Prince Doran had received word of their coming; that much was clear to Dany as she and Viserys circled above the huge assembly that awaited them on the shores of Dorne. She urged Drogon a little closer to Viserion, and the two dragons banked together. "How many do you think there are?" she called across.
"Two thousand, easily," Viserys shouted back, his words almost lost in the wind.
Dany relaxed a little. It was hard to estimate numbers from this height, and she had worried that she had misjudged the Dornish force for smaller than it was, but a mere two thousand? She and Viserys had thirty thousand at their backs, waiting on the ships that bobbed, like toys, far below on the blue ocean. They had come ashore almost alone, as a gesture of friendship, with only five hundred Unsullied to accompany them.
"The Unsullied have disembarked!" Viserys hollered, as Viserion twisted away from Drogon. Above them, Rhaegal shrieked in impatience. She wanted to hunt, Dany could tell. Viserys was right, though, they should land. This display of dragonflight would have awed anyone watching into utter compliance. Besides, it was about time the Dornish got to see how large her children were up-close. If Aegon was false, as Viserys suspected, the dragons would soon persuade Prince Doran to change his allegiance.
"Down, Drogon," she whispered, testing her mount's hearing, as she often did.
Drogon was impeccably attuned to her voice, though; picking it out even above the roar of the wind and gently tilting into a downward spiral, lowering one wing and throwing his tail out to the side to steer them.
The descent was fast, and Viserion and Drogon alighted quickly, though Rhaegal stayed resolutely aloft, ignoring her brothers' actions. Dany wasn't worried about her green-scaled daughter, knowing she wouldn't go far from them in such unfamiliar territory.
She looked at the Dornish forces massed on the sand before them, the brave little tent with the Martell pennant fluttering above it. That was where the prince awaited them.
"My lady!" A breathless voice half-shouted, and then a squat little boy, barely a man, was stumbling across the sand towards them, Ser Barristan following somewhat less energetically in his wake.
Dany looked to Viserys for guidance.
"Quentyn Martell," he murmured in her ear, so close he sent shivers down her spine. "I had him transported on a separate ship from us. I did not want to see him more than absolutely necessary."
As the little prince threw himself reverently at Dany's feet and gazed worshipfully into her eyes, Dany could not help but agree with her brother. Carefully courteous, she extended a hand for him to kiss, which he enthusiastically did. Viserys stepped forcibly to her side, and Quentyn withdrew a little.
"We are on your home soil, it seems, Prince," Dany said kindly, feeling the beginnings of pity for this nondescript little man, so ill-suited – physically at least – to the greatness that was expected of him. Though from what she heard of his father, the crippled Prince Doran was no different.
"Ye–yes, your grace." Quentyn even spoke with a slight stutter, and Dany pitied him the more for it.
"Look at him," Viserys said mockingly into her ear. "The little lovelorn fool."
Dany smiled gently. "I think he's rather sweet."
Instantly, Viserys wound a possessive arm around her waist and Viserion began to hiss, low and threatening, the dangerous rattle that meant fire was building in his throat.
Dany gestured with her fingers and whispered. "Drogon. Calm him." Her eldest son, so attuned to her voice, heard her, and she heard the click of their armoured necks rubbing together as Drogon comforted his brother.
"Be calm," she said to her own brother, and she felt Viserys take a forceful breath.
"I don't like to hear you say things like that."
"Will you lead us to your father?" She said aloud, to Prince Quentyn, and he nodded eagerly and set off across the beach, his men-at-arms trailing behind him. Dany paused to let them get ahead, and turned back to Viserys. "You must learn not to be so eagerly angered."
Viserys saw the frown on her face and planted a kiss between her brows, as though to kiss the worry away. "I am learning, sweeting. Don't worry about me."
Dany did worry, though. How could she not? Viserys was so likely, in one of his rages, to do something that might harm himself or someone else. At least he had Viserion to take care of him, now. She was glad that Viserion, though quick-tempered and vicious himself, had chosen Viserys, instead of the far more volatile Rhaegal.
She took Viserys' hand and they began to walk after Prince Quentyn, five hundred Unsullied marching as one behind them, flanked on either side by the last dragons on earth.