"My lord, let me help you relax," Daella said earnestly, kneeling at the edge of the bath as she began to massage his temples.
Rhaegar hesitated for a moment, then accepted her offer and asked bluntly, "What is that scent you're wearing?"
The fragrance seemed to alleviate his headache, likely replenishing his mental energy.
"Scent?" Daella blinked her sparkling eyes and replied honestly, "It's a homemade scent powder, made from a beautiful orchid."
Curious, Rhaegar immediately inquired, "What kind of orchid, and where can I find it?"
"I believe it's called the Soul Restoring Orchid. The name sounds a bit ominous," Daella explained. She lowered her head, continuing in a whisper, "A whoremonger gave the orchid to my mother as a gift. She didn't want it, so she gave it to me."
She blushed with a mix of shame and frustration. Deep down, she resented her grandmother and mother. Even as an bastard, she wished she hadn't been born in a brothel, surrounded by chaos.
"The orchid is a rare flower with a Valyrian name. It grows in the Smoking Sea and is occasionally brought back by expeditions as a souvenir," Daella added. She had come by the orchid a few years ago by chance. She crushed it into powder and stored it in a discarded powder box, using it sparingly because of its rarity.
Rhaegar listened quietly, feeling the headache ease under Daella's massage and the soothing effects of the flower. "Later, bring me the pollen, and I'll give you a bag of gold coins," he said. The Soul Restoring Orchid was rare but incredibly useful. It was worth spending money to obtain more.
Daella shook her head, refusing the offer. "My lord, you saved me. I can't accept your money."
Rhaegar didn't insist. "As you wish."
Daella smiled and increased the pressure of her massage. After a while, Rhaegar felt drowsy, his eyes growing heavy.
As he drifted towards sleep, he heard a rustling sound behind him. Then, a soft touch on his back made him open his eyes in confusion. The touch became a gentle, fluffy rub.
Rhaegar froze, quickly realizing what was happening. He tried to move away, but Daella's hands slid down to encircle his waist, preventing him from escaping.
"My lord, let me serve you in your rest," Daella whispered shyly, her face flushed.
Rhaegar's eye twitched, and he said breathlessly, "Let go, I'm not sleepy yet." He was acutely aware of the fierce female dragon waiting for him back in King's Landing. He couldn't afford to be unfaithful.
Daella tightened her grip, her voice trembling, "My lord, you are a noble dragon lord. Please don't disdain me for my lowly origins."
In her heart, she felt honored to serve a true dragonlord. The scent of the orchid filled the air, and Rhaegar leaned back with mixed feelings.
The water in the pool began to ripple gently.
...
Three days later, at the harbor of the Rhoyne River, a beautifully shaped three-masted sailing ship was docked, proudly flying the flag of the three red dragons. Sailors bustled about, loading goods onto the ship, while a team of 100 well-equipped mercenaries maintained order.
Rhaegar, dressed in black, stood on the shore, gazing out over the blue sea.
"Prince, we will strictly handle the affairs you left behind," one of the three new Triarchs assured him.
"The Smoking Sea is dangerous. Be careful, Prince," another Triarch added.
The three Triarchs stood respectfully behind Rhaegar. The old nobleman wore a solemn expression, his eyes shrewdly observing the sailboat. Tesrio remained expressionless, like a stern wooden figure. Varos, with a flattering demeanor, showered Rhaegar with pleasantries, expressing his reluctance to see him leave.
After days of contemplation, Rhaegar had decided to explore the Smoking Sea ruins. To prevent worry in King's Landing, he had sent a raven explaining his plans. He promised to return within a month, confident in his preparations and strategy.
Rhaegar had hired the best helmsmen and sailors in Volantis, along with a team of elite mercenaries to ensure his safety. Half of these men had previously ventured into the Smoking Sea and returned safely, significantly reducing the trip's danger.
Once the goods were loaded and preparations complete, Daella approached timidly, bowing her head in farewell. "My lord, you must return safely. I will be waiting for you."
Layla stood beside her, eyes slightly red and swollen. The sisters, deeply grateful for Rhaegar's favor, were reluctant to see him go.
Rhaegar smiled softly. "Take care of yourselves. The voyage won't be long." He then bid farewell to the three Triarchs, entrusting the governance of Volantis entirely to them.
Boarding the ship, Rhaegar ordered the mercenaries to escort sailors infected with greyscale disease into the bilge. These patients could not remain in the castle and were to be deported to the Smoking Sea along the way.
"Roar..." A black dragon's shadow flashed overhead, its presence stirring a gale that billowed the ship's sails and soared towards the high clouds. From the deck, Rhaegar watched the mighty figure of Cannibal, feeling a surge of energy and confidence.
The Smoking Sea was perilous, and Rhaegar wasn't going alone. He would sail using the traditional routes taken by fishermen and explorers, while Cannibal would provide aerial escort and support, ready to intervene at any sign of danger. This strategy minimized the risks, allowing one man and one dragon to navigate the treacherous journey safely.
...
The sailboat set off, disappearing over the horizon.
That night, under the cover of darkness, a massive fire broke out in Volantis. The flames originated from a prestigious brothel, quickly engulfing the entire establishment. None of the prostitutes or patrons managed to escape. The fire spread rapidly, prompting the Tiger Army to intervene.
A mile away, in an inconspicuous attic, a black-robed figure stood by a window, watching the inferno. The sounds of panicked shouts reached his ears, and he chuckled, "Good job. It burned very cleanly."
It was evident that he had orchestrated the blaze, and he was quite pleased with the outcome.
"My lord, Varos was also in the brothel. He may be discovered by morning," another voice spoke from the shadows.
The black-robed figure turned to face a fierce young man with a tiger-like visage—it was the new Tiger Party Triarch, Tesrio.
He stared at Tesrio for a moment before speaking in a bored tone, "Go down. The commander of the guards should be present at the fire scene."
Tesrio hesitated briefly, then replied, "Yes, my lord." He quickly exited the attic, his eyes flickering with a touch of malice.
The black-robed figure watched him leave, then removed his hood, revealing Daemon's handsome face in the firelight.
"A poorly trained dog can still be useful," Daemon muttered coldly, assessing Tesrio. He had a history with Malaquo and had long been in secret contact with his men. With Malaquo dead and Tesrio in power, Daemon found it easy to manipulate him, knowing his vices well.
Rhaegar's hurried selection of the Triarchs had left little time for thorough vetting. Daemon, however, did not aim to control Volantis completely—he only sought to exploit it for his benefit.
Daemon tapped his fingers on the window frame, sneering, "A temporary emperor, playing a child's game."
In a trading city-state like Volantis, where power and money ruled, trust was a rare commodity. The presence of a dragon could enforce order for a day, but it would eventually leave. Daemon intended to extract as much value as possible, taking advantage of the chaos.
"Put out the fire... put out the fire..." Heart-wrenching cries echoed from the streets, but the attic remained calm.
Daemon's gaze returned to the burning brothel, his eyes filled with contempt. "A Bitch who tarnish the honor of the Targaryens..." he spat, his disdain palpable.
...
Time flew by, and ten days passed in the blink of an eye.
On a vast sea, a thick haze shrouded the sky, blocking out the scorching sun. A three-masted sailing ship drifted alone.
Rhaegar stood on deck, gazing at the foggy sky with a slight frown. There seemed to be small ashes floating in the air, making it somewhat uncomfortable to breathe.
"My lord, we've entered the Smoking Sea," a middle-aged sailor with one blind eye and a short, sturdy build reported as he approached.
Rhaegar nodded lightly, then said cautiously, "Robert, lower a boat and send a few mercenaries ahead to scout the area."
"No problem, my lord," Robert replied, thumping his chest in assurance before issuing the order in a loud voice. He was one of the best sailors in Volantis, having survived numerous sea storms. His commanding skills and passion had earned Rhaegar's trust.
With a splash, a small wooden boat was lowered into the sea, and several mercenaries jumped in, holding torches and rowing forward.
Rhaegar watched silently. It was a simple but effective strategy. The Smoking Sea was perpetually shrouded in smoke, reducing visibility to almost nothing. Sending scouts ahead was safer than venturing into the depths blindly.
Seeing Rhaegar's concern, Robert grinned broadly, "My lord, I've navigated the Smoking Sea before. As long as we find the right direction, there won't be any accidents."
"I hope you're right," Rhaegar responded, his tone reserved.
He then took out a rough chart and searched for a red cross marked on it. That was the location identified by a smuggling ship. First, they would encounter the ruins of a long stone arch bridge. After sailing along the ruins for a certain distance, they would reach a remote rocky beach. The site they sought was in a cave on that beach.
Two hours later, a cluster of torchlight emerged from the haze as the scouting boat slowly returned.
Robert leaned over the railing eagerly, "Anything ahead?"
"All is clear, just thick smoke," the lead mercenary shouted back, waving his torch.
Robert beamed, turning to Rhaegar, "My lord, shall we set out?"
Satisfied with the report, Rhaegar mused, "Sail for an hour first. Let's find the bearing on the chart before proceeding further."
The Smoking Sea did not cover a large area; the real danger lay in the old Valyrian ruins along the northern and southern shores. Their destination was marked near the northern shore, likely a fragmented piece of land rather than the mainland itself.
(Word count: 1,720)