Lo Quen nodded in satisfaction. "A wise choice, Tyrion. If you serve well enough, I will grant you what you deserve. A castle and the appropriate title would be no great difficulty. After so many wars, the Seven Kingdoms now have far more empty castles than living nobles."
A faint, bitter smile crossed Tyrion's face.
Yes, he thought. And much of that can be credited to my dear sister Cersei, who sent countless nobles straight to their graves.
But he shook his head. "Your Grace, during these days in the dungeon, I've had a great deal of time to think. I no longer desire noble titles or castles. They mean nothing to me now. If possible, in the future I'd like to follow in my uncle Gerion Lannister's footsteps. To sail east, explore unknown lands, and see those strange and wondrous places for myself."
At the mention of "Gerion Lannister," the smile vanished from Lo Quen's face, his eyes sharpening at once.
Tyrion caught the subtle change immediately, doubt stirring in his mind. "Your Grace… you know my uncle Gerion?"
Lo Quen's expression returned to calm. "I had some dealings with him when I was in Volantis."
Inwardly, however, he gave a cold snort.
Dealings was putting it mildly.
That cruel, vicious man. What he had done in the ruins of Valyria was enough to make one grind their teeth in hatred.
Tyrion sighed, as if sinking into old memories. "Volantis… many years ago, my father sent people there to look for Uncle Gerion. He set out for the Valyrian ruins to search for our family's lost sword, Brightroar. I heard he prepared for a long time in Volantis, recruiting a large crew. He was a true adventurer. Upright, humble, generous, and very clever. His men were willing to die for him. I don't even know whether he and those sailors are still alive. If I ever get the chance, I'd really like to retrace his route."
Lo Quen frowned deeply. "Humble? Upright? Generous? Clever? Tyrion, are you certain you're talking about Gerion Lannister? I dealt with him personally. The impression he left on me was one of extreme cruelty and spite. He treated his soldiers like livestock and executed them at will."
Memories of Valyria rose vividly before his eyes once more.
Tyrion stared at him in shock, scarcely believing his ears. "Your Grace, are you sure the man you encountered was my uncle Gerion, and not the Mad King Aerys II?"
He shook his head forcefully. "That's impossible. My uncle was a natural leader, skilled at uniting and inspiring those under him. Otherwise, so many Lannister soldiers would never have willingly abandoned the comfort of the Westerlands to follow him on that near-suicidal voyage. He absolutely could not have been the sort of man you describe."
Lo Quen watched Tyrion's agitated yet unwavering expression, a trace of doubt rising in his own mind.
Tyrion had no reason to lie about this, and his description of his uncle was vivid, detailed, and filled with genuine emotion.
So where did the truth diverge?
Had Gerion experienced something unimaginably terrible after leaving Westeros and sailing east, something that utterly reshaped his nature?
Had a once-beloved leader turned into a cruel, brutal madman?
Lo Quen pondered the question for a long time, but found no answer.
Still, it left a deep mark in his thoughts.
Without showing it, he set the matter aside and said to Tyrion, "Perhaps. For now, go and have someone arrange a room for you. Clean yourself up and get some rest. In a few days, we'll be marching north."
Tyrion nodded, suppressing the confusion and faint unease in his heart. At the Dragon Soul Guards' signal, he turned and made his way out of the hall, his steps slow and unsteady.
But he could feel it. After he mentioned Uncle Gerion, the gaze of the Eastern king behind him grew markedly deeper and harder to read.
The next day, a massive fleet arrived at the harbor of Storm's End.
Dozens of warships and transport vessels sailed into the bay, masts rising like a forest, banners snapping in the wind, each embroidered with the dragon sigil of Lo Quen's kingdom.
A number of important figures disembarked from the lead ship.
At the front were Maester Qyburn and Archmaester Marwyn.
Close behind them came Chai Yiq.
She directed the soldiers to unload clay jars with great care, each one filled with wildfire.
What surprised Lo Quen most, however, was the small figure hopping toward him from behind Chai Yiq.
Above them, two young dragons circled and chased each other in the sky, one black and one silver. Ashshadow and Greysmoke.
"Your Grace!"
Daenerys rushed forward like a joyful lark and threw herself into Lo Quen's arms.
Compared to the shy reserve she had shown at their first wedding, Daenerys was now far more lively and open.
She wore a simple white dress that made her skin look even more snow-pale. Her silver-gold hair fell like a waterfall, and her violet eyes sparkled with delight, her beauty almost overwhelming.
She rose onto her toes and kissed Lo Quen eagerly, paying no mind at all to the soldiers and officials watching nearby.
Chai Yiq, standing to the side, covered her mouth and laughed softly, her eyes filled with gentle warmth.
Only after she was satisfied did Daenerys pull back, grinning. "Your Grace, Sister Chai Yiq and I brought the dragon egg fossils."
She pointed toward several special containers behind her, all under heavy guard.
Lo Quen glanced at them and nodded.
When he had sent Chai Yiq back to Conquest Keep, he had privately instructed her to bring three dragon egg fossils with her.
He had a strong sense that the coming war against the Others would yield a great number of Dragon Souls, offering him a chance to further refine the purity of his dragon bloodline.
Greater bloodline purity meant higher limits on awakening dragon eggs.
Those three fossils had been prepared precisely for that moment.
He stepped forward and first embraced the calm, steady Chai Yiq, lowering his voice.
"You've worked hard."
Chai Yiq smiled and shook her head.
He then turned to the dust-worn Qyburn and Marwyn. "Archmaester Marwyn, Maester Qyburn, the journey must have been exhausting. But I'm afraid you'll be thrown straight into new research the moment you step ashore."
Marwyn sniffed loudly through his broad nose and let out a chuckle. "Enough suspense. Tell us, what have you discovered this time?"
Qyburn's eyes lit up with unmistakable eagerness as he bowed slightly. "Your Grace, please give the word."
Lo Quen's expression grew serious. "I encountered something extremely strange in Oldtown…"
He described in detail what he had seen there, especially the Hightower black stone and the horrific mutation that had overtaken Euron.
By the time he finished, both scholars were visibly shaken, their shock mixed with intense fascination.
Qyburn almost blurted out at once, "Your Grace, please allow us to examine this new black stone and the two horns."
Marwyn nodded heavily, his gaze sharpening with focus.
They had already witnessed the terrifying, unnatural nature of black stone before. The appearance of yet another piece only deepened their curiosity.
Lo Quen gestured for the Dragon Soul Guards to escort the two scholars to the castle's outer courtyard to study the black stone.
Then, with one hand holding the still-excited Daenerys and the other holding the gentle Chai Yiq, he led them back toward Storm's End's main tower.
That night, in the most lavish and spacious lord's bedchamber of Storm's End, the air was warm as spring.
After months of campaigning, Lo Quen finally enjoyed a moment of true comfort and rest.
Three peerlessly beautiful queens surrounded him.
Janice, mature and alluring, carefully massaged his shoulders.
Chai Yiq, gentle and composed, poured him warm honeyed wine, affection shining in her eyes.
Daenerys, lively and full of energy, nestled close like a curious kitten. Her silver hair glimmered softly in the firelight as she chattered on about amusing happenings at Conquest Keep.
As the hours passed, their voices sank to murmurs, their exchanged glances heavy with feeling.
Months of longing and desire finally spilled over, transforming into boundless tenderness and passion.
Lo Quen indulged in the unreserved devotion and affection of his three beloved wives, losing himself in warmth and closeness, the noise of war forgotten.
The night's intimacy did not slowly fade until well past midnight.
The bedchamber was filled with a languid, satisfied calm.
It was only the following afternoon, when sunlight streamed through the thick glass windows, that Lo Quen finally stirred awake, lazily emerging from a tangle of silk covers and the snow-white limbs of his wives.
...
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