Legacy of the Dragon Ch. 03

Lucas reached up and sank his fingers through the tresses of Daenerys's long, silver-blonde hair. Her hair was so smooth and soft to the touch, more so than any silk. His other hand stayed fastened to her arse, squeezing it tight. His lust only grew as time passed. Lucas began thrusting his hips upwards, as much as he could while seated. He met Daenerys halfway every time, clapping his crotch into her jiggling arse.

Soon Lucas wanted to see Daenerys's nakedness again, to watch her flesh as well as feel it. He pulled away his tongue and gave her a final, pulling kiss so fierce that their lips smacked sharply as they parted. Lucas shifted his hands, grabbed Daenerys by the small of her waist, and brought the entirety of her body down with every thrust, making her perky breasts bounce wildly before his eyes.

Lucas's pleasure grew like flames in a furnace. He was soon grunting. He would not last long. His manhood thickened inside Daenerys's snug sheath, swelling as it prepared to spill its seed inside her. "I'm close," Lucas said.

"Where do you want it?" Daenerys asked breathily.

A good question. In the time they'd been together, Lucas had spilled his seed just about everywhere in or on Daenerys at least once. On her face, inside her mouth, between her breasts, on her belly, on her bush, inside her cunt. Had he not just learned that she now carried his second child, he likely would've insisted on inseminating her, squirting into her womb and hoping his seed quickened inside her. But that job was done, and Lucas had utterly free reign to spill his seed wherever he saw fit. And thus, this time, he decided to let Daenerys make the choice. "Surprise me," he said.

Daenerys bounced in Lucas's crotch a little longer, her gaping cunt continuing to take his manhood to her hilt. Heat roiled within Lucas as pressure built within his loins. For a moment, Lucas was convinced that Daenerys would have him finish like that and shoot off inside her. But she was simply waiting, as he would soon realize, till the last possible moment. Daenerys had been bedded by Lucas often enough to know exactly when the last moment was. His was the only manhood she ever knew, the one that had deflowered her, the one that slid inside her nearly every night. She knew his cock as well as he did. Perhaps even better. After all, she knew its taste. And she was about to know it again.

When only a few thrusts remained before his end, Daenerys hurriedly dismounted from Lucas. His throbbing manhood slipped from her wet cunt with an audible shlick and swayed when it came free. Moving fast, Daenerys kneeled before Lucas, looked him in his eyes, and closed her mouth around his cock. Her cheeks hollowed as she took his manhood further between her sucking lips. As that seal of snug suction glided downwards, the sensitive underside of Lucas's cock brushed against Daenerys's tongue, and he was pleasured by suction, heat, and wetness all. Daenerys took Lucas far into her mouth, much farther than the first time he had her fellate him. Her nose soon touched the coarse hairs of his crotch as her moist, plump lips sealed around the throbbing base of his cock. Then, with his cock submerged in the hot mess of saliva in her mouth, with his crown in her throat, Daenerys began swiftly sucking Lucas off, bobbing her head up and down his cock.

Lewd sounds occasionally slipped from Daenerys's lips as she worked, and Lucas's cock was soon sloppy with a glossy and bubbly sheen of her saliva. Daenerys's sealed lips sucking and stroking Lucas's stiff cock was an intense pleasure, and his finish arrived only moments later.

Lucas groaned as the pressure in his loins burst. An inferno of hot pleasure rushed outwards from his core, leaving a blissful tingling in its wake. His cock visibly pulsated between Daenerys's lips in orgasm, shooting what felt like thick ropes of seed into her maw. By some primal instinct, Lucas grabbed the back of Daenerys's head to ensure that she kept her mouth on his cock, but it wasn't needed. Daenerys's big, violet eyes shone sweetly up at his as she kept her full lips sealed around his manhood, ensuring that he spilled every spurt, string, and drop of seed inside her mouth. Lucas's chest heaved with ragged breath, frazzled by the incredibly intense pleasure.

When Lucas's orgasm finally faded, Daenerys's head slowly and sensually rose. She gently glided her mouth up his softening length, till his spent cock finally slipped from her puckered lips in a way that looked and sounded like the end of a long and loving kiss. Messy strands of saliva stretched from his crown to her lips till they broke and fell.

Daenerys opened her mouth wide and showed Lucas the mess within. Her tongue swam within a sea of white, bathed in his seed. She was certainly tasting it. Then, without a word, Daenerys closed her mouth, cocked her head back, and let Lucas see her throat bob. When she opened her mouth and showed him it again, no white remained. Her pink tongue was clean. His seed was gone, swallowed in one gulp.

Daenerys knew exactly what Lucas liked. When he took his pleasure between her legs, he liked seeing it inside her. When he took it inside her mouth, he liked seeing it go away.

Daenerys rose up and kissed him. "I love you," she said.

"I love you too," Lucas replied. "Consider me comforted," he quipped with a smile.

That evening would be the last lighthearted one for many nights.

The next day began deceivingly calm. At midday, Lucas, Daenerys, Jace, Colton, Ser Barristan, Tobas, Clare, and Elayna all shared a chatty communal meal in the homestead's kitchen. Jace had recently begun eating solid foods in addition to nursing from Daenerys. The lunch was seared fish freshly caught from the sea, the easiest food for them to acquire. It was cooked to perfection. It was flaky and moist, and it melted in one's mouth when chewed. Meanwhile, the dragons were presumably hunting, as they usually did in the middle of the day. Rhaegon and Dreamwing most often preyed upon whatever large wildlife they found in the temperate lands around the less-traveled branches of the Rhoyne river. Often it was elk or boars, creatures that could perhaps defend themselves well from many predators but were helpless against dragonfire. Skyshark primarily preyed over the Summer Sea, tearing chunks of scorched flesh from any mammals that came to the surface, whether they be sea lions, dolphins, or even some small whales. Occasionally his siblings would join him.

Later that day, while the maids prepared supper, Lucas took and carried Jace at his side and went out. Something had spurred him into seeking a moment alone with him, father and son. They hadn't had enough of those as of late.

Lucas sat on the beach by the homestead, close enough to the water that the scent of the Summer Sea could be deeply breathed, but far enough that the waves licking out over the sand could not touch him. It was a sickeningly sweltering day, almost as humid as it was hot. It was the sort of heat that made one's clothes stick to their flesh. The Summer Sea's breezes were a merciful, much-needed respite.

Lucas sat Jace in his lap. The heat never seemed to bother that boy much. His light attire aided that. He wore only a cloth diaper and shirt, both sewn by Clare's hand. He was still a small boy, but he was plump and robust. He was a little over eight months of age. His shock of silver hair was wild and messy. Daenerys combed it every day, but Jace would often somehow manage to tousle it not hours later. His hair was noticeably paler than his mother's. It was less blond and more silver. It was identical to Lucas's father's hair, Jace's namesake.

At first, Jace sat facing Lucas, smiling and swaying from side to side, pawing at his father, touching his face and his hair. They played a game where whenever Jace pulled at Lucas's face, Lucas warped his expression into something goofy and exaggerated. Each time, Jace burst into giggling laughter. Lucas laughed with him.

Not long after they sat down, a few gusts of wind were the only warning before Rhaegon landed loudly behind them. The red dragon crawled forward on his wings and claws till he stopped beside them. Rhaegon then lay at Lucas's side, with his scaly brow touching his shoulder. Rhaegon was breathing rather heavily at first, doubtless fresh from a vigorous hunt. When Jace reached over and began petting his head, the dragon soon fell calm and quiet. That calmness was a rarity for the fierce and prideful beast. Jace brought that calmness out of Rhaegon like no one else could.

Jace cooed as he stroked the ruby-like scales of Rhaegon's forehead. A low rumbling came from deep in the dragon's throat, something Lucas could only liken to the purring of a cat, only much lower and much more menacing. With the bright sun shining upon his face, the pupils of Rhaegon's yellow-gold eyes slimmed into razor-thin slits. Rhaegon's wings were folded against his body. The sinewy, golden flesh that stretched between them seemed to be one of the few vulnerable places on his body. His scales felt as hard as steel; it would take a strong man to drive a spear between them. It was staggering how fast Rhaegon and his siblings were growing now that they were roaming free. Rhaegon seemed noticeably bigger than even the day before. He was almost twice as big as a warhorse now. Lucas would need to begin riding him soon. The thought made him both nervous and thrilled.

"Dagan," Jace babbled happily. It had been the first recognizable word he'd ever spoken, not long ago.

"Dragon," Lucas said, smiling. "That's right."

Lucas found himself gazing at the pale silver of Jace's hair. It called to Lucas's mind memories of his father.

His mother Marlaya, second child and eldest daughter of Lord Randar Tarly, had been eighteen when Lucas was born, a typical age, but his father Jacaerys had been eight-and-thirty at the time. The lack of what was considered a worthy wife for the king's master of ships had prolonged his bachelorhood. Thus, Lucas had never known his father as a young man. When Lucas had come to the world, his father was already learned and accomplished. Nothing was a mystery to him. He could read others as simply as one reads a book, he had a tongue as silver as his hair, and he could wield a sword as well as any knight. To Lucas, everything had seemed so easy to his father. And that made Lucas's early struggles with young manhood much more frustrating. But with enough effort, by learning from his father while he still lived and then continuing his teachings after his death, Lucas had shaped himself like a smith shapes steel. He wasn't quite as calm or as wise as his father was, and he wasn't sure if he ever could be, but he was 'steady and strong,' as his father had said on his deathbed. That would have to be good enough. And just as Lucas was able to learn from his father, Jace would be able to learn from his. The deep satisfaction of that thought seemed to Lucas to be the sweetest fruit of fatherhood.

Lucas wondered if his father was watching him. If he was, was he proud? He must've been, surely. Lucas had seen one of his father's greatest wishes come true. He had taken a Targaryen wife, just as the Lord of House Velaryon was meant to, as was so often done before. Dragon was wedded to dragon. And yet ... so much else remained uncertain. Had Lucas taken the right path? Had he acted too rashly? Had he acted too slowly? Lucas didn't know. What he did know was that there was still a critical test he had yet to face. A test that proved some men and showed craven the others. Lucas's father would've reserved judgement till his son had seen that test through. But when would it come?

Some time later, Skyshark roaring from somewhere above the ocean far in the distance stirred Lucas from his thoughts. The sapphire dragon's call must've been a sort of challenge, because it instantly roused Rhaegon from his relaxation. Rhaegon rose on his legs and wings, brushing off Jace's petting hand, and launched from the ground with a great gust that made Lucas's and Jace's hair flutter. Jace clapped happily as he watched Rhaegon beat his wings and fly off into the distance. The dragon roared as he soared away.

Not long after that, Jace grew fussy and restless. Lucas figured that he had likely grown hungry. Lucas clutched his son against his side and stood to his feet.

As Lucas walked back to the homestead, he saw that Colton had for some bizarre reason lit the campfire between the house and the stable. He was gazing into the flickering flames. Ser Barristan stood nearby. The old knight took a sip from his waterskin, and then abruptly poured it out atop his head to cool himself.

Daenerys was standing by the house's open door. She was waiting for Lucas. It seemed she had suspected that Jace would have grown hungry by then. She smiled as Lucas carried their boy to her. "Is he hungry?" she asked.

"Seems so," Lucas said.

"Here, my sweet," Daenerys cooed lovingly as she took Jace from Lucas's arms. She pulled open the deep neck of her gown and brought Jace to the pink teat of her pale breast. Lucas saw that her breast was glistening with beads of sweat. It wasn't much cooler inside the house than it was out. "Awfully hot today," Daenerys noted as she looked to Lucas.

"Like the seventh hell," Lucas said. "Go on inside and have Tobas fan you both. I don't want either of you ill from the heat."

"Alright," Daenerys said.

Lucas sent her on her way with a quick kiss on her lips and a gentle pat on her arse. Then he turned to Colton and the burning campfire. "Are you mad?" he asked, partly amused and partly angered. "Put the fire out. It's sweltering out here."

Colton wiped the sweat from his brow. "The red priests say they can see visions in flames," he said. "I think they're full of shit. I can't see anything."

"Of course they're full of shit. There's no such thing as their 'Lord of Light.' Now put the bloody fire out."

Colton rose and stood to his feet. He grabbed the handles of the large cauldron of water above the fire and upended it. The flames let out an angry hiss as the water crashed over it. After poking the ashes around some with a stick, the fire was fully dead.

Then, when Colton turned to face Lucas, figures appeared behind him, coming out from behind the stable. Lucas's eyes bulged a bit when he saw them. Colton noticed something was wrong from his expression. "What?" he asked. Then he turned around and saw the same that Lucas did.

A party of nine men with an enclosed cart drawn by two horses approached. All had olive skin, black hair, and brown eyes. Some had bald heads or bald faces, but most had thick, curly hair and scraggly, wiry beards. A few had connected eyebrows. They all looked to be young men, and they were all around the same average build and height, not tall but not short, fit but not muscular. They were lightly dressed in simple garb of linen vestments, linen trousers, and leather boots. All nine of the men wore swords at their left hips, and theirs were strange in shape. The blades were curved, not straight.

When they came to a stop, the man atop the cart's right horse stepped out of his saddle and came down. His curls and beard were close-cropped, and his eyes were hazel, not dark brown like the others. He was perhaps the eldest of them. He approached Lucas with a smile that seemed genuine, and the brief bow he granted Lucas seemed no less so. "Greetings, friends," he said. "My name is Khrazar mo Dhazak. My companions and I are men of Meereen." There was a strange crudeness to his words. His Bastard Valyrian accent was different from those in the Free Cities. Lucas presumed it was the accent typical to his people. He had never spoken to a man of Meereen. But he knew enough about the city to fear its men's intentions. Meereen's mastery of slavery made Volantis's pale in comparison.

Lucas considered readying his hand atop the hilt of his sheathed sword, but he decided otherwise. He thought it best not to, yet. "You're a long way from Slaver's Bay," Lucas replied, speaking in Bastard Valyrian as well.

"Yes, but we're needed far and wide. Our mission is a very important one," Khrazar said.

"What mission would that be?" Lucas asked.

"Our wondrous city suffered a plague not long ago, as you may know. Our stock of slaves is now rather meager. I and others have travelled to the Free Cities to replenish it." Khrazar pointed a finger to the east, in the direction of Volantis, and then to the west. "My party and I were riding from Volantis to the Orange Shore when we happened to see the smoke from your fire."

"And what do you want with us?"

"We seek bed slaves," Khrazar explained. "Our brothels were hurt most of all during the plague. We're paying good coin, mind you. Thirty honors for any female of childbearing age. Sixty if they're young. A hundred if they're young and pretty. You three look to be wealthy, and unless you're all intimate with each other, I'm going to guess that you've some females in that home behind you. So, come now, trade us them for our coin. You'll never receive a better offer than this, that I assure you."

"We're Westerosi," Lucas said, speaking both sternly and pridefully. "We keep no slaves. Now turn around and leave this place."

Just then, behind Lucas, the house's door swung open. "Lucas?" Daenerys called out as she appeared in the doorway, wearing a smile. When she saw the unfamiliar men, her smile vanished.

Lucas whipped his head towards her. "Go back inside," he said.

Daenerys swiftly retreated and shut the door.

When Lucas looked back to Khrazar, he saw a sinister glimmer in the slaver's hazel eyes. Khrazar's lips curled into a wide grin. "And who is that young beauty?" he asked. "Can't be older than eighteen. That silver hair of hers is a rare sight in my city. Quite the delicacy. Yes, that girl would be very popular. One of the Great Masters might even take her as a personal pet."

A heat flashed in Lucas's face. His chest tightened.

"Mind your tongue, slaver," Ser Barristan growled.

"I say we cut the savage's tongue from his mouth," Colton suggested.

"Easy now, friends," Khrazar said, briefly raising his hands. "I trust that you all can count, and as you can see, there are nine of us, and only three of you. And I have just decided that we will not be leaving your home empty-handed. Now, I enjoy business much more than bloodshed, so, please, allow me to pay you for that silver-haired girl. Three hundred honors is more than fair, yes?"

Lucas's brow lowered, his expression hardening. "Leave this place. I won't ask you again."

"No, see, you've only two choices," Khrazar said, as though it were a matter of utter fact. "You can live to see the morrow as richer men, or you can die here today, in vain."

Colton laughed. It was one of his typical closemouthed chuckles, smug and certain. "You're the ones that'll die here today, and it won't be pretty," he told them. "At least you'll all be part of history."

"'History?'" Khrazar said with a single raised eyebrow, mildly confused but largely uncaring.

"History," Colton repeated. "A new dawn. The world's changed. You just don't know it yet."

Khrazar pointed at Colton as his gaze returned to Lucas. "This one thins my patience. I suggest you make your decision now."

"As you wish," Lucas said. Then, all at once, Lucas drew his sword from his scabbard to the sound of singing steel, cocked back his head, and shouted "Rhaegon, Dreamwing, Skyshark!" into the skies, roaring their names as loudly as his voice could muster.

A hissing symphony filled the air as everyone else drew their steel. Colton and Ser Barristan came forward and joined each of Lucas's sides, their swords readied same as his. Ser Barristan had donned his helm.

"That was a mistake, my friend," Khrazar said as he and the other slavers stared them down. "Three more men aren't going to save you."