Attalus: You've mostly hit it right. Jon doesn't want to be considered a Targaryen at all considering what Rhaegar has done and categorically refuses his heritage. However Targ blood + dragon isn't going to brood well when Dany comes back. So, again, sometimes it's not about what you want...as for Quentyn, there's nothing he can do for Arianne. A rescue mission so far into enemy territory...you'd need helicopters and a SEAL team.
Zhorvak: You are in luck, chapter after this one is a Jon POV.
Sage: I think you'd better, otherwise you're going to have a hard time with the rest of the story (wink wink)
TRex: Maybe? In the end, though, again: for Quentyn, doesn't matter Aegon's heritage, only his capacity as a ruler and foil to Daenerys are interesting.
osterreicher: You are probably correct.
Guest: I think you have your answer in chapter 75. Also, in KL and several times afterwards, Quentyn mentions he sent assassins after Illyrio so that the GC is more reliant on Dorne.
Cletus
Cletus looked forward to this short stopover in Lys as a way to finally get out of the heat of Westeros. A new start, if one preferred to call it that, or at least, he could pretend it to be one.
A new start perhaps because he felt stupid he had fallen for a honeyed trap, or perhaps he felt guilty to having let his friends and family down. Most of all though, Cletus had thought that he'd failed himself, and guilt gnawed at him regularly.
Therefore, in Lys, he decided to forsake the old ways and do his best to, if not redeem himself, at least try and better his ways. And, true to his word, he had not stepped a foot in a pleasurehouse or any establishment of that nature. He'd stayed and counted coppers, looked at books, and sought to act as a liaison between this island and Yronwood.
But quickly, the fervent atmosphere that had gripped the island-city had turned sinister.
The atmosphere in the Dornish camp was…disturbed to say the least. Around the table gathering of several Dornish lords, there was chatter and incomprehension. There had been cases of disappearances in recent days.
Although this was to be expected, the rate at which they happened was…unnerving. And it's not like the men disappearing were just too drunk or spent too much time in a whorehouse…no. They were always found…
Thus, something had to be done. It seemed the Dornish were specifically targeted, but by who? And for what purpose?
"Who did we find this time?" Quentyn, on the edge of the table, asked.
"A merchant found two bodies floating in the sea." Nymeria Sand sighed, handing him a small piece of paper. "One was identified as Ser Ulwyck Uller, missing for five days. The other was too mauled to be identified…"
"And who are we still missing?" Quentyn asked, distraught.
"Three men," Ryon Allyrion, heir to Godsgrace, pointed out. "Ser Raymund Crow, Ser Jacen Elaryon and Ser Rowan Wyl."
"How many does this give?" Quentyn, asked, frowning.
"Eight, my prince." Ryon Allyrion sighed, as worried as him.
Something in Lys wanted the Dornishmen dead, but what? Or rather who?
Quentyn was frustrated, it could be read on his face, as he nervously tapped the table beneath him, before finally releasing:
"Damn it to the seven hells, I came here to replenish my fleet, not to hunt down a murderer!"
The room fell slightly silent at that. Although Quentyn had a temper, and did not hesitate to put people back in their places, seeing him lose control of his emotions like that was a rare sight.
"We'll catch him." The Sand Snake put a hand on his shoulder while raising the other in a fist. "We'll catch whoever has done all of these terrible acts and we'll make them pay!"
"In the meantime, we've given strict orders not to go into whorehouses alone, even if it is for service," Ser Ryon continued, "we've had a suspicion that the whorehouses have been where our men were lured and killed."
"I don't understand." Quentyn shook his head. "All of these men whose remains we've recovered, they've been brutally killed, but Lysene are usually very smooth about how they eliminate people. Poisonings are what they are known for."
"You suggest these people might not be from here?" Lord Daeron Vaith asked in turn. "I must admit, it would make sense, but who would want so many Dornishmen dead?"
Suddenly, the doors burst open.
As if it was engrained into his brain, Cletus immediately brought his hand to his sword, almost taking it out. Thankfully, it was just Ser Deziel Dalt, out of breath, with a broad smile.
"I have news!" he shouted.
"Let's hope they're better than the ones we keep getting," Cletus whispered to Arch, at his side, who sombrely nodded.
"What news?" Quentyn asked.
"I might know who has been killing our men! Or, rather, a way of knowing!" he smiled, raising a letter in the air.
Ser Deziel rushed the letter to Quentyn, who frowned and asked,"Who gave this to you?"
"A young girl came to our party, on the market," Ser Deziel explained, "she must not have been older than two-and-ten. She then told us that she knew about the disappearance of Dornishmen, but that she couldn't tell us in public. However, although she couldn't tell us anything, she did write something which was to be given to you in person."
Quentyn suddenly became weary, and put on a pair of gloves. Carefully, slowly, he opened the letter, revealing a perfectly normal piece of paper.
"What does it say?" Cletus found himself asking.
All heads turned to Quentyn, who put the piece of paper down.
"It's saying that the girl cannot talk in public, as she fears being killed. She cannot write the words, because she fears they might be intercepted, and, finally, she cannot come here because she fears retribution." Quentyn shook his head. "Instead, the girl asks to meet at the dragonpit ruins, where she can tell me, the Prince of Dorne, who has been causing all of this death."
"Well, we must be off right away!" Ser Deziel said, waving his hand. "I volunteer to escort…"
"She also says," Quentyn continued, unphased, "to bring as little men as possible to avoid attracting much attention."
"We can spare four or five men," Ser Ryon acknowledged.
"Are you both dense?" the snake cut in.
Both Ser Ryon and Ser Deziel turned to her, both angry at having been insulted.
"I find myself in agreement." Quentyn let a shadow of a smile appear. "This letter could have said, 'I wish to lead you into a trap' and it would have been the same outcome."
"You fear an ambush?" Lord Daeron Vaith asked.
"I don't fear an ambush, I know there will be one." Quentyn scoffed. "This letter is too providential for it to be anything else."
Ser Ryon and Ser Deziel's faces suddenly went red and both sought to sit down. But it seemed the Allyrion was not ready to give up the fight just yet.
"With all due respect, my prince, we cannot dismiss this out of hand." He faced Quentyn without flinching. "If the girl speaks true and she has information, we must know what it is."
"I agree." Quentyn nodded. "But you must also agree that putting my person at risk is stupidly dangerous."
"Yes," Ser Ryon conceded, biting his lip. "Perhaps a lookalike would do?"
"I'm afraid I'm quite recognizable." Quentyn shook his head.
"We could give your impersonator an eye patch," the sand snake proposed.
"And large robes, a cape, preferably," Lord Daeron added.
"Fine." Quentyn nodded. "Since Ser Deziel so kindly offered earlier, he will be volunteering to take my place."
The color drained from Deziel Dalt's face.
"For the rest…" Quentyn looked around the room, "I need four volunteers. I won't be ordering anyone to go willingly into a trap for me."
Instinctively, Cletus raised his hand. He was a seasoned fighter, this made sense. Arch looked at him for a moment, then raised his hand as well, reluctantly.
"Very well." Quentyn eventually gave up. "Ser Cletus, Ser Archibald, Ser Garibald and Ser Ryon will accompany Ser Deziel. For the love of Mother Rhoyne, come back in one piece."
Cletus smiled widely, grabbing Arch by the shoulder, while the tension in the room suddenly lifted.
"Glad you're backing me up, Arch," Cletus whispered.
"Don't mention it, Cletus," Arch scoffed in response, "you'd manage to get yourself killed."
"I'm tougher than that, cousin." Cletus smirked. "A few pirates won't bring me down just yet."
Arch shook his head, heading towards the streets of Lys.
The latter were busy as could be, with people cluttering the streets, despite the large width of the Lysene avenues on the waterfront. Contrary to what the average Westerosi thought, Lys wasn't filled with whorehouses. On the large streets covering the parts closer to the city were many shops similar to the merchant quarter in Yronwood: bakeries, armories, stalls filled with fruit, vegetables and spices…the only difference with Yronwood was that in every stall, in every shop, there were people with collars or a sort of brand on their back or chest, their eyes heavy.
Cletus did his best to pay no mind to that, crossing into less busy streets on the outside of the port city, which houses the less fortunate, and some slave barracks. Then, the road wound towards a large ruined dome: the old dragonpit, a complex of ruins at the edge of the town that once served to house the dragons of the main houses of Valyria whenever they felt the need to stop on the island.
It was completely deserted, not a soul around, the pillars of grey and black stone covering multiple holes which could fit a man, or two…or several.
Sensing the danger, all unsheathed their weapons.
Cletus clutched his sword with both his hands, while standing as close as possible to Arch. One looked to the left, the other to the right.
"Quentyn might've been right once again…" Arch whispered.
"He's always right," Cletus scoffed. "I don't like this."
"I don't like this either."
Cletus had the eerie feeling of being watched, but from where? No one was in the rubble, they'd have known. But in this labyrinth, who knew where the potential foes would come from?
"I say we turn back," Ser Ryon suggested. "It was a waste of time, and we're likely heading right into the dragon's mouth, so to speak."
Indeed, before them, on the ground, was a huge statue of a dragon, broken into several pieces, including one which only showed the head and the terrifying mouth, staring right at them.
Suddenly, there was noise.
Behind the large statue, Cletus could see the figures of two men, slowly moving towards them.
In an instant, he signaled all the knights in the party, who immediately sensed the danger.
This was not a small girl, these were grown men, in armor! This was a trap, and they'd walked right into it, as usual…
Damn it, Cletus thought, might as well try to battle our way out of it.
He walked around the dragon's mouth, waited, and when the man on the other side had just finished clearing it, he charged into him.
Whilst Cletus charged the first man, the rest of the Dornish each attacked in turn. Fortunately, it seemed their attackers were as surprised as them. They were five, what luck!
Cletus immediately raised his sword to try and deal a blow to his opponent, sending him tumbling a few paces back.
Unfortunately, the man was skilled, too skilled. He absorbed the blow and stroked back, putting his weight behind the blow.
Cletus raged internally. How did he give this man the initiative when it was Cletus that surprised him first?
Trying not to lose control or patience, he parried his opponent's blows as best he could, doing his best to try to use the ruins as an advantage, pushing the enemy towards rocks that could destabilize him, with no luck.
Damn it, why do I have to take on the veteran? Cletus raged bitterly as Arch was doing a lot better.
With a cry, Cletus then took a rock and threw it at the man opposing him. Surprised by this maneuver, he let his guard down, which allowed Cletus to rush him and block him against the dragon statue, their swords clashing whilst both struggled to get out of the grasp of the other.
"You're the bastards who take pleasure in killing our men?" Cletus found himself asking, his face red with anger.
"Bastard!" his opponent spat. "You're the monsters who have been killing ours!"
"We've killed no one here…yet," Cletus said as he broke out of the man's grasp, trying to finish him off.
But the man was resistant, and did not let go.
"Killing unarmed men in brothels and inns, what a dishonourable way of doing things," his opponent taunted, "it's more difficult when your opponent has a sword in hand."
Cletus suddenly felt uneasy.
"I don't know what you are talking about." Cletus frowned. "You are the ones who slaughtered our men in the pleasurehouses, then sent them to us in pieces. And you lured us here with the little girl's letter so that you may kill our prince!"
Suddenly, the man stopped in his tracks, frowning.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Cletus Yronwood, why do you give a shit?"
"Parlay sir, if you will, I fear we've all been fooled." His opponent removed his helm, revealing long, silver hair. "My name is Monford Velaryon. I fear we're both looking for the same person."
The Exiled Seahorse
Monford was ruminating whilst the mood was sour amidst the men. Being reduced to a pirate was humiliation enough, but to a pirate hunted by someone was another layer to the blow to his pride.
At least, he thought, Driftmark and Dragonstone still stand. He'd made sure of that, having sunk anything the royals had larger than a cog in the Narrow Sea. There just remained the Dornish, Vale and Northern fleets to worry about, now. Not to mention the Redwynes went home just to get sunk by the Ironborn. One less worry…
He had the Spider to thank for that. He'd manage to buy his ransom after his capture at Storm's End. A valuable commander for Queen Shireen, sure, but to command what forces?
There remained little of King Stannis' host, a few ships and a couple thousand men. How could they stand up to the Tyrells and Lannisters? Sure, they had mastery over the seas, and efficient men to guide the Queen, but that was it.
There was the rumor of King Aegon, the deal that the Spider made with Lord Seaworth and the Queen…and then the death of the Spider and the Pentoshi merchant complicated everything.
Soon, they found themselves without anchor and without direction. The Spider had told them about King Aegon and negotiated an alliance, but never revealed his whereabouts.
Now…they were headless chickens, barely five hundred in all, raiding the Free Cities for ships and men, freeing slaves and bringing loot. What a life! If he was in his twenties, he would have found it enjoyable, but now…
All that mattered was ensuring that Driftmark would remain House Velaryon's domain…and he was tired of playing pirate and running around the Narrow Sea.
He'd left Monterys with Aurane and a part of the fleet, in order to defend their home, whilst Dragonstone was entrusted to the old Celtigar. Hopefully, they'd hold, but the news wasn't good…Dragonstone no longer gave any news and Aurane reported seeing ships bearing the Baratheon sigil docking in the harbor.
For Monford, there were two options now: go home, and try to defend Driftmark as best he could with his fleet, or try and reach Daenerys Targaryen, an option Queen Shireen categorically refused. Both were treason, and it gnawed at Monford desperately. And the rumored arrival of a Dornish fleet on the other side of the island did not arrange things.
"How many men did we lose?" Davos Seaworth, Hand of the Queen, asked the captains who came before him.
"Six in all, we fished one out of the ocean yesterday, barely recognizable," admitted one of them.
"Damn it all," Lord Seaworth sighed, "and the good news?"
"We might know who did it." One of the two men brought forth a small letter.
"Who gave this to you?" Queen Shireen asked, curious.
"A girl, not older than four-and-ten namedays," the man replied, "she said it had to be read by your grace only."
"Let's not be hasty." Ser Davos recommended, instead bringing a squire to open the letter, whilst he fetched gloves.
No poison was spread on the small parchment, which was handed to the Queen, who read it aloud.
It told that the girl was too afraid to come directly to them, and could not tell them in public. Instead, she would accept to talk to the Queen in person, at the dragonpit ruins.
"Do you think it's linked to the Dornish fleet?" Lord Bar Emmon asked.
"As far as I know, the Dornish don't even know we're here," Monford narrowed his eyes, "but I will tell you something else, your grace, this looks like a trap to me."
"I agree with Lord Velaryon," the hand acknowledged, "this is a perfect place for an ambush, and why would they specifically ask for you to come?"
"Thank you for your counsel, Lord Hand." Queen Shireen spoke, her voice filled with confidence despite her young age, "however, ambush or not, we must take this seriously."
"We cannot risk your presence there, your grace." Harien Celtigar, cousin to the current lord, intervened.
"I agree with Ser Harien," the lord Hand acquiesced, "this is too dangerous."
"But we are bleeding men," the Queen turned her eyes to the Onion Knight, "bleeding profusely, my lord. If there is a chance of knowing what happened, I'll find out…"
"You will do no such thing, your grace." Ser Davos shook his head, "but you may be right. We cannot dismiss this out of hand."
"I can take a few men with me." Monford proposed. "We can go to the ruins and find out what is happening there."
"They'll be expecting me." The Queen interjected. "I must go with you."
"We can find someone similar in stature somewhere," the Lord Hand was adamant, "we will not put you at risk, your grace."
The Queen sighed, but nodded.
"Very well, do as best you can, lord Hand."
"Lord Velaryon, take four men and see where this leads, but at the smallest sign of treason, you run without a fight, understood?" the Onion Knight looked him dead in the eyes, his gaze fixed with utmost seriousness.
"Understood." Monford nodded.
"I'm coming along," said Jonas Bar Emmon, holding Monford's shoulder, "I've been here this far."
Monford approved the request, smiling slightly. Jonas was the third son, but he also was a skilled fighter. He would be a great asset if things got out of hand.
With himself and Ser Jonas, Monford also selected Ser Harien Celtigar, Ser Iryan Storm and Kayn Massey, all competent fighters, except for Kayn Massey, a squire of nine, who would impersonate Queen Shireen under a disguise.
Arrived at the ruins of the old dragonpit, Monford couldn't help but shiver. The place had an eerie atmosphere, with its dark and light stones spread around as far as the eye could see.
More importantly, there laid several hiding places large enough to fit a man or two, ideal for an ambush. Everyone thus remained on guard, ready at the slightest occasion.
Then, rounding a tall dragon statue, Monford heard a cry, and a man appeared in front of him, sword drawn!
A trap! Of course, it was!
After overcoming the initial surprise, Monford did his best to regain the upper hand, pushing his opponent back, thus regaining the initiative.
But his opponent was good, too good, even. Young, faster, but inexperienced. This is what Monford could bet on. Slowly pushing him back, suddenly, Monford opened his eyes wide through the gaps in his helm.
His opponent had thrown a rock at him! He ducked, but thus lost the initiative as a blow pushed him towards a rocky structure.
He struggled whilst the opposing knight finally spoke for the first time:
"You're the bastards who take pleasure in killing our men?"
"Bastard!" Monford spat at the insult, how dare he! "you're the monsters who have been killing ours!"
"We've killed no one here…yet," the knight growled.
"Killing unarmed men in brothels and inns, what a dishonourable way of doing things," Monford replied while struggling to break the deadlock, "it's more difficult when your opponent has a sword in hand."
"I don't know what you're talking about," the man showed a tinge of a southern accent, "You're the ones who slaughtered our men in the pleasurehouses, then sent them to us in pieces. And you lured us here with the little girl's letter so that you may kill our prince!"
Suddenly, something in Monford's mind snapped. This seemed awfully similar to what they had been experiencing. And the last line…
"Who are you?" Monford asked.
"Cletus Yronwood, why do you care?" said his opponent, panting.
"Parlay, sir, if you will!" Monford suddenly pleaded, "I fear we've all been fooled."
His opponent relaxed his grip, taking a step back, but still pointing his sword at Monford. As a sign of goodwill, Monford sheathed his, removing his helm.
"My name is Monford Velaryon, I fear we're both looking for the same person."
His opponent lowered his sword, removing his helm, revealing his long, darker hair.
"We've received exactly the same letter ser. Our men have been killed just like yours have." Monford continued.
"Stop fighting!" Ser Cletus yelled, whilst Monford did the same.
It took some time for everyone to settle down, but in the end, there was no harm done. Ser Jonas had a broken wrist; Kayn Massey was bleeding from the elbow but would live. The Dornish had been hit too, albeit less severely.
"We've been fooled," Monford repeated, "someone wanted us to kill ourselves."
"But who?" Ser Cletus asked, confused.
Suddenly, there was movement behind one of the statues, and a small figure ran away.
"Seize this person!" Monford and Ser Cletus cried at the same time.
Ser Harien and one of the Dornishmen ran forward, quickly catching up to the small figure, who had tried to dash her way through the ruins.
Unfortunately, when they returned, it was with a limp body of a young girl, the same who had given them the letter.
"She took poison before we reached her," Ser Harien said with a sigh. "Was this the girl who gave you that letter?"
One of the Dornishmen rose up, clutching his wounded hand.
"Yes, that is her."
"Well, shit, this is going to be awkward to explain to the prince." One of the Dornishmen laughed, looking around. "What are you lot doing so far from home?"
"Serving our Queen," Ser Jonas answered, earning a stern look from Monford.
"Which one?" Ser Cletus raised an eyebrow. "Ours or another?"
"Who is yours?" Monford asked.
"Queen Daenerys." The Dornishman shrugged.
"Queen Shireen," Monford replied with difficulty. "But we may be allies, in a way."
Monford gambled it. If King Aegon existed, he had Martell blood, therefore the Dornish could know of his whereabouts.
"How so?" a huge man in the Dornish party stood up, his hammer in hand.
"We're looking for King Aegon, sixth of his name."
There were looks of embarrassment amongst the Dornish now. After a few hushed words, it was the oldest man of the Dornish knights, clad in Allyrion colors, who spoke,"you might want to come with us."
Nymeria
"This is great fun!" Nymeria laughed while Quentyn could hardly contain both his annoyance and relief.
"If I understand you correctly, Ser Davos." Quentyn sighed, brushing aside her remark. "You wish to meet King Aegon, for what purpose?"
"To pledge our swords to him," the bearded man replied simply. "We have long decided that bending the knee to a Targaryen king in exchange for his mercy is the best thing we could do."
Quentyn frowned at that, licking the bottom side of his lips.
"I see…" he finally let out, "and you think that we know where to find him?"
"Aye."
"Well, you are not wrong." Quentyn nodded in turn. "But how can we be sure that you mean well, Ser?"
"On my honor," the child-Queen spoke, with the confidence of a grown man, "we mean no harm to you or yours, Prince Quentyn."
Nymeria liked the little one. She had spirit, and more balls than many men. Although she did not have a weapon in hand, her wits were as sharp as any blade.
Quentyn seemed to have some affection for her, letting a small smile slip on his lips, before nodding.
"Very well, my lady, on your honor. I hope you take after your father in that regard."
This made some people wince, but neither Shireen Baratheon nor Davos Seaworth took offense, it seemed.
"If we are not friends, we are at least allies, I can consider that," Quentyn said, after a few moments thinking, "we have the same goal, to see King Aegon sit the throne. However, you must understand that Queen Daenerys is just as important to us."
"We see no reason not to agree." Ser Davos nodded.
"Then, we can have an agreement, we will lead you to King Aegon. Our fleet sets sail on the morrow, provided the winds are fair," Quentyn replied.
"For where?" Monford Velaryon, the silver-haired man, asked.
"Volantis," Nym let out, not leaving anyone to answer that.
"Daenerys Targaryen is converging on the city and it is there that King Aegon will meet us, as agreed upon." Quentyn nodded, confirming her answer.
"As allies." Ser Davos extended his arm, which Quentyn took, clasping it.
However, Quentyn did reach to whisper in the man's ear, which only she could hear,"don't get in my way, Onion Knight, or I'll see that you are scattered to the seven winds."
The old man made a face, but whispered something else in return,"we both want what is right, do we not? You have nothing to fear from me."
Quentyn nodded and the two of them unlocked their arms, taking back their respective seats.
"We found nothing about this girl you found at the dragonpit?" Quentyn asked in turn.
"Nothing, unfortunately, my prince." Ser Ryon shook his head. "No one knew her in the city, and she had nothing allowing us to identify her or her motives."
"She couldn't have done this alone." Lord Velaryon frowned. "Especially someone so young. There must be accomplices."
"I agree." Quentyn nodded. "Ser Ryon, make sure that we do not let down our guard during these last days in this death trap of a city."
"I will, my prince." Ser Ryon nodded.
With everyone filtering out of the room, from their interesting guests to the various Dornishmen, Quentyn went to lay a hand on Cletus Yronwood's shoulder.
"Good job out there." Quentyn smiled at him.
"Thank you," the Yronwood boy replied simply, "but I only did my duty."
"It doesn't matter why you did, it only matters that you did." Quentyn winked before heading towards the balcony, leaving the Yronwood boy to sulk for a bit.
Nymeria joined him outside, on a small balcony overlooking the city of Lys.
"It's a shame, I had hoped to at least visit a little of the city." Quentyn sighed.
"Visit Lys, you?" she laughed, looking in his brown-golden eyes.
"I meant, the mansions, the waterfront…" he blushed. "Although if you wanted to, I wouldn't mind…"
"Why would I want that?" Nym teased him whilst smelling the perfumed air of his hair, a smell of lavender from the Torentine valley. "I have you, I don't need more than that."
Quentyn smiled at her, his right eye twitching under the weight of his still visible scar. Both of them remained silent, looking at the city, before heading back to their rooms, a floor above.
Nymeria felt herself collapse on the bed, Quentyn following suit. It had been a long day, rich in emotions and discoveries, although not all of the mystery had been shed.
And then, there was Volantis. She just couldn't take her mind away from it. Excitement filled her, but also a deep fear.
Quentyn sensed that. He brought his hand towards her heart, bringing her head towards his.
"What's wrong?" he asked, worried, "you don't look well."
"I'm scared, Quent." Nymeria answered honestly. "About Volantis."
"Is it about…"
Nymeria nodded.
"Mother…" she let out, almost painfully. "I…hardly knew her. I've been to Volantis only two or three times, the last time almost ten years ago. I wonder what she thinks of me, and what will happen if Daenerys Targaryen takes that city. There have been rumors that…"
She preferred not to dwell on it, a lone tear going down her cheek.
"Shhh…" Quentyn wiped her tears, bringing her in his arms. "I won't let anything happen to your mother, even if it means facing down Queen Daenerys and her dragons."
"I…she's from the Old Blood, bastards are not well received…well not those born of the women of the Old Blood anyways," Nymeria confessed. "And besides, I was not born with silver hair. By all accounts, my mother should have refused to even acknowledge my existence, but…"
Nymeria took a deep breath.
"She's always been kind to me, even if her family was less so. They are one of the most important families of Volantis, and having a bastard even if it was with a prince of Dorne, was almost degrading for them. They did not acknowledge me, except for my mother. But even then, her family forbade her from seeing me more often. I know she would have loved to escape Volantis if she could. She doesn't deserve whatever fate the Dragon Queen has reserved for the slavers of Volantis."
"I know," Quentyn kissed her lips, tenderly, "I made a vow to you, remember? I said I would never let you down, and that my family was yours. Your mother means as much to you as she does to me. I will not let her burn, do you understand me, Nym?"
Nymeria's tears were rolling now, but she just nodded, wiping them off of her face.
"I'll kill all the Queen's Unsullied if I have to get to her." Nymeria clenched her fists slightly.
"And I'll be right beside you when you do," Quentyn whispered.
Nymeria turned to him, her eyes beaming with hope, as she clasped his face between her hands, bringing his lips to hers.
"I won't abandon you; I swear," she said, breaking the kiss.
"And I promise I will never make you choose between ambition and family," Quentyn replied. "I love you more than life itself, Nym, I will not let you go."
Nymeria showed a broad smile at those words, and kissed him fiercely, hugging him tight as if he was in danger of escaping her grasp. Finally, she let out a few words before losing herself with him.
"Neither will I."
A/N: You might think the Velaryon POV is redundant, but this chapter and the previous one really enforce the duality in similarities of two impossible situations. Arianne and Margaery had very similar openers, Cletus and Monford have a very similar opener as well.
