Madgizmo/kagne: To be fair, I never planned on writing the Others arc, because I have no idea what to do with them. Since we have little to no info on them in canon, it's impossible for me to find anything to do, especially in so little time.
Sage/Zeriame: Thanks!
Sirzuccs/Guest: I mean, the story is very close to ending anyways, barely 4-5 chapters till the "official" end and a few epilogues after that. This chapter was supposed to be a "special" 100th episode. In any case, there is still the wait of how things get to that point, and why. It was also an interesting writing experiment, to try to convey several mediums through text, as well as era biases (notably anti-Dornish sentiment for example).
Arianne
Arianne watched the ceremony from afar, sitting down on her chair, instead of standing up like the many other lords and ladies around her. Her pregnancy had forbidden her to stand, even in the presence of royalty.
Yet, she was living a historical moment. At least, from the point of view of the maesters who would write about it many years in the future.
This time, it was not to be in a small tent, or a field in the middle of nowhere or along the banks of the Mander.
Both sides met inside the walls of Tumbleton, in front of a curious crowd, curious to see so many high lords passing through their streets.
The ceremony took place on the main square, where benches for each side had been placed. In the middle, along the great fountain showing six fish spurting out water through their mouths, landing in an ankle-deep receptacle, were the banners of each side, facing each other. Targaryen, Martell, Arryn and Baratheon on one side, Stark and Tully on the other.
Arianne was well-placed, on the northern side of the square, and could see anything coming from the southern road.
Trumpets blew, and the crowd around her stood up.
Still clutching her belly, she did not do the same.
Besides her, though, the ladies stood up. Tyene by her side, in her most magnificent blue dress, and Lady Helyse Footly, the daughter of Lord Jason Footly, on the other side. A girl of nine, she had been the only Footly left, with Lord Jason perishing below the walls of Riverrun, while her elder brother, Marq, was lost at Kinrock.
Still, she wore a white and grey dress, and stood as tall as possible, trying to show no sign of weakness in front of the dragons.
Trumpets blew again, starting the slow procession of high lords through the streets of Tumbleton.
House Baratheon was first, with the young Lady Shireen riding her horse as proudly as possible, before being helped down by a man of a house Arianne did not recognize, though he was clearly old, with a grey and white beard, and with a most peculiar sigil: a white onion on a black ship.
House Arryn came next, with Lord Harrold Arryn looking completely distraught. His golden hair was well-kept, and he had chosen his best garb for the occasion, with a blue tunic showing the white falcons of House Arryn, but his face betrayed his real emotion: that of someone who on the previous day thought himself a winner, and on the morning was defeated, despite having lost no battle. Lord Royce, by his side, was in much higher spirits, and so was Lord Waynwood.
Following them was House Martell. Quentyn, all for appearances, had chosen his most beautiful sand steed, colored in orange and red reins, his sword by his side, and a golden-red tunic that showed the wealth of House Martell. He too, had a strained face. By all accounts, he should be joyful that the conflict had come to an end, but there was no joy in his features. And, unlike the Valemen, Lord Edric Dayne and Lord Franklyn Fowler shared his gloom.
The next to come, well, at the same time, were the Targaryens. Queen Daenerys rode first, on a pale mare, her hair braided in the Eastern style, with an armor not unlike that of Queen Visenya, and a small golden crown around her head. For a small figure, she was no less impressive. Especially with the two white knights following her.
King Aegon, though, was not in such good shape. Bandages covered most of his body, and he had to be helped off of his horse. Yet, he managed to walk, with a cane, but each step seemed like excruciating pain for the young boy. He, for his part, had not chosen to wear armor but a mere red and black tunic, along with his own sword and a small, dragon-crested golden crown atop his head.
The Starks and Tullys came from the other side. Jon and Edmure came side by side, in their most beautiful outfits. Jon had chosen one of grey and white, whilst Edmure had a purple-red tunic, both with their swords by their sides and sad smiles on their faces.
All dismounted, with Jon and Edmure moving towards the center, while silence accompanied their steps. Queen Daenerys waited along with King Aegon, still leaning on his cane, with a Kingsguard helping not far behind.
The tension was palpable, especially with the four high lords behind the two monarchs, standing straight and still, in a silence that could've struck anyone.
"Who goes there?" Queen Daenerys asked.
"A leal subject," Lord Edmure replied with a haughty air.
"Whom?" Queen Daenerys asked once again.
"Lord Edmure Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, servant of His Grace, King Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name," Edmure answered with a smile.
"And Prince Daeron Targaryen, regent for Jarl Rickon Stark of Winterfell, servant of Her Grace, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name," Jon said in turn, in an even tone.
King Aegon spoke softly, "Kneel and be accepted into the king's peace, then."
Both knelt, though, for Jon, it likely was excruciatingly painful to do so. If not physically, at least in his mind.
"I swear to be faithful to House Targaryen, to the King and Queen, and their heirs, from this day, until my last day, and from this generation, to all the generations to come. To them, I pledge my obedience, my sword and my lands. I swear to answer when called upon, and to serve the realm to the utmost of my abilities. I swear allegiance to House Targaryen, in perpetuity. This, I swear by earth and water, by bronze and iron, by ice and fire."
Both men spoke the oath at the same time, as clearly and loudly as possible.
"Rise, then. Welcome into the Dragon's peace. Nephew, we welcome the Kingdom of the North, and its new Princely overlords, House Stark, into the fold." Daenerys spoke loudly, for all to hear. "And you, Lord Edmure, we welcome the Kingdom of the Riverlands into the King's Peace, as well as its proud lord and new Hand of the King, Lord Edmure Tully."
"I am honored, Your Grace." Edmure smiled widely as he stood.
Jon did not say a word and just rose up, his head looking towards the ground, defeated.
As both monarchs and lord shook hands, a great cheer erupted around the square, with flowers raining down and sept bells ringing loudly.
It was done.
Peace had been achieved between the two largest warring factions, and with it, the last hopes for a Tyrell or Lannister sitting on the throne had been dashed. There was naught but a few garrisons standing between King's Landing and the allied army now.
"Peace…" Arianne breathed a sigh of relief.
There were a few other formalities, but the ceremony was mostly over. Now, came the feasting.
A large feast was prepared to celebrate the end of the war and the welcoming of houses Stark and Tully in the royal fold.
The day was, unlike the previous weeks, completely sunny, if not a little cold. Not a cloud to be seen in the sky…perfect for a celebration to take place outside.
Well, outside…it was a slight exaggeration.
Outside Lady Footly's inner walls, as to not impede the celebrations in the city proper, where they were taken after a few rounds in the city to make a little tour of the conquered place.
There would be no tourney, either, to celebrate such an occasion, though both King Aegon and Queen Daenerys promised Lady Footly to organize one once the war had been won, to which the young lady only blurted out a few words about how she was grateful for Their Grace's mercy and looked forward to it.
As for Arianne…well, she did not have much of an appetite. Instead, she sat down and discussed benign things with the few ladies present, notably the Dornish warriors, or few Reacher ladies present at the feast.
Though, the most intriguing moment came when Lady Shireen came to sit next to her.
"May I sit here, Princess?" she asked in a sweet voice. "My feet are tired."
"Of course, Lady Shireen." Arianne nudged a little bit over from the sofa that had been prepared for her.
Arianne stared at the young girl. She had to be about three-and-ten, with long, black, hair, a square jaw which reminded her of Quentyn's, large ears, but, most striking, grey and black stony skin along her left cheek, remnants of Greyscale.
"It's exciting, no?" Shireen asked. "To wed a Prince?"
"Jon was not a prince when I met him." Arianne smiled. "I never thought of him as such."
"Well, if you are a princess, then he would be a prince regardless? Father told me that when I shall be Queen, my husband shall be a prince. Wouldn't it be the same for you?" Shireen asked.
"Well, in a way…" Arianne chuckled, for once at a loss for words, "But yes, I am excited."
"Indeed, a Targaryen, dragon-rider…" Shireen lost herself in her thoughts for a second. "I am glad. Any lady would be jealous of you."
"I am lucky to have such a fine husband, I agree. Jon is a good man."
"By Jon, you mean Prince Daeron, right?"
"Yes, pardon me, my lady, Prince Daeron," Arianne corrected herself.
"I think all the ladies are swooning over him. He's pretty, with his grey eyes and dark hair. But King Aegon is prettier. His silver-blonde hair and purple eyes are truly dazzling," Shireen said dreamily.
"I much prefer dark brown," Arianne replied.
"I think that as long as both are dragons, many ladies would not care." Shireen shrugged. "Dragons are wonderful to dream about for many."
"Would you have liked to wed a dragonrider, then?" Arianne asked.
"Me?" Shireen looked at her with wide eyes. "No! No, the dragons…they hunt me in my dreams. I have dreams of them coming to eat me, ever since I was a child. I have dreams of fire and dust…it is not pleasant, Princess."
"I am sorry." Arianne tried to be sympathetic. "Nightmares are no fun thing to deal with."
"These nightmares…they didn't feel like it. They felt real," Shireen confessed. "I could feel their fangs sinking in my skin, the flames burning my flesh. I woke my mother and father more than once, screaming. It all felt real, but when I awoke, there was nothing. Just the stony skin on my cheek and a few drops of sweat on my forehead."
Arianne stared blankly at her, dumbfounded.
"Therefore, no, Princess, dragons are not for me." Shireen shook her head. "I do not wish for more than a husband who can assist me the best he can, that is it. But, sorry, I must be boring you with my stories."
"Not at all, my lady." Arianne offered the girl a reassuring smile. "It is not common to see a lady as small as you show enough courage to stand besides the Targaryens and show herself to be so proud and fierce."
"Thank you." Shireen smiled back before looking out the window, into the quickly gathering night. "I must leave you, it is almost time for me to go to bed. If I do not go, Lord Davos will be upset with me. Good night, Princess."
"Good night, Lady Shireen."
Arianne looked on as the small lady, who had been Queen for a few months, left the room.
She looked around, seeing people eating and dancing. On the corner of her eye, she could see Jon talking with a few northern lords. It must be said that in the last few days, that was the only thing he had done, going from one lord to the next to explain what had happened and what would be in their future.
As she looked on, she failed to see Quentyn arrive from the other side.
"Sister." He bowed slightly. "How are you faring tonight?"
"Tired." Arianne sighed, beckoning him to sit. "Pregnancy has taken a toll, though I bear it better than expected."
"It was either bravery or foolishness to decide to come all the way over here, whilst carrying a child." Quentyn looked at her with sad eyes.
"I could not let Jon go off to war without me," Arianne replied simply.
"It seems like you have found a good match. Princess of Summerhall, married to the heir to the throne…" Quentyn chuckled. "In another world, you might have been married anyways."
"I had thought of that too." Arianne smirked "It is odd how fate unites people."
"I'm glad you found someone to love." Quentyn nodded. "I would not wish for anyone to be lost in his life without ever finding the one that possesses the key to your heart."
"A sad fate indeed…" Arianne sighed. "And you, how are you faring? You look…disappointed."
Quentyn stared at her blankly, and just let himself fall down, into the cushions of the sofa.
"I'm just tired," Quentyn confessed. "Tired of this game I have to play. Tired of having to try to convince a child that some games are not worth it, and that, sometimes, making pride concessions is the best thing to do to avoid a bloodbath."
"I take it that you were involved in Queen Daenerys' decision to agree to Jon's terms?" Arianne asked.
"Hah." Quentyn scoffed. "In just three days, I have thought about six-and-ten different treasons on about each side. Just the day before, during the dragon battle, I almost turned my cloak, but I have said too much…"
"No." Arianne looked at him in the eyes. "What did you mean to do?"
"Swear it on your child's life than you shall not tell a soul," Quentyn warned.
"I swear it on my child's life. But what did you do?" Arianne now asked, increasingly worried.
"More like what I did not do." Quentyn sighed. "I had positioned my army to betray Queen Daenerys, should Aegon die. The Valemen would have been cut down, along with the Stormlanders, should they have tried to give battle."
"What?" Arianne looked at him, trying to find if he was jesting, but found nothing to indicate so. "And what of Queen Daenerys? The Iron Throne? The Others?"
"I would've kept Queen Daenerys hostage in Dorne. And for the throne, I would have supported the only man who cares more than I about making a united front against the Others."
Arianne's face went white.
"You can't be serious."
Quentyn smiled back at her.
"I would have made you Queen."
"I never wished to be," Arianne hissed.
"Not when you had Dorne…but now? You cannot tell me that the thought of being Queen does not appeal to you." Quentyn shot back.
"My thoughts are irrelevant on the matter. You risked it," Arianne whispered, trying not to be heard.
"When I saw Rhaegal fall from the sky, the green dragon collapse on the ground, I had almost ordered it out of spite." Quentyn narrowed his eyes at her. "But I stood firm, and chose to wait. I could not believe that Daenerys had…squandered away two dragons and a very capable ruler. No, I would have turned. Aegon was always what kept me loyal. Daenerys was only useful to me because of her small claim and, more importantly, her dragons. Nothing else."
Arianne looked worryingly around the room, trying to see if they were not heard, but found no one to be seen.
"And with Aegon dead, the Golden Company would have also lost faith. He is the true King that I support." Quentyn shook his head. "If Daenerys had lost her dragon too, then she became worthless to me. I need the realm united against the Others, not bickering about whose fault it was for the killing of nobles years ago, and who should have what privileges."
"There lies the problem, she has a dragon. How would you have reacted if she still had a dragon and Aegon died?" Arianne asked.
Quentyn bit his lip, taking a moment to answer.
"I'm not sure," he confessed. "I would've mayhaps just tried to convince her that it was over, and if not…taken the measures that would have been right in this situation. In any case, Queen Daenerys ruling without King Aegon was unthinkable."
"I heard you resigned your position of Master of Coin as well," Arianne commented.
"And Queen Daenerys can now wish good luck on whoever will finance her campaign, because it will not be me." Quentyn laughed. "One dragon killed, one crippled and may never fly again, and two injured. No, truly, the winners of that day were the dead. And for that, I do not care who sits the throne. I care just that we can defeat the Others, save the world, go back to Dorne and stay there. I'm done fighting."
"I fear that we all have just started, as a matter of fact." Arianne sighed.
"Please, do not get me started." Quentyn winced. "I am as scared for the war against the Others as you, but at least I have stockpiled Dragonglass like I was hoarding gold. We know what hurts them, we know where they will be coming from, and, thanks to your husband-to-be, there is a proper line of defence ready to welcome them."
Arianne scoffed. "You are more optimistic than I am." "Because if I am not, the alternative is much worse." Quentyn shook his head. "I am hopeful that Winter and Drogon will soon take to the skies again. Their injuries are minor. As for Rhaegal, we will see, but in the worst of cases, he will stay on Dragonstone."
"You always have a plan, haven't you?" Arianne smiled.
"I wouldn't call it a plan, but, yes, I do my utmost to be prepared for everything."
"And your wedding, I shall hope I will get an invitation too, after Jon and I are wed?" Arianne asked. "I do hope you have a plan for that too?"
"Oh, but dear sister, I am already married." Quentyn half-smiled.
"To Nymeria?" Arianne scoffed. "Come now, brother, you and I both know that even if you both think to be wed, you are not in front of the Seven."
"Not her, no." Quentyn shook his head. "But if I tell you now, it would ruin the surprise. I promise you that it is well worth your while."
Arianne gave a very unladylike snort."Your surprises always have a sour turn…"
"Not all…" Quentyn smiled as he stood up. "Not all…"
"Leaving already?" Arianne asked.
"I'm afraid I promised someone that I would be theirs and only theirs tonight," Quentyn replied slyly. "Good night, sister. Shall I send for Jon to help you?"
"He will be here soon enough." Arianne shook her head. "I will stay a little bit longer."
"As you wish." Quentyn turned away, but Arianne interrupted him with one last question.
"Oh, one more thing, Quent. Jon always told me that the best swords had names. What did you call your own?" she asked without a second thought.
"Oh, well, us Martells love the sun, and hope it is never blocked," her brother said. "As such, my blade is named Sunrise, of course."
