Lost in Sothoryos Chapter 81 - The Apostle

Daenerys sat cross-legged on the velvet divan, shifting slightly to ease the stiffness in her hip. The fabric beneath her was thick and soft, too rich for a girl who had once slept on threadbare mats and cold stone. Her bare foot brushed the marble floor as she adjusted, cool to the touch even after hours of firelight and incense.

She reached for Viserion without looking. The young dragon pressed closer at once, as if summoned by instinct alone. His body was warm and fluid beneath her fingers, his pale scales dry and smooth like fine glassware. She traced the ridge of his back again, she found doing that a comfort. The way he leaned into her touch reminded her of the colt she had once fed in Braavos. That had been the first creature to trust her and the first one she could remember interacting with, she knew Viserion was different, but she couldn't help be reminded of it.

She glanced toward the open balcony, her gaze drawn by the sound of wind stirring the silk drapes. The breeze carried in the scent of brine and the faint trace of citrus from the gardens below. She had learned, after many nights here, that Volantis never fully slept. Ships shifted in the harbor even past midnight, bells rang faintly from the temple spires, and the old Triarchy's guards—now Daerons— marched their routes. She watched the silk sway.

When she looked back to Viserion, his golden eyes were still fixed on her. There was an eerie calm in the way he stared, no blinking, no restlessness. Out of all of the dragons it was Viserion that was the quietest. Perhaps that was why the name was a perfect. Her brother for as much as he tried to present an air of authority, really preferred the quiet and would much rather read a book than sit on the throne. She rubbed behind his horned brow gently. He chirped and pressed his snout against her palm, radiating a comforting heat. She did not flinch from it. She had never worried about being burnt.

Her thoughts turned inward again. The chamber was grand, yes. The high walls wrapped in ancient tapestries, the kind that nobles once boasted of but could no longer name. She had passed them for weeks now without studying their scenes. But earlier that day, she'd stopped in front of one while Viserion slept. A winged shape, soaring above a line of towers that could only have been Old Valyria. She'd reached out and touched the dragon's stitched eye with her fingertip. It had been frayed at the edge. Perhaps in another 400 years the entire tapestry would be gone. Perhaps in another 400 years old Valyria would be gone from memory, replaced by what Daeron had done.

It still didn't feel real.

"I never thought I'd ever see a dragon anywhere other than my dreams..." Her voice made Viserion stir again. He tucked his snout into the crook of her elbow and gave a throaty sound that made her smile despite herself. She remembered that first night when Daeron had placed the dragon in her arms. She had tried hard not to weep. She had simply sat down and stared, afraid that even breathing too hard might shatter the moment. And then he smiled at her, that strange distant smile he gave only when something truly pleased him.

Daeron.

She closed her eyes briefly. His name alone made her chest feel strange now.

Since returning from Valyria, he had become something else. Not in the way war hardens men or exile thins the soul, but in the way steel is forged from something lesser. He walked without armor but still felt untouchable. He spoke with the same voice, but it carried farther. When he entered a room, silence followed like a second shadow.

No one said it aloud. Not even mother. But she had seen the way the priests bowed slightly when Daeron passed. She had seen the servants and former slaves listen with their eyes downcast. Daeron had brought six dragons back into the world and had freed the slaves of Volantis. It was clear what everyone wanted to call him even if they did not.

She heard the door creak and turned her head.

Her mother moved through the doorway silently, in her hands was the dragon Daeron had given to her, Rhaegal. Daenerys noticed the way Rhaella's fingers remained curled gently around Rhaegal's neck, careful not to disturb the green dragon perched like a jewel on her shoulder. The creature shifted its wings but made no sound. It trusted her, utterly.

"You're awake again," Rhaella said softly.

Daenerys nodded. "I never really sleep here. I'm not sure why, it just feels strange here."

Rhaella crossed the room slowly, brushing past the small table cluttered with scrolls and untouched fruit. She never commented on the untouched offerings, just reached past them and picked up the silver-handled brush Daenerys always left by the vanity. The brush had belonged to her grandmother, or so Rhaella claimed when she had gifted it to her. Though the way she held it made Daenerys believe it. Rhaella sat down behind her on the divan and began combing her daughter's hair without asking permission. She never needed to. Daenerys would never turn this down. Daenerys relaxed slightly into her mother's chest as the brush passed slowly through the length of her hair.

"I keep thinking of him," Daenerys said. "Of Daeron. I watch him sometimes. The way his eyes change. The way people look at him. And I wonder how much of him is still the boy who saved us from Khal Drogo and how much has become something more."

The brush paused only for a second.

"We all change, my love. Viserys, me and you have all changed, it is something necessary to survive, you shouldn't be afraid of him for it."

Daenerys let out a slow breath. "I'm not afraid of him. But I'm afraid for him. For what this strange power could do?"

Rhaella didn't answer right away. She finished another long stroke of the brush, then set it down quietly. Her hands came to rest on her daughter's shoulders.

"I know that fear," she said. "I knew it the moment I saw his eyes after he returned. But there is still kindness in him. There is still warmth in his voice when he speaks to you. He gave you Viserion, not because he needed you strong, but because he wanted you safe. And loved."

Daenerys felt Viserion shift again. The dragon's breath warmed the skin of her wrist, his tail tightening around her wirst just slightly.

"Then we have to remind him," she whispered. "That he's still one of us. That we are always going to be his family."

Rhaella wrapped her arms around her from behind and rested her chin lightly on Daenerys's shoulder. Rhaegal chirped again and nestled closer.

"We will remind him," her mother said. "All of us will."

And for the first time since the dragons had hatched, Daenerys believed that maybe the world was okay.

_____________________________________

Back in the throne room where the Old Bloods would convene, Daeron now stood with his family and his advisors as they planned out the next steps of what would inevitably be war.

Arthur leaned over the map and dragged a finger along the coastline. "Your actions have drawn a lot of eyes our way, your sister has already terrified the free cities and what has been done here has no doubt spread. For Volantis bows to you, yes, but the other Free Cities will not welcome it, slavery is the life blood of most of this is. Myr, Pentos, Lorath, Lys. They are the ones who will defy you first."

Kinvara stepped forward a look of certainty on her face, completely unworried at what this alliance could mean. "Let them gather. The Lord of Light has placed fire in the Princes hand. Their fleets will burn. The cities that stand against him will fall to ash and prayer."

Arthur cut her short with a sharp motion. "Enough witch, Prophecy will not close a breach in a wall or stop a stone from a catapult. We need iron and timber. We need chain across the mouth of the harbor. We need scorpions on the walls and ships among our quays."

Viserys had been pacing the table for ten minutes, his foot scuffing the inked parchment until it creased. He paused now and leaned over the map with them. "We could anchor chains like they did at King's Landing. We could station bowmen along the Rhoyne to make landings costly. If we press the freed men and women into service, train them a week and arm them lightly, we can double our numbers at the docks."

A sudden slam of a fist against the table made the markers jump and the room fall still.

"I do not care for the Free Cities, I do not care for their petty wars," he said simply. "I am going to Slaver's Bay to get my family. Rhaenys. My children. That is all that matters. Let them scheme here and try to take this city back, when I return, it will be a simple matter."

Arthur straightened until he was as tall as the map allowed. "You may not care, Daeron, but your absence will be noticed. If you leave now and Volantis is cut off, you sail into a trap. You will not find friendly harbors to shelter your fleet. You will be forced through a gauntlet until you arrive at Meereen."

Daenerys felt the table between them like a thin skin and pushed a braid from her face without thinking. Rhaella's hand brushed her shoulder and she kept her head bowed so the motion might go unnoticed. Daeron's jaw clenched tightly enough that Daenerys worried he might crack his teeth. The rest of the room watched the line he traced from Volantis eastward with a finger. Kinvara moved close to him putting her body next to him as if trying to comfort him, but also as if trying to gain some warmth. Daenerys felt herself not liking that.

After a long moment, Daeron nodded. "Fine."

He pointed at Viserys. "You will take command of the horde while I am gone and lead them ."

Viserys snapped back as if the idea had struck him. "Me? I know little of leading thousands I could barely lead the three of us across Essos while in exile. I can not keep men in order when I do not even speak their own tongue."

Arthur let out a sound that might have been a laugh and might have been a sigh. "You have kept the family alive when the world wished them dead. You even duelled Khal Drogo to protrrct your sister, you have the will and besvart for this. But we need someone who can hold a line and who the Dothraki will follow without asking why."

Daeron looked at Viserys as one looks at a man about to learn to swim by being thrown into the current. "I believe in you uncle, I believe you can do this. Lead, and you will learn quick. I trust you."

Viserys's fingers curled on the rim of the Valyrian steel shield that leaned against the table. He had never claimed it before. But now held it now like a promise, a promise to Daeorn himself. "If you think I can do this... then I will try."

Daeron turned to Kinvara. "You stay with him. Guide him. Keep the priests with him and help him keep Volantis in line."

Kinvara bowed so low her braid nearly swept the map. "As you command. The Temple will stand with your chosen."

Daeron set a plan out. "Move the horde south to Myr. Strike hard and quick. Take their forges for weapons. Take their timber for towers and rams. Burn the farms that feed their garrisons. Send scouting parties ahead at night. Split into small mounted units that hit and vanish. If you can take their ports, turn their ships against them. Use what they have against them."

Arthur stepped in close and drew his own lines over the map. "Send scouts to learn wall heights and gate weights. Find where their watch rotates. Raid by night so the city wakes to smoke. Five hundred riders a unit will be enough when they move like the Dothraki can."

Viserys listened until he could recite the orders back perfectly. "Night raids, scouts first, take the forges. I will see it done."

Daeron put an even hand on his shoulder. The touch was small but solid. "We will meet after I take Slaver's Bay."

Arthur watched the two of them for a long breath. He did not like the odds. Though he never wore his dislike on his face unnecessarily. "You will need supplies. Sails, ropes, iron. Men to crew captured galleys. We can take the timber, but we need rope and hemp and tar for fire ships. If we want to protect Volantis while the horde is away, we need a second line. A group of veterans to hold the docks and a small fleet to shadow every approach."

Daeron did not look surprised. He had already thought of it. "We will leave a fleet of Small, fast ships. Keep the harbor open to trade with those who still wish to. Chain the mouth if we must. Place bolt throwers where the walls are weakest."

Kinvara added one last thing. "Send runners to the temples and the merchants. Promise those who fought against us a pardon should they fight now."

They continued to work for hours after that trying to get the plan is perfect as they could. Though they knew that it was a fallacy no plan would survive first contact. So in truth, the only person that could be counted on was Viserys.  When they finally rose, the map had new ink along the coasts and names set in lines. Daeron stood over the map, staring at it for a long time. The candles had burned, and the air in the throne room was still. His finger rested on the line that led from Volantis to Slaver's Bay. He followed it once more with his eyes, then let his hand fall away.

He turned toward the doors and pushed them open. The hinges creaked under the weight. Two servants were waiting outside. One held a tray of wine, the other with food. Daeron waved them away without a word and kept walking. The corridor was emptyas he walked through it, something he found to be a common occurrence after his Ascendency—what he'd come to call his rebirth. It was as if people just couldn't be close to him without feeling fear, awe or love—with the exception of his family.

As he climbed the stairs, he flexed his right hand. He could feel the power under his skin, a faint heat that came and went with his pulse. At the top of the stairs, he reached his chamber door and shoved it open, stepping inside before closing it firmly. He crossed to the bed and sat on its edge,m. A platter of raw meat sat on a side table; he picked up a strip and tossed it to his dragons, cooking it the moment it touched his fingers. Veraxys leaped from his perch, catching it mid-air with a snap of his jaws. Meraxes and Syrax scrambled across the floor, snatching the next pieces he threw.

He fed them more, his actions routine as his thoughts pressed in. He had hatched all the eggs from Valyria, channeling his power to crack their shells and bring life from stone. He gave dragons to Daenerys, to Viserys and to Rhaella. The remaining three he kept for Jaehaerys, Alysanne, and any future children, tending them daily. They would grow much faster than natural under his care, maybe taking only a few years to reach maturity.

His thoughts then drifted to his current situation. Leading Volantis felt like a chain now. He had killed the Triarchs in a burst of flame, claiming the city in a single act. But it invited war from the other Free Cities. "Why did I take it?" he said aloud, rubbing his temples. "Rhaenys needs me, not this mess."

The door opened without a knock. Daeron looked over and saw that Ashara had entered, closing it behind her. She wore a simple dress that hugged her figure. Her dark curly hair hung loose over her shoulders. She crossed the room and sat next to him. "Daeron, you look exhausted."

He glanced at her. "The meeting dragged on longer than I thought it would... I just wish I had never killed the triarchy, I never wanted to be a King," he breathed out heavily.

Ashara sat next to him rubbing his back comfortingly. "It was a hard decision I'm sure, but I believe what you've done will be for the best even if it doesn't feel like it," she said in an attempt to comfort him. Daeron leaned against her. Despite the fact his body didn't get tired anymore he still felt mentally exhausted.

"Being a king doesn't have to be a bad thing," she said as she kept tracing circles on his back. "You have your family and so many who care for you."

"I know... I just... I feel as though the world has been placed on my shoulders," Daeron replied, he then held his hand up summoning a beautiful golden flame, which then turned a rainbow of different colours. "I worry should something happen to me or should I fail that I'll doom you all..."

Ashara hugged him closely. "Dont think in such a way Daeron... you won't doom us for we will gladly follow you anywhere... and we are not so weak that we would collapse without you holding us up."

"No you aren't are you..." Daeron said with a small smile on his face. He didn't know why, but he took her words to heart in that moment. His friends and family truly were strong, even if it were not of body then it was of heart or mind. If dven have him an idea that he might look into in the future.

But for now.

Daeron turned to Ashara, his hands finding her waist as he pulled her onto his lap. She straddled him, her dress hiking up, revealing her thighs. He kissed her deeply, tongue exploring her mouth, while his fingers untied the laces of her bodice. The fabric fell away, exposing her large breasts, nipples hardening in the cool air. He cupped them, thumbs circling the peaks, drawing a soft moan from her. "Daeron," she whispered, grinding against his growing hardness.

She reached down, unbuckling his breeches, freeing his thick cock. It stood rigid, veins pulsing. Ashara stroked it slowly, her hand sliding up and down the shaft, feeling it throb. "You're so hard," she murmured, positioning herself above him. She lowered slowly, guiding the tip inside her wet folds. He groaned as she sank down, her tight heat enveloping him inch by inch. Her dark curly pubic hair brushed his skin as she took him fully.

She began to move, rising and falling, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. Daeron gripped her hips, guiding her rhythm, pulling her down harder. "Faster," he said, voice rough. She obeyed, riding him quicker, her moans growing louder. "Oh, Daeron, yes" as he hit deeper. He leaned forward, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting gently, making her arch her back.

Her pace quickened, walls clenching around him. He thrust up to meet her, their bodies slapping together. Sweat slicked their skin. "I'm close," she gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders. He reached between them, rubbing her clit in circles. She cried out, shuddering as her orgasm hit, her inner muscles pulsing, milking him. He followed, groaning as he released deep inside her, filling her with hot spurts.

They stilled, panting, her head resting on his shoulder. She kissed his neck softly. "Better?" He nodded, holding her close.

...

Weeks passed as preparations for the campaign took full shape. Every part of the city moved under orders, and every day brought a new task to complete before departure.

Daeron began his mornings in the training yard with the dragons. He kept the sessions short an and mostly used it as time to fill the dragons with his power as well as training them to fly, focusing on distance and obedience. Veraxys, Meraxes, and Syrax were still young but already powerful enough to lift off and glide across the palace grounds. Daeron had handlers measure their wings after each flight to track growth. He made them circle the towers, return on command, and land within marked zones to strengthen coordination. When they resisted, he repeated the exercise until they complied, dragons were not slaves but he was not a regular man. Their strength increased visibly. The palace servants had started logging the hours of flight to estimate endurance.

Viserys worked with the Dothraki horde outside the city walls. Every morning before sunrise, he rode out with his captains to train with the riders. They practiced charges, tight turns, and retreats. Kinvara and her red priests followed to help translate and to teach him the lanaguge. The Dothraki were not enthused having to follow one who was not their Khal, yet they would follow Daerons word without question so slowly they began to become more accepting of Viserys command.

Arthur spent nearly all his time at the docks. He supervised carpenters, shipwrights, and sailors as they prepared the fleet. Each vessel was inspected for damaged planks and weak ropes. Barrels of fresh water, salted meat, and grain were stacked in the holds under his direction. He kept a strict schedule for loading and checked each manifest twice. If a crewman failed to report, he replaced him within the hour.

Inside the palace, Daenerys and Rhaella spent their days caring for Viserion and Rhaegal. They prepared their food, recorded feeding amounts, and noted how quickly the dragons responded to commands. Rhaegal preferred the open courtyards, while Viserion adjusted well to flight above the gardens. They practiced basic commands and both dragons showed rapid improvement. Daenerys recorded her progress daily in a journal.

Daeron continued to refine his use of power. Each evening, he used the eyes of birds to watch the sea lanes. From above, he saw sails on the horizon that confirmed the Free Cities were preparing fleets. He noted their numbers, directions, and distance, then relayed the information to Viserys for naval planning.

Kinvara expanded her influence through nightly gatherings in the temple square. Hundreds attended her sermons. She used each one to strengthen loyalty to Daeron and frame their campaign as divine will. Her priests recorded names of volunteers who offered to serve as guards and laborers. Within a month, she had enough followers to fill several companies, later organized under Arthur's supervision as auxiliary troops.

The dragons continued to grow. By the third week, Drogon could fly from the palace to the docks and back without rest. The citizens gathered to watch when they took to the air, shouting Daeron's name and calling him Azor Ahai. The enthusiasm strengthened morale but also attracted attention from spies, which Arthur quietly addressed through patrol sweeps.

Daeron continued his meditations at night, attempting to project his sight farther east. He caught brief images of Sunspear and the surrounding area, but they vanished quickly, leaving only the echo of heat and sand.

It was like this that they all spend their final weeks in Volantis. There was much to do and little time to do it, especially with all our war on the horizon. As the time got closer and closer to the end, Daeron got more and more nervous. Despite how powerful he was now, he was scared of losing. Where would he go if he lost? Where was safety now? Westeros? Essos? Sothoryos? This was why he was went to war, if he had to carve out his own empire to make sure his family were safe then he would do so.

...

On the eve of departure, the palace was unusually quiet. Below the balcony, the Rhoyne moved slowly toward the sea. Dozens of ships sat at anchor, their masts rising like a forest of poles against the night sky. Lanterns flickered on their decks as crews finished their last tasks before dawn. Daeron stood at the railing, both hands resting on the carved stone. His gaze moved over the fleet as if committing each ship.

Behind him came the sound of boots on tile.

Viserys stepped into the light of a torch fixed to the wall. It t didn't take a greenseer to see how conflicted he looked and Daeron was more than just a greenseer. He could feel the storm of emotions that swelled inside of him, he'd been able to feel them for weeks, but he had waited for his uncle to approach him about it.

"Daeron," he said quietly. "Can we speak?"

Daeron turned, leaning back on the railing with his arms folded. "Of course, Uncle. What troubles you?"

Viserys hesitated. His fingers twitched at his sides before he began to speak. "I cannot lead them Daeron, I have thought about it, I have tried to do it but I can't. Not the horde. Not this city. I am not a commander. I am the brother who failed, I am not Rhaegar. Mother and Daenerys lived because of luck, not because of my skill. If not for you, they would have been taken long ago. I am not capable of what you're asking."

Daeron pushed away from the railing and walked closer. "You kept them alive when no one else could. You survived exile. You endured assassins, hunger, and loss. You held this family together when everything was against us. That is not failure, Viserys."

Viserys shook his head. "Only you believe that, but I know the truth... I will let you down."

Daeron looked at his uncle, the sheer lack of confidence inside of him. His uncle had truly been broken by the helplessness he felt over all these years. He had truly given everything to keep his sister and mother safe; to see that all his efforts were useless in the end. It must've broke his heart.

Daeron didn't know why but he felt a whisper inside himself. Something telling him what to do to. Viserys was his family, he was surrounded by his family. Why should he not take advantage of that. He stopped in front of Viserys, close enough that the torchlight showed the lines of his face. "Do you trust me?"

Viserys nodded. "With my life."

Daeron placed a hand over Viserys's heart. The gesture was steady and deliberate, like a seal being pressed into wax. His voice dropped, not loud but firm enough to carry over the wind from the river.

He didn't know why he said the next few words, but they felt right for the moment. "For it is in courage that we achieve immortality," Daeron said. "Through this, we become a symbol of hope and light to rise above darkness. Infinite in compassion and bound by family, I release your soul, and by my shoulder, help thee." A pulse of heat and light spread from his palm. Viserys gasped and clutched at Daeron's arm as the power passed through him. It was not a single jolt but a current that strengthened muscle, sharpened reflexes, and empowered his heart. His bones felt denser, his grip tighter, his breathing deeper. His hair brightened under the torchlight until each strand shone silver-white. His skin lost its sallow tone and took on a healthy flush.

Viserys staggered back a step and caught himself on the railing. He opened and closed his hands, flexing his fingers as if rediscovering them. "What... what did you do?"

Daeron withdrew his hand but stayed close. "I made you the man you have always been inside.

So it was in that day that Viserys Targaryen III of his name was made into the Lord of Rebirths first Apostle.

(AN: Bit of a disappointment as chapters go, but I needed to get them out of Volantis. Anyway things should pick up from here, we are getting close to the ending of the three separate storylines which will then end this arc. After that only two more arcs before the end of the story.)

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