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. "I still can't believe it's real. That magic like this exists."

"Magic has always existed, little dove. The maesters just convinced the world to forget."

Margaery chose that moment to wake, her eyes fluttering open with none of Sansa's instant alertness. For a heartbeat, confusion clouded her features. Then memory crashed back, and her hand flew to her throat.

"It wasn't a dream," she breathed, fingers finding only smooth skin where yesterday a wound had nearly claimed her life.

"No dream." I caught her searching hand, bringing it to my lips. "Though it was a nightmare I almost lost you to."

The mask she always wore, that perfect political smile, crumbled entirely. She pressed herself against me once again, trembling. "I felt myself dying, Viserys. Actually dying. The world was going grey at the edges, my strength just... leaked away with the blood."

Sansa reached across me to take Margaery's hand, squeezing gently. "But you didn't die. He saved you."

"He did more than save me." Margaery's voice held wonder and something deeper. Reverence, perhaps. Or ownership acknowledged. "I can feel it. Like fire in my blood, waiting. What did you do to me?"

I slept with both of them last night after the scary incident, not just to comfort them, but to take Margaery’s newly attained maidenhood.

I sat up, drawing both of them with me. The sheet pooled around our waists as I held them close, one on each side. "I gave you what I gave Sansa months ago. What I should have given you sooner, though couldn’t because of your little curiosity experience before our marriage. Dragon's blood runs in your veins now. You'll heal from any wound, resist any poison. Fire itself will part before you rather than burn."

"And the wings?" Sansa asked quietly. "Like Yara?"

"Those too, if you learn to call them." I demonstrated, letting my own wings unfurl from my back in a cascade of shadow and scale. Both women hummed, Margaery reaching out to touch the leathery membrane with trembling fingers.

"Beautiful," she whispered.

"Terrifying," Sansa corrected, but her eyes held the same fascination.

I let the wings fade, pulling them back into whatever space they occupied when not needed. "You'll learn in time. For now, know that you're protected."

Margaery's tears welled up in her eyes. "I've played games all my life, Viserys. Smiled and schemed and maneuvered for every scrap of power. But yesterday... none of that mattered. I couldn't smile my way out of a slit throat. Couldn't scheme against death itself."

"No," I agreed, wiping her tears with my thumb. "But I could. And I did. Because you're my wife. Margaery Tyrell is not just some political alliance or a beautiful ornament, is she? You’re mine to protect and mine to keep."

She kissed me then, fierce and desperate, pouring all her gratitude and fear and need into the contact. When she pulled back, her eyes held a clarity I'd never seen before. The ambitious rose had been burned away, leaving something harder and more honest in its place.

"I understand now," she said softly. "Why the others follow you so completely. It's not fear or ambition. It's this. Knowing that you'll literally fight death itself for us."

Sansa nodded against my shoulder. "He gave a knight's life for yours without hesitation. Just... decided you were worth more."

"Because she is." My voice carried the certainty of mountains. "You both are. Any who threaten what's mine will learn that lesson in blood."

They exchanged a look over my chest, something shifting between them. Where before there'd been rivalry, competition for the throne and my attention, now there was understanding. They'd both been targets. Both been saved. The shared experience had forged something new.

"Sisters," Margaery said suddenly, reaching for Sansa's hand again. "We're sisters now, aren't we? Bound by his blood, his protection."

Sansa's smile was shy but genuine. "I... I'd like that. I'd almost lost all my siblings. I still don’t know where Arya is... It would be nice to gain one."

I watched them embrace across me, feeling a satisfaction deeper than any conquest. This was better than fear. This was loyalty forged in blood and miracle, unbreakable as Valyrian steel.

"My queens," I murmured, holding them both. "My roses and wolves."

We stayed like that as the morning aged, three bodies intertwined, until duty finally called. They rose together, helping each other dress with a new familiarity.

The rivalry hadn't vanished entirely, I could see it in the way they still preened for my attention, but it had transformed into something healthier. Competition between sisters rather than enemies.

As they prepared to leave, I caught Margaery's wrist. "Send for Lady Commander Brienne. I have matters to discuss with her."

"Of course, Your Grace." She curtsied, but the gesture held warmth now rather than calculation. At the door, she paused. "Viserys? Thank you. For my life. For everything."

"Always," I promised.

The door closed behind them, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the sunlight. Time to reward another savior.

****

Brienne of Tarth arrived within the hour, her armor polished to a mirror shine despite the faint bloodstains that no amount of scrubbing could quite remove. She stood at attention, every inch the perfect knight, but I could see the questions burning behind those startling blue eyes.

"Leave us," I commanded the guards. They filed out, closing the heavy doors behind them.

"Your Grace." Brienne's voice was carefully neutral. "How may I serve?"

"By accepting my thanks." I rose from my chair, noting how she tensed slightly. Even now, even after months of service, she expected mockery rather than praise. "You saved Sansa yesterday. Threw yourself between her and death without hesitation."

"It is my duty, Your Grace. I swore an oath—"

"Fuck your oath." The profanity made her eyes widen. "You think I care about words spoken in some sept? You saved her because that's who you are, Brienne. Because you're the truest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, with or without the title."

Red crept up her neck. "I... thank you, Your Grace."

"Ask your questions." I moved closer, watching her discomfort grow. "I know you have them. About the magic. About how Sansa healed. About what you witnessed in that room."

She swallowed hard, that remarkable height meaning she only had to tilt her head slightly to meet my eyes. "Is it... is it real? True magic? I saw Lady Sansa's wound close like nothing I've ever seen."

"It's real." I reached out, touching one of the scars on her face. She flinched but didn't pull away. "A gift I can give to those I deem worthy. Dragon's blood, some call it. Protection against blade and poison, healing beyond mortal ken."

"And you gave this gift to Lady Sansa? To Lady Margaery?"

"To all my women." I let my fingers trace the scar, feeling her tremble. "It could be yours as well, Brienne of Tarth."

She stepped back so quickly she nearly tripped. "Your Grace, I... I'm not... I could never be..."

"Be what? Mine?" I followed her retreat, backing her against the wall. "Tell me why not."

"Look at me!" The words burst out, years of pain given voice. "I'm no delicate flower like your queens. I'm too tall, too broad, too scarred. They call me Brienne the Beauty as a jest because I'm anything but—"

My hand covered her mouth, silencing the self-hatred. "They're fools. Every one of them. Blind, stupid fools who see a woman daring to be strong and can't comprehend it."

I removed my hand, letting it rest against her cheek instead. She was trembling now, those blue eyes wide with something between fear and hope.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you?" My voice dropped low, intimate. "I see strength that puts most men to shame. Height that means you can look me in the eye as an equal. Scars that speak of battles won, of a life lived with purpose instead of cowering behind castle walls."

"Your Grace..." Her voice cracked.

"They mock you for not being their idea of beauty. Small, simpering things who exist to decorate a man's arm." I leaned closer, close enough to feel her breath quicken. "I am not most men. And you, Brienne of Tarth, are magnificent."

Brienne almost cried. "No one has ever..."

"No one has ever seen you. Not truly." My thumb stroked her cheek. "But I do. I see the woman who stands seven feet tall and makes it look graceful. Who wields a sword like poetry in motion. Who threw herself between death and my queen without a thought for her own life."

"I'm not like them," she whispered. "Your other women. I don't know how to be soft or seductive or—"

"I don't want you to be." The words came out harder than intended, almost angry. "I want you exactly as you are. Honorable. Strong. And mine to command."

She stared at me, breathing heavy, and then closed her eyes. She’d made her decision, leaning forward a little. I kissed her then, pouring all my desire and admiration into the contact.

For a moment she froze, a lifetime of rejection making her doubt the reality. Then she melted against me with a sound that was half sob, half moan, her arms coming around me with crushing force.

When we broke apart, she was gasping. "Your Grace, I... I've never..."

"I know." My hands found the buckles of her armor, working them loose with practiced ease. "Another gift you've saved for someone worthy of it."

"Am I?" The vulnerability in her voice nearly broke my heart. "Worthy of you?"

"I’m just a man lucky to be born with dragons. The real question," I said, pulling away her breastplate to reveal the padded tunic beneath, "is whether I'm worthy of you. The truest knight in Westeros. The woman who saved my queen."

She laughed, wet and broken. "You're the Dragon King."

"And you're Brienne the Beautiful." I lifted her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. "My beautiful knight. If you'll have me."

The last of her resistance crumbled. She pulled me against her, kissing me with all the passion she'd kept locked away for years. I lifted her easily for even at her size, dragon strength made it simple, and carried her to the bed.

What followed was a claiming unlike any other. Where my other women were soft curves and practiced seduction, Brienne was angles and earnest need. She apologized for her inexperience until I silenced her with kisses, showing her wordlessly how perfect she was.

When I entered her, she bit down on my shoulder hard enough to draw blood, muffling her cry. The pain only heightened my pleasure as I moved within her, feeling her maidenhead give way to my claiming.

"Why do you look down on yourself? You’re so gorgeous," I growled against her throat. "My knight."

She could only gasp my name in response, those long legs wrapping around me as I drove deeper. Her strength was intoxicating, she could take everything I gave without breaking, meeting me as an equal in passion as in height.

When she reached orgasm beneath me, it was with a warrior's cry that probably echoed through half the Red Keep. I followed her over, filling her with my seed and my power both.

As we lay tangled afterward, her head on my chest, I felt the now-familiar tingle of magic. "It's done," I murmured against her skin. "You're changed now. Protected."

This time, unlike the other girls, I lent her [Swordsmanship - Rank S] as well.

****

Later, I stood on the highest balcony of the Red Keep, watching the sun descend toward the horizon. Brienne had left to resume her duties, moving with a new confidence that made me smile. Another piece claimed, another protector protected.

The roar that split the evening air was familiar yet a little unusual. Not Viserion's golden cry or Rhaegal's jade shriek.

This was deeper, more primal. The sound of death given wings.

Drogon appeared from the east like a piece of night torn free, his massive form blotting out stars. On his back, a figure in black and red, silver hair streaming like a war banner.

My sister had come home. And from the fury in her bearing, she'd come for blood.

The landing shook the entire courtyard, stones cracking beneath Drogon's weight. Guards scattered like leaves before a hurricane, and even hardened knights stepped back from the black dragon's baleful glare.

Daenerys dismounted with liquid grace, and I saw how the transformation remained. Her nails were claws now, her skin holding a faint shimmer like scales beneath the surface. Her violet eyes burned with inner fire as she strode toward me.

"Brother." The word was iron given voice.

"Sister." I inclined my head slightly. "Welcome back to King's Landing."

She didn't bother with pleasantries. "They sent one for me. In Meereen. A cup-bearer I'd trusted for months, face flowing like water as they tried to pour poison down my throat."

"I know." The System had alerted me the moment the attempt was made. "The moment steel was drawn against you, I felt it."

"Quaithe warned me just in time." She paced the balcony like a caged dragon, her steps sharp with barely contained violence. "I fed them to Drogon. Slowly. But it's not enough."

"No," I agreed. "It's not."

She whirled on me, and for a moment I saw not my little sister but the Mother of Dragons, terrible in her wrath. "I didn't even join your conquest of Essos! I stayed in Meereen, tending my freedmen, playing at peace. And still they come for me. Still I must pay the price for your ambitions!"

"Our ambitions," I corrected gently. "We're Targaryens, Dany. The last of our line. That alone makes us targets."

"Then let's remind them why targeting dragons is folly." She said, and her smile was sharp as dragonglass. "What's your plan?"

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