Daenerys Targaryen
"I am the rightful queen, and you ought to obey me without demanding further terms," the girl pressed, trying to force the issue.
"My apologies, but no one has ever sworn fealty to you personally," he replied with a faintly superior smile. "My brother and I swore our vows to King Joffrey. And House Martell cannot simply cast those vows aside without strong assurances."
"What else can you offer me?"
"My mind and my memory. I once sat upon King Joffrey's Small Council." He seemed to notice that neither the name nor the title pleased her, and deliberately repeated them once again. "I know our future enemies. I know their strengths and weaknesses, where their hosts are gathered, how numerous they are, how they are trained and equipped. My brother and I know Westeros well — and believe me, you shall see proof of that very soon."
"I shall require time to consider your words. With your leave, I shall keep the document for now."
Oberyn nodded, and the girl withdrew to her chambers. Only then did she fully realize that this was precisely the sort of counselor she had needed all this time. A man like the Red Viper.How bitter that he had appeared so late… and more bitter still that she could not truly trust him.
Ser Barristan, after examining the document she had shown him, believed it genuine. Yet his next words brought her little comfort.
"The Dornish are a cunning people, Your Grace. But so long as they see profit in supporting you — and plainly they do, else they would never have sailed here — they will not betray you. Still, there are rocks beneath these waters."
"What sort of rocks?" she asked warily.
"First, are you aware that in Dorne the firstborn inherits regardless of sex? No? Well then — Prince Doran has an elder daughter, Arianne. It is she who shall inherit Dorne, not Quentyn."
"Yes, that is not especially pleasant to learn," Daenerys admitted. "But I do not need Dorne. I need Westeros. Let Arianne keep it."
"Very well. Then regarding Prince Quentyn. The lad has ability, that much must be admitted, but his appearance, as you no doubt noticed, does not quite… set maidens' hearts aflutter."
"Yes, that is true," Daenerys sighed.
After all the men who had surrounded her throughout her life — Drogo, Daario, Xaro, Hizdahr — Quentyn appeared painfully plain by comparison.
"The Martells have another son — Trystane. He was once betrothed to Princess Myrcella, though as you understand that arrangement has now fallen apart. By all accounts, he is far more handsome and gallant."
The girl considered the old knight's words. The Martells schemed and concealed much, of that there was no doubt. Yet they needed her. They needed a living Targaryen, her three dragons, the Unsullied, and the Dothraki.
And she needed Dorne — its aid, its fleet, and the counsel of Martells. Nor would an entire region in which to regroup her strength and familiarise her warriors with a new continent hurt in the slightest.
So they forged a new agreement. Its essence was simple enough: Dorne promised her full military and financial support until the Red Keep and the Iron Throne were taken. In exchange, she agreed to wed one of the Martells — Quentyn or Trystane — who would take her name and father her heir.
Daenerys tactfully neglected to mention that, according to the maegi's prophecy, she would never bear children again.
Hizdahr zo Loraq had no objection to her dissolving the agreement between them. He understood that the Targaryen queen intended to leave Meereen with all her followers, and the thought plainly delighted him. Hizdahr had even begun assisting her preparations, managing to procure provisions for her host— supplies that would be sorely needed on so long a journey.
And so, one day, the great fleet departed the bay of Meereen.
Daenerys watched sadly as the city she had dreamed of turning into the jewel of Essos vanished beyond the stern. Its walls and mighty pyramids faded from sight, whilst the river Skahazadhan disappeared into the distance. And with them vanished all her plans and dreams — dreams that had never been meant to come to pass.
Above them flew her three dragons, whilst her path led ever onward westward, toward Westeros. Here, in Slaver's Bay, she left behind a piece of her soul… How bitter it was that nothing had come of her efforts, and that after her departure everything would simply return to what it had been before. She had tried to break the Wheel of Fate, only to discover she had not broken it at all, but merely set it spinning faster.
Just behind her stood all her loyal followers, among them Ser Jorah Mormont. Whilst negotiations with Oberyn Martell were underway, the fighting pits had reopened. In one of them she saw, to her horror, her former friend — the man who had loved her and found the courage to confess it.
She ordered the fight stopped and Mormont dragged from the pit. In recent times the knight had clearly grown wiser, and now he humbly begged her forgiveness. And of course, she forgave him…
Standing slightly nearer than the others was Daario Naharis. She had warned him honestly that she would no longer be his lover, and that in Westeros he would become nothing more than an ordinary sellsword captain, with no hope of anything greater. Yet even so, he had accepted such a fate.
As they neared Volantis, the fleet was caught in a storm. Their ships were badly battered. Worst hit of all were the Dothraki, unaccustomed to the sea and such savage weather. Nearly a thousand of them perished.
(End of Chapter)
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