The penitence of the wolf - Of magic and blood. (Patreon)

Rhaella Targaryen – Visenya’s Tower – Dragonstone

“They look amazing, Mother. Have you already selected the one you will give to Viserys?” Rhaegar asked, looking at the table with the dragon eggs.

Rhaella smiled at her beloved son while sighing heavily.

“I haven’t decided yet, my son. I haven’t even come here with your father; he’s been too busy with the Greyjoys, not to mention the vipers Arryn and Tully,” Rhaella said with a heavy sigh. To be honest, she still didn’t know if she should give the egg to Viserys.

Visenya's tower, as this place was called, contained ancient knowledge, lost and found in time. There were interesting topics: stories of Valyria, expeditions of ancient Targaryens, voyage journals and more.

Some were quite interesting, such as the travels of Gaemon Targaryen, who visited Sothoryos, or Dariantys Targaryen, who married three Dragonlords and then poisoned them and took their riches for House Targaryen.

Others… well, needless to say, Rhaella wasn’t interested in the thousand and one ways to cook potatoes created by a certain Aerion Targaryen during the fifteenth peak of blood—whatever that meant.

“It will take us a long time to read all these books, Mother,” Rhaegar said, though his face did not indicate that such a notion displeased him.

“I know, my son. But no one but our family will see this place. These are secrets of the royal house, and even with dragons once again among our ranks, it is important that we do not make the mistakes of the past. We cannot depend entirely on them. Your father has been wise in expanding our political and military power. The soldiers and the Targaryen fleet grow every day, as do our enemies,” said the queen, frowning as she thought about all the problems happening at the same time.

Thanks to her husband, House Targaryen had regained its former glory—dragons, what differentiated them from the houses of mere men.

And yet, her beloved husband acted wisely, strengthening the power of the royal family.

Aerys strengthened the military power of House Targaryen—an army and a fleet to project the interests of the House of the Dragon across the Narrow Sea. After all, if history had taught them anything, it was that dragons were not enough to rule.

Rhaegar spent most of his time on economic and social issues. King’s Landing, once a pigsty—a city built on filth, death, and starvation—was slowly changing into what it should have always been:

A capital worthy of its crown.

Her husband and son were doing great things, both focused on their own goals, and Rhaella had always felt a little… left behind in that regard.

Until now.

“Are you sure of this, Mother?” Rhaegar asked with concern.

Rhaella nodded gently before answering.

“Yes, my son. Visenya’s diary was quite specific,” said the queen, as she looked at the metal bowl in front of her.

The instructions of the ritual were precise: exactly fourteen cups of boiled water, with fourteen tablespoons of purified sulfur. The smell was terrible, but bearable.

Rhaella looked at the dagger in front of her, made of gold and with a ruby embedded in the handle. It looked deceptively simple, but according to the writings of Visenya Targaryen, it was the key to what she wanted to accomplish.

The queen took the dagger gently, running her finger along the golden edge, looking at the wave pattern so characteristic of Valyrian alloys.

Rhaella inhaled deeply and decisively, then followed the next step of the ritual.

Cut the palm of your hand.

“Mother!” shouted her beloved son as he moved toward her.

“No!” shouted the queen as she watched her blood—dragon blood—begin to flow from her hand.

“Fourteen drops, blood of my blood, dragon’s heart and soul of fire, O great Arrax, make my blood roar!” shouted the queen in High Valyrian. At the same time, her blood began to drip into the bowl, and the moment the queen’s blood touched the water—

“Shit,” her son shouted as he stepped backward, though Rhaella paid him no mind, her concentration entirely on the ritual.

The liquid in the bowl began to boil rapidly, turning a deep blood-red color and emanating a dense, terrifying crimson smoke.

Now is the time, Rhaella thought, bringing the bowl close to her face and inhaling the thick smoke.

“AAAAHHGGG,” panted the queen, dropping the bowl and spilling the liquid onto the workshop floor, where it evaporated instantly. She paid it no attention. Her hands trembled, her pupils dilated completely, and the amethyst irises so characteristic of her family shone crimson.

Visenya’s writings had warned that the first time would be intense, but apparently the queen had underestimated the pain she would have to endure to awaken.

That—or the ancient warrior queen’s tolerance for pain had been far higher than Rhaella’s.

She could feel it—the fire all around her. All the torches in the workshop beat softly, alive and eager to be free, trapped in their sconces and begging to unleash hell.

Rhaella raised her hands above her head, whispering the words of the ritual.

“Fire, come to me,” the queen ordered, still in a trance.

And to her pleasure, the fire obeyed.

The flames of the torches bent to the queen’s will, flying like flaming serpents until they concentrated in Rhaella’s hands. She watched the act with obvious pleasure—

Until she felt the power slowly leave her body.

The flames in her hands began to die until they were completely extinguished, at the same time Rhaella’s eyes returned to their usual color, leaving her utterly exhausted.

Rhaella fell to the floor, panting. Her breathing was shallow, her body covered in sweat, though her pale skin could not hide the huge smile on her face.

Magic.

She had performed blood magic—like her ancestors, like the Targaryens of old.

“Mother! What was that? Are you all right? That was dangerous,” her son said, looking at her with concern and disapproval written clearly on his face.

Rhaella rolled her eyes but smiled radiantly, genuinely happy and excited.

The ritual was the simplest and most basic among those the former queen had written in her journal, specifically designed to awaken the magical talents of Valyrian maidens and refine their connection to the Fourteen Flames.

“Everything is fine, my son. The ritual was a success,” Rhaella said, looking at her hand and observing how the cut from before had completely disappeared without leaving a scar.

As if it had never been made.

“Don’t worry, Rhaegar. It was a simple test, and I succeeded,” she added with a smile, though her son’s face showed neither fascination nor excitement, only deep concern.

Rhaella sighed heavily.

“Look, Rhaegar, it was only a test. Visenya’s diary was clear—and she was right. Do you know what this means? Magical knowledge, arcane arts of our ancestors at our fingertips,” said the queen with a bright smile.

However, Rhaegar only frowned and replied,

“Father has always said that uncontrolled magic is dangerous, Mother. He should have been present for this test. He must be informed,” said the prince, clearly worried about her condition.

Rhaella sighed. Rhaegar’s words were sensible—but he did not understand.

It was impossible.

She would not let this be taken from her—not by her husband, not by her son.

She would study Visenya’s teachings.

She would master them.

Whatever the cost.

Still, she was not foolish enough to openly contradict Rhaegar.

“I understand, my son. We will discuss this with your father when the Greyjoy matter is settled. I will retire to my chambers. Will you stay here?” the queen asked as she prepared to leave.

Rhaegar looked relieved by her answer and smiled gently.

“If you don’t mind, I will stay and read, Mother. There are too many books that must be classified and catalogued. I trust no one but us to handle this. This is our legacy. No eye outside the royal family should ever see it,” said the prince with firm determination.

Rhaella smiled radiantly, took her son’s face in her hands, and kissed him softly before leaving with a heart full of anticipation.

After all, a special guest was waiting for her.

Aerys would spend the night with Ashara. The young Dornishwoman had done an excellent job overseeing the construction of the royal fleet and deserved a proper reward.

As well as a night of total relaxation courtesy of her beloved king, Rhaella thought with amusement.

She had not yet had the pleasure of kissing Ashara’s delicate, sun-kissed skin—but there was no hurry.

The young Dornishwoman would be hers sooner or later.

But first—

She had a date with a sun-kissed northerner.

Yrma.

Indomitable, powerful, somewhat haughty. A spear-wife from beyond the Wall and one of the self-proclaimed wives of Chief Aerys.

Or, as she called him—

Aerys the Dragon.

During their nights at Harrenhal, her beloved husband had described the northerner in vivid detail—each daring, pleasurable act to which he had subjected her during their long journey.

Rhaella had taken an immediate liking to Yrma to be honest, she was beautiful and she was loyal, something really hard to find this days.

The northerner was not seeking to usurp her place as queen, nor supplant the royal line. For better or worse, Yrma’s ambitions were far more… modest.

A family.

A united clan to belong to.

A strong man to keep her warm at night.

And she had found it all in Aerys’ arms.

And while the queen likes the redhead, Rhaella was the Queen of Westeros.

The first and foremost of Aerys’ women and mother of the crown prince.

Her hierarchy within the so-called “dragon clan” was unquestionable—and she would personally ensure that every one of her husband’s women understood her place.

She had already done so with Dalla, the devoted servant.

And with Cersei, the iron lioness.

Yrma was merely next.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Though that did not mean Rhaella would not enjoy losing herself in the arms of the fierce northerner.

Before long, the Valyrian queen reached her chambers, one floor below her husband’s.

Ashara’s moans echoed faintly through the corridors, accompanied by the unmistakable rhythm of flesh against flesh.

Rhaella laughed softly.

The laugh turned into something fuller when she caught sight of Ser Brynden’s visibly embarrassed face, his eyes flicking upward before quickly lowering again.

“I would have thought that after traveling for months with my husband, you would be accustomed to the proofs of his virility, Ser Brynden,” the queen said lightly.

The knight sighed.

“I do not believe I shall ever grow accustomed to it, Your Grace,” confessed the Tully, standing guard at the entrance of her chambers as she entered.

As usual, the scent of cinnamon extract and northern wood filled her senses—a fragrance she had first encountered in her husband’s chambers a year ago and had since claimed as her favorite.

Inside, Dalla awaited her and immediately began to undress the queen for her nightly bath.

“My guest?” Rhaella asked as the maid untied her robe and let the silk fall away.

Dalla carefully folded the garment, while Rhaella stood naked without hesitation or shame.

“She waits in the bath, Your Grace. It was difficult to manage her temper, but the moment I mentioned it was the king’s command, she obeyed without hesitation,” Dalla replied.

Rhaella nodded softly and walked toward the bathing chamber.

There, in a massive stone tub filled with perfumed water, sat a striking but wild redhead, enjoying the warmth.

Yrma looked utterly relaxed, almost asleep.

“I see you made yourself comfortable,” Rhaella said as she approached the tub with regal grace.

Yrma opened her eyes slowly, her gaze roaming freely over the queen’s naked form without the slightest hint of restraint.

“You took your time. The sounds of our man fucking little Ashara have made me more than ready,” Yrma said, lifting her long legs lazily from the water.

Rhaella merely smiled with quiet superiority before stepping into the hot bath, sighing softly as the water embraced her skin.

Ashara’s distant moans still echoed faintly, and they clearly stirred something within the redhead.

“Young Dayne has worked tirelessly. She deserves her rest,” Rhaella replied calmly as she settled into the tub.

Then she spread her legs and began to stroke herself slowly, her arousal already evident.

Yrma’s cerulean eyes fixed on the movement instantly.

“Do you see something you like?” Rhaella asked with amusement, enjoying the hunger in the northerner’s gaze.

Yrma smiled slowly.

“I recognize that look. It’s the same one Chief Aerys has before he takes me and leaves me utterly spent. And since our man is occupied with the little star, I suppose it is my turn to satisfy your hunger,” Yrma replied, her tone calm—but her expression betrayed genuine anticipation.

“Come here,” Rhaella ordered firmly, lifting one leg and beckoning with her fingers.

Yrma bit her lip before obeying, crawling slowly through the water toward the queen.

She took Rhaella’s leg gently and pressed sensual kisses along her calf, drawing soft sighs from the Valyrian queen.

“I assume my husband has trained you well in the art of pleasing women, has he not?” Rhaella murmured as Yrma’s lips brushed higher along her inner thigh.

Yrma looked up with amusement before dragging her tongue deliberately from the middle of Rhaella’s thigh to her heated core.

“My king delights in seeing me with his other women. Especially the blonde with the wide hips—Genna. We licked each other for his pleasure while young Ashara rode him without restraint,” Yrma confessed, watching as the queen’s eyes darkened with desire.

“You will please me,” Rhaella commanded, gripping Yrma’s hair firmly. “You will use your tongue and take me to ecstasy. We will practice giving our husband a show he will never forget.”

Yrma whimpered softly—but her smile was defiant.

“My body belongs to the Dragon King. Only he has earned my submission. If you wish to claim me, Your Grace, you must prove your worth.”

And with that, she pressed her fingers more boldly between Rhaella’s thighs.

Rhaella smiled.

Yrma’s submission had only just begun.

And she had every intention of breaking her, taming her and makes her kneel.

She was a dragoness and Yrma, just her latest prey.

The rest of the night, Aerys and she will be...very busy.