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A Song of Blackjack and Hookers (chapter 11)
🕑 Added 2025-02-22 20:43:26 +0000 UTCSolomon
He refrained from rolling his eyes as the sallow-skinned Prince of Dorne again looked away at the many pools and fountains of the Water Gardens. The man had proven to be just as stubborn as he expected.
He took a sip of the wine he was offered, but it was both too strong and too sweet.
"And where is this Aegon now?" he finally heard.
"With Jon Connington."
Doran descended into silence again, sipping on his own wine. At least they were in the shade, where the heat was not unbearable.
"A clever ploy, faking his death." There was something angry and bitter behind the serene mask. "I knew Varys was not to be trusted. Elia had written of him when she still lived, how he would whisper in the king's ear, conjuring shadows for him to chase."
He had nodded along. "You hoped to turn the game on him when the Targaryen siblings returned to Westeros."
"Yes. With Dorne isolated as it was, an even hand was needed."
"You seem unbothered admitting these things to a stranger," Solomon commented, leaning back.
"If this were some revelation, you would not be here playing your own game against the eunuch."
He smiled. "Well said, my prince. I admit that I would rather you come ahead and not Varys. You do not pretend to be a servant of the realm as you put a torch to it."
Doran looked at him doubtfully. "Is that what drives you?"
"No," he answered easily. "I will not lie and tell you the fate of Elia Martell and her children are what drive me either, though having seen it with my own eyes, I cannot say it didn't move me."
The Dornish prince's dark eyes did not stray for once. "Did Tywin give the order to kill Elia as well?"
"Yes," he answered just as easily. "He is a man as petty as he is full of pride. He had never abandoned the slight against him when Aerys had married Rhaegar to Elia and not Cersei, but I expect you already suspected as such."
"I could never be certain with a beast as Gregor Clegane." There was another pause and a slow exhale. "I will hear your plan."
"I will go to Pentos." The rest was easy to guess.
Doran made a pensive expression. "I cannot allow Dorne to be seen acting openly, but Oberyn still has contacts within the many sellsword companies in Essos."
"No need. It is better if all Varys hears is that we spoke."
"I see. You intend to bring the Targaryen siblings to Dorne." There was a quiet sigh. "Viserys is not a man prone to subtlety or secrecy."
"I will implore upon him the need."
The sickly man still hesitated, but that was what he was known for. "Dorne alone cannot win Viserys his crown. I had my reservations regarding the scheme with this Khal Drogo, but your success will mean that path is barred to us."
"Khal Drogo would have given Viserys a crown, yes. A crown of molten gold." Solomon gave a small shrug after. "Varys would not even see your daughter married to Aegon. Just as Dorne cannot win Viserys a crown, so too it cannot win one for Aegon Blackfyre."
Those dark eyes caught on the mirror as he retrieved it.
"It will not be men that win Viserys his crown and avenge royal blood spilt, but dragons." He held out his hand. "In a year's time a red comet will blaze across the skies, my prince. The herald of a new Age of Heroes."
The Dornish prince took the mirror gingerly, his sleek brows furrowing as he looked into it. Amusingly, it was almost exactly what Bloodraven had shown that night.
He soon licked his lips as he looked away from the mirror. "Viserys is temperamental. Impulsive."
"You knew all of that already and still planned to wed Arianne to him. This way there might still be time to mold him into a king worthy of the name."
He personally thought it unlikely, but stranger things have happened. Taking the mirror back from a shaky hand, he continued to speak milk and honey into Prince Doran's ear.
"Much of his madness stems from the years after he and his sister were forced from Braavos. With only a few possessions to their name, they soon lost it all piece by piece, until he had to sell even his mother's crown, his own crown since she had crowned him with it. It was the last thing he had left of her."
The sickly man actually looked somewhat aggrieved at that, his hands clutching at the blanket over his legs. "I could not act while Robert Baratheon's wrath could still fall upon Dorne."
"You can still find the crown, my prince. I am rather certain that Varys at least has some idea where it has gone, and he should find no issue with you wanting to make a gift of it alongside your daughter's hand. It should serve as the perfect distraction."
"It will not take him long to figure us out."
"Even if he catches on, he will soon not be able to whisper in the ears of kings as he has."
At least, he did not expect Cersei to actually succeed in catching a spider.
The silence returned, longer this time, though he could not be too upset. Doran Martell had agreed to meet with him, unlike one Lord Leyton Hightower. And he had prepared such a wonderful gift as well…
Finally, the Dornish prince stirred. "I give your plan my blessings. Bring them to Dorne."
He nodded gracefully. "Though there was another reason I have come to Dorne. I hear some of your people still hold to Rhoynish traditions. Orphans, they call themselves."
There was only a short pause this time. "Any sorcery they possess is unlikely to impress you. If bathing for ten days and ten nights in a river could heal my condition, then I would already be healed."
"I am curious nonetheless," he answered with another smile. "Though on your condition, you may want to limit how much you indulge in wine. Especially one as strong as this." He raised the cup a moment.
The sickly man looked away stubbornly. "Maester Caleotte says the same, though were he so all-knowing, I reckon would not be in this condition to begin with."
"I imagine the wine also helps with the pain." The silence was answer enough. "I will see what I can do before I leave for Pentos, but consider abstaining for the moment."
He had stood when Doran spoke again. "I will speak to Oberyn, but he is as impudent as he is impetuous. He will seek you out to get your measure himself."
A soft chuckle left his lips. "I expect he will."
Solomon glanced at the guard with the impressive axe on his back as he left. That went well.
Pulling himself up on the reddish sand steed he had been lent, he spurred the stallion back to Sunspear along the winding windswept path that traveled down the coast.
He had never been the biggest fan of places hot and humid, but he could appreciate the beauty in the shimmering waters and red sands. It had been something of an adventure getting here, first to Storm's End, then Highgarden, Oldtown… he had mapped it all out before he had even stepped into King's Landing.
In a month or two he would be at its end. Pentos.
The next moment he was elsewhere, looking down at a longship black as sin with sails to match; Asha's Black Wind. The sensation of flying was hard to describe, but he had grown to love it. Well worth the blood he had spilt first at Storm's End and then at Highgarden.
Bloodraven's breadth of knowledge when it came to sorcery had also been appreciated.
He couldn't trust him, of course, but then he didn't need to. He had only agreed to do a few small tasks for the decrepit greenseer, and while he was sure there were some things he was missing, he understood their purpose well enough that it did not rank very highly on his worries.
He flew lower on white wings, landing on the railing. For all that Asha called it a longship, it was nothing like any Viking longship he remembered seeing, too fat and resting too high above the water. It was still long, he supposed.
Some of the crew threw him nervous looks, but they were used to Gulligan by now. Besides, they had him to thank for their recent stroke of good luck, avoiding two storms and even catching a fat Lyseni ship on the open sea.
Asha had kissed him for it, though she probably would have done so sooner if he hadn't been so obsessed with pushing the limits of what he could do. He wasn't blind to how she looked at him.
Curiously, he didn't see her on the deck of her longship, and not her cabin either. Exploring the shadow city, perhaps.
Retreating, he soon saw Sunspear for himself again, its towers reaching for the sun as the shadow city hid beneath their shade. He left the stallion's reins in the hands of a guard in Martell colors, making his way through the city to the harbor.
The ironborn gave him a wide berth as he boarded the longship, Gulligan swooping over to one of his shoulders. Solomon stroked his feathers, the monstrous seagull producing a funny crooning noise.
He had jokingly dubbed him Gulligan the First of His Name, King of the Skies and the Winged Rats, Lord of the Beaches and Protector of the Coast. It was an appropriate name for the product of his first foray into the Valyrian art with too long of a name that he had shortened to fleshcrafting.
The Valyrians had perfected it over the centuries, and it had survived the Doom through Mantarys and Gogossos the book he received from Marwyn had said, though the second had since fallen into ruin. His newfound command over it probably wouldn't have impressed any dragonlord of old, but Rome wasn't built in a day either.
It didn't help that a drop of sorcery cost ten drops of blood. He must have spilled at least a pint of his own for some reason very valuable blood to produce the mirror, while Renly and Margaery's gifts had left him lightheaded for the better part of a week.
He went down below deck, to a small dark room that stunk of wine.
"Sunspear is beautiful, I have to say. Despite the weather."
The man stirred, bloodshot eyes finding the bottle of aged Dornish red in his hands. He left it in front of him, watching as he took a deep drink.
"I thought I would find something other than Arbor red for you."
"Thank you…"
Solomon continued to watch as more and more wine vanished past cracked lips. "Come. You can see it for yourself." He saw the scattered and conflicted emotions. "You can take the wine with you."
A glance through Gulligan's eyes showed the false knight trailing after him. The ironborn gave a few queer looks but no more than that.
They walked along the beach for a time, further and farther from Sunspear, the sun beginning to dip under the horizon to turn the waters shades of red and orange and yellow.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"Beautiful… as you said…"
He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "A better way to meet the end than a jeering crowd, I think."
There wasn't any surprise that he saw, just a grim acceptance. Even some relief.
For his part, he had already made the decision weeks ago, for the next step would require more than a tithe of blood.
The false knight knelt with his eyes on the sunset, not even glancing at the mirror Solomon placed on the once white sands.
"If you have any last words," he whispered after, "then I will listen."
"I have none."
Solomon pulled the sword from its scabbard, the sunset painting the blade the same blend of colors as everything else. There was something ironic or poetic about it being his own sword, maybe, or that it was the same sword that had slit the throats of his victims.
There was nothing more to say, so he placed the tip to the man's back, aiming for his heart. With a push and a few more whispered words of binding, he pierced right through it, a shuddering gasp breaking the quiet.
Gulligan squawked from the sky as blood seeped into the sand, but only for a few moments more. As the dying man breathed his last, the sword still lodged in his heart, the mirror drew it all, drinking deeply of a man's life.
It was done.
His hand let go of the hilt, leaving the sword where it was. He retrieved the mirror when there was no more blood decorating the sand.
It was a macabre sight that was left, a kneeling bloodless corpse with a sword in its heart. The sea would take them both when the tide swept back in, and the empty wine bottle as well.
The sun had set completely by the time he made it back to Sunspear, a hundred braziers illuminating the shadow city now. He soon heard the sounds of celebration carrying across the harbor from the Black Wind.
They quieted slightly at his presence, but not for long, and it seemed Asha had returned as well, a saucy grin on her lips as she sauntered over to him. She really was the quintessential tomboy, and something of a princess even.
There was a joke there, he knew.
He gave her a small smile. "Good news?"
"Aye. Between Oldtown and the haul we brought in here, I don't think I've ever had as much coin lining my pockets. And you promised me many more ships to come."
Her dark eyes glittered almost like gemstones under the torchlight, the greed easy to see, though they soon flickered behind him.
"And where is our Ser Flowers, I wonder?"
"At rest." He turned to the sea, the waters black as night now. "I think I shall stay in Dorne for a time, but you are of course free to ply your trade. Gulligan will go with you."
His Grace gave a squawk from somewhere above them at his name.
Whenever he looked at the water here, his thoughts always went to what dwelled beneath the surface. He knew he could only keep his curiosity at bay for so long, and that one day he would spill his blood into the sea and see if the Drowned God answered.
It was one of the questions he asked when he had first arrived. Were there gods, or was it all shades of sorcery? And if there were gods, maybe one of them might know how he got here…
Asha pulled his attention back to her, something mischievous in her eyes. "Want to fuck?"
The sudden question brought his thoughts to a halt, and he couldn't help staring at her. Though she just stared right back, her nails tickling his forearm.
"A rather shameless question, don't you think?" he finally teased.
"I've not much shame in me, it's true." He watched her slim form shimmy between him and the railing. "I've been making eyes at you and you've played coy, so I thought I would simply ask."
"More accurate to say that my mind has been elsewhere." The kind of exhaustion that prolonged skinchanging brought was not a physical exhaustion. It was something deeper. "I recall you already having a lover also."
"I can't have two? On my ship I might as well be queen, and I say I can have two or three or thirty."
"And if I didn't want to share?" Her words and the way she was getting handsy was having an effect on him, but then he always had a thing for troublesome women. "After all, a mummer can be a king or queen or even a dragon."
"Or a sorcerer."
"Touché." She had heard the word from him enough times that she might even be beginning to grasp its meaning.
"You can always fight it out with Qarl if you want. Just be careful, he's rather good at sticking the pointy end of his sword in men."
There were a few things he could say to that, but he decided instead to just pin her against the railing and kiss her, tasting wine and something sweeter. Of course, she was no wallflower, her nails digging into his back painfully, even through the fabric.
He relented when she pushed him back slightly, breathy gasps leaving her lips as her dark eyes smoldered. He similarly didn't fight her taking his hand and pulling him behind her to her cabin.
It might even end up serving a grander purpose.
There was a proper bed there, he found, at least compared to the makeshift cot he had been sleeping in. Not that he cared; he could have slept on the deck in the rain if it got him what he wanted.
In retrospect however, maybe he should have done this sooner.
Asha was reclining on her bed now, undressing him with her eyes. "I think I want to see how a sorcerer's sword compares," she commented.
While he wasn't shy, he saw the power play for what it was. "You were enticing a sorcerer into your bed, Asha. Don't get lazy now."
He did remove the cloak at his back, a vivid yellow even in the dim light of the cabin.
The ironborn princess had begun pulling off parts of her black ensemble as well, her skin surprisingly pale for someone so fond of sunny weather. And despite her small breasts, she made up for it with long legs and being flexible as a cat as she stretched out on the bed.
She threw him a smirk after. "Enticing enough?"
Solomon smiled, following her example. He had always tried to stay fit, for his work if nothing else, but the last few months had left him lean as a wolf, and from the way her eyes followed him, she approved.
Of course, the surprise after he bared his 'sword' was what he enjoyed the most. It wasn't so much nervous surprise as Cersei had radiated, but something more competitive.
"I should have known with how cocky you are."
"Then I should ask that you to get down on your knees and get acquainted," he shot back, not missing a beat.
Her eyes flashed at his words as she stood, kissing his shoulder instead as she struggled to find a good grip. "I'm afraid my lips are only for planting kisses," she husked.
Still, he wasn't deterred, threading his fingers into her black hair. "For how rich I have made you, I think you can make an exception. And if not for that and all the ships to come…" His other hand trailed down her back, drawing a soft groan from her. "Then for the queen you will become in truth."
"I don't need you to give me a crown," she argued, but his thumb quickly silenced her, pushing at her lips.
"That is not what I said. Is it not a captain's duty to win the trust of her men? A queen's as well?"
"And I do that with this thing in my mouth, hmm?" There was a certain danger to her question, one he enjoyed, madman that he was.
"It would show you can be more than selfish, Asha."
Her dark eyes gleamed as she turned his words over in her head, and soon she found a happy compromise, lowering herself down into a squat instead of kneeling. He gave a groan of his own when she took him inside, those eyes staring up at him now.
When she made a face at the taste, he wanted to tease her about being even more inexperienced than a certain lioness, but there were limits when a girl had your cock in her mouth, and that went double for would-be pirate queens.
"I do not think you would mind me giving you a crown too much either," he continued anyway, playing with her hair. "You didn't mind when I gave you a ship fat with spoils."
Her teeth grazed him warningly, and he chuckled, enjoying her awkward sucking. He could have gone on with it, but now that she was at it, he wanted to see how she would find the taste.
At least she was open to advice, her tongue becoming a more active participant after he had commented on it.
She popped it out of her mouth a moment. "It certainly likes to twitch, doesn't it?"
"It has a mind of its own sometimes," he admitted, encouraging her to mouth it again. Though as she went back to sucking like a virgin, he couldn't help teasing her with a question. "Shall you swallow my seed or shall I paint your face with it?"
It was best he laid out her options now rather than have it end in disappointment.
She retreated again, giving him a petulant look.
He smiled right back down at her. "Do you think I do not intend to kiss your womb as well?"
Her eyes flickered to the heavy thing her fingers were propping up. "You know just what to say to a lady, don't you?"
"You could say that. The question?"
"I suppose I am curious to see if a sorcerer's seed tastes any less foul." The ironborn princess went back to it after her words, trying out new things and watching him to find out if he liked them. It's how she figured out that she should hum.
He held her to her decision as he finally came in her mouth with a grunt, and he could quickly tell she was not a fan, making a funny face at him and refusing to swallow.
Still, that was enough for him, and he soon watched her spit his seed out into her hands.
"Just as foul," she complained. She complained about how much of it there was as well, even as he gave a soft sigh.
She took advantage of his momentary weakness to push him on the bed, straddling him.
"It best come back to life soon or we're going to have words."
"Maybe you should give him some encouragement," he teased.
Asha snorted. "What more encouragement does it need than the chance to kiss my womb as you said."
That did get a twitch, to be fair. "Keep going."
Her nails trailed up and down the length of it. "With a beast like this, I think it's going to be a snug fit to say the least." She smirked when it twitched again.
"You should paint your nails black. I think it would fit you."
One of her slender eyebrows rose. "I think I will leave it to the greenlander ladies to paint their nails."
He shrugged. "Just a thought. I think it would make you look more dangerous, not less."
She gave another snort, but by then a certain part of him had filled with blood again. Heaving it up to point at the sky, she raised herself high enough so that her folds rested on the tip.
Her dark eyes caught his as she brought herself down, the wind knocked out of her lungs, But with the mad smile she gave, he thought she rather liked it.
It took her some time until she finally claimed it all, with a harsh grunt on her part and a groan from him. "This is not a thing for a greenlander lady," she bit out through grit teeth. "It's more than kissed my womb."
"Too much?" he husked.
Her dark eyes flashed as she reared herself back up and brought herself down, hissing in pain and pleasure both. She wasn't wrong about it being a snug fit either. It was a good thing he decided to spend himself into her mouth first, or this would have been over much too quickly.
"A throne like this is fit only for me," she bit out again, finding a rhythm.
Now who was the one being possessive?
Still, he let her have her fun. At least until she started to slow after she came all over his cock.
Flipping her around, he claimed her lips again, sliding his tongue down her throat as he plugged her snug little pussy. He really should have done this so much sooner.
He spurred himself into a frenzy as he neared his own peak again. After this, that pretty boytoy of hers might have trouble satisfying her at all. The thought only spurred him further and faster.
Finally, his mind blanked, and he only vaguely heard a lurid groan from her as he painted her womb white.
With how snug her pussy was, he doubted he was pulling out anytime soon. Instead he kissed her shoulder and neck as her nails continued their bloody work.
If his mind was more clear, he might have admonished himself at the pointless loss of blood. His back felt like a patchwork quilt.
He listened to her almost purring now. "Was that more to your liking?" he husked.
Her dark eyes found his again. "I think I'm going to be sore for a moon," she complained, but the dopey smile on her lips told a different story.
"As long as you are ready to play the greatest trick the world has ever seen in two."
Her legs held him inside her as she stared at him. "Hmm?"
"I'm going to pluck what's left of House Targaryen right from under everyone's noses."
The way she looked at him for it told him all he needed to know. He had her.
