A/N: Chap 14 review responses are in my forums like normal. And now comes a short, but vitally important chapter. Because even though no weapon was raised, this chapter is the first in the actual conquest of Westeros.

Chapter Fifteen: The Sun Spear

The fortifications at the mouth of the harbor were coming along slowly but steadily. If nothing else, she had lots of laborers who appreciated the fact that Taylor insisted on 4-hour shifts and no more than ten hours worked by any person in a day. It meant the workers were relatively fresh and more productive.

Which was good, because the work itself was grueling. Without dynamite, or power tools of any kind, and with the limited surface to work on, preparing the ground for the two towers set into the lower caldera walls was an exercise in brute force engineering.

She'd dedicated two of the sloops her men seized in the harbor for transport, even as she had other workers preparing paths around the inside of the cliffs. Fifty men with pickaxes, steel mallets and chisels crossed the harbor to each of the two sides of the harbor mouth and set to work breaking apart the basalt and obsidian walls until they were able to fashion a flat surface.

They used the detritus from the construction to brick up either side, forming a wider platform. Although brick was the wrong term-they were using the cut basalt itself, with a quicklime mortar. Right now, all she saw was the promise of a black stone foundation. But every day, the existing stone was ground down a little more and the outer stone walls rose a little higher.

And every day she was out there, supervising or even helping. On four separate occasions, to the shouted acclaim of her workers, she levitated large boulders. On each occasion, she used her lightsaber to turn them into usable stone. It helped a little, saving hours or even days of labor.

However, on the day that the Dornish royal finally arrived, she stood on the west side of the harbor mouth with Pate, Wylis's fellow Westerosi exile. To her surprise, the man fought with her supposed father in the Battle of the Trident and went into exile after. He was what the Westerosi would have called a hedge knight-landless and relatively poor, but trained in the chivalric arts. He also had a head for practical engineering and was her appointed boss for the fortifications.

"Another week to get the platform," he estimated. "We can get a scorpion or catapult up here by then. Maybe a giant cradle swing to drop really big rocks down to hull a ship before. Fifty foot drop should give a stone some weight."

"Good, I think…" She saw Gray Worm rowing quickly toward them.

"Aeksiae!" the leading Unsullied shouted. "Five ships approach. Yellow striped sails with a spear in a sun!"

Her heart thud heavily in her chest. The Dornish. "I'm coming down! Duty calls, Pate."

"Aye, she's a right bitch, that duty. Good luck, yer grace. Them Dornish are a prickly bunch."

She scrambled down the roughly hewn-together scaffolding to the rocky shore. One of her seized sloops was anchored close by as materials transport. So far, though, the work was being done by paid laborers from the freed Volantine population and those ashore wielding pick-axes and shovels.

"Urgh, I'm filthy," she muttered as she climbed into the dinghy.

"Missandai awaits you," Grey Worm said in halting Common Tongue. He and his colleagues were attempting to learn the language. They all understood that after ten years of service, not only would they be free to make homes in Westeros, they would be granted either pensions or land of their own as free men.

The reality of the world meant that what would have been a ten-minute powered cruise across the bay turned into the better part of a laborious hour. The Dornish flotilla was outside the harbor mouth when Taylor reached the shore. Missandai was as unruffled as always as she led Taylor to a waiting bath.

A pair of Anancy's girls, whom Taylor declared too young for the work they were previously in, now served as chambermaids. If nothing else, they had a good appreciation of clothes. It was a bit harder dressing Taylor, though. She never wanted to try and make herself look beautiful. Instead, she always went for striking.

"I'm a warrior queen, not a pretty little princess," Taylor told Missandai on the occasion when styles came up.

Only one of the five Dornish ships entered the harbor. It resembled Black Tooth Tara's in that it was a great three-decked, three masted dromund with both a fore and aft castle. The sail was made of yellow canvas, with a great stylized spear piercing a sun.

Ser Jorah stood waiting with Quaithe on the black sand beach when Taylor and Missandei emerged from the inn she'd claimed as her residence. "The ship has signaled," Ser Jorah said. "They're requesting you go to them."

Taylor raised a brow. "Is that normal?"

"For a queen to go to a prince is not," Jorah said. "But this is also Princess Elia Targaryen's elder brother. More importantly, I've heard that the Prince is not well, and travelling is a hardship. There may be political reasons as well. If he never leaves the ship, he can tell the Iron Throne he never left Dornish territory."

Taylor considered her outfit for the day. In general she eschewed dresses. Instead she went for silken culottes with a cloth-of-gold jacket with tails over a golden silk blouse. Carved amber served as the buttons of the jacket, while her favorite golden headpiece held her black hair in check. It was boat-proof, she decided.

"Then let's go. The long boat should work."

Taylor couldn't help but smile when she saw Ser Barristan at the rail of the great ship. The man looked resplendent in black silk lined in gold trim. It had to be very hot, but it made him look stately and dignified. The crew around him, though, gave Taylor pause.

This is why no one believes I'm a Rhaenys Targaryen. On Earth, the people of Dorne would be described as either Middle Eastern or even Hispanic, with rich black hair and browner skin that paled toward olive, rather than her pink. Not even on her best day did she resemble any of these people. And from their hard stares, they were thinking the same thing as she climbed aboard. She sensed resentment from every person on that ship.

Ser Barristan's smile when he met her was strained. "Your grace," he said. He nodded to the others. "Prince Doran is below with some members of his family. It was a burden for him to travel, and a risk besides. His brother, even as we speak, is in King's Landing."

While Taylor had no doubt the ship could and did house several hundred soldiers, the interior of the aft castle was dedicated to a single room with actual glass windows that were opened to allow a breeze to pass into the dimly lit, sweltering space. Prince Doran was a man in his fifties-black hair going gray. He was thin and drawn with pain and general ill health, but his dark eyes were sharp and humorless as he watched her enter.

Three young women stood behind him, each of them wearing clothing not so dissimilar from Taylor's own, in that the cut of the outfits was meant for freedom of movement. One bore a spear identical in style if far more ornate to the one Barristan bought Taylor in Qarth. One had a whip looped around her shoulder and neck, while the third bristled with knives. And to their side, taking up the entire span between floor and ceiling, stood a huge Summer Islander with a spear in hand and a curved saber at his waist.

Taylor felt the prince's rage the moment he saw her; felt it colored by anguish and a deep, abiding regret. Taylor had one chance, and one chance only.

"Prince Doran, it is an honor to finally meet you. Before we begin, I cannot help but notice your discomfort, nor can I ignore the fact that your travels aggravated it. Would you like me to heal you?"

She could feel the train of his thoughts and the words that hovered on his lips pause abruptly. The man's mind moved like a whip, instantly correcting course as he studied her with a now blank face. "And what would be required for such?"

"An hour of your time, you, me...and your man, there. I sense that you trust him above all others. It will require me to lay my hands on your worst afflicted areas, and I would have you retain your dignity as well as regain your health."

One of the women started to speak, only to stop when the old man gently touched her hand. Taylor didn't need the Force to know what she was going to say. Once he had the young woman's silence, he returned his dark gaze to Taylor.

"Ser Barristan has been effusive in his praise of you. He tells me you healed hundreds of slaves at Volantis. That you have taken ships in battle. That you carry the blood of the dragon. What fantastic tails will you tell me?"

She didn't shy away from the man's gaze. "You, more than any man alive, deserve only the truth, Prince Doran. And so if you give me an hour to heal your hurts, for that hour you will hear only truth from me, no matter what questions you ask."

"Will I like this truth you say?"

"I've heard it said that truth is a two-sided sword. It is best wielded by those with skill and experience."

The man did not hem or haw. His decision came quickly. "Leave. All save Hotah. You too, my nieces."

Taylor turned to see Barristan sharing a concerned look with Ser Jorah. Taylor, though, noticed Quaithe. "Prince Doran, my Shadowbinder Quaithe is also learned in the healing arts and can assist. She...also knows some truths that may interest you. May she assist me?"

The prince nodded mutely, then glared at his protesting nieces until they left. The door closed behind them. Before anyone could speak, Taylor turned to Hotah. "Does the prince have a bed or surface that can be moved to the middle of the floor? It will be easier to heal him if I have easy access to all his pained areas."

The huge guard paused long enough for Martell to nod before he walked to the far end of the room. Taylor was pleased to see a sturdy wooden table that folded out into the floor-obviously a place for guests that could be secured during bad weather. "Perfect. Prince Doran, may I lift you onto the table?"

"You appear strong for a woman, but surely you are not that strong."

Taylor smiled at the man. "I will not lift you with my hands, Prince Doran. Do I have your permission?"

"I am curious. Do so."

The man gasped in alarm and Hotah brandished his spear as Taylor gently levitated the prince from his cleverly made wheeled chair and floated him to the table. Quaithe quietly fetched one of the many pillows from his bed and placed it on the table for him.

They removed his slippers, revealing red, swollen feet. "Gout," Taylor said. "Advanced, persistent. Is it everywhere, or just your feet?"

"My feet, and my knees," he said. And then, "You are not my niece."

"No, Prince Doran. I'm not. I'm not related to you or the Targaryens in any way." She held her hands over the worst of the swollen joints and began flooding it with Force energy to break down the crystals that were causing the inflammation.

"Why did you claim her name, then?" he demanded.

It was Quaithe who answered. "If it pleases you, Prince Doran, it was not her idea. It was Ser Barristan's. When he arrived at Qarth and discovered the elite of the city had killed Daenerys Targaryen, he lost hope. It was I who recognized the truth of this woman. She stole back the dragons from the Warlocks. She defeated all of their magic, and defeated all the guards that tried to stop her. She ran across the water, and healed one of the dragons from an arrow wound. She is Ahor Azai, the Princess Who Was Promised. And when he learned of that, Ser Barristan came up with the story of her being your lost niece. My addition was her being changed in Asshai, to explain the fact she does not appear Dornish."

"Left foot's done, let's switch." Taylor and Quaithe switched places. The prince stared down at his seemingly healthy left foot with an expression of shock.

"My given name is Taylor Hebert," Taylor said casually as she healed his right foot. "When I was fifteen, I was...gifted by an elder god from beyond the realms of existence with power and knowledge to harness life itself. Those that came before me called that power the Force. Those that mastered it were known as Bendu. That was four years ago. In those four years, I have fought against gods, monsters, and a war that spanned my entire world involving over a hundred million soldiers."

Not even Quaithe had heard that. The Entities could be described as Gods.

"With my power came knowledge of a powerful race from ages past whose sciences allowed them to stride the stars. So, after the war I took the knowledge from that ancient race and built a barge that could sail through heaven itself. But some knowledge must be tempered with experience. I have the knowledge on how to craft ships that can span stars, but no experience in doing so. Which is why, six or seven months ago, I crashed into this world. It was to my fortune that Barristan and his crew plucked me from the Summer Sea, or else I might have drowned."

Doran said nothing for the longest time, though his eyes moved from his restored left foot to the visibly improving right. "I might almost believe you are my niece, changed by sorcery in Asshai, for being the more probable."

"That's certainly what Barristan thought," Taylor agreed. "Right foot's done. Can you lower your trousers to your navel, lift your blouse and jacket, and lay on your side?"

"For what reason?"

"Your kidneys are not working properly. Either that's the cause of the gout, or a symptom, but kidney failure will kill you. So, with your permission, I'm going to heal them."

"Are there...others like you?" he asked.

"There was one. She…" Taylor sighed. "She experienced apotheosis. She became one of the very gods that gave me my power, so that she could save our world from another such god. It was a moment of incredible sacrifice. Since then, I've not met any who could harness the Force as I do." She winced. "You have kidney stones. I can take care of those as well."

She had him flip over facing her so she could heal his other kidney. He stared at her intently as she did so. "Are all the people of your world so tall?"

Taylor laughed. "No. Even for my world, I'm tall for a woman. But the people of my nation had better food than this world, and better care for their bodies. And so they were four or five inches taller on average. I would very much like to help Westeros reach that point one day. Perhaps Essos after. And done." She stepped back. "Try walking around."

Prince Doran climbed off the table and took a few steps. He turned to Hotah, who nodded. "You move freely again, my prince."

The prince himself couldn't help but smile as he stepped around the room. "This is amazing."

"Gout has no permanent cure," Taylor said. "I treated the symptoms, but it's up to you to control the causes. Gout is usually caused by diet. Do you eat shellfish or seafood?"

"Of course! I am Dornish."

"I'm sorry to say that will have to stop. You'll need to limit seafood and red meat. Beer, wine and alcohol can also cause recurrences. Dairy would be fine-milk and cheese. Breads, legumes and vegetables. Make sure to drink lots of purified water. Boil it and then drink it when cool. If you drink wine, water it down liberally. Tea is likely alright as well."

"You speak casually of removing every joy in my life," the man said, almost whining.

"Your body can't process what you're eating, it's why you've become so sick. You should be fine with poultry as long as it's not organ meat."

She stepped back and watched as the man walked around his cabin, even squatting down to test his knees. Of course, he was still a man in his fifties who had been wheelchair bound for a long time, so he tired quickly. Rather than return to his wheeled chair, though, he sat on his bed and regarded her plainly.

"If you gain the Iron Throne, what will you do first?" he said.

"That will depend on what's most pressing," Taylor said. "I imagine for the first few years I'll have to react more than act. I know from my own world's history that dynastic changes tend to be messy. But there are some things I'll be able to start sooner rather than later. First? Break the order of Maesters. Instead, I'll sponsor colleges at various points around the kingdom. Centers for learning and the advancement of knowledge. I could see such a college in Dorne."

"Why do this?"

"On my world, advances were made on the backs of brilliant men and women. But for those individuals to advance knowledge, they must understand and know what came before. How can this world find it's geniuses if they're all locked up in a single tower? Knowledge must be free and spread like grains if we're to ever harvest the benefits of it."

"Just so," Doran said. "What else? My brother tells me that the Iron Throne is deeply indebted to the Iron Bank of Braavos. We don't know how much, but it is considerable. How would you deal with that debt?"

"I'd liquidate all the assets of the Lannister family, for a start," Taylor said. "The system of Lords and Ladies with dominion over large areas of the kingdom will not last forever. The history of my world shows that eventually if those that govern don't have the consent of the governed, there will be violent revolution. So, over the years I'll introduce reforms to reduce the power of the highborn, and give the small folk a voice of their own."

"The small folk lack the facility for governance."

"The small folk were never given opportunity to learn it," Taylor countered. "My secretary is a former slave. She speaks nineteen languages and is quickly learning letters and numbers. She has repeatedly demonstrated a sharp mind, a facile tongue, and absolute loyalty. She will rise high in my kingdom. Should the fact she was born a slave keep her from doing so?"

To the man's credit, he glanced at Hotah before shrugged. "Some might say so, but I would not be among them. I am descended not just from the First Men of Martell, but from the Rhoynish-the last people to stand against Valyrian dragons and slavery."

"Well, my dragons will be just as happy to burn slavers as anyone," Taylor said. "One thing I will change is the Small Council. I've been reading about it, but those who sit on it do so based on political standing rather than expertise. Why would I want the owner of a brothel with control over my kingdom's finances? Why would I want a foreigner with command over my spy network? I'll also want the appointment of governors. Right now, we have Wardens in the four regions of the kingdom. I would want governors for those regions, and more as well. And I would want them to meet at least every two years, if not sooner. Not for feasting or tourneys, but for policy to ensure the well-being of the kingdom and all those within."

They talked for hours. At one point, food was brought in. Taylor gave it to Doran's guard-the order was communicated and instead of the rich seafood she might have expected, they were served bread with cheese toasted onto it with a rich, delicious hummus. The wine was well watered. It was a simple fare for a prince, but filling.

"And what of marriage and heirs?"

The question came late in the meal, and Taylor had a hard time not choking. "I think...it would be best for me not to marry," Taylor said. "One of the most famous queens of my world was known as the Virgin Queen. She kept the promise of marriage open and balanced several competing kingdoms. I will appoint an heir, though, one that would be acceptable to the governors. There would need to be a line of succession. But I do believe whoever succeeds me should actually be from this world."

She left unspoken the idea that she fully intended to leave the world as soon as she had means.

At some point the conversation shifted from theoretical policies to maps. Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah joined them, and eventually the three nieces did as well, as they poured over the detailed, expensive maps of southern Westeros.

"King's Landing is the key," Ser Barristan said. "We are heavy on infantry but with almost no horse. That will change if the Golden Company agrees to our bid, but even so our strength will be in the city. If we can take the city, and take the Red Keep, there's every chance that alone would end the Lannister portion of the war."

"Blackwater Bay is littered with the wrecks of Lord Stannis' attack," Doran noted.

"Aye, true enough," Barristan agreed. "And they have more ships than we do with the Tyrells now. It would be a challenge."

Staring at the map, Taylor couldn't see any way to get around the fight. King's Landing was strategically located at the mouth of a river in a massive bay as large as the largest of the Great Lakes. Those defending her might not have had her mind for modern tactics, but then again they weren't employing modern ships. Instead, they would be experienced with the warfare of the day.

"Gunpowder," she finally said.

Those around the table stared. Taylor, though, looked at Barristan. "Do you remember the weapon I used to scuttle that Iron Born raider?"

"Aye. Two shots and you blow out its entire bow."

"Gunpower can do something similar, though not as...effectively." She turned to Doran. "It's a little like Wildfire, in that when lit it burns very fast and violently. And when you put enough of it in a large metal ball, with a long fuse to carry the flame, it doesn't just burn, it explodes with force enough to shatter both wood and stone. Bombs like that in dinghes would scuttle any ship that drew too close."

"You can make this gunpowder?" Doran asked.

"I can. I can show you how to make it. It's not difficult, just very, very dangerous. But with gunpowder weapons, we'd have a tactical advantage that they won't know how to counter."

Obara Sand, one of the prince's nieces, shook her head. "Uncle, you speak as if you wish to accept this woman as our cousin!"

Doran didn't even look at her; instead meeting Taylor's eyes directly. "So it would seem. It is only proper. After all, my dear sister's eldest child has finally returned to us. What better way to welcome her back than with the throne so cruelly stolen from her mother?"