AN: To the reviewers who don't have an FFN account, I'd suggest getting one (it's free). I appreciate your reviews, but I can't reply to them directly unless you have an account.
If you're uncomfortable with medical procedures or animal experimentation, be warned that this chapter describes both.
Within a comfortable prison cell, lit by torches placed near the bars, Gerris Drinkwater turned to the next page of A Brief History of Westeros.
Gerris had never been one for books and learning. But several books had been given to him and his co-prisoner, and he'd already run out of other sources of entertainment—there were only so many times one could count the stones in the ceiling.
"Balerion was over two centuries of age when at last he passed on"? Huh, I never knew dragons could live that long. Speaking of which…
Like everyone else in Meereen, Gerris had heard of the dragons being changed into smaller and feminine forms. Unlike most, he'd yet to see the results.
Haven't heard of them starting fires or slaughtering people again, so it seems that did calm them down. But has that changed their lifespan? If they're more like humans, will they now only live as long as humans?
…Why am I even bothering to think about dragons? It might matter if our plan had worked, if we had at least one dragon, but we don't have so much as one dragon scale to our name.
Just one dragon-burned prince…
Gerris had asked after his prince, his friend, whenever guards came to deliver food and empty the cell's waste bucket. He'd always received the same answer: Quentyn still lived, but there was no word on when he'd be healed.
They just don't care… Quent might be a prince in Dorne, but here he's a nobody… and we're even less…
Letting out a grunt of frustration, Gerris threw the book against the bars of the cell. This caused a guard outside the bars to look up and glare at him.
"Don't make a ruckus," the guard warned. He tapped a cudgel at his belt. "Next time, I'm giving you a whack from this."
"And there was no need for that, Gerris."
Gerris' prison companion rose from his bed, picked up the book with his meaty hands and dusted it off.
"Even if you don't like the book, you could've given it to me instead," Archibald said. "Or just put it down."
"These books are the sort they give to prisoners, they wouldn't be valuable," Gerris retorted.
"We aren't normal prisoners, though."
"No one here's a normal prisoner… not anymore, at least."
Gerris and Archibald, recently, were being allowed out of their cell for a few minutes each day to exercise. It wasn't much exercise, just walking around the prison, but this was enough to see that most of the prison's cells were no longer occupied. And the few remaining prisoners were in cleaner cells and getting fresh bread instead of mouldy. All these changes were apparently due to the request of an inhuman benefactor.
She said she'd help Quent… but it's been over a week since then, and nothing. I'd think she forgot, but she had this prison cleaned up… even of the rats and roaches.
Seeing that flood of vermin rushing across the prison floor had been terrifying at the time, even though he'd been warned in advance.
Gerris decided to change the subject. "Arch, what do you think's happening back in Westeros?"
Archibald frowned. A stranger might look at his brutish appearance and assume he was an imbecile, needing great effort to think about anything. But Gerris knew that his friend was sharper than he looked.
"We were sent to bring dragons to the side of Dorne," Archibald said. "But it's been months since then. Dorne can't wait forever. The longer it bides its time, the more the Iron Throne recovers its strength."
"Doran Martell managed to wait for more than a decade, though…"
Archibald glared at Gerris. "You know he had to wait. He couldn't make Dorne fight the rest of Westeros by itself. And in the past, there weren't even dragons, or the possibility of dragons."
"That much, I understand… but he could still have been quicker to act. If he'd sent us out a year, even half a year earlier, we could've made it to this Seven-forsaken place before the queen married a local fool."
Though even then, Quentyn might not have succeeded in wooing Daenerys Targaryen. Gerris had the feeling she preferred more bold and dashing men.
"Aye, he could've," Archibald conceded. "But what's done is done. Prince Doran won't know what's happened to us, not for another few months at least. I think…" he lowered his voice, "I think he might act now, while the Lannisters are still weak."
Gerris tried to imagine cautious, wheelchair-bound Doran declaring war, but simply couldn't. It was easier to imagine with his younger brother Oberyn. Perhaps Oberyn would push Doran into action.
"The Lannisters did lose most of their men fighting the Starks," Gerris said. "The Starks are weakened now, the Tullys as well. The Baratheons weakened themselves with infighting. And the Greyjoys wasted their efforts attacking the Starks as well."
"That still leaves the Tyrells," Archibald warned. "They've hardly fought so far, so they've still got most of their strength. And the Arryns haven't fought at all—if they decide to join the Iron Throne…"
"And that's why we were sent seeking dragons. Fat chance of getting them now, though. Surprised they haven't burned us already. That's what the queen's father did, after all, they say he felt more pleasure from it than from his own wife."
"Indeed. I heard just that from my beloved brother," said an unfamiliar voice in the Common Tongue.
Gerris and Archibald whirled around to face their cell's entrance. Normally, they would have heard any visitor approaching, but this one had taken them by surprise.
Said visitor was a man Gerris had never seen before but recognised on sight. He was the same height as Gerris' chest or Archibald's waist. His limbs were too short and his fingers like fleshy stubs. His hair was blonde, like the rest of his family, but mixed with strands of black. One of his eyes was also black, while the other was green. Finally, he was dressed in red silks far more luxurious than worn by most dwarves.
"Did I surprise you?" Tyrion Lannister said. "My apologies. My stunted little body doesn't make much sound as I move about."
"How did the Imp of Lannister get here?" Gerris asked.
"How did two Dornishmen get here?" Tyrion shot back. "Ah, I miscounted. Three Dornishmen."
Gerris clenched his fists. He wanted to reach out and throttle the little bastard, but Tyrion was careful to stand a safe distance from the cell.
If a Lannister's here… are the Lannisters seeking alliance with Daenerys too? But why would she ever agree, after what they did to her family? Another thing that doesn't make sense…
"I'm sure you're wondering why a Lannister has found himself in the city of the dragon queen," Tyrion said smugly. "Well, it's a rather interesting tale…"
Gerris and Archibald listened as the dwarf spoke of events in Westeros, the latest of which took place after Gerris' little band had set sail.
"You lie!" Gerris shouted at one point. "Prince Oberyn wouldn't have lost to the Mountain!"
"Believe me, no one wishes that were the case more than I, whose life was at stake. And he technically didn't lose… he was clearly the more skilled fighter, and the outcome was more of a draw, as Clegane was mortally wounded as well."
Archibald shook his head in disbelief. "Then… Dorne must be at war now. The prince's death wouldn't go unanswered."
Tyrion shrugged. "Perhaps it is. But as no ravens fly across the Narrow Sea, I do not know for certain. Speaking of which, the following events caused me to cross the Narrow Sea…"
Gerris heard about Tyrion escaping from prison, killing his father and a whore his father was secretly using, being smuggled across the sea and then having an eventful journey across half of Essos. Interestingly, he'd also joined a sellsword company at one point, much like Gerris, Archibald and Quentyn had.
"The queen decided I would be useful, so here I am. Well, I should not forget the new Royal Sorceress' contribution, for she publicly asked what my skills were." Tyrion pursed his lips. "I sometimes wonder if she did so to get me in her debt, but if so, she hasn't done anything with that debt yet."
Gerris wanted to laugh. This… twisted mockery of a man had made a similar journey from Westeros to Essos, without the support of his family, yet he had a position in Daenerys' court while Quentyn had been refused.
"And now you've come to us to… to gloat?" Gerris said irritably.
"To talk," Tyrion replied. "There's not many Westerosi in Meereen, and the few others dislike talking to me. But then there are you two, unable to simply walk away from the conversation. Oh, and it seems to me that our goals are now aligned. We both wish for the queen to return to Westeros and tear the Lannisters away from the Iron Throne."
That much was true. Still, Gerris was reluctant to think of this dwarf as any kind of ally. Part of it was due to disgust at working with a self-confessed kinslayer, and part of it was due to him once being part of the enemy.
"…What do you want to know from us?" Archibald asked warily.
"I want to know Dorne," Tyrion said. "I've never been to the region before, nor have many Dornish come to King's Landing. But it is set to become a player in the game of thrones—may have already—and so I would know more about it."
"We've got nothing to say to you," Gerris said. "Leave us, Imp."
"As you wish… but I won't leave just yet. Since I've taken the trouble of coming here, perhaps I'll share some more information with you. This is recent news: the queen is now benefiting from an alliance with Lhazar."
"Lhazar? Who in the Seven Hells is that?"
"It's a nation, roughly to the east of Meereen. Just this morning, trade boats came here from there, bringing much-appreciated grains, mutton and cheese as well as other goods. At very good prices, I might add. This is in return for using the power of dragons to protect Lhazar from threats. Lhazar used to be an easy target for Dothraki raids, you see—"
Gerris gripped the bars tightly. "Why is she wasting time making alliances here, in this backwater of Essos!? It does nothing to help her conquer Westeros!"
"I agree entirely. Well, perhaps she might change her mind if she heard the tales of certain stray Dornishmen…"
Gerris didn't take the dwarf's bait. He doubted Daenerys would ever change her mind and help Dorne, not after three Dornishmen had tried to steal her dragons.
But… that monster, Wilmarina, is different. She doesn't have a reason to hate us, she could also turn the tide of war in Dorne's favour, and she might be able to heal Quentyn…
More than once, Gerris had considered escaping from prison again to beseech the monster's help. But security for him and Archibald had increased since his previous escape. And he suspected that security for Wilmarina would also be high.
"Other information that might interest you is the activities of our… inhuman guests."
Gerris couldn't stop the discomfort from showing on his face. He wondered whether the Imp had some magical ability to read his mind, or whether the Imp was just using mundane skills.
"Just before noon, Wilmarina Noscrim came to the Great Pyramid with forty-odd children in tow. The oldest about thirteen, the youngest…" Tyrion's face twisted in disgust, "about six."
"Wait, I'm not sure what you're getting at," Archibald said.
"Well, she explained it immediately after," Tyrion replied. "She'd gone to one of the brothels of Meereen, to heal the whores of venereal diseases and abort unwanted pregnancies. The brothel madam, from what I heard, was so very grateful, offering the succubus—"
"Succubus?" Gerris asked.
"Ah, you wouldn't have heard yet—that is the particular race that Wilmarina and the other winged monsters belong to. And Colette, the one who… is? Sits within? A large flower is a member of the alraune race. Moving back to the main topic, the madam offered Wilmarina her pick of the brothel's whores. The succubus refused repeatedly, and eventually the madam brought out a boy of ten. That caused Wilmarina to ask, quite politely I suspect, which other brothels offered a similar… service."
Then Gerris realised. "Then she went to the other brothels as well—"
"—to rescue the other children," Archibald finished.
"Indeed," Tyrion said. "She also captured those responsible for whoring out the children, of course. While she was at it, she also found some underground fighting pits, where children would battle to the death, and cleaned up those as well. Then there was an interesting discussion about how to punish the culprits. One suggestion I put forward was to impale the whoremongers on stakes, groin-first. But Wilmarina was against that, and so we eventually settled on quick deaths by beheading."
"Good riddance," Gerris said. "But what happens to the children now?"
"There's a plan to put them, along with various other orphaned children, in a sort of… academy? Picture the Citadel in Westeros, but intended exclusively to serve lowborn students. The funding for this is coming partly from the crown and partly from Wilmarina's personal funds. Though the work of setting up this school is left to men like myself."
Gerris and Archibald exchanged glances silently.
"Unless you have anything information to share with me, I shall be departing," Tyrion said. "I have several days' worth of work piling up on my desk, after all…"
Only then did Tyrion walk away. Once the dwarf disappeared around the corner, Gerris and Archibald were alone again.
Gerris sat on his cot, looked at the floor and sighed.
All those plans of escaping to beg for help again… but I can't. I'm not enough of a bastard to pull her away from activities like this.
But still… Quentyn…
"Have some water, Gerris," Archibald said, holding up a jug that was still half-full and a wooden cup.
Gerris was tempted to throw the jug against a wall. Perhaps watching it shatter would cheer him up. Instead, he accepted the jug and cup.
"…Thanks, Arch."
Gerris poured himself a drink. He felt a little better after wetting his lips.
"I've been acting like a fool… should've cooperated with the dwarf, at least a little. We could've learned more about what's happening outside our cell."
"It's not your fault," Archibald said, placing a hand on Gerris' shoulder. "Anyone would feel frustrated, knowing their prince is dying."
That made Gerris start thinking again. As a vassal to House Martell, it was his duty to do whatever it took to help his prince.
But what do the two of us have to offer? The most we could offer is an alliance with House Martell, and the girl turned that down before we tried to steal her dragons.
We can give information on Dorne, the Imp was hinting at that. But how many of them would even care?
The pair remained sitting in their cell until they heard footsteps. Multiple sets of footsteps.
Wait… hold on…
While Gerris was hardly an expert on people's footsteps, he'd been in prison for almost two weeks with little to do, and not many people visited him and Archibald. He could thus recognise the sounds of a particular set of footsteps.
"Arch, get up!"
The two men were standing when their visitors finally arrived.
Gerris' eyes would normally be drawn to the inhuman and very attractive woman. But at this moment, his eyes instead focused on the shrouded figure being carried on a stretcher by two Unsullied.
"Quent!" Gerris and Archibald said simultaneously.
"It's taken longer than expected, but your prince is now going to be healed," Wilmarina said brusquely. "For that, I will need your help."
"We'll do whatever it takes!" "Fank—Thank you so much!"
Wilmarina had the Unsullied set down the stretcher on the floor. One Unsullied then went to the cell door to unlock it. Gerris and Archibald hurried out and knelt down next to the stretcher.
"Can we… are we allowed to…?" Archibald asked nervously.
Wilmarina pulled away the shroud. This caused Gerris and Archibald to inhale sharply.
Quentyn was just as the two Dornishmen had seen him last: more of his body burned then unburned, resembling meat left to cook for far too long. It was hard to believe he could still be alive. But if he'd died, he'd now be decomposing unless his death was very recent.
"Alright…" Gerris licked his lips. "You said you need our help?"
Like most people, Gerris had heard stories of demons who performed services in exchange for significant costs: lives, souls, whatever would most terrify the one hearing the story. He didn't think Wilmarina was like those demons, but it was hard to forget those stories.
"Yes. Simply put, your prince has too much of his flesh burned away to heal normally. My plan is to replace that using some—only some—of another person's flesh."
Gerris never imagined he'd be accepting a demon's offer of help in exchange for such a price. He'd never imagined that such a price would seem cheap.
"Alright, I'll—"
"I'll do it," Archibald cut in. He held out a meaty arm to block Gerris' path.
"I'm the one who helped him meet the sellswords!" Gerris shouted in the Common Tongue, also trying and failing to move the arm away. "Quent would never have… never have gotten into that mess without me!"
"And during that mess, I killed—murdered a man just doing his job!" Archibald retorted, also in the Common Tongue. "I should be the one paying for that!"
"ENOUGH!"
Gerris and Archibald stared at Wilmarina, at least partly because she'd said this in their native language. And from what Gerris had heard, she would've had less than two weeks of time to learn this language.
"I already decided, it will be the bigger one," Wilmarina said. Her Common Tongue was more awkward than her Valyrian, but not by much. "Since he can lose more of himself. You—" she pointed at Gerris, "can donate an eye, if you want to help."
"An… An eye?"
"Both of his eyes destroyed by fire," Wilmarina pointed out. "He needs at least one eye to see again."
Archibald opened his mouth again, but Gerris slapped a hand over the big man's mouth.
"One eye," Gerris said. "That's a small price to pay. I agree."
Wilmarina snapped her fingers. In the next instant, a thousand clumps of dirt and grime flew from every surface of the prison to her hand.
"Need clean space for this," Wilmarina said, carefully putting a ball of dirt into a bag.
Then she gave out a series of instructions. The Unsullied laid out a mat on the floor. Archibald—with some hesitation—stripped naked and lay down on the mat.
"I will put you to sleep," Wilmarina said. "You will wake up much skinnier than before. But you can still get your flesh—your skin, muscle, fat, nerves and blood vessels back with enough exercise."
That was quite a lot of jargon she'd just used. Gerris guessed that Wilmarina had practiced this particular speech in the Common Tongue.
And I was thinking she'd forgotten us… In the end, she's spending a lot of effort to help us…
Wilmarina held her hand above Archibald's face. The big man closed his eyes and his breathing slowed somewhat.
"I will now begin."
Gerris and the two Unsullied watched intently, not wanting to miss a single moment.
Wilmarina began moving her hands down Archibald's body. Skin began peeling away—no, not just skin, there was yellowish fat and red muscle peeling away with it.
Gerris had been in fights before, seen his fair share of blood and gore. That experience allowed him to just barely keep watching.
Eventually, Wilmarina lifted her hands, lifting with them a mass of flesh roughly the size of a bread roll. She turned slowly and carefully towards Quentyn. Only a mother holding a newborn child could possibly rival her carefulness.
During this turn, Gerris noticed a greenish glow around the mass of flesh. This hadn't been present when the flesh was being… extracted. But he didn't have any knowledge of magic, so he couldn't understand the significance.
When she was finished turning, Wilmarina lowered her hands. The flesh was deposited on Quentyn's face and neck, then began to spread in a rather liquid fashion. The sight made Gerris want to vomit. After about half a minute, the spread ceased.
"Quent…" Gerris gasped. "Quent!"
"Do not disturb the Royal Sorceress," one of the Unsullied said sharply.
Gerris hadn't been able to help himself, for Quentyn had a face again. Just moments before, his visage was closer to a skull than anything a human should have. But now the young prince had eyelids, nose, lips, cheeks and ears again. In fact, he looked very much like how he used to be.
"Before this, I asked Daenerys and Barristan for details on what he looked like," Wilmarina said, making Gerris wonder if she could read minds. "Have I done adequately?"
"Y-Yes! You're doing… it's a miracle!"
Wilmarina smiled slightly, then continued her work.
About half an hour passed, during which there were twelve more transfers of flesh. Most of these went to Quentyn's upper body, since his legs hadn't been burned quite so severely. Halfway through the process, Wilmarina stopped to take a drink of water and rest.
At the end, Quentyn was whole once more. He was slightly skinnier than Gerris remembered, he had not a trace of hair on his upper body and his eyes were still closed, but his body was no longer marred by a single burn. The skin on his body was somehow even the original brown, unlike the pale skin that Archibald had. Finally, when Wilmarina placed a hand on his chest, that chest began rising and falling much more quickly than the slow rhythm of before.
As for Archibald, he was much skinnier than before, but his chest rose and fell at a normal pace. There weren't even any signs of pain on his face.
"Quentyn Martell has no hair now, but that will grow back in time," Wilmarina said. "Now I am ready to transfer the eye. Are you sure about this?"
"Go ahead—" Gerris recalled his manners, "Royal Sorceress, before I change my mind."
"Then sit down with your back against that wall, keep your eyes open, and keep still. There will be no pain."
Gerris did as instructed. Wilmarina approached his sitting body, so closely that he could see even the blue eyelashes that framed her similarly blue eyes.
Damn, what a beauty… the man she's married to is lucky beyond belief…
White light emanated from her hand, and Gerris lost all sensation in his face.
Huh… didn't even notice the air currents in here, until now, when I can't feel 'em on my face anymore…
He could still see and hear normally… right up until part of his field of view disappeared. It wasn't like it had been replaced by darkness, he just couldn't see as much of his surroundings as before.
She kept her promise… there wasn't any pain…
Gerris silently watched his eye float away, surrounded by a green glow. Wilmarina slowly brought it over towards Quentyn, then lowered it into one eye socket.
"You may resume moving now… and you may now wish to cover that…"
An Unsullied handed over two small dark objects which turned out to be eye patches. Gerris used one to cover his right eye socket. Still, he felt no pain there.
Wilmarina stood up, took another drink and then slumped against a nearby wall. She looked as exhausted as someone who'd been running constantly from sunrise to sunset.
"…That was one of the most stressful events in my life," Wilmarina said. She was speaking in Valyrian again, presumably being more familiar with that language than the Common Tongue. "I don't wish to do that ever again."
"I can't thank you enough," Gerris said, bowing more deeply than he'd ever done in his life. "I… you have the eternal gratitude of Dorne…"
Wilmarina waved a hand dismissively. "I doubt I will be staying here long enough to appreciate that gratitude. And this was also a learning experience for me. After doing this, I can be more confident healing severe injuries in future."
"Learning… experience?"
"Were the livestock also part of the learning, Royal Sorceress?" an Unsullied asked.
"That's correct—but more importantly, dress them," Wilmarina ordered, though without looking at the "them" in question.
The Unsullied took out clothes from bags and began dressing the two unconscious Dornishmen. Not only was Quentyn wearing nothing to begin with, but Archibald would no longer fit into his previous clothes.
Then Wilmarina looked at Gerris. "To explain: my family has been keeping livestock recently—pigs, goats and chickens—for various uses, one of them being to test healing magic on. I would choose one animal, burn it and then try to heal it using the flesh of another."
Gerris rose from his bow. "Oh, I've heard of that. In Westeros…" he tried to think of the Valyrian word for "maester", but his mind failed him. "the wise men, they practice healing animals before moving to humans… well, their healing is nothing like yours."
"And I suspect they fail often at first." Wilmarina closed her eyes. "Five pigs, three goats and two chickens. That's how many died due to my failures. Only when I could reliably heal burns on all three types of animals did I dare to try this procedure on a human."
Which implied that Wilmarina had not practiced on any humans before Quentyn. Granted, Gerris could see how it would be immoral to burn humans to near-death just for practice.
"The most difficult step isn't transferring the flesh, but making it compatible…"
"Compatible?" the other Unsullied said, the one who hadn't spoken until now. He and his colleague had now finished with the dressing "Might I ask what you mean?"
"Have you ever heard of someone attaching flesh from one person to the body of another? Perhaps a hand being sown on to the stump of someone who'd lost their hand?"
Gerris exchanged glances with the Unsullied, who looked just as baffled as he felt. He even glanced at Archibald and Quentyn before remembering they were still unconscious.
It was also at this point that Gerris felt slightly dizzy. That might have been due to looking at things at different distances from himself; he remembered learning that people reduced to just one eye had a harder time judging distance. He'd just have to get used to it.
He also noticed he'd regained some sensation in his face. It seemed to be a gradual process.
"If not, I'll tell you what would happen: the hand would be treated as a foreign object, and rot in place." Wilmarina held up a hand and green light appeared above it. "To prevent that, I had to learn how to alter the flesh I transfer, make it compatible with the person receiving it."
Gerris could grasp the basic idea of what she'd done, but he didn't know what this alteration involved. Perhaps even the most learned maesters would be unable to follow.
"The task is more difficult the more different the two beings are. I previously tried healing animals using flesh from different kinds of animals… suffice to say, that never worked. For this reason, I decided to have the flesh donor be another Dornishman, to be as close as possible Speaking of which, you may wake Archibald now," Wilmarina said. "Not Quentyn, he still needs time to rest."
Feeling like he'd done nothing helpful, Gerris walked over to his friend, bent down and shook one shoulder gently. "Arch. Arch? Can you hear me?"
Archibald stirred. His eyes opened with agonising slowness.
"Ger… Gerris? You… then… Quent…?"
Gerris smiled. It was the first smile for him in two weeks.
"Look over to your left, not-so-big-man."
Archibald blinked in confusion. Gerris let out a laugh and used his hands to turn his friend's head left.
"Quent… Prince Quentyn! He's actually—"
"Please lower your voice," Wilmarina said in the Common Tongue.
Archibald sat up. He glanced at his skinnier body and different clothing, then looked at Wilmarina.
"Thank you. How can we repay you…?"
"I told others already, my payment is learning a new way of healing," Wilmarina said. "You need to worry about yourselves. The queen still not happy with you."
"Yes, we figured as much…" Gerris said nervously. "Has she… made a judgement?"
"I'll let her reveal it. For now, all three of you will be staying in prison—for your protection as well. And—this is from me—you need to follow these instructions…"
Wilmarina explained how Archibald and—once he woke up—Quentyn would need to eat rich diets, with plenty of meat, eggs and milk. They would also need to exercise regularly but lightly. These measures would let them regain their lost muscle mass.
Then Quentyn was carried into the prison cell and laid down on one of the cots. Archibald was also told to rest on the other cot. The Unsullied carried a cot from elsewhere into the cell, so that all three would have a place to sleep when night arrived.
"Ah, one last thing."
Wilmarina waved her hand near Gerris' head. Gerris felt a faint tingling sensation, but he didn't know what she'd done until Archibald spoke.
"Gerris! Your hair's brown now! And your eyes are grey!"
"Some small changes, so you won't be recognised as easily," Wilmarina said. "You'll return to your normal appearance after a few weeks. And with your two friends now skinnier, all three of you should be able to go out without being recognised… well, assuming you're allowed to go out. That is up to Meereen's rulers. I bid you farewell."
Finally, Wilmarina and the Unsullied left. Gerris remained standing until their footsteps could no longer be heard, then sat on his new cot. He set down the second eye patch, which he'd been clutching in his hand until now.
"We might be behind bars still… but I can't believe that happened, Arch."
"Yeah…" Archibald was looking at the unconscious Quentyn. "Doubt they're planning to execute us after all this."
"But they've still got to punish us for what we did… maybe a bit of torture before letting us go?"
The two men continued chatting for a while. Their conversation went in morbid directions, yet they felt more cheerful than they'd been in weeks.
Dinner was eventually brought to their door. Gerris gently shook Quentyn by the shoulder and called out his name, but the young prince did not react. Thus, Gerris and Archibald ate alone. This particular dinner had conspicuously more meat than previous dinners, and Archibald ate the lion's share of it.
After dinner, Archibald did various exercises while Gerris resumed reading A Brief History of Westeros. When they eventually tired of these activities, they checked on Quentyn one last time before going to bed.
Gerris reclined in his cot while looking up at the ceiling with his remaining eye.
We crossed half the world to come here… and failed at our original goal. We almost failed to keep our prince alive…
He recalled the healing he'd seen, both today and out in the city last week. For some reason, he felt like he could die satisfied after seeing such miracles.
But I can't die just yet… I have to return home and make sure my friends and family are safe.
It had been a long and arduous journey coming here. Gerris suspected the journey home would be no less arduous.
Doubt the queen wants to give dragon thieves—failed dragon thieves a ship back to Dorne. And the king never cared for us.
That made Gerris wonder if the monsters would help yet again. If any of them made the request, others would scramble to fulfil it.
But I shouldn't hope for too much…
After that were surprisingly pleasant dreams. It started out with Gerris seeing himself back in Dorne, amidst the rugged beauty of the Red Mountains. He saw the small yet humble keep of House Drinkwater, along with his parents and his two younger sisters.
Then he heard screams, smelled the stench of blood and shit, saw the chaotic fury that was battle. He saw his father clad in steel armour, yet about to be cut down by a knight in dazzling golden armour.
And then he saw a blue blur swoop down from the sky, cutting the golden knight in half. The men serving the golden knight either fled or surrendered.
After that, he saw the most beautiful woman in the world reluctantly walking up the stairs to the Iron Throne.
But before he saw any more, his mind was filled with a dizzying blur that lasted only for a moment. That in turn was replaced by the sight of a stone ceiling.
"—is, Arch…? Is that really you…?"
Gerris sat up with a jolt.
He was still in his cot in a prison cell. Archibald was still lying in one of the cots. And in the third cot, Quentyn was stirring.
Gerris jumped out of bed and rushed to Quentyn's side.
"Quent! You're awake!"
The young man looked confused and awkward—but he'd often been confused and awkward even when healthy. It was part of his charm. And unlike before, his eyelids were open, showing his one eye. That eye was brown, unlike Gerris' own blue-green.
She even changed the colour so it matches his original eyes? Must've been the same magic she used to make his skin the right colour too.
Archibald was shifting in his bed as well. He quickly realised what had happened and also hurried to Quentyn's side, pulling him into a hug.
"Relax, not-so-big man, don't strain yourself," Gerris advised.
"Gerris, Arch… where is this place?" Quentyn asked in a soft voice. "Are those… bars over there? Is this a prison!?"
"Yes, it's a very long story…" Gerris said, scratching his hair. "First of all, what's the last thing you remember?"
Quentyn thought for a moment. His face twisted in anguish.
"I remember… teeth in the dark. And then it wasn't so dark anymore… then there was fire everywhere…"
The prince began shaking. To calm him, Gerris joined Archibald in hugging him.
"It's fine, it's fine, no fire anymore," Archibald said, patting Quentyn on the back.
"…I should be dead," Quentyn said. "The plan failed. The dragons… I couldn't tame them, in the end."
"Well… like I said, it's a long story," Gerris said. "And much of it, you won't believe until you see it yourself. But after our plan went to hell, Arch and I got thrown in this cell…"
Gerris and Archibald recounted everything that had happened while Quentyn was unconscious. By the end of it all, Quentyn was shaking his head in disbelief.
"If… If it was anyone but you two… or my own family… I'd be thinking it's a joke, a trick. But there's no way that you would lie to me."
Then Quentyn looked at Gerris again, only now seeming to take in his appearance. His hand shot up to his own left eye.
"Gerris! Your left eye, it's!"
"I made this choice, Quent! Not going back on it!"
"But it's all my fault—you, you have to take it back!"
"I'm your sworn sword, Quent! Sworn to give my life to protect yours, if need be! One eye's nothing compared to that!"
It took what felt like hours of arguing before Quentyn finally gave up. He might seem like a meek young man, but he could be quite stubborn when he chose; he would never have survived the journey to Meereen otherwise.
"Still, it's my fault…" Quentyn insisted. "I should have cut my losses and gone home. Instead, I dragged you two into this foolish plot. If it hadn't been for… literally supernatural help… I'd be dead by now, and you two would be as well…"
"And we followed you," Archibald said. "The blame isn't yours alone. You weren't the one who helped murder the guards."
"It's past the time to be thinking of who's at fault," Gerris said. "We should be thinking of what to do when we get back to Dorne."
That sparked another long conversation. The original purpose of their trip was to ally with Daenerys Targaryen via marriage, bringing her dragons and armies to Westeros. But she seemingly had no plans to go anytime soon, and she certainly wouldn't be marrying Quentyn.
Gerris thought back to last night's dream. If they could actually get Wilmarina's help, then Dorne's victory would be just as assured.
But while I know a lot about how women think… I'm not still not sure about that one.
Eventually, a guard came to their cell with breakfast. Similar to last night's dinner, it was rich in meat and eggs.
"Eat quickly," the guard said in a curt voice. "The queen will see you in half an hour."
That was unexpected news, but one they had to act on. The three Dornishmen wolfed down their breakfast and then tried to put their appearances in order, as much was possible when they were prisoners in a cell. This included Quentyn putting on an eye patch over his empty eye socket.
Actually coming down here, into this dark and… well, it's not that dirty anymore. But why come down here, instead of summoning us up to her for a public judgement?
Gerris and his friends continued wondering that up until the moment she arrived.
Today, Daenerys was dressed in a white gown with patterns of black, green and yellow. Her ever-faithful knight in white armour trailed behind her.
"…Prince Quentyn Martell," Daenerys said in a neutral tone. "It has been weeks since our last meeting."
Despite his weakened condition, Quentyn stood up straight. "It has… Your Grace. I… I apologise for attempting to steal your dragons. I was desperate to help my people, to help Dorne… but that does not justify what I did."
Daenerys appeared to consider these words for a moment.
"I find it a touch ironic. Just before coming here, I spoke with Rhaegal herself, who asked if she should come as well, to apologise for burning you."
This wasn't what Gerris had been expecting. Granted, he'd been told that the dragons' personalities had changed, but it was hard to believe that without seeing in person.
"In the end, I told her to remain, since even her presence might be… traumatising."
"…I am grateful for your consideration," Quentyn said. "Then… have you decided on our punishment?"
"Punishment… a concept that some consider simple, just meting out vengeance on those who do wrongs," Daenerys said. "But it is more complex in reality. Perhaps you were taught this too, as heir to your house."
Quentyn nodded uncertainly. "Indeed, Your Grace. My father… he is known to all as a wise leader, and he once told me this: 'The ghosts of Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon insist that I declare war against the Lannisters. But should I do so, many Dornishmen will lose their loved ones. Quentyn, what do you believe is the right choice?'"
In the past, Gerris had often told Quentyn to lighten up and enjoy life, to not be so serious all the time. Listening to this conversation now, Gerris thought it was fortunate Quentyn would be Dorne's future leader and not himself.
"A wise man indeed," Daenerys said.
"But… forgive me, but I do not see how a lesson like that applies to us," Quentyn said. "No matter what punishment you give to us, you will face no consequence. Both because Dorne is so far from here, and because of the power of your dragons."
When Gerris considered the situation, he thought that it might be a slight issue if Daenerys decided to go to Westeros after all. Even then, there would be no need to mention that she'd executed Quentyn and his companions. She could just claim that they'd died in the conflict that had recently beset Meereen—it would even have a grain of truth to it.
"It's because I'm considering the history between our families as well," Daenerys replied. "Ser Barristan… told me how my eldest brother treated your aunt."
Quentyn blinked in surprise. "Prince Rhaegar was… his actions were before you were born, Your Grace. I do not think you bear any blame for them, nor does my father."
And what actions they were, Gerris thought. Married to Elia of Dorne, had two children by her… then he propositions a younger woman in public, for all the lords of the realm to see… and after that, he runs off with her.
"But as he is no longer able to make up for his actions, I've decided to do so in his stead," Daenerys said. "I will release you three from captivity and give you a ship, so you may return to your loved ones in Dorne."
Gerris' jaw dropped, as did Archibald's. This meant that Quentyn, for once, was the one most composed in front of Daenerys. It was a stark contrast from his earliest interactions with her, in which he had trouble speaking.
"You are too generous, Your Grace," Quentyn said, bowing his head. "This is more mercy than we—especially myself—deserve."
"You will not go entirely unpunished," Daenerys added. "Once you depart, you three will be forever forbidden from entering Meereen again."
Given that Gerris wasn't planning on coming here again, this suited him just fine. Of course, he didn't reveal his thoughts out loud.
Come to think of it, what does Meereen's king think of us being released? He's the whole reason Quent couldn't marry her in the first place.
Well, if we're now barred from Meereen, he doesn't have any more relevance to us… And he was accused of poisoning her before, so his position must be insecure. He might be too occupied to bother with the likes of us.
"Do you have any last words? As this is likely to be the last time we ever meet."
"Only these, Your Grace," Quentyn said. "I must thank you once more for this undeserved mercy. And I would like to tell your Kingsguard—Queensguard, that he was right."
Barristan blinked at being addressed. "Prince Quentyn?"
"Ser Barristan, you were right that we should have left Meereen earlier," Quentyn said regretfully. "I feared it would cause me to be seen as a craven, yet you claimed that it was instead the wise choice." Quentyn shook his head. "But I proved myself an utter fool in the end."
"All of us are fools for some of the time, Prince Quentyn," Barristan said, sounding just as regretful. "Including me."
"And me as well," Daenerys said. "Let us all hope for greater wisdom in the times ahead." She took a deep breath. "Farewell, Prince Quentyn, Ser Gerris, Ser Archibald. I pray you return to Dorne safely."
Daenerys and Barristan left, doing so in advance of Gerris' group so that the prisoners' release wouldn't draw attention. A quarter of an hour after they left, the guards let Gerris' group out of their cell, then guided them out of the prison and out of the Great Pyramid.
Gerris breathed in and out slowly. It was nice to taste fresh air again, and to feel the morning sun on his face.
He and his friends were led by the guards towards the west.
One of the first things they saw along the way was a magnificent temple topped with golden domes. It was inhabited by priestesses known as Graces—and Gerris knew about them mainly because some of the Graces doubled as whores, information that had caught his interest.
Afterwards, they saw a number of wooden buildings that looked extremely new, and more that were still under construction. The repair of the city was clearly proceeding quickly—these buildings had been destroyed or damaged by the dragons less than two weeks ago.
They passed through a market. It was much more bustling than the last time Gerris had been out and about in Meereen. Though he did notice that the food on offer was mostly seafood: plenty of fish and squid, some clams and seaweed.
Makes sense. There were armies camped outside the city until recently, who would've pillaged all the farms. There hasn't been the time to grow a new crop, so fishing's the main source of new food.
Heh. Never cared too much about the boring duties of ruling, even though I'm the heir to my house. But it'll be a long voyage home… I might spend that time talking to Quent and learning.
They reached the docks. Before, there had been only a few ships here while there were more in the distance—the naval blockade. Now, every single pier was occupied and the ships in the distance presumably belonged to Meereen now.
The ship intended for the Dornishmen turned out to be a sleek three-masted cog. About two dozen sailors could be seen on the deck or up in the rigging.
Gerris' group walked up the gangplank. The guards stopped following them at this point.
"It's funny," Archibald said. "Before, we had so much trouble finding a ship to Meereen. Now we're getting a ship back to Dorne, and it's not costing us a single copper."
"Part of the reason was because you didn't want to go by ship again," Gerris retorted. "You'd better not spend this trip vomiting again."
"Don't think I will, as long as I spend my time training instead," Archibald said, looking down at his thinner arms.
A man in a faded blue longcoat and tricorne hat approached. "With you boys on board, we're settin' sail. Better make sure your business in Meereen is done, because we're not turnin' around for you."
It didn't sound like the ship's captain knew the true identities of Gerris' group. That would make the journey more pleasant.
"How long will the voyage to Dorne take, Captain?" Quentyn asked.
"Can't say for sure, it all depends on the sea, and she's a fickle lady at the best o' times. But we've got things no normal ship has. Come down for a look."
While the sailors rushed to prepare the ship for departure, the captain led the three Dornishmen below decks. They reached the ship's larders, a room piled high with sacks and barrels and crates and pots.
"These six pots you see here?" the captain said, gesturing with one hand. "Put cooked food in, close the lid, and food stays fresh 'til you take the lid off again. The stuff o' stories, they are, and my ship's getting six as an 'experiment', they told me!"
"That… should make the voyage a lot more comfortable," Gerris said. He examined the pots carefully, but there were no visible traces of the magic within.
"Bah, it's more than just comfort! If you spend too long at sea, you run out o' fresh food, and then you start to die, every sailor knows that. The food in these pots'll let us take more direct routes, not having to hug the coasts as much. Also, speakin' of food…"
The captain reached for a seventh pot smaller than the previous six. He removed the lid, causing Gerris to smell the most delicious scent he'd ever smelled in his life.
"This here's a magical bait," the captain said, pulling out a rectangular pouch made of fine netting and containing an off-white object. "Dip it in the sea, and fish come swarming it in no time at all! It's helpin' keep Meereen fed nowadays, and it'll help keep us fed when we're out at sea."
Gerris was now regretting the plan to steal the dragons. Not just because it had almost killed his prince, but also because it had led to his group being locked up, unable to see most of the recent miracles.
"And there's a third thing—well, more a lack o' a thing," the captain continued. "You could check this larder for rat droppings, and not find even one. There's not a single rat on this ship anymore, so we don't have to worry about 'em nibblin' at our food or at the ropes. This voyage'll feel like you're living in a palace," the old man chuckled darkly, "unless a storm sinks us. Haven't got any magic for that yet."
Archibald looked queasy. It might take him a while to get used to sea travel.
"Anyways, I'll show you boys to your cabin."
Their next stop was a reasonably spacious and clean cabin. It contained three beds with sheets and pillows. There was a chest in one corner, which opened up to reveal many sets of men's clothing—a thoughtful gift, since Gerris' group had had to abandon most of their belongings while travelling to Meereen. An oil lamp, currently unlit, hung in another corner.
"This'll be your home for the next month, or two or three—like I said, it's all up to the sea. You can fill up the lamp and light it when you need, but don't start a fire on my ship, or I'm throwin' you overboard. Any more questions?"
Quentyn said no and thanked the captain, who left. Then the three Dornishmen sat down on the bunks.
"We've come a long way, further than any Dornishmen in history…" the prince said. "And now we return, empty-handed…" he looked at Archibald and then at Gerris, "and diminished in body."
"But we've grown in mind," Gerris said. "Thinking back on it now… I used to be such a fool, spending more time chasing skirts than learning how to succeed my father as head of House Drinkwater. I don't plan to make that mistake again."
Quentyn nodded. "When we return, I plan to speak to my father—no, wait. There are many things to do when we return to Dorne. First, I plan to speak to my father, tell him all of our experiences. I must warn him that Dorne will not have the power of dragons to help against the Lannisters."
That would be a major setback. Open war would no longer be an option, even with the Lannisters weak and divided. Instead, they would need to act subtly and consider making alliances with others who hated the Lannisters.
"I must also join my family in mourning my uncle." Quentyn clenched his fists. "I should not have been away when he died, and only heard of it months later…"
"We'll mourn him together," Gerris said. "And at least there's some advantages: Prince Oberyn died inflicting a gruesome death on the man he loathed, and that led to another man he loathed being killed on the privy."
"That's true…" Quentyn smiled a little, but then his smile faded. "Another thing I plan to do is speak to the families of Cletus, Willam and Maester Kedry."
When Gerris' group had set out from Dorne, they'd consisted of six people. But even if the voyage back went perfectly, only three would return to Dorne.
Archibald laid a hand on Quentyn's shoulder. "Quent, it's not your fault they died. The fault belongs to the corsairs who hit us."
"But I must offer my condolences to their families," Quentyn insisted. "It's the least I must do as prince. Lord Yronwood in particular… he trusted his son and heir to me, to protect me in my quest, and now he will never see his son again."
Quentyn sounded heartbroken. He'd been raised by Lord Anders of House Yronwood for over a decade, knowing more of him than his actual father. And Cletus Yronwood had been like a brother to him.
"I'm sure Lord Yronwood will understand," Gerris said. "And if he doesn't, and gets angry… we'll bear his wrath together."
"We'll stick together," Archibald said. "That's how we survived this far, seems like a winning strategy!"
The voyage back to Dorne would be long. They'd have to sail out of Slaver's Bay and the Gulf of Grief, around the Valyrian Peninsula, past the southwest coast of Essos, and through the Narrow Sea to return home. The threats of storms and corsairs would plague them for much of the voyage.
We'll have plenty of time here on this ship. Might as well use it on improving ourselves, and thinking up plans.
Who knows? By the time we step foot on Dornish soil again, we might just have a better plan than Prince Doran.
AN: The bit about Wilmarina rescuing child prostitutes and child fighters was originally planned to be a full chapter from one of the prostitutes' perspectives. I decided to reduce this to a small part of another chapter so I can progress the story faster. But you'll see more of this subplot later.