Hugh Hammer (ASOIF/SI)

 Daemon spent himself into the writhing, sweaty form of Mysaria, her

 pale body flushed pink with the effects of their activities. Not for him

 Lady Misery and her whips, chains and other, more exotic forms of

 pleasure, no he would never allow anyone to have such domination

 over him, to humiliate him, even in jest or in mummery. No, he

 fucked Mysaria like he fucked every whore he had ever had, for his

 pleasure and his pleasure alone. That whores, and not a few noble

 ladies liked to be fucked in such a manner was of no surprise to

 Daemon Targaryen, for where they not all secretly delighted to

 receive the seed of the dragon, to have their wombs blessed by his

 emissions? For where not the Targaryen's, and by extension all the

 Blood of Old Valyria, superior to all and any across the face of

 Planetos? Had they not raised the greatest empire the world had

 ever seen, had they not ridden dragons in the hundreds to war and

 conquest? And had not the jealously and fear of the power of the

 Freehold caused her enemies to conspire to bring about the downfall

 of the Freehold?

 From a young age he had dismissed the nonsense that the Maesters

 prattled on about the Freehold, how is 'arrogance', who its 'hubris'

 had caused its fall. Oh no, even as a young child he had seen

 through their bare faced lies, their falsehoods, it had been jealously

 of the Freehold and all its works that had caused its enemies to plot

 and plan and enact the destruction of Old Valyria. For how could

 something as perfect, as grandiose as the Freehold ever be the

 source of its own doom?

 No, it was all lies, and from that day onwards he had known what his

 mission in life was, why he had been born at all. And why he had

 been born second to the fat fool Viserys, for what was worth doing

 was only worth doing if you strived for it, if you overcome great odds.

 Old Valyria had not sprung forth whole from the tribes of shepherds

who had learned to tame the dragons that inhabited the lands of the

 fourteen flames. No, it had struggled and grew, conquered and

 subdued, all the while often fighting for its very survival against

 stronger and larger opponents.

 And so he would also have to struggle, to overcome great odds, to

 prove himself worthy of the mantle of Old Valyria. Nothing would be

 given to him, even though he was a Prince, no, what he wanted he

 would have to take, and take by force.

 And just like the trials and travails of the early Freehold, whose

 histories he had read one day in the dusty old library on

 Dragonstone, he would find the path to victory a hard and twisting

 one. No easy path to tread, no smooth route to power for him, but he

 cared not, he enjoyed it this way, the feelings of accomplishment and

 of his cause advancing, slowly and out of sight of his enemies, who

 were unaware of what was coming.

 As he withdrew from the whore and lay back on the silken sheets of

 his bed a dark chortle escaped his lips, deflowering Alicent

 Hightower, now that had been quite the enjoyable moment,

 especially when Viserys had later married the slut, as he had long

 suspected he would, Otto Hightower had not brought his nubile

 daughter to Kings Landing because he missed her company. No, he

 had set the girl the task to snare the King with her cunt, but he had

 gotten there first, and he smiled at the delicious memory of breaking

 Alicents maidenhead, the sharp intake of breath from the slut,

 followed by the most wanton of moans.

 Even the taking of Laena Vlearyon's maidenhead had not been as

 sweet, though still a thoroughly enjoyable act. Ironically the first time

 he had fucked Rhaenyra had been something of a disappointment to

 him, though she was still beautiful and had matured into a fine,

 womanly figure, it had lacked something to Daemon's mind.

 Anyway, he put these pleasant remembrances to one side and

 brought his mind back to the present.

"What do you have to report?" he asked into the darkness, feeling

 the whore stiffen just slightly at his words.

 "You want a report, now?"

 "Now is as good a time as any" he drawled languidly, uncaring is the

 whore was displeased or not. He had raised her up to a position she

 could never have expected, he could just as easily cast her back

 down again if required. But no, he would not cast the whore back

 down, he would kill her when her usefulness to him was finished, or

 if he ever suspected any disloyalty to him.

 "Lord Strong remains elusive, but from what we can see he has

 been trying to make contact with certain elements in the city, mostly

 begging brothers from what I can see. As to what this entails my

 agents have not yet discerned. Several of the Vale contingents have

 also been approached, the troops of Lords Melcolm, Wydman and

 Blemore may no longer be loyal to us."

 "Hrmmmmm" was all Daemon countered with, his mind calculating

 and appraising the words of the Mistress of Whispers. That was a

 significant number of the troops from the Vale, it was time he

 reasoned to rotate the guards again, he had been doing this anyway,

 rotating the Vale men between guarding the Red Keep, guarding the

 city and patrolling the Crownlands. Those Houses were all obviously

 assigned currently to the city and the Red Keep, it was time to move

 them to patrolling and garrisoning the Crownlands. Hopefully that

 would not precipitate whatever the Greens were planning, he was

 fully confident that they could fend off any direct assault on Kings

 Landing, that was not what he was worried about.

 Any direct assault on Kings Landing by the armies of the Greens

 would come from the Reach and the Stormlands, and he would have

 to use dragons to counter them, for he did not have enough troops to

 meet the Greens in open battle. But that would likely leave Kings

 Landing open to a dragon strike, and the latest whispers he had from

 his own sources was that the Greens were on the move, both in the

 Reach and the Stormlands.

Daemon could read a map as well as anyone else, and he knew

 where the forces in the Reach would be headed, towards Tumbleton

 and with the intent of cutting Kings Landing off completely from the

 agricultural bounty of the Reach. The mass of rivers and short,

 interconnecting roads that crisscrossed the upper parts of the

 Mander and which concentrated on Tumbleton were the objectives of

 the Greens.

 And the behaviour of the Greens in the Reach was concerning him,

 instead of moving as one great army they were moving in smaller

 contingents of several thousand at most, and with many, many

 scorpions according to his sources. And at night they camped mostly

 in forests as opposed to out in the open, a most contrary behaviour

 to normal. This was problematical, for it spoke of tactics to reduce

 the effectiveness of dragons, the one thing which the Blacks in

 abundance over the Greens.

 His enemies were actively countering his most prized weapons, and

 it annoyed Daemon, and it made the defence of Kings Landing even

 more problematical. He could not mass the dragons against these

 dispersed threats, and he suspected that the Greens would launch

 simultaneous attacks across a wide front, to destabilise the Iron

 Thrones remaining supporters in the upper portions of the Reach.

 Sending out the dragons in small groups to simultaneously deal with

 multiple threats made them vulnerable to Vhagar, he discounted

 Tessarion, the dragon was too small to be much of a threat.

 And on that note, his spies had informed him that Vhagar and

 Tessarion had flown to the Stormlands, and he was unsure what to

 make of that piece of information.

 Was this the action that had prodded Lord Borros Baratheon to

 finally get up off his arse and start moving his troops towards Kings

 Landing? Or was it to stage the dragons for a strike on Kings

 Landing once he was forced to send his dragons to beat off the

 attacks in the upper Reach?

Ah, the joys of being in command Daemon sighed, much to think

 about and as always too little time and too little resources to deal

 with everything. And too little patience to deal with Rhaenyra, she

 was fast losing her limited usefulness to him, her increasing

 irrationality was becoming annoying. Mayhaps the death of her son

 Joffrey might send his dear Queen into a depression which she

 might find the blessed release of the stranger the answer to her

 sorrows. For to lose another son so tragically, would that not break

 the heart of even the strongest of mothers?