Part 2 of What if #3 (Chapter 35)

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Septon Barth, a man whose expression often vacillated between mild bemusement and scholarly resignation, stood before the royal couple with a letter in hand. It was a letter quite unlike any he had seen before, and Barth had seen many peculiar things in his time. This, however, was in a category of its own.

"It's from Dorne," Barth said, tone suggesting this was more burden than blessing.

Jaehaerys looked up from his seat at the small council table, his fingers drumming the edge as he awaited more information.

"And? What does the Imperishable King say?" The king's voice had the measured patience of a man who hoped, perhaps, for the best but had long since prepared for the worst.

Barth cleared his throat. "Well, Your Grace..."

He hesitated for a moment, carefully unfolding the letter that was adorned with enough gold leaf and flamboyant seals to start a minor economic crisis. "The King of Dorne, Jason Lee, First of His Name, Lord of the Eternal Blue Sky, Keeper of—well, all that nonsense, you know the rest—he has responded."

Jaehaerys leaned forward, intrigued by Barth's uncharacteristic stalling. "Yes, yes, and what does he say?"

Barth stared at the letter again, and then, with all the gravity of a maester delivering a pronouncement on the intricacies of grain storage, he said, "No."

Alysanne, who had been quietly brooding next to her husband, looked up sharply.

"No?" she repeated, her tone wavering between incredulity and indignation. "No what?"

"No... just 'no,' Your Grace." Barth held the letter up for them to see, as if its physical presence would somehow explain the absurdity. The single word sat there, lonely and unyielding amidst a sea of decorations. It looked almost embarrassed to be there, like a lone guest at an ostentatious party.

Jaehaerys blinked, mouth half-open in what one could only describe as royal bewilderment.

"Is that it?" he asked, more to himself than to anyone in particular.

"Yes, Your Grace," Barth confirmed with a slow, almost apologetic nod. "Despite the... elaborate nature of the letter's presentation, the content is simply... 'No.'"

Alysanne shot out of her chair, her fury immediate. "

No? No? What does that mean?" she demanded, waving her hand at the letter as though it had personally insulted her entire lineage. "We offer to visit, extend the hand of diplomacy, and he says 'no'?!"

Jaehaerys scratched his head, leaning back into his chair, eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and faint amusement.

"I'm not sure what's more puzzling, the refusal or the lack of any explanation." He cast a sideways glance at Barth. "Was there... anything else? A footnote, perhaps? A postscript explaining why?"

Barth, always prepared for even the most mundane of royal inquiries, checked the back of the letter, the margins, and even the elaborate seal, as though Jason Lee might have hidden a lengthy rebuttal under the wax. "No, Your Grace. Just... 'No.' I swear to the Seven that I'm just as bewildered as the both of you."

Alysanne paced furiously around the room, her silks rustling like an angry tide. "This... this is an insult! First, my daughter flees to Dorne, Dorne, of all places, and now this upstart of a king—this Jason Lee—dares to refuse our visit? Does he think we're beggars at his gates?"

Jaehaerys rubbed his temples, feeling the stirrings of a headache that only the politics of Dorne could provide. "I don't think it's quite that dramatic, dear wife."

"Not dramatic?!" Alysanne's voice rose to a pitch that could shatter glass. "The man raises the dead, declares himself superior to the Seven, and now he refuses us an audience like we're common sellswords! And you say it's not dramatic?!"

Jaehaerys shrugged helplessly, his tone more bemused than upset. "Well... yes? Perhaps he's busy?"

Alysanne looked at him as though he had sprouted an extra head. "Busy?!"

"I mean," Jaehaerys continued, as though his logic was flawless, "ruling Dorne can't be easy. The climate alone would put most people in a terrible mood. It's hot and humid, and the food is terribly spicy."

Barth coughed delicately. "Your Grace, there is one more thing I should mention."

Alysanne stopped mid-rant, narrowing her eyes at the Septon. "What is it?"

Barth shifted slightly, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say. "The... letter. It's written in the most exquisite calligraphy. Quite beautiful, really. The 'No'... well, it's... gilded. In gold. And I believe that's part of the message."

There was a beat of silence. Jaehaerys looked from Barth to his wife, then back to Barth again, as if trying to process this information.

"So," Jaehaerys said slowly, "what you're saying is, not only did he refuse, but he took the time to make it... ornate?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Barth replied, managing to keep a straight face.

Alysanne sputtered for a moment, clearly caught between rage and utter bewilderment.

"He decorated his refusal?" she finally managed to say, her voice an octave higher than usual.

"It would appear so, Your Grace," Barth confirmed, nodding as he took in a deep breath.

There was another long pause as Jaehaerys considered this new piece of information. He finally spoke, his tone dry and utterly confused. "Well, if nothing else, at least he's polite about it."

Alysanne threw her hands up in exasperation and stormed out of the room, muttering something about how dragons should sort this out, about how she'd burn Dorne to the ground tomorrow with their children at her back. That was a terrible idea and Jaehaerys would have to calm her down later.

The last thing they needed was a political incident with an enemy they knew almost nothing about.

Jaehaerys watched her go, then turned to Barth with a weary smile. "Well, it could have been worse."

"How so, Your Grace?" Barth asked, genuinely curious. Most kings would've raged at the Imperishable's reply, but his dearest and closest friend, Jaehaerys was not like most kings. And, by the look on his face and the glimmer in his eyes, Barth knew that, if nothing else, his friend found this whole affair refreshingly amusing.

"He could have said 'maybe.'" Jaehaerys shrugged, sighing, before his eyes lit up and the old king chuckled. "Wait, I have an idea. Pen a message for me and write only 'please?'"

I stared at the parchment, etched upon which was a single word, engraved in gold like mine had been. And it just said, 'Please?'

I coughed a few times in my attempt to stifle the laughter that erupted out of my throat to no avail. In the end, I ended up throwing my head back, wheezing. Oh man, I had not expected the fucking Conciliator, of all people, to be capable of sending meme-lord tier messages. Just for that, my respect for him increased and now I was seriously considering allowing the Targaryens entry into my kingdom, just because Jaehaerys sounded like a swell guy to be around.

His wife was another matter, simply because our spies informed me of the fact that her temperament was far more volatile than her husband's, which opened up a whole host of nasty possibilities I'd rather not deal with.

From underneath the desk that I was reading the message on, Saera Targaryen took a deep breath, loud enough to wring me from my thoughts. I looked down just as she wiped away the tears on the side of her purple eyes and the copious amounts of saliva around her lips. She looked up to me as I reached out and patted her silver head for a job well done, "So? What did my father have to say?"

I shrugged and groaned a bit when she continued, instead of crawling out. "I- err, well, he just wrote the word 'please', which I find highly amusing. I'm guessing you're not interested in seeing him or any of your family for that matter?"

She pulled her head back with a wet pop. Goddamn, she was great at this. "Well, I suppose it'd be nice to see my mother again. And I have no quarrel with my siblings. But... yes, I'd rather not see my father if at all possible. Should you bring my family here, my King, I'll just have to avoid him."

I stared at Saera for a moment, then glanced back at the parchment as though it might hold the answers to life's great mysteries—or at least an appropriate response to what had just transpired. Unfortunately, the parchment remained as silent and unhelpful as ever, the single word please still etched in gold, as if mocking me with its elegance.

"Well," I said slowly, folding the letter with all the gravitas of a man preparing to deliver an earth-shattering decision. "Your father seems to have a sense of humor. Didn't expect that."

"Really?" Saera wiped the remaining moisture from her lips and smirked. "That's the first time anyone's ever said that about him."

I chuckled, leaning back in my chair, feeling the weight of the moment—if it could be called that—settling on my shoulders.

"You'd be surprised. It's not every day the so-called Conciliator sends me a request that feels like something straight out of... well, me. I think I'm impressed." I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. Jaehaerys was a fellow shitposter and that garnered some level of respect. "Maybe I should invite them over. Could be fun."

Saera raised an eyebrow, her expression halfway between bemused and horrified. "You mean… you actually want to see them? Why?"

"Why not?" I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Your siblings seem tolerable enough, based on your reaction, and Jaehaerys, well... He's either a secret genius or completely insane for sending that letter. Either way, I respect it."

Saera's purple eyes narrowed. "What about my mother?"

Ah, yes. Queen Alysanne, the proverbial storm in human form. All things considered, her concerns over Saera were, if nothing else, expected of a mother. I sighed deeply, more for effect than anything else. "Your mother is... spirited."

Saera snorted. "That's one way to put it."

"I like to think of it as... volatile, like wildfire in a glass jar. One wrong move and..." I mimed an explosion with my hands, which earned me a small laugh from her. "But really, I doubt she'll set fire to anything on sight. At least, not immediately. Besides, if they do try, Amatsu's more than enough to deal with the Targaryen lizards – no offense."

"She's fiercely protective of my father, you know," Saera said, as if I hadn't already figured that out.

"I gathered as much." I tapped my fingers on the desk, pondering my options—or at least pretending to, for dramatic effect. "I suppose I could pen another response. Something equally short and to the point."

"And what would you say?" she asked, curiosity tinged with amusement.

I gave her a sly grin, picking up my quill and dipping it in ink with the flair of someone who had been waiting all his life for this moment.

"Oh, something simple." I paused, letting the suspense hang in the air for a few seconds longer than necessary, just for fun. Then, with exaggerated care, I scrawled a single word onto the parchment in bold, sweeping letters.

'Sure.'

Saera blinked. "That's it?"

I leaned back in my chair, admiring my handiwork. "Why complicate things? They asked, I answered. It's practically poetic in its brevity."

She shook her head, clearly torn between disbelief and laughter. "You're ridiculous, my king. I knew there was a reason I'm so drawn to you."

"I know." I grinned and handed the letter to one of the attendants standing nearby, who had perfected the art of pretending they hadn't just witnessed the entire exchange. Then again, the Dornish certainly weren't prudes. "Send that off to the Conciliator."

As the attendant scurried off with the letter, Saera leaned in, her voice low and playful. "You know this is going to end in chaos, right?"

I smirked. "I'm counting on it."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "And what would you do if it results in violence?"

"Oh, I'm expecting that." I replied, a twinkle in my eye. Amatsu wasn't my only trick and, honestly, people often forget the fact that I'm a Necromancer and that I could probably kill just about anything in Westeros, using only the fucking Cantrips in my arsenal.

"And my mother?" Saera asked, biting her lip, though whether it was in amusement or mild trepidation, I couldn't tell.

"I'll leave you to deal with that," I said, waving a hand dismissively, as though that explained everything.

From beneath the desk, I heard her let out a breathy sigh. Leaning forward, I rested a hand on her silver hair again, gently patting her as I contemplated my next move. "You know, Saera, sometimes I wonder what your family would think of our little arrangement."

She looked up at me, her purple eyes gleaming mischievously. "Oh, I think they'd be scandalized. Little Saera, a princess who became the Imperishable King's little plaything."

I grinned and reached out and grasped her chin. "All the more reason to invite them, then."