Baka-Dany

"If I wasn't supposed to be here, she'd never have sent me that letter." When the rightful queen of Westeros heard the ravishing voice of Daario Naharis, she woke with a start. She dared not open her eyes, lest she find that she was dreaming. My Daario... could he be by my side so soon? "If she was betrayed once," came Kinvara's voice of reason, "she could be betrayed again. I would ask you to take your leave of her bed, Lord Daario -" "I am no lord," he interrupted. His voice rumbled like stones in a tremor. "Be that as it may," granted that infernal priestess, "the queen's safety is paramount and I can trust no one." The sellsword growled. Dany stifled a smile - she had no intention of revealing her awareness until she'd had her fill of their fighting over her. "I should say the same of you," argued Daario. "For all I know, you could have poisoned her already." "I would never do such a thing!" hissed the indignant priestess. "The Lord of Light sent me to save her; why would I obey Him only to forsake His mission?" "Gods are wanton creatures," retorted Daario as his hand found Dany's throat. "More wanton than I, and that's saying something." A chill traveled down her spine and her bladder twinged. Somehow, she stayed as still and tranquil as if she'd never awakened. The calloused hand of her daring Daario caressed her soft skin; if he'd wanted to strangle her, he could have - then and there - but, of course, he didn't. Instead, he explored Dany's 'unconscious' body as Kinvara pleaded for modesty. The back of one hand smoothed gently over the dragon queen's jawline. It traced the edge of her skull from ear to ear, pushing silken strands of silver hair from her face, before moving to her collarbone. Meanwhile, the palm of the other searched her sides and stomach. When it touched the scar left by the traitor Jon Snow, Daario grunted. Otherwise, it passed passively over her body and bodice. Eventually, that pressing palm reached her hip and her nappy crinkled under the pressure. Daario hesitated for a moment as the priestess protested, but he was not the sort of man to be stopped in his tracks. Dany's heart began to race as she considered the prospect of someone unfamiliar with Volantene tradition finding her taking part in it. She hoped Kinvara might explain the nature of the cactus juice, but the woman fell strangely silent as Daario's fingers investigated that telltale crinkle. The mercenary wordlessly squeezed his lover's smallclothes and was met with a muffled squish. Suddenly, Dany wished it had been a dream all along. Alas, it was in dreaming that she'd soaked the Volantene cotton, and so it was in waking that Daario discovered it. She prayed to the Lord of Light that the priestess might explain, but her voice did not come. All she received was another squeeze, another squish, and a bemused chuckle from her sellsword lover. For a long moment, she panicked; after all, what could she do? She could 'awaken' suddenly and act indignant, but that wouldn't undo his discovery. She could pretend to stay asleep, but to what end? Her abdomen ached for release, and so it was only a matter of time until she would be forced to meet further embarrassment. As she pondered, Daario pressed and prodded and poked. His skin brushed hers, his gloves grazed her garments, and his lips pressed against her forehead. At last, Kinvara came to her rescue. "If you insist on violating our queen's private space, you may as well be useful." Alas, her words were the farthest thing from reassuring. To be sure, the prospect of being touched so tenderly by her loyal lover titillated her, but the context was far from what she'd imagined it might have been. When her nappy was loosened and pulled from her nether regions, the dragon queen wished she'd let loose in it. The cool air against her bare, moist skin nearly set her to shivering, but she would not shiver. After all, she was the dragon - fire incarnate - and so it was the least she could do to remain still and limp as those calloused hands cleaned her with a gentility she'd missed so dearly during her foray into Westeros. "Jon Snow stab her in her bladder?" If her eyes were open, she'd have winced. "Asshai'i cactus," Kinvara explained, "is a local delicacy. It causes certain muscles to contract, however, and so..." "So my queen makes water in her sleep?" I suppose I must have, Dany realized, though I haven't had the juice since I first arrived. For a brief moment, she fretted over the loss of control; after all, she was happy to make use of the nappy, but to lack agency over her body was another matter entirely. Somehow, however, when that fresh cotton embraced her hips and Daario secured it snugly about her waist, she found it hard to care. After all, Kinvara explained it as if it was still the juice's fault, and so the perception, at least, was that Dany was still in control. Perhaps that would be enough, for the moment, to assuage any fears that might otherwise spoil her day of reuniting with sweet, daring, loyal Daario. As her eagerness to embrace the man overwhelmed her, Daenerys let her eyes flutter open. She gazed sleepily up at the man, stretched her arms to loosen her limbs, and yawned with all the heaviness of a mountain. "Good morning, my queen," greeted the familiar sellsword. His words passed through thicker a beard than she remembered. "Your Grace," greeted Kinvara from across the chamber, "this is -" "I know who he is," interrupted Daenerys. "You may leave us." The red priestess nodded, curtsied, and set out on her way. When the heavy wood door shut behind her, Dany took a moment to meet Daario's eyes. They were the same hazel hue as she remembered and they regarded her with more adoration than she felt she deserved. "I'm so sorry," she breathed, her heart beating like a butterfly's wings. "I'm so sorry for leaving you in Meereen." "I'm sorry I didn't ignore you," he returned as he kissed her forehead. She pulled his mouth to her own and pressed their lips together. His kiss was as sweet as the memories they shared together. For a long moment, they searched one another's souls as if to find some lurking doubt. There was only remembrance and the resurrection of unspoken bonds. "Pinch me," Daenerys demanded, "so I know I'm not dreaming." Daario's fingers found her side and bit into it lightly. She giggled and squirmed a little at his touch. "I could have told you," he reasoned, "but I've made a habit of obeying you, haven't I?" "I'll have to break you of that," jested the dragon queen. She'd have been content to lie there as he sat over her, but her stomach rumbled to remind her of nature's calling. Of course, she did have that Volantene cotton between her thighs, but the last person she wanted to witness the vile side of her humanity was the handsome man who held her heart. As if he read her mind, Daario chuckled and shook his head. "Shall I leave you to your chamber pot, my queen?" he offered. "Can you stand on your own to make it there?" Dany nodded vigorously for fear that he might find her weak and wanting. "I can stand on my own," she insisted without hesitation, "and I can do everything I used to do. It'll take more than death to stop me." He started to stand as if she'd nodded at his offer to leave her, but something in the core of her being raged at the prospect. "No," she said. "Don't leave me yet." "Afraid I won't come back?" She chewed her lip for a moment before shaking her head. If anyone would leave, it's me, according to the past, she told herself, but still, I can't bear to be without him. His gaze drifted from her face to her nappy, which sat exposed since he'd moved her gown to change it. "If the cactus juice makes you piss yourself," he reasoned, "then why not stop drinking it?" Truth be told, she had - long enough ago that it had stopped affecting her - but she wasn't sure if she wanted him to know that. Moreover, her abdomen tightened and her muscles quivered, and it quickly became clear that he would not - nay, could not - leave in time for her to void in privacy. "I-I'm - ah, I learned in Westeros," she stammered as a warm mass spread her cheeks, "th-that I won't live long by forsaking the traditions of those I wish to - ah! - to be my subjects." Her nappy rustled as the back of it expanded against her luxurious bed. To her relief, Daario seemed not to notice. His eyes drifted back to hers and he smirked. "Never thought you wanted to be queen of Volantis," he remarked. A thumb of his caressed the underside of her chin. She let herself shiver at the touch of those frigid fingers and, for a moment, she was wholly content. Prrrrrrrrt. That contentment died as her bowels groaned in release. Her face flushed and her eyes widened as Daario snorted with laughter. She tried to stop herself - to control the flow until she could be alone - but it was far too late. Her stomach shrunk as her nappy swelled, and her humiliation only heightened when her lover lifted her bottom from the bed. She filled the freed space with her expanding mess until, at last, her bowels were emptied and her bladder threatened to burst. "I-I need to," she tried to stammer in attempts to at least make water without Daario bearing witness, but he cut her off by pressing a finger to her lips. "Shhh," he coaxed. "I know you can't help it." It was true, but not because of that Asshai'i cactus juice. It was true because she'd indulged in his return until she passed the point of no return. Even so, she stayed quiet as a wet warmth flooded her nappy. For a while, she could only relax in Daario's loving embrace as she listened to the hiss of her wetting and the thump-thump of her panicked heartbeat. Somehow, either through sheer will or by the grace of good company, her heart calmed before her bladder. By the time her insides were as empty as her nappy was full, she felt content once more. Of course, that would never do for Daario. "I always knew you weren't as boring as you let on," he whispered as he rubbed the sodden nappy against her most sensitive spot. Daenerys shuddered and inhaled sharply at his sudden advance. He can't know, can he? He might not have known whether or not her accidents were excusable, but he knew she loved the moistness and the mass. Most of all she loved the ability to draw disgust on a whim, but that was a desire she couldn't fulfill with Daario. Even so, he fulfilled every other wish and every other fetish of she who would become queen of all the world. She was happy, then, to let one of his cold hands clutch her tender throat while the other massaged her nappy. "Gods, I've missed you," he muttered in her ear. She could only moan in return as he choked and groped her closer and closer to climax. Some part of her felt dirty and embarrassed, but if that didn't stop her lover, it certainly wouldn't stop her. When her breaths grew ragged and her groans grew deep, his hand left her throat. He kissed her neck, his lips tugging at her skin, and, when she neared climax enough that her breath caught in her throat, that hand found its way to her rear with a satisfying smack. At his sudden spank she arched her back, gritted her teeth, and filled her nappy with a final bit of wetness. So sweet was her lover that, when she sunk into his arms, he was content with her collapse. She intended to repay him - to do for him what he did for her - but, for the moment, he did not intend to collect. Instead, he whispered in her ear. "Let's clean you up and go on a walk. I'm not the only one who's missed you."

I'd recommend starting with the books. The show is fan-fiction just as much as this story is, imo, and neither one preserves the grit, depth, or subtlety of the intricate world George R. R. Martin created. Decades of deep devotion, after all, far outweigh weeks, months, or even years of distant obsession.

thanks, black betty (ramblelamb)

As Daenerys sashayed her way through the quiet alleyways of the city torn by civil war, she savored the unusually mild air of the lowland delta. Here, where the river Rhoyne passed through the free city, life could be found in abundance: ivy grew up the walls of the canal, spreading through the cracks in the stone, and weeds sprouted between every gap in the cobblestone streets. "I hear," Dany began as she glanced to the red priestess who acted as her sole escort, "that, in cities this large, you're never more than a few paces from a rat." "I don't think the rats are quite so plentiful here," Kinvara corrected as she touched the ruby of her choker. For a moment, it shone like the sun; then, the glow subsided. "They are, however, rather large, even for sewer rats." The dragon queen shivered when she remembered the insects and the rodents of Meereen as they spread the bloody flux like wildfire. During the siege of her eastern seat of power, this flux had brought not only the Great Masters to their knees, but also the Tiger Cloaks of Volantis, the mercenary groups involved with each power, and even the legendary Unsullied. Then, she remembered the water-sickness: thirst and hunger had threatened to prematurely end Dany's reign as she helplessly shat, and bled, and shat some more. The Great Grass Sea, weakened by an extensive drought, had drunk it all as thirstily as if it was rain. If only I'd had a nappy, she reflected, I might not have soiled my clothes by the time I was found. Of course, the distinction was a bit arbitrary: after all, it was still, at the end of the day, a pair of smallclothes. If it wasn't for the thickness and absorbency of the Volantene cotton that even now rubbed against her femininity, it would be rather useless. It's just as well, she reasoned to herself as she glanced over the abandoned market stalls in the center of the city. A nappy without cotton would be a bit like a cat without claws or a dragon without... Well, I suppose you couldn't take any one tool from a dragon and be able to call it useless, could you? "We must now exercise the utmost caution," warned Kinvara. "Beyond this courtyard, the territory belongs to the New Triarchy. Are you sure you don't want to cover your nappy? It could be taken as a sign of support for the Crown Prince." "I do support the Crown Prince," stated Daenerys simply as she fawned defensively over her padded state, "and if a garment is enough to dissuade the New Triarchy from a compromise, then I would consider them an undesirable ally." Besides that, I don't want to cover it. Some part of me wants them to see. Naturally, she decided not to voice that bit of reasoning. "As you wish, Your Grace." With that, the two women stepped gingerly past the invisible line of claimed territory and proceeded toward the site of the dragon queen's second diplomatic meeting. When the red priestess led the silver monarch to the shoddy doors of a shuttered brothel, Dany grew ill-at-ease. This meeting is a mistake, she suspected before it even began, but the name of Daenerys Targaryen must be associated with the desire for peace. Elsewise, those Westerosi monsters were right to slip six inches of steel between my ribs. Kinvara rapped her knuckles on the light wood. They received only silence in return. Some uncomfortable amount of time was spent shuffling around impatiently before Kinvara knocked again. This time, after just a few seconds, the door swung open to reveal no fewer than a dozen armed guards. With brutish haste, they ushered the ladies into the domain of the New Triarchy. The air inside was somehow more dank and offensive than that of the humid city. From wall to wall stood gruff middle-aged men with pale skin and sagging jowls. One particularly portly individual - a man with quivering rolls - jostled and heaved his way to the two women. With every step, his breath grew more labored; by the time he had crossed the decently-sized room, he was huffing and puffing so desperately that Dany feared his heart might give out then and there. When she heard his voice, thick and rumbling like water passing through gravel, she felt her heart began to beat faster and her gut begin to rumble. Nervousness coursed through the dragon queen like lightning, setting her alight with a mixture disgust and terror. "I've been waiting for you," began the heaving mass of flesh, "for a very, very, very long time." "You and a thousand thousand others," came the measured voice of Daenerys Targaryen. "What can you offer me?" "Offer you?" A wicked grin crept across his jowls, setting fire to Dany's bowels, and for a moment the queen was forced to clench herself shut in hopes of avoiding such an untimely voiding. "You come to me," grumbled the giant man, "in the costume of my opponent." Before he could continue, he had to suck all the oxygen out of the air. "You ask me," he belabored, "to offer something to you. But for what in return? Good will and niceties?" If the gods are real, then the other two triarchs will show up and be more reasonable. Alas, no such luck came; instead, as she was forced to stare into the face of this man, the whole of her body revolted against her and told her to flee. I must pursue peace, she told herself. I must be a good queen - even if it means consorting with degenerates, I must, and so I will. "If I support the claim of the New Triarchy over the claim of the Crown Prince," Dany began as she struggled to meet the man's eyes, "then what? Volantis goes back to aiding slavers and subverting my rule?" A wretched cackle crawled from the depths of the nasty man's throat. "Volantis will rule itself regardless of who you support," he declared between short, rattling breaths. "But I am a generous man with sway over his countrymen. So, if I wish it, you will never leave this city." "However," he qualified, "I could give you ships." "At what cost?" The desire with which he ogled Dany filled her with spite. For a long moment, as he looked her up and down, nodding and grinning from ear to ear, she felt her blood begin to boil. "Fulfill my wishes and my fetishes," offered the fat man, "and I will fulfill yours. The deal is simple." That's it, decided the dragon queen with surging fury. Peace is a dream for the foolish and the weak. Fire and Blood it shall be. The answer Daenerys Targaryen gave the abhorrent triarch was simple and clear. She closed her eyes, ignoring the question altogether, and sought the relief she so desperately needed. Suddenly, the seat of her nappy bulged outward. The solid, heavy mass expanded rapidly as Dany excreted it in front of the triarch and his dozen guardsmen. Ecstasy washed over her as she pushed. The breathtaking log smashed against the wall of padding only to spread from between her thighs to the very top of the nappy's backside. For a moment, as she struggled to control the soiling, she feared it might overflow or creep up her back. Luckily enough for her, the nappy did its job; when at last the massive load was pushed out, she felt a flood of hot liquid. Piss bubbled and hissed as it flowed like the river Rhoyne between her tingling lips. Ever-downward the nappy sagged as it swelled, bulged, and threatened to leak on the brothel floor. When the dragon queen opened her eyes once more, she witnessed stupefaction written on the faces of thirteen men. Then, she noticed the concern written on Kinvara's. Before the self-styled triarch could act - or, rather, bellow for his guardsmen to act - Kinvara had seized Dany's wrist and pulled her from the brothel. Daenerys's heart pounded in her ears as she fled, her nappy's contents swishing and sloshing around with each and every footfall. She dared not falter until at last they passed the first line of the Crown Prince's hidden guardsmen. "Oh, goodness, Kinvara," laughed the winded monarch, "you're going to be the one to change this nappy, too, aren't you?" The red priestess caught her breath, sighed, and rubbed her temples. "Of course, Your Grace," came her patient answer. "Perhaps we could arrange that sooner rather than later." Part of Dany wanted never to be parted from her full, warm, sagging nappy. Another part of her winced at the smell as it wafted up to her nostrils. The whole of her glowed with a deep-seated satisfaction at the little disaster she had wrought in the eyes of gods and men.

The first dawn after the resurrection of Daenerys Targaryen turned out to be much like any other: the tolling of bells, lilting of songbirds, and the early-morning bustling of eager merchants roused her from a fitful slumber. With the return of consciousness came the flooding of memories: faces, voices, daggers in the dark - but this was no new sensation for the dragon queen. If I look back, I am lost, she reminded herself. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, the defiant young woman considered the pleasures that awaited her. To taste food and drink and air: this alone is a treasure. Surely, Drogon will visit me before the day has run its course, she hoped. And I hope it isn't so sticky and humid outside. The evening prior had seen her flitting from building to building, creeping through tunnels and dark alleyways, in attempts to avoid the faction of those who opposed the Crown Prince of Volantis. While she didn't mind the subterfuge, the dusty cloak she was forced to wear in the open air had done little to assuage the miserably moist air of the marshland-encircled harbor city. On the other hand, the relief she felt when at last she was delivered to her cool-aired chamber in the bowels of the pyramid was immense to say the least: her silk dress and sweaty slippers had been cast aside within seconds of attaining privacy, leaving nothing to cover her save for the swollen, soaked smallclothes. These had hugged her hips even as she collapsed on the soft bed and dropped straight into dreamland. When she remembered the Volantene-cotton smallclothes, she let a hand drift beneath her thin blanket. Where she expected to find soft and squishy padding, she found the firm resistance of a dry, fresh garment. The wave of disappointment that came with the realization that she had dry smallclothes occurred to Dany as an amusing sort of absurdity. Wait a second, thought the queen as she curled her silver hair around a finger. If I didn't change it, then surely it was the red priestess. A jolt of anger heated her blood as she envisioned the tender touch of a woman whose name she did not know. What gall, she fumed, that she would see fit to undress Daenerys Targaryen. I can think only of three people I would allow to do that, and not a single one is in this damnable city. "Good morning, Your Grace," came the sultry voice of R'hllor's sanguine priestess. "I hope you slept well; today -" "You changed my smallclothes," Daenerys interrupted as she stared daggers at the woman with uncanny timing. "Forgive me, Your Grace; your nappy was in dire need of -" "My what?" "Your nappy, Your Grace," reiterated the red woman as she gestured with a pale hand toward the queen's Volantene smallclothes. "That's what we call that style of garment. Of course, if displeases Your Grace, there are Westerosi smallclothes elsewhere in the pyramid." "No," blurted Dany, "that won't be necessary. Do not ever assume where my boundaries lie; to do so is to violate the sanctity of my person. You understand this, don't you?" "Of course, Your Grace. I will endeavor to ask." "Good." "Would you like me to help you change into a fresh nappy before we go about our business?" "What? Why would I need that?" Silently, the priestess gestured to the dragon queen's nether region. Shockingly enough, somewhere during Dany's fiery rebuke, a warm wetness had saturated the Volantene cotton every bit as much as the night before. "Th-that Asshai'i cactus," she began as she poked at the squishy mass between her thighs, "how long does it cause these abnormalities?" "The juice runs its course within an hour or two, generally speaking." That was just me, then, observed the red-faced queen. Perhaps I ought to be more careful. For a moment, she chewed her lip; then, she raised her soft violet eyes to meet the red woman with a meek gaze. "Ah, Your Holiness -" "Please, call me Kinvara." "Kinvara, could you..." The priestess stared on. Daenerys furrowed her brow at that, averted her gaze, and tried again to muster the courage to ask for help. "I don't know how to, ah..." "How to what, Your Grace?" "I don't know how to change my nappy. Could you..." "You want me to teach you?" "Could you just do it for me? I don't intend to make a habit of it, so I don't imagine it would be time well spent to learn about the ins and outs of Volantene court life. "Very well," consented the red woman as she strode to Dany's bed and set to work. At first, it was rather a benign process consisting of untying the tightly-knotted ribbons that held the garment in place. When her legs were lifted into the air like a child's, however, the dragon queen's cheeks flushed with heat. Luckily, this lasted only a moment; in the blink of an eye, the soaked smallclothes had disappeared and a fresh, crisp, cool nappy took its place. The half-second interim of cold air was still enough to set Dany to shivering. I'm so hungry, she realized as her stomach growled and her body quaked with tired weakness. I can't even stay warm. What did you do to me, Jon Snow? And you, Kinvara: to what extent did you truly save me from death? When at last the ribbons were tied and the soft nappy hugged her hips once more, Daenerys felt herself become enveloped in the warm embrace of the priestess of fire. "Shhh," the fair-faced Kinvara soothed as she enveloped the fragile monarch in silken affection. "The Lord of Light won't let you freeze." Just as the woman said, the cold melted away like ice before a fire. I have half a world to burn, she reminded herself. I have justice to enact and vengeance to reap. I can't keep faltering like this. As much as she tried to tell herself that, however, Daenerys Targaryen couldn't help but to delight in Kinvara's motherly presence. For all her accolades, from Mother of Dragons to Breaker of Chains, the scarred young woman could still find it in herself to smile. If I am so lucky as to be loved even after all the mistakes I've made, she reflected, then surely I can replace the evil and distrust and hatred in this world with purity and goodness and understanding. Then, when she saw the quill, ink, and papyrus on the writing desk in the corner of the chamber, she knew just how to begin.

(SPOILER WARNING for Game of Thrones / A Song of Ice and Fire) Awakening When the dragon queen opened her eyes, she saw neither Jon Snow nor the Iron Throne nor her loyal army before her. Instead, the vivid memory of a fresh nightmare taunted her: first came the gentle touch of her lover, then the sharp pain in her heart, and finally the cold embrace of the infinite nothing. For a time, she wrestled with this impossible revelation: after all, she had given everything for the Seven Kingdoms. Two of the only three children she would ever bear had been murdered in front of her; their scales and wings, resplendent as they had always been, now fed the maggots and the crows. So, too, did the corpse of the man who had loved her the longest, Ser Jorah of House Mormont, as well as the girl who had served her from the youngest age. When she recalled Missandei's face, broken and bloody, as she lifted it from the scorched earth outside King's Landing, she recalled it with a deep melancholy. Those she had lost were gone, and those she had found... Those she had found were the very ones who plotted treason after treason after treason. Those she had found were the ones who had seen fit to throw her beneath the turning wheel of oligarchy. Tyrion Lannister, she remembered, her lips curling into a snarl. Jon Snow - or, I should I say, Aegon Targaryen, my half-blood nephew? Sansa Stark, Brandon Stark, Arya Stark, she remembered wave after wave. Traitors, all of them. So be it. I will teach them the meaning of "Fire and Blood." When at last she had sworn vengeance upon those who betrayed her, the fallen monarch realized her surroundings. Bright sconces burned ferociously against rough granite to illuminate a chamber littered from wall to wall with idols of the fire god R'hllor. Daenerys herself lay prostrate on a raised bed of black stone. She cast a furtive gaze toward her bare bosom in search of the tell-tale wound that should have ended her life. Instead, she found her porcelain skin as smooth and unblemished as the day she was born. "Your Grace," greeted a woman's voice. Daenerys jolted upright at the sudden intrusion. Her gaze flitted to the ruby-robed woman, then down at herself, then at the idols of the red god, then back at the woman. "Jon Snow killed me," she stated as if to confirm her wretched dream. "I watched through Drogon's eyes as he carried me here, and now..." She shuddered. "Now, what have you done to me?" "I have prayed over you," insisted the priestess. "That is all. The rest was done by the Lord of Light. He has plans for you yet." Dany pursed her lips. I don't know if I want to take part in his plans anymore, she wanted to say. Alas, Daenerys Targaryen couldn't be weak-willed, nor could she ruminate on tragedies past. Just so, the woman pushed a rogue lock of silver hair from in front of her face, looked the woman in the eyes, and nodded. "I imagine those plans will keep us rather busy on the road ahead. That's just as well," stated the dragon queen as she donned a defiant grin. "Shall we begin?" The First Meeting "You say this man is the key to bringing peace to the violent streets of Volantis," began the Mother of Dragons as she wrung the bathwater from her hair, "yet he promises me nothing while demanding I conform to the city's newfound traditions. This is no promising start." "Your grace," protested the red priestess as she tied the silk ribbon of Daenerys's sapphire dress behind her back, "the Crown Prince of Volantis -" "You can't be a Crown Prince if there's no crown, no king, and no throne tied to the history of your 'kingdom,'" Dany interrupted. "The Crown Prince of Volantis," continued the patient woman, "is represented quite well by his dress code. After all, who else could tame these vast lands in the vacancy left by the deaths of the triarchs?" "Be that as it may," deflected Daenerys, "I don't see why the smallclothes are so..." When she tried to find the best word to describe the silk-lined garment stuffed with a stupendous amount of some special, locally-grown cotton, she floundered. Luckily enough for the dragon queen, the priestess possessed some capacity for intuition. "The nectar of Asshai'i cactus has become a popular delicacy among the wealthy elite of the city," explained the wise woman, "but something about its juice causes abnormalities of the bladder. The effect presents itself particularly in women, hence the staggering thickness." "So the ladies of Volantis," reiterated the clever woman, "just keep eating the cactus and wetting their smallclothes?" "That is correct, Your Grace." A bemused smile crossed the face of the bereaved queen as she shifted her thighs and considered her bulging silk-and-cotton smallclothes. "Do they work?" "I'm sorry, Your Grace," apologized the red woman as she slid silver slippers onto the feet of the dragon queen. "I'm not sure what you're asking." "If I, ah, made water, so to speak, in these smallclothes..." She chewed her lip for a moment in hopes the priestess would use the power of intuition once more. When no such luck came, she forced herself to continue her shameful line of questioning. "It doesn't all just, you know, go straight through, does it?" The red woman's laugh soothed Daenerys like summer rain. "You haven't seen Volantene cotton at work, have you?" "I can't say I have." "You will," assured the priestess as she stood, took the hand of the dragon queen, and helped her to her feet. With that, the two hurried to meet the renowned Crown Prince of Volantis. Through long, winding halls and dank under-city tunnels they traveled until, after a time, they reached the base of a pyramid. There, Daenerys was led by her hand up several flights of stairs, through hidden alcoves, and around dangerous paths created to ensnare the unwelcome. When at last they arrived in the summit of the pyramid, the relatively cool air of the great open room tickled her bare skin. This tingling pleasure spread from the skin above her slippers to the center of her thigh, where the edge of her sapphire dress just barely hid the peculiar Volantene smallclothes that hugged her hips. At a glance, she found every woman present, save for a few red priestesses, dressed in similar fashion. Apart from the superb quality of the silk and the vivid depth of the dye, the garment of the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was almost disappointingly in line with those so far beneath her station. How fall I have fallen, and so quickly, she realized, to be dressing myself up to plead for aid from upstart aristocrats. I suppose, though, that I would sooner wear the bulky smallclothes of Volantis than bare my breast to all of Qarth. Of course, if the khaleesi had her way of things, she would be garbed in Dothraki leathers. Today, this was not the case. Just so, as self-styled lords and ladies competed to greet the dragon queen with the most zealous of niceties, she plodded along in all her padded glory. Then, with all the confidence of a Targaryen, she stepped up to the dais upon which sat a fair-haired man clothed in the violet velvet of royalty. Where she expected to hear Missandei's melodic voice, silence reigned. Thus, she stood still for a long moment and locked eyes with the ambitious man. A young woman, holding no more than sixteen years to her name, approached and offered the queen a drink. Graciously Daenerys accepted, but for a long moment she was left to wonder whether the girl was a servant or a slave. The difference, she told herself, would mean the difference between a declaration of friendship and a declaration of war. Fortunately enough, as the crown prince began to speak of the goings-on in Volantis, Dany came to realize the freedom and prosperity he intended to offer. If, of course, he could end the fighting and regain control of the city. "I suppose that's where you want me to come in," came the queen's response as, mere minutes after downing her delicious drink, her bladder twinged in a subtle request for release. "Who better to help me end the killings in this city," reasoned the crown prince, "than the woman who ended the killings of Meereen?" A smile crept across Dany's face as she realized how ignorant this man truly was. "I didn't just end the killings of Meereen," she corrected. "I ended Meereen along with the Triarchs of Volantis, the Great Masters of Slaver's Bay, and half the lords in Westeros. If you have the stomach for that sort of thing, then you've summoned the right woman. If not, then I suggest you send a letter to the peacemakers in King's Landing." "Fire and blood has its use as does diplomacy," the man retorted without hesitation, "but I asked you here because you are the master of both: you are living legend, prophecy fulfilled, a dream made into flesh..." As the man stood and continued to monologue at length, Daenerys felt her bladder spasm; a sudden spurt of warmth spread throughout the cotton of her smallclothes, setting her heart to racing in fear of humiliation. She opened her mouth as if to ask what was in her drink, but all at once she realized the meaning of tradition. Tssssssss, hissed the relentless flood of hot fluid as it splashed against the firmly-resistant cotton, pooling and spreading all the way from the padding just below her belly button to the seat of her swelling smallclothes. She felt her face flush crimson as she lost control, but even when the smallclothes sagged underneath the hem of her dress, revealing her sodden state to any and all present, the crown prince continued to wax poetic about the purity of her spirit, the dignity of her name, and the glory of her titles. Naturally, the sudden shift in her attire's appearance beckoned a few glances and even a stare, but all in all it seemed as normal an occurrence for the court as sneezing or coughing. When at last the bladder of Daenerys Targaryen was emptied, not a single drop of that golden river had cascaded down the length of her legs. Instead, it had been drunk thirstily by Volantene cotton, and now it rubbed against her womanhood more tenderly than ever had her life's long procession of suitors. Thus, a rare and unique passion was born in the broken heart of the dragon queen.