Daenerys
At noon Daenerys sent her emissaries to Yunkai, as she had done each day for the last two weeks. Each time the Yunkai'i had ignored them and she hardly expected the fourth time to be different, but she had to try. For she dreaded to risk the lives of her people trying to take the walls of Yunkai. Crumbling though they may be they were still high and well guarded by all manner of soldiery, slingers, crossbowmen, levied slaves, and sellswords, that infested the parapets like so many maggots. Her three envoys, Aggo her bloodrider, Red Rat an Unsullied commander, and a leader of the freedmen named Quzdar, slowly approached the city gates under their banners of truce.
Inevitably Dany's eyes turned from her envoys and to the city walls, which, as the days had passed, had slowly grown less crowded as the slavers grew more complacent that Dany would not try to storm the city. Perhaps I can use that, a night attack to steal up on the walls and take them before the enemy can respond. But can that even be done with what armies I have? She turned to her advisors. "Have you ever stormed a city or a castle?" Daenerys asked of them. After a few moments only Arstan Whitebeard and Ser Jorah answered.
"Several," said the old squire.
"A few times," Ser Jorah said.
"Tell me about them," she commanded.
Both men began to speak at the same time only to stop at the mutual interruption. Arstan waved a hand for Ser Jorah to speak first.
The former lord of Bear Island cleared his throat. "Most of them were holdfasts in the Riverlands during the War of the Usurper. But they were only little things, with only a small wall of unmortared stone and a single tower. The greatest fortress I stormed was the Greyjoy castle of Pyke. at the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion. The siege engines had taken down a watchtower and part of the walls so an assault was launched. I was one of the first men through the breach."
"Was it terrible?"
"Yes, Khaleesi. Hundreds died to seize the breach and hundreds more died to take the rest of the castle."
Dany pursed her lips. And how many thousands would die to take all of a city? Dany turned her attention to Arstan Whitebeard.
The old squire was stroking his namesake beard when he began to speak. "The first time was the castle of Torturer's Deep during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. I was fighting for your grandfather King Jaehaerys under the command of Lord Ormund Baratheon. The castle was held by pirates and cutthroats loyal to the Old Mother, one of the Ninepenny Kings, but the walls were low and not well maintained. We carried over the walls with ladders and took the fortress in an hour," Arstan smiled as he remembered. "There were several others castles after that but the none were even half as large as Torturer's Deep."
Dany nodded once and asked another question of the old man from her homeland. "Did you fight during the War of the Usurper?"
"Yes Your Grace," Arstan said. "I fought at the Trident under your brother Prince Rhaegar and partook in the taking of some holdfasts and castles during the war. During the Greyjoy Rebellion, I fought on Old Wyk and took the Ironmen castles there."
Dany was about to ask more, but movement at the gates of Yunkai set her heart racing in anticipation. But it was only her envoys returning without a word from the Yunkai'i. "Let us return to my pavilion and await them," she said. Dany pulled her silver around and returned to the depths of the massive camp that cut Yunkai off from it's hinterlands. Nevertheless, the city remained supplied by sea. Every day dozens of ships came and left from the harbour, no doubt their hulls were stuffed with supplies of every kind. I fear the Yunkai'i are eating better within the city than my people are outside it. The mansions and country estates of the Wise Masters of Yunkai had been looted and ravaged first by the freedmen and later by the Unsullied who had torn the buildings apart for building materials. The thousands of freedmen were gathered beneath makeshift tents, as they waited for their turn to work upon the scrap lumber and torn apart buildings. They worked under the direction of one of the surviving sellswords who had proved to have a knowledge of siege warfare and was putting that to good use in Dany's service. Aiding him were several freedmen who had worked as carpenters and builders for the Good Masters. Together they were turning piles of wood and scrap into ladders, mantlets, rams, and a pair of tall siege towers. Siege engines fit to take the walls of Yunkai if I dare to attack them.
Dany passed by all her people as she rode through the camp. "Mhysa," her people cried. "Mhysa." Dany had only discovered a week past that the word meant mother in Old Ghiscari. Old men, crones, and children alike called out to Dany asking for her attention, for her help. But she had none to give. Her people had stripped the land bare of all food for leagues around the city and now they were beginning to starve. Worse yet the first traces of disease were being felt.
Within her grand pavilion Daenerys waited for her envoys to return. Within half an hour the three men entered and knelt. "Rise," she said. "Did they at least deign to speak with you today."
"No Khaleesi," Aggo said as he rose to his full height. "The slavers hide behind their walls and ignore us."
Dany pursed her lips.
"Khaleesi," Ser Jorah said. "You must launch an attack."
"Do not tell me what I must do, ser. You are here to advise not command."
"My apologies Khaleesi."
Dany sighed. "Nonetheless I find myself agreeing with you. Grey Worm, how long will it take to prepare an attack?"
The Unsullied commander answered immediately. "If the preparations begin now then the Unsullied will be ready at dawn."
"Attacking at dawn would be wise Your Grace," Arstan Whitebeard interjected. "The enemy's eyes will be blinded by the light of the sun."
Ser Jorah gave a sideways glance at the old squire. "He's not wrong Khaleesi."
"The main assault will be commanded by Ser Jorah and Grey Worm, consisting of Unsullied and the sellswords. Aggo, Rakharo, and Jhogo you will have command of the archers. Strong Belwas and Arstan will remain by my side as my guards and to command the reserve should we have use of it. The preparations will begin now and be ready for a dawn attack."
Grey Worm tapped his spear on the ground and bowed his head. "Yes, Your Grace," the eunuch departed her pavilion.
Ser Jorah and Dany's bloodriders bowed. "Yes Khaleesi," the four men said as one and left her pavilion.
Dany dismissed Belwas, Arstan, and her handmaidens as well. Alone she laid down for a night of fitful sleep that ended when she left her bed an hour before dawn, having barely slept at all. She had the walls of her pavilion taken up, so she could see her army go to battle, and see the bloodshed that would come from her commands. As Grey Worm had promised the attack was ready at dawn, and as Arstan Whitebeard had advised the attack began at sunrise. Even as darkness still shrouded the fields that surrounded the city the Unsullied began to advance. They went slowly at first, sheltered beneath mantlets, and the roofs of the battering rams. Behind the Unsullied came the freedmen, armed with shovels, axes, and picks ready to make hurried trenches and pits for shelter, and to prepare the ground so the two great siege towers could be brought forward. For now, though the towers were being kept in place, lest their moving silhouettes against the rising sun give away the attack.
In the gloomy darkness that covered the world just before dawn, Dany quickly lost sight of her soldiers as they advanced, as silently as possible, against Yunkai. She could feel her heart beating in her chest as the seconds passed her by. Every moment she expected, and dreaded, to hear the horns rising from the city walls, alerting the garrison to the impending attack. When they finally came it was almost a relief. High pitched horns and yelling seemed so loud in the prior silence, but it wasn't long before they were drowned out by the shouts and warcries of the freedmen. The Unsullied, however, stayed silent.
The steadily rising sun revealed more and more of the battlefield to Dany. Waves of makeshift mantlets were advancing towards the walls. Every hundred or so yards they clumped together, shielding the hastily dug trenches and pits to provide shelter to the advancing soldiers. Other mantlets were edging forward, behind them came columns of Unsullied, their shield locked overhead like a roof of iron and wood.
From the walls came an endless torrent of stones and bolts, that embedded themselves in shields and mantlets, or else skidded off and bounced onto the ground. In comparison, the missiles Dany's forces returned were but a stream. Her ranged forces, commanded by her bloodriders, consisted of a few dozen archers armed with hunting bows, a few hundred crossbowmen armed with weapons taken from the defeated Yunkai'i and Astapori forces, and a few hundred Lhazareen slaves who had armed themselves with slings of their own making. From shelter behind the mantlets, they bombarded the walls with stones, bolts, and arrows, as they tried to soften the defenders for the main assault. Others set to work, taking their tools to the rocky ground, to level the ground for the siege towers or build more trenches.
Yet more of the freedmen went to work pulling on the long thick ropes attached to the siege towers. Slowly, they began to inch forward. Hundreds of freedmen strained as they pulled at the ropes and pushed from behind. The towers moved forward with painfully little speed. One by one wooden slats were placed before the huge wheels and the axles had to be greased and regreased to let them move at all. It was near noon before the towers went so far as the first of the trenches. Even as the towers pushed forward the Unsullied and freedmen were hard at work, labouring beneath the endless missiles, they dug more trenches to shelter themselves, and prepared the ground for the towers. As the hours past companies of freedmen began to replace their exhausted and demoralized comrades.
By mid-afternoon, the towers had come within two hundred yards of the city walls. The ground there must have been flatter than the ground farther away, for the towers began to move more quickly. At some unseen signal by Ser Jorah or Grey Worm, the Unsullied began to advance, swarming out of the protection of the trenches and the mantlets, carrying ladders and shields above their heads in tight formations to defend against the hail of arrows. Despite this, it took only seconds for Unsullied to begin falling as missiles struck them down. It took the Unsullied less than a minute to travel the distance to the walls. As one the Unsullied surged up the walls, like an ocean wave crashing into a rock. Dany imagined she could almost hear the clack of wood on stone, the stamping of feet, and the shouts of thousands of men. Almost smell the sweat, the blood, the fear.
As the Unsullied mounted the walls movement drew Dany's eyes to the enemy soldiers atop them. Bringing up their sellswords most likely. Let's see how well they fare against the Unsullied. In most places, the Unsullied had only a little difficulty in climbing the ladders. Atop the walls, the Unsullied were using their shields and short swords. They fought against all manner of sellsword and slave soldier. However in some places, mostly near the towers and the gate, the walls became blanketed in clouds of smoke and Dany could hear a distant cracking sound, unlike anything she'd ever heard. In those places, the Unsullied seemed to fare far less well, though it was hard to tell through the smoke.
Suddenly a loud crack swiftly followed by a deafening crash caused Dany's head to whip around to where the farther of the two siege towers was now leaning precariously on a broken axle. As she watched the freedmen surrounding it, scatter and flee as the tower leaned farther and farther, until it eventually fell over, sending a great cloud of dust and sand into the air. Dany forced herself to watch as hundreds of bolts struck the, now exposed, freedmen. Thankfully the other tower was still advancing and was now less than two hundred yards from the walls, close enough that the top of the tower was now crowded with archers and crossbowmen, who were getting their revenge at the Yunkai'i who had loosed thousands of missiles at them for most of the day.
Dany felt a sense of satisfaction grow as the Yunkai'i slave soldiers quickly wilted under the fury loosed from the siege tower. As the tower grew steadily closer she saw more and more Unsullied crowding inside, so as to be ready to leap forth when the drawbridge fell onto the walls. One hundred and fifty yards. A hundred yards. The pace slowed to a crawl under the weight of the packed bodies within. Fifty yards. The sun was beginning to fall behind the pyramids of Yunkai.
An eruption of smoke and fire came from a tower next to the gates, fifty yards north of the siege tower. At almost the same time the last siege tower shattered into pieces of wood and gore. Cries of despair rose from the battlefield as the freedmen saw their efforts, and hopes, fall into ruin. The Unsullied, however, marched on, deeper into the clouds of smoke, into the bloody ground that made of a moat of red mud beneath the walls. Unbidden the words of Kraznys mo Nakloz came to Daenerys. "They are the lockstep legions of Old Ghis come again," the slaver had boasted. "Absolutely obedient, absolutely loyal, and utterly without fear." They will fight no matter how hopeless the odds of success, she despaired, they will attack until there is not one of them left alive.
"Retreat," she said to Qaggo, her Dothraki messenger.
"Khaleesi?"
"I will not waste the lives of my people on a fruitless effort. Send the order to retreat."
Qaggo nodded once and then ran to his horse.
Only force of will kept Daenerys from collapsing in horror as the full weight of her failure fell upon her. She sat there, watching as her forces pulled back from the walls, dragging as many of the injured as they could with them, and still under attack from the murderous waves of missiles from Yunkai's walls. She remained there until her commanders came to her.
"Khaleesi," Ser Jorah knelt, his armour dented and dusty. Grey Worm was beside him, clearly exhausted beneath his unflappable Unsullied demeanour. Aggo and Rakharo both bore minor wounds from the ricochets of sling stones.
"Where is Jhogo?" Dany asked. "Where is the blood of my blood?'
"Dead," Aggo answered, his voice almost cracking from the emotion, he and Jhogo had been as close as brothers. "He was in the tower," he shook his head. "We could not find his body."
"He will ride among the stars nonetheless," Dany said quietly. "How many dead?" She asked, trying to keep no hint of uncertainty to enter her voice.
"We cannot say," Ser Jorah replied. "Not for many hours yet. Perhaps even days."
"Your best guess then."
"More than one thousand Unsullied," Grey Worm said stoically.
"And at least as many freedmen, if not more," Ser Jorah added.
Daenerys turned silently to the open curtains of her pavilion, to look without seeing, the silhouettes of Yunkai's pyramids and towers in the fading light. "We will send envoys in the morning. To ensure safety as we gather the dead. You can go now, see to the soldiers."
Daenerys never had the chance to send her envoys to Yunkai. For the next day at an hour after dawn, the gates of Yunkai opened and a party of envoys left the city. They were half a hundred strong and they came mounted, not on horses, but upon great chairs and palanquins carried by slaves.
"Bring them to my pavilion," Dany said wearily.
The Yunkai'i and Meereenese envoys gathered before Dany's open pavilion, flanking her were Aggo and Rakharo on one side and Strong Belwas and Arstan Whitebeard on the other. Drogon was out hunting, but Rhaegal and Viserion were curled into a scaly ball within a nest of pillows. Ser Jorah and Grey Worm were not in attendance, having instead been sent to organize the soldiers.
The slaves gently placed their master's chairs and palanquins upon the ground and with a rustle of silk curtains the masters exited and gathered in a long line before Dany's pavilion. The leader of the Ghiscari envoys was the ugliest man Daenerys had ever seen. He had a beetled brow, small eyes with heavy bags beneath them, a huge nose dark with blackheads, and oily yellow skin instead of the amber typical of the Ghiscari. Amongst the other envoys was Grazdan mo Eraz, the Yunkai'i who had treated with Dany before, and who glared from beneath a unicorn horn of oiled red-black hair. Among the other envoys were half a hundred Wise Masters of Yunkai, Great Masters of Meereen, a few sellsword captains, and most curiously by a ten year old girl who stayed at the ugly man's side at all times.
He taunts me by bringing slaves into my presence. Dany forced her face to remain neutral as anger swelled in her breast.
Arstan Whitebeard acted as her herald. The old squire tapped his staff on the carpeted ground. "Hail Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Breaker of Chains, and the Mother of Dragons."
Daenerys noted that a few of the sellswords shuffled and spoke to each other in a strange tongue as her titles were said. She could not understand a word of their speech but from their tone, they seemed angry, angry and afraid.
The ugly man shuffled forward, the slave girl at his side, bowed and waited for Dany to offer a greeting, but when no such greeting came he tapped the shoulder of the slave girl and she began to speak in accentless in the Common Tongue of Westeros. "This one has the honour to present Skahaz, scion of the House mo Kandaq, Great Master of Meereen, the emissary of Meereen and Yunkai, and commander of the Meereenese in Yunkai," her part done the poor girl stepped aside and her master stepped forward.
Skahaz mo Kandaq spoke smoothly in Valyrian. "I have been given the power to negotiate with you in the wake of your defeat."
"It seems surprising that you would negotiate unless you were ones on the verge of defeat. Are the ships not bringing enough food to maintain the city?"
Skahaz's small black eyes glittered. He bowed low to whisper something in the ear of his slave girl, who whispered something back. He straightened and spoke again. "Ships come from Meereen, from Tolos and Elyria, and from New Ghis. But such is the mercy and power of Yunkai and Meereen that our great cities would deign to negotiate. Even with someone as weak and defeated as you," Skahaz paused to let an uncomfortable silence govern before he offered Daenerys a courtesy. "Khaleesi."
"I am a queen," Daenerys said. "The proper address is Your Grace, but I will forgive such a mistake for you are not educated in the courtesies of the Seven Kingdoms."
"A queen requires a kingdom and the Sunset Kingdoms kneel before the stag, not the dragon. In any case, I stand here surrounded by naught but a horde of barbarians who rape and despoil all they touch. A Dothraki title suits you well I think," Skahaz mo Kandaq smirked.
Daenerys kept her face carefully blank. This one is more clever than the other slavers. "If you are here to negotiate then hear my terms. Yunkai will surrender half it's wealth and food to my people, take the chains from every slave within the city walls, freeing them now and forever," Dany leaned forward slightly. "And when the time comes Meereen will do the same."
"You are as arrogant as you are beautiful, Khaleesi. Allow me to offer a word of wisdom from an older man, only make threats that you can deliver on."
"I am only a young girl unlearned in the words if history but even I have heard of the fate of Old Ghis when it angered the dragonlords of Old Valyria. I would have thought that Yunkai and Meereen would remember the fate of Old Ghis."
Skahaz smiled again and let his eyes wander over the curled up bodies of Rhaegal and Viserion. "Everyone remembers that the Freehold defeated the Old Empire of Ghis," his eyes shifted back to Daenerys. "But only the wise remember that it took five wars to make the great walls of Old Ghis crumble and burn. That these wars lasted centuries and that Valyria itself was brought to near ruin in the fighting that cost them…" he looked again and her children. "Dozens of dragons. Obviously, you fear that yours will suffer the same fate. Elsewise you would have sent them into battle," he waved his hands. "But enough talk of the past, now you will hear my terms. Your army will leave Yunkai and return to Astapor. You will leave behind everything you have stolen from the Wise Masters. Ships will be provided for your journey to the Sunset Lands and your slaves and Unsullied will be allowed to leave with you. Well, as many of them as can fit upon the ships."
"I have no slaves."
"Then I suppose you paid these men and women to follow you all the way from Astapor?"
"They came of their own will and can leave of their own will as well."
"They have no will. They are slaves whether or not you realise that does not change the facts."
Daenerys forced herself to remain calm, to not to lash out against the slaver's taunts. "If they have no will then why are you so determined to keep them chained?" She did not give Skahaz the opportunity to answer. "Let us move on to something more constructive. I would have your word not to harm my people as we collect our dead and injured."
"No," Skahaz said simply.
"And why would you refuse? Do you not care for their fate? For their suffering? But why would you, to you and your kind they are only property."
Skahaz was expressionless as he replied in turn. "The Wise Masters have, mercifully, already begun to care for the injured. They are now safely inside Yunkai."
"Safe for now," Daenerys said suspiciously.
"Yes," Skahaz answered smugly. "But if another attack is sent then they will be hung from the walls one by one."
Rage stirred in Dany and, sensing her anger, Rhaegal and Viserion began to hiss, steam rising from their nostrils. Despite his, otherwise calm, composure Skahaz nervously eyed the two dragons. When Dany said nothing Skahaz stood and bowed. "I pray that your gods will shower you with wisdom so that you see the sense in accepting my offer," silently he turned and left. The slave girl at his side as he reentered his palanquin.
Dany waited until the slavers were far from earshot before she spoke. "Would he do it, kill them if I attack?"
"A man like that will do anything, Your Grace," Arstan Whitebeard said quietly.
"Summon Ser Jorah and Grey Worm. I would have their thoughts on the matter."
Her two exhausted commanders arrived without delay and waited silently as Dany laid out the terms Skahaz mo Kandaq had delivered.
"The slavers will never fulfill the terms," Ser Jorah said.
"The masters are liars," Grey Worm agreed.
"I have no intention of accepting their offer, but I cannot risk the lives of my people attacking Yunkai again."
"We have time Khaleesi," Ser Jorah said. "Time to make a decision."
"But not enough time. Supplies are coming to Yunkai from every other city around Slaver's Bay. Meanwhile, my people strip the land for leagues in all directions. Yunkai must fall or… or we must retreat to Astapor."
"If you do that then the slavers will only grow stronger."
"They will do that nonetheless," Dany countered. "And if my army stays it will only grow weaker. But you are right there is still time to make a decision."
But only hours later that time was taken away.
From high upon her silver Dany frowned as the column of rag cloaked former slaves, and she noted more than a few in ruined tokars of the Good Masters, entered her camp. "Who are they?" She asked of Grey Worm.
"Refugees from Astapor," the Unsullied commander answered tersely.
Dany shook her head. "Why have they come?"
Ser Jorah shifted in his boots. "They say that the city is in chaos, the council has been overthrown, and a butcher named Cleon rules Astapor. According to some, he's declared himself king and..." her knight trailed off.
"And has put his enemies in chains, and has declared their children will make a new generation of Unsullied," Arstan Whitebeard finished for Ser Jorah.
Dany squeezed her reins so hard her hands turned white, she turned to look at the walls of Yunkai. Walls guarded by slings, crossbows, and other more dangerous weapons. Walls surrounded by a moat of blood and bodies. Dany closed her eyes and turned to her advisors. "We will return to Astapor and end the reign of this butcher king."
Skahaz
"She will not accept the terms," Skahaz said to Grazdan mo Eraz.
"Then she is a fool," the lean Yunkai'i replied.
"No, she is wise to do so. Our fleets would dump her and her servants at the first part of the Sunset Lands they saw. Even the barbarians of the west would be able to crush that rabble in a day."
Grazdan waved a hand as if to slap away Skahaz's thoughts, and with quiet word had his chair carried away from Skahaz.
"That man is a fool," Skahaz muttered to himself. Beside him the slave girl said nothing. Missandei that's her name, Skahaz reminded himself. He reached out and parted the silk curtain that shielded him from the sun. He looked out on the bloody swathe of land that surrounded Yunkai. Soldiers and slaves had been set to work going over the dead and the injured. Some of the injured Unsullied might yet be salvageable. As labourers or bed slaves if nothing else. Other slaves were working underneath the careful gaze of whip armed overseers as they salvaged arrows, bolts, sling stones, javelins, and armour to be given to the Yunkai'i and Meereenese armies garrisoned within Yunkai or else given over to the sellswords as part of their payment. Idly, he noticed that Missandei was fixing her golden eyes on the faces of each of the Unsullied dead or injured that she could see. When she noticed Skahaz looking at her she averted her eyes and stared at her knees.
Skahaz let the curtain fall back down as his slaves carried him through the great gates and into Yunkai. The yellow brick walls surrounded Skahaz and gave welcome shade to from the heat. Upon reaching the other side the palanquins and sedan chairs of the Great Masters and Wise Masters entered the Plaza of the Gate and began to split up each making their own way to one of Yunkai's many pyramids. Skahaz parted the curtain again, hoping to catch sight of the Beikango captains in their strange layered armour. He was in luck for six of the foreigners had gathered in the Plaza of the Gate.
"Over there," he said to the slaves carrying him. "Put me down there and have a rest." With a word the eight slaves who carried him made their way to the shadows and set Skahaz down. "Careful!" Skahaz growled as one corner was dropped onto the cobblestones. From where he now sat Skahaz could hear the babble of the Beikango captains.
The foreign captains were speaking in their own language, of which, Skahaz could, at best, make out one word in fifty of their queer tongue. This alone made Skahaz an outlier amongst the masters, most of whom had barely bothered to speak with the sellsails. This, of course, made them think that no one could understand them. They were wrong. Skahaz tapped Missandei on her shoulder. "Translate," he commanded.
The young Naathi slave leaned over and began to whisper in his ear. "They are speaking about the defences of Yunkai. Captain Minato believes that their weapons could destroy the walls in only a day. Captain Sota disagrees he says it would only take an hour. They insult the honour of the Wise Masters."
"What exactly do they say?"
"That they're surprised the Wise Masters did not march their soldiers into the sea."
Skahaz snorted in amusement as the slave girl continued to speak.
"They speak of," Missandei trailed off as she closed her eyes in concentration. Even with her linguistic gifts learning the Beikango tongue in such a short time was not easy. "Ships," she said. "More ships and dragons from the south, and of," she let her head hang. "This one is sorry, this one does not know the word they are using now."
Skahaz waved a hand. "What else?"
"They speak of the length of the journey."
"How long a journey?"
"This one cannot be certain."
Skahaz reached out and squeezed her shoulder.
"This one thinks they said many months, but this one cannot say how many months."
Given that they've never been heard of or from before, many months probably means a year at least if not far more time. "What else?"
"They speak of Daenerys Targaryen."
"What are they saying?"
"They say she is," the girl bit her lip in concentration as she worked to translate the queer foreign tongue. "A demon, or is born of demons, though this one thinks this word may also mean storm. Then they said that something comes, a uhm, a storm is coming."
Skahaz nodded. "They don't respect the masters, but they hate and fear Daenerys more," he snorted. "Good enough. What are they saying now?"
"They're talking about food now," Missandei said quietly.
"Hmph, fine then," Skahaz pulled the curtain back again and spoke to his bearers. "Return me to the Grand Pyramid."
"This one obeys," the eight slaves said as one. With a grunt, they lifted Skahaz's chair onto their shoulders and began the walk down the narrow twisting streets of Yunkai.
As Skahaz came to the foot of the pyramid Skahaz turned and pulled a copper token out of a hidden pocket in his tokar and gave it to Missandei. "You have served me well today, fetch something sweet from the kitchens for yourself."
The slave girl took the token and bowed. "This one is honoured by the Great Master's generosity," she remained bowed as she waited for a sign that she was allowed to leave Skahaz's presence.
Skahaz silently dismissed her with a wave of his hand and as she walked off he snapped a finger to summon one of his other slaves. "I'm going to have a bath later today, see that it's ready."
The slave bowed. "This one obeys, Great Master."
Skahaz waved another dismissal with one hand, keeping the other hand carefully on his tokar, Skahaz stood to begin the long walk up to his chambers in the Grand Pyramid of Yunkai. Grand Pyramid, Skahaz sneered internally, it is less than half the height of the Great Pyramid of Meereen, but that is only fitting, for Yunkai is less than half the city Meereen is. A pair of slaves followed him, their polished bronze collars shining in the torchlight of the tunnel like interior halls of the pyramid. Once within his chambers on the fourth highest floor, Skahaz ate an early lunch of dates, spiced lamb, and flatbread, while he went to work on the numerous necessities of commanding the Meereenese forces. Provisions, supplies, pay, and other banal but vital tasks. Most of which were being sold by the Yunkai'i, at often exorbitant prices. The Wise Masters seem determined to milk every coin they can from Meereen. As the noonday heat began to mount Skahaz rose, stretching his aching back and picking at his sweat soaked tokar, and made his way to his bathing chamber.
Inside the chamber were four slave women placing the last candles and adding fresh rosewater into the marble pool. Without a second thought, Skahaz spread his arms wide and allowed two of his slaves to take his tokar and fold it up to be washed and cleaned. Two more slaves began to lather his body in cold, soapy water with a pair of large sponges. Once his entire body was covered in soap Skahaz stepped forward and into the warm water of the bath. He groaned in pleasure as the warmth soothed his aching back. Skahaz took a breath and ducked his head beneath the water, leaving a sheen of oil on the surface as the ram horns of his red black hair were submerged. He then sat on a marble bench and leaned back, as he allowed the slaves to go to work with brushes, soap, and nimble fingers. They worked his hair free of it's rigid and fantastical shapes and steadily cleaned it. Leaving the long strands to float in the water. Once they had finished Skahaz dismissed them with a waved hand and a sharp word. As they left they lit several scented candles.
Alone and cleansed of dust, sand, and the smell of blood, Skahaz slipped into the bath and floated on his back. Skahaz wasn't sure how long he floated in the water, with nothing to focus on but the warm wetness of the water, the scented candles, and the rhythm of his lungs and heart, time inevitably slipped away from him. Eventually, inevitably, the calmness was disturbed by the pit patter of little feet, and sound of someone breathing. The girl probably, waiting for permission before speaking. With a deep breath, Skahaz opened his eyes and gazed upwards at the tile ceiling. Thousands of coloured tiles on the ceiling made a vivid picture of people fleeing for their lives, a city on fire, and an erupting volcano. The Doom of Valyria. Even after four hundred years Valyria still haunts the children of Old Ghis.
"Speak," he commanded of Missandei without looking at her.
"This one brings word from the Wise Masters," she said meekly.
"What's the message?"
"The Wise Masters say that Daenerys Targaryen has abandoned the siege."
Skahaz started upright, sending waves travelling through the, now cool, waters of the bath. "What?"
"The Wise Masters say that-"
"-I heard you the first time!" Skahaz rose from the bath and clapped his hands twice to summon four slaves to him. These ones were armed with cotton towels, brushes, hair oil, and a new tokar. Skahaz breathed deeply of the smell of cinnamon and honey, trying to calm himself as the slaves went to work. They worked quickly, drying Skahaz's limbs and torso with expert movements of the soft towels and then lightly spraying him down with rosewater perfume. They worked his hair with gels and oils setting it into a pair of great twisting ram's horns. When they finished the hair the slaves then wrapped the length of his silver fringed tokar around his body and presented him with a mirror. Skahaz gave a grunt of satisfaction at his appearance and dismissed his slaves with a wave of his hand, before slipping into a pair of padded cotton and silk slippers.
With the girl at his side, Skahaz left his apartments and quickly made way through the halls of the Grand Pyramid of Yunkai. It took only minutes for Skahaz to arrive at a high balcony, already crowded with Wise Masters and Great Masters, that overlooked the land. With sharp words and equally sharp elbows, Skahaz forced his way through the crowd and to the stone and bronze balustrade. The late afternoon sun had turned the land around Yunkai into a plain of beaten bronze shining in the light. It was crisscrossed by great streaks of darkness as the pyramids cast long shadows over the land. In the middle distance and stretching all the way into the hills was a long twisting black and brown snake. A snake made of slaves, Unsullied, and animals. Daenerys' army, headed south, back to Astapor. Skahaz put a hand on the bronze ornamentation and smiled.
Mathis
He only heard of the events surrounding the deaths of Lord Tywin and Lord Mace days later as his mind resurfaced from the depths that the milk of the poppy had sent it too. Gunthor spent hours speaking to him, though Mathis could scarcely believe what his son said. Lord Tywin Lannister murdered by Lord Mace, in turn, Lord Mace Tyrell was dead at King Joffrey's own hand, a dozen of the greatest lords of the Reach executed with a word, and half the remaining Reachlords arrested or under suspicion of treason. Their own deaths stayed only by the efforts of Ser Daven Lannister and Ser Bronn Wolfsbane. Who it seemed were the only men in the camp who had any influence over King Joffrey. The former as His Grace's last living kin in the army, while the sellsword turned knight had earned King Joffrey's gratitude in the early minutes of Lord Mace's failed coup by killing Mathis' fellow highborn.
Mathis was one of those under suspicion for he had been high in Lord Mace's councils before and during the war. Although he had not been harmed though and his men were not, officially, harassed, Mathis was nonetheless kept under guard. At all times at least a dozen Lannister redcloaks surrounded the cart in which he lay or the tent where he slept. Mathis' captains and bannermen were not as put upon, but they had been forbidden to speak with him directly. Only Gunthor had a measure of freedom in the camp and so he became Mathis' eyes and ears to the goings on in King Joffrey's army. It was from them that Mathis learned that it had not taken long for King Joffrey to go to work against Lord Mace's supposed traitors and conspirators. The king had put the task of rooting them out to Ser Bronn. To do this the upjumped sellsword turned knight was given command over the many freeriders and sellswords in the army. All the while the army was attempting to march northwards as quickly as it could, in the hopes of catching Stannis Baratheon before his army crossed the Blueburn.
Despite King Joffrey's rush progress was slow. Every day there was a fight of some kind between the Westermen and Reachmen of the army. Often these were broken up before they got too serious by Ser Bronn Wolfsbane and his men. But on occasion things became more serious and required that the men be imprisoned. When that happened King Joffrey would stop the march early to dispense justice upon the offenders. King Joffrey required that the entire army come together to give audience to his proclamations.
It didn't take long to see a pattern in King Joffrey's idea of justice, the bloodier the better. The best that one could say for him was that King Joffrey didn't distinguish between Westermen and Reachmen in his sentencing. The fighters were often mutilated by the loss of fingers, ears, tongues, or else made to fight to the death. "So as to settle their differences," King Joffrey said. Mathis dreaded what would happen when Ser Bronn's investigations were done. A week into the march northwards Ser Bronn came to Mathis.
"My lord," said the redcloaks sergeant. "Ser Bronn to see you," without waiting for his permission the Lannister man turned to let the lean and wolfish knight into Mathis' large tent. Ser Bronn entered gracefully, his oiled black leather jerkin shining in the candlelight beneath his wolf fur cloak.
"M'lord," he said as he took a seat.
"Ser Bronn," Mathis said in turn from the limited comfort of his camp bed.
"I trust I don't need to explain to you why King Joffrey has sent me."
"No."
"Good. When did Lord Mace decide to kill Lord Tywin?"
Mathis shook his head. "I don't know."
Ser Bronn grinned wolfishly. "That's what everyone says. What I need, what His Grace needs, is proof that you're loyal," Bronn rubbed his chin with one hand.
Mathis' eyes were drawn to the emerald ring that decorated Ser Bronn's hand, glittering in the candlelight. That ring belongs to Ser Gordon Kidwell, a wedding gift from his goodfather. Mathis' eyes met Ser Bronn's, the sellsword's face was blank, but his eyes glittered. The bastard, the fucking bastard. "Perhaps there is a way to prove myself, prove my House's devotion to King Joffrey.."
Ser Bronn smiled lightly. "And what would that be."
"Lord Gawen Osgrey, one of my lords bannermen could be placed directly under His Grace's command."
"I'm sure His Grace would appreciate such a gesture," Ser Bronn leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. "But I have no doubt that he is looking for something a little more… personal.
Mathis glared at the upjumped knight and stayed silent.
Bronn, undeterred by Mathis' glare, leaned forward and put his weight on Mathis' leg. "I don't have all day to waste m'lord."
Mathis grimaced in pain. "You bastard."
"Who my mother fucked doesn't matter right now," he squeezed his hand slightly.
"Oaklake Keep," Mathis said through the pain. "Surely that is worthy evidence of my loyalty."
Ser Bronn smiled. "I'm happy to hear His Grace can be sure of your loyalty m'lord," the sellsword knight stood. "Of course we wouldn't want you to go back on your word now, would we? So I'd like a guarantee of our understanding."
Mathis glared at the rogue. "You have my word of honour. Is that not enough?"
"I'm afraid not. See it's my experience that a man's word of honour is good only so long as you can ensure it will stay good."
Mathis seethed. "I'll have a deed written, witnessed, and sealed."
"Very good m'lord," Ser Bronn stood quickly and gave a low bow. "Have a nice evening m'lord," he didn't wait for Mathis to respond before he left.
When the sellsword left the tent Mathis let what little control that remained to him slip. His face contorted in a rage he began to slam his fist into the bed, uncaring for the pain it sent through his leg. "Damn him!" He said for Bronn for extorting him. "Damn him!" He said for Joffrey for allowing this or being so foolish as to not know of it. "Damn him!" He said for Mace for killing Lord Tywin. "Damn them!" He said for Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister for spawning such a shit of a prince. "Damn him!" Mathis finished with a final slam of his fist cursing Robert Baratheon for the War of the Usurper. Mathis growled and ground his teeth as rage continued to burn inside and his leg throbbed in agony. I'd kill Joffrey myself, with my bare hands but… Mathis forced himself to calm, forced his rage to abate slightly. I can do nothing so long as my daughter is at Casterly Rock. Lord Tywin's shadow stretches from beyond the grave. "Damn him," Mathis whispered. Unable to bear the pain, he reached into his saddlebags for the dreamwine and drank until he fell to sleep.
When he awoke late the next morning the redcloaks had been replaced by his own Goldengrove men. Rather than ride out the army instead remained in camp, to witness King Joffrey mete out justice to the traitors.
Perhaps some of them are truly traitors, Mathis thought of the prisoners lined up before King Joffrey's pavilion, formerly Lord Tywin's. But I fear most simply refused to debase themselves before that bastard sellsword. Most of them were men close to House Tyrell, either by oaths of fealty or by blood. Chief among them was Ser Leo Blackbar whose loyalty to his wife's family had never strayed. Armed sellswords stood behind them.
Joffrey lounged in a large padded chair, flanked by Ser Daven, Ser Bronn, and his kingsguard. Mathis sat on an old stool flanked by Ser Raymond Redding, a landed knight sworn to House Crane, and Ser Gavin Oldflowers. Gunthor stood behind him carrying Mathis' crutches.
King Joffrey smiled as everyone settled in their places, he slouched in his makeshift throne. "My lords, it has been a trying time this past week. But our trials are over now and we can begin our pursuit of my traitor uncle in earnest," the lords of the Reach and the West kept their silence. "As for these traitors. In my kingdom there can be only one punishment for treason," he leaned forward eagerly. "Let them taste steel. Ser Bronn bring me their heads!" As one the sellswords standing behind the prisoners dragged them to their feet and began to push the condemned towards the block. All of the prisoners chose to meet the Father above with dignified silence, all save for one.
"You are no true king!" Ser Leo Blackbar shouted as the sellswords brought him to his feet. "You are an illborn monster! Maegor the Cruel come again! You are-" A sellsword punched Ser Leo in the gut, silencing the knight, before continuing to drag him away.
King Joffrey chuckled as the sellswords dragged Ser Leo Blackbar away. As the sellswords pulled Ser Leo to his fate the knight met Mathis' eyes. Mathis looked away, unable to meet the eyes of a stronger man, a more honourable man, a better man. Instead, Mathis turned his eyes to the king. This boy is nothing like his father, Mathis thought, remembering some of King Robert's many toasts and boasts from the feasts and tourneys he had hosted at King's Landing and across the Seven Kingdoms. He is nothing compared to his grandfather, Mathis remembered the iron hard resolve and cold ruthlessness of Lord Tywin. And he is less than nothing compared to Prince Rhaegar, he thought, bitterly remembering the long debates at the Siege of Storm's End where Mathis had tried to convince Lord Mace to send part of the army to join Prince Rhaegar on the march from Dorne to King's Landing. If even a thousand men had joined the Silver Prince then perhaps House Targaryen would still sit the Iron Throne.
Ser Raymond Redding leaned down to speak to Mathis. "My lord myself and some of my fellows would like to speak with you tonight. Might we have permission to enter your tent, sometime this evening."
Mathis thought for a moment before answering. "Yes, you have my permission."
"Thank you, my lord," Ser Raymond said before leaving in the company of several Reachman knights.
The little lords and landed knights came to Mathis that night, led by Ser Raymond Redding of Blackwatch Tower. As the first of them arrived Mathis slid the signed and sealed deed to Oaklake Keep into a leather case. They came in ones and twos the vassals of vassals of vassals, the landed knights and littlest lords of the Reach. Some of them were the scions of houses Mathis had not even heard of before, they were so small. The knights and lords Houses Uffering, Bridges, Conklyn, Dunn, Pommingham, Hastwyck, Inchfield, Stackhouse, Leygood, Woodwright, Lowther, Lyberr, Middlebury, Graceford, Norcross, Norridge, Oldflowers, Risley, Roxton, Sloane, and Yelshire. Men who have never had to think for themselves, men who are so used to obedience it is almost ingrained in their very blood.
In total, more than two dozen men were crowded inside Mathis' large tent before Ser Raymond began to speak. "My lord, I think I speak for us all when I say that this cannot continue," the other knights and lordlings muttered their own agreements. Ser Raymond looked askance for a moment. "Lord Mathis of all of us you are the best suited to bring our grievances to the king. He must know of the corruption and cruelties being done in his name by this upjumped whoreson of a sellsword."
Before the other lordlings began to speak up Mathis interrupted them. "Ser Bronn is doing His Grace's work, his bidding."
"But," said fat, old, and simple Ser Bart Risley. "He is the king. The king is just. Why is the king not being just?"
"Because he is a poor king," Ser Walder Yelshire muttered savagely provoking a series of gasps from the other lordlings at the baldness of his statement "Well he is. He's barely a shadow of his father and mother put together."
"Would that Robert's Rebellion had failed," said the ancient Lord Torwood Middlebury. "Would that House Targaryen still reigned."
Mathis slapped his hand on the arm of his chair. "Sers! My lords! If woulds, wishes, and what ifs were wine and ale the whole world would be drunk. But they're not and House Targaryen is dead, dead and buried. There's no use in wondering about what if Prince Rhaegar had won at the Trident. What's done is done and this is the world we must live with."
"You can't mean to say nothing to King Joffrey. Even a Baratheon should be able to see reason in this matter," Ser Raymond said.
"If he's even really a Baratheon," Ser Walder muttered again. "What? You know what I speak of, Lord Stannis' letters. We've all heard the rumours that Joffrey is nothing more than an incestuous abomination."
"Those are dangerous words ser," Mathis said quietly. "And I know what you're all thinking now, but it won't happen. Stannis will never accept anything from the Reach save for total surrender. We cannot hope to join with Stannis, not after we've spurned him twice." And not so long as my daughter remains at Casterly Rock.
"After you've spurned him twice," Ser Walder said.
This made Mathis' anger rise. "And do you think Stannis would welcome us with open arms ser?" Mathis shouted at the knight. "That he would embrace us and call us friend? Need I remind everyone here of the sept at Cider Hall? Of how Lord Fossoway was forced to burn it to the ground to appease Stannis and his Red God? I thought not. To Stannis, we would be traitors thrice over deserving nothing but the Night's Watch at best or a slow death at the worst. Better to kneel before Joffrey than to be burned at the altar by Stannis," Mathis waved his hand. "There are no other options."
Arianne
The heiress of Dorne tapped her fingers impatiently on the dun sandstone walls of the Sandship as she watched the foreign traders speak with her father's castellan, Ser Manfrey Martell. Only Prince Doran's most trusted guardsmen, vouched for by Areo Hotah himself, were present. The guardsmen flanked each and every door and lined the walls and all other servants had been banished from the ancient castle. Which was the old seat of House Nymeros Martell, from before the arrival of Nymeria, the Rhoynar, and the thousand ships, in those days they were simply House Martell.
The foreigners wore strange robes of blue and grey and were all unarmed save two who wore sets of queer armour and bore curved swords and daggers at their hips. The warriors flanked several long crates and behind them were several of their countrymen who waited silently in their robes. The apparent leader of the traders was speaking with Ser Manfrey near the center of the cobblestone courtyard. Arianne leaned on her elbows as Ser Manfrey and the trader spent several minutes speaking. The trader seemed determined to go over every aspect of the strange looking weapon he was holding. It looks like someone tried to breed a club and a crossbow like they were a horse and a donkey.
She said as much to Tyene who laughed. "That is what they should be called then mules. All of the Seven Kingdoms will fear Dorne and it's mules."
Arianne laughed and leaned further onto the wall. My father is planning something here, something he wants few people to see. Her fingers tightened on the stone. I'm surprised I haven't been escorted from the walls. It's probably only because my uncle has returned from the Red Mountains. Prince Oberyn and a score of riders had arrived late last night, and he now stood on the walls of the Sandship, opposite from where Arianne was. Arianne turned her attention back to the courtyard where Ser Manfrey was watching the trader juggle with the weapon and what looked like a stick. Once the trader had finished he took aim at an armoured wooden dummy set up twenty paces away from where he and Ser Manfrey were standing.
A few seconds passed between the trader aiming the weapon and Arianne almost jumping out of her skin as the weapon let loose a jet of flame, a cloud of smoke, and a thunderous crash that echoed through the courtyard. As the sound settled down and after images of flame faded from everyone's eyes, Ser Manfrey approached the dummy to inspect it. Ser Manfrey bent down to look at the armour. A few second later he pulled the coat of scales off the dummy and lifted it high so everyone could see him putting a hand clean through the scales.
"Not a mule," Tyene said. "A dragon."
"Is it some kind of magic?"
Tyene shrugged her shoulders and gently shook her head in disbelief, sending her blonde curls swinging. "You're talking to the wrong Sand Snake. Sarella might know something about this weapon, but I think that a vain hope at best."
Arianne smiled. "Dragons."
"What?"
"These must be the weapons Stannis used at Storm's End and King's Landing," Arianne's smile broadened as the traders began to open more of the crates, revealing row on row of dragons. "With these weapons, Dorne will never know defeat."
"A weapon is only as good as the hand that wields it." Arianne and Tyene turned to see Oberyn sauntering up to them. Prince Oberyn smiled. "Tyene."
"Father," Tyene leapt into Oberyn's waiting arms and father and daughter pulled each other into a hug. "How long will you be back?
"A few days at most," Oberyn said with a hint of wistfulness. "Prince Doran is sending me on an important mission," he extricated himself from his daughter's hug. "And I'm afraid I must go to him now," Oberyn gave Tyene a kiss on the forehead. "I will see you and your sisters tonight." Oberyn then turned to face Arianne, his smile growing a little more melancholy. "Your father wants to see you as well."
Arianne straightened, slowly rising from her slouch against the battlements. She struggled to keep herself from showing her surprise. He's bringing me to his councils, why? Has my father given up on making Quentyn his heir? Is he finally done trying to steal my inheritance? She snorted. More likely Walder Frey is looking for a new wife.
"Come, Arianne," Oberyn said. "Prince Doran is waiting for us both."
Arianne followed her uncle giving Tyene a smile as she passed her cousin.
Her uncle led Arianne out of the Sandship and into the warmer, newer, stronger, and Rhoynar style towers and walls that dominated the rest of Sunspear. The winding paths that dominated the interior courtyards led them to the short, wide, and domed Tower of the Sun, where Prince Doran's apartments lay overlooking the sea.
Prince Doran was there seated in his wheeled chair, a blanket covering his swollen legs, watching the waves and the clouds in the blue sky. Areo Hotah was lurking not far away and moved forward to wheel Doran next to a table as Arianne and her uncle entered the room. Arianne and Oberyn also took places at the table.
"How went the test?" The Prince of Dorne asked of his brother, hardly giving his daughter and heir a look.
"Better than I'd hoped," Oberyn admitted. "The hand-dragon punched clean through the scale, through the post, and back out the other side."
"Scale is not plate," her father cautioned.
"If it doesn't pierce plate it will still strike with the force of a score of warhammers," Oberyn countered.
"Perhaps," Doran admitted cautiously.
"It's well known how effective these weapons are," Arianne spoke up. "They destroyed the chivalry of the Reach at Storm's End and smashed the walls of King's Landing in days."
"And at the Cockleswent they were thrown back by Lord Tywin," Prince Doran said gently. "We must not be rash with these weapons. We must wait and-"
This was news to Arianne but before she of her father could speak they were cut off by her uncle.
"-The time for waiting is over brother!" Oberyn slammed his hands on the table and rose to pace around the room. "Amory Lorch is dead, the Mountain is dead, Tywin is dead, the Lannister's are all but destroyed, and Stannis has suffered grievously to achieve these victories," he sat down and stared intently at Arianne's father. "The time to strike is now, for Elia and her children."
Prince Doran sat in his wheeled chair and did what he was best at, waiting and doing nothing, as his brother ranted.
The Red Viper was growing louder. "If we wait much longer the chance for vengeance will pass. Stannis will rule from the Red Mountains to the Neck! And everyone who hurt our family will be dead!"
"Is that not enough?" Doran asked quietly. "To live while those who hurt you see everything they've built crumble and die, including their own lives?"
"Not if it's not my spear that sends their life's blood spilling on the ground."
"Father," Arianne spoke for the first time. "Let's not play this game. You're planning something. You've sent scouts and raiders into the Dornish Marches, some of them led by my uncle. You've bought queer weapons from foreign traders, more spears gather at Sunspear every day."
"The time has come to tell her brother," Oberyn fixed Doran with his glare again.
"Tell me what," Arianne crossed her arms.
"Of your betrothed," Oberyn said, provoking a glare from Prince Doran. "You should have told her long ago," Oberyn said, his tone speaking of hundreds of previous arguments.
"Told me what?" Arianne asked.
Prince Doran frowned slightly. "About your betrothed. You would have known long ago if it weren't for your mother."
"Once again you hide behind the vanished skirts of my mother. It's always her fault isn't it?"
Prince Doran's frown deepened. "Do you remember when you were young, a green-haired girl came to the Water Gardens for a time."
"Yes," Arianne said. "She was Tyroshi? A terror of the water pools, though she could never defeat Garin and I."
"That green-haired girl was the Archon's daughter. I was to have sent you to Tyrosh in her place. You would have served the Archon as a cupbearer and met with your betrothed in secret, but your mother threatened to harm herself if I stole another of her children, and I... I could not do that to her."
Arianne snorted. Stranger and stranger. "Who is it? Who have I been betrothed to, all these years?"
"It makes no matter. He is dead."
That left her more baffled than ever. "The old ones are so frail. Was it a broken hip, a chill, gout?"
"It was a pot of molten gold," her father said quietly.
"Who was he then? You might as well tell me."
Oberyn spoke before Prince Doran could even open his mouth. "Viserys Targaryen."
Shock rattled Arianne and left her still as stone. "What?" She managed to force out.
Prince Doran sat silently as Oberyn explained. "Two years after the War of the Usurper I travelled to Braavos to negotiate an alliance with the Targaryens. The alliance was to be sealed with a marriage between you and Prince Viserys. The contract was signed by Ser Willem Darry and myself, and was witnessed by the Sealord of Braavos."
"What now then? Viserys is dead and I am still unmarried," she laughed. "Did you plan on wedding me to his sister. That would cause quite a stir."
"I had thought to wed Daenerys to Quentyn. Though now there are complications."
"Of course there are."
Doran ignored her. "A messenger from a Pentoshi magister came several weeks ago. He spoke of the survival of Prince Aegon. He claims my nephew was spirited away from King's Landing by the Spider and that he has been raised in secret by Jon Connington."
"You, you can't possibly believe this?" Arianne sputtered. "It's madness. This magister is lying, perhaps trying to trick you out of money or-"
"-I am well aware of all that, but this pretender has the support of one of the richest men in Essos, of the Golden Company, and through those a small fleet of sellsails and the means to invade Westeros."
"If the boy is truly our nephew, then he deserves our unreserved support," Oberyn said.
"And if he's not?" Arianne questioned.
"Then we will use him to take our revenge," her uncle said with a savage chop of his hand.
Arianne shook her head, mentally connecting the dots. "And if he truly is Aegon Targaryen. Then what better way to seal our alliance than with a marriage. What need for Daenerys Targaryen have we when another Targaryen is already so close?"
"Yes," Doran said. "Should this pretender prove real, then I would have you seal this alliance in the marriage bed."
"Well then," Arriane said leaning forward and pouring herself a cup of wine for herself and her father. "To justice," she raised the cup.
Oberyn raised his own cup. "Vengeance."
Doran waited a moment before lifting his own cup of wine. "Fire and Blood."
They drank deeply of a Dornish red the shade of blood.