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Lost and Found

Chapter 3

It was so hot that Daenerys kept waking all night long, sweaty and uncomfortable. Whatever she had thought she knew about Dornish heats paled in comparison with the reality of Dornish summer. How could people live in this swelter? How was she going to survive it? Her brief episodes of sleep were nowhere near enough to let her rest and be ready for the next day which would be no doubt even hotter…

She entangled her arms and legs from the light covering and kicked it aside to go to the window. The pale moon was shining so brightly, it was almost unnatural. But it was also lovely. There is never such a moon over King's Landing, Daenerys thought and smiled. Then, she noticed that her nightgown was soaking wet and sighed. It looked like she'd have to try the piece her Dornish attendants insisted was a nightgown – too short, too fine, and too low-necked for her taste… She was sure that even Shiera Seastar would not wear this thing. Unless, of course, Shiera was packed off to Dorne…

The breeze caressed her face and mussed her hair a bit. Daenerys opened the door to the terrace, went out lifted her face upward and closed her eyes, only to open them again when she heard the sound of boots echoing on the marble flagstones of the inner courtyard.

Maron had come back! She was surprised to find her lips curling in a smile before her mind could catch up. The Prince had been absent for about a month, settling scores with some outlaws, and nothing in his letters had indicated that he'd be back soon. Smiling, Daenerys was about to go back inside and wait for him when she saw where he was headed for: the wing of the palace where children of noble lineage lived, the rooms that Alor dwelled in.

Angry and more disappointed that she would expect, Daenerys went back to bed and closed her eyes. When a few minutes later the door creaked, she held her breath. Maron's hand slowly caressed her hair, her cheek. She pretended to be asleep and after a while, he sighed and left as silently as he had come.

The next morning…

When the sun rose, Daenerys was already regretting her stupid impulse. She wanted to know more about what had happened. She wanted to know whether the outlaws had been well and fully defeated… as well as what had befallen the House Yronwood. By the whispers of her ladies, she had gathered that the second leading House in Dorne was suspected to be behind these attempts to undermine the Martell's authority. She knew for sure that the Yronwoods had supported Daemon's cause…

Daemon… The thought of him still pained her but when she closed her eyes, she no longer saw purple eyes but black ones instead, kind and thoughtful, yet guarded and distant. It's only because I live with him, she told herself sternly. Still, in her heart she knew that she was yielding, slowly but finally. Dornishmen did not try to break her, force their customs upon her or anything like that. They had just made room in their lives for her and engulfed her, slowly and discreetly. She had already accepted their outfits and had many robes made for her. She could now eat almost everything they ate and even find it good. This way, just by living with them, she was lowering her defences. Her walls were breaking down.

She expected that she'd find Maron in the small dining hall they broke their fast in. Instead, she found a maid who informed her that the Prince sent his regrets for he was otherwise occupied. Daenerys sat at the table, feeling really moody now. She should have overlooked his attachment to the child. She should have taken the opportunity when he had come to her bedside to stroke her hair. Really, it was nothing to be so angry about. The boy's mother was long dead. Alor was no threat to Daenerys. She'd give Maron children to succeed him – and it wouldn't even matter whether she'd have a son. In Dorne, daughters could inherit. Really, the boy didn't mean a thing in the grand scheme of things.

He mattered to Maron, though. He… and maybe his mother, even now? Daemon still mattered to Daenerys. Why should it be different for Maron? And why was she even thinking about his feelings? It wasn't as if she loved him. And he had never shown disrespect to her as his wife.

Deep in her thoughts, Daenerys did not notice the dark mood filling the huge halls, the subdued looks of the servants, the hushed whispers of the lords. Only when she went back to her chambers, something struck her as unusual. Her King's Landing entourage knew not to intrude upon her privacy but the Dornish attendants Maron had given her were another matter altogether – they felt it was their duty to keep their mistress well informed about every gossip in Sunspear and all of Dorne – all of Westeros, actually. It was through them that she learned why Lord Lannister had sent his son to the North to be fostered, instead of Storm's End, why the King had demanded a new Maester from the Citadel, why Maekar hadn't set a foot in King's Landing since the victory on Redgrass Field… this one, they had almost right. Daenerys could only hope they didn't spread rumours about her, as well.

Now, though, they were strangely quiet, going about their chores with silent obedience – getting her correspondence, drawing her bath, laying out robes for her to choose between. Once or twice, Daenerys saw her King's Landing ladies trade looks, clearly as surprised as she was.

Finally, she couldn't take it any longer. She turned to Lady Aletta Dayne whom she had taken an immediate liking to because of her kind ways and, honestly, because she had the same colouring as hers, and asked, "What's going on, Lady Aletta?"

The young woman blushed. "No, Your Grace, it's nothing."

Daenerys lifted an eyebrow and left her hairbrush on the dressing table. "Clearly, it is something. I want to know what it is."

Lady Aletta sighed. "It's nothing that concerns you, Your Grace, it's just that… at his return, the Prince administered justice, early in the morning. Today, the ones providing help to the outlaws will be executed like traitors."

Daenerys still didn't understand. "And?"

Lady Aletta looked down. "Ser Anders, Lord Yronwood's second son, is among them. Everyone knows that he took the blame to protect the reputation of his House… that his father was the one who gave the orders… but he claimed that it was his idea and none of his kin took part in it. He is… he was the friend of the Prince's. They were inseparable, since they were children… up until three years ago."

This time, it was Daenerys' turn to blush and look down. When was it going to end? Wasn't it enough that Daemon was dead? That ten thousand had lost their lives on Redgrass Field alone? Would this land and its people know peace, ever?

A few hours later, she sat next to her lord husband in the Courtyard of Traitors when the eight men were brought to the scaffold. A rustle rose among the courtiers. As sweltering as it was, Daenerys felt suddenly chilled, as if the sun had stopped giving warmth.

She had never met Ser Anders Yronwood but she knew who he was immediately. She recognized him by the sudden tension in Maron's hand on the armrest, in the way his profile became more set. The young man walked on his own, shaking off the arms reaching to grab him. He stopped in front of the dais and bowed to them, deeply and respectfully. The rustle became louder. Near Daenerys, a woman sobbed.

Daenerys closed her eyes but suddenly, her husband spoke to her under his breath. "Open your eyes."

She wanted to shake her head but didn't. Not in front of everyone. "No…"

His hand gripped hers. Startled, Daenerys opened her eyes. She had not realized how strong he was. "You will watch," he ordered. "And you will witness the pain you've inflicted upon so many."

She looked into his eyes, black and expressionless. For the first time, he was being cold towards her.

She looked forward, could not look aside even when the executioner missed and his axe fell upon the head itself, splashing around horrible mess of blood and brains. All around, a cry rose. Daenerys was not sure that her voice was not part of it. The executioner had to try again, three more times, his blows landing in the disgusting red mess. Some of the seasoned warriors around looked ready to retch.

Finally, mercifully, it was over. When the head was lifted high, Daenerys thought that she would faint. It seemed that it was too much for Maron, too. As soon as they carried the head and the horrifying mutilated corpse out, he stood up and left staggering, his olive face absolutely white. His closest companions followed. Daenerys tried to catch his eye but he determinedly avoided to look in her direction, so she was left shaking in the sweltering heat.