Disclaimer: I disclaim.
Foreign Queen
"The ship is coming!" the young squire cried out as soon as he entered the great hall where the nobility of Westeros was having their lunch.
"Are they mad?"
For first time in many a month Daeron could fully agree with his father. The wind was blowing so hard that the gates of the Red Keep started rattling as soon as the servants opened them, so they had had them closed. A ship in the sea… he didn't want to start imagining what that might mean to the passengers. And the weather had been like this in days, it wasn't as if the newcomers couldn't have stopped in one of the ports and waited for it to get better."
Unfortunately, Prince Aegon then said exactly what he shouldn't have. "What are they thinking? We are expecting a bride and right now, it looks that Dorne might have sent us a coffin..."
Princess Naerys shuddered and looked at her husband with silent reproach that he, of course, ignored. The Hand glared and started to say something but the King preempted him. "No," he said softly. "The Seven desire this union which will heal the rifts. They're keeping the Princess safe."
Not for a first time, Daeron wondered whether King Baelor really believed what he said. The world was not a place kept happy and protected by the Seven – a simple walk in King's Landing would show this to anyone. Anyone who wasn't Baelor, in fact. He seemed not to notice the hunger, the injustice, the widowed mothers thrown out without means to feed their babes. Or if he did, he believed that prayers and piety would fix everything. His intentions are good, though, Daeron thought. At least they were good. Daeron was less than pleased when his father mocked the King in private or sometimes, even to his face – never in Daeron's grandfather's presence, though – but he could not deny that Aegon was right: for all the love Daeron bore him, Baelor was somewhat off. Daeron respected the King's strive for peace but he could not count on piety alone. Right now, it seemed that the Seven could use an excellent shipmaster to keep Princess Myriah safe.
Myriah…
What did she look like? What was she like? Of course, he'd wed her even if she had had the greyscale, and consider himself lucky. Westeros came first, always. Any marriage that would bring peace with these stubborn Dornishmen was a good thing. And still… soon, he'd meet a woman descended from the very people who had nearly annihilated the army of Westeros. A woman who would be so… foreign, in accent, view of life, manners. Would the two of them would ever be able to get along with each other? Care about each other?
"Your Grace," Viserys Targaryen spoke. "If the Dornish had decided to keep going in such weather, I think we should go to the quay and meet them."
Baelor nodded, as Daeron knew he would. Torn between disgruntlement at being forced to go out in the raging storm and eagerness to see the foreign princess who would one day be their Queen, the lords and ladies headed for the doors.
"Maybe it would be better if you wait here, Lady Mother," Daeron said under his breath to Naerys who was never one to take cold well.
She looked at him and smiled. "And what start of a relationship with my new gooddaughter would that be if I stay here instead of welcoming her? Don't worry, Daeron, I'll be fine."
He looked at the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard but Aemon's eyes remained fastened on the King he was guarding. No help from here. Daeron could only hope that his mother's attendants would dress her as best as they could against the wind.
The word had already spread: it seemed that the whole King's Landing was already aware that the Princess was coming; despite the weather, the streets were black with people and the guards had to cut a path, literally, for the King and his entourage.
"So, they are not as mad as I thought them," Aegon murmured when the huge ship did not enter the narrow entry of the port – in this storm it would be a very risky thing. Instead, the ship came to anchor not far away from it and immediately saluted King's Landing with seven salvos.
From the Red Keep, the replying gunfires came.
Tens of barges had been prepared to take the Westerosi nobles to the ships but in this storm, there was little chance that any of them would reach the ship intact. No, they would have to wait until the wind slowed down to formally welcome the Dornish Princess into their city. It couldn't be that long – a few hours, a day at most.
To Daeron, this small delay suddenly seemed longer than all the months of preparations, all the years since when still a child, he'd been told that one day, he'd wed a Martell princess for the good of the realm.
"Your Grace," someone suddenly spoke almost next to him. The Admiral. He was formally addressing the King but everyone knew who he was really turning to. "The weather is not kind to us, I fear but I still feel it's my duty to welcome the Princess and her people to King's Landing, so I ask for your permission to take a boat and go to the ship in your name."
Naerys looked at the storm and shook her head in wonder that anyone would be willing to challenge the wind and the huge waves that shook the rocky coast.
"Are you really so intent of dying?" Aegon asked, mildly interested. "It'll take a while for us to find a new admiral, I fear, so you'd better reconsider that."
Alyn Velaryon was, however, looking at the King's Hand expectantly. Viserys slowly nodded. "I think it fitting," he said and looked at his nephew. "Your Grace?"
"Yes, yes, of course," the King agreed. "We need to show Princess Myriah how welcome she is here and how anxiously we've been waiting for her arrival."
"Astonishingly," Aegon murmured, so only Daeron and Naerys could hear him. "That's two whole sentences without the Seven being mentioned somehow."
Naerys sighed and Daeron clenched his teeth, something that happened to him often in his father's company. Then, he looked at the Admiral, at the raging storm and the proud ship and made a decision all of a sudden.
"I am coming with you, my Lord Admiral," he said.
"No!" his mother said, sharply. "You aren't."
But this time, he paid her no mind. She was the most important woman in his life but there was another one waiting, so close and so far at the same time – another one who he couldn't wait to see, to find out what she was like. Show her that she'd welcome, Baelor had said. Well, Daeron had the chance to show her that.
His father gaped at him, for once dropping his scornful expression. The King smiled. Viserys looked thoughtful, as if he was thorn but finally, he nodded briefly. Naerys' face fell.
"I won't tell you how dangerous it is, Your Grace," the Admiral spoke softly as soon as they were out of earshot, headed for one of the boats. The oarsmen were already there, ready to depart. "I think you can see it for yourself."
"That's right," Daeron agreed, taking in the thunderbolts, the pouring rain, the roar of the sea. He was by no means a man who loved danger and taking risks when none needed to be taken but there were some things a man could do only once in his life. If he missed this chance, he might never get another one.
Now, a mighty cheer rose over the coast: the people of King's Landing loved their kind and thoughtful prince and the Admiral was a war hero, a great man in his own right, so seeing them challenging fate in such way could not fail to get the sympathies of the crowd.
That, however, made their one-hour-long journey – which should have been no longer than half an hour, at most, at any other day – no less cold, wet and, frankly, terrifying. At one moment, the Admiral shove a rope into the Prince's hands before running to the oarsmen to help them. Despite the fact that he had never held such a thing in his life, Daeron didn't let go and didn't even think of questioning Lord Velaryon's authority or taking offence at his tone, about as respectful to Daeron as to the sailors.
"Dayne must be feeling murderous," the Admiral called out, grinning, between two rolls of thunder. "Had he not been for his noble passenger, he would have entered the port but now, he had to act cautiously. He'll feel it keenly."
Yes, if it was up to Alyn Velaryon, Dayne would. It was weird, what the man thought about in the middle of a storm that might cost them their lives. Was it the right time to settle scores with his Dornish counterpart?!...
A new wave came crushing over them but they were now closer to the ship; two boats left it to came to their aid and they boarded the ship wet, shaking and haggard but alive. They were met with a thunderous cheer.
The Dornish Admiral, lord Edric Dayne, came to meet them as soon as they set foot on the deck; slightly surprised, Daeron noticed that he had the fair hair and purple eyes of the Targaryens and Velaryons, although, as far as Daeron knew, the Daynes were not of Valyrian blood. He also saw the look of guarded appreciation that the two Admirals and old rivals gave each other. They have fought against each other for years, he thought. One day, I'll make them fight together, for further glory of both Westeros and Dorne.
"Your Grace," the Dornishman said. "Welcome to Dorne."
Daeron nodded, deeply impressed by the man's dignity. Maybe there was more to Dornishmen than snake traps?
Maybe there was more to Myriah Martell than a treaty for peace?
He would find out soon.
A./N. The idea of a Daeron-centric oneshot just popped into my head a few days ago, so here it is. Bad thing is, it might not be a oneshot – that happens to me pretty often. If there is a second chapter, I think it will be from Myriah's PoV.
A/ N. 2. This is a part of my current Targaryen-centric stories. The Death of King features the older Daeron but he isn't the main character.
