"Of course. Let's set a fire in the kitchen."
Holding the eggs, the two walked out of the room and headed for the kitchen area. They first reached the main hall where the ladder was set up and then turned towards the door.
"Graaaaaw!"
A draconic roar echoed just then.
Joffrey wasted no time and handed the eggs to Daenerys. He rushed towards the ladder and climbed it at record speed, poking his head out to look. He climbed completely outside and looked for the dragon.
"Here!" He shouted and waved his hands.
"Graaaa!"
Shhhhh~
Thud!
Joffrey's waving arms fell down as he realized why the dragon had returned. The massive bastard didn't come to save them, and from what he was seeing, it was clear the creature was intelligent and had some sort of a plan.
A half-burnt dead sheep. Is he trying to feed us? What does he want?
He watched as the dragon flew away again. At that moment, he remembered Kinvara's rambling from before, about Fire and Death. He wondered if this was R'hllor's doing.
The dragon wants me to fuck its mother too?
####
Night came, and Joffrey used a dagger to sloppily skin the sheep and cook some of its meat on the fire. Initially, they struggled to make fire, but after using some primitive techniques, he was able to.
During the whole process, he tried to make Daenerys feel comfortable, welcomed, and safe with him. He helped her warm the dragon eggs on the fire while also cooking some meat.
Once the meat was cooked, the two sat side by side, leaning against the nearby wall, shoulders touching, staring at the fire and the eggs. Joffrey placed the meat on a piece of cloth and held it between them as they both picked small pieces and ate.
"I apologize for this…" Daenerys muttered once she had her fill. "I…"
"But it was a blessing, wasn't it? You found more dragon eggs." Joffrey maintained his pretense of friendship from the missives they exchanged. "Now, you just need to bear a few heirs and pass these dragons down. Your bloodline will be restored."
Daenerys looked down suddenly, one of her hands gently landing on her belly.
She wants it too? Amusing... Joffrey knew what a woman hoping to bear children looked like. Catelyn often showed such expressions once he started bedding her.
Silence arose between them once again. Slowly, Joffrey also finished eating and wiped his hands clean. Then, he went over to the fireplace, fixed some of the spent wood, and returned to sit beside her, a bit more touching this time. Not just their shoulders, but the sides of their hips pushed against each other.
"What should I do to rule Slaver's Bay? How did you take Lys and Tyrosh?"
She's starting to trust me. Joffrey had learned the art of manipulation after watching Cersei for years, and then practicing it himself.
"Your intentions may be noble, but your approach is misguided. You're not Aegon; you're Daenerys. Essos isn't Westeros, and what succeeded in one won't always work on the other. Aegon conquered Westeros because he didn't upend everything—he let the old families keep their lands, and only demanded to be accepted as the new King. But in Slaver's Bay, you're overturning everything—the rulers, the laws, their whole way of life. If Aegon had tried that, he'd have been toppled just as quickly."
Daenerys shifted in place after a long moment and faced Joffrey by twisting her waist. With confidence, she reached for his hand and held it between both her palms. "Joffrey, kneel before me. With your strength, I can hold both Westeros and Slaver's Bay in my grasp."
Look at this shameless woman. Why would I give you what's mine?
"I can't," Joffrey declined.
"Why? Don't you fear me?"
"I fear your dragons, aye. But there is something that frightens me more, my beautiful Queen." Joffrey added a bit of flirtation and slowly eased his hand under his surcoat to take out a parchment from the pocket. "I intended for you to read this before we proceeded further. But it seems your dragon had other plans."
He handed her the parchment and relaxed. Then, just as Daenerys held the paper and started to read, he yawned and raised his arms, sneakily spreading them wide until one eased behind her head full of silver-gold hair.
"This… White Walkers? You believe in them?"
Seeing that she didn't mind his arm behind her head, he allowed his hand to settle on her shoulder. "Not so unbelievable is it, when they haunt your visions day and night? My intent was simple: bring you to King's Landing, and let you see the truth with your own eyes. A wraith—a mere pawn of the real threat in the North. If they prevail, there'll be no sanctuary left, no refuge from the dead."
"You see visions?"
"I've seen glimpses, visions of what's to come. How else do you think I knew the Tyrells were trying to murder me?" Joffrey lied through his teeth. He wanted Daenerys to be a bit wary of him, thinking that he already knew the future.
"How else do you think I dealt with the Freys and Boltons, saving the North? I possess… a gift. And I've spent years using it to strengthen and unite Westeros—so we're ready for the White Walkers."
He squeezed her shoulder and pulled her closed by the arm around her back. It felt amazing to hold her soft frame like that. He couldn't wait to take her to the bed. But for now, he resumed the drama. An act of being a selfless man, a hero who hoped to save the world and desired nothing in return.
"I don't care about dragons, the throne. All the blood and sweat I've shed over these years was to see humanity's victory," he declared and used his free hand to rub his face. "I… I killed my own mother because she sought to use me, control me, seize the throne through me… I… I hate that bloody seat at this point. My father, that fat fool, left behind nothing but a shattered realm for me to inherit. I tried my best, Daenerys. But I'm… I'm starting to tire."
Don't women like such men? Selfless, handsome, royal, a true prince charming weighed down by the greater purpose? Joffrey had listened to too many women telling him their dreams by now. Sansa was the prime example.
"I too have seen a vision," Daenerys murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. She shifted close to Joffrey, her head coming to rest on his shoulder in a gesture that startled him, as though they shared something deeper—two souls bound by sorrow.
"It was a nightmare, Joffrey. Fleeing Dragonstone, lost with Viserys, wandering through the Free Cities... before they sold me. And though I longed for my birthright, there was a yearning for joy, for life itself. I may not know the weight of your burdens, but I can feel them, in the pit of my own heart. Perhaps this meeting was fate... the vision I saw in Qarth—I can see it manifesting here."
What's she rambling on about? She saw visions too? About what?
Although he considered himself cruel, to some extent, he could sympathize with the life that Daenerys had lived. He couldn't imagine being sold to some nomadic brutes and then being forced to run around Essos for dear life. In a way, her rage and vengeance were the driving force behind her spirit.
But with him there, he saw that spirit turn softer. There was a woman underneath that stoic facade on Daenerys' face. She wanted to be loved, to be heard, to be desired in more than mere physical ways.
"Daenerys..." Joffrey turned sharply toward her, his gaze locking with hers. His blue eyes seemed to consume her violet ones. He felt the moment was right. Slowly, he raised his hand, resting his palm gently against the warmth of her face. His fingers slid into her hair, his thumb brushing dangerously close to her lips. He made sure she could feel the intensity of his stare. "I will help you conquer Slaver's Bay. You may have the throne, but only once the threat of the White Walkers is dealt with. Westeros can't afford distractions, not now."
"You don't want it?" She asked back, holding his hand and instinctively pressing his hand on her cheek. "You said you shed blood and sweat to keep it all this time."
"I shed blood and sweat to hold the realm together, not the throne," Joffrey smiled and suddenly remembered R'hllor's words. "Besides, I don't think I'll make it out alive—Don't ask, some prophecies are better left unsaid."
R'hllor's words echoed in Joffrey's mind, stirring a sense of helplessness within him. The god was displeased, and Joffrey knew it. He was living on borrowed time, doomed to fail in the eyes of the all-powerful. How could he ever prove himself worthy? He never prayed to the fire god, used the priestesses for his own pleasures, and schemed for power through every vile trick imaginable. No god would ever see him as their chosen one. It was absurd to think otherwise.
At least my methods work. Honor gets you beheaded like Eddard. He brought his thoughts back to the silver-haired woman. At least… I can have my next generation rule through her. Hah, that sounds amazing.
Although he very much wanted to live for a long, long time, he began to plan for any misfortunes too.
"Joffrey…" Daenerys whispered his name and rose to her knees. Then, in a sudden shift, she straddled his straight legs and firmly sat down on his lap. Her violet eyes shined in the amber light, a hint of moisture was present. Then, surprising the king of schemes, she cupped his face delicately in her small hands, her touch both tender and powerful. "You will be remembered, no matter what may come."
Seven hells, why do I feel…
Joffrey refused to sense any weakness in himself. Her words were so simple and yet they made his heart feel full.
No, I will live. I will live to see my grandkids grow. I will…
Without thinking, he placed both his hands on her slender, curving waist to forget what she just said. Her soft bottom had already heated his loins, so he decided to move forward.
"Daenerys, I don't think I can hold myself back for long," he warned her, hugging her entire waist by wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into himself so her ripe breasts squeezed onto his chest, their faces so close.
Daenerys caressed his face and smiled, reducing the distance between their lips even further. "We have nothing else to do, do we, my 'best friend' from across the sea?"
Joffrey chuckled and pulled her in, one hand reaching behind her head. The small distance between them vanished and Joffrey claimed the lips of the Mother of Dragons. She felt so warm and exotic, her delicious breath a sinful taste.
"Umm…" Daenerys hummed into his lips.
Joffrey saw that as her welcome and probed in with his tongue, slipping between her lips and teeth, and claiming the first embrace of her hot, slobbering tongue. His face twisted left and right, searching for nothing but more warmth in her mouth like a hungry lion savoring his prey.
His hands didn't rest either, both of them reaching behind her and gripping her round, luscious ass. He fondled her to his desired shape, spreading her core so she'd feel dangerously exposed despite being in robes.
"Umh!" Daenerys reciprocated to him every step of the way. She suckled his royal tongue, her eyes closed and her entire being lost in passion. Her hips swayed back and forth, grounding into his hardened erection.
It was truly heaven, a dance of curls and swirling motions of their tongues.
This was far better than what Joffrey had planned. There was no need to be forceful or manipulative. It seemed Daenerys wanted him as much as he wanted her. It aroused him to no end, tickling every right spot in his mind.
He rarely closed his eyes while plucking flowers, but this time, he felt the desire to do so. To lose himself and truly shower sexual love on this woman. Her body felt so willing, so needy for the touch of his hand, tongue, and everything else.
This is new. I've never been this… greedy before.
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