Meanwhile, Vlad observed the ceremony from one of the tables alongside Oberyn and Ellaria, who were simply drinking to pass the time pleasantly.
The table assigned to the Dornish delegation was placed right in the center of the hall, flanked by the entourages of Casterly Rock and the Reach. Not so far as to be an obvious insult, yet its location spoke for itself: visible enough so that no one would forget their presence… and marginal enough to remind them they were not essential.
Oberyn noticed it, of course. He had noticed it the moment they crossed the threshold, and now, with a cup of wine in hand and a sharp smile, he cast Vlad a look full of irony.
—Do you know what I enjoy most about these feasts, Lukard? —he said with a casual tone, using his false name— Watching how no one here enjoys themselves. How the food tastes blander and the company deplorable, as if it were a competition to see who can handle a silver spoon better.
Vlad held his cup without replying at once. Instead, he calmly observed the lords who laughed, toasted, and whispered at other tables. Almost all of them pretended not to look toward the Dornish table, but their eyes kept returning again and again. Some curious. Others cautious. And a few, openly hostile.
—That's politics. That's why I hate it —he finally replied— The Lannisters, even if they did not wish to treat you with contempt, must do so. For appearances.
Oberyn shrugged at the remark, then added with irony:
—Is that what this is all about? Appearances? —he asked with disdain.
—You'll have to be more specific —Vlad retorted, shrugging with feigned innocence.
Oberyn gave a short laugh and poured himself more wine. Then, without lowering his tone, he murmured:
—Why send gifts to your enemy? Did you poison them?
Vlad arched a brow and twirled the cup between his fingers.
—Do you really think me so uncreative? —he answered softly— Poisoning a king at his wedding would be… vulgar.
—And then?
Vlad looked at him for a second before setting the cup on the table and replying seriously:
—Tywin Lannister genuinely believes he is untouchable. And indeed, he was. But with me here, the game has changed. He does not know it. He still clings to the old certainty that his gold and influence protect him. That's why it doesn't seem strange to him that I wish to negotiate… so he will lower his guard. And thanks to that… —he smiled faintly— I will make him bleed.
Oberyn observed him for a moment, intrigued and amused.
—Sometimes I forget you are not from Dorne.
The conversation ended with elegance, as often happens between men like them.
Around them, cups were raised, laughter grew louder, and musicians resumed their melodies. Attentions dispersed, and little by little the lords began rising from their tables. Some headed toward the gardens, others to the inner hall.
Vlad finished his cup, letting the wine slide slowly down his throat. The atmosphere had grown heavy. Not because of the heat —the hall was spacious and the windows open— but because of the many eyes fixed on him. Courtiers… and above all, meddlesome ladies. Too many gazes.
In Essos he never had the same problem, because there he truly inspired fear. And few thought it wise to be bewitched by his appearance. But here, in Westeros, under another name, it was common. And irritating.
Without a word, he rose from his seat. He walked between the marble aisles, ignoring the murmurs that followed him, and crossed a side gallery that led to the rear garden.
The air there was fresher. A faint scent of blooming flowers mixed with that of orange trees, and the murmur of water drifted from a fountain adorned with a statue of Joffrey, carved standing triumphant over a dead wolf, holding a crossbow in his hands.
Vlad almost let out a laugh. The boy, at least, had imagination and a sense of humor… because in reality, even stringing a crossbow would be a challenge for the scrawny bastard.
The ivy-covered walls and the shadows of the hedges created a cozy corner, far from the bustle. Vlad sighed and sat on the fountain's edge, letting the silence surround him.
Then, without warning, a soft weight settled onto his lap.
He looked down.
A young tabby cat had made itself at home with the familiarity of one who claims what is his. It curled up with a gentle purr and raised its face, expecting caresses.
Vlad tilted his head, both amused and intrigued. He lifted a hand and, slowly, stroked its back. The animal purred even louder.
—You're brave —he murmured softly— Or too foolish to know whose lap you've chosen.
—He's not foolish —said a child's voice at his side— Just friendly.
Vlad barely turned his face. Of course he had heard the child's breathing among the hedges, but pointing it out suddenly might have startled him.
There, standing with hands clasped and a timid yet curious gaze, was young Prince Tommen.
—Forgive me, ser… My cat doesn't usually do that. I didn't mean to bother you —Tommen said, approaching shyly.
Vlad smiled at the boy's tone. Polite and respectful.
It was evident that whatever had corrupted Joffrey into a cruel bastard was not present in his younger brother.
This boy could be a sensible and malleable king… and therefore, more useful.
—It was no bother. He's a calm creature. In my land, there are no cats like this one —Vlad replied, petting the animal without lifting his gaze.
It was true. In Essos, any creature unable to defend itself quickly became food.
—And where do you come from? —Tommen asked, leaning forward.
—From Essos. I was born in Volantis, a very old city beyond the Narrow Sea —he finally answered, his voice serene.
—Volantis? —the boy seemed excited— I've heard there are enormous temples there… and sorcerers…
Then he glanced around before whispering:
—They also say the Impaler Lord lives in Essos —Tommen lowered his voice as if sharing a secret— They say he's a monster.
They say he cannot die. That he drinks blood. And that he has dragons.
—I've heard those stories —he said, playing with the words— Though I never saw him in person.
—And do you think they're true? —he leaned closer, intrigued— That someone can live forever? And the dragons?
—Dragons are not tales, prince —he announced with a laugh at the boy's tone— I once saw them, flying over the skies of Pentos. They are majestic.
The boy's eyes widened, fascinated. But then Vlad returned to the earlier question.
—And we can all be immortal, little prince —Vlad murmured, gazing at the fountain as if in reflection.
For him, speaking of immortality was easy, of course, but his words had nothing to do with sharing his supernatural gifts.
—Truly?
—The legacy we leave behind will live long after our bodies are gone —he paused, then looked at him gently— If you wish to live forever… make sure the world remembers you.
Vlad knew that if Daenerys were there, she would laugh at the hypocrisy of his words, charming the poor child when he himself possessed the true key to immortality. But Vlad did not share his gift with just anyone, least of all with a child.
—Like my brother? He's the king. He'll be remembered —the boy said, resting his gaze on Joffrey's statue.
—Perhaps he will —Vlad followed his eyes— But one does not need to be a king to leave a legacy. When you are lord, you may be a good lord. A just one. A generous one. That will make thousands remember you fondly… forever.
The boy seemed thoughtful, staring at the grandiose and ridiculous statue of his brother.
Until soft footsteps echoed among the columns. Cersei appeared with a frown and a firm voice, flanked by two gold cloaks who shadowed her every move.
—I don't often see Dornish knights so close to my children —she said in the tone of one who finds a rat in her chamber— What is your name?
Vlad looked at her for a moment. The woman was beautiful in her own way, but her eternally irritated face spoiled all of it. As if breathing the same air as others were an offense.
He knew that Cersei, at that moment, was paranoid and irritable at seeing her power slip away to Margaery. And that anxiety only fed the old prophecy that tormented her.
But Vlad would not fall into her game. He stood with elegance, took Cersei's hand and kissed it with courtesy.
Cersei, however, felt unsettled. At any other time, the touch of a Dornish knight would have offended her.
But with this man, the gesture seemed perfectly natural. Though something about the situation felt strangely uncomfortable, she waited for him to introduce himself.
—Lukard Tepes, your grace. From Volantis, now in service of Prince Oberyn Martell —he bowed slightly— Forgive my boldness, your grace, but the young prince offered me a far more stimulating conversation than most men at this feast.
Cersei withdrew her hand with subtlety, without the faintest smile. She countered with her usual venomous tone.
—Do you enjoy speaking with children? —she spat, hoping to break his composure.
—At times, children say what adults do not dare —Vlad replied, unperturbed— And this young one… has a sharp mind. Surely like his mother.
The disguised flattery unsettled her, but she kept her poise.
—Too courteous for a sellsword. You claim to come from Volantis? Some important house, I imagine?
—Not at all, your grace. Prince Oberyn only hired me because I am unmatched in combat —he answered with feigned humility.
—Unmatched? —a sharp laugh— Did the good prince of Dorne expect trouble?
—Isn't it the most prudent course, your majesty? —Vlad glanced toward Joffrey's statue— The roads are treacherous. And the capital… even more so.
—True —she observed him with distrust— Accidents happen all the time.
—That is why I'm here. To prevent them —he smiled briefly.
—And can you? —her tone lowered, more threatening— Can you prevent the accidents of the capital?
—Without a doubt —he said without losing composure.
—If you wish to prevent accidents… it would be best to stay away from my children. Unless you wish your stay in the capital to become more permanent —her voice was cold and firm.
—Of course, your grace. I would not dare —he looked at her calmly.
—Mother, Ser Lukard was very kind —Tommen interjected with a timid smile— He spoke to me of legacies. He said one can live forever if they are remembered.
Cersei looked at him briefly, then turned her eyes back to Vlad.
—I thank you for the lesson, Ser Tepes —she said, every word sharp— But princes have proper masters for such things.
—Of course, your grace. I shall keep that in mind —he bowed serenely.
She turned with a swirl of her gown worthy of a stage play, dragging Tommen along. Vlad watched them leave, analyzing every detail.
Unbalanced. Paranoid. Irascible. Perhaps a disorder of the mind, like her son, or simply the strain of being queen. It didn't matter.
This small exchange had confirmed that with Cersei Lannister there was no room for reasonable negotiation. Vlad already "knew" her personality, of course, but witnessing it was different. He wanted a clear idea of the lions before deciding whether to use their hides as rugs… or if it would suffice for the right person to take control.
But one thing was certain: almost the entire adult generation of the Lannisters seemed to be obstacles Vlad would be more than willing to remove.
[At the same time, in Dorne]
The heat of Dorne was different from that of Meereen. Not scorching like the open plains, nor humid like the coasts, but dry, lingering. Daenerys felt it on her skin, and was sincerely grateful for her new nature: so able to enjoy the pleasure of the sun without it being bothersome. She no longer sweated, no longer tired. It was pleasant to dress however she wished without worrying about ending the day with her gown drenched in sweat.
One of the many things she owed her husband.
The Water Gardens were a wonder, and not only for their design. Delicate shadows stretched from palms and flower-covered pergolas, while fountains spilled into small channels that ran through the paths. It was easy to get lost there, among the perfumes and the music that sometimes drifted from a terrace. But what surprised her most was the people.
In Dorne, everything seemed to be lived with unusual freedom. Gazes were open, sometimes brazen. Women praised her as easily as men, and more than once someone had offered her company. Both men and women. Sometimes, together.
She found herself in a dilemma trying to explain, more than once, the concept of fidelity, which the Dornish not only seemed not to understand but frankly considered absurd.
After all, how can there be infidelity if your partner also takes part?
She only smiled: an enchanting, ethereal smile that captivated more than one… and more than one woman.
If anything about her new nature bothered her, it was how striking her appearance had become. She had always been beautiful, she knew, but thanks to her awakening she now possessed a beauty that could drive men to war just to see her smile.
Unfortunately for the world, she belonged to only one.
Even so, she could not help but think how much her men must be enjoying this culture so… hospitable. Truth be told, even Grey Worm had been unusually quiet since they arrived.
—May the gods save me if Daario decides to stay —she murmured to herself, walking down one of the polished stone corridors.
It had been three weeks since their arrival, and Dornish courtesy had been impeccable. But she had yet to receive a reply from the Prince of Dorne, nor the requested visit from Myrcella, though there was still time. Daenerys only hoped Doran would not make any foolish mistake. It would be a shame to reduce Sunspear to ashes.
Meanwhile, she passed the time as best she could. Each morning, at dawn, she trained in the inner courtyards with her sword. Not with the reckless violence of an unskilled warrior, but with the agility and calm that Vlad and Ser Barristan had instilled in her.
Her style of fighting was eye-catching; she relied on her extraordinary reflexes and supernatural agility to execute acrobatic, near-impossible moves —emphasis on near.
Vlad had repeated many times that she should keep her feats within human limits. He wanted to avoid people seeing them as anything more than human, at least for a few years.
Besides, he had said that staying close to the human would keep her mind more grounded long enough to adapt to immortality.
In the afternoons, she returned to practice with the flames. Sometimes it was only a spark between her fingers; other times, an orange sphere that floated for a few seconds before fading. Her progress was slow but steady. The blood now running through her veins carried power.
She only needed time to understand it, and time was the one thing she would never lack.