Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

The Dothraki have liberated Slaver’s Bay.
 
Even for someone as foreign to these lands as Jon, the absurdity of that statement did not escape him. To anyone who didn’t understand what he’d been doing since he arrived in Essos, that sentence would sound patently ridiculous. Even those who may have heard rumors of his exploits were probably rather incredulous about the whole thing.
 
Laying back in bed, Jon lets out a sigh of contentment and finds himself considering everything that’s happened in the last few weeks. Slaver’s Bay is one hundred percent theirs. The Slave Masters of all three cities have been put to the sword, one and all. Slavery as a whole has been outlawed in the bay, just as it has been in all Dothraki Lands.
 
Of course, on that note, Slaver’s Bay was no longer appropriate. It was distinctly inappropriate. Jon still needed to decide what to call it now, because it did need to be renamed, but that was probably one of the smallest concerns he had at the moment. Still, he was currently leaning towards something culturally appropriate, like Harpy’s Bay or something.
 
He really wasn’t in this to completely wipe out these people’s way of life. Cut out the slavery at the center of it, root and stem? Certainly. He saw it as his duty as a Son of Westeros to bring an end to slavery wherever he could find it. The fact that it was something his allies all the way back in Braavos agreed with wholeheartedly was only icing on the cake.
 
So far, the Iron Bank was willing to assist him in his conquest of Essos. As far as they were concerned, he was cleaning things up most satisfactorily so far. If he hadn’t had success after success, Jon imagined that might have been a different story. But success was all he’d gotten so far. And yet… he did wonder at what could have been.
 
Where would he be now, if he’d stayed in Braavos and courted the Sealord, or the Titled Seven? Well, if he had, who knew what would have happened to Daenerys, so that was right out the window. But then there was always the ‘What If’ of where he would be if he’d simply rescued Dany and then absconded with her back to Braavos, skipping out on the Dothraki in general.
 
He had to believe that he’d done more good than bad with his actions so far. Lots of people had died along the way, but death was a fact of life, at the end of the day. Changing the Dothraki from the inside, ending slavery within both the Horse Lords and Slaver’s Bay… Jon had to imagine that Eddard Stark would be proud of him.
 
Of course, he would never get the chance to ask the man, because his actions had consequences. Even if he felt like he made the best choices he could have along the way, it didn’t change the fact that his adoptive father was now dead. Could Jon have done something to change that, if he’d gone back to Westeros sooner? Or would Lord Stark have been obligated by oath to King Robert to kill Jon the moment he stepped foot back on Westeros’ shores proclaiming himself a Targaryen King?
 
As much as it pained Jon to admit it, especially given the news he was hearing out of Westeros these days, he knew that all of their conflict and strife was only making his claim to the throne stronger and stronger. Robert Baratheon was dead, and in his place was a sadistic monster of a boy, if the rumors were to be believed.
 
Last Jon had heard, albeit news from Westeros took months to travel across the sea to them, they were calling the current fight a ‘War of the Five Kings’. In the face of that, what was one more, right? Except… Jon didn’t feel right about going to Westeros just yet. It didn’t feel like it was quite time. Part of him, the part that still identified as Jon Snow, wanted nothing more than to go back to Westeros to fight alongside the North.
 
He liked to think Robb would welcome him with open arms. They may not be brothers by blood, but they were brothers by upbringing, for all that Catelyn Stark had sought to keep such bonds from forming. She might as well have let them be, for all the harm her machinations had ultimately pulled. He and Robb had always been close, and despite knowing the truth of his heritage now, Jon still loved the other man like a brother.
 
But no. As much as his heart wanted to go to Westeros, to stand by Robb’s side and protect him with all the armies Jon could bring along with him… his mind knew better. Robb would have to fight his own battles, because Jon… Jon wasn’t done yet here in Essos. He may have fundamentally changed the Dothraki, he may have liberated Slaver’s Bay… but the work was just getting started.
 
A low groan slips free of his lips, and Jon looks down to where Missandei and Doreah have been servicing his member. The two handmaidens have developed something of a competitive streak between the two of them. The former Lysene bedslave seems to almost take offense to the Naathi scribe’s inclusion in his bed. Though she’s smart enough not to voice those feelings aloud, it leads to her and Missandei fighting one another while doing their best to pleasure him.
 
One might expect Missandei to crumble under such pressure, to submit to Doreah and accept her place below the other handmaiden in the vaguely established hierarchy of the women who shared Jon’s bed. Certainly, that was what Doreah had expected. After all, a Lysene Bedslave is expected to be a mixture of sexually aggressive and submissive, effectively donning whatever mask their client of the day might want of them. A slave translator like Missandei, meanwhile, was expected to be submissive all day long, obeying her Master to the letter as she interpreted the words of those he was speaking with for him.
 
But much to Doreah’s surprise, and secretly Jon’s and Dany’s as well, Missandei had proven herself to be more than just her preassigned role, more than just her past as a slave. Having imprinted quite strongly on both Jon and Daenerys during their first time together, the dark-skinned, nubile Naathi scribe seemingly had no intention of letting Doreah bully her into submission.
 
Hence, their competitiveness… which Jon had to admit, he enjoyed quite a lot. Smiling a little, he places his hands atop both their heads, sliding his fingers through blonde and black locks respectively. Their eyes flicker up to him, before they refocus on their task, ebony and ivory skin side by side, their tongues lolling out of their mouths and working their way up and down either side of his shaft. They constantly fight with one another using said tongues, trying to encroach on each other’s ‘territory’ so to speak, butting in where the other doesn’t want them time and time again.
 
It results in an all too pleasurable experience for Jon, and with a loud groan, he tightens his grip on their hair, holding the two handmaidens fast.
 

“Here it comes, girls…”
 
Both of them go limp in his grip, allowing him to pull their heads back a bit, angling them properly so their faces are turned up as they open their mouths nice and wide, their tongues lolling out. For good measure, Jon puts them cheek to cheek, grinning wickedly, knowing how much they disliked each other. And then, he came all over their faces and breasts. Painting the two handmaidens white with his cum has become something of a favorite past time of Jon’s. They’re just so eager to please, so eager to impress him… and Daenerys has more than enough handmaidens that she can spare two for his own needs. She’s glad to do it, in fact.
 
As soon as he’s done cumming, Jon pulls them both back… and then uses his grip on their hair to maneuver them both to face one another. He doesn’t need to save anything, doesn’t need to give a verbal command… they know what he wants from them by now. It’s become somewhat routine, Jon having the two of them do this each and every time they’ve pleasured him together. He calls it ‘kissing and making up’.
 
Of course, anyone looking upon it wouldn’t call it that. As Jon releases their hair, the two handmaidens practically attack each other. Their mouths and tongues are all over each other’s faces as they fight to slurp up as much of his seed as possible from the other’s body.
 
It’s as Jon is sitting back and enjoying the show that the door opens and Bellegere slips inside. The Black Pearl is starting to show now, just the beginnings, but she looks just as beautiful as she ever has in his opinion. Smiling at her, Jon beckons her to his side.
 
“Bellegere…”
 
Casting an amused glance at Missandei and Doreah, the Braavosi Courtesan approaches Jon’s bed, happily snuggling into his side when he reaches out and pulls her close.
 
“Your Majesty…”
 
That gets Jon’s attention, and he looks to her more closely as his lips curl downwards a bit into something of a frown.
 
“You know I don’t expect such formality from you, Bellegere.”
 
Smiling slightly, Bellegere just nods as she brushes some of his hair from his face tenderly.
 
“When it’s official business though… there’s been news, Jon. From Volantis.”
 
Jon’s brow furrows at that, and he lets out a curious noise, prompting Bellegere to continue. As she collects her thoughts in order to do so, so does he. Volantis is… well, it’s not necessarily the next stop on his path of conquest, but it might as well be. It’s certainly one of the closest of the poorly named Free Cities, and the rumors say there are five slaves to every free man in the city. Obviously, Jon can’t allow for that to continue, not without becoming a hypocrite incapable of practicing what he preaches.
 
“Officially… Volantis is alarmed by what we are doing. As we knew they would be, of course. They brushed off the rumors that the Dothraki had unified under your banner just as the Masters of Slaver’s Bay did. But now… well, the coordinated conquest of Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor all at the same time has been an eye opener.”
 
Nodding, Jon hums in the back of his throat. He knew all of that already, but he also knew Bellegere wasn’t trying to waste his time. Which meant that she had new information.
 
“… There is reportedly a schism currently taking place within the religion focused on R’hllor, the Lord of Light. A schism that, if the information is to be believed, is completely focused on you.”
 
That gets a startled blink from Jon, and he even rears back a little in confusion.
 
“Me?”
 
Bellegere just nods, looking as baffled as he feels.
 
“Elements within the Red Priesthood have named you as one of their mythological figures. Specifically, they claim you are Azor Ahai, the Prince Who Was Promised.”
 
Jon shakes his head at that.
 
“Wait, isn’t that what Stannis Baratheon is currently basing his entire case over in Westeros on? Doesn’t HE have a Red Priestess at his side claiming he’s their chosen one?”
 
Bellegere, just as privy to all of the information coming from Westeros as Jon is, just nods slowly.
 
“Like I said, it is creating something of a… schism. Not only is there that report out of Westeros, but the information we’re getting from Volantis says the rulers of the city are none too happy with this sect of the Red Priesthood who are beginning to preach your values. And in response, some of the Red Priesthood have begun to denounce their fellows as well as you, claiming that you are a false idol designed to tempt away from true service.”
 
It takes Jon but a second to properly parse that last bit.
 
“Slavery. They mean slavery.”
 
Bellegere winces but nods, liking it no more than he does. After all, she was from Braavos, where slavery was just as abhorrent.
 
Letting out an explosive sigh, Jon looks away for a moment. It seems he’s come to another crossroads. Because while Volantis might seem like the obvious next step, there’s been something that’s been niggling at the back of his mind for some time now. The dragons that he and Dany had hatched together… they were getting bigger by the day, to the extent that they were quite large now.
 
Jon did his best to spend every day training them and training WITH them, recognizing that they weren’t just their ‘children’ as Dany tended to call them, but also his greatest asset. One day, he would ride one of them into battle.
 
But training them… it wasn’t that he’d hit any snags, really. It was just… that feeling was back. That feeling he got, back when he first hatched the eggs in the first place. And this time, Jon was pretty sure the feeling was pointing him towards Valyria. The burnt out husk of the Valyrian Freehold actually lay between Slaver’s Bay and Volantis, but of course, if they were to go to Volantis they would travel around the destroyed peninsula, by sea.
 
Something was calling him to Valyria. A dangerous, barely understand land that purported held monsters and horrors mortal men couldn’t begin to comprehend. And yet, it was also home, presumably. It had been centuries since the Targaryens abandoned the Freehold, reportedly on the prophetic dreams of doom from one of their House.
 
And now, some strange feeling in the back of his skull was itching at him to return there. To go back. The only question was… was he going to listen?
 
Of course, it wasn’t so black and white. Jon honestly had no idea which situation was more time sensitive. It sounded to him like Volantis was quite volatile, a powder keg ready to blow. If he waited to move on the city, who knew what would happen in the meantime? But also, Jon had never tried to ignore the feeling for an extended period of time, before now. Would there be consequences if he did? Who was to say Valyria wasn’t just as time sensitive as Volantis?
 
He didn’t have enough information… but he had to make a decision anyways, based on what he had to go off of.

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