Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

Needless to say, Jon doesn’t get much sleep that night. But he doesn’t leave either. He stays, because at the end of the day, the Black Pearl’s words required further interrogation and investigation. Bellegere Otherys… she’d named one of the Targaryen’s as an ancestor, Aegon the Fourth, if Jon had heard properly. Unfortunately, while Jon had had some lessons alongside Robb, as the bastard, he wasn’t the focus of their tutelage. He was allowed to slack off, and while at the time he’d been glad to be able to do so, focusing on his martial training over his book learning, he regretted not knowing his histories better now.
 
All the same, the fact that Bellegere had named him Dragon Lord was the most disconcerting thing of all, and as far as Jon knew, no amount of book knowledge would have allowed him to understand why exactly she would call him that. He was Eddard Stark’s bastard, a bastard of the North through and through. That was why his name had been Snow for much of his life. He was a wolf by blood… not a dragon.
 
And yet, maybe if it were just Bellegere or just the Iron Bank, Jon could chalk it up to confusion or just plain wrong information. But at the Iron Bank, they’d presented him with a crest that was distinctly draconic in nature, and a last name that Jon somehow knew meant dragonfire. Meanwhile, at the same time, Bellegere had now called him Dragon Lord.
 
Something was going on, and Jon wanted to get to the bottom of it. Still, he was no monster. He would never truly hurt a woman. He lets Bellegere sleep… however, when she finally stirs, when she pushes off of his chest with a yawn, and then smiles broadly up at him with adoration in her eyes, Jon simply clenches his jaw.
 
“I am owed an explanation, courtesan.”
 
Faltering slightly at that, Bellegere furrows her brow.
 
“I… I don’t understand, Jon. What do you need explained?”
 
Swallowing past the lump in his throat, trying to ignore the age difference between him and the absolutely gorgeous woman (he’s so young, and while she’s still fairly young herself, he feels too young in this instant) Jon hardens his resolve.
 
“You named me Dragon Lord before you passed out last night. You, Bellegere Otherys, descendant of the first Black Pearl and Aegon IV Targaryen. You pledged yourself to me and named me Dragon Lord. Explain.”
 
Bellegere searches his face for a moment, honestly surprised. Bringing a hand up, she places it on Jon’s chest, splaying her fingers outwards.
 
“Do you… do you truly not know, Jon? Can you not feel it? Even with my blood so diluted, I can feel it. The connection between us. Between two people who have the blood of the dragons flowing through their veins. It’s what drew me to you last night, as much as your prowess in battle. Can you not sense it? Your presence… it’s so much stronger than mine. Concentrate. Focus.”
 
Jon has a look of consternation on his face, even as he does what she says. It feels ridiculous, but he ‘reaches out’ to Bellegere with his senses… and to his shock, he feels it. Like she said, her blood is much more diluted than his. In truth, even though Jon had no way of knowing it, he shone like a beacon to those who shared the blood of the dragons, be they Targaryen descendants or even descendants of blood from Old Valyria.
 
Meanwhile, to find that connection, to find that blood within Bellegere takes more focus and concentration, just as she’d said. But he does feel it… he feels the way they’ve tied themselves together through their coupling as well, and how her words the night before when she pledged herself to him… they weren’t just true, they were binding, in a way. She was his.
 
“But… but how. I’m the bastard of Eddard Stark…”
 
Bellegere bites her imminently kissable lower lip and gives a half shrug, which does amazing things to her naked caramel breasts as she looks up at him with those chocolate brown eyes of hers.
 
“I do not know, my lord. Perhaps your father slept with a Targaryen woman?”
 
The problem was, there weren’t any at the time, as far as Jon was aware. Save for the Queen… but then, she was pregnant with a girl if Jon was remembering what he’d heard correctly. And he couldn’t really see his father cuckolding a King, even if it was the Mad King. Nor could he think of a time when Eddard would have had a chance to do it. No, Jon had always assumed his mother was either a whore or perhaps an innocent barmaid that caught his father’s eye during the war. It was the only thing that made sense.
 
But then, what sort of peasant girl would have dragon blood in them? Jon was so confused… and Bellegere was sucking his dick. Blinking at that sudden realization, Jon looks down to find that the beautiful courtesan has laid herself halfway across his lap and taken his cock between her lips as she splays her hands across his legs, her beautiful caramel breasts squished against his body.
 
She looks up at him with those gorgeous eyes of hers, slurping and lapping at his morning wood, even as Jon’s breath hitches. He finds himself placing a hand in her hair almost instinctively, and before he even registers what he’s doing, he’s guiding her along, controlling the encounter, commanding her… dominating her. She goes along with it happily, her throat continuously swallowing as she suppresses her gag reflex in order to take his cock all the way into her mouth. As her lips suction down around the base of his member, one of her hands slips up to fondle his balls, and Jon groans, tossing his head back as the truly masterful technique of the gorgeous dark-haired courtesan sends him right over the edge.
 
As Jon finishes inside of Bellegere’s mouth, the Black Pearl drinks every single drop. When she finally pulls back, it’s with a wanton self-satisfied smile on her face, even as she swipes a bit of his cum from the corner of her mouth back between her lips.
 
“Feeling better, my lord?”
 
He was, truth be told. Now that he was coming down from the impromptu release, he found himself thinking clearer.
 
“Yes… I need to return to the Iron Bank.”
 
Bellegere frowns slightly at that but doesn’t say anything. Jon doesn’t fail to notice though, and at this point, he’d rather she speak her mind than keep secrets.
 
“What? What is it?”

 
“The Iron Bank… what business do you have with them my lord, if you don’t mind me asking?”
 
He doesn’t, truth be told. He can feel it, can feel the power her oath to serve him has. Bellegere is not a spy, here to drain him of both cum and information and then leave him high and dry. She is his, and a possessive feeling of satisfaction wells up within him as he acknowledge that. So, Jon tells Bellegere everything, from his Lord father giving him the silver, to his arrival in Braavos the day before and his trip into the Iron Bank, as well as what had happened with the banker he’d met with.
 
By the time he’s done, Bellegere looks pensive. She collects her thoughts for a moment, before speaking.
 
“… They know more than I do about you, Jon. I’m sure of it. For me… for me it was a feeling. I was drawn to you last night, and only after I got close enough, only after you took my hand, did I know why I was drawn to you. Only as you took me like the dragon lord you are was I able to tell the blood that ran through you. The Iron Bank… they would never operate on a hunch or a feeling like I did. They can tell you more about your past, about your heritage.”
 
Jon had already come to the same conclusion, truth be told. Nodding, he begins to rise.
 
“You’re right…”
 
Turning to Bellegere, who remains sprawled on the bed, looking as gorgeous as ever, Jon comes to a decision and holds out a hand to her invitingly.
 
“Come with me?”
 
Bellegere’s eyes widen, and her lips curl into a smile as her entire face lights up. She takes Jon’s hand and lets him pull her to her feet, then takes it a step further as she leans into him, pressing her naked body into his.
 
“With pleasure, my lord…”
 
Jon almost takes her again, right then and there. The woman is pure sex, there’s no doubt about it… but the day isn’t getting any younger, and he wants answers. Bellegere will always be there for him to have later.
 
-x-X-x-
 
“Jon! Welcome back… and I see you’ve brought company as well. The estimable Black Pearl…”
 
Tycho is there to greet them within minutes of entering the Iron Bank, Jon having handed over his sword to the door guards once again before stepping inside. He seems jovial towards Jon, but when his eyes land on Bellegere, who is currently hanging off his arm wearing her finest silks and a tasteful amount of jewelry, his jovial attitude grows slightly colder. He hides it well though, even as Jon nods to his plus one.
 
“Bellegere Otherys has my complete confidence. She’ll be staying at my side while we continue our talks from yesterday.”
 
The Iron Banker falters ever so slightly, but in the end bows his head in acceptance.
 
“… Very well. Right this way then, you two.”
 
Soon enough, they’re in a private room, seated at a table. Jon and Bellegere on one side, Tycho Nestoris on the other. There’s a moment’s pause as the banker collects his thoughts, but while he’s doing so, Jon decides then and there that he’s not going to beat around the bush.
 
“Let’s cut to the quick of it, shall we? What do you know about my bloodline? About my heritage? About… about my dragon blood?”
 
Tycho startles at that, and after a moment he tosses an accusatory look over at Bellegere. The courtesan is as composed and calm as ever, smiling gently, looking as gorgeous as always. Eventually, Tycho turns his gaze back to Jon, eyeing him for a long moment as if to truly take his measure. Whatever he seems must impress him, because in the end he nods.
 
“Very well. Cutting to the chase… you are the legitimate son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.”
 
That wasn’t what Jon was expecting to hear. Even knowing that he somehow had the blood of the dragon in him, even after what he’d learned from Bellegere, never in a million years had he thought to hear that. Taken completely aback, physically rearing back as if struck, Jon gapes, wide eyed.
 
“W… What?”
 
Tycho nods, as if his reaction was expected. Then he continues on, all business.
 
“Indeed. You were born to Lyanna Stark in the Tower of Joy during the year Two-Hundred and Eighty-One. The same year that your father, Rhaegar Targaryen, the last Prince of Dragonstone, died at the Battle of the Trident. But he did not pass from this world before annulling his marriage to Elia Martell in order to marry your mother. As such, you are legitimate.”
 
Something wells up in Jon, some emotion he can’t quite identify. All he knows is that he’s suddenly on his feet, hands pressed into the table as he leans over it.
 
“How?! How do you know this?! What proof do you have?!”
 
Tycho pauses for a moment, before shaking his head.
 
“I apologize. Suffice to say, we have our methods. And our proof, bought and paid for at great cost to the Iron Bank. We pride ourselves on our bookkeeping, you see, and in order to keep our records in order we must have knowledge of ALL of our clients and their holdings. It wouldn’t do for any of our account holders to be keeping secrets from us.”
 
Letting out a sigh, the Iron Banker gives Jon a pitying look.
 
“Unfortunately, I cannot tell you anymore at this time. You have a choice before you now, Jon. You have a path to walk, but it is up to you which path that is.”
 
Holding out his hands, Tycho presents one palm, and then the other.
 
“On the one, you may become just one more of our valued clients. We will not turn you away, of course. You will always have an account within the Iron Bank, so long as you do not cross us. But our relationship will be of a strictly professional behavior. Whatever you do with the information you now hold, with the knowledge of your heritage… that will be up to you… and any allies you come across along the way.”
 
Tycho pointedly glances at Bellegere as he says that, before continuing on with a small smile.
 
“On the other, we had hoped that you might join with us in a closer bond than simply account holder and bank. I will be blunt, Jon, since you seem to appreciate that. Westeros is in significant debt to us, debt that we have every reason to believe may never be paid. There have been multiple plans presented in order to get said debt paid… you could say that you’re mine.”
 
Jon furrows his brow at that, but before he can ask for an explanation, Tycho gives him one.
 
“Truth be told, I didn’t expect to get this opportunity. None of us did. You were held rather tightly by the North for all your life, and out of all of Westeros, the North is not… quite as beholden to us. On top of that, all of our operatives reported you were being groomed to grow up and eventually exile yourself to the Night’s Watch, which would have left you unable to inherit. It was only when you abruptly changed course, only when we found out that you were heading this way, that we saw a path forward, through you.”
 
“Through me.”
 
Tycho nods as Jon parrots the words in a slightly disbelieving tone.
 
“Indeed, Jon. The Iron Bank would like to sponsor you. We would like to help you gather an army, with which you would cross the Narrow Sea and take the Iron Throne. Of course, King Robert has lived in excess for all his reign and all your life… he’s created staggering debts, to say the least, both to us and others. We would not expect you to pay these, at least not in full… instead, if you were to accept this offer, the Iron Bank would assist you, would help you in making a name for yourself, and in exchange, when you finally sat upon your throne… you would allow us to establish a branch of our bank in King’s Landing.”
 
And there it is. Jon might not know much about banking. Hell, he barely knows his numbers, though he can at the very least count coin. But something tells him that what Tycho is asking for is no small thing. And yet… what does Jon want? Now that he knows who he is and what he is… what does he want? Frowning, a stray thought passes through his mind.
 
“What… what about Viserys Targaryen? As Rhaegar’s younger brother, doesn’t he have more of a right to the throne then I do?”
 
Tycho smiles slightly, seeming almost proud that Jon was thinking politically, even if it was in rather simple terms.
 
“He would, though with the success of Robert’s Rebellion and the shattering of the Targaryen Dynasty, the ‘right’ to the Iron Throne becomes incredibly murky, in my and my colleagues’ humble opinions. That said, Viserys was considered as an option as well… and discarded. Unfortunately, the young man is incredibly unstable and mentally unsound. He’s also being manipulated by other schemers and is currently in the process of selling his sister to one of the more prominent Horse Lords. Apparently, he hopes to convince the great Khal Drogo to take his sizable khalasar across the Narrow Sea to attack Westeros in his name.”
 
Jon frowns at that. Something about the derisive tone Tycho adopts makes it sound like a bad plan. Bellegere leans in close and murmurs into his ear.
 
“The Dothraki refuse to travel on boats Jon. They view saltwater as ‘poisoned water’. Convincing a Khal and his khalasar to cross the Narrow Sea would be like… would be like convincing the armies of Dorne to go beyond your Wall to fight those Wildlings that live up there.”
 
Ah, now he understands. Jon gives the slightest of nods, grateful to have Bellegere at his side for this. Beneath the table, he gives her hand a squeeze. However, even as grateful as he is for her presence, he knows that this decision has to be his and his alone. So, does she, obviously, given that she has not tried to give him any advice, or tell him what to do.
 
No, in the end, Jon has a choice to make, and judging by Tycho’s expectant, hopeful expression, that choice needs to be made now. Does he strike out on his own? Or does he take the Iron Bank’s assistance and see where that leads him?

-x-X-x-

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