How can you say that my line was worse?! She was positively shaking with rage and Maekar winced just a little. This conversation had become a little heated and they did have bigger problems to deal with.
Come here, come on, lets hug it out. Visenya Targaryen struggled against him for a moment before she let herself be hugged. That was by dealing with the immediate problem and not even thinking about how the twenty-five-year-old Visenya Targaryen the Conqueror was transported along with Maekar himself into an unknown year and place.
He had Dark Sister with him as well as his Targaryen colored armor, dragon helm in hand along with a red and black cloak with the three headed dragon and all. They both had a Valyrian Steel longsword named Dark Sister and it was bound to get confusing. It was safe to say that the timeline was fucking with them. Visenya looked up at him slightly, ever so slightly as they were nearly the same height, and Maekar noticed that those violet eyes looked a little pained.
Not that he would budge on the matter though. Maekar frowned at her, and she pouted in response. How this woman helped conqueror six of the Seven Kingdoms was a mystery, though in his experience dragons were really useful in making people bend the knee. Visenya narrowed her eyes at him and Maekar watched as she reached forwards with her hand towards his groin.
Not that it deterred her or anything. That means no food or water or gold. They started walking down the road they were standing on Maekar frowned at the implications of her words.
Just watched House Targaryen? Did he not at least try to be with you? Rhaenys was all sunshine and rainbows. She played with men until she lost her interest. Aegon was just one of those toys. This is a curse. The timeline certainly has something against you.
We get a new chance at life. Gods, I can finally relax and just live life with my own hunk of man. They both looked at the rising smoke in the distance and noticed that it was not large plume of smoke, but several plumes close together. Maekar sniffed the air, and his nose was his with the familiar scent of piss, shit, and sweaty bodies.
There was only one place where all three were common. They had to be about half a league from the city and if he squinted Maekar could see the city walls. They were already late to the party as the sack was already underway, but maybe they could stop the worse from happening. The running became considerably easier without all the weight on them, but they were still running half a league, and that was just to get to the city itself. As they got closer however, Maekar spotted a problem.
The Lannister host was encamped outside of the city walls and were blocking most of the gates. As if by a stroke of luck however, the Mud Gate was being mostly ignored due to the Blackwater Rush nearby.
The two of them had to stop to catch their breath. Fuck, running in a suit of armor was not a fun experience. Even with featherlight charms applied it was still a suit of metal armor.
I get to kill Lannisters and save Targaryens, what more could I ask for? They made their way towards the city as it was being sacked. Peasants and nobles alike were running for their lives towards the harbor and Maekar spotted more than a few of them drowning in the waters of the Blackwater.
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Vhagar screeched its arrival, and all around did the smallfolk flee from its fiery embrace. The Dragon was not to be trifled with, only bested by Balerion the Black Dread, Vhagar was no less viscous. The people of the Riverlands remember a Dragon's wrath well, when Aegon dove inside Harrenhal and melted the mightiest castle ever constructed. Many of them had father, or grandfather's who had worked upon the project, there were a few who had even laid the final stones upon the castle's ramparts.
And thus when Vhagar appeared without notice, or with royal party, did the people fear they were about to truly see what the King's Peace meant in all its glory. Atranta's proud banners shuddered at her arrival, and the crossbowmen dipped their weapons in recognition.
Ronnel Vance could only pray that his time was not today, and he ordered every serving girl, groomsman, and servant to appear in their best clothing as well as make something of themselves. The Dragon appeared not soon after, and the entire garrison dipped the banners of the Vance, and atop Atranta's tallest tower, unfurled an unfinished tapestry of the Targaryen red-and-black.
It did not matter, for their assent and due diligence was noted, Visenya departed, and made her way to be hosted.
A single woman was no great ordeal for a lord to host, but a full-grown dragon was another matter. That problem solved itself, as the beast lifted its massive wings and departed with an instant after the Queen had left it, going off north, towards Smallwood lands.
Days passed, and the Queen would stalk the halls. She had been assigned towards the north, to Seagard, but in truth the woman had no intention to seek it out.
She had given Lyseri specific instructions, and even a day too far might despoil everything twice over. Besides, she had heard and seen that the true point of tension within this region was the massacre of Fairmarket, and no ironborn incursion had been spotted henceforth. What Visenya was truly taken with, was not warfare as was the rumour, but matchmaking.
And so it was, when the Queen walked the halls and heard the fainted whispers of two young lovers baiting their breath, she had known immediately what she had come across. Visenya appeared in a rapid moment, her foreboding presence drawing the weakness of men and the admiration of women. Her eyes could melt valyrian steel, it was known. She hated spies as well, though she was known to use them.
But she was merely vexing the two, a man and woman, or rather.. A boy and girl. The boy, Gerich Vance, was a young man of nine-and-ten.
An adequate blade and of a practical disposition, he wanted nothing else to supply for his family and make one of his own to enjoy. A peerless goal, in truth. The girl was three years his younger, a maid who enjoyed to ride and to sing, but she was not of this house.
Not of the castle. They were fumbling, not truly doing anything of note, save blushing and making sweet promises.
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