ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 97: 𝔗𝔬𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡 P𝔶𝔨𝔢
[Casterly Rock]
Several weeks had already passed since the fall of Casterly Rock, and the black dragon banners flew above its towers. That, along with Drakul's distant roar, was enough to maintain calm among the vassals.
Vlad had made it clear from the beginning that his rule would be fair, but ruthless toward any attempt to cause unrest. He did not expect loyalty from a newly conquered fortress, but he did expect order and obedience.
Fortunately for him, most understood that quickly. The peasants worked as before, the merchants continued opening their stalls, and the nobles learned to stay out of the way whenever they could. In fact, even the few Lannisters who remained, mostly women and children, still lived within the fortress without incident, because despite everything, no one inside the fortress went hungry and no one was punished without reason.
The news coming from the west was similar, as several minor houses had accepted the new ruler without resistance, and Kevan Lannister himself handled the negotiations, persuaded gently by the small detail that the rest of his family still remained inside the fortress.
He traveled from castle to castle to convince his peers, and the dark circles beneath his eyes, his slumped shoulders, and his exhausted face were enough to send the message: the new lord of the West did not negotiate.
In the great hall of Casterly Rock, Vlad listened to his advisers while the fire from the torches reflected across the stone tiles and the map of the west occupied much of the table before him, covered with markings indicating subdued castles, trade routes, and villages.
Ser Barristan, rejuvenated by the dark gift, stood at his right with his arms crossed over his chest, and his bearing was even more imposing now that he seemed to have regained thirty years of life, while Jorah Mormont, serious and silent, leaned against one of the nearby columns, studying the map.
—We have received reports of small raids from the Iron Islands against several coastal villages —Jorah informed them as he moved a wooden piece across the map— They plundered two villages and withdrew back to sea.
Vlad lowered his gaze toward the markers placed along the western coast and remained silent for a few moments, tracing the line of the sea with one finger until it reached Pyke.
He almost smiled at his good fortune.
He had spent some time considering how to destroy the Iron Islands without provoking resentment among the people. He did not need an excuse, in truth he had never needed one, but the fact that the ironborn themselves had handed him the casus belli on a silver platter was almost poetic justice.
He could ravage the islands, exterminate their bloodline, destroy their fortresses, and do it not only without losing reputation, but while being praised for it.
At last he raised his gaze.
—Then the time has come —he said at last— When my queen returns, we will finally be crowned as rulers of these lands, and shortly afterward the Black Fleet will depart for the Iron Islands to establish a naval blockade and isolate them.
Jorah looked up.
—And after that? —he asked with excitement. As a former inhabitant of Bear Island, Jorah had encountered the ironborn more than once over the years.
Vlad turned his head slightly toward Barristan.
—After that, Daenerys and I will go to Pyke —he said calmly— And we will utterly destroy the island.
Barristan held his gaze for a moment.
—Do we expect resistance? —he asked with some concern.
—Not at all —Vlad replied as he turned his attention back to the map— The ironborn trust too much in their reputation. They neither believe nor expect that anyone would dare attack them in their own lands, and even less have they prepared contingencies.
His finger stopped over Pyke. It would be a massacre, yes, but the Iron Islands deserved nothing better.
The conversation continued for several more minutes. They spoke about ports, ships, and the supplies needed to reinforce the fleet before moving it.
It was then that a young soldier entered the hall in a hurry. His breathing was uneven, and raindrops still clung to his shoulders.
He bowed immediately.
—Your Majesty… a ship is approaching the harbor —he said, trying to catch his breath— It carries two banners: the black dragon and the red dragon.
The room fell silent.
Vlad did not seem surprised. He simply remained seated in his chair, his gaze fixed on the map and lost in thought.
Of course he knew she was coming.
It was always the same whenever Daenerys was near. There was something about her, about the bond they shared, that Vlad could barely describe. It was a strange calm, a pleasant and familiar sensation that surfaced whenever she was close. It was almost as if their hearts eventually harmonized.
But warmth and tranquility were not the only things he could feel as she drew nearer.
At last he looked up.
—Then prepare yourselves to receive the queen —he said with a smile.
Hours later, as the sky began to darken over Casterly Rock and the torches once again illuminated the stone corridors, the great doors of the hall opened once more.
Those present already knew who had arrived at the castle and, even so, the atmosphere remained strange. Vlad sat upon the throne, one arm resting on the armrest and his gaze fixed ahead. Normally, he would have gone out to receive her the moment the ship arrived at the harbor.
But he had not.
Then the doors opened completely.
Daenerys entered accompanied by Myrcella Baratheon and Missandei. Her expression was serious, her steps firm, and some of the dampness from the journey still clung to her clothes and hair.
Missandei walked half a step behind her, her hands clasped before her body, while Myrcella looked around with curiosity.
Vlad watched her walk down the central aisle without taking his eyes off her for a single moment.
The faint sensation that accompanied their bond could now be felt clearly.
When Daenerys stopped in front of the throne, Vlad finally rose and descended the steps one by one.
When Vlad stood before Daenerys, she looked up at him. She had expected a smile, a question, or perhaps a reproach for her delay, but Vlad remained silent for several seconds, observing her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken.
His eyes dropped for a brief moment toward her belly before meeting hers again.
—Tell me, princess, what do you know about vampire anatomy? —he asked in a calm voice, with his usual rough and masculine tone.
She looked at him, confused by the question, and opened her mouth to answer, but he continued before giving her the chance.
—We are larger and taller, of course —he said in an almost casual tone— Our hearts are proportionally larger.
Daenerys blinked, unsure whether she should answer, but something in Vlad's tone caused a faint blush to spread across her cheeks.
—Really? —she asked, trying to change the subject.
But Vlad stepped closer to her.
—Our vision is superior to that of humans —he added in his rough voice as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear— And our sense of smell…
Their eyes met, and Daenerys felt the heat rise even more to her face.
Vlad leaned slightly toward her, bringing his lips close to her ear.
—I can smell you, little princess —he whispered in a low, slow voice— And I am thinking about drinking the sweet nectar you are making for me.
Daenerys was left breathless as she felt her insides turn into a fountain.
Of course, she was "especially excited" to reunite with her husband after several weeks, but she had not expected it to be so obvious to him.
Vlad placed a hand on Daenerys's waist and pulled her firmly against him.
—Straight from the fucking cup —he murmured, looking directly into her eyes.
Daenerys barely had time to take a breath when Vlad picked her up in his arms and the two of them disappeared in a blur so fast that the marble floor cracked beneath their feet.
For several seconds, no one said anything.
Jorah let out a slow breath and ran a hand over his face. Barristan shook his head, tired, though a faint smile eventually appeared on his face.
—We should give them privacy —he finally said.
Several nodded before leaving the hall.
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The pair of rulers refused to receive visitors for two entire days, enjoying their reunion and dedicating their time exclusively to "matters of state."
Myrcella Baratheon, who had arrived alongside Daenerys, did not know whether to feel more surprised by the state of her ancestral home or by the appearance of the Impaler Lord himself. If she had truly been as naive as she appeared, she would have fallen hopelessly in love, because merely being in his presence was enough to make her feel flustered and experience the absurd urge to laugh at anything he said.
Fortunately, her mind was strong and quicker than her body, so she quickly understood that she needed to control herself, unless she wanted a pretty mark on her face to match Arianne Martell's.
But what surprised her most were the four giant dragons flying above the castle, who from time to time descended to lie across the fields and receive affection from their "parents." Myrcella understood that, while money and armies were important in war, they were irrelevant in the face of creatures like those, so at least she could be glad to be on the winning side.
And the best part was that Vlad had finally begun to move like a true player in the game of thrones, though he would do it in the only way that guaranteed victory: by overturning the board itself.
Destroying the Iron Islands was only a small step. In practice, that territory was not especially important; yes, it possessed a respectable military force, but unless they were desperate, no noble house in Westeros would willingly ally itself with them, because anyone foolish enough to do so could only expect betrayal. With the ironborn, the question was never whether they would betray you, but when.
Now, on the day of the coronation, Myrcella watched in silence as servants crossed the halls decorated with the black dragon banner. She had spent the past days walking through the castle and trying to understand the situation of what little family she had left, doing what she did best: staying silent and observing. But there was really nothing that could concern her, because her few living relatives were living extremely well by the standards of captured nobles, something she silently thanked Vlad for.
As she thought to herself, she saw Missandei, whom she had come to know during the voyage, giving orders with a seriousness that Myrcella found almost comical. She had met her alongside Daenerys and had found her cheerful and lively, though intensely loyal to her queen.
However, the contrast between that warmth and the authority with which she addressed others was striking: she did not shout, yet everyone obeyed her down to the smallest detail. It was obvious that, in this new order, authority did not come from title, but from loyalty.
Farther ahead, in the inner courtyard, Myrcella met Ser Barristan's gaze. His figure stood firm and, for a moment, she doubted whether he was truly the same old man she remembered from King's Landing. Time itself seemed to have moved backward, leaving only a man of forty and the feeling of standing before a wild beast.
Near the main entrance, she saw her uncle Kevan organizing the nobles of the castle and his own family. They were all dressed in their finest clothes, and the women were telling the children to smile and applaud. Despite his attire, Kevan seemed to have aged in only a few weeks. Myrcella understood that her uncle had accepted a bitter truth: the Lannisters had lost all their power, and resistance would only bring more suffering.
When the bells began to ring, silence descended over the fortress. Daenerys and Vlad walked together down the central aisle, escorted by rows of soldiers in black armor and crimson cloaks. She wore a black mantle with the emblem of the three dragons embroidered in red thread, and he wore an outfit of the same color with silver details and his own banner engraved across the chest.
Ser Barristan stepped forward and, in a solemn voice, proclaimed as he placed a reddish Valyrian steel crown upon Vlad's head:
—Before you stands Vlad Drakul, of Houses Drakul and Targaryen —he declared, his tone filled with pride— The First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, King of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Great Khal of the East, the Red Stallion, Father of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, and the Impaler Lord.
The nobles applauded and the soldiers struck their spears against the floor in a unified thunder. Vlad and Daenerys sat upon the double throne, a new creation built from the stone of the Rock itself.
She took a deep breath and, for an instant, her composure broke, a single tear of blood running down her cheek while her eyes drifted toward the western windows, finally looking upon her dream fulfilled of returning to the land of her family.
Though much still remained to be done, she was satisfied.
Vlad also looked toward the horizon, watching the sun set as he contemplated everything he had achieved almost four years after awakening in that field in the sea of grass. And with a faint smile, he repeated the same words he had told himself then, at the beginning of his journey.
—Maximum effort —he murmured softly, without taking his eyes off the horizon.
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First of all, thank you once again for being here. I truly appreciate you continuing to read and support the story.
This week's chapter is more of a transition before the real canon changes begin and before Vlad's plans to unify Westeros ahead of the dead arriving truly start.
I also added that small section about Vlad and Daenerys' relationship. I'm trying to make it clear that while Vlad is completely loyal to his wife and she is to him, the level of obsession they feel for each other is almost exactly the same. If it feels like Vlad gives Daenerys too much attention or that some of his gestures are excessive, I want to make it clear that Daenerys can be just as bad, if not worse. She is completely obsessed with him; ninety percent of her thoughts are about Vlad, and the other ten percent are about the things she would do to him.
This also has a lot to do with how the embrace and vampires in general work in my story. It is a mix between how they work in Twilight and in The Vampire Diaries. Vampires become somewhat mentally frozen at the moment they are turned, and it becomes very difficult for them to change certain feelings or overcome traumas.
That makes many emotions become much more intense and permanent than normal. In some cases, it can also influence how they see the one who turned them or the bond they feel toward them, but I want to make it clear that this does not work like some kind of mind control.
In Daenerys' case, for example, any feelings she has toward Vlad are intensified by the embrace, but not because Vlad has any kind of control over her or because he can directly influence what she feels. Everything still comes from Daenerys. Her desires, her obsessions, and her loyalty are still completely her own.
And I wanted to make that clear because there are too many fanfics where the protagonist seems to have some kind of ability to impose loyalty or emotionally control their partners, and I do not really like that idea. To me, it is much more meaningful for someone to have the ability to betray another person and choose not to, rather than simply being forced to remain loyal.
But well, those are just my personal preferences as an author, and it is the way I prefer to write these relationships.
As I said, this chapter is more of a transition, and soon the real Westeros plot will truly begin.
I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope to see you here again next week.