Chapter 1 - The Last Targaryen

The Last Targaryen
 
 
 
Harkin stepped into one of Lys' most prominent pleasure houses. It smelled of spilled ale and salty sex. Whore clad, half-clad, and none strutted throughout, looking for their next customer. They were beautiful, all of them. Their teats were large and firm, if not small but perky. Their bodies curved in such delicious taste at their hips. Skins as light as milk to as dark as chocolate ranged between them. Harkin found himself staring at the girls of cream and almond flesh the most. But he was here for a girl of truly exotic taste.
 
Harkin took a seat at one of the empty tables in the shadow of an unlit brazier. A serving girl – or another whore, he couldn't tell – brought him a complimentary wooden cup of ale. He sipped on the frothy drink, sweet to his taste. A burn snuck up on him and he stifled a cough, wiped away his cloudy eyes, and focused once more on the brothel. The walls were of polished stone and marble, every pillar and wall smooth and white. Balconies of whores looked over the main floor, some dancing from room to room.
 
The brothel had a taste for every man, it seemed. Harkin noticed that the row of girls above was a gradual change. Their skin tones were darkening with every leftward glance, while higher up their body types were every varying. One woman was as tiny as a stick, and the other, as large as a cow. Harkin returned to look upon the ground floor.
 
The men were rowdy, to say the least. Most were mercenaries with so much coin that it quite literally was spilling all over the tables and floor. The whores loved the sound of the metallic clinking those small circular dragons made, and they clustered around those men like ants to spilled honey. If gold had a smell, well, then they smelled that long before they heard it.
 
Harkin took another sip of his ale, musing. Lys' pleasure house, The Gilded Lioness, was famous for its particularly exquisite girls. Women from all over Essos, Westeros, and all the free cities with the most profound beauty were sold here. And for most recent months, The Gilded Lioness was also home to one, most entrancing delight: The Last Targaryen, Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons.
 
It was only a rumor at first, but then it became fact. Daenerys lost her battle at Yunaki to Grazdan mo Eraz, and his company of defenders. Rumor has it that she gave the defenders three days to make up her mind to join her or not. On the third day, she attacked, and her company was slaughtered. The Second Sons and their leader, Prendahl na Ghezn carried riders forth that ripped through their line of Unsullied. A giant by the name of Mero, or as he called himself, 'The Titan's Bastard', slew a company of soldiers at Daenerys' side: Strong Belwas, two Westerosi warriors, and all but one of her dragons. The surviving beast, Dregon? Or Drogon was his name? Harkin shook his head trying to remember. The creature was chained at Yunaki and kept as a pet. Daenerys herself was brought to Lys.
 
A net of nobles emerged from a back room, laughing as they made their exit. All were of fairer skin, dressed in rich cloth. Shiny light hair and deep blue eyes, each of them. They were true Lys' nobles. Most were fat, some were leaner framed, but all of them were laughing with such a boisterous nature that Harkin could not help himself but take a peek as to their jests.
 
"- She screamed Dracarys, as though she were sending us to flames by her dragons!"
"Stupid bitch, still thought her dragons would come and save her."
"I never knew a Targaryen cunt would be as warm as hers, I could go for another round!"
 
Despite the third noblemen's desire for another round, his peers talked him out of it and left the brothel with yet more laughter at their maws. Harkin slumped back into his seat, sighing. She sounds expensive, Harkin mused.
 
Harkin had no money to his name. Well, he did but it was not his money. Reflecting on that, the ex-brother of the Night's Watch patted the sack of gold at his hip. Still there, still full, he told himself. At thirty and five years, he was a shadow of his former self. A deep black beard captured his face, while his raven's mane was pulled back into a short mullet at his neck. His body had lost some muscle, but he was still strong – and ridden with scars.
 
Harkin lost himself to his memories. His trek began as a Knight under the Made King Aerys Targaryen. Pending his King's defeat, he was told to choose death or be sentenced to the Wall. He chose the latter. But the Wall's men were not battle-hardened warriors, they were cutthroats and green boys. Some so fat they were considered disgraces to their fathers, and others unwanted bastards who saw no other way to gain honor. Harkin hated them, for being so green, so honor less, so, so… But he was one of them now, despite trying not to be.
 
When Lord Commander Mormont rode north, Harkin slipped out a few weeks later. He abandoned the Wall, abandoned the stupid boys, the green boys. The further south he went, the more of his Black he shed until he wore a marriage of greys, browns, and blacks. Black leather boots, grey woolen gloves (Now gone), a brown leather doublet, and grey woolen breeches. He robbed, he stole, he murdered – all in the name of survival, he told himself. He was less than that now, vile, sinful.
 
And he enjoyed it.
 
The world would not return to the order it once held under the Targaryen rule that much Harkin knew. And ever since King Robert's death, Kings have rose and fell like flies; Joffrey Baratheon, Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy, even word of the death of Prince Oberyn reached Harkin. The sad truth was: Thievery suited Harkin, and it ensured he would stay alive.
 
Forcing down the rest of his ale, Harkin stood and approached the back bedchamber. Two guards, both in great size, guarded the entrance to the room. Each dressed in strong mail underneath boiled leather. Their halberds crossed over the door as Harkin approached, and the ex-brother staggered back.
 
"No passing," One of the men said. "Talk to her handler, then maybe you pass."
"Who… is her handler?" Harkin's eyes danced between the two of them.
"Sharana Shiszheen. The woman in blue."
 
It was hard to find Sharana, she was almost three flights of stairs high and in the furthest room away from the commotion. But the guards were accurate when they called her 'the woman in blue'. She wore a blue dress of silk that tightened at her collar, then fell looser and looser until it touched the ground, covering only her breasts and groin. Her skin was a beautiful shiny almond shade, and shaved all over. Her nails were blue, her eyes bluer, and her hair fell in long dark blue curls that danced over her shoulders. In one hand she swung around a goblet of wine, talking to some fat arse next to her. He was much less appealing, large, hairless, and so polite and delicate – and smelling of lilacs.
 
"- And so I told them," Sharana sipped her wine, talking to the fatty. "That you'd like to continue with that attitude, he can fuck himself in the arse. Then I pointed to the list of our wonderful 'ladies', and said that if he did not have the gall to do it – they could do it for him." They both burst into a fit of laughter. "Needless to say, it scared him off very quick."
 
"My Lady is quick with wit and fierce with her attitude," The fat comely man said. "Have you considered giving your 'ladies' their own floor?"
"What and ruin the surprise?" Sharana sipped her wine, giggling. "There's no fun in that."
 
Harkin coughed to steal their attention.
 
"What's this?" The bald one looked at Harkin, eyes scanning up and down. "Oh, it appears you have a customer, My Lady."
"A customer, or a new employee?" Sharana gazed at the ex-brother, eyes wide and maw wider. "Oh my, well I normally don't take on clients but for you, I'm inclined to make an exception," she sipped her wine, smirking. "For free I may add."
"Very kind of you, My Lady," Harkin timidly replied. "But I was actually… wondering if I may procure permission of… The Targaryen?"
"Daenerys?" Sharana seethed. "Everyone wants her dragon's cunt."
 
The thought of that made Harkin sharply shy to the idea.
 
"I should warn you, traveler, that Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen is very… costly. Many men have lost fortunes bedding her," the bald man giggled. "And while the customers seemed very pleased as they left… Well, it's not my place to judge whether or not a whore's cunt is 'worth it'."
Sharana nodded at that. "Of course, most of those who want to bed the girl tend to be overweight nobles, too fat for their own good…" Her eyes trailed up and down Harkin. "But I'm willing to give handsome men a discount."
 
Harkin reached for his coin purse and threw it to Sharana. She easily snatched it from the air. "Is that enough?" Harkin asked.
 
Sharana opened up the purse and sealed it back just as quickly. "For you? More than enough," she hummed. Her glossy lips formed a pout. "But a man of your good looks can bed a hundred girls here, and some twice over. Why do you want the dragon's cunt?"
 
"I-" Harkin could not truly put it in words. He just wanted her. The thought of her silver hair, her purple eyes, and her curving frame… His loins stirred, his cock hardened against his grey woolen breeches. "I find the girl very appealing," was all he could muster as a response.
Sharana snorted. "So does all of the seven kingdoms," she looked to her bald friend as if for council. "Alright, drop your breeches. Let's see."
"What?" Harkin stammered.
Sharana persisted with a wave of her hand. "Come now, I need to make sure you're not carrying some kind of filthy disease. You may want to infect some of the other girls, but the Last Targaryen we intend to keep as clean as we can. So, come to it! Drop your breeches, let's see what you have."
 
Harkin jabbed a digit at the fat one. "What about….?"
"Oh," He folded his hands, one over the other. "You needn't worry about me, sir. I won't get a rise." He smiled. "I'm a eunuch."
 
Sighing, Harkin undid his belt and leggings and let them fall to the ground. Sharana stared at his cock, eyes wider, sipping her wine all the while. Harkin could not help but look down. His cock, half-hard, was a normal length – so he thought – with the pelvis covered in dark curls of hair. Sharana giggled and waved dismissively.
 
"Tell the guards, 'The crow rises at midnight', and they'll let you through," Sharana winked.
Harkin pulled his breeches back up.
"Oh, and if ever you want a turn with me," She pulled the hem of her dress up to tease her womanhood. But before Harkin could catch a glimpse, she threw it down again. "You needn't pay any fee."
The eunuch simply smiled.
 
When Harkin delivered the words, "The crow rises at midnight", they let him pass. The plain hallway of featureless stone was just a short pass because he came to a bedchamber overlooking the sea. Heads of stone poked out from the waters, waves crashing against the dark rocks. Everything smelled of sea salt.
 
The center of the chamber contained a round bed, the sheets undone and thrown about. Velvet-like pillows invited Harkin to their softness. Atop the bedpost, a large rounded iron attached to a chain. Harkin followed the chain through the chamber, to the corner beside the balcony. There, a woman with silver hair sat naked, looking over the ocean. Her skin was colored cream, her bust full and firm. Soft, hairless legs were crossed one over the other. Her violet eyes had a dreamy, glossy look to them as she stared out. Harkin's cock hardened and pressed against his breeches. His shaft was begging to be freed and slipped into the girl.
 
Harkin wondered if she often thought about her defeat at Yunkai, or if she simply bode her time between beddings.
 
Harkin coughed. Daenerys turned her head slowly to look upon him. Her large, purple eyes entranced him. The chain at her throat rattled and draped over her body. She took the chain in hand with a lowly sigh and stood. "Did you pay a lot?" She asked, looking him over.
 
"N-no," Harkin glared at her.
She sighed. "I thought so," she slowly padded towards the bed, dragging the chain which dragged and rattled with her soft, bare steps. She crossed the bed on her knees, standing in the center with her legs apart, staring at Harkin. His cock was still hard, but his voice went soft and wordless.
 
Daenerys' small fingers reached up to push away stray fringes of silver, allowing her unfiltered sight. Her long silver hair fell to the small of her back, all of it so long, and soft. Despite being chained and used as a whore, they still kept her pristine. For that, Harkin wished seven blessings upon them.
 
He must have been staring for far too long, for the young dragon gave a queer furrowed expression, almost as if asking: Why haven't you fucked me yet, like the rest of them? She ran a hand through her hair, throwing the mess of it over to one side. For whatever reason, Harkin enjoyed the sight of it. Her violet eyes beamed at him, rousing the lustful beast within him.
 
"Have I displeased you?" She asked softly.
"Lay on your back," Harkin ordered not so much softer.
 
She complied and shuffled down onto her back. Her legs were shy at first, but they soon parted. Her shaved sex showed off, revealing a pair of tight lips and an even tighter slit. She looked away, as though embarrassed. She must have done this a thousand times already, Harkin told himself. He did not feel too bad for her. She was a child playing with fire when she tried to claim the kingdoms for herself, when she attacked Yunkai… this is her own doing.
 
Harkin stopped at the head of the bed, undoing his clothing. He threw away the doublet, revealing his lean body. Hairs sprouted thickly like a bush at his torso, further down it was only found as a sheen on him. The tangles of hair was interrupted by seated scars, the wounds shinier than the true color of his flesh. When his breeches gave away, and his cock sprung hard and free, Daenerys looked towards him. Then away again, blushing.
 
"My Lord is large," she whispered as if not wanting to. "And my Lord's body is… Handsome."
"Am I?" Harkin's brows furrowed. He shimmied towards her, one knee after the other until he was hovering before the last dragon. She's probably just complimenting me for the sake of it, Harkin thought.
"Yes," She muttered. "I had a man once as hairy as you…" She trailed off.
"How was he?" He asked, meaning, in bed.
She opened her lips to speak, but nothing came out.
 
He stopped just above her, one calloused hand reaching out to touch her bare leg. At the contact, she shivered. He ran his hard digits over her body. She was soft, and warm, so very warm. It made him wonder about the Lyseni noble's words, speaking of her warmth. Is the rest of her so warm? He wondered, feeling her taut belly, cupping one of her full breasts in hand. It was a warm, fleshy pillow in his grasp. She mewled at his touch. Less a dragon, Harkin thought. And more a cat.
 
Harkin looked down where his cock hovered over her belly. He leaned down against her, his stiff shaft meeting contact with her slender form. She winced again, grabbing a pillow. The sharp twist of her head made the chain rattle. But Harkin was more embedded in the view of his cock against her body. The warmth of her was already simmering against his head. Seven full inches threatening to fill most of her body. The anticipation of it sent a delightful shiver through him.
 
Harkin shifted in place, catching the scent of her. The air of sea salt mixed with her clean smell of lavender and vanilla. He took up her thighs by both his hands, pulling her body towards him. The head of his cock prodded at the lips of her cunt, sending another soft mewl through her. The sound of it only delighted Harkin further more.
 
Holding her by one hand, Harkin's other grabbed the base of his veiny shaft. He guided it forth, pressing against the softness of her folds. He stifled a groan, leaning forth while pressing his cock to the tiny slit of pink pleasure. It took effort, more than he expected, but Harkin's cock penetrated the tiny entrance and he slid in. Both of them unleashed soft gasps.
 
She's so fucking warm! He thought, heaving. The Lyseni noble was right. The blood of the dragon was strong with her.
 
Harkin shuddered as he continued to lean himself into her, every inch pushing past the soft, warm, tight walls of the last Targaryen. His grasping fingers tightened and she groaned in response. He watched as inch after inch of him disappeared into her, until the entirety of his shaft was buried in her body – her parted lips pressed to his hairy groin. Harkin laid still within her, feeling his orgasm creeping upon him with haste.
 
N-no! Not yet! He thought, the warmth, softness, and tightness of her clamping down on his cock. The warmth was the greatest of those factors. So warm, so hot, like a dragon's misty gasp. F-fuck I'm going to-
 
Harkin bit his lower lip as he let himself go. His cock twitched within her, sending spurt after spurt into her body. His warm seed filled her, a wetness clung to him. The last Targaryen gasped and held her mouth as he pumped her small body with his seed. It was so long since he last came, and he was filling her with more seed than he thought possible. Finished, he withdrew himself from her with a loud breath. His cum drooled out of her cunt, one thin strand connecting his head to her lips.
 
"My Lord… Was very…" She fumbled with words.
"Shut up," Harkin interrupted.
 
He clambered forth, his cock covered in a sheen of cum and her own wetness. He positioned himself at her mouth, and without protest she opened her small maw. Harkin guided his shaft in, smacking the wet appendage against her tongue. A fresh warm glaze coated him, and she closed her lips around his still-hard prick. At once, she went to work.
 
Her tongue swirled quickly around him, ushering a groan from the ex-brother. He threw his head back, his fringe snapping at the air. Reaching up with one hand, Daenerys grabbed the base of his length and simultaneously bobbed her head and stroked his penis. She shut her eyes for it. Harkin could not help but audibly gasp, despite trying not to. When he was particularly loud, she opened up one violet eye to look at him. When he looked back, she blushed and her reactions were enough to keep him hard.
 
He had the urge to thrust into her, each desire ended when she sped up or her tongue swirled around his hardened shaft. So instead, he reached for her hair and took a handful of it. Like he predicted, it was soft in his grasp. He tugged down on her locks, forcing her to take him in just an inch deeper, or bob just a slight quicker. Harkin found himself biting his lower lip with his suggestive pulls. And astoundingly, he had not softened.
 
"Mmph!" She sounded something amidst her head bobs and pumping hand. He did not care for it. He was more interested in the warmth of her mouth, the swirl of her delicate tongue, and the tightness of her mouth Harkin deemed a new fuckchamber.
 
"Look up at me," Harkin commanded. Daenerys opened her eyes and took them off of his shaft and onto his own ones. Her purple gaze pierced him, down to his very soul. The faint rosy glow entranced him, stole him to stillness. His next orgasm quickened. Harkin bit his lip, whispering for her to persist looking upon him. She must have felt his orgasm approach, the pulsing and twitching of his shaft in her hand, her maw. He tried again to hold back his groan, but it came out all the same.
 
With her purple gaze locked on him, she stilled as Harkin came. He jerked forth with every blast, his seed filling her maw one shot after the other. Harkin's fingers tightened on her hair, the convulsions controlling him. "F-fuck!" He gave her one last thrust as the last of his sack offered her his warm gooey gift.
 
Her eyes softly lidded towards him and she gave his cock a few more tugs and a few more licks before he withdrew. It must have been a demand of most customers, for when he pulled away she opened her mouth to show him his seed: a gooey mess of white swimming with her tongue. She cocked her head back, and Harkin watched as her throat bobbed. When she leaned forth again, she opened her maw: it was empty.
 
Harkin sighed, wanting more. Alas, he heard the heavy steps of the guards approaching, another customer behind them.
 
"I hope My Lord comes again," said Daenerys as she looked at her new customer. The thought made Harkin smirk.
 
I'm so glad I left the Night's Watch to bed the Last Targaryen, he thought.
 
He was determined to bed her again… with another purse of gold, of course.