"Did you see the way he carries himself?" Viserys demanded, his tone sharp with agitation as he turned to Daenerys. "Mercenaries live on the edge—failure means death. The Wolf King has never lost. He's the liberator of the Contested Lands, just like Aegon the Conqueror! That's how he's climbed so high, so fast."
"But I don't want this," Daenerys said softly.
Her eyes lingered on Gendry. His dark gaze burned with strength and resolve, yet there was warmth there too—an almost disarming kindness. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his arms strong and corded with muscle, the body of a blacksmith rather than a prince. Daenerys thought bitterly that even if he had been a hideous monster, Viserys would still have given her away.
Her brother's temper was like wildfire; it flared at the slightest spark. But Gendry—he was something else entirely. Fierce, untamed, and proud, more wolf than man. And Daenerys, caught between fear and fascination, reminded herself that this was no courtship—it was a bargain. She was being traded like a coin, to leave Pentos and follow a stranger into the unknown.
"Viserys," she whispered, desperate, "please—let's go home, brother."
"Home?" Viserys's voice rose, trembling with rage. "Our home is gone! Burned, stolen, lost! How can we go home?"
Daenerys's tears glimmered in the torchlight. Was that truly home? Dragonstone? King's Landing? The Iron Throne? Or only memories of a kingdom long turned to ash?
"I want you to perform well this time!" Viserys snapped suddenly, his face twisted. "You will marry this mercenary king. We need his army. With twenty, thirty thousand men—two hundred ships—I'd trade anything. I'd let you sleep with every one of them, even the horses and the ships, if that's what it took! So be grateful—it's only the king you have to lie with. Now smile, and make yourself presentable."
Daenerys quickly brushed away her tears as the portly Magister Illyrio approached with a beaming smile, Gendry following at his side.
"Straighten up," Viserys hissed, jabbing a finger at her chest. "At least try to look like a woman."
Gendry stopped before them and took Daenerys's hand gently in his. She flinched but didn't pull away.
"All the flowers tonight pale beside you, princess," Gendry said with quiet admiration.
Daenerys lowered her gaze, her cheeks warming. She was small and slender, her chest barely there, yet her beauty was undeniable—silver hair like moonlight, eyes the color of lilac fire. It was a beauty that would one day make her legend, but now she felt only fragile and lost.
Gendry's voice was deep and sure, like steel striking an anvil. His words held power, and she felt that power pull at her heart despite herself. She hesitated, then nodded timidly.
Illyrio's grin widened. The arrangement had gone smoothly. The alliance between the Wolf King and House Targaryen was sealed.
But then Gendry turned to him and said, "Governor, I think the treaty needs one small change. I appreciate all your efforts, but I've decided to wait. I will not marry the princess until she comes of age. Until then, I'll be her guardian."
The smile froze on Illyrio's face. For a moment, he looked as though someone had struck him. Wait? That was not in the plan. A delay meant no army, no campaign. Daenerys was only thirteen. His mind raced.
"As the Consul pleases," Illyrio said finally, forcing a gracious tone through clenched teeth. "Of course."
These Westerosi are worse than the Dothraki, he thought darkly. If he won't be bought, I'll sell the truth instead.
Gendry paid him no further attention. "Then I shall take my fiancée for a walk," he said, and, ignoring both Illyrio and Viserys, led Daenerys toward the quiet gardens beyond the hall.
"This won't do!" Viserys burst out, trembling with fury. "The usurper sits on my father's throne! I will not wait another day! If I'd known this, I'd have given my sister to the Horse Lord instead!"
Gendry did not look back. His Unsullied guards turned cold eyes on Viserys, their faces expressionless as steel. For the first time, the so-called dragon prince fell silent under their gaze.
Illyrio shrugged heavily. "Your Grace," he said, "you've waited most of your life. What difference will a few more months—or even a few more years—make?"
Jorah Mormont, standing nearby, added coolly, "The Commander will not forget your friendship, Magister. He will repay you in kind. But all must proceed according to his will. Those who beg favors from power should learn humility, not arrogance."
Viserys's face went crimson. "Mind your tongue, Mormont, or I'll cut it out! I am the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms! A dragon does not grovel!"
Jorah met his glare with quiet contempt, and Illyrio stepped between them, smiling nervously to defuse the tension.
Viserys spat the words like venom. "I'll spare you for now, northman—but remember this: a true dragon never forgets!"
---
In the garden, the air was cool and still. The fountains murmured softly, and moonlight spilled across the flowers like silver dust.
Gendry dismissed the guards and attendants, keeping only the faint rustle of leaves for company. He gestured for Daenerys to sit beside him on a marble bench beneath the arbor.
There were many blossoms that night—roses, lilacs, jasmine—but none, he thought, as radiant as the girl before him.
He took off his cloak and draped it gently over her shoulders. The wool was coarse, smelling faintly of smoke and steel, yet its warmth was comforting.
Daenerys hesitated, then whispered to herself, "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone. The blood of Aegon the Conqueror runs in my veins."
She was frightened but defiant. In her mind, she imagined that the king might demand her body here and now, crude and thoughtless. Yet instead, he had chosen to wait. That alone confused her more than she cared to admit.
"I have a gift for you," Gendry said softly, producing a small chest. Inside lay a slender crown shaped like a dragon, its body wrought of gold and its eyes two gleaming rubies. It was delicate, beautiful—made for a queen.
Daenerys gasped. "This is…"
"Queen Rhaella's crown," Gendry said with a faint smile. "I had it brought from the Free Cities. It cost me dearly, but I thought you should have it."
Her fingers trembled as she lifted it. For the first time in years, she felt a piece of her lost dignity restored.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"I want you to see me," Gendry said quietly, and then removed the mask that had hidden his face.
Daenerys looked up—and froze.
He was strikingly handsome. His face was clean and strong, all sharp lines and symmetry. His hair was thick, dark as midnight, and his eyes a deep blue, clear as the sea after a storm.
"Do you want to know who I really am, Dany?" he asked.
She nodded slowly.
"This is a secret," he said, his voice low. "I'm telling you because I trust you. I'm like you, Daenerys—I have no home. I fled King's Landing and made my way here. I used to be a blacksmith there, before I joined the mercenaries."
Daenerys's eyes widened. In her heart, she already felt his story was no ordinary one.
"What about your family?" she asked.
He hesitated, then said, "I'm a bastard. My mother died when I was young. My father… he's powerful, but he never cared for me. He only loved his pleasures and his wars. His wife wanted me dead. If I hadn't run, I'd have been killed like the rest of his bastards."
A chill ran through Daenerys. She thought of the whispers she'd heard—the usurper's strength, his temper, his cruelty. And suddenly the truth struck her like a blade.
"You…" Her voice faltered. "You're his son."
Gendry's expression was solemn. "Yes. I'm the bastard of the Usurper. The one they abandoned. I hate the Lannisters as much as you do."
Her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to recoil—and yet she couldn't. He was her enemy's blood, but his eyes were honest. He had risked his life, and even now, he stood before her with no crown, no claim, only sincerity.
He reached for her hand, and she didn't pull away.
"We are both outcasts," he said softly. "Abandoned by our families, by our kingdoms. But perhaps fate meant for us to find each other."
Daenerys swallowed hard, her thoughts a storm of fear and longing. "Then I will give you a home," she said finally, her voice trembling. She leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were warm; hers, cool as snow.
I am the blood of the dragon, she thought fiercely. I am fire.
And though he was the bastard of her family's greatest enemy, she saw in him not the usurper's shadow, but a man forged by pain and tempered by will. In his arms, she no longer felt powerless.
They were both the forgotten—two lost children of war, drawn together by fate and loneliness.
And for the first time, Daenerys Stormborn felt that the story of her life was only beginning.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)