His face shifted, and Setsura’s laugh tinkled throughout the room. “I believe that is a definite yes. I am not surprised. My daughter excels in many things.” The warm pride emanating from this cold, beautiful woman surprised him even more.
Her fingers reached out to stroke his jaw, then captured it in a firm grip. “Don’t hesitate to think about that night for the rest of your life. Don’t be concerned if she appears in your dreams. Because last night will be the only taste of her you will ever have, savor it as much as you’d like.”
Those haunting red eyes bore into him until he smirked. Tsurara’s eyes had been a glint of gold, flashing in pure delight as he pleasured her and she deigned to return the favor.
“Didn’t my grandpa tell you? Never try to tell a Nura what we cannot have.”
It was hard to tell whether his answer displeased her. She released his chin and took another deep drag of her pipe. Only when most of the smoke cleared her mouth did she respond. “You Nura men are insolent to your core. Salacious and impudent, the lot of you.”
“I doubt you had your daughter seduce me into your presence just to insult me. What do you want, Setsura?”
The lady sighed. “There has been a problem lately with my territory.”
When he didn’t respond, she continued. “Some upstarts are being much more assertive than usual in trying to take over my establishments. I have trusted sources that tell me it is not your men. However, those same sources tell me you have been dealing with the same problem.”
Her red stare was unwavering. “So here is my bargain-- my strength for your cooperation.”
Fandom: Game of Thrones/ASOIAF
Characters/Pairing: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Genre: AU/Canon-Divergent
Author’s Note: All I can offer about this AU is this: Daenerys is a courtesan of Braavos, the Targaryen Dynasty never happened in Westeros, but the Doom of Valyria still casts its shadow over all. This is a rough draft that may or may not be a fic one day, we’ll see.
Also, please rip this apart. Tear into it. Tell me why this AU doesn’t exactly work. Do it.
Overall, the party was not disappointing.
Being on the arm of the Sealord’s son was never a dull affair, if she was to be honest. So many fascinating people approached him for a word, and she always lent an ear for the latest gossip of happenings in the Free Cities, the Slaver’s Bay, and even the uncultured land of Westeros across the Narrow Sea.
Tonight, a particular guest from that continent had inserted himself into more than a few of the whispers that reached her that night.
“The Duke of Black is planning on another trip throughout Essos, it seems,” a lord muttered in their midst. “I hear he petitioned the Iron Bank just this morning. Gambling debts, perhaps? It is easy for a foreign lord to lose his coin in these lands…”
“That sword of his has been kept nice and sharp since its last journey, I’ve heard,” chattered a wine merchant. “I’ve heard he’s hoping to meet up with the Golden Company.” The merchant paused and nodded deferentially towards her. “Forgive me my impropriety in mentioning those vagabonds, O Moon.”
She had merely smiled, dipping her head in conciliation. “No offense is taken, Alu Kazok. Though I am curious as to why a foreign prince would take up with mercenaries on our shores. Surely Westeros has its own fill of them.”
The merchant’s expression wizened in speculation. “A bastard prince, O Moon. Perhaps he means to overthrow his trueborn cousins and seat himself as King of Winter? And the trade routes were already unbearable with those cursed ironborn...”
“It is clear from the amount of gold dragons he requested that the country of Winter is facing some serious trouble,” a banker offered to them over a cup of golden wine. “I heard from the banker he met with that he intends to buy a fleet of ships. Does he mean to follow the ways of the ironborn and take up some reaving himself? If so, I hope it is not done on Braavosi shores…”
The Sealord’s son had laughed at that. “No need to worry, honorable banker. It would take more than a newborn fleet to overcome the might of my father and I on Braavosi ships.”
She placed her hand to interlock with the other near his elbow. “A strength that all of Braavos is grateful for, now ensconced in my arms.” The banker and Sealord’s son had both chortled in good humor.
But all accounts had paled to what fell from the lips of the foreign duke himself.
“We have been hearing so much about you tonight,” the Sealord’s son exclaimed as they approached the man. The duke had just been relieved from conversing with another lord, and had paused the glass of wine making its way towards his lips as he beheld them. Or rather, as he beheld her.
It never failed to both amuse and satisfy her when she saw the effect of her beauty on unsuspecting men. This duke was no different. His eyes roved over her hair, eyes, and lips in utter fascination and awe before he looked at her face proper. The growing touch of familiarity in his gaze made it evident that he had seen her before, perhaps in the marketplace or on one of her nightly trips to a welcoming patron.
“My lord,” he bowed towards the Sealord’s son. “My lady,” he deferred next. The sword tied to his waist slightly rippled as he bowed, its brown scabbard a not unwelcome contrast to the ebony silks and boiled leather he wore.
“Is that the famous Longclaw?” she asked, nodding towards his sword. “There are stories that it possesses the mad power of cleaving ironborn in one stroke.”
His hand moved towards the sword in an unconscious motion. “I have yet to hear that story myself, my lady.” His smile was quick and fleeting, a snort of humor. “The only power I know of is its ability to convey the gratitude of a great house.”
“House Mormont of Bear Island, correct?” She smirked at his astonishment at her knowledge. “Is it true that the women of this house are fierce as bears?”
“Fiercer,” he replied, his smile easier.
“Duke of Black, you must indulge us. What is the reason for a prince of Winter to hail Bravosi shores?” The curiosity of the Sealord’s son was not one to sit idle.
Neither was this duke’s wariness, it seemed. “The country of Winter has need of ships. As my king’s newest Sea Master, it falls on me to acquire them.”
This sparked both their intrigue, though the Sealord’s son was the first to voice it. “Sea Master? The wolves of Westeros will now hunt prey on the seas?”
“‘Tis better to hunt than be hunted,” was the cryptic answer. The duke’s grey eyes were implacable slates of stone.
“Then Braavos is the wise choice. Only the Summer Islands can do better at the trade. And as son of the Sealord, I have much wisdom to share.”
The duke nodded. “I would be honored to lend an ear. When would be most appropriate?”
“An eager student.” She could tell the pride of the Sealord’s son was well and truly stoked. “Tomorrow, at my residence. Around noon.” He looked to her. “I have no doubt that you would also wish to attend, Beautiful Moon.”
“I would be delighted, my lord.” Her smile was calm and true. The story she encountered tonight had just taken an intriguing turn, and she would hate to miss the next chapter.
“It is settled then.”
The duke bowed towards them both. “You have my gratitude. If you would excuse me.” He then moved away, his steps brisk. Her eyes tracked him as he made polite conversation with one or two more people, then continued towards the exit of the room.
“That one is solemn for his young age. You would think he was unused to such parties.”
“Who could say, my lord?” she offered. “There is little to be told of the halls of Westeros nobility. Fewer have been heard of the cold halls of Winter.”
“His trip is a boon, then. Now he can finally walk among true nobility.”
A boon, she knew, that this serious duke would give little thought to. “As you say, my lord.”
He barely sat up before his chest and neck felt the lightest kiss of steel.
“Ah,” he said, gaze turned downwards. A small smirk turned up the corner of his mouth. “I was wondering if you would ever wake up, Tsurara.”
She tugged the short blade closer. Her front was plastered tightly to his back, her arms wrapped around his shoulders and chest in what would have been a loving embrace if not for the short sword caging his body.
“Just a moment, Lord Rikuo.”
He idly lifted a finger to swipe across the blade, then let out a low whistle. “Your mistress spares no expense. How much is she offering for my head this time?”
“She doesn’t want you dead. Just willing to talk.”
He chuckled and let his other hand stroke a swathe of the softness of her leg. “I’m willing to do just about anything for another night between your thighs.”
He was shoved off the bed. “How dare you!”
With a twist of his legs he was upright, drawing his own short sword from the inside of his discarded upper robe. Her face was a mix of emotions-- embarrassment from his words, dismay at her carelessness, determination to keep him hostage for her mistress.
“I knew who you were the moment you tried luring me with a flick of your hand. You and your mother both have the same habit of enticing men.” His smirk widened at her scandalized features. “Though I’m willing to wager that your method of bedding is far superior.”
“Enough of your insolence!” She flicked her arm to extend her blade to meet his own. “I will have you on your knees before Mother!”
The shark spat behind him, his glare intact. “He’ll get his money. Some of us out here need to make a living.”
Yato chanced a glance at Bishamon. Her face was blank and unassuming. How was she going to deal with this?
‘Watch her every move for me, Yato. I need to know how her blood runs in the heat of betrayal to the family.’
He sighed and continued. “The Don understands your dilemma. It can’t be easy to two-time his good graces.”
The man before them froze.
“We’ve seen where the money and supplies have been going, Ben. Along with those delightful guests you’ve had over last week.”
Ben backed up, his hands not-so-subtly palming the seat of his trousers. “I was tied up! They came outta nowhere and--”
His excuse was cut off by a kick to the gut.
Yato stared at Bishamon, stunned. Her leg was outstretched, her face a mask of fury.
“Mr. Tanaka, allow me to pass on a message on behalf of the Don and our family.”
Her hands whipped out two twin pistols. One smacked him in the face, and blood blossomed in rivulets down his nose and cheek. The other lodged firmly in his groaning, keening windpipe.
It was one of the most attractive things he’d ever seen.
“You do not betray the family,” she warned, her tone darkening.
“Renji.” Her voice was cold. “What’s wrong with your arm?”
He knew she wouldn’t budge, and it broke his heart. Slowly he moved his arm from behind, making sure to keep his gaze away.
Her gasp was his only warning before he was pushed off his feet.
“You fool!” she screamed, actual tears in her eyes. They streamed down her face as she continued staring at the throbbing mess of ink and bone and blood.
“You fool,” she repeated. Her voice cracked. It was a warning shot that ricocheted between his ears.
She startled at the voice that boomed right behind her.
“Don’t worry, I’ll help. Here.”
Her wrist was suddenly jerked behind her. She was being tugged after someone just out of her sight, her vision obscured by the steaming mists and frayed branches of this mysterious swamp.
“W-wait! Stop!” She strained, to no avail. “Release me, cur!”
