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[right][sub][b]collab with Ruby & [@Vanq][/b][/sub][/right]

[color=white][h3]Casterly Rock[/h3][/color]


The conversation with Loreon wasn’t very long. He was glad to see her, although she barely got a word in as he unleashed a torrent of words at her. He told her about everything there was to tell, as he knew it. The Faith, the Targaryens, the political opportunity, the strange incident with his sister, the burning at Kinvara’s urging, the death of uncle and sister, the rage of the smallfolk. At the news of dragons at the Rock, at least Loreon had the good sense to call it a good thing.

Kinvara had been no better, instead of rambling she’d been so tight-lipped that Vaera grew suspicious. Yet their limited history together wasn’t as deep as Vaera’s was with Loreon. It didn’t stop the Valyrian from hugging the woman, if only just to whisper in her ear, “If you burn one more person in this realm, I’ll put you in the ground myself.”

Loreon’s relief at the dragons and Kinvara’s steely glare didn’t matter. When they left the room, together, Vaera held quiet for a pause, before turning to the Targaryen and saying, simply, “He isn’t right.”

She’d known Loreon longer than most. She’d fought beside him, traveled with him, camped with him—near everything but fuck him. They were friends with a deep-seated bond that came only adventuring together. She knew him…and something wasn’t right. There were already too many mysteries at Casterly Rock for Vaera’s liking, adding Loreon to the list didn’t make her feel any better.

They’d parted there, smiling at one another, as Vaera departed with a light tap on the woman’s shoulder.

She wanted to ask Rhaena about what happened between Loreon and his sister in that cave, because Vaera barely understood a thing Loreon was saying when he tried to recount it. He seemed too excited about it and given what she’d seen she had no choice but to dig deeper into it. But at the moment, there was only time for one mystery at a time. She’d promised Loreon to look into his sister’s death. That’s where she would start, leaving Rhaena to eat and bath and settle in the hands of Ser Protector.

She aimed to start with the Maester of the Rock, but halfway there she nearly ran into someone else: Lyman Lannister. He was tight-lipped, cautious, clearly still shaken from the whirlwind of events that had dropped onto the Rock so suddenly. But when she mentioned she meant to ask around regarding his sister’s death, he froze.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, head tilting just-so.

The man looked this way and that, before commenting, “Besides Lorelai being dead? Besides my uncle being murdered? It’s just…Lorelai always had good information.”

“Information?” If it was an explanation, it was a horrible one, as it just lead to more questions for the Valyrian.  “Like a…whisperer?”

For the second time, the man looked around before continuing. [i]How many eyes and ears do these walls have?[/i] “A royal circle of spies she inherited from my father, I think, we never really talked about it, but…”

“Sure.” It could be part of it or it could be none of it, Vaera knew. “Is she being buried?”

His head shook, too quickly for it to be anything but the truth, “We never found her body.”

“Thank you. It was good to meet you.” Vaera’s demeanor was warm, casual as they departed…even as her mind screamed in thought: [i]Didn’t find a body?[/i] Not finding a body was rarely a good thing. It was either disposed, hidden, or a sure sign that the whole story hadn’t been told yet.

The conversation with the Maester was relatively informative: Kinvara made everyone nervous, the Lords of the West were uneasy, calmed only by the guiding presences of Loreon’s uncle and sister. A single night, both were lost.

“How many people have fallen from the Rock into the sea?”

The Maester blinked, initially, at the question before easing back into his chair and stroking at his long beard in thought. “Less than a handful in all my time here.”

“Any of them not wash up?”

In his eyes Vaera saw the spark of recognition. Slowly, cautiously, he answered, “Only Lady Lorelai. Even the assassin sent for Lord Tytos and Lady Lorelai washed up a day after. The sea naturally ushers into the Lion’s Mouth at the base of the Rock or one of the nearby beaches. It may take a day or two, but—”

“—she fell over seven days ago.”

The Maester frowned. “Yes.”

The man was kind enough to guide her to the captain of the household guard, a Knight from one of the minor houses of the Westerlands, a seasoned man with experience. He was her shadow as she asked to speak to the men who’d been outside Lorelai’s room that night. Or those that were supposed to be.

“We had bad stew earlier in the night, m’Lady.”

Vaera twitched. “I don’t have a title.”

That just seemed to confuse the lad. “You’re not…highborn? You look highborn. You look like one of the Targaryens.”

“I’m Valyrian.”

His eyes squinted at her, confusion setting in deep, “Oh, but…you ride a dragon? And you’re wealthy?”

“…yes,” Vaera nearly groaned, instead keeping enough composure to just seem slightly irritated, ushering him back on path, “So you were both sick the night she fell from a balcony she had never fallen from before?”

“One of Lord Loreon’s Essosi says they saw Lorelai standing at the balcony, like she might make the jump an’ all, days before.”

The second one, the one who was thicker and less welcoming, less talkative, with sullen eyes, offered it as he stared at her from his corner of the barracks. Vaera just smiled at it, [i]I didn’t ask that, did I?[/i] She would count it up to the man being scared for his position or his life, one of the two. “Good information, thank you. Now…you were both sick that night?”

The second, sullen, guard stopped talking then. The first, friendlier, dumber, of the two answered it for her, “Was the stew, m’L—” he caught the look of dragonfire in her eyes, and quickly pivoted with only a slight stammer, “dragonrider, uh, Vaera.”

Even Vaera smiled at his awkward correction. “Was anything missing from the room?”

This time, they both just stared at her, the first giving response, “…missing? Like what?”

“Who handles the furnishings?”

The captain cut in to answer before either of the two less-than-sharp guardsmen could answer, “Steward and Understewards. Please excuse us, we all have watch tonight.”

It didn’t give her the best of feelings, but something about the two certainly didn’t give her feelings of conspirators. Just stupid, scared, men. Gods knew Vaera had seen more than her share of those over the years. It was the Understeward that finally, after a long hunt throughout Casterly Rock, gave her the answer once she found him in a lower level, inspecting drains.

“Missing?” The man echoed the question, before giving it more thought, as if he were re-checking a scroll of inventory in his mind, “…come to think of it, a chair. It was usually next to the doors to the balcony. Knowing Lady Lorelai, she put up enough fight to bring the chair and the assassin with her over the ledge. According to the mining foreman, the chair washed up in the Lion’s Mouth before the assassin did.”

“Ah, thank you, Understeward.”

It was on the way up that she made sure to find Gerion Lannister. She found him at supper with his wife, to which they invited her to. Vaera did just that, using the opportunity to regale Lord Gerion and his wife with more than one tale. Gerion was an avid reader and fancied himself a chronicler. He listened intently and followed up with a dozen questions to every story told. Her travels astounded him, and after the fifth round of wine, Vaera took her opportunity.

“I was trying to get a better understanding of what this place was like before the madness. Most of it has been told to me, but no one seems overly sure where Lady Lorelai spent most of her days? Outside of some nonsense about whisperings,” Vaera said, laughing at how silly it sounded even as she explained it.

“Oh, that’s not nonsense. Lorelai was the mistress of whisperers for her father.”

His wife, Lady Roslin, added with the eagerness of a belly full of wine, “She did a lot of banking, too, and she owned a merchant fleet based in Lannisport. Golden Lions, I believe it’s called.”

Vaera chuckled, “And here I thought I kept busy.”

They laughed, and Vaera took a long, last, sip. The dinner ended shortly thereafter, with Gerion and Roslin inviting her to visit any time she wished while she was staying at the Rock. Vaera bid them well and wished them a good night. It was an uneasy feeling as she made her way back upstairs, entering the empty chambers that had belonged to Lady Lorelai. All Vaera found was nothing of note, but it was the balcony that made it all simple for the dragonrider from Volantis.

“…that drop would have killed her,” she said to herself, as she looked over the ledge and down to the black water of the Sunset Sea at night that was far below the balcony. “…where the fuck did you go?”

It was late by the time she returned to Rhaena Targaryen. Vaera waited for them to be alone, before she walked along the walls of the chambers that were given for Rhaena and her brother, that only Rhaena ended up staying in. “Old habits of an adventurer, Princess,” Vaera explained after Rhaena asked what she was doing. The girl was still too raw, too scared, not to ask about something strange such as that. Finally, Vaera poured herself a drink before standing near the fire, near where Rhaena sat.

“I don’t think Lorelai Lannister is dead. I don’t know how; I don’t know where she is…but from what the man in the mountains told me, from what I’ve learned today, she isn’t dead. I’m likely to believe what the man in the mountains said: the uncle sent the assassin, the assassin ended up over the balcony and falling to his death instead of Lorelai, in return the man in the mountains killed Tytos before getting out of the Rock, and the West, entirely.”

Whether it was jealousy - at how Rhaena had spoken of Vaera Balaerys - or concern for her safety, the princess’s ladies were less than pleased at being ushered out of her chambers. Alayne and Samantha had shared a look and glared, out of sight of Rhaena, at the newcomer before acquiescing. She could not fully admit it to herself, but looking at either woman for too long only reminded her of all her losses. 


It had been difficult to spend the day doing anything other than wonder about what Vaera would find, if anything. It had been difficult to not change into riding leathers and take to the sky with Dreamfyre. She was, for the moment at least, compelled to see what her new friend had to say. That was all, the princess told herself, no matter if she lingered in her thoughts of feeling her finger trace against her face. Or of Vaera’s effortless strength and confidence. Or of the way, she realized while in the hot soak of a bath, her heart quickened at the thought of her easy smile. 


It was late, and no matter that Rhaena knew she waited for Vaera’s return, she did nothing to change her own habits. She was dressed for bed, with a thick chamber robe of black and red, of wool and fur, pulled tight around her with hints of the bedding gown beneath, around her ankles, wrists, neckline, soft silk slippers adorned her feet. Every bit the princess, the royal, the role she felt a pretender in. 


That Vaera’s findings were delivered just as effortlessly, just as confidently, was enough for Rhaena’s immediate disagreement to be silenced though she tried to form the words against it. She sputtered, but at last, with a sad glance to the fire that was before her, she voiced her fears. “If that is what happened, there is no reason for the Lannisters to support me against the Faith.” [i]Me[/i], and not the crown. Her own feeble attempts at politicking had tied together their family’s deaths and then their fates. She had countless questions, but landed on a simple one. “What would you do, if you were me?” 


Rhaena pulled herself from where she had warmed herself. Thirsty and unsettled, she went to pour herself a drink as Vaera had done. She stared at it in her cup, deep red and tiny ripples from how her hand trembled so slightly. “I can’t just let go of this.” The princess sipped at her drink and turned back to face Vaera. 


When Rhaena turned, Vaera was [i]there[/i]; inches away, having put her own cup down while the woman’s back had been turned. It was with the deliberate expertise of a healer that Vaera let the low, sweet, sound escape her own lips, “Shhhh,” as she reinforced the woman’s trembling hand with her own, “let me see that.”

Her fingertips took the top of the woman’s cup, and to Vaera’s relief, Rhaena gave it so Vaera could set it down on the nearest surface, before taking her hand and leading her to the same cushioned spot Rhaena had rested on before. Except, this time, Vaera settled first, and delicately guided Rhaena equal parts next to her, and resting on her.

The desire and impulse to taste Rhaena’s lips were hotter than the fire that warmed the room carved out of rock, but set aside in the moment as comforting her became Vaera’s north star, “Maegar is a monster. If I’m you, I keep my distance from he and his, and I keep making friends all around this harsh realm. Kinslaying is a sin to every man and woman and child, low and high, imagine the boon when you produce the proof that Tytos Lannister attempted to kill his niece, their beloved Lady Lorelai?”

Vaera’s lavender eyes pooled dark with sudden flashes of dazzling brightness as the nearby fire danced in the hearth, eyes set on Rhaena’s hands as Vaera’s own held them, rubbed them gently, as if the Volantis dragonrider might never let them go. “Faith doesn’t change, Rhaena…my family learned that very quickly in Volantis. Give them their Faith, support it when you need to, play that game better than any rival. The Freehold had so many gods even the Dragonlords I come from couldn’t remember them all to write them down, and they tried,” she recalled, with a low chuckle.

“You want this family’s support? You talk to Lyman. You talk to Gerion. Win them over. In the meantime…I’m here.” The last words came as a whisper so soft against Rhaena’s ear, even someone standing right next to them wouldn’t have heard a thing. “I’ll get the truth of Lady Lorelai, and give it to you. Deal, beautiful girl?”

She nodded to everything. Entranced, enveloped, warmed until the feeling was uncomfortable, a heat like flames, not from without but from within. Naive and confused, she had never understood why so many looked at her the way they did, at the way rumors spread that she cared for her friends too greatly, felt for them too deeply. It had never been a handsome knight in her dreams, it had never been a dashing prince or rich lord. 


Rhaena blinked and the thoughts cleared. Why did it feel so right to follow her, to curl herself into her lap, to feel her skin against her. She didn’t want Vaera to look away, she needed her to stay, and it was relief, readily displayed across her face at the promise. There was nothing to question, nothing to dispute, the need for fire, for rage, was quelled, at least for the moment. 


Vaera’s voice in her ear was velvet, and she leaned into it, pushed herself to feel a hint of the dragonrider’s lips against her. [i]It’s wrong.[/i] That’s what she had been told, for all her life. Yet she surrounded herself every night with women, needed to feel their caress and arms around her to sleep. 


Her own lips were at the Valyrian’s ear, voice low and suddenly unfamiliar with the words she whispered. “Deal.” She could leave it there, be content that she had had this moment. The memory of her first kiss, of the need and force of it intruded. Her heart quickened, a loud thumping in her ears and she worried that Vaera would hear it. A deep blush spread across her cheeks and down her neck. She dared not pull back to look in Vaera’s eyes again. “Stay with me. Now, tonight.”


Leaving no trace or doubt of what she meant, her lips left the whisper in Vaera’s ear and slowly, hesitatingly, brushed against her jaw. She felt Vaera respond, and stopped. Fear that she had misread intentions or that she had done something wrong, she pulled back, her hands freed and moving to caress Vaera’s face. Her own was apologetic, worry creasing her delicate features, as she searched the eyes that matched her own for a sign of anything. Her lip caught between her teeth. 


What a mistake, the look in her eyes told her she was wrong to be concerned. Her concerns melted at the fire in the eyes that met hers. She leaned back in, without hesitation this time, until their lips met. Belatedly, she made her demand a request. “Please.” A murmur in between her lips pushing and pulling against Vaera. “Please.”

Each touch seemed to make it louder, and louder. Vaera never tried to hide it, she never tried shy away from it, she never felt fear of it. Just one deep breath after another as her eyes fluttered closed at the touch and feel of Rhaena’s touch, as if a fire was burning within the Volantene dragonrider, growing bigger and brighter and hotter at each sensation of warmth, at each sound of Rhaena’s voice.

When her eyes opened, they opened to see the woman’s lips as they added the ‘please.’ When she felt her eyes flutter shut again, it was only because she saw the kiss coming. But when she felt it…the fire inside her erupted. Her hands as quick and expert as they had ever been in any combat as they found the edges of the chamber robe and ripped it so far apart it was easy as breathing for Vaera’s warm hands to invade the curves of the woman’s body as Rhaena’s kiss became Vaera’s kiss, the sweetness of the woman’s tongue, the deep sweetness of the woman’s wine-flavored lips at no defense as Vaera made one kiss another, then another that became deep enough for both of them to fall into as her hands clutched at the rear-curves of the Targaryen, grabbing, groping, holding and pulling until the very weight of the woman was resting on Vaera’s lap, her lips searing at the corner of the woman’s mouth, then her cheek, then rolling like quiet thunder along the trace of Rhaena’s jawline.

It was love, lust, or madness that stopped Vaera as their bodies were pressed so tightly into each other they would have been able to trace each other’s figures in the air without even looking, her mouth pure heat as her lips gently sucked on Rhaena’s collarbone until she heard the woman moan.

Breathless, dizzy, Vaera’s head fell back to the pillows below, purple eyes smoldering as they looked up at Rhaena, her right hand daring to leave Rhanea’s hips in order to run her fingertips along the side of Rhaena’s face, and carefully into her pretty hair. “…good luck getting me out, Princess.”
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