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Published:2020-04-25Updated:2026-04-06Words:409,591Chapters:71/?Comments:5,538Kudos:6,020Bookmarks:1,659Hits:467,056
The Stormborn and the Stormbringer
SkilledWarriorKiwi
Chapter 36: THE SUN'S SON
Chapter Text
Astapor had been as close to Hell on earth as Quentyn had ever seen.
Bodies choked the land, swelled the river, hung upon stakes or slumped across stone. Starved children fighting over scraps of food, men being eaten alive by packs of rabid dogs, the Red City blazing with flame and blood while the moans of the dying and diseased a horrible ever lasting music. Clouds of flies blackened the air and the reek of rotten flesh choked any other smell. Therefore it had been a relief when the Windblown traveled north after the Yunkai and Old Ghis legions had smashed down Astapor and slew the false king. Said king who had already been dead when he was killed again, the desperate Astapori having strapped his worm-bloated corpse to a horse used to give false hope.
When they first joined the siege against Astapor it had been near certain the dragon queen would fly to the Red City's aid. Rumours flying ear to ear, breathless in the night. But there had been nothing as days slid past and Astapor was soon turned into a burnt husk with only the dead and dying remaining. It had been a slaughter, not a battle, the city already near eaten itself before the masters had even arrived. Those Unsullied the King of Astapor boasted of had simply been untrained boys, mutilated and thrown beyond the walls to fight. They'd broken and fled at the first chance.
Quentyn had never witnessed anything like it. In Dorne he'd been a prince but when they crossed the Narrow Sea to finally reach Volantis, they'd abandoned their fine armour, gold and true names. Here in the bloody world of Slaver's Bay they'd taken up the guise of sellswords and joined the Tattered Prince and his Windblown company, to get closer to Daenerys Stormborn.
Patched armour, rusted swords, dented shields, that was their lot now. They followed the fighting yet the slavers still kept them at arms length, sneering despite the gold traded to the sellsword companies for their aid against the queen. Still viewed themselves as better, even if a young green girl who was the one that broke them in the first place. Yet the Essosi masters had mustered their own army in retaliation and Quentyn and his fellow Dornish had watched them before and during the siege of Astapor.
The slaver armies had their generals, one a supreme commander who's name Quentyn could never remember much like many names of the masters, but flocked with his underlings and staunch supporters such as the Yellow Whale, the Girl General and Little Pigeon and many more. Some had as little as a hundred slave soldiers while others had thousands. But each and every one wealthy, all arrogant and all wanting the dragon queen dead. And held no love for sellsword companies so the Windblown pulled ahead, leaving the bulk of the legions behind as they steadily outpaced the master's armies as they headed north towards Yunkai. And far before them had been those wise enough to flee Astapor but diseased and dying. A gift for the queen, he'd heard some joke. They would be driven past Yunkai, further north to spread their pale mare to Meereen.
But even with the great master number behind them- and know there would be more waiting to march at Yunkai and from the slaving isles at sea -there was still apprehension at facing Meereen where the dragon queen had settled. She had the Unsullied, the true Unsullied, not the untamed boys at Astapor. It would not be a butchery like Astapor with the Unsullied waiting for them.
And the queen's dragon.
Quentyn had heard many rumours about the queen's dragon, the tales near as wild as the ones for her own. A great golden beast, gifted to the queen by the gods themselves with a trio of heads like the banner she flies. He'd certainly heard enough in Volantis, having heard the Red Priests praising the queen and her dragon, much to the uneasy ire of the triarchs and masters for there were three slaves to every slaver and many followed the Red God and his light. The city was near fit to devouring itself like a horde of starving rats and Quentyn had been relieved they had not tarried in the place. But they had spoken of the queen's dragon in their preaching, that it was a gift from R'hllor for his bride. A dragon unlike any other seen in the world.
The more he had heard of the dragon queen the more he feared her. A wild, capricious woman with so many rumours surrounding her he didn't know which to think was true. She bathed in the blood of maidens to keep her skin supple and smooth, fed the children of her enemies alive to her dragon and ate their hearts for supper. She was mad, they said. Mad like her father, Aerys. Quentyn knew of the Mad King, aptly gaining the title. All of Westeros had known, the man had exiled two Hands and burned another. And yet burned those Starks alive and brought down the rebellion. If Daenerys was truly as mad as her father, Quentyn had no idea how Prince Doran believed his son could wed her. His father had not spoken of the possibility, of her being mad.
But all the rumours agreed upon the queen's beauty. A true Targaryen with the silver-gold hair and striking purple eyes. The most beautiful woman in the world, it was said.
They had been six when Quentyn left for his secret quest across the Narrow Sea yet Willam, Cletus, and Maester Kedry had been slain when their ship had been boarded at the Disputed Lands. Now he only had Ser Gerris Drinkwater and Ser Archibald Yronwood at his side yet he knew they'd stay true regardless of the danger. That he had been sent by his father to offer himself in marriage to Daenerys Stormborn, regardless of how mad she may be.
But even with their losses, even with witnessing the death and destruction of Astapor, perhaps the gods had granted him a slight kindness for on the march he and his companions had been summoned to the Tattered Prince's tent during camp. And there they were given a new assignment, to head to Meereen on their own and locate the patrols of either the Stormcrows or Second Sons and defect to them. Quentyn had nearly laughed aloud when told of those events. He, Gerris and Archibald had been whispering of when to leave the Windblown, to continue with their prince's commands to head to the dragon queen, when it seemed they were being directly helped in such a task.
Quentyn knew the Tattered Prince was no fool, the man in his sixtieth year and colourful cloak sewn of the strips from the surcoats of all the men he'd killed. He must know the true danger of Daenerys Stormborn. Sellswords were nothing if not opportunists and this company had not the reputation of the Golden Company. So it was he and a handful of other Westerosi born in the Windblown's company that had been assigned to go to Daenerys. A woman, Pretty Meris with blue eyes and taller than most men, was assigned as their leader by the Tattered Prince for their motley group. Both as one knowing the Prince's desire and his own idea Daenerys would be more partial to meeting another woman.
He was quite unsure of that, considering Meris' had the coldest eyes he'd ever seen, but he knew better than to argue with the Tattered Prince. It was clearly a command, not a request, and he'd heard what the leader of the Windblown had done to those who disobeyed or mutinied him.
They succeeded.
In all, Quentyn felt near suspicious of how easily they joined the Stormcrows. As directed, they let Pretty Merris do the talking when they stumbled over a patrol some leagues from Meereen. The captain, a flamboyant Tyroshi of Daario Naharis, took the news of their defection without much scrutiny. The fact they were such a small band and had to fend off some Yunkai pestering aided in that, as the Tattered Prince had been clear that when they left the Windblown camp, to all others they would be known as traitors. And it seemed the sellsword captain of the Stormcrows believed much the same.
But even with being accepted into the Stormcrows it only gave him slightly more chance to meet Queen Daenerys. True to the rumours, she dwelled within the Great Pyramid of Meereen but even with Quentyn and his fellows asking it did not lead to an immediate audience. The hidden letter was concealed in his boot, feeling like a hot coal burning against his skin.
He needed to reach Daenerys and deliver the letter, to reveal himself as the Prince of Dorne. Yet it was not as simple as just striding to the pyramid and demanding to meet her. She was a busy queen after all, prioritizing the citizens of Meereen over any requests from sellswords.
It was frustrating, but as Gerris said they were another step closer to achieving their goal and at the very least not parading around with the queen's enemies. Least chance of dying under dragonbreath that way, the knight said.
As for the queen's dragon, Quentyn thought he could occasionally see it right at the apex of the Great Pyramid like a cluster of gold. Though the Great Pyramid was eight hundred feet tall so he did not quite trust his eyes. Same as when it flew high above, as it could seem to be nothing more than a crow. But overhearing the Stormcrows seemed to make the rumours of the dragon's head number a fact; that Daenerys Stormborn hatched a dragon with three, just like her banner.
A sign of what, Quentyn didn't know. But the Seven Kingdoms had fallen to dragons with only a single head, much less one with three and which reportedly spat lightning instead of fire. Quentyn was skeptical of that last one, as was Gerris. Archibald didn't seem to care either way. But while her dragon was a marvel it was one Quentyn never got to see. Either being stuck with the Stormcrow patrols beyond Meereen's walls or unable to see the apex of the pyramid where the queen lived. At the very least traveling with the patrols let them learn more of the queen and her past, even if the Stormcrows had only been with her since the siege of Yunkai but Naharis was in the queen's council and he spoke often to his men.
Though it certainly seemed the Tyroshi sellsword disagreed with many of the queen's decisions, especially with her mercy towards the Great Masters of Meereen. Though considering Quentyn had known about the ones staked in the courtyard to die in agony before the Great Pyramid like grotesque scarecrows he felt that he and the Tyroshi had differing ideas of mercy.
A voice hissed in his head that maybe Daenerys was much like her father in that case.
But he kept his opinions to himself, while Gerris and Archibald were keeping a close ear upon what the Stormcrows spoke of. They learned some more of Prince Viserys' untimely death, far back in Vaes Dothrak. Though the masters had claimed Daenerys murdered her own brother to take the crown it seemed, according to the sellsword, the mouthy prince decided to insult the dragon queen's Dothraki husband right to his face and got molten gold poured over his head. There was some speculation as to if someone had cut off Viserys' head to sell the gold molded to his skull.
At least Quentyn could ease from that confirmation. Same with hearing how the Dothraki husband had been poisoned by an enemy, rather than the rumours Daenerys had been behind the death. Though the tale of how Queen Daenerys had burnt the woman alive at a pyre left him uneasy. Aerys had loved flames as well, yet in this case Quentyn felt Daenerys was perhaps more justified. And from that pyre came her dragon and her title of the Unburnt as she walked unharmed through the flames. And then she proceeded to head west, gaining the Unsullied and smashing the masters armies to pieces with fire and blood.
Hearing more of the queen's adventures left him feeling meek. The idea of wedding such a woman frightened him ever more.
At the very least it seemed rumours of the queen's carnal appetite was just that; rumours. Even if it was quite known in the company that Naharis wanted in the dragon queen's bed she hadn't indulged him. Quentyn had only been chastely kissed by one of the Drinkwater twins and the idea of bedding the dragon queen frightened nearly as much of her unnatural beast.
Even dedicating his attention to the patrols to try and focus did not stop his fellow Dornish from gossiping, and Quentyn dearly wished for them to stop. Especially since much of it was simply the same argument, about whether or not the queen would accept his suit or even consider Dorne.
"The queen only has a single dragon," Archibald said one humid morning as they ate a simple breakfast of cheese, fruit and bread before their daily patrols. "Perhaps she should be reminded what happened to Aegon and his wives when they tried to conquer Dorne with three. She needs this marriage if she wishes to take the Seven Kingdoms."
"And if we value having our heads attached to our bodies perhaps we'll avoid speaking of killing her dragon," Gerris retorted, clearly annoyed. "We are here as allies. Threatening a woman who gutted three slaver cities after surviving the Dothraki is an ill made move."
"Aye, but both Houses have words and we shouldn't forget them either."
Silently, Quentyn agreed with Gerris. He doubted reminding Daenerys that Dorne killed a previous dragon queen would help support a political marriage in the slightest. He did not want Dorne to remember him as a failure, speaking glib and stupid until his head got separated from his shoulders. He did not know if she would act as Queen Cersei when angered or insulted, bitter and vile and lashing out like a rabid beast. She was beloved by her people but who knew how strong that would hold if Quentyn was foolish enough to insult her?
"Dorne remembers Aegon and his sisters," Quentyn said. "They'll remember Daenerys as well. And even the first Daenerys. She was how Dorne came to the Seven Kingdoms through political marriage. It can be so again."
"Yet this Daenerys doesn't have a brother to offer her in marriage to a Dornish husband. And the last self proclaimed dragon queen instead burnt half the kingdom than listen to her brother," Gerris reminded him, a warning note in his voice. As if Quentyn needed reminding of the Half-Year Queen Rhaenyra and the catastrophe that followed.
Though their planning and plotting was all for naught as all too soon the masters army arrived upon the horizon as their patrols spotted the host and the Stormcrows were rounded back up within Meereen's walls. It took over a month between them leaving the slaver alliance at Astapor for the masters to arrive and Quentyn felt near faint when they were trapped inside Meereen with eighty thousand enemies surrounding them.
Especially when it began to swell through the streets that the queen had vanished upon her dragon as the army settled beyond. Even with the slaver alliance build their siege weapons and began to hurl disease riddled corpses into the city there was no sign of the dragon queen. No fire and blood, no great wings coming from above.
"She lives. She must," Quentyn had insisted whenever Gerris or Archibald expressed doubts over the queen as did many other. If what was said about her was true, she would not simply leave her people to die. She must have gone somewhere so important. That must be it.
His certainty was shared by others such as Naharis. The sellsword captain had gutted one of his own men when the man chose to brandy about the rumours that the queen had fled from the city out of fear for the masters. After that none of the Stormcrows were stupid enough to voice such things aloud. Though just because the Tyroshi's men fell in ranks did not mean others did.
There had been a vicious squabble between the Stormcrows and the Second Sons, Brown Ben Plumm having fled to the masters side even if Naharis near took his head in the squabble. It made Quentyn ever more wary, as to what type of woman Daenerys was to get such stalwart loyalty from a sellsword captain of all things. They were known to be petty, liars and backstabbers the instant they smelled a better deal yet this Tyroshi was loyal to a fault to the dragon queen.
Regardless, Quentyn wasn't foolish enough to ask the captain and simply kept his head down.
Being on the opposite side of a siege was disquieting but at the very least Meereen had far sturdier walls than the crumbling red ones at Astapor. Logically, Quentyn knew it was more strategically sound to simply wait out the siege as Meereen still had ample food stores and the pale mare was ravishing the slaver alliance beyond. But with the addition of the corpses being thrown to them, as Gerris suggested it did not take long for the defenders to be forced upon the offense. If not to stave off disease running rampant.
When the counter attack to the siege began, it was with the slow and steady consolidation of Meereen's forces at each gate during the blackest part of night. Quentyn was with the Stormcrows, with his motley group of fellow Dornish and Westerosi. The sky above was weeping rain, making men snort and horses shift but the sellswords were well versed in fighting in any condition. Even in the moonless night, the rain of Essos was warm and the air heated. It made him think of Dorne and his longing to see the water gardens again.
It was the hour of the wolf, a moonless night with thick black clouds that made it nigh impossible to see beyond torchlight. A good time for a sneak attack indeed, but still. Even in the dark he could hear the distance noise of the masters trebuchets, the dull wet splat of bodies hitting buildings with which they never ceased. Some even struck close to where the army was assembled, blood black in the night and limbs spilling apart like broken dolls.
But they were to wait for the signal, to stream forth from the city and launch the surprise attack at the eighty thousand army camped beyond. Their priorities were to destroy the trebuchets. A different fight, from the slaughter at Astapor but at least there was the Unsullied even if the dragon queen herself was still missing.
Above the rain intensified into a true storm, the brief flickers of light growing more and more common until lightning was dancing within the churning clouds. Around him, Quentyn could hear some unhappy murmurs; it was not unheard for those in metal armour or weapons to be struck by wayward bolts of lightning. Especially with such a heavy storm enveloping Slaver's Bay.
"Stay close to us," Gerris said lowly, nearly inaudible in the thunderous rain and distant booms of thunder. Rain puddled at their feet, dripping from their clothes and chins.
Quentyn nodded, knowing he'd had to be watchful. With such darkness and chaos of battle it would be easy to be separated from them.
In the distance Quentyn saw the brilliant flare of lightning, much closer to Meereen than before and bringing such a loud boom of thunder he grimaced. At the rate the storm was growing, they would be deaf beyond the walls. He could only hope the warhorns would be loud enough.
Among the cluster of Stormcrows, anticipation began to swell. Quentyn's grip was tight and damp on the hilt of his rust-stained sword.
Then the screams beyond the wall started.
It was nothing new, as the masters spent just as much time flogging their slaves as they did laying siege to Meereen for a week so they had grown used to the horrible noises outside. Yet the pure terror echoed through the darkness seemed to freeze everyone in place. Even the horses seemed to pause.
Then a split second later there was an answering shriek, a high chittering noise that made Quentyn's body flush with cold sweat and his hands to shake.
Though Quentyn had never seen nor heard the queen's dragon but somehow, perhaps some primal instinct, he knew that was what made that horrible noise out in the darkness.
Around him the men were looking upwards even as another unnatural shriek pierced the air before the loud crash of lightning and thunder as more screams echoed from beyond Meereen.
The counter attack had been postponed, as the dragon queen rampaged through the slaver alliance beyond. To avoid being caught indiscriminately under dragonbreath. Considering the noises echoing through the rain and thunder Quentyn would wager the darkness and a single angry dragon was all the queen needed to break the masters army.
He had no idea how his ancestors had defied three of them.
Even now, safe within Meereen's walls, a childish part of himself wanted to crawl under a bed and cover his ears as with each warbling call his blood turned cold with fear until it felt like ice was in his veins.
At one point the dragon flew over Meereen, a massive shape backlit by the golden light dancing through the churning storm with huge wings beating as it soared towards the bay where the enemy ships had been anchored. Then soon after was the crack of lightning followed by wood splintering and the screams of the dying.
But in that brief instant Quentyn knew the rumours of the dragon having three heads as truth. He never felt more inadequate and small in his life.
He wasn't sure what was happening to the slaver alliance, only the captains being kept apace by messengers who ran to and fro either gate. Most likely carrying the commands of the Queensguard. He'd heard Ser Barristan the Bold was in Daenery's council even if he'd had the luck of not running into the man. He'd only been to King's Landing once but did not want to run the risk of the man spotting him without the queen present.
Distantly he heard some yelling at the front where Naharis was, from one of the messengers. He thought it might be about ships but couldn't be sure due to the thunder and noise.
Then the howl of a warhorn cut through the air, this time making Quentyn clap his hands over his ears. He wasn't the only one, both Gerris and Archibald doing the same as well as most men in the company. It seemed to burrow deep into his bones, reverberating through his flesh until he thought his skull was about to crack open like an egg. Scant moments later it was chased away by an answering roar that could only come from the dragon, a noise that grew higher and higher until Quentyn felt he'd gone deaf.
He barely stopped himself from falling over, disorientated and confused, when bellowed orders washed over them- they were to leave Meereen and chase off the routing master army, taking no prisoners and killing any which lingered.
Quentyn felt dazed and confused, letting Archibald grab his arm and drag him out with the sellsword company as they spilled beyond Meereen's walls. He didn't know what those unholy noises were and wasn't in a hurry to understand. Using a sword he could do, especially as the camp beyond was mostly on fire to lend them sight. He was a prince of Dorne so he pushed aside his nausea and fear and followed the others out towards the fight.
A week after the siege was broken they still weren't any closer to meeting Daenerys. Quentyn wasn't sure if the queen even was in Meereen since he heard quite a lot of people claiming many of the slaver cities like Yunkai, Tolos and Elyria had been attacked by the dragon queen. Some even spoke of New Ghis and Qarth. Quentyn wasn't sure what to believe but the dragon hadn't been spotted in Meereen since that rancorous violent night and there was a small trickle of refugees allowed in the city bringing news from afar who claimed many things.
All were ex slaves, seeking safety with the dragon queen and bringing scraps of information. Quentyn noticed the strong devotion the freedmen held to Daenerys, to the point most simply called her 'mother'. He even saw a man old enough to be Doran's father calling the dragon queen that, even if she was the same age as Quentyn. It was a different type of devotion than that of the Houses in Westeros, Quentyn noticed. Not one born out of family ties but rather of a love to a saviour, a protector. A mother.
And he could hardly argue after having witness the carnage the dragon queen had wrought against the slaver alliance. When the Stormcrows had spilled forth from Meereen most of the army beyond was either dead, dying or fleeing. The camp had been completely ablaze, both from lightning strikes and flaming pitch and torches being knocked over in the panic and even the torrential rain hadn't stopped the wild flames. Those who remained behind had been too injured, confused or terrified to flee. It was almost like Astapor, simply butchering those left behind. Then the following days scavenging anything of use from the camp and dealing with the many corpses strewn across the plains.
It also revealed the flattened camp of the Second Sons during their messy cleanup. Considering how most of the men there had been literally ripped limb from limb Quentyn guessed the dragon had mauled them directly rather than using its lightning. The dragon queen did not take kindly to turncoats.
Quentyn reassured himself with the letter still hidden in his boot. He had come to fulfill a promise. He could only hope Daenerys would forgive him for the deception in meeting her, but his mission was of the upmost importance and secrecy.
At the very least after witnessing the carnage and the cleanup Archibald kept any opinions about Dorne's history rebuking dragonlords to himself. It was different from hearing tales of dragon battles and that singular victory to seeing the scorched land, burnt bodies and sand blistering into glass from sheer draconic heat firsthand.
That, and he'd seen how Daenerys did indeed have a dragon with three heads. Even if the beast took a scorpion bolt to the eye like Meraxes it had two more brains to keep it aloft.
But he was not here for war but rather for alliance. Though having to lug corpses around distracted them all enough, especially when they met up with the Windblown who'd turned on the masters when Daenerys commenced her attack. Quentyn wasn't too surprised when the Windblown weren't allowed in Meereen, as they had been fighting against the city and her queen until that battle, despite the Tattered Prince sending a missive wishing to meet the queen and discuss alliances. From what he'd heard, it had reached the personal scribe and herald of Daenerys but the Prince had not yet been granted an audience with the queen.
Meris had met with the Tattered Prince secretly and reported back they were to continue acting underneath Naharis. It seemed Daenerys was not warming to the Windblown any time soon so they would carry on with their private assignment as turncoats within the Stormcrows. Quentyn kept his relief to himself, after seeing the Second Sons scorched camp and shredded bodies. For all of the Tattered Prince's bluster and hide of slain men, he did not possess a dragon.
Yet still Quentyn felt anxious as the days dragged on. They traveled with the Stormcrows to hunt any lingering traces of the slaver alliance in the surrounding lands to secure the passage towards the Khyzai pass, even moving with the queen's Dothraki. Quentyn had heard of how Daenerys had been married to a Dothraki Khal and found himself watching the horsemen closely; they certainly seemed the superior riders and when chasing an errant group of Tolosi northward Qunetyn even saw them shooting from galloping horseback with unerring accuracy. They only numbered in a few hundred but they were clearly skilled warriors.
From what he understood, the queen had three kos. A Dothraki term akin to Kingsguard. He also learned these Dothraki were with her from the beginning, who chose to stay with her when her Khal husband died and witnessed the birth of her dragon. While he spoke none of the rough Dothraki tongue, one of the Windblown within their group did enough to speak to one of the kos, a lean cooper-skinned man called Jhogo who wielded a silver-handled whip as if it was a natural extension of his body. The man held no hesitation in telling them what he'd seen that night. He spoke of how he doubted his queen, his 'Khalessi' when the Khal died and claimed it would shame him to be bloodrider to a woman. But then his doubts were cast aside, as his Khalessi walked through the burning bones of her Khal with only her hair and clothes burnt away and the following morn she was crouching among the ash with the golden serpent in her arms.
He also told them about how his Khalessi killed the warlocks of Qarth, how she sealed the traitors within a great vault to starve, of how she took the Unsullied for her khalasar and slew the Good Masters and then marched to the fellow slaver cities to kill their masters. Jhogo also spoke great praise for his Khalessi in her most recent slaughter of the slaver alliance, even if he lamented he could not fight by her and the dragon's side. The idea of a Dothraki horde having dragons made Quentyn shiver.
Then the fighting pits reopened.
It was with much fanfare that came with the queen's announcement. It also banished the oddly persistent rumours the queen was dead, despite the fact the dragon had returned. It seemed the other claims she had been punishing the surrounding slaver cities for daring to rise against her true and she had wasted no time in settling back on her throne once punishment was mete to her enemies.
Quentyn hadn't been too enthused about venturing to the pits but it would be the first time he could see Daenerys if it would be from a distance. It had been another hot day, the sun burning bright and reminding him of the heat of Dorne. He missed his home.
The fighting pits were loud, already filled with a sea of people when they arrived. Naharis left for the queen's side as the Stormcrows took up seating along the benches. Quentyn supposed there was a reason for the colours but he did not know. And didn't really care to ask as his entire attention was taken by the sight of the great golden dragon which was sprawled out on the benches just behind the queen's pavilion. Two of its heads were resting next to where the queen was seated while the middle hung over the canopy.
The creature was frightfully large, all gleaming gold scales with massive batlike wings folded against its sides. Two long tails ending in thick clubs which spikes thicker than his arms. One of its ribbed horns would be the same length as his entire body. More spikes ran down its serpentine neck and down its broad back. The dragon was a singular colour for its crimson eyes.
Just like Balerion the Black Dread, Aegon the Conqueror's own steed. A beast of one colour except for the red of its eyes.
As for Daenerys herself, Quentyn could see her slight figure bracketed by the dragon heads. One hand patting the dragon's snout like someone would do with a beloved pet. Quentyn shifted on the bench, leaning forward and squinting in the sun as he tried to focus on the queen down below. If only he'd been seated closer...
As it was, he couldn't make out details but he could see her pale hair and tanned skin along with her red clothes. There also seemed to be a sword at her waist, a long dark blade that seemed oddly familiar to Quentyn. He hadn't heard about Daenerys being a swordswoman but then Visenya Targaryen had been one, perhaps the most famous. And Quentyn knew his female cousins were no strangers to weapons, especially Obara.
Perhaps Daenerys was akin to Queen Visenya? He knew the history of House Targaryen, had certainly been taught of the conquest as Prince of Dorne. Visenya Targaryen was as much of an accomplished warrior as Aegon himself and was said to be as comfortable in chainmail as she were in silks. She had protected Aegon from numerous assassins and had been the force behind the creation of the Kingsguard when she injured Aegon to spurn his typical guard. Quentyn had to wonder if the rebuking of the conquest by Meria Martell if it had been Visenya who had confronted the Princess of Dorne all those centuries ago rather than Rhaenys who held no weapon beyond Meraxes?
Was he to wed a Visenya, not a Rhaenys?
Quentyn shifted uncomfortably in his seat even as below in the pits the fighting began. It was nothing like the jousts or tourneys at home, instead it was bloody and vicious. Even moreso when the fighter cut out his opponents heart in a gory mess and bit a large chunk out of it. Qunetyn grimaced even as the crowd roared their approval, his gaze darting from the bloody sight to where the queen sat in her pavilion with her dragon.
It's laughing, Quentyn thought, suddenly cold despite the heat of the midday sun.
Perhaps he could blame it on the heat but that was all he could describe the dragon's reaction to the sight below. The way its jaw lolled open and bobbed up and down like someone laughing without the noise.
Perhaps that was why the Targaryens had wed brother and sister for centuries. No one else beyond a very select few could accept the monstrous creatures they rode. Or be accepted by. But then, what did he know of dragons? What did any man know of dragons? They had been gone from the world for more than a century before Daenerys brought one forth unlike any other Targaryen who tried and failed since the Last Dragon died.
His hands clenched into the tattered fabric of his tunic, wringing at the threads like a nervous child.
Below more people died as the crowd roared. Quentyn for the large part ignored the masses or the fighting pit, his attention focused on the queen's pavilion. She didn't join with the cheering of the crowd. Quentyn's attention shifted to her entourage, knowing that the tall man in white and gold next to her must be Ser Barristan. The man seemed to have no fear of the dragon, standing within reach of its jaws. There was a slight woman with dark skin and a falcon on her shoulder, along with a heavy set man as tall and broad as Archibald with his thick gut covered in scars. There were also two others, a skinny man in silken robes and a bald one with scowling features. There were also her Dothraki, assembled in the benches closest to the pavilion with three inside and Quentyn recognized one as Jhogo. The other two Dothraki near must be her other kos.
At one point the golden dragon did react aggressively, making the entire pit grow deathly silent. Quentyn was too far away to hear what had been said but felt the dragon had been reacting to the queen's annoyance. Perhaps she was displeased with the silly frolics of the dwarves? He thought they had been a change, a breathing amidst the violence. Perhaps Daenerys was less than amused over it and wished to continue with the fighting?
Either way, the dwarves scattered and the pit announcer hurriedly ushered in a tall woman who proceeded to butcher her opponent with well used brutality.
"Seems your cousins would fit right in over here, eh?" Archibald joked. Gerris gave him a half-hearted glare but Quentyn didn't drop his stare from the bloody pit.
When the last one died on the red sands Quentyn didn't even had time to think upon it as Naharis ordered them to the nearest pyramids belonging to the Great Masters. Confused, they obeyed the sellsword captain but Quentyn knew something else was happening with the grin on the Tyroshi man's face when he had them round up the masters who hadn't attended the opening of the fighting pit. Men, women, children, Quentyn felt more and more uneasy as they herded up the stragglers and began to push them towards the courtyard before the Great Pyramid.
A barrier of Unsullied waited for them, the eunuch soldier's impassive as the Stormcrows shoved through the masters to join the rest cowering in the courtyard. Daenerys was there, seated on a simple bench just before the steps with the great golden dragon looming behind her.
Then the scribe stepped forward and announced the trials.
Quentyn kept his face carefully blank as the sun slid through the sky as each and every Great Master was forced before the queen and was either killed or banished from Meereen. Most were killed, their crimes to their freed slaves too great. Even though Quentyn felt sickened with some of the stories told he couldn't help but shudder each time the three headed dragon executed one of the masters. The air grew charged, the hairs on his arms standing on end as the dragon breathed lightning and left nothing behind beyond scorched stone.
Distantly, he was aware of the queen's voice. Speaking a word in High Valyrian, he was sure. But he did not know what it meant.
He couldn't even focus on Daenerys, having to stay back near the crowd of masters to prevent any from fleeing, but Archibald and Gerris had grim expressions as well as the day continued and the flock of masters grew thinner and thinner. The queen even banished the master who had been in her council, along with his family.
At the least the queen did not harm children, simply stripping them of wealth and names before sending them away. The dragon obeyed the queen, killing anyone Daenerys ordered it too. Quentyn even noticed when it moved its left most head in the path of the sun, so some shadow would fall over her. It was not just some beast, an exotic mount. Quentyn's fist clenched at his sides even as the last of the masters died under dragon breath.
His unease was not shared by the freedmen, who cheered and praised the dragon queen and her beast, reaching out and calling to her. The devotion was sincere, knowing their queen would protect them. Both from enemies within and without.
Is this the true burden of being a ruler? Quentyn knew Prince Doran would occasionally have to meet out sentences. To punish those who broke the laws and held trials. But Daenerys was his own age yet there was an iron will to her that made Quentyn wonder about everything she had suffered through. Widow of a Dothraki Khal, lost her child and burnt the murderer at a pyre to bring dragons out of extinction before crushing the masters. What would be next? Volantis?
He shifted from side to side, the letter in his boot feeling like an anchor.
Though he didn't have much time to brood as all too soon the queen had been ushered back into the Great Pyramid and Naharis was sending them back to their barracks. But they did get snagged by the sellsword captain with a toothy grin, bragging to them how he managed to sway the queen to meet with his 'little Westerosi lambs' as the sellsword captain laughed. Though there had also been a warning, to be on their best behaviour the following morn where the queen agreed to meet with them.
And suddenly all of their plans, their months of travel and subterfuge, were finally upon the cusp of completing. Or at the very least meeting her. He didn't know if she'd be partial. Maybe she'd simply feed him to her dragon?
"Stop worrying so much," Gerris said lowly back at the barracks. "Just continue as planned."
"What if she does put me on trial for lying?" Quentyn couldn't help but fret.
"She's harsh, but fair. She gave the masters a trial today even if most failed it. Their crimes were worthy of death," Gerris said. "She should understand, once she reads that letter."
Quentyn didn't felt so reassured but had to remind himself that what Gerris spoke was true; she gave the masters a chance for defense, to have their freed slaves speak on their behalf. Nearly all failed but still, she gave them due course rather than slaughtering them all in the square. But he still fussed, trying his best to smooth out his ragged clothes and polish his rusted sword. Wanting to make a good impression when he met the queen. Not for the first time he cursed leaving their finery back in Volantis. He would look much like any other sellsword before the queen.
If anything, Gerris Drinkwater would be better suited to wooing the dragon queen. With his sun streaked fair hair, and laughing green eyes. Tall and lean. Even Archibald, with his thick limbs and bulky body heavy with muscle. Quentyn was plain, stocky with brown hair and eyes. A square face with a broad nose and high forehead. He knew he was the least impressive of his companions. He could only hope Daenerys could see beyond that.
And see what? a scathing voice that sounded suspiciously like his sister Arianne hissed in his mind, That you're a frightened little boy? Come to beg for favours like a dog for scraps?
"It's time," Gerris's voice snapped Quentyn out of his trance of where he'd been trying in vain to polish his rusted sword, naught even before the slither of the sun had rose.
When Quentyn went to the dragon queen's audience, he went with those ordered to him by the Tattered Prince but also with his fellow Dornishmen, Archibald and Gerris. He was nervous enough he felt as if his bones were rattling, resisting the urge to fidget and fuss like a child. Archibald and Gerris remained close as Naharis called them forth. The sellsword captain did not see through their farce, seemingly just entertaining their requests to speak to the queen for his own amusement.
But still, each step he struggled to keep his composure as they entered the audience chamber. It was barely decorated, thick windows letting in beams of the increasing light. And waiting before them, seated upon a plain ebony bench covered in silken cushions, was Daenerys Targaryen.
As it was said, she had the true Targaryen appearance of silvery gold hair with purple eyes. Hers were a shade of violet, bright and sharp as she watched him. Her tanned skin was in wonderful contrast with her fair hair. Beautiful she was indeed, the tales did not lie.
The queen was dressed somewhat oddly, with shimmering sandsilk trousers with boots of hard dark leather, an elaborated painted vest over a chainmail corset. Around her waist was a leather belt inlaid with multi-coloured chains. Her arms were bare besides a drape of crimson silk, and Quentyn could see the pink of a mostly healed puncture wound on her forearm. Her silver gold hair was pulled back from her face, woven into elaborate braiding that flowed down her back and tangled with an assortment of tiny bells. In all, she looked much like her Dothraki guards if not more elegant and refined.
He knew, from their brief interaction with Jhogo, that the bells entwined in her hair were a Dothraki custom. The Dothraki did not hide so the more accomplished the warrior, the more sound he produced with each and every step. The bells were a trophy for every enemy slain. Or, in Daenerys' case, a trophy for every city conquered.
A crown of gold rested upon her head, three serpentine dragon heads arching forward like snakes about to strike. A single golden bangle was wrapped around either of her slim wrists but beyond that she was unadorned. Her Dothraki were garbed in more wealth than she, with exotic pelts and dripping in jewels and gold.
And there was that sword at the queen's waist.
Now, so close to the queen, Quentyn realized where he'd seen it before. Where he'd felt that strangle, niggling sense of familiarity like a half forgotten dream when he spotted it at such a distance in the fighting pit. Now so close he recognized the blade. In the historic paintings within Sunspear. For all his House's defiance of Aegon the Conqueror, he was still well known within those halls. Same for his dragon, the Black Dread.
And his sword. As somehow, Queen Daenerys had reclaimed the Conqueror's fabled lost sword and now wore it strapped to her hip. The black crossguard of dragon heads with their glittering crimsons eyes, the oddly ribbed pommel and flawless ruby.
How? Blackfyre has been lost for decades, ever since Aegor Rivers died half a century ago...Where did she ever find it?
It had been regarded as the possession of the rightful heir, a sign of their worthiness for the Iron Throne. That was what led to the first Blackfyre rebellion, with Daemon Rivers taking the sword's name as his last after being gifted it by Aegon the Unworthy. He took the sword, as did many others, as a truth that he was the worthy heir over his trueborn half brother Daeron.
The queen watched him with an unreadable violet stare and Quentyn could feel sweat bead his nape. The Windblown introduced themselves formally to the queen one by one and then it were the three Dornish men left.
"If it please, Your Grace," Naharis swaggered forth, swinging an arm towards the group with an exaggerated gesture. "These three are Frog, Greenguts and Gerrod."
False names which had served them well even if the farce was to come to an end as the trio knelt to her.
"You may rise," the queen's voice was calm and sweet. "Sunspear remained loyal to my House when the Usurper stole the dragon throne. The Dornish are welcome here in my court."
"We have traveled far and through many perils to meet you, Your Grace. We were six when we left Sunspear and now we are three," Gerris said as he rose.
"I am sorry for your loss. Life is fraught with them yet that does not make them any easier to bear. And if you pardon me, Greenguts is indeed a strange sort of name," she said to Archibald.
The hulking man grimaced slightly, "A jape, I fear. We crossed treacherous water and I was seasick for much of that time. Hence the name."
"I can guess as much, ser. It is ser, no? Daario informed me you were a knight." To her side Ser Barristan shifted slightly, his gold and white armour clicking.
"We three are knights," Archibald corrected her and Quentyn saw the anger surge upon Naharis' face. As he thought, the man did not take kindly to being lied to.
But Ser Barristan spoke before the captain could utter a word, "A knighthood is easily claimed so far from Westeros. Are you prepared to defend that boast with sword or lance?"
Gerris spoke then, "We could but I fear none of us may be equal to Barristan the Bold. I beg your pardon for any trickery, Your Grace, but we have come to you under false names."
Quentyn could feel the stares of the Windblown on his back and Naharis' glare increased in intensity before them.
Daenerys watched him as well, her face a calm mask and her violet eyes assessing. He tried not to fidget under her stare, inwardly grateful the dragon was not in the audience hall. If he had to deal with the dual stares of the queen and her dragon he'd probably be near to fainting. At the very least, Archibald and Gerris were familiar, steadying presences at his side.
"Very well then," Daenerys said after a long bout of staring. "Your true names if you will."
Gerris bowed low to the queen, his fair hair gold in the sunlight seeping through the windows as he spoke, "Ser Gerris Drinkwater, Your Grace. My sword is yours."
Archibald crossed his thick arms against his chest, "And my warhammer. I'm Ser Archibald Yronwood."
"And you, ser?" Daenerys asked Quentyn.
"If it please Your Grace, may I first present my gift to you?"
"If you wish."
Quentyn bent and unlaced his boot, gingerly pulling out the piece of folded, yellow parchment. However when he went to move towards Daenerys, Naharis snatched the note from his hand in a cat-quick movement. Behind him he heard Gerris let out an annoyed growl as the sellsword unraveled the parchment, squinting at the letters.
"This is your gift?" the man scoffed at him. "A scrap of writing in your looping, ribbon writing? I do not read your foolish Westerosi scratchings."
"Bring it to the queen," Ser Barristan commanded, a scowl settling over his weathered face as a hand dropped to the pommel of his sword. "Now."
"Daario." The queen's voice was low but it seemed to cut through the sellsword captain's rising anger in an instant.
Naharis obeyed, though not without another glare at the three. Quentyn kept himself stiff and still as Daenerys read the letter, her eyes slightly narrowing as they darted up to him and back.
"May we know what it says, Your Grace?" Ser Barristan asked. At the queen's other side, the scribe was frowning faintly.
"...It is a secret pact," the queen finally said, her voice distant. "Made in Braavos when I was just a little girl. Ser Willem Darry signed for us, the man who spirited my brother and myself away from Dragonstone before the Usurper's men could take us, when ones thought to sell us to them for safety. Prince Oberyn Martell signed for Dorne, with the Sealord of Braavos as witness."
She handed the note to the knight as she continued to speak, "As it says, the alliance is to be sealed in marriage. In return for Dorne's help overthrowing the Usurper, my brother Viserys is to take Prince Doran's daughter Arianne for his wife and queen."
The old knight read the pact slowly. "If Robert had known of this he would have smashed Sunspear as he once smashed Pyk, and claimed the heads of Prince Doran and the Red Viper. And most likely taken the head of the Dornish princess as well."
"No doubt that was why Prince Doran chose to keep the pact a secret," the scribe suggested lightly.
"Indeed. If my brother Viserys had known that he had a Dornish princess waiting for him, he would have crossed to Sunspear as soon as he was old enough to wed," Daenerys' hand dropped to the hilt of Blackfyre, fingers rubbing at the ruby eyes of the dragons.
"And thereby brought Robert's warhammer down upon himself, and Dorne as well," Quentyn said, stepping forward. "My father was content to wait for the day that Prince Viserys found his army."
"Your father?"
"Prince Doran." He sank back onto one knee before her. "Your Grace, I have the honor to be Quentyn Martell, a prince of Dorne and your most leal subject."
The silence that followed was stifling and the longer it continued the more Quentyn struggled to remain still. The Windblown's glares were boring into his back but none of them were foolish to do anything. Naharis meanwhile looked if he was severely contemplating beheading Quentyn right then and there. Daenerys uttered not a word and just continued to watch him.
When the queen finally spoke, her voice was mild. "You have come for a kiss, I would wager. You mean to marry me. Is that the way of it? The gift you bring me is your own sweet earnest self. Instead of Viserys and your sister, however, you and I must seal this marriage pact if I want Dorne."
"My father hoped that you might find me acceptable."
At the steps, Daario Naharis laughed as he gave Quentyn a nasty smile, "I say you are a pup. The queen needs a man beside her, not some mewling boy. You are no fit husband for a woman such as her. Pray tell, when you lick your lips do you still taste your mother's milk?"
Gerris face darkened at his words, bristling at Quentyn's side as he snarled, "Mind your tongue, sellsword. You are speaking to a prince of Dorne."
"Enough," the queen's voice never rose but it still carried the force of a shout. Wordlessly, Naharis backed off even if he remained scowling.
"I know of this Dorne," the Meereenese man with thick glaring features spoke, "Dorne is sand and scorpions, and bleak red mountains baking in the sun."
Quentyn answered him. "Dorne is fifty thousand spears and swords, pledged to our queen's service if this pact comes true."
"Fifty thousand?" mocked Daario. "I count three and one is still a boy."
Daenerys gave the sellsword a sharp look, "Prince Quentyn has crossed half the world to offer me his gift, I will not have him treated with discourtesy. I know why you are here."
"I have come for you, Queen Daenerys," Quentyn said.
"No, you came for my son, you came for fire and blood," she reproached him, a faint crease appearing between her brows as the first hint of annoyance entered her voice. "If you, if Prince Doran, if Dorne, truly wanted me, you would have found me when my brother and I were in Braavos. When we were wandering, alone and afraid, across the sun-baked stretch of Essos. Before I was sold to the Dothraki, after being caged in Illyrio's tender care. Instead you hid in your sandy mountains, safe and quiet and silent, until I had an army and my dragon. You do not want me. You want my power, my soldiers, my son. What makes you deserving of it? What makes you deserving of any of those who follow me? What makes you deserving of my son?"
Quentyn fumbled for an answer before saying weakly, "I did not know you had a child, Your Grace."
A snort of laughter from Naharis.
Daenerys looked disappointed in his words. "Do you know of my titles, Prince Quentyn?"
"Yes."
"Then you know one of mine is the Mother of Dragons?"
"Yes."
"Then you should know my child, Ghidorah, is my son. The last dragon in existence and I am his mother and he is my child. You have seen him, yes?"
"I have, Your Grace. He is a fearsome creature." Quentyn kept his true unease about the dragon concealed well.
"He is a dragon. As am I."
The young prince swallowed, forging ahead with, "I have the blood of the dragon in me as well, Your Grace. I can trace my lineage back to the first Daenerys, the Targaryen princess who was sister to King Daeron the Good and wife to the Prince of Dorne. He built the Water Gardens for her and through their marriage Dorne was finally drawn within the Seven Kingdoms after centuries of conflict."
"The Water Gardens?" Daenerys seemed intrigued.
"My father's favorite palace. It would please me to show them to you one day. They are all of pink marble, with pools and fountains that are overlooking the sea."
The queen settled back on her cushions, letting out a low hum, "They do sound lovely. But you did not answer my question as to Dorne deserving my people. But now I have another one for you. Tell me, Prince Quentyn. Do you know of the Others?"
The abrupt question confused him and he hesitantly responded, "Those...Those are Northern tales, Your Grace. I don't know anything beyond vague stories of evil spirits stealing babes in the darkness of winter."
Daenerys' expression didn't change beyond a slight pursing of her lips but Quentyn felt she disapproved of his response.
"I see. Missandei," she beckoned the scribe forth, "please see that the prince and his companions are given quarters suitable to their high birth and that their wants are attended to. I shall speak to them further at a later time and I hope you will think upon my words, Prince Quentyn, and give me an acceptable answer soon to my query. Now I must speak to these Windblown about their own Tattered Prince."
It was a rejection but not an outright refusal. Quentyn tried to reassure himself with that notion as he, Gerris and Archibald were gently ushered from the audience room even if a part of him wanted to protest.
For a long moment there was no noise beyond distant echoes and their soft footfalls. They had finally reached the queen but Quentyn felt that the true challenge was now laid bare before them.
"This is not an unfavourable outcome," Gerris finally said, near a whisper while Archibald nodded on Quentyn's other side as they followed the scribe down the Great Pyramid's stairs. "We will have time to try again and convince her."
Quentyn squared his shoulders, accepting his friend's words. Daenerys seemed stern but fair, she did not send him away and promised to speak to him again soon enough. This was his duty, his destiny. For his family and House he must succeed.
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