AN: At the end Marwyn might be right on the money, or he might be seeing conspiracies where there are none.
Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, the Game of Throne or the Star Wars books, TV series or games. They belong to their creators, publishers and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale or rent.
Chapter 7 Part 5
=Sith=
291 AC
Temple of the Great Shepherd
Lhazar
News of Astapor's fall spread through Slaver's Bay and beyond like wildfire thrown in a dry forest. It took a bit longer for brave traders and the odd Khalasar prowling between Meereen and the Lhazar to carry rumors and more to the lush steppes. Marwyn was teaching godswives anatomy and Westerosi healing methods in the Temple of the Great Shepherd while, in turn, learning all they had to offer.
A few priestesses had traveled far and wide, even visiting Asshai. Mirri Maz Duur was one such woman who recently returned from her own long journey to gain knowledge.
Marwyn eagerly taught her all he knew in exchange for tips on magic, shadowbinding, and everything else she was willing to share. Lately, Miri has been teaching everyone willing to listen about herb lore as practiced by the Dothraki. Meanwhile, he was helping the woman improve her Common Tongue.
The Maester greatly appreciated the time spent among the
Lhazareen people – it was peaceful here as long as the Dothraki didn't raid them, and even the infamous horse lords dared not sack the Temple of the Great Shepherd, for their Khals sometimes needed accomplished healers.
In fact, Khal Chago's Khalasar, fresh from Meereen, brought stunning news instead of mere rumors about some sorcerer taking Astapor. Chago was an unusual Dothraki warrior, wiser than most, and proof that you couldn't fit whole people in a simple mold. In that regard, he was similar to Rodrick the Reader, Lord of Harlaw, who was anything but a normal Ironborn reaver.
Chago cared about his people more than was typical for the Dothraki, earning him the undying loyalty of thousands of warriors. At the same time, his temperate nature meant that he avoided taking risks and opportunities for glory that almost every other Khal would have seized without considering the price. Consequently, Chago had a small, tight-knit Khalasar and was often a target for Khals, with many more warriors following them.
The Khal was rather infamous, from what Marwyn learned, and honestly, he might have thrived if he had been born in another culture. Instead, he was a target and still lives only thanks to his great cunning and the Stranger's luck.
A few months ago, Chago's Khalasar apparently barely survived a skirmish with a much larger Dothraki horde led by the aging Khal Bharbo. That saw them diminished to a few thousand warriors, now responsible for nearly three times their numbers in wives, children, and slaves. Deserters seeking glory further diminished Chago's Khalasar, leaving only his utterly loyal warriors behind.
This Dothraki horde might have been on its last legs and destined for destruction, yet Marwyn wouldn't know it by walking among them. After they had camped around the Temple and requested medical aid in exchange for gold and goods, the Maester was among the first to accept the offer for curiosity's sake, if no other reason. That was how Marwyn learned Chago's unusual story.
Everyone who still followed their Khal was proud of it. Bloodriders, warriors, women, and children were all utterly convinced that Chago would find a way out of their predicament so they wouldn't end up as a part of the Khalasar of a less caring Khal.
Marwyn kept his thoughts to himself and instead asked all the questions he could think of. This was a priceless opportunity to learn about Dothraki culture, especially an exception to the stereotype!
"You've heard news of Astapor?" Marwyn asked a Bloodrider with an infected wound across his chest. Herbs gathered by Dothraki women and medicine bought at Meereen had kept the slash from festering too bad and killing the man. Nevertheless, the wound was red and weeping pus, weakening him and would eventually kill him if left as it was.
The Maester used all the knowledge he gained in Essos and the Citade to clean, threat, and bind the slash, giving the warrior a fighting chance. He even sang a spell taught by the people in Asshai that Miri taught him. Her primary focus had been birthing songs to aid midwives in their work. However, she also learned a healing chant or two and taught the Maester how to properly sing. Using one of those on the Bloodrider couldn't possibly hurt.
"Sorcerer took that city!" The Dorthaki blurted out. The man was a bit feverish and not entirely coherent, making it a minor miracle he managed to ride all the way to Meereen after being wounded and then to the Temple without falling off his horse. "They speak of a red and black Dragon!"
That certainly got Marwyn's attention. He was eager to learn more and kept asking his other patients pointed questions.
"A Targaryen they call him!"
"A Westerosi like you took the Unsullied and Astapor!"
"He murdered all the Good Masters with foul sorcery!"
Marwyn heard more rumors and fearmongering than possible truth until he got to speak with a hale Bloodrider, who had been paying attention in Meereen.
"I've heard it all," the Dothraki spoke in broken but comprehensive Bastard Valyrian. "A Targaryen Prince, Viserys took Astapor in a single night. I've been there and seen the walls. A proper Khalasar can storm it easily, but that doesn't matter. The boy proved himself by taking the Unsullied from the Good Masters and conquering the city that way," the Bloodwarrior scrunched his nose in distaste. "He proved himself queer by liberating all slaves," a head covered with braids and bells shook, making them jingle." The Meereene don't like it at all. They were trading extensively with Astapor, buying all kinds of slaves instead of taking them for themselves," he scoffed.
Marwyn nodded sagely and sipped a fermented mare's milk. While the taste was terrible, it wasn't like he could refuse if he wanted to loosen people's lips and learn more.
=Sith=
Khal Chago and his Khalasar left two weeks later. By then, Marwyn had ample opportunity to put his new knowledge to good use. He determined he had learned all he could from the Lhazareen. It was time for the Maester to plan the next part of his journey. Marwyn already intended to visit Slaver's Bay and take a ship to Qarth from there before finally returning to Westeros. By the time he visited the Jade Gates and got back, the Maester would have spent about eight years away from the Citadel, broadening his knowledge.
Now, he had to go to Astapor and visit its Sorcerer ruler, especially if everyone was talking about Viserys Targaryen. Marwyn knew that there was power in King's blood. There was fire in the dragonlord's veins, even if they lost their dragons centuries ago. His time in Essos made that crystal clear. Only magic fading from the world made it difficult for various sorcerers and warlocks to track down the last Targaryens and use them in foul rituals.
If Viserys had awakened magic in his blood and could wield it, Marwyn had to find the boy before anyone else could get to him. The last Targaryens needed to know what dangers lurked all over Essos and, perhaps more importantly, the kind of snake pit ready to destroy them in Westeros.
Marwyn knew it wasn't as simple as the Citadel being against the Targaryens and magic in general. However, many of his fellow Knights of the Mind had no use for unreliable things like magic and sorcery. Such people believed the world was better without magic so they could all live in an age of reason. While others were keen on unearthing ancient mysteries or didn't care either way, some wanted magic gone. They feared and loathed those with magic in their blood, like the Targaryens and the Starks.
=Sith=
Chapter 7 Part 6
=Sith=
291 AC
Astapor
Oberyn made himself comfortable on a wooden stool covered with cushions. Viserys led them to a solar deep within the pyramid, where the air was cool and pleasant. Shafts built into the walls illuminated the place during the day and pulled smoke from torches and braziers out of the room.
Like in most of Dorne, the climate in Astapor was sweltering at best during the day and could be more than chilling at night. Servants lit up a few braziers for warmth and more illumination, brought food and drink, then made themselves scarce. Of the so-called Royal Guard, only Ser Lonmouth remained, standing behind the Targaryens, who sat on probably the most comfortable chairs in the room.
The Red Viper had to remind himself that this wasn't a show of trust. Not after Viserys' display of magical might in the audience chamber. It has been a very long time since Oberyn wasn't the most dangerous creature everywhere he went. This was both refreshing and a little bit disturbing.
Daemon and Ser Uller also sat down and chose to pour themselves lemon water. They had the presence of mind to comprehend the Dornish needed clear heads before Viserys. Oberyn poured himself the same beverage and smiled at the silver goblets offered by their hosts. Many poisons would react with silver, staining it… and the best were tasteless anyway. The Red Viper saluted Viserys with his goblet and pointedly drank.
The lemon water was well done – there was just enough juice to make it taste fresh and the right kind of bitter.
"Prince Oberyn, about a year before Ser Darry died, we hosted the commanders of the Golden Company," Viserys spoke first. "We winned and dinned them and offered gifts like it was appropriate. Then they laughed in our faces."
The Princess's face scrunched in a displeased grimace at that reminder. Without even glancing at his sister, Viserys raised his arm and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"When we needed the support of any loyalist the most, there were only daggers in the dark coming for us," the Sorcerer smiled thinly. "And now you are here. So why did you come, Prince Oberyn? Why did your brother send you to us now that we no longer need scraps to just survive?"
Oberny mentally patted himself on the back for not mentioning the secret betrothal between the Sorcerer Prince and Arianne. Considering Viserys' bitterness over everyone abandoning the last Targaryens, that damn document would be a slap in the face. It would earn Dorne nothing but headaches. It would be better to have it burned and never mention it.
"When I visited you years ago, Ser Darry and I discussed a potential betrothal between you and my niece Arriane," the Red Viper carefully measured his words. He was determined to speak only the truth just in case Viserys had some magical way to divine when someone bullshitted him in the face.
The Prince of Astapor looked less than pleased by that revelation. The shadows in the solar shifted and deepened while the air chilled most unpleasantly. Only Daenerys seemed undisturbed. If anything, she sighed in contentment at the magic moving around them.
"I am here because I thirst for vengeance, Prince Viserys. My brother wants our sister, nephew, and niece avenged as well. However, he has higher priorities," The Red Viper admitted. That shouldn't have been a revelation, yet Daemon shifted in his seat. Ser Ulwyck just sipped his lemon water, revealing nothing. "Doran is the Ruling Prince of Dorne, and that's his burden to bear."
"Your brother wants his blood on the Iron Throne. That is his price for Dornish support, isn't it?" Viserys smiled pleasantly. "He wants Dorne to be the power behind a Targaryen Restoration. To be the power behind the throne."
The shadows stilled, yet the chill in the air deepened, making the solar colder than the worst winter night in the open desert. Oberyn could see his breath come out as vapor. His skin prickled as the unnatural chill seeped into his blood and bones.
"I am not for sale, Prince Oberyn. Anyone suggesting that Dany is for sale will die screaming, am I clear?" Viserys' eyes glowed with power.
At that moment, the Red Viper was utterly convinced that all those stories and japes about the Valyrians having dragon blood in their veins and perhaps even laying with their dragons were true. This wasn't a mere man glowering at Oberyn but a predator like no other. He was in the presence of a hungry dragon and about to become a snack. Primal terror pushed on Oberyn's mind, robbing him of his valor.
The Red Viper sighed in relief when the pressure lifted, making him feel lighter. It was suddenly easier to breathe and somehow brighter, even if shadows still devoured most of the flickering light across the solar.
"I wasn't going to suggest you sell your sister for support…" Oberyn cursed himself when his response came out as a stammer.
A silver eyebrow raised at the words uttered by the Dornish Prince.
"How magnanimous of you, Prince Oberyn," Viserys didn't quite scoff at him. "When I finally come for the Iron Throne, I will appreciate Dornish support. You know very well that I am the only one who will give you the vengeance you desire, for my heart burns to taste it as well!" The Sorcerer's words rang with truth.
At that, the Red Viper relaxed a bit.
"Let me be clear on this point so there are no possible misunderstandings, Prince Oberyn. When I return home for vengeance and the throne my ancestors forged, it will be a Second Conquest, not a restoration! Most Targaryen Loyalists worthy of the title died in Cousin Robert's Usurpation or bent the knee and spat on their oaths. I will return to Westeros when I have the army and navy to take it without needing the support of people who have proved themselves false!"
Oberyn should have laughed at those words. They should have been childish and overly naive. However, he saw what Viserys was doing with Astapor mere months after taking the city. Even now, he could feel angry magic stirring throughout the solar. What was unthinkable before he left Dorne to come here was now a distinct possibility.
"You can't build and support a large enough army and navy with just what you have now," the Red Viper countered. "Astapor is the smallest city in the region. I've seen some of the settlements that support it. They aren't going to be of much help either. Unless you wish to take your army and navy, abandon this place and its people, and conquer without support, it won't work. You will need more allies… or…" the Red Viper trailed off.
Oberyn heard Viserys' envoys to New Ghis. He listened to what his people were talking about in the streets and, thus, what everyone visiting would know. Viserys wasn't preparing for an offensive war in Slaver's Bay. He was consolidating his position and preparing the defenses of Astapor for when he went to reclaim his throne, or so it seemed.
The Red Viper laughed. "Are you sure you are not Dornish, Your Grace?" Oberyn exclaimed, "Astapor is merely a stepping stone!"
"Slavers are seeing what I am doing with my city, Prince Oberyn," Viserys noted. "Now, it is only a question of time before some of them move against us. They will see me remaking Astapor into a second Braavos, aimed like a dagger at the heart of the slave trade. I won't have to start a war and prove myself a liar. The only question is which among my neighbors will begin hostilities first."
"You are going to take Slaver's Bay and use it to forge yourself the kind of military might needed to conquer Westeros," Oberyn concluded.
Behind him, Daemon whistled in appreciation at the idea.
"It might work if you can hold Slaver's Bay long enough, Your Grace," Uller added.
"Which brings us back to you," Viserys eyes glowered in amusement. Suddenly, he resembled a cat, nay, a dragon, ready to play with its food. "I am willing to work with Dorne for vengeance's sake if nothing else. I might be willing to give your concessions for our murdered kin once I sit on the Iron Throne. I will give you the vengeance we all crave. But until then, what use are you to me? It will be years before I am ready to return to Westeros, perhaps over a decade. You can't afford to back me up openly until then. Logistics and travel times alone make that certain. If you support me now, you will stand alone against the rest of Westeros."
The Red Viper wanted to bare his fangs at that, yet even he knew Viserys' words for the truth they were.
"Official support will be too much," Oberyn reluctantly admitted. "Perhaps trade? We have decent cavalry excelling in desert conditions, and from what I saw, you lack such strength, Prince Viserys. Would you be willing to buy Sand Steeds and host horsemen to train your people as cavalry?"
"Do you have the authority to offer such trade?" Viserys countered.
"Negotiating a secret betrothal between you and my niece can open all kinds of doors that will otherwise remain closed until you can return to Westeros. What we can offer now for gold and what we can risk to see Martell blood on the Iron Throne are very different things. That is how my brother will see things anyway," Oberyn pointed out, admitting the limits of what he could negotiate.
"It is a long way to bring horses from Dorne," Viserys noted. "If private merchants decide to risk such a journey, I can promise to reward them richly for their trouble. The same goes for any Dornish knight or horseman who might wish to visit Astapor and make good coin as a trainer."
"There is one thing that I can offer, which the rest of Dorne and even my brother can't," Oberyn decided. "My daughter Nymeria, her mother is quite fond of us," the Red Viper smiled, showing his fangs. "She is a Volanteese noblewoman. How does a connection with the Old Blood behind the Black Walls of Volantis sound?"
"Dany can always use another Lady in waiting and a bodyguard until she is sufficiently proficient with weapons and sorcery. After that, you can use another friend, can't you sister?" Viserys offered.
"On the way back to Sunspear, we will stop at Volantis to replenish our supplies and allow our crews to rest. I will make inquiries and offer introductions to any envoy you might decide to send with us," Oberyn suggested. I will also discuss matters with Nymeria when I am back home."
"That's an interesting offer, Prince Oberyn, one I will be a fool to refuse. Let us eat and drink while you tell me what kind of mess the Usurper and his cronies have made of the Kingdom my House built," with those words, Viserys fully reined in his magic, allowing Oberyn to relax.