Chapter 41: Vigilance

Rhaegar Targaryen POV

Shiera fell on his chest, breathless, after another wild night of fucking on the ship that was heading back to White Harbour.

Since she decided to leave Volantis and sail with him to the North, they have done nothing but fuck in every imaginable way.

"Before we reach the North, I think I'll die of exhaustion, because of your thirst for sex," said Rhaegar jokingly, panting, as he held her tight, and caressed her along the spine, getting giggles from her.

"Good. Then I will find another lover," she added, in an almost serious tone, and Rhaegar didn't know whether it was the truth or a joke.

But not wanting to find out, he decided to change the subject, and swallowing, he asked, "Ever since we left Volantis, we've done nothing but fuck, which I loved. But I would want to know your story, too. I know you've lived in Volantis, and you're not married." Stopping for a moment to take a breath, he continued, "So, I'd really like to know more about you."

Shiera did not respond and getting up from the bed, giving him the opportunity to admire her magnificent body for a moment. Her prosperous bosom hanging, her wide hips and a narrow waist. That beautiful ass, that he never tired of admiring, in this moment when she left the bed, and when he was fucking her from behind.

Rhaegar shook his head from that temporary bewitchment and saw her fill a cup of Volantis' sweet red wine, something even he started to love. As well as drinking it as it is poured over his lover's body and especially her breasts.

Seeing her leaning for a moment at the table, with her head down as if to think, Rhaegar got up from the bed, he too completely naked, and approaching her, but before he could wrap his arms around Shiera's waist, she turned towards him, and after taking a sip from the cup, she sighed, "My story is not one of the best after I left Westeros in my youth".

"Have you been to Westeros?"

"Yes, a few years, in the North to be more precise, and the king of that time had the name of Daemon, while his queen was known as Daenerys."

"What? But they lived a long time ago and you're-"

"Well, if you let me finish telling my story, maybe you will understand the reason for my age," she said, interrupting him, taking another sip of wine, while Rhaegar kept staring at her beauty and especially the way she drank. By all the gods he was getting hard just from that.

She noticed his straight cock, and smirked, passing a hand over her pussy, but keeps talking anyway, "As I was saying, after I left Westeros, I went to Lys, but before I reached my mother's hometown, the ship I was on was attacked by what I assumed to be pirates."

"Weren't they?" Rhaegar asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest, hoping his hard cock would soften.

"They were. Members of the Tourmaline Brotherhood of Qarth."

"Qarth?" Rhaegar asked, recalling stories about 'The greatest city that ever was or will be.'

"Yes," she answered, nodding, and taking another sip of wine, and then placing it back on the table, she continued. "I was taken to the House of Undying and held there by the warlocks until about a year ago, when I was freed by another Targaryen."

"Who?" asked Rhaegar, feeling very jealous that there might be another Targaryen out there who could challenge his love.

"Don't worry, young dragon," she grinned as she approached him, then wrapped her arms around his neck. "The other Targaryen is dead."

"What about the warlocks?" he asked, wrapping his hands and squeezing her. His hard coke was between them and her wet cunt touching his member.

"Unfortunately, alive," she said, bringing him down, and crashing his lips with hers.

Bringing his hands to Shiera's ass, he gave a squeeze to the cheeks, receiving a moan from here, and then grabbing them, Rhaegar lifted her up, and she, for her part, wrapped her legs around his waist holding herself with her arms wrapped around his neck.

Rhaegar, meanwhile carried her towards the wooden wall of the cabin, and while she was resting with her back on it, he brought his cock to her entrance, sliding inside her wet cunt with one powerful thrust.

But before he could start thrusting, Rhaegar heard a loud knock on the door, and shouted, "Pirates! Lord Rhaegar!"

"Fuck!" exclaimed Rhaegar, sliding out of her, and letting Shiera down immediately running to get dressed, but Shiera, bursting laughing, said, "Don't worry. I'll make sure they don't see us, but you do."

"What do you mean?" he asked, putting on his armour, and starting to tie it, but Shiera did not answer and sneered, lowered herself to pick up her dress.

After he had tied his sword to his hips, turning towards Shiera he said, "Shall we go?" and she nodded.

Once outside, on the ship's dock, Rhaegar felt the fresh air caressing his skin, and making his hair waving for a moment.

Approaching the captain of the ship, Rhaegar asked, " What's going on, Captain?"

"Pirate ships are approaching us, for we are near The Stepstones," said the man as he tried to look around, though he couldn't see much except what the moonbeams illuminated.

When Shiera also reached him, Rhaegar said, "If you have something in mind, do it now, for the wind is leading us more and more toward the enemy's ships."

"Don't worry, young dragon," she said, smirking, and after kissing him on the lips, she headed for the prow of the ship.

"Can we trust her, my lord?" the captain asked, but Rhaegar did not answer, just glanced at him, and then headed for the prow, too, not before picking up a shield, of course. If what Shiera was planning to do would not succeed, and the enemy should attack them, at least he would be able to protect his lover from the enemy's arrows.

Shiera started to say some words that he didn't understand, especially because she was doing it in a low voice, and suddenly a mist started to rise up from the water, getting thicker and thicker.

Behind him Rhaegar could hear the men whispering in fear of what they saw, and turning to them he said in a slightly loud whispering tone, "Silence!"

Everything Shiera said in the cabin was apparently true. The mist that enveloped them, was hiding the ship from the enemy, but they could see him. But what happened shortly afterwards shocked him. As they bypassed the enemy ships, something strange happened to them, and they started to scream, cough and jump into the water.

"What's going on, Shiera?"

"Wait and see, young dragon," she said, smirking, and suddenly the ships caught fire.

"What have you done?" he asked with furrowed eyebrow.

"I have saved your Targaryen skin," she said as she made her way back to the cabins, while Rhaegar turned his gaze back to the burning ships, pondering if leave the pirates to draw or help.

Choosing the former, then.

Ollena Tyrell/Willas Tyrell POV

Ollena was standing on the balcony of the great hall watching what was happening outside the main gates, even though the truth was that they were too far away for her old eyes.

In the hall beside her, there was also her son the King, Mace, his wife, and other nobles, as well as two of the seven Kingsguard, including the old white bull, Gerold Hightower, who wanted to go into the fray, but she forbade him. If the gates should fall, he will have to protect the royal family.

"Mother, what is happening?" Mace asked, getting no answer from her but from Ser Gerold.

"The Lannisters are asking for a meeting. No doubt they'll expose us their terms of surrender."

"We will never surrender. The army of Oldtown is surely on the march and-"

"Oh, shut your mouth, Mace!" snapped Ollena, and at that very moment they heard an outburst at the first wall circle, and saw everyone running to the balcony.

"What's going on?" asked Mace, making his way between those present.

"The outer walls have collapsed, Your Grace. We need to get you out of the city and into a safe place," said Ser Gerald as he approached the King and Queen.

Willas was recovering after falling off his horse, after the walls were blown up by the Wildfire. Looking towards the enemy, Willas saw them advance towards the defenseless city.

With difficulty, Willas rose to his feet, his head ringing and hurting, and headed toward his brother, who was lying on the ground as well.

"Loras?" he called him dropping to the ground, and shaking him by his armour, receiving no answer. Taking off his helmet, Willas started to slap him lightly, and Loras groaning, asked. "What happened?"

"Someone set the Wildfire on fire and blew up the walls!" said Willas, helping Loras get up, pulling his arm around the neck, despite feeling pain everywhere. So they started heading towards the city as fast as they could, or at least as much as their hurted bodies permitted.

The soldiers who were on the walls in the first wall were dead, while others retreated towards the second level, even if there were few left.

"My Prince!" Willas heard someone call him, and saw a man on horseback coming, and in his hand, he held the reins of another. Willas helped his brother Loras to get on the free horse, with difficulty and then he climbed on the other one, who in time was freed, because the soldier climbed down to the ground.

Then Willas and his brother headed for the second level to defend it, riding through the crowds in a panic, who was running wildly, trying to get to safety.

Ollena kept looking out over the balcony, seeing how the citizens of Highgarden ran towards the palace in search of refuge, while the soldiers who were in the inner circle of the city headed out to defend the gates and walls of the second level, should the enemy attack.

Luckily Willas did not put the Wildfire there too, otherwise they would be doomed. But now the question arose as to who was the idiot that set the Wildfire on fire. Enemy or friend?

"Queen Ollena?" she heard calling her and turning around she saw the old White Bull approach her. "We must leave the Palace. The city could fall in a few hours if they get past the second wall."

"Then hurry and take the king, the queen, and the princess to safety out of the city," she said, not looking away from the city under siege and on fire. And as Ollena watched her, she noticed that the enemy, despite the walls being destroyed, many men killed, and therefore a great chance of victory, stood still at a distance from the city. Stopping even from using siege engines.

"Your Grace. You are part of the royal family too, and-"

"I'm an old woman, Ser Gerold. I've lived my life long enough. Perhaps this is the end of me, along with this city," Ollena replied, interrupting him. She was no longer meant to flee and save herself. By the Seven Gods, she didn't even know if her son could escape, but at least if the two princes were safe, and Margaery in the Stormlands, House Tyrell has a future, and maybe one day they'll take back the Kingdom of the Reach.

"Seal the gates!" shouted Willas with all his strength before the enemy could reach the second level. And the men all ran there, carrying more wooden rods to reinforce the main gate.

"Take my brother to the palace," he added to the others who were there, seeing him very hurt.

Meanwhile, a man brought him some water, and Willas drank to extinguish the burning he felt in his throat. His head was still aching, while some blood dripped down from a wound on his head. So, to ease that pain, Willas poured some water over his head.

"Prince Willas! Are you all right?"

"Yes," he said, struggling. "I want archers on the walls, and men of arms at the gates," he added, pointing towards the direction, as he kept a hand on his head.

At least now they have a better chance of defending themselves because the Wildfire wasn't put here. Now, he wanted to find out who was the bastard that set it on fire.

Releasing a sigh, he headed towards the walls with difficulty, followed by two royal guards who had joined him in the meantime. Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Edwyd Fossoway.

Jaime Lannister POV

Jaime started waking up slowly, his head was like crackling. The vision was a bit foggy before it started to clear, and he noticed he was lying on a bed or something soft.

As he rose, for a moment, Jaime looked around and realized he was in a tent. In his tent to be precise, and at that moment a master approached him.

" Easy, Prince Jaime."

"W-what happened?" Jaime asked, feeling his throat dry, and the taste of dust in his mouth, but before the Master could answer, another voice said, "The outer ring of the walls blew up, killing many of their men and injuring some of ours, mainly those who accompanied you." And Jaime saw Roland Crakehall, approaching him. While in the meantime the Master gave him a cup of water, to wash his mouth, and then to wet his throat.

"When it happened, I immediately sent men to help you."

"Thank you, Lord Crakehall. I owe you my life," said Jaime, taking a sip of water and struggling to swallow.

"My duty," Rolland replied, with a bow.

"Who did it, Lord Crakehall? Was it any of our men?"

"No, my prince. Those who were sent in by King Tywin had different orders. Wait for our signal. And I was waiting for you to finish the fight."

"So if it wasn't us, and certainly it wasn't them, who the fuck did it?" asked Jaime, more to himself than to the lord. And as he thought of the answer, he remembered who sent the Wildfire to Highgarden. Joffrey Baratheon.

"That damn son of a..." but Jaime stops, biting his fist. He should have spilled it outside instead of in Cersei so he wouldn't have brought a psychopathic, crazy king into this world. Two birds with one stone he wanted to kill it seems.

"Prince Jaime?" called him Crakehall, and Jaime looked up. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. Only Thoughts. Do you think there's any other surprises in the city?"

"I don't know, my Prince. And I'm afraid what might happen if we advance towards it."

"I understand," Jaime answered getting up from the bed, releasing a groan of pain as he felt his body ache. Head and upper body. "What do you suggest, Lord Crakehall?"

"Wait for the result of the battle with the Hightower army," said Crakehall.

"So be it. We'll wait a few days, but then we have to attack," Jaime said, struggling to stand up, and leaned against a table that was there.

"We also received this scroll, from Old Oak," Crakehall.

"Old Oak? Who send it?" asked Jaime confused. Old Oak wasn't theirs. It still belonged to Tyrell loyalist for what he knew.

"Someone named Jason."

To Prince Jaime,

I Jason, a soldier in General Leoford's army, with three hundred of the survivors took over Old Oak, left undefended, because the soldiers were marching against you. But my men and I still managed to draw their attention back to us, and now they are besieging us.

Lady Arwyn Oakheart is our prisoner, but she had been treated kindly. Some of her sons are our prisoners and other are outside the castle leading the army.

Rest assured that we will not surrender the castle and hold it until we receive orders from you.

Long life and prosperity to King Tywin of House Lannister.

Jason.

"Well, apparently we forgot about House Oakheart. After Highgarden will fall, we will send men to Old Oak. I'm sure they won't attack the Castell as long as Lady Arwyn is his prisoner."

"We will have to reward this loyal man," said Crakehall. "Maybe with the Castel of Old Oak itself and the hand of Lady Arwyn in marriage, unless he is already

"Maybe. Now go," said Jaime. The decision belongs to his father not to him regarding to whom will belong the Castells of the Lords that challenge us.

Different POV

After a week of hard marching, Baelor at the head of the Hightower army was getting closer and closer to the capital. Only another day of marching was separating them from Highgarden, and of course the Lannister and Tarly armies.

Initially Baelor planned to march on Brigtwater Keep, to defeat the traitors of House Florent who plotted against their king by joining forces with Tarly, but there was no time to do so according to Redwyn.

All the Houses on the borders with the Kingdom of the Storm knelt to the Lannisters, as well as the Houses from the Dornish Marches, sided with Tarly, when they learned that the invading army was more than seventy thousand men strong and above all with the fall of the Northern castles into their hands and the Lords united with the enemies, their chances of victory get even higher.

"What troubles you, Ser Baelor?" asked Ser Desmond Redwyn, who meanwhile approached him as Baelor was watching the men resting a moment before the coming battle.

Releasing a sigh, Baelor replied, "The enemy blocking our way towards Highgarden is outnumbering us, not to mention the fact that the army besieging the city is even larger."

"Yes, according to our spies. But we have more cavalry than they do."

"Maybe. But we don't know what awaits us there, and I really don't know how to defeat them," Baelor answered sincerely. All the years that were spent instructing him in the art of war, and military strategy, seemed almost useless in this times.

"We have to be positive about it," Redwyn said, smiling. "So what is the battle plan, Ser?"

"Hard to say not knowing what awaits us. But the two armies, even if divided, still have a great number of men. Brax has almost twenty-five thousand men, with a large quantity of longbow archers, while Tarly's army has 10 thousand and he himself has a large number of archers. Not to mention the fact that Randyll Tarly is one of the finest commanders in this kingdom."

"Good. So who do we attack?"

"Both. You and the Redwyn army will march on the Lannisters to lure them into a trap and away from the position where they are deployed according to our explorers. I with the Hightower army will march against Tarly, and once he is defeated and he retreats, I will march back and help you."

"Will it work?"

"No. But we have no choice. To break the siege of the capital, we must defeat these two armies," Baelor said, and then adding with a chuckle, "And Maybe that way, Lady Arwyn Oakheart will send her army in our help."

Battlefield…

Randyll Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill and head of House Tarly, sat on his horse on a small hill, watching as his army was deployed ready to welcome the enemy that was approaching from the west. From Oldtown.

The plan was simple. Divide the army into three battalions, blocking every enemy advance with spikes stuck in the ground. The center was at his command, the right flank at Titus Peake's command, while the left flank at Ser Alyn Hunt.

The battlefield chosen to meet the enemy, in addition to the high ground where they were waiting, had a dense forest on the sides and this offered good cover for the archers he placed on the sides, whose estimated number was about 5,000 men split on the two sides. And a part of the forest, he made some surprise to the enemy.

As soon as he arrived at the battlefield with his army, Baelor ordered them to stop and hold their positions, so that he could see the enemy deployment and consider the best strategy of attack.

"They have the advantage of the high ground, Ser Baelor, not to mention the cover of the archers from the side," said Lord Beesbury, riding next to him.

"Yes, they do, and surely they will think that the stakes in the front will stop the charge of our cavalry."

In the meantime, other Knight and Lords joined him, and Ser Emmon Cuy said, "They surely positioned the archers on their flanks in the woods, to protect them and throw a rain of arrows at us."

"Yes. And in fact, I intend to divide our forces of cavalry to attack from behind when we advance. Ser Emmon, you attack their left flank with the cavalry from House Cuy."

Then turning to the knight of House Mullendore, added, "Ser Mark. You attack the right side, but make sure to show that you retreat, to erase any suspicion of attack. But don't raise your banner until we meet in the fray, after the destruction of the archers."

And Baelor saw them riding towards their respective positions.

Then, turning to the remaining men who were beside him, Baelor said, "I will lead the center, while you Lord Costayne the left flank, and you Garth the right flank. We have to break one of their sides in order to outflank them."

"No, Baelor. You are the commander and you should stay behind the lines handle the battle strategy. Send reinforcements should one of the deployments fall."

"I'm not a coward, brother," said Baelor, despite knowing that Garth was right.

"I don' doubt brother. But you are the commander of the army. And the one to have made the battle plans."

"He is right, Ser," said Costayne. "You need to manage the battle. Tarly won't fight, he will stay in the background."

"So be it. I will stay behind with five thousand men and charge in to the fray once one of the flanks fall. Then you Garth, have the center. Ser Bors you have the right flank."

They all nodded and went to their posts, and Baelor took his, getting down from the horse. By all gods this was for sure one of the worst plans he did, but there was no turning back.

When their archers made the first shot, the men-at-arms started their advance towards the enemy with sealed ranks and protecting themselves with shields.

Mark knew it was time to take the best position to charge against the archers. And when he saw the flaming arrow signal, drawing his sword, and lowering the visor of his helmet, he shouted, "Charge!"

And at a full speed his army, charged against the archers. Their charge drew the enemy's attention, which was good, because it drew the attention of the archers away from Baelor's men of arms to them.

Although his knights fell under the enemy's arrows, Mark did not stop the charge, but what happened once they were within a few feet, surprised him.

The battlefield was a carnage, and the men were losing position and becoming fatigued. Garth and his men engaged battle against Tarly's battalion, and it was very difficult to defeat them. There were axemen, swordsmen, and spearmen in this damn fray.

He could taste the blood in his mouth, and his body became heavy with the fatigue of wearing the heavy armour, and the long time he was fighting.

After a while, Garth's battalion was able to break through the enemy's lines and thus gain ground and push the enemy back. However, while the centre was winning, the flanks of his army were collapsing under the rain of arrows shot by the enemy. and because of that he couldn't even sound the charge of the cavalry in the background

"Damn!" shouted Garth. They should have slaughtered the archers as soon as his men of arms engaged battle, but those damned traitors surely ran away.

"Ser Emmon!" he heard a man shout, while the horses were getting stiffed because of the arrows hitting them, and they couldn't attack the enemy because of the moat of spikes blocking them. "We must retreat there is no way to attack them. Our men are falling under their arrows and they also outnumber us."

"No! We're not retreating. Leave the archers. We will charge the main army from behind," Emmon said, sounding the horn, even though he knew it was a deadly attack.

His men were losing positions and running away despite their flanks holding out. Randyll had no cavalry with him at this moment, but his long spear lancers in the rear were perfect against enemy cavalry if they had to attack, of course. But they didn't seem to have the slightest intention of doing so.

Suddenly, while he was ready to send more men to reinforce his central ranks, he heard a gallop from behind, and as he turned around, he saw cavalry approaching.

"Men at arms!" he shouted, attracting the attention of those who were near, and the men immediately took up their positions. "Spears out!" And Randyll also drew his sword waiting for the enemy.

Meanwhile, Baelor was on his horse watching the battle, seeing that their flanks collapse. He knew that if he didn't send reinforcements as soon as possible his brother's battalion would be surrounded by the enemy, but he couldn't do that until Mark or Emmon slaughtered the archers, otherwise it will be a waste of lives.

However, when Baelor wanted to risk and sound the charge towards the left flank of the enemy, he heard someone shouting, "Behind us, Ser!"

And turning his head, Baelor saw an army approaching. And in front of it, Cavalry mostly. And they were charging at high speed.

"Fuck!" he cursed, turning his horse and drawing his sword, shouting to his men to take positions.

"Close the lines! pikes to the front! Archers behind!"

And then he sent the remaining mounted men away, towards the woods so that they would attack at a later time.

Somewhere in the south...

Desmond and his army had managed to lure Brax south, but something wasn't right. The enemy army chasing him didn't have cavalry, although their spies informed him that a third of them were mounted. And they weren't even the large numbers they were supposed to be.

"Ser Desmond. "Something's not right," said Ser Harlan Wythers, his second. "They were supposed to be at least twenty thousand men.

"They must have realized we were luring them away from Tarly, and Brax must have sent the bulk of his army to attack Hightower from the rear."

"Then what we do? Do we engage the enemy or keep luring him south."

"Engage the enemy. Take your positions, and prepare the cavalry to charge," Desmond said, and saw his second in command ride away. With the cavalry, he could wipe out these men who were there.

The first contact with the enemy occurred when their cavalry charged the enemy men on their flanks because they were the least armed and were swept away by the impact of the cavalry.

After that, Desmond ordered the advance of his infantry with the first ranks formed by the men-at-arms with shields. Fallowed by axemen, and spearmen. In front of them, however, there were archers.

"Recall the cavalry and prepare them for a second attack," Desmond said to Wythers, and saw him ride away and then sound the horn.

Then Desmond signalled the archers to fire their arrows and provide cover for the infantry once their cavalry withdrew.

The enemy fell like flies in the rain of the archers. Some run away other at his infantry, who held their lines firmly, and managed to hold on with their shields tight.

The fray was a mess for the enemy side, because they were slaughtered. there were hundreds if dead bodies on the enemy sides.

A second attack by their cavalry came and this time from behind the enemy, and Desmond could see the fall of the commanders in the distance, as well as the Lannister men running away, to save their lives.

After a while he saw Wythers return, "We're winning. The enemy is running away." Said the knight, smiling.

"There's little to be happy about, Ser Wythers. The bulk of Brax army is heading towards toward Hightower."

"Fuck! What are we gonna do?"

"We reorganize and hope to get to them in time," Desmond said riding away. It seems Lord Brax was more cleaver than expected.

Near the shield islands...

At the command of 50 ships and 3000 soldiers, Lord Ryam Hastwyck was heading to the Shield Islands to win them back from the enemy and secure the bay back into the hands of House Tyrell.

The evening was falling, as the slow wind was pushing them more and more towards their destination.

The goal was simple. Take the different islands, one by one, not knowing how many enemies were holding them.

For every mile that they approached the islands, Hastwyck had a bad feeling for what was waiting for him and with the spyglass in his hand, he started to watch the Bay.

For now, he could see nothing concerning the enemy ships that were certainly there, but neither could he see if there was anyone inside one of the fortresses on the island.

"We're heading into a trap," said one of the men on the ship, stirring up the others.

"Quiet, soldier!" said Hastwyck. He didn't want panic to rise in his ranks. Even though the soldier was right. It was definitely a trap.

After about half an hour or so, the fleet reached the entrance to the bay, ready to disembark on the Southshield, but suddenly a large chain was raised, dividing their fleet, and flaming balls were coming toward their ships.

"Fuck!" cursed Hastwyck. "Signal the retreat!"

"We can't! The enemy is coming from the Mouth of the Mander," said the captain of the ship pointing his finger to the mouth, and Hastwyck saw a dozen ships approaching.

"Fuck! We're all going to land on the islands."

"We'd be trapped."

"I don't care. Do as I told you Hastwyck said, watching as their ships were being destroyed, and they had little chance to react. And surely once on the island they'll have to face the enemy.

Arianne Martell POV

After the news of yesterday, and the conversation with her uncle, by his own advice, Arianne summoned to Sun Spear all the lords of Dorne who might be loyal to her, and in the meantime, Oberyn has started to prepare the city's army.

While she, carrying Morgan in her arms, was on her way to her father's room to allow him to finally meet his nephew, because he hasn't done so yet.

As she entered, Arianne saw him still watching the water garden. Every time she came to visit him, he was there, admiring the beautiful water gardens with the help of a deaf-mute servant, that pushed the wheelchair.

"Winds of war are blowing from the sea. The black stallion rides the waves of the narrow sea to claim the white mare," said her father, in rhymes, making roll her eyes, but knowing very well what he was referring to.

"I see you've been informed regarding what is going at my court," said Arianne rocking her son, and then sitting on a chair.

"Do you think being locked in here keeps me in the dark regarding what's going on in my kingdom or the dangers that are coming?" asked her father, as the servant help him turn and face her.

"Actually, if I'm being honest, Father, you don't know anything about your kingdom."

"Maybe. But I think now it doesn't matter, right?" he said. Taking a breath, he asked, "So Quentin finally revealed his location and Trystane? What have you done with your youngest of brothers?"

"Father, Father," she sighed, while her son was playing with the strands of her hair, "do you really think I want to kill my brothers? The only thing I wanted, was what was rightfully mine."

"And here we are. A kingdom divided and under siege."

"Yes. And it's all your fault," said Arianne trying every way not to raise her voice and scare her son.

Her father didn't say anything about it and that made her very angry, because he knows it was the truth. After some time in silence, thinking that her father would say nothing, Arianne was ready to leave the room but stopped when she heard him say, "I see your brat is healthy and growing."

"Yes, he is," she said, looking down at her son, smiling as he kept clutching the strands of her dark hair as he looked back at her with his father's eyes, smiling.

"Can I hold him?" he asked, and she was very surprised by that, especially considering that he' had always called Morgan a bastard since she had been carrying him. So freeing his little hand from her hair, and kissing it, Arianne placed Morgan in her father's arms.

He started to look down at him for a moment, giving him a finger to squeeze, which made Morgan almost a giggle, and for a very specific elusive moment, Arianne saw her father smile. But then once serious, he said, "He looks more like a Tyrell than a Martell, even though he has your hair."

"He has more than that," Arianne said, putting some Dornish wine in a goblet and then taking a sip.

"Indeed. He looks a lot like you when you were little. Why Morgan?"

"Because he was the founder of our house," she said but her father said nothing, and the only things that could be heard were her son's giggles.

"Why did you stop loving me, father?" Arianne asked suddenly, spinning her goblet, not looking at him. This was a question she asked herself many times in the recent years, considering that when she was a girl, they had a very close relationship.

However, she was surprised and disappointed by what he asked. "Why did you become a whore?"

"I'm not, Father. I never was. But you still treat me that way by taking away my right and selling me to the highest bidder."

"You gave your maidenhood to a bastard," he said, ignoring what she just said, calmly, even though Arianne could see the storm behind his eyes and the way he was hiding his anger behind the calmness.

Taking another sip of wine, she said, "I thought that in Dorne it didn't matter if one was born a bastard.

"It doesn't matter, indeed. But you're a crown princess and the rules are different for you. You can't get pregnant by a bastard."

Arianne burst out laughing, and after she took another sip, she said, " There are ways to avoid that, father."

"What if they don't work. A bastard as Prince of Dorne." He said, giving her son back, and Arianne started rocking him because that agitated him. "No one will ever fallow a bastard."

Silence fell on them again for a moment and her son finally calmed down, and his father took a cup of wine, drinking it all in one breath and after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, "No one in the world has ever defeated the Dothraki in the open field and...".

"Qohor," she said, recalling the books and stories that had been told of that battle, and Arianne saw a smirk on her father's lips.

"Yes, the Unsullied. Three thousand of them against twenty-five thousand Dothraki. A rather impressive victory," he said, raising the goblet so as to be filled again, and once the servant did so, her father took another sip of wine from his goblet. "But there is one small detail in this dream of your victory that escapes you. There are no Unsullied in Dorne."

"No. But we have Dornish spears that-"

"They will be slaughtered," her father interrupted her. "No matter what Oberyn suggests, you have no chance of victory, and you will die with your son."

"Don't worry about that. It won't happen."

"And what makes you think that?" giving the cup to the servant.

"Because I asked help to the only living man in Westeros who defeated them. King Jon Stark."

With that, his father burst out laughing loudly, throwing his head back. "Silly little girl. If you think a foreign king from the other side of Westeros will come to your aid, you're more stupid than I thought."

"Hope is the last to die," she murmured. "But that's not why I'm here. I want to ask your advice on who is the best choice for a Prince Consort of Dorne."

"Yronwood I'd say, of course. But you will end up with your throat slit as soon as you produce an heir, and your bastard will be fed to the dogs or to the crows," replied her father without thinking twice. "But if you want a loyal and perhaps even faithful husband, then take Edric Dayne. Though I doubt that he is of your taste. You are 23 and he is only 16."

"Do you think I'm too old?" she asked very offended by his words of comparison regarding the age.

"No. of course not. Only that you don't like young men. And as some rumours say. "Daddy issues."

"That's not true! Anyway, it's all your fault," she raised her voice angrily, and Morgan started crying again. "We're in this shit because of you. Because of you, the King in the North may not come to our rescue. Only because you wanted a Targaryen Princess, that belonged to another powerful king."

"A Targaryen Princess has been denied us. It was our right and destiny to sit on the Iron Throne."

"What are you babbling about?" Arianne asked, rocking her son who wouldn't stop crying.

"When you can, visit the Sunspear library. And look at the book The Loves of Queen Nymeria. You'll find the answers to this there."

Arianne was tired of his horseshit, and Morgan was still crying, so without further addition, she left the room to go back to hers.