The silence in the Great Sun Hall did not last long. Princess Meyra broke it with a small clap of her hands, as though dismissing the tension entirely.
"The butterflies was still more beautiful than that flying lizard," she declared.
A few nobles shifted in their seats. Someone gave a short, uncertain laugh. The air, still tight from what had just happened, softened—but only slightly.
Princess Maris turned her gaze to her daughter with patient curiosity.
"Oh?" she said softly. "And what, exactly, gives you such certainty, my dear?"
Princess Meyra leaned forward at once, eager as a child given permission to speak too freely.
"Because the lizard was only impressive," she said. "But the butterflies… they felt alive in a gentler way."
Her eyes flicked toward Thaddues as if the memory itself were anchored to him.
"Lord Peverell made them on the road to Sunspear whenever night falls," she continued. "No illusions, no paint. They moved like they were listening. And in the carriage, the seats fold into proper beds—soft enough for a noble's rest. Even the chessboard he owns plays itself, the pieces moving as though thinking through strategy."
A ripple of renewed attention passed through the high table.
Princess Meyra, growing more animated, turned directly to Thaddues.
"Lord Peverell," she said brightly, "can you turn my bed into the same one I had in the carriage?"
Princess Dareya's head snapped toward her.
"Meyra," she said sharply, "you do not ask guests to remodel palace furniture like they're hired craftsmen."
Princess Meyra blinked. "Why not? He already did it once."
"That does not make it etiquette."
"It does, in practice," Princess Meyra insisted.
Thaddues raised a hand slightly before the exchange could sharpen further.
"It is no trouble, Princess," he said evenly. "Such a change is… minor in nature."
Princess Dareya exhaled through her nose.
"Of course you say that."
"I assure you," Thaddues continued with calm precision, "it is no more than a simple adjustment."
"Everything is simple when you say it," she muttered. "That is what worries me."
A low chuckle escaped Prince Nolan Martell, who had been watching the exchange with measured interest.
"A splendid display, Lord Peverell," Prince Nolan said. "Courtly men will call it magic or trickery depending on their fear. Either way, such craft has a habit of drawing attention it does not always welcome."
Thaddues inclined his head politely.
"My abilities are practical, my lord," he said. "Not theatrical."
"Practical?" Nolan raised a brow. "You shaped a dragon from a goblet."
"A controlled construct," Thaddues corrected gently. "And only at that scale."
He paused a fraction.
"Larger applications would require considerable magic.....and carry risk."
There were truths he left unsaid—carefully, he isn't naive, exposing too much information about his magic may lead him being used and he doesn't want that. He just did what he need to do to avoid being misinterpreted as a miracle weilder than a wizard.
Prince Nolan studied him for a moment longer, then leaned back.
"I have seen men boast less with greater noise," he said.
Princess Dareya's gaze shifted briefly to Maester Pyren.
The Maester had not spoken since the dragon unfolded itself in fireless motion. His eyes remained fixed on the goblet as though expecting it to remember its other shape.
"Are you satisfied, Maester?"She asked quietly.
The Maester did not answer. Silence itself was his reply.
Prince Nolan gestured once. Two household guards stepped forward, carrying a heavy chest between them. They placed it before Thaddues with careful discipline. The iron-bound lid gave a dull, final sound against stone.
"Ten thousand gold dragons," Prince Nolan said. "For the lives of my daughters. For whatever debt I cannot measure in words."
A murmur swept through the hall.
Even in Sunspear, this amount was no small thing.
Thaddues looked at the chest. For a brief moment, something flickered behind his eyes. He knew this was a reward he couldn't refuse, though it wasn't his main goal here. He needed land—but he wouldn't turn down money like this either.
He lifted his gaze toward Princess Dareya.
It was not a plea. More like an unfinished sentence waiting to be corrected. He hoped they understood what he meant through his carefully calibrated I-need-a-lot-but-won't-refuse-gold-either expression.
Princess Dareya noticed at once.
Her expression shifted—subtle, but decisive.
"Prince Father," she said carefully, "that is not enough."
A few nobles straightened.
Prince Nolan studied her. "Not enough?"
"He did not merely protect us," Dareya continued. "He saved the heir to House Martell. My life and Meyra are not worth ten thousand gold coins."
Meyra nodded immediately.
"Yes. That."
Thaddues almost smiled. Finally. They understood the assignment. Not just gold—gold and land. Ideally both. Preferably both.
Prince Nolan's gaze sharpened. "Then what reward do you propose?"
It landed on Thaddues.
Princess Dareya smiled. "Instead of gold, grant him lands in Dorne. He has already shown interest in settling here, hasn't he, Lord Peverell?"
Thaddues went very still.
That was not quite what he meant.
He wanted gold and land. Not land instead of gold. There was an important distinction here. A very important one.
But his face remained composed. Mostly.
His eyes flicked once between them.
This was not the arrangement he had initiated. It was, however, becoming the one they were constructing around him.
Princess Dareya continued, undeterred.
"And title," she said. "Give him a decree. Something that allows him to retain his nobility in Dorne."
Prince Nolan leaned back slightly.
"And you think land is more appropriate than gold?"
"In this case," Princesa Dareya said, "yes."
A pause.
Then Prince Nolan looked at Thaddues again.
"You hear this?" he asked.
"I do," Thaddues replied.
"And what do you say?"
Thaddues considered his words carefully. They had already said it. He has nothing else to say.
"I came here seeking a place to establish myself," he said. "Not a temporary reward."
Princess Dareya gave a small, satisfied nod, as if that was the answer she expected all along.
Prince Nolan exhaled.
"Very well," he said at last. "Land will be granted to Thaddues Peverell. His presence in Dorne will be recognized, and his status acknowledged under my authority."
A slight tilt of his head.
"And your… craft," he added, "will be respected and protected, so long as it does not threaten my people."
"Agreed," Thaddues said.
Dareya leaned back, as if the matter had been neatly resolved.
"Good," she said. "Now it is official."
The gold chest remained unopened.
Thaddues did not look at it again. If he had, he knew he might not have been able to resist it—might have reached for it, or worse, started negotiating with Prince Nolan in real time for "just a portion of the chest, reasonable terms." The composed image he had built so carefully would not survive that kind of public collapse. A chest full of gold dragons…
Fortunately, the household guards took it away.
The banquet ended in slow dispersal, as all Dornish gatherings eventually did—less like an ending, more like a release of pressure.
Yet Thaddues did not leave.
Instead, he was guided through quieter corridors of Sunspear, where the noise of the Great Sun Hall faded into stone silence.
Princess Dareya walked slightly ahead. Prince Qhorys followed at a measured distance.
"We choose your land now," Princess Dareya said over her shoulder.
"I was not aware the decision remained open," Thaddues replied.
"In Dorne,"Prince Qhorys said dryly, "decisions are rarely final until someone writes them down twice."
They entered a chamber where maps of Dorne lay spread across a long stone table. Inked coastlines, marked trade routes, and empty stretches of desert waited like unanswered questions.
Prince Qhorys gestured to a section near the southern coast.
"The western foothills of the Red Mountains," he said. "Harsh. Remote. A good place to start your own territory."
Princess Dareya studied it. "That is one way of saying no one will fight you for it."
"It has its disadvantages," Prince Qhorys replied, "but over time, it is a sound choice."
Princess Dareya looked at Thaddues. "And you? Do you have a preference, or are you content letting geography decide your future?"
"I prefer distance from court," he said simply.
Prince Qhorys nodded once then point another land. "Then Salt Shore suits you."
Princess Dareya tilted her head. "No negotiation?"
"I am not opposed," Thaddues said, "but I do not require complication."
Prince Qhorys exhaled. "You will not survive Dorne long if that remains your philosophy."
"I intend to adapt," Thaddues replied.
"Good," Princess Dareya said. "Because Dorne does not adapt to newcomers."
A knock interrupted them.
Once. Then again.
A maid entered.
She bowed quickly.
"Princess," she whispered, the parchment heavy in her hand, "a voice speaks from the Old Palace. The Elder Princess, Deria Martell herself, commands that Lord Thaddeus Peverell be brought before her."
Princess Dareya froze.
"…Grandmother?"
The maid nodded.
The room shifted.
Even Prince Qhorys straightened slightly.
Thaddues, however, went still in a different way.
Not surprise. Recognition, Princess Deria Martell.
The name surfaced from the archives in his mind palace. Daughter of Nymor Martell. The princess who had walked into King's Landing during the aftermath of conquest, carrying a letter that had done what armies could not.
The peace of Dorne had been shaped by her hand. She was the peace bringer of Dorne.
But the memory did not align cleanly with the present. 13 AC. That was her era and this is 103 AC.
How is this even possible?
TBC
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