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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
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"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 42: The Smoking Sea
The bath was large enough for two, though just barely. Steam rose from the hot water in curling tendrils, filling the small cabin with warmth and the faint scent of the oils Saera had added.
The lamp on the wall swayed gently with the motion of the ship, casting shifting shadows across the walls, and somewhere above, the sailors were singing an old song to keep their spirits high on the long voyage east.
Saera lay against his chest, her golden hair floating around them like silk, her skin warm and slick against his. She was humming softly, a tune he had heard before, something from Volantis perhaps, or from the Free Cities beyond. Her fingers traced idle patterns on his forearm, following the lines of muscle, the faint scars from training, the places where his skin was paler than the rest.
"A month," she said softly. "Has it really been a month?"
"A month tomorrow," Joffrey replied. His voice was soft and stripped of the sharp edges it wore when he dealt with more unpleasant folk. Here, in the dim warmth of the bath, with the ship creaking gently around them, he felt something closer to human. "We left King's Landing before my coronation. Tomorrow will mark one month since we set sail."
Saera shifted, turning to look at him. Her face was flushed from the heat, her red lips open to speak. "Are you starting to regret it? Not taking the crown?"
"No," Joffrey responded, perhaps a bit more sharply than he intended. "I do not."
She did not flinch at his tone. She had learned, over these weeks at sea, to read his moods, to know when his sharpness was meant for her and when it was meant for something else. "I heard you say before that you had no interest in being King. Then what is it that you want to be, my prince?"
She moved her lips closer to his as she spoke, her breath warm against his skin.
"My ambitions go far beyond giving orders to ignorant fools from an ugly chair made of melted swords." His hands moved beneath the water, tracing the curve of her waist, the wave of her hips.
"And what would that be?" She let her lips touch his, but just for a moment.
"If you stay at my side," he said, stroking her golden hair, "perhaps you will see it one day."
"I hope so."
He was silent for a moment, thinking of the days they had spent in the city. "Sorry that we couldn't stay on land for more than three days."
She shook her head. "I never thought I would see Volantis again. When the noble lady brought me to Westeros, I was told that I would never return home. That my life would just be serving in a castle. When the Queen chose me to be your handmaid..." She paused, her voice dropping. "I was so scared."
Joffrey said nothing. He knew his reputation had not been the best. The boy whose body he wore had been a monster, and the servants had known it well.
"We stopped there," she continued, her voice dreamy. "For supplies, you said. But I think..." She looked up at him, and there was something in her eyes that might have been wonder, or gratitude, or love. "I think you stopped there for me."
"We needed supplies," Joffrey said.
"You needed herbs." Saera laughed, a low, musical sound. "And spices. And fresh water. But you also let me walk through the markets, let me smell the smells and hear the sounds. You let me see it again." She reached up, touching his face, her fingers cool against his cheek. "I never thought I would see it again."
"There may be another chance to visit in the future. Once I'm able to move faster than what this ship can offer." He was thinking of other methods...Apparition, too risky without a wand; Portkeys, safer but requiring construction; Floo powder, useless in a world without connected hearths. But he had time...if he was careful.
Saera settled down, placing her back against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin. "Can you tell me about the next month?" she said. "What are we going to see?"
Joffrey took a moment to think, his hands wandering beneath the water, tracing the lines of her body. "If the winds are favorable, we will reach the Straits of Qarth in another month."
He paused, thinking. "But before that, we will pass close to the ruins of Old Valyria. The old home of the Targaryens, before the Doom. The Fourteen Flames erupted, and the greatest empire the world has ever known sank beneath the waves." His voice grew thoughtful. "And yet, there is so little information about what was truly there, or why that empire came to an end."
Saera shivered. "I have heard stories about the Doom of Valyria. Sailors speak of it...the Smoking Sea and its cursed waters, the demons that live in the ruins." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "They say the stone men live there. Men afflicted with greyscale, cast out to live among the ruins, mad and dying. They say if they touch you, you will become one of them. They say—"
"They say many things." Joffrey's voice was calm, untroubled. "Stories grow in the telling. But there is truth beneath them, always. The Doom was real. The Fourteen Flames erupted, and Valyria sank beneath the waves. The sea there still smokes, even after four hundred years."
He paused. "And there is magic still there." He could feel it even from this distance. It is old and powerful magic. The kind that does not die easily.
Saera was quiet for a moment. "You want to go there." It was not a question.
"I want to see it." Joffrey's voice was thoughtful. "I have read every book in the Red Keep that mentioned Valyria. The histories, the accounts of the Doom, the few fragments that survived. But the information in books is too limited. I want to see the ruins for myself. I want to feel the magic that still lingers there. I want to know what secrets the Doom has kept hidden for four hundred—"
"Prince." A rough voice from outside the cabin, impatient as a man who had been waiting too long. "The captain wants to speak with you."
Joffrey sighed. "What is it, Sandor?"
The door did not open. The Hound had learned that lesson. "Something about the route. He says we're getting too close to the Smoking Sea. Wants to change course."
Joffrey exchanged a glance with Saera. She smiled, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and slipped out of the bath, reaching for a towel. "Go," she said. "I will be here when you return. We can continue then."
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
The captain was waiting on the deck, his dark skin gleaming in the afternoon sun, his arms crossed over his chest. Behind him, the crew moved about their duties, but their eyes kept drifting to the southern horizon, where a faint haze of smoke stained the sky.
"Prince." Jalabhar Xho inclined his head, but there was no deference in the gesture. He was a man who had commanded ships and men for longer than Joffrey had been alive, and he did not bow easily. "We have a problem."
Joffrey leaned against the railing, looking south. The smoke was visible now, a dark smudge against the pale blue sky, rising from waters that should have been empty. "Yes, I heard. You want to change course."
"I want to survive." The captain's voice was tight. "We are too close to the Smoking Sea. Another day at this heading, and we will be in the ruins themselves. The currents are treacherous, the rocks unseen, and the fog..." He shook his head. "I have sailed these waters for thirty years. I have seen good ships disappear into that fog, never to return. I have heard the screams of men who ventured too close, who were taken by the stone men, who went mad from the fumes that rise from the water." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I do not know what you are looking for, Prince. I do not ask. But I will not throw away my life and my men's lives for some treasure that may or may not be there."
Joffrey's gaze remained fixed on the southern horizon. "I have no interest in simple treasures, Captain. I have enough gold and gems for now. What I seek is something deeper. Something more meaningful." He turned to look at the captain. "Perhaps a former pirate will not understand."
Captain Xho frowned. "Prince—"
"But I understand your concerns, and they are well-founded. Venturing into the Smoking Sea with the ship, approaching the ruins directly...that would likely end in the deaths of everyone aboard. I cannot have that."
A glimmer of hope appeared in the captain's eyes. "Then we can change course? We will only lose a few days at most by circling around Old Valyria. Then we can—"
"No." Joffrey's voice was flat, final. "You will still take us close. Close enough for me to use a small boat and reach land. Then you will drop anchor and wait. Twenty-four hours. If I do not return by then, you may leave."
The captain stared at him. "You... you want to set foot on that island? Alone?" His voice rose with disbelief. "You cannot be serious."
"I am quite serious." Joffrey turned to the Hound, who stood nearby, his scarred face unreadable. "Sandor. You will keep an eye on the good captain. Make sure they do not leave before the time is up. Can you do that?"
A feral grin appeared on the Hound's face as his hand grasped the pommel of his sword. "Aye."
"Then it is decided." Joffrey pointed toward the smoke on the horizon. "Take us there. And have the men prepare a small boat for me to use."
Captain Xho shook his head, his expression grim. "Aye, Prince." He walked away, muttering under his breath, no doubt already planning how to explain to his crew that the mad prince was about to sail to his death.
"He thinks you are going to die."
The voice was soft, unctuous, familiar. Joffrey did not turn. Lord Varys had materialized at his side, as he always seemed to do, his hands folded before him, his face serene.
"I am sure he does." Joffrey had grown accustomed to Varys's sudden appearances. "And what do you think?"
Varys tilted his head. "Me?"
"Yes. You are an advisor, are you not? I am asking for your opinion. Do you think I am mad?"
Varys studied him for a long moment, his pale eyes unblinking. "No, my prince. The poor captain does not know what you are capable of. But I have seen... enough. I do not believe you would venture into that place unless you were confident you had the means to survive it."
Joffrey shrugged. "I have studied many of the texts the Targaryens left behind about their old home. Some were even written by Aegon the Conqueror himself. King Robert was kind enough to store most of them in the same place, so they were easy to find."
"And what do you think happened?" Varys asked. "The Doom of Valyria remains one of the greatest mysteries. Even the maesters have not been able to fully understand it."
Joffrey was silent for a moment, his eyes on the smoke. "The texts told me one thing clearly: the Targaryens had no idea why the Doom occurred. They left Valyria only because Daenys the Dreamer had a prophetic vision. Aenar Targaryen believed his daughter, packed up his household, and sailed for Dragonstone. Twelve years later, the Doom took Valyria while they watched from across the sea."
"Yes, I know the story." Varys nodded. "The Targaryens lived on Dragonstone for a century before Aegon began his conquest. We know much of Targaryen history, but very little of the other houses of Valyria." He gave Joffrey an inquisitive glance. "What do you expect to find in those ruins? They have surely been searched by pirates and adventurers over the past four centuries, despite all the dangers mentioned by the good Captain."
Joffrey smiled, but did not answer. "We shall see."
He turned from the railing and walked toward the bow, where the smoke grew darker on the horizon, and the water beneath the ship had begun to take on a strange, oily sheen.
The Storm Dancer sailed on, and the Smoking Sea drew closer with every passing hour.
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