Rhaella and Daenerys returned to the heart of the settlement to find a harmonic scene.

Skoll and Viserys stood before a roaring fire in the center of a gathering crowd, stirring a massive iron cauldron of broth.

The settlers had evidently found success in their foraging, having hunted small game and gathered wild fruits to share for the evening meal.

Rhaella encouraged Daenerys to mingle with their subjects while she sought the solitude of the heights.

She shifted into her draconic form, her scales shimmering like fire, and coiled herself around the jagged peak of the volcano.

The subterranean heat seeped into her belly, nourishing and rejuvenating her spirit as she gazed down at her children and her people.

A surge of heavy magic drew her attention to the base of the mountain. Her slit pupils narrowed as she observed the five Guardians manipulating the earth itself, reshaping the obsidian and stone at the foot of the volcano.

Judging by the grand perimeter they were raising, she deduced they were constructing a palace fit for her family.

Suddenly, her head snapped up.

She felt a sensation wash over her, vivid and undeniable, as if she had just tasted the most decadent meal of her life.

She looked around, confused, only to feel it happen again. This time, the phantom flavor was that of a crisp, succulent apple.

Accompanying the taste came a whisper in her mind, clear as a bell.

‘My daughter still bears the collar in Volantis, Mother. I pray you bring her to me.’

The words resonated within her very soul. She extended her magical senses, sweeping over the encampment below to find the source.

She watched as a settler threw a portion of his meal into the fire, his lips moving in silent reverence.

Another man tossed a piece of bread into the flames, offering a prayer to her before he began eating and feeding a small girl beside him.

Rhaella felt the texture of the bread on her tongue, accompanied by the man’s desperate hope for his daughter’s happiness.

‘Fascinating’ Rhaella thought, allowing her mind to expand and welcome the chorus of devotion rising beside the fire.

She let her mind relax, drinking in the prayers of her people. A pattern emerged among the pleas, a common thread of sorrow woven through their gratitude.

‘It seems we will have to send expeditions to the Free Cities.’ she thought to herself, her heart heavy with the realization.

A vast number of the prayers came from hearts aching for kin who remained in chains across the Narrow Sea, slaves waiting for a liberation she now felt compelled to deliver.

| Back in the North (Year 289 AC) |

“When I get my hands on that mad fuck, I will split him down the middle from head to cunt,” Ned Stark growled, the sound echoing across the private training grounds.

Ice swung in a precise, lethal arc aimed at Ra’s shoulder. The strike was intercepted not by steel, but by a bare hand.

Ra slapped the flat of the Greatsword aside with casual gesture, deflecting the blow harmlessly.

“Easy now, Northman. We would not want anyone to hear the honorable Ned Stark using such foul language,” Ra teased with a chuckle, effortlessly blocking Ned’s counterstrike.

Despite his jest, the privacy was absolute. Ned had forbidden anyone from entering the training yard while they sparred, a rule that had stood for the better part of the two years Ned had been training with Ra.

“Another war,” Ned spat, his frustration lending speed to his blade. “For which I will have to leave my family yet again. By the Old Gods, Arya was just born.”

Ra continued to dance around the Lord of Winterfell, parrying and dodging with frustrating ease until he finally stepped inside Ned’s guard.

He caught the massive blade with his fingers, halting the Valyrian steel inches from his own neck.

“You are gaining nothing from this with how angry you are,” Ra stated calmly, holding the blade firm. “Spend time with your family.”

They were set to depart on the morrow. The coming evening and night would be the only peace Ned would know for some time.

The Warden of the North let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as he walked back to sheath his sword.

“Well… could you join me in the war?” Ned asked, voicing the question that had plagued him since the King’s raven arrived calling the banners.

“I will give you the answer to that on the morrow,” Ra answered enigmatically before walking past Ned to leave the yard.

“Hm. I hope Princess Elia grants you permission,” Ned called after him with a dry chuckle, receiving only a string of grumbling curses in return.

The evening meal was a private affair, as Ned had ordered, leaving the logistics of war to his trusted bannermen.

Yet, one matter required his personal attention before he could retire for the night after the meal.

Ned and Ra stood in the courtyard, facing thirty gnarled veterans of the Stone Watch, led by Galt Wolfsguard.

“No, you may not join us for the war,” Ned declared before Galt could even open his mouth, causing the man to choke on his prepared speech.

Over the years, the Stone Watch had become a sturdy keep that benefited House Stark immensely.

They had lessened crimes and banditry on the Wolfsroad significantly, and with how near they were to Winterfell, Ned wanted them in the North defending his family.

“Allow us a death in battle, My Lord,” one of the graybeards spoke up from behind Galt.

Even though they were not Stark men. By birth, they were mountain clansmen at heart, far more outspoken than the average smallfolk.

“I am old, My Lord. I cannot even shit properly anymore. I used to spend my time tupping my neighbor’s wife, and now even my little friend down there has stopped working,” another man overshared loudly.

Ned looked up at the darkening sky, feigning exasperation to hide the amusement tugging at his lips as the other men began swapping equally crude stories.

“Let the Lord speak! And you two, stop fighting. You are neighbors, for the Old Gods’ sake!” Galt barked, breaking up a scuffle between the oversharing man and the neighbor in question.

“Go home,” Ned started with a shout. The faces of the old men fell in collective disappointment.

“And pray to the gods you die in the war!” Ned finished.

He turned around just as a roar of joyous approval erupted from the men behind him, their wish for a warrior’s death granted.

Later that night, in the warmth of their chambers, Elia lay comfortably in Ra’s arms.

“I wonder what Balon Greyjoy was thinking when he declared independence,” she murmured against his neck.

“He was not,” Ra answered simply, earning a melodic giggle from the Dornish woman.

“Do you wish to fight with Ned?” Elia asked, snuggling closer.

“Well, let us not call this a war. It is more of a skirmish, or the willful madness of a man with a little power,” Ra said, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her bare back. “I do not think the skirmish will last more than six moons.”

Elia smiled, placing a hand on his chest for leverage as she climbed atop his stomach, her legs straddling his sides.

She tilted her head, her beautiful black hair cascading down to brush against her breasts.

“After you return, we will leave for Nightshade,” she whispered, leaning down toward him.

Ra hummed in agreement, his hands finding purchase on her hips as their lips met in a tender, lingering kiss.

“Tonight, you will have to love me enough for the six moons you will be at war,” she whispered in his ear.

Ra responded by gently flipping their positions, pressing her into the mattress as he hovered above her.

He trailed a line of kisses down the column of her neck before moving above her. He entered her with a slow, deliberate rhythm, drawing a soft, breathy moan from her lips.

Elia clung to his chest, anchoring herself to him as he thrust into her, moving in fluid patterns intent on stimulating her fully before the dawn would take him away.

A/n: Just a little bit of lemon in the end. I am not confident in writing lemons, but I will write one full lemon chapter with Ra and Elia after he returns.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep