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Lost and Found

Chapter 4

The closing of the door felt like a sentence. Daenerys almost called her attendants back. It was only her pride that stopped her. That – and the clear realization that they couldn't help her. She was now Maron's, as much as his horses and falcons were. That was what had her not have the door bolted – he would just have it broken down.

In the dim light of a few candles, she changed into one of the wool nightgowns she had taken from King's Landing. She felt safer in it, even if she was damp with sweat only in a few minutes time. She paced around the room, sat in front of her dressing table and brushed her hair out, avoiding to look into her pale face.

Soon, the swelter made her change into a fine Dornish nightgown, after all. She stood at the opened window, waiting. She waited because she was sure that he'd come. She remembered how her father visited her mother's chambers each time he was enraged and drunk. 'Open the door, you pretentious bitch!' he'd bellow and Naerys would do it because she had no other choice. Daenerys had always thought her mother a little dull and baffled as how to deal with her husband – frankly, it wasn't as if he were a stranger; another woman might have done better with the knowledge gathered by the fact that he was her brother first but not Naerys, with her constant devotions and reading books on the Faith; but now, she had a sudden pang of closeness to her mother who surely must have felt helpless and trapped by something that she could not control. Just like her.

She stayed awake until the first light turned the sands into a sea of pink-red glowing. Then, stunned, she realized that he wouldn't come at all and was startled to find her relief tinged by the biting edge of disappointment, very much like the night before when he had gone to see his son first.

For the next few nights, he didn't come either. He was always polite but distant. She could see that he was battling some inner demons – much like many of the men that had survived Redgrass Field had. Not everyone, though. Bloodraven seemed perfectly content with his sin.

Maron spent much of his free time with his son and that made Daenerys grit her teeth – out of indignation, of course. Jealousy had nothing to do with it. Her intent grew. One day, she'd give him a son who would displace Alor, a trueborn son who would be worthy to inherit Dorne. Well, it was Dorne here, so a daughter would do just as fine…

Still, for either she needed him to come to her bed. And he had stopped doing it.

Things were no better with Dornish court. Wherever she went, she sensed an air of silent reproach that she could not show she noticed at all. She could not really blame them – everyone knew that she had been Daemon's love who had sparkled the war, that had it been up to her, she would have disdained their prince for him. And for a Dornishman, that was an insult to the entire Dorne. And oh, because of her the chance to put an end to a grudge that had made Dorne bleed for two thousand years was lost. Never mind that it was not true at all…

Still, it was Maron's withdrawal that hurt most. She had started growing attached to him just when he had stopped. She missed his little gestures of caring, the amused look in his eyes when she tried to pretend that she knew what she tasted at the dinner table before telling her its name for about a hundredth time for her to immediately forget it, his graceful consent when she approached him with small pleas on the behalf of people seeking her out, his interest in her activities that were not much to speak of yet… She did not love him but she had come to rely on his kindness, she had started to take it for granted, not realizing how fast he could take it back.

Now, when he no longer paid much attention to her in the great hall beyond basic courtesy, she had time to look around; stunned, she found out that while she had been feeling drifting apart from her new environment, her people had gone the opposite way. When she glanced around the very first evening, she found her household knight Ser Eryn Ironland seated at a game board against Lord Jordayne while Lady Lysette Lannister was chatting to Aletta Dayne, casting some not so secret glances at Ser Connel Uller. Her septa Marine was in deep, intent conversation with the septa who instructed Maron's bastard in the Faith; Ser Galend Highhill, whom she profoundly disliked for being foisted upon her by Maekar's wish, probably to spy on her for Daeron and of course, Maekar, whom he had only ever truly served in his life, was shaking his head in disagreement with something two Dornish men were telling him, but there was no animosity between them; and as she glanced around the hall, Daenerys realized that her men and women no longer sat in group by themselves but were instead scattered among the Dornish folk. How had it happened? How could she have missed it? Suddenly, she felt like a petulant child, intent on drowning in their own misery to the exclusion of anything else.

A few days later…

She rose with the sun – a rather impressive feat, for here the sun was gone for only several hours a night. She had barely slept this last night, contemplating her course of action. She would no longer mourn hidden in the palace. She was now the principal lady in Dorne, the Princess, and she had been neglecting her duty disgracefully. Were she here, Myriah would only shake her head in silent, yet all too evident disappointment; Naerys would have been horrified.

She had been here for months, yet she had never left the palace. She had never ridden in the streets of Sunspear, as narrow and hard as they were. She hadn't seen the Dornish folk and it hadn't seen her. She hadn't engaged in any meaningful activity, even charity. Until now, she had been only a jewel to grace the Old Palace, the court, much like… much like her father's mistresses had been. She blushed with shame and her face was still pink when she called for her attendants who came rubbing their eyes and clearly surprised to be summoned at a time when only the servants were awake.

When the sun started climbing high, Daenerys'entourage was already mounted. She was surprised when instead of her own horse she found herself looking at a grey mare with kind eyes and inquisitive nose that went straight for Daenerys' pocket and the apple there. She gave it to her – she couldn't resist. "There must have been a mistake," she told the groom. "She's lovely but she isn't mine…"

He looked surprised. "But she is," he assured her. "She's the Prince's present for you. She's been waiting for so long for her mistress…" He faltered and flushed, realizing too late that he had come dangerously close to reproaching her.

She let it pass – she was too busy thinking how could it be. But of course. Now she remembered that in her first week at Dorne, Maron had told her that he had a present for her in the stables. She had thanked him and immediately forgotten all about it, still too caught up in her own despair.

She held our a hand and stroked the glossy hide. "What's her name?" she asked.

"She's Dancer, my lady." The boy preened, touchingly proud of the lovely animal. "And a dancer she is, this one. She's barely a year old, she comes from a good stock. Loves her apples," he added when the nose headed for Daenerys' riding attire again, looking for another apple.

She laughed. "Yes, I can say," she said, still stroking the mare. "You're so lovely," she said softly. "You're so beautiful, Dancer. We'll become friends, you and I. And you'll have an apple every day, I promise. Now, will you let me?"

An older groom helped her mount and the party left the courtyard in a cloud of dust. Daenerys immediately realized that whoever had named Dancer had made a good choice. The mare was really dancing beneath her, yet her movements were so graceful that anyone but the worst horsewoman would find it easy to ride her. Her husband's thoughtfulness in choosing the present brought sudden tears to her eyes. It was hard to reconcile him with the man who now disdained her so politely, blaming her for the young Yronwood's death.

Despite the rising heat, Sunspear teemed with life. Women carrying baskets, bags, and children were hurrying down the narrow winding streets, the merchants were going on their business, clutching their purses tightly. A buyer was directing two men carrying a brand new trestle table with chairs out of the carpenters' and the stall of the silk vendor was an incredible blend of colours of all hues and shine. Half-naked children darted here and there between their elders and Daenerys envied them. She would have liked to disrobe, too, in the heat. The air pulsed with voices, footsteps, hammers, clang of coins in purses and whisper of materials.

But wherever Daenerys and her retinue passed, activity stopped and people stared at her stunned before bowing in respect and cheering. Even so, they kept casting not so covert glances at their new princess. Her silver hair and purple eyes were virtually unheard here. A little girl, no more than three, cried out and ran for her before her mother could catch her. Even when Daenerys' knights stood in her way and her mother came running to retrieve her, she kept reaching for Daenerys, her eyes huge and fascinated. The Princess gestured to Lady Lysette and Lysette handed her the purse she carried for such occasions. Daenerys opened it and fumbled for a handful of coins which she spread liberally. Both her mother and Myriah were generous queens who supported many charities but unlike Naerys who had been painfully shy and withdrawn, Myriah always delighted in giving alms in person. Long ago, Daenerys had decided that in this, she wanted to emulate Myriah and not her mother. Crowds never made her uneasy as they had made her mother and she was pleased to hear the cheers that added itself to the cacophony. Moved by a sudden instinct, she motioned to the knight closest to her to move aside. When he did, she leaned in her saddle and placed a few coins in the little girl's hand. Now, she saw her eyes close, dark and wide. She smiled. The cheers turned to riot of acclaims. The Dornish knight resumed his place and Daenerys saw the approval in his smile.

They were just leaving the main sept when they saw the riders coming through the Threefold Gate. Wherever they passed, the cheers were deafening. Daenerys looked at her Dornish companions inquisitively.

"I think it's Darial Sand, my lady, " Lady Aletta explained. "The Prince's half-brother. We thought he might be dead, he left Dorne two years ago and more…"

"I see," Daenerys said and tried to keep her face calm. The cheers the bastard son of the late Prince was getting could hardly put her mind to rest. Suddenly, she was sorry that she had never expressed any wish to go in public with Maron, so she could gauge his popularity.