Dany had originally planned to leave Snowball in the Narrow Sea to stabilize the situation there. But because the enemies across the sea turned out to be unexpectedly weak, while new troubles arose in Slaver's Bay. specifically, the sudden appearance of wyverns—she recalled Snowball to Slaver's Bay.
Now that word had arrived in advance about the Tyroshi planning to attack the Free Folk settlement, it was only natural for Snowball to return to support the Free Folk.
The Free Folk already had the advantage in numbers: twelve thousand fearless warriors, all under the command of Barristan, once hailed as "the greatest general of the Seven Kingdoms."
With dragons added to the mix, the Tyroshi army was annihilated a hundred kilometers from Queen's Point.
That battle, which shook cities on both sides of the Narrow Sea, was also the reason Arianne did not immediately return to Sunspear.
She stayed behind to observe the Dragon Queen's next move on her father's behalf.
"Bah! Those Tyroshi cowards aren't worth mentioning. They can't compare to the fierce rangers of the Night's Watch."
"Compared to the harsh lands and quarrelsome folk beyond the Wall, the people here are genuinely kind," Little Halley said with heartfelt emotion.
The dwarf glanced at the quarrelsome folk from beyond the Wall, his expression blank.
"Other than the skinchanger, does Her Majesty have any further instructions?" Arianne asked.
Tyrion understood the true intent behind the Dornish princess's words. Glancing at Barristan, who stood silently with lowered eyes, he guessed that Arianne had not yet earned the Dragon Queen's full trust.
"No. The Queen is focused entirely on the coming Battle of Meereen. She has little energy left to spare for either Westeros or the Free Folk."
"Ah, Eastwatch has Ser Jorah the White Knight, Queen's Point has Ser Barristan the Hand of the Queen. We Free Folk no longer need Her Majesty's constant care," the Old Walrus said, waving his hand.
"That's right! We can protect ourselves. Let the Queen focus on dealing with the slavers!" the Free Folk agreed one after another.
A glimmer flickered in Arianne's eyes, but she did not press the matter further. Instead, she asked, "The animals of the skinchangers are far weaker than dragons. What use will they be in Slaver's Bay?"
The Free Folk leaders instinctively turned toward Barristan. Seeing he made no move to answer, they too sealed their lips.
Only Little Halley chuckled and said, "The Queen tells us what to do, we just do it. Why ask so many questions?"
At that moment, Tyrion was certain: though Quentyn had pledged loyalty to the Dragon Queen, Dorne itself had not truly been accepted as her ally.
"Hey, Dragonrider!"
When the meeting ended, Tyrion strolled along the Yellow Road, observing the daily life and labor of the Free Folk in the small town. Suddenly, a fragrant breeze brushed past him, and two towering mounds loomed into view.
Looking up, he saw the voluptuous Dornish princess smiling sweetly down at him.
"What is it?" Tyrion's face remained unreadable as he slowly shifted his gaze away from the mounds.
"You promised to let me ride a dragon. Yet the moment I turned around, you had disappeared." Arianne pouted, half in jest, half in reproach.
"Your brother Quentyn has a dragon too," Tyrion replied.
"Really?" Arianne's face lit with delight. "How big is Quentyn's dragon?"
"Not as big as mine. Aside from Prince Aegon's dragon, Illyria, mine is the largest, because I was the first wyvern rider," Tyrion boasted.
"Illyria? That's my aunt's name." Arianne frowned in puzzlement.
"The name of Prince Aegon's dragon. It was supposed to be called Rhaegar, but since Ser Clinton's wyvern already bore the title of Silver Prince, the name was changed. What—don't tell me you don't even know about Prince Aegon?" Tyrion asked, frowning.
Barristan might conceal the Dragon Queen's secrets in Slaver's Bay, but Aegon was another matter. After all, Arianne was Aegon's first cousin.
His elder cousin.
"I know, but—" Arianne's dark eyes darted about. Then she lowered her voice. "Isn't he probably just an imposter?"
"Uh…" Tyrion's mouth twitched.
So the elder cousin and "elder cousin" really were cut from the same cloth!
"You may doubt it, but there is no clear evidence to prove Prince Aegon is false," he said.
"Heh. If my aunt's child truly lived, anyone who took him in—assuming they had any sense—would have sought my father's aid, or at least informed him. Now tell me, does Varys have any sense?"
Arianne smiled enchantingly, though her tone dripped with scorn.
That was indeed a deadly question.
If Daoran, her uncle, could not be trusted eighteen years ago, then he could not be relied upon now. If he could be trusted now, then he must have been trustworthy eighteen years ago. So why had he been excluded then?
Tyrion sighed inwardly.
Soon after, man and woman reached Tessarion. The dwarf clambered up first, then eagerly pulled the Dornish princess onto the saddle in front of him, wrapping his arms around her and tugging the reins.
With the woman's joyous cheers echoing, the wyvern leapt into the sky, wings spread wide.
In moments, they soared into the heavens. Fluffy clouds drifted nearby like cotton candy, the golden sun hung overhead, and scattered isles below dotted the deep-blue sea like specks on a velvet cloth.
Looking down, the bustling Free Folk town below shrank into a patchwork of toy-sized blocks.
"This is amazing! Flying feels nothing like riding a horse," Arianne exclaimed, cheeks flushed. She turned, planted a kiss on the dwarf's ugly face, and laughed.
Warmth and fragrance filled his arms, and the little devil lifted his head.
An hour later, Arianne's eyes were hazy as she gazed into the endless blue sky. The breeze toyed with her damp locks, her entire body languid and spent.
"What kind of person is Daenerys?"
Her voice was husky now, her tone stripped of politeness, more direct than before.
"A queen who cannot be provoked—only obeyed," Tyrion said weakly.
"My father hopes Quentyn can wed her, and together with Dorne's strength, reclaim the Iron Throne."
Leaning back against the dragon saddle, his chin resting against the Dornish princess's smooth, perfumed shoulder, Tyrion murmured, still lost in lingering delight, "Abandon that hope. Whatever she desires, she will seize with her own strength and wisdom."
Compromise, marriage alliances, cooperation—none of these existed.
In her eyes, she was the tide of a new era. Others had only two choices: either go along with the great current she led and join it, or be swept away like trash on the street during a rainy day.
"Very domineering, but not wise. Marriage alliances are the best way to reduce resistance, and compromise is the highest art of ruling.
My father was glad that Quentyn was favored by her, but he would never sacrifice his son's life for it," Arianne's eyes grew less hazy.
"Heh, do you know how she judged your legendary Dornish heroine, Nymeria?" the dwarf chuckled darkly.
"Tell me." Arianne leaned in with interest.
"Nymeria was a great heroine."
"What's wrong with that? Do you think she was mistaken?" the Dornish princess asked, puzzled.
"There was more. Nymeria was a great heroine, but Daenerys is the most unprecedented empress of all time."
Arianne froze in surprise.
"Heroes live without freedom, but an empress is bound by nothing."
"If you do not make a marriage alliance the condition of your pact, she might still consider your brother—she said he wasn't a bad man."
"But I've heard she keeps her word. A Targaryen's word is ironclad," Arianne frowned.
"My dear, keeping her word is her principle, but ruling alone is her nature. That is no contradiction.
Remember, Maegor the Cruel despised the Faith with all his being, yet he still submitted to a proper 'Trial of Seven' against the church's warriors.
The contract Quentyn brought had nothing to do with Daenerys. Her name wasn't even on it. How could she be bound by it?
Besides, the contract was binding on both sides.
Clearly, Dorne broke its oath first."
"Broke the oath?" Arianne flared up in anger, spun around, and gave the little demon's head a sharp squeeze.
"Ow—" Tyrion rolled his eyes and cried out, "Mercy, Princess! If you don't want the truth, I have a bellyful of pretty lies to please you instead."
"Hmph!" Arianne gave a bewitching smile, plucking and twisting as if she were teasing strings on a lute. "You cunning little imp, then tell me clearly—how did we break the oath?"
"May I ask, Princess, how old you are this year?" the dwarf squinted and groaned as he spoke.
"You don't know?" Arianne shot back.
"Sigh… you're nearly twenty-five now, which means at least ten years have passed since the day you came of age, hasn't it?"
The second son of the Duke of the Westerlands had received a thorough noble's education. He knew not only the Dornish princess's birth date, but also the details of every notable earl's offspring across the Seven Kingdoms.
"You're calling me old?"
"Old? Hardly. I'm three years older than you!" Tyrion shook his head with a sigh. "I married late only because no one was willing to wed me.
Truth is, my father started arranging marriages for me when I was fourteen. He kept at it until I was twenty-four. Finally, in despair, he gave up.
Well, not entirely. At twenty-six, he found me a bride—noble-born, young, beautiful, and still a maiden."
At this, the dwarf's eyes flashed with a mix of sorrow, regret, and grief.
To be fair, aside from denying him Casterly Rock at all costs, the old lion had been a barely passable father.
As for Tysha—
It wasn't about her.
The patriarchal lion was harsh to every child in the family without exception.
Cersei and Jaime were no happier than the dwarf.
Tyrion could joke to anyone else, bragging about shooting his father as though it were a triumph.
But to himself, he could only admit the truth: he regretted it bitterly. He should never have gone to his father that night.
If he had followed Jaime's plan, slipped quietly from the Red Keep, and lived as an ignorant, innocent little imp, he would have been a thousand times happier than as the "abomination" he was now.
Maybe then he could have cast aside the demons in his heart, freed himself of revenge, the Lannisters, and Westeros.
He could have lived peacefully in Slaver's Bay, serving the Dragon Queen as her knight.
A true knight, like Barristan, like Clinton.
Yes, now he was nothing but an abomination. Kinslaying was the greatest crime of all. If he was not a monster, then who was?
If he were a true degenerate like Cersei or Walder Frey, he might not suffer so. But he wasn't. He was one of the few truly kind souls in the Seven Kingdoms.
Just like his brother Jaime, who embodied the spirit of a true knight, but because of fate, became the most dishonored knight in Westeros.
Both brothers were tormented by fate, uncertain when they might find release. Jaime had found his destined "true love," walking the path of redemption, while Tyrion had met the Dragon Queen, and perhaps…
He shook his head, casting off the thoughts crowding his mind, and continued, "If Prince Doran had strictly upheld the sacred marriage pact with Ser Willem Darry, then upon your coming of age, you should have been secretly wed to Viserys.
At the very least, the poor prince would have known he still had a fiancée."
(End of Chapter)
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