Septon Tristan Flowers was going to murder Willas Tyrell if he survived tonight. His piety could go to the seven hells, he'd strangle Willas with his bare hands for sending him to speak with an angry dark goddess of ruin, and if he survived this, to mediate between said dark goddess of ruin and the puffed-up pillocks in line for the title of High Septon. If he had a choice he'd have run. Just fled into the night. He didn't have a choice.
As such he walked towards his doom. Such a lovely stage for his impending death…or worse. There shouldn't be things worse than death, but there were. It was a lovely balcony looking out over the fields and gardens. The air was thick with the scent of roses and goldenrod. The evening light as the sun set lit the fields with gold as the sky looked as if a painter had spilled out his paints across it. Truly, a gorgeous sight. And the balcony was no less so. Small sweet cakes set out on gold painted fine ceramics, vines spilling out over the railing, lovely delicately and intricately carved chairs with fine cloth of gold embroidered pillows. It looked like a scene from a dream or a song.
But the people were what Tristan was focused on. The two familiar twin guards that followed Lady Olenna everywhere were at the entrance, though the tart-tongued woman was absent, thank the gods. Sitting at a small table to one side were two men playing a game of cyvass. He may never have met them before, but a bald man in robes with a blonde, scarred dwarf could only be two men: Varys, Master of Whispers, and Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen. Looming over the shoulder of the Lannister dwarf was a Northern man. He was handsome, had a distinctive pin upon his breast, and could be none but the Northern Prince.
Tristan swallowed thickly. He did not belong. A high-pitched, hysterical part of him was screaming out in his head that he was just a bastard. That just breathing the same air as these people would see him dragged out. But oh there was worse than just royalty and members of the small council. Because there by the railing was the worst.
Standing, half leaning upon the railing were Garlan and Leonette Tyrell. They were truly a handsome couple, likely a sign Lord Willas would not be appearing. But standing between them, laughing as she spoke in quiet tones with them was the Goddess. She was…well she was certainly a strikingly beautiful woman. The setting light left her near glowing, with confidence and comfort in her stance that was rare to see in any. No wilting flower, she was the power here, and she knew it.
He immediately bowed at the waist, burying his hands into the sleeves of his simple robes to hide their tremble.
"Ah, Septon Flowers!" Garlan's voice would have been perfectly politely jovial if Tristan hadn't known him better. There was a thrum of perfection to that tone that only came when he was faking his mood, at least in part. "You are most welcome."
Tristan straightened, praying the Seven would preserve him. "My Lord, it is an honor to be asked here."
"Please, you do us the honor by being here." Garlan carefully moved with the fluidity of practice as he gently gestured to the people here. "May I present Lords Varys and Lannister, as well as his Highness Prince Stark, and of course Her Holiness, Quake." He waived to Tristan. "My Lords, your Highness, your Holiness, may I present Septon Flowers."
Tristan bowed to the Goddess once more. "It is an honor."
"It's nice to meet you, Septon Flowers." Her voice was warm and remarkably human as she spoke. "You have some questions for me then?"
He barely kept from cringing. Because while true, who would dare phrase it like that?! She was a Goddess for gods' sake. Tristan straightened, though kept the faint dip to his head he'd mastered as a young boy when in the presence of his social superiors. "I seek only what wisdom you wish to give that the people's fears might be gentled, your Holiness."
"Look," She didn't step away from the railing, instead remaining leaning against it as she waved to a chair near to her person, "don't go off about me being a witch or abomination and don't say anything disgusting about Sansa Stark and you should be fine. I'm not an angry person."
Prince Stark gave the Goddess a bemused expression. "You ought to take insult a bit more."
The Goddess rolled her eyes. "Again, what even would be the point?"
"Idiots being dead before they get to the part where they can call my sister a whore or insult your family, character, and intentions?" The Prince's voice held the air of speaking a well-worn argument. "And prevent Umbers from getting so at ease around you they start speaking of things so crude you break their noses for it."
She laughed. "I don't think anything would help an Umber."
"Fascinating as this all is, I do believe this poor man was asked here for a reason?" Tyrion Lannister stated with a truly attentive expression as his eyes skipped between the Prince and Goddess.
Goddess Quake gave a nod, her attention flicking back to Tristan. "Right, do you want to sit before you pass out?"
"I…thank you, your Holiness. But to sit in your presence when you do not would be unacceptable." He tipped his head in respect to her.
There was something on her face as she looked at him, but she did not insist. "If you change your mind you won't insult me. But to the idiocy of Yelshire, or whatever. What do you want to know?"
Tristan stepped ever so faintly closer, lest she be forced to keep her voice louder than simple conversation dictated, but not so close as to encroach upon her space. "As a member of the Faith of the Seven, I must express my deepest apologies and regret that a man of our most sacred order would dare speak to you in such a vile and untoward manner, Holiness."
"I know a single person almost never speaks for the group. But apology accepted, even if you really didn't owe me one." Goddess Quake replied with a sort of exasperation in her tone. It should have been dangerous, but it didn't quite feel that way.
Prince Stark looked like he was in pain. "They owe you more than an apology."
"Really don't." She looked positively fond as she looked at the bafflingly confounding Prince who was arguing with her.
He threw his hands up. "You're infuriating. If you keep ignoring insults, I will have to start punching people for you!"
"I can defend myself?" Her head tilted slightly as she stayed focused on the Prince.
He made a sound of frustration before taking a seat and staying stubbornly silent.
Tristan was…what in seven hells? He cleared his throat. "I thank you for your mercy, we do not deserve it, Holiness."
"For fucks sake." She sighed. "Look, I don't have a quarrel with your Seven. I've never met them, never heard of them even before I got dragged here. And I've been in your septs, not a single bit of anything to indicate they consider that inappropriate."
He swallowed, well, that was…that was certainly a good step. "You do not find it insulting that we would worship gods who are not yourself in your presence, Holiness?"
"No." Goddess Quake crossed her arms, her posture remaining loose. "I don't know what to do with the people already worshiping me. I mean what's the point of it? I can't hear prayer, I can't bless or curse anyone. I mean…" She frowned, seeming to consider it. "I guess apparently the other gods can get my attention if they want. You're better off praying for them to get ahold of me than to me." She shrugged.
Which that was…the possible position of this Goddess that implied was terrifying. "You wish for no worship, or sacrifice, or reverence due to your divine person, Holiness?"
"God no." Her nose crinkled. "What would I even do with a sacrifice? Like..what some dead animal? It's not like I can cook…and what..drink its blood? That's disgusting. I know the Old Gods feed on blood, but honestly, that sounds so gross. And like prayer or whatever doesn't do anything either so like…gross or pointless. I really would rather everyone not."
He felt a shiver down his back. "You hold no animosity with our Seven then?"
"Eh," She wiggled her hand slightly, "Not really? I mean in general no. But some of the crap you all have as rules is ridiculous and if they actually believe in it we wouldn't get on well." She shrugged. "I seriously doubt any god actually gives a crap about your sex lives or weird gender rules."
Tristan just knew this was going to go horribly if he had to mediate this position with the political fools of powerful septons. "Why would you believe these teachings are inaccurate?"
"Besides the gross orgy in the capital city of the gods' Omnipotence? Which, never been, never plan to go, but like it's a thing. But immortal people get…weird about sex? And I've yet to meet a god who gives a crap about the gender or genders anyone has sex with. Loki, god of mischief and lies is kinda famous for seducing various men and women. He's a monster, and if I ever run into him I'll turn him to paste." Her eyes weren't smiling, her mouth's smile suddenly showing her teeth. "But he's royalty for two courts and nobody cared. The Kree don't care, I'm not even entirely sure what's going on with Skrull gender. There are a lot of beings out there whose gender is…wibbly? Xandarians and the Nova empire, in general, don't care." She winced. "They do either run screaming or try to kill me on sight though."
Prince Stark spoke up. "Why?"
"Because they waged a super long war against the Kree, I'm part Kree, and my entire race was made to be god killers for their armies. And to be fair, the Kree are assholes and I have yet to meet one that wasn't an absolute dick." She frowned. "Or I guess, Vin-Tak wasn't terrible, he was trying to murder me, but not a terrible person."
And it seemed Prince Stark was outraged on the goddess's behalf? "Why?"
"Because the Kree fucked up making my species. And making an entire species of god killers was kind of a super terrible idea." The Goddess sounded disgusted with the Kree. And it…
Tristan held himself rigidly still. "You are a god killer, Holiness?"
"It's what I was made for." She seemed more serious. "Whether that makes me a god or something else I don't know. But not really the point. The gods are kind of assholes mostly. I think Sif and Enoch are the only ones I've met who weren't to at least some degree. At least half of those types of gods think of humans as chattel. I think Asgardians consider humans basically the same as goats."
Lord Lannister spoke then. "And you, do you find us chattel?"
Prince Stark jolted, glaring at the Lannister dwarf as if to defend the Goddess. But the Goddess spoke before he could. "Considering my father was human it'd be depressing if I did." She had a spark in her eye as she looked at the dwarf. "I was born part god or what have you, didn't end up more than that till not too long ago."
"Oh." Tristan blinked and then stepped and dropped into the chair that had been offered to him before. He shouldn't be the one having this conversation.
/
Olyvar Martell bowed as he entered the Queen's chambers. He neatly ignored the grumpy Queensguard or sworn sword or whatever the man was, and the admittedly gorgeous translator and advisor. Instead, he focused on the Queen alone. "Your Grace."
"Prince Martell, do you know why I've called you here?" Daenerys' voice was crisp, ah, she'd gotten tired of his games then.
He straightened. "I could guess, but I do not know. After all, it is your right to summon me as you please, your Grace."
"Guess." It was an order.
Olyvar's smile was sharp if you knew how to look at it. "You're tired of my contrariness and want me to state my intentions, your Grace."
"And yet, even now you are purposely difficult?" It was rather impressive how she managed to look down on him despite being smaller than him even when standing, which she was not.
He tipped his chin up, he was 'the' Prince of Dorne, unwanted and unexpected though that title might have been. "I wasn't sure I liked you."
"Liked me." She repeated, and oh that had riled her even if she wasn't furious. "Then why bend the knee?"
"Vengeance." He replied with a flicker of hesitation. "I want our pound of Lannister flesh, and if the rumors about the Mountain are true, I want his head on a pike in Sunspear. And if any of my traitorous bastard cousins are still alive in King's Landing, I want them to face Dornish justice for murdering their kin and taking what they had no right to take."
She stared at him, purple eyes narrowed. "And after your vengeance?"
"I and my people would remain in our sands, and when your army was returned to Essos, scattered, or dead I would unbend the knee and remind you House Martell has killed more than one dragon before and we do not forget." He let the truth of it ring out in his tone. "However, I think I do like you, so no need for all unpleasantness, your Grace."
"Is that what you call treason?" Her voice was sharp. "It sounds as if you wish for me to feed you to my dragons, your Highness."
Olyvar knew he'd pushed as close to the line as was advisable, possibly further. "No, I would call it honesty. Something I believe you prefer from those around you? Or would you rather I tell you pretty nothings that lose you entire kingdoms driving your conquest into the ground?"
Her jaw tightened, nostrils flaring slightly. But the point had hit.
"I will be blunt your Grace." He spoke before she could decide to say something they would both regret. "I do not wish to die by a rotting corpse, I do not think you wish to die by a rotting corpse. The death by rotting corpse as a threat is a miracle that will save you from the bungling mess your initial invasion has been. Your advisors plotted your conquest of a world that didn't exist. You should have hit King's Landing hard and fast, your Grace."
Daenerys leaned back in her seat, her finger tapping on the arm of her chair. "And kill tens of thousands of innocents?"
"Yes." Olyvar refused to flinch. "Do you think this war you face now won't kill tens of thousands of innocents? It is the cost of war. Better a short siege and horrific losses than a drawn-out campaign with ten times that many dead. Better those that die not be of your armies. Or do their lives matter less than anyone else's, your Grace?"
"Explain fully, now."
He straightened his spine. "Your campaign here in Westeros was dependent on being welcomed with open arms. Or nearly so. I can see why your advisors might have thought such a thing possible even if it is stupid. Your advisors save Lady Olenna have a common trait, they have some claim to a kingdom, and they have some degree of support from that kingdom. But every single one of them was depending on you to secure their positions. Ellaria Sand and the Sand Snakes were kinslaying bastards all. Your Targaryen name and vast army and their Martell blood may have bought you Dorne for a few years. Perhaps when we'd finished killing them for their crimes you might have kept our loyalty, mayhaps not."
"Your Lord Hand has no friends, allies, or hold on the Westerlands save his claim as the second son of their Lord he murdered. It would have and still will cost you thousands of your soldiers to deliver up the Westerlands to him, and it will cost you thousands to hold it for him. Varys is a spymaster who finally stabbed so many masters and allies in the back he requires a new power to be willing to re-secure his position. The Greyjoys are a House at war with one another. The Crownlands and Stormlands are leaderless and require pacification." Olyvar stood steady, he would not bend at delivering the truth. "No doubt the plan for your conquest was quite simple."
He didn't bother to hide his scoff at his words saying it would have been simple. "Seize Casterly Rock and with it the financial lifeblood of the West as well as the symbolic power of the West. Send your forces to secure Dorne. Then with armies raised from Dorne, and the Reach sweep through the Riverlands. The Vale is utterly incapable of standing against dragons, take some token force from there and a few political hostages, and move downwards sweeping through the Stormlands and Crownlands, securing them to your banner under the force of not just your own armies but also the banners of the Westerosi Lords."
"The North of course, well they're broken and devastated with a new Queen, younger even than yourself. Surely they would bow, unable to think of doing anything but. Some token force would ensure Northern fealty was secure, and some gesture of loyalty was given as a show of consent to be ruled by you. Whenever Euron Greyjoy's fleet showed up, well you have dragons, such a thing should be easily dealt with. And then all that would be left is a simple march of a united Westeros under a Targaryen banner to a city forced to survive with supply lines cut off by the day, living under the rule of the mad bitch who blew up the Sept of Baelor and doesn't have a drop of royal blood. They'd assuredly throw the gates open for you." He clapped his hands together, the sarcasm was thick in his voice. "Very overwhelming, very neat, such a merciful conquest."
Olyvar knew his face was not kind. "Of course, a single thing fails to occur how you wish it and you're left with a bloodbath, a drawn-out civil war, entrenched opposition, and fields of ash. Risky, and beautiful in its goals; I can see why it gave you ground with the Northern party. I can even see why you would wish for it. Certainly evidence you lack the paranoid insanity of your ancestors. But the world is different than your plan required. And unless I'm gravely mistaken, you've realized that already, your Grace."
The room was deadly silent. Daenerys was still, utterly unmoving. Her voice was deceptively calm as she spoke. If ever there were still waters hiding terrifying depths it was her at this moment. "And what would you advise me to do then, since you have so many thoughts?"
"Marry Jon Stark immediately. A month at most, and the day after you're wed have your forces prepared to go North. Be the hero Queen who fought the Dead, prevent us all from dying by the Dead ripping us to pieces, and gain the favor of a god. Likely also the Vale. The majority of your forces able to fight in the North will be from House Tyrell. While they and you are gone leave the rest of your forces under orders to begin securing the Westerlands, Stormlands, and Crownlands. The time to strike King's Landing and win has passed, instead a long siege. When you return the city will be on the brink of falling. Remove Tyrion Lannister as your Hand, and leave him to secure the Westerlands, it'll take a decade at the least for him to secure them. He cannot do that while being by your side in the capital."
Daenerys's voice didn't change in the slightest. "And what do you want from me, Prince Martell?"
"Two positions in your Queensguard to men of Dorne, a position on your small council, men of Dorne in your city watch, various minor positions through King's Landing, favorable taxes on imports from our goods, Dorne being used to secure the Stormlands, a monument and royal symbol of grief for Elia Martell, Aegon Targaryen, and Rhaenys Targaryen, and the crown to pay for the tomb of Prince Doran Martell and his children." Olyvar tipped his head slightly. "However I am open to negotiations, your Grace."
Daenerys stood then. In the fading light of the sun coming through the open windows, she near glowed like flame. "Ser Jorah, if you would see the Prince to his chambers. He has said his piece." Her voice was cutting. "I thank you for your honesty, your Highness."
He bowed at the waist. He'd made his gamble, if he was right, one more failure and her current advisors would fall. When they did, he would be the Prince who had been honest and upfront about his intentions from the start. A thing that would be more valuable than gold when others got men killed for their own agendas. No, he only had to wait. And well…hope the dragons weren't hungry for a few weeks.
Olyvar strode into his rooms. He grit his teeth. Now the truly unpleasant part of all this, to arrange a meeting with Willas Tyrell. After all, he knew which way the wind was blowing, and his dislike of the roses had no place in the snake pit.
