Happy new year, y'all! I'm back! I didn't mean to take so long, but there was some serious rewriting going on. You may thank Queen KK for this chapter. I was all ready to cut my losses with Dorne, kill some Sand Snakes, and move on as painlessly as possible, but she asked me to do Dorne the justice the show did not. I can't resist an appeal to book purism, so after painstaking research and too many lists of pros and cons and who goes where, three months have gone by and here you go.
Show Dorne never happened in this universe. Jaime wasn't there (he was in the Riverlands), Arianne exists, and Doran and Trystane are alive. While Cersei was a prisoner of the Faith, Arianne Martell tried a harebrained scheme to make Myrcella queen instead of Tommen, and instead, a rogue Dornish knight tried to kill 'Cella to provoke a war. So poor Myrcella is not dead, but she's scarred, her mother believes she's dead, and Tyrion is understandably pissed off. We're going with book Dorne, or at least, as close as we can go without introducing Young Gryff, the Golden Company, and a possible Blackfyre threat. I'm not GRRM and I'm not going to try to include his 10,000,000,000 plot threads.
If you hate all things Dornish, don't panic. A story that focuses on House Stark and the North won't have a lot of room for Dornish scheming, but Dany had to land somewhere and Dorne made more sense than Dragonstone. We'll return to Winterfell for the next chapter, and then hang on to your breastplate nipples, because all hell will break loose.
AEMON THE DRAGONWOLF
Part 3 - Banishing Nightmares
Dany I
Dany woke with a jolt. She'd gone to sleep in her cabin on the flagship of her fleet, but a rough wave had sent her tumbling off the side of her bed. Ignoring the ache in her shoulder and hip, Dany stood and walked unsteadily to the porthole. Though it looked to be an hour or two after dawn, the sky was gray and the sea was churning violently. Far above the fleet, she could see her dragons soaring, free at last.
The Queen of Meereen sighed in annoyance. They had been sailing for almost five weeks. Moving this many soldiers took quite a bit of supplies, and her Greyjoy sailors had steered them well away from the ruins of Valyria, slowing down the fleet and forcing them to stop and resupply in Volantis and Lys. Though some of her Dothraki had adjusted well to crossing the Narrow Sea, many of her riders had succumbed to seasickness, and lay on their hammocks, weak and miserable, waiting for the journey to end. Their horses were suffering, as well; they looked thin and woebegone, and were constantly nervous.
Dany dressed in a deep red Meereenese gown. Though she had not worn Targaryen colors often in Essos, her Hand had insisted that her Westerosi allies would expect it. She was a dragon returning home, and she meant to look like one. She called her handmaidens into the room and ordered them to re-braid her hair, closing her eyes and ignoring the familiar pulling sensation in her scalp.
The Greyjoy siblings and her Hand sat in the council chamber when she entered, along with Missandei, Grey Worm, and her khals. All looked worse for wear except for the Ironborn.
"How much longer until we reach Sunspear?" Dany asked, taking her seat.
"If the storm lets up, we may arrive before sunset, your grace," answered the Queen of the Ironborn. "If not, we will dock on the morrow."
"Good," Lord Tyrion said, straightening in his chair with a theatrical groan. "I've had as much sailing as I can stand, and our meeting in Sunspear will be quite interesting."
His expression turned dark, no doubt remembering the news the Spider had brought from Sunspear. Dany's Master of Whispers had told them of an attempt to kill Myrcella Baratheon to force Dorne into war, an attempt that had left the girl scarred and terrified, and her cousin (and body double) dead.
Varys attempted to soothe him. "Prince Doran assures me that your niece's attackers will never hurt another child, Lord Hand," he said, quite serious. "and Prince Trystane cares deeply for the Princess Myrcella; he has sworn to wed her, despite her unfortunate disfigurement."
The Imp choked on his ever-present wine.
"Take a look at what unfortunate disfigurement looks like, you cockless wonder," Tyrion spat viciously, pointing to his own face. "Feeding Gerold Dayne to the scorpions won't heal my niece's face, or bring back Lady Rosamund, and it won't comfort Myrcella now that she knows how insane her mother is!" he finished with a shout, standing and throwing his goblet at the wall. "My sister heard the news and burned down half of King's Landing and made herself queen! If Myrcella keeps even a shred of her innocence, I'll eat my breastplate."
"Sit down, Lord Tyrion," Dany commanded, firm despite her own misgivings. Her Hand had confessed, one long, stormy night on the ship, that he'd sent Myrcella to Dorne in an attempt to save her from the war, forgetting that the Dornish hated Lannisters. With just one dishonorable knight, Tyrion's niece had lost her ear, her beauty, and her trust in the goodness of human nature. Not even Joffrey had done so much damage.
"I will trust in Lord Doran's justice," she added, "unless he proves an unworthy ruler to his people."
Dany turned to the Greyjoys expectantly.
They unrolled a large map of southern Westeros, plotting the current position of the fleet. Then they added the position of other fleets and ground forces; Lord Theon and Queen Yara had last seen their uncle Euron on the Iron Islands, but since then they'd sailed east to Slaver's Bay, and now they had returned west. Lord Varys fretted about the Ironborn forming an alliance with Cersei Lannister; Euron Greyjoy had had enough time to do so, especially by raven, and he certainly had the ambition.
"Who rules the Stormlands?" asked Dany, still unsure about the region.
"I don't know," her Hand replied, rubbing a hand across his scarred, ugly face. "Stannis Baratheon followed his Red Priestess to the Wall and took a few thousand with him, but the rest were defeated at the Battle of Blackwater and never rose again. Lord Estermont bent the knee to Joffrey and was a guest at the wedding," he added darkly. "He's one of the men who testified against me, so he may have received the title of Lord Paramount for his efforts."
"Lord Estermont would be a natural choice to rule the Stormlands, though my little birds told me nothing of use about him," Lord Varys said. "The other lords might have protested while Stannis and Shireen Baratheon were still alive, but they met a rather shocking end in the North."
"How so?" Dany asked, raising an eyebrow. Her focus had been on the Ironborn and Cersei Lannister; the Usurper's dour younger brother had been no concern of hers until now.
"He marched his army to Winterfell and got stuck in a blizzard," Tyrion explained. "His Red Witch convinced him to sacrifice his daughter so the Lord of Light would melt the snows and give him victory over the Boltons. He burned that poor girl alive, or so we heard," he finished, shuddering, "and the snows didn't melt, nor did he win. His men deserted in droves before the battle, and went south as soon as they could find enough ships. A few of them passed through the Free Cities, and the story spread."
"That poor girl," sighed the Spider. From what Tyrion had told Dany, Varys had more reason than most to fear and hate witches and sorcerers. Dany shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The Red Priests and Priestesses of Essos were all too happy to preach in her favor, but she wanted no children sacrificed in her name.
"Let's move on," the queen ordered. She pointed to the Riverlands. "What is happening here?"
"Under Lannister control," Tyrion said promptly. "As a reward for butchering Northmen under guest right, Lord Walder Frey is now Lord Paramount of the Trident. The Freys can't hold that position without help, however, so Lannister troops ride to the rescue as needed."
"The Late Lord Frey will not oppose you, your grace," Lord Varys reassured Dany. "He's famous for siding with the winners, and begging your pardon, three dragons and an army of Unsullied, Dothraki, Reachmen, and Dornishmen will look like winners."
"He's not a very helpful ally, however," Tyrion said, "unless you need to cross his bridge to invade the North. And that would be an incredibly stupid move in winter."
Dany caught a haunted, guilty look on Theon Greyjoy's face, and chose to ignore it. Her Hand and her Spider had told her much of the man, and she knew he'd betrayed Robb Stark, the so-called King in the North, only to be caught by the Boltons and tortured for years. If the mere mention of Walder Frey made him squirm, so be it. It would be a reminder of the price of betrayal, should he get any ideas.
She leaned back until her spine touched the cushioned back of her chair.
"Will Prince Doran truly follow me, Lord Varys, when one could suggest his son's death was my fault?"
"Prince Doran is a clever man, your grace," the eunuch told her. "He cannot blame you for his son's foolishness, once the situation has been explained to him."
Dany tapped her fingertips against the arm of her chair. Marring her arrival in Westeros with the announcement of her host's son's death was not ideal. Despite her advisers' opinions, she still doubted. Prince Doran had lost his sister, niece, and nephew because of Rhaegar's madness and lust, or so the tales said. Now he'd lost his eldest son to her Rhaegal. Were the Lannisters so terrible that Doran preferred Daenerys and her children to them?
There was nothing she could do, despite her doubts. They would be in Sunspear soon, and she must present a queen's facade—bold, unafraid, and above all, happy to be home among her people.
With a sigh, Dany turned the conversation to the Vale of Arryn.
When they finally arrived, Dany disembarked with all the pomp and circumstance of a seasoned queen. Her healthiest Unsullied formed straight columns and marched as one, forming a shield around the silver queen, her companions, and their horses. Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys were resplendent in silk robes of crimson and plum, respectively. Even Missandei dazzled in a yellow gown that made her dark skin glow. The Greyjoys wore more practical clothing, but the kraken of their house shone brightly against the dark leather and mail. Daenerys herself glittered in a red and black riding gown. The small gems and heavy embroidery on the bodice and split skirt weighed her down, but Dany ignored this.
Behind them walked the captains of the Ironborn, and last of all came the healthiest of the Dothraki, their horses' manes shining as the last rays of sun struck them. The Dornish had come in droves to meet the fleet, and were waving lanterns and colorful flags as they cheered and sang. It was, Dany thought ruefully, the sort of welcome her brother had been told to expect.
All of the noise died as Dany's children appeared, far above the crowd. Dany prayed that her dragons would not choose this moment to come down and feed, and a knot of nerves formed in her belly. It did not leave her until they had passed the Threefold Gate and entered the Old Palace. The dragons seemed to have spotted a courtyard or garden inside the palace, because they circled lower and disappeared behind the palace wall. Dany sighed in relief, glad that no Dornish smallfolk would bring charred bones to her tonight.
For the first time in her life, Daenerys Targaryen looked up at the Spear Tower and the Tower of the Sun, with the ugly old Sandship between them. Viserys had not known much about Dorne, choosing instead to rave about the rebels' murder and rape of Princess Elia and the slaughter of their niece and nephew. Dany suddenly realized just how little she knew of the country she meant to rule. The thought was not comforting, especially now, when she could see Dornish nobles waiting at the base of the Tower of the Sun.
Daenerys dismounted and her companions followed suit. Quickly, stablehands appeared out of nowhere to take the reins of their horses, leaving the queen free to walk the rest of the way. The men and women she passed bowed gracefully. Dany approached the only man who remained sitting; it was Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne.
"Welcome, your grace," he said kindly. "Forgive me if I do not stand; I have recently returned from the Water Gardens, and the journey has tired me greatly."
"There is nothing to forgive, Prince Doran," Dany replied politely. "It was good of you to invite us."
"This is my daughter, the Princess Arianne," her distant cousin replied, motioning for the woman standing with him to step forward. She bowed slightly in a swirl of orange silks and clinking bracelets.
"Queen Daenerys, greetings," Arianne said, giving Daenerys a wide smile. She was at least eight years Dany's senior, but shorter and with a womanly body that left Dany feeling like a child. Her cousin's voice was kind and pleasantly husky, peppered with the Rhoynish drawl of the salty Dornishmen. "It is a pleasure to have you among us at last. My father and I offer you the hospitality of Dorne," she added, picking up a silver plate of bread from a servant. "Please, do eat of our bread and salt."
Dany took a piece, sprinkled salt on it, and ate. Her advisers followed her example, passing the plate back until it had reached Theon Greyjoy. It was odd to do this in full view of the entire Dornish court, but Dany supposed she could not blame them for being curious.
"Let us go inside," Prince Doran suggested, "and I shall introduce you to your loyal subjects, your grace."
The throne room inside the tower held twin seats on a dais; one bore the golden sun of the Rhoynar, and the other the spear of the Martells. Prince Doran's bodyguard wheeled his chair in front of the former, while his daughter took the other seat. Daenerys sat on the chair prepared for her, a cushioned affair draped in red and black, and watched the nobles filing in, trying to guess who they were from Tyrion's and Varys' information. Unlike most children of kings and Lords Paramount, Dany had never memorized the sigils and words of every house. She and Viserys had not had a Citadel-trained maester to teach them such things.
"Welcome, all," said the Prince of Dorne, once they had all been seated. "It is my great pleasure to welcome my cousin, Queen Daenerys, to Dorne at last. I know I speak for many of us when I say we have long awaited this moment."
"Hear, hear," shouted several nobles.
"If you would permit it, your grace," Doran said politely in his Dornish drawl, "I will present my lords, and your loyal subjects."
Dany nodded in agreement. She was getting hungry, and a delicious, spicy scent of food was wafting into the room from elsewhere, but the niceties must be observed. On her right, Tyrion's hands twitched nervously on his lap.
"This is Lord Anders Yronwood, the Bloodroyal and Warden of the Stone Way," the prince began, and a weathered, golden-haired man bowed promptly. "His daughter, Lady Ynys, and her husband, Ser Ryon Allyrion. And this young man is Ser Ryon's son, Ser Daemon Sand. Ser Daemon is one of the finest swordsmen in Dorne, and was squire to my late brother, Prince Oberyn. He serves as my daughter's sworn shield these days."
A terrible grief stole over the prince's tired visage. It was enough to distract Dany from the very handsome face of the Bastard of Godsgrace, a distraction she sorely needed. When the knight, his father, and his father's wife had straightened from their bows, she'd caught a glimpse of beautiful blue eyes and a roguish smile.
"Lord Franklin Fowler, Warden of the Prince's Pass, and his daughters, Lady Jeyne and Lady Jennelyn."
The girls were obviously twins, a rarity in the world, and a rarity in Dorne with their bright yellow hair—though perhaps, not as rare as Dany had first thought. There were several fair-haired, and even blue- or purple-eyed lords and ladies in the room.
"Lady Alyse Ladybright, my diligent Lord Treasurer."
"Lord Quentyn Qorgyle of Sandstone and his son, Ser Gulian."
"Lord Trebor Jordayne of the Tor."
"Lady Edwylla Wyl of the Boneway."
"Lady Larra Blackmont, and her daughter, Lady Jynessa."
"Lord Tremond Gargalen of Salt Shore."
"Lord Dagos Manwoody of Kingsgrave."
"Lady Allyria Dayne, representing Starfall in her nephew's stead until his return."
Lady Dayne was another breathtaking beauty, with her crow's wing hair and stunning purple eyes. Dany wondered what her lord and nephew could be doing that was more important than meeting his queen, and then dismissed the thought. The boy was probably squiring for a knight in some distant corner of the kingdom, and the raven had not reached him in time.
"Lord Harmen Uller of Hellholt, and his daughter, Ellaria Sand."
The late Prince Oberyn's paramour was a striking woman in orange silk, more captivating than beautiful, and as dark as Lady Allyria was fair. Her dark brown eyes were friendly and open, and shone as brightly as the jewels pinned to her hair.
"Lady Ellaria is mother to four of my eight nieces, but they are young girls yet," the Prince of Dorne added. "Should you wish it, they will be delighted to meet you at a later time, your grace."
"I would be happy to meet them," Dany agreed politely. She had never dealt much with others' children; even if she'd had the inclination, it was a painful reminder that she would never have babes of her own. But she must appear approachable to her new subjects, and this was only the beginning.
"My brother's eldest daughters are with us, however. This is Obara Sand," he introduced, and a large woman in her thirties bowed respectfully. She wore a tunic and breeches that fitted her well, and carried a spear with the ease of one trained with it. "Nymeria Sand," her half-sister bowed. They were night and day; Obara stocky and mannish where Nymeria was slim and beautiful, though Dany suspected the younger of the two was no less deadly. "And Tyene Sand." The third sister was golden-haired and blue eyed. "Sarella, the next oldest, is away from home at the moment."
Once Doran had introduced every relative and representative of his noble houses, he introduced the few that remained unnamed—the landed knights, and sometimes their children. Dany saw her Hand tapping his hand impatiently against the side of his chair, and wished they were seated at a table. It would have been easier to kick him without drawing attention that way!
"I am grateful, cousin," Dany said diplomatically. "I'm sure we shall have many years of friendship between the Iron Throne and Dorne in the future, and I will remember who stood beside me on the first day. I would beg a favor on behalf of my Lord Hand, however. Lord Tyrion is very eager to see his niece, and we have heard nothing of her since we sailed from Meereen."
The smiles dimmed.
"Princess Myrcella is resting in her chamber," Doran replied finally. "My own maester, Caleotte, is watching over her, as is my son Trystane. Ser Daemon will take you to her directly, Lord Tyrion."
The handsome bastard led the way, and Dany's Hand waddled after him.
"What has been done with the girl's attackers?" Daenerys asked.
"Ser Gerold Dayne and his accomplices will never harm another being," Lady Allyria said icily.
"Oh?" Dany prodded.
"There is an old punishment that the arriving Rhoynar adopted from the native Dornishmen," Lady Blackmont spoke up. "Any man who strikes a princess of the royal house shall be buried up to the neck in the most inhospitable part of the desert. Between the scorpions, the sun, and the thirst, Ser Gerold lived for less than two days."
"Lady Myrcella is not a princess of House Martell, strictly speaking," Lord Gargalen added with a quirk of the eyebrows, "but she is betrothed to a Martell. We thought it fitting, especially since the fiend did more than strike the poor girl."
Daenerys fought a shudder. She was sure that Gerold Dayne had earned every bit of his punishment, but she couldn't help but feel a bit of sympathy for him—and anyone—doomed to such a fate. It had been years since she had trekked across the red waste with three newborn dragons, but she could still remember wasting away to nothing in that terrible, empty land, and the relentless thirst that could make the bravest man despair.
"Come, your grace," Princess Arianne said brightly, pulling Dany out of her unpleasant memories. "We have a mighty feast prepared, to cheer us all before we discuss heavy subjects like war, vengeance, and winter. If you would like to dress for dinner, we shall reconvene in two hours."
Daenerys allowed her distant cousin to lead her to her chambers, with Missandei following. The suite of rooms she'd been given were handsome and furnished in vivid color, but nothing at all like her rooms in Meereen. The sun and spear motif on every wall was an unnecessary reminder that she was now in southern Westeros, and would sleep in her native land for the first time since her birth.
"I'm home," Dany said quietly to Missandei, once the Princess of Dorne had excused herself.
Missandei smiled. "You are indeed, your grace."
Someone had left her gowns in the Dornish style. They were fit for royalty, but too long and narrow to belong to Princess Arianne; Dany supposed Varys had given her hosts an estimate of her size. Though she'd brought along plenty of gowns, Dany knew it would please Prince Doran more if she went native tonight, and it would save her handmaidens the trouble of pressing all the travel-creases out of her own gowns while she bathed.
She chose a sleeveless purple and gold samite confection, with a matching cape that was more for decoration than warmth, and beaded golden sandals. Her maids brushed and re-plaited her silver tresses, and carefully placed her most delicate crown over the styled hair. As a finishing touch, they found a bottle of scent in the room. The moment her handmaiden uncorked the bottle, Dany was transported to her happiest childhood memories, of Braavos and the house with the red door. The smell of lemon blossoms was unmistakable.
She dabbed some of the perfume on each wrist and at her neck, then left her rooms for the banquet hall. Servants in Martell livery guided her and Missandei, who looked very nice in her own Dornish-style gown of bright turquoise, though there was no need. Dany simply followed her nose.
The banquet was a long parade of delicious dishes; some were spicy, some sweet, and some were both. The mood was jubilant, and Dany wondered how much of that was due to her own presence, and how much was just the natural high spirits of the Dornish. It seemed like tempting fate to celebrate, when her grand army had not been tested against the might of the Lannisters. But there was no doubt that the Dornish could throw a party; Dany had never heard music so lively in her life, even among the Dothraki!
There could be no discussion of death or war in this setting. The war for Westeros lurked in the clever, observant eyes of Prince Doran, and the frowns of Lord Tyrion, but now was not the time to speak of it. Dany's Hand sat next to a pretty, golden-haired girl that must be his niece, Myrcella. She had styled her hair to one side, to hide the missing ear, and she bore an ugly scar on her face, but she seemed happy enough. A besotted Prince Trystane sat on her other side, and was so sweet and solicitous for his betrothed that it made Dany's teeth hurt.
Tyrion Lannister had told her much of his sister, a woman as cruel as she was beautiful. Dany looked carefully at Myrcella, trying to imagine an older, crueler version of her, but it was difficult. Myrcella did not look vicious in the slightest, despite being sister to a brother who had once tortured cats, and later women. It was a relief, thought Dany, that she would never have to meet Joffrey Baratheon, a mad king without any Targaryen blood to explain his lunacy. She owed Olenna Tyrell a great debt.
Dany sat between Prince Doran and Lord Yronwood. Neither man was feeling talkative tonight, though the queen knew it was not for lack of thinking. She'd been warned by both of her Westerosi advisers that Doran was a man who plotted much more than he spoke, and that mountains would fall and seas dry up before Doran Martell ran out of patience. The man had planned his revenge for over twenty years; he could certainly wait a few more hours, and Dany would have to do the same. At the very least, she had tasty new dishes to make the wait enjoyable.
The jolly atmosphere of the feast had dissipated entirely by the next morning. When Dany entered Prince Doran's solar, she saw serious faces and even sober clothing (by Dornish standards). Princess Arianne and Prince Trystane sat on either side of their father, while the prince's bodyguard kept watch behind his seat. Many of the nobles the prince had presented to her were present; the lords and ladies, if not their younger heirs. Lady Ellaria was there with her father, and so were Prince Oberyn's eldest daughters. Of Dany's party, she had brought along Missandei, the Greyjoys, Grey Worm, and Tyrion. Varys, so used to the shadows, flitted about the edges of the room.
Dany sat on the cushioned chair provided for her. She'd hoped for a private audience with Prince Doran, so they could discuss Quentyn without so many people listening, but it seemed that would have to wait. She was sure Varys would have said something, but she'd be a fool to trust the Spider. According to Tyrion Lannister, it was Varys who had turned her father against Rhaegar, and Varys who had informed the Usurper of her movements. The eunuch had his uses, but Dany would never depend on him as her father had done.
Prince Doran was not loud, but when he began to speak, there was utter silence among his court.
"Some of you have urged me to take action for years," he said quietly. "You have advised me, begged me, even, to avenge my sister and her children by going to war with the Usurper and his Lannister allies. Some of you believed me as weak in mind as I am in body; a craven who did not stir even at the expense of his family."
A few bowed their heads in shame, Princess Arianne included.
"I suppose it was my own fault. I did not take many of you into my confidence, because a treasonous plot known by everyone is a death sentence for all. But there was a plot, and it has been refined and revised as the years went by and new information reached my ears."
The prince paused for breath.
"I know many of you have wondered why my Arianne remains unwed; the truth is that I had planned to marry her to Prince Viserys since his flight to the east. Years later, it became clear to me that this could not be," he added, with an apologetic glance at Dany, "but the plot evolved; Quentyn, I thought, could marry the Princess Daenerys, the last Targaryen."
Dany thought his emphasis on last was a bit strange, even callous, but no one else seemed to notice. A tear fell from Princess Arianne's eye at the mention of her brother, and Prince Trystane bowed his head.
"Quentyn ran afoul of Her Grace's dragons," he said, to gasps from his court. "As a father, I am devastated. As a plotter, I should regroup from the loss and break Trystane's betrothal to Myrcella, to offer him to Queen Daenerys as a husband."
Dany's heart sank, and the younger prince looked at his father in horror. He was comely enough, Dany supposed, but he was younger than herself—a difference heightened by her years as ruling queen—and besotted with another! Surely his father would not be so cold?
"But I will not," the Prince said quickly. "There has been little happiness in recent years; I will not sacrifice my last remaining son's happiness for the hope of vengeance, even if Her Grace found him acceptable. We are kin, albeit distant," he added, "and we could form an alliance even without this marriage."
"Certainly," Dany replied, realizing that the prince and his court were all waiting for her to say something. "My family has broken enough betrothals," she added with an internal wince, thinking of her brother and Lyanna Stark. "And if you wish to see Cersei Lannister removed from the throne she usurped, that makes us natural allies."
Lord Yronwood smiled. It was a smile that promised pain to any Lannister men that crossed his path.
"Then our spearmen are at your disposal, your grace," Prince Doran said, giving her a half-bow from his chair. "My agents in King's Landing tell me that Cersei Lannister has formed an alliance with Euron Greyjoy," he informed them, and Queen Yara grimaced. "His fleet in exchange for her hand. The Reach has been in full revolt since the Usurper Queen blew up the Sept of Baelor with Mace Tyrell's family inside. The Greyjoy fleet is sailing to Oldtown as we speak, and it will be a bloodbath."
"Then we shall meet them there," Dany said bravely. "I have a Greyjoy and Redwyne fleet of my own, and brave Unsullied and Dothraki besides. We'll join our allies in the Reach, and add their strength to ours."
Overall, it was a productive meeting. Without the luxury of a Nymeros Martell prince to marry, Daenerys, Tyrion, and Varys hammered out the terms of their alliance. Prince Doran would serve the new Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men as Master of Laws. Lord Yronwood would command the Dornish spears. Ser Daemon would join her Queensguard. Favorable trade agreements with the Iron Throne would make Dorne prosper even in winter.
Ladies Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene Sand would join her court as ladies-in-waiting. A handful of loyal, deadly friends who could disguise themselves as harmless, twittering ladies, Prince Doran told Dany, would be a tremendously useful gift in the Red Keep. And in the future, the possibility of Arianne Martell's children marrying Daenerys' children was left open. Dany did not mention her barren womb. The Dornish would have plenty of rewards for siding with her, and she knew it would cause trouble later on, if new allies had nothing to bargain with.
She was leaving the room, armed with a small pile of agreements for Missandei to copy in her careful scribe's hand, when she caught Lord Varys and Prince Doran whispering together.
"—going on in the North?" the Prince was saying.
"—web of little birds is quite diminished after the war—" the eunuch replied.
"—how was he not executed for desertion?"
"—apparently there was a mutiny, and the Lord Commander was murdered—"
"—what nonsense!"
"Do you know, I've always wondered—"
It was impossible to eavesdrop further without discovery. Daenerys left the solar, wondering what on earth they could be discussing; but it was not important. The North could wait. For now, she had to save the Reach.
That night, Dany dreamed in white. The world was pale and utterly silent. She'd never seen anything like it during waking hours, but she knew it was snow. A figure approached her, and she saw he was casting no shadow to match hers. His eyes were a cruel, sharp blue. Dany opened her mouth to scream, and then...
The dream shifted. The pale king was gone, and so was the snow. Dany was sinking into a churning, black ocean. She fought to return to the surface, over and over. A ship passed her, making no sound except for the creak of wood, and Dany saw a man at the helm. He was handsome, with flowing black hair and an eyepatch over one eye. The other eye was blue and filled with a fierce joy. The captain grinned with blue lips, then lifted a sword and gave a soundless roar. A beast nearby shrieked in pain and rage, and Dany woke with a gasp.